L-O 
 
NOVELS AND TALES 
 
 BY THE 
 
 EARL OF BEACONSFIELD 
 
 WITH PORTRAIT AND SKETCH OF HIS LIFE 
 
 VOL. VII. -SYBIL 
 
1buflben&cn lEMtion 
 
 SYBIL 
 
 OR 
 
 THE TWO NATIONS 
 
 BY THE 
 
 KARL OF BEACONSFIELD 
 
 PKfOW 
 
 188/ 
 
 v, 7 
 
 The Commonalty murmured, and said, " There never were so many 
 Gentlemen, and so little Gentleness.'" BlSHOP LATIMKR. 
 
 Y*. 
 
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 the study 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 1881 
 
PRINTED Ai THE BALLANTTNE PRESS, EDINBURGH 
 
I would inscribe this work to one whose noble spirit 
 and gentle nature ever prompt her to sympathise with the 
 suffering ; to one whose sweet voice has often encouraged, 
 and whose taste and judgment have ever guided, its pages ; 
 the most severe of critics, but a perfect Wife I 
 
 M625937 /" 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 (1845). 
 
 The general reader whose attention has not been 
 specially drawn to the subject which these volumes 
 aim to illustrate the Condition of the People might 
 suspect that the Writer had been tempted to some 
 exaggeration in the scenes that he has drawn, and the 
 impressions he has wished to convey. He thinks it 
 therefore due to himself to state that the descriptions, 
 generally, are written from his own observation ; but 
 while he hopes he has alleged nothing which is not 
 true, he has found the absolute necessity of suppressing 
 much that is genuine. For soJii^Ie_diij^_lmowji.the 
 staXe^j)fj)ur own country, that the ail of improbability 
 which the whole truth would inevitably throw over 
 these pages, might deter some from their perusal. 
 
 Gkosvenob Gate: 
 May-Day, 1845. 
 
SYBIL 
 
 OR 
 
 THE TWO NATIONS. 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 * I'll take the odds against Caravan.' 
 
 ' In ponies ?' 
 
 Done.' 
 
 And Lord Milford, a yonng noble, entered in his book the 
 bet which he had just made with Mr. Latour, a grey-headed 
 member of the Jockey Club. 
 
 It was the eve of the Derby of 1837. In a vast and 
 golden saloon, that in its decorations would have become, 
 and in its splendour would not have disgraced, Versailles 
 in the days of the grand monarch, were assembled many 
 whose hearts beat at the thought of the morrow, and whose 
 brains still laboured to control its fortunes to their ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 'They say that Caravan looks puffy,' lisped, in a low 
 voice, a young man, lounging on the edge of a buhl table 
 that had once belonged to a Mortemart, and dangling a 
 rich cane with affected indifference, in order to conceal Ins 
 anxiety from all, except the person whom he addressed. 
 
 B 
 
2 SYBIL; OR 
 
 I They are taking seven to two against him freely over 
 the way,' was the reply. ' I believe it's all right.' 
 
 ' Do yon know I dreamed last night something about 
 Mango ?' continned the gentleman with the cane, and with 
 a look of nneasy superstition. 
 
 His companion shook his head. 
 
 ' Well,' continued the gentleman with the cane, ' I have 
 no opinion of him. I betted Charles Egremont the odds 
 against Mango this morning ; he goes with ns, yon know. 
 By-the-bye, who is onr fourth P* 
 
 I I thought of Milford,' was the reply in an under tone. 
 1 What say you ?' 
 
 1 Milford is going with St. James and Punch Hughes.' 
 
 ' Well, let us come in to supper, and we shall see some 
 fellow we like.' 
 
 So saying, the companions, taking their course through 
 more than one chamber, entered an apartment of less di- 
 mensions than the principal saloon, but not less sumptuous 
 in its general appearance. The gleaming lustres poured a 
 flood of soft yet brilliant light over a plateau glittering with 
 gold plate, and fragrant with exotics embedded in vases of 
 rare porcelain. The seats on each side of the table were 
 occupied by persons consuming, with a heedless air, delica- 
 cies for which they had no appetite ; while the conversation 
 in general consisted of flying phrases referring to the im- 
 pending event of the great day that had already dawned. 
 
 ' Come from Lady St. Julians', Fitz ?' said a youth of 
 tender years, and whose fair visage was as downy and as 
 blooming as the peach from which, with a languid air, he 
 withdrew his lips to make this inquiry of the gentleman 
 with the cane. 
 
 * Yes ; why were not you there ?' 
 
 ' I never go anywhere,' replied the melancholy Cupid, 
 c everything bores me so.' 
 
 1 Well, will you go to Epsom with us to-morrow, Alfred ?' 
 said Lord Fitzheron. ' I take Berners and Charles Egre- 
 mont, and with you our party will be perfect.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 1 1 feel so cursed blase!' exclaimed the boy in a tone of 
 elegant anguish. 
 
 ' It will give yon a fillip, Alfred,' said Mr. Berners ; 'do 
 yon all the good in the world.' 
 
 'Nothing can do me good,' said Alfred, throwing away 
 his almost nntasted peach ; ' I should be quite content if 
 anything could do me harm. Waiter, bring me a tumbler 
 of Badminton.' 
 
 1 And bring me one too,' sighed out Lord Eugene De 
 Vere, who was a year older than Alfred Mountchesney, his 
 companion and brother in listlessness. Both had exhausted 
 life in their teens, and all that remained for them was to 
 mourn, amid the ruins of their reminiscences, over the 
 extinction of excitement. 
 
 ' Well, Eugene, suppose you come with us,' said Lord 
 Fitzheron. 
 
 ' I think I shall go down to Hampton Court and play 
 tennis,' said Lord Eugene. ' As it is the Derby, nobody 
 will be there.' 
 
 I And I will go with you, Eugene,' said Alfred Mount- 
 chesney, ' and we will dine together afterwards at the Toy. 
 Anything is better than dining in this infernal London.' 
 
 ' Well, for my part,' said Mr. Berners, ' I do not like your 
 suburban dinners. You always get something you can't 
 eat, and cursed bad wine.' 
 
 I I rather like bad wine,' said Mr. Mountchesney ; ' one 
 gets so bored with good wine.' 
 
 * Do you want the odds against Hybiscus, Berners ?' said 
 a guardsman, looking up from his book, which he had been 
 intently studying. 
 
 ' All I want is some supper, and as you are not using your 
 place ' 
 
 ' You shall have it. Oh ! here's Milford, he will bet me 
 them.' 
 
 And at this moment entered the room the young noble- 
 man whom we have before mentioned, accompanied by an 
 
 b2 
 
SYBIL ; OR 
 
 individual who was approaching perhaps the termination of 
 his fifth lustre, but whose general air rather betokened even 
 a less experienced time of life. Tall, with a well-propor- 
 tioned figure and a graceful carriage, his countenance 
 touched with a sensibility that at once engages the affections, 
 Charles Egremont was not only admired by that sex whose 
 approval generally secures men enemies among their fellows, 
 but was at the same time the favourite of his own. 
 
 ' Ah, Egremont ! come and sit here,' exclaimed more 
 than one banqueter. 
 
 ' I saw you waltzing with the little Bertie, old fellow,' said 
 Lord Fitzheron, ' and therefore did not stay to speak to 
 you, as I thought we should meet here. I am to call for 
 you, mind.' 
 
 1 How shall we all feel this time to-morrow ?' said Egre- 
 mont, smiling. 
 
 ' The happiest fellow at this moment must be Cockie 
 Graves,' said Lord Milford. * He can have no suspense. 
 I have been looking over his book, and I defy him, whatever 
 happens, not to lose.' 
 
 'Poor Cockie,' said Mr. Berners ; 'he has asked me to 
 dine with him at the Clarendon on Saturday.' 
 
 1 Cockie is a very good Cockie,' said Lord Milford, ' and 
 Caravan is a very good horse ; and if any gentleman sports- 
 man present wishes to give seven to two, I will take him to 
 any amount.' 
 
 1 My book is made up,' said Egremont : ' and T stand or 
 fall by Caravan.' 
 
 1 And I.' 
 
 'And I.' 
 
 1 And I.' 
 
 1 Well, mark my words,' said a fourth, rather solemnly, 
 ( Rat- trap wins.' 
 
 1 There is not a horse except Caravan,' said Lord Milford, 
 ' fit for a borough stake.' 
 
 4 You used to be all for Phosphorus, Egremont,' said 
 Lord Eugene de Yere. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 4 Yes ; but fortunately I have got out of that scrape. I 
 owe Phlop. Dormer a good turn for that. I was the third 
 man who knew he had gone lame.' 
 
 ' And what are the odds against him now ?' 
 
 * Oh ! nominal ; forty to one ; what you please.' 
 
 'He won't run,' said Mr. Berners, ' John Day told me he 
 had refused to ride him.' 
 
 1 1 believe Cockie Graves might win something if Phos- 
 phorus came in first,' said Lord Milford, laughing. 
 
 ' How close it is to-night !' said Egremont. * Waiter, give 
 me some Seltzer water ; and open another window ; open 
 them all.' 
 
 At this moment an influx of guests intimated that the 
 assembly at Lady St. Julians' had broken up. Many at 
 the table rose and yielded their places, clustering round the 
 chimney-piece, or forming in various groups, and discussing 
 the great question. Several of those who had recently 
 entered were votaries of Rat-trap, the favourite, and quite 
 prepared, from all the information that had reached them, 
 to back their opinions valiantly. The conversation had 
 now become general and animated, or rather there was a 
 medley of voices in which little was distinguished except 
 the names of horses and the amount of odds. In the midst 
 of all this, waiters glided about, handing incomprehensible 
 mixtures bearing aristocratic names ; mystical combinations 
 of French wines and German waters, flavoured with slices 
 of Portugal fruits, and cooled with lumps of American ice, 
 compbsitions which immortalized the creative genius of 
 some high patrician name. 
 
 ' By Jove ! that's a flash,' exclaimed Lord Milford, as a 
 blaze of lightning seemed to suffuse the chamber, and the 
 beaming lustres turned white and ghastly in the glare. 
 
 The thunder rolled over the building. There was a dead 
 silence. "Was it going to rain ? Was it going to pour ? 
 Was the storm confined to the metropolis ? Would it reach 
 Epsom ? A deluge, and the course would be a quagmire, 
 and strength might baffle speed. 
 
6 SYBIL ; 07? 
 
 Another flash, another explosion, the hissing noise of rain. 
 Lord Milford moved aside, and, jealous of the eye of another, 
 read a letter from Chifney, and in a few minutes afterwards 
 offered to take the odds against Pocket Hercules. Mr. 
 Latour walked to the window, surveyed the heavens, sighed 
 that there was not time to send his tiger from the door to 
 Epsom, and get information whether the storm had reached 
 the Surrey hills, for to-night's operations. It was too late. 
 So he took a rusk and a glass of lemonade, and retired to 
 rest with a cool head and a cooler heart. 
 
 The storm raged, the incessant flash played as it were 
 round the burnished cornice of the chamber, and threw a 
 lurid hue on the scenes of Watteau and Boucher that 
 sparkled in the medallions over the lofty doors. The thun- 
 derbolts seemed to descend in clattering confusion upon the 
 roof. Sometimes there was a moment of dead silence, 
 broken only by the pattering of the rain in the street with- 
 out, or the pattering of the dice in a chamber at hand. 
 Then horses were backed, bets made, and there were loud 
 and frequent calls for brimming goblets from hurrying 
 waiters, distracted by the lightning and deafened by the 
 peal. It seemed a scene and a supper where the marble 
 guest of Juan might have been expected ; and, had he 
 arrived, he would have found probably hearts as bold and 
 spirits as reckless as he encountered in Andalusia 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 * Will any one do anything about Hybiscus ? ' sang out a 
 gentleman in the ring at Epsom. It was full of eager 
 groups ; round the betting post a swarming cluster, while 
 the magic circle itself was surrounded by a host of horse- 
 men shouting from their saddles the odds they were ready 
 to receive or give, and the names of the horses they were 
 prepared to back or to oppose. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 7 
 
 Will any one do anything about Hybiscus ? ' 
 
 ' I'll bet you five to one,' said a tall, stiff Saxon peer, in 
 a white great- coat. 
 
 ' No ; I'U take six.' 
 
 The tall, stiff peer in the white great- coat mused for a 
 moment with his pencil at his lip, and then said, 'Well, 
 I'll bet you six. What do you say about Mango ? ' 
 
 1 Eleven to two against Mango,' called out a little hump- 
 backed man in a shrill voice, but with the air of one who 
 was master of his work. 
 
 ' I should like to do a little business with you, Mr. Chip- 
 pendale,' said Lord Milford, in a coaxing tone, ' but I must 
 have six to one.' 
 
 'Eleven to two, and no mistake,' said this keeper of a 
 second-rate gaming-house, who, known by the flattering 
 appellation of Hump Chippendale, now turned with malig- 
 nant abruptness from the heir-apparent of an English 
 earldom. 
 
 'You shall have six to one, my Lord,' said Captain 
 Spruce, a debonair personage, with a well-turned silk hat 
 arranged a little aside, his coloured cravat tied with preci- 
 sion, his whiskers trimmed like a quickset hedge. Spruce, 
 who had earned his title of Captain on the plains of New- 
 market, which had witnessed for many a year his successful 
 exploits, had a weakness for the aristocracy, who, knowing 
 his graceful infirmity, patronized him with condescending 
 dexterity, acknowledged his existence in Pall-Mali as well 
 as at Tattersall's, and thus occasionally got a point more 
 than the betting out of him. Hump Chippendale had none 
 of these gentle failings; he was a democratic leg, who 
 loved to fleece a noble, and thought all men were born 
 equal ; a consoling creed that was a hedge for his hump. 
 
 ' Seven to four against the favourite ; seven to two 
 against Caravan; eleven to two against Mango. What 
 about Benedict ? Will any one do anything about Pocket 
 Hercules ? Thirty to one against Dardanelles.' 
 
3 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 ' Done.' 
 
 * Five-and-thirty ponies to one against Phosphorus,' 
 shouted a little man vociferously and repeatedly. 
 
 'I will bet forty,' said Lord Milford. No answer; 
 nothing done. 
 
 1 Forty to one ! ' murmured Egremont, who stood against 
 Phosphorus. A little nervous, he said to the peer in the 
 white great-coat, ' Don't you think that Phosphorus may, 
 after all, have some chance ? ' 
 
 'I should be cursed sorry to be deep against him,' said 
 the peer. 
 
 Egremont with a quivering lip walked away. He con- 
 sulted his book ; he meditated anxiously. Should he hedge ? 
 It was scarcely worth while to mar the symmetry of his 
 winnings ; he stood ' so well ' by all the favourites ; and for 
 a horse at forty to one. No ; he would trust his star, he 
 would not hedge. 
 
 1 Mr. Chippendale,' whispered the peer in the white great- 
 coat, 'go and press Mr. Egremont about Phosphorus. I 
 should not be surprised if you got a good thing.' 
 
 At this moment, a huge, broad-faced, rosy-gilled fellow, 
 with one of those good-humoured yet cunning countenances 
 that we meet occasionally north of the Trent, rode up to 
 the ring on a square cob, and, dismounting, entered the 
 circle. He was a carcase-butcher famous in Carnaby- 
 market, and the prime counsellor of a distinguished noble- 
 man, for whom privately he betted on commission. His 
 secret service to-day was to bet against his noble employer's 
 own horse, and so he at once sung out, ' Twenty to one 
 against Man- trap.' 
 
 A young gentleman just launched into the world, and 
 who, proud of his ancient and spreading acres, was now 
 making his first book, seeing Man- trap marked eighteen to 
 one on the cards, jumped eagerly at this bargain, while 
 Lord Fitzheron and Mr. Berners, who were at hand, and 
 who in their days had found their names in the book of 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 9 
 
 the carcase-butcher, and grown wise by it, interchanged a 
 smile. 
 
 ' Mr. Egremont will not take,' said Hump Chippendale 
 to the peer in the white great- coat. 
 
 * Yon must have been too eager,' said his noble friend. 
 
 The ring is up ; the last odds declared ; all gallop away 
 to the Warren. A few minutes, only a few minutes, and 
 the event that for twelve months has been the pivot of so 
 much calculation, of such subtle combinations, of such 
 deep conspiracies, round which the thought and passion 
 of the sporting world have hung like eagles, will be re- 
 corded in the fleeting tablets of the past. But what 
 minutes ! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, 
 and each moment is a day and the race a life. Hogarth, in 
 a coarse and yet animated sketch, has painted ' Before ' and 
 'After.' A creative spirit of a higher vein might develop 
 the simplicity of the idea with sublimer accessories. Pom- 
 peius before Pharsalia, Harold before Hastings, Napoleon 
 before Waterloo, might afford some striking contrasts to 
 the immediate catastrophe of their fortunes. Finer still, 
 the inspired mariner who has just discovered a new world ; 
 the sage who has revealed a new planet; and yet the 
 ' Before ' and ' After ' of a first-rate English race, in the 
 degree of its excitement, and sometimes in the tragic emo- 
 tions of its close, may vie even with these. 
 
 They are saddling the horses; Caravan looks in great 
 condition; and a scornful smile seems to play upon the 
 handsome features of Pavis, as, in the becoming colours of 
 his employer, he gracefully gallops his horse before his 
 admiring supporters. Egremont, in the delight of an 
 English patrician, scarcely saw Mango, and never even 
 thought of Phosphorus ; Phosphorus, who, by-the-bye, was 
 the first horse that showed, with both his forelegs ban- 
 daged. 
 
 They are off ! 
 
 As soon as they are well away, Chifhey makes the run- 
 
io SYBIL; OR 
 
 ning with Pocket Hercules. Up to the Rubbing House he 
 is leading ; this is the only point the eye can select. Higher 
 up the hill, Caravan, Hybiscus, Benedict, Mahometan, 
 Phosphorus, Michel Fell, and Rat-trap are with the grey, 
 forming a front rank, and at the new ground the pace has 
 told its tale, for half a dozen are already out of the race. 
 
 The summit is gained ; the tactics alter : here Pavis 
 brings up Caravan, with extraordinary severity ; the pace 
 round Tattenham corner terrific ; Caravan leading, then 
 Phosphorus a little above him, Mahometan next, Hybiscus 
 fourth, Rat-trap looking badly, Wisdom, Benedict, and 
 another handy. By this time Pocket Hercules has enough, 
 and at the road the tailing grows at every stride. Here 
 the favourite himself is hors de combat, as well as Darda- 
 nelles, and a crowd of lesser celebrities. 
 
 There are now but four left in the race, and of these, 
 two, Hybiscus and Mahometan, are some lengths behind. 
 Now it is neck and neck between Caravan and Phosphorus. 
 At the stand, Caravan has decidedly the best ; but just at 
 the post, Edwards, on Phosphorus, lifts the gallant little 
 horse, and with an extraordinary effort contrives to shove 
 him in by half a length. 
 
 * You look a little low, Charley,' said Lord Pitzheron, as, 
 taking their lunch in their drag, he poured the champagne 
 into the glass of Egremont. 
 
 * By Jove ! ' said Lord Milford, ' only think of Cookie 
 Graves having gone and done it ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Eoremont was the younger brother of an English earl, 
 whose nobility, being of nearly three centuries' date, ranked 
 him among our high and ancient peers, although its origin 
 was more memorable than illustrious. The founder of the 
 family had been a confidential domestic of one of the favou- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. n 
 
 rites of Henry VIII., and had contrived to be appointed 
 one of the commissioners for ' visiting and taking the sur- 
 renders of divers religious houses.' It came to pass that 
 divers of these religious houses surrendered themselves 
 eventually to the use and benefit of honest Baldwin Grey- 
 mount. The king was touched with the activity and zeal 
 of his commissioner. Not one of them whose reports were 
 so ample and satisfactory, who could baffle a wily prior 
 with more dexterity, or control a proud abbot with more 
 firmness. Nor were they well-digested reports alone that 
 were transmitted to the sovereign : they came accompanied 
 with many rare and curious articles, grateful to the taste 
 of one who was not only a religious reformer but a dilet- 
 tante ; golden candlesticks and costly chalices ; sometimes 
 a jewelled pix ; fantastic spoons and patens, rings for the 
 fingers and the ear ; occasionally a fair- written and blazoned 
 manuscript : suitable offering to the royal scholar. Grey- 
 mount was noticed ; sent for ; promoted in the household ; 
 knighted ; might doubtless have been sworn of the council, 
 and in due time have become a minister ; but his was a 
 discreet ambition, of an accumulative rather than an aspir- 
 ing character. He served the king faithfully in all domestic 
 matters that required an unimpassioned, unscrupulous 
 agent ; fashioned his creed and conscience according to the 
 royal model in all its freaks ; seized the right moment to 
 get sundry grants of abbey lands, and contrived in that 
 dangerous age to save both his head and his estate. 
 
 The Greymount family having. planted themselves in the 
 land, faithful to the~~~policy of the founder, avoided the 
 public gaze during the troubled period that followed the 
 reformation ; and even during the more orderly reign of 
 Elizabeth, rather sought their increase in alliances than in 
 court favour. But at the commencement of the seven- 
 teenth century, their abbey lands infinitely advanced in 
 value, and their rental swollen by the prudent accumulation 
 of more than seventy years, a Greymount, who was then a 
 
 
12 SYBIL: OR 
 
 county member, was elevated to the peerage as Baron 
 Marney. The heralds furnished his pedigree, and assured 
 the world that, although the exalted rank and extensive 
 possessions enjoyed at present by the Greymounts had their 
 origin immediately in great territorial revolutions of a 
 recent reign, it was not for a moment to be supposed that 
 the remote ancestors of the Ecclesiastical Commissioner of 
 1530 were by any means obscure. On the contrary, it 
 appeared that they were both Norman and baronial, their 
 real name Egremont, which, in their patent of peerage, the 
 family now resumed. 
 
 In the civil wars the Egremonts, pricked by their Norman 
 blood, were cavaliers, and fought pretty well. But in 1688, 
 alarmed at the prevalent impression that King James 
 intended to insist on the restitution of the church estates 
 to their original purposes, to wit, the education of the 
 people and the maintenance of the poor, the Lord of 
 Marney Abbey became a warm adherent of ' civil and re- 
 ligious liberty,' the cause for which Hampden had died in 
 the field, and Russell on the scaffold, and joined the other 
 whig lords, and great lay impropriators, in calling over the 
 Prince of Orange and a Dutch army, to vindicate those 
 popular principles which, somehow or other, the people 
 would never support. Profiting by this last pregnant cir- 
 cumstance, the lay abbot of Marney, also in this instance 
 like the other whig lords, was careful to maintain, while he 
 vindicated the cause of civil and religious liberty, a loyal 
 and dutiful though secret correspondence with the court 
 of St. Germains. 
 
 The great deliverer King William III., to whom Lord 
 Marney was a systematic traitor, made the descendant of 
 the Ecclesiastical Commissioner of Henry VIII. an English 
 earl ; and from that time until the period of our history, 
 though the Marney family had never produced one indi- 
 vidual eminent for civil or military abilities, though the 
 countrv was not indebted to them for a single statesman, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 13 
 
 orator, successful warrior, great lawyer, learned divine, 
 eminent author, illustrious man of science, they had con- 
 trived, if not to engross any great share of public admira- 
 tion and love, at least to monopolise no contemptible portion 
 of public money and public dignities. During the seventy 
 years of almost unbroken whig rule, from the accession of 
 the House of Hanover to the fall of Mr. Fox, Marney Abbey 
 had furnished a never-failing crop of lord privy seals, lord 
 presidents, and lord lieutenants. The family had had their 
 due quota of garters and governments and bishoprics ; 
 admirals without fleets, and generals who fought only in 
 America. They had glittered in great embassies with 
 clever secretaries at their elbow, and had once governed 
 Ireland, when to govern Ireland was only to apportion the 
 public plunder to a corrupt senate. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, this prolonged enjoyment of 
 undeserved prosperity, the lay abbots of Marney were not 
 content. Not that it was satiety which induced dissatis- 
 faction. The Egremonts could feed on. They wanted 
 something more. Not to be prime ministers or secreta- 
 ries of state, for they were a shrewd race who knew 
 the length of their tether, and notwithstanding the en- 
 couraging example of his grace of Newcastle, they could 
 not resist the persuasion that some knowledge of the 
 interests and resources of nations, some power of express- 
 ing opinions with propriety, some degree of respect for 
 the public and for himself, were not altogether indispen- 
 sable qualifications, even under a Venetian constitution, in 
 an individual who aspired to a post so eminent and re- 
 sponsible. Satisfied with the stars and mitres, and official 
 seals, which were periodically apportioned to them, the 
 Marney family did not aspire to the somewhat graceless 
 office of being their distributor. What they aimed-at was 
 promotion in their order ; and promotion to the highest 
 class. They observed that more than one of the other 
 great I civil and religious liberty ' families, the families 
 
i 4 SYBIL: OR 
 
 who in one century plundered the church to gain the pro- 
 perty of the people and in another century changed the 
 dynasty to .gain the power of the crown, had their brows 
 circled with the strawberry leaf. And why should not this 
 distinction be the high lot also of the descendants of the 
 old gentleman-usher of one of King Henry's plundering 
 vicar-generals ? Why not ? True it is, that a grateful 
 sovereign in our days has deemed such distinction the only 
 reward for half a hundred victories. True it is, that 
 Nelson, after conquering the Mediterranean, died only a 
 Viscount ! But the house of Marney had risen to high 
 rank, counted themselves ancient nobility ; and turned up 
 their noses at the Pratts and the Smiths, the Jenkinsons 
 and the Robinsons of our degenerate days ; and never had 
 done anything for the nation or for their honours. And 
 why should they now ? It was unreasonable to expect it. 
 Civil and religious liberty, that had given them a broad 
 estate and glittering coronet, to say nothing of half-a-dozen 
 close seats in parliament, ought clearly to make them 
 dukes. 
 
 But the other great whig families who had obtained this 
 honour, and who had done something more for it than 
 spoliate their church and betray their king, set up their 
 backs against this claim of the Egremonts. The Egre- 
 monts had done none of the work of the last hundred years 
 of political mystification, during which a people without 
 power or education had been induced to believe themselves 
 the freest and most enlightened nation in the world, and 
 had submitted to lavish their blood and treasure, to see 
 their industry crippled and their labour mortgaged, in 
 order to maintain an oligarchy, that had neither ancient 
 memories to soften nor present services to justify their 
 unprecedented usurpation. 
 
 How had the Egremonts contributed to this prodigious 
 result ? Their family had furnished none of those artful 
 orators whose bewildering phrase had fascinated the public 
 

 THE TWO NATIONS. 15 
 
 intelligence ; none of those toilsome patricians whose as- 
 siduity in affairs had convinced their unprivileged fellow- 
 subjects that government was a science, and administration 
 an art, which demanded the devotion of a peculiar class in 
 the state for their fulfilment and pursuit. The Egremonts 
 had never said anything that was remembered, or done 
 anything that could be recalled. It was decided by the 
 Great Revolution families, that they should not be dukes. 
 Infinite was the indignation of the lay abbot of Marney. 
 He counted his boroughs, consulted his cousins, and mut- 
 tered revenge. The opportunity soon offered for the grati- 
 fication of his passion. 
 
 The situation of the Venetian party in the wane of the 
 eighteenth century had become extremely critical. A 
 young king was making often fruitless, but always ener- 
 getic, struggles to emancipate his national royalty from the 
 trammels of the factious dogeship. More than sixty years 
 of a government of singular corruption had alienated all 
 hearts from the oligarchy ; never indeed much affected 
 by the great body of the people. It could no longer 
 be concealed that, by virtue of a plausible phrase, power 
 had been transferred from the crown to a parliament, the 
 members_of .yyhieh -wer e appointed by a limite d and ex- 
 clusive class, who owned no responsibility to the country, 
 who debated and voted in secret, and who were regularly 
 paid by the small knot of great families that by this 
 machinery had secured the permanent possession of the 
 king's treasury. Whiggism was putrescent in the nostrils 
 of the nation ; we were probably on the eve of a bloodless 
 yet important revolution ; when Rockingham, a virtuous 
 magnifico, alarmed and disgusted, resolved to revive some- 
 thing of the pristine purity and high-toned energy of the 
 old whig connection, appealed to his ' new generation ' 
 from a degenerate age, arrayed under his banner the gener- 
 ous youth of the whig families, and was fortunate to enlist 
 in the service the supreme genius of Edmund Burke. 
 
1 6 . SYBIL; OR 
 
 Burke effected for the whigs what Bolingbroke in a pre- 
 ceding age had done for the tories : he restored the moral 
 existence of the party. He taught them to recur to the 
 ancient principles of their connection, and suffused those 
 principles with all the delusive splendour of his imagina- 
 tion. He raised the tone of their public discourse ; he 
 breathed a high spirit into their public acts. It was in his 
 power to do more for the whigs than St. John could do for 
 his party. The oligarchy, who had found it convenient to 
 attaint Bolingbroke for being the avowed minister of the 
 English Prince with whom they were always in secret 
 communication, when opinion forced them to consent to 
 his restitution, had tacked to the amnesty a clause as 
 cowardly as it was unconstitutional, and declared his in- 
 competence to sit in the parliament of his country. Burke, 
 on the contrary, fought the whig fight with a two-edged 
 weapon : he was a great writer ; as an orator he was tran- 
 scendent. In a dearth of that public talent for the posses- 
 sion of which the whigs have generally been distinguished, 
 Burke came forward and established them alike in the 
 parliament and the country. And what was his reward ? 
 No sooner had a young and dissolute noble, who, with 
 some of the aspirations of a Caesar, oftener realized the 
 conduct of a Catiline, appeared on the stage, and after 
 some inglorious tergiversation adopted their colours, than 
 they transferred to him the command which had been won 
 by wisdom and genius, vindicated by unrivalled knowledge, 
 and adorned by accomplished eloquence. When the hour 
 arrived for the triumph which he had prepared, he was not 
 even admitted into the Cabinet, virtually presided over by his 
 graceless pupil, and who, in the profuse suggestions of his 
 teeming converse, had found the principles and the infor- 
 mation which were among the chief claims to public con- 
 fidence of Mr. Fox. 
 
 Hard necessity made Mr. Burke submit to the yoke, but 
 the humiliation could never be forgotten. Nemesis favours 
 
THE TWO NATIOXS. 17 
 
 genius ; the inevitable hour at length arrived. A voice 
 like the Apocalypse sounded over England, and even 
 echoed in all the courts of Europe. Burke poured forth 
 the vials of his hoarded vengeance into the agitated heart 
 of Christendom ; he stimulated the panic of a world by the 
 wild pictures of his inspired imagination ; he dashed to the 
 ground the rival who had robbed him of his hard-earned 
 greatness ; rent in twain the proud oligarchy that had 
 dared to use and to insult him ; and, followed with ser- 
 vility by the haughtiest and the most timid of its members, 
 amid the frantic exultation of his country, he placed his 
 heel upon the neck of the ancient serpent. 
 
 Among the whig followers of Mr. Burke in this memo- 
 rable defection, among the Devonshires and the Portlands, 
 the Spencers and the Fitzwilliams, was the Earl of Marney, 
 whom the whigs would not make a duke. 
 
 What was his chance of success from Mr. Pitt ? 
 
 If the history of England be ever written by one who has 
 the knowledge and the courage, and both qualities are 
 equally requisite for the undertaking, the world would be 
 more astonished than when reading the Roman annals by 
 Niebuhr. Generally speaking, all the great events have 
 been distorted, most of the important causes concealed, 
 some of the principal characters never appear, and all who 
 figure are so misunderstood and misrepresented, that the 
 result is a complete mystification, and the perusal of the 
 narrative about as profitable to an Englishman as reading 
 the Republic of Plato or the Utopia of More, the pages 
 of Gaudentio di Lucca or the adventures of Peter Wilkins. 
 
 The influence of races in our early ages, of the Church in 
 our middle, and of parties in our modern history, are three 
 great moving and modifying powers, that must be pursued 
 and analyzed with an untiring, profound, and unimpassioned 
 spirit, before a guiding ray can be secured. A remark- 
 able feature of our written history is the absence in its 
 pages of some of the most influential personages. Not one 
 
 c 
 
1 8 SYBIL; OR 
 
 man in a thousand, for instance, lias ever heard of Major 
 Wiidman : yet he was the soul of English politics in the 
 most eventful period of this kingdom, and one most in- 
 teresting to this age, from 1640 to 1688 ; and seemed more 
 than once to hold the balance which was to decide the 
 permanent forms of onr government. But he was the 
 leader of an unsuccessful party. Even, comparatively 
 speaking, in our own times, the same mysterious oblivion 
 is sometimes encouraged to creep over personages of great 
 social distinction as well as political importance. 
 
 The name of the second Pitt remains, fresh after forty 
 years of great events, a parliamentary beacon. He was 
 the Chatterton of politics ; the ' marvellous boy.' Some 
 have a vague impression that he was mysteriously moulded 
 by his great father; that he inherited the genius, the 
 eloquence, the statecraft of Chatham. His genius was of a 
 different bent, his eloquence of a different class, his state- 
 craft of a different school. To understand Mr. Pitt, one 
 must understand one of the suppressed characters of 
 English history, and that is Lord Shelburne. 
 
 When the fine genius of the injured Bolingbroke, the only 
 peer of his period who was educated, and proscribed by the 
 oligarchy because they were afraid of his eloquence, ' the 
 glory of his order and the shame,' shut out from Parlia- 
 ment, found vent in those writings which recalled to the 
 English people the inherent blessings of their old free 
 monarchy, and painted in immortal hues his picture of a 
 patriot king, the spirit that he raised at length touched the 
 heart of Carteret, born a whig, yet sceptical of the advan. 
 tages of that patrician constitution which made the Duke 
 of Newcastle, the most incompetent of men, but the chosen 
 leader of the Venetian party, virtually sovereign of England. 
 Lord Cartaret had many brilliant qualities : he was un- 
 daunted, enterprising, eloquent; had considerable know- 
 ledge of continental politics, was a great linguist, a master 
 of public law ; and, though he failed in his premature 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 effort to terminate the dogeship of George II., he suc- 
 ceeded in maintaining a considerable though secondary 
 position in public life. The young Shelburne married his 
 daughter. Of him it is singular we know less than of his 
 father-in-law, yet from the scattered traits some idea may 
 be formed of the ablest and most accomplished minister of 
 the eighteenth century. Lord Shelburne, influenced pro- 
 bably by the example and the traditionary precepts of his 
 eminent father-in-law, appears early to have held himself 
 aloof from the patrician connection, and entered public 
 life as the follower of Bute in the first great effort of 
 George III. to rescue the sovereignty from what Lord 
 Chatham called 'the Great Revolution families.' He 
 became in time a member of Lord Chatham's last admi- 
 nistration ; one of the strangest and most unsuccessful 
 efforts to aid the grandson of George II. in his struggle 
 for political emancipation. Lord Shelburne adopted from 
 the first the Bolingbroke system ; a real royalty, in lieu of 
 the chief magistracy ; a permanent alliance with France, 
 instead of the whig scheme of viewing in that power the 
 natural enemy of England ; and, above all, a plan of com- 
 mercial freedom, the germ of which may be found in the 
 long-maligned negotiations of Utrecht, but which, in the 
 instance of Lord Shelburne, were soon in time matured by 
 all the economical science of Europe, in which he was a 
 proficient. Lord Shelburne seems to have been of a 
 reserved and somewhat astute disposition : deep and adroit, 
 he was however brave and firm. His knowledge was ex- 
 tensive and even profound. He was a great linguist ; he 
 pursued both literary and scientific investigations ; his 
 house was frequented by men of letters, especially those 
 distinguished by their political abilities or economical 
 attainments. He maintained the most extensive private 
 correspondence of any public man of his time. The earliest 
 and most authentic information reached him from all courts 
 and quarters of Europe ; and it was a common phrase, that 
 
 c 2 
 
SYBIL ; OR 
 
 the minister of the day sent to him often for the important 
 information which the cabinet conld not itself command. 
 Lord Shelburne was the first great minister who compre- 
 hended the rising importance of the middle class, and fore- 
 saw in its futnre power a bulwark for the throne against 
 * the Great Revolution families.' Of his qualities in coun- 
 cil we have no record ; there is reason to believe that his 
 administrative ability was conspicuous ; his speeches prove 
 that, if not supreme, he was eminent, in the art of parlia- 
 mentary disputation, while they show on all the questions 
 discussed a richness and variety of information, with which 
 the speeches of no statesman of that age except Mr. Burke 
 can compare. 
 
 Such was the man selected by George III. as his cham- 
 pion against the Venetian party, after the termination 
 of the American war. The prosecution of that war they 
 had violently opposed, though it had originated in their 
 own policy. First minister in the House of Lords, Shel- 
 burne entrusted the lead in the House of Commons to his 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer, the youthful Pitt. The 
 administration was brief, but it was not inglorious. It 
 obtained peace, and, for the first time since the Revolution, 
 introduced into modern debate the legitimate principles on 
 which commerce should be conducted. It fell before the 
 famous Coalition with which ' the Great Revolution fami- 
 lies ' commenced their fiercest and their last contention for 
 the patrician government of royal England. 
 
 In the heat of that great strife, the king, in the second 
 hazardous exercise of his prerogative, entrusted the perilous 
 command to Pitt. Why Lord Shelburne on that occasion 
 was set aside, will perhaps always remain a mysterious 
 passage of our political history, nor have we space on the 
 present occasion to attempt to penetrate its motives. Per- 
 haps the monarch, with a sense of the rising sympathies of 
 his people, was prescient of the magic power of youth in 
 touching the heart of a nation. Yet it would not be an 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 21 
 
 unprofitable speculation, if for a moment we pause to con- 
 sider what might have been the consequences to our coun- 
 try if Mr. Pitt had been content for a season again to lead 
 the Commons under Lord Shelburne, and to have secured 
 for England the unrivalled knowledge and dexterity of that 
 statesman in the conduct of our affairs during the con- 
 founding fortunes of the French revolution. Lord Shelburne 
 was the only English minister competent to the place : he 
 was the only public man who had the previous knowledge 
 requisite to form accurate conclusions on such a conjunc- 
 ture ; his remaining speeches on the subject attest the 
 amplitude of his knowledge and the accuracy of his views ; 
 and in the rout of Jena, or the agony of Austerlitz, one 
 cannot refrain from picturing the shade of Shelburne haunt- 
 ing the cabinet of Pitt, as the ghost of Canning is said occa- 
 sionally to linger about the Speaker's chair, and smile 
 sarcastically on the conscientious mediocrities who pilfered 
 his hard-earned honours. \kWa^ 
 
 But, during the happier years of Mr. Pitt, the influence 
 of the mind of Shelburne may be traced throughout his 
 policy. It was Lansdowne House that made Pitt acquainted 
 with Dr. Price, a dissenting minister, whom Lord Shelburne, 
 when at the head of affairs, courageously offered to make 
 his private secretary, and who furnished Mr. Pitt, among 
 other important suggestions, with his original plan of 
 the sinking fund. The commercial treaties of '87 were 
 struck in the same mint, and are notable as the first effort 
 made by the English government to emancipate the country 
 from the restrictive policy which had been introduced by 
 the ' glorious revolution ;' memorable epoch, that presented 
 England at the same time with a corn-law and a public 
 debt. But on no subject was the magnetic influence of the 
 descendant of Sir William Petty more decided, than in the 
 resolution of his pupil to curb the power of the patriciaD 
 party by an infusion from the middle classes into the 
 government of the country. Hence the origin of Mr. Pitt's 
 
 n 
 
SYBIL; OR 
 
 famous and long-misconceived plans of parliamentary re- 
 form. Was he sincere, is often asked by those who neither 
 seek to discover the causes, nor are capable of calculating 
 the effects of public transactions. Sincere ! Why, he was 
 struggling for his existence ! And when, baffled, first by 
 the Venetian party, and afterwards by the panic of Jaco- 
 binism, he was forced to forego his direct purpose, he still 
 eixdeavoured partially to effect it by a circuitous process. 
 He created a plebeian aristocracy and blended it with the 
 patrician oligarchy. He made peers of second-rate squires 
 and fat graziers. He caught them in the alleys of Lombard 
 Street, and clutched them from the counting-houses of 
 Cornhill. When Mr. Pitt, in an age of Bank restriction, 
 declared that every man with an estate of ten thousand a- 
 year had a right to be a peer, he sounded the knell of ' the 
 cause for which Hampden had died on the field, and Sydney 
 on the scaffold.' 
 
 In ordinary times the pupil of Shelburne would have 
 raised this country to a state of great material prosperity, 
 and removed or avoided many of those anomalies which 
 now perplex us ; but he was not destined for ordinary 
 times ; and, though his capacity was vast and his spirit 
 lofty, he had not that passionate and creative genius re- 
 quired by an age of revolution. The French outbreak was 
 his evil daemon : he had not the means of calculating its 
 effects upon Europe. He had but a meagre knowledge 
 himself of continental politics : he was assisted by an in- 
 efficient diplomacy. His mind was lost in a convulsion 
 of which he neither could comprehend the causes nor cal- 
 culate the consequences ; and, forced to act, he acted not 
 only violently, but in exact opposition to the very system 
 he was called into political existence to combat ; he appealed 
 to the fears, the prejudices, and the passions of a privileged 
 class, revived the old policy of the oligarchy he had extin- 
 guished, and plunged into all the ruinous excesses of French 
 war and Dutch finance. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 23 
 
 If it be a salutary principle in the investigation of his- 
 torical transactions, to be careful in discriminating the 
 cause from the pretext, there is scarcely any instance in 
 which the application of this principle is more fertile in re- 
 sults, than in that of the Dutch invasion of 1688. The 
 real cause of this invasion was financial. The Prince of 
 Orange had found that the resources of Holland, however 
 considerable, were inadequate to sustain him in his inter- 
 necine rivalry with the great sovereign of France. In an 
 authentic conversation which has descended to us, held by 
 William at the Hague with one of the prime abettors of the 
 invasion, the prince did not disguise his motives ; he said, 
 1 Nothing but such a constitution as you have in England 
 can have the credit that is necessary to raise such sums as 
 a great war requires.' The prince came, and used our con- 
 stitution for his purpose : he introduced into England the 
 system of Dutch finance. The principle of that system was 
 to mortgage industry in order to protect property : abstrac- 
 tedly, nothing can be conceived more unjust; its practice 
 in England has been equally injurious. In Holland, with a 
 small population engaged in the same pursuits, in fact, a 
 nation of bankers, the system was adapted to the circum- 
 stances which had created it. All shared in the present 
 spoil, and therefore could endure the future burthen. And 
 so to this day Holland is sustained, almost solely sustained, 
 by the vast capital thus created which still lingers among 
 its dykes. But applied to a country in which the circum- 
 stances were entirely different, to a considerable and 
 rapidly-increasing population, where there was a numerous 
 peasantry, a trading middle class struggling into existence, 
 the system of Dutch finance, pursued more or less for 
 nearly a century and a half, has ended in the degradation 
 of a fettered and burthened multitude. Nor have the de- 
 moralizing consequences of the funding system on the more 
 favoured classes been less decided. It has made debt a 
 national habit ; it has made credit the ruling power, not 
 
24 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 the exceptional auxiliary, of all transactions ; it has intro- 
 duced a loose, inexact, haphazard, and dishonest spirit in 
 the conduct of both public and private life ; a spirit dazzling 
 and yet dastardly ; reckless of consequences and yet shrink- 
 ing from responsibility. And in the end, it has so over- 
 stimulated the energies of the population to maintain the 
 material engagements of the state, and of society at large, 
 that the moral condition of the people has been entirely lost 
 sight of. 
 
 A mortgaged aristocracy, a gambling foreign commerce, 
 a home trade founded on a morbid competition, and a de- 
 graded people ; these are great evils, but ought perhaps 
 cheerfully to be encountered for the greater blessings of 
 civil and religious liberty. Yet the first would seem in 
 son^e degree to depend upon our Saxon mode of trial by 
 our peers, upon the stipulations of the great Norman 
 charters, upon the practice and the statute of Habeas 
 Corpus, a principle native to our common law, but esta- 
 blished by the Stuarts ; nor in a careful perusal of the 
 Bill of Rights, or in an impartial scrutiny of the subsequent 
 legislation of those times, though some diminution of our 
 political franchises must be confessed, is it easy to discover 
 any increase of our civil privileges. To those, indeed, who 
 believe that the English nation (at all times a religious and 
 Catholic people, but who even in the days of the Planta- 
 genets were anti-papal) were in any danger of again fall- 
 ing under the yoke of the Pope of Rome in the reign 
 of James II., religious liberty was perhaps acceptable, 
 though it took the shape of a discipline which at once ana- 
 thematized a great portion of the nation, and virtually 
 establishing Puritanism in Ireland, laid the foundation of 
 those mischiefs which are now endangering the empire. 
 
 That the last of the Stuarts had any other object in his 
 impolitic manoeuvres than an impracticable scheme to blend 
 the two Churches, there is now authority to disbelieve. He 
 certainly was guilty of the offence of sending an envoy 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 25 
 
 openly to Rome, who, by the bye, was received by the Pope 
 with great discourtesy ; and her Majesty Queen Victoria, 
 whose Protestantism cannot be doubted, for it is one of her 
 chief titles to our homage, has at this time a secret envoy 
 at the same court ; and that is the difference between them : 
 both ministers doubtless working, however fruitlessly, for 
 the same object, the termination of those terrible miscon- 
 ceptions, political and religious, that have occasioned so 
 many martyrdoms, and so many crimes alike to sovereigns 
 and to subjects. 
 
 If James II. had really attempted to re-establish Popery 
 in this country, the English people, who had no hand 
 in his overthrow, would doubtless soon have stirred 
 and secured their * Catholic and Apostolic Church,' inde- 
 pendent of any foreign dictation ; the Church to which they 
 still regularly profess their adherence ; and, being a prac- 
 tical people, it is possible that they might have achieved 
 their object and yet retained their native princes ; under 
 which circumstances we might have been saved from the 
 triple blessings of Venetian politics, Dutch finance, and 
 French wars : against which, in their happiest days, and 
 with their happiest powers, struggled the three greatest of 
 English statesmen, Bolingbroke, Shelburne, and, lastly, 
 the son of Chatham. 
 
 We have endeavoured in another work, not we hopo 
 without something of the impartiality of the future, to 
 sketch the character and career of his successors. From 
 his death to 1825, the political history of England is a his- 
 tory of great events and little men. The rise of Mr. Can- 
 ning, long kept down by the plebeian aristocracy of Mr. Pitt 
 as an adventurer, had shaken parties to their centre. His 
 rapid disappearance from the scene left both whigs and 
 tories in a state of disorganisation. The distinctive prin- 
 ciples of these connections were now difficult to trace. 
 That period of public languor which intervenes between the 
 breaking up of parties and the formation of factions now 
 
26 SYBIL; OR 
 
 succeeded in England. An exhausted sensualist on the 
 throne, who only demanded from his ministers repose, a 
 voluptuous aristocracy, and a listless people, were content, 
 in the absence of all public conviction and national passion, 
 to consign the government of the country to a great man, 
 whose decision relieved the sovereign, whose prejudices 
 pleased the nobles, and whose achievements dazzled the 
 multitude. 
 
 The Duke of Wellington brought to the post of first 
 minister immortal fame ; a quality of success which would 
 almost seem to include all others. His public knowledge 
 was such as might be expected from one whose conduct 
 already formed an important portion of the history of his 
 country. He had a personal and intimate acquaintance 
 with the sovereigns and chief statesmen of Europe, a kind 
 of information in which English ministers have generally 
 been deficient, but without which the management of our 
 external affairs must at the best be haphazard. He pos- 
 sessed administrative talents of the highest order. 
 
 The tone of the age, the temper of the country, the great 
 qualities and the high character of the minister, indicated 
 a long and prosperous administration. The only individual 
 in his cabinet who, from a combination of circumstances 
 rather than from any intellectual supremacy over his col- 
 leagues, was competent to be his rival, was content to be his 
 successor. In his most aspiring moments, Mr. Peel, in all 
 probability, aimed at no higher reach ; and with youth and 
 the leadership of the House of Commons, one has no reason 
 to be surprised at his moderation. The conviction that the 
 duke's government would only cease with the termination of 
 his public career was so general, that, the moment he was 
 installed in office, the whigs smiled on him ; political con- 
 ciliation became the slang of the day, and the fusion of 
 parties the babble of clubs and the tattle of boudoirs. 
 
 How comes it, then, that so great a man, in so great a 
 position, should have so signally failed ; should have broken 
 

 THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 27 
 
 np his government, wrecked his party, and so completely 
 annihilated his political position, that, even with his his- 
 torical reputation to sustain him, he can since only re-appear 
 in the councils of his sovereign in a subordinate, not to say 
 s equivocal, character? 
 
 With all those great qualities which will secure him a 
 place in our history not perhaps inferior even to Marl- 
 borough, the Duke of Wellington has one deficiency which 
 has been the stumbling-block of his civil career. Bishop 
 Burnet, in speculating on the extraordinary influence of 
 Lord Shaftesbury, and accounting how a statesman, so in- 
 consistent in his conduct and so false to his confederates, ' 
 should have so powerfully controlled his country, observes, 
 
 * HlS__STRENGTH LAY IN HIS KNOWLEDGE OF ENGLAND.' 
 
 Now _that is exactly the kind of knowledge which the 
 Duke .ojf Wellington never possessed* L -*^ 
 
 When the king, finding that in Lord Goderich he had a 
 minister who, instead of deciding, asked his royal master 
 for advice, sent for the Duke of Wellington to undertake 
 the government, a change in the carriage of his grace was 
 perceived by some who had the opportunity to form an 
 opinion on such a subject. If one might venture to use 
 such a word in reference to such a man, we might remark, 
 that the duke had been somewhat daunted by the selection 
 of Mr. Canning. It disappointed great hopes, it baffled 
 great plans, and dispelled for a season the conviction that, 
 it is believed, had been long maturing in his grace's mind ; 
 that he was the man of the age, that his military career had 
 been only a preparation for a civil course not less illustrious ; 
 and that it was reserved for him to control for the rest of 
 his life, undisputed, the destinies of a country which was 
 indebted to him in no slight degree for its European pre- 
 eminence. The death of Mr. Canning revived, the rout of 
 Lord Goderich restored, these views. 
 
 Napoleon, at St. Helena, speculating in conversation on 
 the future career of his conqueror, asked, * What will 
 
 A* 
 
28 SYBIL; OR 
 
 Wellington do ? After all he lias done, lie will not be 
 content to be qniet. He will change the dynasty.' 
 
 Had the great exile been better acquainted with the real 
 character of our Venetian constitution, he would have known 
 that to govern England in 1820, it was not necessary to 
 change its dynasty. But the Emperor, though wrong in 
 the main, was right by the bye. It was clear that the 
 energies which had twice entered Paris as a conqueror and 
 had made kings and mediatised princes at Vienna, would 
 not be content to subside into ermined insignificance. The 
 duke commenced his political tactics early. The cabinet of 
 Lord Liverpool, especially during its latter term, was the 
 hot-bed of many intrigues ; but the obstacles were nu- 
 merous, though the appointing fate, in which his grace 
 believed, removed them. The disappearance of Lord Castle- 
 reasrh and Mr. Canning' from the scene was alike unex- 
 pected. The Duke of Wellington was at length prime 
 minister, and no individual ever occupied that post more 
 conscious of its power, and more determined to exercise it. 
 
 This is not the occasion on which we shall attempt to do 
 justice to a theme so instructive as the administration of his 
 grace. Treated with impartiality and sufficient information, 
 it would be an invaluable contribution to the stores of our 
 political knowledge and national experience. Throughout 
 its brief but eccentric and tumultuous annals we see continual 
 proof, how important is that knowledge ' in which Jay Lord 
 Shaftesbury's strength.' In twenty-four months we find an 
 aristocracy estranged, without a people being conciliated ; 
 while on two several occasions, first, the prejudices, and 
 then the pretensions of the middle class, were alike treated 
 with contumely. The public was astonished at hearing of 
 statesmen of long parliamentary fame, men round whom the 
 intelligence of the nation had gathered for years, if not with 
 confidence, at least with interest, being expelled from the 
 cabinet in a manner not unworthy of Colonel Joyce, while 
 their places were filled by second-rate soldiers, whose very 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 29 
 
 names were unknown to the great body of the people, and 
 who, under no circumstances, should have aspired beyond 
 the government of a colony. This administration, which 
 commenced in arrogance, ended in panic. There was an 
 interval of perplexity, when occurred the most ludicrous 
 instance extant of an attempt at coalition ; subordinates 
 were promoted while negotiations were still pending with 
 their chiefs ; and these negotiations, undertaken so crudely, 
 were terminated in pique, in a manner which added to poli- 
 tical disappointment personal offence. When even his 
 parasites began to look gloomy, the duke had a specific that 
 was to restore all, and, having allowed every element of 
 power to escape his grasp, he believed he could balance 
 everything by a beer bill. The growl of reform was heard, 
 but it was not very fierce. There was yet time to save 
 himself. His grace precipitated a revolution which might 
 have been delayed for half a century, and never need have 
 occurred in so aggravated a form. He rather fled than 
 retired. He commenced his ministry like Brennus, and 
 finished it like the tall Gaul sent to murder the rival of 
 Sylla, but who dropped his weapon before the undaunted 
 gaze of his intended victim. 
 
 Lord Marney was spared the pang of the catastrophe. 
 Promoted to a high office in the household, and still hoping 
 that, by the aid of his party, it was yet destined for him to 
 achieve the hereditary purpose of his family, he died in the 
 full faith of dukism ; worshipping the duke, and believing 
 that ultimately he should himself become a duke. It was 
 under all the circumstances a euthanasia; he expired 
 leaning as it were on his white wand and babbling of 
 strawberry-leaves. 
 
3 o SYBIL : OR 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1 My dear Charles,' said Lady Marney to Egremont, the 
 morning after the Derby, as breakfasting with her in her 
 bondoir, he detailed some of the circumstances of the race, 
 1 we must forget your naughty horse. I sent you a little 
 note this morning, because I wished to see you most par- 
 ticularly before you went out. Affairs,' continued Lady 
 Marney, first looking round the chamber to see whether 
 there were any fairy listening to her state secrets, ' affairs 
 are critical.' 
 
 ' No doubt of that,' thought Egremont, the horrid phan- 
 tom of settling-day seeming to obtrude itself between his 
 mother and himself; but, not knowing precisely at what she 
 was driving, he merely sipped his tea, and innocently 
 replied, ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' There will be a dissolution,' said Lady Marney. 
 
 ' What ! are we coming in ? ' 
 
 Lady Marney shook her head. 
 
 1 The present men will not better their majority,' said 
 Egremont. 
 
 ' I hope not,' said Lady Marney. 
 
 1 Why you always said that, with another general election, 
 we must come in, whoever dissolved.' 
 
 ' But that was with the court in our favour,' rejoined 
 Lady Marney, mournfully. 
 
 1 What ! has the king changed ? ' said Egremont. I 
 thought it was all right.' 
 
 1 All was right,' said Lady Marney. ' These men would 
 have been turned out again, had he only lived three months 
 longer.' 
 
 * Lived ! ' exclaimed Egremont. 
 
 1 Yes,' said Lady Marney ; ' the king is dying.' 
 
 Slowly delivering himself of an ejaculation, Egremont 
 leant back in his chair. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 1 He may live a month,' said Lady Marney ; * lie cannot 
 live two. It is the greatest of secrets ; known at this 
 moment only to four individuals, and I communicate it to 
 you, my dear Charles, in that absolute confidence which I 
 hope will always subsist between us, because it is an event 
 that may greatly affect your career.' 
 
 1 How so, my dear mother ? ' 
 
 ' Marbury ! I have settled with Mr. Tadpole that you 
 shall stand for the old borough. With the government in 
 our hands, as I had anticipated, at the general election 
 success I think was certain : under the circumstances which 
 we must encounter, the struggle will be more severe, but I 
 think we shall do it : and it will be a happy day for me to 
 have our own again, and to see you in Parliament, my dear 
 child.' 
 
 1 Well, my dear mother, I should like very much to be in 
 Parliament, and particularly to sit for the old borough ; but 
 I fear the contest will be very expensive,' said Egremont, 
 inquiringly. ^ C 
 
 ' Oh ! I have no doubt,' said Lady Marney, ' that we shall 
 have, jjome monster of the middle class, some tinker or tailor 
 or candlestick-maker, with his long purse, preaching reform 
 and practising corruption ; exactly as the liberals did under 
 Walpole : bribery was unknown in the time of the Stuarts ; 
 but we have a capital registration, Mr. Tadpole tells me. 
 And a young candidate with the old name will tell,' said 
 Lady Marney, with a smile : ' and I shall go down and 
 canvass, and we must do what we can.' 
 
 ' 1 have great faith in your canvassing,' said Egremont ; 
 ' but still at the same time, the powder and shot ' 
 
 1 Are essential,' said Lady Marney, ' I know it, in these 
 corrupt days ; but Marney will of course supply those. It 
 is the least he can do : regaining the family influence, and 
 letting us hold up our heads again. I shall write to him 
 the moment I am justified,' said Lady Marney, ' perhaps 
 you will do so yourself, Charles/ 
 
32 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 1 Why, considering I have not seen my brother for two 
 years, and we did not part on the best possible terms ' 
 
 ' But that is all forgotten.' 
 
 1 By your good offices, dear mother, who are always doing 
 good: and yet,' continued Egremont, after a moment's 
 pause, ' I am not disposed to write to Marney, especially to 
 ask a favour.' 
 
 i Well, I will write,' said Lady Marney ; * though I can- 
 not admit it as any favour. Perhaps it would be better 
 that you should see him first. I cannot understand why he 
 keeps so at the Abbey. I am sure I found it a melancholy 
 place enough in my time. I wish you had gone down there, 
 Charles, if it had been only for a few days.' 
 
 1 Well, I did not, my dear mother, and I cannot go now. 
 I shall trust to you. But are you quite sure that the 
 king is going to die ? ' 
 
 ' I repeat to you, it is certain,' replied Lady Marney, in a 
 lowered voice, but decided tone ; ' certain, certain, certain. 
 My authority cannot be mistaken: but no consideration in 
 the world must throw you off your guard at this moment ; 
 breathe not the shadow of what you know.' 
 
 At this moment a servant entered, and delivered a note to 
 Lady Marney, who read it with an ironical smile. It was 
 from Lady St. Julians, and ran thus 
 
 1 Most confidential. 
 1 My dearest Lady Marney, It is a false report ; he is ill, 
 but not dangerously; the hay fever; he always has it; 
 nothing more ; I will tell my authority when we meet ; I 
 dare not write it. It will satisfy you. I am going on with 
 my quadrille. 
 
 * Most affectionately yours. 
 
 'A. St. J.' 
 
 * Poor woman ! she is always wrong,' said Lady Marney, 
 throwing the note to Egremont. Her quadrille will never 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 33 
 
 take place, whicli is a pity, as it is to consist only of beauties 
 and eldest sons. I suppose I must send her a line ; ' and 
 she wrote : 
 
 1 My dearest Lady St. Julians, How good of you to write 
 to me, and send me such cheering news ! I have no doubt 
 you are right ; you always are. I know he had the hay 
 fever last year. How fortunate for your quadrille, and how 
 charming it will be ! Let me know if you hear anything 
 further from your unmentionable quarter. 
 
 ' Ever your affectionate 
 
 ' C. M.' 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Lord Maenet left several children ; his heir was five years 
 older than the next son, Charles, who at the period of his 
 father's death was at Christchurch, and had just entered 
 the last year of his minority. Attaining that age, he received 
 the sum of fifteen thousand pounds, his portion, a third of 
 which amount his expenditure had then already anticipated. 
 Egremont had been brought up in the enjoyment of every 
 comfort and every luxury that refinement could devise and 
 wealth furnish. He was a favourite child. His parents 
 emulated each other in pampering and indulging him. 
 Every freak was pardoned, every whim was gratified. He 
 might ride what horses he liked, and if he broke their knees, 
 what in another would have been deemed a flagrant sin, 
 was in him held only a proof of reckless spirit. If he were 
 not a thoroughly selfish and altogether wilful person, but 
 very much the reverse, it was not the fault of his parents, 
 but rather the operation of a benignant nature that had 
 bestowed on him a generous spirit and a tender heart, 
 though accompanied with a dangerous susceptibility that 
 made him the child and creature of impulse, and seemed to 
 set at defiance even the course of time to engraft on his 
 nature any quality of prudence. The tone of Eton during 
 
 D 
 
34 SYBIL; OR 
 
 the days of Charles Egremont was not of the high character 
 which at present distinguishes that community. It was 
 the unforeseen eve of the great change, that, whatever was 
 its purpose or have been its immediate results, at least gave 
 the first shock to the pseudo-aristocracy of this country. 
 Then all was blooming ; sunshine and odour ; not a breeze 
 disturbing the meridian splendour. Then the world was 
 not only made for a few, but a very few. One could almost 
 tell upon one's fingers the happy families who could do 
 anything, and might have everything. A schoolboy's ideas 
 of the Church ithen were fat livings, and of the State rotten 
 boroughs. To do nothing and get something formed a 
 boy's ideal of a manly career. There was nothing in the 
 lot, little in the temperament, of Charles Egremont, to make 
 him an exception to the multitude. Gaily and securely he 
 floated on the brilliant stream. Popular at school, idolized 
 at home, the present had no cares, and the future secured 
 him a family seat in Parliament the moment he entered life, 
 and the inheritance of a glittering post at court in due time, 
 as its legitimate consequence. Enjoyment, not ambition, 
 seemed the principle of his existence. The contingency of 
 a mitre, the certainty of rich preferment, would not recon- 
 cile him to the self-sacrifice which, to a certain degree, was 
 required from a priest, even in those days of rampant 
 Erastianism. He left the colonies as the spoil of his younger 
 brothers ; his own ideas of a profession being limited to a 
 barrack in a London park varied by visits to Windsor. 
 But there was time enough to think of these things. He 
 had to enjoy Oxford as he had enjoyed Eton. Here his 
 allowance from his father was extravagant, though greatly 
 increased by tithes from his mother's pin-money. While 
 he was pursuing his studies, hunting and boating, driving 
 tandems, riding matches, tempering his energies in the 
 crapulence of boyish banquets, and anticipating life, at 
 the risk of expulsion, in a miserable mimicry of metropolitan 
 dissipation, Dukism, that was supposed to be eternal, 
 suddenly crashed. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 35 
 
 The Reform Act has not placed the administration of ourN> 
 affairs in abler hands than conducted fhem previously to 
 the passing of the measure, for the most efficient members' 
 of the present cabinet, with some few exceptions, and those 
 attended by peculiar circumstances, were ministers before 
 the Reform Act was contemplated. Nor has that memorable 
 statute created a Parliament of a higher reputation for 
 public qualities, such as politic ability, and popular elo- 
 quence, and national consideration, than was furnished by 
 the old scheme. On the contrary, one house of Parliament 
 has been irremediably degraded into the decaying position 
 of a mere court of registry, possessing great privileges, on 
 condition that it never exercises them ; while the other 
 chamber, that, at the first blush, and to the superficial, 
 exhibits symptoms of almost unnatural vitality, engrossing 
 in its orbit all the business of the country, assumes on a 
 more studious inspection somewhat of the character of a 
 select vestry, fulfilling municipal rather than imperial offices, 
 and beleaguered by critical and clamorous millions, who 
 cannot comprehend why a privileged and exclusive senate 
 is requisite to perform functions which immediately concern 
 all, which most personally comprehend, and which many in 
 their civic spheres believe they could accomplish in a 
 manner not less satisfactory, though certainly less ostenta- 
 tious. 
 
 But if it have not furnished us with abler administrators 
 or a more illustrious senate, the Reform Act may have 
 exercised on the country at large a beneficial influence. 
 Has it ? Has it elevated the tone of the public mind ? Has 
 it cultured the popular sensibilities to noble and ennobling 
 ends ? Has it proposed to the people of England a higher 
 test of national respect and confidence than the debasing 
 qualification universally prevalent in this country since the 
 fatal introduction of the system of Dutch finance ? Who 
 will pretend it? If a spirit of rapacious covetousness, 
 desecrating all the humanities of life, has been the besetting 
 
 d 2 
 

 3 5 
 
 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 sin of England for the last century and a half, since tbe 
 passing of the Reform Act the altar of Mammon has blazed 
 with triple worship. To acquire, to accumulate, to plunder 
 each other by virtue of philosophic phrases, to propose a 
 i Utopia to consist only of wealth and TOIL, this has been 
 the breathless business of enfranchised England for the last 
 twelve years, until we are startled from our voracious strife 
 by the wail of intolerable serfage. 
 
 Are we then to conclude, that the only effect of the 
 Reform Act has been to create in this country another of 
 those class interests which we now so loudly accuse as the 
 obstacles to general amelioration ? Not exactly that. The 
 indirect influence of the Reform Act has been not incon- 
 siderable, and may eventually lead to vast consequence^ 
 It set men a-thinking ; it enlarged the horizon of political 
 experience ; it led the public mind to ponder somewhat on 
 the circumstances of our national history"; to pry into the 
 beginnings of some social anomalies, which, they found, 
 were not so ancient as they had been led to believe, and 
 which had their origin in causes very different from what 
 they had been educated to credit ; and insensibly it created 
 and prepared a popular intelligence to which one can appeal, 
 no longer hopelessly, in an attempt to dispel the mysteries 
 with which for nearly three centuries it has been the labour 
 of party writers to involve a national history, and without 
 the dispersion of which no political position can bo under- 
 stood and no social evil remedied. 
 
 The events of 1830 did not produce any change in the 
 modes of thought and life of Charles Egremont. He took 
 his political cue from his mother, who was his constant 
 correspondent. Lady Marney was a distinguished ' states- 
 woman,' as they called Lady Carlisle in Charles I.'s time, 
 a great friend of Lady St. Julians, and one of the most 
 eminent and impassioned votaries of Dukism. Her first 
 impression on the overthrow of her hero was astonishment 
 at the impertinence of his adversaries, mingled with sonio 
 
 \ 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 37 
 
 lofty pity for their silly ambition and short-lived career. 
 She existed for a week in the delightful expectation of his 
 grace being sent for again, and informed every one in confi- 
 dence, that 'these people could not form a cabinet.' When 
 the tccsin of peace, reform, and retrenchment sounded, she 
 smiled bitterly ; was sorry for poor Lord Grey, of whom 
 she had thought better, and gave them a year, adding, with 
 consoling malice, ' that it would be another Canning affair.' 
 At length came the Reform Bill itself, and no one laughed 
 more heartily than Lady Marney ; not even the House of 
 Commons to whom it was presented. 
 
 The bill was thrown out, and Lady Marney gave a grand 
 ball to celebrate the event, and to compensate the London 
 shopkeepers for the loss of their projected franchise. Lady 
 Marney was preparing to resume her duties at court, when, 
 to her great surprise, the firing of cannon announced the dis- 
 solution of Parliament. She turned pale ; she was too much 
 in the secrets of Tadpole and Taper to be deceived as to the 
 consequences ; she sank into her chair, and denounced Lord 
 Grey as a traitor to his order. 
 
 Lady Marney, who for six months had been writing to^ 
 her son at Oxford the most charming letters, full of fun, 
 quizzing the whole Cabinet, now announced to Egremont 
 that a revolution was inevitable, that all property would be 
 instantly confiscated, the poor deluded king led to the 
 block or sent over to Hanover at the best, and the whole 
 of the nobility and principal gentry, and every one whey 
 possessed anything, guillotined without remorse. 
 
 Whether his friends were immediately to resume power, 
 or whether their estates ultimately were to be confiscated, 
 the practical conclusion to Charles Egremont appeared to 
 be the same. ' Carpe diem? He therefore pursued his 
 career at Oxford unchanged, and entered life in the year 
 1833, a younger son with extravagant tastes and expensive 
 habits, with a reputation for lively talents though unculti- 
 vated, for his acquisitions at Eton had been quite puerile, 
 
SYBIL ; OR 
 
 and subsequently he had not become a student, with many 
 manly accomplishments, and with a mien and visage that 
 at once took the fancy and enlisted the affections. Indeed, 
 a physiologist would hardly have inferred from the coun- 
 tenance and structure of Egremont the career he had pur- 
 sued, or the character which attached to him. The general 
 cast and expression of his features when in repose was 
 pensive : an air of refinement distinguished his well-moulded 
 brow ; his mouth breathed sympathy, and his rich brown 
 eye gleamed with tenderness. The sweetness of his voice 
 in speaking was in harmony with this organisation. 
 
 Two years passed in the most refined circles of our 
 society exercised a beneficial influence on the general tone 
 of Egremont, and may be said to have finished his educa- 
 tion. He had the good sense and the good taste not to 
 permit his predilection for sports to degenerate into slang ; 
 he yielded himself to the delicate and profitable authority of 
 woman, and, as ever happens, it softened his manners and 
 brightened his wit. He was fortunate in having a clever 
 mother, and he appreciated this inestimable possession. 
 Lady Marney had great knowledge of society, and some ac- 
 quaintance with human nature, which she fancied she had 
 fathomed to its centre ; she piqued herself upon her tact, and 
 indeed she was very quick, but she was so energetic that 
 her art did not always conceal itself ; very worldly, she was 
 nevertheless not devoid of impulse ; she was animated, and 
 would have been extremely agreeable, if she had not rest- 
 lessly aspired to wit ; and would certainly have exercised 
 much more influence in society, if she had not been so 
 anxious to show it. Nevertheless, still with many personal 
 charms, a frank and yet, if need be, a finished manner, a 
 quick brain, a lively tongue, a buoyant spirit, and a great 
 social position, Lady Marney was universally and extremely 
 popular ; and adored by her children, for she was a mother 
 most affectionate and true. 
 
 When Egremont was four-and-twenty, he fell in love ; a 
 real passion. He had fluttered like others from flower to 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 39 
 
 flower, and like others had often fancied the last perfume 
 the sweetest, and then had flown away. But now he was 
 entirely captivated. The divinity was a new beauty ; the 
 whole world raving of her. Egremont also advanced. The 
 Lady Arabella was not only beautiful : she was clever, 
 fascinating. Her presence was inspiration ; at least for 
 Egremont. She condescended to be pleased by him ; she 
 signalised him by her notice ; their names were mentioned 
 together. Egremont indulged in flattering dreams. He 
 regretted he had not pursued a profession ; he regretted he 
 had impaired his slender patrimony : thought of love in a 
 cottage, and renting a manor; thought of living a good 
 deal with his mother, and a little with his brother ; thought 
 of the law and the church ; thought once of New Zealand. 
 The favourite of nature and of fashion, this was the first \ 
 time in the life of Egremont that he had been made con-/ 
 scious that there was something in his position which, with! 
 all its superficial brilliancy, might prepare for him, when ) 
 youth had fled and the blaze of society grown dim, a drear/ 
 and bitter lot. 
 
 He was roused from his reveries by a painful change in 
 the demeanour of his adored. The mother of the Lady 
 Arabella was alarmed. She liked her daughter to be ad- 
 mired even by younger sons, when they were distinguished, 
 but only at a distance. Mr. Egremont' s name had been 
 mentioned too often. It had appeared coupled with her 
 daughter's, even in a Sunday paper. The most decisive 
 measures were requisite, and they were taken. Still smil- 
 ing when they met, still kind when they conversed, it 
 seemed by some magic dexterity which even baffled Egre- 
 mont, that their meetings every day grew rarer, and their 
 opportunities for conversation less frequent. At the end of 
 the season, the Lady Arabella selected from a crowd of 
 admirers equally qualified, a young peer of great estate, and 
 of the ' old nobility,' a circumstance which, as her grand- 
 father had only been an East India director, was very 
 gratifying to the bride. 
 
4 o 
 
 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 V 
 
 
 This unfortunate passion of Charles Egremont, with its 
 mortifying circumstances and consequences, was just that 
 earliest shock in one's life which occurs to all of us ; which 
 first makes us think. We have all experienced that dis- 
 heartening catastrophe when the illusions first vanish ; and 
 our balked imagination, or our mortified vanity, first inti- 
 mates to us that we are neither infallible nor irresistible. 
 Happily 'tis the season of youth for which the first lessons of 
 experience are destined ; and, bitter and intolerable as is 
 the first blight of our fresh feelings, the sanguine impulse 
 of early life bears us along. Our first scrape generally 
 leads to our first travel. Disappointment requires change 
 of air ; desperation, change of scene. Egremont quitted 
 his country, never to return to it again ; and returned to it 
 after a year and a-half's absence a much wiser man. Hav- 
 ing left England in a serious mood, and having already 
 tasted with tolerable freedom of the pleasures and frivolities 
 of life, he was not in an inapt humour to observe, to enquire, 
 and to reflect. The new objects that surrounded him ex- 
 cited his intelligence ; he met, which indeed is the principal 
 advantage of travel, remarkable men, whose conversation 
 opened his mind. His mind was worth opening. Energies 
 began to stir of which he had not been conscious ; awakened 
 curiosity led him to investigate and to read ; he discovered 
 that, when he imagined his education was completed, it 
 had in fact not commenced ; and that, although he had 
 been at a public school and a university, he in fact knew 
 nothing. To be conscious that you are ignorant is a great 
 step to knowledge. Before an emancipated intellect and 
 an expanding intelligence, the great system of exclusive 
 manners and exclusive feelings in which he had been born 
 and nurtured, began to tremble ; the native generosity of 
 his heart recoiled at a recurrence to that arrogant and 
 frigid life, alike devoid of sympathy and real grandeur. 
 
 In the early spring of 1837, Egremont re-entered the 
 world, where he had once sparkled, and which he had once 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 41 
 
 conceived to comprise within its circle all that could 
 interest or occupy man. His mother, delighted at finding 
 him again under her roof, had removed some long-standing 
 coolness between him and his elder brother ; his former ac- 
 quaintance greeted him with cordiality, and introduced him 
 to the new heroes who had sprung up during the season of 
 his absence. Apparently Egremont was not disinclined to 
 pursue, though without eagerness, the same career that Vad 
 originally engaged him. He frequented assemblies, and 
 lingered in clubs ; rode in the park, and lounged at the 
 opera. But there was this difference in his existence before 
 and since his travels -J he was now conscious he wanted an 
 object ; and was ever musing over action, though as yet 
 ignorant how to act../ Perhaps it was this want of being 
 roused that led him, it may be for distraction, again to the 
 turf. It was a pursuit that seemed to him more real than 
 the life of saloons, full of affectation, perverted ideas, and 
 factitious passions. Whatever might be the impulse, 
 Egremont however was certainly not slightly interested in 
 the Derby ; and, though by no means uninstructed in the 
 mysteries of the turf, had felt such confidence in his infor- 
 mation, that, with his usual ardour, he had backed to a 
 considerable amount the horse that ought to have won, but 
 which nevertheless only ran second. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Notwithstanding the confidence of Lady St. Julians and 
 her unrivalled information, the health of the king did not 
 improve : but still it was the hay fever, only the hay fever. 
 An admission had been allowed to creep into the Court 
 Circular, that 'his majesty has been slightly indisposed 
 within the last few days ; ' but then it was soon followed 
 by a positive assurance, that his majesty's favourite and 
 long-matured resolution to give a state banquet to the 
 
42 SYBIL; OR 
 
 kiii ghts of the four orders was immediately to be carried 
 into effect. Lady St. Julians had the first information of 
 this important circumstance ; it confirmed her original 
 conviction ; she determined to go on with her quadrille. 
 Egremont, with something interesting at stake himself, 
 was staggered by this announcement, and by Lady St. 
 Julians' unshaken faith. He consulted his mother. Lady 
 Marney shook hor head. ' Poor woman ! ' said Lady 
 Marney, ' she is always wrong. I know,' continued her 
 ladyship, placing her finger to her lip, ' that Prince Esterhazy 
 has been pressing his long-postponed investiture as a Grand 
 Cross, in order that he may dine at this very banquet ; and 
 it has been announced to him that it is impossible, the 
 king's health will not admit of it. When a simple investi- 
 ture is impossible, a state banquet to the four orders is 
 very probable. No,' said Lady Marney with a sigh ; ' it is 
 a great blow for all of us, but it is no use shutting our eyes 
 to the fact. The poor dear king will never show again.' 
 
 And about a week after this there appeared the first 
 bulletin. From that instant, though the gullish multitude 
 studied the daily reports with grave interest, their hopes 
 and speculations and arrangements changing with each 
 phrase, for the initiated there was no suspense. All knew 
 that it was over; and Lady St. Julians, giving up her 
 quadrille, began to look about for seats in parliament for 
 her sons. 
 
 1 What a happiness it is to have a clever mother ! ' ex- 
 claimed Egremont, as he pondered over the returns of his 
 election agent. Lady Marney, duly warned of the impend- 
 ing catastrophe, was experiencing all the advantages of 
 prior information. It delighted her to meet Lady St. 
 Julians driving distractedly about town, calling at clubs, 
 closeted with red-tapers, making ingenious combinations 
 that would not work, by means of which some one of her 
 sons was to stand in coalition with some rich parvenu ; to 
 pay none of the expenses and yet to come in first. And 
 
THE TWO NATIOXS. 43 
 
 a 
 
 all this time, Lady Marney, serene and smiling, had the 
 daily pleasure of assuring Lady St. Julians what a relief it 
 was to her that Charles had fixed on his place. It had 
 been arranged indeed these weeks past; 'but then, you 
 know,' concluded Lady Marney in the sweetest voice and 
 with a blandishing glance, ' I never did believe in that hay 
 fever.' 
 
 In the meantime the impending event changed the whole 
 aspect of the political world. The king dying before the 
 new registration was the greatest blow to pseudo-toryism 
 kice his majesty, calling for a hackney coach, went down 
 and dissolved parliament in 1831. It was calculated by 
 the Tadpoles and Tapers that a dissolution by Sir Robert, 
 after the registration of 1837, would give him a clear 
 majority, not too great a one, but large enough ; a manage- 
 able majority; some five-and-twenty or thirty men, who 
 with a probable peerage or two dangling in the distance, 
 half-a-dozen positive baronetcies, the Customs for their 
 constituents, and Court balls for their wives, might be in- 
 duced to save the state. ! England, glorious and ancient 
 realm, the fortunes of thy polity are indeed strange ! The 
 wisdom of the Saxons, Norman valour, the statecraft of 
 the Tudors, the national sympathies of the Stuarts, the 
 spirit of the latter Guelphs struggling against their enslaved 
 sovereignty, these are the high qualities, that for a thou- 
 sand years have secured thy national development. And 
 now all thy memorial dynasties end in the huckstering rule 
 of some thirty unknown and anonymous jobbers ! The 
 Thirty at Athens were at least tyrants. They were marked 
 men. But the obscure-majority, who, under our present 
 constitution, are destined to govern England, are as secret 
 as a Venetian conclave. Yet on their dark voices all de- 
 pends. Would you promote or prevent some great mea- 
 sure that may affect the destinies of unborn millions, and 
 the future character of the people : take, for example, a 
 system of national education : the minister must apportion 
 
\ 
 
 44 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 the plunder to the illiterate clan, the scum that floats on 
 the surface of a party ; or hold out the prospect of honours, 
 which are only honourable when in their transmission they 
 impart and receive lustre ; when they are the meed of 
 public virtue and public services, and the distinction of 
 worth and of genius. It is impossible that the system of 
 the Thirty can long endure in an age of inquiry and agi- 
 tated spirit like the present. Such a system may suit the 
 balanced interests and the periodical and alternate com- 
 mand of rival oligarchical connections ; but it can subsist 
 only by the subordination of the sovereign and the degra- 
 dation of the multitude ; and cannot accord with an age, 
 whose genius will soon confess that Power and the People 
 are both divine. 
 
 'He can't last ten days,' said a whig secretary of the 
 treasury with a triumphant glance at Mr. Taper as they 
 met in Pall Mall ; ' you're out for our lives.' 
 
 1 Don't you make too sure for yourselves,' rejoined in 
 despair the dismayed Taper. ' It does not follow that 
 because we are out, that you are in.' 
 
 1 How do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' There is such a person as Lord Durham in the world,' 
 said Mr. Taper very solemnly. 
 
 ' Pish,' said the secretary. 
 
 ' You may pish,' said Mr. Taper, ' but, if we have a 
 radical government, as I believe and hope, they will not be 
 able to get up the steam as they did in '31 ; and what with 
 church and corn together, and the Queen Dowager, we may 
 go to the country with as good a cry as some other 
 persons.' 
 
 'I will back Melbourne against the field, now,' said the 
 secretary. 
 
 ' Lord Durham dined at Kensington on Thursday,' said 
 Taper, and not a whig present/ 
 
 ' Ay ; Durham talks very fine at dinner,' said the secre- 
 tary, ' but he has no real go in him. When there is a Prince 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 45 
 
 of Wales, Lord Melbourne means to make Durham governor 
 to the heir apparent, and that will keep him quiet.' 
 
 ' What do you hear ? ' said Mr. Tadpole, joining them ; 
 ' I am told he has quite rallied.' 
 
 ' Don't you natter yourself,' said the secretary. 
 
 ' Well, we shall hear what they say on the hustings,' said 
 Tadpole, looking boldly. 
 
 ' Who's afraid ! ' said the secretary. ' No, no, my dear 
 fellow, you are dead beat ; the stake is worth playing for, 
 and don't suppose we are such flats as to lose the race for 
 want of jockeying. Your humbugging registration will 
 never do against a new reign. Our great men mean to 
 shell out, I tell you ; we have got Croucher ; we will de- 
 nounce the Carlton and corruption all over the kingdom ; 
 and if that won't do, we will swear till we are black in the 
 face, that the King of Hanover is engaged in a plot to de- 
 throne our young Queen : ' and the triumphant secretary 
 wished the worthy pair good morning. 
 
 'They certainly have a good cry,' said Taper, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 4 After all, the registration might be better,' said Tadpole, 
 'but still it is a good one.' 
 
 The daily bulletins became more significant ; the crisis 
 was evidently at hand. A dissolution of Parliament at any 
 time must occasion great excitement ; combined with a new 
 reio-n, it inflames the passions of every class of the com- 
 munity. Even the poor begin to hope ; the old, wholesome 
 superstition that the sovereign can exercise power, still 
 lingers ; and the suffering multitude are fain to believe that 
 its remedial character may be about to be revealed in their 
 instance. As for the aristocracy in a new reign, they are 
 all in a flutter. A bewildering vision of coronets, stars, 
 and ribbons ; smiles, and places at Court ; haunts their 
 noontide speculations and their midnight dreams. Then 
 we must not forget the numberless instances in which the 
 coming event is deemed to supply the long-sought oppor- 
 
46 SYBIL: OR 
 
 tunity of distinction, or the long-dreaded cause of utter 
 discomfiture; the hundreds, the thousands, who mean to 
 get into parliament, the units who dread getting out. 
 What a crashing change from lounging in St. James' 
 Street to sauntering on Boulogne pier ; or, after dining at 
 Brooks' and supping at Crockford's, to be saved from de- 
 struction by the friendly interposition that sends you in an 
 official capacity to the marsupial sympathies of Sydney or 
 Swan River ! 
 
 Now is the time for the men to come forward who have 
 claims ; claims for spending their money, which nobody 
 asked them to do, but which of course they only did for 
 the sake of the party. They never wrote for their party, 
 or spoke for their party, or gave their party any other vote 
 than their own ; but they urge their claims, to something ; 
 a commissionership of anything, or a consulship anywhere ; 
 if no place to be had, they are ready to take it out in 
 dignities. They once looked to the privy council, but 
 would now be content with an hereditary honour ; if they 
 can have neither, they will take a clerkship in the treasury 
 for a younger son. Perhaps they may get that in time ; at 
 present they go away growling with a gaugership ; or 
 having with desperate dexterity at length contrived to 
 transform a tidewaiter into a landwaiter. But there is 
 nothing like asking, except refusing. 
 
 Hark ! it tolls ! All is over. The great bell of the 
 metropolitan cathedral announces the death of the last son 
 of George III. who probably will ever reign in England. 
 He was a good man : with feelings and sympathies ; deficient 
 in culture rather than ability ; with a sense of duty ; and 
 with something of the conception of what should be the 
 character of an English monarch. Peace to his manes ! 
 We are summoned to a different scene. 
 
 In a palace in a garden, not in a haughty keep, proud 
 with the fame but dark with the violence of ages ; not in a 
 regal pile, bright with the splendour, but soiled with the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 47 
 
 intrigues, of courts and factions ; in a palace in a garden, 
 meet scene for youth, and innocence, and beauty, came a 
 voice that told the maiden that she must ascend her 
 throne ! 
 
 The council of England is summoned for the first time 
 within her bowers. There are assembled the prelates and 
 captains and chief men of her realm ; the priests of the 
 religion that consoles, the heroes of the sword that has 
 conquered, the votaries of the craft that has decided the 
 fate of empires ; men grey with thought, and fame, and 
 age ; who are the stewards of divine mysteries, who have 
 toiled in secret cabinets, who have encountered in battle 
 the hosts of Europe, who have struggled in the less merciful 
 strife of aspiring senates ; men too, some of them, lords of 
 a thousand vassals and chief proprietors of provinces, yet 
 not one of them whose heart does not at this moment 
 tremble as he awaits the first presence of the maiden who 
 must now ascend her throne. 
 
 A hum of half- suppressed conversation which would 
 attempt to conceal the excitement, which some of the 
 greatest of them have since acknowledged, fills that bril- 
 liant assemblage ; that sea of plumes, and glittering stars, 
 and gorgeous dresses. Hush ! the portals open ; she comes ; 
 the silence is as deep as that of a noontide forest. Attended 
 for a moment by her royal mother and the ladies of her 
 court, who bow and then retire, Victoria ascends her 
 throne ; a girl, alone, and for the first time, amid an assem- 
 blage of men. 
 
 In a sweet and thrilling voice, and with a composed mien 
 which indicates rather the absorbing sense of august duty 
 than an absence of emotion, The Queen announces her 
 accession to the throne of her ancestors, and her humble 
 hope that divine Providence will guard over the fulfilment 
 of her lofty trust. 
 
 The prelates and captains and chief men of her realm 
 then advance to the throne, and, kneeling before her, 
 
V 
 
 48 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 pledge their troth, and take the sacred oaths of allegiance 
 and supremacy. 
 
 Allegiance to one who rnles over the land that the great 
 Macedonian could not conquer; and over a continent of 
 which even Columbus never dreamed: to the Queen of 
 every sea, and of nations in every zone. 
 
 It is not of these that I would speak ; but of a nation nearer 
 her footstool, and which at this moment looks to her with 
 anxiety, with affection, perhaps with hope. Fair and serene, 
 she has the blood and beauty of the Saxon. Will it be her 
 proud destiny at length to bear relief to suffering millions, 
 and, with that soft hand which might inspire troubadours 
 and guerdon knights, break the last links in the chain of 
 Saxon thraldom ? 
 
 EXD OF THE FIRST BOOK. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 49 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The building which was still called Marney Abbey, though 
 remote from the site of the ancient monastery, was an 
 extensive structure raised at the latter end of the reign of 
 James I., and in the stately and picturesque style of that 
 age. Placed on a noble elevation in the centre of an ex- 
 tensive and well-wooded park, it presented a front with 
 two projecting wings of equal dimensions with the centre, 
 so that the form of the building was that of a quadrangle, 
 less one of its sides. Its ancient lattices had been removed, 
 and the present windows, though convenient, accorded little 
 with the structure ; the old entrance door in the centre of 
 the building, however, still remained, a wondrous specimen 
 of fantastic carving : Ionic columns of black oak, with a 
 profusion of fruits and flowers, and heads of stags, and 
 sylvans. The whole of the building was crowned with a 
 considerable pediment of what seemed at the first glance 
 fanciful open work, but which, examined more nearly, 
 offered in gigantic letters the motto of the house of Marney. 
 The portal opened to a hall, such as is now rarely found ; 
 with the dais, the screen, the gallery, and the buttery-hatch 
 all perfect, and all of carved black oak. Modern luxury, 
 and the refined taste of the lady of the late lord, had made 
 Marney Abbey as remarkable for its comfort and pleasant- 
 ness of accommodation as for its ancient state and splendour. 
 The apartments were in general furnished with all the 
 cheerful ease and brilliancy of the modern mansion of a 
 
 I 
 
50 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 noble, but the grand gallery of the seventeenth century was 
 still preserved, and was used on great occasions as the 
 chief reception-room. You ascended the principal staircase 
 to reach it through a long corridor. It occupied the whole 
 length of one of the wings ; was one hundred feet long, 
 and forty- five feet broad, its walls hung with a collection of 
 choice pictures rich in history ; while the Axminster carpets, 
 the cabinets, carved tables, and variety of easy chairs, 
 ingeniously grouped, imparted even to this palatian cham- 
 ber a lively and habitable air. 
 
 Lord Marney was several years the senior of Charles 
 Egremont, yet still a young man. He was handsome ; there 
 was indeed a general resemblance between the brothers, 
 though the expression of their countenances was entirely 
 different; of the same height and air, and throughout the 
 features a certain family cast: but here the likeness 
 ceased. The countenance of Lord Marney bespoke the 
 N \ character of his mind ; cynical, devoid of sentiment, arro- 
 gant, literal, hard. He had no imagination, had exhausted 
 his slight native feeling ; but he was acute, disputatious, and 
 firm even to obstinacy. Though his early education had 
 been imperfect, he had subsequently read a good deal, 
 especially in French literature. He had formed his mind 
 by Helvetius, whose system he deemed irrefutable, and in 
 whom alone he had faith. Armed with the principles of 
 his great master, he believed he could pass through exist- 
 ence in adamantine armour, and always gave you in the 
 business of life the idea of a man who was conscious you 
 were trying to take him in, and rather respected you for it, 
 but the working of whose cold unkind eye defied you. 
 
 There never had been excessive cordiality between the 
 brothers even in their boyish days, and shortly after Egre- 
 mont's entrance into life they had become estranged. They 
 were to meet now for the first time since Egremont's return 
 from the continent. Their mother had arranged their re- 
 conciliation. They were to meet as if no misunderstanding 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 51 
 
 had ever existed between them ; it was specially stipulated 
 by Lord Marney, that there was to be no ' scene.' Apprised 
 of Egremont's impending arrival, Lord Marney was careful 
 to be detained late that day at petty sessions, and entered 
 the room only a few minutes before dinner was announced, 
 where he found Egremont not only with the countess and 
 a young lady who was staying with her, but with additional 
 bail against any ebullition of sentiment in the shape of the 
 vicar of Marney, and a certain Captain Grouse, who was a 
 kind of aide-de-camp of the earl ; killed birds and carved 
 them ; played billiards with him and lost ; had, indeed, 
 every accomplishment that could please woman or ease 
 man ; could sing, dance, draw, make artificial flies, break 
 horses, exercise a supervision over stewards and bailiffs, and 
 make everybody comfortable by taking everything on his 
 own shoulders. 
 
 Lady Marney had received Egremont in a manner which 
 expressed the extreme satisfaction she experienced at find- 
 ing him once more beneath his brother's roof. When he 
 arrived, indeed, he would have preferred to have been 
 shown at once to his rooms, but a message immediately 
 delivered expressed the wish of his sister-in-law at once to 
 see him. She received him alone and with great warmth. 
 She was beautiful, and soft as May ; a glowing yet delicate 
 face ; rich brown hair, and large blue eyes ; not yet a mother, 
 but with something of the dignity of the matron blending 
 with the lingering timidity of the girl. 
 
 Egremont was glad to join his sister-in-law again in 
 the drawing-room before dinner. He seated himself by 
 her side, and in answer to her enquiries was giving her 
 some narrative of his travels; the vicar, who was low 
 church, was shaking his head at Lady Marney's young 
 friend, who was enlarging on the excellence of Mr. Paget's 
 tales ; while Captain Grouse, in a stiff white neckcloth, tight 
 pantaloons, to show his celebrated legs, transparent 
 stockings and polished shoes, was throwing himself into 
 
 e 2 
 
52 SYBIL; OR 
 
 attitudes in the background, and, with a zeal amounting 
 almost to enthusiasm, teaching Lady Marney's spaniel to 
 beg, when the door opened and Lord Marney entered, but, 
 as if to make security doubly sure, not alone. He was 
 accompanied by a neighbour and brother magistrate, Sir 
 Vavasour Firebrace, a baronet of the earliest batch, and a 
 gentleman of great family and great estate. 
 
 ' Well, Charles !' 
 
 * How are you, George ?' 
 
 And the brothers shook hands. 
 
 'Tis the English way ; and if they had been inclined to 
 fall into each other's arms, they would not probably have 
 done more. 
 
 In a few minutes it was announced that dinner was served, 
 and so, secured from a scene, having a fair appetite, and 
 surrounded by dishes that could agreeably satisfy it, a kind 
 of vague fraternal sentiment began to stir the breast of 
 Lord Marney : he really was glad to see his brother again ; 
 remembered the days when they rode their ponies and 
 played cricket ; his voice softened, his eyes sparkled, and 
 he at length exclaimed, * Do you know, old fellow, it makes 
 me quite happy to see you here again ? Suppose we take a 
 glass of wine.' 
 
 The softer heart and more susceptible spirit of Egremont 
 were well calculated to respond to this ebullition of feeling, 
 however slight ; and truly it was for many reasons not 
 without considerable emotion, that he found himself once 
 more at Marney. He sat by the side of his gentle sister-in- 
 law, who seemed pleased by the unwonted cordiality of 
 her husband, and anxious by many kind offices to second 
 every indication of good feeling on his part. Captain 
 Grouse was assiduous ; the vicar was of the deferential 
 breed, agreed with Lady Marney on the importance of in- 
 fant schools, but recalled his opinion when Lord Marney 
 expressed his imperious hope that no infant schools would 
 ever be found in his neighbourhood. Sir Vavasour was 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 53 
 
 more than middle-aged, comely, very gentlemanlike, but 
 with an air occasionally of absence which hardly agreed 
 with his frank and somewhat hearty idiosyncrasy, his clear 
 brow, florid complexion, and bine eye. But Lord Marney 
 talked a good deal, though chiefly dogmatical or argumenta- 
 tive. It was rather difficult for him to find a sufficient 
 stock of opposition, but he lay in wait and seized every 
 opening with wonderful alacrity. Even Captain Grouse 
 could not escape him : if driven to extremity, Lord Marney 
 would even question his principles on fly-making. Captain 
 Grouse gave up, but not too soon ; he was well aware that 
 his noble friend's passion for controversy was equal to his 
 love of conquest. As for Lady Marney, it was evident that, 
 with no inconsiderable talents, and with an intelligence 
 richly cultivated, the controversial genius of her husband 
 had completely cowed her conversational charms. She 
 never advanced a proposition that he did not immediately 
 bristle up, and she could only evade the encounter by a 
 graceful submission. As for the vicar, a frequent guest, 
 he would fain have taken refuge in silence, but the earl, 
 especially when alone, would what he called * draw him 
 out,' and the game once unearthed, with so skilled a pack 
 there was but little fear of a bad run. When all were re- 
 duced to silence, Lord Marney, relinquishing controversy, 
 assumed the positive. He eulogised the new poor-law, 
 which he declared would be the salvation of the country, 
 provided it was ' carried out ' in the spirit in which it was 
 developed in the Marney Union ; but then he would add 
 that there was no district except their union in which it 
 was properly observed. He was tremendously fierce against 
 allotments, and analysed the system with merciless sarcasm. 
 Indeed, he had no inconsiderable acquaintance with the 
 doctrines of the economists, and was rather inclined to 
 carry them into practice in every instance, except that of 
 the landed proprietary, which he clearly proved 'stood 
 upon different grounds ' from those of any other ' interest. 7 
 
54 SYBIL; OR 
 
 There was nothing he hated so much as a poacher, except 
 a lease ; though perhaps, in the catalogue of his aversions, 
 we ought to give the preference to his anti-ecclesiastical 
 prejudice ; this amounted even to acrimony. Though there 
 was no man breathing who was possessed with such a strong 
 repugnance to subscriptions of any kind, it delighted Lord 
 Marney to see his name among the contributors to all sec- 
 tarian institutions. The vicar of Marney, who had been 
 presented by himself, was his model of a priest : he left 
 everybody alone. Under the influence of Lady Marney, 
 the worthy vicar had once warmed up into some ebullition 
 of very low church zeal ; there was some talk of an evening 
 lecture, the schools were to be remodelled, certain tracts 
 were actually distributed. But Lord Marney soon stopped 
 all this. ' No priestcraft at Marney,' said this gentle pro- 
 prietor of abbey lands. 
 
 ' I wanted very much to come and canvass for you,' said 
 Lady Marney to Egremont, ' but George did not like it.' 
 
 ' The less the family interfered the better,' said Lord 
 Marney ; ' and for my part, I was very much alarmed when 
 I heard my mother had gone down.' 
 
 * Oh ! my mother did wonders,' said Egremont ; ' we 
 should have been beaten without her. Indeed, to tell the 
 truth, I quite gave up the thing the moment they started 
 their man. Before that we were on velvet ; but the instant 
 he appeared everything was changed, and I found some of 
 my warmest supporters members of his committee.' 
 
 ' You had a formidable opponent, Lord Marney told me,' 
 said Sir Vavasour. ' Who was he ?' 
 
 * Oh ! a dreadful man ! A Scotchman, richer than Croesus, 
 one McDruggy, fresh from Canton, with a million of opium 
 in each pocket, denouncing corruption, and bellowing free 
 trade.' 
 
 'But they do rot care much for free trade in the old 
 borough ?' said Lord Marney. 
 
 ' No, it was a mistake,' said Egremont ; ' and the cry was 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 55 
 
 changed the moment my opponent was on the ground. 
 Then all the town was placarded with " Vote for McDruggy 
 and our young Queen," as if he had coalesced with her 
 Majesty.' 
 
 1 My mother must have been in despair,' said Lord Marney. 
 
 ' We issued our placard instantly of " Vote for our young 
 Queen and Egremont," which was at least more modest, 
 and turned out more popular.' 
 
 ' That I am sure was my mother,' said Lord Marney. 
 
 1 No,' said Egremont ; ' it was the effusion of a far more 
 experienced mind. My mother was in hourly communica- 
 tion with head-quarters, and Mr. Taper sent down the cry 
 by express.' 
 
 ' Peel, in or out, will support the Poor-Law,' said Lord 
 Marney, rather audaciously, as he reseated himself after the 
 ladies had retired. ' He must ;' and he looked at his 
 brother, whose return had in a great degree been secured 
 by crying that Poor- Law down. 
 
 I It is impossible,' said Charles, fresh from the hustings, 
 and speaking from the card of Taper ; for the condition of 
 the people was a subject of which he knew nothing. 
 
 ' He will carry it out,' said Lord Marney, ' you'll see, or 
 the land will not support him.' 
 
 I I wish,' said Sir Vavasour, ' we could manage some 
 modification about out-door relief.' 
 
 ' Modification !' said Lord Marney ; why, there has been 
 nothing but modification. What we want is stringency.' 
 
 ' The people will never bear it,' said Egremont; 'there 
 must be some change.' 
 
 'You cannot go back to the abuses of the old system,' 
 said Captain Grouse, making, as he thought, a safe obser- 
 vation. 
 
 I Better go back to the old system than modify the new,' 
 said Lord Marney. 
 
 I I wish the people would take to it a little more,' said 
 Sir Vavasour ; ' they certainly do not like it in our parish.' 
 
SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 The people are very contented here, eh, Slimsey ?' said 
 Lord Marney. 
 
 1 Very,' said the vicar. 
 
 Hereupon a conversation took place, principally sustained 
 by the earl and the baronet, which developed all the re- 
 sources of the great parochial mind. Dietaries, bastardy, 
 gaol regulations, game laws, were amply discussed ; and Lord 
 Marney wound up with a declaration of the means by which 
 the country might be saved, and which seemed principally 
 to consist of high prices and low church. 
 
 1 If the sovereign could only know her best friends,' said 
 Sir Vavasour, with a sigh. 
 
 Lord Marney seemed to get uneasy. 
 
 ' And avoid the fatal mistakes of her predecessor,' con- 
 tinued the baronet. 
 
 1 Charles, another glass of claret,' said the earl. 
 
 ' She might yet rally round the throne a body of men ' 
 
 ' Then we will go to the ladies,' said the earl, abruptly 
 disturbing his guest. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 There was music as they re-entered the drawing-room. 
 Sir Vavasour attached himself to Egremont. 
 
 ' It is a great pleasure for me to see you again, Mr. Egre- 
 mont,' said the worthy baronet. 'Your father was my 
 earliest and kindest friend. I remember you at Firebrace, 
 a very little boy. Happy to see you again, sir, in so emi- 
 nent a position ; a legislator one of our legislators. It 
 gave me a sincere satisfaction to observe your return.* 
 
 1 You are very kind, Sir Vavasour.' 
 
 1 But it is a responsible position,' continued the baronet. 
 1 Think you they'll stand ? A majority, I suppose, they 
 have ; but, I conclude, in time, Sir Robert will have it in 
 time. We must not be in a hurry ; " the more haste " you. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 57 
 
 know the rest. The country is decidedly conservative. 
 All that we want now is a strong government, that will put 
 all things to rights. If the poor king had lived ' 
 
 ' He would have sent these men to the right-about,' said 
 Egremont, a young politician, proud of his secret intelligence. 
 
 ' Ah ! the poor king !' said Sir Yavasour, shaking his head. 
 
 * He was entirely with us,' said Egremont. 
 ' Poor man !' said Sir Yavasour. 
 
 * You think it was too late, then ?' said his companion. 
 
 ' You are a young man entering political life,' said the 
 baronet, taking Egremont kindly by the arm, and leading 
 him to a sofa ; ' everything depends on the first step. You 
 have a great opportunity. Nothing can be done by a mere 
 individual. The most powerful body in this country wants 
 a champion.' 
 
 ' But you can depend on Peel ? ' said Egremont. 
 
 ' He is one of us ; we ought to be able to depend on him. 
 But I have spoken to him for an hour, and con Id get nothing 
 out of him.' 
 
 ' He is cautious ; but depend upon it, he will stand or fall 
 by the land.' 
 
 ' I am not thinking of the land,' said Sir Yavasour ; 'of 
 something much more important ; with all the influence of 
 the land, and a great deal more besides ; of an order of men 
 who are ready to rally round the throne, and are, indeed, 
 if justice were done to them, its natural and hereditary 
 champions. Egremont looked perplexity. 'lam speaking,' 
 added Sir Yavasour in a solemn voice, ' I am speaking of 
 the baronets ! ' 
 
 ' The baronets ! And what do they want ? ' 
 
 ' Their rights ; their long- withheld rights. The poor king 
 was with us. He has frequently expressed to me and other 
 deputies his determination to do us justice ; but he was not 
 a strong-minded man,' said Sir Yavasour, with a sigh ; 
 1 and in these revolutionary and levelling times he had a 
 hard task, perhaps. And the peers, who are our brethren, 
 
58 SYBIL; OR 
 
 they were, I fear, against us. But, in spite of the ministers 
 and in spite of the peers, had the poor king lived we should 
 at least have had the badge,' added Sir Vavasour, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 ' The badge ! ' 
 
 ' It would have satisfied Sir Grosvenor le Draughte,' 
 said Sir Vavasour ; ' and he had a strong party with him ; 
 
 he was for compromise, but d him, his father was only 
 
 an accoucheur.' 
 
 'And you wanted more?' inquired Egremont, with a 
 demure look. 
 
 'All, or nothing,' said Sir Vavasour: 'principle is ever 
 my motto, no expediency. I made a speech to the order 
 at the Clarendon ; there were four hundred of us ; the feel- 
 ing was very strong.' 
 
 ' A powerful party,' said Egremont. 
 
 * And a military order, sir, if properly understood. What 
 could stand against us ? The Reform Bill could never have 
 passed if the baronets had been organised.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt you could bring us in now,' said Egre- 
 mont. 
 
 ' That is exactly what I told Sir Robert. I want him 
 to be brought in by his own order. It would be a grand 
 thing.' 
 
 ' There is nothing like esprit de corps, 1 said Egremont. 
 
 ' And such a body ! ' exclaimed Sir Vavasour, with ani- 
 mation. ' Picture us for a moment, to yourself, going 
 down in procession to Westminster, for example, to hold a 
 chapter. Five or six hundred baronets in dark green cos- 
 tume, the appropriate dress of equites aurati; each not 
 only with his badge, but with his collar of SS.; belted and 
 scarfed ; his star glittering ; his pennon flying ; his hat 
 white, with a plume of white feathers ; of course the sword 
 and the gilt spurs. In our hand, the thumb-ring and signet 
 not forgotten, we hold our coronet of two balls ! ' 
 
 Egremont stared with irrepressible astonishment at the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 59 
 
 excited being, who unconsciously pressed bis companion's 
 arm as lie drew this rapid sketch of the glories so unconsti- 
 tutionally withheld from him. 
 
 I A magnificent spectacle ! ' said Egremont. 
 
 ' Evidently the body destined to save this country,' 
 eagerly continued Sir Vavasour. Blending all sympa- 
 thies ; the crown of which they are the peculiar champions ; 
 the nobles of whom they are the popular branch ; the people 
 who recognise in them their natural leaders. But the pic- 
 ture is not complete. We should be accompanied by an 
 equal number of gallant knights, our elder sons, who, the 
 moment they come of age, have the right to claim knight- 
 hood of their sovereign, while their mothers and wives, no 
 longer degraded to the nomenclature of a sheriff's lady, but 
 resuming their legal or analogical dignities, and styled the 
 " honourable baronetess," with her coronet and robe, or the 
 "honourable knightess," with her golden collar of SS., 
 and chaplet or cap of dignity, may either accompany the 
 procession, or, ranged in galleries in a becoming situation, 
 rain influence from above.' 
 
 I I am all for their going in the procession,' said Egre- 
 mont. 
 
 ' The point is not so clear,' said Sir Vavasour, solemnly ; 
 ' and indeed, although we have been firm in defining our 
 rightful claims in our petitions, as for " honorary epithets, 
 secondary titles, personal decorations, and augmented heral- 
 dic bearings," I am not clear, if the government evinced a 
 disposition for a liberal settlement of the question, I would 
 not urge a too stringent adherence to every point. For 
 instance, I am prepared myself, great as would be the 
 sacrifice, even to renounce the claim of secondary titles for 
 our eldest sons, if, for instance, they would secure us our 
 coronet.' 
 
 ' Fie, fie, Sir Vavasour,' said Egremont, seriously ; ' re- 
 member principle : no expediency, no compromise.' 
 
 'You are right,' said the baronet, colouring a little; 
 
6o SYBIL; OR 
 
 i and do you know, Mr. Egremont, you are the only indi- 
 vidual I have yet met out of the order, who has taken a 
 sensible view of this great question, which, after all, is the 
 question of the day.' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The situation of the rural town of Marney was one of the 
 most delightful easily to be imagined. In a spreading dale, 
 contiguous to the margin of a clear and lively stream, sur- 
 rounded by meadows and gardens, and backed by lofty 
 hills, undulating and richly wooded, the traveller on the 
 opposite heights of the dale would often stop to admire the 
 merry prospect that recalled to him the traditional epithet 
 of his country. 
 
 Beautiful illusion ! For behind that laughing landscape, 
 penury and disease fed upon the vitals of a miserable popu- 
 lation. 
 
 The contrast between the interior of the town and its 
 external aspect was as striking as it was full of pain. With 
 the exception of the dull high street, which had the usual 
 characteristics of a small agricultural market town, some 
 sombre mansions, a dingy inn, and a petty bourse, Marney 
 mainly consisted of a variety of narrow and crowded lanes 
 formed by cottages built of rubble, or unhewn stones with- 
 out cement, and, from age or badness of the material, look- 
 ing as if they could scarcely hold together. The gaping 
 chinks admitted every blast; the leaning chimneys had 
 lost half their original height ; the rotten rafters were evi- 
 dently misplaced ; while in many instances the thatch, 
 yawning in some parts to admit the wind and wet, and in 
 all utterly unfit for its original purpose of giving protection 
 from the weather, looked more like the top of a dunghill 
 than a cottage. Before the doors of these dwellings, and 
 often surrounding them, ran open drains full of animal and 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 61 
 
 vegetable refuse, decomposing into disease, or sometimes in 
 their imperfect course filling foul pits or spreading into 
 stagnant pools, while a concentrated solution of every 
 species of dissolving filth was allowed to soak through, and 
 thoroughly impregnate, the walls and ground adjoining. 
 
 These wretched tenements seldom consisted of more than 
 two rooms, in one of which the whole family, however 
 numerous, were obliged to sleep, without distinction of age, 
 or sex, or suffering. With the water streaming down the 
 walls, the light distinguished through the roof, with no 
 hearth even in winter, the virtuous mother in the sacred 
 pangs of childbirth gives forth another victim to our 
 thoughtless civilisation ; surrounded by three generations 
 whose inevitable presence is more painful than her suffer- 
 ings in that hour of travail ; while the father of her coming 
 child, in another corner of the sordid chamber, lies stricken 
 by that typhus which his contaminating dwelling has 
 breathed intcThis veins, and for whose next prey is perhaps 
 destined his new-born child. These swarming walls had 
 neither windows nor doors sufficient to keep out the 
 weather, or admit the sun, or supply the means of ventila- 
 tion ; the humid and putrid roof of thatch exhaling malaria 
 like all other decaying vegetable matter. The dwelling- 
 rooms were neither boarded nor paved ; and whether it 
 were that some were situate in low and damp places, occa- 
 sionally flooded by the river, and usually much below the 
 level of the road ; or that the springs, as was often the 
 case, would burst through the mud floor ; the ground was 
 at no time better than so much clay, while sometimes you 
 mio-ht see little channels cut from the centre under the 
 
 o 
 
 doorways to carry off the water, the door itself removed 
 from its hinges ; a resting-place for infancy in its deluged 
 home. These hovels were in many instances not provided 
 with the commonest conveniences of the rudest police ; 
 contiguous to every door might be observed the dung-heap 
 on which every kind of filth was accumulated, for the pur- 
 
62 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 pose of being disposed of for manure, so that, when the 
 poor man opened his narrow habitation in the hope of re- 
 freshing it with the breeze of summer, he was met with a 
 mixture of gases from reeking dunghills. 
 
 This town of Marney was a metropolis of agricultural 
 labour, for the proprietors of the neighbourhood having for 
 the last half-century acted on the system of destroying the 
 cottages on their estates, in order to become exempted from 
 the maintenance of the population, the expelled people had 
 flocked to Marney, where, during the war, a manufactory 
 had afforded them some relief, though its wheels had long 
 ceased to disturb the waters of the Mar. 
 
 Deprived of this resource, they had again gradually 
 spread themselves over that land which had, as it were, 
 rejected them; and obtained from its churlish breast a 
 niggardly subsistence. Their re-entrance into the sur- 
 rounding parishes was viewed with great suspicion ; their 
 renewed settlement opposed by every ingenious contriv- 
 ance. Those who availed themselves of their labour were 
 careful that they should not become dwellers on the soil ; 
 and though, from thfe excessive competition, there were few 
 districts in the kingdom where the rate of wages was more 
 depressed, those who were fortunate enough to obtain the 
 sr>ant remuneration had, in addition to their toil, to endure, 
 each morn and even, a weary journey before they could 
 reach the scene of their labour, or return to the squalid 
 hovel which profaned the name of home. To that home, 
 over which malaria hovered, and round whose shivering 
 hearth were clustered other guests besides the exhausted 
 family of toil, Fever, in every form, pale Consumption, 
 exhausting Synochus, and trembling Ague, returned, after 
 cultivating the broad fields of merry England, the bold 
 British peasant, returned to encounter the worst of diseases, 
 with a frame the least qualified to oppose them; a frame 
 that, subdued by toil, was never sustained by animal food ; 
 drenched by the tempest, could not change its dripping 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 rags ; and was indebted for its scanty fuel to the windfalls 
 of the woods. 
 
 The eyes of this unhappy race might have been raised to 
 the solitary spire that sprang up in the midst of them, the 
 bearer of present consolation, the harbinger of future 
 equality ; but Holy Church at Marney had forgotten her 
 sacred mission. We have introduced the reader to the 
 vicar, an orderly man, who deemed he did his duty if he 
 preached each week two sermons, and enforced humility on 
 his congregation, and gratitude for the blessings of this life. 
 The high street and some neighbouring gentry were the 
 staple of his hearers. Lord and Lady Marney, attended 
 by Captain Grouse, came every Sunday morning, with 
 commendable regularity, and were ushered into the in- 
 visible interior of a vast pew, that occupied half of the 
 gallery, was lined with crimson damask, and furnished 
 with easy chairs, and, for those who chose them, well- 
 padded stools of prayer. The people of Marney took refuge 
 in conventicles, which abounded ; little plain buildings of 
 pale brick, with the names painted on them of Sion, Bethel, 
 Bethesda ; names of a distant land, and the language of a 
 persecuted and ancient race ; yet such is the mysterious 
 power of their divine quality, breathing consolation in the 
 nineteenth century to the harassed forms and the harrowed 
 souls of a Saxon peasantry. 
 
 But however devoted to his flock might have been the 
 Vicar of Marney, his exertions for their well-being, under 
 any circumstances, must have been mainly limited to 
 spiritual consolation. Married, and a father, he received 
 for his labours the small tithes of the parish, which secured 
 to him an income by no means equal to that of a superior 
 banker's clerk, or the cook of a great loanmonger. The 
 great tithes of Marney, which might be counted by thou- 
 sands, swelled the vast rental which was drawn from this 
 district by the fortunate earls that bore its name. 
 
 The morning after the arrival of Egremont at the Abbey, 
 
64 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 an unusual stir might have been observed in the high 
 street of the town. Round the portico of the Green 
 Dragon hotel and commercial inn, a knot of principal 
 personages, the chief lawyer, the brewer, the vicar himself, 
 and several of those easy quidnuncs who abound in country- 
 towns, and who rank under the designation of retired 
 gentlemen, were in close and earnest converse. In a 
 short time, a servant on horseback, in the Abbey livery, 
 galloped up to the portico, and delivered a letter to the 
 vicar. The excitement apparently had now greatly in- 
 creased. On the opposite side of the way to the important 
 group, a knot, in larger numbers, but deficient in quality, 
 had formed themselves, and remained transfixed with 
 gaping mouths and a curious, not to say alarmed air. 
 The head constable walked up to the door of the Green 
 Dragon, and, though he did not presume to join the 
 principal group, was evidently in attendance, if required. 
 The clock struck eleven ; a cart had stopped to watch 
 events, and a gentleman's coachman riding home with a 
 led horse. 
 
 1 Here they are ! ' said the brewer. 
 
 1 Lord Marney himself.' said the lawyer. 
 
 ' And Sir Vavasour Firebrace, I declare ! I wonder 
 how he came here,' said a retired gentleman, who had been 
 a tallow-chandler on Holborn Hill. 
 
 The vicar took off his hat, and all uncovered. Lord 
 Marney and his brother magistrate rode briskly up to the 
 inn, and rapidly dismounted. 
 
 ' Well, Snigford,' said his lordship, in a peremptory tone, 
 1 this is a pretty business ; I'll have this stopped directly.' 
 
 Fortunate man, if he succeeded in doing so ! The torch 
 of the incendiary had for the first time been introduced 
 into the parish of Marney ; and last night the primest 
 stacks of the Abbey farm had blazed, a beacon to the 
 agitated neighbourhood. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 65 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1 It is not so much the fire, sir/ said Mr. Bingley, of the 
 Abbey farm, to Egremont, ' but the temper of the people 
 that alarms me. Do you know, sir, there were two or 
 three score of them here, and, except my own farm- 
 servants, not one of them would lend a helping hand to 
 put out the flames, though, with water so near, they might 
 have been of great service.' 
 
 ' You told my brother, Lord Marney, this ? ' 
 
 1 Oh ! it's Mr. Charles I'm speaking to ! My service to 
 you, sir ; I'm glad to see you in these parts again. It's a 
 long time that we have had that pleasure, sir. Travelling 
 in foreign parts, as I have heard say ? ' 
 
 ' Something of that ; but very glad to find myself at 
 home once more, Mr. Bingley, though very sorry to have 
 such a welcome as a blazing rick at the Abbey farm.' 
 
 'Well, do you know, Mr. Charles, between ourselves,' 
 and Mr. Bingley lowered his tone and looked around him, 
 * things is very bad here ; I can't make out, for my part, 
 what has become of the country. 'Tayn't the same land 
 to live in as it was when you used to come to our moor 
 coursing, with the old lord ; you remember that, I be sure, 
 Mr. Charles ? ' 
 
 * 'Tis not easy to forget good sport, Mr. Bingley. With 
 your permission, I will put my horse up here for half an 
 hour. I have a fancy to stroll to the ruins.' 
 
 ' You wunna find them much changed,' said the farmer, 
 smiling. ' They have seen a deal of different things in 
 their time ! But you will taste our ale, Mr. Charles ? ' 
 
 ' When I return.' 
 
 But the hospitable Bingley would take no denial, and as 
 his companion waived on the present occasion entering his 
 house, for the sun had been some time declining, the 
 
 F 
 
65 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 farmer, calling one of his labourers to take Egremont's 
 horse, hastened into the house to fill the brimming cup. 
 
 * And what do you think of this fire ? ' said Egremont 
 to the hind. 
 
 1 1 think 'tis hard times for the poor, sir.' 
 
 ' But rick-burning will not make the times easier, my 
 good man.' 
 
 The man made no reply, but with a dogged look led 
 away the horse to his stable. 
 
 About half a mile from Marney the dale narrowed, and 
 the river took a winding course. It ran through meads, 
 soft and vivid with luxuriant vegetation, bounded on either 
 side by rich hanging woods, save where occasionally a 
 quarry broke the verdant bosom of the heights with its 
 rugged and tawny form. Fair stone and plenteous timber, 
 and the current of fresh waters, combined, with the silent 
 and secluded scene screened from every harsh and angry 
 wind, to form the sacred spot that in old days Holy 
 Church loved to hallow with its beauteous and enduring 
 structures. Even the stranger, therefore, when he had left 
 the town about two miles behind him, and had heard the 
 farm and mill which he had since passed called the Abbey 
 farm and the Abbey mill, might have been prepared for 
 the grateful vision of some monastic remains. As fcr 
 Egremont, he had been almost born amid the ruins of 
 Marney Abbey ; its solemn relics were associated with his 
 first and freshest fancies ; every footstep was as familiar to 
 him as it could have been to one of the old monks ; yet 
 never without emotion could he behold these unrivalled 
 remains of one of the greatest of the great religious houses 
 of the North. 
 
 Over a space of not less than ten acres might still be 
 observed the fragments of the great Abbey: these were, 
 towards their limit, in general moss-grown and mouldering 
 memorials that told where once rose the offices, and spread 
 the terraced gardens, of the old proprietors ; here might 
 still be traced the dwelling of the lord abbot ; and there, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. C7 
 
 still more distinctly, because built on a greater scale and of 
 materials still more intended for perpetuity, the capacious 
 hospital, a name that did not then denote the dwelling of 
 disease, but a place where all the rights of hospitality were 
 practised ; where the traveller, from the proud baron to 
 the lonely pilgrim, asked the shelter and the succour that 
 never were denied, and at whose gate, called the Portal of 
 the Poor, the peasants on the Abbey lands, if in want, might 
 appeal each morn and night for raiment and for food. 
 
 But it was in the centre of this tract of ruins, occupying 
 a space of not less than two acres, that, with a strength 
 which had defied time, and with a beauty which had at 
 last turned away the wrath of man, still rose, if not in 
 perfect, yet admirable, form and state, one of the noblest 
 achievements of Christian art, the Abbey church. The 
 summer vault was now its only roof, and all that remained 
 of its gorgeous windows was the vastness of their arched 
 symmetry, and some wreathed relics of their fantastic 
 framework, but the rest was uninjured. 
 
 Prom the west window, looking over the transept chapel 
 of the Virgin, still adorned with pillars of marble and 
 alabaster, the eye wandered down the nave to the great 
 orient light, a length of nearly three hundred feet, through 
 a gorgeous avenue of unshaken walls and columns that 
 clustered to the skies. On each side of the Lady's chapel 
 rose a tower. One, which was of great antiquity, being 
 of that style which is commonly called Norman, short, 
 and thick, and square, did not mount much above the 
 height of the western front ; but the other tower was of 
 a character very different. It was tall and light, and of a 
 Gothic style most pure and graceful ; the stone of which 
 it was built, of a bright and even sparkling colour, and 
 looking as if it were hewn but yesterday. At first, its 
 turreted crest seemed injured ; but the truth is, it was 
 unfinished ; the workmen were busied on this very tower 
 the day that old Baldwin Greymount came as the king's 
 
 f 2 
 
63 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 commissioner to enquire into the conduct of this religious 
 house. The abbots loved to memorise their reigns by 
 some public work, which should add to the beauty of their 
 buildings or the convenience of their subjects ; and the 
 last of the ecclesiastical lords of Marney, a man of fine 
 taste, and a skilful architect, was raising this new belfry 
 for his brethren, when the stern decree arrived that the 
 bells should no more sound. And the hymn was no more 
 to be chaunted in the Lady's chapel ; and the candles were 
 no more to be lit on the high altar ; and the gate of the 
 poor was to be closed for ever ; and the wanderer was no 
 more to find a home. 
 
 The body of the church was in many parts overgrown 
 with brambles, and in all covered with a rank vegeta- 
 tion. It had been a sultry day, and the blaze of the 
 meridian heat still inflamed the air ; the kine, for shelter 
 rather than for sustenance, had wandered through some 
 broken arches, and were lying in the shadow of the nave. 
 This desecration of a spot once sacred, still beautiful and 
 solemn, jarred on the feelings of Egremont. He sighed, 
 and turning away, followed a path that after a few pace3 
 led him into the cloister garden. This was a considerable 
 quadrangle, once surrounding the garden of the monks ; 
 but all that remained of that fair pleasaunce was a solitary 
 yew in its centre, which seemed the oldest tree that could 
 well live, and was, according to tradition, more ancient 
 than the most venerable walls of the Abbey. Round this 
 quadrangle were the refectory, the library, and the kitchen, 
 and above them the cells and dormitory of the brethren. 
 An imperfect staircase, not without danger, led to these 
 unroofed chambers ; but Egremont, familiar with the way, 
 did not hesitate to pursue it, so that he soon found himself 
 on an elevation overlooking the garden, while further on 
 extended the vast cloisters of the monks, and adjoining 
 was a cemetery, that had once been enclosed, and com- 
 municated with the cloister garden. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 69 
 
 It was one of those summer days that are so still, that 
 they seem as it were a holiday of Nature. The weary 
 winds were sleeping in some grateful cavern, and the sun- 
 beams basking on some fervent knoll ; the river floated 
 with a drowsy unconscious course ; there was no wave in 
 the grass, no stir in the branches. 
 
 A silence so profound amid these solemn ruins offered 
 the perfection of solitude ; and there was that stirring in 
 the mind of Egremont which rendered him far from in- 
 disposed for this loneliness. 
 
 The slight words that he had exchanged with the farmer 
 and the hind had left him musing. Why was England not 
 the same land as in the days of his light-hearted youth ? 
 Why were these hard times for the poor? He stood 
 among the ruins that, as the farmer had well observed, 
 had seen many changes : changes of creeds, of dynasties, 
 of laws, of manners. New orders of men had arisen in 
 the country, new sources of wealth had opened, new dis- 
 positions of power to which that wealth had necessarily 
 led. His own house, his own order, had established them- 
 selves on the ruins of that great body, the emblems 
 of whose ancient magnificence and strength surrounded 
 him. And now his order was in turn menaced. And the 
 People, the millions of Toil on whose unconscious ener- 
 gies during these changeful centuries all rested, what 
 changes had these centuries brought to them ? Had their 
 advance in the national scale borne a due relation to that 
 progress of their rulers, which had accumulated in the 
 treasuries of a limited class the riches of the world, and 
 made their possessors boast that they were the first of 
 nations ; the most powerful and the most free, the most 
 enlightened, the most moral, and the most religious ? Were 
 there any rick-burners in the times of the lord abbots? 
 And if not, why not ? And why should the stacks of the 
 Earls of Marney be destroyed, and those of the abbots of 
 Marney spared ? 
 
7o SYBIL ; OR 
 
 Brooding over these suggestions, some voices disturbed 
 him, and, looking round, he observed in the cemetery two 
 men: one was standing beside a tomb, which his com- 
 panion was apparently examining. 
 
 The first was of lofty stature, and, though dressed with 
 simplicity, had nothing sordid in his appearance. His 
 garments gave no clue to his position in life : they might 
 have been worn by a squire or by his gamekeeper ; a dark 
 velveteen dress and leathern gaiters. As Egremont caught 
 his form, he threw his broad-brimmed country hat upon 
 the ground, and showed a frank and manly countenance. 
 His complexion might in youth have been ruddy, but time 
 and time's attendants, thought and passion, had paled it ; 
 his chestnut hair, faded, but not grey, still clustered over a 
 noble brow; his features were regular and handsome, a 
 well-formed nose, the square mouth and its white teeth, 
 and the clear grey eye, which befitted such an idiosyncrasy. 
 His time of vigorous manhood, for he was nearer forty 
 than fifty years of age, perhaps better suited his athletic 
 form than the more supple and graceful season of youth. 
 
 Stretching his powerful arms in the air, and delivering 
 himself of an exclamation which denoted his weariness, 
 and which had broken the silence, he expressed to his 
 companion his determination to rest himself under the 
 shade of the yew in the contiguous garden, and, inviting his 
 friend to follow him, he took up his hat and moved away. 
 
 There was something in the appearance of the stranger 
 that interested Egremont ; and, waiting till he had esta- 
 blished himself in his pleasant resting-place, Egremont de- 
 scended into the cloister garden and determined to address 
 him. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ' You lean against an ancient trunk,' said Egremont, care- 
 lessly advancing to the stranger, who looked up at him 
 without any expression of surprise, and then replied, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 71 
 
 'They say 'tis the trunk beneath whose branches the 
 monks encamped when they came to this valley to raise 
 their building. It was their house, till with the wood and 
 stone around them, their labour and their fine art, they 
 piled up their abbey. And then they were driven out of 
 it, and it came to this. Poor men ! poor men ! ' 
 
 1 They would hardly have forfeited their resting-place 
 had they deserved to retain it,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' They were rich. I thought it was poverty that was a 
 crime,' replied the stranger, in a tone of simplicity. 
 
 1 But they had committed other crimes.' 
 
 ' It may be so ; we are very frail. But their history has 
 been written by their enemies ; they were condemned 
 without a hearing ; the people rose oftentimes in their 
 behalf; and their property was divided among those on 
 whose reports it was forfeited.' 
 
 ' At any rate, it was a forfeiture which gave life to the 
 community,' said Egremont ; ' the lands are held by active 
 men and not by drones.' 
 
 ' A drone is one who does not labour,' said the stranger ; 
 * whether he wear a cowl or a coronet, 'tis the same to 
 me. Somebody I suppose must own the land ; though I 
 have heard say that this individual tenure is not a neces- 
 sity ; but, however this may be, I am not one who would 
 object to the lord, provided he were a gentle one. All 
 agree that the Monastics were easy landlords ; their rents 
 were low; they granted leases in those days. Their tenants, 
 too, might renew their term before their tenure ran out : 
 so they were men of spirit and property. There were 
 yeomen then, sir : the country was not divided into two 
 classes, masters and slaves ; there was some resting-place 
 between luxury and misery. Comfort was an English 
 habit then, not merely an English word.' 
 
 1 And do you really think they were easier landlords 
 than our present ones ? ' said Egremont, inquiringly. 
 
 ' Human nature would tell us that, even if history did 
 not confess it. The Monastics could possess no private 
 
72 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 property ; they could save no money ; they could bequeath 
 nothing. They lived, received, and expended in common. 
 The monastery, too, was a proprietor that never died and 
 never wasted. The farmer had a deathless landlord then : 
 not a harsh guardian, or a grinding mortgagee, or a dilatory 
 master in chancery : all was certain ; the manor had Dot to 
 dread a change of lords, or the oaks to tremble at the axe 
 of the squandering heir. How proud we are still in England 
 of an old family, though, God knows, 'tis rare to see one 
 now. Yet the people like to say, We held under him, and 
 his father and his grandfather before him : they know that 
 such a tenure is a benefit. The abbot was ever the same. 
 The monks were, in short, in every district a point of refuge 
 for all who needed succour, counsel, and protection ; a body 
 of individuals having no cares of their own, with wisdom to 
 guide the inexperienced, with wealth to relieve the suffering, 
 and often with power to protect the oppressed.' 
 
 4 You plead their cause with feeling,' said Egremont, not 
 unmoved. 
 
 I It is my own ; they were the sons of the people, like 
 myself.' 
 
 I I had thought rather these monasteries were the resort 
 of the younger branches of the aristocracy,' said Egremont. 
 
 1 Instead of the pension list,' replied his companion, 
 smiling, but not with bitterness. ' Well, if we must have 
 an aristocracy, I would rather that its younger branches 
 should be monks and nuns than colonels without regiments, 
 or housekeepers of royal palaces that exist only in name. 
 Besides, see what advantage to a minister if the unendowed 
 aristocracy were thus provided for now. He need not, like 
 a minister in these days, entrust the conduct of public 
 affairs to individuals notoriously incompetent, appoint to 
 the command of expeditions generals who never saw a 
 field, make governors of colonies out of men who never 
 could govern themselves, or find an ambassador in a broken 
 dandy or a blasted favourite. It is true that many of the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 73 
 
 monks and nuns were persons of noble birth. Why should 
 they not have been ? The aristocracy had their share ; no 
 more. They, like all other classes, were benefited by the 
 monasteries : but the list of the mitred abbots, when they 
 were suppressed, shows that the great majority of the heads 
 of houses were of the people.' 
 
 1 Well, whatever difference of opinion may exist on these 
 points,' said Egremont, ' there is one on which there can 
 be no controversy : the monks were great architects.' 
 
 ' Ah ! there it is,' said the stranger, in a tone of plain- 
 tiveness ; ' if the world but only knew what they had lost ! 
 I am sure that not the faintest idea is generally prevalent 
 of the appearance of England before and since the dissolu- 
 tion. Why, sir, in England and Wales alone, there were 
 of these institutions of different sizes, I mean monasteries, 
 and chantries and chapels, and great hospitals, consider- 
 ably upwards of three thousand ; all of them fair buildings, 
 many of them of exquisite beauty. There were on an aver- 
 age in every shire at least twenty structures such as this 
 was ; in this great county double that number : establish- 
 ments that were as vast and as magnificent and as beautiful 
 as your Belvoirs and your Chatsworths, your Wentworths 
 and your Stowes. Try to imagine the effect of thirty or 
 forty Chatsworths in this county, the proprietors of which 
 were never absent. You complain enough now of absentees. 
 The monks were never non-resident. They expended their 
 revenue among those whose labour had produced it. These 
 holy men, too, built and planted, as they did everything 
 else, for posterity : their churches were cathedrals ; their 
 schools colleges ; their halls and libraries the muniment 
 rooms of kingdoms ; their woods and waters, their farms 
 and gardens, were laid out and disposed on a scale and in a 
 spirit that are now extinct ; they made the country beauti- 
 ful, and the people proud of their country.' 
 
 1 Yet if the monks were such public benefactors, why did 
 not the people rise in their favour ? ' 
 
74 
 
 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 I They did, but too late. They struggled for a century, 
 but they struggled against property, and they were beat. 
 As long as the monks existed, the people, when aggrieved, 
 had property on their side. And now 'tis all over,' said 
 the stranger ; ' and travellers come and stare at these ruins, 
 and think themselves very wise to moralise over time. They 
 are the children of violence, not of time. It is war that 
 created these ruins, civil war, of all our civil wars the most 
 inhuman, for it was waged with the unresisting. The 
 monasteries were taken by storm, they were sacked, gutted, 
 battered with warlike instruments, blown up with gun- 
 powder ; you may see the marks of the blast against the 
 new tower here. Never was such a plunder. The whole 
 face of the country for a century was that of a land recently 
 invaded by a ruthless enemy ; it was worse than the Norman 
 conquest ; nor has England ever lost this character of 
 ravage. I don't know whether the union workhouses will 
 remove it. They are building something for the people at 
 last. After an experiment of three centuries, your gaols 
 being full, and your treadmills losing something of their 
 virtue, you have given us a substitute for the monasteries.' 
 
 * You lament the old faith,' said Egremont, in a tone of 
 respect. 
 
 I I am not viewing the question as one of faith,' said the 
 stranger. ' It is not as a matter of religion, but as a matter 
 of right, that I am considering it : as a matter, I should 
 say, of private right and public happiness. You might 
 have changed, if you thought fit, the religion of the abbots 
 as you changed the religion of the bishops : but you had no 
 right to deprive men of their property, and property more- 
 over which, under their administration, so mainly contri- 
 buted to the welfare of the community.' 
 
 * As for community,' said a voice which proceeded neither 
 from Egremont nor the stranger, 'with the monasteries 
 expired the only type that we ever had in England of such 
 an intercourse. There is no community in England ; there 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 75 
 
 is aggregation, but aggregation under circumstances which 
 make it rather a dissociating than a uniting principle.' 
 
 It was a still voice that uttered these words, yet one of a 
 peculiar character ; one of those voices that instantly 
 arrest attention : gentle and yet solemn, earnest yet unim- 
 passioned. With a step as whispering as his tone, the man 
 who had been kneeling by the tomb had unobserved joined 
 his associate and Egremont. He hardly reached the middle 
 height ; his form slender, but well-proportioned ; his pale 
 countenance, slightly marked with the small-pox, was re- 
 deemed from absolute ugliness by a highly intellectual 
 brow, and large dark eyes that indicated deep sensibility 
 and great quickness of apprehension. Though young, he 
 was already a little bald ; he was dressed entirely in black ; 
 the fairness of his linen, the neatness of his beard, his 
 gloves much worn, yet carefully mended, intimated that his 
 faded garments were the result of necessity rather than of 
 negligence. 
 
 * You also lament the dissolution of these bodies,' said 
 Egremont. 
 
 ' There is so much to lament in the world in which we live,' 
 said the younger of the strangers, ' that I can spare no pang 
 for the past.' 
 
 ' Yet you approve of the principle of their society ; you 
 prefer it, you say, to our existing life.' 
 
 1 Yes ; I prefer association to gregariousness.' 
 
 ' That is a distinction,' said Egremont, musingly. 
 
 * It is a community of purpose that constitutes society,' 
 continued the younger stranger ; * without that, men may 
 be drawn into contiguity, but they still continue virtually 
 isolated.' 
 
 1 And is that their condition in cities ? ' 
 
 * It is their condition everywhere ; but in cities that 
 condition is aggravated. A density of population implies a 
 severer struggle for existence, and a consequent repulsion 
 of elements brought into too close contact. In great cities 
 
76 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 men are brought together by the desire of gain. They are 
 not in a state of co-operation, but of isolation, as to the 
 making of fortunes ; and for all the rest they are careless 
 of neighbours. Christianity teaches us to love our neigh- 
 bour as ourself ; modern society acknowledges no neigh- 
 bour.' 
 
 1 Well, we live in strange times,' said Egremont, struck 
 by the observation of his companion, and relieving a per- 
 plexed spirit by an ordinary exclamation, which often 
 denotes that the mind is more stirred than it cares to 
 acknowledge, or at the moment is able to express. 
 
 ' When the infant begins to walk, it also thinks that it 
 lives in strange times,' said his companion. 
 
 I Your inference ? ' asked Egremont. 
 
 ' That society, still in its infancy, is beginning to feel its 
 way.' 
 
 ' This is a new reign,' said Egremont, ' perhaps it is a 
 new era.' 
 
 I I think so,' said the younger stranger. 
 'I hope so,' said the elder one. 
 
 ' Well, society may be in its infancy,' said Egremont, 
 slightly smiling ; ' but, say what you like, our Queen reigns 
 over the greatest nation that ever existed.' 
 
 1 Which nation ? ' asked the younger stranger, ' for she 
 reigns over two.' 
 
 The stranger paused ; Egremont was silent, but looked 
 inquiringly. 
 
 1 Yes,' resumed the younger stranger after a moment's 
 interval. ' Two nations ; between whom there is no inter- 
 course and no sympathy ; who are as ignorant of each other's 
 habits, thoughts, and feelings, as if they were dwellers in 
 different zones, or inhabitants of different planets ; who are 
 formed by &< different breeding, are fed by a different food, 
 are ordered by different manners, and are not governed by 
 the same laws.' 
 
 1 You speak of ' said Egremont, hesitatingly 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. jy 
 
 ' The Rich and the Poor.' 
 
 At this moment a sudden flush of rosy nght, suffusing 
 the grey ruins, indicated that the sun had just fallen ; and, 
 through a vacant arch that overlooked them, alone in the 
 resplendent sky, glittered the twilight star. The hour, the 
 scene, the solemn stillness and the softening beauty, repres- 
 sed controversy, induced even silence. The last words of 
 the stranger lingered in the ear of Egremont ; his musing 
 spirit was teeming with many thoughts, many emotions ; 
 when from the Lady's chapel there rose the evening hymn 
 to the Virgin. A single voice ; but tones of almost super- 
 natural sweetness ; tender and solemn, yet flexible and 
 thrilling. 
 
 Egremont started from his reverie. He would have 
 spoken, but he perceived that the elder of the strangers had 
 risen from his resting-place, and, with downcast eyes and 
 crossed arms, was on his knees. The other remained 
 standing in his former posture. 
 
 The divine melody ceased ; the elder stranger rose ; the 
 words were on the lips of Egremont, that would have asked 
 some explanation of this sweet and holy mystery, when, in 
 the vacant and star-lit arch on which his glance was fixed, 
 he beheld a female form. She was apparently in the habit 
 of a Religious, yet scarcely could be a nun, for her veil, if 
 indeed it were a veil, had fallen on her shoulders, and re- 
 vealed her thick tresses of long fair hair. The blush of 
 deep emotion lingered on a countenance which, though 
 extremely young, w r as impressed with a character of almost 
 divine majesty ; while her dark eyes and long dark lashes, 
 contrasting with the brightness of her complexion and the 
 luxuriance of her radiant locks, combined to produce a 
 beauty as rare as it is choice ; and so strange, that Egre- 
 mont might for a moment have been pardoned for believing 
 her a seraph, who had lighted on this sphere, or the fair 
 phantom of some saint haunting the sacred ruins of her 
 desecrated fane. 
 
78 SYBIL: OR 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1 I understand, then,' said Lord Marney to his brother, as 
 on the evening of the same day they were seated together 
 in the drawing-room, in close converse, ' I understand, 
 then, that yon have in fact paid nothing, and that my 
 mother will give yon a thousand pounds. That won't go 
 very far.' 
 
 ' It will hardly pay for the chairing,' said Egremont ; 
 ' the restoration of the family influence was celebrated on 
 so great a scale.' 
 
 'The family influence must be supported,' said Lord 
 Marney, ' and my mother will give you a thousand pounds ; 
 as I said, that will not do much for you, but I like her spirit. 
 Contests are expensive things, yet I quite approve of 
 what you have done, especially as you won. It is a great 
 thing in these ten-pound days to win your first contest, and 
 shows powers of calculation which I respect. Everything 
 in this world is calculation ; there is no such thing as luck, 
 depend upon it ; and if you go on calculating with equal 
 exactness, you must succeed in life. Now, the question is, 
 what is to be done with your election bills ? ' 
 
 1 Exactly.' 
 
 ' You want to know what I will do for you, or rather 
 what I can do for you ; that is the point. My inclination 
 of course is to do everything for you ; but when I calculate 
 my resources, I may find that they are not equal to my in- 
 clination.' 
 
 * I am sure, George, you will do everything, and more 
 than everything, you ought.' 
 
 ' I am extremely pleased about this thousand pounds of 
 my mother, Charles.' 
 
 1 Most admirable of her ! But she always is so generous !' 
 
 ' Her jointure has been most regularly paid,' continued 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 79 
 
 Lord Marney. ' Always be exact in your payments, Charles. 
 There is no end to the good it produces. Now, if I had not 
 been so regular in paying my mother her jointure, she 
 would not in all probability have been able to give you 
 this thousand pounds, and therefore, to a certain extent, you 
 are indebted for this thousand pounds to me.' 
 
 Egremont drew up a little, but said nothing. 
 
 1 1 am obliged to pay my mother her jointure, whether 
 ricks are burnt or not,' said Lord Marney. ' It's very hard, 
 don't you think so ?' 
 
 * But these ricks were Bingley's !' 
 
 ' But he was not insured, and he will want some reduction 
 in his rent, and if I do not see fit to allow it him, which I 
 probably shall not, for he ought to have calculated on these 
 things, I have ricks of my own, and they may be burnt any 
 night.' 
 
 ' But you, of course, are insured ?' 
 
 1 No, I am not, I calculate 'tis better to run the risk.' 
 
 ' I wonder why ricks are burnt now, and were not in old 
 days,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' Because there is a surplus population in the kingdom,' 
 said Lord Marney, ' and no rural police in the county.' 
 
 1 You were speaking of the election, George,' said Egre- 
 mont, not without reluctance, yet anxious, as the ice had 
 been broken, to bring the matter to a result. Lord Marney, 
 before the election, had written, in reply to his mother con- 
 sulting him on the step, a letter with which she was delighted, 
 but which Egremont at the time could have wished to have 
 been more explicit. However, in the excitement attendant 
 on a first contest, and influenced by the person whose judg- 
 ment always swayed, and, in the present case, was peculiarly 
 entitled to sway him, he stifled his scruples, and persuaded 
 himself that he was a candidate, not only with the sanction 
 but at the instance of his brother. ' You were speaking 
 of the election, George,' said Egremont. 
 
 1 About the election, Charles. "Well, the long and short 
 
So SYBIL ; OR 
 
 of it is this : that I wish to see you comfortable. To be 
 harassed about money is one of the most disagreeable inci- 
 dents of life. It ruffles the temper, lowers the spirits, 
 disturbs the rest, and finally breaks up one's health. 
 Always, if you possibly can, keep square. And if by any 
 chance you do find yourself in a scrape, come to me. There 
 is nothing under those circumstances like the advice of a 
 cool-headed friend.' 
 
 ' As valuable as the assistance of a cold-hearted one,' 
 thought Egremont, who did not fancy too much the tone of 
 this conversation. 
 
 * But there is one thing of which you must particularly 
 beware,' continued Lord Marney, ' there is one thing worse 
 even than getting into difficulties patching them up. The 
 patching-up system is fatal ; it is sure to break down ; you 
 never get clear. Now, what I want to do for you, Charles, 
 is to put you right altogether. I want to see you square 
 and more than square, in a position which will for ever 
 guarantee you from any annoyance of this kind.' 
 
 ' He is a good fellow, after all,' thought Egremont. 
 
 ' That thousand pounds of my mother was very apropos,' 
 said Lord Marney ; ' I suppose it was a sop that will keep 
 them all right till we have made our arrangements.' 
 
 * Oh ! there is no pressure of that kind,' said Egremont ; 
 * if I see my way, and write to them, of course they will be 
 quite satisfied.' 
 
 * Excellent,' said Lord Marney; 'and nothing could be 
 more convenient to me, for, between ourselves, my balances 
 are very low at this moment. The awful expenditure of 
 keeping up this place ! And then such terrible incum- 
 brances as I came to !' 
 
 ' Incumbrances, George ! Why, I thought you had not 
 any. There was not a single mortgage.' 
 
 1 No mortgages ; they are nothing ; you find them, you 
 get used to them, and you calculate accordingly. You 
 quite forget the portions for younger children.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 81 
 
 * Yes ; but you had plenty of ready money for them.' 
 
 J I had to pay them though,' said Lord Marney. ' Had I 
 not I might have bought Grimblethorpe with the money ; 
 such an opportunity will never occur again.' 
 
 * But you talked of incumbrances,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' Ah ! my dear fellow,' said Lord Marney, ' you don't 
 know what it is to have to keep up an estate like this ; and 
 very lucky for you. It is not the easy life you dream of. 
 There are buildings ; I am ruined in buildings ; our poor 
 dear father thought he left me Marney without an incum- 
 brance ; why there was not a barn on the whole estate 
 that was weather-proof ; not a farm-house that was not half 
 in ruins. What I have spent in buildings ! And draining ! 
 Though I make my own tiles, draining, my dear fellow, is 
 a something of which you have not the least idea ! ' 
 
 4 Well,' said Egremont, anxious to bring his brother back 
 to the point, ' you think, then, I had better write to them 
 and say ' 
 
 ' Ah ! now for your business,' said Lord Marney. Now, 
 I will tell you what 1 can do for you. I was speaking to 
 Arabella about it last night ; she quite approves my idea. 
 You remember the De Mowbrays ? Well, we are going to 
 stay at Mowbray Castle, and you are to go with us. It is 
 the first time they have received company since their great 
 loss. Ah ! you were abroad at the time, and so you are 
 behindhand. Lord Mowbray's only son, Fitz-Warene, you 
 remember him, a deuced clever fellow, he died about a year 
 ago, in Greece, of a fever. Never was such a blow ! His 
 two sisters, Lady Joan and Lady Maud, are looked upon as 
 the greatest heiresses in the kingdom : but I know Mowbray 
 well ; he will make an eldest son of his eldest daughter 
 She will have it all ; she is one of Arabella's dearest friends, 
 and you are to marry her.' 
 
 Egremont stared at his brother, who patted him on the 
 back with an expression of unusual kindness, adding, 
 ' You have no idea what a load this has taken off my mind, 
 
 6 
 
SYBIL ; OR 
 
 my dear Charles ; so great has my anxiety always been 
 about you, particularly of late. To see you lord of Mowbray 
 Castle will realise my fondest hopes. That is a position fit 
 for a man, and I know none more worthy of it than your- 
 self, though I am your brother who say so. Now let us 
 come and speak to Arabella about it.' 
 
 So saying, Lord Marney, followed somewhat reluctantly by 
 his brother, advanced to the other end of the drawing-room, 
 where his wife was employed with her embroidery- frame, 
 and seated next to her young friend, Miss Poinsett, who 
 was playing chess with Captain Grouse, a member of the 
 chess club, and one of the most capital performers extant. 
 
 'Well, Arabella,' said Lord Marney, 'it is all settled; 
 Charles agrees with me about going to Mowbray Castle, 
 and I think the sooner we go the better. What do you 
 tli ink of the day after to-morrow ? That will suit me 
 exactly, and therefore I think we had better fix on it. We 
 will consider it settled.' 
 
 Lady Marney looked embarrassed, and a little distressed. 
 Nothing could be more unexpected by her than this propo- 
 sition ; nothing more inconvenient than the arrangement. 
 It was true that Lady Joan Fitz-Warene had invited them 
 to Mowbray, and she had some vague intention, some day 
 or other, of deliberating whether they should avail them- 
 selves of this kindness ; but to decide upon going, and upon 
 going instantly, without the least consultation, the least 
 enquiry as to the suitableness of the arrangement, the visit 
 of Miss Poinsett abruptly and ungraciously terminated, for 
 example all this was vexatious, distressing : a mode of 
 management which out of the simplest incidents of domestic 
 life contrived to extract some degree of perplexity and 
 annoyance. 
 
 ' Do not you think, George,' said Lady Marney, ' that we 
 had better talk it over a little ?' 
 
 ' Not at all,' said Lord Marney ; ' Charles will go, and it 
 quite suits me, and therefore what necessity for any con- 
 sultation ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIOXS. 83 
 
 * Oli ! if you and Charles like to go, certainly,' said Lady 
 Marney, in a hesitating tone ; ' only I shall be very sorry to 
 lose your society.' 
 
 'How do you mean lose our society, Arabella? Of 
 course you must go with us. I particularly want you to go. 
 You are Lady Joan's most intimate friend ; I believe there 
 is no one she likes so much.' 
 
 ' I cannot go the day after to-morrow,' said Lady Marney, 
 speaking in a whisper, and looking volumes of deprecation. 
 
 ' I cannot help it,' said Lord Marney ; ' you should have 
 told me this before. I wrote to Mowbray to-day, that we 
 should be with him the day after to-morrow, and stay a 
 week.' 
 
 ' But you never mentioned it to me,' said Lady Marney, 
 slightly blushing, and speaking in atone of gentle reproach. 
 
 ' I should like to know when I am to find time to mention 
 the contents of every letter I write,' said Lord Marney : 
 ' particularly with all the vexatious business I have had on 
 my hands to-day. But so it is ; the more one tries to save 
 you trouble, the more discontented you get.' 
 
 'No, not discontented, George.' 
 
 ' 1 do not know what you call discontented : but when a 
 man has made every possible arrangement to please you 
 and everybody, and all his plans are to be set aside, merely 
 because the day he has fixed on does not exactly suit your 
 fancy, if that be not discontent, I should like very much to 
 know what is, Arabella.' 
 
 Lady Marney did not reply. Always sacrificed, always 
 yielding, the moment she attempted to express an opinion, 
 she ever seemed to assume the position, not of the injured, 
 but the injurer. 
 
 Arabella was a woman of abilities, which she had cultivated. 
 She had excellent sense, and possessed many admirable 
 qualities ; she was far from being devoid of sensibility ; but 
 her sweet temper shrank from controversy, and nature had 
 not endowed her with a spirit which could direct and 
 
 o2 
 
84 SYBIL; OR 
 
 control. She yielded without a struggle to the arbitrary will 
 and unreasonable caprice of a husband w r ho was scarcely 
 her equal in intellect, and far her inferior in all the genial 
 qualities of our nature, but who governed her by his iron 
 selfishness. 
 
 Lady Marney absolutely had no will of her own. A hard, 
 exact, literal, bustling, acute being environed her existence ; 
 directed, planned, settled everything. Her life was a series 
 of petty sacrifices and balked enjoyments. If her carriage 
 were at the door, she was never certain that she shonld not 
 have to send it away ; if she had asked some friends to her 
 house, the chances were she should have to put them off; 
 if she were reading a novel, Lord Marney asked her to copy 
 a letter ; if she were going to the opera, she found that 
 Lord Marney had got seats for her and some friend in the 
 House of Lords, and seemed expecting the strongest expres- 
 sions of delight and gratitude from her for his unasked and 
 inconvenient kindness. Lady Marney had struggled 
 against this tyranny in the earlier days of their union. 
 Innocent, inexperienced Lady Marney! As if it were 
 possible for a wife to contend against a selfish husband, at 
 once sharp-witted and blunt-hearted ! She had appealed to 
 him, she had even reproached him ; she had wept, once 
 she had knelt. But Lord Marney looked upon these de- 
 monstrations as the disordered sensibility of a girl unused 
 to the marriage state, and ignorant of the wise authority of 
 husbands, of which he deemed himself a model. And so, 
 after a due course of initiation, Lady Marney, invisible for 
 days, plunged in remorseful reveries in the mysteries of her 
 boudoir, and her lord dining at a club, and going to the 
 minor theatres ; the countess was broken in. 
 
 Lord Marney, who was fond of chess, turned out Cap- 
 tain Grouse, and gallantly proposed to finish his game 
 w^ith Miss Poinsett, which Miss Poinsett, who understood 
 Lord Marney as well as he understood chess, took care 
 speedily to lose, so that his lordship might encounter a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 85 
 
 champion worthy of him. Egremont, seated by his sister- 
 in-law, and anxious by kind words to soothe the irritation 
 which he had observed with pain his brother create, entered 
 into easy talk, and, after some time, said, ' I find you have 
 been good enough to mould my destiny.' 
 
 Lady Marney looked a little surprised, and then said, 
 ' How so ? ' 
 
 1 You have decided on, I hear, the most important step of 
 my life.' 
 
 4 Indeed you perplex me.' 
 
 * Lady Joan Fitz- Warene, your friend ' 
 
 The countess blushed ; the name was a clue which she 
 could follow, but Egremont nevertheless suspected that the 
 idea had never previously occurred to her. Lady Joan she 
 described as not beautiful ; certainly not beautiful ; nobody 
 would consider her beautiful, many would, indeed, think 
 her quite the reverse ; and yet she had a look, one particu- 
 lar look, when, according to Lady Marney, she was more 
 than beautiful. But she was very clever, very indeed, 
 something quite extraordinary. 
 
 ' Accomplished ? ' 
 
 1 Oh ! far beyond that ; I have heard even men say that 
 no one knew so much.' 
 
 1 A regular blue ? ' 
 
 * Oh ! no ; not at all a blue ; not that kind of knowledge. 
 But languages and learned books ; Arabic, and Hebrew, 
 and old manuscripts. And then she has an observatory, 
 and was the first person who discovered the comet. Dr. 
 Buckland swears by her ; and she corresponds with Arago.' 
 
 ' And her sister, is she the same ? ' 
 
 I Lady Maud : she is very religious. I do not know her 
 so well.' 
 
 ' Is she pretty ? ' 
 
 ' Some people admire her much.' 
 
 I I never was at Mowbray. What sort of a place is it ? ' 
 4 Oh ! it is very grand,' said Lady Marney ; ' but, like all 
 
86 SYBIL; OR 
 
 places in the manufacturing districts, very disagreeable. 
 You never have a clear sky. Your toilette table is covered 
 with blacks ; the deer in the park seem as if they had 
 bathed in a lake of Indian ink ; and as for the sheep, you 
 expect to see chimney-sweeps for the shepherds.' 
 
 ' And do you really mean to go on Thursday ? ' said 
 Egremont : ' I think we had better put it off.' 
 
 1 We must go,' said Lady Marney, with a sort of sigh, 
 and shaking her head. 
 
 1 Let me speak to Marney.' 
 
 ' Oh ! no. We must go. I am annoyed about this dear 
 little Poinsett : she has been to stay with me so very often, 
 and she has been here only three days. When she comes 
 in again, I wish you would ask her to sing, Charles.' 
 
 Soon the dear little Poinsett was singing, much gratified 
 by being invited to the instrument by Mr. Egremont, who 
 for a few minutes hung over her, and then, evidently under 
 the influence of her tones, walked up and down the room, 
 and only speaking to beg that she would continue her 
 charming performances. Lady Marney was engrossed with 
 her embroidery ; her lord and the captain with their game. 
 
 And what was Egremont thinking of ? Of Mowbray, be 
 you sure. And of Lady Joan or Lady Maud ? Not exactly. 
 Mowbray was the name of the town to which the strangers 
 he had met with in the Abbey were bound. It was the 
 only piece of information that he ha'd been able to obtain of 
 them ; and that casually. 
 
 When the fair vision of the starlit arch, about to descend 
 to her two companions, perceived that they were in conver- 
 sation with a stranger, she hesitated, and in a moment 
 withdrew. Then the elder of the travellers, exchanging a 
 glance with his friend, bade good even to Egremont. 
 
 1 Our way perhaps lies the same ? ' said Egremont. 
 
 * I should deem not,' said the stranger, ' nor are we alone.' 
 
 * And we must be stirring, for we have far to go,' said he 
 who was dressed in black. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. C7 
 
 1 My journey is brief/ said Egremont, making a despe- 
 rate effort to invite commnnication ; ' and I am on horse- 
 back ! ' 
 
 * And we on foot,' said the elder ; ' nor shall we stop till 
 we reach Mowbray ; ' and, with a slight salnte, they left 
 Egremont alone. There was something in the manner of 
 the elder stranger which repressed the possibility of 
 Egremont following him. Leaving then the cloister garden 
 in another direction, he speculated on meeting them ontside 
 the Abbey. He passed through the Lady's chapel. The 
 beautiful Religious was not there. He gained the west 
 front ; no one was visible. He took a rapid survey of each 
 side of the Abbey ; not a being to be recognised. He 
 fancied they must have advanced towards the Abbey farm; 
 yet they might have proceeded further on in the dale. 
 Perplexed, he lost time. Finally he proceeded towards the 
 farm, but did not overtake them ; reached it, but learned 
 nothing of them; and arrived at his brother's full of a 
 strange yet sweet perplexity. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In a commercial country like England, every half century 
 devolops some new and vast source of public wealth, which 
 brings into national notice a new and powerful class. A 
 couple of centuries ago, a Turkey Merchant was the great 
 creator of wealth ; the West India Planter followed him. 
 In the middle of the last century appeared the Nabob. 
 These characters in their zenith in turn merged in the land, 
 and became English aristocrats ; while, the Levant decaying, 
 the West Indies exhausted, and Hindostan plundered, the 
 breeds died away, and now exist only in our English comedies, 
 from Wycherly and Congreve to Cumberland and Morton. 
 The expenditure of the revolutionary war produced the 
 Loanmonger, who succeeded the Nabob ; and the applica- 
 
38 SYBIL; OR 
 
 tion of science to industry developed the Manufacturer, who 
 in turn aspires to be ' large acred,' and always will, so long 
 as we have a territorial constitution ; a better security for 
 the preponderance of the landed interest than any corn-law, 
 fixed or fluctuating. 
 
 Of all these characters, the one that on the whole made 
 the largest fortunes in the most rapid manner, and we do 
 not forget the marvels of the Waterloo loan, or the miracles 
 of Manchester during the Continental blockade, was the 
 Anglo-East-Indian about the time that Hastings was first 
 appointed to the great viceroyalty. It was not unusual for 
 men in positions so obscure that their names had never 
 reached the public in this country, and who yet had not 
 been absent from their native land for a longer period than 
 the siege of Troy, to return with their million. 
 
 One of the most fortunate of this class of obscure adven- 
 turers was a certain John Warren. A few years before the 
 breaking out of the American war, he was a waiter at 
 a celebrated club in St. James' Street ; a quick, yet steady 
 young fellow ; assiduous, discreet, and very civil. In this 
 capacity, he pleased a gentleman who was just appointed to 
 the government of Madras, and who wanted a valet. Warren, 
 though prudent, was adventurous ; and accepted the open- 
 ing which he believed fortune offered him. He was prescient. 
 The voyage in those days was an affair of six months. 
 Daring this period, Warren still more ingratiated himself 
 with his master. He wrote a good hand, and his master a 
 very bad one. He had a natural talent for accounts ; a kind 
 of information which was useful to his employer. He 
 arrived at Madras, no longer a valet, but a private secretary. 
 
 His master went out to make a fortune; but he was 
 indolent, and had indeed none of the qualities for success, 
 except his great position. Warren had every quality but 
 that. The basis of the confederacy therefore was intelligible ; 
 it was founded on mutual interests and cemented by reci- 
 procal assistance. The governor granted monopolies to the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 89 
 
 secretary, who apportioned a due share to his sleeping 
 partner. There appeared one of those dearths not unusual 
 in Hindostan ; the population of the famished province 
 cried out for rice ; the stores of which, diminished by- 
 nature, had for months mysteriously disappeared. A pro- 
 vident administration it seems had invested the public 
 revenue in its benevolent purchase ; the misery was so 
 excessive that even pestilence was anticipated, when the 
 great forestallers came to the rescue of the people over 
 whose destinies they presided ; and at the same time fed, 
 and pocketed, millions. 
 
 This was the great stroke of the financial genius of 
 Warren. He was satisfied. He longed once more to see St. 
 James' Street, and to become a member of the club where 
 he had once been a waiter. But he was the spoiled child of 
 fortune, who would not so easily spare him. The governor 
 died, and had appointed his secretary his sole executor. 
 Not that his Excellency particularly trusted his agent, but 
 he dared not confide the knowledge of his affairs to any other 
 individual. The estate was so complicated, that Warren 
 offered the heirs a good round sum for his quittance, and 
 to take the settlement upon himself. India so distant, and 
 Chancery so near, the heirs accepted the proposition. 
 Winding up this estate, Warren avenged the cause of 
 plundered provinces ; and the House of Commons itself, 
 with Burke and Francis at its head, could scarcely have 
 mulcted the late governor more severely. 
 
 A Mr. Warren, of whom no one had ever heard except 
 that he was a Nabob, had recently returned from India, 
 and purchased a large estate in the north of England ; was 
 returned to Parliament one of the representatives of a 
 close borough which he had also purchased ; a quiet, 
 gentlemanlike, middle-aged man, with no decided political 
 opinions ; and, as parties were then getting equal, of 
 course much courted. The throes of Lord North's ad- 
 ministration were commencing. The minister asked the 
 
90 SYBIL; OR 
 
 new member to dine with him, and found the new member 
 singularly free from all party prejudices. Mr. Warren was 
 one of those members who announced their determination 
 to listen to the debates and to be governed by the argu- 
 ments. All complimented him, all spoke to him. Mr. Fox 
 declared that he was a most superior man ; Mr. Burke 
 said that these were the men who could alone save the 
 country. Mrs. Crewe asked him to supper ; he was caressed 
 by the most brilliant of duchesses. 
 
 At length there arrived one of those fierce trials of 
 strength, which precede the fall of a minister, but which 
 sometimes, from peculiar circumstances, as in the instances 
 of Walpole and Lord North, are not immediate in their 
 results. How would Warren vote? was the great ques- 
 tion. He would listen to the arguments. Burke was full 
 of confidence that he should catch Warren. The day 
 before the debate there was a levee, which Mr. Warren 
 attended. The sovereign stopped him, spoke to him, 
 smiled on him, asked him many questions : about himself, 
 the House of Commons, how he liked it, how he liked 
 England. There was a flutter in the circle ; a new favourite 
 at court. 
 
 The debate came off, the division took place. Mr. Warren 
 voted for the minister. Burke denounced him ; the king 
 made him a baronet. 
 
 Sir John Warren made a great alliance, at least for him ; 
 he married the daughter of an Irish earl ; became one of 
 the king's friends ; supported Lord Shelburne, threw over 
 Lord Shelburne, had the tact early to discover that Mr. 
 Pitt was the man to stick to, stuck to him. Sir John 
 Warren bought another estate, and picked up another 
 borough. He was fast becoming a personage. Throughout 
 the Indian debates he kept himself quiet ; once indeed 
 in vindication of Mr. Hastings, whom he greatly admired, 
 he ventured to correct Mr. Francis on a point of fact 
 with which he was personally acquainted. He thought 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 9i 
 
 that it was safe, but lie never spoke again. He knew not 
 the resources of vindictive genius or the powers of a 
 malignant imagination. Burke owed the Nabob a turn for 
 the vote which had gained him a baronetcy. The orator 
 seized the opportunity, and alarmed the secret conscience 
 of the Indian adventurer by his dark allusions and his 
 fatal familiarity with the subject. 
 
 Another estate, however, and another borough were 
 some consolation for this little misadventure ; and in time 
 the French Revolution, to Sir John's great relief, turned 
 the public attention for ever from Indian affairs. The 
 Nabob, from the faithful adherent of Mr. Pitt, had become 
 even his personal friend. The wits, indeed, had discovered 
 that he had been a waiter ; and endless were the epigrams 
 of Fitzpatrick and the jokes of Hare ; but Mr. Pitt cared 
 nothing about the origin of his supporters. On the con- 
 trary, Sir John was exactly the individual from whom the j 
 minister meant to carve out his plebeian aristocracy ; and, \ 
 using his friend as a feeler before he ventured on his 
 greater operations, the Nabob one morning was transformed 
 into an Irish baron. 
 
 The new Baron figured in his patent as Lord Fitz- 
 Warene, his Norman origin and descent from the old 
 barons of this name having been discovered at Heralds' 
 College. This was a rich harvest for Fitzpatrick and 
 Hare ; but the public gets accustomed to everything, and 
 has an easy habit of faith. The new Baron cared nothing 
 for ridicule, for he was working for posterity. He was 
 compensated for every annoyance by the remembrance 
 that the St. James' Street waiter was ennobled, and by 
 his determination that his children should rank still higher 
 in the proud peerage of his country. So he obtained the 
 royal permission to resume the surname and arms of his 
 ancestors, as well as their title. 
 
 There was an ill-natured story set afloat, that Sir John 
 owed this promotion to having lent money to the minister ; 
 
92 SYBIL; OR 
 
 but this was a calumny. Mr. Pitt never borrowed money 
 of his friends. Once, indeed, to save his library, he took 
 a thousand pounds from an individual on whom he had 
 conferred high rank and immense promotion : and this 
 individual, who had the minister's bond when Mr. Pitt 
 died, insisted on his right, and actually extracted the 1,000/. 
 from the insolvent estate of his magnificent patron. But 
 Mr. Pitt always preferred a usurer to a friend ; and to the 
 last day of his life borrowed money at fifty per cent. 
 
 The Nabob departed this life before the minister, but he 
 lived long enough to realise his most aspiring dream. Two 
 years before his death, the Irish baron was quietly con- 
 verted into an English peer; and without exciting any 
 attention, all the squibs of Fitzpatrick, all the jokes of 
 Hare, quite forgotten, the waiter of the St. James' Street 
 club took his seat in the most natural manner possible in 
 the House of Lords. 
 
 The great estate of the late Lord Fitz-Warene was 
 situate at Mowbray, a village which principally belonged 
 to him, and near which he had raised a Gothic castle, 
 worthy of his Norman name and ancestry. Mowbray was 
 one of those places which, during the long war, had ex- 
 panded from an almost unknown village to a large and 
 flourishing manufacturing town ; a circumstance which, as 
 Lady Marney observed, might have somewhat deteriorated 
 the atmosphere of the splendid castle, but which had 
 nevertheless trebled the vast rental of its lord. He who 
 had succeeded to his father was Altamont Belvidere, named 
 after his mother's family, Fitz-Warene, Lord Fitz-Warene. 
 He was not deficient in abilities, though he had not his 
 father's talents, but he was over-educated for his intellect ; 
 a common misfortune. The new Lord Fitz-Warene was 
 the most aristocratic of breathing beings. He most fully, 
 entirely, and absolutely believed in his pedigree ; his coat 
 of arms was emblazoned on every window, embroidered on 
 every chair, carved in every corner. Shortly after his 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 93 
 
 father's death, he was united to the daughter of a ducal 
 house, by whom he had a son and two daughters, christ- 
 ened by names which the ancient records of the Fitz- 
 Warenes authorised. His son, who gave promise of abili- 
 ties which might have rendered the family really distin- 
 guished, was Valence ; his daughters, Joan and Maud. 
 All that seemed wanting to the glory of the house was a 
 great distinction, of which a rich peer, with six seats in 
 the House of Commons, could not ultimately despair. 
 Lord Fitz-Warene aspired to rank among the earls of 
 England. But the successors of Mr. Pitt were strong ; 
 they thought the Fitz-Warenes had already been too 
 rapidly advanced ; it was whispered that the king did not 
 like the new man ; that his majesty thought him pompous, 
 full of pretence, in short, a fool. But though the suc- 
 cessors of Mr. Pitt managed to govern the country for 
 twenty years, and were generally very strong, in such an 
 interval of time, however good their management or great 
 their luck, there were inevitably occasions when they 
 found themselves in difficulties, when it was necessary to 
 conciliate the lukewarm or to reward the devoted. Lord 
 Fitz-Warene well understood how to avail himself of these 
 occasions : it was astonishing how conscientious and scru- 
 pulous he became during Walcheren expeditions, Man- 
 chester massacres, Queen's trials. Every scrape of the 
 government was a step in the ladder to the great borough- 
 monger. The old king too had disappeared from the 
 stage ; and the tawdry grandeur of the great Xorman peer 
 rather suited George the Fourth. He was rather a favourite 
 at the Cottage ; they wanted his six votes for Canning ; 
 he made his terms ; and one of the means by which we 
 got a man of genius for a minister was elevating Lord 
 Fitz-Warene in the peerage, by the style and title of Earl 
 de Mowbray of Mowbray Castle. 
 
94 
 
 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 We must now for a while return to the strangers of the 
 Abbey ruins. When the two men had joined the beautiful 
 Religious, whose apparition had so startled Egremont, they 
 all three quitted the Abbey by a way which led them by 
 the back of the cloister garden, and so on by the bank of 
 the river for about a hundred yards, when they turned up 
 the winding glen of a dried-up tributary stream. At the 
 head of the glen, at which they soon arrived, was a beer- 
 shop, screened by some huge elms from the winds that 
 blew over the vast moor, which, except in the direction 
 of Mardale, now extended as far as the eye could reach. 
 Here the companions stopped, the beautiful Religious 
 seated herself on a stone bench beneath the trees, while 
 the elder stranger, calling out to the inmate of the house 
 to apprise him of his return, himself proceeded to a neigh- 
 bouring shed, whence he brought forth a small rough 
 pony, with a rude saddle, but one evidently intended for a 
 female rider. 
 
 ' It is well,' said the taller of the men, ' that I am not a 
 member of a temperance society like you, Stephen, or it 
 would be difficult to reward this good man for his care of 
 our steed. I will take a cup of the drink of Saxon kings.' 
 Then leading up the pony to the Religious, he placed her 
 on its back with gentleness and much natural grace, saying 
 at the same time in a subdued tone, ' And you ; shall I 
 bring you a glass of nature's wine ? ' 
 
 * I have drunk of the spring of the Holy Abbey,' said 
 the Religious, 'and none other must touch my lips this 
 eve.' 
 
 ' Come, our course must be brisk,' said the elder of the 
 men, as he gave up his glass to their host and led off the 
 pony, Stephen walking on the other side. 
 
 Though the sun had fallen, the twilight was still glowing, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 95 
 
 and even on this wide expanse the air was still. The 
 vast and undulating surface of the brown and purple moor, 
 varied occasionally by some fantastic rocks, gleamed in the 
 shifting light. Hesperus was the only star that yet was 
 visible, and seemed to move before them and lead them on 
 their journey. 
 
 * I hope,' said the Religious, turning to the elder stran- 
 ger, * if ever we regain our right, my father, and that we 
 ever can, save by the interposition of divine will, seems 
 to me clearly impossible, that you will never forget 
 how bitter it is to be driven from the soil ; and that you 
 will bring back the people to the land.' 
 
 ' I would pursue our right for no other cause,' said the 
 father. 'After centuries of sorrow and degradation, it 
 should never be said that we had no sympathy with the 
 sad and the oppressed.' 
 
 ' After centuries of sorrow and degradation,' said Stephen, 
 ' let it not be said that you acquire your right only to 
 create a baron or a squire.' 
 
 ' Nay, thou shalt have thy way, Stephen,' said his com- 
 panion, smiling, 'if ever the good hour come. As many 
 acres as thou choosest for thy new Jerusalem.' 
 
 ' Call it what you will, Walter,' replied Stephen ; ' but if 
 I ever gain the opportunity of fully carrying the principle 
 of association into practice, I will sing " Nunc me dimittes." ' 
 
 "'Nunc me dimittes," ' burst forth the Religious, in a 
 voice of thrilling melody, and she pursued for some minutes 
 the divine canticle. Her companions gazed on her with an 
 air of affectionate reverence as she sang; each instant 
 the stars becoming brighter, the wide moor assuming a 
 darker hue. 
 
 'Now, tell me, Stephen,' said the Religious, turning her 
 head and looking round with a smile, ' think you not it 
 would be a fairer lot to bide this night at some kind 
 monastery, than to be hastening now to that least pic- 
 turesque of all creations, a railway station ? ' 
 
 - 
 
c6 SYBIL; OR 
 
 
 'The railways will do as much for mankind as the 
 monasteries did,' said Stephen. 
 
 1 Had it not been for the railway, we should never have 
 made our visit to Marney Abbey,' said the elder of the 
 travellers. 
 
 'Nor seen its last abbot's tomb,' said the Religious. 
 ' When I marked your name upon the stone, my father, 
 woe is me, but I felt sad indeed, that it was reserved for 
 our blood to surrender to ruthless men that holy trust.' 
 
 1 He never surrendered,' said her father. ' He was 
 tortured and hanged.' 
 
 ' He is with the communion of saints,' said the Re- 
 ligious. 
 
 (/ ' I would I could see a communion of Men,' said Stephen, 
 / 6 and then there would be no more violence, for there would 
 K be no more plunder.' 
 
 ^ ' You must regain our lands for us, Stephen,' said the 
 
 Religious ; ' promise me, my father, that I shall raise a 
 holy house for pious women, if that ever hap.' 
 
 ' We will not forget our ancient faith,' said her father, 
 ' the only old thing that has not left us.' 
 
 'I cannot understand,' said Stephen, 'why you should 
 ever have lost sight of these papers, Walter.' 
 
 ' You see, friend, they were never in my possession ; 
 they were never mine when I saw them. They were my 
 father's ; and he was jealous of all interference. He was a 
 small yeoman, who had risen in the war time, well-to-do 
 in the world, but always hankering after the old tradition 
 that the lands were ours. This Hatton got hold of him ; 
 he did his work well, I have heard ; certain it is, my 
 father spared nothing. It is twenty-five years come Mar- 
 tinmas since he brought his writ of right ; and though 
 baffled, he was not beaten. But then he died ; his affairs 
 were in great confusion ; he had mortgaged his land for 
 his writ, and the war prices were gone. There were debts 
 that could not be paid. I had no capital for a farm. I 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 97 
 
 would not sink to be a labourer on the soil that had once 
 been our own. I had just married ; it was needful to make 
 a great exertion. I had heard much of the high wages of 
 this new industry ; I left the land.' 
 
 ' And the papers ? ' 
 
 ' I never thought of them, or thought of them with 
 disgust, as the cause of my ruin. Then when you came 
 the other day, and showed me in the book that the last 
 Abbot of Marney was a Walter Gerard, the old feeling 
 stirred again; and I could not help telling you that my 
 fathers fought at Azincourt, though I was only the over- 
 looker at Mr. Trafford's mill.' 
 
 ' A good old name of the good old faith,' said the Re- 
 ligious ; ' and a blessing be on it ! ' 
 
 ' We have cause to bless it,' said Gerard. ' I thought it 
 then something to serve a gentleman ; and as for my 
 daughter, she, by their goodness, was brought up in holy 
 walls, which have made her what she is.' 
 
 ' Nature made her what she is,' said Stephen, in a low 
 voice, and speaking not without emotion. Then he con- 
 tinued, in a louder and brisker tone, ' But this Hatton ; 
 you know nothing of his whereabouts ? ' 
 
 ' Never heard of him since. I had indeed, about a year 
 after my father's death, cause to enquire after him ; but he 
 had quitted Mowbray, and none could give me tidings of 
 him. He had lived, I believe, on our law-suit, and 
 vanished with our hopes.' 
 
 After this there was silence ; each was occupied with his 
 thoughts, while the influence of the soft night and starry 
 hour induced to contemplation. 
 
 *I hear the murmur of the train,' said the Religious. 
 
 ' 'Tis the up-train,' said her father. ' We have yet a 
 quarter of an hour; we shall be in good time.' 
 
 So saying, he guided the pony to where some lights 
 indicated the station of the railway, which here crossed 
 the moor. There was just time to return the pony to 
 
 11 
 
93 SYBIL; OR 
 
 the person at the station from whom it had been borrowed, 
 and obtain their tickets, when the bell of the down-train 
 sonnded, and in a few minntes the Religions and her 
 companions were on their way to Mowbray, whither a 
 course of two hours carried them. 
 
 In was two hours to midnight when they arrived at 
 Mowbray station, which was about a quarter of a mile 
 from the town. Labour had long ceased ; a beautiful heaven, 
 clear and serene, canopied the city of smoke and toil ; in 
 all directions rose the columns of the factories, dark and 
 denned in the purple sky ; a glittering star sometimes 
 hovering by the crest of their tall and tapering forms. 
 
 The travellers proceeded in the direction of a suburb, and 
 approached the high wall of an extensive garden. The 
 moon rose as they reached it, tipped the trees with light, 
 and revealed a lofty and centre portal, by the side of it a 
 wicket, at which Gerard rang. The wicket was quickly 
 opened. 
 
 1 1 fear, holy sister,' said the Religious, ' that I am even 
 later than I promised.' 
 
 1 Those that come in our Lady's name are ever welcome,' 
 was the reply. 
 
 ' Sister Marion,' said Gerard to the portress, ' we have 
 been to visit a holy place.' 
 
 ' All places are holy with holy thoughts, my brother.' 
 
 * Dear father, good night,' said the Religious ; ' the 
 blessings of all the saints be on thee ; and on thee, Stephen, 
 though thou dost not kneel to them !' 
 
 * Good night, mine own child,' said Gerard. 
 
 * I could believe in saints when I am with thee,' mur- 
 mured Stephen. ' Good night, Sybil.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 99 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Wuen Gerard and his Mend quitted the convent they pro- 
 ceeded at a brisk pace into the heart of the town. The 
 streets were nearly empty ; and, with the exception of some 
 occasional burst of brawl or merriment from a beer-shop, 
 all was still. The chief street of Mowbray, called Castle 
 Street, after the ruins of the old baronial stronghold in its 
 neighbourhood, was as significant of the present civilisation 
 of this community as the haughty keep had been of its 
 ancient dependence. The dimensions of Castle Street were 
 not unworthy of the metropolis : it traversed a great 
 portion of the town, and was proportionately wide; its 
 broad pavements and its blazing gas-lights indicated its 
 modern order and prosperity ;/while on each side of the 
 street rose huge warehouses, not as beautiful as the palaces 
 of Yenice, but in their way not less remarkable ; magnificent 
 shops ; and, here and there, though rarely, some ancient 
 factory built among the fields in the infancy of Mowbray 
 by some mill- owner not sufficiently prophetic of the future, 
 or sufficiently confident in the energy and enterprise of his 
 fellow-citizens, to foresee that the scene of his labours would 
 be the future eyesore of a flourishing posterity. / 
 
 Pursuing their course along Castle Street for about a 
 quarter of a mile, Gerard and Stephen turned down a street 
 which intersected it, and so on, through a variety of ways 
 and winding lanes, till they arrived at an open portion of 
 the town, a district where streets and squares, and even 
 rows, disappeared, and where the tall chimneys and bulky 
 barrack- looking buildings that rose in all directions, clus- 
 tering yet isolated, announced that they were in the prin- 
 cipal scene of the industry of Mowbray. Crossing this open 
 ground, they gained a suburb, but one of a very different 
 kind from that in which was situate the convent where they 
 had parted with Sybil. This one was populous, noisy, and 
 
 h 2 
 
IO o SYBIL ; OR 
 
 lighted. It was Saturday night ; the streets were thronged ; 
 an infinite population kept swarming to and from the close 
 courts and pestilential cul-de-sacs that continually commu- 
 nicated with the streets by narrow archways, like the en- 
 trance of hives, so low that you were obliged to stoop for 
 admission : while, ascending to these same streets from 
 their dank and dismal dwellings by narrow flights of steps, 
 the subterraneous nation of the cellars poured forth to enjoy 
 the coolness of the summer night, and market for the day 
 of rest. The bright and lively shops were crowded ; and 
 groups of purchasers were gathered round the stalls, that, 
 by the aid of glaring lamps aud flaunting lanterns, dis- 
 played their wares. 
 
 1 Come, come, it's a prime piece,' said a jolly-looking 
 woman, who was presiding at a stall which, though con- 
 siderably thinned by previous purchasers, still offered many 
 temptations to many who could not purchase. 
 
 1 And so it is, widow/ said a little pale man, wistfully. 
 
 ' Come, come, it's getting late, and your wife's ill; you're 
 a good soul, we'll say fi'pence a pound, and I'll throw you 
 the scrag end in for love/ 
 >* * No butcher's meat to-morrow for us, widow,' said the 
 man. 
 
 1 And why not, neighbour ? With your wages, you ought 
 to live like a prize-fighter, or the Mayor of Mowbray at least.' 
 
 ' Wages !' said the man : * I wish you may get 'em. Those 
 villains, Shuffle and Screw, have sarved me with another 
 bate ticket ; and a pretty figure too.' 
 
 1 Oh ! the carnal monsters !' exclaimed the widow. ' If 
 their day don't come, the bloody-minded knaves !' 
 
 ' And for small cops, too ! Small cops be hanged ! Am 
 I the man to send up a bad-bottomed cop, Widow Carey ?' 
 
 ' You sent up for snicks ! I have known you man and 
 boy, John Hill, these twenty summers, and never heard u 
 word against you till you got into Shuffle and Screw's mil] 
 Oh ! they are a bad yarn, John.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 101 
 
 1 The j do us all, widow. They pretends to give the same 
 wages as the rest, and works it out in fines. You can't 
 come, and you can't go, but there's a fine ; you're never 
 paid wages but there's a bate ticket. I've heard they keep 
 their whole establishment on factory fines.' 
 
 1 Soul alive, but those Shuffle and Screw are rotten, 
 snickey, bad yarns,' said Mistress Carey. ' Now, ma'am, if 
 you please ; fi'pence ha'penny ; no, ma'am, we've no weal 
 left. Weal, indeed ! you look wery like a soul as feeds on 
 weal,' continued Mrs. Carey in an undertone as her declin- 
 ing customer moved away. ' "Well, it gets late,' said the 
 widow, ' and if you like to take this scrag end home to your 
 wife, neighbour Hill, we can talk of the rest next Saturday. 
 And what's your will, sir?' said the widow, with a stern 
 expression, to a youth who now stopped at her stall. 
 
 He was about sixteen, with a lithe figure, and a handsome, 
 faded, impudent face. His long, loose, white trousers gave 
 him height ; he had no waistcoat, but a pink silk handker- 
 chief was twisted carelessly round his neck, and fastened 
 with a large pin, which, whatever were its materials, 
 had unquestionably a gorgeous appearance. A loose frock- 
 coat of a coarse white cloth, and fastened by one button 
 round his waist, completed his habiliments, with the addition 
 of the covering to his head, a high-crowned dark-brown hat, 
 which relieved his complexion, and heightened the effect of 
 his mischievous blue eye. 
 
 ' Well, you need not be so fierce, Mother Carey,' said the 
 youth, with an affected air of deprecation. 
 
 ' Don't mother me,' said the jolly widow, with a kindling 
 eye ; ' go to your own mother, who is dying in a back cellar 
 without a winder, while you've got lodgings in a two-pair.' 
 
 ' Dying ! she's only drunk,' said the youth. 
 
 * And if she is only drunk,' rejoined Mrs. Carey, in a pas- 
 sion, * what makes her drink but toil ? working from five 
 o'clock in the morning to seven o'clock at night, and for 
 the like of such as you.' 
 
io4 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 * Well, we had no thoughts ; but I said to Harriet, as it 
 is a fine night, let us walk about as long as we can, and 
 then to-morrow we will lie in bed till afternoon.' 
 
 ' That's all well eno' in winter- time, with plenty of baccy,' 
 said Mick, ' but at this season of the year I must have life. 
 The moment I came out I bathed in the river, and then 
 went home and dressed,' he added in a satisfied tone ; 'and 
 now I am going to the Temple. I'll tell you what, Julia 
 has been pricked to-day with a shuttle ; 'tis not much, but 
 she can't go out : I'll stand treat, and take you and your 
 friend to the Temple.' 
 
 ' Well, that's delight,' said Caroline. ' There's no one 
 does the handsome thing like you, Dandy Mick, and I 
 always say so. Oh ! I love the Temple ! 'Tis so genteel ! 
 I was speaking of it to Harriet last night ; she never was 
 there. I proposed to go with her, but two girls alone, 
 you understand me. One does not like to be seen in these 
 places, as if one kept no company.' 
 
 1 Very true,' said Mick ; ' and now we'll be off. Good- 
 night, widow.' 
 
 ' You'll remember us to-morrow evening,' said Caroline. 
 
 ' To-morrow evening ! The Temple ! ' murmured Mrs. 
 Carey to herself. ' I think the world is turned upside 
 downwards in these parts. A brat like Mick Radley to 
 live in a two-pair, with a wife and family, or as good, as he 
 says ; and this girl asks me to take a dish of tea with her 
 and keeps house ! Fathers and mothers goes for nothing,' 
 continued Mrs. Carey, as she took a very long pinch of 
 snuff, and deeply mused. ' 'Tis the children gets the 
 wages,' she added after a profound pause, ' and there it is.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 105 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In the meantime Gerard and Stephen stopped before a tall, 
 thin, stnccoed house, balustraded and friezed, very mnch 
 lighted both within and without, and from the sonnds that 
 issued from it, and the persons who retired and entered, 
 evidently a locality of great resort and bustle. A sign, 
 bearing the title of the Cat and Fiddle, indicated that it 
 was a place of public entertainment, and kept by one who 
 owned the legal name of John Trottman, though that was 
 but a vulgar appellation, lost in his well-earned and far- 
 famed title of Chaffing Jack. 
 
 The companions entered the spacious premises ; and, 
 making their way to the crowded bar, Stephen, with a 
 glance serious but which indicated intimacy, caught the 
 eye of a comely lady, who presided over the mysteries, and 
 said in a low voice, * Is he here ? ' 
 
 ' In the Temple, Mr. Morley, asking for you and your 
 friend more than once. I think you had better go up. I 
 know he wishes to see you.' 
 
 Stephen whispered to Gerard, and after a moment's pause 
 he asked the fair president for a couple of tickets, for each 
 of which he paid threepence ; a sum, however, according 
 to the printed declaration of the voucher, convertible into 
 potential liquid refreshments, no great compensation to 
 a very strict member of the Temperance Society of Mow- 
 bray. 
 
 A handsome staircase with bright brass banisters led 
 them to an ample landing-place, on which opened a door, 
 now closed, ancj. by which sat a boy who collected the 
 tickets of those who would enter it. The portal was of 
 considerable dimensions and of architectural pretension ; 
 it was painted of a bright green colour, the panels gilt. 
 Within the pediment, described in letters of flaming gas 
 you read, ' The Temple of the Muses.' 
 
io4 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 1 Well, we liad no thoughts ; but I said to Harriet, as it 
 is a fine night, let us walk about as long as we can, and 
 then to-morrow we will lie in bed till afternoon.' 
 
 ' That's all well eno' in winter-time, with plenty of baccy,' 
 said Mick, ' but at this season of the year I must have life. 
 The moment I came out I bathed in the river, and then 
 went home and dressed,' he added in a satisfied tone ; ' and 
 now I am going to the Temple. I'll tell you what, Julia 
 has been pricked to-day with a shuttle ; 'tis not much, but 
 she can't go out : I'll stand treat, and take you and your 
 friend to the Temple.' 
 
 1 Well, that's delight,' said Caroline. * There's no one 
 does the handsome thing like you, Dandy Mick, and I 
 always say so. Oh ! I love the Temple ! 'Tis so genteel ! 
 I was speaking of it to Harriet last night ; she never was 
 there. I proposed to go with her, but two girls alone, 
 you understand me. One does not like to be seen in these 
 places, as if one kept no company.' 
 
 1 Very true,' said Mick ; ' and now we'll be off. Good- 
 night, widow.' 
 
 ' You'll remember us to-morrow evening,' said Caroline. 
 
 ' To-morrow evening ! The Temple ! ' murmured Mrs. 
 Carey to herself. * I think the world is turned upside 
 downwards in these parts. A brat like Mick Radley to 
 live in a two-pair, with a wife and family, or as good, as he 
 says ; and this girl asks me to take a dish of tea with her 
 and keeps house ! Fathers and mothers goes for nothing,' 
 continued Mrs. Carey, as she took a very long pinch of 
 snuff, and deeply mused. ' 'Tis the children gets the 
 wages,' she added after a profound pause, ' and there it is.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 105 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In the meantime Gerard and Stephen stopped before a tall, 
 thin, stuccoed house, balustraded and friezed, very much 
 lighted both within and without, and from the sounds that 
 issued from it, and the persons who retired and entered, 
 evidently a locality of great resort and bustle. A sign, 
 bearing the title of the Cat and Fiddle, indicated that it 
 was a place of public entertainment, and kept by one who 
 owned the legal name of John Trottman, though that was 
 but a vulgar appellation, lost in his well-earned and far- 
 famed title of Chaffing Jack. 
 
 The companions entered the spacious premises ; and, 
 making their way to the crowded bar, Stephen, with a 
 glance serious but which indicated intimacy, caught the 
 eye of a comely lady, who presided over the mysteries, and 
 said in a low voice, * Is he here ? ' 
 
 ' In the Temple, Mr. Morley, asking for you and your 
 friend more than once. I think you had better go up. I 
 know he wishes to see you.' 
 
 Stephen whispered to Gerard, and after a moment's pause 
 he asked the fair president for a couple of tickets, for each 
 of which he paid threepence ; a sum, however, according 
 to the printed declaration of the voucher, convertible into 
 potential liquid refreshments, no great compensation to 
 a very strict member of the Temperance Society of Mow- 
 bray. 
 
 A handsome staircase with bright brass banisters led 
 them to an ample landing-place, on which opened a door, 
 now closed, an(J by which sat a boy who collected the 
 tickets of those who would enter it. The portal was of 
 considerable dimensions and of architectural pretension ; 
 it was painted of a bright green colour, the panels gilt. 
 Within the pediment, described in letters of flaming gas 
 you read, The Temple of the Muses.' 
 
io6 SYBIL; OR 
 
 k 
 
 Gerard and Morley entered an apartment very long and 
 sufficiently lofty, though rather narrow for such propor- 
 tions. The ceiling was even richly decorated ; the walls 
 were painted, and by a brush of no inconsiderable power. 
 Each panel represented some well-known scene from Shak- 
 spcare, Byron, or Scott ; King Richard, Mazeppa, the 
 Lady of the Lake, were easily recognised : in one panel, 
 Hubert menaced Arthur ; here Haidee rescued Juan ; and 
 there Jeanie Deans curtsied before the Queen. The room 
 was very full ; some three or four hundred persons were 
 seated in different groups at different tables, eating, drink- 
 ing, talking, laughing, and even smoking ; for, notwith- 
 standing the pictures and the gilding, it was found impos- 
 sible to forbid, though there were efforts to discourage, 
 this practice, in the Temple of the Muses. Nothing, 
 however, could be more decorous than the general conduct 
 of the company, though they consisted principally of factory 
 people. The waiters flew about with as much agility as if 
 they were serving nobles. In general the noise was great, 
 though not disagreeable ; sometimes a bell rang, and there 
 was comparative silence, while a curtain drew up at the 
 farther end of the room, opposite to the entrance, where 
 there was a theatre, the stage raised at a due elevation, and 
 adorned with side scenes, from which issued a lady in a 
 fancy dress, who sang a favourite ballad ; or a gentleman 
 elaborately habited in a farmer's costume of the old comedy, 
 a bob-wig, silver buttons and buckles, and blue stockings, 
 and who favoured the company with that melancholy effu- 
 sion called a comic song. Some nights there was music 
 on the stage ; a young lady in a white robe with a golden 
 harp, and attended by a gentleman in black mustachios. 
 This was when the principal harpiste of the King of Saxony 
 and his first fiddler happened to be passing through Mow- 
 bray, merely by accident, or on a tour of pleasure and 
 instruction, to witness the famous scenes of British indus- 
 try. Otherwise the audience of the Cat and Fiddle, we 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 107 
 
 mean the Tomple of the Muses, were fain to be content 
 with four Bohemian brothers, or an equal number of Swiss 
 sisters. The most popular amusements, however, were 
 the ' Thespian recitations,' by amateurs, or novices who 
 wished to become professional. They tried their metal on 
 an audience which could be critical. 
 
 A sharp waiter, with a keen eye on the entering guests, 
 immediately saluted Gerard and his friend, with profuse 
 offers of hospitality, insisting that they wanted much re- 
 freshment ; that they were both hungry and thirsty ; 
 that, if not hungry, they should order something to drink 
 that would give them an appetite ; if not inclined to 
 quaff, something to eat that would make them athirst. 
 In the midst of these embarrassing attentions, he was 
 pushed aside by his master with, ' There, go ; hands wanted 
 at the upper end ; two American gentlemen from Lowell 
 singing out for sherry cobler ; don't know what it is ; 
 give them our bar-mixture ; if they complain, say it's the 
 Mowbray slap-bang, and no mistake. Must have a name, 
 Mr. Morley ; name 's everything; made the fortune of the 
 Temple ; if I had called it the Saloon, it never would have 
 filled, and perhaps the magistrates never have granted a 
 licence.' 
 
 The speaker was a portly man, who had passed the 
 maturity of manhood, but active as Harlequin. He had a 
 well-favoured countenance ; fair, good-humoured, but sly. 
 He was dressed like the head butler of the London Tavern, 
 and was particular as to his white waistcoats and black silk 
 stockings, punctilious as to his knee-buckles, proud of 
 his diamond pin ; that is to say, when he officiated at the 
 Temple. 
 
 1 Your mistress told us we should find you here,' said 
 Stephen, ' and that you wished to see us.' 
 
 ' Plenty to tell you,' said their host, putting his finger to 
 his nose. ' If information is wanted in this part of the 
 world, I flatter myself Come, Master Gerard, here's 
 
10S SYBIL; OR 
 
 a table ; what shall I call for ? glass of the Mowbray slap- 
 bang ? No better ; the receipt has been in our family these 
 fifty years. Mr. Morley I know won't join ns. Did you. 
 say a cup of tea, Mr. Morley ? Water, only water; well, 
 that's strange. Boy, alive there ! do you hear me call ? 
 Water wanted, glass of water for the Secretary of the 
 Mowbray Temperance and Teetotal. Sing it out. I like 
 titled company. Brush ! ' 
 
 ' And so you can give us some information about this * 
 
 ' Be back directly,' exclaimed their host, darting off with 
 a swift precision that carried him through a labyrinth of 
 tables without the slightest inconvenience to their occu- 
 piers. 'Beg pardon, Mr. Morley,' he said, sliding again 
 into his chair ; ' but saw one of the American gentlemen 
 brandishing his bowie-knife against one of my waiters ; 
 called him Colonel ; quieted him directly ; a man of his 
 rank brawling with a help ; oh ! no; not to be thought of; 
 no squabbling here ; licence in danger.' 
 
 'You were saying ' resumed Morley. 
 
 4 Ah ! yes, about that man Hatton ; remember him per- 
 fectly well ; a matter of twenty, or it may be nineteen years 
 since he bolted. Queer fellow ; lived upon nothing ; only 
 drank water; no temperance and teetotal then, so no ex- 
 cuse. Beg pardon, Mr. Morley; no offence, I hope; can't 
 bear whims ; but respectable societies, if they don't drink, 
 they make speeches, hire your rooms, leads to business.' 
 
 * And this Hatton ? ' said Gerard. 
 
 * Ah ! a queer fellow ; lent him a one-pound note ; never 
 saw it again ; always remember it ; last one-pound note I 
 had. He offered me an old book instead ; not in my way ; 
 took a china jar for my wife. He kept a curiosity- shop ; 
 always prowling about the country, picking up old books 
 and hunting after old monuments ; called himself an anti- 
 quarian ; queer fellow, that Hatton.' 
 
 ' And you have heard of him since ? ' said Gerard rather 
 impatiently. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 109 
 
 I Not a word,' said their host ; ' never knew any one who 
 had.' 
 
 I I thought you had something to tell us about him,' said 
 Stephen. 
 
 ' So I have : I can put you in the way of getting hold of 
 him and anything else. I haven't lived in Mowbray man 
 and boy for fifty years ; seen it a village, and now a great 
 town full of first-rate institutions and establishments like 
 this,' added their host, surveying the Temple with a glance 
 of admiring complacency ; ' I say I haven't lived here all 
 this time and talked to the people for nothing.' 
 
 ' Well, we are all attention,' said Gerard, with a smile. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said their host as a bell sounded, and he jumped 
 up. * Now ladies, now gentlemen, if you please ; silence if 
 you please, for a song from a Polish lady. The Signora 
 sings English like a new-born "babe ; ' and the curtain drew 
 up amid the hushed voices of the company and the re- 
 strained clatter of their knives and forks and glasses. 
 
 The Polish lady sang ' Cherry Ripe ' to the infinite satis- 
 faction of her audience. Young Mowbray indeed, in the 
 shape of Dandy Mick, and some of his followers and 
 admirers, insisted on an encore. The lady, as she retired, 
 curtseyed like a prima donna ; but the host continued on 
 his legs for some time, throwing open his coat and bowing 
 to his guests, who expressed by their applause how much 
 they approved his enterprise. At length he resumed his 
 seat. ' It's almost too much,' he exclaimed ; ' the enthu- 
 siasm of these people. I believe they look upon me as a 
 father.' 
 
 ' And you think you have some clue to this Hatton ? ' 
 resumed Stephen. 
 
 ' They say he has no relations,' said their host. 
 
 ' I have heard as much.' 
 
 ' Another glass of the bar-mixture, Master Gerard. What 
 did we call it ? Oh ! the bricks and beans ; the Mowbray 
 bricks and beans ; known by that name in the time of my 
 
no SYBIL: CR 
 
 grandfather. No more ! No use asking Mr. Morley, I 
 know. Water ! well, I must say ; and yet, in an official 
 capacity, drinking water is not so unnatural.' 
 
 'And Hatton,' said Gerard; 'they say he has no 
 relations.' 
 
 ' They do, and they say wrong. He has a relation ; he 
 has a brother ; and I can put you in the way of finding him.' 
 
 ' Well, that looks like business,' said Gerard ; ' and 
 where may he be ?' 
 
 ' Not here,' said their host ; ' he never put his foot in the 
 Temple, to my knowledge ; and lives in a place where they 
 have as much idea of popular institutions as any Turks or 
 heathen you ever heard of.' 
 
 ' And where might we find him ?' said Stephen. 
 
 ' What's that ?' said their host, jumping up and looking 
 around him. 'Here, boys, brush about. The American 
 gentleman is a- whittling his name on that new mahogany 
 table. Take him the printed list of rules, stuck up in a 
 public place, under a great coat, and fine him five shillings 
 for damaging the furniture. If he resists, he has paid for 
 his liquor, call in the police ; X Z, No. 5, is in the bar, 
 taking tea with your mistress. Now brush.' 
 
 ' And this place is ' 
 
 ' In the land of mines and minerals,' said their host, 
 
 ' about ten miles from . He works in metals on hie 
 
 own account. You have heard of a place called Hell-house 
 Yard ? well, he lives there ; and his name is Simon.' 
 
 ' And does he keep up any communication with his 
 brother, think you ?' said Gerard. 
 
 ' Nay, 1 know no more, at least at present,' said their host. 
 'The secretary asked me about a person absent without 
 leave for twenty years, and who was said to have no rela- 
 tions. I found you one, and a very near one. You are 
 at the station, and you have got your ticket. The American 
 gentleman's wiolent. Here's the police. I must take a high 
 tone.' And with these words Chaffing Jack quitted them. 
 
THE TWO NA TIONS. i j r 
 
 In the meantime we must not forget Dandy Mick and his 
 two young friends, whom he had so generously offered to 
 treat to the Temple. 
 
 * Well, what do you think of it ?' asked Caroline of 
 Harriet, in a whisper, as they entered the splendid apart- 
 ment. 
 
 ' It's just what I thought the Queen lived in,' said Harriet ; 
 ' but, indeed, I'm all of a flutter.' 
 
 ' Well, don't look as if you were,' said her friend. 
 
 * Come along, gals,' said Mick ; ' who's afraid ? Here, 
 we'll sit down at this table. Now what shall we have ? 
 Here, waiter ; I say, waiter !' 
 
 1 Yes, sir ; yes, sir.' 
 
 1 Well, why don't you come when I call ?' said Mick, 
 with a consequential air. ' I have been hallooing these ten 
 minutes. Couple of glasses of bar-mixture for these ladies, 
 and a go of gin for myself. And I say, waiter, stop, stop, 
 don't be in such a deuced hurry ; do you think folks can 
 drink without eating ? sausanges for three ; and, damme, 
 take care they are not burnt.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; directly, directly.' 
 
 1 That's the way to talk to these fellows,' said Mick, with 
 a self-satisfied air, and perfectly repaid by the admiring 
 gaze of his companions. 
 
 ' It's pretty, Miss Harriet,' said Mick., looking up at the 
 ceiling with a careless, nil admirari glance. 
 Oh ! it is beautiful,' said Harriet. 
 
 ' You never were here before ; it's the only place. That's 
 the Lady of the Lake,' he added, pointing to a picture ; ' I've 
 seen her at the Circus, with real water.' 
 
 The hissing sausages, crowning a pile of mashed potatoes, 
 were placed before them ; the delicate rummers of the 
 Mowbray slap-bang for the girls ; the more masculine 
 pewter measure for their friend. 
 
 'Are the plates very hot?' said Mick. 
 
 1 Very, sir.' 
 
U2 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Hot plates half the battle,' said Mick. 
 
 ' Now, Caroline ; here, Miss Harriet ; don't take away 
 your plate, wait for the mash ; they mash their taters here 
 veiy elegant.' 
 
 It was a happy and a merry party. Mick delighted to 
 help his guests, and to drink their healths. 
 
 ' Well,' said he, when the waiter had cleared away their 
 plates, and left them to their less substantial luxuries 
 ' Well,' said Mick, sipping a renewed glass of gin-twist, and 
 leaning back in his chair, say what they please, there's 
 nothing like life.' 
 
 'At the Traffords',' said Caroline, 'the greatest fun we 
 ever had was a singing- class.' 
 
 ' I pity them poor devils in the country,' said Mick ; 
 'we got some of them at Collinson's, come from Suffolk, 
 they say ; what they call hagricultural labourers ; a very 
 queer lot indeed.' 
 . 'Ah! them's the himmigrants,' said Caroline ; 'they're 
 
 sold out of slavery, and sent down by Pickford's van into 
 the labour market to bring down our wages.' 
 
 'We'll teach them a trick or two before they do that,' 
 urged Mick. ' Where are you, Miss Harriet ?' 
 
 ' I am at Wiggins and Webster's, sir.' 
 
 ' Where they clean machinery during meal-time ; that 
 won't do,' said Mick* ' I see one of your partners coming 
 in,' said Mick, making many signals to a person who soon 
 joined them. ' Well, Devilsdust, how are you ?' 
 
 This was the familiar appellation of a young gentleman 
 who really had no other, baptismal or patrimonial. About 
 /a fortnight after his mother had introduced him into the 
 world, she returned to her factory, and put her infant out 
 to nurse ; that is to say, paid threepence a week to an old 
 woman, who takes charge of these new-born babes for the 
 day, and gives them back at night to their mothers as they 
 hurriedly return from the scene of their labour to the 
 dungeon or the den, which is still by courtesy called 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 113 
 
 e home.' The expense is not great : laudanum and treacle, 
 administered in the shape of some popular elixir, affords 
 these innocents a brief taste of the sweets of existence, and, 
 keeping them quiet,prepares them for the silence of their 
 impending grave, llnfanticide is practised as extensively 
 and as legally in England as it is on the banks of the 
 Ganges; a circumstance which apparently has not yet u 
 engaged the attention of the Society for the Propagation of/ 
 the Gospel in Foreign Partsj But the vital principle is an 
 impulse from an immortal Artist, and sometimes baffles, 
 even in its tenderest phasis, the machinations of society for 
 its extinction. There are infants that will defy even starva- 
 tion and poison, unnatural mothers and demon nurses. 
 Such was the nameless one of whom we speak. We cannot 
 say he thrived ; but he would not die. So, at two years of 
 age, his mother being lost sight of, and the weekly nayment 
 having ceased, he was sent out in the street to ' play,' in order 
 to be run over. Even this expedient failed. The youngest 
 and the feeblest of the band of victims, Juggernaut spared 
 him to Moloch. All his companions were disposed of. 
 Three months' ' play ' in the streets got rid of this tender 
 company, shoeless, half-naked, and uncombed, whose age 
 varied from two to five years. Some were crushed, some 
 were lost, some caught cold and fevers, crept back to 
 their garret or their cellars, were dosed with Godfrey's 
 cordial, and died in peace. The nameless one would not 
 disappear. He always got out of the way of the carts and 
 horses, and never lost his own. They gave him no food : 
 he foraged for himself, and shared with the dogs the garbage 
 of the streets. But still he lived ; stunted and pale, he 
 defied even the fatal fever which was the only habitant of 
 his cellar that never quitted it. And slumbering at night 
 on a bed of mouldering straw, his only protection against 
 the plashy surface of his den, with a dung-heap at his head^ 
 and a cesspool at his feet, he still clung to the only roof 
 which shielded him from the tempest. 
 
 1 
 
 * 
 
ii4 SYBIL; OR 
 
 At length, when the nameless one had completed his fifth 
 year, the pest which never quitted the nest of cellars of 
 which he was a citizen, raged in the quarter with such 
 intensity, that the extinction of its swarming population 
 was menaced. The haunt of this child was peculiarly 
 visited. All the children gradually sickened except him- 
 self ; and one night when he returned home he found the 
 old woman herself dead, and surrounded only by corpses. 
 The child before this had slept on the same bed of straw 
 with a corpse, but then there were also breathing beings 
 for his companions. A night passed only with corpses 
 seemed to him in itself a kind of death. He stole out of the 
 cellar, quitted the quarter of pestilence, and after much 
 wandering lay down near the door of a factory. Fortune had 
 guided him. Soon after break of day, he was awakened by 
 the sound of the factory bell, and found assembled a crowd 
 of men, women, and children. The door opened, they 
 entered, the child accompanied them. The roll was called ; 
 his unauthorised appearance noticed ; he was questioned ; 
 his acuteness excited attention. A child was wanting in 
 the Wadding Hole, a place for the manufacture of waste 
 and damaged cotton, the refuse of the mills, which is here 
 worked up into counterpanes and coverlets. The nameless 
 one was preferred to the vacant post, received even a 
 salary, more than that, a name ; for as he had none, lie was 
 christened on the spot Devilsdust. 
 
 Devilsdust had entered life so early, that at seventeen he 
 combined the experience of manhood with the divine energy 
 of youth. He was a first-rate workman, and received high 
 wages ; he had availed himself of the advantages of the 
 factory school ; he soon learnt to read and write with 
 facility, and at the moment of our history was the leading 
 spirit of the Shoddy-court Literary and Scientific Institute. 
 His great friend, his only intimate, was Dandy Mick. The 
 apparent contrariety of their qualities and structure perhaps 
 led to this. It is indeed the most assured basis of friendship. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 115 
 
 Devilsdust was dark and melancholy, ambitious and dis- 
 contented, full of thought, and with powers of patience 
 and perseverance that alone amounted to genius. Mick 
 was as brilliant as his complexion ; gay, irritable, evanescent, 
 and unstable. Mick enjoyed life ; his friend only endured 
 it ; yet Mick was always complaining of the lowness of his 
 wages, and the greatness of his toil ; while Devilsdust 
 never murmured, but read and pondered on the rights of 
 labour, and sighed to vindicate his order. 
 
 ' I have some thoughts of joining the Total Abstinence,' 
 said Devilsdust ; ' ever since I read Stephen Morley's 
 address, it has been in my mind. We shall never get our 
 rights till we leave off consuming exciseable articles ; and 
 the best thing to begin with is liquors.' 
 
 ' Well, I could do without liquors myself,' said Caroline. 
 * If I was a lady, I would never drink anything except fresh 
 milk from the cow.' 
 
 * Tea for my money,' said Harriet ; * I must say there's 
 nothing I grudge for good tea. Now I keep house, I mean 
 always to drink the best.' 
 
 1 Well, you have not yet taken the pledge, Dusty,' said 
 Mick ; ' and so suppose we order a go of gin, and talk this 
 matter of temperance over.' 
 
 Devilsdust was manageable in little things, especially by 
 Mick : he acceded, and seated himself at their table. 
 
 ' I suppose you have heard this last dodge of Shuffle and 
 Screw, Dusty ?' said Mick. 
 
 1 What's that ?' 
 
 ' Every man had his key given him this evening ; half-a- 
 crown a week round deducted from wages for rent. Jim 
 Plastow told them he lodged with his father, and didn't 
 want a house ; upon which they said he must let it.' 
 
 * Their day will come,' said Devilsdust, thoughtfully. * I 
 really think that those Shuffles and Screws are worse eA T en 
 than Truck and Trett. You knew where you were with 
 fcnose fellows ; it was five-and-twenty per cent, off wages, 
 
 i2 
 
n6 SYBIL; OR 
 
 and very bad stuff for your money. But as for Shuffle and 
 Screw, what with their fines and their keys, a man never 
 ' knows what he has to spend. Come,' he added, filling his 
 glass, ' let's have a toast : Confusion to Capital.' 
 
 * That's your sort,' said Mick. ' Come, Caroline ; drink 
 to your partner's toast, Miss Harriet. Money 's the root of 
 
 *> all evil, which nobody can deny. We'll have the rights of 
 labour yet ; the ten-hour bill, no fines, and no individuals 
 admitted to any work who have not completed their sixteenth 
 year.' 
 
 ' No, fifteen,' said Caroline, eagerly. 
 
 ' The people w T on't bear their grievances much longer,' 
 said Devilsdust. 
 
 ' I think one of the greatest grievances the people have,' 
 said Caroline, ' is the beaks serving notice on Chaffing Jack 
 to shut up the Temple on Sunday nights.' 
 
 * It is infamous,' said Mick ; ' ayn't we to have no recrea- 
 tion ? One might as well live in Suffolk, where the immi- 
 grants come from, and where they are obliged to burn ricks 
 to pass the time.' 
 
 1 As for the rights of labour,' said Harriet, ' the people 
 goes for nothing with this machinery.' 
 
 I And you have opened your mouth to say a very sensible 
 thing, Miss Harriet,' said Mick ; ' but if I were Lord 
 Paramount for eight and forty hours, I'd soon settle that 
 question. Wouldn't I fire a broadside into their " double 
 deckers " ? The battle of Navarino at Mowbray fair, with 
 fourteen squibs from the admiral's ship going off at the 
 same time, should be nothing to it.' 
 
 ' Labour may be weak, but capital is weaker,' said 
 Devilsdust. * Their capital is all paper.' 
 
 I I tell you what,' said Mick, with a knowing look, and 
 ' v f in a lowered tone, 'the only thing, my hearties, that can 
 
 save this here nation is a good strike.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 117 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 i Your lordship's dinner is served,' annonnced the groqm 
 of the chambers to Lord de Mowbray; and the noble lord 
 led ont Lady Marney. The rest followed. Egremont 
 found himself seated next to Lady Maud Fitz-Warene, the 
 younger daughter of the earl. Nearly opposite to him was 
 Lady Joan. 
 
 The ladies Fitz-Warene were sandy girls, somewhat tall, 
 with rather good figures, and a grand air ; the eldest ugly, 
 the second rather pretty ; and yet both very much alike. 
 They had both great conversational powers, though in dif- 
 ferent ways. Lady Joan was doctrinal ; Lady Maud inquisi- 
 tive: the first often imparted information which you did not 
 previously possess ; the other suggested ideas which were 
 often before in your own mind, but lay tranquil and unob- 
 served till called into life and notice by her fanciful and 
 vivacious tongue. Both of them were endowed with a 
 remarkable self-possession ; but Lady Joan wanted softness, 
 and Lady Maud repose. 
 
 This was the result of the rapid observation of Egremont, 
 who was, however, experienced in the world and quick in 
 his detection of manner and of character. 
 
 The dinner was stately, as becomes the high nobility. 
 There were many guests, yet the table seemed only a gor- 
 geous spot in the capacious chamber. The side tables were 
 laden with silver vases and golden shields arranged on 
 shelves of crimson velvet. The walls were covered with 
 Fitz-Warenes, De Mowbrays, and De Veres. The attend- 
 ants glided about without noise, and with the precision of 
 military discipline. They watched your wants, they anti- 
 cipated your wishes, and they supplied all you desired with 
 a lofty air of pompous devotion. 
 
 1 You came by the railroad ? ' inquired Lord de Mowbray 
 mournfully, of Lady Marney. 
 
 W 
 
nS SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' From Marham ; about ton miles from us,' replied her 
 ladyship. 
 
 * A great revolution ! ' 
 
 * Isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' I fear it has a dangerous tendency to equality,' said 
 his lordship, shaking his head : ' I suppose Lord Marney 
 gives them all the opposition in his power.' 
 
 ' There is nobody so violent against railroads as George,' 
 said Lady Marney. ' I cannot tell you what he does not do ! 
 He organised the whole of our division against the Marham 
 line ! ' 
 
 1 1 rather counted on him,' said Lord de Mowbray, ' to 
 assist me in resisting this joint branch here ; but I was 
 surprised to learn he had consented.' 
 
 ' Not until the compensation was settled,' innocently re- 
 marked Lady Marney ; ' George never opposes them after 
 that. He gave up all opposition to the Marham line when 
 they agreed to his terms.' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Lord de Mowbray, ' I think if Lord 
 Marney would take a different view of the case, and look to 
 the moral consequences, he would hesitate. Equality, Lady 
 Marney, equality is not our metier. If we nobles do not 
 make a stand against the levelling spirit of the age, I am 
 /'at a loss to know who will fight the battle. You may 
 depend upon it that these railroads are very dangerous 
 things.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt of it. I suppose you have heard of 
 Lady Vanilla's trip from Birmingham ? Have you not, 
 indeed ? She came up with Lady Laura, and two of the 
 most gentlemanlike men sitting opposite her ; never met, 
 she says, two more intelligent men. She begged one of 
 them at Wolverhampton to change seats with her, and he 
 was most politely willing to comply with her wishes, only 
 it was necessary that his companion should move at the 
 same time, for they were chained together ! Two gentlo- 
 men, sent to town for picking a pocket at Shrewsbury races.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 119 
 
 c A countess and a felon ! So much for public convey- 
 ances,' said Lord Mowbray. ' But Lady Vanilla is one of 
 those who will talk with everybody.' 
 
 'She is very amusing, though,' said Lady Marney. 
 
 ' I dare say she is,' said Lord de Mowbray ; ' but believe 
 me, my dear Lady Marney, in these times especially, a 
 countess has something else to do than be amusing.' 
 
 'You think, as property has its duties as well as its 
 rights, rank has its bores as well as its pleasures.' 
 
 Lord Mowbray mused. 
 
 ' How do you do, Mr. Jermyn ? ' said a lively little lady 
 with sparkling beady black eyes, and a yellow complexion, 
 though with good features : ' when did you arrive in the 
 north ? I have been fighting your battles finely since I saw 
 you,' she added, shaking her head rather with an expression 
 of admonition than of sympathy. 
 
 ' You are always fighting one's battles, Lady Firebrace ; 
 it is very kind of you. If it were not for you, we should 
 none of us know how much we are all abused,' replied Mr. 
 Jermyn, a young M.P. 
 
 1 They say you gave the most radical pledges,' said Lady 
 Firebrace eagerly, and not without malice. ' I heard Lord 
 Muddlebrains say that if he had had the least idea of your 
 principles, you would not have had his influence.' 
 
 ' Muddlebrains can't command a single vote,' said Mr. 
 Jermyn. ' He is a political humbug, the greatest of all 
 humbugs ; a man who swaggers about London clubs and 
 consults solemnly about his influence, and in the country 
 is a nonentity.' 
 
 * Well, that can't be said of Lord Clarinel,' rejoined Lady 
 Firebrace. 
 
 1 And have you been defending me against Lord Clarinel's 
 attacks ? ' inquired Mr. Jermyn. 
 
 1 No ; but I am going to Wemsbury, and then I have no 
 doubt I shall have the opportunity.' 
 
 'I am going to Wemsbury - r self,' said Mr. Jermyn. 
 
120 SYBIL; 01 
 
 1 And what does Lord Clarinel think of your pledge 
 about tlie pension list ? ' said Lady Firebrace, daunted but 
 malignant. 
 
 ' He never told me,' said Mr. Jermyn. 
 
 ' I believe you did not pledge yourself to the ballot ? ' 
 inquired Lady Firebrace with an affected air of inquisitive- 
 ness. 
 
 ' It is a subject that requires some reflection,' said Mr. 
 Jermyn. ' I must consult some profound politician like 
 Lady Firebrace. By-the-bye, you told my mother that the 
 conservatives would have a majority of fifteen. Do you 
 think they will have so much ? ' said Mr. Jermyn with an 
 innocent air, it now being notorious that the whig adminis- 
 tration had a majority of double that amount. 
 
 ' I said Mr. Tadpole gave us a majority of fifteen,' said 
 Lady Firebrace. * I knew he was in error ; because I had 
 happened to see Lord Melbourne's own list, made up to the 
 last hour ; and which gave the government a majority of 
 sixty. It was only shown to three members of the cabinet,' 
 she added, in a tone of triumphant mystery. 
 
 Lady Firebrace, a great stateswoman among the tories, 
 was proud of an admirer who was a member of the whig 
 cabinet. She was rather an agreeable guest in a country 
 house, with her extensive correspondence, and her bulletins 
 from both sides. Tadpole, flattered by her notice, and 
 charmed with female society that talked his own slang, and 
 entered with affected enthusiasm into all his petty plots 
 and barren machinations, was vigilant in his communica- 
 tions ; while her whig cavalier, an easy individual, who 
 always made love by talking or writing politics, abandoned 
 himself without reserve, and instructed Lady Firebrace 
 regularly after every council. Taper looked grave at this 
 connection between Tadpole and Lady Firebrace ; and 
 whenever an election was lost, or a division stuck in the 
 mud, he gave the cue with a nod and monosyllable, and 
 the conservative pack that infests clnbs, chattering on 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 subjects of which it is impossible they can know anything, 
 instantly began barking and yelping, denouncing traitors, 
 and wondering how the leaders could be so led by the nose 
 and not see that which was flagrant to the whole world. 
 If, on the other hand, the advantage seemed to go with the 
 Carlton Club, or the opposition benches, then it w r as the 
 whig and liberal hounds who howled and moaned, explain- 
 ing everything by the indiscretion, infatuation, treason of 
 Lord Viscount Masque, and appealing to the initiated 
 world of idiots around them, whether any party could ever 
 succeed, hampered by such men, and influenced by such 
 means. 
 
 The best of the joke was, that all this time Lord Masque 
 and Tadpole were two old foxes, neither of whom conveyed 
 to Lady Firebrace a single circumstance but with the wish, 
 intention, and malice aforethought, that it should be com- 
 municated to his rival. 
 
 1 1 must get you to interest Lord de Mowbray in our 
 cause,' said Sir Vavasour Firebrace, in an insinuating voice, 
 to his neighbour, Lady Joan ; ' I have sent him a large 
 packet of documents. You know, he is one of us ; still one 
 of us. Once a baronet, always a baronet. The dignity 
 merges, but does not cease ; and happy as I am to see one 
 covered with high honours who is in every way so worthy of 
 them, still I confess to you it is not so much as Earl de 
 Mowbray that your worthy father interests me, as in his 
 undoubted character and capacity of Sir Altamont Fitz- 
 Warene, baronet.' 
 
 ' You have the data on which you move, I suppose, well 
 digested,' said Lady Joan, attentive, but not interested. 
 
 ' The case is clear ; so far as equity is concerned, irresisti- 
 ble ; indeed the late king pledged himself to a certain point. 
 But if you would do me the favour of reading our memorial.' 
 The proposition is not one adapted to our present 
 civilisation,' said Lady Joan. 'A baronetcy has become 
 the distinction of the middle class ; a physician, our physician 
 
122 SYBIL; OR 
 
 for example, is a baronet ; and I dare say some of onr 
 tradesmen ; brewers, or people of tliat class. An attempt 
 to elevate them into an order of nobility, however inferior, 
 wonld partake, in some degree, of the ridiculons.' 
 
 1 And has the duke escaped his gout this year ? ' inquired 
 Lord Marney of Lady de Mowbray. 
 
 'A slight touch; I never knew my father so well. I 
 expect you will meet him here. We look for him daily.' 
 
 ' I shall be delighted ; I hope he will come to Marney in 
 October. I keep the blue ribbon cover for him.' 
 
 1 What you suggest is very just,' said Egremont to Lady 
 Maud. ' If we only, in our own spheres, made the exertion, 
 the general effect would be great. Marney Abbey, for in- 
 stance, I believe one of the finest of our monastic remains, 
 that indeed is not disputed, diminished yearly to repair 
 barns ; the cattle browsing in the nave ; all this might be 
 prevented. If my brother would not consent to preserve or 
 to restore, still any member of the family, even I, without 
 expense, only with a little zeal as you say, might prevent 
 mischief, might stop at least demolition.' 
 
 * If this movement in the church had only revived a taste 
 for Christian architecture,' said Lady Maud, ' it would not 
 have been barren, and it has done so much more ! But I 
 am surprised that old families can be so dead to our national 
 art ; so full of our ancestors, their exploits, their mind. 
 Indeed you and I have no excuse for such indifference, Mr. 
 Egremont.' 
 
 ' And I do not think I shall ever again be justly accused 
 of it,' replied Egremont, ' you plead its cause so effectively. 
 But to tell you the truth, I have been thinking of late about 
 these things ; monasteries and so on ; the influence of the 
 old church system on the happiness and comfort of the 
 People.' 
 
 ' And on the tone of the Nobles ; do not you think so ? ' 
 said Lady Maud. 'I know it is the fashion to deride the 
 crusades, but do not you think they had their origin in a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 123 
 
 great impulse, and, in a certain sense, led to great results ? 
 Pardon me if I speak with emphasis, but I never can 
 forget I am a daughter of the first Crusaders.' 
 
 1 The tone of society is certainly lower than of yore,' said 
 Egremont. ' It is easy to say we view the past through a 
 fallacious medium. We have, however, ample evidence that 
 men feel less deeply than of old, and act with less devotion. 
 But how far is this occasioned by the modern position of 
 our church? That is the question.' 
 
 ' You must speak to Mr. St. Lys about that,' said Lady 
 Maud. ' Do you know him ? ' she added in a lower tone. 
 
 ' No ; is he here ? ' 
 
 * Next to mamma.' 
 
 And, looking in that direction, on the left hand of Lady 
 Mowbray, Egremont beheld a gentleman in the last year of 
 his youth, if youth according to the scale of Hippocrates 
 cease at thirty-five. He was distinguished by that beauty 
 of the noble English blood, of which in these days few types 
 remain ; the Norman tempered by the Saxon ; the fire of 
 conquest softened by integrity ; and a serene, though inflexi- 
 ble habit of mind. The chains of convention, an external 
 life grown out of all proportion with that of the heart and 
 mind, have destroyed this dignified beauty. There is no 
 longer in fact an aristocracy in England, for the superiority 
 of the animal man is an essential quality of aristocracy. 
 But that it once existed, any collection of portraits from 
 the sixteenth century will show. 
 
 Aubrey St. Lys was a younger son of the most ancient 
 Norman family in England. The Conqueror had given 
 them the moderate estate on which they now lived, and 
 which, in spite of so many civil conflicts and religious 
 changes, they had handed down to each other, from genera- 
 tion to generation, for eight centuries. Aubrey St. Lys 
 was the vicar of Mowbray. He had been the college tutor 
 of the late Lord Fitz-Warene, whose mind he had formed, 
 whose bright abilities he had cultivated, who adored him. 
 
124 SYBIL; OR 
 
 To that connection he owed the slight preferment which he 
 possessed, but which was all he desired. A bishopric would 
 not have tempted him from his peculiar charge. 
 
 In the centre of the town of Mowbray, teeming with its 
 toiling thousands, there rose a building which might vie 
 with many of the cathedrals of our land. Beautiful its 
 solemn towers, its sculptured western front ; beautiful its 
 columned aisles and lofty nave ; its sparkling shrine and 
 delicate chantry ; most beautiful the streaming glories of 
 its vast orient light ! 
 
 This magnificent temple, built by the monks of Mowbray, 
 and once connected with their famous house, of which not a 
 trace now remained, had in time become the parish church 
 of an obscure village, whose population could not have filled 
 one of its side chapels. These strange vicissitudes of 
 ecclesiastical buildings are not singular in the north of 
 England. 
 
 Mowbray Church remained for centuries the wonder of 
 passing peasants, and the glory of county histories. But 
 there is a magic in beautiful buildings which exercises an 
 irresistible influence over the mind of man. One of the 
 reasons urged for the destruction of the monasteries after 
 the dispersion of their inhabitants, was the pernicious 
 influence of their solemn and stately forms on the memories 
 and imagination of those that beheld them. It was im- 
 possible to connect systematic crime with the creators of 
 such divine fabrics. And so it was with Mowbray Church. 
 When manufactures were introduced into this district, 
 which abounded with all the qualities necessary for their 
 successful pursuit, to Mowbray, offering equal though not 
 superior advantages to other positions, was accorded the 
 preference, 'because it possessed such a beautiful church.' 
 The lingering genius of the monks of Mowbray hovered 
 round the spot which they had adorned, and sanctified, and 
 loved ; and thus they had indirectly become the authors of 
 its present greatness and prosperity. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS 125 
 
 Unhappily, for a long season the vicars of Mowbray had 
 been little conscious of their mission. An immense popula- 
 tion gathered round the sacred citadel and gradually spread 
 on all sides of it for miles. But the parish church for a 
 long time remained the only one at Mowbray when the 
 population of the town exceeded that of some European 
 capitals. And even in the parish church the frigid spell of 
 Erastian self-complacency fatally prevailed. A scanty con- 
 gregation gathered together for form, and as much influenced 
 by party as higher sentiments. Going to church was held 
 more genteel than going to meeting. The principal trades- 
 men of the neighbouring great houses deemed it more 
 ' aristocratic ; ' using a favourite and hackneyed epithet, 
 which only expressed their own servility. About the time 
 the Church Commission issued, the congregation of Mowbray 
 was approaching zero. There was an idea afloat for a time 
 of making it the seat of a new bishopric ; the cathedral was 
 ready ; another instance of the influence of fine art. But 
 there was no residence for the projected prelate, and a jobbing 
 bishop on the commission was afraid that he might have to 
 contribute to building one. So the idea died away ; and 
 the living having become vacant at this moment, instead of 
 a bishop, Mowbray received an humble vicar in the shape 
 of Aubrey St. Lys, who came among a hundred thousand 
 heathen to preach 'the Unknown God.' 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 4 And how do you find the people about you, Marney ? ' said 
 Lord de Mowbray, seating himself on a sofa by his guest. 
 
 1 All very well, my lord,* replied the earl, who ever 
 treated Lord de Mowbray with a certain degree of ceremony, 
 especially when the descendant of the Crusaders affected 
 the familiar. There was something of a Puck-like malignity 
 in the temperament of Lord Marney, which exhibited itself 
 
126 SYBIL; OR 
 
 in a remarkable talent for mortifying persons in a small 
 way : by a gesture, an expression, a look, cloaked, too, very 
 often with all the character of profound deference. The 
 old nobility of Spain delighted to address each other only 
 by their names, when in the presence of a spic-and-span 
 grandee ; calling each other, 'Infantado,' 'Sidonia,' 'Ossuna,' 
 and then turning round with the most distinguished con- 
 sideration, and appealing to the Most Noble Marquis of 
 Ensenada. 
 
 ' They begin to get a little uneasy here,' said Lord de 
 Mowbray. 
 
 ' We have nothing to complain of,' said Lord Marney. 
 ' We continue reducing the rates, and as long as we do that 
 the country must improve. The workhouse test tells. We 
 had the other day a case of incendiarism, which frightened 
 some people ; but I inquired into it, and am quite satisfied 
 it originated in purely accidental circumstances; at least 
 nothing to do with wages. I ought to be a judge, for it 
 was on my own property.' 
 
 ' And what is the rate of wages in your part of the world. 
 Lord Marney ? ' enquired Mr. St. Lys, who was standing by. 
 
 1 Oh ! good enough : not like your manufacturing dis- 
 tricts ; but people who work in the open air instead of a 
 furnace can't expect, and don't require such. They get 
 their eight shillings a week ; at least generally.' 
 
 * Eight shillings a week ! ' said Mr. St. Lys. ' Can a 
 labouring man with a family, perhaps of eight children, h ve 
 on eight shillings a week ? ' 
 
 'Oh! as for that,' said Lord Marney, 'they get more 
 than that, because there is beer-money allowed, at least to 
 a great extent among us, though I for one do not approve 
 of the practice, and that makes nearly a shilling per week 
 additional ; and then some of them have potato grounds, 
 though I am entirely opposed to that system.' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Mr. St. Lys, 'how they contrive to live is 
 to me marvellous.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 L Oli ! as for that,' said Lord Marney, ' I have generally 
 found the higher the wages the worse the workman. They 
 only spend their money in the beer-shops. They are the 
 curse of this country.' 
 
 1 But what is a poor man to do,' said Mr. St. Lys, ' after 
 his day's work, if he returns to his own roof and finds no 
 home ; his fire extinguished, his food unprepared; the 
 partner of his life, wearied with labour in the field or the 
 factory, still absent, or perhaps in bed from exhaustion, or 
 because she has returned wet to the skin, and has no change 
 of raiment for her relief ? We have removed woman from 
 her sphere ; we may have reduced wages by her introduction 
 into the market of labour ; but under these circumstances 
 what we call domestic life is a condition impossible to be 
 realised for the people of this country ; and we must not 
 therefore be surprised that they seek solace or rather refuge 
 in the beer- shop.' 
 
 Lord Marney looked up at Mr. St. Lys with a stare of 
 high-bred impertinence, and then carelessly observed, with- 
 out directing his words to him, ' They may say what they 
 like, but it is all an affair of population.' 
 
 ' I would rather believe that it is an affair of resources,' 
 said Mr. St. Lys ; ' not what is the amount of our popula- 
 tion, but what is the amount of our resources for their 
 maintenance.' 
 
 ' It comes to the same thing,' said Lord Marney. ' Nothing 
 can put this country right but emigration on a great scale ; 
 and as the government do not choose to undertake it, I have 
 commenced it for my own defence on a small scale. I will 
 take care that the population of my parishes is not in- 
 creased. I build no cottages, and I destroy all I can ; and I 
 am not ashamed or afraid to say so.' 
 
 1 You have declared war to the cottage, then,' said Mr 
 St. Lys, smiling. ' It is not at the first sound so startling a 
 cry as war to the castle.' 
 
 t But you. think it may lead to it? ' said Lord de Mowbray. 
 
% 
 
 128 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' I love not to be a prophet of evil,' said Mr. St. Lys. 
 
 Lord Marney rose from his seat and addressed Lady 
 Firebrace, whose husband in another part of the room had 
 caught Mr. Jermyn, and was opening his mind on ' the 
 question of the day ; ' Lady Maud, followed by Egremont, 
 approached Mr. St. Lys, and said, ' Mr. Egremont has a 
 great feeling for Christian architecture, Mr. St. Lys, and 
 wishes particularly to visit our church, of which we are so 
 proud.' And in a few moments they were seated together, 
 and engaged in conversation. 
 
 Lord de Mowbray placed himself by the side of Lady 
 Marney, who was seated by his countess. 
 
 4 Oh ! how I envy you at Marney ! ' he exclaimed. ' No 
 manufactures, no smoke ; living in the midst of a beautiful 
 park, and surrounded by a contented peasantry ! ' 
 
 ' It is very delightful,' said Lady Marney, ' but then we 
 are so dull ; we have really no neighbourhood.' 
 
 1 1 think that such an advantage,' said Lady de Mowbray ; 
 * I must say I like my friends from London. I never know 
 what to say to the people here. Excellent people, the very 
 best people in the world ; the way they behaved to poor 
 dear Fitz-Warene, when they wanted him to stand for the 
 county, I never can forget ; but then they do not know the 
 people we know, or do the things we do ; and when you 
 have gone through the routine of county questions, and 
 exhausted the weather and all the winds, I am positively, 
 my dear Lady Marney, aux abois, and then they think you 
 are proud, when really one is only stupid.' 
 
 * I am fond of work,' said Lady Marney, ' and I talk to 
 them always about it.' 
 
 * Ah ! you are fortunate, I never could work ; and Joan 
 and Maud, they neither of them work. Maud did embroider a 
 banner once for her brother; it is in the hall. I think it beau- 
 tiful : but somehow or other she never cultivated her talent.' 
 
 * For all that has occurred, or may occur,' said Mr. St. Lys 
 to Egremont, ' 1 blame only the cnurch. The church 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 129 
 
 deserted the people ; and from that moment the church has 
 Deen in danger, and the people degraded. Formerly religion 
 undertook to satisfy the noble wants of human nature, and 
 by its festivals relieved the painful weariness of toil. The 
 day of rest was consecrated, if not always to elevated 
 thoughts, at least to sweet and noble sentiments. The church 
 convened to its solemnities, under its splendid and almost 
 celestial roofs, amid the finest monuments of art that human 
 hands have raised, the whole Christian population ; for 
 there, in the presence of God, all were brethren. It shared 
 equally among all its prayer, its incense, and its music ; its 
 sacred instructions, and the highest enjoyments that the arts 
 could afford.' 
 
 ' You believe, then, in the efficacy of forms and cere- 
 monies ? ' 
 
 ' What you call forms and ceremonies represent the 
 divinest instincts of our nature. Push your aversion to 
 forms and ceremonies to a legitimate conclusion, and you 
 would prefer kneeling in a barn rather than in a cathedral. 
 Your tenets would strike at the very existence of all art, 
 which is essentially spiritual.' 
 
 1 1 am not speaking abstractedly,' said Egremont, ' but 
 rather with reference to the indirect connection of these 
 forms and ceremonies with another church. The people of 
 this country associate them with an enthralling superstition 
 and a foreign dominion.' 
 
 'With Rome,' said Mr. St. Lys ; 'yet forms and cere- 
 monies existed before Rome.' 
 
 ' But practically,' said Egremont, ' Las not their revival 
 in our service at the present day a tendency to restore the 
 Romish system in this country ? ' 
 
 ' It is difficult to ascertain what may be the practical 
 effect of certain circumstances among the uninformed,' said 
 Mr. St. Lys. ' The Church of Rome is to be respected as 
 the only Hebroeo-christian church extant; all other churches 
 established by the Hebrew apostles have disappeared, but 
 
 K 
 
i-.o SYBIL; O* 
 
 Rome remains ; and we must never permit the exaggerated 
 position which it assumed in the middle centuries to make 
 us forget its early and apostolical character, when it was 
 fresh from Palestine, and as it were fragrant from Paradise. 
 The Church of Rome is sustained by apostolical succession ; 
 but apostolical succession is not an institution complete in 
 itself ; it is a part of a whole ; if it be not part of a whole 
 it has no foundation. The apostles succeeded the prophets. 
 Our Master announced himself as the last of the prophets. 
 They in their turn were the heirs of the patriarchs : men 
 who were in direct communication with the Most High. To 
 men no-t less favoured than the apostles, the revelation of 
 the priestly character was made, and those forms and cere- 
 monies ordained which the Church of Rome has never 
 relinquished. But Rome did not invent them : upon their 
 practice, the duty of all congregations, we cannot consent 
 to her founding a claim to supremacy. For would you 
 maintain then that the church did not exist in the time of 
 the prophets ? Was Moses then not a churchman ? And 
 Aaron, was he not a high priest ? Ay ! greater than any 
 pope or prelate, whether he be at Rome or at Lambeth. 
 
 ' In all these church discussions, we are apt to forget 
 that the second Testament is avowedly only a supplement. 
 Jehovah- Jesus came to complete the "law and the prophets." 
 Christianity is completed Judaism, or it is nothing. Chris- 
 tianity is incomprehensible without Judaism, as Judaism is 
 incomplete without Christianity. What has Rome to do 
 with its completion ; what with its commencement ? The 
 law was not thundered forth from the Capitolian mount ; 
 the divine atonement was not fulfilled upon Mons Sacer. 
 No ; the order of our priesthood comes directly from 
 Jehovah ; and the forms and ceremonies of His church are 
 the regulations of His supreme intelligence. Rome indeed 
 boasts that the authenticity of the second Testament de- 
 pends upon the recognition of her infallibility. The authen- 
 ticity of the second Testament depends upon its congruily 
 with the tirst. Did Rome preserve that ? I recognise in the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 131 
 
 church an institution thoroughly, sincerely catholic : adapted 
 to all climes, and to all ages. I do not bow to the necessity 
 of a visible head in a defined locality ; but were I to seek 
 for such, it would not be at Rome. I cannot discover in its 
 history, however memorable, any testimony of a mission so 
 sublime. When Omnipotence deigned to be incarnate, the 
 Ineffable Word did not select a Roman frame. The prophets 
 were not Romans ; the apostles were not Romans ; she who 
 was blessed above all women, I never heard she was a 
 Roman maiden. No, I should look to a land more distant 
 than Italy, to a city more sacred even than Rome.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It was a cloudy, glimmering dawn. A cold withering 
 east wind blew through the silent streets of Mowbray. 
 The sounds of the night had died away, the voices of the 
 day had not commenced. There reigned a stillness complete 
 and absorbing. 
 
 Suddenly there is a voice, there is movement. The first 
 footstep of the new week of toil is heard. A man muffled 
 up in a thick coat, and bearing in his hand what would seem 
 at the first glance to be a shepherd's crook, only its handle 
 is much longer, appears upon the pavement. He touches a 
 number of windows with great quickness as he moves 
 rapidly along. A rattling noise sounds upon each pane. 
 The use of the long handle of his instrument becomes 
 apparent as he proceeds, enabling him as it does to reach 
 the upper windows of the dwellings whose inmates he has 
 to rouse. Those inmates are the factory girls, who subscribe 
 in districts to engage these heralds of the dawn ; and by a 
 strict observance of whose citation they can alone escape 
 the dreaded fine that awaits those who have not arrived 
 at the door of the factory before the bell ceases to sound. 
 
 The sentry in question, quitting the streets, and stooping 
 through one of the small archways that we have before 
 
 k2 
 
l?2 SYBIL; OR 
 
 r 
 
 noticed, entered a court. Here lodged a multitude of his em- 
 ployers ; and the long crook, as it were by some sleight of 
 hand, seemed sounding on both sides, and at many windows 
 at the same moment. Arrived at the end of the court, he 
 was about to touch the window of the upper story of the last 
 tenement, when that window opened, and a man, pale and 
 careworn, and in a melancholy voice, spoke to him. 
 
 ' Simmons,' said the man, ' you need not rouse this story 
 any more ; my daughter has left us.' 
 
 ' Has she left Webster's ? ' 
 
 ' No ; but she has left us. She has long murmured at 
 her hard lot; working like a slave, and not for herself. 
 And she has gone, as they all go, to keep house for herself.' 
 
 1 That's a bad business,' said the watchman, in a tone 
 not devoid of sympathy. 
 
 ' Almost as bad as for parents to live on their children's 
 wages,' replied the man mournfully. 
 
 ' And how is your good woman ? ' 
 
 ' As poorly as needs be. Harriet has never been home 
 since Friday night. She owes you nothing ? ' 
 
 ' Not a halfpenny. She was as regular as a little bee, 
 and always paid every Monday morning. I am sorry she 
 has left you, neighbour.' 
 
 ' The Lord's will be done. It's hard times for such as 
 us,' said the man; and, leaving the window open, he retired 
 into his room. 
 
 It was a single chamber of which he was the tenant. In 
 the centre, placed so as to gain the best light which the 
 gloomy situation could afford, was a loom. In two corners 
 of the room were mattresses placed on the floor, a check 
 curtain, hung upon a string, if necessary, concealing them. 
 On one was his sick wife ; on the other, three young chil- 
 dren : two girls, the eldest about eight years of age ; 
 between them their baby brother. An iron kettle was by 
 the hearth, and on the mantelpiece some candles, a few 
 lucifer matches, two tin mugs, a paper of salt, and an iron 
 
THE TWO XATIOXS. 
 
 Bpoon. In a farther part, close to the wall, was a heavy 
 table or dresser ; this was a fixture, as well as the form 
 which was fastened by it. 
 
 The man seated himself at his loom ; he commenced his 
 daily task. 
 
 ' Twelve hours of daily labour, at the rate of one penny 
 each hour ; and even this labour is mortgaged ! How is 
 this to end ? Is it rather not ended ? ' And he looked 
 around him at his chamber without resources : no food, no 
 fuel, no furniture, and four human beings dependent on 
 him, and lying in their wretched beds, because they had no 
 clothes. ' I cannot sell my loom,' he continued, ' at the 
 price of old firewood, and it cost me gold. \ It is not vice 
 that has brought me to this, nor indolence, nor imprudence. 
 I was born to labour, and I was ready to labour. I loved 
 my loom, and my loom loved me. It gave me a cottage in 
 my native village, surrounded by a garden, of whose claims 
 on my solicitude it was not jealous. There was time for 
 both. It gave me for a wife the maiden that I had ever 
 loved ; and it gathered my children round my hearth with 
 plenteousness and peace. I was content : I sought no other 
 lot. It is not adversity that makes me look back upon the 
 past with tenderness. 
 
 ' Then why am I here ? Why am I, and six hundred 
 thousand subjects of the Queen, honest, loyal, and indus- 
 trious, why are we, after manfully struggling for years, and 
 each year sinking lower in the scale, why are we driven 
 from our innocent and happy homes, our country cottages 
 that we loved, first to bide in close towns without comforts, 
 and gradually to crouch into cellars, or find a squalid lair 
 like this, without even the common necessaries of existence ; 
 first the ordinary conveniences of life, then raiment, and 
 at length food, vanishing from us. 
 
 r* It is that the Capitalist has found a slave that has sup- 
 planted the labour and ingenuity of man. /Once he was an 
 artisan : at the best, he now only watches machines ; and 
 
134 SYBIL; OR 
 
 even that occupation slips from his grasp to the woman 
 and the child. The capitalist flourishes, he amasses im- 
 mense wealth ; we sink, lower and lower ; lower than the 
 beasts of burthen ; for they are fed better than we are, 
 cared for more. And it is just, for according to the present 
 system they are more precious. And yet they tell us that 
 -Vihe interests of Capital and of Labour are identical. 
 ** ' If a society that has been created by labour suddenly 
 becomes independent of it, that society is bound to main- 
 tain the race whose only property is labour, out of the pro- 
 ceeds of that other property, which has not ceased to be 
 productive. 
 
 ' When the class of the Nobility were supplanted in 
 France, they did not amount in number to one-third of us 
 Hand-loom weavers ; yet all Europe went to war to avenge 
 their wrongs, every state subscribed to maintain them in 
 their adversity, and when they were restored to their own 
 country their own land supplied them with an immense 
 indemnity. Who cares for us ? Yet we have lost our 
 estates. Who raises a voice for us ? Yet we are at least 
 as innocent as the nobility of France. We sink among 
 no sighs except our own. And if they give us sympathy, 
 what then ? Sympathy is the solace of the Poor ; but for 
 the Rich there is Compensation.' 
 
 ' Is that Harriet ? ' said his wife, moving in her bed. 
 
 The Hand-loom weaver was recalled from his reverie to 
 the urgent misery that surrounded him. 
 
 * No ! ' he replied in a quick hoarse voice, ' it is not 
 Harriet.' 
 
 1 Why does not Harriet come ? ' 
 
 ' She will come no more ! ' replied the weaver ; * I told 
 you so last night : she can bear this place no longer ; and 
 I am not surprised.' 
 
 ' How are we to get food, then ? ' rejoined his wife ; ' you 
 ought not to have let her leave us. You do nothing, Warner. 
 You get no wages yourself ; and you have let the girl escape.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 135 
 
 * I will escape myself if you say that again,' said the 
 weaver : ' I have been up these three hours finishing this 
 piece, which ought to have been taken home on Saturday 
 night,' 
 
 * But you have been paid for it beforehand. You get 
 nothing for your work. A penny an hour ! What sort of 
 work is it that brings a penny an hour ? ' 
 
 1 Work that you have often admired, Mary ; and has 
 before this gained a prize. But if you don't like the work,' 
 said the man, quitting his loom, ' let it alone. There was 
 enough yet owing on this piece to have allowed us to break 
 our fast. However, no matter ; we must starve sooner or 
 later. Let us begin at once.' 
 
 * No, no, Philip ! work. Let us break our fast, come 
 what may.' 
 
 ' Twit me no more, then,' said the weaver, resuming his 
 seat, ' or I throw the shuttle for the last time.' 
 
 ' I will not taunt you,' said his wife in a kinder tone. ' I 
 was wrong ; I am sorry ; but I am very ill. It is not for 
 ^nyself I speak ; I want not to eat ; I have no appetite ; my 
 lips are so very parched. But the children, the children 
 went supperless to bed, and they will wake soon.' 
 
 1 Mother, we ayn't asleep,' said the elder girl. 
 
 ' No, we ayn't asleep, mother,' said her sister ; ' we heard 
 all that you said to father.' 
 
 ' And baby ? ' 
 
 ' He sleeps still.' 
 
 ' I shiver very much ! ' said the mother. ' It's a cold day. 
 Pray shut the window, Warner. I see the drops upon the 
 pane; it is raining. I wonder if the persons below would 
 lend us one block of coal.' 
 
 1 We have borrowed too often,' said Warner. 
 
 * I wish there were no such thing as coal in the land,' 
 said his wife, ' and then the engines would not be able to 
 work ; and we should have our rights again.' 
 
 1 Amen ! ' said Warner. 
 
136 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Don't you think, Warner,' said liis wife, ' that you could 
 sell that piece to some other person, and owe Barber for 
 the money he advanced ? ' 
 
 ' No ! ' said her husband, fiercely. ' I'll go straight.* 
 
 'And let your children starve,' said his wife, ' when you 
 could get five or six shillings at once. But so it always 
 was with you. Why did not you go to the machines years 
 ago like other men, and so get used to them ? ' 
 
 ' I should have been supplanted by this time,' said War- 
 ner, ' by a girl or a woman ! It would have been just as 
 bad!' 
 
 1 Why there was your friend, Walter Gerard ; he was the 
 same as you, and yet now he gets two pound a week ; at 
 least I have often heard you say so.' 
 
 I Walter Gerard is a man of great parts,' said Warner, 
 ' and might have been a master himself by this time had 
 he cared.' 
 
 ' And why did he not ? ' 
 
 ' He had no wife and children,' said Warner ; ' he was 
 not so blessed.' 
 
 The baby woke and began to cry. 
 
 ' Ah ! my child ! ' exclaimed the mother. ' That wicked 
 Harriet ! Here, Amelia, I have a morsel of crust here. I 
 saved it yesterday for baby ; moisten it in water, and tie it 
 up in this piece of calico : he will suck it ; it will keep him 
 quiet ; I can bear anything but his cry.' 
 
 I I shall have finished my job by noon,' said Warner ; 
 ' and then, please God, we shall break our fast.' 
 
 I It is yet two hours to noon,' said his wife. 'And Bar- 
 ber always keeps you so long ! I cannot bear that Barber: 
 I dare say he will not advance you money again, as you 
 did not bring the job home on Saturday night. If I were 
 yon, Philip, I would go and sell the piece unfinished at once 
 to one of the cheap shops.' 
 
 I I have gone straight all my life,' said Warner. 
 ' And much good it has done you,' said his wife. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 137 
 
 ' My poor Amelia ! How she shivers ! I think the sun 
 never touches this house. It is, indeed, a most wretched 
 place.' 
 
 1 It will not annoy you long, Mary,' said her husband : 
 ' I can pay no more rent ; and I only wonder they have 
 not been here already to take the week.' 
 
 ' And where are we to go ? ' said the wife. 
 
 1 To a place which certainly the sun never touches,' said 
 her husband, with a kind of malice in his misery ' to a 
 cellar.' 
 
 ' Oh ! why was I ever born ? ' exclaimed his wife. * And 
 yet I was so happy once ! And it is not our fault. I can- 
 not make it out, Warner, why you should not get two pounds 
 a week like Walter Gerard.' 
 
 ' Bah ! ' said the husband. 
 
 1 You said he had no family,' continued his wife. * I 
 thought he had a daughter.' 
 
 ' But she is no burthen to him. The sister of Mr. Trafford 
 is the Superior of the convent here, and she took Sybil when 
 her mother died, and brought her up.' 
 
 1 Oh ! then she is a nun ? ' 
 
 1 Not yet ; but I dare say it will end in it.' 
 
 ' Well, I think I would even sooner starve,' said his wife, 
 1 than my children should be nuns.' 
 
 At this moment there was a knocking at the door. 
 Warner descended from his loom, and opened it. 
 
 ' Lives Philip Warner here ? ' enquired a clear voice of 
 peculiar sweetness. 
 
 ' My name is Warner.' 
 
 * I come from Walter Gerard,' continued the voice. 'Your 
 letter reached him only last night. The girl at whose 
 house your daughter left it has quitted this week past Mr. 
 Trafford' s factory.' 
 
 1 Pray enter.' 
 
 And there entered Syeil. 
 
138 SYBIL; OR 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 1 Your wife is ill ? ' said Sybil. 
 
 1 Very ! ' replied Warner's wife. ' Oar daughter has 
 behaved infamously to us. She has quitted us without 
 saying by your leave or with your leave. And her wages 
 were almost the only thing left to us ; for Philip is not like 
 Walter Gerard, you see : he cannot earn two pounds a week, 
 though why he cannot I never could understand.' 
 
 1 Hush, hush, wife ! ' said Warner. ' I speak, I apprehend, 
 to Gerard's daughter ? ' 
 
 1 Just so/ 
 
 ' Ah ! this is good and kind ; this is like old times, for 
 Walter Gerard was my friend, when I was not exactly as I 
 am now.' 
 
 ' He tells me so : he sent a messenger to me last night 
 to visit you this morning. Your letter reached him only 
 yesterday.' 
 
 I Harriet was to give it to Caroline,' said the wife. That's 
 the girl who has done all the mischief and inveigled her 
 away. And she has left Trafford's works, has she ? Then 
 I will be bound she and Harriet are keeping house together.' 
 
 * You suffer ? ' said Sybil, moving to the bed-side of the 
 woman. ' Give me your hand,' she added in a soft sweet 
 tone. ' 'Tis hot.' 
 
 I I feel very cold,' said the woman. ' Warner would have 
 the window open, till the rain came in.' 
 
 ' And you, I fear, are wet,' said Warner, addressing Sybil, 
 and interrupting his wife. 
 
 ' Very slightly. And you have no fire. Ah ! I have 
 brought some things for you, but not fuel.' 
 
 1 If he would only ask the person down stairs,' said his 
 wife, ' for a block of coal ; I tell him, neighbours could 
 hardly refuse ; but he never will do anything ; he says he 
 has asked too often.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 139 
 
 * I will ask,' said Sybil. * But first, I have a companion 
 without,' she added, ' who bears a basket for you. Come 
 in, Harold.' 
 
 The baby began to cry the moment a large^dog entered 
 the room ; a young bloodhound of the ancient breed, such 
 as are now found but in a few old halls and granges in the 
 north of England. Sybil untied the basket, and gave a 
 piece of sugar to the screaming infant. Her glance was 
 sweeter even than her remedy ; the infant stared at her 
 with his large blue eyes, for an instant astonished, and then 
 he smiled. 
 
 ' Oh ! beautiful child !' exclaimed Sybil ; and she took the 
 bafoe up from the mattress and embraced it. 
 
 1 You are an angel from heaven,' exclaimed the mother, 
 1 and you may well say beautiful. And only to think of 
 that infamous girl, Harriet, to desert us all in this way !' 
 
 Sybil drew forth the contents of the convent basket, 
 and called "Warner's attention to them. 'Now,' she said, 
 1 arrange all this as I tell you, and I will go down stairs and 
 speak to them below as you w T ish. Harold, rest there ;' and 
 the dog laid himself down in the remotest corner. 
 
 ' And is that Gerard's daughter ?' said the weaver's wife. 
 
 'Only think what it is to gain two pounds a week, and 
 bring up your daughters in that way, instead of such 
 shameless husseys as our Harriet ! But with such wages 
 one can do anything. What have you there, Warner ? Is 
 that tea ? Oh ! I should like some tea. I do think tea 
 would do me some good. I have quite a longing for it. 
 Run down, Warner, and ask them to let us have a kettle of 
 hot water. It is better than all the fire in the world. 
 Amelia, my dear, do you see what they have sent us ? Plenty 
 to eat. Tell Maria all about it. You are good girls ; you 
 will never be like that infamous Harriet. When you earn 
 wages you will give them to your poor mother and baby, 
 won't you ? ' 
 
 'Yes, mother,' said Amelia. 
 
I/O SYBIL ; OR 
 
 'And father, too,' said Maria. 
 
 'And father, too,' said the wife. 'He has been a very 
 good father to yon all ; and I never can understand why 
 one who works so hard should earn so little ; but I believe 
 it is the fault of those machines. The police ought to put 
 them down, and then everybody would be comfortable.' 
 
 Sybil and Warner re-entered ; the fire was lit, the tea 
 made, the meal partaken of. An air of comfort, even of 
 enjoyment, was diffused over this chamber, but a few 
 minutes back so desolate and unhappy. 
 
 ' Well,' said the wife, raising herself a little up in her 
 bed, ' I feel as if that dish of tea had saved my life. Amelia, 
 have you had any tea ? And Maria ? You see what it is 
 to be good, girls ; the Lord will never desert you. The day 
 is fast coming when that Harriet will know what the want 
 of a dish of tea is, with all her fine wages. And I am sure,' 
 she added, addressing Sybil, ' what we all owe to you is not 
 to be told. Your father well deserves his good fortune, with 
 such a daughter.' 
 
 ' My father's fortunes are not much better than his neigh- 
 bours',' said Sybil, 'but his wants are few /and who should 
 sympathise with the poor but the poor jVAlas ! none else 
 can. Besides, it is the Superior of our convent that has 
 sent you this meal. What my father can do for you I have 
 told your husband. 'Tis little; but with the favour of 
 Heaven it may avail. When the people support the people 
 the Divine blessing will not be wanting.' 
 
 ' I am sure the Divine blessing will never be wanting to 
 you,' said Warner, in a voice of emotion. 
 
 There was silence ; the querulous spirit of the wife was 
 subdued by the tone of Sybil ; she revolved in her mind the 
 present and the past ; the children pursued their ungrudged 
 and unusual meal ; the daughter of Gerard, that she might 
 not interfero with their occupation, walked to the window 
 and surveyed the chink of troubled sky which was visible 
 in the court. The wind blew in gusts; the rain beat 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. ui 
 
 against the glass. Soon after this, there was another'knock 
 at the door. Harold started from his repose, and growled. 
 "Warner rose, and saying, ' They have come for the rent. 
 Thank God, I am ready,' advanced and opened the door. 
 Two men offered with courtesy to enter. 
 
 ' We are strangers,' said he who took the lead, ' but would 
 not be such. I speak to Warner ? ' 
 
 ' My name.' 
 
 ' And I am your spiritual pastor, if to be the vicar of 
 Mowbray entitles me to that description.' 
 
 ' Mr. St. Lys.' 
 
 ' The same. One of the most valued of my flock, and 
 the most influential person in this district, has been speak- 
 ing much of you to me this morning. You are working 
 for him. He did not hear of you on Saturday night ; he 
 feared you were ill. Mr. Barber spoke to me of your dis- 
 tress, as well as of your good character. I came to express 
 to you my respect and my sympathy, and to offer you my 
 assistance.' 
 
 1 You are most good, sir, and Mr. Barber too ; and indeed, 
 an hour ago, we were in as great straits ' 
 
 1 And are now, sir,' exclaimed his wife, interrupting him. 
 ' I have been in this bed a week, and may never rise from 
 it again ; the children have no clothes ; they are pawned ; 
 everything is pawned ; this morning we had neither fuel 
 nor food. And we thought you had come for the rent, 
 which we cannot pay. If it had not been for a dish of tea 
 which was charitably given me this morning by a person 
 almost as poor as ourselves, that is to say, they live by 
 labour, though their wages are much higher, as high as 
 two pounds a week, though how that can be I never shall 
 understand, when my husband is working twelve hours a 
 day, and gaining only a penny an hour ; if it had not been 
 for this I should have been a corpse ; and yet he says we 
 were in straits, merely because Walter Gerard's daughter, 
 who I willingly grant is an angel from heaven for all the 
 
V 
 
 142 SYBIL : OR 
 
 good she has done us, has stepped in to our aid. But the 
 poor supporting the poor, as she well says, what good can 
 come from that ? ' 
 
 During this ebullition, Mr. St. Lys had surveyed the 
 apartment and recognised Sybil. 
 
 ' Sister,' he said, when the wife of Warner had ceased, 
 ' this is not the first time we have met under the roof of 
 sorrow.' 
 
 Sybil bent in silence, and moved as if she were about to 
 retire ; the wind and rain came dashing against the window. 
 The companion of Mr. St. Lys, who was clad in a rough 
 great coat, and was shaking the wot off an oilskin hat 
 known by the name of a ' south-wester,' advanced and said 
 to her,' It is but a squall, but a severe one ; I would recom- 
 mend you to stay for a few minutes.' 
 
 She received this remark with courtesy, but did not reply. 
 
 1 1 think,' continued the companion of Mr. St. Lys, ' that 
 this is not the first time also that we have met ? ' 
 
 1 1 cannot recall our meeting before,' said Sybil. 
 
 4 And yet it was not many days past ; though the sky 
 was so different, that it would almost make one believe 
 it was in another land and another clime.' 
 
 Sybil looked at him as if for explanation. 
 
 1 It was at Marney Abbey,' said the companion of Mr. 
 St. Lys. 
 
 ' I was there ; and I remember when about to rejoin my 
 companions, they were not alone.' 
 
 ' And you disappeared, very suddenly I thought ; for I 
 left the ruins almost at the same moment as your friends, 
 yet I never saw any of you again.' 
 
 ' We took our course ; a very rugged one ; you perhaps 
 pursued a more even way.' 
 
 ' Was it your first visit to Marney ? ' 
 
 1 My first and my last. There was no place I more desired 
 to see ; no place of which the vision made me so sad.' 
 
 * The glory has departed,' said Egremont, mournfully. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 143 
 
 1 It is not that,' said Sybil ; ' I was prepared for decay, 
 but not for such absolute desecration. The Abbey seems 
 a quarry for materials to repair farm-houses ; and the nave 
 a cattle gate. What people they must be that family of 
 sacrilege who hold these lands ! ' 
 
 1 Hem ! ' said Egremont. ' They certainly do not appear 
 to have much feeling for ecclesiastical art.' 
 
 ' And for little else, as we were told,' said Sybil. * There 
 was a fire at the Abbey farm the day we were there, and, 
 from all that reached us, it would appear the people were 
 as little tended as the Abbey walls.' 
 
 ' They have some difficulty perhaps in employing their 
 population in those parts.' 
 
 * You know the country ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all ; I was travelling in the neighbourhood, and 
 made a diversion for the sake of seeing an abbey of which I 
 had heard so much.' 
 
 ' Yes; it was the greatest of the Northern Houses. But 
 they told me the people were most wretched round the Ab- 
 bey; nor do I think there is any other cause for their misery, 
 than the hard hearts of the family that have got the lands.' 
 
 'You feel deeply for the people ! ' said Egremont, looking 
 at her earnestly. 
 
 Sybil returned him a glance expressive of some astonish- 
 ment, and then said, ' And do not you ? Your presence 
 here assures me of it.' 
 
 ' I humbly follow one who would comfort the unhappy. ' 
 
 ' The charity of Mr. St. Lys is known to all.' ) 
 
 ' And you you, too, are a ministering angel.' 
 
 ' There is no merit in my conduct, for there is no sacrifice. 
 When I remember what this English people once was ; the 
 truest, the freest, and the bravest, the best-natured and the 
 best-looking, the happiest and most religious race upon the 
 surface of this globe ; and think of them now, with all their 
 crimes and all their slavish suffe rings, their soured spirits 
 and their stunted forms; their lives without enjoyment, and 
 
 ) 
 
144 SYBIL; OR 
 
 their deaths without hope ; I may well feel for them, even 
 if I were not the daughter of their blood.' 
 
 And that blood mantled to her cheek as she ceased to 
 speak, and her dark eye gleamed with emotion, and an 
 expression of pride and courage hovered on her brow. 
 Egremont caught her glance and withdrew his own ; his 
 heart was troubled. 
 
 St. Lys, who had been in conference with the weaver, left 
 him and went to the bedside of his wife. Warner advanced 
 to Sybil, and expressed his feelings for her father, his sense 
 of her goodness. She, observing that the squall seemed to 
 have ceased, bade him farewell, and calling Harold, quitted 
 the chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 * Wheee have you been all the morning, Charles ? ' said 
 Lord Marney, coming into his brother's dressing-room a 
 few minutes before dinner : ' Arabella had made the nicest 
 little riding party for you and Lady Joan, and you were to 
 be found nowhere. If you go on in this way, there is no 
 use in having affectionate relations, or anything else.' 
 
 1 1 have been walking about Mowbray. One should see 
 a factory once in one's life.' 
 
 * I don't see the necessity,' said Lord Marney ; ' I never 
 saw one, and never intend. Though, to be sure, when I 
 hear the rents that Mowbray gets for his land in this 
 neighbourhood, I must say I wish the worsted works had 
 answered at Marney. And if it had not been for our poor 
 dear father, they would.' 
 
 ' Our family have always been against manufactories, 
 railroads everything,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' Railroads are very good things, with high compensa- 
 tion,' said Lord Marney ; ' and manufactories not so bad, 
 with high rents ; but, after all, these are enterprises for 
 the canaille, and I hate them in my heart.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 145 
 
 ' But they employ the people, George.' 
 
 I The people do not want employment ; it is the greatest 
 mistake in the world ; all this employment is a stimulus to 
 population. Never mind that ; what I came in for is, to 
 tell you that both Arabella and myself think you talk too 
 much to Lady Maud.' 
 
 I I like her the best.' 
 
 1 What has that to do with it, my dear fellow ? Business 
 is business. Old Mowbray will make an elder son out of 
 his elder daughter. The affair is settled ; I know it from 
 the best authority. Talking to Lady Maud is insanity. It 
 is all the same for her as if Fitz-Warene had never died. 
 And then that great event, which ought to be the founda- 
 tion of your fortune, would be perfectly thrown away. 
 Lady Maud, at the best, is nothing more than twenty 
 thousand pounds and a fat living. Besides, she is engaged 
 to that parson fellow, St. Lys.' 
 
 ' St. Lys told me to-day that nothing would ever induce 
 him to marry. He would practise celibacy, though he 
 would not enjoin it.' 
 
 I Enjoin fiddle- stick ! How came you to be talking to 
 such a sanctified impostor ; and, I believe, with all his fine 
 phrases, a complete radical. I tell you what, Charles, you 
 must really make way with Lady Joan. The grandfather 
 has come to-day, the old duke. Quite a family party. It 
 looks so well. Never was such a golden opportunity. 
 And you must be sharp too. That little Jermyn, with his 
 brown eyes and his white hands, has not come down here, 
 in the month of August, with no sport of any kind, for 
 nothing.' 
 
 I I shall set Lady Firebrace at him.' 
 
 * She is quite your friend, and a very sensible woman too, 
 Charles, and an ally not to be despised. Lady Joan has a 
 high opinion of her. There's the bell. Well, I shall tell 
 Arabella that you mean to put up the steam, and Lady 
 Firebrace shall keep Jermyn off. And perhaps it is as well 
 
146 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 you did not seem too eager at first. Mowbray Castle, my 
 dear fellow, in spite of its manufactories, is not to be despised. 
 And with a little firmness, you could keep the people out of 
 your park. Mowbray could do it, only he has no pluck. 
 He is afraid people would say he was the son of a footman.' 
 
 The duke, who was the father of the Countess de Mow- 
 bray, was also lord-lieutenant of the county. Although 
 advanced in years, he was still extremely handsome, with the 
 most winning manners ; full of amenity and grace. He had 
 been a roue in his youth, but seemed now the perfect repre- 
 sentative of a benignant and virtuous old age. He was 
 universally popular ; admired by young men, adored by 
 young ladies. Lord de Mowbray paid him the most dis- 
 tinguished consideration. It was genuine. However 
 maliciously the origin of his own father might be repre- 
 sented, nobody could deprive him of that great fact, his 
 father-in-law ; a duke, a duke of a great house who had 
 intermarried for generations with great houses, one of the 
 old nobility, and something even loftier. 
 
 The county of which his grace was lord- lieutenant was 
 proud of its nobility ; and certainly with Marney Abbey 
 at one end, and Mowbray Castle at the other, it had just 
 cause ; but both these illustrious houses yielded in import- 
 ance, though not in possessions, to the great peer who was 
 the governor of the province. 
 
 A French actress, clever as French actresses always are, 
 had persuaded, once upon a time, an easy-tempered monarch 
 of this realm, that the paternity of her coming babe was a 
 distinction of which his majesty might be proud. His 
 majesty did not much believe her ; but he was a sensible 
 man, and never disputed a point with a woman ; so when 
 the babe was born, and proved a boy, he christened him 
 with his name ; and elevated him to the peerage in his 
 cradle by the title of Duke of Fitz- Aquitaine and Marquis 
 of Gascony. 
 
 An estate the royal father could not endow him with, for 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 147 
 
 he had spent all his money, mortgaged all his resources, 
 and was obliged to run in debt himself for the jewels of the 
 rest of his mistresses ; but he did his best for the young 
 peer, as became an affectionate father or a fond lover. His 
 majesty made him, when he arrived at man's estate, the 
 hereditary keeper of a palace which he possessed in the 
 north of England ; and this secured his grace a castle and 
 a park. He could wave his flag and kill his deer ; and if 
 he had only possessed an estate, he would have been as well 
 off as if he had helped to conquer the realm with King 
 William, or plundered the church for King Harry. A 
 revenue must, however, be found for the Duke of Fitz- 
 Aquitaine, and it was furnished without the interference of 
 Parliament, but with a financial dexterity worthy of that 
 assembly, to whom and not to our sovereigns we are 
 obliged for the public debt. The king granted the duke 
 and his heirs for ever a pension on the post-office, a light 
 tax upon coals shipped to London, and a tithe of all the 
 shrimps caught on the southern coast. This last source of 
 revenue became in time, with the development of watering- 
 places, extremely prolific. And so, what with the foreign 
 courts and colonies for the younger sons, it was thus con- 
 trived very respectably to maintain the hereditary dignity 
 of this great peer. 
 
 The present Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine had supported the 
 Reform Bill, but had been shocked by the Appropriation 
 clause ; very much admired Lord Stanley, and was apt to 
 observe that, if that nobleman had been the leader of the 
 conservative party, he hardly knew what he might not have 
 done himself. But the duke was an old whig, had lived with 
 old whigs all his life, feared revolution, but still more the 
 necessity of taking his name out of Brooks's, where he had 
 looked in every day or night since he came of age. So, not 
 approving of what was going on, yet not caring to desert 
 his friends, he withdrew, as the phrase runs, from public 
 life ; that is to say, was rarely in his seat ; did not continue 
 
 l 2 
 
T48 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 to Lord Melbourne the proxy that had been entrusted to 
 Lord Grey ; and made tory magistrates in his county, though 
 a whig lord- lieutenant. 
 
 When forces were numbered, and speculations on the 
 future indulged in by the Tadpoles and Tapers, the name of 
 the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine was mentioned with a knowing 
 look, and in a mysterious tone. Nothiug more was neces- 
 sary between Tadpole and Taper ; but, if some hack in statu 
 pupillari happened to be present at the conference, and the 
 gentle novice, greedy for party tattle, and full of admiring 
 reverence for the two great hierophants of petty mysteries 
 before him, ventured to intimate his anxiety for initiation, 
 the secret was entrusted to him, * that all was right there ; 
 that his grace only watched his opportunity ; that he was 
 heartily sick of the present men ; indeed, would have gone 
 over with Lord Stanley in 1835, had he not had a fit of the 
 gout, which prevented him from coming up from the north ; 
 and though, to be sure, his son and brother did vote against 
 the Speaker, still that was a mistake ; if a letter ;had been 
 sent, which was not written, they would have voted the 
 other way, and perhaps Sir Robert might have been in at 
 the present moment.' 
 
 The Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine was the great staple of Lady 
 Firebrace's correspondence with Mr. Tadpole. * Woman's 
 'mission ' took the shape, to her intelligence, of getting over 
 his grace to the conservatives. She was much assisted in 
 these endeavours by the information which she so dex- 
 terously ; couired from the innocent and incautious Lord 
 Masque. 
 
 Egremont was seated at dinner to-day by the side of Lady 
 Joan. Unconsciously to himself, this had been arranged 
 by Lady Marney. The action of woman on our destiny is 
 unceasing. Egremont was scarcely in a happy mood for 
 conversation. He was pensive, inclined to be absent ; his 
 thoughts, indeed, were of other things and persons than 
 those around him. Lady Joan, however, only required a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 149 
 
 listener ; she did not make inquiries like Lady Maud, or im- 
 part her own impressions by suggesting them as your own. 
 Lady Joan gave Egremont an account of the Aztec cities, 
 of which she had been reading that morning, and of the 
 several historical theories which their discovery had sug- 
 gested ; then she imparted her own, which differed from all, 
 but which seemed clearly the right one. Mexico led to 
 Egypt. Lady Joan was as familiar with the Pharaohs as 
 with the Caciques of the new world. The phonetic system 
 was despatched by the way. Then came Champollion ; then 
 Paris ; then all its celebrities, literary and especially scien- 
 tific ; then came the letter from Arago received that morn- 
 ing ; and the letter from Dr. Buckland expected to-morrow. 
 She was delighted that one had written ; wondered why the 
 other had not. Finally, before the ladies had retired, she 
 had invited Egremont to join Lady Marney in a visit to her 
 observatory, where they were to behold a comet which she 
 had been the first to detect. 
 
 Lady Firebrace, next to the duke, indulged in mysterious 
 fiddle-faddle as to the state of parties. She, too, had her 
 correspondents, and her letters received or awaited. Tad- 
 pole said this ; Lord Masque, on the contrary, said that : 
 the truth lay, perhaps, between them ; some result, developed 
 by the clear intelligence of Lady Firebrace, acting on the 
 data with which they supplied her. The duke listened 
 with calm excitement to the transcendental revelations of 
 his Egeria. Nothing appeared to be concealed from her ; 
 the inmost mind of the sovereign ; there was not a royal 
 prejudice that was not mapped in her secret inventory ; the 
 cabinets of the whigs, and the clubs of the tories, she had 
 the ' open sesame ' to all of them. Sir Somebody did not 
 want office, though he pretended to ; and Lord Nobody did 
 want office, though he pretended he did not. One great 
 man thought the pear was not ripe ; another that it was 
 quite rotten ; but then the first was coming on the stage, 
 and the other was going off. In estimating the accuracy of 
 
J5Q SYBIL; OR 
 
 a political opinion, one should take into consideration the 
 standing of the opinionist. 
 
 At the right moment, and when she was sure she was 
 not overheard, Lady Firebrace played her trump card, the 
 pack having been previously cut by Mr. Tadpole. 
 
 1 And whom do you think Sir Robert would send to Ire- 
 land ?' and she looked up in the face of the Duke of Fitz- 
 Aquitaine. 
 
 i I suppose the person he sent before,' said his grace. 
 Lady Firebrace shook her head. 
 
 1 Lord Haddington will not go to Ireland again,' replied 
 her ladyship, mysteriously ; ' mark me. And Lord de Grey 
 does not like to go ; and if he did, there are objections. 
 And the Duke of Northumberland, he will not go. And 
 who else is there ? We must have a nobleman of the 
 highest rank for Ireland ; one who has not mixed himself 
 up with Irish questions ; who has always been in old days 
 for emancipation ; a conservative, not an Orangeman. You 
 understand. That is the person Sir Robert will send, and 
 whom Sir Robert wants.' 
 
 ' He will have some difficulty in finding such a person,' 
 said the duke. ' If, indeed, the blundering affair of 1834 
 had not occurred, and things had taken their legitimate 
 course, and we had seen a man like Lord Stanley, for in- 
 stance, at the head of affairs, or leading a great party, why 
 then indeed your friends the conservatives, for every sen- 
 sible man must be a conservative, in the right sense of the 
 word, would have stood in a very different position ; but 
 now ,' and his grace shook his head. 
 
 1 Sir Robert will never consent to form a government 
 again without Lord Stanley,' said Lady Firebrace. 
 
 * Perhaps not,' said the duke. 
 
 1 Do you know whose name I have heard mentioned in a 
 certain quarter as the person Sir Robert would wish to see 
 in Ireland ?' continued Lady Firebrace. 
 
 His grace lent his ear. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 151 
 
 ' The Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine,' said Lady Firebrace. 
 
 4 Quite impossible,' said the duke. ' I am no party man ; 
 if I be anything, I am a supporter of the government. True 
 it is, I do not like the way they are going on, and I dis- 
 approve of all their measures ; but we must stand by our 
 friends, Lady Firebrace. To be sure, if the country were 
 in danger, and the Queen personally appealed to one, and 
 the conservative party were really a conservative party, and 
 not an old crazy faction, vamped up, and whitewashed 
 into decency, one might pause and consider. But I am free 
 to confess I must see things in a very different condition 
 from what they are at present, before I could be called upon 
 to take that step. I must see men like Lord Stanley ' 
 
 1 1 know what you are going to say, my dear Duke of 
 Fitz-Aquitaine. I tell you again, Lord Stanley is with us 
 heart and soul ; and before long I feel persuaded I shall see 
 your grace in the Castle of Dublin.' 
 
 ' I am too old ; at least, I am afraid so,' said the Duke of 
 Fitz-Aquitaine, with a relenting smile. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 About three miles before it reaches the town, the river 
 Mowe undulates through a plain. The scene, though not 
 very picturesque, has a glad and sparkling character. A 
 stone bridge unites the opposite banks by three arches of 
 good proportion ; the land about consists of meads of a vivid 
 colour, or vegetable gardens to supply the neighbouring 
 population, and whose various hues give life and lightness 
 to the level ground. The immediate boundaries of the 
 plain on either side are chiefly woods ; above the crest of 
 which in one direction expands the brown bosom of a moor. 
 The cottages which are sprinkled about this scene, being 
 built of stone, and on an ample scale, contribute to the idea 
 
152 SYBIL; OR 
 
 of comfort and plenty which, with a serene sky and on a 
 soft summer day, the traveller willingly associates with it. 
 
 Such were the sky and season in which Egremont 
 emerged on this scene, a few days after the incidents 
 recorded in our last chapter. He had been fishing in the 
 park of Mowbray, and had followed the rivulet through 
 many windings until, quitting the enclosed domain, it had 
 forced its way through some craggy underwood at the 
 bottom of the hilly moors we have noticed, and, finally 
 entering the plain, lost itself in the waters of the greater 
 stream. 
 
 Good sport had not awaited Egremont. Truth to say, 
 his rod had played in a careless hand. He had taken it, 
 though an adept in the craft when in the mood, rather 
 as an excuse to be alone than a means to be amused. There 
 are seasons in life when solitude is a necessity ; and such a 
 one had now descended on the spirit of the brother of Lord 
 Marney. 
 
 / The form of Sybil Gerard was stamped upon his brain. ) 
 It blended with all his thoughts ; it haunted every object. 
 Who was this girl, unlike all women whom he had yet en- 
 countered, who spoke with such sweet seriousness of things 
 of such vast import, but which had never crossed his mind, 
 and with a kind of mournful majesty bewailed the degrada- 
 v tion of her race ? The daughter of the lowly, yet proud of 
 her birth. Not a noble lady in the land who could boast 
 a mien more complete, and none of them thus gifted, who 
 possessed withal the fascinating simplicity that pervaded 
 every gesture and accent of the daughter of Gerard. 
 
 Yes ! the daughter of Gerard ; the daughter of a work- 
 man at a factory. It had not been difficult, after the 
 departure of Sybil, to extract this information from the 
 garrulous wife of the weaver. And that father, he was 
 not unknown to Egremont. His proud form and generous 
 countenance were still fresh in the mind's eye of our friend. 
 Not less so his thoughtful speech ; full of knowledge and 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 153 
 
 meditation and earnest feeling ! How much that he had 
 spoken still echoed in the heart and rung in the brooding 
 ear of Egremont. And his friend, too, that pale man with 
 those glittering eyes, who, without affectation, without 
 pedantry, with artlessness on the contrary, and a degree of 
 earnest singleness, had glanced like a master of philosophy 
 at the loftiest principles of political science, was he too a 
 workman ? And are these then the People ? If so, 
 thought Egremont, would that I lived more among them ! 
 Compared with their converse, the tattle of our saloons has 
 in it something humiliating. It is not merely that it is 
 deficient in warmth, and depth, and breadth ; that it is 
 always discussing persons instead of principles, and cloaking 
 its want of thought in mimetic dogmas, and its want of 
 feeling in superficial raillery ; it is not merely that it has 
 neither imagination, nor fancy, nor sentiment, nor feeling, 
 nor knowledge to recommend it; but it appears to me, 
 even as regards manner and expression, inferior in re- 
 finement and phraseology ; in short, trivial, uninteresting, 
 stupid, really vulgar. 
 
 It seemed to Egremont that, from the day he met these 
 persons in the Abbey ruins, the horizon of his experience 
 had insensibly expanded ; more than that, there were streaks 
 of light breaking in the distance, which already gave a new 
 aspect to much that was known, and which perhaps was 
 ultimately destined to reveal much that was now utterly 
 obscure. He could not resist the conviction that, from the 
 time in question, his sympathies had become more lively 
 and more extended ; that a masculine impulse had been 
 given to his mind ; that he was inclined to view public 
 questions in a light very different from that in which he 
 had surveyed them a few weeks back, when on the hustings 
 of his borough. 
 
 Revolving these things, he emerged, as we have stated, 
 into the plain of the Mo we, and, guiding his path by the 
 course of the river, he arrived at the bridge which a fancy 
 
154 SYBIL; OR 
 
 tempted him to cross. In its centre was a man gazing on 
 the waters below and leaning over the parapet. His footstep 
 ronsed the loiterer, who looked round ; and Egremont saw 
 that it was Walter Gerard. 
 
 Gerard returned his salute, and said, ' Early hours on 
 Saturday afternoon make us all saunterers ; ' and then, as 
 their way was the same, they walked on together. It 
 seemed that Gerard's cottage was near at hand, and, having 
 inquired after Egremont's sport, and receiving for a reply 
 a present of a brace of trout, the only one, by-the-bye, that 
 was in Egremont's basket, he could scarcely do less than 
 invite his companion to rest himself. 
 
 ' There is my home,' said Gerard, pointing to a cottage 
 recently built, and in a pleasing style. Its materials were 
 of a fawn-coloured stone, common in the Mowbray quarries. 
 A scarlet creeper clustered round one side of its ample porch; 
 its windows were large, mullioned, and neatly latticed ; it 
 stood in the midst of a garden of no mean dimensions, but 
 every bed and nook of which teemed with cultivation ; 
 flowers and vegetables both abounded, while an orchard rich 
 with the promise of many fruits ripe pears and famous 
 pippins of the north and plums of every shape and hue 
 screened the dwelling from that wind against which the 
 woods that formed its background were no protection. 
 
 * And you are well lodged ! Your garden does you honour.' 
 
 'I'll be honest enough to own I have no claim to the 
 credit,' said Gerard. ' I am but a lazy chiel.' 
 
 They entered the cottage where a hale old woman greeted 
 them. 
 
 1 She is too old to be my wife, and too young to be my 
 mother,' said Gerard, smiling ; ' but she is a good creature, 
 and has looked after me many a long day. Come, dame,' 
 he said, ' thou'lt bring us a cup of tea ; 'tis a good evening 
 beverage,' he added, turning to Egremont, ' and what I ever 
 take at this time. And if you care to light a pipe, you will 
 find a companion.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 155 
 
 c I have renounced tobacco,' said Egremont ; ' tobacco is 
 the tomb of love,' and they entered a neatly-furnished 
 chamber, having that habitable look which the best room of 
 a farm-house too often wants. Instead of the cast-off fur- 
 niture of other establishments, at the same time dingy and 
 tawdry, mock rosewood chairs and tarnished mahogany 
 tables, it contained an oaken table, some cottage chairs 
 made of beech-wood, and a Dutch clock. But what sur- 
 prised Egremont was the appearance of several shelves well 
 lined with volumes. Their contents too on closer inspection 
 were remarkable. They indicated a student of a high order. 
 Egremont read the titles of works which he only knew by 
 fame, but which treated of the loftiest and most subtle 
 questions of social and political philosophy. As he was 
 throwing his eye over them, his companion said, ' Ah ! I see 
 you think me as great a scholar as I am a gardener ; but 
 with as little justice : these books are not mine.' 
 
 ' To whomsoever they belong,' said Egremont, 'if we are 
 to judge from his collection, he has a tolerably strong head.' 
 
 1 Ay, ay,' said Gerard, ' the world will hear of him yet, 
 though he was only a workman, and the son of a workman. 
 He has not been at your schools and your colleges, but he 
 can write his mother tongue, as Shakespeare and Cobbett 
 wrote it ; and you must do that, if you wish to influence 
 the people.' 
 
 * And might I ask his name,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' Stephen Morley, my friend.' 
 
 ' The person I saw with you at Marney Abbey ? ' 
 
 ' The same.' 
 
 1 And he lives with you.' 
 
 1 Why, we kept house together, if you could call it so. 
 Stephen does not give much trouble in that way. He only 
 drinks water and only eats herbs and fruits. He is the 
 gardener,' added Gerard, smiling. ' I don't know how we 
 shall fare when he leaves me.' 
 
 4 And is he going to leave you ? ' 
 
6 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 1 Why, in a manner he has gone. He has taken a cottage 
 abont a qnarter of a mile up dale, and only left his Looks 
 
 here, because he is going into shire in a day or two, 
 
 on some business, that maybe will take him a week or so. 
 The books are safer here you see for the present, for Stephen 
 lives alone, and is a good deal away, for he edits a paper at 
 Mowbray, and that must be looked after. He is to be my 
 gardener still. I promised him that. "Well done, dame,' 
 said Gerard, as the old woman entered ; ' I hope, for the 
 honour of the house, a good brew. Now, comrade, sit down : 
 it will do you good after your long stroll. You should eat 
 your own trout if you would wait ? ' 
 
 'By no means. You will miss your friend, I should 
 think ? 
 
 ' We shall see a good deal of him, I doubt not, what with 
 the garden and neighbourhood and so on ; besides, in a 
 manner, he is master of his own time. His work is not like 
 ours ; and though the pull on the brain is sometimes great, 
 I have often wished I had a talent that way. It's a drear 
 life to do the same thing every day at the same hour. But 
 I never could express my ideas except with my tongue ; and 
 there I feel tolerably at home.' 
 
 ' It will be a pity to see this room without these books,' 
 said Egremont, encouraging conversation on domestic 
 subjects. 
 
 ' So it will,' said Gerard. ' I have got very few of my 
 own. But my daughter will be able to fill the shelves in 
 time, I warrant.' 
 
 ' Your daughter ; she is coming to live with you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; that is the reason why Stephen quits us. He only 
 remained here until Sybil could keep my house, and that 
 happy day is at hand.' 
 
 ' That is a great compensation for the loss of your friend,' 
 said Egremont. 
 
 1 And yet she talks of flitting,' said Gerard, in rather a 
 melancholy tone. ' She hankers after the cloister. She has 
 passed a still, sweet life in the convent here ; the Superior 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 157 
 
 is the sister of my employer and a very saint on earth ; and ; 
 Sybil knows nothing of the real world except its suffer- \ 
 ings. No matter,' he added more cheerfully; *I would 
 not have her take the veil rashly, but, if I lose her, it may 
 be for the best. jJFor the married life of a woman of our 
 class, in the present condition of our country, is a lease of 
 woe,' he added, shaking his head, * slaves, and the slaves 
 of slaves ! J Even woman's spirit cannot stand against it ; 
 and it can bear up against more than we can master.' 
 
 1 Your daughter is not made for the common cares of life,' 
 said Egremont. 
 
 ' We'll not talk of them,' said Gerard. ' Sybil has an 
 English heart, and that's not easily broken. And you, 
 comrade, you are a traveller in these parts, eh ? ' 
 
 ' A kind of traveller ; something in the way of your 
 friend Morley connected with the press.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! a reporter, eh ? I thought you had something 
 about you a little more knowing than we provincials.' 
 
 ' Yes ; a reporter. They want information in London as 
 to the real state of the country, and this time of the year, 
 Parliament not sitting ' 
 
 1 Ah ; I understand, a flying commission and a summer 
 tour. Well, I often wish I were a penman ; but I never 
 could do it. I'll read any day as long as you like, but that 
 writing I could never manage. My friend Morley is a 
 powerful hand at it. His journal circulates a good deal 
 about here ; and if, as I often tell him, he would only sink 
 his high-flying philosophy and stick to old English politics, 
 he might make a property of it. You'll like to know him? ' 
 
 1 Much.' 
 
 * And what first took you to the press, if I may ask ? ' 
 
 ' Why my father was a gentleman,' said Egremont in 
 a hesitating tone, 'and I was a younger son.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Gerard, ' that is as bad as being a woman.' 
 
 ' I had no patrimony,' continued Egremont, ' and I was 
 obliged to work ; I had no head I believe for the law ; the 
 church was not exactly in my way ; and as for the army. 
 
158 SYBIL; OR 
 
 how was I to advance without money or connexions ! I 
 had had some education, and so I thought I would turn it 
 to account.' 
 
 ' Wisely done ! you are one of the working classes, and 
 will enlist I hope in the great struggle against the drones. 
 The natural friends of the people are younger sons, though 
 i they are generally enlisted against us. The more fools they; 
 to devote their energies to the maintenance of a system 
 which is founded on selfishness and which leads to fraud ; 
 and of which they are the first victims. But every man 
 thinks he will be an exception.' 
 
 1 And yet,' said Egremont, a great family, rooted in the 
 land, has been deemed to be an element of political strength.' 
 
 1 I'll tell you what,' said Gerard, ' there is a great family 
 in this country, and rooted in it, of which we have heard 
 much less than they deserved, but of which I suspect we 
 shall very soon hear enough to make us all think a bit.' 
 
 ' In this county ? ' 
 
 ' Ay ; in this county and every other one : I mean the 
 People.' 
 
 """* Ah ! ' said Egremont, ' that family has existed for a long 
 time.' 
 
 * But it has taken to increase rapidly of late, my friend 
 how may I call you ? ' 
 
 I They call me Franklin.' 
 
 ' A good English name of a good English class that has 
 disappeared. Well, Mr. Franklin, be sure of this, that the 
 Population Returns of this country are very instructive 
 reading.' 
 
 4 1 can conceive so.' 
 
 I I became a man when the bad times were beginning,' 
 said Gerard ; ' I have passed through many doleful years. 
 I was a Franklin's son myself, and we had lived on this 
 island at least no worse for a longer time than I care to 
 recollect, as little as what I am now. But that's nothing ; 
 I am not thinking of myself. I am prosperous in a fashion ; 
 it is the serfs I live among of whom I am thinking. Well, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 159 
 
 I have heard, in the course of years, of some specifics for 
 this constant degradation of the people ; some thing or 
 some person that was to put all right ; and for my part, I 
 was not unready to support any proposal or follow any 
 leader. There was reform, and there was paper money, and 
 no machinery, and a thousand other remedies ; and there 
 were demagogues of all kinds, some as base as myself, and 
 some with blood in their veins almost as costly as flows in 
 those of our great neighbour here, Earl de Mowbray, and I 
 have always heard that was very choice : but I will frankly 
 own to you, I never had much faith in any of these pro- 
 posals or proposers ; still they were a change, and that is 
 something. But I have been persuaded of late that there 
 is something going on in this country of more efficacy ; a 
 remedial power, as I believe, and irresistible ; but whether 
 remedial or not, at any rate a power that will mar all or , 
 cure all. You apprehend me ? I speak of the annual j 
 arrival of more than three hundred thousand strangers in 
 this island. How will you feed them ? How will you 
 clothe them ? How will you house them ? They have 
 given up butcher's meat ; must they give up bread ? And 
 as for raiment and shelter, the rags of the kingdom are 
 exhausted, and your sinks and cellars already swarm like 
 rabbit warrens.' 
 
 ' 'Tis an awful consideration,' said Egremont, musing. 
 
 1 Awful,' said Gerard ; "tis the most solemn thing since 
 the deluge. What kingdom can stand against it ? Why, 
 go to your history, you're a scholar, and see the fall of 
 the great Roman empire ; what was that ? Every now and 
 then, there came two or three hundred thousand strangers 
 out of the forests, and crossed the mountains and rivers. 
 They come to us every year, and in greater numbers. What 
 are your invasions of the barbarous nations, your Goths 
 and Visigoths, your Lombards and Huns, to our Population 
 Returns ! ' 
 
 END OF THE SECOND BOOK. 
 
160 SYBIL; OR 
 
 book in. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Tiie last rays of the sun, contending with clouds of smoke 
 that drifted across the country, partially illumined a pecu- 
 liar landscape. Far as the eye could reach, and the region 
 was level, except where a range of limestone hills formed 
 its distant limit, a wilderness of cottages, or tenements that 
 were hardly entitled to a higher name, were scattered for 
 many miles over the land ; some detached, some connected 
 in little rows, some clustering in groups, yet rarely forming 
 continuous streets, but interspersed with blazing furnaces, 
 heaps of burning coal, and piles of smouldering ironstone ; 
 while forges and engine cliimneys roared and puffed in all 
 directions, and indicated the frequent presence of the mouth 
 of the mine, and the bank of the coal-pit. Notwithstanding 
 the whole country might be compared to a vast rabbit war- 
 ren, it was nevertheless intersected with canals, crossing 
 each other at various levels; and though the subterranean 
 operations were prosecuted with so much avidity that it 
 was not uncommon to observe whole rows of houses awry, 
 from the shifting and hollow nature of the land, still, inter- 
 mingled with heaps of mineral refuse, or of metallic dross, 
 patches of the surface might here and there be recognised, 
 covered, as if in mockery, with grass and corn, looking very 
 much like those gentlemen's sons that we used to read of 
 in our youth, stolen by the chimneysweeps, and giving some 
 intimations of their breeding beneath their grimy livery. 
 

 THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 161 
 
 But a tree or a shrub, such an existence was unknown in 
 this dingy rather than dreary region. 
 
 It was the twilight hour ; the hour at which in southern 
 climes the peasant kneels before the sunset image of the 
 blessed Hebrew maiden ; when caravans halt in their long 
 course over vast deserts, and the turbaned traveller, bending 
 in the sand, pays his homage to the sacred stone and the 
 sacred city ; the hour, not less holy, that announces the cessa- 
 tion of English toil, and sends forth the miner and the collier 
 to breathe the air of earth, and gaze on the light of heaven. 
 
 They come forth : the mine delivers its gang and the pit 
 its bondsmen; the forge is silent and the engine is still. 
 The plain is covered with the swarming multitude : bands 
 of stalwart men, broad-chested and muscular, wet with toify 
 and black as the children of the tropics ; troops of youth, 
 alas ! of both sexes, though neither their raiment nor their 
 language indicates the difference ; all are clad in male attire ; < 
 and oaths that men might shudder at, issue from lips born 
 to breathe words of sweetness. Yet these are to be, some 
 are, the mothers of England ! But can we wonder at the 
 hideous coarseness of their language, when we remember 
 the savage rudeness of their lives ? Naked to the waist, an 
 iron chain fastened to a belt of leather runs between their 
 legs clad in canvas trousers, while on hands and feet an 
 English girl, for twelve, sometimes for sixteen hours a day, 
 hauls and hurries tubs of coals up subterranean roads, dark, 
 precipitous, and plashy ; circumstances that seem to have 
 escaped the notice of the Society for the Abolition of Negro 
 Slavery. Those worthy gentlemen too appear to have been 
 singularly unconscious of the sufferings of the little trap- 
 pers, which was remarkable, as many of them were in their 
 own employ. 
 
 See, too, these emerge from the bowels of the earth ! 
 Infants of four and five years of age, many of them girls, 
 pretty and still soft and timid ; entrusted with the fulfil- 
 ment of responsible duties, and the nature of which entails 
 
 M 
 
 K 
 
 
1 62 SYBIL; OR 
 
 on them the necessity of being the earliest to enter the 
 mine and the latest to leave it. Their labour indeed is 
 not severe, for that would be impossible, but it is passed in 
 darkness and in solitude. They endure that punishment 
 which philosophical philanthropy has invented for the 
 direst criminals, and which those criminals deem more 
 terrible than the death for which it is substituted. Hour 
 after hour elapses, and all that reminds the infant trappers 
 of the world they have quitted and that which they have 
 joined, is the passage of the coal- waggons for which they 
 open the air-doors of the galleries, and on keeping which 
 doors constantly closed, except at this moment of passage, 
 the safety of the mine and the lives of the persons employed 
 in it entirely depend. 
 
 Sir Joshua, a man of genius and a courtly artist, struck 
 by the seraphic countenance of Lady Alice Gordon, when a 
 child of very tender years, painted the celestial visage in 
 various attitudes on the same canvas, and styled the group 
 of heavenly faces guardian angels ! 
 
 We would say to some great master of the pencil, Mr. 
 Landseer, or Mr. Etty, go thou to the little trappers and 
 do likewise ! 
 
 A small party of miners approached a house of more 
 pretension than the generality of the dwellings, and an- 
 nouncing its character by a flagrant sign of the Rising 
 Sun. They entered it as men accustomed, and were 
 greeted with smiles and many civil words from the lady at 
 the bar, who enquired cheerfully what the gentlemen 
 would have. They soon found themselves seated in the 
 tap, and, though it was not entirely unoccupied, in their 
 accustomed places ; for there seemed a general understand- 
 ing that they enjoyed a prescriptive right. 
 
 With hunches of white bread in their black hands, and 
 t grinning with their sable countenances and ivory teeth, they 
 really looked like a gang of negroes at a revel. 
 
 The cups of ale circulated, the pipes were lighted, the 
 preliminary puffs achieved There was at length silence, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 163 
 
 when he who seemed their leader, and who filled a sort of 
 president's seat, took his pipe from his month, and then 
 uttering the first complete sentence that had yet been ex- 
 pressed aloud, thus delivered himself. 
 
 * The fact is, we are tommied to death.' 
 
 * You never spoke a truer word, Master Nixon,' said one 
 of his companions. 
 
 1 It's gospel, every word of it/ said another. 
 
 ' And the point is,' continued Master Nixon, ' what aro 
 we for to do ?' 
 
 'Ay, surely,' said a collier, ' that's the marrow.' 
 
 1 Ay, ay,' agreed several ; ' there it is.' 
 
 1 The question is,' said Nixon, looking round with a ma- 
 gisterial air, ' what is wages ? I say, 'tayn't sugar, 'tayn't 
 tea, 'tayn't bacon. I don't think 'tis candles ; but of this 
 I be sure, 'tayn't waistcoats.' 
 
 Here there was a general groan. 
 
 * Comrades,' continued Nixon, ' you know what has hap- 
 pened ; you know as how Juggins applied forhis balance 
 after his tommy-book was paid up, and that incarnate nig- 
 ger Diggs has made him take two waistcoats. Now the 
 question rises, what is a collier to do with waistcoats ? 
 Pawn 'em I s'pose to Diggs' son-in-law, next door to his 
 father's shop, and sell the ticket for sixpence. Now, there's 
 the question ; keep to the question ; the question is waist- 
 coats and tommy ; first waistcoats, and then tommy.' 
 
 ' I have been making a pound a- week these two months 
 past,' said another, * but, as I'm a sinner saved, I have 
 never seen the young Queen's picture yet.' 
 
 ' And I have been obliged to pay the doctor for my poor 
 wife in tommy,' said another. ' " Doctor," I said, says I, 
 " I blush to do it, but all I have got is tommy, and what 
 shall it be, bacon or cheese ? " " Cheese at tenpence a 
 pound," says he, ' which I buy for my servants at sixpence ! 
 Never mind," says he, for he is a thorough Christian, " I'll 
 take the tommy as I find it." ' 
 
 m 2 
 
1 64 SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 Juggins has got his rent to pay, and is afeard of the 
 bums,' said Nixon ; ' and he has got two waistcoats ! ' 
 
 ' Besides,' said another, ' Diggs' tommy is only open once 
 a- week, and if you're not there in time, you go over for 
 another seven days. And it's such a distance, and he keeps 
 a body there such a time ; it's always a day's work for my 
 poor woman ; she can't do nothing after it, what with the 
 waiting, and the standing, and the cussing of Master 
 Joseph Diggs ; for he do swear at the women, when they 
 rush in for the first turn, most fearful.' 
 
 * They do say he's a shocking little dog.' 
 ' Master Joseph is wery wiolent, but there is no one like 
 
 old Diggs for grabbing a bit of one's wages. He do so love 
 it ! And then he says you never need be at no loss for 
 nothing ; you can find everything under my roof. I should 
 like to know who is to mend our shoes. Has Gaffer Diggs 
 a cobbler's stall ?' 
 
 ' Or sell us a penn'orth of potatoes,' said another. ' Or a 
 ha'porth of milk.' 
 
 1 No ; and so to get them one is obliged to go and sell 
 some tommy, and much one gets for it. Bacon at nine- 
 pence a-pound at Diggs', which you may get at a huckster's 
 for sixpence ; and therefore the huckster can't be expected 
 to give you more than fourpence-halfpenny, by which token 
 the tommy in our field just cuts our wages atween the navel.' 
 
 1 And that's as true as if you heard it in church, Master 
 Waghorn.' 
 
 ' This Diggs seems to be an oppressor of the people,' said 
 a voice from a distant corner of the room. 
 
 Master Nixon looked around, smoked, puffed, and then 
 said, * I should think he wor ; as bloody-a-hearted butty* 
 as ever jingled.' 
 
 * A Butty in the mining districts is a middleman : a Doggy is his 
 manager. The Butty generally keeps a Tommy or Truck shop, and 
 pays the wages of his labourers in goods. When miners and colliers 
 strike, they term it ' going to play.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 165 
 
 1 But what business has a butty to keep a shop ?' inquired 
 the stranger. * The law touches him.' 
 
 ' I should like to know who would touch the law,' said 
 Mxon ; ' not I for one. Them tommy-shops is very delicate 
 things ; they won't stand no handling, I can tell you that.' 
 
 * But he cannot force you to take goods,' said the stran- 
 ger ; * he must pay you in current coin of the realm, if you 
 demand it.' 
 
 * They only pay us once in five weeks,' said a collier ; 
 ' and how is a man to live meanwhile. And suppose we 
 were to make shift for a month or five weeks, and have all 
 our money coming, and have no tommy out of the shop, 
 what would the butty say to me ? He would say, " Do you 
 want e'er a note this time ?" and if I was to say, "No," then 
 he would say, " You've no call to go down to work any more 
 here." And that's what I call forsation.' 
 
 * Ay, ay,' said another collier ; * ask for the young Queen's 
 picture, and you would soon have to put your shirt on, and 
 go up the shaft.' 
 
 ' It's them long reckonings that force us to the tommy- 
 shops,' said another collier ; ' and if a butty turns you away 
 because you won't take no tommy, you're a marked man in 
 every field about.' 
 
 ' There's wuss things as tommy,' said a collier who had 
 hitherto been silent, ' and that's these here butties. What's 
 going on in the pit is known only to God Almighty and 
 the colliers. I have been a consistent methodist for many 
 years, strived to do well, and all the harm I have ever done 
 to the butties was to tell them that their deeds would not 
 stand on the day of judgment.' 
 
 ' They are deeds of darkness surely ; for many's the morn 
 we work for nothing, by one excuse or another, and many's 
 the good stint that they undermeasure. And many's the 
 cup of their ale that you must drink before they will give 
 you any work. If the Queen would do something for us 
 poor men, it would be a blessed job.' 
 
%. 
 
 i66 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 ' There ayn't no black tyrant on this earth like a butty, 
 surely/ said a collier ; ' and there's no redress for poor men.' 
 
 I But why do not you state your grievances to the land- 
 lords and lessees ? ' said the stranger. 
 
 I I take it you be a stranger in these parts, sir,' said Mas- 
 ter Nixon, following up this remark by an enormous puff. 
 He was the oracle of his circle, and there was silence when- 
 ever he was inclined to address them, which was not too 
 often, though when he spoke, his words, as his followers 
 often observed, were a regular ten-yard coal. 
 
 ' I take it you be a stranger in these parts, sir, or else 
 you would know that it's as easy for a miner to speak to a 
 main-master, as it is for me to pick coal with this here 
 clay. Sir, there's a gulf atween 'em. I went into the pit 
 when I was five year old, and I counts forty year in the 
 service come Martinmas, and a very good age, sir, for a man 
 that does his work, and I knows what I'm speaking about. 
 In forty year, sir, a man sees a pretty deal, 'specially 
 when he don't move out of the same spot and keeps his 
 'tention. I've been at play, sir, several times in forty year, 
 and have seen as great stick-outs as ever happened in this 
 country. I've seen the people at play for weeks together, 
 and so clammed that I never tasted nothing but a potato 
 and a little salt for more than a fortnight. Talk of tommy, 
 . that was hard fare, but we were holding out for our rights, 
 and that's sauce for any gander. And I'll tell you what, 
 sir, that I never knew the people play yet, but if a word 
 had passed atween them and the main-masters aforehand, 
 it might not have been settled ; but you can't get at them 
 any way. \ Atween the poor man and the gentleman there 
 never was no connection, and that's the wital mischief of 
 this country.' 
 
 ' It's a very true word, Master Nixon, and by this token 
 that when we went to play in '28, and the masters said 
 they would meet us ; what did they do but walk about the 
 o-round and speak to the butties. The butties has their ear.' 
 
 1 We never want no soldiers here if the masters would 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 167 
 
 speak with tlie men ; but the sight of a pitman is pison to 
 a gentleman, and if we go up to speak with 'em, they always 
 ran away.' 
 
 It's the butties,' said Nixon ; ' they're wusser nor 
 tommy.' 
 
 ' The people will never have their rights,' said the stran- 
 ger, l until they learn their power. Suppose, instead of j 
 sticking out and playing, fifty of your families were to live 
 under one roof. You would live better than you hve now ; 
 you would feed more fully, and be lodged and clothed more 
 comfortably, and you might save half the amount of your 
 wages ; you would become capitalists ; you might yourselves 
 hire your mines and pits from the owners, and pay them a 
 better rent than they now obtain, and yet yourselves gain 
 more and work less.' 
 
 1 Sir,' said Mr. Nixon, taking his pipe from his mouth, 
 and sending forth a volume of smoke, ' you speak like a book.' 
 
 1 It is the principle of association,' said the stranger ; ' the 
 want of the age.' 
 
 * Sir,' said Mr. Nixon, ' this here age wants a great deal, v_ 
 but what it principally wants is to have its wages paid in v 
 the current coin of the realm.' 
 
 Soon after this there were symptoms of empty mugs and 
 exhausted pipes, and the party began to stir. The stranger 
 addressing Nixon, inquired of him what was their present 
 distance from Wodgate. 
 
 1 Wodgate !' exclaimed Mr. Nixon with an unconscious air. 
 
 1 The gentleman means Hell-house Yard,' said one of his 
 companions. 
 
 1 I'm at home,' said Mr. Nixon, ' but 'tis the first time I 
 ever heard Hell-house Yard called Wodgate.' 
 
 1 It's called so in joggraphy,' said Juggins. 
 
 1 But you bay'nt going to Hell-house Yard this time of 
 night !' said Mr. Nixon. * I'd as soon think of going down 
 the pit with the windlass turned by lushy Bob.' 
 
 ' 'Tayn't a journey for Christians,' said Juggins. 
 
 ' They're a very queer lot even in sunshine,' said another. 
 
1 68 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' And how far is it ? * asked the stranger. 
 
 1 1 walked there once in three hours,' said a collier, ' but 
 that was to the wake. If you want to see divils carnal, 
 there's your time of day. They're no less than heathens, I 
 be sure. I'd be sorry to see even our butty among them, 
 for he is a sort of a Christian when he has taken a glass of 
 ale.' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Two days after the visit of Egremont to the cottage of 
 Walter Gerard, the visit of the Marney family to Mowbray 
 terminated, and they returned to the Abbey. 
 
 There is something mournful in the breaking up of an 
 agreeable party, and few are the roofs in which one has 
 sojourned, which are quitted without some feeling of de- 
 pression. The sudden cessation of all those sources of 
 excitement which pervade a gay and well-arranged mansion 
 in the country unstrings the nervous system. For a week 
 or so, we have done nothing which was not agreeable, and 
 heard nothing which was not pleasant. Our self-love has 
 been respected ; there has been a total cessation of petty 
 cares ; all the enjoyment of an establishment without any 
 of its solicitude. We have beheld civilisation only in its 
 favoured aspect, and tasted only the sunny side of the 
 fruit. Sometimes there are associations with our visit of a 
 still sweeter and softer character, but on these we need not 
 dwell: glances that cannot be forgotten, and tones that 
 linger in the ear; sentiment that subdues the soul, and 
 flirtation that agitates the fancy. No matter, whatever 
 may be the cause, one too often drives away from a country- 
 house rather hipped. The specific would be immediately 
 to drive to another, and it is a favourite remedy. But 
 sometimes it is not in our power ; sometimes, for instance, we 
 must return to our household gods in the shape of a nursery ; 
 and though this was not the form assumed by the penates 
 of Lord Marney, his presence, the presence of an individual 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 169 
 
 50 important and so indefatigable, was still required. His 
 lordship had passed his time at Mowbray to his satisfaction. 
 He had had his own way in everything. His selfishness 
 had not received a single shock. He had laid down the 
 law and it had not been questioned. He had dogmatised 
 and impugned, and his assertions had passed current, and 
 his doctrines had been accepted as orthodox. Lord de 
 Mowbray suited him; he liked the consideration of so 
 great a personage. Lord Marney also really liked pomp, 
 a curious table, and a luxurious life ; but he liked them 
 under any roof rather than his own. Not that he was what 
 is commonly called a Screw, that is to say, he was not a 
 mere screw ; but he was acute and malicious ; saw every- 
 body's worth and position at a glance ; could not bear to 
 expend his choice wines and costly viands on hangers-on 
 and toad-eaters, though at the same time no man encouraged 
 and required hangers-on and toad-eaters more. Lord 
 Marney had all the petty social vices, and none of those 
 petty social weaknesses which soften their harshness or 
 their hideousness. To receive a prince of the blood, or a 
 great peer, he would spare nothing. Had he to fulfil any 
 of the public duties of his station, his performance would 
 baffle criticism. But he enjoyed making the Yicar of 
 Marney or Captain Grouse drink some claret that was on 
 the wane, or praise a bottle of Burgundy that he knew was 
 pricked. 
 
 Little things affect little minds. Lord Marney rose in 
 no very good humour ; he was kept at the station, which 
 aggravated his spleen. During his journey on the railroad 
 he spoke little, and though he more than once laboured to 
 get up a controversy he was unable, for Lady Marney, who 
 rather dreaded her dull home, and was not yet in a tone of 
 mind that could hail the presence of the little Poinsett as 
 full compensation for the brilliant circle of Mowbray, 
 replied in amiable monosyllables, and Egremont himself in 
 austere ones, for he was musing over Sybil Gerard and a 
 thousand things as wild and sweet. 
 
170 SYBIL; OR 
 
 Everything went wrong this day. Even Captain Grouse 
 was not at the Abbey to welcome them back. He was 
 playing in a cricket match, Marney against Marham. 
 Nothing else would have induced him to be absent. So it 
 happened that the three fellow-travellers had to dine 
 together, utterly weary of themselves and of each other. 
 Captain Grouse was never more wanted; he would have 
 amused Lord Marney, relieved his wife and brother, 
 reported all that had been said and done in their neigh- 
 bourhood during their absence, introduced a new tone, and 
 effected a happy diversion. Leaving Mowbray, detained at 
 the station, Grouse away, some disagreeable letters, or 
 letters which an ill-humoured man chooses to esteem 
 disagreeable, seemed to announce a climax. Lord Marney 
 ordered the dinner to be served in the small dining-room, 
 which was contiguous to a saloon in which Lady Marney, 
 when they were alone, generally passed the evening. 
 
 The dinner was silent and sombre ; happily it was also 
 short. Lord Marney tasted several dishes, ate of none ; 
 found fault with his own claret, though the butler had 
 given him a choice bottle; praised Lord Mowbray's, 
 wondered where he got it, 'all the wines at Mowbray were 
 good ; ' then for the twentieth time wondered what could 
 have induced Grouse to fix the cricket match the day he 
 returned home, though he chose to forget that he had 
 never communicated to Grouse even the probable day on 
 which he might be expected. 
 
 As for Egremont, it must be admitted that he was 
 scarcely in a more contented mood than his brother, though 
 he had not such insufficient cause for his dark humours. 
 In quitting Mowbray, he had quitted something else than 
 merely an agreeable circle : enough had happened in that 
 visit to stir up the deep recesses of his heart, and to prompt 
 him to investigate in an unusual spirit the cause and 
 attributes of his position. He had found a letter on his 
 return to the Abbey, not calculated to dispel these some- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS 171 
 
 what morbid feelings ; a letter from his agent, nrging the 
 settlement of his election accounts, the primary cause of 
 his visit to his brother. 
 
 Lady Marney left the dining-room ; the brothers were 
 alone. Lord Marney filled a bumper, which he drank off 
 rapidly, pushed the bottle to his brother, and then said 
 again, ' "What a cursed bore it is that Grouse is not here ! ' 
 
 ' Well, I cannot say, George, that I particularly miss the 
 presence of Captain Grouse,' said his brother. 
 
 Lord Marney looked at Egremont pugnaciously, and 
 then observed, ' Grouse is a capital fellow ; one is never 
 dull when Grouse is here.' 
 
 'Well, for my part,' said Egremont, 'I do not much 
 admire that amusement which is dependent on the efforts 
 of hangers-on.' 
 
 ' Grouse is no more a hanger-on than any one else,' said 
 Lord Marney, rather fiercely. 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' said Egremont quietly ; ' I am no judge 
 of such sort of people.' 
 
 1 1 should like to know what you are a judge of; certainly 
 not of making yourself agreeable to young ladies. Arabella 
 cannot be particularly charmed with the result of your 
 visit to Mowbray, as far as Lady Joan is concerned, 
 Arabella's most intimate friend, by-the-by. If for no 
 other reason, you ought to have paid her more attention.' 
 
 'I cannot pay attention unless I am attracted,' said 
 Egremont ; ' I have not the ever-ready talent of your friend, 
 Captain Grouse.' 
 
 ' I do not know what you mean by my friend Captain 
 Grouse. Captain Grouse is no more my friend than your 
 friend. One must have people about the house to do a 
 thousand things which one cannot do one's self, and which 
 one cannot trust to servants, and Grouse does all this 
 capitally.' 
 
 * Exactly ; he is just what I said, a capital hanger-on if 
 you like, but still a hanger-on.' 
 
172 SYBIL; OR 
 
 'Well, and what then? Suppose he is a hanger-on; 
 may I not have hangers-on as well as any other man ? ' 
 
 I Of course you may ; but I am not bound to regret their 
 absence.' 
 
 ' Who said you were ? But I will regret their absence, 
 if I choose. And I regret the absence of Grouse, regret it 
 very much; and if he did happen to be inextricably 
 engaged in this unfortunate match, I say, and you may 
 contradict me, if you please, that he ought to have taken 
 care that Slimsy dined here, to tell me all that had 
 happened.' 
 
 ' I am very glad he omitted to do so,' said Egremont ; 
 1 1 prefer Grouse to Slimsy.' 
 
 I I dare say you do,' said Lord Marney, filling his glass 
 and looking very black ; ' you would like, I have no doubt, 
 to see a fine gentleman- saint, like your friend Mr. St. Lys, 
 at Marney, preaching in cottages, filling the people with 
 discontent, lecturing me about low wages, soliciting plots 
 of ground for new churches, and inveigling Arabella into 
 subscriptions to painted windows.' 
 
 ' I certainly should like to see a man like Aubrey St. Lys 
 at Marney,' said Egremont quietly, but rather doggedly. 
 
 I And if he were here, I would soon see who should be 
 master,' said Lord Marney; 'I would not succumb like 
 Mowbray. One might as well have a Jesuit in the house at 
 once.' 
 
 ' I dare say St. Lys would care very little about entering 
 your house,' said Egremont. ' I know it was with great 
 reluctance that he ever came to Mowbray Castle.' 
 
 I I dare say ; very great reluctance indeed. And very re- 
 luctant he was, I make no doubt, to sit next to Lady Maud. I 
 wonder he does not fly higher, and preach to Lady Joan ; 
 but she is too sensible a woman for such fanatical tricks ' 
 
 1 St. Lys thinks it his duty to enter all societies. That 
 is the reason why he goes to Mowbray Castle, as well as to 
 the squalid courts and cellars of the town. He takes care 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 173 
 
 that those who are clad in purple and fine linen shall know 
 the state of their neighbours. They cannot at least plead 
 ignorance for the non-fulfilment of their duty. Before St. 
 Lys' time, the family at Mowbray Castle might as well have 
 not existed, so far as benefiting their miserable vicinage. 
 It would be well perhaps for other districts not less 
 wretched, and for other families as high and favoured as 
 the Mowbrays, if there were a Mr. St. Lys on the spot 
 instead of a Mr. Slimsey.' 
 
 ' I suppose that is meant for a cut,' said Lord Marney ; 
 ' but I wish the people were as well off in every part of the 
 country as they are on my estate. They get here their 
 eight shillings a- week, always at least seven, and every 
 hand is at this moment in employ, except a parcel of 
 scoundrels who prefer wood-stealing and poaching, and 
 who would prefer wood- stealing and poaching if you gave 
 them double the wages. The rate of wages is nothing : 
 certainty is the thing ; and every man at Marney may be 
 sure of his seven shillings a week for at least nine months 
 in the year ; and for the other three, they can go to the 
 House, and a very proper place for them ; it is heated with 
 hot air, and has every comfort. Even Marney Abbey is 
 not heated with hot air. I have often thought of it ; it 
 makes me mad sometimes to think of those lazy, pampered 
 menials passing their lives with their backs to a great 
 roaring fire ; but I am afraid of the flues.' 
 
 1 1 wonder, talking of fires, that you are not more afraid 
 of burning ricks,' said Egremont. 
 
 1 It's an infernal lie,' said Lord Marney, very violently. 
 
 ' "What is ? ' said Egremont. 
 
 ' That there is any incendiarism in this neighbourhood.' 
 
 ' Why, there was a fire the day after I came.' 
 
 1 That had nothing to do with wages ; it was an accident. 
 I examined into it myself ; so did Grouse, so did Slimsey ; 
 I sent them about everywhere. I told them I was sure the 
 fire was purely accidental, and to go and see about it ; and 
 
174 SYBIL: OR 
 
 they came back, and agreed that it was purely acci- 
 dental.' 
 
 1 1 dare say they did,' said Egremont ; ' but no one has 
 discovered the accident.' 
 
 1 For my part, I believe it was spontaneous combustion,' 
 said Lord Marney. 
 
 1 That is a satisfactory solution,' said Egremont ; * but for 
 my part, the fire being a fact, and it being painfully noto- 
 rious that the people of Marney ' 
 
 1 Well, sir, the people of Marney ? ' said his lordship, 
 fiercely. 
 j ' Are without question the most miserable population in 
 I the county ' 
 
 ' Did Mr. St. Lys tell you that ? ' interrupted Lord Mar- 
 ney, white with rage. 
 
 ' No, not Mr. St. Lys, but one better acquainted with the 
 neighbourhood. ' 
 
 ' I'll know your informant's name,' said Lord Marney, 
 with energy. 
 
 ' My informant was a woman,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' Lady Maud, I suppose ; second-hand from Mr. St. Lys.' 
 
 ' My informant was a woman, and one of the people,' said 
 Egremont. 
 
 ' Some poacher's drab ! I don't care what women say, 
 high or low, they always exaggerate.' 
 
 ' The misery of a family who live upon seven or even 
 eight shillings a- week can scarcely be exaggerated.' 
 
 * What should you know about it ? Did you ever live on 
 seven or eight shillings a- week ? What can you know 
 about the people, who pass your time at London clubs or in 
 fine country houses ? I suppose you want the people to 
 live as they do at a house dinner at Boodle's. I say that a 
 family can live well on seven shillings a- week, and on eight 
 shillings very well indeed. The poor are well off, at least 
 the agricultural poor, very well off indeed. Their incomes 
 are certain, that is a great point, and they have no cares, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 175 
 
 no anxieties ; they always have a resource, they always 
 have the House. People without cares do not require so 
 much food as those whose life entails anxieties. See how 
 long they live ! Compare the rate of mortality among them 
 with that of the manufacturing districts. Incendiarism 
 indeed ! If there had been a proper rural police, such a 
 thing as incendiarism would never have been heard of ! ' 
 
 There was a pause. Lord Marney dashed off another 
 bumper ; Egremont sipped his wine. At length he said, 
 1 This argument made me forget the principal reason, 
 George, why I am glad that we are alone together to-day. 
 I am sorry to bore you, but I am bored myself deucedly. I 
 find a letter from my agent. These election accounts must 
 be settled.' 
 
 I Why, I thought they were settled.' 
 ' How do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' I thought my mother had given you a thousand pounds.' 
 'No doubt of that, but that was long ago disposed of.' 
 ' In my opinion quite enough for a seat in these times. 
 Instead of paying to get into Parliament, a man ought to 
 be paid for entering it.' 
 
 There may be a good deal in what you say,' said Egre- 
 mont ; ' but it is too late to take that view of the business. 
 The expense has been incurred and must be met.' 
 
 I I don't see that,' said Lord Marney ; ' we have paid one 
 thousand pounds and there is a balance unsettled. When 
 was there ever a contest without a balance being unsettled ? 
 I remember hearing my father often say that when he stood 
 for this county, our grandfather paid more than a hundred 
 thousand pounds, and yet I know to this day there are 
 accounts unsettled. Regularly every year I receive anony- 
 mous letters threatening me with fearful punishment if I 
 don't pay one hundred and fifty pounds for a breakfast at 
 the Jolly Tinkers/ 
 
 c You jest : the matter indeed requires a serious vein. I 
 wish these accounts to be settled at once.' 
 
1 76 SYBIL; OR 
 
 t And 1 should like to know where the funds are to come 
 from ! I have none. The quantity of barns I am building 
 now is something tremendous ! Then this rage for drain- 
 ing ; it would dry up any purse. What think you of two 
 million tiles this year ? And rents, to keep up which we 
 are making these awful sacrifices ; they are merely nominal, 
 or soon will be. They never will be satisfied till they have 
 touched the land. That is clear to me. I am prepared for 
 a reduction of five-and-twenty per cent. ; if the corn-laws 
 are touched it can't be less than that. My mother ought 
 to take it into consideration and reduce her jointure accord- 
 ingly. But I dare say she will not ; people are so selfish ; 
 particularly as she has given you this thousand pounds, 
 which in fact after all comes out of my pocket.' 
 
 ' All this you have said to me before. What does it mean ? 
 I fought this battle at the instigation of the family, from, 
 no feeling of my own. You are the head of the family, and 
 you were consulted on the step. Unless I had concluded 
 that it was with your sanction, I certainly should not have 
 made my appearance on the hustings.' 
 
 1 1 am glad you did, though,' said Lord Marney ; ' Par- 
 liament is a great point for our class ; in these days 
 especially, more even than in the old time. I was truly 
 rejoiced at your success, and it mortified the whigs about 
 us confoundedly. Some people thought there was only 
 one family in the world to have their Richmond or their 
 Malton. Getting you in for the old borough was really 
 a coup.' 
 
 ' Well, now to retain our interest,' said Egremont, ' quick 
 payment of our expenses is the most efficient way, believe me.' 
 
 1 You have got six years, perhaps seven,' said Lord Mar- 
 ney, ' and long before that I hope to find you the husband 
 of Lady Joan Fitz-Warene.' 
 
 * I do not wish to connect the two contingencies,' said 
 Egremont, firmly. 
 
 1 They are inseparable,' said Lord Marney. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. J 77 
 
 1 What do you mean ? ' 
 
 1 I mean that I think this pedantic acquittance of an elec- 
 tioneering account is in the highest degree ridiculous, and 
 that I cannot interfere in it. The legal expenses are, you 
 say, paid ; and if they were not, I should feel myself bound, 
 as the head of the family, to defray them, but I can go no 
 further. I cannot bring myself to sanction an expenditure | 
 for certainly unnecessary, perhaps, and I much fear it, for ; 
 illegal and immoral purposes.' 
 
 1 That really is your determination ? ' 
 
 1 After the most mature reflection, prompted by a sincere 
 solicitude for your benefit.' 
 
 1 Well, George, I have often suspected it, but now I feel 
 quite persuaded, that you are really the greatest humbug 
 that ever existed.' 
 
 * Abuse is not argument, Mr. Egremont.' 
 
 * You are beneath abuse, as you are beneath every senti- 
 ment but one, which I entirely feel ; ' and Egremont rose 
 from the table. 
 
 1 You may thank your own obstinacy and conceit,' said 
 Lord Marney. * I took you to Mowbray Castle, and 
 the cards were in your own hands if you chose to play 
 them.' 
 
 I You have interfered with me once before on such a 
 subject, Lord Marney,' said Egremont, with a kindling eye, 
 and a cheek pallid with rage. 
 
 * You had better not say that again,' said Lord Marney, in 
 a tone of menace. 
 
 * Why not ? ' asked Egremont, fiercely. Who and what 
 are you to dare to address me thus ? ' 
 
 I I am your elder brother, sir, whose relationship to you 
 is your only claim to the consideration of society.' 
 
 1 A curse on the society that has fashioned such claims,' 
 said Egremont, in a heightened tone : ' claims founded in 
 selfishness, cruelty, and fraud, and leading to demoralization, 
 misery, and crime.' 
 
 N 
 
j 7 8 SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 Claims which I will make you respect, at least in this 
 house, sir,' said Lord Marney, springing from his chair. 
 
 ' Touch me at your peril ! ' exclaimed Egremont, ' and I 
 will forget you are my mother's son, and cleave you to the 
 ground. You have been the blight of my life ; you stole 
 from me my bride, and now you would rob me of my honour.' 
 
 ' Liar and villain ! ' exclaimed Lord Marney, darting 
 forward; but at this moment his wife rushed into the 
 apartment, and clung to him. * For Heaven's sake, 1 she 
 exclaimed, what is all this ? George, Charles, dearest 
 George ! ' 
 
 1 Let me go, Arabella.' 
 
 1 Let him come on.' 
 
 But Lady Marney gave a piercing shriek, and held out her 
 arms to keep the brothers apart. A sound was heard at 
 the other door ; there was nothing in the world that Lord 
 Marney dreaded so much as that his servants should witness 
 a domestic scene. He sprang forward to the door, to pre- 
 vent any one entering ; partially opening it, he said Lady 
 Marney was unwell and desired her maid ; returning, he 
 found Arabella insensible on the ground, and Egremont 
 vanished ! 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 It was a wet morning ; there had been a heavy rain since 
 dawn, which, impelled by a gusty south-wester, came driving 
 on a crowd of women and girls who were assembled before 
 the door of a still closed shop. Some protected them- 
 selves with umbrellas ; some sought shelter beneath a row 
 of old elms that grew alongside the canal that fronted the 
 house. Notwithstanding the weather, the clack of tongues 
 was incessant. 
 
 1 1 thought I saw the wicket of the yard gates open,' said 
 a woman. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 179 
 
 * So did I,' said her neighbour, ' but it wa3 shut again 
 immediately.' 
 
 I It was only Master Joseph,' said a third. ' He likes to 
 see us getting wet through.' 
 
 * If they would only let us into the yard, and get under 
 one of the workshop sheds, as they do at Simmon's,' said 
 another. 
 
 ' You may well say Simmon's, Mrs. Page ; I only wish 
 my master served in his field.' 
 
 I I have been here since half-past four, Mrs. Grigsby, with 
 this chilt at my breast all the time. It's three miles for 
 me here, and the same back, and unless I get the first turn, 
 how are my poor boys to find their dinner ready when they 
 come out of the pit ? ' 
 
 ' A very true word, Mrs. Page ; and by this token, that 
 last Thursday, I was here by half-past eleven, certainly 
 afore noon, having only called at my mother-in-law's in 
 the way, and it was eight o'clock before I got home. Ah ! 
 it's cruel work, is the tommy- shop.' 
 
 * How d'ye do, neighbour Prance ?' said a comely dame, 
 with a large white basket. ' And how's your good man ? 
 They was saying at Belfy's he had changed his service. I 
 hear there's a new butty in Mr. Parker's field ; but the old 
 doggy kept on ; so I always thought ; he was always a fa- 
 vourite, and they do say measured the stints very fair. And 
 what do you hear bacon is in town ? They do tell me only 
 sixpence, and real home- cured. I wonder Diggs has the 
 face to be selling still at ninepence, and so very green ! I 
 think I see Dame Toddles ; how wonderful she do wear ! 
 What are you doing here, little dear ; very young to fetch 
 tommy ; keeping place for mother, eh ! that's a good girl ; 
 she'd do well to be here soon, for I think the strike's on 
 eight. Diggs is sticking it on yellow soap very terrible. 
 What do you think Ah ! the doors are going to open. 
 No a false alarm.' 
 
 ' How fare you, neighbour ?' said a pale young woman, 
 
 N 2 
 
I So SYBIL; OR 
 
 carrying an infant to the comely dame. * Here's an awful 
 crowd, surely. The women will be fighting and tearing to 
 get in, I guess. I be much afeard.' 
 
 1 Well, " first come, first served," all the world over,' said 
 the comely dame. ' And you must put a good heart on the 
 business, and tie your bonnet. I dare guess there are not 
 much less than two hundred here. It's grand tommy-day, 
 you know. And for my part, I don't care so much for a 
 good squeedge ; one sees so many faces one knows.' 
 
 ' The cheese here at sixpence is pretty tidy,' said a crone 
 to her companion ; ' but you may get as good in town for 
 fourpence.' 
 
 1 What I complain is the weights,' replied her companion. 
 ' I weighed my pound of butter bought last tommy-day 
 and it was two penny pieces too light. Indeed ! I have been, 
 in my time, to all the shops about here, for the lads or their 
 father, but never knew tommy so bad as this. I have two 
 children at home ill from their flour ; I have been very 
 poorly myself; one is used to a little white clay, but when 
 they lay it on thick, it's very grave.' 
 
 1 Are your girls in the pit ?' 
 
 c No ; we strive to keep them out, and my man has gone 
 scores of days on bread and water for that purpose ; and 
 if we were not forced to take so much tommy, one might 
 manage ; but tommy will beat anything. Health first, and 
 honesty afterwards, that's my say.' 
 
 * Well, for my part,' said the crone, ' meat's my grievance : 
 all the best bits go to the butties, and the pieces with bone 
 in are chopped off for the colliers' wives.' 
 
 * Dame, when will the door open?' asked a little pale- 
 faced boy. I have been here all this morn, and never broke 
 my fast.' 
 
 ' And what do you want, chilt ?' 
 
 *I want a loaf for mother ; but I don't feel I shall ever 
 get home again, I'm all in a way so dizzy.' 
 
 'Liza Gray,' said a woman with black beady eyes, and a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. iSr 
 
 red nose, speaking in a sharp voice, and rushing up to a 
 pretty slatternly woman in a straw bonnet, with a dirty 
 fine ribbon, and a babe at her breast ; ' you know the per- 
 son I'm looking for.' 
 
 * Well, Mrs. Mullins, and how do you do ? ' she replied, 
 in a sweet sawney tone. 
 
 1 How do you do, indeed ! How are people to do in these 
 bad times ? ' 
 
 ' They is indeed hard, Mrs. Mullins. If you could see 
 my tommy-book ! How I wish I knew figures ! Made up 
 as of last Thursday night by that little divil, Master Joe 
 Diggs. He has stuck it in here, and stuck it in there, till 
 it makes one all of a maze. I'm sure I never had the things ; 
 and my man is out of all patience, and says I can no more 
 keep house than a natural born.' 
 
 1 My man is a- wanting to see your man,' said Mrs. Mul- 
 lins, with a flashing eye : ' and you know what about.' 
 
 * And very natural, too,' said Liza Gray ; ' but how are 
 we to pay the money we owe him with such a tommy-book 
 as this, good neighbour Mullins ? ' 
 
 * We're as poor as our neighbours, Mrs. Gray ; and if we 
 are not paid, we must borrow. It's a scarlet shame to go 
 to the spout because money lent to a friend is not to be 
 found. You had it in your need, Liza Gray, and we wane 
 it in our need ; and have it I will, Liza Gray.' 
 
 'Hush, hush!' said Liza Gray; 'don't wake the little 
 'un, for she is very fretful. , 
 
 ' I will have the five shillings, or I will have as good,' 
 said Mrs. Mullins. 
 
 ' Hush, hush, neighbour ; now, I'll tell you you shall 
 have it ; but yet a little time. This is great tommy-day, 
 and settles our reckoning for five weeks ; but my man 
 may have a draw after to-morrow, and he shall draw live 
 shillings, and give you half.' 
 
 ' And the other half?' said Mrs. Mullins. 
 
 ' Ah ! the other half,' said Liza Gray, with a sigh. ' Well, 
 
i S3 SYBIL; OR 
 
 then, we shall have a death in onr family soon : this poor 
 babe can't struggle on much longer. It belongs to two 
 burial clubs : that will be three pounds from each, and after 
 the drink and the funeral, there will be enough to pay all 
 our debts and put us all square.' 
 
 The door of Mr. Diggs' tommy-shop opened. The rush 
 was like the advance into the pit of a theatre when the 
 drama existed ; pushing, squeezing, fighting, tearing, shriek- 
 ing. On a high seat, guarded by rails from all contact, 
 sat Mr. Diggs, senior, with a bland smile on his sancti- 
 fied countenance, a pen behind his ear, and recommending 
 his constrained customers in honeyed tones to be patient 
 and orderly. Behind the substantial counter, which was 
 an impregnable fortification, was his popular son, Master 
 Joseph ; a short, ill-favoured cur, with a spirit of vulgar op- 
 pression and malicious mischief stamped on his visage. 
 His black, greasy lank hair, his pug nose, his coarse red 
 face, and his projecting tusks, contrasted with the mild and 
 lengthened countenance of his father, who looked very 
 much like a wolf in sheep's clo tiling. 
 
 For the first five minutes Master Joseph Diggs did no- 
 thing but blaspheme and swear at his customers, occasion- 
 ally leaning over the counter and cuffing the women in the 
 van or lugging some girl by the hair. 
 
 1 1 was first, Master Joseph,' said a woman, eagerly. 
 
 1 No ; I was,' said another. 
 
 * I was here,' said the first, as the clock struck four, and 
 seated myself on the steps, because I must be home early ; 
 my husband is hurt in the knee.' 
 
 ' If you were first, you shall be helped last,' said Master 
 Joseph, ' to reward you for your pains ;' and he began taking 
 the orders of the other woman. 
 
 * Oh ! Lord have mercy on me !' said the disappointed 
 woman; 'and I got up in the middle of the night for 
 this!' 
 
 ' More fool you ! And what you came for I am sure I 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 1S3 
 
 don't know,' said Master Joseph ; ' for you have a pretty 
 long figure against you, I can tell you that.' 
 
 ' I declare most solemnly ' said the woman. x 
 
 I Don't make a brawling here,' said Master Joseph, ' or 
 I'll jump over this here counter and knock you down, like 
 nothink. What did you say, woman ? are you deaf ? what 
 did you say ? how much best tea do you want ?' 
 
 I I don't want any, sir.' 
 
 1 You never want best tea ; you must take three ounces 
 of best tea, or you shan't have nothing. If you say another 
 word, I'll put you down four. You tall gal, what's your 
 name, you keep back there, or I'll fetch you such a cut as 
 '11 keep you at home till next reckoning. Cuss you, you 
 old fool, do you think I am to be kept all day while you are 
 mumbling here ? Who's pushing on there ? I see you, 
 Mrs. Page. Won't there be a black mark against you ! 
 Oh ! it's Mrs. Prance, is it ? Father, put down Mrs. Prance 
 for a peck of flour. I'll have order here. You think the 
 last bacon a little too fat : oh ! you do, ma'am, do you ? I'll 
 take care you shan't complain in futur ; I likes to please my 
 customers. There's a very nice flitch hanging up in tho 
 engine-room : the men wanted some rust for the machinery ; 
 you shall have a slice of that ; and we'll say tenpence a 
 pound, high-dried, and wery lean ; will that satisfy you ? 
 
 ' Order there, order ; you cussed women, order, or I'll be 
 among you. And if I just do jump over this here counter, 
 won't I let fly right and left ! Speak out, you idiot ! do 
 you think I can hear your muttering in this Babel ? Cuss 
 them ; I'll keep them quiet :' and so he took up a yard 
 measure, and, leaning over the counter hit right and left. 
 
 ' Oh ! you little monster !' exclaimed a woman, * you have 
 put out my babby's eye.' 
 
 There was a murmur ; almost a groan. ' WTiose baby's 
 hurt ?' asked Master Joseph, in a softened tone. 
 
 ' Mine, sir,' said an indignant voice ; ' Mary Church.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Mary Church, is it !' said the malicious imp ; * then 
 
1 84 SYBIL; OR 
 
 I'll pnt Mary Church down for half a pound of best arrow- 
 root ; that's the finest thing in the world for babbies, and 
 will cure you of bringing your cussed monkeys here, as if 
 \you all thought our shop was a hinfant school. 
 
 * Where's your book, Susan Travers ? Left at home ! 
 Then you may go and fetch it. "No books, no tommy. You 
 are Jones' wife, are you ? Ticket for three and sixpence 
 out of eighteen shillings wages. Is this the only ticket you 
 have brought ? There's your money ; and you may tell 
 your husband he need not take his coat off again to go down 
 our shaft. He must think us cussed fools ! Tell him I 
 hope he has got plenty of money to travel into Wales, for 
 he won't have no work in England again, or my name ayn't 
 Diggs. Who's pushing there ? I'll be among you ; I'll 
 close the shop. If I do get hold of some of you cussed 
 women, you shan't forget it. If anybody will tell me who 
 is pushing there, they shall have their bacon for seven- 
 pence. Will nobody have bacon for sevenpence ? Leagued 
 together, eh ? Then everybody shall have their bacon for 
 tenpence. Two can play at that. Push again, and I'll be 
 among you,' said the infuriated little tyrant. But the 
 waving of the multitude, impatient, and annoyed by the 
 weather, was not to be stilled ; the movement could not be 
 regulated ; the shop was in commotion ; and Master Joseph 
 Diggs, losing all patience, jumped on the counter, and amid 
 the shrieks of the women, sprang into the crowd. Two 
 women fainted ; others cried for their bonnets ; others be- 
 moaned their aprons ; nothing, however, deterred Diggs, 
 who kicked and cuffed and cursed in every quarter, and 
 gave none. At last there was a general scream of horror, and 
 a cry of ' a boy killed !' 
 
 The senior Diggs, who from his eminence had hitherto 
 viewed the scene with unruffled complacency ; who, in fact, 
 derived from these not unusual exhibitions the same agree- 
 able excitement which a Roman emperor might have re- 
 ceived from the combats of the circus ; began to think that 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 1C5 
 
 affairs were growing serious, and rose to counsel order and 
 enforce amiable dispositions. Even Master Joseph was 
 quelled by that mild voice, which would have become Au- 
 gustus. It appeared to be quite true that a boy was dead. 
 It was the little boy who, sent to get a loaf for his mother, 
 had complained before the shop was opened of his fainting 
 energies. He had fallen in the fray, and it was thought, to 
 use the phrase of the comely dame who tried to rescue him, 
 * that he was quite smothered.' 
 
 They carried him out of the shop ; the perspiration poured 
 off him ; he had no pulse. He had no friends there. ' I'll 
 stand by the body,' said the comely dame, * though I lose 
 my turn.' 
 
 At this moment, Stephen Mcrley, for the reader has 
 doubtless discovered that the stranger who held colloquy 
 with the colliers was the friend of "Walter Gerard, arrived 
 at the tommy-shop, which was about half-way between the 
 house where he had passed the night and Wodgate. He 
 stopped, inquired, and being a man of science and some 
 skill, decided, after examining the poor boy, that life was 
 not extinct. Taking the elder Diggs aside, he said, ' I am 
 the editor of the Mowbray Phalanx ; I will not speak to 
 you before these people ; but I tell you fairly you and your 
 son have been represented to me as oppressors of the people. 
 Will it be my lot to report this death and comment on it ? 
 I trust not. There is yet time and hope.' 
 
 ' What is to be done, sir ? ' inquired the alarmed Mr. 
 Diggs ; * a fellow- creature in this condition ' 
 
 Don't talk, but act,' said Morley. ' There is no time to 
 be lost. The boy must be taken upstairs and put to bed ; 
 a warm bed, in one of your best rooms, with every comfort. 
 I am pressed for business, but I will wait and watch over 
 him till the crisis is passed. Come, let you and I take 
 him in our arms, and carry him upstairs through your 
 private door. Every minute is precious.' And so saying, 
 Morley and the elder Diggs entered the house. 
 
1S6 SYBIL, OR 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Wodgate, or Wogate, as it was called on the map, was a 
 district that in old days had been consecrated to Woden, 
 and which appeared destined through snccessive ages to 
 retain its heathen character. At the beginning of the re- 
 volutionary war, Wodgate was a sort of squatting district 
 of the great mining region to which it was contiguous, a 
 place where adventurers in the industry which was rapidly 
 developing settled themselves ; for though the great veins 
 of coal and ironstone cropped up, as they phrase it, before 
 they reached this bare and barren land, and it was thus de- 
 ficient in those mineral and metallic treasures which had 
 enriched its neighbourhood, Wodgate had advantages of its 
 own, and of a kind which touch the fancy of the lawless. 
 It was land without an owner ; no one claimed any mano- 
 rial right over it ; they could build cottages without paying 
 rent. It was a district recognised by no parish ; so there 
 were no tithes, and no meddlesome supervision. It abounded 
 in fuel which cost nothing, for though the veins were not 
 worth working as a source of mining profit, the soil of 
 Wodgate was similar in its superficial character to that of 
 the country around. So a population gathered, and rapidly 
 increased, in the ugliest spot in England, to which neither 
 Nature nor art had contributed a single charm ; where a 
 tree could not be seen, a flower was unknown, where there 
 was neither belfry nor steeple, nor a single sight or sound 
 that could soften the heart or humanize the mind. 
 
 Whatever may have been the cause, whether, as not un- 
 likely, the original squatters brought with them some tra- 
 ditionary skill, or whether their isolated and unchequered 
 existence concentrated their energies on their craft, the fact 
 is certain, that the inhabitants of Wodgate early acquired 
 a celebrity as skilful workmen. This reputation so much 
 increased, and in time spread so far, that, for more than a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 187 
 
 quarter of a century, both in their skill and the economy of 
 their labour, they have been unmatched throughout the 
 country. As manufacturers of ironmongery, they carry the 
 palm from the whole district ; as founders of brass and 
 workers of steel, they fear none ; while, as nailers and lock- 
 smiths, their fame has spread even to the European markets, 
 whither their most skilful workmen have frequently been 
 invited. 
 
 Invited in vain ! No wages can tempt the Wodgate man 
 from his native home, that squatters' seat which soon as- 
 sumed the form of a large village, and then in turn soon ex- 
 panded into a town, and at the present moment numbers 
 its population by swarming thousands, lodged in the most 
 miserable tenements in the most hideous burgh in the ugliest 
 country in the world. 
 
 But it has its enduring spell. Notwithstanding the spread 
 of its civic prosperity, it has lost none of the characteristics 
 of its original society ; on the contrary, it has zealously 
 preserved them. There are no landlords, head-lessees, 
 main-masters, or butties in Wodgate. No church there 
 has yet raised its spire ; and, as if the jealous spirit of 
 Woden still haunted his ancient temple, even the conven- 
 ticle scarcely dares show its humble front in some obscure 
 corner. There is no municipality, no magistrate ; there 
 are no local acts, no vestries, no schools of any kind. The 
 streets are never cleaned ; every man lights his own house ; 
 nor does any one know anything except his business. 
 
 More than this, at Wodgate a factory or large establish- 
 ment of any kind is unknown. Here Labour reigns supreme. 
 Its division indeed is favoured by their manners, but ^he in- 
 terference or influence of mere capital is instantly resisted. 
 The business of Wodgate is carried on by master workmen 
 in their own houses, each of whom possesses an unlimited 
 number of what they call apprentices, by whom their affairs 
 are principally conducted, and whom they treat as the 
 Mamlouks treated the Egyptians. 
 
1S8 SYBIL; OR 
 
 These master workmen indeed form a powerful aristo- 
 cracy, nor is it possible to conceive one apparently more 
 oppressive. They are ruthless tyrants ; they habitually 
 inflict upon their subjects punishments more grievous than 
 the slave population of our colonies were ever visited with ; 
 not coiitent with beating them with sticks or flogging them 
 with knotted ropes, they are in the habit of felling them 
 with hammers, or cutting their heads open with a file or 
 lock. The most usual punishment, however, or rather 
 stimulus to increase exertion, is to pull an apprentice's ears 
 till they run with blood. These youths, too, are worked 
 for sixteen and even twenty hours a day ; they are often 
 sold by one master to another ; they are fed on carrion, and 
 they sleep in lofts or cellars : yet, whether it be that they 
 are hardened by brutality, and really unconscious of their 
 degradation and unusual sufferings, or whether they are 
 supported by the belief that their day to be masters and 
 oppressors will surely arrive, the aristocracy of Wodgate 
 is by no means so unpopular as the aristocracy of most 
 other places. 
 
 In the first place, it is a real aristocracy ; it is privileged, 
 but it does something for its privileges. It is distinguished 
 from the main body not merely by name. It is the most 
 knowing class at Wodgate ; it possesses indeed in its way 
 complete knowledge ; and it imparts in its manner a cer- 
 tain quantity of it to those whom it guides. Thus it is an 
 aristocracy that leads, and therefore a fact. Moreover, the 
 social system of Wodgate is not an unvarying course of 
 infinite toil. Their plan is to work hard, but not always. 
 They seldom exceed four days of labour in the week. On 
 Sunday the masters begin to drink; for the apprentices 
 there is dog-fighting without any stint. On Monday and 
 Tuesday the whole population of Wodgate is drunk ; of all 
 stations, ages, and sexes ; even babes who should be at 
 the breast ; for they are drammed with Godfrey's Cordial. 
 Here is relaxation, excitement ; if less vice otherwise than 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. jgg 
 
 might be at first anticipated, we must remember that ex- 
 cesses are checked by poverty of blood and constant ex- 
 haustion. Scanty food and hard labour are in their way, 
 if not exactly moralists, a tolerably good police. 
 
 There are no others at Wodgate to preach or to control. 
 It is not that the people are immoral, for immorality implied 
 some forethought ; or ignorant, for ignorance is relative ; but 
 they are animals; unconscious; their minds a blank ; and their 
 worst actions only the impulse of a gross or savage instinct. 
 There are many in this town who are ignorant of their very 
 names ; very few who can spell them. It is rare that you 
 meet with a young person who knows his own age ; rarer 
 to find the boy who has seen a book, or the girl who has 
 seen a flower. Ask them the name of their sovereign, and 
 they will give you an unmeaning stare ; ask them the name 
 of their religion, and they will laugh : who rules them on 
 earth, or who can save them in heaven, are alike mysteries 
 to them. 
 
 Such was the population with whom Morley was about 
 to mingle. Wodgate had the appearance of a vast squalid 
 suburb. As you advanced, leaving behind you long lines of 
 little dingy tenements, with infants lying about the road, 
 you expected every moment to emerge into some streets, 
 and encounter buildings bearing some correspondence, in 
 their size and comfort, to the considerable population 
 swarming and busied around you. Nothing of the kind. 
 There were no public buildings of any sort ; no churches, 
 chapels, town-hall, institute, theatre ; and the principal 
 streots in the heart of the town in which were situate the 
 coarse and grimy shops, though formed by houses of a 
 greater elevation than the preceding, were equally narrow, 
 and if possible more dirty. At every fourth or fifth house, 
 alleys seldom above a yard wide, and streaming with filth, 
 opened out of the street. These were crowded with dwel- 
 lings of various size, while from the principal court often 
 branched out a number of smaller alleys, or rather narrow 
 
190 SYBIL; OR 
 
 passages, than which nothing can he conceived more close 
 and squalid and obscure. Here, during the days of business, 
 the sound of the hammer and the file never ceased, amid 
 gutters of abomination, and piles of foulness, and stagnant 
 pools of filth ; reservoirs of leprosy and plague, whose exhala- 
 tions were sufficient to taint the atmosphere of the whole 
 kingdom, and fill the country with fever and pestilence. 
 
 A lank and haggard youth, ricketty, smoke-dried, and 
 black with his craft, was sitting on the threshold of a miser- 
 able hovel, and working at the file. Behind him stood a 
 stunted and meagre girl, with a back like a grasshopper ; a 
 deformity occasioned by the displacement of the bladebone, 
 and prevalent among the girls of Wodgate from the cramping 
 posture of their usual toil. Her long melancholy visage and 
 vacant stare at Morley, as he passed, attracted his notice, and 
 it occurring to him that the opportunity was convenient to 
 inquire something of the individual of whom he was in 
 search, he stopped and addressed the workman. 
 
 ' Do you happen to know, friend, a person here or here- 
 abouts by name Hatton ?' 
 
 ' Hatton !' said the youth, looking up with a grin, yet 
 still continuing his labour, ' I should think I did !' 
 
 1 Well, that's fortunate ; you can tell me something about 
 him?' 
 
 1 Do you see this here ?' said the youth, still grinning, 
 and, letting the file drop from his distorted and knotty hand, 
 he pointed to a deep scar that crossed his forehead : ' he did 
 that.' 
 
 * An accident?' 
 
 ' Very like. An accident that often happened. I should 
 like to have a crown for every time he has cut my head 
 open. He cut it open once with a key, and twice with a 
 lock ; he knocked the corner of a lock into my head twice, 
 once with a bolt, and once with a shut ; you know what that 
 is ; the thing what runs into the staple. He hit me on the 
 head with a hammer once. That was a blow ! I fell away 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 191 
 
 that time. When I came to, master had stopped the blood 
 with some fur off his hat. I had to go on with my work 
 immediately ; master said I should do my stint if I worked 
 till twelve o'clock at night. Many's the ash stick he has 
 broken on my body ; sometimes the weals remained on me 
 for a week ; he cut my eyelid open once with a nutstick ; 
 cut a regular hole in it, and it bled all over the files I was 
 working at. He has pulled my ears sometimes that I 
 thought they must come off in his hand. But all this was 
 a mere nothin' to this here cut ; that was serous ; and if 
 I hadn't got thro' that, they do say there must have been 
 a crowner's quest ; though I think that gammon, for old 
 Tugsford did for one of his prentices, and the body was 
 never found. And now you ask me if I know Hatton? 
 I should think I did ! ' And the lank, haggard youth 
 laughed merrily, as if he had been recounting a series of 
 the happiest adventures. 
 
 ' But is there no redress for such iniquitous oppression ?' 
 said Morley, who had listened with astonishment to this 
 complacent statement. ' Is there no magistrate to apply to ? ' 
 
 * No, no,' said the filer, with an air of obvious pride ; we 
 don't have no magistrates at Wodgate. We've got a con- 
 stable, and there was a prentice, who, coz his master laid 
 it on only with a seat rod, went over to Ramborough and 
 got a warrant. He fetched the summons himself, and giv 
 it to the constable, but he never served it. That's why 
 they has a constable here.' 
 
 * I am sorry,' said Morley, * that I have affairs with such 
 a wretch as this Hatton.' 
 
 1 You'll find him a wery hearty sort of man,' said the 
 filer, * if he don't hap to be in drink. He's a little robus- 
 tious then, but take him all in all for a master, you may 
 go further and fare worse.' 
 
 * What ! this monster ! ' 
 
 * Lord bless you ! it's his way, that's all ; we be a queer 
 set here ; but he has his pints. Give him a lock to make, 
 
I92 SYBIL; OR 
 
 and you won't have your box picked ; he's wery lib'ral too 
 in the wittals. Never had horse-flesh the whole time I was 
 with him ; they has nothin' else at Tugsford's ; never had 
 no sick cow except when meat was very dear. He always 
 put his face agin still-born calves ; he used to say he liked 
 his boys to have meat what was born alive, and killed alive. 
 By which token there never was any sheep what had bust 
 in the head sold in our court. And then sometimes he 
 would give us a treat of fish, when it had been four or five 
 days in town, and not sold. No, give the devil his due, 
 say I. There never was no want for anything at meals 
 with the Bishop, except time to eat them in.' 
 4 And why do you call him the Bishop ? ' 
 
 * That's his name and authority ; for he's the governor 
 here over all of us. And it has always been so that Wod- 
 gate has been governed by a bishop ; because, as we have 
 no church, we will have as good. And by this token that 
 this day se'nnight, the day my time was up, he married me 
 to this here young lady. She is of the Baptist school reli- 
 gion, and wanted us to be tied by her clergyman, but all 
 the lads that served their time with me were married by 
 the Bishop, and many a more, and I saw no call to do no 
 otherwise. So he sprinkled some salt over a gridiron, 
 read ' Our Father ' backwards, and wrote our name in a 
 book : and we were spliced ; but I didn't do it rashly, did 
 I, Suky, by the token that we had kept company for two 
 years, and there isn't a gal in all Wodgate what handles 
 a file like Sue.' 
 
 4 And what is your name, my good fellow ? ' 
 
 They call me Tummas, but I ayn't got no second name ; 
 but now I am married I mean to take my wife's, for she 
 has been baptized, and so has got two.' 
 
 S ' Yes, sir,' said the girl with the vacant face and the 
 back like a grasshopper ; ' I be a reg'lar born Christian 
 and my mother afore me, and that's what few gals in the 
 Yard can say. Thomas will take to it himself when work 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 193 
 
 is slack ; and he believes now in onr Lord and Saviour 
 Pontius Pilate, who was crucified to save onr sins ; and in 
 Moses, Goliath, and the rest of the Apostles.' 
 
 ' Ah ! me,' thonght Morley, 'and conld not they spare 
 one Missionary from Tahiti for their fellow countrymen at 
 Wodgate ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The summer twilight had faded into sweet night ; the 
 young and star-attended moon glittered like a sickle in the 
 deep purple sky ; of all the luminous host Hesperus alone 
 was visible ; and a breeze, that bore the last embrace of the 
 flowers by the sun, moved languidly and fitfully over the 
 still and odorous earth. 
 
 The moonbeam fell upon the roof and garden of Gerard. 
 It suffused the cottage with its brilliant light, except where 
 the dark depth of the embowered porch defied its entry. 
 All around the beds of flowers and herbs spread sparkling 
 and defined. You could trace the minutest walk ; almost 
 distinguish every leaf. Now and then there came a breath, 
 and the sweet-peas murmured in their sleep ; or the roses 
 rustled, as if they were afraid they were about to be roused 
 from their lightsome dreams. Farther on the fruit trees 
 caught the splendour of the night ; and looked like a troop 
 of sultanas taking their garden air, when the eye of man 
 could not profane them, and laden with jewels. There 
 were apples that rivalled rubies ; pears of topaz tint ; a 
 whole paraphernalia of plums, some purple as the amethyst, 
 others blue and brilliant as the sapphire ; an emerald here, 
 and now a golden drop that gleamed like the yellow 
 diamond of Gengis Khan. 
 
 Within, was the scene less fair ? A single lamp shed 
 over the chamber a soft and sufficient light. The library 
 of Stephen Morley had been removed, but the place of his 
 
 
 
194 
 
 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 volumes had been partly supplied, for the shelves were far 
 from being empty. Their contents were of no ordinary 
 character : many volumes of devotion, some of church his- 
 tory, one or two on ecclesiastical art, several works of our 
 elder dramatists, some good reprints of our chronicles, and 
 many folios of church music, which last indeed amounted 
 to a remarkable collection. There was no musical instru- 
 ment of any kind, however, in the room, and the only 
 change in its furniture, since we last visited the room of 
 Gerard, was the presence of a long-backed chair of antique 
 form, beautifully embroidered, and a portrait of a female 
 saint over the mantel-piece. As for Gerard himself, he sat 
 with his head leaning on his arm, which rested on the table, 
 while he listened with great interest to a book which was 
 read to him by his daughter, at whose feet lay the fiery 
 and faithful bloodhound. 
 
 I So you see, my father,' said Sybil with animation, and 
 dropping her book, which, however, her hand did not re- 
 linquish, ' even then all was not lost. The stout earl re- 
 tired beyond the Trent, and years and reigns elapsed before 
 this part of the island accepted their laws and customs.' 
 
 I I see,' said her father, ' and yet I cannot help wishing 
 that Harold ' Here the hound, hearing his name, sud- 
 denly rose and looked at Gerard, who, smiling, patted him 
 and said, ' We were not talking of thee, good sir, but of thy 
 great namesake ; but ne'er mind, a live dog they say is 
 worth a dead king.' 
 
 1 Ah ! why have we not such a man now,' said Sybil, ' to 
 protect the people ! Were I a prince I know no career 
 that I should deem so great.' 
 
 ' But Stephen says no,' said Gerard : 'he says that these 
 great men have never made use of us but as tools ; and 
 that the people never can have their rights until they pro- 
 duce competent champions from their own order.' 
 
 ' But then Stephen does not want to recall the past,' said 
 Sybil with a kind of sigh ; ' he wishes to create the future.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 195 
 
 'The past is a droam,' said Gerard. 
 
 ' And what is the future ? ' inquired Sybil. 
 
 * Alack ' I know not ; but I often wish the battle of 
 Hastings were to be fought over again, and I was going to 
 have a hand in it,' 
 
 1 Ah ! my father,' said Sybil with a mournful smile, * there 
 is ever your fatal specific of physical force. Even Stephen 
 is against physical force, with all his odd fancies.' 
 
 ' All very true,' said Gerard, smiling with good nature ; 
 
 * but all the same when I was coming home a few days ago, 
 and stopped awhile on the bridge and chanced to see 
 myself in the stream, I could not help fancying that my 
 Maker had fashioned these limbs rather to hold a lance or 
 draw a bow than to supervise a shuttle or a spindle.' 
 
 1 Yet with the shuttle and the spindle we may redeem 
 our race,' said Sybil with animation, 'if we could only 
 form the minds that move those peaceful weapons. Oh ! 
 my father, I will believe that moral power is irresistible, or 
 where are we to look for hope ? ' 
 
 Gerard shook his head with his habitual sweet good- 
 tempered smile. ' Ah ! ' said he, * what can we do ; they 
 have got the land, and the land governs the people. The 
 Norman knew that, Sybil, as you just read. If indeed we 
 had our rights, one might do something ; but I don't know ; 
 I dare say if I had our land again, I should be as bad as 
 the rest.' 
 
 ' Oh ! no, my father,' exclaimed Sybil with energy, 
 
 * never, never! Tour thoughts would be as princely as 
 your lot. What a leader of the people you would make ! ' 
 
 Harold sprang up suddenly and growled. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said Gerard ; ' some one knocks :' and he rose 
 and left the room. Sybil heard voices and broken sen- 
 tences : 'You'll excuse me : ' 'I take it kindly :' ' So we 
 are neighbours.' And then her father returned, ushering 
 in a person, and saying, ' Here is my friend Mr. Franklin, 
 that I was speaking of, Sybil, who is going to be our neigh- 
 
 O 2 
 
1 96 SYBIL; OR 
 
 bour ; down, Harold, down ! ' and ho presented to his 
 daughter the companion of Mr. St. Lys in that visit to the 
 hand-loom weaver when she had herself met the vicar of 
 Mowbray. 
 
 Sybil rose, and letting her book drop gently on the table, 
 received Egremont with composure and native grace. / It is 
 civilisation that makes us awkward, for it gives us an un- 
 certain position. / Perplexed, we take refuge in pretence ; 
 and embarrassed, we seek a resource in affectation. The 
 Bedouin and the Tied Indian never lose their presence of 
 mind ; and the wife of a peasant, when you enter her cot- 
 tage, often greets you with a propriety of mien which favour- 
 ably contrasts with your reception by some grand dame in 
 some grand assembly, meeting her guests alternately with 
 a caricature of courtesy or an exaggeration of supercilious 
 self-control. 
 
 ' I dare say,' said Egremont, bowing to Sybil, ' you have 
 seen our poor friend the weaver since we met there.' 
 
 1 The day I quitted Mowbray,' said Sybil. * They are not 
 without friends.' 
 
 ' Ah. ! you have met my daughter before.' 
 
 * On a mission of grace,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' And I suppose you found the town not very pleasant, 
 Mr. Franklin,' returned Gerard. 
 
 1 No ; I could not stand it, the nights were so close. Be- 
 sides, I have a great accumulation of notes, and I fancied I 
 could reduce them into a report more efficiently in compa- 
 rative seclusion. So I have got a room near here, with a 
 little garden, not so pretty as yours ; but still a garden is 
 something ; and if I want any additional information, why, 
 after all, Mowbray is only a walk.' 
 
 ' You say well, and have done wisely. Besides, you have 
 such late hours in London, and hard work. Some country 
 air will do you all the good in the world. That gallery 
 must be tiresome. Do you use shorthand ? ' 
 
 * A sort of shorthand of my own,' said Egremont. ' 1 trust 
 a good deal to my memory.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 197 
 
 * All ! you are young. My daughter also has a wonderf ul 
 memory. For my own part, there are many things which 
 I am not sorry to forget.' 
 
 4 You see I took you at your word, neighbour,' said Egre- 
 mont. ' When one has been at work the whole day one 
 feels a little lonely towards night.' 
 
 ' Very true ; and I dare say you find desk work some- 
 times dull ; I never could make anything of it myself. I 
 can manage a book well enough, if it be well written, and 
 on points I care for ; but I would sooner listen than read 
 any time,' said Gerard. 'Indeed I should be right glad to 
 see the minstrel and the storyteller going their rounds 
 again. It would be easy after a day's work, when one 
 has not, as I have now, a good child to read to me.' 
 
 ' This volume ? ' said Egremont, drawing his chair to the 
 table, and looking at Sybil, who intimated assent by a nod. 
 
 1 Ah ! it's a fine book,' said Gerard, ' though on a sad 
 subject.' 
 
 ' The History of the Conquest of England by the Normans,' 
 said Egremont, reading the title page, on which also was 
 written, ' Ursula Trafford to Sybil Gerard.' 
 
 ' You know it ? ' said SybiL 
 
 1 Only by fame.' 
 
 1 Perhaps the subject may not interest you so much as it 
 does us,' said Sybil. 
 
 ' It must interest all, and all alike,' said her father ; ' for 
 we are divided between the conquerors and the conquered.' 
 
 ' But do not you think, ' said Egremont, ' that such a dis- 
 tinction has long ceased to exist ? ' 
 
 ' In what degree ? ' asked Gerard. ' Many circumstances 
 of oppression have doubtless gradually disappeared ; but 
 that has arisen from the change of manners, not from any 
 political recognition of their injustice. The same course 
 of time which has removed many enormities, more shocking, 
 however, to our modern feelings than to those who devised 
 and endured them, has simultaneously removed many alle- 
 
198 
 
 SYBIL , OR 
 
 
 viating circumstances. If the mere baron's grasp be not eo 
 ruthless, the champion we found in the church is no longer 
 bo ready. The spirit of Conquest has adapted itself to the 
 changing circumstances of ages, and, however its results 
 vary in form, in degree they are much the same.' 
 1 But how do they show themselves ? ' 
 
 * In many circumstances, which concern many classes ; 
 but I speak of those which touch my own order ; and there- 
 fore I say at once, in the degradation of the people.' 
 
 1 But are the people so degraded ? ' 
 
 * There is more serfdom in England now than at any 
 time since the Conquest. I speak of what passes under 
 my daily eyes when I say, that those who labour can as 
 little choose or change their masters now, as when they 
 were born thralls. There are great bodies of the working 
 classes of this country nearer the condition of brutes than 
 they have been at any time since the Conquest. Indeed, I 
 see nothing to distinguish them from brutes, except that 
 their morals are inferior. ( Incest and infanticide are as 
 common among them as among the lower animals, / The 
 domestic principle wanes weaker and weaker every year in 
 England ; nor can we wonder at it, when there is no com- 
 fort to cheer and no sentiment to hallow the Home.' 
 
 * I was reading a work the other day,' said Egremont, 
 4 that statistically proved that the general condition of the 
 people was much better at this moment than it had been at 
 any known period of history.' 
 
 * Ah ! yes, I know that style of speculation,' said Gerard ; 
 1 your gentleman who reminds you that a working man now 
 has a pair of cotton stockings, and that Harry the Eighth 
 himself was not as well off. At any rate, the condition of 
 classes must be judged of by the age, and by their relation 
 with each other. One need not dwell on that. I deny 
 the premises. I deny that the condition of the main body 
 is better now than at any other period of our history ; that 
 it is as good as it has been at several. I say, for instance, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 199 
 
 the people were better clothed, better lodged, and better 
 fed just before the War of the Roses than they are at this 
 moment. We know how an English peasant lived in those 
 times : he ate flesh every day, he never drank water, was 
 well housed, and clothed in stout woollens. Nor are the 
 Chronicles necessary to tell us this. The Acts of Parliament 
 from the Plantagenets to the Tudors, teach us alike the 
 price of provisions and the rate of wages ; and we see in a 
 moment that the wages of those days brought as much sus- 
 tenance and comfort as a reasonable man could desire.' 
 
 ' I know how deeply you feel upon this subject,' said Egre- 
 niont, turning to Sybil. 
 
 'Indeed it is the only subject that ever engages my 
 thought,' she replied, ' except one.' 
 
 ' And that one ? ' 
 
 1 Is to see the people once more kneel before our blessed 
 Lady,' replied Sybil. 
 
 1 Look at the average term of life,' said Gerard, coming 
 unintentionally to the relief of Egremont, who was a little 
 embarrassed. ' The average term of life in this district 
 among the working classes is seventeen. What think you 
 of that ? Of the infants born in Mowbray, more than a 
 moiety die before the age of five.' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Egremont, ' in old days they had terrible 
 pestilences.' 
 
 1 But they touched all alike,' said Gerard. ' We have 
 more pestilence now in England than we ever had, but it 
 only reaches the poor. You never hear of it. Why, Typhus 
 alone takes every year from the dwellings of the artisan and 
 peasant a population equal to that of the whole county of 
 Westmoreland. This goes on every year, but the represen- 
 tatives of the conquerors are not touched ; it is the descen- 
 dants of the conquered alone who are the victims.' 
 
 'It sometimes seems to me,' said Sybil despondingly, 
 1 that nothing short of the descent of angels can save the 
 people of this kingdom.' 
 
200 SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 1 sometimes think I hear a little bird,' said Gerard, 
 c who sings that the long frost may yet break up. I have a 
 friend, him of whom I was speaking to you the other day, 
 who has his remedies.' 
 
 'But Stephen Morley does not believe in angels,' said 
 Sybil with a sigh ; ' and I have no faith in his plan.' 
 
 1 He believes that God will help those who help them- 
 selves,' said Gerard. 
 
 ' And I believe,' said Sybil, ' that those only can help 
 themselves whom God helps.' 
 
 All this time Egremont was sitting at the table, with a 
 book in his hand, gazing fitfully and occasionally with an 
 air of absence on its title-page, whereon was written the 
 name of its owner. Suddenly he said ' Sybil.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the daughter of Gerard, with an air of some 
 astonishment. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said Egremont blushing ; ' I was 
 reading your name. I thought I was reading it to myself. 
 Sybil Gerard ! What a beautiful name is Sybil ! ' 
 
 ' My mother's name,' said Gerard ; ' and my grandame's 
 name, and a name, I believe, that has been about our hearth 
 as long as our race ; and that's a very long time indeed,' 
 he added, smiling, ' for we were tall men in King John's 
 reign, as I have heard say.' 
 
 1 Yours is indeed an old family.' 
 
 ' Ay, we have some English blood in our veins, though 
 peasants and the sons of peasants. But there was one of 
 us who drew a bow at Azincourt ; and I have heard greater 
 things, but I believe they are old wives' tales.' 
 
 ' At least we have nothing left,' said Sybil, * but our old 
 faith ; and that we have clung to through good report and 
 evil report.' 
 
 ' And now,' said Gerard, ' I rise with the lark, good neigh- 
 bour Franklin ; but before you go, Sybil will sing to us a 
 requiem that I love : it stills the spirit before we sink into 
 the slumber which may this night be death, and which one 
 day must be.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 201 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A BLOOM was spread over the morning sky. A soft golden 
 light bathed with its fresh beam the bosom of the valley, 
 except where a delicate haze, rather than a mist, still 
 partially lingered over the river, which yet occasionally 
 gleamed and sparkled in the sunshine. A sort of shadowy 
 lustre suffused the landscape, which, though distinct, was 
 mitigated in all its features : the distant woods, the clumps 
 of tall trees that rose about the old grey bridge, the cottage 
 chimneys that sent their smoke into the blue still air, amid 
 their clustering orchards and gardens of flowers and herbs. 
 
 Ah ! what is there so fresh and joyous as a summer morn ! 
 that spring time of the day, when the brain is bright, 
 and the heart is brave ; the season of daring and of hope ; 
 the renovating hour ! 
 
 Forth from his cottage room came the brother of Lord 
 Marney, to feel the vigorous bliss of life amid sunshiny 
 gardens and the voices of bees and birds. 
 
 ' Ah ! this is delicious ! ' he felt. * This is existence ! 
 Thank God I am here ; that I have quitted for ever that 
 formal and heartless Marney. Were it not for my mother 
 I would remain Mr. Franklin for ever. Would I were in- 
 deed a journalist ; provided I always had a mission to the 
 vale of Mowbray. Or anything, so that I were ever here. 
 As companions, independently of everything else, they are 
 superior to any that I have been used to. Why do these 
 persons interest me ? /They feel and they think j two 
 habits that have quite gone out of fashion, if ever they ex- 
 isted, among my friends./ And that polish of manners, that 
 studied and factitious refinement, which is to compensate 
 for the heartlessness or the stupidity we are doomed to ; is 
 my host of last night deficient in that refinement ? If ho 
 do want our conventional discipline, he has a native breed- 
 ing which far excels it. I observe no word or action which 
 
202 SYBIL: OR 
 
 is not prompted by that fine feeling which is the sure source 
 of good taste. This Gerard appears to me a real genuine 
 man ; fall of knowledge worked out by his own head ; with 
 large yet wholesome sympathies ; and a deuced deal better 
 educated than Lord de Mowbray or my brother ; and they 
 do occasionaUy turn over a book, which is not the habit of 
 our set. 
 
 ' And his daughter ; ay, his daughter ! There is some- 
 thing almost sublime about that young girl, yet strangely 
 sweet withal ; a tone so lofty combined with such simplicity 
 is very rare. For there is no affectation of enthusiasm 
 about her ; nothing exaggerated, nothing rhapsodical. Her 
 dark eyes and lustrous face, and the solemn sweetness of 
 her thrilling voice, they haunt me ; they have haunted me 
 from the first moment I encountered her like a spirit amid 
 the ruins of our abbey. And I am one of " the family of 
 sacrilege." If she knew that ! And I am one of the con- 
 quering class she denounces. If also she knew that ! Ah ! 
 there is much to know ! Above all, the future. Away ! 
 the tree of knowledge is the tree of death. I will have no 
 thought that is not as bright and lovely as this morn.' 
 
 He went forth from his little garden, and strolled along 
 the road in the direction of the cottage of Gerard, which 
 was about three quarters of a mile distant. You might 
 see almost as far ; the sunshiny road a little winding 
 and rising a very slight ascent. The cottage itself was 
 hid by its trees. While Egremont was still musing of one 
 who lived under that roof, he beheld in the distance Sybil. 
 
 She was springing along with a quick and airy step. 
 Her black dress displayed her undulating and elastic figure. 
 Her little foot bounded from the earth with a merry air. 
 A long rosary hung at her side ; and her head was partly 
 covered with a hood which descended just over her shoulders. 
 She seemed gay, for Harold kept running before her with a 
 frolicsome air, and then, returning to his mistress, danced 
 about her, and almost overpowered her with his gambols. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 203 
 
 1 1 salute thee, holy sister,' said Egremont. 
 
 1 Oh ! is not this a merry morn ! ' she exclaimed, with a 
 bright and happy face. 
 
 ' I feel it as yon. And whither do you go ? ' 
 
 'I go to the convent; I pay my first visit to our 
 Superior since I left them.' 
 
 'Not very long ago,' said Egremont, with a smile, and 
 turning with her. 
 
 ' It seems so,' said Sybil. 
 
 They walked on together; Sybil, glad as the hour, 
 noticing a thousand cheerful sights, speaking to her dog in 
 her ringing voice, as he gambolled before them, or seized 
 her garments in his mouth, and ever and anon bounded 
 away and then returned, looking up in his mistress's face to 
 inquire whether he had been wanted in his absence. 
 
 ' What a pity it is that your father's way each morning 
 lies up the valley,' said Egremont; 'he would be your 
 companion to Mowbray.' 
 
 ' Ah ! but I am so happy that he has not to work in a 
 town,' said Sybil. ' He is not made to be cooped up in a 
 hot factory in a smoky street. At least he labours among 
 the woods and waters. And the Traffords are such good 
 people ! So kind to him and to all.' 
 
 ' You love your father very much. ' 
 
 She looked at him a little surprised ; and then her sweet 
 serious face broke into a smile, and she said, ' And is that 
 strange ? ' 
 
 ' I think not,' said Egremont ; ' I am inclined to love 
 him myself.' 
 
 ' Ah ! you win my heart,' said Sybil, ' when you praise 
 him. I think that is the real reason why I like Stephen ; 
 for otherwise he is always saying something with which I 
 cannot agree, which I disapprove ; and yet he is so good to 
 my father ! ' 
 
 ' You speak of Mr. Morley ' 
 
 'Oh! we don't call him "Mr.,"' said Sybil, slightly 
 laughing. 
 
204 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 I I mean Stephen Morley,' said Egremont, recalling his 
 position, ' whom I met in Marney Abbey. He is very 
 clever, is he not ? ' 
 
 ' He is a great writer and a great student ; and what he 
 is he has made himself. I hear, too, that yon follow the 
 same pursuit,' said Sybil. 
 
 * Bat I am not a great writer or a great student,' said 
 Egremont. 
 
 ' Whatever you be, I trust,' said Sybil, in a more serious 
 \ tone, * that you will never employ the talents that God has 
 I given you against the People.' 
 
 ' I have come here to learn something of their condition,' 
 said Egremont. ' That is not to be done in a great city 
 like London. We all of us live too much in a circle. You 
 will assist me, I am sure,' added Egremont ; ' your spirit 
 will animate me. You told me last night that there was 
 no other subject, except one, which ever occupied your 
 thoughts.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Sybil, ' I have lived under two roofs, only two 
 roofs ; and each has given me a great idea ; the Convent 
 and the Cottage. One has taught me the degradation of 
 my faith, the other of my race. You should not wonder, 
 therefore, that my heart is concentrated on the Church and 
 the People.' 
 
 But there are other ideas,' said Egremont, ' that might 
 equally be entitled to your thought.' 
 
 I I feel these are enough,' said Sybil ; ' too great, as it is, 
 for my brain.' 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 At the end of a court in Wodgate, of rather larger dimen- 
 sions than usual in that town, was a high and many- 
 windowed house, of several stories in height, which had 
 been added to it at intervals. It was in a most dilapidated 
 state ; the principal part occupied as a nail- workshop, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 205 
 
 where a great number of heavy iron machines were working 
 in every room on each floor ; the building itself in so 
 shattered a condition that every part of it creaked and 
 vibrated with their motion. The flooring was so broken 
 that in many places one could look down through the 
 gaping and rotten planks, while the upper floors from time 
 to time had been shored up with props. 
 
 This was the Palace of the Bishop of Wodgate, and here, 
 with his arms bare and black, he worked at those locks, 
 which defied any skeleton key that was not made by 
 himself. He was a short, thickset man, powerfully made, 
 with brawny arms disproportionately short even for his 
 height, and with a countenance, as far as one could judge 
 of a face so disfigured by grimy toil, rather brutal than 
 savage. His choice apprentices, full of admiration and 
 terror, worked about him ; lank and haggard youths, who 
 never for an instant dared to raise their dingy faces and 
 lack-lustre eyes from their ceaseless labour. On each side 
 of their master, seated on a stool higher than the rest, was 
 an urchin of not more than four or five years of age, serious 
 and demure, and as if proud of his eminent position, and 
 working incessantly at his little file : these were two sons 
 of the bishop. 
 
 ' Now, boys,' said the bishop, in a hoarse, harsh voice, 
 ' steady, there ; steady. There's a file what don't sing ; 
 can't deceive my ear ; I know all their voices. Don't let 
 me find that 'un out, or I won't walk into him, won't I ? 
 Ayn't you lucky, boys, to have reg'lar work like this, and 
 the best of prog ! It worn't my lot, I can tell you that. 
 Give me that shut, you there, Scrubbynose, can't you 
 move ? Look sharp, or I won't move you, won't I ? 
 Steady, steady ! All right ! That's music. Where will 
 you hear music like twenty files all working at once ! You 
 ought to be happy, boys, oughtn't you ? Won't there be a 
 treat of fish after this, that's all ! Hulloa, there, you red- 
 haired varmint, what are you looking after ? Three boys 
 
2 o6 SYBIL : OR 
 
 looking about them ; what's all this ? won't I be among 
 you ? ' and he sprang forward and seized the luckless ears 
 of the first apprentice he could get hold of, and wrung 
 them till the blood spouted forth. 
 
 'Please, bishop,' sang out the boy, 'it worn't my fault. 
 Here's a man what want's you.' 
 
 ' Who wants me ? ' said the bishop, looking round, and 
 he caught the figure of Morley, who had just entered the 
 shop. 
 
 ' Well, what's your will ? Locks or nails ? ' 
 
 ' Neither,' said Morley ; ' I wish to see a man named 
 Hatton.' 
 
 ' Well, you see a man named Hatton,' said the bishop ; 
 and now what do you want of him ? ' 
 
 ' I should like to say a word to you alone,' said Morley. 
 
 ' Hem ! I should like to know who is to finish this lock, 
 and to look after my boys ! If it's an order, let's have it 
 at once.' 
 
 ' It is not an order,' said Morley. 
 
 ' Then I don't want to hear nothing about it,' said the 
 bishop. 
 
 ' It's about family matters,' said Morley. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Hatton, eagerly, ' what, do you come from 
 him?' 
 
 ' It may be,' said Morley. 
 
 Upon this the bishop, looking up to the ceiling of the 
 room in which there were several large chinks, began 
 calling out lustily to some unseen person above, and imme- 
 diately was replied to in a shrill voice of objurgation, 
 demanding in peremptory words, interlarded with many 
 oaths, what he wanted. His reply called down his unseen 
 correspondent, who soon entered his workshop. It was the 
 awful presence of Mrs. Hatton ; a tall bearded virago, with 
 a file in her hand, for that seemed the distinctive arm of 
 the house, and eyes flashing with unbridled power. 
 
 ' Look after the boys,' said Hatton, ' for I hare business.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 207 
 
 1 Won't I ? ' said Mrs. Hatton ; and a thrill of terror 
 pervaded the assembly. All the files moved in regular 
 melody ; no one dared to raise his face ; even her two 
 yonng children looked still more serious and demnre. Not 
 that any being present flattered himself for an instant that 
 the most sedulous attention on his part could prevent an 
 outbreak ; all that each aspired to, and wildly hoped, was 
 that he might not be the victim singled out to have his 
 head cut open, or his eye knocked out, or his ears half 
 pulled off by the being who was the terror not only of the 
 workshop, but of Wodgate itself; their bishop's gentle 
 wife. 
 
 In the meantime, that worthy, taking Morley into a 
 room where there were no machines at work except those 
 made of iron, said, ' Well, what have you brought me ? ' 
 
 1 In the first place,' said Morley, ' I would speak to you 
 of your brother.' 
 
 ' I concluded that,' said Hatton, ' when you spoke of 
 family matters bringing you here ; he is the only relation I 
 have in this world, and therefore it must be of him.' 
 
 * It is of him,' said Morley. 
 
 * Has he sent anything ? ' 
 
 1 Hem ! ' said Morley, who was by nature a diplomatist, 
 and instantly comprehended his position, being himself 
 pumped when he came to pump ; but he resolved not to 
 precipitate the affair. ' How late is it since you heard from 
 him ? ' he asked. 
 
 1 Why, I suppose you know,' said Hatton ; ' I heard as 
 usual.' 
 
 I From his usual place ? ' inquired Morley. 
 
 I I wish you would tell me where that is,' said Hatton, 
 eagerly. 
 
 1 Why, he writes to you ? ' 
 
 ' Blank letters ; never had a line except once, and that is 
 more than twelve year ago. He sends me a twenty-pound 
 note every Christmas ; and that is all I know about bin.' 
 
2c8 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Then he is rich, and well fco do in the world ? * said 
 Morley. 
 
 ' Why, don't yon know ? ' said Hatton ; * I thought you 
 came from him ! ' 
 
 ' I came about him. I wished to know whether he were 
 alive, and that you have been able to inform me : and 
 where he was ; and that you have not been able to inform 
 me.' 
 
 * Why, you're a regular muff! ' said the bishop. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 K 
 
 A few days after his morning walk with Sybil, it was 
 agreed that Egremont should visit Mr. Trafford's factory, 
 which he had expressed a great desire to inspect. Gerard 
 always left his cottage at break of dawn, and as Sybil had 
 not yet paid her accustomed visit to her friend and patron, 
 who was the employer of her father, it was arranged that 
 Egremont should accompany her at a later and more 
 convenient hour in the morning, and then that they should 
 all return together. 
 
 The factory was about a mile distant from their cottage, 
 which belonged indeed to Mr. Trafford, and had been built 
 by him. He was the younger son of a family that had for 
 centuries been planted in the land, but who, not satisfied 
 with the factitious consideration with which society com- 
 pensates the junior members of a territorial house for their 
 entailed poverty, bad availed himself of some opportunities 
 that offered themselves, and had devoted his energies to 
 those new sources of wealth that were unknown to his 
 ancestors. His operations at first had been extremely 
 limited, like his fortunes ; but with a small capital, though 
 his profits were not considerable, he at least gained ex- 
 perience. With gentle blood in his veins, and old English 
 feelings, he imbibed, at an early period of his career, e 
 
THE TWO XATIOXS. 209 
 
 correct conception of the relations which should subsist 
 between the employer and the employed. He felt that 
 between them there should be other ties than the payment 
 and the receipt of wages. 
 
 A distant and childless relative, who made him a visit, 
 pleased with his energy and enterprise, and touched by the 
 development of his social views, left him a considerable 
 sum, at a moment, too, when a great opening was offered to 
 manufacturing capital and skill. Trafford, schooled in rigid 
 fortunes, and formed by struggle, if not by adversity, was 
 ripe for the occasion, and equal to it. He became very 
 opulent, and he lost no time in carrying into life and being 
 the plans which he had brooded over in the years when his 
 good thoughts were limited to dreams. On the banks of 
 his native Mowe he had built a factory, which was now one 
 of the marvels of the district ; one might almost say, of the 
 country : a single room, spreading over nearly two acres, 
 and holding more than two thousand workpeople. The 
 roof of groined arches, lighted by ventilating domes at the 
 height of eighteen feet, was supported by hollow cast-iron 
 columns, through which the drainage of the roof was 
 effected. The height of the ordinary rooms in which the 
 workpeople in manufactories are engaged, is not more than 
 from nine to eleven feet ; and these are built in stories, the 
 heat and effluvia of the lower rooms communicated to those 
 above, and the difficulty of ventilation insurmountable. 
 At Mr. Trafford' s, by an ingenious process, not unlike that 
 which is practised in the House of Commons, the ventilation 
 was also carried on from below, so that the whole building 
 was kept at a steady temperature, and little susceptible to 
 atmospheric influence. The physical advantages of thus 
 carrying on the whole work in one chamber are great : in 
 the improved health of the people, the security against 
 dangerous accidents to women and youth, and the reduced 
 fatigue resulting from not having to ascend and descend, 
 and carry materials to the higher rooms. But the moral 
 
 P 
 
2io SYBIL: OR 
 
 advantages resulting from superior inspection and general 
 observation are not less important : the child works under 
 the eye of the parent, the parent under that of the superior 
 workman ; the inspector or employer at a glance can 
 behold all. 
 
 When the workpeople of Mr. Trafford left his factory 
 they were not forgotten. Deeply had he pondered on the 
 influence of the employer on the health and content of his 
 workpeople. He knew well that the domestic virtues are 
 dependent on the existence of a home, and one of his first 
 efforts had been to build a village where every family 
 might be well lodged. Though he was the principal pro- 
 prietor, and proud of that character, he nevertheless en- 
 couraged his workmen to purchase the fee : there were 
 some who had saved sufficient money to effect this ; proud 
 of their house and their little garden, and of the horticul- 
 tural society, where its produce permitted them to be 
 annual competitors. In every street there was a well : 
 behind the factory were the public baths ; the schools were 
 under the direction of the perpetual curate of the church, 
 which Mr. Trafford, though a Roman Catholic, had raised 
 and endowed. In the midst of this village, surrounded by 
 beautiful gardens, which gave an impulse to the horticul- 
 ture of the community, was the house of Trafford himself, 
 who comprehended his position too well to withdraw him- 
 self with vulgar exclusiveness from his real dependents, but 
 recognised the baronial principle, reviving in a new form, 
 and adapted to the softer manners and more ingenious 
 circumstances of the times. 
 
 And what was the influence of such an employer and 
 such a system of employment on the morals and manners 
 of the employed ? Great ; infinitely beneficial. The con- 
 nection of a labourer with his place of work, whether 
 agricultural or manufacturing, is itself a vast advantage. 
 Proximity to the employer brings cleanliness and order, 
 because it brings observation and encouragement. In the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 211 
 
 settlement of Trafford crime was positively unknown, and 
 offences were slight. There was not a single person in 
 the village of a reprobate character. The men were well 
 clad ; the women had a blooming cheek ; drunkenness was 
 unknown ; while the moral condition of the softer sex was 
 proportionately elevated. 
 
 The vast form of the spreading factory, the roofs and 
 gardens of the village, the Tudor chimneys of the house of 
 Trafford, the spire of the gothic church, with the sparkling 
 river and the sylvan background, came rather suddenly on 
 the sight of Egremont. They were indeed in the pretty 
 village- street before he was aware he was about to enter it. 
 Some beautiful children rushed out of a cottage and flew to 
 Sybil, crying out, ' the queen, the queen ; ' one clinging to 
 her dress, another seizing her arm, and a third, too small to 
 struggle, pouting out its lips to be embraced. 
 
 * My subjects,' said Sybil laughing, as she greeted them 
 all; and then they ran away to announce to others that 
 their queen had arrived. 
 
 Others came ; beautiful and young. As Sybil and Egre- 
 mont walked along, the race too tender for labour seemed 
 to spring out of every cottage to greet ' their queen.' Her 
 visits had been rare of late, but they were never for- 
 gotten ; they formed epochs in the village annals of the 
 children, some of whom knew only by tradition the golden 
 age when Sybil Gerard lived at the great house, and daily 
 glanced like a spirit among their homes, smiling and met 
 with smiles, blessing and ever blessed. 
 
 'And here,' she said to Egremont, 'I must bid you 
 good bye ; and this little boy,' touching gently on his 
 head a serious urchin who had never left her side for a 
 moment, proud of his position, and holding tight her hand 
 with all his strength, ' this little boy shall be your guide. 
 It is not a hundred yards. Now, Pierce, you must take 
 Mr. Franklin to the factory, and ask for Mr. Gerard.' 
 And she went her way. 
 
 r 2 
 
212 SYBIL: OR 
 
 They had not separated five minutes, when the sound of 
 whirling wheels caught the ear of Egremont, and, looking 
 round, he saw a cavalcade of great pretension rapidly 
 approaching ; dames and cavaliers on horseback ; a bril- 
 liant equipage, postilions and four horses ; a crowd of 
 grooms. Egremont stood aside. The horsemen and horse- 
 women caracoled gaily by him; proudly swept on the 
 sparkling barouche ; the saucy grooms pranced in his face. 
 Their masters and mistresses were not strangers to him : 
 he recognised with some dismay the liveries, and then the 
 arms of Lord de Mowbray, and caught the cold, proud 
 countenance of Lady Joan, and the flexible visage of Lady 
 Maud, both on horseback, and surrounded by admiring 
 cavaliers. 
 
 Egremont flattered himself that he had not been recog- 
 nised, and, dismissing his little guide, instead of proceeding 
 to the factory, he sauntered away in an opposite direction, 
 and made a visit to the church. 
 
 The wife of Trafford embraced Sybil, and then embraced 
 her again. She seemed as happy as the children of the 
 village, that the joy of her roof, as of so many others, had 
 returned to them, though only for a few hours. Her 
 husband she said had just quitted the house; he was 
 obliged to go to the factory to receive a great and distin- 
 guished party who were expected this morning, having 
 written to him several days before for permission to view 
 the works. ' We expect them to lunch here afterwards,' 
 said Mrs. Trafford, a refined woman, but unused to society, 
 and who rather trembled at the ceremony ; ' Oh ! do stay 
 with me, Sybil, to receive them.' 
 
 This intimation so much alarmed Sybil that she rose as 
 soon as was practicable ; and saying that she had some 
 visits to make in the village, she promised to return when 
 Mrs, Trafford was less engaged. 
 
 An hour elapsed ; there was a loud ring at the hall-door, 
 the great and distinguished party had arrived. Mrs. Tiuf- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 213 
 
 ford prepared for the interview, and looked a little fright- 
 ened as the doors opened, and her husband ushered in and 
 presented to her Lord and Lady de Mowbray, their daughters, 
 Lady Firebrace, Mr. Jermyn, who still lingered at the 
 castle, and Mr. Alfred Mountchesney and Lord Milford, 
 who were mere passing guests, on their way to Scotland, 
 but reconnoitering the heiresses in their course. 
 
 Lord de Mowbray was profuse of praise and compliments. 
 His lordship was apt to be too civil. The breed would 
 come out sometimes. To-day he was quite the coffee-house 
 waiter. He praised everything : the machinery, the work- 
 men, the cotton manufactured and the cotton raw, even the 
 smoke. But Mrs. Trafford would not have the smoke 
 defended, and his lordship gave up the smoke, but only to 
 please her. As for Lady de Mowbray, she was as usual 
 courteous and condescending, with a kind of smouldering 
 smile on her fair aquiline face, that seemed half pleasure 
 and half surprise at the strange people she was among. 
 Lady Joan was haughty and scientific, approved of much, 
 but principally of the system of ventilation, of which she 
 asked several questions which greatly perplexed Mrs. Traf- 
 ford, who slightly blushed, and looked at her husband for 
 relief, but he was engaged with Lady Maud, who was full 
 of enthusiasm, entered into everything with the zest of 
 sympathy, identified herself with the factory system almost 
 as much as she had done with the crusades, and longed to 
 teach in singing schools, found public gardens, and bid 
 fountains flow and sparkle for the people. 
 
 1 1 think the works were wonderful,' said Lord Milford, 
 as he was cutting a pasty ; ' and indeed, Mrs. Trafford, 
 everything here is charming; but what I have most 
 admired at your place, is a young girl we met ; the most 
 beautiful I think I ever saw.' 
 
 1 With the most beautiful dog,' said Mr. Mountchesney. 
 
 1 Oh ! that must have been Sybil ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Traf- 
 ford. 
 
214 SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 And who is Sybil ? ' asked Lady Maud. ' That is one 
 of our family names. We all thought her quite beautiful.' 
 
 'She is a child of the house,' said Mrs. Trafford, 'or 
 rather was, for I am sorry to say she has long quitted us.' 
 
 ' Is she a nun ? ' asked Lord Milford, ' for her vestments 
 had a conventual air.' 
 
 ' She has just left your convent at Mowbray,' said Mr. 
 Trafford, addressing his answer to Lady Maud, ' and rather 
 against her will. She clings to the dress she was accus- 
 tomed to there.' 
 
 ' And now she resides with you ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I should be happy if she did. I might almost 
 say she was brought up under this roof. She lives now 
 with her father.' 
 
 ' And who is so fortunate as to be her father ? ' inquired 
 Mr. Mountchesney. 
 
 ' Her father is the inspector of my works ; the person 
 who accompanied us over them this morning.' 
 
 ' What ! that handsome man I so much admired,' said 
 Lady Maud, ' so very aristocratic-looking. Papa,' she said, 
 addressing herself to Lord de Mowbray, ' the inspector of 
 Mr. Trafford' s works we are speaking of, that aristocratic- 
 looking person that I observed to you, he is the father of 
 the beautiful girl.' 
 
 'He seemed a very intelligent person,' said Lord de 
 Mowbray, with many smiles. 
 
 'Yes,' said Mr. Trafford; 'he has great talents and great 
 integrity. T would trust him with anything and to any 
 amount. All I wish,' he added, with a smile and in a 
 lower tone to Lady de Mowbray, ' all I wish is, that he was 
 not quite so fond of politics.' 
 
 ' Is he very violent ? ' inquired her ladyship, in a sugary 
 tone. 
 
 ' Too violent,' said Mr. Trafford ; ' and wild in his ideas.' 
 
 'And yet I suppose,' said Lord Milford, 'he must be 
 very well off ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 215 
 
 1 Why I must say for him it is not selfishness that makes 
 him a malcontent,' said Mr. Trafford ; ' he bemoans the 
 condition of the people.' 
 
 ' If we are to judge of the condition of the peoplo by 
 what we see here,' said Lord de Mowbray, ' there is little to 
 lament in it. But I fear these are instances not so common 
 as we could wish. You must have been at a great outlay, 
 Mr. Trafford ? ' 
 
 * Why,' said Mr. Trafford, ' for my part, I have always 
 considered that there was nothing so expensive as a vicious 
 population. I hope I had other objects in view in what I 
 have done than a pecuniary compensation. They say we 
 all have our hobbies ; and it was ever mine to improve the 
 condition of my workpeople, to see what good tenements, 
 and good schools, and just wages paid in a fair manner, 
 and the encouragement of civilizing pursuits, would do to 
 elevate their character. I should find an ample reward in 
 the moral tone and material happiness of this community ; 
 but really viewing it in a pecuniary point of view, the 
 investment of capital has been one of the most profitable I 
 ever made ; and I would not, I assure you, for double its 
 amount, exchange my workpeople for the promiscuous 
 assemblage engaged in other factories.' 
 
 4 The influence of the atmosphere on the condition of the 
 labourer is a subject which deserves investigation,' said 
 Lady Joan to Mr. Jermyn, who stared and bowed. 
 
 1 And you do not feel alarmed at having a person of such 
 violent opinions as your inspector at the head of your 
 establishment ? ' said Lady Firebrace to Mr. Trafford, who 
 smiled a negative. 
 
 4 What is the name of the intelligent individual who 
 accompanied us ? ' inquired Lord de Mowbray. 
 
 1 His name is Gerard,' said Mr. Trafford. 
 
 ' I believe a common name in these parts,' said Lord de 
 Mowbray, looking a little confused. 
 
 1 Not very, 5 said Mr. Trafford ; ' 'tis an old name, and 
 
216 SYBIL; OR 
 
 the stock lias spread ; but all Gerards claim a common 
 lineage, I believe, and my inspector lias gentle blood, they 
 say, in his veins.' 
 
 ' He looks as if he had,' said Lady Maud. 
 
 'All persons with good names affect good blood,' said 
 Lord de Mowbray ; and then turning to Mrs. Trafford he 
 overwhelmed her with elaborate courtesies of phrase ; praised 
 everything again : first generally and then in detail ; the 
 factory, which he seemed to prefer to his castle ; the house, 
 which he seemed to prefer even to the factory ; the gardens, 
 from which he anticipated even greater gratification than 
 from the house. And this led to an expression of a hope 
 that he would visit them. And so in due time the luncheon 
 was achieved. Mrs. Trafford looked at her guests, there 
 was a rustling and a stir, and everybody was to go and see 
 the gardens that Lord de Mowbray had so much praised. 
 
 ' I am all for looking after the beautiful Nun,' said Mr. 
 Mountchesney to Lord Milford. 
 
 ' I think I shall ask the respectable manufacturer to 
 introduce me to her,' replied his lordship. 
 
 In the meantime Egremont had joined Gerard at the 
 factory. 
 
 ' You should have come sooner,' said Gerard, ' and then 
 you might have gone round with the fine folks. We have 
 had a grand party here from the castle.' 
 
 1 So I perceived,' said Egremont, ' and withdrew.' 
 
 ' Ah ! they were not in your way, eh ? ' he said in a 
 mocking smile. ' Well, they were very condescending ; at 
 least for such great people. An earl ! Earl de Mowbray ; 
 I suppose he came over with William the Conqueror. 
 Mr. Trafford makes a show of the place, and it amuses 
 their visitors, I dare say, like anything else that's strange. 
 There were some young gentlemen with them, who did not 
 seem to know much about anything. I thought I had a 
 right to be amused too ; and I must say I liked very much 
 to see one of them looking at the machinery through his 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 217 
 
 eye-glass. There was one very venturesome chap : I thought 
 he was going to catch hold of the fly-wheel, but I gave him 
 a spin which I believe saved his life, though he did rather 
 stare. He was a lord.' 
 
 * They are great heiresses, his daughters, they say at 
 Mowbray,' said Egremont. 
 
 'I dare say,' said Gerard. 'A year ago this earl had a 
 son, an only son, and then his daughters were not great 
 heiresses. But the son died, and now it's their turn. And 
 perhaps some day it will be somebody else's turn. If you 
 want to understand the ups and downs of life, there's 
 nothing like the parchments of an estate. Now master, 
 now man ! He who served in the hall now lords in it ; and 
 very often the baseborn change their liveries for coronets, 
 while gentle blood has nothing left but dreams ; eh, 
 Master Franklin ? ' 
 
 ; It seems you know the history of this Lord de Mowbray ? ' 
 
 * Why a man learns a good many things in his time ; 
 and living in these parts, there are few secrets of the 
 notables. He has had the title to his broad acres questioned 
 before this time, my friend.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' 
 
 'Yes; I could not help thinking of that to-day,' said 
 Gerard, 'when he questioned me with his mincing voice 
 and pulled the wool with his cursed white hands and 
 showed it to his dame, who touched it with her little 
 finger ; and his daughters who tossed their heads like pea- 
 hens, Lady Joan and Lady Maud. Lady Joan and Lady 
 Maud ! ' repeated Gerard in a voice of bitter sarcasm. ' I 
 did not care for the rest ; but I could not stand that Lady 
 Joan and that Lady Maud. I wonder if my Sybil saw them.' 
 
 In the meantime, Sybil had been sent for by Mrs. 
 Trafford. She had inferred from the message that the 
 guests had departed, and her animated cheek showed the 
 eagerness with which she had responded to the call. 
 Bounding along with a gladness of the heart which lent 
 
2i8 SYBIL; OR 
 
 additional lustre to her transcendent brightness, she sud- 
 denly found herself surrounded in the garden by Lady 
 Maud and her friends. The daughter of Lord de Mowbray, 
 who could conceive nothing but humility as the cause of 
 her alarmed look, attempted to re-assure her by conde- 
 scending volubility, turning often to her friends and 
 praising in admiring interrogatories Sybil's beauty. 
 
 'And we took advantage of your absence,' said Lady 
 Maud in a tone of amiable artlessness, * to find out all about 
 you. And what a pity we did not know you when you 
 were at the convent, because then you might have been 
 constantly at the castle ; indeed I should have insisted on 
 it. But still I hear we are neighbours ; you must promise 
 to pay me a visit, you must indeed. Is not she beautiful ? ' 
 she added in a lower but still distinct voice to her friend. 
 1 Do you know I think there is so much beauty among the 
 lower order.' 
 
 Mr. Mountchesney and Lord Milford poured forth several 
 insipid compliments, accompanied with some speaking looks 
 which they flattered themselves could not be misconstrued. 
 Sybil said not a word, but answered each flood of phrases 
 with a cold reverence. 
 
 Undeterred by her somewhat haughty demeanour, which 
 Lady Maud only attributed to the novelty of her situation, 
 her ignorance of the world, and her embarrassment under 
 this overpowering condescension, the good-tempered and 
 fussy daughter of Lord de Mowbray proceeded to re-assure 
 Sybil, and to enforce on her that this perhaps unprecedented 
 descent from superiority was not a mere transient courtli- 
 ness of the moment, and that she really might rely on her 
 patronage and. favourable feeling. 
 
 1 You really must come and see me,' said Lady Maud, I 
 shall never be happy till you have made me a visit. 
 Where do you live ? I will come and fetch you myself in 
 the carriage. Now let us fix a day at once. Let me see ; 
 this is Saturday. What say you to next Monday ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 219 
 
 1 1 thank you,' said Sybil, very gravely, ' but I never 
 quit my home.' 
 
 ' What a darling ! ' exclaimed Lady Maud looking round 
 at her friends. Is not she ? I know exactly what you 
 feel. But really you shall not be the least embarrassed. It 
 may feel strange at first, to be sure, but then I shall be there ; 
 and do you know I look upon you quite as my protegee.' 
 
 * Protegee,' said Sybil. ' I live with my father.' 
 
 ' What a dear ! ' said Lady Maud, looking round to Lord 
 Milford. ' Is not she naive ? ' 
 
 ' And are you the guardian of these beautiful flowers,' 
 said Mr. Mountchesney. 
 
 Sybil signified a negative, and added, ' Mrs. Trafibrd is 
 very proud of them.' 
 
 ' You must see the flowers at Mowbray Castle,' said 
 Lady Maud. ' They are unprecedented, are they not, Lord 
 Milford ? You know you said the other day that they 
 were equal to Mrs. Lawrence's. I am charmed to find you 
 are fond of flowers,' continued Lady Maud ; ' you will be so 
 delighted with Moivbray. Ah ! mama is calling us. Now 
 fix ; shall it be Monday ? ' 
 
 1 Indeed,' said Sybil, ' I never leave my home. I am one 
 of the lower order, and live only among the lower order. I 
 am here to-day merely for a few hours to pay an act of J 
 homage to a benefactor.' 
 
 'Well I shall come and fetch you,' said Lady Maud, 
 covering her surprise and mortification by a jaunty air that 
 would not confess defeat. 
 
 'And so shall I,' said Mr. Mountchesney. 
 
 'And so shall I,' whispered Lord Milford, lingering a 
 little behind. 
 
 The great and distinguished party had disappeared; 
 their glittering barouche, their prancing horses, their gay 
 grooms, all had vanished ; the sound of their wheels was no 
 longer heard. Time flew on ; the bell announced that the 
 labour of the week had closed. There was a half holiday 
 
220 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 always on the last day of the week at Mr. Trafford's 
 settlement ; and every man, woman, and child, were paid 
 their wages in the great room before they left the mill. 
 Thns the expensive and evil habits which resnlt from wages 
 being paid in pnblic-honses were prevented. There was 
 also in this system another great advantage for the work- 
 people. They received their wages early enough to repair 
 to the neighbouring markets and make their purchases for 
 the morrow. This added greatly to their comfort, and, 
 rendering it unnecessary for them to run in debt to the 
 shopkeepers, added really to their wealth. Mr. Trafford 
 thought that next to the amount of wages, the most 
 important consideration was the method in which wages 
 are paid ; and those of our readers who may have read or 
 can recall the sketches, neither coloured nor exaggerated, 
 which we have given in the early part of this volume of the 
 very different manner in which the working classes may 
 receive the remuneration for their toil, will probably agree 
 with the sensible and virtuous master of Walter Gerard. 
 
 He, accompanied by his daughter and Egremont, is now 
 on his way home. A soft summer afternoon ; the mild 
 beam still gilding the tranquil scene ; a river, green meads 
 full of kine, woods vocal with the joyous song of the thrush 
 and the blackbird ; and in the distance, the lofty breast of 
 the purple moor, still blazing in the sun s fair sights and 
 renovating sounds after a day of labour passed in walls and 
 amid the ceaseless and monotonous clang of the spindle and 
 the loom. So Gerard felt it, as he stretched his great 
 limbs in the air and inhaled its perfumed volume. 
 
 'Ah! I was made for this, Sybil,' he exclaimed; 'but 
 never mind, my child, never mind ; tell me more of your 
 fine visitors.' 
 
 Egremont found the walk too short; fortunately, from 
 the undulation of the vale, they could not see the cottage 
 until within a hundred yards of it. When they were in 
 sight, a man came forth from the garden to greet them ; 
 Sybil gave an exclamation of pleasure ; it was Morlet. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 221 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Morley greeted Gerard and his daughter with great warmth, 
 and then looked at Egremont. ' Our companion in the 
 ruins of Marney Abbey,' said Gerard ; 'you and our frieod 
 Franklin here should become acquainted, Stephen, for you 
 both follow the same craft. He is a journalist like yourself, 
 and is our neighbour for a time, and yours.' 
 
 1 What journal are you on, may I ask ? ' inquired Morley. 
 
 Egremont reddened, was confused, and then replied, ' I 
 have no claim to the distinguished title of a journalist. I 
 am but a reporter ; and have some special duties here.' 
 
 ' Hem ! ' said Morley ; and then taking Gerard by the 
 arm, he walked away with him, leaving Egremont and 
 Sybil to follow them. 
 
 ' Well I have found him, Walter.' 
 
 ' What, Hatton ? ' 
 
 1 No, no ; the brother.' 
 
 ' And what knows he ? ' 
 
 ' Little enough ; yet something. Our man lives and 
 prospers ; these are facts, but where he is, or what he is : 
 not a clue.' 
 
 ' And this brother cannot help us ? ' 
 
 1 On the contrary, he sought information from me ; he is 
 a savage, beneath even our worst ideas of popular degra- 
 dation. All that is ascertained is that our man exists and 
 is well to do in the world. There comes an annual and 
 anonymous contribution, and not a light one, to his brother. 
 I examined the post-marks of the letters, but they all 
 varied, and were evidently arranged to mislead. I fear 
 you will deem I have not done much ; yet it was weari- 
 some enough I can tell you.' 
 
 ' I doubt it not ; and I am sure, Stephen, you have done 
 all that man could. I was fancying that I should hear 
 from you to-day ; for what think you has happened ? My 
 
222 SYBIL; OR 
 
 Lord himself, his family and train, have all been in state to 
 visit the works, and I had to show them. Queer that, 
 wasn't it ? He offered me money when it was over. How 
 much I know not, I would not look at it. Though to be 
 sure, they were perhaps my own rents, eh ? But I pointed 
 to the sick box, and his own dainty hand deposited the 
 sum there.' 
 
 * Tis very strange. And you were with him face to 
 face ? ' 
 
 ' Face to face. Had you brought me news of the papers, 
 I should have thought that Providence had rather a hand 
 in it ; but now, we are still at sea.' 
 
 1 Still at sea,' said Morley musingly, ' but he lives and 
 prospers. He will turn up yet, Walter.' 
 
 ' Amen ! Since you have taken up this thing, Stephen, 
 it is strange how my mind has hankered after the old 
 business, and yet it ruined my father, and mayhap may do 
 as bad for his son.' 
 
 ' We will not think that,' said Morley. ' At present we 
 will think of other things. You may guess I am a bit 
 wearied ; I think I'll say good night ; you have strangers 
 with you.' 
 
 ' Nay, nay, man ; nay. This Franklin is a likely lad 
 enough ; I think you will take to him. Prithee come in. 
 Sybil will not take it kindly if you go, after so long an 
 absence ; and I am sure I shall not.' 
 
 So they entered together. 
 
 The evening passed in various conversation, though it 
 led frequently to the staple subject of talk beneath the roof 
 of Gerard the Condition of the People. What Morley 
 had seen in his recent excursion afforded materials for 
 many comments. 
 
 ' The domestic feeling is fast vanishing among the working 
 classes of this country,' said Gerard; 'nor is it wonderful ; 
 the Home no longer exists.' 
 
 'But there are means of reviving it,' said Egremont; 
 
THE TWO XATIOXS. 223 
 
 c we have witnessed them to-day. Give men homes, and 
 they will have soft and homely notions. If all men acted 
 like Mr. Trafford, the condition of the people would be 
 changed.' 
 
 ' Bat all men will not act like Mr. Trafford,' said Morley. 
 ' It requires a sacrifice of self which cannot be expected, 
 which is unnatural. ' It is not individual influence that can 
 renovate society; it is some new principle that must re- 
 construct it. j You lament the expiring idea of Home. It 
 would not be expiring if it were worth retaining. The 
 domestic principle has fulfilled its purpose. The irresist- 
 ible law of progress demands that another should be deve- 
 loped. It will come ; you may advance or retard, but you 
 cannot prevent it. It will work out like the development 
 of organic nature. In the present state of civilisation, and 
 with the scientific means of happiness at our command, the 
 notion of home should be obsolete. Home is a barbarous (* 
 idea ; the method of a rude age ; home is isolation ; there- s 
 fore anti- social. What we want is Community.' 
 
 1 It is all very fine,' said Gerard, ' and I dare say you 
 are right, Stephen ; but I like stretching my feet on my 
 own hearth.' 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Time passes with a measured and memorable wing during 
 the first period of a sojourn in a new place, among new 
 characters and new manners. Every person, every incident, 
 every feeling, touches and stirs the imagination. The 
 restless mind creates and observes at the same time. In- 
 deed, there is scarcely any popular tenet more erroneous 
 than that which holds that Avhen time is slow, life is dull. 
 It is very often, and very much the reverse. If we look 
 back on those passages of our life which dwell most upon 
 the memory, they are brief periods full of action and novel 
 
224 SYBIL; OR 
 
 sensation. Egremont found this so during the first days 
 of his new residence in Mowedale. The first week, an 
 epoch in his life, seemed an age ; at the end of the first 
 month, he began to deplore the swiftness of time, and 
 almost to moralise over the brevity of existence. He found 
 that he was leading a life of perfect happiness, but of 
 remarkable simplicity ; he wished it might never end, but 
 felt difficulty in comprehending how, in the first days of 
 his experience of it, it had seemed so strange ; almost as 
 strange as it was sweet. The day, that commenced early, 
 was passed in reading ; books lent him often, too, by Sybil 
 Gerard ; sometimes in a ramble with her and Morley, who 
 had time much at his command, to some memorable spot in 
 the neighbourhood, or in the sport which the river and the 
 rod secured Egremont. In the evening, he invariably 
 repaired to the cottage of Gerard, beneath whose humble 
 roof he found every female charm that can fascinate, and 
 conversation that stimulated his intelligence. Gerard was 
 ever the same ; hearty, simple, with a depth of feeling and 
 native thought on the subjects on which they touched, and 
 with a certain grandeur of sentiment and conception which 
 contrasted with his social position, but which became his 
 idiosyncrasy. Sybil spoke little, but hung upon the accents 
 of her father ; yet ever and anon her rich tones conveyed 
 to the charmed ear of Egremont some deep conviction, the 
 earnestness of her intellect as remarkable as the almost 
 sacred repose of her mien and manner. Of Morley, at first 
 Egremont saw a great deal: he lent our friend booku, 
 opened, with unreserve and with great richness of specu- 
 lative and illustrative power, on the questions which ever 
 engaged him, and which were new and highly interesting 
 to his companion. But, as time advanced, whether it were 
 that the occupations of Morley increased, and the calls on 
 his hours left him fewer occasions for the indulgence of 
 social intercourse, Egremont saw him seldom, except at 
 Gerard's cottage, where generally he might be found in the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 22: 
 
 course of the week, and their rambles together had entirely 
 ceased. 
 
 Alone, Egremont mused much over the daughter of 
 Gerard, but, shrinking from the precise and the definite, his 
 dreams were delightful, but vague. All that he asked was, 
 that his present life should go on for ever ; he wished for 
 no change, and at length almost persuaded himself that no 
 change could arrive ; as men who are basking in a summer 
 sun, surrounded by bright and beautiful objects, cannot 
 comprehend how the seasons can ever alter; that the 
 sparkling foliage should shrivel and fall away, the foaming 
 waters become icebound, and the blue serene a dark anc 1 
 howling space. 
 
 In this train of mind, the early days of October having 
 already stolen on him, an incident occurred which startled 
 him in his retirement, and rendered it necessary that he 
 should instantly quit it. Egremont had entrusted the 
 secret of his residence to a faithful servant who communi- 
 cated with him, when necessary, under his assumed name. 
 Through these means he received a letter from his mother, 
 written from London, where she had unexpectedly arrived, 
 entreating him, in urgent terms, to repair to her without a 
 moment's delay, on a matter of equal interest and import- 
 ance to herself and him. Such an appeal from such a 
 quarter, from the parent that had ever been kind, and the 
 friend that had been ever faithful, was not for a moment to 
 be neglected. Already a period had elapsed since its trans- 
 mission, which Egremont regretted. He resolved at once 
 to quit Mowedale, nor could he console himself with the 
 prospect of an immediate return. Parliament was to as- 
 semble in the ensuing month, and, independently of the 
 unknown cause which summoned him immediately to town, 
 he was well aware that much disagreeable business awaited 
 him which could no longer be postponed. He had deter- 
 mined not to take his seat unless the expenses of his con- 
 test were previously discharged, and, despairing of his 
 
 Q 
 
226 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 brother's aid, and shrinking from trespassing any further 
 on his mother's resources, the future looked gloomy enough: 
 indeed, nothing but the frequent presence and the constant 
 influence of Sybil had driven from his mind the ignoble 
 melancholy which, relieved by no pensive fancy, is the in- 
 variable attendant of pecuniary embarrassment. 
 
 And now he was to leave her. The event, rather the 
 catastrophe, which, under any circumstances, could not be 
 long postponed, was to be precipitated. He strolled up to 
 the cottage to bid her farewell, and to leave kind words 
 for her father. Sybil was not there. The old dame who 
 kept their home informed him that Sybil was at the con- 
 vent, but would return in the evening. It was impossible 
 to quit Mowedale without seeing Sybil ; equally impossible 
 to postpone his departure. But by travelling through the 
 night, the lost hours might be regained. So Egremont 
 made his arrangements, and awaited with anxiety and im- 
 patience the last evening. 
 
 The evening, like his heart, was not serene. The soft 
 air that had lingered so long with them, a summer visitant 
 in an autumnal sky, and loth to part, was no more present. 
 A cold harsh wind, gradually rising, chilled the system, 
 and grated on the nerves. There was misery in its blast, 
 and depression in its moan. Egremont felt infinitely dis- 
 pirited. The landscape around him, that he had so often 
 looked upon with love and joy, was dull and hard ; the 
 trees dingy, the leaden waters motionless, the distant hills 
 rough and austere. Where was that translucent sky, once 
 brilliant as his enamoured fancy ; those bowery groves of 
 aromatic fervour wherein he had loved to roam and muse ; 
 that river of swift and sparkling light that flowed and 
 flashed like the current of his enchanted hours ? All 
 vanished, as his dreams. 
 
 He stood before the cottage of Gerard ; he recalled the 
 eve that he had first gazed upon its moonlit garden. What 
 wild and delicious thoughts were then his ! They wero 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 227 
 
 gone like the illumined hour. Nature and fortune had 
 alike changed. Prescient of sorrow, almost prophetic of 
 evil, he opened the cottage door, and the first person his 
 eye encountered was Morley. 
 
 Egremont had not met him for some time, and his cor- 
 dial greeting of Egremont to-night contrasted with the 
 coldness, not to say estrangement, which to the regret and 
 sometimes the perplexity of Egremont had gradually grown 
 up between them. Yet on no occasion was his presence 
 less desired by our friend. Morley was talking, as Egre- 
 mont entered, with great animation ; in his hand a news- 
 paper, on a paragraph contained in which he was com- 
 menting. The name of Marney caught the ear of Egremont, 
 who turned rather pale at the sound, and hesitated on the 
 threshold. The unembarrassed welcome of his frieuds, 
 however, re-assured him, and in a moment he even ventured 
 to inquire the subject of their conversation. Morley, im- 
 mediately referring to the newspaper, said, ' This is what I 
 have just read : 
 
 1 " Extraordinary Sport at the Earl of Marney's. On 
 Wednesday, in a small cover called the Horns, near Marney 
 Abbey, his grace the Duke of Pitz-Aquitaine, the Earl of 
 Marney, Colonel Kippe, and Captain Grouse, with only four 
 hours' shooting, bagged the extraordinary number of seven 
 hundred and thirty head of game, namely, hares three 
 hundred and thirty-nine ; pheasants two hundred and 
 twenty-one ; partridges thirty- four ; rabbits eighty- seven ; 
 and the following day upwards of fifty hares, pheasants, 
 &c. (wounded the previous day), were picked up. Out of 
 the four hours' shooting, two of the party were absent an 
 hour and a half, namely, the Earl of Marney and Captain 
 Grouse, attending an agricultural meeting in the neigh- 
 bourhood ; the noble earl, with his usual considerate con- 
 descension, having kindly consented personally to distribute 
 the various prizes to the labourers whose good conduct 
 entitled them to the distinction." 
 
 o2 
 
228 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' What do you think of that, Franklin ? ' said Morley. 
 ' That is our worthy friend of Marney Abbey, where we 
 first met. You do not know this part of the country, or 
 you would smile at the considerate condescension of the 
 worst landlord in England; and who was, it seems, thus 
 employed the day or so after his battue, as they call it.' 
 And Morley turning the paper read another paragraph : 
 
 ' At a Petty Sessions holden at the Green Dragon Inn, 
 Marney, Friday, October , 1837. 
 
 'Magistrates present: The Earl of Marney, the Rev. 
 Felix Flimsey, and Captain Grouse. 
 
 'Information against Thomas Hind for a trespass in 
 pursuit of game in Blackrock Wood, the property of Sir 
 Vavasour Firebrace, Bart. The case was distinctly proved ; 
 several wires being found in the pocket of the defendant. 
 Defendant was fined in the full penalty of forty shillings 
 and costs twenty-seven ; the Bench being of opinion there 
 was no excuse for him, Hind being in regular employ as a 
 farm-labourer and gaining his seven shillings a-week. 
 Defendant, being unable to pay the penalty, was sent for 
 two months to Marham gaol.' 
 
 ' What a pity,' said Morley, ' that Robert Hind, instead 
 of meditating the snaring of a hare, had not been fortunate 
 enough to pick up a maimed one crawling about the fields 
 the day after the battue. It would certainly have been 
 better for himself; and if he has a wife and family, better 
 for the parish.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Gerard, ' I doubt not they were all picked up 
 by the poulterer who has the contract : even the Normans 
 did not sell their game.' 
 
 ' The question is,' said Morley, ' would you rather be bar- 
 s^ barous or mean ; that is the alternative presented by the 
 real and the pseudo Norman nobility of England. Where 
 I have been lately, there is a Bishopsgate Street merchant 
 who has been made for no conceivable public reason a baron 
 bold. Bigod and Bohun could not enforce the forest laws 
 with such severity as this dealer in cotton and indigo.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 229 
 
 4 It is a difficult question to deal with, this affair of the 
 game laws,' said Egremont ; ' how will you reach the evil ? 
 Would you do away with the offence of trespass ? And if 
 so, what is your protection for property ? ' 
 
 'It comes to a simple point though,' said Morley, 'the 
 Territorialists must at length understand that they cannot 
 at the same time have the profits of a farm and the plea- 
 sures of a chase.' 
 
 At this moment entered Sybil. At the sight of her, the 
 remembrance that they were about to part, nearly over- 
 whelmed Egremont. Her supremacy over his spirit was 
 revealed to him, and nothing but the presence of other 
 persons could have prevented him from avowing his entire 
 subjection. His hand trembled as he touched hers, and his 
 eye, searching yet agitated, would have penetrated her 
 serene soul. Gerard and Morley, somewhat withdrawn, 
 pursued their conversation ; while Egremont, hanging over 
 Sybil, attempted to summon courage to express to her his 
 sad adieu. It was in vain. Alone, perhaps he might have 
 poured forth a passionate farewell. But constrained he 
 became embarrassed ; and his conduct was at the same time 
 tender and perplexing. He asked and repeated questions 
 which had already been answered. His thoughts wandered 
 from their conversation, but not from her with whom he 
 should have conversed. Once their eyes met, and Sybil 
 observed his suffused with tears. Once he looked round 
 and caught the glance of Morley, instantly withdrawn, but 
 not easy to be forgotten. 
 
 Shortly after this and earlier than his wont, Morley rose 
 and wished them good night. He shook hands with Egre- 
 mont and bade him farewell with some abruptness. Harold, 
 who seemed half asleep, suddenly sprang from the side of 
 his mistress and gave an agitated bark. Harold was never 
 very friendly to Morley, who now tried to soothe him, but 
 in vain. The dog looked fiercely at him and barked again, 
 but, the moment Morley had disappeared, Harold resumed 
 his usual air of proud, high-bred gentleness, and thrust his 
 
230 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 nose into the hand of Egremont, who patted him with 
 fondness. 
 
 The departure of Morley was a great relief to Egremont, 
 thongh the task that was left was still a painful effort. He 
 rose and walked for a moment up and down the room, and 
 commenced an unfinished sentence, approached the hearth, 
 and leant over the mantel ; and then at length extending 
 his hand to Gerard, he exclaimed, in a trembling voice, 
 ' Best of friends, I must leave Mowedale.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry,' said Gerard ; ' and when ? ' 
 
 ' Now,' said Egremont. 
 
 'Now!' said Sybil. 
 
 ' Yes ; this instant. My summons is urgent. I ought 
 to have left this morning. I came here then to bid you 
 farewell,' he said, looking at Sybil, 'to express to you how 
 deeply I was indebted to you for all your goodness ; how 
 dearly I shall cherish the memory of these happy days, 
 the happiest I have ever known ; ' and his voice faltered. 
 1 1 came also to leave a kind message for you, my friend, a 
 hope that we might meet again and soon, but your 
 daughter was absent, and I could not leave Mowedale 
 without seeing either of you. So I must contrive to get on 
 through the night.' 
 
 ' Well, we lose a pleasant neighbour,' said Gerard ; ' we 
 shall miss you, I doubt not, eh, Sybil ? ' 
 
 But Sybil had turned away her head ; she was leaning 
 over and seemed to be caressing Harold, and was silent. 
 
 How much Egremont would have liked to have offered 
 or invited correspondence ; to have proffered his services, 
 when the occasion permitted ; to have said or proposed 
 many things that might have cherished their acquaintance 
 or friendship ; but, embarrassed by his incognito and all 
 its consequent deception, he could do nothing but tenderly 
 express his regret at parting, and speak vaguely and almost 
 mysteriously of their soon meeting again. He held out 
 again his hand to Gerard, who shook it heartily : then ap- 
 proaching Sybil, Egremont said, ' You have shown me a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 231 
 
 thousand kindnesses, which I cherish,' he added in a lower 
 tone, ' above all human circumstances. Would you deign to 
 let this volume lie upon your table,' and he offered Sybil 
 an English translation of Thomas a Kempis, illustrated by 
 some masterpieces. In its first page was written ' Sybil, 
 from a faithful friend.' 
 
 'I accept it,' said Sybil, with a trembling voice and 
 rather pale, ' in remembrance of a friend.' She held forth 
 her hand to Egremont, who retained it for an instant, and 
 then bending very low, pressed it to his lips. As with an 
 agitated heart he hastily crossed the threshold of the 
 cottage, something seemed to hold him back. He turned 
 round. The bloodhound had seized him by the coat, and 
 looked up to him with an expression of affectionate remon- 
 strance against his departure. Egremont bent down, 
 caressed Harold, and released himself from his grasp. 
 
 When Egremont left the cottage, he found the country 
 enveloped in a thick white mist, so that had it not been for 
 some huge black shadows which he recognised as the crests 
 of trees, it would have been very difficult to discriminate 
 the earth from the sky, and the mist thickening as he 
 advanced, even these fallacious landmarks threatened to 
 disappear. He had to walk to Mowbray to catch a night 
 train for London. Every moment was valuable, but the 
 unexpected and increasing obscurity rendered his progress 
 slow and even perilous. The contiguity to the river made 
 every step important. He had, according to his calcula- 
 tions, proceeded nearly as far as his old residence, and not- 
 withstanding the careless courage of youth and the annoy- 
 ance of relinquishing a project, intolerable at that season of 
 life, was meditating the expediency of renouncing that 
 night the attempt on Mowbray and of gaining his former 
 quarters for shelter. He stopped, as he had stopped several 
 times before, to calculate rather than to observe. The 
 mist was so thick that he could not see his own extended 
 hand. It was not the first time that it had occurred to him 
 that some one or some thing was hovering about his course v / 
 
232 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 1 Who is there ? ' exclaimed Egremont. But no one 
 answered. 
 
 He moved on a little, but very slowly. He felt assured 
 ihat his ear caught a contiguous step. He repeated his 
 interrogatory in a louder tone, but it obtained no response. 
 Again he stopped. Suddenly he was seized ; an iron grasp 
 assailed his throat, a hand of steel griped his arm. The 
 unexpected onset hurried him on. The sound of waters 
 assured him that he was approaching the precipitous bank 
 of that part of the river which, from a ledge of pointed 
 rocks, here formed rapids. Vigorous and desperate, Egre- 
 mont plunged like some strong animal on whom a beast of 
 prey had made a fatal spring. His feet clung to the earth 
 as if they were held by some magnetic power. With his 
 disengaged arm he grappled with his mysterious and un 
 seen foe. 
 
 At this moment he heard the deep bay of a hound. 
 
 ' Harold ! ' he exclaimed. The dog, invisible, sprang 
 forward and seized upon his assailant. So violent was the 
 impulse that Egremont staggered and fell, but he fell freed 
 from his dark enemy. Stunned and exhausted, some 
 moments elapsed before he was entirely himself. The wind 
 had suddenly changed ; a violent gust had partially dis- 
 pelled the mist ; the outline of the landscape was in many 
 places visible. Beneath him were the rapids of the Mowe, 
 over which a watery moon threw a faint, nickering light. 
 Egremont was lying on its precipitous bank ; and Harold 
 panting was leaning over him and looking in his face, and 
 sometimes licking him with that tongue which, though not 
 gifted with speech, had spoken so seasonably in the moment 
 of danger 
 
 .END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 233 
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 4 Are you going down to the House, Egerton ? ' inquired 
 Mr. Berners at Brooks', of a brother M.P., about four 
 o'clock in the early part of the spring of 1839. 
 
 ' The moment I have sealed this letter ; we will walk 
 down together, if you like ; ' and in a few minutes they 
 left the club. 
 
 ' Our fellows are in a sort of fright about this Jamaica 
 bill,' said Mr. Egerton, in an undertone, as if he were afraid 
 a passer-by might hear him. ' Don't say anything about 
 it, but there's a screw loose.' 
 
 * The deuce ! But how do you mean ? ' 
 
 * They say the Rads are going to throw us over.' 
 'Talk, talk. They have threatened this half-a-dozen 
 
 times. Smoke, sir ; it will end in smoke.' 
 
 1 1 hope it may ; but I know, in great confidence mind 
 you, that Lord John was saying something about it yester- 
 day.' 
 
 ' That may be ; I believe our fellows are heartily sick of 
 the business, and perhaps would be glad of an excuse to 
 break up the government : but we must not have Peel in ; 
 nothing could prevent dissolution.' 
 
 'Their fellows go about and say that Peel would not 
 dissolve if he came in.' 
 
 < Trust him ! ' 
 
 ' He has had enough of dissolutions they say.' 
 
 1 Why, after all, they have not done him much harm. 
 Even '34 Avas a hit,' 
 
234 SYBIL, OR 
 
 1 Whoever dissolves/ said Mr. Egerton, ' I do not think 
 there will be much of a majority either way in our time.' 
 
 'We have seen strange things,' said Mr. Berners. 
 
 ' They never would think of breaking up the govern- 
 ment without making their peers,' said Mr. Egerton. 
 
 ' The queen is not over partial to making more peers ; 
 and when parties are in the present state of equality, the 
 Sovereign is no longer a mere pageant. 
 
 1 They say her Majesty is more touched about these 
 affairs of the Chartists than anything else,' said Mr. 
 Egerton. 
 
 'They are rather queer; but for my part I have no 
 serious fears of a Jacquerie.' 
 
 ' Not if it comes to an outbreak ; but a passive resist- 
 ance Jacquerie is altogether a different thing. When we 
 see a regular Convention assembled in London and holding 
 its daily meetings in Palace Yard, and a general inclination 
 evinced throughout the country to refrain from the con- 
 sumption of excisable articles, I cannot help thinking that 
 affairs are more serious than you imagine. I know the 
 government are all on the " qui vive." ' 
 
 1 Just the fellows we wanted ! ' exclaimed Lord Fitz- 
 Heron, who was leaning on the arm of Lord Milford, and 
 who met Mr. Egerton and his friend in Pall Mall. 
 
 1 We want a brace of pairs,' said Lord Milford. ' Will 
 you two fellows pair ? ' 
 
 ' I must go down,' said Mr. Egerton ; ' but I will pair 
 from half past-seven to eleven.' 
 
 ' I just paired with Ormsby at White's,' said Berners, 
 * not half an hour ago. We are both going to dine at 
 Eskdale's and so it was arranged. Have you any news to- 
 day ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing ; except they say that Alfred Mountchesney 
 is going to marry Lady Joan Fitz-Warene,' said Lord 
 Milford. 
 
 ' She has been given to so many,' said Mr. Egerton. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 'It is always so with these great heiresses,' said Li.s 
 companion. ' They never marry. They cannot bear the 
 thought of sharing their money. I bet Lady Joan will 
 turn out another specimen of the Tabitha Cecesus.' 
 
 'Well, put down our pair, Egerton,' said Lord Fitz- 
 Heron. ' You do not dine at Sidonia's by any chance ? ' 
 
 ' Would that I did ! You will have the best dishes and 
 the best guests. I feed at old Malton's : perhaps a tete-a- 
 tete : Scotch broth and to tell him the news ! ' 
 
 * There is nothing like being a dutiful nephew, par- 
 ticularly when one's uncle is a bachelor and has twenty 
 thousand a-year,' said Lord Milford. ' Au revoir ! I sup- 
 pose there will be no division to-night.' 
 
 ' No chance.' 
 
 Egerton and Berners walked on a little further. As 
 they came to the Golden Ball, a lady quitting the shop 
 was just about to get into her carriage ; she stopped as she 
 recognised them. It was Lady Firebrace. 
 
 ' Ah ! Mr. Berners, how d'ye do r You were just the 
 person I wanted to see ! How is Lady Augusta, Mr. 
 Egerton ? You have no idea, Mr. Berners, how I have 
 been fighting your battles ! ' 
 
 'Really, Lady Firebrace,' said Mr. Berners, rather un- 
 easy, for he had perhaps, like most of us, a peculiar dislike 
 to being attacked or cheapened. ' You are too good.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I don't care what a person's politics are ! ' ex- 
 claimed Lady Firebrace, with an air of affectionate devo- 
 tion. ' I should be very glad indeed to see you one of us. 
 You know your father was ! But if any one is my friend, I 
 never will hear him attacked behind his back without 
 fighting his battles: and I certainly did fight yours last 
 night.' 
 
 ' Pray tell me where it was ? ' 
 
 ' Lady Crumbleford ' 
 
 1 Confound Lady Crumbleford ! ' said Mr. Berners, in- 
 dignant, but a little relieved. 
 
236 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 ' No, no ; Lady Cruinbleford told Lady Alicia Severn.' 
 1 Yes, yes,' said Berners, a little pale, for he was touched. 
 
 I Bnt I cannot stop,' said Lady Firebrace. ' I must be 
 with Lady St. Jnlians exactly at a quarter past fonr ; ' and 
 she sprang into her carriage. 
 
 I I would sooner meet any woman in London than Lady 
 Firebrace,' said Mr. Berners; 'she makes me uneasy for 
 the day; she contrives to convince me that the whole 
 world are employed behind my back in abusing or ridicul- 
 ing me.' 
 
 ' It is her way,' said Egerton ; ' she proves her zeal by 
 showing you that you are odious. It is very successful 
 with people of weak nerves. Scared at their general un- 
 popularity, they seek refuge with the very person who at 
 the same time assures them of their odium and alone 
 believes it unjust. She rules that poor old goose, Lady 
 Gramshawe, who feels that Lady Firebrace makes her life 
 miserable, but is convinced that if she break with the 
 torturer, she loses her only friend.' 
 
 ' There goes a man who is as much altered as any fellow 
 of our time.' 
 
 ' Not in his looks ; I was thinking the other night that 
 he was better-looking than ever.' 
 
 * Oh ! no ; not in his looks ; but in his life. I was at 
 Christchurch with him, and we entered the world about 
 the same time. I was rather before him. He did every- 
 thing; and did it well. And now one never sees him, 
 except at the House. He goes nowhere ; and they tell me 
 he is a regular reading man.' 
 
 ' Do you think he looks to office ? ' 
 
 ' He does not put himself forward.' 
 
 1 He attends ; and his brother will always be able to get 
 anything for him,' said Egerton. 
 
 1 Oh ! he and Marney never speak ; they hate each 
 other.' 
 
 1 By Jove ! however, there is his mother ; with this 
 
THE TWO XATIOXS. 237 
 
 marriage of hers and Deloraine House, she will be their 
 grandest dame.' 
 
 1 She is the only good woman the tories have : I think 
 their others do them harm, from Lady St. Julians down to 
 your friend Lady Firebrace. I wish Lady Deloraine were 
 with us. She keeps their men together wonderfully ; 
 makes her house agreeable ; and then her manner, it 
 certainly is perfect ; natural, and yet refined.' 
 
 ' Lady Mina Blake has an idea that, far from looking to 
 office, Egremont's heart is faintly with his party ; and that 
 if it were not for the Marchioness ' 
 
 ' We might gain him, eh ? ' 
 
 ' Hem ; I hardly know that : he has got crotchets about 
 the people, I am told.' 
 
 1 What, the ballot and household suffrage ? ' 
 
 I Gad, I believe it is quite a different sort of a thing. I 
 do not know what it is exactly ; but I understand he is 
 crotchetty.' 
 
 'Well, that will not do for Peel. He does not like 
 crotchetty men. Do you see that, Egerton ? ' 
 
 At this moment, Mr. Egerton and his friend were about 
 to step over from Trafalgar- square to Charing Cross. 
 They observed the carriages of Lady St. Julians and the 
 Marchioness of Deloraine drawn up side by side in the 
 middle of the street, and those two eminent stateswomen 
 in earnest conversation. Egerton and Berners bowed and 
 smiled, but could not hear the brief but not uninteresting 
 words that have nevertheless reached us. 
 
 I I give them eleven,' said Lady St. Julians. 
 
 ' Well, Charles tells me,' said Lady Deloraine, ' that Sir 
 Thomas says so, and he certainly is generally right ; but it 
 is not Charles's own opinion.' 
 
 ' Sir Thomas, I know, gives them eleven,' said Lady St. 
 Julians ; ' and that would satisfy me ; and we will say 
 eleven. But I have a list here,' and she slightly elevated 
 her brow, and then glanced at Lady Deloraine with a 
 
238 SYBIL; OR 
 
 piquant air, * which proves that they cannot have more 
 than nine ; but this is in the greatest confidence : of course 
 between us there can be no secrets. It is Mr. Tadpole's 
 list ; nobody has seen it but myself; not even Sir Robert. 
 Lord Grubminster has had a stroke ; they are concealing 
 it, but Mr. Tadpole has found it out. They wanted to pair 
 him off with Colonel Fantomme, who they think is dying ; 
 but Mr. Tadpole has got a Mesmerist who has done won- 
 ders for him, and who has guaranteed that he shall vote. 
 Well, that makes a difference of one.' 
 
 ' And then Sir Henry Churton ' 
 
 ' Oh ! you know it,' said Lady St. Julians, looking slightly 
 mortified. ' Yes ; he votes with us.' 
 
 Lady Deloraine shook her head. ' I think,' she said, ' I 
 know the origin of that report. Quite a mistake. He is 
 in a bad humour, has been so the whole session, and he was 
 at Lady Alice Fermyne's and did say all sorts of things. 
 All that is true. But he told Charles this morning on a 
 committee, that he should vote with the Government.' 
 
 1 Stupid man ! ' exclaimed Lady St. Julians ; * I never 
 could bear him. And I have sent his vulgar wife and great 
 staring daughter a card for next Wednesday ! Well, I hope 
 affairs will soon be brought to a crisis, for I do not think I 
 can bear much longer this life of perpetual sacrifice,' added 
 Lady St. Julians, a little out of temper, both because she 
 had lost a vote and found her friend and rival better in- 
 formed than herself. 
 
 ' There is no chance of a division to-night,' said Lady 
 Deloraine. 
 
 ' That is settled,' said Lady St. Julians. ' Adieu, my dear 
 friend. We meet, I believe, at dinner ? ' 
 
 'Plotting,' said Mr. Egerton to Mr. Berners, as they 
 passed the great ladies. 
 
 ' The only consolation one has,' said Berners, ' is, that if 
 they do turn us out, Lady Deloraine and Lady St. Julians 
 must quarrel, for they both want the same thing.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 239 
 
 * Lad 7 Deloraine will have it,' said Egerton. 
 
 Here they picked up Mr. Jermyn, a young tory M.P., 
 whom perhaps the reader may remember at Mowbray 
 Castle ; and they walked on together, Egerton and Berners 
 trying to pump him as to the expectations of his friends. 
 
 ' How will Trodgits go ? ' said Egerton. 
 
 1 1 think Trodgits will stay away,' said Jermyn. 
 
 * Whom do you give that new man to, that north- coun- 
 try borough fellow ; what's his name ? ' said Berners. 
 
 ' Blugsby ! oh, Blugsby dined with Peel,' said Jermyn. 
 
 1 Our fellows say dinners are no good,' said Egerton ; 
 1 and they certainly are a cursed bore : but you may depend 
 upon it they do for the burgesses. We don't dine our men 
 half enough. Now Blugsby was just the sort of fellow to 
 be caught by dining with Peel ; and I dare say they made 
 Peel remember to take wine with him. We got Melbourne to 
 give a grand feed the other day to some of our men who want 
 attention they say, and he did not take wine with a single 
 guest. He forgot. I wonder what they are doing at the 
 House ! Here is Spencer May, he will tell us. Well, what 
 is going on ? ' 
 
 ' Wisht is down, and Washy up.' 
 
 ' No division, of course ? ' 
 
 ' Not a chance ; a regular covey ready on both sides.' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 On the morning of the same day that Mr. Egerton and his 
 friend Mr. Berners walked down together to the House of 
 Commons, as appears in our last chapter, Egremont had 
 made a visit to his mother, who had married, since the 
 commencement of this history, the Marquis of Deloraine, a 
 great noble who had always been her admirer. The family 
 had been established by a lawyer, and recently in our his- 
 tory. The present Lord Deloraine, thougli he was gartered 
 
240 SYBIL; OR 
 
 and had been a viceroy, was only the grandson of an at- 
 torney, but one who, conscious of his powers, had been 
 called to the bar and died an ex- chancellor. A certain 
 talent was hereditary in the family. The attorney's son 
 had been a successful courtier, and had planted himself in 
 the cabinet for a quarter of a century. It was a maxim 
 in this family to make great alliances ; so the blood pro- 
 gressively refined, and the connections were always distin- 
 guished by power and fashion. It was a great hit, in the 
 second generation of an earldom, to convert the coronet 
 into that of a marquis ; but the son of the old chancellor 
 lived in stirring times, and cruised for his object with the 
 same devoted patience with which Lord Ad son watched for 
 the galleon. It came at last, as everything does if men 
 are firm and calm. The present marquis, through his an- 
 cestry and his first wife, was allied with the highest houses 
 of the realm, and looked their peer. He might have been 
 selected as the personification of aristocracy : so noble was 
 his appearance, so distinguished his manner; his bow 
 gained every eye, his smile every heart. He was also very 
 accomplished, and not ill-informed ; had read a little, and 
 thought a little, and was in every respect a superior man ; 
 alike famed for his favour by the fair, and the constancy of 
 his homage to the charming Lady Marney. 
 
 Lord Deloraine was not rich ; but he was not embar- 
 rassed, and had the appearance of princely wealth ; a 
 splendid family mansion with a courtyard ; a noble country 
 seat with a magnificent park, including a quite celebrated 
 lake, but with few farms attached to it. He however held 
 a good patent place which had been conferred on Ins de- 
 scendants by the old chancellor, and this brought in an- 
 nually some thousands. His marriage with Lady Marney 
 was quite an affair of the heart ; her considerable jointure 
 however did not diminish the lustre of his position. 
 
 It was this impending marriage, and the anxiety of Lady 
 Marney to see Egremont's affairs settled before it took place 3 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 241 
 
 which about a year and a half ago had induced her to 
 summon him so urgently from Mowedale, which the reader 
 perhaps may not have forgotten. And now Egremont 
 is paying one of his almost daily visits to his mother at 
 Deloraine House. 
 
 ' A truce to politics, my dear Charles,' said Lady Marney; 
 1 you must be wearied with my inquiries. Besides, I do 
 not take the sanguine view of affairs in which some of our 
 friends indulge. I am one of those who think the pear is 
 not ripe. These men will totter on, and longer perhaps 
 than even themselves imagine. I want to speak of some- 
 thing very different. To-morrow, my dear son, is your 
 birth-day. Now I should grieve were it to pass without 
 your receiving something which showed that its recollec- 
 tion was cherished by your mother. But of all silly things 
 in the world, the silliest is a present that is not wanted. 
 It destroys the sentiment a little, perhaps, but it enhances 
 the gift, if I ask you in the most literal manner to assist 
 me in giving you something that really would please you?' 
 
 1 But how can I, my dear mother ? ' said Egremont. 
 1 You have ever been so kind and so generous that I liter- 
 ally want nothing.' 
 
 ' Oh ! you cannot be such a fortunate man as to want 
 nothing, Charles,' said Lady Marney with a smile. 'A 
 dressing-case you have ; your rooms are furnished enough: 
 all this is in my way ; but there are such things as horses 
 and guns, of which I knew nothing, but which men always 
 require. You must want a horse or a gun, Charles. Well, 
 I should like you to get either ; the finest, the most valu- 
 able that money can purchase. Or a brougham, Charles ; 
 what do you think of a new brougham ? Would you like 
 that Barker should build you a brougham ? ' 
 
 1 You are too good, my dear mother. I have horses 
 and guns enough; and my present carriage is all I can 
 desire.' 
 
 1 You will not assist me, then ? You are resolved that I 
 
242 SYBIL; OR 
 
 shall do something very stupid. For to give you something 
 I am determined.' 
 
 'Well, my dear mother,' said Egremont smiling, and 
 looking round, 'give me something that is here.' 
 
 4 Choose then,' said Lady Marney ; and she looked round 
 the satin walls of her apartment, covered with cabinet pic- 
 tures of exquisite art, and tnen at her tables crowded with 
 precious and fantastic toys. 
 
 ' It would be plunder, my dear mother,' said Egremont. 
 
 1 No, no ; you have said it ; you shall choose something. 
 Will you have those vases ? ' and she pointed to an almost 
 matchless specimen of old Sevres porcelain. 
 
 ' They are in too becoming a position to be disturbed,' 
 said Egremont, ' and would ill suit my quiet chambers, 
 where a bronze or a marble is my greatest ornament. If 
 you would permit me, I would rather choose a picture ? ' 
 
 1 Then select one at once,' said Lady Marney ; ' I make 
 no reservation, except that Watteau, for it was given to 
 me by your father before we were married. Shall it be 
 this Cuyp ? ' 
 
 ' I would rather choose this,' said Egremont ; and he 
 pointed to the portrait of a saint by Allori : the face of a 
 beautiful young girl, radiant and yet solemn, with rich 
 tresses of golden brown hair, and large eyes dark as night, 
 fringed with ebon lashes that hung upon the glowing 
 cheek. 
 
 1 Ah ! you choose that ! Well, that was a great favourite 
 of poor Sir Thomas Lawrence. But for my part I have 
 never seen any one in the least like it, and I think I am 
 sure that you have not.' 
 
 ' It reminds me,' said Egremont musingly. 
 
 1 Of what you have dreamed,' said Lady Marney. 
 
 ' Perhaps so,' said Egremont ; ' indeed I think it must 
 have been a dream.' 
 
 ' Well, the vision shall still hover before you,' said his 
 mother; 'and you shall find this portrait to-morrow over 
 your chimney in the Albany.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 243 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ( Strangers must withdraw.' 
 
 I Division : clear the gallery. Withdraw.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ; no ; it's quite ridiculous ; quite absurd. 
 Some fellow must get up. Send to the Carlton ; send to 
 the Reform ; send to Brooks'. Are your men ready ? No ; 
 are your's ? I am sure I can't say. What does it mean ? 
 Most absurd ! Are there many fellows in the library ? 
 The smoking room is quite full. All our men are paired 
 till half-past eleven. It wants five minutes to the half- 
 hour. What do you think of Trenchard's speech ? I 
 don't care for ourselves ; I am sorry for him. Well, that 
 is very charitable. Withdraw, withdraw ; you must with- 
 draw.' 
 
 ' Where are you going, Fitzheron ? ' said a Conservative 
 w r hipling. 
 
 I I must go ; I am paired till half-past eleven, and it 
 wants some minutes, and my man is not here.' 
 
 ' Confound ic ! ' 
 
 1 How will it go ? ' 
 
 ' Gad, I don't know.' 
 
 < Fishy, eh ? ' 
 
 1 Deuced ! ' said the under- whip in an under-tone, pale, 
 and speaking behind his teeth. 
 
 The division bell was still ringing ; peers and diplomatists 
 and strangers were turned out ; members came rushing in 
 from the library and smoking-room ; some desperate cabs 
 just arrived in time to land their passengers in the waiting- 
 room. The doors were locked. 
 
 The mysteries of the Lobby are only for the initiated. 
 Three quarters of an hour after the division was called, the 
 result was known to the exoteric world. Majority for 
 Ministers thirty-seven ! Never had the Opposition made 
 
 u 2 
 
244 SYBIL, OR 
 
 such a bad division, and this too on their trial of strength 
 for the session. Everything went wrong. Lord Milford 
 was away without a pair. Mr. Ormsby, who had paired 
 with Mr. Berners, never came, and let his man poll ; for 
 which he was infinitely accursed, particularly by the ex- 
 pectant twelve hundred a-yearers, but, not wanting any- 
 thing himself, and having an income of forty thousand 
 pounds paid quarterly, Mr. Ormsby bore their reported 
 indignation like a lamb. 
 
 There were several other similar or analogous mischances ; 
 the whigs contrived to poll Lord Grubminster in a wheeled 
 chair ; he was unconscious, but had heard as much of the 
 debate as a good many. Colonel Fantomme, on the other 
 hand, could not come to time ; the Mesmerist had thrown 
 him into a trance from which it was fated he never should 
 awake : but the crash of the night was a speech made 
 against the Opposition by one of their own men, Mr. 
 Trenchard, who voted with the Government. 
 
 1 The rest may be accounted for,' said Lady St. Julians 
 to Lady Deloraine the morning after ; ' it is simply vexa- 
 tious ; it was a surprise and will be a lesson : but this 
 affair of this Mr. Trenchard, and they tell me that William 
 Latimer was absolutely cheering him the whole time, 
 what does it mean ? Do you know the man ? ' 
 
 * I have heard Charles speak of him, and I think much 
 in his favour,' said Lady Deloraine ; * if he were here, he 
 would tell us more about it. I wonder he does not come : 
 he never misses looking in after a great division and giving 
 me all the news.' 
 
 1 Do you know, my dear friend,' said Lady St. Julians, 
 with an air of some solemnity, 'I am half meditating a 
 great move ? This is not a time for trifling. It is all very 
 well for these people to boast of their division of last night, 
 but it was a surprise, and as great to them as to us. I 
 know there is dissension in the camp ; ever since that 
 Finality speech of Lord John, there has been a smouldering 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 245 
 
 sedition. Mr. Tadpole knows all about it ; he has liaisons 
 with the frondenrs. This affair of Trenchard may do us 
 the greatest possible injury. When it comes to a fair fight, 
 the Government have not more than twelve or so. If Mr. 
 Trenchard and three or four others choose to make them- 
 selves of importance, you see ? The danger is imminent, 
 it must be met with decision.' 
 
 ' And what do you propose doing ? ' 
 
 ' Has he a wife ? ' 
 
 ' I really do not know. I wish Charles would come, 
 perhaps he could tell us.' 
 
 1 1 have no doubt he has,' said Lady St. Julians. ' One 
 would have met him, somehow or other, in the course of 
 two years, if he had not been married. Well, married 
 or unmarried, with his wife, or without his wife, I shall 
 send him a card for Wednesday.' And Lady St. Julians 
 paused, overwhelmed as it were by the commensurate 
 vastness of her idea and her sacrifice. 
 
 1 Do not you think it would be rather sudden ? ' said 
 Lady Deloraine. 
 
 ' What does that signify ? He will understand it ; he 
 will have gained his object ; and all will be right.' 
 
 ' But are you sure it is his object ? We do not know the 
 man.' 
 
 ' What else can be his object ? ' said Lady St. Julians. 
 ' People get into Parliament to get on ; their aims are 
 indefinite. If they have indulged in hallucinations about 
 place before they enter the House, they are soon freed from 
 such distempered fancies ; they find they have no more 
 talent than other people, and if they had, they learn that 
 power, patronage, and pay are reserved for us and our 
 friends. Well then, like practical men, they look to some 
 result, and they get it. They are asked out to dinner more 
 than they would be ; they move rigmarole resolutions at 
 nonsensical public meetings ; and they get invited with 
 their women to assemblies at their leader's, where they see 
 
246 SYBIL; OR 
 
 stars and oliie ribbons, and above all, us, who, they little 
 think, in appearing on such occasions, make the greatest 
 conceivable sacrifice. Well then, of course such people are 
 entirely in one's power, if one only had time and inclination 
 to notice them. You can do anything with them. Ask 
 them to a ball, and they will give you their votes ; invite 
 them to dinner, and, if necessary, they will rescind them ; 
 but cultivate them, remember their wives at assemblies, 
 and call their daughters, if possible, by their right names ; 
 and they will not only change their principles or desert 
 their party for you ; but subscribe their fortunes, if neces- 
 sary, and lay down their lives in your service.' 
 
 ' You paint them to the life, my dear Lady St. Julians,' 
 said Lady Deloraine laughing ; ' but, with such knowledge 
 and such powers, why did you not save our boroughs ? ' 
 
 1 We had lost our heads, then, I must confess,' said Lady 
 St. Julians. ' What with the dear King and the dear 
 Duke, we really had brought ourselves to believe that we 
 lived in the days of Versailles or nearly ; and I must admit 
 I think we had become a little too exclusive. Out of the 
 cottage circle, there was really no world, and after all Ave 
 were lost, not by insulting the people, but by snubbing the 
 aristocracy.' 
 
 The servant announced Lady Firebrace. ' Oh ! my dear 
 Lady Deloraine. ! my dear Lady St. Julians ! ' and she 
 shook her head. 
 
 1 You have no news, I suppose,' said Lady St. Julians. 
 
 ' Only about that dreadful Mr. Trenchard ; you know the 
 reason why he ratted ? ' 
 
 1 No, indeed,' said Lady St. Julians with a sigh. 
 
 ' An invitation to Lansdowne House, for himself and his 
 wife ! ' 
 
 ' Oh ! he is married then ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; she is at the bottom of it all. Terms regularly 
 settled beforehand. I have a note here ; all the facts.' 
 And Lady Firebrace twirled in her hand a bulletin from 
 Mr. Tadpole. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 247 
 
 * Lausdowne House is destined to cross me,' said Lady 
 St. Julians with bitterness. 
 
 1 Well it is provoking,' said Lady Deloraine, l when you 
 had made up your mind to ask them for Wednesday.' 
 
 1 Yes, that alone is a sacrifice,' said Lady St. Julians. 
 
 ' Talking over the division, I suppose,' said Egremont as 
 he entered. 
 
 ' Ah ! Mr. Egremont,' said Lady St. Julians. * What a 
 liuchis you made of it ! ' 
 
 Lady Firebrace shook her head, as it were reproachfully. 
 
 * Charles,' said Lady Deloraine, * we were talking of this 
 Mr. Trenchard. Did I not once hear you say you knew 
 something of him ? ' 
 
 I Why, he is one of my intimate acquaintances.' 
 
 ' Heavens ! what a man for a friend ! ' said Lady St. 
 Julians. 
 
 ' Heavens ! ' echoed Lady Eirebrace raising her hands. 
 
 ' And why did you not present him to me, Charles,' said 
 Lady Deloraine. 
 
 I I did ; at Lady Peel's.' 
 
 ' And why did you not ask him here ? ' 
 
 * I did several times ; but he would not come.' 
 
 I He is going to Lansdowne House, though,' said Lady 
 Firebrace. 
 
 I I suppose you wrote the leading article in the Standard 
 which I have just read,' said Egremont smiling. ' It an- 
 nounces in large type the secret reasons of Mr. Trenchard' s 
 vote.' 
 
 * It is a fact,' said Lady Firebrace. 
 
 ' That Trenchard is going to Lansdowne House to-night ; 
 very likely. I have met him at Lansdowne House half-a- 
 dozen times. He is intimate with the family, and lives in 
 the same county.' 
 
 'But his wife,' said Lady Firebrace ; ' that's the point : 
 he never could get his wife there before.' 
 
 ' He has none,' said Egremont quietly. 
 
248 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 ' Then we may regain him,' said Lady St. Julians with 
 energy. 'You shall make a little dinner to Greenwich, 
 Mr. Egremont, and I will sit next to him.' 
 
 1 Fortunate Trenchard ! ' said Egremont. ' But do you 
 know I fear he is hardly worthy of his lot. He has a 
 horror of fine ladies ; and there is nothing in the world he 
 more avoids than what you call society. At home, as this 
 morning when I breakfasted with him, or in a circle of his 
 intimates, he is the best company in the world ; no one so 
 well informed, fuller of rich humour, and more sincerely 
 amiable. He is popular with all who know him, except 
 Taper, Lady St. Julians, Tadpole, and Lady Firebraee.' 
 
 4 Well, I think I will ask him still for Wednesday,' said 
 Lady St. Julians ; ' and I will write him a little note. If 
 society is not his object, what is ? ' 
 
 * Ay ! ' said Egremont, ' there is a great question for you 
 and Lady Firebraee to ponder over. This is a lesson for 
 you fine ladies, who think you can govern the world by 
 what you call your social influences : asking people once or 
 twice a-year to an inconvenient crowd in your house ; now 
 haughtily smirking, and now impertinently staring, at them ; 
 and flattering yourselves all this time, that, to have the 
 occasional privilege of entering your saloons, and the 
 periodical experience of your insolent recognition, is to be 
 a reward for great exertions, or, if necessary, an induce- 
 ment to infamous tergiversation.' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was night ; clear and serene, though the moon had not 
 risen ; and a vast concourse of persons were assembling on 
 Mowbray Moor. The chief gathering collected in the 
 vicinity of some huge rocks, one of which, pre-eminent 
 above its fellows, and having a broad flat head, on which 
 some twenty persons might easily stand at the same time, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 249 
 
 was called the Druid's Altar. The ground about was 
 strewn with stony fragments, covered to-night with human 
 beings, who found a convenient resting-place amid these 
 ruins of some ancient temple, or relics of some ancient 
 world. 'Die shadowy concourse increased, the dim circle 
 of the nocturnal assemblage each moment spread and 
 widened ; there was the hum and stir of many thousands. 
 Suddenly in the distance the sound of martial music : and 
 instantly, quick as the lightning, and far more wild, each 
 person present brandished a flaming torch, amid a chorus 
 of cheers, thai, renewed and resounding, floated far away 
 over the broad bosom of the dusk wilderness. 
 
 The music and the banners denoted the arrival of the 
 leaders of the people. They mounted the craggy ascent 
 that led to the summit of the Druid's Altar, and there, 
 surrounded by his companions, amid the enthusiastic shouts 
 of the multitude, Walter Gerard came forth to address a 
 Torch-light Meeting. 
 
 His tall form seemed colossal in the uncertain and 
 flickering light, his rich and powerful voice reached almost 
 to the limit of his vast audience, now still with expectation 
 and silent with excitement. Their fixed and eager glance, 
 the mouth compressed with fierce resolution or distended 
 by novel sympathy, as they listened to the exposition of 
 their wrongs, and the vindication of the sacred rights of 
 labour ; the shouts and waving of the torches as some 
 bright or bold phrase touched them to the quick; the 
 cause, the hour, the scene, all combined to render the 
 assemblage in a high degree exciting. 
 
 ' I wonder if Warner will speak to-night,' said Dandy 
 Mick to Devilsdust. 
 
 1 He can't pitch it in like Gerard,' replied his companion. 
 
 * But he is a trump in the tender,' said the Dandy. 
 1 The Hand-looms looks to him as their man, and that's a 
 powerful section.' 
 
 * If you come to the depth of a question, there's nothing 
 
SYBIL; OR 
 
 like Stephen Morley,' said Devilsdust. * 'Twould take six 
 clergymen any day to settle kim. He knows the principles 
 of society by heart. But Gerard gets hold of the passions.' 
 
 ' And that's the way to do the trick,' said Dandy Mick. 
 1 1 wish he would say march, and no mistake.' 
 
 'There is a great deal to do before saying that,' said 
 Devilsdust. 'We must have discussion, because when it 
 comes to reasoning, the oligarchs have not got a leg to 
 stand on ; and we must stop the consumption of exciseable 
 articles, and when they have no tin to pay the bayonets and 
 their b y police, they are dished.' 
 
 ' You have a long head, Dusty,' said Mick. 
 
 ' Why I have been thinking of it ever since I knew two 
 and two made four,' said his friend. ' I was not ten years 
 old when I said to myself, it's a pretty go this, that I 
 should be toiling in a shoddy-hole to pay the taxes for a 
 gentleman what drinks his port wine and stretches his legs 
 on a Turkey carpet. Hear, hear,' he suddenly exclaimed, 
 as Gerard threw off a stinging sentence. ' Ah ! that's the 
 man for the people. You will see, Mick, whatever happens, 
 Gerard is the man who will always lead.' 
 
 Gerard had ceased amid enthusiastic plaudits, and Warner, 
 that hand-loom weaver whom the reader may recollect, 
 and who had since become a popular leader and one of the 
 principal followers of Gerard, had also addressed the mul- 
 titude. They had cheered and shouted, and voted resolu- 
 tions, and the business of the night was over. Now they 
 were enjoined to disperse in order and depart in peace. 
 The band sounded a triumphant retreat ; the leaders had 
 descended from the Druid's Altar; the multitude were 
 melting away, bearing back to the town their high resolves 
 and panting thoughts, and echoing in many quarters the 
 suggestive appeals of those who had addressed them. 
 Dandy Mick and Devilsdust departed together ; the busi- 
 ness of their night Lad not yet commenced, and it was an 
 important one. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 They took their way to that suburb whither Gerard and 
 Morley repaired the evening of their return from Marney 
 Abbey ; but it was not on this occasion to pay a visit to 
 Chaffing Jack and his brilliant saloon. "Winding through 
 many obscure lanes, Mick and his friend at length turned 
 into a passage which ended in a square court of a not 
 inconsiderable size, and which was surrounded by high 
 buildings that had the appearance of warehouses. Entering 
 one of these, and taking up a dim lamp that was placed on 
 the stone of an empty hearth, Devilsdust led his friend 
 through several unoccupied and unfurnished rooms, until 
 he came to one in which there were some signs of occu- 
 pation. 
 
 * Now, Mick,' said he, in a very earnest, almost solemn 
 tone, ' are you firm ? ' 
 
 ' All right, my hearty,' replied his friend, though not 
 without some affectation of ease. 
 
 'There is a good deal to go through,' said Devilsdust. 
 ' It tries a man.' 
 
 ' You don't mean that ? ' 
 
 * But if you are firm, all's right. Now I must leave you.' 
 'No, no, Dusty,' said Mick. 
 
 ' I must go,' said Devilsdust ; ' and you must rest here 
 till you are sent for. Now mind, whatever is bid you, 
 obey ; and whatever you see, be quiet. There,' and Devils- 
 dust taking a flask out of his pocket, held it forth to his 
 friend, 'give a good pull, man, I can't leave it you, for 
 though your heart must be warm, your head must be cool,' 
 and so saying he vanished. 
 
 Notwithstanding the animating draught, the heart of 
 Mick Radley trembled. There are some moments when 
 the nervous system defies even brandy. Mick was on the 
 eve of a great and solemn incident, round which for years 
 his imagination had gathered and brooded. Often in that 
 imagination he had conceived the scene, and successfully 
 confronted its perils or its trials. Often had the occasion 
 
252 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 been the drama of many a triumphant reverie, bat the stern 
 presence of reality had dispelled all his fancy and all his 
 courage. He recalled the warning of Julia, who had often 
 dissuaded him from the impending step ; that warning 
 received with so much scorn and treated with so much 
 levity. He began to think that women were always right ; 
 that Devilsdust wi*s after all a dangerous counsellor; ho 
 even meditated over the possibility of a retreat. He looked 
 around him : the glimmering lamp scarcely indicated the 
 outline of the obscure chamber. It was lofty, nor in the 
 obscurity was it possible for the eye to reach the ceiling, 
 which several huge beams seemed to cross transversely, 
 looming in the darkness. There was apparently no window, 
 and the door by which they had entered was not easily to 
 be recognised. Mick had just taken up the lamp and was 
 surveying his position, when a slight noise startled him, 
 and looking round he beheld at some little distance two 
 forms which he hoped were human. 
 
 Enveloped in dark cloaks and wearing black masks, a 
 conical cap of the same colour adding to their considerable 
 height, each held a torch. They stood in silence, two 
 awful sentries. 
 
 Their appearance appalled, their stillness terrified Mick : 
 he remained with his mouth open, and the lamp in his 
 extended hand. At length, unable any longer to sustain 
 the solemn mystery, and plucking up his natural audacity, 
 he exclaimed, ' I say, what do you want ? ' 
 
 All was silent. 
 
 * Come, come,' said Mick, much alarmed ; ' none of this 
 sort of thing. I say, you must speak though.' 
 
 The figures advanced; they stuck their torches in a 
 niche that was by ; and then they placed each of them a 
 hand on the shoulder of Mick. 
 
 ' No, no ; none of that,' said Mick, trying to disembarrass 
 himself. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this fresh appeal, one of the silent 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 2 S3 
 
 masks pinioned Ins arms ; and in a moment the eyes of the 
 helpless friend of Devilsdust were bandaged. 
 
 Conducted by these guides, it seemed to Mick that he 
 was traversing interminable rooms, or rather galleries, for, 
 once stretching out his arm, while one of his supporters 
 had momentarily quitted him to open some gate or door, 
 Mick touched a wall. At length one of the masks spoke, 
 ' and said, ' In five minutes you will be in the presence of 
 the Seven : prepare.' 
 
 At this moment rose the sound of distant voices singing 
 in concert, and gradually increasing in volume as Mick and 
 the masks advanced. One of these attendants now notify- 
 ing to their charge that he must kneel down, Mick found 
 he rested on a cushion, while at the same time, his arms 
 still pinioned, he seemed to be left alone. 
 
 The voices became louder and louder ; Mick could distin- 
 guish the words and burthen of the hymn ; he was sensible 
 that many persons were entering the apartment ; he could 
 distinguish the measured tread of some solemn procession. 
 Round the chamber, more than once, they moved with slow 
 and awful step. Suddenly that movement ceased; there 
 was a pause of a few minutes ; at length a voice spoke. ' I 
 denounce John Briars.' 
 
 1 Why ? ' said another. 
 
 ' He offers to take nothing but piece-work ; the man who 
 does piece-work is guilty of less defensible conduct than a 
 drunkard. The worst passions of our nature are enlisted 
 in support of piece-work. Avarice, meanness, cunning, 
 hypocrisy, all excite and feed upon the miserable votary 
 who works by the task and not by the hour. A man 
 who earns by piece-work forty shillings per week, the 
 usual wages for day-work being twenty, robs his fellows 
 of a week's employment; therefore I denounce John 
 Briars.' 
 
 ' Let it go forth,' said the other voice ; ' John Briars is 
 denounced. If he receive another week's wages by the 
 
254 SYBIL; OR 
 
 piece, lie shall not have the option of working the W6ek 
 after for time. No. 87, see to John Briars.' 
 
 ' I denounce Claughton and Hicks,' said another voice. 
 
 Why ? ' 
 
 1 They have removed Gregory Ray from being a super- 
 intendent because he belonged to this lodge.' 
 
 ' Brethren, is it your pleasure that there shall be a turn 
 out for ten days at Claughton and Hicks ? ' 
 
 ' It is our pleasure,' cried several voices. 
 
 ' No. 34, give orders to-morrow that the works at 
 Claughton and Hicks stop till further orders.' 
 
 'Brethren,' said another voice, 'I propose the expulsion 
 from this Union, of any member who shall be known to 
 boast of his superior ability, as to either the quantity or 
 quality of work he can do, either in public or private com- 
 pany. Is it your pleasure ? ' 
 
 ' It is our pleasure.' 
 
 1 Brethren,' said a voice that seemed a presiding one, 
 ' before we proceed to the receipt of the revenue from the 
 different districts of this lodge, there is, I am informed, a 
 stranger present, who prays to be admitted into our fra- 
 ternity. Axe all robed in the mystic robe ? Are all 
 masked in the secret mask ? ' 
 
 'All!' 
 
 ' Then let us pray ! ' And thereupon, after a movement 
 which intimated that all present were kneeling, the pre- 
 siding voice offered up an extemporary prayer of power and 
 even eloquence. This was succeeded by the Hymn of 
 Labour, and at its conclusion the arms of the neophyte 
 were unpinioned, and then his eyes were unbandaged. 
 
 Mick found himself in a lofty and spacious room lighted 
 with many tapers. Its walls were hung with black cloth ; 
 at a table covered with the same material, were seated 
 seven persons in surplices and masked, the president on a 
 loftier seat ; above which, on a pedestal, was a skeleton 
 complete. On each side of the skeleton was a man robed 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 255 
 
 and masked, holding a drawn sword ; and on each side of 
 Mick was a man in the same garb holding a battle-axe. On 
 the table was the sacred volume open, and at a distance, 
 ranged in order on each side of the room, was a row of 
 persons in white robes and white masks, and holding 
 torches. 
 
 'Michael Radley,' said the President. 'Do yon volun- 
 tarily swear in the presence of Almighty God and before 
 these witnesses, that you will execute with zeal and ala- 
 crity, so far as in you lies, every task and injunction that 
 the majority of your brethren, testified by the mandate of 
 this grand committee, shall impose upon you, in further- 
 ance of our common welfare, of which they are the sole 
 judges ; such as the chastisement of Nobs, the assassination 
 of oppressive and tyrannical masters, or the demolition of all 
 mills, works and shops that shall be deemed by us incor- 
 rigible ? Do you swear this in the presence of Almighty 
 God, and before these witnesses ? ' 
 
 ' I do swear it,' replied a tremulous voice. 
 
 ' Then rise and kiss that book.' 
 
 Mick slowly rose from his kneeling position, advanced 
 with a trembling step, and bending, embraced with re- 
 verence the open volume. 
 
 Immediately every one unmasked ; Devilsdust came for- 
 ward, and taking Mick by the hand, led him to the Pre- 
 sident, who received him pronouncing some mystic rhymes. 
 He was covered with a robe and presented with a torch, 
 and then ranged in order with his companions. Thus ter- 
 minated the initiation of Dandy Mick into a trades union. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ' His lordship has not yet rung his bell, gentlemen.' 
 
 It was the valet of Lord Milford that spoke, addressing 
 from the door of a house in Belgrave Square, about noon, a 
 
256 SYBIL; OR 
 
 deputation from the National Convention, consisting of two 
 of its delegates, who waited on the young viscount, in com- 
 mon with other members of the legislature, in order to call 
 "\liis particular attention to the National Petition which the 
 Convention had prepared, and which, in the course of the 
 session, was to be presented by one of the members for 
 Birmingham. 
 
 ' I fear we are too early for these fine birds,' said one 
 delegate to the other. ' Who is next on our list ? ' 
 
 'No. 27, Street, close by; Mr. Thorough Ease : he 
 ought to be with the people, for his father was only a 
 tiddler ; but I understand he is quite an aristocrat, and has 
 married a widow of quality.' 
 
 ' Well, knock.' 
 
 Mr. Thorough Base was not at home ; had received the 
 card of the delegates apprising him of the honour of their 
 intended visit, but had made up his mind on the subject. 
 
 No. 18 in the same street received them more cour- 
 teously. Here resided Mr. Keemlin, who, after listening 
 with patience, if not with interest, to their statement, 
 apprised them that forms of government were of no conse- 
 quence, and domestic policy of no interest ; that there was 
 only one subject which should engage the attention of 
 public men, because everything depended on it ; that was, 
 our external system ; and that the only specific for a re- 
 vival of trade and the contentment of the people, was a 
 general settlement of the boundary questions. Finally, Mr. 
 Kremlin urged upon the National Convention to recast 
 their petition with this view, assuring them that on foreign 
 policy they would have the public with them. 
 
 The deputation, in reply, might have referred, as an evi- 
 dence of the general interest excited by questions of foreign 
 policy, to the impossibility even of a leader making a house 
 on one ; and to the fact, that there are not three men in 
 the House of Commons who even pretend to have any 
 acquaintance with the external circumstances of the conn- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 257 
 
 try; they might have added, that, even in such an as- 
 sembly, Mr. Kremlin himself was distinguished for igno- 
 rance, for he had only one idea, and that was wrong. 
 
 Their next visit was to Wriggle, a member for a metro- 
 politan district, a disciple of Progress, who went with the 
 times but who took particular good care to ascertain their 
 complexion ; and whose movements if expedient could par- 
 take of a regressive character. As the charter might some 
 day turn up trumps as well as so many other unexpected 
 cards and colours, Wriggle gave his adhesion to it, but, of 
 course, only provisionally; provided, that is to say, he 
 might vote against it at present. But he saw no harm in 
 it, not he, and should be prepared to support it when cir- 
 cumstances, that is to say, the temper of the times, would 
 permit him. More could hardly be expected from a gen- 
 tleman in the delicate position in which Wriggle found 
 himself at this moment, for he had solicited a baronetcy of 
 the whigs, and had secretly pledged himself to Taper to 
 vote against them on the impending Jamaica division. 
 
 Bombastes Rip snubbed them, which was hard, for he 
 had been one of themselves, had written confidential letters 
 in 1831 to the secretary of the Treasury, and, ' provided his 
 expenses were paid,' offered to come up from the manufac- 
 turing town he now represented, at the head of a hundred 
 thousand men, and burn down Apsley House. But now 
 Bombastes Rip talked of the great, middle class ; of public 
 order and public credit. He would have said more to 
 them, but had an appointment in the city, being an active 
 member of the committee for raising a statue to the Duke 
 of Wellington. 
 
 Floatwell received them in the politest manner, though 
 he did not agree with them. What he did agree with it 
 was difficult to say. Clever, brisk, and bustling, with a 
 university reputation, and without patrimony, Floatwell 
 shrunk from the toils of a profession, and in the hurry- 
 skurry of reform found himself to his astonishment a par- 
 
25S SYBIL; OR 
 
 Liament man. There he had remained, but why, the Fates 
 alone knew. The fun of such a thing must have evapo- 
 rated with the novelty. Floatwell had entered public life 
 in complete ignorance of every subject which could possibly 
 engage the attention of a public man. He knew nothing 
 of history, national or constitutional law, had indeed none 
 but puerile acquirements, and had seen nothing of life. 
 Assiduous at committees, he gained those superficial habits 
 of business which are competent to the conduct of ordinary 
 affairs, and picked up in time some of the slang of econo- 
 mical questions. Floatwell began at once with a little 
 success, and he kept his little success ; nobody envied him 
 it; he hoarded his sixpences without exciting any evil 
 emulation. He was one of those characters who above all 
 tilings shrink from isolation, and who imagine they are 
 getting on if they are keeping company with some who 
 stick like themselves. He was always an idolator of some 
 great personage who was on the shelf, and who, he was 
 convinced, because the great personage assured him of it 
 after dinner, would sooner or later turn out the man. At 
 present, Floatwell swore by Lord Dunderhead ; and the 
 game of this little coterie, who dined together and thought 
 they were a party, was to be courteous to the Convention. 
 
 After the endurance of an almost interminable lecture on 
 the currency from Mr. Kite, who would pledge himself to 
 the charter if the charter would pledge itself to one-pound 
 notes, the two delegates had arrived in Piccadilly, and the 
 next member upon the list was Lord Valentine. 
 
 1 It is two o'clock,' said one of the delegates, ' I think we 
 may venture ;' so they knocked at the portal of the court 
 yard, and found they were awaited. 
 
 A private staircase led to the suite of rooms of Lord 
 Valentine, who lived in the family mansion. The delegates 
 were ushered through an antechamber into a saloon which 
 opened into a fanciful conservatory, where amid tall tro- 
 pical plants played a fountain. The saloon was hung with 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 259 
 
 blue satin, and adorned with brilliant mirrors ; its coved 
 ceilino* was richly painted, and its furniture became the 
 rest of its decorations. On one sofa were a number of 
 portfolios, some open, full of drawings of costumes ; a table 
 of pietra dura was covered with richly-bound volumes that 
 appeared to have been recently referred to ; several ancient 
 swords of extreme beauty were lying on a couch ; in a 
 corner of the room was a figure in complete armour, black 
 and gold, richly inlaid, and grasping in its gauntlet the 
 ancient standard of England. 
 
 The two delegates of the National Convention stared at 
 each other, as if to express their surprise that a dweller in 
 such an abode should ever have permitted them to enter it ; 
 but ere either of them could venture to speak, Lord Valen- 
 tine made his appearance. 
 
 He was a young man, above the middle height, slender, 
 broad-shouldered, small- waisted, of a graceful presence ; he 
 was very fair, with dark blue eyes, bright and intelligent, 
 and features of classic precision ; a small Greek cap 
 crowned his long light-brown hair, and he was enveloped 
 in a morning robe of Indian shawls. 
 
 'Well, gentlemen,' said his lordship, as he invited them 
 to be seated, in a clear and cheerful voice, and with an 
 unaffected tone of frankness which put his guests at their 
 ease ; ' I promised to see you ; well, what have you got to 
 say ? ' 
 
 The delegates made their accustomed statement ; they 
 wished to pledge no one ; all that the people desired was a 
 respectful discussion of their claims ; the national petition, 
 signed by nearly a million and a half of the flower of the 
 working-classes, was shortly to be presented to the House 
 of Commons, praying the House to take into consideration-X^- 
 the five points in which the working- classes deemed their 
 best interests involved ; to wit, universal suffrage, vote by 
 ballot, annual parliaments, salaried members, and the abo- 
 lition of the property qualification. 
 
 s 2 
 
26o SYBIL, OR 
 
 1 And supposing these five points conceded,' said Lord 
 Valentine, ' what do yon mean to do ? ' 
 
 ' The people then being at length really represented,' 
 replied one of the delegates, * they would decide upon the 
 measures which the interests of the great majority re- 
 quire.' 
 
 * I am not so clear about that,' said Lord Valentine ; 
 1 that is the very point at issue. I do not think the 
 great majority are the best judges of their own interests. 
 At all events, gentlemen, the resjDective advantages of aris- 
 tocracy and democracy are a moot point. Well then, find- 
 ing the question practically settled in this country, you 
 will excuse me for not wishing to agitate it. I give you 
 complete credit for the sincerity of your convictions ; extend 
 the same confidence to me. You are democrats ; I am an 
 aristocrat. My family has been ennobled for nearly three 
 centuries ; they bore a knightly name before their elevation. 
 They have mainly and materially assisted in making Eng- 
 land what it. is. They have shed their blood in many 
 battles ; I have had two ancestors killed in the command 
 of our fleets. You will not underrate such services, even 
 if you do not appreciate their conduct as statesmen, though 
 that has often been laborious, and sometimes distinguished. 
 The finest trees in England were planted by my family ; 
 they raised several of your most beautiful churches ; they 
 have built bridges, made roads, dug mines, and constructed 
 canals, and drained a marsh of a million of acres which 
 bears our name to this day, and is now one of the most 
 flourishing portions of the country. You talk of our taxa- 
 tion and our wars ; and of your inventions and your 
 industry. Our wars converted an island into an empire, 
 and at any rate developed that industry and stimulated 
 those inventions of which you boast. You tell me that you 
 are the delegates of the unrepresented working classes of 
 Mowbray. Why, what would Mowbray have been if it had 
 not been for your aristocracy and their wars ? Your town 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 261 
 
 would not Lave existed ; there would have been no working 
 classes there to send up delegates. In fact, you owe your 
 very existence to us. I have told you what my ancestors 
 have done ; I am prepared, if the occasion requires it, not to 
 disgrace them ; I have inherited their great position, and I 
 tell you fairly, gentlemen, I will not relinquish it without a 
 struggle.' 
 
 * Will you combat the people in that suit of armour, my 
 lord,' said one of the delegates smiling, but in a tone of 
 kindness and respect. 
 
 * That suit of armour has combated for the people before 
 tins,' said Lord Valentine, ' for it stood by Simon de Mont- 
 fort on the field of Evesham.' 
 
 ' My lord,' said the other delegate, ' it is well known that 
 you come from a great and honoured race ; and we have 
 seen enough to-day to show that in intelligence and spirit 
 you are not unworthy of your ancestry. But the great 
 question, which your lordship has introduced, not we, is not 
 to be decided by a happy instance. Your ancestors may 
 have done great things. What wonder ! They were 
 members of a very limited class, which had the monopoly 
 of action. And the people, have not they shed their blood 
 in battle, though they may have commanded fleets less 
 often than your lordship's relatives ? And these mines and 
 canals that you have excavated and constructed, these 
 woods you have -planted, these waters you have drained : 
 had the people no hand in these creations ? What share 
 in these great works had that faculty of Labour whoso 
 sacred claims we now urge, but which for centuries have 
 been passed over in contemptuous silence ? No, my lord, 
 we call upon you to decide this question by the result. 
 The Aristocracy of England have had for three centuries 
 the exercise of power ; for the last century and a half that 
 exercise has been uncontrolled ; they form at this moment 
 the most prosperous class that the history of the world can 
 furnish : as rich as the Roman senators, with sources of 
 
c62 SYBIL; OR 
 
 convenience and enjoyment which modern science could 
 alone supply. All this is not denied. Your order stands 
 before Europe the most gorgeous of existing spectacles ; 
 though you have of late years dexterously thrown some of 
 the odium of your polity upon that middle class which you 
 despise, and who are despicable only because they imitate 
 you, your tenure of power is not in reality impaired. You 
 govern us still with absolute authority, and you govern 
 the most miserable people on the face of the globe.' 
 
 * And is this a fair description of the people of England ? ' 
 said Lord Valentine. ' A flash of rhetoric, I presume, that 
 would place them lower than the Portuguese or the Poles, 
 the serfs of Russia, or the lazzaroni of Naples.' 
 
 'Infinitely lower,' said the delegate, 'for they are not 
 only degraded, but conscious of their degradation. They 
 no longer believe in any innate difference between the 
 governing and the governed classes of this country. They 
 are sufficiently enlightened to feel they are victims. Com- 
 pared with the privileged classes of their own land, they are 
 in a lower state than any other population compared with 
 its privileged classes. All is relative, my lord, and believe 
 me, the relations of the working classes of England to its 
 privileged orders are relations of enmity, and therefore of 
 peril.' 
 
 ' The people must have leaders,' said Lord Valentine. 
 
 ' And they have found them,' said the delegate. 
 
 ' When it comes to a push they will follow their nobility,' 
 said Lord Valentine. 
 
 ' Will their nobility lead them ? ' said the other delegate. 
 ' For my part. I do not pretend to be a philosopher, and if 
 I saw a Simon de Montfort again I should be content to 
 fight under his banner.' 
 
 'We have an aristocracy of wealth,' said the delegate 
 who had chiefly spoken. ' In a progressive civilization, 
 wealth is the only means of class distinction : but a new 
 disposition of wealth may remove even this.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 263 
 
 1 Ah ! you want to get at our estates,' said Lord Valen- 
 tine, smiling ; ' but the effort on your part may resolve 
 society into its original elements, and the old sources of 
 distinction may again develop themselves.' 
 
 1 Tall barons will not stand against Paixhans' rockets,' 
 said the delegate. 'Modern science has vindicated the 
 natural equality of man.' 
 
 ' And I mast say I am very sorry for it,' said the other 
 delegate ; ' for human strength always seems to me the 
 natural process of settling affairs. ' 
 
 ' I am not surprised at your opinion,' said Lord Valen- 
 tine, turning to the delegate and smiling. ' I should not 
 be over-glad to meet you in a fray. You stand some inches 
 above six feet, or I am mistaken.' 
 
 ' I was six feet two inches when I stopped growing,' said 
 the delegate ; ' and age has not stolen any of my height yet.' 
 
 ' That suit of armour would fit you,' said Lord Valentine, 
 as they all rose. 
 
 ' And might I ask your lordship,' said the tall delegate, 
 ' why it is here ? ' 
 
 ' I am to represent Richard Cceur de Lion at the Queen's 
 ball,' said Lord Valentine ; ' and before my sovereign I 
 will not don a Drury Lane cuirass, so I got this up from my 
 father's castle.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I almost wish the good old times of Cceur de Lion 
 were here again,' said the tall delegate. 
 
 'And we should be serfs,' said his companion. 
 
 ' I am not sure of that,' said the tall delegate. ' At any 
 rate there was the free forest.' 
 
 ' I like that young fellow,' said the tall delegate to his 
 companion, as they descended the staircase. 
 
 ' He has awful prejudices,' said his friend. 
 
 ' Well, well ; he has his opinions, and we have ours. 
 But he is a man ; with clear, straightforward ideas, a frank, 
 noble presence ; and as good-looking a fellow as I ever set 
 eyes on. Where are we now ? ' 
 
264 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 \ 
 
 * We have only one more name on our list to-day, and it 
 is at hand. Letter K, No. 1, Albany. Another member of 
 the aristocracy, the Honourable Charles Egremont.' 
 
 ' Well, I prefer them, so far as I can judge, to Wriggle, 
 and Rip, and Thorough Base,' said the tall delegate laugh- 
 ing. ' I dare say we should have found Lord Milford a 
 very jolly fellow, if he had only been up.' 
 
 1 Here we are,' said his companion, as he knocked. 'Mr. 
 Egremont, is he at home ? ' 
 
 ' The gentlemen of the deputation ? Yes, my master 
 gave particular orders that he was at home to you. Will 
 you walk in, gentlemen ? ' 
 
 ' There, you see,' said the tall delegate. ' This would be 
 a lesson to Thorough Base.' 
 
 They sat down in an antechamber ; the servant opened 
 a mahogany folding-door which he shut after him, and an- 
 nounced to his master the arrival of the delegates. Egre- 
 mont was seated in his library, at a round table covered 
 with writing materials, books, and letters. On another 
 table were arranged his parliamentary papers, and piles of 
 blue books. The room was classically furnished. On the 
 mantelpiece were some ancient vases, which he had brought 
 with him from Italy, standing on each side of that picture of 
 Allori of which we have spoken. 
 
 The servant returned to the ante-room, and announcing 
 to the delegates that his master was ready to receive them, 
 ushered into the presence of Egremont, Walter Gerard 
 and Stephen Morlet. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It is much to be deplored that our sacred buildings are 
 generally closed, except at the stated periods of public 
 resort. It is still more to be regretted that, when with 
 difficulty entered, there is so much in their arrangements 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 265 
 
 to offend the taste and outrage the feelings. In the tumult 
 of life, a few minutes occasionally passed in the solemn 
 shadow of some lofty and ancient aisle, exercise very often 
 a salutary influence : they purify the heart and elevate the 
 mind ; dispel many haunting fancies, and prevent many an 
 act which otherwise might be repented. The church would 
 in this light still afford us a sanctuary ; not against the 
 power of the law but against the violence of our own will ; 
 not against the passions of man but against our own. 
 
 The Abbey of Westminster rises amid the strife of 
 factions. Around its consecrated precinct some of the 
 boldest and some of the worst deeds have been achieved or 
 perpetrated ; sacrilege, rapine, murder, and treason. Here 
 robbery has been practised on the greatest scale known in 
 modern ages : here ten thousand manors belonging to the 
 order of the Templars, without any proof, scarcely with a 
 pretext, were forfeited in one day and divided among the 
 monarch and his chief nobles ; here the great estate of the 
 church, which, whatever its articles of faith, belonged and 
 still belongs to the people, was seized at various times, 
 under various pretences, by an assembly that continually 
 changed the religion of their country and their own by a 
 parliamentary majority, but which never refunded the 
 booty. Here too was brought forth that monstrous con- 
 ception which even patrician Rome in its most ruthless 
 period never equalled, the mortgaging of the industry of 
 the country to enrich and to protect property ; an act which 
 is now bringing its retributive consequences in a degraded 
 and alienated population. Here too have the innocent been 
 impeached and hunted to death ; and a virtuous and able 
 monarch martyred, because, among other benefits projected 
 for his people, he was of opinion that it was more for their 
 advantage that the economic service of the state should be 
 supplied by direct taxation levied by an individual known 
 to all, than by indirect taxation, raised by an irresponsible 
 and fluctuating assembly. But, thanks to parliamentary 
 
266 SYBIL; OR 
 
 patriotism, tlio people of England were saved from ship- 
 money, which money the wealthy paid, and only got in 
 its stead the customs and excise, which the poor mainly 
 supply. Rightly was King Charles surnamed the Martyr ; 
 for he was the holocaust of direct taxation. Never yet did 
 man lay down his heroic life for so great a cause : the cause 
 of the Church and the cause of the Poor. 
 
 Even now, in the quiet times in which we live, when 
 public robbery is out of fashion and takes the milder title 
 of a commission of inquiry, and when there is no treason 
 except voting against a Minister, who, though he may have 
 changed all the policy which you have been elected to 
 support, expects your vote and confidence all the same ; 
 even in this age of mean passions and petty risks, it is 
 something to step aside from Palace Yard, and instead of 
 listening to a dull debate, where the facts are only a repeti- 
 tion of the blue books you have already read, and the fancy 
 an ingenious appeal to the recrimination of Hansard, to 
 enter the old Abbey and listen to an anthem ! 
 
 This was a favourite habit of Egremont, and, though the 
 mean discipline and sordid arrangements of the ecclesiastical 
 body to which the guardianship of the beautiful edifice is 
 intrusted have certainly done all that could injure and 
 impair the holy genius of the place, it still was a habit 
 often full of charm and consolation. 
 
 There is not perhaps another metropolitan population in 
 the world that would tolerate such conduct as is pursued 
 to ' that great lubber, the public,' by the Dean and Chapter 
 of Westminster, and submit in silence to be shut out from 
 the only building in the two cities which is worthy of the 
 name of a cathedral. But the British public will bear any- 
 thing ; they are so busy in speculating in railway shares. 
 
 When Egremont had entered on his first visit to the 
 Abbey by the south transept, and beheld the boards and 
 the spikes with which he seemed to be environed, as if the 
 Abbey were in a state of seige ; iron gates shutting him 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 267 
 
 out from the solemn nave and the shadowy aisles ; scarcely 
 a glimpse to be caught of a single window ; while on a 
 dirty form, some noisy vergers sat like ticket-porters or 
 babbled like tapsters at their ease, the visions of abbatial 
 perfection, in which he had early and often indulged among 
 the ruins of Marney, rose on his outraged sense, and he 
 was then about hastily to retire from the scene he had so 
 long purposed to visit, when suddenly the organ burst forth, 
 a celestial symphony floated in the lofty roof, and voices of 
 plaintive melody blended with the swelling sounds. He 
 was fixed to the spot. 
 
 Perhaps it was some similar feeling that influenced 
 another individual on the day after the visit of the deputa- 
 tion to Egremont. The sun, though in his summer heaven 
 he had still a long course, had passed his meridian by 
 many hours, the service was performing in the choir, and a 
 few persons entering by the door into that part of the 
 Abbey Church which is so well known by the name of 
 Poets' Corner, proceeded through the unseemly stockade 
 which the chapter have erected, and took their seats. One 
 only, a female, declined to pass, notwithstanding the 
 officious admonitions of the vergers that she had better 
 move on, but approaching the iron grating that shut her 
 out from the body of the church, looked wistfully down the 
 long dim perspective of the beautiful southern aisle. And 
 thus motionless she remained in contemplation, or it might 
 be prayer, while the solemn peals of the organ and the 
 sweet voices of the choir enjoyed that holy liberty for 
 which she sighed, and seemed to wander at their will in 
 every sacred recess and consecrated corner. 
 
 The sounds, those mystical and thrilling sounds that at 
 once exalt the soul and touch the heart, ceased ; the 
 chanting of the service recommenced ; the motionless form 
 moved ; and as she moved Egremont came forth from the 
 choir, and his eye was at once caught by the symmetry of 
 her shape and the picturesque position which she gracefully 
 
-6S SYBIL ; OR 
 
 occupied ; still gazing through that grate, while the light, 
 pouring through the western window, suffused the body of 
 the church with a soft radiance, just touching the head of 
 the unknown with a kind of halo. Egremont approached 
 the transept door witha lingering pace, so that the stranger, 
 who he observed was preparing to leave the church, might 
 overtake him. As he reached the door, anxious to assure 
 himself that he was not mistaken, he turned round and his 
 eye at once caught the face of Sybil. He started, he 
 trembled ; she was not two yards distant, she evidently re- 
 cognized him ; he held open the swinging postern of the 
 Abbey that she might pass, which she did, and then stopped 
 on the outside, and said ' Mr. Franklin ! ' 
 
 It was therefore clear that her father had not thought 
 fit, or had not yet had an opportunity, to communicate to 
 Sybil the interview of yesterday. Egremont was still Mr. 
 Eranklin. This was perplexing. Egremont would like 
 to have been saved the pain and awkwardness of the 
 avowal, yet it must be made, though not with unnecessary 
 crudeness. And so at present he only expressed his delight, 
 the unexpected delight he experienced at their meeting. 
 And then he walked on by her side. 
 
 1 Indeed,' said Sybil, * I can easily imagine you must 
 have been surprised at seeing me in this great city. But 
 many things, strange and unforeseen, have happened to us 
 since you were at Mowedale. You know, of course, you 
 with your pursuits must know, that the People have at 
 length resolved to summon their own Parliament in West- 
 minster. The people of Mowbray had to send up two dele- 
 gates to the Convention, and they chose my father for one 
 of them. For, so great is their confidence in him, none 
 other would content them.' 
 
 1 He must have made a great sacrifice in coming ? ' said 
 Egremont. 
 
 1 Oh ! what are sacrifices in such a cause ! ' said Sybil. 
 * Yes ; he made great sacrifices,' she continued earnestly 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 269 
 
 4 great sacrifices, and I am proud of tliem. Our home, 
 \ which was a happy home, is gone ; he has quitted the 
 Traffords, to whom we were knit by many, many ties,' and 
 her voice faltered, * and for whom, I know well he would 
 have perilled his life. And now we are parted,' said Sybil, 
 with a sigh, ' perhaps for ever. They offered to receive 
 me under their roof,' she continued, with emotion. Had I 
 needed shelter there was another roof which has long 
 awaited me ; but I could not leave my father at such a 
 moment. He appealed to me ; and I am here. All I desire, 
 all I live for, is to soothe and support him in his great 
 struggle ; and I should die content if the People were only 
 free, and a Gerard had freed them.' 
 
 Egremont mused : he must disclose all, yet how embar- 
 rassing to enter into such explanations in a public tho- 
 roughfare ! Should he bid her after a while farewell, and 
 then make his confession in writing ? Should he at once 
 accompany her home, and there offer his perplexing expla- 
 nations ? Or should he acknowledge his interview of yes- 
 terday with Gerard, and then leave the rest to the natural 
 consequences of that acknowledgment when Sybil met her 
 father ? Thus pondering, Egremont and Sybil, quitting 
 the court of the Abbey, entered Abingdon Street. 
 
 ' Let me walk home with you,' said Egremont, as Sybil 
 seemed to intimate her intention here to separate. 
 
 ' My father is not there,' said Sybil ; ' but I will not fail 
 to tell him that I have met his old companion.' 
 
 1 Would he had been as frank ! ' thought Egremont. 
 And must he quit her in this way ? Impossible. ' You 
 must indeed let me attend you ! ' he said aloud. 
 
 'It is not far,' said Sybil. ' We live almost in the Pre- 
 cinct, in an old house, with some kind old people, the 
 brother of one of the nuns of Mowbray. The nearest way 
 to it is straight along this street, but that is too bustling for 
 me. I have discovered,' she added with a smile, 'a more 
 tranquil path.' And guided by her, they turned up College 
 Street. 
 
2;o SYBIL: OR 
 
 L And how long have you. been in London ? ' 
 
 'A fortnignt. 'Tis a great prison. How strange it is 
 that, in a vasb city like this, one can scarcely walk alone ! ' 
 
 1 You want Harold,' said Egremont. ' How is that most 
 faithful of friends?' 
 
 1 Poor Harold ! To part with him too was a pang.' 
 
 * I fear your hours must be heavy,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' Oh ! no,' said Sybil, ' there is so much at stake ; so 
 much to hear the moment my father returns. I take so 
 much interest too in their discussions ; and sometimes I go 
 to hear him speak. None of them can compare with him. 
 It seems to me that it would be impossible to resist our 
 claims if our rulers only heard them from his lips.' 
 
 Egremont smiled. ' Your Convention is in its bloom, or 
 rather its bud,' he said ; ' all is fresh and pure now ; but a 
 little while and it will find the fate of all popular assem- 
 blies. You will have factions.' 
 
 ' But why ? ' said Sybil. ' They are the real representa- 
 tives of the people, and all that the people want is justice ; 
 that Labour should be as much respected by law and 
 society as Property.' 
 
 While they thus conversed, they passed through several 
 clean, still streets, that had rather the appearance of streets 
 in a very quiet country town, than of abodes in the greatest 
 city in the world, and in the vicinity of palaces and parlia- 
 ments. Rarely was a shop to be remarked among the neat 
 little tenements, many of them built of curious old brick, 
 and all of them raised without any regard to symmetry or 
 proportion. Not the sound of a single wheel was heard ; 
 sometimes not a single individual was visible or stirring. 
 Making a circuitous course through this tranquil and 
 orderly district, they at last found themselves in an open 
 place in the centre of which rose a church of vast propor- 
 tions, and built of hewn stone in that stately, not to say 
 ponderous, style which Vanbrugh introduced. The area 
 round it, which was sufficiently ample, was formed by 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 271 
 
 buildings, generally of a mean character : the long back 
 premises of a carpenter, the straggling yard of a hackney- 
 man ; sometimes a small, narrow isolated private residence, 
 like a waterspout in which a rat might reside ; sometimes 
 a group of houses of more pretension. In the extreme 
 corner of this area, which was dignified by the name of 
 Smith's Square, instead of taking a more appropriate title 
 from the church of St. John which it encircled, was a large 
 old house, that had been masked at the beginning of the 
 century with a modern front of pale-coloured bricks, but 
 which still stood in its courtyard surrounded by its iron 
 railings, withdrawn as it were from the vulgar gaze like an 
 individual who had known higher fortunes, and blending 
 with his humility something of the reserve which is 
 prompted by the memory of vanished greatness. 
 
 'This is my home,' said Sybil. ' It is a still place, and 
 suits us well.' 
 
 Near the house was a narrow passage which was a tho- 
 roughfare into the most populous quarter of the neighbour- 
 hood. As Egremont was opening the gate of the courtyard, 
 Gerard ascended the steps of this passage, and approached 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 When Gerard and Morley quitted the Albany after their 
 visit to Egremont, they separated, and Stephen, whom we 
 will accompany, proceeded in the direction of the Temple, 
 in the vicinity of which he himself lodged, and where he 
 was about to visit a brother journalist, who occupied 
 chambers in that famous inn of court. As he passed 
 under Temple Bar his eye caught a portly gentleman step- 
 ping out of a public cab, with a bundle of papers in his 
 hand, and immediately disappearing through that well- 
 known archv. ay which Morley was on the point of reach- 
 
272 SYBIL; OR 
 
 \ 
 
 ing. The gentleman indeed was still in sight, descending 
 the way, when Morley entered, who observed him drop a 
 letter. Morley hailed him, but in vain ; and fearing the 
 stranger might disappear in one of the many inextricable 
 courts, and so lose his letter, he ran forward, picked up the 
 paper, and then pushed on to the person who dropped it, 
 calling out so frequently that the stranger at length began 
 to suspect that he himself might be the object of the salute, 
 and stopped and looked round. Morley almost mechani- 
 cally glanced at the outside of the letter, the seal of which 
 was broken, and which was however addressed to a name 
 that immediately fixed his interest. The direction was to 
 ' Baptist Hatton, Esq., Inner Temple.' 
 
 ' This letter is I believe addressed to you, Sir,' said 
 Morley, looking very intently upon the person to whom he 
 spoke, a portly man and a comely ; florid, gentleman-like, 
 but with as little of the expression which Morley in ima- 
 gination had associated with that Hatton over whom he 
 once pondered, as can easily be imagined. 
 
 ' Sir, I am extremely obliged to you,' said the strange 
 gentleman ; ' the letter belongs to me, though it is not 
 addressed to me. I must have this moment dropped it. 
 My name, Sir, is Firebrace, Sir Vavasour Firebraee, and 
 this letter is addressed to a a not exactly my lawyer, 
 but a gentleman, a professional gentleman, whom I am 
 in the habit of frequently seeing ; daily, I may say. He is 
 employed in a great question in which I am deeply inter- 
 ested. Sir, I am vastly obliged to you, and I trust that 
 you are satisfied.' 
 
 ' Oh ! perfectly, Sir Vavasour ; ' and Morley bowed ; and 
 going in different directions, they separated. 
 
 ' Do you happen to know a lawyer by name Hatton in 
 this Inn ? ' inquired Morley of his friend the journalist, 
 when, having transacted their business, the occasion served. 
 
 ' No lawyer of that name ; but the famous Hatton liver, 
 here./ was the reply. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 273 
 
 * The famous Hatton ! And what is he famous for ? 
 You forget I am a provincial.' 
 
 * He has made more peers of the realm than our gracious 
 Sovereign,' said the journalist. 'And since the reform of 
 parliament the only chance of a tory becoming a peer is the 
 favour of Baptist Hatton ; though who he is no one knows, 
 and what he is no one can describe.' 
 
 'You speak in conundrums,' said Morley; 'I wish I 
 could guess them. Try to adapt yourself to my somewhat 
 simple capacity.' 
 
 ' In a word, then,' said his friend, ' if you must have a 
 definition, Hatton may rank under the genus " antiquary," 
 though his species is more difficult to describe. He is an 
 heraldic antiquary ; a discoverer, inventor, framer, arranger 
 of pedigrees ; profound in the mysteries of genealogies ; an 
 authority I believe unrivalled in everything that concerns 
 the constitution and elements of the House of Lords ; con- 
 sulted by lawyers, though not professing the law; and 
 startling and alarming the noblest families in the country 
 by claiming the ancient baronies which they have often 
 assumed without authority, for obscure pretenders, many 
 of whom he has succeeded in seating in the parliament of 
 his country.' 
 
 ' And what part of the country did he come from ; do 
 you happen to know ? ' inquired Morley, evidently much 
 interested, though he attempted to conceal his emotion. 
 
 ' He may be a veritable subject of the kingdom of Cock- 
 aigne, for aught I know,' replied his friend. ' He has been 
 buried in this inn I believe for years ; for very many before 
 I settled here ; and for a long time I apprehend was suffi- 
 ciently obscure, though doing they say a great deal in a 
 small way; but the Mallory case made his fortune about 
 ten years ago. That was a barony by writ of summons 
 which had been claimed a century before, and failed. 
 Hatton seated his man, and the precedent enabled three or 
 four more gentlemen under his auspices to follow that 
 
 T 
 
274 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 example. They wore Roman Catholics, winch probably 
 brought him the Mallory case, for Hatton is of the old 
 church ; better than that, they were all gentlemen of great 
 estate, and there is no doubt their champion was well 
 rewarded for his successful service. They say he is very 
 rich. At present all the business of the country connected 
 with descents flows into his chambers. Not a pedigree in 
 dispute, not a peerage in abeyance, which is not submitted 
 to his consideration. I don't know him personally; but 
 you can now form some idea of his character ; and if you 
 want to claim a peerage,' the journalist added laughingly, 
 * he is your man.' 
 
 A strong impression was on the mind of Morley that this 
 was his man ; he resolved to inquire of Gerard, whom he 
 should see in the evening, as to the fact of their Hatton 
 being a Catholic, and if so, to call on the antiquary on the 
 morrow. 
 
 In the meantime we must not forget one who is already 
 making that visit. Sir Vavasour Firebrace is seated in a 
 spacious library that looks upon the Thames and the gar- 
 dens of the Temple. Though piles of parchments and 
 papers cover the numerous tables, and in many parts 
 intrude upon the Turkey carpet, an air of order, of comfort, 
 and of taste, pervades the chamber. The hangings of 
 crimson damask silk blend with the antique furniture of 
 oak ; the upper panes of the windows are tinted by the 
 brilliant pencil of feudal Germany, while the choice volumes 
 that line the shelves are clothed in bindings which become 
 their rare contents. The master of this apartment was a 
 man of ordinary height, inclined to corpulency, and in the 
 wane of middle life, though his unwrinkled cheek, his 
 undimmed blue eye, and his brown hair, very apparent, 
 though he wore a cap of black velvet, did not betray his 
 age, or the midnight studies by which he had in a great 
 degree acquired that learning for which he was celebrated. 
 The general expression of his countenance was pleasing, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 275 
 
 though dashed with a trait of the sinister. He was seated 
 in an easy chair, before a kidney table at which he was 
 writing. Near at hand was a long tall open desk, on which 
 were several folio volumes open, and some manuscripts 
 which denoted that he had recently been engaged with 
 them. At present Mr. Hatton, with his pen still in his 
 hand and himself in a chamber-robe of the same material 
 as his cap, leant back in his chair, while he listened to his 
 client, Sir Vavasour. Several beautiful black and tan 
 spaniels of the breed of King Charles II. were reposing 
 near him on velvet cushions, with a haughty luxuriousness 
 which would have become the beauties of the merry mo- 
 narch ; and a white Persian cat, with blue eyes, a long tail, 
 and a visage not altogether unlike that of its master, was 
 resting with great gravity on the writing-table, and assist- 
 ing at the conference. 
 
 Sir Vavasour had evidently been delivering himself of a 
 long narrative, to which Mr. Hatton had listened with that 
 imperturbable patience which characterised him, and which 
 was unquestionably one of the elements of his success. 
 He never gave up anything, and he never interrupted any- 
 body. And now in a silvery voice he replied to his visitor : 
 
 ' What you tell me, Sir Vavasour, is what I foresaw, but 
 which, as my influence could not affect it, I dismissed from 
 my thoughts. You came to me for a specific object. I 
 accomplished it. I undertook to ascertain the rights and 
 revive the claims of the baronets of England. That was 
 what you required of me ; I fulfilled your wish. Those 
 rights are ascertained ; those claims are revived. A great 
 majority of the Order have given in their adhesion to the 
 organised movement. The nation is acquainted with your 
 demands, accustomed to them, and the monarch once 
 favourably received them. I can do no more ; I do not 
 pretend to make baronets, still less can I confer on those 
 already made the right to wear stars and coronets, the dark 
 green dress of Equites aurati, or white hats with white 
 
 t 2 
 
276 SYBIL; OR 
 
 plumes of feathers. These distinctions, even if their pre- 
 vious usage were established, must flow from the gracious 
 permission of the Crown, and no one could expect, in an 
 age hostile to personal distinctions, that any ministry would 
 recommend the Sovereign to a step which with vulgar 
 minds would be odious, and by malignant ones might be 
 rendered ridiculous.' 
 
 ' Ridiculous ! ' said Sir Vavasour. 
 
 ' All the world,' said Mr. Hatton, ' do not take upon 
 these questions the same enlightened view as ourselves, 
 Sir Vavasour. I never could for a moment believe that the 
 Sovereign would consent to invest such a numerous body 
 of men with such privileges.' 
 
 ' But you never expressed this opinion,' said Sir Vava- 
 sour. 
 
 ' You never asked for my opinion,' said Mr. Hatton ; 
 ' and if I had given it, you and your friends would not 
 have been influenced by it. The point was one on which 
 you might with reason hold yourselves as competent judges 
 as I am. All you asked of me was to make out your case, 
 and I made it out. I will venture to say a better case 
 never left these chambers ; I do not believe there is a 
 person in the kingdom who could answer it except myself. 
 They have refused the Order their honours, Sir Vavasour, 
 but it is some consolation that they have never answered 
 their case.' 
 
 ' I think it only aggravates the oppression,' said Sir 
 Vavasour, shaking his head ; ' but cannot you advise any 
 new step, Mr. Hatton ? After so many years of suspense, 
 after so much anxiety and such a vast expenditure, it 
 really is too bad that I and Lady Firebrace should be 
 announced at court in the same style as our fishmonger, if 
 he happens to be a sheriff.' 
 
 1 1 can make a peer,' said Mr. Hatton, leaning back in 
 his chair and playing with his seals, ' but I do not pretend 
 to make baronets I can place a coronet with four balls 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 277 
 
 on a man's brow ; but a coronet with two balls is an exer- 
 cise of the prerogative with which I do not presume to 
 interfere.' 
 
 1 1 mention it in the utmost confidence,' said Sir Vava- 
 sour, in a whisper ; ' but Lady Firebrace has a sort of 
 promise that, in the event of a change of government, we 
 shall be in the first batch of peers.' 
 
 Mr. Hatton shook his head with a slight smile of con- 
 temptuous incredulity. 
 
 * Sir Robert,' he said, ' will make no peers ; take my 
 word for that. The whigs and I have so deluged the 
 House of Lords, that you may rely upon it as a secret of 
 state, that if the tories come in, there will be no peers 
 made. I know the Queen is sensitively alive to the 
 cheapening of all honours of late years. If the whigs go 
 out to-morrow, mark me, they will disappoint all their 
 friends. Their underlings have promised so many, that 
 treachery is inevitable, and if they deceive some they may 
 as well deceive all. Perhaps they may distribute a coronet 
 or two among themselves ; and I shall this year make three ; 
 and those are the only additions to the peerage which will 
 occur for many years. You may rely on that. For the 
 tories will make none, and I have some thoughts of retiring 
 from business.' 
 
 It is difficult to express the astonishment, the per- 
 plexity, the agitation, that pervaded the countenance of 
 Sir Vavasour while his companion thus coolly delivered 
 himself. High hopes extinguished and excited at the same 
 moment ; cherished promises vanishing, mysterious expec- 
 tations rising up ; revelations of astounding state secrets ; 
 chief ministers voluntarily renouncing their highest means 
 of influence, and an obscure private individual distributing 
 these distinctions which sovereigns were obliged to hoard, 
 and to obtain which the first men in the country were ready 
 to injure their estates and to sacrifice their honour ! At 
 length Sir Vavasour said, ' You amaze me, Mr. Hatton. 
 
278 SYBIL; OR 
 
 I could mention to you twenty members at Boodle's, at 
 least, who believe they will be made peers the moment the 
 tories come in.' 
 
 1 Not a man of them,' said Hatton peremptorily. ' Tell 
 me one of their names, and I will tell you whether they will 
 be made peers.' 
 
 ' Well, then, there is Mr. Tubbe Sweete, a county mem- 
 ber, and his son in Parliament too ; I know he has a 
 promise.' 
 
 ' I repeat to you, Sir Vavasour, the tories will not make 
 a single peer ; the candidates must come to me ; and I ask 
 you what can I do for a Tubbe Sweete, the son of a Jamaica 
 cooper ? Are there any old families among your twenty 
 members of Boodle's ? ' 
 
 1 Why I can hardly say,' said Sir Vavasour ; ' there is 
 Sir Charles Featherly, an old baronet.' 
 
 1 The founder a Lord Mayor in James the First's reign. 
 That is not the sort of old family that I mean,' said 
 Mr. Hatton. 
 
 ' Well, there is Colonel Cockawhoop,' said Sir Vavasour. 
 
 * The Cockawhoops are a very good family I have always 
 heard.' 
 
 1 Contractors of Queen Anne ; partners with Marlborough 
 and Solomon Medina ; a very good family indeed : but I 
 do not make peers out of good families, Sir Vavasour ; old 
 families are the blocks out of which I cut my Mercuries.' 
 
 * But what do you call an old family ? ' said Sir Vavasour. 
 
 * Yours,' said Mr. Hatton ; and he threw a full glance 
 on the countenance on which the light rested. 
 
 * We were in the first batch of baronets,' said Sir Vava- 
 sour. 
 
 * Forget the baronets for a while,' said Hatton. ' Tell 
 me, what was your family before James I. ? ' 
 
 1 They always lived on their lands,' said Sir Vavasour. 
 
 * I have a room full of papers that would, perhaps, tell us 
 something about them. Would you like to see them ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 279 
 
 * By all means ; bring them all here. Not that I want 
 them to inform me of your rights ; I am fnlly acquainted 
 with them. You would like to be a peer, sir. Well, you 
 are really Lord Vavasour, but there is a difficulty in 
 establishing your undoubted right from the single writ of 
 summons difficulty. I will not trouble you with tech- 
 nicalities, Sir Vavasour ; sufficient that the difficulty is 
 great, though perhaps not unmanageable. But we have no 
 need of management. Your claim on the barony of Lovel 
 is good : I could recommend your pursuing it, did not 
 another more inviting still present itself. In a word, if you 
 wish to be Lord Bardolf, I will undertake to make you so, 
 before, in all probability, Sir Robert Peel obtains office ; 
 and that I should think would gratify Lady Firebrace.' 
 
 * Indeed it would,' said Sir Vavasour, ' for if it had not 
 been for this sort of a promise of a peerage made, I speak 
 in great confidence, Mr. Hatton, made by Mr. Taper, my 
 tenants would have voted for the whigs the other day at 
 
 the shire election, and the Conservative candidate 
 
 would have been beaten. Lord Masque had almost arranged 
 it, but Lady Firebrace would have a written promise from 
 a high quarter, and so it fell to the ground.' 
 
 ' Well, we are independent of all these petty arrange- 
 ments now,' said Mr. Hatton. 
 
 ' It is wonderful,' said Sir Vavasour, rising from his 
 chair and speaking, as it were, to himself. ' And what do 
 you think our expenses will be in this claim ? ' he inquired. 
 
 ' Bagatelle ! ' said Mr. Hatton. ' Why, a dozen years 
 ago I have known men lay out nearly half a million in land 
 and not get two per cent, for their money, in order to 
 obtain a borough influence, which might ultimately obtain 
 them a spick and span coronet ; and now you are going to 
 put one on your head, which will give you precedence over 
 every peer on the roll, except three ; and I made those ; 
 and it will not cost you a paltry twenty or thirty thousand 
 pounds. Wiry, I know men who would give that for the 
 
:3o SYBIL ; OR 
 
 precedence alone. Here ! ' and he rose and took up some 
 papers from, a table : ' Here is a case ; a man you know, 
 I dare say ; an earl, and of a decent date as earls go ; 
 George I. The first baron was a Dutch valet of William III. 
 Well, I am to terminate an abeyance in his favour through 
 his mother, and give him one of the baronies of the 
 Herberts. He buys off the other claimant, who is already 
 ennobled, with a larger sum than you will expend on 
 your ancient coronet. Nor is that all. The other claim- 
 ant is of French descent and name ; came over at the 
 revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Well, besides the 
 hush-money, my client is to defray all the expense of 
 attempting to transform the descendant of the silkweaver 
 of Lyons into the heir of a Norman conqueror. So you 
 see, Sir Vavasour, I am not unreasonable. Pah ! I would 
 sooner gain five thousand pounds by restoring you to your 
 rights, than fifty thousand in establishing any of these 
 pretenders in their base assumptions. I must work in my 
 craft, Sir Vavasour, but I love the old English blood, and 
 have it in my veins.' 
 
 1 1 am satisfied, Mr. Hatton,' said Sir Vavasour ; ' let no 
 time be lost. All I regret is, that you did not mention all 
 this to me before ; and then we might have saved a great 
 deal of trouble and expense.' 
 
 ' You never consulted me,' said Mr. Hatton. * You gave 
 me your instructions, and I obeyed them. I was sorry to 
 see you in that mind, for to speak frankly, and I am sure 
 now you will not be offended, my lord, for such is your 
 real dignity, there is no title in the world for which I have 
 such a contempt as that of a baronet.' 
 
 Sir Vavasour winced, but the future was full of glory 
 and the present of excitement ; and he wished Mr. Hatton 
 good morning, with a promise that he would himself bring 
 the papers on the morrow. 
 
 Mr. Hatton was buried for a few moments in a reverie, 
 during which he played with the tail of the Persian cat. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 281 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 We left Sybil and Egremont just at the moment that 
 Gerard arrived at the very threshold which they had them- 
 selves reached. 
 
 'Ah ! my father,' exclaimed Sybil, and then with a faint 
 blush, of which she was perhaps unconscious, she added, as 
 if apprehensive Gerard would not recall his old companion, 
 ' you remember Mr. Franklin ? ' 
 
 ' This gentleman and myself had the pleasure of meeting 
 yesterday,' said Gerard, embarrassed, while Egremont him- 
 self changed colour and was infinitely confused. Sybil felt 
 surprised that her father should have met Mr. Franklin 
 and not have mentioned a circumstance naturally interest- 
 ing to her. Egremont was about to speak when the street- 
 door was opened. And were they to part again, and no 
 explanation ? And was Sybil to be left with her father, 
 who was evidently in no haste, perhaps had no great ten- 
 dency, to give that explanation ? Every feeling of an 
 ingenuous spirit urged Egremont personally to terminate 
 this prolonged misconception. 
 
 ' You will permit me, I hope,' he said, appealing as much 
 to Gerard as to his daughter, ' to enter with you for a few 
 moments.' 
 
 It was not possible to resist such a request, yet it was 
 conceded on the part of Gerard with no cordiality. So 
 they entered the large gloomy hall of the house, and to- 
 wards the end of a long passage Gerard opened a door, and 
 they all went into a spacious melancholy room, situate at 
 the back of the house, and looking upon a small square 
 plot of dank grass, in the midst of which rose a weather- 
 stained Cupid, with one arm broken, and the other raised 
 in the air, and with a long shell to its mouth. It seemed 
 that in old days it might have been a fountain. At the 
 
282 SYBIL; OR 
 
 end of the plot, tlie blind side of a house offered a high 
 wall which had once been painted in fresco. Though much 
 of the coloured plaster had cracked and peeled away, and 
 all that remained was stained and faded, still some traces 
 of the original design might yet be detected : festive 
 wreaths, the colonnades and perspective of a palace. 
 
 The walls of the room itself were wainscoted in panels 
 of dark-stained wood ; the window-curtains were of coarse 
 green worsted, and encrusted by dust so ancient and irre- 
 moveable, that it presented almost a lava-like appearance ; 
 the carpet, that had once been bright and showy, was 
 entirely threadbare, and had become grey with age. There 
 were several heavy mahogany arm-chairs in the room, a 
 Pembroke table, and an immense unwieldy sideboard, 
 garnished with a few wine-glasses of a deep blue colour. 
 Over the lofty uncouth mantel was a portrait of the 
 Marquis of Granby, which might have been a sign, and 
 opposite to him, over the sideboard, was a large tawdry- 
 coloured print, by Bunbury, of Ranelagh in its most festive 
 hour. The general appearance of the room, however, 
 though dingy, was not squalid ; and what with its spacious- 
 ness, its extreme repose, and the associations raised by 
 such few images as it did suggest, the impression on the 
 mind of the spectator was far from unpleasing, partaking 
 indeed of that vague melancholy which springs from the 
 contemplation of the past, and which at all times softens the 
 spirit. 
 
 Gerard walked to the window and looked at the grass- 
 plot ; Sybil seating herself, invited their guest to follow her 
 example ; Egremont, not without agitation, seemed suddenly 
 to make an effort to collect himself, and then, in a voice 
 not distinguished by its accustomed clearness, he said, ' I 
 explained yesterday to one whom, I hope, I may still call 
 my friend, why I assumed a name to which I have no 
 right.' 
 
 Sybil started a little, slightly stared, but did not speak. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 283 
 
 ' I should be happy if you also would give me credit, in 
 taking that step, at least for motives of which I need not 
 be ashamed ; even,' he added in a hesitating voice, ' even 
 if you deemed my conduct indiscreet.' 
 
 Their eyes met: astonishment was imprinted on the 
 countenance of Sybil, but she uttered not a word ; and her 
 father, whose back was turned to them, did not move. 
 
 * I was told,' continued Egremont, ' that an impassable 
 gulf divided the Rich from the Poor ; I was told that the 
 Privileged and the People formed Two Nations, governed 
 by different laws, influenced by different manners, with no 
 thoughts or sympathies in common ; with an innate inability 
 of mutual comprehension. I believed that if this were 
 indeed the case, the ruin of our common country was at 
 hand ; I would have endeavoured, feebly perchance, but 
 not without zeal, to resist such a catastrophe ; I possessed 
 a station which entailed on me some portion of its respon- 
 sibility ; to obtain that knowledge which could alone qualify 
 me for beneficial action, I resolved to live without suspicion 
 among my fellow-subjects who were estranged from me; 
 even void of all celebrity as I am, I could not have done 
 that without suspicion, had I been known ; they would 
 have recoiled from my class and my name, as you yourself 
 recoiled, Sybil, when they were once accidentally mentioned 
 before you. These are the reasons, these the feelings, 
 which impelled, I will not say justified, me to pass your 
 threshold under a feigned name. I entreat you to judge 
 kindly of my conduct ; to pardon me ; and not to make me 
 feel the bitterness that I have forfeited the good opinion of 
 one for whom under all circumstances and in all situations, 
 I must ever feel the highest conceivable respect, I would 
 say a reverential regard.' 
 
 His tones of passionate emotion ceased. Sybil, with a 
 countenance beautiful and disturbed, gazed at him for an 
 instant, and seemed about to speak, but her trembling lips 
 refused the office ; then with an effort, turning to Gerard, 
 
 * 
 
284 SYBIL; OR 
 
 she said, ' My father, I am amazed ; tell me, then, who is 
 this gentleman who addresses me ? ' 
 
 * The brother of Lord Marney, Sybil,' said Gerard, turn- 
 ing to her. 
 
 ' The brother of Lord Marney ! ' repeated Sybil, with an 
 air almost of stupor. 
 
 1 Yes,' said Egremont ; a member of that family of 
 sacrilege, of those oppressors of the people, whom you have 
 denounced to me with such withering: scorn.' 
 
 The elbow of Sybil rested on the arm of her chair, and 
 her cheek upon her hand ; as Egremont said these words 
 she shaded her face, which was thus entirely unseen : for 
 some moments there was silence. Then looking up with 
 an expression grave but serene, and as if she had just 
 emerged from some deep thinking, Sybil said, ' I am sorry 
 for my words ; sorry for the pain I unconsciously gave you ; 
 sorry indeed for all that has passed ; and that my father 
 has lost a pleasant friend.' 
 
 ' And why should he be lost ? ' said Egremont mournfully, 
 and yet with tenderness. ' Why should we not still be 
 friends?' 
 
 ' Oh, sir ! ' said Sybil, haughtily ; ' I am one of those who 
 believe the gulf is impassable. Yes,' she added, slightly, 
 but with singular grace waving her hands, and somewhat 
 turning away her head, ' utterly impassable.' 
 
 There are tumults of the mind, when, like the great con- 
 vulsions of nature, all seems anarchy and returning chaos, 
 yet often, in those moments of vast disturbance, as in the 
 material strife itself, some new principle of order, or some 
 now impulse of conduct, develops itself, and controls, and 
 regulates, and brings to an harmonious consequence, 
 passions and elements which seemed only to threaten 
 despair and subversion. So it was with Egremont. He 
 looked for a moment in despair upon this maiden, walled 
 out from sympathy by prejudices and convictions more im- 
 passable than all the mere consequences of class. He 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 2S5 
 
 looked for a moment, but only for a moment, in despair. 
 He found in his tortured spirit energies that responded to 
 the exigency of the occasion. Even the otherwise em- 
 barrassing presence of Gerard would not have prevented 
 
 but just at this moment the door opened, and Morley 
 
 and another person entered the room. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Morley paused as he recognised Egremont ; then advancing 
 to Gerard, followed by his companion, he said, ' This is 
 Mr. Hatton of whom we were speaking last night, and who 
 claims to be an ancient acquaintance of yours.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I should rather say of your poor dear father,' 
 said Hatton, scanning Gerard with his clear blue eye ; and 
 then he added, * He was of great service to me in my youth, 
 and one is not apt to forget such things.' 
 
 ' One ought not,' said Gerard ; ' but it is a sort of memory, 
 as I have understood, that is rather rare. For my part I 
 remember you very well, Baptist Hatton,' said Gerard, 
 examining his guest with almost as complete a scrutiny as 
 he had himself experienced. ' The world has gone well 
 with you, I am glad to hear and see.' 
 
 ' Qui laborat, orat,' said Hatton in a silvery voice, ' is the 
 gracious maxim of our Holy Church ; and I venture to 
 believe my prayers and vigils have been accepted, for I 
 have laboured in my time ; ' and as he was speaking these 
 words, he turned and addressed them to Sybil. 
 
 She beheld him with no little interest ; this mysterious 
 name that had sounded so often in her young ears, and was 
 associated with so many strange and high hopes, and some 
 dark blending of doubt and apprehension, and discordant 
 thoughts. Hatton in his appearance realised little of the 
 fancies in which Sybil had sometimes indulged with regard 
 to him. That appearance was prepossessing : a frank and 
 
286 SYBIL; OR 
 
 even benevolent expression played upon his intelligent and 
 handsome countenance ; his once rich brown hair, still 
 long, though thin, was so arranged as naturally to conceal 
 his baldness ; he was dressed with great simplicity, but 
 with remarkable taste and care ; nor did the repose and 
 suavity of his manner and the hushed tone of his voice 
 detract from the favourable effect that he always at once 
 produced. 
 
 1 Qui laborat, orat,' said Sybil with a smile, ' is the privi- 
 lege of the people.' 
 
 ' Of whom I am one,' said Hatton, bowing, well recol- 
 lecting that he was addressing \the daughter of a chartist 
 delegate. ) 
 
 I But is your labour, their labour ? ' said Sybil. ' Is 
 yours that life of uncomplaining toil wherein there is so 
 much of beauty and of goodness, that, by the fine maxim 
 of our Church, it is held to include the force and efficacy 
 of prayer ? ' 
 
 * I am sure that I should complain of no toil that would 
 benefit you,' said Hatton ; and then addressing himself 
 again to Gerard, he led him to a distant part of the room 
 where they were soon engaged in earnest converse. Morley 
 at the same moment approached Sybil, and spoke to her in 
 a subdued tone. Egremont, feeling embarrassed, advanced 
 and bade her farewell. She rose and returned his salute 
 with some ceremony ; then hesitating while a soft expres- 
 sion came over her countenance, she held forth her hand, 
 which he retained for a moment, and withdrew. 
 
 I I was with him more than an hour,' continued Morley. 
 * At first he recollected nothing ; even the name of Gerard, 
 though he received it as familiar to him, seemed to produce 
 little impression ; he recollected nothing of any papers ; 
 was clear that they must have been quite insignificant ; 
 whatever they were, he doubtless had them now, as he 
 never destroyed papers ; would order a search to be made 
 for them, and so on. I was about to withdraw, when he 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 287 
 
 asked me carelessly a question about jour father ; what he 
 was doing, and whether he were married, and had children. 
 This led to a long conversation, in which he suddenly 
 seemed to take great interest. At first he talked of writing 
 to see your father, and I offered that Gerard should call 
 upon him. He took down your direction, in order that he 
 might write to your father, and give him an appointment ; 
 when, observing that it was Westminster, he said that his 
 carriage was ordered to go to the House of Lords in a 
 quarter of an hour, and that, if not inconvenient to me, he 
 would propose that I should at once accompany him. I 
 thought, whatever might be the result, it must be a satis- 
 faction to Gerard at last to see this man, of whom he has 
 talked and thought so much ; and so we are here.' 
 
 'You did well, good Stephen, as you always do,' said 
 Sybil with a musing and abstracted air ; ' no one has so 
 much forethought, and so much energy as you.' 
 
 He threw a glance at her ; and immediately withdrew it. 
 Their eyes had met : hers were kind and calm. 
 
 'And this Egremont,' said Morley rather hurriedly and 
 abruptly, and looking on the ground, ' how came he here ? 
 When we discovered him yesterday, your father and myself 
 agreed that we should not mention to you the, the mysti- 
 fication of which we had been dupes.' 
 
 1 And you did wrong,' said Sybil. ' There is no wisdom 
 like frankness. Had you told me, he would not have been 
 here to-day. He met and addressed me, and I only re- 
 cognised an acquaintance who had once contributed so 
 much to the pleasantness of our life. Had he not accom- 
 panied me to this door and met my father, which precipi- 
 tated an explanation on his part which he found had not 
 been given by others, I might have remained in an igno- 
 rance which hereafter might have produced inconvenience.' 
 
 1 You are right,' said Morley looking at her rather keenly. 
 1 We have all of us opened ourselves too unreservedly before 
 this aristocrat.' 
 
K 
 
 283 SYBIL: OR 
 
 ' I should hope that none of ns have said to him a word 
 that we wish to be forgotten,' said Sybil. ' He chose to 
 wear a disgnise, and can hardly quarrel with the frankness 
 with which we spoke of his order or his family. And for 
 the rest, he has not been injured from learning something 
 of the feelings of the people by living among them.' 
 
 ' And yet if anything were to happen to-morrow,' said 
 Morley, * rest assured this man has his eye on us. He can 
 walk into the government offices like themselves and tell 
 his tale, for, though one of the pseudo-opposition, the 
 moment the people move, the factions become united.' 
 
 Sybil turned and looked at him, and then said, ' And 
 what could happen to-morrow, that we should care for the 
 government being acquainted with it or us ? Do not they 
 know everything ? Do not you meet in their very sight ? 
 You pursue an avowed and legal aim by legal means, do 
 you not ? What then is there to fear ? And why should 
 anything happen that should make us apprehensive ? ' 
 
 * All is very well at this moment,' said Morley, ' and all 
 may continue well ; but popular assemblies breed turbulent 
 spirits, Sybil. Your father takes a leading part; he is a 
 great orator, and is in his element in this clamorous and 
 fiery life. It does not much suit me ; I am a man of the 
 closet. This convention, as you well know, was never 
 much to my taste. Their Charter is a coarse specific for 
 our social evils. The spirit that would cure our ills must 
 be of a deeper and finer mood.' 
 
 * Then why are you here ? ' said Sybil. 
 
 Morley shrugged his shoulders, and then said, ' An easy 
 question. Questions are always easy. The fact is, in active 
 life one cannot afford to refine. I could have wished the 
 movement to have taken a different shape, and to have 
 worked for a different end ; but it has not done this. But 
 it is still a movement and a great one, and I must work it 
 for my end and try to shape it to my form. If I had re- 
 fused to be a leader, I should not have prevented the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 2S9 
 
 movement ; I should only have secured my own insigni- 
 ficance. ' 
 
 * But my father has not these fears ; he is full of hope 
 and exultation,' said Sybil. ' And surely it is a great 
 thing that the people have their Parliament lawfully meet- 
 ing in open day, and their delegates from the whole realm 
 declaring their grievances in language which would not 
 disgrace the conquering race which has in vain endeavoured 
 to degrade them. When I heard my father speak the other 
 night, my heart glowed with emotion ; my eyes were suf- 
 fused with tears ; I was proud to be his daughter ; and I 
 gloried in a race of forefathers who belonged to the op- 
 pressed and not to the oppressors.' 
 
 Morley watched the deep splendour of her eye and the 
 mantling of her radiant cheek, as she spoke these latter 
 words with not merely animation but fervour. Her bright 
 hair, that hung on either side her face in long tresses of 
 luxuriant richness, was drawn off a forehead that was the 
 very throne of thought and majesty, while her rich lip still 
 quivered with the sensibility which expressed its impas- 
 sioned truth. 
 
 1 But your father, Sybil, stands alone,' at length Morley 
 replied ; ' surrounded by votaries who have nothing but 
 enthusiasm to recommend them ; and by emulous and in- 
 triguing rivals, who watch every word and action, in order 
 that they may discredit his conduct, and ultimately secure 
 his downfall.' 
 
 1 My father's downfall ! ' said Sybil. ' Is he not one of 
 themselves ? And is it possible, that among the delegates of 
 the People there can be other than one and the same object ? 
 
 ' A thousand,' said Morley ; ' we have already as many 
 parties as in St. Stephen's itself.' 
 
 1 You terrify me,' said Sybil. ' I knew we had fearful 
 odds to combat against. My visit to this city alone has 
 taught me how strong are our enemies. But I believed 
 that we had on our side God and Truth.' 
 
290 SYBIL, OR 
 
 1 They know neither of them in the National Convention,' 
 said Morley. * Our career will be a vulgar caricature of 
 the bad passions and the low intrigues, the factions and the 
 failures, of our oppressors.' 
 
 At this moment Gerard and Hatton, who were sitting in 
 the remote part of the room, rose together and came for- 
 ward ; and this movement interrupted the conversation of 
 Sybil and Morley. Before, however, her father and his 
 new friend could reach them, Hatton, as if some point on 
 which he had not been sufficiently explicit had occurred to 
 him, stopped, and placing his hand on Gerard's arm, with- 
 drew him again, saying in a voice which could be heard 
 only by the individual whom he addressed, ' You under- 
 stand ; I have not the slightest doubt myself of your moral 
 right : I believe that on every principle of justice, Mowbray 
 Castle is as much yours as the house that is built by the 
 tenant on the lord's land : but can we prove it ? "We 
 never had the legal evidence. You are in error in sup- 
 posing that these papers were of any vital consequence : 
 mere memoranda ; very useful no doubt ; I hope I shall 
 find them; but of no validity. If money were the only 
 difficulty, trust me, it should not be wanting ; I owe much 
 to the memory of your father, my good Gerard ; I would 
 fain serve you : and your daughter. I'll not tell you what 
 I would do for you, my good Gerard. You would think 
 me foolish ; but I am alone in the world, and seeing you 
 again and talking of old times : I really am scarcely fit for 
 business. Go, however, I must ; I have an appointment 
 at the House of Lords. Good bye. I must say farewell to 
 the Lady Sybil.' 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 4 You can't have that table, sir, it is engaged,' said a waiter 
 at the Athenaeum to a member of the club who seemed un- 
 mindful of the type of appropriation which, in the shape of 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 291 
 
 an inverted plate, ought to have warned him off the coveted 
 premises. 
 
 ' It is always engaged,' grambled the member. * Who 
 has taken it ? ' 
 
 1 Mr. Hat ton, sir.' 
 
 And indeed at this very moment, it being about eight 
 o'clock of the same day on which the meeting detailed in 
 the last chapter had occurred, a handsome dark brougham 
 with a beautiful horse was stopping in Waterloo Place 
 before the portico of the Athenaeum Club-house, from which 
 equipage immediately emerged the prosperous person of 
 Baptist Hatton. 
 
 This club was Hatton's only relaxation. He had never 
 entered society ; and now his habits were so formed, that 
 the effort would have been a painful one ; though, with a 
 first-rate reputation in his calling, and supposed to be rich, 
 the openings were numerous to a familiar intercourse with 
 those middle-aged nameless gentlemen of easy circumstances 
 who haunt clubs, and dine a great deal at each other's 
 houses and chambers ; men who travel regularly a little, 
 and gossip regularly a great deal ; who lead a sort of facile, 
 slipshod existence, doing nothing, yet mightily interested 
 in what others do ; great critics of little things ; profuse in 
 minor luxuries, and inclined to the respectable practice of 
 a decorous profligacy; peering through the window of a 
 club-house as if they were discovering a planet ; and usually 
 much excited about things with which they have no con- 
 cern, and personages who never heard of them. 
 
 All this was not in Hatton's way, who was free from all 
 pretension, and who had acquired, from his severe habits 
 of historical research, a respect only for what was authentic. 
 These nonentities flitted about him, and he shrunk from an 
 existence that seemed to him at once dull and trifling. He 
 had a few literary acquaintances that he had made at the 
 Antiquarian Society, of which he was a distinguished 
 member ; a vice-president of that body had introduced him 
 
 v 2 
 
292 SYBIL, OR 
 
 to the Athenaeum. It was the first and only club that 
 Hatton had ever belonged to, and he delighted in it. He 
 liked splendour and the light and bustle of a great estab- 
 lishment. They saved him from that melancholy which 
 after a day of action is the doom of energetic celibacy. A 
 luxurious dinner, without trouble, suited him after his ex- 
 haustion ; sipping his claret, he revolved his plans. Above all, 
 he revelled in the magnificent library, and perhaps was never 
 happier, than when, after a stimulating repast, he adjourned 
 up stairs, and buried himself in an easy chair with Dugdale, 
 or Selden, or an erudite treatise on forfeiture or abeyance. 
 
 To-day, however, Hatton was not in this mood. He 
 came in exhausted and excited : ate rapidly and rather 
 ravenously ; despatched a pint of champagne ; and then 
 called for a bottle of Lafitte. His table cleared, a devilled 
 biscuit placed before him, a cool bottle and a fresh glass, 
 he indulged in that reverie which the tumult of his feelings 
 and the physical requirements of existence had hitherto 
 combined to prevent. 
 
 ' A strange day,' be thought as, with an abstracted air, he 
 filled his glass, and sipping the wine, leant back in his chair. 
 1 The son of Walter Gerard ! A chartist delegate ! The best 
 blood in England ! "What would I not be, were it mine ! 
 
 * Those infernal papers ! They made my fortune ; and 
 yet, I know not how it is, the deed has cost me many a 
 pang. Yet it seemed innoxious ; the old man dead, in- 
 solvent ; myself starving ; his son ignorant of all, to whom 
 too they could be of no use, for it required thousands to 
 work them, and even with thousands they could only be 
 worked by myself. Had I not done it, I should ere this 
 probably have been swept from the surface of the earth, 
 worn out with penury, disease, and heart-ache. And now 
 I am Baptist Hatton, with a fortune almost large enough 
 to buy Mowbray itself, and with knowledge that can make 
 the proudest tremble. 
 
 ' And for what object all this wealth and power ? What 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 293 
 
 memory shall I leave ? What family shall I found ? Not 
 a relative in the world, except a solitary barbarian, from 
 whom, when years ago I visited him as a stranger, I 
 recoiled with unutterable loathing. 
 
 I Ah ! had I a child : a child like the beautiful daughter 
 of Gerard ! ' 
 
 And here mechanically Hatton filled his glass, and quaffed 
 at once a bumper. 
 
 'And I have deprived her of a principality! That 
 seraphic being, whose lustre even now haunts my vision ^ 
 the ring of whose silver tone even now lingers in my ear. 
 He must be a fiend who could injure her. I am that 
 fiend. Let me see ; let me see ! ' 
 
 And now he seemed wrapt in the very paradise of some 
 creative vision ; still he filled the glass, but this time he 
 only sipped it, as if he were afraid to disturb the clustering 
 images around him. 
 
 * Let me see ; let me see. I could make her a baroness. 
 Gerard is as much Baron Valence as Shrewsbury is Talbot. 
 Her name is Sybil. Curious how, even when peasants, the 
 good blood keeps the good old family names ! The Valences 
 were ever Sybils. 
 
 I I could make her a baroness. Yes ! and I could give 
 her wherewith to endow her state. I could compensate for 
 the broad lands which should be hers, and which perhaps 
 through me she has forfeited. 
 
 1 Could I do more ? Could I restore her to the rank she 
 would honour, assuage these sharp pangs of conscience, 
 and achieve the secret ambition of my life ? What if my 
 son were to be Lord Valence ? 
 
 I Is it too bold ? A chartist delegate ; a peasant's 
 daughter ! With all that shining beauty that I witnessed, 
 with all the marvellous gifts that their friend Morley so 
 descanted on, would she shrink from me ? I'm not a 
 crook-backed Richard. 
 
 I I could proffer much : I feel I could urge it plausibly. 
 
 s 
 
294 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 She must be very wretched. With such a form, such high 
 imaginings, such thoughts of power and pomp as I could 
 breathe in her, I think she'd melt. And to one of her 
 own faith, too ! To build up a great Catholic house again ; 
 of the old blood, and the old names, and the old faith : by 
 holy Mary it is a glorious vision ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 On the evening of the day that Egremont had met Sybil in 
 the Abbey of Westminster, and subsequently parted from 
 her under circumstances so distressing, the Countess of 
 Marney held a great assembly at the family mansion in St. 
 James' Square, which Lord Marney intended to have let 
 to a new club, and himself and his family to have taken 
 refuge for a short season at an hotel ; but he drove so hard 
 a bargain that,, before the lease was signed, the new club, 
 which mainly consisted of an ingenious individual who had 
 created himself secretary, had vanished. Then it was 
 agreed that the family mansion should be inhabited for the 
 season by the family ; and to-night Arabella was receiving 
 all that great world of which she herself was a distinguished 
 ornament. 
 
 I We come to you as early as possible, my dear Arabella,' 
 said Lady Deloraine to her daughter-in-law. 
 
 ' You are always so good ! Have you seen Charles ? I 
 was in hopes he would have come,' Lady Marney added, 
 in a somewhat mournful tone. 
 
 ' He is at the House ; otherwise I am sure he would 
 have been here,' said Lady Deloraine, glad that she had so 
 good a reason for an absence which under any circum- 
 stances she well knew would have occurred. 
 
 I I fear you will be sadly in want of beaus this evening, 
 my love. We dined at the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine's, and 
 all our cavaliers vanished. They talk of an early division.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 295 
 
 1 1 really wish all these divisions were over,' said Lady 
 Marney. ' They are very anti-social. Ah ! here is Lady 
 de Mowbray.' 
 
 Alfred Mountchesney hovered round Lady Joan Fitz- 
 Warene, who was gratified by the devotion of the Cupid of 
 May Fair. He uttered inconceivable nothiDgs, and she 
 replied to him in incomprehensible somethings. Her 
 learned profundity and his vapid lightness effectively con- 
 trasted. Occasionally he caught her eye, and conveyed to 
 her the anguish of his soul in a glance of self-complacent 
 softness. 
 
 Lady St. Julians, leaning on the arm of the Duke of 
 Fitz-Aquitaine, stopped to speak to Lady Joan. Lady St. 
 Julians was determined that the heiress of Mowbray should 
 marry one of her sons. She watched, therefore, with a 
 restless eye all those who attempted to monopolise Lady 
 Joan's attention, and contrived perpetually to interfere 
 with their manoeuvres. In the midst of a delightful con- 
 versation that seemed to approach a crisis, Lady St. Julians 
 was sure to advance, and interfere with some affectionate 
 appeal to Lady Joan, whom she called ' her dear child ' and 
 
 * sweetest love,' while she did not deign even to notice the 
 unhappy cavalier whom she had thus as it were unhorsed. 
 
 * My sweet child ! ' said Lady St. Julians to Lady Joan, 
 
 * you have no idea how unhappy Frederick is this evening, 
 but he cannot leave the House, and I fear it will be a late 
 affair.' 
 
 Lady Joan looked as if the absence or presence of 
 Frederick was to her a matter of great indifference, and 
 then she added, ' I do not think the division so important 
 as is generally imagined. A defeat upon a question of 
 colonial government does not appear to me of sufficient 
 weight to dissolve a cabinet.' 
 
 'Any defeat will do that now,' said Lady St. Julians, 
 but to tell you the truth I am not very sanguine. Lady 
 Deloraine says they will be beat : she says the radicals will 
 
296 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 desert them ; bat I am not so sure. Why should the radicals 
 desert them ? And what have we done for the radicals ? 
 Had we indeed foreseen this Jamaica business, and asked 
 some of them to dinner, or given a ball or two to their 
 wives and daughters ! I am sure if I had had the least 
 idea that we had so good a chance of coming in, I should 
 not have cared myself to have done something ; even to 
 have invited their women.' 
 
 * But you are such a capital partisan, Lady St. Julians,' 
 said the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine, who, with the viceroyalty 
 of Ireland dexterously dangled before his eyes for the last 
 two years, had become a thorough conservative, and had 
 almost as much confidence in Sir Robert as in Lord Stanley. 
 
 'I have made great sacrifices,' said Lady St. Julians. 
 * I went once and stayed a week at Lady Jenny Spinner's 
 to gain her looby of a son and his eighty thousand a year, 
 and Lord St. Julians proposed him at White's ; and then, 
 after all, the whigs made him a peer ! They certainly 
 make more of their social influences than we do. That 
 affair of that Mr. Trenchard was a blow. Losing a vote at 
 such a critical time, when, if I had had only a remote idea 
 of what was passing through his mind, I would have even 
 asked him to Barrowley for a couple of days.' 
 
 A foreign diplomatist of distinction had pinned Lord 
 Marney, and was dexterously pumping him as to the 
 probable future. 
 
 1 But is the pear ripe ? ' said the diplomatist. 
 
 ' The pear is ripe, if we have courage to pluck it,' said 
 Lord Marney ; ' but our fellows have no pluck.' 
 
 1 But do you think that the Duke of Wellington ' and 
 
 here the diplomatist stopped and looked up in Lord Mar- 
 ney's face, as if he would convey something that he would 
 not venture to express. 
 
 1 Here he is,' said Lord Marney, ' he will answer the 
 question himself.' 
 
 Lord Deloraine and Mr. Ormsby passed by ; the diplo- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 297 
 
 matist addressed them ; * You have not been to the Cham- 
 ber?' 
 
 'No,' said Lord Deloraine ; 'but I hear there is hot 
 work. It will be late.' 
 
 'Do yon think ,' said the diplomatist, and he looked 
 
 up in the face of Lord Deloraine. 
 
 ' I think that in the long run everything will have an 
 end,' said Lord Deloraine. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said the diplomatist. 
 
 1 Bah ! ' said Lord Deloraine as he walked away with 
 Mr. Ormsby. ' I remember that fellow : a sort of equivocal 
 attache at Paris, when we were with Monmouth at the 
 peace : and now he is a quasi ambassador, and ribboned 
 and starred to the chin.' 
 
 ' The only stars I have got,' said Mr. Ormsby, demurely, 
 1 are four stars in India stock.' 
 
 Lady Firebrace and Lady Maud Fitz-Warene were an- 
 nounced ; they had just come from the Commons : a dame 
 and damsel full of political enthusiasm. Lady Firebrace 
 gave critical reports and disseminated many contradictory 
 estimates of the result ; Lady Maud talked only of a speech 
 made by Lord Milford, which from the elaborate noise she 
 made about it, you would have supposed to have been the 
 oration of the evening ; on the contrary, it had lasted only 
 a few minutes, and in a thin house had been nearly 
 inaudible ; but then, as Lady Maud added, ' it was in such 
 good taste ! ' 
 
 Alfred Mountchesney and Lady Joan Fitz-Warene passed 
 Lady Marney, who was speaking to Lord Deloraine. ' Do 
 you think,' said Lady Marney, ' that Mr. Mountchesney 
 will bear away the prize ? ' 
 
 Lord Deloraine shook his head. ' These great heiresses 
 can never make up their minds. The bitter drop rises in 
 all their reveries.' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Lady Marney, ' I would just as soon be 
 married for my money as my face' 
 
298 SYBIL; OR 
 
 Soon after this, there was a stir in the saloons ; a mur- 
 mur, the ingress of many gentlemen ; among others Lord 
 Valentine, Lord Milford, Mr. Egerton, Mr. Berners, Lord 
 Fitz-Heron, Mr. Jermyn. The House was up ; the great 
 Jamaica division was announced ; the radicals had thrown 
 over the government, who, left in a majority of only five, 
 had already intimated their sense of the unequivocal feeling 
 of the House with respect to them. It was known that 
 on the morrow the government would resign. 
 
 Lady Deloraine, prepared for the great result, was calm : 
 Lady St. Julians, who had not anticipated it, was in a 
 wild flutter of distracted triumph. A vague yet dreadful 
 sensation came over her, in the midst of her joy, that Lady 
 Deloraine had been beforehand with her; had made her 
 combinations with the new Minister ; perhaps even sounded 
 the Court. At the same time that in this agitating vision, 
 the great offices of the palace which she had apportioned 
 to herself and her husband seemed to elude her grasp, the 
 claims and hopes and interests of her various children 
 haunted her perplexed consciousness. What if Charles 
 Egremont were to get the place which she had projected 
 for Frederiok or Augustus ? "What if Lord Marney became 
 master of the horse ? Or Lord Deloraine went again to 
 Ireland ? In her nervous excitement she credited all these 
 catastrophes : seized upon ' the Duke ' in order that Lady 
 Deloraine might not gain Lis ear, and resolved to get home 
 as soon as possible, in order that she might write without 
 a moment's loss of time to Sir Robert. 
 
 ' They will hardly go out without making some peers,' 
 said Sir Vavasour Firebrace to Mr. Jermyn. 
 
 4 Why, they have made enough.' 
 
 1 Hem ! I know Tubbe Sweete has a promise, and so has 
 Cockawhoop. I don't think Cockawhoop could show again 
 at Boodle's without a coronet.' 
 
 ' I do not spi why these fellows should go out,' said Mr. 
 Ormsby. ' What does it signify whether ministers have a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 299 
 
 majority of five, or ten or twenty ? In my time, a proper 
 majority was a third of the House. That was Lord Liver- 
 pool's majority. Lord Monmouth used to say, that there 
 were ten families in this country, who, if they could only 
 agree, could always share the government. Ah ! those 
 were the good old times ! We never had adjourned debates 
 then ; but sat it out like gentlemen who had been used all 
 their lives to be up all night, and then supped at Watier's 
 afterwards.' 
 
 * Ah ! my dear Ormsby,' said Mr. Berners, ' do not men- 
 tion Watier's ; you make my mouth water.' 
 
 I Shall you stand for Birmingham, Ormsby, if there be a 
 dissolution ? ' said Lord Fitz-Heron. 
 
 ' I have been asked,' said Mr. Ormsby: 'but the House 
 of Commons is not the House of Commons of my time, 
 and I have no wish to re-enter it. If I had a taste for 
 business, I might be a member of the Marylebone vestry.' 
 
 ' All I repeat,' said Lord Marney to his mother, as he 
 rose from the sofa where he had been some time in 
 conversation with her, ' is that if there be any idea that I 
 wish Lady Marney should be a lady in waiting, it is an 
 error, Lady Deloraine. I wish tnat to be understood. I 
 am a domestic man, and I wish Lady Marney to be always 
 with me ; and what I want, I want for myself. I hope in 
 arranging the household the domestic character of every 
 member of it will be considered. After all that has oc- 
 curred the country expects that.' 
 
 ' But my dear George, I think it is really premature ' 
 
 I I dare say it is ; but I recommend you, my dear mother, 
 to be alive. I heard Lady St. Julians just now in the 
 supper room asking the Duke to promise her that her 
 Augustus should be a Lord of the Admiralty. She said 
 the Treasury would not do, as there was no house, and 
 t'.iat with such a fortune as his wife brought him he could 
 not hire a house under a thousand a year.' 
 
 1 He will not have the Admiralty,' said Lady Deloraine. 
 
300 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' She looks herself to the Robes/ 
 ' Poor woman ! ' said Lady Deloraine. 
 'Is it quite true?' said a great whig dame, to Mr. 
 Egerton, one of her own party. 
 
 I Quite,' he said. 
 
 I I can endure anything except Lady St. Julians' glance 
 of triumph,' said the whig dame. ' I really think if it 
 were only to ease her Majesty from such an infliction, they 
 ought to have held on.' 
 
 ' And must the household be changed ? ' said Mr. 
 Egerton. 
 
 ' Do not look so serious,' said the whig dame, smiling 
 with fascination ; ' we are surrounded by the enemy.' 
 
 ' Will you be at home to-morrow early ? ' said Mr. 
 Egerton. 
 
 ' As early as you please.' 
 
 'Very well, we will talk then. Lady Charlotte has 
 heard something : nous verrons.' 
 
 ' Courage ; we have the Court with us, and the Country 
 cares for nothing.' 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ' It is all right,' said Mr. Tadpole. ' They are oat. Lord 
 Melbourne has been with the Queen, and recommended her 
 Majesty to send for the Duke, and the Duke has recom- 
 mended her Majesty to send for Sir Robert.' 
 
 ' Are you sure ? ' said Mr. Taper. 
 
 ' I tell you Sir Robert is on his road to the palace at this 
 moment ; I saw him pass, full dressed.' 
 
 ' It is- too much,' said Mr. Taper. 
 
 'Now what are we to do ? ' said Mr. Tadpole. 
 
 ' We must not dissolve,' said Mr. Taper. ' We have no 
 cry.' 
 
 ' As much cry as the other fellows,' said Mr. Tadpole ; 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 301 
 
 * but no one of coarse would think of dissolution before the 
 next registration. No, no ; this is a very manageable Par- 
 liament, depend upon it. The malcontent radicals who 
 have turned them out are not going to bring them in. 
 That makes us equal. Then we have an important section 
 to work upon : the Sneaks, the men who are afraid of a 
 dissolution. I will be bound we make a good working 
 conservative majority of nve-and-tweuty out of the Sneaks.' 
 
 * With the Treasury patronage,' said Mr. Taper; 'fear 
 and favour combined. An impending dissolution, and all 
 the places we refuse our own men, we may count on the 
 Sneaks.' 
 
 * Then there are several religious men who have wanted 
 an excuse for a long time to rat,' said Mr. Tadpole. ' We 
 must get Sir Robert to make some kind of a religious 
 move, and that will secure Sir Litany Lax, and young Mr. 
 Salem.' 
 
 ' It will never do to throw over the Church Commission,' 
 said Mr. Taper. ' Commissions and committees ought 
 always to be supported.' 
 
 1 Besides, it will frighten the saints,* said Mr. Tadpole. 
 
 * If we could get him to speak at Exeter Hall, were it only 
 a slavery meeting, that would do.' 
 
 * It is difficult,' said Taper ; ' he must be pledged to 
 nothing ; not even to the right of search. Yet if we could 
 get up something with a good deal of sentiment, and no 
 principle involved ; referring only to the past, but with his 
 practised powers touching the present. What do you 
 think of a monument to Wilberforce, or a commemoration 
 of Clarkson ? ' 
 
 * There is a good deal in that,' said Mr. Tadpole. ' At 
 present go about and keep our fellows in good humour. 
 Whisper nothings that sound like something. But be dis- 
 creet ; do not let there be more than half a hundred fellows 
 who believe they are going to be Under Secretaries of 
 State. And be cautious about titles. If they push you, 
 
SYBIL: OR 
 
 give a wink, and press your finger to your lip. I must call 
 here,' continued Mr. Tadpole, as he stopped before the house 
 of the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine. ' This gentleman is my 
 particular charge. I have been cooking him these three 
 years. I had two notes from him yesterday, and can delay 
 a visit no longer. The worst of it is, he expects that I shall 
 bear him the non-official announcement of his being sent to 
 Ireland, of which he has about as much chance as I have 
 of being Governor- General of India. It must be confessed, 
 ours is critical work sometimes, friend Taper ; but never 
 mind, what we have to do to individuals, Peel has to do 
 with a nation, and therefore we ought not to complain.' 
 
 The Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine wanted Ireland, and Lord 
 de Mowbray wanted the Garter. Lord Marney, who 
 wanted the Buck-hounds, was convinced that neither of his 
 friends had the slightest chance of obtaining their respective 
 objects, but believed that he had a very good one of securing 
 his own if he used them for his purpose, and persuaded 
 them to combine together for the common good. So at his 
 suggestion they had all met together at the duke's, and were 
 in full conference on the present state of affairs, while Tad- 
 pole and Taper were engaged in that interesting and in- 
 structive conversation of which we have snatched a passage. 
 
 * You may depend upon it,' said Lord Marney, ' that 
 nothing is to be done by delicacy. It is not delicacy that 
 rules the House of Lords. What has kept us silent for 
 years ? Threats ; and threats used in the most downright 
 manner. We were told that if we did not conform ab- 
 solutely, and without appeal, to the will and pleasure of 
 one individual, the cards would be thrown up. We gave 
 in ; the game has been played, and won. I am not at all 
 clear that it has been won by those tactics, but gained it 
 is ; and now what shall we do ? In my opinion it is high 
 time to get rid of the dictatorship. The new ruse now for 
 the palace is to persuade her Majesty that Peel is the only 
 man who can manage the House of Lords. Well, then, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 303 
 
 it is exactly the time to make certain persons under- 
 stand that the House of Lords are not going to be 
 tools any longer merely for other people. Rely upon it 
 a bold united front at this moment would be a spoke in 
 the wheel. We three form the nucleus ; there are plenty 
 to gather round. I have written to Marisforde ; he is quite 
 ripe. Lord Hounslow will be here to-morrow. The thing 
 is to be done ; and if we are not firm the grand conservative 
 triumph will only end in securing the best posts both at 
 home and abroad for one too powerful family.' 
 
 ' Who had never been heard of in the time of my father,' 
 said the duke. 
 
 1 Nor in the time of mine,' said Lord de Mowbray. 
 
 ' Royal and Norman blood like ours,' said Lord Marney, 
 * is not to be thrown over in that way.' 
 
 It was just at this moment that a servant entered with a 
 card, which the duke looking at, said, * It is Tadpole ; 
 shall we have him in ? I dare say he will tell us some- 
 thing.' And, notwithstanding the important character of 
 their conference, political curiosity, and perhaps some 
 private feeling which not one of them cared to acknow- 
 ledge, made them unanimously agree that Mr. Tadpole 
 should be admitted. 
 
 ' Lord Marney and Lord de Mowbray with the Duke of 
 Fitz-Aquitaine,' thought Mr. Tadpole, as he was ushered 
 into the library ; and his eye, practised in machinations and 
 prophetic in manoeuvres, surveyed the three nobles. ' This 
 looks like business and perhaps means mischief. Very 
 lucky I called ! ' With an honest smile he saluted them all. 
 
 ' What news from the palace, Tadpole ? ' inquired the duke. 
 
 * Sir Robert is there,' replied Tadpole. 
 
 * That is good news,' exclaimed his grace, echoed by 
 Lord de Mowbray, and backed up with a faint bravo from 
 Lord Marney. 
 
 Then arose a conversation in which all affected much 
 interest respecting the Jamaica debate; whether the whigs 
 
304 SYBIL; OR 
 
 had originally intended to resign ; whether it were Lord 
 Melbourne or Lord John who had insisted on the step ; 
 whether, if postponed, they could have tided over the 
 session ; and so on. Tadpole, who was somewhat earnest in 
 his talk, seemed to have pinned the duke of Fitz-Aquitaine ; 
 Lord Marney, who wanted to say a word alone to Lord de 
 Mowbray, had dexterously drawn that personage aside on 
 the pretence of looking at a picture. Tadpole, who, with 
 a most frank and unsophisticated mien, had an eye for every 
 corner of a room, seized the opportunity for which he had 
 been long cruising. ' I don't pretend to be behind the 
 scenes, duke ; but it was said to me to-day, " Tadpole, if you 
 do chance to see the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine, you may say 
 that positively Lord Killcroppy will not go to Ireland.'" 
 
 A smile of satisfaction played over the handsome face of 
 the duke : instantly suppressed lest it might excite sus- 
 picion ; and then, with a friendly and significant nod, that 
 intimated to Tadpole not to dwell on the subject at the 
 present moment, the duke with a rather uninterested air 
 recurred to the Jamaica debate, and soon after appealed on 
 some domestic point to his son-in-law. This broke up the 
 conversation between Lord de Mowbray and Lord Marney. 
 Lord de Mowbray advancing, was met accidentally on pur- 
 pose by Mr. Tadpole, who seemed anxious to push forward 
 to Lord Marney. 
 
 * You have heard of Lord Ribbonville ? ' said Tadpole in 
 a suppressed tone. 
 
 'No; what?' 
 
 1 Can't live the day out. How fortunate Sir Robert is ! 
 Two garters to begin with ! ' 
 
 Tadpole had now succeeded in tackling Lord Marney 
 alone ; the other peers were far out of ear-shot. ' I don't 
 pretend to be behind the scenes, my Lord,' said the honest 
 gentleman in a peculiarly confidential tone, and with a 
 glance that spoke volumes of state secrecy; 'but it was 
 said to me to-day, " Tadpole, if you do chance to meet 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 3Q5 
 
 Lord Marney, yon may say that positively Lord Rambrooko 
 will not have the Buck-hounds." ' 
 
 * All I want,' said Lord Marney, * is to see men of cha- 
 racter about her Majesty. This is a domestic country, and 
 the country expects that no nobleman should take house- 
 hold office, whose private character is not inexpugnable. 
 Now that fellow Rambrooke keeps a Frenchwoman. It is 
 not much known, but it is a fact.' 
 
 ' Dreadful ! ' exclaimed Mr. Tadpole. * I have no doubt 
 of it. But he has no chance of the Buck-hounds, you may 
 rely on that. Private character is to be the basis of the 
 new government. Since the Reform Act, that is a qualifi- 
 cation much more esteemed by the constituency than public 
 services. We must go with the times, my lord. A virtuous 
 middle class shrinks with horror from French actresses ; 
 and the Wesleyans, the Wesleyans must be considered, 
 Lord Marney.' 
 
 1 1 always subscribe to them,' said his lordship. 
 
 * Ah ! ' said Mr. Tadpole, mysteriously, ' I am glad to 
 hear that. Nothing I have heard to-day has given me so 
 much pleasure as those few words. One may hardly jest 
 on such a subject,' he added, with a sanctimonious air ; 
 1 but I think I may say,' and here he broke into a horse 
 smile, ' I think I may say that those subscriptions will not 
 be without their fruit.' And with a bow honest Tadpole 
 disappeared, saying to himself as he left the house, ' If you 
 were ready to be conspirators when I entered the room, my 
 lords, you were at least prepared to be traitors when I 
 quitted it.' 
 
 In the meantime Lord Marney, in the best possible 
 humour, said to Lord de Mowbray, 'You are going to 
 White's, are you ? If so, take me.' 
 
 ' I am sorry, my dear lord, but I have an appointment 
 in the city. I have to go to the Temple, and I am already 
 behind my time.' 
 
3 o6 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 And why was Lord de Mowbray going to the Temple ? He 
 had received the day before, when he came home to dress, 
 a disagreeable letter from some lawyers, apprising him 
 that they were instructed by their client, Mr. Walter 
 Gerard, to commence proceedings against his lordship on 
 a writ of right, with respect to his manors of Mowbray, 
 Valence, Mowedale, Mowbray Valence, and several others 
 carefully enumerated in their precise epistle, and the cata- 
 logue of which read like an extract from Domesday Book. 
 
 More than twenty years had elapsed since the question 
 had been mooted ; and though the discussion had left upon 
 Lord de Mowbray an impression from which at times he 
 had never entirely recovered, still circumstances had oc- 
 curred since the last proceedings which gave him a moral, 
 if not a legal, conviction that he should be disturbed no 
 more. And these were the circumstances : Lord de Mow- 
 bray, after the death of the father of Walter Gerard, had 
 found himself in communication with the agent who had 
 developed and pursued the claim for the yeoman, and had 
 purchased for a good round sum the documents on which 
 that claim was founded, and by which alone apparently 
 that claim could be sustained. 
 
 The vendor of these muniments was Baptist Hatton, and 
 the sum which he obtained for them, by allowing him to 
 settle in the metropolis, pursue his studies, purchase his 
 library and collections, and otherwise give himself that fair 
 field which brains without capital can seldom command, 
 was in fact the foundation of his fortune. Many years 
 afterwards, Lord de Mowbray had recognised Hatton in the 
 prosperous parliamentary agent who often appeared at the 
 bar of the House of Lords, and before committees of pri- 
 vilege, and who gradually obtained an unrivalled reputa- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 307 
 
 tion and employment in peerage cases. Lord de Mowbray 
 renewed his acquaintance with a man who was successful ; 
 bowed to Hatton whenever they met ; and finally consulted 
 him respecting the barony of Valence, which had been in 
 the old Fitz-Warene and Mowbray families, and to which 
 it was thought the present earl might prefer some hocus- 
 pocus claim through his deceased mother ; so that, however 
 recent was his date as an English earl, he might figure on 
 the roll as a Plantagenet baron, which in the course of 
 another century would complete the grand mystification of 
 high nobility. The death of his son, dexterously christened 
 Valence, had a little damped his ardour in this respect ; 
 but still there was a sufficiently intimate connection kept 
 up between him and Hatton ; so that, before he placed the 
 letter he had received in the hands of his lawyers, he thought 
 it desirable to consult his ancient ally. 
 
 This was the reason that Lord de Mowbray was at tite 
 present moment seated in the same chair, in the same 
 library, as was a few days back that worthy baronet, Sir 
 Vavasour Firebrace. Mr. Hatton was at the same table 
 similarly employed ; his Persian cat on his right hand, and 
 his choice spaniels reposing on their cushions at his feet. 
 
 Mr. Hatton held forward his hand to receive the letter 
 of which Lord de Mowbray had been speaking to him, and 
 which he read with great attention, weighing as it were 
 each word. Singular 1 as the letter had been written by 
 himself, and the firm who signed it were only his instru- 
 ments, obeying the spring of the master hand. 
 
 ' Very remarkable ! ' said Mr. Hatton. 
 
 1 Is it not ? ' said Lord de Mowbray. 
 
 1 And your lordship received this yesterday ? ' 
 
 1 Yesterday. I lost no time in communicating with you/ 
 
 ' Jubb and Jinks,' continued Mr. Hatton, musingly, sur- 
 veying the signature of the letter. 'A respectable firm.' 
 
 ' That makes it more strange,' said his lordship. 
 
 ' It does,' said Mr. Hatton. 
 x 2 
 
3 o8 SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 A respectable firm would hardly embark in such a pro- 
 ceeding without some show of pretext,' said Lord de Mow- 
 bray. 
 
 * Hardly,' said Mr. Hatton. 
 
 ' But what can they have ? ' urged his lordship. 
 
 1 What, indeed ! ' said Mr. Hatton. ' Mr. Walter Gerard, 
 without his pedigree, is a mere flash in the pan ; and I 
 defy him to prove anything without the deed of '77.' 
 
 * Well, he has not got that,' said Lord de Mowbray. 
 
 * Safe, of course ? ' said Mr. Hatton. 
 
 * Certain. I almost wish I had burnt it as well as the 
 whole boxful.' 
 
 ' Destroy that deed and the other muniments, and the 
 Earl de Mowbray will never be Baron Valence,' said Mr. 
 Hatton. 
 
 ' But what use are these deeds now ? ' said his lordship. 
 * If we produce them, we may give a colour to this fellow's 
 claim.' 
 
 ' Time will settle his claim,' said Mr. Hatton ; * it will 
 mature yours. You can wait.' 
 
 1 Alas ! since the death of my poor boy ' 
 
 'It has become doubly important. Substantiate the 
 barony, it will descend to your eldest daughter, who, even 
 if married, will retain your name. Your family will live, 
 and ennobled. The Fitz-Warenes Lords Valence will yield 
 to none in antiquity ; and, as to rank, so long as Mowbraj 
 Castle belongs to them, the revival of the earldom is safe 
 at the first coronation, or the first ministry that exists with 
 a balanced state of parties.' 
 
 ' That is the right view of the case,' said Lord de Mow- 
 bray ; ' and what do you advise ? ' 
 
 1 Be calm, and you have nothing to fear. This is the 
 mere revival of an old claim, too vast to be allowed to lapse 
 from desuetude. Your documents, you say, are all secure?' 
 
 1 Be sure of that. They are at this moment in the muni- 
 ment room of the great tower of Mowbray Castle ; in the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 309 
 
 same iron box and in the same cabinet they were de- 
 posited ' 
 
 1 When, by placing them in your hands,' said Mr. Hatton, 
 finishing a sentence which might have been awkward, ' I 
 had the satisfaction of confirming the rights and calming 
 the anxieties of one of our ancient houses. I would re- 
 commend your lordship to instruct your lawyers to appear 
 to this writ as a matter of course. But enter into no details, 
 no unnecessary confidence with them. They are needless. 
 Treat the matter lightly, especially to them. You will 
 hear no more of it.' 
 
 4 You feel confidence ? ' 
 
 1 Perfect. Walter Gerard has no documents of any kind. 
 Whatever his claim might be, good or bad, the only evi- 
 dence that can prove his pedigree is in your possession, 
 and the only use to which it ever will be put, will be in 
 due time to seat your grandson in the House of Lords.' 
 
 'I am glad I called upon you,' said Lord de Mowbray. 
 
 * To be sure. Your lordship can speak to me without 
 reserve, and I am used to these start-ups. It is part of the 
 trade ; but an old soldier is not to be deceived by such 
 feints.' 
 
 ' Clearly a feint, you think ? ' 
 
 ' A feint ! a feint.' 
 
 ' Good morning. I am glad I called. How goes on my 
 friend Sir Vavasour ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I shall land him at last.' 
 
 1 Well, he is an excellent neighbourly man. I have a 
 great respect for Sir Vavasour. Would you dine with me, 
 Mr. Hatton, on Thursday ? It would give me and Lady 
 de Mowbray great pleasure.' 
 
 * Your lordship is extremely kind,' said Mr. Hatton bow- 
 ing with a slight sarcastic smile, ' but I am a hermit.' 
 
 ' But your friends should see you sometimes,' said Lord 
 de Mowbray. 
 
 * Your lordship is too good, but I am a mere man of 
 
3 io SYBIL; OR 
 
 business, and know my position. I feel I am not at home 
 in ladies' society.' 
 
 1 Well then, come to-morrow : I am alone, and I will ask 
 some persons to meet you whom you know and like : Sir 
 Vavasour and Lord Shaftesbury, and a most learned French- 
 man who is over here, a Vicomte de Narbonne, who is 
 very anxious to make your acquaintance. Tour name is 
 current, I can tell you, at Paris.' 
 
 ' Your lordship is too good ; another day : I have a great 
 pressure of affairs at present.' 
 
 'Well, well; so be it. Good morning, Mr. Hatton.' 
 
 Hatton bowed lowly. The moment the door was shut, 
 rubbing his hands, he said, ' In the same box and in the 
 same cabinet : the muniment room in the great tower of 
 Mowbray Castle ! They exist and I know their where- 
 abouts. I'll have 'em.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Two and even three days had rolled over since Mr. Tad- 
 pole had reported Sir Robert on his way to the palace, and 
 marvellously little had transpired. It was of course known 
 that a cabinet was in formation, and the daily papers 
 reported to the public the diurnal visits of certain noble 
 lords and right honourable gentlemen to the new first 
 minister. But the world of high politics had suddenly 
 become so cautious that nothing leaked out. Even gossip 
 was at fault. Lord Marney had not received the Buck- 
 hounds, though he never quitted his house for ride or 
 lounge without leaving precise instructions with Captain 
 Grouse as to the identical time he should return home, so 
 that his acceptance should not be delayed. Ireland was 
 not yet governed by the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine, and the 
 Earl de Mowbray was still ungartered. These three dis- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 311 
 
 tinguished noblemen were all of them anxious a little 
 fidgetty ; bnt at the same time it was not even whispered 
 that Lord Rambrooke or any other lord had received the 
 post which Lord Marney had appropriated to himself ; nor 
 had Lord Killcroppy had a suspicions interview with the 
 prime minister, which kept the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine 
 quiet though not. easy; while not a shadow of coming 
 events had glanced over the vacant stall of Lord Ribbon- 
 ville in St. George's Chapel, and this made Lord de 
 Mowbray tranquil, though scarcely content. In the mean- 
 time, daily and hourly they all pumped Mr. Tadpole, who 
 did not find it difficult to keep up his reputation for 
 discretion ; for, knowing nothing, and beginning himself to 
 be perplexed at the protracted silence, he took refuge in 
 oracular mystery, and delivered himself of certain Delphic 
 sentences, which adroitly satisfied those who consulted him 
 while they never committed himself. 
 
 At length one morning there was an odd whisper in the 
 circle of first initiation. The blood mantled on the cheek 
 of Lady St. Julians ; Lady Deloraine turned pale. Lady 
 Firebrace wrote confidential notes with the same pen to 
 Mr. Tadpole and Lord Masque. Lord Marney called early 
 in the morning on the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine, and already 
 found Lord de Mowbray there. The clubs were crowded 
 even at noon. Everywhere a mysterious bustle and an 
 awful stir. 
 
 What could be the matter ? What has happened ? 
 
 'It is true,' said Mr. Egerton to Mr. Berners at Brooks'. 
 
 * Is it true ? ' asked Mr. Jermyn of Lord Valentine at the 
 Carlton. 
 
 'I heard it last night at Crockford's,' said Mr. Ormsby ; 
 * one always hears things there four-and-twenty hours 
 before other places.' 
 
 The world was employed the whole of the morning in 
 asking and answering this important question ' Is it true ? ' 
 Towards dinner-time, it was settled universally in the 
 
312 
 
 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 affirmative, and then the world went out to dine and to 
 ascertain why it was true and how it was true. 
 
 And now what had really happened ? What had 
 happened was what is commonly called a ' hitch.' There was 
 undoubtedly a hitch somewhere and somehow ; a hitch in the 
 construction of the new cabinet. Who could have thought 
 it ? The whig ministers it seems bad resigned, but some- 
 how or other had not entirely and completely gone out. 
 What a constitutional dilemma! The Houses must evi- 
 dently meet, address the throne, and impeach its obstinate 
 counsellors. Clearly the right course, and party feeling 
 ran so high, tbat it was not impossible that something 
 might be done. At any rate, it was a capital opportunity 
 for the House of Lords to pluck up a little courage and 
 take what is called, in high political jargon, the initiative. 
 Lord Marney, at the suggestion of Mr. Tadpole, was quite 
 ready to do this ; and so was the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine, 
 and almost the Earl de Mowbray. 
 
 But then, when all seemed ripe and ready, and there 
 appeared a probability of the ' Independence of the House 
 of Lords ' being again the favourite toast of conservative 
 dinners, the oddest rumour in the world got about, which 
 threw such ridicule on these great constitutional move- 
 ments in petto, that, even with the Buck-hounds in the dis- 
 tance and Tadpole at his elbow, Lord Marney hesitated. 
 It seemed, though of course no one could for a moment 
 credit it, that these wrong-headed, rebellious ministers who 
 would not go out, wore petticoats ! 
 
 And the great Jamaica debate that had been cooked so 
 long, and the anxiously-expected yet almost despaired-of 
 defection of the independent radical section, and the full- 
 dressed visit to the palace that had gladdened the heart of 
 Tadpole, were they all to end in this ? Was Conservatism, 
 that mighty mystery of the nineteenth century, was it 
 after all to be brained by a fan ? 
 
 Since the farce of the ' Invincibles ' nothing had ever 
 been so ludicrously successful. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 31 
 
 Lady Deloraine consoled herself for the ' Bedchamber 
 Plot,' by declaring that Lady St. Julians was indirectly the 
 cause of it, and that, had it not been for the anticipation of 
 her official entrance into the royal apartments, the con- 
 spiracy would not have been more real than the Meal-tub 
 plot, or any other of the many imaginary machinations that 
 still haunt the page of history, and occasionally flit about 
 the prejudiced memory of nations. Lady St. Julians, on 
 the contrary, wrung her hands over the unhappy fate of 
 her enthralled sovereign, deprived of her faithful presence, 
 and obliged to put up with the society of personages of 
 whom she knew nothing, and who called themselves the 
 friends of her youth. The ministers who had missed, 
 especially those who had received, their appointments 
 looked as all men do when they are jilted : embarrassed, 
 and affecting an awkward ease ; as if they knew something 
 which, if they told, would free them from the supreme 
 ridicule of their situation, but which, as men of delicacy 
 and honour, they refrained from revealing. All those who 
 had been in fluttering hopes, however faint, of receiving 
 preferment, took courage now that the occasion had 
 passed, and loudly complained of their cruel and un- 
 deniable deprivation. The constitution was wounded in 
 their persons. Some fifty gentlemen, who had not been 
 appointed under-secretaries of state, moaned over the 
 martyrdom of young ambition. 
 
 * Peel ought to have taken office,' said Lord Marney. 
 ' What are the women to us ? ' 
 
 ' Peel ought to have taken office,' said the Duke of Fitz- 
 Aquitaine. ' He should have remembered how much he 
 owed to Ireland.' 
 
 'Peel ought to have taken office,' said Lord de Mow- 
 bray. * The garter will become now a mere party badge.' 
 
 Perhaps it may be allowed to the impartial pen that 
 traces these memoirs of our times to agree, though for a 
 different reason, with these distinguished followers of Sir 
 Robert Peel. One may be permitted to think that, under 
 
3 i4 SYBIL; OR 
 
 all circumstances, he should have taken office in 1839. 
 His withdrawal seems to have been a mistake. In the 
 great heat of parliamentary faction ^hich had prevailed 
 since 1831, the royal prerogative, which, unfortunately for 
 the rights and liberties and social welfare of the people, 
 had since 1G88 been more or less oppressed, had waned 
 fainter and fainter. A youthful princess on the throne, 
 whose appearance touched the imagination, and to whom 
 her people were generally inclined to ascribe something of 
 that decision of character which becomes those born to 
 command, offered a favourable opportunity to restore the 
 exercise of that regal authority, the usurpation of whose 
 functions has entailed on the people of England so much 
 suffering, and so much degradation. It was unfortunate 
 that one who, if any, should have occupied the proud and 
 national position of the leader of the tory party, the chief 
 of the people and the champion of the throne, should have 
 commenced his career as minister under Victoria by an 
 unseemly contrariety to the personal wishes of the Queen. 
 The reaction of public opinion, disgusted with years of 
 parliamentary tumult and the incoherence of party legis- 
 lation, the balanced state in the kingdom of political parties 
 themselves, the personal character of the sovereign ; these 
 were all causes which intimated that a movement in favour 
 of prerogative was at hand. The leader of the tory party 
 should have vindicated his natural position, and availed 
 himself of the gracious occasion ; he missed it ; and, as the 
 occasion was inevitable, the whigs enjoyed its occurrence. 
 And thus England witnessed for the first time the porten- 
 tous anomaly of the oligarchical or Venetian party, which 
 had in the old days destroyed the free monarchy of 
 England, retaining power merely by the favour of the 
 Court. 
 
 But we forget, Sir Robert Peel is not the leader of the 
 tory party ; the party that resisted the ruinous mystifica- 
 tion that metamorphosed direct taxation by the Crown into 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 315 
 
 indirect taxation by the Commons ; that denounced the 
 system which mortgaged industry to protect property ; the 
 party that ruled Ireland by a scheme which reconciled 
 both churches, and by a series of parliaments which 
 counted among them lords and commons of both religions ; 
 that has maintained at all times the territorial constitution 
 of England as the only basis and security for local govern- 
 ment, and which nevertheless once laid on the table of the 
 House of Commons a commercial tariff negociated at 
 Utrecht, which is the most rational that was ever devised 
 by statesmen ; a party that has prevented the Church from 
 being the salaried agent of the state, and has supported 
 through many struggles the parochial polity of the country 
 which secures to every labourer a home. 
 
 In a parliamentary sense, that great party has ceased to 
 exist ; but I will believe that it still lives in the thought and 
 sentiment and consecrated memory of the English nation. 
 It has its origin in great principles and in noble instincts ; 
 it sympathises with the lowly, it looks up to the Most 
 High ; it can count its heroes and its martyrs ; they have 
 met in its behalf plunder, proscription, and death. Nor, 
 when it finally yielded to the iron progress of oligarchical 
 supremacy, was its catastrophe inglorious. Its genius was 
 vindicated in golden sentences and with fervent arguments 
 of impassioned logic by St. John ; and breathed in the 
 intrepid eloquence and patriot soul of William Wyndham. 
 Even now it is not dead, but sleepeth ; and, in an age of 
 political materialism, of confused purposes and perplexed 
 intelligence, that aspires only to wealth because it has faith 
 in no other accomplishment, as men rifle cargoes on the 
 verge of shipwreck, toryism will yet rise from the tomb 
 over which Bolingbroke shed his last tear, to bring back 
 strength to the Crown, liberty to the Subject, and to 
 announce that power has only one duty: to secure the 
 social welfare of the People. 
 
316 SYBIL, OR 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 During the week of political agitation which terminated 
 with the inglorious catastrophe of the Bedchamber plot, 
 Sybil remained, tranquil, and. would have been scarcely- 
 conscious of what was disturbing so many right honourable 
 hearts, had it not been for the incidental notice of their 
 transactions by her father and his friends. To the Chartists, 
 indeed, the factious embroilment at first was of no great 
 moment, except as the breaking up and formation of 
 cabinets might delay the presentation of the National 
 Petition. They had long ceased to distinguish between the 
 two parties who then and now contend for power. And 
 they were right. Between the noble lord who goes out, 
 and the right honourable gentleman who comes in, where 
 is the distinctive principle ? A shadowy difference may 
 be simulated in opposition, to serve a cry and stimulate 
 the hustings ; but the mask is not worn, even in Downing 
 Street ; and the conscientious conservative seeks, in the 
 pigeon-holes of a whig bureau, for the measures against 
 which for ten years he has been sanctioning, by the 
 speaking silence of an approving nod, a general wail of 
 frenzied alarm. 
 
 Once it was otherwise ; once the people recognised a 
 party in the state whose principles identified them with 
 the rights and privileges of the multitude : but when they 
 found the parochial constitution of the country sacrificed 
 without a struggle, and a rude assault made on all local 
 influences in order to establish a severely organised centra- 
 lisation, a blow was given to the influence of the priest 
 and of the gentleman, the ancient champions of the people 
 against arbitrary courts and rapacious parliaments, from 
 which they will find that it requires no ordinary courage 
 and wisdom to recover. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 3*7 
 
 The unexpected termination of the events of May, 1839, 
 in the re- establishment in power of a party confessedly too 
 weak to carry on the parliamentary government of the 
 country, was viewed however by the Chartists in a very 
 different spirit from that with which they had witnessed 
 the outbreak of these transactions. It had unquestionably 
 a tendency to animate their efforts, and imparted a bolder 
 tone to their future plans and movements. They were 
 encouraged to try a fall with a feeble administration. 
 Gerard from this moment became engrossed in affairs ; his 
 correspondence greatly increased ; and he was so much 
 occupied that Sybil saw daily less and less of her father. 
 
 It was on the morning after the day that Hatton had 
 made his first and unlooked-for visit in Smith Square, that 
 some of the delegates, who had caught the rumour of the 
 resignation of the whigs, had called early on Gerard, and 
 he had soon after left the house in their company ; and 
 Sybil was alone. The strange incidents of the preceding 
 day were revolving in her mind, as her eye wandered 
 vaguely over her book. The presence of that Hatton who 
 had so often, and in such different scenes, occupied their 
 conversation ; the re-appearance of that stranger, whose 
 unexpected entrance into their little world had eighteen 
 months ago so often lent interest and pleasure to their 
 life : these were materials for pensive sentiment. Mr. 
 Franklin had left some gracious memories with Sybil ; the 
 natural legacy of one so refined, intelligent, and gentle, 
 whose temper seemed never ruffled, and who evidently so 
 sincerely relished their society. Mowedale rose before her 
 in all the golden beauty of its autumnal hour ; their wild 
 rambles and hearty greetings, and earnest converse 
 when her father returned from his daily duties, and his eye 
 kindled with pleasure as the accustomed knock announced 
 the arrival of his almost daily companion. In spite of the 
 excitement of the passing moment, its high hopes and 
 glorious aspirations, and visions perchance of greatness 
 
3i8 SYBIL; OR 
 
 and of power, the eye of Sybil was dimmed with emotion 
 as she recalled that innocent and tranqnil dream. 
 
 Her father had heard from Franklin after his departure 
 more than once ; but his letters, though abounding in 
 frank expressions of deep interest in the welfare of Gerard 
 and his daughter, were in some degree constrained; a 
 kind of reserve seemed to envelop him ; they never learnt 
 anything of his life and duties ; he seemed sometimes as 
 it were meditating a departure from his country. There 
 was undoubtedly about him something mysterious and 
 unsatisfactory. Morley was of opinion that he was a spy ; 
 Gerard, less suspicious, ultimately concluded that he was 
 harassed by his creditors, and when at Mowedale was 
 probably hiding from them. 
 
 And now the mystery was at length dissolved. And 
 what an explanation ! A Norman, a noble, an oppressor 
 of the people, a plunderer of the church: all the characters 
 and capacities that Sybil had been bred up to look upon 
 with fear and aversion, and to recognise as the authors of 
 the degradation of her race. 
 
 Sybil sighed ; the door opened, and Egremont stood 
 before her. The blood rose to her cheek, her heart 
 trembled ; for the first time in his presence she felt 
 embarrassed and constrained. His countenance on the 
 contrary was collected, serious, and pale. 
 
 1 I am an intruder,' he said advancing, * but I wish much 
 to speak to you,' and he seated himself near her. There 
 was a momentary pause. ' You seemed to treat with 
 scorn yesterday,' resumed Egremont, in accents less 
 sustained, ' the belief that sympathy was independent of 
 the mere accidents of position. Pardon me, Sybil, but even 
 you may be prejudiced.' He paused. 
 
 'I should be sorry to treat anything you said with 
 scorn,' replied Sybil, in a subdued tone. ' Many things 
 happened yesterday,' she added, ' which might be offered 
 as some excuse for an unguarded word.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 319 
 
 * Would that it had been unguarded ! ' said Egremont, 
 in a voice of melancholy. ' I could have endured it with 
 less repining. No, Sybil, I have known you, I have had 
 the happiness and the sorrow of knowing you too well to 
 doubt the convictions of your mind, or to believe that they 
 can be lightly removed, and yet I would strive to remove 
 them. You look upon me as an enemy, as a natural foe, 
 because I am born among the privileged. I am a man, 
 Sybil, as well as a noble.' Again he paused ; she looked 
 down, but did not speak. 
 
 * And can I not feel for men, my fellows, whatever be 
 their lot ? I know you will deny it ; but you are in error, 
 Sybil ; you have formed your opinions upon tradition, not 
 upon experience. The world that exists is not the world 
 of which you have read ; the class that calls itself your 
 superior is not the same class as ruled in the time of your 
 fathers. There is a change in them as in all other things, 
 and I participate in that change. I shared it before I 
 knew you, Sybil ; and if it touched me then, at least believe 
 it does not influence me less now.' 
 
 ' If there be a change,' said Sybil, ' it is because in some 
 degree the People have learnt their strength.' 
 
 1 Ah ! dismiss from your mind those fallacious fancies,' 
 said Egremont. ' The People are not strong ; the People 
 never can be strong. Their attempts at self-vindication 
 will end only in their suffering and confusion. It is civili- 
 sation that has effected, that is effecting, this change. It 
 is that increased knowledge of themselves that teaches the 
 educated their social duties. There is a dayspring in the 
 history of this nation, which perhaps those only who are on 
 the mountain tops can as yet recognise. You deem you 
 are in darkness, and I see a dawn. /The new generation of 
 the aristocracy of England are not tyrants, not oppressors, 
 Sybil, as you persist in believing. Their intelligence, 
 better than that, their hearts, are open to the responsibility 
 of their position. /But the work that is before them is no 
 
320 
 
 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 holiday- work. It is not the fever of superficial impulse 
 that can remove the deep-fixed barriers of centuries of 
 ignorance and crime. Enough that their sympathies are 
 awakened ; time and thought will bring the rest. They 
 are the natural leaders of the People, Sybil ; believe me 
 they are the only ones.' 
 
 ' The leaders of the People are those whom the People 
 trust,' said Sybil, rather haughtily. 
 
 ' And who may betray them,' said Egremont. 
 
 ' Betray them ! ' exclaimed Sybil. * And can you believe 
 that my father-' 
 
 1 No, no ; you can feel, Sybil, though I cannot express, 
 how much I honour your father. But he stands alone 
 in the singleness and purity of his heart. Who surround 
 him ? ' 
 
 ' Those whom the People have also chosen ; and from a 
 like confidence in their virtues and abilities. They are a 
 senate supported by the sympathy of millions, with only 
 one object in view, the emancipation of their race. It is 
 a sublime spectacle, these delegates of labour advocating 
 the sacred cause in a manner which might shame your 
 haughty factions. What can resist a demonstration so 
 truly national ! What can withstand the supremacy of its 
 moral power ! ' 
 
 Her eye met the glance of Egremont. That brow, full 
 of thought and majesty, was fixed on his. He encountered 
 that face radiant as a seraph's ; those dark eyes flashing 
 with the inspiration of the martyr. 
 
 Egremont rose, moved slowly to the window, gazed in 
 abstraction for a few moments on the little garden, with its 
 dank turf that no foot ever trod, its mutilated statue, and 
 its mouldering frescoes. What a silence ; how profound ! 
 What a prospect ; how drear ! Suddenly he turned, and 
 advancing with a more rapid pace, he approached Sybil. 
 Her head was averted, and leaning on her left arm, she 
 seemed lost in reverie. Egremont fell upon his knee, and 
 gently taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips. She 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 321 
 
 started, she looked round, agitated, alarmed, while he 
 breathed forth in tremulous accents, ' Let me express to you 
 my adoration ! 
 
 * Ah ! not now for the first time, but for ever ; from the 
 moment I first beheld you in the starlit arch of Marney, 
 has your spirit ruled my being, and softened every spring 
 of my affections. I followed you to your home, and lived 
 for a time content in the silent worship of your nature. 
 When I came the last morning to the cottage, it was to tell, 
 and to ask, all. Since then for a moment your image has 
 never been absent from my consciousness ; your picture con- 
 secrates my hearth, and your approval has been the spur 
 of my career. Do not reject my love ; it is deep as your 
 nature, and fervent as my own. Banish those prejudices 
 that have embittered your existence, and, if persisted in, 
 may wither mine. Deign to retain this hand ! If I be a 
 noble, I have none of the accidents of nobility : I cannot 
 offer you wealth, splendour, or power ; but I can offer you 
 the devotion of an entranced being, aspirations that you 
 shall guide, an ambition that you shall govern.' 
 
 ' These words are mystical and wild,' said Sybil with an 
 amazed air ; ' they come upon me with convulsive sudden- 
 ness.' And she paused for an instant, collecting as it were 
 her mind with an expression almost of pain upon her 
 countenance. ' These changes of life are so strange and 
 rapid that it seems to me I can scarcely meet them. You 
 are Lord Marney' s brother ; it was but yesterday, only 
 yesterday, I learnt it. I thought then I had lost your 
 friendship, and now you speak of love ! love of me ! 
 Retain your hand and share your life and fortunes ! You 
 forget what I am. But though I learnt only yesterday 
 what you are, I will not be so remiss. Once you wrote 
 upon a page you were my faithful friend ; and I have 
 pondered over that line with kindness often. I will be 
 your faithful friend ; I will recall you to yourself. I will at 
 |fn?t not bring* you shame and degradation.' 
 
 Y 
 
322 SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 Oh, Sybil, beloved, beautiful Sybil, not such bitter 
 words ; 110, no ! ' 
 
 1 No bitterness to you ! that would indeed be harsh,' and 
 she covered with her hand her streaming eyes. 
 
 1 Why," what is this ? ' after a pause and with an effort 
 she exclaimed. * A union between the child and brother 
 of nobles and a daughter of the people ! Estrangement 
 from your family, and with cause, their hopes destroyed, 
 their pride outraged ; alienation from your order, and 
 justly, all their prejudices insulted. You will forfeit every 
 source of worldly content and cast off every spring of social 
 success. Society for you will become a great confederation 
 to deprive you of self-complacency. And rightly. Will 
 you not be a traitor to the cause ? No, no, kind friend, 
 for such I'll call you. Your opinion of me, too good and 
 great as I feel it, touches me deeply. I am not used to 
 such passages in life ; I have read of such. Pardon me, 
 feel for me, if I receive them with some disorder. They 
 sound to me for the first time, and for the last. Perhaps 
 they ought never to have reached my ear. No matter now ; 
 I have a life of penitence before me, and I trust I shall 
 be pardoned.' And she wept. 
 
 ' You have indeed punished me for the fatal accident of 
 birth, if it deprives me of you.' 
 
 1 Not so,' she added, weeping ; * I shall never be the bride 
 of earth ; and but for one, whose claims though earthly 
 are to me irresistible, I should have ere this forgotten my 
 hereditary sorrows in the cloister.' 
 
 All this time Egremont had retained her hand, which she 
 had not attempted to withdraw. He had bent his head 
 over it as she spoke ; it was touched with his tears. For 
 some moments there was silence ; then, looking up and in 
 a smothered voice, Egremont made one more effort to 
 induce Sybil to consider his suit. He combated her views 
 as to the importance to him of the sympathies of his family 
 and of society ; he detailed to her his hopes and plans for 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 323 
 
 their future welfare ; he dwelt with passionate eloquence 
 on his abounding love. But, with a solemn sweetness, and 
 as it were a tender inflexibility, the tears trickling down 
 her soft cheek, and pressing his hand in both of hers, she 
 subdued and put aside all his eflbrts. 
 
 * Believe me,' she said, ' the gulf is impassable.' 
 
 EXD OF THE FOURTH BOOK. 
 
3 2 4 SYBIL, OR 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 4 Tereible news from Birmingham,' said Mr. Egerton at 
 Brooks'. * They have massacred the police, beat off the 
 military, and sacked the town. News just arrived.' 
 
 ' I have known it these two hours,' said a grey-headed 
 gentleman, speaking without taking his eyes off the news- 
 paper. 'There is a cabinet sitting now.' 
 
 ' Well, I always said so,' said Mr. Egerton; 'our fellows 
 ought to have put down that Convention.' 
 
 ' It is deuced lucky,' said Mr. Berners, ' that the Bed- 
 chamber business is over, and we are all right. This affair, 
 in the midst of the Jamaica hitch, would have been fatal 
 to us.' 
 
 I These Chartists evidently act upon a system,' said Mr. 
 Egerton. ' You see they were perfectly quiet till the 
 National Petition was presented and debated ; and now, 
 almost simultaneously with our refusing to consider their 
 petition, we have news of this outbreak.' 
 
 I I hope they will not spread,' said the grey-headed gen- 
 tleman. ' There are not troops enough in the country if 
 there be anything like a general movement. I hear they 
 have sent the Guards down by a special train, and a hun- 
 dred more of the police. London is not over- garrisoned.' 
 
 1 They are always ready for a riot at Birmingham,' said a 
 Warwickshire peer. ' Trade is very bad there and they suffer 
 a good deal. But I should think it would not go farther.' 
 
 ' I am told,' said the grey-headed gentleman, ' that busi- 
 ness is getting slack in all the districts.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 325 
 
 4 It might be better,' said Mr. Egerton, * but they have 
 got work.' 
 
 Here several gentlemen entered, inquiring whether the 
 evening papers were in, and what was the news from Bir- 
 mingham. 
 
 ' I am told,' said one of them, * that the police were regu- 
 larly smashed.' 
 
 ' Is it true that the military were really beat off ? ' 
 
 * Quite untrue : the fact is, there were no proper prepara- 
 tions ; the town was taken by surprise, the magistrates lost 
 their heads ; the people were masters of the place ; and 
 when the police did act, they were met by a triumphant 
 populace, who two hours before would have fled before 
 them. They say they have burnt down forty houses.' 
 
 1 It is a bad thing, this beating the police,' said the grey- 
 headed gentleman. 
 
 ' But what is the present state of affairs ? ' inquired Mi*. 
 Berners. ' Are the rioters put down ? ' 
 
 1 Not in the least,' said Mr. Egerton, ' as I hear. They 
 are encamped in the Bull King amid smoking ruins, and 
 breathe nothing but havoc' 
 
 1 Well, I voted for taking the National Petition into con- 
 sideration,' said Mr. Berners. * It could do us no harm, 
 and would have kept things quiet.' 
 
 ' So did every fellow on our side,' said Mr. Egerton, ' who 
 was not in office or about to be. Well, Heaven knows what 
 may come next. The Charter may some day be as popular 
 in this club as the Reform Act.' 
 
 1 The oddest thing in that debate,' said Mr. Berners, l was 
 Egremont's move.' 
 
 ' I saw Marney last night at Lady St. Julians',' said Mr. 
 Egerton, ' and congratulated him on his brother's speech. 
 He looked daggers, and grinned like a ghoul.' 
 
 * It was a very remarkable speech, that of Egremont,' 
 said the grey-headed gentleman. * I wonder what he wants.' 
 
 4 1 think he must be going to turn radical,' said the War- 
 wickshire peer. 
 
325 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 1 Why, the whole speech was against radicalism,' said 
 Mr. Egerton. 
 
 1 Ah, then he is going to turn whig, I suppose.' 
 
 * He is ultra anti-whig,' said Egerton. 
 
 * Then what the deuce is he ? ' said Mr. Berners. 
 
 1 Not a conservative certainly, for Lady St. Julians does 
 nothing but abuse him.' 
 
 * I suppose he is crotchety,' suggested the Warwickshire 
 noble. 
 
 * That speech of Egremont was the most really democratic 
 speech that I ever read,' said the grey-headed gentleman. 
 'How was it listened to ? ' 
 
 1 Oh ! capitally,' said Mr. Egerton. ' He has seldom 
 spoken before, and always slightly though well. He was 
 listened to with mute attention ; never was a better house. 
 I should say made a great impression, though no one knew 
 exactly what he was after.' 
 
 1 What does he mean by obtaining the results of the 
 Charter without the intervention of its machinery ? ' in- 
 quired Lord Loraine, a mild, middle-aged, lounging, languid 
 man, who passed his life in crossing from Brooks' to Boodle's, 
 and from Boodle's to Brooks', and testing the comparative 
 intelligence of these two celebrated bodies ; himself gifted 
 with no ordinary abilities cultivated with no ordinary care, 
 but the victim of sauntering, his sultana queen, as it was, 
 according to Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, of the second 
 Charles Stuart. 
 
 ' He spoke throughout in an exoteric vein,' said the grey- 
 headed gentleman, ' and I apprehend was not very sure of 
 his audience ; but I took him to mean, indeed it was the 
 gist of the speech, that if you wished for a time to retain 
 your political power, you could only effect your purpose by 
 securing for the people greater social felicity.' 
 
 * Well, that is sheer radicalism,' said the Warwickshire 
 peer ; ' pretending that the people can be better off than 
 they are, is radicalism and nothing else.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 327 
 
 * I fear, if that be radicalism,' said Lord Loraine, ' we 
 must all take a leaf ont of the same book. Sloane was 
 saying at Boodle's just now that he looked forward to the 
 winter in his country with horror.' 
 
 1 And they have no manufactures there,' said Mr. Egerton. 
 
 i Sloane was always a croaker,' said the Warwickshire 
 peer. * He always said the New Poor Law would not act, 
 and there is no part of the country where it works so well 
 as in his own.' 
 
 * They say at Boodle's there is to be an increase to the 
 army,' said Lord Loraine ; ' ten thousand men immediately ; 
 decided on by the cabinet this afternoon.' 
 
 1 It could hardly have leaked out by this time,' said the 
 grey-headed gentleman. ' The cabinet were sitting less 
 than an hour ago.' 
 
 * They have been up a good hour,' said Lord Loraine, 
 ' quite long enough for their decisions to be known in St. 
 James' Street. In the good old times, George Farnley used 
 always to walk from Downing Street to this place the 
 moment the council was up and tell us everything.' 
 
 * Ah ! those were the good old gentleman- like times,' said 
 Mr. Berners, ' when members of Parliament had nobody to 
 please and ministers of State nothing to do.' 
 
 The riots of Birmingham occurred two months after the 
 events that closed our last book. That period, so far as the 
 obvious movements of the Chartists were concerned, had 
 been passed in preparations for the presentation and dis- 
 cussion of the National Petition, which the parliamentary 
 embroilments of the spring of that year had hitherto pro- 
 crastinated and prevented. The petition was ultimately 
 carried down to Westminster on a triumphal car, accom- 
 panied by all the delegates of the Convention in solemn 
 procession. It was necessary to construct a machine in 
 order to introduce the huge bulk of parchment, signed by a 
 million and a half of persons, into the House of Commons ; 
 and thus supported, its vast form remained on the floor of 
 
SYBIL ; OR 
 
 the House during the discussion. The House, after a debate 
 which was not deemed by the people commensurate with 
 the importance of the occasion, decided on rejecting the 
 prayer of the Petition, and from that moment the party in 
 the Convention who advocated a recourse to physical force 
 in order to obtain their purpose, was in the ascendant. 
 The National Petition, and the belief that, although its 
 objects would not at present be obtained, yet a solemn 
 and prolonged debate on its prayer would at least hold out 
 to the working classes the hope, that their rights might 
 from that date rank among the acknowledged subjects of par- 
 liamentary discussion, and ultimately, by the force of discus- 
 sion, be recognised, as other rights of other portions of the 
 people once equally disputed, had been the means by which 
 the party in the Convention who upheld on all occasions 
 the supremacy of moral power had been able to curb the 
 energetic and reckless minority, who derided from the first 
 all other methods but terror and violence as effective of 
 their end. The hopes of all, the vanity of many, were frus- 
 trated and shocked by finding that the exertions and expen- 
 diture of long months were not only fruitless, but had not 
 even attracted as numerous an assembly, or excited as much 
 interest, as an ordinary party struggle on some petty point 
 of factitious interest, forgotten as soon as fought. The atten- 
 tion of the working classes was especially called by their 
 leaders to the contrast between the interest occasioned by the 
 endangered constitution of Jamaica, a petty and exhausted 
 colony, and the claims for the same constitutional rights by 
 the working millions of England. In the first instance, not a 
 member was absent from his place ; men were brought indeed 
 from distant capitals to participate in the struggle and to 
 decide it ; the debate lasted for days, almost for weeks ; not 
 a public man of light and leading in the country withheld the 
 expression of his opinion; the fate of governments was in- 
 volved in it ; cabinets were overthrown and reconstructed 
 in the throes and tumalt of the strife, and, for the first 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 329 
 
 time for a long period, the Sovereign personally interposed 
 in public transactions with a significance of character, which 
 made the working classes almost believe that the privileged 
 had at last found a master, and the unfranchised regained 
 their natural chief. The mean position which the Saxon 
 multitude occupied, as distinguished from the Jamaica 
 planters, sunk deep into their hearts. From that moment 
 all hope of relief from the demonstration of a high moral 
 conduct in the millions, and the exhibition of that well- 
 regulated order of public life which would intimate their 
 fitness for the possession and fulfilment of public rights, 
 vanished. The party of violence, a small minority, as is 
 usually the case, but consisting of men of determined 
 character, triumphed ; and the outbreak at Birmingham 
 was the first consequence of those reckless counsels that 
 were destined in the course of the ensuing years to inflict on 
 the working classes of this country so much suffering and 
 disaster. 
 
 It was about this time, a balmy morning of July, that 
 Sybil, tempted by the soft sunshine, and a longing for the 
 sight of flowers and turf and the spread of winding waters, 
 went forth from her gloomy domicile to those beautiful 
 gardens that bloom in that once melancholy region of 
 marsh, celebrated in old days only for its Dutch canal and 
 its Chinese bridge, and now not unworthy of the royal 
 park that encloses them. Except here and there a pretty 
 nursery-maid with her interesting charge ; some beautiful 
 child with nodding plume, immense bow, and gorgeous 
 sash; the gardens were vacant. Indeed it was only at 
 this early hour, that Sybil found from experience that it 
 was agreeable in London for a woman unaccompanied to 
 venture abroad. There is no European city where our 
 fair sisters are so little independent as in our metropolis ; to 
 our shame. 
 
 Something of the renovating influence of a beautiful na- 
 ture was needed by the daughter of Gerard. She was at this 
 
330 SYBIL; OR 
 
 moment anxious and dispirited. The outbreak at Birming- 
 ham, the conviction that such proceedings must ultimately 
 prove fatal to the cause to which she was devoted, the dark 
 apprehension that her father was in some manner impli- 
 cated in this movement, which had commenced with so 
 much public disaster, and which menaced consequences 
 still more awful ; all these events, and fears, and sad fore- 
 bodings, acted with immense influence on a temperament 
 which, though gifted with even a sublime courage, was 
 singularly sensitive. The quick and teeming imagination 
 of Sybil conjured up a thousand fears which were in some 
 degree unfounded, in a great degree exaggerated ; but this 
 is the inevitable lot of the creative mind practising on the 
 inexperienced. 
 
 The shock too had been sudden. The two months that 
 had elapsed since she had parted, as she supposed for ever, 
 from Egremont, while they had not less abounded than the 
 preceding time in that pleasing public excitement which her 
 father's career, in her estimation alike useful, honourable, 
 and distinguished, occasioned her, had been fruitful in 
 some sources of satisfaction of a softer and more domestic 
 character. The acquaintance of Hatton, of whom they saw 
 a great deal, had very much contributed to the increased 
 amenity of her life. He was a most agreeable, instructive, 
 and obliging companion ; who seemed peculiarly to possess 
 the art of making life pleasant by the adroit management 
 of unobtrusive resources. He lent Sybil books ; and all 
 that he recommended to her notice were of a kind that 
 harmonised with her sentiment and taste. He furnished 
 her from his library with splendid works of art, illustrative 
 of those periods of our history, and those choice and costly 
 edifices which were associated with her fondest thought and 
 fancy. He placed in her room the best periodical literature 
 of the day, which for her was a new world ; he furnished 
 her with newspapers whose columns of discussion taught 
 her, that the opinions she had embraced were not unques- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 331 
 
 tioned : as she had never seen a journal in her life before, 
 except a stray number of the ' Mowbray Phalanx,' or the 
 metropolitan publication which was devoted to the cause of 
 the National Convention, and reported her father's speeches, 
 the effect of this reading on her intelligence was, to say the 
 least, suggestive. 
 
 Many a morning too when Gerard was disengaged, 
 Hatton would propose that they should show Sybil some- 
 thing of the splendour or the rarities of the metropolis ; 
 its public buildings, museums, and galleries of art. S} r bil, 
 though uninstructed in painting, had that native taste 
 which requires only observation to arrive at true results. 
 She was much interested with all she saw and all that 
 occurred, and her gratification was heightened by the 
 society of an individual, who not only sympathised with all 
 she felt, but who, if she made an inquiry, was ever ready 
 with an instructive reply. Hatton poured forth the taste 
 and treasures of a well- stored and refined intelligence. And 
 then too always easy, bland, and considerate ; and though 
 with luxuries and conveniences at his command, to partici- 
 pate in which, under any other circumstances, might have 
 been embarrassing to his companions, with so much tact, 
 that either by an allusion to early days, happy days when 
 he owed so much to Gerard's father, or some other mode 
 equally felicitous, he contrived completely to maintain 
 among them the spirit of social equality. In the evening, 
 Hatton generally looked in when Gerard was at home, and 
 on Sundays they were always together. Their common 
 faith was a bond of union which led them to the same altar, 
 and on that day Hatton had obtained their promise always 
 to dine with him. He was careful to ascertain each holy 
 day at what chapel the music was most exquisite, that the 
 most passionate taste of Sybil might be gratified. Indeed, 
 during this residence in London, the opportunity it afforded 
 of making her acquainted with some of the great masters of 
 the human voice was perhaps to Sybil a source of pleasure 
 
33^ SYBIL; OR 
 
 not the least important. For, though it was not deemed 
 consistent with the future discipline which she contemplated 
 to enter a theatre, there were yet occasions which per- 
 mitted her, under every advantage, to listen to the per- 
 formance of the master-pieces of sacred melody. Alone, 
 with Hatton and her father, she often poured forth those 
 tones of celestial sweetness and ethereal power that had 
 melted the soul of Egremont amid the ruins of Marney 
 Abbey. 
 
 More intimately acquainted with Sybil Gerard, Hatton 
 had shrunk from the project that he had at first so crudely 
 formed. There was something about her that awed, while 
 it fascinated him. He did not relinquish his purpose, for 
 it was a rule of his life never to do that ; but he postponed 
 the plans of its fulfilment. Hatton was not, what is com- 
 monly understood by the phrase, in love with Sybil : cer- 
 tainly not passionately in love with her. With all his 
 daring and talents, and fine taste, there was in Hatton such 
 a vein of thorough good sense, that it was impossible for 
 him to act or even to think anything that was ridiculous. 
 He wished still to marry Sybil for the great object that we 
 have stated ; he had a mind quite equal to appreciate her 
 admirable qualities, but sense enough to wish that she 
 were a less dazzling creature, because then he would have a 
 better chance of accomplishing his end. He perceived, 
 when he had had a due opportunity to study her cha- 
 racter, that the cloister was the natural catastrophe im- 
 pending over a woman who, with an exalted mind, great 
 abilities, a fine and profound education, and almost super- 
 natural charms, found herself born and rooted in the ranks 
 of a degraded population. All this Hatton understood ; it 
 was a conclusion he had gradually arrived at by a gra- 
 dual process of induction, and by vigilant observation that 
 in its study of character had rarely been deceived ; and 
 when, one evening, with an art that could not be suspected, 
 he sounded Gerard on the future of his daughter, he found 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 333 
 
 tli at the clear intellect and straightforward sagacity of the 
 father had arrived at the same result. ' She wishes,' said 
 Gerard, ' to take the veil, and I only oppose it for a time, 
 that she may have some knowledge of life and a clear 
 conception of what she is about to do. I wish not that she 
 should hereafter reproach her father. But, to my mind, 
 Sybil is right. She cannot look to marriage : no man that 
 she could marry would be worthy of her.' 
 
 During these two months, and especially during the last, 
 Morley was rarely in London, though ever much with 
 Gerard, and often with his daughter, during his visits. 
 The necessary impulse had been given to the affairs of the 
 Convention, the delegates had visited the members, the 
 preparations for the presentation of the National Petition 
 had been completed ; the overthrow of the whig govern- 
 ment, the abortive effort of Sir Robert Peel, the return of 
 the whig administration, and the consequent measures had 
 occasioned a delay of two months in the presentation of the 
 great document : it was well for Gerard to remain, who 
 was a leader in debate, and wnose aosence for a week 
 would have endangered his position as the head of a party, 
 but these considerations did not influence Morley, who had 
 already found great inconvenience in managing his journal 
 at a distance ; so, about the middle of May, he had re- 
 turned to Mowbray, coming up occasionally by the train if 
 anything important were stirring, or his vote could be of 
 service to his friend and colleague. The affair of Birming- 
 ham, however, had alarmed Morley, and he had written up 
 to Gerard that he should instantly repair to town. Indeed 
 he was expected the very morning that Sybil, her father 
 having gone to the Convention, where there w T ere at this 
 very moment fiery debates, went forth to take the morning 
 air of summer in the gardens of St. James' Park. 
 
 It was a real summer day ; large, round, glossy, fleecy 
 clouds, as white and shining as glaciers, studded with their 
 immense and immovable forms the deep blue sky. There 
 
334 SYBIL: OR 
 
 was not even a summer breeze, though the air was mellow, 
 balmy, and exhilarating. There was a bloom upon the 
 trees, the waters glittered, the prismatic wild-fowl dived, 
 breathed again, and again disappeared. Beautiful children, 
 fresh and sweet as the new-born rose, glanced about with 
 the gestures and sometimes the voices of Paradise. And 
 in the distance rose the sacred towers of the great Western 
 Minster. 
 
 How fair is a garden amid the toils and passions of 
 existence ! A curse upon those who vulgarise and desecrate 
 these holy haunts ; breaking the hearts of nursery-maids, 
 and smoking tobacco in the palace of the rose ! 
 
 The mental clouds dispelled as Sybil felt the freshness 
 and fragrance of nature. The colour came to her cheek ; 
 the deep brightness returned to her eye : her step, that at 
 first had been languid, and if not melancholy, at least con- 
 templative, became active and animated. She forgot the 
 cares of life, and was touched by all the sense of all its en- 
 joyment. To move, to breathe, to feel the sunbeam, were 
 sensible and surpassing pleasures. Cheerful by nature, 
 not withstanding her stately thoughts and solemn life, a 
 brilliant smile played on her seraphic face, as she marked 
 the wild passage of the daring birds, or watched the 
 thoughtless grace of infancy. 
 
 She rested herself on a bench beneath a branching elm, 
 and her eye, which for some time had followed the various 
 objects that had attracted it, was now fixed in abstraction 
 on the sunny waters. The visions of past life rose before 
 her. It was one of those reveries when the incidents of our 
 existence are mapped before us, when each is considered 
 with relation to the rest, and assumes in our knowledge its 
 distinct and absolute position ; when, as it were, we take 
 stock of our experience, and ascertain how rich sorrow and 
 pleasure, feeling and thought, intercourse with our fellow- 
 creatures and the fortuitous mysteries of life, have made us 
 in wisdom. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 335 
 
 The quick intelligence and the ardent imagination of 
 Sybil had made her comprehend with fervour the two ideas 
 that had been impressed on her young mind ; the oppression 
 of her Church and the degradation of her people. Educated 
 in solitude and exchanging thoughts only with individuals 
 of the same sympathies, these impressions had resolved 
 themselves into one profound and gloomy conviction that 
 the world was divided only between the oppressors and the 
 oppressed. With her, to be one of the people was to be 
 miserable and innocent ; one of the privileged, a luxurious 
 tyrant. In the cloister, in her garden, amid the scenes of 
 suffering which she often visited and always solaced, she 
 had raised up two phantoms which with her represented 
 human nature. 
 
 But the experience of the last few months had operated 
 a great change in these impressions. She had seen enough 
 to suspect that the world was a more complicated system 
 than she had preconceived. There was not that strong and 
 rude simplicity in its organisation which she had supposed. 
 The characters were more various, the motives more mixed, 
 the classes more blended, the elements of each more subtle 
 and diversified, than she had imagined. The people, she 
 fouad, was not that pure embodiment of unity of feeling, of 
 interest, and of purpose, which she had pictured in her 
 abstractions. The people had enemies among the people : 
 their own passions; which made them often sympathise, 
 often combine, with the privileged. Her father, with all 
 his virtues, all his abilities, singleness of purpose, and 
 simplicity of aim, encountered rivals in their own Conven- 
 tion, and was beset by open, or, still worse, secret foes. 
 
 Sybil, whose mind had been nurtured with great thoughts, 
 and with whom success or failure alike partook of the 
 heroic, who had hoped for triumph, but who was prepared 
 for sacrifice, found to her surprise that great thoughts 
 have very little to do with the business of the world ; 
 that human affairs, even in an age of revolution, are 
 
336 SYBIL; OR 
 
 the subject of compromise; and that the essence of com- 
 promise is littleness. She thought that the People, calm 
 and collected, conscious at last of their strength and con- 
 fident in their holy cause, had but to express their pure and 
 noble convictions by the delegates of their choice, and that 
 an antique and decrepit authority must bow before the 
 irresistible influence of their moral power. These delegates 
 of their choice turned out to be a plebeian senate of wild 
 ambitions and sinister and selfish ends, while the decrepit 
 authority that she had been taught existed only by the 
 sufferance of the millions, was compact and organised, with 
 every element of physical power at its command, and sup- 
 ported by the interests, the sympathies, the honest convic- 
 tions, and the strong prejudices of classes influential not 
 merely from their wealth but even by their numbers. 
 
 Nor could she resist the belief that the feeling of the rich 
 towards the poor was not that sentiment of unmingled hate 
 and scorn which she associated with Norman conquerors 
 and feudal laws. She would ascribe rather the want of 
 sympathy that unquestionably exists between Wealth and 
 Work in England, to mutual ignorance between the classes 
 which possess these two great elements of national pro- 
 sperity ; and though the source of that ignorance was to be 
 sought in antecedent circumstances of violence and oppres- 
 sion, the consequences perhaps had outlived the causes, as 
 customs survive opinions. 
 
 Sybil looked towards Westminster, to those proud and 
 passionate halls where assembles the Parliament of Eng- 
 land ; that rapacious, violent, and haughty body, which 
 had brought kings and prelates to the block; spoiled 
 churches and then seized the sacred manors for their per- 
 sonal prey ; invested their own possessions with infinite 
 privileges, and then mortgaged for their state and empire 
 the labour of countless generations. Could the voice of 
 solace sound from such a quarter ? 
 
 Sybil unfolded a journal which she had brought ; not now 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 337 
 
 fco be read for the first time ; but now for the first time to 
 be read alone, undisturbed, in a scene of softness and 
 serenity. It contained a report of the debate in the House 
 of Commons on the presentation of the National Petition ; 
 that important document -which had been the means of 
 drawing forth Sybil from her solitude, and of teaching her 
 something of that world of which she had often pondered, 
 and yet which she had so inaccurately preconceived. 
 
 Yes ! there was one voice that had sounded in that proud 
 Parliament, that, free from the slang of faction, had dared 
 to express immortal truths : the voice of a noble, who with- 
 out being a demagogue, had upheld the popular cause ; had 
 pronounced his conviction that the rights of labour were as 
 sacred as those of property ; that if a difference were to be 
 established, the interests of the living wealth ought to be 
 preferred ; who had declared that the social happiness of 
 the millions should be the first object of a statesman, and 
 that, if this were not achieved, thrones and dominions, the 
 pomp and power of courts and empires, were alike worthless. 
 
 With a heart not without emotion, with a kindling 
 cheek, and eyes suffused with tears, Sybil read the speech 
 of Egremont. She ceased ; still holding the paper with 
 one hand, she laid on it the other with tenderness, and 
 looked up to breathe as it were for relief. Before her 
 stood the orator himself. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 Egremont had recognised Sybil as she entered the garden. 
 He was himself crossing the park to attend a committee of 
 the House of Commons which had sat for the first time 
 that morning. The meeting had been formal and brief, 
 the committee soon adjourned, and Egremont repaired to 
 the spot where he was in the hope of still finding Sybil. 
 He approached her not without some restraint, with 
 
33S SYBIL; OR 
 
 reserve, and yet with tenderness. 'This is a great, an 
 unexpected pleasure indeed,' he said in a faltering tone. 
 She had looked up ; the expression of an agitation, not 
 distressful, on her beautiful countenance could not be 
 concealed. She smiled through a gushing vision ; and, 
 with a flushed cheek, impelled perhaps by her native 
 frankness, perhaps by some softer and irresistible feeling of 
 gratitude, respect, regard, she said in a low voice, ' I was 
 reading your beautiful speech.' 
 
 'Indeed,' said Egremont much moved, 'that is an 
 honour, a pleasure, a reward, I never could have even 
 hoped to attain.' 
 
 'By all,' continued Sybil with more self-possession, 'it 
 must be read with pleasure, with advantage, but by me, 
 oh ! with what deep interest.' 
 
 ' If anything that I said finds an echo in your breast,' 
 and here he hesitated : ' it will give me confidence for 
 the future,' he hurriedly added. 
 
 ' Ah ! why do not others feel like you ! ' said Sybil, ' all 
 would not then be hopeless.' 
 
 ' But you are not hopeless ? ' said Egremont, and he 
 seated himself on the bench, but at some distance from her. 
 
 Sybil shook her head. 
 
 'But when we spoke last,' said Egremont, 'you were 
 full of confidence ; in your cause, and in your means. 7 
 
 ' It is not very long ago,' said Sybil, ' since we thus 
 spoke, and yet time in the interval has taught me some 
 bitter truths.' 
 
 ' Truth is precious,' said Egremont, 'to us all ; and yet 
 I fear I could not sufficiently appreciate the cause that 
 deprived you of your sanguine faith.' 
 
 ' Alas ! ' said Sybil mournfully, ' I was but a dreamer of 
 dreams : I wake from my hallucination, as others have done, 
 I suppose, before me. Like them, too, I feel the glory of 
 life has gone ; but my content at least,' and she bent her 
 head meekly, ' has never rested, I hope, too much on this 
 world.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 339 
 
 * Yon are depressed, dear Sybil ? ' 
 
 1 1 am unhappy. I am anxious about my father. I fear 
 that he is surrounded by men unworthy of his confidence. 
 These scenes of violence alarm me. Under any circum- 
 stances I should shrink from them, but I am impressed 
 with the conviction that they can bring us nothing but 
 disaster and disgrace.' 
 
 ' I honour your father,' said Egremont ; ' I know no man 
 whose character I esteem so truly noble ; such a just 
 compound of intelligence and courage, and gentle and 
 generous impulse. I should deeply grieve were he to 
 compromise himself. Bat you have influence over him, 
 the greatest, as you have over all. Counsel him to return 
 to Mowbray.' 
 
 ' Can I give counsel ? ' said Sybil, * I who have been 
 wrong in all my judgments ? I came up to this city with 
 him, to be his guide, his guardian. What arrogance! 
 What short-sighted pride ! I thought the People all felt 
 as I feel ; that I had nothing to do but to sustain and 
 animate him; to encourage him when he flagged, to 
 uphold him when he wavered. I thought that moral 
 power must govern the world, and that moral power was 
 embodied in an assembly whose annals will be a series 
 of petty intrigues, or, what is worse, of violent machi- 
 nations.' 
 
 ' Exert every energy,' said Egremont, ' that your father 
 should leave London immediately ; to-morrow, to-night if 
 possible. After this business at Birmingham, the govern- 
 ment must act. I hear that they will immediately increase 
 the army and the police ; and that there is a circular from 
 the Secretary of State to the Lord Lieutenants of counties. 
 But the government will strike at the Convention. The 
 members who remain will be the victims. If your father 
 return to Mowbray, and be quiet, he has a chance of not 
 being disturbed.' 
 
 * An ignoble end of many lofty hopes,' said Sybil. 
 
 z 2 
 
340 SYBIL; OR 
 
 * Let us retain our hopes,' said Egremont, ' and cherish 
 them.' 
 
 'I have none,' she replied. 
 
 ' And I am sanguine,' said Egremont. 
 
 1 Ah ! because you have made a beautiful speech. But 
 they will listen to you, they will cheer you, but they will 
 never follow you. The dove and the eagle will not mate ; 
 the lion and the lamb will not lie down together ; and the 
 conquerors will never rescue the conquered.' 
 
 Egremont shook his head. ' You still will cherish these 
 phantoms, dear Sybil ! and why ? They are not visions of 
 delight. Believe me, they are as vain as they are 
 distressing. The mind of England is the mind ever of the 
 rising race. Trust me, it is with the People. And not the 
 less so, because this feeling is one of which even in a great 
 degree it is unconscious. Those opinions which you have 
 been educated to dread and mistrust, are opinions that 
 are dying away. Predominant opinions are generally the 
 opinions of the generation that is vanishing. Let an 
 accident, which speculation could not foresee, the balanced 
 state at this moment of parliamentary parties, cease, and in 
 a few years, more or less, cease it must, and you will 
 witness a development of the new mind of England, which 
 will make up by its rapid progress for its retarded action. 
 I live among these men ; I know their inmost souls ; I 
 watch their instincts and their impulses ; I know the 
 principles which they have imbibed, and I know, however 
 hindered by circumstances for the moment, those principles 
 must bear their fruit. It will be a produce hostile to the 
 oligarchical system. The future principle of English 
 politics will not be a levelling principle; not a principle 
 adverse to privileges, but favourable to their extension. It 
 will seek to ensure equality, not by levelling the Few, but 
 by elevating the Many.' 
 
 Indulging for some little time in the mutual reflections 
 which the tone of the conversation suggested, Sybil at 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 341 
 
 length rose, and, saying that she hoped by this time her 
 father might have returned, bade farewell to Egremont, 
 bnt he, also rising, would for a time accompany her. At 
 the gate of the gardens, however, she paused, and said 
 with a soft sad smile, ' Here we must part,' and extended to 
 him her hand. 
 
 ' Heaven will guard over you ! ' said Egremont, ' for you 
 are a celestial charge.' 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 As Sybil approached her home, she recognised her 
 father in the court before their house, accompanied by 
 several men, with whom he seemed on the point of going 
 forth. She was so anxious to speak to Gerard, that she 
 did not hesitate at once to advance. There was a stir as 
 she entered the gate ; the men ceased talking, some stood 
 aloof, all welcomed her with silent respect. With one or 
 two Sybil was not entirely unacquainted ; at least by name 
 or person. To them, as she passed, she bent her head ; 
 and then, going up to her father, who was about to welcome 
 her, she said, in a tone of calmness, and with a semblance 
 of composure, ' If you are going out, dear father, I should 
 like to see you for one moment first.' 
 
 'A moment, friends,' said Gerard, 'with your leave;' 
 and he accompanied his daughter into the house. He 
 would have stopped in the hall, but she walked on to their 
 room, and Gerard, though pressed for time, was compelled 
 to follow her. When they had entered their chamber, 
 Sybil closed the door with care, and then, Gerard sitting, 
 or rather leaning carelessly, on the edge of the table, she 
 said, 'We are once more together, dear father; we will 
 never again be separated.' 
 
 Gerard sprang quickly on his legs, his eye kindled, his 
 cheek flushed. ' Something has happened to you, Sybil ! ' 
 
342 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Ko,' she said, shaking her head mournfully, ' not that ; 
 but something may happen to you.' 
 
 * How so, my child ? ' said her father, relapsing into his 
 customary good-tempered placidity, and speaking in an 
 easy, measured, almost drawling tone that was habitual to 
 him. 
 
 1 You are in danger,' said Sybil, l great and immediate. 
 No matter at this moment how I am persuaded of this : I 
 wish no mysteries, but there is no time for details. The 
 government will strike at the Convention ; they are 
 resolved. This outbreak at Birmingham has brought 
 affairs to a crisis. They have already arrested the leaders 
 there ; they will seize those who remain here in avowed 
 correspondence with them.' 
 
 ' If they arrest all who are in correspondence with the 
 Convention,' said Gerard, ' they will have enough to do.' 
 
 * Yes : but you take a leading part,' said Sybil ; ' you 
 are the individual they would select.' 
 
 'Would you have me hide myself,' said Gerard, 'just 
 because something is going on besides talk ? ' 
 
 I Besides talk ! ' exclaimed Sybil. ' ! my father, what 
 thoughts are these ! It may be that words are vain to save 
 us ; but feeble deeds are vainer far than words.' 
 
 I I do not see that the deeds, though I have nothing to 
 do with them, are so feeble,' said Gerard ; ' their boasted 
 police are beaten, and by the isolated movement of an 
 unorganised mass. What if the outbreak had not been 
 a solitary one ? What if the people had been disciplined ?' 
 
 ' What if everything were changed, if everything were 
 contrary to what it is ? ' said Sybil. ' The people are not 
 disciplined ; their action will not be, cannot be, coherent 
 and uniform ; these are riots in which you are involved, 
 not revolutions ; and you will be a victim, and not a 
 sacrifice.' 
 
 Gerard looked thoughtful, but not anxious : after a 
 momentary pause, he said, * We must not be scared at a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 343 
 
 few arrests, Sybil. These are hap-liazard pranks of a 
 government that wants to terrify, but is itself frightened. 
 I have not counselled, none of us have counselled, this stir 
 at Birmingham. It is a casualty. We were none of us 
 prepared for it. But great things spring from casualties. 
 I say the police were beaten, and the troops alarmed ; and 
 I say this was done without organisation, and in a single 
 spot. I am as much against feeble deeds as you can be, 
 Sybil ; and to prove this to you, our conversation at the 
 moment you arrived was to take care for the future that 
 there shall be none. Neither vain words, nor feeble deeds, 
 for the future,' added Gerard, and he moved to depart. 
 
 Sybil approached him with gentleness; she took his 
 hand as if to bid him farewell ; she retained it for a 
 moment, and looked him steadfastly in the face, with a 
 glance at the same time serious and soft. Then, throwing 
 her arms round his neck and leaning her cheek upon his 
 breast, she murmured, ' ! my father, your child is most 
 unhappy.' 
 
 1 Sybil,' exclaimed Gerard, in a tone of tender reproach, 
 * this is womanish weakness ; I love but must not share 
 it.' 
 
 1 It may be womanish,' said Sybil, ' but it is wise : for 
 what should make us unhappy if not the sense of impending, 
 yot unknown, danger ? ' 
 
 ' And why danger ? ' said Gerard. 
 
 ' Why mystery ? ' said Sybil. * Why are you ever pre- 
 occupied and involved in dark thoughts, my father ? It is 
 not the pressure of business, as you will perhaps tell me, 
 that occasions this change in a disposition so frank and 
 even careless. The pressure of affairs is not nearly so 
 great, cannot be nearly so great, as in the early period of 
 your assembling, when the eyes of the whole country were 
 on you, and you were in communication with all parts of 
 it. How often have you told me that there was no degree 
 of business which you found irksome ? Now you are all 
 
344 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 dispersed and scattered: no discussions, no committees, 
 little correspondence ; and yon yourself are ever brooding, 
 and ever in conclave too, with persons who, I know, for 
 Stephen has told me so, are the preachers of violence; 
 violence perhaps that some of them may preach, yet will 
 not practise : both bad ; traitors it may be, or, at the best, 
 hare-brained men.' 
 
 * Stephen is prejudiced,' said Gerard. 'He is a vision- 
 ary, indulging in impossible dreams, and if possible, little 
 desirable. He knows nothing of the feeling of the country 
 or the character of his countrymen. Englishmen want 
 none of his joint-stock felicity ; they want their rights, 
 lights consistent with the rights of other classes, but with- 
 out which the rights of other classes cannot and ought not 
 to be secure.' 
 
 1 Stephen is at least your friend, my father ; and once 
 you honoured him.' 
 
 ' And do so now, and love him very dearly. I honour 
 him for his great abilities and knowledge. Stephen is a 
 scholar ; I have no pretensions that way ; but I can feel 
 the pulse of a people, and can comprehend the signs of the 
 times, Sybil. Stephen was all very well talking in our 
 cottage and garden at Mowbray, when we had nothing to 
 do ; but now we must act, or others will act for us. 
 Stephen is not a practical man ; he is crotchety, Sybil, and 
 that's just it.' 
 
 I But violence and action,' said Sybil, ' are they iden- 
 tical, my father ? ' 
 
 I I did not speak of violence.' 
 
 1 No ; but you looked it. I know the language of your 
 countenance, even to the quiver of your lip. Action, as 
 you and Stephen once taught me, and I think wisely, was 
 to prove to our rulers by an agitation, orderly and intel- 
 lectual, that we were sensible of our degradation ; and that 
 it was neither Christianlike nor prudent, neither good nor 
 wise, to let us remain so. That you did, and you did it 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 345 
 
 well ; the respect of the world, even of those who differed 
 from yon in interest or opinion, was not withheld from yon, 
 and can be withheld from none who exercise the moral 
 power that springs from great talents and a good canse. 
 Yon have let this great moral power, this pearl of price,' 
 said Sybil, with emotion ; ' we cannot conceal it from our- 
 selves, my father ; yon have let it escape from yonr hands.' 
 
 Gerard looked at her as she spoke, with an earnestness 
 nnnsnal with him. As she ceased, he cast his eyes down, 
 and seemed for a moment deep in thonght ; then, looking 
 n]3, he said, ' The season for words is past. I mnst begone, 
 dear Sybil.' And he moved towards the door. 
 
 ' Yon shall not leave me,' said Sybil, springing forward, 
 and seizing his arm. 
 
 1 What wonld yon, what wonld yon ? ' said Gerard, 
 distressed. 
 
 1 That we shonld qnit this city to-night.' 
 
 ' What, qnit my post ? ' 
 
 ' Why yonrs ? Have not your colleagues dispersed ? Is 
 not yonr assembly formally adjourned to another town ? Is 
 it not known that the great majority of the delegates have 
 returned to their homes ? And why not you to yours ? ' 
 
 'I have no home,' said Gerard, almost in a voice of 
 harshness. ' I came here to do the business that was 
 wanting, and, by the blessing of God, I will do it. I am no 
 changeling, nor can I refine and split straws, like your 
 philosophers and Morleys ; but if the people will struggle, 
 I will struggle with them ; and die, if need be, in the front. 
 Nor will I be deterred from my purpose by the tears of a 
 girl,' and he released himself from the hand of his daughter 
 with abruptness. 
 
 Sybil looked up to heaven with streaming eyes, and 
 clasped her hands in unutterable woe. Gerard moved again 
 towards the door, but before he reached it his step faltered, 
 and he turned again and looked at his daughter with 
 tenderness and anxiety. She remained in the same posi- 
 
346 SYBIL; OR 
 
 tion, save that her arms that had fallen were crossed before 
 her, and her downward glance seemed fixed in deep ab- 
 straction. Her father approached her unnoticed ; he took 
 her hand ; she started, and looking round with a cold and 
 distressed expression, said, in a smothered tone, ' I thought 
 you had gone.' 
 
 'Not in anger, my sweet child,' and Gerard pressed her 
 to his heart. 
 
 1 But you go,' murmured Sybil. 
 
 ' These men await me,' said Gerard. ' Our council is of 
 importance. We must take some immediate steps for the 
 aid of our brethren in distress at Birmingham, and to dis- 
 countenance similar scenes of outbreak to this affair : but, 
 the moment this is over, I will come back to you ; and, for 
 the rest, it shall be as you desire ; to-morrow we will 
 return to Mowbray.' 
 
 Sybil returned her father's embrace with a warmth 
 which expressed her sense of his kindness and her own 
 soothed feelings, but she said nothing; and, bidding her 
 now to be of good cheer, Gerard quitted the apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The clock of St. John's church struck three, and the 
 clock of St. John's church struck four ; and the fifth hour 
 sounded from St. John's church; and the clock of St. 
 John's was sounding six. And Gerard had not yet re- 
 turned. 
 
 The time for awhile after his departure had been com- 
 paratively light-hearted and agreeable. Easier in her mind 
 and for a time busied with the preparations for their jour- 
 ney, Sybil sat by the open window more serene and 
 cheerful than for a long period had been her wont. Some- 
 times she turned for a moment from her volume and fell 
 into a reverie of the morrow and of Mowbray. Viewed 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 347 
 
 through the magic haze of time and distance, the scene of 
 her youth assumed a character of tenderness and even of 
 peaceful bliss. She sighed for the days of their cottage and 
 their garden, when the discontent of her father was only 
 theoretical, and their political conclaves were limited to a 
 discussion between him and Morley on the rights of the 
 people or the principles of society. The bright waters of 
 the Mowe and its wooded hills ; her matin walks to the 
 convent to visit Ursula Trafford, a pilgrimage of piety and 
 charity and love ; the faithful Harold, so devoted and so 
 intelligent ; even the crowded haunts of labour and suffer- 
 ing among which she glided like an angel, blessing and 
 blessed ; they rose before her, those touching images of 
 the past, and her eyes were suffused with tears, of tender- 
 ness, not of gloom. 
 
 And blended with them the thought of one who had 
 been for a season the kind and gentle companion of her 
 girlhood, that Mr. Franklin whom she had never quite 
 forgotten, and who, alas ! was not Mr. Franklin after all. 
 Ah ! that was a wonderful history ; a somewhat thrilling 
 chapter in the memory of one so innocent and so young ! 
 His voice even now lingered in her ear. She recalled 
 without an effort those tones of the morning, tones of 
 tenderness, and yet of wisdom and considerate thought, 
 that had sounded only for her welfare. Never had Egre- 
 mont appeared to her in a light so subduing. He was 
 what man should be to woman ever : gentle, and yet a 
 guide. A thousand images dazzling and wild rose in her 
 mind ; a thousand thoughts, beautiful and quivering as the 
 twilight, clustered round her heart ; for a moment she 
 indulged in impossible dreams, and seemed to have entered 
 a newly discovered world. The horizon of her experience 
 expanded like the glittering heaven of a fairy tale. Her 
 eye was fixed in lustrous contemplation, the flush on her 
 cheek was a messenger from her heart, the movement of 
 her mouth would have in an instant become a smile. 
 
343 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 when the clock of St. John's struck four, and Sybil started 
 from her reverie. 
 
 The clock of St. John's struck four, and Sybil became 
 anxious ; the clock of St. John's struck five, and Sybil 
 became disquieted ; restless and perturbed, she was walking 
 up and down the chamber, her books long since thrown 
 aside, when the clock of St. John's struck six. 
 
 She clasped her hands and looked up to heaven. There 
 was a knock at the street door ; she herself sprang out to 
 open it. It was not Gerard. It was Morley. 
 
 * Ah ! Stephen,' said Sybil, with a countenance of 
 undisguised disappointment, ' I thought it was my father.' 
 
 'I should have been glad to have found him here,' 
 said Morley. 'However, with your permission I will 
 enter.' 
 
 'And he will soon arrive,' said Sybil; 'I am sure 
 he will soon arrive. I have been expecting him every 
 minute ' 
 
 ' For hours,' added Morley, finishing her sentence, as 
 they entered the room. ' The business that he is on,' he 
 continued, throwing himself into a chair with a reckless- 
 ness very unlike his usual composure and even precision, 
 ' the business that he is on is engrossing.' 
 
 'Thank Heaven,' said Sybil, 'we leave this place to- 
 morrow.' 
 
 ' Hah ! ' said Morley, starting, ' who told you so ? ' 
 
 ' My father has so settled it ; has indeed promised me 
 that we shall depart.' 
 
 ' And you were anxious to do so.' 
 
 ' Most anxious ; my mind is prophetic only of mischief 
 to him if we remain.' 
 
 ' Mine too. Otherwise I should not have come up to- 
 day.' 
 
 ' You have seen him, I hope ? ' said Sybil. 
 
 * I have ; I have been hours with him.' 
 
 ' I am glad. At this conference which he talked of ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 349 
 
 1 Ye3 ; at this headstrong council ; and I have seen him 
 since ; alone. Whatever hap to him, my conscience is 
 assoiled.' 
 
 * You terrify me, Stephen/ said Sybil, rising from her 
 seat. ' What can happen to him ? What would he do, 
 what would you resist ? Tell me, tell me, dear friend.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes,' said Morley, pale, and with a slight bitter 
 smile, ' Oh ! yes ; dear friend ! ' 
 
 * I said dear friend, for so I deemed you,' said Sybil ; 
 1 and so we have ever found you. Why do you stare at me 
 so strangely, Stephen ? ' 
 
 I So you deem me, and so you have ever found me,' said 
 Morley, in a slow and measured tone, repeating her words. 
 ' Well ; what more would you have ? What more should 
 any of us want ? ' he asked abruptly. 
 
 'I want no more,' said Sybil, innocently. 
 
 I I warrant me, you do not. Well, well ; nothing matters. 
 And so,' he added in his ordinary tone, ' you are waiting 
 for your father ? ' 
 
 1 Whom you have not long since seen,' said Sybil, ' and 
 whom you expected to find here ? ' 
 
 * No ! ' said Morley, shaking his head with the same 
 bitter smile ; ' no, no, I didn't. I came to find you.' 
 
 'You have something to tell me,' said Sybil, earnestly. 
 1 Something has happened to my father. Do not break it 
 to me ; tell me at once,' and she advanced and laid her 
 hand upon his arm. 
 
 Morley trembled ; and then in a hurried and agitated 
 voice, said, ' !No, no, no ! nothing has happened. Much 
 may happen, but nothing has happened. And we may 
 prevent it.' 
 
 ' Tell me what may happen ; tell me what to do.' 
 
 ' Your father,' said Morley, slowly rising from his seat 
 and pacing the room, and speaking in a low calm voice, 
 4 your father, and my friend, is in this position, Sybil ; he 
 is conspiring against the State.' 
 
35 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' said Sybil, very pale, speaking almost in a 
 whisper, and with her gaze fixed intently on her companion. 
 1 Tell me all.' 
 
 * I will. He is conspiring, I say, against the State. To- 
 night they meet in secret, to give the last finish to their 
 plans ; and to-night they will be arrested.' 
 
 1 O God ! ' said Sybil, clasping her hands. ' He told me 
 truth.' 
 
 1 Who told you truth ? ' said Morley, springing to her 
 side, in a hoarse voice, and with an eye of fire. 
 
 * A friend,' said Sybil, dropping her arms and bending 
 her head in woe ; * a kind, good friend. I met him but 
 this morn, and he warned me of all this.' 
 
 ' Hah, hah ! ' said Morley, with a sort of stifled laugh ; 
 * Hah, hah ! he told you, did he ? the kind good friend 
 whom you met this morning ? Did I not warn you, Sybil, 
 of the traitor ? Did I not tell you to beware of taking this 
 false aristocrat to your hearth ; to worm out all the secrets 
 of that home that he once polluted by his espionage, and 
 now would desolate by his treason ? ' 
 
 1 Of whom and what do you speak ? ' said Sybil, throwing 
 herself into a chair. 
 
 ' I speak of that base spy, Egremont.' 
 
 'You slander an honourable man,' said Sybil, with 
 dignity. ' Mr. Egremont has never entered this house 
 since you met him here for the first time ; save once.' 
 
 ' He needed no entrance to this house to worm out its 
 secrets,' said Morley, maliciously. ' That could be more 
 adroitly done by one who had assignations at command 
 with the most charming of its inmates.' 
 
 'Unmannerly churl!' exclaimed Sybil, starting in her 
 chair, her eye flashing lightning, her distended nostril 
 quivering with scorn. 
 
 ' Oh! yes, I am a churl,' said Morley; ' I know I am a 
 churl. Were I a noble, the daughter of the people would 
 perhaps condescend to treat me with less contempt.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 351 
 
 'The daughter of the people loves truth and manly 
 bearing, Stephen Morley; and will treat with contempt 
 all those who slander women, whether they be nobles or 
 serfs.' 
 
 1 And where is the slanderer ? ' 
 
 'Ask him who told yon I held assignations with Mr. 
 Egremont, or with any one.' 
 
 1 Mine eyes, mine own eyes, were my informant,' said 
 Morley. ' This morn, the very morn I arrived in London, 
 I learnt how your matins were now spent. Yes ! ' he 
 added, in a tone of mournful anguish, ' I passed the gate of 
 the gardens ; I witnessed your adieus.' 
 
 ' We met by hazard,' said Sybil in a calm tone, and with 
 an expression that denoted she was thinking of other 
 things, ' and in all probability we shall never meet again. 
 Talk not of these trifles, Stephen ; my father, how can we 
 save him ? ' 
 
 ' Are they trifles ? ' said Morley, slowly and earnestly, 
 walking to her side, and looking her intently in the face. 
 ' Are they indeed trifles, Sybil ? Oh ! make me credit 
 that, and then ' he paused. 
 
 Sybil returned his gaze : the deep lustre of her dark 
 orb rested on his peering vision; his eye fled from the 
 unequal contest ; his heart throbbed, his limbs trembled ; 
 he fell upon his knee. 
 
 ' Pardon me, pardon me,' he said, and he took her hand. 
 'Pardon the most miserable and the most devoted of 
 men ! ' 
 
 1 What Deed of pardon, dear Stephen ? ' said Sybil in a 
 soothing tone. ' In the agitated hour wild words escape. 
 If I have used them, I regret ; if you, I have forgotten.' 
 
 The clock of St. John's told that the sixth hour was 
 more than half-past. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Sybil, withdrawing her hand, ' you told me 
 how precious was time. What can we do ? ' 
 
 Morley rose from his kneeling position, and again paced 
 
352 SYBIL; OR 
 
 the chamber, lost for some moments in deep meditation. 
 Suddenly he seized her arm, and said, ' I can endure no 
 longer the anguish of my life : I love you, and if you will 
 not be mine, I care for no one's fate.' 
 
 'I am not born for love,' said Sybil, frightened, yet 
 endeavouring to conceal her alarm. 
 
 ' We are all born for love,' said Morley. ' It is the 
 principle of existence and its only end. And love of you, 
 Sybil,' he continued, in a tone of impassioned pathos, 'has 
 been to me for years the hoarded treasure of my life. For 
 this I have haunted your hearth and hovered round your 
 home ; for this I have served your father like a slave, and 
 embarked in a cause with which I have little sympathy, 
 and which can meet with no success. It is your image 
 that has stimulated my ambition, developed my powers, 
 sustained me in the hour of humiliation, and secured me 
 that material prosperity which I can now command. Oh ! 
 deign to share it ; share it with the impassioned heart and 
 the devoted life that now bow before you ; and do not 
 shrink from them because they are the feelings and the 
 fortunes of the People.' 
 
 ' You astound, you overwhelm me,' said Sybil, agitated. 
 1 You came for another purpose, we were speaking of 
 other feelings ; it is the hour of exigency you choose for 
 these strange, these startling words.' 
 
 ' I also have my hour of exigency,' said Morley, ' and 
 its minutes are now numbering. Upon it all depends.' 
 
 'Another time,' said Sybil, in a low and deprecatory 
 voice ; ' speak of these things another time ! ' 
 
 ' The caverns of my mind are open,' said Morley, ' and 
 they will not close.' 
 
 ' Stephen,' said Sybil, ' dear Stephen, I am grateful for 
 your kind feelings ; but indeed this is not the time for 
 such passages : cease, my friend ! ' 
 
 ' I came to know my fate,' said Morley, doggedly. 
 
 'It is a sacrilege of sentiment,' said Sybil, unable any 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 353 
 
 longer to restrain her emotion, ' to obtrude its expression 
 on a daughter at such a moment.' 
 
 ' You would not deem it so if you loved, or if* you could 
 love, me, Sybil,' said Morley, mournfully. ' Why, it is a 
 moment of deep feeling, and suited for the expression of 
 deep feeling. You would not have answered thus, if he 
 who had been kneeling here had been named Egremont.' 
 
 'He would not have adopted a course,' said Sybil, 
 unable any longer to restrain her displeasure, ' so selfish, so 
 indecent.' 
 
 ' Ah ! she loves him ! ' exclaimed Morley, springing on 
 his legs, and with a demoniac laugh. 
 
 There was a pause. Under ordinary circumstances 
 Sybil would havo left the room and terminated a dis- 
 tressing interview, but in the present instance that was 
 impossible ; for on the continuance of that interview any 
 hope of assisting her father depended. Morley had thrown 
 himself into a chair opposite to her, leaning back in silence 
 with his face covered ; Sybil was disinclined to revive the 
 conversation about her father, because she had already 
 perceived that Morley was only too much aware of the 
 command which the subject gave him over her feelings and 
 even conduct. Yet time, time now full of terror, time 
 was stealing on. It was evident that Morley would not 
 break the silence. At length, unable any longer to repress 
 her tortured heart, Sybil said, ' Stephen, be generous ; 
 speak to me of your friend.' 
 
 * I have no friend,' said Morley, without taking his 
 hands from his face. 
 
 ' The Saints in heaven have mercy on me,' said Sybil, 
 ' for I am very wretched.' 
 
 1 No, no, no ! ' said Morley, rising rapidly from his seat, 
 and again kneeling at her side, ' not wretched ; not that 
 tone of anguish ! What can I do ? what say ? Sybil, dearest 
 Sybil. I love you so much, so fervently, so devotedly; 
 none can love you as I do ; say not you are wretched ! ' 
 
 A A 
 
354 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Alas ! alas ! ' said Sybil. 
 
 1 What shall I do ? what say ? ' said Morley. 
 
 'You. know what I would have you say,' said Sybil. 
 ' Speak of one who is my father, if no longer your friend : 
 you know what I wonld have yon do : save him ; save him 
 from death and me from despair.' 
 
 ' I am ready,' said Morley ; ' I came for that. Listen. 
 There is a meeting to-night at half-past eight o'clock ; they 
 meet to arrange a general rising in the country : their 
 intention is known to the government ; they will be 
 arrested. Now it is in my power, which it was not when 
 I saw your father this morning, to convince him of the 
 truth of this, and were I to see him before eight o'clock, 
 which I could easily do, I could prevent his attendance, 
 certainly prevent his attendance, and he would be saved ; for 
 the government depend much npon the papers, some procla- 
 mations, and things of that kind, which will be signed this 
 evening, for their proofs. Well, I am ready to save Gerard, 
 my friend, for so I'll call him, as yon wish it ; one I have 
 served before and long ; one whom I came up from Mowbray 
 this day to serve and save ; I am ready to do that which you 
 require ; you yourself admit it is no light deed ; and coming 
 from one you have known so long, and, as you confess, so 
 much regarded, should be doubly cherished ; I am ready to 
 do this great service ; to save the father from death and the 
 daughter from despair, if she would but only say to me, 
 " I have but one reward, and it is yours." ' 
 
 'I have read of something of this sort,' said Sybil, 
 speaking in a murmuring tone, and looking round her with 
 a wild expression, 'this bargaining of blood, and shall I call 
 it love ? But that was ever between the oppressors and 
 the oppressed. This is the first time that a child of the 
 people has been so assailed by one of her own class, and 
 who exercises his power from the confidence which the 
 sympathy of their sorrows alone caused. It is bitter; 
 bitter for me and mine ; but for you, pollution.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 355 
 
 ' Am I answered ? ' said Morley. 
 
 * Yes,' said Sybil, ' in the name of the holy Virgin.' 
 
 ' Good night, then,' said Morley, and he approached the 
 door. His hand was on it. The voice of Sybil made him 
 turn his head. 
 
 1 Where do they meet to-night ? ' she enquired in a 
 smothered tone. 
 
 ' I am bound to secrecy,' said Morley. 
 
 I There is no softness in your spirit,' said Sybil. 
 
 I I am met with none.' 
 
 * We have ever been your friends.' 
 
 * A blossom that has brought no fruit.' 
 
 ' This hour will be remembered at the judgment-seat,' 
 said Sybil. 
 
 ' The holy Virgin will perhaps interpose for me,' said 
 Morley with a sneer. 
 
 ' We have merited this,' said Sybil, * who have taken 
 an infidel to our hearts.' 
 
 1 If he had only been a heretic, like Egremont ! ' said 
 Morley. 
 
 Sybil burst into tears. Morley sprang to her. ' Swear 
 by the holy Virgin, swear by all the saints, swear by 
 your hope of heaven and by your own sweet name ; 
 without equivocation, without resrerve, with fulness and 
 with truth, that you will never give your heart or hand 
 to Egremont ; and I will save your father.' 
 
 As in a low voice, but with a terrible earnestness, 
 Morley dictated this oath, Sybil, already pale, became 
 white as the marble saint of some sacred niche. Her large 
 dark eyes seemed fixed ; a fleet expression of agony flitted 
 over her beautiful brow like a cloud ; and she said, 'I swear 
 that I will never give my hand to ' 
 
 'And your heart, your heart,' said Morley eagerly. 
 ' Omit not that. Swear by the holy oaths again you do not 
 love him. She falters ! Ah ! she blushes ! ' For a burn- 
 
 h a 2 
 
356 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ing brightness now suffused the cheek of Sybil. ' She loves 
 him,' exclaimed Morley, wildly, and he rushed frantically 
 from the room. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Agitated and overcome by these unexpected and passion- 
 ate appeals, and these outrageous ebullitions acting on her 
 at a time when she herself was labouring under no ordinary 
 excitement, and was distracted with disturbing thoughts, 
 the mind of Sybil seemed for a moment to desert her; 
 neither by sound nor gesture did she signify her sense of 
 Morley's last words and departure : and it was not until 
 the loud closing of the street door, echoing through the 
 long passage, recalled her to herself, that she was aware 
 how much was at stake in that incident. She darted out 
 of the room to recall him ; to make one more effort for her 
 father ; but in vain. By the side of their house was an 
 intricate passage leading into a labyrinth of small streets. 
 Through this Morley had disappeared; and his name, more 
 than once sounded in a voice of anguish in that silent and 
 most obsolete Smith Square, received no echo. 
 
 Darkness and terror came over the spirit of Sybil; a 
 sense of confounding and confusing woe, with which it was 
 in vain to cope. The conviction of her helplessness pros- 
 trated her. She sat her down upon the steps before the 
 door of that dreary house, within the railings of that 
 gloomy court, and buried her face in her hands ; a wild 
 vision of the past and the future, without thought or 
 feeling, coherence or consequence ; sunset gleams of van- 
 ished bliss, and stormy gusts of impending doom. 
 
 The clock of St. John's struck seven. 
 
 It was the only thing that spoke in that still and dreary 
 square ; it was the only voice that ever seemed to sound 
 there ; but it was a voice from heaven, it was the voice of 
 St. John. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 357 
 
 Sybil looked up ; she looked up at the holy building. 
 Sybil listened ; she listened to the holy sounds. St. John 
 told her that the danger of her father was so much more 
 advanced. Oh ! why are there saints in heaven if they can- 
 not aid the saintly! The oath that Morley would have 
 enforced came whispering in the ear of Sybil, ' Swear by 
 the holy Virgin, and by all the saints.' 
 
 And shall she not pray to the holy Virgin, and all the 
 saints ? Sybil prayed ; she prayed to the holy Virgin, and 
 all the saints ; and especially to the beloved St. John, 
 most favoured among Hebrew men, who reposed on the 
 breast of the divine Friend. 
 
 Brightness and courage returned to the spirit of 
 Sybil ; a sense of animating and exalting faith that could 
 move mountains, and combat without fear a thousand 
 perils. The conviction of celestial aid inspired her. She 
 rose from her sad resting-place, and re-entered the house ; 
 only, however, to provide herself with her walking attire, 
 and then, alone and without a guide, the shades of evening 
 already descending, this child of innocence and divine 
 thoughts, born in a cottage and bred in a cloister, went 
 forth, on a great enterprise of duty and devotion, into the 
 busiest and the wildest haunts of the greatest of modern cities. 
 
 Sybil knew well her way to Palace Yard. This point 
 was soon reached ; she desired the cabman to drive her to 
 a street in the Strand, in which was a coffee-house, where 
 during the last weeks of their stay in London, the scanty 
 remnants of the National Convention had held their sittings. 
 It was by a mere accident that Sybil had learnt this circum- 
 stance, for, when she had attended the meetings of the Con- 
 vention in order to hear her father's speeches, it was in the 
 prime of their gathering, and when their numbers were 
 great, and when they met in audacious rivalry opposite to 
 that St. Stephen's which they wished to supersede. This 
 accidental recollection, however, was her only clue in the 
 urgent adventure on which she had embarked. 
 
353 SYBIL; OR 
 
 She cast an anxious glance at the clock of St. Martin's, 
 as she passed that church ; the hand was approaching the 
 half hour of seven. She urged on the driver ; they were 
 in the Strand : there was an agitating stoppage ; she was 
 about to descend when the obstacle was removed ; and in a 
 few minutes they turned down the street which she sought. 
 
 * What number, Ma'am ? ' asked the cabman. 
 
 * 'Tis a coffee-house ; I know not the number, nor the 
 name of him who keeps it. 'Tis a coffee-house. Can you 
 see one ? Look, look, I pray you ! I am much pressed.' 
 
 1 Here's a coffee-house, Ma'am,' said the man in a hoarse 
 voice. 
 
 1 How good you are ! Yes ; I will get out. You will 
 wait for me, I am sure.' 
 
 1 All right,' said the cabman, as Sybil entered the illu- 
 mined door. ' Poor young thing ! she's wery anxious 
 about summut.' 
 
 Sybil at once stepped into a rather capacious room, fitted 
 up in the old-fashioned style of coffee-rooms, with mahogany 
 boxes, in several of which were men drinking coffee, and 
 reading newspapers by a painful glare of gas. There was 
 a waiter in the middle of the room, who was throwing some 
 fresh sand upon the floor, but who stared immensely when, 
 looking up, he beheld Sybil. 
 
 'Now, Ma'am, if you please,' said the waiter enquiringly. 
 
 1 Is Mr. Gerard here ? ' said Sybil. 
 
 1 No, Ma'am ; Mr. Gerard has not been here to-day, nor 
 yesterday neither ; ' and he went on throwing the sand. 
 
 ' I should like to see the master of the house,' said Sybil 
 very humbly. 
 
 * Should you, Ma'am ? ' said the waiter, but he gave no 
 indication of assisting her in the fulfilment of her wish. 
 
 Sybil repeated that wish, and this time the waiter said 
 nothing. 
 
 This vulgar and insolent neglect, to which she was so 
 little accustomed, depressed her spirit. She could have 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 359 
 
 encountered tyranny and oppression, and she would have 
 tried to struggle with them; but this insolence of the 
 insignificant made her feel her insignificance; and the 
 absorption all this time of the guests in their newspapers, 
 aggravated her nervous sense of her utter helplessness. 
 All her feminine reserve and modesty came over her ; alone 
 in this room among men, she felt overpowered, and she was 
 about to make a precipitate retreat when the clock of the 
 coffee-room sounded the half hour. In a paroxysm of 
 nervous excitement, she exclaimed, 'Is there not one among 
 you who will assist me ? ' 
 
 All the newspaper readers put down their journals, and 
 stared. 
 
 1 Hoity, toity ! ' said the waiter, and he left off throwing 
 the sand. 
 
 1 Well, what's the matter now ? ' said one of the guests. 
 
 ' I wish to see the master of the house on business of 
 urgency,' said Sybil, 'to himself, and to one of his friends, 
 and his servant here will not even reply to my enquiries.' 
 
 ' I say, Saul, why don't you answer the young lady ? ' 
 said another guest. 
 
 ' So I did,' said Saul. 'Did you call for coffee, Ma'am ? ' 
 
 ' Here's Mr. Tanner, if you want him, my dear,' said the 
 first guest, as a lean black-looking individual, with grizzled 
 hair and a red nose, entered the coffee-room from the in- 
 terior. ' Tanner, here's a lady wants you.' 
 
 1 And a very pretty girl too,' whispered one to another. 
 
 1 What's your pleasure ? ' said Mr. Tanner abruptly. 
 
 * I wish to speak to you alone,' said Sybil; and advancing 
 towards him, she said in a low voice, ' 'Tis about Walter 
 Gerard I would speak to you.' 
 
 ' Well, you can step in here if you like,' said Tanner, dis- 
 courteously ; ' there's only my wife ; ' and he led the way 
 to the inner room, a small close parlour, adorned with por- 
 traits of Tom Paine, Cobbett, Thistlewood, and General 
 Jackson ; with a fire, though it was a hot July, and a verv 
 
360 SYBIL; OR 
 
 fat woman affording still more heat, and who was drinking 
 shrub and water, and reading the police reports. She 
 stared rudely at Sybil as she entered, following Tanner, 
 who himself, when the door was closed, said, ' Well, now 
 what have yon got to say ? ' 
 
 * I wish to see Walter Gerard.' 
 
 ' Do yon indeed ! ' 
 
 'And,' continued Sybil, notwithstanding his sneering 
 remark, ' I come here that you may tell me where I may 
 find him.' 
 
 ' 1 believe he lives somewhere in Westminster,' said 
 Tanner, ' that's all I know about him ; and if this be all 
 you had to say, it might have been said in the coffee- 
 room.' 
 
 'It is not all that I have to say,' said Sybil ; ' and I be- 
 seech you, sir, listen to me. I know where Gerard lives ; 
 I am his daughter, and the same roof covers our heads. 
 But I wish to know where they meet to-night : you -under- 
 stand me ; ' and she looked at his wife, who had resumed 
 her police reports ; ' 'tis urgent.' 
 
 ' I don't know nothing about Gerard,' said Tanner, ' ex- 
 cept that he comes here and goes away again.' 
 
 'The matter on which I would see him,' said Sybil, 'is 
 as urgent as the imagination can conceive, and it concerns 
 you as well as himself; but, if you know not where I can 
 find him,' and she moved, as if about to retire, ' 'tis of 
 no use.' 
 
 ' Stop,' said Tanner, ' you can tell it to me.' 
 
 ' Why so ? You know not where he is ; you cannot tell 
 it to him.' 
 
 ' I don't know that,' said Tanner. ' Come, let's have it 
 out ; and if it will do him any good, I'll see if we can't 
 manage to find him.' 
 
 ' I can impart my news to him, and no one else,' said 
 Sybil. ' I am solemnly bound.' 
 
 'You can't have a better counseller than Tanner,' urged 
 his wife, getting curious ; ' you had better tell us.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 361 
 
 * I want no counsel ; I want that which yon can give me 
 if yon choose, information. My father instructed me that 
 if, certain circumstances occurring, it was a matter of the 
 last urgency that I should see him this evening, and, before 
 nine o'clock, I was to call here, and obtain from you the 
 direction where to find him ; the direction,' she added in a 
 lowered tone, and looking Tanner full in the face, ' where 
 they hold their secret council to-night.' 
 
 1 Hem,' said Tanner ; * I see you're on the free-list. And 
 pray how am I to know you are Gerard's daughter ? ' 
 
 'You do not doubt I am his daughter!' said Sybil, 
 proudly. 
 
 1 Hem ! ' said Tanner ; * I do not know that I do very 
 much,' and he whispered to his wife. Sybil removed from 
 them as far as she was able. 
 
 ' And this news is very urgent,' resumed Tanner ; ' and 
 concerns me, you say ? ' 
 
 1 Concerns you all,' said Sybil ; l and every minute is of 
 the last importance.' 
 
 ' I should like to have gone with you myself, and then 
 there could have been no mistake,' said Tanner ; ' but that 
 can't be ; we have a meeting here at half-past eight in our 
 great room. I don't much like breaking rules, especially 
 in such a business ; and yet, concerning all of us, as you 
 say, and so very urgent, I don't see how it could do harm ; 
 and I might, I wish I was quite sure you were the party.' 
 
 * How can I satisfy you ? ' said Sybil, distressed. 
 
 ' Perhaps the young person have got her mark on her 
 linen,' suggested the wife. ' Have you got a handkerchief, 
 Ma'am ? ' and she took Sybil's handkerchief, and looked at 
 it, and examined it at every corner. It had no mark. And 
 this unforeseen circumstance of great suspicion might have 
 destroyed everything, had not the production of the hand- 
 kerchief by Sybil also brought forth a letter addressed to 
 her from Hatton. 
 
 'It seems to be the party,' said the wife. 
 
 1 Well,' said Tanner, ' you know St. Martin's Lane, I 
 
362 SYBIL; OR 
 
 suppose ? Well, you go up St. Martin's Lane to a certain 
 point, and then you will get into Seven Dials ; and then 
 you'll go on. However, it is impossible to direct you ; you 
 must find your way. Hunt Street, going out of Silver 
 Street, No. 22. "lis what you call a blind street, with no 
 thoroughfare, and then you go down an alley. Can you 
 recollect that ? ' 
 
 1 Fear not.' 
 
 ' No. 22, Hunt Street, going out of Silver Street. Re- 
 member the alley. It's an ugly neighbourhood ; but you 
 go of your own accord.' 
 
 * Yes, yes. Good night.' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Urged by Sybil's entreaties the cab-driver hurried on. 
 With all the skilled experience of a thorough cockney cha- 
 rioteer, he tried to conquer time and space by his rare 
 knowledge of short cuts and fine acquaintance with un- 
 known thoroughfares. He seemed to avoid every street 
 which was the customary passage of mankind. The houses, 
 the population, the costume, the manners, the language, 
 through which they whirled their way, were of a different 
 state and nation from those with which the dwellers of the 
 dainty quarters of this city are acquainted. Now dark 
 streets of frippery and old stores, now market-places of en- 
 trails and carrion, with gutters running gore, sometimes 
 the way was enveloped in the yeasty fumes of a colossal 
 brewery, and sometimes they plunged into a labyrinth of 
 lanes teeming with life, and where the dog- stealer and the 
 pick-pocket, the burglar and the assassin, found a sympa- 
 thetic multitude of all ages j comrades for every enterprise, 
 and a market for every booty. 
 
 The long summer twilight was just expiring ; the pale 
 shadows of the moon were just stealing on ; the gas was 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 363 
 
 beginning to glare in shops of tripe and bacon, and the 
 paper lanterns to adorn the stall and the stand. They 
 crossed a broad street which seemed the metropolis of the 
 district ; it flamed with gin palaces ; a multitude were 
 sauntering in the mild though tainted air; bargaining, 
 blaspheming, drinking, wrangling ; and varying their busi- 
 ness and their potations, their fierce strife and their im- 
 pious irreverence, with flashes of rich humour, gleams of 
 native wit, and racy phrases of idiomatic slang. 
 
 Absorbed in her great mission, Sybil was almost insen- 
 sible to the scenes through which she passed, and her 
 innocence was thus spared many a sight and sound that 
 might have startled her vision or alarmed her ear. They 
 could not now be very distant from the spot ; they were 
 crossing this broad way, and then were about to enter 
 another series of small obscure dingy streets, when the cab- 
 driver giving a flank to his steed to stimulate it to a last 
 effort, the horse sprang forward, and the wheel of the cab 
 came off. 
 
 Sybil extricated herself from the vehicle unhurt ; a group 
 immediately formed round the cab, a knot of young thieves, 
 almost young enough for infant schools, a dustman, a 
 woman nearly naked and very drunk, and two unshorn 
 ruffians with brutality stamped on every feature, with pipes 
 in their mouths, and their hands in their pockets. 
 
 ' I can take you no further,' said the cabman : * my fare 
 is three shillings.' 
 
 1 What am I to do ? ' said Sybil, taking out her purse. 
 
 1 The best thing the young lady can do,' said the dust- 
 man, in a hoarse voice, ' is to stand something to us all.' 
 
 ' That's your time o'day,' squeaked a young thief. 
 
 ' I'll drink to your health with very great pleasure, my 
 dear,' hiccuped the woman. 
 
 1 How much have you got there ? ' said the young thief 
 making a dash at her purse, but he was not quite tall 
 enough, and failed. 
 
364 SYBIL; OR 
 
 'No wiolence/ said one of the ruffians taking his pipe 
 out of his mouth and sending a volume of smoke into 
 Sybil's face, ' we'll take the young lady to Mother Poppy's, 
 and then we'll make a night of it.' 
 
 But at this moment appeared a policeman, one of the 
 permanent garrison of the quarter, who seeing one of her 
 Majesty's carriages in trouble thought he must interfere. 
 ' Hilloa,' he said, ' what's all this ? ' And the cabman, who 
 was a good fellow though in too much trouble to aid Sybil, 
 explained in the terse and picturesque language of Cock- 
 aigne, doing full justice to his late fare, the whole circum- 
 stances. 
 
 1 Oh ! that's it,' said the policeman, ' the lady's respect- 
 able, is she ? Then I'd advise you and Hell Fire Dick to 
 stir your chalks, Splinterlegs. Keep moving's the time of 
 day, Madam ; you get on. Come ; ' and taking the woman 
 by her shoulder he gave her a spin that sent her many a 
 good yard. ' And what do you want ? ' he asked gruffly of 
 the lads. 
 
 1 We wants a ticket for the Mendicity Society,' said the 
 captain of the infant band, putting his thumb to his nose 
 and running away, followed by his troop. 
 
 ' And so yon want to go to Silver Street ? ' said her 
 official preserver to Sybil, for she had not thought it wise 
 to confess her ultimate purpose, and indicate under the 
 apprehended circumstances the place of rendezvous to a 
 member of the police. 
 
 ' Well ; that's not very difficult now. Go a-head ; take 
 the second turning to your right, and the third to your left, 
 and you're landed.' 
 
 Aided by these instructions, Sybil hastened on, avoiding 
 notice as much as was in her power, and assisted in some 
 degree by the advancing gloom of night. She reached 
 Silver Street ; a long, narrow, hilly street ; and now she 
 was at fault. There were not many persons about, and 
 there were few shops here ; yet one was at last at hand, 
 and she entered to enquire her way. The person at the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 365 
 
 counter was engaged, and many customers awaited him : 
 time was very precious : Sybil had made the enquiry and 
 received only a supercilious stare from the shopman, who 
 was weighing with precision some articles that he was 
 serving. A young man, shabby, but of a superior appear- 
 ance to the people of this quarter, good-looking, though 
 with a dissolute air, and who seemed waiting for a custo- 
 mer in attendance, addressed Sybil. ' 1 am going to Hunt 
 Street,' he said, ' shall I show you the way ? ' 
 
 She accepted this offer thankfully. ' It is close at hand, 
 I believe ? ' 
 
 ' Here it is,' he said ; and he turned down a street. 
 ' What is your house ? ' 
 
 1 No. 22 : a printing-office,' said Sybil ; for the street she 
 had entered was so dark she despaired of finding her way, 
 and ventured to trust so far a guide who was not a police- 
 man. 
 
 'The very house I am going to,' said the stranger: 
 'I am a printer.' And they walked on some way, until 
 they at length stopped before a glass illuminated door, 
 covered with a red curtain. Before it was a group of 
 several men and women brawling, but who did not notice 
 Sybil and her companion. 
 
 'Here we are,' said the man; and he pushed the door 
 open, inviting Sybil to enter. She hesitated ; it did 
 not agree with the description that had been given her by 
 the coffee-house keeper, but she had seen so much since, 
 and felt so much, and gone through so much, that she had 
 not at the moment that clear command of her memory 
 for which she was otherwise remarkable; but while she 
 faltered, an inner door was violently thrown open, and 
 Sybil moving aside, two girls, still beautiful in spite of gin 
 and paint, stepped into the street. 
 
 1 This cannot be the house,' exclaimed Sybil, starting 
 back, overwhelmed with shame and terror* ' Holy Virgin, 
 aid me ! ' 
 
 'And that's a blessed word to hear in this heathen land 
 
366 SYBIL : OR 
 
 exclaimed an Irishman, who was one of the group on the 
 outside. 
 
 * If you. be of our holy church,' said Sybil, appealing to 
 the man who had thus spoken and whom she gently drew 
 aside, ' I beseech you by everything we hold sacred, to aid 
 me.' 
 
 ' And will I not ? ' said the man ; ' and I should like to 
 see the arm that would hurt you ; ' and he looked round, 
 but the young man had disappeared. 'You are not a 
 countrywoman, I am thinking,' he added. 
 
 ' No, but a sister in Christ,' said Sybil ; ' listen to me, 
 good friend. I hasten to my father, he is in great 
 danger, in Hunt Street ; I know not my way, every moment 
 is precious ; guide me, I beseech you, honestly and truly 
 guide me ! ' 
 
 * Will I not ? Don't you be afraid, my dear. And her 
 poor father is ill ! I wish I had such a daughter ! We 
 have not far to go. You should have taken the next 
 turning. We must walk up this again, for 'tis a small 
 street with no thoroughfare. Come on without fear.' 
 
 Nor did Sybil fear ; for the description of the street 
 which the honest man had incidentally given, tallied with 
 her instructions. Encouraging her with many kind words, 
 and full of rough courtesies, the good Irishman led her to 
 the spot she had so long sought. There was the court she 
 was told to enter. It was well lit, and, descending the steps, 
 she stopped at the first door on her left, and knocked. 
 
 CHAPTER VII, 
 
 On the same night that Sybil was encountering so many 
 dangers, the saloons of Deloraine House blazed with a 
 thousand lights to welcome the world of power and 
 fashion to a festival of almost unprecedented magnificence. 
 Fronting a royal park, its long lines of illumined 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 367 
 
 windows and the bursts of gay and fantastic music 
 that floated from its walls attracted the admiration and 
 curiosity of another party that was assembled in the same 
 fashionable quarter, beneath a canopy not less bright and 
 reclining on a couch scarcely less luxurious, for they were 
 lit by the stars and reposed upon the grass. 
 
 * I say, Jim,' said a young genius of fourteen, stretching 
 himself upon the turf, ' I pity them ere jarvies a sitting on 
 their boxes all the night and waiting for the nobs what is 
 dancing. They as no repose.' 
 
 * But they as porter,' replied his friend, a sedater spirit, 
 with the advantage of an additional year or two of ex- 
 perience ; ' they takes their pot of half-and-half by turns, 
 and if their name is called, the link what they subscribe 
 for to pay, sings out, "Here;" and that's the way their 
 guvners is done.' 
 
 * I think I should like to be a link, Jim,' said the young 
 one. 
 
 ' I wish you may get it,' was the response : 'it's the 
 next best thing to a crossing : it's what everyone looks to 
 when he enters public life, but he soon finds 'tain't to be 
 done without a deal of interest. They keeps it to themselves, 
 and never lets anyone in unless he makes himself very 
 troublesome and gets up a party agin 'em.' 
 
 ' I wonder what the nobs has for supper,' said the young 
 one pensively. ' Lots of kidneys, I dare say.' 
 
 ' Oh ! no ; sweets is the time of day in these here 
 blowouts ; syllabubs like blazes, and snapdragon as makes 
 the flunkies quite pale.' 
 
 ' I would thank you, sir, not to tread upon this child,' 
 said a widow. She had three others with her slumbering 
 around, and this was the youngest wrapt in her only shawl. 
 
 'Madam,' replied the person whom she addressed, in 
 tolerable English, but with a marked accent, ' I have 
 bivouacked in many lands, but never with so young a 
 comrade : I beg you a thousand pardons.' 
 
368 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Sir, you are very polite. These warm nights are a 
 great blessing, but I am sure I know not what we shall do 
 in the fall of the leaf.' 
 
 1 Take no thought of the morrow,' said the foreigner, 
 who was a Pole, had served as a boy beneath the suns of 
 the Peninsula under Soult, and fought against Diebitsch 
 on the banks of the icy Vistula. ' It brings many changes.' 
 And, arranging the cloak which he had taken that day out 
 of pawn around him, he delivered himself up to sleep with 
 that facility which is not uncommon among soldiers. 
 
 Here broke out a brawl ; two girls began fighting and 
 blaspheming ; a man immediately came up, chastised, and 
 separated them. ' I am the Lord Mayor of the night,' he 
 said, ' and I will have no row here. 'Tis the like of you 
 that makes the beaks threaten to expel us from our 
 lodgings.' His authority seemed generally recognised, the 
 girls were quiet ; but they had disturbed a sleeping man, 
 who roused himself, looked around him, and said with a 
 scared look, 'Where am I ? What's all this ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! it's no thin',' said the elder of the two lads we first 
 noticed, ' only a couple of unfortinate gals who've prigged 
 a watch from a cove what was lushy, and fell asleep under 
 the trees, between this and Kinsington.' 
 
 'I wish they had not waked me,' said the man, 'I 
 walked as far as from Stokenchurch, and that's a matter of 
 forty mile, this morning, to see if I could get some work, 
 and went to bed here without any supper. I'm blessed if 
 
 I worn't dreaming of a roast leg of pork.' 
 
 1 It has not been a lucky day for me,' rejoined the lad ; 
 
 I I could not find a single gentleman's horse to hold, so 
 help me, except one what was at the House of Commons, 
 and he kept me there two mortal hours, and said, when he 
 came out, that he would remember me next time. I ain't 
 tasted no wittals to-day, except some cat's-meat, and a cold 
 potato, what was given me by a cabman ; but I have got a 
 quid here, and if you are very low, I'll give you half.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 369 
 
 In the meantime Lord Valentine, and the Princess 
 Stephanie of Enrasberg, with some companions worthy of 
 snch a pair, were dancing a new Mazurka before the 
 admiring assembly at Deloraine House. The ball was in 
 the statue gallery, illumined on this night in the Russian 
 fashion, which, while it diffused a brilliant light throughout 
 the beautiful chamber, was peculiarly adapted to develop 
 the contour of the marble forms of grace and loveliness that 
 were ranged around. 
 
 * Where is Arabella ? ' inquired Lord Marney of his 
 mother ; ' I want to present young Huntingford to her. 
 He can be of great use to me, but he bores me so, I cannot 
 talk to him. I want to present him to Arabella.' 
 
 1 Arabella is in the blue drawing-room. I saw her just 
 now with Mr. Jermyn and Charles. Count Soudriaffsky is 
 teaching them some Russian tricks.' 
 
 * What are Russian tricks to me ? she must talk to 
 young Huntingford ; everything depends on his working 
 with me against the Cut-and-Come-again branch-line ; 
 they have refused me my compensation, and I am not 
 going to have my estate cut up into ribbons without 
 compensation.' 
 
 ' My dear Lady Deloraine,' said Lady de Mowbray, * how 
 beautiful your gallery looks to-night ! Certainly there is 
 nothing in London that lights up so well.' 
 
 1 Its greatest ornaments are its guests. I am charmed to 
 see Lady Joan looking so well.' 
 
 1 You think so ? ' 
 
 ' Indeed.' 
 
 ' I wish ' and here Lady de Mowbray gave a 
 
 smiling sigh. ' What do you think of Mr. Mountchesney ? ' 
 
 ' He is universally admired.' 
 
 ' So everyone says, and yet ' 
 
 * Well, what do you think of the Dashville, Fitz ? ' said 
 Mr. Berners to Lord Fitzheron, ' I saw you dancing with 
 her.' 
 
 B B 
 
3?o SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' I can't bear her : she sets up to be natural, and is only 
 rude ; mistakes insolence for innocence ; says everything 
 which comes first to her lips, and thinks she is gay when 
 she is only giddy.' 
 
 * 'Tis brilliant,' said Lady Joan to Mr. Mountchesney. 
 ' When you are here,' he murmured. 
 
 1 And yet a ball in a gallery of art is not, in my opinion, 
 in good taste. The associations which are suggested by 
 sculpture are not festive. Repose is the characteristic of 
 sculpture. Do not you think so ? ' 
 
 1 Decidedly,' said Mr. Mountchesney. ' We danced in 
 the gallery at Matfield this Christmas, and I thought all 
 the time that a gallery is not the place for a ball ; it is too 
 long and too narrow.' 
 
 Lady Joan looked at him, and her lip rather curled. 
 
 * I wonder if Valentine has sold that bay cob of his,' said 
 Lord Milford to Lord Eugene de Vere. 
 
 ' I wonder,' said Lord Eugene. 
 
 'I wish you would ask him, Eugene,' said Lord 
 Milford; 'you understand, I don't want him to know I 
 want it.' 
 
 ' 'Tis such a bore to ask questions,' said Lord Eugene. 
 
 * Shall we carry Chichester ? ' asked Lady Firebrace of 
 Lady St. Julians. 
 
 1 Oh ! do not speak to me ever again of the House of 
 Commons,' she replied in a tone of affected despair. 
 * What use is winning our way by units ? It may take 
 years. Lord Protocol says, that " one is enough." That 
 Jamaica affair has really ended by greatly strengthening 
 them.' 
 
 ' I do not despair,' said Lady Firebrace. ' The unequi- 
 vocal adhesion of the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine is a great 
 thing. It gives us the northern division at a dissolution.' 
 
 1 That is to say in five years, my dear Lady Firebrace. 
 The country will be ruined before that.' 
 
 ' We shall see. Is it a settled thing between Lady Joan 
 and Mr. Mountchesney ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 371 
 
 * Not tlie slightest foundation. Lady Joan is a most 
 sensible girl, as well as a most charming person, and my 
 dear friend. She is not in a hurry to marry, and quite 
 right. If indeed Frederick were a little more steady; 
 but nothing shall ever induce me to consent to his marrying 
 her, unless I thought he was worthy of her.' 
 
 ' You are such a good mother,' exclaimed Lady Firebrace, 
 * and such a good friend ! I am glad to hear it is not true 
 about Mr. Mountchesney.' 
 
 4 If you could only help me, my dear Lady Firebrace, to 
 put an end to that affair between Frederick and Lady 
 Wallington. It is so silly, and getting talked about ; and 
 in his heart too he really loves Lady Joan; only he is 
 scarcely aware of it himself.' 
 
 I We must manage it,' said Lady Firebrace, with a look 
 of encouraging mystery. 
 
 * Do, my dear creature ; speak to him ; he is very much 
 guided by your opinion. Tell him everybody is laughing 
 at him, and any other little thing that occurs to you.' 
 
 I I will come directly,' said Lady Marney to her husband, 
 1 only let me see this.' 
 
 ' Well, I will bring Huntingford here. Mind you speak 
 to him a great deal ; take his arm, and go down to supper 
 with him, if you can. He is a very nice sensible young 
 follow, and you will like him very much, I am sure ; a 
 little shy at first, but he only wants bringing out.' 
 
 A dexterous description of one of the most unlicked and 
 unlickable cubs that ever entered society with forty 
 thousand a year ; courted by all, and with just that degree 
 of cunning that made him suspicious of every attention. 
 
 1 This dreadful Lord Huntingford ! ' said Lady Marney. 
 
 1 Jermyn and I will interfere,' said Egremont, ' and help 
 
 you.' 
 
 1 No, no,' said Lady Marney, shaking her head, ' I must 
 do it.' 
 
 'At this moment, a groom of the chambers advanced, 
 b a 2 
 
372 SYBIL; OR 
 
 and drew Egremont aside, saying in a low tone, * Tour 
 servant, Mr. Egremont, is here, and wishes to see you 
 instantly.' 
 
 ' My servant ! Instantly ! What the deuce can be 
 the matter ? I hope the Albany is not on fire,' and he 
 quitted the room. 
 
 In the outer hall, amid a crowd of footmen, Egremont 
 recognised his valet, who immediately came forward. 
 
 1 A porter has brought this letter, sir, and I thought it 
 best to come on with it at once.' 
 
 The letter directed to Egremont, bore also on its super- 
 scription these words : ' This letter must be instantly 
 carried by the bearer to Mr. Egremont, wherever he 
 may be.' 
 
 Egremont, with some change of countenance, drew 
 aside, and opening the letter, read it by a lamp at hand. 
 It must have been very brief ; but the face of him to whom 
 it was addressed, became, as he perused its lines, greatly 
 agitated. "When he had finished reading it, he seemed for 
 a moment lost in profound thought ; then looking up, he 
 dismissed his servant without instructions, and hastening 
 back to the assembly, he enquired of the groom of the 
 chambers whether Lord John Russell, whom he had 
 observed in the course of the evening, was still present ; 
 and he was answered in the affirmative. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour after this incident, Lady 
 Eirebrace said to Lady St. Julians in a tone of mysterious 
 alarm, * Do you see that ? ' 
 'No! what?' 
 
 1 Do not look as if you observed them : Lord John and 
 Mr. Egremont, in the furthest window ; they have been 
 there these ten minutes, in the most earnest conversation. 
 I am afraid we have lost him.' 
 
 ' I have always been expecting it,' said Lady St. 
 Julians. 'He breakfasts with that Mr. Trenchard, and 
 doea all those sort of things. Men who breakfast out are 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 373 
 
 generally liberals. Have not you observed that ? I 
 wonder why ? ' 
 
 ' It shows a restless revolutionary mind,' said Lady 
 Firebrace, ' that can settle to nothing ; but must be 
 running after gossip the moment they are awake.' 
 
 1 Yes,' said Lady St. Julians. ' I think those men who 
 breakfast out, or who give breakfasts, are generally 
 dangerous characters ; at least, I would not trust them. 
 The Whigs are very fond of that sort of thing. If Mr. 
 Egremont joins them, I really do not see what shadow of a 
 claim Lady Deloraine can urge to have anything.' 
 
 * She only wants one thing,' said Lady Firebrace, ' and 
 we know she cannot have that.' 
 
 1 Why ? ' 
 
 1 Because Lady St. Julians will have it.' 
 
 ' You are too kind,' with many smiles. 
 
 'No, I assure you Lord Masque told me that her 
 Majesty ' and here Lady Firebrace whispered. 
 
 'Well,' said Lady St. Julians, evidently much gratified, 
 * I do not think I am one who am likely to forget my 
 friends.' 
 
 ' That I am sure you are not ! ' said Lady Firebrace. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Behind the printing-office in the alley at the door of 
 which we left Sybil, was a yard that led to some premises 
 that had once been used as a workshop, but were now 
 generally unoccupied. In a rather spacious chamber, over 
 which was a loft, five men, one of whom was Gerard, were 
 busily engaged. There was no furniture in the room 
 except a few chairs and a deal table, on which were a 
 solitary light and a variety of papers. 
 
 ' Depend upon it,' said Gerard, ' we must stick to the 
 National Holiday : we can do nothing effectively, unless 
 
374 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 the movement is simultaneous. They hare not troops to 
 cope with a simultaneous movement, and the Holiday is 
 the only machinery to secure unity of action. No work 
 for six weeks, and the rights of Labour will be acknow- 
 ledged ! ' 
 
 1 We shall never be able to make the people unanimous 
 in a cessation of labour,' said a pale young man, very thin, 
 but with a countenance of remarkable energy. ' The 
 selfish instincts will come into play and will balk our 
 political object, while a great increase of physical suffering 
 must be inevitable.' 
 
 1 It might be done,' said a middle-aged thickset man, in 
 a thoughtful tone. 'If the Unions were really to put 
 their shoulder to the wheel, it might be done.' 
 
 ' And if it is not done,' said Gerard, ' what do you 
 propose ? The people ask you to guide them. Shrink at 
 such a conjuncture, and our influence over them is forfeited, 
 and justly forfeited.' 
 
 ' I am for partial but extensive insurrections,' said the 
 young man. ' Sufficient in extent and number to demand 
 all the troops and yet to distract the military movements. 
 We can count on Birmingham again, if we act at once 
 before their new Police Act is in force ; Manchester is ripe, 
 and several of the cotton towns ; but above all I have 
 letters that assure me that at this moment we can do any- 
 thing in Wales.' 
 
 ' Glamorganshire is right to a man,' said Wilkins, a 
 Baptist teacher. * And trade is so bad that the Holiday at 
 all events must take place there, for the masters themselves 
 are extinguishing their furnaces.' 
 
 1 All the north is seething,' said Gerard. 
 
 'We must contrive to agitate the metropolis,' said 
 Maclast, a shrewd carroty- haired paper-stainer. ' We must 
 have weekly meetings at Kennington and demonstrations 
 at White Conduit House : we cannot do more here, I fear, 
 than talk, but a few thousand men on Kennington Common 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 375 
 
 every Saturday and some spicy resolutions will keep the 
 Guards in London. 
 
 * Ay, ay,' said Gerard ; * I wish the woollen and cotton 
 trades were as bad to do as the iron, and we should need 
 no holiday as you say, Wilkins. However it will come. 
 In the mean time the Poor-law pinches and terrifies, and 
 will make even the most spiritless turn.' 
 
 * The accounts to-day from the north are very en- 
 couraging though,' said the young man. ' Stevens is 
 producing a great effect, and this plan of our people going 
 in procession and taking possession of the churches very 
 much affects the imagination of the multitude.' 
 
 * Ah ! ' said Gerard, * if we could only have the Church 
 on our side, as in the good old days, we would soon put an 
 end to the demon tyranny of Capital.' 
 
 'And now,' said the pale young man, taking up a 
 manuscript paper, * to our immediate business. Here is 
 the draft of the projected proclamation of the Convention 
 on the Birmingham outbreak. It enjoins peace and order, 
 and counsels the people to arm themselves in order to 
 secure both. You understand : that they may resist if the 
 troops and the police endeavour to produce disturbance.' 
 
 ' Ay, ay,' said Gerard. ' Let it be stout. We will 
 settle this at once, and so get it out to-morrow. Then for 
 action.' 
 
 'But we must circulate this pamphlet of the Polish 
 Count on the manner of encountering cavalry with pikes,' 
 said Maclast. 
 
 "Tis printed,' said the stout thickset man; 'we have 
 set it up on a broadside. We have sent ten thousand to 
 the north and five thousand to John Frost. We shall have 
 another delivery to-morrow. It takes very generally.' 
 
 The pale young man then read the draft of the proclama- 
 tion ; it was canvassed and criticised, sentence by sentence ; 
 altered, approved ; finally put to the vote, and unanimously 
 carried. On the morrow it was to be posted in every 
 
37$ SYBIL ; OR 
 
 thoroughfare of the metropolis, and circulated in every 
 great city of the provinces and every populous district of 
 labour. 
 
 'And now,' said Gerard, 'I shall to-morrow to the north, 
 where I am wanted. But before I go, I propose, as sug- 
 gested yesterday, that we five, together with Langley, 
 \ whom I counted on seeing here to-night, now form our- 
 
 selves into a committee for arming the people. Three of 
 us are permanent in London ; Wilkins and myself will aid 
 you in the provinces. Nothing can be decided on this head 
 till we see Langley, who will make a communication from 
 Birmingham that cannot be trusted to writing. The seven 
 o'clock train must have long since arrived. lie is now a 
 good hour behind his time.' 
 
 ' I hear footsteps,' said Maclast. 
 
 1 He comes,' said Gerard. 
 
 The door of the chamber opened and a woman entered. 
 Pale, agitated, exhausted, she advanced to them in the 
 glimmering light. 
 
 ' What is this ? ' said several of the council. 
 
 ' Sybil ! ' exclaimed the astonished Gerard, and he rose 
 from his seat. 
 
 She caught the arm of her father, and leant on him for 
 a moment in silence. Then looking up, with an expression 
 which seemed to indicate that she was rallying her last 
 energies, she said, in a voice low, yet so distinct that it 
 reached the ear of all present, ' There is not an instant to 
 lose ; fly ! ' 
 
 The men rose hastily from their seats ; they approached 
 the messenger of danger ; Gerard waved them off, for he 
 perceived his daughter was sinking. Gently he placed her 
 in his chair ; she was sensible, for she grasped his arm, and 
 she murmured, still she murmured, ' fly ! ' 
 
 1 'Tis very strange,' said Maclast. 
 
 * I feel queer,' said the thickset man. 
 
 ' Methinks she looks like a heavenly messenger,' said 
 Wilkins. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 377 
 
 ' I had no idea that earth had anything so fair/ said the 
 youthful scribe of proclamations. 
 
 1 Hush, friends,' said Gerard ; and then he bent over 
 Sybil, and said in a low soothing voice, ' Tell me, my child, 
 what is it ? ' 
 
 She looked up to her father, a glance as it were of de- 
 votion and despair ; her lips moved, bnt they refused their 
 office, and expressed no words. There was a deep silence 
 in the room. 
 
 ' She is gone,' said her father. 
 
 * Water,' said the young man, and he hurried away to 
 obtain some. 
 
 * I feel queer,' said his thickset colleague to Maclast. 
 
 * I will answer for Langley as for myself,' said Maclast ; 
 ' and there is not another human being aware of our 
 purpose.' 
 
 1 Except Morley.' 
 
 1 Yes ; except Morley. But I should as soon donbt Gerard 
 as Stephen Morley.' 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 ' I cannot conceive how she traced me,' said Gerard. 'I 
 have never even breathed to her of our meeting. Would 
 we had some water ! Ah ! here it comes.' 
 
 ' I arrest yon in the Queen's name,' said a Serjeant of 
 police. ' Resistance is vain.' Maclast blew out the light, 
 and then ran np into the loft, followed by the thickset 
 man, who fell down the stairs. Wilkins got np the chim- 
 ney. The Serjeant took a lantern from his pocket, and 
 threw a powerful light on the chamber, while his followers 
 entered, seized and secured all the papers, and commenced 
 their search. 
 
 The light fell upon a group that did not move; the father 
 holding the hand of his insensible child, while he extended 
 his other arm as if to preserve her from the profanation of 
 the touch of the invaders. 
 
 'You are Walter Gerard, I presume ? ' said the Serjeant; 
 six foot two, without shoes.' 
 
37% SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Whoever I maybe,' he replied, 'I presume you will pro- 
 duce your warrant, friend, before you touch me.' 
 
 * 'Tis here. We want five of you, named herein, and all 
 others that may happen to be found in your company.' 
 
 ' 1 shall obey the warrant,' said Gerard, after he had ex- 
 amined it ; ' but this maiden, my daughter, knows nothing 
 of this meeting or its purpose. She has but just arrived, 
 and how she traced me I know not. You will let me re- 
 cover her, and then permit her to depart.' 
 
 ' Can't let no one out of my sight found in this room.' 
 
 1 But she is innocent, even if we were guilty ; she could 
 be nothing else but innocent, for she knows nothing of this 
 meeting and its business, both of which I am prepared at 
 the right time and place to vindicate. She entered this 
 room a moment only before yourself, entered and swooned.' 
 
 I Can't help that ; must take her; she can tell the magis- 
 trate anything she likes, and he must decide.' 
 
 ' Why, you are not afraid of a young girl ? ' 
 
 I I am afraid of nothing, but I must do my duty. Come, 
 we have no time for talk. I must take you both.' 
 
 ' By G d, you shall not take her ; ' and letting go her 
 hand, Gerard advanced before her and assumed a position 
 of defence. 'You know, I find, my height; my strength 
 does not shame my stature ! Look to yourself. Advance 
 and touch this maiden, and I will fell you and your minions 
 like oxen at their pasture.' 
 
 The inspector took a pistol from his pocket, and pointed 
 it at Gerard. 'You see,' he said, 'resistance is quite vain.' 
 
 ' For slaves and cravens, but not for us. I say, you 
 shall not touch her till I am dead at her feet. Now, do 
 your worst.' 
 
 At this moment, two policemen who had been searching 
 the loft, descended with Maclast, who had vainly attempted 
 to effect his escape over a neighbouring roof; the thickset 
 man was already secured ; and Wilkins had been pulled down 
 the chimney, and made his appearance in as grimy a state 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 379 
 
 as such a shelter would naturally have occasioned. The 
 young man too, their first prisoner, who had been captured 
 before they had entered the room, was also brought in ; 
 there was now abundance of light ; the four prisoners were 
 ranged and well guarded at the end of the apartment; 
 Gerard standing before Sybil still maintained his position 
 of defence, and the serjeant was, a few yards away, in his 
 front with his pistol in his hand. 
 
 1 Well, you are a queer chap,' said the serjeant ; * but 
 I must do my duty. I shall give orders to my men to 
 seize you, and if you resist them, I shall shoot you through 
 the head.' 
 
 ' Stop ! ' called out one of the prisoners, the young man 
 who drew proclamations, she moves. Do with us as you 
 think fit, but you cannot be so harsh as to seize one that is 
 senseless, and a woman ! ' 
 
 ' I must do my duty,' said the serjeant, rather perplexed 
 at the situation. ' Well, if you like, take steps to restore 
 her, and when she has come to herself, she shall be moved 
 in a hackney coach alone with her father.' 
 
 The means at hand to recover Sybil were rude, but they 
 assisted a reviving nature. She breathed, she sighed, 
 slowly opened her beautiful dark eyes, and looked around. 
 Her father held her death-cold hand ; she returned his 
 pressure ; her lips moved, and still she murmured ' fly ! ' 
 
 Gerard looked at the serjeant. ' I am ready,' he said, 
 'and I will carry her.' The officer nodded assent. Guarded 
 by two policemen, the tall delegate of Mowbray bore his 
 precious burthen out of the chamber through the yard, the 
 printing- offices, up the alley, till a hackney-coach received 
 them in Hunt Street, round which a mob had already col- 
 lected, though kept at a discreet distance by the police. 
 One officer entered the coach with them ; another 
 mounted the box. Two other coaches carried the rest of 
 the prisoners and their guards, and within half an hour 
 from the arrival of Sybil at the scene of the secret meeting, 
 
380 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 she was on her way to Bow Street to be examined as a 
 prisoner of state. 
 
 Sybil rallied qnickly during their progress to the police- 
 office. Satisfied to find herself with her father, she wonld 
 have enquired as to all that had happened, but Gerard 
 at first discouraged her ; at length he thought it wisest 
 gradually to convey to her that they were prisoners, but 
 he treated the matter lightly, did not doubt that she would 
 immediately be discharged, and added that though he might 
 be detained for a day or so, his offence was at all events 
 bailable, and he had friends on whom he could rely. When 
 Sybil clearly comprehended that she was a prisoner, and 
 that her public examination was impending, she became 
 silent, and, leaning back in the coach, covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 The prisoners arrived at Bow Street ; they were hurried 
 into a back office, where they remained some time unno- 
 ticed, several policemen remaining in the room. At length, 
 about twenty minutes having elapsed, a man dressed in 
 black and of a severe aspect, entered the room, accom- 
 panied by an inspector of police. He first inquired whether 
 these were the prisoners, what were their names and de- 
 scriptions, which each had to give and which were written 
 down, where they were arrested, why they were arrested ; 
 then scrutinising them sharply, he said the magistrate was 
 at the Home Office, and he doubted whether they could be 
 examined until the morrow. Upon this Gerard commenced 
 stating the circumstances under which Sybil had unfor- 
 tunately been arrested, but the gentleman in black, with a 
 severe aspect, immediately told him to hold his tongue, and, 
 when Gerard persisted, declared that, if he did not imme- 
 diately cease, he should be separated from the other 
 prisoners, and be ordered into solitary confinement. 
 
 Another half-hour of painful suspense. The prisoners 
 were not permitted to hold any conversation. Sybil sat 
 half reclining on a form with her back against the wall, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 381 
 
 and her face covered, silent and motionless. At the end of 
 half an hour, the inspector of police, who had visited them 
 with the gentleman in black, entered, and announced that 
 the prisoners could not be brought up for examination that 
 evening, and they must make themselves as comfortable as 
 they could for the night. Gerard made a last appeal to the 
 inspector that Sybil might be allowed a separate chamber, 
 and in this he was unexpectedly successful. 
 
 The inspector was a kind-hearted man : he lived at the 
 office and his wife was the housekeeper. He had already 
 given her an account, an interesting account, of his female 
 prisoner. The good woman's imagination was touched as 
 well as her heart ; she had herself suggested that they 
 ought to soften the rigour of the fair prisoner's lot ; and 
 her husband therefore almost anticipated the request of 
 Gerard. He begged Sybil to accompany him to his better 
 half, and at once promised all the comforts and convenience 
 which they could command. As, attended by him, she took 
 her way to the apartments of his family, they passed 
 through a room in which there were writing materials ; 
 and Sybil, speaking for the first time, and in a faint voice, 
 enquired of the inspector whether it were permitted to ap- 
 prise a friend of her situation. She was answered in the 
 affirmative, on condition that the note was previously 
 perused by him. 
 
 1 1 will write it at once,' she said, and taking up a pen 
 inscribed these words : 
 
 ' I followed your counsel ; I entreated him to quit 
 London this night. He pledged himself to do so on the 
 morrow. 
 
 1 1 learnt he was attending a secret meeting ; that there 
 was urgent peril. I tracked him through scenes of terror. 
 Alas ! I arrived only in time to be myself seized as a con- 
 spirator, and I have been arrested and carried a prisoner 
 to Bow Street, where I write this. 
 
 'I ask you not to interfere for him ; that would be vain ; 
 
3 32 SYBIL; OR 
 
 but if I were free, I might at least secure him justice. But 
 I am not free : I am to be brought up for public exami- 
 nation to-morrow, if I survive this night. 
 
 ' You are powerful ; you know all ; you know what I 
 say is truth. None else will credit it. Save me ! ' 
 
 1 And now,' said Sybil to the inspector in a tone of 
 mournful desolation and of mild sweetness, ' all depends on 
 your faith to me,' and she extended him the letter, which 
 he read. 
 
 1 Whoever he may be, and wherever he may be,' said the 
 man with emotion, for the spirit of Sybil had already 
 controlled his nature, * provided the person to whom this 
 letter is addressed is within possible distance, fear not it 
 shall reach him.' 
 
 'I will seal and address it then,' said Sybil, and she 
 addressed the letter to 
 
 'THE HON. CHARLES EGREMONT, M.P.,' 
 
 adding that superscription the sight of which had so 
 agitated Egremont at Deloraine House. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Night waned : and Sybil was at length slumbering. The 
 cold that precedes the dawn had stolen over her senses, 
 and calmed the excitement of her nerves. She was lying 
 on the ground, covered with a cloak of which her kind 
 hostess had prevailed on her to avail herself, and was 
 partly resting on a chair, at which she had been praying 
 when exhausted nature gave way and she slept. Her 
 bonnet had fallen off, and her rich hair, which had broken 
 loose, covered her shoulder like a mantle. Her slumber 
 was brief and disturbed, but it had in a great degree 
 soothed the irritated brain. She woke, however, in terror 
 from a dream in which she had been dragged through a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 383 
 
 mob, and carried before a tribunal. The coarse jeers, the 
 brutal threats, still echoed in her ear; and when she 
 looked around, she could not for some moments recall or 
 recognise the scene. In one corner of the room, which 
 was sufficiently spacious, was a bed occupied by the still 
 sleeping wife of the inspector; there was a great deal 
 of heavy furniture of dark mahogany ; a bureau, several 
 chests of drawers; over the mantel was a piece of faded 
 embroidery framed, that had been executed by the wife of 
 the inspector, when she was at school, and opposite to it, 
 on the other side, were portraits of Dick Curtis and Dutch 
 Sam, who had been the tutors of her husband, and now 
 lived as heroes in his memory. 
 
 Slowly came over Sybil the consciousness of the dreadful 
 eve that was past. She remained for some time on her 
 knees in silent prayer: then, stepping lightly, she ap- 
 proached the window. It was barred. The room w T hich she 
 inhabited was a high storey of the house ; it looked down 
 upon one of those half-tawdry, half-squalid streets that one 
 finds in the vicinity of our theatres ; some wretched courts, 
 haunts of misery and crime, blended with gin palaces and 
 slang taverns, burnished and brazen ; not a being was 
 stirring. It was just that single hour of the twenty-four 
 when crime ceases, debauchery is exhausted, and even 
 desolation finds a shelter. 
 
 It was dawn, but still grey. For the first time since she 
 had been a prisoner, Sybil was alone. A prisoner, and in 
 a few hours to be examined before a public tribunal ! Her 
 heart sank. How far her father had committed himself 
 was entirely a mystery to her ; but the language of Morley, 
 and all that she had witnessed, impressed her with the 
 conviction that he was deeply implicated. He had indeed 
 spoken in their progress to the police-office with confidence 
 as to the future, but then he had every motive to encourage 
 her in her despair, and to support her under the over- 
 whelming circumstances in which she was so suddenly 
 
384 SYBIL; OR 
 
 involved. What a catastrophe to all his high aspirations ! 
 It tore her heart to think of him ! As for herself, she 
 would still hope that ultimately she might obtain justice, 
 but she could scarcely natter herself that at the first any 
 distinction would be made between her case and that of 
 the other prisoners. She would probably be committed 
 for trial ; and though her innocence on that occasion might 
 be proved, she would have been a prisoner in the interval, 
 instead of devoting all her energies in freedom to the 
 support and assistance of her father. She shrank, too, 
 with all the delicacy of a woman, from the impending 
 examination in open court before the magistrate. Sup- 
 ported by her convictions, vindicating a sacred principle, 
 there was no trial, perhaps, to which Sybil could not have 
 been superior, and no test of her energy and faith which 
 she would not have triumphantly encountered ; but to be 
 hurried like a criminal to the bar of a police-office, sus- 
 pected of the lowest arts of sedition, ignorant even of what 
 she was accused, without a conviction to support her, or 
 the ennobling consciousness of having failed at least in a 
 great cause : all these were circumstances which infinitely 
 disheartened and depressed her. She felt sometimes that 
 she should be unable to meet the occasion ; had it not 
 been for Gerard, she could almost have wished that death 
 might release her from its base perplexities. 
 
 Was there any hope ? In the agony of her soul she had 
 confided last night in one ; with scarcely a bewildering 
 hope that he could save her. He might not have the 
 jDOwer, the opportunity, the wish. He might shrink from 
 mixing himself up with such characters and such trans- 
 actions ; he might not have received her hurried appeal in 
 time to act upon it, even if the desire of her soul were 
 practicable. A thousand difficulties, a thousand obstacles 
 now occurred to her ; and she felt her hopelessness. 
 
 Tet, notwithstanding her extreme anxiety, and the 
 absence of all surrounding objects to soothe and to console 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 385 
 
 her, the expanding dawn revived and even enconraged 
 Sybil. In spite of the confined situation, she could still 
 partially behold a sky dappled with rosy hues ; a sense of 
 freshness touched her ; she could not resist endeavouring 
 to open the window and feel the air, notwithstanding all 
 the bars. The wife of the inspector stirred, and half 
 slumbering, murmured, ' Are you up ? It cannot be more 
 than five o'clock. If you open the window we shall catch 
 cold ; but I will rise and help you to dress.' 
 
 This woman, like her husband, was naturally kind, and 
 at once influenced by Sybil. They both treated her as a 
 superior being ; and if, instead of the daughter of a lowly 
 prisoner and herself a prisoner, she had been the noble 
 child of a captive minister of state, they could not have ex- 
 tended to her a more humble and even delicate solicitude. 
 
 It had not yet struck seven, and the wife of the inspector 
 suddenly stopping and listening, said, They are stirring 
 early : ' and then, after a moment's pause, she opened the 
 door, at which she stood for some time, endeavouring to 
 catch the meaning of the mysterious sounds. She looked 
 back at Sybil, and saying, ' Hush, I shall be back directly,' 
 she withdrew, shutting the door. 
 
 In little more than two hours, as Sybil had been 
 informed, she would be summoned to her examination. It 
 was a sickening thought. Hope vanished as the catas- 
 trophe advanced. She almost accused herself for having 
 without authority sought out her father ; it had been, as 
 regarded him, a fruitless mission, and, by its results on 
 her, had aggravated his present sorrows and perplexities. 
 Her mind again recurred to him whose counsel had 
 indirectly prompted her rash step, and to whose aid in her 
 infinite hopelessness she had appealed. The woman who 
 had all this time been only standing on the landing-place 
 without the door, now re-entered with a puzzled and 
 curious air, saying, ' I cannot make it out ; some one has 
 arrived.' 
 
 
 
386 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 ' Some one has arrived.' Simple yet agitating words. 
 ' Is it unusual,' enquired Sybil in a trembling tone, for 
 persons to arrive at this hour ? ' 
 
 'Yes,' said the wife of the inspector. 'They never 
 bring them from the stations until the office opens. I can- 
 not make it out. Hush ! ' and at this moment some one 
 tapped at the door. 
 
 The woman returned to the door and reopened it, and 
 some words were spoken which did not reach Sybil, whose 
 heart beat violently as a wild thought rushed over her 
 mind. The suspense was so intolerable, her agitation so 
 great, that she was on the point of advancing and asking if, 
 when the door was shut and she was again left alone. 
 She threw herself on the bed. It seemed to her that she 
 had lost all control over her intelligence. All thought and 
 feeling merged in that deep suspense, when the order of our 
 being seems to stop and quiver as it were upon its axis. 
 
 The woman returned; her countenance was glad. Per- 
 ceiving the agitation of Sybil, she said, 'You may dry 
 your eyes, my dear. There is nothing like a friend at 
 court ; there's a warrant from the Secretary of State for 
 your release.' 
 
 ' No, no,' said Sybil springing from her chair. ' Is he 
 here ? ' 
 
 ' What, the Secretary of State ! ' said the woman. 
 
 ' No, no ; I mean is anyone here ? ' 
 
 ' There is a coach waiting for you at the door with the 
 messenger from the office, and you are to depart forthwith. 
 My husband is here ; it was he who knocked at the door 
 The warrant came before the office was opened.' 
 
 1 My father ! I must see him.' 
 
 The inspector at this moment tapped again at the door 
 and then entered. He caught the last request of Sybil, 
 and replied to it in the negative. ' You must not stay,' he 
 said; 'you must be off immediately. I will tell all to 
 your father. And take a hint ; this affair may be bailable 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 387 
 
 or it may not bo. I can't give an opinion, but it depends 
 on the evidence. If yon have any good man you know, 
 I mean a householder long established and well to do in 
 the world, I advise you to lose no time in looking him up. 
 That will do your father much more good than saying good 
 bye and all that sort of thing.' 
 
 Bidding farewell to his kind wife, and leaving many 
 weeping messages for her father, Sybil descended the 
 stairs with the inspector. The office was not opened ; 
 a couple of policemen only were in the passage, and, as 
 she appeared, one of them went forth to clear the way for 
 Sybil to the coach that was waiting for her. A milkwoman 
 or two, a stray chimney-sweep, a pieman with his smoking 
 apparatus, and several of those nameless nothings that 
 always congregate and make the nucleus of a mob, 
 probably our young friends who had been passing the 
 night in Hyde Park, had already gathered round the 
 office door. They were dispersed and returned again and 
 took up their position at a more respectful distance, 
 abusing with many racy execrations that ancient body 
 which from a traditionary habit they still called the New 
 Police. 
 
 A man in a loose white great coat, his countenance 
 concealed by a shawl which was wound round his neck 
 and by his slouched hat, assisted Sybil into the coach, and 
 pressed her hand at the same time with great tenderness". 
 Then he mounted the box by the driver, and ordered him to 
 make the best of his way to Smith Square. 
 
 With a beating heart, Sybil leant back in the coach and 
 clasped her hands. Her brain was too wild to think ; the 
 incidents of her life during the last four- and- twenty hours 
 had been so strange and rapid that she seemed almost to 
 resign any quality of intelligent control over her fortunes, 
 and to deliver herself up to the shifting visions of the startling 
 dream. His voice had sounded in her ear as his hand had 
 touched hers. And on thoso tones her memory lingered, 
 
 c c 2 
 
3 83 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 and that pressure had reached her heart. What tender 
 devotion! What earnest fidelity! What brave and ro- 
 mantic faith ! Had she breathed on some talisman, and 
 called up some obedient genie to her aid, the spirit could 
 not have been more loyal, nor the completion of her behest 
 more ample and precise. 
 
 She passed the towers of the church of St. John ; of the 
 saint who had seemed to guard over her in the exigency of 
 her existence. She was approaching her threshold ; the 
 blood left her cheek, her heart palpitated. The coach 
 stopped. Trembling and timid, she leant upon his arm 
 and yet dared not look upon his face. They entered the 
 house ; they were in the room where two months before he 
 had knelt to her in vain, which yesterday had been the 
 scene of so many heart-rending passions. 
 
 As in some delicious dream, when the enchanted fancy 
 has traced for a time with coherent bliss the stream of 
 bright adventures and sweet and touching phrase, there 
 comes at last some wild gap in the flow of fascination, and 
 by means which we cannot trace, and by an agency which 
 we cannot pursue, we find ourselves in some enrapturing 
 situation that is, as it were, the ecstasy of our life ; so it 
 happened now. that, while in clear and precise order there 
 seemed to flit over the soul of Sybil all that had passed, all 
 that he had done, all that she felt, by some mystical process 
 which memory could not recall, Sybil found herself pressed 
 to the throbbing heart of Egremont, nor shrinking from 
 the embrace, which e-xpressed the tenderness of his devoted 
 love ! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mowbray was in a state of great excitement. It was Satur- 
 day evening ; the mills were closed ; the news had arrived 
 of the arrest of the Delegate. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 389 
 
 * Here's a go S ' said Dandy Mick to Devilsdust. 4 What 
 do you think of this ? ' 
 
 * It's the beginning of the end,' said Devilsdust. 
 
 ' The deuce ! ' said the Dandy, who did not clearly com- 
 prehend the bent of the observation of his much pondering 
 and philosophic friend, but was touched by its oracular 
 terseness. 
 
 'We must see Warner,' said Devilsdust, 'and call a 
 meeting of the people on the Moor for to-morrow evening. 
 I will draw up some resolutions. We must speak out; 
 we must terrify the Capitalists.' 
 
 1 1 am all for a strike,' said Mick. 
 
 ' 'Tisn't ripe,' said Devilsdust. 
 
 ' But that's what you always say, Dusty,' said Mick. 
 
 ' I watch events,' said Devilsdust. 'If you want to be a 
 leader of the people you must learn to watch events.' 
 
 ' But what do you mean by watching events ? ' 
 
 ' Do you see Mother Carey's stall ? ' said Dusty, pointing 
 in the direction of the counter of the good-natured widow. 
 
 ' I should think I did ; and what's more, Julia owes her 
 a tick for herrings.' 
 
 'Right,' said Devilsdust, 'and nothing but herrings are 
 to be seen on her board. Two years ago it was meat.' 
 
 1 I twig,' said Mick. 
 
 ' Wait till it's wegetables ; when the people can't buy even 
 fish. Then we will talk about strikes. That's what I call 
 watching events.' 
 
 Julia, Caroline, and Harriet came up to them. 
 
 'Mick,' said Julia, ' we want to go to the Temple.' 
 
 'I wish you may get it,' said Mick shaking his head. 
 'When you have learnt to watch events, Julia, you will 
 understand that under present circumstances the Temple is 
 no go.' 
 
 ' And why so, Dandy ? ' said Julia. 
 
 ' Do you see Mother Carey's stall ? ' said Mick, pointing 
 in that direction. ' When there's a tick at Madam Carey's 
 
3<P SYBIL OR 
 
 there ia no tin for Chaffing Jack. That's what I call watch- 
 ing events.' 
 
 ' Oh ! as for the tin,' said Caroline, ' in these half-time 
 days that's qnite ont of fashion. But they do say it's the 
 last night at the Temple, for Chaffing Jack means to shut 
 up, it does not pay any longer ; and we want a lark. I'll 
 stand treat ; I'll put my ear-rings up the spout ; they must 
 go at last, and I would sooner at any time go to my uncle's 
 for frolic than woe.' 
 
 1 1 am sure I should like very much to go to the Temple 
 if anyone would pay for me,' said Harriet, ' but I won't 
 pawn nothing.' 
 
 * If we only pay and hear them sing,' said Julia in a coax- 
 ing tone. 
 
 ' Very like,' said Mick ; * there's nothing that makes one 
 so thirsty as listening to a song, particularly if it touches 
 the feelings. Don't you remember, Dusty, when we used 
 to encore that German fellow in " Scots wha ha " ? We 
 always had it five times. Hang me if I wasn't blind drunk 
 at the end of it.' 
 
 *I tell you what, young ladies,' said Devilsdust, looking 
 very solemn, ' you're dancing on a volcano.' 
 
 1 Oh ! my,' said Caroline, ' I am sure I wish we were ; 
 though what you mean exactly I don't quite know.' 
 *\ * I mean that we shall all soon be slaves,' said Devils- 
 dust. 
 
 'Not if we get the Ten-Hour Bill,' said Harriet. 
 
 1 And no cleaning of machinery in meal time,' said Julia; 
 ' that is a shame.' 
 
 1 You don't know what you are talking about,' said Devils- 
 dust. ' I tell you, if the Capitalists put down Gerard we're 
 done for another ten years, and by that time we shall be all 
 used up.' 
 
 * Lor ! Dusty, you quite terrify one,' said Caroline. 
 
 * It's a true bill though. Instead of going to the Temple 
 we must meet on the Moor, and in as great numbers as 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 391 
 
 possible. Go you and get all your sweethearts. I must 
 see your father, Harriet ; he must preside. We will have 
 the hymn of Labour sung by a hundred thousand voices in 
 chorus. It will strike terror into the hearts of the Capital- 
 ists. This is what we must all be thinking of, if we wish 
 Labour to have a chance, not of going to Chaffing Jack's, 
 and listening to silly songs. D'ye understand ?' 
 
 1 Don't we ! ' said Caroline ; ' and for my part, for a sum- 
 mer eve, I prefer Mowbray Moor to all the Temples in the 
 world, particularly if it's a sociable party, and we have some 
 good singing.' 
 
 This evening it was settled among the principal cham- 
 pions of the cause of Labour, among whom Devilsdust was 
 now included, that on the morrow there should be a monster 
 meeting on the Moor, to take into consideration the arrest 
 of the delegate of Mowbray. Such was the complete organi- 
 sation of this district, that by communicating with the 
 various lodges of the Trades Unions, fifty thousand persons, 
 or even double that number, ctmld within four-and-twenty 
 hours, on a great occasion and on a favourable day, be 
 brought into the field. The morrow being a day of rest, 
 was favourable, and the seizure of their cherished delegate 
 was a stimulating cause. The excitement was great, the 
 enthusiasm earnest and deep. There was enough distress 
 to make people discontented, without depressing them. 
 And Devilsdust, after attending a council of the Union, 
 retired to rest, and dreamed of strong speeches and spicy 
 resolutions, bands and banners, the cheers of assembled 
 thousands, and the eventual triumph of the sacred rights. 
 
 The post of the next morning brought great and stirring 
 news to Mowbray. Gerard had undergone his examination 
 at Bow Street. It was a long and laborious one ; he was 
 committed for trial, for a seditious conspiracy, but he was 
 held to bail. The bail demanded was heavy ; but it was 
 prepared, and instantly proffered. His sureties were 
 Morley and a Mr. Hatton. By this post Morley wrote to 
 
392 SYBIL; OR 
 
 his friends, apprising them that both Gerard and himself 
 intended to leave London instantly, and that they might be 
 expected to arrive at Mowbray by the evening train. 
 
 The monster meeting of the Moor, it was instantly re- 
 solved, should be converted into a triumphant procession, 
 or rather be preceded by one. Messengers on horseback 
 were sent to all the neighbouring towns to announce the 
 great event. Every artisan felt as a Moslem summoned by 
 the sacred standard. All went forth with their wives and 
 their children to hail the return of the patriot and the 
 martyr. The Trades of Mowbray mustered early in the 
 morning, and in various processions took possession of all 
 the churches. Their great pride was entirely to fill the 
 church of Mr. St. Lys, who, not daunted by their demon- 
 stration, and seizing the offered opportunity, suppressed the 
 sermon with which he had supplied himself, and preached 
 to them an extemporary discourse on ' Fear Grod and honour 
 the King.' In the dissenting chapels, thanksgivings were 
 publicly offered that bail had been accepted for Walter 
 Gerard . After the evening service, which the Unions 
 again attended, they formed in the High Street, and lined 
 it with their ranks and banners. Every half-hour a proces- 
 sion arrived from some neighbouring town, with its music 
 and streaming flags. Each was received by Warner, or 
 some other member of the managing committee, who as- 
 signed to them their appointed position, which they took 
 up without confusion, nor was the general order for a 
 moment disturbed. Sometimes a large party arrived with- 
 out music or banners, but singing psalms, and headed by 
 their minister ; sometimes the children walked together, 
 the women following, then the men, each with a ribbon of 
 the same colour in his hat ; all hurried, yet spontaneous and 
 certain, indications how mankind, under the influence of 
 high and earnest feelings, recur instantly to ceremony and 
 form ; how, when the imagination is excited, it appeals to 
 the imagination, and requires for its expression something 
 beyond the routine of daily life. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 393 
 
 It was arranged that, the moment the train ariived and 
 the presence of Gerard was ascertained, the Trade in posi- 
 tion nearest to the station should commence the hymn of 
 Labour, which was instantly to be taken up by its neighbour, 
 and so on in succession, so that by an almost electrical 
 agency the whole population should almost simultaneously 
 be assured of his arrival. 
 
 At half-past six o'clock the bell announced that tho 
 train was in sight ; a few minutes afterwards Dandy Mick 
 hurried up to the leader of the nearest Trade, spoke a few 
 words, and instantly the signal was given and the hymn 
 commenced. It was taken up as the steeples of a great 
 city in the silence of the night take up the new hour that 
 has just arrived ; one by one, the mighty voices rose till 
 they all blended in one vast waving sea of sound. Warner 
 and some others welcomed Gerard and Morley, and ushered 
 them, totally unprepared for such a reception, to an open 
 carriage drawn by four white horses that was awaiting 
 them. Orders were given that there was to be no cheering, 
 no irregular clamour. The hymn alone was heard. As the 
 carriage passed each Trade, they followed and formed in 
 procession behind it ; thus all had the opportunity of be- 
 holding their chosen chief, and he the proud consolation of 
 looking on the multitude who thus enthusiastically recog- 
 nised the sovereignty of his services. 
 
 The interminable population, the mighty melody, the 
 incredible order, the simple yet awful solemnity, this repre- 
 sentation of the great cause to which she was devoted under 
 an aspect that at once satisfied the reason, captivated the 
 imagination, and elevated the heart ; her admiration of her 
 father, thus ratified as it were by the sympathy of a nation, 
 added to all the recent passages of her life teeming with 
 such strange and trying interest, overcame Sybil. The 
 tears fell down her cheek as the carriage bore away her 
 father, while she remained under the care of one unknown 
 to the people of Mowbray, but who had accompanied her 
 from London ; this was Hatton. 
 
394 SYBIL; OR 
 
 The last light of the sun was shed over the Moor when 
 Gerard reached it, and the Druids' altar, and its surround- 
 ing crags, were burnished with its beam. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 It was the night following the day after the return of 
 Gerard to Mowbray. Morley, who had lent to him and 
 Sybil his cottage in the dale, was at the office of his news- 
 paper, the Mowbray Phalanx, where he now resided. He 
 was alone in his room writing, occasionally rising from his 
 seat, and pacing the chamber, when some one knocked at 
 his door. Receiving a permission to come in, there entered 
 Hatton. 
 
 1 1 fear I am disturbing an article ? ' said the guest. 
 
 ' By no means ; the day of labour is not at hand. I am 
 very pleased to see you.' 
 
 ' My quarters are not inviting,' continued Hatton. * It 
 is remarkable what bad accommodation you find in these 
 great trading towns. I should have thought that the mer- 
 cantile traveller had been a comfortable animal, not to say 
 a luxurious ; but I find everything mean and third-rate. 
 The wine execrable. So I thought I would come and be- 
 stow my tediousness on you. 'Tis hardly fair.' 
 
 ' You could not have pleased me better. I was, rather 
 from distraction than from exigency, throwing some 
 thoughts on paper. But the voice of yesterday still lingers 
 in my ear.' 
 
 * What a spectacle ! ' 
 
 * Yes ; you see what a multitude presents who have 
 recognised the predominance of Moral Power,' said Morley. 
 1 The spectacle was august ; but the results to which such 
 a public mind must lead are sublime.' 
 
 * It must have been deeply gratifying to our friend,' said 
 Hatton. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 395 
 
 4 It will support him in his career,' said Morley. 
 4 And console him in his prison,' added Hatton. 
 4 You think that it will come to that ? ' said Movley 
 enquiringly. 
 
 ' It has that aspect ; but appearances change.' 
 
 1 What should change them ? ' 
 
 1 Time and accident, which change everything.' 
 
 * Time will bring the York Assizes,' said Morley musingly; 
 * and as for accident, I confess the future seems to me dreary. 
 What can happen for Gerard ? ' 
 
 * He might win his writ of right,' said Hatton demurely, 
 stretching out his legs, and leaning back in his chair. ' That 
 also may be tried at the York Assizes.' 
 
 * His writ of right ! I thought that was a feint, a mere 
 affair of tactics to keep the chance of the field.' 
 
 * I believe the field may be won,' said Hatton very com- 
 posedly. 
 
 4 Won!' 
 
 * Ay ! the castle and manor of Mowbray, and half the 
 lordships round, to say nothing of this good town. The 
 people are prepared to be his subjects ; he must give up 
 equality, and be content with being a popular sovereign.' 
 
 * You jest, my friend.' 
 
 * Then I speak truth in jest ; sometimes, you know, the 
 case.' 
 
 1 What mean you ? ' said Morley rising and approaching 
 Hatton ; ' for, though I have often observed you like a 
 biting phrase, you never speak idly. Tell me what you 
 mean.' 
 
 * I mean,' said Hatton, looking Morley earnestly in the 
 face, and speaking with great gravity, ' that the documents 
 are in existence which prove the title of Walter Gerard to 
 the proprietorship of this great district ; that I know where 
 the documents are to be found ; and that it requires nothing 
 but a resolution equal to the occasion to secure them.' 
 
 4 Should that be wanting ? ' said Morley. 
 
396 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 1 1 should think not,' said Hatton. It would belie onr 
 nature to believe so.' 
 
 1 And where are these documents ? ' 
 
 1 In the muniment room of Mowbray Castle.' 
 
 * Hah ! ' exclaimed Morley in a prolonged tone. 
 
 * Kept closely by one who knows their value, for they are 
 the title-deeds not of his right but of his confusion.' 
 
 1 And how can we obtain them ? ' 
 
 ' By means more honest than those they were acquired by.' 
 
 * They are not obvious.' 
 
 'Two hundred thousand human beings yesterday ac- 
 knowledged the supremacy of Gerard,' said Hatton. ' Sup- 
 pose they had known that within the walls of Mowbray 
 Castle were contained the proofs that Walter Gerard was 
 the lawful possessor of the lands on which they live ; I say 
 suppose that had been the case. Do you think they would 
 have contented themselves with singing psalms ? What 
 would have become of moral power then ? They would 
 have taken Mowbray Castle by storm ; they would have 
 sacked and gutted it ; they would have appointed a chosen 
 band to rifle the round tower ; they would have taken care 
 that every document in it, especially an iron chest, painted 
 blue, and blazoned with the shield of Valence, should have 
 been delivered to you, to me, to anyone that Gerard 
 appointed for the office. And what could be the remedy of 
 the Earl de Mowbray ? He could scarcely bring an action 
 against the hundred for the destruction of the castle, which 
 we would prove was not his own. And the most he could 
 do would be to transport some poor wretches who had got 
 drunk in his plundered cellars, and then set fire to his 
 golden saloons.' 
 
 ' You amaze me,' said Morley, looking with an astonished 
 expression on the person who had just delivered himself of 
 these suggestive details with the same coolness and arid 
 accuracy that he would have entered into the details of a 
 pedigree. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 397 
 
 ' Tis a practical view of the case,' remarked Mr. Hatton. 
 
 Morley paced the chamber disturbed ; Hatton remained 
 silent and watched him with a scrutinising eye. 
 
 1 Are you certain of your facts ? ' at length said Morley, 
 abruptly stopping. 
 
 * Quite so ; Lord de Mowbray informed me of the circum- 
 stances himself before I left London, and I came down hero 
 in consequence.' 
 
 ' You know him ? ' 
 
 * No one better.' 
 
 ' And these documents, some of them, I suppose,' said 
 Morley with a cynical look, ' were once in your own posses- 
 sion then ? ' 
 
 ' Possibly. Would they were now ! But it is a great 
 thing to know where they may be found.' 
 
 1 Then they once were the property of Gerard ? ' 
 
 1 Hardly that. They were gained by my own pains, and 
 often paid for with my own purse. Claimed by no one, I 
 parted with them to a person to whom they were valuable. 
 It is not merely to serve Gerard that I want them now, 
 though I would willingly serve him. I have need of some 
 of these papers with respect to an ancient title, a claim to 
 which by a person in whom I am interested they would 
 substantiate. Now listen, good friend Morley ; moral force 
 is a fine thing, especially in speculation, and so is a commu- 
 nity of goods, especially when a man has no property, but 
 when you have lived as long as I have, and have tasted of 
 the world's delights, you'll comprehend the rapture of 
 acquisition, and learn that it is generally secured by very 
 coarse means. Come, I have a mind that you should 
 prosper. The public spirit is inflamed here ; you are a 
 leader of the people. Let us have another meeting on the 
 Moor, a preconcerted outbreak ; you can put your fingers 
 in a trice on the men who will do our work. Mowbray 
 Castle is in their possession ; we secure our object. You 
 shall have ten thousand pounds 011 the nail, and I will take 
 
398 SYBIL : OR 
 
 you back to London with me besides, and teach you what 
 is fortune.' 
 
 'I understand you,' said Morley. 'You have a clear 
 brain and a bold spirit ; you have no scruples, which indeed 
 are generally the creatures of perplexity rather than of 
 principle. You ought to succeed.' 
 
 1 We ought to succeed, you mean,' said Hatton, ' for I 
 have long perceived that you only wanted opportunity to 
 mount.' 
 
 * Yesterday was a great burst of feeling occasioned by a 
 very peculiar cause,' said Morley musingly ; ' but it must 
 not mislead us. The discontent here is not deep. The 
 people are still employed, though not fully. Wages have 
 fallen, but they must drop more. The People are not ripe 
 for the movement you intimate. There are thousands 
 who would rush to the rescue of the castle. Besides there 
 is a priest here, one St. Lys, who exercises a most per- 
 nicious influence over the people. It will require immense 
 efforts and great distress to root him out. No ; it would 
 fail.' 
 
 ' Then we must wait awhile,' said Hatton, ' or devise 
 some other means.' 
 
 ' 'Tis a very impracticable case,' said Morley. 
 
 ' There is a combination for every case,' said Hatton. 
 1 Ponder and it comes. This seemed simple ; but you think, 
 you really think it would not answer ? ' 
 
 1 At this moment, not ; that is my conviction.' 
 
 'Well, suppose instead of an insurrection we have a 
 burglary. Can you assist me to the right hands here ? ' 
 
 * Not I indeed ! ' 
 
 1 What is the use then of this influence over the people 
 of which you and Gerard are always talking ? After yes- 
 terday, I thought you could do anything here.' 
 
 * Wo have not hitherto had the advantage of your worldly 
 knowledge ; in future we shall be wiser.' 
 
 * Well then,' said Hatton, ' wo must now think of 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 399 
 
 Gerard's defence. He shall have the best counsel. I shall 
 retain Kelly specially. I shall return to town to-morrow 
 morning. You will keep me alive to the state of feeling 
 here, and if things get more mature, drop me a line and I 
 will come down.' 
 
 'This conversation had better not be mentioned to 
 Gerard.' 
 
 1 That is obvious ; it would only disturb him. I did not 
 preface it by a stipulation of confidence, because that is 
 idle. Of course you will keep the secret ; it is your interest ; 
 it is a great possession. I know very well you will be most 
 jealous of sharing it. I know it is as safe with you as with 
 myself.' 
 
 And with these words Hatton wished him a hearty fare- 
 well and withdrew. 
 
 ' He is right,' thought Morley ; ' he knows human nature 
 well. The secret is safe. I will not breathe it to Gerard. 
 I will treasure it up. It is knowledge ; it is power : great 
 knowledge, great power. And what shall I do with it f 
 Time will teach me.' 
 
 END OF THE FIFTH LOOK. 
 
4oo SYBIL; OR 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1 Another week,' exclaimed a gentleman in Downing 
 Street on the 5th of August, 1842, ' and we shall be pro- 
 rogued. You can surely keep the country quiet for another 
 week.' 
 
 1 1 cannot answer for the public peace for another four- 
 and- twenty hours,' replied his companion. 
 
 * This business at Manchester must be stopped at once ; 
 you have a good force there ? ' 
 
 ' Manchester is nothing ; these are movements merely to 
 distract. The serious work is not now to be apprehended 
 in the cotton towns. The state of Staffordshire and "War- 
 wickshire is infinitely more menacing. Cheshire and 
 Yorkshire alarm me. The accounts from Scotland are as 
 bad as can be. And though I think the sufferings of '39 
 will keep Birmingham and the Welsh collieries in chock, 
 we cannot venture to move any of our force from those 
 districts.' 
 
 ' You must summon a council for four o'clock. I have 
 some deputations to receive, which I will throw over ; but 
 to Windsor I must go. Nothing has yet occurred to render 
 any notice of the state of the country necessary in the speech 
 from the Throne.' 
 
 ' Not yet,' said his companion ; ' but what will to-morrow 
 bring forth ? ' 
 
 ' After all it is only a turn-out. I cannot recast her 
 Majesty's speech and bring in rebellion and closed mills, 
 instead of loyalty and a good harvest. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 401 
 
 1 It would be a bore. Well, we will see to-morrow ; ' and 
 the colleague left the room. 
 
 ' And now for these deputations,' said the gentleman in 
 Downing Street ; * of all things in the world I dislike a 
 deputation. I do not care how much I labour in the Closet 
 or the House ; that's real work ; the machine is advanced. 
 But receiving a deputation is like sham marching: an 
 immense dust and no progress. To listen to their views ! 
 As if I did not know what their views were before they 
 stated them ! And to put on a countenance of respectful 
 candour while they are developing their exploded or their 
 impracticable systems ! Were it not that, at a practised 
 crisis, I permit them to see conviction slowly stealing over 
 my conscience, I believe the fellows would never stop. 
 I cannot really receive these deputations. I must leave 
 them to Hoaxem,' and the gentleman in Downing Street 
 rang his bell. 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Hoaxem,' resumed the gentleman in Downing 
 Street, as that faithful functionary entered, ' there are some 
 deputations I understand, to-day. You must receive them, 
 as I am going to Windsor. What are they ? ' 
 
 1 There are only two, sir, of moment. The rest I could 
 easily manage.' 
 
 ' And these two ? ' 
 
 * In the first place, there is our friend Colonel Bosky, the 
 members for the county of Calfshire, and a deputation of 
 tenant farmers.' 
 
 'Pah!' 
 
 ' These must be attended to. The members have made 
 a strong representation to me, that they really cannot any 
 longer vote with government unless the Treasury assists 
 them in satisfying their constituents.' 
 
 1 And what do they want ? ' 
 
 ' Statement of grievances ; high taxes and low prices ; 
 mild expostulations and gentle hints that they have been 
 
 D D 
 
402 SYBIL; OR 
 
 thrown over by their friends ; Polish corn, Holstein cattle, 
 and British income-tax.' 
 
 1 Well, yon know what to say,' said the gentleman in 
 Downing Street. ' Tell them generally, that they are qnite 
 mistaken ; prove to them particularly that my only object 
 has been to render protection more protective, by making it 
 practical, and divesting it of the surplusage of odium ; that 
 no foreign corn can come in at fifty-five shillings ; that 
 there are not enough cattle in all Holstein to supply the 
 parish of Pancras daily with beef- steaks ; and that as for 
 the income-tax, they will be amply compensated for it, by 
 their diminished cost of living through the agency of that 
 very tariff of which they are so superficially complaining.' 
 
 ' Their diminished cost of living ! ' said Mr. Hoaxem, a 
 little confused. 'Would not that assurance, I humbly 
 suggest, clash a little with my previous demonstration that 
 we had arranged that no reduction of prices should take 
 place ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all ; your previous demonstration is of course 
 true, but at the same time you must impress upon them 
 the necessity of general views to form an opinion of par- 
 ticular instances. As for example, a gentleman of five 
 thousand pounds per annum pays to the income-tax, which 
 by the bye always call property-tax, one hundred and fifty 
 pounds a-year. Well, I have materially reduced the duties 
 on eight hundred articles. The consumption of each of 
 those articles by an establishment of five thousand pounds 
 per annum cannot be less than one pound per article. The 
 reduction of price cannot be less than a moiety ; therefore 
 a saving of four hundred per annum ; which, placed 
 against the deduction of the property-tax, leaves a clear 
 increase of income of two hundred and fifty pounds per 
 annum ; by which you see that a property-tax, in fact, in- 
 creases income.' 
 
 4 1 see,' said Mr. Hoaxem, with an admiring glance. 
 'And what am I to say to the deputation of the manu- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 403 
 
 facturers of Mowbray, complaining of the great depression 
 of trade, and the total want of remnnerating profits ? ' 
 
 'You must say exactly the reverse,' said the gentleman 
 in Downing Street. ' Show them how much I have done 
 to promote the revival of trade. First of all, in making 
 provisions cheaper ; cutting off at one blow half the pro- 
 tection on corn, as, for example, at this moment under the 
 old law the duty on foreign wheat would have been twenty- 
 seven shillings a quarter ; under the new law it is thirteen. 
 To be sure, no wheat could come in at either price, but that 
 does not alter the principle. Then, as to live cattle, show 
 how I have entirely opened the trade with the Continent in 
 live cattle. Enlarge upon this, the subject is speculative 
 and admits of expansive estimates. If there be any dis- 
 senters on the deputation, who, having freed the negroes, 
 have no subject left for their foreign sympathies, hint at 
 the tortures of the bull-fight and the immense consideration 
 to humanity, that, instead of being speared at Seville, the 
 Andalusian Toro will probably in future be cut up at 
 Smithfield. This cheapness of provisions will permit them 
 to compete with the foreigner in all neutral markets, in 
 time beat them in their own. It is a complete compensation 
 too for the property-tax, which, impress upon them, is a 
 great experiment and entirely for their interests. Ring 
 the changes on great measures and great experiments till 
 it is time to go down and make a House. Your official 
 duties, of course, must not be interfered with. They will 
 take the hint. I have no doubt you will get through the 
 business very well, Mr. Hoaxem, particularly if you be 
 " frank and explicit ; " that is the right line to take when 
 you wish to conceal your own mind and to confuse the 
 minds of others. Good morning ! ' 
 
 d d 2 
 
404 SYBIL, OR 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Two days after this conversation in Downing Street, a 
 special messenger arrived at Marney Abbey from the Lord 
 Lieutenant of the county, the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine. 
 Immediately after reading the despatch of which he was 
 the bearer, there was a great bustle in the house ; Lady 
 Marney was sent for -to her husband's library, and there 
 enjoined immediately to write various letters, which were 
 to prevent certain expected visitors from arriving ; Captain 
 Grouse was in and out of the same library every five 
 minutes, receiving orders and counter- orders, and finally 
 mounting his horse w r as flying about the neighbourhood 
 with messages and commands. All this stir signified that 
 the Marney regiment of Yeomanry were to be called out 
 directly. 
 
 Lord Marney, who had succeeded in obtaining a place in 
 the Household, and was consequently devoted to the insti- 
 tutions of the country, was full of determination to uphold 
 them ; but at the same time, with characteristic prudence, 
 was equally resolved that the property principally pro- 
 tected should be his own, and that the order of his own 
 district should chiefly engage his solicitude. 
 
 ' I do not know what the Duke means by marching into 
 the disturbed districts,' said Lord Marney to Captain 
 Grouse. ' These are disturbed districts. There have been 
 "bhree fires in one week, and I want to know what distur- 
 bance can be worse than that ? In my opinion this is a 
 mere anti-corn-law riot to frighten the government ; and 
 suppose they do stop the mills, what then ? I wish they 
 were all stopped, and then one might live like a gentleman 
 again.' 
 
 Egremont, between whom and his brother a sort of bad- 
 tempered good understanding had of late years to a certain 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 405 
 
 degree flourished, in spite of Lord Marney remaining 
 childless, which made him hate Egremont with double- 
 distilled virulence, and chiefly by the affectionate ma- 
 noeuvres of their mother, but whose annual visits to 
 Marney had generally been limited to the yeomanry week, 
 arrived from London the same day as the letter of the Lord 
 Lieutenant, as he had learnt that his brother's regiment, 
 in which he commanded a troop, as well as the other 
 yeomanry corps in the North of England, must immediately 
 take the field. 
 
 Five years had elapsed since the commencement of our 
 history, and they had brought apparently much change to 
 the character of the brother of Lord Marney. He had be- 
 come, especially during the last two or three years, silent 
 and reserved ; he rarely entered society ; even the company 
 of those who were once his intimates had ceased to attract 
 him; he was really a melancholy man. The change in 
 his demeanour was observed by all ; his mother and his 
 sister-in-law were the only persons who endeavoured to 
 penetrate its cause, and sighed over the failure of their 
 sagacity. Quit the world and the world forgets you ; and 
 Egremont would have soon been a name no longer men- 
 tioned in those brilliant saloons which he once adorned, 
 had not occasionally a sensation, produced by an effective 
 speech in the House of Commons, recalled his name to his 
 old associates, who then remembered the pleasant hours 
 passed in his society, and wondered why he never went any- 
 where now. 
 
 ' I suppose he finds society a bore,' said Lord Eugene de 
 Vere ; * I am sure I do : but then, what is a fellow to do ? 
 I am not in Parliament, like Egremont. I believe, after 
 all, that's the thing ; for I have tried everything else, and 
 everything else is a bore.' 
 
 1 1 think one should marry, like Alfred Mountchesney,' 
 said Lord Milford. 
 
 ' But what is the use of marrying if you do not many a 
 
 CJ 
 
406 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 rich woman ? and the heiresses of the present age will not 
 marry. What can be more unnatural ! It alone ought to 
 produce a revolution. Why, Alfred is the only fellow who 
 has made a coup ; and then he has not got it down.' 
 
 ' She behaved in a most unprincipled manner to me, 
 that Fitzwarene,' said Lord Milford, 'always took my 
 bouquets and once made me write some verses.' 
 
 ' By Jove ! ' said Lord Eugene, ' I should like to see 
 them. What a bore it must have been to write verses ! ' 
 
 1 1 only copied them out of Mina Blake's album : but I 
 sent them in my own handwriting.' 
 
 Baffled sympathy was the cause of Egremont's gloom. 
 It is the secret spring of most melancholy. He loved and 
 loved in vain. The conviction that his passion, though 
 hopeless, was not looked upon with disfavour, only made 
 him the more wretched, for the disappointment is more 
 acute in proportion as the chance is better. He had never 
 seen Sybil since the morning he quitted her in Smith 
 Square, immediately before her departure for the North. 
 The trial of Gerard had taken place at the assizes of that 
 year : he had been found guilty, and sentenced to eighteen 
 months' imprisonment in York Castle ; the interference of 
 Egremont, both in the House of Commons and with the 
 government, saved him from the felon confinement with 
 which he was at first threatened, and from which assuredly 
 state prisoners should be exempt. During this effort some 
 correspondence had taken place between Egremont and 
 Sybil, which he would willingly have encouraged and 
 maintained ; but it ceased nevertheless with its subject. 
 Sybil, through the influential interference of Ursula Traf- 
 ford, lived at the convent at York during the imprisonment 
 of her father, and visited him daily. 
 
 The anxiety to take the veil which had once characterised 
 Sybil had certainly waned. Perhaps her experience of life 
 had impressed her with the importance of fulfilling vital 
 duties. Her father, though he had never opposed her wish, 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 407 
 
 had never encouraged it ; and he had now increased and 
 interesting claims on her devotion. He had endured great 
 trials, and had fallen on adverse fortunes. Sybil would 
 look at him, and though his noble frame was still erect and 
 his countenance still displayed that mixture of frankness 
 and decision which had distinguished it of yore, she could 
 not conceal from herself that there were ravages which 
 time could not have produced. A year and a half of im- 
 prisonment had shaken to its centre a frame born for 
 action, and shrinking at all times from the resources of 
 sedentary life. The disappointment of high hopes had 
 jarred and tangled even the sweetness of his noble dispo- 
 sition. He needed solicitude and solace : and Sybil resolved 
 that if vigilance and sympathy could soothe an existence 
 that would otherwise be embittered, these guardian angels 
 should at least hover over the life of her father. 
 
 When the term of his imprisonment had ceased, Gerard 
 had returned with his daughter to Mowbray. Had he 
 deigned to accept the offers of his friends, he need not have 
 been anxious as to his future. A public subscription for 
 his service had been collected : Morley, who was well to do 
 in the world, for the circulation of the Mowbray Phalanx 
 daily increased with the increasing sufferings of the people, 
 offered his friend to share his house and purse : Hatton was 
 munificent ; there was no limit either to his offers or his 
 proffered services. But all were declined ; Gerard wonld 
 live by labour. The post he had occupied at Mr. Trafford's 
 was not vacant, even if that gentleman had thought fit 
 again to receive him ; but his reputation as a first-rate 
 artizan soon obtained him good employment, though on 
 this occasion in the town of Mowbray, which for the 
 sake of his daughter he regretted. He had no pleasant 
 home now for Sybil, but he had the prospect of one, and 
 until he obtained possession of it, Sybil sought a refuge, 
 which had been offered to her from the first, with her 
 kindest and dearest friend ; so that, at this period of our 
 
40S SYBIL ; OR 
 
 history, she was again an inmate of the convent at Mow- 
 bray, whither her father and Morley had attended her the 
 eve of the day she had first visited the mins of Marney 
 Abbey. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1 1 have seen a many things in my time, Mrs. Trotman,' 
 said Chaffing Jack, as he took the pipe from his mouth in 
 the silent bar-room of the Cat and Fiddle ; ' but I never see 
 any like this. I think I ought to know Mowbray if any- 
 one does, for, man and boy, I have breathed this air for a 
 matter of half a century. I sucked it in when it tasted of 
 primroses, and this tavern was a cottage covered with honey- 
 suckle in the middle of green fields, where the lads came 
 and drank milk from the cow with their lasses ; and I have 
 inhaled what they call the noxious atmosphere, when a 
 hundred chimneys have been smoking like one ; and always 
 found myself pretty well. Nothing like business to give one 
 an appetite. But when shall I feel peckish again, Mrs. 
 Trotman ? ' 
 
 1 The longest lane has a turning, they say, Mr. Trotman.' 
 
 ' Never knew anything like this before,' replied her hus- 
 band, ' and I have seen bad times : but I always used to 
 say, "Mark my words, friends, Mowbray will rally." My 
 words carried weight, Mrs. Trotman, in this quarter, as 
 they naturally should, coming from a man of my experience, 
 especially when I gave tick. Every man I chalked up 
 was of the same opinion as the landlord of the Cat and 
 Fiddle, and always thought that Mowbray would rally. 
 That's the killing feature of these times, Mrs. Trotman, 
 there's no rallying in the place.' 
 
 ' I begin to think it's the machines,' said Mrs. Trotman. 
 
 * Nonsense,' said Mr. Trotman ; ' it's the corn laws. The 
 town of Mowbray ought to clothe the world with our 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 409 
 
 resources. Why, Shuffle and Screw can turn out forty 
 mile of calico per day ; but where's the returns ? That's 
 the poiat. As the American gentleman said, who left his 
 bill unpaid, " Take my breadstuffs and I'll give you a 
 cheque at sight on the Pennsylvanian Bank." ' 
 
 * It's very true,' said Mrs. Trotman. ' Who's there ? ' 
 
 1 Nothing in my way ? ' said a woman with a basket of 
 black cherries, with a pair of tin scales thrown upon their 
 top. 
 
 ' Ah ! Mrs. Carey,' said Chaffing Jack, ' is that you ? ' 
 
 1 My mortal self, Mr. Trotman, tho' I be sure I feel more 
 like a ghost than flesh and blood.' 
 
 1 You may well say that, Mrs. Carey ; you and I have 
 known Mowbray as long, I should think, as any in this 
 quarter ' 
 
 ' And never see such times as these, Mr. Trotman, nor 
 the like of such. But I always thought it would come 
 to this, everything turned topsy-turvy as it were, the 
 children getting all the wages, and decent folk turned 
 adrift to pick up a living as they could. It's something of 
 a judgment in my mind, Mr. Trotman.' 
 
 1 It's the trade leaving the country, widow, and no mis- 
 take.' 
 
 * And how shall we bring it back again ? ' said the widow ; 
 * the police ought to interfere.' 
 
 1 We must have cheap bread,' said Mr. Trotman. 
 
 * So they tell me,' said the widow ; ' but whether bread 
 be cheap or dear don't much signify, if we have nothing to 
 buy it with. You don't want anything in my way, neigh- 
 bour? It's not very tempting, I fear,' said the good 
 widow in a rather mournful tone ; ' but a little fresh fruit 
 cools the mouth in this sultry time, and at any rate it 
 takes me into the world. It seems like business, tho' very 
 hard to turn a penny by ; but one's neighbours are very 
 kind, and a little chat about the dreadful times always puts 
 me in spirits ' 
 
4i SYBIL, OR 
 
 * Well, we will take a pound for the sake of trade, widow/ 
 said Mrs. Trotman. 
 
 I And here's a glass of gin-and- water, widow,' said Mr. 
 Trotman, ' and when Mowbray rallies you shall come and 
 pay for it.' 
 
 * Thank you both very kindly,' said the widow, ' a good 
 neighbour, as our minister says, is the pool of Bethesda ; 
 and as you say, Mowbray will rally.' 
 
 I I never said so,' exclaimed Chaffing Jack, interrupting 
 her. 'Don't go about for to say that I said Mowbray 
 would rally. My words have some weight in this quarter, 
 widow ; Mowbray rally ! Why should it rally ? Where's 
 the elements ? ' 
 
 ' Where indeed ? ' said Devilsdust as he entered the Cat 
 and Fiddle with Dandy Mick, ' there is not the spirit of a 
 louse in Mowbray.' 
 
 1 That's a true bill,' said Mick. 
 
 1 Is there another white-livered town in the whole realm 
 where the operatives are all working half-time, and thank- 
 ing the Capitalists for keeping the mills going, and only 
 starving them by inches ? ' said Devilsdust, in a tone of 
 scorn. 
 
 ' That's your time of day,' said Mick. 
 
 * Very glad to see you, gentlemen,' said Mr. Trotman, 
 ' pray be seated. There's a little backy left yet in Mow- 
 bray, and a glass of twist at your service.' 
 
 1 Nothing exciseable for me,' said Devilsdust. 
 
 1 Well, it ayn't exactly the right ticket, Mrs. Trotman, I 
 believe,' said Mick, bowing gallantly to the lady ; ' but 'pon 
 my soul I am so thirsty, that I'll take Chaffing Jack at his 
 word ; ' and so saying, Mick and Devilsdust ensconced 
 themselves in the bar, while goodhearted Mrs. Carey 
 sipped her glass of gin-and-water, which she frequently 
 protested was a pool of Bethesda. 
 
 ' Well, Jack,' said Devilsdust, ' I suppose you have heard 
 the news ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. ah 
 
 ' If it be anything that has happened at Mowbray, espe- 
 cially in this quarter, I should think I had. Times must 
 be very bad indeed that some one does not drop in to tell 
 me anything that has happened, and to ask my advice.' 
 
 1 It's nothing to do with Mowbray.' 
 
 * Thank you kindly, Mrs. Trotman,' said Mick, ' and 
 here's your very good health.' 
 
 * Then I am in the dark,' said Chaffing Jack, replying to 
 the previous observation of Devilsdust, ' for I never see a 
 newspaper now except a week old, and that lent by a friend, 
 I who used to take my Sun regular, to say nothing of the 
 Dispatch, and Bell's Life. Times is changed, Mr. Radley.' 
 
 * You speak like a book, Mr. Trotman,' said Mick, and 
 here's your very good health. But as for newspapers, I'm 
 all in the dark myself, for the Literary and Scientific is 
 shut up, and no subscribers left, except the honorary ones, 
 a ad not a journal to be had except the Moral World, and 
 that's gratis.' 
 
 ' As bad as the Temple,' said Chaffing Jack, c it's all up 
 with the institutions of the country. And what then is the 
 news ? ' 
 
 ' Labour is triumphant in Lancashire,' said Devilsdust, 
 with bitter solemnity. 
 
 ' The deuce it is,' said Chaffing Jack. ' What, have they 
 raised wages ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Devilsdust, ' but they have stopped the mills.' 
 
 1 That won't mend matters much,' said Jack with a puff. 
 
 ' Won't it?' 
 
 1 The working classes will have less to spend than ever.' 
 
 1 And what will the Capitalists have to spend ? ' said 
 Devilsdust. 
 
 * Worse and worse,' said Mr. Trotman, * you will never 
 get institutions like the Temple re-opened on this system.' 
 
 ' Don't you be afraid, Jack,' said Mick, tossing off his 
 tumbler ; ' if we only get our rights, won't we have a blow 
 out!' 
 
412 SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 We must have a struggle,' said Devilsdust, ' and teach 
 the Capitalists on whom they depend, so that in futura 
 they are not to have the lion's share, and then all will be 
 right.' 
 
 1 A fair day's wage for a fair day's work,' said Mick ; 
 1 that's your time of day.' 
 
 * It began at Staley bridge,' said Devilsdust, 'and they have 
 stopped them all ; and now they have marched into Man- 
 chester ten thousand strong. They pelted the police ' 
 
 1 And cheered the red-coats like fun,' said Mick. 
 
 1 The soldiers will fraternise,' said Devilsdust. 
 
 1 Do what ? ' said Mrs. Trotman. 
 
 1 Stick their bayonets into the Capitalists, who have 
 hired them to cut the throats of the working classes,' said 
 Devilsdust. 
 
 ' The Queen is with us,' said Mick. ' It's well known she 
 sets her face against gals working in mills like blazes.' 
 
 1 Well, this is news,' said Mrs. Carey. ' I always thought 
 some good would come of having a woman on the throne ; ' 
 and repeating her thanks and pinning on her shawl, the 
 widow retired, eager to circulate the intelligence. 
 
 1 And now that we are alone,' said Devilsdust, ' the 
 question is, what are we to do here ; and we came to con- 
 sult you, Jack, as you know Mowbray better than any 
 living man. This thing will spread. It won't stop short. 
 I have had a bird too singing something in my ear these 
 two days past. If they do not stop it in Lancashire, and I 
 defy them, there will be a general rising.' 
 
 ' I have seen a many things in my time,' said Mr. Trotman ; 
 1 some risings and some strikes, and as stiff turn-outs as 
 may be. But to my fancy there is nothing like a strike in 
 prosperous times ; there's more money spent under those 
 circumstances than you can well suppose, young gentlemen. 
 It's as good as Mowbray Staty any day.' 
 
 * But now to the point,' said Devilsdust. ' The people 
 are regularly sold ; they want a leader.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 413 
 
 1 Why, there's Gerard,' said Chaffing Jack ; * never been 
 a better man in my time. And Warner, the greatest man 
 the Handlooms ever turned out.' 
 
 'Ay, ay,' said Devilsdust; 'but they have each of them 
 had a year and a half, and that cools blood.' 
 
 ' Besides,' said Mick, ' they are too old ; and Stephen 
 Morley has got round them, preaching moral force, and all 
 that sort of gammon.' 
 
 ' I never heard that moral force won the battle of 
 Waterloo,' said Devilsdust. ' I wish the Capitalists would 
 try moral force a little, and see whether it would keep the 
 thing going. If the Capitalists will give up their red- 
 coats, I would be a moral force man to-morrow.' 
 
 'And the new police,' said Mick. ' A pretty go, when a 
 fellow in a blue coat fetches you the Devil's own con on 
 your head, and you get moral force for a plaster.' 
 
 'Why, that's all very well,' said Chaffing Jack; 'but I 
 am against violence ; at least, much. I don't object to a 
 moderate riot, provided it is not in my quarter of the 
 town.' 
 
 ' Well, that's not the ticket now,' said Mick. ' We don't 
 want no violence ; all we want is to stop all the mills and 
 hands in the kingdom, and have a regular national holiday 
 for six weeks at least.' 
 
 ' I have seen a many things in my time,' said Chaffing 
 Jack solemnly, 'but I have always observed, that if the 
 people had worked generally for half-time for a week, they 
 would stand anything.' 
 
 ' That's a true bill,' said Mick. 
 
 ' Their spirit is broken,' said Chaffing Jack, ' or else they 
 never would have let the Temple have been shut up.' 
 
 'And think of our Institute, without a single sub- 
 scriber ! ' said Mick. ' The gals is the only thing what 
 has any spirit left. Julia told me just now she would 
 go to the cannon's mouth for the Five Points any summer 
 day.' 
 
414 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 'You think the spirit can't be raised, Chaffing Jack,' 
 said Devilsdnst seriously. ' Yon ought to be a judge.' 
 
 1 If I don't know Mowbray, who does ? Trust my word, 
 the house won't draw.' 
 
 1 Then it is U-P,' said Mick. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said Devilsdust. But suppose it spreads ? ' 
 
 1 It won't spread,' said Chaffing Jack. 'I've seen a deal 
 of these things. I fancy from what you say it's a cotton 
 squall. It will pass, Sir. Let me see the miners out, and 
 then I will talk to you.' 
 
 ' Stranger things than that have happened,' said Devils- 
 dust. 
 
 1 Then things get serious,' said Chaffing Jack. ' Them 
 miners is very stubborn, and when they gets excited ayn't 
 it a bear at play, that's all ? ' 
 
 'Well,' said Devilsdust, 'what you say is well worth 
 attention ; but all the same I feel we are on the eve of a 
 regular crisis.' 
 
 ' No, by jingo ! ' said Mick, and, tossing his cap into the 
 air, he snapped his fingers with delight at the anticipated 
 amusement. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 'I don't think I can stand this much longer,' said Mr. 
 Mountchesney, the son-in-law of Lord de Mowbray, to his 
 wife, as he stood before the empty fire-place with his back 
 to the mantelpiece and his hands thrust into the pockets of 
 his coat. ' This living in the country in August bores me 
 to extinction. I think we will go to Baden, Joan.' 
 
 ' But papa is so anxious, dearest Alfred, that we should 
 remain here at present and see the neighbours a little.' 
 
 ' I might be induced to remain here to please your 
 father, but as for your neighbours I have seen quite enough 
 of them. They are not a sort of people that I ever met 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 415 
 
 before, or that I wish to meet again. I do not know what 
 to say to them, nor can I annex an idea to what they say to 
 me. Heigho ! certainly the country in August is a thing 
 of which no one who has not tried it has the most remote 
 conception.' 
 
 1 But you always used to say you doted on the country, 
 Alfred,' said Lady Joan in a tone of tender reproach. 
 
 'So I do ; I never was happier than when I was at 
 Melton, and even enjoyed the country in August when I was 
 on the Moors.' 
 
 'But I cannot w T ell go to Melton,' said Lady Joan. 
 
 ' I don't see why you can't. Mrs. Shelldrake goes with 
 her husband to Melton, and so does Lady Di with Barham ; 
 and a very pleasant life it is.' 
 
 ' Well, at any rate we cannot go to Melton now,' said 
 Lady Joan mortified ; ' and it is impossible for me to go to 
 the Moors.' 
 
 ' No, but I could go,' said Mr. Mountchesney, * and leave 
 you here. I might have gone with Eugene de Vere and 
 Milford and Fitz-heron. They wanted me very much. 
 "What a capital party it would have been, and what capital 
 sport we should have had ! And I need not have been away 
 for more than a month, or perhaps six weeks, and I could 
 have written to you every day, and all that sort of thing.' 
 
 Lady Joan sighed and affected to recur to the opened 
 volume which, during this conversation, she had held in 
 her hand. 
 
 ' I wonder where Maud is,' said Mr. Mountchesney ; ' I 
 shall want her to ride with me to-day. She is a capital 
 horsewoman, and always amuses me. As you cannot ride 
 now, Joan, I wish you would let Maud have Sunbeam.' 
 
 'As you please.' 
 
 'Well, I am going to the stables and will tell them. 
 Who is this ? ' Mr. Mountchesney exclaimed, and then 
 walked to the window that, looking over the park, showed 
 at a distance the advance of a showy equipage. 
 
416 SYBIL; OR 
 
 Lady Joan looked up. 
 
 ' Come here, Joan, and tell me who this is ; ' and Lady 
 Joan was at his side in a moment. 
 
 I It is the livery of the Bardolfs,' said Lady Joan. 
 
 I I always call them Firebrace : I cannot get ont of it/ 
 said Mr. Mountchesney. ' Well, I am glad it is they ; I 
 thought it might be an irruption of barbarians. Lady Bar- 
 dolf will bring us some news.' 
 
 Lord and Lady Bardolf were not alone ; they were ac- 
 companied by a gentleman who had been staying on a visit 
 at Firebrace, and who, being acquainted with Lord de 
 Mowbray, had paid his respects to the castle on his way to 
 Iiondon. This gentleman was the individual who had ele- 
 vated them to the peerage, Mr. Hatton. A considerable 
 intimacy had sprung up between him and his successful 
 clients. Firebrace was an old place rebuilt in the times of 
 the Tudors, but with something of its more ancient portions 
 remaining, and with a storehouse of muniments that had 
 escaped the civil wars. Hatton revelled in them, and in 
 pursuing his researches had already made discoveries which 
 might perhaps place the coronet of the earldom of Lovel 
 on the brow of the former champion of the baronetage, 
 who now however never mentioned the order. Lord de 
 Mowbray was well content to see Mr. Hatton, a gentleman 
 in whom he did not repose the less confidence, because his 
 advice given him three years ago, respecting the writ of 
 right and the claim upon his estate, had proved so discreet 
 and correct. Acting on that advice, Lord de Mowbray had 
 instructed his lawyers to appear to the action without 
 entering into any unnecessary explanation of the merits of 
 his case. He counted on the accuracy of Mr. Hatton's 
 judgment, that the claim would not be pursued ; and he 
 was right : after some fencing and preliminary manoeuvring, 
 the claim had not been pursued. Lord de Mowbray there- 
 fore, always gracious, was disposed to accord a very dis- 
 tinguished reception to his confidential counsellor. He 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 417 
 
 pressed very much his guests to remain with him some 
 days, and, though that was not practicable, Mr. Hatton 
 promised that he would not leave the neighbourhood with- 
 out paying another visit to the castle. 
 
 I And you continue quiet here ? ' said Mr. Hatton to Lord 
 de Mowbray. 
 
 ' And I am told we shall keep so,' said Lord de Mowbray, 
 1 The mills are mostly at work, and the men take the re- 
 duced wages in a good spirit. The fact is, our agitators 
 in this neighbourhood suffered pretty smartly in '39, and 
 the Chartists have lost their influence.' 
 
 I I am sorry for poor Lady St. Julians,' said Lady Bar- 
 dolf to Lady de Mowbray. ' It must be such a disappoint- 
 ment, and she has had so many ; but I understand there is 
 nobody to blame but herself. If she had only left the 
 Prince alone ; but she would not be quiet.' 
 
 1 And where are the Deloraines ? ' 
 
 ' They are at Munich ; with which they are delighted. 
 And Lady Deloraine writes me that Mr. Egremont has 
 promised to join them there. If he do, they mean to winter 
 at Rome.' 
 
 ' Somebody said he was going to be married,' said Lady 
 de Mowbray. 
 
 'His mother wishes him to marry,' said Lady Bardolf ; 
 1 but I have heard nothing.' 
 
 Mr. Mountchesney came in and greeted the Bardolfs 
 with some warmth. ' How delightful in the country in 
 August to meet somebody that you have seen in London in 
 June ! ' he exclaimed. ' Now, dear Lady Bardolf, do tell 
 me something, for you can conceive nothing so triste as w r e 
 are here. We never get a letter. Joan only corresponds 
 with philosophers, and Maud with clergymen ; and none of 
 my friends ever write to me.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you never write to them ? ' 
 
 * Well, I never have been a letter- writer, because really 
 I never wanted to write or be written to. I always knew 
 
 E 
 
41 S SYBIL; OR 
 
 what was going on because I was on the spot. I was doing 
 the things that people were writing letters about ; but now, 
 not being in the world any longer, doing nothing, living in 
 the country, and the country in August, I should like to 
 receive letters every day, but I do not know whom to fix 
 upon as a correspondent. Eugene de Vere will not write, 
 Milford cannot ; and as for Fitz-heron, he is so very selfish, 
 he always wants his letters answered.' 
 
 1 That is unreasonable,' said Lady Bardolf. 
 
 1 Besides, what can they tell me at this moment ? They 
 have gone to the Moors and are enjoying themselves. 
 They asked me to go with them, but I could not go, be- 
 cause you see I could not leave Joan ; though why I could 
 not leave her, I really cannot understand, because Egerton 
 has got some moors this year, and he leaves Lady Augusta 
 with her father.' 
 
 Lady Maud entered the room in her bonnet, returning 
 from an airing. She was all animation, charmed to see 
 everybody ; she had been to Mowbray to hear some singing 
 at the Roman Catholic chapel in that town ; a service had 
 been performed and a collection made for the suffering 
 workpeople of the place. She had been apprised of it for 
 some days, was told that she would hear the most beautiful 
 voice that she had ever listened to, but it had far exceeded 
 her expectations. A female voice it seemed ; no tones could 
 be conceived more tender and yet more thrilling : in short, 
 seraphic. 
 
 Mr. Mountchesney blamed her for not taking him. Ho 
 liked music, singing, especially female singing ; when there 
 was so little to amuse him, he was surprised that Lady 
 Maud had not been careful that he should have been present. 
 His sister-in-law reminded him that she had particularly 
 requested him to drive her over to Mowbray, and he had 
 declined the honour as a bore. 
 
 * Yes,' said Mr. Mountchesney, 'but I thought Joan was 
 going with you, and that you would be shopping.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 419 
 
 4 It was a good thing our House was adjourned before 
 these disturbances in Lancashire,' said Lord Bardolf to Lord 
 de Mowbray. 
 
 ' The best thing we can all do is to be on our estates, I 
 believe,' said Lord de Mowbray. 
 
 4 My neighbour Marney is in a state of great excitement,' 
 said Lord Bardolf; 4 all his yeomanry out.' 
 
 4 But he is quiet at Marney ? ' 
 
 4 In a way ; but these fires puzzle us. Marney will not 
 believe that the condition of the labourer has anything to 
 do with them ; and he certainly is a very acute man. But 
 still I don't know what to say to it. The poor-law is very 
 unpopular in my parish. Marney will have it that the 
 incendiaries are all strangers, hired by the Anti-Corn-law 
 League.' 
 
 4 Ah ! here is Lady Joan,' exclaimed Lady Bardolf, as the 
 wife of Mr. Mountchesney entered the room. 4 My dearest 
 Lady Joan ! ' 
 
 ' Why, Joan,' said Mr. Mountchesney, 4 Maud has been to 
 Mowbray, and heard the most delicious singing. Why did 
 we not go ? ' 
 
 4 1 did mention it to vou, Alfred.' 
 
 4 1 remember you said something about going to Mow- 
 bray, and that you wanted to go to several places. But 
 there is nothing I hate so much as shopping. It bores me 
 more than anything. And you are so peculiarly long when 
 you are shopping. But singing, and beautiful singing in a 
 Catholic chapel by a woman, perhaps a beautiful woman, 
 that is quite a different thing; and I should have been 
 amused, which nobody seems ever to think of here. I do 
 not know how you find it, Lady Bardolf, but the country 
 
 to me in August is a something ' and not finishing his 
 
 sentence, Mr. Mountchesney gave a look of inexpressible 
 despair. 
 
 4 And you did not see this singer ? ' said Mr. Hatton, 
 sidling up to Lady Maud, and speaking in a subdued tone. 
 
 ss2 
 
4?o SYBIL; OR 
 
 1 1 did not, but they tell me she is most beautiful ; some- 
 thing extraordinary ; I tried to see her, but it was impos- 
 sible.' 
 
 ' Is she a professional singer ? ' 
 
 M should imagine not; a daughter of one of the Mow- 
 bray people, I believe.' 
 
 1 Let us have her over to the Castle, Lady de Mowbray,' 
 said Mr. Mountchesney. 
 
 1 If you like,' replied Lady de Mowbray, with a languid 
 smile. 
 
 'Well, at last I have got something to do,' said Mr. 
 Mountchesney. ' I will ride over to Mowbray, find out the 
 beautiful singer, and bring her to the Castle.' 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The beam of the declining sun, softened by the stained 
 panes of a small gothic window, suffused the chamber of 
 the Lady Superior of the convent of Mowbray. The 
 vaulted room, of moderate dimensions, was furnished with 
 great simplicity, and opened into a small oratory. On a 
 table were several volumes, an ebon cross was fixed in 
 a niche, and, leaning in a high-backed chair, sat Ursula 
 Trafford. Her pale and refined complexion, that in her 
 youth had been distinguished for its lustre, became her 
 spiritual office ; and indeed her whole countenance, the 
 delicate brow, the serene glance, the small aquiline nose, 
 and the well-shaped mouth, firm and yet benignant, be- 
 tokened the celestial soul that inhabited that gracious 
 frame. 
 
 The Lady Superior was not alone ; on a low seat by her 
 side, holding her hand, and looking up into her face with a 
 glance of reverential sympathy, was a maiden, over whose 
 head five summers have revolved since first her girlhood 
 broke upon our sight amid the ruins of Marney Abbey ; 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 421 
 
 five summers that have realised the matchless promise of 
 her charms, and, while they have added something to her 
 stature, have robbed it of nothing of its grace, and have 
 rather steadied the blaze of her beauty than diminished its 
 radiance. 
 
 * Yes, I mourn over them,' said Sybil, ' the deep con- 
 victions that made me look forward to the cloister as my 
 home. Is it that the world has assoiled my soul ? Yet 
 I have not tasted of worldly joys : all that I have known 
 of it has been suffering and tears. They will return, these 
 visions of my sacred youth : dear friend, tell me that they 
 will return ! ' 
 
 1 1 too have had visions in my youth, Sybil, and not of 
 the cloister, yet am I here.' 
 
 ' And what should I infer ? ' said Sybil, inquiringly. 
 
 ' That my visions were of the world, and brought me to 
 the cloister, and that yours were of the cloister, and have 
 brought you to the world.' 
 
 ' My heart is sad,' said Sybil ; ' and the sad should seek 
 the shade.' 
 
 'It is troubled, my child, rather than sorrowful.' 
 
 Sybil shook her head. 
 
 'Yes, my child,' said Ursula, 'the world has taught you 
 that there are affections which the cloister can neither 
 satisfy nor supply. Ah ! Sybil, I too have loved.' 
 
 The blood rose to the cheek of Sybil, and then returned 
 as quickly to the heart ; her trembling hand pressed that of 
 Ursula as she sighed, and murmured, ' No, no, no.' 
 
 ' Yes, it is the spirit that hovers over your life, Sybil ; 
 and in vain you would forget what haunts your heart. 
 One not less gifted than he, as good, as gentle, as gracious, 
 once too breathed in my ear the accents of joy. He was, 
 like myself, the child of an old house, and Nature had 
 invested him with every quality that can dazzle and can 
 charm. But his heart was as pure, and his soul as lofty, as 
 his intellect and frame were bright, ' and Ursula paused. 
 
422 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 Sybil pressed the hand of Ursula to her lips, and whis- 
 pered, ' Speak on.' 
 
 ' The dreams of by-gone days,' continued Ursula, in a 
 voice of emotion ; ' the wild sorrows that I can recall, and 
 yet feel that I was wisely chastened : he was stricken in 
 his virtuous pride, the day before he was to have led me to 
 that altar where alone I found the consolation that never 
 fails. And thus closed some years of human love, my 
 Sybil,' said Ursula, bending forward and embracing her. 
 * The world for a season crossed their fair current, and a 
 power greater than the world forbade their banns ; but they 
 are hallowed ; memory is my sympathy ; it is soft and free, 
 and when he came here to inquire after you, his presence 
 and agitated heart recalled the past.' 
 
 1 It is too wild a thought,' said Sybil, ' ruin to him, ruin 
 to all. No ; we are severed by a fate as uncontrollable as 
 severed you, dear friend; ours is a living death.' 
 
 ' The morrow is unforeseen,' said Ursula. 'Happy, in- 
 deed, would it be for me, my Sybil, that your innocence 
 should be enshrined within these holy walls, and that the 
 pupil of my best years, and the friend of my serene life, 
 should be my successor in this house. But I feel a deep 
 persuasion that the hour has not arrived for you to take the 
 step that never can be recalled.' 
 
 So saying, Ursula embraced and dismissed Sybil ; for the 
 conversation, the last passages of which we have given, had 
 occurred when Sybil, according to her wont on Saturday 
 afternoon, had come to request the permission of the Lady 
 Superior to visit her father. 
 
 It was in a tolerably spacious and not discomfortable 
 chamber, the first floor over the printing-office of the Mow- 
 bray Phalanx, that Gerard had found a temporary home. 
 He had not long returned from his factory, and, pacing the 
 chamber with a disturbed step, he awaited the expected 
 arrival of his daughter. 
 
 She came; the faithful step, the well-known knock j the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 423 
 
 father and the daughter embraced ; he pressed to his heart 
 the child who had clung to him through so many trials, 
 and who had softened so many sorrows, who had been the 
 visiting angel in his cell, and whose devotion had led 
 captivity captive. 
 
 Their meetings, though regular, were now comparatively 
 rare. The sacred day united them, and sometimes for a 
 short period the previous afternoon, but otherwise the 
 cheerful hearth and welcome home were no longer for 
 Gerard. And would the future bring them to him ? And 
 what was to be the future of his child ? His mind vacil- 
 lated between the convent of which she now seldom spoke, 
 and which with him was never a cherished idea, and those 
 dreams of restored and splendid fortunes, which his san- 
 guine temperament still whispered him, in spite of hope 
 so long deferred and expectations so often balked, might 
 yet be realised. And sometimes between these opposing 
 visions there rose a third, and more practical, though less 
 picturesque, result ; the idea of her marriage. And with 
 whom ? It was impossible that one so rarely gifted, and 
 educated with so much daintiness, could ever make a wife 
 of the people. Hatton offered wealth, but Sybil had never 
 seemed to comprehend his hopes, and Gerard felt that 
 their ill-assorted ages was a great barrier. There was of 
 all the men of his own order but one, who from his years, 
 his great qualities, his sympathy, and the nature of his toil 
 and means, seemed not unfitted to be the husband of his 
 daughter ; and often had Gerard mused over the possibility 
 of these intimate ties with Morley. Sybil had been, as it 
 were, bred up under his eye ; an affection had always sub- 
 sisted between them, and he knew well that in former days 
 Sybil had appreciated and admired the great talents and 
 acquirements of their friend. At one period he almost 
 suspected that Morley was attached to her. And yet, from 
 causes which he had never attempted to penetrate, probably 
 from a combination of unintentional circumstances, Sybil 
 
424 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 and Morley had for the last two or three years been thrown 
 little together, and their intimacy had entirely died away. 
 To Gerard it seemed that Morley had ever proved his 
 faithful friend : Morley had originally dissnaded him with 
 energy against that course which had led to his discom- 
 fiture and punishment ; when arrested, his former colleague 
 was his bail, was his companion and adviser during his 
 trial ; had endeavoured to alleviate his imprisonment ; and 
 on his release had offered to share his means with Gerard, 
 and when these were refused, he at least supplied Gerard 
 with a roof. And yet, with all this, that abandonment of 
 heart and brain, that deep sympathy with every domestic 
 thought which characterised old days, were somehow or 
 other wanting. There was on the part of Morley still devo- 
 tion, but there was reserve. 
 
 ' You are troubled, my father,' said Sybil, as Gerard con- 
 tinued to pace the chamber. 
 
 ' Only a little restless. I am thinking what a mistake it 
 was to have moved in '39.' 
 
 Sybil sighed. 
 
 'Ah ! you were right, Sybil,' continued Gerard; ' affairs 
 were not ripe. We should have waited three years.' 
 
 * Three years ! ' exclaimed Sybil, starting ; ' are affairs 
 riper now ? ' 
 
 1 The whole of Lancashire is in revolt,' said Gerard. 
 1 There is not a sufficient force to keep them in check. If the 
 miners and colliers rise, and I have cause to believe that 
 it is more than probable they will move before many days 
 are past, the game is up.' 
 
 1 You terrify me,' said Sybil. 
 
 1 On the contrary,' said Gerard, smiling, ' the news is 
 good enough ; I'll not say too good to be true, for I had it 
 from one of the old delegates who is over here to see what 
 can be done in our north countree.' 
 
 1 Yes,' said Sybil, inquiringly, and leading on her father. 
 
 1 He came to the works ; we had some talk. There are 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 425 
 
 to be no leaders this time, at least no visible ones. The 
 people will do it themselves. All the children of Labour 
 are to rise on the same day, and to toil no more, till they 
 have their rights. No violence, no bloodshed; but toil 
 halts, and then our oppressors will learn the great econo- 
 mical truth as well as moral lesson, that when Toil plays, 
 Wealth ceases.' 
 
 1 When Toil ceases the People suffer,' said Sybil. * That 
 is the only truth that we have learnt, and it is a bitter 
 one.' 
 
 ' Can we be free without suffering ? ' said Gerard. ' Is 
 the greatest of human blessings to be obtained as a matter 
 of course ; to be plucked like fruit, or seized like a running 
 stream ? No, no ; we must suffer, but we are wiser than 
 of yore ; we will not conspire. Conspiracies are for aristo- 
 crats, not for nations.' 
 
 ' Alas, alas ! I see nothing but woe,' said Sybil. ' I 
 cannot believe that, after all that has passed, the people 
 here will move ; I cannot believe that, after all that has 
 passed, all that you, that we, have endured, that you, my 
 father, will counsel them to move.' 
 
 ' I counsel nothing,' said Gerard. ' It must be a great, 
 national instinct that does it ; but if all England, if Wales, 
 if Scotland, won't work, is Mowbray to have a monopoly ? ' 
 
 1 Ah ! that's a bitter jest,' said Sybil. ' England, Wales, 
 Scotland, will be forced to work as they were forced before. 
 How can they subsist without labour ? And if they could, 
 there is an organised power that will subdue them.' 
 
 ' The Benefit Societies, the Sick and Burial Clubs, have 
 money in the banks that would maintain the whole working 
 classes, with aid in kind that will come, for six weeks, and 
 that will do the business. And as for force, why there 
 are not five soldiers to each town in the kingdom. It's a 
 glittering bugbear, this fear of the military ; simultaneous 
 strikes would baffle all the armies in Europe.' 
 
 * I'll go back and pray that all this is wild talk,' said 
 
426 SYBIL; OR 
 
 Sybil, earnestly. ' After all that has passed, were it only 
 for your child, you should not speak, much less think this, 
 my father. What havoc to our hearts and homes has been 
 all this madness ! It has separated us ; it has destroyed 
 
 our happy home ; it has done more than this ' and 
 
 here she wept. 
 
 ' Nay, nay, my child,' said Gerard coming up and sooth- 
 ing her ; * one cannot weigh one's words before those we 
 love. I can't hear of the people moving with coldness; 
 that's out of nature ; but I promise you I'll not stimulate 
 the lads here. I am told they are little inclined to stir. 
 You found me in a moment of what I must call, I suppose, 
 elation ; but I hear they beat the red-coats and police at 
 Staley Bridge, and that pricked my blood a bit. I have 
 been ridden down before this when I was a lad, Sybil, by 
 Yeomanry hoofs. You must allow a little for my feelings.' 
 
 She extended her lips to the proffered embrace of her 
 father. He blessed her and pressed her to his heart, and 
 soothed her apprehensions with many words of softness. 
 There was a knock at the door. 
 
 1 Come in,' said Gerard. And there came in Mr. Hatton. 
 
 They had not met since Gerard's release from York 
 Castle. There Hatton had visited him, had exercised his 
 influence to remedy his grievances, and had more tha,n 
 once offered him the means of maintenance on receiving 
 his freedom. There were moments of despondency when 
 Gerard had almost wished that the esteem and regard with 
 which Sybil looked upon Hatton might have matured into 
 sentiments of a deeper nature ; but on this subject the 
 father had never breathed a word. Nor had Hatton, ex- 
 cept to Gerard, ever intimated his wishes, for we could 
 scarcely call them hopes. He was a silent suitor of Sybil, 
 watching opportunities and ready to avail himself of cir- 
 cumstances which he worshipped. His sanguine dispo- 
 sition, fed by a suggestive and inventive mind, and stimu- 
 lated by success and a prosperous life sustained him 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 427 
 
 always to the last. Hatton always believed that every- 
 thing desirable must happen if a man had energy and 
 watched circumstances. He had confidence too in the in- 
 fluence of his really insinuating manner, his fine taste, his 
 tender tone, his ready sympathy, all which masked his 
 darin^ courage and absolute recklessness of means. 
 
 The were general greetings of the greatest warmth. 
 The eyes of Hatton were suffused with tears as he congra- 
 tulated Gerard on his restored health, and pressed Sybil's 
 hand with the affection of an old friend between both his 
 own. 
 
 * I was down in this part of the world on business,' said 
 Hatton, * and thought I would come over here for a day 
 to find you all out.' And then, after some general conver- 
 sation, he said, ' And where do you think I accidentally 
 paid a visit a day or two back ? At Mowbray Castle. I 
 see you are surprised. I saw all your friends. I did not 
 ask his lordship how the writ of right went on. I dare 
 say he thinks 'tis all hushed. But he is mistaken. I have 
 learnt something which may help us over the stile yet.' 
 
 1 Well-a-day ! ' said Gerard, ' I once thought if I could 
 get back the lands the people would at last have a friend ; 
 but that's past. I have been a dreamer of dreams often 
 when 1 was overlooking them at work. And so we all have, 
 I suppose. I would willingly give up my claim if I could 
 be sure the Lancashire lads will not come to harm this 
 bout.' 
 
 ' 'Tis a more serious business,' said Hatton, * than any- 
 thing of the kind that has yet happened. The government 
 are much alarmed. They talk of sending the Guards down 
 into the north, and bringing over troops from Ireland.' 
 
 * Poor Ireland ! ' said Gerard. * Well, I think the frieze- 
 coats might give us a helping hand now, and employ the 
 troops at least.' 
 
 1 No, my dear father, say not such things.' 
 
 ' Sybil will not let me think of these matters, friend 
 
428 SYBIL; OR 
 
 Hatton,' said Gerard, smiling. ' Well, I suppose it's not in 
 my way, at least I certainly did not make the best band of 
 it in '39 ; but it was London that' got me into that scrape. 
 I cannot help fancying that were I on our Moors here a bit 
 with some good lads, it might be different, and I must say 
 so, I must indeed, Sybil.' 
 
 * But you are quiet here, I hope,' said Hatton. 
 
 ' Oh ! yes,' said Gerard ; ' I believe our spirit is sufficiently 
 broken at Mowbray. Wages weekly dropping, and just 
 work enough to hinder sheer idleness ; that sort of thing 
 keeps the people in very humble trim. But wait a bit, and 
 when they have reached starvation point, I fancy we shall 
 hear a murmur.' 
 
 'I remember our friend Morley in '39, when we re- 
 turned from London, gave me a very good character of the 
 disposition of the people here,' said Hatton ; ' I hope it 
 continues the same. He feared no outbreak then, and the 
 distress in '39 was severe.' 
 
 1 Well,' said Gerard, ' the wages have been dropping ever 
 since. The people exist, but you can scarcely say they live. 
 But they are cowed, I fancy. An empty belly is sometimes 
 as apt to dull the heart as inflame the courage. And then 
 they have lost their leaders, for I was away, you see, and 
 have been quiet enough since I came out ; and Warner is 
 broken ; he has suffered more from his time than I did ; 
 which is strange, for he had his pursuits, whereas I was 
 restless enough, and that's the truth, and, had it not been for 
 Sybil's daily visit, I think, though I may never be allowed 
 to live in a castle, I should certainly have died in one.' 
 
 1 And how is Morley ? ' 
 
 1 Right well ; the same as you left him ; I saw not a 
 straw's change when I came out. His paper spreads. He 
 still preaches moral force, and believes that we shall all end 
 in living in communities. But as the only community of 
 which I have personal experience is a gaol, I am not much 
 more inclined to his theory than heretofore.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 429 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The reader may not have altogether forgotten Mr. Nixon 
 and his co-mates, the miners and colliers of that district not 
 very remote from Mowbray, which Morley had visited at 
 the commencement of this history, in order to make fruit- 
 less researches after a gentleman whom he subsequently so 
 unexpectedly stumbled upon. Affairs were as little flourish- 
 ing in that region as at Mowbray itself, and the distress fell 
 upon a population less accustomed to suffering, and whose 
 spirit was not daunted by the recent discomfiture and 
 punishment of their leaders. 
 
 ' It can't last,' said Master Nixon, as he took his pipe 
 from his mouth at the Rising Sun. 
 
 He was responded to by a general groan. * It comes to 
 this,' he continued, ' Natur has her laws, and this is one : 
 a fair day's wage for a fair day's work.' 
 
 1 1 wish you may get it,' said Juggins, * with a harder 
 stint every week, and a shilling a day knocked off.' 
 
 1 And what's to come to-morrow ? ' said Waghorn. ' The 
 butty has given notice to quit in Parker's field this day 
 se'nnight. Simmons won't drop wages, but works half 
 time.' 
 
 ' The boys will be at play afore long,' said a collier. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said Master Nixon, with a reproving glance, 
 * play is a very serious word. The boys are not to go to 
 play as they used to do without by your leave or with your 
 leave. We must appoint a committee to consider the ques- 
 tion, and we must communicate with the other trades.' 
 
 ' You're the man, Master Nixon, to chose for church- 
 warden,' replied the reproved miner, with a glance of ad- 
 miration. 
 
 1 What is Diggs doing ? ' said Master Nixon, in a solemn 
 tone. 
 
43o SYBIL : OR 
 
 I A-dropping wages, and a- raising tommy like fun,' saifJ 
 Master Waghorn. 
 
 ' There is a great stir in Hell-house yard,' said a miner 
 who entered the tap-room at this moment, much excited. 
 ' They say that all the workshops will be shut to-morrow ; 
 not an order for a month past. They have got a top-sawyer 
 from London there, who addresses them every evening, and 
 says that we have a right to four shillings a-day wages, 
 eight hours' work, and two pots of ale.' 
 
 ' A fair day's wage for a fair day's work,' said Master 
 Nixon ; ' I would not stickle about hours, but the money 
 and the drink are very just.' 
 
 ' If Hell-house yard is astir,' said Waghorn, ' there will be 
 a good deal to be seen yet.' 
 
 ' It's grave,' said Master Nixon. What think you of a 
 deputation there ? It might come to good.' 
 
 I I should like to hear the top-sawyer from London,' said 
 Juggins. ' We had a Chartist here the other day, but he 
 did not understand our case at all.' 
 
 1 1 heard him,' said Master Nixon ; ' but what's his Five- 
 Points to us ? Why, he ayn't got tommy among them.' 
 
 ' Nor long stints,' said Waghorn. 
 
 ' Nor butties,' said Juggins. 
 
 1 He's a pretty fellow to come and talk to us,' said a 
 collier. ' He had never been down a pit in all his life.' 
 
 The evening passed away in the tap- room of the Rising 
 Sun in reflections on the present critical state of affairs, 
 and in consultations as to the most expedient course for 
 the future. The rate of wages, which for several years in 
 this district had undergone a continuous depression, had 
 just received another downward impulse, and was threat- 
 ened with still further reduction, for the price of iron 
 became every day lower in the market, and the article 
 itself so little in demand that few but the great capitalists 
 who could afford to accumulate their produce were able to 
 maintain their furnaces in action. The little men who still 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 431 
 
 continued their speculations could only do so partially, by 
 diminishing the days of service and increasing their stints 
 or toil, and by decreasing the rate of wages as well as pay- 
 ing them entirely in goods, of which they had a great stock, 
 and of which they thus relieved themselves at a high profit. 
 Add to all these causes of suffering and discontent among 
 the workmen the apprehension of still greater evils, and the 
 tyranny of the butties or middlemen, and it will with little 
 difficulty be felt that the public mind of this district was 
 well prepared for the excitement of the political agitator, 
 especially if he were discreet enough rather to descant on 
 their physical sufferings and personal injuries, than to 
 attempt the propagation of abstract political principles, 
 with which it was impossible for them to sympathise with 
 the impulse and facility of the inhabitants of manufacturing 
 towns, members of literary and scientific institutes, habitual 
 readers of political journals, and accustomed to habits of 
 discussion of all public questions. It generally happens, 
 however, that where a mere physical impulse urges the 
 people to insurrection, though it is often an influence of 
 slow growth and movement, the effects are more violent, 
 and sometimes more obstinate, than when they move under 
 the blended authority of moral and physical necessity, and 
 mix up together the rights and the wants of Man. 
 
 However this may be, on the morning after the conver- 
 sation at the Rising Sun which we have just noticed, the 
 population having as usual gone to their work, having pene- 
 trated the pit, and descended the shaft, the furnaces all 
 blazing, the chimneys all smoking, suddenly there rose a 
 rumour even in the bowels of the earth, that the hour and 
 the man had at length arrived : the hour that was to bring 
 them relief, and the man that was to bear them redress. 
 
 1 My missus told it me at the pit-head, when she brought 
 me my breakfast,' said a pikeman to his comrade, and he 
 etra ck a vigorous blow at the broad seam on which he wai 
 working. 
 
432 SYBIL; OR 
 
 ' Ifc is not ten mile,' said his companion. ' They'll be 
 here by noon.' 
 
 1 There is a good deal to do in their way,' said the first 
 pikeman. 'All men at work after notice to be ducked, 
 they say, and every engine to be stopped forthwith.' 
 
 1 Will the police meet them before they reach this ? ' 
 
 ' There is none : my missus says that not a man John of 
 them is to be seen. The Hell-cats, as they call themselves, 
 halt at every town and offer fifty pounds for a live police- 
 man.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you what,' said the second pikeman, ' I'll stop 
 my stint and go up the shaft. My heart's all of a flutter : I 
 can't work no more. We'll have a fair day's wage for a 
 fair day's work yet.' 
 
 * Come along, I'm your man ; if the doggy stop us, we'll 
 knock him down. The people must have their rights ; 
 we're driven to this ; but if one shilling a day is dropped, 
 why not two ? ' 
 
 ' Very true ; the people must have their rights, and eight 
 hours' work is quite enough.' 
 
 In the light of day, the two miners soon learnt in more 
 detail the news which the wife of one of them earlier in the 
 morning had given as a rumour. There seemed now no 
 doubt that the people of Wodgate, commonly called the 
 Hell-cats, headed by their Bishop, had invaded in great 
 force the surrounding district, stopped all the engines, 
 turned all the potters out of the manufactories, met with no 
 resistance from the authorities, and issued a decree that 
 labour was to cease until the Charter was the law of the 
 land. 
 
 This last edict was not the least surprising part of the 
 whole affair ; for no one could have imagined that the 
 Bishop or any of his subjects had ever even heard of the 
 Charter, much less that they could by any circumstances 
 comprehend its nature, or by any means be induced to 
 believe that its operation would further their interests or 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 433 
 
 redress their grievances. Bat all this had been brought 
 about, as most of the great events of history, by the un- 
 expected and unobserved influence of individual character. 
 
 A Chartist leader had been residing for some time at 
 Wodgate, ever since the distress had become severe, and 
 had obtained great influence and popularity by assuring 
 a suffering and half-starving population that they were 
 entitled to four shillings a-day and two pots of ale, and 
 only eight hours' work. He was a man of abilities and of 
 popular eloquence, and his representations produced an 
 effect ; their reception invested him with influence, and as 
 he addressed a population who required excitement, being 
 slightly employed and with few resources for their vacant 
 hours, the Chartist, who was careful never to speak of the 
 Charter, became an important personage at Wodgate, and 
 was much patronised by Bishop Hatton and his Lady, 
 whose good offices he was sedulous to conciliate. At the 
 right moment, everything being ripe and well prepared, the 
 Bishop being very drunk and harassed by the complaints 
 of his subjects, the Chartist revealed to him the mysteries 
 of the Charter, and persuaded him not only that the Five 
 Points would cure everything, but that he was the only 
 man who could carry the Five Points. The Bishop had 
 nothing to do ; he was making a lock merely for amuse- 
 ment : he required action ; he embraced the Charter, with- 
 out having a definite idea what it meant, but he embraced it 
 fervently, and he determined to march into the country at 
 the head of the population of Wodgate, and establish the 
 faith. 
 
 Since the conversion of Constantine, a more important 
 adoption had never occurred. The whole of the north of 
 England and a great part of the midland counties were in 
 a state of disaffection ; the entire country was suffering ; 
 hope had deserted the labouring classes ; they had no con- 
 fidence in any future of the existing system. Their organi- 
 sation, independent of the political system of the Chartists, 
 
 V F 
 
434 SYBIL; OR 
 
 \v;is complete. Every trade had its union, and every union 
 its lodge in every town and its central committee in every 
 district. All that was required was the first move, and the 
 Chartist emissary had long fixed upon Wodgate as the 
 spring of the explosion, when the news of the strike in 
 Lancashire determined him to precipitate the event. 
 
 The march of Bishop Hatton at the head of the Hell-cats 
 into the mining districts was perhaps the most striking 
 popular movement since the Pilgrimage of Grace. Mounted 
 on a white mule, wall-eyed and of hideous form, the Bishop 
 brandished a huge hammer with which he had announced 
 that he would destroy the enemies of the people : all butties, 
 doggies, dealers in truck and tommy, middle masters and 
 main masters. Some thousand Hell-cats followed him, 
 brandishing bludgeons, or armed with bars of iron, pick- 
 handles, and hammers. On each side of the Bishop, on a 
 donkey, was one of his little sons, as demure and earnest 
 as if he were handling his file. A flowing standard of silk, 
 inscribed with the Charter, and which had been presented 
 to him by the delegate, was borne before him like the 
 oriflamme. Never was such a gaunt, grim crew. As they 
 advanced, their numbers continually increased, for they 
 arrested all labour in their progress. Every engine was 
 stopped, the plug was driven out of every boiler, every fire 
 was extinguished, every man was turned out. The decree 
 went forth that labour was to cease until the Charter 
 was the law of the land : the mine and the mill, the 
 foundry and the loomshop, were, until that consummation, 
 to be idle : nor was the mighty pause to be confined to 
 these great enterprises. Every trade of every kind and 
 description was to be stopped : tailor and cobbler, brush- 
 maker and sweep, tinker and carter, mason and builder, all, 
 all ; for all an enormous Sabbath, that was to compen- 
 sate for any incidental suffering which it induced by the 
 increased means and the elevated condition that it ulti- 
 mately would insure : that paradise of artizans, that Utopia 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 435 
 
 of Toil, embalmed in those ringing words, sounds cheerful 
 to the Saxon race : ' A fair day's wage for a fair day's 
 work.' 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 During the strike in Lancashire the people had never plun- 
 dered, except a few provision shops chiefly rifled by boys, 
 and their acts of violence had been confined to those with 
 whom they were engaged in what, on the whole, might be 
 described as a fair contest. They solicited sustenance often 
 in great numbers, but even then their language was mild 
 and respectful, and they were easily satisfied and always 
 grateful. A body of two thousand persons, for example 
 (the writer speaks of circumstances within his own ex- 
 perience), quitted one morning a manufacturing town in 
 Lancashire, when the strike had continued for some time and 
 began to be severely felt, and made a visit to a neighbour- 
 ing squire of high degree. They entered his park in order, 
 men, women, and children, and then, seating themselves 
 in the immediate vicinity of the mansion, they sent a 
 deputation to announce that they were starving and to 
 entreat relief. In the instance in question, the lord of the 
 domain was absent in the fulfilment of those public duties 
 which the disturbed state of the country devolved on him. 
 His wife, who had a spirit equal to the occasion, notwith- 
 standing the presence of her young children, who might well 
 have aggravated feminine fears, received the deputation 
 herself; told them that of course she was unprepared to 
 feed so many, but that, if they promised to maintain order 
 and conduct themselves with decorum, she would take 
 measures to satisfy their need. They gave their pledge 
 and remained tranquilly encamped while preparations were 
 making to satisfy them. Carts were sent to a neighbour- 
 ing town for provisions ; the keepers killed what they 
 
 f f 2 
 
436 SYBIL, OR 
 
 could, and in a few hours the multitude were fed without 
 the slightest disturbance, or the least breach of their self- 
 organised discipline. When all was over, the deputation 
 waited again on the lady to express to her their gratitude ; 
 and, the gardens of this house being of celebrity in the 
 neighbourhood, they requested permision that the people 
 might be allowed to walk through them, pledging them- 
 selves that no flower should be plucked and no fruit 
 touched. The permission was granted : the multitude, in 
 order, each file under a chief and each commander of the 
 files obedient to a superior officer, then made a progress 
 through the beautiful gardens of their beautiful hostess. 
 They even passed through the forcing houses and vineries. 
 Not a border was trampled on, not a grape plucked ; and, 
 when they quitted the domain, they gave three cheers for 
 the fair castellan. 
 
 The Hell-cats and their followers were of a different 
 temper from these gentle Lancashire insurgents. They de- 
 stroyed and ravaged ; sacked and gutted houses ; plundered 
 cellars ; proscribed bakers as enemies of the people ; seques- 
 trated the universal stores of all truck and tommy shops ; 
 burst open doors, broke windows ; destroyed the gas-works, 
 that the towns at night might be in darkness ; took union 
 workhouses by storm, burned rate-books in the market- 
 place, and ordered public distribution of loaves of bread 
 and flitches of bacon to a mob ; cheering and laughing 
 amid flames and rapine. In short, they robbed and rioted ; 
 the police could make no head against them ; there was no 
 military force ; the whole district was in their possession ; 
 and, hearing that a battalion of the Coldstreams were coming 
 down by a train, the Bishop ordered all railroads to be de- 
 stroyed, and, if the Hell-cats had not been too drunk to do 
 his bidding and he too tipsy to repeat it, it is probable that 
 a great destruction of these public ways might have taken 
 place. 
 
 Does the reader remember Diggs' tommy shop? And 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 437 
 
 Master Joseph ? Well, a terrible scene took place there. 
 The Wodgate girl, with a back like a grasshopper, of the 
 Baptist school religion, who had married Tummas, once a 
 pupil of the Bishop, and still his fervent follower, although 
 he had cut open his pupil's head, was the daughter of a man 
 who had worked many years in Diggs' field, had suffered 
 much under his intolerable yoke, and at the present 
 moment was deep in his awful ledger. She had heard 
 from her first years of the oppression of Diggs, and had 
 impressed it on her husband, who was intolerant of any 
 tyranny except at Wodgate. Tummas and his wife, and a 
 few chosen friends, therefore, went out one morning to 
 settle the tommy-book of her father with Mr. Diggs. A 
 whisper of their intention had got about among those in- 
 terested in the subject. It was a fine summer morning, 
 some three hours from noon ; the shop was shut, indeed it 
 had not been opened since the riots, and all the lower 
 windows of the dwelling were closed, barred, and bolted. 
 
 A crowd of women had collected. There was Mistress 
 Page and Mistress Prance, old Dame Toddles and Mrs. 
 Mullins, Liza Gray and the comely dame, who was so fond 
 of society that she liked even a riot. 
 
 1 Master Joseph, they say, has gone to the North,' said 
 the comely dame. 
 
 ' I wonder if old Diggs is at home ? ' said Mrs. Mullins. 
 
 ' He won't show, I'll be sworn,' said old Dame Toddles. 
 
 1 Here are the Hell-cats,' said the comely dame. ' Well, 
 I do declare, they march like reglars ; two, four, six, twelve ; 
 a good score at the least.' 
 
 The Hell-cats briskly marched up to the elm-trees that 
 shaded the canal before the house, and then formed in line 
 opposite to it. They were armed with bludgeons, crowbars, 
 and hammers. Tummas was at the head, and by his side 
 his Wodgate wife. Stepping forth alone, amid the cheer- 
 ing of the crowd of women, the pupil of the Bishop ad- 
 vanced to the door of Diggs' house, gave a loud knock, and 
 
438 SYBIL; OR 
 
 a louder ring. lie waited patiently for several minutes : 
 there was no reply from the interior, and then Tummas 
 knocked and rang again. 
 
 ' It's very awful,' said the comely dame. 
 
 ' It's what I always dreamt would come to pass,' said 
 Liza Gray, * ever since Master Joseph cut my poor baby 
 over the eye with his three-foot role.' 
 
 ' I think there can be nobody within,' said Mrs. Prance. 
 
 ' Old Diggs would never leave the tommy without a 
 guard,' said Mrs. Page. 
 
 1 Now, lads,' said Tummas, looking round him and making 
 a sign ; and immediately some half dozen advanced with 
 their crowbars and were about to strike at the door, when 
 a window in the upper story of the house opened, and the 
 muzzle of a blunderbuss was presented at the assailants. 
 
 The women all screamed and ran away. 
 
 1 'Twas Master Joseph,' said the comely dame, halting to 
 regain her breath. 
 
 ' 'Twas Master Joseph,' sighed Mrs. Page. 
 
 1 'Twas Master Joseph,' moaned Mrs. Prance. 
 
 Sure enough,' said Mrs. Mullins, ' I saw his ugly face.' 
 
 'More frightful than the great gun,' said old Dame 
 Toddles. 
 
 ' I hope the children will get out of the way,' said Liza 
 Gray, ' for he is sure to fire on them.' 
 
 In the meantime, while Master Joseph himself was con- 
 tent with his position and said not a word, a benignant 
 countenance exhibited itself at the window, and requested 
 in a mild voice to know, ' What his good friends wanted 
 there?' 
 
 'We have come to settle Sam Barlow's tommy-book,' 
 said their leader. 
 
 1 Our shop is not open to-day, my good friends : the ac- 
 count can stand over ; far be it from me to press the poor.' 
 Master Diggs,' said a Hell-cat, ' canst thou tell us the 
 price of bacon to-day ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 439 
 
 'Well, good bacon,' said the elder Diggs, willing to 
 humour them, ' may be eightpence a pound.' 
 
 1 Thou art wrong, Master Diggs,' said the Hell-cat, * 'tis 
 fourpence and long credit. Let us see half a dozen good 
 flitches at fourpence, Master Diggs ; and be quick.' 
 
 There was evidently some controversy in the interior 
 as to the course at this moment to be pursued. Master 
 Joseph remonstrated against the policy of concession, 
 called conciliation, which his father would fain follow, and 
 was for instant coercion ; but age and experience carried 
 the day, and in a few minutes some flitches were thrown 
 out of the window to the Hell-cats, who received the booty 
 with a cheer. 
 
 The women returned. 
 
 ' 'Tis the tenpence a pound flitch,' said the comely dame, 
 examining the prize with a sparkling glance. 
 
 ' I have paid as much for very green stuff,' said Mrs. 
 Mullins. 
 
 ' And now, Master Diggs,' said Tummas, ' what is the 
 price of the best tea a-pound ? We be good customers, and 
 mean to treat our wives and sweethearts here. I think we 
 must order half a chest.' 
 
 This time there was a greater delay in complying with 
 the gentle hint; but, the Hell-cats getting obstreperous, 
 the tea was at length furnished and divided among the 
 womeu. This gracious office devolved on the wife of 
 Tummas, who soon found herself assisted by a spontaneous 
 committee, of which the comely dame was the most pro- 
 minent and active member. Nothing could be more con- 
 siderate, good-natured, and officious, than the mode and 
 spirit with which she divided the stores. The flitches were 
 cut up and apportioned in like manner. The scene was as 
 gay and bustling as a fair. 
 
 * It is as good as grand tommy-day,' said the comely dame, 
 with a self-complacent smile, as she strutted about, smiling 
 and dispensing patronage. 
 
44o SYBIL ; OR 
 
 The orders for bacon and tea were followed by a po- 
 pular demand for cheese. The female committee received 
 all the plunder and were active in its distribution. At 
 length, a rumour got about that Master Joseph was enter- 
 ing the names of all present in the tommy-books, so 
 that eventually the score might be satisfied. The mob 
 had now much increased. There was a panic among the 
 women, and indignation among the men : a Hell-cat 
 advanced and announced that, unless the tommy-books 
 were all given up to be burnt, they would pull down the 
 house. There was no reply : some of the Hell-cats advanced ; 
 the women cheered ; a crowbar fell upon the door ; Master 
 Joseph fired, wounded a woman and killed a child. 
 
 There rose one of those universal shrieks of wild passion 
 which announce that men have discarded all the trammels 
 of civilisation, and found in their licentious rage new and 
 unforeseen sources of power and vengeance. Where it came 
 from, how it was obtained, who prompted the thought, who 
 first accomplished it, were alike impossible to trace ; but, as 
 it were in a moment, a number of trusses of straw were 
 piled up before the house and set on fire, the gates of the 
 timber-yard were forced, and a quantity of scantlings and 
 battens soon fed the flame. Everything indeed that could 
 stimulate the fire was employed ; and every one was occu- 
 pied in the service. They ran to the water side and plun- 
 dered the barges, and threw the huge blocks of coal upon 
 the enormous bonfire. Men, women, and children were 
 alike at work with the eagerness and energy of fiends. The 
 roof of the house caught fire : the dwelling burned rapidly '> 
 you could see the flames like the tongues of wild beasts, 
 licking the bare and vanishing walls ; a single being was 
 observed amid the fiery havoc, shrieking and desperate ; he 
 clung convulsively to a huge account-book. It was Master 
 Joseph. His father had made his escape from the back of 
 the premises and had counselled his son instantly to follow 
 him, but Master Joseph wished to rescue the ledger as well 
 as their lives, and the delay ruined him. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 441 
 
 'He has got the tommy-book,' cried Liza Gray. 
 
 The glare of the clear flame fell for a moment upon his 
 countenance of agony ; the mob gave an infernal cheer ; 
 then, some part of the building falling in, there rose a vast 
 cloud of smoke and rubbish, and he was seen no more. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 'Life's a tumble-about thing of ups and downs,' said 
 Widow Carey, stirring her tea, ' but I have been down this 
 time longer than I can ever remember.' 
 
 'Nor ever will get up, widow,' said Julia, at whose lodg- 
 ings herself and several of Julia's friends had met, ' unless 
 we have the Five Points.' 
 
 ' I will never marry any man who is not for the Five 
 Points,' said Caroline. 
 
 ' I should be ashamed to marry any one who had not the 
 suffrage,' said Harriet. 
 
 ' He is no better than a slave,' said Julia. 
 
 The widow shook her head. ' I don't like these politics,' 
 said the good woman, ' they bayn't in a manner of business 
 for our sex.' 
 
 ' And I should like to know why ? ' said Julia. ' Ayn't 
 we as much concerned in the cause of good government as 
 the men ? And don't we understand as much about it ? 
 I am sure the Dandy never does anything without con- 
 sulting me.' 
 
 ' It's fine news for a summer day,' said Caroline, ' to say 
 we can't understand politics, with a Queen on the throne.' 
 
 ' She has got her ministers to tell her what to do,' said 
 Mrs, Carey, taking a pinch of snuff. ' Poor innocent young 
 creature, it often makes my heart ache to think how she is 
 beset.' 
 
 ' Over the left,' said Julia. ' If the ministers try to come 
 into her bed-chamber, she knows how to turn them to tho 
 ricrht about.' 
 
442 SYBIL; OR 
 
 * And as for that,' said Harriet, * why are wc not to inter- 
 fere with politics as much as the swell ladies in London ? ' 
 
 ' Don't yon remember, too, at the last election here,' said 
 Caroline, ' how the fine ladies from the Castle came and 
 canvassed for Colonel Rosemary ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Julia, ' I must say I wish the Colonel had 
 beat that horrid Muddlefist. If we can't have our own 
 man, I am all for the Nobs against the Middle Class.' 
 
 1 We'll have our own man soon, I expect,' said Harriet. 
 1 If the people don't work, how are the aristocracy to pay 
 the police ? ' 
 
 ' Only think ! ' said Widow Carey, shaking her head. 
 ' Why, at your time of life, my dears, we never even heard 
 of these things, much less talked of them.' 
 
 ' I should think you didn't, widow, and because why ? ' 
 said Julia; 'because there was no march of mind then. 
 Bat we know the time of day now as well as any of them.' 
 
 Lord, my dear,' said Mrs. Carey ; ' what's the use of all 
 that ? What we want is, good wages and plenty to do ; and 
 as for the rest, I don't grudge the Queen her throne, nor 
 the noblemen and gentlemen their good things. Live and 
 let live, say I.' 
 
 ' Why you are a regular oligarch, widow,' said Harriet. 
 
 1 Well, Miss Harriet,' replied Mrs. Carey, a little nettled, 
 ' 'tisn't calling your neighbours names that settles any ques- 
 tion. I'm quiet sure that Julia will agree to that, and Caro- 
 line too. And perhaps I might call you something if I chose, 
 Miss Harriet ; I've heard things said before this that I should 
 blush to say, and blush to hear too. But I won't demean 
 myself, no I won't. Holly-hock, indeed ! Why holly-hock ? ' 
 
 At this moment entered the Dandy and Devilsdust. 
 
 ' Well, young ladies,' said the Dandy. A-swelling the 
 receipt of customs by the consumption of Congo ! That 
 won't do, Julia ; it won't, indeed. Ask Dusty. If you want 
 to beat the enemy, you must knock up the revenue. How 
 d'ye do, widow ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 443 
 
 ' The same to you, Dandy Mick. We is deploring the 
 evils of the times here in a neighbourly way.' 
 
 1 Oh, the times will soon mend,' said the Dandy, gaily. 
 
 * Well, so I think,' said the widow ; 'for when things are 
 at the worst, they always say ' 
 
 ' But you always say they cannot mend, Mick,' said Julia, 
 interrupting her. 
 
 1 Why in a sense, Julia, in a certain sense, you are right ; 
 but there are two senses to everything, my girl,' and Mick 
 began singing, and then executed a hornpipe, to the grati- 
 fication of Julia and her guests. 
 
 1 'Tis genteel,' said Mick, receiving their approbation. 
 ' You remember it at the Circus ? ' 
 
 ' I wonder when we shall have the Circus again ? ' said 
 Caroline. 
 
 ' Not with the present rate of wages, said Devilsdust. 
 
 'It's very hard,' said Caroline, 'that the Middle Class 
 are always dropping our wages. One really has no amuse- 
 ments now. How I do miss the Temple ! ' 
 
 ' We'll have the Temple open again before long,' said the 
 Dandy. 
 
 ' That will be sweet !' exclaimed Caroline. ' I often dream 
 of that foreign nobleman who used to sing " Oh, no, wo 
 never !" ' 
 
 ' Well, I cannot make out w r hat puts you in such spirits, 
 Mick,' said Julia. ' You told me only this morning that 
 the thing was up, and that we should soon be slaves for life ; 
 working sixteen hours a- day for no wages, and living on 
 oatmeal porridge and potatoes, served out by the millocrats 
 like a regular Bastile.' 
 
 'But, as Madam Carey says, when things are at the 
 worst ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I did say it,' said the widow, ' surely, because you 
 see, at my years, I have seen so many ups and downs, though 
 I always say ' 
 
 ' Come, Dusty,' said Julia, ' you are more silent than ever. 
 
444 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 You won't take a dish, I know ; but tell us the news, for I 
 am sure you have something to say.' 
 
 ' I should think we had,' said Dusty. 
 
 Here all the girls began talking at the same time, and, 
 without waiting for the intelligence, favouring one another 
 with their guesses of its import. 
 
 4 I am sure its Shuffle and Screw going to work half time,' 
 said Harriet ; ' I always said so.' 
 
 1 It's something to put down the people,' said Julia. ' I 
 suppose the Nobs have met, and are going to drop wages 
 again.' 
 
 ' I think Dusty is going to be married,' said Caroline. 
 
 I Not at this rate of wages, I should hope,' said Mrs. 
 Carey, getting in a word. 
 
 I I should think not,' said Devilsdust. * Ycu are a sen- 
 sible woman, Mrs. Carey. And I don't know exactly what 
 you mean, Miss Caroline,' he added, a little confused. For 
 Devilsdust was a silent admirer of Caroline, and had been 
 known to say to Mick, who told Julia, who told her friend, 
 that if he ever found time to think of such things, that was 
 the sort of girl he should like to make the partner of his 
 life. 
 
 1 But, Dusty,' said Julia, ' now what is it ? ' 
 
 ' Why, I thought you all knew,' said Mick. 
 
 ' Now, now,' said Julia, * I hate suspense. I like news 
 to go round like a fly-wheel.' 
 
 1 Well,' said Devilsdust, drily, ' this is Saturday, young 
 women, and Mrs. Carey too, you will not deny that.' 
 
 ' I should think not,' said Mrs. Carey, ' by the token I 
 kept a stall for thirty year in our market, and never gave 
 it up till this summer, which makes me always think that, 
 though I have seen many ups and downs, this ' 
 
 1 Well, what has Saturday to do with us ? ' said Caroline ; 
 * for neither Dandy Mick nor you can take us to the Temple, 
 or any other genteel place, since they are all shut, from the 
 Corn Laws, or some other cause or other.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 445 
 
 1 1 believe it's the machines more than the Corn Laws 
 that have shut up the Temple,' said Harriet. ''Machines, 
 indeed ! Fancy preferring a piece of iron or wood to your 
 own flesh and blood ! And they call that Christianlike ! ' 
 
 ' It is Saturday,' said Julia, ' sure enough ; and if I don't 
 lie in bed to-morrow till sunset, may I get a bate ticket for 
 every day for a week to come.' 
 
 1 Well, go it, my hearty ! ' said Mick to Devilsdust. ' It 
 is Saturday, that they have all agreed.' 
 
 ' And to-morrow is Sunday,' said Devilsdust, solemnly. 
 
 'And next day is the blackest day in all the week,' said 
 Julia. ' When I hear the factory bell on Monday morning, 
 I feel just the same as I did when I crossed with my uncle 
 from Liverpool to Seaton to eat shrimps. Wasn't I sick 
 coming home, that's all ! ' 
 
 ' You won't hear that bell sound next Monday,' said 
 Devilsdust, solemnly. 
 
 ' You don't mean that ? ' said Julia. 
 
 ' Why, what's the matter ? ' said Caroline. ' Is the Queen 
 dead ? ' 
 
 ' No bell on Monday morning ? ' said Mrs. Carey, incre- 
 dulously. 
 
 ' Not a single ring, if all the Capitalists in Mowbray 
 were to pull together at the same rope,' said Devilsdust. 
 
 ' What can it be ? ' said Julia. ' Come, Mick ; Dusty is 
 always so long telling us anything.' 
 
 ' Why, we are going to have the devil's own strike,' said 
 Mick, unable any longer to contain himself, and dancing 
 with glee. 
 
 ' A strike ! ' said Julia. 
 
 ' I hope they will destroy the machines,' said Harriet. 
 
 'And open the Temple,' said Caroline, ' or else it will be 
 very dull.' 
 
 'I have seen a many strikes,' said the widow; 'but as 
 Chaffing Jack was saying to me the other day ' 
 
 ' Chaffing Jack be hanged ! ' said Mick. ' Such a slow 
 
445 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 coach won't do in these high-pressure times. We are going 
 to do the trick, and no mistake. There shan't be a capi- 
 talist in England who can get a day's work out of us, even 
 if he makes the operatives his junior partners.' 
 
 1 1 never heard of such things,' said Mrs. Carey, in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 ' It's all booked, though,' said Devilsdust. ' We'll clean 
 out the Savings Banks ; the Benefits and Burials will shell 
 out. I am treasurer of the Ancient Shepherds, and we 
 passed a resolution yesterday unanimously, that we would 
 devote all our funds to the sustenance of Labour in this its 
 last and triumphant struggle against Capital.' 
 
 1 Lor ! ' said Caroline ; ' I think it will be very jolly.' 
 
 * As long as you can give us money, I don't care, for my 
 part, how long we stick out,' said Julia. 
 
 'Well,' said Mrs. Carey, 'I didn't think there was so 
 much spirit in the place. As Chaffing Jack was saying the 
 other day ' 
 
 ' There is no spirit in the place,' said Devilsdust, ' but we 
 mean to infuse some. Some of our friends are going to pay 
 you a visit to-morrow.' 
 
 1 And who may they be ? ' said Caroline. 
 
 ' To-morrow is Sunday,' said Devilsdust, ' and the miners 
 mean to say their prayers in Mowbray Church.' 
 
 1 Well, that will be a shindy ! ' said Caroline. 
 
 1 It's a true bill, though,' said Mick. ' This time to- 
 morrow you will have ten thousand of them in this town, 
 and if every mill and work in it and ten mile round is not 
 stopped, my name is not Mick Radley.' 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was Monday morning, liatton, enveloped in his chamber 
 robe and wearing his velvet cap, was lounging in the best 
 room of the principal commercial inn of Mowbray, over a 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 447 
 
 breakfast-table covered with all the delicacies of wbicb a 
 northern matin meal may justly boast. There were pies of 
 spiced meat and trout fresh from the stream, hams that 
 Westphalia never equalled, pyramids of bread of every form 
 and flavour adapted to the surrounding fruits, some con- 
 served with curious art, and some just gathered from the 
 bed or from the tree. 
 
 1 It is very odd,' said Hatton to his companion Morley, 
 'you can't get coffee anywhere.' 
 
 Morley, who had supposed that coffee was about the com- 
 monest article of consumption in Mowbray, looked a little 
 surprised ; but at this moment Hatton's servant entered 
 with a mysterious yet somewhat triumphant air, ushering 
 in a travelling biggin of their own, faming like one of the 
 springs of Geyser. 
 
 ' Now try that,' said Hatton to Morley, as the servant 
 poured him out a cup ; 'you won't find that so bad.' 
 
 ' Does the town continue pretty quiet ? ' inquired Morley 
 of the servant, as he was leaving the room. 
 
 ' Quite quiet, I believe, sir, but a great many people in 
 the streets. All the mills are stopped.' 
 
 ' Well, this is a strange business,' said Hatton, when they 
 were once more alone. ' You had no idea of it when I met 
 you on Saturday ? ' 
 
 ' None ; on the contrary, I felt convinced that there were 
 no elements of general disturbance in this district. I thought 
 from the first that the movement would be confined to Lan- 
 cashire and would easily be arrested ; but the feebleness of 
 the government, the want of decision, perhaps the want of 
 means, have permitted a flame to spread, the extinction of 
 which will not soon be witnessed.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that ? ' 
 
 'Whenever the mining population is disturbed, the dis- 
 order is obstinate. On the whole, they endure less physical 
 suffering than most of the working classes, their wages 
 being considerable ; and they are so brutalised that they 
 
44S SYBIL ; OR 
 
 are more difficult to operate on than our reading and 
 thinking population of the factories. But, when they do 
 stir, there is always violence and a determined course. 
 When I heard of their insurrection on Saturday, I was 
 prepared for great disturbances in their district ; but that 
 they should suddenly resolve to invade another country, as 
 it were, the seat of another class of labour, and where the 
 hardships, however severe, are not of their own kind, is to 
 me amazing, and convinces me that there is some political 
 head behind the scenes, and that this move, however un- 
 intentional on the part of the miners themselves, is part of 
 some comprehensive scheme which, by widening the scene 
 of action and combining several counties and classes of 
 labour in the broil, must inevitably embarrass and perhaps 
 paralyse the government.' 
 
 ' There is a good deal in what you say,' said Hatton, 
 taking a strawberry with rather an absent air ; and then 
 he added, 'You remember a conversation we once had, the 
 eve of my departure from Mowbray in '39 ? ' 
 
 ' I do,' said Morley, reddening. 
 
 ' The miners were not so ready then,' said Hatton. 
 
 ' They were not,' said Morley, speaking with some con- 
 fusion. 
 
 I Well they are here now,' said Hatton. 
 
 ' They are,' said Morley, thoughtfully, but more collected. 
 
 ' You saw them enter yesterday ? ' said Hatton. ' I was 
 sorry I missed it, but I was taking a walk with the Gerard s 
 up Dale, to see the cottage where they once lived, and 
 which they used to talk so much about ! Was it a strong 
 body ? ' 
 
 I I should say about two thousand men, and, as far as 
 bludgeons and iron staves go, armed.' 
 
 1 A formidable force with no military to encounter them. , 
 ' Irresistible, especially with a favourable population.' 
 1 You think the people were not grieved to see them ?' 
 4 Certainly. Left alone, they might have remained quiet ; 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 449 
 
 but tliey only wanted the spark. We have a number of 
 young men here who have for a long time been murmuring 
 against our inaction and what they call want of spirit. 
 The Lancashire strike set them all agog; and, had any 
 popular leader, Gerard for example, or Warner, resolved to 
 move, they were ready.' 
 
 ' The times are critical,' said Hatton, wheeling his arm- 
 chair from the table and resting his feet on the empty fire- 
 place. ' Lord de Mowbray had no idea of all this. I was 
 with him on my way here, and found him quite tranquil. 
 I suppose the invasion of yesterday has opened his eyes a 
 little.' 
 
 ' What can he do ? ' said Morley. ' It is useless to apply 
 to the government. They have no force to spare. Look 
 at Lancashire : a few dragoons and rifles, hurried about 
 from place to place and harassed by night service ; always 
 arriving too late, and generally attacking the wrong point, 
 some diversion from the main scheme. Now, we had a 
 week ago some of the 17th Lancers here. They have been 
 marched into Lancashire. Had they remained, the invasion 
 would never have occurred.' 
 
 ' You haven't a soldier at hand ? ' 
 
 1 Not a man ; they have actually sent for a party of the 
 73rd from Ireland to guard us. Mowbray may be burnt 
 before they land.' 
 
 ' And the castle too,' said Hatton, quietly. ' These are 
 indeed critical times, Mr. Morley. I was thinking, when 
 walking with our friend Gerard yesterday, and hearing him 
 and his charming daughter dilate upon the beauties of the 
 residence which they had forfeited, I was thinking what a 
 strange thing life is, and that the fact of a box of papers 
 belonging to him being in the possession of another person 
 who only lives close by, for we were walking through Mow- 
 bray w r oods ' 
 
 At this moment a waiter entered, and said there was one 
 without who wished to speak with Mr. Morley. 
 
 G G 
 
450 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 ' Ijet liim come up,' said Hatton ; ' he will give us some 
 news, perhaps.' 
 
 And there was accordingly shown up a young man who 
 had been a member of the Convention in '39 with Morley, 
 afterwards of the Secret Council with Gerard, the same 
 young man who had been the first arrested on the night 
 that Sybil was made a prisoner, having left the scene of 
 their deliberations for a moment in order to fetch her some 
 water. He too had been tried, convicted, and imprisoned, 
 though for a shorter time than Gerard ; and he was the 
 Chartist Apostle who had gone and resided at Wodgate, 
 preached the faith to the barbarians, converted them, and 
 was thus the primary cause of the present invasion of 
 Mowbray. 
 
 ' Ah ! Field,' said Morley, ' is it you ? ' 
 
 ' You are surprised to see me ; ' and then the young man 
 looked at Hatton. 
 
 ' A friend,' said Morley ; ' speak as you like.' 
 
 1 Our great man, the leader and liberator of the people,' 
 said Field, with a smile, ' who has carried all before him, 
 and who, I verily believe, will carry all before him, for 
 Providence has given him those superhuman energies which 
 can alone emancipate a race, wishes to confer with you on 
 the state of this town and neighbourhood. It has been 
 represented to him that no one is more knowing and ex- 
 perienced than yourself in this respect ; besides, as the head 
 of our most influential organ in the Press, it is in every 
 way expedient that you should see him. He is at this 
 moment below, giving instructions and receiving reports of 
 the stoppage of all the country works ; but, if you like, I 
 will bring him up here, we shall be less disturbed.' 
 
 'By all means,' said Hatton, who seemed to apprehend 
 that Morley would make some difficulties. ' By all means.' 
 
 ' Stop,' said Morley ; ' have you seen Gerard ? ' 
 
 'No,' said Field. 'I wrote to him some time back, but 
 his reply was not encouraging. I thought his spirit was 
 perhaps broken.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 451 
 
 1 You know that he is here ? * 
 
 1 T concluded so, but we have not seen him ; though, to 
 be sure, we have seen so many and done so much since our 
 arrival yesterday, it is not wonderful. By-the-bye, who is 
 this black- coat you have here, this St. Lys ? "We took 
 possession of the church yesterday on our arrival, for it is a 
 sort of thing that pleases the miners and colliers wonder- 
 fully, and I always humour them. This St. Lys preached 
 us such a sermon that I was almost afraid at one time the 
 game would be spoiled. Our great man was alarmingly 
 taken by it, was saying his prayers all day, and had nearly 
 marched back again : had it not been for the excellence of 
 the rum-and-water at our quarters, the champion of the 
 Charter would have proved a pious recreant.' 
 
 * St. Lys will trouble you,' said Morley. ' Alas, for poor 
 human nature, when violence can only be arrested by 
 superstition ! ' 
 
 ' Come, don't you preach,' said the Chartist. ' The 
 Charter is a thing the people can understand, especially 
 when they are masters of the country ; but as for moral 
 force, I should like to know how I could have marched 
 from Wodgate to Mowbray with that on my banner.' 
 
 * Wodgate,' said Morley, ' that's a queer place.' 
 
 * Wodgate,' said Hatton ; ' what Wodgate is that ? ' 
 
 At this moment a great noise sounded without the room, 
 the door was banged, there seemed a scuffling, some harsh 
 high tones, the deprecatory voices of many waiters. The 
 door was banged again, and this time flew open ; while ex- 
 claiming in an insolent coarse voice, ' Don't tell me of youJ 
 private rooms ; who is master here, I should like to know ? ' 
 there entered a very thick-set man, rather under the 
 middle size, with a brutal and grimy countenance, wearing 
 the unbuttoned coat of a police serjeant conquered in fight, 
 a cocked hat, with a white plume, which was also a trophy 
 of war, a pair of leather breeches and topped boots, which 
 from their antiquity had the appearance of being his 
 
 g o 2 
 
45 2 SYBIL; OR 
 
 authentic property. This was the leader and liberator of 
 the people of England. He carried in his hand a large 
 hammer, which he had never parted with during the whole 
 of the insurrection; and, stopping when he had entered 
 the room and surveying its inmates with an air at once 
 stupid and arrogant, recognising Field the Chartist, he 
 hallooed out, ' I tell you I want him. He's my Lord 
 Chancellor and Prime Minister, my head and principal 
 Doggy ; I can't go on without him. Well, what do you 
 think F ' he said, advancing to Field ; ' here's a pretty go ! 
 They won't stop the works at the big country mill you were 
 talking of. They won't, won't they ? Is my word the law 
 of the land, or is it not ? Have I given my commands that 
 all labour shall cease till the Queen sends me a message 
 that the Charter is established, and is a man who has a 
 mill to shut his gates upon my forces, and pump upon my 
 people with engines ? There shall be fire for this water ; ' 
 and, so saying, the Liberator sent his hammer with such 
 force upon the table, that the plate and porcelain and 
 accumulated luxuries of Mr. Hatton's breakfast perilously 
 vibrated. 
 
 'We will inquire into this, sir,' said Field, ' and we will 
 take the necessary steps.' 
 
 1 We will inquire into this, and we will take the neces- 
 sary steps,' said the Liberator, looking round with an air of 
 pompous stupidity ; and then, taking up some peaches, he 
 began devouring them with considerable zest. 
 
 'Would the Liberator like to take some breakfast?' said 
 Mr. Hatton. 
 
 The Liberator looked at his host with a glance of sense- 
 less intimidation, and then, as if not condescending to 
 communicate directly with ordinary men, he uttered in a 
 more subdued tone to the Chartist these words, ' Glass of 
 ale.' 
 
 Ale was instantly ordered for the Liberator, who after a 
 copious draught assumed a less menacing air, and smack- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 453 
 
 ing his lips, pushed aside the dishes, and sat down on the 
 table, swinging his legs. 
 
 ' This is my friend of whom I spoke, and whom you 
 wished to see, sir,' said the Chartist ; ' the most distin- 
 guished advocate of popular rights we possess, the editor of 
 the Mowbray Phalanx, Mr. Morley.' 
 
 Morley slightly advanced ; he caught the Liberator's eye, 
 who scrutinised him with extreme earnestness, and then, 
 jumping from the table, shouted : ' Why, this is the muif 
 that called on me in Hell-house Yard three years ago.' 
 
 ' I had that honour,' said Morley, quietly. 
 
 ' Honour be hanged ! ' said the Bishop ; ' you know 
 something about somebody ; I couldn't squeeze you then, 
 
 but by G I will have it out of you now. Now, cut it 
 
 short ; have you seen him, and where does he live ? ' 
 
 ' I came then to gain information, not to give it,' said 
 Morley. ' I had a friend w T ho wished much to see this gen- 
 tleman ' 
 
 * He ayn't no gentleman,' said the Bishop ; he's my 
 brother: but I tell you what, I'll do something for him 
 now. I'm cock of the walk, you see ; and that's a sort of 
 thing that don't come twice in a man's life. One should 
 feel for one's flesh and blood ; and if I find him out, I'll 
 make his fortune, or my name is not Simon Hatton.' 
 
 The creator and counsellor of peers started in his chair, 
 and looked aghast. A glance was interchanged between 
 him and Morley, which revealed their mutual thoughts; 
 and the great antiquary, looking at the Liberator with a 
 glance of blended terror and disgust, walked away to the 
 window. 
 
 * Suppose you put an advertisement in your paper,' con- 
 tinued the Bishop. ' I know a traveller who lost his keys 
 at the Yard, and got them back again by those same 
 means. Go on advertising till you find him, and my 
 Prime Minister and principal Doggy here shall give you an 
 order on the town-council for your expenses.' 
 
454 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 Morley bowed his thanks in silence. 
 
 The Bishop continued: ' What's the name of the man 
 who has got the big mill here, about three mile off, who 
 won't stop his works, and ducked my men this morning 
 with his engines ? I'll have fire, I say, for that water ; do 
 you hear that, Master Newspaper ? I'll have fire for that 
 water before I am many hours older.' 
 
 * The Liberator means Trafford,' said the Chartist. 
 
 ' I'll Trafford him,' said the Liberator, brandishing his 
 hammer. * He ducks my messenger, does he ? I tell you 
 I'll have fire for that water ;' and he looked around him as 
 if he courted some remonstrance, in order that he might 
 crush it. 
 
 1 Trafford is a humane man,' said Morley, in a quiet tone, 
 1 and behaves well to his people.' 
 
 * A man with a big mill humane ! ' exclaimed the Bishop ; 
 ' with two or three thousand slaves working under the 
 same roof, and he doing nothing but eating their vitals. 
 I'll have no big mills where I'm main master. Let him 
 look to it. Here goes ; ' and he jumped off the table. 
 ' Before an hour I'll pay this same Trafford a visit, and I'll 
 see whether he'll duck me. Come on, my prime Doggy ;' 
 and nodding to the Chartist to follow him, the Liberator 
 left the room. 
 
 Hatton turned his head from the window, and advanced 
 quickly to Morley. ' To business, friend Morley. This 
 savage cannot be quiet for a moment ; he exists only in 
 destruction and rapine. If it were not Trafford's mill, it 
 would be something else. I am sorry for the Traffords ; 
 they have old blood in their veins. Before sunset their 
 settlement will be razed to the ground. Can we prevent 
 it ? Why not attack the castle, instead of the mill ? ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 455 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 About noon of this day there was a great stir in 
 Mowbray. It was generally whispered about that the 
 Liberator, at the head of the Hell-cats, and all others who 
 chose to accompany them, was going to pay a visit to Mr. 
 Trafibrd's settlement, in order to avenge an insult which 
 his envoys had experienced early in the morning, when, 
 accompanied by a rabble of two or three hundred persons, 
 they had repaired to the Mowedale works, in order to 
 signify the commands of the Liberator that labour should 
 stop, and, if necessary, to enforce those commands. The 
 injunctions were disregarded; and when the mob, in 
 pursuance of their further instructions, began to force 
 the great gates of the premises, in order that they might 
 enter the building, drive the plugs out of the steam-boilers, 
 and free the slaves enclosed, a masqued battery of powerful 
 engines was suddenly opened upon them, and the whole 
 band of patriots were deluged. It was impossible to 
 resist a power which seemed inexhaustible, and, wet to 
 their skins, and amid the laughter of their adversaries, 
 they fled. This ridiculous catastrophe had terribly excited 
 the ire of the Liberator. He vowed vengeance, and as, 
 like all great revolutionary characters and military leaders, 
 the only foundation of his power was constant employment 
 for his troops and constant excitement for the populace, 
 he determined to place himself at the head of the chastising 
 force, and make a great example, which should establish 
 his awful reputation, and spread the terror of his name 
 throughout the district. 
 
 Field, the Chartist, had soon discovered who were the 
 rising spirits of Mowbray, and Devilsdust and Dandy Mick 
 were both sworn on Monday morning of the council of the 
 Liberator, and took their seats at the board accordingly. 
 
45 6 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 Devilsdust, used to public business, and to the fulfilment 
 of responsible duties, was calm and grave, but equally 
 ready and determined. Mick's head, on the contrary, was 
 quite turned by the importance of his novel position. He 
 was greatly excited, could devise nothing, and would do 
 anything, always followed Devilsdust in council ; but when 
 he executed their joint decrees, and showed himself about 
 the town, he strutted like a peacock, swore at the men, 
 and winked at the girls, and was the idol and admiration 
 of every gaping or huzzaing younker. 
 
 There was a large crowd assembled in the Market Place, 
 in which were the Liberator's lodgings, many of them 
 armed in their rude fashion, and all anxious to march. 
 Devilsdust was with the great man and Field ; Mick be- 
 low was marshalling the men, and swearing like a trooper 
 at all who disobeyed, or who misunderstood him. 
 
 ' Come, stupid,' said he, addressing Tummas, ' what are 
 you staring about ? Get your men in order, or I'll be 
 among you.' 
 
 ' Stoopid ! ' said Tummas, staring at Mick with immense 
 astonishment. 'And who are you who says " Stoopid ? " A 
 white-livered handloom as I dare say, or a son-of-a-gun of 
 a factory slave. Stoopid, indeed ! What next, when a Hell- 
 cat is to be called stoopid by such a thing as you ? ' 
 
 ' I'll give you a piece of advice, young man,' said Master 
 Nixon, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and blowing an 
 immense puff: 'just you go down the shaft for a couple of 
 months, and then you'll learn a little of life, which is wery 
 useful.' 
 
 The lively temperament of the Dandy would here pro- 
 bably have involved him in an inconvenient embroilment, 
 had not some one at this moment touched him on the 
 shoulder, and, looking round, he recognised Mr. Morley. 
 Notwithstanding the difference of their political schools, 
 Mick had a profound respect for Morley, though why he 
 could not perhaps precisely express. But he had heard 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 457 
 
 Devilsdast for years declare that Stephen Morley was 
 the deepest head in Mowbray ; and though he regretted 
 the unfortunate weakness in favour of that imaginary 
 abstraction, called Moral Force, for which the editor of 
 the Phalanx was distinguished, still Devilsdust used to say, 
 that if ever the great revolution were to occur, by which 
 the rights of labour were to be recognised, though bolder 
 spirits and brawnier arms might consummate the change, 
 there was only one head among them that would be 
 capable, when they had gained their power, to guide it for 
 the public weal, arid, as Devilsdust used to add, ' carry out 
 the thing,' and that was Morley. 
 
 It was a fine summer day, and Mowedale was as re- 
 splendent as when Egremont, amid its beauties, first began 
 to muse over the beautiful. There was the same bloom 
 over the sky, the same shadowy lustre on the trees, the 
 same sparkling brilliancy on the waters. A herdsman, 
 following some kine, was crossing the stone bridge ; and, 
 except their lowing as they stopped and sniffed the current 
 of fresh air in its centre, there was not a sound. 
 
 Suddenly the tramp and hum of a multitude broke upon 
 the sunshiny silence. A vast crowd, with some assumption 
 of an ill-disciplined order, approached from the direction 
 of Mowbray. At their head rode a man on a white mule. 
 Many of his followers were armed with bludgeons and 
 other rude weapons, and moved in files. Behind them 
 spread a more miscellaneous throng, in which women were 
 not wanting, and even children. They moved rapidly ; 
 they swept by the former cottage of Gerard ; they were in 
 sight of the settlement of Trafford. 
 
 ' All the waters of the river shall not dout the blaze that 
 T will light up to-day,' said the Liberator. 
 
 * He is a most inveterate Capitalist,' said Field, 'and 
 would divert the minds of the people from the Five Points 
 by allotting them gardens and giving them baths.' 
 
 ' We will have no more gardens in England ; everything 
 
458 SYBIL; OR 
 
 shall be open,' said the Liberator, ' and baths shall only be 
 used to drown the enemies of the People. I always was 
 against washing ; it takes the marrow out of a man/ 
 
 1 Here we are,' said Field, as the roofs and bowers of the 
 village, the spire and the spreading factory, broke upon 
 them. ' Every door and every window closed ! The 
 settlement is deserted. Some one has been before us, and 
 apprised them of our arrival.' 
 
 ' Will they pour water on me ? ' said the Bishop. ' It 
 must be a stream indeed that shall put out the blaze that 
 I am going to light. What shall we do first ? Halt, 
 there, you men,' said the Liberator, looking back with that 
 scowl which his apprentices never could forget. ' Will you 
 halt, or won't you ? or must I be among you ? ' 
 
 There was a tremulous shuffling, and then a comparative 
 silence. 
 
 The women and children of the village had been gathered 
 into the factory yard, the great gates of which were closed. 
 
 'What shall we burn first ? ' asked the Bishop. 
 
 'We may as well parley with them a little,' said Field ; 
 ' perhaps we may contrive to gain admission, and then we 
 can sack the whole affair and let the people burn the 
 machinery. It will be a great moral lesson.' 
 
 ' As long as there is burning,' said the Bishop, ' I don't 
 care what lessons you teach them. I leave them to you ; 
 but I will have fire to put out that water.' 
 
 ' I will advance,' said Field ; and so saying, he went for- 
 ward and rang at the gate ; the Bishop, on his mule, with a 
 dozen Hell-cats accompanying him ; the great body of the 
 people about twenty yards withdrawn. 
 
 ' Who rings ? ' asked a loud voice. 
 
 ' One who, by the order of the Liberator, wishes to enter 
 and see whether his commands for a complete cessation of 
 labour have been complied with in this establishment.' 
 
 'Very good,' said the Bishop. 
 
 ' There is no hand at work here,' said the voice ; ' and 
 you may take my word for it.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 459 
 
 * Your word be hanged,' said the Bishop. ' I want to 
 know ' 
 
 ' Hush, hush ! ' said Field ; and then in a louder voice ho 
 said, ' It may be so ; but as our messengers this morning 
 were not permitted to enter, and were treated with great 
 indignity ' 
 
 ' That's it,' said the Bishop. 
 
 ' With great indignity,' continued Field, ' we must have 
 ocular experience of the state of affairs, and I beg and 
 recommend you therefore at once to let the Liberator 
 enter.' 
 
 * None shall enter here,' replied the unseen guardian of 
 the gate. 
 
 1 That's enough,' cried the Bishop. 
 
 * Beware ! ' said Field. 
 
 'Whether you let us in or not, 'tis all the same,' said 
 the Bishop ; ' I will have fire for your water, and I have 
 come for that. Now, lads ! ' 
 
 ' Stop,' said the voice of the unseen. ' I will speak to 
 you.' 
 
 * He is going to let us in, whispered Field to the 
 Bishop. 
 
 And suddenly there appeared on the flat roof of the 
 lodge that was on one side of the gates, Gerard. His air, 
 his figure, his position were alike commanding, and at the 
 sight of him a loud and spontaneous cheer burst from the 
 assembled thousands. It was the sight of one who was, 
 after all, the most popular leader of the people that had 
 ever figured in these parts, whose eloquence charmed and 
 commanded, whose disinterestedness was acknowledged, 
 whose sufferings had created sympathy, whose courage, 
 manly bearing, and famous feats of strength were a source 
 to them of pride. There was not a Mowbray man whose 
 heart did not throb with emotion, and whose memory did 
 not recall the orations from the Druid's altar and the 
 famous meetings on the moor. ' Gerard for ever ! ' was the 
 universal shout. 
 
460 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 The Bishop, who liked no one to be cheered except 
 himself, like many great men, was mnch disgusted, a little 
 perplexed. i What does all this mean ? ' he whispered to 
 Field. * I came here to burn down the place.' 
 
 4 Wait awhile,' said Field, * we must humour the 
 Mowbray men a bit. This is their favourite leader, at 
 least was in old days. I know him well ; he is a bold and 
 honest man.' 
 
 ' Is this the man who ducked my people ? ' asked the 
 Bishop, fiercely. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said Field ; * he is going to speak.' 
 
 My friends,' said Gerard, ' for if we are not friends, who 
 should be ? (loud cheers, and cries of " Very true,") if you 
 come here to learn whether the Mowedale works are 
 stopped, I give you my word there is not a machine or 
 man that' stirs here at this moment (great cheering). I 
 believe you'll take my word (cheers and cries of " We 
 will"). I believe I'm known at Mowbray (" Gerard for 
 ever!"), and on Mowbray Moor too (tumultuous cheer- 
 ing). We have met together before this (" That we have"), 
 and shall meet again yet (great cheering). The people 
 haven't so many friends that they should quarrel with 
 well-wishers. The master here has done his best to soften 
 your lots. He is not one of those who deny that Labour 
 has rights (loud cheers). I say that Mr. Trafford 
 has always acknowledged the rights of Labour (pro- 
 longed cheers, and cries of "So he has"). Well, is he 
 the man that we should injure ? (" No, no.") What if he 
 did give a cold reception to some visitors this morning 
 (groans) ; perhaps they wore faces he was not used to 
 (loud cheers and laughter from the Mowbray people). I 
 dare say they mean as well as we do ; no doubt of that ; 
 but still a neighbour's a neighbour (immense cheering). 
 Now, my lads, three cheers for the National Holiday ; ' and 
 Gerard gave the time, and his voice was echoed by the 
 thousands present. ' The master here has no wish to 
 interfere with the National Holiday ; all he wants to 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 461 
 
 secure is that all mills and works should alike stop (cries 
 of "Very just"). And I say so, too,' continued Gerard. 
 1 It is just ; just and manly, and like a true-born English- 
 man, as he is, who loves the people, and whose fathers 
 before him loved the people (great cheering). Three 
 cheers for Mr. TrafTord, I say;' and they were given; 'and 
 three cheers for Mrs. Trafford too, the friend of the poor ! ' 
 Here the mob became not only enthusiastic, but maudlin ; 
 all vowing to each other that Trafford was a true-born 
 Englishman and his wife a very angel upon earth. This 
 popular feeling is so contagious that even the Hell-cats 
 shared it, cheering, shaking hands with each other, and 
 almost shedding tears, though, it must be confessed, they 
 had some vague idea that it was all to end in something 
 to drink. 
 
 Their great leader, however, remained unmoved, and 
 nothing but his brutal stupidity could have prevented him 
 from endeavouring to arrest the tide of public feeling; but 
 he was quite bewildered by the diversion, and for the 
 first time failed in finding a prompter in Field. The 
 Chartist was cowed by Gerard ; his old companion in 
 scenes that the memory lingered over, and whose superior 
 genius had often controlled and often led him. Gerard, 
 too, had recognised him, and had made some personal 
 allusion and appeal to him, which alike touched his 
 conscience and flattered his vanity. The ranks were 
 broken, the spirit of the expedition had dissolved ; the 
 great body were talking of returning, some of the 
 stragglers, indeed, were on their way back; the Bishop, 
 silent and confused, kept knocking the mane of his male 
 with his hammer. 
 
 'Now,' said Morley, who during this scene had stood 
 apart, accompanied by Devilsdust and Dandy Mick, 'now,' 
 said Morley to the latter, ' now is your time.' 
 
 ' Gentlemen ! ' sang out Mick. 
 
 * A speech, a speech ! ' cried out several. 
 
 1 Listen to Mick Radley,' whispered Devilsdust, moving 
 
462 SYBIL : OR 
 
 swiftly among the mob, and addressing every one he met 
 of influence. ' Listen to Mick Radley ; he has something 
 important.' 
 
 ' Radley for ever ! Listen to Mick Radley ! Go it, 
 Dandy ! Pitch it into them ! Silence for Dandy Mick ! 
 Jump up on that ere bank ;' and on the bank Mick mounted 
 accordingly. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' said Mick. 
 
 ' Well, you have said that before.' 
 
 1 1 like to hear him say " Gentlemen ; " it's respectful.' 
 
 * Gentlemen,' said the Dandy, 'the National Holiday has 
 begun ' 
 
 1 Three cheers for it ! ' 
 
 1 Silence ! hear the Dandy ! ' 
 
 'The National Holiday has begun,' continued Mick,' and 
 it seems to me the best thing for the people to do is to take 
 a walk in Lord de Mowbray's park.' 
 
 This proposition was received with one of those wold 
 shouts of approbation which indicate that the orator has 
 exactly hit his audience between wind and water. The 
 fact is, the public mind at this instant wanted to be led, 
 and in Dandy Mick a leader appeared. A leader, to be 
 successful, should embody in his system the necessities of 
 his followers, express what every one feels, but no one has 
 had the ability or the courage to pronounce. 
 
 The courage, the adroitness, the influence of Gerard had 
 reconciled the people to the relinquishment of the great 
 end for which they had congregated ; but neither man nor 
 multitude like to make preparations without obtaining a 
 result. Every one wanted to achieve some object by the 
 movement ; and at this critical juncture an object was 
 proposed, and one which promised novelty, amusement, 
 excitement. The Bishop, whose consent must be obtained, 
 but who relinquished an idea with the same difficulty with 
 which he had imbibed it, alone murmured, and kept saying 
 to Field, ' I thought we came to burn down this mill ! A 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 463 
 
 bloody-minded Capitalist, a man that makes gardens, and 
 forces the people to wash themselves ! What is all this ? ' 
 
 Field said what he conld, while Devilsdust, leaning over 
 the mule's shoulder, cajoled the other ear of the Bishop, 
 who at last gave his consent with almost as much re- 
 luctance as George the Fourth did to the emancipation of 
 the Roman Catholics ; bat he made his terms, and said, in 
 a sulky voice, he must have a glass of ale. 
 
 'Drink a glass of ale with Lord de Mowbray,' said 
 Devil sdust. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 When the news had arrived in the morning at Mowbray, 
 that the messengers of the Bishop had met with a some- 
 what queer reception at the Mowedale works, Gerard, 
 prescient that some trouble might in consequence occur 
 there, determined to repair at once to the residence of his 
 late employer. It so happened that Monday was the day 
 on which the cottages up the Dale and on the other side of 
 the river were visited by an envoy of Ursula Trafford, and 
 it was the office of Sybil this morning to fulfil the duties of 
 that mission of charity. She had mentioned this to her 
 father on the previous day, and as, in consequence of the 
 strike, he was no longer occupied, he had proposed to 
 accompany his daughter on the morrow. Together 
 therefore they had walked until they arrived, it being then 
 about two hours to noon, at the bridge, a little above their 
 former residence. Here they were to separate. Gerard 
 embraced his daughter with even more than usual tender- 
 ness ; and, as Sybil crossed the bridge, she looked round at 
 her father, and her glance caught his, turned for the same 
 fond purpose. 
 
 Sybil was not alone ; Harold, who had ceased to gambol, 
 but who had gained in stature, majesty, and weight what 
 
464 SYBIL; OR 
 
 he had lost of lithe and frolic grace, was by her side. Ho 
 no longer danced before his mistress, coursed away and 
 then returned, or vented his exuberant life in a thousand 
 feats of playful vigour ; but, sedate and observant, he was 
 always at hand, ever sagacious, and seemed to watch her 
 every glance. 
 
 The day was beautiful, the scene was fair, the spot 
 indeed was one which rendered the performance of gracious 
 offices to Sybil doubly sweet. She ever begged of the Lady 
 Superior that she might be her minister to the cottages up 
 Dale. They were full of familiar faces. It was a region 
 endeared to Sybil by many memories of content and 
 tenderness. And as she moved along to-day, her heart 
 was light, and the natural joyousness of her disposition, 
 which so many adverse circumstances had tended to 
 repress, was visible in her sunny face. She was happy 
 about her father. The invasion of the miners, instead of 
 prompting him, as she had feared, to some rash conduct, 
 appeared to have filled him only with disgust. Even now 
 he was occupied in a pursuit of order and peace, counselling 
 prudence and protecting the benevolent. 
 
 She passed through a copse which skirted those woods 
 of Mowbray wherein she had once so often rambled with 
 one whose image now hovered over her spirit. Ah ! what 
 scenes and changes, dazzling and dark, had occurred since 
 the careless though thoughtful days of her early girlhood ! 
 Sybil mused: she recalled the moonlit hour, when Mr. 
 Franklin first paid a visit to their cottage, their walks and 
 wandering, the expeditions which she planned, and the ex- 
 planations which she so artlessly gave him. Her memory 
 wandered to their meeting in Westminster, and all the 
 scenes of sorrow and of softness of which it was the herald. 
 Her imagination raised before her in colours of light and 
 life the morning, the terrible morning, when he came to 
 Iter desperate rescue ; his voice sounded in her ear ; her 
 cheek glowed as she recalled their tender farewell. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 46: 
 
 It was past noon : Sybil had reached the term of her 
 expedition, had visited her last charge ; she was emerging 
 from the hills into the open country, and about to regain 
 the river road that would in time have conducted her to the 
 bridge. On one side of her was the moor, on the other a 
 wood that was the boundary of Mowbray Park. And now 
 a number of women met her, some of whom she recognised, 
 and had indeed visited earlier in the morning. Their move- 
 ments were disordered ; distress and panic were expressed 
 on their countenances. Sybil stopped, she spoke to some, 
 the rest gathered round her. The Hell-cats were coming, 
 they said ; they were on the other side of the river, burning 
 mills, destroying all they could put their hands on, man, 
 woman, and child. 
 
 Sybil, alarmed for her father, put to them some questions, 
 to which they gave incoherent answers. It was however 
 clear that they had seen no one, and knew nothing of 
 their own experience. The rumour had reached them 
 that the mob was advancing up Dale, those who had 
 apprised them had, according to their statement, absolutely 
 witnessed the approach of the multitude, and so they had 
 locked up their cottages, crossed the bridge, and run away 
 to the ^oods and moor. Under these circumstances, 
 deeming that there might be much exaggeration, Sybil at 
 length resolved to advance, and in a few minutes those 
 whom she had encountered were out of sight. She patted 
 Harold, who looked up in her face and gave a bark, signi- 
 ficant of his approbation of her proceeding, and also of hia 
 consciousness that something strange was going on. She 
 had not proceeded very far before two men on horseback, at 
 full gallop, met her. They pulled up as soon as they 
 observed her, and said, You had better go back as fast as 
 you can : the mob is out, and coming up Dale in great 
 force.' 
 
 Sybil inquired, with much agitation, whether they had 
 themselves seen the people, and they replied that they haJ 
 
 H H 
 
466 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 not, but that advices had been received from Mowbray of 
 their approach, and, as for themselves, they were hurrying 
 at their utmost speed to a town ten miles off, where they 
 understood some yeomanry were stationed, and to whom 
 the Mayor of Mowbray had last night sent a despatch. 
 Sybil would have inquired whether there were time for 
 her to reach the bridge and join her father at the factory 
 of Trafford, but the horsemen were impatient and rode 
 off. Still she determined to proceed. All that she now 
 aimed at was to reach Gerard and share his fate. 
 
 A boat put across the river, with two men and a crowd 
 of women. The mob had been seen ; at least there was 
 positively one person present who had distinguished them 
 in the extreme distance, or rather the cloud of dust which 
 they had created ; there were dreadful stories of their 
 violence and devastation. It was understood that a body 
 meant to attack Trafford's works, but, as the narrator 
 added, it was very probable that the greater part would 
 cross the bridge and so on to the Moor, where they would 
 hold a meeting. 
 
 Sybil would fain have crossed in the boat, bat there was 
 no one to assist her. They had escaped, and meant to lose 
 no time in finding a place of refuge for the moment. They 
 were sure if they recrossed now, they must meet the mob. 
 They were about to leave Sybil in infinite distress, when a 
 lady, driving herself in a pony carriage, with a couple of 
 grooms behind her mounted also on ponies of the same 
 form and colour, came up from the direction of the Moor, 
 and, observing the group and Sybil much agitated, pulled 
 up and inquired the cause. One of the men, frequently 
 interrupted by all the women, immediately entered into a 
 narrative of the state of affairs, for which the lady was 
 evidently quite unprepared, for her alarm was considerable. 
 
 1 And this young person will persist in crossing over,' 
 continued the man. * It's nothing less than madness. I tell 
 her she will meet instant death or worst;.' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 467 
 
 * It seems to me very rash,' said the lady in a kind tone, 
 and who seemed to recognise her. 
 
 1 Alas ! what am I to do ! ' exclaimed Sybil. ' I left my 
 father at Mr. Tranord's ! ' 
 
 ' Well, w r e have no time to lose,' said the man, whose 
 companion had now fastened the boat to the bank, and so, 
 wishing them good morning, and followed by the whole of 
 his cargo, they went on their way. 
 
 Bnt jnst at this moment a gentleman, monnted on a 
 knowing little cob, came galloping np, exclaiming, as lie 
 reached the pony carriage, 'My dear Joan, I am looking 
 after you. I have been in the greatest alarm for you. 
 There are riots on the other side of the river, and I was 
 afraid you might have crossed the bridge.' 
 
 Upon this Lady Joan related to Mr. Mountchesney how 
 she had just become acquainted with the intelligence, and 
 then they conversed together for a moment or so in a 
 whisper: when, turning round to Sybil, she said, 'I think 
 you had really better come home with us till affairs are a 
 little more quiet.' 
 
 1 You are most kind,' said Sybil, ' but if I could get back 
 to the town through Mowbray Park, I think I might do 
 something for my father ! ' 
 
 ' We are going to the castle through the park at this 
 moment,' said the gentleman. ' You had better come with 
 us. There you will at least be safe, and perhaps we shall 
 be able to do something for the good people in trouble over 
 the water ; ' and, so saying, nodding to a groom, who, 
 advancing, held his cob, the gentleman dismounted, and 
 approaching Sybil with great courtesy, said, ' I think we 
 ought all of us to know each other. Lady Joan and myself 
 had once the pleasure of meeting you, I think, at Mr. 
 Traflford's. It is a long time ago, but,' he added in a 
 subdued tone, ' you are not a person to forget.' 
 
 Sybil was insensible to Mr. Mountchesney's gallantry 
 but, alarmed and perplexed, she yielded to the representa- 
 
 H H 2 
 
4 68 SYBIL; OR 
 
 tions of himself and Lady Joan, and got into the phaeton. 
 Turning from the river, they pursued a road which, after a 
 short progress, entered the park, Mr. Mountchesney canter- 
 ing on before them, Harold following. They took their 
 way for about a mile through a richly-wooded demesne, 
 Lady Joan addressing many observations with great kind- 
 ness to Sybil, and frequently endeavouring, though in vain, 
 to divert her agitated thoughts, till they at length emerged 
 from the more covered parts into extensive lawns, while on 
 a rising ground, which they rapidly approached, rose Mow- 
 bray Castle, a modern castellated building, raised in a style 
 not remarkable for its taste or correctness, but vast, grand, 
 and imposing. 
 
 ' And now,' said Mr. Mountchesney, riding up to them 
 and addressing Sybil, * I will send off a scout immediately 
 for news of your father. In the meantime let us believe 
 the best ! ' Sybil thanked him with cordiality, and then 
 she entered Mowbray Castle. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In less than an hour after the arrival of Sybil at Mowbray 
 Castle, the scout that Mr. Mountchesney had sent off to 
 gather news returned, and with intelligence of the triumph 
 of Gerard's eloquence, that all had ended happily, and that 
 the people were dispersing, and returning to the town. 
 
 Kind as was the reception accorded to Sybil by Lady de 
 Mowbray and her daughter, on her arrival, the remembrance 
 of the perilous position of her father had totally disqualified 
 her from responding to their advances. Acquainted with 
 the cause of her anxiety and depression, and sympathising 
 with womanly softness with her distress, nothing could be 
 more considerate than their behaviour. It touched Sybil 
 much, and she regretted the harsh thoughts that irresistible 
 circumstances had forced her to cherish respecting persons 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 469 
 
 wlio, now that she saw them in their domestic and un- 
 affected hour, had apparently many qualities to conciliate 
 and to charm. When the good news arrived of her father's 
 safety, and safety achieved in a manner so nattering to a 
 daughter's pride, it came upon a heart predisposed to 
 warmth and kindness, and all her feelings opened. The 
 tears stood in her beautiful eyes, and they were tears not 
 only of tenderness but gratitude. Fortunately Lord de 
 Mowbray was at the moment absent, and, as the question of 
 the controverted inheritance was a secret to every member 
 of the family except himself, the name of Gerard excited 
 no invidious sensation in the circle. Sybil was willing to 
 please, and to be pleased ; every one was captivated by her 
 beauty, her grace, her picturesque expression, and sweet sim- 
 plicity. Lady de Mowbray serenely smiled, and frequently, 
 when unobserved, viewed her through her eye-glass. Lady 
 Joan, much softened by marriage, would show her the 
 castle ; Lady Maud was in ecstasies with all that Sybil said 
 or did ; while Mr. Mountchesney, who had thought of little 
 else but Sybil ever since Lady Maud's report of her seraphic 
 singing, and who had not let four-and-twenty hours go 
 by without discovering, with all the practised art of St. 
 James's, the name and residence of the unknown fair, 
 flattered himself he was making great play, when Sybil, 
 moved by his kindness, distinguished him by frequent 
 notice. They had viewed the castle, they were in the 
 music-room, Sybil had been prevailed upon, though with 
 reluctance, to sing. Some Spanish church music which she 
 found there called forth all her powers ; all was happiness, 
 delight, rapture, Lady Maud in a frenzy of friendship, Mr. 
 Mountchesney convinced that the country in August might 
 be delightful, and Lady Joan almost gay because Alfred 
 was pleased. Lady de Mowbray had been left in her 
 boudoir with the ' Morning Post.' Sybil had just finished 
 a ravishing air, there was a murmur of luncheon, when 
 suddenly Harold, who had persisted in following his 
 
470 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 mistress, and whom Mr. Mountchesney liad gallantly intro- 
 duced into the music-room, rose, and coming forward from 
 the corner in which he reposed, barked violently. 
 
 ' How now ! ' said Mr. Mountchesney. 
 
 * Harold ! ' said Sybil in a tone of remonstrance and 
 surprise. 
 
 But the dog not only continued to bark, but even howled. 
 At this moment the groom of the chambers entered the 
 room abruptly, and with a face of mystery said that he 
 wished to speak with Mr. Mountchesney. That gentleman 
 immediately withdrew. He was absent some little time, 
 the dog very restless, Lady Joan becoming disquieted, 
 when he returned. His changed air struck the vigilant 
 eye of his wife. 
 
 ' What has happened, Alfred ? ' she said. 
 
 1 Oh ! don't be alarmed,' he replied with an obvious affec- 
 tation of ease. ' There are some troublesome people in the 
 park ; stragglers, I suppose, from the rioters. The gate- 
 keeper ought not to have let them pass. I have given direc- 
 tions to Bentley what to do, if they come to the castle.' 
 
 ' Let us go to mamma,' said Lady Joan. 
 
 And they were all about leaving the music-room, when a 
 servant came running in and called out, ' Mr. Bentley told 
 me to say, sir, they are in sight.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Mr. Mountchesney in a calm tone, but 
 changing colour. ' You had better go to your mamma, 
 Joan, and take Maud and our friend with you. I will stay 
 below for a while,' and, notwithstanding the remonstrances 
 of his wife, Mr. Mountchesney went to the hall. 
 
 ' I don't know what to do, sir,' said the house-steward. 
 1 They are a very strong party.' 
 
 ' Close all the windows, lock and bar all the doors,' said 
 Mr. Mountchesney. 'I am frightened,' he continued, 'about 
 your lord. I fear he may fall in with these people.' 
 
 ' My lord is at Mowbray,' said Mr. Bentley. ' He must 
 have heard of this mob there.' 
 
 And now, emerging from the plantations, and entering 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 471 
 
 on the lawns, the force and description of the invading party 
 were easier to distinguish. They were numerous, though 
 consisting of only a section of the original expedition, for 
 Gerard had collected a great portion of the Mowbray men, 
 and they preferred being under his command to following a 
 stranger, whom they did not much like, on a somewhat 
 licentious adventure of which their natural leader disap- 
 proved. The invading section, therefore, were principally 
 composed of Hell-cats, though, singular enough, Morley, 
 of all men in the world, accompanied them, attended by 
 Devilsdust, Dandy Mick, and others of that youthful class 
 of which these last were the idols and heroes. , There were 
 perhaps eighteen hundred or two thousand persons armed 
 with bars and bludgeons, in general a grimy crew, whose 
 dress and ' appearance revealed the kind of labour to 
 which they were accustomed. The difference between 
 them and the minority of Mowbray operatives was instantly 
 recognisable. 
 
 When they perceived the castle, thi3 dreadful band gave 
 a ferocious shout. Lady de Mowbray showed blood ; she 
 was composed and courageous. She observed the mob from 
 the window, and reassuring her daughters and Sybil, she 
 said she would go down and speak to them. She was on 
 the point of leaving the room with this object, when Mr. 
 Mountchesney entered, and, hearing her purpose, dissuaded 
 her from attempting it. ' Leave all to me,' he said ; ' and 
 make yourselves quite easy; they will go away; I am 
 certain they will go away ; ' and he again quitted them. 
 
 In the meantime, Lady de Mowbray and her friends 
 observed the proceedings below. When the main body had 
 advanced within a few hundred yards of the castle, they 
 halted, and seated themselves on the turf. This step re- 
 assured the garrison : it was generally held to indicate that 
 the intentions of the invaders were not of a very settled or 
 hostile character ; that they had visited the place probably 
 in a spirit of frolic, and if met with tact and civility 
 might ultimately be induced to retire from it without mueh 
 
472 SYBIL; OR 
 
 annoyance. This was evidently the opinion of Mr. Mount- 
 chesney from the first, and when an uncouth being, on a 
 white mule, attended by twenty or thirty miners, advanced 
 to the castle, and asked for Lord de Mowbray, Mr. Mount- 
 chesney met them with kindness, saying that he regretted 
 his father-in-law was absent, expressed his readiness to 
 represent him, and inquired their pleasure. His courteous 
 bearing evidently had an influence on the Bishop, who, 
 dropping his usual brutal tone, mumbled something about 
 his wish to drink Lord de Mowbray's health. 
 
 'You shall all drink his health,' said Mr. Mountchesney 
 humouring him, and he gave directions that a couple of 
 barrels of ale should be broached in the park before the 
 castle. The Bishop was pleased, the people were in good 
 humour, some men began dancing ; it seemed that the 
 cloud had blown over, and Mr. Mountchesney sent up a 
 bulletin to Lady de Mowbray that all danger was past, and 
 that he hoped in ten minutes they would all have disappeared. 
 
 The ten minutes had expired: the Bishop was still drink- 
 ing ale, and Mr. Mountchesney still making civil speeches, 
 and keeping his immediate attendants in humour. 
 
 1 1 wish they would go,' said Lady de Mowbray. 
 
 'How wonderfully Alfred has managed them,' said Lady 
 Joan. 
 
 ' After all,' said Lady Maud, ' it must be confessed that 
 
 the people ' Her sentence was interrupted; Harold 
 
 who had been shut out, but who had lain down without 
 quietly, though moaning at intervals, now sprang at the 
 door with so much force that it trembled on its hinges, 
 while the dog again barked with renewed violence. Sybil 
 went to him : he seized her dress with his teeth, and would 
 have pulled her away. Suddenly uncouth and mysterious 
 sounds were heard, there was a loud shriek, the gong in the 
 hall thundered, the great alarum-bell of the tower sounded 
 without, and the housekeeper, followed by the female 
 domestics, rushed into the room. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 
 
 473 
 
 1 Oh ! my lady, my lady,' they all exclaimed at tlie same 
 time, 'the Hell-cats are breaking into the castle.' 
 
 Before any one of the terrified company could reply, the 
 voice of Mr. Mountchesney was heard. He was approach- 
 ing them ; he was no longer calm. He hurried into the 
 room ; he was pale, evidently greatly alarmed. ' I have 
 come to you,' he said ; ' these fellows have got in below. 
 While there is time, and we can manage them, you must 
 leave the place.' 
 
 ' I am ready for anything,' said Lady de "Mowbray. 
 
 Lady Joan and Lady Maud wrung their hands in frantic 
 terror. Sybil, very pale, said, 'Let me go down; I may 
 know some of these men.' 
 
 ' No, no,' said Mr. Mountchesney. * They are not Mow- 
 bray people. It would not be safe.' 
 
 Dreadful sounds were now heard ; a blending of shouts 
 and oaths, and hideous merriment. Their hearts trembled. 
 
 ' The mob are in the house, sir,' called out Mr. Bentley, 
 rushing up to them. ' They say they will see everything.' 
 
 ' Let them see everything,' said Lady de Mowbray, 
 * but make a condition that they first let us go. Try, 
 Alfred, try to manage them before they are utterly un- 
 governable.' 
 
 Mr. Mountchesney again left them on this desperate 
 mission. Lady de Mowbray and all the women remained 
 in the chamber. Not a word was spoken ; the silence was 
 complete. Even the maidservants had ceased to sigh and 
 sob. A feeling something like desperation was stealing 
 over them. 
 
 The dreadful sounds continued, increased. They seemed 
 to approach nearer. It was impossible to distinguish a 
 word, and yet their import was frightful and ferocious. 
 
 ' Lord have mercy on us all ! ' exclaimed the housekeeper, 
 unable to refrain herself. The maids began to cry. 
 
 After an absence of about five minutes, Mr. Mount- 
 chesney again hurried in, and, leading away Lady de 
 
474 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 Mowbray, he said, ' You haven't a moment to lose. 
 Follow us ! ' 
 
 There was a general rush, and, following Mr. Mount- 
 chesney, they passed rapidly through several apartments, 
 the fearful noises every moment increasing, until they 
 reached the library, which opened on the terrace. The 
 windows were broken, the terrace crowded with people, 
 several of the mob were in the room, even Lady de Mow- 
 bray cried out and fell back. 
 
 'Come on,' said Mr. Mountchesney. 'The mob have 
 possession of the castle. It is our only chance.' 
 
 'But the mob are here,' said Lady de Mowbray, much 
 terrified. 
 
 ' I see some Mowbray faces,' said Sybil, springing for- 
 ward, with a flashing eye and a glowing cheek. ' Bamford 
 and Samuel Carr : Bamford, if you be my father's friend, 
 aid us now; and Samuel Carr, I was with your mother this 
 morning : did she think I should meet her son thus ? No, 
 you shall not enter,' said Sybil, advancing. They recog- 
 nised her, they paused. ' I know you, Couchman ; you 
 told us once at the Convent that we might summon you in 
 our need. I summon you now. Oh, men, men ! ' she ex- 
 claimed, clasping her hands, ' what is this ? Are you led 
 away by strangers to such deeds ? Why, I know you all ! 
 You came here to aid, I am sure, and not to harm. Guard 
 these ladies, save them from these foreigners ! There's 
 Butler, he'll go with us, and Godfrey Wells. Shall it be 
 said you let your neighbours be plundered and assailed by 
 strangers and never try to shield them ? Now, my good 
 friends, I entreat, I adjure you, Butler, Wells, Couchman, 
 what would Walter Gerard say, your friend that you have 
 so often followed, if he saw this ? ' 
 
 ' Gerard for ever ! ' shouted Couchman. 
 
 ' Gerard for ever ! ' exclaimed a hundred voices. 
 
 ' 'Tis his blessed daughter,' said others ; ' 'tis Sybil, our 
 angel Sybil ! ' 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 475 
 
 1 Stand by Sybil Gerard.' 
 
 Sybil had niade her way upon the terrace, and had col- 
 lected around her a knot of stout followers, who, whatever 
 may have been their original motive, were now resolved to 
 do her bidding. The object of Mr. Mountchesney was to 
 descend the side-step of the terrace and gain the flower- 
 garden, whence there were means of escape. But the throng 
 was still too fierce to permit Lady de Mowbray and her 
 companions to attempt the passage, and all that Sybil and 
 her followers could at present do, was to keep the mob off 
 from entering the library, and to exert themselves to obtain 
 fresh recruits. 
 
 At this moment an unexpected aid arrived. 
 
 1 Keep back there ! I call upon you in the name of God 
 to keep back ! ' exclaimed a voice of one struggling and 
 communing with the rioters, a voice which all immediately 
 recognised. It was that of Mr. St. Lys. ' Charles Gardner, 
 I have been your friend. The aid I gave you was often 
 supplied to me by this house. Why are you here ? ' 
 
 ' For no evil purpose, Mr. St. Lys. I came, as others did, 
 to see what was going on.' 
 
 ' Then you see a deed of darkness. Struggle against it. 
 Aid me and Philip Warner in this work ; it will support 
 you at the judgment. Tressel, Tressel, stand by me and 
 Warner. That's good, that's right. And you too, 
 Daventry, and you, and you. I knew you would wash 
 your hands of this fell deed. It is not Mowbray men would 
 do this. That's right, that's right ! Form a band. Good 
 again. There's not a man that joins us now who does not 
 make a friend for life.' 
 
 Mr. St. Lys had been in the neighbourhood when the 
 news of the visit of the mob to the castle reached him. Ho 
 anticipated the perilous consequences. He hastened im- 
 mediately to the scene of action. He had met Warner, the 
 handloom weaver, in his way, and enlisted his powerful 
 influence with the people on his side. 
 
476 SYBIL, OR 
 
 The respective bands of Sybil and Mr. St. Lys in time 
 contrived to join. Their numbers were no longer con- 
 temptible ; they were animated by the words and presence 
 of their leaders : St. Lys struggling in their midst ; Sybil 
 maintaining her position on the terrace, and inciting all 
 around her to courage and energy. 
 
 The multitude were kept back, the passage to the side- 
 steps of the terrace was clear. 
 
 ' Now,' said Sybil, and she encouraged Lady de Mowbray, 
 her daughters, and followers to advance. It was a fearful 
 struggle to maintain the communication, but it was a suc- 
 cessful one. They proceeded breathless and trembling, 
 until they reached what was commonly called the Grotto, 
 but which was, in fact, a subterranean way excavated 
 through a hill and leading to the bank of the river where 
 there were boats. The entrance of this tunnel was guarded 
 by an iron gate, and Mr. Mountchesney had secured the 
 key. The gate was opened, Warner and his friends made 
 almost superhuman efforts at this moment to keep back the 
 multitude; Lady de Mowbray and her daughters had passed 
 through, when there came one of those violent undulations 
 usual in mobs, and which was occasioned by a sudden influx 
 of persons attracted by what was occurring, and Sybil and 
 those who immediately surrounded her and were guarding 
 the retreat were carried far away. The gate was closed, 
 the rest of the party had passed, but Sybil was left, and 
 found herself entirely among strangers. 
 
 In the meantime the castle was in the possession of the 
 mob. The first great rush was to the cellars : the Bishop 
 himself headed this onset, nor did he rest until he was 
 seated among the prime bins of the noble proprietor. 
 This was not a crisis of corkscrews ; the heads of the 
 bottles were knocked off with the same promptitude and 
 dexterity as if they were shelling nuts or decapitating 
 shrimps ; the choicest wines of Christendom were poured 
 down the thirsty throats that ale and spirits alone had 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 477 
 
 hitherto stimulated : Turamas was swallowing Burgundy ; 
 Master Nixon had got hold of a batch of Tokay ; while the 
 Bishop himself, seated on the ground and leaning againnt 
 an arch, the long perspective of the cellars full of rapacious 
 figures brandishing bottles and torches, alternately quaffed 
 some very old Port and some Madeira of many voyages, 
 and was making up his mind as to their respective and 
 relative merits. 
 
 While the cellars and offices were thus occupied, bands 
 were parading the gorgeous saloons and gazing with won- 
 derment on their decorations and furniture. Some grimy 
 ruffians had thrown themselves with disdainful delight on 
 the satin couches and the state beds: others rifled the 
 cabinets with an idea that they must be full of money, and 
 finding little in their way, had strewn their contents, 
 papers and books, and works of art, over the floors of the 
 apartments; sometimes a band who had escaped from below 
 with booty came up to consummate their orgies in the mag- 
 nificence of the dwelling-rooms. Among these were Nixon 
 and his friends, who stared at the pictures and stood before 
 the tall mirrors with still greater astonishment. Indeed, 
 many of them had never seen an ordinary looking-glass 
 in their lives. 
 
 "lis Natur ! ' said Master Nixon, surveying himself, and 
 turning to Juggins. 
 
 Many of these last grew frantic, and finished their de- 
 bauch by the destruction of everything around them. 
 
 But while these scenes of brutal riot were occurring, there 
 was one select but resolute band who shared in none of these 
 excesses. Morley, followed by half a dozen Mowbray lads 
 and two chosen Hell-cats, leaving all the confusion below, 
 had ascended the great staircase, traced his way down a 
 corridor to the winding steps of the Round Tower, and, sup- 
 plied with the necessary instruments, had forced his entrance 
 into the muniment room of the castle. It was a circular 
 chamber lined with tall fire-proof cases. These might have 
 
473 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 presented invincible obstacles to any other than the pupils 
 of Bishop Hatton ; as it was, in some instances the locks, 
 in others the hinges, yielded in time, though after prolonged 
 efforts, to the resources of their art; and while Dandy Mick 
 and his friends kept watch at the entrance, Morley and 
 Devilsdust proceeded to examine the contents of the cases : 
 piles of parchment deeds, bundles of papers arranged and 
 docketed, many boxes of various size and materials ; but 
 the desired object was not visible. A baffled expression 
 came over the face of Morley ; he paused for an instant in 
 his labours. The thought of how much he had sacrificed 
 for this, and only to fail, came upon him : upon him, the 
 votary of Moral Power in the midst of havoc which he had 
 organised and stimulated. He cursed Baptist Hatton in 
 his heart. 
 
 ' The knaves have destroyed them,' said Devilsdust. ' I 
 thought how it would be. They never would run the 
 chance of a son of Labour being lord of all this.' 
 
 Some of the cases were very deep, and they had hitherto 
 in general, in order to save time, proved their contents 
 with an iron rod. Now Morley with a desperate air 
 mounting on some steps that were in the room, commenced 
 formally rifling the cases and throwing their contents on 
 the floor ; it was soon strewn with deeds and papers and 
 boxes which he and Devilsdust the moment they had 
 glanced at them hurled away. At length, when all hope 
 seemed to have vanished, clearing a case which at first 
 appeared only to contain papers, Morley struck something 
 at its back ; he sprang forward with outstretched arm, his 
 body was half hid in the cabinet, and he pulled out with 
 triumphant exultation the box, painted blue and blazoned 
 with the arms of Valence. It was neither large nor heavy ; 
 he held it out to Devilsdust without saying a word, and 
 Morley, descending the steps, sat down for a moment on a 
 pile of deeds and folded his arms. 
 
 At this juncture the discharge of musketry was heard. 
 
 * Hilloa ! ' said Devilsdust with a Queer expression. 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 479 
 
 Morley started from his seat, Dandy Mick rushed into the 
 room. ' Troops, troops ! there are troops here ! ' he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 ' Let us descend,' said Morley. ' In the confusion we 
 may escape. I will take the box,' and they left the 
 muniment room. 
 
 One of their party, whom Mick had sent forward to 
 reconnoitre, fell back upon them. ' They are not troops,' 
 he said ; ' they are yeomanry ; they are firing away and 
 cutting every one down. They have cleared the ground- 
 floor of the castle, and are in complete possession below. 
 We cannot escape this way.' 
 
 1 Those accursed locks ! ' said Morley, clenching the box. 
 ' Time has be&t us. Let us see, let us see.' He ran back 
 into the muniment room and examined the egress from the 
 window. It was just possible for any one very lithe and 
 nimble to vault upon the roof of the less elevated part of 
 the castle. Revolving this, another scout rushed in and 
 said, ' Comrades, they are here ! they are ascending the 
 stairs.' 
 
 Morley stamped on the ground with rage and despair. 
 Then seizing Mick by the hand he said, ' You see this 
 window ; can you by any means reach that roof ? ' 
 
 ' One may as well lose one's neck that way,' said Mick. 
 Til try.' 
 
 1 Off! If you land I will throw this box after you. Now 
 mind ; take it to the convent at Mowbray, and deliver it 
 yourself from me to Sybil Gerard. It is light ; there are 
 only papers in it ; but they will give her her own again, 
 and she will not forget you.' 
 
 ' Never mind that,' said Mick. ' I only wish I may live 
 to see her.' 
 
 The tramp of the ascending troopers was heard. 
 
 ' Good bye, my hearties,' said Mick, and he made the 
 spring. He seemed stunned, but he might recover. 
 Morley watched him and flung the box. 
 
 'And now,' he said, drawing a pistol, ' we may fight our 
 
4 8o SYBIL ; OR 
 
 way yet. I'll shoot the first man who enters, and then you 
 must rush on with your bludgeons.' 
 
 The force that had so unexpectedly arrived at this scene 
 of devastation was a troop of the yeomanry regiment of 
 Lord Marney. The strike in Lancashire and the revolt in 
 the mining districts had so completely drained this county 
 of military, that the Lord Lieutenant had insisted on Lord 
 Marney quitting his agricultural neighbourhood, and 
 quartering himself in the region of factories. Within the 
 last two days he had fixed his head-quarters at a large 
 manufacturing town within ten miles of Mowbray, and a 
 despatch on Sunday evening from the mayor of that town 
 having reached him, apprising him of the invasion of the 
 miners, Egremont had received orders to march with his 
 troop there on the following morning. 
 
 Egremont had not departed more than two hours, when 
 the horsemen whom Sybil had met arrived at Lord Marney's 
 head- quarters, bringing a most alarming and exaggerated 
 report of the insurrection and of the havoc that was 
 probably impending. Lord Marney, being of opinion that 
 Egremont's forces were by no means equal to the occasion, 
 resolved therefore at once to set out for Mowbray with his 
 own troop. Crossing Mowbray Moor, he encountered a 
 great multitude, now headed for purposes of peace by 
 Walter Gerard. His mind inflamed by the accounts he 
 had received, and hating at all times any popular demon- 
 stration, his lordship resolved without inquiry or preparation 
 immediately to disperse them. The Riot Act was read 
 with the rapidity with which grace is sometimes said at 
 the head of a public table, a ceremony of which none but 
 the performer and his immediate friends are conscious. 
 The people were fired on and sabred. The indignant spirit 
 of Gerard resisted ; he struck down a trooper to the earth, 
 and incited those about him not to yield. The father of 
 Sybil was picked out, the real friend and champion of the 
 People, and shot dead. Instantly arose a groan which 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 4S1 
 
 almost quelled the spirit of Lord Marney, though armed 
 and at the head of armed men. The people who before 
 this were in general scared and dispersing, ready indeed to 
 fly in all directions, no sooner saw their beloved leader fall, 
 than a feeling of frenzy came over them. They defied the 
 troopers, though themselves armed only with stones and 
 bludgeons ; they rushed at the horsemen and tore them 
 from their saddles, while a shower of stones rattled on the 
 helmet of Lord Marney and seemed never to cease. In 
 vain the men around him charged the infuriated throng ; 
 the people returned to their prey, nor did they rest until 
 Lord Marney fell lifeless on Mowbray Moor, literally stoned 
 to death. 
 
 These disastrous events of course occurred at a subse- 
 quent period of the day to that on which half-a-dozen 
 troopers were ascending the staircase of the Round Tower 
 of Mowbray Castle. The distracted house- steward of Lord 
 de Mowbray had met and impressed upon them, now that 
 the castle was once more in their possession, the expe- 
 diency of securing the muniment room, for Mr. Bentley had 
 witnessed the ominous ascent of Morley and his com- 
 panions to that important chamber. 
 
 Morley and his companions had taken up an advantageous 
 position at the head of the staircase. 
 
 ' Surrender,' said the commander of the yeomanry. 
 1 Resistance is useless.' 
 
 Morley presented his pistol, but, before he could pull the 
 trigger, a shot from a trooper in the rear, and who from 
 his position could well observe the intention of Morley, 
 struck Stephen in the breast ; still he fired but aimless and 
 without effect. The troopers pushed on ; Morley faint- 
 ing fell back with his friends, who were frightened, except 
 Devilsdust, who had struck hard and well, and who in turn 
 had been slightly sabred. The yeomanry entered the 
 muniment room almost at the same time as their foes, 
 loaving Devilsdust behind them, who had fallen, and who, 
 
 I I 
 
482 SYBIL; OR 
 
 cursing the Capitalist who had wounded him, managed to 
 escape. Morley fell when he had regained the room. The 
 rest surrendered. 
 
 ' Morley ! Stephen Morley ! ' exclaimed the commander 
 of the yeomanry. ' You, you here ! ' 
 
 1 Yes. I am sped,' he said in a faint voice. ' No, no 
 succour. It is useless, and I desire none. Why I am here 
 is a mystery ; let it remain so. The world will misjudge 
 me ; the man of peace they will say was a hypocrite. The 
 world will be wrong, as it always is. Death is bitter,' he 
 said, with a deep sigh, and speaking with great difficulty, 
 'more bitter from you; but just. We have struggled 
 together before, Egremont. I thought I had scotched you 
 then, but you escaped. Our lives have been a struggle 
 since we first met. Your star has controlled mine; and 
 now I feel I have sacrificed life and fame, dying men 
 prophesy, for your profit and honour. Sybil ! ' and 
 with this name, half- sighed upon his lips, the votary of 
 Moral Power and the Apostle of Community ceased to 
 exist. 
 
 Meanwhile Sybil, separated from her friends, who had 
 made their escape through the grotto, was left with Harold 
 only for her protector, for she had lost even Warner in the 
 crush. She looked around in vain for some Mowbray face 
 that she could recognise, but after some fruitless research, 
 a loud shouting in the distance, followed by the firing of 
 musketry, so terrified all around her, that the mob in her 
 immediate neighbourhood dispersed as if by magic ; and 
 she remained alone crouching in a corner of the flower- 
 garden, while dreadful shouts and shrieks and yells 
 resounded from the distance, with occasional firing, the 
 smoke floating to her retreat. She could see from where 
 she stood the multitude flying about the park in all 
 directions, and therefore she thought it best to remain in 
 her present position and await the terrible events. She 
 concluded that some military force had arrived, and hoped 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 4^3 
 
 that, if she could maintain her present post, the extreme 
 danger might pass. But while she indulged in these hopes, 
 a dark cloud of smoke came descending in the garden. It 
 could not be produced by musket or carbine : its volume 
 was too heavy even for ordnance : and in a moment there 
 were sparks mingled with its black form ; and then the 
 shouting and shrieking which had in some degree subsided, 
 suddenly broke out again with increased force and wildness. 
 The castle was on fire. 
 
 Whether from heedlessness or. from insane intention, for 
 the deed sealed their own doom, the drunken Hell-cats, 
 brandishing their torches, while they rifled the cellars and 
 examined every closet and corner of the oflices, had set fire 
 to the lower part of the building, and the flames, that had 
 for some time burnt unseen, had now gained the principal 
 chambers. The Bishop was lying senseless in the main 
 cellar, surrounded by his chief officers in the same state : 
 indeed the whole of the basement was covered with the 
 recumbent figures of Hell-cats, as black and as thick as 
 torpid flies during the last days of their career. The 
 funeral pile of the children of Woden was a sumptuous 
 one-; it was prepared and lighted by themselves; and the 
 flame that, rising from the keep of Mowbray, announced to 
 the startled country that in a short hour the splendid 
 mimickry of Norman rule would cease to exist, told also 
 the pitiless fate of the ruthless savage, who, with analogous 
 pretension, had presumed to style himself the Liberator of 
 the People. 
 
 The clouds of smoke, the tongues of flame that now 
 began to mingle with them, the multitude whom this new 
 incident and impending catastrophe summoned back to the 
 scene, forced Sybil to leave the garden and enter the park. 
 It was in vain she endeavoured to gain some part less 
 frequented than the rest, and to make her way unobserved. 
 Suddenly a band of drunken ruffians, with shouts and oaths, 
 surrounded her ; she shrieked in frantic terror ; Harold 
 
 J I 2 
 
434 SYBIL; OR 
 
 sprung at the throat of the foremost ; another advanced, 
 Harold left his present prey and attacked the new assailant. 
 The brave dog did wonders, but the odds were fearful; 
 and the men had bludgeons, were enraged, and had already 
 wounded him. One ruffian had grasped the arm of Sybil, 
 another had clenched her garments, when an officer, 
 covered with dust and gore, sabre in hand, jumped from 
 the terrace, and hurried to the rescue. He cut down one 
 man, thrust away another, and, placing his left arm round 
 Sybil, he defended her with his sword, while Harold, now 
 become furious, flew from man to man, and protected her 
 on the other side. Her assailants were routed, they made 
 a staggering flight ! the officer turned round and pressed 
 Sybil to his heart. 
 
 ' We will never part again/ said Egremont. 
 
 'Never,' murmured Sybil. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It was the spring of last year, arid Lady Bardolf was 
 making a morning visit to Lady St. Julians. 
 
 ' I heard they were to be at Lady Palmerston's last 
 night,' said Lady St. Julians. 
 
 ' No,' said Lady Bardolf shaking her head, ' they make 
 their first appearance at Deloraine House. We meet there 
 on Thursday, I know.' 
 
 1 Well, I must say,' said Lady St. Julians, ' that I am 
 curious to see her.' 
 
 ' Lord Valentine met them last year at Naples.' 
 
 'And what does he say of her.' 
 
 1 Oh ! he raves ! ' 
 
 ' What a romantic history ! And what a fortunate man 
 is Lord Marney. If one could only have foreseen events ! ' 
 exclaimed Lady St. Julians. ' He was always a favourite 
 of mine, though. But still I thought his brother was the 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 485 
 
 very last person who ever would die. He was so very 
 hard!' 
 
 'I fear Lord Marney is entirely lost to us,' said Lady 
 Bardolf, looking very solemn. 
 
 ' Ah ! he always had a twist,' said Lady St. Julians, ' and 
 used to breakfast with that horrid Mr. Trenchard, and do 
 those sort of things. But still, with his immense fortune, 
 I should think he would become rational.' 
 
 ' You may well say immense,' said Lady Bardolf. * Mr. 
 Ormsby, and there is no better judge of another man's 
 income, says there are not three peers in the kingdom who 
 have so much a year clear.' 
 
 ' They say the Mowbray estate is forty thousand a year,' 
 said Lady St. Julians. * Poor Lady de Mowbray ! I under- 
 stand that Mr. Mountchesney has resolved not to appeal 
 against the verdict.' 
 
 * Tou know he has not the shadow of a chance,' said Lady 
 Bardolf. ' Ah ! what changes we have seen in that family ! 
 They say the writ of right killed poor Lord de Mowbray, 
 but to my mind he never recovered the burning of the 
 castle. We went over to them directly, and I never saw a 
 man so cut up. We wanted them to come to us at Fire- 
 brace, but he said he should leave the county immediately. 
 I remember Lord Bardolf mentioning to me that he looked 
 like a dying man.' 
 
 1 Well, I must say,' said Lady St. Julians, rallying as it 
 were from a fit of abstraction, * that I am most curious to 
 see Lady Marney.' 
 
 The reader will infer from this conversation, that Dandy 
 Mick, in spite of his stunning fall, and all dangers which 
 awaited him on his recovery, had contrived in spite of fire 
 and flame, sabre and carbine, trampling troopers, and 
 plundering mobs, to reach the convent of Mowbray with 
 the box of papers. There he inquired for Sybil, in whose 
 hands, and whose hands alone, he was enjoined to deposit 
 them. She was still absent, but, faithful to his instruc- 
 
4 S6 SYBIL ; OR 
 
 tions, Mick would deliver his charge to none other, and, 
 exhausted by the fatigues of the terrible day, he remained 
 in the courtyard of the convent, lying down with the box 
 for his pillow, until Sybil, under the protection of Egre- 
 niont, herself returned. Then he fulfilled his mission. 
 Sybil was too agitated at the moment to perceive all its 
 import, but she delivered the box into the custody of 
 Egremont, who desiring Mick to follow him to his hotel, 
 bade farewell to Sybil, who, equally with himself, was then 
 ignorant of the fatal encounter on Mowbray Moor. 
 
 We must drop a veil over the anguish which its 
 inevitable and speedy revelation brought to the daughter 
 of Gerard. Her love for her father was one of those 
 profound emotions which seemed to form a constituent 
 part of her existence. She remained for a long period in 
 helpless woe, soothed only by the sacred cares of Ursula. 
 There was another mourner in this season of sorrow who 
 must not be forgotten ; and that was Lady Marney. All 
 that tenderness and the most considerate thought could 
 devise to soften sorrow, and reconcile her to a change of 
 life which at the first has in it something depressing, were 
 extended by Egremont to Arabella. He supplied in an 
 instant every arrangement which had been neglected by 
 his brother, but which could secure her convenience, and 
 tend to her happiness. Between Marney Abbey, where he 
 insisted for the present that Arabella should reside, and 
 Mowbray, Egremont passed his life for many months, 
 until, by some management which we need not trace or 
 analyse, Lady Marney came over one day to the convent 
 at Mowbray, and carried back Sybil to Marney Abbey, 
 never again to quit it until on her bridal day, when the 
 Earl and Countess of Marney departed for Italy, where 
 they passed nearly a year, and from which they had just 
 returned at the commencement of this chapter. 
 
 Daring the previous period, however, many important 
 events had occurred. Lord Marney nad placed himself in 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 48 7 
 
 communication with Mr. Hatton, who had soon become 
 acquainted with all that had occurred in the muniment 
 room of Mowbray Castle. The result was not what he 
 had once anticipated ; but for him it was not without some 
 compensatory circumstances. True, another and an un- 
 expected rival had stepped on the stage, with whom it was 
 vain to cope ; but the idea that he had deprived Sybil of 
 her inheritance, had, ever since he had become acquainted 
 with her, been the plague-spot of Hatton's life, and there 
 was nothing that he desired more ardently than to see her 
 restored to her rights, and to be instrumental in that re- 
 storation. How successful he was in pursuing her claim, 
 the reader has already learnt. 
 
 Dandy Mick was rewarded for all the dangers he had 
 encountered in the service of Sybil, and what he conceived 
 was the vindication of popular rights. Lord Marney es- 
 tablished him in business, and Mick took Devilsdust for 
 a partner. Devilsdust, having thus obtained a position in 
 society, and become a capitalist, thought it but a due 
 homage to the social decencies to assume a decorous 
 appellation, and he called himself by the name of the town 
 where he was born. The firm of Radley, Mowbray, and 
 Co., is a rising one ; and will probably furnish in time a 
 crop of members of Parliament and peers of the realm. 
 Devilsdust married Caroline, and Mrs. Mowbray became a 
 great favourite. She was always, perhaps, a little too fond 
 of junketting, but she had a sweet temper and a gay 
 spirit, and sustained her husband in the agonies of a great 
 speculation, or the despair of glutted markets. Julia 
 became Mrs. Radley, and was much esteemed : no one 
 could behave better. She was more orderly than Caroline, 
 and exactly suited Mick, who wanted a person near him of 
 decision and method. As for Harriet, she is not yet 
 married. Though pretty and clever, she is selfish, and a 
 screw. She has saved a good deal, and has a considerable 
 sum in the savings' bank, but, like many heiresses, she 
 
4 8S SYBIL ; OR 
 
 cannot bring her mind to share her money with another. 
 The great measures of Sir Robert Peel, which produced 
 three good harvests, have entirely revived trade at Mow- 
 bray. The Temple is again open, newly-painted, and 
 re-burnished, and Chaffing Jack has of course * rallied,' 
 while good Mrs. Carey still gossips with her neighbours 
 round her well- stored stall, and tells wonderful stories of 
 the great stick-out, and riots of '42. 
 
 And thus I conclude the last page of a work which 
 though its form be light and unpretending, would yet 
 aspire to suggest to its readers some considerations of a 
 very opposite character. A year ago, I presumed to offer 
 to the public some volumes that aimed at calling their 
 attention to the state of our political parties ; their origin, 
 their history, their present position. In an age of political 
 infidelity, of mean passions, and petty thoughts, I would 
 have impressed upon the rising race not to despair, but to 
 seek in a right understanding of the history of their 
 country and in the energies of heroic youth, the elements 
 of national welfare. The present work advances another 
 step in the same emprise. From the state of Parties it 
 now would draw public thought to the state of the People 
 whom those parties for two centuries have governed. The 
 comprehension and the cure of this greater theme depend 
 upon the same agencies as the first : it is the past alone 
 that can explain the present, and it is youth that alone can 
 mould the remedial future. The written history of our 
 country for the last ten reigns has been a mere phantasma ; 
 giving to the origin and consequence of public transactions 
 a character and colour in every respect dissimilar to their 
 natural form and hue. In this mighty mystery all 
 thoughts and things have assumed an aspect and title 
 contrary to their real quality and style : Oligarchy has 
 been called Liberty; an exclusive Priesthood has been 
 christened a National Church ; Sovereignty has been the 
 title of something that has had no dominion, while ab- 
 
THE TWO NATIONS. 489 
 
 solute power has been wielded by those who profess them- 
 selves the servants of the People. In the selfish strife of 
 factions, two great existences have been blotted out of the 
 history of England, the Monarch and the Multitude ; as 
 the power of the Crown has diminished, the privileges of 
 the People have disappeared; till at length the sceptre has 
 become a pageant, and its subject has degenerated again 
 into a serf. 
 
 It is nearly fourteen years ago, in the popular frenzy of 
 a mean and selfish revolution which emancipated neither 
 the Crown nor the People, that I first took the occasion to 
 intimate, and then to develope, to the first assembly of my 
 countrymen that I ever had the honour to address, these 
 convictions. They have been misunderstood, as is ever for 
 a season the fate of Truth, and they have obtained for 
 their promulgator much misrepresentation, as must ever be 
 the lot of those who will not follow the beaten track of a 
 fallacious custom. But Time, that brings all things, has 
 brought also to the mind of England some suspicion that 
 the idols they have so long worshipped, and the oracles 
 that have so long deluded them, are not the true ones. 
 There is a whisper rising in this country that Loyalty is 
 not a phrase, Faith not a delusion, and Popular Liberty 
 something more diffusive and substantial than the profane 
 exercise of the sacred rights of sovereignty by political 
 classes. 
 
 That we may live to see England once more possess a 
 free Monarchy, and a privileged and prosperous People, is 
 my prayer ; that these great consequences can only be 
 brought about by the energy and devotion of our Youth is 
 my persuasion. We live in an age when to be young and 
 to be indifferent can be no longer synonymous. We must 
 prepare for the coming hour. The claims of the Future 
 are represented by suffering millions ; and the Youth of a 
 Nation are the trustees of Posterity. 
 
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