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diff --git a/77059-0.txt b/77059-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..071573e --- /dev/null +++ b/77059-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18279 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77059 *** + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + Transcriber’s Note: + +The volume is a collection of five previously published texts, each with +its own title page and pagination. + + THE PARK AND THE PADDOCK + THE TENTH HAYCOCK + THE JERSEYMEN MEETING + THE JERSEYMEN PARTING + THE SCHOLARS OF ARNESIDE + +This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. +Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. On each title +page, the phrase “A Tale” was printed in a blackletter font, which is +rendered here delimited by ‘=’. + +Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please +see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding +the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS + + OF + + _TAXATION._ + + + --------------------- + + + No. I. + + THE + PARK AND THE PADDOCK. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + --------------------- + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + + + + + LONDON: + PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, + Duke-street, Lambeth. + + + + + THE + PARK AND THE PADDOCK. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + + + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + + CONTENTS. + + CHAP. PAGE + 1. Pride of Patrimony 1 + 2. Patrimonial Appendages 15 + 3. Clerical Duty 29 + 4. Clerical Recreations 57 + 5. Vowed Sisterhood 73 + 6. Battles at Navarino 105 + 7. Lounging and Listening 129 + 8. Characteristics 135 + + + + + THE + PARK AND THE PADDOCK. + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + PRIDE OF PATRIMONY. + + +The inhabitants of the town of A were divided in opinion as to whether +they ought to be thankful or not for the new road having been brought +within a quarter of a mile of their marketplace. There were traditions, +in the memories of the old people, of their town having once been a +place of considerable importance; and a few vestiges of such importance +remained to gratify the pride, and fill up the spare hours of two or +three antiquarians within its bounds. The old people and these +antiquarians agreed in trembling for the fate of their beloved carved +gateways and projecting fronts of houses, amidst the brick edifices +which were springing up in the neighbourhood, and the new incentives to +improvement which had arisen; but they granted that every townsman ought +to wish for the increase of his native place in consequence and wealth. +There were some who already began to look contemptuously on the streets +of low, rambling houses, amidst which their days had been passed, and to +expend all their love and admiration on the new inn which flared upon +the scarce-finished road, and the sets of red “lodges,” “villas,” and +“cottages,” which stood in patches on the western outskirts of the town. +The builders of the place, of course, spoke much in praise of +improvement, and those whose house-property stood in the half empty +streets on the eastern side of A had no less to say against innovation. +There was little dispute, meanwhile, on one point: that the town had +always suffered from its being in the centre of a fine sporting country. +The dwellings of the gentry were, almost without exception, situated at +some distance among the moors or the fells. Even the physicians’ and +lawyers’ houses stood by themselves—in gardens or surrounded by walls—in +emulation of the mansions and shooting-boxes which might be seen from +the church tower; so that this church tower, and the blue slates of a +few meeting-houses rose from amidst a congregation of tradesmen’s +dwellings. The large old inn, the Turk’s Head, was almost the only +handsome house of any respectable age. The town was thought to suffer +much in the estimation of strangers from this deficiency; and the +inhabitants became the more sensible of it, the more strangers were +brought to cast a passing glance upon the place from the new road, or to +make a note of what they saw from the balcony of the modern inn, the +Navarino, while waiting for horses. + +A party of strangers arrived one day, whose opinion of the town was of +some consequence, as it might determine or prevent their residence in +the neighbourhood. They did not stop either at the Turk’s Head or at the +Navarino, but only for two minutes to inquire for the steward of +Fellbrow Park, who was found to have preceded the party to their +destination. News had circulated for some days past of the arrival of a +letter from young Mr. Cranston, declaring his intention of coming to +throw open the house, and to examine the estate which had been deserted +by his father for many years before his death. The steward was desired +not to draw a nail from the gates; and to make no further preparation +for the arrival of the heir than having workmen ready to open a way for +him into his own court-yard. + +Mr. Cranston, the elder, had taken a disgust to this abode, and quitted +it on the death of his lady, sixteen years ago. Before he drove away, +carrying with him his three little boys and his infant daughter, he +superintended the extraordinary ceremony of nailing iron plates over the +gates of the court-yard, and took effectual care that no part of the +old-fashioned wall which surrounded the house should be left in a state +to tempt foot to climb, or eye to look over it. His last charge to his +steward had been to see that not a tree was planted or felled,—not so +much as a weed pulled up, till further orders. The fish were to be +undisturbed in their ponds, and the game in their covers. All the +servants left behind were to be sinecurists till a change of policy or +of administration should arrive. Till the news of Mr. Cranston’s death, +all these directions had been complied with, except in as far as certain +instances of connivance might be regarded as breach of orders. If a few +aged neighbours were seen now and then helping themselves with firewood +from the thickets, and a youth might be descried from afar stealing +towards the ponds, or the game-keeper occasionally found certain of his +charge fluttering in springes, no notice was taken, and no remorse +followed, as it was decided that both ponds and covers remained as much +overstocked as the owner could possibly desire. The first change of +management took place when the approach of young Mr. Cranston was +announced. The steward was grieved at the thought that the heir should +see his estate in so desolate a condition, and took the liberty,—not to +fell trees,—but to clear away underwood, and weed and new-gravel the +walks which led from the entrance of the park to the house. A little +mowing of the grass, and trimming of some patches near the house which +were once flower-beds, further improved the aspect of the place, so as +to destroy all anticipation of what the family was likely to see within +doors. + +When the carriages stopped at the park entrance, the steward appeared to +pay his respects, and suggest that immediate orders should be sent to +one or other of the inns, to provide that accommodation which it was +impossible the house should afford. He must venture also to say that the +young lady would not find the place fit for her to enter. It would +really be better that she should not proceed this afternoon. + +Mr. Cranston had been,—not stretched out at length, for no carriage +could thus accommodate his length of limb,—but leaning back, reading, +till the last moment. He seemed sorry to be roused, even by his arrival +at his own estate, and to be greeted by his own steward. + +“What do you think, Fanny?” said he to his sister, who was just emerging +from a reverie beside him. “Perhaps you had better go back to the inn +with Mrs. Day and Maynard till to-morrow.” + +Mrs. Day, the respectable elderly personage who had never been exactly +Fanny’s nurse, and was now far from being her governess, ventured to say +from her corner of the carriage that she really could not think of +Fanny’s proceeding to the house till she knew that it had been properly +aired. She had been asking, for a week past, what measures had been +taken for this end; and could learn nothing that satisfied her that +Fanny could go anywhere to-night but to the inn. + +Fanny, meanwhile, had given orders to drive on; and before Mrs. Day had +done speaking, the carriage was rolling on the gravel within the gates. +If Richard had put away his book, and sat upright in preparation for +what was approaching, it was not to be expected that she should turn +back, she declared. + +The phaeton which her brother James was driving had passed the carriage +during the consultation with the steward; and Wallace, the youngest of +the three brothers, might now be seen pointing out certain things that +he perceived in the grass, and in the neighbouring coppice. James +flourished his whip, and quickened the pace of his steeds. Their mirth +communicated itself to Fanny, and she sprang forward with an exclamation +of joy when the next turn of the road disclosed a splendid view, bathed +in the sunshine of a bright autumnal afternoon. Mrs. Day had never been +more out of love with these wild young people, (as she sometimes called +them,) than at the present moment. She did not expect that they should +remember the place, or her whose death had occasioned their quitting it; +but she really thought that they might show themselves more sensible of +what had happened there. Some thought of their parents might be +suggested by the scene, which should sober their spirits a little. But +she never saw anything like the spirits of these young people. So far +from their father having subdued them, it seemed as if he had left them +his wildness without his fits of melancholy. Perhaps it was hardly fair +to expect that the children of such a parent should be like other +people. + +The steward, on his grey pony, had trotted past the carriage; and he was +now collecting the workmen and their tools in preparation for Mr. +Cranston’s order to throw open the gates. + +“Come, Richard, you must get out,” cried Wallace, who had alighted from +the phaeton. “We are only waiting for you.” + +The knocking began. Mrs. Day could not bear it. Every blow went to her +heart. She wandered away, thick and damp as was the grass, till she +turned an angle of the wall where the noise was deadened, and she was +out of sight of the rest of the party. There was a strange mingling of +sounds. The high wall of rock which rose on the other side of the +stream, to which the lawn sloped down before her, sent back an echo of +the workmen’s blows. The rooks were disturbed, and rose from the high +trees in a cloud, to add their hoarse music to the din. Daws came +fluttering out of the nest of chimneys which was visible above the wall, +and pigeons appeared upon the roof, rustling and flapping their wings in +prodigious perturbation. Laughter (it was Wallace’s laugh) mingled +strangely with the other sounds; and Mrs. Day decided in her own mind +that Mr. Cranston, who was never wanting in proper feeling, ought to +check such unseasonable mirth. She presently saw that Mr. Cranston was +not at hand to interpose such a check. While she had wandered round one +way, Fanny and her eldest brother had taken the other, and they might +now be seen,—Richard standing in his usual lazy attitude, and Fanny +exploring the beds where all the flowers of the garden seemed to have +grown into a tangled thicket. Mrs. Day found her pronouncing that such a +beautiful spot for a garden was never so wasted before, and that this +unaccountable wall round the house must be immediately thrown down, that +the coppice, the stream, and the opposite rocks might be seen. Richard +listened with an air of resignation, and hoped that James would think +his living near enough to allow of his remaining at Fellbrow till all +the alterations were completed. Richard would heartily thank anybody who +would take the trouble off his hands. + +“O, yes; and let you sleep till noon; till the sun is warm enough to let +you sit down there by the waterside, reading till dinner; and then let +you lounge on the sofa till tea, and then read or listen to us all the +evening. That is the life you would like to lead this autumn,” said +Fanny. + +“Just so,” Richard agreed, looking round to see if there was no seat at +hand. The rotten remains of one were just distinguishable among the rank +grass, under a moss-grown tree; but there was no hope that it would +support Richard’s lazy length. + +A shout, and then a screech, with a final clang, now told that the gates +would open and shut, and that Richard was wanted. His brothers were in +the yard when he joined them, both breast-high in thistles. They would +not hear of their sister being kept back by this cause. They carried her +through,—or rather over, this wilderness of weeds, and placed her on the +steps of the door. They offered to perform the same service for Mrs. +Day, but she once more turned away, almost without answering. Fanny +thought this the most curious-looking old house she had ever seen, and, +in spite of the desolation of its present aspect, she could not help +enjoying the romantic prospect which began to open upon her of the kind +of life she might lead here. These lattice windows,—so many and so +small,—were made to be gently opened, in greeting to the rising moon. +That carved wooden seat beside the door should be restored for the sake +of the wandering merchant who might wish to open his pack before the +eyes of the lady of the house. Those broad eaves were made for the +swallows to build under.—When she entered the hall, what a sight was +there! + +“O, Wallace, stop! Do stand still a minute,” cried she, as Wallace +strode before her, dealing destruction right and left among the cobwebs. +Never were such cobwebs seen; and it was difficult to imagine what the +spiders could be that wove them. They hung like flimsy curtains from the +ceiling to the floor, and, as the newly-admitted air waved them in the +yellow sunshine which burst in at the door (the windows being wholly +obscured by dust) they exhibited a texture of such beauty as it indeed +required some resolution to destroy. Wallace would not, however, submit +to a long detention. Parting at the stroke of his switch, the delicate +fabrics fell, forming a dusty tapestry for the walls. + +“Do but look!” cried Wallace, when he had made his way first into the +library. “Grass grown to seed on the mantel-piece! Where the deuce did +the seed and the soil come from?” + +As one and another entered the room, new wonders became apparent. Fanny +was surprised to see the shelves full of books. She looked close to see +what they were, and was startled by meeting a pair of bright eyes where +a space was left between the volumes. + +“It is—yes, it is a stuffed owl,” said she to Richard. “But what an odd +place to hide it in!” + +“A stuffed owl!” cried Wallace, coming up: “we will soon see that;” and +he touched the creature with the end of his switch; in answer to which +salutation it ruffled its speckled plumage, pecked angrily, and then +burst away in the direction of a window which was now perceived to be +broken. James decreed that this room should be appropriated to Fanny, +and that she should never more be known by any other name than Minerva. +Seated here, with her owl and her books, she could never say a foolish +thing again. + +The young lady was not long in doing something which, in most young +ladies, would be called foolish. She kneeled on the stained carpet to +draw out a volume or two of the row of mouldy folios next the floor. She +was fortunate in finding another curiosity. + +“Look, look, Richard! Leave those globes alone, and come here. Here is a +skeleton of something. What is it, Wallace? A rabbit? It looks like a +rabbit; but there can be no rabbits in this place. That is right; take +away the next volume, and the next.” Wallace was doing this, under +pretence of wanting more light; for he was vexed at not being able to +pronounce in a moment what animal this was the skeleton of. + +“How curious! how very pretty!” continued Fanny; “spun all over with +cobwebs, and fastened to the wall with cobwebs! But what animal can it +be? Something that crouches.” + +“Ah, ha!” cried Wallace; “now I see. It is a cat. Here is the skeleton +of a rat a little way before it. Plainly a rat, you see, which could get +no farther between the books and the wall: this great Josephus stopped +it.” + +“And it dared not go back for fear of the cat; and the cat could not +quite reach it. But what prevented the cat’s going back? Oh, it had +forced its way in too far; and the more it crouched, the broader its +back would be. How it must have longed to get at the rat! If the rat had +had any generosity, it would have gone back and given itself up. It was +not jammed, but only barred in behind and before; and when it was +certain not to escape, it might as well have been eaten as starved.” + +“Perhaps it hoped to be released,” observed James. + +“I am sure that cat did, if, as I believe, it is the same that I used to +take care of and torment,” said Richard. “I plagued the poor thing +terribly, I have no doubt; but she never mewed but I answered her. How +she must have wondered what had become of me! How piteously she must +have cried for me, while she was starving to death here! One touch of +mine to those books would have given her her prey and her liberty. Bring +her out, Wallace, and the rat too; I shall have them taken care of.” + +“I think James had better make a sermon about them,” Fanny observed; +“something about malice, or greediness, and what comes of them.” + +“There is matter for many sermons in this room,” observed Richard +gravely. The steward touched his hat at this remark, and was uncovered +from that moment. + +The apartments in which no windows were broken were in better condition, +though it was at first difficult to breathe in them, and the green +stains on the wall forbade Fanny to hope to be immediately established +there. Three westerly rooms,—one of which was the drawing-room,—were in +better condition than any others, and it was decided that upon these +should the science and art of the tradespeople of A—— be first employed. + +“Come, come, Fanny, you have been here long enough for to-day,” said +Richard. “Do go down before you are quite chilled or suffocated.” Fanny +declared herself in no danger of either the one or the other calamity. +She was at the moment looking abroad upon the park at her feet, and the +mountainous range behind, and feared nothing so much as this being +pronounced an unfit residence for her, and her return to London insisted +upon. She waited anxiously for the reply to the steward’s question,— + +“What do you think of the place, sir? Have you any idea of living in it, +now you see what it is?” + +“O yes, if you have people at hand who can set it to rights, and if——” + +His brothers understood the contortion of his long form, and laughed. + +“And if,” said they, “anybody will be master instead of you. Leave it to +us.” + +Wallace would enjoy nothing so much as such an excuse for making the +most of a fine sporting season; and James had no objection to go +backwards and forwards between Fellbrow and his new living,—taking what +sport he could get at the one place, and perhaps amusing himself with +building a house at the other. + +“As for the quality of the tradespeople, sir,” said the steward, “you +will be better off than if you had happened to come a while ago. Among +other things that the new road has brought us, sir, is a number of +better workmen than we had before. Some of the old folks, who cannot +give up their custom of doing their work as slow as they please, and +charging what they like, are apt to stand grumbling at their doors, with +their hands in their pockets. But what you have to do with, sir, is the +new-comers, in the new part of the town, who will be glad of the +opportunity of keeping a-head in the competition, and doing your work +out of hand.” + +“I had rather employ the old ones who used to work for my father, if +they will bestir themselves to serve me properly.” + +“I doubt they won’t, sir; and I would not have you think yourself under +obligation to employ them. They have made, and are making, provision +enough for themselves out of your property already.” + +What could this mean? The gentlemen must ask Morse. Morse, the +gamekeeper? Then it was meant that the tradesmen and work-people of A—— +were poachers. But which? It could not surely be meant that glaziers and +carpenters, shoemakers and chimney-sweepers, made any hand of poaching. +The steward supposed time would show what sort of men the gangs were +composed of. This much he knew; that the people he alluded to spoke of +the falling off of their business for the sake of new-comers, and of the +weight of their taxation, as if they thought it justified their laying +hands on a property which they did not consider as a property; which was +the case with game all over the world. + +Wallace threatened to rectify the notions of the people of A—— as to +property very speedily, if they ventured to interfere with the present +or future sport of himself and his brothers. James, meanwhile, was +hoping that the poachers had not, at any time, found the way to the +cellars. If the carpets were left on the floors to rot, and the books on +the shelves to grow mouldy, it would be very hard that there should be +no wine in the cellars to ripen. He proposed that a descent should be +effected for purposes of search, and that a supply of any which might be +found should be sent to the inn, as it was scarcely likely that wine of +a good quality could be met with there. The steward had a word to say in +favour of the wine at the Turk’s Head; but added, that he knew the +cellars under their feet to be well-stocked, both with ale and wines, +which must now be in fine order. + +Mrs. Day had more thoughts about the levity of young people when she saw +how the family issued from the old mansion, after their first greeting +of it. The clergyman seemed to be taking equal care about the conveyance +of his sister and some crusted port; and Wallace was vociferating for +glasses, as he was bent on trying the ale upon the spot. The steward was +nearly as grave as herself; but for him there was the comfort of having +employment, and the countenance and encouragement of a master once more. +He was relieved from the misery of seeing the property going to ruin; +and, after all, as he comforted himself with saying, let these young men +be as wild as they will, they can never be so eccentric as their poor +father,—at least, not if they had the least touch of their mother in +them. + + + CHAPTER II. + + PATRIMONIAL APPENDAGES. + + +Whatever the steward might have to say in favour of the new workmen of +A—— over the old, he did not wish the preference to apply in the case of +a choice of innkeepers. His old acquaintance, Pritchard, of the Turk’s +Head, was warmly patronised by him, in opposition to the upstart at the +Navarino, who, with all his show of balconies and a splendid furnishing +of his bar, treated his guests with sour wines and cold rooms. + +As might be supposed, so rare a party of inmates was indulged with all +the luxury that Pritchard could afford. In hopes of diverting them from +their intention of taking their sister for a little tour among the lakes +while a corner of the house at Fellbrow was being prepared for her, the +host of the Turk’s Head took care that she should be worshipped as if +she had been a rich ward on her way to Gretna. Every time she moved, the +entire household seemed to start to anticipate her wishes. She was made +so comfortable at the inn, and she so thoroughly enjoyed the beauties of +the park and neighbourhood of Fellbrow, that there was little fear that +she would desire to go to the lakes, or anywhere else, while awaiting +her reception in what she wished to be her future home. The only +circumstance that annoyed her was the notice she excited in the town, or +at least in the neighbourhood of the inn. Pritchard shook his head over +this, as over a grievance which could only be lamented, when any one +could have told that his bragging, and his complacency, and his +confidences had given the Cranstons half the consequence which caused +them to be watched through shop-windows, waylaid by loungers, and talked +over by gossips. A large portion of the remaining half might be ascribed +to the extraordinary accession of goods, chattels, and followers which +they brought into the place. + +The half-deserted street in which Mrs. Barton, the perfumer, lived had +not afforded such a sight for many a day as might now be witnessed +morning and evening. Maynard, Miss Cranston’s old serving-man, took the +young lady’s spaniel out for an airing twice a day; and all the +inhabitants who remained in the neighbourhood soon learned to watch for +the approach of the curious pair,—the prim beau, with his pig-tail +hanging down his back, and the animal, no less spruce in its jacket of +the finest flannel, tied with blue ribbons. + +“Miss Biggs!—do make haste, Miss Biggs!” cried Mrs. Barton to her +shopwoman. “Did you ever see such a fine head for powder as the old +gentleman has? Quite one of the old school, I will answer for it;—the +school for manners, as I say.” + +Miss Biggs smiled sweetly as Maynard came up the street, and pronounced +the phenomenon charming. She had not a very distinct idea of what the +old school was; for while Mrs. Barton was always praising it, and might +therefore be supposed a pupil, she was, in dress, of the very newest +school she could get any tidings of, and, in manners, of no school but +her own. She had one scholar in Miss Biggs, who had, by this time, +learned to hang her head as far to the left as her mistress to the +right. She had not Mrs. Barton’s prime requisite—an extremely wide +mouth—for smiling; but she did not fall behind her in drawling and +universal sympathy. + +“It is really a privilege,” said Mrs. Barton, withdrawing her head from +between two glasses of wash-balls, “to see such a fine old relic of +Church and King, which always has my vote.” + +“And mine, I am sure: I am always for Church and King,” replied Miss +Biggs. “So different, you see, ma’am, from the upstarts, with not a +grain in their hair, that come to the new inn, and are gone! Do you +think, ma’am, we shall have the gentleman’s custom for powder? Perhaps +if——” + +Mrs. Barton was already sailing round the counter, and she reached the +door in time to prepare a deep curtsey for Maynard. The old man looked +behind him, to make sure that the obeisance was meant for him, and then +took off his hat, and offered a bow of the last century. Mrs. Barton did +not leave him long uncertain whether he was to pass on or stay. Might +she presume to hope that self-love was to be flattered by the stranger’s +approbation of the old town? + +“Dear ma’am,” interposed Miss Biggs, “how can we expect that strangers +should feel as we do towards our old town? Is it reasonable, dear +ma’am?” + +All were ready to agree in this; but Maynard protested that it was not a +town to be despised. He admired enthusiasm in behalf of one’s native +place—— + +O! how good he was to say so! + +And independent of this, he saw much to admire in A——. The church-tower +was a great ornament; and the market-place was remarkable for a town of +the size. He was sorry to see so many shops shut up in this quarter; and +that red-brick meeting-house—— + +“Ah! there—there, sir, you touch a tender point. Our dissenters,—I am +ashamed to say it, I assure you,—our dissenters are so——O, dear sir! You +cannot think what a weight it is upon our minds,—upon loyal minds, sir, +that espouse Church and King.” + +“O, sir!” added Miss Biggs, “I hope Church and King is your motto. I am +sure _you_ must be loyal.” + +Maynard flattered himself that he was so; and he had been put to a +pretty strong trial on that head,—so much as he had been in France. + +“In France!—in that land of rebellion and conflagration, and blasphemy!” +Mrs. Barton shuddered, and Miss Biggs followed her example. They begged +pardon,—they did not mean to hurt his feelings,—but, if they set foot in +that place, they should expect a judgment to overtake them before they +could get back again. + +Perhaps so; unless they went in the way of duty, the old gentleman said: +but he went in the way of duty,—in the service of his young lady; +notwithstanding which, he was very glad to get back again. He had had an +idea, before he went, that he should find everybody wearing powder; but, +if it used to be so, it was not so now. + +Mrs. Barton had once found herself in a precisely similar mistake, which +Miss Biggs allowed to be very remarkable. When our gentry began to +return after the war, there was really very little more hair-powder +issued from her shop than before. She had looked forward to this as a +set-off, if Miss Biggs remembered, against the increase of rent which +her landlord clapped on in proportion as people came home to live. +Heaven knew she was loyal in her heart, and ready to assist the war as +long as his Majesty chose to fight; but she could not but feel that she +had borne her full share. She had renewed her lease at a higher rent, in +the prospect of more custom, and then found that the tax on +hair-powder,—a tax laid on to help the war,—had put people off wearing +hair-powder! + +“And your rent was not low, during the war, I dare say, ma’am. Though +you let it be raised afterwards, I dare say it was high enough before. +You like these times of low rents much better, I don’t doubt.” + +“Low rents!” + +“Better!” cried the ladies, looking piteously at each other. + +“Why, let me see. There are a great many empty houses in this street, +ma’am. House rent cannot be high here, though you are in the +neighbourhood of the market.” + +“But my lease, dear sir. Ah! there is the point, you see. When my lease +was renewed, this street was the great thoroughfare of the town. It is +untold the traffic there was,—it is indescribable the gentlemen’s +carriages that used to pass my door, before people went out of their +minds, as I say, about the new inn, and all the building that has gone +on in that quarter.” + +“For my part, I have never countenanced such doings,” said Miss Biggs, +“going so far as to take my walk the other way on Sundays. To build new +houses, when such as these that you see are standing——but the rage for +building exceeds everything.” + +“That came of the high rents,” said Maynard. “There was too much +building by far, in most places.” + +“And the new road. O! the opening of that new road! I shall never forget +it. And my lease with six years to run from that very day.” + +“It was a bad speculation, indeed, ma’am, Speculators in leases should +take care——” + +Mrs. Barton looked full of woe at being called a speculator. She had the +testimony of her conscience that she did not deserve it. + +“I mean no offence, I assure you, ma’am,” continued Maynard. “I mean no +more than that every tenant who takes a lease is a speculator. If you +agree to pay so much rent, and be answerable for so much tax, for +fourteen years, and the tax happens to be presently taken off——” + +The bare idea seemed to afford rapture. + +“Your bargain turns out a good one; and the same if the neighbourhood +improves, so as to render your situation a more desirable one than it +was before. Your case, you say, is the reverse. Rent and tax remain as +they were, and the neighbourhood is less desirable than it was; and so I +say it is a bad speculation to you. ’Tis a pity you can’t take up your +house, and carry it to the new road, and set it down there.” + +Maynard was easily convinced how clever he should be thought, if he +could put the ladies in the way of doing this. Such a very capital idea! +the ladies thought it, till told that it was not original;—that in +America such a thing had been heard of and seen as the removal of a +dwelling on wheels. + +The speculation was followed out;—how charming it must be to the owner +of the house to be able to put it where it would be sure of bringing a +good rent till it was worn out, instead of placing it, as now, where +there was no certainty of how much or how little it would be in request +twenty years hence.—How charming it would be to the tenant to have the +power of wheeling himself into any position he liked, or of obtaining a +reduction of rent in case of the desired ground being preoccupied! (for +in those circumstances, rent would be precisely proportioned to the +advantages of the locality.) How charming, lastly, to the government, to +receive the house-tax in a steady proportion which none could dispute: +for no house-tax could then be collected unless it were lowered _ad +valorem_. No one who could move away would stay in a poor situation, to +pay a tax as high as had been imposed in a favourable locality. Equity +would be the order of the day, Mrs. Barton decided, if houses went on +wheels; and landlords, tenants, and assessors might be all loyal and +harmonious together.—Miss Biggs put her head out at the door to take a +survey of the solid front of the dwelling, while her mistress tried the +stability of the foundations with her toe. There was little hope that +this house could be set upon wheels. The house would be even more +difficult to shift than the lease. + +Mrs. Barton next declared herself liable to nearly as much sorrow for +her neighbours’ afflictions as for her own; during which announcement +her companion smiled with arch amiability at Maynard. Mr. Pritchard, at +the Turk’s Head, paid prodigiously in the articles of rent and taxes; +and how he had suffered from his Navarino rival could only be known to +those who had been formerly accustomed to see the sporting gentry throng +to his inn at this season. He was once proud of the consequence of his +inn, as shown by the charges it had to bear; but now, he talked very +differently, poor man, about such charges. He had been heard to say, +more than once lately, a thing—a fact—something which he would hardly +say to the young gentlemen who were now occupying his best apartments.— +What could this be?—After much pressing on the one side, and “Shall I, +Miss Biggs?” on the other, it appeared that Pritchard complained of his +house having been for years taxed nearly three times as much as Fellbrow +itself. No one could believe it, as Mrs. Barton had told the +complainant. It was impossible that any one could credit it. + +“I can, ma’am,” said Maynard. “I heard a good deal of that matter in +London; and I dare say some of the same ridiculous confusion and +partiality,—or I should rather say inequality,—may exist in this place. +But, halloo, what comes here? Please to let me in, ladies. If you will +let me in, and shut the door—I never could abide these packs of those +animals,—a very different thing from carrying one quiet little creature +like this. There! look how it hugs me, at the very hearing and sight of +the pack! Now we shall do!” + +Mrs. Barton rejoiced in such an opportunity for hospitality. She became +suddenly remarkably afraid of a pack of harriers, and took care that the +door was fastened as securely as if harriers had been especially +addicted to eating and drinking pomatum and lavender water. Miss Biggs +kneeled to the spaniel, and coaxed it till sent by a sign from her +mistress to bring a little glass of fine cordial for their guest, whom +they declared they should keep fast prisoner till all danger of +encountering that dreadful pack of dogs was past. There was an upper +window from which their progress could be traced for some distance; and +the cook was called from cooking the “little rasher” to take her station +at this watch-post. Maynard had so much to say about his young master’s +love of sport, and his young mistress’s virtues and graces, and the +wealth of them all, that there was little chance of the spaniel having +its usual airing this morning. The inventory of Mr. Cranston’s dogs, +with the necessary comments, consumed as much time as would have carried +Fanny’s favourite a couple of miles on the moor. + +The pack and the huntsman were not without their admirers, meanwhile. +Among the many who looked knowingly or joyously on them, none were more +emphatic than Mr. Taplin,—the lawyer, as he was called before he +failed,—the assessor, as he had been generally named since his friends +had procured him the appointment. What a fine set of new subjects for +assessment had he in this family of the Cranstons! How many servants and +carriages! Armorial bearings, of course; and here was the huntsman; and +besides this pack, there were Mr. James’s pointers, and Miss Cranston’s +spaniel, and the fine terrier of Mr. Wallace. Then there were horses in +abundance on the road, he understood. It was a pity the house and window +duties could not be made more suitable in amount to such a mansion as +that at Fellbrow. He must try, for the sake of justice, as well as of +his own pocket, to contrive an increase. He trusted that such wealthy +and high-spirited young men would not be troublesome as to the amount of +tax they were to pay,—either for their habitations or their pleasures. + +He stood watching the picturesque group for some time after it had +reached the Paddock,—a place well known to every sporting gentleman who +passed through A——. The Paddock was the residence of a noted +horse-dealer; and Swallow, the tenant, had had the honour of welcoming +to his stables almost every man of note in his particular line in the +kingdom. Many a characteristic group might be seen in the shadow of his +spacious gateway. Many an honoured voice might be heard in oath or +laughter from his range of stables; and many a hero of the field had +trod the grass of the ample paddock in the rear. The thresher in Mr. +Whitford’s barn sometimes laid aside his flail to watch the +curiously-coated and hatted gentry who were let into the sacred +enclosure; and the thresher’s son, a shepherd-boy on the sheep-walk +above, stood to wonder at the friskiness of the fine animals in +Swallow’s field. + +Swallow was not sorry that the dogs had come by this road, as it was of +importance to him to establish a friendly intercourse with Mr. +Cranston’s huntsman; but the present moment was not exactly that which +he would have chosen for their arrival. Half an hour later would have +been better. A van, on its way to London, was at the door. It could not +wait; and certain packages must be put into it whose contents could +scarcely fail to be guessed by the huntsman, any more than by the +gamekeeper. It was provoking that the girls were out. They would have +got the packages in at the back of the van very cleverly, while he was +amusing the huntsman with a glass of liquor and conversation. He must +try whether George could take the hint. + +George was less quick at taking a hint than he would have been if he had +not been accustomed to depend much on his sisters. He was not ashamed of +being excelled by them, and, in a manner, taken care of by them, they +having, as he always said, each a double mind, with which his single one +could not pretend to compete. These girls were twins, and more perfectly +alike in mind (if possible) than in form and feature. Their brother, +still a rough and sadly careless boy, laughed at them, was proud of +them, and depended upon them. The book which every horse-dealer is by +law obliged to keep open to the inspection of the assessor was left in +George’s charge by his father, who had him educated sufficiently to +qualify him for making the necessary entries of sales. George was +perpetually warned of the heavy penalties to which his father would be +liable if the due entries were not made, if the book was not always kept +open to the observation of the assessor, and regularly delivered in, +every quarter, for examination and discharge; but it is probable that +his father would more than once have been compelled to disburse the +penalty, if Anne and Sarah had not been on the watch to guard against +his carelessness. It was indeed a pity that they were absent now. George +was so busy forming friendships with the dogs that his father’s coughs +and winks were disregarded; and package after package was brought out +and left within sight and scent, while room was being made for each in +the van. In vain did Swallow interpose his broad shoulders and offer +snuff. The huntsman was mounted, and could see what was passing in the +rear; and he was moreover not to be persuaded to take a pinch. Swallow +saw that his new acquaintance had picked up a notion at the Paddock +which would not be long in reaching the owner of the Fellbrow preserves. + +George’s mind had risen a flight too high to be brought down this +morning by usual influences. He was off with the harriers, in the midst, +and almost as fleet as any of them, before his father’s angry voice +roused his ear. He looked back a moment, saw the assessor entering the +gateway, supposed his father would find the book if it was wanted, and +immediately heard nothing more than the greetings of the dogs. + +“There is no knowing now,” growled his father, “when we shall get the +lad back again. He had rather kennel with the dogs than come home to his +business, any day of the year.—The book! O, it is at your service, I +don’t doubt.—Let me see: where can the boy have hid it? My family are +all out, you see, sir. If it is equally convenient, I will send one of +them with the book, this afternoon.” + +“Show it me now, Swallow. I don’t call this keeping the book open for my +inspection at all times. Make haste, and find it, if you please. Your +boy is not the only one of the family, I fancy, who has the taste you +describe,—for sport rather than business. Hey, Swallow? But you will +remember the gentlemen are on the spot now, and take care of yourself, I +suppose. Remember they are on the spot, I advise you.” + +“It would be rather hard to forget it,” replied the horse-dealer; “so +many shows as they have brought into this quiet place. There is not a +soul in A—— but is watching them from morning till night,—except, +indeed, the people (and they are not few) that are swarming about the +Fellbrow house, like bees building their comb. Here’s the book, sir; and +when I have added the sale I made half-an-hour ago——” + +While Swallow was laboriously scrawling his two lines, the assessor +walked off. There was no room for talk of penalties in his department +this day. He would come again when all the Mr. Cranstons’ riding-horses +should have arrived, and would want to be discussed. Swallow looked +after Mr. Taplin, saying to himself, “Fine talk that, of my taking care +of myself against the gentlemen, when he himself is in as deep as any of +us! If he threatens me, I can bid him look to his own share.” + + + CHAPTER III. + + CLERICAL DUTY. + + +October was not half gone before a sufficient portion of the Fellbrow +house was made habitable to accommodate the family. Fanny’s rapture was +great when the ugly high wall was in process of being demolished, to +give place to the light fence which would not exclude such a view as her +eyes desired to rest upon as long as the sun was above the horizon. +These October mornings were glorious. One especially, when the whole +family were anxious for fine weather, equalled any that she had enjoyed +in a southern climate. It was to be a morning of fishing,—the first +regular fishing party since their arrival; and Fanny was at her window +before the rich hues of the sunrise had melted from the northern +mountain tops, or the white frost evaporated from the unsunned lawn. The +face of the limestone rocks opposite was grey in the shadow, and the +stream below was yet black as if it had no bottom; but the rays were +abroad which would soon make it gleam at every bend, and paint in it the +reflection of the autumn leaves that yet danced above it when the breeze +sported in the overhanging coppice on the hither side. Some of the +loftiest trees in the park already began to be lighted up; and on a +green platform of the retiring rocks, the blue roofs of a little hamlet +glistened in the gush of sunshine poured upon them through the chasm +which brought the waters from the heights to the cisterns at the doors +of the inhabitants. Already might the hind be distinguished, pacing +forth warily from the thicket, and looking from side to side, while her +fawn bounded past her, breast-high in the hoar grass. Already might the +shepherd and his dog be distinguished on the faint track of the +sheep-walk, now driving their scudding flock, and now letting them +disperse themselves over the upland. Already were lively voices heard +below the window, and already were busy hands making a picturesque +display of nets and wicker baskets on the grass. Never was there a +lovelier morning seen; and Fanny’s spirits were braced to their highest +pitch when she threw open her lattice,—(how much more willingly than she +would have thrown up the sash!) and sent a greeting down to her brother +James who was talking with one of the men. + +“Who is going to ride?” she asked, seeing that a groom was leading a +saddled horse. “Who wants Diamond this morning, James?” + +“I do. Ah! it is a great plague that anybody should want to be buried +this morning, of all mornings. But I put the people off before, and I +cannot do it again. I can get it over, with what else I have to do, +before you have finished your sport, if you will only make me sure where +I may find you. That is what I am settling now; and then I am off.” + +“But what else have you to do? A marriage or two, perhaps?” + +“Very likely; and three or four more funerals. They find they must make +the most of me when they can catch me. But the business I mean is, +looking about to see where I shall build my house. You ought to be with +me for that. If your mare was but here, I would make you give up the +fishing for to-day, and ride over with me.” + +“I will do that when you know there is to be a wedding or two. The +little brides will not object to my seeing them married, I dare say; and +I should like to make acquaintance with these mountain brides that you +used to talk so finely about before——” + +“Before I saw them:—before I knew how confoundedly they would come in +the way of sport. I have seen none yet that it would be worth your while +to ride seven miles to make acquaintance with. I don’t see how they are +better than the Easter-Monday brides in Birmingham, in tawdry shawls and +flying ribbons. If they have not such gay shawls, they are ten times +more dull and silly: so, if you mean to keep your romance about them, +you must keep your distance, too. Good-bye: only be so good as not to +leave Moystarn before two, unless you see me sooner. I’ll make Diamond +do his duty this morning. Good-bye.” + +Diamond had no other inclination than to do his duty. Once having +cleared the park, he brought all the little children out of the cottages +by the sound of his firm and rapid trot on the hard road. Their mothers +curtseyed at the doors and windows, inspired with an equal respect for +the handsome rider and his sleek steed; and the labourers turned round +from their work on the fences and in the fields to smile the vacant +smile with which they honoured passengers who took their fancy. It was +not Diamond’s fault that he was urged on so nearly over a child as to be +obliged to bolt to avoid the sin of manslaughter. It was not his fault +that he could not, before he reached the brook, slacken his speed +sufficiently to avoid splashing the fair horsewomen who were crossing at +the time. For this last offence he received a more severe punishment +from his master than for any preceding. The flogging was so vigorous, +and Diamond’s resentment of it so strong, that he bolted once more into +the water, and there made a splashing which sent the ripples of the +clear stream in chase of one another, high and low. The boy on the foot +bridge shrank from the wetting, and the horsewomen retired right and +left to watch the issue. Each patted her pony’s neck; each laughed as +Diamond turned round and round; each prepared to use the switch, when +her own pony began to exhibit signs of restlessness. James was so far +struck with this amidst his contest with Diamond, that he looked +curiously at the pair when he came up finally out of the brook. He was +as much amused as surprised at what he beheld. No twins that he had ever +seen could compare with these for likeness. It was not only the colour +of the eyes and of the hair, and the frame of the features; much less +the perfect similarity of their dress, and of the animals they rode. The +glance was the very same, revealing an identity of mind. They were now +side by side, and he perceived that every touch of the rein was the +same. Smiles came and went as if from one heart; and yet they did not +look at each other, except to agree which should utter the words that +were on the tongues of both. If they had been less pretty than they +were, James could not have pushed on his way as before. His curiosity +was so amused, that he laughed without restraint; and could scarcely +repent having done so when he saw the blush and confused gravity of each +little face which filled up its close straw bonnet. + +“That boy is like you, though less like than you are to each other,” +observed James. “I suppose he is your brother?” + +“Yes, sir; our brother George. People think him most like father.” + +“And you most like your mother? Your mother must be a very pretty woman. +Is not she?” + +There was no answer. The girls were too busy trying to help laughing. In +order to find out whether this arose from the mother being otherwise +than pretty, or from the daughters liking to be complimented, James went +on to praise their riding. They took this as a matter of course, having +been in the habit of riding almost as regularly as of dining, all their +lives. How could they contrive rides for every day? + +“We have always some place that we must go to, especially at this time +of the year; and sometimes it is a weary round before we can get home. +We are going one of our longest rides to-day.” + +“To some market, I should have thought, if your pack-saddles had not +been empty. Why do you use empty pack-saddles?” + +“They will not be empty long, sir. Anne has begun to load her’s, you +see.” + +“So her name is Anne. What is your’s? Sarah? Very well; I shall know +Anne from Sarah by her having a load on her pack-saddle. Pray do your +parents know you from each other?” + +“Dear, yes, Sir! except just in the twilight.” + +“Yet your voices are the same. I would give a crown-piece to know +whether one voice ever gets above the other,—whether you ever quarrel. I +do not see how you can well help it; for you must often want the same +thing at the same time—something that you cannot both have.” + +What sort of thing did he mean ? Almost everything that could not be +divided might be used by them together. + +“And do you always wish the same thing, and think the same thing?” + +“We do presently, if we don’t directly. Good-bye, sir; we are going down +this lane to the farm-house.” + +“But you will have to come out upon this road again: there is no other +path away from that farm-house. I shall go with you.” + +“You must not; they will not want you. We shall not stay two minutes.” + +“Then I shall wait for you.” + +“Oh, thank you, sir! We will make haste. George has run on already, you +see: he goes no farther than here; so we can get on faster than we have +been going.” + +“Stop! Why should you both go? There is George to take care of one. +Anne, do you stay with me, and let the empty saddle go down the lane.” + +Left alone with Anne, the gentleman began to animate her with praises of +her native district. She agreed that it was a pretty part to ride in for +pleasure. She supposed the gentleman rode for pleasure. + +“Not exactly so to-day, though I do not pretend that my ride is not a +very pleasant one just now. I am going to bury a child. Yes: you need +not look so shocked; I did not say I was going to kill a child. You +would have children buried when they die, would not you?” + +“Yes, sir; but we did not know that you were a clergyman;” and she +looked as if she had thoughts of dismounting to make a curtsey. + +“O yes, I am a clergyman; and besides burying a child a good deal +younger than you, perhaps I may have to marry a girl very little older +than you.” + +“That will be Catherine Scott, perhaps,” observed Anne; “she was +eighteen last July. Do you think she will be married to-day, sir? I +think she might have told us, however.” + +“You had better ride on with me, and take her by surprise. Come, give +your pony the switch a little. Never mind Sarah,” seeing her look back; +“she will overtake us presently. Her saddle is not loaded, you know.” + +Anne shook her head: Sarah was not in sight; and the faithful twin +evidently meditated turning back. If the gentleman would go forward, she +said, and not keep the family waiting for the burial, Sarah and she +might come up in time to see the marriage, if it should be Catherine +Scott’s. James muttered something about being late, and gave her pony +such a cut with his whip as sent the animal forward at a rate that Sarah +was scarcely likely to surpass; and, by keeping half a length in the +rear, he sustained the pony’s panic, and baffled all the damsel’s +attempts to check its speed. This lasted till they came within sight of +a row of cottages, at the door of one of which was a funeral train, just +beginning to form. It would not do, even James perceived, for the +mourners to see him galloping to the churchyard in a race with a country +girl. He turned her horse, as well as his own, into a field, and then +stopped to laugh. In answer to Anne’s reproaches, he declared that he +only wanted to make her do something unlike her sister for once. He rode +between her and the gate of the field, saying that, before she went, she +must tell him whether she did not think this field the very place to +build a house upon. If she would only look up at the view to the north, +and measure with her eye the distance from the church—— + +“There’s Sarah!” cried Anne, cleverly wheeling her pony round, and +effecting her escape. She was off, like an arrow from a bow; and Sarah +might be seen hastening hitherward over a heath, about a mile and a half +distant. + +“They will come together point-blank, like knights in a single combat,” +thought James. “I must be there to pick them up, if they are unhorsed. I +must find a gap in the fence, lower down, that these people about the +cottages may not be scandalized. I must behave well to-day, when once I +have seen what those girls are doing.” + +When met, they were pacing side by side, looking equally offended. James +could scarcely appear as penitent as he intended, so infinitely amused +was he at the perfect resemblance of the twins being preserved and made +more striking amidst their change of mood. If Anne looked heated by her +violent exercise, Sarah was not less so through fear and resentment. +Both glanced away from him; neither would turn the head when he spoke. +The tendency to ponder the ground was rather the strongest in Anne: as +she had lost out of her glove the sixpence she had brought to pay the +turnpike. What turnpike?—where was it? Half a mile beyond the church.— +Oh! that would do very well. If they would go on, and wait for him +there, he would come to them when his service was done, and take their +opinion about where he should build his house, and then Anne should not +be left behind for want of a sixpence: they would proceed all together. +He heard Anne say to her sister that he would serve her the same trick +that he had played Sarah, and that she did not believe he had any child +to bury, nor any such thing. + +“Only come on and see, Miss Anne,” said he. “You shall get into the +grave yourself, if you like, to make sure; only I suppose you would not +go in without your sister. But, really now, if you will help me to +settle where I shall build my house, I will help you with your business +afterwards, if you will only tell me what it is.” + +And he looked narrowly at the sacks with which the saddles were +provided. + +“Picking up poultry,” the girls replied, “to send to London by the van.” + +“Poultry! I shall begin to listen for a cock-a-doodle-doo, such as once +kept me awake all the way to London, when I went in a stage-coach. Shall +we have a cock-a-doodle-doo presently?” + +“We take the poultry up dead.” + +“Ah! dead. Now, does this belong to a chicken, or a turkey, or what?” +drawing out a long pheasant’s feather, whose tip had just peeped out of +a hole in the sack. Sarah snatched the feather, and tickled Diamond’s +nose with it, so that Diamond’s master had no attention to spare for +more questions for some time. There was no doubt that Anne would have +done the same, if she had chanced to be next him; for she did not laugh +with surprise, but smiled, as at a corroboration of an idea of her own. +The act was Sarah’s, however; and she had immediately the advantage of +Anne in the gentleman’s estimation. He now saw that there was certainly +a something more in the one sister than in the other,—a drollery in the +eyes—an archness about the mouth. It was to Sarah’s side that he +returned when Diamond was once more subdued. Before he sent them on to +the turnpike, he had been almost whispering to her, saying something +which Anne had not heard, though she now stooped forward on her saddle, +and now leaned over behind her sister, and finally rode round to James’s +other side to listen, being as yet unaware that anything would ever be +said to either which the other might not share. + +“You must go now,” said she, tired at last of not being able to catch +what he was saying. “Those people are the weddingers. See to the bride’s +silk gown! and it is no more like Catherine Scott——How came you to tell +me so?” + +When James had explained that he did not pretend to know brides’ names +till they asked him to change them, he drew off from his companions, +with a final glance in the direction of the turnpike, and directed his +horse, with all sobriety of demeanour, towards the vestry. The sisters +were at last convinced that he was a clergyman, when they saw the +uncovered heads of the men, and the obeisances of the women and +children, amidst which he moved to the discharge of his duty. + +“There, I knew it would be so! How people do plague one—some with +wanting to be married, and some with their squeamish troubles, as if +nobody but the parson could do anything for them,” said he to himself +when, on reaching the turnpike at last, no horsewomen were to be seen. +“To be sure, I don’t know who else should serve the people’s turn +hereabouts, unless they would step across the border to the blacksmith, +and advertise for a methodist to hear them confess. But here are the +blessings of having a living! These pretty creatures are tired of the +very idea of me, I don’t doubt, after being kept waiting till they had +no patience left.” + +He was mistaken; the girls had not waited at all, but gone straight +through, rather in a hurry than not, the gatekeeper said. One of them +had explained that she had lost her sixpence on the road, and had left +her silver thimble in pledge of payment, to be redeemed the next time +she should pass that way. James, of course, redeemed the thimble, which +he tried on his little finger end before he consigned it to his +waistcoat pocket. It betokened as small a finger as need be seen; but +that only made it the greater pity that the thimble was not Sarah’s. + +The gatekeeper was deplorably stupid about the girls. He did not seem to +know which was meant by the pretty one; and could give no further +account of them than that they set off, at a brisk trot, along the +cross-road to the right. He could not even tell whether they meant to go +to the large farm-house that might be seen standing back from this road. +There was nothing for it but going to learn on the spot; so James left +the situation of his house to be discussed hereafter, and was presently +at the gate of the farm. + +The farmer knew the girls, he acknowledged; could not deny he had seen +them to-day—just for a minute—an hour ago or more;—supposed they were at +home by this time;—advised the gentleman to come in and have a snack and +a glass of ale, and he would talk to him about ground for his house. +James recollected, now that the chase had escaped him, that he really +was hungry, and had some miles to ride, at the end of which he might +find nothing in the shape of provisions but fish in their dying agonies. +It was true, he had refused the hospitality of others of his flock;—of +the old schoolmaster, who stood, hat in hand, at his humble door, ready +to usher in the clergyman; of the late clerk’s widow, who had taken +pains to spread her board for him; of the mourners, who had hoped to +receive at home a confirmation of the words of solace which had been +spoken at the grave. All this he had declined, on the plea of extreme +haste; but this was no reason that he should not now avail himself of +the farmer’s cakes and ale. He gave his horse to the boy who had just +stopped from swinging on a gate, and entered the dwelling. + +“Don’t let me disturb you, I beg, ma’am,” said James to the farmer’s +wife, who was hearing her little boy say his letters when her husband +and the clergyman entered. “While you go on with your lessons, Mr. Riley +will tell me where to look for a piece of land to build upon. Your +little boy will be all the sooner ready to say his catechism, you know, +if you go on steadily. So do not let me disturb you.” + +Mr. Riley bowed; Mrs. Riley blushed, and took up her scissars once more +to point with: but apparently little Harry did not appreciate the +desirableness of soon knowing his catechism, for he called every letter +F, whether it stood at the top, bottom, or middle of the page. According +to him, F stood for apple, F for fig, and F for window. He was told to +turn his head towards his mamma, instead of quite away from his book; +and the head was soon in its right place; but the eyes still wandered +off to the extreme left, and F once more stood for pie. Then came loud +whispers,—“Who is that gentleman?” “Will that gentleman fly my kite for +me?” “May I look through that gentleman’s spy-glass?” “Is that the +parson that will frown at me if I don’t behave well at church?” + +This was too much. Mr. Riley lost the thread of his discourse; Mrs. +Riley escaped from the room, and James laughed, while the boy stood +staring at him. + +“So you have got a kite. Will I help you to fly it? Yes, that I will, +some day.” And thus was the guest entertained, till the tray made its +appearance, and the cloth was laid for a substantial luncheon. + +“My dear sir, make no apologies. Here is quite a feast, I see. By all +means, ma’am; a sausage, if you please. Your sausages are irresistible; +and especially with such game as this. A leg, if you please, sir. A +pheasant’s leg and sausage is the most superb thing in the universe.” + +No wonder the Rileys were flattered. The most superb thing in the +universe was under their humble roof! + +“I will try some day,” James continued, “if I cannot supply you with +another luncheon to equal this. I will send you in some game as I pass, +the first time I shoot in your neighbourhood. You relish game, I +presume, Mrs. Riley?” + +Mrs. Riley assented; then hesitated, and hoped Mr. Cranston would not +trouble himself to do as he had said. The farmer declared that Mr. +Cranston was welcome to shoot over his farm, but they could not accept +any game. While James was insisting, little Harry, who had been sent +away, ran in crying, and complaining that he had lost his tail, and he +could not get another. + +“His tail? What sort of tail?” + +Mrs. Riley explained that Harry was indulged with the tail feathers of +pheasants, and that he therefore disliked the disappearance of game from +the pantry. + +There were so many this morning, the boy complained, and now they were +all gone! There were a great many indeed, hanging all in a row, and +Nancy had promised him all the tails. Now there was not one left. “O +dear, O dear! what shall I do without my tail?” was the boy’s pathetic +lamentation. + +“If you will let me carry you on my horse after those young ladies who +were here this morning, I dare say they can give us the very tails that +were in the pantry,” observed James, looking askance at the farmer as he +spoke. “But, Harry, don’t you like fur tails as well as feather tails? +If you were a girl, you might make a fur tippet for your doll’s throat +of a pretty, soft, white rabbit’s tail.” + +Harry made a hop, skip, and jump to a cupboard, and brought out a string +of hares’ and rabbits’ tails, tied together with string, which promised +to be soon as long as the leech-line of a fisherman. + +“I see how it is,” said James, smiling. “I am not the only person, I +fancy, Mr. Riley, that you make welcome to shoot over your farm and in +your neighbourhood.” + +“Why, sir, to speak out, what else can we farmers say to those that help +away with the vermin that do us all sorts of mischief?” + +“Ah! I suppose the birds plague you with the people they bring upon your +ground. I saw one cover, I remember, standing alone in the middle of +some very wide fields of yours, with not a hedge near enough to tempt a +bird to stray; and I thought I would try my luck there next.” + +“You will be sure to find luck there, sir, however many may come before +you. You may chance to see three hundred cock pheasants walking about +there in one day. But the birds are nothing to the hares, sir; I was +very nearly quarrelling with my farm, on account of the hares; and +should have done so, if my landlord had not made me an allowance for +them.” + +“How much does he allow you?” + +“Two sacks of wheat per acre, sir.” + +“Upon my word, you have a very kind landlord.” + +“Not on this head, sir. My loss is much greater than two sacks per acre, +I can assure you. Take the year round, and a hare is as expensive as a +sheep;—for this reason,—that the hare picks the last particle of +vegetation. If my grain springs an eighth of an inch one day, and the +vermin nips seven hundred of the sprouts in a day,—what sheep will ever +cause me such damage as that? I can stand and see the pheasants picking +up their berries and acorns, at this time of the year, without wanting +to wring every neck of them; but, if you’ll believe me, sir,—and my wife +will bear me out, I never see a hare cross the field I am in without +swearing an oath at her.” + +Mrs. Riley not only corroborated this, but added that Mr. Riley was +still more cross with rabbits. + +“The rabbits! And well I may! They do such mischief round the outskirts +of my coppices, that the wood will not be so fit to cut at the end of +twenty years as it would at the end of sixteen without them. You cannot +wonder, sir, that we farmers cannot see poachers. They are a sort of +thing we are blind to. If you consider, sir, that there are six hundred +acres of wheat land in this parish, and that hares consume, at the +least, two sacks per acre, there are twelve hundred sacks of corn taken +from men to be given to hares. I cannot think it a great sin, at this +rate, to let alone anybody that helps to root out the hares.” + +“You should get your landlord to allow you to shoot over your farm.” + +“’Tis done, sir; and what comes of that? Every labourer in the parish +may go and inform, unless I do him some favour that will keep his +good-will; and if his liking should be for sport, why, what can we do +but let each other alone?” + +“Then I am afraid the landlord’s only dependence is on his own +servants,—the tenant and poacher being leagued against him.” + +“That sort of dependence is but small, especially when gentlemen are not +on the spot in all seasons; as I may say to you, sir. There may be such +a thing as a league between the poacher and the woodman;—just such a +sort of league to break the laws as there was till lately between +gentlemen and their woodmen.” + +“My dear, what are you saying?” interrupted Mrs. Riley. + +“Only what Mr. Cranston knows to be true. He knows that, till the sale +of game was allowed by law, gentlemen encouraged their servants to sell +the game the gentlemen themselves shot. The woodmen that I have known +used to receive a quarter of the money so brought in. And, after a +sporting bout, when their masters had company staying with them for the +purpose, there was a higher allowance to the woodman, from the +consideration of the difficulty of disposing of a large quantity of game +at once.” + +“I wonder how much a servant might make in this manner?” observed James. +“It is a pleasant way enough of making a fortune.” + +“You must consider, sir, how many the gains have to be divided amongst. +Where poaching is done by gangs, as it is here, there are a great number +to share in the first instance. Then there are the coachmen or +van-drivers that carry the game up to London, and the porters that take +charge of it there. Then the poulterers must have their commission; +double what they have on poultry, on account of the risk. And then there +is the waste,—which is more than is easily counted,—what with the game +being mangled, and killed out of season, and sent up in a bad state. +Pheasants are sent up long after January, and hares with young; and +sometimes half a sackfull is good for nothing when it is unpacked. All +this can leave but little gain for the woodman’s share.” + +“And his gains must be most uncertain, too. When he sends up a fine +batch of game, he may chance to find that the market is overstocked. +There can be no regularity of supply where it is carried on in an +illegal and underhand manner.” + +“That is true, sir; and I have heard from people here, disappointed in +the way you speak of, that in the very middle of the season, when every +dinner-table in the London gentry’s houses had game upon it, full +one-third of what was sent up was thrown away. After hawking about what +was not quite past cooking, and selling birds for a few pence to anybody +that passed by, one poulterer alone threw two thousand partridges into +the Thames. This makes our people here so united as they are. They keep +up a perfect understanding all the way to London, that there may be the +less difficulty in poaching to order,—which is the surest way to make +money.” + +“To the poulterer’s order?” + +“Yes. He sends down a message, perhaps, that he has engaged to furnish +some thousand head a week for three weeks, and that he depends upon this +district; and then poaching is the order of the day. By the time the job +is done, the newspapers begin to cry out. There is often work for the +coroner, before all is over; and account is laid for a few going to +prison; but where all are banded together in prospect of this, the going +to prison is no disgrace, and not much of a hardship; and the +manslaughter comes to be looked upon as a matter of course.” + +“I shall tell my brother all this,” said James, rising. “Not so as to +implicate you,” he added, perceiving that Mr. Riley looked alarmed. “Now +is the time, while I am at Fellbrow, to keep a watch over our poaching +neighbours. Pray do they meddle with deer?” + +“Your gamekeeper can tell you that better than I can,” replied the +farmer, now grown wary as to his communications. “Would you like to step +abroad, sir, and look at the bit of ground I told you of?” + +“Why, yes: if you think the people below have got no more funerals ready +by this time.—Yes; let us go,” he added gravely, upon seeing Mrs. +Riley’s glance of astonishment. “Mrs. Riley, I owe you thanks for your +hospitality. If I have injured your son’s learning, I must do my best to +help him to make it up, by and bye, when he may come to church without +fear of being frowned at.” + +Mrs. Riley pronounced him a pleasant-mannered gentleman, as she peeped +between the climbers that covered the window to watch him and her +husband up the hill at the back of the house. + +“You will not be troubled with a heavy ground-rent, you see, sir, in a +situation like this,—(if you should pitch upon this place, where the +land is not to be sold.) You will find the difference between building +here, and building near the falls in the hills yonder, where the gentry +are rearing their boxes and their villas. Here you will have to pay no +great deal more than if the spot of ground was to be under the plough +instead of under a roof.” + +“Ah! you country folks know little yet of the difference in value of +bits of land that measure the same to a hair’s-breadth. A friend of mine +has been building a villa at Chiswick lately, and he pays four times as +much for the ground as he gets as the ground-rent of a capital house in +Winchelsea. This is all very fair. People must pay for good situations; +but I dare say you have no idea of such differences here?” + +“Enough to wish that the land-tax went a little more according to +situation than it does. ’Tis really ridiculous, how one has to pay five +times as much as another, without any reason that ever I heard tell.” + +“We south people beat you there, too. The very place I was mentioning, +Winchelsea, where there are not more than fifty houses that yield the +house-tax, pays, within thirty pounds, as much land-tax as Bath; and if +you could look down upon Bath as we now do upon your parish, you would +see the absurdity of such a taxation. In London, the difference is wider +still. I know of two parishes that pay above 9000_l._ in land-tax, with +a rental of 116,000_l._; while another parish that has now a rental of +720,000_l._ pays—how much land-tax, do you think?” + +“To be in the same proportion with the parishes you mention, it should +be 55,000_l._” + +“Instead of which it is under 500_l._ This is the fault of the way the +tax was managed at first, and not of anything that is done with it now: +but it sets one to inquire, before one begins to build or to purchase. +While some parishes pay 2_s._ 4_d._ in the pound, and others half a +quarter of a farthing, one likes to look into the matter.” + +“I see no end to the inequality, sir; that is the worst of it. If a +valuation once made is never to be altered, I don’t see but that every +improvement, every new bit of waste that is tilled, and every new +quarter of a town that is built, must increase the inequality. There is +our neighbouring county of Lancaster, with all its fine towns and +villages, almost as busy as London itself, paying no more land-tax than +some four or five such London parishes as you mentioned just now. You +see, its being made perpetual, some five-and-thirty years ago, and +allowed to be redeemed, and half of it being redeemed, makes it +difficult to touch now.” + +“Except to redeem the remainder. That was what Mr. Pitt wanted, no +doubt—to have done with this, without loss, and then to be free to lay +on a new tax. For my part, I like neither making valuation nor tax +perpetual; and to allow redemption is worse still, in principle. The +sacrifice made in redeeming a tax is made for ever and ever. See what a +scrape we are in now, in the case of this land-tax! The only way of +escape the sufferers can think of is by violating the valuation which +was declared unalterable. They cry out for a new assessment; leaving the +redeemed portions of land exempt, and equalizing the rest at the same +rate as formerly—4_s._ in the pound. They say that this would bring the +Government between one and two millions a-year more than at present; and +that if the assessment was kept equal, the whole would be gradually +redeemed.” + +“If the tax is to be got rid of, it may be more easily done now than by +and by; and a farmer may be allowed to wish it done with.” + +“Why? It does not fall upon you?” + +“Ask the assessor, sir, if I do not pay it into his hands, year by +year.” + +“Yes; but you pay it for your landlord, and you stop it out of your +rent. You know, if you run away to-night, the assessor comes upon your +landlord for it, instead of running after you. You know it is levied on +empty houses. Why, Mr. Riley, I never before heard anybody question that +the land-tax falls on the landlords, however much the point might be +doubted about the house-tax.” + +“I assure you, sir, there is less corn grown, by far, than there would +be without this tax; and is not that a bad thing for the farmer, when a +tax is the cause?” + +“A bad thing for everybody: but this is, so far, only like every other +tax. Every tax stints production in its way; yet there must be taxes. If +we are to go on taxing classes of people, I do not know that we could +have a better tax than this, if it was but made equal.” + +“It will never be that, sir.” + +“Perhaps so; but a direct tax, like this, is the only kind that can be +made equal; so we ought to take care how we quarrel with it, and show a +preference for indirect taxes,—a kind which never can be made equal. +Besides its capacity of being made equal, it has other good qualities. +It is certain. It is levied in a convenient way; and it goes pretty +straight to the Treasury. So that, (except that I should like to see a +simpler method of taxation, which should save us from laying a burden on +one class, and then balancing it with a burden laid upon another class,) +I have nothing to say against a properly-managed land-tax.” + +“But, sir, how are you to make it equal, while the land is so unequal? +If you tax all land at so much per acre, the owner of those bleak hills +above will pay much more than his share; and the fine land in our best +counties will yield much less than its share. Then, if you tax according +to the produce, people will not be long in finding out that your tax is +a tithe, sir; and you and I both know what they think of tithe.” + +“What should prevent its being levied—not in proportion to surface, or +to produce—but to rent? It would be thus thrown on the landlords, as I +said before. The exclusive taxation of a particular class is a bad +principle to go upon. But, while we do go upon that principle, and while +the poorer classes pay so much more taxes than their share, this tax +(equalized) is one of the last to be complained of. Rent, you know, is +naturally always rising.” + +“Then I wonder governments do not maintain themselves on rent. If a +government was a great landowner, it might live without taxing anybody.” + +“The governments of new countries, where land enough is left without an +owner, will be sufficiently wise, perhaps, to see this, in course of +time. If a government kept a portion of land, and behaved to its tenants +like a good landlord, it would find its revenues perpetually on the +increase, (with no other checks than would, at the same time, reduce its +expenditure), and not a farthing would be taken from the profits of the +farmer or the manufacturer; not a particle from the rewards of anybody’s +industry. A fine prospect that, for a new country, is not it?” + +“A fine dream, sir.” + +“A dream that might as certainly come true as my dream of a white house +upon this slope, with a wood behind, and a sheet of water spread out +where that stream is now wasted. No spot that I have seen compares with +this, certainly. I should set about securing it before I leave the +place, but that,”—and he half laughed, as if ashamed of his thought,—“I +must bring somebody to see it first.” + +“I hear, Mr. Cranston, that your sister——” + +“No, not my sister.—But, what were you going to say?” + +“Only what you have heard often enough before, I dare say. I hear that +your sister is the prettiest and kindliest lady that has ever been seen +here since——” + +He was going to allude to her mother, but stopped. + +“It depends upon how you happen to see her. If you find her in the +clouds, you may speak to her ten times before you get an answer; and I +doubt whether she looks pretty then. But when she is——I will positively +get her a horse from Swallow’s. I am more tired than she is of waiting +for her favourite mare. Nobody knows what Fanny is like that has not +seen her ride,—seen her hunt. O, yes! I will bring her here when she +begins to ride; and she will hear your little boy his alphabet. You +should see her with children.” + +The hour struck, and the sound came from the church tower below to +remind James of his fishing engagement. He had ceased to care about the +fishing; but he had some lingering hopes of falling in again with the +twins, if he pursued the circuitous road (over moorland and through a +park) which they had taken. + +Once on his way, he relaxed his speed no more. To judge by the starting +and shying of Diamond, Diamond’s master was nervous, or in excessive +haste. The moor-hen and her brood fled away uncoveted from beneath the +hoofs of the steed. The goats browzed unnoticed, or skipped from point +to point of the grey rocks under which the road wound for a part of the +way. The startling echo of the sportsman’s fowling-piece, sent back by +these fells, only made James look round to see if any timid girls were +in sight who might be alarmed by the shock. He was as much startled +himself as any timid girl, when he heard, in his passage through the +park, a rustling among the underwood and high ferns in just such a +corner as the twins might have chosen, for its shade and retirement, to +rest in. But it was only a fawn which burst away from his doubtful call, +as Sarah had done from his appointment. He was sorry and out of humour +at coming so soon in sight of the party he proposed to join. + +They did not see him—so busy were they with their sport. The horses, +which were loose and grazing near, looked up, tossed their heads, and +began to graze again. A boatman, sitting in a skiff that lay in the dark +reflection of the oaks and hollies which clothed the island in the +middle of the river, touched his hat. But the party about Moy’s-pool +(the most promising pool in the whole length of the river) were too much +occupied with their sport to look behind them, or to listen for horses’ +hoofs. Fish lay heaped and scattered on the grass; and more was being +drawn. Richard, who was stretched at length, showed himself interested +in as far as he had raised himself on his elbow. Fanny herself had hold +of a net; and Wallace and the servants were as active as the occasion of +so large a prey required. + +“They do not want me,” thought James, half sulkily. “I shall ride on to +the Paddock, and see about a horse for Fanny, and—whether those girls +are home.” + +Diamond’s hoofs made a crash on the small pebbles as he turned back to +the road. Fanny had so much to tell and to show, about how long they had +been expecting him, how they had wished for him, and what feats they had +performed without him, that James dismounted to admire the plumpness of +the char, and to verify Wallace’s boast that that fat old fellow that he +had just caught weighed two pounds. It was not long before James was +trying whether he could not draw one which would weigh two pounds and an +ounce. + + + CHAPTER IV. + + CLERICAL RECREATIONS. + + +James was indefatigable in his exertions to get his sister suited with a +horse. He was at the Paddock every day for a fortnight; and he would not +be satisfied without Fanny’s going there too, to try one and another +horse in the fields behind the stables. Sometimes the girls came out, +curtseying to the young lady, and giving an opinion when asked. Fanny +delighted her brother by a spontaneous exclamation about their beauty, +the first time she saw them: but she presently vexed him by being +extremely amused at their perfect likeness. If it had not been that a +young greyhound was for ever in attendance upon one, Fanny could not +have pretended to distinguish them. James told her she had no eyes. + +“They are all stupid alike,” muttered he. “That greyhound has more sense +than any of them. It is only three days since I gave him to her, and +_he_ never mistakes Anne for her, in the dusk or in the daylight. To +talk of their eyes being alike! as if colour was everything in eyes! +Anne’s are pretty enough; but they never had such a light in them as +Sarah’s. And then the blush——I thought Fanny had been fond enough of her +garden to know the difference between a folded convolvulus (which is a +graceful thing enough in its way) and one that is glowing in dew when +the sun has just expanded it.” + +A very short dialogue showed Fanny which it was that James preferred. It +would not have been necessary, if she had known how Sarah came by the +greyhound. + +“What a pretty creature Anne is!” observed Fanny, when, with a smile, +Anne opened the gate, for her horse to pass into the field. + +“Beautiful,” cried James, with enthusiasm. “O, she is a beautiful +creature!” + +“You think her the prettiest,—you like her the best of the two?” + +“No,” said he, with sudden quietness; “I admire Sarah the most.” + +This made Fanny turn her head to take another look; but it was Anne who +gazed after them. Sarah was busy with her dog Fido. + +James was not wrong in his observations on eyes. A new light had fixed +itself in Sarah’s; and if he did not perceive something of the same kind +in Anne’s, it was perhaps owing to the light being often troubled, and +sometimes dimmed. The serenity of both was gone. Sarah did not wish it +back again. Anne did; every hour between rising and rest. + +They had ceased to move together,—unavoidably, when one had a dog and +the other had not,—but neither was yet awake to the fact that they no +longer thought and felt alike. One morning they sat, like the reflection +of each other, on either side of a work-table: each making herself a +frill of the same material; each with her footstool: and that the left +foot of the one, and the right of the other was advanced, only made the +resemblance more complete. The difference was that Anne attended to her +work, while Sarah peered anxiously through the glass door which +communicated with the office, where her father might be seen reading a +letter. After a while, Anne reared her chin to try on the frill. + +“Let me see how yours looks,” said she. “Sarah! here is mine finished; +and yours is not done!” + +Sarah began to ply her needle, uneasy at being left behind. Anne amused +herself with stroking and coaxing the greyhound. She did not think of +beginning any other employment till Sarah should be ready. + +“I wonder why Mr. Cranston did not give me a greyhound!” observed Anne. + +“I dare say my father will,” replied Sarah. + +“But I had rather Mr. Cranston had. I am afraid,—I am pretty sure, Mr. +Cranston does not like me.” + +“O yes, he does.” + +“How do you know? Did he tell you so?—Why did not he tell me? He never +told me that he liked you.” + +A deep blush spread itself over Sarah’s cheeks. + +“I never saw anybody like Mr. Cranston,” pursued Anne. “None of the +gentlemen that have passed through A—— have been the least like him.” + +“O, no: nor ever will.” + +“His manner is so—I don’t know what. And his voice——” + +“You may know it among a hundred;—as far off as you can hear it.” + +“It goes through one’s heart.—How dull the day is now when he does not +come!” + +“But he does come every day.” + +“No: not last Wednesday.” + +“O yes! he did. But he did not stay very long: and you were in the field +with George, looking after the foal. He has never once missed a day +yet.” + +Anne’s face was crimson while she asked why she had not seen him; why +she had not been told: why——she stopped because she could not go on, and +Sarah had nothing more to say than that she did not see that there was +any particular occasion for telling. + +“Where did he come?” demanded Anne. “Was he in this room, or in the +paddock, or where?” + +“I had my bonnet on, just coming to you in the field,” replied Sarah:— +“my bonnet _was_ on; and so I went with him;—he wanted to show me +something in the park.” + +“Why did not you call me? I could have come in a moment.” + +Sarah did not raise her eyes while she said in a low voice that Mr. +Cranston did not wish it. She was not very much taken by surprise when +she saw Anne, an instant after, in a passion of tears. Her own were +streaming immediately, while she hoped Anne was not very angry with her. +Indeed she could not help it.—Whatever might be the mixture of feelings +which embittered Anne’s tears, she spoke only of her sister’s reserve. +Her reproaches were very grievous, till Sarah’s patient sorrow softened +her in spite of herself. She had had no comfort of her life, for some +time past, she declared. There was always something to expect and be +afraid of. She could not help wishing Mr. Cranston to come, and yet she +was often glad when he went away. He never came but something +disagreeable passed. She did not think he would have been so careful to +give her back her thimble, that he had got from the turnpike-house. It +had prevented her daring to give him anything, for fear he should refuse +it; and yet he had seemed to be very much pleased with the purse Sarah +had netted for him. She supposed Sarah had found out that she had felt +mortified often lately; for nobody could help seeing that Sarah had +taken a great deal upon her lately;—more than anybody could have +expected that had always known them. + +Sarah tried to speak calmly while she answered that she had never +intended to take more upon her than she should. She could truly say she +had been more sorry for Anne than she had ever been for any one in her +life. She had hoped, every time that Miss Cranston came, that either the +eldest Mr. Cranston or Mr. Wallace would come with her, instead of the +one that did come:—she was so certain that either of them must like Anne +quite as well as the one that did come liked her. + +Anne saw that all was over. She declared she did not want to be liked by +anybody, sent the dog away from her knee with a rebuke, and left the +room. + +It was not long before Sarah was again by her side; not to comfort or +condole, but to consult with her. She had been so completely thrown out +by the failure of what she meant for sympathy, just now, that she did +not venture to touch upon any matter of feeling with Anne. She had, in +ten minutes, grown almost as much afraid of her as of a stranger: but +she felt herself less able than ever to act without Anne’s opinion. + +“Do you know, Anne, I do believe there is going to be an expedition +to-night or to-morrow night!” + +“I dare say there is. I saw my father reading a letter from London; and +he sent George out to A——, directly after. Why should not there be an +expedition, as there has been often before?” + +“It is so different now from what it was before, when the family were +not here!” + +“Yes: our party will not have all their own way any longer. I suppose +the woodmen must take some notice, now; and Mr. Morse has grown violent +against the poachers, they say, since there has been some use in keeping +up the game, as he says. Alick Morse says his father has as good a mind +to dodge a poacher now as a stoat has to dodge a hare.” + +“That is a bright thing for Alick Morse to say. But I am afraid of their +coming to a fight, Anne.” + +“O, I’m not afraid of what would come of a fight. Our party is too +strong to take any harm; and they will do none to Alick and the other +woodman; and Mr. Morse won’t run himself into danger against the party.” + +“I was not thinking of the Morses,” replied Sarah, wondering at her +sister’s dulness. “If the Mr. Cranstons mean to do what they say——” + +“Ah! to be sure,” cried Anne. “They can’t know what a party they would +have to come out against.” + +“So, let us go and tell them,” said Sarah, briskly. + +Anne stared in astonishment. To go and inform against their family and +their neighbours; to provide for the discomfiture of their own party; to +prevent their father from executing the orders which brought him in as +much as his trade in horses;—to do this confounded all Anne’s notions of +right and wrong. Sarah must be out of her mind to think of such a thing. +The more vehement she was in saying this, the more inclined Sarah was to +go and entreat the family not to enter the woods at night, whatever +might be going on there. If she could prevail,—(and if she saw James, +she had no doubt of prevailing,)—all danger to both parties might be +avoided. If Anne would not accompany her, she thought she should go +alone. + +“You shall not,” said Anne. “If you think of such a thing, I will run +and tell my father.” + +“No, you will not,” said Sarah, with quivering lips. “We never told my +father of one another in our lives.” + +“You never thought of doing such a thing as this in your life. I shall +make haste and tell him.” + +They did not know that their father had just gone out. The moment Anne +had turned her back, Sarah seized her bonnet,—(her field bonnet and +gloves, for there was no time to run up for those in which she would +have wished to appear at Fellbrow,)—and was gone from under the archway +before any one noticed her escape, except Fido, against whom, in her +hurry, she had shut the door, but who found his way to his mistress +through an open window. + +While she was breathlessly crossing a corner of the park, she fell in +with Alick Morse, who sheepishly smiled and pulled off his hat. + +“O, Alick, I am glad I met you. Can you tell me where the gentlemen are? +Are they abroad to-day?” + +Alick pointed towards the mansion, as much as to say that they were +there. His smile had vanished: for if she was going up there, among the +gentry, he could not walk with her, as he was about to offer to do. + +“How is your father, as relates to the game?” + +“Very cross, Miss Sarah. But now that I catch you alone, by a chance,— +for I never had the chance before,—I want to say——” + +“But I want to hear about the game and your father.” + +“Well, the long and short is, I think he gets no rest for the game, +night nor day. The gentlemen,—the two younger,—are after his own heart; +for they have him up early every fine morning, after some sport or +other; and he likes, as he says, making up for all the years he has been +idle. But, dear me! ’tis at night he makes up most for all the sleep he +had all those years. There’s not a bough can rustle, nor a gust moan, +but he is up, and out to watch.” + +“And there has been no cause, lately.—You look sly, as if you thought +there soon would be.” + +“Perhaps you know as much about it as I, Miss Sarah, and perhaps more. +But there is no use in disturbing my father’s mind, if you should chance +to meet him. Well now, if there be not——Dear me, I suppose I must go! +Who would have thought of any gentry sitting reading out of doors +to-day!” + +“Yes: it is Mr. Cranston and Miss Cranston. You must go, Alick.” + +Alick withdrew within the verge of the wood, and Sarah and Fido advanced +to the bench where Richard and Fanny were sitting in the late autumnal +sunshine, each with a book, and neither of them reading.—Sarah said that +she came to speak to Mr. Cranston, the clergyman; but if he was not at +home, she would speak now what she meant to say. Richard was always +afraid of the propounding of any matter of business; and was therefore +as willing to help her to an interview with James as Fanny was, because +she perceived that James was the one whom Sarah wished to see. James had +just gone towards the stables, and was coming directly in his gig to +take up his sister, whom he was going to drive over to his living. If +Sarah went straight from hence towards the stables, she could not miss +him. + +She did not miss him. He was approaching in his gig; and in another +minute, notwithstanding an abundance of protestations, blushes and +tremors, Sarah filled Miss Cranston’s place in the vehicle, and a +circuitous road was found to the park gates, by which another sight of +the reading party was avoided. James never used any ceremony with his +sister; he declared she had a sort of pride in not keeping her +appointments; so she was fair game. Ten to one, too, that she preferred +dawdling with Richard till dinner-time; and Sarah could say what she +wanted much better in the gig; and, besides, James had always wished to +show her the house he was building, and to see how she liked it; and +there could not be a better opportunity than now. + +When Sarah returned, hoping, but not assured, that James would leave the +poachers to their own devices, her sister asked her no questions as to +where she had been all this long time. Anne had also repented, before +her father appeared again in the office, of her resolution to inform +against her sister. There was peace between them, and they were at +liberty to communicate their speculations upon the expedition which they +were now certain was intended for to-night. There was more than usual +preparation made, as soon as it grew dusk, in stocking the office with +bottles and cans, with stools, pipes and tobacco, and sawdust, strewn +lest any feet should bring in marks of blood—the blood of man, or of +beast or fowl. The girls were sent up to bed earlier than usual. They +found it extremely vexatious that their chamber looked towards the +street, so that they could not see the poachers drop in through the +Paddock. Mr. Taplin, the assessor, called between nine and ten—as they +supposed, at a very inconvenient time; and they could imagine how vexed +their father must be at his staying so long. He certainly did not go +away before they gave over watching for his departure. + +Sarah little knew her lover yet if she really confided in his keeping at +home when he knew that poachers were abroad. All the evening he was +rousing, or trying to rouse, his brother to the due degree of +indignation at being despoiled of his property in so provoking a way. He +paid as much for every family of pheasants as would bring up ten broods +of fowls. Large sums were stopped off his rents for damage done by his +hares. His deer were kept within bounds at a great expense. He paid duty +for gamekeepers, horses, and dogs used in his sports; and yet the game, +for which all this cost was incurred, was to be taken by a set of +wretches who would be beneath notice but for their power of doing +mischief. If they were stout young men, who came for the frolic of the +thing, he should not be so angry; but, as far as he could learn—— + +Nobody could imagine where and how James managed to learn who and what +the poachers were. + +That did not matter; he had good authority for what he said,—that one +boy, at least, was sent out to set snares—sent out by himself, or with +only his father,—not amidst any bustle and frolic, but coolly, and as +the agent of a theft. Then, of those who went out at night, some enjoyed +the sport; but the greater number joined to get drink and money for +their services as guard. The shoemaker, and the chimney-sweeper, and the +constable—— + +The constable! + +Yes. The constable went out to break heads, if need were, in defiance of +the law. These men were considered too clumsy to be employed in taking +the game: but they could carry bludgeons, for the consideration of a +glass of gin, and a dividend from the poulterers; through what hands +delivered, his brother might be surprised, some day, to learn. + +Richard was willing to wait for that day. As long as they let him alone, +they were welcome to anything that was in the park. If they left him +deer enough to please his eye as he sat under the trees, and birds +enough for his brothers’ sports, his purposes were answered. He was glad +they could amuse themselves with his property while he was asleep. This +last word brought on him an appeal under the head of morals. Poachers +were always utterly corrupted, if their practices were long unchecked; +like most people (unless the members of the House of Commons might be +excepted) whose work is done at night instead of in the day. Instead of +the shoemaker taking up his awl, or the chimney-sweeper his sack, with +the spirit that the morning naturally brings with it, these creatures +would stagger home at dawn, and be thrown into bed for the day, while +their wives must invent lies which their children are to tell, in excuse +for their not being seen at their work. Richard could not deny that such +an order of affairs was a bad one; but did not see how his arm could +arrest a host of poachers; and he could not possibly be answerable for +the morals of the shoemakers and constables of A——. + +As nothing more was to be made of Richard, his brothers left him, and +prepared for a long and wary walk. Mrs. Day turned pale, and Fanny was +very grave when the bustle of assembling their home forces began in the +hall; when strips of something white were called for to be put round the +hats, to distinguish friends from enemies; when pistols gleamed; and +when deep voices from the court pronounced it a sharp, starlight night. + +“Who is that tall man, James?” whispered Fanny, who was looking on from +the stairs. “The one on the steps, I mean.” + +“Who are you?” asked James, going up to the person. + +It was Richard. Of course, he did not mean to stay behind, if his +brothers chose to spoil sport. Thus, Fanny and Mrs. Day were to be left +to listen from the windows, without the support of any person qualified +to laugh at what was really foolish in their apprehensions. With +chattering teeth, with shawls drawn over their heads, did they lean out +of the window of the darkened drawing-room, trusting that, if there +should be any shot, they should have notice of it from the face of the +rock below. + +The gentlemen and their servants proceeded first to Morse’s cottage. He +was not at home; but Alick was,—looking out of the window, as was the +fashion this night. His father had gone out some time ago, he said, +fancying, as he did every night, that he heard a noise somewhere. The +wonder was that he was not back yet. Alick was pressed into the service +to go and seek for him. + +Nothing could be more exciting to the young men than their walk through +the wood, treading cautiously on the thick strewn leaves, and mistaking +every sigh of the gust among the naked boughs for the coming forth of an +enemy from ambush. The stars, bright as they were, gave too little light +to be of much service amidst the trees; and a guide was appointed from +among the servants to lead the way to the woodman’s cottage. When he +reached the fence which surrounded it, he turned to whisper, + +“They can’t be far off now, sir. There is a man up in that tree. If you +will stand where I do, you will see him.” + +“Come down, whoever you are!” said James. “Come down, or I’ll fire!” + +“For mercy’s sake, sir, don’t!” cried a voice which had nothing very +manly in it; and the dark form was seen to be descending with all speed. + +“What was he doing there?” asked Richard, as a boy was pulled by the +collar into his immediate presence. “Stealing walnuts! What brought you +out, you little wretch, to steal walnuts?” + +He had been told by his father to stay here till the party came past on +their way home, lest he should get a mischief; and he thought he might +as well be doing something, like the rest of them. He had tried the +hen-roost first; but some of the party had been there before him, and +there was nothing left for him but the walnuts; and they were only the +gleanings, after the best part of the crop had been gathered. He had +news to give of the keeper. He had seen him taken.—Taken?—Ay; skulking +behind this cottage, to watch the poachers. It seemed to him that +somebody from within had given notice that he was there. However that +might be, Morse’s gun was taken from him, and he was carried off. Such +was the story told by George Swallow. + +The inmate of this cottage was sound asleep, if prodigious snoring might +be taken as a test. He was not allowed further repose, but summoned to +bring out his gun; and George Swallow was left tenant of the house,—tied +by the leg to the bed-post. + +If the gentlemen had come out in pursuit of game, they could have +started none more tempting than the fine stag which, being roused from +its lair, stood for an instant gazing on them from a distance of forty +paces. Wallace had a cry of admiration ready as the graceful creature +stood in the dim light; but before he could utter it,—before the animal +could bound away, a perfectly aimed shot came from some other quarter; +and instantly a large body of men crowded round the fallen stag. In vain +was the signal of silence given by Mr. Cranston, and most earnestly +propagated by Alick and the other woodman. Wallace shouted, James echoed +him, and the servants followed. The poachers rushed forward. A gun was +fired; by whom, and with what effect, nobody knew at the moment. A +second shot ensued, whose consequences were immediately perceived by Mr. +Cranston’s party. Alick sunk down with a cry like that of a woman. His +father knew the voice, and sprang from among his captors to the side of +his son. The fight which ensued was very harmless, the poachers +perceiving that they were in no danger from such a handful of enemies. +With the most provoking coolness, they retreated, carrying their game +with them, and only laughing at the pursuit of their foes. If they would +only have been angry, and gone on fighting, there would have been some +consolation. But they would fight no more. + +Neither did they sport any more; at least, not visibly nor audibly. As +it was undesirable that they should be tracked to their place of +carouse, and as it was necessary to cut up their venison into a more +portable state, they retired behind Whitford’s granary, and there took +up a strong position, rightly supposing that the enemy would see no use +or safety in watching them for any length of time. While knives were +being plied with skill upon the venison, those who were not wanted for +the work thought it a pity they should be idle. A sheep of Whitford’s +was abstracted from the flock by one detachment, while another sought +the place where the granary had been last tapped, and drew a further +supply of fine wheat which was pretty sure not to be missed. In these +expeditions, it was a rule of morals to employ every man according to +his capacity. Those who could neither kill game nor cut it up delicately +were very capable of boring a hole in the floor of a loft full of corn, +and, when the bag was filled, of stopping up the hole with a cork till +next time. This done, all proved themselves capable of swearing +fellowship and drinking more or less gin or other spirit in Swallow’s +office, whether or not they could sing such songs as frightened the twin +sisters from their sleep in the farthest corner of the house. + +On this occasion, the sisters were spared the panic suffered by Mrs. Day +and Fanny, when a wounded man was brought in to be put to bed, and +supposed dying till the surgeon could be summoned to see him. Fanny’s +satisfaction at her brothers’ coming home safe was much impaired by the +moodiness of their countenances, which seemed to betoken that the strife +with their neighbours was not at an end. + + + CHAPTER V. + + VOWED SISTERHOOD. + + +Poor Alick Morse died in three days. The brothers did not wait for the +event to show their determination to put down the practice of poaching +in their neighbourhood. Several suspected persons at A—— were brought up +before the magistrates, the morning after the adventure; some of them +being caught (before they had completely emerged from their drunken fit) +with sheep’s wool or grains of corn stuck with blood to their +shoe-soles, or their hands blackened with powder, or smelling of +venison. George Swallow was committed, with all ceremony; and the county +was pledged to prosecute him for his theft of five walnuts. His father +offered to whip him to any extent their worships might think proper; but +it was decided that he should be consigned to vagabond society in gaol +for a couple of months, and cause the county an expense of the requisite +number of pounds, in order to his being finally condemned to four days’ +imprisonment. When poor Alick died, (after having been removed, by his +father’s peremptory desire, to his cottage,) Morse was much cheered by +seeing his natural office of avenger of blood so well filled as it was +by his two younger masters, who actually dogged the heels of the +reluctant constable, to see that he did his duty in taking up the +suspected. The only thing that vexed the gamekeeper was Mr. James’s +obstinacy in disbelieving that Swallow had anything to do in the affair. +There was more reason for arresting Swallow than many another that was +marched before their worships: but James quashed every hint in this +man’s disfavour; and Swallow might be seen exhibiting himself about his +own premises with an air of triumph equally offensive to his accomplices +and to him whom some believed him to have most deeply injured. + +“Come, come, my poor fellow,” said James to Morse, “let us have no more +of this. I cannot listen to an information that has so little in it as +yours. Tell me of anything else that I can do for you, Morse. Would it +be a satisfaction to you that I should bury your son?” + +Morse uncovered his grizzled locks, and a deeper red than usual burned +in his jolly cheeks, as he acknowledged the young clergyman’s kindness. +He did not think Alick had supposed his young master would do him this +honour, though the poor lad had brought himself to ask whether his +father believed that a funeral sermon would be preached for him. + +“There shall be one, certainly, if it will be any satisfaction to you. I +should not wonder at your desiring it; but what could make Alick wish +it?” + +“He liked the idea that Sarah Swallow would hear him made much of, sir. +In fact, sir, he left his silver-topped gin-bottle to the parson, if he +made her cry at his funeral sermon. Hope no offence, sir?” + +James had an idea that he had a better chance of making Sarah cry than +any other parson in the world. He was pretty sure of the gin-bottle, if +he chose to try for it: but he was heartily vexed that he had promised +the sermon. While he was meditating his next evasion, Morse went on,— + +“And since you have been so ready about the sermon, sir, perhaps you +have no objection to be accommodating about the text?” + +“None in the world,” replied James, hoping that the matter would end in +the necessity of making Sarah laugh. “Let me hear.” + +“Perhaps you remember, sir, the text about the soul——something about the +bird and the snare of the fowler. My son thought that text would tell +that the manner of his death was by poachers.” + +“As if everybody did not know that already!” muttered James. “Well, +Morse; make yourself easy.” + +“And you may depend, sir, on having the gin-bottle on the Monday +morning.” + +“And when is the funeral to be, Morse?” + +“Why, sir, they say it must be to-morrow, sir. The undertaker says so, +sir; or else——” + +“To-morrow! D—n it!” muttered James. “Wallace and I had fixed to-morrow +for a morning’s shooting; and it is the last day we shall have this +week. Morse, did your master say he could spare you to-morrow?” + +“He did, sir. I am as sorry as you can be to spoil sport in such a way. +But the undertaker is positive.” + +“Then there is no help for it. I am not going back from my word, Morse.” + +It was a most delicious morning for sport. James came down with a +countenance as black as night. Wallace was making ready to go forth. He +only waited to know whether James meant to meet him in A——, some hours +hence, on business relating to these poachers. Certainly. James thought +he might as well get two irksome engagements fulfilled in one day. He +would meet Wallace at the Turk’s Head in the afternoon. + +“Bless me! I’m late, I suppose,” cried he. “Here’s poor Morse himself +coming to look after me. That punch was so confoundedly strong last +night, I could not wake for the life of me this morning. Coming, Morse. +I’m sorry if I’m late; but I dare say you have got a methodist or two +from A——, and they will entertain your company with a hymn till we get +up to beat their cover. Don’t hurry yourself, my poor fellow.” + +“By no means, sir. But what I came for was——I hate to spoil sport, sir, +and it is a rare morning; and so, sir, if you will make me sure of the +sermon, I’ll let you off this morning’s work, and secure you the +gin-bottle, all the same.” + +“Now I call that kind, Morse.” + +“And when I have seen him earthed, sir——” + +“Ah! you will hardly know what to do with yourself. Suppose you look for +the text you mentioned; and by the time you have found it for me, we +shall have something to amuse you with—about what is done with the +poachers at A——.” + +It did not appear, in the sequel, that looking out texts was precisely +the occupation that best suited Morse, even on this occasion. As Fanny +and Mrs. Day were walking, a little after noon, in a field at some +distance from the park, they saw Morse, with his gun on his arm, and his +dog snuffing about at a little distance. Fanny’s feelings for the bereft +father would have led her to avoid intruding upon him to-day; but he +bent his steps towards her. He evidently meant to accost her, and she +therefore broke the ice. + +“What brought you here, Morse? Where have you been walking?” + +“I’ve been no farther than Lye Wood. I’ve been to my son’s funeral not +far from there; and I thought I would try the cover as I came back. Now +I’ve happened to meet you, ladies, I am glad I let off the young parson +from the funeral. He would have been with me, as I’ve taken the sporting +circuit instead of the straight road; and it is of him that I am going +to speak. No harm, or no great harm,” said he to Mrs. Day, who had +turned pale through some undefined apprehension of evil. “No greater +harm, ladies, than his making love down yonder; making love, as all +young men do.” + +“What do you mean? Making love to whom? What sort of person is she?” +hastily inquired Mrs. Day. + +“You may guess it is to no unfitting person,” replied Morse; “for my +poor son meant to have had her himself, if he had but lived. ’Tis Sarah +Swallow that I mean; and all I tell you for is, that he may not make her +his lady, as the folks have it he means to do. Her father looks boastful +enough to put it into every one’s head; and I myself saw them in the gig +together when, it is my belief, she had been to view his new house, +where he will be taking her to live, one of these days, if you don’t +look to it.” + +“I was pretty sure he was in love,” said Fanny. “I have thought so this +fortnight past.” + +“Breast-high,” observed Morse. + +“This young person must be sent away immediately,” declared Mrs. Day. +“We must speak to Mr. Cranston directly, Fanny, and get it done.” + +“You will hardly manage that,” said Fanny, “unless the girl has done +something wrong. How can we send her away? What right have we to quarrel +with her having a lover?” + +“The scent will lie too strong; you’ll never break it. He will start +after her,” solemnly declared Morse. + +“But, Fanny, you would not send away your brother; you would not attempt +it, if you consider this new living that he has to attend to. Besides, I +believe he would not go.” + +“Certainly not, if he is in love. Why send away either of them? Why +roughen the course of true love?” + +“My dear, think of the consequences! You are so strangely wild, Fanny, +sometimes. Think of the consequences, if they stay in the same +neighbourhood,—one of the Mr. Cranstons marrying the daughter of a +country horse-dealer!” + +Fanny thought the real wildness and folly was in people’s loving one +person and marrying another. If James and Sarah loved each other, she, +for one, should not dare to interfere between them. Once convinced of +the fact of their attachment, she would offer herself as a sister to +Sarah Swallow, even if Sarah were herself a horse-dealer, and rode to +the fair at the end of a string of her own quadrupeds. + +“I suppose, then, you will be for going to vow sisterhood with this +girl, this moment,” said Mrs. Day, with much vexation in her tone. “You +will do your best to assist the scandal against your family, Fanny.” + +“I shall vow nothing till I know whether they are in love. If they are— +(I put it to you, Mrs. Day)—if they are in love, which is the greater +scandal—that the wedded in heart should be wedded in hand, or that he +should break this poor girl’s heart, and give his hand to somebody +else?” + +“You do not choose to look into consequences, Fanny; you will not, or +you would see what would become of society, if young men of family are +to marry in such a way, on pretence of being in love.” + +Fanny would not allow the word “pretence.” Pretence is not used to +secure disadvantages—of alliance or anything else. She also declared +that she did look very far into consequences,—into the cold married life +of the lover, and the dreary lot of the deserted, and all the crimes +which must be perpetrated on all hands before hearts that cling can be +separated. + +“But, my dear, only look at what will happen in such a case as this. +The——” + +“I see,—the endless troubles of a horse-dealer’s daughter in polished +society; (for I suppose we Cranstons are more or less polished in +London, however wild we may be here.) I grant you all these troubles; +but they are better than broken or hardened hearts. Depend upon it, Mrs. +Day, these are cases for prevention, not cure.” + +“What else have I been saying, Fanny? I want to send her away before it +is too late.” + +“It is too late, in this case,—always provided that they really love. +God has joined them, and I will not help to put them asunder. What I +mean about prevention and cure is, that people should be prepared to +love in the right place—where there is equality, not of rank, but of +mind. Till then, I am for love—true love—leading on to marriage, sooner +or later, as naturally as dawn leads on to perfect day.” + +“But I have no doubt this is a mere fancy of your brother’s,—a mere +pastime while he is in the country.” + +“Ah! that is altogether another question. I agree with you that it is +far too likely: but in that case, it is particularly necessary that I +should make a friend of this good girl; for I am sure she is a good +girl.” + +“She is, Miss Cranston,” averred Morse. + +“I may save her from a bitter disappointment, or prepare her, in some +degree, for it,” added Fanny. “But, Mrs. Day, I rather think my +brothers, and thousands more, would never dream of such cruel sport— +would have no such fancies—if it was a natural and a settled thing that +they should marry where they love.” + +“So you are going to run down to this young person, and put it into her +head that it is her duty and your brother’s that they should marry!” + +“If that is not in her head already, Mrs. Day, she will spurn me for +trying to put it there, you may be quite sure, if Sarah has the true +woman’s heart; and she is too young to have a more sophisticated one. I +am going; but I am afraid you will not be my companion.” + +“Certainly not, till I have spoken to Mr. Cranston.” + +“Poor Richard!” thought Fanny; “it would be rather burdensome to him to +have to alter the laws of nature, to evade the talk of our London +acquaintance. I don’t think Mrs. Day will persuade him to try.—— +Good-bye, Mrs. Day. If this news is not true, perhaps I shall be as glad +as you; if it is true, I really advise you to try to be as content as I +shall be, and (I think I may say) Richard too.”—— + +Of course, Mrs. Day shook her head. She turned back in the direction of +Fellbrow; while Fanny proceeded towards the Paddock—not with her usual +step, but sometimes lingering under the hedges, and sometimes hastening. +Her heart was in a kind of tumult,—now fluttering with pleasure—a new +kind of pleasure—at the idea of a brother being in love, (an event which +she had long looked for in vain in Richard’s case,) and now full of +anxiety lest there should be a lowness of heart and mind, as well as of +birth, in Sarah, which should injure or extinguish the love. Fanny was a +somewhat partial sister; and she was not aware how essentially vulgar +was the mind of him before whom heads were uncovered, as if, because he +was a clergyman, he must be a wise and good man. + +Fanny was herself surprised at the time she had lost when the church +clock of A—— gave out the hour, just as she had succeeded in dragging +down a lofty hazel-bough, and in obtaining the last nut that danced in +the air with it. She reproached herself duly for the divers blackberry +stains she had incurred, and crossed the last stile of Whitford’s +fields, into the road which led to the Paddock and to A——. Here she +walked on with all sobriety, pondering the ground rather than the high +hazel-boughs, till she was roused by a shout of many voices—a din which +alarmed her. Looking up, she saw the twins, preceded by Fido, flying +along the road towards her; while, some way behind them, just at the +entrance of the town, appeared a rushing crowd, from which proceeded the +clamour. The girls eagerly waved to her to turn back, and were evidently +exhausting their own strength in flight. “An over-driven bullock,” +thought Fanny, turning, and making for the stile she had crossed. She +reached and passed it; and then, supposing herself in a perfectly safe +place, she leaned over to make a signal to the girls that here their +flight might end. They could not speak when they approached; but they +made vehement signs that she must not stand there. It was, indeed, a +dog, and not a bullock, that was being chased. She saw the creature +making along the road, and could recognize the peculiar carriage which +denoted its madness. She was in agony for the exhausted girls, who were +actually stumbling amidst their attempts to reach the stile. The dog +might take it into his head to fly at them over, or through, the stile; +but it was worth any exertion to get them out of the direct path of the +animal. She stood on the middle rail, and stretched out her arms to +them; while Fido leaped backwards and forwards between her and them. +They made another effort, when they heard from her the words—“A barn! +here is a barn!” One reached and threw herself upon her, was dragged +over, and fell on the grass; the other, Sarah, was somewhat stronger, +and helped to lift up Anne, and pull her towards the barn, whose wide +doors stood open. The thresher was wondering what all this could mean, +when he stopped work, so as to hear something besides his own flail. The +dog appeared, leaping through the stile, and explained everything. The +girls were rudely pushed into the barn, and the doors closed upon them. +Fido would not come in. “Tie him up! tie him up!” cried Sarah through +the door. “Ay, ay,” answered the thresher from without. They hoped that +Fido was safe at the back of the building; and were spared the sight of +the dashing out of the mad creature’s brains by the flail of the +thresher. + +“Do give us air,” cried Fanny, when he put his head in to tell them all +was safe. “These girls seem suffocating. May we have the doors open?” + +Each pretty creature lay panting on the great heap of straw, while their +friend fanned them with her hat; they looking as if they would intreat +her not to trouble herself, if they could but find voice. How fresh came +in the cool air,—how bright did the pale sunshine look,—when the doors +were once more thrown wide! When the crowd were convinced that nothing +more was to be expected from the dog, and that the best chance of +amusement lay in finding out how many people he might have bitten in the +town, the field was presently cleared, and the thresher returned to the +barn. + +While wiping his flail, preparatory to using it again, he growled and +grumbled about the danger from mad dogs, and its increase of late. In +his young days, nobody thought of dogs being mad later in the year than +September. We should soon be subject to them all the year round, he +supposed. + +Fanny supposed this individual dog had been driven mad by some +particular accident or ill-usage. As for the rest, how was it to be +helped? Did the thresher mean to say that it was any body’s fault that +there were more mad dogs than formerly? + +“Ay, ay,” replied the thresher. “If dogs were taxed as they should be, +they would not swarm as they do in the dog-days.” + +“But I thought there was abundance of taxation of dogs: I am sure my +brothers pay as much for theirs as would maintain a poor man’s family. +There is a duty of six-and-thirty pounds on their pack of hounds, in the +first place; and then fourteen shillings a-head on all their other dogs, +which are not a few.” + +“Very well—very right,” observed the thresher. “Your brothers are not +the gentlemen to grumble at paying for luxuries, I dare say, any more +than these young ladies have hitherto grudged their pound a year for the +pretty creature behind there,” nodding towards the back of the barn. The +girls looked at one another, not having been aware that the possession +of Fido would bring upon Sarah or her father the expense of a pound a +year duty. + +Fanny thought nothing could be more proper than that her brothers should +pay duty for their luxuries, whether of dogs, horses, or any thing else. +If they grew displeased with the expense, they had only to give up the +indulgence, which was more than the poor man could do in regard to the +taxed articles used by him. She only mentioned what her brothers paid +because the thresher seemed to think dogs were not sufficiently taxed. + +The thresher thought so still. He did not want that dogs used for such +real and useful service as his boy’s dog on the sheep-walk above should +be taxed. When Mr. Taplin had tried to make out, last appeal day, that +that dog belonged to Mr. Whitford, and ought to pay duty, the thresher +had successfully opposed him, and the Commissioners had decided that a +shepherd’s dog used in the shepherd’s business, should be exempt. But it +was a very different thing, allowing dogs to go free of duty because +they belong to the poor; and letting a vast number go unaccounted for in +compounding for taxes. If poor men keep dogs for a luxury, let them pay +more or less for this luxury, since it is one that brings mischief after +it if too extensively used; and it is not difficult to draw the line +between these dogs and those which help the poor man in his occupation,— +such as butchers’ and drovers’ dogs. + +“I am sure,” said Fanny, “I have seen hundreds of dogs in London, whose +masters can pay no tax, to judge by the plight of the poor animals.” + +“Just so, ma’am. Half-starved and neglected as they are, they roam the +streets just in a condition to turn mad as soon as hot weather comes; +and as this is a sort of luxury that cannot be left to the poor man with +safety to his neighbours, it is only fair, in my opinion, to put some +restraint upon it. I would let the charge of eight shillings a year lie +on all the inferior kinds of dogs but those used in business; and to +make sure, every dog should by law have a collar with his master’s name +upon it, and the place where the duty is paid. If this was done, and the +constables had power to destroy all dogs that have no collars, and that +are not owned after due notice, we should hear little more of deaths +from mad dogs, and the government would find its profit,—and a fair +profit,—from such a plan.” + +“There would be more to pay the duty, you think, as well as fewer to +keep dogs?” + +“No doubt of it, ma’am. Mr. Taplin says the number of dogs accounted for +to the assessors in this country is between three and four hundred +thousand, besides packs of hounds,—which are about seventy. Now it is +pretty sure that, of the many thousands more that the assessors cannot +touch, some good number would pay duty, instead of all being put out of +the way.” + +“There would be a prodigious slaughter of lurchers, I fancy,” said +Fanny, “to the great displeasure of poachers, and of some who make their +dogs do business, though the business may not be accounted for to the +assessor. One cannot go ten yards in this neighbourhood without seeing a +lurcher. I suppose it is that dog’s cunning that makes it so common near +gentlemen’s seats, and in poor men’s service.” + +The thresher turned suddenly to his work again; and the girls arose. +They were all the sooner ready to go for poaching having been mentioned. + +“If you will just tell me where you tied up my dog,” said Sarah, after +duly thanking the thresher. + +“O, just behind there; you can’t miss him. I dare say he is dead and +half-cold by this time.” + +“Dead!” murmured both the girls. The thresher turned round quickly. + +“Why, you bade me tie him up, did not you? What would you have?” + +“He has hanged the dog!” cried Fanny. “O, how could you do so?” + +The thresher was all amazement. He had supposed that the young ladies +were afraid of their own dog after it had been in company with the mad +one, and he had saved them the trouble of hanging it; that was all.—A +kind of trouble he seemed disposed to save the constable, Fanny thought. +Had he drowned any pups, this day?—He could not say but he had,—before +he came to work in the morning.—If the thresher went on at this rate, +drowning pups in the morning, and slaying two dogs at noon, this +district was likely to be pretty safe during his life. Fanny would take +good care, however, to keep her spaniel out of reach of his cruel hands. + +“O, his cruel hands!” repeated Sarah, catching the last words as she +reappeared from behind the barn, whither she and her sister had run to +see if poor Fido had any life left in him. The first glance at the +suspended animal, in an attitude of convulsion, was too much for Sarah. +Anne ran on to cut him down with a sickle she had seized in the barn. +Sarah returned, and threw herself at length on the straw, hiding her +face, and sobbing till even the thresher’s soul was moved. + +Lord love her! how her fright about the mad dog must have shaken her! +There is no mischief that may not be mended, more or less, wise folks +say; and he would get her another greyhound, if she would not take on +so. Nothing easier than to get a pretty pup of a greyhound for her; and +he would christen it Fido, like the last. He would christen it himself: +for all he was known not to be overfond of encouraging dogs. + +“You!” cried Sarah, with flashing eyes. “You bring me a dog! It shall go +straight into the pond if you do.—But it was all my own fault,—for +letting you touch him.—I wish—I wish he had been bitten, and that he had +bitten me again, before I asked you to touch him.—I will never have +another dog as long as I live!” + +“O, yes, you will,” whispered Fanny; “you will take another from the +same hand that gave you this.” + +“O, Miss Cranston,” wept poor Sarah, “he will never give me another; and +I shall have no heart to take it, after having used this in such a way.— +How shall I tell him?—I’m sure I hope he will not come to the Paddock +to-day.” + +“Yes, he will. Let us go and be ready for him.” + +“Did he say he should come? Did he tell you——”—Sarah’s blushing face now +looked infinitely less miserable. + +“You must tell me,—yes, everything,” said Fanny, smiling. “There is +nobody in the field now. Come and take a walk with me.” + +The thresher was furiously at work as they left the barn without +remembering to say another word to him. He swore to himself that the +young gentlemen were welcome to try to please pretty girls, if they +chose. He had had enough of it. There was nothing to be got but abuse +for doing just what they desired. + +Anne was the next person to be discontented. When she had completely +tired herself with attempts to resuscitate Fido, with a vague idea in +her mind that she was doing something generous, she came back to her +companions, with a heavy heart and a faltering tongue, to tell that poor +Fido was irrecoverable. She found Sarah smiling consciously, and looking +the picture of happiness, while Miss Cranston’s arm was round her waist, +and it was plain that neither of them was in any want of her, or in any +distress about Fido. She was about to turn in and scold the thresher, as +the most natural way of letting off her wrath, when Miss Cranston called +her. + +“Come, Anne, we want you. You are Sarah’s only sister. We want your +leave that she may have another.” + +“O, Anne!” said her sister, in sorrowful reproach, when Anne silently +turned her head away to disperse her tears. + +“Indeed, I don’t mean——,”—Anne declared,—“I was only taken by surprise. +We did not know, Miss Cranston, what it was right to expect,—what you +might think——” + +Miss Cranston did not answer for any one but herself. How matters were +to stand with her she did not leave doubtful. If James had taken Sarah +to see the new house, and learn her wishes about its arrangements, she +could not be wrong in taking Sarah thither once more, to hear what had +been planned, and how she might help to advance everybody’s wishes. + +How rapid are the changes of feeling that all are subject to; and how +the most interesting communion of friends may be instantly transformed +into a mere contagion of mirth! An exclamation escaped from all the +three girls, as a hare burst from the dry ditch beside which they were +walking, and made across the field. On passing the barn, she seemed to +be taken possession of by a sudden thought. She turned and sprang in +upon the very heap of straw on which Sarah and her sister had reposed +from their terrors of the chase.—At that moment, two pointers sprang +through the hedge, and followed precisely on her track, while Wallace +appeared in a gap, and James’s voice was heard behind the fence. + +With quivering lips, Sarah entreated that nothing might be said of Fido; +and she was assured in return that James would be too eager about this +hare to remember the greyhound, so that she might keep the topic for +some occasion when she could privately explain the whole to James, and +when she would be better able to bear the subject than at present. James +had no attention to spare for the ladies till he had ascertained why his +dogs fidgetted about the barn in so strange a manner. He seemed to be +peremptory with the thresher as to which way the hare was gone, while +the man looked more sulky than ever. Instead of wasting words upon him, +Wallace made bold to search; and in a minute, the poor animal was +exhibited,—its skull having been fractured with his very handy and +diligent flail, and the carcase pushed in beneath the straw. The poor +thresher seemed likely to have no rest from animadversion this day. One +brother now threatened him with an information for killing the animal +sacred to the qualified, while the other heaped curses upon him for +spoiling the sport. No wonder the thresher pronounced his neighbours +hard to please. He was not even allowed to keep the hare,—“to roast the +game that he had killed.” James wanted it,—of course for Sarah; and then +came a race about the field, he trying to throw the carcase, as if it +had been a tippet, over her shoulders, and she naturally wishing to +escape such an adornment She was happily looking away in a struggle to +escape, when he said— + +“You had better have brought Fido with you. He would have carried your +game home. As it is, you see I shall be obliged to go with you myself. +Now, don’t you think that is very hard?” + +Fanny explained that she was going to carry off Sarah from Fellbrow for +a long ride, instead of letting her go home with her game. James must +now be satisfied why he found the three girls together like sisters; and +it was not long before he was walking between Fanny and Sarah, talking +of his new house. + +“Do you know, Fanny,” said he,——“(hold your tongue Sarah, I told you I +would make them laugh at you;) do you know, Fanny, she would have my +house built after the fashion of a shopkeeper’s house in the city. She +thought of nothing but a room or two on the ground-floor, and others +built over them,—and more piled up till we had got as many as we wanted; +with a window stuck here and there wherever we could not possibly do +without one. That is Sarah’s notion of a house.” + +Sarah declared that she did not wish the house to be anything but what +Mr. Cranston liked. She was only looking for the house being something +like the new ones on the new road. + +“Not knowing the why and because of the case, my dear. Houses run up +like maypoles where ground rents are high: (which is reason enough, +Fanny, why the house-tax should not proceed upon a measurement of square +feet, as some would have it;) and, as for windows, what can be the +reason, do you suppose, that there are not as many in our new houses as +at Fellbrow, where the walls are chequered with lattices? Is it because +Fellbrow is particularly ugly, do you think?” + +Sarah had little to say in praise of the beauty of either the +many-windowed Fellbrow mansion, or the new houses where a window +appeared here and there amidst an expanse of red brick. + +We might all think there was most beauty in a proportion between the +two, Fanny conjectured, if all were at liberty to consult their taste. +But Richard had told her that it was owing to the window-tax that those +architects were the most popular who put the smallest possible number of +windows into their plans for building. Thus, we might arrive in time at +a national preference for dead wall. But Fanny could not bear the idea +of English streets looking like those of Damascus and other eastern +cities, where you may walk for a mile in an avenue of blank edifices. + +James laughed at the notion of such an evasion of taxes as this. The +people of England must become poor indeed, if they denied themselves +light and air to avoid a duty of sixteen shillings and sixpence upon the +lowest,—viz., a house of eight windows,—and of no more than thirty +pounds upon the palace of a hundred windows. The people must, before +this, become as poor as Sarah must suppose him to be, judging from her +anxiety to have his house as dark as she could persuade him to make it. + +Sarah had had no such thought as of his being poor. She only judged from +the way that houses were often built now. It must be very bad for the +poor, (who are seldom disposed to be too cleanly,) to be stinted in air +and light. She wished the days would return when houses might be half +made of glass, like that at Fellbrow. + +“I do not,” said James: “for there was a worse tax then. The window-tax +indeed was laid on to relieve us from that. There was a tax of two +shillings on every hearth, Sarah. Only think of the bore of having a +tax-gatherer come round, insisting upon going into every room, to see +how many hearths there were! It struck somebody that if windows were +made to pay, instead of hearths, the tax-gatherer might walk round the +outside to count them; which was infinitely less disagreeable than his +presence within. At that time, the poor were not very heavily burdened +by it, and now they are not so burdened at all. Houses with no more than +seven windows then paid twopence a window; and now they pay nothing. So, +for once, you may spare your pity for the poor on account of a tax. This +does not touch them.” + +“Then I call it a good tax,” declared Fanny. “Richard shall pay his +share without any murmurs, as he does for his hounds and his horses, if +he means to begin his housekeeping with a good grace. It makes me quite +uncomfortable to think that we pay no more tax upon every pound of soap +or sugar than the poorest of Whitford’s labourers. There is some comfort +in paying for something,—even if it be light and air,—which may come to +them free. I like this window-tax. It seems, too, as if it must be fair +towards those on whom it does fall, if it rises with the number of +windows.” + +“It is not so, however. A tenant who takes a 10_l._ house in A——, an +old-fashioned house in one of those half-deserted streets, may have to +pay for sixteen windows, while a London shopkeeper, in a 70_l._ house, +in a first-rate situation, may have to pay only for ten windows. This is +not fair. I like the tax in so far as it is direct,—a prime virtue in a +tax,—and because it falls on none below the middling classes; but I +cannot call it equal.” + +“Why, no: the London shopkeeper ought to pay more instead of less +(whether his house be modern or old-fashioned) for living in a good +situation. But, to be sure, he does this in his rent, and, I suppose, in +his house-tax. And yet it seems as if the landlord must at last pay both +the house-tax and the window-tax. How is it? It is a great puzzle.” + +“Not at all. When a man is choosing a house, he takes the expense of the +whole into consideration,—the rent, and the house-tax, and the +window-tax. The tenant of the house with many windows in A—— would have +taken a house with fewer windows, if he had not been tempted by the +lowness of the rent; and the London shopkeeper finds himself able to pay +a higher rent for his house than he could have done if it had been more +abundant in windows. Thus, though the tenants may pay the tax into the +collector’s hand, it falls upon the landlords. The one landlord obtains +a lower rent because his windows are many; and the other a higher rent +because his windows are few.” + +“Then, if this tax were to be taken off, it would relieve the landlords, +not the tenants?” + +“When the tenant’s leases had expired. Till then, the tenant would +pocket the amount of the tax; but, the lease expired, the rent would +rise. If the tenant could before afford to pay so much to live in this +particular house, he will pay it again rather than quit a situation +which suits him. But there is one way in which the tenant will gain. He +can have more air and light.” + +“And families who live in their own old houses in the country,—families +who are not rich enough to afford themselves many luxuries,—would find +the relief great. If Fellbrow had been left to fall into ruins because +we were poor, and not because we were wild,—if we had come back to live +cheap,—we should have found the window-tax a great burden, and should be +glad to be rid of it.” + +“Yes: it is not nearly so good a tax as its companion, the house-tax.” + +“I hope, however,” said Sarah, “some other tax that falls upon the poor +will be taken off first. It is a pity that landlords should pay +unequally for their windows; but I think it is far worse that the poor +should pay as much for some things as any landlord. But I suppose these +taxes will make your house worth more than it would be worth without +them.” + +“In general, the value of houses must be raised by these taxes, because +it will not be worth while to build till the ground-rent is high enough +to pay the taxes as well as remunerate the landlord. But much depends +upon situation, you see. The ground-rent of my new house is very low, +because it stands in a situation that nobody cares about but myself; and +the ground-rent of a house in the Strand is very high, because people +bid against one another for the advantage of living in the Strand. If +the taxes were taken off to-morrow, the value of the houses in the +Strand would not be lowered till the Strand began to be deserted for +some other great thoroughfare.” + +“But if the taxes were to be taken off to-morrow, the value of your +house would be lowered.” + +“If I had not secured my bargain with the ground-landlord. If we were +only beginning our negotiation, he would say, ‘You will be at so much +less expense for your house than you calculated upon and can afford; and +you must therefore pay me more for your ground.’ But Sarah knows that my +house is too far advanced for any such speech to be made to me.” + +“Besides that the taxes remain.” + +“For how long? You know what an outcry there is about them in London?” + +“From landlords or tenants?” + +“From tenants chiefly;—from shopkeepers who will pocket the amount of +tax for the time their leases have to run, and will then be just where +they are now.” + +“But they ought not to be indulged, while so many worse burdens are +pressing on a larger and more suffering class. They surely ought not to +be indulged.” + +“Not as to the repeal of the house-tax, which is, if people would but +examine and judge, perhaps the very best tax we have. But then, it wants +to be equalized. The London shopkeepers are right enough in saying that. +But its being unequally laid on is no reason for its being taken off +altogether.” + +“How does it want to be made equal? between houses of a different rank +in London? or between houses of the same rank in London and in the +country?” + +“Chiefly between houses of a different rank, in London and in the +country. It seems to me ridiculous to make such prodigious complaints as +we hear about the enormous amount levied on London in comparison with +the country. London may measure no more miles than there may be seen +lying below my new house; but the property of London is more than our +whole county; and the property on which the tax is levied is the +question; not the space within which it is levied. The number of houses +assessed in London and Middlesex is above 116,000; and in the county of +Rutland 240.” + +“People must pay for the privilege of living in London,—for the +thousands of comforts and conveniences which are to be had there only. +Here, if people want to send letters a few miles, two or three times +a-day, they must dispatch two or three messengers, for want of a +twopenny post. If they want to buy meat, they must go a good way to a +butcher, and take the chance of getting what they want, if it be not +market-day, instead of having an universally-stocked market at hand +every day of the week. If they want to ride any distance, they must hire +horses, for want of omnibuses and stages; and they have none of the +luxuries of fine buildings, inexhaustible libraries, and the best of +pictures, and of music, and of theatrical and other exhibitions at hand. +O, people ought to pay for living in London.” + +“And the most natural way is to pay in rent, and therefore in house-tax +also. In as far as the country improves,—as provincial towns approach +more nearly to the glory of London,—rents and house-tax will rise much +more certainly than by any law that shall attempt to equalize them with +the metropolis. I would not interfere between the shop-owner of +Charing-Cross and the shop-owner of A——. The real grievance lies between +the noblemen of Charing-Cross and of Yorkshire, and the landlord of a +shop in the Strand. While the shop-owner pays a house-duty of 80_l._ +a-year, and the peer in the park no more, and another peer in his +country palace less than half, there is certainly ample room for +complaint.” + +“Without proving that the tax itself is bad. I should think some test of +value, other than the rent they would bring, might be found out for +those country palaces which, with all their splendour and convenience, +might be difficult to let. Very rich men would not mind having the value +of one article of their property ascertained, in order to be taxed, +however disagreeable the inquisition may be to a less wealthy man, whose +credit depends on the amount of his property. The house-tax would become +a property-tax in this way.” + +“It is a property-tax already; and therefore a tax of the best kind; and +therefore to be parted with only when swallowed up in a general +property-tax. Yet I am afraid it will be parted with, on account of the +clamour of people who live near enough to the Treasury to make their +clamour seem very terrible. If the sum which will then be taken off——” + +“How much?” + +“The house and window taxes together are between two and three +millions.” + +“That would go a great way towards relieving the poor of some really bad +taxes, and particularly if great houses were taxed as they should be, so +as to allow of more reduction in a right place.” + +“Besides that the excise,—the really bad taxes, some of which press so +heavily on the poor,—cost such an amazing deal to collect, that the +saving in taking them off would be much more than the amount that comes +into the Treasury.” + +“If the house-tax is taken off,” said Fanny, “I shall persuade Richard +to rebel at not being asked for it, as vehemently as some people in +London threaten to rebel for a contrary reason. I should like to see a +higher tax laid upon Fellbrow. I think we do not pay our share.” + +“You have nothing to do but to give Mr. Taplin a hint to that effect. He +will be very thankful for it.” + +“Why?” + +“He will gain a per centage upon the increase. These surveyors of the +assessed taxes have so much per cent. upon all that they can lay hold +of, which would not have been paid but for their exertions.” + +“That is what makes Mr. Taplin so disliked,” Sarah observed. “He +squeezes every shilling he can get from people who do not know how to +answer him, or resist him.” + +“Let them come to Richard,” cried Fanny. “He knows the law. He will help +them, I am sure.” + +“He cannot,” said James. “There is nothing for it but applying in person +to the Commissioners; and many people do not think the matter is mended +by going to the Commissioners at all.” + +“But Richard might keep Mr. Taplin in awe.” + +“That depends on whether Taplin has most reason to wish to stand well +with Richard or to have his per centage on increases. He will soon be +taxing you for Fido, Sarah. I will answer for it he has Fido down in his +memorandum-book already.” + +Fanny dreaded a burst of grief from Sarah; but she did not know Sarah’s +power of self-command, or appreciate the strength of the motive to keep +back the sad tale till the lovers should be alone. Wallace had sauntered +near them, so as to hear the last sentence, and be struck with a bright +idea in consequence. + +“What do you think I have a good mind to do?” said he to Anne. “It would +be capital fun to send an anonymous letter,—very solemn,—to Taplin, to +bid him look to your sister’s dog, and tell him of half a hundred more +taxable articles that she never had or will have.” + +“O, don’t do it, Mr. Wallace! You will make him so angry, and my father, +too!” + +“And then,” pursued Wallace, “she will have to come before the +Commissioners to tell her story, and——” + +“O, Mr. Wallace, pray do not!” entreated Anne. + +The more alarmed she looked, the more Wallace was amused with the idea +of bringing up, not only Sarah, but half the neighbourhood, before the +Commissioners. He suspected that Taplin’s avarice about his per centages +would carry him a great way in demanding what he had no right to. In +answer to her “Pray do not,” Anne obtained a “Well, well,” which +satisfied her. In all innocence, she allowed him to extract from her +everything she knew about the little concerns of her acquaintance among +the small housekeepers of A——, and the cottages on Whitford’s lands. She +was charmed by Mr. Wallace’s close interest in such trifles, and so +engrossed by it that her father’s voice startled her when he called to +her over the hedge. He was mounted, leading a string of horses which he +was conducting to a fair at some distance. As George was otherwise +engaged, it was necessary for the girls to be at home to keep the books, +he said, and they had been out a very long time. Where was Sarah? + +When Anne looked round, Sarah and her companions were not to be seen. +Till lately, nothing so wonderful had ever happened as that the one +sister should not know where the other was, or should have to go home +alone. Wallace’s gallantry was exhausted. After explaining the +improbability of Anne’s meeting another mad dog this day, he loaded his +piece, and declared he must have a turn through yonder cover before he +showed himself in A, though the hour for business appointed by himself +was already past. He supposed James was there; and he would serve the +purpose at present. If James was gone elsewhere after his amusement, why +the people at A—— must wait a little. + + + CHAPTER VI. + + BATTLES AT NAVARINO. + + +“Who said James was at his living?” asked Fanny of her brother Richard, +as she sat at a window of the Navarino, waiting till he should have +settled his business with the surveyor and the commissioners, and be at +liberty to finish his walk with her. “Who said James was at his house +this morning?” + +“Not I,” said Richard. “I know nothing about him. Where is he?” + +“Riding over the moor with the Lees. You may see them from this window. +Now look? Just turning down towards Bray Fells. He wants to show Mary +Lee that ride under the crags; and they could not have a finer morning.” + +“When did the Lees come? I heard nothing of their being here.” + +“They only arrived yesterday; and they will be off to town again in a +month. They spend Christmas here, that is all. Mary Lee little expected +such weather as this,—little expected any rides so near Christmas, I +should think.” + +“James will take care that she has one every day, I dare say, while the +roads are in their present state. He will make the most of a party of +friends while they are to be had. How long are we to be kept here, I +wonder?” + +“There is no knowing. There is quite a little crowd below, and more are +coming up every minute. If all these people are here on business, like +you, there is no telling when it will be done.” Leaning forward to +whisper, she added, “The Swallows are here, I see. Let me ask the girls +to this window. I want you to see Sarah. I don’t call it seeing her, to +sit in the park, and take a curtsey from her as she passes.” + +Nor did Richard: but he did not wish to be aiding and abetting in +deceiving the poor girl. From this hour James’s head would be full of +Miss Lee—— + +“Of Mary Lee! he never cared for her in London.” + +“Because he was taken up with other things then. At Fellbrow, he fell in +love for want of better amusement——” + +“If I thought that——”—cried Fanny. + +“I do not mean but that he would be as angry as you, if he heard me say +so. He is fully persuaded,—at least he was yesterday,—that he has lost +his heart in that direction,” glancing towards the girls; “but before +Christmas-day, he will find that he has it to lose again.” + +Fanny spoke not another word. She repeated again and again to herself +how glad she was that she had warned Sarah against the infirmity of some +of James’s purposes, though she had believed as fully as Sarah herself +that he was really in love. She had prepared Sarah for his house never +being finished,—for his betaking himself to the turf when he should be +tired of the field,—for his putting a curate into his living, and +carrying Sarah to London, never perhaps to visit A—— again: but that he +would give up Sarah,—that is, that he did not really love her, was a +danger that Fanny herself had not anticipated since she had witnessed +the courtship. Her spirits were sunk fathoms deep in a moment. + +It was Sarah who had said that James was to be at his living this +morning. She could not go with him, because she had to appear before the +commissioners to plead against paying duty for the dog she had lost. She +was now not in the best spirits. The errand hither was not a pleasant +one: her grief for Fido was still fresh; and a strange trouble connected +with him was in her mind. James had not been half so angry, or half so +sorry, as she had expected, when she told him, the day before, of Fido’s +fate. She had dreaded his anger so much that she was not sorry that he +had been detained by his clerical duties all Sunday, and that Monday was +a pouring rain, so that she did not see him. Yet on Tuesday, when she +told him, she was as much surprised at his indifference as he was at her +tears. He could easily get her another dog, he said; and she had been +almost as much offended at the words as when the thresher had said the +same thing. As if another could be the first gift! She was not much +cheered at this moment by what she saw from the window,—the riding party +lightly winning its way over the moor towards the very rocks whose +echoes——O, what had not been confided to those echoes! But he was coming +this afternoon, to consult her about a Christmas feast he was planning +for the poor people in his parish, and then she should hear who these +gentry were, and why he was obliged to ride with them. What a bustle +there was below! + +The Navarino indeed looked something like the rallying point of a host +of hoaxed persons. When the commissioners arrived, they saw at a glance +that to-day they must not dawdle about for a quarter of an hour, hat in +hand, and yawn, and go away again, but prepare for the transaction of +real business. Was there a rebellion against Taplin and his customary +charges? or had an informer been stimulating Taplin to make new charges +which were to be resisted? + +“Let Swallow speak first,” said Richard. “His time is more precious than +mine.” + +“Whose is not?” asked his sister, laughing. + +It ended in every body’s business being dispatched before Richard’s. His +main occupation,—that of observing men and manners,—proceeded, however, +to his satisfaction. + +“Mine is a very extraordinary case, gentlemen,” pleaded Swallow. “The +surveyor fixes the assessment of my premises at 70_l._ Gentlemen, I was +never asked for more than 20_l._ till now.” + +Taplin thought he ought to be very thankful for escaping the larger +payment so long. His ranges of stables,—all his large back premises,—had +been hitherto overlooked, and the house alone charged for. + +The plan of the premises was produced. Swallow insisted that there was +no connexion whatever between the house and the back premises;—merely +that the house-door opened under the gateway. No witnesses could be +heard as to the supposed value of the property compared with the +neighbouring houses, or as to any of the points Swallow wished to +establish. The rent of the entire estate was sworn to, and that the +house was not considered separate from the back premises on any occasion +but when the house-tax was to be levied. Swallow’s case was pronounced a +bad one. He must pay the 70_l._ Swallow was very cross,—declaring that +taxation was enough to ruin any man. No man was more burdened than he. +His very calling was taxed. Who else, he wondered, but horse-dealers, +paid 12_l._ 10_s._ a-year for following their business? + +“Come, come; that won’t do,” said Taplin. “We all know well enough that +it is your customers that pay that tax, and your interest upon your +12_l._ 10_s._ ’Tis a very good tax; and you won’t succeed in making +people discontented with it. If every thirteen thousand pounds of tax +was as pleasantly raised as that, we assessors should hear few +complaints.” + +“Move off, sir, unless you have any other complaint to make,” said one +of the commissioners to Swallow. + +“I have, sir. Here is a charge of a pound for a dog of my daughter’s. +Neither of my daughters has a dog; as they are both here to testify.” + +“A pound charged! A greyhound then. Will these young ladies swear that +they have not been in possession of a greyhound?” + +“That is the point,” declared Taplin. “The young ladies will not deny +that a greyhound, by name Fido——” + +“Never mind the name,” said the commissioner. + +“But he is dead,” murmured Sarah. “I had him only——only——” + +“O, you grant you had one: then you must pay.” + +Swallow muttered that if his daughter had had the impertinence to deny, +or equivocate, or battle the matter with the surveyor, she might have +got off. He now vented his displeasure upon the girls, desiring them to +accept of no more dogs; unless somebody else could be found to pay the +duty: for he could not and would not. + +Yet it was owing to Sarah that he escaped a far heavier and more +expensive vexation. Horse-dealers are bound to deliver in accounts of +the exercise of their trade (as they do not take out licenses) once a +quarter, to the assessor. Partly from his having delivered the book into +George’s keeping, and having a short memory for what was not before his +eyes, and partly from the hurry and bustle consequent on George’s +commitment, and his own narrow escape, Swallow had forgotten all about +this quarterly report. It was Sarah who remembered it, just in time, and +saved the fine. Swallow took occasion, in the midst of his wrath, to ask +the surveyor if he was not grievously disappointed that this fine of +50_l._ remained safe in the horse-dealer’s pocket. The surveyor declared +it was no concern of his. + +Mrs. Barton! the loyal Mrs. Barton! what could she be here for? She +might have been expected to pay the last half of her last cup of tea in +tax, if the king had been graciously pleased to call for it. What could +bring her here? + +A very aggravated distress about windows. She and Miss Biggs could use +no more than one window each to look out of; and when the maid had +appropriated a third, far more remained than were necessary for the +ventilation of Mrs. Barton’s small house. Four windows had for years +been shut up. The surveyor had now taken it into his head to charge for +these windows. He pretended to suppose that these windows might be +opened the day after he had turned his back. Such a dreadful +supposition! that Mrs. Barton would cheat the king! She,—the most +devoted to Church and King—— + +“Please to tell us, ma’am, how these windows are closed up.” + +“Sir, the shutters are put to, and painted black, sir; and then there is +lath and plaster erected within; so that not the minutest particle of +light——not the most piercing eye——O, who could suspect me? But I cannot, +you see, gentlemen, when the commerce of the place has so fallen off, +and such a revolution and transition is going on; and when four windows +are in question——” + +Taplin only knew that he had received information that Mrs. Barton’s +dead windows could let in any convenient portion of light upon occasion. +As for her business failing off, everybody knew that she had fresh +customers for hair-powder——” + +“What is that to us, Taplin?” said the surveyor. “Do keep to business. +It is the least you can do, after bringing all these people about us +to-day.” + +“They brought me; not I them, gentlemen. If they had chosen to pay at +once, there would have been none of this trouble. But her selling more +hair-powder has to do with business. She cannot deny that she has starch +in her house.” + +“I!—Bless me! Starch in my house!” cried Mrs. Barton, looking from side +to side, as if not knowing whether to admit or deny that she had starch +in her house. + +“Remember your oath. You have sworn to speak the truth, remember,” said +Taplin, terrifically. “Your having starch gives me a strong impression +that I shall find alabaster there, one of these days.” + +“We have nothing to do with strong impressions,” declared the +commissioners. “If you have nothing more to say about these windows, +Taplin,—if you cannot overthrow Mrs. Barton’s evidence of their being +completely shut up, we must decide in her favour.” + +“What is all this about starch, and alabaster, and strong impressions?” +asked Fanny of her brother. + +“Those who sell hair-powder (which is made of alabaster and starch) are +prohibited from keeping alabaster in their houses. Taplin chooses to +suppose Mrs. Barton has alabaster, because he is told she has starch. +But that is an excise inquiry, and has nothing to do with the assessed +taxes, as he knows. He only wants to frighten her, and make her give up +about the windows.” + +“They assess Maynard’s white head, however.” + +“Yes, I have had to pay 1_l._ 3_s._ 6_d._ for your serving man’s white +head.” + +“Must I make him leave off powder?” + +“Not unless you wish to send him to his grave. No, government shall have +the advantage of Maynard’s taste in dress as long as the old fellow +lives with us. How Mrs. Barton’s head shakes! How triumphant she looks! +I am afraid she will grow disloyal, after all. The commissioners are +offering her a direct premium on resistance to——” + +“Ah! to what? To Taplin, not to taxation. I am sure it must be a very +bad thing for a government to have such servants as Taplin,—so prying,— +so grasping!” + +“There will be such till people grow as honest about paying their taxes +as their other liabilities.” + +“Stay, ma’am, we have not done with you yet,” said Taplin to Mrs. +Barton. “There is a gentleman below, that I find travels for your +house,—a commercial traveller, ma’am; 1_l._ 10_s._ is the tax, ma’am, +which I hope he brings you orders enough to enable you to pay. I shall +by no means give up the claim for the windows, but refer it to the six +judges: but I conceive you will hardly contest the traveller.” + +“If you mean Mr. Taylor, who brought me a message from cousin Becky that +she wanted some eau de Cologne, I am happy to tell you that gentleman +never rode a mile out of his way for me.” And Mrs. Barton related that +Mr. Taylor and her cousin were engaged, and that Mr. Taylor, being a +commercial traveller, called on Mrs. Barton as he passed through A——, to +give her news of Becky; but she offered to swear that he never took an +order for her, or paid her any money, in his life. Some wag had imposed +upon Taplin. Everybody laughed. Mrs. Barton had better have stopped +here. Emboldened by the success of her eloquence, she went on to +complain of the distresses of the times to commercial people, and of the +favour shown to the agricultural class over that to which she belonged. +She was afraid his Majesty forgot that kings formerly lived upon the +land, and at the expense of those who held it. It was quite an +innovation, their now living upon their trading subjects. Farmers had no +house-tax to pay. There were actually near 137,000 farm-houses in +England and Wales exempt from the house-tax. Farmers’ horses were to pay +no tax, forsooth; and her friend Mr. Whitford had insured his +farm-stock, and been charged nothing for the stamp. If a rich man’s +wealth did but happen to be land, he was not charged the inventory and +legacy duties; and so it was in these degenerate days, that traders, the +most useful set of subjects the king could have—— + +“You say so because you are a trader, and not a farmer, Mrs. Barton,” +observed her friend, Mr. Whitford. “If you had to pay such burdens as I +have, or even such a charge as I am here about now——” + +“Come, let us hear it, Mr. Whitford,” said the Commissioners. + +“Of all unconscionable things, the surveyor wants to charge me for my +market-cart.” + +“Because you use it to ride in, I suppose?” + +“The horse cannot go to market without somebody to drive him; but we +have a gig for our pleasure; and that I pay for.” + +“Your gig for pleasure, and your cart for convenience, I suppose. Does +nobody ever ride in your cart for convenience?” + +Whitford could not deny that if his wife and he wanted to go into A——, +or to the village of M——, they took the opportunity of a lift when the +good wife and her boy were going with mutton, eggs, and butter; but the +cart was a market-cart, and he already paid for a gig. It came out, +however, that the cart was painted so as to look very pretty; and there +was a seat which could be strapped on, to make the vehicle convenient +for more persons than could be wanted to drive it to market.—The +assessment was confirmed. + +Whitford hoped Mrs. Barton perceived that agriculture was not too much +considered. She saw the treatment he met with to-day; and if she was +aware how Taplin was on the watch whenever the farm-horses went to +drink, to find out that they were used for some purpose which might +justify a charge,—if she knew how nearly he prevailed with the +Commissioners last time to tax Whitford for his shepherd’s dog, she +would to think trade particularly aggrieved. + +Taplin declared that Whitford’s horses went to drink oftener than any +horses at the Navarino or the Turk’s Head thought of drinking. It had +become quite a joke, Whitford’s horses going to drink; and the dog was +certainly seen feeding off one of Whitford’s sheep. + +Because the sheep happened to die, Whitford declared. In that case, the +Commissioners had done justice to agriculture. + +“These people are a specimen of how people talk, the wide world over,” +observed Richard to his sister. “You see how they argue upon the vast +interests of vast bodies from the temporary aspect of their own little +affairs. Agriculture is protected or oppressed, according as Whitford +has to pay thirty shillings more or less; and Mrs. Barton’s windows are +to be the test how trade is regarded by King, Lords, and Commons.” + +“I wonder how King, Lords, and Commons are ever to know what to depend +upon, if all interests are urged in this partial way,” observed Fanny. + +“There are always principles to be depended upon in this matter of +taxation, as in everything else; and there can be no other safe guides. +Amidst the inconsistent, the bewildering representations offered, a +certain number must be in accordance with true principles; and it is +these which must be professedly acted upon.” + +“But if foolish representations abound, and wise ones are scarce, what +must Government do then?” + +“The last thing it ought to do is to ground its proceedings on the +ignorance of the people,—to yield them that which they will hereafter +despise the donors for granting them.” + +“The house-tax, for instance, which some people in London are clamouring +to be rid of.” + +“The house-tax, indeed, is an instance. The house-tax is one of the best +taxes that ever was imposed. It is one of the very few which falls only +on the wealthy and substantial—on none below the owners of houses. It is +a direct tax, and might be made an equal one; and is particularly +convenient as to the time and mode of payment, to all who are not such +babies as to prefer having their money taken from them without their +knowing it. This tax is unpopular with a portion of a particular class; +and an immense proportion of the nation knows nothing, and has nothing +to say, about it. This gives a favourable opportunity to the highest +classes, who have not paid their due share, to get rid together of the +question and the odium of not paying their share; and thus the +Government is tempted to silence clamour and please the aristocracy, on +the plea of yielding to the popular wish. But if the Government yields +to this temptation,—if it takes off the best-principled tax we have, and +leaves the worst,—I hope it is preparing itself for that retribution +which, sooner or later, overtakes every government which founds its +measures on popular ignorance.” + +“But what can be done? Is not its unpopularity a sufficient reason for +the abolition of a tax, when some tax is to be abolished?” + +“Its general unpopularity. But, in this instance, the opposition, though +harassing, is partial, and only such as might easily be diverted, by +equalizing the pressure of the tax. If it were now to be thus equalized, +and if any pains whatever were taken to exhibit to the people the +comparative qualities of this duty, and of any one of our worst excise +taxes, the very shopkeepers of London would soon worship the footsteps +of the Chancellor of the Exchequer for preferring to their dictation the +unurged interests of the many.” + +“The taxes that have been in question to-day have none of them fallen on +the poor.” + +“None of the direct taxes do; yet they are so few, that the poorer +classes pay five times as much as the classes above them. Now, mark our +consistency. We admit (because nobody can deny) that an equitable +taxation leaves all parties in the same relative position in which it +found them. We know (or might know) that the poorer classes are made, by +indirect taxation, to pay five times as much as others; and yet, as soon +as there is a tax to take off, we leave the excise untouched, and +relieve the upper classes of the very heaviest which bears particularly +on them, and the very fairest which our long list can exhibit. This +injustice could not be perpetrated if the poor had their rights, either +of enlightenment or of parliamentary representation.” + +“I do wonder that these assessed taxes are so unpopular, even among +those who pay them; for, however disagreeable it may be to have the +tax-gatherer come and take a certain sum, which the owner would like to +keep for some other purpose, the tax-payer is, at least, master of his +own house and his own business. The brewer, and the paper-maker, and the +glass-manufacturer have much more reason to complain, liable as they are +to be watched and persecuted by excisemen, and insulted by anybody who +chooses to inform.” + +“These direct taxes are difficult to evade; and this, which is a real +virtue in a tax, makes it disliked by those who entertain ‘an ignorant +impatience of taxation.’ But it ought to be known that the most +ingenious person that ever evaded the payment of his share of tax would +part with less of his money by manly payment, under a system of direct +taxation, than by paying no more than he could possibly help under an +excise and customs’ system. Mr. Pitt lowered the duty on tea in 1784; +and, to make up for the deficiency to Government, laid on an additional +window-tax. What happened? The same classes who had to pay an additional +window-duty found that they had more money than before to spend on tea. +The consumption of tea increased so marvellously, that the amount of +revenue it brought in was not much less than before; and Government was, +on the whole, a great gainer, and the people not losers. Less was lost +between the people’s pockets and the Treasury. If we could but take a +lesson from this event, and go on diminishing our indirect and +increasing our direct taxation, both Government and people might be +astonished at the apparent creation of wealth to them both. It is +grievous to think of 2,000,000_l._ being levied on our own manufactures, +and 6,000,000_l._ on the raw materials in the country, while only five +millions and a quarter are raised by direct taxation, while the cost of +collection of the one is three times that of the other. If, out of this +five millions and a quarter, the house-tax is yet to be taken, we must +bear to be taunted with ‘the wisdom of our ancestors,’ and be sure that +our posterity will not have much to say in praise of ours.” + +“And yet people talk of absentees being brought home by the doing away +of direct taxes.” + +“The absentees will hardly talk of coming home for any such reason. They +see that there is now a smaller proportion of direct taxation in this +country than in any other in Europe; and they know that out of our +government revenue of between forty and fifty millions, scarcely one +million and a half is raised on expenditure peculiar to the rich, and +that they did not go abroad to escape this very slight burden. If they +did not go abroad to escape it, they will not be brought back by a small +reduction of their small share.” + +“And if they could be brought back, their return is not for a moment to +be set against any advantage given to the lower and more +heavily-burdened classes.—But see! there are some poor people standing +before the Commissioners; some really poor people, Richard.” + +“Who can yet afford some luxury which Mr. Taplin has got scent of, +perhaps.” + +“Do you know, I think some informer has been busy among us. Mr. Taplin +can never have had the wit to find out so suddenly all these +liabilities.” + +“There are informers for profit, and informers for fun, Fanny. I have +seen somebody enjoying the joke as the tax-payers came up to appeal; and +the more cross they look, the more he enjoys the fun. He is a good deal +annoyed, I fancy, at our sitting here so quietly, waiting to let my case +be the last.” + +“Wallace! Do you think he would connect himself with Mr. Taplin?” + +“Anonymous letters would serve the purpose. But I will not forgive him +for wasting the time of these poor people, if they are not liable; and I +cannot think they can be liable.” + +The group consisted of a poor woman and her two sons, the elder of whom +resembled her in his evident dread of being sworn, while the younger +seemed likely to fail in nothing for want of courage. The mother might +safely swear, however, that the mule for which she was to be taxed, if +Mr. Taplin was to have his way, was given by Mr. Whitford to her elder +lad, and that it was too young to be used yet; and when it should be +strong enough, it would not pay its own tax of half a guinea. If she +might be let off now, she would get rid of the beast before night, if +the gentlemen pleased. Any of them should be welcome to the mule, which +was of no use to her, but only cropped its living along the lanes. Mr. +Taplin was made duly ashamed of this charge. + +Perhaps the being upon oath tied the tongue of the elder lad; for he +would not say that he had not carried a gun any day this last season; +that he had not, in any manner, knocked down a hare or a rabbit; that he +had not been seen coursing when Mr. Cranston’s harriers were in the +field. He declared that he was there merely as a spectator; that he had +no dogs; and that he was returning on horseback from an errand on which +he had been sent by his master, and had merely joined the sport because +the horse he rode wished to do so. These excuses were not admitted: he +was requested to pay 3_l._ 13_s._ 6_d._; on hearing which request, he +turned as white as ashes, and looked apprehensively at his mother. It +was clear that they could not raise the money. + +“For God’s sake, Richard, tell me how I may get this poor fellow off,” +said Wallace, coming up to his brother, in much perturbation. + +“Suppose you pay the fine. It is hardly fair that the Government should +not have something out of your pocket to-day, when you have managed to +extract more or less from almost every body else. I do wonder you could +bring yourself to waste the valuable time of these poor people; and pray +observe how their consciences are racked about the oath. I fancy a +little bold swearing would have brought off that good lad. Stop, +Wallace!” as Wallace was darting towards his victim. Wallace returned. +“I am pretty sure the Commissioners are wrong here. You can offer to +refer the case to the six judges, if you think proper: I feel sure they +will give it against the Commissioners.” + +“You must make the offer, Richard; I will take all the trouble, I +faithfully promise you. But you would not have me be thanked by these +people, when they do not know that I brought them into this scrape: you +must speak up for them.” + +Richard did so; and Wallace whispered to them that, happen what might, +they would have nothing to pay. The younger lad swore to all and +everything that was convenient, in order to escape what his brother had +been threatened with. He had not carried a gun. Well, if he had, it was +only to shoot crows. O yes; he had shot at something besides crows,—he +had brought down a paper kite that had stuck in a tree. That which he +brought home in his bag was a weasel, which his master thanked him for +destroying. Thus did he get rid of every question; and he evidently took +credit to himself for his superiority over his brother in cleverness. +Fanny thought it all very bad, and was glad to be convinced that the +fault lay, not in the principle of the taxes in question, but in the +methods of managing their collection. Even now, all this was far less +disagreeable and pernicious than the management of the excise and +customs’ duties; and the remedy would certainly arrive whenever the race +of tax-gatherers should improve, which will be whenever the people shall +learn their duty in respect of paying taxes. When all shall be done +openly, and persons shall subscribe to government as they subscribe to +any other institution, as a condition of sharing the privileges, there +will be an end of secret informations and of perjury. Till then, as it +is clear that there is far less of these grievances and crimes under a +system of direct than indirect taxation, let those who dislike underhand +enmity and false swearing advocate the utmost possible simplification of +the system,—the imposition of few and direct, in place of many and +complicated, taxes. + +It was a sad necessity for Mr. Pritchard of the Turk’s Head to have to +appear in the house of his rival of the Navarino; but it was necessary, +not only to show himself, but to lose his cause. The Expedition +stage-coach had started from the Turk’s Head from the time when +Pritchard was the smartest of young innkeepers till now, when he was +losing his energy and going out of fashion; and, during many a year, had +he, the proprietor, paid the tax upon the two coaches which daily passed +each other on the road. It had now suddenly occurred to Mr. Taplin that +there must be a third coach always ready for use, in case of any +accident happening to the other two. No protestations of the +impossibility of more than two being wanted were of any use. The +existence of the third could not be denied, nor its having been seen on +the road within a month. Pritchard was compelled to pay for three. + +And now was Richard’s turn. He happened to have a seal with a horse’s +head and his initials upon it. Taplin charged him for armorial bearings. +Richard paid for these on his carriages, and he thought this enough. He +stoutly argued his point about crests and coats of arms; and even went +so far as to talk of appealing to the six judges if the commissioners +decided against him. It was in vain. He threw down his 2_l._ 8_s._ at +last, to save further trouble to himself and other people, and sighed +over the seal, with the use of which he should indulge himself no more +while in Mr. Taplin’s neighbourhood. He had nothing to say against the +tax. There could hardly be a better, particularly as it was improving in +productiveness; but he could not submit to use a seal in so expensive a +way. + +“It rather gives one pleasure to see you suffer,” observed Fanny, when +one considers a surcharge on ourselves as a kind of reparation to the +poor for their bearing, as a class, so much more than we do. It is a +comfort to think that Mr. Taplin has not laid a finger on one poor +person to-day, except——” + +“Except the poor fellow whose suffering, if inflicted, would have been +ultimately owing to our game-laws. Those game-duties are fair enough +while our gentry go on preserving their game, and bringing upon their +heads the blood and moral destruction of the hundreds and thousands that +are lost for their indulgence.” + +Fanny observed that she had never thought so much about the old French +nobility as since the gaol at A—— had been tenanted by offenders against +Richard’s game. + +“I cannot bear it,” said Richard. “I must go through with the affair, +now it is begun, I suppose, for the sake of the country gentlemen in the +neighbourhood: but it is the last time poor men shall first be tempted +by me into what they do not consider crime, and then punished in a way +which makes them criminal. I feel already as if I must be answerable for +all the real crime and all the misery which must result from these men +being separated from their families and their employments, and thrown +into the corruption of a prison. I cannot bear it.” + +“What will you do?” + +“Leave off preserving my game; give it up as property; do anything +rather than foster night meetings of poachers, and cause an annual +transformation of some of them into burglars, or lawless wretches of +some proscribed class or another. Ah! I know James and Wallace will be +very angry. But let them go and sport elsewhere, if they must sport. +They shall not have my countenance in spoiling my neighbourhood. When +they have to go a long way to find a bird, and have tried in vain to +start a hare, they may invite themselves somewhere else, and leave me +with my rooks, which I like better than my pheasants, after all.” + +“But is it not rather a pity?” Fanny had some regrets. + +“Certainly it will require some self-denial, even in me, who am careless +about sport: but are we rich people so very sorely exercised in +self-denial that, living in a country where food is the one scarce +thing, we must forbid the half-starved labourer to touch the tempting +flesh and fowl that spring from beneath his feet, as he walks where no +eyes see him?—flesh and fowl which he regards as common property, +because they are by nature wild? Be the labourer right or wrong in his +notion, as long as his want and his notion co-exist, I will surrender to +the weakness of his condition what I am not at all sure that I should +deny to the strength of his arguments. No man shall in my time go to +gaol for offences against the Fellbrow game. Maynard may teach Mrs. +Barton to set springes if he pleases; and Swallow may carry away his +dozen hares in broad day, instead of at night. If George comes out no +worse a boy than he went in, his pretty sisters shall hold him at his +post in the office for me. We must think of some way of keeping Morse’s +heart from breaking. That is the thing most to be dreaded. He cares more +for the pheasants than for poor Alick, I believe.” + +“Those game-duties must be given up, if every gentleman followed your +example. But, to be sure, there are more important things involved in +the question than the game-duties.” + +“Taxes on luxury are excellent things, when that part which is paid in +money is all. But when reputation, innocence, the comfort of some entire +families, and the actual subsistence of others, are the tax paid for one +factitious luxury enjoyed by those who revel in luxuries, the cost is +too great. James says that one of our neighbours will be transported; +that he has evidence of something worse than the mere poaching. For my +part, I conclude that most of those concerned will be either transported +or hanged, sooner or later. Such is the common issue of poaching.” + +“One would think some man-hater had ingeniously planned this method by +which to slide from mere carelessness or frolic into crime. Here is just +the intermediate step between honesty and dishonesty, without which many +an one would never have transgressed. Here is a property which is so +peculiar as not to be considered a property by those who are tempted to +take it. Punish them as for taking property, and they become wilful +thieves, and all is over. But who is the one neighbour James means?” + +“You will be surprised to learn; but it is a secret at present. Now, +shall we walk?” + +“As soon as Mrs. Barton is gone from before the door. I think she will +never have done talking to Maynard.” + +“Not till you go down. She is waiting to speak to you, and you may as +well take it graciously.” + +“O, but I bought some lavender water of her only yesterday.” + +“Never mind! I dare say she has something new to say to you to-day about +Church and King.” + + + CHAPTER VII. + + LOUNGING AND LISTENING. + + +“I never said anything so decidedly to you before, James, but you must +stay,” said Richard to his brother, the clergyman, who was lounging from +window to window of the library. + +“Such a place to keep one shut up in, in the midst of winter!” muttered +James. “It is enough to make one melancholy to look at that black frozen +water under the rocks, and all the trees within sight loaded with snow, +and not a twig stirring to shake off so much as a flake. ’Tis so +desolate when one compares it with London, I declare my spirits won’t +stand it.” + +“One week cannot make much difference. It was all your doing that any +stir was made about these poachers at all, and you must stay a few days +longer to carry the matter through. What difference can one week make?” + +“All the difference in the world. The journey up to town with the Lees +signifies more than any thing I shall meet with when I get there. The +happiness of my whole life may depend on those three days of travelling— +—” + +“How little you know of yourself, James,” said his sister, “if you think +that anything that can happen in three days can make you happy!” + +“You can make me preciously unhappy, I know, if you keep me three days +longer in this miserable place. Why, ’tis a place only fit for a hermit +to live in, in winter.” + +And he glanced at a green stain which was still conspicuous on the +ceiling. It was convenient to overlook the thick new carpet, the roaring +fire, and the ample provision of books, whose arrangement had been just +completed under his own eye. “It is very strange if you cannot transport +a man without my help. I am sure I wish Taplin had gone on thumbing his +Ready Reckoner for many a night to come before I had meddled with him. +It will end in my being full as much punished as he, or any of his +gang.” + +“Thumbing his what?” asked Fanny of Richard. + +“The Ready Reckoner. Taplin has been the head of the poaching gang. It +has been organized by him,—made into a kind of club, sworn to +co-operate. Taplin administered the oath; and his excuse is, that the +men were sworn, not on a Testament, but on the Ready Reckoner. We have +evidence enough to transport Taplin. It was James that obtained it; (you +had better ask him how;) and now he wants to be off to London, at the +critical moment, (you had better ask him why,) and leave me to manage +the matter in which I have never stirred, except in as far as I was +forced by him.” + +“I know the how and the why,” observed Fanny, gravely. “The greatest +wonder of all is to hear him talk of the happiness of his future life, +with such a how and why lying on his conscience.” + +“Now, you just show, at this moment, the folly of meddling in other +people’s affairs, and preaching about other people’s consciences,” said +James, turning round from the window. “I can tell you that Sarah Swallow +is going to be married. I know it for fact; for her intended told me of +it himself. Indeed, he asked me to marry them. What do you think of +this, Fanny?” + +“I think just as I did before. If Sarah proved herself as light-minded +and fickle as yourself,—if she so injured and betrayed the interests of +her sex,—how does that excuse your treachery to——” + +“Now, if you say another word about the sanctity of the church, and the +dignity of the clerical character, and all that, I will never set foot +in my living again to the end of my days.” + +“I was not going to make any appeal to you which I know to be so +useless. The clerical character has no dignity in your keeping; and you +take care that the church shall have no sanctity in the eyes of your +people.” + +“That is not my fault.” + +“I know it. You can no more be a clergyman than you can be a musician or +a sculptor. Your misfortune and that of your people is that you are +called a clergyman.” + +“Ah! I saw two old women dreadfully scandalized, the last time I came +from the hunt. They thought I was over the ears in a pitcher of ale; but +I heard them say, ‘There’s our parson, with not a thread of black on him +but his neck-cloth.‘” + +“The sin of the case lies with the church that makes a point of a black +coat while she tempts in——” + +“Black hearts?” + +“Hearts that must needs come out black from being steeped in the +hypocrisy of a professed sanctity.” + +“I am sure I never professed any sanctity.” + +“Therefore your heart is not of the deepest black of all. But what has +been your only alternative? Leading your people to think that no +sanctity exists.” + +“That is the fault of the system,—not mine. The system made it a matter +of course that I should be a clergyman. Here I am. I must either set my +face at its full length, and play a damned deep part when I talk of +righteousness, and temperance, and——and all that—-” + +“And judgment to come,” said Richard, gravely. + +“Or, if the people see I am thinking of anything but what I am saying, +they can hardly believe that such threats signify much. You should lay +the blame on those that put me into the church.” + +“They would plead that you were put there as a matter of course;—that +you were born to it. They would refer the blame farther back; where, +indeed, it ought to rest. The day must come when faithless parents must +be arraigned by their injured children: and then will your people, among +a countless multitude besides, rise up in judgment against mother-church +for having made an elaborate provision for, not only desecrating the +gospel, but generating infidelity towards both God and man.” + +“That may be all very true; but I cannot help my share of it now.” + +“You can stop the spread of the mischief which has sprung up through +you. Come out of the church. You look more astonished than there is any +occasion for. Remember——” + +“Remember, sister, how it is with other professions. A bad physician +does not give up practice; nor does an ignorant lawyer, because of +incapacity.” + +“Remember that the physician and lawyer who are as well known to be as +unfit for their business as you are for yours, are not employed. In the +profession of the church alone are the incapable sure of their +occupation and its recompense. But no one is more aware than you that +the days are coming when, if the unqualified do not step out of the +church, they will be plucked out; or, if time be promised them to die +out, it will be a chance whether the impatience of the long-betrayed +people will not unroof the sanctuary from over their heads. You well +know this, James. Your duty to your church, then, requires that you +vacate your place: that at least one——” + +“Knave? Hypocrite? Come. Out with it!” + +“At least one unqualified person may give place to a true-hearted one +who may help to restore what has been laid waste. If you owe no duty to +your church, you do to your people; and both the one and the other +require you to vacate.” + +“And Mary Lee forbids. If you had said all this a month ago——” + +“Then Sarah Swallow would have forbidden. Your people must be betrayed +in order to enable you to marry, while, at the same time, you cannot +make up your mind whom to marry. You will persuade yourself, when you +have been married a month, that you have made the wrong choice, after +all. If you would give up your living, and work with your conscience in +some other employment, instead of sporting with it in this, you might +find at last that you had a heart, and that there was some one person +who alone could satisfy it. You might be happy, James, after all.” + +“There is no use in that sort of thing now,” urged James. “Sarah is +disposed of, and Mary Lee——” + +“Disposed of!” said Fanny, fixing her eyes upon him so that his were +immediately turned away. + +“Upon my honour, I had nothing to do with it. It was all their own +doing. It was as much news to me as to anybody when Morse came to ask me +to marry him.” + +“I believe you. I acquit you of providing for the prostitution of one +whose innocent heart you had just gained, and found it convenient to +throw away.” + +“But the winning and casting off led to the rest,” observed Richard. + +“I tell you, she threw herself away. The old man sought her because his +son loved her,—not because I did. But he is a good old fellow; and after +all——” + +“Silence!” cried Fanny. “Go on, if you dare, to say that to be the slave +of an ignorant old man,—the household drudge of a being she despises for +marrying her almost as much as she despises herself for marrying him,— +say, if you dare, that this is a good enough lot for one whom you +yourself taught to feel that she had a mind and a heart, to be free in +action, and devoted in affection——” + +Her eyes rained tears, and her voice trembled so that she could not go +on to say that with which her heart was overfull. James began to ask +himself whether he had not committed a great mistake in deserting one +for whom Fanny seemed to feel so passionate an affection. In the midst +of her agitation, Fanny saw his misapprehension. + +“It is for my sex,—it is for our nature, that I feel it so much,” she +struggled to say. “That no more should be understood of what love is by +those who are acting in the very name of love! That any one should dare +to open only to darken,—to expand only to crush! Anne says, ‘I did say a +great deal, but Sarah is so much cleverer now than I am, that I dare not +say all that was in my mind. She sees how foolish many things are that +we never used to doubt of, and that I do not understand any better now.’ +Nothing can be truer. The whole being of the one sister has been +awakened, in order to be tortured; and the other can no longer console.” + +To carry off some emotion which could not be helped, James began to +jest. He thought it was only fair,—for the purpose of restoring the +sympathy between the sisters,—that he should flirt a little with Anne. + +“Try;” Fanny said; and she spoke no more. + +James next made an attempt upon Richard. + +“I am sure you ought to thank me, Richard. You wanted to have Morse’s +heart kept from breaking, if you should give up preserving your game. +The thing is done, you see, thanks to me.” + +Richard took no notice. + +“I never saw such a brother and sister in my life,” cried James, with a +heavy tread up and down the room. “I believe you do not care for +anything that happens to me.” + +“We do,” said Richard; “but we are bound to care for others too.” + +“And for your future self,” added Fanny. “James, do promise that you +will not seek Mary Lee. I do not know why you should look amazed. You +must know that she would not think of you, if she knew all; and that you +cannot make her life happy, if you could persuade her that you love her +now. Do not crush another heart.” + +James was, of course, quite sure that he loved Miss Lee, and pretty +confident that he could attach her, and absolutely certain that they +should make one another perfectly happy. He should go now, and learn +whether her departure could by no stratagem be deferred till he could +accompany her; if not, he should fly after her the very hour that +sentence should be pronounced on Taplin. + +He returned in two hours, very much out of humour. The Lees were going +the next morning. He should hasten to Brighton, or somewhere, till the +spring; any where (after Fellbrow) except London. He hated London at +this time of year almost as much as in the autumn. He should speak to +Riley about getting so much of the new house ready as should fit it for +the residence of a curate. It might as well go on so far, now it was +begun; but he could not think what had possessed him to begin building +in such a place. + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + CHARACTERISTICS. + + +Sarah seemed quite disposed to allow Morse’s plea that a long courtship +was not so suitable to his years as it might have been to those of his +poor boy. She left him the choice of the day, and called on her sister +to assist her in speeding the necessary preparations. Anne humbly obeyed +all directions. She might wonder,—she was indeed lost in wonder, at all +she heard and saw; but Anne was by this time persuaded that she was very +stupid in comparison with Sarah, and that she had been very wicked in +envying Sarah a happiness which Sarah had parted with so much more +easily,—with so much a better grace than Anne herself could have done. +She was angry with herself, too, for not respecting and liking good Mr. +Morse as she had done. The more love-letters Sarah threw into her lap to +be read, the more presents Mr. Morse brought for Sarah, and the more +carefully he spread them out to be admired, the less did she like him; +and she could not sit quiet, like Sarah, under his jokes and pretty +speeches, while she remembered things that Mr. Cranston had said. She +wished Sarah would not laugh when people said it would be Anne’s turn +next, and when they talked about the new tax-collector,—of his honesty +and civility, and his wish to be comfortably settled;—as if that was any +business of hers. She had seen enough of love and marriage. She was not +very fond of the bustle there always was about the Paddock, and she +should find living there very forlorn when Sarah would be half a mile +off; but she would be content with her lot; and she now knew how to deal +with any Mr. Cranstons that might come in her way. + +When the wedding-party had encountered a good many acquaintances who had +accidentally happened to take their walk, on the bridal morning, past +the gamekeeper’s cottage and towards the church—when they had slipped +past Mrs. Barton at the moment when she was relieving Maynard from the +charge of the spaniel, and had received Mr. Pritchard’s smiling bow, and +heard his promise to drink their healths after dinner, they fell in, at +a cross path, with James himself, who was riding to the church in +company with his curate, to whom he introduced the bridal party. + +“I should have said,” observed James, walking his horse by Anne’s +side,“that—You remember that you were the first I became acquainted +with,—when your sister rode down the lane, and left you with me;—you +remember?” + +“Yes, sir, I remember.” + +“Well, I should have said then that you were likely to be the first to +be seen at the altar. I am sure it must be your own fault that you are +not. I cannot think what you are to do without your sister.” + +Anne was vexed that tears would spring. + +“Ah! It will be sadly lonely. I am quite sorry for you. You shall have a +dog to keep you company. No better company than a dog, when one is +melancholy! You shall have a spaniel as pretty as my sister’s; and I +dare say you will take better care of it than your sister did of hers. I +will bring it myself in a day or two.” + +Anne said she should be busier than ever after her sister’s departure, +and should have no time for dogs or visiters. She showed no regret when +he talked of going away; no pleasure at his doubt whether he might not +be induced to stay. She looked up, as for an explanation, when he sighed +about misunderstanding and precipitation, and the blindness of some +people to their own attractions. How Anne wished, at that moment, that +Sarah had ever happened to look full in the face of her late admirer, +and seen how he could be confused by such silent questioning! + +James put as little sanctity into the service as could be desired by the +strongest foe to hypocrisy, or lamented by his astonished curate. Why +Morse should be so proud as he was of being married by anybody who could +marry him in such a manner as this, was more than a stranger could +comprehend. In the midst, the cry of hounds was heard. The clergyman +stopped a moment, and went on uneasily. Another cry followed, and he +halted again. Morse made bold to step forward and whisper. + +“If there had been no other clergyman here, I don’t know that I should +have offered such a thing as to put our affair off till to-morrow; but +perhaps that gentleman——I think it is a pity, sir, you should lose the +hunt, sir, on our account; that’s all. But you are the best judge, sir.” + +In another minute, James had leaped upon his horse at the church-door, +and his curate had taken his place at the altar,—so discomposed as to +find it difficult to proceed as if nothing had happened. When all was +done, Sarah was still pale with the sense of insult, while her husband +was congratulating himself on his own good-breeding in not standing in +the way of his young master’s pleasure. + +This was the last marriage service attempted by James, except in the +instances of gay friends, who liked to be helped through the ceremony by +one resembling themselves. He was better known, as a clergyman, in the +newspapers than in any other way. Mrs. Barton now and then read a +paragraph to Miss Biggs which showed that “our young clergyman” was +still in existence, and still a clergyman; and Mr. Pritchard’s guests +were on such occasions enlightened as to James’s connexions, and the +family estate, and the tenure of the living in the vicinity. But thus +alone was James heard and spoken of among the neighbours of those who +would have been happy to forget that they had ever seen him. He never +gave his curate any trouble about the living, or cared about Fellbrow +when better sporting was to be had elsewhere. + + THE END. + + London: Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES, Duke-street, Lambeth. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + ILLUSTRATIONS + + OF + + _TAXATION._ + + --------------------- + + No. II. + + + THE + + TENTH HAYCOCK. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + + + --------------------- + + + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + + + + + LONDON: + Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES, + Duke-street, Lambeth. + + + + + THE + + TENTH HAYCOCK. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + --------------------- + + + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + + CONTENTS. + + CHAP. PAGE + 1. Perambulation 1 + 2. Interlocutory Decrees 14 + 3. Intrusion 31 + 4. Heresy 55 + 5. Extortion 68 + 6. Commutation 88 + 7. Dimission 112 + 8. Benefit of Clergy 136 + + + + + THE TENTH HAYCOCK. + + + --------------------- + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + PERAMBULATION. + + +Widow Lambert liked to be told, a very few years ago, that the Abbey +Farm was as great an ornament to her native district as the abbey itself +could ever have been in the days of its splendour. She recalled the +tales with which she had been struck in her childhood, before her sober +father forbade her climbing old apple-trees, and her strict mother +ordained the adoption of the quaker cap, and the handkerchief she had +worn ever since;—tales of the former grandeur of this religious house, +with its eighty monks and its hundred and ten servants: and it gratified +her maternal pride to be assured that her two comely sons and their +labourers kept the estate in as flourishing a condition as their +predecessors,—the ecclesiastics and their lay brethren who were +subordinate to them. + +This abbey was believed to have held a distinguished rank among the +religious houses which existed before there was any division of land +into parishes, or when a parish meant the same as a diocese does now: +when every man paid his ecclesiastical dues to any church he thought +fit, provided he paid them to some; and when these dues were delivered +into the hands of the bishop, to be divided among the four objects to +which they must be appropriated,—the ease of the bishop, the aid of the +church, the relief of the poor, and the support of the administering +clergyman. Nor was it afterwards in less repute, when the dignitaries of +the church were otherwise amply provided for, and the tithes were +appropriated to three objects instead of four. The monks were of opinion +that a very small sum was sufficient for the maintenance of the +officiating priest; and they were active in gathering in their dues on +the plea of the wants of the poor, while their train of servants was +lengthened, the beauty of their abbey improved, and their fields and +gardens were made to abound in the means of luxurious living. By a +liberal expenditure of their peculiar purchase-money, masses and obits, +and sometimes by a sacrifice of solid gold, they obtained all the +advowsons within their reach, and became patrons of a great many +benefices. It was made worth while to royalty to grant its license for +such appropriation; and the consent of the bishop was regularly granted +in return for the promise that the service of the church should be duly +cared for. The brethren, therefore, were enriched from year to year with +tithe and glebe; while, instead of presenting any clerk, they themselves +contributed as much as they chose to the spiritual aid of the flocks +they had thus gathered into their own ample fold. This process of +appropriation went on very smoothly, (to the brethren, however it might +be to the people under their charge) till this spiritual corporation was +dissolved by Henry VIII; his bluff majesty constituting himself parson +in their stead. There was little wonder that he busied himself about the +Faith when he became at once parson of more than one-third of the +parishes of England. However zealous he might be in his office, it was +too burdensome for any man. The work of appointing vicars to so many +benefices was more than the king could undertake. He sold the +appropriations,—not always to holy men, (for he had himself deprived the +holy of the power of bidding high for the property he had to sell,) but +to laymen who transmitted them to their children, or disposed of them to +other laymen, without any scruple as to thus alienating the pious +contributions of believers to the church. This alienation was made the +more extensive by a statute of the same monarch which ordained that the +church lands purchased by laymen should remain exempt from tithes, as if +they still belonged to the ecclesiastics. In this respect alone did the +Abbey Farm of Mrs. Lambert’s time resemble the abbey domain of the day +of Henry VIII. Instead of the cowled company whose members issued in +state from the splendid building, to mount their sleek steeds to go +forth and counsel the punctual payment of their dues, there was now Sir +William Hood, the impropriator of the parish, marking with quick eye, +from the rectory window, the luxuriance of the abbey fields, and +calculating the loss to himself from their being tithe-free. Instead of +the shaven priest who went down when required to perform some spiritual +service, there was the gowned student muttering Hebrew in the little +vicarage garden, or allowing himself to be talked to by his daughter +Alice, when she tempted him abroad among his people. Instead of +travellers of high and low degree craving hospitality at the portal of +the monastery, there was the staid widow Lambert moving quietly between +the poultry yard and the dairy, while her sons were training their +fruit-trees against the grey unroofed walls which had once echoed back +the prayers of the devout and the jests of the convivial. All these +things were changed; but the neighbouring soil still yielded its +produce, as formerly, unquestioned as to the amount of its tenths. + +Very unlike indeed was any thing that passed in these grounds in monkish +times to the preparation now made by the Lamberts for the reception of +the minister, the churchwardens and the parishioners on occasion of +their annual perambulation of the parish. The widow, more neat, if +possible, than usual, in her plaited cap, silk mittens and muslin +handkerchief, consulted with her son Charles as to the sufficiency of +the beer and buns provided for the host of visiters they were expecting: +while Joseph gave another brush to his broad brim before he went to +station himself at the gate by which the crowd must enter. The +intercourse between the vicar and this family was not very frequent, and +of a somewhat strange character. He could not help admiring Mrs. +Lambert’s kindliness of spirit as much as he marvelled at her thrift; +while she, distinguished above all things for good sense, was no less +astonished at the manner in which he passed his time, and the mode in +which he brought up his little daughter. She was at the same time drawn +towards him by the simplicity of his manners and the evidence which his +whole demeanour bore to his piety. On Sundays, he woke out of a reverie +on his way to the church, when Mrs. Lambert passed him and bowed her +head with a cheerful “Good morning to thee;” and on week days, the young +men, however busy, were always ready to listen to the vicar’s +suggestions in any affair which concerned the interests of their +neighbours. Charles was his favourite of the two, when he had once +learned to distinguish them; for Charles listened without distraction to +what was said. Joseph wished to do the same; but he could not conquer +his confusion when Alice looked likely to laugh at his calling her +father Mark Hellyer. He was apt to twist his sentences, and be thinking +how he should avoid Quaker peculiarities of speech, when Mr. Hellyer +wanted his whole attention; and Charles was therefore pronounced by the +vicar the more promising young man, and the most like his mother. + +Joseph, however, was the first at his post this morning. When, standing +at the gate, he heard the shouts from a distance, and could distinguish +the tips of the white wands carried by the churchwardens, he took one +more survey of his well-brushed suit, smoothed once more his sleek +beaver, and was ready with a broad smile to welcome the crowd. The vicar +was in the midst, smiling as broadly as any one, and as heartily amused +as he had ever been by the choicest Greek epigram. The men and boys +about him were equally diverted by the fulfilment of their prophecy that +the vicar would not know the bounds of the parish any better this year +than any preceding year. All possible pains had been taken, from his +first entrance upon the vicarage, to instruct him in the localities +which he had a direct interest in understanding; but he looked as much +astonished as ever when informed that he must not go along this path, or +through that gate, but must lead the way in traversing this fallow, and +climbing the gap in that hedge. Mr. Peterson, a neighbour, who took a +kind interest in his affairs, was now on one side of him, and Byrne, a +labourer of the Lamberts, on the other; and all the little boys in the +parish were at their heels, watching for his reverence’s mistakes, and +daring each other to offer him cowslips from every field they passed. +While in full progress towards Joseph, Mr. Hellyer was carried off to +the right, to make an unwilling circuit before he could reach his young +friend; and while he was performing this task, Joseph learned something +of the events of the morning;—how there was no difficulty to-day about +their crossing the rectory garden, Sir William Hood not being there to +murmur at the ground lying half in one parish and half in another, and +his lessee not having arrived: how Miss Alice had earnestly wished to be +one of the perambulating party, and had been pacified under the +impossibility only by being permitted to view the ceremony from the +cottage of her nurse,—Byrne’s wife, who had married from the vicarage. +The young lady had amused herself with the annual joke of throwing water +upon the perambulators; and it was thought that her own father had not +escaped a sprinkling. No such greeting had awaited the party as they +passed Miss Fox’s school, where not a window was opened, and nothing +could be seen but the sudden apparition of a dozen curled heads above +the blinds, and their equally sudden disappearance. The poor young +ladies there were kept in better order than Miss Alice. Mr. Parker had +been more surly than ever, this morning, about the churchwardens +crossing his hop ground; though the boys had been sent round by the +lane, and not half a dozen hop poles thrown down. The vicar’s spirit had +been roused, and it was thought he had made Mr. Parker ashamed of +himself. He might take a lesson from old Mrs. Beverley. The gentlemen +were very sorry that her house stood on the boundary, so that they had +to pass through her little hall and out at her back gate; but the poor +old lady made light of the disturbance, and desired her maid to let +every body through that wished to pass, and always had her glass of +gooseberry wine ready for the vicar and the churchwardens, even when (as +was the case this year), she was too feeble to be brought down stairs to +bid them welcome. She had said nothing about having lost one of her +bantams last year. It would not have been known, but that the maid was +observed to look very anxiously after the fowls this morning. The +gentlemen were duly concerned, and had alarmed the maid with promises of +such reparation as she feared would bring her mistress’s anger upon her +for having betrayed the circumstance. The narrator concluded with an +opinion that Mr. Parker might also take a lesson from Charles and Joseph +Lambert, who always threw open their gates cheerfully on these +occasions. + +“My mother hopes thou wilt rest at the farm,” said Joseph to the vicar, +justifying the compliment which he had just received, “and any of thy +friends will be welcome also. My brother is expecting the whole company +at the farm.” + +The whole company poured into the field, appearing fully disposed to +accept the invitation. + +“If thou hast no objection,” he presently added, “I will step to John +Byrne’s for thy daughter, and bring her to our summer house on the hill. +We conceive that the finding the boundary this year, among the new +enclosures, will be amusing; and I could conduct thy daughter and Jane +Byrne to the summer house, while our friends here are refreshing +themselves at the farm. Have I thy permission?” + +“Alice? Yes; it is a pity Alice should not be here. You are very good. I +think it is a pity Alice should not be here.” + +The obliging Joseph only waited to see his guest under his brother’s +charge, and then set off for Byrne’s cottage. He knew how fond the +little girl was of this summer house on the hill, when the dog was +silenced and chained up, and she was at liberty either to gather the +wall-flowers which grew around as profusely as common grass, or to look +abroad over the vast prospect which was spread out below the high hill +from which this building projected. As two fields and an extent of down +had to be traversed before the hill could be climbed, no time was to be +lost; and Joseph made all speed: and though Alice overheated herself +with running, and left Mrs. Byrne to clamber up the ascent as she best +could, she was only just in time to see the crowd leave the Abbey Farm +house. When she had taken courage to rush past the chained dog, and was +at length leaning out of the middle window, she said amidst her panting, + +“What a little way they have to go now! It will be all over presently. I +wish I had come here at first.” + +Joseph pointed out to her that the extent of the landscape had led her +into a mistake. The church, the vicarage, and Mr. Parker’s hop-ground +were as far apart as usual, though from this height they appeared to lie +close together. + +“And all this farm of yours looks like a bit of a garden,” observed +Alice; “and there is the farm house where uncle Jerom lives, and his +little church. They seem to belong to us,—they lie so near.” + +“Dost thou see thy uncle Jerom himself?” asked Joseph. + +Alice looked every where, she thought, and could not see him;—down the +steep white path which descended from the summer house, past the +sheep-fold to the stile, but no one was there but Mrs. Byrne, mounting +step by step;—along the grey abbey wall,—but nothing cast a shadow there +in this fine May sunshine, but a ladder placed against the wall among +the fruit-trees:—into the farm yard,—but if uncle Jerom was one of the +moving group there, she could not distinguish him. Mrs. Lambert, with +her white cap, and the churchwardens with their wands were alone +recognizable. Somebody was stealing about in the churchyard, but so +feebly, that he must be thirty years older than uncle Jerom. She saw, +finally, a black dot or two on the green meadow which stretched far away +to the right; but whether these were horses, cows, or men, she could +defy Joseph to pronounce. She had not looked every where yet. Mrs. Byrne +had by this time entered; but she was too breathless and dizzy to supply +any effective eyesight. Alice must try again, assisted by a broad hint +from Joseph. “O, I see, I see! but who would have thought of looking +there?—in that bare field,—all in confusion with new banks and ditches. +That is uncle Jerom, however; I know by his leaning backwards upon his +stick, with both his hands behind him. What is he standing there for, as +if he was looking for the stars to come out?” + +“I dare say he is waiting for our friends,—perhaps to shake hands with +thee across the boundary. The boundary passes along those new +enclosures, as we shall see presently.” + +“There, Jane,” said Alice to her nurse; “you are the only person, I do +believe, that would not let me go the rounds. I am sure papa would have +let me go, if you had said nothing about it; and there is uncle Jerom +waiting for me now. I will go, after all,” she declared, jumping down +from the chair on which she was lolling. + +Mrs. Byrne believed uncle Jerom would be as much surprised to see his +niece under such circumstances, as to behold the stars come out which +Alice supposed him to be looking for through the sunshine. Joseph +declared that the whole ceremony would be over before Alice could reach +the new enclosures. + +“Thoud’st better stay, and see what thou canst from this place, if I may +advise,” said he. “It is my opinion that they are going to leave our +farm yard now.” + +“There they go! how slowly they seem to move!” cried Alice. “Those boys +with the green boughs are certainly running as fast as they can go; but +they scarcely get on at all. Though you say I must not go, there is Mrs. +Lambert following them, you see. Look, Jane! why should not we be +walking there as well as Mrs. Lambert?—O dear! she is turning back. She +only went to see that the gate was shut,—that those staring calves might +not take it into their heads to go too, I suppose.—No. They had rather +stay with her. Do look how they rest their heads on her shoulders!” + +Mrs. Byrne was now rested; and she came to see what was the reason of +the shout which seemed to be prodigious, however faint it was made by +distance. Joseph believed that there had been some jealousy between this +parish and the next about the tithes being unequal, or something being +wrong about the provision for the clergyman. He did not well understand +the matter, as he paid no tithes, and did not interfere in disputes +which arose out of them: but he hoped all jealousies were to be buried +in these new enclosures, and that this must be what the people were +shouting for. + +“Then, if you do not pay tithes,” said Alice,“But you will have +quantities of hay, I am sure; and you see you have calves. Why do not +you pay like other people?” + +Joseph and Mrs. Byrne answered at the same moment. “My brother and I do +not think it right to pay tithes. The Friends never pay tithes.” + +“No body that rents the Abbey Farm pays tithes.” + +“Well: if you do not pay tithes, I suppose there will be no hay-making +for me to do in your meadows. I am to help to make papa’s haycock in the +rectory field.” + +“Has the vicar any claim upon the rectory field?” + +“Yes; because papa says he is a specially endowed vicar.” + +“Dost thou know what that means?” + +“No: I only know that we have had three dear little chickens from Sir +William Hood’s broods; and papa says we are to make a haycock, and to +have some turnips by and bye, from the glebe.” + +“And he has some glebe land too, has not he?” + +“Yes to be sure: you know our field very well. I have not forgotten what +a race you once gave me there, when you made me run over the young +beans.—How they do shake hands!—papa and uncle Jerom. Uncle Jerom is +going home with papa to tea, I think. He steps over the new bank into +the field, you see. I wish I might gather some wall-flowers to carry +home for them.” + +Mrs. Byrne begged Joseph to be Alice’s guardian, as he knew best how to +silence the dog which would certainly bark, and frighten Alice. He must +be particularly careful not to let her go too near the edge of the +projection on which the summer-house was built, and where the very +finest of the wall-flowers grew. She, meanwhile, would watch from the +window, and call them if any thing more was to be seen.—It was not long +before she gave notice that the boys had thrown their green boughs into +a corner of the churchyard, and that the ceremony seemed to be finished, +as many were dispersing to their homes. As soon, therefore, as Alice had +gathered more wall-flowers than she could conveniently carry, she was +ready to proceed towards the vicarage, provided her companions could +settle whether she was to rest on the way at the Abbey Farm, or at Mrs. +Byrne’s cottage. It was certainly the Lamberts’ turn, as she had been at +her nurse’s already to-day: but Mrs. Byrne had a little cream-cheese in +readiness for the vicarage table, and she must go home with Alice, for +the sake of carrying this cheese and a bunch of radishes for the +gentlemen’s supper, as they were to sup together to-night. So Joseph had +no more to do than to see his charge safe down the hill, before he +hastened home to refresh himself with a draught of the ale that might be +left, and to tell his mother that cream-cheeses were liked at the +vicarage. + + + CHAPTER II. + + INTERLOCUTORY DECREES. + + +Alice did not reach home before she was wanted. She found her father +making tea;—the single domestic accomplishment in which the most +abstracted student is seldom deficient. Mr. Hellyer knew his way to the +tea-caddy, however he might lose himself in any other destination; and +the tea made by him was never to be complained of, however much might be +spilled by the way. His brother seemed to have intuitions equally bright +respecting bread and butter. He could cut up a loaf with as much speed +as he could demolish a bad argument; and the provision of the tea-table +had half disappeared before Alice entered. A look from her uncle towards +the radishes seemed to ask whether it was necessary that they should be +left for supper. The fact was, that uncle Jerom had been on one of his +literary excursions this day;—that is, that he had dined on a crust of +bread which he had put in his pocket in the morning, to be eaten while +looking over some books in the bookseller’s shop at Y, where he had +liberty to go, from time to time, to keep himself on a level with the +age, without buying any thing. Uncle Jerom rarely bought any thing; for +the sufficient reason that he had scarcely any money to spend. When he +had paid the low sum required for his board and lodging in a farm-house, +he had just enough left to purchase a coat every two years, and new +shirts when the old ones would hold together no longer. Hats were +obliged to take their chance; and a poor chance it was, as any one might +see who happened to meet him in the lanes with the brown, +crooked-brimmed covering which hung down almost over his eyes. When his +engagements allowed him to sit down to the common farm-house diet, his +heart was strengthened with solid fat bacon, or bread and milk: but when +he chanced to be elsewhere at meal times, he was sure to repair before +night to his brother, with desponding views of the prospects of the +church, and of the interests of mankind in general.—Thus it was to-day; +and while the vicar gave half his mind to investigating whether the +water boiled, Jerom required of the other half to prove that the spirit +of innovation which was spreading over the land was not threatening to +uproot the very foundations of religion, as incorporated with the church +of England. His spirits were not cheered by the apparition of Alice, +ornamented with the hat he had left in the hall,—the very brownest and +most misshapen of all that he had ever exhibited. + +“Papa, what a pity uncle Jerom’s hat did not lie in the way when you +spilled all that ink, this morning! I am sure it is browner than the +carpet you spoiled.” + +The vicar believed that he and his brother ought both to be thinking +about new hats. It had occurred to him several times lately. + +“Then you must let me have your old one, uncle. You cannot want it any +more when you have a new one; and I want one for a scare-crow, for my +radish bed. I shall never get another so ugly. Let me put it on you. Do +be my scare-crow for a minute?” + +Jerom put the little girl away, bidding her pour out his tea, and occupy +herself with her own. He could not spare the hat. The clergy were fallen +on evil days, and had not need give away any thing till something was +done for them, instead of the little they had being taken away. + +“I have reason to complain of the last,” observed the vicar; “but can +you exactly say that nothing is done for the church? I suppose you mean, +new measures. But this Bounty is something to you, is not it? You were +very eager for it, I remember.” + +“It is Queen Anne that we must thank, if we must thank any body. But +this bounty ought not to be so called. It is a mere restoration of the +property of the church, which had been usurped. It is folly to call it a +gift.” + +“Still, it is something done for the church, to take these first fruits +and tenths from the rich clergy and give them to the poorer. It is +something done for you, Jerom.” + +“My first consideration is the church at large: and in that view, what +is this bounty, after all? Its operation is slow and inconsiderable. Let +it be managed as well as you will, it will be between two and three +centuries before all the livings already certified will exceed 50_l._ a +year. In the meantime, I must come back out of my grave, if I am ever to +have 50_l._ a year from my living.” + +“But it will be a great thing to see you settled in a parsonage house. +It will be but a small one that can be built for 200_l._: but I confess +I am concerned for the dignity of the church; and I agree with you so +far as to desire to see every living with the parsonage house and glebe +land to which it is entitled by common right. I shall look with pleasure +on the building of your little parsonage, and thank Queen Anne.” + +“You will see no such building in my time, brother. What am I to do with +a parsonage, when I have not the means of living in it? As soon as I +heard that the lot had fallen upon me, I requested that the 200_l._ +might be applied in some better way than building me a house that I +could not afford to live in.” + +“Do you mean to exchange it for tithes, or to let it be invested in +lands? I hope, as you have objected to the house, that you will accept +the amount in land.” + +“Why? The rules allow me to exchange the bounty for an equal or greater +amount of tithes, as well as for a different portion of land.” + +“True: but I cannot make up my mind,—I have been long trying to make up +my mind,—as to how far any traffic in tithes is agreeable to the divine +law. I am sure, also, that you will be wise to keep clear of all +unnecessary dealings with so uncertain and vexatious an article as +tithes are now made. This last is only a secondary consideration; but——” + +“I am not sure of that,” replied Jerom. + +“The dignity of the church must be first consulted, Jerom: and I have a +certain repugnance to any thing like speculation in so sacred a property +as tithes. In my opinion, the worst omen for the church is this peculiar +revenue being in the hands of any laymen: and I much question whether +the royal act of allowing lay impropriations be not the cause of the +present adversity of the establishment.” + +Alice looked up from her cup of tea, on hearing that tithe property was +sacred. She asked, with a look of mortification, + +“May not I play with the tithe lamb Mr. Parker sent this morning, papa? +And he sent some eggs, too; and I bade Susan make a custard with them. +Must not we eat any custard?” + +“To be sure, my dear child. Why not?” + +“I thought you said that what was tithe was sacred, papa.” + +“Well, my dear, that does not prevent its being used. Do you forget what +your Latin lesson was about, this morning?” + +“About the bullocks that were offered to Jupiter. People did eat them, +to be sure; and they were sacred. But those people were not Christians.” + +“Which only shows, my dear child, that there are some things which are +inherently sacred,—shown to be so by the light of reason and nature: and +among these are tithes. You will find, hereafter, that the Phenicians +paid tithes. So did the Egyptians and the Hindoos, as well as the Greeks +and Romans: all which seems to prove that these nations must have been +under one common guidance as to this institution. This is confirmed by a +reference to the attributes of some of the heathen deities. Thus Apollo— +—” + +“O, Apollo! The author of light——” + +“Exactly so. Now mark what is conjoined with his being the source of +light. He was emphatically called the ‘tithe-crowned,’ the ‘taker of +tithes,’ and so on.” + +“Then, papa, I will put some of Mrs. Parker’s mint and sage and parsley +upon your head, and then you will be like Apollo.” + +“As the Jews paid tithe in consequence of a divine revelation,” observed +Jerom, “I should be disposed to doubt whether the tithe system arose +from the light of nature.” + +“Whether we so consider it, or conclude that it arose from some +unrecorded revelation made to Adam,” returned the vicar, “my doubts +remain as to whether this kind of property may be made the material of +speculation, like any other kind of property.” + +“But, papa, who took Adam’s tithes? Did he pay them to Eve, or to the +angels? or, perhaps, to himself? Only, there would not be much use in +that. If every body did so, I don’t know what would become of _us_.” + +“I do not speak as from knowledge, child. I only mention what seems to +me the most probable solution.—But, brother, there is further evidence, +from its wide extension, of this being an institution of the highest +origin, whether natural or revealed;—evidence which has not yet been +duly improved. Governments have been supported in a vast majority of +countries, by contributions analogous to our tithes;—contributions from +the produce, not from the rent, of land.” + +“Ancient Egypt, for instance. There the sovereign appropriated the fifth +part, I believe, did not he?” + +“A fifth, I believe: and the same was the case under the Mahomedan +government in Bengal. In China, they take our exact proportion, +one-tenth, which is a remarkable coincidence. Not that they are able to +raise one-tenth——” + +“Any more than ourselves.” + +“Any more than ourselves; which extends the coincidence. In some +provinces, a thirtieth is the utmost that can be levied.” + +“Then I hope the coincidence will extend no further.” + +“Indeed I don’t know,” sighing: “but my proportion becomes less every +year. Those Asiatic governments have a power which we English clergy +have not. They can help to improve the country from which they levy +their tenths, while we can only claim the tithe, without having any +title or power to aid its production. There is no inducement to a vicar, +like myself, to plan a road, for instance, to some new market for +produce, though my tithe might be much increased in value thereby. If I +were a prince, on the other hand, I should do this directly, and profit +by it.” + +“And the land also; which seems to point out that this method of raising +funds is better for a state than for a church, whose ministers can never +have the same power of promoting improvement with those of a +government.” + +“But, papa, does the emperor of China take his fortune in hay or fruit, +like you and Apollo, not in money? I should think it would be very easy +to cheat him: and what a quantity of things he must have to stow away! +And so must a clergyman in a very large parish.” + +“Yes,” replied Jerom; “and that is the reason that tithes are generally +paid in money, in large parishes. The tax would be so in China, too, I +dare say, but that the mandarins like to have the collecting of it.” + +“I think papa had better get a mandarin to collect his for him, if he +finds that people cheat him, and do not pay him so much as they ought. +Papa, I wish you would make me your mandarin I should like to go about +gathering eggs, and apples, and all the things that people pay you.” + +“The mandarins have a different reason for liking to make these +collections. They can cheat as well as the people under them. But yet, +collecting under my own eye, as I do, mine is a hard case;—it is hard +that I cannot get my tenths of the articles which are as much the +property of the church as of the farmer who refuses me my due.” + +“Mrs. Byrne says, however, that her husband’s is a hard case. He has all +the trouble of planting and rearing, she says; and ever so much goes to +those who have had none of the toil and the cost.” + +“Mrs. Byrne shall have a rebuke from me, my child, if she talks so to +you. So long as she has lived in this house, she must have heard me say, +that the whole of what grows out of the ground is no more the property +of the grower, than the parsonage is the property of the brick-layer +that builds it. Mr. Parker’s hops never were all his; and it is quite +wrong in him to murmur about any of them being taken away. He has a +partner. Sir William Hood is his partner; and yet Mr. Parker repines at +every payment, as if he were obliged to give something that belonged to +himself.” + +“I would give something to Sir William Hood to persuade him to leave off +being a partner,” Alice observed: “for it must be very provoking to have +so much trouble about another person’s share of hops.” + +“Our first duty is, child, to maintain the claims of the church; and now +that discontent is spreading, every good minister of the church will +assert his right rather than suit his convenience.—And, besides, I doubt +whether any clergyman or other tithe-holder, has a right to make any +arrangement which would be objected to by those who will come after him. +The property is that of the church, not of the individual; and he must +keep it inviolate, for his successor: not even planning any disposal of +it which the church may not approve a thousand years hence.” + +“That was precisely the argument used by our predecessors,” observed +Jerom, “when they scrupled about paying their first fruits and tenths to +any but the Pope. They feared not only excommunication, but what the +church might say five hundred years afterwards. But we hear little now +of excommunication, and nobody wishes to pay to the Pope. Seeing, +therefore, how little can be known of what is to come after, and that +nothing is at present done for the relief and aid of the church, I +should be disposed to make such agreement as should yield advantage in +our own day, leaving it to Heaven to protect its own gospel in time to +come.” + +“Would you really, then, advise my letting my tithes to Peterson, as he +desires? Is that what you would say?” + +Jerom knew nothing of Peterson’s desire to be the lessee of the vicar’s +tithes. He was thinking now of his own affair,—the application of the +share of Queen Anne’s Bounty which had fallen to him. He had the power +of getting it invested in the land now in course of enclosure in his +parish. An inducement to such an arrangement was added in the wish of +the landlord of the Abbey Farm to give Jerom a slice off his new fields, +in lieu of tithe for the remainder. The Lamberts were taking in these +new fields, and were evidently watching, with some anxiety, what would +be done about the tithe. Being quakers, they would not countenance this +claim of the church; and it was natural that they should be desirous of +the matter being settled in a way which should save the necessity of +resistance hereafter on their part, and aggression on that of the +neighbouring clergyman. The matter remained in Jerom’s choice,—whether +he should seek the consent of the patron and ordinary to his accepting, +for the period of his incumbency, an addition to his allotment in lieu +of tithe on the Lamberts’ new fields, or levy tithe upon his quaker +neighbours. This was the argument which his spirit was revolving when +Alice saw him from the summer-house, and thought he was watching for the +stars to come out, while the sun was yet high. + +The vicar looked full of consternation when he asked his brother whether +he really meant to turn farmer. He knew the present law allowed the +clergy to cultivate their allotments; but, in these evil days, when the +holiness of the profession had suffered in the eyes of the people, no +true church minister would run the risk of offence, by giving his +attention to secular cares. + +Very true, Jerom thought, if the church were duly protected: but, till +its humblest ministers were sufficiently provided for, they must use the +means that God put before them, to obtain bread. The employment of +tilling the ground was a remarkably innocent and a primitive one, and +there was less disgrace to the church in pursuing it, than in appearing +in such a garb——in such—— + +“O, yes, your hat is very shabby indeed, uncle,” observed Alice. “But +you would not object to uncle’s fishing, papa: would you?” + +“Fish, my dear, do not yield tithe of common right, though, in some +places, they are titheable by custom. Where tithed, it is only a +personal tithe, and must be paid to the church where the payer attends +divine service and receives the sacraments; and in your uncle’s parish, +or mine, where there is neither sea nor a river where fish is taken for +profit, there is no such tithe due. We have only ponds near, where fish +are kept for pleasure; and it is agreed, as the law is uncertain on the +point of such preserves of fish, that no claim for tithe shall be +preferred. I have reason to know——” + +“But I did not mean all this, papa. I asked you whether you would object +to uncle Jerom’s fishing. I suppose farming is no worse than fishing, +and some of the Apostles were fishermen.—And you are often busy about +other things besides your preaching, papa, or your books either. +Remember the battle you had with Mr. Byrne, about the turkey, in the +winter. Mrs. Byrne could scarcely help laughing, though you and Mr. +Byrne seemed likely to pull the poor thing to pieces between you. O, +uncle, you should have heard the noise, when papa was talking very loud +about the church, and Mr. Byrne was in a great passion, and the turkey +gobbled as loud as either of them.” + +“Why, brother,” said Jerom, “did not you know that it was decided in the +case of Houghton and Prince, that turkies are to be ranked among the +things that are _feræ natureæ_; and consequently not titheable?” + +“On the other hand, it was affirmed in the case of Carleton and +Brightwell, that it does not appear but that turkies are birds as tame +as hens, or other poultry, and must therefore pay tithes; and this was +in the face of the plea that turkies were not brought from beyond sea +before the time of Queen Elizabeth. My distinction is between their +being sold and spent in the house. However, I am willing to acknowledge +that it would satisfy me well to place this part of my duty in the hands +of a lessee, if I could be thoroughly persuaded that I should not +thereby betray my responsibility and the dignity of the church.” + +Jerom thought that if turkies must be wrestled for, it was more for the +dignity of the church that it should be done by Peterson than by the +vicar. He was by no means bent on farming his own land. He was rather +disposed to let it. If the vicar would also let his tithes, he believed +that both might be easy in conscience as to the guardianship of their +trust. + +“Moreover,” observed the vicar, “it will be in some sort an advantage to +the church that Peterson should have the collecting of its dues in this +parish, inasmuch as, with all my endeavours, I am compelled to forego +many claims which I know to be just; and for another reason which I will +presently relate. As to foregoing my claims,—I am well assured that I do +not recover more than two-thirds of that to which I have a just claim; +and I thus become guilty under the article of the ecclesiastical +constitution which declares that those who, from the fear of man, shall +not demand their whole tithe with effect, shall be liable to pay a fine +to the archdeacon for disobedience.” + +“If that article were put in force, how many of our brethren would be +proved liable! On the average, they are thought to forego forty, and +some say fifty per cent. of their dues.” + +“God knows I have laboured diligently to avoid this sin! No pastor has +brought more actions for an equal amount: and I have written to the +justices so often that they begin, I fear, to be weary of my +informations. But what can I do else for the ease of my conscience? The +distraint and sale of Stratten’s goods last year caused me to lie awake +a whole night from concern for the recusant; and I believe I could not +have gone through with the affair but for the fear of being myself +disobedient to the law of the church.” + +“I saw little Mary Stratten to-day, sitting at the workhouse gate as you +went by,” observed Alice. “She is not nearly so puny now,—since they all +went into the workhouse,—as she was when you brought her in to be warmed +and have a bit of bread that day in the winter. But, papa, Mr. Peterson +will not prevent my making your hay, will he? You know you promised that +I might make up your haycock in the rectory-field: and I told Joseph +Lambert so, this afternoon.” + +“It will be Mr. Peterson’s haycock, my child: but he will allow you to +make sport with the hay-makers, I do not doubt. And this reminds me, +brother, of my other reason for allowing Peterson to become my lessee. I +may thereby avoid all intercourse (unless on purely spiritual matters) +with the person who is about to inhabit the rectory.” + +“Ah! I heard that Sir William had let the rectory to a gentleman for two +or three years; and I hoped he might be a prop to the church in this +neighbourhood.” + +“So far from it, that I must be incessantly vigilant lest he should +poison the streams at which our flocks must drink.” + +“Poison!” exclaimed Alice. “O, papa! is Mr. Mackintosh a bad man?” + +“Go, my dear child, and occupy yourself in something pleasant till we +send for you,” said the vicar. + +“Papa, uncle Jerom has not done eating yet: and you know if you once +send me away, you will forget to send for me again. You always do.” + +The vicar, however, did not choose that his little daughter should have +her mind contaminated by any ideas about infidelity, and uncle Jerom +therefore resolutely pushed from him the last remains of the loaf, and +Alice withdrew, full of curiosity about poisoning, and the dreadful +thing, whatever it was, that was the matter with Mr. Mackintosh. She +chose to employ herself in watering the flower-bed below the parlour +window,—not for the purpose of overhearing, which was out of the +question,—but that her father might, by seeing her, be reminded, in the +midst of his affection for mother-church, that he had a daughter. She +could not give up her privilege of being called ‘dear child,’ the last +thing before she went to bed. She saw that papa and uncle had drawn +their chairs close together, and that they looked very much like people +talking secrets. And so they were. + +“What! absolutely deistical? Well; such an open boast is better than +concealed infidelity. Will have nothing to say to a clergyman? Then we +are saved the trouble of declining his acquaintance. But how came Sir +William to let his house to such a man? Living upon the church, as Sir +William does, he might refrain from setting her interests at defiance by +showing any countenance to such a man. You will begin a course on the +Evidences directly, I suppose.” + +“Immediately; though my custom has been to deliver them in the winter. +But, Jerom;—your hat. It is not becoming that such a hat should be seen +within the precincts of your church; and I would not give occasion of +scandal to this unbeliever. I am afraid, Jerom, that you have no money.” + +Jerom threw down two half-crowns,—the whole of his present wealth. The +vicar shook his head, and drew out of an unlocked drawer his canvas +money-bag. It was not very rich; but he concluded that it should furnish +Jerom and himself with new hats, and that the supply of their further +wants should be left to the evolution of circumstances. + +“And now, about the purchase of them,” said the vicar. “One of us may as +well put the vicarial office upon the other: for it is disagreeable to +buy a hat; and no more awkward to buy two than one.” + +“But our heads are not of the same size,” objected Jerom. “If it were +not for the shabbiness of my own hat, I should propose that we should go +together to the hatter’s, the next time I am called by the new +literature to Y——. As it is, I propose that you should make the +adventure first; and then I will borrow your hat for the occasion, and +follow your example.” + +It was finally settled thus; and that Jerom should accept an allotment +in the new inclosures, to be cultivated by a tenant, while the vicar was +to let his dues, consisting of his endowment of hay, and of his small +tithes, to Peterson; it being kept a secret from his parishioners that +Peterson had anything to do with the tithes but to collect them. The +vicar feared lest the bargain being known should lessen the little +respect there was among the people for the claims of the church. All +this had long been settled, and the brothers were deeply engaged in an +argument upon a point of ecclesiastical history, when Alice tapped at +the window, and asked disconsolately if she might not come in, because +she had left her doll’s right shoe under the parlour table, and she +could find nothing more to do in the garden. Susan said she would drown +the flowers if she went on watering them any longer. And, besides, it +was almost time now for the cream cheese: they had been so long, Susan +said, over their tea.—Leave granted. + + + CHAPTER III. + + INTRUSION. + + +Mr. Mackintosh came and took possession of the rectory at Midsummer. He +was a single gentleman, everybody was surprised to find. Nothing was +heard of either mother or sister who might make his home comfortable; +and why such a handsome gentleman, rich enough, it was supposed, and +certainly not past middle age, should be still single, was more than +could be comprehended by the people of the parish. His housekeeper was +questioned; but the housekeeper knew nothing of the how and the why. She +could only tell that her master was sometimes low-spirited, and apt to +find fault with people; and that he was so fond of his books and of +business that he did not seem to have time for the society of ladies. +She had never heard anything of his being engaged to be married; and, +for her own part, she could not believe that it was so at present; for +her master seemed to be as anxious about matters within his little +domain as if he had nothing to look to beyond. + +It was indeed true that he looked into his business with a keen eye;— +with the keen eye of one who wants occupation, and therefore vehemently +takes up whatever comes before him. He was the owner of the Abbey Farm, +and of another in the neighbourhood,—the Quarry Wood farm,—which was now +out of lease; and there were no bounds to the diligence with which he +walked over both, from day to day, in order to investigate the condition +of every part in every conceivable respect. Both the Lamberts were sure +to tell, every day at their early dinner, that they had met their +landlord in two opposite directions, while their mother had nearly as +often to mention the variety of questions she had been requested to +answer, and the odd kind of chat she had had with friend Mackintosh. He +was incessantly visiting the cottage at Quarry Wood, to know if any one +had called to view the vacant farm; and his housekeeper believed he knew +almost every blade of grass in the rectory garden, and was sorry he did +not rent the glebe as well as the dwelling, as it would have afforded +him something more to do. He was no favourite with the neighbours; for +his manners were haughty and careless. Byrne was the only person known +to take heartily to him: but Byrne seemed on such friendly terms with +him that there must certainly be something kindly in him; for Byrne was +not apt to attach himself easily. He had actually left his work at the +Abbey Farm, several times, in order to serve Mr. Mackintosh. When tried +by the common and best test of kindliness, Mr. Mackintosh, however, was +found wanting. He was not always kind to children; as Alice could +testify. + +She ran in, one day, at her nurse’s, in tears,—in a passion of mingled +anger and woe. She had been watching, this fortnight, for the symptoms +of an intention to cut the grass at the rectory. She had looked through +the garden paling, every day, and had seen the grass growing longer and +longer on the lawn, till the wind waved it as if it had been ripening +corn. Papa had promised for a whole year, that she should make his +haycock; and Susan had given her a hay-rake, just tall enough for her, +on her last birth-day. Mrs. Byrne herself had told her on Tuesday, that +the grass was to be cut this day, if the weather should be fine. Alice +had jumped out of bed an hour before Susan called her, to see how bright +the sun was shining; and now, after all, Mr. Mackintosh would not admit +her to make hay because she was the vicar’s daughter. + +“My dear, that cannot be the reason. There has been no time yet for Mr. +Mackintosh to quarrel with your papa. I dare say he does not like to +have little girls running about his grass plat; though I see no great +harm that you could do him and his grass.” + +“But he said himself that it was because I was the vicar’s daughter; and +that he would have nobody belonging to a clergyman go near him.” + +“Well, that does agree with his saying that he would not let the Quarry +Farm to any religious people; superstitious people, as he calls them.” + +“I don’t think I am very religious. He might as well let me go in and +make hay,” murmured Alice, relapsing into tears. + +“Come and look at my bees,” said Mrs. Byrne. “You should see how they +have got on with the comb since you were here. Since we laid out the bed +for the thyme——Take care, my dear; you will upset the milk. There! there +goes your hat into it! Dear! dear! how came you not to see the milk +pail?” + +While she plunged the straw bonnet in water, to get rid of the milk in +which it had already been dipped, Alice asked how the milk pail happened +to stand there, full in the sun, where the milk would be sure to turn +sour before night. How could she help stumbling over it? + +And she was about to remove it into a better place; but Mrs. Byrne +stopped her. Byrne would be angry if it was moved. She had promised that +it should stand in that place and nowhere else. If Alice’s bonnet should +be quite spoiled, Byrne and Mr. Peterson must settle it between them +which should buy her another, for Mrs. Byrne could not take upon herself +to say which was answerable for the milk standing there. It did seem a +sin and a shame that the milk should be turning sour there, when the +neighbours she usually supplied were doing without. + +“Then why do not you let them have it?” + +“It is tithe milk. As we do not make cheese, Mr. Peterson will have us +set by every tenth milking for your papa’s tithe. There is a dispute +between him and my husband as to which ought to carry the milk. Mr. +Peterson says that my husband is bound to carry it, either to the +vicarage or to the church porch; and I would have taken it myself to the +church porch, to save quarrelling, but my husband stopped me. He is sure +that he has the law on his side in making the tithe-taker send his own +pails for the milk; and so here it stands spoiling. I make the less stir +about it that Mr. Peterson now collects the tithes instead of the vicar +himself.” + +Alice was immediately bent on going to tell Mr. Peterson that he had +better send for the milk; or, perhaps, authorize her to carry it. This +was exactly such an enterprise as suited Alice. She seized every +opportunity of following a swarm of bees, or of driving pigs, or of +helping to push sheep into the water before shearing. She had never +recovered the prohibition to go the bounds of the parish; and had a +secret plan to do it by herself some day, to show that she could. Mrs. +Beverley would let her through her house, she was sure; and Joseph +Lambert was too good-tempered to quarrel with her for climbing his +hedge. Meantime, it would be good entertainment, in a small way, to haul +a full milk-pail half through the parish, without spilling a drop; and +she could sit down in the church porch to grow cool when the task was +done. + +Mrs. Byrne would not allow this; that was the worst of it. Alice grew +cross. Nobody would let her do as she liked this day. She would not now +look at the bees; nor gather herself a nosegay; nor try whether she +could not find green peas enough ripe to make a little dish for her +papa’s supper; nor dust Mrs. Byrne’s prized collection of shells and +birds’ eggs. Nothing would she do but go down again to the rectory +garden, and peep through the palings to watch the mowing, and the +process of tedding the grass, the delicious process which she must not +aid. Mrs. Byrne foresaw that the smell of the hay would be a provocative +to melancholy, and sighed when she found all her blandishments in vain, +and that the wilful girl would have her way. + +She was still looking grave over the kneading of the dumpling for her +husband’s dinner, when Alice came back, seeming much disposed to fly but +for the care she was taking of something in her frock, which was turned +up round her, and made the depôt of something very precious. The +hay-making seemed all forgotten, with every other grief, and Alice was +trembling with pleasure. + +“The milk-pail! the milk-pail, my dear,” cried Mrs. Byrne. “Bless me! +how nearly you were in again, you giddy thing! What can you have got in +your lap? What a lot of eggs! Partridge’s eggs! What a number!” + +“O, they will get cold, if you don’t make haste,” cried Alice. “I came +as quick as ever I could without breaking them. Mr. Byrne says they will +be hatched, if you put them near the fire before they have grown cold.” + +“I did not think he would have ventured to take them from under the hen. +I wonder what Mr. Mackintosh will say if he finds it out,” observed Mrs. +Byrne, bustling about to seek a shallow basket, which, lined with a +flannel petticoat, and placed near the fire, might serve as a warm nest +for the fourteen eggs. + +“The poor hen partridge is dead,” said Alice. “She was sitting on the +eggs when Mr. Byrne cut off her head, poor thing, with his scythe. He +saw me through the pales, and gave me the eggs, and bade me come to you +with them; but before I left, the cock partridge came home; and there he +is walking about, poor fellow, in the middle of the grass, just as if he +was too unhappy to be afraid of any body. But when do you think these +eggs will be hatched?” + +Very soon, if at all, Mrs. Byrne thought. She advised Alice to stay here +and watch, instead of going down to the rectory any more to-day. It was +not likely that more partridges’ eggs would be found; and she had +remembered since Alice left her—(she was sorry she had forgotten it +before)—that she might make hay, after a manner, in this garden, though +she did not pretend that it could compare with the rectory garden. + +“You see, however, that it is very well I went,” said Alice, with a +superior air. “Now I should like to stay and watch the eggs. Papa will +not mind about my going home to dinner, just to-day.” + +Mrs. Byrne forthwith made another dumpling, and Alice stood, growing +hotter every moment, close by the fire, peeping in between the folds of +the flannel, in the incessant expectation of seeing a tiny bird’s head +pop up. Mrs. Byrne soon perceived that she would at this rate totally +exhaust herself before anything could come to pass, and opened up again +her proposition about hay-making in the garden. The grass borders were +somewhat overgrown, and there was a little plat,—a very small one, to be +sure,—behind the cottage, where Mrs. Byrne hung out the linen to dry. +From this plat a good deal of grass might be cut with Byrne’s shears; if +they could be found; and Alice could be called in the first moment that +a bird was hatched. It would be a fine thing to show people that Alice +could make hay in other places besides the rectory garden. + +Alice looked at the borders, and thought it would be a prodigious +condescension. The sight of the rusty shears, however, subdued her +pride; and as soon as Mrs. Byrne’s coarsest blue apron could be tied +over the young lady’s frock, she was down on her knees, clipping and +hacking at the dry grass, and severing as much as a handful in a quarter +of an hour. She actually forgot her new property of eggs till Byrne came +home to dinner, and startled her with his gruff voice, while she was +trying to clip a bunch which was too obstinate for her shears. She +looked up, vexed at being interrupted, but sufficiently exhausted to be +in need of her dinner; and no vexation could withstand the news that +three little partridges were huddling together and tumbling over one +another in the basket. + +No vexation of hers could withstand this news. Byrne’s was too highly +wrought to be conquered so easily. He came home in a most terrible +temper indeed. His wife was aghast when she heard how he abused +Peterson, the church, and even the vicar himself, before Alice. Peterson +had come down to the rectory to demand tithe of the mown grass, which +Mr. Mackintosh had contemptuously refused, on the ground of there being +no claim. Mr. Mackintosh had said that while the church had taken care +that every other party should pay to the church, it had also taken care +of itself, and had decreed that the church should not pay to the church. +The parson might not pay to the vicar, or the vicar to the parson. Much +as he hated the church, therefore, he was now sheltered under its wings; +and not a blade of rectory grass should the vicar touch.—Well; what +answer did Peterson make? Why; it was the most provoking thing in the +world; he had his law-book in his pocket, (as he seemed always to have,) +and he showed that in the case of a vicar being specially endowed, (as +Mr. Hellyer was,) small tithes, and even hay, might be levied upon the +impropriator’s ground, as well as other people’s. Mr. Mackintosh said +some very sound, good things, Byrne thought, when he found he really was +liable. He said he thought it would be no more than fair to leave people +to choose whether they would have a religion or not; and that they might +as well demand from him his meat and drink to maintain Punch in a +puppet-show—— + +Mrs. Byrne stopped her husband by throwing a bit of partridge’s +egg-shell at him to make him look up, just when Alice’s eyes began to +open wide with expectation of what it was that was to be likened to +Punch in a puppet-show. It was grief enough to Mrs. Byrne that her +husband should snatch up Mr. Mackintosh’s revolting sayings about +religion; she would not have this child exposed to the evil under her +roof; and so she had told her husband. He went on muttering, while he +tore his dumpling to pieces, that he did not believe Mr. Mackintosh +would allow the grass to be carried away; and, for his part, he hoped he +would not. It was time somebody was beginning to resist encroachment, or +there was no saying what pass the parish would come to. He had seen, and +so had his father, how the burden of tithes grew and grew; but it was +not till he told the facts to Mr. Mackintosh, and Mr. Mackintosh +explained them, that Byrne knew the reason why the burden must always go +on to increase, unless the church should—— + +Here he was again stopped. His wife wondered whether Mr. Mackintosh +could explain why tithes were only half the amount in the next parish. +If the soil was really equally good in the two parishes, it was very odd +that wheat land should yield twelve shillings per acre of tithe here, +and only six shillings in the next parish. + +“I have known a worse case than that; where fourteen shillings were paid +for an acre on one side a hedge, and five and sixpence for an acre on +the other side, of precisely the same quality of soil. But, bad as it is +to have to depend on parsons’ tempers, and such accidents, it is not so +bad as seeing the tithe go on growing and growing, and knowing that it +will never stop, unless such men as Mr. Mackintosh put a short stop to +it. Ah! you look frightened; but you had better look frightened at the +tithes than at any thing that I say about Mr. Mackintosh. In my father’s +time and mine, I’ll tell you what has happened. Rent is higher, as you +know only too well from every farmer you meet. The rise of tithe helps +rent to rise; and the tithes have trebled while rent has risen +one-fourth. Rent has risen fast enough; but tithes have risen twelve +times as much.” + +Mrs. Byrne thought this must be a mistake; because if matters went on at +this rate, there must come an end of tithe, and tillage, and all. + +“And so there will, if tithe goes on. Tithes are higher than the rent +now, in some spots hereabouts, where hops and other expensive articles +are grown. And the reason why it must be so is so plain, that Mr. +Mackintosh does not believe but that those who made tithe foresaw all +that is coming to pass. The tithe is part of the crop, which cost a vast +deal of toil and expense to raise; and as the toil and expense of +raising a crop increase, the tithe must become a larger and larger share +of the profit. Don’t you see?” + +“To be sure, the more it costs to grow a bushel of corn, the dearer the +corn will be, and the more value there will be in the tenth part. But if +the tithe makes corn and other things dearer, and their being dearer +raises the value of the tithe again, there can be nothing but ruin +before us.” + +“Except to the church, which is to fatten on our starvation, Mr. +Mackintosh says.” + +“But this makes a fine profit for the Lamberts, and those who pay no +tithe, and yet sell their corn as dear as other people.” + +“To be sure it is; for every farmer, in Wales or Scotland, or wherever +else in the kingdom he may be, that holds tithe-free land. Where some +are obliged to sell dear, as the tithe-payers are, those few that could +sell cheaper are sure to follow, as long as there is too little instead +of too much of what they have to sell; and the tithe-free thus profit at +the expense of those who buy bread and hay. However, we should not talk +of the farmers profiting, except as far as they can get their burden of +tithes lightened during their lease. The Lamberts pay a fine rent for +the Abbey Farm, in consideration of its being tithe-free; and if tithes +were to be done away by the time their lease is out, their rent would be +lowered to meet the fall of prices that would take place. So it is their +landlord that gains from their land being tithe-free, except for the +convenience of having no mischief made in their field, and for the price +of corn rising as tithe rises while their lease runs. Their rent will be +raised again, Mr. Mackintosh says, if tithing goes on at the present +rate in the parish.” + +“I always think no people look so like prosperous folks as the +Lamberts.” + +“Ah! the old man was a thrifty one; and ’tis said there are no better +farmers in the county than his sons. Sir William will make no difficulty +of letting them keep the Abbey Farm in the family as long as he and they +have to do with lands, as long as they keep on this side Sticks, as Mr. +Mackintosh says; but I don’t know what he means exactly.” + +“I do,” said Alice; “Styx is the river where dead people get across in a +boat.” + +“Well; do you believe that, now? I would as soon believe what your +father preaches——” + +“O, no, nobody believes about Styx now,” said Alice. “Mr. Mackintosh +only talks as some people used to talk, hundreds of years ago, because +he does not choose to talk as people talk now.” + +Byrne shook his head. His opinion of Mr. Mackintosh was lowered. It was +a pity Mr. Mackintosh did not speak of something that he really +believed, instead of something that had been already disbelieved +hundreds of years ago. + +“How neat Mrs. Lambert looks now! and how quick she always walks!” said +Alice, quitting her dinner. “I will call her in to see my birds and the +eggs.” + +There was no occasion to make haste to call Mrs. Lambert. She was coming +to Byrne’s cottage. She had a smile for Alice, though she was evidently +in haste to say something. + +“I wish, friend,” said she to Byrne, “that thou wouldst make haste down +to the rectory. They want thee there; and thy dinner will keep, I dare +say.” + +“What’s the matter?” cried Byrne, seizing his hat. “Is that scoundrel +Peterson kicking up a row?” + +“I scarcely know,—being a little dull of apprehension, compared with +thee, as to who is the scoundrel when people fall out, and whether there +must be one. However, I can tell thee this;—that there is a great empty +waggon, with five horses in it, at the rectory gate, and Peterson is +making a show of it; and George Mackintosh stands at his garden pales, +trying how provoking he can look, as it seems to me. The people are +gathering, and the quarrel runs high. If thou canst bring either to a +soft answer, thou wilt do a good deed. But, Byrne,” (calling after him,) +“I assure thee they are ready enough with the word scoundrel already. Do +not thou help them.” + +Alice flew after Byrne. Mrs. Byrne thought it necessary to follow Alice; +and Mrs. Lambert had been on her way to Mr. Mackintosh on business, when +the gathering of the crowd made her turn back. She therefore walked down +the road once more, hoping that her landlord would soon be able to +listen to what she had to say. + +All was in uproar at the rectory. The garden gate was laid by itself on +a bank in the road. The heavy waggon was making deep ruts in the grass +plat, which the feet of the five cart-horses had already torn up. The +tithe of grass was being thrown in, amidst the laughter of the +spectators, any one of whom could have carried it home in a well-packed +wheelbarrow. The housekeeper was crying at one window, and her master +was standing at another, with his hand in his bosom, no word on his +tongue, but awful threatenings of the law on his brow. Byrne was +evidently in a fury, though a sign from Mr. Mackintosh positively +forbade his offering any opposition to Peterson and his team. He struck +his toe into the cut turf, as a bull would have struck his horns; and +like a bull, threw up clods into the air. + +Peterson coolly expounded the law, the whole time, though none seemed +disposed to take note of it, unless it was the horses, who certainly +strained their muscles more zealously, and struck their hoofs deeper, +and jingled their harness more emphatically, when he cracked his whip in +the pauses of his lecture. + +“I have spared you some of the trouble I might have given, if I had +enforced my right,” said he. “By common right, the tithe grass may be +made into hay upon the spot, and I might have turned in labourers to +work on the ground for a couple of days. And then, again, I have not +suffered my horses to touch a blade of your grass, Mr. Mackintosh.” + +Somebody observed that he would have had to answer for it in law if he +had permitted his horses so to act. + +“By no means,” replied Peterson. “What does the law say?” (Reading.) +“‘And when he comes with his carts, teams, or other carriages, to carry +away his tithes, he must not suffer his horses or oxen to eat and +depasture the grass growing in the grounds where the tithes arise; much +less the corn there growing or cut. But,’” (with emphasis,) “‘if his +cattle do in their passage, against the will of the driver, here and +there snatch some of the grass, this is excusable.’” + +“Against the will of the driver,” repeated some. “No thanks to you, +Peterson.” + +“It seems to me that making little laws like this is quite fit work for +the pharisees,” thought Mrs. Lambert. “The weighty matters of the law +seem to find no room here, any more than among those that were so busy +with their mint, and anise, and cummin.” + +Peterson proceeded. “‘If any person do stop or let the parson, vicar, +proprietor, owner, or other of their deputies, or farmers, to view, +take, and carry away their tithes as above said; he shall forfeit double +value, with costs; to be recovered in the ecclesiastical court.’ 2 and +3, Edward VI. c. 13. s. 2. ‘And if the owner of the soil, after he has +duly set forth his tithes,—’” + +“I wish the devil had taken me before I set out the tithe, let the law +say what it will,” thought Mr. Mackintosh. “I wish I had bid defiance to +the law and the fellow at the same time.” + +“‘Will stop up the ways,’” proceeded Peterson, “‘and not suffer the +parson to carry away his tithes, or to spread, dry, and stack them upon +the land, this is no good setting forth of his tithes without fraud +within the statutes; but the parson may have an action upon the said +statute, and may recover the treble value; or may have an action upon +the case for such disturbance; or he may, if he will, break open the +gate or fence which hinders him, and carry away his tithes.’ Which is +what I have been and am doing, Mr. Mackintosh.” + +“So I perceive.” + +“Well, sir. What do you say to what I have just read?” + +“That you shall hear in court.” + +“You cannot say that I have not, in the words of my authority, been +‘cautious that he commit no riot, nor break any gate, rails, lock, or +hedges, more than necessarily he must for his passage.’ You cannot say +so, sir.” + +“I have nothing to say to you,” replied Mr. Mackintosh, stepping out +upon his mangled lawn from the window. “Whatever I have to say relates +to your principal and to his church.” + +“Take care how you blame my principal, sir,” said Peterson; concealing, +as desired by the vicar, the fact that these tithes had become his own +property. “My principal, sir, asks no more than his right: and if he is +guilty at all in the eye of the law, it is for requiring much less than +his due.” + +“Well, if your principal chooses to live by such a right, let him. If he +chooses, for the sake of a mere life interest in such an institution, to +pay his rent of servility and dependence to the oligarchy, I wish him +joy of his contentment in his holy office. The church is the patrimony +of the oligarchy,—that is, the emoluments of the church;—and these +emoluments purchase support for the oligarchy. If your principal hopes +for salvation while he is helping his employers to confirm their own +corrupt dominion, for the oppression of the people, he is even a greater +simpleton than I take him to be. And so you may tell him, if you happen +to understand what I say.” + +Everybody present understood that something was said about the vicar and +being a simpleton; and a smile went round. Byrne had no doubt that, so +much being true, all the rest must be very fine; and he was vehement in +his applause. Peterson turned round to him, and declared that he had +some business with him which he would not be long in disclosing. With an +air of defiance, Byrne invited the lessee to come and hear his opinions +on his own premises. Mrs. Byrne trembled for the consequences of the +proposed visit; and earnestly hoped that it would not take place till +the minds of both parties had cooled. She would do her utmost with her +husband to convince him of the uselessness of contending with the law. +If Mr. Mackintosh chose to go into court, that was no reason why a +labouring man should incur such expense and vexation. It would be far +better to pay tithe out of their garden, which was what Peterson was +going to demand, she supposed, than to run any risk by refusal. The +vicar had always paid her wages readily when she was a servant in his +family, and she should be sorry to make any difficulty about paying his +dues, now that it was her husband’s turn to recompense service. + +The throng of gazers and mockers naturally followed the waggon. Byrne +and another labourer began lifting the gate, in order to set it again +upon its hinges; but Mr. Mackintosh desired that it might lie where it +was, till a legal opinion should have been obtained as to whether more +force had been used than the occasion required, and than the law could +justify. Presently, no one was left but the gentleman and Mrs. Lambert, +who was not disposed to leave her business to be propounded on another +occasion, merely because Mr. Mackintosh had lately been in a passion, +and was now out of humour. + +“I thought thou hadst been wiser,” observed Mrs. Lambert, in her plain +way, “than to cause thyself all this mischief. It seems to me a pity to +spoil a pretty place in this manner, without doing any good that I see?” + +“No good! It is doing good to resist paying tithe.” + +“I agree with thee there. We Friends think it not lawful to pay tithes.” + +“No; you let the parson come and seize them. This is a degree better +than paying them; but what good has been done by such a resistance as +that?” + +“I might ask what good has been done by your resistance. Here is your +little lawn spoiled; and ill-will confirmed between the vicar and his +people. It will not affect thee so much as me, perhaps, that there has +been a scandal to religion, too. Ah! I see thee smile; and I am far from +thinking that there is religion in taking tithe: but the man who +preaches religion in this parish has been held up to scorn; and I fear +the contempt may spread to what he preaches. Thou wouldst not object to +this? Well, now, if thou wilt let me say so, I do wonder that one who +talks of liberty as thou dost, should be so unwilling to allow liberty +of judgment to others.” + +Mr. Mackintosh protested that the one thing he was always striving after +was to emancipate people’s judgments from the monstrous superstitions, +the incredible follies which they called faith and religion, and so on. +He was for ever trying to set people’s judgments free. + +“Rather, to make them think like thee, shouldst thou not say? There is a +contempt in thy way of speaking of Christians, and others who differ +from thee, which I should be apt to call oppression, dost thou know? No +person hinders thee from saying what thy own opinions are, and where +other people’s are wrong; and, therefore, what occasion is there for +trying to persuade thy neighbours that their clergyman must be a bad +man, if he be not a fool. I think thee wrong in doing this, and I say so +when opportunity offers, though I have no better an opinion than thou of +his clergyman’s gown, and of all the forms which he mixes up with his +public worship.” + +“Then you must let me declare you wrong.” + +“That such is thy opinion. Certainly. But I wonder thou art easy in +making thyself answerable for mixing up with Martha Lambert’s follies +some things which are of graver importance;—things which, true or false, +make or mar a great deal of happiness, and cannot, therefore, be whiffed +away, like trifles, with a joke. Thou wert free, last Sunday, to go into +the fields instead of the church, and to tell every one that passed why +there should be, as thou thinkest, no church going: but I do not see +that it was more proper for thee to point at thy neighbours of the +church and the meeting, and say that they differed only in going to see +Punch in a wig and Punch in a broad-brim, than it would be in the +Lamberts to say that thou desirest the perdition of mankind because thou +dost not worship as they do.” + +“Whoever told you of that speech of mine should have added what I said +besides;—that the Quakers are the only Christians I respect, on account +of their——” + +“That is all very well in its way: but I do not ask for compliments to +the Friends, but for justice to everybody. I could wish to see thee go +to law, (as thy conscience allows it,) rather than hold up the good +vicar to scorn. Thou wilt allow the suggestion.” + +“Ah! you have not that resource. The Friends do not go to law when they +believe themselves wrongfully tithed.” + +“Their reference is to the divine, not to human law. Their pleas against +tithe are three, which would avail nothing in a court of law;—that the +interference of civil governments with spiritual concerns is +unauthorized and unholy——” + +“True, true.” + +“That the tithe system is a return to the Levitical law, which can have +no place under a profession of Christianity.” + +Mr. Mackintosh smiled his utter contempt of both Judaism and +Christianity. + +“And that religion can never be lawfully made a trade; the rule of the +case being the precept, ‘Freely ye have received; freely give.’ If thou +dost not agree in this last, but thinkest, as the generality do, that +the setting forth of spiritual things deserves hire in the same way as +the teaching of the mathematics, and other things that belong to the +mind, there is the less reason for thy pronouncing that the vicar must +be a bad man or a simpleton for requiring the maintenance that the law +allows him.” + +“It is an infamous practice! The oppression is intolerable. The +injustice is what nobody ought to endure. That we should have the church +of Rome over again at this time of day! Your favourite vicar may be just +such a simpleton of a priest as one might find in the old Popish days, +in country villages: but what a poor wretch to set to teach the people! + +“Suppose, then, we try to mend the law that displeases us both so much. +If the law makes the vicar do and expect what thou thinkest folly, a +wiser law might enable him to conduct himself more wisely in thy eyes. +My sons will be happy to conduct thee to affix thy name to a petition of +the Friends against tithes, which is lying for signature in the next +town.” + +Mr. Mackintosh would have a petition of his own, whenever he signed one +for such a purpose. He would not mix himself up with Christians in any +way. He should petition at once for the overthrow of all superstition in +this country. + +“And, of course, that thou shouldst be appointed judge of what is +superstition, and what is not; for I fear thou art not else likely to be +satisfied. Meantime, I fear thou wilt not let the Quarry Wood farm to +superstitious people.” + +“Not unless I were sure that their superstition did not make them +cheats: as superstition generally does.” + +“Have the Lamberts cheated thee in their management of the Abbey Farm?” + +“No. I had rather let your sons have the Quarry Wood farm than any soft, +sneaking tithe-payer. Every man that is a slave to the church is an +enemy to me.” + +“And all who pay tithes are slaves to the church. I am sorry for thee, +George Mackintosh, for I think, at this rate, no man has ever had so +many enemies. I presume that thou, as a scholar, hast as long a list of +the tithe-payers of all the world from the beginning, as the vicar +himself. He would make one believe that the Friends alone are, as thou +sayst, not slaves to the church, and therefore thy allies.” + +“I offered the Quarry Wood farm at a very low rent, if I could find a +tenant that I approved,” said Mr. Mackintosh. “Your sons shall have it +at that low rent, in consideration of—of——” + +“Of their opinions on one point happening to suit thy own. This is the +principle by which thou wouldst secure perfect liberty of thought and +speech. However, I shall be glad if my sons can come to an agreement +with thee in time to prevent any one from professing himself an infidel +in order to obtain thy farm at a low rent. It is creditable to the +public that thy advertisement to such persons has not already answered +to thy satisfaction.” + +Superstition was too strong and too popular yet for individuals, Mr. M. +replied. Most men had not the courage to put themselves in a position of +defiance, such as he had in this case offered. + +“Thou wilt now withdraw thy advertisement,” urged Mrs. Lambert. “There +is no fear of my sons being taken for any thing but what they are by +those who know them: but I should be sorry they should be obliged to +disclaim in the public papers any character that thou mightst seem to +fix upon them.” + +Not only was this promised, as a matter of course, and an arrangement +made for an interview at the Quarry Wood farm, when all the terms might +be discussed; but Mrs. Lambert obtained permission to call upon the +crying housekeeper, and the gaping foot-boy, for aid towards securing +the pretty garden from the intrusion of pigs and other trespassers. +Before sunset, the gate swung once more on its hinges; and the grass was +rolled and rolled again till half its disasters were repaired. It was as +much a labour of love as teaching in a school, or cooking broth for a +sick neighbour; and when Mrs. Lambert found she must go home, the +foot-boy ran before her to open the gate; the housekeeper blessed her; +and even Mr. M. sent a message after her to beg that she would not go +till she had rested herself. + + + CHAPTER IV. + + HERESY. + + +Peterson was not long in performing his promise or threat of visiting +B.’s cottage. Indeed, he had so much to do now that it was necessary to +fulfil his engagements as they arose, if he meant to discharge them all. +He was not only the lessee of the vicar’s tithes, which cost him no +small trouble to gather in. He was also the collector of Sir William +Hood’s; and the time approached for making the usual valuation of the +crops before harvest. Some of the land was, as has been said, +tithe-free. A small portion besides, which seemed to lie within the +verge of the parish, caused him no trouble. It had never been included, +with certainty, within the bounds of any parish; and the tithe thereof, +being extraparochial, was the prerogative of the king, with whom +Peterson had nothing to do. A composition had been agreed upon for the +tithes of other lands, for a certain number of years; but there still +remained a large extent of ground on which the great tithes had either +to be compounded for on a valuation, from year to year, or where the +contribution to the parson was to be levied in kind. His own property by +lease, the small tithes and hay which he rented from the vicar, he +determined to levy in kind: and his first step was to study the precise +extent to which they were due, and to levy them to the utmost. Of the +prædial tithes,—those which arise merely and immediately from the +ground, the grain and wood had to be valued in order to a composition. +The hay, being the vicar’s by special endowment, had to be levied in +kind with the other prædial tithes which came under the denomination of +small tithes; viz.: fruit, vegetables, and herbs. He had not only been +the round of the hayfields, but was looking into all the gardens, and +casting a calculating glance over the orchards, in anticipation of a +tenth of their produce. Then the mixed tithes gave him much trouble; +tithes of produce which arises not immediately from the ground, but from +things immediately nourished by the ground, and which, according to the +murmuring parishioners, paid tithe twice or three times over. When they +had paid tithe of grass, they contended, it was hard to have it to pay +again in the shape of a calf, and again in that of milk. In like manner, +the grain on which their poultry fed paid tithe; and then the poultry; +and also eggs. In like manner, the sheep pasture paid tithe; and then +the tenth lamb must be given; and lastly, the wool. Endless disputes +arose out of the lessee’s claims, and he was perpetually sent to his +tithe gospel, as he called his law-book. There he found a provision by +which he might annoy Byrne, and every parishioner in Byrne’s rank of +life. There was another kind of tithe, besides the prædial and the +mixed;—the personal tithe, which might be made, if possible, more +offensive than the mixed. He knew that by a claim for this kind of +tithe, at least, he could punish Byrne for his partisanship with Mr. +Mackintosh in the morning. + +When he arrived at Byrne’s, both the labourer and his wife were occupied +in helping Alice to feed her little birds, the twelve young partridges +which bore testimony to the efficacy of flannel and fire in June. Byrne +did not trouble himself to look up when his foe entered; but observed, +while guiding an infant beak to the mess which was prepared, that +Peterson need not flatter himself that he would be permitted to carry +away any of Miss Alice’s birds. The little girl’s own father should not +rob her of her pleasures. Peterson thought it a pity such a defiance +should be wasted; but he really never thought of such a thing as tithing +wild birds. Pheasants and partridges are decided by law to be _feræ +naturæ_, and therefore not titheable. Though their wings be clipped, +they would still fly away if they could; and if they should breed, their +young, though imprisoned, are still wild, and therefore not bound to +support the clergyman. Alice’s pleasures were safe. + +“O, I am so glad!” cried Alice; “and now we need not be afraid about the +bees either, I suppose.” + +“Ay; your bees, Mrs. Byrne,” observed Peterson, smiling. “You need not +twitch the young lady’s sleeve, Byrne; I thought of the bees before; +and, in fact, they made part of my errand. I see you have a fine range +of beehives at the south end of your garden; and that spreading +jessamine, and the thyme bed, and the tall honeysuckle must yield plenty +of wax and honey. You must keep my share for me, remember.” + +“If partridges are wild, so are bees, I should think, Mr. Peterson.” + +“So the law says: and I am of opinion the law is therein defective: +since, though bees can fly away individually, they are stationary, as a +swarm, when once fixed in a hive. I should recommend that every tenth +swarm should be set apart for tithe: but the law does not so ordain. The +wax and honey, however, do not fly away, and it is of them that I spoke +when I said you must remember the vicar’s share.” + +“The vicar would have been sure enough of his share,” said Mrs. Byrne, +somewhat heated, “if you had let me alone to offer it. Miss Alice will +tell you that every year she has had much more than a tenth of my honey; +and so she would still, without your interfering to make that a debt +which was much more precious as a grace.” + +“Mr. Peterson shall not bring me my honey,” protested Alice. “I won’t +take it, unless you let me carry it home myself, Jane.” + +Peterson wondered what would become of religion, if it was to be left to +be supported by free will, instead of by dues. + +How little was he aware what was included in this question! How little +was he aware with whom he identified himself while asking it! This has +been the faithless question of all the perverters of the quenchless +religious principle in man, from the beginning of time,—of all the +priests of all the trinities that the world has known. This is the +question asked by the wise man of the Egyptian temple, when he unveiled +the hawk-headed Osiris, and the swaddled Orus, and the crocodile-shaped +Typhon, and told the prostrate people what to pay for housing the triad +of creators that they came to adore.—This is the question asked by the +ancient Hindoo priest, when he finished his evening meal of rice in the +echoing recesses of the rocky temple, and waited only for the departure +of the last impoverished worshipper, to go and see how much wealth was +deposited for Brahma, and how much for Vishnu, and how much for Siva, +and how many bribes were offered for admission into each of the seven +paradises of the seven seas. This is the question asked before the Greek +altars, when goats and horses and black bulls were sacrificed there, to +the gods of the earth, and the sea, and the infernal regions, and tithe +was demanded to be yielded to the one on his ivory seat, and another in +his car of sea-shell, and the third on his throne of sulphur. This is +the question asked by the skin-clothed ministers of the Gothic deities, +Odin, Vile, and Ve, when they called upon their barbarian brethren to +offer the hides of wolves, and the flesh of boars, in homage to the +three sons of the mysterious cow. This is the question asked by the +Mexican priests of old, when they forbade the feathered and jewelled +warrior companies to come empty-handed to the sanctuary of the +father-sun, the brother-sun, and the son-sun; the trinity of +unpronounceable names. This is the question asked by the monastic orders +of the Catholic church, when they ordained, as penance, that the +children’s inheritance should be made over to the church, to the glory +of the Gnostic triad which they enthroned on the Seven Hills, and to +which they dared to invite adoration in the name of Christ. This is the +question now asked by our Episcopal preachers of the three-fold deity, +the Avenger, the Propitiator, and the Sanctifier; and enforced for the +support of their tri-partite form of religion, compounded of Heathenism, +Judaism, and Christianity.—This is not the question asked by Jesus, when +he sent forth the Seventy, bidding them have faith that they should be +supported by free-will offerings better than by dues; or when he +cleansed the temple from the defilements which but too soon returned to +harbour there; or when he sat on the well in Samaria, and declared who +it was that the Father sought to worship him; or when he strayed in the +wilderness, despising the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them, +and asking instead, the heart of man; or when he sat on the +mountain-side, gazing on the temple towers which were bathed in the +evening light, and telling of the time when the young pigeons should try +their first flight from the summit of Moriah, instead of fluttering in +death on the altar of sacrifice; and when the husbandman should plough +up the foundations of the sanctuary, finding, through the gospel, that +his own heart was a holier place.—What is included in this question,— +whether religion can be supported by free will, and not by dues? To ask +it is to doubt whether God has vivified the human heart with a principle +of faith, and whether man be not really made to grovel with the beasts +which perish, or, as the only alternative, to pursue shadows till the +grave swallows him up like a pitfall in his path. It is to suppose that +by mere accident alone has the northern barbarian been found watching +for signs in the driving clouds; and the western Indian looking abroad +over the blue Pacific; and the Persian hailing the sunrise from the +mountain-top; and the Greek lawgiver waiting upon the voice of the +oracle; and the Christian child praying at the knee of its parent. It is +to question whether there be more in a sunrise than yellow light, or in +a pestilence than so many dead, or in a political revolution than a +change of actors in an isolated dramatic scene, or in the advent of a +gospel than the issuing of a new and fugitive fiction. It is to deny +that every man needs sympathy in his joys, and consolation for his +sorrows; that he ever questions whence he came and whither he must go; +that he ever feels the weight of his own being too vast to be sustained +without reposing on Him who called it forth. It is to question whether +there be faith on the earth, except within the pale of two or three +churches; whether, for the rest of the world, the sea does not raise its +everlasting voice, and the starry host hold on their untiring march in +vain. It is to question whether the decrepid can truly worship in the +aisles of our churches; or the lordly care for the things of the Spirit, +unless those things are joined with worldly pomp. It is to pronounce the +apostles profane in their fishing and tent-making, and foolish in their +fully-justified reliance on the faith and charity of their disciples. It +is to declare Jesus wrong in saying that to the poor the gospel is +preached, and that his kingdom was not of the old world,—belonging to +the formal Judaical dispensation. It is to put his gospel for correction +into the hands of the prelates who legislate for its security, and who +predict its permanence, if it be sustained by the means they prescribe,— +by gifts and offerings wrung from the reluctant; by endowments, by +bounties of first-fruits and tenths, by tithes and oblations. To +question whether religion can be supported by free-will instead of by +prescribed dues is to libel man, to doubt the gospel, and to stand with +a sceptical spirit amidst the temple of God’s works. + +Would that the vicar had had sufficient faith in the gospel he preached +to believe that it might be supported without exactions which it does +not sanction! Would that he had been wiser than his tithe-gatherer, and +had foreseen the consequences, as well as been aware of the guilt, of +alienating the spirits which it was his express office to win! He looked +very grave at his little daughter, when she loudly complained that +Peterson wanted to take away some of Jane’s honey for him, when she knew +he had much rather that Jane should give it him herself. He told her +that she must not speak of matters that she did not understand:—a rebuke +which astonished Alice more than all the rest, as she thought she had +never heard of anything more easy to be understood. + +There was little show of respect to the vicar, this evening. When he +entered Byrne’s cottage, Peterson was traversing the garden, making +notes of potatoes, turnips, and cabbages, of onions, parsley, and sage. +He counted the currant bushes, and looked up into the cherry-tree. Mrs. +Byrne attended, in terror lest there should be a quarrel. She tried to +persuade her husband to go and make his bow to the vicar; but Byrne +would do no such thing. He dogged the tithe-gatherer’s heels, disputing +where he could, and threatening where he could not dispute. He did not +mean to pay tithe these seven years, for the new bit of garden which he +had just taken in. He would contest it to the death. He hoped the +turnips would prove tough enough to choke the tithe-gatherer. He would +not gather his cherries at all, if he must pay tithe of them. They +should be left for the birds, and for any village children who might +come to take them. + +“That is all very fine talk,” replied Peterson: “but I can tell you +this. If your fruit is taken by the birds, or other downright thieves, I +must bear the loss with you: but if it be taken with your knowledge and +consent, whether by school-children or anybody else, you must pay me the +tithe of what was taken: and if left to drop from the tree, I must have +the tenth of what so falls. Pray, are these peas and beans for sale, or +for domestic use?” + +Byrne could not tell till they were gathered; and his wife did not +pretend to have made up her mind, any more than he. + +“Well; if you won’t tell me, I must be on the watch to see whether your +hog touches any of them, and how many find their way to other people’s +tables. And then, you will have no right to call me prying, remember. I +asked you the fair question, which you would not answer.” + +Byrne thought he might as well live under Bonaparte, or any other +tyrant, at once, as be liable to sow and tend and reap for another, in +this way; and to be watched by a spy, as if this was not the free +country it prided itself on being. + +“What would you say if you were a farmer?” cried Peterson, with a smile. +“Here you have only to pay a little honey, and a few vegetables, and a +little fruit, and—one thing more, for which I find the vicar has +strangely omitted to charge you hitherto. See here,” producing his +law-book. “By a constitution of Archbishop Winchelsea, and the statute, +2 and 3 Edward VI., c. 13., tithes are payable for profits arising from +personal labour or merchandise. They are payable, you see, where the +party hears divine service, and receives the sacraments; but only the +tenth part of the clear gain, after all the charges are deducted. Now I +find your wages are per week——” + +“Do you dare to want to strip my husband of his wages?” cried Mrs. +Byrne. “I will call the vicar to put an end to this.” + +Peterson’s triumph was complete. The vicar was full of concern that +anybody suffered pain or inconvenience about the matter: but it was not +for him or his parishioners to alter the constitution of the church. His +duty to his church and to his successor required that the ecclesiastical +law should be obeyed in all its provisions. Two or three zealous +clergymen had lately revived this claim, after it had lain dormant for +very many years, throwing into gaol the labourers who opposed +themselves; and he would support them through evil report and good +report. + +“Then you may throw me into gaol,” cried Byrne. “As for attending your +services, neither I nor mine will ever do it more, Mr. Hellyer: and I +never wish to see you within my gate again, sir.” + +“O, John!” cried the terrified wife. + +“I am not going to be angry,” said the vicar to her, with his usual air +of quiet complacency. “I have long feared that the infidel who has come +among us would corrupt your husband, and I see he has done so +completely. Nay: do not cry so, Jane. All our hearts are in the hand of +God: and you should trust, as I do, that he will sustain his church +under the attacks of the unbelieving.” + +“Not if such as you have the management of it,” cried Byrne. “You talk +of Mr. Mackintosh: but I tell you that nothing that I ever heard him say +turned my heart from you and your religion as you yourself have done +to-day; and I rather think that Mr. Mackintosh owes to you much of such +power as he has. We shall soon see that. Send the labourers of this +parish to gaol for their tithe of wages, break gates, and pry into +gardens, and you will see what a congregation Mr. Mackintosh will have +on his lawn, to hear what he has to say about a religion that teaches +such oppression.—Be pleased to hold your tongue, sir, and walk out of my +garden.—Hush, Jane!” he cried to his weeping wife. “There is nothing in +their tithe-law that prevents my saying that.—Go, go, and milk the cow.” +And he turned over the pail, which still stood with milk in it, as in +the morning. He declared that he knew something of tithe-law as well as +Peterson, and therefore claimed the liberty of spilling the milk which +had not been removed, after due notice, so as to restore the pail in +time for the afternoon milking. Peterson could not deny the correctness +of Byrne’s law. + +“Well; but, why not come to church?” mildly inquired the vicar. + +“To hear you thank God that you are no extortioner, I suppose. I am sick +enough of that.” + +“But, John,—do listen, John!—He can’t help it: it is no fault of his: he +only asks what the law gives him.” + +“Then let the law leave off making a man contradict in the pulpit on +Sunday all he has been doing during the week. ’Tis a hypocrisy that I am +sick of, and I’ll never enter the church door till there is an end of +it. You see the gate, sir. You are welcome to go away as soon as you +choose.” + +There was nothing for the vicar to do but to walk away, however Mrs. +Byrne wished to detain him till her husband had cooled. Peterson had +found his way over the fence, rather than cross the path of the angry +man. Byrne saw this, and shouted after the vicar, loud enough for +Peterson to hear, + +“You are mightily afraid of a deist, Mr. Hellyer: but if you care for +your church, look to your tithe-gatherer.” + +“Run after your papa, my dear,” said Mrs. Byrne to Alice, who was +contemplating the spilled milk: “never mind your birds; I will put them +under a coop till you come again.” + +“Papa looks so odd!” + +“The more reason you should go. Run after him, and talk about every +thing you can think of.” + +Alice hopped and skipped down the road, while Jane wept as if her heart +would break. Her grief could scarcely have been greater if she had known +the truth that time revealed,—that from this hour, her husband hated the +vicar with an intense hatred. + + + CHAPTER V. + + EXTORTION. + + +Before two years were over, the experiment of a close exaction of tithes +was considered by good judges to have been fairly tried, and to have +produced consequences as apparent as could be expected to arise in any +given case. + +First. There were three law-suits.—The vicar was plaintiff in a cause +where his late friend, Sir William Hood, was defendant. He claimed tithe +for the produce of a portion of the Abbey Farm; (or suffered under the +imputation of doing so, from still keeping the secret of having let his +rights to Peterson.) + +The Lamberts were not a little astonished at such a claim being made on +their tithe-free farm: but the vicar alleged that the exemption ceased +when the land was turned to other uses than those which prevailed when +the exemption was granted. The prescription was at an end, he contended, +when, as in this case, land which was in a state of tillage when +exempted was converted into pasture land. Much trouble was given to the +Lamberts, at the same time, by their being called upon to show the +requisites for the exemptions which had never been disputed;—that the +lands they held had been really abbey lands, and that they had been +immemorially discharged of tithes. Another suit was instituted against +Mr. Parker, to set aside a modus with which all parties had hitherto +been pretty well satisfied. By this modus,—or composition whereby the +layman is discharged from rendering his tithes, on his paying in lieu +thereof what immemorial custom, or the custom of the place, directs,—Mr. +Parker paid fourteen pounds for produce which, paid in kind, would have +yielded twenty. He had often thought himself unlucky in his bargain in +comparison with some who had a good bargain of their modus, paying +two-pence an acre, as their ancestors had done; or a fowl instead of the +year’s tithe of eggs: but he had little expected that the vicar would +lodge a complaint in a court of law of the modus being too large. It +accorded with six out of seven of the rules which constitute a good and +sufficient modus; but it violated one. It was certain and invariable: it +benefited the tithe-taker only: it was different from the thing +compounded for: it did not discharge from the payment of any other +species of tithe: it was, in its nature, as durable as the tithes +discharged by it: and it was immemorial without interruption; that is, +it had existed from the beginning of the reign of Richard the First, +which is the period fixed by the law as “the time of memory.” + +All this was indisputable; but the seventh condition was, that the modus +should not be too large;—that it should not be a rank modus. If Mr. +Parker had been paying four shillings, instead of fourteen pounds, the +modus might have been held a good one; but this was so doubtful as to be +supposed worth contesting, according to the decision, “the doctrine of +rankness in a modus is a question of fact to be submitted to a jury, +unless the grossness is obvious.” + +The third suit was of more consequence than either of the other two. It +had always been believed in the parish that the glebe land, which was +now annexed to the vicarage, had been once upon a time offered and +accepted as a substitute for the lesser tithes of a farm at present +occupied by one of the most respectable of the parishioners. Now, +however, for the first time, Mr. Pratt was called upon, either to show +evidence of such a bargain having taken place under all due formality of +circumstance, or to pay full tithe. Mr. Pratt was indignant when he +ceased to be astonished, and refused to pay the tithe unless he had the +glebe land back again. This was refused; and the law, as of course, was +made the arbitrator between the parties. + +Every body in the parish who paid a composition, now began to hunt up +the evidence of the ordinary having consented to it; of its being old +enough; and of its not having run on for a longer term than twenty-one +years, or the lives of three parsons. + +These proceedings did not improve the influence of the clergyman in the +parish. One after another of his flock wandered away to the Friends’ +Meeting house. There was talk of encouraging the methodists to build a +chapel, though an attempt to do so had failed three years before. +Subscriptions were withdrawn from the parochial library which the vicar +had set up: and in proportion as the law-suits were discussed, did the +respect with which he was once regarded change into rudeness. Few heads +were uncovered before him. Men turned their backs at his approach, and +the women did not look up from their work when the children gave notice +that he was passing by. He bore this, as he said, very patiently; +praying to God to turn the hearts of the flock once more to true +religion and reverence for the church. He declared himself resigned to +having fallen on evil days, and could wait till his parishioners should +repent of their treatment of him. He heroically adhered to his habits, +amidst the change of times; taking his walk past the houses which were +chalked with maledictions on him, and over the green where every one put +on a solemn look as soon as he came in sight. Alice could never prevail +on him to go round by the back lanes, though is was evident that she +suffered much pain, if not absolute terror, whenever she was his +companion amongst his alienated people. + +Those who suffered most, next to the vicar and his daughter, were +perhaps the Lamberts. Through the exterior of calmness which they +considered it a religious duty to preserve, it might be discerned that +their lightness of heart was gone. No lads could well be merrier than +Charles and Joseph used to be; and their mother’s influence was formerly +more frequently exerted in mildly chastening their mirth than in any +other way. When they had masqueraded, under pretence of amusing Alice, +or from singing a ‘ditty’ in the farm-house parlour had advanced to some +high thoughts about the cultivation of music, she had told tales of the +sobriety observed in her young days. Now, her endeavour was to cheer +them when they came in dispirited from their farm. She now asked for ‘a +ditty,’ and taught them two or three which their father used to sing to +her before they were born. She encouraged Joseph to use his pretty +talent for drawing, and was always ready to be read to when Charles +seemed disposed to take up his book in the evenings. It was the least +she could do, she thought, to keep up their spirits as well as her own, +since she had sanctioned their taking the Quarry Wood farm, which seemed +likely to run away with the gains they had made on the Abbey Farm; and +with more besides, if this season should turn out one of as great +scarcity as was apprehended. It was the least a mother could do, while +discouraging Charles from marrying Henrietta Gregg till his prospects +should clear, to make his home as little irksome as possible, and occupy +his thoughts with other things besides his love and his disappointments. +Some people thought (and they declared the vicar to be on their side) +that the ill success of the Lamberts on the Quarry Wood farm was no more +than might have been expected from their having any thing to do with +such an infidel as Mr. Mackintosh; and they had little pity, in some +quarters, for their failure: but they thought the whole might be +sufficiently accounted for without supposing that a special judgment had +overtaken them. Thus much, at least, was true: that no disasters had +befallen them in their management of the abbey farm, though Mr. +Mackintosh was their landlord; and that the Quarry Wood farm might have +been made to answer if it had been tithe-free. The natural conclusion +was that the tithes of the church were to blame, and not the infidelity +of Mr. Mackintosh. + +The rent of the Quarry Wood farm was low; and this had been the chief +temptation to the Lamberts to take it. They were aware that it required +much improvement, and were prepared to lay out a good deal of capital +upon it. The composition for tithe which had been formerly paid was very +moderate, and every body had supposed that it would, as a matter of +course, be continued. But the new tenants had not been in possession +half a year, before Peterson found means to set aside the composition, +and gave notice that he should demand tithe in kind. They hoped that, at +least, their improvements would remain exempt for seven years, according +to the statute:—a vain hope; as it was proved that the land, though long +left in wild condition, was not what the law would call barren. The +tithe seized the first year swallowed up so much of the returns as to +leave by far too little to pay for the enclosures. There was, indeed, so +much capital thus locked up that the young men declared they should have +let the land alone if they had known how they were to be taken in about +the tithes. The same was the case with an extent of woodland which they +had stubbed and grubbed, and made fit for the plough. As it had borne +wood, it was not ‘barren’ land, and it came under the tax. Of course, +the improvements were put a stop to presently, amidst many regrets that +the money had not been employed on some far inferior land on the +tithe-free farm. It had better have lain idle in their iron chest than +have been thus expended to a loss. If they had known more than they did +of the history of tithes, they would have been better aware of the +policy of idleness under such a system;—that idleness, both of labour +and capital, on which tithes offer a direct premium. They would have +known that the cultivation of flax and hemp in Ireland was suspended +till a low modus was fixed by law, under which it has flourished ever +since. They would have known that the production of madder was long +confined to the United Provinces, which, being Presbyterian, offered no +ecclesiastical tax on its cultivation; and that its growth in England +began from the time when, by a special provision, 5_s._ per acre were to +be taken in lieu of tithe of madder. They would have known that the +reason why Edward VI. exempted barren land from tithe for seven years +was, because, without this provision, the land would never have yielded +at all, either to the public or to the church. They would have known how +tremendous is the waste, to the public, to the farmer, to the landlord, +and eventually to the church, by a method of taxation which causes worse +land to be cultivated while the better lies waste—by a method of +taxation which reaches land untouched by rent, and which, by absorbing a +larger and a larger share of profits which are perpetually decreasing, +raises prices to a degree quite inconsistent with the prosperity of all +the parties concerned. If the Lamberts had duly studied the tithe +question, they would have foreseen the disasters which must arise, +instead of being taught by bitter experience. Their case was just this;— +and it is a fair specimen of what is taking place wherever the tithe +system is adopted. + +The best land on their two farms yielded an equal produce. As the Quarry +Wood land paid tithe, they would have been obliged to raise the price of +their corn so high as to cover the cost of the impropriator’s share, as +well as the expences of cultivation, if this had not been already done +by the body of tithe-paying corn growers. Corn was already dearer in the +market, by the parson’s share, than it would have been if the parsons +had had no share. The produce of the abbey farm brought in a larger +profit through this elevation of prices; but this circumstance had been +considered in fixing the rent; and the surplus profit went, not to the +Lamberts, but to their landlord, in the shape of higher rent. Thus far, +they neither lost nor gained. The consumers of corn lost, and Mr. +Mackintosh gained. The same took place on a few inferior kinds of land. +But there was soil which would have paid profits of stock as well as +rent, if there had been no tithe, but which should have been left +uncultivated (because tithe would swallow up the profits) if the +Lamberts had been aware of the claim which would be advanced by the +parson. On this soil their labour was lost: landlord and parson being +paid, nothing remained for them. This land, therefore, was to be let out +of cultivation; and the capital and labour employed upon it were +transferred to an inferior kind of land on the tithe-free farm, which +required a much larger expenditure to produce an equal return. In this +case, the Lamberts lost by their unprofitable expenditure of labour and +capital; and nobody gained. A yet lower quality of soil was next taken +into cultivation, requiring a yet larger proportionate outlay of capital +and labour, and yielding a sufficient return to the cultivator only +because it was exempt from rent as well as tithe. The rise of price, +caused by the relinquishment of the better land for the sake of +cultivating the worse, was injurious to all the three parties, and +particularly to those—viz., the Lamberts—who had to pay the most wages. +It would have answered incalculably better to have paid over to the +church the capital which was arbitrarily buried in the lower soils, than +that portion of produce which caused it to be so buried. Rent would have +been equalised between the two estates; prices would have kept their +natural elevation; the better soil would have been tilled, and the worst +let alone; the parson would have had as much gain and cheaper bread; the +landlord would also have had cheaper bread, and a larger rent for the +one estate, as well as a smaller for the other; and the Lamberts would +not have lost on the one hand by being deprived of their profits, and on +the other by the rise of wages. The only persons anywhere who had ground +for unmixed rejoicing in this state of things were the landlords of none +but tithe-free estates. By the rise of rent, they gained, and they +alone: and their gain was by no means in proportion to the collective +loss of the other parties. But it was a curious fact that, while the +church was complained of (and justly) on all hands, for the tremendous +injury occasioned by its tithe system, the benefits of it went into the +pockets of landowners amidst the hills and dales of Scotland, where a +commutation long ago placed them beyond the hazards of the desperate +game; and of all who could take their stand on abbey lands, or on some +lucky ancient modus, or equally happy modern composition. + +From the circumstances of the case, the Lamberts suffered all the +injustice which must accrue upon the first institution of this most +pernicious tax. When it has been long enough paid to become calculable, +it is allowed for in the rent, and falls next, like other land taxes, on +the landowner—the person most able, from the perpetual tendency of rent +to rise, to bear the burden. But it is not long a burden to him, except +as a consumer; for, as it operates in increasing the expense of +cultivation, it raises prices; and the consumer ultimately pays. The +hardship of a new institution, or, as in this case, of a revival of +tithe, is very great upon the tenant, and is a sufficient exponent of +the pernicious nature of the impost. The lease of the Quarry Wood farm +had not many years to run; but the experience of the first two years, +and the opening of the third, left the prospect of the young farmers +anything but bright. The present spring had been most unfavourable to +the crops. The doubt was whether so much rain was not rotting the +vegetation in the ground. The view from the summer-house was dreary,—of +sodden fields, and lanes lying under water. The very wall-flowers +languished for want of sun, Mrs. Lambert found when she one day climbed +the hill: but they did not droop like her poor son Charles, whom she +found there, looking out of the window, with his head leaning on his +hand, and listening to the patter of rain-drops which again began to +fall, and to drop from the broad thatch into the little dell over which +the summer-house projected. It was a dispiriting thing to wander over +the lands of Quarry Wood farm, and see enclosures deserted when half +finished, and fields from which golden harvests had been anticipated, +grown over with briars and thistles. It was in such a place that Mrs. +Lambert met Joseph, one April afternoon, when the twilight was settling +down. + +“What hast thou got there, mother?” said he: “A heavy load for thee to +carry.” + +“Not so heavy as large. These stringy, branchy roots make a fine blaze +to drink tea by; and I thought it a pity this one should lie and rot +yonder. But thou hast thy hands full, seemingly. Where art thou taking +that poor thing to?” + +It was a ewe, very near its time of yeaning. Joseph explained that +Peterson’s eagerness about where the ewes couched and fed had put into +his brother’s head and his own a device which it was very well to have +thought of. In the next parish, tithes were only half the amount that +they were in this; and Charles and he had prepared the bit of land they +had in that parish for their ewes. The animals were now being +transferred thither, gradually and quietly, lest Peterson should set up +a plea of fraudulent removal. The lambs would remain there till the +tithing was over: and it was much to be wished that there was room for +all their flocks till shearing time should have also passed. + +“But I am afraid we must go a long circuit, before we can get to the +ground,” continued he. “This field is too deep in wet for the poor thing +to cross. ’Tis like a ditch, from end to end.” + +“I should not have thought there had been rain enough of late to soak +the meadow in this way,” observed the widow. + +“Except by filling the drains,” replied Joseph. “They are choaked up, +too, from our having left the whole concern hereabouts to itself, this +year. But how in the world am I to get this animal over? She will make +herself heard with her bleating after the flock.” + +“These are strange times, surely, Joseph, when a ewe may not bleat her +own bleat, and when a son of mine skulks under a hedge on his own farm.” + +“And the cause is full as strange, mother,—fear of man. I little thought +to fear men; but there are two that I would go a mile round to avoid.” + +“And they would say it is because thou art trying to cheat them;—in the +very act of carrying thy ewes to yean out of their dominions.” + +“Let them say so. It is not such a charge that I fear. Disclaiming, as +we do, the ordinance of a priesthood altogether, my conscience leaves me +free to put my beasts to couch and feed where it is most convenient, +without regard to the parson. My fear is that I should hate those men. +They injure me, and I cannot resist; and I have lost patience of late. I +would rather walk close under my own hedge, and keep my ewe from +bleating than speak, even to myself, as I hear some speak of the +collector, and of the vicar, who countenances him in his strictness.” + +“I sometimes think that if the vicar’s wife were still living, she would +be rather uneasy about his terms with his people. She would hardly like +his being much from home after dark.” + +“So, that has struck thee too, as well as Charles and me. It was only +this morning that I was saying to Charles, that perhaps it is a blessing +that Alice is too young to have such fancies as she may live to suffer +from. I suppose she is in bed and asleep when he goes and comes through +that lonely lane at the back of the vicarage, as he visits his brother +of an evening. That lane is hardly the place for a man who has so many +enemies.” + +“I trust thou hast no apprehension of anything worse than a few insults; +or at most a beating, to show contempt.” + +“Indeed, I thought of something much worse. There is less contempt than +hatred of this man. He is so persuaded that he is right in all that he +does that it is impossible to despise him as if he defied the inward +witness: but he is the more hated as people see no end to their troubles +with him. If I am not mistaken, there are some in the parish who have +diligently inquired his age; and not precisely for the purpose of +wishing him many happy birth-days.” + +“Is the ewe by thy side?” asked Mrs. Lambert, in a low voice, and +peering through the gathering twilight; “or was it something else that I +heard stirring in this ditch?” + +It was not the ewe, but Peterson, who had come, as he said, over a gap +in the hedge. In the darkness, it would have been impossible to make out +whether he had heard anything of what had been said. Mrs. Lambert +therefore asked him. + +“Friend, didst thou hear what we were talking about?” + +“Tones of voice tell as much as words, mistress: and I wonder at a plain +spoken person like you calling me ‘friend,’ when both you and I know +that you hate me like the devil. However, I am going to make you hate me +more still, I fancy. Mr. Joseph, you have let this land go to waste in a +very sad way; and a field yonder, too. The water stands a foot deep in +this meadow; and my children play hide and seek among the whins yonder, +where you might have corn growing, if you would.” + +Joseph supposed he might do as he pleased with the land till his lease +was out. + +“But my employer is not to suffer for your neglecting your land. The law +makes a distinction between land that is really barren, and that which +is needlessly inundated, or overgrown with briars. ‘The field of the +slothful,’ you know. My eldest girl got her frock so torn with your +briars, that she brought a pretty scolding upon herself, I can tell +you.” + +“Send her up to me, and I will mend her frock,” requested Mrs. Lambert. +“I will give her a new one if thou wilt let my son alone as to whether +there shall be briars or anything else in his field.” + +“No objection in the world, ma’am, if he pay the due tithe.” + +“I’m sure thou art kindly welcome to a tenth of the water in this field, +and of the stones in the one above,” observed Joseph. But this offer was +declined, and the old composition for these two fields proposed instead. + +Before there had been time for the dispute to proceed further, a strange +sound from the church tower arrested Peterson’s attention. The bells +seemed about to be rung, and Peterson was gone. + +What the occasion of rejoicing could be, the Lamberts did not know; nor +did they very much care. They had grown listless about good news, and +were now most anxious to conclude the business of the evening. As +Peterson had crossed the meadow, it must be possible for them and their +charge to do so too. The little ridge which stood out of the water was +found, and, one by one, several of the teeming ewes were removed and +penned into their new inclosures before Joseph went home; and no +tormentor appeared. + +Joseph told his mother that the labourers who had cut the osiers for +hurdles had been questioned whether the article was intended for sale or +gift, or for use on the farm. The labourers were glad to be able for +once to repulse the tithing man, whom they were weary of having for ever +at their heels. There was no small pleasure in seeing the meek animals +comfortably provided for on the outskirts of the farm; as if they were +as conscious as their owners of the inhospitable character of the parish +whose bounds they had crossed. It does not appear that lambs know a +tithing-man by instinct; but Joseph put expressions of pity into his +farewell for the night which might seem to imply that he felt them to be +fellow-sufferers with himself under the rule of the parish tyrant. + +After running home in the dark, with sleet pelting in their faces, the +mother and son liked the aspect of their house, with its old-fashioned +windows lighted from within. + +“See what it is not to wear curled hair,” cried Mrs. Lambert, wiping the +cold drops from her short, grey locks, combed straight down on her +forehead. “If I had had such ringlets as some fine ladies, now, what a +figure my sons would have thought me all this evening, with hair as lank +as a melancholy queen’s in a tragedy! I call it neat as it is.” + +Joseph had not observed his mother’s hair, he was so taken up with +examining a letter which had lain among the tea-things on the table. He +guessed its contents; and they were indeed such as would have damped a +far greater cheerfulness than could arise from the aspect of a warm +parlour on a chilly evening. Mrs. Lambert’s only sister, a widow, was +dead, and had left five children with a very inadequate provision, if +any. + +When Charles entered, a short time afterwards, he knew from the first +glance at his mother, sitting with crossed hands and a countenance of +placid gravity, that something was the matter. Joseph was standing in +the chimney corner, gazing into the fire. Charles looked from one to the +other. His mother roused herself. + +“We are not made to choose our own duties, son,” said she. “I know that +it is thy wish to be a husband, Charles; and Joseph and I wish it for +thee. But here are thy five cousins left helpless. Their mother is dead; +and while I live, they must be my children, as much as you. I must take +them into this house, and let them eat at my table.” + +“And do you think we will not help you, mother? I will go to-morrow and +bring them; and if it shall please God always to disappoint me, I must +bear it as well as I can.” + +“I hope he will let it be with thee as it has been with me, Charles. All +the worst troubles that I have known have been unlooked for; and every +thing that I have particularly dreaded has turned out better than I +expected. I know that this is a blow to thee, though thou bearest it +well at present. I hope that thou wilt not have to wait so long for +Henrietta as we now expect.” + +“I wish thou wouldst not speak of me, mother, when I know that this +death is a matter of great concern to thee. When my aunt was last here, +and every one said that she looked more like thy daughter than thy +sister, we did not think that we should not see her again.” + +The crossing of the hands again, and the slight change of countenance +showed that this subject was very painful. Next to her sons, there was +no one in the world that Mrs. Lambert loved so much as this sister—many +years younger than herself, to whom she had been, in early life, as a +mother. + +Presently she moved about, much as usual, doing all that she would have +done if no bad news had come,—only with somewhat more gravity and +silence. She did not forget to put on the dry root to burn; and it +blazed and crackled as busily as if it had been ministering to the +comfort of the merriest tea-party in the world. + +“There are the bells again!” cried Charles. “I thought I had stopped +them. I wish thou wouldst go down, and try to stop them, Joseph.” + +There was an odd reason for the ringing of these bells. A stranger who +had been seen loitering in the parish for a day or two was supposed to +be the person who had told the publican that the vicar had received a +remonstrance from his ordinary respecting his strictness in the exaction +of his tithes; and that it was probable that he might be removed ere +long, to give place to some one more acceptable to the parishioners. The +publican had made the most of the news; and some of his customers, +warmed with his good ale, had sallied forth, and found easy means of +setting the bells ringing. Peterson was trying in vain to silence them, +when Charles went down to enquire; but Charles had prevailed where the +tithe-gatherer had met with only defiance. The bells, however, were now +ringing again. + +Joseph thought that enough had been done. In a better cause, he would +not have regarded the sleet and the north wind that he must encounter in +his way to the church; but he now preferred sitting in the chimney +corner, hearing the merry peal by fits, as the gust rattled at the +window and passed on. Besides, his mother wanted him to help to lay +plans for these orphan children. + +When the Lamberts had been more prosperous than they were now, they had +planned an enlargement of their house, which was scarcely large enough +for themselves, and would have required an addition on Charles’s +marriage, if only from respect to Henrietta. It was particularly +conveniently placed for receiving an addition of two or three rooms on +the south side; and a pretty parlour, with a bay-window, was to have +ornamented the dwelling. Prudential considerations had caused the scheme +to be given up; but this evening it was revived. Charles produced the +plans which his brother had drawn, and which he had hoped would next see +the light in Henrietta’s service. He suppressed a sigh when his mother’s +decided pencil scored out the bay-window; and he roused his best powers +of judgment to discuss the necessary questions of convenience and +economy.—There was some good brick clay in one corner of the farm, and +timber enough for their purpose; and the young men thought that, by dint +of their working like labourers, and their mother’s superintending +during their unavoidable absence, the enlargement of their dwelling +might be effected without any very ruinous expense. The brick making was +to be set about immediately, if the weather should but prove fine +enough. Bricks were very dear this wet season; and the supply now wanted +must be made at home, if possible. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + COMMUTATION. + + +The bells, or the rumours of them, made themselves heard beyond the +parish. The vicar was little moved by them; but uncle Jerom was seen by +Alice, the next morning, approaching in a state of sad perturbation. As +he could not prevail upon his brother to modify his system through a +consideration for his personal safety and dignity, he now tried a +different kind of appeal. He asked whether it was not a deplorable +scandal to the church that there should be bell-ringing at the prospect +of a clergyman being taken from his flock. + +“It was less that than the belief that I had been rebuked by my superior +which caused the exultation,” quietly replied the vicar. “But you know +that neither the one nor the other is true. I will not, by yielding my +own claims, give occasion for the supposition that my superior yields +those of the church.” + +“But if you allow proprietors to buy up the tithes on their own lands,— +Parker for instance,—you will cease to have such for enemies; and it +will be a very different thing from selling the dues of the church to an +intermediate layman.” + +“Ah! Jerom, there you touch my conscience in the only tender part. I +have long repented letting my tithes to Peterson, as you recommended. It +was bad advice, Jerom, as is all advice to rate at an average a revenue +for sacred objects, of which revenue it is the primary quality that, as +God’s seasons vary, it must vary. Jerom, yours was bad advice.” + +“Indeed it seems to have been so, by the aggravation of your troubles +since Peterson became your lessee. But I find from him that Sir William +Hood is about to allow the great tithes to be bought up, in order to put +a stop to the deterioration of husbandry in the parish; and I really +think you could not do a better thing than follow his example when so +good an opportunity offers.” + +The vicar spread both hands before his brother, in emphatic refusal. + +“Papa,” said Alice, “I wish you would do as you are bid, sometimes, as +you are always telling me to do. Why don’t you mind what uncle Jerom +says, and what every body says? Well, it may not be every body’s +business; but I know what Jane says; and I am sure she is as fond of you +as any body can be.” + +The being fond of him argued such a right mind towards the church, that +the vicar was immediately prepared to hear what Mrs. Byrne had to say. + +“She says that she is frightened to hear how people talk; and that she +shall never be easy to see you out walking till you have somehow put +other people into your place about collecting the tithes. If there must +be tithes, so that Mr. Parker must always look out of humour, and the +Lamberts grow sad, and Mr. Byrne give up more and more things in his +garden, the blame ought to go where it is due, she says; and that is to +the church, and not to you. And it would be so, she thinks, if people +all bought their own, and there was an end of the quarrelling that there +is now, twice a year.” + +“I wonder who suggested the idea to her,” observed the vicar. “If I +thought it was Mr. Mackintosh——” + +“I think it was not Mr. Mackintosh, papa. I think it was the man that——” + +“I know whom you mean,” said Jerom; “the stranger who has been hanging +about the parish lately,—no one can tell why. Some of my people suspect +that he is an agent in the rick-burning plot. I am sorry that Byrne lets +him within his doors.” + +“And so is Jane, I think,” said Alice. “She always tries to prevent my +seeing him, if he happens to be in the cottage; and once I observed her +cry the moment she saw her husband bringing him up the road. Perhaps he +will go away, papa, if you will do as they wish you should.” + +This was not the very best kind of appeal that Alice could have used. He +yielded so far, however, as to allow his brother to bring him word how +the bargains for the great tithes between Peterson and the payers were +framed, and what effect they appeared to produce on the minds and +manners of the discontented. He would determine accordingly as to +revising his scruples, or dismissing the matter entirely from his +thoughts. + +Of course, those who were visited by Mr. Peterson and his companion +varied in their eagerness to buy up their tithes, in proportion to the +duration of their interest in the land. A farmer who had just entered +upon a long lease offered a twenty years’ purchase at 7_l._ per acre, +all round,—arable and pasture. Others who were near the end of their +lease, and were discouraged by the unfavourable aspect of the season, +desired to buy up their tithes year by year, if they could but be secure +against competition. Mr. Parker was willing to make a liberal thirty +years’ purchase, in order to free his own estate, and leave himself at +liberty to improve it without discouragement, or bequeath it to his son +without disadvantage. The sum demanded from him, as a hop-grower, was, +however, so enormous, that he declared he would rather give up growing +hops, as others had done before him, than pay such a merciless impost. +Peterson asked him what he would have; and showed him that other +people’s hop-grounds had yielded at the rate of 3_l._ per acre. Mr. +Parker wished to proceed upon the basis of an average of the last five +or seven years; but this was declared to be the most fallacious of +guides. Peterson contended that the seasons had been peculiarly +unfavourable, and that the modes of management had so varied within six +years as to leave no reasonable average. He proposed to value the land +and the tithe, deducting the poor-rate and a per centage for the owner’s +trouble in stacking, thatching, and threshing his farm produce, and +carrying his hops to market. He considered it very liberal to offer a +further reduction of 20 per cent. in consideration of the security of +the impropriator from the accidents of chance and change: but Mr. Parker +hesitated and grumbled, and treated Peterson’s companion with nearly as +fine a lament over the assimilating qualities of the church as Mr. +Mackintosh himself could have offered. He related that he had a pretty +farm near town which had never before been let by him for less than +5_l._ per acre. It was with difficulty that he could now get 3_l._, on +account of the enormous tithe. It was bad enough to have the poor’s-rate +as high as 13_s._ per acre, and the sewer’s-rate perhaps 7_s._ or 8_s._ +more; but the amount of tithe paid in addition was intolerable. The +three rates together amounted to nearly 3_l._ per acre over the whole +farm. He hoped Mr. Hellyer thought he contributed his share towards +promoting the piety of the nation, when his land thus paid 3_l._ per +acre to maintaining a single clergyman. + +Peterson wished to know in what proportion the different kinds of +produce yielded. Mr. Parker was remarkable for a good memory as to the +several amounts of tithe. + + Wheat paid 20_s._ per acre. + Barley and oats 16_s._ ” + Clover 24_s._ ” + Tares 16_s._ ” + First crop of potatoes 25_s._ ” + After which (on the same land) turnips 16_s._ ” + Second crop of potatoes 20_s._ ” + Hay 8_s._ ” + Onions 40_s._ ” + Collards 16_s._ ” + A sow 10_s._ 6_d._ + A cow 15_s._ + +And garden and farm-yard poultry according to circumstances. A certain +amount was to be paid for all small tithes, whether the tenant produced +the titheable articles or not. + +“There are plenty of men like you,” observed Mr. Parker to Peterson, +“who talk of an average of a few years on each separate estate,—five or +seven years,—and would have any commutation that is proposed proceed +upon such an average. Now, here is a case which shows you the injustice +of such a principle. My interest in my land would be almost annihilated +if I allowed it to be calculated to yield 2_l._ per acre to the church. +To perpetuate such a charge as this would be to ruin the owners of land +near London, and in many other situations. They say the price of produce +would rise accordingly; but before it could rise enough to repay me for +such a sacrifice, the people would be boiling acorns and stewing nettles +for food.” + +“And it would ruin the church in some other districts,—” Jerom was going +on to say; but Mr. Parker interrupted him with,— + +“Not so completely as the present plan, sir. The worst enemy of the +church,—Mr. Mackintosh himself,—could not desire more than to see the +church consuming the state, as it is doing now. As for men that we think +wiser than Mr. Mackintosh, they are of opinion that religion was given +us to bless our bread, to prosper us in basket and store, and not to +devour our plenty. The people cannot but see that the reverse is the +case with the established religion of this country;—that in plentiful +seasons, the clergy take much, (legally, I allow,)—and that in bad +seasons they take more, (legally, and therefore the more gallingly.) The +people cannot but feel that as the net produce of the nation grows +smaller in proportion to the gross, and as the clergy seize a larger +proportion of the net produce, the question must come to this,—whether +the people shall have state-priests or bread. How the clergy are likely +to fare in such an alternative, I leave it to you to guess.” + +“So, you allow that this is a question pertaining to the people. You +allow that the landlord does not alone support the church.” + +“Look at the owners of tithe-free lands, and see the folly of such a +question. They are getting rich under the operation of our precious +system of inequality. And how? Not merely because their farms are in an +universally better condition than the tithed: not only because the abbey +farm is better worth 20_s._ per acre rent than the Quarry Wood farm is +worth 13_s._, for the reason that the one does not pay tithe and the +other does,—and so on, through all farms that bear this distinction; but +because these landowners are profiting by the high prices of produce +which must cover the sacrifice of the tithe-payer. No, no: landowner as +I am, I never was heard to say that the landlord pays the tithe, in a +general way, any more than the farmer. They both have their grievances, +and their occasional losses under the system;—they are vexed from month +to month, and eat dear bread and meat in their own families, and pay +high wages to their labourers; but these sacrifices are made by them in +their character of consumers; and it is the people who pay the tithes; +the poor Stockport weaver in his garret, and the half-starved +apple-vender in her cellar, as truly as the Lamberts and myself.” + +“You would sweep away tithe, at once and for ever, I suppose, in pity to +these poor people; and set your vicar and myself to weave in a garret, +or sell apples in a cellar.” + +“No; it may be left to Mackintosh to preach up such a scheme of +spoliation as that. If the clergy alone were concerned, I might be +willing,—not that they should weave and sell apples,—but that they +should obtain their support, like other servants of society, from the +hands of those whom they serve. But tithe property has become so +complicated with other property as to be equally sacred with that other +property: and I should cry out as vehemently against its abolition +(without compensation) as against reducing the interest of the debt. No +wise man—no man of honour—can advocate either kind of public robbery.” + +“Since there is this complication of tithe with other property, it had +better be let alone. You can no more disentangle it than you can pay the +debt. You will never achieve a scheme which will satisfy both tithe and +land owner.” + +“Probably. It would be strange if a perfectly unobjectionable plan could +be formed to lead us out of the mischiefs of a pernicious system whose +evil influences have been accumulating for centuries. But, if the church +and the landowners understand anything of their own state and prospects, +they will be anxious for a final settlement of their accounts within a +defined and early period. Such a settlement must take place, sooner or +later, since this tax involves the very principle of perpetual growth. +Nothing but absolute transformation can prevent it enlarging till it +swallows up everything.” + +“I am sure my brother and I do not find it so.” + +“Because you cannot recover your dues; but the farmer can instruct you +here. My father had a favourite little farm of a hundred acres, which +was left to him in 1791, and came into my hands in 1812. When he first +let it, the rent was 80_l._, and the tithe 14_l._ 9_s._; in 1798, the +tithe had risen to 17_l._ 12_s._; in 1805, rent was 95_l._, tithe 23_l._ +7_s._; in 1812 the tithe had risen to 29_l._ A farm of mine, which let, +a few years ago, for 240_l._, then paid 30_l._ in tithes. It now lets +for 689_l._, and the tithes are 140_l._: that is, the tithes are nearer +five-fold than the rent three-fold what was paid before. And, in like +manner, there must be an increase all over the country, since the same +proportion of the gross produce must be paid in tithe, through every +increase of the expense of such production. Therefore, above all things, +let us know, in rectifying our tithe system, that we really are to have +done with it by and by; and when.” + +“And how do you propose to reconcile the clergy to the tithe system thus +being brought to an end?” + +“Those of them who understand their own position see, like other men, +the folly of the clergy stickling for tithes. The clergy have only a +life-interest in tithes; and the possession of a certain income is the +circumstance which is of most consequence to them. Some contend for +tithes as if they were the most secure source of income in the world, or +as if they were an inheritance for a future generation; but many more +would be glad to depend on a fund less precarious, and less odious in +the collection.” + +“Do you allow nothing for attachment to ancient ecclesiastical +institutions?” + +“In your simple brother: but there are faithful churchmen, just as much +attached as he to ancient ecclesiastical institutions, who have eyes to +see the different effects of the tithe systems of Ireland and Scotland, +and who reason from them. They see how, in Ireland, the farmer becomes a +peasant, and then is hunted out of house and home by the proctor, and +then turns on the proctor to maim and murder him; while in Scotland, the +farmer carries home his harvest without interruption, and looks with +compassion on his English brother. In the first case, appears an +aggravated repetition of the abuses of the English system; in the other, +the tithes are drawn with comparative harmlessness, whether by the +crown, the clergy, or laymen, in the form of a fixed rent. So long ago +as Pitt’s time, there were not wanting bishops to approve of the church +being supported by a civil fund. It is true, the plan would have been +all for the benefit of the clergy, in the very point in which it is most +important to obtain relief.” + +“In that of the perpetual increase of which you complain?” + +“Yes. When the tithe should have been bought up, in the same way that it +was intended that the land-tax should be, and the proceeds invested in +the funds, the people were not to flatter themselves that they had done +with the tax. The income was to be so adjusted as to admit an increase, +from time to time, in proportion to the rise in the price of grain. The +bishop who recorded this scheme breathed no syllable about the +desecration of the church by this mode of augmenting its funded income: +and the objections of his brethren were of a different cast.” + +“As different, probably, as mine from my brother’s, when we sit down to +talk over the prospects of the church. I have not the least objection, +as he will tell you, to an alteration in the source of our incomes, if +the change could be innocently brought about; but I never could see how +injustice and tyranny, towards one party or the other, are to be +avoided. It is tyranny to the landowner to compel the universal and +immediate purchase of the tithe; and it is injustice to the clergy to +prohibit that natural increase of their revenue which they consider to +have been guaranteed to them by the very institution of tithes?” + +“Suppose a plan which should contain an alternative by which both these +objections should be answered. Suppose a scheme of commutation under +which a tithe-rate should be instituted, subject to increase upon a +demand for a revaluation of land, from time to time; while an option +should be given to the landowner, to be subject to this increase, or to +make a twenty or thirty years’ purchase,—that is, a final purchase of +the tithe. I think there might be such a plan.” + +“And then those who paid the most tithe would be the first to redeem. +But how would you set about ascertaining a _tithe-rate_, afraid as you +are of taking an average of a few years as a rule?” + +“That objection applies only to perpetuating the limited average of an +individual estate. If the average is extended over a parish, or over a +county, the calculation becomes a much fairer one. I see no other +principle to proceed upon than that of taking an average; and the +question of fairness lies between taking in a longer period of time and +a larger extent of space. I feel that it would be hard upon me to +perpetuate the tithe of my farm near town at 2_l._ per acre; and though +it would be fairer to take for a basis the average of tithe which it has +paid for fifty years, a better plan still would be to find out the +proportion of tithe to yearly value of land all through the county, and +to fix the tithe-rate according to this proportion.” + +“You could never get such a valuation made fairly. When you meet with a +modus, what are you to do with it? And how are you to settle what is +arable land and what pasture? And every farmer will protest against some +kinds of produce that are particularly profitable being no more taxed +than others. There would be complaints of you,—a hop-grower,—being let +off as easily as a grower of corn.” + +“All these matters of detail might be settled when once the general +principle is agreed upon. If hop-grounds now pay considerably more, from +the nature of their produce, than other lands, let them be subject to a +fair extra charge. Let a term be fixed,—five years, perhaps,—within +which the tillage of lands shall cause those lands to be called arable. +And what is easier than to deduct any modus from the tithe-rate? Give us +the principle of a good scheme, and its application will not be long +delayed by difficulties about these minor matters of detail?” + +“Your plan would be to have an ascertainment of the annual value of the +land, and of the tithe, upon an average of a few years. You would settle +their relative value, and declare it in the form of a poundage upon rent +for the county. You would allow a periodical revaluation on the +application of the tithe-owner——” + +“Or of the landowner.” + +“Of either party, of course. So the tithe remains liable to increase or +decrease——” + +“It would be increase. The nature of the tax insures its perpetual +increase. But the bad effects of this increase would be guarded against +by obliging the tithe-taker to accept from the tithe-payer a twenty-five +years’ purchase of the tithes, as a final redemption of his land from +tithes. If this tax be really the grievance it is declared to be, the +permission to redeem will be made ample use of. And the church——” + +“Ah! how do you propose to reconcile the church to the extinction of +tithes?” + +“To the perpetuation, I suppose you mean. If you should happen to live a +few years longer under the present system, you might chance to be taught +a little more correctly what extinction is. If you now find it +impossible to collect all that is due to you, you may have no chance of +collecting any thing twenty-five years hence. The church may be very +thankful to have its present amount of revenue secured to it, and to be +allowed the opportunity of making a permanent property of it. My great +doubt is——” + +“Under what agency the commutation is to be effected so as to satisfy +the parties. Who will undertake it?” + +“Agents so various as to secure impartiality. Royal Commissioners, +perhaps, might make the original valuation: and they might be followed +by arbitrators who should settle disputes. Then the mechanical part of +the business,—the ascertainment of the tithe-rate,—might be done by the +justices. The business which most nearly concerns the church,—the final +bargain with the landowner, and the investment of the purchase-money +either in land for glebe, in the funds, or in mortgages, might be +managed by a corporation of churchmen.” + +“But how many landowners who may wish to redeem will be ready with the +cash?” + +“Why must the church be paid in cash? A mortgage on the land to be +redeemed, with a good rate of interest,—say 4 per cent.,—would suit the +convenience of all parties. A small per centage on the tithe-rate +collected would defray all expences.—I do not see how any difficulties +which can attend a scheme like this can be shown to bear any comparison +with the evils daily endured under the present system. The doubt I spoke +of is whether the great body of the people would not complain of the +church being too well treated, its chances of existence being too +favourably computed, under such a scheme as I have given you an outline +of. I, for one, should say so, if I supposed that the church must either +retain its present form or perish. But, believing that there is an +alternative, I am willing to do my part in such a compromise as I have +proposed.” + +“What kind of an alternative?” + +“The transformation of the church, so that it may fulfil the original +purposes of its establishment. When the church was established for the +promotion of religion, religion was the only kind of education which +could be given to the people. The time is come when not only must the +church be made an educational institution, in order to fulfil its +original design, but the religion which it professes to protect cannot +be supported without the aid of education. If it could be, it would be +superstition, and not religion.—Yes, the days of the present mode of +existence of the Church of England are numbered. Religion flourishes so +much more eminently, so much more extensively when supported by the +free-will of the worshippers, and has been so indisputably proved +incapable of an incorrupt union with the state, as to leave no doubt +that the Church of England, already a very minute sect among the +worshippers of christendom, will soon become too insignificant and weak +to maintain its place, unless it quits the ground of its present +monstrous assumption, and takes its stand on the cultivated reason of +its supporters. I do not know why you,—a clergyman as you are,—should +look surprised at what is far from surprising to those who are not +clergymen. Look at the map of christendom, and see what space is +occupied by our church. Look at Great Britain alone, and mark what +proportion the dissenters bear to the church. Observe how many are +coming forth from her,—and those the zealous and the dissatisfied, +while, from the very nature of the case, the lukewarm and indifferent +remain in the bosom of the establishment. Mark the certainty that the +worldly and careless will go over to the dissenters from the moment that +dissent reaches the point of ascendancy over conformity, and then say +whether there be any other alternative than this,—that the Church of +England must enlarge its office, and improve its ministrations, or +fall.” + +“My brother will preach against you for a person as dangerous as Mr. +Mackintosh.” + +“He will not make Mr. Mackintosh less dangerous, but more so, by +preaching against him; and as for me, he might perhaps do more wisely in +hearing me than in marking me out to be questioned by those in this +parish who do not love the church as they once did.” + +“And you would tell those questioners that they must not love their +church any more till it is no longer a church, but a school.” + +“Till the vices of the institution are exploded,—till the clergy cease +to be the organs and tools of the oligarchy, for whose purposes the +corrupt system of church patronage is kept up. If the clergy were paid +according to their services by those whom they serve, instead of being +made the pretext for keeping up an ecclesiastical fund useful for +filling the pockets and disposing of the younger sons of the +aristocracy, there would be an end of the overgrown wealth of some of +our dignitaries, and the disgraceful poverty of too many of our working +clergy. There would also be some chance of the clergy ceasing to be +below every other class of men in a reputation for moral and political +independence.—‘By teaching, we learn;’ and there may yet be hope that +such of the clergy as shall be qualified to begin imparting the elements +of the morals required by an advancing age, may be able to bear the ark +of christianity through the troubled waters which they must soon +encounter. Such of them as are unfit for this office will sink, and, +while sinking, will cry that the ark has perished. But there will not be +many to believe it.” + +“God will support his own church.” + +“God will support the true faith; and his support must be looked for in +the usual mode of manifestation,—in the support of man,—in the +recognition by man of what is just and right.” + +“Your proposed method of commuting some of the property of the church is +to be recognized as just and right, I suppose.” + +“I believe it has a pretty good chance of being so, if one great +consideration be attended to in time;—a consideration which is at +present by far too little regarded. This measure can hardly be called +just to the people at large, unless it be followed up by another.” + +“Ah! that is the way. Every innovation brings another after it.” + +“How else is the race to advance? You yourself believe that the great +innovation of christianity brought many others after it; and, you may +believe me, these of which we are speaking form part of the sequence. +Justice requires that there should be an alteration in our corn-laws, to +meet the enlargement of demand that must follow upon the relief of land +from the burden of tithe.” + +“You do not mean that the clergy now eat more corn than they will eat +then?” + +“No; but the price of corn is now higher than it will be then. No one +knows better than you, as a clergyman, that not above one half of the +sums drawn out of their natural channel under the tithe system goes to +the clergy. Half of it goes into the pockets of the owners of tithe-free +land, in the shape of increased rent. This rent would fall; and after +it, the price of produce; and the fall of price would be followed by an +increased demand; and this demand would be supplied,—not only by +increased importation, (the import duties having previously risen with +the fall of prices at home,) but by the cultivation of inferior soils, +now no longer subjected to the burden of tithe. A quantity of the +capital of the nation must thus be buried in inferior soils, and tend to +increase rent,—_i. e._ to enrich the landlord, and, once again, the +church, at the expense of the people.” + +“But the great obstacle to the repeal of the corn-laws at present is the +amount of capital which is invested in inferior soils.” + +“The very best reason for not tempting or compelling a further +investment of the same sort. The whole benefit of the commutation +depends upon this. If the import duties be so lowered as to admit of the +usual supply from abroad, our people will obtain the desired relief from +the change of system. If not, it will matter little to the weaver and +the apple-vender, at the end of five years, whether they pay their tax +to the clergy, or to the barrenness of the ground. It should not, in +this conjuncture, be forgotten that the plea of landlords for +maintaining the corn-laws has always been the taxes upon agricultural +production,—and tithes above all the rest. If, when tithes are commuted, +the landlords should change their plea, and declare that it was not they +who formerly paid tithes, but the public, and that they therefore need +the protection of the corn-laws as much as ever, I trust the legislature +will perceive that the corn-laws ought not to have been kept up thus +long, instead of fancying that they must be maintained yet longer.” + +“You are hard to please,” observed Jerom, with a grim smile. “Though a +landowner, you are no more fond of corn-laws than of tithes.” + +“I grant that you and I should find it difficult to settle which is the +worst,—for ourselves, and for the people at large. I only wish I could +make you, a clergyman, as discontented with tithes as I, a landowner, am +with corn-laws.” + +“Some people,” observed Jerom, “complain of tithes as being bad in a +deteriorating country; but you have been murmuring at their operation on +your father’s improving farm.” + +“For the good reason that tithes are injurious in the extreme, in either +case. In an improving country, where there is capital ready for +application, tithes are bad as discouraging the application of that +capital. Witness that pretty field of mine which must lie waste till I +can cultivate it without having all my profit swallowed up by the +church. In a deteriorating country, the tithe is bad, because it tempts +to the cultivation of inferior in preference to superior soils, and +raises wages, and augments, both in value and amount, with scarcity. +Witness its effects upon the Lamberts,—the poor ground they have sown +this year, and the better that they have let alone, and the general air +of deterioration caused by the higher price of labour. I am afraid +Peterson is plaguing them again about some new claim or another. He left +us long ago, and walked that way. He is fond of doing business with +them, because, as Quakers, they can offer no resistance. Shall we go and +see?” + +As was anticipated, Peterson was found worrying the Lamberts. Wherever +the axe and mattock were heard, there, as a matter of course, was +Peterson; and his quick ear had caught the sound of the chopping of wood +while Mr. Parker and Jerom were arguing. The Lamberts’ labourers were +busy in making faggots of a good deal of wood which had been cut some +time before; and of these faggots Peterson was claiming his share. + +“Do look at him!” said Parker. “He is going to measure trees, I do +believe, to see if they are of the required twenty years’ growth. He +carries his measure about with him, as a surgeon does his lancets.” + +“If thou wilt only go and ask any lawyer,” said Joseph, who was much +heated, “he will tell thee that thou hast no more right to the tops and +lops of our pollard oaks than thou hast to the tenth chamber of any +house. With all thy boast of law, thou mightest know that, I think. The +loppings are exempted as much as the bodies.” + +“We shall see that, friend. Meantime, I shall take leave to measure what +I call, in a legal sense, underwood, and you timber. You will please to +show me the beeches from which all this wood was cut.” + +“Thou mayst try and find them out. But, friend, I give thee notice that +it will do thee no good, if thou shouldst chance to find the right tree, +and that it is twenty-five inches in the girth. Thou hast apparently +forgotten some purposes that wood may be cut for.” + +“By no means; but you cannot deny that these ash-poles are for sale to +Mr. Parker for his hops, and these faggots for the market.” + +Mr. Parker denied that he meant to purchase any ash-poles of the +Lamberts; and Joseph declared that the faggots were for use on the farm. +Peterson would not believe it, so great as the quantity was. Was he to +believe that these half-dozen men, all chopping and binding, as if to +supply the parish with fuel, were merely preparing wood for farm +purposes? + +“Yes: we have to burn bricks; and, in this rainy season, there is no +time to be lost. And now, friend Peterson, art thou satisfied?” + +“By no means, till I know what the bricks are for. They may be for +sale.” + +“They are for enlarging our house on the Abbey Farm.” + +“Enlarging. Hum. Not repairing. If it had been mere needful reparation, +the wood for burning the bricks would not, as you say, have been +titheable. But enlarging is a different matter, as my book will show +you. You must set out tithe of this billet wood, and these tops and +lops.” + +“I assure thee, it is not for our pleasure, or for any purpose of +vanity, that we are going to enlarge our house. Indeed, the times are +not suited to such an intention. We are merely preparing to receive a +family of orphans who have no other home to look to.” + +Peterson had nothing to do with this. Sir William Hood was not to suffer +for there being orphans in the parish. + +“Cannot you contrive, now,” asked Mr. Parker, “to tithe these orphans, +as well as the wood that is to burn the bricks that are to build them a +dwelling? If there happen to be ten of them, I dare say Mrs. Lambert +will not grudge one of them to the church.” + +Joseph could have made a long and eloquent reply to this; but he was +particularly anxious not to detain the tithe-gatherer, lest any accident +should lead the conversation round to his precious ewes, so as to put +Peterson upon missing them from their accustomed places. He briefly said +that he and his brother should, as usual, decline to set out tithe of +wood; and if the agent chose to seize it, the proceeding must be at his +own risk. He took up a hatchet, and made noise enough to show his +troublesome visitor that no more conversation was desired. There was no +use in entering with the Lamberts on the subject of a sale of their +tithes, as their principles forbade their admitting the right to levy a +tax for the support of religion. + +Mr. Mackintosh could not bend his spirit to a compromise. His tithes +must be taken by seizure, if at all, so long as he remained at the +rectory. Others were more ready to compromise,—particularly those who +wished to free land of their own from an interference which made them +feel very much as if the land was not their own; but there was so much +trouble in settling the averages, in agreeing about the deductions, and +determining the proportions according to the longer or shorter term of +years for which the purchase was to be made, that, before it was over, +all parties began to wish that some principle had been established for +general guidance;—that, in a case so peculiar, the negociators could +have been assisted and protected by government sanction. + +There was no hope of the vicar’s becoming such a negociator, when a +reduction of 20 per cent. in consideration of contingencies, had once +been mentioned as one of the grounds of an agreement. He would never +consent to surrender any of the dues of the church,—more especially as a +letter from a lawyer this day gave high hopes that the authority of the +church was about to be vindicated by the issue of his lawsuits with his +parishioners being in his favour. This was an encouragement to his +firmness and zeal which he could not disregard. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + + DIMISSION. + + +Two of the law-suits were soon decided. The vicar lost that which +related to the Abbey Farm, and gained that which disputed the reality of +the composition by which the defendant declared the glebe-land belonging +to the vicarage to be held. The defendant firmly believed that the +evidence of this composition existed; though, from its never having been +disputed before, it had been taken no care of; and to lose the cause and +pay the new claim of tithe would, he found, be a less expensive process +than recovering the evidence on which his defence must be based. He +declared that he should assert to his dying day that the vicar, like +many another litigious priest, paid himself twice over, keeping the land +and taking the tithe. The parishioners only waited, it was said, for the +decision of the third cause, to toll the bell, and give their pastor his +second warning of the consequences of making war against his flock. + +There were now, however, some peace-makers in the parish,—five little +peace-makers, who might be seen on a Sunday, walking hand in hand, all +in a row; three of them in sleek brown coats and overshadowing drab +beavers, and two in plain white frocks and close straw bonnets. The +parties between whom quarrels ran highest were united in showing +kindness to these orphans. The new rooms at the farm being yet scarcely +begun, many friends of the widow Lambert wished to take in the children +till she could comfortably accommodate them. Mrs. Byrne begged hard for +one of the boys, if he would not mind sleeping in the little bed that +Miss Alice had had good rest in, many a time. It would be an amusement +to her husband, who had been much out of spirits of late; and the little +gentleman would be a companion for Miss Alice when she came to watch the +bees, and do what she liked with the garden. Mrs. Beverly thought that +she and her maid could make the two girls happy, by setting them to work +upon some extraordinary patchwork, and to play with the baby-house which +had been Mrs. Beverly’s amusement on birth-days when she was their age; +but Mrs. Beverly spoke too late; the girls were already promised to the +vicarage. + +Well; she and her maid would have liked the girls best; but, since they +were engaged, they thought they could manage the two little ones,—the +youngest now running alone very prettily. But Mrs. Lambert could not +part with them all; and those she kept must be the two little ones, who +could sleep in her room. With her they therefore staid; and whenever +they had the rare luck of a fine morning, this rainy season, they might +be seen, the one trotting at cousin Joseph’s heels, in loving company +with the dog, and the other riding to the field on cousin Charles’s +shoulder. + +“Mother,” said Charles, on the day of their arrival, when he had +succeeded in stopping Rachel’s tears,—the tears of the stranger,—by +employing her to sew a button upon his gaiter,—“Mother, dost thou not +think that people may be too tender-hearted sometimes?” + +“Is thy mother too tender-hearted? Then I am afraid thou art too like +thy mother, Charles.” + +“I should not have been like thee to-day. If it is really right that +Rachel and Margaret should go to the vicarage, I am glad that the vicar +did not fall in with me on his way here. I should have refused his +offer; and, I really think, so wouldst thou, but for the thought how the +children would enjoy one another’s company.” + +“I do not see what harm can befal them at the vicarage. It is a very +sober place. At least, I never heard of any dissipation that was going +on there; and the vicar reads the Bible in the family every day. They +will not have any gaiety beyond gardening with Alice, and playing with +her old doll. Will they?” + +Charles was thinking of something quite different from this. He could +not have brought himself to accept a favour for these children from one +who had conducted himself as the vicar had done. + +“Well, now, son, I do not see much reason in that speech of thine. If +the vicar has done ill by us, why should we hinder his doing better by +somebody else? I am afraid there is a little pride in thy objection. +What dost thou think?” + +“Perhaps there is some pride; but I do not much value the kindness of +one who can be so hard as he has shown himself in many instances. I +should be apt to think it flattery.” + +“Not in this man. He cannot flatter; and where he has been most wrong, +he thinks himself right. Ay; it is a strange delusion; but I think him +as sincere as he thinks me,—and thou knowest what reason he has to think +that. Dost thou know, I felt glad of the opportunity of letting his +people see how well he means, and what kind things he does when he is a +Christian; that is, when nothing puts him in mind that he is also a +churchman.” + +Charles was once again surprised at the deceitfulness of the human +heart. He was actually wishing to return evil for evil when he thought +he was consulting the dignity, (or other welfare,) of the children. He +would take them down himself to the vicarage, and go in to make his +acknowledgments on their behalf to the vicar. + +No children could be happier than Rachel and Margaret during their +stay;—patronised by Alice, stroked on the head by the vicar, kept in no +more than due order by Susan, visited by aunt Martha, invited by Mrs. +Beverly to make patchwork and play with the babyhouse; smiled at by Miss +Fox and all her school when they passed in the lanes; and allowed to +gather peas for Mrs. Byrne, when they went to her cottage to see +Jonathan. A long-expected day was, however, approaching, which was to +throw into shade all other days of delight. + +Alice had not yet been permitted by Mr. Mackintosh to make hay on his +lawn. Last year, indeed, she had felt herself too old and too proud to +ask the favour. Finding herself, from her parentage, shunned by other +people in her neighbourhood who were liable for tithes, she had not yet +attained her wish of once more handling a rake, and tedding the +sweet-smelling grass. This year, however, there was a prospect,—if the +sun would but shine so as to give the grass a chance of being dried. Mr. +Pratt, whom her father had conquered at law, was to pay his dues to the +vicar direct, and not through Peterson; and Alice persuaded her father +to prefer the tenth haycock, to be prepared and carried at his own cost, +to the twelfth, delivered at the loft. She and her five little friends +could almost make the hay: and O! the anticipations of the day! Rachel +and Margaret could never be sufficiently instructed and enlightened as +to what they were to do and to expect; and Susan had no rest till she +had promised buns and a bottle of cider, to be eaten and drunk upon a +haycock. The farmer took them by surprise with his notice at last, and +no buns were ready: but Susan promised that the young folks should not +die of famine in the hay-field, but that something eatable should follow +them at noon. She shrewdly perceived that this would be the more +necessary, as the children could eat but a small breakfast. They sat +still, and looked calm, as little quakers should: but they had not much +appetite. + +“How hot the sun is here!” cried Alice, laying her hand on the +window-shutter, which had been but too little noticed by the sun this +year. “Come and feel, Rachel! That sun will do for hay-making, if any +will.” And she stood on tip-toe, peeping over her papa’s shoulder, to +see how much tea he had forgotten to drink while absorbed in his book. + +She whispered to her companions that they might go and get ready, and +that they should not have to wait for her long. Because she whispered, +her papa heard her. He looked round him, and particularly at the room +door, as if wondering whether that slam was its own: then gulped down +his tea, and desired the dear child to go and make herself happy. + +“But, papa, you are going with us.” + +Impossible! What could the dear child be thinking of? There was an +absolute necessity for his clearing up a doubtful point which he had +promised uncle Jerom to solve; and he expected letters—— + +“Ah! about that law-suit that makes everybody so rude to you! I wish you +would not have any more of those law-suits. People would like you much +better if you would go and make hay. Let this be the very last law-suit, +papa.” + +She could not wish this more than he did. If his people would only not +fail in their duty to the church, he should be the last person in the +world to resort to law. + +“Well, but do make hay, at any rate, papa.” And before her long string +of good reasons was fully drawn out, Rachel and Margaret were standing, +side by side, before the vicar, ready to say— + +“We wish thou wouldst go.” + +The vicar had seldom known Alice so eager and urgent; and if it would +really spoil the dear child’s pleasure that he should be absent, he +would put off his gown, and put on his coat, and go. It was particularly +inconvenient. He thought he must carry his book in his pocket, and read +in the shade + +“But thou wilt let us topple thee,” remonstrated Margaret. + +This might be determined in the field. He supposed this was Alice’s +inducement to press him so earnestly to go. Here his opposition ceased. +He remembered how perpetually he was thwarting his daughter’s desire +that he should stay at home after dark, and resolved to gratify her much +more reasonable wish that he should walk abroad in the morning sunshine. +He was ready nearly as soon as she, and only stipulated for being +allowed to go whither he pleased, when he had been “toppled” to their +full satisfaction. + +It was indeed a glorious day,—a day of more genial sunshine than had +been seen during the season,—the first day which a kindly shepherd would +acknowledge to be warm enough for the washing and shearing of his flock. + +“Look, look!” cried Rachel, who had run on before the rest of the party. +“What are those cruel people doing to the sheep? I do believe they are +going to drown the sheep in the pond! Canst thou not make haste and +prevent them?” + +Alice looked rather contemptuously on the town-bred child, and was +anxious to lead her companions round by another way;—not that any one +could enjoy a sheep-washing more than she; but she dreaded that further +disputes about tithe, and more hatred to her father might arise out of +his being present at the shearing. She need not have hoped to prevail, +however. Her father stalked on, unconsciously resuming his official air; +and the little girls were too anxious to know what became of the sheep +to think of staying behind. + +It was a great relief to discover that the sheep came out safe at the +other side of the pool; and that the dogs, however much noise they might +make, did not eat the poor animals. The men and boys, too, looked merry; +and presently Charles was seen giving his baby cousin a ride on a +sheep’s back into the water; which feat would hardly have taken place +amidst any desperate intentions towards the flock. Margaret next +concluded that all this was pure play. + +“I am sure cousin Joseph told me that old Sam had no time to play with +me, and that nobody had time to play at the farm till afternoon; and +there they are,—cousin Joseph, and old Sam, and plenty more, playing +with brothers, though they will not with us, Rachel.” + +“I don’t think it is any fun to the sheep,” observed Rachel. “They bleat +as loud as the dogs bark. But I never saw such large sheep in my life. +Look at that big thing, standing dripping on the grass! Didst thou ever +see such a fat creature, Margaret?” + +“It will be thin enough presently,” said Alice, “when the shearers have +cut off all that load of wet wool. Come, now, you have seen all you can +see. Let us go over this slope, where we can get as many cowslips as we +please, instead of passing all those people.” + +The little girls had not, however, seen half as much as they wanted. +They wished to make out whether there was any soap in the pool to wash +the wool so white; and they were willing to take the chance of a ride +into the water; and desired to persuade their brothers to go on to the +hay-field with them. Alice perplexed them with signs that she wished to +pass on. + +“Thou squintest thy eye,” observed Margaret. “What dost thou mean?” + +“Never mind now,” replied Alice, somewhat sharply. “It is too late now. +If you had minded me a little more than the sheep, papa would not have +thought of anything but going straight on.” + +“Art thou afraid of that man? He is not gaylooking,” remarked Rachel. +“He would see much better if he would come on this side the hedge, +instead of prying.” + +Alice now saw the man whom Mrs. Byrne disliked as a companion for her +husband, peeping through the hedge, and evidently watching the vicar, +while he handled the fleece of one and another of the flock, and looked +on more like a proprietor than a spectator. She ran down to tell her +father,—she scarcely knew why: but he was then too busy to attend to +her. + +“Halloo, parson, what are you about?” cried one of the many who had long +ago put away all pretence of respect in addressing their clergyman. +“There is nothing about them sheep belonging to you.” + +“How so, friend? You are going to shear the flock, I see.” + +“Ay: but this flock belongs to another parish. They are only brought +here to be washed. You will find, for once, that some things are out of +your reach.” + +The vicar argued the point for some time; could not understand the case; +must send Peterson to see into it; had been struck with the +non-appearance of his tithe of lambs this season; and should expect the +Lamberts to reconsider the matter, and employ somebody to set out the +tithe of wool before he should pass that way again in the evening, if +they would not do it themselves. He should be firm, as they had found, +on other occasions, he could be. + +Alice persuaded him to leave the rest of his argument to be finished in +the evening, and ventured to tell him, as soon as he began to walk away +with her, that she thought, and so did Mrs. Byrne, that the Lamberts had +taken that bit of land in the next parish for the very purpose of +putting titheable produce out of his reach. If he would ask no more than +was asked in the next parish, he would not be altogether cheated of his +lambs and his wool in this way. As usual, she was told that she knew +nothing about the matter. She was sorry for it. She wished she could do +some good. It was much wanted. When she now looked behind her, she saw +that many were laughing at the Lamberts’ victory, and some sneering at +her father; and the renewed shouts and barkings and bleatings seemed to +have something of mockery in them. + +No one was to be found behind the hedge when Alice would have pointed +out the peeper: but the grass of the dry ditch was laid in a way which +showed that some one had been stretched at length there. The vicar was +not surprised. Bread was so dear, this year, and wages in consequence so +high, that a great many people were out of employment. He had never +before seen so many idle people lying about in the fields on dry days, +and under sheds in wet weather: and Alice was aware that in no former +season had the vicar’s alms been so liberally distributed. + +“O dear! they have half made the hay, I do believe. See how busy they +are!” cried Alice, when her party came in sight of the gay scene where a +long row of men and women were tedding the grass; the women with their +gowns tucked up, and their arms made bare, and the men uncoated, and +frequently resting their rakes against their shoulders to wipe their +brows. The usual pastimes of the hayfield were going on. Children were +shouting with delight, and rolling one another in the grass, or +pretending to make hay with rakes far too unwieldy for their strength; +while the bigger girls who were sitting under the shade of the hedge +with babies on their knees, looked on enviously, and began to wonder +whether their charge would not be very safe sprawling on the ground. +Baskets and cans helped to make a show in the corner with the discarded +coats, and the dog that sat as guard, perking its head at every noise, +and looking fully satisfied with its own importance. + +This dog alone seemed to undergo no alteration when the vicar entered +the field. The first hay-maker who saw him sent the news along the line, +and laughter gave place to instant silence. It came full into every +one’s recollection that this gentleman would claim a tenth of the fruits +of this day’s toil. Byrne was only one of many whose wages were tithed. +The children got up from among the hay, and stared at him,—each with +thumb or finger in its mouth. They had seen a pretty little chicken, or +a yellow gosling taken from the rest of the brood, in the vicar’s name. +The boys stood in greater awe of him than the girls; for some wag had +told them that they had better take care how they played when the vicar +was abroad, lest he should tithe their marbles. The deputy nurses under +the hedge elbowed each other, and laid their heads together to whisper. +They were telling how grandfather taught them where to put the eggs they +found among the nettles, and never, on any pretence, to count them; and +how uncle forbade them ever to tell how many pigs the sow farrowed of; +and how it was a shocking thing for a gentleman to pretend to give +charity, when all he had to give came, mammy said, out of the labour of +people quite as poor as some he gave to.—The party from the vicarage +soon saw that there was no fear of the vicar’s hay being made for him. +There lay the grass, untouched. Moreover, it might be observed that no +hay was allowed to remain where the vicar walked. As soon as he +approached, the labourers turned a shoulder or back towards him, and +whisked away the hay, so as to leave him standing alone. He could not +help feeling this, and, as usual, he tried to conciliate by kind words: +as usual, he received impertinent answers, and, as usual, comforted +himself with the thought that he was suffering for conscience’ sake. + +In these circumstances, it would not do to let himself be “toppled.” +Rachel and Margaret were told that they must not expect it. They, +therefore, began to look about for rakes, in order to obtain the second +best amusement in their power. + +“Papa, what shall we do for rakes?” asked Alice. “The last time I made +hay, Byrne lent me a rake, and I thought we should certainly find rakes +with the hay.” + +“Dear child, we should have thought of that. It is a negligence of ours; +for the fair construction of the law is that the parson, or endowed +vicar, should, in making his own hay, provide the instruments necessary +for making it. But these people have doubtless rakes to spare, and will +lend them.” + +He tried whether it was so. He was sure the labourers must have rakes to +spare.—They looked at one another, and nobody made answer.—He was sure +they would not let Alice be disappointed;—Alice came to make hay.—No one +looked up.—That little boy appeared very tired with trailing his long +rake; perhaps he would lend it to Alice till he had rested himself.—The +child began, at his mother’s bidding, to make hay more diligently than +ever. + +“See, dear child——” the vicar was beginning to say, when Alice came up +to entreat him to ask no more favours. She had far rather not make hay +to-day: indeed, she did not wish it.—This was more than Rachel and +Margaret could, for their part, aver. There is no saying what aunt +Lambert would have thought, if she had seen how nearly they were crying. +The vicar perceived it, and, advising them to sit down and rest +themselves during his absence, said he was going in search of rakes, and +would bring some from the shop, if not from a nearer place, within an +hour. + +They did not rest themselves so much as a minute and a half. They began +showering grass upon one another: but, the very instant that the vicar +disappeared from the field, more rakes were offered than they could use. +“Papa! Papa!” cried Alice, in hopes of bringing her father back: but one +of the women held up her finger in a very forbidding way; and Alice saw +that if she was to hope for hay-making, she must leave papa uncalled +for. She almost wished now that he would not return. + +He did return, however, when the work was far advanced. Upon his own +shoulder he brought three rakes, which he offered,—not to the Quaker +boys, who had arrived and were eager for them,—but to the labourers or +their children who had accommodated Alice and her friends. But they lay +disregarded till the Quaker boys were allowed to take them up, because +it was clear that no one else would. + +The little folks had been offered some of the contents of the baskets +and cans; but had declined eating and drinking till they should have +made something like a haycock on which to sit and refresh themselves. +Just in the right point of time, appeared a messenger from Susan, with a +savoury-smelling basket, and two cool-looking green bottles. + +“I am sure we may make our cock now,” said Alice. “These people have +made some of theirs, you see, before they sat down to dinner.” + +“And we can spread it out again afterwards, if it is not dry,” Margaret +observed. + +“Dost thou find thyself hungry with seeing those people eating in the +corner?” Rachel inquired. + +So the basket was unpacked by some, while others drew the grass together +near the hedge, and piled it up till it appeared the largest in the +field. + +“One, two, three,—seven,—nine,—yes, papa, ours is the tenth haycock. Do +not you think there will be another for us to make? Do not you think +there will be ten more at the other end of the field?” + +The vicar feared that the remaining grass would be made into seven, +eight, or nine cocks, to avoid paying the church its due.—Alice was +immediately anxious to change the subject; and she made a prodigious +bustle,—calling one to sit here, and pushing down another there, and +raising the youngest little fellow, in the nankeen frock, to sit on the +top of the haycock, as on a throne. While she was carving the pie, the +child called out “Man! man!” + +“Yes, dear; a great many men, and a great many women too,” said Alice, +over her task, supposing the child was amused with the circle of +labourers. + +Her father had not sat down. He was contemplating, perhaps calculating, +the size of the field. His back was therefore turned to the party of +merry children. The next moment came something which stunned them like a +thunder-bolt,—the report of fire-arms as if among them,—as if out of the +haycock. They sat immoveable, for a second or two, till the vicar, who +seemed to be balancing himself on his feet, staggered, fell sideways, +and rolled over on his face. None who heard Alice’s shriek ever forgot +it. She alone started up; her companions sat mute; the haymakers were +all looking, but they did not come. How the poor thing pulled her +father’s arm, in the attempt to raise him! How the complaining sound “I +can’t! I can’t!” went to his heart,—which had not ceased to beat. He +tried to turn himself, and did so. + +“Turn me, dear child; do not raise me,” he said. + +“Come, come! O, why don’t you come?” cried Alice, waving her arms +towards the haymakers. Her companions joined her in shouting for help; +and, at length, several men came forward. Nobody asked who had done +this; but one offered to go for the doctor, and another for her uncle +Jerom, and a third for Susan. Her father himself settled what should be +done. His brother and the surgeon were to be summoned, and he would not +be removed till they came; only propped up with hay, so as to breathe a +little more easily. He asked if any one knew who had done this? + +“It is more like you can tell than I,” observed the man he seemed +particularly to address. “Perhaps you may recollect having offended +somebody.” + +Alice sprang to the child on the haycock, and asked where he had seen a +man just now. The child pointed to the other side of the haycock. +Somebody had been crouching there; and he must have entered and departed +through a hole in the hedge, which seemed to have been made for the +purpose. + +Half a dozen of the haymakers passed through this hole; but they all +came back with the same story,—that no trace of any person was to be +found in the next field. Alice believed, in her impatience, that she +could have found the murderer if she had been the pursuer; but who but +she would chafe her father’s clammy hands, and pass an arm beneath his +head, and fan him as his faintness increased? While listening, in hope +that he would speak, a distant sound smote her heart,—the tolling of the +church-bell. Her father felt the throb of her heart, and smiled as he +said, + +“It is not so, dear child. They are not tolling for me before I am dead. +It is the lawsuit—I was aware—I expected a letter to-day, you know.” + +“O yes; and I brought you out. I made you come here when you wished to +stay at home,” cried she in agony. + +“My dear child, it would have happened to-morrow if not to-day. It would +have happened in my pulpit if not in this hay-field, Alice. Times and +seasons are not in our hands, my child.” + +The surgeon soon came, and pronounced that his patient had judged +rightly in refusing to be removed. There were several hours of daylight +left.—Every one felt that this was the same as saying that the vicar +could not live till sunset. + +Half the parish were in the field before Jerom appeared. Every one +looked grave, and some changed countenance on witnessing Alice’s +despair; but there was no expression or semblance of grief for the +approaching departure of their pastor. Everything was done that could be +done; but more as an office of humanity than of affection. This was not +lost on the dying man, and must have caused him the keenest pang of +all.—He eagerly welcomed Jerom; for he had much to say to him. + +“This is a sad ending of my ministry,” said he; “but it is by no means a +new thing for Christ’s ministers to die in upholding the rights of his +church. God knows I have always been willing; but I grieve, (may he +pardon me!) that he has seen fit to make crime the instrument.” + +“Can we forgive the criminal?” + +“I do from my heart, and have long done so. Yes. I thought it would end +in this way, and prepared for it, as you will see when you come to +undertake the charge of Alice. You will go home with her, Jerom, and +stay till she has to leave the vicarage. See that she has her full +right,—that she stays till she has fulfilled the month’s warning of my +successor, after his induction. Do not let her remove a day earlier than +the law obliges her. I am urgent about this, because I believe the +people will run riot against the church as soon as I am gone; and I am +anxious that all decencies and proprieties should be observed.” + +Jerom promised. + +“I have left enough, I trust, for her support; and I bequeath to you the +corn and other crops in the ground. If my successor should be inducted +before the severance of any crops in which he has an interest, you will, +of course, aid him in recovering his dues, as you would aid me. If not +inducted till after severance, he may be spared the battle till next +year. But, Jerom, be mindful that the clergy must fight, side by side, +like brothers, in the present fearful state of the church, when its +rights are evaded, and its claims mocked at, and its ministers murdered +in the scene of God’s bounties!” + +Jerom checked his vehemence; and the dying man presently declared +himself willing to leave the care of the church in the hands of Him who +founded it. He died without one suspicion that the church for which he +had sacrificed himself was not indeed the church of Christ in all its +parts, as much as in the name which it has dared to assume. Not a doubt +entered his mind that his devotion to his office and its claims was not +of the true apostolical character. It never occurred to him, that he or +his church might be answerable for the degradation of Christianity and +the deterioration of morals in his parish. + +He died,—just as the sun was declining over the scene of God’s bounties, +as the vicar had truly described this place. There was a joyous +twittering of birds in the hedges, and the light breeze which fanned the +hair of the dead man brought sweet scents to those who surrounded him. +The cattle in the meadows rose from their grassy couch, and moved +homewards as the shadows of the willows lengthened. The sheep that had +been shorn stood bleating on the slope, or beside the pool, as if +wondering why the shearers had left them alone after stripping them of +the fleeces that lay strewed upon the grass. The old church looked +beautiful, dressed in ivy, and brightened with the latter sunshine, and +overshadowing the tombs around it. Yet this fair scene was one of +misery. The very church-bell was tolled in malice. The hedge concealed a +murderer. The milk-maids and the shearers were gone to gaze with more +awe than love on the passing away of him who should have taught them a +better evening thanksgiving than this. If there was any acknowledgment +of God and his bounties, it was in one or two who made it in humiliation +rather than in joy. What kind of Christianity could have been here +taught, producing such a result as this?—a Christianity mixed up and +defiled with superstition and worldliness; and which could therefore no +more bring forth the peaceable fruits of righteousness than a sun in +eclipse can shed broad day. + +As the body was carried home, all the people who had not been in the +field came out of their houses. Mr. Mackintosh was seen standing at his +gate, looking grave, but unmoved. He had something to say on the +occasion, though there was less of triumph in his tone than some who +knew him would have expected. + +“This comes of making a clergyman a revenue officer,” he muttered. “Poor +Hellyer might have made a very good clergyman, or a very good revenue +officer; but it is beyond any man’s power to be both, without betraying +the one trust or the other.” + +His housekeeper appeared,—tearful,—to ask leave to bring Miss Alice into +the house. She ought not to be in such a crowd as that, in all her +grief, and none of her friends with her.—Leave was eagerly given: but +the housekeeper hesitated. + +“Why don’t you go? Do not lose a moment.” + +“If I was sure, sir——if you would promise not to be very ready to tell +Miss Alice that there is no chance of her meeting her father any more——” + +“Certainly not. Certainly not. I am not clear on the point myself, and +never professed to be so. It is only when they build up upon their +absurd superstitions——But go.” + +Alice was brought in, and was not long without a friend by her side. +Mrs. Lambert, who had been too far off to hear the news, had observed +from the high summerhouse the crowd just leaving the field, and moving +along the road. She had hastily descended, and had joined the people +just as they were passing the church,—just in time to hear the remarks +upon the tolling of the bell. + +“Ay; that’s for the gaining of his lawsuit,—and’ much good it will do +him now! They say he was loth to come abroad this morning, because he +expected good news of his lawsuit.” + +“He did worse in beginning that lawsuit than in coming abroad this +morning. “’Tis my opinion that it was that lawsuit that killed him.” + +“Did ye hear his order about the wool-tithe, as he went by the pool this +morning? So proud! He desired it might be set out for him against he +came back.” + +“I hope, friend,” Mrs. Lambert had observed, “that thou art observing +these things rather as a lesson on the frailness of life, than as +taunting the departed.” + +The man thought that if the vicar had been paid like the dissenting +ministers of the next town, and had given himself up to his office, +without extorting tithes, his life would have been no more uncertain +than any other man’s. He should not say this the less now that the vicar +was being carried dead before him, than he had always said it when the +vicar was standing up in the pulpit on Sundays, or handling fleeces on +Mondays. + +Where were all Alice’s friends?—Uncle Jerom was following the body. Mrs. +Byrne was nowhere to be seen. It was many days before she visited Alice; +and when she came, she could do nothing but weep. Mrs. Byrne was +remarked by every one to be an altered woman from that day. + +Byrne was in the crowd; but Alice was afraid of him, and always kept out +of his way. Charles and Joseph were in pursuit of the murderer,—whom, +however, they could not find. It is believed to this day, that he was +harboured by some one in the neighbourhood; or he could not have evaded +the strict search instituted by the magistrates, as soon as the event +became known to them. + +“I am glad you are come, Mrs. Lambert,” said Mr. Mackintosh, when she +made her appearance, after delaying a moment to recover an appearance of +calmness. “I am glad you are come. We do not know what to do with this +poor child.” + +“Thou hast not the heart to attack her faith at such a moment; and thou +dost not know how to speak on matters of faith, but in the way of +attack. Is that it, friend Mackintosh?—I agree with thee, that there is +no worldly comfort which will to-day soothe this poor child.” + +“All you say about my fondness for attack may be very true; but see +whether it has half the effect in this parish of the superstition of its +pastor,—or of the system which made him its pastor:—I care not which may +claim the honour of doing most mischief.” + +“I grant that thy principles have led to no murder here, and that the +vicar would have been wise to ask himself, while censuring thee, whether +he was not playing thy game for thee better than thou couldst do it for +thyself. But, friend, that is no excuse for thy being as intolerant to +others as the church has been to thee. Between you, religion (or, as +thou wouldst say, morals) has had so little chance, that I would not +advise either of you to boast of the other’s delinquencies, lest the +argument should end in the display of thine own.—I will only just +mention the name of Byrne, as a sanction to my charge.” + +“You do not think he is the——” And Mr. Mackintosh’s countenance now +showed some emotion. + +“I have heard no one named as the murderer,” Mrs. Lambert quietly +replied. + +Mr. Mackintosh presently repented having allowed Alice to be brought in. +It made him completely wretched. Whether her grief was ungovernable, as +at first, or mild and reasonable, as it was when Mrs. Lambert had been +with her awhile, it was equally painful to him. He could do nothing with +minds but question and taunt them; and here, where the mind was too +childish to be questioned to any purpose, and too much harassed to allow +of taunting, there was no inducement to him to bear to witness the +suffering. When he was tired of being first ashamed of his own +helplessness, and then of being cross with his housekeeper, (who would +not quarrel with him, because she saw he was trying to carry off some +troublesome tenderness) he seized his hat, and walked out.—Mrs. Lambert +observed, that he went in the direction of Byrne’s cottage. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + BENEFIT OF CLERGY. + + +Sir William Hood (who was travelling abroad) supposed, like everybody +else, that the vicar was alone to blame for what had happened. Nobody +but those on the spot,—none but the sufferers,—dreamed of finding fault +with the system under which precisely the same grievances might recur. +They saw but too well that the virtues of the clergyman must, under such +a system, injure himself or them. If his virtues were like those of the +late vicar, centring in zeal for the church, he would oppress the parish +as the late vicar had done. If they consisted of disinterestedness and +mercy, they must injure himself in his worldly interests. The same +temptations must also again beset the parishioners;—temptation to +withhold the extreme dues of a moderate pastor, and to defraud a strict +one. The sufferers agreed, in short, with him who said of the tithe +system, “It has made the clergyman’s income to fall with his virtues, +and to rise with his bad qualities; just as it has made the parishioner +to lose by being ingenuous, and to save by dishonesty.”—They mourned +over their liability to a repetition of their grievances; and their only +comfort was in the hope that Peterson would not be again appointed to +rule over them. + +In this hope they were not disappointed. It was thought fitting by the +ordinary and impropriator, that the circumstances of the scene should be +changed as much as possible, in order that future irritation might be +avoided; and Peterson received notice that his services would not be +required by the future incumbent. He quarrelled with the vicar’s +executor, before going out of office, respecting the amount of rent due +for tithes received up to the day of the owner’s death, which +unfortunately left room for a dispute of this kind, from not having +happened on a quarter-day. The vicar’s tithes were collected in kind by +the churchwardens, for the benefit of the future incumbent, the services +of the curate being meantime paid out of the fund. Sir William Hood +appointed another agent to collect his tithes. + +During Jerom’s residence at the vicarage,—that is, during the few weeks +which Alice’s friends thought long enough for the assertion of that +dignity on which her father had bestowed some of his last thoughts,—it +occurred to many people that Jerom would like very much to be the future +incumbent of this vicarage.—Jerom did indeed wish it. The allotment of +new land, in which he had invested his share of the bounty, did not +answer. The tenant did not, he thought, cultivate it properly; and he +had no influence over the tenant, whom he had allowed to build on the +ground, and from whom he had no means of purchasing the new erections. +He was almost as poor as before he obtained the bounty; and could not +well have got through the year but for his brother’s legacy of the +little crops that were in the vicarage-ground.—He must get on, however, +on this little wealth, as well as he could; for the parishioners had no +intention of allowing anybody connected with the late vicar to be their +pastor. They gave Jerom to understand this very plainly. + +That wealth of his was indeed but small. The season turned out even +worse than was expected; and so generally, that its effects were felt by +every class in society. Wages had been rising all the year, and this +occasioned a further rise in the price of produce; and these things all +together proved to such as had eyes to see, the essential vices of the +tithe-tax. Never had there been a greater outlay with a smaller per +centage of gain to the cultivator than this season: never had tithe been +so expensive to him as this year, when he could least afford it: never +had the labourers, whose increased wages would not suffice to buy them a +sufficiency of bread, so enviously regarded the increase in the revenue +of the church;—an increase which arose from the same cause as their +privations. Many were now convinced who had not been convinced before, +that the bread-eaters of Britain pay a capitation tax to the church. The +average consumption of grain being commonly allowed to be equivalent to +a quarter of wheat a head, wheat pays a shilling a bushel as tithe, when +wheat sells at 80_s._; so that, at that price, the church exacts a +capitation-tax of 8_s._; it being clear that 72_s._ would be a +remunerating price to the grower, if he had no tithe to pay. Many now +allowed, who had not been fond of the subject before, that it is unjust +that the religion of little more than half the nation should absorb a +larger portion of the national resources, in proportion as these +resources fail. Many now hinted, that if the preachers of the gospel had +no power to feed the hungry with loaves in the wilderness, they ought +not to be entitled to exact larger tribute from their hearers, the more +their hearers hungered. + +There were many dreary days this autumn; but it was on one of the very +dreariest that Joseph ran out of the farm-house to invite his landlord +to shelter till the storm should be over. “Indeed,” he added, “we wish +particularly to speak to thee on a matter of some importance.” Mr. +Mackintosh was not so fond of a pouring rain as to be unwilling to let +his horse be led to a stable, and himself to a crackling wood fire, from +which orderly children moved away to make room for him. + +“I hope you have not heard of another suspected murderer,” said he. “I +am quite tired of receiving intimations on that head, convinced as I am +that we shall never be any wiser.” + +“We have nothing to say to thee of any new suspicion: but why shall we +never be any wiser?” + +“Because we all have a pretty clear notion that there are many who could +tell if they would: and if they have not told yet, notwithstanding the +fair opportunity that has been given them, and the high reward offered, +it is scarcely likely that they will change their minds now. Every new +information is meant to put us on a false scent, depend upon it. I hope +the people will leave off playing such a farce. We have all our own +guesses, I dare say, as to which was the fellow, and where he might have +been found the next night, and why a stranger should have been the one +to deal the blow. He considered himself perhaps, as others have done +before him, as filling an office like the hangman’s,—putting the finish +to a criminal.” + +“I call this unprofitable talk,” observed the plain Mrs. Lambert. “Wilt +thou hear the favour my sons have to ask of thee?” + +Mr. Mackintosh was not fond of being asked favours; but he could not +refuse to listen, in return for shelter, warmth, and good ale. The young +men were very urgent to be released from their agreement about the +Quarry Wood farm. Three years only of their lease had run; but their +losses had been so great that they earnestly desired to give it up. + +Mr. Mackintosh thought he had great reason to complain;—so much reason +that he did not feel himself bound to consider the interests of the +Lamberts in any such way as this. Was it not a subject of complaint that +the land was ill-managed? Might not any one see at a glance how far +inferior its condition was to that of the Abbey Farm? + +“And whose fault was that?” Charles asked. “Did it not arise from the +one being titheable, and the other, tithe-free?” + +“Which was known to thee when thou gavest thy money for it, I suppose,” +added the mother. + +“I would really advise thee,” interposed Joseph, “to find another tenant +who does not labour under our scruples regarding the tithe, and who has +therefore a better chance of making the undertaking answer.” + +“You seriously advise me. I really am much obliged to you, Mr. Joseph.” + +“I seriously advise thee,—for this reason: that if we do contrive to pay +thee rent, it can only be by cropping and exhausting the best land on +the farm in a manner which will not please thee, but to which we shall +be driven. Therefore, if thou canst find a capitalist who will +diligently set himself to contend about the tithe in a way which we, for +conscience sake, cannot do, it may be equally for thy interest and +ours.” + +“If you choose to find such an one, perhaps I may listen to what you +have to say.—But I won’t promise.” + +“Why? does it give thee pleasure to hold us to a bad bargain?” + +“Or to have my sons for tenants, perhaps,” said Mrs. Lambert, who +sometimes accused herself of being a partial mother.—Mr. Mackintosh +nodded at her, and said he had so little to complain of with respect to +the Abbey Farm, that he would offer this much;—to let the young men have +the Quarry Wood Farm rent-free for the remainder of the lease, they +bearing the charges on the land. + +They were obliged by this offer of compromise, but as far from hopeful +as ever. They had much rather give up the undertaking altogether: but +Mr. Mackintosh would go no further. He had every reason to believe that +the farm would not let rent-free, on condition of the tenant paying the +taxes, civil and ecclesiastical. + +The lease must run out before it changed hands, even at the risk of its +being left in bad condition,—half neglected and half exhausted. + +“Come, cheer up, sons!” said their mother. “Gloomy faces are not +becoming in us who profess to be more free of the world than some +others. You know I never encouraged high notions in you when we thought +we were growing rich; and I will not praise you for being low-spirited +while you are doing your best——” + +“For these children, as well as yourselves,” observed Mr. Mackintosh. + +“These children will grow up to take care of themselves, and help us in +turn, if we want help. And before that time, let us hope, other +Christians will find, as we do, that they can worship without taking the +bread out of one another’s mouths. There will be more people willing to +worship then, I fancy. My sons may live to see the gospel esteemed as +able to support itself as when Christ preached it.” + +“And you may live to see it, ma’am. It is an experiment which cannot be +very long delayed in this country,—as I believe a large majority of +thinkers agree in deciding, however they may differ as to what is +superstition and what is not.” + +“Thou wilt not find many who will agree with thee, friend, that there +must be superstition in believing in things unseen;—no, not if thou +shouldst live a thousand years. But thou art pretty secure of good +company in declaring some things to be superstition which were so a +thousand years ago,—such as asking in God’s name for gifts that are not +gifts, and setting up a priesthood in Christ’s name, when, if Christ +said one thing more plainly than another, it was that there should be no +more priesthoods.” + +“And to suppose that men will care for any matters of faith, be they +what they may, when the bread of these men is taken to uphold that +faith—it is folly!” + +“Worse folly than any faith can be, I agree with thee in thinking. This +is what we call shutting up the kingdom of heaven against men. It occurs +to me, friend, that though thou hast a taste for being singular, thou +art of the same mind with some who took these matters to heart very long +ago. I ask thy pardon for observing (I know thou dost not like to agree +with any thing in Scripture,)—that some one said before thy time and +mine, that the Lord is not pleased with offerings, such as thousands of +rams and calves of a year old. He had rather have justice and mercy. I +wish the church could be persuaded to go back to this old Scripture.” + + + + + ------------------------------------ + + London: Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES, Duke-street, Lambeth. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS + + OF + + _TAXATION._ + + --------------------- + + No. III. + + THE + + JERSEYMEN MEETING. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + + + --------------------- + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + + + + + LONDON: + Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES, + Duke Street, Lambeth. + + + + + THE + + JERSEYMEN MEETING. + + + + =A Tale.= + + + + BY + + + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + + + --------------------- + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CONTENTS. + + CHAP. PAGE + 1. A Phenomenon 1 + 2. A Legacy 18 + 3. Life in Lambeth 40 + 4. The Phenomenon again 61 + 5. An Economical Project 76 + 6. Lessons in Loyalty 93 + 7. Harder Lessons in Loyalty 109 + + + + + THE JERSEYMEN MEETING. + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + A PHENOMENON. + + +The moral sense of some people is shocked by the sentiment that it is +pleasant to stand in safety on the shore to watch the effects of a storm +at sea; but perhaps none were ever found to dispute the pleasantness of +standing idle on the heights above a shore to watch the proceedings of +busy people at sea. There are parts of the coast of Jersey where this +luxury may be enjoyed in absolute perfection; where not only the +features of nature are full of beauty, but where the spectator is +unmolested by the presence of any less happy than himself, and where the +industry which he witnesses is sure of its due reward. + +Such a station is the height of Anne Ville, which overlooks the thriving +village of Gorey in Jersey. It is luxury to sit on the remains of the +Druidical temple there, and think of nothing less animating than the +congregation of objects near; the bay of St. Catherine behind, where +green lanes lead from the very brink of the tide, each to its own snug +farm-house and blossoming orchard on the hill-side, and the solitary +tower of Archirondel, surrounded on its rocky station by the blue waters +of the bay: close at hand, Geoffry’s rock, from which, instead of +criminals being cast into the sea, as it is said they once were, white +sea-birds take their flight, scared by the laughter of children near +their haunts: the noble castle of Mont Orgueil overhanging the waters, +and casting upon them the shadow of its ruined battlements, while its +mantle of ivy waves in the evening breeze:—the fishing village below, +sending out and receiving back the oyster boats which throng about the +pier in the season;—the villages on the distant coast of France, when +the western sun lights them up into brilliant contrast with the +intervening expanse of dark blue; and far beyond these, on the extreme +horizon, the dim cathedral of Coutances. To spend a May evening in the +centre of this scene is a luxury to a stranger whose heart is not, like +that of a native, in one of the farmhouses in the interior, or among the +oysters on the beach below. A stranger is pretty secure, however, of +having this Druidical seat to himself on a May evening. So many repairs +are wanted for the boats, so much sail-cloth and cordage is called for, +and so large a portion of supplies is required for the little market of +Gorey, towards the close of the oyster season, that the men are more +likely to be guiding their creaking carts through the bowery lanes, and +the maidens carrying down the hills the produce of their far-famed cows, +than to be looking abroad from the heights of Anne Ville. + +On such an evening, however, a few seasons ago, some one might be seen +keeping a look-out from the poquelaye, (as the Jersey people call a +Druidical remain like that at Anne Ville,) whom no one could doubt to be +a native. He was a young man of about twenty, whose sallow face bore +testimony to his diet being that of a Jersey farmhouse, while his +knitted garments pointed him out as the son of one of the thrifty dames +of the island who look suspiciously on all manufactures which threaten +to supersede the work of their own hands. Aaron le Brocq looked indolent +enough as he leaned with his elbows upon the great stone, and his dull +eye wandered over the ocean, never once lighting up when a sail caught +the yellow ray which slanted from the west: but Aaron came hither on +business. Never was cordage so much wanted as now; and Aaron’s stock of +hemp was exhausted; and day by day he came hither to watch for the +arrival of some one of the friendly vessels which must be on the way to +supply his need. There were barks innumerable within sight; but even +Aaron’s dull eye could perceive, almost at a glance, that none of those +near were what he wanted. Besides the native-built boats, there were +many English vessels sailing hither and thither. Several which had been +accustomed to navigate the broad, smooth Medway, were now tossing and +turning in the currents and eddies caused by the ridges of low rocks +which nearly surround the island, and have proved its surest defence +during the wars of the two countries between whose grasp it seems to +lie. French homeward-bound vessels were gliding between the shores; and +a few of other countries, bringing supplies as much needed as hemp, were +crossing Grouville Bay on their way to St. Heliers. Aaron would go to +St. Heliers too, in the morning, if he saw no vessel before dark which +might be supposed to come from the Baltic. He would go and learn what +other people thought of this scarcity of hemp. + +It is to be supposed that Aaron fell into a reverie about this projected +trip to the port, and that he was thinking more of the market-place or +custom-house of St. Heliers than of anything within ken on sea or land; +for he started as if at the touch of the conjuring rod that he was +taught to fear in his childhood, when his friend, Charles Malet, laid +one hand on his shoulder, while with the other he pointed southwest, +saying, + +“There will be no time for growing drowsy at the poquelaye after sunset +to-morrow, if yonder vessel be from Riga, as they say she is. She will +be in port as soon as we can get there, and perhaps we may find her +cargo all gone in the scramble.” + +Aaron was on his feet in a moment, wondering how his thoughts could have +wandered away so far from the Baltic as to let a sail from that quarter +cross the wide bay, and almost disappear behind La Roque Point +unperceived by him. But there were many things besides hemp which this +ship might be bringing to Jersey; tallow for the candles, or oil for the +soap which some of the islanders were enabled to manufacture for a far +larger market than their own; or corn for home consumption, while they +sent their own to England. This may seem to some an ingenious project, +designed to benefit the shipping interest. To permit ships from Russia +to sail by the coasts of England, and land their corn in Jersey and +Guernsey, from whence an equal supply has at last to be brought to +England, seems like a benevolent scheme to give employment to some who +would otherwise be paupers. It looks like an approach towards the +fulfilment of the aspirations of the ship-owner, that every +merchant-vessel should be permitted to sail three times round the island +of Great Britain before landing its cargo. But, for whomsoever the plan +was first devised,—whether for the ship or land owners of Britain,—its +effect is to enrich the inhabitants of Jersey and Guernsey at the +expense of the bread-eaters of England. These islands are exempt from +the bread-tax, as from all the bad taxes of Great Britain, except +tithes. Their inhabitants, being allowed to buy wheat, without +restriction, wherever they please, can purchase it at 45_s._ per +quarter, while that which their fields produce is bought by the English +labourer at some price between 60_s._ and 70_s._ The benefit which +accrues to the Jerseyman is the difference between the price he pays, +and that which he receives when the amount of duty is deducted;—a +benefit marked enough to induce him to call for supplies from a distant +shore, and to retain the merchants of his own port in his service. No +wonder that any foreign vessel which passed within sight of the heights +above Gorey might be supposed to be bringing corn to the port of St. +Heliers. No wonder that Aaron was bewildered in a manner which would +have stamped him a half-idiot in England, when a perfectly new incident +presently occurred. + +As soon as the sea became dusky in the twilight, the two friends turned +their backs upon it, in order to pursue their way to the dwelling of +Aaron’s father,—a small farmhouse in the valley on the other side the +first ridge of hills which stretched north and south. They had not +proceeded far over the down when they were accosted by a person whose +appearance excited their wonder, while his business surprised them yet +more. Scarcely half-dressed, and unattended, though he was blind, he was +a mystery to Aaron. + +“What sort of charity do you wish me to show you?” he asked, in answer +to the beggar’s petition. + +“What you please, sir,” replied the beggar: “but I have not had a morsel +to-day, and I have no place to lay my head in to-night.” + +“How happens that? I’m afraid you have displeased Mr. De la Mare?” + +“Mr. who, please, sir?” + +“Mr. De la Mare, the hospital governor. You don’t know who he is? How +came you here, then?” + +Malet had seen more of the world than Aaron. He suggested that the +beggar might have come over in some of the oyster vessels from Kent,— +perhaps even from London; and that he might never have set foot in St. +Heliers. + +Would he get into the hospital among the blind? Aaron would take him to +St. Heliers the next morning, and try to procure him admission. Stephen +did not exactly wish this. He could find his way about, and did not like +being shut up. If the gentleman would only bestow a little charity, that +was all he asked;—by charity, he meant a little money for present use. + +“But what will you do when it is gone?” asked Aaron. “You cannot work, I +suppose, without the use of your sight.” + +Stephen (for so the beggar called himself) had not been able to do a +stroke of work these ten years. He trusted to the charitable and humane +to take care of him. + +“But you will not take their charity. You refuse the hospital! I don’t +see what you would have.” + +“He would live by begging, I dare say,” observed Malet, by way of +elucidation. + +“What! by asking every day for bread! I never heard of such a thing.” + +Charles Malet had once been told that this was a very common thing in +England. Besides the number of poor who were admitted into charitable +houses, like those at St. Heliers, there were many who did not know, any +morning of the year, where they should rest at night. Aaron thought this +a miserable lot; but Stephen the beggar seemed wonderfully cheerful +under it. He did not look ashamed, as a native would have done, of his +being only half-clothed;—perhaps the not seeing his tatters had +something to do with this. He had certainly been humming a tune, as he +ambled along, when the young men were approaching him; and even now, +though he spoke of hunger, he seemed ready to break out into singing or +joking in the intervals of the piteous looks he assumed. Aaron, as a +matter of course, took him home, but felt rather uncomfortable in doing +so. He was afraid that his father might be displeased if it should turn +out that the beggar was playing off a hoax; and that his mother might be +alarmed if Stephen should prove a halfwit, or to be under a spell; and +Aaron could scarcely doubt the one or the other to be the case. He took +Stephen by the hand, however, and led him on; not failing to remark how +marvellously his charge happened to escape hurting his ill-shod feet +against the large sharp stones which lay in the road. + +An opportunity occurred of introducing the stranger to a part of the +family before reaching the farmhouse; an opportunity which Malet was the +first to discern. Jersey is a land of trotting brooks. As every dwelling +has hills somewhere near it, every dwelling has a stream within reach. +There was one at the bottom of Le Brocq’s orchard; and there were the +women of the family assembled this evening, when the young men crossed +the ridge and descended into the valley—assembled on an occasion of +great importance. It was the first day of washing week; and as washing +week came but twice a year, it was sure to be a busy time. The profusion +of snow-white caps spread on the grass formed the chief light in the +landscape, for the grey stone farmhouse, roofed with dark thatch, +nestled dimly among the trees; so that even if all had not been alike +mantled with ivy, the dwelling would scarcely have been discernible. The +brook was more heard than seen, and the high ferns on the opposite side +presented the appearance of a smooth green carpet. But few blossoms +remained in the orchard to distinguish it from the oak copse which +sheltered it towards the east. Little could be distinctly seen but the +heaps of linen on the bank, and the moving figures beside it. They were +the two daughters of Le Brocq, and a damsel, the servant at the +farmhouse. They were finishing their work for the night; and when Malet +ran down to them with a lover’s speed, he found Louise rising from her +knees beside the little pool which had been her station all day, and +declaring that she could see no longer, and that it was time to go home +to supper. Anna was meanwhile spreading more linen on the ferns, where +it might be bleached by the morning sun; and Victorine, the maid, put +the materials of their next day’s work in an appointed place, among the +roots of an old oak. The brook, meanwhile, rippled and splashed, +carrying down the defilements of soap which had offended it all day, and +washing out the pools in which the work had been performed. Stephen made +bold to ask his conductor what all this was about, and to declare what +shameful waste it would be thought in England to wash linen in a running +stream, where as much soap would be lost as would buy much of the linen. +Stephen was right; but this was a consideration which the Jersey people +had little occasion to regard. Their soap was not taxed either in its +materials or its manufacture; and few articles can be obtained with more +ease or less cost than soap, when this is the case. Any person in Jersey +was at liberty to buy oil or tallow direct from the Baltic ships in the +ports, without asking the leave of any custom-house officer. If he chose +to buy the cheap potash furnished by the interminable Russian forests, +he had no duty to pay. If he found sea-weed enough on the nearest shore +to supply this as well as other purposes, he was subjected to no other +interference than the injunction to cut it at the right season. He might +make his soap when and where, and in whatever quantities he pleased; and +the cost of it was next to nothing. No one there was obliged to sigh +either at his children’s dirt, or at the cost of keeping them clean. The +amount of soap used was little more thought of than that of the water +which ran past his own door. + +Stephen seemed much disposed to join the group beside the brook,—another +proof to Aaron that he was not aware of the state of his costume. He was +not allowed to descend, as he wished; but must submit to be led across a +back field, and through the orchard, that he might reach the house, and +be clothed before he was presented to the family. Aaron could not think +of showing him in a state of such degradation as that in which he had +found him. + +“Who is this?” inquired Le Brocq, who was drawing cider from the cask +which was niched near the door. “How can De la Mare let any one come to +such a pass?” Then, as Stephen came within hearing, the farmer told him +he should be welcome to supper and shelter for the night, and that he +might depend on being forwarded to St. Heliers the next morning. In an +aside, he desired his wife to fetch an old garment of his, wherewith to +clothe Stephen, instead of using any of Aaron’s good clothes for the +purpose. + +Mrs. Le Brocq wanted to know when the girls were coming. It was too dark +for them to see what they were about; and the soup was ready; and she +was sure Louise would be over-tired if she staid at her work so long. +She was comforted with the news that they would presently come in, and +that Malet was with Louise, to take care of her. + +By the time that Stephen was dressed, and seated somewhat nearer than he +liked to the great fire of vraic (a sea-weed which is used, first for +fuel and then for manure, in Jersey), the young washerwomen appeared. +Mrs. Le Brocq and Anna took charge of the supper table, while Louise, +who was, or was fancied to be, rather delicate, was tended by her lover, +and Victorine was at every one’s call, besides having to lay down a bed +for Stephen, as the hour of rest approached. + +Stephen seemed less disposed for mirth at the supper table than when he +was first met in his destitute condition. Hungry as he was, he could not +eat the soup, made of lard and cabbage, which the rest of the party +seemed to relish as if it had been made of gravy meat, and peas. After +many attempts, he gave it up; and was so nauseated that he had little +relish left for the bread, cheese, and cider with which Mrs. Le Brocq +compassionately supplied him. He was sensible of the incessant motion of +knitting needles all around him, in every interval of eating. All the +four women were indeed knitting when doing nothing else; and Stephen +felt rather awkward in the midst of so much industry. Nobody was very +merry; there seemed to be some cause of discontent among the party, +though Aaron showed that he was well pleased at the prospect of +obtaining on the morrow the materials which would enable him to supply +his customers with ropes. + +“I am glad some luck has befallen you,” observed the mother, “since +Charles is never to have any. I wonder whether there be another lad in +the island so shiftless as he; to have courted my Louise, and not have a +home to take her to.” + +Le Brocq shook his head and muttered; Charles looked abashed, and Anna +said, hesitatingly, and only loud enough for her sister and Charles to +hear, that such ill-fortune could not, she trusted, last long. Such a +thing had never happened before, she believed, as a sober man being +disappointed of a settlement three times over. She hoped it would please +God that the hand of the diligent should make riches, and that Charles +would not lose heart. + +Charles had lost heart many times lately; and now he left his supper +unfinished, and sat pondering the charms of the various cottages of +which he had missed the acquisition. He was not in poverty, being +employed with Aaron in ropemaking, but the parents of Louise would not +let him have her till he could take her to a home as comfortable as that +which she must leave. He began sometimes to fear that he should be sent +about his business, as being no proper match for Louise. Stephen made +such advances of sympathy as the little conversation enabled him to do. +He took up his glass of cider, and turning to Malet, begged to drink to +the young man “finding something to set his hand to,” and to his +“carrying the day with his lass, at any rate,” and he should be pleased +to be at the wedding. + +Malet thanked him kindly; and Stephen went on to suggest that it was a +thousand pities to lose heart and let the time go by. Charles should do +as people in England did, marry when the young lady was in the mind, and +see what would come of trusting. + +“And what comes of it in England?” inquired Malet, lending an attentive +ear. + +Stephen made rather a lame story of the happy consequences of this sort +of trust, except on the point that he was quite sure of,—that there was +always the parish to depend on at last. He helped out his explanation +with a song about love and banishing care, which Malet would have +ventured to praise very highly, but that Mrs. Le Brocq began to look +angry. She muttered something about seeing Charles, some day or other, +borrowing another man’s coat and craving another man’s supper, and then +singing songs about not caring. + +Charles showed by a gesture that there was the main difference between +Stephen and himself, that the one was blind and the other not. Le Brocq +was offended by his wife’s gross breach of hospitality; Louise was +crying; and all went wrong. Stephen took the liberty of beginning +another song by which he hoped to make every body laugh and grow +good-humoured; but before it had had time to operate, he was obliged to +break off by the entrance of some person whose horse he had heard stop +before the door. + +“If you are come to supper, Mr. Janvrin,” observed Le Brocq, “I am +afraid you will not enjoy yourself as we could wish. If you had come +half-an-hour earlier——” + +“I am come on business; and when I tell you that I was at St. John’s +this morning, and am now come from St. Martin’s, you will guess what I +am here for.” + +“Well; out with it! What is in hand now?” + +“Why, you know very well. You heard of the rate laid upon you and your +neighbours, for the help of the government in the new improvements.” + +“But I offered horse and cart and man for a week. That is enough for my +share, surely.” + +“For the new road. Yes. But the States call for money, too, as you must +be aware: and here is what you must pay,” showing his list. + +Le Brocq said something about the many calls on people for money in +these days,—what with daughters marrying, and governments making new +roads. Nevertheless, he sent Aaron for his money-bag, and counted out +the sum, while the tax-gatherer refreshed himself with the remains of +the supper. When Stephen heard the clink of the coin, he observed that +the people in his country would never submit to pay taxes in this +manner. It would be as much as the tax-gatherer’s life would be worth to +ride about the country, taking money out of people’s pockets like a +footpad. Janvrin wondered what the gentleman could mean; and Aaron +inquired whether the English paid no taxes. + +“Pay taxes! to be sure they do. How should such a fine country get on +without taxes? But, bless your soul, paying taxes there is the easiest +thing in the world. There’s no trouble whatever in it. The government +takes all the trouble, and the people don’t so much as know when they +are paying taxes.” + +The family all thought this must be charming; and Aaron whispered to +Malet that, after all, it might be better for him to go to England: for +taxes were a consideration to a man who was going to marry. But Malet +wished to hear a little more first. How was it that taxation was such an +easy matter in England? + +“O, I only know I never paid a tax in my life. I have not paid a tax +these ten years. Why, yes: some people pay them; but it is only by +giving a trifle more,—nothing worth speaking of,—for things that they +buy.” + +“Like our duty on spirits,” observed the collector, nodding to Malet, +who was all ear. + +“That is a very good plan,” observed Le Brocq. “I always liked that plan +of laying a tax on spirits.” + +“Well you may,” observed the collector, laughing: “for I believe you +have never had a gallon of spirits in your house since its roof was on.” + +“O, it’s a wise tax,” replied the farmer. “So the government in England +is kept up by a tax on spirits.” + +“They must drink a deal of spirits,” said Malet, “or there must be other +dues;—harbour fees, like ours, or the like.” + +Stephen did not deny that the spirit-tax was not the only one: but +whatever the others might be, it was only laying a farthing or two here +and there which nobody minded paying; and which, indeed, none knew that +they paid. What were the taxed articles? Malet inquired.—O, there were +several. Lace and silk stockings, he had heard: and a gentleman in Kent +was saying that hops paid some sort of charge. Malet and Louise looked +at each other. This would suit them exactly. They had never seen silk +stockings or lace, except in the shop-windows at St. Heliers; and they +drank cider.—Well: anything else? Any common articles? Mr. Janvrin +asked. Bread or sugar, timber or linen, soap or tobacco? Any of these? +Why, some of them: but the merest trifle! and it was uncommonly pleasant +to live in a free sort of way, without any tax-gatherer to come to the +cottage-door, and ask for so many shillings out of the poor man’s +earnings. + +“Uncommonly pleasant,” repeated Le Brocq, with a sigh, as Janvrin +pocketed the money on the table, and made an entry in his book. “I think +I shall ask one of the Constables to speak to the Bailly, and try +whether we can’t get the States to think of taxing us as easily as the +English. An uncommonly pleasant way it must be, to be sure.” + +“Uncommonly pleasant,” observed Janvrin, “if the poor man does not pay +pounds without knowing it, instead of shillings when he is asked. Your +guest said something about footpads: but I had rather be robbed by a +footpad than by a pickpocket.” + +The girls asked their mother what was a footpad, and what was a +pickpocket. She frowned, and whispered to them not to ask: it was +something very bad indeed. They blushed, and could only hope that nobody +had heard their question. + +Upon Stephen’s half-smiling and saying, with a turn of the head towards +Janvrin, that every man was in honour bound to defend his own +occupation, but that he was proud to say, the English had no relish for +getting out their money-bags when the government bade them, and +preferred paying their little matter of tax their own way, the good-will +of the family towards Janvrin was visibly overclouded. Nobody pressed +him to stay; and when, on his departure, he once more mentioned that Le +Brocq’s cart and horse would be expected to appear on the new road the +next Monday morning, the farmer looked very grave in giving his assent. + +Stephen was abundantly questioned about England before he was allowed to +go to rest: and when, at length, Aaron led him to the corner where he +was to sleep, and promised to leave no stone unturned to get him into +the hospital, Malet was mourning with Louise that he had wasted so much +time in seeking an establishment in Jersey; and the farmer determined +that he would not close his eyes till he had calculated how much money +he had paid over to the States since he began housekeeping, without +reckoning the use the island had had of his horse and cart, as often as +improvements had been carried on in his parish. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + A LEGACY. + + +When Aaron stole to the bedside of his guest, early the next morning, to +rouse him for his journey, he was surprised to find nobody there. Not +only had the guest disappeared, but half the bedding,—the whole of which +would not much encumber a strong man. The only supposition that could be +entertained was that Stephen had gone out, with a blanket in addition to +his scanty clothing, to please himself with the morning sunshine; an +amusement to which there was no impediment of locks and bolts, in this +any more than in the neighbouring farmhouses. But Stephen was not to be +found in orchard or field; nor did he answer when his name was called, +though everybody in the house was wakened by the shout. Louise appeared +with her milk-pails, and Anna tripped down to the brook. Mrs. Le Brocq +appeared at the window, knitting, and the farmer came out to harness his +team, while Victorine swept the kitchen, and prepared to light the fire. +Everybody appeared but Stephen. A general admiration of his talents +prevailed when it was remarked as a singular thing that a blind man +should be able to find the door, and pursue his way over ground that he +had traversed but once. The fear was lest he should have lost himself, +got entangled in the copse, or soused in the brook;—or,—suppose he +should have fallen down the quarry! If he had escaped all these dangers, +he must be as acute about finding his way as he had shown himself about +taxation, and love and marriage. While this admiration was being +expressed, up came Anna from the brook, with a gentle reproof prepared +for Victorine, for carrying away the bleaching linen from the place +where they had been left the evening before. There was no place where +they could bleach more favourably, and Victorine had received no orders +to remove them. It was not long before the conviction was forced upon +everybody that the linen was stolen. The most valuable part of the +clothing of the family was gone. Nearly eighty of the best caps +belonging to the four women of the household were carried off, and so +many other useful things that the maidens might do nothing but spin, +knit, and sew, from this time till Christmas, and yet be obliged to have +three or four extra washes. It was a dreadful misfortune. Louise leaned +her head against the cow she was milking when the tidings were brought +to her. Let Charles be as fortunate as he might, her wedding might be +considered as deferred for an indefinite period. Anna hoped against hope +that some happy explanation would arise. It seemed impossible that any +one should be so wicked as to take, without payment, what did not belong +to him. Father and son and Victorine were off in different directions to +look for traces of thieves in the fields and highways. Not a cap was to +be seen dropped on the grass, nor any shirt frolicking by itself on any +bush. Victorine turned back panic-struck, only too well convinced of +what she now thought she had suspected all along,—that the guest of the +last night had arrived from a far more distant place than England, and +that he needed no ship to bring him over the sea. She trembled to think +what sort of feet might have been enclosed in her young master’s shoes, +and what might have been the effects of his eyes, if he had not happily +chosen to keep them shut. Aaron did not know that he could do better +than pursue his way to St. Heliers, where it was possible that he might +meet with either Stephen or the thief, if they should, after all, not +happen to be the same person. So he harnessed a strong little horse of +his father’s to the cart, drove to his rope-walk, wished that Malet +would not be so late in the mornings, but would be at his business in +time to help people with advice when they were in a hurry, and drove +off. He had not gone far when his sister’s voice hailed him. She was +running after him with a list of messages from his mother about articles +that he was to purchase in the market at St. Heliers, and with a request +that if he should be able to learn anything about the lost property, he +would take particular care to recover Louise’s share first, as poor +Louise was in sadder distress than anybody else. + +“You will go to Gorey,” she suggested. “Some of the English may think +there is no harm in taking our caps, and will give you them back again.” + +“Ask Charles to go there. It will be as much as I can do to make this +harness hold out, if I go as straight as an arrow and back again. I had +better have kept the last coil of cord I sold to young François; this is +as rotten as if the tow had never been twisted.” + +It was provoking that the harness should break at this moment; and Aaron +showed that it was. He twitched the horse’s head in its straw collar, +knotted the rope rein with some very petulant gestures, told his sister +that she deserved to be run over for coming in the way of the long axle +of the cart, and finally urged on his rumbling vehicle without a word of +farewell. + +His haste did not, however, prevent his pausing on some high ground, +where an opening in the ridge of hills afforded him a glimpse of the +sea, and a distant view of the pier at Gorey. The English oyster-boats +were departing for the season. A little fleet of them was standing out +from the bay; and in one of them might have been found, as Aaron +suspected, the lost property and the blind thief,—if blind he were. The +sight of such means of escape stimulated the youth to his pursuit, if +indeed it were yet possible to hunt out the guilty from any retreat +between Grosnez and La Roque, and bring him to justice. + +No person in the least resembling Stephen was to be seen on any of the +quays of St. Heliers, nor in the pretty market-place. Mr. De la Mare had +not heard of any blind stranger being in the neighbourhood. The vessel +from the Baltic was in the harbour,—all safe, and bringing hemp, as +Aaron desired. As it was still too early in the morning for the +transaction of business on the quay, he thought it best to make his +purchases in the market-place, telling every person he met of the family +loss. Several people from the country had already taken their places +under the piazzas, and had set out their butter, eggs, and vegetables; +and the butchers’ carts were being unpacked in the centre. Every one was +soon in possession of the story. While the early housewife was arguing +with the butcher whether she should pay 3_d._ or 3½_d._ per lb. for his +prime beef, she stopped to shake her head over the depravity of the age, +in which an open theft had come to be committed in return for +hospitality. The maid-servant, who took in the tale with open mouth, +while the market-woman counted eggs at 4_d._ a dozen into her basket, +promised to mention the circumstance wherever she went. The townsman who +had risen early that he might have the first choice of fish, spoke of +alarming the magistracy and rousing justice.—Then, when Aaron stepped to +a shop or two within sight, to buy two pounds of three shilling tea (his +mother made a point of having the best tea), and a supply of fine sugar +at 4_d._, half the little boys that were abroad followed him, as if +expecting that the thief would be found under the counter or in one of +the canisters; and the shopman put on a countenance of concern; and the +head of the firm looked mysterious; and altogether the impression was +very profound. + +All was known at the custom-house before Aaron betook himself thither to +inquire about the arrival and departure of vessels. Every man in the +establishment,—the principal, the comptroller, and the two +subordinates,—was eager to question Aaron as he approached with an air +of peculiar gravity. The unlading of Christiana deals upon the quay had +proceeded without their notice, while engrossed with the tale of the Le +Brocqs’ misfortunes;—not that it was any part of their duty to watch the +unlading of Baltic timber; for here the people were allowed to get their +timber from any part of the world they pleased, and to give no more than +the natural price. They were neither compelled to pay the King for the +liberty of using foreign timber at all; nor obliged, by the high duty +put upon Christiana deals, to take up with the inferior wood of Canada. +The custom-house officers looked upon the landing and sale of timber +with their hands in their pockets, and as if they had no more concern in +the matter than in a bargain about a bunch of asparagus. + +Equally indifferent were they about the proceedings of the vessel which +brought hemp and tallow. Indeed, the bustle of the port of St. Heliers,— +a bustle which increases from year to year,—takes place altogether among +the buyers and sellers. Tax-gatherers have little concern in the matter. +When the harbour-master has collected the harbour dues, and the +custom-house officers have ascertained that no wine or spirits are on +board, or have levied that single tax, the government is satisfied, and +no further impediments exist. The Jersey people could not possibly stand +more in need of hemp than the English. Without rigging for her +merchant-ships, England is impoverished: without cables and sails for +her vessels of war, she is defenceless. How did she then supply this +great necessity? But little hemp is grown at home; and, in order to +obtain more, government adopted the means precisely adapted to defeat +the end. Instead of facilitating to the utmost the obtaining of an +article from abroad which is deficient at home, difficulties were thrown +in the way of getting it from abroad, in order to force the production +at home: a very high duty was laid on imported hemp. This made it less +expensive to buy sail-cloth and ropes ready made from abroad than to +manufacture them at home; and thus our manufacturers were ruined. It +also stimulated the use of iron cables, so that the government found +that there is a slip between the cup and the lip,—between laying on this +tax and receiving the produce. The result of the whole was that +government derived little from the tax; our manufacturers could not make +their business answer; and we employed foreigners to prepare our ropes +for us, while those at home, who would do the work cheaper, were +standing idle. If government would have admitted hemp free, the +multitude who were standing idle, and the larger multitude who paid for +the collecting of the tax and for the dearness of the article, would +have been thankful to subscribe the 70,000_l._ which was all that found +its way into the Treasury. It is but lately that the consequences of +such a policy have been recognised by the government and the country, +and the duty on undressed hemp repealed; but it is now fully +acknowledged that the country need never have paid the high prices +demanded for hemp manufactures from 1808 to 1814, or any of the burdens +which this absurd tax has imposed till now. It is to be hoped that this +conviction will lead to the repeal of other taxes as bad in principle, +and almost as mischievous in practice: but custom-house officers still +interfere between the English builder and the timber of the Baltic, and +demand so heavy a tax upon every cask of tallow or oil that is on its +way to the soap-boiler as to involve hundreds or thousands in the +factitious guilt of a breach of the revenue laws. + +Aaron had a favourite phrase at his tongue’s end, whenever he was out of +his father’s sight. Le Brocq had carried his authority over his son a +great deal too far:—so far that Aaron was in a state of unremitting +bondage to one person, while he was apt to carry his freedom to an +extreme in every other presence. ‘What is that to you?’ was his +invariable reply when questioned by sister, friend or stranger;—an +expression which would never have occurred to him, if he had not been +racked with questions by the only person whom he could not refuse to +answer. His sisters were so well aware of his sensitiveness to the tone +of interrogation that whatever was uncertain was put by them into a form +of conjecture; and even Victorine appeared to be thinking aloud whenever +she wanted to know anything which she believed her young master could +tell. Custom-house officers cannot be expected to show such +consideration for individual peculiarities, and it would have been +scarcely safe to have allowed Aaron to go down to an English port to +transact business about hemp or tallow. Ladies going to France now find +it vexatious to be asked, “What have you in that bag?” “What do you +carry in this little box;” and gentlemen turn restive under the inquiry +what fills out their pockets, and whether they carry anything in their +boots. Such inquisition, intolerable as it is, is less vexatious by half +than that which the English merchant, priding himself on the dignity of +his vocation, has to undergo when the amount of his purchases, and the +value of his merchandise have to be investigated, and made known to +those who ought to have no concern in the matter, that they may watch +whether he discharges his duty to the state. These sufferers may not say +(what they are incessantly prompted to exclaim,)—“What is that to you?” +they may not make as free as Aaron did on the quays of St. Heliers. + +The comptroller accosted him with, + +“Your concern is with her,—yonder,—I see.” + +“What’s that to you?” + +“Why, no more than that I can tell you, within a minute and a half, how +soon she will be alongside the wharf. You won’t have to wait long, I +fancy; for there are half a score of people come in from the country at +the first news of her being moored off the old castle. You must have +found it a great vexation to be waiting for hemp when the time of the +fishery was passing away.” + +“What’s she?” inquired Aaron, pointing to a vessel which was making her +way out of the harbour, before the anxious eyes of a group of men, now +resting from the toil of putting the finishing stroke to her lading. + +“What’s that to you?” replied the comptroller, smiling. “I see you do +not like other people to take a fancy to your words. Well, then, she +carries stone to the port of London; and a fine voyage she is likely to +have with this wind:—a better one than the Riga vessels that have been +in the Channel this fortnight, I fancy, and cannot get here. They will +be all coming at once when you will want them less than you have done. +But you have always a good market for cordage in England, I suppose.” + +Aaron muttered that whether he sent his ropes to England or anywhere +else, people in all places wanted cordage, and always would want it, he +supposed. + +“No doubt; and when one hears of young men’s sisters being seen turning +the wheel in the rope-walk, and of young men themselves standing every +evening by the poquelaye to look for ships that bring hemp, one can’t +help, if one cares for the island, hoping that the manufacture is +prospering.” + +“Certainly; if one is thinking of the island. But what is to become of +the island, if it is to be overrun with thieves? You heard of our being +robbed last night.” + +“Yes. Some London rogue that came by an oyster-boat, no doubt. What have +you lost by him?” + +“What’s that to you?” + +“Why, really, Mr. Aaron, I don’t see how you are to find your property +again, if you have an objection to say what you have lost. I must leave +you to find the thief in your own way, and wish you good morning.” + +“Well; but that is not what I meant to say,—if you think you can help me +to the thief.” + +“Nobody could, if many were to take up your way of speaking. Only +conceive, now! ‘Pray, sir, have you any knowledge of the people that +came by the Medway boats?’—‘What’s that to you?’ ‘Have you happened to +see a blind man pass your way, Mr. So-and-so?’—‘What’s that to you?’ +‘Where was it——?’” + +Aaron half-laughed, and wished people would never be tiresome with their +questions, and then—— + +“And then you would not make it a great mystery whether the thief took +two pairs of stockings or six. Well, if I find Mr. Stephen and his booty +in an empty wine-cask, I will make bold to let you know, if you will +only allow me to ask whether the property belongs to you.” + +Aaron gravely thanked him, when the comptroller began saying one thing +more before they separated. + +“Just bear this hint in mind, Mr. Aaron. Don’t be tempted to go and +follow any business in England, till you have taken as great a fancy for +being questioned as you have now taken against it. This is the country +for you,—where nobody fingers your tow, or counts your strands or +measures your cables. Don’t be persuaded to go and live in England.” + +Aaron stared. He had never had a thought of even crossing to England for +a week’s pleasure. Had his companion heard of any scheme——? What could +put it into his head to offer such a caution? + +“What’s that to you?” answered the comptroller, laughing as he +retreated. “Only mind what I say.” + +Aaron was not fond of minding what anybody said. He had had enough of +that kind of observance enforced by his father. He looked dogged; and if +any one had on the spot offered him a passage to England, he would +probably have gone, at all hazards. + +The fancy possessed him all day. While engaged in the purchase of his +hemp, he made inquiries of the Russians whether they had been in +England, and how they were treated there, and after what fashion +purchases of hemp were made in the ports. He was in the midst of a +reverie, deciding that it could be no more really necessary to answer +impertinent questions in England than anywhere else, when he was stopped +on his way out of town by an officer of justice who wanted a description +of Stephen’s costume; and then by a housewife who had a +mysteriously-obtained cap to show, which she supposed might be one of +the missing stock. Over hill and over dale he jogged and jolted, letting +his horse carry the cart after its own fancy, while he reviewed in his +mind all the trades and professions he had heard of as being practised +in England; and recalled the countenances of two Isle of Wight men who +had looked far from being harassed to death. He was pretty sure it must +be very possible for him to live in England: and what the comptroller +could mean by so earnest a caution, given at this very time, he could +not imagine. + +The first person he saw on his arrival in the neighbourhood of home was +Victorine. She was awaiting him on the orchard bank; and very sorry she +was that she could venture no further on the road by which he was to +approach; but the thief of the preceding night was as a lion in the +path. No one of the women had this day gone out of screaming distance; +and it was rather a stretch of boldness to have attained the orchard +bank. There had been terrors to be sustained;—a toad had made the grass +move in one place; and a large black bird, (Victorine did not look again +to see of what species,) had rustled in the hedge, and flown out before +her eyes; and a gruff voice had been overheard in the ditch on the other +side;—a voice which made her heart beat so that she could hear nothing +else, or she would soon have discovered that it was the grunting old +sow. The greatness of the occasion alone enabled her to take her stand, +notwithstanding all these alarms. + +“Mr. Aaron,” cried she, “there is news at home. Mr. Aaron, the uncle is +dead.” + +“What uncle? Whose uncle? Our uncle? What uncle?” + +“Uncle Anthony is dead. I thought I would tell you, sir; lest you should +see the mother first, and fear something worse. Have you got news of our +caps?” + +Aaron did not answer the last question, he was so busy trying to +remember who uncle Anthony was. He remembered having heard the name in +childhood, and believed that the person it belonged to lived somewhere a +great way off; but no passing thought of either name or person had been +in his mind for so many years, that he was ill-prepared to take the news +as it seemed to be expected that he should. + +He found his mother moving about with a countenance of the deepest +solemnity, and the same step that she would have used in a sick-room. Le +Brocq was quiet and thoughtful, and Malet evidently in gay spirits. + +“We have had a great loss, Aaron,” declared the mother. “You remember +our uncle Anthony.” + +“Did I ever see him, mother?” + +He was told that this was a very ungrateful question, for that uncle +Anthony had been his godfather. When it pleased God to send afflictions, +it became people to be more sensible of them than Aaron seemed to be. By +way of setting an example, Mrs. Le Brocq gave all the house-business in +charge to Victorine, and sat down with her knitting to sigh very +heavily, and look up reproachfully as often as any one spoke. Anna saw +Aaron’s perplexity, and its near approach to a sulky fit, and found an +opportunity of whispering a little desirable information. + +“Uncle Anthony was father’s uncle, and he gave mother a tea-chest when +she married; and he was your godfather, and lived near London; and he +wants us to go and live there now.” + +“But I thought he was dead.” + +“So he is: but he left a letter, which I suppose father will tell you +about. I am afraid we do not know how to take this dispensation as we +ought: but pray God those may be supported that will miss him more than +we can!” + +“What does father look so grave for? Is it sorrow? or is he thinking of +London?” + +“Charles let drop that he should like to go to London; and he says ’tis +like a providence, after what passed last night. Such a business +offered! and so pressing! Father is turning it over, perhaps.” + +“Why for Charles more than me? Everybody is thought of before me.” + +“You would not have thought so if you had known how father was calling +for you, three or four times before you came home. Whatever he may be +thinking, he is not forgetting you.—But, Aaron, don’t be eager after +changes. We are over-apt to like changes; but see the grave faces that +we have had since this time yesterday, when our changes began!” + +A change was meanwhile working to which Anna could not object, any more +than her brother. Her father’s heart was opening towards Aaron under the +influence of a strong excitement. He held out the letter at arm’s +length, with the encouraging command, “Read that.” Aaron read as +follows:— + +“Dear Nephew—The reason why you have never heard from me for these +seventeen years past is because I had a son and daughter of my own, as +you know, to care for; and you were too far off to do me any good in the +way of attention, which I always remembered in your favour when in want +of it when my son turned disobedient. Also I remembered the overalls +your wife knitted for me, and always determined you should hear of them +again, sooner or later. But I had no mind to give up my business to +anybody else before I had done with it myself; and for this same reason, +though I am writing this letter now, I don’t mean that you should have +it till after my death. Never mind my missing being thanked by you! I +can fancy all you would say very well, and set it down to your credit. + +“You are to come and take my business, instead of living in your +outlandish place any longer, which is only a place for such as are half +French in their hearts,—confound them! You have nothing like this +Lambeth neighbourhood, let me tell you; and the sooner you come and see, +the better. Indeed, the business can’t wait long for a master, though +Studley will do very well to take care of it for the few weeks after my +burial till you come. But make haste, lest you miss more than you think +for. There is little in the pottery business that you may not learn, and +teach your little boy after you, with Studley to help you: and it is a +very pretty concern, and one which it is a mystery to me that my son +should have sneezed at, and gone abroad, I do believe to get away from +me, where he is doing very well, they say, with his wife and family in +America; and so nobody can allege I do an unkind thing in showing my +displeasure against him by leaving my business to one who never +disobeyed me. My daughter, I should have said, died twelve years ago, +and is buried in the same churchyard with my wife. + +“You may be thankful that I have lived to this time to get up a pretty +business for you. The stone pottery is a very different affair now from +what it was when I first came into it, forty years ago. Not but that it +was in one respect more flourishing twenty years ago than it is now;— +viz., in soda-water bottles, of which we used to send out a great number +till cut out in that respect by the glass, which is more secure of being +clean, they say, and does not sweat, as stone used to do, though we have +now cured the sweating. It is a pity, too, that glass is preferred for +beer that is sent abroad. I don’t mean ginger beer or spruce beer, both +which are bottled in stone, as being less apt to burst; and the people +in Van Diemen’s Land and other foreign parts are very fond of such brisk +drinks, as you will find to your profit. We made 130 cwt. with E X upon +them last year. But this is a poor test, since a bare twelfth of our +article is duty-paid. We send as many figured jugs to Ireland as ever; +and what we make for ink and blacking is prodigious. There is an +increase in spirit casks and large oil bottles; and the state of +chemicals has improved in our favour since I took the business; so that +I should scarcely have believed then what I should some time sell to +chemists, and also for filtering. So here, you see, is a pretty sort of +business, and only, I assure you, ten or eleven to divide it among them +in London, and only sixty-nine in all England: and if prices have come +down somewhat, it is quite as much because the clay can be got cheaper, +and coals are lower, as on account of the meddling of the glass-bottle +makers,—which you will perhaps wonder at my owning, considering what a +grudge we owe these last: but I am for fair play on all occasions. So +now you know what you have to expect, except about the house. It is a +pretty pleasant house, joining the pottery, and opening into the yard: +and there being only outhouses behind for some way, it is what I call +airy; and the furniture you will find just as I leave it. So all will be +ready for you to come directly. + +“I think this is all at present. You may expect me to say something +serious, as people generally do when they are settling their affairs to +leave the world. But I am not particularly ill, though I have taken this +opportunity of writing this letter, and finished my 75th year yesterday; +and those things come time enough when the time comes: and my business +now is, being of sound mind, to arrange matters for you, in case of my +being cut off suddenly. So I shall just leave this open, in case of +having anything to add at any future time.” + +It appeared that nothing had occurred to be added in any future time, +for this was all. Anna was sorry for it. While her father was talking +about the letter being that of a good, kind, old soul, she was turning +it round to find in some of its odd corners some word of relenting +towards his disobedient son. Aaron waited in silence an intimation that +Malet was to be presented with this “pretty business” in a country where +people paid the merest trifles in taxes, and without being aware of it. +The idea had even struck him that he would work upon Malet to let him +become a partner, and thus free himself from his father’s strict rule, +and settle himself where, as he grew older, no one would make him pay +down money for the use of the State. + +Malet looked blank when Le Brocq announced his intention of going to St. +Heliers to-morrow, to inquire about a passage for England. The young man +was asked the cause of his surprise. Why should any time be lost? + +“Do you mean to go?” asked all the family. + +Certainly. What else should he do? Malet should rent the farm, and take +Aaron’s rope-walk, if he would. Aaron would be wanted at the pottery. +Malet would fain have discovered that he should be wanted too. No one +who had seen and heard Stephen thought anything so hard as to have to +live in Jersey, when there was such a place as England to go to. Even +with the certainty before them of being able to marry immediately, Malet +and Louise looked grave. Any one would have thought that their marriage +had been put off for a twelvemonth at least. + +“You shall have the farm at a reasonable rate, in consideration of its +being a place for my wife and Anna to come back to, if anything should +happen to me before I have settled well in this business in London. You +shall have the six acres for 40_l._, and no other charges but for the +orchard; and you shall be married directly, that we may be gone. We will +settle about Aaron’s rope-walk to-morrow, when I have questioned him a +little more about it.” + +Aaron did not slip away, as he usually did when there was talk of +questioning. He was too happy in the prospect of living in England to +throw any impediment in the way of getting rid of his rope-walk. + +“And what are we to pay for the orchard, pray?” asked Louise, +repiningly. “I’m sure I shall have no time to make cider, if you all go +away and leave me.” + +“Victorine will stay; and that will be just so much more help than your +mother had when we married,” replied Le Brocq. “I shall not ask above +3_l._ an acre for the orchards, and cider enough for our own drinking, +which I expect you will send us every year.” + +“Anna and I shall make our own cider, I suppose,” declared Mrs. Le +Brocq, forgetting her solemnity in the interest of the topic. “It will +be a long way to send cider.” + +Not farther than cider was sent every season, her husband replied; and +he doubted whether it would be quite convenient to make cider on the +premises of a Lambeth pottery; but as Mrs. Le Brocq was sure that, +wherever she went, she should have an orchard at the back of the house, +the point was left to be determined after their arrival. + +There must now be entire silence, for the farmer was about to study over +again the letter from uncle Anthony’s lawyer in which the foregoing +epistle was enclosed. Louise therefore withdrew to meditate over her +milk-pail, and Anna to take in the linen from the green bank, lest there +should be a further theft this night. As she passed the hydrangeas at +the door, and the flowering myrtles that half-concealed the paling, she +felt sad at the prospect of leaving them;—at the prospect of leaving +these particular hydrangeas and myrtles, not of quitting the region of +flowers; for she never doubted there being a green path to the house in +Lambeth, and a vine growing up to the thatch, and blossoming shrubs +clustering on every side. She hoped they should all be happier when they +were rich; but she could scarcely see how: for Louise must be left +behind, and Victorine; and her mother’s head-ach and pain in the +shoulder might perhaps continue, however rich they might be. But if +Aaron should look lighter, and father be as kind to him as to Louise and +herself, they should certainly be all much happier; and perhaps the +being rich might bring this about. At any rate, it was God that raised +up as well as brought low; and so all must be right: but this was a dear +place to be obliged to leave. Aaron silently devoured his mess of conger +eel, stewed with milk and young green peas, and grew in his own +estimation every moment. When Victorine had done serving him, she placed +herself where she might watch the family party, and perhaps discover +what made her mistress sigh as she had never heard her sigh since the +late king died. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + LIFE IN LAMBETH. + + +It is needless to explain that there were neither myrtles nor vines +about the pottery-house. Not that there was any deficiency of scent +around the dwelling. A soap manufactory near obviated every charge of +this kind. It had given out its odours in full power at the moment of +the Le Brocqs’ first approach to their new abode, and had greeted them +just when they paused to admire the symbols which were erected on their +pottery wall. It was by uncle Anthony’s taste that the establishment +bore this refined character. It was he who had mounted a huge filterer +on one angle; and on another a ladle which seemed made to fish up Truth +out of a well. Uncle Anthony had done much. Would he had done one thing +more!—removed from the neighbourhood of the soap manufactory, or got it +removed by indicting it as a nuisance. But he had lived for fifty years +on good terms with this establishment, and never dreamt of hurting it. +Indeed, when he had been persuaded, on rare occasions, to give himself a +day’s airing at Hornsey, he relished the atmosphere of his native street +on his return, as the fuller’s heart leaps at the sight of the dust +about his mill, and the weaver’s at the sound of the click-clack of his +loom. Mrs. Le Brocq did not take it so easily, nor believe what she was +told of the certainty that she would enjoy the nuisance in time, as much +as her neighbours. Anna felt it a sad addition to the excitements under +which she had to labour from dawn till night. Every morning she was +startled from sleep by the workmen knocking at the gate of the yard; and +then came the peevish bell of the dustman, and then a gradual increase +of street noises. If it rained, the sprinklings of white earth in the +yard became mud; if the sun shone in, the dust danced thick in its +beams, and she felt as if she drew it in with every breath. At her +former home, little dust was to be seen, as everything was green around, +except the gravelly lane; but here no efforts to keep the furniture in a +seemly state availed anything. It would have been as easy to parry one +of the plagues of Egypt. There was a good deal to be admired, however, +when it was not boiling day at the soapery, or when the wind was south. +The river, as seen from the wharf behind the pottery, was not so fine, +she thought, as the channel between Jersey and France; but the bridge +was very grand, and nothing could be more beautiful than her father’s +finely arranged stock of stone-ware. Mr. Studley, the foreman, had +assured her that the process of the manufacture was in some parts very +elegant; but her father would not let her see it till Aaron should be +competent to the exhibition, on some holiday, or other occasion when the +men should be absent. Through the stock-room, however, she was allowed +to range; and her awe of London, as a place of civilization and wealth, +was much increased by what she saw there;—such beautiful jars and +pitchers, and so enormous a congregation of blacking bottles! Thither +she carried her knitting, when not wanted in kitchen or parlour. She +thought she must leave off knitting, as her mother could do all that was +now required. Nobody seemed to wear knitted smallclothes or petticoats +in London, nor even shawls. If it was really true that she must no +longer make her father’s and Aaron’s coats, she feared she should want +occupation: but it was difficult to credit that in a fine country like +England the men would condescend to such womanish work as tailoring. She +had no doubt she should find this to be a joke upon her, as a new comer. +She had, indeed, seen a young man sitting upon a table, and doing +tailor’s work; but he was very small and pale, and most likely permitted +to do this because he was fit for nothing else. + +While deep in thought over her work, she was planning how to make her +mother more comfortable than she could possibly be at present. Mrs. Le +Brocq could not live without apples, and was very much discomposed at +having to purchase them; and when she went to the shop, or stepped out +after a fruit-woman in the street, the neighbours invariably followed to +stare at her costume. The butcher had given out that the new family were +preciously stingy people, eating meat only once or twice a week, which +was a sin and shame in the owners of a pottery. Mr. Studley cast a look +of disgust at her, the only time he had entered the house,—which +happened precisely at the moment when the dinner of lard and cabbage +soup was being served up. If Mrs. Le Brocq could not be made more +popular in the neighbourhood, it was to be feared that the possession of +a pottery would not insure perfect happiness to the family. + +How different from Studley had been another visitor who entered at a +similar important point of time! “A gentleman,” who did not declare his +name, called to speak to Mr. Le Brocq, a few days after his arrival, and +walked in, as a matter of course, without waiting to hear whether the +person he sought was at home. He uttered a cry of delight at the +spectacle of the soup, and kissed Mrs. Le Brocq and her daughter, in +sign of being a countryman. Before he could be asked, he drew a chair, +rubbed his hands, and sang a verse of a song in the French of the +island,—the language which it refreshed their ears to hear. He had not +done when Le Brocq came in, expecting to find a customer for his +stoneware rather than his dinner. + +“Ha! countryman!” cried the stranger. “Don’t try to remember me. For my +own sake, don’t try to remember me. There’s no use in looking back too +far, when all is done; but I could not slink away when once I had seen +the hem of your wife’s Jersey petticoat. My name is Durell: there is no +occasion to remind us all that you have heard it before.” + +Mr. Le Brocq looked grave. A farmer, of the name of Durell, had +committed an assault on the King’s highway, in the neighbourhood of +Gorey, and had anticipated his sentence of banishment by making off in a +fishing-boat, within an hour of the information being laid against him. +Every one had been sorry for the offender, who was known to be of a +passionate temper, and to have received such provocation as would have +gone far to justify him. Every one was sorry that he had precipitately +given up his pretty farm, and compelled his wife and child to wander +after him to another land; but Le Brocq now wished to have some evidence +of the respectability of Durell, before he admitted him as a guest on +terms of familiarity. + +“You should have such a love of country as mine, man, and then you would +not look so cold upon me,” cried Durell. “If you knew how my heart longs +for a word about the deep shady lanes, and those blessed little coves, +where the sea comes to kiss one’s feet, and slips away again! I have not +seen what I call a dell any where else; and the pastures, with a green +that makes one’s eyes water! Heaven keep them so! And how are they?” + +“Did you come to hear this sort of news?” Le Brocq inquired. + +“The devil take what I came for! that will do afterwards. Can’t you tell +me whether the doves coo as they used to do when the wind dropped? For +the soul of me, I can’t believe you are a Jerseyman! If I had not thrown +open my doors wider to poor Stephen, I should have doubted my being a +Jerseyman myself.” + +“Poor who?” inquired Le Brocq, hoping to obtain something in the form of +a reference, + +“A poor helpless body that lives with me, and tells me every night what +makes me dream that I am leaning against a mossy stone gate-post, or +throwing pebbles into the ivy to bring out the birdies. You shall see +him; and we will make ourselves all of a company.” + +Le Brocq was going to rebuke this familiarity, when Studley put his head +in, and respectfully told Durell that all was ready for him when he +pleased to come. Durell’s air was immediately as sober and business-like +as that of Studley. + +“I believe,” said he, “you have not told your principal what I am here +for. Ay, you think he must know by instinct; but let me tell you that no +more is heard of the excise in Jersey than there is here of knit +small-clothes. Had he told you to expect me?” he inquired of Le Brocq. + +“He said something yesterday about sending a notice to the excise; but I +do not rightly see what the excise has to do with my manufacture.” + +“That you shall see presently. We have only to visit you once a day, and +to see your bottles come out of the furnace, and make you count and +weigh them, if we choose, and measure them across the neck, to see if +they are of the legal size, and——” + +“What is all that to you?” cried Aaron, who had just entered. + +“In order to determine the payment we are to take from you.” + +“Payment! What payment? People are to pay us for our bottles, I suppose, +and not we them, or I see little use in making bottles. What payment can +you mean?” + +“The excise duty,—the tax on home manufactures. In your case——” + +“But we were told that the people in England paid no tax, except a mere +trifle that they give without knowing it. Father, did not you understand +that the English pay no tax?” + +“That is a little mistake,” averred Durell. “Their paying without +knowing it is partly true. What you are going to pay me, for instance, +is not the same kind of contribution as you have paid out of your own +pocket in Jersey, when the States wanted to erect a new pier, or other +public building. You will repay yourselves by putting such a price on +your bottles as will defray the tax, besides yielding you a profit; and +the buyers of your bottles will not know the amount they pay for the tax +from that which buys the bottle. You advance the tax for them, that is +all.” + +“But that is very hard,” observed Aaron. “Why are we to be obliged to +advance money for hundreds of people that we do not know or wish to +serve?” + +“Oh! you must pay yourselves by charging interest upon this advance. +Studley will tell you that you clap on a little more still upon the +price, as interest upon your advance.” + +“Well, I think that is hard upon our customers, I must say. I don’t call +it any favour to them to take their money in such a way, instead of +giving them a choice whether they will pay directly, or wait awhile and +pay the interest too.” + +“The buyer of your bottles pays no more for interest than he gains in +time. There is no cheat in making him pay interest upon this kind of +loan, any more than upon other kinds of loans.” + +“But there is a cheat in not letting him know how the matter stands, so +that he may have a choice. It is like putting physic between bread and +butter for a grown man, who had, perhaps, much rather swallow a pill of +his own accord.” + +“Well; every man has the power of looking between his bread and butter. +Every buyer may know how much duty is paid upon any article he buys.” + +“But he is not able to choose between the pill and the powder. If he +won’t take the powder as it is spread, he must go without both physic +and bread and butter.” + +“And I am far from sure,” observed Le Brocq, “whether our customers be +not cheated, after all. I was frightened enough when I came, as Studley +knows, to find what wages we have to pay. I set down the concern as ruin +when the first Saturday night came; and I like the plan but little +better now I find that these high wages are paid, in the same manner as +the tax and the interest, out of the price of the article. I believe +that the high wages are owing to this very tax. I must think so, because +our workmen are not nearly so well off with their high wages as our +Jersey labourers with only half the sum.” + +Mrs. Le Brocq wondered that English labourers used so many stone bottles +as to make all this difference. Her husband explained that the same tax +was laid on other articles, more used by labourers than stone bottles—on +soap, and beer, and spirits, and tea. Now, if the tax made the articles +on which the labourer subsists much more expensive than they would +otherwise be, the labourer’s wages must be much higher to buy the same +comforts than they would otherwise be; and the wages being high acts +again on the price of the article made by the labourer; and so the buyer +pays twice over, and everything is put out of its natural course. + +Le Brocq heaved a deep sigh, which was echoed by his son. They had +calculated, from the price of their wares, compared with the expense of +production, that they should be abundantly rich in a year or two. They +had been startled by the amount of wages; and now, when they found that +the price of their bottles was also to cover the tax, and interest upon +its advance, their golden visions began to melt into the twilight of +doubt. + +The first object now was to finish dinner, and go over the premises with +the exciseman, to see what his visit was like. Durell declined all +further hospitality on the present occasion, declaring, with a look of +gravity very unlike what he wore when Studley came in, that though he +had tasted a favourite old dish for once, to show his goodwill, it was +but for once. He always avoided occasion of misinterpretation in his +office, and should therefore desire his visits to be strictly confined +to business. Considering how frequent they must be, it was necessary to +come to an understanding from the beginning, especially with strangers +who might not be aware of the strictness of the rules by which excise +officers must be guided. He requested Mr. Le Brocq and all his family to +take notice that it would be better to offer no kind of favour to him or +his excise brethren, since none could be accepted. + +“So we are to have the pleasure of seeing you often?” observed Le Brocq. + +“You will see me often,—one or other of us every day; but I advise you +not to call this a pleasure. It can never be a pleasure; but you may +prevent its being a plague by letting us go and come, and by being +perfectly correct in your conduct——Ah! I perceive you are offended at +the word; but when you have lived here a few months longer, you will see +that I mean nothing more than a friendly caution. Finish your dinner; +and I will go with Studley, and learn what your people are doing.” + +Aaron was on the point of saying once more, “What’s that to you?” but +his father desired him to dispatch his meal, and follow as soon as he +could, to take a lesson in excise visitations. + +“You may wonder now that you have not seen us before,” observed Durell +to Le Brocq, as they passed into the manufactory; but your predecessor +was on very good terms with us; and, from his long connexion with us, +could be trusted to send for us on all proper occasions, so as to save +himself from a daily visitation; and the same favour was continued to +Studley till we found that the management had gone into other hands. You +cannot do better than follow his advice. He will inform you of all that +is necessary in your dealings with us. Ho! ho! what a brickmaking here +is! For how many thousand are you going to account to us, Studley?” + +“Sir, we do not sell bricks,” protested Le Brocq. + +“Nor tiles. But those tiles that are now burning in every one of your +furnaces would have paid tax a few months ago.” + +“What! tiles that are used only for our ware to stand upon while it is +burning! Bless me! are all these charges to be paid by the article when +sold? Our bottles may well be called dear.” + +“Though I fancy you take a little off the price of the bottles, and put +it upon the jars which are not taxed. Hey?” + +Studley observed that this was a very fair way of defeating the +intentions of the glass-manufacturers, to whose jealousy it was owing +that stone bottles were taxed at all. + +Le Brocq was quite out of humour at being threatened with a charge of +5_s._ 10_d._ a thousand for his bricks. Was he to be expected to buy +bricks to build that upper story, while he had the clay on his premises? +He might do which he pleased, he was told: he was to pay the duty either +way,—in the price of bought bricks, or into the exciseman’s hand. + +“By the way,” observed Durell, “that new upper story is not entered. How +comes that?” + +“We keep that for articles that are not exciseable,” answered Studley. +“You have no concern with that floor. There is not an exciseable article +in it.” + +“Take care that there never is, then. You may find that your walls have +tongues, if you give them anything to tell. You know, friend,” turning +to Le Brocq, “that for each and every of premises not entered according +to law, there is a heavy penalty. If you did not know it before, you +know it now; and heaven help you to keep out of my hands! Ah! here are +your tiles!—pitiful things to pay tax upon, indeed. I am glad to leave +you to your own devices about that article.” + +Studley looked very impatient while the visiter went on talking, and +turning over the burnt tiles. When Durell next entered a kiln that was +cooling, and looked round at the streaks of glazing that the salt had +left upon the sides, and afterwards descended to the place where the +clay was being milled, and watered, and trodden, and conversed with the +blind horse, and joked with the boys, the foreman thought it time to +speak out. + +“Pray, sir, do you know how long we have been waiting for you? Do you +please that we should proceed without you?” + +“By no means. Are you going to fill the kiln, or draw?” + +“You seem to forget our notice, sir. We drew five hours ago; and your +officer weighed the wares in due form. They are standing now for you to +weigh; and if you keep us here to the end of the six hours, it will be +too late to pack them off by the present opportunity. Another half-hour +is our last chance this week. I told you so before, sir,” continued the +vexed foreman, following as Durell skipped up the stairs, taking two at +a time. “If I told you once, I told you thrice; but that stinking +hotch-potch put everything else out of your head, I think.” + +“You will pack off the larger articles, I suppose, Studley,” observed Le +Brocq, “whether the bottles are ready or not? You will get off all but +the exciseable articles to-night?” + +Studley explained that the bottles were to be packed in between the +larger articles, as in the kiln, thus saving carriage in the one case as +they saved fuel in the other. If the officers meant to grow very strict +just now, it might become necessary to have a separate kiln for burning, +and a separate package, rather than keep eleven twelfths of the +manufacture waiting for the rites to be performed on the exciseable +portion. + +The weighing was more a matter of show than use; for Durell was anxious +not to prevent the departure of the goods. He even tried his hand at +packing, and was not out of humour when plainly told that they could do +better without him. Studley hinted that he might be more acceptable +among the ladies, who had probably something to tell him about Jersey +cows and orchards; but Durell took his stand near a boy who was +beginning the practice of his art. The exciseman crossed his arms, and +leaned against the wall while watching and commenting upon the progress +of the lad, in shaping his little pots upon the wheel. + +“Very fair! very fair, lad! Round it,—with a delicate rounding,—and coax +it,—and bulge it,—and draw it narrow. ’Tis as if it made itself, or grew +with a touch of magic. Pshaw! you have brought it off awry. ’Tis but a +slovenly piece, after all. I should think myself a clever fellow, too, +if I could come as near the mark as that. You are a lucky one to have +that kind of work under your hands.” + +The boy looked up with an intelligent smile. He had lately been promoted +from turning the lathe, and the sense of his new dignity shone in his +countenance as the gentleman looked on. The gentleman still +soliloquized. + +“Young thoughtless things like you see no more in such occupation than +making so much clay into so many pots, for so much wages; and, perhaps, +the pride of being a skilled workman. But those that have spent their +first years in the fields, and have wandered about the world since, see +much blessing to you in having beauty before your eyes, and growing up +under your hands. ’Tis well for you that there is something to keep you +fresh in all the dust of this place, and all the glare and noise of the +street. The spirit of beauty that hung the cloud curtains of God’s +throne may look bright down upon you, even here. Blessings on her, and +Him that made her!” + +The boy’s rising colour seemed to show that he heard and partly +understood, though he proceeded diligently with his work. + +“Did you ever go into the country, lad?” inquired Durell. “Did you ever +see a green field?” + +“Not he, I’ll be bound,” answered the little boy at the neighbouring +lathe, who became impatient to be noticed. “My father took me to +Tottenham once, and I had some ale; but _his_ mother never lets him go +anywhere.” + +“She does,” asserted Brennan, turning red again. “She lets me stay out +on the wharf till bed-time; and when I got a new coat given me, she went +all the way into the Park with me, one Sunday afternoon.” + +“You saw some green grass, there?” + +“Yes, Sir, and the swans.” + +“And plenty of ducks?” + +“I did not care so much about them,—just like soda-water bottles with +wings, when they are flying. But I made a swan, sir, when I came back.” + +“What do you do out on the wharf till bed-time?” + +“Look at the boats passing under the bridge, sir. And there are heaps of +things that look better as it grows dark.” + +“What sort of things?” + +“Baskets of things on the wharf, heaped up; and barrows and packages——” + +The boy at the lathe interrupted his companion by laying an information +against him. There was not such a thing as a bit of slate ever found +upon the wharf that was not covered over with Brennan’s drawings of +barrows, and boats, and baskets, and sometimes Mr. Studley’s greyhound. + +“I made a greyhound,” observed Brennan, looking up; “and when it was +baked, Mr. Studley knew it for his own.” + +“When shall you have a new coat again?” asked Durell. “Confound the +question! just as if we could not get you a coat among us! You shall go +to a place, Brennan,—I will take you to a place where you will see +something prettier than that pitcher you seem to be admiring so much;— +something that I think you will like better than green fields.” + +“On a Sunday, sir?” + +“No; I believe not. Studley! The British Museum is not open on a Sunday, +is it?—No, boy; it must be some other day.” + +“But I can’t go any other day,” said the boy mournfully, + +“O yes; cursed be he that shuts out such as you from feeding your +genius,—from adoring God in using his gifts” + +“Perhaps you would ask for a part holiday, sir?” suggested the boy. + +“Will I? Ay——” But Durell remembered that he was an exciseman, and must +not ask favours. In a cooler tone, he promised the boy to remember him; +and desired that the greyhound and the swan might be ready for +exhibition the next time he came. He left the boy happy in devising an +opportunity for asking some of the wise men about the pottery what the +British Museum was. The information gleaned in the course of a week did +not give him any clear comprehension of what he should see that he +should like better than green fields. “There’s a monster of a wild beast +on the stair, as I’ve heard,” said one. “There’s a power of stones, laid +out in rows, as my own eyes saw,” attested another. “Gold and precious +stones! Lord bless ye! nothing like it. Only what you may pick up in the +road any day.” “You forget the skin of the head with the hair on it,” +observed another. “A wild man’s hair and the skin of his head.” The boy +could not conceive how any of these things could be prettier than swan +or greyhound. He could only wonder whether the gentleman was in earnest +about giving him a new coat, and would remember to take him to that odd +place. + +The ware was precisely in time for the waggon. It was as near missing as +possible; and while Le Brocq wiped his brows after his toil and hurry, +he looked reproachfully at Durell. He found that no farming labours were +so fatiguing as waiting the pleasure of an exciseman, in the heat and +dust of a pottery. + +“You look at me,” observed Durell. “You wish me a hundred miles off, I +see: but I can’t help the system; and I tell you, you are better off +than many of your neighbours. Only one-twelfth of your manufacture is +exciseable, and——” + +“That is the very thing I complain of,” said Le Brocq. “To be worried +and watched for such a little matter!” + +“I think it our business to complain of that,” replied Durell. “There is +some satisfaction in one’s supervision when one collects enough to make +it worth while—a hundred pounds or two. But it makes us feel like so +many fools to be trudging here, and riding there, to collect less than +would mend our shoes or feed our horses. In your business, there are but +nine men that pay more than a hundred a-year in duty; and of that, they +get back a third part when they export.” + +“No more than nine?” + +“In all England; and seven pay less than 1_l._ a-year. Here are we bound +to visit their potteries every day, and as much oftener as they choose +to call us, to collect fifteen-pence, or seven shillings and sixpence, +or a guinea a-year! ’Tis a farce.” + +“I should think these people would pay three times the sum to have you +keep off their premises, every day of the year; and that would save your +salary;—for I suppose you have one.” + +“To be sure; and hundreds more of us. How would you have the whole +kingdom watched,—every maker of glass, and soap, and beer, of bricks, +and paper, and starch, and spirits,—every grower of hops,—every maltster +and seller of tea and sweet wines and hides,—how would you have all +these people watched and made to pay their fines and forfeitures, +without an army of excisemen? and who will be an exciseman without pay? +You may talk of the church,(heaven preserve it!) but I know one thing +like it. The church has its hierarchy,—its gradation from the archbishop +to the curate, all salaried. The excise has its hierarchy, too,—from the +gentlemen that sit as judges in the court, with their messengers always +in waiting, down to the poor devils that are for ever tramping in the +outrides and footwalks.” + +Le Brocq would not hear another word in the way of comparison of a +hierarchy which existed for the purpose of supplying the people with +religious aids, and one which levied a most vexatious tax. Durell could +not refrain from going on to magnify the body to which he belonged. He +told of the fifty-six collections into which England and Wales are +divided; and the subdivision of these into districts, each with its +supervisor; and the further division into outrides and footwalks, with a +gauger or surveyor in each;—as elaborate a spy-system, at the utmost +possible cost, as had ever been invented, his Jersey friend thought. + +“By no means,” protested Durell. “The Customs beat us in expense, in +more ways than one. In one respect only, the difference is more than +180,000_l._ We excisemen can live in houses that were built for other +people: but the coast-guard must have cottages for themselves alone; and +this 180,000_l._ is what they cost. And then, if we have excise duties +that yield less than any customs, they have a vast number more that +yield but little. When 566 articles pay customs duties, and 510 of them +yield under 10,000_l._ a-year, the expense must be greater in proportion +to the gain than in any folly that the excise can practise.” + +“They are not quite foolish enough yet, I suppose, to interfere with an +entire branch of trade, for the sake of raising a few shillings or +pounds here and there?” + +“The two are pretty much on a par there. If we plague all the +stone-bottle makers in England for the sake of little more than 3000_l._ +a-year, our brethren of the Customs pry into all the cordage that comes +into the kingdom for the sake of less than 150_l._” + +Aaron could speak to the annoyance of having his cordage taxed at the +custom-house on the south coast, when he had two or three times wished +to sell in England such produce of his rope-walk as was not wanted in +Jersey. Yet, as a Channel Island man, he had been treated leniently; +being charged no more duty than would countervail what the English had +paid in tax before they could bring their article into the market. + +“Well; I am gone,” said Durell. “I only stayed to show you Jerseymen +that we are not quite the worst set of tax-gatherers in the world. If +you are willing to be on good terms, so are we: but I must tell you, Mr. +Aaron, that it is not every man of our tribe that would bear to be +scowled at, as you have scowled at me to-day; nor could I always bear it +myself: for I do not boast of my temper. If you will consider your +interest——” + +“What’s that to you?” + +“Very true: so good bye till to-morrow. If you should want me sooner, it +may give you the least trouble to send to Finch’s glass-house, near at +hand. I am going there now; and one or other of us will be on the +premises till night. I wish you joy of that lad Brennan. If you make the +most of him, you may find yourselves in luck. Good day.” + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + THE PHENOMENON AGAIN. + + +Mrs. Durell was the only acquaintance Anna wished to have in the +neighbourhood of her new home. From what Durell had dropped about her, +and from her being a native of Jersey, it seemed desirable that the +women of Le Brocq’s family should know her. They gave broad hints to +this effect; and Durell frequently promised that his wife should come +and offer neighbourly assistance to the strangers: but she never came. + +This neglect could not appear wonderful to any one who knew the parties. +Durell projected more achievements for his wife than she could have +executed if he had himself imposed no toils and cares upon her: and, +besides, she had long learned to distrust his opinions of new people, +and to dread his introductions to strangers; and for his sake as much as +her own, she deferred to the last moment the forming of any new +connexions, even of common acquaintanceship. She never reminded him, +otherwise than by distant allusion, of the delightful family whom he had +bidden her receive as friends, not thinking of doubting their honour +because some mystery hung about them,—the family of dear friends who +were afterwards all hanged or transported for coining. She never spoke +of the runaway apprentice who had been housed by them that he might have +the advantage of a fair trial on the stage, and who disappeared with his +host’s best suit of clothes, with which to figure on some other stage. +She allowed her husband to forget the scrape she had been brought into +when taken up as a receiver of stolen goods, because she had been daily +seen in company with the gipsies in whose society he delighted. She did +not trouble him by a recurrence to past misfortunes; but she naturally +grew more and more careful to avoid any future ones. On the present +occasion, she held back, partly with the desire that something should be +ascertained respecting the character of the Le Brocqs before she +involved herself with them, and partly that her husband’s quarter’s +salary might be in the purse before she was called upon to exercise +hospitality. As often as Durell extolled Anna as the sweetest and +softest of maidens, with a cheek which shamed the report that the lasses +of a Jersey farm-house blush yellow, and an eye whose timid glance never +fell before another, the wife assured herself that she should only see +one more of the multitude of divinities who had caught her husband’s +fancy without impairing his constancy to her. As often as he told her +what she lost in not witnessing the initiation of Le Brocq and his +partner into life in Lambeth, she felt that she could wait for the +spectacle of their peculiarities till she wanted that variety at home +which her husband’s caprices incessantly provided for her. + +She was glad that his employment took him abroad during the early part +of the day, that he might escape witnessing the toils which he imposed +upon her. One morning, for instance, when she had evaded his question +whether she would go that day to see Mrs. Le Brocq and the blessed Anna, +she had to assist her maid in baking an extempore batch of bread, +because one hearty person after another had been invited in, the night +before, who had eaten up warm all that had just come out of the oven. An +array of glasses, with remains of spirit and water, stood to be rinsed +and put away. His coat lay craving mending in the flap, which had been +almost torn off by the snappish dog, brought home because he thought it +had lost itself. A beautiful piece of French china was to be put +together again, if possible, the child having broken it after warnings +duly repeated. Nobody could be more sorry for the disaster than Durell +himself. He seemed ready to weep over his mother’s favourite bowl; but +he really did not suppose the child would have let it down, and he had +not the heart to take away any beautiful thing from before its eyes. It +might please Heaven some day to take away the child’s eyesight, and then +who would think of the china being broken, while in the sufferer’s mind +it remained entire, an additional form of grace. It was impossible to +dispute this reasoning while such a sufferer sat in the chimney-corner; +and the bowl was carefully laid aside to be mended. + +“Mother,” said Mary, “do let me take my work into the parlour. I can +stitch and wait upon Stephen too.” + +“Stay where you are, my dear. Jack can wait upon Stephen. If you finish +your wrist-band in half an hour, you shall help to mend the bowl.” + +Mary knew there was no use in repeating her request. She could only sigh +when she heard Jack’s bursts of laughter at Stephen’s droll faces, and +wish that Stephen would come into the kitchen, and make faces there. +When Stephen began to sing, all went well; for he could be heard, not +only in the kitchen, but across the street. Some time after the song had +come to an end, when two inches of stitching still remained to be done, +Mary heard a tinkling among the unwashed glasses, and looked up. + +“O, mother,” cried she, “there’s Jack draining the glasses!” + +The little fellow explained that it was in behalf of Stephen, who had +asked for these remains of spirit and water, because he was dry with +singing. Mrs. Durell shook the flour from her hands, filled a fresh +glass of spirit and water, and carried it herself to Stephen, requesting +him to be so kind as not to offer a drop to the child. If he would call +when he had done his glass, Jack should return to wait upon him. She +meantime encouraged the boy to talk to her, in order to prevent his +stealing back to Stephen before he was called. Jack was already as like +his father as an infant can be to a grown man; and it was undesirable to +give him any pleasant associations with a dram. Jack began with his +usual question, + +“Why can’t Stephen see?” + +He had been told by the maid that it was because Stephen had no eyes; +and he wanted to see whether this would be the reply now given. His +mother told him that Stephen’s eyes were not like other people’s. Jack +was now baffled. He had prepared his answer,—that Stephen had two eyes, +for he had walked round Stephen and counted his eyes. + +“But,” said he, “if his eyes are not like ours, how did he see Betty +just going to let down the milk?” + +“He never did, my dear. He never sees anything.” + +“O, but he did: for he pulled away his coat tail, for fear the milk +should fall upon it. Besides, he has two eyes, for I saw them myself.” + +Whether Stephen’s ears were as serviceable as his eyes were the +contrary, may be left to conjecture: but, before Mrs. Durell could +question the child as to what he meant about the milk, Stephen was +groping his way into the kitchen, and jokingly asking whether he could +not assist in the baking. He had kneaded bread in his day, he said, and +no one was more fond of the steams of the oven. He and Jack were +presently busy with blind-man’s-buff, while Mary made a finish to her +wrist-band with terrible long stitches, in order to put away everything +that might be knocked down, and join in the sport, till mother should be +ready to mend the china. + +While she stood breathless to see what would become of Jack, now penned +in a corner, stifling his screams and stamping, as Stephen’s broad hands +seemed descending on his head, a tap at the door was heard, and Mary was +desired to open it. As Anna stepped in, with a gentle inquiry whether +she might speak with Mrs. Durell, Jack had an unexpected escape. Stephen +relinquished his search in the corner, and slipped cleverly into the +back parlour to search for his victim, though the child shouted, + +“I am not there, Stephen: indeed I am not there. I am here.” + +Mary pushed the noisy child into the parlour, and shut the door, that +her mother might be able to hear what the visitor had to say. + +“I hope you will not take it amiss that I came, Mrs. Durell; but Mr. +Durell told us we might ask you anything we wanted, as strangers, to +know. Our name is Le Brocq.” + +“A name I know very well, through my husband. Pray sit down, and tell me +if I can be of any service to you. Mary, set a chair.” + +“Mr. Durell said you would come, or I should have come before,” observed +Anna. “He thinks as we do, that God makes men love their country that +they may help one another when they chance to be far away from it. That +is,—I don’t know that we can help you; but you may like to talk about +Jersey sometimes.” + +“O, yes. We are very fond of thinking of Jersey. But can I assist you? +As new-comers, you may want to be put in the way of something.” + +“Why, we do; and my mother thought you would tell us where you buy your +tea. We are sure they cheat us as new-comers, and I don’t know what we +shall do if it goes on.” + +“You do not expect to get fine tea at half-a-crown a pound, I suppose, +as you did at St. Heliers.” + +“We did not know—I don’t exactly see—Nobody told us there would be such +a difference.” + +“The difference there always is where the king lays on taxes.” + +“O, yes: but the taxes are such a mere nothing, we are told! And there +is such a difference between half-a-crown and seven shillings! The king +can never spend all that difference on all the tea that is sold; +especially as they say the Company get as much as they wish, selling it +at half-a-crown in Jersey and Guernsey.” + +“The Company has not to keep excisemen in the neighbourhood of every +tea-shop, to take stock, and weigh the tea, and measure the canisters; +and to see that prosecutions are set on foot when the excise laws are +broken. All this cannot be done without money; and so the king does not +get all the difference we have to pay.” + +“So you pay seven shillings a pound for tea?” + +“We did; but now we find we must be content with a lower-priced tea. We +pay 5_s._ 6_d._, and we don’t take it three times a day, or make it so +good as we did in Jersey.” + +“Ah! but my mother has no idea of any change from what we used to do at +home; and my father says we shall be ruined presently, if we go on +paying away money as we do now. Till we came here, we had seldom +anything to pay for but tea and sugar, and the tax; but now we have to +buy almost everything; and we get quite frightened. The tea cannot be +done without, on my mother’s account: but I must see whether I cannot +manage to make some things at home that we now pay high for.” + +“That will hardly help you much; for if you happen to miss the tax on +the manufacture, you will have to pay the tax on the materials. In this +country, you can scarcely use anything that is not taxed either in the +material or in the making; and there is the difference between this +place and Jersey. But, to set against this, what you sell is dearer, as +well as what you buy.” + +“But not in a way that profits us, my father says. If he reckoned only +the clay, brought from Devonshire, and the mill, and the wheel and +lathe, and the furnaces, and the salt, these would not cost enough to +prevent the ware from being very cheap. But the coals pay tax, and the +bricks pay tax, as well as the ware itself; and, especially, the men’s +wages are high, because all that those wages buy is taxed: and my father +has to pay all these taxes, and wait so long before he is paid again, +that it requires a great deal of money to carry on his business, just at +the time that we have to spend more for our living than we ever did +before.” + +“Ah! my dear, you have not yet got used to the ways of living in +England. You never knew in Jersey, nor we either, what it was to fall +short of money, though there was never much more than enough for present +small purposes. Here it is the custom to receive larger sums, and to pay +away largely also: so that it requires very close calculation to avoid +being out of cash sometimes.” + +“You find it so!” cried Anna, in a delighted tone. “Now, let me mend +that china bowl for you, while you tell me all about it.” + +Mary put in her claim to be allowed to help; and while she worked the +cement, and Anna nicely joined in bit after bit of the fragments, Mrs. +Durell explained that she did not mean to say but that her husband was +very properly paid; but that in a country whose custom is to charge the +prices of commodities with a variety of taxes, the prices are not only +high, but high in different proportions; and the charges get so +complicated that people cannot at all tell how their money goes, and can +with difficulty frame their calculations of expense when they come from +a country where they have been accustomed to pay their contribution +direct to the state. The only certainty is, that the articles they most +need will bear the heaviest tax charge; because, in its choice of +taxable articles, government naturally fixes on those which must be most +extensively bought. And, as she shaped her loaf, she told how much +bread, yielding duty, had been consumed within those walls since +yesterday morning. Her husband had told her of a cruel method of +taxation in Holland, in old times, when so much was paid to government +for every loaf that passed the mouth of the oven. Disagreeable as this +method must be, she doubted whether it could be so costly as the +management by which the price of bread was raised in this country. + +“Ah! I see you look surprised at the quantity of bread we bake: but my +husband likes to be hospitable.” + +“Such a man must like it,” replied Anna. + +“What kind of man do you mean?” asked the wife, smiling. + +“Men that give their best attention to what is of most consequence, +instead of least. Mr. Durell looks very grave and attentive when he is +talking to Mr. Studley, and counting the pots that come out of the kiln; +but his mind is given to very different things from those. If Mr. Durell +had but the shoes on his feet in all the world, he would give them to +the first lame beggar he met, and go barefoot.” + +“He would. You know him,” replied the wife. “He does as he would be done +by.” + +“He would leave the gleanings of the field, and the missed olives, for +the widow, and the fatherless, and the stranger, if he lived in the +Scripture land,” continued Anna; “and the reason why is, because he had +rather see people happy than grow rich himself.” + +“You should hear him when he speaks the piece of poetry that he loves +above all others, though he knows a vast deal. It is about mercy that +‘blesses him that gives and him that takes.’” + +“That is Scripture,” replied Anna, gravely. ‘And how the Lord Jesus said +that it is more blessed to give than to receive.’” + +“The one comes of the other, no doubt; but it is in poetry that he tells +it to me. He has mercy for ever on his tongue. It is a sort of rule of +his, in judging of other people. But people are very apt to say that +justice and mercy do not agree.” + +“How can they think of God, then?” asked Anna. “But if such a man as Mr. +Durell is not always as just as he should be, it may be owing to +something else than his being merciful.” + +“How do you mean ‘not just?’” inquired the wife, rather coldly. + +“I am sure we have no reason to think him otherwise than just in the +business he has to do in the pottery,” replied Anna. “He is very strict +and honourable to the king; and when he seems hard on my father, we know +it is not his fault. But he speaks a little unfairly of people +sometimes——” + +“Only when they do mean things.” + +“Well: but still harshly; and if he puts more upon you than is quite +your share, and gives away money, now, don’t pretend to think such +things right——it may be owing to his having been badly taught, or more +sorely tempted than we are, and not to his tender heart.” + +“I would not hear so much from another,” said Mrs. Durell; “but you mean +no pain to me, nor slight to him, I see. And so I will say that I am so +much of your mind, that I do not grudge baking bread even for those that +eat it only for the sake of the spirit that is to wash it down; and as +to the money we owe, God knows how vexed I am when I cannot pay it +without putting my husband in mind of it. There is a poor creature with +us now——” + +“Here’s papa,” cried Mary. + +Durell entered, looking not quite so full of mercy as Anna had sometimes +seen him. He asked his wife sternly, why she had allowed a stranger to +come and ask as a favour that which she ought to have offered? + +“Well, John, I am sorry. I can truly say it. I am sorry I missed knowing +this young woman till now.” + +Anna interposed with a piece of information that she had lately gained,— +that it was dangerous to make new acquaintances in London, without a +very precise knowledge who people were; and how should Mrs. Durell know +who they were? + +“What more has she learned of that since breakfast?” inquired Durell. +Anna looked bashful while she acknowledged that Mrs. Durell had yet had +no further testimony than her own word for her respectability. + +“But she has,” replied Durell. “The impress of truth upon the brow—God’s +own seal. She might have trusted me for knowing it at sight.” + +“It having never deceived you, John,—do you mean to say? Ah! you are +going to protest that you knew all the time when people were cheating +you. I ask no more than that you should let me see for myself when there +is truth sealed upon the brow. I will not be so long in looking for it, +next time.” + +“Mr. Durell,” said Anna, “Aaron has been with you this morning; did +he——” + +“I beg your pardon. Your brother has not been with me this morning.” + +“I heard him directed to go, and to give you notice of something. I was +going to ask whether he told you that Brennan is to be let off his work, +as you wished, for some reason,—I don’t know what. He said something +about it to Mr. Studley,—that you were going to get some new clothes for +him.” + +“Did I promise that? O, I remember. The lad’s a genius, my dear,” (to +his wife,) “and we must find up a suit of clothes for him, in some way; +and then——” + +Mrs. Durell shrugged her shoulders, while Anna explained that after the +clothes should come the holiday. + +“I thank you much. I thank your father as for a favour done to myself,” +replied Durell. “My very best thanks to your father.——Jack, my boy, +what’s the matter now?” cried he, snatching up the child, who was +whimpering, and only wanted encouragement to burst into a loud cry. + +“Stephen won’t let me go with him. Stephen is getting out of the window, +and he won’t lift me out that I may lead him.” + +True enough; Stephen was found stepping out of the low parlour window +into the street. + +“Poor fellow! what fancy has taken him now?” said Durell, running into +the parlour, followed by every body from the kitchen. “He is a singular +character,” he proceeded to explain to Anna. “It has pleased the +Almighty to lay a heavy hand upon him, and to permit us to lighten the +burden. I always held that this outward darkening of the man was like +the shrouding of the firmament in midnight,—making all that moves in it +the brighter and clearer; and, since I have known this man, I am sure of +it.” + +“He is not blind,” said Anna, quietly. “We know him well; we have too +good reason to know him. He carried off half our stock of linen.” + +“You are mistaken,” averred Durell, with sparkling eyes. “He has been +living in our house,—never out of our sight, ever since you came to +London.” + +Anna explained that she referred to a time before her family left +Jersey. Mrs. Durell looked at her husband, as if appealing to him +whether Stephen had not proved himself familiar with Jersey. + +“Damn your suspicious glances!” cried Durell. “You give glances that you +know the poor fellow can’t see, because you are afraid to speak your +thought in words that he can hear. Curse your cold-hearted way of giving +ear to every slander you hear!” + +“Do not say slander,” replied Anna. “I charge Stephen before his face. +Let him say how he left our farm. Could a blind man, seen to his rest at +night, find his way through the kitchen and out at the door of a strange +house, and through the yard, and past the orchard down to the brook, and +over the narrow foot-bridge, before he could even get to the winding +lane, and then——” + +“Stuff! All nothing to do with it!” cried Durell. “It was another man.” + +“Even my Jack found out that Stephen could see,” interposed Mrs. Durell. + +“Shame on you! Shame to oppress an afflicted man on the word—the fancy +of a child that has a fancy for marvels!” cried Durell. “God forgive me +for such a scandal happening in my house! As if it was not enough that +God’s blessed light is taken away, so that the afflicted cannot know his +country by its lying green in the midst of the blue waters,—as if it was +not enough that he must return daily thanks for daily bread to strangers +that bestow charity, instead of to God that rewards toil,—but he must be +insulted before those from whom he has his all! Have done with your sly +looks, and your hinting that he is not blind! Bring me a dumb man that +shall swear a perjured oath, and a deaf one that shall leer at a foul +song, and I will believe that this sightless creature is he that robbed +you. Then I will turn him out; but till then I will protect him. Sit +down, Stephen.” + +“I must go,” said Anna. “I say nothing now, Mr. Durell, about protection +being every body’s right; and, as to insult——” + +The tears sprang to her eyes, and she found it best to hasten away. She +did not think she could stand another fiery glance from Durell, or bear +to look again at Stephen, as he stood, the personification of resigned +meekness. + +“You will come again,” said Mrs. Durell, anxiously, as she followed Anna +to the door. + +“I don’t know, indeed. Mr. Durell would make one think one’s self wrong, +in spite of every thing. He means only to be generous. He almost +frightens me, lest I should have made a great mistake. I am sure, in +that case, I could not do enough to make up for it. But, if ever I was +certain, it is now.” + +“There is no mistake, my dear, depend upon it. I have been suspecting, +for some time, that Stephen is not so blind as he seems. Do not fret +yourself about anything my husband said: but I am very sorry——the first +time of your coming——” + +“O, don’t be sorry. If it had been you, I should have minded it much +more. Do you know, Mrs. Durell, I often wonder what would become of us +all, if women quarrelled as men do.——Well; I know it is said that +women’s quarrels are very sharp; it may be so, though I have never been +in the way of seeing any: but there is something so deep and awful in +men’s quarrels, that I can hardly fancy their being heartily made up +again.” + +Mrs. Durell looked as if waiting for a further explanation; but Anna +caught another glimpse of Durell, and was gone. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + AN ECONOMICAL PROJECT. + + +Anna spoke from strong feeling when she reported ill of men’s tempers. +In her own family the maternal despotism had been very quietly borne; +and the paternal rule, however strict, could not materially interfere +with the objects and pleasures of the young women in a retired +farm-house. But Aaron had never been quiet in the yoke; and Malet +sometimes forgot the policy of the lover in resenting the dictation of +the father of his beloved. Since the removal of the family to London, +there had been frequent contests between Le Brocq and Aaron, each of +which was more bitter and more useless than the last. It was as absurd +in Le Brocq to treat his son as a child, as it was in Aaron to conclude +that every order given him by his father must be more or less wrong. The +effect of the mutual folly was to throw Aaron into league with Studley,— +a league which began when Studley smiled at Le Brocq’s instructions to +his son on matters which neither of them understood; and which was +strengthened in proportion as Le Brocq became discontented with +Studley’s assumption of authority in the establishment where he was only +foreman, after all. The proprietor was now frequently heard to say that +he had no power over his own workmen, and that his foreman and his son +carried every thing their own way; while Aaron had so far advanced in +his progress to independence as to refuse to answer every question +because it was a question, and to consult Studley before he acted on any +suggestion whatever. There was, in consequence, so much constraint in +every meeting of the household, such grave silence or painful bickerings +at every meal, that it began to be a doubt in the mind of each member of +the family, whether it would not be better for the father and son to +separate at once than to go on in the high-road to an irreconcilable +quarrel. + +On returning home, Anna walked straight through the yard into the +manufactory, hoping that the emergency of the occasion would be a +sufficient excuse with her father for the intrusion. She gave +unintentional notice of her approach by jingling a pile of ware as she +passed. + +“Here they come,” said one and another within hearing, as she advanced +to the kiln where some knocking was going on, and three or four persons +seemed to be busy. A man, who was holding a candle stuck in a lump of +clay, observed hoarsely, “Here they come.” “Here they come,” repeated +the treble voice of the boy who was receiving the blocks of baked clay +which had filled up the arch. “Are they coming?” asked the mounted man +who was removing the blocks, and letting out the hot air of the kiln. +“Let them come, if they can’t let us alone for once,” growled Le Brocq, +who was satisfying his sight with the piles of spirit casks ranged one +above another in the kiln, with each its four rims of brown ochre, while +jars and bottles were nicely packed in the spaces between, no one +touching another, but with scarcely room for a hand to pass. + +“Back! back! Go in!” exclaimed Le Brocq, when he saw Anna’s timid face, +instead of meeting the bright brown eye of Durell. “This is no place for +you. You know I desired——” + +“But, father, I have something very particular to say. I have seen +Stephen.—No, I have not got back our linen. I am afraid we shall never +get it back. Perhaps if you spoke to Mr. Durell——” + +“I will—I will: when he comes this afternoon. Go in, child. Go!” + +“But I rather think Mr. Durell is not coming this afternoon. He says he +has not seen Aaron, nor heard from him.” + +“Not seen Aaron! Not had the notice! Bless my soul! what are we ever to +do at this rate? No more of him!” suspecting that Anna was going to say +something for her absent brother. “He shall know my mind when I see him. +Booth, do you think we may go on?” + +Booth considered that it would be a vexatious thing to be informed +against for such a trifle. It was an ugly thing, too, to run the risk of +the penalty. He stood with the bar in his hand, ringing it against the +bricks. + +“You can bear witness that I did all I could, by sending my son with a +notice,” observed Le Brocq. “I dare say we shall find it is some mistake +of Anna’s. It is too late now to defer the drawing.” + +“As you please, sir: not that I can exactly say I witnessed Mr. Aaron’s +being sent with the notice; but I dare say it will be all safe enough, +sir. Shall I go on?” + +“You could not draw all the large, and leave the duty-paid, could you? +No, no; I see that would not do. You may go on.” + +Studley came up while the hot ware was being quickly handed from man to +boy, and from boy to the ground where it must stand to cool. + +“So! No spies to-day! We are in luck. I thought Durell would oblige me +so far as to consider you, as I made a point of requesting that he +would. I congratulate you on having your premises to yourself, sir, for +once. I shall take care and thank Durell.” + +“Speak for yourself, if you please, sir, but not for me. I am quite +capable of thanking any person that I feel obliged to.” + +Studley made a ceremonious bow; and immediately asked Booth whether, in +his old master’s time, it had ever been allowed to place the ware for +cooling in such a manner as he now beheld. + +“Why, no,” replied Booth; “but such are my orders.” + +“Do you mean to talk to my men about their old master before my face?” +asked Le Brocq. + +“A rather superfluous question, sir, if you heard what I said.” + +“O, father!” interposed Anna, breathlessly. “How I wish you would take +us back to Jersey, and let Malet and Louise come here. My mother is +always talking about the cows, and——” + +“And you want to be milking them again, child? Go away. Go to your +mother. Nobody can leave me to my own business, I think.” + +“If you think so, sir,” said Studley, “perhaps we had better part.” + +“With all my heart, Mr. Studley. I should not have made the proposal +first, as you are an old servant of my uncle’s; but since you offer it, +I am quite willing; and the sooner the better, if I may declare my +opinion.” + +The work-people within hearing had all suspended their business to +listen to this amiable dialogue; and the having an audience determined +Studley to finish with dignity. He thought it a pity that Mr. Le Brocq +had not been more explicit. He would have conferred an obligation by +being so; for an office of high honour and profit had been within reach +of his humble servant for some little time past, which he should +certainly have accepted but for the promise he had given his old master +not to refuse his best services to the new proprietor,—with a sort of +understanding, moreover, that some acknowledgment in the form of some +kind of partnership would follow. + +Out of the question entirely, Le Brocq declared. While he had a son and +a son-in-law—— + +Beside the question entirely, Studley averred. The son-in-law being in +charge of the Jersey farm (unlike all other farms, if the family report +were true), and the son being in course of establishing himself in a +distinct line of business, there could be no competitor;—not that he now +desired a partnership. He would not accept the largest share that the +nature of his services could be supposed to authorise; the office he +spoke of being, to a man of ambition like himself, so far preferable. He +would take leave to commence his canvas immediately; explaining to all +his friends (meaning no offence) the reasons of his appearing so tardily +in the field. + +A pang shot through the heart of Le Brocq at the intimation that his son +was about to leave him. He made no inquiry, and had the resolution to +avoid showing that the intelligence was new to him. While he commanded +every man to resume his employment, Studley stalked out of the +manufactory by one door, while Anna stole back by the way she had come. + +In the yard she met Aaron. Her immediate object was to prevent his +meeting his father at present. She wanted to know whether he had +delivered the notice a sufficient number of hours before. No: he had had +something else to do first. He meant to go presently. When told that it +was too late, he supposed that it would not signify, but did not see why +there should have been such a prodigious hurry about drawing the kiln. +He was sure Studley could not have authorised it. + +Anna had so much to ask and to tell that she wished Aaron would now go +with her, as he had promised, on an expedition which must not be much +longer delayed. It was time to be thinking about a washing of clothes; +there having been none since the unfortunate one which Stephen had +turned into an occasion of disaster. Anna and her mother knew nothing +yet of English society which could lead them to suppose that there was +anything peculiar in their methods touching the purification of their +apparel; but as their stock had been somewhat circumscribed since the +trespass of the thief, Anna began to think of arranging the +circumstances of time and place; and in a few minutes, when she had +accounted to her mother for her proceedings, her brother and she were on +their way in search of a clear stream where the operation might be +conducted after the only method she had yet heard or conceived of. + +It seemed a pity to wander so far from home, when a prodigious river was +running near the back door: but Anna had watched the Thames, through all +its moods, for a fortnight, and had never found it sufficiently pure for +her purpose. Besides, there were so many people always about that she +should not have courage to sing at the pitch which was necessary to +insure good washing. Her having seen no washing in the river since she +came was a strong presumption that the Thames did not afford the proper +bath. It must be some pure brook between two green hills, with alder +bushes on which to hang the linen to dry, and some quiet nook where it +might be deposited for a night or two in safety. Such a brook were the +brother and sister now in search of, on a hot day in June, when alders +and green banks would be peculiarly refreshing. They were prepared for +having some way to go, which was very well. They were in no hurry, and +promised each other not to return till they had accomplished their +object. They little knew what they promised; for, though they were cured +of the fancy of myrtles before the house and an orchard behind, they had +no doubt whatever that “country” meant hill and dale, wood and stream. +When they arrived at Kennington Common, they stood and laughed at the +entire absence of trees, quite as much as from the pleasure of seeing an +expanse of green once more. While panting with heat, they wondered that +the Kennington people did not prefer high banks with overhanging hedges +to white palings which fatigued the eye under a summer sun. The stream +which flanks the Brixton road was the first thing they saw which could +at all answer their purpose; and this was decided to be too public. On +they wandered, tempted by the sight of rising ground, to some lanes near +Herne Hill and Dulwich; and in these lanes, and the fields which +bordered them, Anna found something at last which nearly satisfied her +heart. There was a carpet of daisies under foot; and wild roses, some +blushing and unfolding, others flaring and bleached in the sun, bloomed +in the hedges. There were no sleek Jersey cows, with their delicate +taper horns and countenances more refined than ever cows had before; and +Anna was disappointed as often as she unconsciously looked for the blue +sea through a gap in the hedge: but the smell of hay came from some +place near, and a thorn which stood in a damp nook had still blossom +enough to remind her of an apple tree. This thorn suggested a happy +thought; and Anna was glad to perceive, on looking round her, that +thorns were abundant in the neighbouring field. She had heard something +of thorn leaves being dried to mix with tea. The most terrifying of the +many fearful household expenses of the Le Brocqs was tea; and it would +be a great relief to lessen it one-half by mixing a large proportion of +English tea with the foreign. + +“And there is the kiln to dry it in,” suggested Aaron. “The frying-pan +full can be dried in no time; and I will look to the shaking the pan, if +my father does not like that you should have anything to do with the +kiln.” + +“And if we find it really good tea, I may perhaps mix some for sale, and +get enough profit to find us in tea. I am sure that would please my +father; and my mother might drink as much as she likes.” + +Anna lost no time in spreading her shawl on the ground, and plucking +leaves from the lower boughs, while her brother climbed somewhat higher, +and chose the most juicy sprouts from the youngest shoots. They agreed +that some good might arise out of the extravagantly high prices which +prevailed in England. In Jersey, where they paid for tea only one-third +what was charged in London, they should never have thought of making use +of the leaves of the thorn; and they supposed that, as they had been +made inventive in this one particular, the people of England might be +generally ingenious in a similar manner. + +Several persons passed through the field before the green heap on the +shawl had grown very large. A woman with a basket on her arm and a +little boy at her heels looked back again and again, all the way to the +stile, and then had to return to fetch away her child, who stood +staring, as if longing to help. + +“You have a basket, I see,” said Anna, smiling. “If you like to carry +away any leaves, pray help yourself.” + +“What may they be for?” + +“To mix with tea. Tea is so very dear now! I suppose you drink tea?” + +“O, yes, ma’am, we take tea,” said the woman: but, instead of filling +her basket, she shook a handful of leaves from her child’s grasp, and, +disregarding his roaring, took him up on one arm, and her basket on the +other, and carried him till he was fairly past the stile. + +Presently came two men, bustling along, as if it had been the coldest +day in January. They halted, however, near the bush. + +“I say,” cried one of them, after a whisper from his companion; “what +are ye arter there?” + +From out of the bush, Aaron made the same answer that his sister had +before given. + +“Smash me! if that baint a good ’un!” cried he, looking at his +companion; and all the way as they proceeded, they were evidently +talking of what they had seen. + +Next approached a stooping old labourer, in a smock-frock, and with a +scythe over his shoulder. He walked painfully, and stopped near the +thorn to wipe his brows. + +He kindly warned the young people to take care what they were about. He +considered them very bold to do what they were doing by broad daylight, +in a field which was a thoroughfare. + +“We have just done,” replied Anna, colouring. “We are going away +directly.” And she drew close to Aaron, to call him away, and tell him +her fears that the owner of the thornbush would not like their gathering +the leaves, if he knew of it. They had better go somewhere else for as +many more as they wanted. As they tied up the shawl by the corners, and +sauntered away, the old labourer shook his head at them several times; +but was silent as an unquestioned oracle. There was no disturbance of +the kind when they had transferred their exertions to a more private +inclosure; and they obtained as large a supply as the shawl could +possibly hold before they stopped to rest. + +“Now, let us sit down, and I will tell you something,” said Anna.—Aaron +stretched himself out at length on the grass, using his bundle for a +pillow. + +“You must not go to sleep,” continued Anna. “I have been to Mrs. Durell +this morning,—(what an odd thing that she did not put me in mind of this +way of getting tea, when I was complaining of the price!)—and there I +saw somebody else, besides Mrs. Durell and her husband. I saw Stephen.” + +“Stephen!” cried Aaron, starting up, now in no danger of going to sleep. +“You silly girl, why did not you tell me that before?” + +“Because I was afraid you would go and be in a passion with Mr. Durell,— +as I am afraid you will be when I have told you all he said,—though, I’m +sure, I am very willing to excuse him. But, Aaron,—do sit down, Aaron. +It will do just as well when we get home again.” + +As if a man who had escaped once could not escape again! Aaron said. If +Stephen was above ground, he would get hold of him,—not only because he +had betrayed hospitality, and stolen the linen, but because he had told +lies about the ways of going on in England,—with all his talk of nobody +paying taxes in England, or merely such a trifle that they never found +it out. + +“But indeed he will not get away,” declared Anna. “Mr. Durell said he +should keep him, and was so angry with me for being sure that it was our +Stephen, that I quite expect Stephen will stay and brave it out. We will +go together, and try what we can do to get back the linen, if——O, Aaron! +if you will but try to keep your temper. But, indeed, Aaron, I had +rather lose all the clothes I have left,—everything I have in the +world,—than see you lose your temper as you do sometimes.” + +“What is it to you?” asked Aaron. + +“You have asked me that very often before, and I have always told you——” + +“Yes; I know—I know. But I am not half so likely to be surly even to +Stephen as to——I tell you, Anna, you have no idea what it is to be under +my father, every hour of the day.” + +“Have not I? I think I have; for, though I do not want more freedom +myself, I know what it must be to you to want it. It makes me turn +sometimes hot and sometimes cold when I hear him answer for you to +strangers, as if you were a child, or settling all your little matters +at home, without so much as ever looking in your face to see how you +like what he is doing.” + +“Really! Do you always see that? If I had known that——” + +“You might have known it. You did know it; for I have told you so a +hundred times.” + +“But one can never be sure of it at the moment; and you always keep your +head down so, when my father and I have any words.” + +“Because I am always thinking what a pity it is that neither of you is +ready with a soft answer; and I must say, you ought to be the readiest, +from your being the son. But is it really true that you are going to +leave my father?” + +“Who said such a thing?” + +“Mr. Studley told my father so, before several of the men, and they must +have seen that he did not know it before.” + +“My father must have put him into a passion, or he would not have let it +out till next week. How much more did he tell you?” + +“Nothing; but you must let me know all now; and my father as soon as we +go home.” + +“There is no reason for its being a secret, further than that the plans +are not all settled yet. Studley happened to know of a glass-bottle +work, where they will be glad to take in an active young partner, with +the prospect of his joining the stone-bottle making with it, by and bye. +Now, you need not look so shocked, as if anybody was thinking of making +away with my father. The thing is this;—that Studley is sure my father +will soon be tired of carrying on his pottery business by himself, and +will be off for Jersey again; and then the business will come to me: and +no two businesses can be more fit to go on together than the black-glass +and the stone-ware. Studley says I shall be one of the first men in +London, some day.” + +“But where is it? Who taught you to make glass? What can you know about +it?” asked the alarmed sister. + +“If I told you I was going to break stones for the roads, I believe you +would ask who had taught me. Why, it is not so difficult to make +bottle-glass as our fish-soup. Put river sand and soapers’ waste into +the furnace, and there you have it;—or, if you like it better, common +sand and lime, with a little clay or sea salt. What can be easier than +that? And where is the risk, with materials that you may pick up from +under your feet almost wherever you go?” + +“If that were all;—but there are so many things besides the making and +selling that have to be attended to in this country!” + +“Why, that is true; or I fancy we should see twice as much glass in +people’s houses as we do. Everybody thinks glass beautiful, and +everybody who has tried it finds it convenient; and yet, I hear, though +there are nearly twice as many people to use it, and twice as much money +to buy it with, there is less glass used in this country than there was +fifty years ago.” + +“Then I am sure I would have nothing to do with it.” + +“I would not, unless I saw the reason, and was pretty sure that the +state of things would change. ’Tis this meddling of the excise that +plagues the glass-makers, and makes them charge the article high,—far +higher in proportion than we have to charge our stone bottles.” + +“That is what I meant when you laughed at me for being afraid. I did not +doubt that you might melt sand and the other stuff properly; but I +thought you might not understand all about the taxes.” + +“Why not as well as another man? to say nothing of a particular good +reason I shall have for knowing. O, I shall only have to give notice of +drawing out bottles; taking care that the notice is given between six in +the morning and eight in the evening; and that the pots are charged with +fresh materials while the officers are by; and that the material is +worked within sixteen hours after the time mentioned; and that I put +down the right number of bottles when I write the declaration, for fear +of being taken in for a fine of 100_l._; and——” + +“Why, this is worse than what my father has to attend to!” + +“But not so bad as if I were going to make other kinds of glass besides +the common black article. There are thirty-two clauses in the Act that +the glass-makers have to work by; and several of them will not concern +me.” + +“I should think that is very lucky; for, you see, you don’t always +remember to give notice, when you are sent on purpose.” + +“I declare I did not forget it. I had something else to do first, that +was all; and my father was in one of his hurries. However, if any +mischief comes of it, I will bear the blame and the cost; and no man can +do more.” + +“I doubt that: I mean that you might be careful not to ruffle another +mind as well as your own. I am sure, Aaron, if you were standing on our +poquelaye, as you used to do, and could with a breath bring up or blow +away thunder-clouds that were ready to blacken the old castle, and set +the seafowl screaming, and throw a gloom over the wide sea and the green +land, it would be your pleasure to keep all bright, and send the ugly +shade down the sky; and yet, if my father and you find each other ever +so calm——” + +“What does it signify? The blackest clouds are soon gone, one way or +another.” + +“But it is not with our minds and our passions as it is with the sky and +the sea. It is God’s pleasure that when the sky is cleared, the face of +the earth should be brighter than ever: but when a quarrel has +overshadowed kindness, the brightest of the sunshine is gone for ever.” + +Aaron found it convenient to look up into the actual sky for something +to say; and he declared that it was well he did, for some such clouds as +his sister had described were making their appearance above the +tree-tops which were beginning to rustle in the rising wind. They lost +no time in returning, resolving neither to look for more streams, nor to +turn aside to call at the Durells’.—Before they reached home, the +streets were as plashy as any lane in Jersey, (which is saying a great +deal,) and the wind roared among the houses like the fiercest furnace +which was to be under Aaron’s charge. The wet was dripping from all the +corners of the bundle they carried; and Aaron undertook to spread out +its contents in the manufactory to dry, while his sister hastened into +the house. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + LESSONS IN LOYALTY. + + +In the house sat a merry party;—a really mirthful set of countenances +surrounded the table. Anna wondered for a moment what could have called +up a hearty laugh from her father, this day; but when she saw that +Durell was present, there was no longer any mystery. He and a companion +seemed in a fair way to demolish a pie which Anna knew her mother made a +great point of for to-morrow’s dinner; and (of all odd companions) he +had seated beside him Brennan, the poor boy who wrought at the wheel. +Brennan sometimes made a little progress in diminishing the savoury food +which his patron was heaping on his plate; and then drew back behind +Durell’s broad shoulders, to hide the laughter which he could not +restrain when jokes went round. Master Jack was upon the table, on hands +and knees, looking into the pie and the ale pitcher by turns. Mrs. Le +Brocq was plying her needle with all imaginable diligence, only stopping +when an agony of mirth shook her ponderous form. Le Brocq himself had a +glass of ale in his hand, and a twinkle of good humour in his eye. What +could all this be about? Durell had been applying some of his natural +magic to kindle hearts and melt resolves. He had so vehemently thanked +Le Brocq for consenting to spare Brennan for a few hours, that he had +obtained possession of the boy for this evening as well as to-morrow; +had set Mrs. Le Brocq to work to diminish some hoarded clothes which +Aaron had outgrown before they were worn out, and which would now be a +treasure to Brennan; and had caused dull care to vanish before the +spirit of genial hospitality in Le Brocq’s own heart. + +“Hey, Anna!” cried he. “Look at her, dripping like a fish! Get yourself +dry and warm, my dear, before you sit down. We wondered what had become +of you. I fancied you were up in the clouds somewhere; and, I suppose, +by your look, I was right.” + +“Have you been up in the clouds?” demanded Jack, opening his eyes wide +upon her. + +“Not to-day, dear: but I was once in the middle of a cloud, Jack.” + +“Were you? How? Where? Had you a ladder? Did you climb? Did you fly?” + +A burst of laughter followed, which amazed poor Jack. His father stroked +his head, and bade him not be ashamed. The last was a good guess, +whatever might be thought about the ladder. + +“I was on a high hill,” said Anna, as soon as she could be heard; “and +the cloud came sailing——” + +“Was it all golden and bright? Did it make you shut your eyes?” + +Before Anna could answer, her mother sent her to change her clothes and +bring her work-bag, undertaking to satisfy the child about the cloud. +This she attempted in the antique method,—that is, by saying some +brilliant things that were not true. She appended an account of such a +thunder-storm as had just happened;—how two angry clouds ride up against +each other, and when their edges touch, they strike fire, which is the +lightning; and then one rolls over the other, and makes a great +rumbling, which is the thunder. The frowning child, with his mouth open, +took it all in, and might have got a desperately wrong notion of a +thunder-storm for life, if his father had not interfered. + +“Bless my soul, madam, what do you mean to tell the child next? That the +clouds open and let down dogs and cats to worry naughty boys, I suppose? +I will not have my boy made sport of, I can tell you.” + +“Sport!” exclaimed the perplexed old lady. “I am sure I only meant to +tell him what my mother told me.” + +“Tell him nothing of the kind, if you please. Fairy tales, if you like,— +as many as you like,—pretty allegories of God’s doings, which will speak +one kind of truth to him in proportion as he finds they have not the +kind of truth that he thought. But no lies, madam;—especially, no lies +about God’s glorious works. Jack, you are not to believe a word the lady +has told you. She was only joking with you, boy. When you have forgotten +what she said, I will tell you a true story about a cloud.” + +Jack looked offended at being thus at the mercy of two people who +contradicted each other. Mrs. Le Brocq, who did not clearly understand +what was the matter, not knowing any more about an allegory than about +an alligator, and seeing no great difference between a fairy tale and an +embellished fib, hung her head abashed over her work. This showed Jack +which way his vengeance should be directed. He gave a sort of kangaroo +leap, which brought him in front of Mrs. Le Brocq on the table, seized +the top of her cap (the high Norman peasant cap), and pulled at it with +all his might; albeit he held a handful of hair with it. Brennan was the +quickest in rescuing the complaining lady. Durell caught up Jack, +crying— + +“Bravo, boy; thou’rt as like thy father! Never take a lie quietly, boy. +But, Jack, you have hurt the lady; ask pardon for hurting her, Jack.” + +Jack asked pardon; but he would not kiss Mrs. Le Brocq. Instead of +urging the point against the child’s evident dislike, Durell made the +propitiation himself. He respectfully replaced the cap, delicately +stroked the hair on the forehead, and kissed the cheek;—precisely at +which moment Studley entered the room. + +He professed that he was extremely sorry to disturb the party, whom he +perceived to be very agreeably engaged; and particularly as it happened +to be a little affair of his own which brought him into their presence. +The fact was, he had been a long round in search of Mr. Durell, who +would be found, Mrs. Durell had told him, in the prosecution of his +duty, as usual. + +The office which Studley had referred to in the morning as being his +object of desire in preference to remaining with Le Brocq, was that of +Messenger of the Excise Court, with a salary of 78_l._, to which he +added, in his own imagination, certain ‘advantages.’ He knew that the +Court prefers candidates who are experienced in the manufacture of +exciseable commodities; and he flattered himself that, in conjunction +with other circumstances, his having been concerned in the glass and +stone bottle manufactures, and having mastered the secrets of +soap-making, might be powerful recommendations. In the excise, as in all +spy systems, the rule of action is, ‘set a thief to catch a thief.’ None +are found so apt at detecting revenue frauds, and so eager in informing +against and punishing them, as those who, in their day, have defrauded +the revenue. Studley’s pretensions were excellent, in this point of +view; and he believed that if he could make sure of the interest of two +more high personages, besides those whose good word he had already +solicited, he should be pretty secure of the appointment. + +“I have merely to ask one little exertion from you, Sir,” said he to +Durell. “Everybody knows what interest you have with the gentleman who +befriended you,—who procured you your appointment.” + +“Everybody but myself and he, I suppose. Well, Sir.” + +“Your influence is undeniable, I am well assured. I believe I am +tolerably certain of being made messenger in the place of poor Haggart; +but it would set my mind entirely at ease if you would speak in my +favour to the gentleman in question.” + +“Nobody can be more ready than I am, Sir, to set people’s minds at ease, +when I can; but let me tell you, from the day you get this office, you +will never have a mind at ease.” + +“Ha! ha! very good! That is my own concern, entirely, you perceive. As I +was going to say, you can speak to my fitness for the office, I am sure. +As to politics, for instance, though I should never think of meddling, +you are aware, (which a servant of the government is understood never to +do,) yet I am decidedly a government man. Decidedly so. You remember the +part I took in Gardiner’s election?” + +“Perfectly well; from the pains I took on the other side to counteract +you.” + +“Well, well; that is past and gone. You will not object to a government +servant being of government politics, or to bearing testimony that he is +so. Your known liberality——Your humble servant, Miss Le Brocq,” setting +a chair for Anna, as she appeared with her work-bag. “Let none +depreciate the air of Lambeth who looks upon you, Ma’am.” + +“I won’t detain you, Mr. Studley, to discuss my liberality or any thing +else, now your time is so precious. I have no doubt, Sir, of your +qualifications, from the little I have seen of you; and it gives me +pleasure to serve my neighbours; but it is against my principles that +one officer in an establishment like the Excise should stir to procure +the appointment of another. A man should enter his office unfettered by +obligation to any of the parties with whom he will have to do. This has +been my reason before for declining to interfere in similar cases; and +it is my reason now.—And now, Miss Anna, I have humbly to ask your +pardon——” + +“Excuse my interrupting you,” said Studley; “but I trust, Sir, you will +let the matter remain in your mind, and think better of it.” + +“My decision is final, Mr. Studley. God knows there is so little +opportunity of acting freely on one’s principles in such an office as +mine, that I am little likely to give up my liberty of conscience when +by chance I can use it.” + +And he turned to Anna, to seek forgiveness for his vehemence of the +morning. His soul was so sick with the sight of oppression, that he lost +his self-command (if ever he had any) at the remotest appearance of +bearing hard on the unfortunate. He really had great confidence in +Stephen. He would lay his life that Stephen was an honest fellow; but he +admitted this to be no reason why he should have behaved like a brute to +a lady, who had spoken under a mistake. Studley meanwhile had turned +smilingly to Le Brocq. + +“I shall have better success with you, I fancy, Sir. There is one little +requisite, perhaps you are aware, which I believe I must be indebted to +you for. This office of messenger is an office of trust. Infinite +quantities of money pass through the hands of the messengers of the +Court——” + +“Though taxation is a mere trifle in England.” + +“When I speak of infinite quantities of money, I do not, of course, +intend to be taken literally; but the recovery of common charges, as +well as of fines and penalties, is committed to the messengers; and +theirs is a situation of infinite trust,—requiring security, of course;— +small security;—not above 500_l._ Now, where should I look for this +security but to the respectable house which I have served,—I will say, +faithfully served, for so many years?” + +“To any place rather, I should think. To say nothing, on my own account, +of the doubt whether the extravagance of living in England will leave +500_l._ at my own disposal, it is a clear point that an officer who has +to levy charges should not be under obligations to a man who is subject +to such charges. You must know, Studley, that on the first disagreement, +you must betray your duty to government, or do an ungracious thing by +me; and if——” + +“O, we shall have no disagreements.” + +“I was going to say that if we have no disagreements, we lay ourselves +open to the suspicion of collusion. If Mr. Durell is clear on his point, +I am doubly so on mine. I cannot be your security, Sir; which I am sorry +for, as I should be happy to show that I bear no malice on account of +what passed this morning.” + +“Bear no malice! you do,” exclaimed Studley, unable any longer to keep +his temper. “Collusion, indeed! You talk of suspicion of collusion, when +here I find you heaping favours upon favours on the surveyor,—a man you +never heard of till you were in his power! Suspicion won’t be the word +long.” + +“What does the fellow mean?” asked Durell, his eyes lighting up. + +“I mean, Sir, that here is an empty pie-dish, and an empty ale-jug; and +that this is not the first time I have seen you feasting in this house; +and that the very working boys are taken from the wheel, and dressed and +feasted too at your request; and much besides, Sir. Little things, Sir, +which you may call trifles, Sir, are indications,—are symptoms of great +things, Sir——” + +“Nothing truer,” said Durell, contemptuously. “Paltry things like you, +Studley, are indications how despicable must be the little-great system +to which you will presently belong. A writhing maggot is a symptom that +the carcase is stinking. + +“O, Mr. Durell! Don’t provoke him,” cried Anna. “Do think of the +consequences!” + +“’Tis such angel-tempers as yours, my dear, forgiving rough men’s +brutality, as you forgave me this morning, that encourage us to be +brutal again. Don’t let me off so easily next time, if you wish me +well.” + +And he turned to Studley, as if about to apologize for the offensiveness +of his language, when Studley observed, trying to conceal his passion, + +“It is very kind of you, Madam, to bid him think of the consequences. He +will not have long to wait for the consequences, if he blazes abroad his +disaffection in this manner.—Disaffection! yes.—Do you suppose, Sir, +that your exertions in favour of a certain anti-ministerial candidate at +a late election passed unnoticed? We don’t want to be told that you +could not vote; but there is little use in denying that you declared +your opinion,—daily, hourly, wherever you went,—your opinion as to which +principles ought to be supported. Join this with your avowed contempt of +the establishment in which you serve, and what is the inference,—the +clear inference? It is in vain, Sir, to deny the part you took in the +election I refer to.” + +“Deny it! I glory in it!” thundered Durell, who had started up in the +midst of this attack upon him. + +“Indeed!” muttered Studley, quite perplexed. + +“Indeed! yes, indeed! What should a man glory in but in the use of that +which God gave, and which men dare to meddle with only because they know +too little of its force to dread it. When men once talked of shutting up +the four winds in a cave, it was not from dread of their force, but +because it was mortifying not to know, when those winds were abroad, +whence they came and whither they went; and so when our masters would +put a padlock upon our opinions, it is not because they guess the danger +of shutting in what is for ever expanding, but because they covet the +power of letting them fly this way and that, to suit their own little +purposes, and puff away their own petty enemies. But this flying in the +face of God Almighty is such child’s play, as well as something worse, +that perhaps He may forgive in the infant what He would sorely visit +upon the answerable man.” + +“What is all this?” asked Le Brocq, while the countenances of those +present corroborated the question. + +“Why, just this,” replied Durell, putting a restraint upon himself, and +stopping his rapid walk through the apartment. “The object of taxation +is to support government. The object of government is to afford liberty +and security to every man that lives under it. Yet those by whom the +taxation of the people is managed are to be abridged of their liberty, +if they mean to keep their security. In the most important point of all +others,—in the choice of those who are to govern, they are to have no +liberty of action, and their very thoughts and speech are to be +prescribed. We excisemen are to do nothing towards providing that the +oppressed shall be set free, and the industrious rewarded, and the +ignorant enlightened, and an empire blessed:—we are to do nothing in the +only way in which we could do much. Not only must we surrender our +political rights while receiving our bread; but we must not stimulate +others to do what we must leave undone. Even this is not enough: we must +hush to sleep the will that has been wakened within us, and seem to +believe that which we hate as falsehood, or hang on the foul breath of a +spy, like that fellow, for our bread and our good name.—But, so be it! +We are spies; and it is fitting that we should be at the mercy of a +spy.” + +“But why?” interposed Anna. And Jack seconded the question with, “Why +are you a spy, I wonder?” + +“You may well ask, boy. However, they shall never bind my thoughts, and +chain my tongue,—come of it what may. They heard no complaint from me, +from first to last, about the surrender of my right to vote; but if they +think to prevent me from avowing who is the people’s friend and who the +people’s enemy,—if they suppose I will submit to have it thought that I +am with them when my heart is against them, I will fling back in their +faces the mask they would put upon mine; and go with an unveiled front +where God’s works are for ever drawing out their long tale of truth to +shame man’s falsehoods.” + +“Take me with you then, papa. Do take me with you,” cried Jack. + +“The little master had better make sure of what sort of place he would +have to go to,” observed Studley. “He might not altogether like a jail.” + +“A jail!” cried every body. + +“I mean no more than this,—that the penalty for certain excise offences +is 500_l._; and all people are not always ready to pay 500_l._” + +And Studley went out, now the confirmed enemy of the whole party he left +behind. + +“I am not going to justify that man’s spying and threats,” observed Le +Brocq: “but I really do not see why the government should not make a +point of its own servants being of its own political opinions; and, as +for their not voting at elections, it is a favour done to the people, I +conclude, from the consideration that so large a body of persons, +supposed to be biassed by their dependence on the government, would +often turn the scale in a close contest.” + +“And where can there be a stronger proof of the badness of the system? +Is there no better way of the people paying for government than by their +supporting a host of tax-gatherers, who are first compelled to harass +their supporters by daily ill offices, and then become the slaves of +rulers in proportion as they become hated by the ruled? Let the people +of England come forward like men and Christians, asking to have their +state-subscription levied in the form of a periodical contribution, +rather than wrenched and filched from them after the manner of a theft,— +so that the gang of wrenchers and filchers, of whom I am one, may +support themselves by a more honest labour, and once more become men in +their social rights and their liberty of speech.” + +“Do you mean to remain in your office till that day?” + +“If they will let me exercise ordinary freedom of opinion. Yes: while +the system exists, it is the duty of those who feel its evils to soften +their operation as much as possible. If I resigned to-night, the next +best-drilled spy would take my place, and in some lower rank there would +be room made for some mischief-loving, shabby-souled tyrant;—for who but +such would accept the most hateful of offices with the meanest of +salaries? Frightful as is the sum which Englishmen pay for their +standing spy-army, the forces are so numerous that the pay of each +(considered in connexion with the odium of the office) is not enough to +command the services of honest men. But if you had seen the half of what +has come before my eyes, you would value the blessing of a tender heart, +here and there, among such a tribe as hold the tyranny of the excise in +their power; and you would entreat such an one to keep in his place for +love of the widow and the fatherless, and the poor, and such as have +none to help them.” + +When Durell was persuaded to sit down again, and fill his glass, and +Aaron had been summoned by his sister to come and listen, there were no +bounds to the interest with which the surveyor’s tales of sorrow and +crime were listened to. He set out with declaring that there was +scarcely a possibility of a trader’s escaping persecution, loss, or even +ruin, if the excise officer who was over him happened to be his enemy. +He unfolded such scenes of strife, fraud, hardship, and bitter woe, as +terrified the tender-spirited women, and made even Aaron look grave at +the thought of committing himself to be acted upon by such a system. He +trembled at tales of masters being betrayed by faithless servants; of +false oaths taken by men who appeared weekly at church in a frame of +decent piety; of fathers selling their children’s beds from under them +to pay arbitrary penalties innocently incurred; of a widowed mother +following her only son to prison, eagerly explaining to all who beheld +his shame, that it was not for any “real fault,” but for a factitious +offence,—a boast alas! never repeated; for it is they who are imprisoned +for factitious crimes who come out broken-hearted and reckless, apt to +become, first smugglers, and then felons, like the youth whose tale +Durell was telling. The more he told, the more he had to tell,—the more +impassioned became his speech, and the more eager his recourse to his +glass. Brennan had not yet moved from his attitude of fixed attention, +and even Jack was still frowning and gazing in his father’s face, when +Le Brocq perceived that his guest was no longer in a state to be +listened to as one who knew what he was about. Perhaps he was overcome +as much by intense feeling as by what he had taken; but he slid from his +tone of solemn and reasonable denunciation to senseless invective, to +ridicule, to mirth, to nonsense, till his friends could bear the +humbling scene no longer. Anna hastened, in an agony of fear and shame, +to tell Mrs. Durell that Aaron and his father were bringing her husband +home. It was the only thing that could be done with him; for he had +taken some imaginary offence, and would not remain in their house for a +moment longer, and was too riotous to be kept on any other part of the +premises. + +“I know what you are come for,” said Mrs. Durell mournfully to Anna. “It +is not the first time by many, since he was made an officer. If he +should be cut off in his drink, I shall always say his office was +answerable for it.” + +Anna could not leave the unhappy wife when Durell was lying in the next +room, breathing hard, and angrily muttering in his drunken sleep. + +“You must not be too hard upon him to-morrow,” said she, thinking that +she saw signs of wrath in the burning tears which could not be +repressed. “You have reason to know the tenderness of his heart; and it +is my belief that it is that tenderness that betrays him.” + +“To be sure it is. Every day of his life he crosses somebody that he +wishes well to, and feels that he can do nothing for others that he sees +oppressed, and that as often as he shows mercy, he is betraying his +trust. Hard upon him! When he begins to make light of God’s providence, +and to slight the sorrows that he sees, I will be hard upon my husband.” + +“You deserve to be the wife and the comforter of such a man.” + +“Thank you for saying so while he is lying there!” exclaimed the wife, +looking up through her tears. “You and I know that he is more fit to +hold some friendly rule over the people than to dog them as an enemy. +Some would laugh at such a thought, and say he cannot rule himself. But, +depend upon it, if it were not for the misrule that is every day before +his eyes, he would govern himself like the most moderate of them all; +and then he would never be so wretched in his shame as he will be +to-morrow.” + +“Do you think Mr. Durell will be better to-morrow, so as to take me +where he promised?” asked Brennan, who had silently followed into the +room, and was now watching the rain-drops chasing one another down the +window-panes. + +Mrs. Durell shook her head, and the boy’s heart sank at the sight. He +was told that he might sleep here to-night, to take the chance. It was +not very likely that Stephen would come back to-night, having been +abroad since he slipped out by himself in the morning. Anna did not now +ask any question about Stephen, fearing that it might seem like +reminding Mrs. Durell of her husband’s roughness on that subject when +she was last within his doors. + +“Will you please to come here, ma’am?” said Brennan, beckoning her to +the window. + +She saw Studley standing under a gateway, as if for shelter, but +laughing, and pointing very significantly at Durell’s house. Brennan +whispered that Studley had met master and Mr. Aaron when they were +trying to make Mr. Durell walk straight; and that he had followed them +all the rest of the way, talking about fair traders’ luck in choosing +their time for making surveyors drunk. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + + HARDER LESSONS IN LOYALTY. + + +While Durell, as much ashamed of himself the next morning, as his wife +had foretold, made an exertion to perform his promise to Brennan, +notwithstanding a desperate head-ache, Anna was making experiments with +the new tea her brother had helped her to manufacture. It was so good as +to make her wonder why all but the wealthier classes in England did not +mix a larger or smaller proportion of those leaves with the genuine tea. +She resolved to try a variety of herbs for the same purpose; and hoped +that when she had satisfied herself that she had obtained the best +article in her power, she might make a profitable little business of her +manufacture. Perhaps the reason why she did not hear of others doing so +was that few had the advantage of a kiln in which to dry the material +quickly, equally, and in large quantities. Meantime, there seemed to be +customers ready before she asked for them. A woman, whom somebody +pronounced to be Mrs. Studley, came to inquire, and carried away a +pound, which she insisted upon paying for before she tasted it. The +example once set, several of the people on the premises, or their wives, +made similar purchases in the course of the next few days. + +Aaron meanwhile recovered from the temporary alarm about his new +business connection into which Durell’s disclosures had thrown him. He +trusted that the perils of glass-makers had been exaggerated in the +heated fancy of the surveyor; and would not believe Anna when she +averred that Durell was perfectly sober when he told of the extent to +which glass-masters are dependent on their servants. He had made a clear +distinction between the present and the former times of the manufacture; +showing how the present are an improvement upon the former, though +restrictions and hardships enough remain to account for the manufacture +being stationary while all circumstances but the interference of the +excise are favourable to its unlimited extension. Durell had told a +story of a respectable glass-manufacturer who had suffered cruelly, some +years ago, from having accidentally affronted one of his men. The man +put material into several of his master’s furnaces, and then went and +laid an information against the proprietor for charging his furnaces +without notice. The consequence was, that George the Third, by the Grace +of King, &c., greeted poor Mr. Robinson, and “commanded and strictly +enjoined” him (all excuses apart) to appear before the Barons of the +King’s Exchequer, at Westminster, to answer his Majesty concerning +certain articles then and there, on the king’s behalf, to be objected +against Mr. Robinson. These articles of accusation were thirty-one! No +wonder the king wished to know what Mr. Robinson had to say. There was, +besides charging the furnaces without notice, a long list of other +offences, (all, however, committed by the workman without his master’s +knowledge,)—putting in metal after gauge, unstopping a pot without +notice, taking down the stopper without notice, filling five pots each +day for fifty days without notice, omission of entering five hundred +makings, and so on. Who can wonder that the father of his subjects was +grieved at such a want of filial confidence? The king, however, had less +reason to be grieved than Mr. Robinson; for the penalties on the +thirty-one offences amounted to 138,700_l._ His Majesty, through his +Barons, had compassion; or rather, perhaps, it might be evident to them +that to throw a man into jail for the rest of his days, after stripping +him of all that he had, for such a crime as his servant beginning to +make glass without his knowledge, might be going too far for even +excise-ridden England. They made him answerable for one only of the +accusations, and let him off for 50_l._—liable, however, to a repetition +of the same misfortune, unless he chose to stand day and night beside +his furnaces, to see that none of his people violated the law touching +glass. Matters have mended since that day. Absurdity and hardship do not +now reach such an extreme: but the principle remains. The tyranny of +interference still subsists. The morality of glass-making is still an +arbitrary morality,—complicated and annoying in its practice, and +mercilessly punished in its infraction. There was still enough of peril +and disgust to make Anna wish that her brother would think again before +he entered upon glass-making. She prevailed no further than to induce +him to bespeak a short trial of the business before committing himself +irrevocably as a partner. She heard so much more of the ingenuity and +taste of the manufacturer he was about to join, than of his experience +in business, that she was in perpetual fear that the firm would not long +be able to escape the clutches of some of the revenue laws, which seemed +to be lying in ambush everywhere to entrap the unwary. Her father, too, +was for ever prophesying that the wilful youth would fall into some +scrape, and get into jail, sooner or later. + +Mrs. Durell observed her husband to be particularly gloomy one evening, +when he desired to have his supper earlier than usual. He sat looking at +the wall, as he always did when his mind was full of something painful. +He seemed relieved when Stephen left off singing in the next room, +though he would not have taken such a liberty with a dependent guest as +to interfere with his singing when he was in the mood. When the +spirit-bottle was put down near him, he pushed it away. This was good as +far as it went. He was not going to drink away his cares, whatever they +might be.——A knock at the door.— + +“Let him in. It is the constable,” said Durell. + +“O, then, I know. You are going to watch,” said Mrs. Durell, being aware +that entering premises by night could be done only in the presence of a +constable. “I am afraid, love, you are going to distress somebody that +you wish no ill to.” + +“I wish ill to nobody but that cursed race of informers that is as much +cherished in this country as if we had a Nero over us.” + +“Only about the taxes, love, surely.” + +“Only about the taxes! Well, what would you have, when almost everything +that is bought and sold is taxed?—Sit down, Simpson. Have you supped? We +may be detained some time.” + +The wife probably still showed anxiety; for he said, while buttoning up +his coat, + +“You have no acquaintance among the soap-boilers, my dear, that I know +of.” + +“Oh, is it soap-boiling that you are going to watch?” + +He nodded, kissed her, bade her not sit up for him, and left her +relieved. + +It was true that the first errand was to a soap-boiler’s,—a man who kept +a chandler’s shop, and professed to do nothing else, but who had long +continued to carry on an illicit trade in soap. His candles bore the +blame of the scent with which his near neighbours were sometimes +incommoded; and his being possessed of two handy daughters saved the +necessity of his having servants who might betray him, protected by that +odious clause of the Act which provides that participators in the +offence shall be rewarded instead of punished, if they will inform +against their masters or companions. This man found that he could make, +very cheap, a particularly good soap, as long as he could evade the +excise; and he had, of course, no lack of customers. In his shop, he +sold none but dear, duty-paid soap; but nobody knew but himself how many +packages went into the country from the back of his premises. The +temptation was enough to overpower any man who had his opportunities. +His privacy afforded him the means of trying experiments to improve the +article,—too expensive a practice for makers who cannot return the +material to the coppers, in case of failure, without the sacrifice of +the whole duty upon the portion so returned. Relieved from the duty, he +could use better and more expensive materials than the regular +manufacturer can employ. Instead of barilla, or the still inferior +article, kelp, he could use common salt, which requires much less labour +in its application to use, and, from its smaller bulk, might be smuggled +into his premises and kept there with greater safety. Besides this, he +liked to be able to take his own time about the production of the +article, and to use such vessels as might be best fitted for his +purposes, instead of having an exciseman standing over him to see that +his soap was ready by a certain time, whether it was properly made or +not; and that his utensils were of the shape and size required by law; +whether or not the having them of that shape and size caused waste of +the material. The mere circumstance of being able to discharge the +alkaline lye from the copper by a cock inserted near the bottom, instead +of by pump and hand, as ordered by law, was of no little consequence, +regarding as it did an operation which was perpetually occurring. This +chandler had, with an easy conscience, made a pretty little competence +by his illicit manufacture; but his day of prosperity was over. Some +keen nose or eyes had made the discovery, and the consequence was that +the constable visited his premises by midnight. + +How the girls started at the first gentle tap at the door! How relieved +were they when, having called from the window, they were told it was +only a neighbour wanting to light his lamp! How dismayed again, when +four men rushed in, the moment the door was opened, and made their way +direct to the place where the sinner was pouring off his curdling soap +into the troughs! There was nothing to be said,—no license to produce,— +no tokens of having paid duty. The whole apparatus and product must be +seized, and the man taken into custody, and the daughters left to +comfort themselves, and explain the matter to the world in the best way +they could. They dreaded the loss of money far more than the loss of +character, which could hardly be great in a country where the population +professes (judging by the duty) to use no more than 6½lbs. a head per +annum; while it is well known that half a pound a week each is the +lowest quantity actually consumed. In a country where three-quarters of +the soap used is not duty-paid, there can be no very deep or extensive +horror of the sin of illicit manufacture. It is far more likely that the +ignorant poor should be thankful to him who, in their inability to make +soap at home, enabled them to buy for 1½_d._ what the law would prevent +their having for less than 6_d._ Even some rich might be found who would +pronounce it a monstrous thing that, while the cost of making soap is +only 12_s._ per cwt., the duty should be 28_s._, and the expense of +excise interference 16_s._ more; but the rich are not concerned like the +poor in this matter. Not only is cleanliness,—and so far health,—less +difficult, less a matter of question to them, but they pay a much +smaller proportion of the duty than the poor. The duty amounts to +two-thirds of the price of the soap which the poor man buys, while it +forms only an inconsiderable portion of the cost of the refined and +scented soaps of the luxurious. While these things are so, who can +wonder at the reliance of the illicit trader on the support and good +will of society, and his expectation of being blamed for nothing worse +than imprudence in carrying on his work in a place liable to detection? + +When the daughters had watched their father down the street, after +helping to cleanse him from the tokens of his late toil, and had gone +crying up to bed, knowing that a guard was left on their premises, +Durell and the constable proceeded on another errand, much more painful. + +Durell had received a hint from his superiors that all was not right on +the premises of the glass-bottle maker, with whom Aaron was becoming +connected. It was his belief that Studley had been the informer, both +from the date of the occurrence, and from Studley’s knowledge of the +concern. Whether it was his design to implicate Aaron, could not be +known yet; but, if he really believed Le Brocq to be a rich, close, old +fellow, it seemed very probable that he might adopt this means of +squeezing a little money out of him; or, possibly, he might nourish +revenge against more than one of the family because Le Brocq had refused +to be his security for the office for which he was still waiting in +uncertainty. However these things might be, Studley was with the men who +stealthily let themselves in at a side door, during the twilight, and +hid themselves behind some planks which happened to be set on end +against the wall. He was with them when they skulked about, after the +workmen were gone, peeping into the closets where the stock was placed, +and whispering as often as they met with anything which could possibly +be construed into a token of fraud. He was the one who called them +hastily back to their hiding-place when steps were at length heard +approaching. He watched and followed the proprietor when he hastily +passed through, with a flaring candle in his hand, as if about to light +himself to some dark place. It was Studley who beckoned the men to +pursue, and burst into the portion of the premises which had been so +contrived as hitherto to elude the notice of the excise. There they +found the proprietors, Aaron, and a trusty servant of the establishment, +all at work about a small furnace. + +Studley stood afar off, and was left to his own reflections, when the +door was shut. Durell and Simpson presently afterwards arrived. + +“Has this apartment been duly entered?” inquired Durell of the +offenders. Nobody answered. + +“Has this furnace paid duty?”—No answer. + +At length, the elder partner began to explain. + +“The fact is, we think we have devised an improvement in our +manufacture; and nobody knows better than you, Mr. Durell, that it is +impossible to keep any secret to ourselves in our business, while the +same excisemen who watch us, see half a dozen other establishments of +the same kind in a day. There is really no possibility of improvement +but in doing what is constantly done,—working a little in private before +we make known our discoveries to the excise.” + +“The expense, too, of wasting material, which must pay duty whether we +obtain the desired product or not, is an insurmountable obstacle to +improvement,” observed the other partner. “You will not deal harshly +with us, sir. If you do, we shall suffer for the patriotic attempt to +advance our manufacture.” + +“I am certain,” declared the first, “that government will gain more by +allowing us to complete our experiment, than by fining us to our last +shilling.” + +With all this Durell had nothing to do. His office was plain. His +accustomed duty lay before him,—seizure of the goods and custody of the +offenders. He was grieved that his friend Aaron could not escape, though +he was not one of the partners. Studley was again at hand to insist that +Aaron was liable to fine or imprisonment for being found working on an +exciseable product in unentered premises. The informer (for so he was) +was very unwilling that Aaron should be permitted to return to his home +for the night. He hoped to have seen him marched through the streets to +some place of confinement. But Aaron’s peril was not such as could +induce him to abscond; and he was dropped at his father’s door, after +having given his promise to appear when summoned before the court. + +Studley need not have grudged him his home. There was little comfort in +it. Before he had well finished his tale, the next morning, and before +his father had well begun the series of reproaches which must be +expected to follow, a messenger from the Court appeared, summoning, not +only Aaron, but Le Brocq, to answer for drawing his kiln without notice, +and Anna for an illicit adulteration of tea. + +Le Brocq replied only by flinging the summonses under the grate, and by +a deep curse upon Durell. Anna, who had sunk into a chair, exclaimed, + +“O, father, why is he to blame? How has he wronged us?” + +“Never tell me that this is not all his doing;—or, at any rate, that be +might not have prevented it all, if he had pleased. What is his office +for,—what is his power worth,—if his best friends and his countrymen,— +strangers that he ought to protect,—are to be persecuted in this +manner?” + +“I will answer for it, he is more sorry for us than we are for +ourselves: but he must do his duty, father.” + +“I should like to know what way of doing one’s duty would please my +father,” observed Aaron. “Whatever may happen is sure to be somebody’s +fault.” + +“Whose fault was it, pray, that my kiln was drawn without notice?” + +“O, father! Aaron! all this cannot be helped now. Do not let us quarrel +now. We must think what must be done.” + +“We must go to prison,—that is clear,—unless my father can pay the +fines,” said Aaron. + +“If anybody goes to prison, it must be you, Aaron. My first duty is to +your mother, and my next to your sister, who has never been a +disobedient child to me.” + +“Pray, father, don’t,” cried Anna. “Perhaps we may none of us have to go +to prison.” Her voice faltered at the last dreadful word. + +“It is my belief that I can never pay the fines,” replied Le Brocq: “and +if they throw me into jail, I shall find some means of telling the king +that they give him bad advice who encourage him to use such means as his +of getting his taxes. I would willingly have paid him three times as +much as he has yet got from me for leave to follow my business in peace. +There is that fellow Durell skulking about before the window now!—to see +how we take our troubles, I suppose.—Anna, come back! I won’t have you +speak to him. I forbid everybody belonging to me to speak to him.” + +“Your own countryman, father!” + +“What does it matter to me whether he was born in Jersey, or any where +else? He is an exciseman, and that is enough. How in the world to tell +your mother of all this!” + +“Perhaps we shall not be hardly used, when they find that we are +strangers, coming from a place where nothing is known of the excise,” +said Anna, trying to command her voice. “Perhaps the king will be +merciful when he hears all we have to say; and I still think Mr. Durell +is our friend. Perhaps we may not all have to go to prison together; +and, at any rate, I suppose we shall soon know the worst.” + + + + + END OF THE FIRST PART. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS + + OF + + _TAXATION._ + + --------------------- + + + No. IV. + + THE + + JERSEYMEN PARTING. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + --------------------- + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + + + + + LONDON: + PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, + Duke-street, Lambeth. + + + + + THE + + JERSEYMEN PARTING. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + + + --------------------- + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + + CONTENTS. + + CHAP. PAGE + 1. A Busy Man at Leisure 1 + 2. Knitting and Unravelling 20 + 3. A Mate for Mother Hubbard 44 + 4. Friend or Foe? 51 + 5. The Darkening Hour 79 + 6. The Land of Signals 96 + 7. Welcome to Supper 117 + 8. A Wanderer still 133 + + + + +For some of the materials of this and the preceding No., I am indebted +to Mr. Inglis’s very interesting volumes on the Channel Islands. + +The next No. will conclude my work. + + H. M. + + + + + THE JERSEYMEN PARTING. + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + A BUSY MAN AT LEISURE. + + +There are but too many people in London who look upon a prison very much +as they look upon any other building: but of such people few are from +Jersey, or from any place where, as in Jersey, the inhabitants are +prosperous, and the temptations to crime are therefore few. The family +of Le Brocq had not been accustomed to see a sentence of death lightly +received as implying nothing worse than a gratuitous removal to a +country where, whatever other hardships there may be, there is no +difficulty in procuring food and spirits. They had not been accustomed +to the language of penal justice in England, where “transportation” may +mean nothing more than removal to Woolwich, to sleep in a stationary +vessel at night, and rest upon a broom in the dock-yard during the day, +in the intervals of being watched. They had not been accustomed to see +convicts adjusting their leg chain in the presence of strangers, as if +it had been a boot or a gaiter; nor to hear the merriment of the +disgraced; nor to witness calculations as to the economy of living in a +prison for a while. To have seen an offender after conviction was to +them a rare circumstance; and when such a chance had befallen, there had +been a conflict of feeling between their extreme curiosity to see any +one in circumstances so peculiar and interesting, and their fear of +insulting the fallen. + +Durell, though a Jerseyman, had lost some of this feeling through the +familiarity with jails which was induced by his office. The idea of +depriving a man of his natural liberty, of using force upon him in any +way, was as repugnant to him as it will be to everybody a few ages +hence; but, the outrage being an actual fact, the attendant +circumstances had lost some of their power. If it had not been so, he +would not have pronounced that Aaron might go home for the night of his +arrest, as his peril was not such as could induce him to abscond. He was +wrong. Aaron’s peril for working on unentered premises was of being +taken before two magistrates, and sentenced to three months’ hard labour +in prison. Whether three months, or three years, or three hours of hard +labour, it would have been much the same to Aaron, if within the walls +of a prison. Before daylight he was on the cold, foggy Thames, hastening +he knew not well whither, and cared little, so long as he was out of +reach of the arm of the law. + +His father did not abscond, because he had a wife and daughter; but +never was any man more perplexed how to choose between two dreadful +evils than Le Brocq. Equal to a Jerseyman’s horror of a prison is his +repugnance to pay money. Having at home but little money and an +abundance of all that he really wants, he will make any shifts with his +materials rather than buy. He will first impoverish his live stock +rather than go to market to purchase proper food for them; and then, his +live stock failing, he will impoverish his land rather than pay for +manure. Thus, Le Brocq’s grand inducement to come to England having been +the supposed exemption from paying taxes in money, he could not endure +the idea of laying down a heavy sum as a fine, while any alternative +remained. He persuaded himself, and declared to the court, that he could +not raise the money; and went to prison. This was against Durell’s +judgment, and in the firm persuasion that Aaron would appear in a day or +two, to conduct the business and take care of the women. It seemed to +him so utterly ridiculous to consider Aaron’s accident of working on +unentered premises as a punishable offence, that there could be no +danger of the young man’s being inquired after when he had been found +“not at home” for twenty-four hours. + +He also was wrong. Anna was alone when she drew near the prison to visit +her father, after a few days’ confinement. She had never been out on so +painful an errand. She walked past, two or three times, in hopes that +the disagreeable-looking people about the gate would have gone away and +left a clear path for her: but they stood a long while, leaning against +the wall with folded arms, some chatting and laughing, and others +abusing the powers within for keeping them waiting. Before they had +disappeared, more came; and Anna saw that the time during which she +might obtain admittance would pass away if she waited to go in alone. +Nobody seemed to mind her, after all, and the turnkey was civil enough; +so civil, that she found courage, after a moment’s struggle, to do what +she considered justice to her father, and assure the turnkey, as he +showed her the way, that it was for no crime that her father was there, +but only for a mistake about a tax. The man seemed to think this no +business of his; and indeed there was nothing in his manner to any of +his charge to indicate that such a distinction signified at all. + +It was a great disappointment to Anna to find that she could not see her +father alone. Two persons were in the same apartment with him,—a dingy, +close room, where it must be extremely irksome for three people to pass +the day without employment. Anna saw at a glance how irksome it really +was. Nothing but the extreme of ennui could have placed her father in +the position in which she found him,—trying to play at cards with his +companions. Such cards! such companions! and he, ignorant as he was +known by Anna to be of modern card-playing! He had borne his part in a +single ancient game of cards (though he preferred dominoes) on the gay +nights of Christmas or New Year in his Jersey home, when the punch-bowl +was steaming and cakes were heaped on the hospitable board round which +he had gathered his family and neighbours; but his game and his +card-playing notions were little suited to his present place and +companionship. It was a dismal amusement here, in this cheerless room, +with sordid accompaniments of every kind, and two of the players +impatient at the incompetency of the third. Their voices were none of +the most harmonious when first heard on the opening of the door; and +when it appeared that Anna came to interrupt, Le Brocq’s partner threw +down his cards in a pet. Le Brocq cast away his, exclaiming— + +“My dear, what are you here for?” + +“Only to see you, father. But I am in the way, I’m afraid,”—looking at +the peevish man opposite. + +“Never mind him,” replied her father. “We have time enough and too much +for that sort of thing. Why did not you send Aaron, instead of coming +yourself into such a place? You know I do not like——” + +“I knew you would be vexed with me for coming; but my mother was so +unhappy about nobody seeing you. When Aaron comes home——But, father, we +have not seen him yet.” + +“Not yet! Do you mean that he has never come back at all?” + +“Never.” + +“Nor written? What can the lad mean? Whenever he does come back, he +shall learn——I will teach him what he may expect by playing such +pranks.” + +He saw by Anna’s downcast eyes that she thought such threats, if they +could be overheard, were not the most likely means of bringing her +brother back again. They put her too much in mind of the scolding +mother’s address to her offending child, which she had overheard in the +street,—“Come here, you little wretch, and let me flay you alive.” Le +Brocq added more gently, + +“You are not afraid of any harm having happened? Have you asked +anybody?” + +“Mr. Durell says——” + +“Durell! That you should go and disgrace our family before that man, of +all people! What has Durell to do with us, beyond getting us into +mischief?” + +“My mother asked him, because we thought he knew most about what people +do when they get into trouble with the Excise.” + +“Not he. He thought I should pay the fine rather than come here. That +shows how much he knows. But what does he say?” + +“He does not think Aaron will come back,” said Anna, with a faltering +voice. + +“He has enticed him away somewhere, then. What should make the lad stay +away?” + +“When they run away, they get disgusted with the law, Mr. Durell says, +and set themselves against it. Too many, he says, turn to secret +distilling, or to braving the law in some other way. And that is what we +fear for Aaron.” + +“Nonsense: he is safe enough with Malet by this time, I have no doubt. +He has been ropemaking there this fortnight, depend upon it.” + +“He was not there four days ago, as we learn by a letter from Louise +this morning. We were so glad to see the letter! But there is nothing +about Aaron, except their supposing that he must be managing the +business while——” + +“I don’t think I need read the letter,” observed Le Brocq, pushing it +away from him. He was afraid of the pain of seeing what his daughter +might say about his being in prison. “Your mother is happy for to-day, I +suppose, now she has heard from Louise?” + +“Not very,” answered Anna, with a tear or two. “Father, she is always +crying out for Louise to come. She seems as if she thought everything +would be right if Louise was here. But I am sure I dare not think of it. +It is something to think that one of us is safe; and why should Louise +be more safe than anybody else, if she came? There are other snares yet, +Mr. Durell says; and where no stranger can do anything hardly without +falling into a snare, is not it much better that Louise should stay +away? Is not it, father?” + +“To be sure. It was mistake enough for us to come.” + +“Then, you will let us go away again? May I tell Louise so?” + +“O, yes. Tell her that, as soon as you hear of my being buried, you +shall see if you can raise money enough to get back to Jersey; and that +I charge her——” + +“Buried! father.” + +“Yes. I am very ill, and it is my belief that I shall die here. So your +mother is very unhappy?” + +“Yes: but you don’t mean that you are really going to die? I am sure +something might be done to persuade the king to take some of your +stone-ware, if you have not the money. I am sure they would let you out +in that way. And my mother is so miserable! Every footstep that I am apt +to take for Aaron’s, she thinks must somehow be Louise; and then she +thinks of how proud it would make her to see Louise’s husband setting +all right, and——” + +“Poor child! She taunts you with having no lover here! No wonder you +look for Aaron back! She finds fault with you again for sending away +poor François, who would indeed have been a great help to us now. But no +wonder you look for Aaron back!” + +“It was such a disappointment last night, father! There was a soft tap +at the door, just before we went to bed; and we never doubted its being +Aaron. I told him through the key-hole that I would open the door in a +minute; and when I did, it was Mr. Studley. And now he will have it, +from what I said, that Aaron is with us sometimes; and he would stay——” + +“Your mother would not let him in, to be sure? She would not let the +rascal in?” + +“She could not lawfully prevent his coming in; but she would not allow +him to stay there. I never saw such a spirit in her before. But we heard +him outside for three hours after. If I could have persuaded my mother +to go into the back room, so that he could not have heard her cry, I +should not have minded it so much.” + +“What! has the fellow overheard our lamentation? I thought your mother +had——That should never have happened if I had been at home.” + +“Then I wish you would come home, father. Never mind the loss. Never +mind the ruin, if it must be ruin.” + +Le Brocq answered doggedly, as he had always done before, that he had +not the money. If any body had told him, when he took the business, +that, independently of his scrape with the Excise Court, he should now +be without money, he would not have believed it, after all that had been +held out to him about the quantity of money he should make. It was not +from spending. He had pinched and toiled more than he had ever done in +Jersey; and all to plunge himself deeper. If he had been out of +business, dressing his wife in velvet, and feasting on foreign fruits +and claret, he would have paid less to the state than he had done as an +employer of workmen, denying himself and his family, meantime, anything +beyond the commonest comforts of life. It was the paying several times +over that was enough to ruin any man. The workmen could not pay the +taxes upon everything that they ate, and drank, and wore. Their wages +were raised in proportion; so that their masters paid. No man should +judge of his fortune by his returns till he knew what he had to pay in +wages. O, yes; he charged these wages in the price of his bottles, so +that the bottle consumers paid in their turn: but he, as a consumer of +other things, paid in his turn, in like manner; till, among so many +outgoings, he had no money left. And all for what? To contribute his +share towards the expenses of government, which he might have paid, if +he had been properly asked, at half the cost, and a hundredth part of +the pain and trouble! + +“But you did not like that way of paying when you were in Jersey, +father.” + +“Because I was told there was a better, and was fool enough to believe +it. It is the most shameful hoax, the making me pay as I have paid since +I came here! You need not look so frightened, as if I was talking +treason,” he continued, seeing that Anna was uneasy at his being +overheard complaining of being hoaxed in state matters. “I am saying no +harm of the king; for he loses more than I. If I am hoaxed, he is +double-hoaxed, as I could easily prove.” + +“Could you? Then perhaps,” said Anna, timidly, “perhaps, if you told him +so——” + +“Ay; I could set the case plainly enough before him, if I could see him; +but there’s the difficulty.” + +“I will ask Mr. Durell, and he will ask the Board, I dare say,” +exclaimed Anna. “We could say that you would not detain his majesty very +long,—not more than half an hour, perhaps.” + +“Not so much; but I am afraid that would not do. If you consider how +many hundreds of people are in prison, or otherwise ruined by the +Excise, it seems hardly likely that the king should give half-an-hour to +each.” + +One of the inmates of the apartment, who was keeping himself awake with +playing Patience with the dirty cards, while the other dozed, here put +in his word. + +“If his majesty gave his time to every body that is injured by the +Excise, there would be no time left for any other business; and you are +simple people if you do not know that.” + +“There is another thing,” observed Le Brocq. “If the king was on our +side, there are his ministers to convince. Now, it seems to me that his +majesty might not exactly carry in his head all I might say, to repeat +to them; and it would be as well that he should have it in black and +white.” + +“O, a letter to him!” cried Anna, brightening. “Let me write down to +your speaking, father; now, while I am here; and I can put it into the +post-office as I go home. They say letters are most sure to reach people +when they go through the post-office.” + +Anna laid aside her bonnet, put her hair back from her face, and looked +round for something wherewith to dust the shabby, rickety table. The +card-player picked the pocket of the sleeper of his handkerchief, and +handed it to Anna, who used it without scruple, rather than that the +king should have to open a dirty letter. But where was the paper? If she +went out to buy a sheet, perhaps they would not let her come in again; +and her father had none. The card-player again offered to be their +resource. He proposed to let them have a sheet of paper, and the use of +his ink, pen, and penknife for a shilling. + +“Money again!” exclaimed Le Brocq. “The English go on ruining one +another, even in jail, with asking for money, money, for ever. I shall +pay away no more money, I assure you, sir.” + +“Well, then, money’s worth will do as well. That young lady has brought +something for you in her basket, I believe?” + +“I have, sir. I have brought something for my father, as you say; and +for no one else. When we lived in Jersey, it was a pleasure to make and +bake for those that wanted it, and to give it even before they asked for +it. But what I have brought is for my father’s eating, and not to pay +away for a sheet of paper, when it happens to be his need to write a +letter. Father, I like this place less and less for you. I did not think +there had been a place, even a prison, where people who sit at the same +table would so take advantage of one another’s wants.” + +“Even a prison!” said the man, smiling; “why, ma’am, I hope you don’t +think the worst people are found in prisons? Let me tell you that those +whom you would call the worst have the sense to keep out of prison. If +you had lived in London as long as I have, you would see how a prison +has lost its bad name; as it ought to do, if it is to be judged by the +people it holds.” + +“I should be afraid it would give a bad name to the people it holds, +instead of getting a good one to itself,” observed Anna, sighing. + +“No, no. You Jersey people know nothing about our English prisons. In +your island, a man must be a really bad man, or have done some one very +bad deed, to get himself shut up. But here, what do you see? Almost all +the prisoners are in for debt, or for crimes against property, or for +revenue offences. The first and last are not reckoned crimes in a +country where it is so difficult to a great number to keep clear of +money entanglements and of tax-gatherers; and under the other head come +those who would not have done worse than their neighbours, but for such +want as you do not see in Jersey. In our prisons, you meet more of the +poor and the ignorant than of the guilty; and, this being seen, prisons +are losing their bad name, as I said, among the people. You will hardly +speak ill of them, from this time forward, your father having been in +one, and hundreds more as good as he.” + +Anna saw that there must be something very wrong about all this. It +perplexed all her notions about guilt and punishment. She had till now +looked upon her father as an injured man, and regarded him as an +innocent person, detained by mistake in a horrible place, and among vile +companions; and now to be told that the only mistake was in her notion +of a prison, and that her father was no more than an ordinary inmate, +dismayed her so that she desired to hear no more. She spread out +Louise’s letter, and proposed to write on it in pencil what her father +had to say to the king; and to copy it out fair at home. The card-player +found it to no purpose to reduce his terms. His first overcharge had +deprived him of a customer for his dingy paper and dusty ink. The letter +was as follows:— + + “I, John Le Brocq, have something to say to your majesty which may + prove of equal consequence to us both, and to many more. I am sure + your majesty cannot be aware how much harm is done by the way in which + your majesty’s taxes are collected. I really think that if any one had + set himself to work to devise a way for taking as much as possible + from us people, and giving as little as possible of it to you the + king, and hindering manufactures and trade at the same time, he could + not have hit upon a cleverer scheme than that of the excise system of + taxation. As for myself, I have only to say, that I would rather have + paid twice over as much as your majesty has received of my money, than + have been deluded and cheated as I have been; of which, however, I beg + to add, I believe your majesty entirely innocent. The fault is in the + system, sir; and I believe you did not make it. But here I am in + prison. My son is gone away, we do not know where; and my daughter is + under prosecution, having (as I will say, though she holds the pen) + never had an evil thought of your majesty in her life. All this is + from our having fallen into mistakes about taxes which I am sure we + never made any difficulty about paying. Not having been told what a + large capital I should require for advancing the tax on the + stone-bottles I make, and for paying the high wages my men must have + to buy taxed articles, I should have found it difficult to get on, + even if I had not been fined for breaking laws which I defy any man to + learn in a day; and which, I must say, do not tell much to the credit + of those who made them. And how much of this goes into your majesty’s + pocket, after all? for that is the chief point. I, for one, know of a + crowd of fellows that have to be paid out of the money in question for + spying and meddling about our premises in a way that hinders our work + terribly. One in ten or twenty,—ay, one in fifty of these men would be + enough to collect what we should have to contribute, if we each knew + our own share, and might pay and have done with it. And these men are + not all that profit by the plan. It affords a good excuse for making + people give higher prices than the tax of itself would oblige them to + give. Your majesty may have heard what the tavern-keepers did when a + tax equal to twopence a bottle was laid on port wine? They clapped on + sixpence a bottle directly; something in the same way that we put a + higher price on our stone pots, which are not taxed, to make them more + nearly equal with the bottles which are taxed. This saves us in part + from the spite of the glass-bottle makers, who, I fancy, were the + parties that got our article taxed; but it has the effect of stinting + the use of them. Your glass-bottle duty brings you in a very little + more than 100,000_l._, and that on stone-bottles little more than + 3000_l._ a-year; while, if there were no such duties, there would be + so much traffic in foreign mineral waters, and other liquids that + people cannot get on account of the duty, as would much improve the + affairs of the shipping, and the wealth of your majesty’s subjects, + who would then easily make you welcome to more than the sums named + above, if you could not do without them. Then the army of excisemen + (who can hardly be a sort of persons much to your majesty’s taste) + might be employed in helping instead of hindering others’ business. + Then again, please to think of the injury to thousands of men from + trade being cramped and put out of its natural order. To make soap and + glass and my particular article, there is much coal wanted; and for + paper-making, iron machinery; and for all, houses, and furnaces or + coppers. Now, if the trade in each were not cramped by the dearness of + the article, there would be more work for the woodcutter and the + carpenter, for the miner and coal hewer, for the brickmaker and the + shipmaster, and a great number more. O, your majesty may depend upon + it, however much may be said about the riches and glory of this + kingdom, it might be richer and more glorious, and far happier, if + your people were allowed to pay to the state in a less wasteful and + pernicious way; while you would find your advantage in it before the + year was over. If you should please to consult your ministers about + this, and to order them to let me out, I think I could engage to show + them the difference, as far as my own share is concerned: though the + experiment is by no means a fair one when tried on only one article. + If your majesty thinks of travelling, perhaps you may manage to take + Jersey in your way; and there I think you will own that the advantage + of steady natural prices and a free trade are very evident in the + comfortable condition of the people.” + +“Had not we better stop here?” asked Anna. “I am afraid if we make it +longer he will not read it.” + +Le Brocq was sorry to leave off just when he was about to describe his +own country; but he acknowledged the propriety of doing so. Anna just +slipped in a postscript of her own. + + “Perhaps your majesty will consider the mischief of a man like my + father being shut up and treated like a criminal, in such a place as a + prison, where he can only play cards to pass the day, (and that with + disagreeable people,) instead of being industrious in his family, as + he would wish. Perhaps this may lead you to take pity on my mother, + who, for all her Bible can say, is worn down with grief; and on my + brother, who is a wanderer from fear of a prison; and on me, who am in + the like danger. Next to Him who bindeth and looseth, your majesty is + our only hope,—not only for present pardon, but for altering the laws, + that we may not fall into the like trouble again.——Your obedient + servant, + + ”ANNA LE BROCQ.” + +“How much of that letter do you fancy the king will ever read, if he +gets it?” asked the card-player, smiling. + +“It is hardly long enough to tire him much, if it is nicely copied; and +ours is very good ink,” replied Anna. + +“But I mean, do you think he will find it worth attending to?” + +“They say he used to write frequent letters to his father and mother +when he was young; and so he must know that when people write a letter, +they like to have it attended to.” + +“Then, if I write to you, ma’am, I shall expect an answer.” + +“You can have nothing to say to me which you cannot say now to my face— +an opportunity which we have not with the king,” replied Anna, quietly. +She then turned to her father, and offered to bring him dominoes, which +she thought he would like better than those cards. She also hoped she +could borrow a book or two from the Durells. Permission was given to +try; but she was warned that her request might be refused if it was +really Durell’s doing that the family were persecuted and distressed. +She knew that this was so far from being the case, that Durell himself +was under extreme vexation from an imputation of Studley’s, that he had +allowed himself to be bribed in his office by the Le Brocqs; but there +was no hope of persuading her father yet that Durell was not an enemy. +She succeeded better in another direction. She got leave to consult with +her mother, and see whether the fine could not be raised. Le Brocq +really looked and felt very unwell; and the unlimited prospect of +confinement, dust, disagreeable companionship and dominoes, was far from +cheering. + +The sun now shot its level rays upon an opposite roof which glittered +back into the apartment. + +“This is just the weather and the time for seeing Coutances Cathedral,” +observed the prisoner, as Anna was about to leave the room. She also was +just thinking of Jersey, its wide views and pure atmosphere; but she had +said nothing to tantalize him who was confined in a space of twenty +square feet. + +“You may leave me Louise’s letter, after all,” said he, forgetting what +was written on the back. He was chafed at the circumstance, but would +not read the epistle before witnesses. He would wait till Anna’s next +visit; but, as soon as she was gone, he gave away the supper she had +brought him, and rejected all amusement in his pining for news of his +blossoming orchard, and of the fruitful pastures of his native island. +While he settled within himself that Anna was an unexceptionable +daughter, his mind’s eye was occupied with Louise, hailing her graceful +kine, or pacing on her pack-horse through the deepest of the lanes. When +he looked round him, he wished that it was dark, that he might fancy +himself there. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + KNITTING AND UNRAVELLING. + + +The pottery business was not brought quite to a stand in consequence of +the master’s absence. The women could not undertake to carry it on as +usual; and there was not money enough coming in to pay the people’s +wages: but Anna was on the spot to read the letters that came; it was +thought a pity that the horse should either be sold or stand idle; and, +what was more, the boy Brennan seemed to have gained ten years in spirit +and wisdom since he had been taken notice of by Durell. One of the +workmen, who had been on the premises a good many years, and who +cordially disliked Studley, was willing to do his best to keep the +concern going, either till Aaron should appear or Le Brocq be released. +The little fellow at the lathe remained, and one furnace was employed, +just to execute the most pressing orders, and preserve something of the +credit and custom of the establishment. Nothing more than executing +orders was attempted; for it was very undesirable to add to the stock. +Anna’s wish was to dispose of enough of this stock to pay her father’s +fine and the law expenses, which together made no small sum: but, +whether from a suspicion respecting the fair dealing of the family, +arising from Le Brocq’s imprisonment, or from the absence of all the +parties who could push the business, no sales could be effected. Durell +put her in the way of advertising in the newspapers; from which nothing +accrued but the expense of the advertisements. Brennan exerted all his +ingenuity to embellish his handy work; but his endeavours brought no new +customers. He was chidden by the man under whom he worked for his +fancies about new patterns. He was grumbled at by his comrade at the +lathe for keeping him after working hours, to finish some fresh device. +He was gravely questioned by his mother about spending a portion of his +hard earnings in buying some new runners which formed a remarkably +pretty ring-pattern for his jars; and, after all, nobody bought a jar or +a flask the more. Hour after hour, Anna sat amidst her stock, growing +nervous over her work in listening for footsteps. Day after day, she +came in to dinner, without any news for her mother, and almost afraid to +meet her inquiring eye. The stock was offered at a low price. If she +could have sold the duty-paid part of it, her father would have been +injured by being compelled to sacrifice his interest upon the advance of +duty he had made for his customers. As it would not sell, he was more +injured still. He could not get back the principal of this advance. It +seemed as if Le Brocq could not escape in any way from being injured by +this excise system. So it was; and so it is with all who in this country +buy any thing, or make any thing, or live in any less primitive manner +than Robinson Crusoe or Little Jack. + +There was another reason for Anna being nervous over her work, besides +listening in vain for customers. The affair of the tea had never come to +an end. From the quantity of business before the court, and from other +circumstances, it had been postponed; and one or two of Anna’s friends +had tried to persuade her that she would hear no more of it. But she was +too anxious to be easily comforted. She knew Studley too well to believe +that he would stop short of injuring the family to the utmost. She found +that she was legally guilty; and she suffered little less than if she +had been morally guilty. Day and night was the idea of approaching +exposure and punishment before her. There were but few people,—not +half-a-dozen of her nearest neighbours,—who would believe in her utter +ignorance of the excise laws; and her character for fair dealing would +be gone. If Aaron had not run away, she almost thought she should. She +could now fancy how people might be driven to destroy themselves. The +old feeling which had embittered her childish disgraces now came back +upon her,—that if she could but get out of this one scrape, she would go +somewhere where she could never get into another. If she forgot her +apprehensions for an hour in her concern for her parents’ troubles, they +came back to plunge her into redoubled misery. It may be doubted whether +many criminals suffer so much in the prospect of their trial and +punishment as did this innocent girl from the consequences of a +factitious transgression. They who prepare the apparatus for such +transgression can little know what demoralization and misery they are +causing, or they would throw up their task. + +She knew Studley best. She was the least surprised, though infinitely +the most dismayed, when the crisis came at last. She heard her mother’s +heavy tread in the shed below, and could trace her progress to the foot +of the stairs by the jingling among the wares. + +“Anna! Anna, child!” exclaimed the old lady, out of breath with her +exertions. “Here is Mr. Studley! you must come down; he won’t leave his +business with me.” After an interval, “Anna, child, do you hear?” + +“Yes, mother.” + +“Then, are you coming?” + +“Yes, mother.” + +“Well, make haste.” + +Studley was there in his capacity of messenger. His errand was not, to +his taste, so good as if he had come with a levy warrant, or a body +warrant;—a summons was but a poor infliction; but, such as it was, he +enjoyed it. + +“When must I go, sir?” + +“To-morrow, at eleven. You must be at the court by eleven precisely, +remember.” + +“And may I take any body with me, sir?” + +“Do you mean as counsel, or merely as a support to your spirits?” + +“I have nothing to defend, sir. I have no other excuse than my not +knowing the law; and I can as well say that myself as get anybody to say +it for me. I only mean that I should not like to be quite alone, if the +law allows me to take any friend with me.” + +“O, if you can persuade any body to appear with you, I have no idea that +the court will make any objection.” + +“Will you please to stop a moment, sir? Is it the same court that my +brother was to have appeared in, or some other?” + +“Bless me, what an idea! You do not take me for a servant of the police +magistrates, I suppose? It was before two police magistrates that your +brother was to have gone; and I summon you before the Excise Court of +Summary Jurisdiction. There is all the difference in the world.” + +It might be so; but to Anna’s ringing ears and bewildered comprehension +they were much alike. Studley applied himself to explain. The police +magistrates were, according to him, far less awful personages, inasmuch +as they tried all sorts of people for all sorts of offences; while the +Commissioners deputed from the Excise Board to sit as judges in the +Court of Summary Jurisdiction concerned themselves in nothing but excise +offences or complaints. They had a vast deal of business to do, and sat +twice a week for nine months in the year. + +“Then I think,” observed Mrs. Le Brocq, “there must be more breaking of +the excise laws than of any other kind of law.” + +“There is a great deal of that sort of thing. Miss Le Brocq will find +herself by no means solitary. The court settled eleven hundred cases +last year, do you know?” + +“Well, if I were the king,” said the mother, “I had rather go without +some of my money than have eleven hundred of my subjects brought into +one court in one year, for not paying me properly, through mistake or +otherwise.” + +When Anna could think, she remembered her former determination to ask +Mrs. Durell to go with her before the court. She lost no time in +proceeding to her house to make the request. + +“Sit still, Stephen,” said she mournfully, when she saw that Stephen was +trying to shift out of sight, as was his wont when any of her family +were known to be near. “Sit still, and put away your meek look before +me. You have nothing to fear from any of us, even if I held proof in +this right hand that you had done what we thought you did. We are ruined +now. We have no heart to defend ourselves, or to try to punish our +enemies.” + +“Pooh, pooh! this is all about the tea. They have been troubling you +about the tea,” said good Mrs. Durell; “and so you can see nothing but +what is dismal this afternoon.” + +“Indeed, Mrs. Durell, it is too true,” replied Anna, struggling with her +tears. “I just came to ask you to go with me to-morrow morning—to be at +the court by eleven o’clock.” + +“I have no objection in the world, my dear, but this. It might not be +thought well for the surveyor’s wife to be with you, perhaps. It might +give occasion for something being said. Is there no other friend who +might do you more service?” + +Anna had no other friend. She could not think of taking her mother into +a place so strange to her, and to see such a sight. + +“Such a sight! Why, what sort of sight? How my husband would laugh at +you, if he were here! One would think you were going to be tried for +some foul crime. You will be surprised to find what a simple, easy thing +it is, after all you have been fancying. O, I will go with you, my dear, +if you can’t find a better person.” + +“I do not think we need mind your being a surveyor’s wife,” said Anna, +“when we consider how the court is made up of people that are connected +together. The people of this court accuse me; and the people of this +court summon me, and bear witness against me; and the people of this +court judge and punish me. I never heard of such a court before; and I +cannot say I think it a just one.” + +“There you are only of the same mind with everybody else, Anna. It is a +kind of court which might better suit some slavish country than Great +Britain. Without finding any fault with the gentlemen who sit in it, one +may venture that much. The gentlemen understand their business very +well, people say; and there is great convenience, in so complicated a +system, in our having a place where excise matters may be settled +speedily and cheaply, in comparison with what they might be under some +other plan: but all this does not mend the principle of the court; +through which the court might, if it chose, ruin half the traders in +London. It is too great a privilege for any set of men to have,—that of +meddling with thousands of traders in the heart of the empire, and +taking the accusing and judging and punishing all into their own hands. +There now! there’s a sigh! as if they were conspiring against you. If +you will believe me, it will be over in a few minutes; and everybody +will forget all about you the moment you have turned your back, and a +new case is called on.” + +“No; not Mr. Studley.” + +“O, yes: Mr. Studley too; and, what is more, you yourself. You will have +forgotten what took you there by the time you come away again. At least, +I never went there without seeing or hearing something that took me out +of myself for the whole day after.” + +There was not much comfort in this; and Anna found she must wait till +the next day to know fully what it meant. Mrs. Durell’s next piece of +advice undid all the little good she had done by making light of the +occasion. She thought the intended visit to the prison had better be +deferred till to-morrow afternoon, or the day after; as Le Brocq would +perhaps lose his night’s rest in thinking about what was to happen in +the court. This proved to Anna that she was not the only one who saw +something serious in the affair. + +How should she dress? If she wore her best, it might be taken for +defiance. If her everyday dress, (now shabby,) it might look like +wishing to attract compassion. Mrs. Durell assured her that there would +scarcely be time for any one to note her dress; but she did the kindest +thing in inducing Anna to look altogether Jersey-like, so that her true +account of herself and her error might be corroborated by her costume. + +“Did not your mother say kindly that she would teach Stephen to knit?” +said Mrs. Durell. + +“Ay, who should forget old quarrels, if not such good people as you? And +think of the benefit to Stephen to have such a resource! to have +something to employ his hands upon in rainy weather, when my Jack is +gone to school! It would be a good time to begin this evening, I think, +if you like to take him home with you. Stephen will be glad to do his +part towards the forgiving and forgetting, I have no doubt.” + +Anna saw at once what a happy thought this was. Her mother liked nothing +so well as teaching people to knit; and if a blind person, so much the +better;—it took twice as long. It would help off this heavy evening, and +save Anna from the _tête-à-tête_ with her mother which she dreaded +nearly as much as what was to follow. Stephen seemed on the eve of a +yawn at the proposal; but he knew his own interest too well not to seize +this opportunity of placing himself on good terms with the Le Brocq +family; and he consented to accompany Anna home. + +He made himself particularly agreeable, and fancied that he might have +been more so if they would but have invited him to sing: but he did not +choose to offer it, remembering where he had once volunteered a similar +service before. As he could not sing, he told some of his adventures, by +bits and snatches, in the intervals of letting down stitches and waiting +to have them taken up again. The reserve of the old lady melted away +under the glow of conscious benevolence, while imparting her own +favourite accomplishment to another; and Anna relented as she saw her +mother cheered; and the faster in proportion as she became so herself. + +“Nothing is so strange to me,” she said, after a pause, when the evening +was far advanced, “(and I cannot help thinking that it is a thing too +strange to last,) how people shut their minds up,—how much they hide +from one another, when they are brought as close together as face to +face in water.” + +“Ay, mistress, there you have Scripture for its not being so for ever.” + +“And other signs, too, besides that Scripture saying. But, for an +instance of what I mean, Mr. Stephen, here are you sitting between my +mother and me; and for want of a window in your breast, we know no more +of what we want to know, and of what you could tell us in two minutes, +than if you were at one end of the world and we at the other.” + +“I thought of that,” replied Stephen, “when I saw John Baker standing to +take his trial for murder, when he had been beside me, and both of us +like brothers, for a month. There, thought I, stands the man, with the +secret in him: and when he was questioning and cross-questioning one and +another, it seemed a ridiculous beating about the bush, just for want of +a window in his own breast, as you say. But I wonder what makes you +think it will ever be otherwise. If men were all made alike, I grant you +there would be a chance of all being known; for they are the fewest, I +fancy, who can never be melted into telling everything. I am sure when +an old comrade gets me beside him under a sunny hedge, or when Mr. +Durell and I are over our spirit and water, there is nothing that in +some moods I can keep to myself.” + +Anna inwardly wished that it might be so when he was sitting between two +knitters, sociably learning their art. + +“But,” continued Stephen, “there are, and always will be, men whose +taste is for secrecy. There will always be men who will no more make a +clean or an open breast than they would pull their hearts out.” + +“They will be read, like others, for all that,” Anna said. “The longer +men live together, and the more their eyes are turned upon each other, +the more they learn to gather from signs. See how much doctors learn +from marks which signify nothing to us, and the deaf from countenances, +and the blind from tones of voice, and then tell me whether, if we were +as observant as all these together, we might not read more of a man’s +mind than we now think of. And if we also study the make of the mind as +some have learned to do, we may get to know of things unseen, something +in the way of the wise men who can tell us, years before, when a comet +is coming,——” + +“Or of the common man who knew the exact spot where a lion was, miles +off, before it could be either seen or heard.” + +“How was that?” asked Mrs. Le Brocq, with some scepticism in her tone. + +“He saw a large bird of prey in the air, so far off that it seemed but a +speck. It hovered, which showed that there was a prey beneath; and it +did not drop, which showed that something was beside the prey which +prevented the bird from seizing it; and, from the nature of the country +and of the bird, that something could be nothing but a lion; and a lion +it was. It was by putting things together that the man knew this; and it +is by putting things together that men will be known, if ever they are +known.” + +“I am sure it is much to be wished that they should be,” sighed Anna. + +“Well, now, I don’t agree with you there. I think half the fun in life +lies in men puzzling one another, and watching one another in their +puzzle.” + +“It has been the amusement of your life, we have some reason to think: +but we have only too much cause to wish that hearts could be laid open +to man as they are to God, The greatest support that we have in God is +in being sure that he knows all; and if men could read us as thoroughly, +and be sure that they read aright, there would be an end of our +troubles. My father would be seen to have meant no mistake, and I to +have never had such a thought as cheating the king; and we should know +where Aaron is, and exactly why he went away. It seems to me that men +make almost every sin and trouble they suffer under; and that it is done +by making mysteries and laying snares for one another.” + +Mrs. Le Brocq had hitherto looked rather less solemn than had been her +wont since the afflictions of the family began: but now her tears were +falling on her knitting needles, and Stephen overheard a little sob. He +entreated her not to vex herself, and to hope that all was well with +Aaron, and so forth. But this is not the kind of consolation which will +satisfy any mother’s heart; and Mrs. Le Brocq said so. + +“If you would comfort me,” said she, “you must tell me where he is. How +should I believe that all is well with him when there is the sea where +he may be drowned, and the workhouse where he may find his way as a +beggar, and plenty of prisons where he may be shut up, and snares spread +every where for him to fall into? I never hear of any evil happening but +I think that he may be in it; and when I pray——” + +“O, mother, hush! Don’t speak so, mother.” + +“I say, child,—it may be a sin, but I can’t help it,—I have often lately +in my prayers fixed a time when I will despair of God’s mercy if my boy +does not come or send: and always as the time passes away, I do the same +thing again; and cannot set my mind either to give him up, or to hope +with any certainty to see him more. You are a good child to me, Anna; +and all that you say about trusting is very right; and I dare say it +comforts you, though I have overheard you crying in the night oftener +than you know of. But for myself I say, if you wish to comfort me, tell +me where Aaron is.” + +“Well, then, I will tell you where he is,” cried Stephen, throwing away +his handywork. “I don’t know what I may get for it; but I can no more +help it than I could help telling anything to poor John Baker, when we +sat under a hedge, as I said, and he kept all his own secrets while I +was telling him all mine.” + +Neither Anna nor her mother spoke a word. It had never occurred to them +that Stephen could know more of their nearest concerns than they did +themselves. + +“I will tell you where he is,” continued Stephen, “and you may trust me +for knowing; for it was I that helped him off, and put him in the way of +a flourishing business. But you must promise me to tell nobody what I +say. That is, I suppose you must tell Le Brocq, but not till he has +engaged to let it go no farther.” + +The promise was readily made, and then Stephen told that, so far from +its being reasonable to expect Aaron when any one approached the house, +Aaron was far off on the sea. He was plying in a smuggling vessel +between one of the Channel islets and the south coast of England. + +“Aaron a smuggler!” + +“Yes; and with all his heart. He had very little reason to like the law, +while he was within its bound; and was not at all sorry to get out of +its bound. Would it not be just the same with your father, now, if he +could get away? Has he any reason to like the law? and do you think even +he, though he is an orderly man enough, would hold it any great crime +for a persecuted man to go beyond its reach?” + +“I call it coming within the reach of the law, not going beyond it,” +said Anna, mournfully. “The way to get out of reach of its oppression is +to go back to Jersey; and that is what I trust my father will do. O, why +did not Aaron do that?” + +“He was afraid of being laid hold of either by the law or by your +father,—and Aaron has no taste for tyranny, either way. The open sea, +with a lawless calling, is much more to his mind. While he was here, he +had no more chance for freedom than a midge in a field of gossamer; and +now, he is like a roving sea-bird, lighting on a rock to rest when he +likes, and then away again over the waters.” + +“You will not deceive us any more, Stephen, by your way of hiding ugly +things with fine words. The plain truth, dress it up as you will, is, +that Aaron is living by braving the law. You know that he cannot show +himself fearlessly among men: you know that he comes abroad at night +because his works will not bear the daylight. You must have taken +advantage of him in his distress, or he could never have thought of such +a step. But I think no distress that I could ever fall into would make +me follow your bidding, seeing how you have already deceived us to our +ruin. O, why did not Aaron go back to Jersey?” + +“I wish, mistress, you would be a little less hard upon me. I did the +best I could think of for your brother. When he came to Mr. Durell’s to +learn what was likely to befall him, I thought it only kind to tell him, +as soon as Durell had turned his back, that there were means at hand for +getting away, and leaving the tread-mill far behind him.” + +“So far we are obliged to you, I am sure,” observed Mrs. Le Brocq. “I +should not have liked to see my boy on the tread-wheel.” + +“So I knew, and I asked no reward beyond what it cost him nothing to +give. I went with him myself, and introduced him on board a boat that +you may have chanced to see off Gorey in the season. It is all very well +to go and get oysters; but there is another more profitable sort of +business to be done in those seas,—and will be, as long as the Customs +duties of this country remain as they are. So, Aaron was off with a fair +wind and tide; and I suppose he may now be cooling himself in a +sea-cave, without leave of the law, since the law took him off from +broiling himself beside a glass furnace.” + +“Does Mr. Durell know where he is?” + +“He never asked me; and, depend upon it, he will never ask you.” + +“And what was the reward you desired of Aaron that it cost him nothing +to give?” + +“Only just a promise that I should hear nothing more of certain caps and +handkerchiefs that you lost, once upon a time. You will have a letter +from Aaron, (when he can send it so that you shall not know whether it +comes from east or west,) to ask you, for his sake, never to mention +that matter more.” + +“So you did take them! I do believe you are a smuggler yourself,” +declared Anna. There was a tremor in her voice which showed Stephen that +she was more or less alarmed at sitting next a smuggler and a thief. + +“Don’t be thinking of shifting your chair, Miss Anna. My pranking days +are past. A cursed bitter wind, one cold night, inflamed my eyes, and +brought me to the pass of being scarcely able to tell bright moonlight +from pitch darkness; and then I could be of little use on the sea. I +tried what I could do for our company on land, by discharging an errand +or two for them, one of which was at your farm. But the hue and cry you +made after me through all the island spoiled my game; and there was +nothing for it but giving up and coming here, that I might not hurt +those I could not help. So my pranking days are over.” + +“Then you are only half blind? Where is our linen? How did you get +away?” + +“I shall tell you, because you cannot recover the goods, in the first +place: in the next, your credit is none of the best, just now, and would +not overbalance my denial in any court; and lastly, I consider that I +have paid off my debt in saving your brother. Come, come: no sighing +over my plain-speaking, or I shall leave off speaking plain. I am full +three quarters blind, and so only one quarter a knave. I can see the +candle on the table; but I should not know you from your mother, except +by the walk and the voice. I can see a field from an orchard, but I +could not have found my way if your brother had not first guided me. As +for your linen, I did not steal it to make money by. It is bleaching on +certain rocks beside the sea, or worn by some of the sun-burnt damsels +that Aaron knows by this time,—who can keep watch as well as any +coast-guard, or broil a fish handily when there is notice that the boat +is creeping home through the land-shadow. They wanted a supply of such +things; and I promised to bring some ready-made: but I went to the wrong +place. In England, one may carry off a crammed washing basket, and +nobody thinks it much of a wonder; but in Jersey, one might almost as +well steal the island charter, to judge by the hue and cry that was made +after me. I never saw such simple people.” + +“That comes of not making crimes of things that are innocent in +themselves,” said Anna, proud of her native island. “If it was treated +as a crime to make soap or burn glass in one way rather than another, +people would soon grow careless of so common a thing as crime, and make +much less difficulty about breaking the law whenever it suited them. +They are the most moral people who know of no crimes but those which God +has called such, and who, while they pray ‘lead us not into temptation,’ +take care to add none to the temptations that God thinks enough for +their strength.” + +“But how did you get away?” asked Mrs. Le Brocq. “I was awake a long +while that morning, and I never heard you stir.” + +“That was because I was gone, I suppose. Knowing that it would take me +some time to get down to the shore, I only waited till you all seemed +sound asleep. The finding the latch of the door was a long job, wishing +as I did to make no noise. When it was done, I expected to have come +back again, for I made a great stumble on the threshold.” + +“I wish you had done it as you came in,” observed Mrs. Le Brocq. “It +would have been a token to us to look more closely after you.” + +“If you had dogs,” continued Stephen, “they were so obliging as to be +very quiet. There was only one creature that made a great noise,—and +that I had no objection to,—an owl in the ivy about your chimney. I +could not for the life of me help standing to shriek like an owl, to +keep it up. I have often thought since how I stayed leaning over the +palings, hooting, when my proper business was to slink away. Well, when +I had got down to the brook-side, it took me some time to gather the +linen together.” + +“We have often wondered how you managed to carry it all away.” + +“It was a heavy load for some way; but I left the half of it on the +ridge, when I was once clear of your place,—left it for my comrades to +fetch when I had got down to the boat, and told them where to go for it. +Luckily for me, you had been washing a large bag——” + +“My wool-bag!” exclaimed the old lady, piteously. + +“Your wool-bag, was it? I am glad it had wanted washing that time. I +crammed it full of the smaller things, and the rest made a great bundle +tied with a coil of Aaron’s cord which I found in his coat-pocket. You +remember I had his clothes on?” + +This was a fact not likely to be forgotten. + +“I went down with the bag, and left the bundle just on the off-side of +the ridge. The boat was dawdling within hail, all as it should be, +though they had nearly given me up; for I had been so long groping about +that it was nearly time for you early Jersey people to be up and out of +doors. Two of our comrades went up for the bundle, and carried——I dare +say you will not believe what I am going to say now?” + +“Why not?” + +“Because in Jersey you are not up to the smuggling ways which are well +enough understood everywhere on the south coast of England. We expected +that you would do as the people do there;—if your horses were found +tired in the morning, or any convenient thing taken away, look round to +see what was left in exchange, or trust that something would come, and +hold your tongues about the trespass. Supposing you understood all this, +we sent up a choice cask of spirits and a package of tobacco, and some +prettier things for you ladies than any we took away. These were to have +been left for you on the ridge; but we soon saw it would not do.” + +“We should never have guessed,” said Mrs. Le Brocq; “and indeed I do not +well understand it now. But how do you mean that it would not do?” + +“By the fluster you made, our people saw that it would not do,—that you +would have us followed, if we left any sign of who we were, and what +part of the coast we had been upon. It was easy to see that you were not +the folks who could take a hint. There were your fowls fluttering, and +men’s and women’s voices shouting, and Le Brocq thumping with his great +stick, and one of the poor young ladies leaning her head against her cow +to cry.” + +“Did they see Louise do that?” + +“Miss Louise, was it? Yes, they saw it; and very sorry they were when +they found how the thing was taken; but it showed them that it was time +to be off. So they crept round under the rocks till they could stand out +among the boats from Gorey, being pretty sure that they would pass +unquestioned through the Thames and Medway men, who know something of +what must happen on the Channel waters while the Custom-house interferes +between the French and English as it does. Now, Miss Anna, let me have +the pleasure of hearing that you believe my story,—that you perceive +that I am not a common thief, and that you will fulfil your brother’s +wishes in sparing me all future allusion to my Jersey adventure.” + +“I cannot help believing your story, Stephen; and I only wish the King +and his Ministers could hear and believe it; and see how, through their +way of taxing, a man that scorns being a common thief is proud of being +an uncommon one. Yes, Stephen, you are a thief, and you have helped to +make Aaron one. You were a thief towards us, and Aaron is one towards +the Government, getting his living as he does by robbing the State of +some of its dues. God pardon those that made dishonest men of you both! +I had rather see Aaron on the tread-wheel for an offence of mere +heedlessness than out on the free waters on a guilty errand. You have +done him no real good, Stephen. Boast no more of it.” + +“I swear that I have,” said Stephen, with his usual good humour; “and +I can do more: I can make the good extend to you. I know you want to +get rid of some of your stock; Durell told me so. I can put you in the +way; but Durell need not know that. It is a pity that your bottles, +and your pretty stone spirit-casks should stand piled upon one another +here, of no use to anybody, while Aaron and his party are bringing over +liquors——” + +“Now have done, Mr. Stephen. One might think you were a tempting spirit, +sent to try us. You would sink my mother and me next, I suppose?” + +“Not sink, but raise you, my dear;—get your father out of gaol, your +fine paid (for I suppose it will end in your being fined to-morrow)—— +Plague on it! here is Durell,—come for me, I suppose. Very kind of him +to come himself! Always kind, I am sure: but if he had left me another +half hour.——Not a word before him, remember.” + +“I was afraid you would find Stephen a bad scholar, Mrs. Le Brocq,” said +Durell, taking up the knitting from its dangling position over the side +of the table. “Offer to give Stephen a lesson in anything, and it always +ends in his giving you a story instead.” + +“That is what I have been doing to-night, indeed,” replied Stephen. “But +you never saw two people more in need of a story than these ladies. They +are as frightened about this little matter of to-morrow——” + +“My wife sends her love to you, Miss Anna,” said Durell, “and she has +been thinking, ever since you saw her, about going with you to-morrow; +and she has made up her mind that it will be against your interest, that +she, a surveyor’s wife, should appear with you. She adds that if you +still urge it——” + +“By no means,” said Anna, quickly. “I can go alone. If it is God’s will +that I should have no friends, I trust it is His will that I can do +without them.” + +“You will never be without friends while my wife and I live,” replied +Durell, calmly; “but I was going to add, for my own share, that I could +not think of any member of my family appearing in that court as the +friend of any offender. We know perfectly well that you are as innocent +of any intended offence against the Government as my boy Jack; but the +offence is real in law. I owe duty to the Government, and it would +disgrace me in my office, it would be a failure of duty to appear to +countenance any transgression of the law which it is my business to +enforce. One of the penalties of such an office as mine is to have to +speak and act in this way to a friend,—to one whose offence is merely +legal, not moral—but you see——” + +“I see.” + +“Well: you shall not go alone. Brennan’s mother is a very decent good +woman; and she is so obliged to your family for your kindness to her +boy, that she will go with you with all her heart.” + +“Do not say ‘with all her heart.’ Say rather because you asked her,” +said Anna, feeling the humiliation of owing this kind of obligation to a +stranger. + +“Nay. Hear from the boy himself, if you will, whether his mother is not +pleased to be of use to you; and if there is anything, my dear, that we +can do for you without compromising my duty, only send for me. If you +want any more law knowledge, I may be able to help you, knowing how +little is learned and wanted in Jersey; and if you should happen to fall +into further trouble, you may look far and wide for a better comforter +than my wife. Come, Stephen, are you ready?” + +Anna’s heart sank as they closed the door behind them. She and her +mother looked at one another without speaking. They had been beguiled +for a time by Stephen’s strange stories; but, this being over, they now +found that the best thing they could do was to go to bed. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + A MATE FOR MOTHER HUBBARD. + + +Do criminals feel glad or sorry when they wake and find it broad +morning, two hours before their execution? Are they thankful to have +been beguiled with sound sleep, or had they rather have had broken +slumbers, finding again and again that it is still dark, or only just +dawning yet? To those who love their beds, and dread the coming of the +hour of rising, and nothing worse, there is something pleasant in being +thus repeatedly reminded that it is not time to get up; but how it may +be when a worse evil impends has perhaps never been told. Anna’s +experience (and she felt that her case was very like a going to +execution) could not throw any light upon the matter; for she did not +sleep at all. + +Breakfast was as much out of the question as sleep. She did not pretend +to take any, even to please her mother, for she had something to do +which would occupy her whole time till Mrs. Brennan came for her. During +the night it had occurred to her that there could be no harm in carrying +with her a copy of her father’s letter to the King, lest that which she +had put into the post-office should not have reached its destination. +The employment was good for her. It prevented her being in quite so +disagreeable a state of palpitation and thirst as she might have +suffered if she had been quite at liberty for watching the clock. The +Brennans came at last before they were expected. + +“Your boy with you, Mrs. Brennan! Do you mean him to go too?” + +“He is so very anxious, ma’am, to be of use to you; and it struck him +that you might wish, in the middle of the business, to send for +somebody, or to have some kind of messenger at hand.” + +Anna shook her head. Whom could she send for at her utmost need? + +“I wonder,” said Anna, when she had put on her shawl, and was casting +her last fluttered look around her,—“I wonder whether I should take a +pound or two of that tea with me. The gentlemen may require to see it.” + +“I should be disposed, ma’am,” said Mrs. Brennan, “to leave it to the +informers to show the article that they complain of. It is not your +part, I should think, to be aiding their cause.” + +Anna had opened the door of the cupboard where her packages of +adulterated tea were ranged as neatly as every other article which the +house contained. She now quickly closed it, and seeing that there was no +further pretence for lingering, solemnly kissed her mother and departed. + +As they walked, Mrs. Brennan showed herself to be a partisan of Anna’s. +In this leaning towards the defendant she was only like other people. +Where the King is prosecutor, not paying for his law, the popular +inclination is usually against him; and especially when he sues for his +moneyed rights. This indicates the policy of contracting instead of +multiplying such proceedings to the utmost. + +“I am afraid the judgment will go against you, ma’am,” said the good +woman, “and it is the best kindness to tell you so beforehand. There is +little hope for you against the King, especially when he makes other +people pay his lawyers. A gentleman that I knew was fined 50_l._ and the +costs came to 500_l._ In this court, however, there are often no costs, +and the business is done pretty quickly and cheaply,—which does not, as +I say, make it the less a pity that it should have to be done at all. +You are lucky, too, ma’am, in not having to do with a jury, as juries +were, on excise cases, some time ago. Ma’am, the jury used to have two +guineas and a dinner when they found a verdict for the Crown, and only +one guinea, and no dinner, when they found for the defendant. You may +suppose the accused seldom got his cause.” + +“And yet juries seem generally to be thought good things for the +accused,” observed Anna. + +“Some people consider it a great stretch of power to do without them in +excise cases, ma’am; but, dear me, there would be no end of trials by +jury, if all that are informed against were so tried. The court would +have to be open all day from the first of January to the last of +December, and a thousand people a year would be ruined for law expenses. +Besides, they say that the quick judgments given by these gentlemen, on +the information of their own servants, strike a wholesome terror into +folks, without which the laws would not be observed.” + +Anna could answer for the terror. Whether it was wholesome was another +question. + +How she reproached herself for her terrors about her own fate when she +witnessed some of the cases presented this day in court! She could have +been amused at some, from the apparent frivolity of the charges, if the +consequences had not appeared more grave than the accusations: but there +were others which could be viewed only with intense commiseration. + +What had Dennis Crook done that he was called upon to pay 4_l._ 15_s._ +4½_d._? Dennis Crook was a paper-stainer, and had neglected to pay the +duty of 2_l._ 7_s._ 8¼4_d._, and he was therefore called on for the +double duty in order that the single might be recovered, with costs. +Poor Dennis declared that he had told the collector that he would pay +the duty, and the costs with it, the first day that some money which was +due to him should come in. It was very cruel of the collector to bring +him here, knowing that he had no wish to evade the duty, and that the +bringing him here was enough to ruin his business. It had got abroad +already, and he had lost two customers by it. God forbid that he should +be so inconsiderate to the person who had brought him to this by not +paying him to the day! Dennis could not pay the penalty till this person +yielded him his due,—not a bit the more for being brought here; but that +person should not be exposed by him as he was exposed in this court, to +the destruction of his business. If he should never pay another shilling +of duty to the king, the court might ascribe it to his difficulties +being laid open in this way,—difficulties which might have been got over +easily enough if the court had not stepped in between him and his +customers.—The court did not see what it had to do with all this. The +single duty, with a small increase for costs, was squeezed out of poor +Dennis, who went away, pulling his hat over his eyes, and saying that +this would be the signal for his landlord to turn him out of the little +shop in which he had carried on his business for many years; and God +only knew where he was to establish himself next. + +What could have brought hither that respectable elderly woman, who +looked as if she could never in her life have broken a law or a rule? +She came to save her son from a prison, if it might be within her small +means to do so. On his coming of age, she had given up to him the small +tenement she possessed. She had better have kept it till her death. He +had been seduced into a “speculation,” and had set up a private still. +The still and all the spirits on the premises were seized, and the +mother was now here to pay the penalty of 100_l._ which was just half of +the little portion she had destined for her daughter. She knew that it +was more likely that she should have to maintain John than that he would +ever repay this 100_l._, for his character was gone. She cast down her +eyes while she held out the money, with a trembling hand, and did not +speak to John as they went away, though he looked as if he longed above +everything for a word from her. Mrs. Brennan found that much explanation +was necessary before Anna could believe that all this ruin was caused by +the act of distilling spirits without the leave of the government + +A widow, in shabby mourning, with a babe in her arms, was quietly crying +in a corner. She had sold her furniture by auction, and had neglected to +get a license. She had better have kept her furniture; for the penalty +swallowed up nearly all the proceeds of the sale. Anna thought this the +most cruel levy of a tax she had ever heard of; for this poor woman +would not have sold her furniture if she had not been in want. To be +compelled to pay for permission to do what was in itself a hardship, was +a stranger piece of oppression than Anna had witnessed yet,—much as she +had seen. She followed the widow, to make sure of the facts, and found +that the poor woman had been on the point of setting up a little shop, +and sharing a cheap lodging with a brother: but now that her money was +almost all gone, she could see nothing before her but selling fruit in +the streets; but, in that case, she must look about for some one who +would take care of her baby, while the other two little ones must tramp +the streets with her. If she had but sold her furniture in any other +way! But her brother advised an auction, and had taken upon himself to +be auctioneer; and how could she suspect what would happen? + +The wonder was how those to whom the public money came at last could +enjoy it if they knew of its being wrung in ways like these from the +ignorant, the simple, and the distressed. The old and obvious question +recurred,—why not ask the nation for the money that is wanted, instead +of filching it? Why not settle openly how it is to be paid, and take it +directly, as rent is taken, or as contributions for any other object are +collected? Surely no objections to this simple method of taxation could +long stand when our great nation of buyers and sellers had once found +the comfort of natural and regular prices, of wages not arbitrarily and +uselessly raised,—the luxury of being rid of the oppression of +Custom-houses and Excise courts, and of the plague of a spreading host +of revenue spies. Little could be said of the dignity of the +circumstances out of which the State funds arise by any one who had seen +others of the cases which Anna witnessed, and which really amused her, +and beguiled her of her apprehensions for a time. It seemed ridiculous +that the king should, by his officers, be seriously complaining of being +injured by one man selling pepper without a license, and another +removing wine without a permit, and a third having more brandy in his +cellar than he declared he had, and a fourth having rum under a certain +strength among his stock, and a fifth forgetting to keep an entry-book, +and a sixth tying up his pasteboard in a wrong way, and a seventh having +neglected one night to put down how much black tea he had sold in small +quantities. It did not seem very dignified in any government to concern +itself and worry its subjects about such matters as these. Anna could +have laughed once, when the mention of black tea brought her back to a +consciousness of her own awkward predicament. + +What she had seen had much abated her horror, however. She was able, +when called upon, to say that she found she had committed an illegal +act, but that she was not the least aware, at the time, that she was +doing anything improper, as was shown by her offering some of her thorn +leaves to persons who were passing through the field. She could not +think it very kind of those persons to pass by without giving her +warning of what she was doing. She saw, to be sure, that they looked +grave upon her; but how was she to know why, unless they told her? In +Jersey they would not have treated a stranger so. + +“And pray do they make tea of thorn leaves in Jersey?” asked one of the +gentlemen. + +“Very rarely, because tea is so cheap there that it would not be worth +while; but anybody may do it that likes. I should not have thought of +doing it here but for the dearness of tea; and I never could have +supposed that the custom of the country was first to render tea so dear +as to tempt us to make it for ourselves, and then to punish us for so +making it;—a thing we should never otherwise have thought of.” + +Studley, on whose information, supported by witnesses, the whole +proceeded, smiled maliciously, and said that the young woman showed what +family she belonged to by her enmity to the Excise. It went in the +family; her brother having absconded to escape an excise charge, and her +father being now in prison in consequence of one. This statement made +the expected impression. How could the gentlemen do otherwise than think +ill of such a family of delinquents? Studley followed up the matter by +declaring what trouble the Excise had with the Le Brocqs. There was no +other set of people that he had had to watch so closely; no other +premises that he had been obliged to enter so often. + +“It is very easy to watch people, Mr. Studley,” said Anna, “without +showing that they have done wrong; and entering premises by day and +night, week after week, does not prove that anything amiss is found +there.” + +“It answers another purpose, if I may say so, gentlemen,” interposed +Mrs. Brennan. “If an excise officer has a spite against a family, +nothing is easier than to take away their character by frequent search, +which I believe is what Mr. Studley is trying to do with this family. I +wish, gentlemen, that you would ask Mr. Studley what he has found in any +of his searches from the day that Mr. Aaron went away.” + +“Impossible,” said one of the commissioners. “We have nothing to do with +the character of these people; as you, Studley, ought to have remembered +before you entered upon matters with which we have no concern. The +charge was admitted. That is all we have to do with.” + +Studley was ordered to recover a fine,—a small one, for the gentlemen +saw something of the nature of the case,—and to destroy or see destroyed +the adulterated tea. Anna humbly listened to the unnecessary admonition +not to repeat the offence, and then begged the gentlemen to let her +father out of prison, where his health was suffering materially from the +confinement. This kind of petition must be sent to the Board, +accompanied by a medical certificate of the state of the prisoner’s +health, one of the gentlemen was informing her, when Studley interfered +to allege that Le Brocq was well able to pay the fine,—better able than +a hundred men who had petitioned the Board in vain for their release. + +“If that be the case,” said a commissioner, who had a little attention +to spare from the case which his colleagues had now called on,—“if that +be the case—Is it the case, young woman? Tell me the truth.” + +“If my father’s stock could be sold, he might pay,” Anna declared: “but +nobody comes to buy; and nobody will come now that Mr. Studley has taken +away our good name by following us for evil as he has done.” + +“He must do his duty. I can hear no complaints against him for doing his +duty. If he has given you cause of complaint, you can have redress by +applying in the right quarter.” + +“But, sir, what can I do about the fine? My mother and I are willing to +work night and day to raise the fine, if we knew which way to turn +ourselves: but there seems to be so much danger in employments here that +we are afraid to begin any new ones.” + +“O, any one will tell you the law, if it is that you are afraid of. What +sort of employment were you thinking of?” + +“My having been asked for so much of my own tea made us think of selling +tea and groceries: but I have seen people fined to-day for selling +pepper without leave, and having tobacco in a private room, and +forgetting to set down at night what they sold in the day, and also for +finding that they had more on hand than they had given an account of. I +should be afraid, sir, to sell groceries. But there is another thing +that was partly put into my head, and partly thought of by myself, owing +to our having a great quantity of duty-paid bottles unsold. My mother +and I have always been used to make cider, and some kinds of sweet wine. +There is talk of a great deal of ginger wine being likely to be drunk +this year, for fear of the cholera. We might make it at little risk, as +ginger is so cheap an article, and we have the bottles.” + +“Well: you can but try. You are aware, I suppose, that ginger is not so +cheap here as you can get it in Jersey? Ginger pays duty here.” + +“And sugar is taxed too, and so is your little matter of spirit, ma’am,” +interposed Mrs. Brennan. “You must not go to work, reckoning the cost of +all your materials at what you might get them for before you came here.” + +“She may easily learn the prices of things,” said the condescending +commissioner; “and then she has only to take care to give in her name +and place of abode, and of her rooms and utensils; and to renew her +license (which will cost two guineas) every year; and to give notice +when she intends to draw off her wine; and to be careful not to send it +out in less quantities than a whole cask containing fifteen gallons.” + +Anna looked dismayed, and asked, + +“And should we have anything to do with Mr. Studley in that case, sir?” + +“If his superiors find that he has reason for suspicion, he may enter at +any hour, provided he takes a constable, at night. He may also break +walls and pull up floors, if he believes that anything improper in his +line is concealed there; but you would be careful to avoid dangers of +this kind, and get yourself visited daily, according to law, to obviate +suspicion.” + +“Every day, sir!” + +“Yes; if you make wine. If you only retail it, once in twenty-eight days +is all you are subject to; and the annual license for mere retailing is +only a guinea, the notices and entries being of the same kind required +of makers. If you combine the two——” + +“I cannot, sir. I dare not. Your gentleman would be bringing me up and +fining me once a week, sir.” + +“O, you could not get very deep into any scrape, I assure you; the state +gets only between two and three thousand pounds from all the sweet-wine +makers in the kingdom. There are four who pay less than 1_l._ a year, +and no more than six who pay above 100_l._; and only twenty-three makers +altogether. Even the retailers are under nine hundred in number. It is +an insignificant concern altogether.” + +“To the king, perhaps, sir; but not to me, if I have to pay tax upon +what my wine is made of, and a tax for making it, and a tax upon the +bottles that hold it, and a tax for selling it; and if I am liable to be +watched and tormented by Mr. Studley, or men like him. I think, sir, the +government might really give up such a vexation, if it brings in so +little—so very little.” + +“And employs a good many people like Mr. Studley, at a hundred a year,” +added Mrs. Brennan. “I think, ma’am, you must give up your idea of +making wine.” + +“Yes, indeed,” replied Anna. “Perhaps, sir, as it is for the king’s sake +that I am prevented getting money for my father, as I otherwise might; +and as you are one of those who manage these affairs, you will not +refuse that this letter should go to his majesty. It is from my father, +sir, copied by me, and asking no charity at all, but only consulting +about what is best for both.” + +The commissioner was unwilling to let such a curiosity escape. The +letter was wafered, so that he could not ask to glance his eye over it. +He would fain keep it, but did not like to deceive the poor girl with +false hopes. Anna was pleased to see him hesitate. Studley stopped his +laugh of ridicule. Mrs. Brennan could scarcely refrain from nodding +triumphantly at him. The commissioner turned from them to say a few +words to his colleagues, so that Anna could not see his face. He soon +returned, quietly saying,— + +“I am not sure that I can get this letter into the king’s hands; but you +may leave it with me; and if your father cannot pay his fine by this day +week, you may come here again, and we will consult upon his case. +Studley, the fine to which this young woman has made herself liable is +remitted. It is clearly a case of remarkable ignorance. The adulterated +tea must be destroyed, of course. You will see to it; but treat her +gently, if you please.” + +The commissioner then explained to Anna that all who were discontented +with any decision of this court might seek redress in the Court of +Appeal. Anna found it difficult to understand exactly what was meant. +The only clear idea she carried away was that nobody ever applied to +this Court of Appeal; so that most people began to wish that it might be +done away as one of the useless burdens of the Excise. She was sure that +she should not be the next person to appeal. The court might be done +away for anything she had to say against it. Its being seldom or never +applied to seemed to show that the court she was now in was thought to +conduct its business well; but it appeared to her that it would be a +happy thing to sweep away both, and all excise jurisdiction whatsoever. + +“Where is Brennan?” asked Anna, when she and her companion had made +their low curtsies, and turned round, with lightened hearts, to go away. + +“He was off some time since,” Mrs. Brennan replied; “to run and tell +your mother how matters were going, I dare say. They have been merciful +to you, ma’am; and I give you joy.” + +“O, Mrs. Brennan, I think I never will dread anything again. I have +often said so before, finding what I most dreaded come to a very little. +I never was so frightened in my life before; but I really will try never +to be afraid again.” + +She spoke a moment too soon. + +“And what do you want with us pray, Mr. Studley?” inquired Mrs. Brennan, +perceiving that that person walked close to Anna, as if he regarded her +as more or less in his custody. + +“Going to discharge my duty,” replied Studley. “The adulterated tea is +to be publicly destroyed, you know, as bad books are burned by the +common hangman.” + +“Publicly!” repeated Anna, in consternation. “Where? How?” + +“In your father’s yard. There cannot be a more convenient place for a +bonfire.” + +“Do you mean to burn the tea in sight of all the neighbours?” + +“That depends on whether they choose to look. I shall certainly not try +to hang up any sort of blind.” + +“I wonder at you, ma’am,” said Mrs. Brennan, “that you go on asking him +questions, just to give him the pleasure of making sharp answers.” + +Anna said no more. She was thrown back into her former state of +trepidation. It was as much as she could do to walk straight. Mrs. +Brennan seemed to think it a waste of time (or perhaps she considered it +bad for Anna) to keep silence for so long a space. She began talking of +her boy, and fished for a few compliments for him; but her companion +seemed strangely careless of what she was saying. + +“What a smell of burning!” Mrs. Brennan exclaimed when they drew near +the pottery-yard. All three looked round for tokens of fire; and Studley +observed that one might have thought the furnaces were all employed, as +they had been in his time. Smoke was coming out of the window of the +kitchen, and even oozing from under the door. Anna really believed that +the place was on fire, and exclaimed accordingly; when Brennan put his +head out at the window, and Mrs. Le Brocq opened the door. Both seemed +terribly heated, and made a display of scorched cheeks which would have +done honour to a Christmas fire. It was evident from their looks that +nothing was the matter. + +“Let me in,” said Studley, in a voice of authority. “Clear a space in +the yard for the fire. Boy, call the workmen (if there be any +now-a-days) to clear the yard for the burning; and if nobody is on the +premises, fetch some of the neighbours.” + +“What may you be pleased to be going to burn?” asked the boy, briskly. + +“My tea,” faltered Anna. “Come this way, Mr. Studley, and I will show +you the cupboard where every grain of it is; and if you have any +kindness in you, you will be quick with the job, and finish it before +the neighbours can gather about us. Mother,” continued she, as she +entered the kitchen, whose atmosphere was rapidly clearing, “what have +you been about? The hearth is piled up with ashes as high as the grate, +and the grate is heaped half way up the chimney; and you look ready to +faint with the heat and the vapour.” + +“Mistress won’t mind it, since we have got done in time,” observed the +boy, cheerfully; and then he began humming a tune. Studley had meanwhile +advanced in slow dignity to the place which Anna had indicated to him. +There was nothing in it. While he took an astonished survey of the +shelves, Brennan went on from his humming to singing, and his words were +some that every child is familiar with,— + + “And when she came there, + The cupboard was bare, + And so the poor dog had none.” + +“The poor dog, ha, ha!” repeated Mrs. Brennan, laughing. “And so the +poor dog had none! So he put his tail between his legs, and slunk away, +I dare say. Did not he, my dear?” + +Studley was now obliged to do something very like this. The boy had been +quick. The moment he heard the tea condemned to destruction by the +court, he ran with all speed to discharge Studley’s errand for him. The +last packet of tea was smouldering when he heard Anna’s exclamation that +there must be a fire somewhere. Studley would have Mrs. Le Brocq’s +tea-caddy brought down; and he fingered and smelled the contents. They +were perfectly unexceptionable; and nothing remained for him but to go +away. He felt to his back-bone the slam of the door behind him, and to +the bottom of his soul the significance of the buzz of voices that came +through the open window as he passed it. That Anna should escape thus +easily was the last thing he had designed. And what an impudent little +wretch that boy was, to be insulting him,—so lately his superior at the +pottery,—with his nursery rhymes! All day, nothing would stay in +Studley’s head but + + “The cupboard was bare, + And so the poor dog had none.” + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + FRIEND OR FOE? + + +Though Anna’s adventure in the court had ended much less unpleasantly +than she had expected, she had no strong inclination to appear upon the +scene again. The words “this day week” were for ever on her mind; and +hour by hour she revolved the possibilities and improbabilities of her +father being able to discharge the fine within the time specified. The +first day passed over pretty well. Her mother and she were full of the +satisfaction of her own escape. On the second day, they consulted about +advertising their stock again, and wished they had done it yesterday. +Anna went to get the Durells’ opinions; but nobody was at home except +the maid, who could or would give no account of her master and mistress, +and was not over civil in her manner. Night came before the question of +advertising or not advertising was settled; and the next morning, Mrs. +Le Brocq seemed rather disposed to have an auction, at which the stock, +the household furniture, and the pottery business might be all sold +together, so that the family might be off for Jersey the moment Le Brocq +should be released. Anna was alarmed at the idea of an auction, fearing +some difficulty or danger about the duty. Mr. Durell had offered to +assist her with his knowledge of excise law, in all cases of need; and +once more she sought him. This time the Durells were at home: but the +maid scarcely opened the door three inches, and was positive that her +master and mistress could see no person whatever, even for two minutes. +Jack’s face was visible for an instant, peeping under the maid’s arm; +but, on being spoken to, he disappeared behind her skirts, and would not +be persuaded to show himself again. Mrs. Le Brocq was more bent than +ever on having the auction when her daughter came home bringing no +opinion against it. She had got a glimpse of the prospect of seeing her +Louise again, and had much to say that had been said often before on the +hardship of not having seen poor Louise ever since the first week of her +marriage. Who could tell whether, if this auction should go off well, +she might not, even yet, be with Louise before her confinement? She was +not sparing of her reproaches to Anna because she would not begin her +preparations this very evening: but Anna would do nothing without +consulting her father, whom she could not see till the next afternoon; +and so the third day passed without progress being made towards paying +the fine, and there was every prospect of the fourth elapsing without +any further advance than the formation of a plan. Her mother hurried her +away, when the time drew near for her visit to her father; and so did +her own inclination; though she hardly expected that the prison-doors +would be opened any sooner on account of her impatience. Her mother and +she had better have been more reasonable. She had not been gone more +than four minutes, (and she had to wait ten at the prison gate,) before +a stranger arrived on business. He came from the Board of Excise, on a +little affair which would be easily transacted,—over in a quarter of an +hour; there was no occasion to trouble any of the family further than +just to show him the way to the stock-room. His people were behind with +the cart; and he had desired them to be as quiet as possible, and give +no trouble. He was an excise officer, come for the purpose of levying +the fine for which Mr. Le Brocq was now imprisoned. + +Nothing could exceed the old lady’s consternation. Her first idea was +that it would be politic to carry herself high. She therefore declared +that she could not think of admitting a stranger on any such errand. Mr. +Durell was the gentleman they always employed on this kind of occasion. + +The officer half smiled while he explained that it was the Board, and +not traders, who were said to employ officers on excise business; and +the Board must choose what officers it would send on particular pieces +of service. He was aware that Mr. Durell was an intimate friend of the +family; but Mr. Durell would not be seen by them on this occasion. + +“And now, ma’am, here come our people. If you will just show us the way, +as I said, we will not trouble you to stay. You may trust the affair to +me. I have orders to be considerate; and you shall have no reason to +complain. I will look in upon you when we have done, and leave with you +the order for release, which you will allow me to wish you joy of.” + +No such thing. Mrs. Le Brocq saw no joy in the affair. Here was Studley: +there was the cart with another attendant; and her husband’s beautiful +jars and filterers were being handed into it, to be carried off. She +declared she would appeal to the neighbours. She would raise the +neighbourhood. + +“Let me advise you not, madam. I have desired my men,——Studley, be more +quiet, will you?——I have desired my men to make no disturbance: and, if +you make none, the neighbours will take us for customers, and you will +be spared all disagreeable remarks. Be quick, Studley!” + +Mrs. Le Brocq loudly exclaimed that they might well desire quietness +when they came like thieves to carry away her property. They had good +reason to fear being mobbed; and mobbed they should be. The officer +quietly and civilly showed his warrant, and cited that clause of the Act +which provides that all persons who oppose, molest, or otherwise hinder +any officer of excise in the execution of his duty, shall respectively, +for every such offence, forfeit two hundred pounds. The good woman dared +do nothing worse after this than turn her back upon the trio and their +occupation, and shut herself into her house. There she sat, rocking +herself in her great chair, and not even knitting, when, in less than a +quarter of an hour, the officer tapped at the door, and requested +admittance. At first, she would not hear; and when she dared be deaf no +longer, she became lame, and made him wait, on account of her +rheumatism, as long as she possibly could. It gave him pleasure, he said +good-humouredly, to deliver to her the order he held in his hand, his +little business being now finished. Her hands were too busy, as she +pretended, fumbling under her apron, to be at liberty to take the note. +She bade him carry it back to those that sent it; and when he declined +doing this, she sullenly nodded towards a table where he might lay it +down. He obeyed orders, touched his hat, and departed. + +She was still rocking herself in her great chair when Anna returned. + +“O, mother, what has happened now?” cried Anna, seeing that matters had +gone wrong during her absence. “Mother, speak! Have the Excise been upon +us again?” + +“To be sure: carrying off all we were going to sell by auction. They +want to put me into prison, too. I shall never see Louise more.” + +“O, mother, did they say so?” cried Anna, sinking into a chair. “I hope, +at least, they will put you beside my father;—and me, too,” she +faltered, as the idea crossed her of her being left alone on the +premises, her parents in prison, and the Durells, from some cause, +inaccessible. “Mother, how could they have the heart to tell you that +you must go to prison? Was it Studley? I suppose it was Studley. And +when, mother? When——” + +Her mother let her go on tormenting herself till the frequent repetition +of the question “when?” compelled her to admit that nobody had exactly +said that she was to go to prison. But they could mean nothing else by +robbing her of all that she had left. By degrees it came out that +Studley had been very quiet, and in fact had said nothing at all; that +if he had, it should have been the worse for him; that the officer who +was set over him would not soon forget his visit, for Mrs. Le Brocq had +shown him, when he offered that bit of paper (lying on the table there) +that she would not touch with a pair of tongs anything brought by him. + +Without the intervention of a pair of tongs, Anna took up the paper. +Minute after minute, she stood with it in her hand, her mother not +condescending to take any notice. She leaned against the table, and +again began to ponder it, the intent of the whole proceeding opening +upon her more and more distinctly. + +“I could wish, mother,” said she at length, “that the gentleman had +asked you to read this paper, or had told you something of what it +means, that we might not seem to the Board to be ungrateful. As far as I +can make out,—I am pretty sure,—our fine is paid, and my father may come +home directly.” + +Mrs. Le Brocq was in due amazement: but, when she had taken out her +spectacles, and read the order for the release of her husband, his fine +being paid, she comforted herself about her own manners by observing +upon the improbability of her receiving any civility from the Excise; +and that, after all, there was no occasion to thank them for letting her +husband out of prison, when they had done him such a wrong as ever to +put him in. She now found that it was possible for her to get as far as +the prison; a thing hitherto not to be thought of. Anna would gladly +have left her behind, so impatient was she of every moment which must +elapse before her father could know of his release. Her mother was +terribly long in getting herself ready for her walk; and such a walk +Anna had never undergone, except in a dream. At last the moment came +when the door of the well-known apartment was opened before her. + +She had hitherto seen her father only at an hour when she was expected; +and then he was always sitting at the table, or pacing up and down the +room. She now found him lying at length along a bench, his face resting +on his hands. + +“He is ill!” cried Anna, pressing forward. + +“Far from it, ma’am,” said the man who had offered to sell her a sheet +of paper. “No worse than usual, ma’am. That is the way that he spends +most of his time, except when he is expecting you; and then, who could +look doleful?” + +Le Brocq had started off his bench on hearing Anna’s voice, and shaken +himself, to get rid of his sloth or his emotion, whichever it might be +that kept him lying there. When he saw his wife, he was sure that +something remarkable had happened; and most probably of a disastrous +nature: for Mrs. Le Brocq’s leading taste, next to knitting, was for +telling bad news. He was not sorry, however, to find that good news +would serve her turn when there was no bad to be had. + +It is surprising how people get good manners without teaching,—some very +suddenly, on particular occasions of their lives. Le Brocq had been +considered by his prison companions an under-bred, churlish sort of +person: but now he was full of courtesy, from the moment he knew that he +was going to leave them. He hoped they would find the improved space and +air they would have in consequence of his absence a great advantage. He +sincerely trusted that nobody else would be put there to intrude upon +them as he had done. He was flattered at the groaning sigh and +melancholy look with which this was received, not suspecting the nature +of the regrets felt by his comrades,—regrets after the dominoes which he +had not forgotten to pocket, and after the relief they had enjoyed from +the irksomeness of double dumbie, if they played whist at all. They +would now have willingly buried in oblivion all the faults of his +playing, for which they had often pronounced him to his face +incorrigibly stupid,—all would they gladly have forgiven and forgotten, +if he could but have stayed to save them from double dumbie. But it +could not be. Le Brocq was on the point of saying that he should be very +happy to see them if ever they should chance to be travelling near his +place in Jersey; but he remembered in time what was due to his family, +and what had arisen already out of the visit of one questionable +personage. He was sorry now that he had beguiled some irksome hours with +exact accounts, perhaps too tempting, of his farm, and of his mode of +life in Jersey, with all its advantages; and when his prison-mates asked +what he meant to do with himself now, he gave an answer implying an +intention to remain in London,—not a little to the dismay of his wife +and daughter. + +He seemed, when he came out, to be suddenly smitten with London. Brennan +was waiting outside, with a smiling face. He had come, thinking he might +carry his master’s clothes-bag. Le Brocq was sure there was no such +place as London for having little services done for you, almost before +you can wish for them.—The party crossed one of the bridges. Really, he +believed there could be no such river in the world as this river in +London; and he defied anybody to match St. Paul’s as he saw it now.—What +a beautiful sunny evening it was! How the sun glittered on the water! +His wife, who was puffing and blowing, wished it was not so hot; and +Anna ventured to hint that he might perhaps think the more of these +things from having been shut up so long. For her part, she liked a +strait of the sea better than any river. This hint threw her sober +father into an ecstacy about a strait of the sea; notwithstanding which, +it was still difficult to get him off the bridge. When this was +accomplished, however, the shops and carriages did as well; and a bunch +of fresh flowers at a greengrocer’s made him mentally drunk. Anna, +thinking him now in the best mood for friendship, paused when they came +to the turn which led to Durell’s house, and proposed that they should +go round, and tell their friends the good news. + +“Ay, to be sure,” replied her father. “It would be a pity to go home +yet,—such a fine evening as it is.” + +Brennan observed that he could still carry something more, now he was so +near the pottery. If Miss Anna would trust him with the basket, he would +step on with the things. Anna gave him also the key of the house-door, +and asked him to see that the kettle boiled by the time she should +arrive to make tea. She saw by her father’s countenance that the very +words were delicious to him, and he owned as much as that nothing gave +such an appetite as the fresh air. + +“But I am sure Mrs. Durell is at home,” said Anna, when the little girl +once more declined letting anybody in. “I saw her cap as I passed the +window. Tell her, my dear, that if she is offended with us, we wish she +would tell us why; and, whether she is offended or not, I should like to +see her for two minutes, to tell her something that I am sure she would +be pleased to hear.” + +The little girl looked behind her, and Mrs. Durell appeared, thin, and +anxious-looking. She cast a glance up and down the street before she +spoke, and then merely said that there was no quarrel; that her husband +was ill and out of spirits; she would thank them to be so good as not to +come in now; and as soon as she could, she would call in upon them, or +send to know if Anna could spare her a quarter of an hour. But not now. + +“We could not now, Mrs. Durell. Here is my father—going home with us to +tea, you see. We have a great deal to tell you; and perhaps we shall +have but a short time to tell it in. You must come and talk with us +about Jersey. But I am sorry Mr. Durell is ill. Is it only just to-day? +or has he been ill long?” + +“He has had enough to make him ill these ten days. God knows what will +become of us all! But he has done nothing wrong, Anna, if you will +believe me. Good bye, my dear. I cannot tell you any more now.” + +“Poor Mrs. Durell!” sighed Anna, as she left the door. “I wonder what +has happened now. I am sure it is something very terrible. But I knew +she could not have quarrelled with us.” + +“Poor woman!” said Le Brocq, complacently. “This evening would be hardly +the time to quarrel with us, however it might have been while I was +away. They will keep on good terms with us now, I dare say. Poor woman! +She looks very pale. She looks as if she had been shut up. She cannot +have been much out of doors lately, I fancy. Ah, ha! Here we come near +the soapery. We are near home now. There is the great ladle still! You +have let the ladle stand, I see.” + +“I hope it will stand there long after we are gone out of the way of the +soapery and the pottery, and all the places here,” Anna ventured to say. + +What could be the reason that they could not get into the house? Brennan +was not visible and the door was locked. On looking through the window, +the clothes-bag might be seen, and the fire was blazing, so that he had +certainly been home. What could have become of him and the key? It was +impossible to be angry with anybody this evening; so Anna found a seat +for her mother in the yard, and she and her father went to the rear to +look at the river from the wharf. There was so much to see and admire as +the boats put off and returned, so much wondering how that wooden-legged +waterman would manage to keep his footing, so much speculation as to +whence such and such vessels came, and whither they were going, that tea +was forgotten, after all, till Brennan came running to tell them that it +was ready. + +“There, now; this is what I call comfortable,” declared Le Brocq, as he +entered the parlour, and saw, not only tea, but a pile of hot cakes and +a jar of flowers. “How in the world do you get such flowers here? They +might have grown in a Jersey meadow.” + +“They seem to me the same that you admired in the shop as we passed,” +said Anna. “And I know the pattern of the jar. It is one that Brennan +has been making after his own fancy.” + +Le Brocq could not but have thought this jar a very beautiful one, in +any of his moods. This evening he was disposed to pronounce it the most +elegant that had ever proceeded from any pottery; but Brennan modestly +disclaimed this. It did not come up to the one that put the idea of this +into his head,—one that he had seen at the British Museum. + +“Bring the other one that you made after this,” said Anna; who explained +to her father that there was one other jar which Brennan himself thought +superior to this; and that a third had come off the wheel this morning +which was likely to be the best of all. These jars were all the boy’s +own property, as he had paid by extra work for the clay and the use of +the apparatus. The boy did not bring the second jar, for the good reason +that it was no longer within reach. He had parted with it to the +green-grocer for the flowers, and money enough to buy these hot buttered +cakes. + +It was difficult to make the boy sit down to table near his own flowers; +and then he was too modest to be easily persuaded to taste his own +cakes. It was not for himself that he got them, he said. + +“Did you ever get anything for yourself?” Anna inquired of him. + +“O, yes, ma’am; many a time.” + +“What was the last thing you got for yourself?” + +“Some new runners for the jars. If you please to look, ma’am, this here +is a new pattern quite.” + +“If you had a great deal of money, what would you do with it?” + +“I would belong to the Mechanics’ Institution, and learn to draw; and +then I might get the prize,—a good many guineas.” + +“And what would you do with those guineas,—help your mother, or marry a +wife, or what?” + +“I would get some marble to cut. Marble is very dear, they say; but I +saw a good many marble things in the British Museum.” + +Le Brocq, always ready with a word against Durell, wished he had taken +the boy anywhere but to the British Museum, if he must meddle with him +at all. He had heard the proper place to take boys to for a holiday was +Sadler’s Wells. If he had gone there, Brennan would have had no +extravagant notions about getting marble, or anything else that would +come in the way of his being a good potter; and he reminded Brennan that +the Scripture told of a potter at the wheel. + +Anna looked at the jar before her, and wondered whether it would have +been produced if the boy had been taken to Sadler’s Wells instead of the +British Museum. + +“You had better be a journeyman potter, boy,” said Le Brocq. “You may +make money by informing against your master, if you watch him closely +enough.” + +Brennan coloured indignantly, and only said he should like to cut things +in marble, because the excise had nothing to do with that, he believed. +When the marble was once paid for, duty and all, there was no more +meddling from anybody. + +“You had better go with us to Jersey, then, if you don’t like the +excise; and there you will be free of the customs too. There you may get +what you want, without paying even duty. You had better go with us to +Jersey.” + +Neither Anna nor her mother attempted to conceal her delight at the +mention of going back to Jersey; whereupon Le Brocq put on a grave +countenance of deliberative wisdom, and, premising that he had no wish +to exclude so discreet a boy as Brennan from hearing what he had to say, +went on to declare that his conscience had long been uneasy about uncle +Anthony’s son Anthony. He could not approve of parental displeasure +going so far as to deprive an only son of his father’s flourishing +business, and leaving it to comparative strangers. + +“O, father, that is the best word you have said since uncle Anthony +died!” exclaimed Anna, with clasped hands. “That is,” she continued, +recollecting that she had uttered a speech of extraordinary freedom, “I +have wished, this long while, that you might be thinking sometimes of +how we came into this business, and whether it did not rightfully belong +to another.” + +“One could not see in a day what kind of a legacy it would prove,” +observed Le Brocq; “and I have no doubt that, though it is not exactly +the thing to suit us, it will be as fine a business to those who have +been brought up in a taxed country as uncle Anthony said it was. Uncle +Anthony did very wrong in leaving away his property from his only son. +The wonder would have been if, being so bequeathed, the business had +prospered. The proper thing to do next is to find out where the young +man is, and to write directly to him to come and take possession.” + +“And if he will not come?” said Mrs. Le Brocq, dreading delay. + +“If he will not come, he must dispose of the business in his own way. +That is his affair, not mine.” + +“Then you do not mean to wait till you can hear from America? I am very +glad,” observed Anna. “It would take some months to settle all about the +giving up the property, as the owner is so far off. I am very glad you +do not mean to wait.” + +“I cannot think of waiting for him; or any longer than to settle two or +three little affairs. Brennan, what has been done about those bottles +that are to go abroad? that large order for bottles, you know.” + +“They are almost ready, sir. We have been doing our best for them with +the few hands we have: and they may be got off this week, if you so +please, sir.” + +“Very well. I shall just finish that and one or two others of the larger +orders before I date my letter, and make an auction of the furniture; +and then write my letter and be off.” + +“Of this furniture?” said Anna, looking round her. + +“To be sure. Then this boy’s mother, or somebody, will either come in, +or agree to look after the place till the young man arrives or writes.” + +“But,” said Anna, timidly, “if the business is rightfully his, are not +the orders and the furniture his too? I thought we should have to pay +him, if he requires it, for using his right so long.” + +Le Brocq muttered that he ought rather to be paid for all that he had +gone through with the pottery business, though he could not fix the +payment which would compensate to him for what he had suffered. But he +had no doubt, as he said before, that the young man would make a fine +thing of it; and the young man should have it. + +“Then we shall go very soon indeed, shall we?” said Anna. “Brennan does +not like to hear us say so.” + +The boy did indeed look grieved. He was too modest to interrupt their +deliberations with the question what was to become of him; but it was +struggling in his heart. Perceiving him just about to give way, Anna +asked him to see whether it was a dog that was making a little noise +against the door. Before he could get to the door, there was a shout +which informed them that it was not a dog but a child. Jack Durell was +not tall enough to reach the knocker, and he had tried pushing and +tapping in vain; so now he shouted, + +“Father says you are to come directly, and hear the damned bad treatment +the people have given him.” + +“Hush, my dear! hush!” cried Anna. “That is not the way you should ask +us to go.” + +“That was what father bade me tell you,—that you are to come directly, +and hear——” + +“Well, well: we will come. Did your father mean all of us, or which of +us?” + +“You are all to come directly. Father says every body shall know.” + +“’Tis his turn with these fellows now, I suppose,” Le Brocq observed, +looking rather pleased than otherwise. “Come, wife.” + +Mrs. Le Brocq was still sipping her tea. As she cast her eye over the +table, and saw how tempting the remnants of the cakes looked, she felt a +distaste to moving away. She sent a long apologetic message to the +Durells about being very tired after the agitations consequent on her +husband’s release, and was left behind, much to her own satisfaction. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + THE DARKENING HOUR. + + +How strange it is that the inanimate objects with which people surround +themselves appear, even to strangers, to put on a different aspect +according to the mood of those whom they surround. It is quite as much +the case with the scenery of a house as with that which is not filled +and arranged by the hand of man. The natural landscape varies in its +aspects from other causes than the vicissitudes of clouds and sunshine. +There may be a human being sitting in the midst, through sympathy with +whose moods the observer may find the noon sunshine oppressive, or may +feel his spirit dance with the brook, or carol with the birds under the +murkiest sky. An infant’s glee at the lightning may almost make the +thunderstorm a sport; and the full moon may shed no light into the soul +of one who is watching with the mourner. So it is with the artificial +scenery of our houses. There are ague-fits of the spirit when the +crackling fire imparts no glow of mirth: and the coldest and dingiest of +apartments may, when illuminated with happy faces, put on something of +the light and warmth of a palace. Durell’s dwelling had always appeared +to Anna a very cheerful one,—with the employments of an active mistress +and a willing maid; Mary’s work-bag on the table, or its contents +scattered under a chair, as it might be: Jack’s toys heaped up in one +corner; drawings by the hands of many fair friends hung round the room; +and Durell’s flute lying with his music books and a few of the poets on +the book shelves. Thus were they arranged this evening; and there was a +small clear fire, and a sufficiency of light; and yet the aspect of the +apartment struck as deep a sense of gloom on Anna’s heart as the scene +of her father’s imprisonment had ever done. The children were not there; +Mary keeping by Betty’s side in the kitchen, officiously helping, in +order to escape being called to her work in the parlour; and Jack +slinking away as soon as his errand was discharged, to look for Stephen, +he said. There were only Mrs. Durell, hovering about her husband, with a +countenance in which there was as much terror as grief; and Durell +himself, in his easy chair, looking so wasted, and even decrepit, as to +make the Le Brocqs doubt, for a moment, whether he was the man they came +to see. Anna did not attempt to conceal that she was shocked, and asked +Mrs. Durell why she had not sent to their house for aid. + +Her husband’s illness had come on so rapidly, she said, that she had +scarcely known what to do: and he had been so unwilling to see any +person whatever! Besides, it was only within a few hours that he had +sunk to what they saw him now. Every ten minutes lowered him; and, +notwithstanding what the doctor said, she did not know how to disbelieve +her husband when he declared himself that he was dying. + +“His eye is not the eye of a dying man,” said Anna,—the only consolation +she could give. “Unless it has lighted up with our coming in——” + +“It is not so,” replied her friend. “His eyes have been as bright as +diamonds all to-day; and, I think, quite unnatural. O, my dear, if you +could help me to find out what should be done for him——His heart is +quite broken——” + +She could not go on. + +“I was afraid, by the message he sent——” + +“O, my dear, that was nothing to what I have seen him go through. If you +had been here when he threw himself on the floor because they told him +he would never be allowed to serve the king or his country in any way +again; if you had heard his prayer for those he must not serve, you +would not wonder at his being as you see him now.” + +“I am sorry to find you looking poorly, sir,” said Le Brocq, feeling +that he was making a stretch of complaisance, but having in his mind +something about not trampling on a fallen enemy. “I suppose these excise +devils have been plaguing you as——as——” + +“As I used to plague others, you were going to say, sir. Yes: I have +had a few messages from the Board—a few gentle messages. They sent me +word——” + +He seemed scarcely able to speak, and Anna interrupted him with + +“Perhaps, as you are so hoarse, Mr. Durell, you had better leave telling +us that till another time.” + +“No!” cried he, forcing his voice. “I can tell you, and I will, what +their messages were. The first was that my business was to act and not +to think; and that, whatever may happen, my part is to be silent and +obedient. There’s a pretty message to a free-born man! That came out of +what I said at the election where I could not vote; and of my defending +it afterwards at your house.” + +“O, dear! that is a great pity.” + +“Not at all a pity, sir, I don’t repent a syllable I said there. I am +only sorry (as sorry as they are), that they did not hear of that +election affair before three months were over.—Why?—Because then they +could have done worse with me than sending me a reprimand. They could +have thrown me into prison for a fine of 500_l._, and declared——But they +kept that for their next message. They could then have made a martyr of +me, sir; such a system must have martyrs: and I had rather have died in +jail, so that a few people would have asked why, than just be carried +from my own door to my grave without having my revenge on those devils +in power,—without any body supposing any thing but that I died, as other +people die, in their beds.” + +“But you will not die yet. You are almost a young man. You must not +think of dying yet.” + +“Only with a hope to live,” interposed Anna, to whom it was painful to +hear people told that they must not think of dying. + +“Hope to live!” exclaimed Durell, contemptuously. “What should I hope +for? The only prospect that could ever have tempted me to make myself +one of their vile crew, they have blighted and blasted. They took care I +should know, after that election business, that I should never rise any +higher,—that the best I had to expect was to be graciously allowed,—in +return for promising not to think, but to be silent and obedient,—to go +on being a king’s spy and a trader’s tormentor for life,—to keep my wife +and children alive with scanty bread soaked in the tears of my degraded +and broken manhood. This is what they offered in return for my promising +not to think, but to be silent and obedient.” + +“They little knew whom they were speaking to, indeed,” observed Anna. + +“Did not they know they were speaking to a man? There are some men that +would sooner watch an ant-hill than a hidden distillery, and that think +of a lark’s nest when they wake in the morning, and are apt to be +looking out after the stars when they should be asleep: and there are +others that are never so happy as when they are smelling out soap, and +sending a panic before them. The rulers have nothing to do with these +men’s different tastes, as long as the poet and the meddler both do +their work. But both these, and all between them, are men: and it is a +foul crime to strip them of their sight and their strength,—of their +reason and their will: and if it be true that the service they are on +requires such outrage, it only follows that the service itself is foul. +If it would but please God to restore me my strength for a little while, +I would find a way yet to pull down their despotism upon their own +heads.” + +He made an effort to rise, but the ground seemed unsteady beneath his +feet, and he sank down again. + +“They have struck me a deeper blow still,” said he, “or you would not +see me as I am now. They have believed in my dishonour, on the +information of a scoundrel. They believe that you have bribed me.” + +“That was the reason why my husband could not think of seeing you +before: the only reason,” Mrs. Durell was in haste to explain. “But it +is over now. They have turned him off, on what Mr. Studley said; and now +they want him to be thankful that he is not fined 500_l._ Thank God we +have done with them, I say. We shall be able——” + +“We have not done with them. We shall not be able,” cried Durell. “The +hounds can hunt me out of my rest wherever I may choose to seek it. They +boast that they can. They give me notice that if ever I make an attempt +to serve my country, they shall bring out their evidence to prove me +incapable of ever holding any office or place of trust under the king.” + +“But if they cannot do it, Mr. Durell?” suggested Anna. + +“They can. Ay: you look surprised: but they can. I never forgot my +honour. I never took a bribe; for you know that your Jersey pie and ale +were no bribe. But they can prove against me some things which they can +no more pardon than I can pardon certain of their practices. If a base +wretch joins a better man in evading the law, and then turns traitor, he +is excused and rewarded: but if a man with a heart in his bosom gives a +friendly warning to the careless, or passes over the first offence of +the widow that toils for her little ones, he is under ban, and can never +again serve his king. Such things they may prove against me.” + +“I doubt whether you may not still serve the king better than you have +done yet,” observed Anna. “I cannot call it doing the king any service +to make the people hate their duty to him, and to teach them to defraud +him. People should love their king very strongly, for instance, to wish +to yield him their cheerful duty through all that my father has +undergone in paying his taxes. If you do not collect the king’s money +any more, there are other ways of doing him service, which must be open +to such a man as you are. Whatever makes his kingdom a more honourable +and a happier place; whatever makes his subjects a better or more +contented people, is, in my mind, a true and faithful service of the +king.” + +“That is what I have been saying,” observed Mrs. Durell. + +“And what was my answer?” said her husband: “that not all that the +wisest and the most true-hearted of the people can do to promote +science, and public and private morality, can make any stand against +what these——” + +“Pray do not call them names,” entreated Anna. “They are men,—men said +to be of honour and principle, whose lot it is to administer a bad +system which they did not make. Do not let us blame them till we see +that they take no pains to alter that which they cannot approve.” + +“Well: call them men or devils, or what you will. They administer a +system which is enough of itself to keep us back in knowledge and art +till all the world besides has passed us, and to do worse for our morals +than all our clergy can cure. I can prove it. As for knowledge, only +look at the paper tax, keeping books and newspapers out of the reach of +those who want them most, and stinting the class above them of their +fair share of that which God has given every man as free a right to as +to the air of heaven. As for art,—when was there a nobler triumph of it +than when man fixed a yellow star out above the sea, to gleam on the +souls of thousands of tempest-tost wretches, like the gospel they +trusted in, and to give the wanderer his first welcome home?” + +“Indeed we can say that,” said Anna. “Such a light through the fog was +the best sight we saw in all the sea, in coming; and I never shut my +eyes to sleep now but I could fancy I see that light, hoping to pass +under it before long.” + +“Well: there might now be a light far better than that, or any light +that yet hangs above the sea; a light that would shine through the +thickest fog, like a morsel of the copper sun that rises on an October +morning,—a light that would save thousands of poor wretches that must +now go down into the deeps with the moans of their orphaned little ones +in their ears; and this light we may not use.” + +“Because of the excise?” + +“For no other reason. Glasses of a new construction would be required +for the light-houses: and this new construction is not such as is set +down in the excise laws. No glass-maker dares venture it, and the only +hope is that we may get some foreign nation to do it for us.” + +Anna thought it was a poor way of serving the king to drown his +subjects, and employ foreigners to work upon discoveries made at home,— +and all under pretence of taking care of the money of the state. + +“This is only one instance out of many,” Durell declared. “As for what I +said about morality, I know of cheats enough to fill a jest book.” + +“A jest-book!” said his wife, in a tone of remonstrance. + +“Nay, my dear, it is their fault, not mine, if, when they have sharpened +wits to cheat, the witty cheats are laughed at as good jokes. Last year, +a very good joke was spoiled. The wits who made it laughed in their +sleeves as long as it went on; and when it came out, every body else +laughed, the excise and all, though the crime is really as great as +robbing the widow of her mite, since the widow’s mite must go to make up +for the fraud. There is no duty on soap in Ireland; and some cunning +Englishmen, who had made soap without paying the duty, packed it up for +Ireland, got the drawback of 28_l._ a ton, just as if they had paid the +duty, and sent it off, smuggled it back again, packed it afresh, got the +drawback again, and sent it off, and again smuggled it back; and so on, +four times over. Now, for the idea of this cheat, for the lies that were +told, for the false oaths that were taken in carrying it on, and for the +making a sordid crime into a joke, the excise is answerable. And this is +what the excise does for morality.” + +“And this is the way the money of the people is managed,” observed Le +Brocq; “wrenched from the honest working man with one hand, that it may +be given away to the fraudulent great trader with the other!” + +Mrs. Durell had been well pleased at the turn the conversation had +taken, seeing that, while her husband’s attention was occupied with +matters of detail, he resumed more and more of his usual countenance, +voice and manner. There was less fierceness in his eye, less effort in +his speech, and he sat almost upright. But Le Brocq spoiled all. + +“I cannot but wonder at you, Durell, especially as you are a Jerseyman, +that you, knowing the system so well, should have left it to the +gentlemen to turn you out.” + +“Wonder at me!” said Durell, after a pause, during which he could not +speak. “Wonder at me! Why don’t you curse me and loathe me for being an +abject wretch, for the sake of my children’s bread? I thank God for +taking their bread from them before my eyes, if it teaches them to +despise their father and their father’s business.” + +“O, husband!” cried Mrs. Durell. + +“I mean what I say,” he continued, with a forced calmness of voice and +manner. “I am going to leave them—to leave them in your charge; and I +command you to bring them up in horror of everything that is dishonest, +and vile, and cruel; and if you bring them up to abhor everything that +is dishonest, and vile, and cruel, you must bring them up either to +forget their father and his employments, or to despise him for being so +employed. I give you your choice, and only pray God that I may hide +myself in my grave before either comes to pass.” + +“Don’t listen to him. Don’t believe him,” cried the wife, turning first +to Le Brocq, and then to Anna. “You see he is not himself; you see he is +talking like——” + +“Like a man who is waking from a morning dream,” said her husband, whose +excited senses caught looks and words which were not intended for him. +“I am not drunk, Le Brocq, though I have no right to complain if you +fancy me so; and I am not mad.” + +“But angry,—very angry,” Anna ventured to interpose. + +“Well; if I have been angry, it has nothing to do with what I am going +to say, which is about you and yours, Le Brocq, with whom I have no +cause to be angry. I am like a man waking from a dream; and I see many +things that I wish it had pleased God that I should see long ago.” + +“You cannot say you have no cause to be angry with us,” cried Le Brocq, +moved by a sudden impulse of sensibility; “that is, with me. Anna has +always been your friend; and if my wife has not, it is only because she +has copied me. I have doubted you all along till now; and I am very +sorry for it.” + +“Doubted my honour?” asked Durell, bitterly. + +“Doubted your being the friend you professed yourself. I thought that +you might, with the power of your office, have prevented some of the +misfortunes that have befallen us. But now I find——” + +“Now you find that I have been a slave, obliged to stand by, and see +those punished that I would fain have saved. Now you find that an +exciseman must choose his friends by their trades, if there be any +trades that the curse of his employment does not light upon. We used to +think that God has shown how friendships should arise,—shown it by the +meeting of the eyes that glance sympathy; and the grasp of the hands +when men find that they had the same birth-place. But the power that has +stepped in between us has set aside God’s arrangements altogether. You +and I gathered nuts, as children, in the same deep lanes, and played +about the same poquelaye; but as soon as I would have grasped hands upon +this, what happened? You believed it the grasp of a traitor, and our +enemies said we were giving and taking a bribe; and between you both, I +am sunk to perdition, body and soul.” + +“But that is all over now. Nobody will think any more——” + +“It will never be over. The stain will be as lasting as the record of my +name in the creation. When people shall see me carried to my grave, a +few days hence, they will remember how they saw me last carried through +the streets,—a brute, lower than the lowest of all other brutes. When +they meet my wife in her weeds, they will look into her face to see if +there is not joy hidden under it, because her torment of a husband is +gone.” + +“Do stop him. I cannot bear it,” said Mrs. Durell, putting her hands +before her face. + +“You will bear it very well, my dear. It is true, you will have no bread +to give your children; and when you beg it, people will stop to consider +whether they ought to help the children of the dissolute exciseman; but +all this will not set against the relief of having got rid of the wretch +himself. Ah! you don’t think so now, because you pity me, as you would +pity a sickly child;—you pity me for sitting drooping here, with a +perishing carcase and a worn-out spirit. But I don’t want your pity. I +won’t be treated like a child—I say——” + +He rose from his chair, and took a few strides towards his wife, +evidently in a state of delirium. The urgency of the occasion seemed to +inspire Le Brocq with the very sentiment which suited the moment. + +“I say, Mr. Durell,” said he, “no man likes being made a child of; and I +like it no better than other men; so I am going back,——come, you had +better sit down again; take my arm;——I am going back to Jersey. Have you +any messages for your old friends there?” + +“To Jersey: ay; you are right there, Le Brocq. That was what I was going +to say. Don’t stay here, where there is more misery caused by mere +paying taxes than there is in Jersey by all God’s dark providences +together. Go and tell them, whatever they do,” he continued, settling +himself in his chair again,——“tell them, whatever they do, not to dare, +for the sake of raising money for the state, to crush the simple and +high-minded, and exalt the mean and crafty——” + +“Ay; Studley! How that fellow is flourishing at the expense of us all!” +cried Le Brocq. + +Anna marked the flashing of Durell’s eyes at the name, and interposed. + +“We shall soon be settled in our farm again, Mr. Durell; and perhaps you +will be well enough to come and see us by the time we begin shaking the +trees in the orchard.” + +“Shaking the trees in the orchard,” repeated Durell slowly, as if the +words revived some intensely pleasurable recollections. + +“Your old friends were very sorry when you went away, and they will be +heartily glad to hear you are coming back. You will come and see us, Mr. +Durell.” + +“Come, my dear! ay; that I will,—in body or in spirit. I will be at your +apple-cropping. I will pelt you with apples; and if you cannot see where +they come from, remember who promised you this. I will echo you when you +go to call home your cows. I will rustle in the ivy when you pass the +Holy Oak;—(that old oak is the first place I shall go to.) I will walk +round and round you as you sit on the poquelaye; and if you feel a +sudden breath of air upon your face, remember who it was that said he +would haunt you. God will hear my prayer, and let me see Jersey again, +whether I die first or not.—Jack! Come here, Jack!” + +His feeble voice could not make itself heard further than half across +the room; but Jack came in from the kitchen, in answer to Le Brocq’s +effectual call. His father desired him to bring down the flute from the +book-shelves; and his manner of obeying,—as if he was by no means sure +whether he had to do with his father or with a ghost,—did not help to +recover Anna from the chilly fit into which she had been thrown by +Durell’s promises. She did not think she could ever go out to call home +the cows, or pass the Holy Oak or the poquelaye. She had never feared +Durell till this night; but he was strangely altered; and she thought +that the impression of this night would be stronger than that of all her +previous acquaintance with him. + +“Stand here, boy; don’t go away,” said Durell to Jack, who was most +unwillingly pinned between his father’s knees to hear the flute. Durell +began an air which is sung by the common people in Jersey every day of +the year; but his breath failed him directly; and he allowed the +instrument to be taken from him. + +“Then I may go,” said Jack, gently struggling to escape. + +“Yes, my dear,” said his mother. “Your father is tired now; he has done +enough for this evening.” + +“No, no,” said Durell. “I must tell him what he is to see at home. +I must tell him what little boys do in Jersey. When I was your age, +Jack——” + +“To-morrow, love,” said his wife. “You can tell him to-morrow.” + +“I should like to hear what boys do in Jersey,” declared Jack, his +confidence returning. + +“And so you shall, my boy. Sit still, Le Brocq. I shall want you to help +me. When I was your age. Jack——” + +And then he proceeded to tell how in his childhood he went out through +thickets of the blue hydrangea to the dells where he spent the whole day +in birds’ nesting; and of the hatfull of wild flowers that he treated +himself with before he began to climb the trees whose ivy was his +ladder. Not two minutes after he had soothed himself into a state of +calmness by these recollections, he began to speak indistinctly, and to +appear drowsy. Jack was admonished by gesture not to ask for any thing +over again; not to be impatient for what was to come next. This was a +hard admonition; and when his father sank back asleep, and he was gently +withdrawn from between the knees which no longer held him, the poor boy +was quietly weeping at having to wait for the rest of the story. Not +even his mother suspected how long he would have to wait. + +The Le Brocqs stole away. Jack was put quietly out of the room. Mrs. +Durell hung a shade upon the lamp, fed the fire with the least possible +noise, and sat down with her work opposite her husband, trusting that he +was dreaming of the meads and coves of his native island, and that he +would thus sleep on till morning. Long before morning, she had +discovered that he would wake no more. The Le Brocqs were called up +early by Stephen to be told that they had heard the very last words of +him who had died of a broken heart. + +It was a great blessing that his last words were words of peace. There +was no need for Anna to implore little Jack to treasure up what his +father was saying when he fell asleep. When Jack was grown up into a +man, it was still a matter of mourning to him that he had not heard the +whole of what his father had to tell about birds’ nesting in the dells +of Jersey. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + THE LAND OF SIGNALS. + + +The Le Brocqs were more anxious than ever to leave London when they had +seen their friendly countryman laid in the ground. In order to repay +himself as far as he could for the troubles he had incurred in business, +Le Brocq determined to carry with him to Jersey as much as he could +convey of his manufactured article. The cider-makers of the islands +would be very glad of his bottles, he knew, if he could sell them cheap +enough; and he believed he could sell them cheap, and yet secure a +profit by obtaining the drawback on exportation allowed by law. After +all the experience he had had of the duty-paying in England, it still +did not occur to him that there might be difficulty in recovering the +duty which the law professed to restore. Nothing can be more evident +than that when a tax is imposed on the consumption of any article, and +is advanced by the maker of the article, the maker should be repaid what +he has advanced when the article goes to be consumed by the people of +another empire, or by those in some other part of the same empire who +may be particularly exempted from the payment of the duty. Le Brocq +imagined that all he should have to do would be to show how much duty he +had paid upon the ware he wished to export, and to receive the sum back +again. He even speculated on whether the government would allow him +interest on the money he had advanced. He considered it his due; but he +would not delay his departure on account of any disagreement of this +kind. He would not put off till another day the conclusion of a business +which he supposed might be transacted in ten minutes. He little thought +that the keenest and most practised exporter would laugh as much at the +idea of finishing the affair in a few minutes as at that of receiving +interest for the duty advanced. It might be that because he was +discovered to be a novice, he was more strictly dealt with than those +who are acquainted with the regulations of the excise and customs; but +he found himself much mistaken in his calculations. It is not for the +benefit of the king’s interests, or for the credit of his service, that +practised persons are comparatively little watched, while novices are +well nigh persecuted under the perplexing system of the excise and +customs. It is unjust and injurious, but perfectly natural;—natural, +because no human patience, industry, and vigilance can be expected to be +always equal to the disgusting labour of spying and detecting. It is +natural that those who have been made fully aware of the dangers they +incur by fraud should be left under the influence of fear to swear truly +and pay duly, though unexamined. Honour is a word out of use upon these +occasions; or is employed merely as a word. Fear is the influence to +which his majesty’s officers trust, when they leave a practised trader +to declare his own claims and responsibilities, and show how he wishes +his business to be managed. Fear is the influence they invoke when they +impress the inexperienced with awe, or worry him out of his temper, with +a view to saving themselves future trouble. Fear is the influence above +all unfavourable to the interests of a king, and the security of a +government; and that which should be used, not for the levying of its +support, but only for the deterring of its subjects from crime, against +which all other precautions had previously been taken. + +The officers succeeded in inspiring the Jerseyman with fear, insomuch +that he presently doubted whether he could at last get away without +leaving his bottles behind. While others, happier than he, paid down +small sums with one hand, and received larger with the other, after +gabbling over oaths which none but the initiated could understand, and +witnessing certain entries made on their own declaration, Le Brocq had a +much longer ceremony to go through. He had to swear that the bottles he +wished to export were none of them under the weight of three ounces; +that he had given due notice to the officer of excise of his intention +to ship his wares; that the contents of the package corresponded with +the document signed by the excise officer; that they were all marked +with an E X; that none were broken; that none had been used; that no +prohibited article was in the package; that the wares were packed +according to law, without vacant spaces or other improprieties; that +they were believed to be entirely of English manufacture, and that they +had paid duty; and so on. He was next told, as a friendly warning, that +if the package was not properly prepared for sealing, (_i. e._ with a +hollow scooped out for the purpose,) the goods would be forfeited: if +any brand or mark was erased, the goods would be forfeited, and the +offender would be fined 200_l._: if the package was not on board within +twelve hours from the time of branding or sealing, it would be +forfeited; and so on. Moreover, the searcher had power to open and +examine the package; and if it was found that the exporter was not +correct in every tittle of what he had sworn, he would be indicted for +perjury. Le Brocq had as much horror of a false oath as any man; but he +now felt how easily a timid or a hasty man might be tempted into one, +for the sake of escaping as soon and as easily as possible from the +inquisition of the excise. He felt the strength of the temptation to a +trader to swear to the legal preparation of a box, the packing of which +he had not superintended. + +In the next place, he found that, so far from obtaining interest upon +the duty he had advanced, he must be at some expense to recover the +drawback. The debenture, or certificate of the customs officer that he +would be entitled to the drawback, is on a ten-shilling stamp; and he +who would recover the amount of one tax could do it only by paying +another. To recover an excise tax, he must pay a stamp tax. The dismay +of the Jerseyman, thus haunted by taxes to the last, was highly amusing +to a fellow-sufferer who stood by, and who proclaimed his own worse +fate. He was receiving back the duty upon four packages of goods, and +each debenture cost him 11_s._ 6_d._; making 2_l._ 7_s._ the cost of +recovering 10_l._ But this was not the last discovery that Le Brocq had +to make. + +It appeared finally that, as the goods were intended for the Channel +islands, the drawback could not be allowed till a certificate of the +landing of the goods could be produced, signed by the collector and +comptroller of the customs on the island where the ware was landed. Le +Brocq was not the less disconcerted by this news for its being made +evident to him that such an arrangement is necessary under a system of +taxation by excise and customs. It was clear, as he acknowledged, that +without such a precaution, the drawback might be obtained upon goods +which were not really destined for the Channel islands: but the +arrangement did not the less interfere with his private convenience. + +What was to be done now? He had no inclination to leave the goods, or to +forego the drawback; and there was no one here to whom he could commit +his affairs. After a long consultation at home, it was agreed that Le +Brocq should, after all, stay till cousin Anthony, or instructions from +him, should arrive; and that Mrs. Le Brocq and Anna should proceed to +the islands, conducting and conducted by Stephen. Stephen was not +exactly the kind of escort that the family would have thought of +accepting, some time before: but circumstances were now changed. He +could guide them to Aaron: he could secure for them, by ways and means +of his own, a remarkably cheap passage. He was now adrift, there being +no longer a home for him at Mrs. Durell’s; and he promised, for his own +sake as well as that of his companions, to make the most, instead of the +least, of such sight as he had left. As he could not expect to meet with +another Durell to house and cherish him, it was his interest to find his +way back to his old comrades, and see what they could do for him. While +offering his parting thanks and blessing to Mrs. Durell, he intimated to +her that, though he could not see to write, she should hear from him in +a way which he hoped would be acceptable;—an intimation which she +received with about the same degree of belief that she had been +accustomed to give to the protestations of others of her husband’s +protégés. + +Mild were the airs, and cloudless was the sky when the vessel which +conveyed the Le Brocqs and their escort drew near the Swinge of +Alderney, and when the Channel islands rose to view, one after another, +from the sunny sea. The stupendous wall of rock which seems to forbid +the stranger to dream of exploring Alderney, rose on the left; the +little russet island of Berhou on the right; and, beyond it, the white +towers of the three Casket lighthouses, each on its rock, and all +gleaming in the sunset, rose upon Anna’s heart as well as upon her eye. +To her surprise, she met with sympathy. + +“’Tis not often,” said Stephen, “that I care about storm or calm. Wind +and weather may take their own course for me. But I had a choice for +this evening. I wished for a wind that would bring us here before +sunset, and for a sky that would let the sun shine.” + +“You see those white towers,” said Anna, who perceived that he twinkled +and strained his eyes in that direction. + +“See them! yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Le Brocq. “Those must be stone blind +that do not get dazzled with all that glare. I like Jersey, with the +green ivy hanging from the rock over the sea. I want to be at Jersey, +with my Louise.” + +“All in good time, ma’am,” said Stephen. “We must land somewhere else +first, and find your Aaron. How like ghosts they stand!” he continued, +still looking towards the Caskets. “And one taller than the rest.” + +“You see that too,” said Anna. “Then I am sure you must see Berhou. We +are coming nearer every moment. Hark to the splashing in the Swinge!” + +“Ay, ay; I’ll listen with the best,” said Stephen. “And I can see +something in the Swinge, though the dark island is all one with the sea +to me.” + +“Which dark island? And what do you see in the Swinge?” + +“Berhou has nothing to mark it to my eye. I can just trace out Alderney +against the sky; but the something white that is leaping and gleaming +there, I take to be the foam of the waters in the Swinge. Ah! here we +go!” + +While the vessel pitched and rolled, and took her zigzag course, as if +spontaneously, between the black points of rock which showed themselves +above the white billows, and seemed to tell of a hundred dangers as +formidable as themselves, Anna was sorry for him who, either physically +or intellectually blind, could see nothing in Berhou. Neither man nor +child was visible; no human habitation; no boat upon the strip of beach +which the rocks and the sea spared between them; but the grey gull sat, +spreading its wings for flight, and the stormy petrel, rarely met within +sight of land, were here perceived to lose the mystery of their +existence. While Anna observed them going forth and returning, and +hovering over the fissures of the rock in which they make their homes, +she found that Mother Carey’s chickens are probably hatched from the +egg, like other birds, and not wafted from the moon, or floated from the +sea depths,—the especial favourites of some unseen power. The slopes of +down which showed themselves in the partings of the rocks, looked green +in contrast with whatever surrounded them; though no hand of man +brightened their verdure, and they were not even trodden by any foot but +those of the wild animals who had the region to themselves. While she +was thus gazing, and her mother would look at nothing because it was not +Jersey, the master and one or two of his crew seemed to be watching the +coast of the other island in the intervals of their extreme care to +obviate the perils of the passage through the strait. At this moment, a +breath of air brought the faint sound of chiming bells from Alderney. +Stephen instantly turned to listen, and waited patiently till it came +again, and Anna was sure that it was wafted from a church-steeple, and +not from any region of fancy. + +“Master,” said Stephen, “you will not be able to land us in Alderney +to-night, I am afraid.” + +The master was just going to advise the party to proceed to Guernsey. +The state of the tide was such that he could not engage to set any one +on shore in Alderney. The party had better go on to Guernsey. + +“The vraicking season begins to-morrow, master. You have no mind to lose +all your passengers that might like to stay and see the vraicking. Well; +that is fair enough. But we cannot go on to Guernsey, having no call +there. You may set us ashore on Berhou.” + +The master supposed he meant some other place. The honey-bees and the +rabbits might make out a good night’s rest in Berhou, but there were no +lodgings for Christians. Stephen knew better; and knew, moreover, that +the master might feel well enough pleased at being spared performing his +promise as to Alderney, to land the party, without objection, in a more +practicable place. This was true. The master had not the least objection +to their supping with the rabbits, and sleeping among the sea-fowl, if +they chose. Moreover, if they found themselves starving by the time he +came back that way, he would toss them some biscuit, if they would only +hoist a flag of distress. Stephen did not care a whit for the master’s +mockery of his plans, or for Mrs. Le Brocq’s complaints at being landed +any where so far from her Louise. He showed so much respect to Anna’s +doubtful looks and words as to assure her that he knew what he was +about, and that no delay would arise from his choice of an uninhabited +island for a temporary resting place. Anna had no choice but to trust +him; but a feeling of forlornness came over her when, having landed the +old lady, and seated her on the sands to recover her breath and dry her +tears, she and Stephen stood to see the vessel recede in the strait, and +at length enter the open sea beyond, leaving them out of reach of human +voice and help. + +“Could that bell be heard here from Alderney if the sea was quiet?” she +asked. + +“I dare say it might; but this sea is never quiet,” he replied. “Day and +night, summer and winter, it plunges and boils as you see. You are +thinking that the sound of a church-bell would be cheering in this +solitude; but yonder bell keeps its music for the folks on its own +island; and a merry set they will be to-night on the south side, +watching the tide going down towards morning, that they may begin the +vraicking.” + +“And what are we to do next?” asked Anna, with a touch of the doleful in +her voice which seemed to amuse Stephen. + +“Catch Mother Carey’s chickens, and run after rabbits, to be sure. You +know there is nothing else to live upon here. We shall have a merry life +of it, shall not we?” + +“I wish you would answer me, Stephen. My mother cannot bear joking. What +are we to do next?” + +“You must watch for the lighting of the Caskets, and eat a biscuit in +the meantime.” + +It was a comfort that some biscuits were secured; for Mrs. Le Brocq was +never wholly miserable while eating, whatever she might be before and +after. The sun was fast sinking behind the Caskets, so that it could not +be long before their now dark towers would be crowned with a yellow +gleam, and more of Stephen’s little plot would be unravelled. Anna +suggested that if they had to go any where to look for a boat or a +lodging, it would be better to move before twilight came on. She +concluded they were not to sit here on a stone all night, looking at +Alderney. Stephen begged pardon. He knew every step of the way so well +that he had forgotten how much more important daylight was to his +companions than to him. He rose from the vetch-strewn sand where he had +laid himself at ease, loaded himself with what he could conveniently +carry of the family luggage, saying that the rest might remain where it +was, as there was no chance of rain before morning, and set forward over +the heathery waste. + +This was the first ground the party had trodden since they left London; +and even Mrs. Le Brocq observed the difference between Lambeth pavement +and the turf on which they were now walking, matted with fragrant heath, +with patches between of blossoming thyme. Little white-tailed rabbits +trotted in all directions to their burrows; and swarms of the celebrated +honey-bee (called the leaf-cutter, from its hanging its cell in the +sands with rose-leaf curtains) hovered and hummed over the thyme-beds +and the briar-rose bush which was now closing its blossoms from the +honey-searcher. The dash and roar of the strait were left behind, and +the deepest silence succeeded. None of the party spoke while they +proceeded with noiseless steps, Stephen leading the way, with his staff +for his protection. He would go first and alone, lest he should lose his +way by relaxing his attention. At last, his step slackened, and he felt +the ground about him. + +“Is there a bit of grey rock hereabouts, like a sofa?” + +“There is a stone seat that you might fancy like a sofa, twelve yards +from your right hand.” + +“Give me your arm round to the other side of it. There! now there is a +path downwards, almost from your feet, is not there?” + +“Yes; a very steep path,—difficult to get down, I should think. The +honeysuckles are like a hedge on either side. You smell the +honeysuckles?” + +“It was the honeysuckles that guided me, after we had half crossed the +heath. You were too busy with the thyme to attend to them, I dare say; +but the honeysuckles were what I was on the look-out for. If we have to +go to Serk, you will find the air as sweet as Paradise with them.” + +“Why should we go to Serk?” + +“I may be able to tell you within an hour or two, or we may have to wait +till morning. In the last case, I know of a snug cave where we will +light a fire with a little of yonder furze; and it will be odd if we do +not fall in with something good to eat and drink, and something soft to +sleep upon.” + +“I sleep in a cave!” exclaimed Mrs. Le Brocq. “I cannot do any such +thing. I never slept in a cave in my life.” + +“If you see any place that you like better, I am sure I am very glad,” +replied Stephen. “Yonder sofa would not be a bad place on a soft +summer’s night. Only, a brood of Mother Carey’s chickens might chance to +flap their wings about you and startle you; or, if you woke, you might +happen to find yourself in the middle of a circle of strangers, all +smoking their pipes; and then you might wish yourself down with me in +the cave. If you look round, ma’am, you will see no blue roofs in all +the island,—unless they have altered it since I knew it.” + +Mrs. Le Brocq shuddered as she said that it was too dark to see blue +roofs or any thing else. + +“And there are the Casket lights,” cried Anna. “Only two! yes; there is +the third. Look, mother! like three red stars.” + +“Now,” said Stephen, “one of you must be so good as to help me down this +path,—just to the turning.” + +Anna guided him, her mother calling out all the way, that they must not +go far: she did not choose to be left alone. + +While they were for a few minutes out of sight, she had recourse to her +prayers, finding herself in too strong a panic for tears. Those nasty +birds would come and pick out first her eyes and then Anna’s; and then +they two would be more blind than Stephen, and could never get away; and +their bones would lie stark and stiff on the cold ground. Before she had +done praying that she might live to die in her bed, her companions +re-appeared, to save her eyes for the present from the birds. + +When Stephen and Anna had reached the first turn of the winding path, he +desired to know what was to be seen beneath. “Scarcely anything,” +replied Anna. “Between the Casket lights and these rocks, there is +nothing but the dark grey sea.” + +“And nothing under these rocks?” + +“Only a little patch of sand, with nothing upon it; and the white birds +sailing out and in. Not a boat on the sea, nor a living person on the +land! What a place to bring us to, Stephen!” + +“Not a living person on the land! Do you suppose there are any dead, +Miss Anna? Do you see any white skeletons among the dark rocks?” + +“The place gives one as horrible an idea as any you can speak,” Anna +replied. “This is a place where a poor wretch may be cast ashore, and +drag himself up out of sea-reach, and mark the sun set thrice while he +is pining with hunger and cannot die, and beholding land far off where +he cannot make himself seen or heard, till all is one dark cloud before +his dying eyes, and his last terrors seize him, and there is no one to +take his hand, and speak the word that would calm his spirit. O, +Stephen, what a place to bring my mother and me to!” + +“Ay, is not it? You are making up your mind to die here, I see. Come; +this is all I have to show you yet. We may go up to the sofa again, and +see whether your mother is dreaming about dead men’s bones, or crying +because she cannot get away.” + +Anna was not disposed to make any answer. She led the way back in +silence, and said no more to her mother than to remind her that +remonstrance was in vain. Nothing could well be more cheerless than the +companionship of the party for the next half hour, while the stars were +piercing the heaven, and the sea-birds dropping into the caverns below, +and the night breeze going forth on its course, and whispering the rocks +which stood as sentries over the restless tide. Mrs. Le Brocq sat bolt +upright on the stone sofa; Stephen lay down on the turf, as if to sleep; +and Anna walked backwards and forwards, harassed by uneasy thoughts. At +the same instant, she stopped in her pacing, and Stephen half raised his +head, as a watch-dog does at any sound brought by the night wind. + +“What is it?” asked Anna. + +Probably her half-breathed question did not reach Stephen; for he +yawned, and laid himself down as before. Anna could only suppose that +she had heard nothing. There was no use in asking her mother; for she +must doubtless be fully occupied with the noise in her head, of which +she complained at all times, and especially when under any sort of +agitation. + +In ten minutes more, Stephen jumped up, saying briskly, + +“Now, Miss Anna, I must trouble you once more.” + +“To do what, Mr. Stephen?” + +“To prevent my being lost in the honeysuckles, that is all.” + +With some unwillingness, Anna again made herself his guide down the +path. When she reached the turn, she stifled an exclamation of +astonishment. + +“Out with it, Miss Anna!” said Stephen. “You see none but friends. What +are they doing below?” + +“They have set up a boat sideways, to prevent the fire being blown out; +or, perhaps, to hinder its being seen from the sea. What a fire they are +making! and every man has his pipe.” + +“As is fitting for those that help so many to a pipe which they could +not otherwise get. How many are there? Do you see any face that you +know?” + +“I can scarcely tell yet. The light flickers so! One—two—there are five, +I think. O, Stephen!—it never can be,—yes, it is,—Mr. Prince, the +shopkeeper at St. Peter’s, that—” + +“Why should not it be Mr. Prince? The shopkeepers are as likely a set of +men to be out on a vraicking eve as any. Is he the only one you know?” + +“Yes. I see all their faces now. There is no other that I have ever +known, I think. How very odd it is to see Mr. Prince look just as he +used to do when he stood smiling behind his own counter!” + +“He smiles, does he? Well; I hope you ladies will not be afraid to trust +yourselves with Mr. Prince; I have no doubt he will be proud to take +care of you back.” + +“To St. Peter’s! But we do not want to go to St. Peter’s. Stephen, I +believe we shall never make you understand how much we wish to get back +to Jersey. I wonder you can trifle with us so.” + +“Have patience,” said Stephen. “You well know that there is one thing +that you desire even more than to get back to Jersey.” + +“About Aaron. There he is! behind the boat!” cried she, passing Stephen, +and flying down the steep pathway, as if she had thought it possible for +Aaron now to escape her by running into the sea. Aaron had no wish to +flee away. Before his sister had made her way through his companions, he +had opened his arms to her; and he had no less pleasure in the meeting +than herself. + +He was all surprise at finding Anna apparently alone on a desert island; +and she that he was not expecting her. He knew that his family meant +soon to return to their farm; but he would as soon have expected to meet +the queen of England in the wilds of Berhou as his sister Anna. + +His mother there too!—And his father also? he inquired with an altered +voice. His father not being of the party, he became extremely impatient +to join his mother. + +“That is the way by which I came down,” Anna explained. “There,—by +yonder little opening. Let me show you. And poor Stephen: I forgot him;— +he is there; and he can neither get up nor down by himself, and I left +him alone. O, Aaron, how could you go away as you did?” And all the way +up the ascent, Aaron had to justify himself for going away as he did. He +scarcely paused a moment to greet Stephen; but ran on to find Mrs. Le +Brocq. When the first tears and exclamations were over, the question was +heard again, + +“Aaron, how could you go away as you did?” + +“Why, mother, is not being here much better than drudging on the +tread-wheel, or even than doing nothing in a prison? I tell you, mother, +if you did but know the pleasant sort of life I have been leading +lately——Well; if that won’t do, let me tell you that it makes me so +merry to see you and Anna standing here,—so free, and so far out of the +reach of such fellows as Studley,—that I could find in my heart to whiff +away all laws like the smoke from one of those tobacco-pipes.” + +Anna thought that the use of laws was to enable people to stand free, +and out of the reach of knaves and revengeful men. + +“To be sure, such ought to be the purpose of laws; but is such the +purpose and effect of the excise laws? Nobody knows better than I, and +the other men below there, that the raising money for the state is +necessary for the security and quiet of the people; but if the money is +so raised as to spoil their security and quiet, who is not tempted to +wish the laws at the devil, and let the state take its chance for money? +It is a fine thing for us to be here, at any rate, under this open sky, +and with plenty of meat and drink below. Come, mother; we will have a +good supper to-night, without asking the king’s will about what we shall +have, or paying for his leave to enjoy one thing rather than another. We +have plenty of vraicking cakes from Alderney, and some fine French wine +to drink with them.” + +“O, Mr. Stephen,” cried Mrs. Le Brocq, “we are much obliged to you for +bringing us here. Here is Aaron so free and happy! and vraicking cakes, +and French wine! We are much obliged to you, Mr. Stephen.” + +“Yes, we are indeed,” said Anna, heartily. “I beg your pardon, I am +sure, for doubting what you were doing for us. But it did seem very +forlorn. How well and merry Aaron looks, to be sure! If we were but +certain it was all right!” + +“How can it be wrong when we are all as merry as children let out of +school?” Stephen asked. “I found out your evil thoughts of me, Miss +Anna; but now, perhaps, you will trust me another time. I may chance to +hear more in a church-bell than the news that the vraicking begins +to-morrow.” + +“Was it that bell that told you that Aaron would be here to-night? I +never thought of that. I never could have guessed it.” + +“I dare say not. Some people that have more interest in such matters +than you, are no more aware than you of the sly little markets that are +held in many a cove and cavern, when an oyster-fishing or a vraicking +gives opportunity for many boats to meet together. Such a bell as that +we heard in Alderney is a signal to more ears than it is intended for; +and lights like those” (pointing towards the Caskets) “serve many eyes +for a dial, to show the hour of meeting. Aaron, are there many +foreigners off the islands just now?” + +“Above fifty small sail of French off Guernsey this morning. The +Guernsey folks are fine customers to the French now; which is no little +help to our business. We can get anything to order; and when by chance +other things fail, there is always corn and wine for the boldest of us +to carry; and I, for one, have never had to wait for a port to get them +into.——But come; there will be no supper left if we do not make haste +down. We jumped ashore with fine appetites, and I would not trust any +body with a cooked supper, after such a pull as we have had to-day. +Besides, we have not overmuch time, for we must be off Little Serk +before the first farmer is up and overlooking the sea. We have a private +errand there.” + +“And you are going to leave us—all alone!” exclaimed Mrs. Le Brocq. + +“Not if you wish to go with us, mother. At Little Serk you will be all +the nearer Jersey, you know. We will take good care of you. Come, Anna; +you are not afraid of supping with my partners, are you?” + +“O, no; and yet, if anybody had told me——But they do not look at all +wild and terrible, as I thought people did when they broke the laws.” + +“It depends much on what sort of people break the laws,” observed +Stephen; “and that again depends on what sort of laws they are that are +broken. When it is not the violent and cruel, but such people as thrifty +shop-keepers——” + +“I cannot help laughing,” said Anna, “to think of Mr. Prince. I am sure +nobody could ever dream of being afraid of him. Mother, will you come +down, and speak to Mr. Prince, and have some supper?” + +“And he will tell us the best plan for getting to Jersey, I dare say. I +wonder whether he has been in the way of hearing anything of Louise +lately?” + +The old lady made little difficulty about the descent; and she and her +daughter were presently so far demoralized as to be supping with a +company of smugglers, almost as comfortably as if they had been honest +men. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + + WELCOME TO SUPPER. + + +The party was off Little Serk, as Aaron willed, before the first farmer +was abroad on the upland to overlook the gleamy sea. Two of the company +had hastened over the heath, while the others were at supper, to bring +the larger packages which had been left behind; and all had put off +beneath the moon some time before midnight. Mr. Prince had found a +little leisure for being civil to his former customers, though he had +much to do, as well as his companions, in stowing in one of the caverns +the goods he had brought from France, and loading the boat with the +packages deposited there by some friendly vraickers and lobster-fishers. + +It was not that in these islands any danger attended traffic of any +kind; except in the one article of spirits which had not paid duty. +There were here no guards patrolling the sands, or perched upon the +steep, to look for thieves in every bark that cleaved the blue expanse, +and anticipate murder when the twilight spread its shadows. There were +here no questionable abodes,—spy-stations,—niched in places convenient +for overlooking the traffic of housewifes with the fishermen who +furnished their tables. Here there were no deadly struggles in the +darkness, the comrade going down in deep waters, with the bitter +consciousness that he was thrown overboard lest his wounds should lead +his companions into danger; or left unclaimed upon the beach, while wife +or parents are secretly mourning, and longing to give the exposed body +the respectful burial which strangers will not yield. No such +extraordinary arrangements deform the simplicity and mar the peace of +the society of these islands; but, while the coasts of France and +England cannot enjoy the same freedom, the islanders are tempted to +share in the frauds and the perils of their neighbours. Not content with +having corn, wine, and tobacco at their natural cost of production and +carriage, they are willing to help others to the same privilege; and +will continue to be so willing as long as, by their office of +go-between, they can make a profit by the bad legislation of the two +kingdoms within whose embrace they lie. There is no remedy for this but +rectifying the faults of French and English commercial legislation. As +long as taxes are levied by raising the prices of necessary articles so +high as to make smuggling profitable, the island boats will steal along +the shores, or cautiously cross the straits on the dishonest errands of +a mediator between two defrauders; they will land their passengers short +of their point, because they have something besides passengers on board; +they will make a show of lobsters to hide tea and tobacco. To impose +restraints on them, similar to those by which they now profit in pocket +and suffer in morals, would only increase the evil by enlarging the +field of temptation, and adding the demand of the islands to that of the +two neighbouring coasts. There is no remedy but in putting all on an +equality, not of restraint, but of freedom. + +The lord of Serk and his people had not yet opened their eyes on the +morning sunshine, when the boat containing Aaron and his party ran under +the perpendicular rocks of the island, and several voices announced that +they had arrived at their destination. No landing-place was visible; but +the women had by this time become inured to wonders, and resigned to +whatever of romantic might come in their way. They asked no questions, +even when their boat grated against the rock, and moved uneasily in the +ripple without being intended to make any progress. They made no +objection when desired to lay hold of a rope which dangled from a ledge +thirty feet above their heads; and quietly submitted to be hauled up +they knew not whither. Up and down, forward and round-about they went, +now seeing a cask taken up from a store-cavern, now dropping a message +in a lonely cottage; and at last sitting down to repose in a cavern +which was lighted only from a natural opening at the top, upon which the +blue sky seemed to rest as a roof. Here the echoes were already awake +with the blows of the mattock and the grating of the saw. Here +boat-building went on, early and late; for a certain Englishman had +found out how well the islanders are off for timber,—the best of timber, +which pays no duty; and many a good bargain he made by going forth in a +worn-out vessel, and coming home in a boat of Serk workmanship. Aaron +was right in supposing that here he should pick up the means of +conveying his mother and sister home with their heavy wares. Here he +insisted on their resting, after their many fatigues and long watching; +but it was not that he might himself repose. He had still a little trip +to make. + +“My dear, you will be tired to death,” said his mother. “I never knew +you work all night in Jersey.” + +Aaron laughed, and said that people are seldom tired to death when they +work at no bidding but their own: and, as for working at night—— + +“It is a bad practice, Aaron, depend upon it,” said his sister. “Honest +work is done by daylight.” + +“Carry your objections to those who taught me to work at night,” +answered Aaron. “And not me only, but hundreds more. They are but few +who would naturally work when their part of the world is supposed to be +asleep;—the nurse beside the sick-bed, and the watchmen that walk the +streets of cities; the beacon-keeper that trims the lamps in his high +tower, and the helmsman that fixes his eyes upon those lights far out at +sea. All but these are supposed to be at rest when God has set his stars +for night-lamps, and drawn the darkness about us for a curtain: but +there are some who contradict his decree that night is the time for +rest;—and they are such as make harsh and unjust laws.” + +“But for laws,” said Anna, nearly as she had said before, “we might be +subject to the robber by night, and the violent man by day. Without +laws, none of us could lie down and sleep in peace.” + +“Without some wholesome laws: but, if it were not for certain unwise and +cruel laws, thousands more of us would lie down and sleep in peace. Ask +the country justice in England, whose business it is to enforce the +laws, how often it happens that labourers who cannot get work during the +day because their superiors have a monopoly of bread, toil unlawfully +all the night because their superiors have a monopoly of game. He may +dispute the wickedness; but he will not deny what comes of digging +pitfalls for men, lest they should set springes for birds. Ask,—(nobody +could have told better than poor Durell)—ask any exciseman what time is +chosen by certain traders for their traffic, and makers for their work; +and he will tell you of the burning, and the boiling, and the +distilling, and the packing and removing that take place by night. He +will tell you that the noblest works that men can do, and that they +ought to do proudly in the daylight, are done by night, because the law +has fixed a sin and a shame upon them. To make improvements in human +comfort is turned into a sin and shame, when those improvements are made +too expensive by a tax; therefore they are tried by night. The exchange +of the fruits of men’s labour is made a sin and a shame, when a tax +comes in to make such an exchange unprofitable: therefore it is done by +night. These innocent things being made a sin and a shame is the reason +why tax-gatherers prowl about, like so many robbers, when the sun is +down; and why the better men whom they entrap are carried to prison in +the morning, to come out blasted and desperate, as if they had committed +a crime against God’s majesty instead of against the king’s treasury.” + +Mrs. Le Brocq stared in astonishment at her son. With a little +hesitation, she asked him whether he had not adopted a new vocation, and +turned preacher. The kindness of his manner to her, and the eloquence of +his speech, concurred to impress her with the idea. He smiled as he +answered, that there would be no lack of preachers or of eloquence upon +this subject, if every one who had suffered were allowed to bear +witness. A voice would rise up from all the land, and go forth over the +sea, if every Briton who is injured by the mode in which he is obliged +to pay his contribution to the state, might speak his mind. + +But still,—Aaron talked so differently from what he used to do,—so +freely,—so cleverly. + +“There is all the difference in the world, mother, between——But I do not +wish to say anything disrespectful of my father: so I will only mention +that the reason why it is found to be prudent for governments to allow +people to speak out, is because nothing makes men more eloquent than a +sense of wrong; and the stronger the eloquence that is suppressed, the +more doggedly will the sense of wrong show itself in some other way. A +whole nation can mutter and be sullen, as I used to be; and its +muttering and sullenness may prove of more importance than mine. Now I +have got an occupation of my own, and am under nobody’s management, I +could preach (as you would say) very strongly both to parents and +governments about not being spies and meddlers,—that is to say,” +(recollecting his father) “about not interfering more than is pleasant +with the doings of their children and subjects. To make wise and +merciful general laws, and then leave the will and actions free in +particular instances, is the only true policy,—the only kind of +government which is not in its nature tyranny.” + +“But how do you apply that to the paying of taxes?” inquired Stephen. +“How is the state to raise money on such a plan of government?” + +“Far more easily than in any other way, in my opinion. Under a general +rule that property is to pay such or such a proportion of tax, there is +the least possible room for partiality and oppression; for the +derangement of people’s affairs, and interference with people’s actions. +There is an open and honest calling to account, at times that are fixed, +in a manner that is established, and for purposes that are well +understood: while, by meddling as excisemen and custom-house officers +meddle, the king is defrauded of the affections of his people; the state +is wronged in purse and reputation; and its agents are made masters to +teach multitudes a livelihood which need never have been heard of. Which +of us would naturally have dreamed of living by defrauding the +government, for whose protection we were ready to pay our share?” + +“Then you will not go on as you have been doing lately,” said Anna. “You +will go home with us, and serve the government as you yourself think the +government ought to be served.” + +“I will see you home, and do my father’s errand at the custom-house,” +replied Aaron. “The States shall never have cause to complain of me, as +long as they go on to take our taxes as they do now. As for cheating +them, I could not if I would: and I am sure I have no desire to do it +while they treat me like a man, and ask no more from me than is due from +a subject.” + +“I am sure I hope they will go on to do so.” + +“You may well wish it. If ever they begin meddling with your cider or +soap-making, or setting spies upon me when I buy tobacco or hemp, I +shall be off to some country,—Turkey may be,—where taxes are demanded +and not filched.” + +“Turkey! I thought that was a horrible country to live in.” + +“So you would find it in many respects; but it is wise and free in its +mode of taxation; and the effects of this one kind of wisdom and freedom +on the happiness of the people, our neighbours on the north and south +would do prudently to study and admit. However, yonder lies Jersey; as +good a place as Turkey in this respect, and better in many others; so I +have no present wish to sail eastwards.” + +It seemed to Mrs. Le Brocq this afternoon that nothing more was +necessary to happiness than to be sailing southwards, with Aaron +trimming the sail, Anna looking as tranquil as if she had never been in +an excise court or a prison, and the beloved island rising on the sight, +in which was Louise, probably with a pretty baby in her arms;—a pretty +baby, of course, as every thing belonging to Louise must be pretty. How +cheerful looked that picturesque coast from Grosnez to Rozel, as +promontory after promontory came into view, tapestried with verdure, or +crested with cairns or church towers, and casting each its dark shadow +to hide its eastern cove from the declining sun! How busy were those +coves to-day! how unlike their usual solitude and stillness! At almost +every other time, it was a wonder to see more than a solitary loiterer +on the narrow path whose precarious line circled the rocks, and +penetrated the bays, now winding up to the steep, now dipping to the +margin of the water; and, as for the yellow sands, they were left +printless from tide to tide while the islanders were busy about their +farmsteads. But now, all was as animated as if the land was joyful at +the Le Brocqs’ return. Carts were standing in the water to receive the +vraic; and the red-capped boy who rode the horse, or the white-sleeved +man who wielded his rake in the vehicle, looked bright in the evening +sunshine. Here and there, a horse might be seen swimming home from a +distant mass of rock, guided by a youth or maiden mounted on the heaped +panniers. Boats were plying from point to point; and on every ledge +where marine vegetation could be supposed to flourish without danger of +molestation, children might be seen tugging at the tenacious weed, while +their fathers did more effectual execution with their scythes. There was +not an exposed place all along this coast where the lobsters could +safely come up this day to sun themselves; and when the infant crabs +should next propose to play hide-and-seek in what was to them a sort of +marine jungle, they would find their moist retreat stripped and bare, +and must betake themselves again to the tide. High on the beach might be +seen parties busy at their work, or busier at their recreation,— +spreading and tossing the ooze as if it were hay, or broaching the cider +cask, and distributing the vraicking cakes. Mrs. Le Brocq once nearly +upset the boat, by lifting up her ponderous self with the view of +hailing the mowers on shore;—a feat about as practicable in her case as +shaking hands with one on the top of Coutances cathedral. She was glad +to reseat herself, and be no worse, and try to wait patiently till the +boat should have rounded Archirondel tower, and given her up to tread +one of the green paths from St. Catherine’s bay to the ridge, on the +other side of which was Louise. + +From that ridge might be seen the farm-house, just as was expected. It +did not seem to have lost an ivy-leaf, nor to have gained so much as a +lichen on its pales. The pigeons looked the very same. The fowls +strutted and perched exactly as formerly; and the brook trotted over the +stones as if it had never grown tired all these many months. + +“Who could have thought we had been away?” was Anna’s first exclamation. +Her mother was toiling on too fast to reply; but Aaron gave an +unconscious answer to her thought when he presently overtook them, and +delivered the result of the observation he had lingered on the ridge to +make with his boat glass. + +“Who do you think is in the porch, mother?” + +“Louise!” + +“And who else?—No, not her husband, nor Victorine; but her baby. There +is a bundle on her arm; I am sure it must be her baby. Charles is out +vraicking, no doubt; and Victorine is milking, I see, behind there. Not +so fast, mother, if I may advise. Let me go first. She will be less +surprised to see me; and I think she cannot be strong yet, or she would +have been out vraicking too.” + +It was, in fact, Louise’s first evening out of doors after her +confinement. What an evening it was!—Anna relieving her of all household +cares; her mother overflowing by turns with affecting narrative and +admiration of the infant; Stephen giving a droll turn to every thing; +and no paternal restraint to spoil the whole! It was a pity that night +was near, and that it would come to put a stop to the interesting +questions and answers that abounded. + +“When do you gather your apples, love? I have been thinking we must soon +be setting about your cider.” + +“But, mother, only think of your coming away from London without seeing +the king!” + +“My dear, your father did write to him: so it is not as if we had had +nothing to do with him.” + +“And what was the answer like?” + +“Bless me, Anna! we never thought more of the king’s answer. But, +really, my head was so full of things, I never recollected to send to +inquire at the post-office. However, your father will be more mindful, I +dare say. Well, Louise, I cannot think how you managed with the calf, to +have such a misfortune happen, my dear. I never failed with one all the +time I lived here.” + +“And you say you never so much as tried in Lambeth. I do wonder you did +not manage it, one way or another.” + +“Nobody keeps cows there, love, but the brewers; and then the poor +beasts live on the grains, and seldom taste fresh grass. They flourish, +in a way, too. A great brewer near us had one brought in, intending that +it should have the range of the paved yard, on Sundays, when the gates +were shut: but the creature had fattened on the grains so that when the +people would have let her out, she could not turn in her stall. When +they had thinned her a little, so that she might get exercise, it was +thought that the fumes of the liquor had affected her head, she capered +about so among the casks. But I never heard but what she yielded very +good cream, which you do not always see in London.” + +“I wonder how they get cream at all, if, as you say, there are no cows +but one in each brewery. Perhaps the excise makes the difficulty with +taking some of the cream for the king; as they say the tithing man does +for the parson.” + +Aaron had not heard of an exciseman being yet instructed to thrust +himself between the cow and the milk-pail; but he should not be +surprised any day to hear of its being made part of an excise officer’s +duty to peep in at a dairy lattice, and see what the milk-maids were +about with their skimming dishes. Did not he hear horses’ feet outside? +Could it be Charles? No; Charles was not coming home to-night. What old +friend could it be? And he ran out to see. + +“An old enemy,” the guest expected to be called. It was Janvrin, the +tax-gatherer. Every body was struck with the strangeness of the +circumstance that he should appear on this particular night,—to a party +who had had so much to do with taxes since they had met him last. There +was something much more astonishing to him in the cordiality of his +reception. + +“The last time I saw you all here,” said he, “you certainly wished me at +the Caskets, or somewhere further off still; and now, you are heaping +your good supper upon me, as if I were come to pay money, and not to ask +it.” + +“For our former behaviour,” replied Aaron, “you may call him to +account,”—pointing to Stephen. “You heard him say what taxation was in +England,—just paying a trifle more for articles when they were bought;— +such a mere trifle as not to be perceived. He is not laughing in his +sleeve now as he was when he told that traveller’s tale. It is to our +having taken him at his word, Janvrin, and made trial of English +taxation, that you owe your different reception to-night.” + +Stephen expressed his sorrow that his words had taken so much more +effect than he had intended. He really would try,—he would do his very +best, to avoid telling travellers’ tales for the future. + +“The oddest thing is,” said Janvrin, “that there are some who are no +travellers that tell the very same tale. There are dwellers in England,— +even speakers in her parliament, who ought to know the condition and +interests of the people, who go on to insist that the filching system,— +the taxing of commodities,—is the best way of raising a revenue. The +wonder to me is why the mouths of such men are not stopped,—how such +taxes come to be borne.” + +“Because it is the ignorant who have to bear the worst of the burden,” +Stephen thought. “The payment is made unconsciously by those who pay in +the long run. The trader feels the grievance at first, and makes an +outcry; but when the time comes for him to repay himself out of his +customers’ pockets, he drops his cry, and nobody takes it up. It saves +some people much trouble that all should be hush. But the time cannot be +far off when honest men will be set to inquire, and then——” + +“And what then?” + +“They will report that the truest kindness to the people will be rather +to preserve the worst direct tax, be it what it may, that was ever +devised, than to go on taxing glass and soap, and many other things +nearly as necessary.” + +“If the people are so little aware as you say, I am afraid that day is a +long way off.” + +“I think it is near at hand; and for this reason; that there has been a +beginning made with the excise taxes. The government has set free +candles, beer, cider and perry, hides and printed goods. What should +hinder their going on to glass and soap, now that the mischief begins to +be understood?” + +“Especially,” said Janvrin, “when they find what it is to have fewer +officers to pay, and smaller regiments of spies to provide for, and less +trouble in delivering money backwards and forwards, as they have to do +now with drawbacks and import duties, and all such troublesome things. +It is a pity they should not come here, and see what it is to have +houses made of free bricks, and filled with furniture made of untaxed +wood, and cleaned with home-made soap, andbut I need not tell the +present company what it is to live in Jersey, before or after living in +England. The English may have heard a little of our meadows, our cattle, +and our fruits, the like to which they cannot make in a season, at their +will; but they can hardly have heard much of our taxation, or else they +would come and live here by thousands;—or rather, mend their own plans +so as not to be beaten by us in butter-selling in their own markets,—not +to be obliged to us for helping them underhand with such corn and oil +and wine as we do not want,—not to reflect with shame that we have in +proportion five newspapers to their one, and one tax-gatherer to their +ten.” + +“The comptroller at St. Heliers might well advise me not to go to +England,” said Aaron. “He knew well what he meant in saying it. I shall +tell him so to-morrow; and the more because I was inclined to take it +ill at the time?” + +“Saying, I suppose, ‘What’s that to you?’ Hey, Mr. Aaron?” + +“Just so. I have had my answer, I assure you. I hope he knows as well +how different his office is from that of an English custom-house +officer. When he has done his search about wine and spirits, he may put +his hands in his pocket and amuse himself. I well remember his doing so, +of old. In England, there is not a package that comes on shore that is +not suspected; and scarcely a thing that is brought over to be sold for +touch or taste, that is not taxed or to be taxed.” + +“That is going too far for any body’s interest. If the English would +have no customs for protection, but only for revenue, they would +presently find out what would bear customs duty without doing harm to +any or all. They would tax outwards only what their country produced so +much better than other countries that others would go on to buy, +notwithstanding the tax; and inwards nothing at all. When China taxes +her own tea, and Russia her own tallow, timber, and hides, and England +her own iron and slates, and each country, in like manner, its own best +produce, and nobody’s else, the curse of the customs will cease from off +the earth.” + +“Meantime, if the duties were proportioned to the natural prices of +articles, and made to fall with the price, instead of rising——” + +“Some of our islanders must change their occupation; or fish lobsters in +earnest instead of pretence. Then there would be an end of the crowning +curse of smuggling.” + +Aaron and Stephen made no answer,—the one applying himself once more to +his plate, and the other pressing the tax-gatherer again to eat. An +interval was left for Louise to repeat to him, while Victorine stood +open-mouthed to hear, some of the wonders of life in Lambeth;—the +nonexistence of cows, the dearth of baked pears and vraic, and the +actual presence of a river in which nobody thought of washing clothes. +This reminded Victorine to make haste and put away every stray article +of apparel before Stephen retired to rest. + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + A WANDERER STILL. + + +“My mother is still asleep, I suppose,” said Aaron, the next morning, +when followed by Anna as he was going forth. “I do not wonder; for I was +drowsy enough to have slept on till noon, if I had not had this errand +of my father’s to do at the Custom-house. I will take care that the +certificate gets to his hands; and then you will soon see him. You shall +have news of the pottery from time to time, Anna. Farewell.” + +“What do you mean, Aaron? Now, do answer me. Are you not coming back?” + +“O, yes; I shall look in upon you now and then at odd times. I may +chance to enter when you are all asleep, or to drop in for a basin of +soup on a winter day. You do not want me, you know. The rope-walk is +Malet’s; and my father will take care of the farm.” + +“No, no, Aaron. Nothing will prosper with us if you go out again with +those law-breakers on the sea. We shall never be happy if you live by +breaking the laws. God will never prosper us.” + +“How can you say that, Anna, when I have prospered already as I never +thought to prosper? The worst that can happen to me is to have my +tobacco seized now and then. I assure you that is all; for I am only a +trader. It is no part of my business to meet the coast-guard, and get +murdered. They can only seize my goods; and that signifies little with +tobacco, which costs me next to nothing, and brings me a fine profit +from England, though I sell it far below the legal price there. Such a +loss now and then is no punishment compared with the having spies set +upon my honest business, as I had in London.” + +“I thought that when we came back here, all would be right,” said his +weeping sister. + +“And so it is. I am getting rich; and I love the sea and the freedom I +have upon it. You ought to be glad that I have found a way of life that +I like, and left one that I hated.” + +Anna only shook her head and wept the more; and then Stephen came +groping out; and, guided by Aaron’s voice, approached also to say +farewell. + +“O, do not go yet,” cried she to Aaron. “When will you come back? When +will your conscience be touched about your way of life, about living by +cheating the state?” + +“Whenever the state shows a little more regard to the consciences of the +king’s subjects than it does now. What I do, I have been taught; and you +know how, Anna. I shall come back to live by the land whenever they cut +off my living by sea. Whenever the English un-tax corn and wine and +tobacco, I shall come and be a Jersey farmer, and you shall milk my +cows, unless——” + +Stephen seized the occasion for a joke about the brown maidens of +France, into whose company Aaron’s wild occupations sometimes brought +him, and about the damsels of the neighbouring islets, who had learned +to know the stroke of his oar from all others, as soon as its flash +could be seen in the sunshine. Aaron laughed; and laughing, bade his +sister again farewell. + +She could not even smile. Little did she once think that it could ever +make her sad to see Aaron merry; but as little did she then suppose that +Aaron would ever live by a lawless occupation. Sadly did she watch him, +leading away his companion till both were quite out of sight; and +disconsolately did she then sit down in the porch, and grieve over the +temptation which drew her brother away from the blossoming valley where +his days might have proceeded, as they had begun, in innocence and +plenty. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS + + OF + + _TAXATION._ + + + --------------------- + + + No. V. + + THE + SCHOLARS OF ARNESIDE. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + --------------------- + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 831. + + + + + LONDON: + PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, + Duke Street, Lambeth. + + + + + THE + SCHOLARS OF ARNESIDE. + + =A Tale.= + + BY + + HARRIET MARTINEAU. + + + --------------------- + + + + + LONDON: + CHARLES FOX, 67, PATERNOSTER-ROW. + + --- + + 834. + + + + + PREFACE. + + +In treating of some of our methods of Taxation, it has been my object to +show that they are unjust, odious and unprofitable, to a degree which +could never be experienced under a system of simple, direct taxation. +Believing that such a system must be finally and generally adopted, I +have endeavoured to do the little in my power towards preparing and +stimulating the public mind to make the demand. + +If I had consulted my own convenience, and the value of my little books +as literary productions, I should have written less rapidly than I have +done. My conviction was and is, that the best means of satisfying the +interest of my readers on such a subject as I had chosen, was to publish +monthly. I am now about to compensate for my much speaking by a long +silence. It costs me some pain to say this: but the great privilege of +human life,—that of looking forward, is for ever at hand for stimulus +and solace; and I already pass over the few years of preparation, and +contemplate the time when, better qualified for their service, I may +greet my readers again. + + H. M. + +_July 1st, 1834._ + + CONTENTS. + + CHAP. PAGE + 1. The Mysteries of Wisdom 1 + 2. Maternal Anticipations 15 + 3. Lessons on the Hills 29 + 4. Signs in the Sky 42 + 5. Owen and X. Y. Z. 58 + 6. Press and Post-Office 73 + 7. The Policy of M.Ps. 96 + 8. Family Secrets 117 + 9. The Mysteries laid open 122 + + + + + THE + SCHOLARS OF ARNESIDE. + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + THE MYSTERIES OF WISDOM. + + +“Come, my maiden: come and tell me. You know what it is I like to hear +of a Sunday evening,” said Nurse Ede to her little girl. Nurse was +sitting with her hands before her, beside the old round table from which +she had cleared away the supper. As it was Sunday evening, she could not +work; and nurse had never been taught to read. Little Mildred was +standing on the door-sill, watching Owen and Ambrose who were engaged +outside. As she turned in at her mother’s summons, she said she thought +it rained; which the sheep would be glad of to-morrow. + +Mrs. Ede went to the door to call in her boys, lest Owen’s best jacket +should suffer by the rain. + +“Bless the lads!” cried she. “What are they sprawling on the ground in +that manner for?” + +“Watching the ants home,” Mildred explained. “There are more ants than +ever, mother: all in a line. Ambrose found where they went to at one +end; and now he is looking for the other nest. They are running as fast +as ever they can go.” + +“Though ’tis Sunday,” observed nurse. “Well! ’tis not every body that +Sunday is given to: and it is no rule, my dear, because the ants run as +fast as ever they can go, that you should not walk quietly to school and +to church, as the Lord bids. Come in, my dears, and leave the ants to go +to their beds. It is coming up for rain, and mizzles somewhat already. +Come in, and tell me about school this morning. I had not the luck to be +at a school in my day,” she went on to say, while the boys followed her +in, and brushed the dust from each other’s elbows and knees. “I had +nothing to tell my poor father of a Sunday evening, of what I had +learned. So let me hear now. I am sure you were steady children this +morning.” + +On the occasion of Sunday evening, the children were indulged with the +use of the fine, large footstool, which the late Mrs. Arruther had +worked with her own hands as a wedding present for nurse’s mother. When +infants, it had been their weekly privilege to show their mother which +of the embroidered flowers was a rose, and which a heart’s-ease, and +which a tulip; and now that they were somewhat too old to confound the +rose and the tulip, they took it in turn to sit on the stool at their +mother’s knee, while they imparted their little learning to her who +meekly received from her own children some scraps of knowledge which she +had been denied the opportunity of gaining during her own young days. + +“I warrant I know what set ye to look after the ants,” said she. “There +is a bit about the ants in the bible that I have heard read in church. +Which of ye can read it to me, I wonder?” + +Ambrose looked at Owen, and Owen looked doubtfully at the large old +bible which Mildred reverently brought down from the shelf, at a glance +from her mother. Owen did not know where, in all that great book, to +look for the bit about the ant. While he was turning over the leaves, +stopping to consider every great A he came to, Mildred wanted to know +whether it was an ant that had tickled her face at church this morning, +and hung from her hair by a thread smaller than she could see. + +It was of the nature of an ant, her mother thought. It had much the make +of an ant: but it was called a money-spinner. + +“Does it spin money?” asked Mildred quickly. + +“O yes. My father used to tell me it would spin penny pieces from the +ground up as high as our thatch.” + +“And as high as the mill, perhaps?” + +“I dare say. But my father did not tell me that, by reason of the mill +not being built in his time.” + +“I wish I had not put the money-spinner away,” said Mildred, +thoughtfully. “I wish I could get another.” + +“Perhaps one will be sent to you one of these days, if you be a steady +girl. And you will get penny pieces, and perhaps silver as you grow +bigger, if you look to the sheep as your master would have you. Now, +boys: have you found about the ant?” + +No. They had found “Adam” near the beginning, and had got past “Aaron,” +and found that “Abimelech” was too long a word to be the one they +wanted. The “Ands” abounded so as to tantalize and perplex them +exceedingly; and when Owen recollected that “ant” might begin with a +small “a,” both came to a full stop. Their mother was kind enough, +however, to say that another part of the bible would do as well. They +might read her the piece they had read in school in the morning. + +Owen began. He did his best; never looking off the book, or sparing +himself the trouble of spelling every word that he did not know: but his +mother gained little by what he read. He mixed his spelling with his +reading so completely, and varied his tone so little, not knowing that +he should render the stops as evident to his mother’s ear as they were +to his eye, that she could make nothing of the sense. The passage was +about some priests carrying the ark over Jordan; and this was a puzzle +to her. Her principal idea about Jordan was that almonds came thence; +and she now therefore learned for the first time that almonds came like +fish out of the water: and how the ark, which she knew had carried Noah +and his family, and a pair of every living creature in the world, should +itself be carried on the shoulders of a few clergymen, was what she +could not clearly comprehend. It happened that Owen had been told that +there were two arks, and the difference between them; but he did not +remember to explain this: so his mother, who would not for the world +wonder at anything that could be found in the bible, supposed that it +was all right, sighed to think that her poor husband had not lived to +witness his eldest boy’s learning, and then smiled at Ambrose when it +became his turn to try. + +Ambrose was in the class below Owen. At present, he could read only by +spelling every word. While he was about it, Mildred’s eyes and attention +wandered. The rain was now pattering against the lattice, and dripping +from the thatch in little streams, which a ray from the parting clouds +in the west made to glitter like silver. Then the light grew almost into +sunshine on the wall of the room, and on the shelf where nurse laid up +the apparatus of her art. Mrs. Ede was employed by her few opulent +neighbours as a nurse only; but she was regarded as also a doctor by the +poor residents in the village of Arneside. She held herself in +readiness, not only to nurse them, night or day, when they were ill, but +to administer to them from the phials and bottles of red, yellow, and +black liquids which stood on her shelf. These medicines now shone in the +western light so brilliantly as to catch her little daughter’s eye; and, +while looking, Mildred observed two or three new articles of a strange +construction which lay upon the shelf, or hung against the wall. She +could not wait till Ambrose had done reading to ask what they were; and +she was answered as she might have known she would be,—by a mysterious +look, and a finger laid upon the lips. It was not only that Ambrose was +reading, but that it was utterly in vain to question Mrs. Ede about the +circumstances of her art. Whether she was persuaded that knowledge as to +her means would destroy faith in her practice, or that she wished to +preserve a becoming degree of awe in her little ones by mystery in the +one matter in which she was wiser than they,—it so happened that they +had never enticed her into the slightest confidence respecting the +furniture of the south wall of her room. When Ambrose brought in the +roots he had been directed to procure on the heath, the basket and rusty +knife were gravely delivered up, and received without a smile, and with +only a word of inquiry as to whether the roots had grown on a moonshiny +or shady piece of turf; and whether the dew was off or on when they were +dug up. Sometimes, when she was believed to be gone out for the day, one +little sinner placed a stool for another to climb, that the mysteries +might be handled and smelled as well as looked at. Tasting was out of +the question, so dreadful were the stories which they had heard of +little people who had fallen down dead with the mere drawing of a +forbidden cork. Once, also, nurse returned unexpectedly when Owen had +come in from the mill, and Mildred from the moor, and they were trying +experiments with the longest of her bandages; Owen in a corner, holding +one end, and his sister at the opposite corner, turning herself round +and round to see how many times the long strip would fold about her +body. What she heard said by way of warning to Ambrose, when the +exposure was made to him, might have taught her the uselessness of +questions: but she forgot the incident of the bandage when she this +evening offended again by her curiosity. She did what she could to +profit by Ambrose’s reading, rocking herself and crossing her arms in +imitation of her mother; but her eyes would still turn upon the shelf, +and her heart could not help envying the kitten which had made a daring +leap up, and was now thrusting in its nose, and making a faint jingle +among the sacred vessels. + +“This is what you should attend to, my dear,” nurse explained, laying +her hand upon the bible, when the boy was at length taking breath after +his task. “The Lord gave the bible for little girls to understand; and +they should not ask what it is not proper for them to know.” + +“How are we to find out what it is proper for us to know?” asked Owen. + +His mother told him that there would always be somebody at hand to tell +him;—either Mr. Waugh, or the parson, or herself. She would do her best, +she was sure. + +“I shall not ask Mrs. Arruther, I can tell her,” observed Owen. “She +never lets Mr. Waugh alone about the Sunday school; and she has done all +she can to set the parson against it.” + +“She is very strong in her mind against that school, indeed, Owen; and +many’s the time when she has been sharp with me for letting you learn, +having herself a bad opinion of learning for such as we are. And often +enough I have been uneasy about what I ought to do: but, having great +confidence in Mr. Waugh, and having always heard my poor father and +others say that a little learning is a fine thing for those that can get +it, I hoped I was not out of my duty when I let you go to the school, as +Mr. Waugh desired. And I hope Ambrose and Mildred are both very thankful +for being allowed to go, as well as you, though not belonging to the +paper-mill, and able only to take their schooling every other week, when +it is not their turn with the sheep.” + +“Ambrose can’t keep up in the class though, as if he went every Sunday, +like the other boys.” + +“The more reason for his making the best of his time when he is there. +Only think, Ambrose, what it would have been for you to be out on the +hills every Sunday, away from the church, and no more able to read your +bible than I am. I trust, my dear, that you will be as well able as +Owen, though not perhaps so soon, (but you will have time before you to +go on learning when he is done,) to read a chapter to me when I grow +old, and maybe not able to hear the clergyman in church. But you must +none of you be bent upon learning more than it is proper for you to +know, lest you should bring me to think that Mrs. Arruther has been +right all the time, and that I have been doing harm when I was most +anxious for your good. Why can’t my little maiden,” she went on to say, +“play with the kitten, or look out at the door, as well as be for ever +glancing up at that shelf?” + +Mildred lost no time in availing herself of this permission to play. +Puss had disappeared; but when called, she showed herself through a hole +in the crazy wall of the cottage, and jumped upon Mildred all the way as +she went to the door. + +“Me! where are all the clouds gone?” exclaimed Mildred, shading her eyes +with her hand, and looking up into the sky. “’Twas right black when you +called me in; and now it is all blue. There’s not a cloud.” + +“They are all fetched up above the sky, my dear, to make a fine Sunday +evening.” + +“I doubt whether the sheep will like it altogether as we do,” observed +Ambrose. “There is a mist on their walk yonder; and it is my belief +their coats are heavy with wet at this very time.” + +Ambrose was very consequential about sheep, there being no one at home +to contradict anything he might say about creatures that he had more to +do with than either mother or brother. All that could be done was to +question whether it signified to the sheep whether they were more in a +mist on a Saturday or a Sunday evening. If it made no difference to +them, and they were hidden and out of sight, it remained a fine Sunday +evening to people below; and that was enough to be thankful for. + +While the whole party was gazing with shaded eyes towards the upland +which was enveloped with a white cloud, through whose folds neither +beast nor man could at present be discerned, somebody seized little +Mildred by the shoulders from behind. Of course, being startled, she +screamed. + +“Dear me, Ryan, is it you?” exclaimed nurse to the old man who had +approached unawares. “And all dripping with the rain,—your sack and all— +and we have no fire! But I will get one presently. Boys, bring in some +furze from the shed; and Mildred, strike a light. Don’t think of +standing in your wet clothes, neighbour. But who would have expected to +see you travelling with your sack on a Sunday?” + +Ryan would not be blamed for making a push to see an old friend. He had +a mind for an hour’s chat with nurse Ede, if she would let him dry his +sack, and lay his head upon it, in any corner of her cottage. As for the +hour’s chat, nurse was quite willing; and Ryan was welcome to +house-room: but she was engaged, she was sorry to say, to sit up with +Mrs. Arruther to-night. She had promised to be at the Hall by nine +o’clock. No time was lost. The fierce heat of the burning furze soon +made Ryan as dry and warm as on any summer’s noon, and quite ready for +chat and bread and eggs. + +“So the poor old lady is ill, is she?” said he. “What, is she very bad?” + +“Very bad. With all the trying, there is no getting down to the wound; +and she is sadly afflicted with spasms in the blood that make her heart +turn round till I sometimes doubt whether it will ever come right again. +She has awful nights.” + +“If all be true that is said,” declared Ryan, “there is enough happening +to bend her heart till it breaks.” + +How? What? Who was doing any harm to Mrs. Arruther?—There was no use in +the children’s asking and listening. This was one of the pieces of +knowledge not meant for them. They could find out no more than that the +news related to Mr. Arruther, the lady’s son, and the member for a small +borough in the district; and that the gentleman had done something very +wicked. What was his crime could not be discovered. Whether he had +overlooked seams in sorting rags, or let a lamb stray, or torn his +clothes in the briers, and forgotten to mend them, or played with the +hassock at church, must be ascertained hereafter: but some one of these +offences it must be, as the children had heard of no others. + +“And what is your news, Ryan?” asked his hostess in her turn. “Sure you +must have some, so far as you travel this way and that?” + +“Ay; I have news. I have news plenty; such as you have hardly chanced to +hear in your day, I fancy.” + +“Why, really! and yet I have lived in the time when all the news about +Buonaparte used to come; when our people used to be hanging the flag +from the church almost every month, for a victory or something. It can +hardly be anything greater than that. Hark, children, hark! Mr. Ryan is +going to tell us some news. But I hope, Ryan, it is such as may be told +on a Lord’s day evening.” + +“Certainly. If my news be not diligently spread, we may chance soon to +have no more Lord’s day evenings. You may look shocked; but what is to +come of all Christian things when the heathen come upon us? and what +heathens are so bad as the Turks, you know?” + +Mrs. Ede quailed with consternation, never having heard of the Turks, +and having no other idea about heathens than that the bible called them +very bad people, and that (for so she had always taken for granted) they +lived upon a heath—probably after the manner of gipsies. She was afraid +this bad news was too true, so many opportunities as Mr. Ryan had for +knowing what was going on abroad. + +“Indeed you are right, Mrs. Ede. It was a man from abroad that told me. +He has not been three months over from Hamburgh with his lot of rags +from the Mediterranean; and he informs me that the Turks are coming up +to take Russia and Europe, and make Turkish slaves of all the +Christians.” + +“The Lord have mercy! And then, I suppose, I had better not let my boy +and girl go out on the hills after the sheep. It will be safer to keep +them at home, won’t it? I would do without their little wages, rather +than that they should light upon any Turks under the hedges, or in any +lane.” + +“You will have notice in good time, neighbour. I myself will endeavour +to let you know, the first minute I can. And if I don’t, you will find +it out by all the church bells tolling, and the battles on all sides +through the country. O, yes; every bell that has a clapper will toll, +partly to give notice, and partly to see what the Turks can do against +the Christian bells of our Christian churches. Yes, every bell in the +land will toll.” + +“Same as when the princess died,” said Mildred. “I heard the great bell +all the way from P that day, when I was on the hill-top. Maybe I’ll hear +it again, if the wind come from that way.” + +“Indeed you shall not be on the hill-top, child, the day that the Turks +come. Could you give us an idea when it will be, Ryan? It would be a +pity but some of the ewes should yean first, if it is not dictating to +the Lord to say so.” + +The enemy could hardly be coming just yet, Ryan thought, as the +Government was going to change the Parliament, in hopes of getting one +that would be more fit to preserve the empire than the present. Mr. +Arruther would be soon coming into the neighbourhood to manage his +election; and that event might serve in some sort as a token. + +“Mrs. Arruther would have known all about the Turks, if everything had +been right,—you know what I mean?” said Mrs. Ede to her guest. “But I +suppose, as it is, I had better not mention anything of danger to the +poor lady, sick as she is.” + +“By no means, unless she breaks the subject to you. Tell her other sorts +of news. Tell her that I and my sack are likely soon to come travelling +at the rate of a hundred miles an hour.” + +“O, Mr. Ryan, where will you find the horses that will bring you at that +rate? Why, a hundred horses would not bring you so quick as that, if you +had money to hire them!” + +Ryan smiled, and said that he meant to travel at this rate without +horses at all. Ay; they might wonder at any one travelling at such a +rate on foot; but the way was this:—there was a new sort of road going +to be made, on which never a horse was to set foot, and where, by paying +half-a-crown to get upon it, a man and his baggage,—and a woman too,— +might do as he had said. It was to be called a rail-road. + +Because it was to be railed in, no doubt, to keep off those who could +not pay half-a-crown. Now, if the government could keep the enemy off +this road, and let all its own people upon it, all might run away, so as +to leave the Turks no chance of following. This seemed to open a +prospect of escape; and nurse rose in better spirits, to put on her +bonnet to go to Mrs. Arruther’s. A curious picture was before her mind’s +eye, of Ryan’s gliding along a rail-road with his sack on his back, as +fast as she had sometimes gone in dreams,—for all the world like boys +sliding on the ice in winter. The wonder was that, if Ryan spoke truth, +this curious road would be quite as efficacious on the hottest day of +summer as after a week’s frost. + +When she had finished her little arrangements for the comfort of her +guest, and bidden him good night, she called Ambrose out after her, and +desired him to fetch cheese from the village grocer’s for Ryan’s +breakfast, the moment the shop should be opened. If he was there by the +time the first shutter was taken down, he might cut for himself and +Mildred a quarter of the cheese he should bring home. It would give a +relish to their bread when they should have been after the sheep for a +couple of hours, and feel ready for their breakfast on the hill-side. + + + CHAPTER II. + + MATERNAL ANTICIPATIONS. + + +As there must be no communication with Mrs. Arruther about the most +important article of Ryan’s news, nurse would have had no objection to +talk it over a little on her way through the village; but she found no +opportunity to do so. There were no walkers to be seen enjoying the cool +of the evening by the side of the placid Arne, as it flowed on towards +the fall where it turned the wheel of Mr. Waugh’s paper-mill. There were +no husbands and wives sitting outside their doors, after having put +their children to sleep. There were no lingerers in the churchyard, +talking over the sermon of the morning. A low, confused murmur of +suppressed voices issued from the narrow opening of the ale-house door, +as it stood ajar, and let a gleam of light from within fall across the +road. Almost every interior was visible from being more or less lighted +up; but no one offered encouragement for a word of conversation in +passing. Mrs. Dowley was slapping her boy Tom because he would not go to +sleep as she bade him; and Mrs. Green, whose children were more obedient +in this one respect, was dozing with her head upon the table, by way of +whiling away the time till her husband should come home from the Rose. +Kate Jeffery was reading to her grandfather as he sat in his great +chair; and it would not do to interrupt her, lest it should be the bible +that she was reading. A knot of lads were gathered about the churchyard +gate; but their voices sounded so rude, that nurse, who was a somewhat +timid woman, made a circuit to avoid passing through them. The porter at +Mrs. Arruther’s let her in with a studious haste which seemed to +intimate that he thought her late; and she did not stay to be told so. +In the housekeeper’s room she only tarried to see that her close cap +looked neat, and to pin on the shawl she always wore when she sat up at +night. Mrs. Arruther had asked for her six times in the last ten +minutes; so there was not a moment to be lost. + +“You were to come at nine o’clock, and it is ten minutes past, nurse,” +said the sick lady. “This is always the way people treat me,—as if there +was not a clock in Arneside.” + +There were several clocks in Arneside, by one of which it was two +minutes past nine, by another it wanted a quarter to nine; a third was +at half-past eight, and a fourth was striking three as nurse passed its +door. But Mrs. Ede never contradicted her patients. She told of Ryan’s +arrival, and was admonished that no guest of hers could possibly be of +half so much importance as Mrs. Arruther. + +“I know how it is, nurse. It is those children of yours that can do +nothing for themselves, any more than any other children that are +educated as the fashion is now. They will want you to wash their faces +for them, and put them to bed, as long as they live, if you go on +sending them to that Sunday school.” + +Nurse was very sorry to hear this. She did not know, in such a case, +what they were to do to get their faces washed when she should be gone +to her grave, where she hoped to be long before her three children. But +indeed she must say for her little folks that they could all put +themselves to bed, and had done it, even the youngest, these two years +past. + +“Ay, ay; that was before you sent them to the school. Keep them there a +little longer, and they will be fit for nothing at all. You never will +believe any warning I give you about it; but I tell you again, the three +last housemaids I had this year, one after the other, were the worst +that ever entered my doors; and they could all read and write. What do +you think of that? O, my head! My head!” + +Nurse thought it was time that the draught should be taken, and proposed +to smooth the pillow, and shade the light. This done, she wound up the +lady’s watch, and sat down behind the curtain, in hopes that the patient +would sleep. Of this, however, there seemed but little chance. Mrs. +Arruther tossed about, and groaned out her wonder why she could not go +to sleep like other people, till nurse was obliged to take notice, and +ask whether there was anything that she could do for her. + +“Do! yes, to be sure. Bring out the light from wherever you have hidden +it. It is hard enough not to be able to go out and see things, as I have +done all my life till now; and here you won’t let me see what is in my +own room. Where are you going to put the light? Not under that picture. +You know I can’t bear that picture. And, mind, to-morrow morning——Bless +me! what do you lift up your hand in that manner for?” + +Nurse could only beg pardon. She had made an involuntary gesture of +astonishment on hearing that the lady could not bear that beautiful +picture of her own only son,—that picture which represented him in his +chubby boyhood, standing at his mother’s knee, with hoop in hand. She +was told not to be troublesome with her wonder, but to see that the +picture was carried up into the lumber garret to-morrow, and something +put in its place to hide its marks on the wall; anything that would not +stare down upon people as they lay in bed, as that child’s eyes did. By +rousing the wearied maid, just as she was falling asleep, nurse obtained +a muslin apron, which, when she stood on the table, she could hang over +the picture: and two or three pins, judiciously applied below, obviated +all danger of the veil rising with any breath of air, so as to disclose +the features of the boy. + +“You had better take warning, and look to your children in time, nurse, +before they grow up to plague you as my boy has plagued me.” + +She had drawn back the curtain, and now showed herself as much disposed +for conversation as if she had taken a waking instead of a sleeping +draught. + +“And you lay it all to education, ma’am? You think the university to +blame for it? Well! ’tis hard to say.” + +“What put such a notion into your head? Who ever dreams of objecting to +the university for gentlemen? You would not have my son brought up as +ignorant as a ploughboy; would you? No, no. I have done my duty by him +in that way. He had the best-recommended tutors I could get for him, and +every advantage at the university that was to be had; and the best proof +of what was done for him is the credit he got there, and the prizes, and +the reputation. He is a very fine scholar. Nobody denies that.” + +Nurse pondered the practicability of putting the question she would have +liked to have had answered; whether learning had had the same effect +upon Mr. Arruther that the lady had anticipated for Owen and Ambrose. +Nurse would fain know whether Mr. Arruther could wash his own face, and +put himself to bed. + +“Let us hope, ma’am, that the young gentleman will live and learn. If he +is not able to do little things now, perhaps——” + +“Little things! What sort of little things?” + +“Well, ma’am, I thought if your late house-maids could not polish the +fire-irons, or make your bed to your liking, and if you fear that my +boys should not keep themselves clean when I am gone, because of their +learning, perhaps.... But indeed, when I once saw the young gentleman, +his gloves were as white as my apron, and the sunshine came back from +the polish of his boots. I never saw a neater gentleman.” + +“He is a puppy,” replied the tender mother. “I suppose it was that dandy +show of his that caught the eyes of the low creature he has married. If +I never get the better of this illness, she shall have none of my +clothes to wear. No shopkeeper’s daughter shall be seen in the laces my +mother left to me. I had rather give some of them to you, nurse, at +once.” + +“God forbid, ma’am! What should I do with laces? Such as I!” + +“Very true. Now it is strange that a sensible woman like you, who knows +what is proper, in her own case, should be so wrong about her children. +What have they to do with education any more than you have with laces?” + +Nurse took refuge under the sanction of the clergyman and of Mr. Waugh; +and protested that she had as little idea of sending Owen and Ambrose to +the university, as of asking that Mildred should wear the lady’s family +Valenciennes and Mechlin. + +“Well; I wonder what it is that you would have! I can’t make out what it +is that you would be at!” + +“Ma’am, if I had all I wished for——but I may as well be setting on a +cup-full of broth to warm, as I fancy you may take a liking to a little, +by-and-by.” + +The lady let nurse do this. When she was tired of wondering whether she +could take any broth when it should be warm, she languidly said,— + +“Go on. What would you have for your children? Pray remember what I have +heard you say yourself—that pride comes before a fall.” + +“And a much greater one than I said that before me, ma’am. But I would +not have my children made proud, because I should be sorry they should +fall below what they are. If I had my wish, it would be that Owen should +have work at the mill as long as he lives, so as to be pretty sure of +eighteen shillings a week for a continuance; and that he should marry +such a girl as Kate Jeffery, who would take as much care of his house as +I would myself; and that they should never want for shoes and stockings +for their children’s feet. And much the same for Ambrose.” + +“Is that all? They might have all this without reading and writing.” + +“Perhaps so, ma’am; but Kate reads to her grandfather of a Sunday +evening, as I saw when I passed to-night; and the neighbours think, as +well as I, that it is the boys that get on best with their learning that +go straightest to their work; not swinging on the churchyard gate, nor +swearing, to get a look that they may make game of from grave people +passing by. As for Mildred, I don’t well know what to wish. ’Tis hard +work for poor girls when they settle and have their families early: but +then, I should be loth to leave her to live solitary in our cottage, +spending her days all alone upon the hills. However, that will be as the +Lord pleases. Meantime, I should best like that fifteen years hence, +when the boys will be perhaps settled away, my girl should be keeping +our place clean for me, and giving me her arm to church, and helping me +with her little learning when, as often happens, I am at a loss to +answer, for want of knowing. I have no wish to be idle, I am sure. I +hope to knit her stockings and make her petticoats still, if she will +clean the cupboard out, and entertain the clergyman better than I can +do.” + +The clergyman was not present to start the inquiry whether such were the +sum total of the purposes for which spiritual beings were brought into a +world teeming with spiritual influences. If he had been there, he might +not, perhaps, have got a curtsey from nurse by telling her that her +views were quite proper, and that she rightly understood what to desire +for her young folks. Perhaps he might have thought little better of Mrs. +Arruther’s aspirations. + +“My boy has cruelly disappointed me,” she declared: “and yet I wished +for no more than I had a right to expect from him. I wished that he +should be a good scholar; and so he is. I wished that he should have the +looks and manners of a gentleman.” + +“And sure, ma’am, so he has?” + +“O yes: and I hoped to see him in parliament, if it was only for once; +and I carried this point, and mean to carry it again, if I can. He is in +parliament with my money, and he shall have enough for the next +election. But there’s an end. Instead of marrying as I wished, he has +taken up with a tradesman’s daughter; and he may make the best of his +bargain. Not an acre of my land, nor a shilling of my money that I can +leave away, shall he have. If I am disappointed in him, I will have my +satisfaction. I will do what I can to show people that they should take +care what they expect from their children. He sha’n’t have all the laugh +on his side. He sha’n’t say for nothing that my behaviour to him is +unpardonable.” + +Nurse wondered whether at the university they taught to forgive and +forget. If they did, perhaps the young gentleman would be bent upon +making up matters, if be thought himself put upon; and then there might +be a coming round on the other side. + +“I don’t know what they do there about forgiving; but I am sure they +teach the young men to forget. He never wrote to me above once, the last +year he was there; and that was for money. And he never thought more of +his cousin Ellen, though I told him to marry her, and requested him to +send her down a lap-dog like mine. When I asked him what he meant by it, +he said Ellen and all had entirely slipped his memory. I told him my +mind, pretty plainly; so I suppose it will slip his memory that I live +hereabouts, when he comes down to his election. If he tries the gate——” + +“O, ma’am! You will not turn him away?” + +“No: it might cost him his election; and I don’t wish that. I should +miss my own name from the newspapers then; and it would be hard to lose +my pleasure in the newspapers. I will do nothing to hurt his election. +He shall be let in to see me; and then I will say to him, ‘All that lawn +and those fields, and all this house and the plate would have been yours +very soon, (for I can’t live long,) if you had married your cousin +Ellen, as I bade you: but it is too late for that now; and Ellen’s +husband shall have every ——’—What do you look in that way for, nurse? I +am not going to leave it into another name. Ellen’s husband shall take +my name before he touches a shilling.” + +“And if a judgment should come upon us meantime, ma’am. If the heathen +should——Did not you say there is to be a new election? Is not that the +same as the government getting a new parliament?” + +“To be sure.” + +“And that is done when a danger is thought to be at hand, is not it?” + +“Not always; and if it was, no harm can come to my property. The deeds +are all in my lawyer’s hands,—in his strong-box,—safe enough.” + +It was plain that Mrs. Arruther knew nothing about the approach of the +Turks; and it would be cruel to tell her, when she might very likely die +before they appeared in Arneside. + +“What are you afraid of, nurse? I am sure you are in a panic about +something. It is too soon for your boys to be marrying against your +will, I suppose?” + +“Yes, thank God. And they will never be able to marry so far below them +as your young gentleman may do; for the reason that they will never +stand so high as he. But yet I can fancy that if my Owen took to a +giggling jade, with her hair hanging about her ears, and a sharp voice, +it would weigh heavy on my heart.” + +“And your money would weigh light in his pocket, hey?” + +“I shall have no money to leave, ma’am; and as to——” + +“No money to leave! I dare say. You never will have money to leave while +you throw away your services as you do. I did wonder at you last week, +when you managed to find somebody else to sit up with old Mr. Barnes, +that you might nurse Widow Wilks’s child. I saw beforehand what would +come of it. The child died, just the same as if you had been with Mr. +Barnes; and you missed your chop, and brandy and water, and the handsome +pay you would have had; and Mr. Barnes is a nice, mild old gentleman, +that you might have been glad to nurse. I thought you knew your duty to +your children better than to waste your services in any such way.” + +Nurse was very sorry the lady was displeased with what she had done. She +had acted for the best, thinking what an aggravation it would be of the +weary widow’s grief for her child if she fancied, after its death, that +it might have been saved by good nursing. Having acted for the best, she +hoped her children would not remember these things against her when she +was gone. + +“You seem to be always thinking how things will be after you are gone. +What will all that signify when you are cold in your grave?” + +“It seems natural, ma’am, when one has children to care for. I hardly +think that God gives us children only that we may play with them while +they sprawl about and amuse us, and make use of them while they are +subject to our wills, having no steady one of their own. I think, by the +yearning that mothers have after their sons and daughters when they are +grown up into men and women, that it must be meant for us to keep a hold +over their hearts when they have done acting by our wills. And so, when +I talk of what is to happen when I am gone, it is with the feeling that +I dare not go and appear before God without doing my best to have my +children think of me as one that tried to do her duty by God and them.” + +“But if Owen married as you said, how should he, for one, think +pleasantly of you?” + +“Indeed I am afraid the thought of his folly would rankle. But my +endeavour would be to make the lightest and best of what could not be +helped. I would tell him that there could be no offence to me in his +judging for himself in a case where nobody has a right to judge for him; +and I should make no difference between him and the rest. My father’s +bible is, as they know, to go to the one that can read in it best when I +am on my death-bed; and the other few things are to be equally divided. +My girl is to have my spinning-wheel; and the deal table will be Owen’s; +and the chair and three stools——” + +“Those things are to your children, I suppose, much the same as my lawn +and this house to my son?” + +“I dare say they would be, ma’am; and, in some sense, all property that +is left by the dying to the living seems to be much alike, whether it be +great, or whether it be little. To my mind, it is not so much the use of +a legacy to give pleasures to those that can enjoy little pleasure when +a parent or other near friend is taken away, as to leave the comfort of +feeling that the departed wished to be just and kind. It is all very +well, you see, that my girl should have the use of my spinning-wheel; +but if it was made of King Solomon’s cedar wood, Mildred’s chief +pleasure would be to think, while she spun, that I remembered her kindly +when I lay dying; and for this, a spinning-wheel does as well as a room +full of pictures, or a mint of money. And when I see a family +quarrelling and going to law about their father’s legacies, I cannot but +think how much better it would be for them if each of the daughters had +but a spinning-wheel, and each of the sons neither more nor less than a +deal table, or the chair their father sat in.—But,” lowering her voice, +“here am I chattering on without thinking, while you are just asleep, +which I am glad to see.” + +Whether from a disposition to sleep, or from some other cause, Mrs. +Arruther’s eyes were closed; and she did not move while nurse once more +softly drew the curtain. When, in the silence, nurse began to consider +what, in the fullness of her heart, she had been saying, she was +thunderstruck at her own want of good manners in uttering what must have +seemed intended for a reproof to the lady about her conduct to her son. +Her heart beat in her throat as one sentence after another of her +discourse came back upon her memory. What was she that she should be +lecturing Mrs. Arruther?—But perhaps the lady had been too drowsy to +listen. It was to be hoped so, rather than that she should suppose that +nurse was paying her off for her opposition to the children’s going to +the school. + +When sufficiently composed for the nightly duty which she never omitted, +nurse added to her usual prayers the petition that this suffering lady +might be spared till she could see clearly what it was just that she +should do towards the son who had displeased her. Before she had +finished, there was another movement, and a mutter of “O dear!” from +within the curtain. + +“I hoped you had been asleep, ma’am. Can’t you find rest?” + +“No, nurse; but you cannot help that. I will see my lawyer to-morrow. It +is too late to be thinking about wills to-night. But I don’t believe I +shall sleep a wink to-night. Do you take that broth, nurse. I cannot +bear the thought of it. It prevents my getting to sleep. I believe I +shall never close my eyes all night.” + +Nurse really thought she would, if she would only take the other +draught, and settle her mind to trouble herself about nothing till +to-morrow. + + + CHAPTER III. + + LESSONS ON THE HILLS. + + +“Fetch down a plate from the cupboard, Ambrose, and cover up the beer, +while I cut the cheese. I suppose we may have a quarter of the cheese, +as mother said,” observed Mildred to Ambrose, as the early sun was +peeping in through the upper panes of the cottage lattice the next +morning. + +“Yes; we may have the quarter. I was at the shop before the first +shutter was down. Here—here’s a plate for Mr. Ryan’s cheese. We will +carry ours in the paper I brought it in. How shall I keep puss from +getting at the things? Is not that Mr. Ryan stirring?—Mr. Ryan! Mr. +Ryan!” (calling through the door.) “Please to look to your breakfast +here, that the cat does not get it. We are going now; and Owen is gone +to the mill; and mother is not home yet.” + +“Off with you, lad!” answered Ryan from within. “Leave the cat to me. +And if you can pick up any rags for me among the briers, you know I +always give honest coppers for them; and yet more for tarred ropes, if +such an article comes in your way.” + +“Tarred ropes! How should we get them? If tar by itself would do, I +could help you to some of that. The shepherds always keep tar against +the shearing. Would tar by itself do?” + +The loud laugh from within showed Ambrose that he had said something +foolish; and he hastily departed, supposing that Mr. Ryan had been +making a joke of him. + +Cool and moist as all had been in the valley as they passed, the +children found that the dew was gone from the furze-bushes on the hills, +and that the sun was very warm. + +“What had we better do?” asked Mildred, contemplating the yellow cheese, +which began to shine almost as soon as she opened the paper. “Shall we +eat it directly? I think I am beginning to be very hungry; are not you? +And it will be half melted, and the bread dry, if we carry it about in +the sun.” + +“Mother said we were to keep the sheep for a couple of hours first,” was +Ambrose’s reply. “And besides, I have some leaves to get for her; and +they won’t be fit if I let them stay till the dew is off; and it is off +already, except under the shady side of the bushes. Put the breakfast +under the shady side of this bush; I’ll look to it.—Do you go about and +get some rags, if you can find any. The briers and hedges are the most +likely places.” + +“There won’t be any Turks under the hedges, will there?” asked Mildred, +lowering her voice. + +“I don’t know. I don’t rightly know what Turks are; but if anything +happens amiss, call out loud to me, and I’ll come. Go; make haste. The +sheep are quiet enough.” + +“And how are we to know when two hours are over?” + +“We must each guess, I suppose; and if we don’t agree, we’ll draw lots +with a long spike of grass and a short one. The long one for me, you +know, because I’m the eldest.” + +In forty minutes, both were agreed that two hours were over; and each +complimented the other on the fruits of the morning’s work. Ambrose +exhibited a handful of leaves, which he placed under a big stone, that +they might not be blown away; and Mildred brought the foot of a worsted +stocking, which she had found in a ditch; a corner of a blue cotton +handkerchief with white spots, which had been impaled on a furze bush; +and a bit of white linen as large as the palm of her little hand, with +twenty holes in it. How many coppers would Ryan be likely to give her +for this treasure? + +Ambrose rejected the worsted article, to which his sister gave a sigh as +she saw it thrown backwards among a group of sheep, who scampered away +in their first terror, but soon gathered together to look at the +fragment. The other two might be worth the third part of a farthing, if +Mr. Ryan should be in a liberal mood, Ambrose thought. + +“I wonder how much paper they will make,” Mildred observed. “Mr. Ryan +says they are to go into his sack with the rest of his rags, for paper. +Mother did not tell you what she wanted the leaves for, I suppose?” + +“No; and I sha’n’t ask her. Do you ever hear people talk about what +mother makes?” + +“Why, yes; I do. Molly at Mrs. Arruther’s was telling the gipsy woman +one day about mother; and she said she had some strange secrets. And +then they asked me what one thing meant, and another. But they did not +mean me to hear all they said, any more than Mrs. Dowley when she winked +at her husband, and glanced down at mother’s apron where some green was +peeping out: but it was only cabbage that time. They all think her a +very wise doctor.” + +“How they do send after her when they are ill! Mr. Yapp said one day +that she would be wise to bring up one of us to be a doctor after her: +but Mrs. Dowley was there then, and she said it could not be, because +mother’s was of the nature of a gift that could not be taught.—Here is +your other bit of cheese. Will you have it now, or keep it till dinner?” + +Mildred had intended to reserve part of her cheese for dinner; but +having now nothing particular to do, and the sheep offering nothing +which required her attention, the whole of the delicacy at length +disappeared, crumb by crumb. Then she lay back, looking at a flight of +birds that now met, now parted, now crossed each other in all +directions, high in the air. Ambrose meanwhile stretched himself at +length, with his face to the ground, watching a hairy brown caterpillar, +which he took the liberty of bringing back with a gentle pinch by the +tail, as often as it flattered itself that it was getting beyond his +reach. He presently wished that they had a pair of scissors with them. + +“Won’t the knife do as well?” Mildred languidly inquired. + +“No. I want to cut off the creature’s hair.” + +“What creature?” asked Mildred, starting up, but seeing no creature with +hair, but a remote donkey and herself. + +“Here: this young gentleman,” replied her brother, exhibiting the +writhing caterpillar on the palm of his brown hand. Well might the +creature feel uncomfortable; for this hand which had carried cheese must +have been far from fragrant, in comparison with the thyme-bed on which +the poor caterpillar had been disporting himself. What Ambrose wanted +was to see whether it would come out a common green caterpillar, when +stripped of its long sleek hairs. The process of plucking was tried in +the absence of scissors: but the material was too fine. The knife was +next applied, but the creature was destined never to be shaven and +shorn. A slip of the knife cut it in two, and fetched blood on Mildred’s +finger at the same time. The perturbation thus caused completely +awakened her, and she was ready for the sport of shepherd and shepherd’s +dog. For a very long time, Ambrose supported his dignity of shepherd. He +strapped himself round with his sister’s pinafore and his own for a +plaid; took long steps; wielded a thick stick, and made grand noises to +the flock; while Mildred went on all fours till her back was almost +broken, and barked all the while, like any dog. The sheep were silly +enough to scud before her to the very last, as much alarmed as at first, +till she was obliged to stop to laugh at them. All play must come to an +end; and by-and-by the children were stretched, panting, on the very +spot where they had breakfasted. To panting succeeded yawning; and it +began to occur to both that they had yet a long day to pass before the +sheep would be penned. It was against the rules of their employment that +both should sleep at the same time; and, as Mildred could not keep +awake, it was necessary for her brother to watch. She was not, as usual, +wakened by his calling out so loud to some of his charge as to rouse her +before her dream was done. She finished it, opened her eyes, sat up and +stretched herself; and Ambrose was too busy to take notice. + +“I had such a queer dream!” observed Mildred.—Her brother did not hear. + +“I say, Ambrose, I dreamt that I was sorting rags at the mill, and there +was a caterpillar upon every one of them; and—What have you got there, +Ambrose? Did you hear what I said?” + +“Come here,” replied her brother. “Here is a story! Help me to make it +out.” + +“A story! what, upon the very piece of paper that held the cheese! What +is the story like? Tell me. You know I can’t read so well as you.” + +“But you can help me with this part, perhaps. I will tell you what I +have read when I know this word. The man would not go in somewhere; and +this word tells where.” + +Mildred pored over the soiled piece of print, and pronounced presently +that the word in question signified something about a comb. In her +spelling-book, c-o-m-b spelled comb. But of the rest of the word,— +“inat,”—“in,”——“What could it be? + +“It ends with ‘nation.’ ‘Comb’—‘nation.’ Well: I must let that alone. +There was a man that would not go into this place,—whatever it is,—and +the people that were in it were angry because he went to his work.” + +“Because he did not go to his work, I suppose you mean.” + +“No; because he would go when they bade him not. And they watched for +him one day when he was going to work, and his little boy with him. They +call him a little boy, though he was eleven years old. They flew upon +the man, and thumped him and kicked him as hard as ever they could. And +when the boy cried, and begged they would not use his father so cruelly, +one of them caught up a thick rope, and beat the boy till it was a +shocking sight to see him.” + +“They were cruel wretches. I wonder whether there was anybody near to go +for the constable? Did they get a constable?” + +“I suppose so, for the people were asked how they dared to beat people +so.” + +“And what did they say?” + +“This that I can’t make out, about going in and not going in: but they +got a good scolding,—and that is as far as I have got.” + +“See what is to be done to them, and whether there is anything more +about the boy.” + +Another half-hour’s spelling and consultation revealed that the child +had pulled one of the assailants down by the leg, and thus turned the +fury of the man upon himself; that it was doubtful whether the boy would +recover; and that, this being the case, the decision of the magistrates +was that—— + +Here came the jagged edges of the torn newspaper, instead of the +magistrates’ decision. This was very disagreeable indeed. Not to know +what became of the aggressors, and whether the brave boy lived or died, +was cruel. Ambrose threw away the paper, and grew cross. Mildred’s +consolations,—that very likely the boy was well by this time, and she +had no doubt the cruel people were put in prison,—were of no use. A +better device than to imagine the issue suggested itself to Ambrose. He +would go and ask Mr. Yapp. The paper having come from Mr. Yapp’s shop, +he no doubt knew the end of the story. Could not Mildred look after the +flock while he ran down now? No harm could come to the sheep during the +little time that he should be gone. + +Mildred did not like this plan,—was sure her mother would not like it. +Ambrose had better read the story over again, to try and understand it +better; and she would go with him to Mr. Yapp’s when the flock was +penned, in the evening. Never did the oriental scholar pore more +diligently over a new tablet of hieroglyphics than these two children +over the fragment of a police report which had fallen in their way. To +no scholar can it be so important to ascertain a doubtful point of +history, or to develope facts of the costume and manners of a remote +people, as it was to these young creatures to learn the issue of a case +in which rights like their own were invaded, and filial sympathies like +their own were aggrieved. + +Again, during the day, Ambrose called to his sister that he had +something to say to her, and Mildred knew that it must relate to the +story he had read, so complete was the possession it had taken of his +mind. He thought the people round were great fools for not punishing the +aggressors on the spot. If he had been there, he would not have waited +to hear what the magistrates said; not he. He would have knocked down +every one of them that he could get at, if it were by pulling by the leg +as the poor boy had done. + +“And then,” said Mildred, “they would have served you the same as the +boy; and if anybody had taken your part, they would have served him the +same. I don’t think that would do any good.” + +“Nothing like a battle,” exclaimed Ambrose, waving his cap over his +head. “I like a good battle better than all the justices and gentlemen +in the world.” + +“I don’t like battles,” Mildred observed. “I do not much mind seeing you +and Sam Dobbs fight here on the heath, where you only throw one another +down, and the grass is too soft to hurt you. But I saw the men fight +before the Rose; and one of them lifted the other up high into the air, +and dashed him down slap upon the pavement; and you might have heard the +knock of his head as far as the pump, I’m sure. There was such a +quantity of blood that I could not eat my supper! I should not like to +see such a battle often!” + +“O, only tell me when anybody does you any harm, and see how I will +fight for you.” + +“I am sure I shall not tell anything about it, if you go and fight in +that manner. I would ask mother or Owen to go with me to Justice Gibson. +If you consider, there would be fighting all day long in our place, and +much more in L——, if all people chose to battle it out instead of going +to the Justice. And besides, I think the Justice can take much better +care of this poor little boy than anybody that just fought a battle for +him, and then went away.” + +Ambrose saw this; and before dinner was over, both the children had +learned, after their own fashion, how far superior law is to vengeance, +and security to retaliation. Confined as their ideas were (the picture +of their own little village and few associates alone being before their +eyes), this was a most important notion to have acquired. There needed +only the experience of life to enable them to extend their conceptions,— +Justice Gibson standing for the magistracy at large, and the little +village of Arneside for social life in general. + +Evening came. The sheep were penned, and the children were standing +before Mr. Yapp’s shop-door, pushing each other on to the feat of asking +the grocer for the rest of the story. They saw Mr. Yapp’s eyes turned on +them once or twice; but they could not get courage to make use of the +opportunity. It was Mr. Yapp himself who at last brought on the crisis. + +“Come, younkers,” said he, “make your way in or make your way off. Don’t +stand in my door, preventing people coming in.” + +Mildred moved off; Ambrose bolted in; and then his sister came up to +reinforce him. As the grocer had nothing very particular to attend to at +the moment, he did not crush the aspiration for knowledge. He directed +the children to the package of paper from which their fragment had been +taken, and looked over the story himself. It would have been too long a +task for such poor scholars to seek for what they wanted by reading. To +compare the jagged edges of the paper was a much readier method; and +Mildred did this, while Mr. Yapp gave her brother some imperfect idea +(for he was not learned on the subject) what a Combination was, and why +a man was ill-treated for not entering into one. This was worth coming +for; but it was all. Mildred’s search was unsuccessful. The rest of the +story was irrecoverable. Many customers, some from distant farms and +cottages, had been at the shop to-day; and it was impossible to say who +had carried it off. + +Ambrose begged for his paper back again. There was something on the +other side that he wanted to show to Owen. + +“Let’s see,” said Mr. Yapp. “Why, this looks like magic,—all these +waves, and dashes, and dots, and signs. O, ho! it is short-hand, I see. +Somebody advertises to teach short-hand. There, take it to Owen, and see +what he makes of it.” + +Ambrose turned the paper about, but could see nothing like a hand. What +could be meant by short-hand? + +A way of writing short, he was told; and he remained as wise as he was +before. But now Miss Selina Yapp, who stood smiling behind the counter, +was desired to give the children half-a-dozen raisins apiece; and it was +quite time to be going home. + +Their mother was looking out for them from the door. + +“Why, mother, are you going to be out again to-night? Sure the lady must +be very bad!” + +“I am not going to the lady till morning, dears. ’Tis poor neighbour +Johns I am now going to. Sadly sunk he is; and his old woman is nigh +worn out. So I’ve made my bit of a bed fit for her here; and it is full +time she was in it. So, troop to bed, dears. Get your suppers while ye +undress; and be as still as mice, sleeping or waking, when she comes in. +Put your learning away till to-morrow, Owen, my boy. Pussy won’t eat +your paper before morning, I dare say, if you put it where it will be +safe. You’ve had your supper; so now to bed, my boy. You’ll be fresh all +the earlier in the morning. But be sure you put on your shoes the last +thing, lest you should wake the old woman with your clatter.” + +Owen’s eye had been completely caught by the mysterious figures of the +short-hand specimen. He held it between his teeth while he undressed, +and went on looking at it by the twilight, after he was in bed, till his +brother and sister had done talking; and then he put it under his +bolster. Ambrose, meantime, stuffed his mouth with his supper very +indefatigably, and yet managed to get out his story of the little boy +who had been beaten for defending his father. Following his mother about +wherever she moved, he made her mistress of the whole before he had +done. + +Mrs. Ede was not disappointed at their saying nothing about her sitting +up again to-night. To them, it was so much a matter of course that she +should sit up professionally, and to her that she should do what she +could for a needy and suffering neighbour, that the circumstance did not +seem worthy of remark. All were more occupied with Mildred’s +disappointment. It was feared that Mr. Ryan was gone from the village +this evening, and that he would not come on his rounds again for +half-a-year. He had himself bid Mildred look for rags; and now he was +gone before she came home! Her bits of blue and white must stand over +till he appeared again; for Owen did not think any money would be given +for them at the mill. Nurse stayed yet five minutes longer, to comfort +her little daughter under this mischance; and within that five minutes, +all three were sound asleep. + +“Bless their little faces, how pretty they all do look!” thought the +mother. “’Tis almost a pity to leave such a pretty sight. I wonder which +of them will stand so by me, when I am old and failing like neighbour +Johns; if it should please God I should live till then. But, dear me, +what a puckered old face mine will be then!—little like their smooth +rosy cheeks. ’Tis a cheerless thing for two old folks to be left without +children, unfit to take care of one another, like poor neighbour Johns +and his dame; and yet worse it would be for me that have laid my husband +in his grave so long ago. But if God spares me my little ones, and my +girl stays near me, I need not care what else betides. Bless them! how +sweetly they do breathe in their sleep! And now, I must go and send the +dame to her bed. I trust she will be thoughtful not to wake the +children; and I’m sure they will be thoughtful towards her in the +morning.” + + + CHAPTER IV. + + SIGNS IN THE SKY. + + +A few years passed away, and Mrs. Ede was in possession of the blessings +she prayed for. Her children were all spared to her, in health, and, by +her and their own industry, secured from want. Upon the whole, she had +reason to be satisfied with them, though there was a wider difference in +their characters and attainments than she could have wished to see. She +did not grow restless about what, she supposed, came by nature. She +concluded it to be God’s will that Owen should be “as sharp as a briar,” +active in his business, ready about bringing home things pleasant and +wonderful to hear, and looked upon by his employer and the village at +large as a rising youth who would one day be a credit to his native +place. Nurse concluded it to be God’s will that Owen should be thus, +while his brother and sister were far from being like him. What had made +them dull she scarcely knew; unless it was being out so much on the +hills without companions, or anything to do but to look after the flock, +and knit. They had lost their little learning sadly, and did not now +like going to the Sunday-school, as they forgot during the week what +they had learned the Sunday before, and became ashamed of growing so +tall while they knew so little of what was looked for in a +Sunday-school. At home, too, it was a great temptation to nurse to apply +to Owen when she wanted to speak about anything that interested her, or +to have any little business transacted: he comprehended so much more +readily, observed so much more justly, and sympathised so much more +warmly than his brother and sister. But nurse was very conscientious +about making no differences in her treatment of her children; and she +took pains to bring forward the younger ones, continually saying to +herself, how very steady Ambrose was, and how thankful she ought to be +for a daughter who, like Mildred, made no difficulty of doing whatever +she was asked, as soon as she understood what was meant. + +Contented as she thought it her duty to be, nurse could not be otherwise +than rejoiced when a change took place in the family arrangements, which +seemed to open to Ambrose some of the advantages which his brother had +enjoyed. Owen had risen from sorting rags in the mill to offices of +higher trust, and requiring greater accomplishments than were necessary +for the lowest operation of paper-making. He was now made a superior +personage in the mill. It was his business to superintend some processes +of the manufacture; to give the necessary notice to the exciseman when +any paper had to be changed, or to be reweighed by the supervisor before +it was sent out for sale; to see that the excise laws were observed as +to the lettering of the different rooms, and the numbering of the +engines, vats, chests, and presses; to remind his employer when the time +approached for purchasing the yearly license; and (fearful +responsibility!) to take charge of the labels which were to be pasted +upon every ream. Nurse used to call Ambrose to listen, and say how he +should like such a charge, when Owen related that if one label should be +lost, his employer would be liable to a penalty of 200_l._; and that, as +it was necessary to Mr. Waugh’s convenience to purchase five hundred +labels at a time, the destruction of one lot would subject him to be +fined 100,000_l._ + +Owen rather enjoyed his responsibility; and, with a new sense of +dignity, set about his studies in his leisure hours with more zeal than +ever.—What was better, he entered with all possible earnestness into his +mother’s project of getting his brother into the mill before his honest +influence with Mr. Waugh was exerted for any other object. Mr. Waugh had +not the least objection to make trial of another son of Mrs. Ede’s. He +had heard that the lad was not over-bright; but he could but try; and if +he did not succeed, there were still flocks to be kept on the heath as +before. So Ambrose, with a smile on his sun-browned face, made ready, +the next Monday morning, to set forth, with his brother, for the mill. + +“If you find it rather close,” said his mother to him, “being under a +roof from six o’clock to six——” + +“But I am to come out for breakfast and dinner, mother.” + +“I was going to say, you can get a good deal of air in the two hours +allowed for meals. And you won’t think much of the air on the hills when +you have so much company about you. Think of there being thirty men in +the mill, and ten women, besides the children! You can never be dull; +and you must bring me home the news, as Owen always did.—The dullness +will be for Mildred, when she has not you for a companion any longer. I +say, Mildred, my dear; you must take care and not lose your tongue.” + +Mildred did not know that she should have anything to say all day, +except calling to the sheep. + +“Why, my dear, I have been thinking that you and Ambrose have never made +yourselves sociable with other young shepherds, as they used to do in my +father’s time. There must be plenty, I am sure, from end to end of +yonder hills; and why should you keep within such a narrow range as you +have kept hitherto? The sheep and you have legs to carry you farther; +and you have eyes to keep your flock from mixing with another. Why +should not you join company with somebody that may be sitting knitting +like you, all alone, and wishing for a chat?” + +“There’s Maude Hallowell of the next parish, just above the Birchen +dale; but that’s a long way off,” replied Mildred. + +“A long way! Well, I wonder what’s the use of young limbs, to call the +Birchen dale a long way! Try it, my dear; and tell Maude that she should +come over to your side in her turn. But she won’t see such a sight as +you may see, if the day be clear, when you come to the high point of the +ridge over Birchen dale. How I once saw the sea glistening, miles off, +through a gap of the hills!” + +“And the island, mother?” + +“Why, no. The island lies off there, they tell me; but it was too far +away, I fancy, for me to see it. But, do you try, when you go to look +for Maude Hallowell.” + +The Isle of Man was spoken of with great affection by the people here, +as untaxed islands usually are by their neighbours of a taxed country. +Many were the little secret privileges enjoyed throughout this district, +even as far as the village of Arneside,—privileges of participation in +various good things slily brought from the island, in opposition to all +the preaching of the wine-merchants and wholesale grocers of L——, and in +Arneside, of the clergyman and Mr. Waugh the paper-maker. All the +children attached ideas of mystery to the island, which they perpetually +heard mentioned and had never seen; and the getting any nearer to it,— +the actually seeing the sea amidst which it lay, was regarded as an +approach to the revelation of a great secret. Mildred thought she should +like to go and look for Maude. + +Nobody had imagined what an event these promotions would prove to the +whole family. It brought more new ideas into their minds than all their +Sunday schooling had done. + +Maude was something of a scholar in her way. She might be found sitting +in the heather, her knees up to her chin, and her plaid drawn over her +head, poring over a particular sort of pamphlet, which was the only work +she was much disposed to read. Her distaff lay on the ground beside her, +while she was studying; and when she took it up, she was apt to look +into the sky, or far out seawards, instead of minding her spinning. She +invariably started when Mildred laid a hand on her shoulder, or shouted +on approaching her. + +“Why, Maude, what makes your eyes look so big to-day?” asked Mildred, +one sultry afternoon, after having led her flock to a place where she +might possibly find a scanty shade under a birch. + +“My eyes? I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Maude, winking, as if to +reduce her eyes to their natural dimensions. “I don’t know what ails my +eyes. But I’ve such a thing to tell you! It takes away my breath to +think of it.” + +“The heat’s enough for that. The hill-breeze has hied away, and it is as +hot——Me! I wish the clouds would come up.” + +“There will be clouds enough by-and-bye, or water enough at least,— +clouds or no clouds,” Maude solemnly averred. “Has your mother told you +anything about the comet?” + +“No. If it is anything bad, I doubt whether she knows it; for she was +merry enough, this morning.” + +“Merry enough, I dare say. Not know it! These are not the sort of things +your mother does not know, as I heard a person say last night. Do but +you ask her about the comet, in a natural way, and see what she will +say. No, don’t ask her. Safer not. I’ll tell you.—You see this book. If +you will believe me, there is a comet coming up as fast as it can come, +and it will raise a flood that will drown——O Mildred, ’tis awful to +think of.” + +“What will it drown? Not our poor sheep?” + +“Our sheep and us too. My dear, the sea will come pouring through that +gap, and fill up all below, and leave us no footing on all these hills.” + +“Mercy, Maude! I must go and tell my mother; my poor mother!” exclaimed +Mildred, starting up from her blossomy seat. + +“Your mother will be safe enough,” Maude replied constrainedly. + +“Safe! How? Why?” + +“Ahem!” + +“Now, Maude, do tell me what you mean. Are you sure?” + +“Yes, that I am; and you may know when it is coming, by the signs. The +book tells the signs; but you must hold your tongue about them, the book +says, for fear of bringing on the whole sooner than it need. There will +be black storms coming up first, with thunder and lightning. That is to +be this summer, while the stars stand in a particular way. I’m going to +stay out late to-night, to see how the stars stand. You’ll bide with me, +Mildred?” + +Mildred shivered as she reminded her companion how far she had to travel +home: but Maude insisted that it would be necessary to see how the stars +stood, in order to find out afterwards when they began to move on and +cross each other. But before the three great stars came together in the +sky, a cruel enemy was to rise up against the land, and there were to be +some dreadful battles. This revived Mildred’s old terrors about the +Turks; and Maude looked more solemn than ever when she heard how many +years it was since nurse Ede had expected the Turks. By a natural +association of ideas, Maude went on to explain that those who were in +the confidence of the unseen powers, and who might be said to have +brought on these judgments, would be in no danger. They would be safe +amidst the storm they had raised, floating on the surface of the flood +like straws; while all others, as far as the flood should extend, would, +it was strongly apprehended, be drowned, unless they made use of “the +precautions recommended in the supplement to this pamphlet; sold, &c. +&c.” Those who were to be preserved would have warning of the approach +of the crisis by a tingling in the ancles, while the careless and +confident would have another warning given them by a slight, dull pain +near the nape of the neck. So, Mildred was to keep watch for any thing +her mother might say about her ancles, and to take fright directly if +she felt anything about the nape of her own neck. + +When she was sufficiently recovered to lay hold of the book, she found +that it was a very curious-looking book indeed, with a great number of +little moons and stars, and the picture of a wise man, and of a large +comet with a fiery tail. She could not but believe now all that Maude +had told her. + +How they were to get the other information,—about preserving +themselves,—was the next question. This book had come over from the +island; but not direct into Maude’s hands. It had found its way over the +moors from shepherd to shepherd; and no one now seemed to know to whom +it belonged, and who might be expected to procure the supplement. Owen, +who had so much to do with paper, and who knew all about printing and +books, was certainly the best person to apply to; and Mildred earnestly +begged the loan of the pamphlet, that she might show it to him. + +“Ah, if I might!” replied Maude: “but William Scott is to have it next; +and then Bessy is to show it to her father. I dare not let it go direct +to your brother; but when the others have done with it——I’ll quicken +them in the reading, and then hide it under yonder big stone. See, here +is a dry chink where nobody will think of prying. You may find the book +here, early next week. But, for your life, don’t let Owen show it. If he +goes and blabs, there is no saying what will become of us all.” + +Mildred did not know what worse could befall than, according to the +book, must happen at all events; and she thought Owen might as well be +trusted as the many people who were already acquainted with the +prophecy. + +“I wish,” observed Maude, “the book said which quarter the first storms +would come up from.” And as she spoke she looked towards the sea. + +“Ah, how black it is there!” Mildred anxiously observed. “It is coming +up for—for—rain. Don’t you fear so? O Maude, let us be gone! Maude, do, +for pity sake, go part of the way home with me.” + +Impossible. Maude must make the best of her way to her own home. If +Mildred made haste, she might perhaps get to Arneside before the clouds +burst. And this affectionate friend hied down the hill as fast as she +could, saying she should send one of her brothers to look after the +sheep. The companion whom she had terrified to the utmost was left to +shift for herself and her flock. The cry of “Maude! O Maude!” followed +her far on her way; but she only turned and waved her hand, to advise +her friend to make haste homewards. + +Mildred’s flock did not seem to have observed the signs of the sky. It +was still bright sunshine where they cropped the sweet grass; and they +were unwilling to leave their pasture. Mildred had never known them so +slow in their obedience; and when, at last, the overcast sky conveyed to +them that a storm was coming, they only huddled together, instead of +moving on, and began to bleat and frighten one another in a very piteous +way. Mildred began to cry a little in her flutter; but probably the +sheep did not find it out; for it made no difference in their +proceedings. Their mistress was not long in deciding that she must leave +them to their own wills, and take care of herself; and a crack of +thunder, nearly over head, confirmed her resolution. On she pressed, +along the ridge where there seemed to be no more air than in the closest +thicket in the dale. She panted with heat so violently that she was +compelled to stop, though chased by thunder-clouds, and dreading above +all things to encounter the lightning alone. It came in broad sheets of +flame, and not a drop of rain yet to put it out; as Mildred would have +said. When she reached the point of the ridge from which she must turn +into her own valley, she cast one more glance behind her towards her +flock. She had never seen the hills look as they did to-day. Their tops +were shrouded in darkness; and in the bottom all was nearly as murky as +if the sun had long set. The flock might just be seen in a cluster below +the mists upon the russet hill-side. At the moment when Mildred +discovered them, the clouds seemed to open, and let out a stream of blue +flame upon them. She shrieked; but there was no one to hear her. In +another instant, the poor animals were seen scattered far apart; and +their mistress believed that she saw one stretched on its side; the only +one now on the spot from which they had just fled. She loved every +individual sheep of her flock, more or less; but she could not at +present tarry to see which she had lost. She scudded on, tossed in mind +as to whether she should go home, or stop at some friendly house in the +village. Her mother’s presence had formerly been her refuge whenever she +was frightened; but now she hesitated between a desire to see what nurse +said about the storm, and a dread lest she should have had something to +do with it. She might have left the point to be settled by +circumstances. + +It was impossible to walk the whole way with her hands before her eyes. +The next time she looked up, she found that the clouds had been too +quick for her: the storm was now before her. It seemed gathering about +the village, and the grey church looked almost white against the murky +back-ground. Another bolt fell,—fell into the midst of the large yew in +the churchyard, under which Mrs. Arruther’s handsome monument stood, +looking almost new with its bright iron rails round it. The tree was +riven, as if by magic. Mildred was too far off to hear the crash; and to +her it seemed as if the wide-spreading tree had been reached by a finger +of fire, at whose touch it fell asunder, and bestrewed the ground in a +circle. In horror she turned her back to the spectacle; and the dreadful +recollection came into her mind that some people said mysteriously, that +her mother had somehow obtained great influence over Mrs. Arruther; and +others, that it might have been better for Mrs. Arruther to have seen +less of nurse Ede latterly. At this moment, it seemed as if the storm +had been sent on a mission to Arneside churchyard; for westward all was +again bright; and the sea, which was seldom distinguishable from this +point, lay like a golden line on the horizon. Mildred could not but turn +again to watch the progress of the storm. On it sped over the hills, +giving out as yet no rain. It was a bleak and dreary district which now +lay beneath the mass of clouds. A single farm, two miles from Arneside, +was the only visible habitation. Once more the lightning came down among +the group of buildings; and before it had travelled far, a tinge of +smoke rose among the barn roofs, and a red glimmer succeeded, which +Mildred considered as kindled by some malicious power which wrought its +will through the elements. The rain now pattered heavily on the crown of +her head, and she ran, far more swiftly than before, down to the +village. Instead of turning to her mother’s house, she directed her +steps through the village street on her way to the mill. About the +middle of it she found Ambrose, standing very quietly with his hands in +his pockets, staring at a picture which headed a bill pasted up against +a dead wall. + +“Look at the fellow! going to fly off from the sail of the windmill, +with a flourish of his long tail,” said Ambrose to a companion, as +Mildred came up. “I wonder what it means?” + +“Why, read what it means, man; where’s the use of your learning?” asked +the other. “I am sure those big black letters stare one in the face so, +they might of themselves almost teach a child to read.” + +“O, but I lost my learning while I was a shepherd. Mr. Waugh was right +mad with me the other day, because I could make nothing of the +directions of the parcels I had to sort out. I have been getting up my +reading a bit with Owen this week; but you may as well tell me what that +fellow is with the long tail. I shall be an hour making it out for +myself.” + +“Well, then: ’tis a little rogue of a devil going out to see the world; +and——” + +“O, Ambrose, the storm!” cried his sister. + +“Ay, the tree is down in the churchyard. I have been seeing it; and here +is a splinter I brought away. Me! here comes the rain. A fine pepper we +are going to have.” + +“I hope it will pepper hard enough. Farmer Mason’s barns are on fire. +Won’t you go and help?” + +“Who told you so?—Which barn?—How did it get on fire?” and many other +questions which might wait till the next day, had to be answered before +anybody would stir to get the key of the engine-house; and then, so many +youths ran foul of one another, and differed as to where the key was +deposited, and were each bent on being the one to tell the clergyman, +that Mildred had given the alarm at the paper-mill before anything +effectual was done. + +Mr. Waugh and Owen were together in the counting-house, looking at a +pamphlet which Mr. Waugh had just put into Owen’s hands. + +“That’s the almanack, I do believe,” cried Mildred. “O, I wanted so that +you should see that almanack.” + +Mr. Waugh explained (Owen being too much absorbed) that this was not an +almanack, but a tract which he was lending to Owen. Owen was going to +take it home, as he was very eager to read it; but Mr. Waugh feared +there would be little in it to amuse any of the family besides. It was +not so entertaining, he feared, as an almanack from the island: but he +hoped Mildred had nothing to do with those almanacks. It was not safe to +have anything to do with them, as they were against the law. It was all +very well for the island people to read them if they chose, as they were +not against the law there: but here people were liable to be put in +prison for them. “Put in prison!” exclaimed Mildred, forgetting for the +moment her errand. Yes;—Mr. Waugh knew of twenty-five people who had +been sent to gaol by one magistrate, in one month, for selling these +illegal almanacks. + +“I don’t believe Maude has sold one to anybody,” Mildred thought aloud. + +“Well; tell her (whoever she is) that she had better not. People should +never sell an almanack till they see that it bears a fifteen penny +stamp. The Government makes 27,000_l._ by the almanack-duty; and the +Government does not like to be cheated of the duty. It is but a small +sum, certainly, to punish so many people for; but let your friend Maude +take care of the law. No, no; your brother will tell you this is no +almanack; though it may tell him things nearly as wonderful as he could +find in any almanack. Bless me! the people are crying fire!” + +“O, I forgot.” And Mildred explained what she came for. The tract was +thrust into Owen’s pocket: the population of the mill was turned out to +help; and all Arneside was presently on the road to farmer Mason’s. + + + CHAPTER V. + + OWEN AND X. Y. Z. + + +From the moment that Owen saw the scrap of short-hand which his brother +and sister brought home from the hills, he had taken to the study of the +art of short-hand writing. Mr. Waugh had directed him to the clergyman +as the person most likely to give him information on the subject, and to +show him specimens. The clergyman acknowledged that the short-hand he +used was not the best yet invented; and that perhaps the best yet +invented might not be nearly so good as some one not yet devised. This +was enough for Owen to know, in order to excite him to enterprize. By +the help of his friends, he got possession of three or four kinds, made +his selection of what he considered the best, and introduced some +important improvements. He tried his success whenever he could find an +opportunity. Many were the curious conversations in the mill which he +took down for his own amusement; and many the sermons which, to his +mother’s amazement, he read over to her, word for word, on the Sunday +evenings, when she had heard them in the mornings. She was fast yielding +to the impression that her son Owen was now nearly as wise as the +clergyman. + +In the tract which Owen thrust into his pocket on the alarm of fire +being given, there was an article about short-hand. Mr. Waugh had +accidentally met with it at L——, and had brought it home for Owen. When +farmer Mason’s house and barns were all burnt to the ground, and no more +was to be done for him, Owen came back to the counting-house to study +this paper. Mr. Waugh could not help being amused at the eagerness with +which he devoured the arguments about dashes and dots, as if they had +been tidings of peace or war, or of the greatest political event of the +age. This was not the first time that Mr. Waugh had had occasion to +observe the animation with which scantily-informed persons read what is +accordant with their particular tastes and pursuits. He had seen a +farm-servant, who happened to be able to read, excited for a whole day +about some new way of managing a cow, or the best method of treating a +sheep’s fleece; and a galloon weaver drinking in the news of the +alteration of a farthing a gross in the wages of his manufacture. He had +witnessed the effect of such appropriate communications in rousing the +sluggish, in soothing the irritable, by turning the course of their +thoughts, and in improving the arts of life, by stimulating the powers +of the workmen. He had seen none more eager than Owen. + +“Sir,” said Owen, “I wonder whether I may ask if you know who this X. Y. +Z. is?” + +“Not I,” replied Mr. Waugh, smiling. “I only know that I found the +article lying on the bookseller’s counter; and that when I made a remark +upon it, Muggridge told me I might bring it for you. If you have +anything to say to X. Y. Z., cannot you say it without knowing who he +is?” + +“I—say anything to this person! In print! I should like—I am sure, if he +knew one thing that I could tell him——But, sir, do you really think they +would put in anything of mine, if I sent it?” + +“That would much depend on whether they thought it worth putting in. If +you have anything to say as good in the eyes of the editor as what X. Y. +Z. has said, I suppose the editor will be glad to print it: but I hardly +think such a tract as this can pay the writers.” + +“I never thought of being paid, sir! Let’s see where this editor is to +be found.” + +It was soon settled that as Ambrose would have to go to L—— in the +course of a few days, he might carry a packet from Owen to Muggridge, +the bookseller and stationer, who would forward it, at Mr. Waugh’s +request, to the editor’s office in London. How absorbed was Owen, from +that time, whenever he was not at his business in the mill! How silent +at meals! How careful in making his pens! It would be scarcely fair to +tell how many copies he made of his letter to X. Y. Z., nor how many +beginnings he invented and altered. At last, he had to finish in a great +hurry; for the morning was come when Ambrose must proceed to L, and +there was no telling how long it might be before he would have to go +again. + +“Now, Ambrose, you see this package of No. 2 has to go to Keely and +Moss’s.” + +“Very well,” said Ambrose, turning it over, as if to fix its dimensions +and appearance in his memory. + +“You can’t mistake it, for I have printed the direction instead of +writing it, that you may have no difficulty. See here! ‘Keely and Moss.’ +This little parcel you are to drop by the way, at Mrs. King’s, near the +toll-bar. Then, that other great package is for Bristow and Son,—you +know where. And then comes Muggridge’s. This, largest of all, is for +Muggridge; and pray see Mr. Muggridge himself, and give into his own +hands this little brown parcel with Mr. Waugh’s letter outside. What +makes you look so puzzled? It is easy enough to carry these to their +places, is not it?” + +“If I can carry in my head which is which. Let’s see: this big one——” + +“Read the directions, and you can’t mistake. Why should you burden your +memory when the names are before your eyes?” + +Ambrose showed that he could spell out the names, and suggested that, if +he should be at a loss, he might ask each person to whom he delivered a +package to help him to make out where the next was to go. He would try +to be sure to make no mistake about the little parcel and the letter for +Mr. Muggridge, and would not come home without a line of acknowledgment +from that important personage himself. + +Owen was so evidently fidgety during his brother’s absence, that his +friend Mr. Waugh thought it right to remind him that his fate did not +altogether depend on the parcel being safely delivered. There were so +few printed vehicles for what such multitudes of people have to say, +that a very great number must be disappointed in their wish to be heard. +He owned that this was very hard; he held that printed speech should be +as free as the words of men’s mouths, and as copious as it was possible +to make it. He had reason to desire this; and he suffered not a little +from the arrangements which prevented the possibility of its taking +place. + +“Because more paper would be wanted then, you mean, sir. I fancy, +indeed, we might make a fine business of it; if those troublesome +excisemen were out of our way. There is no saying how low you might +bring the price of your paper if it were not for them.” + +“For them, and for the law which gives them their office. The duty in +itself, though the worst part of the grievance, is bad enough,—from +thirty to two hundred per cent., and actually lower on the fine paper, +used by the few, than on the coarse, which would be used by the many if +it were not for the tax. It is the coarse which pays the two hundred per +cent., and the fine that pays thirty. It is bad enough that this duty +amounts to more than three times the wages of all the workpeople +employed in the manufacture.” + +“Do you really believe that to be the case, sir?” + +“It is pretty clearly made out, I fancy. There are within a few of 800 +paper-mills in the kingdom; and about 25,000 individuals employed about +the article; and the value of the paper annually produced is between a +million and a million and a half. The duty levied on this is about +770,000_l._;—a most enormous amount. The wages of the workpeople can +bear no kind of proportion to it. How much more paper we should make if +this burden was removed, so as to allow, as far as it goes, of freedom +of printed speech, one may barely imagine; or, if it is beyond our +imaginations, there is a person in my mill who can tell us. You know the +Frenchwoman there. She will inform you how cheaply her countrymen and +countrywomen can have their say through the press. The direct +interference of the government with the liberty of the press is, you +know, altogether a different question. Setting this aside, there is a +wonderful difference in the facilities enjoyed by the French and English +for the diffusion of their knowledge and opinions.” + +“Then I suppose others besides their paper-makers are better off than we +for being without the duty. There must be far more printing to do; and +that would occupy, besides the printers, more type-founders and +ink-makers; and then booksellers and stationers and binders and +engravers; then again, more carpenters and mill-wrights, and workmen of +every kind employed in making the machinery and materials. It must cause +a vast difference between that country and this, where we see a want of +books on the one hand, and a want of work on the other.” + +“Ay; your brother Ambrose and half-a-dozen more, standing by the hour +together before a placarded wall, for want of something better to read; +and scores of rag-sorters and vat-men applying to me for work which I +should be glad to give them if the paper-duty was off. It is really +grievous to think how few are employed in the diffusion of knowledge, +compared with the numbers who are occupied to much less useful purpose. +Look here. This is a list made out upon the best authority. See the +proportion which employments bear to one another here. On the one side— +_Literature_; on the other—_what_? + + Printers 342 Publicans 61,231 + Paper-makers 164 + Bookbinders 599 + Booksellers 327 + Stationers, (mostly 797 + booksellers) + Copper-plate Printers 663 + (including calico) + Printsellers 593 + ——— + 25,485 + +So, if we exclude the calico-printers, (who do not seem to have much to +do with literature) we have not so many as 25,000 persons employed in +literature, while we have above 61,000 who sell beer. If we add the +gin-shops to the number, what will be the proportion?” + +“I find, sir, that in Manchester they have 1000 gin-shops, and not so +much as one daily paper.” + +“It is the fact. And as long as members go into parliament to uphold +such a state of things, while they raise an outcry against beer-shops, +none such shall have a vote of mine. Which means, that I shall not vote +for Mr. Arruther, if there should be an election; as I hear there will +be.” + +Owen thought that gentlemen who upheld the paper-duty in parliament +might spare themselves the trouble of canvassing the paper-makers. He +understood that Mr. Arruther was one who had a terrible dread of the +people knowing too much. + +“He would scarcely speak to you, Owen, if he knew you were trying to get +a letter of your own into print. Well: don’t set your mind too much upon +it, and I wish you success with all my heart. If we should see this +letter of yours next week, I am sure we may trust you not to neglect +your business for the sake of becoming a mere scribbler in small +publications. I think you will be careful never to take up your pen but +when you really have something to say.” + +Owen was internally much surprised that Mr. Waugh had encouraged him in +his enterprize; for no one had a stronger horror than Mr. Waugh of the +effect of what he called “low publications” on the minds of his +work-people. The whole question lay in what Mr. Waugh considered to be +“low publications.” If he had meant low in price, it was hardly likely +that he would have brought this tract for Owen: but, as few publications +then happened to be low in price without being low in principle and +spirit, Owen’s surprise was natural. + +One night of the following week, he came home with a bright countenance; +and with a trembling hand, he laid down before his mother, as she sat at +work at her table, a pamphlet, very like the tract she had seen him +poring over for so many evenings. He judged rightly that though she +could not read, she would like to see the page where O. E. was printed. + +Long did she look at those black marks; and now, for the first time, +nurse Ede learned two letters of the alphabet. From that day, she never +passed the placarded wall in the village without picking out by her eye +all the great O-s and E-s in the bills there pasted up. She had now some +idea that her son’s letter must be altered by being in print. She had +heard it very often already, (without understanding much more about it +the last time than the first;) but she had now a humble request to +proffer,—to hear it again. + +“If you are not tired of reading it, my dear boy; and then, when you +have done, I think it is not too late for me to put on my bonnet, and go +and show it to the clergyman. But I am afraid you will be tired of +reading it, my dear?” + +There never was a more unfounded apprehension. It was not to be denied +that Owen had read it very often; but he did not yet feel himself tired. +There was no pretence, however, for his mother’s going to the clergyman. +Owen had met him; and had made bold to stop him, and show him what had +happened. + +When all the compliments, hearty, if not altogether enlightened, had +been paid; when Ambrose had relaxed in his stare upon his accomplished +brother; and nurse had dried her few tears and resumed her needle, and +all reasonable hope had been expressed that Mildred would not be long in +coming home, the happy young writer began to look forward to the next +week, when there would or would not be an answer from X. Y. Z. He had +already consulted Mr. Waugh on the probability of there being any answer +at all, if there was not next week. Mr. Waugh had little doubt of there +being some reply; Owen’s remarks being made in an amicable spirit, and +very courteously expressed; and if no reply should be ready by the next +week, he thought there would at least be a promise of one. Owen counted +the days as anxiously as in the times of his childhood, when +Christmas-day and the fair-day were in prospect. He would have been much +ashamed that even his mother should know how glad he was every night to +think that another day was gone; and yet, perhaps, if the truth had been +revealed, his mother was little less childish than himself. + +The reply appeared, on the earliest possible day; as courteous as Owen’s +own; not altogether agreeing with him, but modestly asking for further +explanation on two or three knotty points.—Who was happier than Owen? +His immediate success raised his ambition and his hopes to a height +which he had before reached only in imagination. He would write an +answer immediately; and when that was done, he would compose a work on +short-hand, giving an account of his own studies, and the improvements +he believed he had introduced into the art, with all the many ideas +which during his studies had gathered round the subject. A stray notion +or two about a universal language of written signs had entered his head. +He would pursue the idea, and try whether he could not do something +which would make him useful out of the limits of his native village. But +how was he to find the money to get a book printed? his careful mother +asked.—This he believed would be no difficulty: indeed, he hoped he +should make a great deal of money by it. He would show the probability. +In trying to do so, he proved something else,—that he had already +thought enough on the subject to have made inquiries as to the cost of +printing,—had actually seen a printer’s bill. He told his mother that +the paper for such a pamphlet as he meditated would cost 6_l._, +supposing five hundred copies to be printed. The printing would cost +about 14_l._; not more, for he should take care not to have any +alterations to make after it was once gone to press. This would be +20_l._; and the stitching would cost a few shillings more; and the +advertising the same, he supposed. Say, twenty guineas the whole. Then +if these five hundred copies sold for half-a-crown a-piece, there would +be 62_l._ 10_s._ to come in; above 40_l._ profit,—out of which he would +pay the bookseller for his trouble, and there would be a fine sum left +over; and he would tell his mother what he would do with it. He would—— + +She promised that she would hear all he had to say on this head when he +should bring Mr. Waugh’s assurance that he was likely to gain 40_l._ to +divide between himself and the bookseller, by writing a little book. +Meantime, she thought it too good a prospect to be a likely one; and +could not believe but that everybody would be writing books, if this was +the way money might be made by such a lad as her Owen. + +Owen thought it a little unreasonable in his mother to doubt him, when +he offered her actually a calculation of the expenses he had fully +ascertained, and when she had nothing to bring against his figures but +an impression of her own. However, he would send his rejoinder to the +editor, as before, and think the matter over again before he said +anything to Mr. Waugh. + +He did so, feeling pretty well satisfied that his second letter, (into +which he put some nicely-turned expressions of esteem and admiration for +his unknown correspondent) would bring X. Y. Z. and himself to a perfect +agreement: and anxious beyond measure for an answer to a query which he +proposed in his turn,—a query, upon the reply to which hung he could +scarcely say how much that was all-important to the art of short-hand +writing. But next week no tract arrived, though it had been positively +ordered; and twice over, to prevent mistake. It was so evident that poor +Owen was internally fretting and fuming, though outwardly no more than +grave, that Mr. Waugh kindly found it necessary to send Ambrose to L——, +and even to Muggridge’s shop. + +“Perhaps, sir,” said the young writer, “you would be kind enough to send +one line to Mr. Muggridge; and then he would write an answer, if there +should be any accident, instead of sending a message which Ambrose might +mistake, not knowing much about book matters. + +Ambrose brought back a written answer,—an answer fatal for the time to +Owen’s hopes. The tract was not to be had this week, nor at any future +time. It was suppressed. The publisher had been informed that if he went +on to issue it without putting a fourpenny stamp upon it, he would be +prosecuted. The publisher could not afford to sell it, if every copy +must cost him four-pence in addition to the other necessary expenses; +and still less could he afford to be prosecuted. The tract was +suppressed. + +“Well, well; that is all right enough,” observed Mr. Waugh. “The laws +must be obeyed, and I am sure I should have been the last person to +bring the publication to Arneside if I had dreamed of its being illegal. +I am sorry for you, Owen; but the laws must be obeyed.” + +Owen could not bear this; and he went home the first minute he could. +His mother was full of concern, and utterly unable to understand how the +case stood. She could not help having some hope that the tract would +come down, after all, sooner or later; and that Owen would surprise her +by bringing it in his hand some day. + +No: no hope of such an event! Here was an end of everything. A most +useful intercourse between minds which would now become once more +strangers was interrupted. The improvement of a useful art was stopped. +There was no saying what might not have arisen out of this +correspondence,—how much that would have been advantageous to the +individuals and to society was now lost through the interference of +these Stamp Commissioners. If they had let the publication go on so +long, raising hopes and justifying expectations, they might——Owen could +not finish what he was saying. He had supposed himself beyond the age of +tears; but he now found himself mistaken. He put his hand before his +eyes, and wept nearly as heartily as a girl when the spirit of her pet +lamb is passing away. + +This reverse had the effect of improving Owen’s eloquence. He grew very +fond of conversing both with the clergyman and with Mr. Waugh on the +impolicy and iniquity of restraining the intercourse of minds in +society, for the sake of a few taxes, so paltry in their amount as to +seem to crave to be drawn from some material or another of bodily food +rather than from the intellectual nourishment which is as much the +unbounded inheritance of every one that is born into the world as his +personal freedom. + +All who knew Owen were surprised at the extraordinary improvement he +seemed to have made within a short time, in countenance and manner, as +much as in his conversation. It became a common remark among the +neighbours, that there must be a proud feeling in nurse Ede’s mind +whenever she saw her manly and intelligent-looking son passing through +the village, with a gait and a glance so unlike those of his former +school-companions, who seemed to have fallen back into a pretty close +resemblance to those who had never learned their A, B, C. Some of Owen’s +sayings spread, and were admired more than if they had arrived from an +unknown distant quarter. When the housewife lighted her evening lamp, +her husband told how Owen had said that it was bad enough to tax the +light that visits the eyes, but infinitely worse to tax the light that +should illumine the immortal mind; and the paper-makers quoted him over +their work, saying that no taxation is so injurious as that of the raw +material; and that books are the raw material of science and art. For +Owen’s sake all were glad, for that of the village all were sorry, when +it was made known that Mr. Waugh had resolved to part with his young +friend, in order to give him opportunity for further improvement and +advancement than could be within his reach at Arneside, and had procured +him a good situation in Mr. Muggridge’s establishment at L——. + +Nurse spoke not a word in the way of objection. Such an idea as her +boy’s leaving his native village had never occurred to her; but she bore +the surprise and consequent separation very firmly. She happily felt a +secret hope that Ambrose would now rise into Owen’s place at the mill, +and in the society of Arneside; and really, when she saw how he was +getting on, in quickness and in the power of reading, she began to +believe that it was not yet too late for Ambrose to become a great man. + + + CHAPTER VI. + + PRESS AND POST-OFFICE. + + +Owen promised, on leaving Arneside, not to forget the old place and +his old friends; and though he soon became a prosperous man, he lost +none of his interest in those who were proud of being regarded by him. +Reports arrived of the importance of the young Arneside scholar in L——; +in that large and busy town, which was like London to the +imaginations of the villagers. Owen was Secretary to the Mechanics’ +Institute there, in course of time, after having won two or three +prizes, and introduced the study and practice of his favourite +short-hand. A straggler from Arneside had met him in the streets of L— +—; had been with him when he was stopped by three people within a +hundred yards, all eager to ask him something about the newspaper,—the +Western Star; and had finally watched him into the hotel when, well +dressed in black, he had passed in with several gentlemen who were +attending a public dinner there. Owen must have grown into something +very like a gentleman to be attending a public dinner, and to be +consulted three times within a hundred yards about a newspaper. One of +Owen’s tokens of remembrance was this weekly newspaper, a copy of +which he sent down regularly to the landlord of the Rose, Mr. Chowne, +to be circulated through the village when it had been read in the +tap-room. This was considered a very handsome present; and, indeed, +some of his careful friends, remembering that sevenpence-halfpenny a +week is 1_l._ 12_s._ 6_d._ a year, consulted together about sending +him word that he was too generous, and that they were scrupulous about +accepting so expensive a remembrance from him. His mother, however, +heard of this, and put an end to all scruples by expressing her +confidence that her son would do nothing which he could not properly +afford; and it afterwards transpired from some quarter that Owen had +told somebody that this newspaper cost him nothing, an intimation +which certain of the village politicians interpreted as meaning that +he wrote the whole of it. From the moment that their version of the +story was adopted, the eagerness with which the “Western Star” was +received was redoubled; and those who could not read listened with +open mouths while those who could told the news, and magnified as they +went along. The gossip about the Turkish Sultan and his Ministers now +became interesting, as well as the speculations about the magnetic +pole; and there was no end to the astonishment at Owen’s learning, +which seemed to extend from courts and cabinets down to razor-strops +and Macassar oil. No day of the week passed without his being +pronounced a wonderful young man. + +The most incomprehensible thing to the whole village was that Owen sent +down warnings in his letters, more than once, that the “Western Star” +must not be trusted as if it told nothing but truth. Its reports were +declared to be often unfair, and its politics wavering and unprincipled. +There was some talk in L—— of trying to get up another newspaper; and it +would be a pity if (as was too likely) it could not be done; as an +opposition might improve the “Western Star.” This declaration seemed to +exhibit an unparalleled modesty and disinterestedness on the part of +Owen. Nobody would have found out that his newspaper was not perfectly +fair, if he had not himself said so. + +One motive to such transcendent virtue might be discerned. The reports +which, Owen said, were the least of all to be trusted, were those of Mr. +Arruther’s speeches and conduct in the House. Owen was known to be no +admirer of Mr. Arruther as a Member of Parliament; and, that the +“Western Star” had always praised this gentleman, and called upon his +constituents for gratitude, was supposed to be owing to the laws of good +breeding, which might forbid any public blame of so rich and grand a +person as Mr. Arruther. But Owen’s private letters spoke very plainly of +the Member; of his idleness about his duty; of his prejudice in favour +of the aristocracy; and of his constancy in opposing every measure which +could tend to the relief and enlightenment of the working classes. He +wished that he could give his old friends the means of knowing what +grounds he had for saying all this; but the London papers took little +notice of Mr. Arruther, and nothing would be found against him in the +“Western Star.” He must beg any of the Arneside people who had votes to +try to ascertain how Mr. Arruther had voted on such and such questions, +and make up their minds for themselves whether they were properly +represented. + +On the days when the “Western Star” arrived, man after man dropped in at +the tap-room at the Rose, to try for his turn, or to listen to any one +who might be reading aloud. Nurse would never be persuaded to go and +listen too, though a seat of honour would have been awarded her, by the +window in summer, and near the fire in winter. She felt that she had +rather wait; and a rule was made that she should have the first loan of +the paper. Such was the rule, if it had but been kept. But when she had +her proper turn, it did not always happen that Ambrose was ready to +read, or that she was at home that evening; and she never chose to +detain the treasure beyond a single day, when so many better scholars +than herself were longing for it. And there was some underhand work +about this matter. The newspaper had sometimes disappeared from the +table at the Rose; which happened because some impatient person had +bribed the pot-boy to let him or her have it first, or had slipped in +through the open door, and carried it off: and then, by the time it came +round to nurse’s cottage, it was so thumbed and dirtied and torn at all +the creases, that poor scholars read it at a great disadvantage; so +that, altogether, Nurse was not much enlightened by the “Western Star.” +Yet, the first thing that she remembered on waking, every Saturday +morning, was that this was the day of the arrival of the newspaper; and +Ambrose was sure to be reminded of it by some gentle hint during +breakfast. + +He went in at the Rose, one Saturday evening, to see what was doing. +There sat Farmer Mason, looking more shabby than ever; as he had done +each time that Ambrose had seen him since the fire. He came to learn if +the advertisement and list of subscriptions in his favour were in the +“Star” to-day. Nothing like them appeared; and he was drowning his +disappointment in a third glass of spirit and water. Some Job’s +comforters were present who asked him how he could expect that his +friends should consume the little money they had obtained for him in +advertising; and added what they had heard about the unwillingness of +many people to assist a man who had shown himself so imprudent as not to +insure. Mason did not boast of any more patience than Job. + +“As for the insuring,” said he, “it is all very well for the rich to +talk. They insure themselves; having several properties which they make +to secure one another; it being the last thing likely that all or many +should be burnt down. But the very cause which prevents their insuring +should teach them to excuse us poor men for not doing it.” + +“Besides,” observed the landlord, “there are so many country people that +do not think of insuring against fire! Indeed, I scarcely know a farmer +that has done it; and why should Mason act differently from his +neighbours?” + +“And why don’t the farmers insure? Why does not every body insure?” +cried Mason. “Because of the tax which the rich escape paying by making +one estate insure another. As long as the government is to have 200 per +cent. upon fire insurances, there will be plenty of people to keep me in +countenance for what some few are pleased to call my neglect.” + +“What business has the government to interfere with a man, when he is +trying to provide against misfortune?” asked the shoemaker of the +village. “It is a direct reward to carelessness to tax carefulness. And +200 per cent. too!” + +“Yes: 200 per cent. If the premium is calculated at 1_s._ 6_d._, the +government imposes a 3_s._ stamp. If you go and insure 1000_l._ worth of +goods at 15_s._, we’ll say, you must pay a duty of 30_s._ to government. +Where is the wonder that a man would rather trust to Providence to keep +the fire from his roof than submit to such a tax? The true matter of +wonder is, that any government could ever shut its eyes to this!” + +“Something has happened about sea-insurances which might have opened +their eyes, as I know from my brother, who is now master of a ship from +the next port,” observed the landlord. “The last time he was here, he +told me what I had no idea of before. While we have more and more ships +passing in and out, the duty on sea-policies is falling off. Where the +business transacted has increased one-fifth, the duty has fallen off +two-fifths: that is to say, our merchants and ship-masters go and insure +in Holland, and in Germany, and in the United States of America, or any +respectable place where the stamp is not so high as in England. The +government might as well take off this tax at once, with a good grace; +for, in a little while, all the insurers will be driven across the +water. Since the duty will soon yield nothing at all, they may as well +let us keep a useful branch of business among us, instead of giving it +away to foreigners.” + +“I am sure,” said poor Mason, sipping from his glass, and recurring to +the faults which had been found with him,—“I am sure it is no +unreasonable thing of me to look for another advertisement or two, +considering how little can be done by one. Only think how many people +may chance to miss seeing the paper that once, or may overlook that +particular advertisement, when they might be ready enough to give, if it +did but come often enough before their eyes. And I suppose it cannot +cost a great deal to print ten or twelve lines; and when once it stands +ready for printing, I suppose they charge less each time, as is done in +other cases where there is less charged in proportion to the greatness +of the custom.” + +The landlord knew that this was the way in America. His brother was in +the habit of advertising the departure of his ship from an American +port. He paid for his advertisement (which happened to be a short one) +2_s._ 2_d._ for one insertion; for 3_s._ 3_d._ for two; and only 6½_d._ +more each time, for as long as he chose. An advertisement of eight +lines, which would have cost him two guineas in England at the end of a +week, cost him in America only 5_s._ 5_d._ It is the advertisement duty +which makes an advertisement as expensive the twentieth time as the +first in England; and, bad as the duty is altogether, this is the worst +part of it; for, as Mr. Mason was saying, repetition is all in all in +advertising. + +“There is talk of taking off a good part of the advertisement duty,”[A] +observed the shoemaker. + +----- + +Footnote A: + + Since done. + +----- + +“There will be less use in taking off a part than the government +expects,” replied the landlord, “for the very reason that the principle +of an advertisement duty interferes with the lowering of the price on +repetition. If the government now make, as they say, 160,000_l._ a year +by this tax, they would find their profit in taking it off altogether +by——” + +“The increase of the paper duty, from the multitude of advertisements +there would be.” + +“That would be true; but I would have the paper duty off too; and so I +should look to another quarter for the compensation. Much more than +160,000_l._ a year would drop into the treasury from the increase of +traffic of every kind which must happen in consequence of freedom of +advertising. Our greater traffic of late years has not yielded more +advertisement duty. We had better try now whether giving up that duty +would not cause greater traffic, and so an increase of duties upon other +things.” + +“One might easily find out,” observed somebody, “whether the Americans +advertise more than we do, from having no duty to pay. That would be the +test.” + +“The only test; and what is the fact? There are half as many again of +advertisements in the daily papers of New York alone, as in all the +newspapers of Great Britain and Ireland.” + +“Without London. You leave out the great London papers.” + +“Not I. I include the great daily papers of London. We have twice as +many people as the United States, and more than twice as much business; +yet we have only one million of advertisements in a year, and the United +States have ten millions—that is to say, their advertising is to ours as +ten to one. And when you further consider, as my brother says, how many +of the Americans are busy on the land instead of in trade, and how many +more we have occupied in trade, from which the greater part of +advertisements come, it is hardly too much to say that their advertising +is to ours as forty to one. Depend upon it, we are under the mark when +we say that the duty suppresses nineteen out of twenty of those +advertisements which would be sent to the newspapers if we had the same +freedom as the Americans; and that no mere reduction will prevent the +suppression of millions which it is for everybody’s advantage should +appear.” + +“Yes, indeed; and why we should be compelled to pay to the Government +for making known that we have something to sell ten miles off, when a +shopkeeper may freely put a bill in his window to tell what may be had +within, it is not altogether easy to see.” + +“There is one thing easy to see,” observed Joy, the builder; “and that +is the figure that people make of our walls, sticking them all over with +bills. I have more trouble than enough with pulling them down from the +end of my master’s house; and as sure as I next pass that way, I find it +all covered over again with red and black letters, and ugly pictures. My +master calls it making a newspaper of his gable. And as for the +chalking,—it is said that men and boys are hired to go about chalking +all the walls in the country; and before ever our mortar is dry, there +is some unsightly scrawl or another on the new red bricks. ’Tis too much +for the temper of any builder. For my part, I make no scruple of +threshing any one that I catch with the chalk in his hand, man or boy.” + +Ambrose stood up for the practice of plastering the walls with bills; he +having been often amused, and even led to read, by a tempting display of +this kind. But it did not take long to convince him that he might be +better amused, and more comfortably advanced in his reading, if he could +but be supplied at his own home with a sufficiency of pictures and +articles to study. He saw that it was pleasanter to sit down at his +mother’s deal-table for such purposes, than to stand in a broiling sun +or drizzling rain, looking up till the back of his neck ached like that +of a rheumatic old man. + +Mason was at first equally disposed to advocate the chalking. He had +himself sent his poor boys about to represent on every conspicuous brick +surface within five miles, a large house in flames, with the inscription +underneath, “Remember Farmer Mason and his large young family, burnt out +of house and home.” He believed that he owed nearly as much to this as +to having employed Grice the crier to bawl his case through two or three +parishes. + +The shoemaker hoped that fellow Grice did not take anything from Farmer +Mason for doing him this service. Grice was known to be prospering in +the world; and it was a cruel thing to take money from a ruined man, the +same as from a fortunate one. Mason sighed, shook his head, and applied +himself to his glass. Perhaps the landlord winced under the last remark, +conscious of being now actually running up a score against Mason for +drink, which he would never have thought of tasting if he had not been +tempted to the Rose, for the sake of seeing the advertisement of his +calamity. To have defended Grice would have been going rather too far; +but Chowne ventured to show that Grice was no worse than some other +people. + +The Government, he said, took large sums of money from all distressed +people whose calamities are advertised. When there was a famine in +Ireland, several thousand pounds of the money subscribed for the relief +of the famishing went to the Government in the shape of +advertisement-duty; and when the floods of the last autumn had laid +waste whole districts in Scotland, the profit which the Treasury made by +the announcement would have rebuilt hundreds of the cottages which were +swept away. And this profiting was not only on rare and great occasions. +There was not a poor servant out of place who had not to pay to the +Government for the chance of getting a service; and to pay exactly the +same as the nobleman who wishes to sell an estate of ten thousand +a-year, and to whom a pound spent in advertisement-duty is of less +consequence than a doit would be to the servant out of place. + +Mason sighed, and said that the thing most plain to him was that he was +destined to be stripped of all he had, since there was a pluck on every +hand,—first the fire, and then Grice, and the Government, and everybody. +But though he was disappointed in what he came to see in the newspaper, +he did not mean to go away without seeing it; and so he would trouble +the landlord for another glass of spirit and water. It would be hard if +he did not see the paper now, as he had no money to pay the pot-boy, +like some people, for a sight of it. He did wonder, and he was not the +only one that wondered, that the landlord chose to make a profit of what +was sent him as a present,—taking one little advantage from one, and +another from another; for nobody supposed the pot-boy put in his own +pocket all the good things he got every week. + +Chowne wondered what his friend Mason meant. If people chose to make +presents to his servants, it was nothing to him: but,—as for his making +anything by the paper,—he could tell the present company, if they did +not know it already, that there was a law against letting newspapers. He +should now take care to tell his pot-boy the very words of the law,— +“that any hawker of newspapers, who shall let any newspaper to hire to +any person, or to different persons, shall forfeit the sum of five +pounds for each offence.” If, after this, the lad should choose to run +the risk, it would be at his own peril; and nobody would now suppose +that a prudent man like himself would run the risk of being fined five +pounds, a dozen times over, every week. + +O, but that must be an old, forgotten law, that nobody thought of +regarding. Were there no newsmen in London, letting out newspapers at +twopence an hour? + +The law was not so very old, Chowne said. Our good King George the Third +had been reigning just thirty years when it was passed. If it was +disregarded in London, he supposed people had their reasons for +disregarding it; and he was far from wishing to defend that bit of law; +but, for his own sake, he should not break it. So, perhaps, friend +Hartley, who had been getting the paper by heart, apparently, while the +others were talking, would have the goodness either to read aloud, or to +hand the sheet over to somebody who would. + +The reader had been anxious to see what was said about Arruther’s being +absent during two nights,—the most important of any in the session to +some of his constituents,—and voting with the majority on another +question, after having led people to suppose he was of an opposite +opinion. But this paper was really ridiculous in its support of that +man. Here were a hundred reasons for his doing as he had done; and not +one good one. Hartley had no idea of being gulled as this paper would +gull him, just for the sake of whitewashing Mr. Arruther; and he began +to read what the paper said. A good deal of argumentation followed, +which, however animating and wholesome it might be to the persons +engaged, was dull and useless to Ambrose, from his knowing nothing about +the subject discussed. Seeing no chance of the party arriving at the +accident and murder parts in any decent time, he determined to go home +and tell his mother that they must wait, and that he did not know +whether the paper was entertaining or not, this time. All were too busy +leaning over the table and listening, to take any notice of him when he +went away; and, as he never drank anything, Chowne did not consider +himself called upon to bestow more than a slight nod on Ambrose, as the +lad made his rustic bow in passing out. + +Whom should he meet at the next corner but Ryan? Ambrose’s wits were +certainly brightened by some means or another; for he bethought himself +of the use Ryan might be of to poor Mason, by serving as a walking +advertisement of his misfortune. The moment he had heard that the +rag-merchant was going to offer his company and his news to old Jeffery +to-night, instead of always troubling nurse Ede to entertain him, +Ambrose blurted out the story of the fire, the subscription, the +rapacity of the Government in regard to advertisements, and the +advantage it would be to Mason if the rag-merchant would take up his +cause, and beg for him through the country. + +“Ay; that’s the way,” said Ryan. “Always something for me to do as I +travel the country! However, I’ll do it with all my heart. My errands +are not all begging ones, as I will show you. I give as well as beg +sometimes. Here, take this. This is Owen’s tract (I mean the tract that +was put down) come to life again. I’ll give it to you this once; and if +you can get anybody to join you in buying it at twopence a-week by the +time I come again, I can order it for you. Not that you can have it +weekly: the carriage would cost too much; but——” + +“It can come by post, can’t it? The ‘Western Star’ always comes by post, +and no charge.” + +“Very likely; but this is not altogether like the ‘Western Star’ or +other newspapers that come by post, as you will find when you look at +it. But you can have four numbers together, once a-month, when the +monthly things come for the clergyman and Mr. Waugh. Give my love to +nurse, and tell her rags are down. She must take a penny a pound less if +she has any to sell. The rags from the Mediterranean and the east are +not all wanted, and the American paper-makers have come here to buy; and +while that is the case, mine will be but a bad business. Our +paper-making is a joke to theirs; and, for my part, if something does +not happen soon to quicken the demand for rags. I think I shall give up +going my rounds, and bid you all good bye.” + +“No: don’t say that, Mr. Ryan. We should be sorry not to see you twice +a-year, as we have done as long as I can remember.” + +“Well; if you wish to help my trade, and so go on seeing me, do your +best to spread this publication. If you will believe me, there are ten +thousand a-week circulating of it already; and that requires a good deal +of paper,—see!” + +Ambrose was approaching, as slowly as he could put one foot before the +other, the fifth time that his mother looked out for him from her door. + +“So, here you are, my dear; and the paper, too!—and a picture at top of +it to-day! That’s something new. I wonder whether it be Owen’s drawing. +He could draw if he was to try, I’m sure.” + +“’Tis not Owen’s paper, mother; but a much finer one, and not costing +scarcely a quarter as much as Owen’s.” + +And he told how he had got it; and helped his mother to make out the +pictures, as she looked at them over his shoulder. + +“Who is that lady, I wonder now,” said nurse, “with her hands fastened, +poor thing! and a great arm out of a cloud whipping her? What fine +feathers she has in her queer hat! and what a whip! with a man’s face at +the end of every cord.” + +“That is Britannia and her task-masters, mother. Those are her +task-masters,—those faces in the whip; and they are our rulers: there +are their names. And below there is—‘Many a tear of blood has Britain +shed under those tyrants that make themselves a cat-o’-nine-tails, to +bare the bones and harrow the feelings of the sons of industry.’ How +cruel!—Then there is—here, in this corner——” + +“A great chest all on fire. I see.” + +“A printing-press, that is; but what the great light round about it +means, I don’t know; but it does not seem to be burning away. Then, +opposite, there is a black person, with an odd foot and a long tail; and +see what is flying off from the end of his tail!” + +“A crown, I do believe; and what is the other?” + +“A mitre. The lines below are— + + ‘My tail shall toss both Church and State, + And leave them, shortly, to their fate.’ + +And do look behind! There is the church window, and two men hanging. I +think the fat one is the parson. Who can the other be?” + +“But, my dear, I do not like this picture at all. It seems to me very +cruel and wicked.” + +“Well, let us look at the next. Here is a man that has tumbled into the +kennel; and a woman with a child in her arms falling over him; and +nobody helps them up; but all the boys in the street are pointing at +them. What is written over behind there? ‘Gin palace.’ Ah! those people +are drunk, poor creatures!” + +“My dear, don’t say ‘poor creatures!’ for fear I should think you pity +them. They deserve all that may happen to them; and I hope the paper +says so.” + +The paper said something very like it. It told the story of a man who +had beaten his wife, and turned her out of a gin-shop when she had +followed him there, with her infant in her arms. In his drunken rage, he +had pushed the door so violently as to squeeze the infant in the +door-way, and cause its death. This was related very plainly, and +followed by some forcible remarks on the disgusting sin of drunkenness. +Mrs. Ede was much pleased with all this, and with more which Ambrose +read when she had lighted her candle, and sat down to darn his +stockings. There was a story of a master who was kind enough to offer to +make another trial of a run-away apprentice; and the rebuke which a +magistrate gave to a mean-spirited wretch who would have frightened his +little daughter into telling a lie to save him from justice. Then came a +short account of what was doing at the North Pole; and afterwards, +directions how to keep meat from spoiling in hot weather. In the midst +of this, Ambrose stopped, quite tired out. When he came to “wiped with a +dry cloth,” his breath failed him, and the lines swam before his eyes. +He had never before read so much in one day. Nurse was sorry not to hear +what should be done next with the meat; but she hoped Ambrose would be +able to go on to-morrow. Meantime, she spent a few minutes in glancing +over what was to her an expanse of hieroglyphics. + +“Ah! here is a song!” cried she. “This is the way the song was printed +in Owen’s paper.—Never mind, my dear. You have done quite enough. Never +mind the song now.” + +Ambrose could not help trying, and for some time in vain, to make out +this bit of apparent poetry. It turned out at last to be a list of +country agents and their abodes: a list so long as to fill a quarter of +a column.—When the laugh at this mistake was done, nurse began to tell +her son what a very happy mother she considered herself. It was a pity, +to be sure, that poor Mildred did not get home in time to hear all that +her mother had heard; and, indeed, nurse sometimes wondered whether her +girl did not stay out later than she need; and whether it was a fancy of +her own that Mildred was not so fond of being at home as she used to be. +But still, everybody knew Mildred to be a very steady, virtuous girl, +unlike two or three at the mill who might be mentioned; and, while many +mothers were anxious about their lads, not knowing whether they passed +their evenings at the public-house, or playing thimble-rig in the lane, +or going into the woods after dark with a gun, nurse was wholly at ease +about her boys. Owen was doing honourably, which partly made up for his +being at a distance; and here was Ambrose improving his learning by +finding out for her how meat should be kept in hot weather, and meeting +with awful lessons about drunkenness. It made her feel so obliged to +him! and she knew he had a pleasure in delighting her: a sort of +pleasure that poor Mrs. Arruther and her son seemed never to have had +together, for all his fine education. And there were many much humbler +people than the Arruthers who were not near so happy as nurse. If she +could but make out whether anything heavy lay on her girl’s mind——But +the present was not a time to speak of the only great trouble she had. +It would be ungrateful to do so to-night.—There was one more thing she +should like to know, however; and that was why, when this paper blamed +violence and falsehood in men that got drunk, and in bad fathers, it was +itself so violent about our rulers, and told so much that she thought +must be false about them. She had no wish to find fault with anything +that Ryan had brought; but she had rather think the paper mistaken than +believe that our rulers were so cruel as it declared. + +Ambrose looked again at the pictures; thought the people who wrote the +paper must be pretty sure what they were about before they printed such +things; feared that the rulers and the church must be a bad set; and +reminded his mother how virtuous this publication had proved itself +about gin. + +If nurse had known all, she would not have felt the surprise she had +ventured to express; and if Ambrose had known all, he would not have +concluded that because some vices were condemned and some virtues +honoured in one page, the next must be pure in the morals of its +politics. This newspaper was an unstamped, and therefore an illegal, +publication. It was obnoxious to the law, and therefore an enemy to the +law, and to all law-makers. Moral in its choice and presentation of +police reports, and of late occurrences of other kinds, judicious in its +selections from good books, and useful in those of its original articles +which had nothing to do with politics, it was cruel, malicious, and +false in its manner of treating whatever related to law-makers. It was +what in high places is called inflammatory. Its tendency was, not to +enlighten its readers about the faults of their representatives, errors +in the practice of government, and the evils arising from former faults +and errors; but to persuade the people that rich men must be wicked men; +that the industrious must be oppressed; and that the way to remedy +everything was to strip the rich and hang the idle. Its object, in +short, was to make its readers hate an authority which it chose to +disobey.—If no injurious authority had interfered with the establishment +of this paper, (which establishment it had not availed to prevent,) the +political part of this paper would have been as moral as the rest. There +is no abstract and peculiar hatred in men’s minds against rulers, any +more than there is against poets, or jewellers, or colonels in the army, +or any other class; and no one class would have been selected for +reprobation here, if there had been no provocation, on the one side, to +defiance on the other. If there had been no fear of punishment for +saying anything at all, there would have been no temptation to say what +was unjust and cruel, to the injury of every party concerned. But, for +the sake of the four-penny stamp, a temperate and very useful +publication had been put down; and there had arisen from its ruins,— +another, not like itself, but seasoned high with whatever could most +exalt the passions, and thereby enlist the prejudices of the multitude +in its support against the law. This could have taken place only under +an unwise and oppressive law; unwise in affording facilities for its own +evasion; and oppressive in debarring the people from an immeasurable +advantage, for the sake of a very small supposed profit to the treasury. + +As Ambrose unfolded the paper, on being satisfied with what he had seen +of two sides of it, two or three little papers fell out, and fluttered +down to the ground. They contained a puff of the paper, and were to be +circulated by him, no doubt. + + “_The best and cheapest Newspaper ever published in England._ + + “THE TWOPENNY TREAT, AND PEOPLE’S LAW-BOOK. + + “It shall abound in Police intelligence, in Murders, Rapes, Suicides, + Burnings, Maimings, Theatricals, Races, Pugilism, and all manner of + ‘moving accidents by flood and field.’ In short, it will be stuffed + with every sort of devilment that will make it sell. For this reason, + and to make it the poor man’s treat, the price is only two-pence (not + much more than the price of the paper.) So that even to pay its way, + the sale must be enormous. With this, however, we shall be satisfied. + Our object is, not to make money, but to beat the Government. Let the + public only assist us in this, and we promise them the cheapest and + best paper for the money that was ever published in England. + + OBSERVE! _s._ _d._ + + Advertisements under six lines 1 6 + + Each additional line 0 2 + + Published by E. Hamilton; and sold by all + courageous Venders of the unstamped.” + +Why did not Ambrose read this announcement to his mother? Why did he +not, the next day, give her some of the benefit of the other two pages +of this paper? If nurse had been able to read for herself about the +“devilment” with which the publication was to be stuffed, and about the +nature of the contract between masters and workmen, she might, by a few +words of parental wisdom and love, have saved her son and herself from +future intolerable misery. One grief lay heavy at her heart already; a +grief which had its cause in the gross ignorance of one of her children. +Another was in store, arising from the imperfect knowledge and mistaken +credulity of her second son. In the enlightenment of the eldest lay her +only security for her maternal peace. + + + CHAPTER VII. + + THE POLICY OF M.Ps. + + +Owen’s visions had not all been realized. He had not yet got his thirty +or forty pounds by publishing what he had to say on short-hand and +universal language. He had not even published at all. This arose, first, +from certain difficulties represented to him by Mr. Muggridge, and fully +confirmed by a London bookseller; and, next, from his having grown +modest as he grew enlightened. He was much less confident at L—— than he +had been at Arneside, that he could say anything very new and very +valuable on a universal language. + +The bookseller’s first difficulty was about Owen’s remarks being +published as a pamphlet. He was right enough in saying that the young +man did not know what he was about in wishing to publish a pamphlet. In +order to intimate the risk, Mr. Muggridge told him that not one pamphlet +in fifty pays the cost of its publication; and showed him how clearly +impossible it was that any other result could take place. Pamphlets were +triple taxed; and by what means could so small an article pay its +expense of production, three kinds of tax, and the trouble of the +publisher, and leave any surplus for the author? First, the paper was +heavily excised; then there was the pamphlet duty of three shillings per +sheet; and then the advertisement duty. And the risk of not selling the +whole must not be forgotten. The duty must be paid upon every copy of +the largest edition, before a single one was sold; and if no more than +twenty were purchased, and all the rest went as waste paper to the +tobacconist, there would be no drawback allowed: not even time given to +see whether there would be any sale or not. There were no bonded +warehouses, where books might be lodged between their manufacture and +their sale. To issue a pamphlet must be a speculation of unavoidable +hazard—— + +To all but the Government, who makes sure of the taxes beforehand. + +To all but the Government! And what did the Government get by it? The +practice tended to the suppression of pamphlets, and not to the profit +of the treasury. The very oppressive pamphlet duty yielded to the +Government 970l. a-year. For this mighty sum were hundreds of +intelligent men kept silent who might have uttered thousands of opinions +and millions of facts which would have been useful to their race, but +who had neither power nor inclination to issue in expensive volumes +thoughts which would have been worth setting forth in cheap tracts. For +this mighty sum were thousands of rational beings subjected to that +restriction of commerce which is the most to be deprecated, and the +least capable of defence,—the commerce of thought. What would be said to +regulations of commerce which should practically prohibit a silver +coinage, while it allowed but a very minute supply of copper? What would +be thought of the injury to those who had it not in their power to deal +with gold? Yet in the far more important interchange of knowledge and +opinion, this monstrous virtual prohibition subsisted for the sake of +the 970_l._ a-year which it brought to the treasury! + +Owen could scarcely believe that the produce of the tax could be so +small till it was explained what its attendant expenses were. Fifty +prosecutions in the year cannot be conducted for nothing; and the +average of prosecutions in a year for the neglect of payment of the +pamphlet duty was fifty. In some years, the average of prosecutions had +been so much larger, or the horror of the tax had so availed in +deterring from that mode of publication, that the Government had +sustained an actual loss of 200_l._ under that head of duty. If Owen +meant to publish at all, he had better swell his matter into a good +thick volume—a ten shilling octavo, which would escape the pamphlet +duty, and cost no more in advertising than an eighteen-penny pamphlet. + +And what chance was there of his making it worth his while to publish a +book? Owen would know. Little chance enough of his being recompensed for +his toil, and rewarded for his talent; though he might perhaps recover +the money he must lay out. If he printed five hundred copies, the +expenses would be about 170_l._, of which 30_l._ would be tax of one +kind or another. Then eleven copies must be given to various +institutions—— + +But Owen did not mean to give any away, except two or three copies to +old friends. + +He must. There was a law by which eleven copies of every work entered at +Stationers’ Hall must be presented to institutions where they are as +sure to lie unread as if they were already the waste paper they will be +some time or other. The Universities of Oxford and Cambridge are among +the eleven favoured places: those rich Universities, which are exempted +from that paper-duty which must be paid by every little tradesman who +issues a hand-bill about his stock, and every labourer who buys his +daughter a Bible when she goes out to service, or puts half a quire of +foolscap into her hand that she may write sometimes to her parents. +Well; these expenses being all paid, there would remain to be divided +between the author and the publisher, when every copy was sold, neither +more nor less than 20_l._ That is to say, the treasury would take +35_l._, and the author and publisher together 20_l._, and this in the +best possible case,—that of every copy being sold. + +This statement disposed Owen to refrain from becoming an author at +present,—at least till he had asked an experienced London publisher +whether Mr. Muggridge did not labour under some mistake. The answer from +London was that Mr. Muggridge’s statement was perfectly correct; and +added that, in this country, not one-fourth of the books published pay +their expenses, leaving out of view all recompense of the author’s +ability and industry; that only one in eight or ten can be reprinted +with advantage; and that, in the case of the most successful works,— +works of which the very largest number is printed and sold,—the duties +invariably amount to more than the entire remuneration of the author. + +From this moment Owen applied himself to make some other use of his +short-hand than publishing it. He became the principal reporter for the +“Western Star.” + +Now a power came into his hands of whose nature and extent he had not +formed any conception before he made trial of his new occupation. Upon +him it now depended how much the good people of L—— and a wide district +round should know of the law proceedings, of the public meetings and +dinner speechifyings that took place in the town and neighbourhood. Upon +Owen it depended whether the misdemeanours of certain citizens should be +held up as a warning, or obligingly concealed; whether the corporation +should be allowed to take its own way in quiet, or subjected to be +watched by the townspeople; whether one side or both of a political +question should be presented. There was no competition, as the “Western +Star” was the only newspaper in the place; and nothing could be easier +than it now would have been to Owen to influence the opinions of the +whole reading public in L—— as to all matters of general concern, by his +own. Nothing could be easier than to give his own view of any question +discussed at a public meeting. It was only laying down his pencil, and +folding his arms till a speaker had done, and then making a note of his +first and last sentence; while the best speakers on the other side had +their best sayings put at length, and to the best advantage. As it was +impossible to issue the whole of what every body said, the most natural +process seemed to be to print what Owen liked most, and must therefore +think the most worth carrying away. Owen himself felt that this was an +unreasonable and pernicious power to be in the hands of any man; and, +earnestly as he desired not to abuse it, he was so well aware that every +man must have his peculiar tastes and political partialities,—he saw so +clearly that no one report of his in the “Western Star” was in matter +precisely what it would have been if prepared by any one else, that it +offended his judgment and his conscience to be left in a state of +irresponsibility in the discharge of a duty of such extreme importance. +He felt that responsibility to any one mind was out of the question. If +Mr. Muggridge, or any other censor, had been set over him, the only +difference would have been that the public would have seen affairs +through Mr. Muggridge’s medium, instead of through Owen’s: but there was +another kind of responsibility to which he would fain have been +subjected; and that was, public opinion. If he had known that other +papers beside the “Western Star” would also publish the proceedings he +was reporting, he must not only have avoided any gross act of +suppression or embellishment, but must have vied with other reporters in +selecting whatever was most weighty, by whomsoever said, and on whatever +aspect of a question. In free competition alone, he saw, lay his +security for his own perfect honesty, and that of the public for being +truly informed about public proceedings. + +Owen was now in a somewhat similar position to that of the reporters of +the London newspapers, some years ago, when a very few journals, +compromising matters among themselves, and, secure from competition, +sported with public curiosity as they chose. If a fit of yawning seized +those gentlemen in the midst of a parliamentary debate, they went to the +next tavern to refresh themselves with a bowl of punch; and Burke and +Fox might take their chance for its being known beyond the House that +they had spoken at all. Thus, if Owen grew tired, he had only to go +away, and add next morning that “the meeting separated at a late hour, +highly gratified,” &c. &c. Again, the old London reporters did not like +having to work three nights together, and gave themselves a holiday on +Wednesdays. In like manner, Friday being a busy day with Owen, he might +have skipped over all Friday doings, and have allowed a dead silence to +rest on whatever happened on that unlucky day. He had been rather +roughly treated by one of the opulent friends of the Mechanics’ +Institution; and, if he had not been too honest, he might have omitted a +hundred notices which he printed of this gentleman’s zealous exertions +for the good of the town; or have made nonsense of the sentiments he +uttered, or have taken care that his name should not remain upon record +in the local history of which reporters are the faithful or unfaithful +compilers. This is the way that Mr. Windham’s light was hid under a +bushel for a whole session, when he was most conscious of his own +brilliancy, and most eager to illumine the public. He had offended the +reporters; and to punish him, the people of Great Britain were kept in +the dark. + +Besides the temptation which he had in common with them,—that of +suppressing through pique and prejudice,—Owen was subjected to another. +Again and again was he insulted by the offer of a bribe, or by an +attempt at intimidation. One day, when he had been reporting in court, +Mr. Arruther crossed over to him, and with a dubious manner, between +shyness and condescension, asked him to drop in and take a glass of wine +with him at his inn, that evening, as he had something to say to him. + +Owen had never used any disguise as to his opinions of Mr. Arruther’s +parliamentary conduct; and he therefore believed that if the gentleman +bestowed any thoughts on him at all, they could scarcely be very +affectionate ones. He was surprised, of course, at finding himself +received with as much cordiality as a person of little sensibility could +throw into his manner. The wine on the table was excellent; the +invitations to partake of it hearty; and the object of the invitation +presently disclosed. + +Mr. Arruther could not conceive why Owen troubled himself to report all +the law proceedings that took place in the court. Many of them could +interest none but the parties concerned. What had the public to do, for +instance, with his cousin Ellen’s quarrels with him about his mother’s +property? Where was the use of printing law-suits,—dull things to read, +as they were tiresome to manage? Owen explained that his business was to +report. It was the affair of the readers of the paper what they would +skip as dull, and what they chose to consider indispensable. He +understood from his employer that no part of the paper was more narrowly +watched than the law reports; and this was not surprising, as it was by +means of these law reports alone that a great number of persons could +gain accurate information respecting the laws to which they were +subject. If he were obliged to regard the representations made to him as +to what should be left out of the paper, there would soon be nothing +left in it: for there were few kinds of intelligence that it was not the +wish of some person or another to conceal: but, if he had to choose what +particular department should be omitted, it should certainly be almost +any rather than the law-reports. Other kinds of information had some +chance of travelling round by some different means; but the newspapers +were almost the only guides of the subjects of the State as to their +duty to the State. He knew that Mr. Arruther was of opinion that the +people had nothing to do with the laws but to obey them; but people +could not well obey the laws without knowing what they were: so that Mr. +Arruther, who wished the laws to be obeyed, should not grudge the people +the little they might learn of them through the newspapers. + +“Then, pray,” said the gentleman, “do not cut short that cause about +Thirlaway’s road, that kept us all waiting such a confounded time this +morning. Give it all; let them have every line of it; and if you find it +likely to fill your paper, you can leave out my affairs, to make room +for it.” + +“I hope to be able to manage both, sir. The leading arguments on each +side of all the causes tried this morning can be offered without +transgressing our limits.” + +“Better print the other entire. Do you know, Mr. Owen, I will give you a +shilling a line to see how complete a thing you can make of it, provided +you leave out mine to make room.” + +“You do not know the person you have to deal with, Mr. Arruther. A man +cannot be a reporter for a twelvemonth without knowing something of the +practice of ‘feeing the fourth estate,’ as people say. I am upon my +guard, sir, I assure you; and the less you say on this head the better, +for your own sake.” + +“On your guard! Bless me! What an expression,—as if I had said anything +wrong! Do you suppose I do not know the customs of your craft? Till the +management of a newspaper becomes a less expensive affair than it is at +present, I do not know what better plan there can be than making out the +pay of reporters for what they bring to the compositor, by letting them +take fees for what they suppress. Such a custom is so convenient to all +parties, that I wonder at your pretending to dislike it.” + +“When you call it convenient to all parties, sir, you seem to forget the +principal party concerned. However it may be with the proprietor of the +paper, and with the reporter, and those who tender the fee, it is not +very convenient to the public that their supply of information should +depend on the length of a few purses, whose owners may wish to make +private certain of their proceedings which ought to be public. It may +prove convenient to some of your constituents, sir, if not to you, that +it should be known exactly how you stand in that cause which was tried +this morning. It is always convenient to electors to know as much as +they can learn of the character of their representatives. I believe that +I have no right to keep back such information; and the report will +therefore appear to-morrow, at the same length as is generally allotted +to causes of that nature.” + +Mr. Arruther explained in vain how particularly provoking his mother’s +will had been; how unexpected it was that his cousin Ellen should have +been stirred up to sue him; how little idea he had till this morning of +the extent to which his lawyer had deceived him about the merits of his +own case; how glad he should be if the whole could now be dropped and +privately arranged; and, finally and especially, how little the public +had to do with whether he tried to keep his mother’s property, or +quietly let it go to somebody else. It was in vain that he urged all +this. Owen could not see why any of these considerations should +interfere with the advantage which the readers of the paper would derive +from the knowledge of Mr. Arruther’s proceedings. That this gentleman +had a bad cause to maintain might be a very sufficient reason for his +present condescension, and for his offering to double and treble his +bribe; but it afforded the strongest possible inducement to Owen to +publish the whole, for the guidance of those who had it in their power +to withdraw this unworthy man from public life. Mr. Arruther grew angry +when all the offers he could make for the suppression of the report were +simply declined. + +“I do not know, sir, what has made you my enemy,” he observed. “But you +are my enemy, sir. Don’t deny it. Do you think I am not aware of what +you have done, first in trying to deprive me of the support of the +editor of the ‘Western Star;’ and, when you could not succeed in that, +in exposing me privately wherever you could?” + +“How do you use the word ‘privately,’ Mr. Arruther? If you mean that I +have whispered things to your disadvantage, or used any kind of secrecy +in what I have said, you are mistaken. If you mean that I have printed +nothing against you, you are quite correct; but the reason is, that I +have not had the power. If there had been any independent newspaper in +the district, where I might have said what you allude to, it would have +saved me the trouble of writing many letters, and have enabled me to do +my duty much more effectually than it has been done. If you feel +yourself aggrieved from the same cause; if you desire an opportunity of +publicly contradicting what has been said about your scanty attendance +at the House, and the course of your political conduct when there; if +you really wish for a fair discussion of your public character, you will +assist those of us who are anxious to set up a newspaper as nearly +independent as the circumstances of the time will allow.” + +“Not I. We have too many newspapers already. I shall not countenance the +setting up of any more.” + +“Too many already,” repeated Owen, smiling as his eye fell on a little +table on which lay seven or eight newspapers, received this morning, and +destined to be replaced by the same number to-morrow. “Too many! That +depends on how they are divided. Perhaps you forget, sir, that while +Members of Parliament have seven or eight to themselves every day, there +are seven or eight thousand people who see but one paper, and seven or +eight millions of persons who never see one at all. You may feel +yourself ready for your morning ride before you have half got through +such a pile of papers as lies there, and may find it a tiresome part of +your duty to read so much politics every day; but if you steal into the +dark bye-places of a town like this, and hear what people are saying in +their ignorance against being governed at all; if you go out upon the +sheep-walks, and see the country folks growing into the likeness of +stocks and stones, for want of having their human reason exercised; if +you will ride down any Saturday into our own village, and see the +scramble there is for a single copy of an inferior provincial paper, you +will presently lose the fancy that we have too many newspapers already.” + +“Too many by that one copy you spoke of, in my opinion, Mr. Owen. The +people in Arneside did very well without any newspaper when I was a boy, +I remember. I wish you had been pleased to consult me before you took +such a step as sending them one. You should know better than to fall +into the propensity of the time, for pampering the common people. You +talk as wisely as anybody about putting gin in their way, and I do not +see that they want news any more than gin. That was one of the few good +things my mother used to say. When some complaint came to her ears about +the price of newspapers, she asked whether anybody thought any harm of +taxing gin; and whether the common people could not do without news as +well as without spirits. She was right enough, for once. The common +people can do without news. News is a luxury, as somebody said.” + +“O, yes. News can be done without; and so can many other things. You may +lock a man into a house, and he will still live. You may darken his +windows from the sun at noonday, and the stars at night, and he will +still live. You may let in no air but what comes down the chimney, and +he will still live. You may chain him to the bed-post, you may stuff his +ears, and cover his eyes, and tie his hands behind him, and he can ‘do +without’ the use of his limbs and his senses, and of God’s noblest +works: but it was not for this that God sent his sun on its course, and +set the stars rolling in their spheres, and freshened the breezy hills, +and gave muscles to our strong limbs, and nerves to our delicate organs. +He did not make his beautiful world that one might walk abroad on it, +while a thousand are shut into a dark dungeon. Neither did he give men +the curiosity with which they watch and listen, and the imagination with +which they wander forth, and the reason with which they meditate among +his works, that the one might be baffled, and the others fettered and +enfeebled. And what does any one gain by such tyranny? Does the sun +shine more brightly when a man thinks he has it all to himself, than +when the reapers are merry in the field, and the children are running +after butterflies in the meadow? Would Orion glow more majestically to +any one man if he could build a wall up to the high heaven, and stop the +march of the constellation, and part it off, that common eyes might not +look upon it? If not, neither can any one gain by shutting up that which +God has made as common to the race as the lights of his firmament, and +the winds which come and go as he wills. That word ‘news’ is a little +word and a common word; but it means all that is great as the results of +the day, and holy as the march of the starry night. It is the +manifestation of man’s most freshly compounded emotions, the record of +his most recent experiences, and the revelation of God’s latest +providences on earth. Are these things to be kept from the many by the +few, under the notion that they are property? Are these things now to be +doled out at the pleasure, and to suit the purposes of an order of men, +as the priests of Catholic countries measured out their thimblefull of +the waters of life, in the name of him who opened up the spring, and +invited every one that thirsted to come and drink freely? To none has +authority been given to mete out knowledge, according to their own sense +of fitness, any more than to those priests of old; but on all is imposed +the religious duty of providing channels by which the vital streams of +knowledge shall be brought to every man’s door. If, in this day, any man +who seeks to be a social administrator desires that the few should cover +up their reservoirs lest they should overflow for the refreshment of the +many, it is no wonder if his cistern grows so foul as to make him +question in right earnest at last, whether there be not something more +poisonous in the draught than in gin itself; and much that is perilous +in the eagerness of the crowd who rush to lap whatever cannot be +prevented from leaking out.” + +“You mean to say that our universities are fouled reservoirs, I suppose? +It would become you to speak more modestly till you have been there.” + +“I know nothing of what is within the universities, further than by +watching what comes out. The vague idea that I have of the knowledge +that pervades them is perhaps as reverential as you, or any other son of +such an institution, can desire: but I own that my reverence would be +more ardent and affectionate if I could see that that knowledge made its +partakers happier than it does.” + +“Happier! How can you possibly tell? How should you know, when I am the +only university-man, I believe, that you are acquainted with?” + +“I judge by what I see. When men enjoy, the next thing is to +communicate; especially when by communicating they lose nothing +themselves. But it is not so in this case. What have the universities +done towards showing the beauty and holiness of knowledge, as the most +universal and the highest blessing which God has given to the living and +breathing race of man? What have the universities done to diffuse their +own treasures into every corner of the land? How have they applied their +knowledge towards the promotion of the happiness of the state,—opening +their doors to all who would come in, discovering or sanctioning the +best principles of legislation and government, countenancing public and +private virtue, and being foremost in proposing and enforcing whatever +might fulfil the final purposes of knowledge by making the greatest +number of rational beings as wise and happy as the circumstances of the +age will admit? While I see nothing of all this attempted by our +universities, I feel more respect and affection for the studies which +are going forward within a Mechanics’ Institution (crude and superficial +studies, perhaps, but tending to promote the substantial happiness of +the race), than for the pursuits of a university, or any other place, +where intellectual luxury is reserved to pamper the few while the many +starve.” + +“I do not see much starving in the case, when we have not only too many +regular newspapers, but scores of unstamped publications, which +circulate their scores of thousands each. Precious stuff for your common +people to batten upon!” + +“When we once come to the question of quality, sir, there may be less to +be said than about quantity. Is there anything here,—or here,”—taking up +the “John Bull” and the “Age,” “that will make the public wiser and +better than they would become by reading the ‘Twopenny Treat’ or the +‘Poor Man’s Guardian.’ That there is any such ‘precious stuff’ for +readers to batten on is the fault of those who, by keeping up one +newspaper monopoly, have created another.” + +“What new monopoly, pray? And what public would ever endure two +monopolies of the same article?” + +“There are two publics to suffer by the two monopolies. While the +tax-gatherers take five-pence out of every seven-pence that is given for +a newspaper; while the practice of advertising is so kept down by the +duty as to deprive the proprietors of their legitimate profits; while a +capital of between thirty and forty thousand pounds is required to +conduct a good daily paper, no journal will or can be honest, cheap, and +successful; and the middle classes, who can afford to see only one +paper, will suffer by the long-established monopoly of the old journals. +While men of more wit than capital are tempted or driven to evade the +law; while adventurers below the reach of the law are virtually invited +to defy and vilify it, the large class of poor readers will suffer by +the pernicious monopoly which not his Majesty nor all his Ministers can +break up, as long as legal newspapers are made to cost seven-pence, +while illegal ones may be had for two-pence.—Have you seen any of these +illegal publications?” + +“Yes. Precious stuff! Falsehoods in every sentence; blunders in every +line; as any one who chose might show in a minute.” + +“Unfortunately, no one will choose it, in the present state of affairs. +It must be easy enough to controvert any publication so bad as you +describe; but the opportunity is not allowed. These falsehoods and +blunders are crammed down the people’s throats, and no one can unchoke +them, because the law interferes to prevent the free circulation of +opinions. I know of a young man at Arneside who actually believes that +all master manufacturers make it a principle and a pleasure to oppress +and worry their workmen, and that all rulers study nothing so regularly +and strenuously as how to wring the hearts of the greatest number of +people. He reads this (among a hundred better things) in one of these +unstamped publications, which would either have never existed at all, or +have treated very differently of politics, if the Stamp Commissioners +had taught it no lesson of hatred against the law.” + +“Ah! you mean that brother of yours. I heard how he was going, poor +fool!” + +“If he is a poor fool, what is it that has prevented his being wise? He +has shown his disposition to become so by his eagerness after such +reading as he can obtain; and if he has got so far as to learn the +strength of a bad argument, alas for those who step in to prevent his +getting farther, and learning its weakness in the presence of a better! +If he cannot find sound political teachers, where lies the blame?” + +“If you had newspapers quite free, who do you suppose would write for +the common people? We should be inundated with blasphemous and seditious +publications.” + +“When a man goes with his money in his hand to purchase a newspaper, do +you think he is asked whether he is one of the common people? And when +newspapers sell for the cost of production and a fair profit, who is +likely to produce the best, and sell the most,—the respectable and +educated capitalist, or the ignorant and needy agitator? When newspapers +have fair play, their success will depend, I fancy, like that of other +articles, on their quality; and I never yet heard of any instance in +which any class of people failed to purchase the better article in +preference to the worse, when both were fairly set before them. +Moreover, I never heard of a wise and kind government, whether of a +single family, a city, or a nation, that did not desire rather than fear +that its proceedings should be known and discussed.” + +“Ah! that shows how little you know of the plague and mischief of being +talked over, when any business is in hand. If you were in the place of +those who have to transact affairs on the continent, and in our +colonies, you would be too much vexed to laugh at the nonsense that +people believe about us. There is nothing too monstrous or ridiculous to +be credited. A plague on the foolish tongues that spread such things!” + +“Or rather on the policy which allows such reports to be originated and +to pass current. If a multitude of the King’s subjects at home, and of +his allies abroad, believe all that is monstrous of his government, and +all that is ridiculous of his people, it seems time that better means of +knowledge should be given to both. While the world lasts, social beings +can never be prevented discussing their rulers and their neighbours; and +if we are annoyed at their errors, the alternative is not silence but +truth. When newspapers circulate untaxed, and not till then, there will +be an approach to a general understanding, and to social peace.” + +“You are not exactly the person to talk of social peace, I think, Mr. +Owen, when you are bent on setting me and my electors at variance by +publishing my family quarrels, in spite of all I can say.” + +Owen did not choose to remain to be insulted by further entreaties that +he would take a bribe. He rose, observing that this was a case in which +he had no more concern than with a quarrel in the Cabinet, and no more +option than in announcing an earthquake at Aleppo. He was a reporter, +and nothing more. If Mr. Arruther had anything further to say, he must +make his appeal to the proprietors of the “Western Star.” + +A few last words were vouchsafed to him before he left the room. Their +purpose was to assure him that if this report appeared, he need never +apply to Mr. Arruther for assistance, in case of his fool of a brother +getting into any scrape, or he himself ever being tried for libel, or +any disaster, public or private, befalling him. If Owen should, on +consideration, decide to accommodate Mr. Arruther, that gentleman would +see what he could do on any occasion when he might be of service. + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + FAMILY SECRETS. + + +Mr. Arruther’s evil bodings had had some effect in depressing Owen’s +spirits before he opened the following letter from his mother, which he +found on the table of his little apartment when he reached his lodgings. +Nurse’s share of the correspondence with her son usually consisted of +cheerful and loving messages, sent by some friendly mediator who might +be likely to see Owen, or was about to drop him a line on business. She +had never before sent a letter, but once; and that was when the +clergyman had stopped her in the churchyard, not only to ask after all +her children, but to praise them according to their respective deserts. +On that occasion, nurse had gone straight to the schoolmaster, and asked +him to give her a seat beside his desk, while she told him what she +wished to express to Owen. Then, how had her maternal modesty raised the +blush on her cheek while she made the effort to repeat the clergyman’s +words! and how, while she looked round on the blazing fire, the superior +lamp, the sanded floor, and neat shelf of books, did she assure herself +that her old narrow cottage, with its brick floor, was just as happy a +place to so favoured a mother as herself! She now wrote under different +circumstances, as her letter will show. + + “My dear Son, + + “This letter does not come out of the school-room you know so well, as + the last did; though your old teacher is so good as to be still the + writer. I have asked him to come home with me, though mine is but a + poor place compared with his. One reason is, that I did not wish + anybody to overhear what I am going to tell you; and there is no fear + of being overheard at home, as I am mostly alone of an evening. And + now I feel the disadvantage of not being able to write myself,—that I + am obliged to get another to write what I have to say against my own + children. Yet not against them, neither: for that seems a hard word to + say: but I mean I should have been loth anybody should know that we + are not altogether so happy as we once were, if I could have let you + know it in any other way than this. The short of the matter is, Owen, + that Ambrose is in such a way that I cannot tell what to say to him + next. He and Mr. Waugh have been quarrelling sadly. It is not for me + to say which is right; and, to be sure, many of Mr. Waugh’s other + workpeople have been doing the same thing: but all I know is that + there were no such troubles before Ambrose joined the Lodge, as they + call it; and Mr. Waugh gives the same wages as before, and living is + cheaper. I can only say now that Ambrose is tramping about, here and + there, when work is over, and at times when he used to be at home; and + that he is grown fond of show; attending a brother’s funeral, as he + called it, yesterday, and thinking more of the blue ribbons and the + procession, I am afraid, than that a fellow-mortal was gone to his + account. Indeed, he said in the middle of it that there is nothing + like ceremony after all; which is not just what the Lord would have us + think when he calls a brother away. I lay it all to the newspaper that + Mr. Ryan brought; and the more that Mr. Ryan was taken up for selling + it, and is now in prison on that account. I little thought that a + child of mine would ever have to do with what was unlawful; and I + never would have looked at the pictures in this paper if I had guessed + what the justices would think: but Ambrose was pleased with what Ryan + did when he was taken up; though folks suppose he will not be let out + the sooner for it. He made a great flourish in the street, and cried + out, ‘Englishmen, will you suffer this?’ It made my heart turn within + me to think that one that I have known as an honest man for so many + years should carry his grey hairs into a prison; and I never would + have believed that Ryan would do any thing wrong. Ambrose says he has + not, and is getting up a rejoicing against he comes out of prison: but + the justices say he has; and so what is one to think? But I wish your + brother would be persuaded to give up thinking of making a triumph + against the justices, when Ryan comes out. I tell him that it is no + triumph, after all, considering that Ryan will then have been in + prison all the time that it was thought fit he should be there. But + the time is past when anything is minded that I say; though I ought + not to complain, and do not; being aware, as I always was, that I say + little that is worth minding. Yet I never had to say this of you; and + I am much mistaken if Ambrose be wiser than you. You will be asking + whether I comfort myself with Mildred. My dear, I can only say now + that Mildred is no comfort to me; and if you ask me why, I can no more + tell you what has come over her than if I lived at L——. Sometimes I + think, God help me! that the poor girl hates me,—for never a word does + she speak to me now, when she can manage to hold her tongue; and, as + sure as ever any neighbour goes out and leaves us together, she is off + like a shot, and I see no more of her till some third person is here + again, even if that does not happen till morning. I should be truly + thankful if any one would find out the reason of such a change, for it + is more than I can well bear, if it is not a sin to say so. I try to + comfort myself, my dear boy, with thinking of you who are nothing but + a blessing to me. I try to be thankful, as in duty bound: but it so + happens, while you are so far away, and the others just before my + eyes, or expected home every moment and not coming, I cannot be + comforted as it is my duty to be. It is another trouble to find the + neighbours not what they were to me. Farmer Mason would not let me go + and nurse his wife yesterday, ill as she is, and with nobody to watch + her properly of a night. He said his cattle had pined of late, and he + had lost all his fowls; looking at me, just as if I could have helped + his losses, when there is nobody more sorry than I am that such + mishaps should have followed the fire that well nigh ruined him, so + long ago. And so it seems with others who do not look friendly upon me + as they did. Everything appears to be going wrong with everybody; and + we do not seem able to comfort one another as we used to do. This is a + sad saying to end with; so I just add that Kate Jeffery is the same + good girl, whatever changes come over others; and I depend on her + going on in her own right way. You will be glad to hear this; and I + hope you will not make yourself too uneasy about the rest: but I could + not help opening my mind to you, having always done so before, and + never with so much occasion. And now I shall wish to know if you have + anything to say upon this. He that holds the pen promises to read me + whatever you may write, very exactly, and to keep all a secret, we so + desiring. So no more now, except that Mrs. Dowley has got another boy, + and poor widow Wilks’s eldest has had the measles very bad, but is now + better,” &c. &c. + +Owen had not the least doubt of his old teacher’s accuracy in reading +the letter now requested, or of his discretion about its contents; but +Owen had no intention of committing to paper what he had to say. He must +go down to Arneside, without delay, and see whether anything could be +done to make the people there happier than they seemed to be at present. +He obtained leave to go down, the next afternoon; and, in the meantime, +got no sleep for thinking of his mother’s sorrows, and of the hours that +must pass before he could do anything to relieve them. + + + CHAPTER IX. + + THE MYSTERIES LAID OPEN. + + +While nurse was by turns dictating her letter and sighing, till the +scribe caught the infection, and lost his spirits; while the wind moaned +in the crevices of the ricketty dwelling, and the flame of the single +candle flared and flickered in the draughts of the poor apartment, +Ambrose was under a securer shelter, and Mildred under none at all. +Ambrose had been assisting in swearing in new brothers who had joined +his lodge. He had helped to blindfold them, and to guide them through +the mummeries which were calculated to answer any purpose rather than +that of adding sanctity to an oath. The jargon of the verse to be +gabbled over, the dressing up, the locking in, were more like the +Christmas games of very young school-boys than the actual proceedings, +the serious business of grown men. Mummery has usually or always arisen +from an inconvenient lack of shorter and plainer methods of explanation, +and of facilities for communication. This sort of picture-writing is +discarded, by common consent, wherever the press comes in to fulfil the +object with more ease, speed, and exactitude. When Ambrose declared that +“there is nothing like ceremony, after all,” he testified that he +belonged to a nation or a class which is stinted in the best means of +communication, and kept in an infantine state of knowledge and pursuit. +If he had been growing up to a period of mature wisdom, like his +brother, he would have told the brethren of his lodge that there is +nothing so childish as ceremony, after all. To form into a lodge, or a +company, or whatever it may be called, when a number of men have +business to do, is the most ready and unobjectionable method of +transacting that business; but if the brethren cannot be kept in order +and harmony without being amused by shows, or excited by mystification, +they had far better be playing cricket on the green, than pretend to +assist in conducting the serious affairs of their class. Much better +would it have been for Ambrose to have been playing cricket on the green +this evening, than frightening people even more ignorant than himself +with death’s heads, horrible threats, and oaths made up of the most +alarming words that could be picked out of the vocabulary of unstamped +newspapers. Much better would it have been for him to have been reading +anything,—book, pamphlet, or newspaper,—than to have sent his sister on +such an errand as she was transacting on the hills. + +Mildred was made, without her own knowledge, a servant of the lodge, a +messenger from all the discontented with whom Ambrose was connected to +all the discontented in the district. This trouble was imposed upon her +because the country folks were unable to read, and paper was dear, and +advertisements were dearer still. The object was to bring people +together to consult on their fortunes, and the measures that should be +taken to mend them. Mr. Arruther would have said that it was well that +so improper an object should be frustrated by the absence of all +assistance from the press: but Mr. Arruther might have been told that +there is no frustrating such an object; and that the only effect of the +press not being concerned in it was, that the summons bore a very +different character from what it would have had, if there had been +perfect freedom of communication. In a newspaper, the notice would have +been that people were to meet at such a spot, at such an hour, and for +such and such a purpose. As it was, Mildred was scudding over the hills, +shivering whenever the gust overtook her, as if it must bring something +dreadful; starting if she found any one awaiting her at the appointed +places, and trembling if it was herself that must wait; and faltering or +gabbling in equal terror, as she delivered the circular which was to be +carried forwards by those whom she met; the circular being as follows:— + + “Meet on Arneford Green, + Six and seven between. + Bring words as sharp as sickles, + To cut the throats + Of gentlefolks, + That rob the poor of victuals. + Hungry guts and empty purse + May be better, can’t be worse.” + +The political wisdom of the district had discovered that all was going +wrong within it. Farmer Mason’s live stock was dying off, and his wife +had been long confined to her bed with some grievous affliction. +Neighbour Green’s dog had gone mad, and had been very near biting some +children that were playing in the road. The wheat on the uplands looked +poorly; and the mill-stream was dry; so that many of Mr. Waugh’s +workpeople were out of employ. It must be a very bad government that +allowed all this to happen at once, some people said: but there were +many who hinted that the blame did not all rest with the Government, and +that there was one person who might some day prove to have had more to +do with those disasters than everybody liked to say. This hint had gone +the round, and become amplified in its course, till it was considered a +settled matter by every one who entertained the subject at all, that +nurse Ede was quite as pernicious to Arneside as the Government and all +the gentlefolks put together; and that there should be no attempt at +rebellion till nurse had been called to account for her witcheries. + +The affair had been brought to a crisis by this evening, when Mildred +was delivering her circular on the hills. She was expected and lain in +wait for. Suddenly she fell in with a party who would not let her +proceed till she had been sworn on her knees to tell all she knew of her +mother’s proceedings, of the nature of her intercourse with her black +cat, and of the uses of the mysterious apparatus which now filled her +cupboard as well as the shelf. The girl knew nothing of what she was +required to confess; but she did what she could to please her tyrants. +She poured out all the nonsensical fancies, all the absurd suspicions, +which had been accumulating in her ignorant mind from the days of her +childhood till now. The sum total proved even more satisfactory than the +party had expected.—There was now but one thing to be done. Nurse must +be forced to recant, and make reparation; and that as soon as possible. +The managers of the enterprise must not quit their hold of her till she +had begun to restore Mrs. Mason; revive the calves and poultry that +remained alive, if she could not restore those which were dead; set the +mill-wheel revolving again; brought showers upon the upland corn-fields, +and confessed precisely what kind and degree of influence she had +exerted over poor Mrs. Arruther: for it was not to be forgotten how the +lightning had split the tree beside the lady’s monument, the last thing +before it fired Farmer Mason’s barn. + +While all this was passing, nurse had dismissed the good-natured +schoolmaster, and had looked after him from the door, shading her candle +with her apron, till she could see him no longer; and had sat down, with +a sigh at her loneliness, to mend one more pair of stockings for +Ambrose, to take the chance of one or other of her children coming home +for the night. She had nearly given the matter up when she thought she +heard a little noise outside the door. As she looked up, she saw a very +white face pressed close to the window, and looking in upon her. + +“Come in! Who’s there? Lift up the latch and come in, whoever you are,” +cried she, who, having never wished harm to any human being, had no fear +of receiving harm from the hands of any. “My girl!” exclaimed she, as +Mildred stood on the threshold, looking uncertain whether to set foot in +the cottage, or to retreat, “My dear, ye are right enough to come home +to a warm bed to-night. It will be but a chilly night for sleeping +beside the fold, if that is really what ye do when ye don’t come home. +I’ve been looking for ye, my dear; so, come in, and shut the door, and +see what supper I’ve been keeping ready for ye. Why do ye keep standing +outside in that way, Mildred?” + +As nurse sat at the table, looking over her spectacles, with her candle +on one side, and the cat on the other, drowsily opening and shutting its +eyes, as if quite at ease, there seemed to be something which prevented +Mildred from advancing a step towards the party. She only said in a +shrill tone, + +“They’re coming.” + +Who was coming,—whether Ambrose and the brethren from the lodge, or the +long-dreaded Turks, or any people more to be feared still, could not be +ascertained. All that could be got out of Mildred was, “They’re coming.” +The door was still standing wide, the parley was still proceeding, when +they came. + +A night of horrors followed; horrors which were once perpetrated in the +metropolitan cities of mighty empires; and then descended to inferior +towns; and then were banished to the country; and now are seldom to be +heard of, even in the remotest haunts of ignorance. But such horrors are +not yet extinct. Since the sacrifice of nurse Ede, others, perhaps as +guileless and kind of heart, have met a fate like hers. + +During the whole of the dreadful scene of violence and torment, the +mother called on her children. As if they had all been present, she +implored them to bear witness as to what her life had been, and to save +her from her persecutors. She had reared her sons with incessant +watchfulness, from the time that their little hands could only grasp her +finger, up to the manly strength which might have saved her now: but +Owen was far away, dreaming of no evil; and as for Ambrose, his face was +never seen, all that night. Mildred was present,—standing in her +mother’s view during all those fearful hours; but the call on her was +also in vain. She stood staring, with her arms by her sides, and her +hair on end, only wincing and moving back a little when her mother’s +appeals to her became particularly vehement. This was the child who had +been the object of as fond parental hopes as had ever been shed over the +unconsciousness of infancy. Hers was the arm which was to have been her +mother’s support to church on Sabbath days. Hers were the hands which +were to have relieved her parent of the more laborious of their homely +tasks. She it was who should have enlivened the day with her cheerful +industry, and amused the evening with the intelligence which nurse had +done her best to put in the way of improvement. This was the child! And +this was the contrast which flitted through her unhappy mother’s mind as +she was dragged past Mrs. Arruther’s monument, and taunted with the +memory of that poor lady. + +Mrs. Arruther and she were both unhappy as mothers. The child of the one +was as destitute (whatever might be his scholarship) of all the +knowledge which is of most value in the conduct and embellishment of +life, as these his despised neighbours; and the protracted torment which +he caused his parent might, in its sum, equal that which nurse was +enduring to-night. The crowning proof of his substantial ignorance was +his desire and endeavour to keep others in that state of darkness of +which the deeds of this night were some of the results. There will be no +more mothers so wretched as Mrs. Arruther and her nurse when mothers +themselves shall know how to give their children true knowledge; and +when their children shall have access to that true knowledge without +hindrance and without measure. + +One thrilling sound of complaint at last penetrated the chamber of the +clergyman; and, in consequence, nurse was presently in her own bed, +attended upon by Kate Jeffery, while Mildred sat in a corner of the +cottage, staring as before. She let Kate bring her to the bedside, when +her parent’s unquenchable tenderness was kindling up once more; but the +girl was pitiably at a loss what to say, and how to conduct herself. + +“I never did, my dear; if you will believe the last words I shall ever +speak. I never did, or thought of doing such things as they say. Tell +them so, when I am gone; will you? Only tell them what I said. O +Mildred, cannot you promise me even that much?” + +“She is mazed,” said Kate Jeffery, in excuse of her old play-fellow. +“She will come to, by-and-by.” + +“I wish I was mazed, if it be not thankless to say so,” muttered nurse. +“But it will all be over soon. Well: it is God’s will that my son Owen +is so far from me at this time.” + +She little guessed how soon her son Owen would be standing where Kate +was now. But, soon as it was, it was too late for nurse. + +It was indeed a withered and haggard cheek (as nurse once anticipated) +that her children looked upon as they watched her rest;—not her +breathing sleep, but her last long rest. Owen must have been quite +overthrown by meeting such a shock on his arrival, or he could never +have spoken to Mildred as he did. He upbraided her for the stupidity +with which she had given ear to the ridiculous falsehoods which had been +hatched against one of the most harmless women that had ever lived: +falsehoods that any child in L would have been ashamed to be asked to +believe. But it was impossible that Mildred, or any one else, could have +really credited such things. It could have been only a pretence + +“No; no pretence,” Kate interposed to say. “There would have been no +malice, if there had not been profound ignorance. No one could have +helped loving nurse, and doing nothing but good to her, up to her dying +day, if it had but been known why and how she practised her art; and +that no woman has really the power, by prayers and charms, of stopping +mill-streams and maddening dogs.” + +“How could I tell?” mournfully asked Mildred. “They all said——I’m sure I +thought they would have killed me first. They all said, and they all +think, that she was an awful and a wicked woman; and what else could I +think? I’m sure I never durst touch her, or scarce anything that she had +touched before me, after what Maude Hallowell told me.” + +“You are out of your mind, I think,” said Owen, bitterly. “To talk as +you do, and she lying there!” + +“And if Mildred was out of her mind, Mr. Owen,” said Kate, in a low +voice, “is she to be taunted with it, as if it was her fault? I should +rather say that she has very little mind; for hers seems to me never to +have grown since we were at the Sunday school together. Surely, Mr. +Owen, it is the narrow mind that is least able to help itself under +foolish fears, and any horrible fancy that may be riding it till it is +weary. Surely it is not merciful to taunt a mind that is so miserable in +itself already.” + +“Then I will not taunt her, Kate. It will be sorrow enough to her, all +her days, to have to pass my mother’s grave, and think how she was sent +there. Go, poor girl, and tell the clergyman that it is all over. Nobody +shall hurt you: I will take care of you. Nobody shall blame you: the +blame shall rest elsewhere.” + +“Where?” asked the bewildered girl, as, in a flurried manner, she tied +on her bonnet to go to the clergyman. “What are you going to do now, +Owen? Where——what did you say last?” + +“That nobody shall blame you, as I did just now, for what has happened +to our mother. It is no fault of yours, Mildred, any more than it can be +called Ambrose’s fault that he now lies in prison——” + +“In prison!” + +“Yes: he has been taken there (God knows whether according to law or +not) for the part he has taken about swearing in the brothers at his +Lodge. There he was, poor fellow, when my mother was calling upon him in +a way to break a heart of stone, they say.” Owen saw the convulsion +which passed over his sister’s countenance as he made this allusion; and +he resolved to refer to that dreadful scene no more. “Whatever may be +done with Ambrose, he has perished. His life is blasted, whether, as +some suppose, he is sent abroad, or whether his punishment is to be +worked out at home. How should he have known better? The only bit of law +he knew, he learned by accident from a newspaper; and when he would have +learned more, the only lesson-book he could get taught him wrong; and it +could never have taught him so wrong, if those which would have +instructed him better had not been kept out of his reach. The judge and +gaoler are to be his teachers now. Those little know what they are about +who take pains,—for any purpose,—to hold men ignorant. If they could +keep the light of the sun from the earth with the thickest of clouds, +they would do mischief enough in making the plants come up sickly, and +the tall trees dwindle away, and rendering every thing fearful and +dismal, wherever we turn: but all this is harmless trifling compared +with the practice of keeping the mind without the light which God has +provided for it. This it is that brings discontent towards God, and bad +passions among men; temptation to guilt to the careless, and long +heart-suffering to the kindest and best; and the fiercest of murders as +the end of all. O, mother! mother!” + + + + + THE END. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + Transcriber’s Note + +At line 4.42.18 in ‘The Jerseymen Parting’, the speaker ‘Le Brocq’ is +most likely ‘Durell’, Le Brocq being currently incarcerated. + +Some compound words appear both hyphenated and unhyphenated. When the +word is hyphenated on a line break, the hyphen is either retained or +removed depending on the prevalent form elsewhere; e.g. ‘farmhouse(s)’, +‘lawsuit’, ‘shopkeeper(s)’, ‘thunderstorm’, ‘babyhouse’, ‘coast-guard’, +‘fourpenny’, ‘a-piece’, ‘haymakers’, ‘goodwill’, ‘re-appeared’, +‘runaway’, ‘seafowl’, ‘small-clothes’, ‘stone-ware’. + +Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, +and are noted here. The references are to the work, page and line in the +original. + + 1.11.28 I shall have them taken care of[f].” Removed. + 2.28.3 your[’]s was bad advice. Removed. + 2.44.8 that[ that] thou wouldst make haste Removed. + 2.65.21 of the church.[.] Removed. + 2.88.26 by the tithe-proct[e/o]r Replaced. + 3.66.13 as you did at St. Heliers.[’/”] Replaced. + 3.94.22 “You can tell him to[ /-]morrow.” Replaced. + 3.112.2 putting in metal after g[ua/au]ge Transposed. + 3.115.27 the alkaline l[ey/ye] from the copper Transposed. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77059 *** |