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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf 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..ae2acfb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50334 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50334) diff --git a/old/50334-0.txt b/old/50334-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 862ce69..0000000 --- a/old/50334-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6855 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pearl-Fishing; Choice Stories from Dickens' -Household Words; Second Series, by Charles Dickens - -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/license - - -Title: Pearl-Fishing; Choice Stories from Dickens' Household Words; Second Series - -Author: Charles Dickens - -Release Date: October 28, 2015 [EBook #50334] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEARL-FISHING, SECOND SERIES *** - - - - -Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team -at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - [Illustration: Faithfully yours Charles Dickens] - - - - - PEARL-FISHING. - - CHOICE STORIES, - - FROM - - Dickens’ Household Words. - - SECOND SERIES. - - AUBURN: - ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO. - ROCHESTER: - WANZER, BEARDSLEY & CO. - 1854. - - ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by - - ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO., - -In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the - Northern District of New York. - - THOMAS B. SMITH, - STEREOTYPER AND ELECTROTYPER, - 216 William Street, N. Y. - - - - -The Publisher’s Notice. - - -The large demand for the _First Series_ of this publication, has -confirmed the publishers in their opinion of its worth and its -adaptability to meet the wants and tastes of the reading public, and -induced them to issue, in rapid succession, the present volume, which -will be found not less interesting and worthy of attention. - -The publishers also announce their intention of continuing this series, -which has been received with so much public favor. - -June, 1854. - - - - -Contents. - - - PAGE - - I.--THE YOUNG ADVOCATE 7 - - II.--THE LAST OF A LONG LINE 33 - -III.--THE GENTLEMAN BEGGAR 107 - - IV.--EVIL IS WROUGHT BY WANT OF THOUGHT 130 - - V.--BED 167 - - VI.--THE HOME OF WOODRUFFE THE GARDENER 184 - - VII.--THE WATER-DROPS 287 - -VIII.--AN EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITY 325 - - - - -I. - -The Young Advocate. - - -Antoine de Chaulieu was the son of a poor gentleman of Normandy, with a -long genealogy, a short rent-roll, and a large family. Jacques Rollet -was the son of a brewer, who did not know who his grandfather was; but -he had a long purse and only two children. As these youths flourished in -the early days of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and were near -neighbors, they naturally hated each other. Their enmity commenced at -school, where the delicate and refined De Chaulieu being the only -gentilhomme among the scholars, was the favorite of the master (who was -a bit of an aristocrat in his heart) although he was about the worst -dressed boy in the establishment, and never had a sou to spend; while -Jacques Rollet, sturdy and rough, with smart clothes and plenty of -money, got flogged six days in the week, ostensibly for being stupid and -not learning his lessons--which, indeed, he did not--but, in reality, -for constantly quarrelling with and insulting De Chaulieu, who had not -strength to cope with him. When they left the academy, the feud -continued in all its vigor, and was fostered by a thousand little -circumstances arising out of the state of the times, till a separation -ensued in consequence of an aunt of Antoine de Chaulieu’s undertaking -the expense of sending him to Paris to study the law, and of maintaining -him there during the necessary period. - -With the progress of events came some degree of reaction in favor of -birth and nobility, and then Antoine, who had passed for the bar, began -to hold up his head and endeavored to push his fortunes; but fate seemed -against him. He felt certain that if he possessed any gift in the world -it was that of eloquence, but he could get no cause to plead; and his -aunt dying inopportunely, first his resources failed, and then his -health. He had no sooner returned to his home, than, to complicate his -difficulties completely, he fell in love with Mademoiselle Natalie de -Bellefonds, who had just returned from Paris, where she had been -completing her education. To expiate on the perfections of Mademoiselle -Natalie, would be a waste of ink and paper; it is sufficient to say that -she really was a very charming girl, with a fortune which, though not -large, would have been a most desirable acquisition to De Chaulieu, who -had nothing. Neither was the fair Natalie indisposed to listen to his -addresses; but her father could not be expected to countenance the suit -of a gentleman, however well-born, who had not a ten-sous piece in the -world, and whose prospects were a blank. - -While the ambitious and love-sick young barrister was thus pining in -unwelcome obscurity, his old acquaintance, Jacques Rollet, had been -acquiring an undesirable notoriety. There was nothing really bad in -Jacques’ disposition, but having been bred up a democrat, with a hatred -of the nobility, he could not easily accommodate his rough humor to -treat them with civility when it was no longer safe to insult them. The -liberties he allowed himself whenever circumstances brought him into -contact with the higher classes of society, had led him into many -scrapes, out of which his father’s money had one way or another released -him; but that source of safety had now failed. Old Rollet having been -too busy with the affairs of the nation to attend to his business, had -died insolvent, leaving his son with nothing but his own wits to help -him out of future difficulties, and it was not long before their -exercise was called for. Claudine Rollet, his sister, who was a very -pretty girl, had attracted the attention of Mademoiselle de Bellefonds’ -brother, Alphonso; and as he paid her more attention than from such a -quarter was agreeable to Jacques, the young men had more than one -quarrel on the subject, on which occasions they had each, -characteristically, given vent to their enmity, the one in contemptuous -monosyllables, and the other in a volley of insulting words. But -Claudine had another lover more nearly of her own condition of life; -this was Claperon, the deputy-governor of the Rouen jail, with whom she -made acquaintance during one or two compulsory visits paid by her -brother to that functionary; but Claudine, who was a bit of a coquette, -though she did not altogether reject his suit, gave him little -encouragement, so that betwixt hopes, and fears, and doubts, and -jealousies, poor Claperon led a very uneasy kind of life. - -Affairs had been for some time in this position, when, one fine morning, -Alphonse de Bellefonds was not to be found in his chamber when his -servant went to call him; neither had his bed been slept in. He had been -observed to go out rather late on the preceding evening, but whether or -not he had returned, nobody could tell. He had not appeared at supper, -but that was too ordinary an event to awaken suspicion; and little alarm -was excited till several hours had elapsed, when inquiries were -instituted and a search commenced, which terminated in the discovery of -his body, a good deal mangled, lying at the bottom of a pond which had -belonged to the old brewery. Before any investigations had been made, -every person had jumped to the conclusion that the young man had been -murdered, and that Jacques Rollet was the assassin. There was a strong -presumption in favor of that opinion, which further perquisitions tended -to confirm. Only the day before, Jacques had been heard to threaten M. -de Bellefonds with speedy vengeance. On the fatal evening, Alphonse and -Claudine had been seen together in the neighborhood of the now -dismantled brewery; and as Jacques, betwixt poverty and democracy, was -in bad odor with the prudent and respectable part of society, it was not -easy for him to bring witnesses to character, or prove an -unexceptionable alibi. As for the Bellefonds and De Chaulieus, and the -aristocracy in general, they entertained no doubt of his guilt; and -finally, the magistrates coming to the same opinion, Jacques Rollet was -committed for trial, and as a testimony of good will Antoine de -Chaulieu was selected by the injured family to conduct the prosecution. - -Here, at last, was the opportunity he had sighed for! So interesting a -case, too, furnishing such ample occasion for passion, pathos, -indignation! And how eminently fortunate that the speech which he set -himself with ardor to prepare, would be delivered in the presence of the -father and brother of his mistress, and perhaps of the lady herself! The -evidence against Jacques, it is true, was altogether presumptive; there -was no proof whatever that he had committed the crime; and for his own -part he stoutly denied it. But Antoine de Chaulieu entertained no doubt -of his guilt, and his speech was certainly well calculated to carry -conviction into the bosom of others. It was of the highest importance to -his own reputation that he should procure a verdict, and he confidently -assured the afflicted and enraged family of the victim that their -vengeance should be satisfied. Under these circumstances could anything -be more unwelcome than a piece of intelligence that was privately -conveyed to him late on the evening before the trial was to come on, -which tended strongly to exculpate the prisoner, without indicating any -other person as the criminal. Here was an opportunity lost. The first -step of the ladder on which he was to rise to fame, fortune, and a wife, -was slipping from under his feet! - -Of course, so interesting a trial was anticipated with great eagerness -by the public, and the court was crowded with all the beauty and fashion -of Rouen. Though Jacques Rollet persisted in asserting his innocence, -founding his defence chiefly on circumstances which were strongly -corroborated by the information that had reached De Chaulieu the -preceding evening,--he was convicted. - -In spite of the very strong doubts he privately entertained respecting -the justice of the verdict, even De Chaulieu himself, in the first flush -of success, amid a crowd of congratulating friends, and the approving -smiles of his mistress, felt gratified and happy; his speech had, for -the time being, not only convinced others, but himself; warmed with his -own eloquence, he believed what he said. But when the glow was over, and -he found himself alone, he did not feel so comfortable. A latent doubt -of Rollet’s guilt now burnt strongly in his mind, and he felt that the -blood of the innocent would be on his head. It is true there was yet -time to save the life of the prisoner, but to admit Jacques innocent, -was to take the glory out of his own speech, and turn the sting of his -argument against himself. Besides, if he produced the witness who had -secretly given him the information, he should be self-condemned, for he -could not conceal that he had been aware of the circumstance before the -trial. - -Matters having gone so far, therefore, it was necessary that Jacques -Rollet should die; so the affair took its course; and early one morning -the guillotine was erected in the court-yard of the jail, three -criminals ascended the scaffold, and three heads fell into the basket, -which were presently afterwards, with the trunks that had been attached -to them, buried in a corner of the cemetery. - -Antoine de Chaulieu was now fairly started in his career, and his -success was as rapid as the first step towards it had been tardy. He -took a pretty apartment in the Hôtel de Marbœuf, Rue Grange-Batelière, -and in a short time was looked upon as one of the most rising young -advocates in Paris. His success in one line brought him success in -another; he was soon a favorite in society, and an object of interest to -speculating mothers; but his affections still adhered to his old love -Natalie de Bellefonds, whose family now gave their assent to the -match--at least, prospectively--a circumstance which furnished such an -additional incentive to his exertions, that in about two years from the -date of his first brilliant speech, he was in a sufficiently flourishing -condition to offer the young lady a suitable home. In anticipation of -the happy event, he engaged and furnished a suite of apartments in the -Rue du Helder; and as it was necessary that the bride should come to -Paris to provide her trousseau, it was agreed that the wedding should -take place there, instead of at Bellefonds, as had been first -projected; an arrangement the more desirable, that a press of business -rendered M. de Chaulieu’s absence from Paris inconvenient. - -Brides and bridegrooms in France, except of the very high classes, are -not much in the habit of making those honeymoon excursions so universal -in this country. A day spent in visiting Versailles, or St. Cloud, or -even the public places of the city, is generally all that precedes the -settling down into the habits of daily life. In the present instance St. -Denis was selected, from the circumstance of Natalie having a younger -sister at school there; and also because she had a particular desire to -see the Abbey. - -The wedding was to take place on a Thursday; and on the Wednesday -evening, having spent some hours most agreeably with Natalie, Antoine de -Chaulieu returned to spend his last night in his bachelor apartments. -His wardrobe and other small possessions, had already been packed up and -sent to his future home; and there was nothing left in his room now, but -his new wedding suit, which he inspected with considerable satisfaction -before he undressed and lay down to sleep. Sleep, however, was somewhat -slow to visit him; and the clock had struck _one_ before he closed his -eyes. When he opened them again, it was broad day-light; and his first -thought was, had he overslept himself? He sat up in bed to look at the -clock which was exactly opposite, and as he did so, in the large mirror -over the fire-place, he perceived a figure standing behind him. As the -dilated eyes met his own, he saw it was the face of Jacques Rollet. -Overcome with horror he sunk back on his pillow, and it was some minutes -before he ventured to look again in that direction; when he did so, the -figure had disappeared. - -The sudden revulsion of feeling such a vision was calculated to occasion -in a man elate with joy, may be conceived! For some time after the death -of his former foe, he had been visited by not unfrequent twinges of -conscience; but of late, borne along by success, and the hurry of -Parisian life, these unpleasant remembrances had grown rarer, till at -length they had faded away altogether. Nothing had been further from his -thoughts than Jacques Rollet, when he closed his eyes on the preceding -night, nor when he opened them to that sun which was to shine on what he -expected to be the happiest day of his life! Where were the high-strung -nerves now! The elastic frame! The bounding heart! - -Heavily and slowly he arose from his bed, for it was time to do so; and -with a trembling hand and quivering knees, he went through the processes -of the toilet, gashing his cheek with the razor, and spilling the water -over his well-polished boots. When he was dressed, scarcely venturing to -cast a glance in the mirror as he passed it, he quitted the room and -descended the stairs, taking the key of the door with him for the -purpose of leaving it with the porter; the man, however, being absent, -he laid it on the table in his lodge, and with a relaxed and languid -step proceeded on his way to the church, where presently arrived the -fair Natalie and her friends. How difficult it was now to look happy -with that pallid face and extinguished eye! - -“How pale you are! Has anything happened? You are surely ill?” were the -exclamations that met him on all sides. He tried to carry it off as well -as he could, but felt that the movements he would have wished to appear -alert were only convulsive; and that the smiles with which he attempted -to relax his features, were but distorted grimaces. However, the church -was not the place for further inquiries; and while Natalie gently -pressed his hand in token of sympathy, they advanced to the altar, and -the ceremony was performed; after which they stepped into the carriages -waiting at the door, and drove to the apartments of Madame de -Bellefonds, where an elegant _déjeuner_ was prepared. - -“What ails you, my dear husband?” inquired Natalie, as soon as they were -alone. - -“Nothing, love,” he replied; “nothing, I assure you, but a restless -night and a little overwork, in order that I might have to-day free to -enjoy my happiness!” - -“Are you quite sure? Is there nothing else?” - -“Nothing, indeed; and pray don’t take notice of it, it only makes me -worse!” - -Natalie was not deceived, but she saw that what he said was true; notice -made him worse; so she contented herself with observing him quietly, and -saying nothing; but, as he _felt_ she was observing him, she might -almost better have spoken; words are often less embarrassing things than -too curious eyes. - -When they reached Madame de Bellefonds’ he had the same sort of -questioning and scrutiny to undergo, till he grew quite impatient under -it, and betrayed a degree of temper altogether unusual with him. Then -everybody looked astonished; some whispered their remarks, and others -expressed them by their wondering eyes, till his brow knit, and his -pallid cheeks became flushed with anger. Neither could he divert -attention by eating; his parched mouth would not allow him to swallow -anything but liquids, of which, however, he indulged in copious -libations; and it was an exceeding relief to him when the carriage, -which was to convey them to St. Denis, being announced, furnished an -excuse for hastily leaving the table. Looking at his watch, he declared -it was late; and Natalie, who saw how eager he was to be gone, threw her -shawl over her shoulders, and bidding her friends _good morning_, they -hurried away. - -It was a fine sunny day in June; and as they drove along the crowded -boulevards, and through the Porte St. Denis, the young bride and -bridegroom, to avoid each others eyes, affected to be gazing out of the -windows; but when they reached that part of the road where there was -nothing but trees on each side, they felt it necessary to draw in their -heads, and make an attempt at conversation, De Chaulieu put his arm -round his wife’s waist, and tried to rouse himself from his depression; -but it had by this time so reacted upon her, that she could not respond -to his efforts, and thus the conversation languished, till both felt -glad when they reached their destination, which would, at all events, -furnish them something to talk about. - -Having quitted the carriage, and ordered a dinner at the Hôtel de -l’Abbaye, the young couple proceeded to visit Mademoiselle Hortense de -Bellefonds, who was overjoyed to see her sister and new brother-in-law, -and doubly so when she found that they had obtained permission to take -her out to spend the afternoon with them. As there is little to be seen -at St. Denis but the Abbey, on quitting that part of it devoted to -education, they proceeded to visit the church, with its various objects -of interest; and as De Chaulieu’s thoughts were now forced into another -direction, his cheerfulness began insensibly to return. Natalie looked -so beautiful, too, and the affection betwixt the two young sisters was -so pleasant to behold! And they spent a couple of hours wandering about -with Hortense, who was almost as well informed as the Suisse, till the -brazen doors were open which admitted them to the Royal vault. -Satisfied, at length, with what they had seen, they began to think of -returning to the inn, the more especially as De Chaulieu, who had not -eaten a morsel of food since the previous evening, owned to being -hungry; so they directed their steps to the door, lingering here and -there as they went, to inspect a monument or a painting, when, happening -to turn his head aside to see if his wife, who had stopt to take a last -look at the tomb of King Dagobert, was following, he beheld with horror -the face of Jacques Rollet appearing from behind a column! At the same -instant his wife joined him, and took his arm, inquiring if he was not -very much delighted with what he had seen. He attempted to say yes, but -the word would not be forced out; and staggering out of the door, he -alleged that a sudden faintness had overcome him. - -They conducted him to the Hôtel, but Natalie now became seriously -alarmed; and well she might. His complexion looked ghastly, his limbs -shook, and his features bore an expression of indescribable horror and -anguish. What could be the meaning of so extraordinary a change in the -gay, witty, prosperous De Chaulieu, who, till that morning, seemed not -to have a care in the world? For, plead illness as he might, she felt -certain, from the expression of his features, that his sufferings were -not of the body but of the mind; and, unable to imagine any reason for -such extraordinary manifestations, of which she had never before seen a -symptom, but a sudden aversion to herself, and regret for the step he -had taken, her pride took the alarm, and, concealing the distress she -really felt, she began to assume a haughty and reserved manner towards -him, which he naturally interpreted into an evidence of anger and -contempt. The dinner was placed upon the table, but De Chaulieu’s -appetite, of which he had lately boasted, was quite gone, nor was his -wife better able to eat. The young sister alone did justice to the -repast; but although the bridegroom could not eat, he could swallow -champagne in such copious draughts, that ere long the terror and remorse -that the apparition of Jacques Rollet had awakened in his breast were -drowned in intoxication. Amazed and indignant, poor Natalie sat -silently observing this elect of her heart, till overcome with -disappointment and grief, she quitted the room with her sister, and -retired to another apartment, where she gave free vent to her feelings -in tears. - -After passing a couple of hours in confidences and lamentations, they -recollected that the hours of liberty granted, as an especial favor, to -Mademoiselle Hortense, had expired; but ashamed to exhibit her husband -in his present condition to the eyes of strangers, Natalie prepared to -re-conduct her to the _Maison Royale_ herself. Looking into the -dining-room as they passed, they saw De Chaulieu lying on a sofa fast -asleep, in which state he continued when his wife returned. At length, -however, the driver of their carriage begged to know if Monsieur and -Madame were ready to return to Paris, and it became necessary to arouse -him. The transitory effects of the champagne had now subsided; but when -De Chaulieu recollected what had happened, nothing could exceed his -shame and mortification. So engrossing indeed were these sensations -that they quite overpowered his previous one, and, in his present -vexation, he, for the moment, forgot his fears. He knelt at his wife’s -feet, begged her pardon a thousand times, swore that he adored her, and -declared that the illness and the effect of the wine had been purely the -consequences of fasting and over-work. It was not the easiest thing in -the world to re-assure a woman whose pride, affection, and taste, had -been so severely wounded; but Natalie tried to believe, or to appear to -do so, and a sort of reconciliation ensued, not quite sincere on the -part of the wife, and very humbling on the part of the husband. Under -these circumstances it was impossible that he should recover his spirits -or facility of manner; his gaiety was forced, his tenderness -constrained; his heart was heavy within him; and ever and anon the -source whence all this disappointment and woe had sprung would recur to -his perplexed and tortured mind. - -Thus mutually pained and distrustful, they returned to Paris, which they -reached about nine o’clock. In spite of her depression, Natalie, who -had not seen her new apartments, felt some curiosity about them, whilst -De Chaulieu anticipated a triumph in exhibiting the elegant home he had -prepared for her. With some alacrity, therefore, they stepped out of the -carriage, the gates of the Hôtel were thrown open, the _concierge_ rang -the bell which announced to the servants that their master and mistress -had arrived, and whilst these domestics appeared above, holding lights -over the balustrades, Natalie, followed by her husband, ascended the -stairs. But when they reached the landing-place of the first flight, -they saw the figure of a man standing in a corner as if to make way for -them; the flash from above fell upon his face, and again Antoine de -Chaulieu recognized the features of Jacques Rollet! - -From the circumstance of his wife’s preceding him, the figure was not -observed by De Chaulieu till he was lifting his foot to place it on the -top stair: the sudden shock caused him to miss the step, and, without -uttering a sound, he fell back, and never stopped till he reached the -stones at the bottom. The screams of Natalie brought the concierge from -below and the maids from above, and an attempt was made to raise the -unfortunate man from the ground; but with cries of anguish he besought -them to desist. - -“Let me,” he said, “die here! What a fearful vengeance is thine! Oh, -Natalie, Natalie!” he exclaimed to his wife, who was kneeling beside -him, “to win fame, and fortune, and yourself, I committed a dreadful -crime! With lying words I argued away the life of a fellow-creature, -whom, whilst I uttered them, I half believed to be innocent; and now, -when I have attained all I desired, and reached the summit of my hopes, -the Almighty has sent him back upon the earth to blast me with the -sight. Three times this day--three times this day! Again! again!”--and -as he spoke, his wild and dilated eyes fixed themselves on one of the -individuals that surrounded him. - -“He is delirious,” said they. - -“No,” said the stranger! “What he says is true enough,--at least in -part;” and bending over the expiring man, he added, “May Heaven forgive -you, Antoine de Chaulieu! I was not executed; one who well knew my -innocence saved my life. I may name him, for he is beyond the reach of -the law now,--it was Claperon, the jailor, who loved Claudine, and had -himself killed Alphonse de Bellefonds from jealousy. An unfortunate -wretch had been several years in the jail for a murder committed during -the frenzy of a fit of insanity. Long confinement had reduced him to -idiocy. To save my life Claperon substituted the senseless being for me, -on the scaffold, and he was executed in my stead. He has quitted the -country, and I have been a vagabond on the face of the earth ever since -that time. At length I obtained, through the assistance of my sister, -the situation of concierge in the Hôtel Marbœuf, in the Rue -Grange-Batelière. I entered on my new place yesterday evening, and was -desired to awaken the gentleman on the third floor at seven o’clock. -When I entered the room to do so, you were asleep, but before I had time -to speak you awoke, and I recognized your features in the glass. -Knowing that I could not vindicate my innocence if you chose to seize -me, I fled, and seeing an omnibus starting for St. Denis, I got on it -with a vague idea of getting on to Calais, and crossing the Channel to -England. But having only a franc or two in my pocket, or indeed in the -world, I did not know how to procure the means of going forward; and -whilst I was lounging about the place, forming first one plan and then -another, I saw you in the church, and concluding you were in pursuit of -me, I thought the best way of eluding your vigilance was to make my way -back to Paris as fast as I could; so I set off instantly, and walked all -the way; but having no money to pay my night’s lodging, I came here to -borrow a couple of livres of my sister Claudine, who lives in the fifth -story.” - -“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed the dying man; “that sin is off my soul! -Natalie, dear wife, farewell! Forgive! forgive all!” - -These were the last words he uttered; the priest, who had been summoned -in haste, held up the cross before his failing sight; a few strong -convulsions shook the poor bruised and mangled frame; and then all was -still. - -And thus ended the Young Advocate’s Wedding Day. - - - - -II. - -The Last of a Long Line. - - -Sir Roger Rockville of Rockville was the last of a very long line. It -extended from the Norman Conquest to the present century. His first -known ancestor came over with William, and must have been a man of some -mark, either of bone and sinew, or of brain, for he obtained what the -Americans would call a prime location. As his name does not occur in the -Roll of Battle Abbey, he was, of course, not of a very high Norman -extraction; but he had done enough, it seems, in the way of knocking -down Saxons, to place himself on a considerable eminence in this -kingdom. The centre of his domains was conspicuous far over the country, -through a high range of rock overhanging one of the sweetest rivers in -England. On one hand lay a vast tract of rich marsh land, capable, as -society advanced, of being converted into meadows; and on the other, as -extensive moorlands, finely undulating, and abounding with woods and -deer. - -Here the original Sir Roger built his castle on the summit of the range -of rock, with huts for his followers; and became known directly all over -the country of Sir Roger de Rockville, or Sir Roger of the hamlet on the -Rock. Sir Roger, no doubt, was a mighty hunter before the lord of the -feudal district: it is certain that his descendants were. For -generations they led a jolly life at Rockville, and were always ready to -exchange the excitement of the chase for a bit of the civil war. Without -that the country would have grown dull, and ale and venison lost their -flavor. There was no gay London in those days, and a good brisk skirmish -with their neighbors in helm and hauberk was the way of spending their -season. It was their parliamentary debate, and was necessary to stir -their blood. Protection and Free Trade were as much the great topics of -interest as they are now, only they did not trouble themselves so much -about Corn-bills. Their bills were of good steel, and their protective -measures were arrows a cloth-yard long. Protection meant a good suit of -mail; and a castle with its duly prescribed moats, bastions, -portcullises, and donjon keep. Free Trade was a lively inroad into the -neighboring baron’s lands, and the importation thence of goodly herds -and flocks. Foreign cattle for home consumption was as _striking an -article_ in their markets as in ours, only the blows were expended on -one another’s heads, instead of the heads of foreign bullocks--that is, -bullocks from over the Welch or Scotch Marches, as from beyond the next -brook. - -Thus lived the Rockvilles for ages. In all the iron combats of those -iron times they took care to have their quota. Whether it was Stephen -against Matilda, or Richard against his father, or John against the -barons; whether it were York or Lancaster, or Tudor or Stuart. The -Rockvilles were to be found in the _mêlée_, and winning power and -lands. So long as it required only stalwart frames and stout blows, no -family cut a more conspicuous figure. The Rockvilles were at Bosworth -Field. The Rockvilles fought in Ireland under Elizabeth. The Rockvilles -were staunch defenders of the cause in the war of Charles I. with his -Parliament. The Rockvilles even fought for James II. at the Boyne, when -three-fourths of the most loyal of the English nobility and gentry had -deserted him in disgust and indignation. But from that hour they had -been less conspicuous. - -The opposition to the successful party, that of William of Orange, of -course brought them into disgrace; and though they were never molested -on that account, they retired to their estate, and found it convenient -to be as unobtrusive as possible. Thenceforward you heard no more of the -Rockvilles in the national annals. They became only of consequence in -their own district. They acted as magistrates. They served as high -sheriffs. They were a substantial county family, and nothing more. -Education and civilization advanced; a wider and very different field of -action and ambition opened upon the aristocracy of England. Our fleets -and armies abroad, our legislature at home, law and the church, -presented brilliant paths to the ambition of those thirsting for -distinction, and the good things that follow it. But somehow the -Rockvilles did not expand with this expansion. So long as it required -only a figure of six feet high, broad shoulders, and a strong arm, they -were a great and conspicuous race. But when the head became the member -most in request, they ceased to go ahead. Younger sons, it is true, -served in army and in navy, and filled the family pulpit, but they -produced no generals, no admirals, no arch-bishops. The Rockvilles of -Rockville were very conservative, very exclusive, and very stereotype. -Other families grew poor, and enriched themselves again by marrying -plebeian heiresses. New families grew up out of plebeian blood into -greatness, and intermingled the vigor of their fresh earth with the -attenuated aristocratic soil. Men of family became great lawyers, great -statesmen, great prelates, and even great poets and philosophers. The -Rockvilles remained high, proud, bigoted, and _borné_. - -The Rockvilles married Rockvilles, or their first cousins, the -Craigvilles, simply to prevent property going out of the family. They -kept the property together. They did not lose an acre, and they were a -fine, tall, solemn race--and nothing more. What ailed them? - -If you saw Sir Roger Rockville,--for there was an eternal Sir -Roger--filling his office of high sheriff,--he had a very fine carriage, -and a very fine retinue in the most approved and splendid of antique -costumes;--if you saw him sitting on the bench at quarter sessions, he -was a tall, stately, and solemn man. If you saw Lady Rockville shopping, -in her handsome carriage, with very handsomely attired servants; saw her -at the county ball, or on the race-stand, she was a tall, aristocratic, -and stately lady. That was in the last generation--the present could -boast of no Lady Rockville. - -Great outward respect was shown to the Rockvilles on account of the -length of their descent, and the breadth of their acres. They were -always, when any stranger asked about them, declared, with a serious and -important air, to be a very ancient, honorable, and substantial family. -“Oh! a great family are the Rockvilles, a very great family.” - -But if you came to close quarters with the members of this great and -highly distinguished family, you soon found yourself fundamentally -astonished; you had a sensation come over you, as if you were trying, -like Moses, to draw water from a rock without his delegated power. There -was a goodly outside of things before you, but nothing came of it. You -talked, hoping to get talking in return, but you got little more than -“noes” and “yeses,” and “oh! indeeds!” and “reallys,” and sometimes not -even that, but a certain look of aristocratic dignity or dignification, -that was meant to serve for all answers. There was a sort of resting on -aristocratic oars or “sculls,” that were not to be too vulgarly -handled. There was a feeling impressed on you, that eight hundred years -of descent and ten thousand a-year in landed income did not trouble -themselves with the trifling things that gave distinction to lesser -people--such as literature, fine arts, politics, and general knowledge. -These were very well for those who had nothing else to pride themselves -on, but for the Rockvilles--oh! certainly they were by no means -requisite. - -In fact, you found yourself, with a little variation, in the predicament -of Cowper’s people, - - ---- who spent their lives - In dropping buckets into empty wells, - And _growing tired_ of drawing nothing up. - -Who hasn’t often come across these “dry wells” of society; solemn gulfs -out of which you can pump nothing up? You know them; they are at your -elbow every day in large and brilliant companies, and defy the best -sucking bucket ever invented to extract anything from them. But the -Rockvilles were each and all of this adust description. It was a family -feature, and they seemed, if either, rather proud of it. They must be -so; for proud they were, amazing proud; and they had nothing besides to -be proud of, except their acres, and their ancestors. - -But the fact was, they could not help it. It was become organic. They -had acted the justice of peace, maintained the constitution against -upstarts and manufacturers, signed warrants, supported the church and -the house of correction, committed poachers, and then rested on the -dignity of their ancestors for so many generations, that their skulls, -brains, constitutions, and nervous systems, were all so completely -moulded into that shape and baked into that mould, that a Rockville -would be a Rockville to the end of time, if God and Nature would have -allowed it. But such things wear out. The American Indians and the -Australian nations wear out; they are not progressive, and as Nature -abhors a vacuum, she does not forget the vacuum wherever it may be, -whether in a hot desert, or in a cold and stately Rockville;--a very -ancient, honorable, and substantial family, that lies fallow till the -thinking faculty literally dies out. - -For several generations there had been symptoms of decay about the -Rockville family. Not in its property, that was as large as ever; not in -their personal stature and physical aspect. The Rockvilles continued, as -they always had been, a tall and not bad-looking family. But they grew -gradually less prolific. For a hundred and fifty years past there had -seldom been more than two, or at most three, children. There had -generally been an heir to the estate, and another to the family pulpit, -and sometimes a daughter married to some neighboring squire. But Sir -Roger’s father had been an only child, and Sir Roger himself was an only -child. The danger of extinction to the family, apparent as it was, had -never induced Sir Roger to marry. At the time that we are turning our -attention upon him, he had reached the mature age of sixty. Nobody -believed that Sir Roger now would marry; he was the last, and likely to -be, of his line. - -It is worth while here to take a glance at Sir Roger and his estate. -They bore a strange contrast. The one bore all the signs of progress, -the other of a stereotyped feudality. The estate which in the days of -the first Sir Roger de Rockville had been half morass and half -wilderness, was now cultivated to the pitch of British agricultural -science. The marshlands beyond the river were one splendid expanse of -richest meadows, yielding a rental of four solid pounds per acre. Over -hill and dale on this side for miles, where formerly ran wild deer, and -grew wild woodlands or furze-bushes, now lay excellent farms and -hamlets, and along the ridge of the ancient cliffs rose the most -magnificent woods. Woods, too, clothed the steep-hill sides, and swept -down to the noble river, their very boughs hanging far out over its -clear and rapid waters. In the midst of these fine woods stood Rockville -Hall, the family seat of the Rockvilles. It reared its old brick walls -above the towering mass of elms, and travellers at a distance recognized -it for what it was, the mansion of an ancient and wealthy family. - -The progress of England in arts, science, commerce, and manufacture, -had carried Sir Roger’s estate along with it. It was full of active and -moneyed farmers, and flourished under modern influences. How lucky it -would have been for the Rockville family had it done the same. - -But amid this estate there was Sir Roger solitary, and the last of the -line. He had grown well enough--there was nothing stunted about him, so -far as you could see on the surface. In stature, he exceeded six feet. -His colossal elms could not boast of a properer relative growth. He was -as large a landlord, and as tall a justice of the peace, as you could -desire; but, unfortunately, he was, after all, only the shell of a man. -Like many of his veteran elms, there was a very fine stem, only it was -hollow. There was a man, just with the rather awkward deficiency of a -soul. - -And it were no difficult task to explain, either, how this had come -about. The Rockvilles saw plainly enough the necessity of manuring their -lands, but they scorned the very idea of manuring their family. What! -that most ancient, honorable, and substantial family, suffer any of the -common earth of humanity to gather about its roots! The Rockvilles were -so careful of their good blood, that they never allied it to any but -blood as pure and inane as their own. Their elms flourished in the -rotten earth of plebeian accumulations, and their acres produced large -crops of corn from the sewage of towns and fat sinks, but the Rockvilles -themselves took especial care that no vulgar vigor from the rich heap of -ordinary human nature should infuse a new force of intellect into their -race. The Rockvilles needed nothing; they had all that an ancient, -honorable, and substantial family could need. The Rockvilles had no need -to study at school--why should they? They did not want to get on. The -Rockvilles did not aspire to distinction for talent in the world--why -should they? They had a large estate. So the Rockville soul, unused from -generation to generation, grew-- - - Fine by degrees and _spiritually_ less, - -till it tapered off into nothing. - -Look at the last of a long line in the midst of his fine estate. Tall he -was, with a stoop in his shoulders, and a bowing of his head on one -side, as if he had been accustomed to stand under the low boughs of his -woods, and peer after intruders. And that was precisely the fact. His -features were thin and sharp; his nose prominent and keen in its -character; his eyes small, black, and peering like a mole’s, or a hungry -swine’s. Sir Roger was still oracular on the bench, after consulting his -clerk, a good lawyer,--and looked up to by the neighboring squires in -election matters, for he was an unswerving tory. You never heard of a -rational thing that he had said in the whole course of his life; but -that mattered little, he was a gentleman of solemn aspect, of stately -gait, and of a very ancient family. - -With ten thousand a-year, and his rental rising, he was still, however, -a man of overwhelming cares. What mattered a fine estate if all the -world was against him? And Sir Roger firmly believed that he stood in -that predicament. He had grown up to regard the world as full of little -besides upstarts, radicals, manufacturers, and poachers. All were -banded, in his belief, against the landed interest. It demanded all the -energy of his very small faculties to defend himself and the world -against them. - -Unfortunately for his peace, a large manufacturing town had sprung up -within a couple of miles of him. He could see its red-brick walls, and -its red-tiled roofs, and its tall smoke-vomiting chimneys, growing and -extending over the slopes beyond the river. It was to him the most -irritating sight in the world; for what were all those swarming weavers -and spinners but arrant radicals, upstarts, sworn foes of the ancient -institutions and the landed interests of England? Sir Roger had passed -through many a desperate conflict with them for the return of members to -parliament. They brought forward men that were utter wormwood to all his -feelings, and they paid no more respect to him and his friends on such -occasions than they did to the meanest creature living. Reverence for -ancient blood did not exist in that plebeian and rapidly multiplying -tribe. There were master manufacturers there actually that looked and -talked as big as himself, and _entre nous_, a vast deal more cleverly. -The people talked of rights and franchises, and freedom of speech and of -conscience, in a way that was really frightful. Then they were given -most inveterately to running out in whole and everlasting crowds on -Sundays and holidays into the fields and woods; and as there was no part -of the neighborhood half so pleasant as the groves and river banks of -Rockville, they came swarming up there in crowds that were enough to -drive any man of acres frantic. - -Unluckily, there were roads all about Rockville; foot roads, and high -roads, and bridle roads. There was a road up the river side, all the way -to Rockville woods, and when it reached them, it divided like a fork, -and one prong or footpath led straight up a magnificent grove of a mile -long, ending close to the hall; and another ran all along the river -side, under the hills and branches of the wood. - -Oh, delicious were these woods! In the river there were islands, which -were covered in summer with the greenest grass, and the freshest of -willows, and the clear waters rushed around them in the most inviting -manner imaginable. And there were numbers of people extremely ready to -accept this delectable invitation of these waters. There they came in -fine weather, and as these islands were only separated from the -main-land by a little and very shallow stream, it was delightful for -lovers to get across--with laughter, and treading on stepping stones, -and slipping off the stepping-stones up to the ankles into the cool -brook, and pretty screams, and fresh laughter, and then landing on those -sunny, and to them really enchanted, islands. And then came fishermen, -solitary fishermen, and fishermen in rows; fishermen lying in the -flowery grass, with fragrant meadow-sweet and honey-breathing clover all -about their ears; and fishermen standing in file, as if they were -determined to clear all the river of fish in one day. And there were -other lovers, and troops of loiterers, and shouting roysterers, going -along under the boughs of the wood, and following the turns of that most -companionable of rivers. And there were boats going up and down; boats -full of young people, all holiday finery and mirth, and boats with -duck-hunters and other, to Sir Roger, detestable marauders, with guns -and dogs, and great bottles of beer. In the fine grove, on summer days, -there might be found hundreds of people. There were pic-nic parties, -fathers and mothers with whole families of children, and a grand -promenade of the delighted artisans and their wives or sweethearts. - -In the times prior to the sudden growth of the neighboring town, Great -Stockington, and to the simultaneous development of the love-of-nature -principle in the Stockingtonians, nothing had been thought of all these -roads. The roads were well enough till they led to these inroads. Then -Sir Roger aroused himself. This must be changed. The roads must be -stopped. Nothing was easier to his fancy. His fellow-justices, Sir -Benjamin Bullockshed and Squire Sheepshank, had asked his aid to stop -the like nuisances, and it had been done at once. So Sir Roger put up -notices all about, that the roads were to be stopped by an Order of -Session, and these notices were signed, as required by law, by their -worships of Bullockshed and Sheepshank. But Sir Roger soon found that it -was one thing to stop a road leading from One-man-Town to Lonely Lodge, -and another to attempt to stop those from Great Stockington to -Rockville. - -On the very first Sunday after the exhibition of those notice-boards, -there was a ferment in the grove of Rockville, as if all the bees in the -county were swarming there, with all the wasps and Hornets to boot. -Great crowds were collected before each of these obnoxious placards, and -the amount of curses vomited forth against them was really shocking for -any day, but more especially for a Sunday. Presently there was a rush at -them; they were torn down, and simultaneously pitched into the river. -There were great crowds swarming all about Rockville all that day, and -with looks so defiant that Sir Roger more than once contemplated -sending off for the Yeoman Cavalry to defend his house, which he -seriously thought in danger. - -But so far from being intimidated from proceeding, this demonstration -only made Sir Roger the more determined. To have so desperate and -irreverent a population coming about his house and woods, now presented -itself in a much more formidable aspect than ever. So, next day, not -only were the placards once more hoisted, but rewards offered for the -discovery of the offenders, attended with all the maledictions of the -insulted majesty of the law. No notice was taken of this, but the whole -of Great Stockington was in a buzz and an agitation. There were posters -plastered all over the walls of the town, four times as large as Sir -Roger’s notices, in this style:-- - -“Englishmen! your dearest rights are menaced! The Woods of Rockville, -your ancient, rightful, and enchanting resorts, are to be closed to you. -Stockingtonians! the eyes of the world are upon you. ‘Awake! arise! or -be forever fallen!’ England expects every man to do his duty! And your -duty is to resist and defy the grasping soil-lords, to seize on your -ancient Patrimony!” - -“Patrimony! Ancient and rightful resort of Rockville!” Sir Roger was -astounded at the audacity of this upstart, plebeian race. “What! they -actually claimed Rockville, the heritage of a hundred successive -Rockvilles, as their own. Sir Roger determined to carry it to the -Sessions; and at the Sessions was a magnificent muster of all his -friends. There was Sir Roger himself in the chair; and on either -hand, a prodigious row of county squirearchy. There was Sir -Benjamin Bullockshed, and Sir Thomas Tenterhook, and all the -squires,--Sheepshank, Ramsbottom, Turnbull, Otterbrook, and Swagsides. -The Clerk of the Session read the notice for the closing of all the -footpaths through the woods of Rockville, and declared that this notice -had been duly, and for the required period publicly posted. The -Stockingtonians protested by their able lawyer Daredeville, against any -order for the closing of these ancient woods--the inestimable property -of the public. - -“Property of the public!” exclaimed Sir Roger. “Property of the public!” -echoed the multitudinous voices of indignant Bullocksheds, Tenterhooks, -and Ramsbottoms. “Why, Sir, do you dispute the right of Sir Roger -Rockville to his own estate?” - -“By no means;” replied the undaunted Daredeville; “the estate of -Rockville is unquestionably the property of the honorable baronet, Sir -Roger Rockville; but the roads through it are the as unquestionable -property of the public.” - -The whole bench looked at itself; that is, at each other, in wrathful -astonishment. The swelling in the diaphragms of the squires Otterbrook, -Turnbull, and Swagsides, and all the rest of the worshipful row, was too -big to admit of utterance. Only Sir Roger himself burst forth with an -abrupt-- - -“Impudent fellows! But I’ll see them ---- first!” - -“Grant the order!” said Sir Benjamin Bullockshed; and the whole bench -nodded assent. The able lawyer Daredeville retired with a pleasant -smile. He saw an agreeable prospect of plenty of grist to his mill. Sir -Roger was rich, and so was Great Stockington. He rubbed his hands, not -in the least like a man defeated, and thought to himself, “Let them go -at it--all right.” - -The next day the placards on the Rockville estate were changed for -others bearing “STOPPED BY ORDER OF SESSIONS!” and alongside of them -were huge carefully painted boards, denouncing on all trespassers -prosecutions according to law. The same evening came a prodigious -invasion of Stockingtonians--tore all the boards and placards down, and -carried them on their shoulders to Great Stockington, singing as they -went, “See, the Conquering Heroes come!” They set them up in the centre -of the Stockington market-place, and burnt them, along with an effigy of -Sir Roger Rockville. - -That was grist at once to the mill of the able lawyer Daredeville. He -looked on, and rubbed his hands. Warrants were speedily issued by the -Baronets of Bullockshed and Tenterhook, for the apprehension of the -individuals who had been seen carrying off the notice-boards, for -larceny, and against a number of others for trespass. There was plenty -of work for Daredeville and his brethren of the robe; but it all ended, -after the flying about of sundry mandamuses and assize trials, in Sir -Roger finding that though Rockville was his, the roads through it were -the public’s. - -As Sir Roger drove homeward from the assize, which finally settled the -question of these footpaths, he heard the bells in all the steeples of -Great Stockington burst forth with a grand peal of triumph. He closed -fast the windows of his fine old carriage, and sunk into a corner; but -he could not drown the intolerable sound. “But,” said he, “I’ll stop -their pic-nic-ing. I’ll stop their fishing. I’ll have hold of them for -trespassing and poaching!” There was war henceforth between Rockville -and Great Stockington. - -On the very next Sunday there came literally thousands of the jubilant -Stockingtonians to Rockville. They had brought baskets, and were for -dining, and drinking success to all footpaths. But in the great grove -there were keepers, and watchers, who warned them to keep the path, that -narrow well-worn line up the middle of the grove. “What! were they not -to sit on the grass?”--“No!”--“What! were they not to pic-nic?”--“No! -not there!” - -The Stockingtonians felt a sudden damp on their spirits. But the river -bank! The cry was. “To the river bank! There they _would_ pic-nic.” The -crowd rushed away down the wood, but on the river bank they found a -whole regiment of watchers, who pointed again to the narrow line of -footpath, and told them not to trespass beyond it. But the islands! they -went over to the islands. But there too were Sir Roger’s forces, who -warned them back! There was no road there--- all found there would be -trespassers, and be duly punished. - -The Stockingtonians discovered that their triumph was not quite so -complete as they had flattered themselves. The footpaths were theirs, -but that was all. Their ancient license was at an end. If they came -there, there was no more fishing; if they came in crowds, there was no -more pic-nic-ing; if they walked through the woods in numbers, they must -keep to Indian file, or they were summoned before the county magistrates -for trespass, and were soundly fined; and not even the able Daredeville -would undertake to defend them. - -The Stockingtonians were chop-fallen, but they were angry and dogged; -and they thronged up to the village and the front of the hall. They -filled the little inn in the hamlet--they went by scores, and roving all -over the churchyard, read epitaphs - - That teach the rustic moralists to die, - -but don’t teach them to give up their old indulgences very -good-humoredly. They went and sat in rows on the old churchyard wall, -opposite to the very windows of the irate Sir Roger. They felt -themselves beaten, and Sir Roger felt himself beaten. True, he could -coerce them to the keeping of the footpaths--but, then, they had the -footpaths! True, thought the Stockingtonians, we have the footpaths, but -then the pic-nic-ing, and the fishing, and the islands! The -Stockingtonians were full of sullen wrath, and Sir Roger was--oh, most -expressive old Saxon phrase--HAIRSORE! Yes, he was one universal wound -of vexation and jealousy of his rights. Every hair in his body was like -a pin sticking into him. Come within a dozen yards of him; nay, at the -most, blow on him, and he was excruciated--you rubbed his sensitive -hairs at a furlong’s distance. - -The next Sunday the people found the churchyard locked up, except during -service, when beadles walked there, and desired them not to loiter and -disturb the congregation, closing the gates, and showing them out like a -flock of sheep the moment the service was over. This was fuel to the -already boiling blood of Stockington. The week following, what was their -astonishment to find the much frequented inn gone! it was actually gone! -not a trace of it; but the spot where it had stood for ages, turfed, -planted with young spruce trees, and fenced off with post and rail! The -exasperated people now launched forth an immensity of fulminations -against the churl Sir Roger, and a certain number of them resolved to -come and seat themselves in the street of the hamlet and there dine; but -a terrific thunderstorm, which seemed in league with Sir Roger, soon -routed them, drenched them through, and on attempting to seek shelter in -the cottages, the poor people said they were very sorry, but it was as -much as their holdings were worth, and they dare not admit them. - -Sir Roger had triumphed! It was all over with the old delightful days at -Rockville. There was an end of pic-nic-ing, of fishing, and of roving in -the islands. One sturdy disciple of Izaak Walton, indeed, dared to fling -a line from the banks of Rockville grove, but Sir Roger came upon him -and endeavored to seize him. The man coolly walked into the middle of -the river, and, without a word, continued his fishing. - -“Get out there!” exclaimed Sir Roger, “that is still on my property.” -The man walked through the river to the other bank, where he knew that -the land was rented by a farmer. “Give over,” shouted Sir Roger, “I tell -you the water is mine.” - -“Then,” said the fellow, “bottle it up, and be hanged to you! Don’t you -see it is running away to Stockington?” - -There was bad blood between Rockville and Stockington forever. -Stockington was incensed, and Sir Roger was hairsore. - -A new nuisance sprung up. The people of Stockington looked on the -cottagers of Rockville as sunk in deepest darkness under such a man as -Sir Roger and his cousin the vicar. They could not pic-nic, but they -thought they could hold a camp-meeting; they could not fish for roach, -but they thought they might for souls. Accordingly there assembled -crowds of Stockingtonians on the green of Rockville, with a chair and a -table, and a preacher with his head bound in a red handkerchief; and -soon there was a sound of hymns, and a zealous call to come out of the -darkness of the spiritual Babylon. But this was more than Sir Roger -could bear; he rushed forth with all his servants, keepers, and -cottagers, overthrew the table, and routing the assembly, chased them to -the boundary of his estate. - -The discomfited Stockingtonians now fulminated awful judgments on the -unhappy Sir Roger, as a persecutor and a malignant. They dared not enter -again on his parish, but they came to the very verge of it, and held -weekly meetings on the highway, in which they sang and declaimed as -loudly as possible, that the winds might bear their voices to Sir -Roger’s ears. - -To such a position was now reduced the last of the long line of -Rockville. The spirit of a policeman had taken possession of him. He had -keepers and watchers out on all sides, but that did not satisfy him. He -was perpetually haunted with the idea that poachers were after his game, -that trespassers were in his woods. His whole life was now spent in -stealing to and fro in his fields and plantations, and prowling along -his river side. He lurked under hedges, and watched for long hours -under the forest trees. If any one had a curiosity to see Sir Roger, -they had only to enter his fields by the wood side, and wander a few -yards from the path, and he was almost sure to spring out over the -hedge, and in angry tones demand their name and address. The descendant -of the chivalrous and steel-clad De Rockvilles was sunk into a restless -spy on his own ample property. There was but one idea in his -mind--encroachment. It was destitute of all other furniture but the -musty technicalities of warrants and commitments. There was a stealthy -and skulking manner in everything that he did. He went to church on -Sundays, but it was no longer by the grand iron gate opposite to his -house, that stood generally with a large spider’s web woven over the -lock, and several others in different corners of the fine iron tracery, -bearing evidence of the long period since it had been opened. How -different to the time when the Sir Roger and Lady of Rockville had had -these gates thrown wide on a Sunday morning, and, with all their train -of household servants at their back, with true antique dignity, marched -with much proud humility into the house of God. Now, Sir Roger--the -solitary, suspicious, undignified Sir Roger, the keeper and policeman of -his own property--stole in at a little side gate from his paddock, and -back the same way, wondering all the time whether there was not somebody -in his pheasant preserves, or Sunday trespassers in his grove. - -If you entered his house, it gave you as cheerless a feeling as its -owner. There was the conservatory, so splendid with rich plants and -flowers in his mother’s time--now a dusty receptacle of hampers, broken -hand-glasses, and garden tools. These tools could never be used, for the -gardens were grown wild. Tall grass grew in the walks, and the huge -unpruned shrubs disputed the passage with you. In the wood above the -gardens, reached by several flights of fine, but now moss-grown, steps, -there stood a pavilion, once clearly very beautiful. It was now damp and -ruinous--its walls covered with greenness and crawling insects. It was -a great lurking-place of Sir Roger when on the watch for poachers. - -The line of the Rockvilles was evidently running fast out. It had -reached the extremity of imbecility and contempt--it must soon reach its -close. - -Sir Roger used to make his regular annual visit to town; but of late, -when there, he had wandered restlessly about the streets, peeping into -the shop-windows; and if it rained, standing under entries for hours -together, till it was gone over. The habit of lurking and peering about, -was upon him; and his feet bore him instinctively into those narrow and -crowded alleys where swarm the poachers of the city--the trespassers and -anglers in the game preserves and streams of humanity. He had lost all -pleasures in his club; the most exciting themes of political life -retained no piquancy for him. His old friends ceased to find any -pleasure in him. He was become the driest of all dry wells. Poachers, -and anglers, and Methodists, haunted the wretched purlieus of his fast -fading-out mind, and he resolved to go to town no more. His whole -nature was centred in his woods. He was forever on the watch; and when -at Rockville again, if he heard a door clap when in bed, he thought it a -gun in his woods, and started up, and was out with his keepers. - -Of what value was that magnificent estate to him?--those superb woods; -those finely-hanging cliffs; that clear and _riant_ river coming -travelling on, and taking a noble sweep below his windows,--that -glorious expanse of neat verdant meadows stretching almost to -Stockington, and enlivened by numerous herds of the most beautiful -cattle--those old farms and shady lanes overhung with hazel and wild -rose; the glittering brook, and the songs of woodland birds--what were -they to that worn-out old man, that victim of the delusive doctrine of -blood, of the man-trap of an hereditary name? - -There the poet could come, and feel the presence of divinity in that -noble scene, and hear sublime whispers in the trees, and create new -heavens and earths from the glorious chaos of nature around him, and in -one short hour live an empyrean of celestial life and love. There could -come the very humblest children of the plebeian town, and feel a throb -of exquisite delight pervade their bosoms at the sight of the very -flowers on the sod, and see heaven in the infinite blue above them. And -poor Sir Roger, the holder, but not the possessor of all, walked only in -a region of sterility, with no sublimer ideas than poachers and -trespassers--no more rational enjoyment than the brute indulgence of -hunting like a ferret, and seizing his fellow-men like a bull-dog. He -was a specimen of human nature degenerated, retrograded from the divine -to the bestial, through the long-operating influences of false notions -and institutions, continued beyond their time. He had only the soul of a -keeper. Had he been only a keeper, he had been a much happier man. - -His time was at hand. The severity which he had long dealt out towards -all sorts of offenders made him the object of the deepest vengeance. In -a lonely hollow of his woods, watching at midnight with two of his men, -there came a sturdy knot of poachers. An affray ensued. The men -perceived that their old enemy, Sir Roger, was there; and the blow of a -hedge-stake stretched him on the earth. His keepers fled--and thus -ignominiously terminated the long line of the Rockvilles. Sir Roger was -the last of his line, but not of his class. There is a feudal art of -sinking, which requires no study; and the Rockvilles are but one family -among thousands who have perished in its practice. - - * * * * * - -In Great Stockington there lived a race of paupers. From the year of the -42d of Elizabeth, or 1601, down to the present generation, this race -maintained an uninterrupted descent. They were a steady and unbroken -line of paupers, as the parish books testify. From generation to -generation their demands on the parish funds stand recorded. There were -no _lacunæ_ in their career; there never failed an heir to these -families; fed on the bread of idleness and legal provision, these people -nourished, increased, and multiplied. Sometimes compelled to work for -the weekly dole which they received, they never acquired a taste for -labor, or lost the taste for the bread for which they did not labor. -These paupers regarded this maintenance by no means as a disgrace. They -claimed it as a right,--as their patrimony. They contended that -one-third of the property of the Church had been given by benevolent -individuals for the support of the poor, and that what the Reformation -wrongfully deprived them of, the great enactment of Elizabeth -rightfully--and only rightfully--restored. - -Those who imagine that all paupers merely claimed parish relief because -the law ordained it, commit a great error. There were numbers who were -hereditary paupers, and that on a tradition carefully handed down, that -they were only manfully claiming their own. They traced their claims -from the most ancient feudal times, when the lord was as much bound to -maintain his villein in gross, as the villein was to work for the lord. -These paupers were, in fact, or claimed to be, the original _adscripti -glebæ_, and to have as much a claim to parish support as the landed -proprietor had to his land. For this reason, in the old Catholic times, -after they had escaped from villenage by running away and remaining -absent from their hundred for a year and a day, dwelling for that period -in a walled town, these people were among the most diligent attendants -at the Abbey doors, and when the Abbeys were dissolved, were, no doubt, -among the most daring of these thieves, vagabonds, and sturdy rogues, -who, after the Robin Hood fashion, beset the highways and solitary farms -of England, and claimed their black mail in a very unceremonious style. -It was out of this class that Henry VIII. hanged his seventy-two -thousand during his reign, and, as it is said, without appearing -materially to diminish their number. - -That they continued to “increase, multiply, and replenish the earth,” -overflowing all bounds, overpowering by mere populousness all the severe -laws against them of whipping, burning in the hand, in the forehead or -the breast, and hanging, and filling the whole country with alarm, is -evident by the very act itself of Elizabeth. - -Among these hereditary paupers who, as we have said, were found in -Stockington, there was a family of the name of Deg. This family had -never failed to demand and enjoy what it held to be its share of its -ancient inheritance. It appeared from the parish records, that they had -practised in different periods the crafts of shoe-making, tailoring, and -chimney-sweeping; but since the invention of the stocking frame, they -had, one and all of them, followed the profession of stocking-weavers, -or as they were there called, stockingers. This was a trade which -required no extreme exertion of the physical or intellectual powers. To -sit in a frame, and throw the arms to and fro, was a thing that might -either be carried to a degree of extreme diligence, or be let down into -a mere apology for idleness. An “idle stockinger” was there no very -uncommon phrase, and the Degs were always classed under that head. -Nothing could be more admirably adapted than this trade for building a -plan of parish relief upon. The Degs did not pretend to be absolutely -without work, or the parish authorities would soon have set them to some -real labor,--a thing that they particularly recoiled from, having a very -old adage in the family, that “hard work was enough to kill a man.” The -Degs were seldom, therefore, out of work, but they did not get enough to -meet and tie. They had but little work if times were bad, and if they -were good, they had large families and sickly wives or children. Be -times what they would, therefore, the Degs were due and successful -attendants at the parish pay-table. Nay, so much was this a matter of -course, that they came at length not even to trouble themselves to -receive their pay, but sent their young children for it; and it was duly -paid. Did any parish officer, indeed, turn restive, and decline to pay a -Deg, he soon found himself summoned before a magistrate, and such pleas -of sickness, want of work, and poor earnings brought up, that he most -likely got a sharp rebuke from the benevolent but uninquiring -magistrate, and acquired a character for hard-heartedness that stuck to -him. - -So parish overseers learned to let the Degs alone; and their children -regularly brought up to receive the parish money for their parents, were -impatient as they grew up to receive it for themselves. Marriages in the -Deg family were consequently very early, and there were plenty of -instances of married Degs claiming parish relief under the age of -twenty, on the plea of being the parent of two children. One such -precocious individual being asked by a rather verdant officer why he had -married before he was able to maintain a family, replied, in much -astonishment, that he had married in order to maintain himself by parish -assistance. That he never had been able to maintain himself by his -labor, nor ever expected to do it; his only hope, therefore, lay in -marrying and becoming the father of two children, to which patriarchal -rank he had now attained, and demanded his “pay.” - -Thus had lived and flourished the Degs on their ancient patrimony, the -parish, for upwards of two hundred years. Nay, we have no doubt whatever -that, if it could have been traced, they had enjoyed an ancestry of -paupers as long as the pedigree of Sir Roger Rockville himself. In the -days of the most perfect villenage, they had, doubtless, eaten the bread -of idleness, and claimed it as a right. They were numerous, improvident, -ragged in dress, and fond of an ale-house and of gossip. Like the blood -of Sir Roger, their blood had become peculiar through a long persistence -of the same circumstances. It was become pure pauper blood. The Degs -married, if not entirely among Degs, yet among the same class. None but -a pauper would dream of marrying a Deg. The Degs, therefore, were in -constitution, in mind, in habit, and in inclination, paupers. But a pure -and unmixed class of this kind does not die out like an aristocratic -stereotype. It increases and multiplies. The lower the grade, the more -prolific, as is sometimes seen on a large and even national scale. The -Degs threatened, therefore, to become a most formidable clan in the -lower purlieus of Stockington, but luckily there is so much virtue even -in evils, that one, not rarely cures another. War, the great evil, -cleared the town of Degs. - -Fond of idleness, of indulgence, of money easily got, and as easily -spent, the Degs were rapidly drained off by recruiting parties during -the last war. The young men enlisted, and were marched away; the young -women married soldiers that were quartered in the town from time to -time, and marched away with them. There were, eventually, none of the -once numerous Degs left except a few old people, whom death was sure to -draft off at no distant period with his regiment of the line which has -no end. Parish overseers, magistrates, and master manufacturers, -felicitated themselves at this unhoped-for deliverance from the ancient -family of the Degs. - -But one cold, clear winter evening, the east wind piping its sharp -sibilant ditty in the bare-shorn hedges, and poking his sharp fingers -into the sides of well broad-clothed men by way of passing jest, Mr. -Spires, a great manufacturer of Stockington, driving in his gig some -seven miles from the town, passed a poor woman with a stout child on her -back. The large ruddy-looking man in the prime of life, and in the -great-coat and thick-worsted gloves of a wealthy traveller, cast a -glance at the wretched creature trudging heavily on, expecting a pitiful -appeal to his sensibilities, and thinking it a bore to have to pull off -a glove and dive into his pocket for a copper; but to his surprise there -was no demand, only a low curtsey, and the glimpse of a face of singular -honesty of expression, and of excessive weariness. - -Spires was a man of warm feelings; he looked earnestly at the woman, and -thought he had never seen such a picture of fatigue in his life. He -pulled up and said, - -“You seem very tired, my good woman.” - -“Awfully tired, sir.” - -“And are you going far to-night?” - -“To Great Stockington, sir, if God give me strength.” - -“To Stockington!” exclaimed Mr. Spires. “Why you seem ready to drop. -You’ll never reach it. You’d better stop at the next village.” - -“Ay, sir, it’s easy stopping for those that have money.” - -“And you’ve none, eh?” - -“As God lives, sir, I’ve a sixpence, and that’s all.” - -Mr. Spires put his hand in his pocket, and held out to her the next -instant half-a-crown. - -“There stop, poor thing--make yourself comfortable--it’s quite out of -the question to reach Stockington. But stay--are your friends living in -Stockington--what are you?” - -“A poor soldier’s widow, sir. And may God Almighty bless you!” said the -poor woman, taking the money, the tears standing in her large brown eyes -as she curtsied very low. - -“A soldier’s widow,” said Mr. Spires. She had touched the softest place -in the manufacturer’s heart, for he was a very loyal man, and vehement -champion of his country’s honor in the war. “So young,” said he, “how -did you lose your husband?” - -“He fell, sir,” said the poor woman; but she could get no further; she -suddenly caught up the corner of her gray cloak, covered her face with -it, and burst into an excess of grief. - -The manufacturer felt as if he had hit the woman a blow by his careless -question; he sat watching her for a moment in silence, and then said, -“Come, get into the gig, my poor woman; come, I must see you to -Stockington.” - -The poor woman dried her tears, and heavily climbed into the gig, -expressing her gratitude in a very touching and modest manner. Spires -buttoned the apron over her, and taking a look at the child, said in a -cheerful tone to comfort her, “Bless me, but that is a fine thumping -fellow, though. I don’t wonder you are tired, carrying such a load.” - -The poor woman pressed the stout child, apparently two years old, to her -breast, as if she felt it a great blessing and no load: the gig drove -rapidly on. - -Presently Mr. Spires resumed his conversation. - -“So you are from Stockington?” - -“No, sir; my husband was.” - -“So: what was his name?” - -“John Deg, sir.” - -“Deg?” said Mr. Spires. “Deg, did you say?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -The manufacturer seemed to hitch himself off towards his own side of the -gig, gave another look at her, and was silent. The poor woman was -somewhat astonished at his look and movement, and was silent too. - -After awhile Mr. Spires said again, “And do you hope to find friends in -Stockington? Had you none where you came from?” - -“None, sir, none in the world!” said the poor woman, and again her -feelings seemed too strong for her. At length she added, “I was in -service, sir, at Poole, in Dorsetshire, when I married; my mother only -was living, and while I was away with my husband, she died. When--when -the news came from abroad--that--when I was a widow, sir, I went back to -my native place, and the parish officers said I must go to my husband’s -parish, lest I and my child should become troublesome.” - -“You asked relief of them?” - -“Never; oh, God knows, never! My family have never asked a penny of a -parish. They would die first, and so would I, sir; but they said I might -do it, and I had better go to my husband’s parish at once--and they -offered me money to go.” - -“And you took it, of course?” - -“No, sir; I had a little money, which I had earned by washing and -laundering, and I sold most of my things, as I could not carry them, and -came off. I felt hurt, sir; my heart rose against the treatment of the -parish, and I thought I should be better among my husband’s -friends--and my child would, if anything happened to me; I had no -friends of my own.” - -Mr. Spires looked at the woman in silence. “Did your husband tell you -anything of his friends? What sort of a man was he?” - -“Oh, he was a gay young fellow, rather, sir; but not bad to me. He -always said his friends were well off in Stockington.” - -“He did!” said the manufacturer, with a great stare, and as if bolting -the words from his heart in a large gust of wonder. - -The poor woman again looked at him with a strange look. The manufacturer -whistled to himself, and giving his horse a smart cut with the whip, -drove on faster than ever. The night was fast settling down; it was -numbing cold; a gray fog rose from the river as they thundered over the -old bridge; and tall engine chimneys, and black smoky houses loomed -through the dusk before them. They were at Stockington. - -As they slackened their pace up a hill at the entrance of the town, Mr. -Spires again opened his mouth. - -“I should be sorry to hurt your feelings, Mrs. Deg,” he said, “but I -have my fears that you are coming to this place with false expectations. -I fear your husband did not give you the truest possible account of his -family here.” - -“Oh, Sir! What--what is it?” exclaimed the poor woman; “in God’s name, -tell me!” - -“Why, nothing more than this,” said the manufacturer, “that there are -very few of the Degs left here. They are old, and on the parish, and can -do nothing for you.” - -The poor woman gave a deep sigh, and was silent. - -“But don’t be cast down,” said Mr. Spires. He would not tell her what a -pauper family it really was, for he saw that she was a very feeling -woman, and he thought she would learn that soon enough. He felt that her -husband had from vanity given her a false account of his connections; -and he was really sorry for her. - -“Don’t be cast down,” he went on, “you can wash and iron, you say; you -are young and strong; those are your friends. Depend on them, and -they’ll be better friends to you than any other.” - -The poor woman was silent, leaning her head down on her slumbering -child, and crying to herself; and thus they drove on, through many long -and narrow streets, with gas flaring from the shops, but with few people -in the streets, and these hurrying shivering along the payment, so -intense was the cold. Anon they stopped at a large pair of gates; the -manufacturer rung a bell, which he could reach from his gig, and the -gates presently were flung open, and they drove into a spacious yard, -with a large handsome house, having a bright lamp burning before it, on -one side of the yard, and tall warehouses on the other. - -“Show this poor woman and her child to Mrs. Craddock’s, James,” said Mr. -Spires, “and tell Mrs. Craddock to make them very comfortable; and if -you will come to my warehouse to-morrow,” added he, addressing the poor -woman, “perhaps I can be of some use to you.” - -The poor woman poured out her heartfelt thanks, and following the old -man servant, soon disappeared, hobbling over the pebbly pavement with -her living load, stiffened almost to stone by her fatigue and her cold -ride. - -We must not pursue too minutely our narrative. Mrs. Deg was engaged to -do the washing and getting up of Mr. Spire’s linen, and the manner in -which she executed her task insured her recommendations to all their -friends. Mrs. Deg was at once in full employ. She occupied a neat house -in a yard near the meadows below the town, and in those meadows she -might be seen spreading out her clothes to whiten on the grass, attended -by her stout little boy. In the same yard lived a shoemaker, who had two -or three children of about the same age as Mrs. Deg’s child. The -children, as time went on, became play-fellows. Little Simon might be -said to have the free run of the shoemaker’s house, and he was the more -attracted thither by the shoemaker’s birds, and by his flute, on which -he often played after his work was done. - -Mrs. Deg took a great friendship for this shoemaker; and he and his -wife, a quiet, kind-hearted woman, were almost all the acquaintances -that she cultivated. She had found out her husband’s parents, but they -were not of a description that at all pleased her. They were old and -infirm, but they were of the true pauper breed, a sort of person, whom -Mrs. Deg had been taught to avoid and to despise. They looked on her as -a sort of second parish, and insisted that she should come and live with -them, and help to maintain them out of her earnings. But Mrs. Deg would -rather her little boy had died than have been familiarized with the -spirit and habits of those old people. Despise them she struggled hard -not to do, and she agreed to allow them sufficient to maintain them on -condition that they desisted from any further application to the parish. -It would be a long and disgusting story to recount all the troubles, -annoyance, and querulous complaints, and even bitter accusations that -she received from these connections, whom she could never satisfy; but -she considered it one of her crosses in her life, and patiently bore it, -seeing that they suffered no real want, so long as they lived, which was -for years; but she would never allow her little Simon to be with them -alone. - -The shoemaker neighbor was a stout protection to her against the greedy -demands of these old people, and of others of the old Degs, and also -against another class of inconvenient visitors, namely, suitors, who saw -in Mrs. Deg a neat and comely young woman with a flourishing business, -and a neat and soon well-furnished house, a very desirable acquisition. -But Mrs. Deg had resolved never again to marry, but to live for her boy, -and she kept her resolve in firmness and gentleness. - -The shoemaker often took walks in the extensive town meadows to gather -groundsell and plantain for his canaries and gorse-linnets, and little -Simon Deg delighted to accompany him with his own children. There -William Watson, the shoemaker, used to point out to the children the -beauty of the flowers, the insects, and other objects of nature; and -while he sate on a stile and read in a little old book of poetry, as he -often used to do, the children sate on the summer grass, and enjoyed -themselves in a variety of plays. - -The effect of these walks, and the shoemaker’s conversation on little -Simon Deg was such as never wore out of him through his whole life, and -soon led him to astonish the shoemaker by his extraordinary conduct. He -manifested the utmost uneasiness at their treading on the flowers in the -grass; he would burst with tears if they persisted in it; and when asked -why, he said they were so beautiful, and that they must enjoy the -sunshine, and be very unhappy to die. The shoemaker was amazed, but -indulged the lad’s fancy. One day he thought to give him a great treat, -and when they were out in the meadows, he drew from under his coat, a -bow and arrow, and shot the arrow high up in the air. He expected to see -him in an ecstacy of delight; his own children clapped their hands in -transport, but Simon stood silent, and as if awestruck. “Shall I send up -another?” asked the shoemaker. - -“No, no,” exclaimed the child, imploringly. “You say God lives up there, -and he mayn’t like it.” - -The shoemaker laughed, but presently he said, as if to himself, “There -is too much imagination there. There will be a poet, if we don’t take -care.” - -The shoemaker offered to teach Simon to read, and to solidify his mind, -as he termed it, by arithmetic, and then to teach him to work at his -trade. His mother was very glad; and thought shoemaking would be a good -trade for the boy; and that with Mr. Watson she should have him always -near her. He was growing now a great lad, and was especially strong, and -of a frank and daring habit. He was especially indignant at any act of -oppression of the weak by the strong, and not seldom got into trouble by -his championship of the injured in such cases amongst the boys of the -neighborhood. - -He was now about twelve years of age; when, going one day with a basket -of clothes on his head to Mr. Spires’s for his mother, he was noticed by -Mr. Spires himself from his counting-house window. The great war was -raging; there was much distress amongst the manufacturers; and the -people were suffering and exasperated against their masters. Mr. Spires, -as a staunch tory, and supporter of the war, was particularly obnoxious -to the work-people, who uttered violent threats against him. For this -reason his premises were strictly guarded, and at the entrance of his -yard, just within the gates, was chained a huge and fierce mastiff, his -chain allowing him to approach near enough to intimidate any stranger, -though not to reach him. The dog knew the people who came regularly -about, and seemed not to notice them, but on the entrance of a stranger, -he rose up, barked fiercely, and came to the length of his chain. This -always drew the attention of the porter, if he were away from his box, -and few persons dared to pass till he came. - -Simon Deg was advancing with the basket of clean linen on his head, -when the dog rushed out, and barking loudly, came exactly opposite to -him, within a few feet. The boy, a good deal startled at first, reared -himself with his back against the wall, but at a glance perceiving that -the dog was at the length of his tether, he seemed to enjoy his -situation, and stood smiling at the furious animal, and lifting his -basket with both hands above his head, nodded to him, as if to say, -“Well, old boy, you’d like to eat me, wouldn’t you?” - -Mr. Spires, who sate near his counting-house window at his books, was -struck with the bold and handsome bearing of the boy, and said to a -clerk, “What boy is that?” - -“It is Jenny Deg’s,” was the answer. - -“Ha! that boy! Zounds! how boys do grow! What that’s the child that -Jenny Deg was carrying when she came to Stockington; and what a strong, -handsome, bright-looking fellow he is now!” - -As the boy was returning, Mr. Spires call him to the counting-house -door, and put some questions to him as to what he was doing and -learning, and so on. Simon, taking off his cap with much respect, -answered in such a clear and modest way, and with a voice that had so -much feeling and natural music in it, that the worthy manufacturer was -greatly taken with him. - -“That’s no Deg,” said he, when he again entered the counting-house, “not -a bit of it. He’s all Goodrick, or whatever his mother’s name was, every -inch of him.” - -The consequences of that interview was, that Simon Deg was very soon -after perched on a stool in Mr. Spires’ counting-house, where he -continued till he was twenty-two. Mr. Spires had no son, only a single -daughter; and such were Simon Deg’s talents, attention to business, and -genial disposition, that at that age Mr. Spires gave him a share in the -concern. He was himself now getting less fond of exertion than he had -been, and placed the most implicit reliance on Simon’s judgment and -general management. Yet no two men could be more unlike in their -opinions beyond the circle of trade. Mr. Spires was a staunch tory of -the staunch old school. He was for Church and King, and for things -remaining forever as they had been. Simon, on the other hand, had -liberal and reforming notions. He was for the improvement of the people, -and their admission to many privileges. Mr. Spires was, therefore, liked -by the leading men of the place, and disliked by the people. Simon’s -estimation was precisely in the opposite direction. But this did not -disturb their friendship; it required another disturbing cause--and that -came. - -Simon Deg and the daughter of Mr. Spires, grew attached to each other; -and, as the father had thought Simon worthy of becoming a partner in the -business, neither of the young people deemed that he would object to a -partnership of a more domestic description. But here they made a -tremendous mistake. No sooner was such a proposal hinted it, than Mr. -Spires burst forth with the fury of all the winds from the bag of -Ulysses. - -“What! a Deg aspire to the hand of the sole heiress of the enormously -opulent Spires?” - -The very thought almost cut the proud manufacturer off with an -apoplexy. The ghosts of a thousand paupers rose up before him, and he -was black in the face. It was only by a prompt and bold application of -leeches and lancet, that the life of the great man was saved. But there -was an end of all further friendship between himself and the expectant -Simon. He insisted that he should withdraw from the concern, and it was -done. Simon, who felt his own dignity deeply wounded too, for dignity he -had, though the last of a long line of paupers--his own dignity, not his -ancestors’--took silently, yet not unrespectfully, his share--a good, -round sum, and entered another house of business. - -For several years there appeared to be a feud and a bitterness between -the former friends; yet it showed itself in no other manner than by a -careful avoidance of each other. The continental war came to an end; the -manufacturing distress increased exceedingly. There came troublous -times, and a fierce warfare of politics. Great Stockington was torn -asunder by rival parties. On one side stood pre-eminent, Mr. Spires; on -the other towered conspicuously, Simon Deg. Simon was grown rich, and -extremely popular. He was on all occasions the advocate of the people. -He said that he had sprung from, and was one of them. He had bought a -large tract of land on one side of the town; and intensely fond of the -country and flowers himself, he had divided this into gardens, built -little summer-houses in them, and let them to the artisans. In his -factory he had introduced order, cleanliness, and ventilation. He had -set up a school for the children in the evenings, with a reading-room -and conversation-room for the work-people, and encouraged them to bring -their families there, and enjoy music, books, and lectures. Accordingly, -he was the idol of the people, and the horror of the old school of the -manufacturers. - -“A pretty upstart and demagogue I’ve nurtured,” said Mr. Spires often to -his wife and daughter, who only sighed and were silent. - -Then came a furious election. The town, for a fortnight, more resembled -the worst corner of Tartarus than a Christian borough. Drunkenness, -riot, pumping on one another, spencering one another, all sorts of -violence and abuse ruled and raged till the blood of all Stockington was -at boiling heat. In the midst of the tempest were everywhere seen, -ranged on the opposite sides, Mr. Spires, now old and immensely -corpulent, and Simon Deg, active, buoyant, zealous, and popular beyond -measure. But popular though, he still was, the other and old tory side -triumphed. The people were exasperated to madness; and when the chairing -of the successful candidate commenced, there was a terrific attack made -on the procession by the defeated party. Down went the chair, and the -new member, glad to escape into an inn, saw his friends mercilessly -assailed by the populace. There was a tremendous tempest of sticks, -brick-bats, paving-stones, and rotten eggs. In the midst of this, Simon -Deg, and a number of his friends, standing at the upper window of a -hotel, saw Mr. Spires knocked down, and trampled on by the crowd. In an -instant, and, before his friends had missed him from among them, Simon -Deg was then darting through the raging mass, cleaving his way with a -surprising vigor, and gesticulating, and no doubt shouting vehemently to -the rioters, though his voice was lost in the din. In the next moment -his hat was knocked off, and himself appeared in imminent danger; but, -another moment, and there was a pause, and a group of people were -bearing somebody from the frantic mob into a neighboring shop. It was -Simon Deg, assisting in the rescue of his old friend and benefactor, Mr. -Spires. - -Mr. Spires was a good deal bruised, and wonderfully confounded and -bewildered by his fall. His clothes were one mass of mud, and his face -was bleeding copiously; but when he had had a good draught of water, and -his face washed, and had time to recover himself, it was found that he -had received no serious injury. - -“They had like to have done for me though,” said he. - -“Yes, and who saved you?” asked a gentleman. - -“Ay, who was it? who was it?” asked the really warm-hearted -manufacturer; “let me know? I owe him my life.” - -“There he is!” said several gentlemen, at the same instant pushing -forward Simon Deg. - -“What, Simon!” said Mr. Spires, starting to his feet. “Was it thee, my -boy?” He did more, he stretched out his hand; the young man clasped it -eagerly, and the two stood silent, and with a heartfelt emotion, which -blended all the past into forgetfulness, and the future into a union -more sacred than esteem. - -A week hence and Simon Deg was the son-in-law of Mr. Spires. Though Mr. -Spires had misunderstood Simon, and Simon had borne the aspect of -opposition to his old friend in defence of conscientious principle, the -wife and daughter of the manufacturer had always understood him, and -secretly looked forward to some day of recognition and re-union. - -Simon Deg was now the richest man in Stockington. His mother was still -living to enjoy his elevation. She had been his excellent and wise -house-keeper, and she continued to occupy that post still. - -Twenty-five years afterwards, when the worthy old Spires was dead, and -Simon Deg had himself two sons attained to manhood; when he had five -times been mayor of Stockington, and had been knighted on the -presentation of a loyal address; still his mother was living to see it; -and William Watson, the shoe-maker, was acting as the sort of orderly at -Sir Simon’s chief manufactory. He occupied the Lodge, and walked about, -and saw that all was safe, and moving on as it should do. - -It was amazing how the most plebeian name of Simon Peg had slid, under -the hands of the Heralds, into the really aristocratical one of Sir -Simon Degge. They had traced him up a collateral kinship, spite of his -own consciousness, to a baronet of the same name of the county of -Stafford, and had given him a coat of arms that was really astonishing. - -It was some years before this that Sir Roger Rockville breathed his -last. His title and estate had fallen into litigation. Owing to two -generations having passed without any issue of the Rockville family -except the one son and heir, the claims, though numerous, were so -mingled with obscuring circumstances, and so equally balanced, that the -lawyers raised quibbles and difficulties enough to keep the property in -Chancery, till they had not only consumed all the ready money and -rental, but had made frightful inroads into the estate itself. To save -the remnant, the contending parties came to a compromise. A neighboring -squire, whose grandfather had married a Rockville, was allowed to secure -the title, on condition that the rest carried off the residuum of the -estate. The woods and lands of Rockville were announced for sale! - -It was at this juncture that old William Watson reminded Sir Simon Degge -of a conversation in the great grove of Rockville, which they had held -at the time that Sir Roger was endeavoring to drive the people thence. -“What a divine pleasure might this man enjoy,” said Simon Deg to his -humble friend, “if he had a heart capable of letting others enjoy -themselves.” - -“But we talk without the estate,” said William Watson, “what might we do -if we were tried with it?” - -Sir Simon was silent for a moment; then observed that there was sound -philosophy in William Watson’s remark. He said no more, but went away; -and the next day announced to the astonished old man that he had -purchased the groves and the whole ancient estate of Rockville! - -Sir Simon Degge, the last of a long line of paupers, was become the -possessor of the noble estate of Sir Roger Rockville of Rockville, the -last of a long line of aristocrats! - -The following summer, when the hay was lying in fragrant cocks in the -great meadows of Rockville, and on the little islands in the river, Sir -Simon Degge, Baronet of Rockville,--for such was now his title--through -the suggestion of a great lawyer, formerly recorder of the borough of -Stockington to the crown--held a grand fête on the occasion of his -coming to reside at Rockville Hall, henceforth the family seat of the -Degges. His house and gardens had been restored to the most consummate -order. For years Sir Simon had been a great purchaser of works of art -and literature, paintings, statuary, books, and articles of antiquity, -including rich armor and precious works in ivory and gold. - -First and foremost he gave a great banquet to his wealthy friends, and -no man with a million and a half is without them--and in abundance. In -the second place, he gave a substantial dinner to all his tenantry, from -the wealthy farmer of five hundred acres to the tenant of a cottage. On -this occasion he said, “Game is a great subject of heart-burning, and of -great injustice to the country. It was the bane of my predecessor; let -us take care it is not ours. Let every man kill the game on the land -that he rents--then he will not destroy it utterly, nor allow it to grow -into a nuisance. I am fond of a gun myself, but I trust to find enough -for my propensity to the chase in my own fields and woods--if I -occasionally extend my pursuit across the lands of my tenants, it shall -not be to carry off the first-fruits of their feeding, and I shall still -hold the enjoyment as a favor.” - -We need not say that this speech was applauded most vociferously. -Thirdly, and lastly, he gave a grand entertainment to all his -work-people, both of the town and the country. His house and gardens -were thrown open to the inspection of the whole assembled company. The -delighted crowd admired immensely the pictures and the pleasant gardens. -On the lawn, lying between the great grove and the hall, an enormous -tent was pitched, or rather a vast canvas canopy erected, open on all -sides, in which was laid a charming banquet; a military band from -Stockington barracks playing during the time. Here Sir Simon made a -speech as rapturously received as that to the farmers. It was to the -effect, that all the old privileges of wandering in the grove, and -angling, and boating on the river, were restored. The inn was already -rebuilt in a handsome Elizabethan style, larger than before, and to -prevent it ever becoming a fane of intemperance, he had there posted as -landlord, he hoped for many years to come, his old friend and -benefactor, William Watson. William Watson should protect the inn from -riot, and they themselves the groves and river banks from injury. - -Long and loud were the applauses which this announcement occasioned. The -young people turned out upon the green for a dance, and in the evening, -after an excellent tea--the whole company descended the river to -Stockington in boats and barges decorated with boughs and flowers, and -singing a song made by William Watson for the occasion, called “The -Health of Sir Simon, last and first of his Line.” - -Years have rolled on. The groves and river banks and islands of -Rockville are still greatly frequented, but are never known to be -injured: poachers are never known there, for four reasons. First, nobody -would like to annoy the good Sir Simon; secondly, game is not very -numerous there; thirdly, there is no fun in killing it where there is -no resistance; and fourthly, it is vastly more abundant in other -proprietors’ demesnes, and _it is_ fun to kill it there, where it is -jealously watched, and there is a chance of a good spree with the -keepers. - -And with what different feelings does the good Sir Simon look down from -his lofty eyrie, over the princely expanse of meadows, and over the -glittering river, and over the stately woods to where Great Stockington -still stretches farther and farther its red brick walls, its red-tiled -roofs, and its tall smoke-vomiting chimneys. There he sees no haunts of -crowded enemies to himself or any man. No upstarts, nor envious -opponents, but a vast family of human beings, all toiling for the good -of their families and their country. All advancing, some faster, some -slower, to a better education, a better social condition, a better -conception of the principles of art and commerce, and a clearer -recognition of their rights and their duties, and a more cheering faith -in the upward tendency of humanity. - -Looking on this interesting scene from his distant and quiet home, Sir -Simon sees what blessings flow--and how deeply he feels them in his own -case--from a free circulation, not only of trade, but of human -relations. How this corrects the mischiefs, moral and physical, of false -systems and rusty prejudices;--and he ponders on schemes of no ordinary -beauty and beneficence yet to reach his beloved town through them. He -sees lecture halls and academies, means of sanitary purification, and -delicious recreation, in which baths, wash-houses, and airy homes figure -largely; while public walks extend all round the great industrial hive, -including wood, hills, meadow, and river in their circuit of many miles. -There he lived and labored; there live and labor his sons; and there he -trusts his family will continue to live and labor to all future -generations; never retiring to the fatal indolence of wealth, but aiding -onwards its active and ever-expanding beneficence. - -Long may the good Sir Simon live and labor to realize these views. But -already in a green corner of the pleasant churchyard of Rockville may -be read this inscription on a marble headstone:--“Sacred to the Memory -of Jane Deg, the mother of Sir Simon Degge, Bart., of Rockville. This -stone is erected in honor of the best of Mothers by the most grateful of -sons.” - - - - -III. - -The Gentleman Beggar - -AN ATTORNEY’S STORY. - - -One morning, about five years ago, I called by appointment on Mr. John -Balance, the fashionable pawnbroker, to accompany him to Liverpool, in -pursuit for a Levanting customer,--for Balance, in addition to pawning, -does a little business in the sixty per cent. line. It rained in -torrents when the cab stopped at the passage which leads past the -pawning boxes to his private door. The cabman rang twice, and at length -Balance appeared, looming through the mist and rain in the entry, -illuminated by his perpetual cigar. As I eyed him rather impatiently, -remembering that trains wait for no man, something like a hairy dog, or -a bundle of rags, rose up at his feet, and barred his passage for a -moment. Then Balance cried out with an exclamation, in answer apparently -to a something I could not hear, “What, man alive!--slept in the -passage!--there, take that, and get some breakfast for Heaven’s sake!” -So saying, he jumped into the “Hansom,” and we bowled away at ten miles -an hour, just catching the Express as the doors of the station were -closing. My curiosity was full set,--for although Balance can be free -with his money, it is not exactly to beggars that his generosity is -usually displayed; so when comfortably ensconced in a _coupé_, I -finished with-- - -“You are liberal with your money this morning; pray, how often do you -give silver to street cadgers?--because I shall know now what walk to -take when flats and sharps leave off buying law.” - -Balance, who would have made an excellent parson if he had not been bred -to a case-hardening trade, and has still a soft bit left in his heart -that is always fighting with his hard head, did not smile at all, but -looked as grim as if squeezing a lemon into his Saturday night’s punch. -He answered slowly, “A cadger--yes; a beggar--a miserable wretch, he is -now; but let me tell you, Master David, that that miserable bundle of -rags was born and bred a gentleman; the son of a nobleman, the husband -of an heiress, and has sat and dined at tables where you and I, Master -David, are only allowed to view the plate by favor of the butler. I have -lent him thousands, and been well paid. The last thing I had from him -was his court suit; and I hold now his bill for one hundred pounds that -will be paid, I expect, when he dies.” - -“Why, what nonsense you are talking! you must be dreaming this morning. -However, we are alone, I’ll light a weed, in defiance of Railway law, -you shall spin that yarn; for, true or untrue, it will fill up the time -to Liverpool.” - -“As for yarn,” replied Balance, “the whole story is short enough; and as -for truth, that you may easily find out if you like to take the -trouble. I thought the poor wretch was dead, and I own it put me out -meeting him this morning, for I had a curious dream last night.” - -“Oh, hang your dreams! Tell us about this gentleman beggar that bleeds -you of half-crowns--that melts the heart even of a pawnbroker!” - -“Well, then, that beggar is the illegitimate son of the late Marquis of -Hoopborough by a Spanish lady of rank. He received a first-rate -education, and was brought up in his father’s house. At a very early age -he obtained an appointment in a public office, was presented by the -marquis at court, and received into the first society, where his -handsome person and agreeable manners made him a great favorite. Soon -after coming of age, he married the daughter of Sir E. Bumper, who -brought him a very handsome fortune, which was strictly settled on -herself. They lived in splendid style, kept several carriages, a house -in town, and a place in the country. For some reason or other, idleness, -or to plead his lady’s pride he said, he resigned his appointment. His -father died, and left him nothing; indeed, he seemed at that time very -handsomely provided for. - -“Very soon Mr. and Mrs. Molinos Fitz-Roy began to disagree. She was -cold, correct--he was hot and random. He was quite dependent on her, and -she made him feel it. When he began to get into debt, he came to me. At -length some shocking quarrel occurred; some case of jealousy on the -wife’s side, not without reason, I believe; and the end of it was Mr. -Fitz-Roy was turned out of doors. The house was his wife’s, the -furniture was his wife’s, and the fortune was his wife’s--he was, in -fact, her pensioner. He left with a few hundred pounds ready money, and -some personal jewellery, and went to a hotel. On these and credit he -lived. Being illegitimate, he had no relations; being a fool, when he -spent his money he lost his friends. The world took his wife’s part, -when they found she had the fortune, and the only parties who interfered -were her relatives, who did their best to make the quarrel incurable. To -crown all, one night he was run over by a cab, was carried to a -hospital, and lay there for months, and was during several weeks of the -time unconscious. A message to the wife, by the hands of one of his -debauched companions, sent by a humane surgeon, obtained an intimation -that ‘if he died, Mr. Croak, the undertaker to the family, had orders to -see to the funeral,’ and that Mrs. Molinos was on the point of starting -for the Continent, not to return for some years. When Fitz-Roy was -discharged, he came to me limping on two sticks, to pawn his court suit, -and told me his story. I was really sorry for the fellow, such a -handsome, thoroughbred-looking man. He was going then into the west -somewhere, to try to hunt out a friend. ‘What to do, Balance,’ he said, -‘I don’t know. I can’t dig, and unless somebody will make me their -gamekeeper, I must starve or beg, as my Jezebel bade me when we parted!’ - -“I lost sight of Molinos for a long time, and when I next came upon him -it was in the Rookery of Westminster, in a low lodging-house, where I -was searching with an officer for stolen goods. He was pointed out to -me as the ‘gentleman cadger,’ because he was so free with his money when -‘in luck.’ He recognized me, but turned away then. I have since seen -him, and relieved him more than once, although he never asks for -anything. How he lives, Heaven knows. Without money, without friends, -without useful education of any kind, he tramps the country, as you saw -him, perhaps doing a little hop-picking or hay-making, in season, only -happy when he obtains the means to get drunk. I have heard through the -kitchen whispers that you know come to me, that he is entitled to some -property; and I expect if he were to die his wife would pay the hundred -pound bill I hold; at any rate, what I have told you I know to be true, -and the bundle of rags I relieved just now is known in every thieves’ -lodging in England as the ‘gentleman cadger.’” - -This story produced an impression on me,--I am fond of speculation, and -like the excitement of a legal hunt as much as some do a fox-chase. A -gentleman a beggar, a wife rolling in wealth, rumors of unknown -property due to the husband; it seemed as if there were pickings for me -amidst this carrion of pauperism. - -Before returning from Liverpool, I had purchased the gentleman beggar’s -acceptance from Balance. I then inserted in the “Times” the following -advertisement: “_Horatio Molinos Fitz-Roy_.--If this gentleman will -apply to David Discount, Esq., Solicitor, St. James’s, he will hear of -something to his advantage. Any person furnishing Mr. F.’s correct -address, shall receive 1_l._ 1_s._ reward. He was last seen,” &c. Within -twenty-four hours I had ample proof of the wide circulation of the -“Times.” My office was besieged with beggars of every degree, men and -women, lame and blind, Irish, Scotch, and English, some on crutches, -some in bowls, some in go-carts. They all knew him as “the gentleman,” -and I must do the regular fraternity of tramps the justice to say that -not one would answer a question until he made certain that I meant the -“gentleman” no harm. - -One evening, about three weeks after the appearance of the -advertisement, my clerk announced “another beggar.” There came in an old -man leaning upon a staff, clad in a soldier’s great coat all patched and -torn, with a battered hat, from under which a mass of tangled hair fell -over his shoulders and half concealed his face. The beggar, in a weak, -wheezy, hesitating tone, said, “You have advertised for Molinos -Fitz-Roy. I hope you don’t mean him any harm; he is sunk, I think, too -low for enmity now; and surely no one would sport with such misery as -his.” These last words were uttered in a sort of piteous whisper. - -I answered quickly, “Heaven forbid I should sport with misery; I mean -and hope to do him good, as well as myself.” - -“Then, Sir, I am Molinos Fitz-Roy!” - -While we were conversing candles had been brought in. I have not very -tender nerves--my head would not agree with them--but I own I started -and shuddered when I saw and knew that the wretched creature before me -was under thirty years of age and once a gentleman. Sharp, aquiline -features, reduced to literal skin and bone, were begrimed and covered -with dry fair hair; the white teeth of the half-open mouth chattered -with eagerness, and made more hideous the foul pallor of the rest of the -countenance. As he stood leaning on a staff half bent, his long, yellow -bony fingers clasped over the crutch-head of his stick, he was indeed a -picture of misery, famine, squalor, and premature age, too horrible to -dwell upon. I made him sit down, sent for some refreshment, which he -devoured like a ghoul, and set to work to unravel his story. It was -difficult to keep him to the point; but with pains I learned what -convinced me that he was entitled to some property, whether great or -small there was no evidence. On parting, I said “Now Mr. F., you must -stay in town while I make proper inquiries. What allowance will be -enough to keep you comfortably?” - -He answered humbly after much pressing, “Would you think ten shillings -too much!” - -I don’t like, if I do those things at all, to do them shabbily, so I -said, “Come every Saturday and you shall have a pound.” He was profuse -in thanks of course, as all such men are as long as distress lasts. - -I had previously learned that my ragged client’s wife was in England, -living in a splendid house in Hyde Park Gardens, under her maiden name. -On the following day the Earl of Owing called upon me, wanting five -thousand pounds by five o’clock the same evening. It was a case of life -or death with him, so I made my terms and took advantage of his pressure -to execute a _coup de main_. I proposed that he should drive me home to -receive the money, calling at Mrs. Molinos in Hyde Park Gardens, on our -way. I knew that the coronet and liveries of his father, the Marquis, -would ensure me an audience with Mrs. Molinos Fitz-Roy. - -My scheme answered. I was introduced into the lady’s presence. She was, -and probably is, a very stately, handsome woman, with a pale complexion, -high solid forehead, regular features, thin, pinched, self-satisfied -mouth. My interview was very short. I plunged into the middle of the -affair, but had scarcely mentioned the word husband, when she -interrupted me with “I presume you have lent this profligate person -money, and want me to pay you.” She paused, and then said, “He shall not -have a farthing.” As she spoke, her white face became scarlet. - -“But, Madam, the man is starving. I have strong reasons for believing he -is entitled to property, and if you refuse any assistance, I must take -other measures.” She rang the bell, wrote something rapidly on a card; -and, as the footman appeared, pushed it towards me across the table, -with the air of touching a toad, saying, “There, Sir, is the address of -my solicitors; apply to them if you think you have any claim. Robert, -show the person out, and take care he is not admitted again.” - -So far I had effected nothing; and, to tell the truth, felt rather -crest-fallen under the influence of that grand manner peculiar to -certain great ladies and to all great actresses. - -My next visit was to the attorneys Messrs’. Leasem and Fashun, of -Lincoln’s Inn Square, and there I was at home. I had had dealings with -the firm before. They are agents for half the aristocracy, who always -run in crowds like sheep after the same wine-merchants, the same -architects, the same horse-dealers, and the same law-agents. It may be -doubted whether the quality of law and land management they get on this -principle is quite equal to their wine and horses. At any rate, my -friends of Lincoln’s Inn, like others of the same class, are -distinguished by their courteous manners, deliberate proceedings, -innocence of legal technicalities, long credit and heavy charges. -Leasem, the elder partner, wears powder and a huge bunch of seals, lives -in Queen Square, drives a brougham, gives the dinners and does the -cordial department. He is so strict in performing the latter duty, that -he once addressed a poacher who had shot a Duke’s keeper, as “my dear -creature,” although he afterwards hung him. - -Fashun has chambers in St. James Street, drives a cab, wears a tip, and -does the grand haha style. - -My business lay with Leasem. The interviews and letters passing were -numerous. However, it came at last to the following dialogue:-- - -“Well, my dear Mr. Discount,” began Mr. Leasem, who hates me like -poison. “I’m really very sorry for that poor dear Molinos--knew his -father well; a great man, a perfect gentleman; but you know what women -are, eh, Mr. Discount? My client won’t advance a shilling, she knows it -would only be wasted in low dissipation. Now don’t you think (this was -said very insinuatingly)--don’t you think he had better be sent to the -work-house; very comfortable accommodation there, I can assure you--meat -twice a week, and excellent soup; and then, Mr. D., we might consider -about allowing you something for that bill.” - -“Mr. Leasem, can you reconcile it to your conscience to make such an -arrangement. Here’s a wife rolling in luxury, and a husband starving!” - -“No, Mr. Discount, not starving; there is the work-house, as I observed -before; besides, allow me to suggest that these appeals to feeling are -quite unprofessional--quite unprofessional.” - -“But, Mr. Leasem, touching this property which the poor man is entitled -to.” - -“Why, there again, Mr. D., you must excuse me; you really must. I don’t -say he is, I don’t say he is not. If you know he is entitled to -property, I am sure you know how to proceed; the law is open to you, Mr. -Discount--the law is open; and a man of your talent will know how to use -it.” - -“Then, Mr. Leasem, you mean that I must in order to right this starving -man, file a Bill of Discovery to extract from you the particulars of his -rights. You have the Marriage Settlement, and all the information, and -you decline to allow a pension, or afford any information; the man is to -starve, or go to the work-house?” - -“Why, Mr. D., you are so quick and violent, it really is not -professional; but you see (here a subdued smile of triumph), it has been -decided that a solicitor is not bound to afford such information as you -ask, to the injury of his client.” - -“Then you mean that this poor Molinos may rot and starve, while you -keep secret from him, at his wife’s request, his title to an income, and -that the Court of Chancery will back you in this iniquity?” - -I kept repeating the word “starve,” because I saw it made my respectable -opponent wince. “Well, then, just listen to me. I know that in the happy -state of our equity law, Chancery can’t help my client; but I have -another plan; I shall go hence to my office, issue a writ, and take your -client’s husband in execution--as soon as he is lodged in jail, I shall -file his schedule in the Insolvent Court, and when he comes up for his -discharge, I shall put you in the witness-box, and examine you on oath, -‘touching any property of which you know the insolvent to be possessed,’ -and where will be your privileged communications then?” - -The respectable Leasem’s face lengthened in a twinkling, his comfortable -confident air vanished, he ceased twiddling his gold chain, and at -length he muttered, “Suppose we pay the debt?” - -“Why, then, I’ll arrest him the day after for another.” - -“But, my dear Mr. Discount, surely such, conduct would not be quite -respectable?” - -“That’s my business; my client has been wronged, I am determined to -right him, and when the aristocratic firm of Leasem and Fashun takes -refuge, according to the custom of respectable repudiators, in the cool -arbors of the Court of Chancery, why, a mere bill-discounting attorney, -like David Discount, need not hesitate about cutting a bludgeon out of -the Insolvent Court.” - -“Well, well, Mr. D., you are so warm--so fiery; we must deliberate, we -must consult. You will give me until the day after to-morrow, and then -we’ll write you our final determination; in the, meantime send us copy -of your authority to act for Mr. Molinos Fitz-Roy.” - -Of course I lost no time in getting the gentleman beggar to sign a -proper letter. - -On the appointed day came a communication with the L. and F. seal, -which I opened not without unprofessional eagerness. It was as follows: - - “_In re Molinos Fitz-Roy and Another._ - - “Sir,--In answer to your application on behalf of Mr. Molinos - Fitz-Roy, we beg to inform you that under the administration of a - paternal aunt who died intestate, your client is entitled to two - thousand five hundred pounds eight shillings and sixpence, Three - per Cents; one thousand five hundred pounds nineteen shillings and - fourpence, Three per Cents Reduced; one thousand pounds, Long - Annuities; five hundred pounds, Bank Stock; three thousand five - hundred pounds, India Stock, besides other securities, making up - about ten thousand pounds, which we are prepared to transfer over - to Mr. Molinos Fitz-Roy’s direction forthwith.” - -Here was a windfall! It quite took away my breath. - -At dusk came my gentleman beggar, and what puzzled me was how to break -the news to him. Being very much overwhelmed with business that day, I -had not much time for consideration. He came in rather better dressed -than when I first saw him, with only a week’s beard on his chin; but, as -usual, not quite sober. Six weeks had elapsed since our first interview. -He was still the humble, trembling, low-voiced creature, I first knew -him. - -After a prelude, I said, “I find, Mr. F., you are entitled to something; -pray, what do you mean to give me in addition to my bill for obtaining -it?” He answered rapidly, “Oh, take half; if there is one hundred -pounds, take half; if there is five hundred pounds, take half.” - -“No, no, Mr. F., I don’t do business in that way, I shall be satisfied -with ten per cent.” - -It was so settled. I then led him out into the street, impelled to tell -the news, yet dreading the effect; not daring to make the revelation in -my office for fear of a scene. - -I began hesitatingly, “Mr. Fitz-Roy, I am happy to say that I find you -are entitled to.... ten thousand pounds!” - -“Ten thousand pounds!” he echoed. “Ten thousand pounds!” he shrieked. -“Ten thousand pounds!” he yelled, seizing my arm violently. - -“You are a brick,---- Here, cab! cab!” Several drove up--the shout might -have been heard a mile off. He jumped in the first. - -“Where to?” said the driver. - -“To a tailor’s, you rascal!” - -“Ten thousand pounds! ha, ha, ha!” he repeated hysterically, when in the -cab; and every moment grasping my arm. Presently he subsided, looked me -straight in the face, and muttered with agonizing fervor, “What a jolly -brick you are!” - -The tailor, the hosier, the bootmaker, the hairdresser, were in turn -visited by this poor pagan of externals. As by degrees under their hands -he emerged from the beggar to the gentleman, his spirits rose; his eyes -brightened; he walked erect, but always nervously grasping my arm; -fearing, apparently, to lose sight of me for a moment, lest his fortune -should vanish with me. The impatient pride with which he gave his order -to the astonished tradesman for the finest and best of everything, and -the amazed air of the fashionable hairdresser when he presented his -matted locks and stubble chin to be “cut and shaved,” may be _acted_--it -cannot be described. - -By the time the external transformation was complete, and I sat down in -a _café_ in the Haymarket opposite a haggard but handsome -thoroughbred-looking man, whose air, with the exception of the wild eyes -and deeply-browned face, did not differ from the stereotyped men about -town sitting around us, Mr. Molinos Fitz-Roy had already almost -forgotten the past; he bullied the waiter, and criticized the wine, as -if he had done nothing else but dine and drink and scold there all the -days of his life. - -Once he wished to drink my health, and would have proclaimed his whole -story to the coffee-room assembly in a raving style. When I left he -almost wept in terror at the idea of losing sight of me. But, allowing -for these ebullitions--the natural result of such a whirl of events--he -was wonderfully calm and self-possessed. - -The next day his first care was to distribute fifty pounds among his -friends the cadgers, at a house of call in Westminster, and formally to -dissolve his connection with them; those present undertaking for the -“fraternity,” that for the future he should never be noticed by them in -public or private. - -I cannot follow his career much further. Adversity had taught him -nothing. He was soon again surrounded by the well-bred vampires who had -forgotten him when penniless; but they amused him, and that was enough. -The ten thousand pounds were rapidly melting when he invited me to a -grand dinner at Richmond, which included a dozen of the most agreeable, -good-looking, well-dressed dandies of London, interspersed with a -display of pretty butterfly bonnets. We dined deliciously, and drank as -men do of iced wines in the dog-days--looking down from Richmond Hill. - -One of the pink bonnets crowned Fitz-Roy with a wreath of flowers; he -looked--less the intellect--as handsome as Alcibiades. Intensely excited -and flushed, he rose with a champagne glass in his hand to propose my -health. - -The oratorical powers of his father had not descended on him. Jerking -out sentences by spasms, at length he said, “I was a beggar--I am a -gentleman--thanks to this----” - -Here he leaned on my shoulder heavily a moment, and then fell back. We -raised him, loosened his neckcloth-- - -“Fainted!” said the ladies-- - -“Drunk!” said the gentlemen-- - -He was _dead_! - - - - -IV. - -“Evil is Wrought by Want of Thought.” - - -“It must come some day; and come when it will, it will be hard to do, so -we had best go at once, Sally. I shall have more trouble with Miss -Isabel than you will with Miss Laura; for I am twice the favorite you -are.” - -So said Fanny to her cousin, who had just turned to descend the -staircase of Aldington Hall, where they had both lived since they were -almost children, in attendance on the two daughters of the old baronet, -who were near their own ages, and had always treated them with great -kindness. - -“I am not sure of that,” replied Sally, “for Miss Laura is so seldom put -out, that when once she is vexed, she will be hard to comfort; and I am -sure, Fanny, she loves me every bit as well as Miss Isabel does you, -though it is her way to be so quiet. I dare say she will cry when I say -I must go; but then John would be like to cry too, if I put him off -longer.” - -This consideration restored Sally’s courage, and she proceeded with -Fanny to the gallery into which the rooms of their young mistresses -opened; but here Fanny’s heart failed her; and, stopping short, she -said, - -“Suppose we tell them to wait awhile longer, as the young ladies are -going to travel. We might as well see the world first, and marry in a -year or two. But still,” added she, after a pause, “I could not find it -in my heart to say so to Thomas; and I promised him to speak to-day.” - -Each cousin then knocked at the door of her mistress. Laura was not in -her room, and Sally went to seek her below stairs; but Isabel called to -Fanny to go in. - -Fanny obeyed, and walking forward a few steps, faltered out, with many -blushes, that as young Thomas had kept company with her for nearly a -twelvemonth, and had taken and furnished a little cottage, and begged -hard to take her home to it; she was sorry to say, that if Miss Isabel -would give her leave, she wished to give warning and to go from her -service in a month. - -Fanny’s most sanguine wishes or fears, must have been surpassed by the -burst of surprise and grief that followed her modest statement. Isabel -reproached her; refused to take her warning; declared she would never -see her again if she left the Hall, and that rather than be served by -any but her dear Fanny, she would wait upon herself all her life. Fanny -expostulated, and told her mistress that, foreseeing her unwillingness -to lose her, she had already put Thomas off several months; and that at -last, to gain further delay, she had run the risk of appearing selfish, -by refusing to marry him till he had furnished a whole cottage for her. -This, she said he had--by working late and early--accomplished in a -surprisingly short time, and had the day before claimed the reward of -his industry. “And now, Miss,” added she, “he gets quite pale, and -begins to believe I do not love him, and yet I do, better than all the -world, and could not find it in my heart to vex him, and make him look -sad again. Yesterday he seemed so happy, when I promised to be his wife -in a month.” Here Fanny burst into tears. Her sobs softened Isabel, who -consented to let her go; and after talking over her plans, became as -enthusiastic in promoting, as she had at first been, in opposing them. -Thomas was to take Fanny over to see the cottage, that evening, and -Isabel, in the warmth of her heart, promised to accompany them. Fanny -thanked her with a curtesy, and thought how pleased she ought to be at -such condescension in her young mistress, but could not help fearing -that her sweetheart would not half appreciate the favor. - -After receiving many promises of friendship and assistance, Fanny -hastened to report to Sally the success of her negotiation. Sally was -sitting in their little bedroom, thoughtful, and almost sad. She -listened to Fanny’s account; and replied in answer to her questions -concerning Miss Laura’s way of taking her warning, “I am afraid, Fanny, -you were right in thinking yourself the greatest favorite, for Miss -Laura seemed almost pleased at my news; she took me by the hand, and -said, ‘I am very glad to hear you are to marry such a good young man as -every one acknowledges John Maythorn to be, and you may depend upon my -being always ready to help you, if you want assistance.’ She then said a -deal about my having lived with her six years, and not having once -displeased her, and told me that master had promised my mother and yours -too, that his young ladies should see after us all our lives. This was -very kind, to be sure; but then Miss Isabel promised you presents -whether you wanted assistance or not, and is to give you a silk gown and -a white ribbon for the wedding, and is to go over to the cottage with -you; now Miss Laura did not say a word of any such thing.” - -Fanny tried to comfort her cousin by saying it was Miss Laura’s quiet -way; but she could not help secretly rejoicing that her own mistress -was so generous and affectionate. - -In the evening the two sweethearts came to lead their future wives to -the cottages, which were near each other, and at about a mile from the -Hall. John had a happy walk. He learned from Sally that he was to “take -her home” in a month, and was so pleased at the news, that he could -scarcely be happier when she bustled about, exclaiming at every new -sight in the pretty bright little cottage. The tea-caddy, the cupboard -of china, and a large cat, each called forth a fresh burst of joy. Sally -thought everything “the prettiest she had ever seen;” and when John made -her sit in the arm-chair and put her feet on the fender, as if she were -already mistress of the cottage, she burst into sobs of joy. We will not -pause to tell how her sobs were stopped, nor what promises of unchanging -kindness, were made in that bright little kitchen; but we may safely -affirm that Sally and John were happier than they had ever been in their -lives, and that old Mrs. Maythorn, who was keeping the cottage for -Sally, felt all her fondest wishes were fulfilled as she saw the two -lovers depart. - -Fanny and Thomas, who had left them at the cottage door, walked on to -their own future home, quite overwhelmed by the honor Miss Isabel was -conferring on them by walking at their side. - -“You see, Miss,” said Thomas, as he turned the key of his cottage-door, -“there is nothing to speak of here, only such things as are necessary, -and all of the plainest; but it will do well enough for us poor folks;” -and as he threw open the door, he found to his surprise that what had -seemed to him yesterday so pretty and neat, now looked indeed “all of -the plainest.” The very carpet, and metal teapot, which he had intended -as surprises for Fanny, he was now ashamed of pointing out to her, and -he apologized to Isabel for the coarse quality of the former, telling -her it was only to serve till he could get a better. - -“Yes,” answered she, “this is not half good enough for my little Fanny, -she must have a real Brussels carpet. I will send her one. I will make -your cottage so pretty, Fanny, you shall have a nice china tea set, not -these common little things, and I will give you some curtains for the -window.” Thomas blushed as this deficiency was pointed out. “Why, Miss,” -said he, “I meant to have trained the rose tree over the window, I -thought that would be shady, and sweet in the summer, and in the winter, -why, we should want all the day-light; but then to be sure, curtains -will be much better.” - -“Yes, Thomas,” replied the young lady, “and warm in the winter; you -could not be comfortable with a few bare rose stalks before your window, -when the snow was on the ground.” This had not occurred to Thomas, who -now said faintly, “Oh, no, Miss,” and felt that curtains were -indispensable to comfort. - -Similar deficiencies or short-comings were discovered everywhere, so -that even Fanny, who would at first be pleased with all she saw, in -spite of the numerous defects that seemed to exist everywhere, gradually -grew silent and ashamed of her cottage. She did her utmost to conceal -from Thomas how entirely she agreed with her mistress, and as this -generous young lady finished every remark, by saying “I will get you -one,” or “I will send you another,” she felt that all would be right -before long. - -As Thomas closed the door, he wondered how in his wish to please Fanny -he could have deceived himself so completely as to the merits of his -cottage and furniture; but he too comforted himself by remembering how -his kind patroness was to remedy all the defects; “though,” thought he, -“I should have liked better to have done it all well myself.” - -The lady and the two lovers walked homewards, almost without speaking, -till they overtook John and Sally, who were whispering and laughing, -talking of their cottage, Mrs. Maythorn’s joy at seeing them happy, -their future plans for themselves and her, and all in so confused a way, -that though twenty new subjects were started and discussed, none came to -and conclusion, but that John and Sally loved each other and were very, -very happy. - -“What ails you, Thomas?” said John. “Has any one robbed your house? I -told you it was not safe to leave it,” but seeing Miss Isabel, he -touched his hat and fell back to where Fanny was talking to her cousin. -Isabel, however, left them that she might take a short cut through the -park, while they went round by the road. - -At the end of the walk, Sally was half inclined to be dissatisfied with -her furniture, so much had Fanny boasted of the improvements that were -to be made in her own, but she could not get rid of the first impression -it had made on her, and in a few days she quite forgot the want of -curtains and carpet, and could only remember the happy time when she sat -in the arm-chair with her foot on the fender. - -As the month drew to a close, the two sisters made presents to their -maids. Laura gave Sally a merino dress, a large piece of linen, a cellar -full of coals, and a five pound note. Isabel gave Fanny a silk gown -that cost three guineas, a beautiful white bonnet ribbon, a small -chimney glass (for which she kindly went into debt), three left-off -muslin dresses, a painting done by her own hand, in a handsome gilt -frame, and a beautiful knitted purse. Besides all this, she told Fanny -it was still her intention to get the other things she had promised for -the cottage, as soon as she had paid for the chimney glass. “I am very -sorry,” she said, “that just now I am so poor, for unfortunately, as you -know, I have had to pay for those large music volumes I ordered when I -was in London, and which after all I never used. It always happens that -I am poor when I want to make presents.” - -Fanny stopped her mistress with abundant thanks for the beautiful things -she had already given her. “I am sure, Miss,” said she, “I shall -scarcely dare wear these dresses, they look so lady-like and fine; Sally -will seem quite strange by me. And this purse too, Miss; I never saw -anything so smart.” - -Isabel was quite satisfied that she had eclipsed her sister in the -number and value of her gifts, but she still assured Fanny she had but -made a beginning. Large and generous indeed, were this young lady’s -intentions. - -On the wedding morning Isabel rose early and dressed herself without -assistance, then crossing to the room of the two cousins, she entered -without knocking. Sally was gone, and Fanny lay sleeping alone. - -“How pretty she is!” said Isabel to herself. “She ought to be dressed -like a lady to-day. I will see to it;” then glancing proudly at the silk -gown, which was laid out with all the other articles of dress, ready for -the coming ceremony, her heart swelled with consciousness of her own -generosity. “I have done nothing yet,” continued she; “she has been with -me nearly six years, and always pleased me entirely, then papa promised -her mother that he should befriend her as long as we both lived, and he -has charged us both to do our utmost for our brides. Laura has bought -Sally a shawl, I ought to give one too--what is this common thing? -Fanny! Fanny! wake up. I am come to be your maid to-day, for you shall -be mistress on your wedding morning and have a lady to dress you. What -is this shawl? It will not do with a silk dress, wait a minute,” and off -she darted, leaving Fanny sitting up and rubbing her eyes trying to -remember what her young mistress had said. Before she was quite -conscious, Isabel returned with a Norfolk shawl of fine texture and -design, but somewhat soiled. “There,” said she, throwing it across the -silk gown, “those go much better together. I will give it you, Fanny.” - -“Thank you, Miss,” said Fanny, in a tone of hesitation; “but--but -suppose, Miss, I was to wear Thomas’ shawl just to-day, as he gave it me -for the wedding, and John got Sally one like it--I think, Miss--don’t -you think, Miss, it might seem unkind to wear any other just to-day?” - -“Why, it is just to-day I want to make you look like a lady, Fanny; no, -no, you must not put on that white cotton-looking shawl with a silk -dress, and this ribbon,” said Isabel, taking up the bonnet, proudly. -Fanny looked sad, but the young mistress did not see this, for she was -examining the white silk gloves that lay beside the bonnet. “These,” -thought she, “are not quite right, they look servantish, but my kid -gloves would not fit her, besides, I have none clean, and it is well, -perhaps, that she should have a few things to mark her rank. Yes, they -will do.” - -There was so much confusion between the lady’s offering help, and the -maid’s modestly refusing it, that the toilette was long in completing. -At last, however, Isabel was in ecstasies. “Look,” said she, “how the -bonnet becomes you! and the Norfolk shawl, too, no one would think you -were only a lady’s-maid, Fanny. Stop, I will get a ribbon for your -throat.” Off she flew, and was back again in five minutes. “But what is -that for, Fanny? Are you afraid it will rain this bright morning?” - -Fanny had, in Isabel’s absence, folded Thomas’ shawl, and hung it across -her arm. “I thought, Miss,” answered she, blushing, “that I might just -carry it to show Thomas that I did not forget his present, or think it -too homely to go to church with me.” - -“Impossible,” said Isabel, who, to do her justice, we must state, was -far too much excited to suspect that she was making Fanny uncomfortable; -“you will spoil all. There, put the shawl away,--that’s right, you look -perfect. Go down to your bridegroom, I hear his voice in the hall, I -will not come too, though I should like above all things to see his -surprise, but I should spoil your meeting, and I am the last person in -the world to do anything so selfish. One thing more, Fanny: I shall give -you two guineas, that you may spend three or four days at L----, by the -sea-side; no one goes home directly, you would find it very dull to -settle down at once in your cottage; tell Thomas so.” Isabel then -retired to her room, wishing heartily that she could part with half her -prettiest things, that she might heap more favors on the interesting -little bride. - -Laura’s first thought that morning had also been of the little orphan, -who had served her so long and faithfully, and whom her father had -commended to her special care. She, too, had risen early, but without -dressing herself, she went across to Sally. Sally was asleep, with the -traces of tears on her cheeks; Laura looked at her for a few moments, -and remembered how, when both were too young to understand the -distinction of rank, they had been almost play-mates; she wiped from her -own eyes a little moisture that dimmed them, then putting her hand -gently on Sally’s shoulder, she said, “Wake, Sally, I call you early -that you may have plenty of time to dress me first and yourself -afterwards. I know you would not like to miss waiting on me, or to do it -hurriedly for the last time. You have been crying, Sally, do not color -about it, I should think ill of you if you were not sorry to leave us, -you cannot feel the parting more than I do. I dare say I shall have hard -work to keep dry eyes all day, but we must do our best, Sally, for it -will not for John to think I grudge you to him, or that you like me -better than you do him.” - -“Oh, no, Miss!” replied Sally, who felt at that moment that she could -scarcely love any one better than her kind mistress. “Still John will -not be hard upon me for a few tears,” added she, putting the sheet to -her eyes. - -“Come, come, Sally, this will not do, jump up and dress yourself -quickly, that you may be ready to brush my hair when I return from the -dressing-room; you must do it well to day, for you know I am not yet -suited with a maid, and do it myself to-morrow.” - -This roused Sally, who dressed in great haste and was soon at her post. -Laura asked her many questions about her plans for the future, and found -with pleasure that most things had been well considered and arranged. -“There is only one thing, Miss,” said Sally, in conclusion, “that we are -sorry for, and it is that we cannot offer old Mrs. Maythorn a home. She -has no child but John, and will sadly feel his leaving her.” - -“But why cannot she live with you and work as she does now, so as to pay -you for what she costs?” - -“Why, Miss, where she is she works about the house for her board, and -does a trifle outdoors besides, that gets her clothing. John says it -makes him feel quite cowardly, as it were, to see his old mother working -at scrubbing and scouring, making her poor back ache, when he is so -young and strong; yet we scarcely know if we could undertake for her -altogether. I wish we could.” - -“How much would it cost you?” - -“A matter of four shillings a week; besides, we must get a bed and -bedding. That we could put up in the kitchen, if we bought it to shut up -in the day-time, and, as John says, Mrs. Maythorn would help us nicely -when we get some little ones. But it would cost a deal of money to begin -and go on with.” - -“I will think of this for you, Sally. It would be easy for me to give -you four shillings a week now, but I may not always be able to do it. I -may marry a poor man, or one who will not allow me to spend my money as -I please, and were Mrs. Maythorn to give up her present employments, -she would not be able to get them back again three or four years hence, -nor would she, at her age, be able to meet with others; and if you would -find it difficult to keep her now, you would much more when you have a -little family; so we must do nothing hastily. I will consult papa; he -will tell me directly whether I shall be right in promising you the four -shillings a week. If I do promise it, you may depend on always having -it.” - -“Oh, thank you, thank you, Miss, for the thought: I will tell John -directly I see him; the very hope will fill him with joy.” - -“No,” said Laura, “do not tell him yet, Sally, for you would be sorry to -disappoint him afterwards, if I could not undertake it. Wait a day or -two, and I will give you an answer; or, if possible, it shall be sooner. -Now, thank you for the nice brushing: I will put up my hair while you go -and dress; it is getting late. If you require assistance, and Fanny is -not in your room, tap at my door, for I shall be pleased to help you -to-day.” - -Laura was not called in; but when she thought the toilette must be -nearly completed, went to Sally with the shawl which she had bought for -her the day before. As she entered, Sally was folding the white one John -had given her. “I have brought you a shawl,” said Laura, “which I want -you to wear to-day; it is much handsomer than that you are folding. See, -do you like it?” - -“Yes, Miss,” said Sally, “it is a very good one, I see,” and she began -to re-fold the other; but Laura noticed the expression of disappointment -with which she made the change, and taking up the plain shawl, said, “I -do not know whether this does not suit your neat muslin dress better -than mine. Did you buy it yourself, Sally?” - -“No, Miss, it was John’s present; but I will put on yours this morning, -if you please, Miss, and I can wear John’s any day.” - -“No, no,” replied Laura, “you must put on John’s to-day. It matters but -little to me when you wear mine, so long as it does you good service; -but John will feel hurt if you cast his present aside on your -wedding-day, because some one else has given you a shawl worth a few -shillings more.” So Laura put the white shawl on the shoulders of Sally, -who valued it more than the finest Cashmere in the world. - -As Sally went down stairs, she saw Fanny in tears on the landing. “I -cannot think how it is,” answered she, in reply to Sally’s questioning, -“but just on this day, when I thought to feel so happy, I am quite low. -Miss Isabel has been so kind, she has dressed me, and quite flustered me -with her attentions. See what nice things she has given me--this -shawl--though for that matter, I’d rather have worn Thomas’s. Oh, how -nice you look. Dear, so neat and becoming your station, and with John’s -shawl, too, but then Miss Laura has made you no present.” - -“Yes, a good shawl and a promise besides, but I well tell you about that -another time. Let us go in now, they must be waiting for us.” - -Fanny felt so awkward in her fine clothes, that she could scarcely be -prevailed on to encounter the gaze of the servants; but her -good-natured cousin promising to explain that all her dress was given -and chosen by her mistress, she at last went into the hall. Sally’s -explanation was only heard by a few of the party, and as Fanny, in -trying to conceal herself from the gaze of the astonished villagers, -slunk behind old Mrs. Maythorn, she had the mortification of hearing her -say to John, in the loud whisper peculiar to deaf people, “I am so glad, -John, the neat one is yours; I should be quite frightened to see you -take such a fine lady as Fanny to the altar; it makes me sorry for -Thomas to see her begin so smart.” - -When the ceremony was over, the party returned to the Hall, where a -hospitable meal had been provided for all the villagers of good -character who chose to partake of it. It was a merry party, for even -Fanny, when every one had seen her finery long enough to forget it, -forgot it herself. Thomas was very good-natured about the shawl, and -delighted at the prospect of spending a few days at L----. He and Fanny -talked of the boat-excursions they would have, the shells they would -gather for a grotto in their garden, and the long rambles they would -take by the sea-side, till they wondered how ever they could have been -contented with the prospect of going to their cottage at once. - -As the pony-chaise which the good baronet had lent for the day, drove up -to take the bridal party to L----, for John and Sally were also to spend -one day there, the two young ladies came to take leave of their -_protégées_. Laura said, “Good-bye, Sally, I have consulted papa, and -will undertake to allow you four shillings a week as long as Mrs. -Maythorn lives. Here is a sovereign towards expenses; you will not, I am -sure, mind changing your five pound note for the rest.” - -Isabel said, “Good-bye, Fanny. I am very, very sorry to disappoint you -of your treat at L----, but I intended to have borrowed the two pounds -of Miss Laura, and I find she cannot lend them to me. Never mind, I am -sure you will be happy enough in your little cottage. I never saw such a -sweet little place as it is.” So the bridal party drove away. - -In less than a week the cousins were established in their new abode. -Sally settled and happy; but Fanny, unsettled, always expected the new -carpet, the china tea-set, and the various other alterations that Isabel -had suggested and promised to make. The young lady, however, was -unfortunate with her money. At one time she lost a bank-note; at -another, just as she was counting out money for the Brussels carpet, the -new maid entered to tell her that sundry articles of dress were “past -mending,” and must be immediately replaced. One thing after another -nipped her generous intentions in the bud, and at last she was obliged -to set out for her long-expected journey to France without having done -more towards the fulfilment of her promises than call frequently on -Fanny, to remind her that all her present arrangements were temporary, -and that she should shortly have almost everything new. - -“Good-bye, Fanny,” said she at parting; “I shall often write to you, -and send you money. I will not make any distinct promise, for I dare say -I shall be able to do more than I should like to say now.” - -Laura had given Sally a great many useful things for her cottage, but -made no promise at parting. She said, “Be sure you write to me, Sally, -from time to time, to say how you are going on, and tell me if you want -help.” - -When Isabel was gone, Fanny saw that she must accustom herself to her -cottage as it was, and banish from her mind the idea of the -long-anticipated improvements. It was, however, no easy task. The window -once regarded as bare and comfortless still seemed so, in spite of -Fanny’s reasoning that it was no worse than Sally’s, which always looked -cheerful and pretty. To be sure, John, who did not think of getting -curtains, had trained a honeysuckle over it, still that made but little -show at present. The carpet, too, so long regarded as a coarse temporary -thing, never regained the beauty it first had to the eye of Thomas, as -he laid it down the evening before he took Fanny to the cottage; and -Fanny could never forget, as she arranged her tea-things, that Miss -Isabel had called them “common little things;” so of all the other -pieces of furniture that the young lady had remarked upon. Sally’s house -was, in reality, more homely than her cousin’s, yet as she had never -entertained a wish that it should be better, and as Laura had been -pleased with all its arrangements, she bustled about it with perfect -satisfaction; and even to Fanny it seemed replete with the comfort her -own had always wanted. - -At the end of three months Isabel enclosed an order for three pounds to -Fanny, desiring her to get a Brussels carpet, and if there was a -sufficient remainder, to replace the tea seat. - -“I would rather,” said Fanny to her cousin, “put up with the old carpet -and china, and get a roll of fine flannel, some coals, an extra blanket -or two, and a cradle for the little one that’s coming, for it will be -cold weather when I am put to bed; but I suppose as Miss Isabel has set -her mind on the carpet and china, I must get them.” - -A week or two after John was invited, with his wife and mother, to drink -tea from Fanny’s new china. It was very pretty, so was the carpet, and -so was Fanny making tea, elated with showing her new wealth. - -“Is not Miss Isabel generous?” asked she, as she held the milk-pot to be -admired. - -“I sometimes wish Miss Laura had as much money to spare,” replied Sally; -“for she lets me lay it out as I please, and I could get a number of -things for three guineas.” - -“Fie, Sally,” said her husband; “are not three shillings to spend as one -pleases, better than three guineas laid out to please some one else?” - -“Nonsense, John,” said Fanny, pettishly; “how can a carpet for my -kitchen be bought to please any one but me?” - -“John isn’t far wrong either,” answered her husband; “but the carpet is -very handsome, and does please you and me too, now it is here.” - -Time passed on, and Fanny gave birth to a little girl. Isabel stood -sponsor for her by proxy, sending her an embroidered cloak and lace cap, -and desiring that she should be called by her own name. Little Bella was -very sickly, and as her mother had not been able to procure her good -warm clothing, or lay in a large stock of firing, she suffered greatly -from cold during the severe winter that followed her birth. The spring -and summer did not bring her better health; and as Fanny always -attributed her delicacy to the want of proper warmth in her infancy, she -took a great dislike to the Brussels carpet, which now lay in a roll -behind a large chest, having been long ago taken up as a piece of -inconvenient luxury in a kitchen. “I wish you could find a corner for it -in your cottage, Sally,” said she, “for I never catch a sight of it -without worrying myself to think how much flannels and coals I might -have bought with the money it cost.” - -Laura frequently sent Sally small presents of money, but Isabel, though -not so regular as her sister, surprised every one by the splendor of -her presents, when they did come. As Bella entered her second year she -received from her godmother a beautiful little carriage, which Thomas -said must have “spoilt a five-pound note.” This was Isabel’s last gift, -for it was at about this time that she accepted an offer from a French -count, and became so absorbed in her own affairs, that she forgot Fanny -and Bella too. Poor Bella grew more and more sickly every month; the -apothecary ordered her beef tea, arrowroot, and other strengthening -diet, but work was slack with Thomas, and it was with difficulty that he -could procure her the commonest food. “I am sure,” said Fanny to her -cousin, as little Bella was whining on her knee, “that if only Miss -Isabel were here, she would set us all right. She never could bear to -see even a stranger in distress.” - -“I wish,” said Thomas, “that great folks would think a little of what -they don’t see. I’ll lay anything Miss Isabel gives away a deal of -money, more than enough to save our little one, to a set of French -impostors that cry after her in the street, and yet, when she knows our -child is ill, she never cares, because she can’t see it grow thin, or -hear it cry.” - -“For shame, Thomas,” said his wife, “do not speak so rudely of the young -lady. Have you forgotten the pretty carriage she sent Bella, and how -pleased we were when it came?” - -“I don’t mean any harm,” answered her husband; “only it strikes me that -Miss was pleased to buy the carriage because it was pretty, and seemed a -great thing to send us, and that she wouldn’t have cared a straw to give -us a little cash, that would have served us every bit as well.” - -“I never heard you so ungrateful, Thomas. Of course she wouldn’t, -because she wished to please us.” - -“Or herself, as John said; but maybe I am wrong; only it goes to my -heart to see the child want food while there is a filagree carriage in -the yard that cost more than would keep her for six months.” - -“Well, cheer up,” said Sally; “Miss Laura will be coming home soon, and -I’ll lay anything she won’t let Bella die of want.” - -“I’m afraid she won’t think of giving to me, Sally,” said Fanny -despondingly; “I was never her maid, you know.” - -“You wouldn’t fear, if you knew Miss Laura as I do, Fanny; she never -cares who she helps so long as the person is deserving, and in want. She -has no pride of that sort.” - -Isabel’s marriage was put off, and Laura’s return, consequently, -postponed. As Bella grew worse every day, and yet no help came, the -unselfish Sally wrote to her patroness, telling her of poor Fanny’s -distress, and begging her either to send her help, or speak on her -behalf to her sister. - -Isabel was dressing for a party when Laura showed her Sally’s letter. -“Poor Fanny,” said she, “I wish I had known it before I bought this -wreath. I have, absolutely, not a half-franc in the world. Will you buy -the wreath of me at half-price, it has not even been taken from its -box.” - -“I do not want it,” said Laura, “but I will lend you some money.” - -“No, I cannot borrow more,” said her sister despondingly. “I owe you -already for the flowers, the brooch, the bill you paid yesterday, and I -know not what else besides; but I will tell Eugène there is a poor -Englishwoman in distress, I am sure he will send her something.” - -Eugène gave her a five-franc piece. - -It was late one frosty evening when Sally ran across to her cousin’s -cottage, delighted to be the bearer of the long hoped-for letter. Fanny -was sitting on the fender before a small fire, hugging her darling to -her breast, and breathing on its little face to make the air warmer. -“I’m afraid,” said she, in answer to Sally’s inquiries, “that the child -won’t be here long;” and she wiped away a few hot tears that had forced -their way as she sat listening to the low moans of the little sufferer. - -“But I have good news for you,” said her cousin, cheerfully. “Here is a -letter from Miss Isabel at last. I would not tell you before, but I -wrote to Miss Laura, saying how you were expecting every week to be put -to bed again, and how Bella was wasting away, and see, I was right about -her, she has sent you a sovereign, and her sister’s letter, no-doubt, -contains a pretty sum.” - -Fanny started up, and could scarcely breathe as she broke the seal. What -was her disappointment on seeing an order for five shillings! - -“I am very sorry, my good Fanny,” said Isabel, “that just now I have no -money. A charitable gentleman sends you five shillings, and as soon as I -possibly can, I will let you have a large sum. I have not yet paid for -the carriage I sent you, and as the bill has been given me several -times, I must discharge it before I send away more money. I hope that by -this time, little Bella is better.” - -Fanny laid her child upon the bed, and putting her face by its side, -shed bitter tears. Sally did not speak, and so both remained till Thomas -came in from his work. Fanny would have hidden the letter from him, but -he saw and seized it in a moment. - -“Five guineas for a carriage, and five shillings for a child’s life,” -said he with a sneer, as he laid it down. “Do not look for the large -sum, Fanny, you won’t get it; but I will work hard, and bury the child -decently.” - -Fanny felt no inclination to defend her mistress. For the first time, it -occurred to her that Thomas and John might be right in their judgment of -her. She raised Bella, as Thomas, who had been twisting up the money -order, was about to throw it in the fire. He caught a sight of the -child’s wan face, and, advancing to the bed, said, in a softened tone, -“Do you know father, pretty one?” and as Bella smiled faintly, he added, -“I will do anything for your sake. Here, Fanny, take the money, and get -the child something nourishing.” - -Bella seemed to revive from getting better food; and the apothecary held -out great hope of her ultimate recovery, if the improved diet could be -continued; but expenses fell heavily on Thomas, Fanny was put to bed -with a fine strong little boy, and, although Sally and Mrs. Maythorn -devoted themselves to her and Bella, the anxiety she suffered from -being separated from her invalid child, added to her former constant -uneasiness, and want of proper food, brought on a fever that threatened -her life. In a few days she became quite delirious. During this time -Isabel was married, and Laura returned to England. - -When Fanny regained her consciousness she was in the dark, but she could -see some one standing by the window. On her speaking the person advanced -to her side. “Do not be startled to find me here,” said a sweet soft -voice. “Sally has watched by your side for three nights, and when I came -this evening she looked so ill that I insisted on her going to bed; -then, as we could find no one on whose care and watchfulness we could -depend, I took her place. You have been in a sound sleep. Dr. Hart said -you would wake up much better. Are you better?” - -“Yes, ma’am, a deal better; but where am I, and who is it with me?” - -“You are in your own pretty cottage, and Miss Laura is with you. You -expected me home, did you not?” - -“Oh, thank God; who sent you, dear Miss Laura? How is--but may-be I had -best not ask just while I am so weak. Is the dear boy well?” - -“Yes, quite well; and Bella is much better. I have sent her for a few -days to L----, with Mrs. Maythorn; the sea air will do her good.” - -“Oh, thank you--thank you--dear young lady, for the thought. I seem so -bound up in that dear child, that nothing could comfort me for her loss. -How good and kind you are, Miss--you do all so well and so quietly!” - -“Yes, Fanny, dear,” said Thomas, coming from behind the curtain and -stooping to kiss his wife. “Miss Laura has saved you and Bella, and me, -too, for I couldn’t have lived if you had died; and has found me work; -and all without making one great present, or doing anything one could -speak about. I’ll tell you what it is, wife, dear, Miss Isabel does all -for the best, but it is just as she feels at the moment. Now Miss -Laura--if I may be so bold to speak, Miss--Miss Laura does not give to -please her own feelings, but to do good. I can’t say it well, but do you -say it for me, Miss; I want Fanny to know the right words, to teach the -little ones by-and-by. You know what I wish to say, Miss Laura.” - -“Yes, Thomas,” said Laura, blushing, “but I do not say you are right. -You mean, I think, that my sister acts from impulse, and I from -principle. Is that it?” - -“I suppose that’s it, Miss,” said Thomas, considering, and apparently -not quite satisfied. - -“You have no harder meaning, I am sure,” said Laura, quietly, “because I -love my sister very much.” - -“Certainly not, Miss,” returned Thomas. “But, myself, if I may take the -liberty of gratefully saying so, I prefer to be acted to on principle, -and think it a good deal better than impulse.” - - - - -V. - -Bed. - - “Oh, Sleep! it is a gentle thing, - Beloved from pole to pole!” - - -Was the heart’s cry of the Ancient Mariner at the recollection of the -blessed moment when the fearful curse of life in death fell off him, and -the heavenly sleep first “slid into his soul.” “Blessings on sleep!” -said honest Sancho Panza: “it wraps one all around like a mantle!”--a -mantle for the weary human frame, lined softly, as with the down of the -eider-duck, and redolent of the soothing odors of the poppy. The fabled -cave of Sleep was in the land of Darkness. No ray of the sun, or moon, -or stars, ever broke upon that night without a dawn. The breath of -somniferous flowers floated in on the still air from the grotto’s -mouth. Black curtains hung round the ever-sleeping god; the Dreams stood -around his couch; Silence kept watch at the portals. Take the winged -Dreams from the picture, and what is left? The sleep of matter. - -The dreams that come floating through our sleep, and fill the dormitory -with visions of love or terror--what are they? Random freaks of the -fancy? Or is sleep but one long dream, of which we see only fragments, -and remember still less? Who shall explain the mystery of that loosening -of the soul and body, of which night after night whispers to us, but -which day after day is unthought of? Reverie, sleep, trance--such are -the stages between the world of man and the world of spirits. Dreaming -but deepens as we advance. Reverie deepens into the dreams of -sleep--sleep into trance--trance borders on death. As the soul retires -from the outer senses, as it escapes from the trammels of the flesh, it -lives with increased power within. Spirit grows more spirit-like as -matter slumbers. We can follow the development up to the last stage. -What is beyond? - - “And in that _sleep of death_, what dreams may come!” - -says Hamlet--pausing on the brink of eternity, and vainly striving to -scan the inscrutable. Trance is an awful counterpart of sleep and -death--mysterious in itself, appalling in its hazards. Day after day -noise has been hushed in the dormitory--month after month it has seen a -human frame grow weaker and weaker, wanner, more deathlike, till the -hues of the grave colored the face of the living. And now he lies, -motionless, pulseless, breathless. It is not sleep--is it death? - -Leigh Hunt is said to have perpetrated a very bad pun connected with the -dormitory, and which made Charles Lamb laugh immoderately. Going home -together late one night, the latter repeated the well-known proverb, “A -home’s a home, however homely.” “Ay,” added Hunt, “and a bed’s a bed, -however _bedly_.” It is a strange thing, a bed. Somebody has called it a -bundle of paradoxes; we go to it reluctantly, and leave it with regret. -Once within the downy precincts of the four posts, how loth we are to -make our exodus into the wilderness of life. We are as enamored of our -curtained dwelling as if it were the land of Goshen or the cave of -Circe. And how many fervent vows have those dumb posts heard broken! -every fresh perjury rising to join its cloud of hovering fellows, each -morning weighing heavier and heavier on our sluggard eyelids. A caustic -proverb says,--we are all “good risers at night;” but woe’s me for our -agility in the morning. It is a failing of our species, ever ready to -break out in all of us, and in some only vanquished after a struggle -painful as the sundering of bone and marrow. The Great Frederic of -Prussia found it easier, in after life, to rout the French and -Austrians, than in youth to resist the seductions of sleep. After many -single-handed attempts at reformation, he had at last to call to his -assistance an old domestic, whom he charged, on pain of dismissal, to -pull him out of bed every morning at two o’clock. The plan succeeded, -as it deserved to succeed. All men of action are impressed with the -importance of early rising. “When you begin to turn in bed, its time to -turn out,” says the old Duke; and we believe his practice has been in -accordance with his precept. Literary men--among whom, as Bulwer says, a -certain indolence seems almost constitutional--are not so clear upon -this point: they are divided between Night and Morning, though the best -authorities seem in favor of the latter. Early rising is the best -_elixir vitæ_: it is the only lengthener of life that man has ever -devised. By its aid the great Buffon was able to spend half a -century--an ordinary lifetime--at his desk; and yet had time to be the -most modish of all the philosophers who then graced the gay metropolis -of France. - -Sleep is a treasure and a pleasure; and, as you love it, guard it -warily. Over-indulgence is ever suicidal, and destroys the pleasure it -means to gratify. The natural times for our lying down and rising up are -plain enough. Nature teaches us, and unsophisticated mankind followed -her. Singing birds and opening flowers hail the sunrise, and the hush of -groves and the closed eyelids of the parterre mark his setting. But “man -hath sought out many inventions.” We prolong our days into the depths of -night, and our nights into the splendor of day. It is a strange result -of civilization! It is not merely occasioned by that thirst for varied -amusement which characterizes an advanced stage of society--it is not -that theatres, balls, dancing, masquerades, require an artificial light, -for all these are or have been equally enjoyed elsewhere beneath the eye -of day. What is the cause, we really are not philosopher enough to say; -but the prevalence of the habit must have given no little pungency to -honest Benjamin Franklin’s joke, when, one summer, he announced to the -Parisians as a great discovery--that the sun rose each morning at four -o’clock; and that, whereas, they burnt no end of candles by sitting up -at night, they might rise in the morning and have light for nothing. -Franklin’s “discovery,” we dare say, produced a laugh at the time, and -things went on as before. Indeed, so universal is this artificial -division of day and night, and so interwoven with it are the social -habits, that we shudder at the very idea of returning to the natural -order of things. A Robespierre could not carry through so stupendous a -revolution. Nothing less than an avatar of Siva the destroyer--Siva -with his hundred arms, turning off as many gas-pipes, and replenishing -his necklace of human skulls by decapitating the leading -conservatives--could have any chance of success; and, ten to one, with -our gassy splendors, and seducing glitter, we should convert that pagan -devil ere half his work was done. - -But of all the inventions which perverse ingenuity has sought out, the -most incongruous, the most heretical against both nature and art, is -reading in bed. Turning rest into labor, learning into ridicule. A man -had better be up. He is spoiling two most excellent things by attempting -to join them. Study and sleep--how incongruous! It is an idle coupling -of opposites, and shocks a sensible man as much as if he were to meet -in the woods the apparition of a winged elephant. Only fancy an elderly -or middle-aged man (for youth is generally orthodox on this point), -sitting up in bed, spectacles on his nose, a Kilmarnock on his head, and -his flannel jacket round his shivering shoulders,--doing what? Reading? -It may be so--but he winks so often, possibly from the glare of the -candle, and the glasses now and then slip so far down on his nose, and -his hand now and then holds the volume so unsteadily, that if he himself -didn’t assure us to the contrary, we should suppose him half asleep. We -are sure it must be a great relief to him when the neglected book at -last tumbles out of bed to such a distance that he cannot recover it. - -Nevertheless, we have heard this extraordinary custom excused on the no -less extraordinary ground of its being a soporific. For those who -require such things, Marryat gives a much simpler recipe--namely, to -mentally repeat any scraps of poetry you can recollect; if your own, so -much the better. The monks of old, in a similar emergency, used to -repeat the seven Penitential Psalms. Either of these plans, we doubt -not, will be found equally efficacious, if one is able to use them--if -anxiety of mind does not divert him from his task, or the lassitude of -illness disable him for attempting it. Sleep, alas! is at times fickle -and coy; and, like most sublunary friends, forsakes us when most wanted. -Reading in that repertory of many curious things, the “Book of the -Farm,” we one day met with the statement that “a pillow of hops will -ensure sleep to a patient in a delirious fever when every other -expedient fails.” We made a note of it. Heaven forbid that the recipe -should ever be needed for us or ours! but the words struck a chord of -sympathy in our heart with such poor sufferers, and we saddened with the -dread of that awful visitation. The fever of delirium! when incoherent -words wander on the lips of genius; when the sufferer stares strangely -and vacantly on his ministering friends, or starts with freezing horror -from the arms of familiar love! Ah! what a dread tenant has the -dormitory then. No food taken for the body, no sleep for the brain! a -human being surging with diabolic strength against his keepers--a human -frame gifted with superhuman vigor only the more rapidly to destroy -itself! Less fearful to the eye, but more harrowing to the soul, is the -dormitory whose walls enclose the sleepless victim of Remorse. No -poppies or mandragora for him! His malady ends only with the fever of -life. _Ends?_ Grief, anxiety, “the thousand several ills that flesh is -heir to,” pass away before the lapse of time or the soothings of love, -and sleep once more folds its dove-like wings above the couch. - -“If there be a regal solitude,” says Charles Lamb, “it is a bed. How the -patient lords it there; what caprices he acts without control! How -king-like he sways his pillow,--tumbling and tossing, and shifting, and -lowering, and thumping, and flatting, and moulding it to the -ever-varying requisitions of his throbbing temples. He changes _sides_ -oftener than a politician. Now he lies full-length, then half-length, -obliquely, transversely, head and feet quite across the bed; and none -accuses him of tergiversation. Within the four curtains he is absolute. -They are his Mare Clausum. How sickness enlarges the dimensions of a -man’s self to himself! He is his own exclusive object. Supreme -selfishness is inculcated on him as his only duty. ’Tis the two Tables -of the Law to him. He has nothing to think of but how to get well. What -passes out of doors or within them, so he hear not the jarring of them, -affects him not.” - -In this climate a sight of the sun is prized; but we love to see it most -from bed. A dormitory fronting the east, therefore, so that the early -sunbeams may rouse us to the dewy beauties of morning, we love. Let -there also be festooned roses without the window, that on opening it the -perfume may pervade the realms of bed. Our night-bower should be -simple--neat as a fairy’s cell, and ever perfumed with the sweet air of -heaven. It is not a place for showy things, or costly. As fire is the -presiding genius in other rooms, so let water, symbol of purity, be in -the ascendant here; water, fresh and unturbid as the thoughts that here -make their home--water, to wash away the dust and sweat of a weary -world. Let no _fracas_ disturb the quiet of the dormitory. We go there -for repose. Our tasks and our cares are left outside, only to be put on -again with our hat and shoes in the morning. It is an asylum from the -bustle of life--it is the inner shrine of our household gods--and should -be respected accordingly. We never entered during the ordinary process -of bed-making--pillows tossed here, blankets and sheets pitched hither -and thither in wildest confusion, chairs and pitchers in the middle of -the floor, feathers and dust everywhere--without a jarring sense that -sacrilege was going on, and that the _genius loci_ had departed. Rude -hands were profaning the home of our slumbers! - -A sense of security pervades the dormitory. A healthy man in bed is free -from everything but dreams, and once in a life-time, or after adjudging -the Cheese Premium at an Agricultural Show--the nightmare. We once heard -a worthy gentleman, blessed with a very large family of daughters, -declare he had no peace in his house except in bed. There we feel as if -in a city of refuge, secure alike from the brawls of earth and the -storms of heaven. Lightning, say old ladies, won’t come through, -blankets. Even tigers, says Humboldt, “will not attack a man in his -hammock.” Hitting a man when he’s down is stigmatized as villanous all -the world over; and lions will rather sit with an empty stomach for -hours than touch a man before he awakes. Tricks upon a sleeper! Oh, -villanous! Every perpetrator of such unutterable treachery should be put -beyond the pale of society. The First of April should have no place in -the calendar of the dormitory. We would have the maxim, “Let sleeping -dogs lie,” extended to the human race. And an angry dog, certainly, is a -man roused needlessly from his slumbers. What an outcry we Northmen -raised against the introduction of Greenwich time, which defrauded us of -fifteen minutes’ sleep in the morning; and how indiscriminate the -objurgations lavished upon printers’ devils! Of all sinners against the -nocturnal comfort of literary men, these imps are the foremost; and -possibly it was from their malpractices in such matters that they first -acquired their diabolic cognomen. - -The nightcap is not an elegant head-dress, but its comfort is -undeniable. It is a diadem of night; and what tranquillity follows our -self-coronation! It is priceless as the invisible cap of Fortunatus; -and, viewless beneath its folds, our cares cannot find us out. It is -graceless. Well; what then? It is not meant for the garish eye of day, -nor for the quizzing glass of our fellow-men, or of the ridiculing race -of women; neither does it outrage any taste for the beautiful in the -happy sleeper himself. We speak as bachelors, to whom the pleasures of a -manifold existence are unknown. Possibly the æsthetics of night are not -uncared for when a man has another self to please, and when a pair of -lovely eyes are fixed admiringly on his upper story; but such is the -selfishness of human nature, that we suspect this abnegation of comfort -will not long survive the honeymoon. The French, ever enamored of -effect, and who, we verily believe, even _sleep_, “_posé_,” sometimes -substitute the many-colored silken handkerchief for the graceless -“_bonnet-de-nuit_.” But all such substitutes are less comfortable and -more troublesome; and of all irritating things, the most irritable is a -complex operation in undressing. Æsthetics at night, and for the weary! -No, no. The weary man frets at every extra button or superfluous knot, -he counts impatiently every second that keeps him from his couch, and -flies to the arms of sleep as to those of his mistress. Nevertheless, -French novelette writers make a great outcry against nightcaps. We -remember an instance. A husband--rather good-looking fellow--suspects -that his wife is beginning to have too tender thoughts towards a -glossy-ringletted Lothario who is then staying with them. So, having -accidentally discovered that Lothario slept in a huge peeked nightcowl, -and knowing that ridicule would prove the most effectual disenchanter, -he fastened a string to his guest’s bell, and passed it into his own -room. - -At the dead of night, when all were fast asleep, suddenly Lothario’s -bell rang furiously. Upstarted the lady--“their guest must be -ill;”--and, accompanied by her husband, elegantly coiffed in a turbaned -silk handkerchief, she entered the room whence the alarum had sounded. -They find Lothario sitting up in bed--his cowl rising pyramid-fashion, a -fool’s cap all but the bells--bewildered and in ludicrous consternation -at being surprised thus by the fair Angelica; and, unable to conceal his -chagrin, he completes his discomfiture by bursting out in wrathful abuse -of his laughing host for so betraying his weakness for nightcaps. - -The Poetry of the Dormitory! It is an inviting but too delicate a -subject for our rough hands. Do not the very words call up a vision? By -the light of the stars we see a lovely head resting on a downy pillow; -the bloom of the rose is on that young cheek, and the half-parted lips -murmur as in a dream: “Edward!” Love is lying light at her heart, and -its fairy wand is showing her visions. May her dreams be happy! -“Edward!” Was it a sigh that followed that gentle invocation? What would -the youth give to hear that murmur,--to gaze like yonder stars on his -slumbering love. Hush! are the morning-stars singing together--a lullaby -to soothe the dreamer? A low dulcet strain floats in through the window; -and soon, mingling with the breathings of the lute, the voice of youth. -The harmony penetrates through the slumbering senses to the dreamer’s -heart; and ere the golden curls are lifted from the pillow, she is -conscious of all. The serenade begins anew. What does she hear? - - “Stars of the summer night! - Far in yon azure deeps, - Hide, hide your golden light! - She sleeps! - My lady sleeps! - Sleeps! - - Dreams of the summer night! - Tell her her lover keeps - Watch! while in slumbers light - She sleeps - My lady sleeps! - Sleeps!” - - - - -VI. - -The Home of Woodruffe the Gardener. - - -I. - -“How pleased the boy looks, to be sure!” observed Woodruffe to his wife, -as his son Allan caught up little Moss (as Maurice had chosen to call -himself before he could speak plain) and made him jump from the top of -the drawers upon the chair, and then from the chair to the ground. “He -is making all that racket just because he is so pleased he does not know -what to do with himself.” - -“I suppose he will forgive Fleming now for carrying off Abby,” said the -mother. “I say, Allan, what do you think now of Abby marrying away from -us?” - -“Why, I think it’s a very good thing. You know she never told me that we -should go and live where she lived, and in such a pretty place, too, -where I may have a garden of my own, and see what I can make of it--all -fresh from the beginning, as father says.” - -“You are to try your hand at the business, I know,” replied the mother, -“but I never heard your father, nor any one else, say that the place was -a pretty one. I did not think new railway stations had been pretty -places at all.” - -“It sounds so to him, naturally,” interposed Woodruffe. “He hears of a -south aspect, and a slope to the north for shelter, and the town seen -far off; and that sounds all very pleasant. And then, there is the -thought of the journey, and the change, and the fun of getting the -ground all into nice order, and, best of all, the seeing his sister so -soon again. Youth is the time for hope and joy, you know, love.” - -And Woodruffe began to whistle, and stepped forward to take his turn at -jumping Moss, whom he carried in one flight from the top of the drawers -to the floor. Mrs. Woodruffe smiled, as she thought that youth was not -the only season, with some people, for hope and joy. - -Her husband, always disposed to look on the bright side, was -particularly happy this evening. The lease of his market-garden ground -was just expiring. He had prospered on it; and would have desired -nothing better than to live by it as long as he lived at all. He desired -this so much that he would not believe a word of what people had been -saying for two years past, that his ground would be wanted by his -landlord on the expiration of the lease, and that it would not be let -again. His wife had long foreseen this; but not till the last moment -would he do what she thought should have been done long before--offer to -buy the ground. At the ordinary price of land, he could accomplish the -purchase of it; but when he found his landlord unwilling to sell, he bid -higher and higher, till his wife was so alarmed at the rashness, that -she was glad when a prospect of entire removal opened. Woodruffe was -sure that he could have paid off all he offered at the end of a few -years; but his partner thought it would have been a heavy burden on -their minds, and a sad waste of money; and she was therefore, in her -heart, obliged to the landlord for persisting in his refusal to sell. - -When that was settled, Woodruffe became suddenly sure that he could pick -up an acre or two of land somewhere not far off. But he was mistaken; -and, if he had not been mistaken, market-gardening was no longer the -profitable business it had been, when it enabled him to lay by something -every year. By the opening of a railway, the townspeople, a few miles -off, got themselves better supplied with vegetables from another -quarter. It was this which put it into the son-in-law’s head to propose -the removal of the family into Staffordshire, where he held a small -appointment on a railway. Land might be had at a low rent near the -little country station where his business lay; and the railway brought -within twenty minutes’ distance a town where there must be a -considerable demand for garden produce. The place was in a raw state at -present; and there were so few houses, that, if there had been a choice -of time, the Flemings would rather have put off the coming of the family -till some of the cottages already planned had been built; but the -Woodruffes must remove in September, and all parties agreed that they -should not mind a little crowding for a few months. Fleming’s cottage -was to hold them all till some chance of more accommodation should -offer. - -“I’ll tell you what,” said Woodruffe, after standing for some time, half -whistling and thinking, with that expression on his face which his wife -had long learned to be afraid of, “I’ll write to-morrow--let’s see--I -may as well do it to-night;” and he looked round for paper and ink. -“I’ll write to Fleming, and get him to buy the land for me at once.” - -“Before you see it?” said his wife, looking up from her stocking -mending. - -“Yes. I know all about it, as much as if I were standing on it this -moment; and I am sick of this work--of being turned out just when I had -made the most of a place, and got attached to it. I’ll make a sure thing -of it this time, and not have such a pull at my heart-strings again. And -the land will be cheaper now than later; and we shall go to work upon it -with such heart, if it is our own! Eh?” - -“Certainly, if we find, after seeing it, that we like it as well as we -expect. I would just wait till then.” - -“As well as we expect! Why, bless my soul! don’t we know all about it? -It is not any land-agent or interested person, that has described it to -us; but our own daughter and her husband; and do not they know what we -want? The quantity at my own choice; the aspect capital; plenty of water -(only too much, indeed); the soil anything but poor, and sand and marl -within reach to reduce the stiffness; and manure at command, all along -the railway, from half-a-dozen towns; and osier-beds at hand (within my -own bounds if I like) giving all manner of convenience for fencing, and -binding, and covering! Why, what would you have?” - -“It sounds very pleasant, certainly.” - -“Then, how can you make objections? I can’t think where you look, to -find any objections?” - -“I see none now, and I only want to be sure that we shall find none when -we arrive.” - -“Well! I do call that unreasonable! To expect to find any place on earth -altogether unobjectionable! I wonder what objection could be so great as -being turned out of one after another, just as we have got them into -order. Here comes our girl. Well, Becky, I see how you like the news! -Now, would not you like it better still if we were going to a place of -our own, where we should not be under any landlord’s whims? We should -have to work, you know, one and all. But we would get the land properly -manured, and have a cottage of our own in time; would not we? Will you -undertake the pigs, Becky?” - -“Yes, father; and there are many things I can do in the garden too. I am -old and strong, now; and I can do much more than I have ever done here.” - -“Aye; if the land was our own,” said Woodruffe, with a glance at his -wife. She said no more, but was presently up stairs putting Moss to bed. -She knew, from long experience, how matters would go. After a restless -night, Woodruffe spoke no more of buying the land without seeing it; and -he twice said, in a meditative, rather than a communicative way, that he -believed it would take as much capital as he had to remove his family, -and get his new land into fit condition for spring crops. - - -II. - -“You may look out now for the place. Look out for our new garden. We are -just there now,” said Woodruffe to the children as the whistle sounded, -and the train was approaching the station. It had been a glorious autumn -day from the beginning; and for the last hour, while the beauty of the -light on fields and trees and water had been growing more striking, the -children, tired with the novelty of all that they had seen since -morning, had been dropping asleep. They roused up suddenly enough at the -news that they were reaching their new home; and thrust their heads to -the windows, eagerly asking on which side they were to look for their -garden. It was on the south, the left-hand side; but it might have been -anywhere, for what they could see of it. Below the embankment was -something like a sheet of gray water, spreading far away. - -“It is going to be a foggy night,” observed Woodruffe. The children -looked into the air for the fog, which had always, in their experience, -arrived by that way from the sea. The sky was all a clear blue, except -where a pale green and a faint blush of pink streaked the west. A large -planet beamed clear and bright; and the air was so transparent that the -very leaves on the trees might almost be counted. Yet could nothing be -seen below for the gray mist which was rising, from moment to moment. - -Fleming met them as they alighted; but he could not stay till he had -seen to the other passengers. His wife was there. She had been a -merry-hearted girl; and now, still so young, as to look as girlish as -ever, she seemed even merrier than ever. She did not look strong, but -she had hardly thrown off what she called “a little touch of the ague;” -and she declared herself perfectly well when the wind was anywhere but -in the wrong quarter. Allan wondered how the wind could go wrong. He had -never heard of such a thing before. He had known the wind too high, when -it did mischief among his father’s fruit trees; but it had never -occurred to him that it was not free to come and go whence and whither -it would, without blame or objection. - -“Come--come home,” exclaimed Mrs. Fleming, “Never mind about your bags -and boxes! My husband will take care of them. Let me show you the way -home.” - -She let go the hands of the young brothers, and loaded them, and then -herself, with parcels, that they might not think they were going to lose -everything, as she said; and then tripped on before to show the way. The -way was down steps, from the highest of which two or three chimney-tops -might be seen piercing the mist which hid everything else. Down, down, -down went the party, by so many steps that little Moss began to totter -under his bundle. - -“How low this place lies!” observed the mother. - -“Why, yes;” replied Mrs. Fleming. “And yet I don’t know. I believe it is -rather that the railway runs high.” - -“Yes, yes; that is it,” said Woodruffe. “What an embankment this is! If -this is to shelter my garden to the north--” - -“Yes, yes, it is. I knew you would like it,” exclaimed Mrs. Fleming. “I -said you would be delighted. I only wish you could see your ground at -once; but it seems rather foggy, and I suppose we must wait till the -morning. Here we are at home.” - -The travellers were rather surprised to see how very small a house this -“home” was. Though called a cottage, it had not the look of one. It was -of a red brick, dingy, though evidently new; and, to all appearance, it -consisted of merely a room below, and one above. On walking round it, -however, a sloping roof in two directions gave a hint of further -accommodation. - -When the whole party had entered, and Mrs. Fleming had kissed them all -round, her glance at her mother asked, as plainly as any words, “Is not -this a pleasant room?” - -“A pretty room, indeed, my dear,” was the mother’s reply, “and as nicely -furnished as one could wish.” - -She did not say anything of the rust which her quick eye perceived on -the fire-irons and the door-key, or of the damp which stained the walls -just above the skirting-board. There was nothing amiss with the ceiling, -or the higher parts of the wall,--so it might be an accident. - -“But, my dear,” asked the mother, seeing how sleepy Moss looked, “Where -are you going to put us all? If we crowd you out of all comfort, I shall -be sorry we came so soon.” - -As Mrs. Fleming led the way upstairs, she reminded her family of their -agreement not to mind a little crowding for a time. If her mother -thought there was not room for all the newly arrived in this chamber, -they could fit out a corner for Allan in the place where she and her -husband were to sleep. - -“All of us in this room?” exclaimed Becky. - -“Yes, Becky; why not? Here, you see, is a curtain between your bed and -the large one; and your bed is large enough to let little Moss sleep -with you. And here is a morsel of a bed for Allan in the other corner; -and I have another curtain ready to shut it in.” - -“But,” said Becky, who was going on to object. Her mother stopped her by -a sign. - -“Or,” continued Mrs. Fleming, “if you like to let Allan and his bed and -curtain come down to our place, you will have plenty of room here; much -more than my neighbors have, for the most part. How it will be when the -new cottages are built, I don’t know. We think them too small for new -houses; but, meantime, there are the Brookes sleeping seven in a room no -bigger than this, and the Vines six in one much smaller.” - -“How do they manage, now?” asked the mother. “In case of illness, say; -and how do they wash and dress?” - -“Ah! that is the worst part of it. I don’t think the boys wash -themselves--what we should call washing--for weeks together; or at least -only on Saturday nights. So they slip their clothes on in two minutes; -and then their mother and sisters can get up. But there is the pump -below for Allan, and he can wash as much as he pleases.” - -It was not till the next day that Mrs. Woodruffe knew--and then it was -Allan who told her--that the pump was actually in the very place where -the Flemings slept,--close by their bed. The Flemings were, in truth, -sleeping in an outhouse, where the floor was of brick, the swill-tub -stood in one corner, the coals were heaped in another, and the light -came in from a square hole high up, which had never till now been -glazed. Plenty of air rushed in under the door, and yet some more -between the tiles,--there being no plaster beneath them. As soon as Mrs. -Woodruffe had been informed of this, and had stepped in, while her -daughter’s back was turned, to make her own observations, she went out -by herself for a walk,--so long a walk, that it was several hours before -she reappeared, heated and somewhat depressed. She had roamed the -country round, in search of lodgings; and finding none,--finding no -occupier who really could possibly spare a room on any terms,--she had -returned convinced that, serious as the expense would be, she and her -family ought to settle themselves in the nearest town,--her husband -going to his business daily by the third-class train, till a dwelling -could be provided for them on the spot. - -When she returned, the children were on the watch for her; and little -Moss had strong hopes that she would not know him. He had a great cap -of rushes on his head, with a heavy bulrush for a feather; he was stuck -all over with water-flags and bulrushes, and carried a long osier wand, -wherewith to flog all those who did not admire him enough in his new -style of dress. The children were clamorous for their mother to come -down, and see the nice places where they got these new playthings; and -she would have gone, but that their father came up, and decreed it -otherwise. She was heated and tired, he said; and he would not have her -go till she was easy and comfortable enough to see things in the best -light. - -Her impression was that her husband was, more or less (and she did not -know why), disappointed; but he did not say so. He would not hear of -going off to the town, being sure that some place would turn up -soon,--some place where they might put their heads at night; and the -Flemings should be no losers by having their company by day. Their -boarding all together, if the sleeping could but be managed, would be a -help to the young people,--a help which it was pleasant to him, as a -father, to be able to give them. He said nothing about the land that was -not in praise of it. Its quality was excellent; or would be when it had -good treatment. It would take some time and trouble to get it in -order,--so much that it would never do to live at a distance from it. -Besides, no trains that would suit him ran at the proper hours; so there -was an end of it. They must all rough it a little for a time, and expect -their reward afterwards. - -There was nothing that Woodruffe was so hard to please in as the time -when he should take his wife to see the ground. It was close at hand; -yet he hindered her going in the morning, and again after their early -dinner. He was anxious that she should not be prejudiced, or take a -dislike at first; and in the morning, the fog was so thick that -everything looked dank and dreary; and in the middle of the day, when a -warm autumn sun had dissolved the mists, there certainly was a most -disagreeable smell hanging about. It was not gone at sunset; but by -that time Mrs. Woodruffe was impatient, and she appeared--Allan showing -her the way--just when her husband was scraping his feet upon his spade, -after a hard day of digging. - -“There, now!” said he, good-humoredly, striking his spade into the -ground, “Fleming said you would be down before we were ready for you; -and here you are!--Yes, ready for you. There are some planks coming, to -keep your feet out of the wet among all this clay.” - -“And yours, too, I hope,” said the wife. “I don’t mind such wet, after -rain, as you have been accustomed to; but to stand in a puddle like this -is a very different thing.” - -“Yes--so ’tis. But we’ll have the planks; and they will serve for -running the wheelbarrow, too. It is too much for Allan, or any boy, to -run the barrow in such a soil as this. We’ll have the planks first; and -then we’ll drain, and drain, and get rare spring crops.” - -“What have they given you this artificial pond for,” asked the wife, “if -you must drain so much?” - -“That is no pond. All the way along here, on both sides the railway, -there is the mischief of these pits. They dig out the clay for bricks, -and then leave the places--pits like this, some of them six feet deep. -The railways have done a deal of good for the poor man, and will do a -great deal more yet; but, at present, this one has left those pits.” - -“I hope Moss will not fall into one. They are very dangerous,” declared -the mother, looking about for the child. - -“He is safe enough there, among the osiers,” said the father. “He has -lost his heart outright to the osiers. However, I mean to drain and fill -up this pit, when I find a good out-fall; and then we will have all high -and dry, and safe for the children. I don’t care so much for the pit as -for the ditches there. Don’t you notice the bad smell?” - -“Yes, indeed, that struck me the first night.” - -“I have been inquiring to-day, and I find there is one acre in twenty -hereabouts occupied with foul ditches like that. And then the overflow -from them and the pits, spoils many an acre more. There is a stretch of -water-flags and bulrushes, and nasty coarse grass and rushes, nothing -but a swamp, where the ground is naturally as good as this; and, look -here! Fleming was rather out, I tell him, when he wrote that I might -graze a pony on the pasture below, whenever I have a market-cart. I ask -him if he expects me to water it here.” - -So saying, Woodruffe led the way to one of the ditches which, instead of -fences, bounded his land; and, moving the mass of weed with a stick, -showed the water beneath, covered with a whitish bubbling scum, the -smell of which was insufferable. - -“There is plenty of manure there,” said Woodruffe; “that is the only -thing that can be said for it. We’ll make manure of it, and sweep out -the ditch, and deepen it, and narrow it, and not use up so many feet of -good ground for a ditch that does nothing but poison us. A fence is -better than a ditch any day. I’ll have a fence, and still save ten feet -of ground, the whole way down.” - -“There is a great deal to do here,” observed the wife. - -“And good reward when it is done,” Woodruffe replied. “If I can fall in -with a stout laborer, he and Allan and I can get our spring crops -prepared for; and I expect they will prove the goodness of the soil. -There is Fleming. Supper is ready, I suppose.” - -The children were called, but both were so wet and dirty that it took -twice as long as usual to make them fit to sit at table; and apologies -were made for keeping supper waiting. The grave half-hour before Moss’s -bed-time was occupied with the most solemn piece of instruction he had -ever had in his life. His father carried him up to the railway, and made -him understand the danger of playing there. He was never to play there. -His father would go up with him once a day, and let him see a train -pass; and this was the only time he was ever to mount the steps, except -by express leave. Moss was put to bed in silence, with his father’s -deep, grave voice, sounding in his ears. - -“He will not forget it,” declared his father. “He will give us no -trouble about the railway. The next thing is the pit. Allan, I expect -you to see that he does not fall into the pit. In time, we shall teach -him to take care of himself; but you must remember, meanwhile, that the -pit is six feet deep--deeper than I am high; and that the edge is the -same clay that you slipped on so often this morning.” - -“Yes, father,” said Allan, looking as grave as if power of life and -death were in his hands. - - -III. - -One fine morning in the next spring, there was more stir and -cheerfulness about the Woodruffes’ dwelling than there had been of late. -The winter had been somewhat dreary; and now the spring was anxious; for -Woodruffe’s business was not, as yet, doing very well. His hope, when he -bought his pony and cart, was to dispatch by railway to the town the -best of his produce, and sell the commoner part in the country -neighborhood, sending his cart round within the reach of a few miles. As -it turned out, he had nothing yet to send to the town, and his agent -there was vexed and displeased. No radishes, onions, early salads, or -rhubarb were ready, and it would be some time yet before they were. - -“I am sure I have done everything I could,” said Woodruffe to Fleming, -as they both lent a hand to put the pony into the cart. “Nobody can say -that I have not made drains enough, or that they are not deep enough; -yet the frost has taken such a hold that one would think we were living -in the north of Scotland, instead of in Staffordshire.” - -“It has not been a severe season either,” observed Fleming. - -“There’s the vexation,” replied Woodruffe. “If it had been a season -which set us at defiance, and made all sufferers alike, one must just -submit to a loss, and go on again, like one’s neighbors. But, you see, -I am cut out, as my agent says, from the market. Everybody else has -spring vegetables there, as usual. It is no use telling him that I never -failed before. But I know what it is. It is yonder great ditch that does -the mischief.” - -“Why, we have nothing to do with that.” - -“That is the very reason. If it was mine or yours, do you think I should -not have taken it in hand long ago? All my draining goes for little -while that shallow ditch keeps my ground a continual sop. It is all -uneven along the bottom;--not the same depth for three feet together -anywhere, and not deep enough by two feet in any part. So there it is, -choked up and putrid; and, after an hour or two of rain, my garden gets -such a soaking that the next frost is destruction.” - -“I will speak about it again,” said Fleming. “We must have it set right -before next winter.” - -“I think we have seen enough of the uselessness of speaking,” replied -Woodruffe, gloomily. “If we tease the gentry any more, they may punish -you for it. I would show them my mind by being off,--throwing up my -bargain at all costs, if I had not put so much into the ground that I -have nothing left to move away with.” - -“Don’t be afraid for me,” said Fleming, cheerfully. “It was chiefly my -doing that you came here, and I must try my utmost to obtain fair -conditions for you. We must remember that the benefit of your outlay has -all to come.” - -“Yes; I can’t say we have got much of it yet.” - -“By next winter,” continued Fleming, “your privet hedges and screens -will have grown up into some use against the frost; and your own -drainage----. Come, come, Allan, my boy! be off! It is getting late.” - -Allan seemed to be idling, re-arranging his bunches of small radishes, -and little bundles of rhubarb, in their clean baskets, and improving the -stick with which he was to drive; but he pleaded that he was waiting for -Moss, and for the parcel which his mother was getting ready for Becky. - -“Ah I my poor little girl!” said Woodruffe. “Give my love to her, and -tell her it will be a happy day when we can send for her to come home -again. Be sure you observe particularly, to tell us how she looks; and, -mind, if she fancies anything in the cart,--any radishes, or whatever -else, because it comes out of our garden, be sure you give it her. I -wish I was going myself with the cart, for the sake of seeing Becky; but -I must go to work. Here have I been all the while, waiting to see you -off. Ah! here they come! you may always have notice now of who is coming -by that child’s crying.” - -“O, father! not always!” exclaimed Allan. - -“Far too often, I’m sure. I never knew a child grow so fractious. I am -saying, my dear,” to his wife, who now appeared with her parcel, and -Moss in his best hat, “that boy is the most fractious child we ever had; -and he is getting too old for that to begin now. How can you spoil him -so?” - -“I am not aware,” said Mrs. Woodruffe, her eyes filling with tears, -“that I treat him differently from the rest; but the child is not well. -His chilblains tease him terribly, and I wish there may be nothing -worse.” - -“Warm weather will soon cure the chilblains, and then I hope we shall -see an end of the fretting.--Now, leave off crying this minute, Moss, or -you don’t go. You don’t see me cry with my rheumatism, and that is worse -than chilblains, I can tell you.” - -Moss tried to stifle his sobs, while his mother put more straw into the -cart for him, and cautioned Allan to be careful of him, for it really -seemed as if the child was tender all over. Allan seemed to succeed best -as comforter. He gave Moss the stick to wield, and showed him how to -make believe to whip the pony, so that before they turned the corner, -Moss was wholly engrossed with what he called driving. - -“Yes, yes,” said Woodruffe, as he turned away to go to the garden, -“Allan is the one to manage, him. He can take as good care of him as any -woman without spoiling him!” - -Mrs. Woodruffe submitted to this in silence; but with the feeling that -she did not deserve it. - -Becky had had no notice of this visit from her brothers; but no such -visit could take her by surprise; for she was thinking of her family all -day long, every day, and fancying she should see them whichever way she -turned. It was not her natural destination to be a servant in a -farm-house; she had never expected it,--never been prepared for it. She -was as willing to work as any girl could be; and her help in the -gardening was beyond what most women are capable of; but it was a bitter -thing to her to go among strangers, and toil for them, when she knew -that she was wanted at home by father and mother, and brothers, and just -at present by her sister too; for Mrs. Fleming’s confinement was to -happen this spring. The reason why Becky was not at home while so much -wanted there was, that there really was no accommodation for her. The -plan of sleeping all huddled together as they were at first would not -do. The girl herself could not endure it; and her parents felt that she -must be got out at any sacrifice. They had inquired diligently till they -found a place for her in a farm-house, where the good wife promised -protection, and care, and kindness; and fulfilled her promise to the -best of her power. - -“I hope they do well by you here, Becky,” asked Allan, when the surprise -caused by his driving up with a dash had subsided, and everybody had -retired, to leave Becky with her brothers for the few minutes they could -stay. “I hope they are kind to you here.” - -“O, yes,--very kind. And I am sure you ought to say so to father and -mother.” - -Becky had jumped into the cart, and had her arms round Moss, and her -head on his shoulder. Raising her head, and with her eyes filling as she -spoke, she inquired anxiously how the new cottages went on, and when -father and mother were to have a home of their own again. She owned, but -did not wish her father and mother to hear of it, that she did not like -being among such rough people as the farm servants. She did not like -some of the behavior that she saw; and, still less, such talk as she was -obliged to overhear. When _would_ a cottage be ready for them? - -“Why, the new cottages would soon be getting on now,” Allan said; but he -didn’t know, nobody fancied the look of them. He saw them just after the -foundations were laid; and the enclosed parts were like a clay-puddle. -He did not see how they were ever to be improved; for the curse of wet -seemed to be on them, as upon everything about the Station. Fleming’s -cottage was the best he had seen, after all, if only it was twice as -large. If anything could be done to make the new cottages what cottages -should be, it would be done: for everybody agreed that the railway -gentlemen desired to do the best for their people, and to set an example -in that respect; but it was beyond anybody’s power to make wet clay as -healthy as warm gravel. Unless they could go to work first to dry the -soil, it seemed a hopeless sort of affair. - -“But, I say, Becky,” pursued Allan, “you know about my garden--that -father gave me a garden of my own.” - -Becky’s head was turned quite away; and she did not look round, when she -replied, - -“Yes; I remember. How does your garden get on?” - -There was something in her voice which made her brother lean over and -look into her face; and, as he expected, tears were running down her -cheeks. - -“There now!” said he, whipping the back of the cart with his stick; -“something must be done, if you can’t get on here.” - -“O! I can get on. Be sure you don’t tell mother that I can’t get on, or -anything about it.” - -“You look healthy, to be sure.” - -“To be sure I am. Don’t say any more about it. Tell me about your -garden.” - -“Well: I am trying what I can make of it, after I have done working with -father. But it takes a long time to bring it round.” - -“What! is the wet there, too?” - -“Lord, yes! The wet was beyond everything at first. I could not leave -the spade in the ground ten minutes, if father called me, but the water -was standing in the hole when I went back again. It is not so bad now, -since I made a drain to join upon father’s principal one; and father -gave me some sand, and plenty of manure; but it seems to us that manure -does little good. It won’t sink in when the ground is so wet.” - -“Well, there will be the summer next, and that will dry up your garden.” - -“Yes. People say the smells are dreadful in hot weather, though. But we -seem to get used to that. I thought it sickly work, just after we came, -going down to get osiers, and digging near the big ditch that is our -plague now: but somehow, it does not strike me now as it did then, -though Fleming says it is getting worse every warm day. But come--I must -be off. What will you help yourself to? And don’t forget your parcel.” - -Becky’s great anxiety was to know when her brothers would come again. O! -very often, she was assured--oftener and oftener as the vegetables came -forward; whenever there were either too many or too few to send to the -town by rail. - -After Becky had jumped down, the farmer and one of the men were seen to -be contemplating the pony. - -“What have you been giving your pony lately?” asked the farmer of Allan. -“I ask as a friend, having some experience of this part of the country. -Have you been letting him graze?” - -“Yes, in the bit of meadow that we have leave for. There is a good deal -of grass there, now. He has been grazing there these three weeks.” - -“On the meadow where the osier beds are? Ay! I knew it by the look of -him. Tell your father that if he does not take care, his pony will have -the staggers in no time. An acquaintance of mine grazed some cattle -there once; and in a week or two, they were all feverish, so that the -butcher refused them on any terms; and I have seen more than one horse -in the staggers, after grazing in marshes of that sort.” - -“There is fine thick grass there, and plenty of it,” said Allan, who did -not like that anybody but themselves should criticise their new place -and plans. - -“Ay, ay; I know,” replied the farmer. “But if you try to make hay of -that grass, you’ll be surprised to find how long it takes to make, and -how like wool it comes out at last. It is a coarse grass, with no -strength in it; and it must be a stronger beast than this that will bear -feeding on it. Just do you tell your father what I say, that’s all; and -then he can do as he pleases; but I would take a different way with that -pony, without loss of time, if it was mine.” - -Allan did not much like taking this sort of message to his father, who -was not altogether so easy to please as he used to be. If anything vexed -him ever so little, he always began to complain of his rheumatism--and -he now complained of his rheumatism many times in a day. It was managed, -however, by tacking a little piece of amusement and pride upon it. Moss -was taught, all the way as they went home, after selling their -vegetables, how much everything sold for; and he was to deliver the -money to his father, and go through his lesson as gravely as any big -man. It succeeded very well. Everybody laughed. Woodruffe called the -child his little man-of-business; gave him a penny out of the money he -brought; and when he found that the child did not like jumping as he -used to do, carried him up to the railway to listen for the whistle, and -see the afternoon train come up, and stop a minute, and go on again. - - -IV. - -Fleming did what he could to find fair play for his father-in-law. He -spoke to one and another--to the officers of the railway, and to the -owners of neighboring plots of ground, about the bad drainage, which was -injuring everybody; but he could not learn that anything was likely to -be done. The ditch--the great evil of all--had always been there, he -was told, and people never used to complain of it. When Fleming pointed -out that it was at first a comparatively deep ditch, and that it grew -shallower every year from the accumulations formed by its uneven bottom, -there were some who admitted that it might be as well to clean it out; -yet nobody set about it. And it was truly a more difficult affair now -than it would have been at an earlier time. If the ditch was shallower, -it was much wider. It had once been twelve feet wide, and it was now -eighteen. When any drain had been flowing into it, or after a rainy day, -the contents spread through and over the soil on each side, and softened -it, and then the next time any horse or cow came to drink, the whole -bank was made a perfect bog; for the poor animals, however thirsty, -tried twenty places to find water that they could drink before going -away in despair. Such was the bar in the way of poor Woodruffe’s success -with his ground. Before the end of summer his patience was nearly worn -out. During a showery and gleamy May and a pleasant June, he had gone -on as prosperously as he could expect under the circumstances; and he -confidently anticipated that a seasonable July and August would set him -up. But he had had no previous experience of the peculiarities of -ill-drained land; and the hot July and August, from which he hoped so -much, did him terrible mischief. The drought which would have merely -dried and pulverized a well-drained soil, leaving it free to profit much -by small waterings, baked the overcharged soil of Woodruffe’s garden -into hard hot masses of clay, amidst which his produce died off faster -and faster every day, even though he and all his family wore out their -strength with constant watering. He did hope, he said, that he should -have been spared drought at least; but it seemed as if he was to have -every plague in turn; and the drought seemed, at the time, to be the -worst of all. - -One day Fleming saw a welcome face in one of the carriages; Mr. Nelson, -a director of the railway, who was looking along the line to see how -matters went. Though Mr. Nelson was not exactly the one, of all the -directors, whom Fleming would have chosen to appeal to, he saw that the -opportunity must not be lost; and he entreated him to alight, and stay -for the next train. - -“Eh! what!” said Mr. Nelson; “what can you want with us here? A station -like this! Why, one has to put on spectacles to see it!” - -“If you would come down, sir, I should be glad to show you....” - -“Well; I suppose I must.” - -As they were standing on the little platform, and the train was growing -smaller in the distance, Fleming proceeded to business. He told of the -serious complaints that were made for a distance of a few miles on -either hand, of the clay pits left by the railway brickmakers, to fill -with stagnant waters. - -“Pho! pho! Is that what you want to say?” replied Mr. Nelson. “You need -not have stopped me just to tell me that. We hear of those pits all -along the line. We are sick of hearing of them.” - -“That does not mend the matter in this place,” observed Fleming. “I -speak freely, sir, but I think it my duty to say that something must be -done. I heard a few days ago, more than the people hereabouts -know,--much more than I shall tell them--of the fever that has settled -on particular points of our line; and I now assure you, sir, that if the -fever once gets a hold in this place, I believe it may carry us all off -before anything can be done. Sir, there is not one of us within half a -mile of the station that has a wholesome dwelling.” - -“Pho! pho! you are a croaker,” declared Mr. Nelson. “Never saw such a -dismal fellow! Why, you will die of fright, if ever you die of -anything.” - -“Then, sir, will you have the goodness to walk round with me, and see -for yourself what you think of things. It is not only for myself and my -family that I speak. In an evil day I induced my wife’s family to settle -here, and....” - -“Ay! that is a nice garden,” observed Mr. Nelson, as Fleming pointed to -Woodruffe’s land. “You are a croaker, Fleming. I declare I think the -place is much improved since I saw it last. People would not come and -settle here if the place was like what you say.” - -Instead of arguing the matter, Fleming led the way down the long flight -of steps. He was aware that leading the gentleman among bad smells and -over shoes in a foul bog would have more effect than any argument was -ever known to have on his contradictious spirit. - -“You should have seen worse things than these, and then you would not be -so discontented,” observed Mr. Nelson, striking his stick upon the -hard-baked soil, all intersected with cracks. “I have seen such a soil -as this in Spain, some days after a battle, when there were scores of -fingers and toes sticking up out of the cracks. What would you say to -that?--eh?” - -“We may have a chance of seeing that here,” replied Fleming; “if the -plague comes, and comes too fast for the coffin-makers,--a thing which -has happened more than once in England, I believe.” - -Mr. Nelson stopped to laugh; but he certainly attended more to business -as he went on; and Fleming, who knew something of his ways, had hopes -that if he could only keep his own temper, this visit of the director -might not be without good results. - -In passing through Woodruffe’s garden, very nice management was -necessary. Woodruffe was at work there, charged with ire against railway -directors and landed proprietors, whom, amidst the pangs of his -rheumatism, he regarded as the poisoners of his land and the bane of his -fortunes; while, on the other hand, Mr. Nelson, who had certainly never -been a market gardener, criticized and ridiculed everything that met his -eye. What was the use of such a tool-house as that?--big enough for a -house for them all. What was the use of such low fences?--of such high -screens?--of making the walks so wide?--sheer waste?--of making the beds -so long one way, and so narrow another?--of planting or sowing this and -that?--things that nobody wanted. Woodruffe had pushed back his hat in -preparation for a defiant reply, when Fleming caught his eye, and, by a -good-tempered smile, conveyed to him that they had an oddity to deal -with. Allan, who had begun by listening reverently, was now looking from -one to another in great perplexity. - -“What is that boy here for, staring like a dunce? Why don’t you send him -to school? You neglect a parent’s duty if you don’t send him to school.” - -Woodruffe answered by a smile of contempt, walked away, and went to work -at a distance. - -“That boy is very well taught,” Fleming said, quietly. “He is a great -reader, and will soon be fit to keep his father’s accounts.” - -“What does he stare in that manner for, then? I took him for a dunce.” - -“He is not accustomed to hear his father called in question, either as a -gardener or a parent.” - -“Pho! pho! I might as well have waited, though, till he was out of -hearing. Well, is this all you have to show me? I think you make a great -fuss about nothing.” - -“Will you walk this way?” said Fleming, turning down towards the osier -beds, without any compassion for the gentleman’s boots or olfactory -nerves. For a long while Mr. Nelson affected to admire the reed, and -water-flags, and marsh-blossoms, declared the decayed vegetation to be -peat soil, very fine peat, which the ladies would be glad of for their -heaths in the flower-garden,--and thought there must be good fowling -here in winter. Fleming quietly turned over the so-called peat with a -stick, letting it be seen that it was a mere dung-heap of decayed -rushes, and wished Mr. Nelson would come in the fowling season, and see -what the place was like. - -“The children are merry enough, however,” observed the gentleman. “They -can laugh here, much as in other places. I advise you to take a lesson -from them, Fleming. Now, don’t you teach them to croak.” - -The laughter sounded from the direction of the old brick-ground; and -thither they now turned. Two little boys were on the brink of a pit, so -intent on watching a rat in the water and on pelting it with stones, -that they did not see that anybody was coming to disturb them. In answer -to Mr. Nelson’s question, whether they were vagrants, and why vagrants -were permitted there, Fleming answered that the younger one--the -pale-faced one--was his little brother-in-law; the other-- - -“Ay, now, you will be telling me next that the pale face is the fault of -this place.” - -“It certainly is,” said Fleming. “That child was chubby enough when he -came.” - -“Pho, pho! a puny little wretch as ever I saw--puny from its birth, I -have no doubt of it. And who is the other--a gypsy?” - -“He looks like it,” replied Fleming. On being questioned, Moss told that -the boy lived near, and he had often played with him lately. Yes, he -lived near, just beyond those trees; not in a house, only a sort of -house the people had made for themselves. Mr. Nelson liked to lecture -vagrants, even more than other people; so Moss was required to show the -way, and his dark-skinned playfellow was not allowed to skulk behind. - -Moss led his party on, over the tufty hay-colored grass, skipping from -bunch to bunch of rushes, round the osier-beds, and at last straight -through a clump of elders, behind whose screen now appeared the house, -as Moss had called it, which the gypsies had made for themselves. It was -the tilt of a wagon, serving as a tent. Nobody was visible but a woman, -crouching under the shadow of the tent, to screen from the sun that -which was lying across her lap. - -“What is that that she’s nursing? Lord bless me! Can that be a child?” -exclaimed Mr. Nelson. - -“A child in the fever,” replied Fleming. - -“Lord bless me!--to see legs and arms hang down like that!” exclaimed -the gentleman; and he forthwith gave the woman a lecture on her method -of nursing--scolded her for letting the child get a fever--for not -putting it to bed--for not getting a doctor to it--for being a gypsy, -and living under an alder clump. He then proceeded to inquire whether -she had anybody else in the tent, where her husband was, whether he -lived by thieving, how they would all like being transported, whether -she did not think her children would all be hanged, and so on. At first, -the woman tried a facetious and wheedling tone, then a whimpering one, -and, finally, a scolding one. The last answered well. Mr. Nelson found -that a man, to say nothing of a gentleman, has no chance with a woman -with a sore heart in her breast, and a sick child in her lap, when once -he has driven her to her weapon of the tongue. He said afterwards, that -he had once gone to Billingsgate, on purpose to set two fisherwomen -quarrelling, that he might see what it was like. The scene had fulfilled -all his expectations; but he now declared that it could not compare with -this exhibition behind the alders. He stood a long while, first trying -to overpower the woman’s voice; and, when that seemed hopeless, poking -about among the rushes with his stick, and finally, staring in the -woman’s face, in a mood between consternation and amusement;--thus he -stood, waiting till the torrent should intermit; but there was no sign -of intermission; and when the sick child began to move and rouse itself, -and look at the strangers, as if braced by the vigor of its mother’s -tongue, the prospect of an end seemed farther off than ever. Mr. Nelson -shrugged his shoulders, signed to his companions, and walked away -through the alders. The woman was not silent because they were out of -sight. Her voice waxed shriller as it followed them, and died away only -in the distance. Moss was grasping Fleming’s hand with all his might -when Mr. Nelson spoke to him, and shook his stick at him, asking him how -he came to play with such people, and saying that if ever he heard him -learning to scold like that woman, he would beat him with that stick; so -Moss vowed he never would. - -When the train was in sight by which Mr. Nelson was to depart, he turned -to Fleming, with the most careless air imaginable, saying, “Have you -any medicine in your house?--any bark?” - -“Not any. But I will send for some.” - -“Ay, do. Or,--no--I will send you some. See if you can’t get these -people housed somewhere, so that they may not sleep in the swamp. I -don’t mean in any of your houses, but in a barn, or some such place. If -the physic comes before the doctor, get somebody to dose the child. And -don’t fancy you are all going to die of the fever. That is the way to -make yourselves ill; and it is all nonsense, too, I dare say.” - -“Do you like that gentleman?” asked Moss, sapiently, when the train was -whirling Mr. Nelson out of sight. “Because I don’t--not at all.” - -“I believe he is kinder than he means, Moss. He need not be so rough; -but I know he does kind things sometimes.” - -“But, do you like him?” - -“No, I can’t say I do.” - -Before many hours were over, Fleming was sorry that he had admitted -this, even to himself; and for many days after he was occasionally -heard telling Moss what a good gentleman Mr. Nelson was, for all his -roughness of manners. With the utmost speed, before it would have been -thought possible, arrived a surgeon from the next town, with medicines, -and the news that he was to come every day while there was any fear of -fever. The gypsies were to have been cared for; but they were gone. The -marks of their fire and a few stray feathers which showed that a fowl -had been plucked, alone told where they had encamped. A neighbor, who -loved her poultry yard, was heard to say that the sick child would not -die for want of chicken broth, she would be bound; and the nearest -farmer asked if they had left any potato-peels and turnip tops for his -pig. He thought that was the least they could do after making their -famous gypsy stew (a capital dish, it was said) from his vegetables. -They were gone; and if they had not left fever behind, they might be -forgiven, for the sake of the benefit of taking themselves off. After -the search for the gypsies was over, there was still an unusual stir -about the place. One and another stranger appeared and examined the low -grounds, and sent for one and another of the neighboring proprietors, -whether farmer, or builder, or gardener, or laborer; for every one who -owned or rented a yard of land on the borders of the great ditch, or -anywhere near the clay-pits or osier-beds. - -It was the opinion of the few residents near the Station that something -would be done to improve the place before another year; and everybody -said that it must be Mr. Nelson’s doings, and that it was a thousand -pities that he did not come earlier, before the fever had crept thus far -along the line. - - -V. - -For some months past, Becky had believed without a doubt, that the day -of her return home would be the very happiest day of her life. She was -too young to know yet that it is not for us to settle which of our days -shall be happy ones, nor what events shall yield us joy. The promise had -not been kept that she should return when her father and mother removed -into the new cottage. She had been told that there really was not, even -now, decent room for them all; and that they must at least wait till the -hot weather was completely over before they crowded the chamber, as they -had hitherto done. And then, when autumn came on, and the creeping mists -from the low grounds hung round the place from sunset till after -breakfast the next day, the mother delayed sending for her daughter, -unwilling that she should lose the look of health which she alone now, -of all the family, exhibited. Fleming and his wife and babe prospered -better than the others. The young man’s business lay on the high ground, -at the top of the embankment. He was there all day while Mr. Woodruffe -and Allan were below, among the ditches and the late and early fogs. -Mrs. Fleming was young and strong, full of spirit and happiness; and so -far fortified against the attacks of disease, as a merry heart -strengthens nerve and bone and muscle, and invigorates all the vital -powers. In regard to her family, her father’s hopeful spirit seemed to -have passed into her. While he was becoming permanently discouraged, she -was always assured that everything would come right next year. The time -had arrived for her power of hope to be tested to the utmost. One day -this autumn, she admitted that Becky must be sent for. She did not -forget, however, to charge Allan to be cheerful, and make the best of -things, and not frighten Becky by the way. - -It was now the end of October. Some of the days were balmy -elsewhere--the afternoons ruddy; the leaves crisp beneath the tread; the -squirrel busy after the nuts in the wood; the pheasants splendid among -the dry ferns in the brake, the sportsman warm and thirsty in his -exploring among the stubble. In the evenings the dwellers in country -houses called one another out upon the grass, to see how bright the -stars were, and how softly the moonlight slept upon the woods. While it -was thus in one place, in another, and not far off, all was dank, dim, -dreary and unwholesome; with but little sun, and no moon or stars; all -chill, and no glow; no stray perfumes, the last of the year, but sickly -scents coming on the steam from below. Thus it was about Fleming’s -house, this latter end of October, when he saw but little of his wife, -because she was nursing her mother in the fever, and when he tried to -amuse himself with his young baby at meal-times (awkward nurse as he -was) to relieve his wife of the charge for the little time he could be -at home. When the baby cried, and when he saw his Abby look wearied, he -did wish, now and then, that Becky was at home; but he was patient, and -helpful, and as cheerful as he could be, till the day which settled the -matter. On that morning he felt strangely weak, barely able to mount the -steps to the station. During the morning, several people told him he -looked ill; and one person did more. The porter sent a message to the -next large Station that somebody must be sent immediately to fill -Fleming’s place, in case of his being too ill to work. Somebody came; -and before that, Fleming was in bed--certainly down in the fever. His -wife was now wanted at home; and Becky must come to her mother. - -Though Becky asked questions all the way home, and Allan answered them -as truthfully as he knew how, she was not prepared for what she -found--her father aged and bent, always in pain, more or less, and far -less furnished with plans and hopes than she had ever known him; Moss, -fretful and sickly, and her mother unable to turn herself in her bed. -Nobody mentioned death. The surgeon who came daily, and told Becky -exactly what to do, said nothing of anybody dying of the fever, while -Woodruffe was continually talking of things that were to be done when -his wife got well again. It was sad, and sometimes alarming, to hear the -strange things that Mrs. Woodruffe said in the evenings when she was -delirious; but if Abby stepped in at such times, she did not think much -of it, did not look upon it as any sign of danger; and was only thankful -that her husband had no delirium. His head was always clear, she said, -though he was very weak. Becky never doubted, after this, that her -mother was the most severely ill of the two; and she was thunderstruck -when she heard one morning the surgeon’s answers to her father’s -questions about Fleming. He certainly considered it a bad case; he would -not say that he could not get through; but he must say it was contrary -to his expectation. When Becky saw her father’s face as he turned away -and went out, she believed his heart was broken. - -“But I thought,” said she to the surgeon, “I thought my mother was most -ill of the two.” - -“I don’t know that,” was the reply, “but she is very ill. We are doing -the best we can. You are, I am sure,” he said, kindly; “and we must hope -on, and do our best till a change comes. The wisest of us do not know -what changes may come. But I could not keep your father in ignorance of -what may happen in the other house.” - -No appearances alarmed Abby. Because there was no delirium, she -apprehended no danger. Even when the fatal twitchings came, the arm -twitching as it lay upon the coverlid, she did not know it was a symptom -of anything. As she nursed her husband perfectly well, and could not -have been made more prudent and watchful by any warning, she had no -warning. Her cheerfulness was encouraged, for her infant’s sake, as well -as for her husband’s and her own. Some thought that her husband knew his -own case. A word or two,--now a gesture, and now a look,--persuaded the -surgeon and Woodruffe that he was aware that he was going. His small -affairs were always kept settled; he had probably no directions to give; -and his tenderness for his wife showed itself in his enjoying her -cheerfulness to the last. When, as soon as it was light, one December -morning, Moss was sent to ask if Abby could possibly come for a few -minutes, because mother was worse, he found his sister alone, looking at -the floor, her hands on her lap, though her baby was fidgetting in its -cradle. Fleming’s face was covered, and he lay so still that Moss, who -had never seen death, felt sure that all was over. The boy hardly knew -what to do; and his sister seemed not to hear what he said. The thought -of his mother,--that Abby’s going might help or save her,--moved him to -act. He kissed Abby, and said she must please go to mother; and he took -the baby out of the cradle, and wrapped it up, and put it into its -mother’s arms; and fetched Abby’s bonnet, and took her cloak down from -its peg, and opened the door for her, saying, that he would stay and -take care of everything. His sister went without a word; and, as soon as -he had closed the door behind her, Moss sank down on his knees before -the chair where she had been sitting, and hid his face there till some -one came for him,--to see his mother once more before she died. - -As the two coffins were carried out, to be conveyed to the churchyard -together, Mr. Nelson, who had often been backward and forward during the -last six weeks, observed to the surgeon that the death of such a man as -Fleming was a dreadful loss. - -“It is that sort of men that the fever cuts off,” said the surgeon. -“The strong man, in the prime of life, at his best period, one may say, -for himself and for society, is taken away,--leaving wife and child -helpless and forlorn. That is the ravage that the fever makes.” - -“Well; would not people tell you that it is our duty to submit?” asked -Mr. Nelson, who could not help showing some emotion by voice and -countenance. - -“Submit!” said the surgeon. “That depends on what the people mean who -use the word. If you or I were ill of the fever, we must resign -ourselves, as cheerfully as we could. But if you ask me whether we -should submit to see more of our neighbors cut off by fever as these -have been, I can only ask in return, whose doing it is that they are -living in a swamp, and whether that is to go on? Who dug the clay pits? -Who let that ditch run abroad, and make a filthy bog? Are you going to -charge that upon Providence and talk of submitting to the consequences? -If so, that is not my religion.” - -“No, no. There is no religion in that,” replied Mr. Nelson, for once -agreeing in what was said to him. “It must be looked to.” - -“It must,” said the surgeon, as decidedly as if he had been a railway -director, or king and parliament in one. - - -VI. - -“I wonder whether there is a more forlorn family in England than we are -now,” said Woodruffe, as he sat among his children, a few hours after -the funeral. - -His children were glad to hear him speak, however gloomy might be his -tone. His silence had been so terrible that nothing that he could say -could so weigh upon their hearts. His words, however, brought out his -widowed daughter’s tears again. She was sewing--her infant lying in her -lap. As her tears fell upon its face, it moved and cried. Becky came and -took it up, and spoke cheerfully to it. The cheerfulness seemed to be -the worst of all. Poor Abby laid her forehead to the back of her chair, -and sobbed as if her heart would break. - -“Ay, Abby,” said her father, “your heart is breaking, and mine too. You -and I can go to our rest, like those that have gone before us; but I -have to think of what will become of these young things.” - -“Yes, father,” said Becky gently, but with a tone of remonstrance, “you -must endeavor to live, and not make up your mind to dying, because life -has grown heavy and sad.” - -“My dear, I am ill--very ill. It is not merely that life is grown -intolerable to me. I am sure I could not live long in such misery of -mind; but I am breaking up fast.” - -The young people looked at each other in dismay. There was something -worse than the grief conveyed by their father’s words in the hopeless -daring--the despair--of his tone when he ventured to say that life was -unendurable. - -Becky had the child on one arm; with the other hand she took down her -father’s plaid from its peg, and put it round his rheumatic shoulders, -whispering in his ear a few words about desiring that God’s will should -be done. - -“My dear,” he replied, “it was I who taught you that lesson when you -were a child on my knee, and it would be strange if I forgot it when I -want so much any comfort that I can get. But I don’t believe (and if you -ask the clergyman, he will tell you that he does not believe) that it is -God’s will that we, or any other people, should be thrust into a swamp -like this, scarcely fit for the rats and the frogs to live in. It is -man’s doing, not God’s, that the fever makes such havoc as it has made -with us. The fever does not lay waste healthy places.” - -“Then why are we here?” Allan ventured to say. “Father, let us go.” - -“Go! I wonder how or where! I can’t go, or let any of you go. I have not -a pound in the world to spend in moving, or in finding new employment. -And if I had, who would employ me? Who would not laugh at a crippled old -man asking for work and wages?” - -“Then, father, we must see what we can do here, and you must not forbid -us to say ‘God’s will be done!’ If we cannot go away, it must be His -will that we should stay and have as much hope and courage as we can.” - -Woodruffe threw himself back in his chair. It was too much to expect -that he would immediately rally; but he let the young people confer, and -plan, and cheer each other. - -The first thing to be done, they agreed, was to move hither, whenever -the dismal rain would permit it, all Abby’s furniture that could not be -disposed of to her husband’s successors. It would fit up the lower room. -And Allan and Becky settled how the things could stand so as to make it -at once a bed-room and sitting-room. If, as Abby had said, she meant to -try to get some scholars, and keep a little school, room must be left to -seat the children. - -“Keep a school?” exclaimed Woodruffe, looking round at Abby. - -“Yes, father,” said Abby, raising her head. “That seems to be a thing -that I can do; and it will be good for me to have something to do. Becky -is the stoutest of us all, and....” - -“I wonder how long that will last,” groaned the father. - -“I am quite stout now,” said Becky; “and I am the one to help Allan with -the garden. Allan and I will work under your direction, father, while -your rheumatism lasts; and....” - -“And what am I to do?” asked Moss, pushing himself in. - -“You shall fetch and carry the tools,” said Becky; “that is, when the -weather is fine, and when your chilblains are not very bad. And you -shall be bird-boy when the sowing season comes on.” - -“And we are going to put up a pent-house for you, in one corner, you -know, Moss,” said his brother. “And we will make it so that there shall -be room for a fire in it, where father and you may warm yourselves, and -always have dry shoes ready.” - -“I wonder what our shoe leather will have cost us by the time the spring -comes,” observed Woodruffe. “There is not a place where we ever have to -take the cart or the barrow that is not all mire and ruts; not a path in -the whole garden that I call a decent one. Our shoes are all pulled to -pieces; while the frost, or the fog, or something or other, prevents our -getting any real work done. The waste is dreadful. Nothing should have -made me take a garden where none but summer crops are to be had, if I -could have foreseen such a thing. I never saw such a thing -before,--never--as market-gardening without winter and spring crops. -Never heard of such a thing!” - -Becky glanced towards Allan, to see if he had nothing to propose. If -they could neither mend the place nor leave it, it did seem a hard case. -Allan was looking into the fire, musing. When Moss announced that the -rain was over, Allan started, and said he must be fetching some of -Abby’s things down, if it was fair. Becky really meant to help him; but -she also wanted opportunity for consultation, as to whether it could -really be God’s will that they should neither be able to mend their -condition nor to escape from it. As they mounted the long flight of -steps, they saw Mr. Nelson issue from the Station, looking about him to -ascertain if the rain was over, and take his stand on the embankment, -followed by a gentleman who had a roll of paper in his hand. As they -stood, the one was seen to point with his stick, and the other with his -roll of paper, this way and that. Allan set off in that direction, -saying to his sister, as he went, - -“Don’t you come. That gentleman is so rude, he will make you cry. Yes, I -must go, and I won’t get angry; I won’t indeed. He may find as much -fault as he pleases; I must show him how the water is standing in our -furrows.” - -“Hallo! what do you want here?” was Mr. Nelson’s greeting, when, after a -minute or two, he saw Allan looking and listening. “What business have -you here, hearkening to what we are saying?” - -“I wanted to know whether anything is going to be done below there. I -thought, if you wished it, I could tell you something about it.” - -“You! what, a dainty little fellow like you?--a fellow that wears his -Sunday clothes on a Tuesday, and a rainy Tuesday too! You must get -working clothes and work.” - -“I shall work to-morrow, Sir. My mother and my brother-in-law were -buried to-day.” - -“Lord bless me! You should have told me that. How should I know that -unless you told me?” He proceeded in a much gentler tone, however, -merely remonstrating with Allan for letting the wet stand in the -furrows, in such a way as would spoil any garden. Allan had a good ally, -all the while, in the stranger, who seemed to understand everything -before it was explained. The gentleman was, in fact, an agricultural -surveyor--one who could tell, when looking abroad from a height, what -was swamp and what meadow; where there was a clean drain, and where an -uneven ditch; where the soil was likely to be watered, and where flooded -by the winter rains; where genially warmed, and where fatally baked by -the summer’s sun. He had seen, before Allan pointed it out, how the -great ditch cut across between the cultivated grounds and the little -river into which those grounds should be drained; but he could not know, -till told by Allan, who were the proprietors and occupiers of the -parcels of land lying on either side the ditch. Mr. Nelson knew little -or nothing under this head, though he contradicted the lad every minute; -was sure such an one did not live here, nor another there; told him he -was confusing Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown; did not believe a word of Mr. -Taylor having bought yonder meadow, or Mrs. Scott now renting that -field. All the while, the surveyor went on setting down the names as -Allan told them; and then observed that they were not so many but that -they might combine, if they would, to drain their properties, if they -could be relieved of the obstruction of the ditch--if the surveyor of -highways would see that the ditch were taken in hand. Mr. Nelson -pronounced that there should be no difficulty about the ditch, if the -rest could be managed; and then, after a few whispered words between the -gentlemen, Allan was asked first, whether he was sure that he knew where -every person lived whose name was down in the surveyor’s book; and next, -whether he would act as guide to-morrow. For a moment he thought he -should be wanted to move Abby’s things; but, remembering the vast -importance of the plan which seemed now to be fairly growing under his -eye, he replied that he would go; he should be happy to make it his -day’s work to help, ever so little, towards what he wished above -everything in the world. - -“What makes you in such a hurry to suppose we want to get a day’s work -out of you for nothing?” asked Mr. Nelson. He thrust half-a-crown into -the lad’s waistcoat pocket, saying that he must give it back again, if -he led the gentleman wrong. The gentleman had no time to go running -about the country on a fool’s errand; Allan must mind that. As Allan -touched his hat, and ran down the steps, Mr. Nelson observed that boys -with good hearts did not fly about in that way, as if they were merry, -on the day of their mother’s funeral. - -“Perhaps he is rather thinking of saving his father,” observed the -surveyor. - -“Well; save as many of them as you can. They seem all going to pot as it -is.” - -When Allan burst in, carrying nothing of Abby’s, but having a little -color in his cheeks for once, his father sat up in his chair, the baby -suddenly stopped crying, and Moss asked where he had been. At first, his -father disappointed him by being listless--first refusing to believe -anything good, and then saying that any good that could happen now was -too late; and Abby could not help crying all the more because this was -not thought about a year sooner. It was her poor husband that had made -the stir; and now they were going to take his advice the very day that -he was laid in his grave. They all tried to comfort her, and said how -natural it was that she should feel it so; yet, amidst all their -sympathy, they could not help being cheered that something was to be -done at last. - -By degrees, and not slow degrees, Woodruffe became animated. It was -surprising how many things he desired Allan to be sure not to forget to -point out to the surveyor, and to urge upon those he was to visit. At -last he said he would go himself. It was a very serious business, and he -ought to make an effort to have it done properly. It was a great effort, -but he would make it. Not rheumatism, nor anything else, should keep him -at home. Allan was glad at heart to see such signs of energy in his -father, though he might feel some natural disappointment at being left -at home, and some perplexity as to what, in that case, he ought to do -about the half-crown, if Mr. Nelson should be gone home. The morning -settled this, however. The surveyor was in his gig. If Allan could hang -on, or keep up with it, it would be very well, as he would be wanted to -open the gates, and to lead the way in places too wet for his father, -who was not worth such a pair of patent waterproof tall boots as the -surveyor had on. - -The circuit was not a very wide one; yet it was dark before they got -home. There are always difficulties in arrangements which require -combined action. Here there were different levels in the land, and -different tempers and views among the occupiers. Mr. Brown had heard -nothing about the matter, and could not be hurried till he saw occasion. -Mr. Taylor liked his field best, wet--would not have it drier on any -account, for fear of the summer sun. When assured that drought took no -hold on well-dried land in comparison with wet land, he shook with -laughter, and asked if they expected him to believe that. Mrs. Scott, -whose combination with two others was essential to the drainage of three -portions, would wait another year. They must go on without her; and -after another year, she would see what she would do. Another had -drained his land in his own way long ago, and did not expect that -anybody would ask him to put his spade into another man’s land, or to -let any other man put his spade into his. These were all the -obstructions. Everybody else was willing, or at least, not obstructive. -By clever management, it was thought that the parties concerned could -make an island of Mrs. Scott and her field, and win over Mr. Brown by -the time he was wanted, and show Mr. Taylor that, as his field could no -longer be as wet as it had been, he might as well try the opposite -condition--they promising to flood his field as often and as thoroughly -as he pleased, if he found it the worse for being drained. They could -not obtain all they wished, where everybody was not as wise as could be -wished; but so much was agreed upon as made the experienced surveyor -think that the rest would follow; enough, already, to set more laborers -to work than the place could furnish. Two or three stout men were sent -from a distance; and when they had once cut a clear descent from the -ditch to the river, and had sunk the ditch to seven feet deep, and made -the bottom even, and narrowed it to three feet, it was a curious thing -to see how ready the neighbors became to unite their drains with it. It -used to be said, that here--however it might be elsewhere--the winter -was no time for digging; but that must have meant that no winter-digging -would bring a spring crop; and that therefore it was useless. Now, the -sound of the spade never ceased for the rest of the winter; and the -laborers thought it the best winter they had ever known for constant -work. Those who employed the labor hoped it would answer--found it -expensive--must trust it was all right, and would yield a profit by and -by. As for the Woodruffes, they were too poor to employ laborers. But -some little hope had entered their hearts again, and brought strength, -not only to their hearts, but to their very limbs. They worked like -people beginning the world. As poor Abby could keep the house and sew, -while attending to her little school, Becky did the lighter parts (and -some which were far from light) of the garden work, finding easy tasks -for Moss; and Allan worked like a man at the drains. They had been -called good drains before; but now, there was an outfall for deeper -ones; and deeper they must be made. Moreover, a strong rivalry arose -among the neighbors about their respective portions of the combined -drainage; and under the stimulus of ambition, Woodruffe recovered his -spirits and the use of his limbs wonderfully. He suffered cruelly from -his rheumatism; and in the evenings felt as if he could never more lift -a spade; yet, not the less was he at work again in the morning, and so -sanguine as to the improvement of his ground, that it was necessary to -remind him, when calculating his gains, that it would take two years, at -least, to prove the effects of his present labors. - - -VII. - -It was observed by Woodruffe’s family, during one week of spring of the -next year, that he was very absent. He was not in low spirits, but -absorbed in thought, and much devoted to making calculations with pencil -and paper. At last, out it came, one morning at breakfast. - -“I wonder how we should all like to have Harry Hardiman to work with us -again?” - -Every one looked up. Harry! where was Harry? Was he here? Was he coming? - -“Why, I will tell you what I have been thinking,” said their father. “I -have thought long and carefully, and I believe I have made up my mind to -send for Harry, to come and work for us as he used to do. We have not -labor enough on the ground. Two stout men to the acre is the smallest -allowance for trying what could be made of the place.” - -“That is what Taylor and Brown are employing now on the best part of -their land,” said Allan; “that is, when they can get the labor. There is -such difference between that and one man to four or five acres, as there -was before, that they can’t always get the labor.” - -“Just so; and therefore,” continued Woodruffe, “I am thinking of sending -for Harry. Our old neighborhood was not prosperous when we left it, and -I fancy it cannot have improved since; and Harry might be glad to follow -his master to a thriving neighborhood; and he is such a careful fellow -that I dare say he has money for the journey,--even if he has a wife by -this time, as I suppose he has.” - -Moss looked most pleased, where all were pleased, at the idea of seeing -Harry again. His remembrance of Harry was of a tall young man, who used -to carry him on his shoulders, and wheel him in the empty water-barrel, -and sometimes offer to dip him into it when it was full, and show him -how to dig in the sand-heap with his little wooden spade. - -“Your rent, to be sure, is much lower than in the old place,” observed -Abby. - -“Why, we must not build upon that,” replied the father; “rent is rising -here, and will rise. My landlord was considerate in lowering mine to £3 -per acre, when he saw how impossible it was to make it answer; and he -says he shall not ask more yet on account of the labor I laid out at the -time of the drainage. But when I have partly repaid myself, the rent -will rise to £5; and, in fact, I have made my calculations in regard to -Harry’s coming at a higher rent than that.” - -“Higher than that?” - -“Yes; I should not be surprised if I found myself paying, as -market-gardeners near London do, ten pounds per acre before I die.” - -“Or rather, to let the ground to me for that, father,” said Allan, “when -it is your own property, and you are tired of work, and disposed to turn -it over to me. I will pay you ten pounds per acre then, and let you have -all the cabbages you can eat besides. It is capital land, and that is -the truth. Come--shall that be a bargain?” - -Woodruffe smiled, and said he owed a duty to Allan. He did not like to -see him so hard worked as to be unable to take due care of his own -corner of the garden;--unable to enter fairly into the competition for -the prizes at the Horticultural Show in the summer. Becky now, too, -ought to be spared from all but occasional help in the garden. Above -all, the ground was now in such an improving state that it would be -waste not to bestow due labor upon it. Put in the spade where you would, -the soil was loose and well-aired as needs be: the manure penetrated it -thoroughly; the frost and heat pulverized, instead of binding it; and -the crops were succeeding each other so fast, that the year would be a -very profitable one. - -“Where will Harry live, if he comes?” asked Abby. - -“We must get another cottage added to the new row. Easily done! Cottages -so healthy as these new ones pay well. Good rents are offered for -them,--to save doctors’ bills and loss of time from sickness;--and, when -once a system of house-drainage is set a-going, it costs scarcely more -in adding a cottage to a group, to make it all right, than to run it up -upon solid clay as used to be the way here. Well, I have a good mind to -write to Harry to-day. What do you think of it,--all of you?” - -Fortified by the opinion of all his children, Mr. Woodruffe wrote to -Harry. Meantime, Allan and Becky went to cut the vegetables that were -for sale that day; and Moss delighted himself in running after and -catching the pony in the meadow below. The pony was not very easily -caught, for it was full of spirit. Instead of the woolly insipid grass -that it used to crop, and which seemed to give it only fever and no -nourishment, it now fed on sweet fresh grass, which had no sour stagnant -water soaking its roots. The pony was so full of play this morning that -Moss could not get hold of it. Though much stronger than a year ago, he -was not yet anything like so robust as a boy of his age should be; and -he was growing heated, and perhaps a little angry, as the pony galloped -off towards some distant trees, when a boy started up behind a bush, -caught the halter, brought the pony round with a twitch, and led him to -Moss. Moss fancied he had seen the boy before, and then his white teeth -reminded Moss of one thing after another. - -“I came for some marsh plants,” said the boy. “You and I got plenty once -somewhere hereabouts, but I cannot find them now.” - -“You will not find any now. We have no marsh now.” - -The stranger said he dared not go back without them; mother wanted them -badly. She would not believe him if he said he could not find any. There -were plenty about two miles off, along the railway, among the clay-pits, -he was told; but none nearer. The boy wanted to know where the clay-pits -hereabouts were. He could not find one of them. - -“I will show you one of them,” said Moss; “the one where you and I used -to hunt rats.” And, leading the pony, he showed his old gypsy -play-fellow all the improvements, beginning with the great ditch,--now -invisible from being covered in. While it was open, he said, it used to -get choked, and the sides were plastered after rain, and soon became -grass-grown, so that it was found worth while to cover it in; and now it -would want little looking to for years to come. As for the clay-pit, -where the rats used to pop in and out,--it was now a manure-pit, covered -in. There was a drain into it from the pony’s stable and from the -pig-styes; and it was near enough to the garden to receive the refuse -and sweepings. A heavy lid, with a ring in the middle, covered the pit, -so that nobody could fall in in the dark, and no smell could get out. -Moss begged the boy to come a little further, and he would show him his -own flower-bed; and when the boy was there, he was shown everything -else: what a cart-load of vegetables lay cut for sale; and what an arbor -had been made of the pent-house under which Moss used to take shelter, -when he could do nothing better than keep off the birds; and how fine -the ducks were,--the five ducks that were so serviceable in eating off -the slugs; and what a comfortable nest had been made for them to lay -their eggs in, beside the water-tank in the corner; and what a variety -of scarecrows the family had invented,--each having one, to try which -would frighten the sparrows most. While Moss was telling how difficult -it was to deal with the sparrows, because they could not be frightened -for more than three days by any kind of scarecrow, he heard Allan -calling him, in a tone of vexation, at being kept waiting so long. In an -instant the stranger boy was off,--leaping the gate, and flying along -the meadow till he was hidden behind a hedge. - -Two or three days after this one of the ducks was missing. The last time -that the five had been seen together was when Moss was showing them to -his visitor. The morning after Moss finally gave up hope, the glass of -Allan’s hotbed was found broken, and in the midst of the bed itself was -a deep foot-track, crushing the cucumber plants, and, with them, -Allan’s hopes of a cucumber prize at the Horticultural Exhibition in the -summer. On more examination, more mischief was discovered, some cabbages -had been stolen, and another duck was missing. In the midst of the -general concern, Woodruffe burst out a-laughing. It struck him that the -chief of the scarecrows had changed his hat; and so he had. The old -straw hat which used to flap in the wind so serviceably was gone, and in -its stead appeared a helmet,--a saucepan full of holes, battered and -split, but still fit to be a helmet to a scarecrow. - -“I could swear to the old hat,” observed Woodruffe, “if I should have -the luck to see it on anybody’s head.” - -“And so could I,” said Becky, “for I mended it,--bound it with black -behind, and green before, because I had not green ribbon enough. But -nobody would wear it before our eyes.” - -“That is why I suspect there are strangers hovering about. We must -watch.” - -Now Moss, for the first time, bethought himself of the boy he had -brought in from the meadow; and now, for the first time, he told his -family of that encounter. - -“I never saw such a simpleton,” his father declared. “There, go along -and work! Now, don’t cry, but hold up like a man and work.” - -Moss did cry; he could not help it; but he worked too. He would fain -have been one of the watchers, moreover; but his father said he was too -young. For two nights he was ordered to bed, when Allan took his dark -lantern, and went down to the pent-house; the first night accompanied by -his father, and the next by Harry Hardiman, who had come on the first -summons. By the third evening, Moss was so miserable that his sisters -interceded for him, and he was allowed to go down with his old friend -Harry. - -It was a starlight night, without a moon. The low country lay dim, but -unobscured by mist. After a single remark on the fineness of the night, -Harry was silent. Silence was their first business. They stole round the -fence as if they had been thieves themselves, listened for some time -before they let themselves in at the gate, passed quickly in, and locked -the gate (the lock of which had been well oiled), went behind every -screen, and along every path, to be sure that no one was there, and -finally, perceiving that the remaining ducks were safe, settled -themselves in the darkness of the pent-house. - -There they sat, hour after hour, listening. If there had been no sound, -perhaps they could not have borne the effort; but the sense was relieved -by the bark of a dog at a distance, and then by the hoot of the owl that -was known to have done them good service in mousing, many a time; and -once, by the passage of a train on the railway above. When these were -all over, poor Moss had much ado to keep awake, and at last his head -sank on Harry’s shoulder, and he forgot where he was, and everything -else in the world. He was awakened by Harry’s moving, and then -whispering quite into his ear:-- - -“Sit you still. I hear somebody yonder. No--sit you still. I won’t go -far--not out of call; but I must get between them and the gate.” - -With his lantern under his coat, Harry stole forth, and Moss stood up, -all alone in the darkness and stillness. He could hear his heart beat, -but nothing else, till footsteps on the path came nearer and nearer. -They came quite up; they came in, actually into the arbor; and then the -ducks were certainly fluttering. In an instant more, there was a gleam -of light upon the white plumage of the ducks, and then light enough to -show that this was the gypsy boy, with a dark lantern hung round his -neck, and, at the same moment, to show the gypsy boy that Moss was -there. The two boys stood, face to face, motionless from utter -amazement, and the ducks had scuttled and waddled away before they -recovered themselves. Then, Moss flew at him in a glorious passion, at -once of rage and fear. - -“Leave him to me, Moss,” cried Harry, casting light upon the scene from -his lantern, while he collared the thief with the other hand. “Let go, -I say, Moss. There, now we’ll go round and be sure whether there is any -one else in the garden, and then we’ll lodge this young rogue where he -will be safe.” - -Nobody was there, and they went home in the dawn, locked up the thief in -the shed, and slept through what remained of the night. - -It was about Mr. Nelson’s usual time for coming down the line; and it -was observed that he now always stopped at this station till the next -train passed,--probably because it was a pleasure to him to look upon -the improvement of the place. It was no surprise therefore to Woodruffe -to see him standing on the embankment after breakfast; and it was -natural that Mr. Nelson should be immediately told that the gypsies were -here again, and how one of them was caught thieving. - -“Thieving! So you found some of your property upon him, did you!” - -“Why, no. I thought myself that it was a pity that Moss did not let him -alone till he had laid hold of a duck or something.” - -“Pho! pho! don’t tell me you can punish the boy for theft, when you -can’t prove that he stole anything. Give him a whipping, and let him -go.” - -“With all my heart. It will save me much trouble to finish off the -matter so.” - -Mr. Nelson seemed to have some curiosity about the business; for he -accompanied Woodruffe to the shed. The boy seemed to feel no awe of the -great man whom he supposed to be a magistrate, and when asked whether he -felt none, he giggled and said “No;” he had seen the gentleman more -afraid of his mother than anybody ever was of him, he fancied. On this, -a thought struck Mr. Nelson. He would now have his advantage of the -gypsy woman, and might enjoy, at the same time, an opportunity of -studying human nature under stress--a thing he liked, when the stress -was not too severe. So he passed a decree on the spot that, it being now -nine o’clock, the boy should remain shut up without food till noon, when -he should be severely flogged, and driven from the neighborhood; and -with this pleasant prospect before him, the young rogue remained, -whistling ostentatiously, while his enemies locked the door upon him. - -“Did you hear him shoot the bolt?” asked Woodruffe. “If he holds to -that, I don’t know how I shall get at him at noon.” - -“There, now, what fools people are! Why did you not take out the bolt? A -pretty constable you would make! Come--come this way. I am going to find -the gypsy-tent again. You are wondering that I am not afraid of the -woman, I see; but, you observe, I have a hold over her this time. What -do you mean by allowing those children to gather about your door? You -ought not to permit it.” - -“They are only the scholars. Don’t you see them going in? My daughter -keeps a little school, you know, since her husband’s death.” - -“Ah, poor thing! poor thing!” said Mr. Nelson, as Abby appeared on the -threshold, calling the children in. - -Mr. Nelson always contrived to see some one or more of the family when -he visited the station; but it so happened, that he had never entered -the door of their dwelling. Perhaps he was not himself fully conscious -of the reason. It was, that he could not bear to see Abby’s young face -within the widow’s cap, and to be thus reminded that hers was a case of -cruel wrong; that if the most ordinary thought and care had been used in -preparing the place for human habitation, her husband might be living -now, and she the happy creature that she would never be again. - -On his way to the gypsies, Mr. Nelson saw some things that pleased him -in his heart, though he found fault with them all. What business had -Woodruffe with an additional man in his garden? It could not possibly -answer. If it did not, the fellow must be sent away again. He must not -burden the parish. The occupiers here seemed all alike. Such a fancy for -new labor! One, two, six men at work on the land within sight at that -moment, over and above what there used to be! It must be looked to. -Humph! he could get to the alders dryshod now; but that was owing -solely to the warmth of the spring. It was nonsense to attribute -everything to drainage. Drainage was a good thing; but fine weather was -better. - -The gypsy-tent was found behind the alders as before, but no longer in a -swamp. The woman was sitting on the ground at the entrance as before, -but not now with a fevered child laid across her knees. She was weaving -a basket. - -“Oh, I see,” said Woodruffe, “this is the way our osiers go.” - -“You have not many to lose, now-a-days,” said the woman. - -“You are welcome to all the rushes you can find,” said Woodruffe; “but -where is your son?” - -Some change of countenance was seen in the woman; but she answered -carelessly that the children were playing yonder. - -“The one I mean is not there,” said Woodruffe, “We have him safe--caught -him stealing my ducks.” - -She called the boy a villain--disowned him, and so forth; but when she -found the case a hopeless one, she did not, and, therefore, probably -could not scold--that is, anybody but herself and her husband. She -cursed herself for coming into this silly place, where now no good was -to be got. When she was brought to the right point of perplexity about -what to do, seeing that it would not do to stay, and being unable to go -while her boy was in durance, she was told that his punishment should be -summary, though severe, if she would answer frankly certain questions. -When she had once begun giving her confidence, she seemed to enjoy the -license. When her husband came up, he looked as if he only waited for -the departure of his visitors to give his wife the same amount of -thrashing that her son was awaiting elsewhere. She vowed that they would -never pitch their tent here again. It used to be the best station in -their whole round--the fogs were so thick! From sunset to long after -sunrise, it had been as good as a winter night, for going where they -pleased without fear of prying eyes. There was not a poultry-yard or -pig-stye within a couple of miles round, where they could not creep up -through the fog. And they escaped the blame, too; for the swamp and -ditches used to harbor so much vermin, that the gypsies were not always -suspected, as they were now. Till lately, people shut themselves into -their homes, or the men went to the public-house in the chill evenings; -and there was little fear of meeting any one. But now that the fogs were -gone, people were out in their gardens, on these fine evenings, and -there were men in the meadows, returning from fishing; for they could -angle now, when their work was done, without the fear of catching an -ague in the marsh as they went home. - -Mr. Nelson used vigorously his last opportunity of lecturing these -people. He had it all his own way, for the humility of the gypsies was -edifying. Woodruffe fancied he saw some finger-talk passing, the while, -though the gypsies never looked at each other, or raised their eyes from -the ground. Woodruffe had to remind the Director that the whistle of the -next train would soon be heard; and this brought the lecture to an -abrupt conclusion. On his finishing off with, “I expect, therefore, that -you will remember my advice, and never show your face here again, and -that you will take to a proper course of life in future, and bring up -your son to honest industry;” the woman, with a countenance of grief, -seized one hand and covered it with kisses, and the husband took the -other hand and pressed it to his breast. - -“We must make haste,” observed Mr. Nelson, as he led the way quickly -back; “but I think I have made some impression upon them. You see now -the right way to treat these people. I don’t think you will see them -here again.” - -“I don’t think we shall.” - -As he reached the steps the whistle was heard, and Mr. Nelson could only -wave his hand to Woodruffe, rush up the embankment, and throw himself -panting into a carriage. Only just in time! - -By an evening train he re-appeared. When thirty miles off, he had wanted -his purse, and it was gone. It had no doubt paid for the gypsies’ final -gratitude. - -Of course, a sufficient force was immediately sent to the alder clump; -but there was nothing there but some charred sticks, and some clean pork -bones, this time, instead of feathers of fowls, and a cabbage leaf or -two. The boy had had his whipping at noon, after a conference with his -little brother at the keyhole, which had caused him to withdraw the -bolt, and offer no resistance. Considering his cries and groans, he had -run off with surprising agility, and was now, no doubt, far away. - - -VIII. - -The gypsies came no more. The fogs came no more. The fever came no more, -at least, in such a form as to threaten the general safety. Where it -still lingered, it was about those only who deserved it,--in any small -farm-house, where the dung-yard was too near the house; and in some -cottage where the slatternly inmates did not mind a green puddle or -choked ditch within reach of their noses. More dwellings arose, as the -fertility of the land increased, and invited a higher kind of tillage; -and among the prettiest of them was one which stood in the corner,--the -most sunny corner,--of Woodruffe’s paddock. Harry Hardiman and his wife -and child lived there, and the cottage was Woodruffe’s property. - -Yet Woodruffe’s rent had been raised, and pretty rapidly. He was now -paying eight pounds per acre for his garden-ground, and half that for -what was out of the limits of the garden. He did not complain of it; for -he was making money fast. His skill and industry deserved this; but -skill and industry could not have availed without opportunity. His -ground once allowed to show what it was worth, he treated it well; and -it answered well to the treatment. By the railway he obtained what -manure he wanted from the town; and he sent it back by the railway to -town in the form of crisp celery and salads, wholesome potatoes and -greens, luscious strawberries, and sweet and early peas. He knew that a -Surrey gardener had made his ground yield a profit of two hundred and -twenty pounds per acre. He thought that, with his inferior market, he -should do well to make his yield one hundred and fifty pounds per acre; -and this, by close perseverance, he attained. He could have done it more -easily if he had enjoyed good health; but he never enjoyed good health -again. His rheumatism had fixed itself too firmly to be entirely -removed; and for many days in the year, he was compelled to remain -within doors, or to saunter about in the sun, seeing his boys and Harry -at work, but unable to help them. - -From the time that Allan’s work became worth wages in addition to his -subsistence, his father let him rent half a rood of the garden-ground -for three years, saying-- - -“I limit it to three years, my boy, because that term is long enough for -you to show what you can do. After three years, I shall not be able to -spare the ground at any rent. If you fail, you have no business to rent -ground. If you succeed, you will have money in your pocket wherewith to -hire land elsewhere. Now you have to show us what you can do.” - -“Yes, father,” was Allan’s short but sufficient reply. - -It was observed by the family that, from this time forward, Allan’s eye -was on every plot of ground in the neighborhood which could, by -possibility, ever be offered for hire; yet did his attention never -wander from that which was already under his hand. And that which was so -great an object to him became a sort of pursuit to the whole family. -Moss guarded Allan’s frames, and made more and more prodigious -scarecrows. Their father gave his very best advice. Becky, who was no -longer allowed, as a regular thing, to work in the garden, found many a -spare half-hour for hoeing and weeding, and trimming and tying up, in -Allan’s beds; and Abby found, as she sat in her little school, that she -could make nets for his fruit trees. It was thus no wonder that, when a -certain July day in the second year arrived, the whole household was in -a state of excitement, because it was a sort of crisis in Allan’s -affairs. - -Though breakfast was early that morning, Becky and Allan and Moss were -spruce in their best clothes. A hamper stood at the door, and Allan was -packing in another, which had no lid, two or three flower-pots, which -presented a glorious show of blossom. Abby was putting a new ribbon on -her sister’s straw bonnet; and Harry was in waiting to carry up the -hampers to the station. It was the day of the Horticultural Show at the -town. Woodruffe had been too unwell to think of going till this morning; -but now the sight of the preparations, and the prospect of a warm day, -inspired him, and he thought he would go. At last he went, and they were -gone. Abby never went up to the station; nobody ever asked her to go -there, not even her own child, who perhaps had not thought of the -possibility of it. But when the train was starting, she stood at the -upper window with her child, and held him so that he might lean out, and -see the last carriage disappear as it swept round the curve. After that -the day seemed long, though Harry came up at the dinner-hour to say what -he thought of the great gooseberry in particular, and of everything else -that Allan had carried with him. It was holiday time, and there was no -school to fill up the day. Before the evening, the child became -restless, and Abby fell into low spirits, as she was apt to do when left -long alone; so that Harry stopped suddenly at the door when he was -rushing in to announce that the train was within sight. - -“Shall I take the child, Miss?” said Harry. (He always called her -“Miss.”) “I will carry him---- But, sure, here they come! Here comes -Moss,--ready to roll down the steps! My opinion is that there’s a -prize.” - -Moss was called back by a voice which everybody obeyed. Allan should -himself tell his sister the fortune of the day, their father said. - -There were two prizes, one of which was for the wonderful plate of -gooseberries; and at this news Harry nodded, and declared himself -anything but surprised. If that gooseberry had not carried the day, -there would have been partiality in the judges, that was all; and nobody -could suppose such a thing as that. Yet Harry could have told, if put -upon his honor, that he was rather disappointed that everything that -Allan carried had not gained a prize. When he mentioned one or two, his -master told him he was unreasonable; and he supposed he was. - -Allan laid down upon the table, for his sister’s full assurance, his -sovereign, and his half-sovereign, and his tickets. She turned away -rather abruptly, and seemed to be looking whether the kettle was near -boiling for tea. Her father went up to her; and on his first whispered -words, the sob broke forth which made all look round. - -“I was thinking of one, too, my dear, that I wish was here at this -moment. I can feel for you, my dear.” - -“But you don’t know--you don’t know--you never knew----.” She could not -go on. - -“What don’t I know, my dear?” - -“That he constantly blamed himself for saying anything to bring you -here. He said you had never prospered from the hour you came, and -now----” - -And now Woodruffe could not speak, as the past came fresh upon him. In a -few moments, however, he rallied, saying, - -“But we must consider Allan. He must not think that his success makes us -sad.” - -Allan declared that it was not about gaining the prizes that he was -chiefly glad. It was because it was now proved what a fair field he had -before him. There was nothing that might not be done with such a soil as -they had to deal with now. - -Harry was quite of this opinion. There were more and more people set to -work upon the soil all about them; and the more it was worked the more -it yielded. He never saw a place of so much promise. And if it had a -bad name in regard to healthiness, he was sure that was unfair,--or no -longer fair. He and his were full of health and happiness, as they hoped -to see everybody else in time; and, for his part, if he had all England -before him, or the whole world, to choose a place to live in, he would -choose the very place he was in, and the very cottage, and the very -ground to work on that had produced such a gooseberry and such -strawberries as he had seen that day. - - - - -VII. - -The Water-Drops. - -A FAIRY TALE. - - -I. - -THE SUITORS OF CIRRHA, AND THE YOUNG LADY; WITH A REFERENCE TO HER PAPA. - -Far in the west there is a land mountainous, and bright of hue, wherein -the rivers run with liquid light; the soil is all of yellow gold; the -grass and foliage are of resplendent crimson; where the atmosphere is -partly of a soft green tint, and partly azure. Sometimes on summer -evenings we see this land, and then, because our ignorance must refer -all things that we see, to something that we know, we say it is a mass -of clouds made beautiful by sunset colors. We account for it by -principles of Meteorology. The fact has been omitted from the works of -Kaemtz or Daniell; but, notwithstanding this neglect, it is well known -in many nurseries, that the bright land we speak of, is a world -inhabited by fairies. Few among fairies take more interest in man’s -affairs than the good Cloud Country People; this truth is established by -the story I am now about to tell. - -Not long ago there were great revels held one evening in the palace of -King Cumulus, the monarch of the western country. Cirrha, the daughter -of the king, was to elect her future husband from a multitude of -suitors. Cirrha was a maiden delicate and pure, with a skin white as -unfallen snow; but colder than the snow her heart had seemed to all who -sought for her affections. When Cirrha floated gracefully and slowly -through her father’s hall, many a little cloud would start up presently -to tread where she had trodden. The winds also pursued her; and even men -looked up admiringly whenever she stepped forth into their sky. To be -sure they called her Mackerel and Cat’s Tail, just as they call her -father Ball of Cotton; for the race of man is a coarse race, and calling -bad names appears to be a great part of its business here below. - -Before the revels were concluded, the King ordered a quiet little wind -to run among the guests, and bid them all come close to him and to his -daughter. Then he spoke to them as follows:-- - -“Worthy friends! there are among you many suitors to my daughter Cirrha, -who is pledged this evening to choose a husband. She bids me tell you -that she loves you all; but since it is desirable that this our royal -house be strengthened by a fit alliance with some foreign power, she has -resolved to take as husband one of those guests who have come hither -from the principality of Nimbus.” Now, Nimbus is that country, not -seldom visible from some parts of our earth, which we have called the -Rain-Cloud. “The subjects of the Prince of Nimbus,” Cumulus continued, -“are a dark race, it is true, but they are famed for their beneficence.” - -Two winds, at this point, raised between themselves a great disturbance, -so that there arose a universal cry that somebody should turn them out. -With much trouble they were driven out from the assembly; thereupon, -quite mad with jealousy and disappointment, they went howling off to -sea, where they played pool-billiards with a fleet of ships, and so -forgot their sorrow. - -King Cumulus resumed his speech, and said that he was addressing -himself, now, especially to those of his good friends who came from -Nimbus. “To-night, let them retire to rest, and early the next morning -let each of them go down to Earth; whichever of them should be found on -their return to have been engaged below in the most useful service to -the race of man, that son of Nimbus should be Cirrha’s husband.” - -Cumulus, having said this, put a white nightcap on his head, which was -the signal for a general retirement. The golden ground of his dominions -was covered for the night, as well as the crimson trees, with cotton. So -the whole kingdom was put properly to bed. Late in the night the moon -got up, and threw over King Cumulus a silver counterpane. - - -II. - -THE ADVENTURES OF NEBULUS AND NUBIS. - -The suitors of the Princess Cirrha, who returned to Nimbus, were a-foot -quite early the next morning, and petitioned their good-natured Prince -to waft them over London. They had agreed among themselves, that by -descending there, where men were densely congregated, they should have a -greater chance of doing service to the human race. Therefore the -Rain-Cloud floated over the great City of the World, and, as it passed -at sundry points, the suitors came down upon rain-drops to perform their -destined labor. Where each might happen to alight depended almost wholly -upon accident; so that their adventures were but little better than a -lottery for Cirrha’s hand. One, who had been the most magniloquent among -them all, fell with his pride upon the patched umbrella of an early -breakfast woman, and from thence was shaken off into a puddle. He was -splashed up presently, mingled with soil, upon the corduroys of a -laborer, who stopped for breakfast on his way to work. From thence, -evaporating, he returned crest-fallen to the Land of Clouds. - -Among the suitors there were two kind-hearted fairies, Nebulus and -Nubis, closely bound by friendship to each other. While they were in -conversation, Nebulus, who suddenly observed that they were passing over -some unhappy region, dropped, with a hope that he might bless it. Nubis -passed on, and presently alighted on the surface of the Thames. - -The district which had wounded the kind heart of Nebulus was in a part -of Bermondsey, called Jacob’s Island. The fairy fell into a ditch; out -of this, however, he was taken by a woman, who carried him to her own -home, among other ditch-water, within a pail. Nebulus abandoned himself -to complete despair, for what claim could he now establish on the hand -of Cirrha? The miserable plight of the poor fairy we may gather from a -description given by a son of man of the sad place to which he had -descended. “In this Island may be seen, at any time of the day, women -dipping water, with pails attached by ropes to the backs of the houses, -from a foul fetid ditch, its banks coated with a compound of mud and -filth, and strewed with offal and carrion; the water to be used for -every purpose, culinary ones not excepted; although close to the place -whence it is drawn, filth and refuse of various kinds are plentifully -showered into it from the outhouses of the wooden houses overhanging its -current, or rather slow and sluggish stream; their posts or supporters -rotten, decayed, and in many instances broken, and the filth dropping -into the water, to be seen by any passer by. During the summer, crowds -of boys bathe in the putrid ditches, where they must come in contact -with abominations highly injurious.”[1] - -So Nebulus was carried in a pail out of the ditch to a poor woman’s -home, and put into a battered saucepan with some other water. Thence, -after boiling, he was poured into an earthen tea-pot over some stuff of -wretched flavor, said to be tea. Now, thought the fairy, after all, I -may give pleasure at the breakfast of these wretched people. He pictured -to himself a scene of love as preface to a day of squalid toil, but he -experienced a second disappointment. The woman took him to another room -of which the atmosphere was noisome; there he saw that he was destined -for the comfort of a man and his two children, prostrate upon the floor -beneath a heap of rags. These three were sick; the woman swore at them, -and Nebulus shrunk down into the bottom of the tea-pot. Even the thirst -of fever could not tolerate too much of its contents, so Nebulus, after -a little time, was carried out and thrown into a heap of filth upon the -gutter. - -Nubis, in the meantime, had commenced his day with hope of a more -fortunate career. On falling first into the Thames he had been much -annoyed by various pollutions, and been surprised to find, on kissing a -few neighbor drops, that their lips tasted inky. This was caused, they -said, by chalk pervading the whole river in the proportion of sixteen -grains to the gallon. That was what made their water inky to the taste -of those who were accustomed to much purer draughts. “It makes,” they -explained, “our river-water hard, according to man’s phrase; so hard as -to entail on multitudes who use it, some disease, with much expense and -trouble.” - -“But all the mud and filth,” said Nubis, “surely no man drinks that?” - -“No,” laughed the River-Drops, “not all of it. Much of the water used in -London passes through filters, and a filter suffers no mud or any -impurity to pass, except what is dissolved. The chalk is dissolved, and -there is filth and putrid gas dissolved.” - -“That is a bad business,” said Nubis, who already felt his own drops -exercising that absorbent power for which water is so famous, and -incorporating in their substance matters that the Rain-Cloud never -knew. - -Presently Nubis found himself entangled in a current, by which he was -sucked through a long pipe into a meeting of Water-Drops, all summoned -from the Thames. He himself passed through a filter, was received into a -reservoir, and, having asked the way of friendly neighbors, worked for -himself with small delay a passage through the mainpipe into London. - -Bewildered by his long, dark journey underground, Nubia at length saw -light, and presently dashed forth out of a tap into a pitcher. He saw -that there was fixed under the tap a water-butt, but into this he did -not fall. A crowd of women holding pitchers, saucepans, pails, were -chattering and screaming over him, and the anxiety of all appeared to be -to catch the water as it ran out of the tap, before it came into the tub -or cistern. Nubis rejoiced that his good fortune brought him to a -district in which it might become his privilege to bless the poor, and -his eye sparkled as his mistress, with many rests upon the way, carried -her pitcher and a heavy pail upstairs. She placed both vessels, full of -water, underneath her bed, and then went out again for more, carrying a -basin and a fish-kettle. Nubis pitied the poor creature, heartily -wishing that he could have poured out of a tap into the room itself to -save the time and labor of his mistress. - -The pitcher wherein the good fairy lurked, remained under the bed -through the remainder of that day, and during the next night, the room -being, for the whole time, closely tenanted. Long before morning, Nubis -felt that his own drops and all the water near him had lost their -delightful coolness, and had been busily absorbing smells and vapors -from the close apartment. In the morning, when the husband dipped a -teacup in the pitcher, Nubis readily ran into it, glad to escape from -his unwholesome prison. The man putting the water to his lips, found it -so warm and repulsive, that, in a pet, he flung it from the window, and -it fell into the water-butt beneath. - -The water-butt was of the common sort, described thus by a member of the -human race:--“Generally speaking, the wood becomes decomposed and -covered with fungi; and indeed, I can best describe their condition by -terming them filthy.” This water-butt was placed under the same shed -with a neglected cesspool, from which the water--ever absorbing--had -absorbed pollution. It contained a kitten among other trifles. “How many -people have to drink out of this butt?” asked Nubis. “Really I cannot -tell you,” said a neighbor Drop. “Once I was in a butt in Bethnal Green, -twenty-one inches across, and a foot deep, which was to supply -forty-eight families.[2] People store for themselves, and when they know -how dirty these tubs are, they should not use them.” “But the labor of -dragging water home, the impossibility of taking home abundance, the -pollution of keeping it in dwelling-rooms and under beds.” “Oh, yes,” -said the other Drop; “all very true. Besides, our water is not of a sort -to keep. In this tub there is quite a microscopic vegetable garden, so I -heard a doctor say who yesterday came hither with a party to inspect -the district. One of them said he had a still used only for distilling -water, and that one day, by chance, the bottoms of a series of -distillations boiled to dryness. Thereupon, the dry mass became heated -to the decomposing point, and sent abroad a stench plain to the dullest -nose as the peculiar stench of decomposed organic matter. It infected, -he said, the produce of many distillations afterwards.”[3] “I tell you -what,” said Nubis, “water may come down into this town innocent enough, -but it’s no easy matter for it to remain good among so many causes of -corruption. Heigho!” Then he began to dream of Princess Cirrha and the -worthy Prince of Nimbus, until he was aroused by a great tumult. It was -an uproar caused by drunken men. “Why are those men so?” said Nubis to -his friend. “I don’t know,” said the Water-Drop, “but I saw many people -in that way last night, and I have seen them so at Bethnal Green.” A -woman pulled her husband by, with loud reproaches for his visits to the -beer-shop. “Why,” cried the man, with a great oath, “where would you -have me go for drink?” Then, with another oath, he kicked the water-butt -in passing--“You would not have me to go there!” All the bystanders -laughed approvingly, and Nubis bade adieu to his ambition for the hand -of Cirrha. - - -III. - - NEPHELO GOES INTO POLITE SOCIETY, AND THEN INTO A DUNGEON--HIS - ESCAPE, RECAPTURE, AND HIS PERILOUS ASCENT INTO THE SKY, SURROUNDED - BY A BLAZE OF FIRE. - -Nephelo was a light-hearted subject of the Prince of Nimbus. It is he -who often floats, when the whole cloud is dark, as a white vapor on the -surface. For love of Cirrha, he came down behind a team of rain-drops -and leaped into the cistern of a handsome house at the west end of -London. - -Nephelo found the water in the cistern greatly vexed at riotous -behavior on the part of a large number of animalcules. He was told that -Water-Drops had been compelled to come into that place, after undergoing -many hardships, and had unavoidably brought with them germs of these -annoying creatures. Time and place favoring, nothing could hinder them -from coming into life; the cistern was their cradle, although many of -them were already anything but babes. Hereupon, Nephelo himself was -dashed at by an ugly little fellow like a dragon; but an uglier little -fellow, who might be a small Saint George, pounced at the dragon, and -the heart of the poor fairy was the scene of contest. - -After awhile there was an arrival of fresh water from a pipe, the flow -of which stirred up the anger of some decomposing growth which lined the -sides and bottom of the cistern. So there was a good deal of confusion -caused, and it was some time before all parties settled down into their -proper places. - -“The sun is very hot,” said Nephelo. “We all seem to be getting very -warm.” “Yes, indeed,” said a Lady-Drop; “it’s not like the cool -Cloud-Country. I have been poisoned in the Thames, half filtered, and -made frowzy by standing, this July weather, in an open reservoir. I’ve -travelled in pipes laid too near the surface to be cool, and now am -spoiling here. I know if water is not cold it can’t be pleasant.” “Ah,” -said an old Drop, with a small eel in one of his eyes; “I don’t wonder -at hearing tell that men drink wine, and tea, and beer.” “Talking of -beer,” said another, “is it a fact that we’re of no use to the brewers? -Our character’s so bad, they can’t rely on us for cooling the worts, and -so sink wells, in order to brew all the year round with water cold -enough to suit their purposes.” “I know nothing of beer,” said Nephelo; -“but I know that if the gentlemen and ladies in this cistern were as -cold as they could wish to be, there wouldn’t be so much decomposition -going on among them.” “Your turn in, sir,” said a polite Drop, and -Nephelo leaped nimbly through the place of exit into a china jug placed -ready to receive him. He was conveyed across a handsome kitchen by a -cook, who declared her opinion that the morning’s rain had caused the -drains to smell uncommonly. Nephelo then was thrown into a kettle. - -Boiling is to an unclean Water-Drop, like scratching to a bear, a -pleasant operation. It gets rid of the little animals by which it had -been bitten, and throws down some of the impurity with which it had been -soiled. So, after boiling, water becomes more pure, but it is, at the -same time, more greedy than ever to absorb extraneous matter. Therefore, -the sons of men who boil their vitiated water ought to keep it covered -afterwards, and if they wish to drink it cold, should lose no time in -doing so. Nephelo and his friends within the kettle danced with delight -under the boiling process. Chattering pleasantly together, they compared -notes of their adventures upon earth, discussed the politics of -Cloud-Land, and although it took them nearly twice as long to boil as it -would have done had there been no carbonate of lime about them, they -were quite sorry when the time was come for them to part. Nephelo then, -with many others, was poured out into an urn. So he was taken to the -drawing-room, a hot iron having, in a friendly manner, been put down his -back, to keep him boiling. - -Out of the urn into the tea-pot; out of the tea-pot into the slop-basin; -Nephelo had only time to remark a matron tea-maker, young ladies -knitting, and a good-looking young gentleman upon his legs, laying the -law down with a tea-spoon, before he (the fairy, not the gentleman) was -smothered with a plate of muffins. From so much of the conversation as -Nephelo could catch, filtered through muffin, it appeared that they were -talking about tea. - -“It’s all very well for you to say, mother, that you’re confident you -make tea very good, but I ask--no, there I see you put six spoonfuls in -for five of us. Mother, if this were not hard water--(here there was a -noise as of a spoon hammering upon the iron)--two spoonfuls less would -make tea of a better flavor and of equal strength. Now, there are three -hundred and sixty-five times and a quarter tea-times in the year ----” - -“And how many spoonfuls, brother, to the quarter of a tea-time?” - -“Maria, you’ve no head for figures. I say nothing of the tea consumed at -breakfast. Multiply----” - -“My dear boy, you have left school; no one asks you to multiply. Hand me -the muffin.” - -Nephelo, released, was unable to look about him, owing to the high walls -of the slop-basin which surrounded him on every side. The room was -filled with pleasant sunset light, but Nephelo soon saw the coming -shadow of the muffin-plate, and all was dark directly afterwards. - -“Take cooking, mother. M. Soyer[4] says you can’t boil many vegetables -properly in London water. Greens won’t be greens; French beans are -tinged with yellow, and peas shrivel. It don’t open the pores of meat, -and make it succulent, as softer water does. M. Soyer believes that the -true flavor of meat cannot be extracted with hard water. Bread does not -rise so well when made with it. Horses----” - -“My dear boy, M. Soyer don’t cook horses.” - -“Horses, Dr. Playfair tells us, sheep, and pigeons, will refuse hard -water if they can get it soft, though from the muddiest pool. -Race-horses, when carried to a place where the water is notoriously -hard, have a supply of softer water carried with them to preserve their -good condition. Not to speak of gripes, hard water will assuredly -produce what people call a staring coat.” - -“Ah, no doubt, then, it was London water that created Mr. Blossomley’s -blue swallow-tail.” - -“Maria, you make nonsense out of everything. When you are Mrs. -Blossomley----” - -“Now pass my cup.” - -There was a pause and a clatter. Presently the muffin-plate was lifted, -and four times in succession there were black dregs thrown into the face -of Nephelo. After the perpetration of these insults he was once again -condemned to darkness. - -“When you are Mrs. Blossomley, Maria,” so the voice went on, “when you -are Mrs. Blossomley, you will appreciate what I am now going to tell you -about washerwomen.” - -“Couldn’t you postpone it, dear, until I am able to appreciate it. You -promised to take us to Rachel to-night.” - -“Ah!” said another girlish voice, “you’ll not escape. We dress at seven. -Until then--for the next twelve minutes you may speak. Bore on, we will -endure.” - -“As for you, Catherine, Maria teaches you, I see, to chatter. But if -Mrs. B. would object to the reception of a patent mangle as a wedding -present from her brother, she had better hear him now. Washerwoman’s -work is not a thing to overlook, I tell you. Before a shirt is worn out, -there will have been spent upon it five times its intrinsic value in the -washing-tub. The washing of clothes costs more, by a great deal, than -the clothes themselves. The yearly cost of washing to a household of the -middle class amounts, on the average, to about a third part of the -rental, or a twelfth part of the total income. Among the poor, the -average expense of washing will more probably be half the rental if they -wash at home, but not more than a fourth of it if they employ the Model -Wash-houses. The weekly cost of washing to a poor man averages certainly -not less than fourpence halfpenny. Small tradesmen, driven to economize -in linen, spend perhaps not more than ninepence; in the middle and upper -classes, the cost weekly varies from a shilling to five shillings for -each person, and amounts very often to a larger sum. On these grounds, -Mr. Bullar, Honorary Secretary to the Association for Promoting Baths -and Wash-houses, estimates the washing expenditure of London at a -shilling a week for each inhabitant, or, for the whole, five millions of -pounds yearly. Professor Clark--” - -“My dear Professor Tom, you have consumed four of your twelve minutes.” - -“Professor Clark judges from such estimates as can be furnished by the -trade, that the consumption of soap in London is fifteen pounds to each -person per annum--twice as much as is employed in other parts of -England. That quantity of soap costs six-and-eightpence; water, per -head, costs half as much, or three-and-fourpence; or each man’s soap and -water costs throughout London, on an average, ten shillings for twelve -months. If the hardness of the water be diminished, there is a -diminution in the want of soap. For every grain of carbonate of lime -dissolved in each gallon of any water, Mr. Donaldson declares two ounces -of soap more for a hundred gallons of that water are required. Every -such grain is called a degree of hardness. Water of five degrees of -hardness requires, for example, two ounces of soap; water of eight -degrees of hardness, then will need fifteen; and water of sixteen -degrees, will demand thirty-two. Sixteen degrees, Maria, is the hardness -of Thames water--of the water, mother, which has poached upon your -tea-caddy. You see, then, that when we pay for the soap we use at the -rate of six-and-eightpence each, since the unusual hardness of our water -causes us to use a double quantity, every man in London pays at an -average rate of three-and-fourpence a year his tax for a hard water -through the cost of soap alone.” - -“Now you must finish in five minutes, brother Tom.” - -“But soap is not the only matter that concerns the washerwoman and her -customers. There is labor, also, and the wear and tear; there is a -double amount of destruction to our linen, involved in the double time -of rubbing and the double soaping, which hard water compels washerwomen -to employ. So that, when all things have been duly reckoned up in our -account, we find that the outlay caused by the necessities for washing -linen in a town supplied like London with exceedingly hard water, is -four times greater than it would be if soft water were employed. The -cost of washing, as I told you, has been estimated at five millions -a-year. So that, if these calculations be correct, more than three -millions of money, nearly four millions, is the amount filched yearly -from the Londoners by their hard water through the wash-tub only. To -that sum, Mrs. Blossomley, being of a respectable family and very -partial to clean linen, will contribute of course much more than her -average proportion.” - -“Well, Mr. Orator, I was not listening to all you said, but what I heard -I do think much exaggerated.” - -“I take it, sister, from the Government Report; oblige me by believing -half of it, and still the case is strong. It is quite time for people to -be stirring.” - -“So it is, I declare. Your twelve minutes are spent, and we will always -be ready for the play. If you talk there of water, I will shriek.” - -Here there arose a chatter which Nephelo found to be about matters that, -unlike the water topic, did not at all interest himself. There was a -rustle and a movement; and a creaking noise approached the drawing-room, -which Nephelo discovered presently to be caused by papa’s boots as he -marched upstairs after his post-prandial slumberings. There was more -talk uninteresting to the fairy; Nephelo, therefore, became drowsy; his -drowsiness might at the same time have been aggravated by the close -confinement he experienced in an unwholesome atmosphere beneath the -muffin-plate. He was aroused by a great clattering; this the maid caused -who was carrying him down stairs upon a tray with all the other -tea-things. - -From a sweet dream of nuptials with Cirrha, Nephelo was awakened to the -painful consciousness that he had not yet succeeded in effecting any -great good for the human race; he had but rinsed a teapot. With a faint -impulse of hope the desponding fairy noticed that the slop-basin in -which he sat was lifted from the tray, in a few minutes after the tray -had been deposited upon the kitchen-dresser. Pity poor Nephelo! By a -remorseless scullery-maid he was dashed rudely from the basin into a -trough of stone, from which he tumbled through a hole placed there on -purpose to engulf him,--tumbled through into a horrible abyss. - -This abyss was a long dungeon running from back to front beneath the -house, built of bricks--rotten now, and saturated with moisture. Some of -the bricks had fallen in, or crumbled into nothingness; and Nephelo saw -that the soil without the dungeon was quite wet. The dungeon-floor was -coated with pollutions, travelled over by a sluggish shallow stream, -with which the fairy floated. The whole dungeon’s atmosphere was foul -and poisonous. Nephelo found now what those exhalations were which rose -through every opening in the house, through vent-holes and the -burrowings of rats; for rats and other venom tenanted this noisome den. -This was the pestilential gallery called by the good people of the -house, their drain. A trap door at one end confined the fairy in this -place with other Water-Drops, until there should be collected a -sufficient body of them to negotiate successfully for egress. - -The object of this door was to prevent the ingress of much more foul -matter from without; and its misfortune was, that in so doing it -necessarily pent up a concentrated putrid gas within. At length Nephelo -escaped; but, alas! it was from a Newgate to a Bastille--from the drain -into the sewer. This was a long-vaulted prison running near the surface -underneath the street. Shaken by the passage overhead of carriages, not -a few bricks had fallen in; and Nephelo hurrying forward, wholly -possessed by the one thought--could he escape?--fell presently into a -trap. An oyster-shell had fixed itself upright between two bricks -unevenly jointed together; much solid filth had grown around it; and in -this Nephelo was caught. Here he remained for a whole month, during -which time he saw many floods of water pass him, leaving himself with a -vast quantity of obstinate encrusted filth unmoved. At the month’s end -there came some men to scrape, and sweep, and cleanse; then with a -sudden flow of water, Nephelo was forced along, and presently, with a -large number of emancipated foulnesses, received his discharge from -prison, and was let loose upon the River Thames. - -Nephelo struck against a very dirty Drop. - -“Keep off, will you?” the Drop exclaimed. “You are not fit to touch a -person, sewer-bird.” - -“Why, where are you from, my sweet gentleman?” - -“Oh! I? I’ve had a turn through some Model Drains. Tubular drains they -call ’em. Look at me; isn’t that clear?” - -“There’s nothing clear about you,” replied Nephelo. “What do you mean by -Model Drains?” - -“I mean I’ve come from Upper George Street through a twelve-inch pipe -four or five times faster than one travels over an old sewer-bed; -travelled express, no stoppage.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Yes. Impermeable, earthenware, tubular pipes, accurately dove-tailed. I -come from an experimental district. When it’s all settled, there’s to be -water on at high pressure everywhere, and an earthenware drain pipe -under every tap, a tube of no more than the necessary size. Then these -little pipes are to run down the earth; and there’s not to be a great -brick drain running underneath each house into the street; the pipes run -into a larger tube of earthenware that is to be laid at the backs of -all the houses; these tubes run into larger ones, but none of them very -monstrous; and so that there is a constant flow, like circulation of the -blood; and all the pipes are to run at last into one large conduit, -which is to run out of town with all the sewage matter and discharge so -far down the Thames, that no return tide ever can bring it back to -London. Some is to go branching off into the fields to be manure.” - -“Humph!” said Nephelo. “You profess to be very clever. How do you know -all this?” - -“Know? Bless you, I’m a regular old Thames Drop. I’ve been in the -cisterns, in the tumblers, down the sewers, in the river, up the pipes, -in the reservoirs, in the cisterns, in the teapots, down the sewers, in -the river, up the pipes, in the reservoirs, in the cisterns, in the -saucepans, down the sewers, in the Thames--” - -“Hold! Stop there now!” said Nephelo. “Well, so you have heard a great -deal in your lifetime. You’ve had some adventures, doubtless?” - -“I believe you,” said the Cockney-Drop. “The worst was when I was pumped -once as fresh water into Rotherhithe. That place is below high-water -mark; so are Bermondsey and St. George’s, Southwark. Newington, St. -Olave’s, Westminster, and Lambeth, are but little better. Well, you -know, drains of the old sort always leak, and there’s a great deal more -water poured into London than the Londoners have stowage room for, so -the water in low districts can’t pass off at high water, and there’s a -precious flood. We sopped the ground at Rotherhithe, but I thought I -never should escape again.” - -“Will the new pipes make any difference to that?” - -“Yes; so I am led to understand. They are to be laid with a regular -fall, to pass the water off, which, being constant, will be never in -excess. The fall will be to a point of course below the water level, and -at a convenient place the contents of these drains are to be pumped up -into the main sewer. Horrible deal of death caused, Sir, by the damp in -those low districts. One man in thirty-seven died of cholera in -Rotherhithe last year, when in Clerkenwell, at sixty-three feet above -high water, there died but one in five hundred and thirty. The -proportion held throughout.” - -“Ah, by the bye, you have heard, of course, complainings of the quality -of water. Will the Londoners sink wells for themselves?” - -“Wells! What a child you are! Just from the clouds, I see. Wells in a -large town get horribly polluted. They propose to consolidate and -improve two of the best Thames Water Companies, the Grand Junction and -Vauxhall, for the supply of London, until their great scheme can be -introduced; and to maintain them afterwards as a reserve guard in case -their great scheme shouldn’t prove so triumphant as they think it will -be.” - -“What is this great scheme, I should like to know?” - -“Why, they talk of fetching rain-water from a tract of heath between -Bagshot and Farnham. The rain there soaks through a thin crust of -growing herbage, which is the only perfect filter, chemical as well as -mechanical--the living rootlets extract more than we can, where impurity -exists. Then, Sir, the rain runs into a large bed of silicious sand, -placed over marl; below the marl there is silicious sand again--Ah, I -perceive you are not geological.” - -“Go on.” - -“The sand, washed by the rains of ages, holds the water without soiling -it more than a glass tumbler would, and the Londoners say that in this -way, by making artificial channels and a big reservoir, they can collect -twenty-eight thousand gallons a day of water nearly pure. They require -forty thousand gallons, and propose to get the rest in the same -neighborhood from tributaries of the River Wey, not quite so pure, but -only half as hard as Thames water, and unpolluted.” - -“How is it to get to London?” - -“Through a covered aqueduct. Covered for coolness’ sake, and -cleanliness. Then it is to be distributed through earthenware pipes, -laid rather deep, again for coolness’ sake in the first instance, but -for cleanliness as well. The water is to come in at high pressure, and -run in iron or lead pipes up every house, scale every wall. There is to -be a tap in every room, and under every tap there is to be the entrance -to a drain-pipe. Where water supply ends, drainage begins. They are to -be the two halves of a single system. Furthermore, there are to be -numbers of plugs opening in every street, and streets and courts are to -be washed out every morning, or every other morning, as the traffic may -require, with hose and jet. The Great Metropolis mustn’t be dirty, or be -content with rubbing a finger here and there over its dirt. It is to -have its face washed every morning, just before the hours of business. -The water at high pressure is to set people’s invention at work upon the -introduction of hydraulic apparatus for cranes, et cætera, which now -cause much hand labor and are scarcely worth steam-power. Furthermore--” - -“My dear friend,” cried Nephelo, “you are too clever. More than half of -what you say is unintelligible to me.” - -“But the grand point,” continued the garrulous Thames drop, “is the -expense. The saving of cisterns, ball-cocks, plumbers’ bills, expansive -sewer-works, constant repairs, hand labor, street-sweeping, soap, tea, -linen, fuel, steam-boilers now damaged by incrustation, boards, -salaries, doctors’ bills, time, parish rates--” - -The catalogue was never ended, for the busy Drop was suddenly entangled -among hair upon the corpse of a dead cat, which fate also the fairy -narrowly escaped, to be in the next minute sucked up as Nubis had been -sucked, through pipes into a reservoir. Weary with the incessant -chattering of his conceited friend, whose pride he trusted that a night -with puss might humble, Nephelo now lurked silent in a corner. In a -dreamy state he floated with the current underground, and was half -sleeping in a pipe under some London street, when a great noise of -trampling overhead, mingled with cries, awakened him. - -“What is the matter now?” the fairy cried. - -“A fire, no doubt, to judge by the noise,” said a neighbor quietly. -Nephelo panted now with triumph. Cirrha was before his eyes. Now he -could benefit the race of man. - -“Let us get out,” cried Nephelo; “let us assist in running to the -rescue.” - -“Don’t be impatient,” said a drowsy Drop. “We can’t get out of here till -they have found the Company’s turncock, and then he must go to this plug -and that plug in one street, and another, before we are turned off.” - -“In the meantime the fire--” - -“Will burn the house down. Help in five minutes would save a house. Now -the luckiest man will seldom have his premises attended to in less than -twenty.” - -Nephelo thought here was another topic for his gossip in the Thames. The -plugs talked of with a constant water-supply would take the sting out of -the Fire-Fiend. - -Presently among confused movements, confused sounds, amid a rush of -water, Nephelo burst into the light--into the vivid light of a great -fire that leapt and roared as Nephelo was dashed against it! Through the -red flames and the black smoke in a burst of steam, the fairy reascended -hopeless to the clouds. - - -IV. - -RASCALLY CONDUCT OF THE PRINCE OF NIMBUS. - -The Prince of Nimbus, whose good-nature we have celebrated, was not good -for nothing. Having graciously permitted all the suitors of the Princess -Cirrha to go down to earth and labor for her hand, he took advantage of -their absence, and, having the coast clear, importuned the daughter of -King Cumulus with his own addresses. Cirrha was not disposed to listen -to them, but the rogue her father was ambitious. He desired to make a -good alliance, and that object was better gained by intermarriage with a -prince than with a subject. “There will be an uproar,” said the old -man, “when those fellows down below come back. They will look black and -no doubt storm a little, but we’ll have our royal marriage -notwithstandstanding.” So the Prince of Nimbus married Cirrha, and -Nephelo arrived at the court of King Cumulus one evening during the -celebration of the bridal feast. His wrath was seen on earth in many -parts of England in the shape of a great thunderstorm on the 16th of -July. The adventures of the other suitors, they being thus cheated of -their object, need not be detailed. As each returns he will be made -acquainted with the scandalous fraud practised by the Prince of Nimbus, -and this being the state of politics in Cloud-Land at the moment when we -go to press, we may fairly expect to witness five or six more -thunderstorms before next winter. Each suitor, as he returns and finds -how shamefully he has been cheated, will create a great disturbance; and -no wonder. Conduct so rascally as that of the Prince of Nimbus is enough -to fill the clouds with uproar. - - - - -VIII. - -An Excellent Opportunity. - - -In one of the dirtiest and most gloomy streets leading to the Rue Saint -Denis, in Paris, there stands a tall and ancient house, the lower -portion of which is a large mercer’s shop. This establishment is held to -be one of the very best in the neighborhood, and has for many years -belonged to an individual on whom we will bestow the name of Ramin. - -About ten years ago, Monsieur Ramin was a jovial red-faced man of forty, -who joked his customers into purchasing his goods, flattered the pretty -_grisettes_ outrageously, and now and then gave them a Sunday treat at -the barrier, as the cheapest way of securing their custom. Some people -thought him a careless, good-natured fellow, and wondered how, with his -off-hand ways, he contrived to make money so fast, but those who knew -him well saw that he was one of those who “never lost an opportunity.” -Others declared that Monsieur Ramin’s own definition of his character -was, that he was a “_bon enfant_,” and that “it was all luck.” He -shrugged his shoulders and laughed when people hinted at his deep -scheming in making, and his skill in taking advantage of Excellent -Opportunities. - -He was sitting in his gloomy parlor one fine morning in Spring, -breakfasting from a dark liquid honored with the name of onion soup, -glancing at the newspaper, and keeping a vigilant look on the shop -through the open door, when his old servant Catherine suddenly -observed:-- - -“I suppose you know Monsieur Bonelle has come to live in the vacant -apartment on the fourth floor?” - -“What!” exclaimed Monsieur Ramin in a loud key. - -Catherine repeated her statement, to which her master listened in total -silence. - -“Well!” he said, at length, in his most careless tones, “what about the -old fellow?” and he once more resumed his triple occupation of reading, -eating, and watching. - -“Why,” continued Catherine, “they say he is nearly dying, and that his -housekeeper, Marguerite, vowed he could never get up stairs alive. It -took two men to carry him up; and when he was at length quiet in bed, -Marguerite went down to the porter’s lodge and sobbed there a whole -hour, saying, ‘Her poor master had the gout, the rheumatics, and a bad -asthma; that though he had been got up stairs, he would never come down -again alive; that if she could only get him to confess his sins and make -his will, she would not mind it so much; but that when she spoke of the -lawyer or the priest, he blasphemed at her like a heathen, and declared -he would live to bury her and everybody else.’” - -Monsieur Ramin heard Catherine with great attention, forgot to finish -his soup, and remained for five minutes in profound rumination, without -so much as perceiving two customers who had entered the shop and were -waiting to be served. When aroused, he was heard to exclaim: - -“What an excellent opportunity!” - -Monsieur Bonelle had been Ramin’s predecessor. The succession of the -latter to the shop was a mystery. No one ever knew how it was that this -young and poor assistant managed to replace his patron. Some said that -he had detected Monsieur Bonelle in frauds which he threatened to -expose, unless the business were given up to him as the price of his -silence; others averred that, having drawn a prize in the lottery, he -had resolved to set up a fierce opposition over the way, and that -Monsieur Bonelle, having obtained a hint of his intentions, had thought -it most prudent to accept the trifling sum his clerk offered, and avoid -a ruinous competition. Some charitable souls--moved no doubt by Monsieur -Bonelle’s misfortune--endeavored to console and pump him; but all they -could get from him was the bitter exclamation, “To think I should have -been duped by _him_!” For Ramin had the art, though then a mere youth, -to pass himself off on his master as an innocent provincial lad. Those -who sought an explanation from the new mercer, were still more -unsuccessful. “My good old master,” he said in his jovial way, “felt in -need of repose, and so I obligingly relieved him of all business and -botheration.” - -Years passed away; Ramin prospered, and neither thought nor heard of his -“good old master.” The house, of which he tenanted the lower portion, -was offered for sale; he had long coveted it, and had almost concluded -an agreement with the actual owner, when Monsieur Bonelle unexpectedly -stepped in at the eleventh hour, and by offering a trifle more secured -the bargain. The rage and mortification of Monsieur Ramin were extreme. -He could not understand how Bonelle, whom he had thought ruined, had -scraped up so large a sum; his lease was out, and he now felt himself at -the mercy of the man he had so much injured. But either Monsieur Bonelle -was free from vindictive feelings, or those feelings did not blind him -to the expediency of keeping a good tenant; for though he raised the -rent, until Monsieur Ramin groaned inwardly, he did not refuse to renew -the lease. They had met at that period; but never since. - -“Well, Catherine,” observed Monsieur Ramin to his old servant on the -following morning, “how is that good Monsieur Bonelle getting on?” - -“I dare say you feel very uneasy about him,” she replied with a sneer. - -Monsieur Ramin looked up and frowned. - -“Catherine,” said he, dryly, “you will have the goodness, in the first -place, not to make impertinent remarks; in the second place, you will -oblige me by going up stairs to inquire after the health of Monsieur -Bonelle, and say that I sent you.” - -Catherine grumbled and obeyed. Her master was in the shop, when she -returned in a few minutes, and delivered with evident satisfaction the -following gracious message: - -“Monsieur Bonelle desires his compliments to you, and declines to state -how he is; he will also thank you to attend to your own shop, and not to -trouble yourself about his health.” - -“How does he look?” asked Monsieur Ramin with the most perfect -composure. - -“I caught a glimpse of him, and he appears to me to be rapidly preparing -for the good offices of the undertaker.” - -Monsieur Ramin smiled, rubbed his hands, and joked merrily with a -dark-eyed grisette, who was cheapening some ribbon for her cap. That -girl made an excellent bargain that day. - -Towards dusk the mercer left the shop to the care of his attendant, and -softly stole up to the fourth story. In answer to his gentle ring, a -little old woman opened the door, and giving him a rapid look, said -briefly, - -“Monsieur is inexorable; he won’t see any doctor whatever.” - -She was going to shut the door in his face, when Ramin quickly -interposed, under his breath, with, “_I_ am not a doctor.” - -She looked at him from head to foot. - -“Are you a lawyer?” - -“Nothing of the sort, my good lady.” - -“Well, then, are you a priest?” - -“I may almost say, quite the reverse.” - -“Indeed, you must go away; master sees no one.” - -Once more she would have shut the door, but Ramin prevented her. - -“My good lady,” said he, in his most insinuating tones, “it is true I am -neither a lawyer, a doctor, nor a priest. I am an old friend, a very old -friend of your excellent master; I have come to see good Monsieur -Bonelle in his present affliction.” - -Marguerite did not answer, but allowed him to enter, and closed the door -behind him. He was going to pass from the narrow and gloomy ante-chamber -into an inner room--whence now proceeded a sound of loud coughing--when -the old woman laid her hand on his arm, and raising herself on tip-toe -to reach his ear, whispered: - -“For Heaven’s sake, sir, since you are his friend, do talk to him; do -tell him to make his will, and hint something about a soul to be saved, -and all that sort of a thing: do, sir!” - -Monsieur Ramin nodded and winked in a way that said “I will.” He proved, -however, his prudence by not speaking aloud, for a voice from within -sharply exclaimed, - -“Marguerite, you are talking to some one. Marguerite, I will see neither -doctor nor lawyer; and if any meddling priest dare--” - -“It is only an old friend, sir;” interrupted Marguerite, opening the -inner door. - -Her master, on looking up, perceived the red face of Monsieur Ramin -peeping over the old woman’s shoulder, and irefully cried out, - -“How dare you bring that fellow here? And you, sir, how dare you come?” - -“My good old friend, there are feelings,” said Ramin, spreading his -fingers over the left pocket of his waistcoat,--“there are feelings,” he -repeated, “that cannot be subdued. One such feeling brought me here. -The fact is, I am a good-natured, easy fellow, and I never bear malice. -I never forget an old friend, but love to forget old differences when I -find one party in affliction.” - -He drew a chair forward as he spoke, and composedly seated himself -opposite to his late master. - -Monsieur Bonelle was a thin old man, with a pale sharp face, and keen -features. At first, he eyed his visitor from the depths of his vast -arm-chair; but, as if not satisfied with this distant view, he bent -forward, and laying both hands on his thin knees, he looked up into -Ramin’s face with a fixed and piercing gaze. He had not, however, the -power of disconcerting his guest. - -“What did you come here for?” he at length asked. - -“Merely to have the extreme satisfaction of seeing how you are, my good -old friend. Nothing more.” - -“Well, look at me--and then go.” - -Nothing could be so discouraging; but this was an Excellent Opportunity, -and when Monsieur Ramin _had_ an excellent opportunity in view, his -pertinacity was invincible. Being now resolved to stay, it was not in -Monsieur Bonelle’s power to banish him. At the same time, he had tact -enough to render his presence agreeable. He knew that his coarse and -boisterous wit had often delighted Monsieur Bonelle of old, and he now -exerted himself so successfully as to betray the old man two or three -times into hearty laughter. - -“Ramin,” said he, at length, laying his thin hand on the arm of his -guest, and peering with his keen glance into the mercer’s purple face, -“you are a funny fellow, but I know you; you cannot make me believe you -have called just to see how I am, and to amuse me. Come, be candid for -once; what do you want?” - -Ramin threw himself back in his chair, and laughed blandly, as much as -to say, “_Can_ you suspect me?” - -“I have no shop now out of which you can wheedle me,” continued the old -man; “and surely you are not such a fool as to come to me for money.” - -“Money?” repeated the draper, as if his host had mentioned something he -never dreamt of. “Oh no!” - -Ramin saw it would not do to broach the subject he had really come -about, too abruptly, now that suspicion seemed so wide awake--_the_ -opportunity had not arrived. - -“There is something up, Ramin, I know; I see it in the twinkle of your -eye; but you can’t deceive me again.” - -“Deceive _you_?” said the jolly schemer, shaking his head reverentially. -“Deceive a man of your penetration and depth? Impossible! The bare -supposition is flattery. My dear friend,” he continued, soothingly, “I -did not dream of such a thing. The fact is, Bonelle, though they call me -a jovial, careless, rattling dog, I have a conscience; and, somehow, I -have never felt quite easy about the way in which I became your -successor downstairs. It _was_ rather sharp practice, I admit.” - -Bonelle seemed to relent. - -“Now for it,” said the Opportunity-hunter to himself--“By-the-by,” -(speaking aloud,) “this house must be a great trouble to you in your -present weak state? Two of your lodgers have lately gone away without -paying--a great nuisance, especially to an invalid.” - -“I tell you I’m as sound as a colt.” - -“At all events, the whole concern must be a great bother to you. If I -were you, I would sell the house.” - -“And if I were _you_,” returned the landlord, dryly, “I would buy it--” - -“Precisely,” interrupted the tenant, eagerly. - -“That is, if you could get it. Phoo! I knew you were after something. -Will you give eighty thousand francs for it?” abruptly asked Monsieur -Bonelle. - -“Eighty thousand francs!” echoed Ramin. “Do you take me for Louis -Philippe or the Bank of France?” - -“Then, we’ll say no more about it--are you not afraid of leaving your -shop so long?” - -Ramin returned to the charge, heedless of the hint to depart. “The fact -is, my good old friend, ready money is not my strong point just now. But -if you wish very much to be relieved of the concern, what say you to a -life annuity? I could manage that.” - -Monsieur Bonelle gave a short, dry, churchyard cough, and looked as if -his life were not worth an hour’s purchase. “You think yourself -immensely clever, I dare say,” he said. “They have persuaded you that I -am dying. Stuff! I shall bury you yet.” - -The mercer glanced at the thin fragile frame, and exclaimed to himself, -“Deluded old gentleman!” “My dear Bonelle,” he continued, aloud, “I know -well the strength of your admirable constitution; but allow me to -observe that you neglect yourself too much. Now, suppose a good sensible -doctor--” - -“Will you pay him?” interrogated Bonelle sharply. - -“Most willingly,” replied Ramin, with an eagerness that made the old man -smile. “As to the annuity, since the subject annoys you, we will talk of -it some other time.” - -“After you have heard the doctor’s report,” sneered Bonelle. - -The mercer gave him a stealthy glance, which the old man’s keen look -immediately detected. Neither could repress a smile; these good souls -understood one another perfectly, and Ramin saw that this was not the -Excellent Opportunity he desired, and departed. - -The next day Ramin sent a neighboring medical man, and heard it was his -opinion that if Bonelle held on for three months longer, it would be a -miracle. Delightful news! - -Several days elapsed, and although very anxious, Ramin assumed a -careless air, and did not call upon his landlord, or take any notice of -him. At the end of the week old Marguerite entered the shop to make a -trifling purchase. - -“And how are we getting on up-stairs?” negligently asked Monsieur Ramin. - -“Worse and worse, my good Sir,” she sighed. “We have rheumatic pains, -which make us often use expressions the reverse of Christian-like, and -yet nothing can induce us to see either the lawyer or the priest; the -gout is getting nearer to our stomach every day, and still we go on -talking about the strength of our constitution. Oh, Sir, if you have any -influence with us, do, pray do, tell us how wicked it is to die without -making one’s will or confessing one’s sins.” - -“I shall go up this very evening,” ambiguously replied Monsieur Ramin. - -He kept his promise, and found Monsieur Bonelle in bed, groaning with -pain, and in the worst of tempers. - -“What poisoning doctor did you send?” he asked, with an ireful glance; -“I want no doctor, I am not ill; I will not follow his prescription; he -forbade me to eat; I _will_ eat.” - -“He is a very clever man,” said the visitor. “He told me that never in -the whole course of his experience has he met with what he called so -much ‘resisting power’ as exists in your frame. He asked me if you were -not of a long-lived race.” - -“That is as people may judge,” replied Monsieur Bonelle. “All I can say -is, that my grandfather died at ninety, and my father at eighty-six.” - -“The doctor owned that you had a wonderfully strong constitution.” - -“Who said I hadn’t?” exclaimed the invalid feebly. - -“You may rely on it, you would preserve your health better if you had -not the trouble of these vexatious lodgers. Have you thought about the -life annuity?” said Ramin as carelessly as he could, considering how -near the matter was to his hopes and wishes. - -“Why, I have scruples,” returned Bonelle, coughing. “I do not wish to -take you in. My longevity would be the ruin of you.” - -“To meet that difficulty,” quickly replied the mercer, “we can reduce -the interest.” - -“But I must have high interest,” placidly returned Monsieur Bonelle. - -Ramin, on hearing this, burst into a loud fit of laughter, called -Monsieur Bonelle a sly old fox, gave him a poke in the ribs, which made -the old man cough for five minutes, and then proposed that they should -talk it over some other day. The mercer left Monsieur Bonelle in the act -of protesting that he felt as strong as a man of forty. - -Monsieur Ramin felt in no hurry to conclude the proposed agreement. “The -later one begins to pay, the better,” he said, as he descended the -stairs. - -Days passed on, and the negotiation made no way. It struck the observant -tradesman that all was not right. Old Marguerite several times refused -to admit him, declaring her master was asleep; there was something -mysterious and forbidding in her manner that seemed to Monsieur Ramin -very ominous. At length a sudden thought occurred to him; the -housekeeper--wishing to become her master’s heir--had heard his scheme -and opposed it. On the very day that he arrived at this conclusion, he -met a lawyer, with whom he had formerly had some transactions, coming -down the staircase. The sight sent a chill through the mercer’s -commercial heart, and a presentiment--one of those presentiments that -seldom deceive--told him it was too late. He had, however, the fortitude -to abstain from visiting Monsieur Bonelle until evening came; when he -went up, resolved to see him in spite of all Marguerite might urge. The -door was half-open, and the old housekeeper stood talking on the landing -to a middle-aged man in a dark cassock. - -“It is all over! The old witch has got the priests at him,” thought -Ramin, inwardly groaning at his own folly in allowing himself to be -forestalled. - -“You cannot see Monsieur to-night,” sharply said Marguerite, as he -attempted to pass her. - -“Alas! is my excellent friend so very ill?” asked Ramin, in a mournful -tone. - -“Sir,” eagerly said the clergyman, catching him by the button of his -coat, “if you are indeed the friend of that unhappy man, do seek to -bring him into a more suitable frame of mind. I have seen many dying -men, but never so much obstinacy, never such infatuated belief in the -duration of life.” - -“Then you think he really _is_ dying?” asked Ramin; and, in spite of the -melancholy accent he endeavored to assume, there was something so -peculiar in his tone, that the priest looked at him very fixedly as he -slowly replied, - -“Yes, Sir, I think he is.” - -“Ah!” was all Monsieur Ramin said; and as the clergyman had now relaxed -his hold of the button, Ramin passed in spite of the remonstrances of -Marguerite, who rushed after the priest. He found Monsieur Bonelle still -in bed in a towering rage. - -“Oh! Ramin, my friend,” he groaned, “never take a housekeeper, and never -let her know you have any property. They are harpies, Ramin,--harpies! -such a day as I have had; first, the lawyer, who comes to write down ‘my -last testamentary dispositions,’ as he calls them; then the priest, who -gently hints that I am a dying man. Oh, what a day!” - -“And _did_ you make your will, my excellent friend?” softly asked -Monsieur Ramin, with a keen look. - -“Make my will?” indignantly exclaimed the old man; “make my will? what -do you mean, Sir? do you mean to say I am dying?” - -“Heaven forbid!” piously ejaculated Ramin. - -“Then why do you ask me if I have been making my will?” angrily resumed -the old man. He then began to be extremely abusive. - -When money was in the way, Monsieur Ramin, though otherwise of a violent -temper, had the meekness of a lamb. He bore the treatment of his host -with the meekest patience, and having first locked the door so as to -make sure that Marguerite would not interrupt them, he watched Monsieur -Bonelle attentively, and satisfied himself that the Excellent -Opportunity he had been ardently longing for had arrived. “He is going -fast,” he thought; “and unless I settle the agreement to-night, and get -it drawn up and signed to-morrow, it will be too late.” - -“My dear friend,” he at length said aloud, on perceiving that the old -gentleman had fairly exhausted himself and was lying panting on his -back, “you are indeed a lamentable instance of the lengths to which the -greedy lust of lucre will carry our poor human nature. It is really -distressing to see Marguerite, a faithful, attached servant, suddenly -converted into a tormenting harpy by the prospect of a legacy! Lawyers -and priests flock around you like birds of prey, drawn hither by the -scent of gold! Oh, the miseries of having delicate health combined with -a sound constitution and large property!” - -“Ramin,” groaned the old man, looking inquiringly into his visitor’s -face, “you are again going to talk to me about that annuity--I know you -are!” - -“My excellent friend, it is merely to deliver you from a painful -position.” - -“I am sure, Ramin, you think in your soul I am dying,” whimpered -Monsieur Bonelle. - -“Absurd, my dear Sir. Dying? I will prove to you that you have never -been in better health. In the first place you feel no pain.” - -“Excepting from rheumatism,” groaned Monsieur Bonelle. - -“Rheumatism! who ever died of rheumatism? and if that be all--” - -“No, it is not all,” interrupted the old man with great irritability; -“what would you say to the gout getting higher and higher up every -day?” - -“The gout is rather disagreeable, but if there is nothing else--” - -“Yes, there is something else,” sharply said Monsieur Bonelle. “There is -an asthma that will scarcely let me breathe, and a racking pain in my -head that does not allow me a moment’s ease. But if you think I am -dying, Ramin, you are quite mistaken.” - -“No doubt, my dear friend, no doubt; but in the meanwhile, suppose we -talk of this annuity. Shall we say one thousand francs a year.” - -“What?” asked Bonelle, looking at him very fixedly. - -“My dear friend, I mistook; I meant two thousand francs per annum,” -hurriedly rejoined Ramin. - -Monsieur Bonelle closed his eyes, and appeared to fall into a gentle -slumber. The mercer coughed; the sick man never moved. - -“Monsieur Bonelle.” - -No reply. - -“My excellent friend.” - -Utter silence. - -“Are you asleep?” - -A long pause. - -“Well, then, what do you say to three thousand?” - -Monsieur Bonelle opened his eyes. - -“Ramin,” said he, sententiously, “you are a fool; the house brings me in -four thousand as it is.” - -This was quite false, and the mercer knew it; but he had his own reasons -for wishing to seem to believe it true. - -“Good Heavens!” said he, with an air of great innocence, “who could have -thought it, and the lodgers constantly running away. Four thousand? -Well, then, you shall have four thousand.” - -Monsieur Bonelle shut his eyes once more, and murmured “The mere -rental--nonsense!” He then folded his hands on his breast, and appeared -to compose himself to sleep. - -“Oh, what a sharp man of business he is!” Ramin said, admiringly; but -for once omnipotent flattery failed in its effect; “So acute!” continued -he, with a stealthy glance at the old man, who remained perfectly -unmoved. “I see you will insist upon making it the other five hundred -francs.” - -Monsieur Ramin said this as if five thousand five hundred francs had -already been mentioned, and was the very summit of Monsieur Bonelle’s -ambition. But the ruse failed in its effect; the sick man never so much -as stirred. - -“But, my dear friend,” urged Monsieur Ramin in a tone of feeling -remonstrance, “there is such a thing as being too sharp, too acute. How -can you expect that I shall give you more when your constitution is so -good, and you are to be such a long liver?” - -“Yes, but I may be carried off one of those days,” quietly observed the -old man, evidently wishing to turn the chance of his own death to -account. - -“Indeed, and I hope so,” muttered the mercer, who was getting very -ill-tempered. - -“You see,” soothingly continued Bonelle, “you are so good a man of -business, Ramin, that you will double the actual value of the house in -no time. I am a quiet, easy person, indifferent to money; otherwise this -house would now bring me in eight thousand at the very least.” - -“Eight thousand!” indignantly exclaimed the mercer. “Monsieur Bonelle, -you have no conscience. Come now, my dear friend, do be reasonable. Six -thousand francs a-year (I don’t mind saying six) is really a very -handsome income for a man of your quiet habits. Come, be reasonable.” -But Monsieur Bonelle turned a deaf ear to reason, and closed his eyes -once more. What between opening and shutting them for the next quarter -of an hour, he at length induced Monsieur Ramin to offer him seven -thousand francs. - -“Very well, Ramin, agreed,” he quietly said; “you have made an -unconscionable bargain.” To this succeeded a violent fit of coughing. - -As Ramin unlocked the door to leave, he found old Marguerite, who had -been listening all the time, ready to assail him with a torrent of -whispered abuse for duping her “poor dear innocent old master into such -a bargain.” The mercer bore it all very patiently; he could make -allowances for her excited feelings, and only rubbed his hands and bade -her a jovial good evening. - -The agreement was signed on the following day, to the indignation of old -Marguerite, and the mutual satisfaction of the parties concerned. - -Every one admired the luck and shrewdness of Ramin, for the old man -every day was reported worse; and it was clear to all that the first -quarter of the annuity would never be paid. Marguerite, in her wrath, -told the story as a grievance to every one; people listened, shook their -heads, and pronounced Monsieur Ramin to be a deuced clever fellow. - -A month elapsed. As Ramin was coming down one morning from the attics, -where he had been giving notice to a poor widow who had failed in paying -her rent, he heard a light step on the stairs. Presently a sprightly -gentleman, in buoyant health and spirits, wearing the form of Monsieur -Bonelle, appeared. Ramin stood aghast. - -“Well, Ramin,” gaily said the old man, “how are you getting on? Have you -been tormenting the poor widow up stairs? Why, man, we must live and let -live!” - -“Monsieur Bonelle,” said the mercer, in a hollow tone, “may I ask where -are your rheumatics?” - -“Gone, my dear friend,--gone.” - -“And the gout that was creeping higher and higher every day,” exclaimed -Monsieur Ramin, in a voice of anguish. - -“It went lower and lower, till it disappeared altogether,” composedly -replied Bonelle. - -“And your asthma----” - -“The asthma remains, but asthmatic people are proverbially long-lived. -It is, I have been told, the only complaint that Methuselah was troubled -with.” With this, Bonelle opened his door, shut it, and disappeared. - -Ramin was transfixed on the stairs; petrified with intense -disappointment, and a powerful sense of having been duped. When -discovered, he stared vacantly, and raved about an Excellent Opportunity -of taking his revenge. - -The wonderful cure was the talk of the neighborhood, whenever Monsieur -Bonelle appeared in the streets, jauntily flourishing his cane. In the -first frenzy of his despair, Ramin refused to pay; he accused every one -of having been in a plot to deceive him; he turned off Catherine and -expelled his porter; he publicly accused the lawyer and priest of -conspiracy; brought an action against the doctor, and lost it. He had -another brought against him for violently assaulting Marguerite, in -which he was cast in heavy damages. Monsieur Bonelle did not trouble -himself with useless remonstrances, but, when his annuity was refused, -employed such good legal arguments as the exasperated mercer could not -possibly resist. - -Ten years have elapsed, and MM. Ramin and Bonelle still live on. For a -house which would have been dear at fifty thousand francs, the draper -has already handed over seventy thousand. - -The once red-faced, jovial Ramin, is now a pale, haggard man, of sour -temper and aspect. To add to his anguish, he sees the old man thrive on -that money which it breaks his heart to give. Old Marguerite takes a -malicious pleasure in giving him an exact account of their good cheer, -and in asking him if he does not think Monsieur looks better and better -every day. Of one part of this torment Ramin might get rid, by giving -his old master notice to quit, and no longer having him in his house. -But this he cannot do; he has a secret fear that Bonelle would take some -Excellent Opportunity of dying without his knowledge, and giving some -other person an Excellent Opportunity of personating him, and receiving -the money in his stead. - -The last accounts of the victim of Excellent Opportunities represent him -as being gradually worn down with disappointment. There seems every -probability of his being the first to leave the world; for Bonelle is -heartier than ever. - - THE END. - - * * * * * - - =Popular Work! Twelfth Thousand Now Ready!= - - LEWIE, OR THE BENDED TWIG. - - BY COUSIN CICELY, - - Author of “Silver Lake Stories,” etc., etc. - - =One Volume 12mo., Price $1.00.= - - ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO., AUBURN, N. Y., } - WANZER, BEARDSLEY & CO., ROCHESTER, N. Y., } _Publishers_. - - “Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power, - For thou alone may’st train, and guide, and mould - Plants that shall blossom, with an odor sweet, - Or, like the cursed fig-tree, wither, and become - Vile cumberers of the ground.” - -Brief Extracts from Notices of the Press. - -* * * A tale which deserves to rank with “The Wide, Wide World.” It is -written with graphic power, and full of interest.--_Hartford Repub._ - -* * * Her writings are equal to the best. She is a second Fanny -Fern.--_Palmyra Democrat._ - -* * * It is recommended by its excellent moral tone and its wholesome -practical inculcations.--_N. Y. Tribune._ - -* * * Full of grace and charm, its style and vivacity make it a most -amusing work. For the intellectual and thinking, it has a deeper lesson, -and while it thrills the heart, bids parents beware of that weakness -which prepares in infancy the misery of man. “Lewie” is one of the most -popular books now before the public, and needs no puffing, as it is -selling by thousands.--_N. Y. Day Book._ - -* * * The moral of the book is inestimable. The writer cannot fail to be -good, as she so faithfully portrays the evils which owe their origin to -the criminal neglect of proper parental discipline.--_Hunt’s Merchants’ -Magazine._ - -* * * The plot is full of dramatic interest, yet entirely free from -extravagance; the incidents grow out of the main plot easily and -naturally, while the sentiment is healthy and unaffected. Commend us to -more writers like Cousin Cicely--books which we can see in the hands of -our young people without uneasiness. Books which interest by picturing -life as it is, instead of giving us galvanized society.--_National -Democrat._ - -* * * A touching and impressive story, unaffected in style and effective -in plot.--_N. Y. Evangelist._ - -* * * The story of the Governess, contained in this volume, is one of -rare interest.--_Highland Eagle._ - -* * * The story is a charming one--the most affecting we ever -read.--_Jersey Shore Republican._ - -* * * “Cousin Cicely” is just the person to portray family scenes. - -* * * This story will be profitable reading.--_Daily Capital City Fact, -Columbus, Ohio._ - -* * * The contents of the work are of the first order, and -unexceptionable.--_Hartford Daily Times._ - - * * * * * - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Report of Mr. Bowie on the cause of Cholera in Bermondsey. - - [2] Report of Dr. Gavin. - - [3] Evidence of Mr. J. T. Cooper, Practical Chemist. - - [4] Evidence before the Board of Health. - - * * * * * - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -gave him little encouagement=> gave him little encouagement {pg 11} - -where an elegaut _déjeuner_=> where an elegant _déjeuner_ {pg 20} - -wo had sprung=> woe had sprung {pg 27} - -againt the barons=> against the barons {pg 35} - -Ths spirit of a policeman=> The spirit of a policeman {pg 62} - -three feet together anwhere=> three feet together anywhere {pg 207} - -Nepho now lurked=> Nephelo now lurked {pg 321} - -cried Nepho=> cried Nephelo {pg 322} - -you are are not such a fool=> you are not such a fool {pg 334} - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pearl-Fishing; Choice Stories from -Dickens' Household Words; Second S, by Charles Dickens - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEARL-FISHING, SECOND SERIES *** - -***** This file should be named 50334-0.txt or 50334-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/3/3/50334/ - -Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team -at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Pearl-Fishing; Choice Stories from Dickens' Household Words; Second Series - -Author: Charles Dickens - -Release Date: October 28, 2015 [EBook #50334] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEARL-FISHING, SECOND SERIES *** - - - - -Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team -at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="300" height="500" alt="cover" title="" /> -</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border: 2px black solid;margin:auto auto;max-width:50%; -padding:1%;"> -<tr><td><p class="c">Some typographical errors have been corrected; -<a href="#transcrib">a list follows the text</a>.</p> -<p class="cb"><a href="#Contents">Contents</a></p> -<p class="c">(etext transcriber's note)</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill_dickens_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ill_dickens.jpg" width="405" height="500" alt="Faithfully yours - -Charles Dickens, handwritten" /></a><br /> -<img src="images/ill_signature.png" width="300" height="161" alt="Faithfully yours -Charles Dickens, handwritten" /> -</div> - -<p><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a></p> - -<h1>P E A R L - F I S H I N G.</h1> - -<p class="cb"> -<img src="images/title-a.png" -width="197" -height="23" -alt="CHOICE STORIES," -/> -<br /> -<br /> -FROM<br /> -<br /><span class="eng"><img src="images/title-b.png" -width="400" -height="30" -alt="" -/></span><br /> -<br /> -SECOND SERIES.<br /> -<br /> -AUBURN:<br /> -ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO.<br /> -ROCHESTER:<br /> -WANZER, BEARDSLEY & CO.<br /> -1854.</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border-top:1px solid black;margin:3% auto 3% auto; -border-bottom:1px solid black; -font-size:90%;"> - -<tr><td align="center">Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by<br /> -ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO.,<br /> -In the Clerk’s Office of the Northern District of New York.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="c"><small>THOMAS B. SMITH,<br /> -STEREOTYPER AND ELECTROTYPER,<br /> -216 William Street, N. Y.</small> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a></p> - -<h2 class="eng">The Publisher’s Notice.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE large demand for the <i>First Series</i> of this publication, has -confirmed the publishers in their opinion of its worth and its -adaptability to meet the wants and tastes of the reading public, and -induced them to issue, in rapid succession, the present volume, which -will be found not less interesting and worthy of attention.</p> - -<p>The publishers also announce their intention of continuing this series, -which has been received with so much public favor.</p> - -<p>June, 1854.</p> - -<p><a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a></p> - -<h2 class="eng"><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents.</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td> </td><td> </td><td align="right"><small><span class="smcap">Page</span></small></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" align="right"><a href="#I">I.</a></td><td valign="top">—<span class="smcap">The Young Advocate</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_007">7</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" align="right"><a href="#II">II.</a></td><td valign="top">—<span class="smcap">The Last of a Long Line</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_033">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" align="right"><a href="#III">III.</a></td><td valign="top">—<span class="smcap">The Gentleman Beggar</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_107">107</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" align="right"><a href="#IV">IV.</a></td><td valign="top">—<span class="smcap">Evil is Wrought by Want of Thought</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_130">130</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" align="right"><a href="#V">V.</a></td><td valign="top">—<span class="smcap">Bed</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_167">167</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" align="right"><a href="#VI">VI.</a></td><td valign="top">—<span class="smcap">The Home of Woodruffe the Gardener</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_184">184</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" align="right"><a href="#VII">VII.</a></td><td valign="top">—<span class="smcap">The Water-Drops</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_287">287</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" align="right"><a href="#VIII">VIII.</a></td><td valign="top">—<span class="smcap">An Excellent Opportunity</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_325">325</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I.<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">The Young Advocate.</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>NTOINE DE CHAULIEU was the son of a poor gentleman of Normandy, with a -long genealogy, a short rent-roll, and a large family. Jacques Rollet -was the son of a brewer, who did not know who his grandfather was; but -he had a long purse and only two children. As these youths flourished in -the early days of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and were near -neighbors, they naturally hated each other. Their enmity commenced at -school, where the delicate and refined De Chaulieu being the only -gentilhomme among the scholars, was the favorite of the master (who was -a bit of an aristocrat in his heart) although he was about the worst -dressed boy in the<a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> establishment, and never had a sou to spend; while -Jacques Rollet, sturdy and rough, with smart clothes and plenty of -money, got flogged six days in the week, ostensibly for being stupid and -not learning his lessons—which, indeed, he did not—but, in reality, -for constantly quarrelling with and insulting De Chaulieu, who had not -strength to cope with him. When they left the academy, the feud -continued in all its vigor, and was fostered by a thousand little -circumstances arising out of the state of the times, till a separation -ensued in consequence of an aunt of Antoine de Chaulieu’s undertaking -the expense of sending him to Paris to study the law, and of maintaining -him there during the necessary period.</p> - -<p>With the progress of events came some degree of reaction in favor of -birth and nobility, and then Antoine, who had passed for the bar, began -to hold up his head and endeavored to push his fortunes; but fate seemed -against him. He felt certain that if he possessed any gift in the world -it was that of eloquence, but he could get no cause to plead; and<a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a> his -aunt dying inopportunely, first his resources failed, and then his -health. He had no sooner returned to his home, than, to complicate his -difficulties completely, he fell in love with Mademoiselle Natalie de -Bellefonds, who had just returned from Paris, where she had been -completing her education. To expiate on the perfections of Mademoiselle -Natalie, would be a waste of ink and paper; it is sufficient to say that -she really was a very charming girl, with a fortune which, though not -large, would have been a most desirable acquisition to De Chaulieu, who -had nothing. Neither was the fair Natalie indisposed to listen to his -addresses; but her father could not be expected to countenance the suit -of a gentleman, however well-born, who had not a ten-sous piece in the -world, and whose prospects were a blank.</p> - -<p>While the ambitious and love-sick young barrister was thus pining in -unwelcome obscurity, his old acquaintance, Jacques Rollet, had been -acquiring an undesirable notoriety. There was nothing really bad in -Jacques’ disposition, but having been<a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a> bred up a democrat, with a hatred -of the nobility, he could not easily accommodate his rough humor to -treat them with civility when it was no longer safe to insult them. The -liberties he allowed himself whenever circumstances brought him into -contact with the higher classes of society, had led him into many -scrapes, out of which his father’s money had one way or another released -him; but that source of safety had now failed. Old Rollet having been -too busy with the affairs of the nation to attend to his business, had -died insolvent, leaving his son with nothing but his own wits to help -him out of future difficulties, and it was not long before their -exercise was called for. Claudine Rollet, his sister, who was a very -pretty girl, had attracted the attention of Mademoiselle de Bellefonds’ -brother, Alphonso; and as he paid her more attention than from such a -quarter was agreeable to Jacques, the young men had more than one -quarrel on the subject, on which occasions they had each, -characteristically, given vent to their enmity, the one in contemptuous -monosyllables, and the other in a volley<a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a> of insulting words. But -Claudine had another lover more nearly of her own condition of life; -this was Claperon, the deputy-governor of the Rouen jail, with whom she -made acquaintance during one or two compulsory visits paid by her -brother to that functionary; but Claudine, who was a bit of a coquette, -though she did not altogether reject his suit, gave him little -encouragement, so that betwixt hopes, and fears, and doubts, and -jealousies, poor Claperon led a very uneasy kind of life.</p> - -<p>Affairs had been for some time in this position, when, one fine morning, -Alphonse de Bellefonds was not to be found in his chamber when his -servant went to call him; neither had his bed been slept in. He had been -observed to go out rather late on the preceding evening, but whether or -not he had returned, nobody could tell. He had not appeared at supper, -but that was too ordinary an event to awaken suspicion; and little alarm -was excited till several hours had elapsed, when inquiries were -instituted and a search commenced, which<a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a> terminated in the discovery of -his body, a good deal mangled, lying at the bottom of a pond which had -belonged to the old brewery. Before any investigations had been made, -every person had jumped to the conclusion that the young man had been -murdered, and that Jacques Rollet was the assassin. There was a strong -presumption in favor of that opinion, which further perquisitions tended -to confirm. Only the day before, Jacques had been heard to threaten M. -de Bellefonds with speedy vengeance. On the fatal evening, Alphonse and -Claudine had been seen together in the neighborhood of the now -dismantled brewery; and as Jacques, betwixt poverty and democracy, was -in bad odor with the prudent and respectable part of society, it was not -easy for him to bring witnesses to character, or prove an -unexceptionable alibi. As for the Bellefonds and De Chaulieus, and the -aristocracy in general, they entertained no doubt of his guilt; and -finally, the magistrates coming to the same opinion, Jacques Rollet was -committed for trial, and as a testimony of good will Antoine de -Chaulieu<a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a> was selected by the injured family to conduct the prosecution.</p> - -<p>Here, at last, was the opportunity he had sighed for! So interesting a -case, too, furnishing such ample occasion for passion, pathos, -indignation! And how eminently fortunate that the speech which he set -himself with ardor to prepare, would be delivered in the presence of the -father and brother of his mistress, and perhaps of the lady herself! The -evidence against Jacques, it is true, was altogether presumptive; there -was no proof whatever that he had committed the crime; and for his own -part he stoutly denied it. But Antoine de Chaulieu entertained no doubt -of his guilt, and his speech was certainly well calculated to carry -conviction into the bosom of others. It was of the highest importance to -his own reputation that he should procure a verdict, and he confidently -assured the afflicted and enraged family of the victim that their -vengeance should be satisfied. Under these circumstances could anything -be more unwelcome than a piece of intelligence that was privately<a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a> -conveyed to him late on the evening before the trial was to come on, -which tended strongly to exculpate the prisoner, without indicating any -other person as the criminal. Here was an opportunity lost. The first -step of the ladder on which he was to rise to fame, fortune, and a wife, -was slipping from under his feet!</p> - -<p>Of course, so interesting a trial was anticipated with great eagerness -by the public, and the court was crowded with all the beauty and fashion -of Rouen. Though Jacques Rollet persisted in asserting his innocence, -founding his defence chiefly on circumstances which were strongly -corroborated by the information that had reached De Chaulieu the -preceding evening,—he was convicted.</p> - -<p>In spite of the very strong doubts he privately entertained respecting -the justice of the verdict, even De Chaulieu himself, in the first flush -of success, amid a crowd of congratulating friends, and the approving -smiles of his mistress, felt gratified and happy; his speech had, for -the time being, not only convinced others, but himself; warmed<a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a> with his -own eloquence, he believed what he said. But when the glow was over, and -he found himself alone, he did not feel so comfortable. A latent doubt -of Rollet’s guilt now burnt strongly in his mind, and he felt that the -blood of the innocent would be on his head. It is true there was yet -time to save the life of the prisoner, but to admit Jacques innocent, -was to take the glory out of his own speech, and turn the sting of his -argument against himself. Besides, if he produced the witness who had -secretly given him the information, he should be self-condemned, for he -could not conceal that he had been aware of the circumstance before the -trial.</p> - -<p>Matters having gone so far, therefore, it was necessary that Jacques -Rollet should die; so the affair took its course; and early one morning -the guillotine was erected in the court-yard of the jail, three -criminals ascended the scaffold, and three heads fell into the basket, -which were presently afterwards, with the trunks that had been attached -to them, buried in a corner of the cemetery.<a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a></p> - -<p>Antoine de Chaulieu was now fairly started in his career, and his -success was as rapid as the first step towards it had been tardy. He -took a pretty apartment in the Hôtel de Marbœuf, Rue -Grange-Batelière, and in a short time was looked upon as one of the most -rising young advocates in Paris. His success in one line brought him -success in another; he was soon a favorite in society, and an object of -interest to speculating mothers; but his affections still adhered to his -old love Natalie de Bellefonds, whose family now gave their assent to -the match—at least, prospectively—a circumstance which furnished such -an additional incentive to his exertions, that in about two years from -the date of his first brilliant speech, he was in a sufficiently -flourishing condition to offer the young lady a suitable home. In -anticipation of the happy event, he engaged and furnished a suite of -apartments in the Rue du Helder; and as it was necessary that the bride -should come to Paris to provide her trousseau, it was agreed that the -wedding should take place there, instead of at Bellefonds, as had been<a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a> -first projected; an arrangement the more desirable, that a press of -business rendered M. de Chaulieu’s absence from Paris inconvenient.</p> - -<p>Brides and bridegrooms in France, except of the very high classes, are -not much in the habit of making those honeymoon excursions so universal -in this country. A day spent in visiting Versailles, or St. Cloud, or -even the public places of the city, is generally all that precedes the -settling down into the habits of daily life. In the present instance St. -Denis was selected, from the circumstance of Natalie having a younger -sister at school there; and also because she had a particular desire to -see the Abbey.</p> - -<p>The wedding was to take place on a Thursday; and on the Wednesday -evening, having spent some hours most agreeably with Natalie, Antoine de -Chaulieu returned to spend his last night in his bachelor apartments. -His wardrobe and other small possessions, had already been packed up and -sent to his future home; and there was nothing left in his room now, but -his new wedding suit,<a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a> which he inspected with considerable satisfaction -before he undressed and lay down to sleep. Sleep, however, was somewhat -slow to visit him; and the clock had struck <i>one</i> before he closed his -eyes. When he opened them again, it was broad day-light; and his first -thought was, had he overslept himself? He sat up in bed to look at the -clock which was exactly opposite, and as he did so, in the large mirror -over the fire-place, he perceived a figure standing behind him. As the -dilated eyes met his own, he saw it was the face of Jacques Rollet. -Overcome with horror he sunk back on his pillow, and it was some minutes -before he ventured to look again in that direction; when he did so, the -figure had disappeared.</p> - -<p>The sudden revulsion of feeling such a vision was calculated to occasion -in a man elate with joy, may be conceived! For some time after the death -of his former foe, he had been visited by not unfrequent twinges of -conscience; but of late, borne along by success, and the hurry of -Parisian life, these unpleasant remembrances had grown rarer,<a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a> till at -length they had faded away altogether. Nothing had been further from his -thoughts than Jacques Rollet, when he closed his eyes on the preceding -night, nor when he opened them to that sun which was to shine on what he -expected to be the happiest day of his life! Where were the high-strung -nerves now! The elastic frame! The bounding heart!</p> - -<p>Heavily and slowly he arose from his bed, for it was time to do so; and -with a trembling hand and quivering knees, he went through the processes -of the toilet, gashing his cheek with the razor, and spilling the water -over his well-polished boots. When he was dressed, scarcely venturing to -cast a glance in the mirror as he passed it, he quitted the room and -descended the stairs, taking the key of the door with him for the -purpose of leaving it with the porter; the man, however, being absent, -he laid it on the table in his lodge, and with a relaxed and languid -step proceeded on his way to the church, where presently arrived the -fair Natalie and her friends. How difficult it was now to look<a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a> happy -with that pallid face and extinguished eye!</p> - -<p>“How pale you are! Has anything happened? You are surely ill?” were the -exclamations that met him on all sides. He tried to carry it off as well -as he could, but felt that the movements he would have wished to appear -alert were only convulsive; and that the smiles with which he attempted -to relax his features, were but distorted grimaces. However, the church -was not the place for further inquiries; and while Natalie gently -pressed his hand in token of sympathy, they advanced to the altar, and -the ceremony was performed; after which they stepped into the carriages -waiting at the door, and drove to the apartments of Madame de -Bellefonds, where an elegant <i>déjeuner</i> was prepared.</p> - -<p>“What ails you, my dear husband?” inquired Natalie, as soon as they were -alone.</p> - -<p>“Nothing, love,” he replied; “nothing, I assure you, but a restless -night and a little overwork, in<a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a> order that I might have to-day free to -enjoy my happiness!”</p> - -<p>“Are you quite sure? Is there nothing else?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, indeed; and pray don’t take notice of it, it only makes me -worse!”</p> - -<p>Natalie was not deceived, but she saw that what he said was true; notice -made him worse; so she contented herself with observing him quietly, and -saying nothing; but, as he <i>felt</i> she was observing him, she might -almost better have spoken; words are often less embarrassing things than -too curious eyes.</p> - -<p>When they reached Madame de Bellefonds’ he had the same sort of -questioning and scrutiny to undergo, till he grew quite impatient under -it, and betrayed a degree of temper altogether unusual with him. Then -everybody looked astonished; some whispered their remarks, and others -expressed them by their wondering eyes, till his brow knit, and his -pallid cheeks became flushed with anger. Neither could he divert -attention by eating; his parched mouth would not allow him to<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a> swallow -anything but liquids, of which, however, he indulged in copious -libations; and it was an exceeding relief to him when the carriage, -which was to convey them to St. Denis, being announced, furnished an -excuse for hastily leaving the table. Looking at his watch, he declared -it was late; and Natalie, who saw how eager he was to be gone, threw her -shawl over her shoulders, and bidding her friends <i>good morning</i>, they -hurried away.</p> - -<p>It was a fine sunny day in June; and as they drove along the crowded -boulevards, and through the Porte St. Denis, the young bride and -bridegroom, to avoid each others eyes, affected to be gazing out of the -windows; but when they reached that part of the road where there was -nothing but trees on each side, they felt it necessary to draw in their -heads, and make an attempt at conversation, De Chaulieu put his arm -round his wife’s waist, and tried to rouse himself from his depression; -but it had by this time so reacted upon her, that she could not respond -to his efforts, and thus the conversation languished, till both felt -glad when<a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a> they reached their destination, which would, at all events, -furnish them something to talk about.</p> - -<p>Having quitted the carriage, and ordered a dinner at the Hôtel de -l’Abbaye, the young couple proceeded to visit Mademoiselle Hortense de -Bellefonds, who was overjoyed to see her sister and new brother-in-law, -and doubly so when she found that they had obtained permission to take -her out to spend the afternoon with them. As there is little to be seen -at St. Denis but the Abbey, on quitting that part of it devoted to -education, they proceeded to visit the church, with its various objects -of interest; and as De Chaulieu’s thoughts were now forced into another -direction, his cheerfulness began insensibly to return. Natalie looked -so beautiful, too, and the affection betwixt the two young sisters was -so pleasant to behold! And they spent a couple of hours wandering about -with Hortense, who was almost as well informed as the Suisse, till the -brazen doors were open which admitted them to the Royal vault. -Satisfied, at length, with what they had seen, they began to think of -returning to<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> the inn, the more especially as De Chaulieu, who had not -eaten a morsel of food since the previous evening, owned to being -hungry; so they directed their steps to the door, lingering here and -there as they went, to inspect a monument or a painting, when, happening -to turn his head aside to see if his wife, who had stopt to take a last -look at the tomb of King Dagobert, was following, he beheld with horror -the face of Jacques Rollet appearing from behind a column! At the same -instant his wife joined him, and took his arm, inquiring if he was not -very much delighted with what he had seen. He attempted to say yes, but -the word would not be forced out; and staggering out of the door, he -alleged that a sudden faintness had overcome him.</p> - -<p>They conducted him to the Hôtel, but Natalie now became seriously -alarmed; and well she might. His complexion looked ghastly, his limbs -shook, and his features bore an expression of indescribable horror and -anguish. What could be the meaning of so extraordinary a change in the -gay, witty,<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a> prosperous De Chaulieu, who, till that morning, seemed not -to have a care in the world? For, plead illness as he might, she felt -certain, from the expression of his features, that his sufferings were -not of the body but of the mind; and, unable to imagine any reason for -such extraordinary manifestations, of which she had never before seen a -symptom, but a sudden aversion to herself, and regret for the step he -had taken, her pride took the alarm, and, concealing the distress she -really felt, she began to assume a haughty and reserved manner towards -him, which he naturally interpreted into an evidence of anger and -contempt. The dinner was placed upon the table, but De Chaulieu’s -appetite, of which he had lately boasted, was quite gone, nor was his -wife better able to eat. The young sister alone did justice to the -repast; but although the bridegroom could not eat, he could swallow -champagne in such copious draughts, that ere long the terror and remorse -that the apparition of Jacques Rollet had awakened in his breast were -drowned in intoxication. Amazed and indignant,<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a> poor Natalie sat -silently observing this elect of her heart, till overcome with -disappointment and grief, she quitted the room with her sister, and -retired to another apartment, where she gave free vent to her feelings -in tears.</p> - -<p>After passing a couple of hours in confidences and lamentations, they -recollected that the hours of liberty granted, as an especial favor, to -Mademoiselle Hortense, had expired; but ashamed to exhibit her husband -in his present condition to the eyes of strangers, Natalie prepared to -re-conduct her to the <i>Maison Royale</i> herself. Looking into the -dining-room as they passed, they saw De Chaulieu lying on a sofa fast -asleep, in which state he continued when his wife returned. At length, -however, the driver of their carriage begged to know if Monsieur and -Madame were ready to return to Paris, and it became necessary to arouse -him. The transitory effects of the champagne had now subsided; but when -De Chaulieu recollected what had happened, nothing could exceed his -shame and mortification. So engrossing indeed<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a> were these sensations -that they quite overpowered his previous one, and, in his present -vexation, he, for the moment, forgot his fears. He knelt at his wife’s -feet, begged her pardon a thousand times, swore that he adored her, and -declared that the illness and the effect of the wine had been purely the -consequences of fasting and over-work. It was not the easiest thing in -the world to re-assure a woman whose pride, affection, and taste, had -been so severely wounded; but Natalie tried to believe, or to appear to -do so, and a sort of reconciliation ensued, not quite sincere on the -part of the wife, and very humbling on the part of the husband. Under -these circumstances it was impossible that he should recover his spirits -or facility of manner; his gaiety was forced, his tenderness -constrained; his heart was heavy within him; and ever and anon the -source whence all this disappointment and woe had sprung would recur to -his perplexed and tortured mind.</p> - -<p>Thus mutually pained and distrustful, they returned to Paris, which they -reached about nine<a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a> o’clock. In spite of her depression, Natalie, who -had not seen her new apartments, felt some curiosity about them, whilst -De Chaulieu anticipated a triumph in exhibiting the elegant home he had -prepared for her. With some alacrity, therefore, they stepped out of the -carriage, the gates of the Hôtel were thrown open, the <i>concierge</i> rang -the bell which announced to the servants that their master and mistress -had arrived, and whilst these domestics appeared above, holding lights -over the balustrades, Natalie, followed by her husband, ascended the -stairs. But when they reached the landing-place of the first flight, -they saw the figure of a man standing in a corner as if to make way for -them; the flash from above fell upon his face, and again Antoine de -Chaulieu recognized the features of Jacques Rollet!</p> - -<p>From the circumstance of his wife’s preceding him, the figure was not -observed by De Chaulieu till he was lifting his foot to place it on the -top stair: the sudden shock caused him to miss the step, and, without -uttering a sound, he fell back,<a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a> and never stopped till he reached the -stones at the bottom. The screams of Natalie brought the concierge from -below and the maids from above, and an attempt was made to raise the -unfortunate man from the ground; but with cries of anguish he besought -them to desist.</p> - -<p>“Let me,” he said, “die here! What a fearful vengeance is thine! Oh, -Natalie, Natalie!” he exclaimed to his wife, who was kneeling beside -him, “to win fame, and fortune, and yourself, I committed a dreadful -crime! With lying words I argued away the life of a fellow-creature, -whom, whilst I uttered them, I half believed to be innocent; and now, -when I have attained all I desired, and reached the summit of my hopes, -the Almighty has sent him back upon the earth to blast me with the -sight. Three times this day—three times this day! Again! again!”—and -as he spoke, his wild and dilated eyes fixed themselves on one of the -individuals that surrounded him.</p> - -<p>“He is delirious,” said they.</p> - -<p>“No,” said the stranger! “What he says is<a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a> true enough,—at least in -part;” and bending over the expiring man, he added, “May Heaven forgive -you, Antoine de Chaulieu! I was not executed; one who well knew my -innocence saved my life. I may name him, for he is beyond the reach of -the law now,—it was Claperon, the jailor, who loved Claudine, and had -himself killed Alphonse de Bellefonds from jealousy. An unfortunate -wretch had been several years in the jail for a murder committed during -the frenzy of a fit of insanity. Long confinement had reduced him to -idiocy. To save my life Claperon substituted the senseless being for me, -on the scaffold, and he was executed in my stead. He has quitted the -country, and I have been a vagabond on the face of the earth ever since -that time. At length I obtained, through the assistance of my sister, -the situation of concierge in the Hôtel Marbœuf, in the Rue -Grange-Batelière. I entered on my new place yesterday evening, and was -desired to awaken the gentleman on the third floor at seven o’clock. -When I entered the room to do so, you were asleep, but before I had time -to<a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a> speak you awoke, and I recognized your features in the glass. -Knowing that I could not vindicate my innocence if you chose to seize -me, I fled, and seeing an omnibus starting for St. Denis, I got on it -with a vague idea of getting on to Calais, and crossing the Channel to -England. But having only a franc or two in my pocket, or indeed in the -world, I did not know how to procure the means of going forward; and -whilst I was lounging about the place, forming first one plan and then -another, I saw you in the church, and concluding you were in pursuit of -me, I thought the best way of eluding your vigilance was to make my way -back to Paris as fast as I could; so I set off instantly, and walked all -the way; but having no money to pay my night’s lodging, I came here to -borrow a couple of livres of my sister Claudine, who lives in the fifth -story.”</p> - -<p>“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed the dying man; “that sin is off my soul! -Natalie, dear wife, farewell! Forgive! forgive all!”</p> - -<p>These were the last words he uttered; the priest,<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a> who had been summoned -in haste, held up the cross before his failing sight; a few strong -convulsions shook the poor bruised and mangled frame; and then all was -still.</p> - -<p>And thus ended the Young Advocate’s Wedding Day.<a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II.<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">The Last of a Long Line.</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>IR ROGER ROCKVILLE of Rockville was the last of a very long line. It -extended from the Norman Conquest to the present century. His first -known ancestor came over with William, and must have been a man of some -mark, either of bone and sinew, or of brain, for he obtained what the -Americans would call a prime location. As his name does not occur in the -Roll of Battle Abbey, he was, of course, not of a very high Norman -extraction; but he had done enough, it seems, in the way of knocking -down Saxons, to place himself on a considerable eminence in this -kingdom. The centre of his domains was conspicuous far over the country, -through a high range of rock overhanging<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> one of the sweetest rivers in -England. On one hand lay a vast tract of rich marsh land, capable, as -society advanced, of being converted into meadows; and on the other, as -extensive moorlands, finely undulating, and abounding with woods and -deer.</p> - -<p>Here the original Sir Roger built his castle on the summit of the range -of rock, with huts for his followers; and became known directly all over -the country of Sir Roger de Rockville, or Sir Roger of the hamlet on the -Rock. Sir Roger, no doubt, was a mighty hunter before the lord of the -feudal district: it is certain that his descendants were. For -generations they led a jolly life at Rockville, and were always ready to -exchange the excitement of the chase for a bit of the civil war. Without -that the country would have grown dull, and ale and venison lost their -flavor. There was no gay London in those days, and a good brisk skirmish -with their neighbors in helm and hauberk was the way of spending their -season. It was their parliamentary debate, and was necessary to stir -their blood.<a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a> Protection and Free Trade were as much the great topics of -interest as they are now, only they did not trouble themselves so much -about Corn-bills. Their bills were of good steel, and their protective -measures were arrows a cloth-yard long. Protection meant a good suit of -mail; and a castle with its duly prescribed moats, bastions, -portcullises, and donjon keep. Free Trade was a lively inroad into the -neighboring baron’s lands, and the importation thence of goodly herds -and flocks. Foreign cattle for home consumption was as <i>striking an -article</i> in their markets as in ours, only the blows were expended on -one another’s heads, instead of the heads of foreign bullocks—that is, -bullocks from over the Welch or Scotch Marches, as from beyond the next -brook.</p> - -<p>Thus lived the Rockvilles for ages. In all the iron combats of those -iron times they took care to have their quota. Whether it was Stephen -against Matilda, or Richard against his father, or John against the -barons; whether it were York or Lancaster, or Tudor or Stuart. The -Rockvilles were<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a> to be found in the <i>mêlée</i>, and winning power and -lands. So long as it required only stalwart frames and stout blows, no -family cut a more conspicuous figure. The Rockvilles were at Bosworth -Field. The Rockvilles fought in Ireland under Elizabeth. The Rockvilles -were staunch defenders of the cause in the war of Charles I. with his -Parliament. The Rockvilles even fought for James II. at the Boyne, when -three-fourths of the most loyal of the English nobility and gentry had -deserted him in disgust and indignation. But from that hour they had -been less conspicuous.</p> - -<p>The opposition to the successful party, that of William of Orange, of -course brought them into disgrace; and though they were never molested -on that account, they retired to their estate, and found it convenient -to be as unobtrusive as possible. Thenceforward you heard no more of the -Rockvilles in the national annals. They became only of consequence in -their own district. They acted as magistrates. They served as high -sheriffs. They were a substantial county family, and nothing<a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a> more. -Education and civilization advanced; a wider and very different field of -action and ambition opened upon the aristocracy of England. Our fleets -and armies abroad, our legislature at home, law and the church, -presented brilliant paths to the ambition of those thirsting for -distinction, and the good things that follow it. But somehow the -Rockvilles did not expand with this expansion. So long as it required -only a figure of six feet high, broad shoulders, and a strong arm, they -were a great and conspicuous race. But when the head became the member -most in request, they ceased to go ahead. Younger sons, it is true, -served in army and in navy, and filled the family pulpit, but they -produced no generals, no admirals, no arch-bishops. The Rockvilles of -Rockville were very conservative, very exclusive, and very stereotype. -Other families grew poor, and enriched themselves again by marrying -plebeian heiresses. New families grew up out of plebeian blood into -greatness, and intermingled the vigor of their fresh earth with the -attenuated aristocratic soil. Men of family<a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a> became great lawyers, great -statesmen, great prelates, and even great poets and philosophers. The -Rockvilles remained high, proud, bigoted, and <i>borné</i>.</p> - -<p>The Rockvilles married Rockvilles, or their first cousins, the -Craigvilles, simply to prevent property going out of the family. They -kept the property together. They did not lose an acre, and they were a -fine, tall, solemn race—and nothing more. What ailed them?</p> - -<p>If you saw Sir Roger Rockville,—for there was an eternal Sir -Roger—filling his office of high sheriff,—he had a very fine carriage, -and a very fine retinue in the most approved and splendid of antique -costumes;—if you saw him sitting on the bench at quarter sessions, he -was a tall, stately, and solemn man. If you saw Lady Rockville shopping, -in her handsome carriage, with very handsomely attired servants; saw her -at the county ball, or on the race-stand, she was a tall, aristocratic, -and stately lady. That was in the last generation—the present could -boast of no Lady Rockville.<a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a></p> - -<p>Great outward respect was shown to the Rockvilles on account of the -length of their descent, and the breadth of their acres. They were -always, when any stranger asked about them, declared, with a serious and -important air, to be a very ancient, honorable, and substantial family. -“Oh! a great family are the Rockvilles, a very great family.”</p> - -<p>But if you came to close quarters with the members of this great and -highly distinguished family, you soon found yourself fundamentally -astonished; you had a sensation come over you, as if you were trying, -like Moses, to draw water from a rock without his delegated power. There -was a goodly outside of things before you, but nothing came of it. You -talked, hoping to get talking in return, but you got little more than -“noes” and “yeses,” and “oh! indeeds!” and “reallys,” and sometimes not -even that, but a certain look of aristocratic dignity or dignification, -that was meant to serve for all answers. There was a sort of resting on -aristocratic oars or “sculls,” that were not to be too vulgarly<a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a> -handled. There was a feeling impressed on you, that eight hundred years -of descent and ten thousand a-year in landed income did not trouble -themselves with the trifling things that gave distinction to lesser -people—such as literature, fine arts, politics, and general knowledge. -These were very well for those who had nothing else to pride themselves -on, but for the Rockvilles—oh! certainly they were by no means -requisite.</p> - -<p>In fact, you found yourself, with a little variation, in the predicament -of Cowper’s people,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">—— who spent their lives<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In dropping buckets into empty wells,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And <i>growing tired</i> of drawing nothing up.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Who hasn’t often come across these “dry wells” of society; solemn gulfs -out of which you can pump nothing up? You know them; they are at your -elbow every day in large and brilliant companies, and defy the best -sucking bucket ever invented to extract anything from them. But the -Rockvilles were each and all of this adust description.<a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a> It was a family -feature, and they seemed, if either, rather proud of it. They must be -so; for proud they were, amazing proud; and they had nothing besides to -be proud of, except their acres, and their ancestors.</p> - -<p>But the fact was, they could not help it. It was become organic. They -had acted the justice of peace, maintained the constitution against -upstarts and manufacturers, signed warrants, supported the church and -the house of correction, committed poachers, and then rested on the -dignity of their ancestors for so many generations, that their skulls, -brains, constitutions, and nervous systems, were all so completely -moulded into that shape and baked into that mould, that a Rockville -would be a Rockville to the end of time, if God and Nature would have -allowed it. But such things wear out. The American Indians and the -Australian nations wear out; they are not progressive, and as Nature -abhors a vacuum, she does not forget the vacuum wherever it may be, -whether in a hot desert, or in a cold and stately Rockville;—a very -ancient, honorable,<a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a> and substantial family, that lies fallow till the -thinking faculty literally dies out.</p> - -<p>For several generations there had been symptoms of decay about the -Rockville family. Not in its property, that was as large as ever; not in -their personal stature and physical aspect. The Rockvilles continued, as -they always had been, a tall and not bad-looking family. But they grew -gradually less prolific. For a hundred and fifty years past there had -seldom been more than two, or at most three, children. There had -generally been an heir to the estate, and another to the family pulpit, -and sometimes a daughter married to some neighboring squire. But Sir -Roger’s father had been an only child, and Sir Roger himself was an only -child. The danger of extinction to the family, apparent as it was, had -never induced Sir Roger to marry. At the time that we are turning our -attention upon him, he had reached the mature age of sixty. Nobody -believed that Sir Roger now would marry; he was the last, and likely to -be, of his line.</p> - -<p>It is worth while here to take a glance at Sir<a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a> Roger and his estate. -They bore a strange contrast. The one bore all the signs of progress, -the other of a stereotyped feudality. The estate which in the days of -the first Sir Roger de Rockville had been half morass and half -wilderness, was now cultivated to the pitch of British agricultural -science. The marshlands beyond the river were one splendid expanse of -richest meadows, yielding a rental of four solid pounds per acre. Over -hill and dale on this side for miles, where formerly ran wild deer, and -grew wild woodlands or furze-bushes, now lay excellent farms and -hamlets, and along the ridge of the ancient cliffs rose the most -magnificent woods. Woods, too, clothed the steep-hill sides, and swept -down to the noble river, their very boughs hanging far out over its -clear and rapid waters. In the midst of these fine woods stood Rockville -Hall, the family seat of the Rockvilles. It reared its old brick walls -above the towering mass of elms, and travellers at a distance recognized -it for what it was, the mansion of an ancient and wealthy family.</p> - -<p>The progress of England in arts, science, commerce,<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a> and manufacture, -had carried Sir Roger’s estate along with it. It was full of active and -moneyed farmers, and flourished under modern influences. How lucky it -would have been for the Rockville family had it done the same.</p> - -<p>But amid this estate there was Sir Roger solitary, and the last of the -line. He had grown well enough—there was nothing stunted about him, so -far as you could see on the surface. In stature, he exceeded six feet. -His colossal elms could not boast of a properer relative growth. He was -as large a landlord, and as tall a justice of the peace, as you could -desire; but, unfortunately, he was, after all, only the shell of a man. -Like many of his veteran elms, there was a very fine stem, only it was -hollow. There was a man, just with the rather awkward deficiency of a -soul.</p> - -<p>And it were no difficult task to explain, either, how this had come -about. The Rockvilles saw plainly enough the necessity of manuring their -lands, but they scorned the very idea of manuring their family. What! -that most ancient, honorable,<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a> and substantial family, suffer any of the -common earth of humanity to gather about its roots! The Rockvilles were -so careful of their good blood, that they never allied it to any but -blood as pure and inane as their own. Their elms flourished in the -rotten earth of plebeian accumulations, and their acres produced large -crops of corn from the sewage of towns and fat sinks, but the Rockvilles -themselves took especial care that no vulgar vigor from the rich heap of -ordinary human nature should infuse a new force of intellect into their -race. The Rockvilles needed nothing; they had all that an ancient, -honorable, and substantial family could need. The Rockvilles had no need -to study at school—why should they? They did not want to get on. The -Rockvilles did not aspire to distinction for talent in the world—why -should they? They had a large estate. So the Rockville soul, unused from -generation to generation, grew—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fine by degrees and <i>spiritually</i> less,<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">till it tapered off into nothing.<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a></p> - -<p>Look at the last of a long line in the midst of his fine estate. Tall he -was, with a stoop in his shoulders, and a bowing of his head on one -side, as if he had been accustomed to stand under the low boughs of his -woods, and peer after intruders. And that was precisely the fact. His -features were thin and sharp; his nose prominent and keen in its -character; his eyes small, black, and peering like a mole’s, or a hungry -swine’s. Sir Roger was still oracular on the bench, after consulting his -clerk, a good lawyer,—and looked up to by the neighboring squires in -election matters, for he was an unswerving tory. You never heard of a -rational thing that he had said in the whole course of his life; but -that mattered little, he was a gentleman of solemn aspect, of stately -gait, and of a very ancient family.</p> - -<p>With ten thousand a-year, and his rental rising, he was still, however, -a man of overwhelming cares. What mattered a fine estate if all the -world was against him? And Sir Roger firmly believed that he stood in -that predicament. He had grown<a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a> up to regard the world as full of little -besides upstarts, radicals, manufacturers, and poachers. All were -banded, in his belief, against the landed interest. It demanded all the -energy of his very small faculties to defend himself and the world -against them.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately for his peace, a large manufacturing town had sprung up -within a couple of miles of him. He could see its red-brick walls, and -its red-tiled roofs, and its tall smoke-vomiting chimneys, growing and -extending over the slopes beyond the river. It was to him the most -irritating sight in the world; for what were all those swarming weavers -and spinners but arrant radicals, upstarts, sworn foes of the ancient -institutions and the landed interests of England? Sir Roger had passed -through many a desperate conflict with them for the return of members to -parliament. They brought forward men that were utter wormwood to all his -feelings, and they paid no more respect to him and his friends on such -occasions than they did to the meanest creature living. Reverence<a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a> for -ancient blood did not exist in that plebeian and rapidly multiplying -tribe. There were master manufacturers there actually that looked and -talked as big as himself, and <i>entre nous</i>, a vast deal more cleverly. -The people talked of rights and franchises, and freedom of speech and of -conscience, in a way that was really frightful. Then they were given -most inveterately to running out in whole and everlasting crowds on -Sundays and holidays into the fields and woods; and as there was no part -of the neighborhood half so pleasant as the groves and river banks of -Rockville, they came swarming up there in crowds that were enough to -drive any man of acres frantic.</p> - -<p>Unluckily, there were roads all about Rockville; foot roads, and high -roads, and bridle roads. There was a road up the river side, all the way -to Rockville woods, and when it reached them, it divided like a fork, -and one prong or footpath led straight up a magnificent grove of a mile -long, ending close to the hall; and another ran all along the river -side, under the hills and branches of the wood.<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a></p> - -<p>Oh, delicious were these woods! In the river there were islands, which -were covered in summer with the greenest grass, and the freshest of -willows, and the clear waters rushed around them in the most inviting -manner imaginable. And there were numbers of people extremely ready to -accept this delectable invitation of these waters. There they came in -fine weather, and as these islands were only separated from the -main-land by a little and very shallow stream, it was delightful for -lovers to get across—with laughter, and treading on stepping stones, -and slipping off the stepping-stones up to the ankles into the cool -brook, and pretty screams, and fresh laughter, and then landing on those -sunny, and to them really enchanted, islands. And then came fishermen, -solitary fishermen, and fishermen in rows; fishermen lying in the -flowery grass, with fragrant meadow-sweet and honey-breathing clover all -about their ears; and fishermen standing in file, as if they were -determined to clear all the river of fish in one day. And there were -other lovers, and troops of loiterers, and<a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a> shouting roysterers, going -along under the boughs of the wood, and following the turns of that most -companionable of rivers. And there were boats going up and down; boats -full of young people, all holiday finery and mirth, and boats with -duck-hunters and other, to Sir Roger, detestable marauders, with guns -and dogs, and great bottles of beer. In the fine grove, on summer days, -there might be found hundreds of people. There were pic-nic parties, -fathers and mothers with whole families of children, and a grand -promenade of the delighted artisans and their wives or sweethearts.</p> - -<p>In the times prior to the sudden growth of the neighboring town, Great -Stockington, and to the simultaneous development of the love-of-nature -principle in the Stockingtonians, nothing had been thought of all these -roads. The roads were well enough till they led to these inroads. Then -Sir Roger aroused himself. This must be changed. The roads must be -stopped. Nothing was easier to his fancy. His fellow-justices, Sir -Benjamin Bullockshed and Squire Sheepshank, had asked<a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a> his aid to stop -the like nuisances, and it had been done at once. So Sir Roger put up -notices all about, that the roads were to be stopped by an Order of -Session, and these notices were signed, as required by law, by their -worships of Bullockshed and Sheepshank. But Sir Roger soon found that it -was one thing to stop a road leading from One-man-Town to Lonely Lodge, -and another to attempt to stop those from Great Stockington to -Rockville.</p> - -<p>On the very first Sunday after the exhibition of those notice-boards, -there was a ferment in the grove of Rockville, as if all the bees in the -county were swarming there, with all the wasps and Hornets to boot. -Great crowds were collected before each of these obnoxious placards, and -the amount of curses vomited forth against them was really shocking for -any day, but more especially for a Sunday. Presently there was a rush at -them; they were torn down, and simultaneously pitched into the river. -There were great crowds swarming all about Rockville all that day, and -with looks so<a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a> defiant that Sir Roger more than once contemplated -sending off for the Yeoman Cavalry to defend his house, which he -seriously thought in danger.</p> - -<p>But so far from being intimidated from proceeding, this demonstration -only made Sir Roger the more determined. To have so desperate and -irreverent a population coming about his house and woods, now presented -itself in a much more formidable aspect than ever. So, next day, not -only were the placards once more hoisted, but rewards offered for the -discovery of the offenders, attended with all the maledictions of the -insulted majesty of the law. No notice was taken of this, but the whole -of Great Stockington was in a buzz and an agitation. There were posters -plastered all over the walls of the town, four times as large as Sir -Roger’s notices, in this style:—</p> - -<p>“Englishmen! your dearest rights are menaced! The Woods of Rockville, -your ancient, rightful, and enchanting resorts, are to be closed to you. -Stockingtonians! the eyes of the world are upon<a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a> you. ‘Awake! arise! or -be forever fallen!’ England expects every man to do his duty! And your -duty is to resist and defy the grasping soil-lords, to seize on your -ancient Patrimony!”</p> - -<p>“Patrimony! Ancient and rightful resort of Rockville!” Sir Roger was -astounded at the audacity of this upstart, plebeian race. “What! they -actually claimed Rockville, the heritage of a hundred successive -Rockvilles, as their own. Sir Roger determined to carry it to the -Sessions; and at the Sessions was a magnificent muster of all his -friends. There was Sir Roger himself in the chair; and on either hand, a -prodigious row of county squirearchy. There was Sir Benjamin -Bullockshed, and Sir Thomas Tenterhook, and all the -squires,—Sheepshank, Ramsbottom, Turnbull, Otterbrook, and Swagsides. -The Clerk of the Session read the notice for the closing of all the -footpaths through the woods of Rockville, and declared that this notice -had been duly, and for the required period publicly posted. The -Stockingtonians protested by their able lawyer Daredeville, against<a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a> any -order for the closing of these ancient woods—the inestimable property -of the public.</p> - -<p>“Property of the public!” exclaimed Sir Roger. “Property of the public!” -echoed the multitudinous voices of indignant Bullocksheds, Tenterhooks, -and Ramsbottoms. “Why, Sir, do you dispute the right of Sir Roger -Rockville to his own estate?”</p> - -<p>“By no means;” replied the undaunted Daredeville; “the estate of -Rockville is unquestionably the property of the honorable baronet, Sir -Roger Rockville; but the roads through it are the as unquestionable -property of the public.”</p> - -<p>The whole bench looked at itself; that is, at each other, in wrathful -astonishment. The swelling in the diaphragms of the squires Otterbrook, -Turnbull, and Swagsides, and all the rest of the worshipful row, was too -big to admit of utterance. Only Sir Roger himself burst forth with an -abrupt— -<a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a> -“Impudent fellows! But I’ll see them —— first!”</p> - -<p>“Grant the order!” said Sir Benjamin Bullockshed; and the whole bench -nodded assent. The able lawyer Daredeville retired with a pleasant -smile. He saw an agreeable prospect of plenty of grist to his mill. Sir -Roger was rich, and so was Great Stockington. He rubbed his hands, not -in the least like a man defeated, and thought to himself, “Let them go -at it—all right.”</p> - -<p>The next day the placards on the Rockville estate were changed for -others bearing “<span class="smcap">Stopped by Order of Sessions!</span>” and alongside of them -were huge carefully painted boards, denouncing on all trespassers -prosecutions according to law. The same evening came a prodigious -invasion of Stockingtonians—tore all the boards and placards down, and -carried them on their shoulders to Great Stockington, singing as they -went, “See, the Conquering Heroes come!” They set them up in the centre -of the Stockington market-place, and burnt them, along with an effigy of -Sir Roger Rockville.</p> - -<p>That was grist at once to the mill of the able lawyer Daredeville. He -looked on, and rubbed<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a> his hands. Warrants were speedily issued by the -Baronets of Bullockshed and Tenterhook, for the apprehension of the -individuals who had been seen carrying off the notice-boards, for -larceny, and against a number of others for trespass. There was plenty -of work for Daredeville and his brethren of the robe; but it all ended, -after the flying about of sundry mandamuses and assize trials, in Sir -Roger finding that though Rockville was his, the roads through it were -the public’s.</p> - -<p>As Sir Roger drove homeward from the assize, which finally settled the -question of these footpaths, he heard the bells in all the steeples of -Great Stockington burst forth with a grand peal of triumph. He closed -fast the windows of his fine old carriage, and sunk into a corner; but -he could not drown the intolerable sound. “But,” said he, “I’ll stop -their pic-nic-ing. I’ll stop their fishing. I’ll have hold of them for -trespassing and poaching!” There was war henceforth between Rockville -and Great Stockington.</p> - -<p>On the very next Sunday there came literally<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a> thousands of the jubilant -Stockingtonians to Rockville. They had brought baskets, and were for -dining, and drinking success to all footpaths. But in the great grove -there were keepers, and watchers, who warned them to keep the path, that -narrow well-worn line up the middle of the grove. “What! were they not -to sit on the grass?”—“No!”—“What! were they not to pic-nic?”—“No! -not there!”</p> - -<p>The Stockingtonians felt a sudden damp on their spirits. But the river -bank! The cry was. “To the river bank! There they <i>would</i> pic-nic.” The -crowd rushed away down the wood, but on the river bank they found a -whole regiment of watchers, who pointed again to the narrow line of -footpath, and told them not to trespass beyond it. But the islands! they -went over to the islands. But there too were Sir Roger’s forces, who -warned them back! There was no road there—- all found there would be -trespassers, and be duly punished.</p> - -<p>The Stockingtonians discovered that their triumph was not quite so -complete as they had flattered<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a> themselves. The footpaths were theirs, -but that was all. Their ancient license was at an end. If they came -there, there was no more fishing; if they came in crowds, there was no -more pic-nic-ing; if they walked through the woods in numbers, they must -keep to Indian file, or they were summoned before the county magistrates -for trespass, and were soundly fined; and not even the able Daredeville -would undertake to defend them.</p> - -<p>The Stockingtonians were chop-fallen, but they were angry and dogged; -and they thronged up to the village and the front of the hall. They -filled the little inn in the hamlet—they went by scores, and roving all -over the churchyard, read epitaphs</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That teach the rustic moralists to die,<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">but don’t teach them to give up their old indulgences very -good-humoredly. They went and sat in rows on the old churchyard wall, -opposite to the very windows of the irate Sir Roger. They felt -themselves beaten, and Sir Roger felt himself beaten. True, he could -coerce them to the keeping<a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a> of the footpaths—but, then, they had the -footpaths! True, thought the Stockingtonians, we have the footpaths, but -then the pic-nic-ing, and the fishing, and the islands! The -Stockingtonians were full of sullen wrath, and Sir Roger was—oh, most -expressive old Saxon phrase—<small>HAIRSORE</small>! Yes, he was one universal wound -of vexation and jealousy of his rights. Every hair in his body was like -a pin sticking into him. Come within a dozen yards of him; nay, at the -most, blow on him, and he was excruciated—you rubbed his sensitive -hairs at a furlong’s distance.</p> - -<p>The next Sunday the people found the churchyard locked up, except during -service, when beadles walked there, and desired them not to loiter and -disturb the congregation, closing the gates, and showing them out like a -flock of sheep the moment the service was over. This was fuel to the -already boiling blood of Stockington. The week following, what was their -astonishment to find the much frequented inn gone! it was actually gone! -not a trace of it; but the spot where it had<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a> stood for ages, turfed, -planted with young spruce trees, and fenced off with post and rail! The -exasperated people now launched forth an immensity of fulminations -against the churl Sir Roger, and a certain number of them resolved to -come and seat themselves in the street of the hamlet and there dine; but -a terrific thunderstorm, which seemed in league with Sir Roger, soon -routed them, drenched them through, and on attempting to seek shelter in -the cottages, the poor people said they were very sorry, but it was as -much as their holdings were worth, and they dare not admit them.</p> - -<p>Sir Roger had triumphed! It was all over with the old delightful days at -Rockville. There was an end of pic-nic-ing, of fishing, and of roving in -the islands. One sturdy disciple of Izaak Walton, indeed, dared to fling -a line from the banks of Rockville grove, but Sir Roger came upon him -and endeavored to seize him. The man coolly walked into the middle of -the river, and, without a word, continued his fishing.</p> - -<p>“Get out there!” exclaimed Sir Roger, “that is<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a> still on my property.” -The man walked through the river to the other bank, where he knew that -the land was rented by a farmer. “Give over,” shouted Sir Roger, “I tell -you the water is mine.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said the fellow, “bottle it up, and be hanged to you! Don’t you -see it is running away to Stockington?”</p> - -<p>There was bad blood between Rockville and Stockington forever. -Stockington was incensed, and Sir Roger was hairsore.</p> - -<p>A new nuisance sprung up. The people of Stockington looked on the -cottagers of Rockville as sunk in deepest darkness under such a man as -Sir Roger and his cousin the vicar. They could not pic-nic, but they -thought they could hold a camp-meeting; they could not fish for roach, -but they thought they might for souls. Accordingly there assembled -crowds of Stockingtonians on the green of Rockville, with a chair and a -table, and a preacher with his head bound in a red handkerchief; and -soon there was a sound of hymns, and a zealous call to come out of the -darkness of the<a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a> spiritual Babylon. But this was more than Sir Roger -could bear; he rushed forth with all his servants, keepers, and -cottagers, overthrew the table, and routing the assembly, chased them to -the boundary of his estate.</p> - -<p>The discomfited Stockingtonians now fulminated awful judgments on the -unhappy Sir Roger, as a persecutor and a malignant. They dared not enter -again on his parish, but they came to the very verge of it, and held -weekly meetings on the highway, in which they sang and declaimed as -loudly as possible, that the winds might bear their voices to Sir -Roger’s ears.</p> - -<p>To such a position was now reduced the last of the long line of -Rockville. The spirit of a policeman had taken possession of him. He had -keepers and watchers out on all sides, but that did not satisfy him. He -was perpetually haunted with the idea that poachers were after his game, -that trespassers were in his woods. His whole life was now spent in -stealing to and fro in his fields and plantations, and prowling along -his river side. He<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a> lurked under hedges, and watched for long hours -under the forest trees. If any one had a curiosity to see Sir Roger, -they had only to enter his fields by the wood side, and wander a few -yards from the path, and he was almost sure to spring out over the -hedge, and in angry tones demand their name and address. The descendant -of the chivalrous and steel-clad De Rockvilles was sunk into a restless -spy on his own ample property. There was but one idea in his -mind—encroachment. It was destitute of all other furniture but the -musty technicalities of warrants and commitments. There was a stealthy -and skulking manner in everything that he did. He went to church on -Sundays, but it was no longer by the grand iron gate opposite to his -house, that stood generally with a large spider’s web woven over the -lock, and several others in different corners of the fine iron tracery, -bearing evidence of the long period since it had been opened. How -different to the time when the Sir Roger and Lady of Rockville had had -these gates thrown wide on a Sunday morning, and, with all<a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a> their train -of household servants at their back, with true antique dignity, marched -with much proud humility into the house of God. Now, Sir Roger—the -solitary, suspicious, undignified Sir Roger, the keeper and policeman of -his own property—stole in at a little side gate from his paddock, and -back the same way, wondering all the time whether there was not somebody -in his pheasant preserves, or Sunday trespassers in his grove.</p> - -<p>If you entered his house, it gave you as cheerless a feeling as its -owner. There was the conservatory, so splendid with rich plants and -flowers in his mother’s time—now a dusty receptacle of hampers, broken -hand-glasses, and garden tools. These tools could never be used, for the -gardens were grown wild. Tall grass grew in the walks, and the huge -unpruned shrubs disputed the passage with you. In the wood above the -gardens, reached by several flights of fine, but now moss-grown, steps, -there stood a pavilion, once clearly very beautiful. It was now damp and -ruinous—its walls covered with greenness and crawling insects.<a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a> It was -a great lurking-place of Sir Roger when on the watch for poachers.</p> - -<p>The line of the Rockvilles was evidently running fast out. It had -reached the extremity of imbecility and contempt—it must soon reach its -close.</p> - -<p>Sir Roger used to make his regular annual visit to town; but of late, -when there, he had wandered restlessly about the streets, peeping into -the shop-windows; and if it rained, standing under entries for hours -together, till it was gone over. The habit of lurking and peering about, -was upon him; and his feet bore him instinctively into those narrow and -crowded alleys where swarm the poachers of the city—the trespassers and -anglers in the game preserves and streams of humanity. He had lost all -pleasures in his club; the most exciting themes of political life -retained no piquancy for him. His old friends ceased to find any -pleasure in him. He was become the driest of all dry wells. Poachers, -and anglers, and Methodists, haunted the wretched purlieus of his fast -fading-out mind, and he resolved<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> to go to town no more. His whole -nature was centred in his woods. He was forever on the watch; and when -at Rockville again, if he heard a door clap when in bed, he thought it a -gun in his woods, and started up, and was out with his keepers.</p> - -<p>Of what value was that magnificent estate to him?—those superb woods; -those finely-hanging cliffs; that clear and <i>riant</i> river coming -travelling on, and taking a noble sweep below his windows,—that -glorious expanse of neat verdant meadows stretching almost to -Stockington, and enlivened by numerous herds of the most beautiful -cattle—those old farms and shady lanes overhung with hazel and wild -rose; the glittering brook, and the songs of woodland birds—what were -they to that worn-out old man, that victim of the delusive doctrine of -blood, of the man-trap of an hereditary name?</p> - -<p>There the poet could come, and feel the presence of divinity in that -noble scene, and hear sublime whispers in the trees, and create new -heavens and<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a> earths from the glorious chaos of nature around him, and in -one short hour live an empyrean of celestial life and love. There could -come the very humblest children of the plebeian town, and feel a throb -of exquisite delight pervade their bosoms at the sight of the very -flowers on the sod, and see heaven in the infinite blue above them. And -poor Sir Roger, the holder, but not the possessor of all, walked only in -a region of sterility, with no sublimer ideas than poachers and -trespassers—no more rational enjoyment than the brute indulgence of -hunting like a ferret, and seizing his fellow-men like a bull-dog. He -was a specimen of human nature degenerated, retrograded from the divine -to the bestial, through the long-operating influences of false notions -and institutions, continued beyond their time. He had only the soul of a -keeper. Had he been only a keeper, he had been a much happier man.</p> - -<p>His time was at hand. The severity which he had long dealt out towards -all sorts of offenders made him the object of the deepest vengeance. In<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a> -a lonely hollow of his woods, watching at midnight with two of his men, -there came a sturdy knot of poachers. An affray ensued. The men -perceived that their old enemy, Sir Roger, was there; and the blow of a -hedge-stake stretched him on the earth. His keepers fled—and thus -ignominiously terminated the long line of the Rockvilles. Sir Roger was -the last of his line, but not of his class. There is a feudal art of -sinking, which requires no study; and the Rockvilles are but one family -among thousands who have perished in its practice.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p>In Great Stockington there lived a race of paupers. From the year of the -42d of Elizabeth, or 1601, down to the present generation, this race -maintained an uninterrupted descent. They were a steady and unbroken -line of paupers, as the parish books testify. From generation to -generation their demands on the parish funds stand recorded.<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a> There were -no <i>lacunæ</i> in their career; there never failed an heir to these -families; fed on the bread of idleness and legal provision, these people -nourished, increased, and multiplied. Sometimes compelled to work for -the weekly dole which they received, they never acquired a taste for -labor, or lost the taste for the bread for which they did not labor. -These paupers regarded this maintenance by no means as a disgrace. They -claimed it as a right,—as their patrimony. They contended that -one-third of the property of the Church had been given by benevolent -individuals for the support of the poor, and that what the Reformation -wrongfully deprived them of, the great enactment of Elizabeth -rightfully—and only rightfully—restored.</p> - -<p>Those who imagine that all paupers merely claimed parish relief because -the law ordained it, commit a great error. There were numbers who were -hereditary paupers, and that on a tradition carefully handed down, that -they were only manfully claiming their own. They traced their claims<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a> -from the most ancient feudal times, when the lord was as much bound to -maintain his villein in gross, as the villein was to work for the lord. -These paupers were, in fact, or claimed to be, the original <i>adscripti -glebæ</i>, and to have as much a claim to parish support as the landed -proprietor had to his land. For this reason, in the old Catholic times, -after they had escaped from villenage by running away and remaining -absent from their hundred for a year and a day, dwelling for that period -in a walled town, these people were among the most diligent attendants -at the Abbey doors, and when the Abbeys were dissolved, were, no doubt, -among the most daring of these thieves, vagabonds, and sturdy rogues, -who, after the Robin Hood fashion, beset the highways and solitary farms -of England, and claimed their black mail in a very unceremonious style. -It was out of this class that Henry VIII. hanged his seventy-two -thousand during his reign, and, as it is said, without appearing -materially to diminish their number.</p> - -<p>That they continued to “increase, multiply, and<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a> replenish the earth,” -overflowing all bounds, overpowering by mere populousness all the severe -laws against them of whipping, burning in the hand, in the forehead or -the breast, and hanging, and filling the whole country with alarm, is -evident by the very act itself of Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>Among these hereditary paupers who, as we have said, were found in -Stockington, there was a family of the name of Deg. This family had -never failed to demand and enjoy what it held to be its share of its -ancient inheritance. It appeared from the parish records, that they had -practised in different periods the crafts of shoe-making, tailoring, and -chimney-sweeping; but since the invention of the stocking frame, they -had, one and all of them, followed the profession of stocking-weavers, -or as they were there called, stockingers. This was a trade which -required no extreme exertion of the physical or intellectual powers. To -sit in a frame, and throw the arms to and fro, was a thing that might -either be carried to a degree of extreme diligence, or be let down into -a mere apology for<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a> idleness. An “idle stockinger” was there no very -uncommon phrase, and the Degs were always classed under that head. -Nothing could be more admirably adapted than this trade for building a -plan of parish relief upon. The Degs did not pretend to be absolutely -without work, or the parish authorities would soon have set them to some -real labor,—a thing that they particularly recoiled from, having a very -old adage in the family, that “hard work was enough to kill a man.” The -Degs were seldom, therefore, out of work, but they did not get enough to -meet and tie. They had but little work if times were bad, and if they -were good, they had large families and sickly wives or children. Be -times what they would, therefore, the Degs were due and successful -attendants at the parish pay-table. Nay, so much was this a matter of -course, that they came at length not even to trouble themselves to -receive their pay, but sent their young children for it; and it was duly -paid. Did any parish officer, indeed, turn restive, and decline to pay a -Deg, he soon found himself summoned<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a> before a magistrate, and such pleas -of sickness, want of work, and poor earnings brought up, that he most -likely got a sharp rebuke from the benevolent but uninquiring -magistrate, and acquired a character for hard-heartedness that stuck to -him.</p> - -<p>So parish overseers learned to let the Degs alone; and their children -regularly brought up to receive the parish money for their parents, were -impatient as they grew up to receive it for themselves. Marriages in the -Deg family were consequently very early, and there were plenty of -instances of married Degs claiming parish relief under the age of -twenty, on the plea of being the parent of two children. One such -precocious individual being asked by a rather verdant officer why he had -married before he was able to maintain a family, replied, in much -astonishment, that he had married in order to maintain himself by parish -assistance. That he never had been able to maintain himself by his -labor, nor ever expected to do it; his only hope, therefore, lay in -marrying and becoming the<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a> father of two children, to which patriarchal -rank he had now attained, and demanded his “pay.”</p> - -<p>Thus had lived and flourished the Degs on their ancient patrimony, the -parish, for upwards of two hundred years. Nay, we have no doubt whatever -that, if it could have been traced, they had enjoyed an ancestry of -paupers as long as the pedigree of Sir Roger Rockville himself. In the -days of the most perfect villenage, they had, doubtless, eaten the bread -of idleness, and claimed it as a right. They were numerous, improvident, -ragged in dress, and fond of an ale-house and of gossip. Like the blood -of Sir Roger, their blood had become peculiar through a long persistence -of the same circumstances. It was become pure pauper blood. The Degs -married, if not entirely among Degs, yet among the same class. None but -a pauper would dream of marrying a Deg. The Degs, therefore, were in -constitution, in mind, in habit, and in inclination, paupers. But a pure -and unmixed class of this kind does not die out like an aristocratic -stereotype. It increases and multiplies. The lower<a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a> the grade, the more -prolific, as is sometimes seen on a large and even national scale. The -Degs threatened, therefore, to become a most formidable clan in the -lower purlieus of Stockington, but luckily there is so much virtue even -in evils, that one, not rarely cures another. War, the great evil, -cleared the town of Degs.</p> - -<p>Fond of idleness, of indulgence, of money easily got, and as easily -spent, the Degs were rapidly drained off by recruiting parties during -the last war. The young men enlisted, and were marched away; the young -women married soldiers that were quartered in the town from time to -time, and marched away with them. There were, eventually, none of the -once numerous Degs left except a few old people, whom death was sure to -draft off at no distant period with his regiment of the line which has -no end. Parish overseers, magistrates, and master manufacturers, -felicitated themselves at this unhoped-for deliverance from the ancient -family of the Degs.</p> - -<p>But one cold, clear winter evening, the east wind<a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a> piping its sharp -sibilant ditty in the bare-shorn hedges, and poking his sharp fingers -into the sides of well broad-clothed men by way of passing jest, Mr. -Spires, a great manufacturer of Stockington, driving in his gig some -seven miles from the town, passed a poor woman with a stout child on her -back. The large ruddy-looking man in the prime of life, and in the -great-coat and thick-worsted gloves of a wealthy traveller, cast a -glance at the wretched creature trudging heavily on, expecting a pitiful -appeal to his sensibilities, and thinking it a bore to have to pull off -a glove and dive into his pocket for a copper; but to his surprise there -was no demand, only a low curtsey, and the glimpse of a face of singular -honesty of expression, and of excessive weariness.</p> - -<p>Spires was a man of warm feelings; he looked earnestly at the woman, and -thought he had never seen such a picture of fatigue in his life. He -pulled up and said,</p> - -<p>“You seem very tired, my good woman.”</p> - -<p>“Awfully tired, sir.”<a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a></p> - -<p>“And are you going far to-night?”</p> - -<p>“To Great Stockington, sir, if God give me strength.”</p> - -<p>“To Stockington!” exclaimed Mr. Spires. “Why you seem ready to drop. -You’ll never reach it. You’d better stop at the next village.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, sir, it’s easy stopping for those that have money.”</p> - -<p>“And you’ve none, eh?”</p> - -<p>“As God lives, sir, I’ve a sixpence, and that’s all.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Spires put his hand in his pocket, and held out to her the next -instant half-a-crown.</p> - -<p>“There stop, poor thing—make yourself comfortable—it’s quite out of -the question to reach Stockington. But stay—are your friends living in -Stockington—what are you?”</p> - -<p>“A poor soldier’s widow, sir. And may God Almighty bless you!” said the -poor woman, taking the money, the tears standing in her large brown eyes -as she curtsied very low.</p> - -<p>“A soldier’s widow,” said Mr. Spires. She had<a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a> touched the softest place -in the manufacturer’s heart, for he was a very loyal man, and vehement -champion of his country’s honor in the war. “So young,” said he, “how -did you lose your husband?”</p> - -<p>“He fell, sir,” said the poor woman; but she could get no further; she -suddenly caught up the corner of her gray cloak, covered her face with -it, and burst into an excess of grief.</p> - -<p>The manufacturer felt as if he had hit the woman a blow by his careless -question; he sat watching her for a moment in silence, and then said, -“Come, get into the gig, my poor woman; come, I must see you to -Stockington.”</p> - -<p>The poor woman dried her tears, and heavily climbed into the gig, -expressing her gratitude in a very touching and modest manner. Spires -buttoned the apron over her, and taking a look at the child, said in a -cheerful tone to comfort her, “Bless me, but that is a fine thumping -fellow, though. I don’t wonder you are tired, carrying such a load.”<a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a></p> - -<p>The poor woman pressed the stout child, apparently two years old, to her -breast, as if she felt it a great blessing and no load: the gig drove -rapidly on.</p> - -<p>Presently Mr. Spires resumed his conversation.</p> - -<p>“So you are from Stockington?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir; my husband was.”</p> - -<p>“So: what was his name?”</p> - -<p>“John Deg, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Deg?” said Mr. Spires. “Deg, did you say?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>The manufacturer seemed to hitch himself off towards his own side of the -gig, gave another look at her, and was silent. The poor woman was -somewhat astonished at his look and movement, and was silent too.</p> - -<p>After awhile Mr. Spires said again, “And do you hope to find friends in -Stockington? Had you none where you came from?”</p> - -<p>“None, sir, none in the world!” said the poor woman, and again her -feelings seemed too strong<a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a> for her. At length she added, “I was in -service, sir, at Poole, in Dorsetshire, when I married; my mother only -was living, and while I was away with my husband, she died. When—when -the news came from abroad—that—when I was a widow, sir, I went back to -my native place, and the parish officers said I must go to my husband’s -parish, lest I and my child should become troublesome.”</p> - -<p>“You asked relief of them?”</p> - -<p>“Never; oh, God knows, never! My family have never asked a penny of a -parish. They would die first, and so would I, sir; but they said I might -do it, and I had better go to my husband’s parish at once—and they -offered me money to go.”</p> - -<p>“And you took it, of course?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir; I had a little money, which I had earned by washing and -laundering, and I sold most of my things, as I could not carry them, and -came off. I felt hurt, sir; my heart rose against the treatment of the -parish, and I thought I should be<a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a> better among my husband’s -friends—and my child would, if anything happened to me; I had no -friends of my own.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Spires looked at the woman in silence. “Did your husband tell you -anything of his friends? What sort of a man was he?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he was a gay young fellow, rather, sir; but not bad to me. He -always said his friends were well off in Stockington.”</p> - -<p>“He did!” said the manufacturer, with a great stare, and as if bolting -the words from his heart in a large gust of wonder.</p> - -<p>The poor woman again looked at him with a strange look. The manufacturer -whistled to himself, and giving his horse a smart cut with the whip, -drove on faster than ever. The night was fast settling down; it was -numbing cold; a gray fog rose from the river as they thundered over the -old bridge; and tall engine chimneys, and black smoky houses loomed -through the dusk before them. They were at Stockington.</p> - -<p>As they slackened their pace up a hill at the entrance<a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a> of the town, Mr. -Spires again opened his mouth.</p> - -<p>“I should be sorry to hurt your feelings, Mrs. Deg,” he said, “but I -have my fears that you are coming to this place with false expectations. -I fear your husband did not give you the truest possible account of his -family here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sir! What—what is it?” exclaimed the poor woman; “in God’s name, -tell me!”</p> - -<p>“Why, nothing more than this,” said the manufacturer, “that there are -very few of the Degs left here. They are old, and on the parish, and can -do nothing for you.”</p> - -<p>The poor woman gave a deep sigh, and was silent.</p> - -<p>“But don’t be cast down,” said Mr. Spires. He would not tell her what a -pauper family it really was, for he saw that she was a very feeling -woman, and he thought she would learn that soon enough. He felt that her -husband had from vanity given her a false account of his connections; -and he was really sorry for her.<a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a></p> - -<p>“Don’t be cast down,” he went on, “you can wash and iron, you say; you -are young and strong; those are your friends. Depend on them, and -they’ll be better friends to you than any other.”</p> - -<p>The poor woman was silent, leaning her head down on her slumbering -child, and crying to herself; and thus they drove on, through many long -and narrow streets, with gas flaring from the shops, but with few people -in the streets, and these hurrying shivering along the payment, so -intense was the cold. Anon they stopped at a large pair of gates; the -manufacturer rung a bell, which he could reach from his gig, and the -gates presently were flung open, and they drove into a spacious yard, -with a large handsome house, having a bright lamp burning before it, on -one side of the yard, and tall warehouses on the other.</p> - -<p>“Show this poor woman and her child to Mrs. Craddock’s, James,” said Mr. -Spires, “and tell Mrs. Craddock to make them very comfortable; and if -you will come to my warehouse to-morrow,” added<a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a> he, addressing the poor -woman, “perhaps I can be of some use to you.”</p> - -<p>The poor woman poured out her heartfelt thanks, and following the old -man servant, soon disappeared, hobbling over the pebbly pavement with -her living load, stiffened almost to stone by her fatigue and her cold -ride.</p> - -<p>We must not pursue too minutely our narrative. Mrs. Deg was engaged to -do the washing and getting up of Mr. Spire’s linen, and the manner in -which she executed her task insured her recommendations to all their -friends. Mrs. Deg was at once in full employ. She occupied a neat house -in a yard near the meadows below the town, and in those meadows she -might be seen spreading out her clothes to whiten on the grass, attended -by her stout little boy. In the same yard lived a shoemaker, who had two -or three children of about the same age as Mrs. Deg’s child. The -children, as time went on, became play-fellows. Little Simon might be -said to have the free run of the shoemaker’s house, and he was the more -attracted<a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a> thither by the shoemaker’s birds, and by his flute, on which -he often played after his work was done.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Deg took a great friendship for this shoemaker; and he and his -wife, a quiet, kind-hearted woman, were almost all the acquaintances -that she cultivated. She had found out her husband’s parents, but they -were not of a description that at all pleased her. They were old and -infirm, but they were of the true pauper breed, a sort of person, whom -Mrs. Deg had been taught to avoid and to despise. They looked on her as -a sort of second parish, and insisted that she should come and live with -them, and help to maintain them out of her earnings. But Mrs. Deg would -rather her little boy had died than have been familiarized with the -spirit and habits of those old people. Despise them she struggled hard -not to do, and she agreed to allow them sufficient to maintain them on -condition that they desisted from any further application to the parish. -It would be a long and disgusting story to recount all the troubles, -annoyance, and querulous complaints, and even bitter<a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a> accusations that -she received from these connections, whom she could never satisfy; but -she considered it one of her crosses in her life, and patiently bore it, -seeing that they suffered no real want, so long as they lived, which was -for years; but she would never allow her little Simon to be with them -alone.</p> - -<p>The shoemaker neighbor was a stout protection to her against the greedy -demands of these old people, and of others of the old Degs, and also -against another class of inconvenient visitors, namely, suitors, who saw -in Mrs. Deg a neat and comely young woman with a flourishing business, -and a neat and soon well-furnished house, a very desirable acquisition. -But Mrs. Deg had resolved never again to marry, but to live for her boy, -and she kept her resolve in firmness and gentleness.</p> - -<p>The shoemaker often took walks in the extensive town meadows to gather -groundsell and plantain for his canaries and gorse-linnets, and little -Simon Deg delighted to accompany him with his own children. There -William Watson, the shoemaker,<a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a> used to point out to the children the -beauty of the flowers, the insects, and other objects of nature; and -while he sate on a stile and read in a little old book of poetry, as he -often used to do, the children sate on the summer grass, and enjoyed -themselves in a variety of plays.</p> - -<p>The effect of these walks, and the shoemaker’s conversation on little -Simon Deg was such as never wore out of him through his whole life, and -soon led him to astonish the shoemaker by his extraordinary conduct. He -manifested the utmost uneasiness at their treading on the flowers in the -grass; he would burst with tears if they persisted in it; and when asked -why, he said they were so beautiful, and that they must enjoy the -sunshine, and be very unhappy to die. The shoemaker was amazed, but -indulged the lad’s fancy. One day he thought to give him a great treat, -and when they were out in the meadows, he drew from under his coat, a -bow and arrow, and shot the arrow high up in the air. He expected to see -him in an ecstacy of delight; his own children clapped their hands in<a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a> -transport, but Simon stood silent, and as if awestruck. “Shall I send up -another?” asked the shoemaker.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” exclaimed the child, imploringly. “You say God lives up there, -and he mayn’t like it.”</p> - -<p>The shoemaker laughed, but presently he said, as if to himself, “There -is too much imagination there. There will be a poet, if we don’t take -care.”</p> - -<p>The shoemaker offered to teach Simon to read, and to solidify his mind, -as he termed it, by arithmetic, and then to teach him to work at his -trade. His mother was very glad; and thought shoemaking would be a good -trade for the boy; and that with Mr. Watson she should have him always -near her. He was growing now a great lad, and was especially strong, and -of a frank and daring habit. He was especially indignant at any act of -oppression of the weak by the strong, and not seldom got into trouble by -his championship of the injured in such cases amongst the boys of the -neighborhood.</p> - -<p>He was now about twelve years of age; when,<a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a> going one day with a basket -of clothes on his head to Mr. Spires’s for his mother, he was noticed by -Mr. Spires himself from his counting-house window. The great war was -raging; there was much distress amongst the manufacturers; and the -people were suffering and exasperated against their masters. Mr. Spires, -as a staunch tory, and supporter of the war, was particularly obnoxious -to the work-people, who uttered violent threats against him. For this -reason his premises were strictly guarded, and at the entrance of his -yard, just within the gates, was chained a huge and fierce mastiff, his -chain allowing him to approach near enough to intimidate any stranger, -though not to reach him. The dog knew the people who came regularly -about, and seemed not to notice them, but on the entrance of a stranger, -he rose up, barked fiercely, and came to the length of his chain. This -always drew the attention of the porter, if he were away from his box, -and few persons dared to pass till he came.</p> - -<p>Simon Deg was advancing with the basket of<a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a> clean linen on his head, -when the dog rushed out, and barking loudly, came exactly opposite to -him, within a few feet. The boy, a good deal startled at first, reared -himself with his back against the wall, but at a glance perceiving that -the dog was at the length of his tether, he seemed to enjoy his -situation, and stood smiling at the furious animal, and lifting his -basket with both hands above his head, nodded to him, as if to say, -“Well, old boy, you’d like to eat me, wouldn’t you?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Spires, who sate near his counting-house window at his books, was -struck with the bold and handsome bearing of the boy, and said to a -clerk, “What boy is that?”</p> - -<p>“It is Jenny Deg’s,” was the answer.</p> - -<p>“Ha! that boy! Zounds! how boys do grow! What that’s the child that -Jenny Deg was carrying when she came to Stockington; and what a strong, -handsome, bright-looking fellow he is now!”</p> - -<p>As the boy was returning, Mr. Spires call him to the counting-house -door, and put some questions to him as to what he was doing and -learning, and<a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a> so on. Simon, taking off his cap with much respect, -answered in such a clear and modest way, and with a voice that had so -much feeling and natural music in it, that the worthy manufacturer was -greatly taken with him.</p> - -<p>“That’s no Deg,” said he, when he again entered the counting-house, “not -a bit of it. He’s all Goodrick, or whatever his mother’s name was, every -inch of him.”</p> - -<p>The consequences of that interview was, that Simon Deg was very soon -after perched on a stool in Mr. Spires’ counting-house, where he -continued till he was twenty-two. Mr. Spires had no son, only a single -daughter; and such were Simon Deg’s talents, attention to business, and -genial disposition, that at that age Mr. Spires gave him a share in the -concern. He was himself now getting less fond of exertion than he had -been, and placed the most implicit reliance on Simon’s judgment and -general management. Yet no two men could be more unlike in their -opinions beyond the circle of trade. Mr. Spires was a staunch tory of -the<a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a> staunch old school. He was for Church and King, and for things -remaining forever as they had been. Simon, on the other hand, had -liberal and reforming notions. He was for the improvement of the people, -and their admission to many privileges. Mr. Spires was, therefore, liked -by the leading men of the place, and disliked by the people. Simon’s -estimation was precisely in the opposite direction. But this did not -disturb their friendship; it required another disturbing cause—and that -came.</p> - -<p>Simon Deg and the daughter of Mr. Spires, grew attached to each other; -and, as the father had thought Simon worthy of becoming a partner in the -business, neither of the young people deemed that he would object to a -partnership of a more domestic description. But here they made a -tremendous mistake. No sooner was such a proposal hinted it, than Mr. -Spires burst forth with the fury of all the winds from the bag of -Ulysses.</p> - -<p>“What! a Deg aspire to the hand of the sole heiress of the enormously -opulent Spires?”</p> - -<p>The very thought almost cut the proud manufacturer<a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a> off with an -apoplexy. The ghosts of a thousand paupers rose up before him, and he -was black in the face. It was only by a prompt and bold application of -leeches and lancet, that the life of the great man was saved. But there -was an end of all further friendship between himself and the expectant -Simon. He insisted that he should withdraw from the concern, and it was -done. Simon, who felt his own dignity deeply wounded too, for dignity he -had, though the last of a long line of paupers—his own dignity, not his -ancestors’—took silently, yet not unrespectfully, his share—a good, -round sum, and entered another house of business.</p> - -<p>For several years there appeared to be a feud and a bitterness between -the former friends; yet it showed itself in no other manner than by a -careful avoidance of each other. The continental war came to an end; the -manufacturing distress increased exceedingly. There came troublous -times, and a fierce warfare of politics. Great Stockington was torn -asunder by rival parties. On one<a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a> side stood pre-eminent, Mr. Spires; on -the other towered conspicuously, Simon Deg. Simon was grown rich, and -extremely popular. He was on all occasions the advocate of the people. -He said that he had sprung from, and was one of them. He had bought a -large tract of land on one side of the town; and intensely fond of the -country and flowers himself, he had divided this into gardens, built -little summer-houses in them, and let them to the artisans. In his -factory he had introduced order, cleanliness, and ventilation. He had -set up a school for the children in the evenings, with a reading-room -and conversation-room for the work-people, and encouraged them to bring -their families there, and enjoy music, books, and lectures. Accordingly, -he was the idol of the people, and the horror of the old school of the -manufacturers.</p> - -<p>“A pretty upstart and demagogue I’ve nurtured,” said Mr. Spires often to -his wife and daughter, who only sighed and were silent.</p> - -<p>Then came a furious election. The town, for a fortnight, more resembled -the worst corner of Tartarus<a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a> than a Christian borough. Drunkenness, -riot, pumping on one another, spencering one another, all sorts of -violence and abuse ruled and raged till the blood of all Stockington was -at boiling heat. In the midst of the tempest were everywhere seen, -ranged on the opposite sides, Mr. Spires, now old and immensely -corpulent, and Simon Deg, active, buoyant, zealous, and popular beyond -measure. But popular though, he still was, the other and old tory side -triumphed. The people were exasperated to madness; and when the chairing -of the successful candidate commenced, there was a terrific attack made -on the procession by the defeated party. Down went the chair, and the -new member, glad to escape into an inn, saw his friends mercilessly -assailed by the populace. There was a tremendous tempest of sticks, -brick-bats, paving-stones, and rotten eggs. In the midst of this, Simon -Deg, and a number of his friends, standing at the upper window of a -hotel, saw Mr. Spires knocked down, and trampled on by the crowd. In an -instant, and, before his friends had missed him from among them,<a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a> Simon -Deg was then darting through the raging mass, cleaving his way with a -surprising vigor, and gesticulating, and no doubt shouting vehemently to -the rioters, though his voice was lost in the din. In the next moment -his hat was knocked off, and himself appeared in imminent danger; but, -another moment, and there was a pause, and a group of people were -bearing somebody from the frantic mob into a neighboring shop. It was -Simon Deg, assisting in the rescue of his old friend and benefactor, Mr. -Spires.</p> - -<p>Mr. Spires was a good deal bruised, and wonderfully confounded and -bewildered by his fall. His clothes were one mass of mud, and his face -was bleeding copiously; but when he had had a good draught of water, and -his face washed, and had time to recover himself, it was found that he -had received no serious injury.</p> - -<p>“They had like to have done for me though,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and who saved you?” asked a gentleman.<a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a></p> - -<p>“Ay, who was it? who was it?” asked the really warm-hearted -manufacturer; “let me know? I owe him my life.”</p> - -<p>“There he is!” said several gentlemen, at the same instant pushing -forward Simon Deg.</p> - -<p>“What, Simon!” said Mr. Spires, starting to his feet. “Was it thee, my -boy?” He did more, he stretched out his hand; the young man clasped it -eagerly, and the two stood silent, and with a heartfelt emotion, which -blended all the past into forgetfulness, and the future into a union -more sacred than esteem.</p> - -<p>A week hence and Simon Deg was the son-in-law of Mr. Spires. Though Mr. -Spires had misunderstood Simon, and Simon had borne the aspect of -opposition to his old friend in defence of conscientious principle, the -wife and daughter of the manufacturer had always understood him, and -secretly looked forward to some day of recognition and re-union.</p> - -<p>Simon Deg was now the richest man in Stockington. His mother was still -living to enjoy his<a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a> elevation. She had been his excellent and wise -house-keeper, and she continued to occupy that post still.</p> - -<p>Twenty-five years afterwards, when the worthy old Spires was dead, and -Simon Deg had himself two sons attained to manhood; when he had five -times been mayor of Stockington, and had been knighted on the -presentation of a loyal address; still his mother was living to see it; -and William Watson, the shoe-maker, was acting as the sort of orderly at -Sir Simon’s chief manufactory. He occupied the Lodge, and walked about, -and saw that all was safe, and moving on as it should do.</p> - -<p>It was amazing how the most plebeian name of Simon Peg had slid, under -the hands of the Heralds, into the really aristocratical one of Sir -Simon Degge. They had traced him up a collateral kinship, spite of his -own consciousness, to a baronet of the same name of the county of -Stafford, and had given him a coat of arms that was really astonishing.</p> - -<p>It was some years before this that Sir Roger<a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a> Rockville breathed his -last. His title and estate had fallen into litigation. Owing to two -generations having passed without any issue of the Rockville family -except the one son and heir, the claims, though numerous, were so -mingled with obscuring circumstances, and so equally balanced, that the -lawyers raised quibbles and difficulties enough to keep the property in -Chancery, till they had not only consumed all the ready money and -rental, but had made frightful inroads into the estate itself. To save -the remnant, the contending parties came to a compromise. A neighboring -squire, whose grandfather had married a Rockville, was allowed to secure -the title, on condition that the rest carried off the residuum of the -estate. The woods and lands of Rockville were announced for sale!</p> - -<p>It was at this juncture that old William Watson reminded Sir Simon Degge -of a conversation in the great grove of Rockville, which they had held -at the time that Sir Roger was endeavoring to drive the people thence. -“What a divine pleasure<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a> might this man enjoy,” said Simon Deg to his -humble friend, “if he had a heart capable of letting others enjoy -themselves.”</p> - -<p>“But we talk without the estate,” said William Watson, “what might we do -if we were tried with it?”</p> - -<p>Sir Simon was silent for a moment; then observed that there was sound -philosophy in William Watson’s remark. He said no more, but went away; -and the next day announced to the astonished old man that he had -purchased the groves and the whole ancient estate of Rockville!</p> - -<p>Sir Simon Degge, the last of a long line of paupers, was become the -possessor of the noble estate of Sir Roger Rockville of Rockville, the -last of a long line of aristocrats!</p> - -<p>The following summer, when the hay was lying in fragrant cocks in the -great meadows of Rockville, and on the little islands in the river, Sir -Simon Degge, Baronet of Rockville,—for such was now his title—through -the suggestion of a great lawyer, formerly recorder of the borough of -Stockington<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a> to the crown—held a grand fête on the occasion of his -coming to reside at Rockville Hall, henceforth the family seat of the -Degges. His house and gardens had been restored to the most consummate -order. For years Sir Simon had been a great purchaser of works of art -and literature, paintings, statuary, books, and articles of antiquity, -including rich armor and precious works in ivory and gold.</p> - -<p>First and foremost he gave a great banquet to his wealthy friends, and -no man with a million and a half is without them—and in abundance. In -the second place, he gave a substantial dinner to all his tenantry, from -the wealthy farmer of five hundred acres to the tenant of a cottage. On -this occasion he said, “Game is a great subject of heart-burning, and of -great injustice to the country. It was the bane of my predecessor; let -us take care it is not ours. Let every man kill the game on the land -that he rents—then he will not destroy it utterly, nor allow it to grow -into a nuisance. I am fond of a gun myself, but I trust to find enough<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> -for my propensity to the chase in my own fields and woods—if I -occasionally extend my pursuit across the lands of my tenants, it shall -not be to carry off the first-fruits of their feeding, and I shall still -hold the enjoyment as a favor.”</p> - -<p>We need not say that this speech was applauded most vociferously. -Thirdly, and lastly, he gave a grand entertainment to all his -work-people, both of the town and the country. His house and gardens -were thrown open to the inspection of the whole assembled company. The -delighted crowd admired immensely the pictures and the pleasant gardens. -On the lawn, lying between the great grove and the hall, an enormous -tent was pitched, or rather a vast canvas canopy erected, open on all -sides, in which was laid a charming banquet; a military band from -Stockington barracks playing during the time. Here Sir Simon made a -speech as rapturously received as that to the farmers. It was to the -effect, that all the old privileges of wandering in the grove, and -angling, and boating on the river, were restored. The inn was already -rebuilt<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> in a handsome Elizabethan style, larger than before, and to -prevent it ever becoming a fane of intemperance, he had there posted as -landlord, he hoped for many years to come, his old friend and -benefactor, William Watson. William Watson should protect the inn from -riot, and they themselves the groves and river banks from injury.</p> - -<p>Long and loud were the applauses which this announcement occasioned. The -young people turned out upon the green for a dance, and in the evening, -after an excellent tea—the whole company descended the river to -Stockington in boats and barges decorated with boughs and flowers, and -singing a song made by William Watson for the occasion, called “The -Health of Sir Simon, last and first of his Line.”</p> - -<p>Years have rolled on. The groves and river banks and islands of -Rockville are still greatly frequented, but are never known to be -injured: poachers are never known there, for four reasons. First, nobody -would like to annoy the good Sir Simon; secondly, game is not very -numerous<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a> there; thirdly, there is no fun in killing it where there is -no resistance; and fourthly, it is vastly more abundant in other -proprietors’ demesnes, and <i>it is</i> fun to kill it there, where it is -jealously watched, and there is a chance of a good spree with the -keepers.</p> - -<p>And with what different feelings does the good Sir Simon look down from -his lofty eyrie, over the princely expanse of meadows, and over the -glittering river, and over the stately woods to where Great Stockington -still stretches farther and farther its red brick walls, its red-tiled -roofs, and its tall smoke-vomiting chimneys. There he sees no haunts of -crowded enemies to himself or any man. No upstarts, nor envious -opponents, but a vast family of human beings, all toiling for the good -of their families and their country. All advancing, some faster, some -slower, to a better education, a better social condition, a better -conception of the principles of art and commerce, and a clearer -recognition of their rights and their duties, and a more cheering faith -in the upward tendency of humanity.<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a></p> - -<p>Looking on this interesting scene from his distant and quiet home, Sir -Simon sees what blessings flow—and how deeply he feels them in his own -case—from a free circulation, not only of trade, but of human -relations. How this corrects the mischiefs, moral and physical, of false -systems and rusty prejudices;—and he ponders on schemes of no ordinary -beauty and beneficence yet to reach his beloved town through them. He -sees lecture halls and academies, means of sanitary purification, and -delicious recreation, in which baths, wash-houses, and airy homes figure -largely; while public walks extend all round the great industrial hive, -including wood, hills, meadow, and river in their circuit of many miles. -There he lived and labored; there live and labor his sons; and there he -trusts his family will continue to live and labor to all future -generations; never retiring to the fatal indolence of wealth, but aiding -onwards its active and ever-expanding beneficence.</p> - -<p>Long may the good Sir Simon live and labor to realize these views. But -already in a green corner<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a> of the pleasant churchyard of Rockville may -be read this inscription on a marble headstone:—“Sacred to the Memory -of Jane Deg, the mother of Sir Simon Degge, Bart., of Rockville. This -stone is erected in honor of the best of Mothers by the most grateful of -sons.”<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III.<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">The Gentleman Beggar</span></h2> - -<p class="c">AN ATTORNEY’S STORY.</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>NE morning, about five years ago, I called by appointment on Mr. John -Balance, the fashionable pawnbroker, to accompany him to Liverpool, in -pursuit for a Levanting customer,—for Balance, in addition to pawning, -does a little business in the sixty per cent. line. It rained in -torrents when the cab stopped at the passage which leads past the -pawning boxes to his private door. The cabman rang twice, and at length -Balance appeared, looming through the mist and rain in the entry, -illuminated by his perpetual cigar. As I eyed him rather impatiently, -remembering that trains wait for no man, something like a hairy<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a> dog, or -a bundle of rags, rose up at his feet, and barred his passage for a -moment. Then Balance cried out with an exclamation, in answer apparently -to a something I could not hear, “What, man alive!—slept in the -passage!—there, take that, and get some breakfast for Heaven’s sake!” -So saying, he jumped into the “Hansom,” and we bowled away at ten miles -an hour, just catching the Express as the doors of the station were -closing. My curiosity was full set,—for although Balance can be free -with his money, it is not exactly to beggars that his generosity is -usually displayed; so when comfortably ensconced in a <i>coupé</i>, I -finished with—</p> - -<p>“You are liberal with your money this morning; pray, how often do you -give silver to street cadgers?—because I shall know now what walk to -take when flats and sharps leave off buying law.”</p> - -<p>Balance, who would have made an excellent parson if he had not been bred -to a case-hardening trade, and has still a soft bit left in his heart -that is always fighting with his hard head, did not<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> smile at all, but -looked as grim as if squeezing a lemon into his Saturday night’s punch. -He answered slowly, “A cadger—yes; a beggar—a miserable wretch, he is -now; but let me tell you, Master David, that that miserable bundle of -rags was born and bred a gentleman; the son of a nobleman, the husband -of an heiress, and has sat and dined at tables where you and I, Master -David, are only allowed to view the plate by favor of the butler. I have -lent him thousands, and been well paid. The last thing I had from him -was his court suit; and I hold now his bill for one hundred pounds that -will be paid, I expect, when he dies.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what nonsense you are talking! you must be dreaming this morning. -However, we are alone, I’ll light a weed, in defiance of Railway law, -you shall spin that yarn; for, true or untrue, it will fill up the time -to Liverpool.”</p> - -<p>“As for yarn,” replied Balance, “the whole story is short enough; and as -for truth, that you may easily find out if you like to take the -trouble.<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a> I thought the poor wretch was dead, and I own it put me out -meeting him this morning, for I had a curious dream last night.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, hang your dreams! Tell us about this gentleman beggar that bleeds -you of half-crowns—that melts the heart even of a pawnbroker!”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, that beggar is the illegitimate son of the late Marquis of -Hoopborough by a Spanish lady of rank. He received a first-rate -education, and was brought up in his father’s house. At a very early age -he obtained an appointment in a public office, was presented by the -marquis at court, and received into the first society, where his -handsome person and agreeable manners made him a great favorite. Soon -after coming of age, he married the daughter of Sir E. Bumper, who -brought him a very handsome fortune, which was strictly settled on -herself. They lived in splendid style, kept several carriages, a house -in town, and a place in the country. For some reason or other, idleness, -or to plead his lady’s pride he said, he resigned his appointment. His -father died, and left<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a> him nothing; indeed, he seemed at that time very -handsomely provided for.</p> - -<p>“Very soon Mr. and Mrs. Molinos Fitz-Roy began to disagree. She was -cold, correct—he was hot and random. He was quite dependent on her, and -she made him feel it. When he began to get into debt, he came to me. At -length some shocking quarrel occurred; some case of jealousy on the -wife’s side, not without reason, I believe; and the end of it was Mr. -Fitz-Roy was turned out of doors. The house was his wife’s, the -furniture was his wife’s, and the fortune was his wife’s—he was, in -fact, her pensioner. He left with a few hundred pounds ready money, and -some personal jewellery, and went to a hotel. On these and credit he -lived. Being illegitimate, he had no relations; being a fool, when he -spent his money he lost his friends. The world took his wife’s part, -when they found she had the fortune, and the only parties who interfered -were her relatives, who did their best to make the quarrel incurable. To -crown all, one night he was run over by a cab, was carried to a<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a> -hospital, and lay there for months, and was during several weeks of the -time unconscious. A message to the wife, by the hands of one of his -debauched companions, sent by a humane surgeon, obtained an intimation -that ‘if he died, Mr. Croak, the undertaker to the family, had orders to -see to the funeral,’ and that Mrs. Molinos was on the point of starting -for the Continent, not to return for some years. When Fitz-Roy was -discharged, he came to me limping on two sticks, to pawn his court suit, -and told me his story. I was really sorry for the fellow, such a -handsome, thoroughbred-looking man. He was going then into the west -somewhere, to try to hunt out a friend. ‘What to do, Balance,’ he said, -‘I don’t know. I can’t dig, and unless somebody will make me their -gamekeeper, I must starve or beg, as my Jezebel bade me when we parted!’</p> - -<p>“I lost sight of Molinos for a long time, and when I next came upon him -it was in the Rookery of Westminster, in a low lodging-house, where I -was searching with an officer for stolen goods.<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a> He was pointed out to -me as the ‘gentleman cadger,’ because he was so free with his money when -‘in luck.’ He recognized me, but turned away then. I have since seen -him, and relieved him more than once, although he never asks for -anything. How he lives, Heaven knows. Without money, without friends, -without useful education of any kind, he tramps the country, as you saw -him, perhaps doing a little hop-picking or hay-making, in season, only -happy when he obtains the means to get drunk. I have heard through the -kitchen whispers that you know come to me, that he is entitled to some -property; and I expect if he were to die his wife would pay the hundred -pound bill I hold; at any rate, what I have told you I know to be true, -and the bundle of rags I relieved just now is known in every thieves’ -lodging in England as the ‘gentleman cadger.’ ”</p> - -<p>This story produced an impression on me,—I am fond of speculation, and -like the excitement of a legal hunt as much as some do a fox-chase. A -gentleman a beggar, a wife rolling in wealth, rumors<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> of unknown -property due to the husband; it seemed as if there were pickings for me -amidst this carrion of pauperism.</p> - -<p>Before returning from Liverpool, I had purchased the gentleman beggar’s -acceptance from Balance. I then inserted in the “Times” the following -advertisement: “<i>Horatio Molinos Fitz-Roy</i>.—If this gentleman will -apply to David Discount, Esq., Solicitor, St. James’s, he will hear of -something to his advantage. Any person furnishing Mr. F.’s correct -address, shall receive 1<i>l.</i> 1<i>s.</i> reward. He was last seen,” &c. Within -twenty-four hours I had ample proof of the wide circulation of the -“Times.” My office was besieged with beggars of every degree, men and -women, lame and blind, Irish, Scotch, and English, some on crutches, -some in bowls, some in go-carts. They all knew him as “the gentleman,” -and I must do the regular fraternity of tramps the justice to say that -not one would answer a question until he made certain that I meant the -“gentleman” no harm.</p> - -<p>One evening, about three weeks after the appearance<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a> of the -advertisement, my clerk announced “another beggar.” There came in an old -man leaning upon a staff, clad in a soldier’s great coat all patched and -torn, with a battered hat, from under which a mass of tangled hair fell -over his shoulders and half concealed his face. The beggar, in a weak, -wheezy, hesitating tone, said, “You have advertised for Molinos -Fitz-Roy. I hope you don’t mean him any harm; he is sunk, I think, too -low for enmity now; and surely no one would sport with such misery as -his.” These last words were uttered in a sort of piteous whisper.</p> - -<p>I answered quickly, “Heaven forbid I should sport with misery; I mean -and hope to do him good, as well as myself.”</p> - -<p>“Then, Sir, I am Molinos Fitz-Roy!”</p> - -<p>While we were conversing candles had been brought in. I have not very -tender nerves—my head would not agree with them—but I own I started -and shuddered when I saw and knew that the wretched creature before me -was under thirty years of age and once a gentleman. Sharp, aquiline<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> -features, reduced to literal skin and bone, were begrimed and covered -with dry fair hair; the white teeth of the half-open mouth chattered -with eagerness, and made more hideous the foul pallor of the rest of the -countenance. As he stood leaning on a staff half bent, his long, yellow -bony fingers clasped over the crutch-head of his stick, he was indeed a -picture of misery, famine, squalor, and premature age, too horrible to -dwell upon. I made him sit down, sent for some refreshment, which he -devoured like a ghoul, and set to work to unravel his story. It was -difficult to keep him to the point; but with pains I learned what -convinced me that he was entitled to some property, whether great or -small there was no evidence. On parting, I said “Now Mr. F., you must -stay in town while I make proper inquiries. What allowance will be -enough to keep you comfortably?”</p> - -<p>He answered humbly after much pressing, “Would you think ten shillings -too much!”</p> - -<p>I don’t like, if I do those things at all, to do them shabbily, so I -said, “Come every Saturday<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a> and you shall have a pound.” He was profuse -in thanks of course, as all such men are as long as distress lasts.</p> - -<p>I had previously learned that my ragged client’s wife was in England, -living in a splendid house in Hyde Park Gardens, under her maiden name. -On the following day the Earl of Owing called upon me, wanting five -thousand pounds by five o’clock the same evening. It was a case of life -or death with him, so I made my terms and took advantage of his pressure -to execute a <i>coup de main</i>. I proposed that he should drive me home to -receive the money, calling at Mrs. Molinos in Hyde Park Gardens, on our -way. I knew that the coronet and liveries of his father, the Marquis, -would ensure me an audience with Mrs. Molinos Fitz-Roy.</p> - -<p>My scheme answered. I was introduced into the lady’s presence. She was, -and probably is, a very stately, handsome woman, with a pale complexion, -high solid forehead, regular features, thin, pinched, self-satisfied -mouth. My interview was very short. I plunged into the middle of the -affair,<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a> but had scarcely mentioned the word husband, when she -interrupted me with “I presume you have lent this profligate person -money, and want me to pay you.” She paused, and then said, “He shall not -have a farthing.” As she spoke, her white face became scarlet.</p> - -<p>“But, Madam, the man is starving. I have strong reasons for believing he -is entitled to property, and if you refuse any assistance, I must take -other measures.” She rang the bell, wrote something rapidly on a card; -and, as the footman appeared, pushed it towards me across the table, -with the air of touching a toad, saying, “There, Sir, is the address of -my solicitors; apply to them if you think you have any claim. Robert, -show the person out, and take care he is not admitted again.”</p> - -<p>So far I had effected nothing; and, to tell the truth, felt rather -crest-fallen under the influence of that grand manner peculiar to -certain great ladies and to all great actresses.</p> - -<p>My next visit was to the attorneys Messrs’. Leasem and Fashun, of -Lincoln’s Inn Square, and there<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a> I was at home. I had had dealings with -the firm before. They are agents for half the aristocracy, who always -run in crowds like sheep after the same wine-merchants, the same -architects, the same horse-dealers, and the same law-agents. It may be -doubted whether the quality of law and land management they get on this -principle is quite equal to their wine and horses. At any rate, my -friends of Lincoln’s Inn, like others of the same class, are -distinguished by their courteous manners, deliberate proceedings, -innocence of legal technicalities, long credit and heavy charges. -Leasem, the elder partner, wears powder and a huge bunch of seals, lives -in Queen Square, drives a brougham, gives the dinners and does the -cordial department. He is so strict in performing the latter duty, that -he once addressed a poacher who had shot a Duke’s keeper, as “my dear -creature,” although he afterwards hung him.</p> - -<p>Fashun has chambers in St. James Street, drives a cab, wears a tip, and -does the grand haha style.</p> - -<p>My business lay with Leasem. The interviews<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a> and letters passing were -numerous. However, it came at last to the following dialogue:—</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear Mr. Discount,” began Mr. Leasem, who hates me like -poison. “I’m really very sorry for that poor dear Molinos—knew his -father well; a great man, a perfect gentleman; but you know what women -are, eh, Mr. Discount? My client won’t advance a shilling, she knows it -would only be wasted in low dissipation. Now don’t you think (this was -said very insinuatingly)—don’t you think he had better be sent to the -work-house; very comfortable accommodation there, I can assure you—meat -twice a week, and excellent soup; and then, Mr. D., we might consider -about allowing you something for that bill.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Leasem, can you reconcile it to your conscience to make such an -arrangement. Here’s a wife rolling in luxury, and a husband starving!”</p> - -<p>“No, Mr. Discount, not starving; there is the work-house, as I observed -before; besides, allow me to suggest that these appeals to feeling are -quite unprofessional—quite unprofessional.”<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a></p> - -<p>“But, Mr. Leasem, touching this property which the poor man is entitled -to.”</p> - -<p>“Why, there again, Mr. D., you must excuse me; you really must. I don’t -say he is, I don’t say he is not. If you know he is entitled to -property, I am sure you know how to proceed; the law is open to you, Mr. -Discount—the law is open; and a man of your talent will know how to use -it.”</p> - -<p>“Then, Mr. Leasem, you mean that I must in order to right this starving -man, file a Bill of Discovery to extract from you the particulars of his -rights. You have the Marriage Settlement, and all the information, and -you decline to allow a pension, or afford any information; the man is to -starve, or go to the work-house?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Mr. D., you are so quick and violent, it really is not -professional; but you see (here a subdued smile of triumph), it has been -decided that a solicitor is not bound to afford such information as you -ask, to the injury of his client.”</p> - -<p>“Then you mean that this poor Molinos may rot<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a> and starve, while you -keep secret from him, at his wife’s request, his title to an income, and -that the Court of Chancery will back you in this iniquity?”</p> - -<p>I kept repeating the word “starve,” because I saw it made my respectable -opponent wince. “Well, then, just listen to me. I know that in the happy -state of our equity law, Chancery can’t help my client; but I have -another plan; I shall go hence to my office, issue a writ, and take your -client’s husband in execution—as soon as he is lodged in jail, I shall -file his schedule in the Insolvent Court, and when he comes up for his -discharge, I shall put you in the witness-box, and examine you on oath, -‘touching any property of which you know the insolvent to be possessed,’ -and where will be your privileged communications then?”</p> - -<p>The respectable Leasem’s face lengthened in a twinkling, his comfortable -confident air vanished, he ceased twiddling his gold chain, and at -length he muttered, “Suppose we pay the debt?”<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a></p> - -<p>“Why, then, I’ll arrest him the day after for another.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Mr. Discount, surely such, conduct would not be quite -respectable?”</p> - -<p>“That’s my business; my client has been wronged, I am determined to -right him, and when the aristocratic firm of Leasem and Fashun takes -refuge, according to the custom of respectable repudiators, in the cool -arbors of the Court of Chancery, why, a mere bill-discounting attorney, -like David Discount, need not hesitate about cutting a bludgeon out of -the Insolvent Court.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well, Mr. D., you are so warm—so fiery; we must deliberate, we -must consult. You will give me until the day after to-morrow, and then -we’ll write you our final determination; in the, meantime send us copy -of your authority to act for Mr. Molinos Fitz-Roy.”</p> - -<p>Of course I lost no time in getting the gentleman beggar to sign a -proper letter.</p> - -<p>On the appointed day came a communication<a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a> with the L. and F. seal, -which I opened not without unprofessional eagerness. It was as follows:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>In re Molinos Fitz-Roy and Another.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“Sir,—In answer to your application on behalf of Mr. Molinos -Fitz-Roy, we beg to inform you that under the administration of a -paternal aunt who died intestate, your client is entitled to two -thousand five hundred pounds eight shillings and sixpence, Three -per Cents; one thousand five hundred pounds nineteen shillings and -fourpence, Three per Cents Reduced; one thousand pounds, Long -Annuities; five hundred pounds, Bank Stock; three thousand five -hundred pounds, India Stock, besides other securities, making up -about ten thousand pounds, which we are prepared to transfer over -to Mr. Molinos Fitz-Roy’s direction forthwith.”</p></div> - -<p>Here was a windfall! It quite took away my breath.</p> - -<p>At dusk came my gentleman beggar, and what<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a> puzzled me was how to break -the news to him. Being very much overwhelmed with business that day, I -had not much time for consideration. He came in rather better dressed -than when I first saw him, with only a week’s beard on his chin; but, as -usual, not quite sober. Six weeks had elapsed since our first interview. -He was still the humble, trembling, low-voiced creature, I first knew -him.</p> - -<p>After a prelude, I said, “I find, Mr. F., you are entitled to something; -pray, what do you mean to give me in addition to my bill for obtaining -it?” He answered rapidly, “Oh, take half; if there is one hundred -pounds, take half; if there is five hundred pounds, take half.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, Mr. F., I don’t do business in that way, I shall be satisfied -with ten per cent.”</p> - -<p>It was so settled. I then led him out into the street, impelled to tell -the news, yet dreading the effect; not daring to make the revelation in -my office for fear of a scene.</p> - -<p>I began hesitatingly, “Mr. Fitz-Roy, I am happy<a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a> to say that I find you -are entitled to.... ten thousand pounds!”</p> - -<p>“Ten thousand pounds!” he echoed. “Ten thousand pounds!” he shrieked. -“Ten thousand pounds!” he yelled, seizing my arm violently.</p> - -<p>“You are a brick,—— Here, cab! cab!” Several drove up—the shout might -have been heard a mile off. He jumped in the first.</p> - -<p>“Where to?” said the driver.</p> - -<p>“To a tailor’s, you rascal!”</p> - -<p>“Ten thousand pounds! ha, ha, ha!” he repeated hysterically, when in the -cab; and every moment grasping my arm. Presently he subsided, looked me -straight in the face, and muttered with agonizing fervor, “What a jolly -brick you are!”</p> - -<p>The tailor, the hosier, the bootmaker, the hairdresser, were in turn -visited by this poor pagan of externals. As by degrees under their hands -he emerged from the beggar to the gentleman, his spirits rose; his eyes -brightened; he walked erect, but always nervously grasping my arm; -fearing, apparently, to lose sight of me for a moment, lest<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a> his fortune -should vanish with me. The impatient pride with which he gave his order -to the astonished tradesman for the finest and best of everything, and -the amazed air of the fashionable hairdresser when he presented his -matted locks and stubble chin to be “cut and shaved,” may be <i>acted</i>—it -cannot be described.</p> - -<p>By the time the external transformation was complete, and I sat down in -a <i>café</i> in the Haymarket opposite a haggard but handsome -thoroughbred-looking man, whose air, with the exception of the wild eyes -and deeply-browned face, did not differ from the stereotyped men about -town sitting around us, Mr. Molinos Fitz-Roy had already almost -forgotten the past; he bullied the waiter, and criticized the wine, as -if he had done nothing else but dine and drink and scold there all the -days of his life.</p> - -<p>Once he wished to drink my health, and would have proclaimed his whole -story to the coffee-room assembly in a raving style. When I left he -almost wept in terror at the idea of losing sight of me.<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a> But, allowing -for these ebullitions—the natural result of such a whirl of events—he -was wonderfully calm and self-possessed.</p> - -<p>The next day his first care was to distribute fifty pounds among his -friends the cadgers, at a house of call in Westminster, and formally to -dissolve his connection with them; those present undertaking for the -“fraternity,” that for the future he should never be noticed by them in -public or private.</p> - -<p>I cannot follow his career much further. Adversity had taught him -nothing. He was soon again surrounded by the well-bred vampires who had -forgotten him when penniless; but they amused him, and that was enough. -The ten thousand pounds were rapidly melting when he invited me to a -grand dinner at Richmond, which included a dozen of the most agreeable, -good-looking, well-dressed dandies of London, interspersed with a -display of pretty butterfly bonnets. We dined deliciously, and drank as -men do of iced wines in the dog-days—looking down from Richmond Hill.<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a></p> - -<p>One of the pink bonnets crowned Fitz-Roy with a wreath of flowers; he -looked—less the intellect—as handsome as Alcibiades. Intensely excited -and flushed, he rose with a champagne glass in his hand to propose my -health.</p> - -<p>The oratorical powers of his father had not descended on him. Jerking -out sentences by spasms, at length he said, “I was a beggar—I am a -gentleman—thanks to this——”</p> - -<p>Here he leaned on my shoulder heavily a moment, and then fell back. We -raised him, loosened his neckcloth—</p> - -<p>“Fainted!” said the ladies—</p> - -<p>“Drunk!” said the gentlemen—</p> - -<p>He was <i>dead</i>!<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV.<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">“Evil is Wrought by Want of Thought.”</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“I</span>T must come some day; and come when it will, it will be hard to do, so -we had best go at once, Sally. I shall have more trouble with Miss -Isabel than you will with Miss Laura; for I am twice the favorite you -are.”</p> - -<p>So said Fanny to her cousin, who had just turned to descend the -staircase of Aldington Hall, where they had both lived since they were -almost children, in attendance on the two daughters of the old baronet, -who were near their own ages, and had always treated them with great -kindness.</p> - -<p>“I am not sure of that,” replied Sally, “for Miss Laura is so seldom put -out, that when once she is vexed, she will be hard to comfort; and I am -sure,<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a> Fanny, she loves me every bit as well as Miss Isabel does you, -though it is her way to be so quiet. I dare say she will cry when I say -I must go; but then John would be like to cry too, if I put him off -longer.”</p> - -<p>This consideration restored Sally’s courage, and she proceeded with -Fanny to the gallery into which the rooms of their young mistresses -opened; but here Fanny’s heart failed her; and, stopping short, she -said,</p> - -<p>“Suppose we tell them to wait awhile longer, as the young ladies are -going to travel. We might as well see the world first, and marry in a -year or two. But still,” added she, after a pause, “I could not find it -in my heart to say so to Thomas; and I promised him to speak to-day.”</p> - -<p>Each cousin then knocked at the door of her mistress. Laura was not in -her room, and Sally went to seek her below stairs; but Isabel called to -Fanny to go in.</p> - -<p>Fanny obeyed, and walking forward a few steps, faltered out, with many -blushes, that as young<a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a> Thomas had kept company with her for nearly a -twelvemonth, and had taken and furnished a little cottage, and begged -hard to take her home to it; she was sorry to say, that if Miss Isabel -would give her leave, she wished to give warning and to go from her -service in a month.</p> - -<p>Fanny’s most sanguine wishes or fears, must have been surpassed by the -burst of surprise and grief that followed her modest statement. Isabel -reproached her; refused to take her warning; declared she would never -see her again if she left the Hall, and that rather than be served by -any but her dear Fanny, she would wait upon herself all her life. Fanny -expostulated, and told her mistress that, foreseeing her unwillingness -to lose her, she had already put Thomas off several months; and that at -last, to gain further delay, she had run the risk of appearing selfish, -by refusing to marry him till he had furnished a whole cottage for her. -This, she said he had—by working late and early—accomplished in a -surprisingly short time, and had the day before claimed the reward of -his industry.<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a> “And now, Miss,” added she, “he gets quite pale, and -begins to believe I do not love him, and yet I do, better than all the -world, and could not find it in my heart to vex him, and make him look -sad again. Yesterday he seemed so happy, when I promised to be his wife -in a month.” Here Fanny burst into tears. Her sobs softened Isabel, who -consented to let her go; and after talking over her plans, became as -enthusiastic in promoting, as she had at first been, in opposing them. -Thomas was to take Fanny over to see the cottage, that evening, and -Isabel, in the warmth of her heart, promised to accompany them. Fanny -thanked her with a curtesy, and thought how pleased she ought to be at -such condescension in her young mistress, but could not help fearing -that her sweetheart would not half appreciate the favor.</p> - -<p>After receiving many promises of friendship and assistance, Fanny -hastened to report to Sally the success of her negotiation. Sally was -sitting in their little bedroom, thoughtful, and almost sad. She -listened to Fanny’s account; and replied in<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> answer to her questions -concerning Miss Laura’s way of taking her warning, “I am afraid, Fanny, -you were right in thinking yourself the greatest favorite, for Miss -Laura seemed almost pleased at my news; she took me by the hand, and -said, ‘I am very glad to hear you are to marry such a good young man as -every one acknowledges John Maythorn to be, and you may depend upon my -being always ready to help you, if you want assistance.’ She then said a -deal about my having lived with her six years, and not having once -displeased her, and told me that master had promised my mother and yours -too, that his young ladies should see after us all our lives. This was -very kind, to be sure; but then Miss Isabel promised you presents -whether you wanted assistance or not, and is to give you a silk gown and -a white ribbon for the wedding, and is to go over to the cottage with -you; now Miss Laura did not say a word of any such thing.”</p> - -<p>Fanny tried to comfort her cousin by saying it was Miss Laura’s quiet -way; but she could not<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a> help secretly rejoicing that her own mistress -was so generous and affectionate.</p> - -<p>In the evening the two sweethearts came to lead their future wives to -the cottages, which were near each other, and at about a mile from the -Hall. John had a happy walk. He learned from Sally that he was to “take -her home” in a month, and was so pleased at the news, that he could -scarcely be happier when she bustled about, exclaiming at every new -sight in the pretty bright little cottage. The tea-caddy, the cupboard -of china, and a large cat, each called forth a fresh burst of joy. Sally -thought everything “the prettiest she had ever seen;” and when John made -her sit in the arm-chair and put her feet on the fender, as if she were -already mistress of the cottage, she burst into sobs of joy. We will not -pause to tell how her sobs were stopped, nor what promises of unchanging -kindness, were made in that bright little kitchen; but we may safely -affirm that Sally and John were happier than they had ever been in their -lives, and that old Mrs. Maythorn, who was keeping the cottage<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a> for -Sally, felt all her fondest wishes were fulfilled as she saw the two -lovers depart.</p> - -<p>Fanny and Thomas, who had left them at the cottage door, walked on to -their own future home, quite overwhelmed by the honor Miss Isabel was -conferring on them by walking at their side.</p> - -<p>“You see, Miss,” said Thomas, as he turned the key of his cottage-door, -“there is nothing to speak of here, only such things as are necessary, -and all of the plainest; but it will do well enough for us poor folks;” -and as he threw open the door, he found to his surprise that what had -seemed to him yesterday so pretty and neat, now looked indeed “all of -the plainest.” The very carpet, and metal teapot, which he had intended -as surprises for Fanny, he was now ashamed of pointing out to her, and -he apologized to Isabel for the coarse quality of the former, telling -her it was only to serve till he could get a better.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered she, “this is not half good enough for my little Fanny, -she must have a real Brussels carpet. I will send her one. I will make<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a> -your cottage so pretty, Fanny, you shall have a nice china tea set, not -these common little things, and I will give you some curtains for the -window.” Thomas blushed as this deficiency was pointed out. “Why, Miss,” -said he, “I meant to have trained the rose tree over the window, I -thought that would be shady, and sweet in the summer, and in the winter, -why, we should want all the day-light; but then to be sure, curtains -will be much better.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Thomas,” replied the young lady, “and warm in the winter; you -could not be comfortable with a few bare rose stalks before your window, -when the snow was on the ground.” This had not occurred to Thomas, who -now said faintly, “Oh, no, Miss,” and felt that curtains were -indispensable to comfort.</p> - -<p>Similar deficiencies or short-comings were discovered everywhere, so -that even Fanny, who would at first be pleased with all she saw, in -spite of the numerous defects that seemed to exist everywhere, gradually -grew silent and ashamed of her<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a> cottage. She did her utmost to conceal -from Thomas how entirely she agreed with her mistress, and as this -generous young lady finished every remark, by saying “I will get you -one,” or “I will send you another,” she felt that all would be right -before long.</p> - -<p>As Thomas closed the door, he wondered how in his wish to please Fanny -he could have deceived himself so completely as to the merits of his -cottage and furniture; but he too comforted himself by remembering how -his kind patroness was to remedy all the defects; “though,” thought he, -“I should have liked better to have done it all well myself.”</p> - -<p>The lady and the two lovers walked homewards, almost without speaking, -till they overtook John and Sally, who were whispering and laughing, -talking of their cottage, Mrs. Maythorn’s joy at seeing them happy, -their future plans for themselves and her, and all in so confused a way, -that though twenty new subjects were started and discussed, none came to -and conclusion, but that<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a> John and Sally loved each other and were very, -very happy.</p> - -<p>“What ails you, Thomas?” said John. “Has any one robbed your house? I -told you it was not safe to leave it,” but seeing Miss Isabel, he -touched his hat and fell back to where Fanny was talking to her cousin. -Isabel, however, left them that she might take a short cut through the -park, while they went round by the road.</p> - -<p>At the end of the walk, Sally was half inclined to be dissatisfied with -her furniture, so much had Fanny boasted of the improvements that were -to be made in her own, but she could not get rid of the first impression -it had made on her, and in a few days she quite forgot the want of -curtains and carpet, and could only remember the happy time when she sat -in the arm-chair with her foot on the fender.</p> - -<p>As the month drew to a close, the two sisters made presents to their -maids. Laura gave Sally a merino dress, a large piece of linen, a cellar -full of coals, and a five pound note. Isabel gave Fanny<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a> a silk gown -that cost three guineas, a beautiful white bonnet ribbon, a small -chimney glass (for which she kindly went into debt), three left-off -muslin dresses, a painting done by her own hand, in a handsome gilt -frame, and a beautiful knitted purse. Besides all this, she told Fanny -it was still her intention to get the other things she had promised for -the cottage, as soon as she had paid for the chimney glass. “I am very -sorry,” she said, “that just now I am so poor, for unfortunately, as you -know, I have had to pay for those large music volumes I ordered when I -was in London, and which after all I never used. It always happens that -I am poor when I want to make presents.”</p> - -<p>Fanny stopped her mistress with abundant thanks for the beautiful things -she had already given her. “I am sure, Miss,” said she, “I shall -scarcely dare wear these dresses, they look so lady-like and fine; Sally -will seem quite strange by me. And this purse too, Miss; I never saw -anything so smart.”</p> - -<p>Isabel was quite satisfied that she had eclipsed<a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a> her sister in the -number and value of her gifts, but she still assured Fanny she had but -made a beginning. Large and generous indeed, were this young lady’s -intentions.</p> - -<p>On the wedding morning Isabel rose early and dressed herself without -assistance, then crossing to the room of the two cousins, she entered -without knocking. Sally was gone, and Fanny lay sleeping alone.</p> - -<p>“How pretty she is!” said Isabel to herself. “She ought to be dressed -like a lady to-day. I will see to it;” then glancing proudly at the silk -gown, which was laid out with all the other articles of dress, ready for -the coming ceremony, her heart swelled with consciousness of her own -generosity. “I have done nothing yet,” continued she; “she has been with -me nearly six years, and always pleased me entirely, then papa promised -her mother that he should befriend her as long as we both lived, and he -has charged us both to do our utmost for our brides. Laura has bought -Sally a shawl, I ought to give one too—what is this common<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a> thing? -Fanny! Fanny! wake up. I am come to be your maid to-day, for you shall -be mistress on your wedding morning and have a lady to dress you. What -is this shawl? It will not do with a silk dress, wait a minute,” and off -she darted, leaving Fanny sitting up and rubbing her eyes trying to -remember what her young mistress had said. Before she was quite -conscious, Isabel returned with a Norfolk shawl of fine texture and -design, but somewhat soiled. “There,” said she, throwing it across the -silk gown, “those go much better together. I will give it you, Fanny.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Miss,” said Fanny, in a tone of hesitation; “but—but -suppose, Miss, I was to wear Thomas’ shawl just to-day, as he gave it me -for the wedding, and John got Sally one like it—I think, Miss—don’t -you think, Miss, it might seem unkind to wear any other just to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Why, it is just to-day I want to make you look like a lady, Fanny; no, -no, you must not put on that white cotton-looking shawl with a silk -dress, and this ribbon,” said Isabel, taking up the bonnet,<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a> proudly. -Fanny looked sad, but the young mistress did not see this, for she was -examining the white silk gloves that lay beside the bonnet. “These,” -thought she, “are not quite right, they look servantish, but my kid -gloves would not fit her, besides, I have none clean, and it is well, -perhaps, that she should have a few things to mark her rank. Yes, they -will do.”</p> - -<p>There was so much confusion between the lady’s offering help, and the -maid’s modestly refusing it, that the toilette was long in completing. -At last, however, Isabel was in ecstasies. “Look,” said she, “how the -bonnet becomes you! and the Norfolk shawl, too, no one would think you -were only a lady’s-maid, Fanny. Stop, I will get a ribbon for your -throat.” Off she flew, and was back again in five minutes. “But what is -that for, Fanny? Are you afraid it will rain this bright morning?”</p> - -<p>Fanny had, in Isabel’s absence, folded Thomas’ shawl, and hung it across -her arm. “I thought, Miss,” answered she, blushing, “that I might just<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> -carry it to show Thomas that I did not forget his present, or think it -too homely to go to church with me.”</p> - -<p>“Impossible,” said Isabel, who, to do her justice, we must state, was -far too much excited to suspect that she was making Fanny uncomfortable; -“you will spoil all. There, put the shawl away,—that’s right, you look -perfect. Go down to your bridegroom, I hear his voice in the hall, I -will not come too, though I should like above all things to see his -surprise, but I should spoil your meeting, and I am the last person in -the world to do anything so selfish. One thing more, Fanny: I shall give -you two guineas, that you may spend three or four days at L——, by the -sea-side; no one goes home directly, you would find it very dull to -settle down at once in your cottage; tell Thomas so.” Isabel then -retired to her room, wishing heartily that she could part with half her -prettiest things, that she might heap more favors on the interesting -little bride.</p> - -<p>Laura’s first thought that morning had also been<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a> of the little orphan, -who had served her so long and faithfully, and whom her father had -commended to her special care. She, too, had risen early, but without -dressing herself, she went across to Sally. Sally was asleep, with the -traces of tears on her cheeks; Laura looked at her for a few moments, -and remembered how, when both were too young to understand the -distinction of rank, they had been almost play-mates; she wiped from her -own eyes a little moisture that dimmed them, then putting her hand -gently on Sally’s shoulder, she said, “Wake, Sally, I call you early -that you may have plenty of time to dress me first and yourself -afterwards. I know you would not like to miss waiting on me, or to do it -hurriedly for the last time. You have been crying, Sally, do not color -about it, I should think ill of you if you were not sorry to leave us, -you cannot feel the parting more than I do. I dare say I shall have hard -work to keep dry eyes all day, but we must do our best, Sally, for it -will not for John to think I grudge you to him, or that you like me -better than you do him.”<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a></p> - -<p>“Oh, no, Miss!” replied Sally, who felt at that moment that she could -scarcely love any one better than her kind mistress. “Still John will -not be hard upon me for a few tears,” added she, putting the sheet to -her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Come, come, Sally, this will not do, jump up and dress yourself -quickly, that you may be ready to brush my hair when I return from the -dressing-room; you must do it well to day, for you know I am not yet -suited with a maid, and do it myself to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>This roused Sally, who dressed in great haste and was soon at her post. -Laura asked her many questions about her plans for the future, and found -with pleasure that most things had been well considered and arranged. -“There is only one thing, Miss,” said Sally, in conclusion, “that we are -sorry for, and it is that we cannot offer old Mrs. Maythorn a home. She -has no child but John, and will sadly feel his leaving her.”</p> - -<p>“But why cannot she live with you and work as she does now, so as to pay -you for what she costs?”<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a></p> - -<p>“Why, Miss, where she is she works about the house for her board, and -does a trifle outdoors besides, that gets her clothing. John says it -makes him feel quite cowardly, as it were, to see his old mother working -at scrubbing and scouring, making her poor back ache, when he is so -young and strong; yet we scarcely know if we could undertake for her -altogether. I wish we could.”</p> - -<p>“How much would it cost you?”</p> - -<p>“A matter of four shillings a week; besides, we must get a bed and -bedding. That we could put up in the kitchen, if we bought it to shut up -in the day-time, and, as John says, Mrs. Maythorn would help us nicely -when we get some little ones. But it would cost a deal of money to begin -and go on with.”</p> - -<p>“I will think of this for you, Sally. It would be easy for me to give -you four shillings a week now, but I may not always be able to do it. I -may marry a poor man, or one who will not allow me to spend my money as -I please, and were Mrs. Maythorn to give up her present employments, -she<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a> would not be able to get them back again three or four years hence, -nor would she, at her age, be able to meet with others; and if you would -find it difficult to keep her now, you would much more when you have a -little family; so we must do nothing hastily. I will consult papa; he -will tell me directly whether I shall be right in promising you the four -shillings a week. If I do promise it, you may depend on always having -it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you, thank you, Miss, for the thought: I will tell John -directly I see him; the very hope will fill him with joy.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Laura, “do not tell him yet, Sally, for you would be sorry to -disappoint him afterwards, if I could not undertake it. Wait a day or -two, and I will give you an answer; or, if possible, it shall be sooner. -Now, thank you for the nice brushing: I will put up my hair while you go -and dress; it is getting late. If you require assistance, and Fanny is -not in your room, tap at my door, for I shall be pleased to help you -to-day.”<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a></p> - -<p>Laura was not called in; but when she thought the toilette must be -nearly completed, went to Sally with the shawl which she had bought for -her the day before. As she entered, Sally was folding the white one John -had given her. “I have brought you a shawl,” said Laura, “which I want -you to wear to-day; it is much handsomer than that you are folding. See, -do you like it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Miss,” said Sally, “it is a very good one, I see,” and she began -to re-fold the other; but Laura noticed the expression of disappointment -with which she made the change, and taking up the plain shawl, said, “I -do not know whether this does not suit your neat muslin dress better -than mine. Did you buy it yourself, Sally?”</p> - -<p>“No, Miss, it was John’s present; but I will put on yours this morning, -if you please, Miss, and I can wear John’s any day.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” replied Laura, “you must put on John’s to-day. It matters but -little to me when you wear mine, so long as it does you good service; -but John will feel hurt if you cast his present<a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a> aside on your -wedding-day, because some one else has given you a shawl worth a few -shillings more.” So Laura put the white shawl on the shoulders of Sally, -who valued it more than the finest Cashmere in the world.</p> - -<p>As Sally went down stairs, she saw Fanny in tears on the landing. “I -cannot think how it is,” answered she, in reply to Sally’s questioning, -“but just on this day, when I thought to feel so happy, I am quite low. -Miss Isabel has been so kind, she has dressed me, and quite flustered me -with her attentions. See what nice things she has given me—this -shawl—though for that matter, I’d rather have worn Thomas’s. Oh, how -nice you look. Dear, so neat and becoming your station, and with John’s -shawl, too, but then Miss Laura has made you no present.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, a good shawl and a promise besides, but I well tell you about that -another time. Let us go in now, they must be waiting for us.”</p> - -<p>Fanny felt so awkward in her fine clothes, that she could scarcely be -prevailed on to encounter<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a> the gaze of the servants; but her -good-natured cousin promising to explain that all her dress was given -and chosen by her mistress, she at last went into the hall. Sally’s -explanation was only heard by a few of the party, and as Fanny, in -trying to conceal herself from the gaze of the astonished villagers, -slunk behind old Mrs. Maythorn, she had the mortification of hearing her -say to John, in the loud whisper peculiar to deaf people, “I am so glad, -John, the neat one is yours; I should be quite frightened to see you -take such a fine lady as Fanny to the altar; it makes me sorry for -Thomas to see her begin so smart.”</p> - -<p>When the ceremony was over, the party returned to the Hall, where a -hospitable meal had been provided for all the villagers of good -character who chose to partake of it. It was a merry party, for even -Fanny, when every one had seen her finery long enough to forget it, -forgot it herself. Thomas was very good-natured about the shawl, and -<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>delighted at the prospect of spending a few days at L——. He and Fanny -talked of the boat-excursions they would have, the shells they would -gather for a grotto in their garden, and the long rambles they would -take by the sea-side, till they wondered how ever they could have been -contented with the prospect of going to their cottage at once.</p> - -<p>As the pony-chaise which the good baronet had lent for the day, drove up -to take the bridal party to L——, for John and Sally were also to spend -one day there, the two young ladies came to take leave of their -<i>protégées</i>. Laura said, “Good-bye, Sally, I have consulted papa, and -will undertake to allow you four shillings a week as long as Mrs. -Maythorn lives. Here is a sovereign towards expenses; you will not, I am -sure, mind changing your five pound note for the rest.”</p> - -<p>Isabel said, “Good-bye, Fanny. I am very, very sorry to disappoint you -of your treat at L——, but I intended to have borrowed the two pounds -of Miss Laura, and I find she cannot lend them to me. Never mind, I am -sure you will be happy enough in your little cottage. I never saw such a -sweet<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a> little place as it is.” So the bridal party drove away.</p> - -<p>In less than a week the cousins were established in their new abode. -Sally settled and happy; but Fanny, unsettled, always expected the new -carpet, the china tea-set, and the various other alterations that Isabel -had suggested and promised to make. The young lady, however, was -unfortunate with her money. At one time she lost a bank-note; at -another, just as she was counting out money for the Brussels carpet, the -new maid entered to tell her that sundry articles of dress were “past -mending,” and must be immediately replaced. One thing after another -nipped her generous intentions in the bud, and at last she was obliged -to set out for her long-expected journey to France without having done -more towards the fulfilment of her promises than call frequently on -Fanny, to remind her that all her present arrangements were temporary, -and that she should shortly have almost everything new. -<a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a> -“Good-bye, Fanny,” said she at parting; “I shall often write to you, -and send you money. I will not make any distinct promise, for I dare say -I shall be able to do more than I should like to say now.”</p> - -<p>Laura had given Sally a great many useful things for her cottage, but -made no promise at parting. She said, “Be sure you write to me, Sally, -from time to time, to say how you are going on, and tell me if you want -help.”</p> - -<p>When Isabel was gone, Fanny saw that she must accustom herself to her -cottage as it was, and banish from her mind the idea of the -long-anticipated improvements. It was, however, no easy task. The window -once regarded as bare and comfortless still seemed so, in spite of -Fanny’s reasoning that it was no worse than Sally’s, which always looked -cheerful and pretty. To be sure, John, who did not think of getting -curtains, had trained a honeysuckle over it, still that made but little -show at present. The carpet, too, so long regarded as a coarse temporary -thing, never regained the beauty it first had to the eye of Thomas, as -he laid<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a> it down the evening before he took Fanny to the cottage; and -Fanny could never forget, as she arranged her tea-things, that Miss -Isabel had called them “common little things;” so of all the other -pieces of furniture that the young lady had remarked upon. Sally’s house -was, in reality, more homely than her cousin’s, yet as she had never -entertained a wish that it should be better, and as Laura had been -pleased with all its arrangements, she bustled about it with perfect -satisfaction; and even to Fanny it seemed replete with the comfort her -own had always wanted.</p> - -<p>At the end of three months Isabel enclosed an order for three pounds to -Fanny, desiring her to get a Brussels carpet, and if there was a -sufficient remainder, to replace the tea seat.</p> - -<p>“I would rather,” said Fanny to her cousin, “put up with the old carpet -and china, and get a roll of fine flannel, some coals, an extra blanket -or two, and a cradle for the little one that’s coming, for it will be -cold weather when I am put to bed;<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a> but I suppose as Miss Isabel has set -her mind on the carpet and china, I must get them.”</p> - -<p>A week or two after John was invited, with his wife and mother, to drink -tea from Fanny’s new china. It was very pretty, so was the carpet, and -so was Fanny making tea, elated with showing her new wealth.</p> - -<p>“Is not Miss Isabel generous?” asked she, as she held the milk-pot to be -admired.</p> - -<p>“I sometimes wish Miss Laura had as much money to spare,” replied Sally; -“for she lets me lay it out as I please, and I could get a number of -things for three guineas.”</p> - -<p>“Fie, Sally,” said her husband; “are not three shillings to spend as one -pleases, better than three guineas laid out to please some one else?”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, John,” said Fanny, pettishly; “how can a carpet for my -kitchen be bought to please any one but me?”</p> - -<p>“John isn’t far wrong either,” answered her husband; “but the carpet is -very handsome, and does please you and me too, now it is here.”<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a></p> - -<p>Time passed on, and Fanny gave birth to a little girl. Isabel stood -sponsor for her by proxy, sending her an embroidered cloak and lace cap, -and desiring that she should be called by her own name. Little Bella was -very sickly, and as her mother had not been able to procure her good -warm clothing, or lay in a large stock of firing, she suffered greatly -from cold during the severe winter that followed her birth. The spring -and summer did not bring her better health; and as Fanny always -attributed her delicacy to the want of proper warmth in her infancy, she -took a great dislike to the Brussels carpet, which now lay in a roll -behind a large chest, having been long ago taken up as a piece of -inconvenient luxury in a kitchen. “I wish you could find a corner for it -in your cottage, Sally,” said she, “for I never catch a sight of it -without worrying myself to think how much flannels and coals I might -have bought with the money it cost.”</p> - -<p>Laura frequently sent Sally small presents of money, but Isabel, though -not so regular as her<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a> sister, surprised every one by the splendor of -her presents, when they did come. As Bella entered her second year she -received from her godmother a beautiful little carriage, which Thomas -said must have “spoilt a five-pound note.” This was Isabel’s last gift, -for it was at about this time that she accepted an offer from a French -count, and became so absorbed in her own affairs, that she forgot Fanny -and Bella too. Poor Bella grew more and more sickly every month; the -apothecary ordered her beef tea, arrowroot, and other strengthening -diet, but work was slack with Thomas, and it was with difficulty that he -could procure her the commonest food. “I am sure,” said Fanny to her -cousin, as little Bella was whining on her knee, “that if only Miss -Isabel were here, she would set us all right. She never could bear to -see even a stranger in distress.”</p> - -<p>“I wish,” said Thomas, “that great folks would think a little of what -they don’t see. I’ll lay anything Miss Isabel gives away a deal of -money, more than enough to save our little one, to a set<a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a> of French -impostors that cry after her in the street, and yet, when she knows our -child is ill, she never cares, because she can’t see it grow thin, or -hear it cry.”</p> - -<p>“For shame, Thomas,” said his wife, “do not speak so rudely of the young -lady. Have you forgotten the pretty carriage she sent Bella, and how -pleased we were when it came?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mean any harm,” answered her husband; “only it strikes me that -Miss was pleased to buy the carriage because it was pretty, and seemed a -great thing to send us, and that she wouldn’t have cared a straw to give -us a little cash, that would have served us every bit as well.”</p> - -<p>“I never heard you so ungrateful, Thomas. Of course she wouldn’t, -because she wished to please us.”</p> - -<p>“Or herself, as John said; but maybe I am wrong; only it goes to my -heart to see the child want food while there is a filagree carriage in -the yard that cost more than would keep her for six months.”<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a></p> - -<p>“Well, cheer up,” said Sally; “Miss Laura will be coming home soon, and -I’ll lay anything she won’t let Bella die of want.”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid she won’t think of giving to me, Sally,” said Fanny -despondingly; “I was never her maid, you know.”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t fear, if you knew Miss Laura as I do, Fanny; she never -cares who she helps so long as the person is deserving, and in want. She -has no pride of that sort.”</p> - -<p>Isabel’s marriage was put off, and Laura’s return, consequently, -postponed. As Bella grew worse every day, and yet no help came, the -unselfish Sally wrote to her patroness, telling her of poor Fanny’s -distress, and begging her either to send her help, or speak on her -behalf to her sister.</p> - -<p>Isabel was dressing for a party when Laura showed her Sally’s letter. -“Poor Fanny,” said she, “I wish I had known it before I bought this -wreath. I have, absolutely, not a half-franc in the world. Will you buy -the wreath of me at half-price, it has not even been taken from its -box.”<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a></p> - -<p>“I do not want it,” said Laura, “but I will lend you some money.”</p> - -<p>“No, I cannot borrow more,” said her sister despondingly. “I owe you -already for the flowers, the brooch, the bill you paid yesterday, and I -know not what else besides; but I will tell Eugène there is a poor -Englishwoman in distress, I am sure he will send her something.”</p> - -<p>Eugène gave her a five-franc piece.</p> - -<p>It was late one frosty evening when Sally ran across to her cousin’s -cottage, delighted to be the bearer of the long hoped-for letter. Fanny -was sitting on the fender before a small fire, hugging her darling to -her breast, and breathing on its little face to make the air warmer. -“I’m afraid,” said she, in answer to Sally’s inquiries, “that the child -won’t be here long;” and she wiped away a few hot tears that had forced -their way as she sat listening to the low moans of the little sufferer.</p> - -<p>“But I have good news for you,” said her cousin, cheerfully. “Here is a -letter from Miss Isabel at last. I would not tell you before, but I -wrote to<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a> Miss Laura, saying how you were expecting every week to be put -to bed again, and how Bella was wasting away, and see, I was right about -her, she has sent you a sovereign, and her sister’s letter, no-doubt, -contains a pretty sum.”</p> - -<p>Fanny started up, and could scarcely breathe as she broke the seal. What -was her disappointment on seeing an order for five shillings!</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry, my good Fanny,” said Isabel, “that just now I have no -money. A charitable gentleman sends you five shillings, and as soon as I -possibly can, I will let you have a large sum. I have not yet paid for -the carriage I sent you, and as the bill has been given me several -times, I must discharge it before I send away more money. I hope that by -this time, little Bella is better.”</p> - -<p>Fanny laid her child upon the bed, and putting her face by its side, -shed bitter tears. Sally did not speak, and so both remained till Thomas -came in from his work. Fanny would have hidden the letter from him, but -he saw and seized it in a moment.<a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a></p> - -<p>“Five guineas for a carriage, and five shillings for a child’s life,” -said he with a sneer, as he laid it down. “Do not look for the large -sum, Fanny, you won’t get it; but I will work hard, and bury the child -decently.”</p> - -<p>Fanny felt no inclination to defend her mistress. For the first time, it -occurred to her that Thomas and John might be right in their judgment of -her. She raised Bella, as Thomas, who had been twisting up the money -order, was about to throw it in the fire. He caught a sight of the -child’s wan face, and, advancing to the bed, said, in a softened tone, -“Do you know father, pretty one?” and as Bella smiled faintly, he added, -“I will do anything for your sake. Here, Fanny, take the money, and get -the child something nourishing.”</p> - -<p>Bella seemed to revive from getting better food; and the apothecary held -out great hope of her ultimate recovery, if the improved diet could be -continued; but expenses fell heavily on Thomas, Fanny was put to bed -with a fine strong little boy, and, although Sally and Mrs. Maythorn -devoted<a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a> themselves to her and Bella, the anxiety she suffered from -being separated from her invalid child, added to her former constant -uneasiness, and want of proper food, brought on a fever that threatened -her life. In a few days she became quite delirious. During this time -Isabel was married, and Laura returned to England.</p> - -<p>When Fanny regained her consciousness she was in the dark, but she could -see some one standing by the window. On her speaking the person advanced -to her side. “Do not be startled to find me here,” said a sweet soft -voice. “Sally has watched by your side for three nights, and when I came -this evening she looked so ill that I insisted on her going to bed; -then, as we could find no one on whose care and watchfulness we could -depend, I took her place. You have been in a sound sleep. Dr. Hart said -you would wake up much better. Are you better?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am, a deal better; but where am I, and who is it with me?”</p> - -<p>“You are in your own pretty cottage, and Miss<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a> Laura is with you. You -expected me home, did you not?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank God; who sent you, dear Miss Laura? How is—but may-be I had -best not ask just while I am so weak. Is the dear boy well?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, quite well; and Bella is much better. I have sent her for a few -days to L——, with Mrs. Maythorn; the sea air will do her good.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you—thank you—dear young lady, for the thought. I seem so -bound up in that dear child, that nothing could comfort me for her loss. -How good and kind you are, Miss—you do all so well and so quietly!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Fanny, dear,” said Thomas, coming from behind the curtain and -stooping to kiss his wife. “Miss Laura has saved you and Bella, and me, -too, for I couldn’t have lived if you had died; and has found me work; -and all without making one great present, or doing anything one could -speak about. I’ll tell you what it is, wife, dear, Miss Isabel does all -for the best, but it is just as she feels at the moment.<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a> Now Miss -Laura—if I may be so bold to speak, Miss—Miss Laura does not give to -please her own feelings, but to do good. I can’t say it well, but do you -say it for me, Miss; I want Fanny to know the right words, to teach the -little ones by-and-by. You know what I wish to say, Miss Laura.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Thomas,” said Laura, blushing, “but I do not say you are right. -You mean, I think, that my sister acts from impulse, and I from -principle. Is that it?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose that’s it, Miss,” said Thomas, considering, and apparently -not quite satisfied.</p> - -<p>“You have no harder meaning, I am sure,” said Laura, quietly, “because I -love my sister very much.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly not, Miss,” returned Thomas. “But, myself, if I may take the -liberty of gratefully saying so, I prefer to be acted to on principle, -and think it a good deal better than impulse.”<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V.<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">Bed.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Oh, Sleep! it is a gentle thing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beloved from pole to pole!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Was the heart’s cry of the Ancient Mariner at the recollection of the -blessed moment when the fearful curse of life in death fell off him, and -the heavenly sleep first “slid into his soul.” “Blessings on sleep!” -said honest Sancho Panza: “it wraps one all around like a mantle!”—a -mantle for the weary human frame, lined softly, as with the down of the -eider-duck, and redolent of the soothing odors of the poppy. The fabled -cave of Sleep was in the land of Darkness. No ray of the sun, or moon, -or stars, ever broke upon that night without a dawn. The breath of -somniferous flowers<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a> floated in on the still air from the grotto’s -mouth. Black curtains hung round the ever-sleeping god; the Dreams stood -around his couch; Silence kept watch at the portals. Take the winged -Dreams from the picture, and what is left? The sleep of matter.</p> - -<p>The dreams that come floating through our sleep, and fill the dormitory -with visions of love or terror—what are they? Random freaks of the -fancy? Or is sleep but one long dream, of which we see only fragments, -and remember still less? Who shall explain the mystery of that loosening -of the soul and body, of which night after night whispers to us, but -which day after day is unthought of? Reverie, sleep, trance—such are -the stages between the world of man and the world of spirits. Dreaming -but deepens as we advance. Reverie deepens into the dreams of -sleep—sleep into trance—trance borders on death. As the soul retires -from the outer senses, as it escapes from the trammels of the flesh, it -lives with increased power within. Spirit grows more spirit-like as -matter slumbers. We<a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a> can follow the development up to the last stage. -What is beyond?</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And in that <i>sleep of death</i>, what dreams may come!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">says Hamlet—pausing on the brink of eternity, and vainly striving to -scan the inscrutable. Trance is an awful counterpart of sleep and -death—mysterious in itself, appalling in its hazards. Day after day -noise has been hushed in the dormitory—month after month it has seen a -human frame grow weaker and weaker, wanner, more deathlike, till the -hues of the grave colored the face of the living. And now he lies, -motionless, pulseless, breathless. It is not sleep—is it death?</p> - -<p>Leigh Hunt is said to have perpetrated a very bad pun connected with the -dormitory, and which made Charles Lamb laugh immoderately. Going home -together late one night, the latter repeated the well-known proverb, “A -home’s a home, however homely.” “Ay,” added Hunt, “and a bed’s a bed, -however <i>bedly</i>.” It is a strange thing, a bed. Somebody has called it a -bundle of paradoxes; we<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a> go to it reluctantly, and leave it with regret. -Once within the downy precincts of the four posts, how loth we are to -make our exodus into the wilderness of life. We are as enamored of our -curtained dwelling as if it were the land of Goshen or the cave of -Circe. And how many fervent vows have those dumb posts heard broken! -every fresh perjury rising to join its cloud of hovering fellows, each -morning weighing heavier and heavier on our sluggard eyelids. A caustic -proverb says,—we are all “good risers at night;” but woe’s me for our -agility in the morning. It is a failing of our species, ever ready to -break out in all of us, and in some only vanquished after a struggle -painful as the sundering of bone and marrow. The Great Frederic of -Prussia found it easier, in after life, to rout the French and -Austrians, than in youth to resist the seductions of sleep. After many -single-handed attempts at reformation, he had at last to call to his -assistance an old domestic, whom he charged, on pain of dismissal, to -pull him out of bed every morning at two o’clock. The plan succeeded,<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a> -as it deserved to succeed. All men of action are impressed with the -importance of early rising. “When you begin to turn in bed, its time to -turn out,” says the old Duke; and we believe his practice has been in -accordance with his precept. Literary men—among whom, as Bulwer says, a -certain indolence seems almost constitutional—are not so clear upon -this point: they are divided between Night and Morning, though the best -authorities seem in favor of the latter. Early rising is the best -<i>elixir vitæ</i>: it is the only lengthener of life that man has ever -devised. By its aid the great Buffon was able to spend half a -century—an ordinary lifetime—at his desk; and yet had time to be the -most modish of all the philosophers who then graced the gay metropolis -of France.</p> - -<p>Sleep is a treasure and a pleasure; and, as you love it, guard it -warily. Over-indulgence is ever suicidal, and destroys the pleasure it -means to gratify. The natural times for our lying down and rising up are -plain enough. Nature teaches us,<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a> and unsophisticated mankind followed -her. Singing birds and opening flowers hail the sunrise, and the hush of -groves and the closed eyelids of the parterre mark his setting. But “man -hath sought out many inventions.” We prolong our days into the depths of -night, and our nights into the splendor of day. It is a strange result -of civilization! It is not merely occasioned by that thirst for varied -amusement which characterizes an advanced stage of society—it is not -that theatres, balls, dancing, masquerades, require an artificial light, -for all these are or have been equally enjoyed elsewhere beneath the eye -of day. What is the cause, we really are not philosopher enough to say; -but the prevalence of the habit must have given no little pungency to -honest Benjamin Franklin’s joke, when, one summer, he announced to the -Parisians as a great discovery—that the sun rose each morning at four -o’clock; and that, whereas, they burnt no end of candles by sitting up -at night, they might rise in the morning and have light for nothing. -Franklin’s “discovery,” we dare say, produced a<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a> laugh at the time, and -things went on as before. Indeed, so universal is this artificial -division of day and night, and so interwoven with it are the social -habits, that we shudder at the very idea of returning to the natural -order of things. A Robespierre could not carry through so stupendous a -revolution. Nothing less than an avatar of Siva the destroyer—Siva with -his hundred arms, turning off as many gas-pipes, and replenishing his -necklace of human skulls by decapitating the leading -conservatives—could have any chance of success; and, ten to one, with -our gassy splendors, and seducing glitter, we should convert that pagan -devil ere half his work was done.</p> - -<p>But of all the inventions which perverse ingenuity has sought out, the -most incongruous, the most heretical against both nature and art, is -reading in bed. Turning rest into labor, learning into ridicule. A man -had better be up. He is spoiling two most excellent things by attempting -to join them. Study and sleep—how incongruous! It is an idle coupling -of opposites, and shocks a sensible<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a> man as much as if he were to meet -in the woods the apparition of a winged elephant. Only fancy an elderly -or middle-aged man (for youth is generally orthodox on this point), -sitting up in bed, spectacles on his nose, a Kilmarnock on his head, and -his flannel jacket round his shivering shoulders,—doing what? Reading? -It may be so—but he winks so often, possibly from the glare of the -candle, and the glasses now and then slip so far down on his nose, and -his hand now and then holds the volume so unsteadily, that if he himself -didn’t assure us to the contrary, we should suppose him half asleep. We -are sure it must be a great relief to him when the neglected book at -last tumbles out of bed to such a distance that he cannot recover it.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, we have heard this extraordinary custom excused on the no -less extraordinary ground of its being a soporific. For those who -require such things, Marryat gives a much simpler recipe—namely, to -mentally repeat any scraps of poetry you can recollect; if your own, so -much<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a> the better. The monks of old, in a similar emergency, used to -repeat the seven Penitential Psalms. Either of these plans, we doubt -not, will be found equally efficacious, if one is able to use them—if -anxiety of mind does not divert him from his task, or the lassitude of -illness disable him for attempting it. Sleep, alas! is at times fickle -and coy; and, like most sublunary friends, forsakes us when most wanted. -Reading in that repertory of many curious things, the “Book of the -Farm,” we one day met with the statement that “a pillow of hops will -ensure sleep to a patient in a delirious fever when every other -expedient fails.” We made a note of it. Heaven forbid that the recipe -should ever be needed for us or ours! but the words struck a chord of -sympathy in our heart with such poor sufferers, and we saddened with the -dread of that awful visitation. The fever of delirium! when incoherent -words wander on the lips of genius; when the sufferer stares strangely -and vacantly on his ministering friends, or starts with freezing horror -from the arms of familiar love! Ah! what<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a> a dread tenant has the -dormitory then. No food taken for the body, no sleep for the brain! a -human being surging with diabolic strength against his keepers—a human -frame gifted with superhuman vigor only the more rapidly to destroy -itself! Less fearful to the eye, but more harrowing to the soul, is the -dormitory whose walls enclose the sleepless victim of Remorse. No -poppies or mandragora for him! His malady ends only with the fever of -life. <i>Ends?</i> Grief, anxiety, “the thousand several ills that flesh is -heir to,” pass away before the lapse of time or the soothings of love, -and sleep once more folds its dove-like wings above the couch.</p> - -<p>“If there be a regal solitude,” says Charles Lamb, “it is a bed. How the -patient lords it there; what caprices he acts without control! How -king-like he sways his pillow,—tumbling and tossing, and shifting, and -lowering, and thumping, and flatting, and moulding it to the -ever-varying requisitions of his throbbing temples. He changes <i>sides</i> -oftener than a politician. Now he lies full-length,<a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a> then half-length, -obliquely, transversely, head and feet quite across the bed; and none -accuses him of tergiversation. Within the four curtains he is absolute. -They are his Mare Clausum. How sickness enlarges the dimensions of a -man’s self to himself! He is his own exclusive object. Supreme -selfishness is inculcated on him as his only duty. ’Tis the two Tables -of the Law to him. He has nothing to think of but how to get well. What -passes out of doors or within them, so he hear not the jarring of them, -affects him not.”</p> - -<p>In this climate a sight of the sun is prized; but we love to see it most -from bed. A dormitory fronting the east, therefore, so that the early -sunbeams may rouse us to the dewy beauties of morning, we love. Let -there also be festooned roses without the window, that on opening it the -perfume may pervade the realms of bed. Our night-bower should be -simple—neat as a fairy’s cell, and ever perfumed with the sweet air of -heaven. It is not a place for showy things, or costly. As fire is<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a> the -presiding genius in other rooms, so let water, symbol of purity, be in -the ascendant here; water, fresh and unturbid as the thoughts that here -make their home—water, to wash away the dust and sweat of a weary -world. Let no <i>fracas</i> disturb the quiet of the dormitory. We go there -for repose. Our tasks and our cares are left outside, only to be put on -again with our hat and shoes in the morning. It is an asylum from the -bustle of life—it is the inner shrine of our household gods—and should -be respected accordingly. We never entered during the ordinary process -of bed-making—pillows tossed here, blankets and sheets pitched hither -and thither in wildest confusion, chairs and pitchers in the middle of -the floor, feathers and dust everywhere—without a jarring sense that -sacrilege was going on, and that the <i>genius loci</i> had departed. Rude -hands were profaning the home of our slumbers!</p> - -<p>A sense of security pervades the dormitory. A healthy man in bed is free -from everything but dreams, and once in a life-time, or after adjudging<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a> -the Cheese Premium at an Agricultural Show—the nightmare. We once heard -a worthy gentleman, blessed with a very large family of daughters, -declare he had no peace in his house except in bed. There we feel as if -in a city of refuge, secure alike from the brawls of earth and the -storms of heaven. Lightning, say old ladies, won’t come through, -blankets. Even tigers, says Humboldt, “will not attack a man in his -hammock.” Hitting a man when he’s down is stigmatized as villanous all -the world over; and lions will rather sit with an empty stomach for -hours than touch a man before he awakes. Tricks upon a sleeper! Oh, -villanous! Every perpetrator of such unutterable treachery should be put -beyond the pale of society. The First of April should have no place in -the calendar of the dormitory. We would have the maxim, “Let sleeping -dogs lie,” extended to the human race. And an angry dog, certainly, is a -man roused needlessly from his slumbers. What an outcry we Northmen -raised against the introduction of Greenwich time, which defrauded us of -fifteen minutes’<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a> sleep in the morning; and how indiscriminate the -objurgations lavished upon printers’ devils! Of all sinners against the -nocturnal comfort of literary men, these imps are the foremost; and -possibly it was from their malpractices in such matters that they first -acquired their diabolic cognomen.</p> - -<p>The nightcap is not an elegant head-dress, but its comfort is -undeniable. It is a diadem of night; and what tranquillity follows our -self-coronation! It is priceless as the invisible cap of Fortunatus; -and, viewless beneath its folds, our cares cannot find us out. It is -graceless. Well; what then? It is not meant for the garish eye of day, -nor for the quizzing glass of our fellow-men, or of the ridiculing race -of women; neither does it outrage any taste for the beautiful in the -happy sleeper himself. We speak as bachelors, to whom the pleasures of a -manifold existence are unknown. Possibly the æsthetics of night are not -uncared for when a man has another self to please, and when a pair of -lovely eyes are fixed admiringly on his upper story; but such is the -selfishness of human<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a> nature, that we suspect this abnegation of comfort -will not long survive the honeymoon. The French, ever enamored of -effect, and who, we verily believe, even <i>sleep</i>, “<i>posé</i>,” sometimes -substitute the many-colored silken handkerchief for the graceless -“<i>bonnet-de-nuit</i>.” But all such substitutes are less comfortable and -more troublesome; and of all irritating things, the most irritable is a -complex operation in undressing. Æsthetics at night, and for the weary! -No, no. The weary man frets at every extra button or superfluous knot, -he counts impatiently every second that keeps him from his couch, and -flies to the arms of sleep as to those of his mistress. Nevertheless, -French novelette writers make a great outcry against nightcaps. We -remember an instance. A husband—rather good-looking fellow—suspects -that his wife is beginning to have too tender thoughts towards a -glossy-ringletted Lothario who is then staying with them. So, having -accidentally discovered that Lothario slept in a huge peeked nightcowl, -and knowing that ridicule would prove the most effectual disenchanter,<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a> -he fastened a string to his guest’s bell, and passed it into his own -room.</p> - -<p>At the dead of night, when all were fast asleep, suddenly Lothario’s -bell rang furiously. Upstarted the lady—“their guest must be -ill;”—and, accompanied by her husband, elegantly coiffed in a turbaned -silk handkerchief, she entered the room whence the alarum had sounded. -They find Lothario sitting up in bed—his cowl rising pyramid-fashion, a -fool’s cap all but the bells—bewildered and in ludicrous consternation -at being surprised thus by the fair Angelica; and, unable to conceal his -chagrin, he completes his discomfiture by bursting out in wrathful abuse -of his laughing host for so betraying his weakness for nightcaps.</p> - -<p>The Poetry of the Dormitory! It is an inviting but too delicate a -subject for our rough hands. Do not the very words call up a vision? By -the light of the stars we see a lovely head resting on a downy pillow; -the bloom of the rose is on that young cheek, and the half-parted lips -murmur as in a dream: “Edward!” Love is lying light at<a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a> her heart, and -its fairy wand is showing her visions. May her dreams be happy! -“Edward!” Was it a sigh that followed that gentle invocation? What would -the youth give to hear that murmur,—to gaze like yonder stars on his -slumbering love. Hush! are the morning-stars singing together—a lullaby -to soothe the dreamer? A low dulcet strain floats in through the window; -and soon, mingling with the breathings of the lute, the voice of youth. -The harmony penetrates through the slumbering senses to the dreamer’s -heart; and ere the golden curls are lifted from the pillow, she is -conscious of all. The serenade begins anew. What does she hear?</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Stars of the summer night!<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Far in yon azure deeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Hide, hide your golden light!<br /></span> -<span class="i3">She sleeps!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">My lady sleeps!<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Sleeps!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">Dreams of the summer night!<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Tell her her lover keeps<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Watch! while in slumbers light<br /></span> -<span class="i3">She sleeps<br /></span> -<span class="i1">My lady sleeps!<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Sleeps!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI.<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">The Home of Woodruffe the Gardener.</span></h2> - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“H</span>OW pleased the boy looks, to be sure!” observed Woodruffe to his wife, -as his son Allan caught up little Moss (as Maurice had chosen to call -himself before he could speak plain) and made him jump from the top of -the drawers upon the chair, and then from the chair to the ground. “He -is making all that racket just because he is so pleased he does not know -what to do with himself.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose he will forgive Fleming now for carrying off Abby,” said the -mother. “I say, Allan, what do you think now of Abby marrying away from -us?”<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a></p> - -<p>“Why, I think it’s a very good thing. You know she never told me that we -should go and live where she lived, and in such a pretty place, too, -where I may have a garden of my own, and see what I can make of it—all -fresh from the beginning, as father says.”</p> - -<p>“You are to try your hand at the business, I know,” replied the mother, -“but I never heard your father, nor any one else, say that the place was -a pretty one. I did not think new railway stations had been pretty -places at all.”</p> - -<p>“It sounds so to him, naturally,” interposed Woodruffe. “He hears of a -south aspect, and a slope to the north for shelter, and the town seen -far off; and that sounds all very pleasant. And then, there is the -thought of the journey, and the change, and the fun of getting the -ground all into nice order, and, best of all, the seeing his sister so -soon again. Youth is the time for hope and joy, you know, love.”</p> - -<p>And Woodruffe began to whistle, and stepped forward to take his turn at -jumping Moss, whom<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a> he carried in one flight from the top of the drawers -to the floor. Mrs. Woodruffe smiled, as she thought that youth was not -the only season, with some people, for hope and joy.</p> - -<p>Her husband, always disposed to look on the bright side, was -particularly happy this evening. The lease of his market-garden ground -was just expiring. He had prospered on it; and would have desired -nothing better than to live by it as long as he lived at all. He desired -this so much that he would not believe a word of what people had been -saying for two years past, that his ground would be wanted by his -landlord on the expiration of the lease, and that it would not be let -again. His wife had long foreseen this; but not till the last moment -would he do what she thought should have been done long before—offer to -buy the ground. At the ordinary price of land, he could accomplish the -purchase of it; but when he found his landlord unwilling to sell, he bid -higher and higher, till his wife was so alarmed at the rashness, that -she was glad when a prospect of entire removal<a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a> opened. Woodruffe was -sure that he could have paid off all he offered at the end of a few -years; but his partner thought it would have been a heavy burden on -their minds, and a sad waste of money; and she was therefore, in her -heart, obliged to the landlord for persisting in his refusal to sell.</p> - -<p>When that was settled, Woodruffe became suddenly sure that he could pick -up an acre or two of land somewhere not far off. But he was mistaken; -and, if he had not been mistaken, market-gardening was no longer the -profitable business it had been, when it enabled him to lay by something -every year. By the opening of a railway, the townspeople, a few miles -off, got themselves better supplied with vegetables from another -quarter. It was this which put it into the son-in-law’s head to propose -the removal of the family into Staffordshire, where he held a small -appointment on a railway. Land might be had at a low rent near the -little country station where his business lay; and the railway brought -within twenty minutes’ distance<a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a> a town where there must be a -considerable demand for garden produce. The place was in a raw state at -present; and there were so few houses, that, if there had been a choice -of time, the Flemings would rather have put off the coming of the family -till some of the cottages already planned had been built; but the -Woodruffes must remove in September, and all parties agreed that they -should not mind a little crowding for a few months. Fleming’s cottage -was to hold them all till some chance of more accommodation should -offer.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you what,” said Woodruffe, after standing for some time, half -whistling and thinking, with that expression on his face which his wife -had long learned to be afraid of, “I’ll write to-morrow—let’s see—I -may as well do it to-night;” and he looked round for paper and ink. -“I’ll write to Fleming, and get him to buy the land for me at once.”</p> - -<p>“Before you see it?” said his wife, looking up from her stocking -mending.<a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a></p> - -<p>“Yes. I know all about it, as much as if I were standing on it this -moment; and I am sick of this work—of being turned out just when I had -made the most of a place, and got attached to it. I’ll make a sure thing -of it this time, and not have such a pull at my heart-strings again. And -the land will be cheaper now than later; and we shall go to work upon it -with such heart, if it is our own! Eh?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, if we find, after seeing it, that we like it as well as we -expect. I would just wait till then.”</p> - -<p>“As well as we expect! Why, bless my soul! don’t we know all about it? -It is not any land-agent or interested person, that has described it to -us; but our own daughter and her husband; and do not they know what we -want? The quantity at my own choice; the aspect capital; plenty of water -(only too much, indeed); the soil anything but poor, and sand and marl -within reach to reduce the stiffness; and manure at command, all along -the railway, from half-a-dozen towns; and<a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a> osier-beds at hand (within my -own bounds if I like) giving all manner of convenience for fencing, and -binding, and covering! Why, what would you have?”</p> - -<p>“It sounds very pleasant, certainly.”</p> - -<p>“Then, how can you make objections? I can’t think where you look, to -find any objections?”</p> - -<p>“I see none now, and I only want to be sure that we shall find none when -we arrive.”</p> - -<p>“Well! I do call that unreasonable! To expect to find any place on earth -altogether unobjectionable! I wonder what objection could be so great as -being turned out of one after another, just as we have got them into -order. Here comes our girl. Well, Becky, I see how you like the news! -Now, would not you like it better still if we were going to a place of -our own, where we should not be under any landlord’s whims? We should -have to work, you know, one and all. But we would get the land properly -manured, and have a cottage of our own in time; would not we? Will you -undertake the pigs, Becky?”<a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a></p> - -<p>“Yes, father; and there are many things I can do in the garden too. I am -old and strong, now; and I can do much more than I have ever done here.”</p> - -<p>“Aye; if the land was our own,” said Woodruffe, with a glance at his -wife. She said no more, but was presently up stairs putting Moss to bed. -She knew, from long experience, how matters would go. After a restless -night, Woodruffe spoke no more of buying the land without seeing it; and -he twice said, in a meditative, rather than a communicative way, that he -believed it would take as much capital as he had to remove his family, -and get his new land into fit condition for spring crops.</p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>“You may look out now for the place. Look out for our new garden. We are -just there now,” said Woodruffe to the children as the whistle sounded, -and the train was approaching the station. It had been a glorious autumn -day from the<a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a> beginning; and for the last hour, while the beauty of the -light on fields and trees and water had been growing more striking, the -children, tired with the novelty of all that they had seen since -morning, had been dropping asleep. They roused up suddenly enough at the -news that they were reaching their new home; and thrust their heads to -the windows, eagerly asking on which side they were to look for their -garden. It was on the south, the left-hand side; but it might have been -anywhere, for what they could see of it. Below the embankment was -something like a sheet of gray water, spreading far away.</p> - -<p>“It is going to be a foggy night,” observed Woodruffe. The children -looked into the air for the fog, which had always, in their experience, -arrived by that way from the sea. The sky was all a clear blue, except -where a pale green and a faint blush of pink streaked the west. A large -planet beamed clear and bright; and the air was so transparent that the -very leaves on the trees might almost be counted. Yet could nothing be<a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a> -seen below for the gray mist which was rising, from moment to moment.</p> - -<p>Fleming met them as they alighted; but he could not stay till he had -seen to the other passengers. His wife was there. She had been a -merry-hearted girl; and now, still so young, as to look as girlish as -ever, she seemed even merrier than ever. She did not look strong, but -she had hardly thrown off what she called “a little touch of the ague;” -and she declared herself perfectly well when the wind was anywhere but -in the wrong quarter. Allan wondered how the wind could go wrong. He had -never heard of such a thing before. He had known the wind too high, when -it did mischief among his father’s fruit trees; but it had never -occurred to him that it was not free to come and go whence and whither -it would, without blame or objection.</p> - -<p>“Come—come home,” exclaimed Mrs. Fleming, “Never mind about your bags -and boxes! My husband will take care of them. Let me show you the way -home.”<a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a></p> - -<p>She let go the hands of the young brothers, and loaded them, and then -herself, with parcels, that they might not think they were going to lose -everything, as she said; and then tripped on before to show the way. The -way was down steps, from the highest of which two or three chimney-tops -might be seen piercing the mist which hid everything else. Down, down, -down went the party, by so many steps that little Moss began to totter -under his bundle.</p> - -<p>“How low this place lies!” observed the mother.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes;” replied Mrs. Fleming. “And yet I don’t know. I believe it is -rather that the railway runs high.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; that is it,” said Woodruffe. “What an embankment this is! If -this is to shelter my garden to the north—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, it is. I knew you would like it,” exclaimed Mrs. Fleming. “I -said you would be delighted. I only wish you could see your ground at -once; but it seems rather foggy, and I suppose we must wait till the -morning. Here we are at home.”<a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a></p> - -<p>The travellers were rather surprised to see how very small a house this -“home” was. Though called a cottage, it had not the look of one. It was -of a red brick, dingy, though evidently new; and, to all appearance, it -consisted of merely a room below, and one above. On walking round it, -however, a sloping roof in two directions gave a hint of further -accommodation.</p> - -<p>When the whole party had entered, and Mrs. Fleming had kissed them all -round, her glance at her mother asked, as plainly as any words, “Is not -this a pleasant room?”</p> - -<p>“A pretty room, indeed, my dear,” was the mother’s reply, “and as nicely -furnished as one could wish.”</p> - -<p>She did not say anything of the rust which her quick eye perceived on -the fire-irons and the door-key, or of the damp which stained the walls -just above the skirting-board. There was nothing amiss with the ceiling, -or the higher parts of the wall,—so it might be an accident.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear,” asked the mother, seeing how<a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a> sleepy Moss looked, “Where -are you going to put us all? If we crowd you out of all comfort, I shall -be sorry we came so soon.”</p> - -<p>As Mrs. Fleming led the way upstairs, she reminded her family of their -agreement not to mind a little crowding for a time. If her mother -thought there was not room for all the newly arrived in this chamber, -they could fit out a corner for Allan in the place where she and her -husband were to sleep.</p> - -<p>“All of us in this room?” exclaimed Becky.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Becky; why not? Here, you see, is a curtain between your bed and -the large one; and your bed is large enough to let little Moss sleep -with you. And here is a morsel of a bed for Allan in the other corner; -and I have another curtain ready to shut it in.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Becky, who was going on to object. Her mother stopped her by -a sign.</p> - -<p>“Or,” continued Mrs. Fleming, “if you like to let Allan and his bed and -curtain come down to our place, you will have plenty of room here;<a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a> much -more than my neighbors have, for the most part. How it will be when the -new cottages are built, I don’t know. We think them too small for new -houses; but, meantime, there are the Brookes sleeping seven in a room no -bigger than this, and the Vines six in one much smaller.”</p> - -<p>“How do they manage, now?” asked the mother. “In case of illness, say; -and how do they wash and dress?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! that is the worst part of it. I don’t think the boys wash -themselves—what we should call washing—for weeks together; or at least -only on Saturday nights. So they slip their clothes on in two minutes; -and then their mother and sisters can get up. But there is the pump -below for Allan, and he can wash as much as he pleases.”</p> - -<p>It was not till the next day that Mrs. Woodruffe knew—and then it was -Allan who told her—that the pump was actually in the very place where -the Flemings slept,—close by their bed. The Flemings were, in truth, -sleeping in an outhouse, where the floor was of brick, the swill-tub -stood in one<a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a> corner, the coals were heaped in another, and the light -came in from a square hole high up, which had never till now been -glazed. Plenty of air rushed in under the door, and yet some more -between the tiles,—there being no plaster beneath them. As soon as Mrs. -Woodruffe had been informed of this, and had stepped in, while her -daughter’s back was turned, to make her own observations, she went out -by herself for a walk,—so long a walk, that it was several hours before -she reappeared, heated and somewhat depressed. She had roamed the -country round, in search of lodgings; and finding none,—finding no -occupier who really could possibly spare a room on any terms,—she had -returned convinced that, serious as the expense would be, she and her -family ought to settle themselves in the nearest town,—her husband -going to his business daily by the third-class train, till a dwelling -could be provided for them on the spot.</p> - -<p>When she returned, the children were on the watch for her; and little -Moss had strong hopes<a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a> that she would not know him. He had a great cap -of rushes on his head, with a heavy bulrush for a feather; he was stuck -all over with water-flags and bulrushes, and carried a long osier wand, -wherewith to flog all those who did not admire him enough in his new -style of dress. The children were clamorous for their mother to come -down, and see the nice places where they got these new playthings; and -she would have gone, but that their father came up, and decreed it -otherwise. She was heated and tired, he said; and he would not have her -go till she was easy and comfortable enough to see things in the best -light.</p> - -<p>Her impression was that her husband was, more or less (and she did not -know why), disappointed; but he did not say so. He would not hear of -going off to the town, being sure that some place would turn up -soon,—some place where they might put their heads at night; and the -Flemings should be no losers by having their company by day. Their -boarding all together, if the sleeping could but be managed, would be a -help to the<a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a> young people,—a help which it was pleasant to him, as a -father, to be able to give them. He said nothing about the land that was -not in praise of it. Its quality was excellent; or would be when it had -good treatment. It would take some time and trouble to get it in -order,—so much that it would never do to live at a distance from it. -Besides, no trains that would suit him ran at the proper hours; so there -was an end of it. They must all rough it a little for a time, and expect -their reward afterwards.</p> - -<p>There was nothing that Woodruffe was so hard to please in as the time -when he should take his wife to see the ground. It was close at hand; -yet he hindered her going in the morning, and again after their early -dinner. He was anxious that she should not be prejudiced, or take a -dislike at first; and in the morning, the fog was so thick that -everything looked dank and dreary; and in the middle of the day, when a -warm autumn sun had dissolved the mists, there certainly was a most -disagreeable smell hanging about. It was not gone<a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a> at sunset; but by -that time Mrs. Woodruffe was impatient, and she appeared—Allan showing -her the way—just when her husband was scraping his feet upon his spade, -after a hard day of digging.</p> - -<p>“There, now!” said he, good-humoredly, striking his spade into the -ground, “Fleming said you would be down before we were ready for you; -and here you are!—Yes, ready for you. There are some planks coming, to -keep your feet out of the wet among all this clay.”</p> - -<p>“And yours, too, I hope,” said the wife. “I don’t mind such wet, after -rain, as you have been accustomed to; but to stand in a puddle like this -is a very different thing.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—so ’tis. But we’ll have the planks; and they will serve for -running the wheelbarrow, too. It is too much for Allan, or any boy, to -run the barrow in such a soil as this. We’ll have the planks first; and -then we’ll drain, and drain, and get rare spring crops.”</p> - -<p>“What have they given you this artificial pond for,” asked the wife, “if -you must drain so much?”<a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a></p> - -<p>“That is no pond. All the way along here, on both sides the railway, -there is the mischief of these pits. They dig out the clay for bricks, -and then leave the places—pits like this, some of them six feet deep. -The railways have done a deal of good for the poor man, and will do a -great deal more yet; but, at present, this one has left those pits.”</p> - -<p>“I hope Moss will not fall into one. They are very dangerous,” declared -the mother, looking about for the child.</p> - -<p>“He is safe enough there, among the osiers,” said the father. “He has -lost his heart outright to the osiers. However, I mean to drain and fill -up this pit, when I find a good out-fall; and then we will have all high -and dry, and safe for the children. I don’t care so much for the pit as -for the ditches there. Don’t you notice the bad smell?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, that struck me the first night.”</p> - -<p>“I have been inquiring to-day, and I find there is one acre in twenty -hereabouts occupied with foul ditches like that. And then the overflow<a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a> -from them and the pits, spoils many an acre more. There is a stretch of -water-flags and bulrushes, and nasty coarse grass and rushes, nothing -but a swamp, where the ground is naturally as good as this; and, look -here! Fleming was rather out, I tell him, when he wrote that I might -graze a pony on the pasture below, whenever I have a market-cart. I ask -him if he expects me to water it here.”</p> - -<p>So saying, Woodruffe led the way to one of the ditches which, instead of -fences, bounded his land; and, moving the mass of weed with a stick, -showed the water beneath, covered with a whitish bubbling scum, the -smell of which was insufferable.</p> - -<p>“There is plenty of manure there,” said Woodruffe; “that is the only -thing that can be said for it. We’ll make manure of it, and sweep out -the ditch, and deepen it, and narrow it, and not use up so many feet of -good ground for a ditch that does nothing but poison us. A fence is -better than a ditch any day. I’ll have a fence, and still save ten feet -of ground, the whole way down.”<a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a></p> - -<p>“There is a great deal to do here,” observed the wife.</p> - -<p>“And good reward when it is done,” Woodruffe replied. “If I can fall in -with a stout laborer, he and Allan and I can get our spring crops -prepared for; and I expect they will prove the goodness of the soil. -There is Fleming. Supper is ready, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>The children were called, but both were so wet and dirty that it took -twice as long as usual to make them fit to sit at table; and apologies -were made for keeping supper waiting. The grave half-hour before Moss’s -bed-time was occupied with the most solemn piece of instruction he had -ever had in his life. His father carried him up to the railway, and made -him understand the danger of playing there. He was never to play there. -His father would go up with him once a day, and let him see a train -pass; and this was the only time he was ever to mount the steps, except -by express leave. Moss was put to bed in silence, with his father’s -deep, grave voice, sounding in his ears.<a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a></p> - -<p>“He will not forget it,” declared his father. “He will give us no -trouble about the railway. The next thing is the pit. Allan, I expect -you to see that he does not fall into the pit. In time, we shall teach -him to take care of himself; but you must remember, meanwhile, that the -pit is six feet deep—deeper than I am high; and that the edge is the -same clay that you slipped on so often this morning.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, father,” said Allan, looking as grave as if power of life and -death were in his hands.</p> - -<h3>III.</h3> - -<p>One fine morning in the next spring, there was more stir and -cheerfulness about the Woodruffes’ dwelling than there had been of late. -The winter had been somewhat dreary; and now the spring was anxious; for -Woodruffe’s business was not, as yet, doing very well. His hope, when he -bought his<a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a> pony and cart, was to dispatch by railway to the town the -best of his produce, and sell the commoner part in the country -neighborhood, sending his cart round within the reach of a few miles. As -it turned out, he had nothing yet to send to the town, and his agent -there was vexed and displeased. No radishes, onions, early salads, or -rhubarb were ready, and it would be some time yet before they were.</p> - -<p>“I am sure I have done everything I could,” said Woodruffe to Fleming, -as they both lent a hand to put the pony into the cart. “Nobody can say -that I have not made drains enough, or that they are not deep enough; -yet the frost has taken such a hold that one would think we were living -in the north of Scotland, instead of in Staffordshire.”</p> - -<p>“It has not been a severe season either,” observed Fleming.</p> - -<p>“There’s the vexation,” replied Woodruffe. “If it had been a season -which set us at defiance, and made all sufferers alike, one must just -submit to a<a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a> loss, and go on again, like one’s neighbors. But, you see, -I am cut out, as my agent says, from the market. Everybody else has -spring vegetables there, as usual. It is no use telling him that I never -failed before. But I know what it is. It is yonder great ditch that does -the mischief.”</p> - -<p>“Why, we have nothing to do with that.”</p> - -<p>“That is the very reason. If it was mine or yours, do you think I should -not have taken it in hand long ago? All my draining goes for little -while that shallow ditch keeps my ground a continual sop. It is all -uneven along the bottom;—not the same depth for three feet together -anywhere, and not deep enough by two feet in any part. So there it is, -choked up and putrid; and, after an hour or two of rain, my garden gets -such a soaking that the next frost is destruction.”</p> - -<p>“I will speak about it again,” said Fleming. “We must have it set right -before next winter.”</p> - -<p>“I think we have seen enough of the uselessness of speaking,” replied -Woodruffe, gloomily. “If<a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a> we tease the gentry any more, they may punish -you for it. I would show them my mind by being off,—throwing up my -bargain at all costs, if I had not put so much into the ground that I -have nothing left to move away with.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be afraid for me,” said Fleming, cheerfully. “It was chiefly my -doing that you came here, and I must try my utmost to obtain fair -conditions for you. We must remember that the benefit of your outlay has -all to come.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I can’t say we have got much of it yet.”</p> - -<p>“By next winter,” continued Fleming, “your privet hedges and screens -will have grown up into some use against the frost; and your own -drainage——. Come, come, Allan, my boy! be off! It is getting late.”</p> - -<p>Allan seemed to be idling, re-arranging his bunches of small radishes, -and little bundles of rhubarb, in their clean baskets, and improving the -stick with which he was to drive; but he pleaded that he was waiting for -Moss, and for the parcel which his mother was getting ready for Becky.<a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a></p> - -<p>“Ah I my poor little girl!” said Woodruffe. “Give my love to her, and -tell her it will be a happy day when we can send for her to come home -again. Be sure you observe particularly, to tell us how she looks; and, -mind, if she fancies anything in the cart,—any radishes, or whatever -else, because it comes out of our garden, be sure you give it her. I -wish I was going myself with the cart, for the sake of seeing Becky; but -I must go to work. Here have I been all the while, waiting to see you -off. Ah! here they come! you may always have notice now of who is coming -by that child’s crying.”</p> - -<p>“O, father! not always!” exclaimed Allan.</p> - -<p>“Far too often, I’m sure. I never knew a child grow so fractious. I am -saying, my dear,” to his wife, who now appeared with her parcel, and -Moss in his best hat, “that boy is the most fractious child we ever had; -and he is getting too old for that to begin now. How can you spoil him -so?”</p> - -<p>“I am not aware,” said Mrs. Woodruffe, her eyes filling with tears, -“that I treat him differently<a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a> from the rest; but the child is not well. -His chilblains tease him terribly, and I wish there may be nothing -worse.”</p> - -<p>“Warm weather will soon cure the chilblains, and then I hope we shall -see an end of the fretting.—Now, leave off crying this minute, Moss, or -you don’t go. You don’t see me cry with my rheumatism, and that is worse -than chilblains, I can tell you.”</p> - -<p>Moss tried to stifle his sobs, while his mother put more straw into the -cart for him, and cautioned Allan to be careful of him, for it really -seemed as if the child was tender all over. Allan seemed to succeed best -as comforter. He gave Moss the stick to wield, and showed him how to -make believe to whip the pony, so that before they turned the corner, -Moss was wholly engrossed with what he called driving.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said Woodruffe, as he turned away to go to the garden, -“Allan is the one to manage, him. He can take as good care of him as any -woman without spoiling him!”<a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a></p> - -<p>Mrs. Woodruffe submitted to this in silence; but with the feeling that -she did not deserve it.</p> - -<p>Becky had had no notice of this visit from her brothers; but no such -visit could take her by surprise; for she was thinking of her family all -day long, every day, and fancying she should see them whichever way she -turned. It was not her natural destination to be a servant in a -farm-house; she had never expected it,—never been prepared for it. She -was as willing to work as any girl could be; and her help in the -gardening was beyond what most women are capable of; but it was a bitter -thing to her to go among strangers, and toil for them, when she knew -that she was wanted at home by father and mother, and brothers, and just -at present by her sister too; for Mrs. Fleming’s confinement was to -happen this spring. The reason why Becky was not at home while so much -wanted there was, that there really was no accommodation for her. The -plan of sleeping all huddled together as they were at first would not -do. The girl herself could not endure it; and her parents felt that<a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a> she -must be got out at any sacrifice. They had inquired diligently till they -found a place for her in a farm-house, where the good wife promised -protection, and care, and kindness; and fulfilled her promise to the -best of her power.</p> - -<p>“I hope they do well by you here, Becky,” asked Allan, when the surprise -caused by his driving up with a dash had subsided, and everybody had -retired, to leave Becky with her brothers for the few minutes they could -stay. “I hope they are kind to you here.”</p> - -<p>“O, yes,—very kind. And I am sure you ought to say so to father and -mother.”</p> - -<p>Becky had jumped into the cart, and had her arms round Moss, and her -head on his shoulder. Raising her head, and with her eyes filling as she -spoke, she inquired anxiously how the new cottages went on, and when -father and mother were to have a home of their own again. She owned, but -did not wish her father and mother to hear of it, that she did not like -being among such rough people as the farm servants. She did not like<a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a> -some of the behavior that she saw; and, still less, such talk as she was -obliged to overhear. When <i>would</i> a cottage be ready for them?</p> - -<p>“Why, the new cottages would soon be getting on now,” Allan said; but he -didn’t know, nobody fancied the look of them. He saw them just after the -foundations were laid; and the enclosed parts were like a clay-puddle. -He did not see how they were ever to be improved; for the curse of wet -seemed to be on them, as upon everything about the Station. Fleming’s -cottage was the best he had seen, after all, if only it was twice as -large. If anything could be done to make the new cottages what cottages -should be, it would be done: for everybody agreed that the railway -gentlemen desired to do the best for their people, and to set an example -in that respect; but it was beyond anybody’s power to make wet clay as -healthy as warm gravel. Unless they could go to work first to dry the -soil, it seemed a hopeless sort of affair.</p> - -<p>“But, I say, Becky,” pursued Allan, “you<a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a> know about my garden—that -father gave me a garden of my own.”</p> - -<p>Becky’s head was turned quite away; and she did not look round, when she -replied,</p> - -<p>“Yes; I remember. How does your garden get on?”</p> - -<p>There was something in her voice which made her brother lean over and -look into her face; and, as he expected, tears were running down her -cheeks.</p> - -<p>“There now!” said he, whipping the back of the cart with his stick; -“something must be done, if you can’t get on here.”</p> - -<p>“O! I can get on. Be sure you don’t tell mother that I can’t get on, or -anything about it.”</p> - -<p>“You look healthy, to be sure.”</p> - -<p>“To be sure I am. Don’t say any more about it. Tell me about your -garden.”</p> - -<p>“Well: I am trying what I can make of it, after I have done working with -father. But it takes a long time to bring it round.”</p> - -<p>“What! is the wet there, too?”<a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a></p> - -<p>“Lord, yes! The wet was beyond everything at first. I could not leave -the spade in the ground ten minutes, if father called me, but the water -was standing in the hole when I went back again. It is not so bad now, -since I made a drain to join upon father’s principal one; and father -gave me some sand, and plenty of manure; but it seems to us that manure -does little good. It won’t sink in when the ground is so wet.”</p> - -<p>“Well, there will be the summer next, and that will dry up your garden.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. People say the smells are dreadful in hot weather, though. But we -seem to get used to that. I thought it sickly work, just after we came, -going down to get osiers, and digging near the big ditch that is our -plague now: but somehow, it does not strike me now as it did then, -though Fleming says it is getting worse every warm day. But come—I must -be off. What will you help yourself to? And don’t forget your parcel.”</p> - -<p>Becky’s great anxiety was to know when her brothers would come again. O! -very often, she<a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a> was assured—oftener and oftener as the vegetables came -forward; whenever there were either too many or too few to send to the -town by rail.</p> - -<p>After Becky had jumped down, the farmer and one of the men were seen to -be contemplating the pony.</p> - -<p>“What have you been giving your pony lately?” asked the farmer of Allan. -“I ask as a friend, having some experience of this part of the country. -Have you been letting him graze?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, in the bit of meadow that we have leave for. There is a good deal -of grass there, now. He has been grazing there these three weeks.”</p> - -<p>“On the meadow where the osier beds are? Ay! I knew it by the look of -him. Tell your father that if he does not take care, his pony will have -the staggers in no time. An acquaintance of mine grazed some cattle -there once; and in a week or two, they were all feverish, so that the -butcher refused them on any terms; and I have seen more than one horse -in the staggers, after grazing in marshes of that sort.”<a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a></p> - -<p>“There is fine thick grass there, and plenty of it,” said Allan, who did -not like that anybody but themselves should criticise their new place -and plans.</p> - -<p>“Ay, ay; I know,” replied the farmer. “But if you try to make hay of -that grass, you’ll be surprised to find how long it takes to make, and -how like wool it comes out at last. It is a coarse grass, with no -strength in it; and it must be a stronger beast than this that will bear -feeding on it. Just do you tell your father what I say, that’s all; and -then he can do as he pleases; but I would take a different way with that -pony, without loss of time, if it was mine.”</p> - -<p>Allan did not much like taking this sort of message to his father, who -was not altogether so easy to please as he used to be. If anything vexed -him ever so little, he always began to complain of his rheumatism—and -he now complained of his rheumatism many times in a day. It was managed, -however, by tacking a little piece of amusement and pride upon it. Moss -was taught, all the way<a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a> as they went home, after selling their -vegetables, how much everything sold for; and he was to deliver the -money to his father, and go through his lesson as gravely as any big -man. It succeeded very well. Everybody laughed. Woodruffe called the -child his little man-of-business; gave him a penny out of the money he -brought; and when he found that the child did not like jumping as he -used to do, carried him up to the railway to listen for the whistle, and -see the afternoon train come up, and stop a minute, and go on again.</p> - -<h3>IV.</h3> - -<p>Fleming did what he could to find fair play for his father-in-law. He -spoke to one and another—to the officers of the railway, and to the -owners of neighboring plots of ground, about the bad drainage, which was -injuring everybody; but he could not learn that anything was likely to -be done.<a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a> The ditch—the great evil of all—had always been there, he -was told, and people never used to complain of it. When Fleming pointed -out that it was at first a comparatively deep ditch, and that it grew -shallower every year from the accumulations formed by its uneven bottom, -there were some who admitted that it might be as well to clean it out; -yet nobody set about it. And it was truly a more difficult affair now -than it would have been at an earlier time. If the ditch was shallower, -it was much wider. It had once been twelve feet wide, and it was now -eighteen. When any drain had been flowing into it, or after a rainy day, -the contents spread through and over the soil on each side, and softened -it, and then the next time any horse or cow came to drink, the whole -bank was made a perfect bog; for the poor animals, however thirsty, -tried twenty places to find water that they could drink before going -away in despair. Such was the bar in the way of poor Woodruffe’s success -with his ground. Before the end of summer his patience was nearly worn -out. During a showery<a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a> and gleamy May and a pleasant June, he had gone -on as prosperously as he could expect under the circumstances; and he -confidently anticipated that a seasonable July and August would set him -up. But he had had no previous experience of the peculiarities of -ill-drained land; and the hot July and August, from which he hoped so -much, did him terrible mischief. The drought which would have merely -dried and pulverized a well-drained soil, leaving it free to profit much -by small waterings, baked the overcharged soil of Woodruffe’s garden -into hard hot masses of clay, amidst which his produce died off faster -and faster every day, even though he and all his family wore out their -strength with constant watering. He did hope, he said, that he should -have been spared drought at least; but it seemed as if he was to have -every plague in turn; and the drought seemed, at the time, to be the -worst of all.</p> - -<p>One day Fleming saw a welcome face in one of the carriages; Mr. Nelson, -a director of the railway, who was looking along the line to see how<a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a> -matters went. Though Mr. Nelson was not exactly the one, of all the -directors, whom Fleming would have chosen to appeal to, he saw that the -opportunity must not be lost; and he entreated him to alight, and stay -for the next train.</p> - -<p>“Eh! what!” said Mr. Nelson; “what can you want with us here? A station -like this! Why, one has to put on spectacles to see it!”</p> - -<p>“If you would come down, sir, I should be glad to show you....”</p> - -<p>“Well; I suppose I must.”</p> - -<p>As they were standing on the little platform, and the train was growing -smaller in the distance, Fleming proceeded to business. He told of the -serious complaints that were made for a distance of a few miles on -either hand, of the clay pits left by the railway brickmakers, to fill -with stagnant waters.</p> - -<p>“Pho! pho! Is that what you want to say?” replied Mr. Nelson. “You need -not have stopped me just to tell me that. We hear of those pits all -along the line. We are sick of hearing of them.”<a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a></p> - -<p>“That does not mend the matter in this place,” observed Fleming. “I -speak freely, sir, but I think it my duty to say that something must be -done. I heard a few days ago, more than the people hereabouts -know,—much more than I shall tell them—of the fever that has settled -on particular points of our line; and I now assure you, sir, that if the -fever once gets a hold in this place, I believe it may carry us all off -before anything can be done. Sir, there is not one of us within half a -mile of the station that has a wholesome dwelling.”</p> - -<p>“Pho! pho! you are a croaker,” declared Mr. Nelson. “Never saw such a -dismal fellow! Why, you will die of fright, if ever you die of -anything.”</p> - -<p>“Then, sir, will you have the goodness to walk round with me, and see -for yourself what you think of things. It is not only for myself and my -family that I speak. In an evil day I induced my wife’s family to settle -here, and....”<a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a></p> - -<p>“Ay! that is a nice garden,” observed Mr. Nelson, as Fleming pointed to -Woodruffe’s land. “You are a croaker, Fleming. I declare I think the -place is much improved since I saw it last. People would not come and -settle here if the place was like what you say.”</p> - -<p>Instead of arguing the matter, Fleming led the way down the long flight -of steps. He was aware that leading the gentleman among bad smells and -over shoes in a foul bog would have more effect than any argument was -ever known to have on his contradictious spirit.</p> - -<p>“You should have seen worse things than these, and then you would not be -so discontented,” observed Mr. Nelson, striking his stick upon the -hard-baked soil, all intersected with cracks. “I have seen such a soil -as this in Spain, some days after a battle, when there were scores of -fingers and toes sticking up out of the cracks. What would you say to -that?—eh?”</p> - -<p>“We may have a chance of seeing that here,” replied Fleming; “if the -plague comes, and comes too fast for the coffin-makers,—a thing which -has<a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a> happened more than once in England, I believe.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Nelson stopped to laugh; but he certainly attended more to business -as he went on; and Fleming, who knew something of his ways, had hopes -that if he could only keep his own temper, this visit of the director -might not be without good results.</p> - -<p>In passing through Woodruffe’s garden, very nice management was -necessary. Woodruffe was at work there, charged with ire against railway -directors and landed proprietors, whom, amidst the pangs of his -rheumatism, he regarded as the poisoners of his land and the bane of his -fortunes; while, on the other hand, Mr. Nelson, who had certainly never -been a market gardener, criticized and ridiculed everything that met his -eye. What was the use of such a tool-house as that?—big enough for a -house for them all. What was the use of such low fences?—of such high -screens?—of making the walks so wide?—sheer waste?—of making the beds -so long one way, and so narrow another?—of<a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a> planting or sowing this and -that?—things that nobody wanted. Woodruffe had pushed back his hat in -preparation for a defiant reply, when Fleming caught his eye, and, by a -good-tempered smile, conveyed to him that they had an oddity to deal -with. Allan, who had begun by listening reverently, was now looking from -one to another in great perplexity.</p> - -<p>“What is that boy here for, staring like a dunce? Why don’t you send him -to school? You neglect a parent’s duty if you don’t send him to school.”</p> - -<p>Woodruffe answered by a smile of contempt, walked away, and went to work -at a distance.</p> - -<p>“That boy is very well taught,” Fleming said, quietly. “He is a great -reader, and will soon be fit to keep his father’s accounts.”</p> - -<p>“What does he stare in that manner for, then? I took him for a dunce.”</p> - -<p>“He is not accustomed to hear his father called in question, either as a -gardener or a parent.”</p> - -<p>“Pho! pho! I might as well have waited,<a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a> though, till he was out of -hearing. Well, is this all you have to show me? I think you make a great -fuss about nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Will you walk this way?” said Fleming, turning down towards the osier -beds, without any compassion for the gentleman’s boots or olfactory -nerves. For a long while Mr. Nelson affected to admire the reed, and -water-flags, and marsh-blossoms, declared the decayed vegetation to be -peat soil, very fine peat, which the ladies would be glad of for their -heaths in the flower-garden,—and thought there must be good fowling -here in winter. Fleming quietly turned over the so-called peat with a -stick, letting it be seen that it was a mere dung-heap of decayed -rushes, and wished Mr. Nelson would come in the fowling season, and see -what the place was like.</p> - -<p>“The children are merry enough, however,” observed the gentleman. “They -can laugh here, much as in other places. I advise you to take a lesson -from them, Fleming. Now, don’t you teach them to croak.”<a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a></p> - -<p>The laughter sounded from the direction of the old brick-ground; and -thither they now turned. Two little boys were on the brink of a pit, so -intent on watching a rat in the water and on pelting it with stones, -that they did not see that anybody was coming to disturb them. In answer -to Mr. Nelson’s question, whether they were vagrants, and why vagrants -were permitted there, Fleming answered that the younger one—the -pale-faced one—was his little brother-in-law; the other—</p> - -<p>“Ay, now, you will be telling me next that the pale face is the fault of -this place.”</p> - -<p>“It certainly is,” said Fleming. “That child was chubby enough when he -came.”</p> - -<p>“Pho, pho! a puny little wretch as ever I saw—puny from its birth, I -have no doubt of it. And who is the other—a gypsy?”</p> - -<p>“He looks like it,” replied Fleming. On being questioned, Moss told that -the boy lived near, and he had often played with him lately. Yes, he -lived near, just beyond those trees; not in a house, only a sort of -house the people had made for themselves.<a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a> Mr. Nelson liked to lecture -vagrants, even more than other people; so Moss was required to show the -way, and his dark-skinned playfellow was not allowed to skulk behind.</p> - -<p>Moss led his party on, over the tufty hay-colored grass, skipping from -bunch to bunch of rushes, round the osier-beds, and at last straight -through a clump of elders, behind whose screen now appeared the house, -as Moss had called it, which the gypsies had made for themselves. It was -the tilt of a wagon, serving as a tent. Nobody was visible but a woman, -crouching under the shadow of the tent, to screen from the sun that -which was lying across her lap.</p> - -<p>“What is that that she’s nursing? Lord bless me! Can that be a child?” -exclaimed Mr. Nelson.</p> - -<p>“A child in the fever,” replied Fleming.</p> - -<p>“Lord bless me!—to see legs and arms hang down like that!” exclaimed -the gentleman; and he forthwith gave the woman a lecture on her method -of nursing—scolded her for letting the child get a fever—for not -putting it to bed—for<a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a> not getting a doctor to it—for being a gypsy, -and living under an alder clump. He then proceeded to inquire whether -she had anybody else in the tent, where her husband was, whether he -lived by thieving, how they would all like being transported, whether -she did not think her children would all be hanged, and so on. At first, -the woman tried a facetious and wheedling tone, then a whimpering one, -and, finally, a scolding one. The last answered well. Mr. Nelson found -that a man, to say nothing of a gentleman, has no chance with a woman -with a sore heart in her breast, and a sick child in her lap, when once -he has driven her to her weapon of the tongue. He said afterwards, that -he had once gone to Billingsgate, on purpose to set two fisherwomen -quarrelling, that he might see what it was like. The scene had fulfilled -all his expectations; but he now declared that it could not compare with -this exhibition behind the alders. He stood a long while, first trying -to overpower the woman’s voice; and, when that seemed hopeless, poking -about among the rushes with his<a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a> stick, and finally, staring in the -woman’s face, in a mood between consternation and amusement;—thus he -stood, waiting till the torrent should intermit; but there was no sign -of intermission; and when the sick child began to move and rouse itself, -and look at the strangers, as if braced by the vigor of its mother’s -tongue, the prospect of an end seemed farther off than ever. Mr. Nelson -shrugged his shoulders, signed to his companions, and walked away -through the alders. The woman was not silent because they were out of -sight. Her voice waxed shriller as it followed them, and died away only -in the distance. Moss was grasping Fleming’s hand with all his might -when Mr. Nelson spoke to him, and shook his stick at him, asking him how -he came to play with such people, and saying that if ever he heard him -learning to scold like that woman, he would beat him with that stick; so -Moss vowed he never would.</p> - -<p>When the train was in sight by which Mr. Nelson was to depart, he turned -to Fleming, with the most careless air imaginable, saying,<a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a> “Have you -any medicine in your house?—any bark?”</p> - -<p>“Not any. But I will send for some.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, do. Or,—no—I will send you some. See if you can’t get these -people housed somewhere, so that they may not sleep in the swamp. I -don’t mean in any of your houses, but in a barn, or some such place. If -the physic comes before the doctor, get somebody to dose the child. And -don’t fancy you are all going to die of the fever. That is the way to -make yourselves ill; and it is all nonsense, too, I dare say.”</p> - -<p>“Do you like that gentleman?” asked Moss, sapiently, when the train was -whirling Mr. Nelson out of sight. “Because I don’t—not at all.”</p> - -<p>“I believe he is kinder than he means, Moss. He need not be so rough; -but I know he does kind things sometimes.”</p> - -<p>“But, do you like him?”</p> - -<p>“No, I can’t say I do.”</p> - -<p>Before many hours were over, Fleming was sorry that he had admitted -this, even to himself;<a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a> and for many days after he was occasionally -heard telling Moss what a good gentleman Mr. Nelson was, for all his -roughness of manners. With the utmost speed, before it would have been -thought possible, arrived a surgeon from the next town, with medicines, -and the news that he was to come every day while there was any fear of -fever. The gypsies were to have been cared for; but they were gone. The -marks of their fire and a few stray feathers which showed that a fowl -had been plucked, alone told where they had encamped. A neighbor, who -loved her poultry yard, was heard to say that the sick child would not -die for want of chicken broth, she would be bound; and the nearest -farmer asked if they had left any potato-peels and turnip tops for his -pig. He thought that was the least they could do after making their -famous gypsy stew (a capital dish, it was said) from his vegetables. -They were gone; and if they had not left fever behind, they might be -forgiven, for the sake of the benefit of taking themselves off. After -the search for the gypsies was over, there<a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a> was still an unusual stir -about the place. One and another stranger appeared and examined the low -grounds, and sent for one and another of the neighboring proprietors, -whether farmer, or builder, or gardener, or laborer; for every one who -owned or rented a yard of land on the borders of the great ditch, or -anywhere near the clay-pits or osier-beds.</p> - -<p>It was the opinion of the few residents near the Station that something -would be done to improve the place before another year; and everybody -said that it must be Mr. Nelson’s doings, and that it was a thousand -pities that he did not come earlier, before the fever had crept thus far -along the line.</p> - -<h3>V.</h3> - -<p>For some months past, Becky had believed without a doubt, that the day -of her return home would be the very happiest day of her life. She was -too young to know yet that it is not for us to settle<a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a> which of our days -shall be happy ones, nor what events shall yield us joy. The promise had -not been kept that she should return when her father and mother removed -into the new cottage. She had been told that there really was not, even -now, decent room for them all; and that they must at least wait till the -hot weather was completely over before they crowded the chamber, as they -had hitherto done. And then, when autumn came on, and the creeping mists -from the low grounds hung round the place from sunset till after -breakfast the next day, the mother delayed sending for her daughter, -unwilling that she should lose the look of health which she alone now, -of all the family, exhibited. Fleming and his wife and babe prospered -better than the others. The young man’s business lay on the high ground, -at the top of the embankment. He was there all day while Mr. Woodruffe -and Allan were below, among the ditches and the late and early fogs. -Mrs. Fleming was young and strong, full of spirit and happiness; and so -far fortified against the attacks of disease,<a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a> as a merry heart -strengthens nerve and bone and muscle, and invigorates all the vital -powers. In regard to her family, her father’s hopeful spirit seemed to -have passed into her. While he was becoming permanently discouraged, she -was always assured that everything would come right next year. The time -had arrived for her power of hope to be tested to the utmost. One day -this autumn, she admitted that Becky must be sent for. She did not -forget, however, to charge Allan to be cheerful, and make the best of -things, and not frighten Becky by the way.</p> - -<p>It was now the end of October. Some of the days were balmy -elsewhere—the afternoons ruddy; the leaves crisp beneath the tread; the -squirrel busy after the nuts in the wood; the pheasants splendid among -the dry ferns in the brake, the sportsman warm and thirsty in his -exploring among the stubble. In the evenings the dwellers in country -houses called one another out upon the grass, to see how bright the -stars were, and how softly the moonlight slept upon the woods. While<a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a> it -was thus in one place, in another, and not far off, all was dank, dim, -dreary and unwholesome; with but little sun, and no moon or stars; all -chill, and no glow; no stray perfumes, the last of the year, but sickly -scents coming on the steam from below. Thus it was about Fleming’s -house, this latter end of October, when he saw but little of his wife, -because she was nursing her mother in the fever, and when he tried to -amuse himself with his young baby at meal-times (awkward nurse as he -was) to relieve his wife of the charge for the little time he could be -at home. When the baby cried, and when he saw his Abby look wearied, he -did wish, now and then, that Becky was at home; but he was patient, and -helpful, and as cheerful as he could be, till the day which settled the -matter. On that morning he felt strangely weak, barely able to mount the -steps to the station. During the morning, several people told him he -looked ill; and one person did more. The porter sent a message to the -next large Station that somebody must be sent immediately to fill -Fleming’s place, in case of his<a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a> being too ill to work. Somebody came; -and before that, Fleming was in bed—certainly down in the fever. His -wife was now wanted at home; and Becky must come to her mother.</p> - -<p>Though Becky asked questions all the way home, and Allan answered them -as truthfully as he knew how, she was not prepared for what she -found—her father aged and bent, always in pain, more or less, and far -less furnished with plans and hopes than she had ever known him; Moss, -fretful and sickly, and her mother unable to turn herself in her bed. -Nobody mentioned death. The surgeon who came daily, and told Becky -exactly what to do, said nothing of anybody dying of the fever, while -Woodruffe was continually talking of things that were to be done when -his wife got well again. It was sad, and sometimes alarming, to hear the -strange things that Mrs. Woodruffe said in the evenings when she was -delirious; but if Abby stepped in at such times, she did not think much -of it, did not look upon it as any sign of danger; and was only thankful -that her husband had no<a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a> delirium. His head was always clear, she said, -though he was very weak. Becky never doubted, after this, that her -mother was the most severely ill of the two; and she was thunderstruck -when she heard one morning the surgeon’s answers to her father’s -questions about Fleming. He certainly considered it a bad case; he would -not say that he could not get through; but he must say it was contrary -to his expectation. When Becky saw her father’s face as he turned away -and went out, she believed his heart was broken.</p> - -<p>“But I thought,” said she to the surgeon, “I thought my mother was most -ill of the two.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know that,” was the reply, “but she is very ill. We are doing -the best we can. You are, I am sure,” he said, kindly; “and we must hope -on, and do our best till a change comes. The wisest of us do not know -what changes may come. But I could not keep your father in ignorance of -what may happen in the other house.”</p> - -<p>No appearances alarmed Abby. Because there was no delirium, she -apprehended no danger.<a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a> Even when the fatal twitchings came, the arm -twitching as it lay upon the coverlid, she did not know it was a symptom -of anything. As she nursed her husband perfectly well, and could not -have been made more prudent and watchful by any warning, she had no -warning. Her cheerfulness was encouraged, for her infant’s sake, as well -as for her husband’s and her own. Some thought that her husband knew his -own case. A word or two,—now a gesture, and now a look,—persuaded the -surgeon and Woodruffe that he was aware that he was going. His small -affairs were always kept settled; he had probably no directions to give; -and his tenderness for his wife showed itself in his enjoying her -cheerfulness to the last. When, as soon as it was light, one December -morning, Moss was sent to ask if Abby could possibly come for a few -minutes, because mother was worse, he found his sister alone, looking at -the floor, her hands on her lap, though her baby was fidgetting in its -cradle. Fleming’s face was covered, and he lay so still that Moss, who -had never seen death, felt sure<a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a> that all was over. The boy hardly knew -what to do; and his sister seemed not to hear what he said. The thought -of his mother,—that Abby’s going might help or save her,—moved him to -act. He kissed Abby, and said she must please go to mother; and he took -the baby out of the cradle, and wrapped it up, and put it into its -mother’s arms; and fetched Abby’s bonnet, and took her cloak down from -its peg, and opened the door for her, saying, that he would stay and -take care of everything. His sister went without a word; and, as soon as -he had closed the door behind her, Moss sank down on his knees before -the chair where she had been sitting, and hid his face there till some -one came for him,—to see his mother once more before she died.</p> - -<p>As the two coffins were carried out, to be conveyed to the churchyard -together, Mr. Nelson, who had often been backward and forward during the -last six weeks, observed to the surgeon that the death of such a man as -Fleming was a dreadful loss.</p> - -<p>“It is that sort of men that the fever cuts off,”<a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a> said the surgeon. -“The strong man, in the prime of life, at his best period, one may say, -for himself and for society, is taken away,—leaving wife and child -helpless and forlorn. That is the ravage that the fever makes.”</p> - -<p>“Well; would not people tell you that it is our duty to submit?” asked -Mr. Nelson, who could not help showing some emotion by voice and -countenance.</p> - -<p>“Submit!” said the surgeon. “That depends on what the people mean who -use the word. If you or I were ill of the fever, we must resign -ourselves, as cheerfully as we could. But if you ask me whether we -should submit to see more of our neighbors cut off by fever as these -have been, I can only ask in return, whose doing it is that they are -living in a swamp, and whether that is to go on? Who dug the clay pits? -Who let that ditch run abroad, and make a filthy bog? Are you going to -charge that upon Providence and talk of submitting to the consequences? -If so, that is not my religion.”<a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a></p> - -<p>“No, no. There is no religion in that,” replied Mr. Nelson, for once -agreeing in what was said to him. “It must be looked to.”</p> - -<p>“It must,” said the surgeon, as decidedly as if he had been a railway -director, or king and parliament in one.</p> - -<h3>VI.</h3> - -<p>“I wonder whether there is a more forlorn family in England than we are -now,” said Woodruffe, as he sat among his children, a few hours after -the funeral.</p> - -<p>His children were glad to hear him speak, however gloomy might be his -tone. His silence had been so terrible that nothing that he could say -could so weigh upon their hearts. His words, however, brought out his -widowed daughter’s tears again. She was sewing—her infant lying in her -lap. As her tears fell upon its face, it moved and cried. Becky came and -took it up, and spoke<a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a> cheerfully to it. The cheerfulness seemed to be -the worst of all. Poor Abby laid her forehead to the back of her chair, -and sobbed as if her heart would break.</p> - -<p>“Ay, Abby,” said her father, “your heart is breaking, and mine too. You -and I can go to our rest, like those that have gone before us; but I -have to think of what will become of these young things.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, father,” said Becky gently, but with a tone of remonstrance, “you -must endeavor to live, and not make up your mind to dying, because life -has grown heavy and sad.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, I am ill—very ill. It is not merely that life is grown -intolerable to me. I am sure I could not live long in such misery of -mind; but I am breaking up fast.”</p> - -<p>The young people looked at each other in dismay. There was something -worse than the grief conveyed by their father’s words in the hopeless -daring—the despair—of his tone when he ventured to say that life was -unendurable.<a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a></p> - -<p>Becky had the child on one arm; with the other hand she took down her -father’s plaid from its peg, and put it round his rheumatic shoulders, -whispering in his ear a few words about desiring that God’s will should -be done.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” he replied, “it was I who taught you that lesson when you -were a child on my knee, and it would be strange if I forgot it when I -want so much any comfort that I can get. But I don’t believe (and if you -ask the clergyman, he will tell you that he does not believe) that it is -God’s will that we, or any other people, should be thrust into a swamp -like this, scarcely fit for the rats and the frogs to live in. It is -man’s doing, not God’s, that the fever makes such havoc as it has made -with us. The fever does not lay waste healthy places.”</p> - -<p>“Then why are we here?” Allan ventured to say. “Father, let us go.”</p> - -<p>“Go! I wonder how or where! I can’t go, or let any of you go. I have not -a pound in the world to spend in moving, or in finding new employment.<a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a> -And if I had, who would employ me? Who would not laugh at a crippled old -man asking for work and wages?”</p> - -<p>“Then, father, we must see what we can do here, and you must not forbid -us to say ‘God’s will be done!’ If we cannot go away, it must be His -will that we should stay and have as much hope and courage as we can.”</p> - -<p>Woodruffe threw himself back in his chair. It was too much to expect -that he would immediately rally; but he let the young people confer, and -plan, and cheer each other.</p> - -<p>The first thing to be done, they agreed, was to move hither, whenever -the dismal rain would permit it, all Abby’s furniture that could not be -disposed of to her husband’s successors. It would fit up the lower room. -And Allan and Becky settled how the things could stand so as to make it -at once a bed-room and sitting-room. If, as Abby had said, she meant to -try to get some scholars, and keep a little school, room must be left to -seat the children.<a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a></p> - -<p>“Keep a school?” exclaimed Woodruffe, looking round at Abby.</p> - -<p>“Yes, father,” said Abby, raising her head. “That seems to be a thing -that I can do; and it will be good for me to have something to do. Becky -is the stoutest of us all, and....”</p> - -<p>“I wonder how long that will last,” groaned the father.</p> - -<p>“I am quite stout now,” said Becky; “and I am the one to help Allan with -the garden. Allan and I will work under your direction, father, while -your rheumatism lasts; and....”</p> - -<p>“And what am I to do?” asked Moss, pushing himself in.</p> - -<p>“You shall fetch and carry the tools,” said Becky; “that is, when the -weather is fine, and when your chilblains are not very bad. And you -shall be bird-boy when the sowing season comes on.”</p> - -<p>“And we are going to put up a pent-house for you, in one corner, you -know, Moss,” said his brother. “And we will make it so that there shall<a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a> -be room for a fire in it, where father and you may warm yourselves, and -always have dry shoes ready.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder what our shoe leather will have cost us by the time the spring -comes,” observed Woodruffe. “There is not a place where we ever have to -take the cart or the barrow that is not all mire and ruts; not a path in -the whole garden that I call a decent one. Our shoes are all pulled to -pieces; while the frost, or the fog, or something or other, prevents our -getting any real work done. The waste is dreadful. Nothing should have -made me take a garden where none but summer crops are to be had, if I -could have foreseen such a thing. I never saw such a thing -before,—never—as market-gardening without winter and spring crops. -Never heard of such a thing!”</p> - -<p>Becky glanced towards Allan, to see if he had nothing to propose. If -they could neither mend the place nor leave it, it did seem a hard case. -Allan was looking into the fire, musing. When Moss announced that the -rain was over, Allan<a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a> started, and said he must be fetching some of -Abby’s things down, if it was fair. Becky really meant to help him; but -she also wanted opportunity for consultation, as to whether it could -really be God’s will that they should neither be able to mend their -condition nor to escape from it. As they mounted the long flight of -steps, they saw Mr. Nelson issue from the Station, looking about him to -ascertain if the rain was over, and take his stand on the embankment, -followed by a gentleman who had a roll of paper in his hand. As they -stood, the one was seen to point with his stick, and the other with his -roll of paper, this way and that. Allan set off in that direction, -saying to his sister, as he went,</p> - -<p>“Don’t you come. That gentleman is so rude, he will make you cry. Yes, I -must go, and I won’t get angry; I won’t indeed. He may find as much -fault as he pleases; I must show him how the water is standing in our -furrows.”</p> - -<p>“Hallo! what do you want here?” was Mr. Nelson’s greeting, when, after a -minute or two, he saw<a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a> Allan looking and listening. “What business have -you here, hearkening to what we are saying?”</p> - -<p>“I wanted to know whether anything is going to be done below there. I -thought, if you wished it, I could tell you something about it.”</p> - -<p>“You! what, a dainty little fellow like you?—a fellow that wears his -Sunday clothes on a Tuesday, and a rainy Tuesday too! You must get -working clothes and work.”</p> - -<p>“I shall work to-morrow, Sir. My mother and my brother-in-law were -buried to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Lord bless me! You should have told me that. How should I know that -unless you told me?” He proceeded in a much gentler tone, however, -merely remonstrating with Allan for letting the wet stand in the -furrows, in such a way as would spoil any garden. Allan had a good ally, -all the while, in the stranger, who seemed to understand everything -before it was explained. The gentleman was, in fact, an agricultural -surveyor—one who could tell, when looking abroad from a<a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a> height, what -was swamp and what meadow; where there was a clean drain, and where an -uneven ditch; where the soil was likely to be watered, and where flooded -by the winter rains; where genially warmed, and where fatally baked by -the summer’s sun. He had seen, before Allan pointed it out, how the -great ditch cut across between the cultivated grounds and the little -river into which those grounds should be drained; but he could not know, -till told by Allan, who were the proprietors and occupiers of the -parcels of land lying on either side the ditch. Mr. Nelson knew little -or nothing under this head, though he contradicted the lad every minute; -was sure such an one did not live here, nor another there; told him he -was confusing Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown; did not believe a word of Mr. -Taylor having bought yonder meadow, or Mrs. Scott now renting that -field. All the while, the surveyor went on setting down the names as -Allan told them; and then observed that they were not so many but that -they might combine, if they would, to drain their properties, if they -could<a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a> be relieved of the obstruction of the ditch—if the surveyor of -highways would see that the ditch were taken in hand. Mr. Nelson -pronounced that there should be no difficulty about the ditch, if the -rest could be managed; and then, after a few whispered words between the -gentlemen, Allan was asked first, whether he was sure that he knew where -every person lived whose name was down in the surveyor’s book; and next, -whether he would act as guide to-morrow. For a moment he thought he -should be wanted to move Abby’s things; but, remembering the vast -importance of the plan which seemed now to be fairly growing under his -eye, he replied that he would go; he should be happy to make it his -day’s work to help, ever so little, towards what he wished above -everything in the world.</p> - -<p>“What makes you in such a hurry to suppose we want to get a day’s work -out of you for nothing?” asked Mr. Nelson. He thrust half-a-crown into -the lad’s waistcoat pocket, saying that he must give it back again, if -he led the gentleman wrong.<a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a> The gentleman had no time to go running -about the country on a fool’s errand; Allan must mind that. As Allan -touched his hat, and ran down the steps, Mr. Nelson observed that boys -with good hearts did not fly about in that way, as if they were merry, -on the day of their mother’s funeral.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he is rather thinking of saving his father,” observed the -surveyor.</p> - -<p>“Well; save as many of them as you can. They seem all going to pot as it -is.”</p> - -<p>When Allan burst in, carrying nothing of Abby’s, but having a little -color in his cheeks for once, his father sat up in his chair, the baby -suddenly stopped crying, and Moss asked where he had been. At first, his -father disappointed him by being listless—first refusing to believe -anything good, and then saying that any good that could happen now was -too late; and Abby could not help crying all the more because this was -not thought about a year sooner. It was her poor husband that had made -the stir; and now they<a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a> were going to take his advice the very day that -he was laid in his grave. They all tried to comfort her, and said how -natural it was that she should feel it so; yet, amidst all their -sympathy, they could not help being cheered that something was to be -done at last.</p> - -<p>By degrees, and not slow degrees, Woodruffe became animated. It was -surprising how many things he desired Allan to be sure not to forget to -point out to the surveyor, and to urge upon those he was to visit. At -last he said he would go himself. It was a very serious business, and he -ought to make an effort to have it done properly. It was a great effort, -but he would make it. Not rheumatism, nor anything else, should keep him -at home. Allan was glad at heart to see such signs of energy in his -father, though he might feel some natural disappointment at being left -at home, and some perplexity as to what, in that case, he ought to do -about the half-crown, if Mr. Nelson should be gone home. The morning -settled this, however. The surveyor was in his gig. If Allan could hang -on,<a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a> or keep up with it, it would be very well, as he would be wanted to -open the gates, and to lead the way in places too wet for his father, -who was not worth such a pair of patent waterproof tall boots as the -surveyor had on.</p> - -<p>The circuit was not a very wide one; yet it was dark before they got -home. There are always difficulties in arrangements which require -combined action. Here there were different levels in the land, and -different tempers and views among the occupiers. Mr. Brown had heard -nothing about the matter, and could not be hurried till he saw occasion. -Mr. Taylor liked his field best, wet—would not have it drier on any -account, for fear of the summer sun. When assured that drought took no -hold on well-dried land in comparison with wet land, he shook with -laughter, and asked if they expected him to believe that. Mrs. Scott, -whose combination with two others was essential to the drainage of three -portions, would wait another year. They must go on without her; and -after another year, she would see what she would<a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a> do. Another had -drained his land in his own way long ago, and did not expect that -anybody would ask him to put his spade into another man’s land, or to -let any other man put his spade into his. These were all the -obstructions. Everybody else was willing, or at least, not obstructive. -By clever management, it was thought that the parties concerned could -make an island of Mrs. Scott and her field, and win over Mr. Brown by -the time he was wanted, and show Mr. Taylor that, as his field could no -longer be as wet as it had been, he might as well try the opposite -condition—they promising to flood his field as often and as thoroughly -as he pleased, if he found it the worse for being drained. They could -not obtain all they wished, where everybody was not as wise as could be -wished; but so much was agreed upon as made the experienced surveyor -think that the rest would follow; enough, already, to set more laborers -to work than the place could furnish. Two or three stout men were sent -from a distance; and when they had once cut a clear descent from the -ditch to the river,<a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a> and had sunk the ditch to seven feet deep, and made -the bottom even, and narrowed it to three feet, it was a curious thing -to see how ready the neighbors became to unite their drains with it. It -used to be said, that here—however it might be elsewhere—the winter -was no time for digging; but that must have meant that no winter-digging -would bring a spring crop; and that therefore it was useless. Now, the -sound of the spade never ceased for the rest of the winter; and the -laborers thought it the best winter they had ever known for constant -work. Those who employed the labor hoped it would answer—found it -expensive—must trust it was all right, and would yield a profit by and -by. As for the Woodruffes, they were too poor to employ laborers. But -some little hope had entered their hearts again, and brought strength, -not only to their hearts, but to their very limbs. They worked like -people beginning the world. As poor Abby could keep the house and sew, -while attending to her little school, Becky did the lighter parts (and -some which were far from light)<a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a> of the garden work, finding easy tasks -for Moss; and Allan worked like a man at the drains. They had been -called good drains before; but now, there was an outfall for deeper -ones; and deeper they must be made. Moreover, a strong rivalry arose -among the neighbors about their respective portions of the combined -drainage; and under the stimulus of ambition, Woodruffe recovered his -spirits and the use of his limbs wonderfully. He suffered cruelly from -his rheumatism; and in the evenings felt as if he could never more lift -a spade; yet, not the less was he at work again in the morning, and so -sanguine as to the improvement of his ground, that it was necessary to -remind him, when calculating his gains, that it would take two years, at -least, to prove the effects of his present labors.<a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a></p> - -<h3>VII.</h3> - -<p>It was observed by Woodruffe’s family, during one week of spring of the -next year, that he was very absent. He was not in low spirits, but -absorbed in thought, and much devoted to making calculations with pencil -and paper. At last, out it came, one morning at breakfast.</p> - -<p>“I wonder how we should all like to have Harry Hardiman to work with us -again?”</p> - -<p>Every one looked up. Harry! where was Harry? Was he here? Was he coming?</p> - -<p>“Why, I will tell you what I have been thinking,” said their father. “I -have thought long and carefully, and I believe I have made up my mind to -send for Harry, to come and work for us as he used to do. We have not -labor enough on the ground. Two stout men to the acre is the smallest -allowance for trying what could be made of the place.”</p> - -<p>“That is what Taylor and Brown are employing<a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a> now on the best part of -their land,” said Allan; “that is, when they can get the labor. There is -such difference between that and one man to four or five acres, as there -was before, that they can’t always get the labor.”</p> - -<p>“Just so; and therefore,” continued Woodruffe, “I am thinking of sending -for Harry. Our old neighborhood was not prosperous when we left it, and -I fancy it cannot have improved since; and Harry might be glad to follow -his master to a thriving neighborhood; and he is such a careful fellow -that I dare say he has money for the journey,—even if he has a wife by -this time, as I suppose he has.”</p> - -<p>Moss looked most pleased, where all were pleased, at the idea of seeing -Harry again. His remembrance of Harry was of a tall young man, who used -to carry him on his shoulders, and wheel him in the empty water-barrel, -and sometimes offer to dip him into it when it was full, and show him -how to dig in the sand-heap with his little wooden spade.<a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a></p> - -<p>“Your rent, to be sure, is much lower than in the old place,” observed -Abby.</p> - -<p>“Why, we must not build upon that,” replied the father; “rent is rising -here, and will rise. My landlord was considerate in lowering mine to £3 -per acre, when he saw how impossible it was to make it answer; and he -says he shall not ask more yet on account of the labor I laid out at the -time of the drainage. But when I have partly repaid myself, the rent -will rise to £5; and, in fact, I have made my calculations in regard to -Harry’s coming at a higher rent than that.”</p> - -<p>“Higher than that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I should not be surprised if I found myself paying, as -market-gardeners near London do, ten pounds per acre before I die.”</p> - -<p>“Or rather, to let the ground to me for that, father,” said Allan, “when -it is your own property, and you are tired of work, and disposed to turn -it over to me. I will pay you ten pounds per acre then, and let you have -all the cabbages you can<a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a> eat besides. It is capital land, and that is -the truth. Come—shall that be a bargain?”</p> - -<p>Woodruffe smiled, and said he owed a duty to Allan. He did not like to -see him so hard worked as to be unable to take due care of his own -corner of the garden;—unable to enter fairly into the competition for -the prizes at the Horticultural Show in the summer. Becky now, too, -ought to be spared from all but occasional help in the garden. Above -all, the ground was now in such an improving state that it would be -waste not to bestow due labor upon it. Put in the spade where you would, -the soil was loose and well-aired as needs be: the manure penetrated it -thoroughly; the frost and heat pulverized, instead of binding it; and -the crops were succeeding each other so fast, that the year would be a -very profitable one.</p> - -<p>“Where will Harry live, if he comes?” asked Abby.</p> - -<p>“We must get another cottage added to the new row. Easily done! Cottages -so healthy as these new ones pay well. Good rents are offered for<a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a> -them,—to save doctors’ bills and loss of time from sickness;—and, when -once a system of house-drainage is set a-going, it costs scarcely more -in adding a cottage to a group, to make it all right, than to run it up -upon solid clay as used to be the way here. Well, I have a good mind to -write to Harry to-day. What do you think of it,—all of you?”</p> - -<p>Fortified by the opinion of all his children, Mr. Woodruffe wrote to -Harry. Meantime, Allan and Becky went to cut the vegetables that were -for sale that day; and Moss delighted himself in running after and -catching the pony in the meadow below. The pony was not very easily -caught, for it was full of spirit. Instead of the woolly insipid grass -that it used to crop, and which seemed to give it only fever and no -nourishment, it now fed on sweet fresh grass, which had no sour stagnant -water soaking its roots. The pony was so full of play this morning that -Moss could not get hold of it. Though much stronger than a year ago, he -was not yet anything like so robust as a boy of his age<a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a> should be; and -he was growing heated, and perhaps a little angry, as the pony galloped -off towards some distant trees, when a boy started up behind a bush, -caught the halter, brought the pony round with a twitch, and led him to -Moss. Moss fancied he had seen the boy before, and then his white teeth -reminded Moss of one thing after another.</p> - -<p>“I came for some marsh plants,” said the boy. “You and I got plenty once -somewhere hereabouts, but I cannot find them now.”</p> - -<p>“You will not find any now. We have no marsh now.”</p> - -<p>The stranger said he dared not go back without them; mother wanted them -badly. She would not believe him if he said he could not find any. There -were plenty about two miles off, along the railway, among the clay-pits, -he was told; but none nearer. The boy wanted to know where the clay-pits -hereabouts were. He could not find one of them.</p> - -<p>“I will show you one of them,” said Moss; “the one where you and I used -to hunt rats.” And,<a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a> leading the pony, he showed his old gypsy -play-fellow all the improvements, beginning with the great ditch,—now -invisible from being covered in. While it was open, he said, it used to -get choked, and the sides were plastered after rain, and soon became -grass-grown, so that it was found worth while to cover it in; and now it -would want little looking to for years to come. As for the clay-pit, -where the rats used to pop in and out,—it was now a manure-pit, covered -in. There was a drain into it from the pony’s stable and from the -pig-styes; and it was near enough to the garden to receive the refuse -and sweepings. A heavy lid, with a ring in the middle, covered the pit, -so that nobody could fall in in the dark, and no smell could get out. -Moss begged the boy to come a little further, and he would show him his -own flower-bed; and when the boy was there, he was shown everything -else: what a cart-load of vegetables lay cut for sale; and what an arbor -had been made of the pent-house under which Moss used to take shelter, -when he could do nothing better than keep off the birds;<a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a> and how fine -the ducks were,—the five ducks that were so serviceable in eating off -the slugs; and what a comfortable nest had been made for them to lay -their eggs in, beside the water-tank in the corner; and what a variety -of scarecrows the family had invented,—each having one, to try which -would frighten the sparrows most. While Moss was telling how difficult -it was to deal with the sparrows, because they could not be frightened -for more than three days by any kind of scarecrow, he heard Allan -calling him, in a tone of vexation, at being kept waiting so long. In an -instant the stranger boy was off,—leaping the gate, and flying along -the meadow till he was hidden behind a hedge.</p> - -<p>Two or three days after this one of the ducks was missing. The last time -that the five had been seen together was when Moss was showing them to -his visitor. The morning after Moss finally gave up hope, the glass of -Allan’s hotbed was found broken, and in the midst of the bed itself was -a deep foot-track, crushing the cucumber plants, and,<a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a> with them, -Allan’s hopes of a cucumber prize at the Horticultural Exhibition in the -summer. On more examination, more mischief was discovered, some cabbages -had been stolen, and another duck was missing. In the midst of the -general concern, Woodruffe burst out a-laughing. It struck him that the -chief of the scarecrows had changed his hat; and so he had. The old -straw hat which used to flap in the wind so serviceably was gone, and in -its stead appeared a helmet,—a saucepan full of holes, battered and -split, but still fit to be a helmet to a scarecrow.</p> - -<p>“I could swear to the old hat,” observed Woodruffe, “if I should have -the luck to see it on anybody’s head.”</p> - -<p>“And so could I,” said Becky, “for I mended it,—bound it with black -behind, and green before, because I had not green ribbon enough. But -nobody would wear it before our eyes.”</p> - -<p>“That is why I suspect there are strangers hovering about. We must -watch.”</p> - -<p>Now Moss, for the first time, bethought himself<a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a> of the boy he had -brought in from the meadow; and now, for the first time, he told his -family of that encounter.</p> - -<p>“I never saw such a simpleton,” his father declared. “There, go along -and work! Now, don’t cry, but hold up like a man and work.”</p> - -<p>Moss did cry; he could not help it; but he worked too. He would fain -have been one of the watchers, moreover; but his father said he was too -young. For two nights he was ordered to bed, when Allan took his dark -lantern, and went down to the pent-house; the first night accompanied by -his father, and the next by Harry Hardiman, who had come on the first -summons. By the third evening, Moss was so miserable that his sisters -interceded for him, and he was allowed to go down with his old friend -Harry.</p> - -<p>It was a starlight night, without a moon. The low country lay dim, but -unobscured by mist. After a single remark on the fineness of the night, -Harry was silent. Silence was their first business. They stole round the -fence as if they had been<a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a> thieves themselves, listened for some time -before they let themselves in at the gate, passed quickly in, and locked -the gate (the lock of which had been well oiled), went behind every -screen, and along every path, to be sure that no one was there, and -finally, perceiving that the remaining ducks were safe, settled -themselves in the darkness of the pent-house.</p> - -<p>There they sat, hour after hour, listening. If there had been no sound, -perhaps they could not have borne the effort; but the sense was relieved -by the bark of a dog at a distance, and then by the hoot of the owl that -was known to have done them good service in mousing, many a time; and -once, by the passage of a train on the railway above. When these were -all over, poor Moss had much ado to keep awake, and at last his head -sank on Harry’s shoulder, and he forgot where he was, and everything -else in the world. He was awakened by Harry’s moving, and then -whispering quite into his ear:—</p> - -<p>“Sit you still. I hear somebody yonder. No—<a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a>sit you still. I won’t go -far—not out of call; but I must get between them and the gate.”</p> - -<p>With his lantern under his coat, Harry stole forth, and Moss stood up, -all alone in the darkness and stillness. He could hear his heart beat, -but nothing else, till footsteps on the path came nearer and nearer. -They came quite up; they came in, actually into the arbor; and then the -ducks were certainly fluttering. In an instant more, there was a gleam -of light upon the white plumage of the ducks, and then light enough to -show that this was the gypsy boy, with a dark lantern hung round his -neck, and, at the same moment, to show the gypsy boy that Moss was -there. The two boys stood, face to face, motionless from utter -amazement, and the ducks had scuttled and waddled away before they -recovered themselves. Then, Moss flew at him in a glorious passion, at -once of rage and fear.</p> - -<p>“Leave him to me, Moss,” cried Harry, casting light upon the scene from -his lantern, while he collared the thief with the other hand. “Let go, -I<a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a> say, Moss. There, now we’ll go round and be sure whether there is any -one else in the garden, and then we’ll lodge this young rogue where he -will be safe.”</p> - -<p>Nobody was there, and they went home in the dawn, locked up the thief in -the shed, and slept through what remained of the night.</p> - -<p>It was about Mr. Nelson’s usual time for coming down the line; and it -was observed that he now always stopped at this station till the next -train passed,—probably because it was a pleasure to him to look upon -the improvement of the place. It was no surprise therefore to Woodruffe -to see him standing on the embankment after breakfast; and it was -natural that Mr. Nelson should be immediately told that the gypsies were -here again, and how one of them was caught thieving.</p> - -<p>“Thieving! So you found some of your property upon him, did you!”</p> - -<p>“Why, no. I thought myself that it was a pity that Moss did not let him -alone till he had laid hold of a duck or something.”<a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a></p> - -<p>“Pho! pho! don’t tell me you can punish the boy for theft, when you -can’t prove that he stole anything. Give him a whipping, and let him -go.”</p> - -<p>“With all my heart. It will save me much trouble to finish off the -matter so.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Nelson seemed to have some curiosity about the business; for he -accompanied Woodruffe to the shed. The boy seemed to feel no awe of the -great man whom he supposed to be a magistrate, and when asked whether he -felt none, he giggled and said “No;” he had seen the gentleman more -afraid of his mother than anybody ever was of him, he fancied. On this, -a thought struck Mr. Nelson. He would now have his advantage of the -gypsy woman, and might enjoy, at the same time, an opportunity of -studying human nature under stress—a thing he liked, when the stress -was not too severe. So he passed a decree on the spot that, it being now -nine o’clock, the boy should remain shut up without food till noon, when -he should be severely flogged, and driven from the neighborhood; and -with this pleasant prospect<a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a> before him, the young rogue remained, -whistling ostentatiously, while his enemies locked the door upon him.</p> - -<p>“Did you hear him shoot the bolt?” asked Woodruffe. “If he holds to -that, I don’t know how I shall get at him at noon.”</p> - -<p>“There, now, what fools people are! Why did you not take out the bolt? A -pretty constable you would make! Come—come this way. I am going to find -the gypsy-tent again. You are wondering that I am not afraid of the -woman, I see; but, you observe, I have a hold over her this time. What -do you mean by allowing those children to gather about your door? You -ought not to permit it.”</p> - -<p>“They are only the scholars. Don’t you see them going in? My daughter -keeps a little school, you know, since her husband’s death.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, poor thing! poor thing!” said Mr. Nelson, as Abby appeared on the -threshold, calling the children in.</p> - -<p>Mr. Nelson always contrived to see some one or<a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a> more of the family when -he visited the station; but it so happened, that he had never entered -the door of their dwelling. Perhaps he was not himself fully conscious -of the reason. It was, that he could not bear to see Abby’s young face -within the widow’s cap, and to be thus reminded that hers was a case of -cruel wrong; that if the most ordinary thought and care had been used in -preparing the place for human habitation, her husband might be living -now, and she the happy creature that she would never be again.</p> - -<p>On his way to the gypsies, Mr. Nelson saw some things that pleased him -in his heart, though he found fault with them all. What business had -Woodruffe with an additional man in his garden? It could not possibly -answer. If it did not, the fellow must be sent away again. He must not -burden the parish. The occupiers here seemed all alike. Such a fancy for -new labor! One, two, six men at work on the land within sight at that -moment, over and above what there used to be! It must be looked to. -Humph! he could get to<a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a> the alders dryshod now; but that was owing -solely to the warmth of the spring. It was nonsense to attribute -everything to drainage. Drainage was a good thing; but fine weather was -better.</p> - -<p>The gypsy-tent was found behind the alders as before, but no longer in a -swamp. The woman was sitting on the ground at the entrance as before, -but not now with a fevered child laid across her knees. She was weaving -a basket.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I see,” said Woodruffe, “this is the way our osiers go.”</p> - -<p>“You have not many to lose, now-a-days,” said the woman.</p> - -<p>“You are welcome to all the rushes you can find,” said Woodruffe; “but -where is your son?”</p> - -<p>Some change of countenance was seen in the woman; but she answered -carelessly that the children were playing yonder.</p> - -<p>“The one I mean is not there,” said Woodruffe, “We have him safe—caught -him stealing my ducks.”</p> - -<p>She called the boy a villain—disowned him, and<a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a> so forth; but when she -found the case a hopeless one, she did not, and, therefore, probably -could not scold—that is, anybody but herself and her husband. She -cursed herself for coming into this silly place, where now no good was -to be got. When she was brought to the right point of perplexity about -what to do, seeing that it would not do to stay, and being unable to go -while her boy was in durance, she was told that his punishment should be -summary, though severe, if she would answer frankly certain questions. -When she had once begun giving her confidence, she seemed to enjoy the -license. When her husband came up, he looked as if he only waited for -the departure of his visitors to give his wife the same amount of -thrashing that her son was awaiting elsewhere. She vowed that they would -never pitch their tent here again. It used to be the best station in -their whole round—the fogs were so thick! From sunset to long after -sunrise, it had been as good as a winter night, for going where they -pleased without fear of prying eyes. There was not a poultry-yard<a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a> or -pig-stye within a couple of miles round, where they could not creep up -through the fog. And they escaped the blame, too; for the swamp and -ditches used to harbor so much vermin, that the gypsies were not always -suspected, as they were now. Till lately, people shut themselves into -their homes, or the men went to the public-house in the chill evenings; -and there was little fear of meeting any one. But now that the fogs were -gone, people were out in their gardens, on these fine evenings, and -there were men in the meadows, returning from fishing; for they could -angle now, when their work was done, without the fear of catching an -ague in the marsh as they went home.</p> - -<p>Mr. Nelson used vigorously his last opportunity of lecturing these -people. He had it all his own way, for the humility of the gypsies was -edifying. Woodruffe fancied he saw some finger-talk passing, the while, -though the gypsies never looked at each other, or raised their eyes from -the ground. Woodruffe had to remind the Director that the whistle of the -next train would soon be heard; and this<a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a> brought the lecture to an -abrupt conclusion. On his finishing off with, “I expect, therefore, that -you will remember my advice, and never show your face here again, and -that you will take to a proper course of life in future, and bring up -your son to honest industry;” the woman, with a countenance of grief, -seized one hand and covered it with kisses, and the husband took the -other hand and pressed it to his breast.</p> - -<p>“We must make haste,” observed Mr. Nelson, as he led the way quickly -back; “but I think I have made some impression upon them. You see now -the right way to treat these people. I don’t think you will see them -here again.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think we shall.”</p> - -<p>As he reached the steps the whistle was heard, and Mr. Nelson could only -wave his hand to Woodruffe, rush up the embankment, and throw himself -panting into a carriage. Only just in time!</p> - -<p>By an evening train he re-appeared. When thirty miles off, he had wanted -his purse, and it<a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a> was gone. It had no doubt paid for the gypsies’ final -gratitude.</p> - -<p>Of course, a sufficient force was immediately sent to the alder clump; -but there was nothing there but some charred sticks, and some clean pork -bones, this time, instead of feathers of fowls, and a cabbage leaf or -two. The boy had had his whipping at noon, after a conference with his -little brother at the keyhole, which had caused him to withdraw the -bolt, and offer no resistance. Considering his cries and groans, he had -run off with surprising agility, and was now, no doubt, far away.</p> - -<h3>VIII.</h3> - -<p>The gypsies came no more. The fogs came no more. The fever came no more, -at least, in such a form as to threaten the general safety. Where it -still lingered, it was about those only who deserved<a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a> it,—in any small -farm-house, where the dung-yard was too near the house; and in some -cottage where the slatternly inmates did not mind a green puddle or -choked ditch within reach of their noses. More dwellings arose, as the -fertility of the land increased, and invited a higher kind of tillage; -and among the prettiest of them was one which stood in the corner,—the -most sunny corner,—of Woodruffe’s paddock. Harry Hardiman and his wife -and child lived there, and the cottage was Woodruffe’s property.</p> - -<p>Yet Woodruffe’s rent had been raised, and pretty rapidly. He was now -paying eight pounds per acre for his garden-ground, and half that for -what was out of the limits of the garden. He did not complain of it; for -he was making money fast. His skill and industry deserved this; but -skill and industry could not have availed without opportunity. His -ground once allowed to show what it was worth, he treated it well; and -it answered well to the treatment. By the railway he obtained what -manure he wanted from the town; and he<a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a> sent it back by the railway to -town in the form of crisp celery and salads, wholesome potatoes and -greens, luscious strawberries, and sweet and early peas. He knew that a -Surrey gardener had made his ground yield a profit of two hundred and -twenty pounds per acre. He thought that, with his inferior market, he -should do well to make his yield one hundred and fifty pounds per acre; -and this, by close perseverance, he attained. He could have done it more -easily if he had enjoyed good health; but he never enjoyed good health -again. His rheumatism had fixed itself too firmly to be entirely -removed; and for many days in the year, he was compelled to remain -within doors, or to saunter about in the sun, seeing his boys and Harry -at work, but unable to help them.</p> - -<p>From the time that Allan’s work became worth wages in addition to his -subsistence, his father let him rent half a rood of the garden-ground -for three years, saying—</p> - -<p>“I limit it to three years, my boy, because that term is long enough for -you to show what you can<a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a> do. After three years, I shall not be able to -spare the ground at any rent. If you fail, you have no business to rent -ground. If you succeed, you will have money in your pocket wherewith to -hire land elsewhere. Now you have to show us what you can do.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, father,” was Allan’s short but sufficient reply.</p> - -<p>It was observed by the family that, from this time forward, Allan’s eye -was on every plot of ground in the neighborhood which could, by -possibility, ever be offered for hire; yet did his attention never -wander from that which was already under his hand. And that which was so -great an object to him became a sort of pursuit to the whole family. -Moss guarded Allan’s frames, and made more and more prodigious -scarecrows. Their father gave his very best advice. Becky, who was no -longer allowed, as a regular thing, to work in the garden, found many a -spare half-hour for hoeing and weeding, and trimming and tying up, in -Allan’s beds; and Abby found, as she sat in her little<a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a> school, that she -could make nets for his fruit trees. It was thus no wonder that, when a -certain July day in the second year arrived, the whole household was in -a state of excitement, because it was a sort of crisis in Allan’s -affairs.</p> - -<p>Though breakfast was early that morning, Becky and Allan and Moss were -spruce in their best clothes. A hamper stood at the door, and Allan was -packing in another, which had no lid, two or three flower-pots, which -presented a glorious show of blossom. Abby was putting a new ribbon on -her sister’s straw bonnet; and Harry was in waiting to carry up the -hampers to the station. It was the day of the Horticultural Show at the -town. Woodruffe had been too unwell to think of going till this morning; -but now the sight of the preparations, and the prospect of a warm day, -inspired him, and he thought he would go. At last he went, and they were -gone. Abby never went up to the station; nobody ever asked her to go -there, not even her own child, who perhaps had not thought of the -possibility of it. But when the<a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a> train was starting, she stood at the -upper window with her child, and held him so that he might lean out, and -see the last carriage disappear as it swept round the curve. After that -the day seemed long, though Harry came up at the dinner-hour to say what -he thought of the great gooseberry in particular, and of everything else -that Allan had carried with him. It was holiday time, and there was no -school to fill up the day. Before the evening, the child became -restless, and Abby fell into low spirits, as she was apt to do when left -long alone; so that Harry stopped suddenly at the door when he was -rushing in to announce that the train was within sight.</p> - -<p>“Shall I take the child, Miss?” said Harry. (He always called her -“Miss.”) “I will carry him—— But, sure, here they come! Here comes -Moss,—ready to roll down the steps! My opinion is that there’s a -prize.”</p> - -<p>Moss was called back by a voice which everybody obeyed. Allan should -himself tell his sister the fortune of the day, their father said.<a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a></p> - -<p>There were two prizes, one of which was for the wonderful plate of -gooseberries; and at this news Harry nodded, and declared himself -anything but surprised. If that gooseberry had not carried the day, -there would have been partiality in the judges, that was all; and nobody -could suppose such a thing as that. Yet Harry could have told, if put -upon his honor, that he was rather disappointed that everything that -Allan carried had not gained a prize. When he mentioned one or two, his -master told him he was unreasonable; and he supposed he was.</p> - -<p>Allan laid down upon the table, for his sister’s full assurance, his -sovereign, and his half-sovereign, and his tickets. She turned away -rather abruptly, and seemed to be looking whether the kettle was near -boiling for tea. Her father went up to her; and on his first whispered -words, the sob broke forth which made all look round.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking of one, too, my dear, that I wish was here at this -moment. I can feel for you, my dear.”<a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a></p> - -<p>“But you don’t know—you don’t know—you never knew——.” She could not -go on.</p> - -<p>“What don’t I know, my dear?”</p> - -<p>“That he constantly blamed himself for saying anything to bring you -here. He said you had never prospered from the hour you came, and -now——”</p> - -<p>And now Woodruffe could not speak, as the past came fresh upon him. In a -few moments, however, he rallied, saying,</p> - -<p>“But we must consider Allan. He must not think that his success makes us -sad.”</p> - -<p>Allan declared that it was not about gaining the prizes that he was -chiefly glad. It was because it was now proved what a fair field he had -before him. There was nothing that might not be done with such a soil as -they had to deal with now.</p> - -<p>Harry was quite of this opinion. There were more and more people set to -work upon the soil all about them; and the more it was worked the more -it yielded. He never saw a place of so much<a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a> promise. And if it had a -bad name in regard to healthiness, he was sure that was unfair,—or no -longer fair. He and his were full of health and happiness, as they hoped -to see everybody else in time; and, for his part, if he had all England -before him, or the whole world, to choose a place to live in, he would -choose the very place he was in, and the very cottage, and the very -ground to work on that had produced such a gooseberry and such -strawberries as he had seen that day.<a name="page_287" id="page_287"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII.<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">The Water-Drops.</span></h2> - -<p class="c">A FAIRY TALE.</p> - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p class="cs"><small>THE SUITORS OF CIRRHA, AND THE YOUNG LADY; WITH A REFERENCE TO HER PAPA.</small></p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>AR in the west there is a land mountainous, and bright of hue, wherein -the rivers run with liquid light; the soil is all of yellow gold; the -grass and foliage are of resplendent crimson; where the atmosphere is -partly of a soft green tint, and partly azure. Sometimes on summer -evenings we see this land, and then, because our ignorance must refer -all things that we see, to something that we know, we say it is a mass -of clouds made beautiful by sunset colors. We account for it by -principles of Meteorology. The fact has been omitted from the works of -Kaemtz or Daniell; but, notwithstanding<a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a> this neglect, it is well known -in many nurseries, that the bright land we speak of, is a world -inhabited by fairies. Few among fairies take more interest in man’s -affairs than the good Cloud Country People; this truth is established by -the story I am now about to tell.</p> - -<p>Not long ago there were great revels held one evening in the palace of -King Cumulus, the monarch of the western country. Cirrha, the daughter -of the king, was to elect her future husband from a multitude of -suitors. Cirrha was a maiden delicate and pure, with a skin white as -unfallen snow; but colder than the snow her heart had seemed to all who -sought for her affections. When Cirrha floated gracefully and slowly -through her father’s hall, many a little cloud would start up presently -to tread where she had trodden. The winds also pursued her; and even men -looked up admiringly whenever she stepped forth into their sky. To be -sure they called her Mackerel and Cat’s Tail, just as they call her -father Ball of Cotton; for the race of man is a coarse race, and calling -bad names<a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a> appears to be a great part of its business here below.</p> - -<p>Before the revels were concluded, the King ordered a quiet little wind -to run among the guests, and bid them all come close to him and to his -daughter. Then he spoke to them as follows:—</p> - -<p>“Worthy friends! there are among you many suitors to my daughter Cirrha, -who is pledged this evening to choose a husband. She bids me tell you -that she loves you all; but since it is desirable that this our royal -house be strengthened by a fit alliance with some foreign power, she has -resolved to take as husband one of those guests who have come hither -from the principality of Nimbus.” Now, Nimbus is that country, not -seldom visible from some parts of our earth, which we have called the -Rain-Cloud. “The subjects of the Prince of Nimbus,” Cumulus continued, -“are a dark race, it is true, but they are famed for their beneficence.”</p> - -<p>Two winds, at this point, raised between themselves a great disturbance, -so that there arose a universal cry that somebody should turn them out.<a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a> -With much trouble they were driven out from the assembly; thereupon, -quite mad with jealousy and disappointment, they went howling off to -sea, where they played pool-billiards with a fleet of ships, and so -forgot their sorrow.</p> - -<p>King Cumulus resumed his speech, and said that he was addressing -himself, now, especially to those of his good friends who came from -Nimbus. “To-night, let them retire to rest, and early the next morning -let each of them go down to Earth; whichever of them should be found on -their return to have been engaged below in the most useful service to -the race of man, that son of Nimbus should be Cirrha’s husband.”</p> - -<p>Cumulus, having said this, put a white nightcap on his head, which was -the signal for a general retirement. The golden ground of his dominions -was covered for the night, as well as the crimson trees, with cotton. So -the whole kingdom was put properly to bed. Late in the night the moon -got up, and threw over King Cumulus a silver counterpane.<a name="page_291" id="page_291"></a></p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p class="cs"><small>THE ADVENTURES OF NEBULUS AND NUBIS.</small></p> - -<p>The suitors of the Princess Cirrha, who returned to Nimbus, were a-foot -quite early the next morning, and petitioned their good-natured Prince -to waft them over London. They had agreed among themselves, that by -descending there, where men were densely congregated, they should have a -greater chance of doing service to the human race. Therefore the -Rain-Cloud floated over the great City of the World, and, as it passed -at sundry points, the suitors came down upon rain-drops to perform their -destined labor. Where each might happen to alight depended almost wholly -upon accident; so that their adventures were but little better than a -lottery for Cirrha’s hand. One, who had been the most magniloquent among -them all, fell with his pride upon the patched umbrella of an early -breakfast woman, and from thence was shaken<a name="page_292" id="page_292"></a> off into a puddle. He was -splashed up presently, mingled with soil, upon the corduroys of a -laborer, who stopped for breakfast on his way to work. From thence, -evaporating, he returned crest-fallen to the Land of Clouds.</p> - -<p>Among the suitors there were two kind-hearted fairies, Nebulus and -Nubis, closely bound by friendship to each other. While they were in -conversation, Nebulus, who suddenly observed that they were passing over -some unhappy region, dropped, with a hope that he might bless it. Nubis -passed on, and presently alighted on the surface of the Thames.</p> - -<p>The district which had wounded the kind heart of Nebulus was in a part -of Bermondsey, called Jacob’s Island. The fairy fell into a ditch; out -of this, however, he was taken by a woman, who carried him to her own -home, among other ditch-water, within a pail. Nebulus abandoned himself -to complete despair, for what claim could he now establish on the hand -of Cirrha? The miserable plight of the poor fairy we may gather from a -description<a name="page_293" id="page_293"></a> given by a son of man of the sad place to which he had -descended. “In this Island may be seen, at any time of the day, women -dipping water, with pails attached by ropes to the backs of the houses, -from a foul fetid ditch, its banks coated with a compound of mud and -filth, and strewed with offal and carrion; the water to be used for -every purpose, culinary ones not excepted; although close to the place -whence it is drawn, filth and refuse of various kinds are plentifully -showered into it from the outhouses of the wooden houses overhanging its -current, or rather slow and sluggish stream; their posts or supporters -rotten, decayed, and in many instances broken, and the filth dropping -into the water, to be seen by any passer by. During the summer, crowds -of boys bathe in the putrid ditches, where they must come in contact -with abominations highly injurious.”<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>So Nebulus was carried in a pail out of the ditch to a poor woman’s -home, and put into a battered<a name="page_294" id="page_294"></a> saucepan with some other water. Thence, -after boiling, he was poured into an earthen tea-pot over some stuff of -wretched flavor, said to be tea. Now, thought the fairy, after all, I -may give pleasure at the breakfast of these wretched people. He pictured -to himself a scene of love as preface to a day of squalid toil, but he -experienced a second disappointment. The woman took him to another room -of which the atmosphere was noisome; there he saw that he was destined -for the comfort of a man and his two children, prostrate upon the floor -beneath a heap of rags. These three were sick; the woman swore at them, -and Nebulus shrunk down into the bottom of the tea-pot. Even the thirst -of fever could not tolerate too much of its contents, so Nebulus, after -a little time, was carried out and thrown into a heap of filth upon the -gutter.</p> - -<p>Nubis, in the meantime, had commenced his day with hope of a more -fortunate career. On falling first into the Thames he had been much -annoyed by various pollutions, and been surprised to find, on kissing a -few neighbor drops, that their lips<a name="page_295" id="page_295"></a> tasted inky. This was caused, they -said, by chalk pervading the whole river in the proportion of sixteen -grains to the gallon. That was what made their water inky to the taste -of those who were accustomed to much purer draughts. “It makes,” they -explained, “our river-water hard, according to man’s phrase; so hard as -to entail on multitudes who use it, some disease, with much expense and -trouble.”</p> - -<p>“But all the mud and filth,” said Nubis, “surely no man drinks that?”</p> - -<p>“No,” laughed the River-Drops, “not all of it. Much of the water used in -London passes through filters, and a filter suffers no mud or any -impurity to pass, except what is dissolved. The chalk is dissolved, and -there is filth and putrid gas dissolved.”</p> - -<p>“That is a bad business,” said Nubis, who already felt his own drops -exercising that absorbent power for which water is so famous, and -incorporating in their substance matters that the Rain-Cloud never -knew.<a name="page_296" id="page_296"></a></p> - -<p>Presently Nubis found himself entangled in a current, by which he was -sucked through a long pipe into a meeting of Water-Drops, all summoned -from the Thames. He himself passed through a filter, was received into a -reservoir, and, having asked the way of friendly neighbors, worked for -himself with small delay a passage through the mainpipe into London.</p> - -<p>Bewildered by his long, dark journey underground, Nubia at length saw -light, and presently dashed forth out of a tap into a pitcher. He saw -that there was fixed under the tap a water-butt, but into this he did -not fall. A crowd of women holding pitchers, saucepans, pails, were -chattering and screaming over him, and the anxiety of all appeared to be -to catch the water as it ran out of the tap, before it came into the tub -or cistern. Nubis rejoiced that his good fortune brought him to a -district in which it might become his privilege to bless the poor, and -his eye sparkled as his mistress, with many rests upon the way, carried -her pitcher and a heavy pail upstairs. She placed<a name="page_297" id="page_297"></a> both vessels, full of -water, underneath her bed, and then went out again for more, carrying a -basin and a fish-kettle. Nubis pitied the poor creature, heartily -wishing that he could have poured out of a tap into the room itself to -save the time and labor of his mistress.</p> - -<p>The pitcher wherein the good fairy lurked, remained under the bed -through the remainder of that day, and during the next night, the room -being, for the whole time, closely tenanted. Long before morning, Nubis -felt that his own drops and all the water near him had lost their -delightful coolness, and had been busily absorbing smells and vapors -from the close apartment. In the morning, when the husband dipped a -teacup in the pitcher, Nubis readily ran into it, glad to escape from -his unwholesome prison. The man putting the water to his lips, found it -so warm and repulsive, that, in a pet, he flung it from the window, and -it fell into the water-butt beneath.</p> - -<p>The water-butt was of the common sort, described thus by a member of the -human race:<a name="page_298" id="page_298"></a>—“Generally speaking, the wood becomes decomposed and -covered with fungi; and indeed, I can best describe their condition by -terming them filthy.” This water-butt was placed under the same shed -with a neglected cesspool, from which the water—ever absorbing—had -absorbed pollution. It contained a kitten among other trifles. “How many -people have to drink out of this butt?” asked Nubis. “Really I cannot -tell you,” said a neighbor Drop. “Once I was in a butt in Bethnal Green, -twenty-one inches across, and a foot deep, which was to supply -forty-eight families.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> People store for themselves, and when they know -how dirty these tubs are, they should not use them.” “But the labor of -dragging water home, the impossibility of taking home abundance, the -pollution of keeping it in dwelling-rooms and under beds.” “Oh, yes,” -said the other Drop; “all very true. Besides, our water is not of a sort -to keep. In this tub there is quite a microscopic vegetable garden, so I -heard a doctor say who yesterday<a name="page_299" id="page_299"></a> came hither with a party to inspect -the district. One of them said he had a still used only for distilling -water, and that one day, by chance, the bottoms of a series of -distillations boiled to dryness. Thereupon, the dry mass became heated -to the decomposing point, and sent abroad a stench plain to the dullest -nose as the peculiar stench of decomposed organic matter. It infected, -he said, the produce of many distillations afterwards.”<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> “I tell you -what,” said Nubis, “water may come down into this town innocent enough, -but it’s no easy matter for it to remain good among so many causes of -corruption. Heigho!” Then he began to dream of Princess Cirrha and the -worthy Prince of Nimbus, until he was aroused by a great tumult. It was -an uproar caused by drunken men. “Why are those men so?” said Nubis to -his friend. “I don’t know,” said the Water-Drop, “but I saw many people -in that way last night, and I have seen them so at Bethnal Green.” A -woman pulled her husband by, with loud reproaches for his visits<a name="page_300" id="page_300"></a> to the -beer-shop. “Why,” cried the man, with a great oath, “where would you -have me go for drink?” Then, with another oath, he kicked the water-butt -in passing—“You would not have me to go there!” All the bystanders -laughed approvingly, and Nubis bade adieu to his ambition for the hand -of Cirrha.</p> - -<h3>III.</h3> - -<p class="hang"><small>NEPHELO GOES INTO POLITE SOCIETY, AND THEN INTO A DUNGEON—HIS -ESCAPE, RECAPTURE, AND HIS PERILOUS ASCENT INTO THE SKY, SURROUNDED -BY A BLAZE OF FIRE.</small></p> - -<p>Nephelo was a light-hearted subject of the Prince of Nimbus. It is he -who often floats, when the whole cloud is dark, as a white vapor on the -surface. For love of Cirrha, he came down behind a team of rain-drops -and leaped into the cistern of a handsome house at the west end of -London.</p> - -<p>Nephelo found the water in the cistern greatly<a name="page_301" id="page_301"></a> vexed at riotous -behavior on the part of a large number of animalcules. He was told that -Water-Drops had been compelled to come into that place, after undergoing -many hardships, and had unavoidably brought with them germs of these -annoying creatures. Time and place favoring, nothing could hinder them -from coming into life; the cistern was their cradle, although many of -them were already anything but babes. Hereupon, Nephelo himself was -dashed at by an ugly little fellow like a dragon; but an uglier little -fellow, who might be a small Saint George, pounced at the dragon, and -the heart of the poor fairy was the scene of contest.</p> - -<p>After awhile there was an arrival of fresh water from a pipe, the flow -of which stirred up the anger of some decomposing growth which lined the -sides and bottom of the cistern. So there was a good deal of confusion -caused, and it was some time before all parties settled down into their -proper places.</p> - -<p>“The sun is very hot,” said Nephelo. “We all seem to be getting very -warm.” “Yes, indeed,”<a name="page_302" id="page_302"></a> said a Lady-Drop; “it’s not like the cool -Cloud-Country. I have been poisoned in the Thames, half filtered, and -made frowzy by standing, this July weather, in an open reservoir. I’ve -travelled in pipes laid too near the surface to be cool, and now am -spoiling here. I know if water is not cold it can’t be pleasant.” “Ah,” -said an old Drop, with a small eel in one of his eyes; “I don’t wonder -at hearing tell that men drink wine, and tea, and beer.” “Talking of -beer,” said another, “is it a fact that we’re of no use to the brewers? -Our character’s so bad, they can’t rely on us for cooling the worts, and -so sink wells, in order to brew all the year round with water cold -enough to suit their purposes.” “I know nothing of beer,” said Nephelo; -“but I know that if the gentlemen and ladies in this cistern were as -cold as they could wish to be, there wouldn’t be so much decomposition -going on among them.” “Your turn in, sir,” said a polite Drop, and -Nephelo leaped nimbly through the place of exit into a china jug placed -ready to receive him. He was conveyed across a<a name="page_303" id="page_303"></a> handsome kitchen by a -cook, who declared her opinion that the morning’s rain had caused the -drains to smell uncommonly. Nephelo then was thrown into a kettle.</p> - -<p>Boiling is to an unclean Water-Drop, like scratching to a bear, a -pleasant operation. It gets rid of the little animals by which it had -been bitten, and throws down some of the impurity with which it had been -soiled. So, after boiling, water becomes more pure, but it is, at the -same time, more greedy than ever to absorb extraneous matter. Therefore, -the sons of men who boil their vitiated water ought to keep it covered -afterwards, and if they wish to drink it cold, should lose no time in -doing so. Nephelo and his friends within the kettle danced with delight -under the boiling process. Chattering pleasantly together, they compared -notes of their adventures upon earth, discussed the politics of -Cloud-Land, and although it took them nearly twice as long to boil as it -would have done had there been no carbonate of lime about them, they -were quite sorry when the time was come for<a name="page_304" id="page_304"></a> them to part. Nephelo then, -with many others, was poured out into an urn. So he was taken to the -drawing-room, a hot iron having, in a friendly manner, been put down his -back, to keep him boiling.</p> - -<p>Out of the urn into the tea-pot; out of the tea-pot into the slop-basin; -Nephelo had only time to remark a matron tea-maker, young ladies -knitting, and a good-looking young gentleman upon his legs, laying the -law down with a tea-spoon, before he (the fairy, not the gentleman) was -smothered with a plate of muffins. From so much of the conversation as -Nephelo could catch, filtered through muffin, it appeared that they were -talking about tea.</p> - -<p>“It’s all very well for you to say, mother, that you’re confident you -make tea very good, but I ask—no, there I see you put six spoonfuls in -for five of us. Mother, if this were not hard water—(here there was a -noise as of a spoon hammering upon the iron)—two spoonfuls less would -make tea of a better flavor and of equal strength. Now,<a name="page_305" id="page_305"></a> there are three -hundred and sixty-five times and a quarter tea-times in the year ——”</p> - -<p>“And how many spoonfuls, brother, to the quarter of a tea-time?”</p> - -<p>“Maria, you’ve no head for figures. I say nothing of the tea consumed at -breakfast. Multiply——”</p> - -<p>“My dear boy, you have left school; no one asks you to multiply. Hand me -the muffin.”</p> - -<p>Nephelo, released, was unable to look about him, owing to the high walls -of the slop-basin which surrounded him on every side. The room was -filled with pleasant sunset light, but Nephelo soon saw the coming -shadow of the muffin-plate, and all was dark directly afterwards.</p> - -<p>“Take cooking, mother. M. Soyer<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> says you can’t boil many vegetables -properly in London water. Greens won’t be greens; French beans are -tinged with yellow, and peas shrivel. It don’t open the pores of meat, -and make it succulent, as softer water does. M. Soyer believes that the -true<a name="page_306" id="page_306"></a> flavor of meat cannot be extracted with hard water. Bread does not -rise so well when made with it. Horses——”</p> - -<p>“My dear boy, M. Soyer don’t cook horses.”</p> - -<p>“Horses, Dr. Playfair tells us, sheep, and pigeons, will refuse hard -water if they can get it soft, though from the muddiest pool. -Race-horses, when carried to a place where the water is notoriously -hard, have a supply of softer water carried with them to preserve their -good condition. Not to speak of gripes, hard water will assuredly -produce what people call a staring coat.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, no doubt, then, it was London water that created Mr. Blossomley’s -blue swallow-tail.”</p> - -<p>“Maria, you make nonsense out of everything. When you are Mrs. -Blossomley——”</p> - -<p>“Now pass my cup.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause and a clatter. Presently the muffin-plate was lifted, -and four times in succession there were black dregs thrown into the face -of Nephelo. After the perpetration of these insults he was once again -condemned to darkness.<a name="page_307" id="page_307"></a></p> - -<p>“When you are Mrs. Blossomley, Maria,” so the voice went on, “when you -are Mrs. Blossomley, you will appreciate what I am now going to tell you -about washerwomen.”</p> - -<p>“Couldn’t you postpone it, dear, until I am able to appreciate it. You -promised to take us to Rachel to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said another girlish voice, “you’ll not escape. We dress at seven. -Until then—for the next twelve minutes you may speak. Bore on, we will -endure.”</p> - -<p>“As for you, Catherine, Maria teaches you, I see, to chatter. But if -Mrs. B. would object to the reception of a patent mangle as a wedding -present from her brother, she had better hear him now. Washerwoman’s -work is not a thing to overlook, I tell you. Before a shirt is worn out, -there will have been spent upon it five times its intrinsic value in the -washing-tub. The washing of clothes costs more, by a great deal, than -the clothes themselves. The yearly cost of washing to a household of the -middle class amounts, on the average, to<a name="page_308" id="page_308"></a> about a third part of the -rental, or a twelfth part of the total income. Among the poor, the -average expense of washing will more probably be half the rental if they -wash at home, but not more than a fourth of it if they employ the Model -Wash-houses. The weekly cost of washing to a poor man averages certainly -not less than fourpence halfpenny. Small tradesmen, driven to economize -in linen, spend perhaps not more than ninepence; in the middle and upper -classes, the cost weekly varies from a shilling to five shillings for -each person, and amounts very often to a larger sum. On these grounds, -Mr. Bullar, Honorary Secretary to the Association for Promoting Baths -and Wash-houses, estimates the washing expenditure of London at a -shilling a week for each inhabitant, or, for the whole, five millions of -pounds yearly. Professor Clark—”</p> - -<p>“My dear Professor Tom, you have consumed four of your twelve minutes.”</p> - -<p>“Professor Clark judges from such estimates as can be furnished by the -trade, that the consumption<a name="page_309" id="page_309"></a> of soap in London is fifteen pounds to each -person per annum—twice as much as is employed in other parts of -England. That quantity of soap costs six-and-eightpence; water, per -head, costs half as much, or three-and-fourpence; or each man’s soap and -water costs throughout London, on an average, ten shillings for twelve -months. If the hardness of the water be diminished, there is a -diminution in the want of soap. For every grain of carbonate of lime -dissolved in each gallon of any water, Mr. Donaldson declares two ounces -of soap more for a hundred gallons of that water are required. Every -such grain is called a degree of hardness. Water of five degrees of -hardness requires, for example, two ounces of soap; water of eight -degrees of hardness, then will need fifteen; and water of sixteen -degrees, will demand thirty-two. Sixteen degrees, Maria, is the hardness -of Thames water—of the water, mother, which has poached upon your -tea-caddy. You see, then, that when we pay for the soap we use at the -rate of six-and-eightpence each, since the unusual hardness of our water -causes<a name="page_310" id="page_310"></a> us to use a double quantity, every man in London pays at an -average rate of three-and-fourpence a year his tax for a hard water -through the cost of soap alone.”</p> - -<p>“Now you must finish in five minutes, brother Tom.”</p> - -<p>“But soap is not the only matter that concerns the washerwoman and her -customers. There is labor, also, and the wear and tear; there is a -double amount of destruction to our linen, involved in the double time -of rubbing and the double soaping, which hard water compels washerwomen -to employ. So that, when all things have been duly reckoned up in our -account, we find that the outlay caused by the necessities for washing -linen in a town supplied like London with exceedingly hard water, is -four times greater than it would be if soft water were employed. The -cost of washing, as I told you, has been estimated at five millions -a-year. So that, if these calculations be correct, more than three -millions of money, nearly four millions, is the amount filched yearly -from the<a name="page_311" id="page_311"></a> Londoners by their hard water through the wash-tub only. To -that sum, Mrs. Blossomley, being of a respectable family and very -partial to clean linen, will contribute of course much more than her -average proportion.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Mr. Orator, I was not listening to all you said, but what I heard -I do think much exaggerated.”</p> - -<p>“I take it, sister, from the Government Report; oblige me by believing -half of it, and still the case is strong. It is quite time for people to -be stirring.”</p> - -<p>“So it is, I declare. Your twelve minutes are spent, and we will always -be ready for the play. If you talk there of water, I will shriek.”</p> - -<p>Here there arose a chatter which Nephelo found to be about matters that, -unlike the water topic, did not at all interest himself. There was a -rustle and a movement; and a creaking noise approached the drawing-room, -which Nephelo discovered presently to be caused by papa’s boots as he -marched upstairs after his post-prandial slumberings. There<a name="page_312" id="page_312"></a> was more -talk uninteresting to the fairy; Nephelo, therefore, became drowsy; his -drowsiness might at the same time have been aggravated by the close -confinement he experienced in an unwholesome atmosphere beneath the -muffin-plate. He was aroused by a great clattering; this the maid caused -who was carrying him down stairs upon a tray with all the other -tea-things.</p> - -<p>From a sweet dream of nuptials with Cirrha, Nephelo was awakened to the -painful consciousness that he had not yet succeeded in effecting any -great good for the human race; he had but rinsed a teapot. With a faint -impulse of hope the desponding fairy noticed that the slop-basin in -which he sat was lifted from the tray, in a few minutes after the tray -had been deposited upon the kitchen-dresser. Pity poor Nephelo! By a -remorseless scullery-maid he was dashed rudely from the basin into a -trough of stone, from which he tumbled through a hole placed there on -purpose to engulf him,—tumbled through into a horrible abyss.</p> - -<p>This abyss was a long dungeon running from<a name="page_313" id="page_313"></a> back to front beneath the -house, built of bricks—rotten now, and saturated with moisture. Some of -the bricks had fallen in, or crumbled into nothingness; and Nephelo saw -that the soil without the dungeon was quite wet. The dungeon-floor was -coated with pollutions, travelled over by a sluggish shallow stream, -with which the fairy floated. The whole dungeon’s atmosphere was foul -and poisonous. Nephelo found now what those exhalations were which rose -through every opening in the house, through vent-holes and the -burrowings of rats; for rats and other venom tenanted this noisome den. -This was the pestilential gallery called by the good people of the -house, their drain. A trap door at one end confined the fairy in this -place with other Water-Drops, until there should be collected a -sufficient body of them to negotiate successfully for egress.</p> - -<p>The object of this door was to prevent the ingress of much more foul -matter from without; and its misfortune was, that in so doing it -necessarily pent up a concentrated putrid gas within. At<a name="page_314" id="page_314"></a> length Nephelo -escaped; but, alas! it was from a Newgate to a Bastille—from the drain -into the sewer. This was a long-vaulted prison running near the surface -underneath the street. Shaken by the passage overhead of carriages, not -a few bricks had fallen in; and Nephelo hurrying forward, wholly -possessed by the one thought—could he escape?—fell presently into a -trap. An oyster-shell had fixed itself upright between two bricks -unevenly jointed together; much solid filth had grown around it; and in -this Nephelo was caught. Here he remained for a whole month, during -which time he saw many floods of water pass him, leaving himself with a -vast quantity of obstinate encrusted filth unmoved. At the month’s end -there came some men to scrape, and sweep, and cleanse; then with a -sudden flow of water, Nephelo was forced along, and presently, with a -large number of emancipated foulnesses, received his discharge from -prison, and was let loose upon the River Thames.</p> - -<p>Nephelo struck against a very dirty Drop.<a name="page_315" id="page_315"></a></p> - -<p>“Keep off, will you?” the Drop exclaimed. “You are not fit to touch a -person, sewer-bird.”</p> - -<p>“Why, where are you from, my sweet gentleman?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I? I’ve had a turn through some Model Drains. Tubular drains they -call ’em. Look at me; isn’t that clear?”</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing clear about you,” replied Nephelo. “What do you mean by -Model Drains?”</p> - -<p>“I mean I’ve come from Upper George Street through a twelve-inch pipe -four or five times faster than one travels over an old sewer-bed; -travelled express, no stoppage.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Impermeable, earthenware, tubular pipes, accurately dove-tailed. I -come from an experimental district. When it’s all settled, there’s to be -water on at high pressure everywhere, and an earthenware drain pipe -under every tap, a tube of no more than the necessary size. Then these -little pipes are to run down the earth; and there’s not to be a great -brick drain running underneath each house into the street; the pipes run -into a larger<a name="page_316" id="page_316"></a> tube of earthenware that is to be laid at the backs of -all the houses; these tubes run into larger ones, but none of them very -monstrous; and so that there is a constant flow, like circulation of the -blood; and all the pipes are to run at last into one large conduit, -which is to run out of town with all the sewage matter and discharge so -far down the Thames, that no return tide ever can bring it back to -London. Some is to go branching off into the fields to be manure.”</p> - -<p>“Humph!” said Nephelo. “You profess to be very clever. How do you know -all this?”</p> - -<p>“Know? Bless you, I’m a regular old Thames Drop. I’ve been in the -cisterns, in the tumblers, down the sewers, in the river, up the pipes, -in the reservoirs, in the cisterns, in the teapots, down the sewers, in -the river, up the pipes, in the reservoirs, in the cisterns, in the -saucepans, down the sewers, in the Thames—”</p> - -<p>“Hold! Stop there now!” said Nephelo. “Well, so you have heard a great -deal in your lifetime. You’ve had some adventures, doubtless?”<a name="page_317" id="page_317"></a></p> - -<p>“I believe you,” said the Cockney-Drop. “The worst was when I was pumped -once as fresh water into Rotherhithe. That place is below high-water -mark; so are Bermondsey and St. George’s, Southwark. Newington, St. -Olave’s, Westminster, and Lambeth, are but little better. Well, you -know, drains of the old sort always leak, and there’s a great deal more -water poured into London than the Londoners have stowage room for, so -the water in low districts can’t pass off at high water, and there’s a -precious flood. We sopped the ground at Rotherhithe, but I thought I -never should escape again.”</p> - -<p>“Will the new pipes make any difference to that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; so I am led to understand. They are to be laid with a regular -fall, to pass the water off, which, being constant, will be never in -excess. The fall will be to a point of course below the water level, and -at a convenient place the contents of these drains are to be pumped up -into the main sewer. Horrible deal of death caused, Sir, by the<a name="page_318" id="page_318"></a> damp in -those low districts. One man in thirty-seven died of cholera in -Rotherhithe last year, when in Clerkenwell, at sixty-three feet above -high water, there died but one in five hundred and thirty. The -proportion held throughout.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, by the bye, you have heard, of course, complainings of the quality -of water. Will the Londoners sink wells for themselves?”</p> - -<p>“Wells! What a child you are! Just from the clouds, I see. Wells in a -large town get horribly polluted. They propose to consolidate and -improve two of the best Thames Water Companies, the Grand Junction and -Vauxhall, for the supply of London, until their great scheme can be -introduced; and to maintain them afterwards as a reserve guard in case -their great scheme shouldn’t prove so triumphant as they think it will -be.”</p> - -<p>“What is this great scheme, I should like to know?”</p> - -<p>“Why, they talk of fetching rain-water from a tract of heath between -Bagshot and Farnham. The rain there soaks through a thin crust of -growing<a name="page_319" id="page_319"></a> herbage, which is the only perfect filter, chemical as well as -mechanical—the living rootlets extract more than we can, where impurity -exists. Then, Sir, the rain runs into a large bed of silicious sand, -placed over marl; below the marl there is silicious sand again—Ah, I -perceive you are not geological.”</p> - -<p>“Go on.”</p> - -<p>“The sand, washed by the rains of ages, holds the water without soiling -it more than a glass tumbler would, and the Londoners say that in this -way, by making artificial channels and a big reservoir, they can collect -twenty-eight thousand gallons a day of water nearly pure. They require -forty thousand gallons, and propose to get the rest in the same -neighborhood from tributaries of the River Wey, not quite so pure, but -only half as hard as Thames water, and unpolluted.”</p> - -<p>“How is it to get to London?”</p> - -<p>“Through a covered aqueduct. Covered for coolness’ sake, and -cleanliness. Then it is to be distributed through earthenware pipes, -laid rather<a name="page_320" id="page_320"></a> deep, again for coolness’ sake in the first instance, but -for cleanliness as well. The water is to come in at high pressure, and -run in iron or lead pipes up every house, scale every wall. There is to -be a tap in every room, and under every tap there is to be the entrance -to a drain-pipe. Where water supply ends, drainage begins. They are to -be the two halves of a single system. Furthermore, there are to be -numbers of plugs opening in every street, and streets and courts are to -be washed out every morning, or every other morning, as the traffic may -require, with hose and jet. The Great Metropolis mustn’t be dirty, or be -content with rubbing a finger here and there over its dirt. It is to -have its face washed every morning, just before the hours of business. -The water at high pressure is to set people’s invention at work upon the -introduction of hydraulic apparatus for cranes, et cætera, which now -cause much hand labor and are scarcely worth steam-power. Furthermore—”</p> - -<p>“My dear friend,” cried Nephelo, “you are too<a name="page_321" id="page_321"></a> clever. More than half of -what you say is unintelligible to me.”</p> - -<p>“But the grand point,” continued the garrulous Thames drop, “is the -expense. The saving of cisterns, ball-cocks, plumbers’ bills, expansive -sewer-works, constant repairs, hand labor, street-sweeping, soap, tea, -linen, fuel, steam-boilers now damaged by incrustation, boards, -salaries, doctors’ bills, time, parish rates—”</p> - -<p>The catalogue was never ended, for the busy Drop was suddenly entangled -among hair upon the corpse of a dead cat, which fate also the fairy -narrowly escaped, to be in the next minute sucked up as Nubis had been -sucked, through pipes into a reservoir. Weary with the incessant -chattering of his conceited friend, whose pride he trusted that a night -with puss might humble, Nephelo now lurked silent in a corner. In a -dreamy state he floated with the current underground, and was half -sleeping in a pipe under some London street, when a great noise of -trampling overhead, mingled with cries, awakened him.<a name="page_322" id="page_322"></a></p> - -<p>“What is the matter now?” the fairy cried.</p> - -<p>“A fire, no doubt, to judge by the noise,” said a neighbor quietly. -Nephelo panted now with triumph. Cirrha was before his eyes. Now he -could benefit the race of man.</p> - -<p>“Let us get out,” cried Nephelo; “let us assist in running to the -rescue.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be impatient,” said a drowsy Drop. “We can’t get out of here till -they have found the Company’s turncock, and then he must go to this plug -and that plug in one street, and another, before we are turned off.”</p> - -<p>“In the meantime the fire—”</p> - -<p>“Will burn the house down. Help in five minutes would save a house. Now -the luckiest man will seldom have his premises attended to in less than -twenty.”</p> - -<p>Nephelo thought here was another topic for his gossip in the Thames. The -plugs talked of with a constant water-supply would take the sting out of -the Fire-Fiend.</p> - -<p>Presently among confused movements, confused<a name="page_323" id="page_323"></a> sounds, amid a rush of -water, Nephelo burst into the light—into the vivid light of a great -fire that leapt and roared as Nephelo was dashed against it! Through the -red flames and the black smoke in a burst of steam, the fairy reascended -hopeless to the clouds.</p> - -<h3>IV.</h3> - -<p class="cs"><small>RASCALLY CONDUCT OF THE PRINCE OF NIMBUS.</small></p> - -<p>The Prince of Nimbus, whose good-nature we have celebrated, was not good -for nothing. Having graciously permitted all the suitors of the Princess -Cirrha to go down to earth and labor for her hand, he took advantage of -their absence, and, having the coast clear, importuned the daughter of -King Cumulus with his own addresses. Cirrha was not disposed to listen -to them, but the rogue her father was ambitious. He desired to make a -good alliance, and that object was better gained by intermarriage with a -prince than with a subject.<a name="page_324" id="page_324"></a> “There will be an uproar,” said the old -man, “when those fellows down below come back. They will look black and -no doubt storm a little, but we’ll have our royal marriage -notwithstandstanding.” So the Prince of Nimbus married Cirrha, and -Nephelo arrived at the court of King Cumulus one evening during the -celebration of the bridal feast. His wrath was seen on earth in many -parts of England in the shape of a great thunderstorm on the 16th of -July. The adventures of the other suitors, they being thus cheated of -their object, need not be detailed. As each returns he will be made -acquainted with the scandalous fraud practised by the Prince of Nimbus, -and this being the state of politics in Cloud-Land at the moment when we -go to press, we may fairly expect to witness five or six more -thunderstorms before next winter. Each suitor, as he returns and finds -how shamefully he has been cheated, will create a great disturbance; and -no wonder. Conduct so rascally as that of the Prince of Nimbus is enough -to fill the clouds with uproar.<a name="page_325" id="page_325"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII.<br /><br /> -<span class="eng">An Excellent Opportunity.</span></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N one of the dirtiest and most gloomy streets leading to the Rue Saint -Denis, in Paris, there stands a tall and ancient house, the lower -portion of which is a large mercer’s shop. This establishment is held to -be one of the very best in the neighborhood, and has for many years -belonged to an individual on whom we will bestow the name of Ramin.</p> - -<p>About ten years ago, Monsieur Ramin was a jovial red-faced man of forty, -who joked his customers into purchasing his goods, flattered the pretty -<i>grisettes</i> outrageously, and now and then gave them a Sunday treat at -the barrier, as the cheapest way of securing their custom. Some people<a name="page_326" id="page_326"></a> -thought him a careless, good-natured fellow, and wondered how, with his -off-hand ways, he contrived to make money so fast, but those who knew -him well saw that he was one of those who “never lost an opportunity.” -Others declared that Monsieur Ramin’s own definition of his character -was, that he was a “<i>bon enfant</i>,” and that “it was all luck.” He -shrugged his shoulders and laughed when people hinted at his deep -scheming in making, and his skill in taking advantage of Excellent -Opportunities.</p> - -<p>He was sitting in his gloomy parlor one fine morning in Spring, -breakfasting from a dark liquid honored with the name of onion soup, -glancing at the newspaper, and keeping a vigilant look on the shop -through the open door, when his old servant Catherine suddenly -observed:—</p> - -<p>“I suppose you know Monsieur Bonelle has come to live in the vacant -apartment on the fourth floor?”</p> - -<p>“What!” exclaimed Monsieur Ramin in a loud key.</p> - -<p>Catherine repeated her statement, to which her master listened in total -silence.</p> - -<p>“Well!” he said, at length, in his most careless<a name="page_327" id="page_327"></a> tones, “what about the -old fellow?” and he once more resumed his triple occupation of reading, -eating, and watching.</p> - -<p>“Why,” continued Catherine, “they say he is nearly dying, and that his -housekeeper, Marguerite, vowed he could never get up stairs alive. It -took two men to carry him up; and when he was at length quiet in bed, -Marguerite went down to the porter’s lodge and sobbed there a whole -hour, saying, ‘Her poor master had the gout, the rheumatics, and a bad -asthma; that though he had been got up stairs, he would never come down -again alive; that if she could only get him to confess his sins and make -his will, she would not mind it so much; but that when she spoke of the -lawyer or the priest, he blasphemed at her like a heathen, and declared -he would live to bury her and everybody else.’ ”</p> - -<p>Monsieur Ramin heard Catherine with great attention, forgot to finish -his soup, and remained for five minutes in profound rumination, without -so much as perceiving two customers who had entered the shop and were -waiting to be served. When aroused, he was heard to exclaim:</p> - -<p>“What an excellent opportunity!”<a name="page_328" id="page_328"></a></p> - -<p>Monsieur Bonelle had been Ramin’s predecessor. The succession of the -latter to the shop was a mystery. No one ever knew how it was that this -young and poor assistant managed to replace his patron. Some said that -he had detected Monsieur Bonelle in frauds which he threatened to -expose, unless the business were given up to him as the price of his -silence; others averred that, having drawn a prize in the lottery, he -had resolved to set up a fierce opposition over the way, and that -Monsieur Bonelle, having obtained a hint of his intentions, had thought -it most prudent to accept the trifling sum his clerk offered, and avoid -a ruinous competition. Some charitable souls—moved no doubt by Monsieur -Bonelle’s misfortune—endeavored to console and pump him; but all they -could get from him was the bitter exclamation, “To think I should have -been duped by <i>him</i>!” For Ramin had the art, though then a mere youth, -to pass himself off on his master as an innocent provincial lad. Those -who sought an explanation from the new mercer, were still more -unsuccessful. “My good old master,” he said in his jovial way, “felt in -need of repose, and so I obligingly relieved him of all business and -botheration.”<a name="page_329" id="page_329"></a></p> - -<p>Years passed away; Ramin prospered, and neither thought nor heard of his -“good old master.” The house, of which he tenanted the lower portion, -was offered for sale; he had long coveted it, and had almost concluded -an agreement with the actual owner, when Monsieur Bonelle unexpectedly -stepped in at the eleventh hour, and by offering a trifle more secured -the bargain. The rage and mortification of Monsieur Ramin were extreme. -He could not understand how Bonelle, whom he had thought ruined, had -scraped up so large a sum; his lease was out, and he now felt himself at -the mercy of the man he had so much injured. But either Monsieur Bonelle -was free from vindictive feelings, or those feelings did not blind him -to the expediency of keeping a good tenant; for though he raised the -rent, until Monsieur Ramin groaned inwardly, he did not refuse to renew -the lease. They had met at that period; but never since.</p> - -<p>“Well, Catherine,” observed Monsieur Ramin to his old servant on the -following morning, “how is that good Monsieur Bonelle getting on?”</p> - -<p>“I dare say you feel very uneasy about him,” she replied with a sneer.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Ramin looked up and frowned.<a name="page_330" id="page_330"></a></p> - -<p>“Catherine,” said he, dryly, “you will have the goodness, in the first -place, not to make impertinent remarks; in the second place, you will -oblige me by going up stairs to inquire after the health of Monsieur -Bonelle, and say that I sent you.”</p> - -<p>Catherine grumbled and obeyed. Her master was in the shop, when she -returned in a few minutes, and delivered with evident satisfaction the -following gracious message:</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Bonelle desires his compliments to you, and declines to state -how he is; he will also thank you to attend to your own shop, and not to -trouble yourself about his health.”</p> - -<p>“How does he look?” asked Monsieur Ramin with the most perfect -composure.</p> - -<p>“I caught a glimpse of him, and he appears to me to be rapidly preparing -for the good offices of the undertaker.”</p> - -<p>Monsieur Ramin smiled, rubbed his hands, and joked merrily with a -dark-eyed grisette, who was cheapening some ribbon for her cap. That -girl made an excellent bargain that day.</p> - -<p>Towards dusk the mercer left the shop to the care of his attendant, and -softly stole up to the fourth story. In answer to his gentle ring, a -little<a name="page_331" id="page_331"></a> old woman opened the door, and giving him a rapid look, said -briefly,</p> - -<p>“Monsieur is inexorable; he won’t see any doctor whatever.”</p> - -<p>She was going to shut the door in his face, when Ramin quickly -interposed, under his breath, with, “<i>I</i> am not a doctor.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him from head to foot.</p> - -<p>“Are you a lawyer?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the sort, my good lady.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, are you a priest?”</p> - -<p>“I may almost say, quite the reverse.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, you must go away; master sees no one.”</p> - -<p>Once more she would have shut the door, but Ramin prevented her.</p> - -<p>“My good lady,” said he, in his most insinuating tones, “it is true I am -neither a lawyer, a doctor, nor a priest. I am an old friend, a very old -friend of your excellent master; I have come to see good Monsieur -Bonelle in his present affliction.”</p> - -<p>Marguerite did not answer, but allowed him to enter, and closed the door -behind him. He was going to pass from the narrow and gloomy ante-chamber -into an inner room—whence now proceeded<a name="page_332" id="page_332"></a> a sound of loud coughing—when -the old woman laid her hand on his arm, and raising herself on tip-toe -to reach his ear, whispered:</p> - -<p>“For Heaven’s sake, sir, since you are his friend, do talk to him; do -tell him to make his will, and hint something about a soul to be saved, -and all that sort of a thing: do, sir!”</p> - -<p>Monsieur Ramin nodded and winked in a way that said “I will.” He proved, -however, his prudence by not speaking aloud, for a voice from within -sharply exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“Marguerite, you are talking to some one. Marguerite, I will see neither -doctor nor lawyer; and if any meddling priest dare—”</p> - -<p>“It is only an old friend, sir;” interrupted Marguerite, opening the -inner door.</p> - -<p>Her master, on looking up, perceived the red face of Monsieur Ramin -peeping over the old woman’s shoulder, and irefully cried out,</p> - -<p>“How dare you bring that fellow here? And you, sir, how dare you come?”</p> - -<p>“My good old friend, there are feelings,” said Ramin, spreading his -fingers over the left pocket of his waistcoat,—“there are feelings,” he -repeated, “that cannot be subdued. One such feeling<a name="page_333" id="page_333"></a> brought me here. -The fact is, I am a good-natured, easy fellow, and I never bear malice. -I never forget an old friend, but love to forget old differences when I -find one party in affliction.”</p> - -<p>He drew a chair forward as he spoke, and composedly seated himself -opposite to his late master.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Bonelle was a thin old man, with a pale sharp face, and keen -features. At first, he eyed his visitor from the depths of his vast -arm-chair; but, as if not satisfied with this distant view, he bent -forward, and laying both hands on his thin knees, he looked up into -Ramin’s face with a fixed and piercing gaze. He had not, however, the -power of disconcerting his guest.</p> - -<p>“What did you come here for?” he at length asked.</p> - -<p>“Merely to have the extreme satisfaction of seeing how you are, my good -old friend. Nothing more.”</p> - -<p>“Well, look at me—and then go.”</p> - -<p>Nothing could be so discouraging; but this was an Excellent Opportunity, -and when Monsieur Ramin <i>had</i> an excellent opportunity in view, his -pertinacity was invincible. Being now resolved to stay, it was not in -Monsieur Bonelle’s power to<a name="page_334" id="page_334"></a> banish him. At the same time, he had tact -enough to render his presence agreeable. He knew that his coarse and -boisterous wit had often delighted Monsieur Bonelle of old, and he now -exerted himself so successfully as to betray the old man two or three -times into hearty laughter.</p> - -<p>“Ramin,” said he, at length, laying his thin hand on the arm of his -guest, and peering with his keen glance into the mercer’s purple face, -“you are a funny fellow, but I know you; you cannot make me believe you -have called just to see how I am, and to amuse me. Come, be candid for -once; what do you want?”</p> - -<p>Ramin threw himself back in his chair, and laughed blandly, as much as -to say, “<i>Can</i> you suspect me?”</p> - -<p>“I have no shop now out of which you can wheedle me,” continued the old -man; “and surely you are not such a fool as to come to me for money.”</p> - -<p>“Money?” repeated the draper, as if his host had mentioned something he -never dreamt of. “Oh no!”</p> - -<p>Ramin saw it would not do to broach the subject he had really come -about, too abruptly, now that<a name="page_335" id="page_335"></a> suspicion seemed so wide awake—<i>the</i> -opportunity had not arrived.</p> - -<p>“There is something up, Ramin, I know; I see it in the twinkle of your -eye; but you can’t deceive me again.”</p> - -<p>“Deceive <i>you</i>?” said the jolly schemer, shaking his head reverentially. -“Deceive a man of your penetration and depth? Impossible! The bare -supposition is flattery. My dear friend,” he continued, soothingly, “I -did not dream of such a thing. The fact is, Bonelle, though they call me -a jovial, careless, rattling dog, I have a conscience; and, somehow, I -have never felt quite easy about the way in which I became your -successor downstairs. It <i>was</i> rather sharp practice, I admit.”</p> - -<p>Bonelle seemed to relent.</p> - -<p>“Now for it,” said the Opportunity-hunter to himself—“By-the-by,” -(speaking aloud,) “this house must be a great trouble to you in your -present weak state? Two of your lodgers have lately gone away without -paying—a great nuisance, especially to an invalid.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you I’m as sound as a colt.”</p> - -<p>“At all events, the whole concern must be a<a name="page_336" id="page_336"></a> great bother to you. If I -were you, I would sell the house.”</p> - -<p>“And if I were <i>you</i>,” returned the landlord, dryly, “I would buy it—”</p> - -<p>“Precisely,” interrupted the tenant, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“That is, if you could get it. Phoo! I knew you were after something. -Will you give eighty thousand francs for it?” abruptly asked Monsieur -Bonelle.</p> - -<p>“Eighty thousand francs!” echoed Ramin. “Do you take me for Louis -Philippe or the Bank of France?”</p> - -<p>“Then, we’ll say no more about it—are you not afraid of leaving your -shop so long?”</p> - -<p>Ramin returned to the charge, heedless of the hint to depart. “The fact -is, my good old friend, ready money is not my strong point just now. But -if you wish very much to be relieved of the concern, what say you to a -life annuity? I could manage that.”</p> - -<p>Monsieur Bonelle gave a short, dry, churchyard cough, and looked as if -his life were not worth an hour’s purchase. “You think yourself -immensely clever, I dare say,” he said. “They have persuaded<a name="page_337" id="page_337"></a> you that I -am dying. Stuff! I shall bury you yet.”</p> - -<p>The mercer glanced at the thin fragile frame, and exclaimed to himself, -“Deluded old gentleman!” “My dear Bonelle,” he continued, aloud, “I know -well the strength of your admirable constitution; but allow me to -observe that you neglect yourself too much. Now, suppose a good sensible -doctor—”</p> - -<p>“Will you pay him?” interrogated Bonelle sharply.</p> - -<p>“Most willingly,” replied Ramin, with an eagerness that made the old man -smile. “As to the annuity, since the subject annoys you, we will talk of -it some other time.”</p> - -<p>“After you have heard the doctor’s report,” sneered Bonelle.</p> - -<p>The mercer gave him a stealthy glance, which the old man’s keen look -immediately detected. Neither could repress a smile; these good souls -understood one another perfectly, and Ramin saw that this was not the -Excellent Opportunity he desired, and departed.</p> - -<p>The next day Ramin sent a neighboring medical<a name="page_338" id="page_338"></a> man, and heard it was his -opinion that if Bonelle held on for three months longer, it would be a -miracle. Delightful news!</p> - -<p>Several days elapsed, and although very anxious, Ramin assumed a -careless air, and did not call upon his landlord, or take any notice of -him. At the end of the week old Marguerite entered the shop to make a -trifling purchase.</p> - -<p>“And how are we getting on up-stairs?” negligently asked Monsieur Ramin.</p> - -<p>“Worse and worse, my good Sir,” she sighed. “We have rheumatic pains, -which make us often use expressions the reverse of Christian-like, and -yet nothing can induce us to see either the lawyer or the priest; the -gout is getting nearer to our stomach every day, and still we go on -talking about the strength of our constitution. Oh, Sir, if you have any -influence with us, do, pray do, tell us how wicked it is to die without -making one’s will or confessing one’s sins.”</p> - -<p>“I shall go up this very evening,” ambiguously replied Monsieur Ramin.</p> - -<p>He kept his promise, and found Monsieur Bonelle in bed, groaning with -pain, and in the worst of tempers.<a name="page_339" id="page_339"></a></p> - -<p>“What poisoning doctor did you send?” he asked, with an ireful glance; -“I want no doctor, I am not ill; I will not follow his prescription; he -forbade me to eat; I <i>will</i> eat.”</p> - -<p>“He is a very clever man,” said the visitor. “He told me that never in -the whole course of his experience has he met with what he called so -much ‘resisting power’ as exists in your frame. He asked me if you were -not of a long-lived race.”</p> - -<p>“That is as people may judge,” replied Monsieur Bonelle. “All I can say -is, that my grandfather died at ninety, and my father at eighty-six.”</p> - -<p>“The doctor owned that you had a wonderfully strong constitution.”</p> - -<p>“Who said I hadn’t?” exclaimed the invalid feebly.</p> - -<p>“You may rely on it, you would preserve your health better if you had -not the trouble of these vexatious lodgers. Have you thought about the -life annuity?” said Ramin as carelessly as he could, considering how -near the matter was to his hopes and wishes.</p> - -<p>“Why, I have scruples,” returned Bonelle, coughing. “I do not wish to -take you in. My longevity would be the ruin of you.”<a name="page_340" id="page_340"></a></p> - -<p>“To meet that difficulty,” quickly replied the mercer, “we can reduce -the interest.”</p> - -<p>“But I must have high interest,” placidly returned Monsieur Bonelle.</p> - -<p>Ramin, on hearing this, burst into a loud fit of laughter, called -Monsieur Bonelle a sly old fox, gave him a poke in the ribs, which made -the old man cough for five minutes, and then proposed that they should -talk it over some other day. The mercer left Monsieur Bonelle in the act -of protesting that he felt as strong as a man of forty.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Ramin felt in no hurry to conclude the proposed agreement. “The -later one begins to pay, the better,” he said, as he descended the -stairs.</p> - -<p>Days passed on, and the negotiation made no way. It struck the observant -tradesman that all was not right. Old Marguerite several times refused -to admit him, declaring her master was asleep; there was something -mysterious and forbidding in her manner that seemed to Monsieur Ramin -very ominous. At length a sudden thought occurred to him; the -housekeeper—wishing to become her master’s heir—had heard his scheme -and opposed it. On the very day that he arrived at<a name="page_341" id="page_341"></a> this conclusion, he -met a lawyer, with whom he had formerly had some transactions, coming -down the staircase. The sight sent a chill through the mercer’s -commercial heart, and a presentiment—one of those presentiments that -seldom deceive—told him it was too late. He had, however, the fortitude -to abstain from visiting Monsieur Bonelle until evening came; when he -went up, resolved to see him in spite of all Marguerite might urge. The -door was half-open, and the old housekeeper stood talking on the landing -to a middle-aged man in a dark cassock.</p> - -<p>“It is all over! The old witch has got the priests at him,” thought -Ramin, inwardly groaning at his own folly in allowing himself to be -forestalled.</p> - -<p>“You cannot see Monsieur to-night,” sharply said Marguerite, as he -attempted to pass her.</p> - -<p>“Alas! is my excellent friend so very ill?” asked Ramin, in a mournful -tone.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” eagerly said the clergyman, catching him by the button of his -coat, “if you are indeed the friend of that unhappy man, do seek to -bring him into a more suitable frame of mind. I have seen many dying -men, but never so much obstinacy,<a name="page_342" id="page_342"></a> never such infatuated belief in the -duration of life.”</p> - -<p>“Then you think he really <i>is</i> dying?” asked Ramin; and, in spite of the -melancholy accent he endeavored to assume, there was something so -peculiar in his tone, that the priest looked at him very fixedly as he -slowly replied,</p> - -<p>“Yes, Sir, I think he is.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” was all Monsieur Ramin said; and as the clergyman had now relaxed -his hold of the button, Ramin passed in spite of the remonstrances of -Marguerite, who rushed after the priest. He found Monsieur Bonelle still -in bed in a towering rage.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Ramin, my friend,” he groaned, “never take a housekeeper, and never -let her know you have any property. They are harpies, Ramin,—harpies! -such a day as I have had; first, the lawyer, who comes to write down ‘my -last testamentary dispositions,’ as he calls them; then the priest, who -gently hints that I am a dying man. Oh, what a day!”</p> - -<p>“And <i>did</i> you make your will, my excellent friend?” softly asked -Monsieur Ramin, with a keen look.<a name="page_343" id="page_343"></a></p> - -<p>“Make my will?” indignantly exclaimed the old man; “make my will? what -do you mean, Sir? do you mean to say I am dying?”</p> - -<p>“Heaven forbid!” piously ejaculated Ramin.</p> - -<p>“Then why do you ask me if I have been making my will?” angrily resumed -the old man. He then began to be extremely abusive.</p> - -<p>When money was in the way, Monsieur Ramin, though otherwise of a violent -temper, had the meekness of a lamb. He bore the treatment of his host -with the meekest patience, and having first locked the door so as to -make sure that Marguerite would not interrupt them, he watched Monsieur -Bonelle attentively, and satisfied himself that the Excellent -Opportunity he had been ardently longing for had arrived. “He is going -fast,” he thought; “and unless I settle the agreement to-night, and get -it drawn up and signed to-morrow, it will be too late.”</p> - -<p>“My dear friend,” he at length said aloud, on perceiving that the old -gentleman had fairly exhausted himself and was lying panting on his -back, “you are indeed a lamentable instance of the lengths to which the -greedy lust of lucre will carry our poor human nature. It is really -distressing<a name="page_344" id="page_344"></a> to see Marguerite, a faithful, attached servant, suddenly -converted into a tormenting harpy by the prospect of a legacy! Lawyers -and priests flock around you like birds of prey, drawn hither by the -scent of gold! Oh, the miseries of having delicate health combined with -a sound constitution and large property!”</p> - -<p>“Ramin,” groaned the old man, looking inquiringly into his visitor’s -face, “you are again going to talk to me about that annuity—I know you -are!”</p> - -<p>“My excellent friend, it is merely to deliver you from a painful -position.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure, Ramin, you think in your soul I am dying,” whimpered -Monsieur Bonelle.</p> - -<p>“Absurd, my dear Sir. Dying? I will prove to you that you have never -been in better health. In the first place you feel no pain.”</p> - -<p>“Excepting from rheumatism,” groaned Monsieur Bonelle.</p> - -<p>“Rheumatism! who ever died of rheumatism? and if that be all—”</p> - -<p>“No, it is not all,” interrupted the old man with great irritability; -“what would you say to the gout getting higher and higher up every -day?”<a name="page_345" id="page_345"></a></p> - -<p>“The gout is rather disagreeable, but if there is nothing else—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, there is something else,” sharply said Monsieur Bonelle. “There is -an asthma that will scarcely let me breathe, and a racking pain in my -head that does not allow me a moment’s ease. But if you think I am -dying, Ramin, you are quite mistaken.”</p> - -<p>“No doubt, my dear friend, no doubt; but in the meanwhile, suppose we -talk of this annuity. Shall we say one thousand francs a year.”</p> - -<p>“What?” asked Bonelle, looking at him very fixedly.</p> - -<p>“My dear friend, I mistook; I meant two thousand francs per annum,” -hurriedly rejoined Ramin.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Bonelle closed his eyes, and appeared to fall into a gentle -slumber. The mercer coughed; the sick man never moved.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Bonelle.”</p> - -<p>No reply.</p> - -<p>“My excellent friend.”</p> - -<p>Utter silence.</p> - -<p>“Are you asleep?”</p> - -<p>A long pause.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, what do you say to three thousand?”<a name="page_346" id="page_346"></a></p> - -<p>Monsieur Bonelle opened his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Ramin,” said he, sententiously, “you are a fool; the house brings me in -four thousand as it is.”</p> - -<p>This was quite false, and the mercer knew it; but he had his own reasons -for wishing to seem to believe it true.</p> - -<p>“Good Heavens!” said he, with an air of great innocence, “who could have -thought it, and the lodgers constantly running away. Four thousand? -Well, then, you shall have four thousand.”</p> - -<p>Monsieur Bonelle shut his eyes once more, and murmured “The mere -rental—nonsense!” He then folded his hands on his breast, and appeared -to compose himself to sleep.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what a sharp man of business he is!” Ramin said, admiringly; but -for once omnipotent flattery failed in its effect; “So acute!” continued -he, with a stealthy glance at the old man, who remained perfectly -unmoved. “I see you will insist upon making it the other five hundred -francs.”</p> - -<p>Monsieur Ramin said this as if five thousand five hundred francs had -already been mentioned, and was the very summit of Monsieur Bonelle’s -ambition. But the ruse failed in its effect; the sick man never so much -as stirred.<a name="page_347" id="page_347"></a></p> - -<p>“But, my dear friend,” urged Monsieur Ramin in a tone of feeling -remonstrance, “there is such a thing as being too sharp, too acute. How -can you expect that I shall give you more when your constitution is so -good, and you are to be such a long liver?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but I may be carried off one of those days,” quietly observed the -old man, evidently wishing to turn the chance of his own death to -account.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, and I hope so,” muttered the mercer, who was getting very -ill-tempered.</p> - -<p>“You see,” soothingly continued Bonelle, “you are so good a man of -business, Ramin, that you will double the actual value of the house in -no time. I am a quiet, easy person, indifferent to money; otherwise this -house would now bring me in eight thousand at the very least.”</p> - -<p>“Eight thousand!” indignantly exclaimed the mercer. “Monsieur Bonelle, -you have no conscience. Come now, my dear friend, do be reasonable. Six -thousand francs a-year (I don’t mind saying six) is really a very -handsome income for a man of your quiet habits. Come, be reasonable.” -But Monsieur Bonelle turned a deaf ear to reason, and closed his eyes -once more. What between<a name="page_348" id="page_348"></a> opening and shutting them for the next quarter -of an hour, he at length induced Monsieur Ramin to offer him seven -thousand francs.</p> - -<p>“Very well, Ramin, agreed,” he quietly said; “you have made an -unconscionable bargain.” To this succeeded a violent fit of coughing.</p> - -<p>As Ramin unlocked the door to leave, he found old Marguerite, who had -been listening all the time, ready to assail him with a torrent of -whispered abuse for duping her “poor dear innocent old master into such -a bargain.” The mercer bore it all very patiently; he could make -allowances for her excited feelings, and only rubbed his hands and bade -her a jovial good evening.</p> - -<p>The agreement was signed on the following day, to the indignation of old -Marguerite, and the mutual satisfaction of the parties concerned.</p> - -<p>Every one admired the luck and shrewdness of Ramin, for the old man -every day was reported worse; and it was clear to all that the first -quarter of the annuity would never be paid. Marguerite, in her wrath, -told the story as a grievance to every one; people listened, shook their -heads, and pronounced Monsieur Ramin to be a deuced clever fellow.<a name="page_349" id="page_349"></a></p> - -<p>A month elapsed. As Ramin was coming down one morning from the attics, -where he had been giving notice to a poor widow who had failed in paying -her rent, he heard a light step on the stairs. Presently a sprightly -gentleman, in buoyant health and spirits, wearing the form of Monsieur -Bonelle, appeared. Ramin stood aghast.</p> - -<p>“Well, Ramin,” gaily said the old man, “how are you getting on? Have you -been tormenting the poor widow up stairs? Why, man, we must live and let -live!”</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Bonelle,” said the mercer, in a hollow tone, “may I ask where -are your rheumatics?”</p> - -<p>“Gone, my dear friend,—gone.”</p> - -<p>“And the gout that was creeping higher and higher every day,” exclaimed -Monsieur Ramin, in a voice of anguish.</p> - -<p>“It went lower and lower, till it disappeared altogether,” composedly -replied Bonelle.</p> - -<p>“And your asthma——”</p> - -<p>“The asthma remains, but asthmatic people are proverbially long-lived. -It is, I have been told, the only complaint that Methuselah was troubled -with.” With this, Bonelle opened his door, shut it, and disappeared.<a name="page_350" id="page_350"></a></p> - -<p>Ramin was transfixed on the stairs; petrified with intense -disappointment, and a powerful sense of having been duped. When -discovered, he stared vacantly, and raved about an Excellent Opportunity -of taking his revenge.</p> - -<p>The wonderful cure was the talk of the neighborhood, whenever Monsieur -Bonelle appeared in the streets, jauntily flourishing his cane. In the -first frenzy of his despair, Ramin refused to pay; he accused every one -of having been in a plot to deceive him; he turned off Catherine and -expelled his porter; he publicly accused the lawyer and priest of -conspiracy; brought an action against the doctor, and lost it. He had -another brought against him for violently assaulting Marguerite, in -which he was cast in heavy damages. Monsieur Bonelle did not trouble -himself with useless remonstrances, but, when his annuity was refused, -employed such good legal arguments as the exasperated mercer could not -possibly resist.</p> - -<p>Ten years have elapsed, and MM. Ramin and Bonelle still live on. For a -house which would have been dear at fifty thousand francs, the draper -has already handed over seventy thousand.</p> - -<p>The once red-faced, jovial Ramin, is now a pale,<a name="page_351" id="page_351"></a> haggard man, of sour -temper and aspect. To add to his anguish, he sees the old man thrive on -that money which it breaks his heart to give. Old Marguerite takes a -malicious pleasure in giving him an exact account of their good cheer, -and in asking him if he does not think Monsieur looks better and better -every day. Of one part of this torment Ramin might get rid, by giving -his old master notice to quit, and no longer having him in his house. -But this he cannot do; he has a secret fear that Bonelle would take some -Excellent Opportunity of dying without his knowledge, and giving some -other person an Excellent Opportunity of personating him, and receiving -the money in his stead.</p> - -<p>The last accounts of the victim of Excellent Opportunities represent him -as being gradually worn down with disappointment. There seems every -probability of his being the first to leave the world; for Bonelle is -heartier than ever.</p> - -<p class="c">THE END.<a name="page_352" id="page_352"></a></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c"> -<b>Popular Work! Twelfth Thousand Now Ready!</b><br /> -———<br /> -<big>LEWIE, OR THE BENDED TWIG.</big><br /> - -BY COUSIN CICELY,<br /> - -Author of “Silver Lake Stories,” etc., etc.<br /> - -<b>One Volume 12mo., <span style="margin-left: 8em;">Price $1.00.</span></b><br /> -</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO., <span class="smcap">Auburn, N. Y.</span>, }</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">WANZER, BEARDSLEY & CO., <span class="smcap">Rochester, N. Y.</span>, } <i>Publishers</i>.</span><br /> -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For thou alone may’st train, and guide, and mould<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plants that shall blossom, with an odor sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, like the cursed fig-tree, wither, and become<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vile cumberers of the ground.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="c">Brief Extracts from Notices of the Press.</p> - -<p>* * * A tale which deserves to rank with “The Wide, Wide World.” It is -written with graphic power, and full of interest.—<i>Hartford Repub.</i></p> - -<p>* * * Her writings are equal to the best. She is a second Fanny -Fern.—<i>Palmyra Democrat.</i></p> - -<p>* * * It is recommended by its excellent moral tone and its wholesome -practical inculcations.—<i>N. Y. Tribune.</i></p> - -<p>* * * Full of grace and charm, its style and vivacity make it a most -amusing work. For the intellectual and thinking, it has a deeper lesson, -and while it thrills the heart, bids parents beware of that weakness -which prepares in infancy the misery of man. “Lewie” is one of the most -popular books now before the public, and needs no puffing, as it is -selling by thousands.—<i>N. Y. Day Book.</i></p> - -<p>* * * The moral of the book is inestimable. The writer cannot fail to be -good, as she so faithfully portrays the evils which owe their origin to -the criminal neglect of proper parental discipline.—<i>Hunt’s Merchants’ -Magazine.</i></p> - -<p>* * * The plot is full of dramatic interest, yet entirely free from -extravagance; the incidents grow out of the main plot easily and -naturally, while the sentiment is healthy and unaffected. Commend us to -more writers like Cousin Cicely—books which we can see in the hands of -our young people without uneasiness. Books which interest by picturing -life as it is, instead of giving us galvanized society.—<i>National -Democrat.</i></p> - -<p>* * * A touching and impressive story, unaffected in style and effective -in plot.—<i>N. Y. Evangelist.</i></p> - -<p>* * * The story of the Governess, contained in this volume, is one of -rare interest.—<i>Highland Eagle.</i></p> - -<p>* * * The story is a charming one—the most affecting we ever -read.—<i>Jersey Shore Republican.</i></p> - -<p>* * * “Cousin Cicely” is just the person to portray family scenes.</p> - -<p>* * * This story will be profitable reading.—<i>Daily Capital City Fact, -Columbus, Ohio.</i></p> - -<p>* * * The contents of the work are of the first order, and -unexceptionable.—<i>Hartford Daily Times.</i></p> - -<div class="footnotes"><p class="cb">FOOTNOTES:</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Report of Mr. Bowie on the cause of Cholera in Bermondsey.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Report of Dr. Gavin.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Evidence of Mr. J. T. Cooper, Practical Chemist.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Evidence before the Board of Health.</p></div> - -</div> - -<p><a name="transcrib" id="transcrib"></a></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="padding:2%;border:3px dotted gray;"> -<tr><th align="center">Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:</th></tr> -<tr><td align="center">gave him little encouagement=> gave him little encouagement {pg 11}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">where an elegaut <i>déjeuner</i>=> where an elegant <i>déjeuner</i> {pg 20}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">wo had sprung=> woe had sprung {pg 27}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">againt the barons=> against the barons {pg 35}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">Ths spirit of a policeman=> The spirit of a policeman {pg 62}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">three feet together anwhere=> three feet together anywhere {pg 207}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">Nepho now lurked=> Nephelo now lurked {pg 321}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">cried Nepho=> cried Nephelo {pg 322}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center">you are are not such a fool=> you are not such a fool {pg 334}</td></tr> -</table> -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pearl-Fishing; Choice Stories from -Dickens' Household Words; Second S, by Charles Dickens - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEARL-FISHING, SECOND SERIES *** - -***** This file should be named 50334-h.htm or 50334-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/3/3/50334/ - -Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team -at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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