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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78099-0.txt b/78099-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f0f0134 --- /dev/null +++ b/78099-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2498 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78099 *** + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—+Shakespeare.+ + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + N^o. 2.] SATURDAY, APRIL 6, 1850. [+Price+ 2_d._ + + + + + A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR. + + +There was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and thought +of a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and +his constant companion. These two used to wonder all day long. They +wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the height and +blueness of the sky; they wondered at the depth of the bright water; +they wondered at the goodness and the power of +God+ who made the +lovely world. + +They used to say to one another, sometimes, Supposing all the children +upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky, +be sorry? They believed they would be sorry. For, said they, the buds +are the children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that +gambol down the hill-sides are the children of the water; and the +smallest bright specks, playing at hide and seek in the sky all night, +must surely be the children of the stars; and they would all be grieved +to see their playmates, the children of men, no more. + +There was one clear shining star that used to come out in the sky +before the rest, near the church spire, above the graves. It was larger +and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night +they watched for it, standing hand in hand at a window. Whoever saw +it first, cried out, “I see the star!” And often they cried out both +together, knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew +to be such friends with it, that, before lying down in their beds, they +always looked out once again, to bid it good night; and when they were +turning round to sleep, they used to say, “God bless the star!” + +But while she was still very young, oh very very young, the sister +drooped, and came to be so weak that she could no longer stand in the +window at night; and then the child looked sadly out by himself, and +when he saw the star, turned round and said to the patient pale face on +the bed, “I see the star!” and then a smile would come upon the face, +and a little weak voice used to say, “God bless my brother and the +star!” + +And so the time came, all too soon! when the child looked out alone, +and when there was no face on the bed; and when there was a little +grave among the graves, not there before; and when the star made long +rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears. + +Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shining +way from earth to Heaven, that when the child went to his solitary bed, +he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying where he was, he saw +a train of people taken up that sparkling road by angels. And the star, +opening, showed him a great world of light, where many more such angels +waited to receive them. + +All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes upon the +people who were carried up into the star; and some came out from the +long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people’s necks, and +kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light, +and were so happy in their company, that lying in his bed he wept for +joy. + +But, there were many angels who did not go with them, and among them +one he knew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed was +glorified and radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all the +host. + +His sister’s angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said to +the leader among those who had brought the people thither: + +“Is my brother come?” + +And he said “No.” + +She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out his arms, +and cried “O, sister, I am here! Take me!” and then she turned her +beaming eyes upon him, and it was night; and the star was shining into +the room, making long rays down towards him as he saw it through his +tears. + +From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as on the Home +he was to go to, when his time should come; and he thought that he did +not belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, because of his +sister’s angel gone before. + +There was a baby born to be a brother to the child; and while he was so +little that he never yet had spoken word, he stretched his tiny form +out on his bed, and died. + +Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of the company of +angels, and the train of people, and the rows of angels with their +beaming eyes all turned upon those people’s faces. + +Said his sister’s angel to the leader: + +“Is my brother come?” + +And he said “Not that one, but another.” + +As the child beheld his brother’s angel in her arms, he cried, “O, +sister, I am here! Take me!” And she turned and smiled upon him, and +the star was shining. + +He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books, when an old +servant came to him, and said: + +“Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her darling son!” + +Again at night he saw the star, and all that former company. Said his +sister’s angel to the leader: + +“Is my brother come?” + +And he said, “Thy mother!” + +A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the mother +was re-united to her two children. And he stretched out his arms and +cried, “O, mother, sister, and brother, I am here! Take me!” And they +answered him “Not yet,” and the star was shining. + +He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning grey, and he was sitting in +his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with his face bedewed +with tears, when the star opened once again. + +Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “Is my brother come?” + +And he said, “Nay, but his maiden daughter.” + +And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly lost to him, +a celestial creature among those three, and he said “My daughter’s head +is on my sister’s bosom, and her arm is round my mother’s neck, and at +her feet there is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from +her, God be praised!” + +And the star was shining. + +Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face was +wrinkled, and his steps were slow and feeble, and his back was bent. +And one night as he lay upon his bed, his children standing round, he +cried, as he had cried so long ago: + +“I see the star!” + +They whispered one another “He is dying.” + +And he said, “I am. My age is falling from me like a garment, and I +move towards the star as a child. And O, my Father, now I thank thee +that it has so often opened, to receive those dear ones who await me!” + +And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave. + + + + + THE TRUE STORY OF A COAL FIRE. + + + IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I. + +One winter’s evening, when the snow lay as thick as a great feather-bed +all over the garden, and was knee-deep in the meadow-hollows, a +family circle sat round a huge fire, piled up with blocks of coal of +that magnitude and profusion which are only seen at houses in the +neighbourhood of a coal-mine. It appeared as if a tram-waggon had been +‘backed’ into the room, and half its load of great loose coal shot out +into the enormous aperture in the wall which lies below the chimney and +behind the fire-place in these rural abodes. The red flames roared, and +the ale went round. + +The master of the house was not exactly a farmer, but one of those +country personages who fill up the interval between the thorough farmer +and the ’squire who farms his own estate,—a sort of leather-legged, +nail-shoed old gentleman, whose elder sons might easily be mistaken +for gamekeepers, and the younger for ploughboys, but who on Sundays +took care to ‘let un see the difference’ at church. Their father was +therefore never called Farmer Dalton, but old Mr. Dalton, and almost +as frequently Billy-Pit Dalton—the coal-mine in which he held a share +being named the ‘William Pitt.’ His lands, however, were but a small +matter; his chief property was a third share he had in this coal-mine, +which was some half a mile distant from the house. His eldest son +was married, and lived close to the mine, of which he acted as the +chartermaster, or contractor with proprietors for the work to be done. + +Among the family group that encircled the huge coal fire was one +visitor,—a young man from London, the nephew of old Dalton. He had +been sent down to this remote coal country by his father, in order to +separate him from associates who dissipated his time, and from pursuits +and habits that prevented his mind settling to any fixed occupation +and course of life. Flashley was a young man of kindly feelings and +good natural abilities, both of which, however, were in danger of being +spoiled. + +Various efforts were made from time to time to amuse the dashing young +fellow ‘from town.’ Sometimes the old gentleman related the wonders of +the coal-mines, and the perilous adventures of the miners; and on more +than one occasion the curate of the village endeavoured to interest him +in the grand history of the early world, and especially of the period +of antediluvian forests, and their various transmutations. All in vain. +He paid no attention to them. If anything they said made any impression +at all, it was solely due to the subtle texture of the human mind, +which continually receives much more than it seeks, or has wit enough +to desire. + +‘You don’t find the coal countries quite so bright and merry as London +town, do ye, Flashley?’ said old Dalton, with a good-natured smile. + +‘I can’t say I do, uncle,’ answered the youth, frankly. ‘As to +merriment, that is all very well at the present moment, in front of +that great family bonfire; but all the rest of the day—’ and here +Flashley laughed with easy impudence and no small fun; ‘the house +and garden are in a state of dingy mourning, so are all the roads, +and lanes, and hedges,—in fact, the passage of lines of little black +waggons to and fro, rumbling full of coals, or rattling by, empty, +seems like the chief business of life, and the main purpose for which +men came into the world.’ + +‘And so they be!’ ejaculated old Dalton, jocosely; ‘so far as these +parts are concerned. You know, Flashley, the world is made up of many +parts, and this be the coal part. We be the men born to do the world’s +work of this sort; and we can’t very handsomely pass all our time +a-sitting before a shiny fire, and drinking ale,—though, that’s good o’ +nights, after the work’s done.’ + +With this laconic homily, old Billy-Pitt Dalton rose smiling from his +chair, emptied his mug of ale, and, shaking the young man kindly by +the hand, trudged off to bed. With much the same sort of smiling ‘good +night,’ the sons all trudged after him. The good dame and her daughter +went last. Flashley remained sitting alone in front of the great fire. + +He sat in silence for a long time, watching the fire decline into +great dark chasms, black holes, and rugged red precipices, with grim +smouldering chaotic heaps below. + +A word or two about this young man. Flashley Dalton had some education, +which he fancied was quite enough, and was very ambitious without any +definite object. His father had proposed several professions to him, +but none of them suited him, chiefly because, to acquire eminence +in any of them, so long a time was needed. Besides, none seemed +adequate to satisfy his craving for distinction. He looked down rather +contemptuously on all ordinary pursuits. The fact was, he ardently +desired fame and fortune, but did not like to work for either. One +of the greatest injuries his mind had sustained, was from a certain +species of ‘fast literature,’ which the evil spirit of town-life has +squirted into the brains of our young men during the last three or four +years, whereby he had been taught and encouraged to laugh at everything +of serious interest, and to seek to find something ridiculous in all +ennobling efforts. If a great thing was done, he endeavoured to prove +it a little one; if a profound truth was enunciated, he sought to +make it out a lie; to him a new discovery in science was a humbug; a +generous effort, a job. If he went to see an exhibition of pictures, it +was to sneer at the most original designs; if to see a new tragedy, it +was only in the hope of its being damned. If a new work of fiction were +admirable, he talked spitefully of it, or with supercilious patronage; +and as to a noble poem, he scoffed at all such things with some slang +joke at ‘high art;’ besides, he _wrote_ himself, as many a young blade +now attempts to do, instead of beginning with a little study and some +decent reading. To Flashley all knowledge was a sort of absurdity; his +own arrogant folly seemed so much better a thing. He therefore only +read books that were like himself, and encouraged him to grow worse. +The literature of indiscriminate and reckless ridicule and burlesque +had taught him to have no faith in any sincere thing, no respect for +true knowledge; and this had well-nigh destroyed all good in his mind +and nature, as it unfortunately has done with too many others of his +age at the present day. + +After sitting silently in front of the fire for some half an hour, +Flashley gradually fell into a sort of soliloquy, partaking in about +equal degrees of the grumbling, the self-conceited, the humorous, and +the drowsy. + +‘So, they’re all snoring soundly by this time—all the clodpole Billy +Pittites. Uncle’s a fine old fellow. Very fond of _him_. As for all the +rest!—Wonder why the mine was called the William Pitt? Because it is so +black and deep, I suppose. Before _my_ time. Who cares for him now, or +for any of the bygones! Why should we care for anybody who went before +us? The past ones give place to the fast ones. That’s _my_ feather. + +‘But a pretty mess I’ve made of my affairs in London! My father +does not know of half my debts. Hardly know of half of them myself. +Incontinent contractions. Tavern bills, sixty or seventy pounds—maybe +a hundred. Tailors? can’t calculate. Saloons and night-larks, owing +for—don’t know how much, besides money paid. Money borrowed, eighty or +ninety pounds. Books—forget—say sixpence. Like Falstaff’s ha’pennyworth +of bread to all that quantity of sack! Think I paid ready money for all +the light reading, and young gent’s books.’ + +The fire sank lower and lower, and so did the candles, one of which had +just gone out, and began to send up a curdling stream of yellow smoke. + +‘What a place this is for coals. What a smutty face Nature wears! From +the house upwards, all alike,—dull, dusky, and detestable. Pfeu! Smell +of fried mutton fat! Now, then, old Coal fire, hold up your head. I’m +sleepy myself. This house is more like a hearse than a dwelling-place +for live stock. The roadway in front of the house is all of coal-dust; +the front of the house is like a sweep’s, it only wants the dangling +sign of his “brush.” The window-ledges have a constant layer of black +dust over them; so has the top of the porch; so have the chimney-pieces +inside the house, where all the little china cups and gimcracks have a +round black circle of coal-dust at the bottom. There is always a dark +scum over the water of the jug in my bedroom. How I detest this life +among the coals! Where’s the great need of them? Why don’t the stupid +old world burn wood?’ + +The fire had by this time sunk to dull red embers and grey ashes, with +large dark chasms around and behind. The shadows on the wall were +faint, and shifting with the flickering of the last candle, now dying +in the socket. Flashley’s eyes were closed, and his arms folded, as he +still continued to murmur to himself. Sooth to say, the ale had got +into his head. + +‘Margery, the housemaid, has large black eyes, with dark rings of +coal-grime round them. Her hair is also black—her cap like a mourning +mop—and she has worn a black patch on one side of her nose since last +Friday, when I gave her a handful from the coal-scuttle for comparing +me to the lazy young dog that lay asleep before the fire. Margery +Daw!—you shall slide down to the lower regions,—on an inclined plane, +as the Useful Knowledge books would say. + +‘Ale is a good thing when it is strong; but a coal-mine is all +nonsense. Still, they seem to make money by it, and _that’s_ some +excuse—some reason for men wasting in work lives which ought to be +passed in pleasure. Human time—human——I thought something touched my +elbow. + +‘Human time should not be passed——why there it came again! I must be +dreaming. + +‘Old Billy-Pitt Dalton understands brewing. But human time should not +be passed in digging and groping, and diving and searching—whether +to scrape up coals, or what folks call “knowledge.” For the fuel of +life burns out soon enough of itself, and, therefore, it should not be +wasted over the baser material; because the former is all for one’s +self, while coal-fuel, and the search after it, is just working for +other people. Something _did_ touch my elbow! There’s something astir +in the room out in the darkness! It was standing at my side!’ + +Flashley made an effort to rise; but instead of doing so, he fell +sideways over one arm of the chair, with his arms hanging down. Staring +up helplessly from this position, he saw a heavy dwarfed figure with +shining eyes, coming out of the darkness of the room! He could not +distinguish its outline; but it was elf-like, black, and had a rough +rocky skin. It had eyes that shot rays like great diamonds; and through +its coal-black naked body, the whole of its veins were discernible, +not running with blood, but filled with stagnant gold. Its step was +noiseless, yet its weight seemed so immense, that the floor slowly bent +beneath it; and, like ice before it breaks, the floor bent more and +more as the figure came nearer. + +At this alarming sight, Flashley struggled violently to rise. He did +so; but instantly reeling half round, dropped into the chair, with his +head falling over the back of it. At the same moment the ponderous +Elfin took one step nearer; and the whole floor sank slowly down, with +a long-drawn moan, that ended in a rising and rushing wind, with which +Flashley felt himself borne away through the air, fleeter than his +fast-fleeing consciousness. + +In the progress of generations and cycles—in that wealth and +dispensation of Time ordained by +Him+, before whose sight ‘one day +is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day’—mere grains +of sand running through the glass that regulates the operations of +never-ending work—the bodies of all living things, whether animal or +vegetable, fulfil their destinies by undergoing a gradual transmutation +into other bodies and things of the most opposite kind to their own +original being. Original being, accurately to speak, there is none; but +we must call that thing original to which some other thing is traced +back as to its ultimate point, or starting place, and at which we are +obliged to stop, not because it is the end, but because we can go no +further; nevertheless, up to that antediluvian period, and during a +great part of it, we are moving in the dusky yet demonstrable regions +and tracts of substantial facts, and scientific knowledge. + +Not daring to unclose his eyes, Flashley gradually returned to +consciousness, and heard a voice speaking near to him, yet in tones +that seemed like the echoes of some great cavern or deep mine. + +‘Man lives to-day,’ said the voice—and the youth felt it was the black +Elfin, with the diamond eyes and golden veins, that was speaking—‘man +lives to-day, not only for himself and those around him, but also that +by his death and decay fresh grass may grow in the fields of future +years,—and that sheep may feed, and give food and clothing for the +continuous race of man. Even so the food of one generation becomes +the stone of another. And the stone shall become a fuel—a poison—or a +medicine. Awake, young man!—awake from the stupor of an ignorant and +presumptuous youth—and look around you!’ + +The young man, with no little trepidation, opened his eyes. He found he +was alone. The strange being that had just spoken was gone. He ventured +to gaze on the scene that surrounded him. + +The place in which he found himself seemed to partake, not in distinct +proportions, but altogether, so far as this was possible, of a wild +forest of strange and enormous trees—a chaotic jungle—a straggling +woodland, and a dreary morass or swamp, intersected by a dark river, +that appeared to creep towards the sea which embraced a part of the +distant horizon with a leaden arm. The moist mound whereon he stood +was covered with ferns of various kinds—the comb-fern, the wedge-fern, +the tooth-fern, the nerve-fern—and of all sizes, rising from a +crumpled crest bursting through the earth, to plants of a foot high, +of several feet, and thence up to lofty trees of forty or fifty feet +in height, with great stems and branching crowns. The green-stemmed +and many-pointed mare’s-tail was also conspicuous in number and in +magnitude; not merely of two or three feet high, as in the present +period of the earth, but large green-jointed trees, shooting up their +whisking spires to fourteen or fifteen feet. Thickly springing up +in wild and threatening squadrons over the morass, they bent their +heads in long rows after rows over the edge of the muddy river, with +sullen, moveless, and interminable monotony. Here and there, enormous +sombre shrubs oppressed the scene. The collective clumps resembled +the inextricable junction of several of our thickest-foliaged trees, +as though several oaks had agreed to unite their trunks, and make +one—several beeches, the same—several poplars—several limes—though not +one of them bearing likeness in trunk or foliage to oak, or beech, or +poplar, or lime, or any known tree of present date. + +Clumps also were there, of a rank undergrowth, out of which limp bare +stems shot up to a great height, covered with a sickly white mealy +powder, and terminating, for the most part, in coarse brown swollen +heads, or gigantic black fingers, varied with dull red bosses at +the tops of the great stems, broken cups, or red and grey forks and +spikes,—a sort of monstrous club-moss and cup-moss, with lichens, +coarse water-weeds, and water-grasses at the base. + +Uncouth and terrible as were the forms to the young man’s eyes, there +were some things not without grace. Large trees, having their entire +trunks and boughs elegantly fluted, bearing leaves at regular intervals +on each fluting upwards and along every bough, rose up amidst the +disordered vegetation. Where the leaves had fallen from the lower part +of the trunk, marks were left, like seals, at regular intervals on the +flutings.[A] + +In many places, close to the trees just described, huge tortuous +succulent roots[B] protruded from the ground, as if anxious to exchange +their darkness and want of air for the light, and for the warm +atmosphere, attracted by the strong gases with which it was impregnated. + +Round the feet of the young man lay intertangled bunches and bundles of +wood-weeds, river-weeds, and other weeds that seemed to partake equally +of the river and the sea; long rank grasses, sword-like, spear-like, +or with club-like crowns of seeds, and fungi of hideous shapes, gross, +pulpy, like giants’ heads, hairy and bearded, and sometimes bursting +and sending forth steamy odours that were scarcely to be borne, and +which the youth felt to be a deadly poison, but that for the time he, +somehow, was endowed with a ‘charmed life.’ + +[A] These trees are known in fossil botany as the _Sigillariæ_. + +[B] The _Stigmaria_. + +Spell-bound, he turned from these dismaying sights, to trees that rose +to altitudes of from sixty to eighty feet, having leaves in long rows +upon all the boughs, from which they shot forth direct, and without the +intervention of any small twigs or other usual connecting medium of +foliage. The same course of leaves had existed on the trunk, from which +they had fallen as the tree rose up to maturity, and had left scars +or scales, like a Mosaic ornament, and a sign of their progressive +years.[C] + +Gazing through and beyond all these lofty trunks, Flashley beheld in +the distance a sort of palm-like and pine-like trees, standing against +the pale blue sky, which far transcended all the rest in altitude, and +seemed indeed, here and there, to rise to a hundred feet above the +whole range of other lofty trees! His eyes ached as he stared at them. +It was not their altitude alone that caused a painful impression, but +the feeling of their unbroken solitude—a loneliness unvisited by a +single bird, and with nothing between them and the heavens, to which +they seemed to aspire for ever, and in vain. + +No flowers on any of the trees and shrubs around him were to be +seen—and no fruits. The tone of colour was grave, sullen, melancholy. +It was a solitude that seemed to feel itself. Not only no bird was +visible, but no quadruped, insect, creeping thing, or other form of +animal life. The earth was devoted solely to the production of enormous +vegetation. + +To complete the pregnant solemnity of the scene, there were no sounds +of life or motion in the air; all was silence. + +Looking round with a forlorn and overawed yet enquiring face, he +discerned something like two keen stars of arrowy light at the foot +of a gigantic fern-tree, at some distance from him. The darting rays +seemed directed towards him. They were eyes; they could be nothing +else! He presently perceived that the rough black elfin figure, with +the veins of stagnant gold, was seated there, and that its eyes were +fixed upon him! + +[C] The _Lepidodendron_. + +‘The scene amidst which you stand,’ said the Elfin in his echo-like +voice, and without moving from his seat beneath the tree, ‘is the +stupendous vegetation of the elder world. The trunks and stems of the +antediluvian earth erect their columns, and shoot up their spires +towards the clouds; their dull, coarse foliage overhangs the swamps, +and they drink in, at every pore, the floating steam impregnated with +the nutriment of prodigies. No animal life do you behold, for none +is of this date, nor could it live amidst these potent vapours which +feed the vegetation. And yet these vast trees and plants, this richly +poisoned atmosphere, this absence of all animal life of man, and +beast, and bird, and creeping thing, is all arranged in due order of +progression, that man may hereafter live, not merely a savage life, but +one civilised and refined, with the sense of a soul within—of God in +the world, and over it, and all around it—whereof comes man’s hope of a +future life beyond his presence here. Thus upward, and thus onward ever. + +‘And all this monstrous vegetation above ground shall be cast down and +embedded deep in the dark bowels of the earth, there under the chemical +process of ages to become a fuel for future generations of men, yet +unborn, who will require it for their advance in civilisation and +knowledge. Yes; these huge ferns, these trunks, and stems, and towering +fabrics of trees, shall all crash down—sink deep into the earth with +all the rank enfolding mass of undergrowth—there to be jammed and +mashed up between beds of fiery stone and grit and clay, and covered +with oozy mud and sand, till stratum after stratum of varied matter +rises above them, and forms a new surface of earth. On this surface the +new vegetation of the world will commence, while that of the old lies +beneath,—not rotting in vain, nor slumbering uselessly in darkness, but +gradually, age after age, undergoing transmutation by the alchemy of +Nature, till verdure becometh veriest blackness, and wood is changed to +coal. + +‘Then man is born, appearing on the earth only when the earth is +ready to receive him, and minister to his wants. At first he useth +wood for his fuel; but as his knowledge expands and deepens he +penetrates far below the surface, and there finds forests of fuel +almost inexhaustible, made ready for his various needs and arts. And +when, in far-off ages, these vast stores become exhausted, others will +be discovered not only of the same date, but which have been since +accumulated; for the same process of transmutation is constantly going +on. Thus present time always works for future ages. + +‘Slowly as moves the current in _my_ veins,’—the Elfin rose up as he +said this—‘veins which seem to your eye to contain a stagnant gold, +but whose metallic current, in its appointed period of years, performs +each several circulation within me,—yea, slowly as this, or any other +invisible progression, move these mighty forest trees towards their +downward course, to rise again in coals,—in fire,—and thence ascend to +air. Yes, this invisible motion is as certain withal, as that immediate +action which mortal nature best can comprehend.’ + +As the Elfin uttered these last words, the great trees around sank with +crashing slant one over the other!—then came rushing, like a sudden +tempest, down upon the earth; and the young man was overwhelmed with +the foliage, and instantly lost all further consciousness. + +The traveller who has journeyed for many days across the fertile levels +and shining flats of Holland, must often have bethought him that all +this was surging ocean, but a few years ago; in like manner, by an +inverse process, the voyager up the Mississippi or Missouri rivers, +or the wayfarer for many days through the apparently interminable and +dense forests of North America, might look forward to a period when all +these masses of vegetation would become coal, if left to be dealt with +by the regular process of nature. + +The rapid advances of civilisation into these wooded solitudes may +prevent the transmutation to which they were otherwise destined; and +the same may be said of the forests even on many of the vast tracts, as +yet scarcely trodden by the foot of man, in New Zealand and Australia; +but many other giant forest tracts exist in unknown regions, which are +destined to follow the law of transmutation, and secretly become a +carbonic fuel for future ages of discovery. + +But what does young Flashley now behold? He is aroused from his trance, +and is again conscious of surrounding objects. He is seated, so that he +cannot move, on a little wooden bench beneath a low wooden shed, such +as labourers ‘knock up’ by way of temporary shelter in the vicinity of +some great works. Great works are evidently in hand all around him. + +Labourers with pick-axes and spades came hurrying to the spot, and +began to dig a circular hole of some seven feet in diameter. Then came +others with a great wooden roller on a stand, with a thick rope, like a +well-rope, wound round it; and fixing this across the top of the hole, +they let down a basket, ever and anon, and brought it up filled with +earth and stones. It was evident that they were employed in sinking a +shaft. + +They worked away at a prodigious rate, the descending baskets +continually taking down men with pickaxes and spades; and next with +carpenter’s tools and circular pieces of wood-work, with which they +made an inner frame round the sides of the shaft below. Bricklayers, +with hods of bricks, were next let down in the baskets, and with the +support of the circular frame beneath, they rapidly cased the inside +of the shaft with brickwork up to the top. More and deeper digging out +then took place—more wooden frame-work below, with more brickwork round +the sides, and gradually sinking lower and lower. This was continued +again and again, till suddenly loud cries from below announced some new +event. The diggers had arrived at springs—water was gushing in upon +them! + +Up came the rope and basket with three men standing up inside and +holding on the rope, and two men and a boy clinging round rope and +basket, and round each other as they best could, and with no small +peril to all. Leaping, scrambling, or lugged to the side, they relieved +the basket, which rapidly ran down again to bring up others. + +Meanwhile came labourers heavily trotting beneath the weight of pumps +and pump-gear; and they rigged up the pump, and as soon as all the men +and boys were out of the shaft, up came the water pouring in a thick +volume, now mud-coloured, now clay-coloured, and now grey and chalky. +At length the volume became less and less, and soon there was no more. +Down again went basket after basket, with men or boys in them. Flashley +shuddered, as something within him seemed to say ‘_Your_ turn will +come!’ Up came the clay, and the sand, and the gravel, and the chalk +as before; and soon a mixture of several earths and stones. Thus did +they toil and toil below and above, winding up and winding down, till +at last a shout of success was heard faintly echoing from the deep pit +beneath, and presently up came a basket full of broken limestone, and +grit, and red sandstone—and coals! + +Flashley now observed a great turmoil above, but all with definite +intention, and preparations for new and larger works. A steam-engine +was fitted up in a small brick edifice at a hundred yards distance, +from which came a strong rope that passed over a large drum or broad +wheel. The rope was then extended to the shaft, over the top of which +a small iron wheel was erected; and over this they carried the rope, +which was to take down men and bring up coals. A larger measure than +the basket, called a _corve_, was fastened to this rope by chains, and +up and down it went bringing great heaps of coals to the surface. After +a time, wood-work and iron-work of various kinds were sent down, and +sledges and trucks with little wheels; and then broad belts were put +round horses, by means of which they were raised, kicking and capering +wildly in the air, and staring with horrified eye-balls into the black +abyss, down which they were lowered, every limb trembling, and their +ears sharpened up to a single hair. + +At this sight Flashley’s ears began to prick and tingle in sympathy, +for he felt that he should not much longer remain a mere spectator of +these descents into the lower regions of the earth. + +And now corve after corve full of coals rose in regular succession +from the mine, and tram-roads were laid down, upon which little black +waggons constantly ran to and fro, carrying away the coals from the +pit’s mouth. While all this had been going on, a second shaft was sunk +at no great distance; but no coals were seen to issue from it. It was +for air, and ventilation of the mine. + +The men sometimes went down standing up in the corve, but generally +each man sat in the loop of a short chain which he hooked on to the +rope; and, in this way, six or seven went swinging down together in a +bunch; sometimes ten or twelve in a bunch; and now and then, by some +using longer chains than the others, in a double bunch, amounting to as +many as twenty, men and boys. + +A voice, which seemed to come from beneath the earth, but which poor +Flashley recollected too well as that of the Elfin who had carried him +so recently into the antediluvian forests and swamps, now called him by +his name, with a familiarity that made him shudder. Instantly he found +himself borne away from the wooden shed, and placed on the brink of the +first shaft. A strange apparatus, composed of a chain with a loop at +bottom, and an iron umbrella over head, was now attached to the rope +by three chains. It had very much the look of some novel instrument +of torture. Into this loop Flashley’s legs were placed in a sitting +posture. + +‘Straddle your legs!’ cried an old black-visaged miner, as the young +man was swung off from the brink, and suspended over the profound +abyss below. Not obeying, and, indeed, not instantly understanding +the uncouth injunction, Flashley had omitted the ‘straddling;’ in +consequence of which the chain loop clipped him close around, and +pinched his legs together with a force that would have made him utter a +cry, but for the paramount terror of his position. Down he went. Round +and round went the shaft-wheel above—faster and faster—and lower and +lower he sank from the light of day between the dark circular walls of +the shaft. + +At first the motion was manifestly rapid. It took away his breath. +It became more rapid. He gave himself up for lost. But presently the +motion became more smooth, and more steady—then quite steady, so that +he thought he was by no means descending rapidly. Presently, again, +he fancied he was not descending at all—but stationary—or, rather, +_ascending_. It was difficult to think otherwise. The current of air +rising from below, meeting his swiftly descending body, gave him this +impression. + +He now saw a dim light moving below. It became stronger, and almost +immediately after he saw three half-naked demons of the mine, as he +thought, who stood ready to receive him. + +For the first time he ventured to cast a forlorn look upwards. He +beheld the iron umbrella with a light from beneath flashing upon it. +Again, he turned his eyes below. He was close down upon the demons. +One of them held a lamp up to his face as he descended among them. +Whereupon these three demons all uttered a jovial laugh, and welcomed +him. + +‘Oh, _where_ am I?’ exclaimed Flashley, in utter dismay. + +‘At the first “workings” of the Billy-Pitt Mine!’ shouted a voice. +‘Steady the chains!’ + +The chains were steadied, and in a moment Flashley felt himself +launched into a new abyss, down which he descended in utter darkness, +and in utter silence, except from the rushing of the air-currents, and +the occasional grating of the iron umbrella against the sides of the +shaft. + + + + + LIZZIE LEIGH. + + + IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II. + +‘Mother,’ then said Will, ‘why will you keep on thinking she’s alive? +If she were but dead, we need never name her name again. We’ve never +heard nought on her since father wrote her that letter; we never knew +whether she got it or not. She’d left her place before then. Many a one +dies is——’ + +‘Oh my lad! dunnot speak so to me, or my heart will break outright,’ +said his mother, with a sort of cry. Then she calmed herself, for +she yearned to persuade him to her own belief. ‘Thou never asked, +and thou’rt too like thy father for me to tell without asking—but it +were all to be near Lizzie’s old place that I settled down on this +side o’ Manchester; and the very day after we came, I went to her +old missus, and asked to speak a word wi’ her. I had a strong mind to +cast it up to her, that she should ha’ sent my poor lass away without +telling on it to us first; but she were in black, and looked so sad I +could na’ find in my heart to threep it up. But I did ask her a bit +about our Lizzie. The master would have her turned away at a day’s +warning, (he’s gone to t’other place; I hope he’ll meet wi’ more +mercy there than he showed our Lizzie,—I do,—) and when the missus +asked her should she write to us, she says Lizzie shook her head; and +when she speered at her again, the poor lass went down on her knees, +and begged her not, for she said it would break my heart, (as it has +done, Will—God knows it has),’ said the poor mother, choking with her +struggle to keep down her hard overmastering grief, ‘and her father +would curse her—Oh, God, teach me to be patient.’ She could not speak +for a few minutes,—‘and the lass threatened, and said she’d go drown +herself in the canal, if the missus wrote home,—and so— + +‘Well! I’d got a trace of my child,—the missus thought she’d gone to +th’ workhouse to be nursed; and there I went,—and there, sure enough, +she had been,—and they’d turned her out as soon as she were strong, and +told her she were young enough to work,—but whatten kind o’ work would +be open to her, lad, and her baby to keep?’ + +Will listened to his mother’s tale with deep sympathy, not unmixed with +the old bitter shame. But the opening of her heart had unlocked his, +and after a while he spoke. + +‘Mother! I think I’d e’en better go home. Tom can stay wi’ thee. I +know I should stay too, but I cannot stay in peace so near—her—without +craving to see her—Susan Palmer I mean.’ + +‘Has the old Mr. Palmer thou telled me on a daughter?’ asked Mrs. Leigh. + +‘Aye, he has. And I love her above a bit. And it’s because I love her I +want to leave Manchester. That’s all.’ + +Mrs. Leigh tried to understand this speech for some time, but found it +difficult of interpretation. + +‘Why should’st thou not tell her thou lov’st her? Thou ’rt a likely +lad, and sure o’ work. Thou ’lt have Upclose at my death; and as for +that I could let thee have it now, and keep mysel by doing a bit of +charring. It seems to me a very backwards sort o’ way of winning her to +think of leaving Manchester.’ + +‘Oh mother, she’s so gentle and so good,—she’s downright holy. She’s +never known a touch of sin; and can I ask her to marry me, knowing what +we do about Lizzie, and fearing worse! I doubt if one like her could +ever care for me; but if she knew about my sister, it would put a gulf +between us, and she’d shudder up at the thought of crossing it. You +don’t know how good she is, mother!’ + +‘Will, Will! if she’s so good as thou say’st, she’ll have pity on such +as my Lizzie. If she has no pity for such, she’s a cruel Pharisee, and +thou ’rt best without her.’ + +But he only shook his head, and sighed; and for the time the +conversation dropped. + +But a new idea sprang up in Mrs. Leigh’s head. She thought that she +would go and see Susan Palmer, and speak up for Will, and tell her the +truth about Lizzie; and according to her pity for the poor sinner, +would she be worthy or unworthy of him. She resolved to go the very +next afternoon, but without telling any one of her plan. Accordingly +she looked out the Sunday clothes she had never before had the heart +to unpack since she came to Manchester, but which she now desired to +appear in, in order to do credit to Will. She put on her old-fashioned +black mode bonnet, trimmed with real lace; her scarlet cloth cloak, +which she had had ever since she was married; and always spotlessly +clean, she set forth on her unauthorised embassy. She knew the Palmers +lived in Crown Street, though where she had heard it she could not +tell; and modestly asking her way, she arrived in the street about a +quarter to four o’clock. She stopped to inquire the exact number, and +the woman whom she addressed told her that Susan Palmer’s school would +not be loosed till four, and asked her to step in and wait until then +at her house. + +‘For,’ said she, smiling, ‘them that wants Susan Palmer wants a kind +friend of ours; so we, in a manner, call cousins. Sit down, missus, +sit down. I’ll wipe the chair, so that it shanna dirty your cloak. +My mother used to wear them bright cloaks, and they’re right gradely +things again a green field.’ + +‘Han ye known Susan Palmer long?’ asked Mrs. Leigh, pleased with the +admiration of her cloak. + +‘Ever since they comed to live in our street. Our Sally goes to her +school.’ + +‘Whatten sort of a lass is she, for I ha’ never seen her?’ + +‘Well,—as for looks, I cannot say. It’s so long since I first knowed +her, that I’ve clean forgotten what I thought of her then. My master +says he never saw such a smile for gladdening the heart. But may be +it’s not looks you’re asking about. The best thing I can say of her +looks is, that she’s just one a stranger would stop in the street to +ask help from if he needed it. All the little childer creeps as close +as they can to her; she’ll have as many as three or four hanging to her +apron all at once.’ + +‘Is she cocket at all?’ + +‘Cocket, bless you! you never saw a creature less set up in all your +life. Her father’s cocket enough. No! she’s not cocket any way. You’ve +not heard much of Susan Palmer, I reckon, if you think she’s cocket. +She’s just one to come quietly in, and do the very thing most wanted; +little things, maybe, that any one could do, but that few would think +on, for another. She’ll bring her thimble wi’ her, and mend up after +the childer o’ nights,—and she writes all Betty Harker’s letters to +her grandchild out at service,—and she’s in nobody’s way, and that’s +a great matter, I take it. Here’s the childer running past! School is +loosed. You’ll find her now, missus, ready to hear and to help. But we +none on us frab her by going near her in school-time.’ + +Poor Mrs. Leigh’s heart began to beat, and she could almost have turned +round and gone home again. Her country breeding had made her shy of +strangers, and this Susan Palmer appeared to her like a real born lady +by all accounts. So she knocked with a timid feeling at the indicated +door, and when it was opened, dropped a simple curtsey without +speaking. Susan had her little niece in her arms, curled up with fond +endearment against her breast, but she put her gently down to the +ground, and instantly placed a chair in the best corner of the room for +Mrs. Leigh, when she told her who she was. ‘It’s not Will as has asked +me to come,’ said the mother, apologetically, ‘I’d a wish just to speak +to you myself!’ + +Susan coloured up to her temples, and stooped to pick up the little +toddling girl. In a minute or two Mrs. Leigh began again. + +‘Will thinks you would na respect us if you knew all; but I think you +could na help feeling for us in the sorrow God has put upon us; so I +just put on my bonnet, and came off unknownst to the lads. Every one +says you’re very good, and that the Lord has keeped you from falling +from his ways; but maybe you’ve never yet been tried and tempted as +some is. I’m perhaps speaking too plain, but my heart’s welly broken, +and I can’t be choice in my words as them who are happy can. Well now! +I’ll tell you the truth. Will dreads you to hear it, but I’ll just tell +it you. You mun know,’—but here the poor woman’s words failed her, and +she could do nothing but sit rocking herself backwards and forwards, +with sad eyes, straight-gazing into Susan’s face, as if they tried to +tell the tale of agony which the quivering lips refused to utter. Those +wretched stony eyes forced the tears down Susan’s cheeks, and, as if +this sympathy gave the mother strength, she went on in a low voice, ‘I +had a daughter once, my heart’s darling. Her father thought I made too +much on her, and that she’d grow marred staying at home; so he said +she mun go among strangers, and learn to rough it. She were young, and +liked the thought of seeing a bit of the world; and her father heard on +a place in Manchester. Well! I’ll not weary you. That poor girl were +led astray; and first thing we heard on it, was when a letter of her +father’s was sent back by her missus, saying she’d left her place, or, +to speak right, the master had turned her into the street soon as he +had heard of her condition—and she not seventeen!’ + +She now cried aloud; and Susan wept too. The little child looked up +into their faces, and, catching their sorrow, began to whimper and +wail. Susan took it softly up, and hiding her face in its little neck, +tried to restrain her tears, and think of comfort for the mother. At +last she said: + +‘Where is she now?’ + +‘Lass! I dunnot know,’ said Mrs. Leigh, checking her sobs to +communicate this addition to her distress. ‘Mrs. Lomax telled me she +went’—— + +‘Mrs. Lomax—what Mrs. Lomax?’ + +‘Her as lives in Brabazon-street. She telled me my poor wench went to +the workhouse fra there. I’ll not speak again the dead; but if her +father would but ha’ letten me,—but he were one who had no notion—no, +I’ll not say that; best say nought. He forgave her on his death-bed. I +dare say I did na go th’ right way to work.’ + +‘Will you hold the child for me one instant?’ said Susan. + +‘Ay, if it will come to me. Childer used to be fond on me till I got +the sad look on my face that scares them, I think.’ + +But the little girl clung to Susan; so she carried it upstairs with +her. Mrs. Leigh sat by herself—how long she did not know. + +Susan came down with a bundle of far-worn baby-clothes. + +‘You must listen to me a bit, and not think too much about what I’m +going to tell you. Nanny is not my niece, nor any kin to me that I know +of. I used to go out working by the day. One night, as I came home, +I thought some woman was following me; I turned to look. The woman, +before I could see her face (for she turned it to one side), offered me +something. I held out my arms by instinct: she dropped a bundle into +them with a bursting sob that went straight to my heart. It was a baby. +I looked round again; but the woman was gone. She had run away as quick +as lightning. There was a little packet of clothes—very few—and as if +they were made out of its mother’s gowns, for they were large patterns +to buy for a baby. I was always fond of babies; and I had not my wits +about me, father says; for it was very cold, and when I’d seen as well +as I could (for it was past ten) that there was no one in the street, +I brought it in and warmed it. Father was very angry when he came, and +said he’d take it to the workhouse the next morning, and flyted me +sadly about it. But when morning came I could not bear to part with +it; it had slept in my arms all night; and I’ve heard what workhouse +bringing up is. So I told father I’d give up going out working, and +stay at home and keep school, if I might only keep the baby; and after +awhile, he said if I earned enough for him to have his comforts, he’d +let me; but he’s never taken to her. Now, don’t tremble so,—I’ve but a +little more to tell,—and maybe I’m wrong in telling it; but I used to +work next door to Mrs. Lomax’s, in Brabazon-street, and the servants +were all thick together; and I heard about Bessy (they called her) +being sent away. I don’t know that ever I saw her; but the time would +be about fitting to this child’s age, and I’ve sometimes fancied it +was her’s. And now, will you look at the little clothes that came with +her—bless her!’ + +But Mrs. Leigh had fainted. The strange joy and shame, and gushing love +for the little child had overpowered her; it was some time before Susan +could bring her round. There she was all trembling, sick impatience to +look at the little frocks. Among them was a slip of paper which Susan +had forgotten to name, that had been pinned to the bundle. On it was +scrawled in a round stiff hand, + +‘Call her Anne. She does not cry much, and takes a deal of notice. God +bless you and forgive me.’ + +The writing was no clue at all; the name ‘Anne,’ common though it was, +seemed something to build upon. But Mrs. Leigh recognised one of the +frocks instantly, as being made out of part of a gown that she and her +daughter had bought together in Rochdale. + +She stood up, and stretched out her hands in the attitude of blessing +over Susan’s bent head. + +‘God bless you, and show you His mercy in your need, as you have shown +it to this little child.’ + +She took the little creature in her arms, and smoothed away her sad +looks to a smile, and kissed it fondly, saying over and over again, +‘Nanny, Nanny, my little Nanny.’ At last the child was soothed, and +looked in her face and smiled back again. + +‘It has her eyes,’ said she to Susan. + +‘I never saw her to the best of my knowledge. I think it must be her’s +by the frock. But where can she be?’ + +‘God knows,’ said Mrs. Leigh; ‘I dare not think she’s dead. I’m sure +she isn’t.’ + +‘No! she’s not dead. Every now and then a little packet is thrust +in under our door, with may be two half-crowns in it; once it was +half-a-sovereign. Altogether I’ve got seven-and-thirty shillings +wrapped up for Nanny. I never touch it, but I’ve often thought the +poor mother feels near to God when she brings this money. Father wanted +to set the policeman to watch, but I said No, for I was afraid if she +was watched she might not come, and it seemed such a holy thing to be +checking her in, I could not find in my heart to do it.’ + +‘Oh, if we could but find her! I’d take her in my arms, and we’d just +lie down and die together.’ + +‘Nay, don’t speak so!’ said Susan gently, ‘for all that’s come and +gone, she may turn right at last. Mary Magdalen did, you know.’ + +‘Eh! but I were nearer right about thee than Will. He thought you would +never look on him again if you knew about Lizzie. But thou’rt not a +Pharisee.’ + +‘I’m sorry he thought I could be so hard,’ said Susan in a low voice, +and colouring up. Then Mrs. Leigh was alarmed, and in her motherly +anxiety, she began to fear lest she had injured Will in Susan’s +estimation. + +‘You see Will thinks so much of you—gold would not be good enough for +you to walk on, in his eye. He said you’d never look at him as he was, +let alone his being brother to my poor wench. He loves you so, it makes +him think meanly on everything belonging to himself, as not fit to come +near ye,—but he’s a good lad, and a good son—thou’lt be a happy woman +if thou’lt have him,—so don’t let my words go against him; don’t!’ + +But Susan hung her head and made no answer. She had not known until +now, that Will thought so earnestly and seriously about her; and even +now she felt afraid that Mrs. Leigh’s words promised her too much +happiness, and that they could not be true. At any rate the instinct +of modesty made her shrink from saying anything which might seem like +a confession of her own feelings to a third person. Accordingly she +turned the conversation on the child. + +‘I’m sure he could not help loving Nanny,’ said she. ‘There never was +such a good little darling; don’t you think she’d win his heart if he +knew she was his niece, and perhaps bring him to think kindly on his +sister?’ + +‘I dunnot know,’ said Mrs. Leigh, shaking her head. ‘He has a turn +in his eye like his father, that makes me——. He’s right down good +though. But you see I’ve never been a good one at managing folk; one +severe look turns me sick, and then I say just the wrong thing, I’m so +fluttered. Now I should like nothing better than to take Nancy home +with me, but Tom knows nothing but that his sister is dead, and I’ve +not the knack of speaking rightly to Will. I dare not do it, and that’s +the truth. But you mun not think badly of Will. He’s so good hissel, +that he can’t understand how any one can do wrong; and, above all, I’m +sure he loves you dearly.’ + +‘I don’t think I could part with Nancy,’ said Susan, anxious to stop +this revelation of Will’s attachment to herself. ‘He’ll come round to +her soon; he can’t fail; and I’ll keep a sharp look-out after the poor +mother, and try and catch her the next time she comes with her little +parcels of money.’ + +‘Aye, lass! we mun get hold of her; my Lizzie. I love thee dearly for +thy kindness to her child; but, if thou can’st catch her for me, I’ll +pray for thee when I’m too near my death to speak words; and while I +live, I’ll serve thee next to her,—she mun come first, thou know’st. +God bless thee, lass. My heart is lighter by a deal than it was when +I comed in. Them lads will be looking for me home, and I mun go, and +leave this little sweet one,’ kissing it. ‘If I can take courage, I’ll +tell Will all that has come and gone between us two. He may come and +see thee, mayn’t he?’ + +‘Father will be very glad to see him, I’m sure,’ replied Susan. The way +in which this was spoken satisfied Mrs. Leigh’s anxious heart that she +had done Will no harm by what she had said; and with many a kiss to the +little one, and one more fervent tearful blessing on Susan, she went +homewards. + + + + + WORK! +An Anecdote.+ + + +A Cavalry Officer of large fortune, who had distinguished himself in +several actions, having been quartered for a long time in a foreign +city, gradually fell into a life of extreme and incessant dissipation. +He soon found himself so indisposed to any active military service, +that even the ordinary routine became irksome and unbearable. He +accordingly solicited and obtained leave of absence from his regiment +for six months. But, instead of immediately engaging in some occupation +of mind and body, as a curative process for his morbid condition, he +hastened to London, and gave himself up entirely to greater luxuries +than ever, and plunged into every kind of sensuality. The consequence +was a disgust of life and all its healthy offices. He became unable to +read half a page of a book, or to write the shortest note; mounting his +horse was too much trouble; to lounge down the street was a hateful +effort. His appetite failed, or everything disagreed with him; and +he could seldom sleep. Existence became an intolerable burthen; he +therefore determined on suicide. + +With this intention he loaded his pistols, and, influenced by early +associations, dressed himself in his regimental frock-coat and crimson +sash, and entered St. James’s Park a little before sunrise. He +felt as if he was mounting guard for the last time; listened to each +sound, and looked with miserable affection across the misty green +towards the Horse Guards, faintly seen in the distance. + +A few minutes after the officer had entered the park, there passed +through the same gate a poor mechanic, who leisurely followed in the +same direction. He was a gaunt, half-famished looking man, and walked +with a sad air, his eyes bent thoughtfully on the ground, and his large +bony hands dangling at his sides. + +The officer, absorbed in the act he meditated, walked on without being +aware of the presence of another person. Arriving about the middle +of a wide open space, he suddenly stopped, and drawing forth both +pistols, exclaimed: ‘Oh, most unfortunate and most wretched man that I +am! Wealth, station, honour, prospects, are of no avail! Existence has +become a heavy torment to me! I have not strength—I have not courage to +endure or face it a moment longer!’ + +With these words he cocked the pistols, and was raising both of them +to his head, when his arms were seized from behind, and the pistols +twisted out of his fingers. He reeled round, and beheld the gaunt +scarecrow of a man who had followed him. + +‘What are you?’ stammered the officer, with a painful air; ‘How dare +you to step between me and death?’ + +‘I am a poor hungry mechanic;’ answered the man, ‘one who works from +fourteen to sixteen hours a day, and yet finds it hard to earn a +living. My wife is dead—my daughter was tempted away from me—and I am +a lone man. As I have nobody to live for, and have become quite tired +of my life, I came out this morning, intending to drown myself. But as +the fresh air of the park came over my face, the sickness of life gave +way to shame at my own want of strength and courage, and I determined +to walk onwards and live my allotted time. But what are _you_? Have +you encountered cannon-balls and death in all shapes, and now want the +strength and courage to meet the curse of idleness?’ + +The officer was moving off with some confused words, but the mechanic +took him by the arm, and threatening to hand him over to the police if +he resisted, led him droopingly away. + +This mechanic’s work was that of a turner, and he lived in a dark +cellar, where he toiled at his lathe from morning to night. Hearing +that the officer had amused himself with a little turnery in his youth, +the poor artisan proposed to take him down into his workshop. The +officer offered him money, and was anxious to escape; but the mechanic +refused it, and persisted. + +He accordingly took the morbid gentleman down into his dark cellar, +and set him to work at his lathe. The officer began very languidly, +and soon rose to depart. Whereupon, the mechanic forced him down again +on the hard bench, and swore that if he did not do an hour’s work for +him, in return for saving his life, he would instantly consign him to a +policeman, and denounce him for attempting to commit suicide. At this +threat the officer was so confounded, that he at once consented to do +the work. + +When the hour was over, the mechanic insisted on a second hour, in +consequence of the slowness of the work—it had not been a fair hour’s +labour. In vain the officer protested, was angry, and exhausted—had the +heartburn—pains in his back and limbs—and declared it would kill him. +The mechanic was inexorable. ‘If it _does_ kill you,’ said he, ‘then +you will only be where you would have been if I had not stopped you.’ +So the officer was compelled to continue his work with an inflamed +face, and the perspiration pouring down over his cheeks and chin. + +At last he could proceed no longer, come what would of it, and sank +back in the arms of his persecuting preserver. The mechanic now +placed before him his own breakfast, composed of a twopenny loaf of +brown bread, and a pint of small beer; the whole of which the officer +disposed of in no time, and then sent out for more. + +Before the boy who was despatched on this errand returned, a little +conversation had ensued; and as the officer rose to go, he smilingly +placed his purse, with his card, in the hands of the mechanic. The poor +ragged man received them with all the composure of a physician, and +with a sort of dry, grim humour which appeared peculiar to him, and the +only relief of his otherwise rough and rigid character, made sombre by +the constant shadows and troubles of life. + +But the moment he read the name on the card, all the hard lines in his +deeply-marked face underwent a sudden contortion. Thrusting back the +purse and card into the officer’s hand, he seized him with a fierce +grip by one arm—hurried him, wondering, up the dark broken stairs, +along the narrow passage—then pushed him out at the door! + +‘You are the fine gentleman who tempted my daughter away!’ said he. + +‘I—_your_ daughter!’ exclaimed the officer. + +‘Yes, my daughter; Ellen Brentwood!’ said the mechanic. ‘Are there so +many men’s daughters in the list, that you forget her name?’ + +‘I implore you,’ said the officer, ‘to take this purse. _Pray_ take +this purse! If you will not accept it for yourself, I entreat you to +send it to her!’ + +‘Go and buy a lathe with it,’ said the mechanic. ‘Work, man! and repent +of your past life!’ + +So saying, he closed the door in the officer’s face, and descended the +stairs to his daily labour. + + + + + GOOD VERSES OF A BAD POET. + + + Few things in Dryden or Pope are finer than these lines by a man whom + they both continually laughed at;—Sir Richard Blackmore. + + Exhausted travellers, that have undergone + The scorching heats of Life’s intemperate zone, + Haste for refreshment to their beds beneath, + And stretch themselves in the cool shades of Death. + + + + + PERFECT FELICITY. + + IN A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW. + + +I am the Raven in the Happy Family—and nobody knows what a life of +misery I lead! + +The dog informs me (he was a puppy about town before he joined us; +which was lately) that there is more than one Happy Family on view in +London. Mine, I beg to say, may be known by being the Family which +contains a splendid Raven. + +I want to know why I am to be called upon to accommodate myself to a +cat, a mouse, a pigeon, a ringdove, an owl (who is the greatest ass +I have ever known), a guinea-pig, a sparrow, and a variety of other +creatures with whom I have no opinion in common. Is this national +education? Because, if it is, I object to it. Is our cage what they +call neutral ground, on which all parties may agree? If so, war to the +beak I consider preferable. + +What right has any man to require me to look complacently at a cat on +a shelf all day? It may be all very well for the owl. My opinion of +_him_ is that he blinks and stares himself into a state of such dense +stupidity that he has no idea what company he is in. I have seen him, +with my own eyes, blink himself, for hours, into the conviction that +he was alone in a belfry. But _I_ am not the owl. It would have been +better for me, if I had been born in that station of life. + +I am a Raven. I am, by nature, a sort of collector, or antiquarian. +If I contributed, in my natural state, to any Periodical, it would be +The Gentleman’s Magazine. I have a passion for amassing things that +are of no use to me, and burying them. Supposing such a thing—I don’t +wish it to be known to our proprietor that I put this case, but I say, +supposing such a thing—as that I took out one of the Guinea-Pig’s eyes; +how could I bury it here? The floor of the cage is not an inch thick. +To be sure, I could dig through it with my bill (if I dared), but what +would be the comfort of dropping a Guinea-Pig’s eye into Regent Street? + +What _I_ want, is privacy. I want to make a collection. I desire to get +a little property together. How can I do it here? Mr. Hudson couldn’t +have done it, under corresponding circumstances. + +I want to live by my own abilities, instead of being provided for in +this way. I am stuck in a cage with these incongruous companions, and +called a member of the Happy Family; but suppose you took a Queen’s +Counsel out of Westminster Hall, and settled him board and lodging +free, in Utopia, where there would be no excuse for ‘his quiddits, his +quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks,’ how do you think +_he_’d like it? Not at all. Then why do you expect _me_ to like it, and +add insult to injury by calling me a ‘Happy’ Raven! + +This is what _I_ say: I want to see men do it. I should like to get +up a Happy Family of men, and show ’em. I should like to put the Rajah +Brooke, the Peace Society, Captain Aaron Smith, several Malay Pirates, +Doctor Wiseman, the Reverend Hugh Stowell, Mr. Fox of Oldham, the Board +of Health, all the London undertakers, some of the Common (very common +_I_ think) Council, and all the vested interests in the filth and +misery of the poor, into a good-sized cage, and see how _they_’d get +on. I should like to look in at ’em through the bars, after they had +undergone the training I have undergone. You wouldn’t find Sir Peter +Laurie ‘putting down’ Sanitary Reform then, or getting up in _that_ +vestry, and pledging his word and honour to the non-existence of Saint +Paul’s Cathedral, I expect! And very happy _he_’d be, wouldn’t he, when +he couldn’t do that sort of thing? + +I have no idea of you lords of the creation coming staring at me in +this false position. Why don’t you look at home? If you think I’m fond +of the dove, you’re very much mistaken. If you imagine there is the +least good will between me and the pigeon, you never were more deceived +in your lives. If you suppose I wouldn’t demolish the whole Family +(myself excepted), and the cage too, if I had my own way, you don’t +know what a real Raven is. But if you _do_ know this, why am _I_ to be +picked out as a curiosity? Why don’t you go and stare at the Bishop of +Exeter? ’Ecod, he’s one of our breed, if any body is! + +Do you make me lead this public life because I seem to be what I ain’t? +Why, I don’t make half the pretences that are common among you men! You +never heard _me_ call the sparrow my noble friend. When did _I_ ever +tell the Guinea-Pig that he was my Christian brother? Name the occasion +of my making myself a party to the ‘sham’ (my friend Mr. Carlyle will +lend me his favourite word for the occasion) that the cat hadn’t really +her eye upon the mouse! Can _you_ say as much? What about the last +Court Ball, the next Debate in the Lords, the last great Ecclesiastical +Suit, the next long assembly in the Court Circular? I wonder you are +not ashamed to look me in the eye! I am an independent Member—of the +Happy Family; and I ought to be let out. + +I have only one consolation in my inability to damage anything, and +that is that I hope I am instrumental in propagating a delusion as to +the character of Ravens. I have a strong impression that the sparrows +on our beat are beginning to think they may trust a Raven. Let ’em try! +There’s an uncle of mine, in a stable-yard down in Yorkshire, who will +very soon undeceive any small bird that may favour him with a call. + +The dogs too. Ha ha! As they go by, they look at me and this dog, +in quite a friendly way. They never suspect how I should hold on to +the tip of his tail, if I consulted my own feelings instead of our +proprietor’s. It’s almost worth being here, to think of some confiding +dog who has seen me, going too near a friend of mine who lives at a +hackney-coach stand in Oxford Street. You wouldn’t stop _his_ squeaking +in a hurry, if my friend got a chance at him. + +It’s the same with the children. There’s a young gentleman with a hat +and feathers, resident in Portland Place, who brings a penny to our +proprietor, twice a week. He wears very short white drawers, and has +mottled legs above his socks. He hasn’t the least idea what I should +do to his legs, if I consulted my own inclinations. He never imagines +what I am thinking of, when we look at one another. May he only take +those legs, in their present juicy state, close to the cage of my +brother-in-law of the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park! + +Call yourselves rational beings, and talk about our being reclaimed? +Why, there isn’t one of us who wouldn’t astonish you, if we could only +get out! Let _me_ out, and see whether _I_ should be meek or not. But +this is the way you always go on in—you know you do. Up at Pentonville, +the sparrow says—and he ought to know, for he was born in a stack +of chimneys in that prison—you are spending I am afraid to say how +much every year out of the rates, to keep men in solitude, where they ++CAN’T+ do any harm (that you know of), and then you sing all sorts of +choruses about their being good. So am I what you call good—here. Why? +Because I can’t help it. Try me outside! + +You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, the Magpie says; and I agree +with him. If you are determined to pet only those who take things and +hide them, why don’t you pet the Magpie and me? We are interesting +enough for you, ain’t we? The Mouse says you are not half so particular +about the honest people. He is not a bad authority. He was almost +starved when he lived in a workhouse, wasn’t he? He didn’t get much +fatter, I suppose, when he moved to a labourer’s cottage? He was thin +enough when he came from that place, here—I know that. And what does +the Mouse (whose word is his bond) declare? He declares that you don’t +take half the care you ought; of your own young, and don’t teach +’em half enough. Why don’t you then? You might give our proprietor +something to do, I should think, in twisting miserable boys and girls +_into_ their proper nature, instead of twisting us out of ours. You are +a nice set of fellows, certainly, to come and look at Happy Families, +as if you had nothing else to look after! + +I take the opportunity of our proprietor’s pen and ink in the evening, +to write this. I shall put it away in a corner—quite sure, as it’s +intended for the Post Office, of Mr. Rowland Hill’s getting hold of it +somehow, and sending it to somebody. I understand he can do anything +with a letter. Though the Owl says (but I don’t believe him), that the +present prevalence of measles and chicken-pox among infants in all +parts of this country, has been caused by Mr. Rowland Hill. I hope I +needn’t add that we Ravens are all good scholars, but that we keep our +secret (as the Indians believe the Monkeys do, according to a Parrot of +my acquaintance) lest our abilities should be imposed upon. As nothing +worse than my present degradation as a member of the Happy Family +can happen to me, however, I desert the General Freemasons’ Lodge of +Ravens, and express my disgust in writing. + + + + + A DIALOGUE OF SHADOWS. + + + [_Scene, Purgatory_ (1778). The Shades of an Englishman and a + Frenchman are pacing by the side of a gloomy river.] + + _Englishman._ What bustle is here? Can we not groan in peace? + + _Frenchman._ There are some new arrivals. One, who comes + Straight from the finest kingdom of the earth, + Has caused a vast sensation. Here he is! + + [_The Shade of Voltaire enters._ + + _Engl._ I never saw a ghost so thin as this. + + _Volt._ Good day, Messieurs,—if we may call this day! + Faith, there’s a pleasant warmth about the place. + After our rapid journey thro’ the dark, + With cold winds driving us, and jarring atoms + Whistling about our ears, ’tis not so bad + To reach this hot and twilight land at last. + Sir, if’t be not a liberty, may I ask + For a pinch of charcoal. + + _French._ With much pleasure, sir, + [_Presents his box._ + Any news from France? + + _Volt._ France, sir, is growing young; + Thro’ me, and d’Alembert, and Diderot, + And that mad envious watchmaker, who did + Good in his own despite. Before the earth + Shall have swung a dozen times about the sun, + Our dragon’s seed will rise and show some fruit. + + _French._ We are glad to see you here, sir. + + _Volt._ Without doubt, sir. + A strange place this. Our French geographers + Had doubts if such a region were. Nay, some + Proved to the satisfaction of their friends, + That ’twas impossible. + + _Eng._ So most things seem, + Until they are discovered. + + _Volt._ That’s well said; + Sir, I salute you. + + _French._ You’ll find some excellent company, Monsieur. + + _Volt._ You have some famous men here,—doubtless, sir. + A priest or two? + + _French._ A few. + + _Volt._ I thought so, sir. + A king perhaps? + + _French._ Oh, plenty. Let me see— + One, two, three. + + _Volt._ Sir, spare your arithmetic. + I am not curious. Yet, among these last, + There’s surely one who dwelt in Prussia once? + He made bad verses, which I mended. Eh? + One Frederick? + + _French._ Called the Great— + + _Volt._ By little men. + The same: Is he always in the saddle now? + + _French._ We have no horses here. + + _Volt._ Is ’t so? _N’importe_. + A sedan will do for me. Now that I think of it, + Where are your ladies? Any of them from France? + + _Eng._ Shoals, shoals, sir. + We’ve larger, lighter batches from that land, + Than all the rest o’ the globe. + + _Volt._ I shall be glad + To renew friendship with some few of them. + Madame du Châtelet— + + _French._ She was a friend of yours? + + _Volt._ I had some strong delusion of that sort. + ’Twas when she flattered me. But, tell me, sir, + What time do you dine in this agreeable land? + I feel no appetite. + + _Eng._ We do not dine. + + _Volt._ Not dine! when do you eat? + + _Eng._ We do not eat. + + _Volt._ Umph! that is odd. When do you sleep then? + + _Eng._ Sir, + We do not sleep. + + _Volt._ I’ faith, this jest begins + To grow a little serious. I thought I knew + Somewhat of most things; but this puzzles me. + Lest I should err again, pray what _do_ you here, + In this most quiet kingdom—all day long? + Nay, day and night? What pastime?— + + _Eng._ We repose! + Sometimes we dream; of times and people gone,— + Sometimes of our own country; we retrace + Our course in earthly life; our deeds— + + _Volt._ I have done + Some deeds myself. Perhaps, Monsieur, you have seen + A dictionary of mine, which made some noise? + A fable or two, which told some bitter truths? + A famous poem?—mark me.— + + _Eng._ Your great work, + I have read, and much admired. + + _Volt._ The _Henriade?_ + Sir, you have taste. + + _Eng._ Not so:—a work less large + In bulk; yet greater. ’Twas indeed no more + Than a small memorial; touch’d wi’ the light of Truth, + The strength of Right. Fine Sense and Pity joined, + Begat it. It came forth, midst tears, and scorn, + And burning anger. These inspired your pen + To the argument, when murdered Calas died. + + _Volt._ You bring me light, sir,—comfort,—almost faith. + The dark thoughts that at times have haunted me,— + The small ambition to be thought a wit,— + The wish to sting my many enemies,— + Seem disappearing. Sir, my thanks! I feel + A warmth about my bosom, and begin + To think that joys dwell not alone on earth, + But some survive even in Purgatory. + + + + + AN AUSTRALIAN PLOUGHMAN’S STORY. + + +In red hot haste to get out of a Colonial town—where the life was too +much like what I had sailed eighteen thousand miles to avoid,—I agreed +to my Mr. Gumscrew’s terms without debate. Board and lodging for self +and horse, undertaking to do the light work of the farm for twelve +months without wages. On these conditions I took up my abode in a +wooden hut thatched with bark, on which any well-bred short-horn would +have looked with contempt. The sun and moon shone clearly through the +chinks between the weather boards; my bedstead was a bullock’s hide +stretched over four posts driven into the ground, a slip of green hide +hanging from wall to wall, formed at once my clothes-horse and chest of +drawers. + +To the great contempt of my companion and fellow lodger, the overseer, +I did put up a shelf for a few of my books, and drive in a nail for a +small shaving glass, although not then able to boast a beard. The floor +was of clay, variegated with large holes where the morning broom had +swept too hard. The fire-place, built of unhewn stone, formed a recess +half the size of our apartment. The kitchen was detached, and although +small, rather better constructed than our chief hut, for the cook built +it himself, and being an ‘old hand’ took pains with his special domain. + +If I had been ordered into such a dog-kennel in England how I should +have grumbled, and devoured my heart, in vain complainings; but now—it +was my own choice, I had _hope before me_,—the glorious climate, the +elastic atmosphere made chinks and cracks in walls of no consequence; +and when inclined to grumble, I thought of the dark den-like lawyer’s +office in which I had wearied away the last six months of my European +life. + +After a few days spent in cantering round the neighbourhood, I was +ready to commence my light ‘duties.’ + +Returning home one evening I stopped my horse to look at our ploughman +breaking up a fine piece of alluvial flat, which had recently been +cleared and fenced in. He had ten pair of oxen and a heavy swing plough +at work. There was a man to help him to drive, but his voice was as +good as his hands, and it was a pleasure to see him, as he turned up a +broad furrow of virgin soil, and halted his team, and lifted the big +plough over the roots of the stumps that dotted the paddock, as if it +had been a feather weight. Our ploughman, Jem Carden—Big Jem he was +commonly called—was a specimen of English peasantry such as we don’t +often see in Australia, tall, though a round shouldered stoop took +off something from his height, large limbed but active, with a curly +fair-haired bullet head, light-blue good-natured eyes, and hooked nose, +large mouth full of good teeth, a solid chin, a colour which hard work +and Australian sun could not extract, and an expression of respectful +melancholy good nature that at once prepossessed me in his favour. He +was then in the prime of life, a perfect master of every kind of rural +work, ploughing, sowing, reaping, mowing, thatching, breaking-in, and +driving bullocks and horses, and not less an adept in all Colonial +pursuits, for he could do as much with a saw, an auger, an axe, and an +adze as a European workman with a complete chest of tools. He was a +very good fellow, too, always ready to help any one at a pinch; when +the stockman broke his leg he walked twenty miles through the rain, a +tropical rain in bucketfuls, although they had fought the day before +about a dog of Jem’s, the stockman had been ill using; and yet Big Jem +was a convict, or speaking colonially, ‘a prisoner.’ + +About a year after my arrival at the Station, Mr. Gumscrew having +purchased a large herd of cattle a bargain from a person living some +200 miles from us, in the Mochi district, where all the grass was +burned up, determined on sending me for them, as there was little doing +at Springhill, and left me to choose any one I pleased to accompany me. +I chose Carden. + +We got our horses into the paddock close to the hut overnight; the next +morning, at sunrise, buckled a blanket, a couple of shirts, a bag of +tea and sugar, a quart pot, and a pair of hobbles to my saddle, and +started in high spirits. + +Now, living in the Bush, and especially while travelling, there is +not the same distance between a master and well-behaved man, although +a prisoner, as in towns. From the first I was interested in the +ploughman, so I took the opportunity of this expedition to learn more +about him. + +We travelled all day from sunrise to sundown, seldom going off a walk, +at which our horses could do nearly five miles an hour: toward evening +we tried to strike some station or shepherd’s hut, the whereabouts of +which Jem generally knew by the mixture of experience and instinct +that constitute a perfect Bushman; if we could not light upon a hut +we camped down near a waterhole, lighted a fire on some hollow fallen +gum-tree, hobbled out our horses on the pasture near, put the quart +pots to boil, the damper (flour cake) in the ashes to bake, and smoked +our pipes until all was ready; then rolling up each in his blanket, +slept soundly on the bare ground. + +I think it was on the third day that we came upon a long stretch of +open undulating country, where the grass scarcely gave back a sound to +our horses’ feet. I dropped the reins on my little mare’s neck, and +began to fill my pipe; but seeing Carden’s pipe still stuck in his +straw hat, I knew he must be bankrupt in a Bushman’s greatest luxury, +so handed him my pouch, and said, ‘Come, ride along side me, and tell +me how you came here; for I cannot imagine how so honest a fellow ever +got into trouble.’ + +‘Master,’ he answered, ‘I’ll tell you all the truth; but give me a +little time, for my heart’s full, and it will take us a good three +hours to get across these plains.’ So we paced on in silence for the +space of one pipe, when he spoke again, and said, ‘Master, excuse me, +but I’m not much of a scholar, and if you would read me a chapter from +this book, it would do me a power o’ good. I try sometimes myself to +spell it out, but somehow I can’t see the letters “plain.”’ His eyes +were full of tears as he timidly handed a black clasped copy of the +Bible. + +There was something painful in the emotion and humbleness of a strong +man before me a stripling alone with him in a desert. + +I took the book from him; on the flyleaf was written, ‘Lucy Carden on +her Marriage from her friend and pastor the Rev. Charles Calton,’ and +turning it over it opened at the 51st Psalm: instinctively, I began to +read aloud, until I came to the 17th verse, ‘The sacrifices of God are +a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not +despise.’ At these words my companion wept aloud, and murmured, ‘Oh, my +poor wife’—and I, too, I knew not why, also wept. + +Then we rode on in silence for some time; from a confused reverie I +was awakened by my companion saying in a hoarse voice, ‘Master, I am +ready—I can tell you my story now. + +‘I was born in a village in Hampshire, the youngest of a large +family—the son of labouring people. As soon as I had strength and voice +enough, I was sent into the fields to scare the birds from the corn, +and at eight years old, I began to drive plough for my father, so I got +very little schooling but what I picked up in the winter evenings at +a school kept by an old pensioned soldier. To tell the truth, I never +liked my books when I was young, for which now I have often need to be +sorry. But I was a strong hearty lad, and no out-door work came amiss +to me. As soon as I could stand to them, I took hold of the stilts of +the plough, and by the time I was sixteen, I could do a man’s day’s +work. + +‘When I was seventeen I won a great ploughing-match. Among the young +gentlemen that came to see it was our young ’Squire, that owned nearly +all the parish. He had just left College, and come into his fortune, +for his father had been dead a many years. He was so much pleased with +what he saw at the ploughing-match, that he determined to take the Home +Farm into his own hands, and nothing would serve him but that I must +be his head ploughman; indeed, I believe if I had understood writing +and cyphering, he would have made me his bailiff,—for he was a young +gentleman that nothing could stop when he took a fancy into his head. +I mind well when he sent me off at twelve o’clock at night to London +in his own carriage to buy a team of Suffolk Punches, he had heard of +from a gentleman that was dining with him. Well, this made a man of +me at once. I was as tall as I am now, and I’m afraid I grew spoiled +with so much good. I was courting my Lucy at the time. She was the +only daughter of the blacksmith in the next village, and if ever there +was an angel she was one. The parson and his daughters noticed her +a good deal, because she was clever at her book and sang so sweetly +at church. Her father was a drunken old chap; her mother had been +dead many years. I used to look out for him when he came down to our +village, as he often did to drink and play at bowls, and see him safe +over the stiles when he was ill able to walk straight. Many and many a +day, after ploughing all day, and supping up my horses, have I walked +five miles, half leading, half carrying, old Johnny Dunn, for the sake +of five minutes’ talk to dear Lucy. Well, one night, in a wet autumn, +I was up at the Hall to take the ’Squire’s instructions; for he loved, +when he had strangers from London, to have me in after dinner, to give +me a glass o’ wine and make believe of talking farming; old Dunn tried +to get home after an evening’s bouse by a short cut over a ford I had +often led him, missed his footing, and was found by some lads that went +next morning to take up their night lines, stone dead—drowned. + +‘There was poor Lucy left all alone in the world, for her father, +who had been a dragoon farrier, and married one of Parson Calton’s +maid-servants, had no relations in that part of the country. + +‘I was getting good wages: there was a cottage and garden, belonging +to the ploughman of the Home Farm, that I had never taken up, because +I had lived with my father. The ’Squire made me many presents, and +I had saved a little money, made by working at different things in +winter evenings, being always handy with tools. Well, to make a long +story short, Lucy found her father had left nothing behind him but a +quarter’s pension he had not had time to drink, a few pounds due for +work, and the furniture of his cottage. She had nobody to take care of +her, so we moved the furniture to my cottage, and were married before +I was nineteen, and on the day Parson Calton gave her that Bible, +that never has left me since I left her. Many people blamed us, and +wanted us to wait. I don’t think good Mr. Calton quite liked it, but +his daughters were well pleased, and gave Lucy her wedding dress. Oh, +God, sir, when I think upon those days, on two years that followed, and +think of what I am, I wonder how I live and keep my senses. There was +not a happier couple or prettier cottage in the county. My working days +were not hard, for I had Lucy to welcome me home; and then on Sundays, +to see her dressed in her best and walk across the fields to church, +and hear her sing! Why, there was not a lady in the county could +compare with her, and I have heard many great gentlemen say so. + +‘I had a child, too, a darling little Lucy. * * * But this was too much +happiness to last; we had been married just two years. The ’Squire +stopped at our cottage, as he was riding by on his way to London, to +settle about a ploughing-match that he had determined to make up for +the next week, and talked over a plan for breaking up a lot of old +pasture. A fortnight afterwards the bailiff came down with a letter in +his hand, and said with a grave face, “Carden, I have some bad news +for you; the ’Squire has determined to give up farming, and is going +to foreign parts. I am to discharge all the hinds as soon as I can get +a tenant for the farm. You are to be paid up to Christmas, and you +may keep the cottage until the farm’s let, but I rather think Farmer +Bullivant will take it.” + +‘Here was a blow; we had thought ourselves provided for for life, and +now we had a home and a living to seek. Farmer Bullivant would not keep +me on, I knew well; he had his own ploughman, a relation. Well, we were +put to sore straits; but at last I got another place, although at lower +wages, some distance from my native village. Hard times came on; wages +were lowered again and again; and at the same time a cry rose up round +the country against the threshing-machines that were being very much +used, and were throwing a good many poor people out of work. The people +in England, sir, are not as we are here, sir, a very few words, and one +or two desperate fellows can always lead them; they are so ignorant, +they are ready for anything when they are badly off. + +‘I went up one night to get my wages, and behold, when I got me to +the farmer’s house, the bailiffs were in, and he going to be sold up, +and the winter coming on. I walked toward home half mad; passing by a +public-house, who should be at the door but the ’Squire’s gamekeeper—he +kept him on—and he being sorry to see me so downcast, for he was a good +kind fellow, though a gamekeeper, would make me take a glass with him; +I think I had not been in a public-house since I had been married. The +drink and the grief flew up into my head; before I got home, I fell in +with a crowd of friends and fellow-labourers holloing and shouting. +They had been breaking Farmer Bullivant’s threshing-machine, and swore +they would not leave one in the county. I began to try to persuade +them to go away quietly, but they ended by persuading me; we met a +machine, as ill-luck would have it, on the road just turning into +Farmer Grinder’s stack-yard. We smashed it to pieces; in the middle of +the row the soldiers came up. I was taken in the act, with about twenty +others; they lodged us in Winchester gaol the same night. The assizes +were sitting; they tried us in batches, and found us guilty almost as +soon as we came into court. I never saw my poor wife until the moment +when the judge sentenced me to transportation for life. I hear her +scream often now; I wake with it in the middle of the night. We had +no time to get any one to speak to character for us; we had no lawyer +or counsellor. Such poor people as we were had no friends of any use. +The farmers who knew us were too angry and too frightened—although some +of them were the first to speak against the threshing-machines. Good +Parson Calton had been away, ill and dying, or I do not think it would +have happened. For where are we poor countrymen to look for a friend +wiser than ourselves if the Parson or the ’Squire does not stand by us? + +‘My wife came to see me in prison, and wept so we could not talk much; +for it was so quick, so sudden—it seemed like a horrid dream; for me to +be a felon—for me, that could not strike a blow against any man, except +in fair fight—that never wronged a living soul out of a farthing—to +be the same as robbers and murderers! Well, I advised her to get quit +of all bits of furniture, and try to get to service, through the Miss +Caltons. I knew they were not rich, and could not help except by giving +her a good name—by giving a character to the convict’s wife! We were +to have met again the next day; the poor soul had walked twenty miles +to Winchester, and a fruit-woman that was in court took pity on her +when she fainted, and gave her half her bed. But the same night I was +waked up from the first sound sleep I had had since I was taken, and +put into a coach with a lot of others, with a guard of soldiers, and +sent off to the hulks; and in three days we sailed for Botany Bay, as +they called it in England. Oh, sir, that time was terrible. There were +many on board that thought the punishment a pleasure voyage. They had +no wives, no children to love. They had no good name to lose; they had +not lived in one parish to know and love every stick and stone in it. +They boasted of their villany, and joked at the disgraceful dress; they +only found fault with the food, and the labour of helping to stow the +ship; I did not care for the food or the work. They made me a constable +on the voyage, and I landed with a good character from the surgeon in +charge. I was assigned straight away to Major Z——. You must have heard, +sir, what a terrible man he was. A rich man that had forgotten he had +once been poor. He had more cattle and stock of all kinds than he could +count; he starved us, he cursed us, and very few Mondays passed that he +didn’t take up five or six for a flogging. But he was very glad to get +me and three or four of the same lot, for it was not often such regular +first-rate husbandmen came into the colony, so we were better treated +than many. For in those times, if masters could be hard where they took +a spite, still prisoners had a good chance of getting on. Well, my +spirits rose and I began to have some hope when I found that, with good +luck, I might have my “ticket,” that would give liberty in the colony, +in seven years, and when I saw so many who had been prisoners riding +about in their carriages, or driving teams of their own, as good as the +’Squire’s. Indeed, those that had good masters got on very well, but it +was commonly thought that Major Z—— never parted with a good man if he +could help it. He was sure to make up some charge and get him flogged, +so as to put off the time for his getting a _ticket of leave_. + +‘I had driven oxen at home and soon got into the ways of the colony, +when, one day, the master came down to see a new piece of land I had +been breaking up near a house he was building, and was so pleased that +he began to talk quite kindly, although every second word was an oath, +and asked me all about myself. Well, I told him, and made bold to say +that, as he was going to build a large dairy, if he would send for my +wife and child we would serve him for any wages he choose, all the days +of our lives. He turned on me like a tiger, he cursed me, he told me he +wanted no women or brats on his estate, no canting saints, no parsons, +all he wanted was men that could work, and work they should. “If, you +fool,” he said, “you had asked for a gallon of rum among the gang you +might have had it, and drowned all your troubles, but I’ll have no +women here, wives or no wives.” + +‘I think at that moment Satan took possession of me. I was ready to do +anything for my liberty, or to be free from my tyrant, and there were +tempters enough all round me. A few days afterwards one of my fellow +servants, an old hand, who had heard the last part of my master’s +speech, came to me in the evening, and, after telling me that he +supposed I had found out that nothing was to be got by fair means, that +my master was a rogue, in fact that every one was a rogue who was not a +fool, he began to hint that he could tell me a way to get my wife out +and my liberty too. I swallowed the bait, I listened; then he went on +to show how with money anything could be done in the colony, told me +instances of tickets and conditional pardons, besides escapes managed +by bribing, and then, when I was thoroughly poisoned, he swore me to +secrecy and explained how, out of a thousand bullocks, a few pair would +never be missed; so that all I had to do when I took a bullock team +to Sydney was to yoke an extra pair of young bullocks, making ten or +twelve pair, instead of eight or ten—a butcher, near where the drays +generally stood, was all ready prepared to take and pay for, as many +pair of bullocks as I chose to drive in. They were worth from 10_l._ to +12_l._ each, and I was to have 6_l._ for every pair. + +‘I refused point blank. “Well,” he said, “I rely on your honour not to +peach.” He knew he had caught me. My master took an early opportunity +of having me flogged on a charge of insolence; the magistrates were two +friends who had been dining with him. My tempter came to me again, +and, on the next opportunity, I drove in the bullocks and became a +_thief_. Having begun I could not stop; my tempter became my tyrant; to +drown care I began to drink and to associate with the old hands, and +then the money, for which I had resigned body and soul, melted away. +What I saved up I knew not what to do with, and so I went on getting +worse and worse, until one day, just as I was driving a pair of young +heifers into the butcher’s yard, I was arrested, tried, and convicted +on the evidence of my fellow-servant, who, having been found out in +another robbery, saved himself by turning on me. I was sentenced to +three years hard labour in an iron gang on the Blue mountains. What I +suffered in those three years no tongue can tell. I was coupled with +a wretch who had been a thief from his childhood, a burglar, and a +murderer, but there was one man, a political prisoner sentenced to the +iron gang for striking his overseer, who saved me, and spoke words of +comfort to me; my term was shortened a year for rescuing a gentleman +from a bush ranger, and Major Z—— having left the colony, I was +assigned to my present master. In another year I shall have my ticket, +but what I shall do heaven only knows. I have had one letter from my +wife; she was living as dairy-maid with one of the Miss Caltons, who +had married a country gentleman; they were very good to her, and I +think her letter, full of good words, helped to save me from total +ruin. But you, sir, are almost the only gentleman that has spoken +a kind word to me in the Colony. We live like beasts of the field, +working and well-fed, but nothing more. On many stations the prisoners +don’t even know when Sunday comes round, and we die like dogs.’ + +Here he paused: and I felt so much affected by his melancholy story, +that I could not at the time answer him, or offer any words of comfort. + + * * * * * + +In my various wanderings I lost sight of Carden for two or three +years; but one day as I was going down to Sydney with a mob of horses +of my own for sale, at a roadside inn I met Jem Carden, at the head +of a party of splitters and fencers doing some extensive work in +the neighbourhood on a new station; he was looking thin, haggard, +nervous, and was evidently ashamed to meet me. In fact he was only just +recovering from a drunken spree; I taxed him with his folly; he owned +it, and showed me the cause. He could earn with ease at piece-work, +from 5_l._ to 8_l._ a week, building stations and stockyards. Twice he +had saved, and paid into the hands of apparently respectable parties, +40_l._, to remit for the passage of his wife and daughter. The first +time the dashing Mr. W—— was insolvent two days after receiving the +money. In the second instance he was kept nine months in suspense, +and then learned from England by letter and in the Sydney list of +bankrupts, that he had been again swindled. ‘And what,’ he asked, when +he had concluded this tale of pitiful, contemptible robbery, ‘what can +a poor fellow do but drink his cares away, when all striving to be +honest and happy is in vain!’ + +I thought, but did not say, how uneven were the laws that sent Jem +to the iron gang for stealing a bullock, and had no punishment for +those who devoured his hard earnings, and laughed at him from their +carriages. Thank God, a better system has been established, and +government now charges itself with the passage money of poor men’s +relations. + +But barren sympathy was of little use, so I turned to the ploughman, +and said, ‘What money have you left?’ ‘About 10_l._ in the landlord’s +hands; he’s an honest man, although a publican.’ ‘And what are you to +have from this contract?’ ‘My share will be over 40_l._, and I can get +it done in less than six weeks, working long hours.’ ‘Then hand me over +the 10_l._, give me your solemn promise not to touch anything stronger +than Bushman’s tea for twelve months, and to let me have 30_l._ out of +your contract when I return this way, and I will send the money for +you.’ + +To cut this long story short, I put the business in the hands of my +excellent friend B******, one of the modern race of Australians, +wealthy, warm-hearted, and liberal, who was on his way to England. +Within a year the ploughman embraced his wife; they returned with me to +my station, they passed some years with me, and some eventful scenes, +before the district round me was settled. They have now a station and +farm of their own; they are growing rich, as all such industrious +people do in Australia, but they have not forgotten that they once +were poor. If you need a subscription for a church, a school, or a +sick emigrant, you may go to Mr. Carden, safe of a generous answer. It +is Mr. Carden now; and perhaps that fine little boy may sit a native +Representative in an Australian Parliament. A tall youth who rides +beside him, is not his son but the orphan child of a poor prisoner, +whom he adopted ‘to make up in part,’ as he expressed it, ‘for what +happened long ago.’ + +Lucy Carden, now the mother of a numerous brood of Australians, has +grown happy and portly, although you may trace on her mild features the +tide marks of past griefs. + +The last time I saw them I was on my way to England. ‘Oh, sir,’ said +the happy husband and father, ‘tell the wretched and the starving how +honest, _sober_ labour is sure of a full reward here. Tell them that +here poverty may be turned to competence, crime to repentance and +happiness. And pray tell the great gentlemen who rule us that we much +need both preachers and teachers in this wide Bush of Australia, but +that it is _virtuous wives who rule us most_, and in a lovely land make +the difference between happiness and misery.’ + + + + + HEATHEN +and+ CHRISTIAN BURIAL. + + +If, from the heights of our boasted civilisation, we take a retrospect +of past history, or a survey of other nations—savage nations +included,—we shall, with humiliation, be forced to acknowledge +that in no age and in no country have the dead been disposed of +so prejudicially to the living as in Great Britain. Consigning +mortal remains to closely-packed burial-grounds in crowded cities; +covering—scarcely interring them—so superficially that exposure +sometimes shocks the sentiments, while the exhalations of putrefaction +always vitiate the air, is a custom which prejudice has preserved the +longest to this land. A calculation made by Dr. Playfair, and quoted +by the Board of Health in their admirable report on Burials, estimates +the amount of noxious gases evolved annually from the metropolitan +grave-yards alone at 55.261 cubic feet per acre. The average of corpses +packed into each acre is 1117; therefore, as 52,000 interments take +place every year, the entire amount of poison-gas emitted per annum to +enter the lungs of the Londoners, and hasten their descent to the grave +to contribute fresh supplies for their successors, is 2,572,580 cubic +feet. + +It is our present purpose to see whether such a fact can be paralleled +by researches into the past or by a short survey of the manners and +customs of existing savage life itself—adding such of the singular or +instructive funeral ceremonies of the various people as will prove +interesting. + +Among the most ancient records are those of the Egyptians. The care +of that extraordinary people for their dead, both as to actual +preservation and that they should not become noxious to the living, +has never been surpassed. This partly arose, it is true, from a +superstitious reverence for the material part of man; but that +superstition doubtless originated from the wise sanitary regulations +of their early sages. The laws of Leviticus—many of them instituted to +prevent disease and the depreciation of the species—formed, in like +manner, a main part of the religion of the Jews. + +The ancient Egyptians believed that the soul would return, after the +lapse of ages, to inhabit, in this world, the same body from which it +had been separated by death. In this belief commenced the process of +embalming by which the bodies of that people have been preserved with +wonderful integrity to the present day. To so extraordinary a point had +the antiseptic art been brought that, as appears from Diodorus, there +was a mode of preservation which ensured the retaining of the eyebrows, +eyelashes, and the general external character of the person, who could +be recognised by their form and features. ‘Whence,’ says Dr. Pocock, +in his Travels through Egypt, ‘many of the Egyptians kept the bodies +of their ancestors in houses [but never near their own residences] +adorned at a very great expense, and had the pleasure to see their +forefathers, who had been dead many years before they were born, and +to observe all their features as well as if they were living.’ The +painter’s art has in modern times superseded these curious picture +galleries. + +Another peculiarity could not have been due to superstition, but to a +more rational care of the living than we at present evince, namely, the +distance of their great burial-places from their chief cities. The Nile +intervened; the Necropoli, including the range of stupendous pyramids, +were formed on the western, while the most considerable towns were on +the eastern bank of that river. Diodorus gives an interesting account +of the ceremonies arising out of this wise arrangement. + +‘Those who prepare to bury a relative, give notice of the day intended +for the ceremony, to the Judges and all the friends of the deceased, +informing them that the body will pass over the lake of that district, +or that part of the Nile, to which the dead belonged; when, on the +Judges assembling to the number of more than forty, and ranging +themselves in a semicircle on the further side of the lake, the vessel +provided for this purpose is set afloat. It is guided by a pilot called +in the Egyptian language, _Charon_; and hence they say that Orpheus, +travelling in old times into Egypt, and seeing this ceremony, formed +the fable of the infernal regions, partly from what he saw, and partly +from invention. The vessel being launched on the lake, before the +coffin which contains the body is put on board, the law permits all +who are so inclined, to bring forward an accusation against it. If any +one steps forth, and proves that the deceased had led an evil life, +the Judges pronounce sentence, and the body is precluded from burial; +but if the accuser is convicted of injustice in his charge, he himself +incurs a considerable penalty. When no accuser appears, or when the +accusation is proved to be false, the relations present change their +expressions of sorrow into praises of the dead.’ The author adds, that +many kings had been judicially deprived of the honours of burial by the +indignation of their people; and that the dread of such a fate had the +most salutary influence on the lives of the Egyptian sovereigns. + +Two singular coincidences will occur to the reader on perusing this +passage:—A _postmortem_ trial, precisely similar to that described +above, forms part of the Roman Catholic ritual of Canonising a Saint. +Before the defunct can be inscribed in the Calendar, a person appears +to set forth all the involuntary candidate’s sins and backslidings +during life; and if these be of a venal character he is rejected. +This officer is called ‘The Devil’s advocate.’ Secondly, the ancient +Egyptian and excellent system of funereal water conveyance is, it would +appear, to be revived. In the Report of the Board of Health, dated two +thousand years later than that of Diodorus Siculus, the most extensive +new burial-place recommended, is to be on the borders of the Thames; +and one of the Board’s propositions runs thus:— + +‘That, considering the river as a highway passing through the largest +extent of densely-peopled districts, the facilities for establishing +houses of reception on its banks, the conveniences arising from the +shorter distances within the larger portion of the same area for the +removal of the bodies to such houses of reception, the advantages of +steam boat conveyance over that by railway in respect to tranquillity, +and the avoidance of any large number of funerals at any one point, +at any one time, and of any interference with common traffic and with +the throng of streets; and, lastly, taking into account its great +comparative cheapness, it is desirable that the chief metropolitan +cemetery should be in some eligible situation accessible by water +carriage.’ + +The case of the Jews is stronger than that of the Egyptians, as showing +saner modes of burial than we have so long persisted in. They had no +especial regard for the mere body, except as the temple of the soul; +hence, a burial-place was, with them, _the house of the living_; an +expression finely implying that death is the parent of immortal life. +Their cemeteries were always in sequestered spots. In the 23rd chap. +of Genesis we find that Abraham, when his wife Sarah died, desired a +family burying-ground from the tribe among whom he lived:— + + ‘And Abraham stood up from before his dead, and spake unto the sons + of Heth, saying, + + ‘I am a stranger and a sojourner with you; give me possession of a + burying-place with you, that I may bury my dead _out of my sight_.’ + +A ready consent was given, and he was offered the choice of their +sepulchres. But this did not satisfy him: he wished to obtain the Cave +of Machpelah, and the field in which it lay, from Ephron, the son of +Zohar. The generous proprietor offered it as a gift, but the Patriarch +purchased it. Thus the first transference on record of real property +was the acquisition, in perpetuity, by the patriarch Abraham, of a +family burying-ground especially selected for its seclusion. + +Nor was the classic heathen of a more western clime less mindful of +public health in his modes of disposing of the dead. The Romans, being +largely indebted to the Greeks for their science, literature, arts, and +habits of life, of course adopted their funeral ceremonies; and one +general description may suffice for those of both. By law of the Twelve +Tables, burial was prohibited within the city of Rome, and therefore +cemeteries were provided without the walls.[D] + +[D] ‘_Hominem Mortuum in urbe ne sepelito neve urito._’ + +Immediately after the death, the body was washed, anointed with +aromatic unguents, and sometimes embalmed. It was shrouded in fine +linen; white with the Greeks and black with the Romans. If the departed +was a person of rank, he was clothed in his garments of ceremony, kept +for seven days during the preparations for the funeral, and lay in +state in the vestibule of his house, at the door of which were placed +branches of pine or cypress, together with the hair of the deceased, +which had been consecrated to the infernal deities. In Rome, between +death and burial seven days elapsed. The funeral was attended by the +friends and relatives of the deceased, who were bidden by a herald, +pronouncing the invitation:—‘It is time for whoever wishes, to go to +the funeral of N. son of N.; who is now to be borne from home.’[E] + +The remains of persons who had done service to the state were honoured +by the attendance of public officers, and sometimes the procession was +followed by large bodies of the people. According to one of the laws of +Solon, the Athenians carried out the bodies of the dead before sunrise, +especially the young, in order that the orb of day might not throw +his light on so sad a spectacle, or by his heat induce decomposition +prematurely. The body was laid on a bier, crowned with flowers, +and having the face exposed. The bier was followed by the funeral +procession, among whom, at Roman funerals, there was often a _mime_, +or buffoon, wearing the dress of the deceased, and giving satirical +imitations of his bearing and manners. At the funeral of the Emperor +Vespasian, the lustre of whose many virtues was tarnished by love of +money, a celebrated buffoon (as Suetonius tells us) acted the part of +the emperor,—mimicking, as was customary, the deportment and language +of the deceased. Having asked the managers of the funeral what would +be the amount of its expense, and being answered that it would cost +a sum equivalent to eighty-thousand pounds, he replied, that if they +would give him eight hundred, he would throw himself into the Tiber—for +drowning was thought so revolting a death, that bodies rejected by the +waves were denied sepulture. The bust of the deceased, his warlike +trophies, or decorations of honour, were conspicuously exhibited in +the procession. His family followed the bier, walking bareheaded and +barefooted, with dishevelled hair, and mourning dresses of black; and +after them came bands of hired mourners, male and female, who rent the +air with cries and lamentations. Thus the body was conveyed to the +place of sepulture. + +[E] ‘_Exequîas N., N. filii, quibus est commodus ire, tempus est: ollus +(ille) ex ædibus effertur._’ + +The claims to antiquity vaunted by the Chinese next force upon +attention their provisions against allowing the dead to interfere with +the well-being of the living. As they believe themselves _perfect_, to +alter any one custom is sacrilege punishable with death; hence they +observe the same ceremonies now, that their ancestors did several +thousand years ago. ‘Their tombs and sepulchres,’ says Mr. Sirr, ‘are +always built outside the city walls, and usually upon a hill, which is +planted with cypress and pine trees.’ In China nothing is so offensive +to good breeding as the remotest allusion to death. A number of amusing +periphrases are therefore resorted to when a hint of the subject is +unavoidable; a funeral is called from the kind of mourning used: ‘A +white affair.’ + +In Persia intramural burials are also forbidden. ‘The place of +sepulture,’ says a Persian sage, ‘must be far from dwellings: near it +must be no cultivation; nor the business necessarily attending the +existence of dwellings; no habitation nor population must be near it.’ +This is another ancient injunction in remarkable accordance with one of +the recommendations of our modern sages, the Board of Health. + +The Mahommedans again show much better taste than Christians in their +Mausoleums and burial-places—they never bury in their temples or within +the walls of a town. + +Among the funeral customs of the other inhabitants of the East, that +of burning the dead is of very great antiquity. The Jews adopted it +only in emergencies. When Saul fell on the fatal field of Gilboa, and +his body was left exposed by the enemy, it was burnt by his faithful +followers (1 Samuel, chap, xxxi., v. 11–13). From a passage in the +book of Amos (chap. vi., v. 10), it appears that the bodies of the +dead were burnt in times of pestilence, no doubt on sanitary grounds. +For the same reason, incineration has been habitually perpetuated +in tropical climates, but has been accompanied unhappily with the +most horrible superstitions, particularly in Hindustan, where it is +associated with the self-sacrifice of the widow on the funeral pile of +her dead husband. The origin of this last custom, as a religious rite, +has been the subject of much investigation and discussion among learned +Orientalists; but Colebrooke, in his paper on the ‘Duties of a Faithful +Hindoo Widow,’ in the fourth volume of the _Asiatic Researches_, +has shown that this, among other duties of a faithful widow, is +prescribed by the ancient Sanscrit books of the Bramins. Bernier, the +French traveller, who visited India at the time when this practice +of self-immolation was very general, gives striking descriptions of +several scenes of this kind which he witnessed. The heroine of one +of them was a woman who had been engaged in some love intrigues with +a young Mahommedan, her neighbour, who was a tailor, and could play +finely on the tabor. This woman, in the hopes of marrying her paramour, +poisoned her husband, and then told the tailor that it was time for +them to elope together, as they had projected, as, otherwise, she +should be obliged to burn herself. The young man, fearing lest he +might be entangled in a dangerous affair, flatly refused. The woman, +expressing no surprise, went to her relations and informed them of the +sudden death of her husband, protesting that she would not survive +him, but would burn herself along with him. Her kindred, well satisfied +with so generous a resolution and the great honour thereby done to the +whole family, presently had a pit made and filled with wood, exposing +the corpse upon it, and kindling the fire. All being prepared, the +woman went to embrace and take farewell of all her kindred and friends +who surrounded the pit, among whom was the tailor, who had been invited +to play upon the tabor along with a number of other minstrels, as was +usual on such occasions. The woman, having come to the place where the +young man stood, made a sign as if she would bid him farewell with +the rest; but, instead of gently embracing him, she seized him by the +collar with both hands, dragged him with all her strength to the pit, +into which she threw herself and him together, and both instantly +perished in the flames. + +It was not till a comparatively recent period that the British +Government made any attempt to abolish or check this barbarous custom: +being unwilling, it would seem, to interfere with the religious rites +and usages of the natives. The tardy intervention of the British +Government has at length effectually put an end to the practice; +and the natives themselves, instead of resenting this measure as +a violation of their religion, have (as might have been expected) +universally hailed it as a deliverance from a horrible oppression under +which they groaned, but from which they were unable to emancipate +themselves. + +Throughout the greatest part of the wide region comprehended under the +general name of India, this practice of burning the dead prevails, +except among those who profess Mahommedanism. In the kingdom of Siam, +it is regarded as the most honourable funeral; the bodies of criminals, +and of persons disgraced, being buried. In the Birman empire, burning +is the established practice. + +In colder climates where the necessity for the rapid disposal of +mortality is not so great, cremation has not been prevalent. Among the +Greeks and Romans, it was confined to the wealthier classes, because of +its expensiveness. When the Romans burnt the bodies of the dead, the +ashes were gathered and enclosed in a vase or urn, which was sometimes +deposited in the burial-place of the family, and sometimes preserved +by them in their house. Among the remains of antiquity which have been +found in Britain, and which belong to the period when a large portion +of this country was a Roman province, there are many sepulchral urns +which must have been deposited in the ground, either by the Roman +population of this island, or by the British who adopted the Roman +usages. Some of these urns are described by Sir Thomas Browne, and +later discoveries of a similar kind have been made at different times. +They have been found to contain, not only ashes mixed with half-burnt +human bones, but the remains of combs, beads, and other articles of +dress, and coins, both Roman and British. + +Burning the dead has fallen into disuse in many countries where it once +prevailed, partly because of the expense—fuel diminishing as population +and agriculture increased—and partly, perhaps, because the early +Christians may have thought it less congruous than interment with the +doctrine of the Resurrection. ‘Christians,’ says Sir Thomas Browne, in +his usual quaint style, ‘abhorred this way of obsequies, and, though +they sticked not to give their bodies to be burned in their lives, +detested that mode after death; affecting rather a depositure than +absumption, and properly submitting unto the sentence of God, to return +not unto ashes but unto dust again, conformably unto the practice of +the Patriarchs; the interment of our Saviour, of Peter, Paul, and the +ancient Martyrs.’ In every age, and in every country where Christianity +has prevailed, the burial of the dead has been the unvarying usage. + +Evidence, however, of a desire for another remarkable revival of the +practices of antiquity now lies before us. It is no less than the +prospectus of an association—bearing the recent date of January, +1850—“for Promoting the Practice of Decomposing the Dead by Fire.” +Among other advantages, cheapness is promised. We may mention as some +criterion on this point, that Mr. Ward, the Indian missionary, who had +many opportunities of ascertaining the fact, computed that the smallest +quantity of wood necessary to consume a human body, is about three +hundred weight. + +However averse public feeling may be to this mode of disposing of the +remains of deceased relatives; yet anything is better than crowded city +churchyards and poisoned air. To these a favourable contrast is offered +by even the curious expedients of savage life—of which we now proceed +to take a glance. + +The Parsees or Gabres—the race of fire-worshippers who still exist +in India,—abhor the burning of the dead as a pollution of the Deity +whom they adore. This feeling they appear to have inherited from the +ancient worshippers of fire, the Chaldeans, and the Magi of Persia; +from whom, also, they seem to have derived the custom of exposing +the bodies of the dead to be devoured by dogs, and beasts and birds +of prey. A similar usage exists at this day in the kingdom of Tibet. +‘According to the custom of Tibet,’ says Mr. Turner (Narrative of an +Embassy to Tibet), ‘instead of that pious attention which is paid to +the remains of the dead, in the preservation of their bodies from +pollution, by depositing them in the ground, they are here exposed +after their decease, like the Parsees of India, in the open air, and +left to be devoured by ravens, kites, and other carnivorous birds. +In the more populous parts, dogs also come in for their share of the +prey, and regularly attend the consummation of the last obsequies.’ +The same practice anciently existed among the Colchians, and has been +remarked by modern travellers among the Illinois of North America, and +the savage inhabitants of the Aleutian islands. Even in this revolting +custom we trace a desire—savagely indulged, it is true—to ward off the +bad effects of putrefaction by a speedy disposal of the air-polluting +remains of the dead. + +Among the Caffres, Hottentots, and other savage tribes of Southern +Africa, adjoining the European settlements, it seems to have been +customary to expose aged and helpless people in desert places, and +leave them to die, because of a superstition against any one expiring +in a hut. Intercourse with civilisation is mitigating this and other +barbarities. + +Of the means used to avert the evils of decay by preservation, none +are more singular than those mentioned by Captain Tuckey, as in force +upon the river Congo. The people envelope their corpses in cloth; the +smell of putrefaction being only kept in by the quantity of wrappers. +These are successively multiplied as they can be procured, or according +to the rank of the deceased. The bulk thus attained is only limited by +the power of conveyance to the grave; so that the first hut in which +the body is deposited becoming too small, a second, a third—even to a +sixth—each larger than the former, is placed over it. + +The South American savages run no risks from the putrefying remains +of their dead. The Orinoco tribes fasten them by a rope to the trunk +of a tree on the shore and sink the body in the river. In the course +of four and twenty hours the skeleton is picked perfectly clean by +the fish. Bones alone are reverenced in this part of the world. The +inhabitants of the Pampas and other South American tribes bury only the +bones of the dead, the flesh having been first removed from them: an +operation performed by the women. While the work of dissection is going +on, the men walk round the tent, covered with long mantles, singing +a mournful tune, and striking the ground with their spears, to drive +away the evil spirits. The bones, being prepared, are packed up in a +hide, and conveyed on a favourite horse of the deceased to the family +burial-place, sometimes hundreds of miles distant. Being disposed in +their natural order and tied together so as to form a skeleton, they +are clothed in the deceased’s best attire, and ornamented with beads +and feathers. The skeleton is placed in a sitting posture, with the +carcases of horses, killed—in order that their master may ride them in +the next world—in a pit or grave, which is then covered over. Among all +the customs of unenlightened mankind, there are few more remarkable +than this provision for the material wants of the dead in another state +of existence. In all ages, and in most parts of the world, the dead man +has been sent to his long home, furnished with servants, horses, dogs, +domestic utensils—every article of physical comfort and enjoyment +he is supposed to require. Money has been supplied for his journey, +and even (as among the Jukati of Siberia) food has been put into his +coffin, ‘that he may not hunger on his road to the dwelling of souls.’ +‘As if,’ quaintly remarks an ancient Spanish traveller, ‘the infernal +regions were a long way off.’ But in every instance the corpse has been +so dealt with as to prevent injury to those who still exist. + +It is now time to allude to our own burial customs, and to the great +reform which happily has at length begun. It appears extraordinary, +that amidst the advance which has been made in social and sanitary +science, Great Britain should be the last to give up the unwholesome +custom of continuing the dead as near neighbours to the quick. The +long conservation of this evil has mainly arisen from a sentiment of +the superior sanctity of burial-places in and near to sacred edifices. +That this is, however, an unqualified superstition, it is not difficult +to prove, by tracing it to its root. Joseph Bingham states in his +_Origines Ecclesiasticæ_, that churchyards owe their origin to respect +paid to the remains of saints and martyrs, which was shown first by +building churches and chapels over them, and then by a general desire +of people to be interred as near to their sacred dust as possible. +This privilege was only for a time accorded to Emperors and Kings, but +so early as the sixth century the commonalty were allowed places, not +only under the church wall, but in the consecrated space of ground +surrounding it. Bodies were not deposited within the church till after +a long struggle on the part of the heads of the Church.[F] + +So far from burying in churches, corpses were not admitted into +parish churches, even for the funeral service to be read over them, +except under special circumstances. An interesting canon—the 15th of +the Council of Tribur—runs thus, ‘The funeral service must only be +performed in the church where the bishop resides: that is to say in +the cathedral of the diocese. If that church be too distant, it may be +celebrated in some other, where there is a community of canons, monks, +or religious orders; in order that the deceased may have the benefit +of their prayers. Should again that be impossible, the service may be +performed where the defunct during life paid tythes: this is in his +parish church.’ By a previous canon (one of the Council of Meaux) no +burial fees could be exacted by the clergy, although the relations +were allowed to give alms to the poor. This injunction was but little +observed either at or after the time it was laid, in 845. + +[F] Several canons were issued against this now universal abuse. Among +others, the 18th of the Council of Brague (Portugal) in 563. The 72nd +of the Council of Meaux (845), the 17th of the Council of Tribur, 895, +&c. + +The unwholesome practice of intra-ecclesiastical interment became +general after the 10th century, when the clergy succumbed to the power +of money, and the sale of the indulgence proved too profitable to be +abandoned. To show by what frauds the unhealthy custom was kept up, we +may cite a legend relating to St. Dunstan. An unbaptised son of Earl +Harold having been deposited within the church where the deceased saint +rested, St. Dunstan—so the fable runs—appeared twice to the chaplain +to complain that he could not rest in his grave for the stench of the +young Pagan. Other underground saints were, however, consulted on the +matter, and they silenced St. Dunstan by acquiescing in the abuse. +It therefore not only continued but gave rise to another evil. Tombs +came to be erected, and these became convenient as lurking-places and +rendezvous for various immoral and improper purposes. The Council of +Winchester, in 1240, forbade the holding of markets, gaming and other +iniquities performed among the tombs in churches and cemeteries. But +this injunction was of little avail, as we learn from the History of +St. Paul’s. Duke Humphrey’s Tomb in ‘Paul’s walk’ (the middle aisle of +the Cathedral), was the occasional resort for ages of the idleness and +infamy of London. It was a regular mart and meeting place for huxters, +gossips, gamblers, and thieves. In 1554 the Lord Mayor prohibited the +church to be used for such ‘irreverent’ purposes, under pain of fine. +Still it was not till the great fire that Duke Humphrey’s tomb was +utterly deserted. + +Meanwhile in every part of the country, families who could afford the +expense, were buried inside in preference to outside the various places +of worship, and, until the present year, no effective stop has been +put to the evil. Our French neighbours were before us in this respect. +Inhumation inside churches was forbidden except in rare cases, by a +royal ordinance dated Versailles, 10th March, 1777. We perceive by +the excellent report of Dr. Sutherland to the Board of Health on the +practice of interments in Germany and France, that cemeteries have been +since substituted by law in almost every considerable town in those +countries. It has therefore been continued, almost exclusively in this +empire. + +At last, however, we have good reason to hope that intramural burials, +with all their attendant evils, will speedily be themselves buried with +the barbarous relics of the past. The comprehensive suggestions of the +Board of Health appear to meet every difficulty, and as a strong stream +of common sense has, we hope and believe, set in in favour of funereal +reform, we trust they will pass into the statute book without much +opposition; some they will inevitably encounter, in compliance with the +fixed law of English obstinacy. + +It may console those in whom lingers, from old association, almost a +religious prejudice in favour of churchyards, to be reminded that some +of the most eminent Christians, both lay and clerical, have earnestly +pleaded for extramural cemeteries. Evelyn—the model of a Christian +gentleman—regretted that after the Fire of London advantage had not +been taken of that calamity to rid the city of its burial-places, and +establish a necropolis without the walls. ‘I yet cannot but deplore,’ +says he, in his ‘Silva,’ ‘that when that spacious area was so long +a _rasa tabula_, the churchyards had not been banished to the north +walls of the city, where a grated inclosure of competent breadth for +a mile in length, might have served for an universal cemetery to all +the parishes, distinguished by the like separations, and with ample +walks of trees, the walks adorned with monuments, inscriptions, and +titles, apt for contemplation and memory of the defunct, and that wise +and excellent law of the Twelve Tables renewed.’ The pious Sir Thomas +Browne says quaintly in his ‘Hydriotaphia,’ ‘To live indeed is to be +again ourselves; which being not only a hope but an evidence in noble +believers, ’tis all one to lie in St. Innocent’s Churchyard, as in the +sands of Egypt, ready to be anything in the ecstasy of being ever, and +as content with six foot as the moles of Adrianus.’ + +Would it not then be well to reflect, in the year of our Lord one +thousand eight hundred and fifty, whether any of the best, whether the +very worst custom—considering the state of society in which it has +obtained—is so extraordinary and degrading as that of burying the dead +in the midst of the living, to generate an amount of human destruction, +compared with which the slaughter attendant on an African funeral +is as a drop of water in an ocean. It should be remembered that, in +the barbarous customs we have cited there is always to be traced the +perversion of an idea:—as that the dead man will want food, passage +money, attendants, beasts of burden, something that benighted ignorance +is unable to separate from the wants incidental to this earthly state. +There is no such poor excuse for the custom into which this civilised +age has insensibly lapsed, until its evils have become too great to +bear. The affection which endures beyond the grave is surely more +fitly associated with a tomb in a beautiful solitude than amidst the +clamour and clatter of a city’s streets. If, in submission to that +moral law of gravitation, which renders it difficult to separate our +thoughts of those who have departed from some lingering association +with this earth, we desire to find a resting-place for our dead which +we can visit, and where we may hope to lie when our own time shall +come, reason and imagination alike suggest its being in a spot serenely +sacred to that last repose of so much of us as is mortal, where natural +decay may claim kindred with nature, in her beautiful succession of +decay and renovation, undisturbed by the strife of the brief scene that +has closed. + + Published at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. + Printed by +Bradbury & Evans+, Whitefriars, London. + + + + +Transcriber’s notes + +The original text is followed as much as possible. There are however +some printing errors and inconsistencies in spelling that have been +corrected. These are listed below. + +To represent formatting the following conventions are used: + _word_ means that “word” is in italics; + +word+ means that “word” is in small capitals. + +Corrections + + Page 26 “coal mine” in “the coal mine in which he held a share” and in + “a third share he had in this coal mine” changed to + “coal-mine”, as elsewhere in the text; + Page 27 “Coal-fire” in “Now, then, old Coal-fire” changed to + “Coal fire”, as elsewhere; + Page 32 unmatched double quote behind “Many a one dies is——” replaced + by single quote; + Page 32 “and the very day at after we came” changed to “and the very + day after we came”; + Page 32 missing period added after “Thou ’rt a likely lad, and sure o’ + work”; + Page 33 unmatched double quote before “Ay, if it will come to me.” + replaced by single quote; + Page 35 doubling of “Park” in “and entered St. James’s Park Park” + removed; + Page 37 “Guinea Pig” in “When did _I_ ever tell the Guinea Pig” + hyphenated, as elsewhere; + Page 40 “ploughing match” in “I won a great ploughing match” + hyphenated, as elsewhere; + Page 40 missing opening quote added before “When I was seventeen”; + Page 41 “threshing machine” in “They had been breaking Farmer + Bullivant’s threshing machine” hyphenated, as elsewhere; + Page 41 missing opening quote added before “Here was a blow;”; + Page 42 closing quote removed behind “I refused point blank.”, as the + speaker continues; + Page 42 four asterisks interpreted as thought break; + Page 43 “passage-money” in “with the passage-money of poor men’s + relations” separated, as usual at the time of publication; + Page 44 “burial places” in “great burial places from their chief + cities” hyphenated, as elsewhere; + Page 46 single closing quote behind “for Promoting the Practice of + Decomposing the Dead by Fire.” replaced by double quote, to + match the opening; + Page 48 “the slaughter-attendant on an African funeral” changed to “the + slaughter attendant on an African funeral”; + Page 48 “Published at...Printed by” line combined into one; originally + one was placed under the left column, the other under the right + one. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78099 *** diff --git a/78099-h/78099-h.htm b/78099-h/78099-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e37ceb --- /dev/null +++ b/78099-h/78099-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3872 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <title> + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; +} + +body > p { /* body-level paragraph gets 1st-line indent */ + text-indent: 1em; +} + +p.scene { /* for scene description in dialogue of shadows */ + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 5%; + text-indent: -5%; +} + + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +hr.front { /* on front page only */ + width: 95%; + height: 0.3em; + border-style: double; + margin-left: 2.5%; + margin-right: 2.5%; + margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; +} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + + + + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + + + + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + + + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 10%; + text-indent: 1em; + font-size: 90%; +} + + + + + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + + + + + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + + + + + +/* comment out next line and uncomment the following one for floating figleft on ebookmaker output */ + +/* .x-ebookmaker .figleft {float: left;} */ + + +/* comment out next line and uncomment the following one for floating figright on ebookmaker output */ + +/* .x-ebookmaker .figright {float: right;} */ + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em; } + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +/* .poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} */ + + + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78099 ***</div> + + + + + +<p class="center">“<i>Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS.</i>”—<span class="smcap" style="font-size: 80%;">Shakespeare.</span></p> +<hr> +<h1>HOUSEHOLD WORDS.</h1> + +<p class="center">A WEEKLY JOURNAL.</p> + +<p class="center" + style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; + font-weight: bold; + letter-spacing: 2px;"> +CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. +</p> +<hr class="front"> +<p class="center"> + <span style="word-spacing: 60px;"> + <span style="word-spacing: 0px;">N<sup>o.</sup> 2.]</span> + <span style="word-spacing: 0px;">SATURDAY, APRIL 6, 1850.</span> + <span style="word-spacing: 0px;">[<span class="smcap">Price</span> 2<i>d.</i></span> + </span> +</p> +<hr class="front"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#A_CHILDS_DREAM_OF_A_STAR">A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR.</a><br> +<a href="#THE_TRUE_STORY_OF_A_COAL_FIRE">THE TRUE STORY OF A COAL FIRE.</a><br> +<a href="#LIZZIE_LEIGH">LIZZIE LEIGH.</a><br> +<a href="#WORK_An_Anecdote">WORK! <span class="smcap">An Anecdote.</span></a><br> +<a href="#GOOD_VERSES_OF_A_BAD_POET">GOOD VERSES OF A BAD POET.</a><br> +<a href="#PERFECT_FELICITY">PERFECT FELICITY. IN A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW.</a><br> +<a href="#A_DIALOGUE_OF_SHADOWS">A DIALOGUE OF SHADOWS.</a><br> +<a href="#AN_AUSTRALIAN_PLOUGHMANS">AN AUSTRALIAN PLOUGHMAN’S STORY.</a><br> +<a href="#HEATHEN_AND_CHRISTIAN_BURIAL">HEATHEN <span class="smcap">and</span> CHRISTIAN BURIAL.</a><br> +<a href="#Transcribers_notes">Transcriber’s notes</a> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="A_CHILDS_DREAM_OF_A_STAR"> + A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR. + </h2> + <hr class="r5"> +</div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was once a child, and he strolled +about a good deal, and thought of a number +of things. He had a sister, who was a child +too, and his constant companion. These +two used to wonder all day long. They wondered +at the beauty of the flowers; they +wondered at the height and blueness of the +sky; they wondered at the depth of the +bright water; they wondered at the goodness +and the power of <span class="smcap">God</span> who made the lovely +world.</p> + +<p>They used to say to one another, sometimes, +Supposing all the children upon earth were +to die, would the flowers, and the water, and +the sky, be sorry? They believed they would +be sorry. For, said they, the buds are the +children of the flowers, and the little playful +streams that gambol down the hill-sides are +the children of the water; and the smallest +bright specks, playing at hide and seek in the +sky all night, must surely be the children of +the stars; and they would all be grieved to +see their playmates, the children of men, no +more.</p> + +<p>There was one clear shining star that used +to come out in the sky before the rest, near +the church spire, above the graves. It was +larger and more beautiful, they thought, than +all the others, and every night they watched +for it, standing hand in hand at a window. +Whoever saw it first, cried out, “I see the +star!” And often they cried out both together, +knowing so well when it would rise, +and where. So they grew to be such friends +with it, that, before lying down in their beds, +they always looked out once again, to bid it +good night; and when they were turning +round to sleep, they used to say, “God bless +the star!”</p> + +<p>But while she was still very young, oh very +very young, the sister drooped, and came to be +so weak that she could no longer stand in the +window at night; and then the child looked +sadly out by himself, and when he saw the +star, turned round and said to the patient pale +face on the bed, “I see the star!” and then a +smile would come upon the face, and a little +weak voice used to say, “God bless my brother +and the star!”</p> + +<p>And so the time came, all too soon! when +the child looked out alone, and when there +was no face on the bed; and when there was +a little grave among the graves, not there +before; and when the star made long rays +down towards him, as he saw it through his +tears.</p> + +<p>Now, these rays were so bright, and they +seemed to make such a shining way from +earth to Heaven, that when the child went +to his solitary bed, he dreamed about the +star; and dreamed that, lying where he +was, he saw a train of people taken up that +sparkling road by angels. And the star, +opening, showed him a great world of light, +where many more such angels waited to receive +them.</p> + +<p>All these angels, who were waiting, turned +their beaming eyes upon the people who +were carried up into the star; and some +came out from the long rows in which they +stood, and fell upon the people’s necks, and +kissed them tenderly, and went away with +them down avenues of light, and were so +happy in their company, that lying in his bed +he wept for joy.</p> + +<p>But, there were many angels who did not +go with them, and among them one he +knew. The patient face that once had lain +upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but +his heart found out his sister among all the +host.</p> + +<p>His sister’s angel lingered near the entrance +of the star, and said to the leader among +those who had brought the people thither:</p> + +<p>“Is my brother come?”</p> + +<p>And he said “No.”</p> + +<p>She was turning hopefully away, when the +child stretched out his arms, and cried “O, +sister, I am here! Take me!” and then she +turned her beaming eyes upon him, and it +was night; and the star was shining into the +room, making long rays down towards him as +he saw it through his tears.</p> + +<p>From that hour forth, the child looked out +upon the star as on the Home he was to go +to, when his time should come; and he +thought that he did not belong to the earth +alone, but to the star too, because of his +sister’s angel gone before.</p> + +<p>There was a baby born to be a brother +to the child; and while he was so little +that he never yet had spoken word, he +stretched his tiny form out on his bed, and +died.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p> + +<p>Again the child dreamed of the opened +star, and of the company of angels, and the +train of people, and the rows of angels with +their beaming eyes all turned upon those +people’s faces.</p> + +<p>Said his sister’s angel to the leader:</p> + +<p>“Is my brother come?”</p> + +<p>And he said “Not that one, but another.”</p> + +<p>As the child beheld his brother’s angel in +her arms, he cried, “O, sister, I am here! +Take me!” And she turned and smiled upon +him, and the star was shining.</p> + +<p>He grew to be a young man, and was busy +at his books, when an old servant came to +him, and said:</p> + +<p>“Thy mother is no more. I bring her +blessing on her darling son!”</p> + +<p>Again at night he saw the star, and all that +former company. Said his sister’s angel to +the leader:</p> + +<p>“Is my brother come?”</p> + +<p>And he said, “Thy mother!”</p> + +<p>A mighty cry of joy went forth through all +the star, because the mother was re-united to +her two children. And he stretched out his +arms and cried, “O, mother, sister, and +brother, I am here! Take me!” And they +answered him “Not yet,” and the star was +shining.</p> + +<p>He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning +grey, and he was sitting in his chair by +the fireside, heavy with grief, and with his +face bedewed with tears, when the star opened +once again.</p> + +<p>Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “Is +my brother come?”</p> + +<p>And he said, “Nay, but his maiden +daughter.”</p> + +<p>And the man who had been the child saw +his daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial +creature among those three, and he said +“My daughter’s head is on my sister’s bosom, +and her arm is round my mother’s neck, +and at her feet there is the baby of old time, +and I can bear the parting from her, God +be praised!”</p> + +<p>And the star was shining.</p> + +<p>Thus the child came to be an old man, and +his once smooth face was wrinkled, and his +steps were slow and feeble, and his back was +bent. And one night as he lay upon his bed, +his children standing round, he cried, as he +had cried so long ago:</p> + +<p>“I see the star!”</p> + +<p>They whispered one another “He is dying.”</p> + +<p>And he said, “I am. My age is falling +from me like a garment, and I move +towards the star as a child. And O, my +Father, now I thank thee that it has so +often opened, to receive those dear ones who +await me!”</p> + +<p>And the star was shining; and it shines +upon his grave.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + + + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_TRUE_STORY_OF_A_COAL_FIRE"> + THE TRUE STORY OF A COAL FIRE. + </h2> +<p class="center">IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="r5"> + +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> winter’s evening, when the snow lay +as thick as a great feather-bed all over the +garden, and was knee-deep in the meadow-hollows, +a family circle sat round a huge fire, +piled up with blocks of coal of that magnitude +and profusion which are only seen at houses +in the neighbourhood of a coal-mine. It appeared +as if a tram-waggon had been ‘backed’ +into the room, and half its load of great +loose coal shot out into the enormous +aperture in the wall which lies below the +chimney and behind the fire-place in these +rural abodes. The red flames roared, and the +ale went round.</p> + +<p>The master of the house was not exactly a +farmer, but one of those country personages +who fill up the interval between the thorough +farmer and the ’squire who farms his own +estate,—a sort of leather-legged, nail-shoed +old gentleman, whose elder sons might easily +be mistaken for gamekeepers, and the younger +for ploughboys, but who on Sundays took care +to ‘let un see the difference’ at church. Their +father was therefore never called Farmer +Dalton, but old Mr. Dalton, and almost as +frequently Billy-Pit Dalton—the coal-mine<a id="tn-008"></a> in +which he held a share being named the +‘William Pitt.’ His lands, however, were +but a small matter; his chief property was +a third share he had in this coal-mine, which +was some half a mile distant from the house. +His eldest son was married, and lived close to +the mine, of which he acted as the chartermaster, +or contractor with proprietors for the +work to be done.</p> + +<p>Among the family group that encircled the +huge coal fire was one visitor,—a young man +from London, the nephew of old Dalton. He +had been sent down to this remote coal country +by his father, in order to separate him from +associates who dissipated his time, and from +pursuits and habits that prevented his mind +settling to any fixed occupation and course of +life. Flashley was a young man of kindly feelings +and good natural abilities, both of which, +however, were in danger of being spoiled.</p> + +<p>Various efforts were made from time to +time to amuse the dashing young fellow ‘from +town.’ Sometimes the old gentleman related +the wonders of the coal-mines, and the +perilous adventures of the miners; and on +more than one occasion the curate of the +village endeavoured to interest him in the +grand history of the early world, and especially +of the period of antediluvian forests, +and their various transmutations. All in +vain. He paid no attention to them. If +anything they said made any impression at +all, it was solely due to the subtle texture of +the human mind, which continually receives +much more than it seeks, or has wit enough to +desire.</p> + +<p>‘You don’t find the coal countries quite +so bright and merry as London town, do ye, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>Flashley?’ said old Dalton, with a good-natured +smile.</p> + +<p>‘I can’t say I do, uncle,’ answered the youth, +frankly. ‘As to merriment, that is all very +well at the present moment, in front of that +great family bonfire; but all the rest of the +day—’ and here Flashley laughed with easy +impudence and no small fun; ‘the house +and garden are in a state of dingy mourning, +so are all the roads, and lanes, and hedges,—in +fact, the passage of lines of little black +waggons to and fro, rumbling full of coals, or +rattling by, empty, seems like the chief business +of life, and the main purpose for which +men came into the world.’</p> + +<p>‘And so they be!’ ejaculated old Dalton, +jocosely; ‘so far as these parts are concerned. +You know, Flashley, the world is made up of +many parts, and this be the coal part. We be +the men born to do the world’s work of this +sort; and we can’t very handsomely pass all +our time a-sitting before a shiny fire, and +drinking ale,—though, that’s good o’ nights, +after the work’s done.’</p> + +<p>With this laconic homily, old Billy-Pitt +Dalton rose smiling from his chair, emptied his +mug of ale, and, shaking the young man kindly +by the hand, trudged off to bed. With much +the same sort of smiling ‘good night,’ the sons +all trudged after him. The good dame and +her daughter went last. Flashley remained +sitting alone in front of the great fire.</p> + +<p>He sat in silence for a long time, watching +the fire decline into great dark chasms, black +holes, and rugged red precipices, with grim +smouldering chaotic heaps below.</p> + +<p>A word or two about this young man. +Flashley Dalton had some education, which he +fancied was quite enough, and was very ambitious +without any definite object. His father +had proposed several professions to him, but +none of them suited him, chiefly because, to +acquire eminence in any of them, so long a +time was needed. Besides, none seemed adequate +to satisfy his craving for distinction. +He looked down rather contemptuously on all +ordinary pursuits. The fact was, he ardently +desired fame and fortune, but did not like to +work for either. One of the greatest injuries +his mind had sustained, was from a certain +species of ‘fast literature,’ which the evil +spirit of town-life has squirted into the brains +of our young men during the last three or +four years, whereby he had been taught and +encouraged to laugh at everything of serious +interest, and to seek to find something ridiculous +in all ennobling efforts. If a great +thing was done, he endeavoured to prove it a +little one; if a profound truth was enunciated, +he sought to make it out a lie; to him a new +discovery in science was a humbug; a generous +effort, a job. If he went to see an exhibition +of pictures, it was to sneer at the most original +designs; if to see a new tragedy, it was only +in the hope of its being damned. If a new +work of fiction were admirable, he talked +spitefully of it, or with supercilious patronage; +and as to a noble poem, he scoffed at all such +things with some slang joke at ‘high art;’ +besides, he <i>wrote</i> himself, as many a young +blade now attempts to do, instead of beginning +with a little study and some decent reading. +To Flashley all knowledge was a sort of +absurdity; his own arrogant folly seemed so +much better a thing. He therefore only read +books that were like himself, and encouraged +him to grow worse. The literature of indiscriminate +and reckless ridicule and burlesque +had taught him to have no faith in any sincere +thing, no respect for true knowledge; and this +had well-nigh destroyed all good in his mind +and nature, as it unfortunately has done with +too many others of his age at the present day.</p> + +<p>After sitting silently in front of the fire for +some half an hour, Flashley gradually fell into +a sort of soliloquy, partaking in about equal +degrees of the grumbling, the self-conceited, +the humorous, and the drowsy.</p> + +<p>‘So, they’re all snoring soundly by this +time—all the clodpole Billy Pittites. Uncle’s +a fine old fellow. Very fond of <i>him</i>. As for +all the rest!—Wonder why the mine was +called the William Pitt? Because it is so +black and deep, I suppose. Before <i>my</i> time. +Who cares for him now, or for any of the +bygones! Why should we care for anybody +who went before us? The past ones give +place to the fast ones. That’s <i>my</i> feather.</p> + +<p>‘But a pretty mess I’ve made of my affairs +in London! My father does not know of +half my debts. Hardly know of half of them +myself. Incontinent contractions. Tavern +bills, sixty or seventy pounds—maybe a hundred. +Tailors? can’t calculate. Saloons and +night-larks, owing for—don’t know how much, +besides money paid. Money borrowed, eighty +or ninety pounds. Books—forget—say sixpence. +Like Falstaff’s ha’pennyworth of +bread to all that quantity of sack! Think +I paid ready money for all the light reading, +and young gent’s books.’</p> + +<p>The fire sank lower and lower, and so did +the candles, one of which had just gone out, +and began to send up a curdling stream of +yellow smoke.</p> + +<p>‘What a place this is for coals. What a +smutty face Nature wears! From the house +upwards, all alike,—dull, dusky, and detestable. +Pfeu! Smell of fried mutton fat! +Now, then, old Coal fire<a id="tn-007"></a>, hold up your head. +I’m sleepy myself. This house is more like +a hearse than a dwelling-place for live stock. +The roadway in front of the house is all of +coal-dust; the front of the house is like a +sweep’s, it only wants the dangling sign of +his “brush.” The window-ledges have a +constant layer of black dust over them; so +has the top of the porch; so have the chimney-pieces +inside the house, where all the little +china cups and gimcracks have a round black +circle of coal-dust at the bottom. There is +always a dark scum over the water of the +jug in my bedroom. How I detest this life +among the coals! Where’s the great need +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>of them? Why don’t the stupid old world +burn wood?’</p> + +<p>The fire had by this time sunk to dull red +embers and grey ashes, with large dark +chasms around and behind. The shadows +on the wall were faint, and shifting with +the flickering of the last candle, now dying +in the socket. Flashley’s eyes were closed, +and his arms folded, as he still continued to +murmur to himself. Sooth to say, the ale +had got into his head.</p> + +<p>‘Margery, the housemaid, has large black +eyes, with dark rings of coal-grime round +them. Her hair is also black—her cap like a +mourning mop—and she has worn a black +patch on one side of her nose since last Friday, +when I gave her a handful from the coal-scuttle +for comparing me to the lazy young dog that lay +asleep before the fire. Margery Daw!—you +shall slide down to the lower regions,—on an +inclined plane, as the Useful Knowledge books +would say.</p> + +<p>‘Ale is a good thing when it is strong; but +a coal-mine is all nonsense. Still, they seem +to make money by it, and <i>that’s</i> some excuse—some +reason for men wasting in work lives +which ought to be passed in pleasure. Human +time—human——I thought something +touched my elbow.</p> + +<p>‘Human time should not be passed——why +there it came again! I must be dreaming.</p> + +<p>‘Old Billy-Pitt Dalton understands brewing. +But human time should not be passed in +digging and groping, and diving and searching—whether +to scrape up coals, or what folks +call “knowledge.” For the fuel of life burns +out soon enough of itself, and, therefore, it +should not be wasted over the baser material; +because the former is all for one’s self, while +coal-fuel, and the search after it, is just working +for other people. Something <i>did</i> touch +my elbow! There’s something astir in the +room out in the darkness! It was standing +at my side!’</p> + +<p>Flashley made an effort to rise; but instead +of doing so, he fell sideways over one arm of +the chair, with his arms hanging down. +Staring up helplessly from this position, he +saw a heavy dwarfed figure with shining eyes, +coming out of the darkness of the room! He +could not distinguish its outline; but it was +elf-like, black, and had a rough rocky skin. It +had eyes that shot rays like great diamonds; +and through its coal-black naked body, +the whole of its veins were discernible, not +running with blood, but filled with stagnant +gold. Its step was noiseless, yet its weight +seemed so immense, that the floor slowly bent +beneath it; and, like ice before it breaks, the +floor bent more and more as the figure came +nearer.</p> + +<p>At this alarming sight, Flashley struggled +violently to rise. He did so; but instantly +reeling half round, dropped into the chair, +with his head falling over the back of it. At +the same moment the ponderous Elfin took +one step nearer; and the whole floor sank +slowly down, with a long-drawn moan, that +ended in a rising and rushing wind, with +which Flashley felt himself borne away +through the air, fleeter than his fast-fleeing +consciousness.</p> + +<p>In the progress of generations and cycles—in +that wealth and dispensation of Time ordained +by <span class="smcap">Him</span>, before whose sight ‘one day +is as a thousand years, and a thousand years +as one day’—mere grains of sand running +through the glass that regulates the operations +of never-ending work—the bodies of all living +things, whether animal or vegetable, fulfil +their destinies by undergoing a gradual transmutation +into other bodies and things of the +most opposite kind to their own original being. +Original being, accurately to speak, there is +none; but we must call that thing original to +which some other thing is traced back as to +its ultimate point, or starting place, and at +which we are obliged to stop, not because it is +the end, but because we can go no further; +nevertheless, up to that antediluvian period, +and during a great part of it, we are moving +in the dusky yet demonstrable regions and +tracts of substantial facts, and scientific +knowledge.</p> + +<p>Not daring to unclose his eyes, Flashley gradually +returned to consciousness, and heard a +voice speaking near to him, yet in tones that +seemed like the echoes of some great cavern or +deep mine.</p> + +<p>‘Man lives to-day,’ said the voice—and +the youth felt it was the black Elfin, with the +diamond eyes and golden veins, that was speaking—‘man +lives to-day, not only for himself +and those around him, but also that by his +death and decay fresh grass may grow in the +fields of future years,—and that sheep may +feed, and give food and clothing for the continuous +race of man. Even so the food of one +generation becomes the stone of another. And +the stone shall become a fuel—a poison—or a +medicine. Awake, young man!—awake from +the stupor of an ignorant and presumptuous +youth—and look around you!’</p> + +<p>The young man, with no little trepidation, +opened his eyes. He found he was alone. +The strange being that had just spoken was +gone. He ventured to gaze on the scene that +surrounded him.</p> + +<p>The place in which he found himself seemed +to partake, not in distinct proportions, but +altogether, so far as this was possible, of a +wild forest of strange and enormous trees—a +chaotic jungle—a straggling woodland, and a +dreary morass or swamp, intersected by a dark +river, that appeared to creep towards the sea +which embraced a part of the distant horizon +with a leaden arm. The moist mound whereon +he stood was covered with ferns of various +kinds—the comb-fern, the wedge-fern, the +tooth-fern, the nerve-fern—and of all sizes, +rising from a crumpled crest bursting through +the earth, to plants of a foot high, of several +feet, and thence up to lofty trees of forty or +fifty feet in height, with great stems and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>branching crowns. The green-stemmed and +many-pointed mare’s-tail was also conspicuous +in number and in magnitude; not merely of +two or three feet high, as in the present period +of the earth, but large green-jointed trees, +shooting up their whisking spires to fourteen +or fifteen feet. Thickly springing up in wild +and threatening squadrons over the morass, +they bent their heads in long rows after rows +over the edge of the muddy river, with sullen, +moveless, and interminable monotony. Here +and there, enormous sombre shrubs oppressed +the scene. The collective clumps resembled +the inextricable junction of several of our +thickest-foliaged trees, as though several oaks +had agreed to unite their trunks, and make one—several +beeches, the same—several poplars—several +limes—though not one of them bearing +likeness in trunk or foliage to oak, or +beech, or poplar, or lime, or any known tree +of present date.</p> + +<p>Clumps also were there, of a rank undergrowth, +out of which limp bare stems shot up +to a great height, covered with a sickly white +mealy powder, and terminating, for the most +part, in coarse brown swollen heads, or gigantic +black fingers, varied with dull red bosses at +the tops of the great stems, broken cups, or +red and grey forks and spikes,—a sort of +monstrous club-moss and cup-moss, with +lichens, coarse water-weeds, and water-grasses +at the base.</p> + +<p>Uncouth and terrible as were the forms to +the young man’s eyes, there were some things +not without grace. Large trees, having their +entire trunks and boughs elegantly fluted, +bearing leaves at regular intervals on each +fluting upwards and along every bough, +rose up amidst the disordered vegetation. +Where the leaves had fallen from the lower +part of the trunk, marks were left, like seals, +at regular intervals on the flutings.⁠<a id="FNanchor_A_1" href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> + +<p>In many places, close to the trees just described, +huge tortuous succulent roots⁠<a id="FNanchor_B_2" href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> protruded +from the ground, as if anxious to exchange +their darkness and want of air for the +light, and for the warm atmosphere, attracted +by the strong gases with which it was impregnated.</p> + +<p>Round the feet of the young man lay intertangled +bunches and bundles of wood-weeds, +river-weeds, and other weeds that seemed to +partake equally of the river and the sea; long +rank grasses, sword-like, spear-like, or with +club-like crowns of seeds, and fungi of hideous +shapes, gross, pulpy, like giants’ heads, hairy +and bearded, and sometimes bursting and +sending forth steamy odours that were +scarcely to be borne, and which the youth +felt to be a deadly poison, but that for the +time he, somehow, was endowed with a +‘charmed life.’</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_A_1" href="#FNanchor_A_1" class="label">[A]</a> These trees are known in fossil botany as the <i>Sigillariæ</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_B_2" href="#FNanchor_B_2" class="label">[B]</a> The <i>Stigmaria</i>.</p></div> + +<p>Spell-bound, he turned from these dismaying +sights, to trees that rose to altitudes of from +sixty to eighty feet, having leaves in long +rows upon all the boughs, from which they +shot forth direct, and without the intervention +of any small twigs or other usual connecting +medium of foliage. The same course +of leaves had existed on the trunk, from +which they had fallen as the tree rose up to +maturity, and had left scars or scales, like a +Mosaic ornament, and a sign of their progressive +years.⁠<a id="FNanchor_C_3" href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></p> + +<p>Gazing through and beyond all these lofty +trunks, Flashley beheld in the distance a sort +of palm-like and pine-like trees, standing +against the pale blue sky, which far transcended +all the rest in altitude, and seemed +indeed, here and there, to rise to a hundred +feet above the whole range of other lofty +trees! His eyes ached as he stared at them. +It was not their altitude alone that caused a +painful impression, but the feeling of their +unbroken solitude—a loneliness unvisited by +a single bird, and with nothing between them +and the heavens, to which they seemed to +aspire for ever, and in vain.</p> + +<p>No flowers on any of the trees and shrubs +around him were to be seen—and no fruits. +The tone of colour was grave, sullen, melancholy. +It was a solitude that seemed to feel +itself. Not only no bird was visible, but no +quadruped, insect, creeping thing, or other +form of animal life. The earth was devoted +solely to the production of enormous vegetation.</p> + +<p>To complete the pregnant solemnity of the +scene, there were no sounds of life or motion +in the air; all was silence.</p> + +<p>Looking round with a forlorn and overawed +yet enquiring face, he discerned something +like two keen stars of arrowy light at +the foot of a gigantic fern-tree, at some distance +from him. The darting rays seemed +directed towards him. They were eyes; they +could be nothing else! He presently perceived +that the rough black elfin figure, with the +veins of stagnant gold, was seated there, and +that its eyes were fixed upon him!</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_C_3" href="#FNanchor_C_3" class="label">[C]</a> The <i>Lepidodendron</i>.</p></div> + +<p>‘The scene amidst which you stand,’ said +the Elfin in his echo-like voice, and without +moving from his seat beneath the tree, ‘is the +stupendous vegetation of the elder world. +The trunks and stems of the antediluvian +earth erect their columns, and shoot up their +spires towards the clouds; their dull, coarse +foliage overhangs the swamps, and they drink +in, at every pore, the floating steam impregnated +with the nutriment of prodigies. No animal +life do you behold, for none is of this date, +nor could it live amidst these potent vapours +which feed the vegetation. And yet these +vast trees and plants, this richly poisoned +atmosphere, this absence of all animal life of +man, and beast, and bird, and creeping thing, +is all arranged in due order of progression, +that man may hereafter live, not merely a +savage life, but one civilised and refined, with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>the sense of a soul within—of God in the +world, and over it, and all around it—whereof +comes man’s hope of a future life beyond +his presence here. Thus upward, and thus +onward ever.</p> + +<p>‘And all this monstrous vegetation above +ground shall be cast down and embedded deep +in the dark bowels of the earth, there under +the chemical process of ages to become a fuel +for future generations of men, yet unborn, +who will require it for their advance in civilisation +and knowledge. Yes; these huge +ferns, these trunks, and stems, and towering +fabrics of trees, shall all crash down—sink +deep into the earth with all the rank enfolding +mass of undergrowth—there to be jammed +and mashed up between beds of fiery stone +and grit and clay, and covered with oozy +mud and sand, till stratum after stratum of +varied matter rises above them, and forms a +new surface of earth. On this surface the +new vegetation of the world will commence, +while that of the old lies beneath,—not rotting +in vain, nor slumbering uselessly in darkness, +but gradually, age after age, undergoing transmutation +by the alchemy of Nature, till verdure +becometh veriest blackness, and wood is +changed to coal.</p> + +<p>‘Then man is born, appearing on the earth +only when the earth is ready to receive him, +and minister to his wants. At first he useth +wood for his fuel; but as his knowledge expands +and deepens he penetrates far below +the surface, and there finds forests of fuel +almost inexhaustible, made ready for his various +needs and arts. And when, in far-off +ages, these vast stores become exhausted, +others will be discovered not only of the same +date, but which have been since accumulated; +for the same process of transmutation is constantly +going on. Thus present time always +works for future ages.</p> + +<p>‘Slowly as moves the current in <i>my</i> veins,’—the +Elfin rose up as he said this—‘veins +which seem to your eye to contain a stagnant +gold, but whose metallic current, in its appointed +period of years, performs each several +circulation within me,—yea, slowly as this, +or any other invisible progression, move these +mighty forest trees towards their downward +course, to rise again in coals,—in fire,—and +thence ascend to air. Yes, this invisible +motion is as certain withal, as that immediate +action which mortal nature best can comprehend.’</p> + +<p>As the Elfin uttered these last words, the +great trees around sank with crashing slant +one over the other!—then came rushing, like a +sudden tempest, down upon the earth; and +the young man was overwhelmed with the +foliage, and instantly lost all further consciousness.</p> + +<p>The traveller who has journeyed for many +days across the fertile levels and shining flats +of Holland, must often have bethought him +that all this was surging ocean, but a few +years ago; in like manner, by an inverse +process, the voyager up the Mississippi or +Missouri rivers, or the wayfarer for many +days through the apparently interminable +and dense forests of North America, might +look forward to a period when all these +masses of vegetation would become coal, if +left to be dealt with by the regular process of +nature.</p> + +<p>The rapid advances of civilisation into these +wooded solitudes may prevent the transmutation +to which they were otherwise destined; +and the same may be said of the forests even +on many of the vast tracts, as yet scarcely +trodden by the foot of man, in New Zealand +and Australia; but many other giant forest +tracts exist in unknown regions, which are +destined to follow the law of transmutation, +and secretly become a carbonic fuel for future +ages of discovery.</p> + +<p>But what does young Flashley now behold? +He is aroused from his trance, and is again +conscious of surrounding objects. He is seated, +so that he cannot move, on a little wooden +bench beneath a low wooden shed, such as +labourers ‘knock up’ by way of temporary +shelter in the vicinity of some great works. +Great works are evidently in hand all around +him.</p> + +<p>Labourers with pick-axes and spades came +hurrying to the spot, and began to dig a circular +hole of some seven feet in diameter. +Then came others with a great wooden roller +on a stand, with a thick rope, like a well-rope, +wound round it; and fixing this across the +top of the hole, they let down a basket, ever +and anon, and brought it up filled with earth +and stones. It was evident that they were employed +in sinking a shaft.</p> + +<p>They worked away at a prodigious rate, +the descending baskets continually taking +down men with pickaxes and spades; and next +with carpenter’s tools and circular pieces of +wood-work, with which they made an inner +frame round the sides of the shaft below. +Bricklayers, with hods of bricks, were next let +down in the baskets, and with the support of +the circular frame beneath, they rapidly cased +the inside of the shaft with brickwork up to +the top. More and deeper digging out then +took place—more wooden frame-work below, +with more brickwork round the sides, and gradually +sinking lower and lower. This was +continued again and again, till suddenly loud +cries from below announced some new event. +The diggers had arrived at springs—water was +gushing in upon them!</p> + +<p>Up came the rope and basket with three men +standing up inside and holding on the rope, +and two men and a boy clinging round rope +and basket, and round each other as they best +could, and with no small peril to all. Leaping, +scrambling, or lugged to the side, they relieved +the basket, which rapidly ran down again to +bring up others.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile came labourers heavily trotting +beneath the weight of pumps and pump-gear; +and they rigged up the pump, and as soon as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>all the men and boys were out of the shaft, +up came the water pouring in a thick volume, +now mud-coloured, now clay-coloured, and +now grey and chalky. At length the volume +became less and less, and soon there was no +more. Down again went basket after basket, +with men or boys in them. Flashley shuddered, +as something within him seemed to +say ‘<i>Your</i> turn will come!’ Up came the +clay, and the sand, and the gravel, and the +chalk as before; and soon a mixture of several +earths and stones. Thus did they toil and +toil below and above, winding up and winding +down, till at last a shout of success was heard +faintly echoing from the deep pit beneath, +and presently up came a basket full of broken +limestone, and grit, and red sandstone—and +coals!</p> + +<p>Flashley now observed a great turmoil +above, but all with definite intention, and +preparations for new and larger works. A +steam-engine was fitted up in a small brick +edifice at a hundred yards distance, from +which came a strong rope that passed over a +large drum or broad wheel. The rope was +then extended to the shaft, over the top of +which a small iron wheel was erected; and +over this they carried the rope, which was to +take down men and bring up coals. A larger +measure than the basket, called a <i>corve</i>, was +fastened to this rope by chains, and up and +down it went bringing great heaps of coals +to the surface. After a time, wood-work +and iron-work of various kinds were sent +down, and sledges and trucks with little +wheels; and then broad belts were put round +horses, by means of which they were raised, +kicking and capering wildly in the air, and +staring with horrified eye-balls into the black +abyss, down which they were lowered, every +limb trembling, and their ears sharpened up +to a single hair.</p> + +<p>At this sight Flashley’s ears began to prick +and tingle in sympathy, for he felt that he +should not much longer remain a mere spectator +of these descents into the lower regions +of the earth.</p> + +<p>And now corve after corve full of coals rose +in regular succession from the mine, and +tram-roads were laid down, upon which little +black waggons constantly ran to and fro, +carrying away the coals from the pit’s mouth. +While all this had been going on, a second +shaft was sunk at no great distance; but no +coals were seen to issue from it. It was for +air, and ventilation of the mine.</p> + +<p>The men sometimes went down standing +up in the corve, but generally each man sat in +the loop of a short chain which he hooked on +to the rope; and, in this way, six or seven +went swinging down together in a bunch; +sometimes ten or twelve in a bunch; and +now and then, by some using longer chains +than the others, in a double bunch, amounting +to as many as twenty, men and boys.</p> + +<p>A voice, which seemed to come from beneath +the earth, but which poor Flashley +recollected too well as that of the Elfin who +had carried him so recently into the antediluvian +forests and swamps, now called him +by his name, with a familiarity that made +him shudder. Instantly he found himself +borne away from the wooden shed, and +placed on the brink of the first shaft. A +strange apparatus, composed of a chain with +a loop at bottom, and an iron umbrella +over head, was now attached to the rope by +three chains. It had very much the look +of some novel instrument of torture. Into +this loop Flashley’s legs were placed in a +sitting posture.</p> + +<p>‘Straddle your legs!’ cried an old black-visaged +miner, as the young man was swung +off from the brink, and suspended over the +profound abyss below. Not obeying, and, +indeed, not instantly understanding the uncouth +injunction, Flashley had omitted the +‘straddling;’ in consequence of which the +chain loop clipped him close around, and +pinched his legs together with a force that +would have made him utter a cry, but for the +paramount terror of his position. Down he +went. Round and round went the shaft-wheel +above—faster and faster—and lower and lower +he sank from the light of day between the +dark circular walls of the shaft.</p> + +<p>At first the motion was manifestly rapid. +It took away his breath. It became more +rapid. He gave himself up for lost. But +presently the motion became more smooth, +and more steady—then quite steady, so that +he thought he was by no means descending +rapidly. Presently, again, he fancied he was +not descending at all—but stationary—or, +rather, <i>ascending</i>. It was difficult to think +otherwise. The current of air rising from +below, meeting his swiftly descending body, +gave him this impression.</p> + +<p>He now saw a dim light moving below. It +became stronger, and almost immediately +after he saw three half-naked demons of the +mine, as he thought, who stood ready to receive +him.</p> + +<p>For the first time he ventured to cast a +forlorn look upwards. He beheld the iron +umbrella with a light from beneath flashing +upon it. Again, he turned his eyes below. +He was close down upon the demons. One +of them held a lamp up to his face as he +descended among them. Whereupon these +three demons all uttered a jovial laugh, and +welcomed him.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, <i>where</i> am I?’ exclaimed Flashley, in +utter dismay.</p> + +<p>‘At the first “workings” of the Billy-Pitt +Mine!’ shouted a voice. ‘Steady the +chains!’</p> + +<p>The chains were steadied, and in a moment +Flashley felt himself launched into a new +abyss, down which he descended in utter +darkness, and in utter silence, except from +the rushing of the air-currents, and the occasional +grating of the iron umbrella against the +sides of the shaft.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="LIZZIE_LEIGH"> + LIZZIE LEIGH. + </h2> + <p class="center">IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="r5"> + +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Mother</span>,’ then said Will, ‘why will you +keep on thinking she’s alive? If she were +but dead, we need never name her name again. +We’ve never heard nought on her since +father wrote her that letter; we never knew +whether she got it or not. She’d left her +place before then. Many a one dies is——’<a id="tn-012"></a></p> + +<p>‘Oh my lad! dunnot speak so to me, or my +heart will break outright,’ said his mother, +with a sort of cry. Then she calmed herself, +for she yearned to persuade him to her own +belief. ‘Thou never asked, and thou’rt too +like thy father for me to tell without asking—but +it were all to be near Lizzie’s old place +that I settled down on this side o’ Manchester; +and the very day after<a id="tn-020"></a> we came, I went to +her old missus, and asked to speak a word wi’ +her. I had a strong mind to cast it up to +her, that she should ha’ sent my poor lass +away without telling on it to us first; but she +were in black, and looked so sad I could na’ +find in my heart to threep it up. But I did +ask her a bit about our Lizzie. The master +would have her turned away at a day’s warning, +(he’s gone to t’other place; I hope he’ll +meet wi’ more mercy there than he showed +our Lizzie,—I do,—) and when the missus +asked her should she write to us, she says +Lizzie shook her head; and when she speered +at her again, the poor lass went down on her +knees, and begged her not, for she said it +would break my heart, (as it has done, Will—God +knows it has),’ said the poor mother, +choking with her struggle to keep down her +hard overmastering grief, ‘and her father +would curse her—Oh, God, teach me to be +patient.’ She could not speak for a few minutes,—‘and +the lass threatened, and said +she’d go drown herself in the canal, if the +missus wrote home,—and so—</p> + +<p>‘Well! I’d got a trace of my child,—the +missus thought she’d gone to th’ workhouse +to be nursed; and there I went,—and there, +sure enough, she had been,—and they’d +turned her out as soon as she were strong, +and told her she were young enough to +work,—but whatten kind o’ work would be +open to her, lad, and her baby to keep?’</p> + +<p>Will listened to his mother’s tale with deep +sympathy, not unmixed with the old bitter +shame. But the opening of her heart had +unlocked his, and after a while he spoke.</p> + +<p>‘Mother! I think I’d e’en better go home. +Tom can stay wi’ thee. I know I should stay +too, but I cannot stay in peace so near—her—without +craving to see her—Susan Palmer +I mean.’</p> + +<p>‘Has the old Mr. Palmer thou telled me on +a daughter?’ asked Mrs. Leigh.</p> + +<p>‘Aye, he has. And I love her above a bit. +And it’s because I love her I want to leave +Manchester. That’s all.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Leigh tried to understand this speech +for some time, but found it difficult of interpretation.</p> + +<p>‘Why should’st thou not tell her thou lov’st +her? Thou ’rt a likely lad, and sure o’ work.<a id="tn-021"></a> +Thou ’lt have Upclose at my death; and as +for that I could let thee have it now, and keep +mysel by doing a bit of charring. It seems to +me a very backwards sort o’ way of winning +her to think of leaving Manchester.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh mother, she’s so gentle and so good,—she’s +downright holy. She’s never known a +touch of sin; and can I ask her to marry me, +knowing what we do about Lizzie, and fearing +worse! I doubt if one like her could ever care +for me; but if she knew about my sister, it +would put a gulf between us, and she’d +shudder up at the thought of crossing it. You +don’t know how good she is, mother!’</p> + +<p>‘Will, Will! if she’s so good as thou say’st, +she’ll have pity on such as my Lizzie. If she +has no pity for such, she’s a cruel Pharisee, +and thou ’rt best without her.’</p> + +<p>But he only shook his head, and sighed; +and for the time the conversation dropped.</p> + +<p>But a new idea sprang up in Mrs. Leigh’s +head. She thought that she would go and +see Susan Palmer, and speak up for Will, and +tell her the truth about Lizzie; and according +to her pity for the poor sinner, would she be +worthy or unworthy of him. She resolved +to go the very next afternoon, but without +telling any one of her plan. Accordingly she +looked out the Sunday clothes she had never +before had the heart to unpack since she came +to Manchester, but which she now desired to +appear in, in order to do credit to Will. She +put on her old-fashioned black mode bonnet, +trimmed with real lace; her scarlet cloth +cloak, which she had had ever since she was +married; and always spotlessly clean, she set +forth on her unauthorised embassy. She +knew the Palmers lived in Crown Street, +though where she had heard it she could not +tell; and modestly asking her way, she arrived +in the street about a quarter to four o’clock. +She stopped to inquire the exact number, and +the woman whom she addressed told her +that Susan Palmer’s school would not be +loosed till four, and asked her to step in and +wait until then at her house.</p> + +<p>‘For,’ said she, smiling, ‘them that wants +Susan Palmer wants a kind friend of ours; so +we, in a manner, call cousins. Sit down, +missus, sit down. I’ll wipe the chair, so that +it shanna dirty your cloak. My mother used +to wear them bright cloaks, and they’re right +gradely things again a green field.’</p> + +<p>‘Han ye known Susan Palmer long?’ asked +Mrs. Leigh, pleased with the admiration of +her cloak.</p> + +<p>‘Ever since they comed to live in our street. +Our Sally goes to her school.’</p> + +<p>‘Whatten sort of a lass is she, for I ha’ +never seen her?’</p> + +<p>‘Well,—as for looks, I cannot say. It’s so +long since I first knowed her, that I’ve clean +forgotten what I thought of her then. My +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>master says he never saw such a smile for +gladdening the heart. But may be it’s not +looks you’re asking about. The best thing I +can say of her looks is, that she’s just one a +stranger would stop in the street to ask help +from if he needed it. All the little childer +creeps as close as they can to her; she’ll +have as many as three or four hanging to her +apron all at once.’</p> + +<p>‘Is she cocket at all?’</p> + +<p>‘Cocket, bless you! you never saw a creature +less set up in all your life. Her father’s +cocket enough. No! she’s not cocket any +way. You’ve not heard much of Susan Palmer, +I reckon, if you think she’s cocket. She’s just +one to come quietly in, and do the very thing +most wanted; little things, maybe, that any +one could do, but that few would think on, for +another. She’ll bring her thimble wi’ her, +and mend up after the childer o’ nights,—and +she writes all Betty Harker’s letters to her +grandchild out at service,—and she’s in nobody’s +way, and that’s a great matter, I take +it. Here’s the childer running past! School +is loosed. You’ll find her now, missus, ready +to hear and to help. But we none on us frab +her by going near her in school-time.’</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Leigh’s heart began to beat, and +she could almost have turned round and gone +home again. Her country breeding had made +her shy of strangers, and this Susan Palmer +appeared to her like a real born lady by all +accounts. So she knocked with a timid feeling +at the indicated door, and when it was +opened, dropped a simple curtsey without +speaking. Susan had her little niece in her +arms, curled up with fond endearment against +her breast, but she put her gently down to +the ground, and instantly placed a chair in +the best corner of the room for Mrs. Leigh, +when she told her who she was. ‘It’s not Will +as has asked me to come,’ said the mother, +apologetically, ‘I’d a wish just to speak to +you myself!’</p> + +<p>Susan coloured up to her temples, and +stooped to pick up the little toddling girl. +In a minute or two Mrs. Leigh began again.</p> + +<p>‘Will thinks you would na respect us if +you knew all; but I think you could na help +feeling for us in the sorrow God has put upon +us; so I just put on my bonnet, and came off +unknownst to the lads. Every one says you’re +very good, and that the Lord has keeped you +from falling from his ways; but maybe you’ve +never yet been tried and tempted as some is. +I’m perhaps speaking too plain, but my +heart’s welly broken, and I can’t be choice in +my words as them who are happy can. Well +now! I’ll tell you the truth. Will dreads +you to hear it, but I’ll just tell it you. You +mun know,’—but here the poor woman’s +words failed her, and she could do nothing +but sit rocking herself backwards and forwards, +with sad eyes, straight-gazing into +Susan’s face, as if they tried to tell the tale of +agony which the quivering lips refused to utter. +Those wretched stony eyes forced the tears +down Susan’s cheeks, and, as if this sympathy +gave the mother strength, she went on in a +low voice, ‘I had a daughter once, my heart’s +darling. Her father thought I made too +much on her, and that she’d grow marred +staying at home; so he said she mun go +among strangers, and learn to rough it. She +were young, and liked the thought of seeing +a bit of the world; and her father heard on +a place in Manchester. Well! I’ll not weary +you. That poor girl were led astray; and +first thing we heard on it, was when a letter +of her father’s was sent back by her missus, +saying she’d left her place, or, to speak right, +the master had turned her into the street +soon as he had heard of her condition—and +she not seventeen!’</p> + +<p>She now cried aloud; and Susan wept too. +The little child looked up into their faces, +and, catching their sorrow, began to whimper +and wail. Susan took it softly up, and hiding +her face in its little neck, tried to restrain her +tears, and think of comfort for the mother. +At last she said:</p> + +<p>‘Where is she now?’</p> + +<p>‘Lass! I dunnot know,’ said Mrs. Leigh, +checking her sobs to communicate this addition +to her distress. ‘Mrs. Lomax telled me +she went’——</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Lomax—what Mrs. Lomax?’</p> + +<p>‘Her as lives in Brabazon-street. She +telled me my poor wench went to the workhouse +fra there. I’ll not speak again the +dead; but if her father would but ha’ letten +me,—but he were one who had no notion—no, +I’ll not say that; best say nought. He +forgave her on his death-bed. I dare say I +did na go th’ right way to work.’</p> + +<p>‘Will you hold the child for me one instant?’ +said Susan.</p> + +<p>‘<a id="tn-013"></a>Ay, if it will come to me. Childer used +to be fond on me till I got the sad look on +my face that scares them, I think.’</p> + +<p>But the little girl clung to Susan; so she +carried it upstairs with her. Mrs. Leigh sat +by herself—how long she did not know.</p> + +<p>Susan came down with a bundle of far-worn +baby-clothes.</p> + +<p>‘You must listen to me a bit, and not think +too much about what I’m going to tell you. +Nanny is not my niece, nor any kin to me +that I know of. I used to go out working by +the day. One night, as I came home, I thought +some woman was following me; I turned to +look. The woman, before I could see her face +(for she turned it to one side), offered me +something. I held out my arms by instinct: +she dropped a bundle into them with a bursting +sob that went straight to my heart. It +was a baby. I looked round again; but the +woman was gone. She had run away as +quick as lightning. There was a little +packet of clothes—very few—and as if they +were made out of its mother’s gowns, for +they were large patterns to buy for a baby. +I was always fond of babies; and I had +not my wits about me, father says; for it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>was very cold, and when I’d seen as well as +I could (for it was past ten) that there was no +one in the street, I brought it in and warmed +it. Father was very angry when he came, +and said he’d take it to the workhouse the +next morning, and flyted me sadly about it. +But when morning came I could not bear to +part with it; it had slept in my arms all +night; and I’ve heard what workhouse bringing +up is. So I told father I’d give up going +out working, and stay at home and keep +school, if I might only keep the baby; and +after awhile, he said if I earned enough for +him to have his comforts, he’d let me; +but he’s never taken to her. Now, don’t +tremble so,—I’ve but a little more to tell,—and +maybe I’m wrong in telling it; but I +used to work next door to Mrs. Lomax’s, in +Brabazon-street, and the servants were all +thick together; and I heard about Bessy +(they called her) being sent away. I don’t +know that ever I saw her; but the time would +be about fitting to this child’s age, and I’ve +sometimes fancied it was her’s. And now, +will you look at the little clothes that came +with her—bless her!’</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Leigh had fainted. The strange +joy and shame, and gushing love for the little +child had overpowered her; it was some time +before Susan could bring her round. There +she was all trembling, sick impatience to look +at the little frocks. Among them was a slip +of paper which Susan had forgotten to name, +that had been pinned to the bundle. On it +was scrawled in a round stiff hand,</p> + +<p>‘Call her Anne. She does not cry much, +and takes a deal of notice. God bless you and +forgive me.’</p> + +<p>The writing was no clue at all; the name +‘Anne,’ common though it was, seemed something +to build upon. But Mrs. Leigh recognised +one of the frocks instantly, as being +made out of part of a gown that she and her +daughter had bought together in Rochdale.</p> + +<p>She stood up, and stretched out her hands +in the attitude of blessing over Susan’s bent +head.</p> + +<p>‘God bless you, and show you His mercy +in your need, as you have shown it to this +little child.’</p> + +<p>She took the little creature in her arms, +and smoothed away her sad looks to a smile, +and kissed it fondly, saying over and over +again, ‘Nanny, Nanny, my little Nanny.’ At +last the child was soothed, and looked in her +face and smiled back again.</p> + +<p>‘It has her eyes,’ said she to Susan.</p> + +<p>‘I never saw her to the best of my knowledge. +I think it must be her’s by the frock. +But where can she be?’</p> + +<p>‘God knows,’ said Mrs. Leigh; ‘I dare not +think she’s dead. I’m sure she isn’t.’</p> + +<p>‘No! she’s not dead. Every now and +then a little packet is thrust in under our +door, with may be two half-crowns in it; once +it was half-a-sovereign. Altogether I’ve got +seven-and-thirty shillings wrapped up for +Nanny. I never touch it, but I’ve often +thought the poor mother feels near to God +when she brings this money. Father wanted +to set the policeman to watch, but I said No, +for I was afraid if she was watched she might +not come, and it seemed such a holy thing to +be checking her in, I could not find in my +heart to do it.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, if we could but find her! I’d take +her in my arms, and we’d just lie down and +die together.’</p> + +<p>‘Nay, don’t speak so!’ said Susan gently, +‘for all that’s come and gone, she may turn +right at last. Mary Magdalen did, you know.’</p> + +<p>‘Eh! but I were nearer right about thee +than Will. He thought you would never +look on him again if you knew about Lizzie. +But thou’rt not a Pharisee.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sorry he thought I could be so hard,’ +said Susan in a low voice, and colouring up. +Then Mrs. Leigh was alarmed, and in her +motherly anxiety, she began to fear lest she +had injured Will in Susan’s estimation.</p> + +<p>‘You see Will thinks so much of you—gold +would not be good enough for you to +walk on, in his eye. He said you’d never +look at him as he was, let alone his being +brother to my poor wench. He loves you +so, it makes him think meanly on everything +belonging to himself, as not fit to come near +ye,—but he’s a good lad, and a good son—thou’lt +be a happy woman if thou’lt have +him,—so don’t let my words go against him; +don’t!’</p> + +<p>But Susan hung her head and made no +answer. She had not known until now, that +Will thought so earnestly and seriously about +her; and even now she felt afraid that Mrs. +Leigh’s words promised her too much happiness, +and that they could not be true. At +any rate the instinct of modesty made her +shrink from saying anything which might +seem like a confession of her own feelings to a +third person. Accordingly she turned the +conversation on the child.</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure he could not help loving Nanny,’ +said she. ‘There never was such a good +little darling; don’t you think she’d win +his heart if he knew she was his niece, and +perhaps bring him to think kindly on his +sister?’</p> + +<p>‘I dunnot know,’ said Mrs. Leigh, shaking +her head. ‘He has a turn in his eye like his +father, that makes me——. He’s right down +good though. But you see I’ve never been +a good one at managing folk; one severe look +turns me sick, and then I say just the wrong +thing, I’m so fluttered. Now I should like +nothing better than to take Nancy home with +me, but Tom knows nothing but that his +sister is dead, and I’ve not the knack of +speaking rightly to Will. I dare not do it, +and that’s the truth. But you mun not think +badly of Will. He’s so good hissel, that he +can’t understand how any one can do wrong; +and, above all, I’m sure he loves you dearly.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think I could part with Nancy,’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>said Susan, anxious to stop this revelation of +Will’s attachment to herself. ‘He’ll come +round to her soon; he can’t fail; and I’ll +keep a sharp look-out after the poor mother, +and try and catch her the next time she comes +with her little parcels of money.’</p> + +<p>‘Aye, lass! we mun get hold of her; my +Lizzie. I love thee dearly for thy kindness +to her child; but, if thou can’st catch her for +me, I’ll pray for thee when I’m too near my +death to speak words; and while I live, I’ll +serve thee next to her,—she mun come first, +thou know’st. God bless thee, lass. My +heart is lighter by a deal than it was when I +comed in. Them lads will be looking for me +home, and I mun go, and leave this little sweet +one,’ kissing it. ‘If I can take courage, I’ll tell +Will all that has come and gone between us +two. He may come and see thee, mayn’t +he?’</p> + +<p>‘Father will be very glad to see him, I’m +sure,’ replied Susan. The way in which this +was spoken satisfied Mrs. Leigh’s anxious +heart that she had done Will no harm by +what she had said; and with many a kiss +to the little one, and one more fervent tearful +blessing on Susan, she went homewards.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="WORK_An_Anecdote"> + WORK! <span class="smcap">An Anecdote.</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">A Cavalry Officer</span> of large fortune, who had +distinguished himself in several actions, having +been quartered for a long time in a foreign city, +gradually fell into a life of extreme and incessant +dissipation. He soon found himself so +indisposed to any active military service, that +even the ordinary routine became irksome +and unbearable. He accordingly solicited and +obtained leave of absence from his regiment +for six months. But, instead of immediately +engaging in some occupation of mind and +body, as a curative process for his morbid +condition, he hastened to London, and gave +himself up entirely to greater luxuries than +ever, and plunged into every kind of sensuality. +The consequence was a disgust of +life and all its healthy offices. He became +unable to read half a page of a book, or to +write the shortest note; mounting his horse +was too much trouble; to lounge down the +street was a hateful effort. His appetite +failed, or everything disagreed with him; and +he could seldom sleep. Existence became an +intolerable burthen; he therefore determined +on suicide.</p> + +<p>With this intention he loaded his pistols, +and, influenced by early associations, dressed +himself in his regimental frock-coat and +crimson sash, and entered St. James’s Park<a id="tn-019"></a> +a little before sunrise. He felt as if he +was mounting guard for the last time; +listened to each sound, and looked with +miserable affection across the misty green +towards the Horse Guards, faintly seen in +the distance.</p> + +<p>A few minutes after the officer had entered +the park, there passed through the same gate +a poor mechanic, who leisurely followed in the +same direction. He was a gaunt, half-famished +looking man, and walked with a sad air, +his eyes bent thoughtfully on the ground, +and his large bony hands dangling at his +sides.</p> + +<p>The officer, absorbed in the act he meditated, +walked on without being aware of the +presence of another person. Arriving about +the middle of a wide open space, he suddenly +stopped, and drawing forth both pistols, exclaimed: +‘Oh, most unfortunate and most +wretched man that I am! Wealth, station, +honour, prospects, are of no avail! Existence +has become a heavy torment to me! I have +not strength—I have not courage to endure +or face it a moment longer!’</p> + +<p>With these words he cocked the pistols, +and was raising both of them to his head, +when his arms were seized from behind, and +the pistols twisted out of his fingers. He +reeled round, and beheld the gaunt scarecrow +of a man who had followed him.</p> + +<p>‘What are you?’ stammered the officer, +with a painful air; ‘How dare you to step +between me and death?’</p> + +<p>‘I am a poor hungry mechanic;’ answered +the man, ‘one who works from fourteen to +sixteen hours a day, and yet finds it hard to +earn a living. My wife is dead—my daughter +was tempted away from me—and I am a lone +man. As I have nobody to live for, and have +become quite tired of my life, I came out this +morning, intending to drown myself. But as +the fresh air of the park came over my face, +the sickness of life gave way to shame at my +own want of strength and courage, and I determined +to walk onwards and live my +allotted time. But what are <i>you</i>? Have +you encountered cannon-balls and death in +all shapes, and now want the strength and +courage to meet the curse of idleness?’</p> + +<p>The officer was moving off with some confused +words, but the mechanic took him by the +arm, and threatening to hand him over to the +police if he resisted, led him droopingly away.</p> + +<p>This mechanic’s work was that of a turner, +and he lived in a dark cellar, where he toiled +at his lathe from morning to night. Hearing +that the officer had amused himself with a +little turnery in his youth, the poor artisan +proposed to take him down into his workshop. +The officer offered him money, and +was anxious to escape; but the mechanic +refused it, and persisted.</p> + +<p>He accordingly took the morbid gentleman +down into his dark cellar, and set him to +work at his lathe. The officer began very +languidly, and soon rose to depart. Whereupon, +the mechanic forced him down again on +the hard bench, and swore that if he did not +do an hour’s work for him, in return for +saving his life, he would instantly consign +him to a policeman, and denounce him for +attempting to commit suicide. At this threat +the officer was so confounded, that he at once +consented to do the work.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> + +<p>When the hour was over, the mechanic insisted +on a second hour, in consequence of the +slowness of the work—it had not been a fair +hour’s labour. In vain the officer protested, +was angry, and exhausted—had the heartburn—pains +in his back and limbs—and declared +it would kill him. The mechanic was inexorable. +‘If it <i>does</i> kill you,’ said he, ‘then +you will only be where you would have been +if I had not stopped you.’ So the officer +was compelled to continue his work with an +inflamed face, and the perspiration pouring +down over his cheeks and chin.</p> + +<p>At last he could proceed no longer, come +what would of it, and sank back in the arms +of his persecuting preserver. The mechanic +now placed before him his own breakfast, +composed of a twopenny loaf of brown bread, +and a pint of small beer; the whole of which +the officer disposed of in no time, and then +sent out for more.</p> + +<p>Before the boy who was despatched on this +errand returned, a little conversation had +ensued; and as the officer rose to go, he +smilingly placed his purse, with his card, in +the hands of the mechanic. The poor ragged +man received them with all the composure of +a physician, and with a sort of dry, grim +humour which appeared peculiar to him, and +the only relief of his otherwise rough and +rigid character, made sombre by the constant +shadows and troubles of life.</p> + +<p>But the moment he read the name on the +card, all the hard lines in his deeply-marked +face underwent a sudden contortion. Thrusting +back the purse and card into the officer’s +hand, he seized him with a fierce grip by one +arm—hurried him, wondering, up the dark +broken stairs, along the narrow passage—then +pushed him out at the door!</p> + +<p>‘You are the fine gentleman who tempted +my daughter away!’ said he.</p> + +<p>‘I—<i>your</i> daughter!’ exclaimed the officer.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, my daughter; Ellen Brentwood!’ +said the mechanic. ‘Are there so many men’s +daughters in the list, that you forget her +name?’</p> + +<p>‘I implore you,’ said the officer, ‘to take +this purse. <i>Pray</i> take this purse! If you +will not accept it for yourself, I entreat you +to send it to her!’</p> + +<p>‘Go and buy a lathe with it,’ said the +mechanic. ‘Work, man! and repent of your +past life!’</p> + +<p>So saying, he closed the door in the officer’s +face, and descended the stairs to his daily +labour.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="GOOD_VERSES_OF_A_BAD_POET"> + GOOD VERSES OF A BAD POET. + </h2> +</div> + + +<blockquote> +<p>Few things in Dryden or Pope are finer than these lines +by a man whom they both continually laughed at;—Sir +Richard Blackmore.</p> +</blockquote> +<div> +<p> + <span class="smcap">Exhausted</span> travellers, that have undergone<br> + The scorching heats of Life’s intemperate zone,<br> + Haste for refreshment to their beds beneath,<br> + And stretch themselves in the cool shades of Death. +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + + + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="PERFECT_FELICITY"> + PERFECT FELICITY. + <br> + </h2> + <p class="center"> IN A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW.</p> +</div> +<hr class="r5"> + +<p><span class="smcap">I am</span> the Raven in the Happy Family—and +nobody knows what a life of misery I lead!</p> + +<p>The dog informs me (he was a puppy about +town before he joined us; which was lately) +that there is more than one Happy Family on +view in London. Mine, I beg to say, may +be known by being the Family which contains +a splendid Raven.</p> + +<p>I want to know why I am to be called +upon to accommodate myself to a cat, a mouse, +a pigeon, a ringdove, an owl (who is the +greatest ass I have ever known), a guinea-pig, +a sparrow, and a variety of other creatures +with whom I have no opinion in common. Is +this national education? Because, if it is, I +object to it. Is our cage what they call +neutral ground, on which all parties may +agree? If so, war to the beak I consider +preferable.</p> + +<p>What right has any man to require me to +look complacently at a cat on a shelf all day? +It may be all very well for the owl. My +opinion of <i>him</i> is that he blinks and stares +himself into a state of such dense stupidity +that he has no idea what company he is in. +I have seen him, with my own eyes, blink himself, +for hours, into the conviction that he was +alone in a belfry. But <i>I</i> am not the owl. It +would have been better for me, if I had been +born in that station of life.</p> + +<p>I am a Raven. I am, by nature, a sort of +collector, or antiquarian. If I contributed, in +my natural state, to any Periodical, it would +be The Gentleman’s Magazine. I have a +passion for amassing things that are of no use +to me, and burying them. Supposing such a +thing—I don’t wish it to be known to our +proprietor that I put this case, but I say, +supposing such a thing—as that I took out +one of the Guinea-Pig’s eyes; how could I +bury it here? The floor of the cage is not an +inch thick. To be sure, I could dig through +it with my bill (if I dared), but what would +be the comfort of dropping a Guinea-Pig’s eye +into Regent Street?</p> + +<p>What <i>I</i> want, is privacy. I want to make +a collection. I desire to get a little property +together. How can I do it here? Mr. +Hudson couldn’t have done it, under corresponding +circumstances.</p> + +<p>I want to live by my own abilities, instead +of being provided for in this way. I am stuck +in a cage with these incongruous companions, +and called a member of the Happy Family; +but suppose you took a Queen’s Counsel out +of Westminster Hall, and settled him board +and lodging free, in Utopia, where there +would be no excuse for ‘his quiddits, his +quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks,’ +how do you think <i>he</i>’d like it? Not at all. +Then why do you expect <i>me</i> to like it, and +add insult to injury by calling me a ‘Happy’ +Raven!</p> + +<p>This is what <i>I</i> say: I want to see men do +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>it. I should like to get up a Happy Family +of men, and show ’em. I should like to put +the Rajah Brooke, the Peace Society, Captain +Aaron Smith, several Malay Pirates, Doctor +Wiseman, the Reverend Hugh Stowell, Mr. +Fox of Oldham, the Board of Health, all the +London undertakers, some of the Common +(very common <i>I</i> think) Council, and all the +vested interests in the filth and misery of +the poor, into a good-sized cage, and see how +<i>they</i>’d get on. I should like to look in at ’em +through the bars, after they had undergone +the training I have undergone. You wouldn’t +find Sir Peter Laurie ‘putting down’ Sanitary +Reform then, or getting up in <i>that</i> vestry, +and pledging his word and honour to the +non-existence of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, I +expect! And very happy <i>he</i>’d be, wouldn’t +he, when he couldn’t do that sort of thing?</p> + +<p>I have no idea of you lords of the creation +coming staring at me in this false position. +Why don’t you look at home? If you think +I’m fond of the dove, you’re very much mistaken. +If you imagine there is the least good +will between me and the pigeon, you never +were more deceived in your lives. If you suppose +I wouldn’t demolish the whole Family +(myself excepted), and the cage too, if I had +my own way, you don’t know what a real +Raven is. But if you <i>do</i> know this, why am +<i>I</i> to be picked out as a curiosity? Why don’t +you go and stare at the Bishop of Exeter? +’Ecod, he’s one of our breed, if any body is!</p> + +<p>Do you make me lead this public life because +I seem to be what I ain’t? Why, I don’t +make half the pretences that are common +among you men! You never heard <i>me</i> call +the sparrow my noble friend. When did <i>I</i> +ever tell the Guinea-Pig<a id="tn-009"></a> that he was my +Christian brother? Name the occasion of my +making myself a party to the ‘sham’ (my +friend Mr. Carlyle will lend me his favourite +word for the occasion) that the cat hadn’t +really her eye upon the mouse! Can <i>you</i> say +as much? What about the last Court Ball, +the next Debate in the Lords, the last great +Ecclesiastical Suit, the next long assembly in +the Court Circular? I wonder you are not +ashamed to look me in the eye! I am an +independent Member—of the Happy Family; +and I ought to be let out.</p> + +<p>I have only one consolation in my inability +to damage anything, and that is that I hope +I am instrumental in propagating a delusion +as to the character of Ravens. I have a strong +impression that the sparrows on our beat +are beginning to think they may trust +a Raven. Let ’em try! There’s an uncle of +mine, in a stable-yard down in Yorkshire, +who will very soon undeceive any small bird +that may favour him with a call.</p> + +<p>The dogs too. Ha ha! As they go by, they +look at me and this dog, in quite a friendly +way. They never suspect how I should hold +on to the tip of his tail, if I consulted my own +feelings instead of our proprietor’s. It’s +almost worth being here, to think of some +confiding dog who has seen me, going too near +a friend of mine who lives at a hackney-coach +stand in Oxford Street. You wouldn’t stop +<i>his</i> squeaking in a hurry, if my friend got a +chance at him.</p> + +<p>It’s the same with the children. There’s +a young gentleman with a hat and feathers, +resident in Portland Place, who brings a penny +to our proprietor, twice a week. He wears +very short white drawers, and has mottled +legs above his socks. He hasn’t the least idea +what I should do to his legs, if I consulted +my own inclinations. He never imagines what +I am thinking of, when we look at one another. +May he only take those legs, in their present +juicy state, close to the cage of my brother-in-law +of the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s +Park!</p> + +<p>Call yourselves rational beings, and talk +about our being reclaimed? Why, there isn’t +one of us who wouldn’t astonish you, if we +could only get out! Let <i>me</i> out, and see +whether <i>I</i> should be meek or not. But this +is the way you always go on in—you know +you do. Up at Pentonville, the sparrow says—and +he ought to know, for he was born in a +stack of chimneys in that prison—you are +spending I am afraid to say how much every +year out of the rates, to keep men in solitude, +where they <span class="allsmcap">CAN’T</span> do any harm (that you +know of), and then you sing all sorts of choruses +about their being good. So am I what +you call good—here. Why? Because I can’t +help it. Try me outside!</p> + +<p>You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, the +Magpie says; and I agree with him. If you +are determined to pet only those who take +things and hide them, why don’t you pet the +Magpie and me? We are interesting enough +for you, ain’t we? The Mouse says you are +not half so particular about the honest people. +He is not a bad authority. He was almost +starved when he lived in a workhouse, wasn’t +he? He didn’t get much fatter, I suppose, +when he moved to a labourer’s cottage? He +was thin enough when he came from that +place, here—I know that. And what does +the Mouse (whose word is his bond) declare? +He declares that you don’t take half the care +you ought; of your own young, and don’t teach +’em half enough. Why don’t you then? You +might give our proprietor something to do, I +should think, in twisting miserable boys and +girls <i>into</i> their proper nature, instead of +twisting us out of ours. You are a nice set of +fellows, certainly, to come and look at Happy +Families, as if you had nothing else to look +after!</p> + +<p>I take the opportunity of our proprietor’s +pen and ink in the evening, to write this. I +shall put it away in a corner—quite sure, as +it’s intended for the Post Office, of Mr. Rowland +Hill’s getting hold of it somehow, and +sending it to somebody. I understand he can +do anything with a letter. Though the Owl +says (but I don’t believe him), that the present +prevalence of measles and chicken-pox among +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>infants in all parts of this country, has been +caused by Mr. Rowland Hill. I hope I +needn’t add that we Ravens are all good +scholars, but that we keep our secret (as the +Indians believe the Monkeys do, according to +a Parrot of my acquaintance) lest our abilities +should be imposed upon. As nothing worse +than my present degradation as a member of +the Happy Family can happen to me, however, +I desert the General Freemasons’ Lodge of +Ravens, and express my disgust in writing.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="A_DIALOGUE_OF_SHADOWS"> + A DIALOGUE OF SHADOWS. + </h2> +</div> +<hr class="r5"> + + +<p class="scene">[<i>Scene, Purgatory</i> (1778). The Shades of an Englishman +and a Frenchman are pacing by the side of a gloomy +river.]</p> + +<p> + <i>Englishman.</i> What bustle is here? Can we not groan in peace?</p> +<p> + <i>Frenchman.</i> There are some new arrivals. One, who comes<br> + Straight from the finest kingdom of the earth,<br> + Has caused a vast sensation. Here he is! +</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>The Shade of Voltaire enters.</i></p> + +<p> + <i>Engl.</i> I never saw a ghost so thin as this.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> Good day, Messieurs,—if we may call this day!<br> + Faith, there’s a pleasant warmth about the place.<br> + After our rapid journey thro’ the dark,<br> + With cold winds driving us, and jarring atoms<br> + Whistling about our ears, ’tis not so bad<br> + To reach this hot and twilight land at last.<br> + Sir, if’t be not a liberty, may I ask<br> + For a pinch of charcoal.</p> +<p> + <i>French.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 100px;"> + With much pleasure, sir,</span> +</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Presents his box.</i></p> + +<p style="text-indent: 0;"> + Any news from France?</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 90px;"> + France, sir, is growing young;</span><br> + Thro’ me, and d’Alembert, and Diderot,<br> + And that mad envious watchmaker, who did<br> + Good in his own despite. Before the earth<br> + Shall have swung a dozen times about the sun,<br> + Our dragon’s seed will rise and show some fruit.</p> +<p> + <i>French.</i> We are glad to see you here, sir.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + Without doubt, sir.</span><br> + A strange place this. Our French geographers<br> + Had doubts if such a region were. Nay, some<br> + Proved to the satisfaction of their friends,<br> + That ’twas impossible.</p> +<p> + <i>Eng.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 120px;"> + So most things seem,</span><br> + Until they are discovered.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + That’s well said;</span><br> + Sir, I salute you.</p> +<p> + <i>French.</i> You’ll find some excellent company, Monsieur.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> You have some famous men here,—doubtless, sir.<br> + A priest or two?</p> +<p> + <i>French.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 100px;"> + A few.</span></p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + I thought so, sir.</span><br> + A king perhaps?</p> +<p> + <i>French.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 150px;"> + Oh, plenty. Let me see—</span><br> + One, two, three.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 150px;"> + Sir, spare your arithmetic.</span><br> + I am not curious. Yet, among these last,<br> + There’s surely one who dwelt in Prussia once?<br> + He made bad verses, which I mended. Eh?<br> + One Frederick?</p> +<p> + <i>French.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 60px;"> + Called the Great—</span></p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + By little men.</span><br> + The same: Is he always in the saddle now?</p> +<p> + <i>French.</i> We have no horses here.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 180px;"> + Is ’t so? <i lang="fr">N’importe</i>.</span><br> + A sedan will do for me. Now that I think of it,<br> + Where are your ladies? Any of them from France?</p> +<p> + <i>Eng.</i> Shoals, shoals, sir.<br> + We’ve larger, lighter batches from that land,<br> + Than all the rest o’ the globe.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + I shall be glad</span><br> + To renew friendship with some few of them.<br> + Madame du Châtelet—</p> +<p> + <i>French.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 100px;"> + She was a friend of yours?</span></p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> I had some strong delusion of that sort.<br> + ’Twas when she flattered me. But, tell me, sir,<br> + What time do you dine in this agreeable land?<br> + I feel no appetite.</p> +<p> + <i>Eng.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 100px;"> + We do not dine.</span></p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> Not dine! when do you eat?</p> +<p> + <i>Eng.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + We do not eat.</span></p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> Umph! that is odd. When do you sleep then?</p> +<p> + <i>Eng.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 100px;">Sir,</span><br> + We do not sleep.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 100px;"> + I’ faith, this jest begins</span><br> + To grow a little serious. I thought I knew<br> + Somewhat of most things; but this puzzles me.<br> + Lest I should err again, pray what <i>do</i> you here,<br> + In this most quiet kingdom—all day long?<br> + Nay, day and night? What pastime?—</p> +<p> + <i>Eng.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + We repose!</span><br> + Sometimes we dream; of times and people gone,—<br> + Sometimes of our own country; we retrace<br> + Our course in earthly life; our deeds—</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + I have done</span><br> + Some deeds myself. Perhaps, Monsieur, you have seen<br> + A dictionary of mine, which made some noise?<br> + A fable or two, which told some bitter truths?<br> + A famous poem?—mark me.—</p> +<p> + <i>Eng.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 180px;"> + Your great work,</span><br> + I have read, and much admired.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 200px;"> + The <i>Henriade?</i></span><br> + Sir, you have taste.</p> +<p> + <i>Eng.</i> <span style="position: relative; left: 100px;"> + Not so:—a work less large</span><br> + In bulk; yet greater. ’Twas indeed no more<br> + Than a small memorial; touch’d wi’ the light of Truth,<br> + The strength of Right. Fine Sense and Pity joined,<br> + Begat it. It came forth, midst tears, and scorn,<br> + And burning anger. These inspired your pen<br> + To the argument, when murdered Calas died.</p> +<p> + <i>Volt.</i> You bring me light, sir,—comfort,—almost faith.<br> + The dark thoughts that at times have haunted me,—<br> + The small ambition to be thought a wit,—<br> + The wish to sting my many enemies,—<br> + Seem disappearing. Sir, my thanks! I feel<br> + A warmth about my bosom, and begin<br> + To think that joys dwell not alone on earth,<br> + But some survive even in Purgatory. +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="AN_AUSTRALIAN_PLOUGHMANS"> + AN AUSTRALIAN PLOUGHMAN’S + STORY. + </h2> +</div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> red hot haste to get out of a Colonial +town—where the life was too much like what +I had sailed eighteen thousand miles to avoid,—I +agreed to my Mr. Gumscrew’s terms without +debate. Board and lodging for self and +horse, undertaking to do the light work of +the farm for twelve months without wages. +On these conditions I took up my abode in a +wooden hut thatched with bark, on which any +well-bred short-horn would have looked with +contempt. The sun and moon shone clearly +through the chinks between the weather +boards; my bedstead was a bullock’s hide +stretched over four posts driven into the +ground, a slip of green hide hanging from +wall to wall, formed at once my clothes-horse +and chest of drawers.</p> + +<p>To the great contempt of my companion +and fellow lodger, the overseer, I did put up a +shelf for a few of my books, and drive in a +nail for a small shaving glass, although not +then able to boast a beard. The floor was of +clay, variegated with large holes where the +morning broom had swept too hard. The fire-place, +built of unhewn stone, formed a recess +half the size of our apartment. The kitchen +was detached, and although small, rather +better constructed than our chief hut, for the +cook built it himself, and being an ‘old hand’ +took pains with his special domain.</p> + +<p>If I had been ordered into such a dog-kennel +in England how I should have grumbled, +and devoured my heart, in vain complainings; +but now—it was my own choice, I had <i>hope +before me</i>,—the glorious climate, the elastic +atmosphere made chinks and cracks in walls +of no consequence; and when inclined to +grumble, I thought of the dark den-like +lawyer’s office in which I had wearied away +the last six months of my European life.</p> + +<p>After a few days spent in cantering round +the neighbourhood, I was ready to commence +my light ‘duties.’</p> + +<p>Returning home one evening I stopped my +horse to look at our ploughman breaking up +a fine piece of alluvial flat, which had recently +been cleared and fenced in. He had ten pair +of oxen and a heavy swing plough at work. +There was a man to help him to drive, but his +voice was as good as his hands, and it was a +pleasure to see him, as he turned up a broad +furrow of virgin soil, and halted his team, and +lifted the big plough over the roots of the +stumps that dotted the paddock, as if it had +been a feather weight. Our ploughman, Jem +Carden—Big Jem he was commonly called—was +a specimen of English peasantry such as +we don’t often see in Australia, tall, though a +round shouldered stoop took off something +from his height, large limbed but active, with +a curly fair-haired bullet head, light-blue +good-natured eyes, and hooked nose, large +mouth full of good teeth, a solid chin, a colour +which hard work and Australian sun could +not extract, and an expression of respectful +melancholy good nature that at once prepossessed +me in his favour. He was then in +the prime of life, a perfect master of every +kind of rural work, ploughing, sowing, reaping, +mowing, thatching, breaking-in, and +driving bullocks and horses, and not less an +adept in all Colonial pursuits, for he could do as +much with a saw, an auger, an axe, and an adze +as a European workman with a complete +chest of tools. He was a very good fellow, +too, always ready to help any one at a pinch; +when the stockman broke his leg he walked +twenty miles through the rain, a tropical rain +in bucketfuls, although they had fought the +day before about a dog of Jem’s, the stockman +had been ill using; and yet Big Jem was a +convict, or speaking colonially, ‘a prisoner.’</p> + +<p>About a year after my arrival at the Station, +Mr. Gumscrew having purchased a large +herd of cattle a bargain from a person living +some 200 miles from us, in the Mochi district, +where all the grass was burned up, +determined on sending me for them, as there +was little doing at Springhill, and left me to +choose any one I pleased to accompany me. +I chose Carden.</p> + +<p>We got our horses into the paddock close to +the hut overnight; the next morning, at sunrise, +buckled a blanket, a couple of shirts, a +bag of tea and sugar, a quart pot, and a pair +of hobbles to my saddle, and started in high +spirits.</p> + +<p>Now, living in the Bush, and especially while +travelling, there is not the same distance between +a master and well-behaved man, although +a prisoner, as in towns. From the first +I was interested in the ploughman, so I took +the opportunity of this expedition to learn +more about him.</p> + +<p>We travelled all day from sunrise to sundown, +seldom going off a walk, at which our +horses could do nearly five miles an hour: +toward evening we tried to strike some station +or shepherd’s hut, the whereabouts of +which Jem generally knew by the mixture +of experience and instinct that constitute a +perfect Bushman; if we could not light upon +a hut we camped down near a waterhole, +lighted a fire on some hollow fallen gum-tree, +hobbled out our horses on the pasture near, +put the quart pots to boil, the damper (flour +cake) in the ashes to bake, and smoked our pipes +until all was ready; then rolling up each in his +blanket, slept soundly on the bare ground.</p> + +<p>I think it was on the third day that we +came upon a long stretch of open undulating +country, where the grass scarcely gave back +a sound to our horses’ feet. I dropped the +reins on my little mare’s neck, and began to +fill my pipe; but seeing Carden’s pipe still +stuck in his straw hat, I knew he must be +bankrupt in a Bushman’s greatest luxury, so +handed him my pouch, and said, ‘Come, ride +along side me, and tell me how you came +here; for I cannot imagine how so honest a +fellow ever got into trouble.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>‘Master,’ he answered, ‘I’ll tell you all +the truth; but give me a little time, for my +heart’s full, and it will take us a good three +hours to get across these plains.’ So we +paced on in silence for the space of one pipe, +when he spoke again, and said, ‘Master, excuse +me, but I’m not much of a scholar, and +if you would read me a chapter from this +book, it would do me a power o’ good. I try +sometimes myself to spell it out, but somehow +I can’t see the letters “plain.”’ His eyes +were full of tears as he timidly handed a black +clasped copy of the Bible.</p> + +<p>There was something painful in the emotion +and humbleness of a strong man before me a +stripling alone with him in a desert.</p> + +<p>I took the book from him; on the flyleaf +was written, ‘Lucy Carden on her Marriage +from her friend and pastor the Rev. Charles +Calton,’ and turning it over it opened at the +51st Psalm: instinctively, I began to read +aloud, until I came to the 17th verse, ‘The +sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken +and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not +despise.’ At these words my companion wept +aloud, and murmured, ‘Oh, my poor wife’—and +I, too, I knew not why, also wept.</p> + +<p>Then we rode on in silence for some time; +from a confused reverie I was awakened by +my companion saying in a hoarse voice, +‘Master, I am ready—I can tell you my +story now.</p> + +<p>‘I was born in a village in Hampshire, the +youngest of a large family—the son of labouring +people. As soon as I had strength and +voice enough, I was sent into the fields to +scare the birds from the corn, and at eight +years old, I began to drive plough for my +father, so I got very little schooling but what +I picked up in the winter evenings at a school +kept by an old pensioned soldier. To tell the +truth, I never liked my books when I was +young, for which now I have often need to be +sorry. But I was a strong hearty lad, and +no out-door work came amiss to me. As +soon as I could stand to them, I took hold of +the stilts of the plough, and by the time I +was sixteen, I could do a man’s day’s work.</p> + +<p>‘<a id="tn-022"></a>When I was seventeen I won a great ploughing-match<a id="tn-011"></a>. +Among the young gentlemen that +came to see it was our young ’Squire, that +owned nearly all the parish. He had just +left College, and come into his fortune, for his +father had been dead a many years. He was +so much pleased with what he saw at the +ploughing-match, that he determined to take +the Home Farm into his own hands, and +nothing would serve him but that I must be +his head ploughman; indeed, I believe if I +had understood writing and cyphering, he +would have made me his bailiff,—for he was +a young gentleman that nothing could stop +when he took a fancy into his head. I mind +well when he sent me off at twelve o’clock at +night to London in his own carriage to buy a +team of Suffolk Punches, he had heard of from +a gentleman that was dining with him. Well, +this made a man of me at once. I was as tall +as I am now, and I’m afraid I grew spoiled +with so much good. I was courting my Lucy +at the time. She was the only daughter of +the blacksmith in the next village, and if ever +there was an angel she was one. The parson +and his daughters noticed her a good deal, +because she was clever at her book and sang +so sweetly at church. Her father was a +drunken old chap; her mother had been dead +many years. I used to look out for him when +he came down to our village, as he often did +to drink and play at bowls, and see him safe +over the stiles when he was ill able to walk +straight. Many and many a day, after ploughing +all day, and supping up my horses, have +I walked five miles, half leading, half carrying, +old Johnny Dunn, for the sake of five minutes’ +talk to dear Lucy. Well, one night, in a +wet autumn, I was up at the Hall to take the +’Squire’s instructions; for he loved, when he +had strangers from London, to have me in after +dinner, to give me a glass o’ wine and make +believe of talking farming; old Dunn tried to +get home after an evening’s bouse by a short +cut over a ford I had often led him, missed +his footing, and was found by some lads that +went next morning to take up their night +lines, stone dead—drowned.</p> + +<p>‘There was poor Lucy left all alone in the +world, for her father, who had been a dragoon +farrier, and married one of Parson Calton’s +maid-servants, had no relations in that part of +the country.</p> + +<p>‘I was getting good wages: there was a +cottage and garden, belonging to the ploughman +of the Home Farm, that I had never +taken up, because I had lived with my father. +The ’Squire made me many presents, and I +had saved a little money, made by working +at different things in winter evenings, being +always handy with tools. Well, to make a +long story short, Lucy found her father had +left nothing behind him but a quarter’s pension +he had not had time to drink, a few +pounds due for work, and the furniture of his +cottage. She had nobody to take care of her, +so we moved the furniture to my cottage, and +were married before I was nineteen, and on +the day Parson Calton gave her that Bible, +that never has left me since I left her. Many +people blamed us, and wanted us to wait. +I don’t think good Mr. Calton quite liked it, +but his daughters were well pleased, and gave +Lucy her wedding dress. Oh, God, sir, when +I think upon those days, on two years that +followed, and think of what I am, I wonder +how I live and keep my senses. There was +not a happier couple or prettier cottage in +the county. My working days were not hard, +for I had Lucy to welcome me home; and +then on Sundays, to see her dressed in her +best and walk across the fields to church, +and hear her sing! Why, there was not a +lady in the county could compare with her, +and I have heard many great gentlemen +say so.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> + +<p>‘I had a child, too, a darling little Lucy. +* * * But this was too much happiness to +last; we had been married just two years. +The ’Squire stopped at our cottage, as he was +riding by on his way to London, to settle about +a ploughing-match that he had determined to +make up for the next week, and talked over +a plan for breaking up a lot of old pasture. +A fortnight afterwards the bailiff came down +with a letter in his hand, and said with a grave +face, “Carden, I have some bad news for you; +the ’Squire has determined to give up farming, +and is going to foreign parts. I am to +discharge all the hinds as soon as I can get a +tenant for the farm. You are to be paid up +to Christmas, and you may keep the cottage +until the farm’s let, but I rather think Farmer +Bullivant will take it.”</p> + +<p>‘<a id="tn-023"></a>Here was a blow; we had thought ourselves +provided for for life, and now we had a +home and a living to seek. Farmer Bullivant +would not keep me on, I knew well; he had +his own ploughman, a relation. Well, we +were put to sore straits; but at last I got +another place, although at lower wages, some +distance from my native village. Hard times +came on; wages were lowered again and +again; and at the same time a cry rose up +round the country against the threshing-machines +that were being very much used, +and were throwing a good many poor people +out of work. The people in England, sir, are +not as we are here, sir, a very few words, and +one or two desperate fellows can always lead +them; they are so ignorant, they are ready +for anything when they are badly off.</p> + +<p>‘I went up one night to get my wages, and +behold, when I got me to the farmer’s house, +the bailiffs were in, and he going to be sold up, +and the winter coming on. I walked toward +home half mad; passing by a public-house, +who should be at the door but the ’Squire’s +gamekeeper—he kept him on—and he being +sorry to see me so downcast, for he was a good +kind fellow, though a gamekeeper, would +make me take a glass with him; I think I +had not been in a public-house since I had +been married. The drink and the grief flew +up into my head; before I got home, I fell in +with a crowd of friends and fellow-labourers +holloing and shouting. They had been breaking +Farmer Bullivant’s threshing-machine<a id="tn-001"></a>, +and swore they would not leave one in the +county. I began to try to persuade them to +go away quietly, but they ended by persuading +me; we met a machine, as ill-luck would +have it, on the road just turning into Farmer +Grinder’s stack-yard. We smashed it to +pieces; in the middle of the row the soldiers +came up. I was taken in the act, with about +twenty others; they lodged us in Winchester +gaol the same night. The assizes were +sitting; they tried us in batches, and found +us guilty almost as soon as we came into +court. I never saw my poor wife until the +moment when the judge sentenced me to +transportation for life. I hear her scream +often now; I wake with it in the middle +of the night. We had no time to get +any one to speak to character for us; we +had no lawyer or counsellor. Such poor +people as we were had no friends of any use. +The farmers who knew us were too angry and +too frightened—although some of them were +the first to speak against the threshing-machines. +Good Parson Calton had been +away, ill and dying, or I do not think it +would have happened. For where are we +poor countrymen to look for a friend wiser +than ourselves if the Parson or the ’Squire +does not stand by us?</p> + +<p>‘My wife came to see me in prison, and +wept so we could not talk much; for it was +so quick, so sudden—it seemed like a horrid +dream; for me to be a felon—for me, that +could not strike a blow against any man, except +in fair fight—that never wronged a +living soul out of a farthing—to be the same +as robbers and murderers! Well, I advised +her to get quit of all bits of furniture, and try +to get to service, through the Miss Caltons. +I knew they were not rich, and could not +help except by giving her a good name—by +giving a character to the convict’s wife! We +were to have met again the next day; the +poor soul had walked twenty miles to Winchester, +and a fruit-woman that was in court +took pity on her when she fainted, and gave +her half her bed. But the same night I was +waked up from the first sound sleep I had +had since I was taken, and put into a coach +with a lot of others, with a guard of soldiers, +and sent off to the hulks; and in three days +we sailed for Botany Bay, as they called it in +England. Oh, sir, that time was terrible. +There were many on board that thought +the punishment a pleasure voyage. They +had no wives, no children to love. They had +no good name to lose; they had not lived in +one parish to know and love every stick and +stone in it. They boasted of their villany, +and joked at the disgraceful dress; they only +found fault with the food, and the labour of +helping to stow the ship; I did not care for +the food or the work. They made me a +constable on the voyage, and I landed with a +good character from the surgeon in charge. +I was assigned straight away to Major Z——. +You must have heard, sir, what a terrible +man he was. A rich man that had forgotten +he had once been poor. He had more cattle +and stock of all kinds than he could count; +he starved us, he cursed us, and very few +Mondays passed that he didn’t take up five +or six for a flogging. But he was very glad +to get me and three or four of the same lot, +for it was not often such regular first-rate +husbandmen came into the colony, so we +were better treated than many. For in those +times, if masters could be hard where they +took a spite, still prisoners had a good chance +of getting on. Well, my spirits rose and I +began to have some hope when I found that, +with good luck, I might have my “ticket,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>that would give liberty in the colony, in seven +years, and when I saw so many who had been +prisoners riding about in their carriages, or +driving teams of their own, as good as the +’Squire’s. Indeed, those that had good masters +got on very well, but it was commonly thought +that Major Z—— never parted with a good +man if he could help it. He was sure to +make up some charge and get him flogged, +so as to put off the time for his getting a +<i>ticket of leave</i>.</p> + +<p>‘I had driven oxen at home and soon got +into the ways of the colony, when, one day, +the master came down to see a new piece of +land I had been breaking up near a house he +was building, and was so pleased that he +began to talk quite kindly, although every +second word was an oath, and asked me all +about myself. Well, I told him, and made +bold to say that, as he was going to build a +large dairy, if he would send for my wife +and child we would serve him for any wages +he choose, all the days of our lives. He +turned on me like a tiger, he cursed me, he +told me he wanted no women or brats on his +estate, no canting saints, no parsons, all he +wanted was men that could work, and work +they should. “If, you fool,” he said, “you had +asked for a gallon of rum among the gang +you might have had it, and drowned all your +troubles, but I’ll have no women here, wives +or no wives.”</p> + +<p>‘I think at that moment Satan took possession +of me. I was ready to do anything for +my liberty, or to be free from my tyrant, and +there were tempters enough all round me. +A few days afterwards one of my fellow +servants, an old hand, who had heard the last +part of my master’s speech, came to me in +the evening, and, after telling me that he +supposed I had found out that nothing was +to be got by fair means, that my master was +a rogue, in fact that every one was a rogue +who was not a fool, he began to hint that he +could tell me a way to get my wife out and +my liberty too. I swallowed the bait, I +listened; then he went on to show how with +money anything could be done in the colony, +told me instances of tickets and conditional +pardons, besides escapes managed by bribing, +and then, when I was thoroughly poisoned, +he swore me to secrecy and explained how, +out of a thousand bullocks, a few pair +would never be missed; so that all I had to +do when I took a bullock team to Sydney +was to yoke an extra pair of young bullocks, +making ten or twelve pair, instead of eight +or ten—a butcher, near where the drays generally +stood, was all ready prepared to take and +pay for, as many pair of bullocks as I chose +to drive in. They were worth from 10<i>l.</i> to 12<i>l.</i> +each, and I was to have 6<i>l.</i> for every pair.</p> + +<p>‘I refused point blank.<a id="tn-002"></a> “Well,” he said, “I +rely on your honour not to peach.” He knew +he had caught me. My master took an early +opportunity of having me flogged on a charge +of insolence; the magistrates were two friends +who had been dining with him. My tempter +came to me again, and, on the next opportunity, +I drove in the bullocks and became a +<i>thief</i>. Having begun I could not stop; my +tempter became my tyrant; to drown care I +began to drink and to associate with the old +hands, and then the money, for which I had +resigned body and soul, melted away. What +I saved up I knew not what to do with, and +so I went on getting worse and worse, until +one day, just as I was driving a pair of young +heifers into the butcher’s yard, I was arrested, +tried, and convicted on the evidence of my +fellow-servant, who, having been found out in +another robbery, saved himself by turning on +me. I was sentenced to three years hard +labour in an iron gang on the Blue mountains. +What I suffered in those three years no +tongue can tell. I was coupled with a wretch +who had been a thief from his childhood, a +burglar, and a murderer, but there was one +man, a political prisoner sentenced to the iron +gang for striking his overseer, who saved me, +and spoke words of comfort to me; my term +was shortened a year for rescuing a gentleman +from a bush ranger, and Major Z—— having +left the colony, I was assigned to my present +master. In another year I shall have my +ticket, but what I shall do heaven only knows. +I have had one letter from my wife; she +was living as dairy-maid with one of the Miss +Caltons, who had married a country gentleman; +they were very good to her, and I think +her letter, full of good words, helped to save +me from total ruin. But you, sir, are almost the +only gentleman that has spoken a kind word +to me in the Colony. We live like beasts of +the field, working and well-fed, but nothing +more. On many stations the prisoners don’t +even know when Sunday comes round, and +we die like dogs.’</p> + +<p>Here he paused: and I felt so much affected +by his melancholy story, that I could not at +the time answer him, or offer any words of +comfort.<a id="tn-005"></a></p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>In my various wanderings I lost sight of +Carden for two or three years; but one day +as I was going down to Sydney with a mob +of horses of my own for sale, at a roadside +inn I met Jem Carden, at the head of a +party of splitters and fencers doing some +extensive work in the neighbourhood on a +new station; he was looking thin, haggard, +nervous, and was evidently ashamed to meet +me. In fact he was only just recovering from +a drunken spree; I taxed him with his folly; +he owned it, and showed me the cause. He +could earn with ease at piece-work, from 5<i>l.</i> +to 8<i>l.</i> a week, building stations and stockyards. +Twice he had saved, and paid into +the hands of apparently respectable parties, +40<i>l.</i>, to remit for the passage of his wife and +daughter. The first time the dashing Mr. W—— was +insolvent two days after receiving the +money. In the second instance he was kept +nine months in suspense, and then learned +from England by letter and in the Sydney list +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>of bankrupts, that he had been again swindled. +‘And what,’ he asked, when he had concluded +this tale of pitiful, contemptible robbery, +‘what can a poor fellow do but drink his +cares away, when all striving to be honest +and happy is in vain!’</p> + +<p>I thought, but did not say, how uneven +were the laws that sent Jem to the iron +gang for stealing a bullock, and had no punishment +for those who devoured his hard earnings, +and laughed at him from their carriages. +Thank God, a better system has been established, +and government now charges itself with +the passage money<a id="tn-010"></a> of poor men’s relations.</p> + +<p>But barren sympathy was of little use, so I +turned to the ploughman, and said, ‘What +money have you left?’ ‘About 10<i>l.</i> in the +landlord’s hands; he’s an honest man, although +a publican.’ ‘And what are you to have from +this contract?’ ‘My share will be over 40<i>l.</i>, +and I can get it done in less than six weeks, +working long hours.’ ‘Then hand me over +the 10<i>l.</i>, give me your solemn promise not to +touch anything stronger than Bushman’s tea +for twelve months, and to let me have 30<i>l.</i> out +of your contract when I return this way, and +I will send the money for you.’</p> + +<p>To cut this long story short, I put the business +in the hands of my excellent friend +B******, one of the modern race of Australians, +wealthy, warm-hearted, and liberal, +who was on his way to England. Within a +year the ploughman embraced his wife; they +returned with me to my station, they passed +some years with me, and some eventful scenes, +before the district round me was settled. +They have now a station and farm of their +own; they are growing rich, as all such industrious +people do in Australia, but they have +not forgotten that they once were poor. If +you need a subscription for a church, a school, +or a sick emigrant, you may go to Mr. Carden, +safe of a generous answer. It is Mr. Carden +now; and perhaps that fine little boy may +sit a native Representative in an Australian +Parliament. A tall youth who rides beside +him, is not his son but the orphan child +of a poor prisoner, whom he adopted ‘to +make up in part,’ as he expressed it, ‘for +what happened long ago.’</p> + +<p>Lucy Carden, now the mother of a numerous +brood of Australians, has grown happy and +portly, although you may trace on her mild +features the tide marks of past griefs.</p> + +<p>The last time I saw them I was on my way +to England. ‘Oh, sir,’ said the happy husband +and father, ‘tell the wretched and the +starving how honest, <i>sober</i> labour is sure of a +full reward here. Tell them that here poverty +may be turned to competence, crime to repentance +and happiness. And pray tell the great +gentlemen who rule us that we much need +both preachers and teachers in this wide +Bush of Australia, but that it is <i>virtuous +wives who rule us most</i>, and in a lovely land +make the difference between happiness and +misery.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + + + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="HEATHEN_AND_CHRISTIAN_BURIAL"> + HEATHEN <span class="smcap">and</span> CHRISTIAN BURIAL. + </h2> +</div> +<hr class="r5"> + +<p>If, from the heights of our boasted civilisation, +we take a retrospect of past history, or a +survey of other nations—savage nations included,—we +shall, with humiliation, be forced +to acknowledge that in no age and in no +country have the dead been disposed of so prejudicially +to the living as in Great Britain. +Consigning mortal remains to closely-packed +burial-grounds in crowded cities; covering—scarcely +interring them—so superficially that +exposure sometimes shocks the sentiments, +while the exhalations of putrefaction always +vitiate the air, is a custom which prejudice +has preserved the longest to this land. A +calculation made by Dr. Playfair, and quoted +by the Board of Health in their admirable +report on Burials, estimates the amount of +noxious gases evolved annually from the +metropolitan grave-yards alone at 55.261 cubic +feet per acre. The average of corpses packed +into each acre is 1117; therefore, as 52,000 +interments take place every year, the entire +amount of poison-gas emitted per annum to +enter the lungs of the Londoners, and hasten +their descent to the grave to contribute fresh +supplies for their successors, is 2,572,580 cubic +feet.</p> + +<p>It is our present purpose to see whether +such a fact can be paralleled by researches +into the past or by a short survey of the manners +and customs of existing savage life itself—adding +such of the singular or instructive +funeral ceremonies of the various people as +will prove interesting.</p> + +<p>Among the most ancient records are those +of the Egyptians. The care of that extraordinary +people for their dead, both as to +actual preservation and that they should not +become noxious to the living, has never been +surpassed. This partly arose, it is true, from +a superstitious reverence for the material part +of man; but that superstition doubtless +originated from the wise sanitary regulations +of their early sages. The laws of Leviticus—many +of them instituted to prevent disease +and the depreciation of the species—formed, +in like manner, a main part of the religion of +the Jews.</p> + +<p>The ancient Egyptians believed that the +soul would return, after the lapse of ages, to +inhabit, in this world, the same body from +which it had been separated by death. In +this belief commenced the process of embalming +by which the bodies of that people have +been preserved with wonderful integrity to the +present day. To so extraordinary a point had +the antiseptic art been brought that, as appears +from Diodorus, there was a mode of +preservation which ensured the retaining of +the eyebrows, eyelashes, and the general external +character of the person, who could be +recognised by their form and features. +‘Whence,’ says Dr. Pocock, in his Travels +through Egypt, ‘many of the Egyptians kept +the bodies of their ancestors in houses [but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>never near their own residences] adorned at a +very great expense, and had the pleasure to +see their forefathers, who had been dead many +years before they were born, and to observe +all their features as well as if they were living.’ +The painter’s art has in modern times superseded +these curious picture galleries.</p> + +<p>Another peculiarity could not have been due +to superstition, but to a more rational care of +the living than we at present evince, namely, +the distance of their great burial-places<a id="tn-006"></a> from +their chief cities. The Nile intervened; the +Necropoli, including the range of stupendous +pyramids, were formed on the western, while +the most considerable towns were on the +eastern bank of that river. Diodorus gives +an interesting account of the ceremonies arising +out of this wise arrangement.</p> + +<p>‘Those who prepare to bury a relative, give +notice of the day intended for the ceremony, +to the Judges and all the friends of the deceased, +informing them that the body will +pass over the lake of that district, or that part +of the Nile, to which the dead belonged; +when, on the Judges assembling to the number +of more than forty, and ranging themselves +in a semicircle on the further side of +the lake, the vessel provided for this purpose +is set afloat. It is guided by a pilot called in +the Egyptian language, <i>Charon</i>; and hence +they say that Orpheus, travelling in old times +into Egypt, and seeing this ceremony, formed +the fable of the infernal regions, partly from +what he saw, and partly from invention. The +vessel being launched on the lake, before the +coffin which contains the body is put on board, +the law permits all who are so inclined, to +bring forward an accusation against it. If any +one steps forth, and proves that the deceased +had led an evil life, the Judges pronounce +sentence, and the body is precluded from +burial; but if the accuser is convicted of +injustice in his charge, he himself incurs a +considerable penalty. When no accuser appears, +or when the accusation is proved to be +false, the relations present change their expressions +of sorrow into praises of the dead.’ +The author adds, that many kings had been +judicially deprived of the honours of burial +by the indignation of their people; and that +the dread of such a fate had the most salutary +influence on the lives of the Egyptian +sovereigns.</p> + +<p>Two singular coincidences will occur to the +reader on perusing this passage:—A <i>postmortem</i> +trial, precisely similar to that described +above, forms part of the Roman Catholic +ritual of Canonising a Saint. Before +the defunct can be inscribed in the Calendar, +a person appears to set forth all the involuntary +candidate’s sins and backslidings during +life; and if these be of a venal character he +is rejected. This officer is called ‘The Devil’s +advocate.’ Secondly, the ancient Egyptian and +excellent system of funereal water conveyance +is, it would appear, to be revived. In the +Report of the Board of Health, dated two +thousand years later than that of Diodorus +Siculus, the most extensive new burial-place +recommended, is to be on the borders of the +Thames; and one of the Board’s propositions +runs thus:—</p> + +<p>‘That, considering the river as a highway +passing through the largest extent of densely-peopled +districts, the facilities for establishing +houses of reception on its banks, the conveniences +arising from the shorter distances +within the larger portion of the same area for +the removal of the bodies to such houses of +reception, the advantages of steam boat conveyance +over that by railway in respect to +tranquillity, and the avoidance of any large +number of funerals at any one point, at any +one time, and of any interference with common +traffic and with the throng of streets; +and, lastly, taking into account its great comparative +cheapness, it is desirable that the +chief metropolitan cemetery should be in some +eligible situation accessible by water carriage.’</p> + +<p>The case of the Jews is stronger than that +of the Egyptians, as showing saner modes of +burial than we have so long persisted in. +They had no especial regard for the mere +body, except as the temple of the soul; hence, +a burial-place was, with them, <i>the house of +the living</i>; an expression finely implying that +death is the parent of immortal life. Their +cemeteries were always in sequestered spots. +In the 23rd chap. of Genesis we find that +Abraham, when his wife Sarah died, desired +a family burying-ground from the tribe among +whom he lived:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>‘And Abraham stood up from before his dead, +and spake unto the sons of Heth, saying,</p> + +<p>‘I am a stranger and a sojourner with you; give +me possession of a burying-place with you, that I +may bury my dead <i>out of my sight</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>A ready consent was given, and he was +offered the choice of their sepulchres. But +this did not satisfy him: he wished to obtain +the Cave of Machpelah, and the field in which +it lay, from Ephron, the son of Zohar. The +generous proprietor offered it as a gift, but +the Patriarch purchased it. Thus the first +transference on record of real property was +the acquisition, in perpetuity, by the patriarch +Abraham, of a family burying-ground especially +selected for its seclusion.</p> + +<p>Nor was the classic heathen of a more +western clime less mindful of public health +in his modes of disposing of the dead. +The Romans, being largely indebted to the +Greeks for their science, literature, arts, and +habits of life, of course adopted their funeral +ceremonies; and one general description may +suffice for those of both. By law of the +Twelve Tables, burial was prohibited within +the city of Rome, and therefore cemeteries +were provided without the walls.⁠<a id="FNanchor_D_4" href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_D_4" href="#FNanchor_D_4" class="label">[D]</a> ‘<i lang="la">Hominem Mortuum in urbe ne sepelito neve urito.</i>’</p></div> + +<p>Immediately after the death, the body was +washed, anointed with aromatic unguents, +and sometimes embalmed. It was shrouded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>in fine linen; white with the Greeks and +black with the Romans. If the departed was +a person of rank, he was clothed in his garments +of ceremony, kept for seven days during +the preparations for the funeral, and lay in +state in the vestibule of his house, at the door +of which were placed branches of pine or +cypress, together with the hair of the deceased, +which had been consecrated to the +infernal deities. In Rome, between death and +burial seven days elapsed. The funeral was +attended by the friends and relatives of the +deceased, who were bidden by a herald, pronouncing +the invitation:—‘It is time for +whoever wishes, to go to the funeral of N. son +of N.; who is now to be borne from home.’⁠<a id="FNanchor_E_5" href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a></p> + +<p>The remains of persons who had done +service to the state were honoured by the +attendance of public officers, and sometimes +the procession was followed by large bodies +of the people. According to one of the laws +of Solon, the Athenians carried out the bodies +of the dead before sunrise, especially the +young, in order that the orb of day might not +throw his light on so sad a spectacle, or by +his heat induce decomposition prematurely. +The body was laid on a bier, crowned with +flowers, and having the face exposed. The +bier was followed by the funeral procession, +among whom, at Roman funerals, there was +often a <i>mime</i>, or buffoon, wearing the dress +of the deceased, and giving satirical imitations +of his bearing and manners. At the +funeral of the Emperor Vespasian, the lustre +of whose many virtues was tarnished by love +of money, a celebrated buffoon (as Suetonius +tells us) acted the part of the emperor,—mimicking, +as was customary, the deportment +and language of the deceased. Having asked +the managers of the funeral what would be +the amount of its expense, and being answered +that it would cost a sum equivalent to eighty-thousand +pounds, he replied, that if they +would give him eight hundred, he would +throw himself into the Tiber—for drowning +was thought so revolting a death, that bodies +rejected by the waves were denied sepulture. +The bust of the deceased, his warlike trophies, +or decorations of honour, were conspicuously +exhibited in the procession. His family followed +the bier, walking bareheaded and barefooted, +with dishevelled hair, and mourning +dresses of black; and after them came bands +of hired mourners, male and female, who rent +the air with cries and lamentations. Thus the +body was conveyed to the place of sepulture.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_E_5" href="#FNanchor_E_5" class="label">[E]</a> ‘<i lang="la">Exequîas N., N. filii, quibus est commodus ire, tempus est: +ollus (ille) ex ædibus effertur.</i>’</p></div> + +<p>The claims to antiquity vaunted by the +Chinese next force upon attention their provisions +against allowing the dead to interfere +with the well-being of the living. As they +believe themselves <i>perfect</i>, to alter any one +custom is sacrilege punishable with death; +hence they observe the same ceremonies now, +that their ancestors did several thousand years +ago. ‘Their tombs and sepulchres,’ says Mr. +Sirr, ‘are always built outside the city walls, +and usually upon a hill, which is planted with +cypress and pine trees.’ In China nothing is +so offensive to good breeding as the remotest +allusion to death. A number of amusing periphrases +are therefore resorted to when a hint +of the subject is unavoidable; a funeral is +called from the kind of mourning used: ‘A +white affair.’</p> + +<p>In Persia intramural burials are also forbidden. +‘The place of sepulture,’ says a Persian +sage, ‘must be far from dwellings: near it +must be no cultivation; nor the business necessarily +attending the existence of dwellings; +no habitation nor population must be near +it.’ This is another ancient injunction in +remarkable accordance with one of the recommendations +of our modern sages, the Board of +Health.</p> + +<p>The Mahommedans again show much +better taste than Christians in their Mausoleums +and burial-places—they never bury +in their temples or within the walls of a town.</p> + +<p>Among the funeral customs of the other +inhabitants of the East, that of burning the +dead is of very great antiquity. The Jews +adopted it only in emergencies. When Saul +fell on the fatal field of Gilboa, and his body +was left exposed by the enemy, it was burnt +by his faithful followers (1 Samuel, chap, xxxi., +v. 11–13). From a passage in the book of +Amos (chap. vi., v. 10), it appears that the +bodies of the dead were burnt in times of pestilence, +no doubt on sanitary grounds. For the +same reason, incineration has been habitually +perpetuated in tropical climates, but has been +accompanied unhappily with the most horrible +superstitions, particularly in Hindustan, where +it is associated with the self-sacrifice of the +widow on the funeral pile of her dead husband. +The origin of this last custom, as a +religious rite, has been the subject of much +investigation and discussion among learned +Orientalists; but Colebrooke, in his paper on +the ‘Duties of a Faithful Hindoo Widow,’ in +the fourth volume of the <i>Asiatic Researches</i>, +has shown that this, among other duties of a +faithful widow, is prescribed by the ancient +Sanscrit books of the Bramins. Bernier, the +French traveller, who visited India at the +time when this practice of self-immolation +was very general, gives striking descriptions +of several scenes of this kind which he witnessed. +The heroine of one of them was a +woman who had been engaged in some love +intrigues with a young Mahommedan, her +neighbour, who was a tailor, and could play +finely on the tabor. This woman, in the +hopes of marrying her paramour, poisoned her +husband, and then told the tailor that it was +time for them to elope together, as they had +projected, as, otherwise, she should be obliged +to burn herself. The young man, fearing lest +he might be entangled in a dangerous affair, +flatly refused. The woman, expressing no +surprise, went to her relations and informed +them of the sudden death of her husband, protesting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>that she would not survive him, but +would burn herself along with him. Her +kindred, well satisfied with so generous a +resolution and the great honour thereby done +to the whole family, presently had a pit made +and filled with wood, exposing the corpse upon +it, and kindling the fire. All being prepared, +the woman went to embrace and take farewell +of all her kindred and friends who surrounded +the pit, among whom was the tailor, who had +been invited to play upon the tabor along with +a number of other minstrels, as was usual on +such occasions. The woman, having come to +the place where the young man stood, made a +sign as if she would bid him farewell with the +rest; but, instead of gently embracing him, +she seized him by the collar with both hands, +dragged him with all her strength to the pit, +into which she threw herself and him together, +and both instantly perished in the flames.</p> + +<p>It was not till a comparatively recent period +that the British Government made any attempt +to abolish or check this barbarous +custom: being unwilling, it would seem, to +interfere with the religious rites and usages of +the natives. The tardy intervention of the +British Government has at length effectually +put an end to the practice; and the natives +themselves, instead of resenting this measure +as a violation of their religion, have (as might +have been expected) universally hailed it as a +deliverance from a horrible oppression under +which they groaned, but from which they +were unable to emancipate themselves.</p> + +<p>Throughout the greatest part of the wide +region comprehended under the general name +of India, this practice of burning the dead +prevails, except among those who profess Mahommedanism. +In the kingdom of Siam, it +is regarded as the most honourable funeral; +the bodies of criminals, and of persons disgraced, +being buried. In the Birman empire, +burning is the established practice.</p> + +<p>In colder climates where the necessity for +the rapid disposal of mortality is not so +great, cremation has not been prevalent. +Among the Greeks and Romans, it was +confined to the wealthier classes, because of +its expensiveness. When the Romans burnt +the bodies of the dead, the ashes were gathered +and enclosed in a vase or urn, which +was sometimes deposited in the burial-place +of the family, and sometimes preserved by +them in their house. Among the remains of +antiquity which have been found in Britain, +and which belong to the period when a large +portion of this country was a Roman province, +there are many sepulchral urns which +must have been deposited in the ground, +either by the Roman population of this island, +or by the British who adopted the Roman +usages. Some of these urns are described by +Sir Thomas Browne, and later discoveries of +a similar kind have been made at different +times. They have been found to contain, not +only ashes mixed with half-burnt human +bones, but the remains of combs, beads, and +other articles of dress, and coins, both Roman +and British.</p> + +<p>Burning the dead has fallen into disuse in +many countries where it once prevailed, partly +because of the expense—fuel diminishing as +population and agriculture increased—and +partly, perhaps, because the early Christians +may have thought it less congruous than +interment with the doctrine of the Resurrection. +‘Christians,’ says Sir Thomas Browne, +in his usual quaint style, ‘abhorred this way +of obsequies, and, though they sticked not to +give their bodies to be burned in their lives, +detested that mode after death; affecting +rather a depositure than absumption, and +properly submitting unto the sentence of +God, to return not unto ashes but unto dust +again, conformably unto the practice of the +Patriarchs; the interment of our Saviour, of +Peter, Paul, and the ancient Martyrs.’ In +every age, and in every country where Christianity +has prevailed, the burial of the dead +has been the unvarying usage.</p> + +<p>Evidence, however, of a desire for another +remarkable revival of the practices of antiquity +now lies before us. It is no less than +the prospectus of an association—bearing the +recent date of January, 1850—“for Promoting +the Practice of Decomposing the +Dead by Fire.”<a id="tn-003"></a> Among other advantages, +cheapness is promised. We may mention as +some criterion on this point, that Mr. Ward, +the Indian missionary, who had many opportunities +of ascertaining the fact, computed +that the smallest quantity of wood necessary +to consume a human body, is about three +hundred weight.</p> + +<p>However averse public feeling may be +to this mode of disposing of the remains +of deceased relatives; yet anything is better +than crowded city churchyards and poisoned +air. To these a favourable contrast is offered +by even the curious expedients of savage life—of +which we now proceed to take a glance.</p> + +<p>The Parsees or Gabres—the race of fire-worshippers +who still exist in India,—abhor +the burning of the dead as a pollution of the +Deity whom they adore. This feeling they +appear to have inherited from the ancient +worshippers of fire, the Chaldeans, and the +Magi of Persia; from whom, also, they seem +to have derived the custom of exposing the +bodies of the dead to be devoured by dogs, +and beasts and birds of prey. A similar +usage exists at this day in the kingdom of +Tibet. ‘According to the custom of Tibet,’ +says Mr. Turner (Narrative of an Embassy +to Tibet), ‘instead of that pious attention +which is paid to the remains of the dead, in +the preservation of their bodies from pollution, +by depositing them in the ground, they +are here exposed after their decease, like the +Parsees of India, in the open air, and left to +be devoured by ravens, kites, and other carnivorous +birds. In the more populous parts, +dogs also come in for their share of the prey, +and regularly attend the consummation of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>last obsequies.’ The same practice anciently +existed among the Colchians, and has been +remarked by modern travellers among the +Illinois of North America, and the savage +inhabitants of the Aleutian islands. Even +in this revolting custom we trace a desire—savagely +indulged, it is true—to ward off the +bad effects of putrefaction by a speedy disposal +of the air-polluting remains of the dead.</p> + +<p>Among the Caffres, Hottentots, and other +savage tribes of Southern Africa, adjoining +the European settlements, it seems to have +been customary to expose aged and helpless +people in desert places, and leave them to +die, because of a superstition against any +one expiring in a hut. Intercourse with +civilisation is mitigating this and other +barbarities.</p> + +<p>Of the means used to avert the evils of +decay by preservation, none are more singular +than those mentioned by Captain Tuckey, as +in force upon the river Congo. The people +envelope their corpses in cloth; the smell of +putrefaction being only kept in by the quantity +of wrappers. These are successively multiplied +as they can be procured, or according +to the rank of the deceased. The bulk thus +attained is only limited by the power of conveyance +to the grave; so that the first hut in +which the body is deposited becoming too +small, a second, a third—even to a sixth—each +larger than the former, is placed over it.</p> + +<p>The South American savages run no risks +from the putrefying remains of their dead. +The Orinoco tribes fasten them by a rope to +the trunk of a tree on the shore and sink the +body in the river. In the course of four and +twenty hours the skeleton is picked perfectly +clean by the fish. Bones alone are reverenced +in this part of the world. The inhabitants of +the Pampas and other South American tribes +bury only the bones of the dead, the flesh +having been first removed from them: an +operation performed by the women. While +the work of dissection is going on, the men +walk round the tent, covered with long +mantles, singing a mournful tune, and +striking the ground with their spears, to +drive away the evil spirits. The bones, being +prepared, are packed up in a hide, and conveyed +on a favourite horse of the deceased to +the family burial-place, sometimes hundreds +of miles distant. Being disposed in their +natural order and tied together so as to form +a skeleton, they are clothed in the deceased’s +best attire, and ornamented with beads and +feathers. The skeleton is placed in a sitting +posture, with the carcases of horses, killed—in +order that their master may ride them in +the next world—in a pit or grave, which is +then covered over. Among all the customs of +unenlightened mankind, there are few more +remarkable than this provision for the material +wants of the dead in another state of existence. +In all ages, and in most parts of the world, +the dead man has been sent to his long home, +furnished with servants, horses, dogs, domestic +utensils—every article of physical comfort and +enjoyment he is supposed to require. Money +has been supplied for his journey, and even +(as among the Jukati of Siberia) food has +been put into his coffin, ‘that he may not +hunger on his road to the dwelling of souls.’ +‘As if,’ quaintly remarks an ancient Spanish +traveller, ‘the infernal regions were a long +way off.’ But in every instance the corpse has +been so dealt with as to prevent injury to +those who still exist.</p> + +<p>It is now time to allude to our own burial +customs, and to the great reform which +happily has at length begun. It appears +extraordinary, that amidst the advance which +has been made in social and sanitary science, +Great Britain should be the last to give +up the unwholesome custom of continuing +the dead as near neighbours to the quick. +The long conservation of this evil has mainly +arisen from a sentiment of the superior +sanctity of burial-places in and near to sacred +edifices. That this is, however, an unqualified +superstition, it is not difficult to prove, by +tracing it to its root. Joseph Bingham states +in his <i>Origines Ecclesiasticæ</i>, that churchyards +owe their origin to respect paid to the remains +of saints and martyrs, which was shown first +by building churches and chapels over them, +and then by a general desire of people to be +interred as near to their sacred dust as possible. +This privilege was only for a time +accorded to Emperors and Kings, but so +early as the sixth century the commonalty +were allowed places, not only under the +church wall, but in the consecrated space of +ground surrounding it. Bodies were not +deposited within the church till after a long +struggle on the part of the heads of the +Church.⁠<a id="FNanchor_F_6" href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a></p> + +<p>So far from burying in churches, corpses +were not admitted into parish churches, even +for the funeral service to be read over them, +except under special circumstances. An interesting +canon—the 15th of the Council of +Tribur—runs thus, ‘The funeral service must +only be performed in the church where the +bishop resides: that is to say in the cathedral +of the diocese. If that church be too distant, +it may be celebrated in some other, where +there is a community of canons, monks, or +religious orders; in order that the deceased +may have the benefit of their prayers. Should +again that be impossible, the service may be +performed where the defunct during life paid +tythes: this is in his parish church.’ By a +previous canon (one of the Council of Meaux) +no burial fees could be exacted by the clergy, +although the relations were allowed to give +alms to the poor. This injunction was but +little observed either at or after the time it +was laid, in 845.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_F_6" href="#FNanchor_F_6" class="label">[F]</a> Several canons were issued against this now universal +abuse. Among others, the 18th of the Council of Brague +(Portugal) in 563. The 72nd of the Council of Meaux (845), +the 17th of the Council of Tribur, 895, &c.</p></div> + +<p>The unwholesome practice of intra-ecclesiastical +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>interment became general after the +10th century, when the clergy succumbed to +the power of money, and the sale of the +indulgence proved too profitable to be abandoned. +To show by what frauds the unhealthy +custom was kept up, we may cite a +legend relating to St. Dunstan. An unbaptised +son of Earl Harold having been deposited +within the church where the deceased saint +rested, St. Dunstan—so the fable runs—appeared +twice to the chaplain to complain +that he could not rest in his grave for the +stench of the young Pagan. Other underground +saints were, however, consulted on +the matter, and they silenced St. Dunstan +by acquiescing in the abuse. It therefore +not only continued but gave rise to another +evil. Tombs came to be erected, and these +became convenient as lurking-places and +rendezvous for various immoral and improper +purposes. The Council of Winchester, +in 1240, forbade the holding of markets, +gaming and other iniquities performed among +the tombs in churches and cemeteries. But +this injunction was of little avail, as we learn +from the History of St. Paul’s. Duke Humphrey’s +Tomb in ‘Paul’s walk’ (the middle +aisle of the Cathedral), was the occasional +resort for ages of the idleness and infamy of +London. It was a regular mart and meeting +place for huxters, gossips, gamblers, and +thieves. In 1554 the Lord Mayor prohibited +the church to be used for such ‘irreverent’ +purposes, under pain of fine. Still it was not +till the great fire that Duke Humphrey’s tomb +was utterly deserted.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile in every part of the country, +families who could afford the expense, were +buried inside in preference to outside the +various places of worship, and, until the +present year, no effective stop has been put +to the evil. Our French neighbours were +before us in this respect. Inhumation inside +churches was forbidden except in rare cases, +by a royal ordinance dated Versailles, 10th +March, 1777. We perceive by the excellent +report of Dr. Sutherland to the Board of +Health on the practice of interments in +Germany and France, that cemeteries have +been since substituted by law in almost +every considerable town in those countries. +It has therefore been continued, almost exclusively +in this empire.</p> + +<p>At last, however, we have good reason to +hope that intramural burials, with all their +attendant evils, will speedily be themselves +buried with the barbarous relics of the past. +The comprehensive suggestions of the Board +of Health appear to meet every difficulty, and +as a strong stream of common sense has, we +hope and believe, set in in favour of funereal +reform, we trust they will pass into the statute +book without much opposition; some they +will inevitably encounter, in compliance with +the fixed law of English obstinacy.</p> + +<p>It may console those in whom lingers, from +old association, almost a religious prejudice in +favour of churchyards, to be reminded that +some of the most eminent Christians, both lay +and clerical, have earnestly pleaded for extramural +cemeteries. Evelyn—the model of a +Christian gentleman—regretted that after +the Fire of London advantage had not been +taken of that calamity to rid the city of its +burial-places, and establish a necropolis without +the walls. ‘I yet cannot but deplore,’ says +he, in his ‘Silva,’ ‘that when that spacious +area was so long a <i>rasa tabula</i>, the churchyards +had not been banished to the north +walls of the city, where a grated inclosure of +competent breadth for a mile in length, might +have served for an universal cemetery to all +the parishes, distinguished by the like separations, +and with ample walks of trees, the +walks adorned with monuments, inscriptions, +and titles, apt for contemplation and memory +of the defunct, and that wise and excellent +law of the Twelve Tables renewed.’ The +pious Sir Thomas Browne says quaintly in +his ‘Hydriotaphia,’ ‘To live indeed is to be +again ourselves; which being not only a hope +but an evidence in noble believers, ’tis all one +to lie in St. Innocent’s Churchyard, as in the +sands of Egypt, ready to be anything in the +ecstasy of being ever, and as content with six +foot as the moles of Adrianus.’</p> + +<p>Would it not then be well to reflect, in the +year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred +and fifty, whether any of the best, whether +the very worst custom—considering the state +of society in which it has obtained—is so +extraordinary and degrading as that of +burying the dead in the midst of the living, +to generate an amount of human destruction, +compared with which the slaughter attendant<a id="tn-024"></a> +on an African funeral is as a drop of water in +an ocean. It should be remembered that, in +the barbarous customs we have cited there is +always to be traced the perversion of an +idea:—as that the dead man will want food, +passage money, attendants, beasts of burden, +something that benighted ignorance is unable +to separate from the wants incidental to this +earthly state. There is no such poor excuse +for the custom into which this civilised age +has insensibly lapsed, until its evils have become +too great to bear. The affection which +endures beyond the grave is surely more fitly +associated with a tomb in a beautiful solitude +than amidst the clamour and clatter of a city’s +streets. If, in submission to that moral law +of gravitation, which renders it difficult to +separate our thoughts of those who have departed +from some lingering association with +this earth, we desire to find a resting-place +for our dead which we can visit, and where +we may hope to lie when our own time shall +come, reason and imagination alike suggest +its being in a spot serenely sacred to that +last repose of so much of us as is mortal, +where natural decay may claim kindred with +nature, in her beautiful succession of decay +and renovation, undisturbed by the strife of +the brief scene that has closed.<a id="tn-004"></a></p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Published at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand. +Printed by <span class="smcap">Bradbury & Evans</span>, Whitefriars, London.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_notes"> + Transcriber’s notes + </h2> + +<p>The list of articles at the start of the book was added +by the transcriber.</p> + +<p>The original text is followed as much as possible. There are however some printing errors and inconsistencies in spelling that have been corrected. These are listed below.</p> + +<p>Corrections</p> + +<ul> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-008">26</a> “coal mine” in “the coal mine in which he held a share” and in + “a third share he had in this coal mine” changed to + “coal-mine”, as elsewhere in the text;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-007">27</a> “Coal-fire” in “Now, then, old Coal-fire” changed to + “Coal fire”, as elsewhere;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-012">32</a> unmatched double quote behind “Many a one dies is——” replaced + by single quote;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-020">32</a> “and the very day at after we came” changed to + “and the very day after we came”;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-021">32</a> missing period added after “Thou ’rt a likely lad, and sure + o’ work”;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-013">33</a> unmatched double quote before “Ay, if it will come to me.” + replaced by single quote;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-019">35</a> doubling of “Park” in “and entered St. James’s Park Park” + removed;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-009">37</a> “Guinea Pig” in “When did <i>I</i> ever tell the Guinea Pig” + hyphenated, as elsewhere;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-011">40</a> “ploughing match” in “I won a great ploughing match” + hyphenated, as elsewhere;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-022">40</a> missing opening quote added before “When I was + seventeen”;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-001">41</a> “threshing machine” in “They had been breaking Farmer + Bullivant’s threshing machine” hyphenated, as elsewhere;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-023">41</a> missing opening quote added before “Here was a blow;”;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-002">42</a> closing quote removed behind “I refused point blank.”, as the + speaker continues;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-005">42</a> four asterisks interpreted as thought break;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-010">43</a> “passage-money” in “with the passage-money of poor men’s + relations” separated, as usual at the time of publication;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-006">44</a> “burial places” in “great burial places from their chief + cities” hyphenated, as elsewhere;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-003">46</a> single closing quote behind “for Promoting the Practice of + Decomposing the Dead by Fire.” replaced by double quote, to + match the opening;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-024">48</a> “the slaughter-attendant on an African funeral” changed to + “the slaughter attendant on an African funeral”;</li> + <li>Page <a href="#tn-004">48</a> “Published at...Printed by” line combined into one; originally one was placed under the left column, the other under the right one.</li> +</ul> +</div> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78099 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78099-h/images/cover.jpg b/78099-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..21743f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/78099-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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