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BY CHARLES READE, Author of ^^FoulPlay^y^CHHmOanntr " Tke lln, Stnke,'^ ^^Har4 <^<^^" ''Put Youmlf in ffit Place- dkc. dUNTER, ROSE AND COMPANY 1872. \ pp \%1Z Bntered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year ono thousand eight hundred and seventy-two, by Chakles Keade, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture. TOBOinro: nilimiD BY nUNTBK, KOSB ASD 00 11' i.\' i; ■ < ii I THE WANDERING HEIR, I Chapter i, Vix^re fortes ante ortSna. NE raw windy day, in the Spring of 172G, there was a strange buzzing by the side of a public road in the very lieart of old Ire- land. It came from a gi-eat many boys, seated by the roadside, plying their books and slates ; with here and there a neighbourly prod, fol- lowed by invectives, whispered — for the Pedagogue was marching up and down the line with a keen eye, and an immensely long black ruler well known to the back and limbs of the scholars, except three or four, whose fathers asked him to dine on poultry, or butcher's meat, whenever those rarities were at the fire. The school-room stood opposite, and still belched through its one window the peat smoke that had driven out the hive. There was a chimney ; but so constructed, that, on a windy day, the smoke pooh-poohed it, and sought the sky by vents more congenial to the habits of the nation. T^»e boys were mostly farmers' sons, in long frieze coats, 4 THE WANDERING HEIR, breeches loose at the knee, clouted shoes tied with strips of raw neat-skiu, and slovenly caubeens ; but there was a sprinkling of broad-cloth, plain three-cornered hats, and shoe-buckles ; there were also five or six barefooted ur- chins, not the worst scholars there ; for this strange anom- alous people, with many traits of the pure savage, haa been leaders in mediaeval literatui'e, had founded the Uni- versity of Paris, and had still a noble reverence for learning ; the humblest would struggle to pay a sharp boy's schooling, and so qualify him for business, perhaps for the priesthood itself, pinnacle of an Irish peasant's ambition. Aloof from this motley line stood a single, timid figure a boy with delicate skin, and exquisite golden hair ; his face pale, and anxious. He wore a straight-cut coat, scarlet once, but now a rusty red, no hat, shoes with steel buckles — and holes. This decayed little gentleman peered anx- iously round a corner of the building, and, as soon as ever the school broke up with horrid yells, ran and hid himself. Too late ; one quick young eye had seen him ; and, while the rest dispersed, — two or three galloping off on rough ponies, neck or nought, in a style to set their un- fortunate mothers screaming to the Saints, — a little party of five, eager for diversion on the spot where they had suffered study, chased that golden-haired boy, with an -appalling whoop. Fear gave him wings ; but numbers prevailed ; they caught him, and plagued him sore ; jibed hun, poked him, pinched him, got him by the head and legs, and flogged a tree with him, and, in the exuberance THE frANDEKING HEIR. of their gay hearts, pumped on his head till he gasped, and cried for mercy — in vain. " That is foul play — fi v^e to one," said a cheerful voice — crick, crack, crick, crack, crack, — and in a moment Mas- ter Matthews, one of the superior scholars, made all five heads ring with a light shillelah, but not a grain of malice ; only he was a jroroising young cudgel player, and must be diverted as well as the younger ones. The obstrep- erous mirth turned, with ludicrous swiftness, to yells of dismay ; but the warlike spirit of the O'Tooles and the O'Shaugbnessies soon revived ; the Pedagogue and his solitary servant Norah ran out staring, just in time to see battle arrayed with traditionary skill ; here a crescent of five, armed with stones, there Master MatUiews, with a tree at his back, the lid of a slop-pail for shield, and a shillelah for sword, grinding his teeth, and looking dan- gerous, the fair-haired boy, clasping his hands, apart. " Och, ye disperadoes ! ye murtherin villins ; what is this at all ? " cried Mr Hoolaghan. Then each side set to work to talk him over. " Ma.sther avick," whined the army, " he broke our heads, and kilt us with his murtherin shillelah, the maraudin villin in- tirely." " Master dear, they were five to one, torminting the life out of this little boccawn. Why didn't ye catch up a flint and crack their skulls like nuts at Hallowe'en ? " " Och ! hear to the fungaleering ruffin ! " And five hands were lifted high in a moment, each armed with a pebl>le. THE Ik'ANDERlNG lIElll Then the Pedagogue grew warm, and gave them what he called his " tall English." " The first that rises a hand I'll poolverize um. Lay down your bellicose weapons, ye insurrectionary thaves, or Norah shall perforate ye — bring the spit out, wench — and transfix ye to the primises, while I fiagollate ye by dozens, till the blood pours down yer heels ; lay down yer sprig of homicide, and stand on it this minit, ye vagabone, or I'll baste you with the kitchen poker, till your back is coorant jelly and your head is a mashed turnup," Mrs. Malaprop observed, in the next generation, that " there is nothing so conciliating to young people as a little severity," and so it proved even in this : the weapons ■were laid down ; and then Matthew Hoolaghan, changing at once to the most affectionate and dulcet tones, said, " Now, honeys, we'll discoorse the matter, not like the barbarian voolgar, that can only ratiocinate with a blud- geon, but like good Chrischins and rale Piripatetic philosophers that I have insensed in polite laming, multi- plication, and all the humanities, glory be to God. Spake first, ye omadhaun, ye causa titirrima belly ; and revale your crime." " Masther, sir," said the victim, " I never done no crime They do be always torminting me. I never offinded them. Spake the truth now ; did iver I offind you ? " " Sowl, ye did thin. Masther, dear, h^ok at um : he's got a Protestant face." "Oh, fie! my fathei- is a good Catholic, isn't he then ^ Birr' TUE irANDERING UEtR. 7 The Pedagogue took fright at this turn. "Och, murther! murther! " he shrieked, "ye contrary divils, would ye im- port the apple o' discord, an' set my two parishes cracking skulls and starving me ? Would ye conflagrate the Tim- pie of the Muses, with ojum Theologicum ? The first that divarges to controvarsial polimics in this Acad- imy, I'll go to my brother the Priest, and have him exkim- minicated alive. Face ! it is a likely face enough I'm thinkin'." "It's the purtiest in the school, ony way," said Norah — the argument having now come within her scope — " and a dale the clanest." Whereupon one of Vnese ready imps reminded her it was the oftenest pumped on. Said another, " He shouldn't pretind to be a Lord's SOD then, the little glorigoteen." "•But I am a Lord's son," said the boy stoutly. Then tbiire was a roar of derision. But the boy persisted that he was Lord Althara's son, and half the County of Wex- ford belonged to his father. Both sides appealed to the master; but he only said " Hum! " So Norah put in her word, and said the boy had been brought there by ^ great Lord in a coach and six ; and the Lord had kissed him ten- derly, and called him his darling Jemmy, in her sight and hearing. Mr. Hoolaghan admitted all that, but said, "If he was my Lord's real son, would my Lord leave his board, lodging, and schooling, unpaid, these fourteen months?" "Divil a one of him !" replied an urchin, with the modest prompti- tude of his tribe. THE WANDERING UMlh. i , Jemmy was himself struck by this argument. " Alas, then," said he, " I fear he must be dead. He was always good to me before. T was never away from him in all my life, till now. Norah, when we were at Kinna, I had a little horse, and boots, and rode with him a hunting. I went to a day-school then, and mine was t^^^^ only laced hat in the school. I have brought it here." " Thrue for you, ma bouchal," said Norah, " and by the same token 'twas that thief o' the world, Tim Doolan, that stripped it, and gave the lace to his cross-eyed wench, bad luck to the pair of 'em." "Oh ! master!" cried James all of a sudden, clasping his hands, "you that knows everything, tell me, is my father dead? The only friend I have. Ochoon ! Ochoon ! " " Nay, nay," said Hoolagan, touched by the cry of des- pair, "Jemmy avick, if Lord Altham is your father, ye needn't cry, and wring your hands; for he is alive, bad cess to him ; my cousin seen him in Dublin a sennight ago spinding money like wather, and divil a tinpenny has he paid me this fourteen months." " Masther, sir," said Jemmy, firmly, " How far is it to Dublin, av ye plase?" " A hundre miles and more." "Then I'll go to him there, sir." There was an ironical shout. " Give me a good male to start on, and 1'U go ; for I'm a lost boy here ; and I'm ashamed to be in this place an' him not paying for me, like the rest." Now this sudden resolution was quite agreeable to Hool- .1 THE WANDERING HE III f Agan. Nor ah took the boy into the kitchen, to feed him for the journey. The cubs began to feel rather sorry ; for they were thoughtless, not bad-hearted ; they scraped together fourpence, for his journey. Norah gave him an old hat, and kisses, and a word of feminine advice. " Ma bouchal," said she, " wheniver you are in trouble, spake to the wo- men; they will be 2/our best friends; but keep clear of your own colour — not intirely — only brown women, and ;; 1- low women, is more prifirabler, by raison you are fail-, liiij an angel herself." The boys set him on his road a mile ; then tLto])pBd, and blessed him, and a-lrcu his forgivenesa, being, to tell * ho truth, now q"nking in the shoes of superstition, last lie should put " the hard word" on them at parting, and him "a piece of an orphan," as the biggest remarked. But his nature was too gentle for that: he forgave them, and blessed them, and they all kissed him, and he kissed them, and the}^ went their way. But Matthews would go another mile with him. At parting, he said, "Tell me God's truth. Are ye that Lord's son ? " "Indeed then I am, sir." "I wish I had known before. Let me look at thee well. I wonder whether I shall ever meet thee again, purty Jemmy." ^' Indeed and I hope so, sir ; for you are all the friend I iver had in this place." '•' Jemmy, it seems hard, to make friends o:;e afternoon, and then to part forever," said the elder boy, philosophis'ng. Jemmy's heart was swelling already; and, at this, the 10 THE WANDERING HEIR. ! 1 lonely boy began to cry piteously. Then Matthews blub- ered right out; and so they cried together, and kissed one another many times, and James Annesley began his wan- derings. He walked on till dusk, and saw a small farm : he went by Norah's advice ; made straight up to the farmer's wife, and asked her leave to sleep on the premises. She looked him full before she answered; gave him some potatoes and buttermilk, and let him sleep in a litt e barn. He walked on the next day, and fared much the same ; but, by the third day, he got footsore, and could only limp along ; but he persevered : he sometimes, got a lift on a 2art, and sometimes, when a farmer's wife, or daugh- ter, on horseback, overtook him, he would appeal to her, especially if she was dark ; and, true it was, the dark wo- men, of whom were plenty in Ireland, would generally take him up and give him a ride, before, or behind, as mio'ht be most convenient. Still creeping on, he got into a county where the people had faces unlike those he had left behind, and both men and women wore long frieze cloaks, and the women linen head- dresses, and sometimes a handkerchief over that : and he limped into a village whore was a sort of fair ; but he had no money left to spend, and he sat down on the shaft of a cart, disconsolate, and, seeing others so merry, began to weep with fatigue, himger, and sorrow. By-and-bye a man saw him and asked him what ailed him : and he told his sad case. " Nay, then, sir," said the man, " you must come to the O'Brien." He iook him to a little old man THE WANDERING HEIR. 11 exceedingly shabby, on a little white horse; he doffed his caubeen, and said, " An' it plase your honor's worship this is a gintleman's son in throuble ; he's hunting his own fa- ther — glory be to God." "Who is your father, friend ?" asked the O'Brien. "An please your worship, he is my Lord Altham." The O'Brien made a wry face. " That is not Oirish," said he. " Some mushroom Lord ; may be one of William's men." "Nay, sir: he is a good Catholic. Glory be to the Saints." By this time there was a bit of a crowd collected, to hear; but the dialogue was interrupted by a simple fellow, who had lost his wife ; he burst in wildlj'-, crying, " Arrah, people did ye see Mary Sullivan, a tall woman, a 1 tall yellow woman, not very yellow intirely, with a white pipe in her cheek.?" They roared at him ; buthe justrushed I on, repeating that strange formula. The fair rang with jit. Well, the little scare-crow, descended from Ireland's [Kings, took Jemmy home on his saddle bow. Caubeens [were lifted in the village, wherever this decayed noble passed. He told the boy the whole county belonged to lim and his ancestors, and he should sup and sleep where he liked. Finall}'^, he showed him a large mansion, and u :;abin, not far apart ; let him know that these houses were lis; only various families had lived in the mansion fur the fast few centuries. " Now, .sir," said he, "will you alapo [ti my large house, where other people live this 500 year.s, >y my lave, or in my small house, where I live — at prisent 12 THE WANDERING HEIR. V 1' V [ I ! - 1 I — for my convaynience ? " Says Jemmy, *' Sir, the small house, if it please you ; by reason I desire your company, as well as your house." The mighty scare-crow was pleased with this answer, and took him to his mud cabin. He sent his one servant, a bare-legged girl, to demand a rasher from a neighbouring farmer. No doubt she said the O'Brien had company ; for eggs and perch were sent directly, as well as a large piece of bacon. The two per- sonages supped together, and slept on one heap of straw. In the morning, one peasant brought buttermilk, and another trout, and another oatmeal, and another a vehicle, the body of which was a square box, suspended on a strap : and the O'Brien's guest was taken five miles on his road, and his blessing sought by his conductor, a simple peasant, who discoursed on the grandeur of the O'Brien, and boasted that neither he nor his race had ever done a hand's turn of work — and would never be allowed to — in the country. Jemmy limped out of that county into another, .ijid met with no adventure, till ho came to Dun- nyshallon, and was turned into a dice-box. The young men of the village had cut a gigantic backgammon board on the green, very neat ; it occupied the sixth part of an acre ; and they had black and white flag-stones to play with. Their dice-box was always a boy ; and, catching sight of James, one sang out, ' Hurrooh ! here's a strange gossoon. Well have kick all round." So James was seated on high, with his back to the players, and ordered, on pain of death, to sing out sixes, fours, quatre-ace, and all the combinations ad libitum ^ , THE IVANDERING HEIR. IS ow was He complied, to avoid worse ; and then it was he learned the literature of cui*ses ; in which this on e small island was so fertile and ingenious, that all the blasphemy in all the rest of Europe was poor and monotonous by comparison. The infinite maledictions would doubtless have instructed and amused him, had. they been levelled at another ; but, being fired at him whenever he called a number that did not suit the player, and uttered with every appearance of fury, they frightened him, and he began to tremble and ; Bnivel. "Now thin, ye vagabone, give me a good number, or may St. Anthony's sow trample out your intrails." "Oh! oh! oh! Sixes." " Sixes ! ye conthrary villin ! Is it sixes I'm asking ? ; The divil go a buck-hunting with ye." "Oh! oh! oh!" " Never heed the bally-ragging ruffin. Cry for me now, honey." " Oh ! I'm afi-aid. Deuce-ace." " Och, ye're a broth of a boy. May ye live till the Iskii-ts of your coat knock your brains out. Now cry for I Barney." " Oh ! I am afraid to spake. The Virgin be good to Hr.e. Deuce-ace." " Och, ye thafe o' the world. May you die with a caper |in your heel, and give the crows a puddin." And so on till dark, when a losing player threatened to lurther the Dice : a winner objected : the two quaireled : Bhillelahs crossed; a ring was madej and there was 14 THE WANDERING HEIR. f U I ' li, much subtle play, and the whistling cudgels parried, or met with a clash, and bent over each other ; till at last Jemmy's friend parried an excessive blow, and, rising nimbly, delivered such a crusher on the other's skull, that it literally shot him to the gi'ound like a bullet, and he rolled over, by the impetus, after he landed. Then Jemmy screamed with dismay ; but the more ex- perienced laughed at his notion of what the true old Irish skull would bear, and the victor took him home to supper and bed, i.e., stirabout and straw. He came to a fall in a river, eight feet high, and saw salmon glittering prismatic in the sun, like rainbows, as they leaped ; but they struck the descending column a foot too low, struggled in it a moment, th^n came down as stupid as tin fish : and here he saw a sight he might have travelled creation and never seen elsewhere ; a corpse-like man lying flat in a coffin, and towed gingerly up to the fall by his bare-armed wife straddling on a rock ; the man caught the salmon on the ground, one after the other, by the belly, with a cart rope and three barbed hooks that would have landed a whale. 'Twas his own coffin, ordered by his uneasy wife, with true Hibernian judgment, the moment he was expected to die. But the salmon came up from the sea, and began to leap like mad. Pat put off dying directly, and took to poaching. We are creatures of habit, and salmon-slaughtering was his custom at that time of the year, not dying. The woman being dark — partly with dirt — James be- sought her for a fish supper. She boiled him half a salmon TUL IVANDEBING HEIR. 16 rried, or at last i, rising :ull, that , and he nore ex- old Irish supper and saw ibows, as nn a foot as stupid travelled ike man the fall he man her, by ks that ordered ent, the ame up put off eatures at that les be- salmon and threw the rest to the pig ; but she told James that in the big towns there were fools who would give 4.<*. a hundi-ed-weight for the trash. Within fifteen miles of the capital he witnessed two abductions, one real, one sham, both commonish customs. The imitation was the lineal descendant of the real, and the men halloed and galloped so much alike in both pageants, and the two brides screamed so much alike, that he never knew for certain which was the Paeudo-Sabine, which the real, — and never will. His feet were bleeding ; his clothes only just hung together ; his little heart was faint ; when at last he mounted a hill, and looked down on a city, which, by its buildings, its size, and its blue-slated roofs, far transcended all that he had ever imagined of a mortal city. The town did not then overflow into pretty villas. Mud cabins prevailed up to the city gates, and from them this weary, wondering, child plunged into streets and man- sions. At the very first street he stopped, and asked a decent man where Lord Altham lived. Tlie decent man met this question by another : " How was he to know ?" The same answer was returned in the next street, and [the next ; and this poor little mite of humanity wandered [up and down in vain. Then a great and new fear fell on him : this Dublin was not a town, like Ross ; it was another world ; a world of stone and slate, and hard [hearts, not like the simple country folk. He might as Iwell grope for his father in all Ireland as in this wilder- [ness of labyrinths of stone. Snubbed, sneered at, rejected )n all sides, he cried his sick heart and his hungry stomach 16 THE IVANDERING UEIR. > to sloe)) in a church porch ; and so he passed his first night in the capital. Day after day the same, till at last he found a dark wo- man, a gentleman's cook, who listened to his tale, and gave him some broken victuals. She was an Englishwo- man, her name was Martha. One day Jemmy came for his dinner, as usual, but was disappointed. Kathleen, the kitchen-maid, informed him, with a marked elevation of the nose, that Madam had gone out for the day, and locked up the safe, like a mane, miserly Sassenach as she was, bad cess to her and all her dhirty breed ; but she'd be back again by five. Hungry Jemmy attended faithfully at five, in spite of the rain, and great was his surprise and awe when two chairmen brought up a chair, and there emerged from it — a duchess \ No ; but a fair imitation thereof ; Mrs. Martha, with her income on her back, and two little black patches on her cheeks. She smiled at his adoration, paid the chairmen loftily, who retired with expressions of adulation, and sly satirical look at each other, and she took James by the hand, and led him to her sanc- tum. " Sir," said she, instead of " child," or " my dear," as heretofore, " I have been visiting my friends ; and, from one to another, I have found ye my Lord Altham ; as luck would have it, a countrywoman of mine, one Elizabeth Grainger, she lives in the house : but she tells me she shall give her notice." — " Oh Madam ! dear good Ma- dam ! " began Jemmy — *' Nay, sir," said she, ** but yov must hear me out. I'm afear'd you will not be so wel- come as you ought to be. You are a sensible little THE WANDERING HEIR. 17 gentleman as e'er I saw ; so I'll e'en tell you the truth ; Mrs. Betty did let me know my Lord is in ill hands ; this dame Gregory and her daughter have got him ; the old woman goes about her own house like a servant; but Miss, she is mistress, and games with the quality, and spends money like dirt ; they are betrothe«l to each other, and his wife lying sick in the town on her way back to England. Poor soul, she rues the day she ever saw this hole of a country, I'll go bail. They look for her to die — for their convenience. Well, if I was her, I'd spite 'em I'd play the woman, and outlive the brute and the hussy both, saving your presence." " Oh Madam, an' if it please you, where does my father live ? " " 'Tis in Frapper Lane, the corner house. What, will you be going, and no supper? Nay then, God speed you. Give me a kiss, sweetheart. So. Your breath is honey sir," said she, curtsying to him, all of a sudden, " I do Wmh. you well. When you come into your estate, sir, prithee remember Martha Knatchbull, that took your part when Fortune frowned." " Ay, that I will, good, kind lady," said James, still overpowered by her glorious costume ; and so he shuffled off, limping fast, and, in the hunger of his longing heart, forgot his hungry belly for a time. To give the reader some idea of the house he was go- ing to, I will sketch the domestic performances from nine P.M. on the previous evening. Lord Altham and friends had a drinking bout, at the end of which he was assisted B 18 THE WANDElilNG UEIH, u to bed, and his friends sent home in chairs. But the ladies did not drink ; they gamed their lives away. Mistress Anne Gregory received Lady Dace and Mistress Carmi- chael, and other ladies gloriously dressed, and, at first starting, most polite and ceremon'ous; they drank tea, and soon warmed into scandal — each accusing some other lady of her own especial vice — till at last the}' got upon Politics. Inflamed by this topic, they soon boiled over ; voices rose over voices ; not a single tongue was mute a moment, and such was the babel, that at last the fat, lazy lap-dog wriggled himself erect, a:Qd looked furiously at the disturbers of his peace. Then a Neptune arose to still the raging voices ; in other words, Mrs. Betty set out the card tables, Down they sat, and soon their eyes were gleaming, and tiieir flesh trembling with excite- ment. Mistress Anne Gregory held bad cards ; she had to pawn ring after ring — for these ladies, being well ac- i^uainted with each other, never plaj^^ed on parole— and she kept bemoaning her bad luck. " Betty, I knew how 'twould be. The parson called to-day — This odious chair, why will you stick me in it 1 — Stand further, girl. I al- ways lose when you look on." Mrs. Betty tossed her head, and went behind another lady. Miss Gregory still lost, and had to pawn her snuff-box to Lady Dace. She consoled herself by au insinuation. " My lady, you touched your wedding-ring. That was a sign to your partner here." " Nay, Madam, 'twas but a sign my finger itched. But, if you go to that, you spoke a word beg'xn with H. Then she knew you had th'» King of Hearts.'* i y. \ I i I i-'J ;Av and French silk a la mode hood, six pounds ; French gar- 26 THE fFANDJURING HEIR. ters, one pound five; French bosom-knot, one pound twelve ; beaver hat and feather, three pounds ; ditto for James, two pounds; embroidered riding suit of Lyons velvet and gold lace, forty-seven pounds ; ditto for my young Lord, nineteen pounds ; sable muff, five pounds ; red shoes, (English) two guineas ; tippet, seven guineas ; French kid gloves, two shillings and sixpence ; with in- numerable other articles, all for outside wear, the body linen being in the proportion of the bread to the sack in FalstatFs tavern bill. Many of these articles could have been had for half the price, if the lady would have listened to Dr. Swift, and bought Irish goods ; but she would almost rather have gone bare. No, Siie was Irish to the core ; so everything she wore must come from England or the Continent. This bill, and the man's threats, brought on a fit of vapouis : another fashionable importation. She rode out with Jemmy one day, to shake them off, and they met a gentleman riding, in a scarlet coat, and a hat like a bis- hop's mitre. He drew up, and saluted Miss Gre_^ory stiffly, and cast a sour look at Jemmy. '* Odzooks," said he, " have you got that boy in the house," " What matters it to you, sir ? " said th( lady, firing up, ** since you do never come there." The officer explained that he and his brother. Lord Altham had been out for some time. " To tell the truth we are like cat and dog. Nought but want of money brings us together. You will see me now every day," said he, with a sneer : then lowering his voice, " Madam, THE WANDERING HEIR. n I desire some private conference with you. Will it please you to be at home this afternoon V " Certainly, sir ; in one hour." When he was gone, she asked the boy if he knew the gentleman. James answered, very gravely, that it was his uncle, Richard Annesley, and no friend to him ; " never gave me a good word nor a look in his life." " Perhaps you are in his way," said she, with a laugh. She gave Captain Annesley the Ute-cb-Ute he had asked for, and he came to the point in a moment. Lord Altham and himself were both in want of money, and, in order to get it, had patched up their quarrels : parading Jemmy about the streets of Dublin was unseasonable, and just the thing to stop the business, or at least retard it. The money-lenders might hesitate, and say there was another interest to be thought of. " Nay," said Miss Gregory, " that would never do ; for here I am threatened for 200^. and more." Captain Annesley worked on her cupidity, till she con- sented to part father and son : but she refused to do it with a high hand or with brutal severity. She could ne- ver urge the father to turn his son out of the house. Ri- chard Annesley, as artful as he was unscrupulous, offered her his house at Inchicore, and they settled that Lord Altham should be taken out there, and every means em- ployed to separate him from James, till the money was raised. This artful pair now put their heads together every day, and the first thing done was to discharge Mrs. Betty. She went back to England, leaving James in the ■ 'A 28 I'HE WANDERING HEIR. hi house. Next all the servants were discharged, except twc, who were sent on to Inchicore ; and an old woman left in charge of the house and Jemmy, Miss Gregory so worked on Lord Altham, that he hid from James where he was goinfj, stipulating only, like a sot as he was, that Richard should look to the boy, and see he wanted for nothing. After all, the money-lenders hesitated, on account of the previous mortgages, and my Lord remained in hiding with Mrs. Gregory and her daughter, and had to cut down his expenses, and live upon the rents. James Annesley stayed in the house, hoping every day he should be sent for : till one day an execution was put in for rent, his riding suit was seized, and he was turned out into the streets, with nothing but what he carried on his back. Then he began to wonder and fear. He ran to Mrs. Martha, whom he had neglected in his prosperity. She had left the town. He was amazed, confused, heartsick ; he wandered to and fro, wondering what this might mean. He had to sell his fine suit for a plain one and a very little money, and, when that was done, starvation stared him in the face. Deserted, and penniless, he had hard work to live. At first, a playmate, one Byrne, brought him morsels of food in secret, and lodged him in a hayloft. Then he got into the college, and used to run errands, and black shoes. Vacation came, and even that resource failed, and then he held horses for a halfpenny or a farthing, in Ormond mar- ket, and was almost in rags : no other ragged boy so un- THE WANDERING HEIR. 21) happy as he, since under those rags there beat the heart of a little gentleman, and rankled the deep sense of injus- tice and unnatural cruelty. Of late he had avoided Bpeaking of his parentage ; but one day, insults dragged it out of him. A bigger boy was abusing him because a gentleman, liking his face, had selected him to hold his horse : the boy called him a blackguard, a beggar, and other opprobrious terms. " You lie," said James, losing all patience : " I am come of better folk than thou. My father is a Lord, and I am heir to great estates, and have been served by thy betters, and so should now, if the world was not so wicked." These words did not fall un- heeded ; henceforth he was the scoff of all the dirty boys in the place, and they cried "my Lord" after him. One Farrell, that kept a shop on the Quay, heard them at it, and said to his shopman, " Why I see no hump on him : the boy is straight enough, and fair, if he were cleaned." He called James to him, and asked him why they called him " my Lord." The boy hung his head, and would not say at first, he was so used to be jeered ; but, being pressed, and seeing a kindly face enough, began to tell his tale. But Farrell interrupted him, " Lord Altham," said he, " I know him — to my cost. Well, I do remember one time I went to Dunmaine for my montj , and got mulled claret instead on't, there \^ a^ a child there, with xoy lady and his nurse." James said, eagerly, that was himself. " Nay then," said Farrell, " wliy not seek thy mother, Lady Al- tham, if she be thy mother. " Oh, sir," said James, " I thought my mother was gone 30 THE WANDERING UEIB. l! back to England. Oh, dear, good, sir, have pity on me, and take me to her, if she is in this wicked place." " Child," said the man, " I know that my Lady Altham sojourned with her friend, Alderman King ; but you are not fit to go there so. Come you home with me." So he took him home, and bade his wife clean him, and lend an old suit of his son that was away at school. The wife complied, with no great cordiality; and Farrell sent a line about him to Alderman King, and then called at the Alderman's house, and asked for my Lady Altham. " Nay," said the Alderman, " my lady sailed for England a se'nnight ago. But, Master Farrell, what tale is this you bring me ? Why, m^ lady never had a son." " Oh !" cried James, as if he had been struck. Farrell looked blank : but said, " Sure your worship is mi3took." " I tell ye, Master Farrell, she was eight months in thi^. house, and spoke of all her troubles, and she never breathed a word about a son of hers. Did she. Mistress Avic T turning to his housekeeper. " She did — to me, sir," said the woman coolly. " My lady was my country-woman, and opened her heart to me. She spoke once of her son, and said the greatest of her grief was she could never see him." Here the Alderman was called away, and Farrell took Jarr'^is home in tears. " Keep a stout heart, sir," said he ; ** y« "J" mother is gone; but I'll soon find your father, if he ih above ground." Farrell wanted to keep him, out his wife would not hear of it. " We have lost above 50V. THE WANDERING HEIR, 31 ty on me, ;e." [y Altham it you are me." So , and lend The wife 3II sent a Jed at the ' AJtham. England a s this you wrorship is ihs in thi ^ ihe never , Mistress y- "My heart to eatest of rell took said he ; father, if him, out :)ove 5lV. \sy that Lord Altham already. I'll have none of his breed in this house, bad scran to the dirty clan of 'em." Now Farrell had a friend, a very honest fellow, one Pur- cell, so he told him the whole story one day, over a pipe. " Let me see him," said Purcell : " If I like his looks — why we can afford to keep something young about ue. But I must see him, first." So these two went to one likely place and another, and presently Farrell saw Jemmy in Smithfield, riding a horse, and pointed him out to Purcell. " Stand you aside," said Purceli, " and be not seen." He took a good look at the boy, and liked his face. " Child," said he, " what is your name ? " " James Annesley, sir." " Whose son are you 1 " " Alas, sir," said James, "prithee do not ask me. It makes me cry so. I'm a lost boy." Then the honest man's bowels were moved for the child; but he would not show it all at once. " Are you Lord Altham's son ? " he said, a little roughly. " Indeed then I am, sir," said he, and looked him in the face. "Then," says Purcell, still a little roughly, " get you off that horse ; for, if you will be a good boy, I'll take you home with me, and," says he warmly, "you shall never want while I have it. " Then Jemmy staved at him ; and the next moment fell on his knees in the market-place, and gave him a thousand blessings : " for oh, sir," said he, " I am almost lost ; " and he trembled greatly. '* Have a good heart, sir," said Purcell, »• nd took him 32 THE WANDERING HEIR. by the hand, all shabby and dirty as he was, and brought him home to his wife that was busy cooking, being a right good housewife. " There," says he, " Mary, here's a little gentleman for thee," So she looked at him, and smiled, and asked who he was. " Thoul't know anon," said he : " but take care of him as if he was thine own." Now she was not like Farrell's wife, but one that had a good man. and knew it. " Go thy ways," said she, and gave him a merry push, " and come thou here no more till supper- time." Then he went away, and she soon had a great pot on the fire, and made the boy wash in a two eared-tub, and put decent clothes on him : and drew all his history from him with her kind words and ways ; and, when the honest man came home, he started at the door, for there sat his wife knitting, in her best apron, and there sat a lovely little gentleman with golden hair, leaning on her shoulder, and they were prattling together : and one was " my child," and the other was " Mammy," already. It was the happiest fireside in Ireland that night ; and it de- served to be. Here was a respite to all James Annesley's troubles. He grew, he fattened, he brightened, he loved his Mammy and stout John Purcell, and they loved him. Unfortunately, Farrell found out Lord Altham at In- chicore, and went to dun him ; and told him about Jem- my. Lord Altham was shocked, and promised to remu- nerate both Farrell and Purcell as soon as he could raise money. Meantime he blustered to Miss Gregory, and she must have told Richard Annoslcy ; for one September TEE WANDERim HEIR. 33 afternoon there walked into Purcell's shop a gentleman with a gun and a setter, and inquired " Is there not one Purcell lives here ? " "Yes, sir," said Purcell, " I am the man." Then the gftntleman called for a pot of beer, and sat down by the fire, inviting Purcell to partake. When the gentleman had drunk a drop, he asked Purcell if he had not a boy called James Annesley. Purcell said yes, and the gentleman said he desired to see him. Now Jemmy had been ailing a little, and was in the parlour, with Mrs. Purcell, in an arm-chau", by the fire ; so Purcell went in to tell him, and found him in tears. " Why what is the matter ? " said Purcell. Says the boy, " It is that gentle- man, the sight of him has put such a dread on me, I don't know what to do with myself." " Nay," said Purcell, " the gentleman is civil enough. Come and speak to him." So he came very unwillingly. The gentleman said, " So, James, how do you do ? " The boy answered stiffly, "Sir, I thank you, I am pretty well." The gentleman said, " And I am glad that you have fallen into such good hands." The boy said, gravely, " Sir, I have reason to thank God for it. They are kinder to me than my own kin." The gentleman said he must not say so, and asked him if he knew him. " I know you well," said he, " you are my uncle Rich- ard Annesley." And, at the first opportunity, slipped back to his " Mammy," as he called her. He was all tumbling, and she asked him why he was so and he said, " That's a wicked man : he hates me ; he hates me. Ho 34 TEE WANDERING HEIR. never came near me but to hurt me. I'd liever meet the devil. Some day he will kill me." "Whilst Dame Purcell was comforting him, and telling him nobody should harm him under her wing, Kichard Annesley treated Purcell, and told him Lord Altham should recompense him : but Purcell declined that favour, and said rather contemptuously, " When he is man enough to take his own flesh and blood into the house, he knows where to find him : but I ask no pay : I can keep a Lord's son, if his father can't, and I can love one, if his f ither can't : for there never was a better boy stood in the walls of a house." Three months after this. Lord Altham had a short ill- ness, and died. He was to be buried at Christchurch, and the sexton told Mrs. Purcell the afternoon before the funeral. They buried at night, in those days. Mrs. Pur- cell had not the heart to keep it from the boy ; he turned very pale, but he did not cry. Only he would go to the funeral. Purcell dissuaded him, and then he began to wring his hands. Mrs. Purcell had her way for once, and got him weepers to attend. It was a fine funeral by torchlight. Velvets, plumes mutes, flambeaux. One thing only was wanting — mourn- ers. The tenants of his vast estates — his numerous boon companions — his wife — his betrothed — his brothers. Lord Anglesey and Richard Annesley — all drinking, or gaming, or minding their own business. There stood by this wretched noble's open grave only two that cared ; an old coachman, Weedon, and the poor boy he had so THE WANDERING HEIR. basely abandoned. The rest were strangers, brought there by bard curiosity. When the coffin began to sink out of sight, the tender heart of the deserted on© almost burst with grief, and wasted love. " Oh My Father ! Mr Father !" cried the desolate child ; and that wild cry of woe rang in ears that re- membered it, and spoke of it years after. When he came back all in tears, Purcell said, " There, dame, I knew how t'would be," and he was almost angry- " But 'tis best so, John," said she, " dear heart, when becomes to be old, would you have him remember he could not find a tear for his father, and him no more." •' Oh, Mammy, Mammy," said James, " Only one old man and me to weep for him ; those he loved before me never cared for him," and then his tears burst out afresh. A day or two after this a message came to James An- nesley that his uncle wanted to see him, at Mr. Jones's in the market. The boy refused to go. " It is not for any good, I know," said he. But he consented to accompany Mr. Purcell, if he would go armed. Stout-hearted Pur- cell laughed at his fears, but yielded to his entreaties, and took a thick stick. James held him fast by the skirts I all the way. In the entry to Jones's three fellows [slouched against the wall. " Oho ! " thought John [Purcell. Mr. Annesley met him, and Purcell took off his hat, land Mr. Annesley gave him good morning, and then, Iwithout more ceremony, called to one of the fellows to 36 THE JVANDERINO HEIR. seize that thieving rogue, and take him to the proper place. " Who do you call a thief 1" said Purcell, sternly. " Confound you," says the gentleman, " I am not speak- ing to you." Then he ordered the fellows again to take Jemmy away. But Purcell put the boy between his legs, and raised his stick high. " The first of you," said he, " lays a hand on him, I'll knock his brains out," Hear- ing him raise his voice in anger, one or two people came about the entry, and the bullies sneaked off. " You a gentleman ! " said John Purcell, " and would go to destroy this poor creature you were never man enough to main- tain." " Go you and talk to his nurse," said Richard Annosley spitefully ; " she knows more of him than you do." " This is idle chat, said John Purcell. " He has nei- ther father, mother, nor nui'se, left in this kingdom, but my dame and me. Let us go home, ut>^ ; We have fallen in ill company." But from that day there were always fellows lurking about John Purcell's house ; sometimes bailiffs, or con- stables, or sharks disguised as such ; and tbo boy one day lost his nerve and ran away : he entered ^''he service of a Mr. Tighe, and sent word to Purcell that his life was not Bafe so long as hi3 uncle knew where to find him, and he also feared to bring him and his Mammy into trouble. For this cowardice he paid dear. He had been watched and an opportunity was taken to seize him one day in the open steet, by men disguised as bailiffs, on a charge of *»;-.V.V;. THE WANDERINQ UEIB, 37 theft, and, instead of being taken to a court, he waa brought into Richard Annesley'a house. Richard Annes- ley charged him with stealing a silver spoon. The boy was quiet till he saw that fatal face, and tlien ho began to scream and cry. " He will kill me, or transport mo !" Annesley's eyes glittered fiendishly. " Ay, thou knave," said he, " I have been insulted enough for thee ; and my very title denied me, because of thy noise. Away with him !" Then the men put him into a coach, and took him along by the Quay, screaming and crying for help. "They will kill me ; they will transport me because I am Lord Altham's son : " and people followed the coach, and mur- mured loud. But the men were quick and resolute, and, while one told some lie or other to the people the others got him into a boat, and pulled lustily out to a ship that lay ready to cross the bar, for all thif had been timed before- hand; and once on board that wooden hell, he had no chance. He was thrust into the hold. The law protected Englishmen from this, in theory, but not in practice. Some agent of Richard Annesley's in- dented James Annesley as his nearest friend, acting at his request, and the sole record of this act of villainy read like an act of plain unobjectionable business. He waa kept in the hold, and his cries unregarded. The ship spread her pinions, and away. Then the boy was allowed to come on deck, and take his last look of Ireland. He asked a sailor boy where they were going. '^ Bound for Philadelphia," was the reply. At the bare word the pooi* 38 THE JFANDElilNa HEIR. little wT'^tch uttered shriek upon shriek, and ran afl to throw himself into the sea. The man at the wheel caught him by his skirt, and had much ado to hold him till a sailor ran up, and they got him on board again screaming, and biting like a wild cat : the gentle boy was quite changed by desperation ; for Philadelphia, though it means "BroUierly love," in Greek meant " White slav- ery" to poor betrayed creatures from the Mother country. Finally, after superhuman struggles, and shrieks of de- spair,so piteous that even the rugged sailors began to look blank, ho went off into a dead swoon, and was white as ashes, and his lips blue. " He is dead !" was the cry. " Lord forbid ! " said the Captain. " Stand aloof, ye fools, and give him air." " Oh, humane Captain ! " says my reader : but " Oh, good trader Captain I " would be nearer the mark. This E^chai'd Annesley, to save his purse, had given the Cap- tain an interest in the boy's life. The Captain was to sell him over the water, and pocket the money. This fatal oversight elevated a human creature into Merchan- dise. The worthy Captain set himself in earnest to keep it alive. He fanned his Merchandise, sprinkled his Mer- chandise, and when his Mercliandiso came to, and, with a stare and a loud scream, went off into heart-rending and distracting cries, he comforted his Merchandise, and gave it a sup of rum and water, and hurried it down into a cabin, and set a guard on it night and day, with orders to be kind to it, b\it very watchful : this done, he gave Ids mind to sailing the good ship " James of Dubliu." THE 1VANDERIN0 HEIR, 39 But next day ho was informed that tho Merchandise would not eat, nor drink, but was resolved to die. " Die ! Not a bit of it ; drench him," said the stout-hearted Cap- tain. " Drench liim yourself," said tho mate. " I'm sick on't." Then the Captain bade ths cook prepare a savoury dish, and brought it down to James : " Eat this, sir," said he, as one used to be obeyed. The young gentleman made no reply, but his eyes gleamed. Tho Captain drew his hanger with one hand, and stuck a two-pronged fork into a morsel, with the other. " Eat that, ye contrary toad," said he, " or I'll make minced coUops of thee." The boy took the morsel. " So ! " said tho Captain, sneering over liis shoulder at tho mate. The boy spat it luriously in his face. " May God sink thy ship, thou knave, that would'st steal away a nobleman's son, and sell him for a slave !" The Captain drew back a moment, like a dog a hen has flown at, and had hard work not to cut him in two ; but he forbore, and said " Starve, then, and feed the fishes !" and so left the cabin. Tho mate who was at his back all tho time, told the boatswain, young m lister was a nobleman's son, and was being spirited away, and there was " Foul Play" in it: Some remarks wore mado which it was in- tended the Captain should hear. He took them u[) directly. " A nobleman's son," said ho : " ay . but only a Merrybegot : and so given to thieving, ho will do no good at home, ./hy 'twas his own undo 8hi})ped him — fur his good." This quieted the men directly, and, from that moment they made light of tho matter. •m JJOMI 40 THE WANDERING HEIE. When James was downright faint with hunger, the Captain took quite another way with him ; went to him and said he feared there was some mistake, and he was sorry he had been led to take him on board ; but the mat- ter should be set right on landing. " No, no," said James, " I shall be bound as a slave. May God revenge me on my wicked uncle. I see now why he has done this — to rob me of my estate and my title." ** Indeed I begin to think he is to blame," said the Captain. " But why take fright at a word, sir ? None can make you a plave for life, as the negroes are, but only an apprentice for a time." " I am beholden to you, sir," said James : " but call it what you will, 'tis slavery : and I'd liever die. But pro- mise to send me back by the first ship, and I will give you a hatful of money, when I come to my rights, and pray for you aU my days." " Ay, but, if I do so, will you eat and drink, and be of good heart ? " « That wiU I, sir." " Then 'tis a bargain." They shook hands upon it ; and, from that hour, were good friends. James was treated like a guest : he ate and drank so heartily, that the Captain began to wince at his appetite : and, in a word, what with the sea air, plentiful diet, and a mind relieved from fear of slavery, the young gentleman's cheeks plumped out, and became rosy, he grew an inch and a half in height, and landed at Philadel- phia a picture of a little Briton. I i TEE JVANDEBINQ UEIB. 41 I be of 13ie planters boarded the ship, the Captain threw ofif the mask, and sold him directly, for a high price, to one Drummond. James raged, and cried, and demanded to be taken before a justice. Then, for the first time, the Captain produced papers, all prepared by Richard Annesley, under legal advice. The colony wanted labour, and was ill disposed to sift the evidence that furnished it : it aU ended in Drum- mouc 0'>:Tryinghis white slave home to Newcastle County. /j'v^ . iOrning, at five o'clock, he found himself en- gaged, with other slaves, black and white, cutting pipe- staves, and an overseer standing by, provided with a whip of a very superior construction to anything he ever saw in Ireland. Being only a boy, and new at the work, he was first ridiculed, then threatened, and before the day ended, the whip fell on his shoulders, stinging, branding, burn- ing his back mvit'h, his heart more, for then this noble boy felt, with all his soul and aU his body, what he was fl^'ne to : ?.a ox — an ass — a beast — a slave. in Chapter ii} N this miserable condition of servitude James Annesley remained nearly seven years, hav- ing been indented for an extreme period; and many a s .: i heaved, and many a tear he shed in solita , thinking of what he had been, and what he had a right to be, and what he was. But, being now a full-grown young man, tall, and very robust, he could do his work, and his mis- ery was alleviated by caution ; but above all, by the blessed thought that his servitude was drawing to an end : since a white man could only be bound for a limited term. But let all shallow statesmen, and pedantic lawyers, who trifle with the equal rights of humanity, be warned that you cannot play fast and loose with things so sacred. The Mother country, in its stupidity, allowed its citizens to be made slaves for a time : the pilgrim fathers and their grandchildren, though no men ever valued liberty more in their own persons, or talked more about it, had not that disinterested respect for it which marks their no- ble descendants : and so they, by a by-law or custom, en- larged the term of servitude ; this they contrived by or- dering that if one of these temporary slaves misbehaved grossly, and above all attempted escape, his term of ser- vitude could be enlarged in proportion, by judges who were in the interest of the planters. TUB WANDERING HEIR. 43 ide James ears, hav- e period; I many a what he be, and ung man, i his mis- le blessed id ; since irm. lawyers, ! warned sacred, citizens ers and liberty it, had leir no- om, en- by or- ehaved of ser- s who So the game was, when the white slave's term of servi- tude drew near, to make his life intolerable : then in his despair, he rebelled, or ran for it, and was recaptured, and reinslaved, by this By-law passed in the Colony. " Where there's a multitude there's a mixture," and not every planter played this heartless dodge : but too many did, and no man more barbarously than this Drum- mond. By the help of an unscrupulous overseer, who did and said whatever he was ordered, he starved, he insulted, he flogged, he made his slaves' life intolerable : and so, in a fit of desperation, James started one night for the Delaware river : he armed himself with a little bill-hook, for he was quite resolved not to be taken alive. In the morning they found he was gone, and followed him, horse and foot. But they did not catch him, for rather a curious reason : he had the ill-luck to miss his road, and got to the Susquehanna instead. He found his mistake, when too late ; but he did not give up all hope ; for he saw some ships, and a town, into which he resolved to penetrate, at night-fall : it was then about 10 o'clock. Meantime, he thought it best to hide ; and, coming to two roads, one of which turned to his right, and passed through a wood, he turned off that way, and lay down in shelter, and unseen, though close to the roadside. Here fatigue overpowered him, and he went to sleep, fast as a church, and slept till four in the after- noon. Then he awoke, with voices in his ears, and, peep- ing through the leafy screen, he saw, with surprise, that there w as company close to him : there was a man halter- V u THE WANDEBINQ HEIR. ing a horse to a tree near him, and another already hal- tered ; a gentlewoman in a riding habit stood looking on, while another man drew provisions and wine from some saddle-bags, and spread a cloth on the grass, and made every preparation for a repast. Then they all three sat down and enjoyed themselves, so that poor hungry James sighed involuntarily, and peeped through the leaves. The lady heard him, turned, saw him, screamed, pointed at him, and in a moment the men were upon him with drawn swords, crying " Traitor ! Spy!" But James whipped behind a tree, and parleyed. " No traitor, sir, but a poor run-away slave, who never set eyes on you before." The men hesitated, and he soon con- vinced them of his innocence. One of them laughed, and said, " Why then there's nought to fear from thee." The lady, however, still anxious, cross-questioned him herself. His answers satisfied her, his appearance pleased her, and it ended to his advantage, they made him sit uown with them, and eat and drink heartily. At last the lady let out they were fugitives too, and could feel for him, and she said, " We are going on board a ship bound for Holland. She lies at anchor, waiting for us ; and, if you can run with us, we will e'en take you on board. But in sooth we must lose no time." They started. The gentleman had the lady behind him, and James ran with his hand on the other horse's mane ; but losing breath, the man, who was well mounted, took him up behind him. Night fell, and then they went THE WANDEBINO HEIR. 45 took went more slowly, and James, to ease the good horse, walked by his side. But presently there was a fierce galloping of horses be- hind them, and lights seemed flying at them from behind. The lady looked back, and screamed " 'Tis he himself; we are lost " The men had only time to dismount and draw their swords, wl m the party was upon them, with a score of blades flashing in the torch-light. The men defended themselves, and James, forgetting it was no quarrel of his, laid about him with his bill-hook : but the combat was too unequal. In three minutes the lady, in a dead swoon, was laid before one horseman, her lover and his servant were bound upon their own horses, and James was worse treated still, for his hands were tied together, and fastened to a horse's tail. In this wretched plight they were carried to the near- est village, and well guarded for the night in separate rooms. At day-break they were marched again, and James Annesley, in that horrible attitude of a captive felon, was drawn at a horse's tail through four hooting villages, and lodged in Chester gaol. Law did not halt here : they were all four put to the bar, and then first he learned, by the evidence, who his companions were, and what he had been doing when he drew bill-hook in their favour. The lady was daughter of a trader in this very town of Chester. Her father, finding her in love with some one beneath her, had compelled her ^ THE WANDERING HEIR. to marry a rich planter. She hated him, and, in evil hour, listened to her lover, who persuaded her to fly with all she could lay her hands on. The money and jewels were found in the saddle-bags. The husband was vindictive, the crime two-fold. The guilty pair, the servant, and James, who was taken fighting on their side, were con- demned. James made an effort to separate his fate from the others. He told the Judge who he was, and what master he had run away from ; declared it was a mere acci- dent his being there ; he had been surprised by the sud> den attack on persons, who, whatever their faults, had been good to him. The Judge took a note while he was pleading in arrest of judgment, but said nothing ; and they were all four condemned to stand on the gallows for one hour with a rope round their necks, to be whipped on their bare backs with so many lashes well laid on ; and then imprisoned for several years. ■ ' ' CHArTER Illi ^ WO little rivers meet, and run to the sea, as naturally as if they had always meant to unite : yet, go to their sources in the hills, how wide apart ! How unlikely to come to- gether, or even approach each other ! Why, one rises South, and the other North-east ; and they do not even look the same way, at starting. It is hard to believe they are doomed to trickle hither and thither, meander and curve, and meet at last, to part no more. And so it is with many human lives : the facts of this story compel me to trace, from their tiny sources, two hu- man currents, that I think will bear out my simile. The James Annesley river is set flowing; so now for the Joanna Phih'ppa Chester, and old England, She was the orphan daughter of two very superior peo- ple, who died too young. Her mother was a Spaniard, her father an Englishman, and a lawyer of great promise. They had but this child. She inherited her mother's jewels and thirteen thousand pounds : her father, impressed by some cruel experience in his own family, had an almost morbid fear lest she should be caught up by some fortune- hunter, and married for her money, she being a black- browed girl with no great promise of beauty at that time. During his last illness he thought mujch of this, and spokp T ('': 48 THE WANDEBINO HEIB. of it very eimestly to the two gentlemen he had appoint- ed her trustees. These two, Mr. Hanway and Mr. Thomas Chester, hated each other decently, but sincerely. Mr. Chester knew that, and, with a lawyer's shrewdness, counted a little on it, as well as on their attachment to himself, to get his views carried out. He made them pro- mise him, in writing, that Joanna's fortune should be con- cealed from her until she should be twenty-four, or some worthy person, unacquainted with her means, should offer her a marriage of affection : she was to be brought up so- berly, taught to read and write very well, and cast accounts, and do plain stitching, but never to sit at a harpsichord, nor a sampler. She was to live with Mr. Hanway, at Colebrook, till she was 17, and then with Mr. Thomas Chester, her uncle, till her marriage. Each trustee, in turn, to receive 100?. a year, for her board and instruction. Her fortune was all out at good mortgage, paying larger interest than is to be had on that security now-a-days. The 100?. a year was of some importance to Mr. Han- way, and he was not at all sorry that Joanna Philippa was to be taught only what he and his house-keeper could teach her : that saved expense. He did teach her, an hour every day, and she was so quick that, at 10 years old, she could read, and write, and sum better than a good many Duchesses. But the rest of the day she was entire- ly neglected : so she was nearly always out of doors, ac- quiring more health, and strength, and freckles than a girl is entitled to, and playing pranks that ought to have been restrained. She was, at this time, a most daring girl, ^:l \ THE WANDEBING HEIR. 49 Intire- 's, ac- lan a have and Siie always played with the boys, and picked up their ways, and, by superior intelligence, became their leader. From them she learned to look down on her own sex; and the women, in return, called her a Tomboy, and a witch : indeed there was something witch-like in her agility, her unbounded daring, and her great keen grey eyes, with thickish eye-brows as black as jet, that actually met, not on her brow, but — with a slight dip— on the bridge of her nose. One summer afternoon, being then about eleven, she had just ridden one of Farmer Newton's horses to the water to drink, according to her custom, and driven the others in before her, when she became aware of a gentle- man, in black, with a pale but noble face, looking thought- fully at her. It was the new vicar, a learned clerk from Oxford. He smiled on her, and said, "My young Madam, may I speak with you ?" He knew who she was. " Ay, sir," says she, and, in a moment, from riding astride like a boy, she whipped one leg over and was seated like a woman, and brought the horse out, and slid off down his fat ribs, and lighted like a bird at the parson's feet, and took her hat off to him, instead of curtseying. " Here be I," said the imp. " My dear," says the vicar, " that is not a pastime for a young gentlewoman." Joanna hung her head. " Not," said the parson, " that I would deprive you of amusement, at your age ; that were cruel : but — have you no little horse of your own to ride ? " "Nay, not so much as a Jenny ass. Daddy Han way is it: V''' 50 THE IFANDEltING HEIR, — I know wl. at he is, but I won't say, tDl we are better acquainted." " Come, come., we are to be better acquainted then ?" " Ay, an' you will. Now may ^ go, sir ? " " Why we have not half made acquaintance. Madam I desire to show you my house." " Alack ! And I am dying to see it. So come on." and she caught him by the hand with a fiery little grasp. " Have with you then ! " cn'ed the parson, affecting excitement, and proposed a race J,o the vicarage: so they sped across the meadow. His reverence was careful to pound the earth, and make a great fuss but not to beat the imp, who, indeed, skimmed along like a swallow. " There," said she, panting, " there's none can beat mo at running in this parish, except that Dick Caul field. Od rabbit him." The Vicar allowed that refined express- ion to pass, for the present, and took her into his study. " Oh, Jiminy ! " she cried : " here's books 1 1 ne'er thought there were as ma^y In the world." " What, you are fond of books ? " said he, eagerly. " I dote on 'em ; especially voyages. I have read every book in our house, twice over ; there's the Bible, and 'Cul- pepper's Herbal,' and * Pilgrim's Progress,' and the Ready Reckon^ir, and the Prayer Book, and a volume of the Spectator, and the Book of Receipts, and the * Book of Thieves.'" " And which do you like the best of all those 1 " " Why, the Pilgrim's Progress,' to be sure. ' Tis all travels." i I { 't THE IFANDERim HEIR, 51 " Strange," said the clergyman, half to himself; "that a girl born in a country village should be so fond o*^ travels." "Country village!" said she. " Drat the country vil- lage. I ran away from it once ; but they caught me at Hounslow, I was only eight; better luck next time, Parson." " Nay, Mistress Joanna — " " An't please you, call me Philippa. I like that name best." " Well then, Mistress Philippa I am of your mind about travelling. My studies, and a narrow income somewhat drawn upon by poor relations, have kept me at hom<. ; but r mind has travelled on the wings of books, as your's '., Mistress Philippa, if you please. See, here's Pur* chase for you, and Dampier, Cowley, Sharpe, Woodea Rogers, where you shall find the cream of 'Robinson Cru- soe,' * Stout John Dunton,' and * Montaigne's Travels,' short, but priceless. Here be * Coryat's Crudities,' and 'Moryson's Itinerary,' two travellers of the good old school, that footed all Europe, and told no lies. Ay, Philippa, often as I sat in my study, or meditated beneath the stars, have I longed to escape the narrow terms of this small island, and see the strange and beautiful world : first of all, the Holy I^and where the still vine, the olive tree, and the corn-field, grow side by side ; where the Dead Sea rolls o'er those wicked cities, and Lot's wife, in salten pillar, still looks on : to see Rome, that immortal city where ancient and modern history meet and mingle in monu- k)» '! 02 THE WANDERING HEIB, ^ ments of surpassing grandeur and beauty. Then would I run East again, and behold the mighty caves of Eiephanta monument of a race that is no more : the Pyramids of Egypt, and her temples approached by avenues of collo- sal Sphinxes, a mile long. Thence to the pole, and see spectral glories, gi*eat temples and palaces of prismatic ice, of which this new poet, Mr. Pope, singe th well — As Atlas fixed, each hoary pile appears The gathered winter of a thousand years. Then away to sunny lands, where for ever the sky is blue, and flowers spring spontaneous, and the earth poureth fourth pines, and melons, and luscious fruits, without the hand of man — * and universal Pan, Knit with the graces and the hours in dance, Leads on the eternal Spring.' Then I would see the famous mountains of the world; Ara- rat, where the Ai'k rested, as the waters of the flood abated Tenerifte's peak, shaped like a sugar loaf, and, by marin- ers, seen often in the clear glassy sky one hundred miles at sea ; and, above all, the mighty Andes, so high that no aspiring cloud may reach his bosom, and his great eye looks out ever calm, from the empyrean, upon half the world/' The scholar would have gone on, dreaming aloud an hour more ; but hi?: words, t.hat to him were only words, were fire to the aspiring girl, and set her pale, and panting. *' Oh, Parson ! " she cried \ "|for th© love of God, take hat, \ TED WANDERINO EEIB. n t I and come along to all those places : " and she crammed his hat into his hand, and tugged at him amain, " My young mistress," said he, gravely, "you do use that sacred name too lightly." "Well then, for the love of the devil: I care not; so we do go this minute." Then he held up his linger, and, with kind and sooth- ing words, cooled this fiery creature down a little, and put Dampier's voyages into her hand. Down she flung her- self — for it was erect as a dart, or flat as a pancake, with this young gentlewoman ; no half measures— and sucked the book like an egg. He gave her the right to come and read when she pleased : and from this beginning, by degrees, she became his pupil very willingly. He played the viol de gamba himself; so he asked her did she like music ? " No," said she ; " I hate it. Would she like to draw and colour " Ay. But not to keep me from my travels. It turned out that she had an excellent gift at drawing, and a fine eye for colour ; so, with instruction, she soon got to draw from nature, and to colour very prettily ; the only objection was, in less than six months from t a first lesson, every roadside barn-door within five mile^; present- ed a gross caricature, in chalk, of the farmer who owned it, and often of his wife and family, into the bargain. The number and distance, of these " sculptures," as she was pleased to call them (why, I know not), revealed an active 64 THE WANDERING HEIR, \ ^ foot, a skilful hand, and a heart not to be daunte by moonlight. The parson tried to break her spirit — with arithmetic. But no: she was all docility and goodness, by his side; she would learn arithmetic, or anything else, with a rapidity that nothing but a precocious girl ever equalled ; but a daring demon when he was not at her back. In vain he begged her to consider that she was now thirteen yeai*s, and must begin to play the gentlewoman : " I cannot," said she : " gentlewomen are such mincing apes. The boj^^s they scorn them, and so do I, they make me sick. Parson," said she, " I love you ; " and she made but one spring, and her arms were round his neck with the same movement. "Grant mo a favour," said she, " because I love you. Have me made a boy. 'Twill not cost much." The parson looked at her gazing imploringly right into him with her great eyes ; and sore puzzled what she would be at now. However, the explanation followed in due course. " Why," said she, *' 'tis but the price of a coat and waist- coat and breeches, instead of these things," slapping her petticoats contemptuously ; " and then I am a boy. Oh ! 'twill be sweet to have my freedom, and not to be checked at every word because I am a she." " Why, what stuff is this child ? " said his reverence , ** putting thee in boy's clothes will not make thee a boy." '* Yes it will. You know it will ; nay to be sure there's my hair ; but 1 can soon cut that." \M I \ THE WANDERING HEIR. 56 by " Now, Philippa," said her preceptor, " I cannot have you cutting your beautiful hair — which is a woman's crown — and talking nonsense. Hum ! — the truth is — ahem — when once one has been christened Joanna Philippa> in the church, one is a girl for ever." " Alas ! " whined Philippa, " and is it so ? Methought it was the clothes the old folk put us in that did our business." Then, going into a fury, " Oh, why did I not scratch their eyes out, when they came to christen me a girl ? Why cried I not aloud, ' No ! No ! [No !— A BoY !— A Boy!'" " Well, we must make the best of it, my dear. I will read you what Erasmus saith, in his * Gunseco-Synedrion,' of the female estate, and its advantages. Then you will see that each condition of life hath its comforts and its drawbacks." The compass of my tale does not permit me to deal largely in conversations; otherwise, theintercou se of this gentle scholar's mind, and this sharp girl's, was curious and interesting enough. It left Philippa, at fourteen years of age very superior to the ladies of the period, in reading, writing, arithmetic, drawing, walking, leaping, and running but far more innocent, in spite of her wild- ness, than if she had consorted with the women of that day, whose tongues were too often foul. At this time the good parson fell ill, and, having friends in office, obtained leave to go to the Continent. He returned in two years, and found his pupil trans- formed into a tall beautiful girl ; even her black brows 56 THE WANDERING HEIR. ■became her now, and dazzled the beholder. But such a change ! She was now extremely shy ; avoided the boys, blushed whenever they spoke to her, and played the prude even with her late preceptor. She had a great many new ideas in her head ; need I say that love was one of them ? But, as there was nobody in the parish that approached the Being she had fixed on — ^young, beautiful, fair, brave, good, and that had made the grand tour — her favourite companion, after all, was the good parson : only she now approached even him with a vast show of timidity. To tell the truth, she had just as much devil in her as ever ; but, on the surface, was mighty guarded, demure, and bash- ful And now, all of a sudden, came a lover. Mr. Hanway, seeing the time draw near when he must surrender to the other trustee, could not resist the temptation of trying to get her for his son Silas. Silas was older than she, though he looked but a hobbadehoy. The old man, to carry out his scheme, indulged Miss with a pony, and a moderately masculine riding dress, with a little purple velvet riding cap and white feather, very neat, and set Silas to ride with her. She used to pace out of sight demurely, then dash out of the road into the fields, and away as Lhe crow flies over hedge and ditch, depositing Silas in the latter now and then. She treated his clumsy courtship with queenly contempt, and once, when he went to kiss her, she fetched him a slap that made his ears ring famously. One day, when Mr. Hanway was out, this young lady, who was now mighty curious, and always prying about THE WANDERING EEIB. 67 the house, gave the old gentleman's desk a shake with both hands. She had often admired this desk ; it was of enormous size, and weight, and sculptured at the sides ; an antique piece of furniture. When she shook, it, some- thing metallic seemed to ring at the bottom. She looked inside, and there was nothing but papers. " That is odd," thought Joanna Philippa. She shook it again. Same metallic sound. Then,with some difficulty, though she was a most sinewy girl, she turned it over, and saw a little but- ton, scarcely perceptible. She pressed it, and lo ! a drawer flew out at quite another part of the desk. That drawer dazzled her ; it was literally full of sparkling jewels, some of them very beautiful and valuable. She screamed with surprise ; she screamed again with delight. She knew, in a moment, they were her mother's jewels, which Mr. Hanway had told her were a few trifling things, not to be shown her till her twenty-first birthday, and then she was to have them for her own. " Oh ! thou old knave ! " said she. She did not hesitate one moment. " I'll have them, and keep them too, if I hang for it ; for they are mine." So she swept them all into her apron, and flew up-stairs with them, and hid them : then back again, and put the desk straight. That night she had them all on, one after another, be- fore she went to bed, and marched about the room like a peacock, surveying herself. Next day she took fright, and carried them out of the house, and hid them in the thatch of an old cart-house that was never used nowadays, so not likely to be repaired. 68 THE WANDERING HEIR. On moonlight nights she would sometimes take a little hand-glass out, and wear the diamond cross and brooch, and parade with them sparkling in the moonlight. Her bedroom commanded a view of this sacred cart-shed, and she always took a look at it the last thing before she went to sleep. Silas was to go to London, to be articled as a lawyer's clerk. His father thought now was the time to make a lasting impression ; so he provided the youth with a ring to give her, and instructed him that he must kiss her at parting, say he loved her dearly, and get her to betroth herself to him, and so put the ring on her finger. When the time came. Miss was on the lawn hoeing weeds out of the gravel. Silas went to her with the ring. Mr. Hanway was dressing, but he managed to peep behind a curtain at the approaching ceremony. It did not go smooth. The girl was ready to give Silas a civil good-bye ; but, at the very mention of love, she lauofhed him to scorn. That nettled him ; and he told her she would be very lucky to get as good a husband. " Come, sweetheart," said he, " here's the ring. E'en let me put it on thy hand, and give us a buss at parting." " I'll take no ring of thine," said the girl, beginning to pant at the double proposal. " I'd rather die than wed thee." " And I'd rather die than not wed thee." He threw his arms round her neck, and dragged her to him. " Let me go," she screamed. " You are a cl url; and a ruflSan. I'll not be used so," ■ THE WANDERING HEIR 59 \k a She struggled violently, and screamed, and when no- thing else would do, she tore herself clear, with a fierce cry, all on fire with outraged modesty and repugnance, and gave him a savage blow on the bridge of the nose with \ 3r little hoe ; it brought him to one knee ; and, with that, she was gone like the wind, and flung herself sob- bing, into a garden seat out of sight. Now this severe blow was not dangerous, but it made the lover's nose bleed profusely. It bled a great deal as he kneeled half stupified, and when he got up a little way, it bled freely again : he thought it would never leave off. His love was cooled for ever. All he cared about now was not spoiling his new clothes : so, after awhile, he walked away very slowly, with his nose projecting, like a gander's ; and he was scarcely clear of the premises, when Joanna Philippa, who had peeped, and seen him off, came back to her occupation, looking as demure and innocent as any young lady you ever saw. She was rather dismayed though when she found the grass incarnadined, and the gardener's turf-cutter literally drenched with blo his hands, and said " No, no ! I am choking. Prithee, go get me a cup of wine " James went, accordingly, and the first person he saw was Mistress Maria; he asked her to oblige him with a cup of wine. - " Ay, that I will, James," said she, tenderly, and brought it him in a moment, and told him she must have the plea- sure of seeing him drink„ " I will taste it. Madam," said he : " but indeed 'tis for Philip. He is not well." " For Philip !" said she dirdainfuUy. " I hope the next time 'twill be for yours 3lf." James ran with uie cup tc iMlip. Philip was not to be found. '* Was ever such a boy ?" said James. However, he loft the cup of wine on a table : and the early negroes picked up that worm, as the saying is. Next evening he went for his lesson, as usual. Philip was busy over a ledger, and only noticed him with a su- percilious nod. " Philip," said he, ' I brought you the wine as fast as I could." F WW f ^' \> 1 1 1 1 1 V K {: 1 1 ) 83 THE WANDERING HEIR. Philip never looked off his ledger. "■ You brought it hSo fast, that I was gone to bed. You were too busy .v^ith Mistress Maria, to think of me, I trow." " Nay, I did stay not two minutes with her." " There — there — there — I thought as much ; you were with her." "Foolish boy, have I the key of the cellar ? I asked the first I met." " Well, I guessed she was the butler : so I did not drink a drop Not a drop, sir." " I am soriy for that." " No, you are not." " Yes I am, Philip " - - " Do not contradict me. I am very angry with yoii You made me cry v/ith your romance — that I do not be- lieve a word of Do not contradict me. — And I am not HO fond of crying as you are ; it makes me ill : and so now I'll just give you a piece of advice; for I see every- thing from this window ; my nose may be in my ledger ; but my eye is on you all ; so tremble ! I tell thee young women are tlie artfullest creatures : they are not like men, who get grey and cunning; girls are born artful': and two or three of these girls are setting their caps at you, after their manner. There's that Indian girl. Tur- quoise, she makes no disguise, being a savage ; she lets all the world see she is ready to eat you up. Then there's the master's niece, great fat thing ; she comes her« six times for once she is wanted, and sits watching you, with her great grey eyes, like a cat watches for a mouse : she i'! ■A u THE IFA^DERING HEIIt. 83 *! )ung lere s six Iwith she will catch you too, some day, if you take not the better heed : and then there's Mistress Maria, that is the worst of them all, because she is always here, and has so many opportunities. She is ever throwing herself in your way." " Nay, nay/' said James. '• Do you not meet her, in lonely places, whenever you take your walks without me ? " " Sometimes ; by pure chance." " Chance ! foolish man : that shows how little j^ou are fit to cope with them." " Very well, Philip," said James : " since you give me the benefit of your age and experience, I'll give you a piece o^ -idvice. Do not you trouble about me ; for I am not in ■ :5 with any young woman, and never Wr'>s. What I love is the liberty I have lost, and the country I Iiave been banished from. Love is not for a slave. If ever I get home again, I may fall in love ; but I think it will '.^ a Uvirk w^oman; they have always been my best friends. So never j^ou mind me. 'Tis you that are in danger from these girls, not I." "Me! ha! ha!" " ky ! why your head is full of them. I never knew a boy of your age talk so much about wouieO; nor think so much about them." " Do I talk as if I loved them ? " " No ; but you do study them ; and abuse them beyond reason : and those are the men that are cau ay, and that friend would know it. Such was the dis- tress this cost him, that beads of perspiration rose on his brow the ugh his body was cold all over. And the miserable suspense was so long : it seemed an age before they heard James come into the room and put down his heavy basket of wood ; and then the time he was placing the billets in the large basket : and all passed in silence till the billets were placed. At last a soft female voice said, " Thank you, James ; you are very good." " Nay, Madam," James was heard to say, "'tis little to do for you, and you in sickness \ but I hope you are bet- ter, Mistress Maria." "No, James," sighed the young girl, "and never shall be till you are my doctor." •* I, Madam!" said James, " why I have no skill." • 'Tis not the skill, but the will that lacketh. You dull, insensible man, see you not 'tis your unkindness that is killing me ? Nay, dissemble no more. Oh! that I could hate thee as I ought, for slighting my affection. Alas I James, what is it in me that displeases you ? I am young; they say I am fair ; am I not better worth thy love than that Indian girl, that is forever hanging about thee, and so I hate her. Speak to me, James, for mercy sake; do not make me woo thee in vain, and sue where I have a right to comuirtud. Oh, how I shall hate you now. if you 88 THE WANDERING HEIR. arc ungrateful. Hate you, alas ! I cannot : thou hast be- witched me. I love thee to dist* action; Tor pity sake Bpeak to me." James was much troubled and abashed. " Madam," said he, " for heaven's sake bethink you. A slave is riot a thing to love nor to be loved. You are young, you are lovely ; and I wonder that I can be so much your friend as to affront you. But you spoke of gratitude : do I owe none to your good mother, who has softened my slavery ? What would her feelings be, and your father's, too, were I to be a traitor, and rob them of their only child ? No, Madam, I have not the excuse of passion j and I will not be a villain in cold blood." " My parents ! Hypocrite ! You are a coward, and dare not love above you. Begone to your Indian maid. Wretch I hate the sight of you." ** I obey you, Mistress Maria." *' James ! — James ! — James ! Come back. You might say you do not hate me. You might tell me you are sorry for me," " I am. Madam. I pity you from my soul," *' Pity me ? I. scorn your pity. You must choose be- tween love or hate. " I will never love you, Madam, ifc I can help it; and 1 will never hate you, after what you have said to me — till you give me cause." * So ended this strange interview. James retired with a sigh ; and the young lady, as soon as he was gone, had a cruel fit of sobbing. I If THE WANDERING HEIR. 89 t> ■ht l.o- are be- dl ItiU lith lad ■ Philip's face L'adiant with unhoped-for tri was now umph, and poor Mrs. Surefoot's red with maternal shame, and the tears streaming. As for Jedediah, he looked terribly disturbed and gloomy. "Not one word of this, to any soul that breathes : that is my order," said he. "If you disobey me, look to it." They obeyed him to the letter; but they indemnified themselves by long discussions amongst themselves. Philip urged the temporary retirement of Mistress Maria. The good woman, who was like butter in Philip's hands, carried this advice to her husband ; but he received it ill. "Banish my daughter for a servant!" said he. "Think of some other way." " May I ? " said she. " Then, sweetheart, if I might have my will, I'd part them as becomes us. ' Twas rare fidelity and modesty. Oh, Jedediah ! I know what Mis- tress Shipley would say : Give the young man his liberty, that pines for it, and hath earned it of us by his good deed." " Now you talk sense," said Jedediah ; " I will think ont. Then Mrs. Surefoot went, all in a hurry, and told Mrs. Shipley her trouble, and Mrs. Shipley gave her religious comfort andadvice, and highly approved Jedediah's giving James his liberty. "'Tis the least he can do," said she, " and a new suit to boot. If the young man is willing to try his fortune in these parts, I will give him an axe and a hoe, and a meal a day for three months, and William shall let him a few acres of wood for nothing the first ir 90 THE WANDERING UEIR. year, and thereafter for a payment in kind. Wc have planted many a poor man so, that now doth well enow." Mrs. Surefoot tcjld Philip all this, and, to her surprise, Philip looked blank. His little project had always been to banish Ma)-ia, not James. But otle day Mrs. Surefoot came into the office, with a face full of pain and concern, and said, " Oh, Philii>, I spoke too fast. The master will not give James his liberty." " What a shame ! " said Philip : " but no matter. He is happier now." " Alas ! " said Mrs. Surefoot, " you mista-ke me. James is to go for certain : but the master will not free him ; but sell him to McCarthy, that is always willing to buy them." Philip was struck dumb by this sudden blow: he was too much surprised and shocked to comment on J edediah's conduct and character. Mrs. Surefoot babbled on, unheeded almost. "What will Dame Shipley saj'- ? She will discourse on it till I shall wish I had ne'er been born. I am a miserable woman. The world is too hard for me. But, alas ! I' m a wife, and sworn to obedience ; and he is a good husband, and a good man ; but what he hath bought for money that he never will give for nought ; the Lord forgive him, and me, for not knowing how to manage him as Elizabeth does her good man, for all he is as hard a? flint by nature." Philip repaid her twaddle with a swift glance of sco rn then asked her, with affected composure, when McCarthy was to be expected. She told him the first of noxt month I THE irAMfi:/>fX^! llllUl, 'Ji liat till I -able m a ^and, )ney lliim, Ibeth ire. jorn |rthy )nth without fail, and meantime Maria was to keep her cham- ber. Soon after this Philip fell ill, and kept his bedroom. Mrs. Surefoot visited him often, and sent James to Katey Dean for simples. Phili]> got worse, and yet insisted on doing his work. At his request, a couch was sent up to his little room, and he lay on his back and still kept the accounts, though groaning with pain. James became very anxious, and was always running up to see how he was, and sat gazing at his pale face piteously, and often implored him to say if there was anything he could do for him. Generally, Philip answered rather pettishly, and told James not to come there wasting his time. But one day, seeing James gazing at him with the tear in his e3'e, and a look of wonderful affection and sorrow on his noble, though simple, face, the boy gave a great gulp, and whined out, in rather a tearful way, " James, do not you be a fool. What is the man snivelling for 1 " James hid his face in both hands, and groaned aloud. " Come near me," said the boy, " and I'll telj you a se- cret. WiU you keep it faithfully ? " " Ay, that I will" " Then you must know, I am not ill a whit ; I am only feigning." " What ! alas ! thy poor white face." " Chalk stupid. I tell thee, when you are all a-bed, I rise, and dance about the place, and shake my fist at you all, especially at that old knave Jedediah, and that di.sh of skim milk, his wife, that has got a man, and lets him 1*'" m «« (p. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) if. 1.0 I.I 'ri« IIIIIM U£ In III 2.2 " li£ IlilM 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" - ► ^ <^ /}. 7 VI e. d'l 4"^ o w /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 i. THE WANDERINO nEIlt be her master, instead of making him her head slave, as I would." Philip's laugh and sparkling eye amazed James An- nesley and ho cried out, "Oh, thou dear good, sweet, wicked boy, for playing so with the hearts that love thee ; let me kiss thee," and he rushed at him to embrace him ; But Philip caught up the inkstand in a moment, and threatened him, " Let me be," cried he, " I hate to be slob- bered. Sit down, thou foolish, and talk sense. " Nay, said James, talk it thyself, and tell me why thou art such a dear good, artful young fellow, to sport with the feelings of those that love thee ; and, moreover, 'tis unlucky to feign sickness." " Here's an ungrateful toad," said Philip ; " wliy, 'tis for thee I do it." " i- or me, Philip ? " " Ay, thou innocent, for thee. Oh, James, I could not abear to be parted from thee." Philip said this with a world of tenderness, and then hid his face in his hands and blushed like a rose. James's face showed he was sore puzzled. Philip, who could change his mood like lightning, darted off into his favourite tone of lofty assumption. "Why, thou cox- comb," said he, " dost thou really think thou art fit to go to a new master, without me at thy back ? Come James," added he, patronizingly, ** you are a good, worthy young man, but you are somewhat of a milksop. You are not fit to go alone. You cannot beat the men, nor flatter the women. I can do both, especially make fools of the women. TUE JVANDERING UEIR. 93 not itlia who to his cox- Itogo Imes," [^oung not tho nnon. and turn 'em to butter with my tongue ; and I know not how it is," continued he, assuming now an air of philo- sophical meditation, " but custom governs us strangely ; once get into the habit of taking care of a child, or a dog, or a James Annesley, or any foolish, helpless sort of a pet, and in truth, you get so used to it, you can't let it go alone ; you still come '^lucking after it, like a hen after her duckling. Is it not laughable ? " "No; for I am as fond of thee, Philip, as thou art of me.' " That you may easily be : for I am not fond of you at all : but I am warmly, and sincerely, and truly, accus- tomed to you, sir : and so I can't part. I won't neither ; I'll kill everybody dead first, and die myself. But there's no need of that ; I've got the key to that hunks. Avarice James ; avarice ! Come, no more idle talk ; but be a good lad : obey thy friend and protector, and let's to work. Give me that piece of chalk. So. Now go you to Jede- diah, and ask him to see me alone before I die. Tell hira I have somewhat to say I would not trust even to our dame." James did as he was bid ; and Jedediah, in the course of a few hours, when he had nothing more remunerative to do, went to Philip's room. He found him lying pale and exhausted, with a little table by him. He sat down by him, and said he hoped that he was better. " Master," said the boy, " I shall never be better. I have got the complaint my father died of, and in a few days I shall leave you. What vexes me is, you will lose a faithful servant." " It can't be helped. God's wil' be done." !■ M TUB WANDERING HEIR. 1 1 "And you will have to bury me ; and that is like fling- ing money away. Nothing comes of it," " It cannot be helped," said Jedediah, with a little groan. " Not by you ; but I think I could help it. Why should you lose the money you paid for me, and the money for the coffin and all ? " " It is a sore dispensation. But it cannot be helped." " Yes, sir ; it can. McCarthy comes here to-morrow, to buy slaves." Jedediah nodded. "He got the better of you iu that sale of wood." Jedediah groaned. " It's your turn now. I'll seem well, or nearly, w^n he comes : you shall say, * James Annesley will fret with- out his friend :' then McCarthy will buy us both : and I shall die on his premises, not yours." Jedediah's little keen eye flashed. He subdued it, and said, " But I doubt me whether that would be fiiir trade. What thinkest thou ? Is it lawful to spoil the Egyptians ?" " It is a Christian duty. And think of me, master. I shall die miserable, if you have to bury me, and lose so much by me." " Nay, I will n& frave thee die unhappy. That were cruel. Thou hast been indeed a faithful servant, and I'll humour thee in this thing." " Good master, kind master ! Then I pray you go at once to Mistress Maria's chamber, and fetch me her pot of red. Ask her not for it ; or she'll deny you, and swear to't. 'Tis in the drawer of her table whereon stands hei glass." " My daughter, paint her face 1 " • THE WAI^DERING UEIR, 95 i?" " Ay, and her lips and all, at odd times. Fetch it me, sir, privately ; for without it McCarthy will see the trick, and never buy me." Jedediah went straight for the cosmetic, looking black as thunder. Philip chuckled with delight. " Aha ! " said this sweet harmless boy, "I have 'lent that minx a dig into the bargain." Next day McCarthy came, and, at sight of James, offered a fair price. Jedediah appeared cool on it, and at last let out that there was such a close friendship between James and the bookeeper, he did not care to part them. " Book-keeper ? " said McCarthy. " Ay," said Jedediah, and showed him the books. At this juncture, the dialogue having purposely been carried on in sight of Philip's window, out ran the book- keeper, looking the picture of hea'th. McCarthy was astonished at his youth, and his book-keeping, and deter- mined to purchase him ; however, he concealed his en- thusiasm, like a wary trader, and said he really only needed one servant ; but would give the same price for Philip, if Jedediah would not part them. The bargain was struck : and in less than an hour the two friends' bundles were in McCarthy's light waggon, and they were marching behind it. With them, to their infinite surprise, walked Jedediah Surefoot, a short thick riding- whip in his hand. The fact is, his daughter liad slipped out, taking ad- vantage of her mother being at Willingtown, and be was I r-1 : ! 96 THE WANDERING UElli. afraid she had resolved to have a tender parting with James, or some worse folly : and, who knows, exasperated at being sold instead of rewarded, James's good faith might melt before a second temptation of the sort. So he said grimly, to his late servants, " I'll set ye on your way." He stalked along with them in silence. They thought he would go a milo, and then give them his blessing ; but no ; mile after raile, this kill-joy stuck to them, and was irksome, for they both wanted to talk, and congratulate each other on being still together. At last Philip lost all patience, and resolved to make the intruder smart : he whispered James to fall back a little, and suddenly putting on his saucy swagger, that was quite new to Jedediah, he said, " Come, old man, hand forth my vail." "Thy vail, boy r* " Ay. Do you think I shall let you bite my worthy master there, and not have my nibble ? Two gold pieces I demand. Give them, or I'll reveal the bubble to McCarthy, and have thee trounced, thou dealer in man's flesh : thou hypocritical knave, that would rob a church, and go to prayers before the deed, and after." Jedediah was stupified at first by this sudden hail-storm of insolence : but amazement soon gave way to rage. He gave a roar, and rushed at Philip. Philip screamed and tried to escape : but could not ; he clutched him fiercely by the collar, and raised his whip on high ; but it never came down; for, at Philip's first scream, James rushed on Jede- diah with equal fury, and seized his arm, and caught him THE WANDERING HEIR. 97 by the throat so fully, that in a moment his face was pur- ple. Then James seized his whij), and mad with rage himself, whirled him round in a circle, and thrashed him furiously ; you might have heard the blows a mile off : then put his foot to Jedediah's stomach, and with one amazing thrust, spurned him head forward to the ground, that he rolled over, and the dust rose round his helpless body, like a cloud. This done, he flung his whip at him where he lay. Philip clung, sobbing and trembling, to his arm. James stood like a Colossus, his feet wide apart, his eyes glaring. " Nay, be not alarmed, sweet Philip," said he. " He is no master of ours ; but only a knave I have taught a les- son. None shall lay whip on thee, while I am by." He coaxed and encouraged him, and they walked slowly on ; but Philip, in walking, still clungto James's strong ann, and trembled. When he was a little better, he looked uj), and gazed on James, with quite a new sentiment of admira- tion, and said, " Oh ! how grand, and strong, and brave, and beautiful you were. I did not think 'twas in you." Having thus delivered himself, he lowered his head again suddenly, and clung to James's arm again. " Nay," said James, " I am not a brave man : my want of courage was the first cause of all my misery. Childi 'twas only rage, not courage : no matter j I have but one friend ; I'll not see him abused." " Bless you, James ! " He suddenly took James's hand, and kissed it with a gentle devotion he had never exliib- Q 98 THE WANDERING HEIR. \ ited before. " Dear James," he said, "■ I cannot bear a blow. *Twas for a blow I left my home and all mj friends," " Ay, indeed ! Pluck up heart, now, and tell me al about that." i - r " Tel] thee my story ? not for all the world." • ; " Why ? I told thee mine." . • * " Ay : you have nought to blush for. I'd rather die^ than tell thee mine. What have I done ? I have put a barrier between me and the man I , nay heed nol what I say, I am ill. I am sick. I have been fright- ened. I shall faint. I shall die." " Nay, nay," said James, " take not on so, for nought. Is this he who called me a milksop ? " - . .i " Ay," said Philip, weeping. Then with piteous effort at his little hectoring way, " And will again, if I pee-pee- please." V " Meantime," said James, " I'll bestow thy valour in yon cart :" caught up the weeping Hector in a moment, and carried him in his strong arms, striding away, till he overtook the cart. " Master, poor Philip hath been'-: ill of late, and he is aweary May I put him in the cartr' "And welcome. There is room for thee an' alL" • v " Nay, sir, I will not weight the good horse." In a very few minutes there was a good deal of talking and laughing in the covered cart. Master Philip was amusing his new master, and taking the length of his foot. '\ .-fl THE WANDERING HE IB. 09 " Dear heart !" thought Annesley, " what a strange boy 'tis. He changes like the wind. Sure his mother's milk is scarce out of him." Late at night, they reached McCarthy's, a large farm, about sixty miles from Philadelphia. L Phapter Vt 'cOARTHY was a widower, and the house was kept by his daughter, a lady of very striking appearance. She was very tall, and com- manding, and fair. Some thought her beau- tiful : others were repelled by the extreme haugh- tiness of her features, with which her deportment and manners corresponded. The two friends, of course, talked everybody over, with whom they were likely to come in contact ; and they dif- fered about Mistress Christina McCarthy. James thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Philip screamed " What !!!!!!!!!!!! a nose like a man's, foxy eyebrows, white eyelashes, and a cold cruel eye. She is nnt a woman," said this candid critic : " she is a cat." "I never heard thee praise a woman yet," objected James. " That is their fault, not mine," retorted Philip, who had long ago resumed the upper hand. " You will be pleased to avoid that cat like poison," said Philip : " and, if she runs after you — and I hear she has had a dozen beaux already — you will come to me for advice, or our friendship is at an end, sir. I shall have my eye on her." I TUE WANDERING HEIR. m The effect of Philip's espionage was this : he discovered that Christina McCarthy passed James and him as if they were dirt, her lofty affections being fixed on a big mulatto slave. Such an attachment was repugnant to the feelings of white men, and contrary to law. They kept it very close in consequence, and nobody on the farm dreamed of such a thing, until this Argus-eyed Philip came, and found it out, by their secret glances, and signals, and a deal of subtle evidence. He told James of it, and made merry over the lady's hauteur. " That is so like the jaces : whenever one of them knows herself baser than all the rest, she puts on a mask oftrans- cendant pride, to throw dust in folks' eyes. But they can- not throw dust in mine." James hoped it was not true : " for 'tis disgraceful," said he, "and contrary to nature: and, poor man, she is his only child." "Don't contradict me," said Philip. " I tell you 'tis so; and I'll show you the law." He had picked up a copy of the State laws, on purpose to ascei'tain the probable fate of this haughty beauty, whose superb carriage had roused a most vindictive feeling in Master Pliilip. James was not so curious in love affairs as Philip, and saw nothing to justify the libel. The lady passed often before liis eyes, a model of cold dignity and feminine reserve. He scouted the notion, and almost scolded Philip for his uncharitableness towards women. One evening, having done his work, he took " Plutarch's 102 THE WANDERING HEIR. Lives," which Philip had borrowed for him from the mas- ter, and lay down under a hedge of the prickly pear, to read it. He was so absorbed in this book, and hiy so still* that the little birds cameabouthim, and did not mind him . the dusk came on, and still, with his young eyes, he went on reading, till suddenly he heard footsteps on the other side of the hedge, and, after the footsteps, voices. Now James was outside the hedgo but these speakers were inside, and well hidden by the shadow of some lofty trees. This, in fact, was the favourite rendezvous of Christina and the mulatto Regulus, Jaiiies knew the young lady's voice directly, and, though they spoke low and hurriedly, he heard enough to show him they were lovers, and tliat she was going to elope with the fellow, as soon as she could lay her hands on a large sum of money her father was about to receive for the sale of another plantation. James listened with horror, and asked himself what on earth he should do. At last these ill-assorted lovers parted : that is to say, Regulus went off, leaving his young mistress to follow at such an interval of time as might lead to no suspicion. Then James thought he would not tell the old man, but would, at all events, try first to show the young woman her folly : he ran hastily to a gate, penetrated the wood, and came swiftly through the trees, to her, for he saw her white dress still standing there. Seeing him come straight to her so fast, she took him for Regulus come back with news, and she was so unguarded as to say, " Why, what now, my dear Regulus ? " A strange voice answered her. THE WANDERING HEIR. 103 at whose first tone she uttered a ftiint cry of alarm. " 'Tia not Regulus, Madam ; but one who has more real good wishes towards you than he has." Christina trembled violently ; but defended herself. She drew up haughtilyi and said, " Why 'tis James Annesley. How dare you speak to me ? What are you doing hero at this time ? Hav you been hero long ? " " Long enough to learn something hat astonishes and pains me, and I hope I may be in ^ime to prevent it. Madam, I saw you and Regulus t ^eUv »•." " Wonderful ! And now you see me md another of my slaves together. I w^.s giving Rr^nius an order: and now I give you an order. Go home, and sleep the liquor off that hath made thee so bold as to speak to me ; be- gone, or dread the whif), thou malapert." James sLood his ground. " Before I go, tell me what I ought to do. I am your father's servant, Madam, not yows. Both you and I, we eat his bread. Ought I to let him be robbed of his daughter, and his money, and never breathe a word ? " Then she began to pant, and .said, " What mean you ? " Then he told her that he had overheard every word that had passed between her and Regulus. " Indeed ! " said she, with an attempt at defiance, be- lied by her short breath. "Repeat it, then," said she ironically. " I will," said he gravely : and he did repeat it, and at such length, and with suc;x exact fidelity, that, as he went on, shame and infinite terror crawl<^d over her; her knee>» smote each other, and her haughty frame cringed and 104 TUB WANDERING HEIR. writhed, and she sank half down upon a wood pile that was near, and her white hands fell helpless, one in front of her, and the other by her side : never was a proud creature so stricken down in a moment. Then this good young man pitied her, and hoped to save her. He said, " Madam, for Heaven's sake, look at the consequences. What good can come of it ? If you fly with Ilagulus, and take your father's money, you will be caught one day, and set on the gallows, and be publicly whipped : for I have seen one as young and fair a« you served so." A moan from the crushed woman was the only com- ment. " And if you steal nought, yet marry a mulatto, ' tis against the law, and your children will be illegitimate, and you will lose your father's estate, and break his heart," Christina interrupted him. " Oh, say no more, James, for pity's sake. I have been mad. Oh ! what a precip- ice ! James, do not thrust me over. Do not tell my father, for mercy's sake." " Not if you will promise to forego this mad design. Sure that mulatto must have bewitched you. That one so fair as you should cast an eye of love on anything so foul." She caught at this directly. " Ay," she cried, " 'twas witchcraft, and no other thing. But you have opened my eyes, good James — too late ! too late ! " and she burst into a flood of tears. " That depends on yourself : if you IHH THE WANDElUm HE IE. lOb will swear to holu . > more converse with that mulatto, I shall not feel bound to utter one word of what I know." " James," said the lady, " you are my guardian angel ; you have saved me from a crime, and from an act of phrenzy I now look back upon with horror. Do, but con- tinue your good work. Advise me at every step, and all will be well." James was surprised into consenting to that : and she then begged him to conduct her home. " Alas !" said she " I can scarce stand." She leaned on James's shoulder, and went very slowly and feebly. This gave her time to say some of those vague things with which such women think to excuse their follies. " If you knew all, you would pity me, even more than you condemn me." And again, with her white hand leaning on his arm, she said, " How sorcery blinds us ! " And what with this, and her gentle pressure of his hand at parting, she disturbed even this Joseph's mind a little, and set him thinking it would not be very hard to cure her of her insane caprice. Next day she sent for him openly, and told him her plan. " I shall keep out of his way ; I shall not move from my own apartments ; or, if I do, you shall be with me : and now here is a letter I will beg you to take him. Read it first, before T seal it." The letter ran thus : — " An accident has frustrated our " design for the present. My father has not yet brought " the money into the house. I hurt my foot last night, "and shall not, I fear, be able to come to our rendezvous " for some days. Burn this before the face of whatever 106 THE WANDERING HEIR. " person I may send it by, or I shall think you do not " mean fair to *' THE WRITER." I ■ Jnmes highly dissapproved this letter, and told her so. "Why," said he, "it cannot fail to keep hope alive in him." "Exactly," said she: "and so he will not blab of my folly." " No more he will, if you break off all connection with him." And why write at all? Such a letter is worse than silence." However, she talked him over, and convinced him that she was resolved, in a cowardly and artful way, to detach herself gradually from the deplorable connection, so that he half consented to take the letter. Then she took a slice of cake out of her closet, and a pint of rich wine, and sat close to him while he drank it, and showed him such signs of favour, that he was the more inclined to believe she would readily detach herself from Regulus : so he con- sented to take the letter. The mulatto eyed him keenly ; took the letter, read it, burned it before his eyes ; and said, " Tell her what you have seen me do ; that is all." Christina nov. showed James so many marks of favour, and so open, thac Philip took him to task. " My poor mouse," said he, scornfully, " are you going to let that cat catch you so easily ?" When that produced no effect, he remonstrated, advised, scolded, and, at last, quarelled with him downright, and would not speak to him. n tv THE K 'ANDERING HEIR. 107 Now James was really rather smitten with Christina ; her tenderness and cajoleries, following upon her haughty demeanour, had wonderfully tickled his vanity, and even grazed his heart ; but he was not so far gone as to part with Philip's friendship. So one day he came to him, and said, " Dear Philip, do not you quarrel with me, in a mistake. I will tell thee the truth about Mistress Chris- tina, but first you must swear to me, on the big Bible, never to reveal one word of that I tell thee." • Philip turned pale at this j but took the oath, and then James told him all. ~ He was more alarmed than surprised. " I knew she was naught, the minute I clapped eyes on her. Look at her white lashes, and her cold, cruel eye. The unnatural beast ! that would rob her own father, and wed with a brown! And what sort of a man are you ? Why went you not straight to her father, like an honest man ? What hadyou to do to go to her, and get cozened, you silly oaf ? Are you a match for that artful jade, think you ? " " Nay, she seems very penitent, and keeps away from him ; and — whisper, Philip. If I choose I could take the brown's place, as you call him, any day; and, really, 'tis a temptation." " You love the wretch ? ** " Nay, not quite love. But she is so fair, she was so haughty, and now so tender. I own I think more about her than I ever did of any woman yet. To be sure I am very proud of saving her, and that makes the heart soft to- wards the fair creature I have rescued from ' a precipice.* " 108 THE WANDERING HEIR. II Philip's face turned green, and his lips pale. His face was distorted and discoloured, with the anguish these words cost him; and he sat mute as a statue. James did not happen to look at him, and went maun- dering on. "The only thing I like not is that letter to Regulus. What think you of it, Philip ? " Philip, though sick at heart, made a great effort, and said, faintly, " The letter was writ to show him he must temporize, but not despair. Prithee, James, leave me a while ; I have work to do. Come in an hour, and we will see ./hat all this really means." He went, and then Philip began to sigh and moan at the confession Jam^es had made; and, for a long while he could only think of ^lis own misery, at being supplanted in James's heart. But of 'bourse his hatred of this rival soon led him into a keen and hostile examination of her conduct, and the consequence was a new and more disin- terested anxiety arose, which led him to put a very keen question to James the moment he entered the room. " Has the mulatto shown you any enmity ? " " None whatever." " Yet he sees his mistress bestow favours on you. Then all is clear. She has told him. You are their dupe. How that woman must hate you !" " Nay," said James, smiling conceitedly, " that I'll be sworn she does not." * " What, not when you have come betweeu her and her fancy, and do keep them apart ? Think you when once a woman hath loved a woolly mulatto, she can so come back THE WANDERING HEIR, 109 to wholesome affections ? She hates you; and spends her days and nights scheming to destroy you. Oh, those cun- ning lashes, and that cruel eye ! They make me tremble for you. Let me think what she is about at this very minute." He resumed, after a pause, " She will draw you on to offer her some innocent freedom ; then fly out, and accuse you of wooing her. Who will believe you — a slave — when the young mistress swears ? " " I'll not give her the occasion." "How can you tell? And if you do not, why then she will get rid of you some other ^/ay. You shall be stabbed in the back, some dark night, and never know who struck you: but I shall know, and I shall kill her — before I die." So strong were Philip's fears, that he armed James with an enormous knife, and made him promise never to go to any lonely place without it. James assented, to quiet him ; but, in his heart, made light of these extrav- agant fears. On the other hand, he felt piqued by Philip's insinuation that the mulatto and his penitent were duping him ; and so he used often to get up in the dead of the night, and make his rounds with stealthy foot, to watch. The effect of this vigilance was, that one moonlight night, coming softly round a corner, he found Regulus under the young mistress's bed-room window, which window was open, the weather being warm. James collared him di- rectly. " What do you do here, at this time of night." " I do what you do," said the mulatto. .^ 110 THE WANDERING HEIR. " Not so," said James ; " for I guard my master's goods against a knave." "Knave thyself, and meddler, and fool," cried the mulatto, whose rage hac been simmering this many a day. From words, they came to blows, and struck each other hard and fast, without much parrying : in the midst of which Christina put her head out of her window on the first floor, and looked steadily dowj at them. After a few moments of self-possessed observation, she said, in a keen whisper, " Kill him ! ! " In this combat, the white struck at the face, and the black at the body : by this means the black's -face was soon covered with blood, but the v/hite man was most hurt, and felt instinctively that he should soon be over- powered; so he closed with his dark antagonist; they wrestled fiercely, but it ended in James throwing him, and falling heavily on him : the ground was hard, and the fall of the two heavy bodies on it tremendous ; it drove the wind out of Regulus for a moment, and James got him by the ears, and pounded his bullet head on the ground. Christina now screamed loudly ; a window or two were opened ; night-capped heads popped out, and the com- batants separated by mutual consent, and retired, glaring at each other. James had not gone far, when he was seized with a vio- lent sickness; and, after that, he crawled to his bed, bruised and seriously hurt by the body blows he had re« THE WANDERING HEIR, 111 the vio- bed, re- ceived. Next morning he was too stifi' and ill to go to his work. Philip heard a vague report that James and the mulatto had been fighting in the dead of night, and sent a message directly to James, desiring to speak to him. The servant came back and said he was too ill to leave his bed. Philip was much concerned at this, and, after a slight hesitation, went and knocked at the door of James's room : he slept over the stables. A faint voice said, " Come in." Philip lifted the latch. He found James lying on the bed, just as he had come from the battle ; and his face two or three colours. Philip had intended to scold him ; but this was no time. He came softly to him, and said, " Alas ! my poor James, how is it with thee ?" " But badly, in truth," said James, still in a faint voice. " How came it about ? " He told him the truth. "Ah!" said Ph p, sadly. "Jealousy, plowmen do love ill women ! That old cat — thirty, if she is a day — tohavetwo lo\rers, two nations after a manner, lighting for her o'nights beneath her very window. Did she see you?" « Indeed she did." " And smiled, I'll be bound, at what would make a good woman scream to part the fools. Did she say nought ? " " She said, ' Kill him.' " "Kill whom?" " The black, I do suppose." " I am not so sure of that." And JPhilJp fell into a L 112 THE WANDERINO HEIH. reverie. It was broken by James going suddenly back on something Philip had said. " I do believe thou art right," said he, " and finding him under her window, I felt a sort of jealousy as well as wrath at his continuing to tempt her : if 'twas so, I am rightly served ; but flout me not for't, Philip, for I think I am sped." " Now Heaven forbid. Where is thy hurt ? " " All over me. I made a great mistake. I kept beating him about his bullet head : but he still belaboured my ribs. Oh ! I am all pains and aches : it hurts me e'en to speak." " Alas ! alas !" said Philip, and laid a cool consoling hand on the hot brow : then he suddenly ground his teeth and sair, " Curses on them all : I will end this to-night ; no later. ' James asked him what he meant. He refused to say ; but the fact is he was resolved to go that very night to McCarthy, who was then on a visit to his brother, five miles ofif, and tell him the whole story. Knowing that James would remonstrate, he kept his resolution to him- self, and went oflf for the present to prepare a composing draught for his patient, after the receipt of Patience Surefootu He made the decoction, in which, I believe, the flowers of the lime-tree were a principal ingi'edient ; and while it was simmering, he took up the Philadelphia Post that had just been brought into the ofHce. He always read every line of that journal. It was a single quarto sheet, and came out twice a week. That journal contained an advertisement, that set the (( B ' THE WANDEBINO HEIR. 113 paper shaking in Philip's hand, and his eyes glowing : — "I, Jonas Hunway, now lying in jail, charged with " the murder of my ward, Joanna Philippa Chester, take " this way to lot her know my evil plight, and beg her, for " pity's sake, to come back, or write of her welfare. Poor " Silas, that made the mischief, is in his grave, and nought " awaits her here but my true repentance, and the kind " affection of my co-trustee, Mr. Thomas Chester, under " whose care she now is, if only she could be found. And, " for a further inducement to return, I do now, with my " co-trustee's consent, inform her that she is heiress to a *' fortune of thirteen thousand pounds or more, which " knowledge was withheld from her by her father's express " desire, lest any man should wed her for her dower, and " not for true love of her: but now 'tis thought best to let " her know the truth, lest she throw herself away. The said " Joanna is now nineteen years of age, tall, and active, and " of singular beauty ; hath eyebrows black as jet, and do " meet so remarkably as, in an Englishwoman, must needs ** draw notice. She hath been traced to London, and it is " thought she hath crossed the seas. Whoever will give " information respecting her, shall receive a reward of " Five Hundred Guineas. " She had her mother's jewels with her. But they are " now her own. " From my Prison, at Staines, January, ITSQ-^O." the Advertisement !- H -It was a cry from a Prison, and a cry 114 THE WANDERING HEIR. il'? from home, that knocked at her very heart. She uttered a responsive cry herself, as if the prisoner's cry had sounded in her ears ; and then she devoured the words once more, feeding on every syllable in great amaze- ment. But presently, the letters grew hazy ; her filling eyes saw tliem no more, and, in their place, came the pleasant meads of Colehrook, the English landscape, humble, but sweet, the gi'ey old church, the parson's scholarly face, the white-headed children, and poor old England stretching out her hands to her lost daughter, with words of sorrow and love. Then her heart gushed to her eyes in a stream, and the wanderer lay softly back in her chair, quite motionless, and let the sweet tears flow. Then came the desire to act ; to fly home, and save that poor bereaved father, and live amongst her folk. How should she manage it ? She had jewels secreted about her, any one of which was worth more than a slave's ransom. Why not go to McCarthy ; tell him who she was, and ofler him a diamond ring for her liberty ? Why not ? because he miglit have her seized, for wearing man's clothes, and throw her into prison for life, so severe was this colony in that matter. No ; she could not endure the shame ; nor run the risk. She would take one of his horses, and ride by night to Philadelphia ; and make terms with him through some other party. One thing alone she did resolve — not to lose an hour, but to be gone that very night. One day lost, and the prisoner's life might uay for it. Yes, she would go, and take James Annesley THE WANDEIUNO HEIR. 115 -with her. She took up the sleeping draught, and went to his room. She made him diink it, and then covered him up waim, and took his hand in hers. " James, dear," said she, " I am a happy — creature. I have news from England : sad news, after a manner — yet sweet ; and I am goinghome." " Going ! — Ah well : God's blessing and mine go with thee." " Why, thou foolish man, I go not without thee. This very night we ride to Philadelphia, and thence to England." James shook his head sorrowfully. " There is no es- cape for a slave. I have tried it." " Ay, all alone, and on foot, without money or means. But 'tis different now. I shall command the expedition ; I, who, by your leave, possess the two capital gifts of a commander, which are forecast, and courage ; forecast, by which I do foresee all possible accidents, and provide for them ; and courage, whereby I overcome and trample un- der foot those petty dangers that scare a mere ordinary man like thee. — What's this ? " "What is what?" " I smell a smell I never could abide. 'Tis a cat. I know 'tis a cat. There ! there, she is — coiled in the mouth of that sack. I shall faint, I shall die." " Why here's a coil about poor Puss. 'Tis the stable cat, and loves to come here." " Well, she goes forth, or I." " Open the door then, and fling thy cap at the poor harmless thing." ^ 116 THE IFANDERING HEIR. " I call not foul things harmless, especially when they are all claws. I like not your cats, even when they are called Christinas." While Philip was driving out the " harmless necessary cat," James criticised him. " Why, 'tis like a girl, to be afear'd of a cat. But indeed you are more like a girl than a boy, in many things. You hate women more than is natural, and you turn your toes out in walking ; and you carry your hand so oddly when you walk* " Mercy on us, how ? " " Why you turn it out sideways, and show the fingers. I walk with my thumb straight down." Philip turned very red, but said, pertly, " All vhich proves that I was born of a woman. Now you were born of a goose. I'm man enough to be your master, and this very evening you shall ride with me to Phila- delphia." "You are my master, and I own it," said James: " my master, by superior learning, wit, and daring, only the courage comes and goes most strangely. But, good my master, for all that, I cannot ride with thee to- night." " Oh, say not so, James. Why not 1 ** " I could not sit a horse, for my life." " Alas ! how unfortunate we are. James, think me not unkind ; but I must go to-night ; with thee, or without thee." " You must go without me, then ; for indeed I am not able." THE JVANDERING IIEIB. 117 I " But perhaps you may be by nigbtf: 11. Ha re a good Bweat, and a good sleep ; and I'll conio ngain «t dusk ; for oh, James, I must go ; and I am loth to leave thee." Then Philippa retired, and went and made some slight preparation for the journey she had resolved to take : but, in the mid.st of it all, her hands fell helpless, and her heart revealed itself to her. She could not go. Love burst through all self-deception at last. She loved him ; had loved him long; and now loved him to distraction. Leave him on his sick bed, and among enemies : no, not for a day. She had honestly intended — if he could not come — to fly to Philadelphia, sell her jewels, and buy him of McCarthy ; but, now it came to the point, she burst out crying, and found she could not leave him in trouble, no, "lot for an hour. " Nay," said she to herself, " but I will come at night, and hector him, and taunt him, and coax him, and try all my wicked arts to get him to go with me : then, if he cannot, I will pretend to go without him, but I'll slip back softly, and lie on the mat at my darling's door. None shall come to hurt him but over my body." Meantime, James received another unexpected visitor. There was a gentle tap at the door ; and Mistress Chris- tina glided in. He was surprised and tried to rise and receive her ; but she put up her white hand, that he should not move. Then she sat down by him, and with the most cajoling tenderness, expressed her regi-et at what had occurred. "Why," said she, " will you 1 rouble about that man, whom you know I have discarded ? " " He was there to tempt you, Madam." i 118 THE WANDERING HEIR. m " More likely through jealousy ; seeing me favour yon perhaps he suspected me of speaking to you at all Lours. But, once more, James, trouble not about him. Has he hurt you ? '* " Nay, Madam, not much," said James : " a few bruises, that I am to sleep away. He got as good as he gave, I know." " That is true," said she, gravely : " he is much cut about the face, and you have knocked out one of his front teeth." " I will knock his head off next time." " I will give you leave to kill him — next time," said the lady, calmly. " Meantime, prithee get well — for my sake. I'll send you something to do you good." She then kissed her hand to him, and went softly out. Before she had been long gone, Philip's potion began to work, and James fell into a fine sleep and a violent per- spiration. Presently there was another tap at the door, and as the sleeper did not reply, Chloe entered, with a large basin of strong soup, prepared by the white hands of Christina herself Chloe was followed by the late discarded cat, returning now with lofty tail, sniffing the savoury mess. Chloe, finding the patient asleep and perspiring, had the sense not to awaken him ; only, as she thought it a pity the soup should cool, she put it down by his bedside, cal- culating that the smell might waken him, as it would her. To ^eep it warm, she put " Plutarch's Lives" over it, and then I'etired : it was about four o'clock. ' ii THE WANDERim HEIR. 119 Now if James was asleep, Puss was not. He turned about the leg of the table, sniffnf? ; and at last sprang boldly on to the bed, and froi . the bed to the table. Here he found an obstacle in Plutarch. Plutarch covered the soup, not entirely, but too much for Puss to get a nose in. He sat quiet a few minutes, then he applied his forepaw, and nose, and made a sufficient aperture. Then he found the soup too hot. Then he jat on the table a whole hour waiting. Then he arose and gradually licked up nearly half the soup : then he retired quietly, and coiled him- self up. James still slept on his balmy sleep, till just before sunset. Then he was awakened by a violent knocking, He loo'red up, and there was the poor cat in violent convulsions, springing up to an incredible height, and hammering the floor with his head, when he came down. James got up, unconscious of his late pains, and threw some water over him. He thought it a fit : but, after a few violent convulsions, came piteous cries, and the poor creature stretched his limbs, and died foaming at the mouth. James soon discovered the cause, in the stolen soup. His blood ran cold. He fell on his knees, and thanked God he was alive. But how long ? What would not hate so diabolical as this attempt ? He seized his knife, and prepared to sally forth. At this moment he heara "^ whistle under his window. " Ah ! " thought he, " a signal of assassins." He in- stantly dragged his bed and other things to the door, to 120 TEE WANDERING HEIR. iinT)ec[e an attack from that quarter, and then went cautiously to the window. To his great relief, it was Philip, who had given that signal. He opened the win- dow directly, " Oh, Philip ! They have tried to poison mel" •■'Ah!— who? who?" " Christina herself. Sent me soup. The cat stole some whilst I slept, thanks to your medicine, — you are my pre- server, — and see, the poor cat is dead." He took the cat's body, and flung it out. Philip recoiled, with a cry of horror. " Come forth !" he cried, " come forth or they will murder thee yet. Oh, my love, come forth to me." " I will, I will." And, in a moment, he tore away the bed and other things, from the door, and ran down to Philip. Philip had lost not a moment, but was getting the two best horses out. James helped him. Without a word more they saddled and bridled them, and Philip sprang into the saddle ; his black eyes were gleaming with a strange fire. "Take that dead beast before t^iee," said he ; "and I'll give thee liberty and vengeance." They galloped off, over the soft ground, Philip leading, and took the road for Philadelphia. They did not venture to speak till they got clear of McCarthy's premises, but then James told Philip of Chris- tina's visit, and cajoleries, followed by murder. Philip said, " 'Twas in her eye. Ah ! thou foul cat, but I'll be even with thee;" and Philip ground his teeth audibly, and his eye shot fire in the moonlight. " My poor James/' said he, " that would not harm a mouse I " TEE WANDERING HEIR 121 ■. About five miles from McCarthy's, they passed his brother's farm. They passed it a hundred yards or so, and then Philip drew the rein, and haltered his horse to a gate, and made James do the same. " Now take that dead Christina in thy hand," said he, bitterly, " and follow me." He marched up to the farm, and asked for William McCarthy. " What want you ? " " We are two servants of his, come with news of life and death." " You shall find him at supper with the rest." Philip walked boldl}'' into the noisy supper-room, fol- lowed bv James. " Silence all ! " said he, with a voice like a clarion : and the room was still in a moment. " Master, have you money in your house ? " ** Ay," cried McCarthy, half rising and turning pale ; " more than I can bear to lose. But 'tis in the safe, boy. None knows of it but my daughter." " Am I your daughter ? Yet I know it. Your daugh- ter has a mulatto for her lover, and they have planned to rob you of your money, and fiy." "The proof!" roared McCarthy. " The proof is this : James there overheard Christina and Regulus plan the robbery : he taxed Christina with it ; and she tried to cajole him ; but, failing in that, and knowing he would tell you, like a faithful servant as he is, she this day essayed to poison him." Here there were some exclamations. " Ay, sir," con- tinued he ; " the cat, by God's mercy, stole a little of the 122 THE WANDERINO HEIR. soup, while he slept : now look at that cat's body, and judge for yourselves." The cat was instantly examined, Philip did not stop for that. " Now, master, take your weapons, and to horse this moment, and save your goods, if there be yet time." Mr. McCarthy, and his brother, and two or three men, ran out. Philip turned to the others, and, folding his arms, said boldly, " Sirs, ye are Christian Lien, and white men like ourselves ; is it your will that good servants of your own flesh and blood, shall be poisoned, like rats ? " There was a roar of honest dis- clamation. " And all because Christina McCarthy is so lost to shame as to wed a black and rob her own flesh and blood. Then, sirs, to your justice we two commend our cause. There is the poisoned beast, to prove our words, and half the poisoned soup in this good young man's room over the stable. Punish them with every- thing short of death. James and I will keep away a little while ; for, if we testify, the judge might hang her. Give you good e'en. " Having delivered this bold but artful speech, he retired with James, and the moment he got outside the door, whispered him, " Now run for't, or they will keep as to testify in their courts." They ran off like the wind, un- tethered their horses, and, springing into their saddles, rode rapidly off, keeping the side of the road at first, to dull their horses' hoofs. They rode all night, and, with the earliest streak of dawn, entered the fair town of Phil- adelphia. i. THE PVANDERING HEIR. 123 McCarthy and his party, twelve in all, caught the mulatto and Christina in the very act of levanting with McCarthy's money. They made short work of them : bound Regulus to a tree, and flogged him within an inch of his life, with Christina tied to a chair close by, and the dead cat in her lap. Then they drummed the mulatto out of the district, and sent Christina to a farm in Massachusetts, to clean pots and pans in the kitchen for a twelvemonth and a day. Chapter Yi. HILIP, being commander, sent James to one inn, and went to another himself. He said, that was most prudent, to avoid d^'scovery : but his real motive was different. He had a very difficult game to play. His wit, however, proved equal to it. Remembering that his father was a lawyer, he inquired for an old lawyer, a grey-headed one : he stipulated severely for grey hairs. When he had found his grey-headed lawyer, and liked his countenance, he did not make two bites of a cherry, but told him all, and showed him the advertisement. The lawyer easily got her eighty gold pieces on the se- curity of her diamond cross, and gave her a room on his own premises, where she could dress herself in any costume she liked, without being reported. Meantime, James Annesley was not idle : he saw a no- tice up that Admiral Vernon's ship was short of hands, and he went and engaged himself to serve on board her, he promised to bring a much smarter fellow next day, meaning his mate Philip. When they met in the evening, he tuld Philip this, • THE WANDERING HEIR. 12^ , and Philip was much vexed at first. " Oh ! Why will you do things without asking me V* However, on reflection, she acquiesced, and, with true feminine tact, altered all her plans, to meet this unexpected move. She told James she would go on board the ship ; but in another capacity. She had friends and money, and would work for both. Only, for a day or two, he must not expect to seo much of her. The lawyer sent the horses to McCarthy, and advised him not to trouble any more about the servants, as they were under his care, and he might have to go into the poisoning business, if they were molested. Soon after this a young lady in her mask called on Ad- miral Vernon at his lodgings, and asked him if he would take her home in his ship. " Zounds, Madam, no," said the Admiral ; " no petticoats aboard the King's ship." " Alas, sir ; say not so : do but cast your eye over this, advertisement. Indeed 'tis no common case; 'tis a matter of life and death, my going in your ship." The Admiral read the advertisement, and cried out, " What ! Accused of murder? Gadzooks ! What fools these landsmen be. And are you indeed the gentlewoman they seek?" " Ay, noble Admiral. Deign to regard my foul eye- brows, that are all published to the world so barbarously in this advertisement :" and the sly puss removed her mask, and burst on the sailor in all her sunlike beauty. At this blaze, he began to falter a little. " 'Tis a pity to deny you; but why not go in the tii'«t ship of burden?" 126 THE H'ANDERING HEIR. " Sir, none sail this week, and they are too slow for my need, and, in truth I'm afear'd to be drowned, if I go in any other ship but the one you do command. Oh, Ad- miral ! you are too brave to deny the weak and helpless in their trouble." " Madam !" said the Admiral, " you mistake the ^t- ter. 'Tis of you I think. I am a father; and a ship of war is not the place for young gentlewomen." " But, sir, 1 am discreet, and know the world : and I can wear my mask and keep close. Oh, noble sir, have pit}' on me, and let me sail in your good ship." Then, with her lovely eyes, she turned on, what I, labouring to be sa- tirical, call the waters of the Nile. Then the Admiral rapped out the usual oaths of the sea and the century, and said she had done his business ; " a sailor was never yet proof against salt water from a woman's eye." He then told her where his ship lay in the bay of Del- aware, and his day and hour of sailing : she must come out in a boat, and he would charge an officer beforehand to see her safe aboard. Philippa returned to her lawyer in high spirits, and sent him to James with a note in her own hand, direct- ing him to go on board the English flag-ship next day at six in the evening, and she would follow the day after, before the ship sailed. James did as he was bid. At noon next day, a boat brought a lady in her mask, along- side; and James, who was looking out anxiously for Philip, saw her taken on board, with her boxes — for she had found time to shop furiously, — and handed respect- THE WANDERING HEIR. 117 I fully to her cabin ; but James did not recognize her, nor dream this tall gentlewoman was little Philip. '. At 2 P.M., the Admiral was seen coming out ; the yards were manned directly, and he mounted the quar- ter-deck, with due honours, the next minute the pipe was going, and the men's feet tramping to the cap- stan, whilst others hoisted a sail or two ; and the anchor was secured ; and the ship bowed, and glided, and burst into canvas, and the busy seamen all bustled, and shouldered poor James out of the way, with salt curses, as he ran about the ship asking wildly for Philip, and describing him to coarse fellows who only jeered him. One faint hope remained ; Philip might be down below : but the next day dissipated this ; Philip never showed his face, and this puzzled and grieved James Annesley so, that even the prospect of Liberty and Home could not re- concile him to the loss and seeming desertion of this ten- der and faithful friend. The officer in charge of the new hands now called on James to do some very simple act of seamanship. He bungled it, and there was a good deal of coai^se derision ; to which he replied, at last, a little sadly, but with good temper, " Men are not born sailors ; are they V An officer at the other side of the deck, heard this reply and was struck with the voice, or the face, or perhaps with all three, and called to him. He came respectfully, and removed his cap. " Sure I have seen that face before," said the officer. Iii8 THE IVANDEBING HEIR. James started, and said, " I have seen yours, sir ; but where ?" Said the oiBficer " I'll tell you that. Ts not your name James ? " " Indeed, sir, it is." " Son of Lord Altham that was." " Yes, sir ; but how — oh, 'tis my kind schoolfellow." " Ah, I am Mat Matthews, that set you on your way to Dublin. I took a good look at you thufc day : and I sel- dom forget a face I look at so; but whn t means this disguise, in Heaven's name ? You have been reported dead in Ire- land, this many a year. Where have you been ? Is this a frolic, good sir, or hath Fortune used you crossly .2" " Sir," said James, " I'll tell you in a word, but a word full of misery : my uncle Richard kidnapped me, and sent me to the plantations ; there have I been a slave this many a long year, and even now escaped by a miracle." * " A slave ! You ! a lord's son, a slave ! Kidnapped, and by Richard Annesley, say you ? Why 'tis he now holds your ftither's lands and titles. Perdition ! Here is foul play ! The knave ! 'Twas to steal your lands and titles he spirited you away." " Indeed, sir, I always did suspect it. Such villainy was never yet done for love of God.'* " Sir," said Captain Matthews, " sit you down : and not another rope shall you handle in this ship." He ran, with his heart in his mouth, to the Admiral ; and his warm- hearted Irish eloquence, burning with his schoolfellow's THE WANDERING HEIR. 129 wrongs, soon fired the honest sailor. They agreed that this was the real Earl, and his uncle a felon, whom the sight of the real heir would blast. "And now, I think on't," said Matthews, *' Arthur Lord Anglesey is dead, and Richard Annesley has succeeded to his lands and titles too ; so that there is one of the gi'eatest noblemen in England and Ireland a sailor on board this ship — and a very bad one." ■ " That may not be," said the Admiral, " overhaul the wardrobe straight, and rig him like a lord as he is, and make us acquainted." He added, with a touch of delicacy one would hardly have expected, " I'll not see him in his sailor's jacket, nor seem to know he hath been brought so low." *> ^^^immmmm .^f^y^. Chapter yii, ^^^ll'ti?'^ was a beautiful moonlight night : the groat ^j^Cw:h4 ocean was cahn, and the liglit air so gentlo that snow-white studding sails were set aloft to catch them. The Honourable James Anncsley in a suit of blue velvet, laced with silver, gold-laccd hat, and jewel-hilted sword, paced the deck, and admired the solemn scene, the incredible sheen of the rippling -^cean kissed by mooi ^"<^ams, the ship's gigantic shadow, that ran trembling alongsn^,., . ^ the waves like molten dia- monds, that sparkled to the horizon. His tide had turned : finery on his back, a hundred gold pieces in his pocket, tl)at Matthews, a man of large fortune, had insisted on lending him ; a popular admiral conveying him home, axi honoured guest ! Yet it seemed there was something wanting ; for, after he had erjoyed the scene awhile, he sat down upon a gun, and meditated ; and his meditation was not gay, for soon he heaved a sigh, Now this sigh caught the quick ear of a young lady who head not long emerged upon deck. It was Joanna Philippa Chester, who never showed herself by day, but took the great rentlo t aloft suit of at, and -id the ; )cean V, that en dia- andred f large dmiral |r, after a gun, »r soon ly who lilippa lok the THE JVANDERINO HEIR, 131 nil- at night, and even then had always her littli mask in hand ready to v^hip on. Joanna was farther still from com- plete happiness than James was ; her breast was torn with doubts, and fears, and shames, for which my reader, who has only seen her fitful audacity in boy's clothes, may not be quite prepared. She was now all tremors and misgiv- ings, and paid the penalty of her disguise. Under that disguise, she had fallen deep in love with James Annesley ; yet inspired him with no tenderer feeling than friendship for a boy. That knowledge of the heart, which an inex- perienced but thoughtful woman sometimes attains by constantly thinking on its mysteries, told her that between love and friendship there is a gulf, and that gulf some- times impassable. Philip might stand for ever between James and Philippa. And, besif s this, for a girl to wear boy's clothes was indelicate ; it was condemned by law, it was scouted by public opinion. James Annesley, even in his humble condition, had shown a great sense of propriety ; and she felt, with a cold chill running down her back, that he was not the man to overlook indelicacy in her sex, much less make an Amazon his wife : and now, as she had learned with her sharp ears, the story he had told her was confirmed, and he was the real Earl of Anglesey ; and all the less likely to honour a Tomboy with his hand. For three whole days she had longed and pined to speak to him ; yet fear and modesty had held her back. She could not bear to be Philip any more ; yet she dreaded to be Philippa, lest she should lose even Philip's place in his regard. 132 THE WANDERING HEIR. V! Even now, the moment she saw him seated, with the moon glittering on his silver lace, and his jewelled sword and his dear, shapely head lowered in pensive thought, her first impulse was to recoil, slip down into her cabin again, and torture herself with misgivings, as she had been doing all the voyage. . But love would not let her go without a single look. She turned her eyes on him, that soon began to swim with tenderness, as she looked at him. She stole a long drink of ineffable love, and the next moment she would have been gone ; but he sighed deeply, and she heard it. Then the habit of consoling him, and her yearning heart, were too much for her. By a sudden impulse she whipped on her mask, and stole towards him. She trembled, she blushed; but all the woman was now in arms to dafend that love which was her life. He heard her coming, looked up, and saw a tall young lady close upon him, dressed in the fashion, with a little silk hood, and a mask that hid all but her mouth. He rose, removed his hat, and bowed ceremoniously. She curtsied in the same style. " Forgive me, sir," said she, " I fear I interrupt your meditations." *' Most agreeably, madam." " Methought I heard you sigh, sir.' " I dare say you did, madam." " I was surprised, sir, for I hear you are a gentleman of quality, going home to high fortune, after encountering ^er frowns. Sure that should make her smiles the sweeter." I THE WANDERING HEIR. 133 ith the sword lought, 5r cabin iic had le look, io swim 3 a long B would leard it. g heart, :vhipped 3led, she 3 difend 11 young L a little th. He y- She pt your em an of 5ring ler iweeter." " Madam, it may be so : but my enemies are powerful : I may find it very hard to dispossess the wrongful owners." " And 'twas for that you sighed." " Not at all, madam. I sighed for the loss of a dear friend." *'Alas! What— dead?" " Now God forbid ! " " False then, no doubt." " I hope not : but I am sore perplexed : for he never failed me before." " He ? What, 'twas only a man then, after all ? " " 'Twas a boy, for that matter ; but what a boy ! You never saw his fellow, madam. His head was all wit, his heart all tenderness ; his face all sunshine. He biightened my adversity ; and now, when Fortune seems to shine, ]i^. ht\s deserted me. Oh, Philip ! Philip ! " " Philip ! was that his name ? " Yes, madam." " Is he a very dark boy ? " " Yes, madai^i, yes." . " About my height ? " " Oh no, madam, not by half a head." Philippa smiled at that, and said, " Then, sir, you shall sigh no more on his account, for I happen to know that same Philip is here, in this very ship." " Is it possible ? God bless you for that good news, madam. Oh, madam ! pray bring him to me, for my heart yearns for him. Why, why has he hidden himself ff »m me V\ 134 THE WANDErdNG HEIR. ■ ! / ''^ " N;iy, sir, you must have patience. The boy is not so much to blame. He is in trouble, and dares not show his face on deck. T wonder whether I may tell you the truth?" " Yes, madam, for heaven's sake ! " ** Well then, the truth is — ahem. — he is here disguised as a woman." " You amaze me, madam." " And, if you were to accost him as Philip, 'twoi li ' - overheard, and might be his ruin : if you can be so n ach his friend, as to fall into this disguise, and treat him with distant civility, while he is on board the ship, I'll answer for him he will come to you, not to-night, but to-mor-ow night, at this time." James Annesley eagerly subsciibed to these terms. Next evening he paced the deck impatiently, and, in due course, a young gentlewoman came towards him, with Philip's very face, but blushing and beaming. James ran to meet her : devoured her face, and then cried, " It is ! it is ! oh, my sweet Philip ! " The young lady drew back instantly in alarm, and said, " Is this wliat you promised ? Call me Philip again, or offer the slightest freedom, and you shall never see me again. My name is Philippa." " So be it, thou capricious toad. I am too overjoyed at sight of thee, to thwart thy humours. Thou wert never like any other he that breathes." " I .shiill be more unlike them than ever now," said she. " Methiixks my disposition is changed, since J ^;ut off my is not b show ou tho sjniised oa with answer noi-'-ow oas. and, in m, with id then ad said, ^ain, or see me erjoyed u wert .'lid she. off my THE WANDEPdNG IIEIH. 135 boy's attire : and the worst of it is all my courage hath oozed away." " It had always a trick of coming and going, Philip." " Philippa, or I leave the ship." " Well, Philippa, then." " What sort of a gentlewoman do I make V* " Nay, if I knew not the trick, I should take you for the most beautiful woman I ever saw." Philippa blushed with pleasure. " And you look beau- tiful too," said she. " Fine feathers make fine birds." He then scolded her gently, and asked her why she had deserted him. " Well, I'll tell you the truth," said she, and delivered him a whole string of fibs. She met him next evening, and the next, and so mysti- fied him by her beauty and her bashfulness, that he ques- tioned Matthews and the Admiral about the young lady* but Matthews knew nothing, and the Admiral pretended to know nothing, she having sworn him to secresy. Philippa was offended at his curiosity, and sent him word he had done very ill to ask other persons about her : she should not come on deck for ever so long. She kept her word, though it cost her dear : even when they touched at Jamaica, and everybody else landed, she kept her cabin. But when they left Jamaica, she took another line. She came openly on deck now and then in the daytime, and removed her mask. The e.Tect may be divined : the ofiicers of the ship treated her like a Queen, and courted her with all possible wm 136 TH±i WANDERING HEIR. attentions ; these she received with singular modesty politeness, and prudence : and her heart being sincerely devoted to one, her head was not to be turned. James A.nnesley looked on with wonder, and a dash of satire, to see men all but kneeling to a boy : but he soon got jealous, and the other men opened his eyes, and he began to ponder over many things. The truth flashed on him, and ' '* pa saw it in his face. Then she coquetted with her haj-. iess, and, when he begged a private inter- view, she put him off. But, when they passed Lizard Point, she came to her senses, and gave him his opportunity. He was much agitated ; she was more so, but hid it better. "Tell 'ne the truth," he cried. " You were al- ways Philippa, and I a blind fool." She hid her red face in her hands. " Philippa," he cried, " you have killed the friend of my bosom. Will you give me nothing in exchange lor him?'' " Alas, James ! " she cried, " what can I give you that you will love as well as you did him ? 1 hate that hoy!' " Nay, do not hate him ; but for him I had never known the greatest, truest, tenderest heart, that ever beat in woman. Oh, Philippa, you saved me from despair, you sa ved me from servitude : I never could love another now you are a woman ; be my bosom friend still, but by a dearer title ; be my sweetheart, my darling, my wife." " Ay, that or the grave," she cried : and the next mo- ment he held her curling round his neck, and cooling her hot cheeks with tears of joy. THE WANDERING HEIR. 137 They landed at Portsmouth, took a kind leave of the Admiral, to whom they owed so much, and, accompanied by Captain Matthews, dashed up to Staines with post horses, four at every relay. When they came near to the town, she bade the driver post to the prison. She de- manded to see Jonas Ilanway. He was called into the yard, and, at sight of her, gave a scream of joy, and they had a cry together, and forgave each other. She feed the jailor to send to the proper authorities, and take the ne- cessary steps for his liberation. Then she went on to Thomas Chester, who lived outside the town by the river side : but Matthews left them in the town, and went to London, on his way to Ireland. He had inherited large estates, and was about to leave the King's service. Thomas Chester, though a man not easily moved, gave a loud shout when his niece ran to him : he folded her in his arms, and thanked God aloud, in a broken voice, again and again. When they were a little calmer, he said to his man, ** Send abroad, and let them ring all the church beHs for three miles about ; I'll find the ale : and thou, Thomas, bring in our young lady's things. She is mistress of the house." They then went out, and round two boxes, and one James Annesiey seated peaceable. "And who is this ? " said the old man, staring not a little. " 'Tis only my — my James," says she, as if every yo^-ng gentlewoman had a James; but the next moment her cheeks were dyed with blushes. " Dear Uncle, he has ^li' [ ■I ; \ 138 THE WANDERING UEIE. been my friend and companion in servitude, and some do say he is the " " Whoever he is, he hath brought me thee, my sweet long-lost niece, and must lie at my house this happy night." So he received James cordially, and put off all inquiries till the morrow. The next morning James told him, of his own accord, he loved Philippa, and was so happy as to have won her affections. He also spoke of his wrongs, and said he was Lord Altham's son, and dis- possessed by his uncle, who had kidnapped him ; and he should go into Ireland at once, and hoped to punish his uncle, and make Philippa Lady Anglesey. He proved himself in earnest by starting for Ireland this very day. The parting with Philippa was very tender, and left her almost inconsolable, being their first real separation since they knew each other. So the wise old lawyer let her have her cry out. Next day he told her what the young man had said. " Alas!" said she, •' he is gone on a wild goose errand, I fear ; and, as for me, I would not give one straw to be Lady Anglesey ; to be Mrs. James is Heaven enough foi me ; and, oh 1 if any ill befall him in that savage Ireland, I shall always think 'twas because I was not by him as heretofore ; and you will have but one more trouble with me — to bury me." " Niece," said the old man, " craving your pardon, you are pretty far gone." "Never was woman farther," said she frankly. "I am fair sick with love. My James carries my heart and my u THE JKAJ^DEPdNQ IIEIIL 139 you life in his bosom, go where he will : " and she leaned her head prettily on his shoulder. " Hum ! " said the lawyer, and dropped that subject, not possessing even its vocabulary. He waited a reasonable time, and then cross-examined her. " My young mistress," said he, " have you told your sweetheart you have thirteen thousand pounds ? and, now I think on't, 'tis nearer fourteen thousand, by reason of your folly in going and getting your own living, instead of spending on't." " Have I told James ? No ; not yet. I found out my father's will, by that advertisement, and, since he wished it kept secret, I have held that wish sacred." - Mr. Chester told her she had done well. Lord Anglesey had been long in possession ; and it was not likely he would be ousted, without a fearful litigation, in which her little fortune might easily be swamped. " No, Philip- pa," said he, " still go by your father's will, and by my lights, and let us not risk one shilling of your fortune. Your husband can never be a pauper, while that remains in your hands," She caught that idea in a moment, and gave her solemn promise. The first letter from Ireland served to confirm her uncle's wisdom. James wrote to say that he had been to a dozen attorneys, und they all refused to take u}) his cause against a nobleman so powerful as Lord Anglesey, and who had been years in possession, without a voice raised against his title. However, a day or two after writing this, James An- f uo THE WANDERING IIEIIL nesley fell in with a long-headed attorney, called McKer- cher, who listened to his story more thoughtfully than the others, and went so far as to ask him for a list of the people he thought could bear out his statements. Hav- ing got this, Mr. McKercher found Farrell and Purcell, and, by means of them, one or two more not known to James Annesley, and they established the kidnapping. Then McKercher began to think more seriously of the case He called on Mr. Annesley at his lodgings, and found him and Matthews taking a friendly glass, and talking the matter over. McKerchei* made three, and said over the said glass, that the kidnapping was certainly a fine point ; but it would be worthless without direct evidence to Mr. Annesley 's parentage, and money would be required, to ransack the County of Meath for evidence, and for other purposes ; for money would certainly be used against them freely. The warm-hearted Matthews offered a thousand pounds directly, to begin : thereupon McKercher's eyes glittered, and he hesitated no longer : all three went out to Mr. Matthew's house that day in ringsend cars ; and next day rode on his own horses to ransack Meath and Wex- ford for evidence. They found some little evidence, and McKercher se- cured it : but there were two enemies in the field before them. Death was one. Lord Anglesey the other. This nobleman had got a fortnight's start, in rather a curious way. Admiral Vernon anchored off Jamaica a few days. It got wind that he was bringing home the real Lord THE WANDERING HEIR. U\ Anglesey The Daily Post announced it, and the Gentle- mans Myigazine copied, as indeed may be seen in the Oentleman's Magazine for February, 1841. Death, the other antagonist, had been unusually busy since James Annesley crossed over the bar of Dublin. Lady Altham — Dead. Mrs. A vice, to whom she had spoken of a son — Dead. The chaplain who he believed had christened him — Dead. Hia sponsors, male and fe- male — Dead. But McKercher was not to be baffled : he hunted up the old servants of Dunmaine House, and, from one to another, he began to create that pile of testimony which even now standi^ on record to prove this obscure man the Napoleon of all Attorneys, living or dead. He, and James, and Matthews, rode hundreds of miles after evi- dence ; till, one night Annesley was lired at from the edge of a wood, and two slugs whistled close by his head. They all spurred away, in great alarm. When they got to the town they were going to, tact- ful McKercher set to work that moment, and printed bills, describing the attempt, offering a thousand pounds reward, and, by subtle insinuation, accused Lord Anglesey of the crime ; he got up what we now call a demonstration ; showed his handsome client to the public, on a verandah stuck over with bills thus worded : — "This is the Heir. Come let us kill him; that THE inheritance MAY BE OURS." For all that, he sent Annesley back to England directly. 142 THE WANDERING HEIR. "It is too pretty a suit to be ab.*ted by a bullet," sail keen McKercher, James Aniiesley returned to Stsiines, and four-d the roses leaving Philippa's cheek. Ere he had been back a week they bloomed again. McKercher circulated his bills in Dublin, with a guarded account of the attempted assassination, just keeping clear of an indictment for libel. One of the loills was sent over to Lord Anglesey, by a friend. That nobleman at this period began to lose heart. His estates wej'e large, but encumbered : he had been, for years, amusing himself with Trigimy: and Trigimy had entailed its expenses. All the ladies had to be dressed as if there was but one lady Anglesey ; and you may see by Miss Gregory's bill that tljose noble brocades, though cheaper in the end than the trash we call silk, were dear at first. Then the three ladies had children, and one of the three was so ill-bred as to indict my Lord, and had to be bought oflf. Then he had Charles Annesley and Frank Annesley on his back. Francis Annesley, an English barrister, claimed a large portion of the estates, and filed his bill in Eng- land. Charles Annesley had a large claim under Earl James's will, which claim Richard Lord Anglesey had lately compromised for a third, and then, with his usual perfidy, evaded the compromise, whereon Chai'les obtained a decree with costs, and a sequestration, under the terms of which Charles now received all the Irish rents, and paid himself his share. The Earl, therefore, was THE IVANDERINO HEIR. 143 in tho power of Charles Anneslcy for his very subsis- tence. On the top of all this came James Annesley armed with McKercher and hard cash, of which his lordship, like many other Irish proprietors, had mighty little compared with the value of his estates. Thus attacked on all sides, and influenced probably by some reasons not easy to penetrate so long after the event, he began to falter ; and being in his house in Bolton Kow, which house the writer of these lines (it may be said in passing) occupied, for some years, a century later, he sent for his London solicitor, GifFard, and directed him to try and effect a compromise with Jemmy, as he called him. Giffard was too cautious to commit his client to writing, in a matter so dangerous, but he intimated to McKercher that he had something important to say, if McKercher would come to London. McKercher wrote back very courteously to say he was very busy collecting evidences, but would wait on Mr. Giffiird in a fortnight. In antici- pation of this conference. Lord Anglesey told GifFard on what terms he would resign his estates, and live in France. He even went so far as to engage a French tutor. Meantime, James Annesley was a guest ■ ) Mr. Thomas Chester, and a favoured suitor for his niece's hand. Tho old lawyer liked James, and, at this time, hardly doubted he was the real heir to the late Lord Altham, and he in- timated plainly that if Mr. Annesley would allow Phil- ippa's dower, whatever it might be, to be settled on her- self, they might marry as soon as they chose, for lam. 144 THE rVANDERINO HEIR. Young Annesley smiled at this stipulation. "I hope to settle half the Counties of Wexford and Mcath on her, besides," said he. So one Sunday morning that the lovers were seated in a pew with their heads over one prayer-book, her dear oM tutor delivered certain ephem- eral words that seemed to this happy pair to have a strange vitality, compared with the immortal part of the Liturgy, Said he, m a sonorous, yet kindly voice, " I publish — the banns — of mamage — between the Honourable James Annesley, Bachelo?/, of the parish of Dunmaine in Ire- land, and Mistress Joanna Phillppa Chester, Spinster, of this parish. This is the first time of asking. If a-^v of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in holy wedlock, ye are now to declare it." While these words were delivered, Philippa's face was a picture : her eyes lowered, her cheeks mantling with a gentle Hush. The words rang strangely in those lovers' ears. . - How tight custom holds civilized men and women, and flies theui but with a string : both had led adventurous lives, had been slaves in a distant colony, and this demure lass, with long black lashes lowered, had played a fine ca- per in boy's clothes. Yet there they must sit at last, over jne prayer-book, in Staines Church, and hear their banns cried in one breath with two more couple that had never budged out of Middlesex. Let the reader now contemplate this pretty picture, and James Annesley's prospects, a rose-coloured panorama. In • THE IFANDERING ITKIR. M5 Ireland, liis interests pushed by that rarest of all friendsi, an able and zealous attorney ; in London, his arch enemy losing heart, and preparing to accept an income, and retire from the disputed estates, to Paris. In Staines, his hand in his sweet Piiilippa's and holy wedlock, the sacred union of two pure and we.i-tried hearts, awaiting him in one little fortnight; even that fortnight to be spent in «ight of Paradise ; and the gate ajar. Even writers are human ; and I feel myself linger here for it grieves even hardened me to have to plunge again into the misfortunes of the good : but now are my wings of fancy clipped. Hard Fact h(uds me with remorseless grasp, and I am constrained to show how all this bright picture was shivered in a day, and by the man's own hany ' "What fool's tale is this ? I can't be so fortunate." " Nay, my lord, 'tis the truth ; but some say 'twas accident, others say 'twas done of malice." Lord Angesley's eyes glistened fiendishly : "So say I, and I will prove it, if money can do it." lie gave the man a gold piece, and dismissed him '" dressed himself in half an hour, instead of two hours as usual, and went at once to his attorney Giffard, told him the good news, and that all thought of a compromise was at an end. "Go down to Staines on the instant," said he " and tell me can we hang that knave." Giffard went down, and saw young Eaglestone and others, and reported that John Eaglestone could hang or transport James Annesley. " Then," said Lord Anglesey, "you must be his lawyer, and T will find the money, if I pawn my diamond ring." Gifiard did not much like the business, but he under- took it, sooner than lose his noble client. He advised Lord Anglesey on no account to appear in the business, or he would prejudice the prosecution, and he himself saw young Eaglestone, and easily moulded him to Lord Anglesey's purpose, by rousing his cupidity, and also his desire of vengeance for his father's slaughter, Thus the Crown was used as an instrument of private vengeance. Yet who could object ? Only the son and his attorney were seen. Tne ruthless man who bribed the witnesses, and spurred the law, was in the dark. . But they were rot to have it all their owr way. James had written post-haste to McKercher. He handed THE IVANDEPdNG HEIR. 153 over the other business to Lis clerk, Pat Higgins, and came at once to Hounslow ; saw the prisoner ; found GifFard was in it, whom he knew to be Lord Anglesey's attorney; saw Anglesey behind Giffard; and his very fiist move in the case was one that had never occurred to Thomas Chester, nor to any other friend of Annesley's, though many were coming about him now. He put Lord Anglesey under a system of espionage as complete and subtle as ever Fouch^ brought to bear on a man ; and he told nobody but Philippa, and bound her to secrecy. This done he preceded to the legitimate defence, and left no stone unturned. But he could never get at the most dangerous witness, young Eaglestone. Giffard kept him too close. He encountered Giffard once or twice, and ilways treated him with profound respect ; separated him en- tirely from his client, and charmed him with his good temper ai-.t urbanity. " Ah, ^iir," said he, " if you knew Mr. Annesley, his goodness, and his misfortunes, you would regret the severity you are compelled to show him." " I regret it now," said Giffard. Just before the trial, Philippa, who was all zeal and in- telligence, secured a piece of evidence to prove that the boy EaglciStone had not been so confident the gun was fired purposely, until (^".lard came on the scene. But, with all her efforts, that was all she could do for her lover now. How different from th»j times when she ^as a boy ! She spoke of her helplessness to McKercher, with tears in her eyes, and told him it had not been always bo. i 154 THE IVANDERINO ilb'iR. " Helplessness, madam ! " said McKerrher : ' by the Hoky, Beauty is never helpless. You have found him a witness, that I'd never have heerd of may be, and ye can do him a good turn at the trile, if you can have the cour- age to come." " The courage to come ! " cried she. " I have the courage to die for him, or die with him. Of course I will be there, with my hand in his all the time, to show them there's one who knows he is not a murderer." " Ah, if they'd only let us," said McKercher, with a sigh. " But I'll have you on the bunch, any way, an' I'll find some way to let the jury know they'll have to strike at his head through your heart, alanna :" and the warm hearted sharper was very near crying. The dreadful day of the trial came at last. Philippa was seated on the r! ^it hand of the judge's seat, but on a lower bench. She was dressed, by McKercher's advice, in black silk, with a small head-dress of white lace, and no ornament but a diamond cross on her bosom. There she sat in a frame of mind beyond the pen to paint. This was her first court of law ; her first trial. The solemnity, the ancient usages, and all the panoply of justice, struck upon her young mind in one blow with the danger of him, whose young life was bound up in hers : and for this reason I shall briefly describe this trial from her point of view ; and the reader who has imagination, will do well to cooperate with me, by putting himself in her place, as well as in the place of the accused. " THE WANDERING HEIR. 155 First, there was the usual hardened buzz of lawyers, to whom iXna terrible scene was but an every day business. Philippa heard with wonder and horror. Wliat, could men chatter, when a life, and such a life, was at stake ? Then came in the judge, in ermine and scarlet, and all stood up. Phillipa eyed him as a Divinity, on whom her darling's life depended. Then the prisoners were brought to the bar, Redding having surrendered. Philippa uttered a faint cry, in- stantly suppressed, and her eye and her lover's met in a gaze that was beyond words. But here the proceedings were disturbed for a moment, by the entrance of a gorgeous gentleman, in scarlet and gold, powdered peruke, and Ramilies tie, who stalked in, and seated himself by the judge. This was Lord Anglesey, come to gloat over the criminal, and keep the witnesses for the prosecution up to the mark, fib stared on the pub- lic, as on so many dogs, and on James Annesley with a bit- ter sneer. James was all in black velvel^. with weepers, as one who mourned the death he had caused. Silence having been obtained, the prisoners were arraigned, and the indictment charged against Jame^ Annesley, labourer, that he, not having God before his eyes, but moved by the instigation of the devil, on the first of May, with force and arms, in and upon one Thomas Eaglestone, feloniously, wilfully, and of malice afore- thought, did make an assault, and that he, the said James Annesley, ■vdth a certain gun, of the value of 5s., being charged with powder and leaden shot, did discharge, and 156 THE WANDERING HEIR. ] I' shoot out of the said gun, by lore© of the gunpowdei as aforesaid, and him the said Thomas Eaglestono in and upon the left side of the breast of the said Thomas, did strike and penetrate, giving to him, the said Thomas, on the said side of his said breast, one mortal wound, of the breadth of one inch, and of the depth of four inches, whereof the aforesaid Thomas then and there instantly died. The indictment then repeated the nature of the act, describing it, in the usual terms, as wilful murder, and against the peace of our Lord the King, his Crown, and dignity. The virulent terms of the indictment, being new to poor Philippa, made her blood run cold : for it seemed to her that the Crown thirsted for his blood, and would not stick at any exaggeration to hang him. The Clerk of Arraigns now put the usual question, in a loud voice, " How say you, James Annesley, are you guilty of this Felony, or not guilty ? " James Annesley, thus called upon before judge, jury, enemy, and sweetheart, showed unexpected qualities. Though a man of unsteady nerves when hurried, he lacked neither dignity nor courage — give him time — and what little bile he had in his nature was stirred by the sight of the man, who had kidnapped him as a child now hunt- ing him down as a man. Instead of simply pleading not guilty, he objected to the terms of the indictment. " I observe, ray Lord," said he to the judge, respectfully, but firmly, " that I am indicted as a labourer. This is ma- TUB IVANDERINQ UEIR. 157 licious, and comes from those who are my personal ene- mies, for the very reason that I claim to be Earl of Angle- sey, and a Peer of this realm. However, with this protest, I plead not guilty to this indictment, and will be tried by God and my country. But, in respect of my quality, {uid to wipe out that impertinence in the indictment, ] ask your Lordship of your courtesy to let me be tried within the bar." " Certainly, Mr. Annesloy," said my Lord. But he thought to himself, " I shall have to hang you all the same." Then both prisoners were allowed to sit within the bar. Then the jury were sworn, and Serjeant Gupper opened the case in the close dry way of a counsel who feels that the facts can be trusted to do the work. He stated that the Eaglestones were fishing in a meadow that belonged to one Sylvester, and that Annesley and Redding came on to the ground, and first threatened Thomas, with foul language, and then shot him ; and, even after that, threat- ened John ; but he escaped across the river, and brought the constables after the prisoners, who, well knowing their guilt, had fled : but Annesley was found hidden in Redding's house, and dragged forth, and afterwards of- fered the boy money not to come against him : but he said, " I will not sell my father's blood." When this neat outline was delivered with perfect so- briety, everybody looked at the prisoners, and Annesley in particular, as dead men. But he maintained a calm, though sad, Jemeanour, and did not blench. I ill 158 THE iyANDElih\'G IIEIIU The Counsel for the Crown called John Englestono first. He swore to the preliminary matter, which was, indeed, undisputed, and declared that, while Redding was collaring his father, Annesley threatened the old man's life, with a ruffian-like oath, if he did not give up his net ; and then, not waiting for the old man's answer, shouldered his gun and shot him dead, and afterwards threatened hhn with the butt end of his piece, but he escaped by swimming, and ran instantly for the constables. He swore also to the hiding of Annesley, and his subse- quent attempt at bribery. Philippa, at this stage, felt all the bitterness of death and could scarcely sit upright. In cross-examination John Eaglestone was asked whether ho had not given a different account to three persons, Duftin, and Dal ton, and Tliomas Chester. He looked staggered a moment, but boldly swore he had not. McKercher then showed his teeth. Counsel, carefully instructed by him, drew from the witness that he was now living with one Williams, whom he had not known before this trial, was called his servant, but dined at his table. Counsel. — ''Of course you have seen my Lord Angle- sey at Williams's ? " The Court here interrupted, and said the question was improper. Counsel. — " I bow to your Lordship. But no noble- man, who is worthy of the name, need fear the truth." A juryman, however, asked this boy a very pertinent '!"!■ t THE irANDElilNG UEIB, 15i) question, whether there was no jostling or simggling for the net between Anncsley and him. Ho said, " No." Many other witnesses were called for the Crown ; but they were all at some distance, and only proved the kill- ing. Fisher indeed, one of ihese witnesses, said that he saw Annesley snatch at the net, and then the gun went oti*. This rather contradicted Eaglestone, and gratified the juryman aforesaid. This Fisher, though a witness for the Crown, admitted, under cross-examination, that, within two hours of the event, young Eaglestone had told him he belieYcd the act was not done designedly. Counsel for the Crown then commented on the evidence, dwelt upon the sanguinary threats that had been proved, and not disproved on cross-examination, and demanded a verdict. This closed the case for the Crown. The Court then called on James Annesley in these terms : " Mr. Annesley, you are indicted in a very un- happy case. What have you to say ? " James Annesley then surprised his friends again. He rose like a tower, and spoke as follows : "My Lord, I am quite unable to make a proper defence, having been kid- napped when a child by him, who now seeks my life un- der the disguise of a public prosecutor, and so I lost the education I was entitled to by my birth." He paused long on these words, and turned his eyes so full on Lord Anglesey, that every soul in Court turned too, and looked at him. A shiver ran through the Court. It f-i 1 > : Eliiii ' I III I ■r:i 1 i /■ 160 THE WANDERING UEIR. was indeed a remarkable combination ; a remarkable situ- ation. In fjict, considering that the Defendant here was to be the Plaintiff in a great civil suit, if he could save his neck, and that the nobleman who sat by the judge in England, to see him hanged, was to be Defendant in that * suit, should this indictment fail, the situation was, per- haps, without a parallel in all Time. James Annesley resumed : " My Lord, you have heard a true and deplorable accident, falsely and maliciously de- scribed in this Court, with a view to stopping lawful pro- ceedings in the Court of Exchequer in Ireland. The sim- ple truth is that neither I nor my most innocent fellow prisoner were trespassers. He is gamekeeper to the Lord of the manor. It was his duty to seize a poacher's net, and I ran with him to help him. The deceased threw the net half into the river. The boy jumped in to swim across with it. I stepped to seize one of the ropes that trailed on the ground, and the gun went off, to my great surprise and grief, and killed a poor man, whose name I did not then know, and he never wronged me, and I had no malice against him, nor ground of malice. "My Lord and gentlemen, mine has been a life of strange misfortunes ; but, believe me, whatever your ver- dict may be, it must always be my greates grief that I have caused the death of an innocent man." 1 iiese words, delivered with great decency and touching resignation, drew tears from many eyes besides Philippa's, and even the judge bowed his head slightly in sober, but profound, approval of the prisoner's concluding sentence- THE WANDERING HEIH. 161 Redding, called on for his defence, said that he had seized the net, in discharge of his duty. That, when the man fell, Mr. Annesley did not know he had shot him, and would not believe him till he tunied up the flap of the man's coat, and found the wound, and then Mr. An- nesley showed such grief and concern, that he felt sure it was as pure an accident as ever happened in this world. The judge then retired for some refreshment, and there was a buzz of conversation, and by the time the judge returned, everybody in Court understood the relation of the parties : the lovers both in black, and that shameless peer, who would hang the young man in England, to stop his lawsuit in Ireland ; and the judge sitting in his place, between the Defendant's true lover and his enemy, THE EVIDENCE FOR THE DEFENCE. They proved, by documents and evidence, that Sir J. Dolben was Lord of the manor, and Redding his game- keeper, with full powers to seize nets, &;c. Then, by Dal- ton, who was Philippa's witness, that, on the day of the killing, young Eaglestone had said distinctly he believed it was done undesignedly. Then, by two more respecta- ble witnesses, that he had said the same thing next day. Then they traced his change of mind to Giffiird. Then they went on, and connected Giffard with An- glesey. Then they went further, and proved that Anglesey was constantly with Williams, and that Williams was kcej)ing young Eaglestone like a gentleman. » III h ill ir Hi '"'■^ 162 THE WANDERING HEIR, Thereupon Anglesey turned pale as ashes, and fidgeted on his seat, and Philippa, looking like a woman at the jurymen's faces, turned red, and her eyes flashed, for she saw them cast looks of disgust and contempt at him. Then they brought two medical men of high character, who had probed Eaglestone's wound, and declared the shot had gone not downwards but upwards, and, indeed, at a considerable angle, and that the blisters at the hack of the body, caused by the shot, were several inches higher than the wound. This double proof was irresistible : it agreed with Annesley's account and Fisher's, and it de- stroyed Eaglestone's testimony, that the gun had been shouldered. This closed the Defendant's case. The judge summed up briefly. He said the sting oi the indictment lay in John Eaglestone's evidence. The other witnesses for the Crown had proved nothing but the killing, which was superfluous, since the prisoners ad- mitted it. That, as to Eaglestone's evidence, it was highly damnatory, but unsupported by any other witness, and contradicted in one vital part of it by the two surgeons; another respect, viz. : as to whether the act was inten- tional, the same witness was contradicted by himself, and in the worst possible way ; for, while the act was fresh in his memory, he had said repeatedly that it was accidental; and it was only when his mind had been worked upon by some person or persons not present at the act that he had come to say it was intentional. Against Redding thero was not the shadow of a case. Against An- THE WANDERING HEIR. 163 nesley, the charge of murder had failed; but they must consider whether it was manslaughter, or chance-medley. If they thought the gun went off accidentally, it was chance-medley. The jury, being invited to retire and consider their ver- dict, said, through their foreman, there was no need for that, as they had made up their minds long ago, and thereupon brought it in chance-medley, which was, in fact, a verdict of acquittal. The Court then discharged the prisonei's on the spot, and in five minutes Philippa and James were rattling down to Siaines in a chaise and four, which McKercher, who knew he had made the verdict safe, had provided, and ribboned the horses • he followed in a chaise and pair, with Redding. James and Philippa sat hand in hand all the way, with he' "ts almost too full for words ; and the church bells rang for his escape, as they had for hers. Philippa flung her arms I'ound McKercher that night and kissed him, and blessed him so, that the good-hearted sharper shed a tear. He told her that all the blood tliat was in his heart was at her service ; and what he had done for James that day in England was child's play compared with what he would do for him in Ireland. He was off to Ireland next day; but he left a sting behind him. Ere he had been gone a month, out cam. , volume, called " Memoirs of an Unfortunate Young Noble- man," in which, under the thin disguise of " Anglia " for " Anglesey," " Altamont " for " Altham, and so on, a full fl*'> 164 THE WANDERING HEIR. i| and interesting account was given of James Annesley's wrongs, and Lord Anglesey's vices, including his Trigamy, and other matters not relevant to James Annesley's con- cerns. Lord Anglesey, at this time, was in a stupid, sullei state. He had left the Court disappointed, rebuked, and exposed. He stormed at Giffard for his defeat, and (quar- relled with him, and would only pay half his costs. Where- upon GifFard sued him. Anglesey employed a solicitor. He subjected Giffard to interrogatories. McKercher heard of them, and subpoenaed Giffard for the Irish trial. Anglesey, though he swore he would run his sword through McKercher at the first opportunity, dared not indict his publisher for the " Memoirs," though libellous. He lay quiet, even when the Gentleman's Magazme came out with the whole substance of the book, and made him a by-word throughout the nation. Nevertheless, this stirred him up an unexpected friend. Charles Annesley wrote to him, and said : " This is a very serious matter. We had better lay aside all differences, and make common cause against this upstart, James Annesley." Lord Anglesey replied that he did not know which way to turn ; he had drained himself already, in trying to unmask that impostor in Ireland, and hang him in England. Charles Annesley replied that he would find ten thou- sand pounds that year, sooner than see the estates and title transferred to this upstart, by perjury and lying ro- mances. ' , / ./t THE WANDERING HEIR. 165 Thus encouraged, Lord Anglesey drew largely on Charles Annesley, and went into Ireland, and employed agents of all sorts, and poured out money like water. His presence and influence were soon marked by a sin- ister event. Pat Higgins, McKercher's clerk, returning to Dublin with valuable notes of evidence, disappeared, to- gether with his papers. McKercher, whose own corrupt practices were bloodless, vowed he had been bought by Lord Anglesey's men and sent out of the country. But he was never heard of again, and it is the general opinion in Ireland now that he was made away with by persons in the employ of Anglesey. M'^Kercher now • got leases signed by James Annesley, and put his lessees into possession of several farms in Meath. Anglesey ousted them by force, and Campbell Craig, one of the tenants so ousted, who was a tool of McKercher's, served a writ of ejectment on Lord Anglesey in the Irish Court of Exchequei*. This brought the mat- ter to an issue, and the cause was set down for trial. Though the actual property in litigation was small, all the Irish estates of Lord Anglesey depended on the ver- dict in Craig v. Anglesey : of that the parties were agreed. But meantime James Annesley had fallen into deep dejection of spirits. The malicious prosecution had done him good ; it had stirred up his resistance ; but now a jury had acquitted him, he could not forgive himself for having killed a man. McKercher comforted him, rallied him, but all in vain, 166 THE WANDERING HEIR. t: He actually wanted to drop the proceeding's against Lord Anglesey, " He will beat me," said he : '*' I shall never thrive. I have shed innocent blood." McKercher was first sorry, then angTy, then alarmed. He wrote seriously to Philippa about him, and she wrote back directly, " Send him to me." In anticipation of his anival, Philippa made Mr. Ches- ter buy James a horse ; and she had a riding-dress made so masculine, that she could speak her mind more freely in it. She had also a country dress for walking, made ; and, when he came, she encountered his Melancholy point blank with Hilarity. " Your spirits want a phillip, sir," said she, " and I must give them one. She rode with him, she walked huge walks with him, she would not let him mope or pine, Sho was Philip one moment, all viva- city and cheerfulness ; Philippa the next, all tenderness ; and neither out of place. Her resolution, with her wit, and her tenderness, attacked his despondency with so many weapons, and such minute pertinacity, that at last she drove the dark cloud away, and the man plucked up heart ago in to fight his enemies, and love his sweetheart as she deserved : and here I cannot help observing that if this man's misfortunes were almost unparalleled, so his good fortune, in finding so rare a woman as this to love him, was almost as singular. I believe that, at this juncture, she saved him from the madhouse. "Well Bhe had her reward ; she saw the colour creep back to the beloved cheek, the brilliancy to the dull eye: eho saw the shapely head held up again, and, at last TEE WANDERING HEIR. 167 she heard the beloved tongue bless her for what she had done. And now I really think they would have been married, but for Thomas Chester. He had been for some time grow- ing rather cold to young Annesley; but, seeing him so downhearted, had not spoken his mind: but he now took an opportunity, and had it out with him. He said, " Mr. Annesley, if you had come to me as a poor gentleman, of no pretensions, I think I should have said to you, ' Show yourself willing to make a livelihood, and you shall have my niece, since matters have gone so far between you.' But you call yourself the son of Lord and Lady Altham, and others say you are not so, for my Lady never had a son." " I assure you, sir, on my honour — " " And I assure you, on my honour, that you do not re- member the circumstances of your birth, any more than I do mine, Therefore, sir, by the kindness that is between us, I beg of you not to abuse your influence with my niece, by urging her to marry you, unless you can make good your pretensions. I could show you it would be unwise to take any other course, on account of the sin- gular powers Mr. Han way and myself possess under her father's will : but I prefer to appeal first to your honour and delicacy." James Annesley replied, with perfect dignity : " Mr. Chester, after the stain that has fallen on me, I have never asked my dear Philippa to marry me; but, since you offer her to me on condition that I can prove my birth t w 168 THE WANDERING UEIR. before a jury of my countrymen, I take you at your word ; and so be it. And, sir, I bear you no ill will for this. You are an honest man, and Philippa's true friend, and to be her friend is to be mine." " That i» verj' handsomely said, young man ; " said Mi. Cheater. Annesley thought over this for an hour or two ; and, after dinner, he burst out before Philippa : " Sir, you have roused me from my lethargy. I value Philippa's hand more than I do the lands and title I have been robbed of I shall start for Ireland to-morrow." " So soon ?" said Philippa. " Ay, sweet one," said he : " and, if I am not the true Earl of Anglesey, I will never* trouble you again, nor your good uncle." Philippa turned pale, and knit her black brows at Mr. Chester. " Uncle," said she, " you have been saying something to him. ' " No more than my own conscience says to me," replied Annesley, before the old lawyer coul/l speak a word. James Annesley stood firm, and parted from Philippa tenderly, but hopefully next day. Philippa was inconsol- able, and kept her room. When she did re-appear, her uncle saw, with regret, that he had lost her affection. She scarcely spoke to him, never volunteered a remark, and treated him with a bitter coldness that distressed him. However, he felt sure he had done his duty, and his niece would see that, too, some day. So he remained firm. But he was uncomfortable, to say the least. She went about ■BP THE WAl^DEPdNG UEIR. 169 the house pale and gloomy, knitting her magnificent brows and never speaking, nor smiling, except when she got a letter from James, and then it was as if the dead had come to life ; ardent kisses on the paper, eager devouring of the contents, eyes streaming ; and then away to some secret place, to read it again all alone. At last he made an appeal to her one day. He said, gently : " Philippa, let me ask thee a question. Dost thou really think Thomas Chester is thine enemy ? " The girl hesitated, and then said, " Why, n-n-no.** " Thou knowest he is not, but loved thy father dearly, and loveth thee. Then would it not become thine years to say, * This is an old, experienced man, who loves me. Let me not condemn him hastily, lest I fight against my own good.' " The sullen eyes began to fill at that : but never a word. However, he said no more ; for he saw the shaft had gone home. But two days after tliis came a letter, to say that the trial, after several postponements, was to be that day month, by special appointment ; and that McKercher was hopeful, though not confident. The assassination, or spiriting away, of Higgins, with his notes, the fruit of two months' research, was very unfortunate. The letter had been a week coming. Philippa brought it to Mr. Chester, and coolly putting her arm round his neck, as if their attachment had never been interrupted, she said, " Uncle dear, please you read that." So he smiled, well pleased at being " Uncle deared " I V 170 THE irANDEIilNG llEIll ngain all of a sudden ; and he read the letter. " Well," said he, " at all events it will end his suspense and yours." " Uncle dear," said the young lady, " you asked me did I doubt your affection ? Well, of course you cannot love me as he doth ; but I do think you love me a little, in your way. But that I shall soon know ; for I shall put it to the proof Uncle dear, if you love me, go with me straight- way to — Dublin." He started, and then said, " That is as if you should say, ' Sweet Uncle — I know you love me — take me into the pit of destruction.' " "Oh, fie! fie!" " W^hat else is Litigation ? If I take you to Dublin, you will be every day in Court, as you were at the Old Bailey, sore against my wish : and here 'twill be ten times worse ; for you will hear him taunted by counsel, and ex- posed by a score of witnesses, and defeated in the end." The young lady smiled superbly. " Uncle," said she, <' you are learned in the law, no doubt ; but most un- learned in women's hearts : each word you have spoken is a chain of steel, and draws me to Dublin by the heart. Had you but said ' he will surely win, and can be happy without thee for a time, I had yielded : but when you tell me he shall be defeated and shamed over there, then am I here on hot coals, and cannot bide. Know that I love him, as men, methinks, cannot love. I grudge him no triumph all to himself, no solitary joy. But trouble — and I not to have my part ! Shame — and I not blush with him ! Nay, but I tell you, not one sup of grief, sorrow, THE IVANDEUING HEIR. 171 shame, or any mortal ill, shall ever reach his lips but I will have my share on't, by the God that made me ; ay. made me for no other use that I know of, but to console my darlinrj, that is the very pearl of goodness, and the butt of misfortune from his birth." She clasped her hands with angelic fervour, find was gone, with the words. The old lawyer looked after her admiringly, but sadly "She is too good to last," thought he. "I fear she is like her father, and will ne'er make old bones." Then he fell into one of the long reveries a thoughtful old man is subject to, since the past offers a larger landscape to him than to the young. Hehadbeen thus an hour and more, when in came a swift foot ; he looked up, and there stood- Philip, in the very clothes he had last worn at Willingtown ; he had put on> with them, his old audacity, with which, however, a hot blush was doing battle. " NoTV, Uncle," said he, sharply, " how is it to be ? Will you go to Dublin with Philippa, that is a poor timid creature, afraid of men and mice and everything, or shall Philip go alone ? Philip that fears nought, and feels like Alexander the Great at this niomeni ; the Lord be praised for doublet and hose." Mr. Chester interrupted her. " Thou brazen toad, come hither, and let me look at thee. What, is this indeed the disguise thou didst prank thyself in out there ?" "Ay, Uncle, and will again, — if you are unkind. ComQ now, old man. Time flies. How is't to be ? " r f 1 172 THE WANDERING HEIR, Mr. Chester uttered a groan of resignation. " Needs must, when such as you drive," said he. " Go you upstairs this minute, and doff that masquerade. To-morrow wo will set forth, and be in Dublin this day week, God willing." \ I 1 ^HAPTER X. HILIPPA was welcomed with surprise and rapture, by James Annesley. McKercher wore a blank look, that did not escape Philippa, but he recovered himself and was rather violent in his expressions of satisfaction. Nevertheless his original face of utter dismay imprinted itself on her memory, and puzzled her for some time. She told him she should be present at the trial. He assented, with a great show of warmth and, having assented, began to raise one objection after another. " It will be the longest trial ever known." " No longer for me than for him." " The Court will be crowded to suffocation." " What strangers can bear, I can." " 'Twill be a bitter fight this time." She did not deign a reply. " 'Tis pity you should hear him taunted by their couniel and their witnesses." " I have borne to hear him charged with murder." " There will be hard swearing : they have forty wit- nesses." *' When I know all that malice can say against him, then I shall be the better able to comft)rt him." « WWr ]m 174 THE WANDERING HEIR. II ^ Her face, with its iiutive power and indomitable resolu- tica, lent double effect to her words. McKercher gave in, and said, with a sort of admiring sigh, " Och, sure thin, go which way it will, he's a lucky man." She was too lofty to affect to misunderstand him. She said, simply, " It is the one piece of good fortune in his hard, his cruel lot;" and then a gentle tear stole down the lovely cheek, and McKercher was subdued entirely, and, keeping his misgivings to himself, made it his busi- ness to get her and Thomas Chester excellent seats at the trial. It was one of gi'eat expectation. When Philippa entered the Court, a very large and commodious one, the floor was already crowded with the public, and, before she had been there ten minutes — for she went early — all the seats about the bench, and below the bench, were filled with Irish peers, and peeresses, gorgeously dressed, and the gallery crowded with citizens and their wives. Presently the Claini£,.nt entered with his friends ; not dressed in black, as at the last trial, but in a rich suit of purple velvet, and a gold sword-hilt. He wore an air of composure, but Philippa could see that he was flushed with excitement. A sort of doubtful murmur ran round the Court, when he took his seat ; but several of the ladies whispered in favour of his personal appearance, which indeed was captivating. Lord Anglesey and his friends came in soon after, and he took his seat ; but first he looked round the Court, and THE JVANDEBING HEIR. 175 sure exchanged bows with all the most diatiiif^uished persons present. His eyes and James Annesley s met, and James turned a little pale at the sight of this implacable foe. He re- membered the day he was kidnapped. The Earl, more self-possessed, stared at him with a sort of over-looking air; and after that ignored him utterly. The general feeling was in favour u* Lord Anglesey. They were great worshippers of rank in Ireland, and his Lordship's rank was established : the chances were this Claimant was an upstart. Everything betokened an extraordinary battle. The prodigious number and various dresses of the witnesses on both sides, and the number of counsel engaged, th""- teen for the Claimant, led by Mr. Marshall, second Ser- jeant, and fifteen for the Defendant, led by prime Serjeant Malone, the ablest counsellor of that day, either in Ire- land or England. And now the judges were announced. Hooped drer.ses rustled .'a that brilliant assembly rose, and no less than three judges entered, in their scarlet and ermine, to sit on this important trial. The jury was called: they were all gentlemen of good position ; there was a baronet, and a right honourable amongst them ; and the only objection to any of them was that a couple had unexpired leases under Lord Angle- sey. McKercher, however, declined to object to them on that score. Their swords were girded on them in Court, and the trial began. m I 1 Vf^ 176 THE WANDERING HEIR. ji III n ' 1 ' ! m ' i ' '1'^';!' ^ 4- ' 11 iii I '^ Mr. Serjeant Marshall opened the case of the PlaintifT's lessor, whicli I shall ask leave to call the Claimant's case. It was one that lent itself to a rhetorical opening; hut the learned Serjeant took the other great line ; in a speech which is worth study as a model of condensation, and strong sobriety, he articulated his topics, and marbhalled an army of facts to prove, 1, that James Annesley was the son of Lord and Lady Altham. 2, that the Defend- ant had kidnapped him, and sent him out of the countrj^ and, failing in that attempt to gyt rid of him, compassed his death in London, by a prosecution, the character of which he should not describe, but leave it to the witnesses. But able speeches of Counsel are no rarity, and this trial offered something not only rare, but marvellous ; two piles of evidence, each as high aa a lower, and each con- tradicting the other in nearly all the particulars directly affecting the issue. They proved by Mrs. Cole, and by two servants, that in 1714, Lady Altham had expectation of offspring, and Mrs. Heath,her gentlewoman, knew it. They then advanced a step, and proved by John Turner, seneschal to successive Earls of Anglesey, that, in the spring of 1715, Lady Altham was manifestly expecting her confinement ; and a year or so after he saw her teaching a child to walk. By Bartholomew Furlong, a peasant farmer, that in 1715 her condition was notorious ; that, as ladies of rank never nursed their own children, he applied personally to Lord and Lady Altham for his wife to be the nurse, and came to terms with them, sub- ntiff's I case. speech 1, and .hailed y was >efend- mntry, ipassed icter of tnesses. nd this is; two ich con- -lirectJy that in idMrs. '^urner, in the ipccting iw her Uong, a [orious ; lildren, 1 for his H. suh- THE WANDERING HEIR. 177 ject to Dr. Brown's approval. But Dr. Brown did not approve of Mrs. Furlong. This was confirmed by Den- nis Redmond, a groom at Dunmaine, 1714-1(5, who said the doctor selected for wet nurse Joan Landy, a cleanly bright girl, that lived on Lord Altham's land. By Dennis Redmond, — That early in the summer of 1715 Mrs. Heath sent him to Ross — three miles from Dunmaine — to fetch Mrs. Shiel, a professional person, smce dead j and he brought Mrs. Shiel to Dunmaine on a pillion^ and that same day a son was born. By Joan Laffan, chambermaid. — That she was in the house when thia son was born. By Mary Doylt, and Elinor Murphy. — That they were in the room whon this son was born. By Captain Fitzgerald. — That he, being quartered at Ross, Lord Altham asked him to dinner, and to tap the groaning drink. ( What we call caudle ). That he came to Dunmaine House, saw the baby in the nurse's arms, and ga^^e her half a guinea. Had seen the same nurse in court that day. " I took notice of her, sir, because she was very handsome, if you will have the truth of it." By Alderman Barnes, of Ross. — That Lord Althara dined with him in Ross, on the Alderman's retuin from a visit, and said over the bottle, '* Tom, I'll tell you good news. I've a son by Moli Sheffield," Whereupon he shook his head in disapproval. " Zoons, man ! " says my Lord, " Why she's my wife ! " " Then I begged his Lord- ship's pardon, for I remembered my Lady Altham was daughter to SheflBeld, Duke of Buckingham." it n II ■wn cwtr^Hvsvw^m 178 TEE WANDERING HE IE. mi l^:v I il fi >«■ ,1^ m Redmond Dt>yk, Murphy, and Luffan, servants in tlie house at the time, and On'istopher Brovm, servant to An- thony Cliff, at Ross, swore to the subsequent christening, accompanied with a bonfire, and such carousing that some of them were cIrunJc in the ditches to the next morning" They all named as tlie sponsors three persons who were since dead, Anthony Colclough, Counsellor Cliff, Madame Pigot, and the clergyman, dead too. To cure this excess of death in part, they proved by Southiveil Pigot, Usq., it was always received in the Pigot family that Lady Altham had a child, They proved by Joan La fan that this child was nursed by Joan Landy at her own house, a cabin ; and that the said cabin was embellished on this occasion, and a coach road made to it by which Lady Altham went daily to see the child. That, in due time, Master James was weaned and then came into Dunmaine House ; and there she, Laffan, was his dry nurse, and sole attendant. That in February, 1716, Lord and Lady Altham parted in an an- gry manner about Tom Pallister, "• whose ear," said she, coolly, "I sawci't off," and Master James pointed to the blood on the floor. Lafi*an and Redmond both swore that they saw the actual parting : and Lady Altham cried, and begged to have James. But Lord Altham would not let her. This witness went on and swore that Lady Altham retired to Ross, and the Dunmaine servants took. James to her clandestinely, wliich was confirmed by Ijutwych, a shoemaker, at Ross, who swore Lady Altham ordered ^r,i she, at in 111 an- she, Q the that and ot let tham ames ivych, dered THE WANDERING HEIR. 179 child's shoes of him and bemoaned herself. " I had bet- ter be the wife of the poorest tradesman in R( ss, for thea I could see my child every day ; but now I can onl}^ see him by steaHh." To conclude their evidence about the deceased Lady Altham they followed her to Dublin, and John Walsh^ Esq., swore she had cried to him over her husband's cruelty, but had thanked God " for an indulgent father and a promising young son, who would be a prop to her old age ;" and Mrs. Hodgers, who let lodgings in Dublin, deposed to a solitary conversation, in which Lady Altham finding her to be English, gossipped with her, and told her she had a son. They followed James from Dunmaine to Kinna, Car- rickduffo, and other places whore Lord Altham had resided, and proved by several witnesses he had been always dressed, powdered, booted, and horsed like a nobleman's son till he was more tlian ten years of age. Then they proved I^ord Altham's entanglement with Miss Gregory, and also his poverty, to account in some degree for the boy being deserted at that time. In proof of his poverty one witness swore that ivheio he kept hounds one hound would eat ajiothf.r They then opened a vein of indirect evidence founded on the words and deeds of Lord Anglesey, the Defendant. They grafted this into the case very neatly, thus : They propped by several witnesses that Lord Anglesey was ('onatt'irirly in communication with Li»rd Altham, and often at Dumuaiiie and other flanB, and they made it Ifl ui jSSm m ^ ■■ s §t 11 ■; k: £ I In ' 180 JFi; WANDERING HEIR. clear that Lord Anglesey knew for certain whether James Annesley was or was net his brother Altham's lawful son. This done, they pioved by Laffan that she knew Defend- ant well, and that he came home to Dunmaine a few months after the parting, and asked after Jemmy, and she told him my lady had begged hard for him, but my Lord would not let her have him. Then the Defendant swore an oath, which she repeated veibatim when questioned, and attested that blessed name to which all Christians bow, that he would have let Lady Altham have the boy, and take him to the devil ; " for," said he, " I would keep none of the breed of her." Having grafted this branch they grew it high. They called Dominick Farrel, and John Ptircell, the latter lamish, and with a staff, but sturdy still. Fore- seeing the terril)le difficulty under which I now labour, I stuck close to IPurcell's sworn evidence in those earlier scenes he figures in. So please turn back to those scenes, and imagine every word you find there sworn to in open court before the principal actors in the scene — the child, now grown to man's estate, and the barbarous uncle, both glaring at each other, also before Philippa and her eyes that poured black lightning at her lover's treacherous enemy, and before the excitable Irish crowd, that roared and raged like wild beasts at Purcell's every other sen- tence. He told how he had taken the Claimant off a horse in Smithfield, and carried him to his wife, &c. ; the first visit of Captain Annesley to his house, when the boy was all terror, but Richard Annesley all politeness, Lord pi TRE fVANDERlNCr HEIR. 181 Altliam's tleatli, Richard Aiinosloy's changed ])chaviotir, and attempt to kidnap him. He told his tale simply, yet well ; anybody could see, by his emotion and earnestness, he was not inventing, but living a real romance over again. Once or twice, in relating his sturdy answer to Lord Anglesey, he involuntarily struck his stick down upon the table, and so pointed his speech : but, when he came to the first attempt at kidnapping, and told how he put the boy between his legs, and dared that craven Lord and his three bullies, with his single cudgel, he suddenly waved his s^""fF round his head with a gesture so impul- sive, that a roar of admiration and sympathy burst from the crowd, followed by a buzz that interrupted the pro- ceedings for some minutes. Tenderer feelings were aroused among the tenderer : for, upon this, all the scene came back to James Annesley, and he made an eloquent motion of his hand towards the champion of his childhood, and Ihen buried his face in his handkerchief. Many teai*s were shed all round. Asked to identify poor little Jemmy, if he could, John Purcell pointed at once to James Annesley, and said, with manly emotion, " That is the gentlemen. I know him 4S WELL AS I KNOW THE HAND NOW UPON MY HEART." This witness's cross examination only led to fresh triumphs. He was asked with a sneer whether all those persons could not have taken the child from him had they realy meditated violence. He replied, " No SiR," and stmck the table with his staff. *' I'd HAVE LOST my UVS BEFORE I'D HAVE LOST THE CHILD." 1 1! ^ h I rU iO II 182 THE WANDERING HEIR. At this tliero was a loud huzza, and the very peeresses about the bench waved their handkerchiefs to the honest fellow, and Philippa could have hugged them for that. Having admitted he had afterwards seen him in a livery, he was asked if he still thought he was Lord Altham : he replied, frankly, that it had staggered him ; " but still I thought so in my conscience : FOR Might mat overcome Right." This line rang in Dublin that day : and, a century after, rang round the world : for the Wizard of the North wove stout John Purcell's very line, and one more out of this marvellous trial into his immortal Romance, Andrew Connor, proprietor of the ship James, of Dub- lin, proved by the ship's books that James Annesley sailed in her for Pennsylvania at a certain date. James Reilly and Mark Byrne, two rakehelly fellows, swore they were bribed by Anglesey to kidnap him at that date. They added to my account some particulars of the boy's cries and tears, and the impotent curses of the crowd as they hurried him on board the ship James, of Dublin. Being now the sixth day of the trial, they closed this vein of evidence, and the claimant's case, by calling the Defendant's own English attorney, GifFard. He deposed that he had been, for a long time, Lord Anglesey's man of business in England, and knew his affairs. Having suits with Lord Haversham, and the Annesleys, and being now menaced by the Claimant, Defendant said to Giffard, he would be glad to compound for two or three thousand a year, and surrender titles and estates to James Annesley ; THE WANDERING HEIR. 183 peeresses le honest that. a liv ery, ham : he ut still I /ERCOME ry after, :th wove it of this of Dub- ey sailed fellows, Q at that rs of the e crowd Dublin, •sed this ling the deposed 1 man of ng suits ing now fard, he [isand a mesley ; for it wa.i his right, and, for bis part, he would rather his brother's son should have all, than Frank and Charles Annesley : and, in that case, he would live in France. Ac- cordingly, ho sent for Mr. Stephen Hayes, to teach him the French tongue. Q. — " And pray what altered his resolution ? ' Giffard, in reply, told the truth, as you see it in my narrative, about the homicide at Staines, with this ad- dition ; '' He said he did not care if it cost him ten thousand pounds, if he could get James Annesley hanged." He also described the clandestine way in which it was managed, the money wanted in the prosecution coming to him through Jans, Lord Anglesey's factotum. The Plaintiff's case closed, leaving Lord Anglesey an object of immense horror and disgust, and James Annes- ley the darling of the public. Said Philippa, " After this, why do they not give him his rights, and have done with it ? That miserable old man might have spared himself this exposure, by merely giving his title and estates to the rightful owner." Says Chester, " It is odd, how people cling to these trifles, when they have held them undisturbed for a few years." Then, more gravely, " Niece, do not deceive your- self We know nothing of the other party's case, as yet, and our own is prejudiced by this conduct of McKercher ; he has done a monstrous thing, he has published a libel of the Defendant." " A libel of the Defendant ! "Who can libel that old villain ? Who can paint him half as black as Nature has made him ? " I If 184 THE JVANDEIUNG HEIR. t «i I '\ " The blacker he is, the less need to write a novel about him. Why, in England, the Defendant would have attached him for contempt of Court A pretty attorney ! " " He is a lawyer with a heart ; that is all his fault. My James had been kidnapped by the old villain, and all but hanged, and he tried to assassinate him here in Ire- land, and you cry out because poor, good, kind McKer- cher replies to bullets, halters, and ten years' slavery — with a book, a few words that break no bones, a few home truths, that the villain himself hath made to be so. This is your justice ! this is how you cold-blooded law- yers hold the balance. Oh ! if my eyes could kill the caitiffs, body and soul, I'd give you something more to cry for. Prithee speak to me no more. Men with hearts are a sealed book to you. There — I would not forget the respect I owe you. I have done it once. For pity's sake. Uncle — That prince of villains hath fifteen counsel to gloze his crimes for him ; why need you make the six- teenth, and drive me mad?" She trembled and her hands worked, and her eyes flashed fire. The old man looked at her, thought of her father, and said, softly, " That is true, and I am silenced, completely silenced." " Better so, than for us to quarrel. Forgive me, Uncle, but I do not love my James by halves, and indeed I am but a woman, and s 3 stining up by this terribie trial, as I should quarrel with my own father, if he said one word against my Jamea." ' THE IVANDERINQ HEIR. 185 " Nay," said the old man ; " 1 never said a word against thy James ; and never will. He is an honest man, and hath been cruelly used : and he is not to blame that his attorney writes novels 'pendente lite. The Defendant now opened his case, and called a cloud of witnesses. Aaron Lamheii, Esq. — Lived near Dunmaine : never heard of nor saw a child of Lord and Lady Altham's. He impeached Joan Laffan's credit, unshaken by her cross- examination. He said " Nobody would believe her in my opinion, if she swore all the oaths in the universe." Thomas Palliser, Esq., a squireen. — Lived but three miles from Dunmaine, and visited there. Never heard of a son and heir; but had understood there was a boy about, whose mother was one Joan Landy. William Napper swore that Lord Altham was not suc- ceeded in his estates by the present defendant, but by Arthur, the then Lord Anglesey : that he, the witness, acted for Lord Arthur, and took possession of the Ross estate, on which were near a hundred tenants, and not one made any scruple, nor mentioned a child of Lord Altham's. Thomas Palliser, junior, delivered a romance illustra- tive of the time. He was young, and intimate with Lord and Lady Altham. Lord Altham told him one day that? he was determined to part with her, because he had no child by her : subsequently, by a " principle of selection '* that looks rather odd to us English, my lord made his confident the handle. He asked him to breakfast on IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) / // y ^ ^ O ,.v .^•-^ A . The Court. — " What was the nature of your service?" ; Joan. — " I was chaimber-maid." Elms. — " She was laundry -maid." , Joan (ironically). — ''Very well, Mr. Elms." The Court, having brought them to this issue, looked into the matter, and found, by the evidence of Heath and others, she was chamber-maid and not laundry-maid. ■ * ■' ; 196 THE WANDERING HEIR. About Joan Landy's cabin Joan said she only knew it while the child was there. It was then a handsome house, with handsome things in it. The Court (to Elms). — " Pray was there any such fine room as she describes ? " Elms. — I never saw it, without it was under ground. I saw no furniture at all : there was a wall made up ot sods and stones." Joan Laffan. — "Oh, fie, Mr. Elms : I wonder you'U say Bo.^* Then she clasped her hands. " By the Holt Evangelists there was never a sod in the house." They continued again about the coach-road : and this much-abused witness, Laffan, distinctly proved that the respectable Mr. Elms and Rolph had lied and prevaricated about the coach road ; and that it did not go where theji said it did, but only to Joan Landy's cabin. The Court (to Joan Laffan). — "Was it known by the neighbours that my iady had a son, and that the child you nursed was that son ? " Joan (composedly). — " My Lord it is not known by two thousand PEOPLE; AND EVERY BODY KNOWS IT IF THKY will PLEASE TO SPEAK TRUTH." Elms. — "I NEAVER HEARD OF IT, FOR ONE." The two Priests were now put on the table cheek by jowl. Father Downes denies that he ever rode and conversed with Father Ryan on any Sunday morning; but, on Ryan reminding him of a circumstance, he conceded the riding ; hut denied that he had ever conversed about this trial on a Sunday morning. ipip THE WANDERING HEIR. 197 Then the Court made Ryan repeat to his face about «he 200/., &c. Dounea. — " Does this man swear this ?" Cour^— "Hedoes." Downes. — " Well then I'll tell you, by virtue of my oatli —I never was promised a farthing, and if you believ k THIS GENTLEMAN, YOU MAY HANG ME ; FOR HE IS A VILK DRUNKEN LICENTIOUS DOG IN THE COUNTRY." The next duel was betw»^eu John Eueay and Mary Heath. They were put on the table together, and ftio Court asked Mrs. Heath if Ilussy had drank tea with her since the account came ^.om abrof?! about Mr. Annesley." Mrs. Heath — "Several tiracz," Court. — " Had you any couversation with him there- apon ? " Mrs. Heath. — " I have often said to him what a vile thing it was to take away the Earl's right — my lady never had a child. And I can't say no more, if you rack me to death." Court. — " What is Mr. Hussy's character ?" Mrs. Heath. — " I can say no more than some said he was a gentleman's servant and some said he lived by gaming." The Court. — " Repeat the words you say she said before you." ffusty. — "She told me the Duchess of Buckingham sent for her : and then she said, ' Poor gentleman, I'm sorry for him, from my heart, for no one has reason to know his affairs beti'>r than I do, for I lived long with Lady Altham, his mother.' " "sr 198 THE WANDERING HEIR. Mr 9. Heath.—" By all that's good and great i NEVER SAID ANT SUCH WORD." Then, turning on Hussy, ^ " I never thought you were such a man. I've heard people say you were a gamester, and lived in an odd way but I would never believe it till now. I took your part and always said you behaved like a gentleman." Hussy. — " I am a gentleman, and a man of family. In- deed I heard you say it, and with all the regret and con- cern imaginable." Thus ended the greatest conflict of direct and hetero- geneous evidence ever known in this country before or since ; and, if it does not interest my readers more than the rest of this story, let us have no more of the miser- able cant about Truth being superior to Fiction; for Truth has very few Pearls to offer comparable to this great trial. The Court adjourned, and Philippa and James Annesley both thanked God it was over, and agreed they would never have gone through it, had they known what they were to endure. " Sweetheart," said she to him, " T have much need to - see you gain your estates ; for I have lost my youth. I was so young before this dreadful trial, and now they have made me old. They have shown me mankind too near. What ! is it really so, that Christian men and women can stand up side by side, and take the gospels ol their Redeemer in hand, and one swear black, and t'other white, of things they both do know ? and all we, look- ing on amazed, can see nought in either face but truth THE WANDEIIING HEIR. 199 CAT I ussy, teard way part and honesty. Land and titles, quotha ! What are* they that men and women should fling away their souls ? Why if each of tliese false witnesses were to be Ireland's richest landowner, and England's highest Earl, still 'tis the Devil that hath the best of the bargain. Oh ! I am sick, sick. Shall England ever come to this ? Then me- thinks 'twere time for honest men and women to run into the sea, and so to another world for Truth." Having relieved her swelling soul, the noble girl laid her hand on James's shoulder, and said, pathetically, " I have but one comfort in this wicked world : that he I love is an honest man." "Yes, I am an honest man : too honest to trouble you any more, if the jury shall say I am that woman's son ! " " Oh, James, what words are these? Think you I care whose son men say you are ? " She made light of it, not knowing at the time the gloomy resolution James had come to. Yet, after all, now I think of it, she may have had some vague misgiving : for she said, to Thomas Chester, almost crying, " Uncle dear, if it goes against him, you will be very kind to him — for my sake ? " " I will : why should I not ? But, if you mean to give him my niece and her fortune all the same — why no : not till he resigns litigation, that is a curse, and takes to some honest trade." ^ Next day Philippa had a terrible headache : but no- thing would keep her out of Court. Four counsel for the Defendant spoke in turn : of tliese 200 THE WANDERING HEIR. Malone was one, and he spoke four hours, with all the zeal and ct)geney of a great Forensic reasoner : often, during his speech, poor Philippa said, " Oh, will he never leave off? " and, when he did leave off, the Claimant's ca«n seemed prostrate, Nevertheless, next day. Counsellor Marshall, for the P^ iintiff, spoke one hour only, but with such lucid order, such neatness, cogency, and power of condensation, that, he set the Claimant's case on its legs again. He was followed by three more. I shall give one point of the many on which they countered ; but I give it only because the judges, by some strange delusion, unaccountable in men so able, ac- tually omitted to say one word upon the point, though, to my mind, the case lay there. Prime Serjeant Malone cited— "It is a rule well known, that every case ought to be proved by the best testimony the nature of the thing will admit : and surely this Joan Landy was the very best witness that could have been produced on the side of the Plaintiff. It is sworn for her, by others, that she took this child from its mother, and nursed it for fifteen months. Why, then, is not she produced ? She is named on their list of wit- nesses ; and the gentlemen on the other side did, very early in uhe case, promise we should see her. But, by- and-bye, they told us she was a weak woman, and might be put off the thread of her story. But this was plainly not the real reason : the weakest man or woman can speak truth, and will probably, on their oath, say no THE IVAJ^DEPdNG HEIR. 201 other. It is a hardship for a weak mind, that knows a fact not to be true, to colour it, or make it appear true. Their consciousness that Joan Landy was unwilling, or unable, to do this, must have been their only reason for not producing her. Good-will to the Plaintiff she could not lack ; she is by their account, his wet nurse ; and an Irish nurse, as Mr. McKercher told those who suspected this woman of being something more to the claimant, has a matenial affection, and is willing, by all honest means, to promote her nurseling's welfare. Joan Landy knows better than any one whether she had a son by Lord Al- tham or not. Yet she is not called : and so, because Joan Landy knew too much about the sham, to stand an ex- amination, Joan Laffan, the pretended dry-nurse, is put forward to give Joan Landy's eviden'^e." Serjeant Marshall cited, in reply to the above : " What we said to the gentlemen was * that Joan Landy had been taiwpered with' and we repeat it. On that account we did not examine her ; but we offered her to the gentlemen on the other side, if they pleased to ex- amine her : and they declined. Yet she is their witness. She plays, in their case, the part Lady Altham plays in ours. Their refusing to examine her is as if we should refuse to examine Lady Altham, were she alive ; yet we had Joan Landy in Court for them, and they declined her." The last conflict was over ; the three judges summed up. Baron Dawson flimsily : the Chief Baron and Baron 202 THE WANDEBING HEIR. Mountney with great pains, closeness, method, and im- partiality, on every point, but the conduct of the coun- sel in not calling Joan Landy. This, by some strange crook of the Celtic intellect, they all ignored. The jury retired. James Annesle}^ waited a few minutes, and then, un- able to bear it any longer, cast a look of agony at Phi- lippa, and left the Court. McKercher followed him. Philippa sat in all the tortures of suspence. While she sat twisting her hands a line from McKer- cher was brought her. " My dear young lady keep your eye on him. He has bespoke a passage to Pennsylvania. She handed it to her uncle, and clasped her hands. " No," said Thomas Chester, " there is no need for that. Wemusttl'nk of something. What! the jury come back 60 soon ? Well, tliey are agreed then. I was afraid they never would. Better so, my child, than to go through this all again. " Silence ! " Then the usual question was put to the jury, and their foreman delivered. A Verdict For The Plaintiff. s There was a loud "Huzza" from the crowded Court. Ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and Philippa gave a cry, and was carried almost fainting from the Court. She had not been at home many minutes when in rushed her lover, exalted in proportion to his recent despondence, and demanded her hand in maiTiege that very uanuto. THE WANDERim HEIK 203 What woman, however much in love, could put up with such conduct ? She coquetted with her happiness directly, like any other daughter of Eve, "Marriage! time enough for that." At present she preferred to revel in her lover's triumph, and "not talk nonsense" — so she said however. Then her lover informed her that the Irish estates and the title in perspective would not com- pensate him for what he had endured. McKercher had been fighting for land and honours ; but he for her. Mr. Chester put in his word. "Come, niece, a bargain is a bargain. Prithee make me not a liar. I ne'er broke faith when I was young ; and shall I begin in my old age?" " I would do much to oblige you, Uncle," says the young lady, smiling, and colouring high at what she saw com- ing. In ran McKercher, boiling over, to say he had ariangad bonfires, bells, and a torchlight procession. " The marriage first," said Annesley, " or none of your public shows for me." Finding him as obstinate as a mule, the pliable McKer- cher shifted his helm ; got a parson, and distinguished Wionesses, all in an hour, and the deed of settlement was produced by Chester, and signed, sealed, and witnessed, and the marriage solemnized in private, iis usual among the great, and Matthews rode home, to prepare his house to receive the Bride and Bridegroom. At night, McKercher, in all his glory, arranged the torchlight procession, ,»rith all the bells aringing, and bun- J04 THE WANDERING HEIR. fires blazing on the neiglibouring heights. It was a splendid cavalcade, both of men and women : for the young Lord, as they called him now, was the darling of the hour ; and all the Quality clustered round him. Then James must show his darling Philippa all the places where he had suffered privation and misery. They made a Progress. They went in triumph to Frapper Lane: and other of the places ; to Smithfield, where he had held horses, and to Orniand Quay. One incident occurred worth mentioning. They passed John Purcell's door, and the old man stood in his doorway, to see the show, as all the neighbours did. Annesley caught sight of him, instantly dismounted, and fairly flung his arms round the old man's neck, and kissed him on both cheeks. The old man kissed him, in turn, and sobbed a word or two ; but, when James looked for liis mammy, he shook his head. She was gone from the joys and troubles of the world : and this is the sorest wound to gentle hearts, that those who are kindest to us in adver- sity cannot stay below to share our prosperity. • The crowd huzzaed louder than ever when the young Lord kissed the humble, sturdy, benefactor of his youth ; and then the bright cavalcade resumed its march. They took that sore- tried, but now triumphant, pair, a mile out of Dublin : then they broke into two companies : the larger rode back to drink their healths in Dublin, the smaller rode with them to Captain Matthews, waving torches, and hurrahing lustily at times. He kept them all, and ;]ieir horses, that night, with Irish hospitality. J.^ THE WANDERING HEIR. 205 was a or the ing of Then places made ; and held How sweet is pleasure after pain! Such a day as this comes to few, and to the happiest but once in a life : and all the past trouble, mortitication, doubt and suspense, made it sweeter still ; indeed scarcely credible, it was such rapture. I could tell more about the " Wandering Heir ;" but Fiction is not History, and I claim my rights : even the " Iliad " is but a slice out of Troy's siege , so surely 1 may take these marvellous passages of an eventful life, then drop the curtain on the doubtful future. Whether or not he holds his estates, and gets liis title from the Peers, he has been poor, and now is well to do ; a slave, and now is free; alone in the world, and n«>w blessed with Pliilippa ; there lies his best chance ot en- during happiness, when all is done : for few things in this world keep their high flavour; custom blunts them so : Wealth palls by liibit; titles cease to ring in sated ears; French dishes pall the appetite in time; Power and Repu- tation have no spells against satiety : only pure conjugal love seems never old, nor stale, but ever sweet ; if it de clines in passion, it gains in affection ; it multiplieth joy, it divideth sorrow and here, in this sorry world, is the thine: likest Heaven. i rf'» * Finis. Note— As this story is historical, many real names fig- ure in it. Should the same names still exist, please do not connect their present owners with my characters, who ^L*l •m^tmm wBBBmm 20« THE WANDERING HEIR, died a century ago. 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