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 A ^iii^U Trial fliciUd from thonruko htr^ moi yet MtJ tkes* S/tntdul Pre/aratlen»» 
 
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TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 BY 
 
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 AUTHOR OF --•"*/- 
 
 * HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT," 
 
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 ETC 
 
 NEW EDITION. 
 
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 FHINEA* fINN. I THE PRIME MINISTER. 
 
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 London j Chapman & Hall (Limited), 193 Piccadill/. 
 
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 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES 
 
 568 
 
MIAMI UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 DUOPAGE 
 
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 Reproduced by XEROGRAPHY! 
 by Micro Photo Inc. \ 
 
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TALES OF ALL COTINTEIES. 
 
 LA M£RE BAUCHE. 
 
 The Pyrcnccan valley in which the baths of Vernet are situated 
 is not much known to English, or indeed to any travellers. 
 Tourists in search of good hotels and picturesque beauty combined, 
 do not generally extend their journeys to the Eastern Pyrenees. 
 They rarely get beyond Luchon ; and in this they are right, aa 
 they thus end their peregrinations at the most lovely spot among 
 these mountains, and are as a rule so deceived, imposed on, and 
 bewildered by guides, innkeepers, and horse-owners, at this other- 
 wise delightful place, astobecome undesirous of further travel. Nor 
 do invalids from distant parts frequent Vernet. People of fashion 
 go to the Eaux Bonnes and to Luchon, and people who arc really 
 ill to Bareges and Cautcrets. It is at these places that one meets 
 crowds of Parisians, and the daughters and wives of rich mer- 
 chants from Bordeaux, with an admixture, now by no means 
 , inconsiderable, of Englishmen and Englishwomen. But the 
 Eastern Pyrenees arc still unfrequented. And probably they 
 will remain so ; for though there are among them lovely valleys 
 —and of all such the valley of Vernet is perhaps the most lovely 
 —they cannot compete with the mountain scenery of other 
 tourists-loved regions in Europe. At the Port de Venasquez and 
 the Breche de Roland in the Western Pyrenees, or rather, to 
 speak more truly, at spots in the close vicinity of these famous 
 mountain entrances from France into Spain, one can make com- 
 parisons with Switzerland, Northern Italy, the Tyrol, and 
 Ireland, which will not be ix^jurious to the scenes then under 
 
 ..r^ms^- 
 
2 TALES OP ALL cotJNTnnai 
 
 yievr. But among the eastern mountains tliis can rarely be done 
 The hillB do not stand thickly together so as to group themselves ; 
 tho passes from one valley to another, though not wanting in 
 altitude, are not close pressed together with overhanging rocks, 
 and arc deficient in grandeur as well as loveliness. And then, 
 fts a natural consequence of all this, the hotels — arc not quite aa 
 good as they should he. 
 
 But there is one mountain among them which can claim to 
 rank with tho Pfc du Midi or tho Maledotta. Ko one can pooh- 
 pooh the stern old Canigou, standing high and solitary, solemn 
 and grand, between the two roads which run from rcrpi^uaa 
 into Spain, the one by Trades and tho other by Le Boulon. 
 Under the Canigou, towards tho west, lie the hot baths of Yeriiet, 
 in a close secluded valley, which, as I have said before, is, as far 
 as I know, the sweetest spot in these Eastern Pyrenees. 
 
 The frequenters of these baths were a few years back gathered 
 almost entirely from towns not very far distant, from Perpignan, 
 Narbonne, Carcassonne, and Bezi^res, and the baths were not 
 therefore famous, expensive, or luxurious ; but those who believed 
 in them believed with great faith ; and it was eeitainly the fact 
 that men and women who went thither worn with toil, sick with 
 excesses, and nervous thi'ough over-care, came back fresh and 
 strong, fit once more to attack the world with all its woes. 
 Their character in latter days does not seem to have changed, 
 though their circle of admiiera may perhaps bo somewhat 
 extended. 
 
 In those days, by i\\r tho most noted and illustrious person in 
 the village ef Veruct was La M^re Bauche. That there had 
 once been a Pero Bauche was known to tho world, for there was 
 a Fils Bauche who lived with liis mother ; but no ono seemed to 
 remember more of liini than that he had onco cxibte<l. At Vei net 
 ho had never been known, La Mere Bauche was a native of tho 
 village, but her married life had been passed away from it, and 
 Bho had rctu rued in her early widowhood to become proprietress 
 and manager, or, as ono may say, tho heart and soul of tho liOtd 
 Bauoho at Vernet. 
 
 This hotel was a largo and somewhat rough establishment, 
 intended for the accommodation of invalids who came to Vernet 
 for their health. It was built immediately over vono of tht 
 thermal springs, so that the water floAved from tho bowels of the 
 earth directly into the baths. There was accommodation for 
 Boventy people, and during the ^luumcr and autumn months the 
 place WU3 always full. IS'ot a few also were to be found there 
 
U MbiiE BAUona. 8 
 
 during the winter and spring, for the charges of Madame Bauche 
 were low, and the accommodation reasonably good. 
 
 And in this respect, as indeed in all others, Madame Baucho 
 had the reputation of being an honest -svoman. Sho had a certain 
 price, from which no earthly consideration would induce her to 
 depart ; and there were certain returns for this price in the shape 
 of dejeuners and dinners, baths and beds, wliich sho never failed to 
 give in accordance with the dictates of a strict conscience. These 
 were traits in the character of an hotel-keeper which cannot be 
 praised too highly, and which had met their due reward in the 
 custom of the public. But nevertheless there were those who 
 thought that there was occasionally ground for complaint in the 
 conduct even of Madame Bauchc. 
 
 In the first place she was deficient in that pleasant smiling 
 softness which should belong to any keeper of a house of public 
 entertainment. In her general mode of life she was stem and 
 silent with her guests, autocratic, authoritative, and Bometimes 
 contradictory in her house, and altogether irrational and uncon* 
 ciliatorr when any change even for a day was proposed to her, or 
 when any shadow of a complaint reached her ears. 
 
 Indeed of complaint, as made against the establishment, sho 
 was altogether intoleiant. To such she had but one answer. He 
 or she who complained might leave the place at a moment's 
 notice if it so pleased them. There were always others ready to 
 take their places. The power of making this answer came to her 
 from the lowness of her prices ; and it was a power which was 
 very dear to her. 
 
 The baths were taken at difi'erent hours according to medical 
 advice, but the usual time was from five to seven in the morning. 
 The dejeuner or early maal was at nine o'clock, the dinner was 
 at four. After that, no eating or drinking was allowed in the 
 Hotel Bauche. There was a cafe in the village, at which ladies 
 and gentlemen could get a cup of coffee or a glass of eau sucro ; 
 but no such accommodation was to be had in the establishment. 
 Not by any possible bribery or persuasion could any meal bo 
 procured at any oth«ir than the authorised hours. A visitor who 
 should enter the salle d mange^ more than ten minutes after the 
 last bell would be looked at very sourly by Madame Bauche, who 
 on all occasions sat at the top of her own table. Should any ono 
 appear as much as half an hour late, he would receive only his 
 share of what had not been handed round. But after the last 
 dish had been so handed, i^ was utterly \uelea8 for Any one to 
 VkUt the room at alL 
 
4 ' TALES Of ALL COtJNtHIEa 
 
 Her appearance at the period of our talc was perhaps not 
 altogether in her favour. She was about sixty years of age and 
 •was very stout and short in the neck. She wore her own gray 
 hail, which at dinner was always tidy enough ; but during tho 
 whole day previous to that hour she might be seen with it 
 escaping from under her cap in extreme disorder. Her eyebrows 
 were large and bushy, but those alone would not have given to 
 her face that look of indomitable sternness which it possessed. 
 Her eyebrows were serious in their effect, but not so serious as 
 the pair of green spectacles which she always wore under them. 
 It was thought by those who had analysed the subject tiiat 
 the great secret of Madame Baucho'e power lay in her gi'cca 
 spectacles. 
 
 Her custom was to move about and through tho whole csta« 
 bliblmicnt every day from breakfast till the period came for her 
 to dress for dinner. She would visit every chamber and every 
 bath, walk once or twice round the salle h. manger, and vciy 
 repeatedly roimd the kitchen ; she would go into every hole and 
 comer, and peer into everything through her green spectacles : 
 and in these walks it was not always thought pleasant to meet 
 her. Her custom was to move very slowly, with her hands 
 generally clasped behind her back : she rarely spoke to the guests 
 imlcss she was spoken to, and on such occasions she would not 
 often diverge into general conversation. If any one had aught 
 to say connected with the business of the establishment, she 
 would listen, and then she would make her answers, — often not 
 pleasan^; in the hearing. 
 
 And thus she walked her path through the world, a stem, 
 hard, SDlemn old woman, not without gusts of passionate explo- 
 sion ; but honest withal, and not without some inward benevo- 
 lence and true tenderness of heart. Children she had had many, 
 some seven or eight. One or two had died, others had been 
 married ; she had sons settled far away from home, and at th^ 
 time of wnich we are now speaking but one was left in any way 
 subject to maternal authority. 
 
 Adolpho Bauche was the only one of her children of whom 
 much was remembered by the present denizens and hangers-on of 
 the hotel. He was tho youngest of tho number, and having 
 been bom only very shortly before the return of Madame Bauche 
 to Vemet, had been altogether reared there. It was thought by 
 the world of those parts, and rightly thought, that he was his 
 mother's darling — more so than had been any of his brothers and 
 sisters, — the very apple of her eye and gem of her life. At this 
 
LA M^RB BAUCHB. 5 
 
 time he was about twenty-five years of age, and for the last two 
 years had been absent from Vernet — for reasons which will shortly 
 be made to appear. He had been sent to Paris to see some- 
 thing of the world, and *leam to talk French instead of tho 
 patois of his valley ; and having left Paris had come down soutli 
 into Languedoc, and remained there picking up some agricul- 
 tural lore which it was thought might prove useful in the valley 
 farms of Vcmct. He was now expected home again very 
 speedily, much to his mother's delight. 
 
 That she was kind and gracious to her favourite child does not 
 perhaps give much proof of her benevolence ; but she had also 
 been kind and gracious to the orphan child of a neighbour; nay, 
 to the orphan child of a rival innkeeper. At Vernet there had 
 been more than one water establishment, but the proprietor of 
 the second had died some few years after Madame Bauche had 
 settled herself at the place. His house had not thrived, and his 
 only child, a little girl, was left altogether without provision. 
 
 This little girl, Marie Clavert, La Mere Bauche had taken into 
 her own house immediately after the father's death, although she 
 had most cordially hated that father. Marie was then an infant, 
 and Madame Bauche had accepted the charge without much 
 thought, perhaps, as to what might be the child's ultimate 
 destiny. But since then she had thoroughly done the duty of a 
 mother by the little girl, who had become the pet of the whole 
 establishment, the favourite plaything of Adolphe Bauche, — and 
 at last of course his early sweetheart. 
 
 And then and therefore there had come troubles at Vernet. 
 Of course all the world of the valley had seen what was taking 
 place and what was likely to take place, long before Madame 
 Bauche knew anything about it. But at last it broke upon her 
 senses that her son, Adolphe Bauche, the heir to all her virtues 
 and all her riches, the first young man in that or any neigh- 
 bouring valley, was absolutely contemplating the idea of marry- 
 ing that poor little orphan, Marie Clavert! 
 
 That any one should ever fall in love with Marie Clavert had 
 never occurred to Madame Bauche. She had always regarded 
 the child as a child, as the object of her charity, and as a little 
 thing to be looked on as poor Marie by all the world. She, 
 iookmg through her green spectacles, had never seen that Marie 
 Clavert was a beautiful creature, full of ripening charms, such 
 as young men love to look on. Marie was of infinite daily use 
 to Madame Bauche in a hundred little things about the ho ise, 
 «ad tlie old lady thoroughly recognised and appreciated hst 
 
6 TALES OF ALL OOtJlTTRXES. 
 
 ability. But fbr this rery reason she had nerer taught herself 
 to regard Mario othorwiso than as a useful drudge. She wat 
 Tory fond of her protegee — so much so that she would listen to her 
 in affairs about the house when she would listen to no one else : 
 — but Marie's prettiness and grace and sweetness as a girl had 
 all been thrown away upon Maman Bauche, as Mario used to 
 call her. 
 
 But unluckily it had not been thrown away upon Adolphe. 
 He had appreciated, as it was natural that he should do, all that 
 had been so utterly indifferent to his mother ; and consequently 
 had fallen in love. Consequently also he had told his love ; and 
 consecjuently also Mario had returned his love. 
 
 Adolphe had been hitherto contradicted but in few things, 
 and thought that all difficulty would be prevented by his inform- 
 ing his mother that he wished to marry Marie Clavert. But 
 Marie, with a woman's instinct, had known better. She had 
 trembled and almost crouche<l with fear when she confessed her 
 love ; and hid absolutely hid herself from sight when Adolphe 
 went forth, prepared to ask his mother's consent to his marriage. 
 
 The indignation and passionate wrath of Madame Baucho were 
 past and gone two years before the date of this story, and I need 
 not therefore much enlarge upon that subject. She was at first 
 abusive and bitter, which was bad for Mario ; and afterwards 
 bitter and silent, which was worse. It was of course determined 
 that poor Marie should be sent away to some asylum for orphans 
 or penniless paupers — in short anywhere out of the way. "What 
 mattered her outlook into the world, her happiness, or indeed 
 her very existence? The outlook and happiness of Adolphe 
 Bauche, — was not that to be considered as everything at 
 Vemet? 
 
 But this terrible sharp aspect of affairs did not last very long. 
 In the first place La M^re Bauche had under those green spec- 
 tacles a heart that in truth was tender and affectionate, and after 
 the first two days of anger she admitted that something must be 
 done for Mario Clavert ; and after the fourth day sho acknow- 
 ledged that the world of the hotel, her world, would not go as 
 well without Marie Clavert as it would with her. And in the 
 next place Madame Bauche had a friend whose advice in grave 
 matters she would sometimes take. This friend had told her 
 that it would be much better to send away Adolphe, since it was 
 BO necessary that there should be a sending away of some one ; 
 tli>it he would be much benefited by passing some months of his 
 life away from his native volley ; and that an absence of a year 
 
LA mIiiib dauchb. 7 
 
 or two would teach liim to forget Marie, even if it did not teach 
 Mario to forget Lim. 
 
 And wo must say a word or two about this friend. At Vcmct 
 ho was usually called M. lo Capitaino, though in fact ho had 
 never reached that rank. Ho had been in the army, and having 
 been wounded in the leg while still a sous-lieutenant, had been 
 pensioned, and had thus been interdicted from treading nny 
 I'urthcr the thorny path that leads to glory. For tho lust fifteen 
 years ho had resided under the roof of Madamo Bauche, at first 
 Qs a casual visitor, going and coming, but now for many years as 
 constant there as she was herself. 
 
 lie was so constantly called Lo Capitaino that his real nam© 
 was seldom heard. It may however as well be known to us that 
 this was Theodore Campan. Ho was a tall, well-looking man ; 
 always dressed in black garments, oi a coartjo description cer- 
 tainly, but scrupulously clean and well brushed; of perhaps 
 fifty years of ago, and conspicuous for tho rigid uprightness of 
 his back — and for a black wooden leg. 
 
 This wooden log was perhaps the most remarkable trait in his 
 character. It was always jet black, being painted, or polished, 
 or japanned, as occasion might require, by tho hands of tho 
 (■;i])itainc himself. It was longer than ordinary wooden legs, as 
 indeed the capitaino was longer than ordinary men ; but never- 
 theless it never seemed in any way to impede the rigid punctilious 
 propriety of his movements. It was never in his way as wooden 
 legs usually are in the way of their weavers. And then to 
 render it more illustrious it had round its middle, round the calf 
 of the leg we may so say, a band of bright brass which shone 
 like burnished gold. 
 
 It had been the capitaine''8 custom, now for some years past, 
 to retire every evening at about seven o'clock into the sanctum 
 sanctorum of Madame Bauche's habitiition, tho dark littlo private 
 sitting-room in which she made out her bills and calculated her 
 profits, and there regale himHclf in her presence — and indeed at 
 her expense, for the kerns never appeared in the bill — with 
 coffee and cognac. I have said that there was never eating or 
 drinking at the establishment after the regular dinner-hours; 
 but in so saying I spoke of the world at large, Nothing further 
 was allowed in tho way of trade ; but in the way of friendship 
 •0 much waH now-a-days always allowed to the capitaino. 
 
 It was at these moments that Madamo Bauche discussed her 
 private affairs, and asked for and received advice, for even 
 ^ladame Bauche wu mortal | nor could her |jcen spcctaclef 
 
8 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIKS. 
 
 ifithoat other aid cany her through all the tronbles of life. It 
 •was now five years since the world of Vemet di joovercd that La 
 M^re Bauche was going to marry the capitaine, and for eighteen 
 months the world of "Vemet had been full of thin matter : hut 
 any amount of patience is at last exhausted, und as no fui-ther 
 steps in that direction were ever taken beyond the daily cup of 
 coffee, that subject died away — very much unheeded by La 
 M^re Bauche. 
 
 But she, though she thought of no matrimony for herself, 
 thought much of matrimony for other people ; and over most of 
 those cups of evening coffee and cognac a matrimonial project 
 was discussed in these latter days. It has been seen that the 
 capitaine pleaded in Marie's favour when the fury of Madame 
 Bauche' s indignation broke forth ; and that ultimately Marie 
 was kept at home, and Adolphe sent away by his advice. 
 
 ** But Adolphe cannot always eiay away," Madame Bauche 
 hac! pleaded in her difficulty. The truth of this the capitaine 
 had admitted ; but Marie, he said, might be married to some 
 one else before two years were over. And so the matter had 
 commenced. 
 
 But to whom should she be married ? To this question the 
 capitaine had answered in perfect innocence of heart, that La 
 Mere Bauche would be much better able to make such a choice 
 than himself. Ho did not know how Marie might stand with 
 regard to money. If madame would give some little ** dot," the 
 affair, the capitaine thought, would be more easily arranged. 
 
 All these things took months to say, during which period Marie 
 went on with her work in melancholy listlessness. One comfort 
 she had. Adolphe, before he went, had promised to her, holding 
 in his hand as he did so a little crocs which she had given him, 
 that no earthly consideration should sever them ; — that sooner or 
 later he would certainly bo her husband. Marie felt that her 
 limbs could not work nor her tongue speak were it not for this one 
 drop of water in her cup. 
 
 And then, deeply meditating, La M^re Bauche hit upon a plan, 
 end herself communicated it to the capitaine over a second cup of 
 coffee into which she poured a full teaspoonful more than the 
 tisual allowance of cognac. AVhy should not he, the capitaine 
 himself, be the man to marry Marie Clavert ? 
 
 It was a very startling proposal, the idea of matrimony for 
 himself never having as yet entered into the capitaine's head at 
 any period of his life ; but La Mere Bauche did contrive to 
 m»ko it no* altogether unacceptable. As to that matter cf dowiy 
 
lA M^RE BAucna 9 
 
 ilie was prepared to bo more than generous. She did love Mario 
 well, and could find it in her heart to give her anything— any- 
 thing except her son, her own Adolpho. What she proposed was 
 this. Adolphe, himself, would never keep the baths. If the 
 capitaine would take Marie for his wife, Marie, Madame Bauche 
 declared, should be the mistress after her death ; subject of course 
 to certain settlements as to Adolphe's pecuniary interests. 
 
 The plan was discussed a thousand times, and at last so far 
 brought to bear that Mario was made acquainted with it — having 
 been called in to sit in presence with La Mere I3auche and her 
 future proposed husband. The poor girl manifested no disgust to 
 the stitf ungainly lover whom they assigned to her, — who through 
 his whole frame was in appearance almost as wooden as his own 
 leg. On the whole, indeed, Marie liked the capitaine, and felt 
 that he was her friend ; and in her country such marriages were 
 not uncommon. The capitaine was perhaps a little beyond the 
 age at which a man might usually be thought justified in demand- 
 ing the services of a young girl as his nurse and wife, but then 
 Marie of herself had so little to give — except her youth, and 
 beauty, and goodness. 
 
 But yet she could not absolutely consent ; for was she not 
 absolutely pledged to her own Adolphe ? And therefore, when 
 the great pecuniary advantages were, one by one, displayed 
 before her, and when La M^re Bauche, as a last argument, 
 informed her that as wife of the capitaine she would be regarded 
 as second mistress in the establishment and not as a servant, she 
 could only burst out into tears, and say that she did not know. 
 
 ** I will be very kind to you," said the capitaine ; *' as kind as 
 ft man can be." 
 
 Marie took his hard withered hand and kissed it ; and then 
 looked up into his face with beseeching eyes which were not 
 without avail upon his heaii;. 
 
 *' We will not press her now," said the capitaine. *' There is 
 time enough." 
 
 But let his heart be touched ever so much, one thing was 
 certain. It could not be permitted that she should many 
 Adolphe. To that view of the matter he had given in his unre- 
 stricted adhesion ; nor could he by any means withdraw it with- 
 out losing altogether his poeiiion in the establishment of Madame 
 Bauche. Kor indeed did his conscience tell him that such a 
 maniage should bo permitted. That would be too much. If 
 every prettpr girl were allowed to marry the first young man that 
 might fall in lovo vntk her, what would the world come to ? 
 
10 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 And it soon appeared tiiat there was not time cnoagli — that 
 tho time was growing very scant. In thrco months Adolpho 
 would bo back. And if everything was not arranged by that 
 time, matters might still go astray. 
 
 And then Madame Bauche asked her final question : *' You do 
 not think, do you, that you can ever marry Adolpho ? " And as 
 she asked it the accustomed terror of her green spectacles magni-' 
 ficd itself tenfold. Mario could only answer by another burst of 
 tears. 
 
 The affair was at last settled among them, ^[arlo said that 
 she would consent to marry tho capitaino when she should hear 
 from Adolphc's own mouth that lie, Adolphe, loved her no longer. 
 She declared with mnny tears that her vows and pledges prevented 
 hev from promising more than this. It was not her fault, at any 
 rate not now, that she loved her lover. It was not her fault- 
 not now at least — that she was bound by these pledges. AVlicu 
 she heard from his own mouth that he had discarded her, thea 
 she would marry the capitaine — or indeed sacrifice herself in anj 
 other way that La Mere Bauche might desire. What would any- 
 thing signify then ? 
 
 Madame Bauche's spectacles remained unmoved ; but not iicr 
 heart. Marie, she told the capitaine, should be equal to herself 
 in the establishment, when once she was entitled to bo called 
 Madame Campan, and she should be to her quite as a daughter. 
 She should have her cup of coffee eveiy evening, and dine at the 
 big table, and wear a silk gown at church, and the servants should 
 nil call her Madame ; a great career should be open to her, if she 
 would only give up her foolish girlish childish love for Adolphe. 
 And all these great promises were repeated to Mario by the 
 capitaine. 
 
 But nevertheless there was but one thing in tho world which in 
 Marie's eyes was of t^ny value ; and that one thing was the heart 
 of Adolpho Bauche. AVithout that she would be nothing ; with 
 that, — with that assured, she could wait patiently till doomsday. 
 
 Letters were written to Adolphe during all these eventful 
 doings ; and a letter came from him saying that he greatly valued 
 Marie's love, but that as it had been clearly proved to him that 
 their marriage would be neither for her advantage, nor for his, 
 he was willing to give it up. He consented to her marriage with 
 the capitaine, and expressed his gratitude to his motlier for the 
 pecuniary advantages which she had held out to him. Oh, 
 Adolphe, Adolplie ! But, nlas, alas ! is not such the way of most 
 men's hearts — aud of the hearts of some women ? 
 
LA M^RB BAUCnS. 11 
 
 Thi8 letter was read to Marie, but it had no more effect upon 
 her than would havo had some dry legal document. In those 
 days and in those places men and women did not depend much 
 upon letters ; nor when they were written, was there expressed 
 in them much of heart or of feeling. Marie would understand, 
 as she was well aware, the glance of Adolphe's eye and the tone of 
 Adolpho's voice ; she would perceive at once from them what her 
 lover really meant, what he wished, what in the inncnnost comer 
 of his heart ho really desired that she should do. But from that 
 stifT constrained written document she could understand nothing. 
 
 It was agreed therefore that Adolphe should return, and that 
 she would accept her fate from his mouth. The capitainc, who 
 knew more of human nature than poor Marie, felt tolerably sure of 
 his bride. Adolphe, who had seen something of the world, would 
 not care very much for the girl of his own valley. Money and 
 pleasure, and some little position in the world, would soon wean 
 him from his love ; and then Marie would accept her destiny — as 
 other girls in the some position had done since the French world 
 began. 
 
 And now it was the evening before Adolphe's expected arrival. 
 La Mere Bauche was discussing the matter with the eapitaine 
 over the usual cup of coffee. Madame Bauche had of late become 
 rather nervous on the matter, thinking that they had been some- 
 what rash in acceding so much to Marie. It seemed to her that 
 it was absolutely now left to the two young lovers to say whether 
 or no they would havo each other or not. Now nothing on earth 
 could bo further from Madame Bauche's intention than this. Her 
 decree and resolve was to heap down blessings on all persons 
 concerned — provided always that she could have her own way ; 
 but, provided she did not havo her own way, to heap down,— 
 anything but blessings. She had her code of morality in this 
 matter. She would do good if possible to everybody around her. 
 But she would not on any score be induced to consent that Adolphe 
 should marry Marie Clavert. Should that be in the wind she 
 would rid the house of Marie, of the eapitaine, and even of 
 Adolphe himself. 
 
 She had become therefore somewhat querulous, and self- 
 opinionated in her discussions with her friend. 
 
 " I don't know," she said on the evening in question ; ** I 
 don't know. It may bo all right ; but if Adolphe turns against 
 me, what are we to do then? " 
 
 "Mire Bauche," said the eapitaine, sipping his coffee &iid 
 pufianj^ o^t tl^e 9iaoke of his cigar, ** Adolphe will Dot turn 
 
12 TALES OP ALL CWUNTRIESL 
 
 against ns." It had been somewhat remarked by many that the 
 capitaine was more at homo in the house, and somewhat freer in 
 his manner of talking -svith Madame Bauche, since this matrimo- 
 nial alliance had been on the tapis than he had ever been before, 
 La M^re hei^elf observed it, and did not quite like it ; but how 
 could she prevent it now ? AVTien the capitaine was once married 
 she would make him know his place, in spite of all her promises 
 to Marie. 
 
 ** But if he says he likes the girl ?" continued Madame Bauche, 
 
 ** My friend, you may be sure that he will say nothing of the 
 kind. Ho has not been away two years without seeing girls as 
 pretty as Marie. And then you have his letter." 
 
 " That is nothing, capitaine ; he would eat his letter as quick 
 as you would eat an omelet aux fines herbes." Kow the 
 capitaine was especially quick over an omelet aux fines herbes. 
 
 " And, Mere Bauche, you also have the purse ; he will know 
 that he cannot eat that, except with your good will." 
 
 '* Ah !" exclaimed Madame Bauche, " poor lad ! He has not 
 a sous in the world unless I give it to him." But it did not 
 seem that tliis reflection was in itself displeasing to her. 
 
 ** Adolphe will now be a man of the world," continued the 
 capitaine, " Ho will know that it docs not do to throw away 
 everything for a pair of red lips. That is the foUv of a boy, 
 and Adolplie will bo no longer a boy. Believe me, Mere Bauche, 
 things will be right enough." ^ 
 
 ** And then we shall have Marie sick and ill and half dying 
 on our hands," said Madame Bauche. 
 
 This was not flattering to the capitaine, and so he felt it. 
 *' Perhaps so, perhaps not," he said. " But at any rate she will 
 get over it. It is a malady which rarely kills young women— 
 especially when another alliance awaits them." 
 
 ** Bah !" said Madame Bauche ; and in saying that word she 
 avenged herself for the too great liberty which the capitaine had 
 lately taken. He shrugged his shoulders, took a pinch of snuff, 
 and uninvited helped himself to a teaspoonful of cognac. Then 
 the conference ended, and on the next morning before breakfast 
 Adolphe Bauche arrived. 
 
 On that morning poor Marie hardly knew how to bear herself. 
 A month or two back, and even up to the last day or two, she 
 had felt a sort of confidence that Adolphe would be true to her ; 
 but the nearer came that fatal day the less strong was the confi- 
 dence of the poor girl. She knew that those two long-headed, 
 aged counsellors were plotting against her happiness, and she felt 
 
tA MilRE BAUCflB. 13 
 
 that Bhe could hardly dare hope for success with such terrible 
 foes opposed to her. On the evening before the day Madamo 
 Bauche had met her in the passages, and kissed her as she wished 
 her good night. Marie knew little about sacrifices, but she felt 
 that it was a sacrificial kiss. 
 
 In those days a sort of diligence with the mails for Olette 
 passed through Prades early in the moniing, and a conveyance 
 was sent from Vemet to bring Adolphe to the baths. Never was 
 prince or princess expected with more anxiety. Madame Bauche 
 was up and dressed long before the hour, and was heard to say 
 five several times that she was sure he would not come. The 
 capitaine was out and on the high road, moving about with 
 his wooden leg, as perpendicular as a lamp-post and almost as 
 black. Marie also was up, but nobody had seen her. She was 
 up and had been out about the place before any of them were 
 stirring ; but now that the world was on the move she lay hidden 
 like a hare in its form. 
 
 And then the old char-^-banc clattered up to the door, and 
 Adolphe jumped out of it into his mother's arms. He was fatter 
 and fairer than she had last seen him, had a larger beard, was 
 more fashionably clothed, and certainly looked more like a man. 
 Marie also saw him out of her little window, and she thought 
 that he looked like a god. "Was it probable, she said to herself, 
 that one so godlike would still care for her ? 
 
 The mc " er was delighted with her son, who rattled away 
 quite at his ease. He shook hands very cordially with the 
 capitaine — of whose intended alliance with his own sweetheart 
 he had been informed, and then as he entered the house with his 
 hand under his mother's arm, he asked one question about her. 
 "And where is Marie?" said he. "Marie! oh upstairs; you 
 shall see her after breakfast," said La Mere Bauche. And so 
 they entered the house, and went in to breakfast among the 
 guests. Everybody had heard something of the story, and they 
 were all on the alert to see the young man whose love or want of 
 love was considered to be of so much importance. 
 
 " You will see that it will be all right," said the capitaine, 
 carrying his head very high. 
 
 " I think so, I think so," said La Mere Bauche, who, now 
 that the capitaine was right, no longer desired to contradict 
 him. 
 
 " I know that it will be all right," said the capitaine. "I 
 told you that Adolphe would return a man ; and he is a man. 
 Look at him ; he doos not care this for Marie Clavcrt ;" and the 
 
U (ALBS Of Atti C0UNTBI£9* 
 
 eapitaine, with much eloquence in Ws motion, pitclied OTor k 
 neighbouring wall a small stone which he held in his hand. 
 
 And then they all went to breakfast with many signs of out- 
 ward joy. And not without some inward joy; for Madame 
 JBaucho thought she saw that her son was cured of his loTO. In 
 tho mean time Mario sat up stairs still afraid to show herself. 
 
 ** Ho has corao," said a young girl, a servant in tho house, 
 running up to tho door of Mario's room. 
 
 <* Yes,'* said Mario ; ** I could see that ho has come." ^ 
 
 *'And, oh, how beautiful ho is!/' said the girl, putting her 
 hands together and looking up to tho ceiling. Mario in her 
 heart of hearts wislicd that ho was not half so beautiful, as tlicn 
 her chance of having him might bo gnnitcr. 
 
 •' And tho com])auy are all talking to him as though ho were 
 tho prt'ft't," Biiid tho girl. 
 
 " Never miud who is talking to him," said Mario ; " go away, 
 and leave me — you are wanted for your work." "Why before this 
 was he not talking to her ? AVhy not, if he were really true to 
 her? Alas, it began to fall upon her mind that ho would bo 
 false ! And what then ? "What should she do then ? She sat 
 still gloomily, thinking of that other spouse that had been pro- 
 mised to her. 
 
 As Bpccdily after breakfast as was possible Adoli)ho was invited 
 to a conferonco in his mother's private room. She had much 
 debated in her own mind whether tho eapitaine should bo invited 
 to this conference or no. For many reasons she would havo 
 wished to exclude him. She did not like to teach her son that 
 she was unable t^ manage her own affairs, and she would havo 
 been 'well pleased to make tho eapitaine understand that his 
 assistance was not absolutely necessary to her. But then sho 
 had an inward fear tliat her green spectacles would not now bo 
 QM clUcaeious on Adolphe, as they had onco been, in old days, 
 before ho had seen tho world and become a man. It might bo 
 necessary that her son, being a man, should bo opposed by a man. 
 So the eapitaine was invited to tho conference. 
 
 "What took place thero need not bo described at length. The 
 three were closeted for two hours, at tho end of which time 
 they came forth togithor. Tho countenance of Matlamo Baueho 
 was serene and comfoiiable ; lier liopes of ultimate siiccess ran 
 lugher than ever. 'Iho face of tho eapitaine was masked, as uro 
 always tho faces of great diplomatists; ho walked placid and 
 upright, raising his wooden leg with an ease and skill that was 
 absolutely marvellous* But poor Adolphe's brow was clouded. 
 
lA M^RB BAUOnB« 15 
 
 Yea, poor Adolphe ! for ho waa poor in spirit. Ho had pledged 
 himself to give up Marie, and to accept tho liberal allowance 
 which his mother tendered him ; but it remained for him now to 
 communicate these ti<ling3 to Mario herself. 
 
 ** Could not you tell lier ?" ^u had said to his mother, with very 
 little of that manliness in his face on which his mother now so 
 prided herself. But La Merc Bauche explained to him that it 
 was a part, of the general agreement that Mario was to hear his 
 decision from' his own mouth. 
 
 *' But you need not regard it," said tho capitainc, with the most 
 indifferent air in tho world. ** The girl expects it. Only she 
 has some childish idea that she is bound till you yourscK release 
 her. I don't think she will be troublesome." Adolpho at that 
 monicut did feel that he should have liked to kick the capitaino 
 out of his mother's house. 
 
 And where should the meeting take place ? In the hall of the 
 bath-house, suggested Madame Bauche; because, as she obsers'ed, 
 they could walk i*ound and round, and nobody ever went there 
 at that time of day. But to this Adolphe objected ; it would bo 
 80 cold and dismal and melancholy. 
 
 The capitaino. thought that M<^ro Bauchc*8 little parlour was 
 tho place ; but La Mere herself did not like this. They might 
 be overheard, as she weU knew ; and she guessed that tho meet- 
 ing would not conclude without some sobs that would certainly 
 be bitter and might perhaps be loud. 
 
 ** Send her up to tho grotto, and I will follow her," said 
 Adolphe. On this therefore they agreed. Kow the grotto was 
 a natural excavation in a high rock, which stood precipitously 
 upright over tho establishment of the baths. A steep zigzag 
 path ^\'ith almost never-ending steps had been made along the 
 face of the rock from a little flower garden attached to tho house 
 which lay immediately under the mountain. Close along tho 
 front of the hotel ran a little brawling river, leaving barely room 
 for a road between it and tho door ; over this there was a wooden 
 bridge leading to the gai-den, and some two or three hundred 
 yards from the bridge began tho steps by which the ascent was 
 made to the grotto. 
 
 When the season was fall and the weather perfectly warm tho 
 place was much frequented. There was a grccli table in it, and 
 four or five deal chairs; a green garden seat also was there, 
 which however had been removed into the innermost back comer 
 of the excavation, as its hinder legs were somewhat at fault A 
 Wall about two fe«t high ran along tho £aco of it, guarding its 
 
16 TALES OP ALL COtTNTRlES. 
 
 occupanta from the precipice. In fact it was no grotto, btit a 
 little chasm in the rock, such as we often see up above onr heads 
 in rocky valleys, and which by means of these steep steps had 
 been turned into a source of exercise and amusement for the 
 visitors at the hotel. 
 
 Standing at the wall one could look down into the garden, and 
 down also upon the shining slate roof of Madame Bauche's house; 
 and to the left might bo seen the sombre, silent, snow-capped top 
 of stem old Canigou, king of mountains among those Eastern 
 Pyrenees. 
 
 And 80 Madame Bauche undertook to send Marie up to the 
 grotto, and Adolpho undertook to follow her thither. It was now 
 spring ; and though the winds had fallen and the snow was no 
 longer lying on the lower peaks, still the air was [fresh and cold, 
 and there waa no danger that any of the few guests at the estab- 
 lishment would visit the place. 
 
 " Make her put on her cloak, Mere Bauche," said the capitaine, 
 who did not wish that his bride should have a cold in her head 
 on their wedding-day. La Mere Bauche pished and pshawed, as 
 though she were not minded to pay any attention to recommenda- 
 tions on such subjects from the capitaine. But nevertheless when 
 Marie was seen slowly to creep across the little bridge about 
 fifteen minutes after this time, she had a handkerchief on her 
 head, and was closely wrapped in a dark bro\\Ti cloak. 
 
 Poor Marie herself little heeded the cold fresh air, but she was 
 glad to avail herself of any means by which she might hide her 
 face. "When Madame Bauche sought her out in her own little 
 room, and with a smiling face and kind kiss bade her go to the 
 grotto, she knew, or fancied that she knew that it was all over. 
 
 ** He will tell you aU the truth, — ^how it all is," said La Mere. 
 " We will do all we can, you know, to make you happy, Marie. 
 But you must remember what Monsieur le Cure told us the other 
 day. In this vale of tears we cannot have everything ; as we 
 shall have some day, when our poor wicked souls have been 
 purged of all their wickedness. Now go, dear, and take your 
 cloak." 
 
 ** Yes, maman." 
 
 " And Adolphe will come to you. And try and b(have well, 
 like a sensible girl." 
 
 "Yes, maman," — and so she went, bearing on her brow another 
 sacrificial kiss — and bearing in her heart such an unutterable load 
 of woe! 
 
 Adolphe had gone out of the house before her ; but standing 
 
LA MfeRE BAUCnE. 17 
 
 in the stable yard, well witliin the gate so that she should not se© 
 him, he watched her slowly crossinpj the bridge and mounting tho 
 first flight of the steps. He had often seen her tripping up those 
 stairs, and had, almost as often, followed her with liis quicker 
 feet. And she, when she would hear him, would run ; and then 
 he would catch her breathless at tho top, and steal kisses from 
 her when all power of refusing them had been robbed from her 
 by her ciforts at escape. There was no such running now, no 
 Buch following, no thought of such kisses. 
 
 As for him, he would fain have skulked off and shirked the 
 interview had he dared. But he did not dare; so ho waited 
 there, out of heart, for some ten minutes, speaking a word now 
 and then to the bathman, who was standing by, just to show that 
 he was at his ease. But the bath man knew that he was not at 
 his ease. Such would-be lies as those rarely achieve deception ; — . 
 are rarely believed. And then, at the end of the ten minutes, with 
 steps as slow as Marie's had been, he also ascended to the grotto. 
 
 Marie had watehed him from the top, but so that she herself 
 should not be seen. He however had not once lifted up his head 
 to look for her ; but with eyes turned to the ground had plodded 
 his way up to the cave. "When he entered she was standing in 
 the middle, with her eyes downcast and her hands clasped before 
 her. She had retired some way from the wall, so that no eyes 
 might possibly see her but those of her false lover. There she 
 stood when he entered, striving to stand motionless, but trembling 
 like a leaf in every limb. 
 
 It was only when ho reached the top step that ho made up his 
 mind how he would behave. Perhaps after all, tho capitaino was 
 right ; perhaps she would not mind it. 
 
 *' Marie," said he, with a voice that attempted to be cheerful ; 
 ** this is an odd place to meet in after such a long absence," and 
 he held out his hand to her. But only his hand ! H« offered 
 her no salute. He did not even kiss her cheek as a brother 
 would have done ! Of the rules of the outside world it must bo 
 remembered that poor Marie knew but little. He had been a 
 brother to her before he had become her lover. 
 
 But Marie took his hand saying, *' Yes, it has been very long." 
 
 *' And now that I have come back," he went on to say, ** it 
 seems that we are all in a confusion together. I never know such 
 a piece of work. However, it is all for the best, I suppose." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Marie, still trembling violently, and still 
 looking down upon the ground. And then Uiere was silenod 
 ktween them for a minute or m>. 
 
18 TALES OP All dOtJKTRIEfl. 
 
 " I t«ll yoti what it is, Marie," said Adolpbe at last, dropping 
 her hand and making a gjcat eflfort to get through the work 
 before him. " I am afraid we two huve been very foolish. Don't 
 you think wo have now ? It seems quite clear that wo can 
 never get ourselves married. Don't you see it in that light ?" 
 
 Marie's head turned round and round with her, but she was 
 not of tho fainting order. She took three steps backwards and. 
 leant against tho wall of the cave. She also was trying to think- 
 how she might best fight her battle. AVas there no chance for 
 her ? Could no eloquence, no love prevail ? On her own beauty 
 she counted but little ; but might not prayers do something, and 
 a reference to those old vows which had been bo fre{|uent, so 
 eager, so sokmnly pledged between them ? 
 
 ** Never get ourselves married ! " she said, repeating his words. 
 •* Never, Adolphe ? Can we never be married *?" 
 
 ** Upon my word, my dear girl, I fear not. You see my mother 
 is so dead against it." 
 
 " But we could wait ; could wo not ?" 
 
 ** Ah, but that's just it, Marie. We cannot wait. "W^e must 
 decide now, — to-day. You see I can do nothing without money 
 from her — and as for you, you see she won't even let you stay iu 
 the house unless you marry old Campan at once. Ue's a very 
 good sort of fellow though, old as he is. And if you do marry 
 him, "Nvhy you see you'll stay here, and have it all your own way 
 in everjlhing. As for me, I shall come and see you all from 
 time to time, and shall be able to push my way as I ought to do.'* 
 " Then, Adolphe, you wish me to marry the capitaine?" 
 ** Upon my honour I think it is tho best thing you can do ; I 
 do indeed." 
 
 «*0h, Adolphe!" 
 
 ** AVhat can I do for you, you kno.w? Suppose I was to go 
 
 down to my mother and tell her that I had decided to keep you 
 
 myself, what would come of it ? Look at it in that light, Marie." 
 
 " She could not turn you out — you her own son !" 
 
 " But she would turn you out ; and deuced quick, too, I can 
 
 assure you of that ; I can, upon my honour." 
 
 ** I should not care that," and she made a motion with her 
 hand to show how indifferent she would be to such treatment 
 as regarded herself. *• Not that — ; if I still had the promise of 
 your love." 
 
 " But what would you do ?" 
 
 ** I would work. There are other houses beside that one," and 
 «he pointed to the slate roof of tho Buuche establishment. 
 
LA MDrB BAU0H16. 19 
 
 " And for me — I should not have a penny in the world," said 
 the young man. 
 
 She came up to him and took his right hand between both of 
 hers and pressed it warmly, oh, so warmly. ** You would have 
 my love," said she; ** my deepest, warmest, best heart's love. I 
 should want nothing more, nothing on earth, if I could still have 
 yours." And she leaned against his shoulder and looked with all 
 ner eyes into his face. 
 
 "But, Marie, that's nonsense, you know." 
 
 '*Ko, Adolphe, it is not nonsense. Do not let them teach 
 you so. What docs love mean, if it does not mean that ? Oh, 
 Adolphe, you do love me, you do love me, you do love me?" 
 
 ** Yes ; — I love you," he said slowly ; — as though he would not 
 have said it, if he could have helped it. And then his arm crept 
 slowly round her waist, as though in that also he could not help 
 himself. 
 
 *• And do not I love you?" said the passionate girl. " Oh, I 
 do, so denrly ; with all my heart, with all my soul. Adolphe, I 
 BO love you, that I cannot give you up. Have I not sworn to be 
 yours ; sworn, sworn a thousand times ? How can I marry that 
 man ! Oh Adolphe, how can you wish that I should marry 
 him ?" And she clung to him, and looked at him, and besought 
 him with her eyes. 
 
 *•! shouldn't wish it ; — only — " and then he paused. It was 
 hard to tell her that he was willing to sacrifice her to the old man 
 because he wanted money from his mother. 
 
 "Only what! But, Adolphe, do not wish it at all! Have 
 you not sworn that I should be your wife ? Look here, look at 
 this;'* and she brought out from her bosom a little charm that 
 he had given her in return for that cross. " Did you not kis,3 
 that when you swore before the figure of the Virgin that I should 
 be your wife ? And do you noo remember that I feared to swear 
 too, because your mother was so angry ; and then you made me ? 
 After that, Adolphe ! Oh, Adolphe ! Tell me that I may have 
 some hope. I will wait ; oh, I will wait so patiently." 
 
 He turned himself away from her and walked backwards and 
 forwards imeasily through the grotto. He did love her ; — ^love 
 her as such men do love sweet, pretty girls. The warmth of her 
 hand, the affection of her touch, the pure bright passion of her 
 tear-laden eye had re-awakened what power of love there was 
 within him. But what was he to do ? Even if he were willing 
 to give up the immediate golden hopes which his mother held out 
 to himi how was he to begin, and then how cany out this wozk 
 
 o2 
 
20 TALES OF ALL COtJNTKIKS. 
 
 of self-devotion ? Mario would be turned away, and he would 
 bo left a victim in the hands of his mother, and of that BtijBT, 
 wooden-legged militaire ; — a penniless victim, left to mope about 
 the place without a grain of influence or a morsel of pleasiire. 
 
 ** But what can we do ?'* he exclaimed again, as he once more 
 met Marie's searching eye. 
 
 "AVe can be true and honest, and wo can wait," she said, 
 coming close up to him and taking hold of his arm. ** I do not 
 frar it ; and she is not my mother, Adolphe. You need not fear 
 your own mother." 
 
 **Fear! no, of course I don't fear. But I don't see how the 
 very devil we can manage it." 
 
 *' Will you let mo tell Lor that I will not marry the capitaine ; 
 that I will not give up your promises ; and then I am ready to 
 leave the house '? " 
 
 *' It would do no good." 
 
 **It would do every good, Adolphe, if I had your promised 
 word once more ; if I could hear from your own voice one more 
 tone of love. Do you not remember this place ? It was hero 
 that you forced me to say that I loved you. It is here also that 
 you will tell me that I have been deceived." 
 
 ** It is not I that would deceive you," he said. " I wonder 
 that you should be so hard upon me. God knows that I have 
 trouble enough." 
 
 " Well, if I am a trouble to you, bo it so. Be it as you wish," 
 and she leaned back against the wall of the rock, and crossing 
 her arms upon her breast looked away from him and fixed her 
 eyes upon the sharp granite peaks of Canigou. 
 
 He again betook himself to walk backwards and forwards 
 througli the cave. He had quite enough of love for her to mako 
 him wish to marry her ; quite enough now, at this moment, to 
 make the idea of her marriage with the capitaine very distasteful 
 to him ; enough probably to make him become a decently good 
 husband to her, should fate enable him to marry her ; but not 
 enough to enable hira to support all the punishment which would 
 be the sure effects of his mother's displeasure. Besides, ho had 
 promised his mother that he would give up Marie ; — had entirely 
 given in his adliesion to that plan of the marriage with tho 
 capitaine. He had owned that the path of life as marked out for 
 him by his mother was the one which it behoved him, as a man, 
 to follow. It was tliis view of his duties as a man which had 
 been specially urged on hira with all the capitaine's eloquence. 
 And old Campaa had entirely succeeded. It is so easy to get tho 
 
LA M^RB BAUCHE, 21 
 
 Msent of such young men, so weak in mind and so weak in 
 pocket, when the arguments are backed by a promise of two 
 thousand francs a year. 
 
 '* I'll tell you what I'll do," at last he said. " I'll get my 
 mother by herself, and will ask her to let the matter remain as it 
 is for the present." 
 
 '*2s"ot if it be a trouble, M. Adolphe;" and the proud girl still 
 held her hands upon her bosom, and still looked towards the 
 mountain. 
 
 ** You know what I mean. Mane. You can understand how 
 ehc and the capitaine are worrying me." 
 
 ** But toll me, Adolphe, do you love me ? " 
 
 " You know I love you, only — '* 
 
 " And you will not give me up ? " 
 
 ** I will ask my mother. I wiU try and make her yield." 
 
 Marie could not feel that she received much confidence from 
 her lover's promise ; but still, even that, weak and unsteady aa 
 it was, even that was better than absolute fixed rejection. So 
 she thanked him, promised him with tears in her eyes that she 
 would always, always be faithful to him, and then bade him go 
 down to the house. She would foUow, she said, as soon as hia 
 passing had ceased to be observed. 
 
 Then she looked at him as though she expected some sign of 
 renewed love. But no such sign was vouchsafed to her. Now 
 that she thirsted for the touch of his lip upon her cheek, it was 
 denied to her. He did as she bade him ; he went down, slowly 
 loitering, by himself ; and in about half an hour she followed him, 
 and unobserved crept to her chamber. 
 
 Again we will pass over what took place between the mother 
 and the son ; but late in that evening, after the guests had gone 
 to bed, Marie received a message, desiring her to wait on Madamo 
 Bauche in a small salon which looked out from one end of the 
 house, it was intended as a private sitting-room should any 
 special stranger arrive who required such accommodation, and 
 therefore was but seldom used. Here she found La Mere Bauche 
 sitting in an arm-chair behind a small table on which stood t;A o 
 candles ; and on a sofa against the wall sat Adolphe. The ca'pi« 
 taine was not in the room. 
 
 " Shut the door, Marie, and come in and sit down," said 
 Madame Bauche. It was easy to understand from the tone of 
 her voice that she was angry and stem, in an unbending mood, 
 and resolved to carry out to the very letter all the threats con- 
 veyed by those terrible spectaolet. 
 
2^ TALES Oy ALL C0UKTRIE8, 
 
 Mario did as she was bid. Sho closed the door aiid sat doim 
 on the chair that was neaiest to her. 
 
 ** Marie/' said La M^ro Bauche — and the Yoico sounded fierce 
 in the poor girl's ears, and an angry fire glimmered through the 
 green glasses — ** what is all this about that I hear? Do yon 
 dare to say that you hold my son bound to marry you ? " And 
 tlien the august mother paused for an answer. 
 
 But Mario hftd no answer to give. See looked snppliantly 
 towards her lover, as though beseeching him to carry on the fight 
 for her. liut if she could not do battle for herself, certainly ho 
 could not do it for licr. >Vhat little amount of fighting ho had 
 had in him, had been thoroughly vanquished before her arrival. 
 
 ** I will have an answer, and that immediately," said Madame 
 Bauche. ** I am not going to bo betrayed into ignominy and 
 disgrace by the object of my own charity. "Who picked you 
 out of the gutter, miss, and brought you up and fed you, when 
 you would otherwise have gone to tae foundling ? And this is 
 your gratitude for it all ? You are not sutisfiud with being fed 
 and clothed and cherished by me, but you must rob mo of my 
 eon ! Know this then, Adolpho shall never marry a child of 
 charity such as you arc." 
 
 Marie sat still, stunned by the harshness of these words. La 
 Mere Bauche had often scolded her ; indeed, she was given to 
 much scolding ; but sho had scolded her as a mother may scold a 
 child. And when this story of Marie's love first reached her 
 ears, she had been very angry ; but her anger had never brought 
 her to such a pass as this. Indeed, Marie had not hitherto been 
 taught to look at the matter in this light. No one had hereto- 
 fore twitted her with eating the bread of charity. It had not 
 occurred to her that on this account she was unfit to be Adolphc's 
 wife. There, in that valley, they were all so nearly equal, that 
 no idea of her own inferiority had ever pressed itself upon her 
 m>nd. But now — ! 
 
 W^hcn the voice ceased she again looked at him ; but it was no 
 longer a beseeching look. Did he also altogether scorn her? 
 That was now the inquiry which her eyes were called upon to 
 make. No ; she could not say that ho did. It seemed to her 
 that his energies were chiefly occupied in pulling to pieces the 
 tttsrtol on the hoI'ii cUHhion, 
 
 ** And now, misM, let mo know at onro whether \]\\h nonsenpo 
 Is to bo over or not," continued La Mth-c Bauche ; ** and I will tell 
 you at once, I am not going to maintain you here, in my house, 
 to plot against our welfare and happiness. As Marie Clavert you 
 
tA WfeRE BATTCnB. 23 
 
 ell all not stay hero. Capitaino Campan is willing to marry you ; 
 and as his wife I will keep my word to you, though you littlo 
 deserve it. If you refuse to marry him, you must go. As to 
 my son, ho is there ; and he will tell you now, in my presence, 
 that he altogether declines the honour you propose for him." 
 
 And then 'she ceased, waiting for an answer, drumming tho 
 tahlc with a wafer stamp which happened to bo ready to her 
 hand ; but Mario said nothing. Adolphc had been appealed to ; 
 but Adolphe had not yet speken. 
 
 ** Well, miss?" said La Mere Bauche. 
 
 Then Marie rose from her seat, and walking round she touched 
 Adolphe lightly on the shoulder. "Adolphe," she said, **it is 
 lor you to speak now. I will do as you bid me." 
 
 He gave a long sigh, looked fii'st at Marie and then at liis 
 mother, shook himself slightly, and then spoke: *'Upon my 
 word, Marie, I think mother is right. It would never do for us 
 to mpiTy ; it would not indeed." 
 
 ** Then it is decided," said !N[arie, returning to her chair. 
 
 ** And you will marry the capitaine ?" said La M^re Bauche. 
 
 Jlarie merely bowed her head in token of acquiescence. 
 
 •' Then we are friends again. Come lieue, ^larie, and kiss mo. 
 You must know that it is my duty to take care of my own son. 
 lint I don't want to be angiy with you if I can help it ; I don't 
 indeed. When once you are ^ladame Campan, you shall be my 
 own child ; and you shall have any room in the house you liko 
 to choose — there!" And she once more imprinted a kiss on 
 Marie's cold forehead. 
 
 How they all got out of the room, and off to their own 
 chambers, I can hardly tell. But in five minutes from the time 
 of this last kiss they were divided. La Mere Bauche had patted 
 ^laiie, and smiled on her, and called her her deer good little 
 Madame Campan, her young little Mistress of the Hotel Bauche ; 
 and had then got herself into her own room, satisfied with her 
 own victoiy. 
 
 Nor must my readers be too severe on Afadamc Bauche. She 
 had already done much for Marie Clavert ; and when ahe found 
 herself once more by her own bedside, she prayed to be forgiven for 
 tho cruelty which she felt that she had shown to the orphan. But 
 in making this prayer, with her foTOurito crucifix in her hand and 
 tho little image of tho Virgin before her, she pleaded her duty to 
 her son. Was h not right, she asked the Vii'gin, that she should 
 save her eon from a bad marriage ? And then she promi8e4 evoi 
 BO much of reoompense, boti^ to the Virgin and to Marie ; a now 
 
S4 TALKS OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 tPOTiK»eau for oacK, Tnth candles to the Virp:in, with a gold watcli 
 and chain for Marie, as soon as she should bo Marie Campan. 
 She had been cruel ; she acknowledged it. But at* such a crisis 
 waa it not defensible ? And then the recompense should be so 
 full ! 
 
 But there was one other meeting that night, very short indeed, 
 but not the less significant. Not long after they had all sepa- 
 rated, just so long as to allow of the house being quiet, Adolphe, 
 still sitting in his room, meditating on what the day had done 
 for him, heard a low ti\p at his door. **Comc in," ho said, as 
 men always do say ; and Marie opening the door, stood just within 
 the verge of his chamber. She had on her countenance neither 
 the soft look of enti-eating love which she had worn up there in 
 the grotto, nor did she appear crushed and subdual as she had 
 done before his mother. She carried her head somewhat more 
 erect than usual, and looked boldly out at him from imdcr her 
 soft eyelashes. There might still be love there, but it was lovo 
 proudly resolving to quoll it.self. Adolphe, as he looked at her, 
 felt that he was afraid of her. 
 
 ** It is all over then between us, M. Adolpho ? " she said. 
 **\\\'ll, yes. Don't you think it had better bo so, eh, 
 Marie?" 
 
 <* And this is the meaning of oaths and vows, sworn to each 
 other so sacredly ? " 
 
 ** But, Marie, you heard what my mother said.'* 
 ** Oh, sir! I have not come to ask you again to love mc. Oh 
 no ! I am not thinking of that. ]iut tliis, this would be a lie if 
 I kept it now ; it would choke me if I wor> it as that man's wife. 
 Take it back ; " and she tendered to him the little charm which 
 she had always worn round her neck since he had given it to her. 
 He took it abstractedly, without thinking what he did, and placed 
 it on his dressing-table. 
 
 "And you," she continued, "can you still keep that cross? 
 Oh, no ! you must give me back that. It woidd remind you too 
 often of vows tliat were untrue." 
 
 ** Marie,'* he said, ** do not be so harsh to me." 
 "Harsh!" said she, "no; there has been enough of harsh- 
 ness. I would not be harsh to you, Adolphe. But give mo the 
 cross ; i^ would pix)ve a curse to you if you kept it." 
 
 He then opened a little box which stood upon the table, and 
 taking out the cross gave it to her. 
 
 " And now good-bye," she said. " "We shall have but little 
 m:)re to say to each other. I know this now, that I was wrong 
 
LA M^RE BAUCnB. 25 
 
 ever to have lovod you. I should have been to yon as one of the 
 other poor girls in the house. But, oh ! how was I to help it?" 
 To this ho made no answer, and she, closing the door softly, went 
 hack to her chamber. And thus ended the first day of Adolpho 
 Bauche's return to his own house. 
 
 ,0n the next morning the eapitiine and ^fiirie were formally 
 betrothed. This was done with some little ceremony, in the 
 presence of all the guests who were staying at the establishment, 
 and with all manner of gracious acknowledgments of Marie's 
 virtues. It seemed as though La Mere Bauche could not be 
 courteous enough to her. There was no more talk of her being 
 a child of charity ; no more allusion now to the gutter. La 
 ^fere Bauche with her own hand brought her cake with a glass 
 of wine after her betrothal was over, and patted her on the cheek, 
 and called her her dear little Marie Campan. And then the 
 capita ine was made up of infinito politeness, and the guest.s all 
 >vished her joy, and the servants of the house began to perceive 
 that she was a person entitled to respect. How different was all 
 this from that harsh att^ack that was made on her the preceding 
 evening I Only Adolphe, — he alone kept aloof. Though he was 
 present there he said nothing. He, and he only, offered no con- 
 gratulations. 
 
 In the midst of all these gala doings Marie herself said little 
 or nothing. La Mere Bauche perceived this, but she forgave it. 
 Angrily as she had expressed herself at the idea of ^Nfarie's daring 
 to love her son, she had still acknowledged "within her own heart 
 that such love had been natural. She could feel no pity for 
 Marie as long as Adolphe was in danger ; but now she knew how 
 to pity her. So Marie was still petted and still encouraged, 
 though «he vent through the day's work sullenly and in silence. 
 
 As to the capitaine it was all one to him. He was a man of 
 the world. He did not expect that he should really be preferred, 
 con amore, to a young fellow like Adolphe. . But he did expect 
 that ^larie, like other girls, would do as she was bid ; and that 
 in a few days she would regain her temper and be reconciled to 
 her life. 
 
 And then the marriage was fixed for a very early day ; for as 
 La Mdre said, ** What was the use of waiting ? All their minds 
 were made up now, and therefore the sooner tiie two were married 
 the better. Did not the capitaine think so?" 
 
 The capitaine said that he did think so. 
 
 And then Marie was asked. It was all one to her, ahe Bald. 
 'WhateTer Maman Bauche liked, that she would do; only she 
 
26 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 •woilil not namo a day herself. Indeed Bhe would neither do nor 
 BAy anything herself which tended in any way to a further- 
 ance of these matrimonials. But then she acquiesced, quietly 
 enough if not readily, in what other people did and said; 
 and 80 the marriage was fixed for the day week after Adolphe's 
 return. 
 
 The whole of that week passed much in the same way. Tno 
 servants about the place spoke among themselves of Marie's 
 perversencss, obstinacy, and ingratitude, because she would not 
 look pleased, or answer Madame Bauche's courtesies with grati- 
 tude ; but La More herself showed no signs of anger. Marie 
 had yielded to her, and she required no more. And she remem- 
 bered also the harsh words she had used to gain her purpose ; 
 and she reflected on all that Marie had lost. On these accounts 
 slic was forbearing and exacted nothing — nothing but that ono 
 sacrifice which was to be made in accordance to her wishes. 
 
 And it was made. They were manicd in the great salon, tho 
 dining-room, immediately after breakfast. Madame Baucho was 
 dressed in a new puce silk tlrcss, and looked very magnificent on 
 the occasion. She simpered and smiled, and looked gay even in 
 s])ite of her spectacles ; and as the ceremony was being pcrfonned, 
 siie held fast clutclied in her hand the gold watch and chain 
 which were intended for Marie as soon as ever the marriage 
 should be completed. 
 
 Tho eapitaine was dressed exactly as usual, only that all his 
 clothes were new. Madame Bauclie had endeavoured to persuade 
 liim to wear a blue coat ; but he answered that such a change 
 would not, he was sure, bo to Mane's taste. To tell the truth, 
 !Marie would hardly have known tlie difference had ho presented 
 himself in scarlet vestments. 
 
 Adolphe, however, was di'cssed very finely, but he did not 
 make himself prominent on the occasion. Mnrie watched him 
 closely, though none saw that she did so ; and of his garments 
 she could have given an account with much accuracy — of his 
 ganneuts, ay ! and of every look. '* Is he a man," she said at 
 last to herself, ** that he can stand by and see all this ?" 
 
 She too was dressed in silk. They had put on her what they 
 T)kased, and she bore the burden of h(r wedding finery without 
 romplaint and without pride. There was no blush on her face 
 as she walked up to the table at. which the priest stood, nor 
 hesitation in her low voice as she made the necessary answers. 
 She put her hand into that of the capitaino when required to dp 
 eo ; and "when the ring was put on her finger she ahuddered, but 
 
LA M^RB BAUCHB. 27 
 
 ever so sliglitly. No ono observed it but La Mere Banche. ** In 
 one week she will be used to it, and then we shall all be ha])py," 
 said La Mere to herself. ** And I, — I will be so kind to her !" 
 
 And so the marriage was completed, and the watch was at 
 once given to Marie. ** Thank you, maman," said she, as the 
 trinket was fastened to her girdle. Had it been a pincushion that 
 had cost three sous, it would have affected her as much. 
 
 And then there was cake and wine and sweetmeats; and 
 after a few minutes Marie disappeared. For an hour or so tho 
 capitaine was taken up with the congratulations of his friends, 
 and with the efforts necessary to the wearing of his new honours 
 with an air of ease ; but after that time he began to be uncnsy 
 because his wife did not come to him. At two or three in tlio 
 afternoon ho went to La Mere 13aucho to complain. '* This 
 lackadaisical nonsense is no good," he said. "At any rate it is 
 too late now. Marie had better come down among us and show 
 herself satisfied with her husband." 
 
 But Madame Bauche took Marie's part. "You must not be too 
 hard on Marie," she said. " She has gone through a good deal 
 this week past, and is very young ; whereas, capitaine, you aro 
 not very young." 
 
 The capitaine merely shrugged his shoulders. In tho mean 
 time Mere Bauche went up to visit her protegee in her own room, 
 Rud came down with a report that she was suffering from a 
 headache. She could not appear at dinner, Madame Bauche 
 said ; but would make one at the little party which was to bo 
 given in the evening. With this the capitaine was forced to be 
 content. 
 
 The dinner therefore went on quietly without her, much as it 
 did on other ordinary days. And then there was a little time for 
 vacancy, during which the gentlemen drank their coffee and 
 smokea their cigars at tho cafe, talking over the event that had 
 taken place that morning, and the ladies brushed their hair and 
 added some ribbon or some brooch to their usual apparel. Twice 
 during this time did Madame Bauche go up to Marie's room with 
 offers to assist her. " Not yet, maman ; not quite yet," said 
 Marie piteously through her tears, and then twice did the greea 
 spectacles leave tho room, covering eyes which also were not dry. 
 Ah I what had she done ? What had she dared to take upon 
 herself to do ? She could not undo it now. 
 
 And then it became quite dark in the passages and out of 
 doors, and the guests assembled in the salon. La Mere came in 
 •nd out threo qx four times, uueosy iu her gait and unpleas<wt m 
 
28 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 her aspect, and everybody began to see that things wero wr<m^, 
 ** She ifl ill, I am afraid," said one. *' The excitement haa been 
 too much," paid a second ; *' and he is so old," whispered a third. 
 And the capitoine stalked about erect on his wooden leg, taking 
 snuff, and striving to look indifferent ; but he also was uneasy in 
 his mind. 
 
 Presently La Mi^ro came in again, with a quicker step than 
 before, and whispered something, first to Adolphe and then to the 
 capitninc, whereupon they both followed her out of the room. 
 
 *' Not in her chamber," said Adolphe. 
 
 ** Then she must be in yours," said the capitaine. 
 
 " She is in neither," said La Mere Bauche, with her sternest 
 voice ; ** nor is she in the house ! " 
 
 And now there was no longer an affectation of indifference on 
 the pait of any of them. They were anything but indifferent. 
 The capitaine was eager in his demands that the matter should 
 still be kept secret from the guests. She had always been 
 romantic, he said, and had now gone out to walk by the river- 
 side. They three and the old bath-man would go out and look 
 for her. 
 
 ** But it is pitch dark," said La Mere Bauche. 
 
 '* AVe -will take lanterns," said the capitaine. And so they 
 sallied forth with creeping steps over the gravel, so that they 
 mi gilt not be heai'd by those within, and proceeded to search for 
 tlic young wife. 
 
 ** Marie ! Marie ! " said La Mere Bauche, in piteous accents ; 
 ** do come to me ; pray do ! " 
 
 ** Hush!" said the capitaine. ** They'll hear you if you call." 
 He could not endure that the world should learn that a marriage 
 with him had been so distasteful to Marie Clavert. 
 
 ** ;Mai'ie, dear Marie ! " called Madame Bauche, louder than 
 before, quite regardless of the capitaine's feelings ; but no Marie 
 answered. In her innermost heart now did La M^rc Bauche 
 wish that this cruel marriage had been left undone. 
 
 Adolphe was foremost with his lamp, but he hardly dared to 
 look in the spot where he felt that it was most likely that she should 
 have taken refuge. How could he meet her again, alone, in that 
 grotto ? Yet he alone of the four was young. It was clearly 
 for him to ascend. ** Marie," he shouted, ** are you there ? " as 
 he slowly began the long ascent of the steps. 
 
 But he had haixily begun to mount when a whirring sound 
 struck his ear, and he felt that the air near him was moved ; and 
 then there was a crash upon the lower platform of rock, and a 
 
tA MKRE BATTCUB. HO 
 
 moan, repeated twice, but so faintly, and a rustle of silk, and a 
 slight struggle somewhere as he knew within twenty paces of 
 him ; and then all was again quiet and still in the night air. 
 
 *' What was that ? " asked the capitaine in a hoarse voice. Ho 
 made his way half across the little garden, and ho also was 
 within forty or fifty yards of the flat rock. But Adolphe was 
 unable to. answer him. He had fainted and the lamp had fallen 
 from his hands and rolled to the bottom of the steps. 
 
 But the capitaine, though even his heart was all but quenched 
 within him, had still strength enough to make his way up to the 
 rock ; and there, holding the lantern above his eyes, he saw all 
 that was left for him to see of his bride. 
 
 As for La Mere Bauche, she never again sat at the head of 
 that table, — never again dictated to guests, — never again laid down 
 laws for the management of any one. A poor bedridden old 
 woman, she lay there in her house at Vemet for some seven 
 tedious years, and then was gathered to her fathers. 
 
 As for the capitaine — but what matters ? He was made of 
 sterner stuff. What matters either the £ftte of iudk a one m 
 Adolphe Bauche? 
 
THE O'CONORS OF CASTLE CONOR, COUNTY 
 MAYO. 
 
 I unALL novor forgot my first iatroduotion to country life in 
 Ireland, my ftrst duy^s hunting there, or tho manner in which I 
 passed tho evening afterward^. Nor shall I ever ceaso to be 
 grateful for tho hospitality which I received from tho 0' Conors 
 of Caatlo Conor. My acquaintance with tho family was first 
 mado in tho following mi^nncr. But before I begin my story, 
 lot mo inform my reader that my name is Archibald Oreen. 
 
 1 had been for afortniglit in ])ul»lin, and wan about to proceed 
 into county Mayo on buaiuejys which would occupy me there for 
 Bomo weeks. My head-quarters would, I found, be at tho town 
 of Ballyglass ; and I soon learned that Ballyglass was not a place 
 in which I should find hotel accommodation of a luxurious kind, 
 or much congenial society indigenous to the place itself. 
 
 **13ut you are a hunting man, you say," said old Sir V * 
 
 C ; "and in that case you will soon know Tom O' Conor. 
 
 Tom won't let you be dull. I'd write you a letter to Tom, only 
 ho' 11 certainly make you out without my taking the trouble." 
 
 I did think at the time that the old baronet might havo 
 written the letter for me, as ho had been a friend of my father's 
 in former days ; but he did net, and I started for Ballyglass with 
 no other introduction to any one in the county than that con- 
 tained in Sir V 's promise that I should soon know Mr. 
 
 Thomas 0' Conor. 
 
 I had already provided myself with a horse, groom, saddle and 
 bridle, and these I sent down, en avant, that the Ballyglassians 
 might know that I was somebody. Perhaps, before I arrived, 
 Tom 0' Conor might learn that a hunting man was coming into 
 the neighbourhood, and I might find at the inn a polite noto 
 intimating that a bod was at my service at Castle Conor. I had 
 
tnE 0*C0N0R9 Ot CASTLE CONOR. 81 
 
 heard so much of the free hospitality of the Irish gentry as to 
 imagine that such a thing might be possible. 
 
 liut I found nothing of the kind. Hunting gentlemen in those 
 days were very common in county Mayo, and one horse was no 
 great evidence of a man's standing in the world. Men there, as 
 I learnt afterwardi, are sought for themselves quite as much as 
 they are elsewhei-« ; and tliough my groom's top-boots were neat, 
 and my horse a yery tidy animal, my entry into Ballyglass 
 created no sensation whatever. 
 
 In about four days after m^ arrival, when I was already 
 infinitely disgusted with the httle pot-house in which I was 
 forced to stay, and had made up my mind that the people in 
 county Mayo were a churlish set, I sent my horse on to a meet 
 of the fox-hounds, and followed after myself on an open car. 
 
 Ko one but an erratic fox-hunter such as I am, — a fox-hunter, 
 I mean, whose lot it has been to wander about from one pack of 
 hounds to another, — can understand the melancholy feeling 
 which a man has when he first intrudes himself, unknown by 
 any one, among an entirely new set of sportsmen. When a 
 bl ranger falls thus as it were out of the moon into a hunt, it is 
 impossible that men should not stare at him and ask who he is. 
 And it is so disagreeable to be stared at, and to have such ques- 
 tions asked ! This feeling does not come upon a man in Leices- 
 tershire or Gloucestershire, where the numbers are large, and a 
 Btranger or two will always be overlooked, but in small hunting 
 fields it is BO painful that a man has to pluck up much courago 
 before he encounters it. 
 
 VVo met on the morning in question at Bingham's Grove. 
 There were not above twelve or fifteen men out, all of whom, or 
 nearly all, were cousins to each other. They seemed to be all 
 Toms, and Pats, and Larrys, and Micks. I was done up very 
 knowingly in pink, and thought that I looked quite the thing ; 
 but for two or three hours nobody noticed me. 
 
 I had my eyes about me, however, and soon found out which 
 of them was Tom 0' Conor. Ho was a fine-looking fellow, thin 
 and tall, but not largely made, with a piercing gray eye, and a 
 beautiful voice for speaking to a hound. He had two sons thero 
 also, short, slight fellows, but exquisite horsemen. I already 
 felt that I had a kind of acquaintance with the father, but I 
 hanlly knew on what ground to put in my claim. 
 
 AVe had no sport early in the morning. Itwas a cold bleak 
 February day, with occasional storms of sleet. We rode from 
 cover to cover, bat all in y&ixL <* I am sonyi sir, that we are to 
 
82 tALES Of ALt COtJNTRlES. 
 
 have sucTi a bad day, as you are a stranger here,'* said one 
 gentleman to me. This was Jack 0' Conor, Tom's eldest son, my 
 bosom friend for many a year after. Poor Jack ! I fear that 
 the Encumbered Estates Court sent him altogether adrift upon 
 the world. 
 
 ' ' We may still have a run from Poulnaroo, if the gentleman 
 chooses to come on," said a voice coming from behind with a 
 sharp trot. It was Tom 0' Conor. 
 
 •' Wherever the hounds go, I'll follow," said I. 
 ** Then come on to Poulnaroe," said Mr. 0' Conor. I trotted 
 on quickly by his side, and before we reached the cover had . 
 manapjed to slip in something about Sir P. C. 
 
 *'AVhat tlie deuce!" said he. '*AMiat! a friend of Sir 
 
 P 'a ? Why the deuce didn't you tell mo so ? What are 
 
 you doing down here ? Where are you staying ? " &c. &c. &c. 
 
 At Poulnaroe we found a fox, but before we did so Mr. O'Conor 
 had asked me over to Castle Conor. And this he did in such a 
 way that there was no possibility of refusing him — or, I should 
 rather say, of disobeying him. For his invitation came quite in 
 the tone of a command. 
 
 ** You'll come to us of course when the day is over — and let 
 me 8e(! ; we're near Ballyglass now, but the run will bo right 
 away in our direction. Just send word for them to send your 
 tilings to Castle Conor." 
 
 '* But they're all about, and unpacked," said I. 
 ** Never mind. Write a note and say what you wont now, 
 and go and get the rest to-morrow yourself. Here, Patsey ! — 
 Patsey ! run into Ballyglass for tliis gentleman at once. Now 
 don't be long, for the chances are wo shall find here." And then, 
 after giN^ng some further hurried instructions he left me to write 
 a line in pencil to the innkeeper's wife on the back of a ditch. 
 
 This I accordingly did. ** Send my small portmanteau," I said, 
 *'and all my black dress clothes, and shirts, and socks, and all 
 tliat, and above all my dressing things which are on the littlo 
 table, and the satin neck-handkerchief, and whatever you do, 
 mind you send my pumps;** and I undei-scored the latter word ; 
 for Jack O'Conor, when his father left me, went on pressing the 
 invitation. ** My sisters are going to get up a dance," said he ; 
 '* and if you are fond of that kind of things perhaps we can amuse 
 you." Now in those days I was very fond of dancing — and very 
 fond of young ladies too, and therefore glad enough to learn that 
 Tom O'Conor had daughters as well as sons. On this acccuEt 
 X was very particular in underscoring the word pumps. 
 
THE 0*CONORS OF CASTLB COKOH. 33 • 
 
 ** And hurry, you young divil,'* Jack O'Conor said to Patscy. 
 *'I have told him to take the portmanteau over on a car," 
 Baid I. 
 
 "All right ; then you'll find it there on our arrival." 
 "We had an excellent run, in which I may make bold to say 
 that I did not acquit myself badly. I stuck very close to the 
 hounds, as did the whole of the O'Conor brood ; and when the 
 fellow contrived to earth himself, as he did, I received those 
 compliments on my horse, which is the most approved praise 
 which one foxhunter ever gives to another. 
 
 ** We'll buy that fellow of you before we let you go," said 
 Peter, the youngest son. 
 
 *' I advise you to look sharp after your money if you sell him 
 to my brother," said Jack. 
 
 And then we trotted slowly off to Castle Conor, which, how- 
 ever, was by no means near to us. ''"We have ten miles to go ;— 
 good Irish miles," said the father. '* I don't know that I cvtT 
 remember a fox from Poulnaroc taking that line before." 
 ** He wasn't a Poulnaroe fox," said Peter. 
 " I don't know that," eaid Jack ; and then they debated that 
 question hotly. 
 
 Our horses were very tired, and it was late before we reached 
 Mr. 0' Conor's house. That getting home from hunting with a 
 thoroughly weary animal, who has no longer sympathy or 
 example to carry him on, is very tedious work. In the present 
 instance I had company with me ; but when a man is alone, 
 when his horse toes at every ten steps, when the night is dark 
 ond the rain pouring, and there ai'e yet eight miles of road to be 
 conquered, — at such timea a man is almost apt to swear that he 
 will give up hunting. 
 
 At last we were in the Castle Conor stable yard ; — ^for we had 
 approached the house by some back way ; and as we entered the 
 house by a door leading through a wilderness of back passages, 
 Mr. O'Conor said out loud, **Now, boys, remember I sit down 
 to dinner in twenty minutes." And then turning expressly to 
 me, he laid his hand kindly upon my shoulder and said, " I 
 hope you will make yourself quite at home at Castle Conor, — and 
 whatever you do, don't keep us waiting for dinner. You can 
 dress in twenty minutes, I suppose ?" 
 "In ten I" said I, gUbly. 
 
 "Tliat's well. Jack and Peter will show you your room,** 
 and 80 he turned away and left us. 
 iiy two young Mends made their way into t^ great haU^ and 
 
84i lALES OP ALL COUimilES. 
 
 thchco mto llio drawing-room, and I followed tlicm. V^o wcr© 
 all dressed in pink, and hnd waded deep through bog and mud. 
 I did not exactly know wliithcr I was being led in this guise, 
 but I soon found myself in tho presence of two young ladies, and 
 of a girl about thirteen years of age. 
 
 "My sisters," said Jack, introducing me very laconically; 
 " MLs3 O'Conor, Miss Kato O'Conor, Mis? Tizzy OTonor." 
 
 **My name is not Tizzy," said tho younger; "it's Eliza. 
 How do vou do, sir ? I hope you had a line hunt ! AVas papa 
 wrllup. Jack?" 
 
 Jack did not condescend to answer this question, but asked 
 one of the elder girls whether anything had come, and whether 
 a room had been m;ulo ready for me. 
 
 *'0h yes!" said Miss O'Conor; "they came, I know, for I 
 saw thorn brought into the house ; and I hope Mr. Green will 
 find everything comfortable." As she said this I thought I saw 
 a slight smile steal across her remai'kably pretty mouth. 
 
 They were both exceedingly pretty girls. Fiumy tho elder 
 vrom long glossy cuiis, — for I write, oh reader, of bygone days, 
 OS long ago as that, when ladies wore curls if it pleased them so 
 to do, and gentlemen danced in pumps, Avith black handkerchiefs 
 round their necks, — yes, long black, or neiu'ly black silken curls; 
 and then she had such eyes ; — I never knew whether they were 
 most wicked or most bright ; and her face was all dimples, and 
 each dimple was laden with laughter and lailen with love. Kate 
 was probably the prettier girl of the two, but on the whole not 
 80 attractive. She was fairer than her sister, and wore her 
 hair in braids; and was also somewhat mor* demure in her 
 manner. 
 
 In spite of the special injunctions of Mr. O'Conor senior, it was 
 impossible not to loiter for five minutes over tho drawing-room 
 llro talking to these houris — more especially as I seemed to know 
 them intimately by intuition before half of the five minutes was 
 over. They were so easy, so pretty, so graceful, so kind, they 
 Bccracd to take it so much as a matter of course that I shoidd 
 stand there tidkiug in my red coat imd muddy hoots. 
 
 " Well ; do go and dress yourselves," at last said Fanny, pre- 
 tending to speak to her brothers but looking more especially at 
 me. "You know how mad papa will be. And remember, 
 ilr. Green, we expect gi'cat thiiigs fi-om your dancing to-night. 
 Your coming just at this time is such a Godsend." And again 
 that soupcjon of a smile passed over her face. 
 
 I huriicd up to my room, Pct€r and Jack coming with me to 
 
IHE 0*C0N0RS OJ castle CONOR. 85 
 
 tlio door. **Is everything right?" said Peter, looking among 
 the towels and water-jugs, ** They've given yiu a deeeut liro 
 for a wonder," said Jack, stirring uj) the red hot turf which 
 blazed in the grate. ** All right as a* trivet," said I. **And 
 look alive like a good fellow," said Jack. "Wo had scowled at 
 each other in the morning as very young men do when they 
 arc strangers; and now, after a few hours, wo were intimate 
 fiiends. 
 
 I inmiediately turned to my work, and was gratified to find 
 that all my things were laid out ready for dressing ; my poi-t- 
 mauteau had of course come open, as my keys were in my pocket, 
 and therefore some of the excellent serN'ants of tho house had 
 been able to save mo all tho trouble of unpacldng. There was 
 my shirt hanging before the fire ; my black clothes iwero spread 
 upon the bed, my socks and collar and handkerchief beside 
 them; my brushes were on tho toilet table, and everything 
 prepared exactly as though my own man had been there. How 
 nice! 
 
 I immediately went to work at giHting off my spurs and boots, 
 and then proceeded to loosen the buttons at my knees. In doing 
 this I sat down in the ann-chair which had been drawn up for 
 me, opposite the fire. But what was the object on which my 
 eyes then fell ; — the objects I should rather say ! 
 
 Immediately in front of my chair was placed, just ready for 
 my feet, an enormous pair of shooting-boots — half-boots, made to 
 lace up round the ankles, with thick double leather soles, and 
 each bearing half a stone of iron in the shape of nails and heel- 
 pieces. I had superintended the making of these shoes in Bur- 
 lington Arcade with tho greatest diligence. I was never a good 
 shot ; and, like some other sportsmen, intended to make up for 
 my deficiency in performance by tho excellenco of my shooting 
 apparel. ** Those nails aro not largo enough," I had said; 
 **nor nearly largo enough." But when tho boots camo home 
 they stiTick even mo as being too hca>'y, too metalsome. *'Ho, 
 he, he," laughed tho boot boy as ho turned them up for mo to 
 look at. It may therefore bo imagined of what nature were tho 
 articles which were thus set out for tho evening's dancing. 
 
 Ana then the way in which they were placed I When I saw 
 this the conviction flew across my mind like a flash of lightning 
 that the preparation had been made under other eyes than those 
 of the servant. The heavy big boots were placed so prettily 
 before the chair, and the strings of each were made to dangle 
 down at tho sidosy as though just ready fSor tying I Ihoyeooinod 
 
 p2 
 
86 TALES OP ALL COTINTRIES. 
 
 to wiy, the boots did, " Now, moko haste, "^e at any mte are 
 ready — ^you cannot say that you were kept waiting for us." No 
 mere servant's hand had over enabled a pair of boota to laugh at 
 one so completely. 
 
 But what was I to do ? I rushed at the small portmanteau, 
 tliinking that my pumps also might bo there. The woman surely 
 could not havo been such a fool as to send me those tons of iron 
 for my even in p: wear ! But, alas, alas ! no pumps were there. 
 There was nothing else in the way of covering for my feet ; not 
 even a pair of slippers. 
 
 And now what was I to do? The absolute magnitude of 
 my misfortune only loomed upon mo by dogrc^cs. The twenty 
 minutes allowed by that stem old paterfamilias were already 
 gone and I had done nothing towanls dressing. And indeed it 
 was impossible that I should do anything that would be of avail. 
 I eoKld not go down to dinner in my stocking feet, nor could I 
 y.ut on my black dress trousei^, over a pair of mud-painted top- 
 boot^. As for those iron-soled horrors — ; and then I gave ono 
 of them a kick with the side of my bare foot which sent it half 
 way under the bed. 
 
 But what was I to do ? I began washing myself and brusliing 
 my hair with this liomd weight upon my mind, ^[y first plan 
 was to go to bed, and send down word that 1 had been taken 
 suddenly ill in tlic stomach ; then to rise early in the morning 
 oud get away unobserved. But by such a coui-se of action 1 
 should lose all cluuice of any further acquaintance with thoso 
 pretty girls ! That they were already awta'o of the extent of my 
 predicament, and were now enjoying it — of that I was quite 
 6ure. 
 
 What if I boldly put on the shooting-boots, and clattered 
 down to dinner in them ? AVhat if I took the bull by the horns, 
 and made, myself, the most of the joke ? This might be very 
 well for the dinner, but it would be a bad joke for me when tho 
 hour for dancing came. And, alas! I ft^lt that I lacked tho 
 courage. It is not every man that can wallc down to dinner, in 
 a strange house full of ladies, wearing such boots as those I have 
 described. 
 
 Should I not attempt to borrow a pair? This, all the world 
 will say, should have been my fii-st idea But I have not yet 
 mentioned that I am myself a large-boned man, and that my feet 
 are especially well developed. 1 had never for a moment enter- 
 tained a hope that I should find any one in that house whoso 
 boot I could wear. But at last I rang tlic bell. I would send 
 
Tna o'coNORS op castle conor. 37 
 
 for Jack, and if cver)i;bing failed, I would communicato my 
 grief to him. 
 
 I had to ling twice before anybody came. The servants, I 
 well knew, were putting the dinner on tlio table. At last a 
 niun entered the room, dressed in rather shabby black, whom I 
 al'tcrwaixls learned to be the butler. 
 
 "What is your name, my friend?" said I, dctemuned to 
 make an ally of the man. 
 
 ** My name ? "WTiy Lorry sure, yer honer. And the masther 
 is out of his siuses in a hurry, becaso yer honer don't como 
 down." 
 
 "Is he though? Well now, Larry ; tell mo this; which of 
 all the gentlemen in the house has got tlie largest foot?" 
 
 "Is it the largest foot, yer honer?" said Larry, altogether 
 Bui-prised by my question. 
 
 " Yes ; the largest foot," and then I proceeded to explain to 
 him my misfortune. He took up first my top-boot, and then tlio 
 shooting-boot — in looking at which ho gazed with woider at the 
 nails ; — and then he glanced at my feet, measuring them with his 
 eye ; tmd after this he pronounced his opinion. 
 
 " Yer honer couldn't wear a morsel of leather belonging to ere 
 a one of 'em, young or ould. There niver was a foot like that 
 yet among tlie O'Conors." 
 
 "But arc there no strangers staying hero?" 
 
 ** There's tlireo or four on 'em come in to dinner ; but they'll 
 be wanting their own boots I'm thinking. And there's young 
 Misther DilloD ; he's come to stay, liut Loi^ love you—" and 
 he again looked at the enormous extent which lay between the 
 heel imd the toe of the shooting apparatus which he still held in 
 his bund. " I niver see such a foot as that in the whole barony," 
 he said, " barring my own." 
 
 Kow LaiTy was a large man, much larger altogether than 
 myself, and as he said this I looked down involuntarily at "his 
 feet ; or rather at his foot, for as he stood I could only see one. 
 And then a sudden hope filled my heart. On that foot there 
 glittered a shoe — not indeed such as were my owti which were 
 now resting in gloriously at Bally glass while they were so sorely 
 needed at Castle Conor; but one which I could wear before 
 ladies, wiUiout shame — and in my present &amo of mind with 
 infinite oontcntment. 
 
 " Lot me look at that one of your own," said I to the man, as 
 though it were merely a subject for experimental inquiiy. Larry, 
 •ooustome4 to pbedieucoi took of the shoe and handed it to me. 
 
88 TALES OF ALL COTJNTRTBS. 
 
 My own foot was immediately in it, and I fonnd that it fitted 
 ino like a glove. 
 
 '< And now the other," said I — not smiling, for a smile would 
 have put him on his gruard ; hut somewhat sternly, so that that 
 habit of obedience should not desert him at this perilous moment. 
 And then I stretched out my hand. 
 
 *♦ But yer honcr can't keep 'cm, you know," said he. " I 
 haven't the ghost of another shoe to my feci." But I only 
 looked more sternly tluin before, and still held out my hand. 
 Custom prevailed. Larry stooped down slowly, looking at mo 
 the while, and pulling oil' the other slipper handed it to me with 
 much hesitation. Alas ! as I put it to my foot I found that it 
 was old, and worn, and irredeemably down at heel ; — that it was 
 in fact no counterpart at all to that other one which was to do 
 duty as its fellow. But ne\ ei-theless I put my foot into it, and 
 felt that a descent to the drawing-room was now possible. 
 
 **But yer honer will give 'em back to a poor man?" said 
 Lany almost crying. ** The masther's mad this minute becaso 
 the dinner's not up. Glory to God, only listhen to that ! " And 
 as he spoke a tremendous peal rang out from some bell down 
 staii-s tliat had evidently been shaken by an angry hand. 
 
 " Larry," said I — and I endeavoured to assume a look of very 
 grave impoi-tance as I spoke — ** I look to you to assist me in this 
 matter." 
 
 ** Cell — wirra sthruo then, and will you let me go ? just listhen 
 to that," and another angiy peal rang out, loud and repeated. 
 
 ** If you do as I ask you," I continued, ** you shall be well 
 rewarded. Look here ; look at these boots," and I held up the 
 shooting- shoes new from Burlington Arcade. ** They cost thirty 
 shillings — thirty shillings ! and I -will give them to you for^^tho 
 loan of this pair of slippers." 
 
 ** They'd bo no use at all to me, yer honer ; not the laist use 
 in life." 
 
 " You could do with them very well for to-night, and then 
 you could sell them. And hero are ten shillings besides," and 
 I held out half a sovereign which the poor fellow took into his 
 hand. 
 
 I waited no further parley but immediately walked out of the 
 room. With one foot I was sufficiently pleased. As regarded 
 that I felt that I had overcome my difficulty. But the other was 
 not so satisfactory. 'Whenever I attempted to lift it from the 
 ground tbe horrid slipper would fall off, or only just hang by the 
 too. As for dancing, that would be out of the question. 
 
THE O'CONORS OP CASTLE CONOR. 39 
 
 " Och, murthcr, miirthcr," sang out Lanr, as he heard me 
 going down stairs. ** What •will I do at all r Tare and 'onnds; 
 there, he's at it agin, as mad as blazes." This last exclamation 
 had reference to another peal which was evidently the work of the 
 master's hand. 
 
 I confess I was not quite comfortable a? I walked down stairs. 
 In the first place I was nearly half an hour late, and I knew 
 from the -Nigour of the peals that had sounded that my slowness 
 had already been made the subject of strong remarks. And then 
 my left shoe went flop, flop, on every alternate step of the stairs. 
 By no exertion of my foot in the drawing up of my toe could I 
 induce it to remain permanently fixed upon my foot. But over 
 and above and worse than all this was the conviction strong upon 
 my mind that I should become a subject of merriment to the 
 girls as soon as I entered the room. They would understand 
 the cause of my distress, and probably at this moment were 
 expecting to hear me clatter through the stone hall with those 
 odious metal boots. 
 
 However, I hunied down and entered the drawing-room, 
 determined to keep my position near the door, so tliat I might 
 have as little as po.-sible to do on entering and as little as possible 
 in going out. But T had other difficulties in store for me. I had 
 not as yet been introduced to Mrs. 0' Conor ; nor to Miss 0' Conor, 
 the squire's unmarried sister. 
 
 ** Upon my word I thought you were never coming," said Mr. 
 O'Conor as soon as he saw me. "It is just one hour since wo 
 entered the house. Jack, I wish you would find out what has 
 come to that fellow Larry," and again he rang the bell, lie was 
 too angry, or it might be too impatient to go through the ccre- 
 nony of introducing mo to anybody. 
 
 I saw that the two girls looked at me very sharply, but I etoo^ 
 at the back of an arm-chair so that no one could see my feet 
 But that little imp Tizzy walked round deliberately, looked at 
 my heels, and then walked back again. It was clear that she was 
 in the secret. 
 
 There were eight or ten people in the room, but I was too 
 much fluttered to notice well who they were. 
 
 *' Mamma," said Miss O'Conor, "let mo introduce Mr. Green 
 to you." 
 
 It luckily happened that Mrs. O'Conor was on the same side of 
 the fire as myself, and I was able to take the hand which she 
 offered me without coming round into the middle of the cii'cle, 
 "Un, O'Conor was a little woman, apparently not of much iiA* 
 
40 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 portance in tlio world, "but, if one might judge from first appear* 
 anco, Tery good-natured. 
 
 *♦ And my aunt Die, Mr. Green," Boid Kate, pointing to a yeiy 
 Btroight-backcd, grim-looking lady, Tvho occupied a comer of a 
 Bofa, on the opposite Bido of the hearth. I knew that politeness 
 required that 1 should walk across the room and make acquaint- 
 imco with her. But under the existing circumstances how was 
 I to obey the dictates of politeness ? I was determined therefore 
 to stand my ground, and merely bowed across the room at Miss 
 O' Conor. In so doing I made an enemy who never deserted me 
 during the whole of my intercourse with the family. But for 
 lier, wlio knows who might have been sitting opposite to mo as 
 I now write ? 
 
 '' Upon my word, Mr. Green, the ladies will expect much from 
 an Adonis who takes so long over his toilet," said Tom O'Conor 
 in that cruel tone of banter whicli he knew so well how to use. 
 
 ** You forget, father, that men in London can't jump in and 
 out of their clothes as quick as we wild Irishmen," said Jack. 
 
 " Mr. GiTen knows that we expect a great deal from hun thii 
 evening. I hope you polk well, Mr. Green," said Kate. 
 
 I muttered something about never dancing, but I knew that 
 that which I said was inaudible. 
 
 ** I don't thiuk Mr. Green will dance," said Tizzy ; ** at least 
 not much." The impudence of that child was, I thmk, unparal- 
 leled by any that I have ever witnessed. 
 
 ** But in the name of all tliat's holy, why don't we have 
 dinner?" And Mr. O'Conor thundere I at the door. *' Larry, 
 Lany, Larry!" he screamed. 
 
 ** Yes, yor honer, it'll be all right in two seconds," answered 
 Lany, from some bottomless abyss. **Tare an' ages; what'U I 
 do at all," I heard him continuing, as he made his way into the 
 hull. Oh what a clatter he made upon the pavement, — for it 
 was all stone ! And how the diops of perspiration stood upon 
 niy brow as I listened to him ! 
 
 And then there was a pause, for the man had gone into the 
 dining-room. I could see now that Mr. O'Conor was becoming 
 very ongry, and Jack the eldest son — oh, how often ho and I 
 have laughed over all this since — left the drawing-room for the 
 second time. Immediately afterwards LaiTy's footsteps were 
 again heard, hurrying across the hall, and then there was a 
 gn\'it slither, and an exclamation, and the noise of a fall — and I 
 could plainly hear poor Larry's head strike against the stone 
 floor. 
 
TUB O'CONOKS OP CASTLB CONOR. 41 
 
 "Ochonc, ochono!" ho cried at tho top of his voice ^-'Tm 
 
 murthcred with 'em now intirely ; and d *cni for boots — 
 
 St. Peter be good to mc.'* 
 
 There was a general rush into tho hall, and I was cnnied with 
 the stream. The poor fellow who had broken his head would bo 
 Bure to tell how I had robbed him of his shoes. Tlic coachman 
 •\eas already helping him up^ and Peter good-naturedly lent a 
 hand. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter?" said Mr. O'Conor. 
 
 *' He must be tipsy," whispered ^liss O'Conor, the maiden sister, 
 
 ** I aint tipsy at all thin," said Larry, getting up and rubbing 
 the back of his head, and sundry otlier parts of his body. ** Tipsy 
 indeed I" And then he added when ho was quite upright, ** The 
 dinner is sarved — at last." 
 
 And he bore it all without telling I " I'll give that fellow a 
 guinea to-morrow morning," said I to myself — **if it's tho last 
 that I have in the world." 
 
 I shall never forget tho countenance of the ^liss 0' Conors as 
 Larry scrambled up cursing the unfortunate boots — ''What on 
 cai-th has he got on ?" said Mr. O'Conor. 
 
 " Sorrow take 'em for shoes," ejaculated Larry. But his spirit 
 was good and he said not a wonl to betray me. 
 
 Wo all then went in to dinner how we best could. It was 
 useless for us to go back into tho di-awing-room, that each might 
 seek his own pai'tner. Mr. O'Conor " the masther," not caring 
 much for the girls who were around him, and being already half 
 beside himscll' with the confusion and delay, led the way by 
 himself. I as a stranger should have given my arm to Mrs. 
 O'Conor; but as it was I took her eldest daughter instead, and 
 contrived to shuffle along into the dining-room without exciting 
 much attention, and when there I found myself happily placed 
 between Kate and Fanny. 
 
 " I never knew anything so awkward," said Fanny; ** I declare 
 I can't conceive what has come to our old sei-vant Lany. He's 
 generally the most precise person in the world, and now he is 
 nearly an hour late — and then he tumbles down in the hall." 
 
 ** I am afraid I am responsible for the delay," said I. 
 
 " But not for tho tumble I suppose," said Kate from the other 
 side. I felt that I blushed up to the eyes, but I did not dare to 
 enter into explanations. 
 
 ** Tom," said Tizzy, addressing her father across tho table, ** I 
 hope you had a good run to-day," It did seem odd to me that 
 a young lady should call her father Tom, but such was tho fact. 
 
42 TALES OP ALL COTJOTMBS. 
 
 " Well ; pretty well," said Mr. O'Conor. 
 
 "And I hope you were up with the hounds.** 
 
 " You may ask iMr. Green that. He at any rate was with 
 them, and therefore ho can tell you.'* 
 
 *' Oh, ho wasn't heforo you, I know. No Englishman oould 
 get heforo you ; — I ara quito sure of that." 
 
 "Don't you ho impertinent^ miss," said Kate. "You can 
 easily see, Mr. Green, that papa spoils my sister Eliza.'* 
 
 ** Do you Imnt in top-boots, Mr. Green ?" said Tizzy. 
 
 To this I mado no answer. Sho would have drawn mo into a 
 conversation about my feet in half a minute, and tho slightest 
 alhision to tho subject threw mo into n fit of perspiration. 
 
 "Arc you fond of hunting. Miss O'Conor r" asked I, blindly 
 hurrying into any other subjcet of conversation. 
 
 Miss O'Conor o^vned that sho was fond of hunting — just a 
 little ; only papa would not allow it. When tho hounds met 
 anywhere within reach of Castle Conor, sho and Kato would ride 
 out to look at them ; and if papa was not there that day, — an 
 omission of rare occurrence, — they would rido a few fields with 
 the hounds. 
 
 ** But ho lets Tizzy keep with them tho whole day," said she, 
 whispering. 
 
 '* And has Tizzy a pony of her own ?'* 
 
 *' Oh yes, Tizzy has everything. She's papa's pet, you know." 
 
 " And whose pet nro you ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh — I am nobody's pet, unless sometimes Jack makes a pot 
 of mo when he's in a good humour. Do you make pets of your 
 Bisters, Mr. Green ? " 
 
 " I have none. But if I had I should not make pets of them." 
 
 " Not of your own sisters ? " 
 
 *' No. As for myself, I'd sooner make a pet of my friend's 
 sister ; a great deal.^' 
 
 " IIow very unnatural," said Miss O'Conor, with tho prettiest 
 look of surprise imaginable. 
 
 " Not at all unnatural I think," said I, looking tenderly and 
 lovingly into her face. Where does ono find girls so pretty, so 
 easy, so sweet, so talkative aa the Irish girls ? And then with 
 all their talking and all their ease who ever hears of their mis- 
 behaving ? They certainly love flirting as they also love dancing. 
 But they flirt without mischief and without malice. 
 
 I had now quite forgotten my misfortune, and was beginning 
 to think how well I should like to have Fanny O'Conor for my 
 Vife. In this frame of mind I wfts bending over towards her as 
 
THB O'CONOT^S OT CASTLE CONOR. 43 
 
 a servant took away a plate from the other side, when a sepul- 
 chral note sounded in my ear. It was like the memento mori of 
 the old Roman ; — as though some one pointed in the midst of my 
 bliss to tho sword hung over my head by a thread. It was 
 tho voice of Larry, whispering in his agony just above my 
 head — . ■ 
 
 " They's disthroying my poor feet intirelv, intirely ; so they 
 is ! I can't boar it much longer, ycr honor. " I had committed 
 murder like Macbeth ; and now my Banquo had come to disturb 
 me at my feast. 
 
 ** ^VTiat is it ho says to you ? " asked Panny. ^ 
 
 ** Oh nothing," I answered, onco more in my misery. 
 
 ** There seems to be some point of confidence between you and 
 our Larry," she remarked. 
 
 " Oh no," said I, quite confused ; **not at all." 
 
 ** You need not bo ashamed of it. Half tho gentlemen in the 
 county have their confidences with Larry ; — and some of tho 
 ladies too, I can tell you. lie was bom in this houso, and never 
 lived anywhere else ; and I am sure ho has a larger circle of 
 acquaintance than any one else in it." 
 
 I could not recover my self-possession for the next ten minutes, 
 Whenever Larry was on our side of tho table I was afraid he was 
 coming to mo with another agonised'whisper. When he was oppo- 
 site, I could not but watch him as he hobbled in his misery. It 
 was evident that the boots were too tight for him, and had they been 
 made throughout of iron they could not have been less capable of 
 yielding to the feet. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart. 
 And I pitied myself also, wishing that I was well in bed upstairs 
 with some feigned malady, so that Larry might have had his own 
 again. 
 
 And then for a moment I missed him from the room. He had 
 doubtless gone to relieve his tortured feet in the servants* hall, 
 and as ho did so was cursing my cruelty. But what mattered 
 it ? Let him curse. If he would only stay away and do that, i 
 would appease his wrath when we were alone together with 
 pecuniary satisfaction. 
 
 But there was no such rest in store for me. " Larry, Larry," 
 shouted Mr. 0' Conor, ** where on earth has the fellow gone to ?" 
 They were all cousins at the table except myself, and Mr. C Conor 
 was not therefore restrained by any feeling of ceremony. ** There 
 is something wrong with that fellow to-day ; what is it, Jack ? " 
 
 ** Upon my word, sir, I don't know," said Jack. 
 
 ** I think \9 must be tipsy/' whispered Hiss O'Qonori tl« 
 
44 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 maiden sister, who always sat at her brother's left hand. But a 
 whisper though it was, it was audible all down the table. 
 
 " No, ma*am ; it aint dhrink at all," said the coachman. * It 
 is his feet as does it." 
 
 " His feet!" shouted Tom O'Conor. 
 
 " Yes ; I know it's his feet," said that horrid Tizzy. " }fc*8 
 got on great thick nailed shoes. It was that that made him 
 tumble down in the hall." 
 
 I glanced at each side of me, and could see that there was a 
 certain consciousness expressed in the face of each of my two 
 neighbours ;— on Kate's mouth there was decidedly a smile, or 
 rather, perhaps, the slightest possible inclination that way ; 
 wheieas on Fanny's part I thought I saw something like a rising 
 Borrow at my distress. So at least I flattered myself. 
 
 " Send him back into the room immediately," said Tom, who 
 Jooked at mo ns though he had some consciousness that I had 
 introduced all this confusion into his household. AVhat should I 
 do ? "Would it not be best for me to make a clean breast of it 
 before them all ? But alas ! I lacked the courage. 
 
 Tlie coachman went out, an:l we were left for five minutes 
 without any servant, and Mr. O'Conor the while became moro 
 and more savage. I attempted to say a word to Fanny, but 
 failed. Vox faucibus ha}sit. 
 
 " I don't think he has got any others," said Tizzy — *' at least 
 none others lell." 
 
 On the whole I am glad I did not marry into the family, as 
 I could not have endured that girl to stay in my house as a 
 sister- in-law. 
 
 *' Where the d has that other fellow gone to ?" said Tom. 
 
 ** Jack, do go out and see what is the matter. If anybody is 
 drunk send for me." 
 
 " Oh, there is nobody drunk," said Tizzy. 
 
 Jack went out, and the coachman returned j but what was 
 done and said I hardly remember. The whole room seemed 
 to swim round and round, and as far as I can recollect the com- 
 pany sat mute, neither eating nor drinking. Presently Jack 
 returned. 
 
 ** It's all light," said he. I always liked Jack. At the pre- 
 Bent moment he just loolted towards me and laughed slightly. 
 
 *' All right ? ". said Tom. '* 15ut is the fellow coming ? " 
 
 " We can do with Richard, I suppose," said Jack. 
 
 **No — I cuu't do with llichard," said the father. "And I 
 will know what it all meajis. Where is that fellow Larry ? " 
 
THE O'CONORS OP CASTLE CONOR. 45 
 
 Xarry had been Btanding just outside the door, and now he 
 entered gently as a mouse. No sound came from his footfall, nor 
 was there in his face that look of pain which it had worn for tho 
 last fifteen minutes. But he was not the less abashed, frightened, 
 and unhappy. 
 
 ** What is all this about, Larry?" said his master, turning to 
 him. " I insist upon knowing." 
 
 "Och thin, Mr. Green, yer honer, I wouldn't be afthcr telling 
 agin yer honer ; indeed I wouldn't thin, av' the masther would 
 only let mo hould my tongue." And ho looked across at mel| 
 deprecating my anger. 
 
 •* Mr. Green ! " said Mr. O'Conor. 
 
 " Yes, yer honer. It's all along of his honcr's thick shoes ;" 
 and Larry, stepping backwards towards the door, lifted them up 
 from some corner, and coming well forward, exposed them with 
 the poles uppermost to the whole table. 
 
 ** And that's not all, yer honer ; but they've squoze the very 
 toes of me into a jelly." 
 
 There was now a loud laugh, in which Jack and Peter and 
 Fanny and Kate and Tizzy all joined ; as too did Mr. O'Conor—- 
 and I also myself after a while. 
 
 "Whose boots are they?" demanded Miss O'Conor senior, 
 with her severest tone and grimmest accent. 
 
 " 'Deed then and the divil may have them for rao. Miss," 
 answered Larry. " They war Mr. Green's, but the likes of him 
 won't wear them agin afthcr the likes of me — barring ho wanted 
 them very particular," added he, remembering his own pumps. 
 
 I began muttering something, feeling that the time had come 
 when 1 must tell tho tale. But Jack with great good nature, 
 took up tho story and told it so well, that I hardly suffered ia 
 tho telling. 
 
 " And that's it," said Tom^ O'Conor, laughing till I thought 
 ho would have fallen from his chair. ** So you've got Larry's 
 shoes on — " 
 
 ** And very well he fills them," said Jack. 
 
 " And it's his honer that's welcome to 'em," said Larry, grin- 
 ning from ear to ear now that ho saw that " the masther" wus 
 once more in a good humour, 
 
 ** I hope they'll be nice shoes for dancing," said Kate. 
 
 " Only there's one down at the heel I know," said Tizzy. 
 
 ** The ser\'ant'8 shoes ! " This was an exclamation made by 
 t}.e maiden lady, and intended apparently only for her brother'! 
 ear. But it was clearly audible by all the paxty. 
 
46 TALSS OV ALL OOUNTRIEB. 
 
 ^ " Bettor that than no dinner," said Peter. ^ 
 
 "But what ore you to do about the dancing?" said ¥anny, 
 Tvith nn uir of diamuy on her face which fluttered mo with on 
 idea that sho did care whether I danced or no. 
 
 In tho mean time Larry, now as happy as an emperor, waa 
 tripping round tho room without any shoes to encumber him aa 
 he withdrew tho plates from the table. 
 
 ** And it's his honor that's wcleoino to *em,** said ho aprain, 
 as ho pulled off tho table-cloth with a flourish. **jVud why 
 •wouldn't lie, and ho able to folly tho hounds betther nor any 
 Eup;lishman that iver war in these parts before, — anyways so 
 Miek says ! " 
 
 Kow Mick was tho huntsman, and this littlo talc of eulogy 
 from Ltuiy went far towaixls easing my gi'ief. I had ridden 
 "Well to tho liounds that day, and I knew it. 
 
 There was nothing more said about tho shoes, and I was soon 
 ngain at my ease, although ^lissO'Conor did say something about 
 tlio impropiiety of Larry walking about in his stocking feet. 
 The ladies however soon witlulicw, — to my sorrow, for I was 
 getting on swimniingly with Famiy; and then wo gentlemen 
 gathered round the tiro and filled our glasses. 
 
 In about ten niiiuiti^s a very light tap was heard, tho door was 
 opened to the extent of thix'o inches, and a fcmalo voico which 
 I readily recognised called to Jack. 
 
 Jack went out, and in a second or two put his head back into 
 the room and Cidled to mc — ** Given," ho said, ** just step heix) a 
 moment, tluixi's a good fellow." I went out, and there I found 
 Fanny stimding with her brother. 
 
 ** Hero iu\3 tho ghls at their wits* ends," said ho, " about 
 your diuiciug. So Fanny has put a boy upon one of the horses, 
 and proposes that you should send another lino to Mi*s. Meehan 
 at Bullyglass. It's only ten miles, and he'll bo back in two 
 hours." 
 
 I need hardly say that I acted in conformity vdih. this adWce. 
 I went into ^[r. 0' Conor's book room, with Jack and his sister, 
 and tliero scribbled a note. It was delightful to feel how inti- 
 mate I was with them, and how anxious they were to make mo 
 happy. 
 
 •' And wo won't begin till they come," said Fimny. 
 
 "Oh, Miss O'Conor, pmy don't wiut," said I. 
 
 ** Oh, but wo mil," sho answered. *' You have your wine to 
 drink, imd then there's the tea ; and then we'll have a song or 
 two. I'll spin it out j eeo if I don't." And so we went to tho 
 
THE O'OONOHS OF OASTLB CONOR. 47 
 
 front cloor where the boy was already on his horse — ^hcr o"^ti nag 
 08 I afterwards found. 
 
 *'And Patsoy," said she, ''ride for your life; and Tatsey, 
 whatever you do, don't come back without Mi\ Green's pumps — 
 his dancing-shoes you know.'* 
 
 And in about two hours tho pumps did arrive ; and I don't 
 think I ever spent a plcasanter evening or got more satisfaction 
 out of a pixir of shoes. They had not been two minutes on my 
 feet before Larry was carrying a tray of negus across tho room 
 in those which I had worn at dinner. 
 
 *♦ Tho Dillon girls arc going to stay here," said Fanny as I 
 wished her good night at two o'clock. *'And wo'U have dancing 
 every evening as long as you remain." 
 
 ** But I shall leave to-morrow," said I. 
 
 ** Indeed you won't. Papa will take care of that." 
 
 And so he did. " You had better go over to Ballyglass your- 
 self to-morrow," said ho, ** and collect your own tilings. There's 
 no knowing clso what you may have to borrow of Larry." 
 
 I stayed there three weeks, and in tho middle of tho third I 
 thought that everything would bo arranged between me and 
 Fanny. But the aunt interfered ; and in about a twelvemonth 
 after my adventures she consented to mako a mox« foxtuxiftto oiAn 
 bappy for bit li^a. 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE GUADALQUIVIR. 
 
 I AM an Englishman, li^'inp:, as all Englishman should do, in 
 England, and my wife would not, I think, bo well pleased were 
 any one to insinuate that she were other than an Englishwoman ; 
 but in the circumstances of my marriage I became connected 
 with the south of Spain, and the narrative which I am to tcU 
 requires that I should refer to some of those details. 
 
 The Pomfrets and Daguilars have long been in trade together 
 in this country, and one of the pai-tncrs has usually resided at 
 Seville for the sake of the works which the firm there possesses. 
 My father, James Pomfret, lived there for ten years before his 
 marriage ; and since that and up to the present period, old Mr, 
 Daguilar has always been* on the spot. He was, I believe, bora 
 in Spain, but he came very early to England ; he married an 
 English wife, and his sons had been educated exclusively in 
 England. His only daughter, Maria Daguilar, did not pass so 
 large a proportion of her early life in this country, but she came to 
 us for a >'isit at the ago of seventeen, and when she returned I 
 made up my mind that I most assuredly would go after her. So 
 I did, and she is now sitting on the other side of the fireplace 
 with a legion of small linen habiliments in a huge basket by 
 her side. 
 
 I felt, at the first, that there was something lacking to mako 
 my cup of love perfectly delightful. It was very sweet, but 
 there was wanting that flower of romance which is generally 
 added to the heavenly draught by a slight admixture of oppo- 
 sition. I feared that the path of my true love would run too 
 Binooth. "Wlien Maiia came to our house, my mother and elder 
 Bister seemed to be quite willing that I should bo continually 
 alone with her ; and she had not been there ten days before my 
 father, by chance, remarked that there was nothing old Mr. 
 Dagiiilax valued so highly as a thorough feeling of intimate 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE GUADALQUIVIR, 49 
 
 allifince between the two familleB which had been so long con- 
 nected in trade. I was never told that Maria was to be my wife, 
 but I felt that the same thing was done without words ; and 
 when, after six weeks of somewhat elaborate attcndaneo upon her, 
 I asked her to be Mrs. John Pomfrct, I had no more fear of a 
 refusal, or even of hesitation on her part, than I now havo 
 when I suggest to my partner some commercial transaction of 
 undoubted advantage. 
 
 But Maria, even at that age, had about her a quiet sustained 
 decision of character quite unlike anything I had seen in English 
 girls. I used to hear, and do still hear, how much more flippant 
 is the education of girls in France and Spain than in England ; 
 and I know that this is shown to be the result of many causes — 
 the Roman Catholic religion being, perhaps, the chief offender ; 
 but, nevertheless, I rarely sec in one of our own young women 
 the same power of a self-sustained demeanour as I meet on the 
 Continent. It goes no deeper than the demeanour, people say. I 
 can only answer that I have not found that shallowness in my 
 own wife. 
 
 Miss Daguilar replied to mo that she was not prepared with 
 an answer ; she had only known me six weeks, and wanted moro 
 time to think about it ; besides, there was one in her own 
 country with whom she would wish to consult. I tnew she had 
 no mother ; and as for consulting old Mr. Daguilar on such a 
 subject, that idea, I knew, could not havo troubled her. Be- 
 sides, as I afterwards learned, Mr. Daguilar had already proposed 
 \]w ninrrinpn tci bin pnttnnr rxiu'fly ns ho would Imvn propriflcMl n 
 divibiou of asHcts. ^ly mothiT tU'tlaivd llmt Miirlu was u foullNh 
 chit — in which, by-the-bye, she showed her entire ignorance of 
 Miss Daguilar' s character ; my eldest sister begged that no con- 
 straint might be put on the young lady's inclinations — Avhich 
 provoked me to assert that the young lady's inclinations were by 
 no means opposed to my own ; and my father, in the coolest 
 manner, suggested that the matter might stand over for twelve 
 months, and that I might then go to Seville, and see about it I 
 Stand over for twelve months ! Would not Maria, long before 
 that time, have been snapped up and carried off by one of those 
 inordinately rich Spanish grandees who are still to be met with 
 occasionally in Andalucia? 
 
 My father's dictum, however, had gone forth ; and Maria, in 
 the calmest voice, protested that she thought it very wise. I 
 should be less of a boy by that time, she said, smiling on me, 
 Wt driving wedges between every fibre of my body as dbe spoke. 
 
 B 
 
50 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 " Be it BO,** I said, proudly. "At any rate, I am not so mucli 
 of a boy that I shall forget you.** *' And, John, you still have 
 tlio trado to learn," sho added, with her deliciously foreign into- 
 nation — speaking very slowly, but with perfect pronunciation. 
 The trade to leai-n ! 'However, I said not a word, but stalked 
 oiit of tho room, meaning to see her no more before she went. 
 Uut I could not resist attending on her in the hall as sho 
 started ; and, when she took leave of us, she put her face up to 
 bo kissed by me, as slie did by ray father, and seemed to receive 
 as much emotion fi'om one embrace as from the otlier. "He'll 
 go out by the packet of the 1st Apiil," said my father, speak- 
 ing of me as though I were a bale of goods. " Ah I that will bo 
 BO nice," said Alalia, settling her diess in tho carriage ; ** tho 
 oranges will bo ripe for him then! " 
 
 On the 17th April I did sail, and felt still very like a bale of 
 goods. I had received one letter fiom her, in which sho merely 
 stated that her papa would have a room ready for mo on my 
 aiTival ; imd, in answer to that, I had sent an epistle somewhat 
 longer, and, as I then thought, a little more to the purpose. Her 
 turn of mind was more practical than mine, and I must confess 
 my belief that she did not nppreciate my poetry. 
 
 I landed at Catliz, and was there joined by an old family 
 friend, one of tho very best fellows that ever lived. Ho was to 
 accompany me up as fiu* as Seville ; and, as he had lived for a 
 year or two at Xeres, was supposed to be more Spanish almost 
 than a Spaniaid. His name was Johnson, and he was in tho 
 wine trade ; and whether for travelling or whether for staying at 
 homr^^whether for paying you a visit in your owa house, or 
 whether for entertaining you in Ids — there never was (and I am 
 prepared to maintidn thei'e never will be) a stimcher friend, a 
 choicer companion, or a safer guide thtm Thomas Jolmson. 
 "Words cannot produce a eulogium suilicient for liis merits. Uut, 
 OS I have einco learned, he was not quite so Spanish as I had 
 imagined. Three yeai's among the bodegas of Xeres had taught 
 him, no doubt, to appreciate tho exact twang of a good, dry 
 sherry ; but not, as I now conceive, the cxactcst flavour of the 
 true Spanish character. I was very lucky, however, in meeting 
 Buch a friend, and now reckon liim as one of the stanchest aUiea 
 of the house oi Tomfret, Daguilar, and Pomfrct. 
 
 He met me at Cadiz, took me about tlie town, wliich appeared to 
 me to bo of no very great interest ; — though the young ladies were 
 all very well. Lut, in this respect, I was then a Stoic, till such 
 time as I might be able to throw myssclf at tho feet of her whom 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE aUADALQWYlR. 5l 
 
 1 was ready to proclaim the most lovely of all the Dulcincas of 
 Andalucia. He carried me up by boat and railway to Xcrcs ; gave 
 mc a most terrific headache, by dragging mo out into the glare of 
 the sun, after I had tasted some half a dozen difiji^rcnt wines, 
 and went tlirough all the ordinary hospitalities. On the next day 
 wc returned to Puerto, and from thence getting across to St. 
 Lucar and Bonanza, found ourselves on the banks of the Gundal- 
 quiHr, and took our places in the boat for Seville. I need say 
 but little to my readers respecting that far-famed river. Thirty 
 years ago we in England generally believed that on its banks 
 was to bo found a pure clysium of pastoral beauty ; that pic- 
 turesque shepherds and lovely maidens here fed their flocks in 
 fields of asphodel ; that the limpid stream ran cool and crystal 
 over bright stones and beneath perennial shade ; and that every- 
 thing on the Guadalquivir was as lovely and as poetical as its 
 name. Now, it is pretty widely kno^vn that no uglier river 
 oozes down to its bourn in the sea through unwholesome banks 
 of low mud. It is bro^vn and dirty ; ungiftcd by any scenic 
 advantage ; margined for miles upon miles by huge, flat, expan- 
 sive fields, in which cattle are reared, — the bulls wanted for the 
 bull-fights among other ; and birds of prey sit constant on the 
 shore, watching for the carcases of such as die. Such are tho 
 charms of the golden Guadalquivir. 
 
 At first we were very dull on boaixl that steamer. I never 
 found myself in a position in which there was less to do. There 
 was a nasty smell about the little boat which made mc almost 
 ill ; every turn in the river was so exactly like tho last, that wo 
 might have been standing still ; there was no amusement except 
 eating, and that, when once done, was not of a kind to make an 
 early repetition desirable. Even Johnson was becoming dull, and 
 I began to doubt whether I was so desh'ous as I once had been 
 to travel tho length and breadth of all Spain. But about noon a 
 little incident occurred which did for a time remove some of our 
 tedium. The boat had stopped to take in passengers on tho river ; 
 and, among others, a man had come on board dressed in a fashion 
 that, to my eyes, was equally strange and picturesque. Indeed, 
 his appearance waa so singular, that I could not but regard him 
 with care, though I felt at first averse to staro at a fellow- 
 passenger on account of his clothes. He was a man of about 
 fifty, but as active apparently as though not more than twenty- 
 five; he was of low stature, but of admirable make; lus 
 hair was just becoming grizzled, but was short and crisp and 
 well cared for ; his face was prepossessing, having a look of good 
 
 X 2 
 
52 TALES OP AIL COTJlTTRnS. 
 
 humour added to courtesy, and tlioro wm a plowumt, 'soft smfle 
 round his nioiitli wliich ingrtttiuted ono at tho first sight. But 
 it was Ids dress rather than liis person which attracted attention. 
 IIo wore tho ordinary Andnhician cap — of which such hideous 
 parodies arc now making tliemselves common in England — hut 
 WJV8 not contonted with tho usual ornament of tho douhlo tuft. 
 Tho cup was small, and jaunty; trimmed with silk velvet — as is 
 conunon hero with men careful to adorn their persons; hut tliis 
 man's cap was llnislied off with a jewelled hutton ond golden 
 filigree work, lie was dressed in a short jacket witli a stand- 
 up collar ; and tliat also was covered with golden buttons and 
 with golden button-holes. It was all gilt down tho front, and 
 all lace down the back. Tlie rows of buttons were double ; and 
 those of tlic moix) backwanl row hung down in hea^'y pendules. 
 llis waistcoat was of coloured silk — very pretty to look at ; and 
 ornamented with a small sash, through whicli gold threads werc^ 
 worked. All tho buttons of liis breeches also were of gold ; and 
 tliere Averc gold tags to all the button-holes. His stockings were of 
 tho finest silk, and clocked with gold from the knee to tho ankle. 
 
 Dress any Englishmim in such a garb and lio will at onco give 
 you tho idea of a hog in armour. In the first place lio will lack 
 tho proper spirit to cany it off, and in tho next place the motion 
 of his limbs will disgrace tho ornaments they bear. **Aiid so 
 best," most Englishmen will say. Yeiy likely ; and, therefore, 
 let no Englishman try it. But my Spaniaixl did not look at all 
 like a hog in armour. Kc walked slowly down tho plank into 
 tho boat, whistling lowly but very clearly a few bars from an 
 opera tune. It was plain to seo that ho was master of himself, 
 of his ornaments, and of his limbs. Ho had no appeanmco of 
 thinking that men were looking at him, or of feeling that ho was 
 beauteous in his attire ; — nothing co\dd be more natural than his 
 foot-fall, vr the quiet gUuice of his cheery gray eye. IIo walked 
 up to ihfi cwptain, wiio held the helm, and lightly raised his 
 hand to his cap. The captain, taking one hand from tho wheel, 
 did the sarie, and then tho stranger, turning his back to the stem 
 of the vessel, and fronting down the river with his face, con- 
 tinued to whistle slowly, cletu'ly, and in excellent time. Grimd 
 ns were his clothes they were no burden on his mind. 
 
 "AVhat is ho?" said I, going up to my friend Jolmson, "with 
 R whisper. 
 
 "Well, I've been looking at him," said Johnson — which was 
 
 true enough; *'ho'8 a an uncommonly good-looking fellow, 
 
 isn't he?" 
 
JOHN DULL ON TUB GUADALQUIVIR. 63 
 
 ** Particularly so," said I ; ** and got up quito irrespective of 
 expense. Is ho a — a — a gentleman, now, do you think ?" 
 
 ** "Well, thoao things aro so diflcrcnt in Spain, that it's almost 
 impossible to make an Englishman understand them. One learns to 
 know all this sort of people by being with them in the country, 
 but one can't explain." 
 
 ** No ; exactly. Arc they real gold?" 
 ** Yes, yes ; I dare say thoy arc. They sometimes have them 
 silver gilt." 
 
 ** It is quito a common tiling, then, isn't it?" asked I. 
 "Well, not exactly; that-- — Ah! yes; I see! of course. 
 He is a toret-o." 
 "A what?" 
 
 ** A mayo. I will explain it all to you. You will see them 
 about in all places, and you will get used to them." 
 ** But I haven't seen one other as yet." 
 '* No, and thoy are not all so gay as this, nor so now in their 
 finely, you know." 
 
 ** And what is a torero ?" 
 
 ** Well, a torero is a man engaged in buU-fighting.'* 
 ** Oh! he is a matador, is ho?" said I, looking at liim with 
 more than all my eyes. 
 
 '* No, not exactly that; — not of necessity. He is probably a 
 mayo. A fellow that dresses himself smart for fairs, and will be 
 seen hanging about with the bull-fighters. What would bo a sport- 
 ing fellow in England— only he won't drink and curse like a low 
 nuiu on the turf there. Come, shall we go and speak to him?'* 
 ** I can't talk to him," said I, diflldent of my Spanish. I 
 had reroived h'ssons in England from ^laria Daguilar; but six 
 weeks is little enough for making love, let alono the learning of 
 a foivign laugiuige. 
 
 **0h! I'll do tho talking. You'll find tho language easy 
 enough before long. It soon becomes tho same as English to 
 you, when you live among them." And then Johnson, walking 
 up to the stranger, accosted him with that good-natured fomiliaiity 
 with which a thoroughly nice follow always opens a conversa- 
 tion with his inferior. Of coui*so I could not understand tho 
 words which were exchanged ; but it was clear enough that the 
 **mayo" took the address in good part, and was inclined to be 
 communicative and social. 
 
 ** They are all of pure gold," said Johnson, turning to mo 
 after a minute, making as he spoke a motion with liis bead to 
 show tho importance of the infonuatlou* 
 
64 TALES OP ALL COTJNTMM. 
 
 ♦* Are thoy indeed?** said I. *' "Where on earth did a fellow 
 like that get them?" "Whereupon JohnBon again returned to 
 his conversation with tho man. After another minute he raised 
 his hand, and hcpan to finger tho hutton on the shoulder ; and 
 to aid him in doing so, tho man of the hull-ring turned a littlo 
 on ono side. 
 
 *'They are "wonderfully well made," said Johnson, talking to 
 rac, and still fingering the button. " They arc manufactured, 
 he says, at Osimn, and he tells me that they make them better there 
 than anywhere else." 
 
 "I wonder whut tho whole set would eost?" said I. **An 
 enormous deal of money for a fellow like him, I should think !" 
 
 ** Over twelve ounces," said Johnson, having asked tho ques- 
 tion ; ** and that will bo more than forty pounds." 
 
 ** Wliat rji uncommon ass he must bo !" said I. 
 
 As Johnson by this time was very closely scrutinising tho 
 whole set of ornaments 1 thought I might do so also, and going 
 up close to our friend, I too began to handle the buttons and tags 
 on the other side. Kotliing could have been more good-humoured 
 than he was — so much so that I was emboldened to hold up his 
 arm that I might seo tho cut of his coat, to tak'o off his cap and 
 examine tho make, to stuff my finger in beneath his sash, and at 
 last to kneel do^vn wliilc I persuaded him to hold up liis legs 
 that I might look to the clocking. The fellow was thoroughly 
 good-natured, and why should I not indulge my curiosity ? 
 
 " You'll upset him if you don't take care," said Johnson; for 
 I had got fust hold of him by one ankle, and was detenuined to 
 finish the survey completely. 
 
 ** Oh, no, I shan't," said I ; " a bull-fighting chap can surely 
 stand on one leg. But what I wonder at is, how on earth ho can 
 afford it ! " AV hereupon Johnson again began to inten-ogato him 
 in Spanish. 
 
 ** He says he has got no children," said Johnson, having received 
 ft reply, ** and that as lie has nobody but himself to look after, 
 ho is able to allow himself such little luxuries " 
 
 **Tell him that I say he would bo better with a wife and 
 couple of babies," said I — and Johnson interpreted. 
 
 "He says that he'll think of it some of these days, when ho 
 finds that the supply of fools in the world is becoming short," 
 Baid Johnson. 
 
 We had nearly done with him now ; but after regaining my 
 feet, I addressed myself once more to the heavy pendules, which 
 hunc down almost under his arm. I lifted one of these, meaning 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE GUADALQUIVIR. 65 
 
 to feci its woij^ht between my fingers ; but nnfortnnately I pxre 
 a lurch, probably through the motion of the boat, and still holding 
 by the button, tore it almost off from our friend's coat. 
 
 ** Oh, I am so sorry," I said, in broad English. 
 
 ** It do riot matkr at all," he said, bowing, and speaking with 
 equal plainness. And then, taking a knife from his pocket, ho 
 cut the pendulo off, leaving a bit of torn cloth on the sido of his 
 jacket. 
 
 ** Upon my word, I am quite unhappy," said I ; " but I always 
 am so awkward." AVhcrcupon ho bowed low. 
 
 ** Couldn't I make it right ?" said I, bringing out my purso. 
 
 }Io lirtcd his hand, and I saw that it was small and white; 
 he lifted it, and gently put it upon mv purse, smiling sweetly as 
 he did so. *' Thank you, no, seflor; thank you, no." And then, 
 bowinpj to us both, ho walked away do^^^l into the cabin. 
 
 ** Upon my word he is a deuced well-mannered fellow,'' said I. 
 
 " You shouldn't haTc offered him money,'* said Johnson; **a 
 Spaniard does not like it." 
 
 'MVhy, I thought you could do nothing without money in 
 this country. Doesn't every one take bribes ?" 
 
 ** Ah! yes; that is a different thing; but not the price of a 
 button. By Jove! he understood English, too. Did you see 
 that?" 
 
 ** Yes ; and I called him an ass ! I hope he doesn't mind it." 
 
 *' Oh ! no ; he won't think anything about it," said Johnson. 
 **Thut sort of fellows don't. 1 dare say we shall see him in the- 
 bull-ring next Sunday, and then We'll make all right with a 
 glass of lcn\onado." 
 
 And so our adventure ended with the man of the gold oma« 
 ments. I was sony that I had spoken English before him so 
 heedlessly, and resolved that I would never bo guilty of such 
 gauchcrie again. But, then, who would think that a Spanish 
 bull-fighter would talk a foreign language ? I was sorry, also, 
 that I had torn his coat ; it had looked so awkward ; and sorry 
 again that I had offered the man money. Altogether 1 was a 
 little ashamed of myself ; but I had too much to look forward to 
 at Seville to allow any heaviness to remain long at my heart ; 
 and before I had arrived at the marvcUous city I had forgotten 
 both him and his buttons. 
 
 Kothing could be nicer than the way in which I was welcomed 
 ut Mr. Daguilar's house, or more kind — I may almost say affec- 
 tionate — than Maria's manner to me. But it was too affectionate ; 
 •nd I am not sure that I should not have liked my reoeptLon 
 
56 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 better liad dhe been more diffident in her tone, and less inclined 
 to greet me with open warmth. As it was, she again gave me 
 her cheek to kiss, in her father's presence, and called me dear 
 John, and asked me specially after some rabbits which I had 
 kept at home merely for a younger sister ; and then it seemed as 
 though she were in no way embarrassed by the peculiar circum- 
 stances of our position. Twelve months since I had asked her to 
 be my wife, and now she was to give me an answer ; and yet she 
 was as assured in her gait, and as serenely joyous in her tone, as 
 though I were u brotlicr just returned from college. It could 
 not be that she meant to refuse me, or she would not smile on 
 me and be so loving ; but I could almost have found it in my 
 heart to wish that she would. ** It is quite possible," said I to 
 myself, "that I may not be found so ready for this family 
 bargain. A love that is to be had like a bale of goods is not 
 exactly the love to suit my taste." But then, when I met her 
 again in the morning, I could no more have quarrelled with her 
 than I could have flown. 
 
 I was inexpressibly charmed with the whole city, and especially 
 with the house in which Mr. Daguilar lived. It opened from the 
 comer of a narrow, unfrequented street — a comer like an elbow 
 —and, as seen from the exterior, there was nothing prepossessing 
 to recommend it ; but the outer door led by a short hall or 
 passage to an inner door or grille, made of open ornamental iron- 
 work, and through that we entered a court, or patio, as they 
 called it. Nothing could be more lovely or deliciously cool than 
 was this small court. The building on each side was covered by 
 trellis-work ; and beautiful creepers, vines, and parasite flowers, 
 now in the full magnificence of the early summer, grew up and 
 clustered round the windows. Every inch of wall was covered, 
 BO that none of the glaring whitewash wounded the eye. In the 
 four comers of the patio were four largo orange-trees, covered 
 with fruit. I would not say a word in special praise of these, 
 remembering that childish promise she had made on my behalf. 
 In the middle of the court there was a fountain, and round about 
 on the marble floor there were chairs, and here and there a small 
 table, as though the space were really a portion of the house. It 
 was here that we used to take our cup of coff'ee and smoke our 
 cigarettes, I and old Mr. Daguilar, while Maria sat by, not only 
 approving, but occasionally rolling for me the thin paper roimd 
 the fragrant weed with her taper fingers. Beyond the patio was 
 an open passage or gallery, filled also vrith flowers in pots ; and 
 then, beyond this, one entered the drawing-room of the house. 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE QUADALQXnVIR. 57 
 
 It was by no means a princely palace or mansion, fit for tho 
 owner of untold wealth. Tho rooms were not over large not 
 very numerous ; but tho most had been made of a small space, 
 and everything had been done to relieve the heat of an almost 
 tropical sun.. 
 
 ** It is pretty, is it not ?" she said, as. she took me through it. 
 
 **Vcry pretty," I said. "I wish we could live in such 
 bouses." 
 
 " Oh, they would not do at all for dear old fat, cold, cozy 
 England. You are quite diiferent, you know, in everything 
 from us in the south; more phlegmatic, but then so much 
 •teadier. The men and the houses are all the same." 
 
 I can hardly tell why, but even this wounded me. It seemed 
 to me as though she were inclined to put into one and the same 
 category things English, dull, useful, and solid ; and that sho 
 was disposed to show a sufficient appreciation for such necessaries 
 of Hfe, though she herself had another and inner sense — a sense 
 keenly alive to the poetry of her own southern clime ; and that 
 T, as being English, was to have no participation in this latter 
 charm. An English husband might do very well, the interests 
 of the firm might make such an arrangement desirable, such a 
 mariage de convenance — so I argued to myself — might bo quite 
 compatible with — with heaven only knows what delights of supcr- 
 terrestial romance, from which I, as being an English thick- 
 headed lump of useful coarse mortality, was to be altogether 
 debarred. She had spoken to me of oranges, and having finished 
 the sun'oy of the house, she offered me some sweet littlo 
 cakes. It could not be that of such things were the thoughts 
 which lay undivulged beneath the clear waters of those deep 
 black eyes — undivulged to me, though no one else could have so 
 good a right to read those thoughts ! It could not be that that 
 noble brow gave index of a mind intent on tho trade of which 
 she spoke so often I "Words of other sort than any that had been 
 vouchsafed to me must fall at times from tho rich curves of that 
 perfect mouth. 
 
 So felt I then, pining for something to make me unhappy. 
 Ah, me ! I know idl about it now, and am content. But I wish 
 that some learned pimdit would give us a good definition of 
 romance, would describe in words that feeling with which our 
 hearts are so pestered when we are young, which makes us sigh 
 for we know not what, and forbids us to bie contented with what 
 God sends us. "We invest female beauty with impossible attri- 
 bute8| and are angiy because our women have not the spiritualised 
 
B8 TALES or ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 iouls of ongols, anxious m wo arc that thoy should alw bo hnmaa 
 in tho flesh. A man looks at her ho would love as at a distant 
 landscape in a mountainous land. Tho peaks arc glorious with 
 more than tho hcauty of earth and rock and vegetation. lie 
 dreams of some mysterious grandeur of design which tempts him 
 on under the hot sun, and over the sharp rock, till he has reached 
 the mountain goal whicli ho had set before him. I3ut when there, 
 he finds that the beauty is well-nigh gone, and as for that 
 delicious mystery on which his soul had fed, it has vanished for 
 ever. 
 
 I know nil about it now, and am, as I said, content. Pcneath 
 those deep black eyes there lay a well of love, good, honest, 
 homely love, love of father and Jiusbaud and cliihlren that were 
 to come— of tliat love which loves to see tho loved ones prospering 
 in honesty. That noble brow — for it is noble ; I am unchanged 
 in that opinion, and will go unchanged to my gi*ave — covcra 
 thoughts as to the welfai*o of many, and an intellect fitted to tho 
 management of a household, of servants, namely, and children, 
 and perchance a husband. That mouth can speak words of 
 wisdom, of verv useful wisdom — though of poetry it has latterly 
 nttert^l little tliat was originid. I'oetry and romance ! They 
 are splendid mountain views seen in the distance. So let men bo 
 content to see them, and not attempt to tread upon the fallacious 
 heather of the mystic hills. 
 
 In the first week of my sojourn in Seville I spoke no word of 
 overt love to ^laria, thinking, as 1 confess, to induce her thereby 
 to alter her mode of conduct to myself. *' She knows that I have 
 come here to make love to her — to repeat my ofler ; and she will 
 at any nite be chagiined if I am slow to do so." But it had no 
 clfect. At home my mother was rather particular about her 
 table, and Maria's greatest eflbi'ts seemed to be used in giving mo 
 ns nice dinnei's as we gave her. In those days I did not care a 
 straw about my dinner, and so I took an opportunity of telling 
 her. ** Dear me," said she, looking at me almost with grief, 
 ** do you not ? AVhat a pity ! And do you not like music either?" 
 " Oh, yes, I adore it," I replied. 1 felt sure at the time that had 
 I been bom in her own sunny clime, she would never have talked 
 to me about eating. But that was my mistake. 
 
 I used to walk cut with her about the city, seeing all that is 
 there of beauty and magnificence. A)ul in what city is thero 
 more tliat is worth the seeing? At first this was very delightfiii 
 to me, for I felt that I was blessed with a priWlege that would 
 not be granted to any otlier man. But its value soon fell in my 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE OUADALQTJTVIR. 69 
 
 eyes, for others would nccost her, and walk on the other side, 
 talking to her in Spanish, ns though I hanlly existed, or were a 
 Bonnnt there for her protection. And I was not allowed to take 
 her arm, and tlius to appropriate her, aa I should have done in 
 England. ** No, John," she said, with tho sweetest, prettiest 
 smile, ** we don't do tliat hero ; only "when people arc married.'* 
 And she made this allusion to married life out, openly, with no 
 slightest tremor on her tongue. 
 
 ** Oh, 1 beg pardon," said I, drawing hack my hand, and feel- 
 ing angiy with myself for not being fully acquainted witli all the 
 customs of a foreign country. 
 
 *' You need not beg pardon,'* said eho ; "when wo were in 
 England wc always walked so. It is just a custom, you know.'* 
 And then I saw her drop her large dark eyes to tho ground, and 
 bow gracefully in answer to some salute. 
 
 I looked round, and saw that wc had been joined by a young 
 cavalier, — a Spanish nobleman, as I saw at once ; a man with 
 jet black luiir, and a straight nose, and a black moustache, and 
 patent leather boots, very slim and veiy tall, and — though 1 
 would not confess it then — uncommonly handsome. I myself 
 am inclined to bo stout, my hair is light, my n^so broad, 1 have 
 no hair on my upper lip, and my whiskers arc rough and uneven, 
 ** I could punch your head tliough, my fino fc^llow," said I to 
 myself, when I saw that ho placed himself at Maria's eido, " and 
 think very little of the achievement." 
 
 The wretch went on with us round tho plaza for some quarter 
 of an hour talking Si)anish with tho greatest fluency, and sho 
 was every whit as fluent. Of course I could not understand a 
 Word that they said. Of all positions that a man can occupy, I 
 think that that is about tho most uncomfoitable ; and I cannot " 
 say that, even up to this day, I have quite forgiven her for that 
 quarter of an hour. 
 
 ** I shall go in,'* said I, unable to bear my feelings, and pro- 
 paring to leave her. '* The heat is unendurable." 
 
 "Oh dear, John, why did you not speak before?** she 
 answered. " You cannot leave mo hero, you know, as I am in 
 your charge ; but I will go with you almost directly." And 
 then she finished her conversation with tho Spaniard, speaking 
 with an animation she had never displayed in her conversations 
 with me. 
 
 It had been agreed between us for two or three days before 
 this, that we were to rise early on the following morning for the 
 take of ascending the tower of tho oathedral« and Tuiting the 
 
60 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 Gii-olda, as the iron figure is called, which turns upon a pirot (m 
 the extreme Bummit. "We had often wandered toj^ether up and 
 down the long dark gloomy aisle of the stupendous building, and 
 had, together, seen its treasury of art ; but as yet we had not 
 performed the task which has to be achieved by all visitors to 
 Seville ; and in order that we might have a clear view over the 
 surrounding country, and not be tormented by the heat of an 
 advanced sun, wo had settled that wo would ascend the Giralda 
 before brealcfast. 
 
 And now, as I walked away from the plaza towards Mr. 
 Da<::uihir'8 liouso, with Maria by my side, I made up my mind 
 tluit I would settle my business during this visit to the catliedral. 
 Yes, and I would so manage the settlement that there should be 
 no doubt left as to my intentions and my own ideas. I would 
 not be guilty of shilly-shally conduct ; I would tell her frankly 
 what I felt and what I thought, and would make her understand 
 that I did not desire her lumd if I could not have her heart. 
 I did not value the kindness of her manner, seeing that that 
 kindness sprung from indilference rather than passion ; and so I 
 would declare to her. And I would ask her, also, who was this 
 young man with whom she was intimate — for whom all her 
 volubility and energy of tone seemed to bo employed ? She had 
 told me once that it behoved her to consult a friend in Seville as 
 to the expediency of her marriage with me. Was this the friend 
 whom she had wished to consult ? If so, she need not trouble 
 herself. Under such circumstances I should decline tlio connec- 
 tion ! And I resolvvd that 1 would find out how this might be. 
 A man who proposes to take a woman to l»is bosom as his wife, 
 , lias a right to ask for information — ay, and to receive it too. It 
 flashed upon my mind at this moment that Donna ^taria was 
 
 well enon<;h inclined to come to me as my wife, but . I 
 
 could liardly define the '* huts " to myself, for there were three 
 or four of them. Why did slio always speak to mo in a tone of 
 childish affection, as though I were a schoolboy home for the 
 holidays? I would have all this out with her on the tower on 
 the following morning, standing under the Giralda. 
 
 On that morning we met together in the patio, soon after five 
 o'clock, and started for the cathedral. She looked beautiful, 
 with her black mantilla over her head, and with black gloves on, 
 and her black morning silk dress — beautiful, composed, and at 
 her ease, as though she were well satisfied to undertake this 
 early morning walk from feelings of good nature — sustained, 
 probably, by some under-current »f & deeper sentiment. AVell ; 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE GtJADALQriVIR. 61 
 
 I would know all about it before I returned to her father's 
 house. 
 
 There hardly stands, as I think, on the earth, a building more 
 remarkable tlian the cathedral of Seville, and hai'dly one more 
 grand. Its enormous size ; its gloom and darkness ; tlie rich- 
 ness of ornamentation in the details, contrasted with the severe 
 simplicity of the larger outlines ; the variety of its architcct\ire ; 
 the glory of its paintings; and the wondrous splendour of its 
 metallic decoration, its altar-friezes, screens, rails, gates, and tho 
 like, render- it, to my mind, tho first in interest among churches. 
 It lias not the coloured glass of Chartrcs, or the mai'ble glory of 
 ^lilan, or such a forest of aisles as Antwerp, or so perfect a huo 
 in stone as Westminster, nor in mixed beauty of form and colour 
 docs it possess anything equal to tho choir of Cologne ; but, for 
 combined magniticence tmd awe-compelling grandeur, I regard 
 it as superior to all other ecclesiastical edifices. 
 
 It is its deep gloom with which the stranger is so gi'catly 
 struck on his first entrance. In a region so hot as the south of 
 Spain, a cool interior is amain object with the architect, and this 
 it hasbcenneccssary to efiect by the exclusion of light; consequently 
 the church is dark, mysterious, and almost cold. On the morn- 
 ing in question, as we entered, it seemed to bo filled with gloom, 
 and the distant sound of a slow footstep hero and there beyond 
 the transept inspired one almost with awe. Maria, when sho 
 first met me, had begun to talk with her usual smile, offering mo 
 coffee and a biscuit before I started. ** I never eat biscuit," I 
 said, with almost a severe tone, as I turned from her. That dark, 
 hoiTid man of the plaza — would she have offered him a cake had 
 she been going to walk with him in the gloom of the moiiiing ? 
 After that little had been spoken between us. She walked by 
 my side with her accustomed smile ; but sho had, as I flattered 
 myself, begun to learn that I was not to be won by a meaningless 
 good nature. *' Wo aro lucky in cur morning lor tho view ! " 
 that was all she said, speaking with that pecuiiarly clear, but slow 
 pronunciation which she had assumed in learning our language. 
 
 We entered the cathedral, and, walking tho whole length of 
 the aisle, left it again at tho porter's porch at the farther end. 
 Here wo passed through a low door on to tho stone flight of 
 steps, and at once began to ascend. " Thore are a party of your 
 countrymen up before us," said Maria; "the porter says that 
 they went through the lodge half an hour sinc^." **I hope 
 they will return before we are on the top," said I, bethinking 
 myself of tho task tliat was before mo, And indc^ my heart 
 
62 tALES OF ALL COtJNTRlES . 
 
 was hardly at ease witliin me, for that which I had to way if ould 
 require all the spirit of which I was master. 
 
 The ascent to the Giralda is very long and very fatiguing ; and 
 WG had to pause on the various landings and in the singular 
 belfry in order that jMiss Dag^ilar might recruit her strength 
 and breath. As we rested on one of these occasions, in a gallery 
 which runs roimd the tower below the belfry, we heard a great 
 noise of shouting, and a clattering of sticks among the bells. "It 
 is the party of your countrymen who went up before us," said 
 she. "AVhat a pity that Englishmen should always make so 
 much noise! " And then she spoke in Spanish to the custotliun 
 of the bells, who is usually to be found in a little cabin up tlicro 
 within the tower. *^ ilo says that they went up shouting like 
 demons," continued Maria; and it seemed to me that she looked 
 as tliough I ought to be ashamed of the name of an Englishman. 
 ** They may not be so solemn in their demeanour aa Spaniards," I 
 answered ; ** but, for all that, there may be quite as much in thom." 
 We then again began to mount, and before wo had ascended 
 much farther we passed my tliree couutiymen. They wero 
 young men, with gray coats and gray trousers, with slouched 
 hats, and without gloves. They had fair faces and fair hair, and 
 swung big sticks in their hands, with crooked handles. They 
 laughed and talked loud, and, when we met them, seemed to bo 
 racing with each other ; but nevertheless they were gentlemen. 
 Ko one who knows by sight what an English gentleman is, could 
 have doubted that ; but I did acknowledge to myself that they 
 should have remembered that the edifice tuey were treading was 
 a church, and that the silence they were invatling was tho 
 cherished property of a courteous people. 
 
 ♦* They ai-e all just the same as big boys," said Maria. The 
 colour instantly Hew into ray face, and I felt that it was my 
 duty to speak up for my own countrymen. The word '* boys " 
 especially wounded my cars. It was as a boy that she treated me ; 
 but, on looking at that befringed young Spanish Don — who was 
 not, apparently, my elder in age — she had recognised a man. How- 
 ever, I said nothing further till I reached the summit. One 
 cannot speak with manly dignity while one is out of breath on a 
 staircase. 
 
 "There, John," she said, stretching her lumds away over tho 
 fair plain of tho Guadalquivir, as soon as we stood against the 
 parapet ; ** is not that lovely ? " 
 
 I would not deign to notice this. " Maria," I said, " I think 
 that you are too hard upon my countiymen ? " 
 
JOHl^ BtJLL ON tHE GUADAtQUtVtR. 64 
 
 ** Too hard ! no ; for I lovo them. Tlicy ore bo good and indus- 
 trious ; and they como homo to their wives, and take caro of 
 their children. But why do they make themselves so — bo— 
 what the French call gauche ? " 
 
 ''Good and industrious, and come homo to their wives!" 
 thought I. *'I believe you hardly understand us as yet," I 
 answered. ** Our domestic virtues are not always so very promi- 
 nent; but, I believe, wo know how to conduct ourselves as gen- 
 tlemen : at any rate, as well as Spaniards." I was very angry 
 —not at the faults, but at the good qualities imputed to us. 
 
 ** In affairs of business, yes," said Miiria, with a look of firm 
 confidence in her own opinion — that look of confidence which she 
 has never lost, and I pray that she may never lose it while I 
 remain with her — **but in the little intercourses of the world, 
 no ! A Spaniard never forgets what is personally duo cither to 
 himself or his neighbours. If he is eating an onion, he eats it 
 as an onion should be eaten." 
 
 " In such matters as that he is very grand, no doubt," said I, 
 angrily. 
 
 *'And why should you not cat an onion properly, John? 
 Kow, I heard a stoiy yesterday from Don about two Eng- 
 lishmen, which annoyed me very much." I did not exactly 
 catch the namo of the Don in question, but I felt through every 
 nerve in my body that it was the man who had been talking to 
 her on the plaza. 
 
 ** And what have they done ? " said I. ** But it is the same 
 crerywhere. "We are always abused ; but, nevertheless, no 
 people are so welcome. At any rate, wo pay for the mischief 
 we do." I was angry with myself the moment tho words were 
 out of my mouth, for, after all, there is no feeling more mean 
 than that pocket-confidence with which an Englishman some- 
 times swaggers. 
 
 ** There was no mischief done in this case," she answered. **It 
 was simply that two men have made themselves ridiculous for 
 ever. Tho story is all about Seville, and, of course, it annoys 
 xno that they should be Englishmen." 
 ** And what did they do ? " 
 
 " The Marquis D'Almavivas was coming up to Seville in the 
 boat, and they behaved to him in tho most outrageous manner. 
 He is hero now, and is going to give a series of fetes. Of course 
 ho will not Qsk a single Englishman." 
 
 ** Wo shall manage to Hve, even though thd ^ilAr^uia D'Al* 
 BMvivas may troym upon us," said I, proudly. 
 
64 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES, 
 
 «*He is the richest, and also the best of our noblemen,** c<m» 
 tinned Maria ; " and I never heard of anything so absurd as what 
 
 they did to him. It. made me blush when Don told me." 
 
 Don Tomfifl, I thought she said. 
 
 "If he be the best of your noblemen, how comes it that he is 
 angry because he has met two vulgar men ? It is not to be sup- 
 posed that every Englishman is a gentleman." 
 
 ** Angry! Oh, nol ho was not angry; he enjoyed the joke 
 too much for that. lie got completely the best of them, though 
 they did not know it ; poor fools ! How would your Lord John 
 Russell behave if two Spaniards in an English railway carriage 
 were to pull him about and tear his <;lothes ? " 
 
 **nc would give them in charge to a policeman, of course," 
 Baid I, speaking of such a matter with the contempt it deserved. 
 
 ** If that were done here your ambassador would be demanding 
 national explanations. But Almavivas did much better; — he 
 laugliod at them -svithout letting them know it." 
 
 *'But do you mean that they took hold of him violently, 
 without any provocation ? They must have been drunk." 
 
 ** Oh, no, they were sober enough. I did not see it, so I do 
 not quite know exactly how it was, but I understand that they 
 committed themselves most absurdly, absolutely took hold of his 
 coat and tore it, and — ; but they did such ridiculous things that 
 I cannot tell you." And yet Don Tomas, if that was the man's 
 name, had been able to tell her, and she had been able to listen 
 to him. 
 
 ** What made them take hold of the marquis? " said I. 
 
 " Curiosity, I suppose," she answered. ** He dresses somewhat 
 fancifully, and they could not understand that any one should 
 wear garments different from their own." But even then the 
 blow did not strike home upon me. 
 
 ** Is it not pretty to look down upon the quiet town? " she 
 eaid, coming close up to me, so that the skirt of her dress pressed 
 me, and her elbow touched my arm. Now was the moment I 
 should have asked her how her heart stood towards me ; but I 
 was Rorc and uncomfoiiable, and my destiny was before mc. 
 Slic was willing enough to let these English faults pass by 
 without further notice, but I would not allow the subject to 
 drop. 
 
 ** I will find out who those men were," said I, "and learn 
 the truth of it. ^Yhon did it occur ? " 
 *' Last Thursday, I thick he said." 
 •* "Why, that was the day we came up in the boat, Johnson 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE OUADALQtJlVm. 65 
 
 ancl myself. There was no marquis there then, and we "were the 
 only Englishmen on board." 
 
 " It was on Thursday, certainly, because it was well known 
 in Seville that he arrived on that day. You must have remarked 
 him because he talks English perfectly — though, by-thc-bye, 
 these men would go on chattering before him about himself' as 
 though it were impossible that a Spaniard should know their 
 language. They are ignorant of Spanish, and they cannot bring 
 themselves to believe that any one should be better educated 
 than themselves." 
 
 Now the blow had fallen, and I straightway appreciated the 
 necessity of returning immediately to Claphara, where my family 
 resided, and giving up for ever all idea of Spanish connections. 
 I had resolved to assert the full strength of my manhood on that 
 tower, and now words had been spoken which left me weak as a 
 child. I felt that I was shivering, and did not dare to pronounce 
 the truth which must be made kno-wn. As to speaking of love, 
 and signifying my pleasure that Don Tomas should for the future 
 be kept at a distance, any such effort was quite beyond mo. 
 Had Don Tomas been there, ho might have walked off with her 
 from before my face without a struggle on my part. ** Now I 
 remember about it," she continued, ** I think ho must have been 
 in the boat on Thursday." 
 
 ** And now that I remember," I replied, turning away to hid^ 
 my embarrassment, " lie was there. Your friend down below in 
 the plaza seems to have made out a grand story. No doubt ho 
 is not fond of the English, There was such a man there, and I 
 did take hold " 
 
 ** Oh, John, was it you ? " 
 
 *' Yes, Donna Maria, it was I ; and if Lord John Russell were 
 to dress himself in the same way " But I had no time to com- 
 plete my description of what might occur under so extravagantly 
 impossible a combination of circumstances, for as I was yet 
 speaking, the little door leading out on to the leads of the tower 
 was opened, and my friend, the mayo of the boat, still bearing 
 all his gewgaws on his back, stepped up on to the platform. My 
 eye instantly perceived that the one pendulo was still missing 
 from his jacket. He did not come alone, but three other gentle- 
 men followed him, who, however, had no peculiarities in their 
 dress. ^ He saw me at once, and bowed and smiled ; and then 
 observing Donna Maria, he lifted his cap from his head, and 
 addressing himself to her in Spanish, began to oonverse with hec 
 •i though she were an old friend. 
 
66 tALES OF ALt COUNTRtlS. 
 
 " Senor," said Maria, after tho first words of greeting 1ia4 
 been spoken between them ; ** you must permit me to present to 
 Tou my father's most particular friend, and my o>>ti, — Mr. 
 romfrct ; Jolm, this is the Marquis D'Almavivas." 
 
 I cannot now describe the p:raco with which this introduction 
 was effected, or the beauty of her face as she uttered the word. 
 There was a boldness about her as though she had said, ** I know 
 it all — the whole story. But, in spito of tliat you must take 
 liim on my rt'presi-ntation, and bo gracious to him in spite of 
 what he lias done. You must be contcut to do that ; or in quar- 
 relling with hiiu \ou must quarrel with me also." And it was 
 done at the spur of tlic; moment — without dchiy. She, who not 
 five minutes since had been loudly condemning the unknown 
 Englishman for his rudeness, had akeady pardoned him, now 
 that he was known to bo lier friend ; and had deteimined that ho 
 should be pardoned by others also or that she would share his 
 disgrace. I recognised the nobleness of this at the moment; 
 but, nevertheless, I was so sore that I would almost have pre- 
 fciTcd that she should have disoA^Tied mo. 
 
 The mai'quis immediately lilted hid cap with his left hand 
 while he gave me his right. *' I have already had the pleasure 
 of meeting this gentleman," ho said; **wo had some conver- 
 Bation in the boat together." 
 
 "Yes," said I, pointing to his rent, **and you still bear the 
 marks of our encounter." 
 
 **"\Vas it not delightful. Donna Maria," he continued, turning 
 to her ; ** your friend's friend took me for a torero ? " 
 
 *'iVnd it served you properly, senor," said Donna Maria, 
 laughing; **you have no right to go about with all those rich 
 oniimients upon you." 
 
 "Oh! quite properly; indeed, I make no complaint; and I 
 must beg your friend to understand, and his friend also, how 
 grateful I am for their solicitude as to my pecuniary welfare. 
 They were inclined to be severe on me for beiug so extravagant 
 in such tritles. I was obliged to explain that I had no wife at 
 homo kept without her proper allowance of dresses, in order that 
 I might bo gay." 
 
 *' They are foreigners, and you should forgive their eiTor," 
 eaid she. 
 
 "And in token that I do so," said the marquis, "I shall beg 
 your friend to accept the little oniament which nt^^xacted his 
 attention." And so saying, ho pulled the identical button out 
 of his pocket, and gi'accfully proffered it to me. 
 
JOHN BULL ON THE GUADALQUIVIR. 67 
 
 ** I shall cany it about witli mc always,'* said I, accepting it, 
 ** as a memento of humiliation. When I look at it, I shall ever 
 remember tho folly of an Englishman and tho courtesy of a 
 Spaniard ;" and as I made tho speech I could not but reflect 
 whether it might, under any circumstances, bo possible that 
 Lord John llussell should bo induced to give a button off his coat 
 to a Spaniard. 
 
 There were other civil speeches made, and before we left tho 
 tower the marquis had asked me to his parties, and exacted from 
 mc an unwilling promise that I would attend them. " Tho 
 sefiora," he said, bowing again to Maiia, "would, he was oure, 
 grace them. She had done so on the previous year ; and as I 
 had accepted his little present I was bound to acknowledge him 
 as my fiicnd." All this was very pretty, and of course I said 
 that I would go, but I had not at that time tho slightest inten- 
 tion of doing so. Maria had behaved admirably ; she had covered 
 my confusion, and shown herself not ashamed to own me, dclin* 
 quent as I was ; but, not the less, had she expressed her opinion, 
 in language terribly strong, of the awkwardness of which I had 
 been guilty, and had shown almost an aversion to my English 
 eliaractcr. I should leave Seville as quickly as I could, and 
 should certainly not again put myself in the way of the Marquis 
 D'Almavivas. Indeed, I dreaded the moment that I should bo 
 first alone with her, and should find myself forced to say some- 
 thing indicative of my feelings — to hear something also indicative 
 of her feelings. I had come out this morning resolved to demand 
 my rights and to exercise them — and now my only wish was to 
 run away. I hated the marquis, and longed to be alone that I 
 might cast his button from me. To think that a man should bo 
 eo mined by such a trifle ! 
 
 We descended that prodigious flight without a word upon tho 
 Fubjcct, and almost without a word at all. She had carried her- 
 self well in the presence of Almavivas, and had been too proud to 
 Bcem ashamed of her companion ; but now, as I could well see, 
 her feelings of disgust and contempt had returned. AVhen I 
 begged her not to hurry herself, she would hardly answer me ; 
 and when she did speak, her voice was constrained and unlike 
 herself. And yet how beautiful she was ! Well, my dream of 
 Spanish love must be over. But I was sure of this ; that having 
 known her, and given her my heart, I could never afterwards 
 ■hare it with another. 
 
 We came out at last on the dark, gloomy aisle of the cathedral, 
 Mid walked together without a word up along tho sido of tht 
 
68 TALES OP ALL COUNTRffift 
 
 chnir, till wo cnmo to the tifinscpt. There was not a son! near 
 ue, and not a Bound -waa to bo heard but the distant, low patter* 
 iug of a mass, then in course of celebration at some far-off chapel 
 in the cathedral. AVhcn wo got to the transept Maria turned a 
 little, as though sho was going to tho transept door, and thea 
 Btoi)ped herself. Sho stood still ; and when I stood also, sho 
 nindo two steps tow luxls me, and put her hand on my arm. "Oh, 
 Jolin ! " sho said. 
 
 "Well," said I; "after all it does not BignlTy. You cott 
 make a ioko of it when my back is turned." 
 
 " Dearest John ! " — shp had never spoken to mo in that way 
 before — *' you must not be angry with me. It is better that w© 
 should explain to each other, is it not ? " 
 
 " Oh, much better. I vm very glad you heard of it at onco. 
 T do not look at it quite in tho sumo light that you do ; but 
 nevertheless — — " 
 
 " "What do you mean? l^ut I know you arc angry with mo. 
 And yet you cannot think that I intended those woixls for you. 
 Of course I know now that there was nothing rudo in what 
 passed." 
 
 "Oh, but there was." 
 
 " No, I am sure there was not. You could not bo rude 
 though you are so free heaited. I see it all now, and so does tho 
 marquis. You will like him bo much when you come to know 
 him. Tell me that you won't be cross with me for what I have 
 said. Sometimes I think that I have displeased you, and yet 
 my whole wish has been to w'elcomo you to Seville, and to make 
 you comfortable as an old Iriend, Promise mo that you will not 
 be cross with me." 
 
 Cross with her ! I certainly had no intention of being cross, 
 but I had begun to think that sho would not care what my 
 humour might be. " Maria," I said, taking hold of her hand. 
 
 " No, John, do not do that. It is in the church, you know." 
 
 " Maria, will you answer me a question ?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, very slowly, looking down upon the stone 
 Blabs beneath our feet. 
 
 " Do you love me ? " 
 
 " Love you ! " 
 
 "Yes, do you love me? You were to give me an answer 
 here, in Seville, and now I ask for it. I have almost taught 
 mj-self to think that it is needless to ask ; and now this horrid 
 mischance " 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said she, speaking veiy quickly. 
 
JOHN" BULL ON THE GUADALQUIVIR. 69 
 
 "TThy this miserable blunder about tbe marquises button! 
 After tliat I suppose " 
 
 **The marquis! Oh, John, is that to make a differcneo 
 between you and mo ? — a littlo joko liko that ? " 
 
 *'Butdocsitnot?" 
 
 *'Mako a change between us! — such a thing as that! Oh, 
 JTolHi!" 
 
 "But tell me, Maria, what am I to hope? If you will say 
 that you can love me, I shall care nothing for the marquis. In 
 that case I can bear to be laughed at.'* ^ 
 
 ** Who will dare to laugh at you ? Not the marquis, whom I 
 am sure you will like." 
 
 *' Your friend in the plaza, who told you of all this.*' 
 
 <*^^^lat, poorTomasI" 
 
 *' I do not know about his being poor. I mean the gentleman 
 "who was with you last night." 
 
 ** Yes, Tom5!s. You do not know who ho is ?** 
 
 «'Kot in the least." 
 
 **How droll! He is your own clerk — partly your own, now 
 that you are one of the firm. And, John, I mean to make you 
 do something for him ; ho is such a good fellow ; and last year 
 lie married a young girl whom I love — oh, almost like a sister." 
 
 Do something for him ! Of course I would. I promised, then 
 aiid there, that I would raise his salary to any conceivable 
 amount that a Spanish clerk could desire ; which promise I have 
 Binco kept, if not absolutely 'to the letter, at any rate, to an 
 extent which has been considered satisfactoiy by the gentleman's 
 wife. 
 
 ** But, Maria — dearest Maria " 
 
 ** Kemember, John, we are in the church ; and poor papa will 
 tc waiting breakfast." 
 
 I need hardly continue the story further. It will' be known 
 to all that my love- suit throve in spite ot my unfortunate raid 
 on the button of the Marquis D'Almavivas, at whose series of 
 fetes through that month I was, I may boast, an honoured guest. 
 I have since that had the pleasure of entertaining him in my 
 own poor house in England, and one of our boys bears his 
 Christian name. 
 
 From that day in which I ascended the Giralda to this present 
 day in which I write, I have never once had occasion to com- 
 plain of a deficiency of romance either m Maria Daguilar or ia 
 ^taha Pomfret. 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, OF SPANISH TOWN, 
 
 JAMAICA. 
 
 There is nothing so melancholy qs a country in its decadence, 
 unless it bo a people in their decadence. I am not aware that the 
 latter misfortune can be attributed to the Anglo-Saxon race in 
 any part of the world ; but there is reason to fear that it haa 
 fallen on an English colony in tlie island of Jamaica. 
 
 Jamaica was one of those spots on which fortime shone with 
 the full warmth of all her noonday splendour. That sun has 
 Bet ; — whether for ever or no none but a prophet can tell ; but as 
 far as a plain man may see, tliero aro at present but few signs o^ 
 a coming morrow, or of another summer. 
 
 It is not just or proper that one should grieve over the mis- 
 fortunes of Jamaica with a stronger grief because her savannahs 
 are so lovely, her forests so rich, her mountains so green, and her 
 rivers so rapid ; but it is so. It is piteous that a land so beauti- 
 ful should be one which fate has marked for misfortune. Had 
 Guiana, with its flat, level, unlovely soil, become poverty-stricken, 
 one would hardly sorrow over it as one does sorrow for Jamaica. 
 
 As regards scenery she is the gem of the western tropics. It 
 is impossible to conceive spots on the earth's surface more gracious 
 to the eye than those steep green valleys which stretch down 
 to the south-west from the Blue Mountain peak towards the sea ; 
 and but little behind these in beauty are the rich wooded hills 
 which in the western part of the island divide the counties of 
 Hanover and Westmoreland. The hero of the tale which I am 
 going to tell was a sngar-growcr in the latter district, and the 
 heroine was a girl who lived under that Blue [Mountain peak. 
 
 The very name of a sugar-grower as connected with Jamaica 
 savours of fruitless struggle, failure, and desolation. And from 
 his earliest growth fruitless struggle, failure, and desolation had 
 been the lot of Maurice Cumming. At eighteen years of age he 
 
jnss sahah jack, of Spanish town, j'amaica. 71 
 
 Lad been left by bis Mher koIo possessor of the Mount Pleasant 
 estate, than which in her palmy days Jamaica had littlo to boast 
 of that was more pleasant or moro palmy. But those days had 
 passed by before lioger Gumming, tho father of our friend, had 
 died. 
 
 These misfortunes coming on the head of one another, at 
 intervals of a few years, had first stunned and then killed him. 
 His slaves rose against him, as they did against other proprietors 
 around him, and burned down his house and mills, his homestead 
 and ofllces. Those who kuow the amount of capital which a 
 6u gar-grower must invest in such buildings will understand the 
 extent of this misfortune. Tlien the slaves were emancipated. 
 It is not perhaps possible that we, now-a-days, should regard 
 this as a calamity ; but it was quit« impossible that a Jamaica 
 proprietor of those days should not have done so. Men will do 
 much for philanthropy, they will work hard, they will give the 
 coat from their back ; — nay the very shirt from their body ; but 
 few men will endure to look on with satisfaction while their 
 commerce is destroyed. 
 
 ]iut even this Mr. Gumming did bear after a while, and kept his 
 fihoulder to the wheel. He kept his shoulder to the wheel till 
 that third misfortune came upon him — till the protection duty on 
 Jamaica sugar was abolished. Then ho turned his face to the 
 wall and died. 
 
 His son at this time was not of age, and the large but lessening 
 property which ^Ir. Gumming left behind him was for three ycaia 
 in the hands of tnistees. 13ut nevertheless ^lauricc, young at 
 he was, managed the estate. It was he who grew the canes, 
 and made the sugar ; — or else failed to make it. He was the 
 ** massa" to whom the free negi'oes looked as the soTirce from 
 whence their wants should be supplied, notwithstanding that, 
 being free, they were ill inclined to work for him, let his want 
 of work be ever so sore. 
 
 Mount Pleasant had been a very large property. In addition 
 to his sugar-canes ilr. Gumming had grown coffee ; for his land 
 ran up into the hills of Trelawney to that altitude which in the 
 tropics seems necessary for the perfect growth of the coffee berry. 
 But it soon became eWdent that labour for tho double produce 
 could not be had, and the coffee plantation was abandoned, 
 "Wild brush and the thick undergrowth of forest reappeared on 
 the hill-sides which had been rich with produce. And the evil 
 re-created and exaggerated itself. Negroes squatted on the 
 i^bandoned property j and being 'tblo to live with abundance from 
 
72 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 their stolen gardens, were less willing than ever to work in the 
 cane pieces. 
 
 And thus things went from bad to worse. In the good old 
 times Mr. Gumming' s sugar produce had spread itself annually 
 over some three hundred acres; but by degrees this dwindled 
 down to half that extent of land. And then in those old golden 
 days they had always taken a full hogshead from the acre ;— ' 
 very often more. The estate had sometimes given four hundred 
 hogsheads in the year. But in the days of which we now spcuk 
 the crop had fallen below fifty. 
 
 At this time Maurice Gumming was eight-and-twenty, and it 
 is hardly too much to say that misfortune had nearly crushed 
 him. But nevertheless it had not crushed him. lie, and some 
 few like him, had still hoped against hope ; had still persisted in 
 looking foi'\N'ard to a future for the island which once was so 
 generous with its gifts. AVTien his father died he might still 
 have had enouj^h for the wauts of life had he sold his property for 
 what it would fetch. There was money in England, and the 
 remains of largo wealth. Bat ho would not sacrifice Mount 
 Pleasant or abandon Jamaica ; and now after ten years' struggling 
 he still kept Mount Pleasant, and the mill was still going; but 
 all other property had parted from his hands. 
 
 By nature Maurice Gumming would have been gay and lively, 
 a man ^vith a happy spirit and easy temper ; but struggling had 
 made him silent if not morose, and had saddened if not soured 
 \as temper. He had lived alone at Mount Pleasant, or generally 
 alone. Work or want of money, and the constant difficulty of 
 getting labour for his estate, had left liim but little time for a 
 young mtm's ordinary amusements. Of the charms of ladies* 
 society he had known but little. Very many of the estates 
 around him had been absolutely abandoned, as was the case with 
 his own coffee plantation, and from others men had sent away 
 their wives and daughters. Nay, most of the proprietors had 
 gone themselves, leaving an overseer to extract what little might 
 yet be extracted out of the property. It too often happened that 
 that little was not sufficient to meet the demands of the overseer 
 himself. 
 
 The house at Mount Pleasant had been an irregular, low-roofed, 
 picturesque residence, built with only one floor, and surrounded 
 on all sides by large verandahs. In the old days it had always 
 been kept in perfect order, but now this was far fi-om being the 
 ease. Few young bachelors can keep a house in order, but no 
 bachelor young or old can do bo uuder such a doom as that o{ 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, OF SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA. 73 
 
 Maurice Cumming. Every shilling that Maurice Cummiug could 
 collect was spent in bribing negroes to work for him. But bribe 
 as he would the negroes would not work. "No, massa; mo 
 pain here ; me no workee to-day," and Sambo would lay his fat 
 hand on his fat stomach. 
 
 I have said that he lived generally alone. Occasionally his 
 house on Mount Pleasant was enlivened by visits of an aunt, 
 a maiden sister of his mother, whose usual residence was at 
 Spanish Town. It is or should be known to all men that Spanish 
 Town was and is the seat of Jamaica legislature. 
 
 But Maurice was not over fond of his relative. In this he was 
 both wrong and foolish, for Miss Sarah Jack — such was her 
 name — was in many respects a good woman, and was certainly a 
 rich woman. It is true that she was not a handsome woman, 
 nor a fashionable woman, nor perhaps altogether an agreeable 
 woman. She was tall, thin, ungainly, and yellow. Her voice, 
 which she used freely, was harsh. She was a politician and a 
 patriot. She regarded England as the greatest of countries, and 
 Jamaica as the greatest of colonies. But much as she loved 
 England she was very loud in denouncing what she called the 
 perfidy of the mother to the brightest of her children. And much 
 as she loved Jamaica she was equally severe in her taunts against 
 those of her brother-islanders who would not believe that tho 
 island might yet flourish as it had flourished in her father's days. 
 '* It is because you and men like you will not do your duty 
 by your country," she had said some score of times to Maurice^— 
 not with much justice considering the laboriousness of his life. 
 
 But Maurice knew well what she meant. ** "What could I do 
 there up at Spanish Town," he would answer, " among such a 
 pack as there are there ? Here I may do something." 
 
 And then she would reply with the full swing of her eloquence, 
 ** It is because you and such as you think only of yourself and 
 not of Jamaica, that Jamaica has come to such a pass as this. 
 Why is there a pack there as you call them in the uonourablo 
 Houno of Afscmbly ? "NVliy are not tho best men in the islund to 
 be found there, as the best men in England ai'o to bo found in tho 
 British House of Commons? A pack, indeed! My 'father was 
 proud of a seat in that house, and I remember the day, Maurice 
 Cumming, when your father also thought it no shame to repro- 
 Bcnt his own parish. If men like you, who have a stake in tho 
 country, will not go there, of course the house is filled with men 
 who have no stake. If they are a pack| it ifl you who send theia 
 tjiere ; — ^you, and others like you," 
 
74 TALES OP ALL commins. 
 
 All had its effect, though at the raomcnt ^raurico wotild shrng 
 hie shoulders and t\im away liis licad from tho torrent of the 
 lady's discourse. But ^fiss Jaclc, though fl}ie was not greatly 
 liked, was greatly respected. Maurice would not own that she 
 convinced him ; but at last he did allow his name to bo put up 
 ns candidate for liis ov,i\ parisli, nnd in duo time ho became a 
 monibcr of the honourable House of AsscmV>ly in Jamaica. 
 
 This honour entails on tho holder of it the necessity of living 
 at or within reach of Spanish Town for some ten weeks towanls 
 tho close of every year. Kow on the whole fare of the uninhabited 
 globe there is pirliaps no spot more dull to look at, more Lethean 
 in its aspect, more corpse-like or move cadaverous than Spanish 
 Town. .It is tho head-quaiters of the government, the seat of 
 the legislature, the residence of th(> governor; — but nevertheless 
 it is, as it were, a city of tho very dead. 
 
 Here, as we have said before, lived Miss Jack in a large forlorn 
 ghost-like house in which her father and all her family had lived 
 before her. And as a matter of course !Maunce Cumming when 
 he came up to attend to his duties as a member of tho legislature 
 took up his abode with her. 
 
 Kow at the time of which wo arc specially speaking ho had 
 completed tho first of these annual visits. He had already 
 benetlted his country by sitting out one session of the colonial 
 pai'liament, and had satislied himself that ho did no other good 
 than that of keeping away some person more objectionable than 
 himself. He was however prepai'cd to repeat this self-sacrifice 
 in a spirit of patriotism for which he received a very meagre 
 meed of eulogy from Miss Jack, and an amount of eelf-applauso 
 which was not mueh more extensive. 
 
 *' Down at !Mount Pleasant I can do something,*' he would 
 eav over and over again, ** but what good can any man do up 
 
 hcTC?" 
 
 ** You can do your duty," ^liss Jack would answer, " as others 
 did before you wluii the colony was made to prosper." And then 
 they would run oil" into a long discussion about free labour nnd 
 protective duties. lUit at the present moment ^Faurice Cumming 
 had another vexation on his mind over and above that ari^ung 
 from his wasted hours at Spanish ToAvn, and his fniitless labours 
 at Mount Pleasant. He was in love, and was not altogether 
 Fatisficd with tho conduct of his lady-love. 
 
 Miss Jack had other nephews besides Maurice Cumming, and 
 nieces also, of m lioiu Mariim Leslie was one. The family «f the 
 Leslies lived up near Newcastle — in the mountains, that is, which 
 
MISS flARAH JACK, OP SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA. 7^ 
 
 stand OTcr Kinj^ston — at a distance of some eighteen miles from 
 Kingston, but in a climate as different from that of the town oa 
 the climate of Naples is from that of Berlin. In Kingston the 
 heat is all hut intolerable throughout the year, by day and by 
 night, in the house and out of it. In the mountains round 
 Kcwcastle, some four thousand feet above the sea, it is merely 
 warm during the day, and cool enough at night to make a blanket 
 desirable. . ' 
 
 It is pleasant enough living up amongst those green mountains. 
 There are no roads there for wheeled caiiiages, nor are there 
 caiiiagcs with or without wheels. All journeys are made on 
 horseback. Every visit paid from house to house is performed in 
 this manner. Ladies young and old live before dinner in their 
 riding-habits. The hospitality is free, easy, and unembarrassed. 
 The scenery is magnificent. The tropical foliage is wild and 
 luxuriant beyond measure. There may bo enjoyed all that a 
 southern climate has to offer of enjoyment, without the penalties 
 which such enjoyments usually entail. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie was a half-sistt^r of Miss Jack, and Miss Jack had 
 been a half-sister also of ^[rs. Gumming ; l3ut Mrs. Leslie and 
 ^[rs. Gumming had in no way been related. And it had so 
 happened that up to the period of his legislative efiorts ^laurico 
 Gumming had seen nothing of the Leslies. Soon after his 
 aiiival at Spanish Town he had been taken by Miss Jack to 
 Shandy Hall, for so the residence of the Leslies was called, and 
 having remained there for three days, had fallen in love with 
 Maiian Leslie. Now in the "West Indies all young ladies flirt ; 
 it is the first habit of their nature — and few young ladies in the 
 "West Indies were more given to flirting, or understood the 
 science better than Marian Leslie. 
 
 Maurice Gumming fell violently in love, and during his first 
 visit at Shandy Hall found that Marian was perfection — for 
 during this first visit her propensities were exerted altogether in 
 his own favour. That little circumstance does make such a 
 difference in a young man's judgment of a girl ! Ho came back 
 full of admiration, not altogether to Miss Jack's dissatisfaction ; 
 for Miss Jack was willing enough that both her nephew and her 
 niece should settle down into married life. 
 
 But then Maurice met his fair one at a governor's ball — at a 
 ball where red coata abounded, and aides-de-camp dancing in 
 spurs, and narrow- waisted lieutenants with sashes or epaulettes I 
 The aides-de-camp and narrow-waisted lieutenants waltzed better 
 thw be did; and as one after the other whisked round the ball* 
 
76 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 room "witli Marian firmly ckspcd in his armB, Maurice's fcclingf 
 were not of the Bweetest. Kor tvos this the worst of it. If ad tho 
 whiskinp; boon divided equally among ten, ho might have forgiven 
 it ; but there was ono specially nan-ow-waisted lieutenant, vrho 
 towanls tho end of tho evening kept Marian nearly wholly to 
 himself. Now to a man in love, who has had but little experienco 
 of either balls or young ladies, this is intolerable. 
 
 Ho only met her twice after that before his return to Mount 
 rioasant, and on the first occasion that odious soldier was not 
 there. lUit a specially devout young clergyman was present, 
 an unmarried, evangelical, liandsome yoimg curate fresh from 
 Kngltmd ; and Marijui's piety had been so excited that she hnd 
 eared for no one else. It appeared moreover that the curate's 
 girts for conversion were confined, as regiirdcd that opportunity, 
 to ^[arian's advantage. "Iwill have nothing more to say to 
 her," said Maurice to himself, scowling. But just as he went 
 away Marian luul given him her hand, and called him Maurice — 
 for she pretended that they were cousins — and had looked into 
 his eyes and decliued that she did hope that the assembly at 
 Spanish Town would soon be sitting again. Hitherto, she said, 
 slio had not cared one straw about it. Then poor Maurice pressed 
 the little fingers which lay within his own, and sworo that ho 
 would be at Shandy Hall on the day before his return to Mount 
 Pleasant. So he was ; and there ho found tho narrow-waisted 
 lieutenant, not now bedecked with sash and epaulettes, but 
 lolling at liis ease on Mrs. Leslie's sofa in a wliitc jacket, whilo 
 ^[arian sat at his feet telling his fortune with a book about 
 flowers. 
 
 " Oh, a musk rose, Mr. Ewing; you know what a musk rose 
 means !" Then she got up and sliook himds with Mr. Gumming ; 
 but her eyes still went away to the wliito jacket and tlie sofa. 
 Poor Maurice had often been nearly broken-hearted in his elforts 
 to manage his free black labourers ; but even that was easier than 
 managing such as Marian Leslie. 
 
 Marian Leslie was a Creole — as also were Miss Jack and 
 Maurice Cumming — a child of tho tropics; but by no means 
 sucli a child as tropical chiklren are generally thought to be by 
 us in more northern latitudes. She was black-hoiix'd and black- 
 eyed, but her lips were as red and her cheeks as rosy as thougli 
 she had been born and bred in regions where the snow lies in 
 winter. She was a small, pretty, beautifully made little creature, 
 pomewhat idle as regards the work of the world, but active and 
 itrong enough wheu dancing or riding were required from her. 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, OP SPANISH TOWN. JAMAICA. 7? 
 
 Her father was a banker, and was fairly prosperous in ppito of 
 tlio poverty of his country. His house of business was at 
 Kinp;ston, antl ho usually slept there twice a week; but he 
 always resided at Shandy Hall, and Mrs. Leslie and her children 
 knew but very little of tho miseries of Kingston. For bo it 
 known to all men, that of all towns Kingston, Jamaica, is the 
 most miserable. 
 
 I fear that I shall have set my readers very much against 
 ^farian Leslie ; — much more so than I would wish to do. As a 
 rule tliey will not know liow thoroughly fliiling is an institution 
 in tlio West Indies — practised by all young ladies, and laid aside 
 by tliom when they many, exactly as tlieir young-lady names 
 and young-lady liabits of %arious kinds arc laid aside. All I 
 would say of Maiian Leslie is this, that she understood the 
 working of tho institution more thoroughly than others did. 
 And I must add also in her favour that she did not keep her 
 flirting for sly comers, nor did her admirers keep their distance 
 till mamma was out of tho way. It mattered not to her who was 
 present. Had she been called on to make one at a synod of tho 
 clergy of tho island, ehe would have llirted with the bishop 
 before all his priests. And there have been bishops in tho 
 colony who would not have gainsaycd lier! 
 
 But Maurice Gumming did not rightly calculate all this ; nor 
 indeed did Miss Jack do so as thoroughly as she sliould have 
 done, for Miss Jack knew more about such matters than did poor 
 ^laurice. "If you like Marian, why don't you marry her?" 
 ^liss Jack had once said to him; and this coming from Miss 
 Jack, who was made of money, was a great deal. 
 
 ** She wouldn't liavc me," Maurice had answered. 
 
 ** That's more than you know or I either," was Miss Jack's 
 reply. ** But if you like to try, I'll help you." 
 
 With reference to this, Maurice as he left liliss Jack's residence 
 on his return to Mount Pleasant, had dcclai'cd that Marian Lcilio 
 was not worth an honest man's love. 
 
 "Psha!" Miss Jack replied; "Marian will do like other 
 gills. "When you many a wile I suppose you mean to be 
 niast^x?" 
 
 ** At any rate I shan't marry her," said Maurice. And so lie 
 went his way back to Hanover with a sore heart. And no 
 wonder, for thot was tho very day on which Lieutenant Ewing 
 had asked the question about the musk rose. 
 
 But there was a dogged constancy of feeling about Maurice 
 wbicli could not allow him to disburden himself of his love. 
 
f 8 tALES Ot ALL COrOTRtHl. 
 
 "When lie waa again at Mount Pleasant among Ws engar-caaei 
 and hogsheadfl he cotild not help thinking about Marian. It is 
 true he always thought of her as flying round that ball-room in 
 Ewing's arms, or looking up with rapt admiration into that 
 young parson's face ; and so he 'got but little pleasure from Ids 
 thoughts. But not the less was he in love with her ; — not the 
 less, though he would swear to himself three times in the day 
 that for no earthly consideration would he marry Marian Leslie. 
 
 The early months of the year from January to May are the 
 busiest with a Jamaica sugar-grower, and in this year they were 
 very busy months with Maurice Gumming. It seemed as though 
 there were actually some truth in Miss Jack's prediction that 
 prosperity would return to him if he attended to his counti-y ; 
 lor the prices of sugar had risen higher than they had ever been 
 eincc tlio duty had been withdrawn, and thero was more promise 
 of a crop ut Mount Pleustmt than ho had seen since liis reign 
 commenced. Lut then the question of labour ? How ho slaved 
 in trying to get work from those free negroes ; and alas ! how 
 often ho slaved in vain ! But it was not all in vain ; for as 
 things went on it became clciu'to him that in this year ho would, 
 for the first time since he commenced, obtain something like a 
 return from his land. "What if the turning-point had come, and 
 things were now about to nm the other way. 
 
 But then the happiness which might have accrued to him from 
 this source was dashed by his thoughts of Marian Leslie. "NVliy 
 had be thrown himself in the way of that syren? "Why had ho 
 left !^^ount Pleasant at all ? lie knew that on his return to 
 Hpimish Town liis fuNt woric would bo to visit Shandy Hall ; and 
 Vet lie I'elt that of all places in the island, Shandy Hall was the 
 last which he ought to visit. 
 
 And then about the beginning of May, when he was hard at 
 work turning tho last of his canes into sugar and rum, ho 
 received his annual visit from Miss Jack. And whom should 
 Miss Jack ]»ring with lier but Mr. Leslio. 
 
 " I'll toll you what it is," said Miss Jack ; *• I have spoken to 
 Mr. Leslie about you and Marian." 
 
 *' Then you had no business to do anything of tho kind," said 
 Maurice, blushing up to his ears. 
 
 "Nonsense," replied Miss Jack, "I understand what I am 
 about. Of course Mr. Leslie will want to know aometliing about 
 the ostato." 
 
 "Then ho may go bark rw wieo as bo camo, for ho'll loom 
 Hotliing from mo. Kot that 1 have anything to hide." 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, OP SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA. 7^ 
 
 " So I told him. Now tliero ore a large family of thorn, you 
 BOO ; and of course he can't give Marian much." 
 
 **I don't euro a straw if he doesn't give her a shilling. If 
 she cared for me, or I for her, I shouldn't look after her for her 
 money." 
 
 "But a little money is not a bad thing, Maurice," said Miss 
 Jack, who in her time had had a good deal, and had managed to 
 take care of it. 
 
 *' It is all one to me." 
 
 " But what I was going to say is this — hum — ha — . I don't 
 like to pledge myself for fear I should raise hopes which mayn't 
 he fuUillcd." 
 
 "Don't pledge yourself to anything, aunt, in which Marian 
 Leslie and I are concerned." 
 
 " But what I was going to say is this ; my money, what little 
 I have, you know, must go some day either to you or to tho 
 Leslies." 
 
 " You may give all to tliem if you plenRc." 
 
 "Of course I may, and I dare say I shall,'* said Miss Jack, 
 who was beginning to bo imtatcd. " But at any rate you 
 might have the civility to listen to me when I am endeavouring 
 to put you on your legs. I am sure I think about nothing else, 
 morning, noon, and night, and yet I never get a decent word 
 from you. Marian is too good for you ; that's the truth." 
 
 But at length Miss Jack was allowed to open her budget, and 
 to make her proposition ; "vhich amounted to this — that she had 
 already told Mr. Leslie that she would settle the bulk of her 
 property conjointly on Maurice and Marian if they would make 
 a match of it. Kow aa Mr. Leslie had long been casting a 
 hankering eye after Miss Jack's money, with a strong conviction 
 however that Maurice Gumming was her favourite nephew and 
 probable heir, this proposition was not unpalatable. So he 
 agreed to go do-svn to Mount Pleasant and look about him. 
 
 "But you may live for the next thirty years, my dear Miss 
 Jack," Mr. Leslie hatl said. 
 
 *** Yes, I may," Misa Jack replied, looking very dry. 
 
 "And I am sure I hope you will," continued Mr. Leslie. 
 And then the subject was allowed to drop ; for Mr. Leslie knew 
 that it was not always easy to talk to Miss Jack on Buch matters. 
 
 Miss Jack was a person in whom I think wo may say that tho 
 good predominated over tho bad. She was often morose, crabbed, 
 and self-opinionated ; but then she knew her own imperfections, 
 and forgave those she loved for evincing their dislike of theuL 
 
80 TALKd OJ ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 Maurico Cnmming was often inattentive to her, plainly uliCWitig 
 that ho was worried hy her importunities and ill at ease in her 
 company. But she loved her nephew with nil her heart ; and 
 though she dearly liked to tyrannise over him, never allowed 
 herself to he really angry with him, though he bo frequently 
 refused to how to her dictation. And she loved Marian Leslie 
 also, though Marian was so sweet and lovely and she herself 
 so harsh and ill-favoured. She loved Marian, though Marian 
 would often he impertinent. She forgave the flirting, the light- 
 heortedness, the love ot amusement. Marian, she said to her- 
 self, was young and pretty. She, Miss Jack, had never known 
 ^larian's temptation. And so she resolved in her own mind 
 that Marian should bo made a good and happy woman ; — but 
 always as the wife of Maurice Gumming. 
 
 But Maurice turned a deaf ear to all these good tidings — or 
 rather lie turned to them an ear that seemed to be deaf. IIo 
 dearly, ardently loved that little flirt ; but seeing that she was a 
 flirt, that she had flirted so grossly when he was by, he would 
 not confess his love to a human being. He would not have it 
 known that he was wasting his heart for a worthless little chit, 
 to whom every man was the same — except that those were most 
 eligible whose toes were the lightest and their outside trappings 
 the brightest. That he did love her he could not help, but he 
 would not disgrace himselt by acknowledging it. 
 
 He was very civil to Mr. Leslie, but he would not speak a 
 word that could be taken as a proposal for Marian. It had been 
 part of Miss Jack's plan that the engagement should absolutely 
 be made down there at !Mount Pleasant, without any rcforenco 
 to the young lady ; but Maurice could not be induced to break 
 the ice. So he took Mr. Leslie through his mills and over his 
 cane-pieces, talked to him about the laziness of the ** niggers," 
 while the ** niggers " themselves stood by tittering, and rode with 
 him away to the high grounds where the coffee plantation had 
 been in the good old days ; but not a word was said between 
 them about Marian. And yet Marian was never out of his heart. 
 
 And then came the day on which Mr. Leslie was to go back 
 to Kingston. ** And you won't have her then ?" said Miss Jack 
 to her nephew early that morning. ''You won't be said by 
 me?" 
 
 " Not in this matter, aunt." 
 
 "Then you will live and die a poor man; you mean that, 1 
 ■uppose?" 
 
 ♦' It'i likely enough that I shaU,. There's this comfort, at any 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, 0^ SPANISH TOV^N, JAMAICA. 81 
 
 rate, I*m used to it." And then Miss Jack was eilent again for 
 a while. 
 
 *' Very well, sir ; that's enough," she said angrily. And then 
 she hegan again. ** But, Maurice, you wouldn't hare to wait for 
 my death, you know." And she put out her hand and touched 
 his ann, entreating him as it were to yield to her. **0h, 
 Maurice," she said, ** I do so want to make you comfortahle. 
 Let us speak to Mr. Leslie." 
 
 But Maurice would not. Ho took her hand and thanked her. 
 hut said that on this matter he must be his own master. ** Very 
 well, sir," she exclaimed, "Ihave done. In future you may 
 manage for yourself. As for me, I shall go hack with Mr. Leslie 
 to Kingston." And so she did. Mr. Leslie returned that 
 day, taking her with him. When he took his leave, his invita- 
 tion to Maurice to come to Shandy Hall was not very pressing. 
 *' Mrs. Leslie and the children will always be glad to see you,'* 
 said he. 
 
 " Remember me very kindly to Mrs. Leslie and the child^ien," 
 said Maurice. And so they parted. 
 
 ** You have brought me down here on a regular ibol's errand," 
 said Mr. Leslie, on their journey back to town. 
 
 ** It will all come right yet," replied Miss Jack. "Take my 
 word for it ho loves her." 
 
 *' Fudge," said Mr. Leslie, But he could not aftbrd to quarrel 
 vnth. his rich connection. 
 
 In spite of all that he had said and thought to the contrary, 
 Maurice did look forward during the remainder of the summer to 
 his return to Spanish Town with something like impatience. It 
 was very dull work, being there alone at Mount Pleasant ; and 
 lot him do what ho would to prevent it, his very dreams tooJc 
 him to Shandy Hall. But at last the slow time made itself away, 
 and ho found himself once more in his aunt's house. 
 
 A couple of days passed and no word was said about the 
 Leslies. On the morning of the third day he determined to go 
 to Shandy Hall. Hitherto he had never been there without 
 staying for the night ; but on this occasion ho made up his mind 
 to return the same day. ** It would not be civil of me not to go 
 there," he said to his aunt. 
 
 " Certainly not," she replied, forbearing to press the matter 
 further. "But why make such a terrible hard day's work 
 of it?" 
 
 *' Oh, I shall go down in the cool, before breakfast; and thea 
 I need hot have the bother of taking a bag." 
 
S2 TALES OF ALL COtJNTRnM. 
 
 And in this way ho started. Miss Jack said nothing further } 
 but flhe longod in her heart that she might be at Marianas elbow 
 unseen during the visit. 
 
 He found them all at breakfast, and the first to welcome him 
 at the hall door was Mw-ian. " Oh, Mr. Gumming, we are so 
 glad to see you ;" and she looked into his eyes with a way sho 
 had, that was enough to make a man's heart wild. But she did 
 not call him Maurico now. 
 
 Miss Jack had spoken to her sister, Mrs. Leslie, as well as to 
 Mr. Leslie, about this marriage scheme. ** Just let them alone," 
 was Mrs. Leslie's advice. ** You can't alter Marian by lecturing 
 her. If they really love each other they'll come together ; and 
 if they don't, why then they'd better not." 
 
 " And you really mean that you're going back to Spanish Town 
 to-day?" said Mrs. Leslie to her visitor. 
 
 **rm afraid I must. Indeed I haven't brought my things 
 "^ith me." And then he again caught Marian's eye, and began 
 to wish that his resolution had not been so sternly made. 
 
 ** I suppose you are so fond of that House of Assembly," said 
 Ikfarian, *' that you cannot tear yourself away lor more than ono 
 d-ay. You'll not bo able, I suppose, to find timo to come to our 
 picnic next week ?" 
 
 Maurice said he feared that ho should not have time to go to 
 a picnic. 
 
 ** Oh, nonsense," said Fanny— one of the younger giiis — *',you 
 must come. "We can't do without him, can we ?" 
 
 ** Marian has got your name down the first on the list of tho 
 gentlemen," said another. 
 
 " Yes; and Captain Kwing's second," said Bell, tho youngest. 
 
 *' I'm afraid I must induce your sister to alter her list," said 
 Maurice, in his stcmest manner. ** I cannot manage to go, and 
 I'm sure she will not miss me." 
 
 ^larian looked at the little girl who had so unfortunately men- 
 tioned the warrior's name, and the little girl knew that she had 
 Binned. 
 
 *' Oh, we cannot possibly do without you ; can we, Marian?" 
 said Fanny. " It's to be at Binglcy's Dell, and we've got a bed 
 for you at Newcastle ; quite near, you know." 
 
 " And another for " began Bell, but she stopped herself. 
 
 " Go away to your lessons, Bell," said Marian. " You know 
 how angry mamma will be at your staying here all the morning ;" 
 and poor Bell with a sorrowful look left the room. 
 
 " We ar© all certainly very anxious that you should come ; 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, OF SPANISH TOWK, JAMAICA. 85 
 
 very anxious for a great many reasons," said Marian, in a voice 
 that was rather solemn, and as though the matter were one of 
 considerable import. ^' But if you really cannot, why of course 
 there is no more to be said." 
 
 ** There will be plenty without me, I am sure." 
 
 ** As regards numbers, I dare say there will j for we shall have 
 pretty nearly the whole of the two regiments ;" and Marian ag 
 she alluded to the officers spoke in a tone which might lead one 
 to think that she would much rather be without them ; '* but we 
 counted on you as being one of ourselves ; and as you had oeen 
 away so long, we thought — we thought — ," and then she turned 
 away her face, and did not finish her speech. Before he could 
 make up his mind as to his answer she had risen from her chair, 
 and walked out of the room. Maurice almost thought that he 
 saw a tear in her eye as she went. 
 
 He did ride back to Spanish Town that afternoon, after an 
 early dinner ; but before he went Marian spoke to him alone for 
 one minute. 
 
 " I hope you are not offended with me," she said. 
 
 ** Offended I oh no ; how could I be offended with you ?" 
 
 ** Because you seem so stem. I am sure I would do anything 
 I covild to oblige you, if I knew how. It would be so shocking 
 not to be good friends with a cousin like you." 
 
 "But there are bo many different sorts of friends," said 
 Maurice. 
 
 **0f course there are. There are a great many friends that 
 one does not care a bit for, — ^people that one meets at balls and 
 places like that — " 
 
 *' And at picnics," said Maurice. 
 
 <*Well, some of them there too; but we are not like that; 
 are we?" 
 
 What could Maurice do but say, "no," and declare that their 
 friendship was of a warmer description ? And how could he resist 
 promising to go to the picnic, though as he made the promise he 
 knew that misery wo\dd be in store for him ? He did promise, 
 and then she gave him her hand and called him Maurice. 
 
 " Oh I I am so glad,*' she said. "It seemed so shocking that 
 you should refuse to join us. And mind and be early, Maurice ; 
 for I shall want to explain it all. "We are to meet, you know, 
 at Clifton Gate at one o'clock, but do you be a little before that, 
 and we shall be there." 
 
 Maurice Cummiag resolved within his own breast as he rode 
 back to Spanish Town, that if Marian behaved to mm all tliat 
 
 a 2 
 
84 TALES or ALL COTJimilia. 
 
 day at tho picnic na bIio had done this day at Shandy Hall, ha 
 vould Mk her to bo his wife before ho left her. 
 And ^liw Jack also was to bo at tho picnic. 
 
 ** Thoro is no need of going early," said she, when her 
 nephew mndo a fiisa about tho stnrting. ** People aro never Tcry 
 punctual at such aflaira as that ; and then they arc always quite 
 long enough." I^ut ^taurico explained that ho was anxious to 
 bo early, and on this occasion ho carried his point. 
 
 AVhon they n^ached Clillon Gate tho ladies were already there; 
 not in carriugt^s, as people go to picnics in other and tamer 
 countries, but eacli on her own horso or her own pony. But 
 they wore not alone. Beside ^liss Leslie was a gt^ntleman, 
 whom ^laurico know os Lieutenant Graham, of the llag-ship at 
 Tort lU>yul ; and at a little distance which quite enabled him to 
 join in the conversation was Captain Kwing, tho lieutonant with 
 the narnnv waist of the pnn'ious year. 
 
 *' Wo shall have a delightful day. Miss Leslie," said tho lieu- 
 tenant. 
 
 " Oh, charming, isn't it?'* said Marian. 
 
 ** But now to choose a place for dinner. Captain Ewingj— 
 what do you say?" 
 
 •'Will you commission me to select? You know I'm Tcry 
 well up in gt^ometr}-, and all that?" 
 
 *' l^ut that won't teach you what sort of a place docs for a 
 
 {ncnic dinner; — will it, ^Ir. Cumming?" And then she shook 
 lands with Maurice, but did not take any further special notice 
 of him. ** "We'll all go togi^ther, if you please. The commission 
 is too import :mt to be loll to one. And then Marian rode off, 
 un«l the licut<^iiimt ond tho captain rode 'vvith her. 
 
 It was open for ^laurico to join them if he chose, but he did 
 not choose. lie had come there ever so much earlier than he 
 need have done, dnigging his aunt with him, because Marian had 
 told him that his services would be specially required by her. 
 And now as soon os she saw him she went away with tho two 
 officers ! — went a^vay without vouchsiifing him a word. Ho mode 
 up his mind, there on the spot, that he would never think of 
 her again — Lever speak to her otherwise than he might speak 
 to the most indillVreut of mortals. 
 
 And yet he was a man that co\dd struggle right manfully with the 
 world's troubles ; one who had struggled with them fix)m his boy- 
 hood, and had never boon overcome. Now he was unable to'conceal 
 the bitterness of hiswratlil>ecause a little girl had ridden off to look 
 for a green spot for her tablecloth without asking his assistance) I 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, OP SPANISH TOWN. JAMAICA. 85 
 
 Picnicfl are, I think, in general, rather tetlious for tho elderly 
 people who accompany them. "NVhcn tho joints become a littlo 
 stiff, dinners arc eaten most comfortably with tho accompaniment 
 of chairs and tables, and a roof overhead is an agrement do plus. 
 But, nevertheless, picnics cannot exist without a certain allow- 
 ance of elderly people. Tho Miss ;>ranan8 and Captains Ewing 
 cannot go out to dine on tho grass without somo one to look after 
 them. So tho elderly people go to picnics, in a dull tamo way, 
 doing their duty, and wishing tho day over. Now on tho morn- 
 ing in question, when Marian rode olF with Captain Ewing and 
 Lieutenant Graham, Maurico Camming remained among the 
 elderly people. 
 
 A certain Mr. Pomken, a great Jamaica agriculturist, ono of 
 tho Council, a man who had known tho good old times, got him 
 by tho button and held him fast, discoursing wisely of sugar and 
 rum, of Gadsden pans and recreant negroes, on all of which sub- 
 jccta Ma\irico Cumming was known to have an opinion of his 
 own. ]hit a« Mr. Pomken's wortls sounded into one ear, into tho 
 other fell notes, listened to from afar, — tho shrill laughing voice 
 of Marian Leslie as sho giivo her happy onler to her satellitea 
 around her, and ever and anon tho bass haw-haw of Captain 
 Kwing, who was made welcome as tho chief of her attendants. 
 That evening in a whisper to a brother councillor Mr. Pomken 
 communicated his opinion that after all there was not so much 
 in that young Cumming as some people said. But Mr. Pomken 
 had no idea that that young Cumming was in lovo. 
 
 And then the dinner came, spread over half an acre. Maurico 
 was among the last who seated himself ; and when ho did so it 
 was in an awkward comfortless coi-ner, behind Mr. Pomken'a 
 back, and fur away from tho laughter and mirth of tho day. 
 But yet from his comfortless comer ho could see Marian as slio 
 sat in her pride of power, with her friend Julia Davis near her, 
 a flirt as bad as herself, and her satellites around hor, obedient 
 to her nod, and happy in her smiles. 
 
 "Kow I won't allow any moro champagne," said Marian, 
 "or who will there bo steady enough to help me over the rocktf 
 to the grotto?" 
 
 "Oh, you have promised me ! " cried tho captain. 
 
 " Indeed, I have not ; have I, Julia ? " 
 
 " Miss Davis has certainly promised me," Bold the lieutenant 
 
 " I have made no promise, and don't think I shall go at all,*' 
 Boid Julia, who was Bomotimes inclined to imagine that Captiua 
 Ewing should be her own property. 
 
86 TALES OF ALL COUNTRXES. 
 
 All whicli and mucli more of the kind Maurice Camming 
 could not hear; l>ut ho could soo — and Ifiiaglne, >!^hich Vraa 
 worse. How innocent and inono are, after fedl, the dijftiflg6 ttf 
 most young ladies, if oil their words and doiiigS ih thftt Huo 
 could DO brought to paper ! I do not know whethiil^ thdfe be ^ 
 Q rule more vocal expression of the sentiment of loTfe hett^ceii a 
 man and woman than there is betNveen two thfushes! They 
 whistle and call to each other, guided by instinct rathci? thati 
 by reason. 
 
 *' You are going homo with the ladies to-night, I heliotc,** 
 said Maurice to Miss Jack, immediately after dinner. Miss Jack 
 acknowledged that such was her destination for the night. 
 
 " Then ray going back to Spanish Town at once won*t tiurt 
 any one — for, to tell the truth, I have had enough of this work." 
 
 " AVHiy, ^tauricc,you were in such a huny to come.** 
 
 ''The more fool I ; and so now I am in a hiiriy to go away. 
 Don't notice it to anybody." 
 
 ^lisa Jack looked in his face and saw tliat he was really 
 wretched ; and she know the cause of his wretchedhess. 
 
 "Don't go yet, Maurice," she said; and then added with a 
 tenderness that was quite uncommon with her, **Go to hef, 
 ^fuurice, and speak to her openly and freely, once for all ; you 
 will find that she will listen then. Dear Maurice, do, for my 
 sake." 
 
 He made no answer, but walked away, roaming sadly by liiin- 
 Bcif among tho trees. " Listen I '* he exclaimed to hmiself. 
 **Yes, she will alter a dozen times in as many hours. "Who 
 can care for a creature that can change as she changes ? ** And 
 yet he could not help caring for her. 
 
 As he went on, climbing among rocks, he again came upon 
 the sound of voices, and heanl C8pecii\lly that of Captain Ewing. 
 ** Now, ^[is3 Leslie, if you will take my hand you will soon be 
 over all the difticulty." And then a party of seven or eight, 
 scrambling over some stones, came neatly on the level on which 
 lie stood, in full view of him ; and leading the others "^ere Captain 
 Ewitig and ^liss Leslie. 
 
 He turned on his heel to go away, when ho caught ttic sound 
 of a stop following him, and a voice saying, **0h, there is ^Ir. 
 Cumniing, andj want to speak to him ;** and in a minute a light 
 hand was on his ann. 
 
 *' Why are you running away from us?** said Marion. 
 
 " liecause— oh, 1 don't know. I am not running away. You 
 have your party made up, and I am not going to intrude on li.'* 
 
WTS3 SARAU JACK, 0¥ SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA. 87 
 
 ♦* What nonsense ! Do como now ; we are g^ing to tliia won- 
 derful grotto. I tlioiight it 80 ill-natured of you, not joining ui 
 at dinner. Indeed you know you bad promised." 
 
 He did not answer her, but bo looked nt hor — full in the face, 
 with bis sad eyes Ithlcn with love. She half understood his 
 countenance, but only half understood it. 
 
 " What is the matter, Maurice ?*' sbo said. "Are you angry 
 with mo ? "Will you como and join us ?*' 
 
 **No, Marian, I cannot do that. 13ut if you can leave them 
 and come >vith me for half an hour, I will not keep you longer." 
 
 Sho stood hesitating a moment, while her companion remained 
 on the spot where she had loft him. ** Come, Miss Leslie," 
 called Captain Ewing. ** You will have it dark before wo can 
 get down." 
 
 "I will como with you," whifipereil Bho to Maurice, **but 
 wait a moment." And she tripped buck, and in some five minutes 
 returned after an eager argument with hor friends. ''There," 
 she said, ** I don't core about the grotto, one bit, and I will walk 
 with you now ; — only they will think it so odd." And so they 
 started off together. 
 
 IJefore the trojjical darkness had fallen upon them Maurice had 
 told the tale of his love, — and had told it in a manner differing 
 much from that of ^[arian's usual admirers. Ho spoke with 
 passion and almost with violence ; he declared that his heart was 
 so full of her imago tluit ho could not rid himeelf of it for one 
 minute ; "nor would ho wish to do so," ho said, *' if she would 
 
 bo his Marian, his own ;^[a^ian, his very own. 13ut if not " 
 
 and then he. explained to her, with all a lover's warmth, and with 
 almost more than a lover's liberty, what was his idea of her being 
 ** his own, his very own," and in doing so inveighed against her 
 usual light-heartedness in terms which at any rate were strong 
 enough. 
 
 But Marian bore it all well. Perhaps she know that the lesson 
 was somewhat descn-ed ; and perhaps she appreciated at its value 
 the love of such a man as Maurice Gumming, weighing in her 
 judgment the dilfcrenoo between him and the Swings and the 
 Grahams. 
 
 And then she answered him well and prudently, with words 
 which startled him by their prudent seriousness as coming from 
 her. She begged his pardon heartily, she said, for any grief 
 which she had caused him ; but yet how was she to be blamed, 
 seeing that slie had known nothing of his feelings ? Her father 
 and mothoi hod said sometiiing to her of this proposed marriage ; 
 
88 TALES OF ALL OOUNTRIES. 
 
 sometWng, but Tery little ; and she had answered by saying that 
 she did not think Maurice had any warmer regard for her than 
 of a cousin. After this answer neither father nor mother had 
 pressed the matter further. As to her own feelings she could 
 then say nothing, for she then knew nothing ; — ^nothing hut this, 
 that she loved no one better than him, or rather that she loved 
 no one else. She would ask herself if she could love him ; but 
 he must give her some little time for that. In the meantime — 
 and she smiled sweetly at him as she made the promise — she 
 would endeavour to do nothing that would offend him ; and then 
 she added that on that evening she would danco with him any 
 dances that ho liked. Maurice, with a self-denial that was 
 not very wise, contented himsolf -with engaging her for the first 
 quadrille. 
 
 They were to danco that night in the mess-room of the officers 
 at Newcastle. This scheme had been added on as an adjunct to 
 the picnic, and it therefore became necessary that the ladies 
 should retire to their own or their friends' houses at Newcastle 
 to adjust their dresses. Marian Leslie and Julia Davis were 
 there accommodated with the loan of a small room by the major's 
 wife, and as they were brushing their hair, and putting on tlicir 
 dancing-shoes, something was said between them about Maurice 
 Cumming. 
 
 ** And so you are to be Mrs. C. of Mount Pleasant," said Julia.. 
 ** Well ; I didn't think it would come to that at last.** 
 
 ** But it has not come to that, and if it did why should I not 
 be Mrs. C, as you call it?" 
 
 ** The knight of the rueful countenance, I call him." 
 
 ** I tell you what then, he is an excellent young man, and the 
 fact is you don't know him." 
 
 ** I don't like excellent young men with long faces. I suppose 
 you won't be let to dance quick dances at all now." 
 
 " I shall dance whatever dances I like, as I have always done," 
 said Mai-ian, with some little asperity in her tone. 
 
 ** Not you ; or if you do, you'll lose your promotion. You'll 
 never live to bo my Lady Hue. And what will Graham say ? 
 You know you've given him half a promise." 
 
 ** That's not true, Julia ; — I never gave him the tenth part of 
 a promise." 
 
 ** Well, he says so ;" and then the words between the young 
 ladies became a little more angry. But, nevertheless, in due 
 time they came forth with faces smiling as usual, with their hair 
 properly brushed, and without any signs of warfare. 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, OF SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA. 89 
 
 But Marian had to stand another attack before the business of 
 the evening commenced, and this was from no less doughty an 
 antagonist than her aunt, Miss Jack. Miss Jack soon found that 
 Maurice had not kept his threat of going home; and though sho 
 did not absolutely leam from him that he had gone so far towards 
 perfecting her dearest hopes as to make a formal offer to Marian, 
 nevertheless sho did gather that things were fast that way tend- 
 ing. If only this dancing Were over ! she said to herself, dread- 
 ing the unnumbered waltzes with Ewing, and the violent polka^ 
 with Graham. So Miss Jack resolved to say one word to Marian 
 — ** A wise word in good season," said Miss Jack to herself, *' how 
 Bweet a thing it is." 
 
 ** Marian," said she. ** Step here a moment, I want to say a 
 word to you." 
 
 ** Yes, aunt Sarah," said Marian, following her aunt into a 
 comer, not quite in the best humour in the world ; for she had a 
 dread of some further interference. 
 
 ** Are you going to dance with Maurice to-night ?*' 
 " Yes, I believe so, — the first quadrille." 
 " AVell, what I was going to say is this. I don't want you to 
 dance many quick dances to-night, for a reason I have ; — that is, 
 not a great many." 
 
 ** Why, aunt, what nonsense !" 
 
 " Now my dearest, dearest girl, it is all for your own sake. 
 "Well, then, it must out. Ho does not like it, you know." 
 'V What he?" 
 *' Maurice." 
 
 *' Well, aunt, I don't know that I'm bound to dance or not to 
 dance just as Mr. Gumming may like. Papa does not mind my 
 dancing. The people have come here to dance, and you can 
 hardly want to make me ridiculous by sitting still." And so 
 that wise word did not appear to be very sweet. 
 
 And then the amusement of the evening commenced, and 
 Marian stood up for a quadrille with her lover. She however 
 was not in the very best humour. She had, as sho thought, said 
 And done enough for one day in Maurice's favour. And she had no 
 idea, as she declared to herself, of being lectured by aunt Sarah. 
 
 ** Dearest Marian," he said to her, as the quadrille came to a 
 close, "it is in your power to make me bo happy, — so perfectly 
 happy." 
 
 " But then people have guch different ideas of happiness," she 
 replied. " They can't all see* with the same eyei» you know.'* 
 And 80 they parted. 
 
90 TALES OF ALL COUNTMEB. 
 
 But d\irmg the early part of the cTening she was rofllcienllt 
 cliscreet ; she did "waltz with' Lientenant Graham, and polk with 
 Captain Ewing, but she did so in a tamer manner than was usual 
 with hcT, and she made no emulous attempts to dance down 
 other couples. When she had done she would sit down, and then 
 she consented to stand up for two quadrilles with two very tame 
 gentlemen, to whom no lover could object. 
 
 ^' And 60, Marian, your vringa are regularly clipped at last," 
 Baid Julia Davis coming up to her. 
 
 '* No more clipped than your own," said [Marian. 
 
 " If Sir Rue won't let you waltz now, what will he require of 
 you when you're married to him ?" 
 
 *' I am just as well able to waltz with whom I like as you 
 arc, Julia ; and if you say so in that way, I shall think it's 
 envy." 
 
 "Ha — ^ha — ha; I may hiive envied you some of your beaux 
 before now ; I dare say I have. But I certainly do not envy 
 you Sir Rue." And then she went off to her partner. 
 
 All this was too much for Marian's weak strength, and before 
 long she was again whirling round with Captain Ewing. "Come, 
 Miss Leslie," said he, " let us see what we can do. Graham and 
 Julia Davis have been saying that your waltzing days are over, 
 but I think we can put t^icm down." 
 
 Marian as she got up, and raised lier arm in order that Ewing 
 might put his round her waist, caught Maurice's eye as he 
 leaned against a wall, and read in it a stem rebuke. "Tliis is 
 too bad," she said to herseli*. " He shall not make a slave of 
 me, at any rate as yet." And away she went as madly, more 
 madly than ever, and for the rest of the evening she danced 
 with Captain Ewing and with him alone. 
 
 There is an intoxication quite distinct from that wliich comes 
 from strong drink. "When the judgment is altogether overcome 
 by the spirits this species of drunkenness comes on, and in this 
 way Marian Leslie was drunk that night. For two hours she 
 danced with Captain Ewing, and ever and anon she kept saying 
 to herself that she would teach the world to know — and of all 
 the worid Mr. Cumming especially — that she might be lead, but 
 not driven. 
 
 Then about four o'clock she went homo, and as she attempted 
 to undress herself in her o'^ti room she burst into violent ti'urs 
 and opened lier heait to her sister — " Oh, Fanny, I do love him, 
 I do love him so deaily ! and now he will never come to me 
 again ! " 
 
MISS SARAH JACK, OP SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA. 91 
 
 Maurice stood still with his back against the wall, for the full 
 two hours of Marian's exhibition, and then he said to his aunt 
 before he left — "I hope you have now seen enough; you will 
 \iardly mention her name tome again." Miss Jack groaned from 
 the bottom of her heart but she said nothing. She said nothing 
 that night to any one ; but she lay awake in her bed, thinking, 
 till it was time to rise and dress herself. ** Ask Miss Marian to 
 come to me," she said to the black girl who came to assist her. 
 But it was hot till she had sent three times, that Miss Marian 
 obeyed the summons. 
 
 At three o'clock on the following day ^[iss Jack arrired at her 
 own hall door in Spanish Town. Long as the distance was she 
 ordinarily rode it all, but on this occasion she had provided a 
 carriage to bring her over as much of the ioumey as it was 
 practicable for her to perform on wheels. As soon as she 
 reached her own hall door she asked if Mr. Gumming was at 
 home. ** Yes," the servant said. ** He was in the small book- 
 room, at the back of the house, up stau's." Silently, as if 
 afraid of being heard, she stepped up her* own stairs into her 
 own drawing-room; and very silently she was followed by a 
 pair of feet fighter and smaller than her own. 
 
 Miss Jack was usually somewhat of a despot in her own house, 
 but there was nothing despotic about her now as she peered into 
 the book-room. This she <.lid with her bonnet still on, looking 
 round the half-opened door as though she were afraid to disturb 
 her nephew. He sat at the window looking out into the verandah 
 which ran behind the house, so intent on his thoughts that he 
 did not hear her. 
 
 ** Mauiice," she said, " can I come in ? " 
 
 ** Come in ? oh yes, of course ; " and he turned round sharply 
 at her. **I tell you what, aunt; I am not well here and I 
 cannot stay out the session. I shall go back to Mount Pleasant." 
 
 ** Maurice," and she walked close up to him as she spoke, 
 ** Maurice, I have brought some one with me to ask your pardon." 
 
 His face became red up to the roots of his hair as he stood 
 looking at her without answering. "You would grant it cer- 
 tainly," she continued, " if you knew how much it would be 
 valued." 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? who is it ?" he asked at last. 
 
 " One who loves you as well as you love her — and she cannot 
 love you better. Come in, Marian." The poor girl crept in at 
 the door, ashamed of what she was induced to do, but yet look- 
 ing anxiously into htT lover's £eu)e. ** You asked her yesterday 
 
M TALES OF ALL COUKTBIES. 
 
 to b© your wife/* naid Mies Jack, " and eho did not then know 
 her own mind. Now rIig hns had a lesson. You will ask her 
 once npain ; will you not, ^f aurico ? ** 
 
 ^Vhat WM ho to say ? How waa ho to reftiso, when that soft 
 little hand waa held out to him ; when those eyes laden with 
 tears just ventured to look into his face ? 
 
 ** 1 l>e}? your panlon if I anp:ered you last night," she said. 
 
 In half a mmuto Miss Jack had left the room, and in tho 
 upaco of another thii-ty seconds ^laurico had forgiven her. *' I 
 nm your own now, you know," she whispered to him in tlio 
 course of that long evening. ** Yesterday, you know — ," but 
 tlie sentence was never finished. 
 
 It waa in vain tluit Julia Davis waa ill-natured and sarcastic, 
 in vain that Kwing and Gruhaui made joint attempt upon her 
 constimoy. Fix)m that niglit to tho moniing of her marriage-— 
 and tho interval waa only thivo moutlia — Marian Lesi^io waa 
 never known to flirt. 
 
THE COURTSHIP OF SUSAN BELL. 
 
 John INIunrok Bell hnd been a lawyer in Albany, Stnto of Now 
 York, mid ns sucli had tlirivcn well. lie had thriven well^ as 
 loiij; as thrift and thriving on this eiu'tli had been allowed to him* 
 ]3ut the Almiphty had seen fit to shorten his span. 
 
 Eai'ly in lifo ho had married a timid, anxions, pretty, pood 
 little wife, whoso whole heart and mind had been piven up to do 
 his bidding and deserve his love. Slic liad not only deserved it 
 but had possessed it, and as long as John ^lunroo Bell had lived, 
 Henrietta Bell — Hetta as ho called her — had been a woman rich 
 in blessings. After twelve years of such blessings ho had left 
 her, and had left with her two daughters, a eccond llctta, and 
 the heroine of our little story, Susim Bell. 
 
 A lawyer in Albany may thrive passing well for eight or ten 
 years, and yet not leave beliind him any very large sum of money 
 if he dies at the end of that time. Some small modicum, somo 
 few thousand dollars, John Bell had amassed, so that his widow 
 and daiighters wero not absolutely driven to look for work op 
 bread. 
 
 In those happy days, when cash had begun to flow in plen- 
 teously to the young father of the family, lie had taken it into 
 his head to build for himself, or rather for his young femalo 
 brood, a small neat house in the outskirts of Saratoga Springs 
 In doing so ho was instigated as much by tho excellence of tho 
 investment for his pocket as by the salubnty of tho place for his 
 girls. Ho furnished the house well, and then during some eum- 
 mer weeks his wife lived there, and sometimes he let it. 
 
 Ho\< tho widow grieved when tho lord of her heart and master 
 of her inind was laid in the grave, I need not tell. She had 
 already counted ten years of widowhood, and her children had 
 grown to be young women beside her at tho time of which I am 
 now about to spcaL Scuce that sad day on wliich they had left 
 
94 TALC9 Of ALL 00UKTRXE8. 
 
 Albany thoy had lived together at the cottngo hi the 8prinj?t» 
 In winter tiicir life had been lonely enough ; but as soon w the 
 liot weather began to drive the fainting citizens out from New 
 York, they had ahvava rt^ccived two or three boarders— old la<lie8 
 p(Mierally, and occiu^ionally an old gentleman — persons of very 
 pteady ]mbit.«<, with whoso pockets the widow's moderate demands 
 uj;iv(»d bi>tter than the liotel cliarges. And so the Bells lived 
 lor ten yeai-s. 
 
 That Saratoga is a gay place in July, August, and Sopt^'mber, 
 the world knows well enough. To girls who go there with 
 titnikH (nil of imiNliu and erinolino, for whom a carriage and pair 
 of horses is always waiting immediately after dinner, whosA 
 fathi-rs' pockets are bursting with dollaia, it is a very gay placo, 
 Diuicing and lUrtntions come as a mutter of course, and matrimony 
 follows alXer with only too great rapidity. But the place wjia 
 not very gay for lletta or Susan Bell. 
 
 In the llrst place the wi<low was a timid woman, nnd among 
 othrr lears feared greatly thiit she should be thought guilty of 
 setting traps for Inishatuls. r«>or mothers! how often lU'e they 
 charged with this sin when their honest desires go no further 
 than that their bairns may he '* respectit like the lave.'* And 
 then she feartnl flirtations; tUrtations that should be that and 
 nothing mon\ llii-tations that are so destriictive of the heart'a 
 s^veete^»t essi-nce. She feared love also, though she longed for 
 Mint i\s Well a« feared it ; — for her girln, I mean ; all such feel- 
 ini^M for herself wert^ long laid under ground; — imd then, like a 
 timid creature as she was, she had other indefinite fears, and 
 among them a gnnit fear that those girls of hei*« would be left 
 husbaudless, — a phase of life which af^cT her twelve yeai*s of 
 Miss she reganletl ils anything but desind)le. But the upshot 
 was, — the u]vshot of so many fears and sm h small means, — that 
 lletta atid HuHuu Bell had but a dull life of it. 
 
 Were it not that I am somewhat closely restricted in the 
 ntuuher of my pages, I would describe at full the meiits and 
 beauties of Ketta and Susan Bell. As it is I can but say a few 
 woixls. At o\ir period of their lives Iletta was nearly onc-and- 
 twcnty , and Sustm w.-ia just nineteen. Iletta was a ehort, plump, 
 demure young woman, with the softest smootluHl hair, and the 
 brownest brightest eyes. She was verj* useful in the hou8(\ 
 gv>od at corn calus, and thought much, particulurlv in tlieso 
 Intter moiiths, of her religious duties. Her sister in (he privacy 
 cl their own little i*oom would sometimes twit her with the 
 a^lmiiing patience with which she would listen to the lengthened 
 
THE COUllTSniP OP SUSAN BELL. 95 
 
 eloqwcnco of ^fr. Phincas 13eckard, tho Baptist miniekT. l^ow 
 Kr. Pliinoas Ikclcard wos a bacliclor. 
 
 8iisan "WHS not ^o good a girl in (lie kitchen or about the houBO 
 08 Avna luT sistor ; "but she was blight in tho parlonr, and if that 
 motherly heart could have been niado to givo out its inmost 
 H^crv': — which, however, it could not have been made to give out 
 in any way painful to chnir lletta — perhaps it might have been 
 found that Susan was loved with tho closest love. Sho was 
 tnller than her siRter, and lighter; her eyes were blue as were 
 her motluT's ; her hair was brighter than Hetta's, but not always 
 po singularly neat. 8he had a dimple on her chin, whereas Ilcttii 
 had none ; dimples on her cheeks too, when she smiled ; and, 
 oh, such a mouth ! Thcro ; my allowance of pages pennits iw> 
 more. 
 
 One piercing cold wintcr*8 day there camo knocking at tho 
 widow's door — a young man. "Winter days, when tho ico of 
 Jiuiuary is re frozen by tho wind of February, aro very cold at 
 Saratoga Springs. In theso days there was not ofkii much t6 
 disturb tho serenity of ^frs. UelUs house ; but on tho day in 
 question there camo knocking at tho door — a young man. 
 
 ^[rs. Bell kept an old domestic, who had lived with them in 
 those happy Albimy days. Her name was Kato O'Brien, but 
 though ])icturesquo in name sho was hardly so in person. Sho 
 was a thick-Bct, noisy, good-natured old Irishwoman, who had 
 ioined lier lot to that of ^Irs. Bell when tho latter first began 
 nousekceping, and knowing when she was well off, had remained 
 in tlic same place from that day foi-th. She liad known lletta as 
 a baby, and, so to say, had seen Susan's biilh. 
 
 ** And what might you bo wanting, sir?" said Kate O'Brien, 
 apparently not (piite plca»i(;d us she opened the door and let in all 
 the cold air. 
 
 "I wish to see Ki-s. Bell. Is not this Mrs. Bell's house ?" 
 said the young m.'m, shaking the snow from out of tho breast of 
 his coat. 
 
 He did see Mrs. Bell, and we will now tell who ho was, and 
 why ho had come, and how it came to pass that his carpet-bag 
 was brought down to tho widow's house and one of the front 
 bedrooms was prepared for him, and that he drank tea that night 
 in the widow's parlour. 
 
 His name was Aaron Dunn, and by profession he was an 
 engineer. Wliat peeuliai' misfortune in those days of frost and 
 snow had befallen the line of rails which runs from Schenectady 
 to Lake Champloin, I never ^uite understood. Banks and bridge! 
 
96 TALES OP ALL COtJKTBtES. 
 
 had in some way como to griof, and on Aaron Dmm*s lihonldcri 
 "wiis thrown tho burden of seeing that they were duly repaired. 
 Saratoga Springs was tho centre of these mishaps, and therefore 
 nt Saratoga Springs it was necessary that he should toko up hLs 
 temporary abode. 
 
 Now there was at that time in New York city a Mr. Bell, 
 pivat in railway matters — an uncle of the once tliriving but now 
 d(>]>iirtod Albany lawyer. He woa a ricli man, but he liked his 
 riches hiuiself ; or at any rate had not found liimself cidlod upon 
 to share them with the widow and daughters of his nephew. 
 Uut when it clumced to come to pass that ho had a himd in 
 despatching Aaron Dunn to Saratoga, he took the young man 
 aside and reroinniended liim to loilgo with the widow. *' There," 
 said lie, ** sliow lier my card." So much tho ricli uncle thought 
 he niigiit vouelisafo to do for tlie nephew's widow. 
 
 ^Iis. liell and botli her daughters were in the parlour when 
 Aaron Dunn was shown in, snow imd ull. He told liis story in 
 a rough, sluiky voice, for his teeth chattered ; and he gave tho 
 canl, almost wishing that he had gone to tho empty big hotel, 
 for the widow's welcome was not at first quite wann. 
 
 Tho widow listened to him as ho gave his message, and then 
 she took the caul and looked at it. Hetta, who was sitting on 
 the side of the fireplace facing the door, went on demiu*ely with 
 her work. Susan gave one glance round — her back was to tho 
 stranger — and then another ; and then she moved her chair a 
 little nearer to the widl, so as to give the young man room to 
 come to tho fire, if he would. He did not come, but his eyes 
 glanced upon Susan] Bell ; and he thought that the old man in 
 Kew York was right, ond that the big hotel would be cold imd 
 dull. It was a pretty face to look on that cold evening as sho 
 turiuxl it up from the stocking she was nu'nding. 
 
 '* IVrliapa you don't wish to t^ike winter boarders, ma* am?" 
 paid Ajux)n Duim. 
 
 ** We never have done bo yet, sir," said ^frs. Bell timidly. 
 Could sho let tliis yoiuig wolf in among her hunb-fold? He 
 might be a wolf ; — who could tell ? 
 
 ** Mr. Bell seemed to think :'t would suit," said Aaron. 
 
 Had he acquiesced in her timidity and not pressed the point, 
 it would >-u?« been all u< with him. But the ^vidow did not 
 like to go against tho big* uncle; imd ao sho said, "Perhaps it 
 xnay, sir." 
 
 •' I guess it will, finely," said Aaron. And then tho widow 
 •ccing that the matter was so far settled, put do^vn her work and 
 
THE COURTSHIP OP SUSAN BKLL. 97 
 
 cccmo rounil into the passage. Hotta followed her, for lliero 
 would be liousework to do. Aaron gave himself another sluiko, 
 eettled the weekly number of dollarfl — with veiy little difficiilty 
 on his part, for he had caught another glance at Susan's face ; 
 and then went after his hag. 'Twas thus that Aaron Dutm 
 obtuijied an entrance into ^[rs. lU^ll's house. *' But what if ho 
 bo u wolf? " she said to herself over and over again thiit night, 
 though not exactly in those words. Ay, but there is another 
 side to tlrat question. AVliat if ho be a stalwart man, honest- 
 minded, with clever eye, cunning hand, ready brain, broad back, 
 and wami heart ; in want of a wife maylnip ; a num that can 
 cam liis own bread and another's ; — half a dozen others' when 
 the half dozen come ? Would not that be a good sort of lodger ? 
 Such a question as that too did Hit, just flit, across the widow's 
 slc('j)less mind. Ihit then she thought so much more of the wolf I 
 AVolvcs, she had taught herself to tliink, were more common than 
 Btalwart, lionest-minded, wife-desirous men. 
 
 "I wonder mother consented to take him," said lletta, when 
 they were in the little room togetlier. 
 
 "And why shouldn't she ?" said Susan. ** It will bo a lielp." 
 
 ** Yes, it will bo a little help," said Hetta. "But wo havo 
 done veiy well hitherto without winter lodgers.** 
 
 ** Ihit uncle Bell said she was to." 
 
 **AVhat is uncle Bell to us?" said Iletta, who had a spirit of 
 her own. And she began to surmise witliiu herself whether 
 Aaron Dunn would join the Baptist congregation, and whether 
 riiineas Beckurd would approve of this new move. 
 
 *' lie is a very well-behaved young man at any rat<^," said 
 Susan, "and ho di'awa beautifully. Did you eeo those things 
 he was doing?" 
 
 " lie draws very well, I dare say,'* said Iletta, wlio regarded 
 this as but a poor wan*anty for good behaviour. Iletta also had 
 Bome fear ot wolves — not for herself, perhaps ; but for her sister. 
 
 Aaron Dunn's work — tho commencement of his work — lay at 
 some distance from tho Springs, and ho left every morning with 
 a lot of workmen by an caily train — almost before daylight. 
 And every morning, cold and wintry as Iho mornings were, tho 
 widow got him his breakfast with her own hands. Sho took liis 
 dollars and would not leave him altogether to the awkward mercies 
 of Kato O'Brien ; nor would sho trust her girls to attend upon 
 the young man. Hetta she might haye trusted ; but then Susan 
 would have asked why she was spared her shoro of such hardship. 
 
 Zn tho oyo&ingy Laving hU work when it wm dark, Aaroa 
 
08 TALES 07 ALL OOtKIRtES. 
 
 nlwajrs returned, and then the evening ^as pawed together. But 
 they were passed with the most derauro propriety. Those wcmen 
 would make the tea, cut the bread and butter, and then sew ; 
 while Aaron Dunn, when the cups were removed, would always 
 go to his plans and drawings. 
 
 On Sundays they Were more together ; but even on this day 
 there was cause of separation, for Aaron went to the Episco- 
 palian church, rather to the disgust of Ilttta. In the afternoon, 
 however, they were together ; and then Phincas Beckard came 
 in to tea on Sundays, and ho and Aaron got to talking on 
 religion ; and though they disagreed pretty much, and would 
 not give an inch cither one or the other, nevertheless the minister 
 told the widow, and Iletta too probably, that the lad had good 
 stuiF in liim, though lie was so stiff-necked. 
 
 **I3ut ho sliould be more modest in talking on such matters 
 with a minister," said Iletta. 
 
 The llcv. riiincas acknowledged that perhaps he should ; but 
 he was honest enough to repeat that the lad had stuff in him. 
 " Perhaps after all lie is not a wolf," said tho widow to herself. 
 
 Things went on in this way for above a month. Aaron had 
 declared to himself over and over again that that face was sweet 
 to look upon, and had unconsciously promised to himself certain 
 delights in talking and perhaps walking with tho owner of it. 
 But the walkings had not been achieved — nor even the talkings 
 as yet. Tho truth was that Dunn was bashful with young 
 women, though he could be so stiff-necked with tho minister. 
 
 And then ho felt angry with liimself, inasmuch as ho had 
 advanced no further ; and as he lay in his bed — which perhaps 
 those pretty hands had helped to make — ^ho resolved that ho 
 would be a thought bolder in liis beiuing. He had no idea of 
 making love to Susan Pell ; of course not. Put why should ho 
 not amuso himself by talking to a pretty girl when she sat so 
 near him, evening after evening ? 
 
 ""WTiat a very quiet young man he is," said Susan to her sister. 
 
 **He has his bread to eara, and sticks to his work," said 
 Hetta. ** No doubt he has liis amusement when ho is in the 
 city," added the elder sister, not wisliing to leave too strong an 
 impression of the young man's virtue. 
 
 They had aU now their settled places in the parlour. Hctta 
 eat on one side of the fire, close to tho table, having that side to 
 herself. There she sat always busy. She must have made every 
 dress and bit of linen worn in the house, and hemmed every 
 fihect and towel, so busy was she alwuya. Sometimes, onco in « 
 
THE COUETSHIP OF SUSAN BELL. 99 
 
 week or co, Phineas Beckard would comt in, and then place wfts 
 made for liim between Hctta's usual seat and the table. For 
 when there ho would read out loud. On the other side, close 
 also to the table, eat the widow, busy, but not savagely busy an 
 her elder daugliter. Between Mrs. Bell and the wall, with her 
 feet ever on the fender, Susan used to sit ; not absolutely idle, 
 but doing work of some slender pretty sort, and talking ever and 
 anon to her mother. Opposite to them all, at the other side of 
 the table, far away from the fire, would Aaron Dunn place him- 
 self with his plans and drawings before him. 
 
 "Ai-e you a judge of bridges, ma'am?" said Aaron, the 
 evening after he had made his resolution. 'Twas thus he began 
 his coui-tship. 
 
 <'0f biidgcs? " said Mrs. Bell—" oh dear no, sir." But she 
 put out her hand to take the little drawing which Aaron handed 
 to her. 
 
 "Because that's one I've planned for our bit of a new branch 
 from Moreau up to Lake George. I guess Miss Susan knows 
 somctliing about bridges." 
 
 " I guess I don't," said Susan — " only that they oughtn't to 
 tumble down when the frost comes." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha; no more they ought. I'll tell McEvoy that." 
 McEvoy had been a fonner engineer on the line. "Well, that 
 won't burst with any fi'ost, I guess." 
 
 "Oh my! how pretty!'* said the widow, and then Susan of 
 course jumped up to look over her mother's shoulder. 
 
 The artful dodger ! He had drawn and coloured a beautiful 
 little sketch of abridge; not an engineer's plan with sections 
 and measui'cments, vexatious to a woman's eye, but a graceful 
 little bridge with a string of cars running under it. You could 
 almost hear the bell going. 
 
 " Well; that is apretty bridge," said Susan. "Isn'tit, Hctta?" 
 
 " I don't know anything about bridges," said Hotta, to whose 
 clever eyes the dodge was quite apparent. But in spite of her 
 cleverness Mrs. Bell and Susan had soon moved their chairs 
 round to the table, and were looking through the contents of 
 Aaron's portfolio. " But yet he may be a wo^fy" thought the 
 poor widow, just as she was kneeling down to say her prayers. 
 
 That evening certainly made a commencement. Though Hetta 
 went on pertinaciously with the body of a new dress, the other 
 two ladies did not put in another stitch that night. From hla 
 ^awinga Aaron got to his instruments, and before bedtime was 
 teaching Susan Low to draw parallel lines* Susai found thci 
 
 fi9 
 
100 TALT3 OP ALL COtJNTRnaL 
 
 iho had quite an nptitudc for jMirallcl lines, and altogether had * 
 good time of it that evening. It ifi dull to go on week after 
 week, and month after month, talking only to one's mother and 
 sister. It is dull though one does not oneselt recognise it to ho 
 no. A little change in such matters is so very pleasant. Susan 
 hntl not tlie slight<'st idea of regarding Aaron as even a possible 
 lover. But young Indies do like the conversation of young gen- 
 tlemen. Oil, my exceedingly proper prim old lady, you rvho are so 
 shocked at this as a general doctrine, has it never occurred to you 
 that the Creator has so int(^nded it ? 
 
 Susan understanding little of the how and why, knew that 
 she liad had a goml time, and was rather in spirits as she went 
 to bed. Ihit Iletta had hccn frightened by the dodge. 
 
 ** Oh, Hetto, you should have looked at those drawings. Ho 
 is so clever ! " suid Susan. 
 
 '*I don't know that they would have done me much good,*' 
 rejdied Hetta. 
 
 ** Good ! 'Well, they'd do mc more good than n long sermon, 
 I know," said Susan ; ** excei)t on a Sunday, of course," she 
 added apologeticidly. Tliis was an ill-tempered attack both on 
 Hctt^i and Hetta's atlmircr. I3ut then why had Hetta been so 
 snappish ? 
 
 ** I'm sure he's a wolf," thought Helta as she went to hed. 
 
 ''"Wliat a very clever young man he is I " thought Susan to 
 herself as she puHed the warm clothes round about her shoulders 
 and ears. 
 
 **"NVell that certainly was an improvement," thought Aaron as 
 he went through the same operation, with a stronger feeling of 
 Self- approbation than he had enjoyed for some time past. 
 
 In the course of the next fortnight the family arrangements 
 all altered themselves. Unless wlicn Beckard was there Aaron 
 would sit in the widow's place, the widow would take Susan's 
 chair, and the two girls would be opposite. And then Dunn 
 would read to them ; not sermons, but passages from Shakspeare, 
 and Bvron, and Longfellow. **He reads much better than Mr. 
 Beckard," Susiin had said one night. *' Of course you're a com- 
 petent judge I " had been Hetta' s retort. "1 mean that I like 
 it better," said Susan. " It's well that all people don't think 
 alike," replied Hetta. 
 
 And then there was a deal of talldng. The widow herself, as 
 unconscious in tliis respect as her youngest, daughter, certainly 
 did find tliat a little variety was agreeable on thoso long winter 
 nighta; and talked herself with xmaccustomed frcodom. And 
 
THE COURTSHIP OP SUSAN BELL. 101 
 
 Beckfird camo there oftcncr and talked very much. "When ho 
 •was there the two young men did all the talking, and they 
 pounded each other immensely. But still there grew up a sort 
 of friendship between tliem. 
 
 **Mr. Bockard seems quite to take to him," said Mrs. Bell to 
 ner eldest daughter. 
 
 **lt is his great good nature, mother," replied Hetta. 
 
 It was at the end of the second month when Aaron took 
 another step in advance — a perilous step. Sometimes on even- 
 ings he still went on with his drawing for an hour or so; hut 
 during three or four evenings he never asked any one to look at 
 what he was doing. On one Friday he sat over his work till 
 late, without any reading or talking at all ; so late that nt last 
 Mrs. Bell said, ** If you're going to sit much longer, Mr. Dunn, 
 I'll get you to put out the candles." Thereby showing, had 
 he known it or had she, that the mother's confidence in the 
 young man was growing l\ist. IhiUi know all about it, and 
 dreaded that the growth was too quick. 
 
 **I've finished now," said Aaron ; and he looked carefully at 
 the card-bo^rd on which he had been washing in his water- 
 colours, "I've finished now." He then hesitated a moment ; 
 but ultimately he put the card into his portfolio and carried it up 
 to his bed-room. AVho does not perceive that it was intended a» 
 a present to Susan Ikll ? 
 
 The question which Aaron asked himself that night, and 
 which he hardly knew how to answer, was this. Should he offer 
 the drawing to Susan in the presence of her mother and sister, or 
 en some occasion when they two might be alone together ? No 
 such occasion had ever yet occurred, but Aaron thought that it 
 might probably be brought about. But then ho wanted to mako 
 no fuss about it. His first intention had been to chuck tho 
 drawing lightly across the tabic when it was completed, and so 
 make nothing of it. But he had finished it with more care than 
 he had at first intended ; and then he had hesitated when he had 
 fimshed it. It was too lato now for that plan of chucking it 
 over the table. 
 
 On the Saturday evening when he came down from his room, 
 Mr. Beckard was there, and there was no opportunity thut night. 
 On the Sunday, in conformity with a previous engagement, ho 
 went to hear Mr. Beckard preach, and walked to and from meet- 
 ing with the family. This pleased ^frs. Bell, and they were all 
 very gracious that aftcmooxL But Sunday was no day for tho 
 picture. 
 
102 TALES or ALL COUNTRtia. 
 
 On Monday the thing had become of importanco to him. 
 Things always do when they are kept over. Before tea that 
 evening when he came down Mrs. Bell and Susan only were in 
 the room. He knew Hetta for his foe, and therefore determined 
 to use this occasion. 
 
 ** Miss Susan," ho said, stammering somewhat, and blushing 
 too, poor fool ! "I have done a little drawing which I want 
 you to accept," and he put his portfolio down on the table. 
 
 ** Oh ! I don't know, said Susan, who had soon the blush. 
 
 ^[rs. Bell had seen the blush also, and pursed her mouth up, 
 and looked grave. Had there been no stammering and no blush, 
 she miglit have thought nothing of it. 
 
 Aaron saw at once tliat liis little gift was not to go down 
 smoothly, lie was, however, in for it now, so ho picked it out 
 from among the other papers in the case and brought it over to 
 Susan. lie endeavoured to hand it to her with an air of in- 
 difference, but I cannot say that he succeeded. 
 
 It was a very pretty, wcU-fmished, water- coloured drawing, 
 representing still the same bridge, but with more adjuncts. In 
 Susan's eyes it was a work of high art. Of pictures probably she 
 had seen but little, and her liking for the artist no doubt added 
 to her admiration. But the more she admired it and wished for 
 it, the stronger was her feeling that she ought not to take it. 
 
 Poor Susan ! she stood for a minute looking at the drawing, 
 but she said nothing ; not even a word of praise. She felt that 
 she was red in the face, and uncourteous to their lodger ; but her 
 mother was looking at her and she did not know how to behave 
 herself. 
 
 Mrs. Bell put out her hand for the sketch, trying to bethink 
 herself as she d'i so in what least uncivil w&y she could refuse 
 the pres'^nt- '?he took a moment to look at it collecting her 
 thoughts, and as she did so her woman's wit came to her aid. 
 
 ** Oh doar, Mr. Dunn, i'; is very pretty; quite a l-cautiful 
 picture. I cannot let Susan rob you of that. You m^'«t keep 
 that for some of your own particular fi'iends." 
 
 ** But I did it for her," said Aaron innocently. 
 
 Susan looked down at the ground, half pleaseO. at the declara- 
 tion. The drawing would look very pretty in a small gilt frame 
 put over her dressing-table. But the matter now was altogether 
 in her mother's hands. 
 
 " I am afraid it is too valuable, sir, for Susan to accept.'* 
 *' It is not valuable at all," said Aaron, declining to take it 
 back from the wide Vs hand. 
 
THE COUHTSHTP op STTSAN BlILL. 103 
 
 " Oh, I am qiiito sure it in. It is worth t<?n dollars at Icaet — 
 or twenty," said poor Mrs. Bell, not in the very best tnste. But 
 she was perplexed, and did not know how to get out of the 
 Bcrapc. The article in question now lay upon the table-cloth, 
 nppropiiatcd by no one, and at this moment Hetta came into tho 
 room. 
 
 ** It is not woi-th ten cents," said Aaron, with something like 
 a fro-svn on his brow, '* But as we liad been talking about the 
 bridge, I thought Miss Susan would accept it." 
 
 "Accept what?" said Ilctta. And tlicn her eye fell upon 
 tho drawing and she took it up. 
 
 "It is beautifully done," said Mrs. Bell, wishing much to 
 soften the matter ; pcrliaps tho more so that Hetta the demure 
 was now present. "I am tolling Mr. Punn that wo can't take 
 a present of anjihing so valuable." 
 
 " Oh dear no," said Hetta. ^ " It wouldn't be right." 
 
 It was a cold frosty evening in March, and the fire was 
 buniing brightly on the hearth. Aaron Dunn took up tho draw- 
 ing quietly — veiy quietly — and rolliug it up, as such di'awings 
 are rolled, put it between the blazing logs. It was the work of 
 four evenings, and his chef-d'oeuvre in the way of art. 
 
 Susan, when she saw what ho had done, burst out into tears. 
 The widow could very readily have done so also, but she was able 
 to refrain herself, and merely exclaimed — " Oh, Mr. Dunn ! " 
 
 ** If l^lr. Dunn chooses to bum his own picture, he has cer- 
 tainly a right to do so," said Hetta. 
 
 Aaron immediately felt ashamed of what he had done ; and 
 ho also could have cried, but for his manliness. He walked 
 away to one of tho parlour- windows, and looked out upon tho 
 frosty night. It was dark, but the stars were bright, and ho 
 thought that he should like to bo walking fast by himself along 
 the line of rails towards Balston. There he stood, perhaps for 
 three minutes. He thought it would be proper to give Susaa 
 time to recover fi'om her tears. 
 
 "Will you please to come to your tea, sir?" said tlie soft 
 voice of ^Irs. Bell. 
 
 He turned round to do so, and found that Susan was gone. It 
 was not quite in her power to recover from her tears in three 
 minutes. And then the drawing had been so beautiful ! It had 
 been done expressly for her too 1 And there had been some- 
 thing, she knew not what, in his eye aa he had so declared. 
 She had watched him intently over those foui* evenings* work, 
 wondering why he did not show it, till her feminizie cariosity had 
 
104 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIESi 
 
 becomo rfttlier strong. It was something very particnlar, she was 
 sure, and she had learned that all that precious work had been for 
 lier. Now all that precious work was destroyed. How was it pos- 
 sible that she should not cry for more than three minutes ? 
 
 The others took their meal in perfect silence, and when it was 
 over the two women sat down to theii* work. Aaron had a book 
 which ho pretcuded to read, but instead of reading he was be- 
 tliinking himself tliat he had behaved badly. "What right had 
 ho to tlirow them all into such confusion by indulging in his 
 passion ? He was ashamed of what he had done, and fancied 
 that Susan would hate him. Fancying that, ho began to find at 
 the same time that he by no means hated her. 
 
 At last Hetta got up and left tlie room. She knew that her 
 sister was sitting alone in the cold, and Hetta was affectionate. 
 Susan hod not been in fault, and therefore Hetta went up to 
 console her. 
 
 ** Mrs. Bell," said Aaron, as soon as the door was closed, " I 
 beg your pardon for what I did just now." 
 
 *' Oh, sir, I'm so sorry that the picture is burnt," said poor 
 Mrs. 13ell. 
 ^** The picture does not matter a straw," said Aaron. ** But I 
 sec that I have disturbed you all, — and I am afraid I have mado 
 Miss Susan unliappy," 
 
 ** She was grieved because your picture was burnt," said Mrs. 
 Bell, putting some emphasis on the ** your," intending to show 
 that her daughter had not regarded the drawing as her own. 
 But the emphasis bore another meaning ; and so the widow 
 perceived as soon as she had spoken. 
 
 *' Oh, I can do twenty more of the same if anybody wanted 
 them," said Aaron. *' It I do another like it, will you let her 
 take it, Mrs. Bell ? — just to show that you have forgiven me, and 
 that we are friends as we were before ? " 
 
 "Was he, or was he not a wolf? Tliat was the question which 
 Mrs. Bell scarcely Icnew how to answer. Hetta had given her 
 voice, saying he was lupine. Mr. Beckard's opinion she had not 
 liked to ask directly. Mr. Beckord she thought would probably 
 propose to Hetta ; but as yet ho had not done so. And, as 
 no was still a stranger in the family, she did not like in any 
 way to compromise Susan's name. Indirectly she had asked the 
 question, and, indirectly also, Mr. Beckard's answer had been 
 favourable. 
 
 *' But it mustn't mean anything, sir," was the widow's weak 
 answer, when she had paused on the question for u moment 
 
THE COURTSHIP OF SUSAN BELL. 105 
 
 " Oh no, of course not," said Aaron, joyously, and bis face 
 became radiant and happy. '* And I do beg your pardon for 
 burning it ; and the young ladies' pardon too." And then he 
 rapidly got out his cardboard, and set himself to work about 
 another bridge. The widow, meditating many things in her 
 heart, commenced the hemming of a handkerchief. 
 
 In about an hour the two girls came back to the room and 
 silently took their accustomed places. Aaron hai'dly looked up, 
 but went on diligently with his drawing. This bridge should bo 
 a better bridge than that other. Its acceptance was now assured. 
 Of course it was to mean nothing. That was a matter of 
 course. So he worked away diligently, and said nothing to any- 
 body. 
 
 AVhen they went off to bed the two gii'ls went into the mother's 
 room. "Oh, mother, I hope he is not very angry,'" said Susan. 
 
 "Angry!" said lletta, "if anybody should bo angry, it is 
 mother. He ought to have known that Susan could not accept 
 it. He should never have offered it." 
 
 " But he's doing another," said Mrs. Bell. 
 
 "Not for her," said Hetta. 
 
 " Yes he is," said Mrs. Bell, " and I have promised that sho 
 shall take it." Susan as sho heard this sank gently into tho 
 chair behind her, and her eyes became full of tears, Tho inti- 
 mation was almost too much for her. 
 
 " Oh, mother ! " said Hetta. 
 
 " But I particularly said that it was to mean nothing." 
 
 " Oh, mother, that makes it worse." 
 
 "Why should Hetta interfere in this way, thought Susan to 
 herself. Had she interfered when Mr. Beckard gave Hetta a 
 testament bound in Morocco? Had not she smiled, and looked 
 gratiiied, and kissed her sister, and declared that Phineas Beckard 
 was a nice dear man, and by far the most elegant preacher at 
 the Springs ? AVhy should Hetta be so cruel ? 
 
 " I don't see that, my dear," said tho mother. Hetta would 
 not explain before her sister, so they all went to bed. 
 
 On the Thursday evening tho drawing was finished. Not a 
 word had been said about it, at any rate in his presence, and ho 
 had gone on working in silence. " There," said he, lato on tho 
 Thursday evening, " I don't know that it will be any better if I 
 go on daubing for another hour. There, Miss Susan ; there's 
 another bridge. I hope that will neither burst with the frost, 
 nor yet be destroyed by fire," and he gave it a light flip with hii 
 fingers and sent it skimming oyer the table. 
 
106 TALES 0? ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 Susan Wuslied and emiled, and took it np. " Oh, it i« bean* 
 tiful," she said. ** Isn't it beautifully done, mother ? " and then 
 all the three got up to look at it, and all confessed that it wa» 
 excellently done. 
 
 " And I am sure we are very much obliged to you," eaid Susan 
 after a pause, remembering that she had not yet thanked him. 
 *' Oh, it's nothing," said he, not quite liking tho word " wo." 
 On tho following day ho returned from his work to Saratoga 
 about noon. Tliis ho had never dono before, and therefore no 
 one expected that ho would bo Bccn in tho house before tho even- 
 ing. On this occasion, however, he went straight thither, and as 
 chance would have it, both the widow and her elder daughter 
 were out. Susan was there alone in charge of the house, 
 
 He walked in and opened the parlour door. There she sat^ 
 with her feet on the fender, with her work unheeded on the 
 table behind her, and the picture, Aaron's drawing, lying on her 
 knees. She was gazing at it intently as he entered, thinking in 
 her young heart that it possessed all the beauties which a 
 picture could possess. 
 
 *'0h, Mr. iunn," she said, getting up and holding tho tell- 
 tale sketch behind the skirt of her dress. 
 
 *' Miss Susan, I have come here to tell your mother that I 
 must start for New York this afternoon and bo there for six 
 weeks, or perhaps longer." 
 
 " Mother is out," said she ; " I'm so sorry." 
 "Is she?" said Aaron. 
 
 ** And Hetta too. Dear me. And you'll be wanting dinner. 
 I'll go and sec about it." 
 
 Aaron began to swear that he could not possibly eat any 
 dinner. Ho had dined once, and was going to dino again;— 
 anything to keep her from going. 
 
 ** But you must have something, Mr. Dunn," and she walked 
 towards tlie door. 
 
 But he put his back to it. ** Miss Susan," said he, " I guess 
 I've been here nearly two months." 
 
 ** Yes, sir, I believe you have," she replied, shaking in her 
 shoes, and not kno-sving which way to look. 
 " And I hope we have been good friends.'* 
 *' Yes, sir," said Susan, almost beside herself as to what she 
 was saying. 
 
 ** I'm going away now, and it seema to be such a time before 
 rU be back." 
 *'WiUit,8ir?'' 
 
THE COTTBTSHTP OP SUSAN BELL. 107 
 
 " Six weeks, Miss Susan ! " and then ho paused, looking into 
 her eyes, to see what he could read there. She leant against the 
 table, pulling to pieces a morsel of half- ravelled muslin which 
 she held in her hand ; but her eyes were turned to the ground, 
 and he could hardly see them. 
 
 " Miss Susan," ho continued, " I may as well speak out now 
 as at another time." He too was looking towards the ground, 
 and clearly did not know what to do with his hands. " Tho 
 truth is just this. I — I love you dearly, with all my heart. I 
 never saw any ono I ever thought so beautiful, so nice, and so 
 good ;-^.and what's more, I never shall. I'm not very good at 
 tliis sort of thing, I know ; but I couldn't go away from Saratoga 
 for six weeks and not tell you." And then he ceased. He did 
 not ask for any love in return. His presumption had not got so 
 far as that yet. He merely declared his passion, leaning against 
 the door, and there he stood twiddling his thumbs. 
 
 Susan had not tho slightest conception of the way in which 
 she ought to receive such a declaration. She had never had a 
 lover before ; nor had she ever thought of Aaron absolutely as a 
 lover, thougli something very like love for him had been crossing 
 over her spirit. Now, at this moment, she felt that he was the 
 beau-ideal of manhood, though his boots were covered with the 
 railway mud, and though his pantaloons were tucked up in rolls 
 round his ankles. He was a fine, well-grown, open-faced fellow, 
 whose eye was bold and yet tender, whose brow was full and 
 broad, and all his bearing manly. Love him ! Of course she 
 loved him. Why else had her heart melted with pleasure when 
 her mother said that that second picture was to be accepted ? 
 
 Eut what was she to say ? Anything but the open truth ; 
 she well knew that. The open truth would not do at all. What 
 would her mother say and Hetta if she were rashly to say that ? 
 Hetta, she knew, would be dead against such a lover, and of her 
 motlier's approbation she had hardly more hope. Why they 
 sliould disapprove of Aaron as a lover she had never asked her- 
 self. There are many nice things that seem to be wrong only 
 because they are so nice. Maybe that Susan regarded a lover as 
 one of them. ** Oh, Mr. Dunn, you shouldn't." That in fact was 
 all that she could say. 
 
 ** Should not I ?" said he. " Well, perhaps not ; but there's 
 the truth, and no harm ever comes of that. Perhaps I'd better 
 not ask you for an answer now, but I thought it better you 
 should know it all. And remember this — I only cai© for ono 
 thing now in the world^ and t}^t is for ^our love/' And then 
 
108 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 lie paused, tliinking possibly that in spite of what he had said he 
 might perhaps got some sort of an answer, some inkling of the 
 Btate of her heart's disposition towanls him. 
 
 But Susan hnd at once resolved to take him at his woi**! when 
 ho suggested that an immediute reply was not necessary. To 
 sny that she loved him was of course impossible, and to say that 
 eho did not was equally so. She detennined therefore to close at 
 once with tho otfor of silence. 
 
 When he ceased speaking there was a moment's pause, during 
 whicli he strove luinl to read wliut might be writU^n on her down- 
 turned face. But he was not good at such reading. ** Well, I 
 guess 1*11 go and get my things ready now," ho suid, and then 
 turned round to open the door. 
 
 "^[other will be in before you are gone, I suppose," said 
 Susan. 
 
 '♦ I have only got twenty minutes," said ho, looking at his 
 watch. ** But, Susan, tell lier what I have said to you. Good- 
 bye." And he put out his hand. He knew he should sec her 
 again, but this had been his plan to get her hand in his. 
 ** Ciood-bye, Mr. Dunn," and she gave him her hand. 
 He held it tiglit for a luouient, so that she could not draw it 
 away, — could not if she would. " AVill you tell your mother ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 ** Yes," she answered, quite in a whisper. ** I guess I'd 
 better tell her." And then slio gave a long sigh. Ho pressed 
 lier hand again and got it up to his lips. 
 
 *'^Ir. Dunn, don't," she said. But he did kiss it. ''God 
 bless you, my own dearest, dearest girl ! I'll just open the door 
 as I come down. Perhaps Mrs. Bell will be here." And then 
 he rushed up stairs. 
 
 But Mrs. Bell did not come in. She and Hetta were at a 
 weekly service at ^Ir. Beckard's meeting-house, imd Mr. Beckanl 
 it seemed luul much to say. Susan, wlien left alone, sat down 
 and tried to think. ]hit slie could not think ; she could only 
 love. She could use her mind only in recounting to herself Iho 
 perfections of tliat demigod whose heavy steps were so audible 
 overhead, as he walked to and fro collecting his things and putting 
 them into his bag. 
 
 And then, just when he had finished, she bethought herself 
 that he must bo hungry. She Hew to the [kitclien, but she was 
 too late. Before she could even i*each at the loaf of bread ho 
 descended the stairs, with a clattering noise, and heard her voice 
 as she spoke quickly to Kuto O'Brien. 
 
THE COURTSHIP OP SUSAN BELL. 109 
 
 "Mils Susan," he said, ''don't get anything for n^c, for I'm 
 off." 
 
 ** Oh, ^Ir. Dunn, I ara so sorry. You'll ho so hungry on your 
 journey," and she came out to him in the passage. 
 
 '* I sliall want nothing on the journey, dearest, if you'll say 
 one kind word to me." 
 
 Again her eyes went to the ground. " What do you want m« 
 to say; Mr. Dunn ? " 
 
 ** »Say, God bless you, Aaron." 
 
 " God l)less you, Aaron," said she ; and yet sho was sure that 
 she luul not dechu'cd her love, lie however thought otherwise, 
 and went up to New York with a happy heart. 
 
 Tilings happened in tlie next fortnight rather quickly. Susan 
 at once resolved to tell her mother, hut sho resolved also not to 
 tell Hetta. That afternoon slie got her mother to herself in Mrs. 
 liell's own room, and then she made a clean breast of it. 
 
 ** And what did you say to him, Susan ? " 
 
 ** I said nothing, mother." 
 
 ''Nothing, dear!" 
 
 ** No, mother; not a woixh He told mo ho didn't want it." 
 She forgot how she liad used his Christian name in bidding God 
 bless him. 
 
 " Oh dear I " said the widow. 
 
 "Was it ver}' wrong ? " asked Susan. 
 
 " Ihit wliat do you think yourself, my child ? " asked Mrs. Bell 
 after a while. ** What are your own feelings." 
 
 Mrs. Bell was sitting on a chair and Susan was standing oppo- 
 site to her against the post of the bed. Sho made no answer, 
 but moving from her place, she threw herself into her mother's 
 anus, anil hid her face on her mother's shoulder* It was easy 
 enough to -guess what were her feelings. 
 
 *' But, my darling," said her mother, ** you must not think that 
 it is an engagement." 
 
 "No," said Susan, sorrowfully. 
 
 " Young men say those things to amuse themselves." Wolves, 
 she would have said, liad she spoken out her mind freely. 
 
 " Oh, mother, he is not like that." 
 
 The daughter contiived to extract a promise from the mother 
 that Hetta should not bo told just at present. Mis. Bell calcu- 
 lated that sho had six weeks before her ; as yet Mr. Beckard 
 had not spoken out, but there was reason to suppose that he 
 would do so before those six weeks would bo orer, and then she 
 would be able to seek counsel from him. 
 
no lALES 0» ALL COtJNTRlfiS. 
 
 Mr. Beckard ipoko out at the end of six days, and Hetta 
 frankly accepted him. " I hope you^ll love your brother-in-law," 
 said she to Susan. 
 
 "Oh, I \nll indeed," said Susan; and in the softness of her 
 heart at the moment she almost made up her mind to tell ; but 
 Hetta was full of her own affairs, and thus it passed off. 
 
 It was then arranged that Hetta should go and spend a week 
 with Mr. Beckard's parents. Old Mr. Beckard was a farmer 
 living near TJtica, and now that the match was declared and 
 approved, it was thought well that Hetta should know her 
 future husband's family. So she went for a week, and Mr. 
 Beckard went with her. ** He will be back in plenty of time for 
 me to speak to him before Aaron Duion's six weeks arc over," 
 Baid Mrs. Bell to herself. 
 
 But things did not go exactly as she expected. On the very 
 moruiug after the departure of the engaged couple, there came a 
 letter fi'om Aaron, saying that he would be nt Saratoga that very 
 evening. The railway people had ordered him down again for 
 some days' special work ; then he was to go elsewhere, and not 
 to return to Saratoga till June. **But he hoped," so said the 
 letter, "that Mrs. Bell would not turn him into the street even 
 then, though the summer might have, come, and her regular 
 lodgers might be expected." 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear ! " said Mrs. Bell to herself, reflecting that 
 she had no one of whom she could ask advice, and that she must 
 decide that very day. AVhy had she let Mr. Beckai'd go without 
 telling him? Then she told Susan, and Susan spent the day 
 trembling. Perhaps, thought Mrs. Bell, he -will say nothing 
 about it. In such case, however, would it not be her duty to 
 Bay something ? Poor mother ! She trembled nearly as much 
 as Susan. 
 
 It was dark when the fatal knock came at the door. The tea- 
 things were already laid, and the tea-eake was already baked ; 
 for it would at any rate be necessary to give Mr. Dunn his tea. 
 Susan, when she heard the knock, ruished from her chair and 
 took refuge up stairs. The widow gave a long sigh and settled 
 her dress. Kate O'Brien with willing titep opened the door, and 
 bade her old friend welcome. 
 
 " How are the ladies ? " asked Aaron, trying to gather some- 
 thing from the face and voice of the domestic. 
 
 ** Miss Hetta and Mr. Beckard be gone off to TJtica, just man- 
 and-wife like ! and so they are, more power to them." 
 
 •*0h indeed; I'm very glad," said Aaron — and so he wasj 
 
tHB COUKTSHD? OJ SUSAN BELL. Ill 
 
 Tcry glad to have Hetta the demure out of the way. And then 
 ho made his way into the parlour, doubting much, and hoping 
 much. 
 
 Mrs. Ecll rose from her chair, and tried to look grave. Aaron 
 glancing round the room saw that Susan was not there. lie 
 walked straight up to the widow, and offered her his hand, which 
 Bhc took. . It might he that Susan had not thought fit to tell, 
 and in such case it would not be right for him to compromise 
 her ; so he said never a word. 
 
 But the subject was too important to the mother to allow of 
 her being silent when the young man stood before her. *' Oh, 
 Mr. Dunn,'* said she, ''what is this you have been saying to 
 Susan ?'» 
 
 ** I have asked her to be my wife," said he, drawing himself 
 up and looliing her full in the face. Mrs. Bell's heart was almost 
 as soft as her daughter's, and it was nearly gone ; but at the 
 moment she had nothing to say but, ** Oh dear, oh dear I *' 
 
 " May I not call you mother ? *' said he, taking both her handi. 
 in his. 
 
 **0h dear— oh dear! But will you be good to her? Oh, 
 Aaron Dunn, if you deceive my child ! ** 
 
 In another quarter of an hour, Susan was kneeling at her 
 motlicr's knee, with her face on her mother's lap ; the mother 
 was wiping tears cut of her eyes ; and Aaron was standing by 
 holding one of the widow's hands. 
 
 "You are my mother too, now," said he. "What would Hetta 
 and Mr. Beckard say, when they came back? But then he 
 surely was not a wolf ! 
 
 There wore four or five days left for courtship before Hetta 
 and Mr. Beckard would return ; four or five days during which 
 Susan might be happy, Aaron triumphant, and Mrs. Bell nervous. 
 Days I have said, but after all it was only tho evenings that were 
 so left. Every morning Susan got up to give Aaron his break- 
 fast, but Mrs. Bell got up also. Susan boldly declaimed her right 
 to do so, and Mrs. Bell found no objection which she could urge. 
 But after that Aaron was always absent till seven or eight in 
 the evening, when he would return to his tea. Then came the 
 hour or two of lovers* intercourse. 
 
 But they were very tame, those hours. The widow still felt 
 an undefined fear that she was wrong, and though her heart 
 yearned to know that her daughter was happy in the sweet hap- 
 piness of accepted love, vet she dreaded to be too confident* 
 i(ot a word hod been mi about money xuatterg i not a word of 
 
112 TALKS OF ALL C5TJKTKIE8, 
 
 Aai^on DuTin's relatives, So sho did not learo them by them* 
 eclves but waited witli what patience she could for the return of 
 her wise counsellors. 
 
 And then Susan hardly laiew how to hchftTO herself with her 
 accepted suitor. She felt that she was very happy ; but perhaps 
 she was most happy when she was thinking about him through 
 the long day, assisting in fixing little things for his comfort, and 
 waiting for his evening return. And as he sat there in the 
 parlour, sho eould be ha^py then tcK), if sho were but allowed 
 to sit still and look at him, — not starp at him, but raise her eyes 
 every now and again to his face for the shortest possible glance, 
 as she had been used to do ever since he came there. 
 
 But he, unconscionable lover, wanted to hear her speak, wan 
 desirous of being talked to, and perhaps thought that he should 
 by rights be allowed to sit by her, and hold her hand. No such 
 p*^i^-ileges were accorded to him. If they had been alone 
 together, walking side by .sitlc on the green turf, as lovers should 
 walk, she would soon have found thi? use of her tongue, — have 
 tiilked fast enough no doubt. Under such circumstances, when 
 a girl's shyness has given way to reiJ intimacy, there is in 
 peni^ral no end to her power of chatting. But though there was 
 muih love between Aaron and Susan, there was as yet but little 
 intimacy. And then, let a mother bc^ ever so motherly — and no 
 mother could have more of a mother's tenderness than Mrs. Bell 
 — still her presence must be a restraint. Aaron was very fond 
 of ^Irs. Bell ; but nevertheless he did sometimes wish that some 
 domestic duty would take her out of the parlour for a few happy 
 minutes. Susim went out very often, but Mrs. Bell Beemed to 
 be a fixture. 
 
 Once for a moment ho did find his love alone, immediately as 
 he came into the house. ** My own Susan, you do love me? do 
 say so to mc once." And he contrived to slip his arm round her 
 waist. *' Yes," she whispered ; but sbc slipped like an eel from 
 his hands, and left him only preparing himself for a kiss. And 
 then when she got to her room, half mghtened, she clasped her 
 hands together, and bethouglit herself that she did really love 
 him with a strength and depth of love which filled her whole 
 existence. ^Miv could she not have told him something of all 
 this? 
 
 And so the few days of his second Bojoura at Saratoga passed 
 away, not altogether satisfactorily. it was settled that he 
 should return to New York on Saturday night, leaving Saratoga 
 on that evening; and as the Beckards — Hetta was already 
 
THE COURTSHIP OF SUSAN BELL. 113 
 
 tcgardod quite as & Beckard — \rcro to bo back to dinner on that 
 day, Mrs. Bell would have an opportunity of tolling her won- 
 drous tale. It might bo well that Mr. Beckard should see Aaron 
 before his departure. 
 
 On that Saturday the Bcckanls did arrive ju8t in time for 
 dinner. It. may bo imagined that Susan's appctitx3 was not very 
 keen, nor her manner very collected. But all tliis passed by 
 unobserved in the import^inco attached to the various Beckard 
 arrangements which came under discussion. Ladies and gentle- 
 men circumstanced as were Hetta and Mr. Beckanl arc perhaps 
 a little too apt to think that their own affairs are paramount. 
 But after dinner Susan vanished at once, and when lletta pro- 
 pared to follow her, desirous of further talk about matrimonial 
 arran gements, her mother stopped her, and the disclosure was made. 
 
 ** Proposed to her ! " said Hetta, who perhaps thought that one 
 marriage in a family was enough at a time. 
 
 " Yes, my love — and he did it, I must say, in a very honour- 
 able way, telling her not to make any answer till she had spoken 
 to me ; — now that was very nice ; was it not, Phineas ? '* Mrs. 
 Bell had become very anxious that Aaron should not bo voted a 
 wolf. 
 
 ** And what has been said to him since ? " asked the discreet 
 Phineas. 
 
 *'"NVhy — nothing absolutely decisive." Oh, Mrs. Bell! "You 
 Bee I know nothing as to his means.*' 
 
 ** Nothing at all," said Hetta. 
 
 **Hc is a man that will always earn his bread," said Mr. 
 Beckard ; and Mrs. Bell blessed him in her heart for saying it. 
 
 ** But has he been encouraged ? " asked Hetta. 
 
 *' Well ; yes, he has," said the widow. 
 
 ** Then Susan I suppose likes him ? " asked Phineas. 
 
 ** "Well ; yes, she does," said the widow. And the conference 
 ended in a resolution that Phineas Beckard should have a conver- 
 sation with Aaron Dunn, as to his worldly means and position ; 
 and that he, Phineas, should decide whether Aaron might, or 
 might not bo at once accepted as a lover, according to the tenor 
 of ^ that conversation. Poor Susan was not told anything of all 
 this. ** Better not," said Hetta the demure. *♦ It will only 
 flurry her the more." How would she have liked it, if without 
 consulting her, they had left it to Aaron to decide whether or no 
 she might marry Phineas ? 
 
 They knew where on the works Aaron was to bo found, and 
 thither Mr. Beckard rode after dinner. We need not narrate at 
 
114. TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 length the conference between the young men. Aaron at^ ono« 
 declared that he had nothing hut what he made as an engineer, 
 and explained that ho held no permanent situation on the line. 
 Ho was well paid at that present moment, but at the end of 
 summer he would have to look for employment. 
 
 ** Then you can hardly marry quite at present," said the dis- 
 creet minister. 
 
 " Perhaps not quite immediately." 
 
 *' And long engtigcments are never wise," said the other. 
 
 ** Three or four months," suggested Aaron. But Mr. I3eckard 
 shook his head. 
 
 The afternoon at Mrs. Bell's house was melancholy. The 
 final decision of the three judges was as follows. There was 
 to be no engagement; of course no correspondence. Aaron 
 was to be told that it would be better that he should get 
 lodgings elsewhere when he returned ; but that he would bo 
 allowed to visit at Mrs. Bell's house,— and at Mrs. Bcckard's, 
 which was veiy considerate. If he should succeed in getting a 
 permanent appointment, and if he and Susan still held the same 
 mind, why then &c. &c. Such was Susan's fate, as commu- 
 nicated to her by Mrs. Bell and ITctta. She sat still and wept 
 when she heard it ; but she did not complain. She had always 
 felt that lletta would be against her. 
 
 ** Mayn't I see him, then ? " she said through her tears. 
 
 Uotta thought she had better not. Mrs. Bell thought she 
 might. Phineas decided that they might shake hands, but only 
 in full conclave. There was to be no lovers' fare well. Aai'on 
 was to leave the house at half-past five ; but before ho went 
 Susan should be called down. Poor Susan ! She sut down and 
 bemoaned herself; uncomplaining, but veiy sad. 
 
 Susan was soft, feminine, and manageable. But Aaron Dunn 
 was not very soft, was especially masculine, and in some matters 
 not easily manageable. AVhen Mr. Beckard in the widow's 
 presence — Hetta had retired in obedience to her lover — informed 
 him of the court's decision, there came over his face the look 
 wliich he had worn when ho burned tlio picture. ** Mrs. Bell," 
 ho said, ** had encouraged his (jugagement ; and ho did not under- 
 stand why other people should now come and disturb it." 
 
 ** Not an engagement, Aaron," said Mrs. Bell piteously. 
 
 *' He was able and willing to work," he said, ** and knew his 
 profession. "What young man of his age had done better than 
 ho had ? " and ho glanced round at them with perhaps moro 
 pride than was quite becoming 
 
tHE COURTSHIP OP SUSAN BEtt. 115- 
 
 Then Mr. Beckard spoke out, very -wisely no doubt, but per- 
 haps a little too much at length. Sons and daughters, as well 
 as fathers and mothers, will know very well what he said ; so I 
 need not repeat his words. I cannot say that Aaron listened 
 with much attention, but he understood perfectly what the upshot 
 of it was. Many a man understands the purport of many a 
 sermon without listening to one word in ten. Mr. Beckard 
 meant to be kind in his manner ; indeed was so, only that Aaron 
 could not accept as kindness any interference on his part. 
 
 ** I'll tell you what, Mrs. Bell," said he. ** I look upon my- 
 self as engaged to her. And I look on her as engaged to me. I 
 tell you BO fairly ; and I believe that's her mind as well as 
 mine." 
 
 ** But, Aaron, you won't try to see her — or to write to her,— • 
 not in secret ; will you ? " 
 
 "When I try to see her, I'll come and knock at this door; 
 nnd if I write to her, I'll write to her full address by the post 
 I never did and never will do anything in secret.'* 
 
 ** I know you're good and honest," said the widow with her 
 handkcrcliief to her eyes. 
 
 " Then why do you separate us ? " asked ho, almost roughly, 
 *' I suppose 1 may see her at any rate before I go. My time's 
 nearly up now, I guess." 
 
 And then Susan was called for, nnd she and Hetta came down 
 together. Sasan crept in behind her sister. Her eyes were red 
 with weeping, and her appearance was altogether disconsolate. 
 She had had a lover for a week, and now she was to be robbed 
 of him. 
 
 ** Good-bye, Susan," said Aaron, and he walked up to her 
 without bashfulness or embarrassment. Had they aU been com- 
 pliant and gracious to him he would have been as bashful as his 
 love; but now his temper was hot. '* Good-bye, Susan," and 
 Bhe took his hand, and ho held hers till he had finished. ** And 
 remember this, I look upon you as my promised wife, and I don't 
 fear that you'll deceive me. At any rate I shan't deceive you." 
 
 " Good-bye, Aaron," she sobbed. 
 
 *' Good-bye, and God bless you, my own darling ! '* And then 
 •without saying a word to any one else, he tumea hie back upon 
 them and went his way. 
 
 There had been something very consolatory, very sweet, to 
 the poor girl in her lover's last words. And yet they had almost 
 made her tremble. He had been so bold, and stem, and confi- 
 dent He had seemed so utterly to defy the impregnable difloretioa 
 
 z2 
 
116 TALES OP ALL OOUNTRlBfl. 
 
 of Mr, llooTceirt!, «o to do^ptwo tho demure propriety of ITotta* 
 But of this »ho felt sure, when uho Oftmo to qucHtion her heart, 
 that nho could never, never, never ccano to lovo liim better than 
 all tho world besido. She would wait — patiently if she could 
 And patience — and then, if lie dcwcrted her, she would dio. 
 
 In another month Ilctta became Mrs. Bcckurd. Susan biislvcd 
 up a little for tho occasion, and looked very pretty os brides- 
 maid. She was Bcrviceablo too in arranp^ng household matters, 
 hemming linen and sewinj* table-cloths ; thouph of course in 
 these matters she did not do a tenth of wliat Helta did. 
 
 Tlien tho summer came, the Harato;!;a summer of July, August, 
 imd September, durinp; whicli tho widow's house was lull ; and 
 fiusim's hands saved tho pain of her heart, for she was forced 
 into occupation. Now that Uetta was pone to her own duties, 
 it was necessary tluit Susan's part in tho household should bo 
 more prominent. 
 
 Aaron did not como back to his work at Saratoga. "NVliv ho 
 did not they could not then learn. During tho whole long 
 sumn\er they heard not a word of him nor from him ; and then 
 when the cold winter montlis came and their boanlers had left 
 them, Mrs. l^n^kaixl congratulated her sister in that she liad 
 given no further encouragement to a lover who ciued so little for 
 her. This was very hard to bear. But Susan did bear it. 
 
 That wintiT was very sad. Tliey learned notliing of Aaron 
 Dunn till about January ; and then they heard that ho was 
 doing ver\'^ wvW. Jlo was engaged on tho Erie trunk line, was 
 paid lughly, and was much estei-nuul. And yet ho neither camo 
 nor sent ! ** He has an excellent situation," their informant told 
 them. "And a pennanent ono ? " asked tho widow. **0h, yes, 
 no doubt," said tlie gentleman, " for I happen to know that they 
 count greatly on him." And yet he sent no wonl of lovo. 
 
 After that tl\e winter became very sad indeed. !^^^s. Bell 
 thought it to bo htT duty now to tea(;h her daughter that in all 
 probability she would see Aaron Dunn no more. It was open to 
 him to leave her without being absolutely a wolf. Ho had been 
 driven from the house when he was poor, and they had no right 
 to expect that he would return, now that he had made some riso 
 in tho world. ** 'Mqtx do aniuso themselves in that way," the 
 Avidow tried to teach her. 
 
 " Ho is not like that, mother," sho said again. 
 
 **But they do not think so much of these things as wo do," 
 \irged the mother. 
 
 ** Don't thoy?" 8;ud Susan, oh, so sorwwfully; and so througli 
 
THE couRTsnrp op susan bell, 117 
 
 the wholo lon<» winter months slio bccAmo paler and paler, and 
 thinner and thinner. 
 
 And then Hetta tried to console her with religion, and that 
 perliaps did not make thinj:^ any better. Religious consolation 
 IS the best euro for all griefs ; but it must not bo lookeil for 
 specially with regarvi to any individual sorrow. A n^ligious man, 
 should he become banknipt through the misfortunes of the world, 
 will find true consolation in his religion even for that sorrow. 
 But a bankrupt, who has not thought much of such things, will 
 hanlly find solace by talking up n^ligion for that speciid occasion. 
 
 And Hetta perhaps was haixlly prudent in her attempts. Sho 
 thought that it was wicked in Susan to grow thin and palo for 
 love of Aaron Dunn, nnd sho hanlly hid lier thoughts. Susan 
 was not sni-c but that it might be wicked, but this doubt in no 
 way tended to make her plump or i-osy. So that in those days 
 sho found no comfort in her sister. 
 
 But her mother's pity and soft lovo did case her Bufferingti, 
 though it could not make them cease. Her mother did not tell 
 her that she wi\s wickeil, or bid her read long Bomions, or forco 
 her to gv^ oftencr to tho meeting-house. 
 
 "He will never come again, I think," sho said ono day, oa 
 with a shawl wn\pped around her slioulders, sho leunt with hear 
 licad upon her mother's bosom. 
 
 *' My own darling,'* siiid tho mother, pressing her child closely 
 to her side. 
 
 ** You think ho never will, eh, mother ? " WTiat could Mrs. 
 Bell say ? In her heiirt of hcorta sho did not think ho over 
 would come again. 
 
 ** No, my child. I do not think ho will.** And then the hot 
 tears ran down, and the sobs camo thick and frequent. 
 
 ** My darling, my darling I ** exclaimed tho mother ; and thoy 
 wept together. 
 
 ** Was I wicked to lovo him at tho first,** sho asked that night. 
 
 ** No, my child ; you were not vrickcd ftt aU. At least I 
 think not.** 
 
 ** Then why ** "Why was h e sent away ? It was on her 
 
 tongue to ask ♦hnt question; but she paused and spared her 
 mother. This was as Mioy were going to bed. Tho next morn- 
 ing Susan did not get up. Sho was not ill, sho said ; but weak 
 and weary. Would her mother let her lie that day ? And then 
 Mrs. Bell went down alone to her room, and sorrowed with all 
 her heart for tho sorrow of her child. Why, oh why, had sho 
 driven away ftom her door-sill the lovo of on honest man? 
 
118 TALES OF ALL OOrWTRTW. 
 
 On the noxt morning Susan again did not get np ;— nor did 
 Bho hear, or if Bho heard she did not rocognlso, the step of tho 
 pofitman who brought a letter to the door. Early, before the 
 •widow's broakfttflt, the postman came, and the letter which he 
 brought was as follows :— 
 
 ** Mr DEAB Mji8. Dnrx, 
 
 ** I liave now got a permanent situation on the Erie lino, 
 find the salary is enough for mysolf and a wife. At least I tliink 
 BO, and I hope you will too. I shall be down at Saratoga to- 
 morrow evening, and I hope neither Susan nor you will rcfuso 
 to receive mo. 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 " Aahon Dunn." 
 
 That was all. It was very short, and did not contain one 
 word of lovo ; but it made the widow's heart leap for joy. She 
 was rather afraid that Aaron was angry, ho wrote so curtly and 
 with such a brusque business-like attention to mere facts ; but 
 Burt^ly he could have but one object in coming there. And tlicn 
 ho allude d ppccitdly to a wife. So the widow's heart leapt with joy. 
 Ikit how was she to tell Susan ? She run up staira alnioat 
 breathless with haste, to the bedroom door ; but then she stopped ; 
 too much joy she had heard was as dangerous as too much 
 sorrow ; ske must think it over for a while, and so she crept back 
 again. 
 
 But after breakfast — that is, when she had sat for a while over 
 her teacu|>— slie returniKl to the room, and this time she entered 
 it. The letter was in her hand, but lield so as to bo hidden ;— 
 in her ktft hand as she sat down with her right onn towards tlio 
 invalid. 
 
 " Susan dear," she said, and smiled at her child, ** you'll be 
 able to get up this morning ? eh, dear ? " 
 
 ** Yes, mother," said Susan, thinking that her mother objected 
 to this idleness of her lying in bed. And so she began to bestir 
 herself. 
 
 *' I don't mean this very moment, love. Indeed, I want to 
 nit with you for a little while," and she put her right arm attVc- 
 tionately round her daughter's waist. 
 
 ** Dearest mother," said Susan. 
 
 ** Ah I there's one dearer than me, I guess," and Mrs. Brll 
 Bmiled sweetly, as she made the maternal charge against her 
 daughter. 
 
 R"«iu\ raiaed herself quickly in the bed, and looked straight 
 
THB COXJRTSnTP OP SITSAN BELL* 119 
 
 into her mothcr*8 fnco. " ^fothor, mother," she enul, "what is 
 it ? You've something to toll. Oh, mother I " Ami stretching 
 herself over, she struck her hand against tho comer of Aaron'a 
 letter. *< Mother, you've a letter. Is ho eoming, mother?" 
 and with eager eyes and open lips, sho sat up, holiUug tight to 
 her mother's arm. 
 
 ** Yes, love. I have got a lctt<5r." 
 ** Is he-— is he coming ? " 
 • How the mother nnsweiv<l» I can hanlly tell; hut sho did 
 answer, and they wtnx> soon Iving in each other's arms, wanu 
 with each other's tears. It was almost hanl to say which was 
 the happier. 
 
 Aaron was to he there that evening — ^that very evening. ** Oh, 
 mother, lot me get up," sixid Sus;\n. 
 
 lUit Mrs. lh>ll said no, not yet; her darling was palo and thin, 
 and sho almost wished that Aaron was not coming for another 
 week. AVhat if ho should come and look at Iht, and finding her 
 beauty gone, vanish again and seek a wife elsewhere ! 
 
 So Susan lay in heil, thinking of her happiness, dozing now 
 and again, and fearing as sho waked that it was a dixn\m, look- 
 ing constantly at that drawing of his, which sho kept oiitsido 
 upon the hed, nursing her love and thinking of it, and (>ndea- 
 voming, vainly endeavouring, ♦© arrange what sho would say 
 to him. 
 
 ** Mother," she said, when ^fi^. Bell once went up to hor, 
 ** you won't tell Helta and Thinoas, will you? Not to-day, I 
 mean ? " ^Irs. lUU agived that it would bo better not to toll 
 them. Perhaps sho thought that she had already depended too 
 much on Hetta and rhiueas in the matter. 
 
 Susan's finery in the way of divss had never been extensive, 
 and now lately, in these last sad winter days, sho had thought hut 
 little of tho fashion of her clothes. But when sho began to dress 
 herself for tho evening, sho did ask her mother with some anxiety 
 what she had better wear. ** If ho loves you ho will haixlly see 
 what vou have on," Siiid the mother. But not tho loss was she 
 careful to smooth her daughter's hair, and make tho most that 
 might be made of those fadetl roses. 
 
 How Susan's heart beat, — ^how both their hearts beat as the 
 hands of the clock came round to seven I And then, sliarp at 
 eevcu, came tho knoi'k; that samo short bold ringing knock 
 which Susan had so soon learned to know as belonging to Aorou 
 Dunn. *^0h mother, I had better go up stairs," slue oriod, 
 starting from hor chair. 
 
120 TALKS OP ALL COUNTRIES, 
 
 " No dear ; you would only be more nervous.** 
 " I wiU, mother." 
 
 " No, no, dear ; you have not time ; ** and then Aaron Dunn . 
 ▼OS in the room. 
 
 She had thought much what she would say to him, but bad 
 not yet quite made up her mind. It mattered however but 
 very little. On whatever she might have resolved, her resolu- 
 tion would have vanished to the wind. Aaron Dunn came into 
 the room, and in one second she found herself in the centre of a 
 whirlwind, and his arms were the storms that enveloped her on 
 every side. 
 
 ** My own, orm darling girl," he said over and over again, as 
 he pressed her to his heai-t, quite regardless of Mrs. Bell, who 
 stood by, sobbing with joy. *' My own Susan." 
 
 "Aaron, dear Aaron," she whispered. But she had already 
 recognised the fact that for the present meeting a passive part 
 would become her well, and save her a deal of trouble. She had 
 her lover there quite safe, safe beyond anything that Mr. or Mrs. 
 Beckard might have to say to the contrary. She was quite 
 happy ; only that there were symptoms now and again that the 
 whirlwind was about to engulf her yet once more. 
 
 " Dear Aaron, I am so glad you are come," said the innocent- 
 minded widow, as she went up stairs with him, to show him his 
 room; and then he embraced her also. " Dear, dear mother," 
 he said. 
 
 On the next day there was, as a matter of course, a family 
 conclave. Hetta and Phineas came down, and discussed the 
 whole subject of the coming marriage with Mrs. Bell. Hetta at 
 first was not quite certain ; — ought they not to inquire whether 
 the situation was permanent ? 
 
 *' I won*t inquire at all," said Mrs. Bell, with an energy that 
 startled both the daughter and son-in-law. " I would not part 
 
 them now ; no, not if " and the widow shuddered as she 
 
 thought of her daughter's sunken eyes, and pale cheeks. 
 
 " He is a good lad," said Phineas, " and I trust she will make 
 him a sober steady wife ; " and so the matter was settled. 
 
 During this time, Susan and Aaron were walking along the 
 Balston road; and they also had settled the matter— quite 
 as satisfactorily. 
 
 buck was the courtship of Susan Dunn. 
 
RELICS OF GENERAL CflASSfi. 
 
 A TALE OF ANTWERP. 
 
 That Belgium is now one of the European kingdoms, living by 
 its own laws, resting on its own bottom, with a king and court, 
 palaces and parliament of its own, is known to all the world. 
 And a very nice little kingdom it is ; full of old towns, fine 
 Flemish pictures, and interesting Gothic churches. But in the 
 memory of very many of us who do not think ourselves old men, 
 Belgium, as it is now called — ^in those days it used to be Planders 
 and Brabant — was a part of Holland ; and it obtained its own 
 independence by a revolution. In that revolution the most 
 important military step was the siege of Antwerp, which was 
 defended on the part of the Dutch by General Chasse, with the 
 utmost gallantry, but nevertheless ineffectually. 
 
 After the siege Antwerp became quite a show place ; and 
 among the visitors who flocked there to talk of the gallant 
 general, and to see what remained of the great 'effort which he 
 had made to defend the place, were two Englishmen. One was 
 the hero of this little history ; and the other was a young man 
 of considerably less weight in the world. The less I say of the 
 latter the better ; but it is necessary that I should give somo 
 description of the former. 
 
 The Rev. Augustus Home was, at the time of my narrative, a 
 beneficed clergyman of the Church of England. The profession 
 •which he had graced sat easily on" him. Its external marks and 
 signs were as pleasing to his Mends as were its internal comforts 
 to himself. He was a man of much quiet mirth, full of polished 
 wit, and on some rare occasions he could descend to the more 
 noisy hilarity of a joke. Loved by his friends he loved all the 
 world. He had known no care and seen no sorrow. Alwayi 
 intended for hol^ orders he had entered them without a scruple, 
 jod remained within thoir pale without a regret. At twenty* 
 
122 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 four he had been a deacon, at twenty-seven a priest, at thirty a 
 rector, and at thirty-five a prebendary ; and as his rectory was 
 rich and his prebendal stall well paid, the Rev. Augustus Home 
 was called by all, and called himself, a happy man. His stature 
 was about six feet two, and his corpulence exceeded even those 
 bounds which symmetry would have preferred as being most 
 perfectly compatible even with such a height But nevei-theless 
 Mr. Home was a well-made man ; his hands and feet were small ; 
 his face was handsome, frank, and full of expression ; his bright 
 eyes twinkled with humour ; his finely-cut mouth disclosed two 
 marvellous rows of wcll-presers'cd ivory ; and his slightly aqui- 
 line nose was just such a projection as one would wish to see on 
 the face of a well-fed good-natured dignitary of the Church of 
 England. When I add to all this that the reverend gentleman 
 was as generous as he was rich — and the kind mother in whoso 
 arms he had been nurtured had taken care that he should never 
 want — I need hardly say that I was blessed with a very pleasant 
 travelling companion. 
 
 I must mention one more interesting particular. Mr. Homo 
 was rather inclined to dandyism, in an innocent way. His 
 clerical starched neckcloth was always of the whitest, his cam- 
 bric handkerchief of the finest, his bands adorned with the 
 broadest border; his sable suit never degenerated to a rusty 
 brown; it not only gave on all occasions glossy e\'idence of 
 freshness, but also of the talent which the ailisan had displayed 
 in turning out a well-di-essed clergyman of the Church of 
 England. His hair was ever bmshed with scmpulous attention, 
 and shoAvcd in its regular waves the guardian caie of each sepa- 
 rate bristle. And all this was done with tliat ease and grace 
 which should be the characteristics of a dignitary of the esta- 
 blished English Church. 
 
 I had accompanied Mr. Home to the Rliine ; and we had 
 reached Brussels on our return, just at the close of that revolu- 
 tion which ended in affording a throne to the son-in-law of 
 George tlie Eourth. At that moment General Chasse's name and 
 fame were in every man's mouth, and, like other curious admi- 
 rers of the brave, Mr. Home determined to devote two days to 
 the scene of the late events at Antwerp. Antwerp, moreover, 
 possesses perhaps the finest spire, and certainly one of the three 
 or four finest pictures, in the world. Of General Chasse, of tlie 
 cathedral, and of the Rubens, I had heard much, and was there- 
 fore well pleasscd that such should bo his resolution. This 
 ftccomplishcd wo were to return to Bnisselg; and thence, via 
 
RELICS OF GENERAL CHASSB. 123 
 
 Ghent, Ostcnd, nnd Dover, I to complete my le»al studies in 
 London, and Mr. Horno to enjoy onco more the peaceful retii'e- 
 ment of Ollerton rectory. As we were to be absent from Brussels 
 but one niglit we were enabled to indulge in the gratification of 
 travelling without our luggage. A small sac-de-nuit was pre- 
 pared ; brushes, combs, razors, strops, a change of linen, &c. &c., 
 were carefully put up ; but our heavy baggage, our coats, waist- 
 coats, and other wearing apparel were unnecessary. It was 
 delightful to feel oneself so light-handed. The reverend gentle- 
 man, with my humble self by his side, left the portal of the 
 Hotel de Belle Vue at 7 A.3r., in good humour with all tho 
 world. There were no railroads in those days ; but a cabriolet, 
 big enough to hold six persons, with rope traces and correspond- 
 ing appendages, deposited us at the Golden*; Fleece in something 
 less than six hours. Tho inward man was duly fortified, and we 
 etai-ted for the castle. 
 
 It boots not hero to describe the effects which gunpowder and 
 grape-shot had had on the walls of Antwerp. Let the curious in 
 these matters read the horrors of the siege of Troy, or the history 
 of Jerusalem taken by Titus. Tho one may be found in Homer, 
 and the other in Josephus. Or if they prefer doings of a later 
 date there is the taking of Sebastopol, as narrated in tho columns 
 of the ** Times" newspaper. The accounts are equally tnie, 
 instructive, and intelligible. In tho mean time allow the Rev. 
 Augustus Home and myself to enter the private chambers of the 
 renowned though defeated general. 
 
 "We rambled for a while through the covered way, over the 
 glacis and along the counterscarp, and listened to the guide as he 
 detailed to us, in already accustomed words, how the siege had 
 gone. Then we got into the private apartments of the general, 
 and, having dexterously shaken off our attendant, wandered at 
 large among the deserted rooms. 
 
 ** It is clear that no one ever comes here," said I. 
 
 "No," said the Rev. Augustus ; "it seems not; and to tell 
 the truth, I don't know why any one should come. The chambera 
 in themselves are not attractive." 
 
 What he said was true. They were plain, ugly, square, un- 
 furnished rooms, hero a big one, and there a little one, as is 
 nsual in most houses ; — unfurnished, that is, for the most part. 
 In one place wo did find a table and a few chairs, in another a 
 bedstead, and so on. But to me it was pleasant to indulge in 
 those ruminations which any traces of the great or unfortunate 
 create in softly sympathising minds. For a time wa oommuni- 
 
124 TALES or ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 catcd our tlioughts to each other as we roamed free as air 
 tlirough the apartments ; and then I Ungercd for a few moment* 
 behind, while ^Nfr. Homo moved on with a quicker step. 
 
 At h\8t I entered tlio bedchamber of the general, and there I 
 overtook mj' fiiend. Ho was inspecting, with mnch attention, 
 nil artielo of the great man's wartlrobo which ho held in his 
 hand. It \va» preoiHely that virile habiliment to which a woU- 
 I'noNvu gallant captain alludes in his conversation with the poat- 
 huiiious appearance of Miss liailey, as containing a Bank of 
 Kngland £<*> note. 
 
 *' The general must liavo been a largo man, George, or he 
 would haixlly have lilled these," said Mr. Ilorne, holding up to 
 tlio li^'ht the respectable leathern articles in question. " He 
 must have been a very large man, — the largest man in Antwei-p, 
 I should think ; or else his tailor has done him more than 
 justice." 
 
 They were certainly largo, and had about them a charming 
 regimental militiiry appearance. Th(^y were made of white 
 leatiuT, with bright metal buttons at the knees and bright metal 
 buttons at the top. They owned no pockets, and were, with the 
 exception of the legitimate outlet, continuous in the circum* 
 feivneo of the waistband. No dangling strings gave them an 
 appeanmce of senile iml.oeility. Were it not for a certain 
 rigidity, sternness, and mental inflexibility, — we will call it 
 milittvry anlour, — with which they were imbued, they would 
 have civated envy in the bosom of a fox- hunter. 
 
 ^Ir. Homo was no fox-hunter, but still ho seemed to bo irre- 
 sistibly taken with the lady-like propensity of wishing to wear 
 them. *' iSuivly, George," ho said, ''the general must have 
 been a stouter num than I am " — and he contemplated his own 
 prv^portions with coinplaoency — ** tlu^so what's-the-names are 
 quite big enough for me." 
 
 I ditl'ereil in opinion, and was obliged to explain that I tliought 
 he did the good living of Ollerton insufhcient justice. 
 
 *' I am suiv they are large enough for me," ho repeated, with 
 considemble obstinacy. I smiled ineredulously ; and tlien to 
 settle the matter he ivsolveil that he would try them on. Nobody 
 had been in these rooms for the last hour, and it appeaix?d as 
 though they weiv never visiteil. Even the guide had not come 
 on with us, but was employeii in showing other parties about 
 tlio fortitications. It was clear that this portion of the building 
 was loft desolate, and that the experiment might be safely made. 
 So the sportive rector decliuxnl that ho would for a slioi t timo 
 
TIKLICS 01* GENERAL OHASS^. 125 
 
 wear tho regimentals which had once contained tho valorous 
 heart of General Chasse. 
 
 "With all decorum the Rev. Mr. Home divested himBclf of tho 
 work of tho London artist's needle, and, carefully placing his 
 own gni-mcnts beyond the reach of dust, essayed to fit himself in 
 militiuy garb. 
 
 At that important moment — at tho critical instant of tho 
 attempt— ^thc clatter of female voices was heard approaching tho 
 chamber. They must have suddenly corao round some passage 
 corner, for it was evident by the sound that they were closo 
 upon us before we had any warning of their advent. At this 
 veiy minute Mr. Horno was somewhat embaiTassed in his 
 attempts, and was not fully in possession of his usual activo 
 powers of movement, nor of his usual presence of mind. He 
 only looked for escape ; and seeing a door partly open, he with 
 difficulty retreated through it, and I followed him. AVo found 
 that wo were in a small dressing-room ; and as by good luck tho 
 door was defended by an inner bolt, my friend was able to 
 protect himself. 
 
 ** There shall be another siege, at any rate as stout as tho last, 
 before I surrender," said he. 
 
 As tho ladies seemed inclined to linger in tho room it became 
 a matter of importance that the above-named articles should fit, 
 not only for ornament but for use. It was very cold, and Mr. 
 Home was altogether unused to move in a Highland sphere of 
 life. But alas, alas ! General Chasse had not been nurtured in 
 tho classical retirement of Ollerton. The ungi\4ng leather would 
 stretch no point to accommodate tho divine, though it had been 
 willing to minister to tho convenience of the soldier. Mr. Homo 
 was vexed and chilled ; and throwing tho now hateful garments 
 into a comer, and protecting himself from tho cold as beat ho 
 might by standing with his knees together and his body some- 
 what bent so as to give the skirts of his coat an opportunity of 
 doing extra duty, ho begged mo to seo if those jabbering females 
 were not going to leave him in peace to recover his own property. 
 I accordingly went to tho door, and opening it to a small extent 
 I peeped through. 
 
 Who shall describe my horror at tho sight which I then saw ? 
 The scene, which had hitherto been tinted with comic eifect, 
 Was now becoming so decidedly tragic that I did not dare at 
 once to acquaint my worthy pastor with that which was occurring, 
 —and, alas ! had already occurred. 
 
 Five country- women of our own — it was easy to know them 
 
124 tALKfl Oi' AtL OOt/NtRlM. 
 
 bv their drosi and gonoral anpeot— wore standing in th© middle 
 of tho room ; and one of them, the centre of the gronp, the 
 senior hfxrpj of tho lot, a mftiden Indy — I could have Bworn to 
 that— -with a red nose, hold in one hand a huge pair of Bcissors, 
 and in the other — the already dovotod poods of my moRt unfor- 
 tiiniite companion! Down from the "WftiHtband, through that 
 goodly oxpanwo, a foil giif«h luid alrotuly gone thrmigli and 
 through ; iind in uhuIuhm, unbecoming diBoracr the broiulcloth fell 
 pendant from her arm on this side and on that. At thut moment 
 1 confess that I had not tho courage to spcuk to Mr. Home, — not 
 oven to look at him. 
 
 I must d('Honbo thut group. Of tlie figure next to me I co\ild 
 only see tluj biKsk. It was a brond back done up in Ijlnrk silk 
 )»()t. ol'tho upwrst. The wliole llgiire, oiu' nniy say, was d«mii)y. 
 Till) black silk was not long, as (Ircsses now are worn, nor wiuo 
 in its skirts. In every way it was skimpy, considering tho 
 breadth it hud to cover ; and below tho silk I saw tho lieds of 
 two thick shoes, and enough to swear by of two woollen stock- 
 ings. Above the silk was u nnl and blue shawl ; and above that 
 u pond(?rous, elaborate brown bonnet, as to tho materials of wliiih 
 1 should not wish to undergo an examination. Over and beyond 
 this I could only see the backs of her two hands. Thc^y were 
 held up as though in wonder at that which the red-nosed holder 
 of the scissors had dared to do. 
 
 Opposite to this lady, and with her face fully turned to mo, 
 •was a kindly-looking, fat motherly woman, with ligbt-colo\irod 
 liair, not in the best onlor. Hho was hot and scarlet with 
 exereise, being perhaps too stout ibr tlu» steep steps of tho 
 fortress ; and in one hand she held a liandkerchief, with which 
 from time to time she wiped her brow. In the other hand she 
 held one of the extremities of my friend's property, feeling — 
 good, careful soul ! — what was the texture of the cloth. As she 
 did so, 1 could see a glance of approbation pass across lier warm 
 features. I liked tluit buly's face, in spito of )jer untidy luiir, 
 and felt thut had she been alone n\y friend would not Imvo beeu 
 injured. 
 
 On eitlier side of her there stood a flaxen-haired maiden, with 
 long curie, large blue eyes, fresh red cheeks, an undefined lumpy 
 nose, and largo good-humoured mouth. They were as like as 
 two peas, only that one was half an inch taller than tho other ; 
 and there wns no difllculty in discovering, at a moment's glnnco, 
 that they were the children of that over-heated matron who was 
 feeling the web of my friend's cloth. 
 
RELICS OP GENERAt CHASSE. 127 
 
 But the principal figure was she "who held the centre place in 
 the group. She was tall and thin, with fierce-looking eyes, 
 rendered more fierce by the spectacles which she wore ; witn a 
 rod nose as I said before ; and about her an undescribable some- 
 thing whicli quite convinced mo that she had never known — could 
 never know — aught of the comforts of married life. It was she 
 wlio held tlio scissors and the black garments. It was sho 
 who luid given that unkind cut. As I looked at her sho whisked 
 herself quickly round from one companion to the other, triumph- 
 ing in what she had done, and ready to triumph further in what 
 she was about to do. I immediately conceived a deep hatred 
 for that Queen of the Harpies. 
 
 "Well, I suppose they can't be wanted again,'* said the 
 mother, rubbing her forehead. 
 
 **0h dear no ! " said she of the red nose. ** They are relics ! " 
 
 I thought to leap forth ; but for what purpose should I havo 
 
 leaped ? The accui'sed scissors had already done their work ; and 
 
 the sj-mmetry, nay, oven the utility of the vestment was destroyed. 
 
 " General Chasso wore a very good article; — I will say that 
 
 for him," continued the mother. 
 
 " Of course he did 1 " said the Queen Harpy. ** Why should 
 be not, seeing that the country paid for it for him ? Well, ladies, 
 who's lor having a bit? " 
 
 **0h my ! you won't go for to cut them up,'* said the stout 
 back. 
 
 ** Won't I," said the scissors; and she immediately made 
 another incision. *' Who's for having a bit? Don't all speak 
 at once." 
 
 ** I should like a morsel for a pincushion," said flaxen-haired 
 ^fisa No. 1, a young lady about nineteen, actuated by a general 
 all'ection for all sword-bearing, fire-eating heroes. ** I should like 
 to have something to make mo think of the poor general ! " 
 
 Snip, snip went the scissors with professional rapidity, and 
 a round piece was extracted from the back of the calf of the 
 left leg. I shuddered with horror ; and bo did the Rev. Augustui* 
 Home with cold. 
 
 *' I hardly think it's proper to cut them up," said Miss "No. 2. 
 
 ** Oh isn't it ? " said the harpy. ** Then I'll do what's im- 
 
 proj)er ! " And she got her finger and thumb well through the 
 
 holes in the scissors' handles. As r^e spoke lesolution was 
 
 plainly markwd on her brow. 
 
 *< Well, if they are to be cut up, I should certainly like a bit 
 for a pcn*v7iper," said Ko. 2. Ko. 2 was a literary joimg lady 
 
128 TAL1» 09 ALL OOTJNTRtlSfl. 
 
 ^ith a porlodioal corrospondonco, a Journal, and an album. 6n!m 
 unip wont tho Boissorn again, and tho broad part of the upper 
 rignt division afTorded ample matcrialfl for a pen-wipor. 
 
 Then tho liidy with tho back, Bcoing that tho desecration of 
 tlio article had boon completed, plucked up heart of courage and 
 put iu her little requoHt ; " I think I might have a needle-case 
 out of it," Hiiid hIio, "juHt oh a wuvncer of the poor general**— 
 and a long frugtnent cut rapidly out of tlio waistband offordcd 
 lior \inquulin(«d delight. 
 
 Miiiuma, with the hot face and untidy Imir, came next. '^Woll, 
 girU," Hhe nuid, "iw you are all served, 1 don't see why l*m to 
 bo left out. IVrhaps, Miss Urogram '* — she was an old maid, 
 you HOC — '* perhaps, Miss Urogram, vou could get mo us much as 
 would make a docent-si/ed reticule. ' 
 
 There was not the slightest difH( ulty in doing this. The harpy 
 in tho centre again went to work, snip, snip, and extracting 
 from that ])ortiou of the affairs which usually sustained tho 
 greater portion of ^tr. Hornu'a weight two large round pieces of 
 cloth, presented them to tho well-pleased matron. *• The general 
 knew well where to get a bit of good broadcloth, certainly,'* said 
 uhe, again feeling the pieces. 
 
 *' And now for No. 1,*' said sho whom I so absolutely hated; 
 ** I think there is still enough for a pair of slippers. Thero*fl 
 nothing so nice for tho house as good black cloth slippers that 
 are warm to the feet and don't show the dirt." And so saying, 
 tjlie spread out on the lloor the lacerated renuiindera. 
 
 ** There's a nice bit there," said young lady No. 2, poking at 
 one of the pockets with the end of her parasol. 
 
 ** Yes," said the harpy, contemplating her plunder. " But 
 I'm thinking whether I couldn't get leggings as well. I always 
 wear leggiuga in the thick of the winter.'* And so she con- 
 cluded her operations, and there was nothing lelt but a melan- 
 choly skeleton of seams tmd buttons. 
 
 All this having been achieved, they pocketed their plunder and 
 prt^pared to depart. Inhere are people who have a wonderful 
 appetite for relics. A stone with which AVashington had broken 
 a window when a boy — with which ho had done so or had not, 
 for there is littlo difteivnco ; a button that was on a coat of 
 Napoleon*8, or on that of one of his lackeys ; a bullet said to 
 have been picked up at AVati'iloo or Bunker's Hill ; these, and 
 suchlike things are great treasures. And their most desirable 
 characteristic is tho ease with which they are attained. Any 
 bullet or any Dutton does tho work. Faith alone is necessary. 
 
RfiLlCS Of GENERAL CUASSl 129 
 
 Atid nftw thcso Indies hod raado tlicmsolvcs happy and glorious 
 with "Holies" of General Chufiso cut from tho ill-used habilimonU 
 of an elderly EngliHh ^^ontleman ! 
 
 They departed at last, and Mr. i^omc, for once in an ill 
 humour, followed mo into tho bedroom. Hero I muRt bo excused 
 if I draw a veil over his manly sorrow at discovering what fato 
 had done for him. llemember what was his position, unclothed 
 in the Castle of Antwerp ! Tho nearest suitable change forthoso 
 which had been destroyed was locked up in his portmanteau at 
 tho llotel do I3ello Vuo in Brussels ! Ho had nothing left to 
 liim — literally nothing, in that Antwerp world. Tliero was no 
 other wretched being wandering thon in that Dutch town sb 
 utterly denuded of tho goods of life. Tor wliat is a man fit,— 
 for what can ho be fit, — when Ic^ft in such tt position ? Thoro 
 uro some evils which seem utterly to crush a mim ; and if thoro 
 bo any misfortune to which a man may be allowed to succumb 
 without imputation on his manliness, surely it is such as this. 
 How was Mr. Homo to return to his hotel without incurring tho 
 diH])leai»uro of tho municipality ? That was my first thought. 
 
 ]Io had a cloak, but it was at the inn ; and I found that my 
 friend was oppressed with a great horror at tho idea of being leit 
 alone ; so that I could not go in search of it. Thero is an old 
 saying, that no man is a hero to his valet do chambro, — the 
 reason doubtless being this, that it is customaiy for his valet to 
 see the liero divested of those trappings in which so much of tho 
 heroic consists. "Who reverences a clergyman without his gown, 
 or a warrior without his sword and sabrc-taacho ? What would 
 even Minerva be without her helmet ? 
 
 I do not wish it to bo und(!r8tood that I no longer reverenced 
 ^Ir. Homo because ho was in an undress ; but ho himself cer- 
 tainly lost much of his composed, well-sustained digrity of 
 demeanour. Ho was fearful and quenilous, cold, and father 
 cross. When, forgetting his size, I offered him my own, ho 
 thought that I was laughing at him. Ho began to bo afraid 
 that tho story would get abroad, and ho then and thoro exacted 
 a promise that I would never tell it during his lifetime. I havo 
 ' kept my word ; but now my old friend has boon gathered to his 
 fathers, full of years. 
 
 At last I got him to tho hotel. It was long before ho would 
 loavo tho castle, cloaked though ho was ;— not, indeed, till tho 
 shades of evening had dimmed tho outlines of men and things, 
 and made indistinct tho outward garniture of those who passed 
 to and fro ia the streets. Then, wrapped in his oloak, Mr. iloiM 
 
130 *ALI» Ot AlA OOTJNTRIfid. 
 
 followed me along the quays and throngh the narrowest cS. the 
 ■treeta ; and at length, without venturing to return the gaze of any 
 one in the hotel court, he made his way up to his own bedroom. 
 
 Dinnerloss and pupperlces he went to his couch. But when 
 there he did consent to receive some consolation in the shape of 
 mutton cutlets and fried potatoes, » savory omelet, and a bottlo 
 of claret. The mutton cutlets and fried potatoes at the Golden 
 T'leeco at Antwei-p arc — or were then, for I am speaking now 
 of well-nigh thirty years since — remarkably good; the claret, 
 also, was of the best ; and so, by degrees, the look of despairing 
 dismay passed from hia face, and somo scintillations of the old 
 fire returned to his eyes. 
 
 ** I wonder whether they find themselves much happier for 
 what they have got ? " said he. 
 
 "A great deal happier," said L "They'll boast of those 
 thingi to aU their friends at home, and we shall doubtless see 
 some account of their success in the newspapers." 
 
 "It would be delightful to expose their blunder,— to show 
 \hem up. Would it not, George? To turn the tables on 
 them?" 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I should like to have the laugh against 
 them." 
 
 " So would I, only that I should compromise myself by telling 
 the story. It wouldn't do at all to have it told at Oxford with 
 my name attached to it." 
 
 To this also I assented. To what would I not iave assented 
 in my anxiety to make him happy after his misery ? 
 
 But all was not over yet. He was in bed now, but it was 
 nccessaiy that he should rise again on the morrow. At home, 
 in England, what was required might perhaps have been made 
 during tho night j but here, aiuoug tho slow ilemiags, any such 
 exertion would have been impossible. Mr. Home, moreover, had 
 no dcsii'o to bo troubled in his retirement by a tuilor. 
 
 JS^ow tho landlord of tho Golden Fleece was a very stout mnn, 
 — a very stout man indeed. Looking at him as he stood with 
 his hantb in his pockets at the portal of his own establishment, I 
 could not but tliink that ho was stouter even than Mr. Heme. 
 But then he was certainly much shorter, and the want of due 
 proportion probably added to liis unwieldy appearajice. I walked 
 round him once or twice wislifully, measuring him in mv eye, 
 and thinking of what texture might be the Sunday best of such 
 a man. Tho clotlios which ho then had on were ceitainly not 
 exactly »uitcd to Mr. Horno'ft tastes« 
 
 ' i 
 
iiELtCd OF GENERAL CHASS^. J31 
 
 He saw that I was observing him, and apeared iineasy and 
 oflended. I had already ascertained that he spoke a little 
 English. Of Flemish 1 knew literally nothing, and in French, 
 with which probably he was also acquainted, I was by no means 
 voluble. The business which I had to transact was intricate, 
 and I required the use of my mother-tongue. 
 
 It was intricate and delicate, and difficult withal . I began by 
 remarking on the weather, but he did not take my remarks 
 kindly. I am inclined to fancy that he thought I was desirous 
 of borrowing money from him. At any rate ho gave me no 
 encouragement in my first advances. i 
 
 * Vat misfortune ? " at last ho asked, when I had succeeded 
 in making him understand that a gentleman up stairs required 
 his assistance. 
 
 ** He has lost these things," ond I took hold of my own gar- 
 ments. " It's a long story, or l*d tell you how ; but ho has not 
 a pair lq the world till he gets lack to Brussels, — ^unless you can 
 lend him one." 
 
 **Lost hees br ^?" and ho opened Ids eyes wide, and 
 
 looked at me with astonishment. 
 
 ** Yes, yes, exactly so," said I, interrupting him. ** Most 
 astonishing thing, isn't it ? But it's quite true." 
 
 " Vas hees money in de pocket? " asked my Auspicious land- 
 lord. 
 
 " No, no, no. It's not so bad as that. His money is all right. 
 I had the money, luckily." 
 
 " Ah ! dat is better. But he have lost hees b— ? " 
 "Yes, yes ; " I was now getting rather impatient. " Thcce is 
 no mistake about it. He has lost them as sure as you stand 
 there." And then I proceeded to explain that as the gentleman 
 in question was very stout, and as he, the landlord, was stout 
 also, he might assist us in this great csdamity by a loan from his 
 own wardrobe, 
 
 When he found that the money was not in the pocket, and 
 that his bill therefore would be paid, he was not indisposed to be 
 gracious. He would, he said, desii'o his servant to take up what 
 was required to Mr. Home's chamber. I endeavoured to make 
 him understand that a sombre colour would be preferable ; but 
 he only answered that he would put the best that ho had at 
 the gentleman's disposal. He could not think of offering any- 
 thing less than his best on such an occasion. And then he 
 turned his back and went his way, muttering aa ho went some- 
 thing in Ilemishi which I believed to b« Ml ezokmatiaa of 
 
 x2 
 
132 TALE8 OF ALL C0UKTR1E8. 
 
 nstonishmont that any man should, under any circumstanccf, kut 
 Buch on ftrticlc. 
 
 It was now getting lato ; so when I had taken a short stroll 
 hy mypclf, I wont to bed without disturbing Mr. Homo again 
 that nipht. On the following morning I thought it best not to 
 go to him unless ho sent for mo ; bo I desired tho boots to let 
 liim know that I had ordered breakfast in a private room, and 
 that 1 would await him there unless ho wished to see mo. 3Io 
 sent mo wortl back to say that ho would bo with mo very 
 shortly. 
 
 He did not keep me waiting above half on hour, but I confess 
 that that half hour was not pleasantly spent. I feared that his 
 temper would bo tried in dressing, and that ho would not bo ablo 
 to eat his breakfast in a happy state of mind. So that when I 
 lieanl his heavy footstep advancing along tho passage my heart 
 did misgive me, and I felt that I was trembling. 
 
 That step was certainly slower aud more ponderous than usual. 
 ThtTO was always a certain dignity in tho very sound of liis 
 movements, but now this seemed to have been enhanced. To 
 judge merely by the step ono would have said that a bishop was 
 coming that way instead of a prebendiiry. 
 
 And then lie entered. In tho upper half of his august person 
 no alteration was perceptible. The hair was as regular and as 
 graceful as ever, the iHiudkerchief as white, tho coat as immacu- 
 lato ; but below his well-filled waistcoat a pair of red plush began 
 to shino in unmitigated splendo\ir, and contmued from thenco 
 down to within an inch above liia knee; nor, as it appeared, 
 could any pulling induce them to descend lower. Mr. Homo 
 always wore black silk stockings, — at least so the world supposed, 
 but it was now apparent that tho world had been wrong in prc- 
 siuuing him to bo guilty of such extravagance. Those, at any 
 rate, which lie exhibited on tho present occasion were more 
 economical. They were silk to the calf, but thenco upwards 
 they coutiuucd their career in white cotton. These then followed 
 the plush ; first two Ruowy, full-sized pilliu-s of white, and then 
 two jet columns of flossy silk. Such was tho appearance, on that 
 well-remembered morning, of the Rev. Augustus Home, as ho 
 entered tho room in which his breakfast was prepared. 
 
 I could see at a glance that a dark frown contracted his eye- 
 brows, and that the compressed muscles of his upper lip gave a 
 strange degi*ee of austerity to his open face. He carried his head 
 proudly on high, detcraiined to be dignified in spite of his mis- 
 fortunes, and wlvanccd t^V'o steps iut'^ tho room, without » rcraark| 
 
RELICS OF OKNERAL OnASST?. 133 
 
 as though ho wcro ablo to show that neither red plush nor black 
 cloth could diaarrango tho equal poiso of his mighty mind ! 
 
 And after all what are a man's garments but tho outward huski 
 In which the fruit is kept, duly tempered from tho wind ? 
 
 ** Tho rank is but tho guinea stamp, 
 Tlie man'* tho gowd for •' that." 
 
 And in not tho tailor's art as littlo worthy, aa insignificant as 
 that of tho king who makes 
 
 *' A marquis, duko, and a' Uiat " ? 
 
 Who would be content to think tliat his monly dignity depended 
 on hifl coat and waistcoat, or his liold on tho world's esteem on 
 any other garment of usutd wear? That no such weakness 
 Boiled his mind Mr. Home was determined to prove ; and thus 
 ho entered tho room with measured tread, and stem dignified 
 demeanour. 
 
 Having advanced two stops his cyo caught mine. I do not 
 know whether ho was moved by some unconscious smile on my 
 part ; — for in truth I endeavoured to seem as indifferent as him- 
 self to the nature of his dress ; — or whether ho was invincibly 
 tickled by some inward fancy of his own, but suddenly his 
 advancing step ceased, a broad flash of comic humour spread itself 
 over his features, ho retreated with his back against tho wall, 
 and then burst out into an immoderate roar of loud laughtc 
 
 And I — what else could I then do but laugh ? IIo laughed, 
 and I laughed. Ho roared, and I roared. He lifted up his vast 
 legs to view till tho rays of the morning sun shono through tho 
 window on the bright hues which ho displayed ; and he did not 
 sit down to his breakfast till he had in every fantastic attitude 
 shown off to the best advantage tho red plush of which ho had 
 BO recently become proud. 
 
 An Antwerp private cabriolet on that day reached the yard of 
 tho Hotel de Bello Vuo at about 4 p.m., and four waiters, in a 
 frenzy of astonishment, saw tho Reverend Augustus Home descend 
 from tho vehicle and seek his chamber dressed in the garmentg 
 which I have described. But I am inclined to think that ho 
 never again favoured any of his friends with such a eight. 
 
 It was on the next evening after this that I went out to drink 
 tea with two maiden ladies, relatives of mine, who kept a 
 seminary for English girls at Bmsscls. The Misses Macmanus 
 were veiy worthy women, and earned their bread in an npright, 
 pa in sta k i n g xniouieT. J would not for w<*rld0 have passed tliroagli 
 
184 TALES OF ALL OOUNTRrai. 
 
 Brussels without paying them this compliment. Thet wcwl 
 however, perhaps a little dull, and I was aware that I should 
 not prohably meet in their drawing-ixwrn many of the fashionable 
 inhabitants of the city. Mr. Homo had declined to accompany 
 mo; but in doing so he was good enough to express a warm 
 admiration for the character of my worthy cousins. 
 
 Tho elder Miss Mncmanus, in her little note, had informed me 
 that she would have the pleasure of introducing me to a few of my 
 "compatriots." I presumed she meant Englishmen; and as I 
 was in tho habit of meeting such every day of my life at home, 
 I cannot say that I was peculiarly elevated by tho promise. 
 "When, however, I entered the room, there was no Englishman 
 there ; — there was no man of any kind. There were twelve ladies 
 collected together with the view of making tho evening pass 
 agreeably to me, the single virile being among them all. I felt 
 as though I were a sort of Mohammed in Paradise ; but I cer- 
 tainly felt also that the Paradise was none of my own choosing. 
 
 In the centre of the amphitheatre which the ladies formed sat 
 the two Misses Macmanus ; — ^there, at least, they sat when they 
 had completed the process of shaking hands with me. To tho 
 left of them, making one wing of the semicircle, were arranged 
 the five pupils by attending to whom tho Misses Macmanus 
 earned their living ; and the other wing consisted of the five 
 ladies who had furnished themselves with relics of General 
 Chasse. They were my *' compatriots." 
 
 I was introduced to them all, one after tho other ; but their 
 names did not abide in my memory one moment. I was thinking 
 too much of the singularity of the adventure, and could not 
 attend to such minutiie. That the red-rosed harpy was Miss 
 Grogi'am, tluit I remembered ; — that, I may say, I shall never 
 forget. But whether the motherly lady with the somewhat 
 blowsy hair was Mrs. Jones, or Mrs. Green, or Mrs. "Walker, I 
 cannot now say. The dumpy female with tho broad back was 
 always called Aunt Sally by the young ladies. 
 
 Too much sugar spoils one's tea ; I think I have heard that 
 even prosperity will cloy when it comes in overdoses; and a 
 schoolboy has been known to be overdone with jam. I myself 
 have always been peculiarly attached to ladies* society, and havo 
 avoided bachelor parties as things execrable in their very nature. 
 XJut on this special occasion I felt myself to bo that schoolboy ;— 
 I was literally overdone with jam. My tea was all sugar, so 
 that I could not drink it. I was one among twelve. "NVhat 
 could I do or say ? Tho proportion of alloy was too smaU. to 
 
RELICS OP GENERAL CHASSl 135 
 
 hay© any effect in chnnging the nature of the virgin silver, and 
 the conversation became absolutely feminine. 
 
 I must confess also that my previous e^^crience as to these 
 compatriots of mine had not prejudiced mo in their favour. I 
 regarded them with, — I am ashamed to Bay so, Rceing that they 
 were ladies,— but almost with loathing. When last I had seen 
 them their occupation had reminded me of some obscene feast of 
 liai-pies, or almost of ghouls. Tliey had brought down to the 
 verge of desperation the man whom of all men I most venerated. 
 On these accounts I was inclined to bo taciturn with reference 
 to them; — and then what could I have to say to the Misses 
 Macmanus's five pupils ? 
 
 Ikty cousin at first made an effort or two in my favour, but 
 these efforts were fruitless. I soon died away into utter unrecog- 
 nised insignificance, and the conversation, as I have before said, 
 became feminine. And indeed that horrid Miss Grogram, who 
 was, as it were, the princess of the ghouls, nearly monopolised 
 the whole of it. Mamma Jones — we will call her Jones for the 
 occasion — put in a word now and then, as did also tho elder and 
 more energetic Miss Macmanus. The dumpy lady with the 
 broad back ate tea-cake incessantly ; the two daughters looked 
 scornful, as though they were above their company with reference 
 to the five pupils ; and the five pupils themselves sat in a row 
 with the utmost propriety, each with her hands crossed on her 
 lap before her. 
 
 Of what they were talking at last I became utterly oblivious. 
 They had ignored me, going into realms of muslin, questions of 
 maid servants, female rights, and cheap under-clothing ; and I 
 therefore had ignored them, ^ly mind had gone back to Mr. 
 Home and his garments. While they spoke of their rights, 1 
 was thinking of his wrongs ; when they mentioned the price of 
 flannel, I thought of that of broadcloth. 
 
 But of a sudden my attention was arrested. Miss Macmanus 
 had said something of the black silks of Antwerp, when Miss 
 Grogram replied that she had just returned from that city and 
 had there enjoyed a great success. My cousin had again asked 
 something about the black silks, thinking, no doubt, that Miss 
 Grogram had achioyed some bargain; but that lady had soon 
 undeceived her. 
 
 ''Oh no," said Miss Grogram, <'it was at the cistle. We 
 got such beautiful relics of General ChassS I Didn^t we, Mrs. 
 Jones?" 
 
 «( Indeed iro did," nid Mrs. Joqas^ bringing out ixom l>eneath 
 
186 TALES OP ALL OOUNTMES, 
 
 tho skirts of hor dross and ostonsibly displaying a large blaolt 
 bag. 
 
 ** And IVo got mich a beautiful nocdlo-case," said tho broad- 
 back, displaying hor prize. ** I've been making it up all the 
 morning.'' And she handed over tho article to Mias Macmanus. 
 *' And only look nt this duck of a pen- wiper," simpered flaxen- 
 hair No. 2. ** Only think of wiping one's pens with relics of 
 General ChassCl" and sho handed it over to tho other Miss 
 Macmanus. 
 
 *' And mine's a pin-cushion,'* said No. 1, exhibiting the 
 trophy. 
 
 "Ihit that's nothing to what I've got," said Mifls Grogram. 
 *' In tho first place, there's a pair of slippers, — a beautiful pair ; 
 — they're not made up yet, of course ; and then — " 
 
 The two ^liftses Macmanus and their five pupils were sitting 
 open-eared, open-eyed, and open-mouthed. How all these sombre- 
 looking articles could bo relics of General Chosso did not at first 
 appear clear to thorn. 
 
 ** What are they. Miss Grogram?" said tho older Miss Mac- 
 manus, holding the needle-case in one hand and Mrs. Jones's bag 
 in the other. Miss ^lacraanus was a strong-minded female, and 
 I reverenced my cousin when I saw the decided way in which 
 she intended to put down tho greedy arrogimco of Miss Grogram. 
 
 *' They are relics." 
 
 ** Ihit where do they come from, Miss Grogram ?" 
 
 ** Why, from tho castle, to bo suro j — from General ChossO's 
 own rooms." 
 
 ** Did anybody sell them to you ?** 
 
 «• No." 
 
 *' Or give them to you V* 
 
 ** \Vliy, no ; — at least not exactly give.** 
 
 ** There they were, and sho took 'em," said tho broad-book. 
 
 Oh, what a look Mias Grogram gave her 1 *' Took them ! of 
 course I took them. That is, you took them as much as I did. 
 They were things that wo found lying about." 
 
 "What things?" aslced Miss Macmanus, in a peculiarly 
 strong-minded tone. 
 
 Miss Grogram seemed to bo for a moment silenced. I had 
 been ignored, as I have said, and my existence forgotten ; but 
 now I observed that tho eyes of tho culprits were turned towards 
 mo, — tho eyes, that is, of four of them. Mrs. Jones looked at 
 mo from beneath her fan ; tho two girls glanced at mo furtively, 
 and then theii- eyes fell to the lowest llounc^s of their frocks. 
 
RELIC3 OP GENERAL CHASSlS. 137^ 
 
 Mi'ss GrogTflm turned her Bpectaclcs right upon mo, and I fancied 
 thttt fiho nodded her head at mo as a sort of answer to Miso 
 MacmanuB. Tho fivo pupils opened tlieir mouths and eyes 
 •wider ; but flho of tho broad back was nothing abashed. It 
 would have been nothing to her had there been a dozen gentle- 
 men in tho room. ** Wo just found a pair of black — .** Tho 
 wholo truth was told in tho plainest possible language. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Sally !" " Aunt Sally, how can you ?" " Hold 
 your tongue. Aunt Sally!" 
 
 *' And then Miss Grograra just cut them up with her scissors,'* 
 continued Aunt Sally, not a whit abashed, **and gave us each a 
 bit, only sho took moro than half for herself." It was clear 
 to mo that there had been somo quarrel, some delicious quarrel, 
 between Aunt Sally and Miss Urogram. Through tho wholo 
 ndventuro I had rather respected Aunt Sally. ** She took moro 
 than half for herself," continued Aunt Stdly. "Sho kept uU 
 the '' 
 
 "Jemima," said tho elder Miss Mficmanus, interrupting tho 
 speaker and addressing her sister, "it is time, I think, for tho 
 young ladies to retire. Will you bo kind enough to boo them to 
 their rooms?" The fivo pupils thereupon roso from their seats 
 and courtesied. They then left tho room in file, tho younger 
 Miss Macmanus showing them tho way. 
 
 " iJut wo haven't done any harm, have wo ?" asked Mrs. OToncB, 
 with somo tremulousness in her voice. 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said Miss Macmanus. "What I'm 
 thinking of now is this ; — to whom, I wonder, did tho garments 
 properly belong? Who had been the owner and wearer of 
 them?" 
 
 " Why, General Chasso of course," said Miss Grograra. 
 
 "They were tho general's," repeated tho two young ladies; 
 blushing, however, as they alluded to tho subject. 
 
 " Well, wo thought they were the general's, certainly; and 
 a very excellent article they were," said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " Perhaps they were the butler's ?" said Aunt Sally, I cer- 
 tainly had not given her credit for so much sarcasm. 
 
 "Butler's I" exclaimed Miss Grogram, with a toss of her 
 head. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Sally, Aunt Solly I how can you ?" shrieked the 
 two young ladies. 
 
 " Oh laws!" ejaculated Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " I don't think that they could have belonged to the butler," 
 •aid Miss MacmanuS| with much authority, <* i^eing that doxoestica 
 
188 TALES OP ALL COTJITTRIW. 
 
 in this Mtrntry aro hctot clad in garments of that d«scripti<m ; 
 BO far my own observation enables me to speak with certainty. 
 But it is equally sure that they were never the property of the 
 general lately in command at Antwerp. Genenils, when they 
 ore in full dress, wear ornamentnl lace upon their — their regi* 
 mentals ; and when — " So much she said, and something more, 
 which it may bo unnecessary tliat I should repent ; but such wero 
 her eloquence and lop^ic that no doubt would have been lelt on 
 the mind of any impartial hearer. If an argumentative speaker . 
 ever proved anything. Miss Mucmonus proved that General 
 Chasso had never been the wearer of the article in question. 
 
 " But I know very well they were his!" said Miss Grogram, 
 who was not an impaiiial hearer. ♦* Of course they were ; whoso 
 else's should they be?" 
 
 " I'm sure I hope they were his," said one of the young ladies, 
 almost crying. 
 
 ** I wish I'd never taken it," said the other. 
 " Dear, dear, dear !" said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " I'll give you my needle-case, Miss Grogram," said Aunt 
 Sully. 
 
 I had sat hitherto silent during the whole scene, meditating 
 how best I might confound the red-nosed harpy. Now, I thought, 
 was the time for me to strike in. 
 
 ** I really think, ladies, that there has been some mistake," 
 eaid I. 
 
 *' There has been no mistake at all, sir !" said Miss Grogram. 
 "Perhaps not," I answered, very mildly; "very likely not. 
 But some affair of a similar nature was very much talked about 
 in Antwerp yesterday." 
 
 " Oh laws 1" again ejaculated ^Irs. Jones. 
 " The affair I alludo to has been talked about a good deal, 
 certainly," I continued. "But perhaps it may be altogether a 
 different circumstance." 
 
 " And what may bo the circumstance to which yon allude ?*• 
 asked Miss Macmanus, in the same authoritative tone. 
 
 " I dare say it has nothing to do with these ladies," said I ; 
 " but an article of di*ess, of the nature they have described, was 
 cut up in the Castle of Antwerp on the day before yesterday. . 
 It belonged to a gentleman who was visiting the place ; and I 
 was given to understand that he is determined to punish the 
 people who have wronged him." 
 
 " It can't be the same," said Miss Grogram; but I could see 
 that she was trembling. 
 
RELICS OF GENERAL CHASS^. 139 
 
 *' Oh laws ! "what will become of us ?" said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 "You can all prove that I didn't touch them, and that I 
 warned her not," said Aunt Sally. In the mean time the two 
 young ladies had almost fainted behind their fans. 
 
 '' ]3ut how had it come to pass," asked Miss Macmanus, " that 
 the gentleman had — " 
 
 *'I know nothing more about it, cousin," said I; "only it 
 does seem that there is an odd coincidence." 
 
 Immediately after this I took my leave. I saw that I had 
 avenged my tiicnd, and spread dismay in the hearts of those who 
 had injured him. I had learned in the course of the evening 
 at what hotel the five ladies were staying ; and in the course of 
 the next morning I sauntered into the hall, and finding ono 
 of the porters alone, asked if they were still there. The man 
 told me that they had started by the earliest diligence. "And," 
 said he, " if you are a friend of theirs, perhaps you will take 
 charge of these things, which they have left behind them ? " 
 So saying, he pointed to a table at the back of the hall, on which 
 were lying the black bag, the black needle-case, the black pin- 
 cushion, and the black pen-wiper. There was also a heap oi 
 fragments of cloth which I well knew had been intended by 
 Miss Grogram for the comfort of her feet and ancles. 
 
 I declined the commission, however. " They were no special 
 friends of mine," I said ; and I left all the relics still lying on 
 the little table in the back hall. 
 
 "Upon the whole. I am satisfied! " said the Eer. Augustoi 
 Home, when I told him the finale oi the story. 
 
AN UNPROTECTED FEMALE AT THE 
 PYRAMIDS. 
 
 Iif the happy days when we were young, no description conveyed 
 to us so complete an idea of mysterious leality as that of an 
 Oriental city. "Wo knew it was octually there, hut had such 
 vogue notions of its ways and looks ! Let nny one remember 
 his eariy impressions as to Bagdad or Grand Cairo, and then wy 
 if this was not so. It was probably taken from the " Arabian 
 Nights," and the picture produced was one of strange, fantastic, 
 luxurious houses ; of women who were either very young and 
 very beautiful, or else very old and very cunning ; but in either 
 state exercising much more influence in life than women in the 
 East do now; of good-natured, capricious, though sometimes 
 tyrannical monarchs ; and of life full of quaint mysteries, quito 
 unintelligible in every phasis, and on that account the more 
 picturesque. 
 
 And perhaps Grand Cairo has thus filled us with more wonder 
 even than Bagdad. We have been in a certain manner at homo 
 at Bagdad, but have only visited Grand Cairo occasionally. I 
 know no place which was to me, in early years, so delightfully 
 mysterious as Grand Cairo. 
 
 But the route to India and Australia has changed all this. 
 Men from all countries going to the East, now pass through Cairo, 
 and its streets and costumes are no longer strange to us. It has 
 become also a resort for invalids, or rather for those who fear 
 that they may become invalids if they remain in a cold climate 
 during the winter months. And thus at Cairo there is always to 
 bo found a considerable population of French, Americans, and of 
 English. Oriental life is brought home to us, dreadfully diluted 
 by western customs, and the delights of the "Arabian Nights" 
 are shorn of half their value. AVlien we have seen a thing it is 
 never so magnificent to us as when it was half unknown. 
 
AN UNPROTECTTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS. 141 
 
 It is not much that wo deign to Icam from these Orientals,— 
 wc who glory in our civilisation. AVo do not copy their silence or 
 their abstemiousness, nor that invariable mindfulness of his own 
 personal dignity which always adheres to a Turk or to an Arab. 
 We chatter as much at Cairo as elsewhere, and eat as much and 
 drink as much, and dress ourselves generally in the same old, ugly 
 costume. 13ut wo do usually take upon ourselves to wear red 
 caps, and wo do ride on donkeys. 
 
 Kor are the visitors from the West to Cairo by any means con- 
 fined to the male sex. Ladies are to be seen in the streets, quito 
 regardless of the Mahommcdan custom which presumes a veil to 
 be necessary for an appearance in public ; and, to tell the truth, 
 the Mahommedans in general do not appear to be much shocked 
 by their effrontery. 
 
 A quarter of the town has in this way become inhabited by 
 men wearing coats and waistcoats, and by women who arc 
 without veils ; but the English tongue in Egypt finds its centro 
 at Shepheard's Hotel. It is liere that people congregate who are 
 looking out for parties to visit with them tho Upper Nile, and 
 who arc generally all smiles and courtesy ; and here also are to 
 be found they who have just returned from this journey, and who 
 are often in a frame of mind towards their companions that is 
 much less amiable. From hence, during tho winter, a cortege 
 proceeds almost daily to the Pyramids, or to Memphis, or to the 
 petrified forest, or to the City of tho Sun. And then, again, four 
 or five times a month the house is filled with young aspirants 
 going out to India, male and female, full of valour and bloom ; 
 or with others coming home, no longer young, no longer aspiring, 
 but laden with children and grievances. 
 
 The party with whom wo are at present concerned is not 
 about to proceed further than the TjTamids, and we shall be able 
 to go with them and return in one and tho same day. 
 
 It consisted chiefly of an English family, Mr. and Mrs. Darner, 
 their daughter, and two young sons ; — oi these chiefly, because 
 they w<ire the nucleus to which the others had attached them- 
 selves as adherents ; they had originated the journey, and in the 
 (\hole management of it Mr. Darner regarded himself as the 
 master. 
 
 The adherents were, firstly, M. Delaooroeau, a Fi-cnchman, 
 now resident in Cairo, who had given out that he was in some 
 Way concerned in the canal about to be made between tho 
 Mediterranean and the Bed Sea. In discussion on this subject 
 he hod become acquainted with Mr.Damer^ and although tho 
 
143 tAL£S Of AtL COtMKtBL 
 
 latter gentleman, true to English interests, perpetually declared 
 that the canal would never be made, and thua irritated M. 
 Pelabordeau not a little— nevertheless, some measure of friend- 
 ship had grown up between them. 
 
 There was also an American gentleman, Mr. Jefferson Ingram, 
 who was comprising all countries and all nations in one grand 
 tour, as American gentlemen so often do. He was young and 
 pood-looliing, and had made himself especially agreeable to Mr. 
 Damcr, who had declared, more than once, that Mr. Ingram was 
 by far the most rational American he had ever met. Mr. Ingram 
 would listen to Mr. Damer by the half-hour as to the virtue of 
 the British Constitution, and had even sat by almost with patience 
 when Mr. Damer had expressed a doubt as to the good working 
 of the United States* scheme of policy, — which, in an American, 
 was most wonderful. But some of the sojourners at Shepheard's 
 had observed that Mr. Ingram was in the habit of talking with 
 Miss Damer almost as much as with her father, and ai'gued iiom 
 that, that fond as the young man was of politics, he did some- 
 times turn his mind to other things also. 
 
 And then there was Miss Dawkins. Now Miss Dawkins was 
 an important person, both as to herself and as to her lino of life, 
 and she must bo described. She was, in the first place, an unpro- 
 tected female of about thirty years of age. As thia is becoming 
 an established profession, setting itself up as it were in opposi- 
 tion to the old world idea that women, like green peas, cannot 
 come to perfection without supporting-sticks, it will bo undcr- 
 stood at once what were Miss Dawkins' s sentiments. She 
 considered — or at any rate so expressed herself — that peas could 
 grow very well without sticks, and could not only grow thus 
 unsupported, but could also make their way about the world 
 without any incimibrance of sticks whatsoever. She did not 
 intend, she said, to rival Ida Pfeifier, seeing that she was attached 
 in a moderate way to bed and board, and was attached to society 
 in a manner almost more than moderate ; but she had no idea of 
 being prevented from seeing anything she wished to see because 
 she had neither father, nor husband, nor brother available for 
 the purpose of escort. She was a human creature, with arms 
 and legs, she said ; and she intended to use them. And this was 
 all very well ; "but nevertheless she had a strong inclination to 
 use the arms and legs of other people when she could make them 
 Beniceablo. 
 
 In. person Miss Dawkins was not without attraction. I should 
 exaggerato if I wcro to say that Bho was beautiful and elegant j 
 
AN UNPROTECTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS. 143 
 
 but she was good looking, and not usually ill mannered. She 
 ■was tall, and piled with features rather sharp and with eyes 
 very bright, llor hair was of the darkest shade of brown, and 
 was always worn in bandeaux, very neatly. She appeared 
 generally in black, though other circumstances did not lead one 
 to suppose that she was in mourning ; and then, no other travel- 
 ling costume i3 so convenient ! She always wore a dark broad- 
 brimmed straw hat, as to the ribbons on which she was rather 
 pai-ticular. She was very neat about her gloves and boots ; and 
 though it cannot bo said that her dress was got up without 
 reference to expense, there can bo no doubt that it was not 
 eflfccted without considerable outlay, — and more considerablo 
 thought. 
 
 Miss Dawkins — Sabrina Dawkins was her name, but she 
 Bcldom had friends about her intimate enough to use the word 
 Sabi-ina — was certainly a clever young woman. She could talk 
 on most subjects, if not well, at least well enough to amuse. If 
 she had not read much, she never showed any lamentable defi- 
 ciency ; she was good-humoured, as a rule, and could on occasions 
 be very soft and winning. People who had known her long 
 would sometimes say that she was selfish; but with new acquaint- 
 ance she was forbearing and self-denying. 
 
 "With what income Miss Dawkins was blessed no one seemed 
 to know. She lived like a gentlewoman, as far as outward 
 appearance went, and never seemed to be in want ; but some 
 people would say that she knew very well how many sides there 
 were to a shilling, and some enemy had once declared that she 
 was an ** old soldier." Such was Miss Dawkins. 
 
 She also, as well as Mr. Ingram and M. Delabordeau, had laid 
 herself out to find the weak side of Mr. Darner. Mr. Damer, 
 with all his family, was gouig up the JS'ilc, and it was known 
 that he had room for two in his boat over and above his own 
 family. Miss Dawkins had told him that she had not quite 
 mudo up lier miiul to undergo so great u fatigue, but that, never- 
 theless, she had a longing of the soul to see something of Nubia. 
 To this J[r. Damer had answered nothing but **0h!" which 
 Miss Dawkins had not found to bo encouraging. 
 
 But she had not on that account despaired. To a married man 
 there arc always two sides, and in this instance there was Mrs. 
 Damer as well as Mr. Damer. "When Mr. Damer said " Oh 1 " 
 Miss Datvkins sighed, and said,/* Yes, indeed ! " then smiled, and 
 betook herself to Mrs. Damer. 
 Kow Mrs. Domcr was Boft-hearted, and also somewhat old* 
 
144 fALSS of ALt OOtJytRtSf. 
 
 fashion jd. She did not concolro any riolent affection for Mist 
 Dawkins, but she told her daughter that "the singlo lady by 
 herself was a very nice young woman, and that it was a thousand 
 pities she should have to go about so much alone like." 
 
 Miss Darner had turned up her pretty nose, thinking, perhaps, 
 how small was tho chanco that it over should bo her own lot to 
 bo tm unprotected foiiiiilo. Ihit Mimh Dawkins carried her point 
 at ony rate as regarded tho expedition to tho Pyramids. 
 
 Miss Damer, I have said, had a pretty nose. I may also say 
 that she had pretty eyes, mouth, and chin, with other necessary 
 appendages, all pretty. As to the two Master Damers, who 
 were ^ respectively of tho ages of fifteen and sixteen, it may bo 
 Mifllcient to say that thov woro coiiHpicuouH for red caps and for 
 the eonstancv with wliich they raced thcii doukeyo. 
 
 And now the donkeys, and the donkey boys, and tho dragomans 
 were all standing at the steps of Shcpheard's Hotel. To each 
 donkey there was a donkey-boy, and to each gentleman thero 
 was a dragoman, so that a goodly cortege was assembled, and a 
 goodly noise was made. It may hero be remarked, perhaps with 
 Bomo little pride, that not half tlio noise is given in Kgypt to 
 persons speaking any other language tliut is bcbtowed on thoso 
 whoso vocabulary is English. 
 
 This lasted for half an hour. Had tho party been French tho 
 donkeys would have arrived only fifteen mmutes before tho 
 appointed time. And then out came Damcr pure and Damer 
 ni^re, Damer lllle, and Daiuer flls. Damer mure was leaning on 
 ]\vr luirtband, us was her wont. Slio was not an unprotected 
 female, and had no desire to muko any attempts in that line, 
 Damer fiUe was attended sedulously by Mr. Ingram, for whoso 
 demolishment, however, Mr. Damcr still brought up, in a loud 
 voice, the fag ends of certain political arguments which ho would 
 fain liavo poured direct into the cars of his opponent, liad not his 
 wife \)een ho perHintent in cliiiniing lier privih'gos. M. Delahor- 
 deau should Jiavo followed with Minn Dawkinn, but liirt IVench 
 politeness, or else his fi'ar of tho unprotected female, taught him 
 to walk on the other side of the mistress of tho party. 
 
 Miss Dawkins left tho house with an eager young Damer 
 yelling on each side of lier; but neverthelosM, tliough tlius 
 neglected by the gentlemen of tho party, she was all smiles and 
 prettiuehs, and looked ho sweetly on Mr. Ingram wlien that g(»n- 
 tleman stayed a moment to help her on to lier donkey, that his 
 heiiil cdtnu<4i mihguvu him fur leaving her u« soon u« »ho wiui in 
 her seak 
 
AN UNPROTECTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS. 145 
 
 And then they were off. In going from the hotel to the 
 Pyramids our party had not to pass through any of the queer 
 old narrow streets of the true Cairo — Cairo the Oriental. They 
 all lay behind them as they went down by.the back of thcL hotel, 
 by the barracks of the Pasha and the College of the Dervishes, 
 to the village of old Cairo and the banks of the Nile. . 
 
 Here they were kept half an hour while their dragomans made 
 a bargain with the ferryman, a stately reis, or captain of a boat, 
 who declared with much dignity that he could not carry them 
 over for a sum less than six times the amount to which he was 
 justly entitled; while the dragomans, with great energy on 
 behalf of their masters, offered him only five times that sum. 
 As far as the reis was concerned, the contest might soon have 
 been at an end, for the man was not without a conscience ; and 
 would have been content with five times and a half ; but then 
 the three dragomans quancllcd among themselves as to which 
 should have the paying of the money, and the affair became very 
 tedious. 
 
 ** What horrid, odious men !" said Miss Dawkins, appealing to 
 Mr. Damcr. ** Do you think they will let us go over at all ?'* 
 
 ** Well, I suppose they will; people do get over generally, I 
 bt'licve. Abdallah ! Abdaliah I why don't you pay the man ? 
 Thivt fellow is always striving to save half a piastre for me." 
 
 *' I wish he wasn't quite so particular," said Mrs. Damer, who 
 was already becoming rather tired; ** but I'm sure he's a very 
 honest man in trying to protect us from being robbed." 
 
 " That he is," said Miss Dawkins. " What a delightful trait 
 of national character it is to see these men so faithful to their 
 employers." And then at last they got over the ferry, Mr. 
 Ingram having descended among the combatants, and settled 
 tlic matter in dispute by threats and shouts, and an uplifted 
 stick. 
 
 They crossed the broad Nile exactly at the spot where the 
 niloracter, or river guage, measures from day to day, and from 
 year to year, the increasing or decreasing treasures of the stream, 
 and landed at a village where thousands of eggs are made into 
 chickens by the process of artificial incubation. 
 
 Mrs. Damer thought that it was very hard upon the maternal 
 hens — the hens which should have been maternal — ^that they 
 should be thus robbed of the delighte of motherhood. 
 
 " So unnatural, you know," said Miss Dawkins ; " so opposed 
 fco the fostering principles of creation* Don't you think so, "Mr, 
 
146 tALfiS OF ALL COUKTRIES. 
 
 Mr. Ingram said ho didn't Icnow. He was again seating Misi 
 Darner on her donkey, and it must be presiuned that he per- 
 formed this feat clumsily ; for Fanny Darner conld jump on and 
 off the animal with hardly a finger to help her, when her brother 
 or her father was her escort ; but now, under the hands of Mr. 
 Ingram, this work of mounting was one which required con- 
 Bidemblo time and care. All which Miss Dawkins observed with 
 precision. 
 
 ** It's all very well talking," said Mr. Damer, bringing up his 
 donkey nearly alongside that of Mr. Ingram, and ignoring Ids 
 daughter's presence, just as he would have done that of his dog ; 
 **but you must admit that political power is more equally dis- 
 tributed in England than it is in America." 
 
 ** Perhaps it is," said Mr. Ingram; "equally distributed 
 among, wo will say, three dozen families," and he made a feint 
 as though to hold in his impetuous donkey, using the spur, how- 
 CYcr, at the same time on the side that was unseen by Mr. Damer. 
 As he did so, Fanny's donkey became equally impetuous, and the 
 two cantered on in advance of the whole party. It was quite in 
 vain that Mr. Damer, at the top of his voice, shouted out some- 
 thing about ** three dozen corruptible demagogues." Mr. Iiigram 
 found it quite in^ossible to restrain his donkey so as to listen to 
 th« sarcasm. 
 
 **I do believe pnpa would talk politics," said Fanny, **if ho 
 were at the top of Mont lihmc, or under the Falls of Niagara. I 
 do hate politics, Mr. Ingram.'* 
 
 "I am sorry for that, very," said Mr. Ingram, almost sadly. 
 
 "Sorry, why? You don't want me to talk politics, do 
 you ? " 
 
 ** In America we are all politicians, more or less; and, there- 
 fore, I suppose you will hate us all." 
 
 " Well, I rather think I should," said Fanny ; " you would bo 
 fiuch bores." But there was something in her eye, as she spoke, 
 which atoned for the harslmcss of her words. 
 
 "A very nice young man is Mr. Ingram; don't you think 
 BO?" said Miss Dawkins to Mrs. Damer. Mrs. Damer was going 
 along upon bar donkey, not altogether comfortably. She much 
 wished to have her lord and legitimatK) protector by her side, but 
 he had left her to the care of a dragoman whose English was not 
 intelligible to her, and she was rather cross. 
 
 ** Indeed, Miss Dawkins, I don't know who are nice and who 
 are not. This nasty donkey stumbles at ever step. There 1 I 
 know I shall be down directly." 
 
AN UNPROTECTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS. 147 
 
 ** You need not be at all afraid of that ; they are perfectly safe, 
 I believe, always," said Miss Dawkins, rising in her stimip, and 
 handling her reins quite triumphantly. ** A yery little practico 
 will make you quite at home." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by a very little practice. I 
 have been hero six weeks. Why did you put mc on such a bad 
 donkey as this ?" and she turned to Abdallah, the dragoman. 
 
 ** Him berry good donkey, my lady ; beriy good, — best of all. 
 Call him Jack in Cairo. Him go to Pyramid and back, and mind 
 noting." 
 
 ** What does he say, Miss Dawkins ?" 
 
 *' He says that that donkey is one called Jack. If so I've 
 had liim myself many times, and Jack is a very good donkey." 
 
 '* I wish you had him now with all my heart," said Mrs. Damer. 
 Upon which Miss Dawkins offered to change ; but those perils of 
 mounting and dismounting were to Mrs. Damer a great deal too 
 severe to admit of this. 
 
 "Seven miles of canal to be carried out into the sea, at a 
 minimum depth of twenty-three feet, and the stone to be fetched 
 from Heaven knows where ! All the money in Franco wouldn't 
 do it." This was addressed by Mr. Damer to M. Delabordeau, 
 whom he had caught after the abrupt flight of Mr. Ingram. 
 
 ** Den we will borrow a leetle from England," said M, Dela- 
 bordcau. 
 
 "Precious little, I can tell you. Such stock would not hold 
 its price in our markets for twenty- four hours. If it were made, 
 the freights would be too heavy to allow of merchandise passing 
 tlirough. The heavy goods would all go round ; and as for pas- 
 sengers and mails, you don't expect to get them, I suppose, while 
 there is a railroad ready made to their hand?" 
 
 " Ve vill carry all your ships through vidout any transporta- 
 tion. Think of that, my friend." 
 
 ** Pshaw ! You are worse than Ingram. Of all the plans I 
 ever heard of it is tho most monstrous, the most impracticable, 
 
 the most " But here he was interrupted by the entreaties 
 
 of his wife, who had, in absolute deed and fact, slipped from her 
 donkey, and was now calling lustily for her- husband's aid. 
 Whereupon Miss Dawkins allied herself to the Frenchman, and 
 listened with an air of strong conviction to those arguments 
 which were so weak in the ears of Mr. Damer. M. Delabordeau 
 was about to ride across the Great Desert to Jerusalem, and it 
 might perhaps bo quite as well to do that with him, as to go up 
 the I^He a« ^ ad the second cataract with the Darners. 
 
14B TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 "And BO, M. Dolubordeau, you intend rooUy to start for 
 Mount Hinui?" 
 
 " Yc«, mccs ; to intend to nrnko one start on Mondoy week.** 
 
 *' And flo on to JcruRulcm. You arc quite right. It would bo 
 n thousand pities to bo in these countries, and to return without 
 going over sucli ground os that. I shall certainly go to Jerusalem 
 myHolf by that route." 
 
 •' Vot, mccs ! you ? Vould you not find it too much fatignnto ?" 
 
 •* 1 care nothing for I'atignc, if I like tlio parly I am witli,— 
 nothing at all, literally. You will hardly tindcrMtand mc, per- 
 haps, M. Ucliibonlcau ; but 1 do not hco any reason why I, as a 
 young woman, should not make any journey that is practicable 
 lor tt young man." 
 
 ** Ah 1 dat is great resolution for you, mces." 
 
 ** 1 mean as I'ar as fatigue is concerned. You are a Tn^nch- 
 man, and belong to the luition that is at the head of all hurnim 
 civilisation " 
 
 ^I. Delabordeau took off Ins hat and bowed low, to the peak 
 of his donkey saddle. He dearly loved to hear his country praised, 
 08 Miss Dawkins was aware. 
 
 ** And I am sure you must ogrce with me," continued Miss 
 T)iiwldns, 'Mhat the linie is gone by for women to consider 
 theiiiHelves helpless animals, or to be so considered by others." 
 
 "Mees Dawkins vould never be considered, not in any times 
 at all, to be one heli)leHs animal," said M. Delabordeau civilly. 
 
 *' I do not, at any rate, intend to bo so reganled," said sho. 
 *' It miU me to travel alone ; not that I am averse to society ; 
 quite the contraiy ; if I meet pleasant people I am always ready 
 to join them. Ihit it suits me to travel without any permanent 
 party, and 1 do not s(M) why false shame should pn^vent my seeing 
 the world as thorotighly as though 1 belonged to the other sex. 
 AVhy should it, M. Delabordeau ? " 
 
 M. Delabordeau declared that he did not see any reason why it 
 should. 
 
 ** I am passionately anxious to stand upon Mount Sinai," 
 continueil Miss Dawkins ; ** to press with my feet the earliest 
 spot in sacred history, of the identity of which we are certain ; 
 to foci within mo tlio awe-inspiring thrill of that thrice sacred 
 hour!" 
 
 The Frenchman looked as though he did not quite understand 
 her, but he said that it would be magnifique. 
 
 ** You have already made up your party I suppose, M. Dela- 
 bordeau?" 
 
AN UNPROTECTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS. 149 
 
 M. Delabordcau gave tho names of two Frenchmen and one 
 Englishman who were going with liim. 
 
 " Upon my word it is a groat temptation to join you," said 
 Miss Dawkins, " only for that liorrid Knglishraan.** 
 
 *'Vat, Mr. Stanley?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean any disrespect to Mr. Stanley. The horrid- 
 ncss T ppcak of docs not attach to him personally, Init to his stilK, 
 respectable, ungainly, WfU-bchaved, irrational, and uncivilised 
 country. You see 1 am not very patriotic." 
 
 ** Kot quite 80 moch as my friend, Mr. Darner." 
 
 *' Ila ! ha ! ha ! an excellent creature, isn't lie ? And so they 
 all are, dear creatures. IJut then they arc so backward. They 
 
 arc most anxious tliat I should join them up the Nile, but ," 
 
 and then Miss Dawkins shniggt d her slioulders gracefully, and, 
 as she Hattered herself, like a Frenchwoman. Alter that they 
 rode on in silence for a fc:w moments. 
 
 "Yes, I must see; Mount Sinai," said Miss Dawkins, and then 
 sighed deeply. M. ])elubordeau, notwithstanding that his country 
 does stand at tho liead of all human civilisation, was not courteous 
 enough to declare that if Miss Dawkins would join his pai-ty across 
 the desert, nothing would be wanting to make his beatitude in 
 this world perfect. 
 
 Their road from tho village of tho cliicken-hatehing ovens lay 
 up along tho left bank of the Nile, through an immense grove of 
 lofty palm-trees, looking out from among which our visitors 
 could ever and anon sec the heads of the two great Pyramids ; — 
 that is, such of them could sec it as felt any solicitude in tho 
 matter. 
 
 It is astonishing how such things lose their great charm an 
 men find themselves in their close neighbourhood. To one living 
 in New York or London, how ecstatic is the interest inspired by 
 these huge structures. One feels that no price would be too 
 high to pay for seeing them as long as time and distance, and 
 the world's inexorable task-w^ork, forbid such a visit. IIow 
 intense would bo tho delight of climbing over tho wondrous 
 handiwork of those wondrous architects so long since dead ; how 
 thiilling tho awe with which one would penetrate down into 
 their interior caves — thoso caves in which lay buried tho bones 
 of ancient kings, whoso very names seem to have come to us 
 almost from another world 1 
 
 But all these feelings become strangely dim, their acuto edges 
 wonderfully worn, as the subjects which^inspireid them are brought 
 near to us. ** Ah ! so those are tJbe Pyramids, are they ?" says 
 
150 TALKS OP ALL COUNTRIES, 
 
 the traveller, Tfhen the first glimpse of them is shown to him 
 from the window of a railway carriage. ** Dear me ; they Jon t 
 look BO very high, do they ? For Heaven's sake put the hlind down, 
 or wo shall he destroyed hy the dust." And then the ecstasy 
 and keen delight of the Pyramids has vanished lor ever. 
 
 Our friends, therefore, who for weeks past had seen from a 
 distance, though they had not yet visited them, did not seem to 
 have any strong feeling on the subject as they trotted through 
 the grove of palm-trees. Mr. Darner had not yet escaped from 
 his wife, who was still fretful from the result of her littlo 
 aceidont. 
 
 "It was all the chattering of that Miss Dawkins," said 
 ^frs. Darner. ** Sho would not let mo attend to what I was 
 doing." 
 
 ** Miss Dawkins is an ass," said her husband. 
 
 " It is a pity she has no one to look after her," said Mrs. Damer. 
 
 M. Delarbordeau was still listening to Miss Dawkins's raptures 
 about Mount Sinai. '* I wonder whether sho has got any money," 
 said M. Delabordeau to himself. " It can't be much," he went 
 on thinking, ** or she would not bo hjft in this way by herself." 
 And the result of his thoughts was that Miss Dawkins, if under- 
 taken, might probably become more plague than profit. As to 
 ^liss Dawkins herself, though she was ecstatic about Mount 
 Sinai — which was not present — she seemed to have forgotten the 
 poor Pyramids, which were then before her nose. 
 
 The two lads were riding races along the dusty path, much to 
 the disgust of their donkey-boys. Their time for enjoyment was 
 to come. There were hampers to be opened; and then the 
 absolute climbing of tho Pyramids would actually be a delight 
 to them. 
 
 As for ^liss Damer and Mr. Ingram, it was clear that they 
 had forgotten palm-trees. Pyramids, the Nile, and all Egypt. 
 They had escaped to a much fairer paradise. 
 
 *' Could I bear to live among Republicans?" said Fanny, 
 repeating the last words of her American lover, and looking 
 down from her donkey to the ground as sho did so. ** I hardly 
 know what Eepublicans are, Mr. Ingram." 
 
 **Let me teach you," said he. 
 
 **You do talk such nonsense. I declare there is that iMiss 
 Dawkins looking at us as though she had twenty eyes. Could 
 you not teach her, Mr. Ingram ?" 
 
 And so they emerged from tho palm-tree grove, through a 
 village crowded with dirty, straggling Arab children, on to thQ 
 
AN UNPROTECTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS. 151 
 
 cultiratocl plain, beyond which the Pyramids stood, now full 
 before them; the two large Pyramids, a smaller one, and the 
 huge sphynx's head all in a group together. 
 
 ** Fanny," said Bob Darner, riding up to her, *' mamma wants 
 you ; so toddle back." 
 
 ** Mamma wants me! "WTiat can she want me for now?" 
 said Fanny, with a look of anything but filial duty in her face. 
 
 "To protect her from !Miss Dawkins, I think. She wants 
 you to ride at her side, so that Dawkins mayn't get at her. 
 Kow, Mr. Ingram, I'll bet you half-a-crown I'm at the top of 
 the big Pyramid before you." 
 
 Poor Fanny! She obeyed, however; doubtless feeling that 
 it would not do as yet to show too plainly that she preferred 
 Mr. Ingram to her mother. She arrested her donkey, therefore, 
 till Mrs. Damer overtook her; and Mr. Ingram, as he paused 
 for a moment with her while she did so, fell into the hands i of 
 Miss Dawkins. 
 
 ** I cannot think, Fanny, how you get on so quick," said Mrs. 
 Damer. " I'm always last ; but then my donkey is such a very 
 nasty one. Look there, now ; he's always trying to get me off." 
 
 '* We shall soon be at the Pyramids now, mamma." 
 
 **IIow on earth I am ever to get back again I cannot think. 
 I am so tired now that I can hai-dly sit." 
 
 ** You'll bo better, mamma, when you get your luncheon and 
 a glass of wine." 
 
 "How on earth we are to eat and drink with those nasty 
 Arab people around us, I can't conceive. They tell me we shall 
 be eaten up by them. But, Fanny, what has Mr. Ingram been 
 saying to you all the day ?" 
 
 ** AVhat has he been saying, mamma ? Oh ! I dcm't know ;— 
 a bundled things, I dare say. Bu^ he has not been talking to 
 me all the time." 
 
 "I think he has, Fanny, nearly, since we crossed the river. 
 Oh, dear ! oh, dciir ! this animal does hurt me so ! Every time 
 he moves he flings his head about, and that gives me such a 
 bump." And then Fanny commiserated her mother's sufferings, 
 and in her commiseration contrived to' elude any further ques- 
 tionings as to Mr. Ingram's conversation. 
 
 "Majestic piles, are they not?^' said Miss Dawkins, who, 
 having changed her companion, allowed her mind to reveii; from 
 Mount Sinai to the Pyramids. They were now riding through 
 cultivated ground, vriih the vast extent of the sands of Libya 
 l)eforo tK^. ^e two Pyran^ds were sta^iding oxi tl^e margifl 
 
152 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 of the iand, with the head of the recumbent sphynx plainly 
 visible between them. But no idea can be formed of the size of 
 this immense figure till it is visited much more closely. Tho 
 body is covered with sand, and tho head and neck alone stand 
 above the surface of tho ground. They were still two miles dis- 
 tant, and the ephyi^x as yet was but an obscuru mount between 
 the two vast Pyramids. 
 
 * * Immense piles !" said Miss Dawkins, repeating her own words. 
 
 "Yes, they are large," said Mr. Ingram, who did not choose 
 to indulge in enthusiasm in tho presence of Miss Dawkins. 
 
 '♦Emormous! What a grand idea! — eh, Mr. Ingram? Tho 
 human race does not create such tilings as those nowotlays ! " 
 
 "No, indeed," he answered; "but perhaps wo create better 
 things." 
 
 " Better ! You do not mean to say, Mr. Ingram, that you are 
 an utilitaiian. I do, in truth, hope better things of you than 
 that. Yes! steam mills aro better, no doubt, and mechanics* 
 institutes and peimy newspapers. i3ut is nothing to bo valued 
 but what is useful?" And Miss Dawkins, in the height of her 
 enthusiasm, switched her donkey severely over the shoulder 
 
 " I might, perhap3, have said also that we create more beau- 
 tiful tilings," said Mr. Ingram. 
 
 " But we cannot create older things." 
 
 " No, certainly ; wo cannot do that." 
 
 " Nor can wo imbuo what we do create wUh tho grand asso- 
 ciations which environ those piles with so intense an interest. 
 Think of the mighty dead, Mr. Ingram, and of their great homes 
 when living. Tliink of the hands which it took to raise those 
 huge blocks — " 
 
 " And of the lives which it cost." 
 
 " Doubtless. The tyranny and invincible power of tho royal 
 architects add to the grandeur of the idea. One would not wish 
 to have back tho kings of Egypt." 
 
 " Well, no ; they would be neither useful nor beautiful." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; and I do not wish to bo picturesque at the 
 expense of my fellow-creatures." 
 
 "I doubt, oven, whether they would be picturesque." 
 
 " You know what I mean, Mr. Ingram. But tho associations 
 »f such names, and tho presence of tho stupendous works with 
 which they are connected, fill the soul with awe. Such, at least, 
 is the effect with mine." 
 
 " I fear that my tendencies, Miss Dawkins, are more realistic 
 than your o^vn." 
 
AN UNPEOTECTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS. 153 
 
 "You belong to a young conntry, Mr. Ingram, and are 
 naturally prone to think of material life. The necessity of living 
 looms largo before you." 
 
 *' Very largo, indeed, "M-im Dawkins." 
 
 " "Whereas with us, with some of us at least, the material 
 nfipect has given place to one in which poetry and enthusiasm 
 prevail. To such among us the associations of past times are 
 veiy dear. Cheops, to me, is more than Napoleon Bonaparte." 
 
 ** That is more than most of your countrymen can say, at any 
 rate, just at present." 
 
 " 1 am a woman," continued Miss Dawkins. 
 
 Mr. Ingram took off his hat in acknowledgment both of the 
 announcement and of the fact. 
 
 ** And to us it is not given — ^not given as yet — ^to share in the 
 great deeds of the present. The envy of your sex has driven us 
 from the paths which lead to honour. But the deeds of the 
 past are as much ours as yours." 
 
 ** Oh, quite as much." 
 
 " 'Tis to your country that we look for enfranchisement from 
 this thraldom. Yes, Mr. Ingram, the women of America have 
 that strength of mind which has been wanting to those of 
 Europe. In the United States woman will at last learn to 
 exorcise her proper mission." 
 
 Mr. Ingram expressed a sincere wish that such might be the 
 case ; and then wondering at the ingenuity with which Miss 
 Bawkins had travelled round from Cheops and his Pyramid to 
 the rights of women in America, he contrived to fall back, under 
 the pretence of asking after the ailments of Mrs. Damer. 
 
 Aiid now at last they were on the sand, in the absolute 
 desert, making their way up to the very foot of the most northern 
 of the two Pyramids. They were by this time surrounded by a 
 crowd of Arab guides, or Arabs professing to be guides, who had 
 already ascertained that Mr. Damer was the chief of the party, 
 and were accordingly driving him almost to madness by tho 
 offers of their services, and their assurance that he could not 
 possibly see the outside or the inside of either structure, or even 
 remain alive upon the ground, unless he at once accepted their 
 offers made at their own prices. 
 
 " Get away, v/ill you ? " said he. " I don't want any of you, 
 and I won't have you ! If you take hold of me I'll shoot you ! " 
 This was said to one specially energetic Arab, who, in his efforts 
 to secure his prey, had caught hold of Mr. Damer by the leg. 
 
 ** Yes, yes, 1 say ! Englishmen always taka me ;-^me-*me| 
 
154 TALES OF ALL OOUNTBim 
 
 and tbon no break him leg. Yes— yc»— yos ;— I go. Koatcfp 
 •uy yen. Only one lootlo Urn nhillingfi ! ** 
 
 *• Aklulltth I ** shouted Mr. Dumor, " why don't yon tnko th!« 
 man riway? Wliy don't you muko him undrrBtnnd that if-oU 
 tiio PyramidB dcpoi^dod on it, I would not give him Bixponcc!" 
 . And then Abaallah, thus invoked, camo up, and explained to 
 tho man in Arabic that ho would gain his object more surely if 
 ho would bohavo himself a littlo more quietly ; a hint which tho 
 man took for one minute, and for one minuto only. 
 
 And then poor "Mrn. Darner replied to an application for back- 
 nheish by the gift of a pixpenco. Unfortunate woman I Tho 
 wonl baekaheiHli mrnn?<, I believe, Q gift ; but it has come in 
 ]'l;^^y])t to signify money, and is eternally dinned into tho cars of 
 btrangers by Ai'ab Buppliants. ^Irs. Darner ought to have known 
 better, as, during tho last six weeks sho had never shown lief 
 face out of Sheplieard's lIoUl without being postered for back- 
 sheinh ; but she was tired and weak, and foolishly thought to rid 
 lierself of the man who wasannoying her. 
 
 No sooner had tho coin dropped from her hand into that of tho 
 Arab, than she was Hurroundc*! by a cluster of beggars, who 
 loudly made their petitions as though they wo\ild, each of them, 
 individujilly bo injured if treated with less liberality than that 
 ilrst comer. They took hold of her donliey, her ])ri(ll(^, her 
 paddle, hvv legs, and at last her arms and hands, screaming for 
 backsheish in voices that were neither sweet nor mild. 
 
 In her dismay sho did give nway simdry small coins — all, pro» 
 bably, that sho had about her; but this only mado tho matter 
 "Worso. Money was going, and each num, by suflleient energy, 
 might hope to get some of it. They were very energetic, and so 
 frightened tlio poor lady that she would certainly have fallen, 
 had sho not been kept on her seat by tho pressure around her. 
 
 <*0h, dear! oh, dear! get away,'' she cried. ** I haven't got 
 nny moro; indeed I haven't. Go away, I tell you! Mr. Danur! 
 oh, ^fr. Darner!" and then, in tho excess of her agony, sho 
 uttered one loud, long, and continuous shriek. 
 
 Up camo ^Ir. Darner ; up camo Abdallah ; up camo M. Dela- 
 bordeau; up camo ]Mr. Ingram, and at last sho was rescued. 
 " You shouldn't go away and leave mo to the mercy of theso 
 nasty people. As to- that Abdallali, ho is of no use to anybody." 
 
 *' Why you bodder do good lady, you dem blackguard? " said 
 Abdallah, raising his stick, as though ho were going to lay them 
 all low with a blow. " Now you get noting, you tief ! " 
 
 Tho Arabs for a moment retired to a littlo distance^ like fliea 
 
AN UNPllOTECTED FEMALE AT THE PYRAMIDS. 155 
 
 driven fron\ u 6iip;ar-"bowl ; but it was cnsy to sco tliat, liko tho 
 llicf*, tlioy would return at tlio first vacant moment. 
 
 And now tlicy luid reached tho very foot of tho r3rramid8 and 
 proceeded to dismount from their donkoye. Their intention was 
 11 rat to ascend to tho top, then to conio down to their banquet, 
 end after that to penetrate into tho interior. And all this would 
 Bccm to bo easy of performance. Tlio Pyramid is undoubtedly 
 lii^^h, but it is eo constructed as to admit of climbing without 
 difUrulty. A lady mounting it would undoubtedly need some 
 assintancc, ])ut {iny man possessed of moderate activity would 
 require no aid at all. 
 
 But our friends wcro at onco imbued with tho tremendous 
 nature of tho task before them. A slicikh of tho Arabs camo 
 lorth, who communicated with them through Abdallah. Tho 
 work could be done, no doubt, ho said ; but a great many men 
 would bo wanted to assist. Kach lady must have four Arabs, 
 and each gentlemen three ; and then, seeing that tho work 
 would be peculiarly severe on this special day, each of these 
 numerous Arabs must bo ronumcratcd by somo very largo number 
 of piastj'cs. 
 
 ilr. Damor, wlio was by no means a close man in liis money 
 dealings, opened his eyes with surprise, and mildly expostulated; 
 M. Delabordeau^ who was rather a close man in his reckonings, 
 immediately buttoned up his breeches pocket and declared that 
 ho should decline to mount tho Pyramid at all at that price ; 
 and then Mr. Ingram descended to the combat. 
 
 Tho protestations of tho men were fearful. They declared, 
 with loud voices, eager actions, and manifold English oaths, 
 that an attempt was being made to rob them. They had a right 
 to demand tho sums which they wero charging, and it was a 
 shame that English gentlemen should come and take tho brcafl 
 out of their mouths. And so they screeched, gesticulated, and 
 iworo, and frightened poor Mrs. Damer almost into fits. 
 
 I Jut at last it was settled and away they started, tho sheikh 
 declaring that the bargain had been mode at so low a rate as to 
 leavo him not one piastre for himself. Each man had an Arab 
 on each side of him, and Miss Dawkins and Miss Damcr had 
 each, in addition, ono behind. Mrs. Damer was so frightened aa 
 altogether to have lost all ambition to ascend. She sat below oa 
 a fragment of stone, with the three dragomans standing around 
 lier as guards ; but even with the three dragomans the attacks on 
 her wero so frequent, and as she declared afterwards she was so 
 )^^|nlderedy that she oeyer luui timd to remember that ilie lu4 
 
166 TALES OP ALL OOUNTRIEaL 
 
 come there from England to see the Pyramids, and that she wafl 
 now immediately imder them. 
 
 The boys, utterly ignoring their guides, scrambled up quicker 
 than the Arabs could follow them. Mr. Damer started off at a 
 pace which soon brought him to the end of his tether, and from 
 that point was dragged up by the sheer strength of his assistants; 
 thereby accomplishing the wishes of the men, who induce their 
 victims to stai't as rapidly as possible, in order that they may 
 soon find themselves helpless from want of wind. Mr. Ingram 
 endeavoured to attach lumsolf to Fanny, and she would have 
 been nothing loth to hove him at her right hand instead of the 
 hideous brown, shrieking, one-eyed Arab who took hold of her. 
 But it was soon foimd that any such arrangement was impossible. 
 Each guide felt that if he lost his own peculiar hold he would 
 lose his prey, and held on, therefore, with invincible tenacity. 
 Miss Dawkms looked, too, as though she had thought to be 
 attended to by some Christian cavalier, but no Christian cavalier 
 was forthcoming. M. Delabordeau was the wisest, for he took 
 the matter quietly, did as he was bid, and allowed the guides 
 nearly to caiTy him to the top of the edifice. 
 
 **Ha! BO this is the top of the Pyramid, is it?" said Mr. 
 Damer, bringing out his words one by one, being terribly out of 
 breath. " Very wonderful, very wonderful, indeed ! " 
 
 " It is wonderful," said Miss Dawkins, whose breath had not 
 failed her in the least, ** very wonderful, indeed ! Only think, 
 Mr. Damer, you might travel on for days and days, till days 
 became months, through those interminable sands, and yet you 
 would never come to the end of them. Is it not quite stu- 
 pendous ? " 
 
 **Ah, yes, quite, — puff, puff" — said Mr. Damer striving to 
 regain his breath. 
 
 Mr. Damer was now at her disposal ; weak and worn with toil 
 and travel, out of breath, and with half his manhood gone ; if 
 ever she might prevail over him so as to procure from his mouth 
 an assent to that Nile proposition, it would be now. And after 
 all, that Kilo proposition was the best one now before her. She 
 did not quite like the idea of starting off across the Great Desert 
 without any lady, and was not sure that she was prepared to bo 
 fallen in love with by M. Delabordeau, even if there should ulti- 
 mately be any readiness on the part of that gentleman to perform 
 the role of lover. With Mr. Ingram the matter was different, 
 nor was she so diflSdent of her own charms as to think it alto- 
 gether impossible that she might succeed, in the teeth of that 
 
AK UNPROTECTED FEMAtE AT THE PtRAMTDa. IS? 
 
 little chit, Fanny Damer. That Mr. Ingram would join tho 
 party up the Nile Bhe had very little doubt ; and then thero 
 would bo one place left for her. She would thus, at any rate, 
 become commingled with a most respectable family, who might 
 be of material service to her. 
 
 Thus actuated she commenced an earnest attack upon Mr. 
 Damcr. 
 
 ** Stupendous ! '* she said again, for she was fond of repeating 
 favourite words. " "What a wondrous race must have been those 
 Egyptian kings of old ! " 
 
 *' I dare say they were," said Mr. Damer, wiping his brow as 
 he sat upon a large loose stone, a fragment lying on the flat top 
 of the Pyramid, one of those stones with which the complete 
 apex was once made, or was once about to be made. 
 
 "A magnificent race ! so gigantic in their conceptions ! Their 
 ideas altogether overwhelm us poor, insignificant, latter-day 
 mortals. They built these vast Pyramids ; but for us, it is task 
 enough to climb to their top." 
 
 *♦ Quite enough," ejaculated Mr. Damer. 
 
 But Mr. Damer would not always remain weak and out of 
 breath, and it was absolutely necessary for Miss Dawkins to 
 hurry away from Cheops and his tomb, to Thebes and Kamac. 
 
 ** After seeing this it is impossible for any one with a spark of 
 imagination to leave Egypt without going fai'ther a-field." 
 
 Mr. Damcr merely wiped his brow and grunted. This Miss 
 Dawkins took as a signal of weakness, and went on with her 
 task perse veringly. 
 
 *'Eor my sell', I have resolved to go up, at any rate, as far as 
 Asouan and the first cataract. I had thought of acceding to the 
 wishes of a party who are going across the Great Desert by Mount 
 Sinai to Jerusalem ; but the kmdness of yourself and Mrs. Damer 
 is so great, and the prospect of joining in your boat is so plea- 
 surablo, that I have made up my mind to accept your very kind 
 off'er.'' 
 
 This, it will be acknowledged, was bold on the part of Miss 
 Dawkins ; but what will not audacity effect ? To use the slang 
 of modem language, cheek carries everything nowadays. And 
 whatever may have been Miss Dawkius'g deficiencies, in this 
 virtue she was not deficient. 
 
 ** I have made up my mind to accept your very kind offer," 
 she said, shining on Mr. Damer with her blandest smile. 
 
 What was a stout, breathless, perspiring, middle-aged gentle- 
 naxi to do under fuoli oixcumstances ? Mr. Damer was a man 
 
15d tALfiS 6T Alt OOTJKtRlEd. 
 
 vrhOf in most matters, had his own way. That hLi wife ehculd 
 have given such an invitation without consulting him, was, he 
 knew, quite impossible. She would as soon have thought of 
 iwking all those Arab guides to accompany them. Nor was it to 
 bo thought of that he should allow himself to be kidnapped into 
 Mich an arrangement by the impudence of any Miss Dawkins. 
 lint there was, he felt, a difficulty in answering such a propo- 
 pition from a young lady with a direct negative, especially while 
 he was so scant of breath. So he wiped his brow again, and 
 looked at her. 
 
 " But I can only agree to tJiis on one understanding," con- 
 tinued Miss Dawkins, " and that is, that I am allowed to defray 
 my own full share of the expense of the journey." 
 
 Upon hearing this Mr. Damcr thought that he saw his way out 
 of the wood. " "Wherever I go, Miss Dawkins, I am always the 
 paymaster myself,** and this he contrived to say with some stern- 
 ness, palpitating though he still was ; and the sternness which 
 was deficient in his voice he endeavoured to put into his 
 countenance. 
 
 I3ut ho did not know Miss Dawkins. " Oh, Mr. Damer," she 
 said, and as she spoke her smile became almost blander than it 
 was before ; ** oh, Mr. Darner, I could not think of suffering you 
 to be so liberal ; I could not, indeed. But I shall be quite con* 
 tent that you should pay everything, and let mo settle with ysu 
 in one sum afterwards." 
 
 Mr. Damer's breath was now rather more under his own 
 command. **I am afraid. Miss Dawkins," he said, "that 
 Mrs. Damer's weak state of health will not admit of such an 
 arrangement." 
 
 ** What, about the paying? " 
 
 ** Not only as to that, but we are a family party. Miss Dawkins; 
 and great as would be the benefit of your society to all of us, in 
 Mrs. Damer's present state of health, I am afraid — in short, you 
 would not find it agreeable. — Ajid therefore — " this ho added, 
 seeing that she was still about to persevere^" I fear that wo 
 must forego the advantage you offer." 
 
 And then, looking into his face, Miss Dawkins did perceive 
 that even her audacity would not prevail. 
 
 ** Oh, veiy well," she said, and moving from the stone on which 
 she had been sitting, she walked off, carrying her head very high, 
 to a corner of the Tyramid from which she conld look forth alone 
 tftwai'da the sands of Libya. 
 
 In the mean time another little orertnrd waa being made on 
 
A» UNPROTECTED FEMALE At tUE f>YRAMlDa l69 
 
 tho top of the same Pyramid, — an overture which was not 
 received quite in the same spirit. "While Mr. Darner was 
 rccovciing his breath for the sake of answering Miss Dawkins, 
 Miss Darner had walked to the further comer of the square plat- 
 forai on which they were placed, and there sat herself down 
 with her face turned towards Cairo. Perhaps it was not singular 
 that Mr. Ingram should have followed her. 
 
 This would have been very well if a dozen Arabs had not also 
 followed them. But as this was the case, Mr. Ingram had to 
 play his game under some difficulty. Ho had no sooner seated 
 himself beside her than they came and stood directly in front of 
 the scat, shutting out the view, and by no means improving the 
 fragrance of the air around them. 
 
 **And this, then. Miss Damer, will be our last excxirsion 
 together," he said, in his tendcrest, softest tone. 
 
 **De good Englishman will gib do poor Arab one little back- 
 sheish," said an Arab, putting out Ins hand and shaking Mr. 
 Ingram's shoulder. 
 
 ** Yes, yes, yes; him gib backshcish," said another. 
 
 "Him berry good man," said a third, putting up his filthy 
 hand, and touching Mr. Ingram's face. 
 
 ** And young lady berry good, too ; she give backshcish to poor 
 Arab." 
 
 *' Yes," said a fourth, preparing to take a similar liberty with 
 Miss Damer. 
 
 This was too much for Mr. Ingram. He had already used very 
 positive language in his endeavour to assure his tormentors that 
 they would not get a piastre from him. But this only changed 
 their soft persuasions into threats. Upon hearing which, and 
 upon seeing what the man attempted to do in his endeavour to 
 get money from Miss Damer, he raised his stick, and struck first 
 one and then the other as violently as he could upon their heads. 
 
 Any ordinary civilised men would have been stunned by such 
 blows, for they fell on the bare foreheads of the Arabs ; but the 
 objects of the American's wrath merely skulked away ; and the 
 others, convinced by the only arguments which they understood, 
 followed in pursuit of victims who might be less pugnacious. 
 
 It is hard for a man to be at once tender and pugnacious — to 
 be sentimental, while he is putting forth his physical strength 
 "vs-ith all the violence in his power. It is difficult, also, for him 
 to be gentle instantly after having been in a rage. So he changed 
 his tactics at the moment, and came to the point at once in a 
 mwrer befitting his present state of mind* 
 
ISO tALBS Off Alt OOtmrRML 
 
 " ThoM tIIo wretches have put mo in auch a heat,** he said, 
 " that I hardly know what I am Baying. But the fact w thin, 
 liliss Damor, I cannot Icavo Cairo without knowing—. You 
 understand what I mean, Miss Damcr." 
 
 " Indeed I do not, ^Ir. Ingram ; except that I am afraid you 
 mean nonsense.'* 
 
 **Yc9, you do; yciu know that I love you. I am sure you 
 must know it. At any rate you know it now." 
 
 '* ^Ir. In{^rara, you should not talk in such a way." 
 
 "Why should I not ? But the truth is, Fanny, I can talk in 
 no other way. I do lovo you dearly. Can you love mo well 
 enough to go and ho my wife in a country far away from your 
 own?" 
 
 l^i^foro sho loft the top of the Pyramid Fanny Damor had said 
 that bIio would try. 
 
 ^[r. Ingi-am was now a proud and happy man, and seemed to 
 think tho steps of tho Pyramid too small for his clastic energy. 
 But Fanny feared that her troubles were to como. There was 
 papa — that terrible bugbear on all such occasions. "What would 
 papa say ? Sho was sure her papa would not allow her to marry 
 and go BO far away from her own family and country, For her- 
 Belf, sho liked tho Americans — always had liked them; so she 
 Baid; — would desire nothing better than to live among them. 
 But papa ! And Fimny sighed as sho felt that all the recognised 
 miseries of a young lady in love were about to fall upon her. 
 
 Nevertheless, at her lover's instance, she promised, and de- 
 clared, in twenty different loving plirascs, that nothing on earth 
 Bhould ever make her false to her love or to her lover. 
 
 *' Fanny, where are you? AVhy are you not ready to como 
 down?" shoiited Mr. Darner, not in the best of tempers. Ho 
 felt that he had almost been unkind to an unprotected female, 
 and his heart misgave him. And yet it would have misgiven 
 him more had ho allowed himself to be entrapped by Miss 
 Dawkius. 
 
 ** I am quite ready, papa," said Fanny, running up to him — 
 for it may be understood that there is quite room enough for a 
 young lady to run on tho top of tho P}Tamid. 
 
 ** I am sure I don't know where you have been all tho time," 
 said Mr. Damer ; " and where are those two boys ? " 
 
 Fanny pointed to the top of the other Pyramid, and there they 
 were, conspicuous with their red caps. 
 
 " And M. Delabordeau ?" 
 
 ** Oh ! ho has gone down, I think ; — no, he is there with Misa 
 
AN UNPROTECTED TEMALtl AT THE PYRAMIDS. 161 
 
 Dawkins." And in truth Miss Dawkins was loaning on his arm 
 most nfTi'ctionatt'ly, as she stooped over and looked down upon 
 the niius below her. 
 
 " And where is that fellow, Ingram ?" said Mr. Darner, look- 
 ing about him. "Ho is always out of tho way when he's 
 wanted." 
 
 To tliis Fanny said notliing. "Why should she ? Sho was not 
 Mr. Ingram's keeper. 
 
 And tlicn they all descended, each again with his proper nura- 
 b(T of Arabs to liuny and embarrass him ; and they found Mrs. 
 Damer at the bottom, like a piece of sugar covered with flies. 
 She was heanl to declare afterwards that she would not go to tho 
 Pyramids again, not if they were to bo given to her for herself, 
 as ornaments for her garden. 
 
 Tho picnic lunch among tho big stones at tho foot of tho 
 Pyramid was not a very gay affair. Miss Dawkins talked moro 
 than any one else, being detennined to show that sho boro her 
 defeat gallantly. Her converHation, however, was chiefly ad- 
 dressed to M. Dclabordeau, and ho seemed to tliink moro of his 
 cold chicken and ham than he did of her wit and attention. 
 
 Fanny hardly spoke a word. There was her father before her 
 and she could not eat, much less talk, as she thought of all that 
 she would have to go through. "What would ho say to tho idea 
 of having an Amciican for a son-iu-law ? 
 
 Kor was Mr. Ingram very lively. A young man when ho has 
 been just accepted, never is so. His happiness under tho present 
 circumstances was, no doubt, intense, but it was of a silent 
 nature. 
 
 And then the interior of tho building had to bo visited. To 
 tell tho truth none of the party would have cared to perform this 
 feat had it not been for the honour of the thing. To have como 
 from Paris, New York, or London, to tho Pyramids, and then 
 not to have visited the very tomb of Cheops, would have shown 
 on tho part of all of them an indifl'crcnco to subjects of interest 
 which would have been altogether fatal to their character as 
 ti'avcllers. And so a pai-ty for the interior was made up. 
 
 Miss Damer when sho saw tho aperture through which it was 
 expected that sho should descend, at onco declared for staying 
 with her mother. Miss Dawkins, however, was enthusiastic for 
 tho journey. *' Persons with so very little command over their 
 nerves might really as well stay at home," she said to Mr. Ingram, 
 who glowered at her drcadfudly for expressing such an opinion 
 ^^ui^^ Fanny. 
 
 X 
 
162 TALES OS* ALL OOUimilfiS. 
 
 This entrance into the Pyramids is a terrible task, which should 
 ho iindcrtaken by no ludy. Thoso who perform it hmro to creep 
 4own, and then to bo dropped up, through infinite dirt, foul 
 ;m(»lbi, and bad ^ir; and when they have done it, they bco 
 nothing. iJut thejr do cam the gratiflcation of saying that they 
 huvo been inside a PjTamid. 
 
 "Well, I've done thnt once," said Mr. Darner, coming out, 
 •* and I do not think that any one -will catch me doing it again. 
 I never was in such a filtliy phico in mv life." 
 
 *' Oh, Fanny ! I am so glud you did not go ; I am sure it la 
 not fit for ladies," said poor Mrs. Darner, forgetful of her friend 
 Miss Dawkins. 
 
 *' I should have been ashamed of myself," said Miss Dawkins, 
 bristling up, and throwing Lack her head as she stood, " if I had 
 allowed any consideration to liavc prevented my visiting such a 
 spot. If it bo not improper for men to go there, how can it bo 
 improper for women ?" 
 
 ** I did not say improper, my dear," said Mrs. D.imer, apolo- 
 getically. 
 
 ** And as for the fatigue, what can a woman bo "V/orth who ia 
 afraid to encounter as much as I have now gone thrvXigh for the 
 eako of visiting the last rcating-jdace of such a king m Cheops ?" 
 And Miss Dawkins, as she pronounced the last words, looked 
 round her with disdain upon poor Fanny Damer. 
 
 " But I meant the dirt," said Mrs. Damer. 
 
 **Dirt!" ejaculated !^[iss Dawkins, and then walked away. 
 "Why Bhould t^hc now submit her high tone of feeling to tho 
 Darners, or why care longer for their good opinion ? Tlicreforo 
 she Fcattcred contempt around her as she ejaculatfkl the last 
 word, **dirt." 
 
 And then the return home! "I know I shall never get 
 there," said Mrs. Damer, looking piteonsly up into hel husband's 
 face. 
 
 ''Konscnse, my dear; nonsense; you must get thci^." Mrs. 
 Damer groaned, and acknowledged in her heart that she must,— 
 cither dead or alive. 
 
 " And, Jefferson," said Fanny, whispering — for there had been 
 a moment since their descent in which she had been instructed to 
 call him by his Christian name — "never mind talking to mo 
 going homo. I will lidc by mamma. Do you go with papa and 
 put him in good humour; and if lie sa^s anything about the lordi 
 and tho bishops, don't you contradict him, you know." 
 
 What will not a man do for love ? Mr. Ingram promised. 
 
AN UNPROTECTED i^MALB AT THE PYRA&aDS. 163 
 
 And in this way they Btartcd ; the two boys led the van ; then 
 came Mr. Damcr and Mr. Ingram, unusually and unpatriotically 
 acquiescent as to England's aristocratic propensities ; then Miss 
 Dawkins riding, alas ! alone ; after her, M. Dclabordeau, also 
 alone, — the ungallant Frenchman ! And the rear was brought 
 up by Mrs. Darner and her daughter, flanked on each side by a 
 diagomnn, witli a third dragoman behind tliem. 
 
 And in this order they went back to Cairo, riding their donkeys, 
 and crossing tlic feiry solemnly, and, for the most part, silently. 
 Mr. Ingram did talk, aw he had an important object ia view,— 
 that of putting Mr. Darner into a good humour.^ ^ 
 
 In this ho eucceeded so well that by the time they had re- 
 mounted, after crossing the Nile, Mr. Damer opened his heart to 
 his companion on the subject that was troubling him, and told 
 him all about Miss Dawkins. 
 
 ** I don't see wliy wc should have a companion that we don't 
 like for eight or ten weeks, merely because it seems rude to 
 refuse a Indy.'* 
 
 ** Lideed, I agree with you," said Mr. Ingram ; " I should call 
 it weak-minded to give way in such a case." 
 
 ** My daughter docs not like her at all,'* continued Mr. Damer. 
 
 *' Kor would she be a nice companion for Miss Damer ; not 
 according to my way of thinking," said Mr. Ingram. 
 
 ** And as to my having asked her, or Mrs. Damer having asked 
 her ! AVhy, God bless my soul, it is pure invention on the woman's 
 part!" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed Mr. Ingiam ; " I must say she plays 
 her game well ; but then she is an old soldier, and has the benefit 
 of experience." \Vliat would Miss Dawkins have said had she 
 known that Mr. Ingram called her an old soldier ? 
 
 ** I don't like the kind of thing at all," said Mr. Damer, who 
 was very serious upon the subject. ** You see the position in 
 which 1 am placed. I am forced to be very rude, or " 
 
 *' I don't caU it rude at all." 
 
 ** Disobliging, then ; or else I must have all my comfort in- 
 
 raded and pleasure destroyed by, by, by " And Mr. Damer 
 
 paused, being at a loss for an appropriate name for Miss Dawkins. 
 
 *' By an unprotected female," suggested Mr. Ingram. 
 
 ** Yes, just so. I am as fond of pleasant company aa anybody ; 
 but then I like to choose it myself." 
 
 " So do I," said Mr. Ingram, thinking of his own choice. 
 ." Now, Ingram, if jrou would join ns, we should bo delighted.** 
 
 ** Upon my word* siri the offer ii too fifttteriixg/' said Iiigrami 
 
184 TALE8 OF ALL COUNTMEft 
 
 hoRitatlngly ; for ho folt that ho could not ttndcrto^e roch ft 
 joiimcy until Mr. Damcr know on what terms ho atood with 
 Vnnny. 
 
 •'You firo a torrlMo democrat," Raid Mr. Domcr, louj^hingt 
 " but then, on that nmtter, yoii know, wo could of^'o to difr«r." 
 
 "Kxaotly no," puid Mr. Jnp:rttm, who had not collected hii 
 thoughtrt or made up Iuh mi'iul us to what ho hud better Buy und 
 do, oil tho Bpur of the moment. 
 
 ** Well, what do you my to it ?" said Mr. Darner, encouragingly. 
 But Ingram puuBcd before ho unHwercd. 
 
 "X'or Itcavon'B wako, my dear fellow, don't havo tho Blightest 
 hcHitation in r<.^ftining, if you don't like Iho plan." 
 
 ••Tho fact is, Mr. I)amer, I whould like it too well." 
 
 "Like it too well?" 
 
 *• Yes, sir, and I may as well icU you now a« later. I had 
 intended this evening to huvo asked for your pormiuBion to address 
 your daughiiT." 
 
 ••God blcHH my bouU" said Mr. Damer, looking as though a 
 totally now idea liad now bein opi>ncd to him. 
 
 ••And under tlicso circumHtaiiccH, 1 will now wait and sco 
 whether or no you will renew your offer." 
 
 " (3od bless my houI!" said Mr. Damer, again. It often does 
 strike an old gentleman as very odd that any mim should fall in 
 lovo with luM daughter, whom ho has not eeused to look upon aa 
 n child. Tho case is generally quite different with mothers, 
 They seem to think that every young man must fall in lovo with 
 their girls. 
 
 ••And have you said anything to Funny about tliis?" asked 
 Mr. Damer. 
 
 *' Yes, sir, I have her p(^rmiRsion to speak to you." 
 
 ** God bkss my soul !" sai<l Mr. Damer ; and by this time they 
 had arrived at She])heard's Hotel. 
 
 *' Oh, mamma," said Fanny, ns soon as she found herself alono 
 with her mother that evening, *• I have something that I must 
 tell you." 
 
 •• Oil, Fanny, don't tell mo anything to-night, for I am a 
 great deal too tired to listen." 
 
 *' But oh, momma, pray ; — you must listen to this ; indeed you 
 must." Ajid Fanny knelt down at her mother's knee, and 
 looked beseechingly up into her face. 
 
 ** TNTiat is it, Fanny ? You know that all my bones aro Boro^ 
 and I am so tired that I am almost dead." 
 •* Mamma, Mr. Ingram haa— — * *• 
 
AN UNPROTECTED FEMALB AT TUB PYRAMIDS. 165 
 
 "Has what, my dear? has ho dono anythinpf wrong?" 
 
 ** No, mamma : but ho haw ; — ho has proposed to mo." And • 
 Fanny, burHting into tears, liid her faro in iior mother's lap. 
 
 And tlniH the story was told on l)olli sides of tho house. On 
 tlic next day, as a matter of eourse, all tho difHoultles and 
 dangers of such a marriap^o as that which was now projected 
 weic inslHted on by both lather and mother. It was improper ; 
 it would cause a severing of the family not to bo thouglit of; it 
 M'ould bo an alliance of a dangerous natunr, and not at all calcu- 
 lated to insure happiness ; anrl, in short, it was impossible. On 
 that day, therefore, they all went to bed very unhappy. But on 
 tho next day, as was also a matter of course, seeing that thero 
 were no pecuniary difllculties, thcj mother and father wcro talked 
 over, and Mr. Ingram was accepU'd as a son-in-law. It need 
 hardly bo said that the offer of a place in Mr. Damcr's boat wa« 
 again mado, and that on tliis occasion it was accepted without 
 hesitation. 
 
 There was an American Protestfint clergyman resident in 
 Cairo, witli whom, among other persons, Miss Dawkins liad 
 become acquainted. Upon this gentleman or upon liis wife Misv^ 
 Dawkins called a few days aft<!r tho journey to tho r}Tamid, 
 ond finding him in his study, thus i>crformcd her duty to her 
 Iieigh])0ur, — 
 
 " You know your count r>'m an Mr. Ingram, I think ?'* said she, 
 
 ** Oh, yes ; very intimat<ly." 
 
 " If you have any regard for him, Mr. Burton," such was tho 
 gentleman's name, ** I think you sliould put him on his guard." 
 
 ** On his guard against what?" said Mr. Burton with a serioug 
 air, for there was something serious in tho threat of impending 
 miHfortune as conveyed by Miss Dawkins. 
 
 "Why," said sho, ** those Darners, I fear, are dangerous 
 people." 
 
 '* Do you mean that they will borrow money of him ?" 
 
 ** Oh, no ; not that, exactly ; but they are clearly setting their 
 cap at him." 
 
 ** Setting their cap at him?" 
 
 " Yes ; there is a daughter, you know ; a little chit of a 
 thing ; and I fear Mr. Ingram may bo caught before he knows 
 where he is. It would be such a pity, you know. He is going 
 up the river with thero, I hear. That, in his place, is very 
 foolish. They asked me, but I positively refused." 
 
 Mr. Burton remarked that " In such a matter as that Mr. Ingram 
 trottld be perfectly able to take care of himself^" 
 
166 TALES OP ALL OOTOTRIES. 
 
 " "Well, perhaps so ; but seeing what was going on, I thonght 
 it my duty to tell you." And bo Miss Dawkms took her leave. 
 
 Mr. Ingram did go up the Nile with the Damers, as did an old 
 friend of tho Damers who arrived from England. And a very 
 pleasant trip they had of it. And, as far as the present his- 
 torian knows, the two lovers were shortly afterwards married ia 
 England. 
 
 Poor Miss Dawkins was left in Cairo for some time on her beam 
 ends. But she was one of those who are not easily vanquished. 
 After an interval of ten days she made acquaintance with an 
 Irish family — having utterly failed in moving the hard heart of 
 M. Delabordeau — and with these she proceeded to Constantinople. 
 They consisted of two brothers and a sister, and were, therefore, 
 very convenient for matrimonial purposes. But nevertheless, 
 when I last heaid of Miss Dawkins, she was still an unprotected 
 female. 
 
THE CHATEAU OF PRINCE POLIGNAO. 
 
 Few Englishmen or Englishwomen are intimately acquainted with 
 the little town of Le Puy. It is the capital of the old province of 
 Le Velay, which also is now but little known, even to French ears, 
 for it is in these days called by the imperial name of the Depart- 
 ment of the Haute Loire. It is to the south-east of Auvergne, 
 and is nearly in the centro of tho southern half of France.^ 
 
 13ut few towns, nuTcly as towns, ciiu be better worth visitinpf. 
 In the first place, the volcanic formation of tho ground on which 
 it stands is not only singular in tho extreme, so as to be interest- 
 ing to the geologist, but it is so picturesque as to bo equally 
 gratifying to the general tourist. Within a narrow valley there 
 stand several rocks, rising up from the ground with absoluto 
 abiiiptness. Round two of these the town clusters, and a third 
 stands but a mile distant, forming tho centre of a faubourg, or 
 suburb. These rocks appear to be, and I believe are, the harder 
 pailiclea of volcanic matter, wliich have not been carried away 
 through successive ages by the joint agency of water and air. 
 
 When the tide of lava ran down between tho hills the surface 
 left was no doubt on a level with the heads of these rocks ; but 
 hero and there tho deposit became harder than elsewhere, and 
 these harder points have remained, lifting up their steep hcadi 
 in a line through the valley. 
 
 The highest of these is called the Rocher de ComeiUe. Bound 
 this and up its steep sides tho town stands. On its highest 
 summit there was an old castle ; and there now is, or will be 
 before these pages are printed, a colossal figure in bronze of tho 
 Virgin Mary, made from the cannon taken at Sebast-opol. Half- 
 way down the hill tho cathedral is built, a singularly gloomy 
 edifice, — ^Romanesque, as it is called, in its style, but extremely 
 gimilar in its mode of architecture to what we know of Bjrzantino 
 ftructures. But thero bA« \mu no surface qu Hlq rock side largo 
 
168 TALES OF ALL C0UNTRIE3L 
 
 enough to form a resting-place for the church, which has there- 
 fore been built out on huge supporting piles, which form a porch 
 below the west front ; so that the approach is by numerous steps 
 laid along the side of the wall below the church, forming a 
 wondrous flight of stairs. Let all men who may find themselves 
 stopping at Lo Puy visit the top of these stairs at the time of tbe 
 setting sun, and look down from thcnco through the framework 
 of the porch on the town beneath, and at the hill-side beyond. 
 
 Uchind the church is the seminary of the priests, with its 
 beautiful walks stretching round tho Rocher de Comeille, and 
 overlooking the town and valley below. 
 
 Next to this rock, and within a quarter of a mile of it, is the 
 second peak, called the Rock of the Needle. It rises narrow, 
 shai-p, and abrupt from tho valley, allowing of no buildings on 
 its sides. But on its very point has been erected a church sacred 
 to St. Michael, that lover of rock summits, accessible by stairs 
 cut from the stone. This, perhaps — this rock, I mean — is tho 
 most wonderful of tho wonders which Nature has formed at 
 Le Puy. 
 
 Above this, at a mile's distance, is tho rock of Espailly, formed 
 in the same way, and almost equally precipitous. On its summit 
 is a castle, having its own legend, and professing to have been 
 the residence of Charles VII., when little of Franco belonged to 
 its kings but the provinces of Berry, Auvergne, aud Lo Velay. 
 Some three miles farther up there is another volcanic rock, 
 larger, indeed, but equally sudden in its spring,— equally remark- 
 able as rising abruptly from the valley, — on which stands the 
 castle and old family residence of tho house of Polignac. It was 
 lost by them at tho Revolution, but was repurchased by tho 
 minister of Charles X., and is still tho property of the head of 
 the race. 
 
 Le Puy itself is a small, moderate, pleasant French town, in 
 which the language of tho people has not the pure Parisian 
 aroma, nor is the glory of the boulevards of the capital emulated 
 in its streets. These ore crooked, narrow, steep, and intricate, 
 fonning hero and there excellent sketches for a lover of street 
 picturesque beauty ; but hurtful to the feet with their small, 
 round- topped paving stones, and not always as clean as pedestrian 
 ladies might desire. 
 
 And now I would ask my readers to join me at tho morning 
 table d'h6to at tho Hotel des Ambassadeurs. It will of courso 
 bo understood that this does not mean a breakfast in the ordinary 
 fusliion of England, consisting of tea or coffee, bread and butter, 
 
THE OnATEATT OP PRINCE POLTONAO. 1G9 
 
 and pcrlraps a boiled egg. It comprises all the requisites for a 
 composite dinner, excepting soup ; and as one gets farther south 
 in France, this meal is called dinner. It is, however, eaten 
 without any prejudice to another similar and somewhat longer 
 meal at six or seven o'clock, which, when the above name is 
 taken up by the earlier enterprise, is styled supper. 
 
 The dejeuner, or dinner, at tho Hotel des Ambassadeurs, on 
 the morning in question, though veiy elaborate, was not a very 
 gay affair. There were some fourteen persons present, of whom 
 half were residents in the town, men employed in some official 
 capacity, who found this to be the cheapest, the most luxurious, 
 and to them the most comfortable mode of living. They clustered 
 together at the head of the table, and as they were customary 
 guests at the house, they talked their little talk together — it 
 was very little — and made the most of the good things beforo 
 them. Then there were two or three commis-voyagcurs, a chance 
 traveller or two, and an English lady with a young daughter. 
 The English lady sat next to one of the accustomed guests ; but 
 he, unlike the others, held converse with her rather tlian with 
 them. Our story at present has reference only to that lady and 
 to that gentleman. 
 
 Place aux dames. We will speak first of the lady, whose 
 name was Mrs. Thompson. She was, shall I say, a young woman 
 of about thirty-six. In so saying, I am perhaps creating a pre- 
 judice against her in the minds of some readers, as they will, not 
 unnaturally, suppose her, after such an announcement, to be in 
 truth over forty. Any such prejudice will be unjust. I would 
 have it believed that thirty-six was the outside, not the inside of 
 her age. She was good-looking, lady-like, and considering that 
 she was an Englishwoman, fairly well dressed. She was inclined 
 to be rather full in her person, but perhaps not more so than is 
 becoming to ladies at her time of life. She had rings on her 
 fingers and a brooch on her bosom which were of some value, and 
 on the back of her head she wore a jaunty small lace cap, which 
 seemed to tell, in conjunction with her other appointments, that 
 her circumstances were comfortable. 
 
 The little girl who sat next to her was the youngest of her two 
 daughters, and might be about thirteen years of age. Her name 
 was Matilda, but infantine circumstances had invested her with 
 the nickname of Mimmy, by which her mother always called her. 
 A nice, pretty, plajrful little girl was Mimmy Thompson, wearing 
 two long tails of plaited hair hanging behind her bead| and 
 inclined occasionally to be rather loud in her sport. 
 
170 TALES OP ALL COTOTRIES. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson had another and an elder daughter, now some 
 fifteen years old, who was at Bchool in Le Puy ; and it was with 
 reference to her tuition that Mrs. Thompson had taken up a 
 temporary residence at the Hotel dcs Ambassadeurs in that 
 town. Lilian Thompson was occasionally invited down to dino 
 or breakfast at the inn, and was visited daily at her school by 
 her mother. 
 
 " When I'm sure that she'U do, I shall leave her there, and 
 go back to England,*' Mrs. Thompson had said, not in the purest 
 French, to the neighbour who always sat next to her at the tablo 
 d'hote, the gentleman, namely, to whom we have above alluded. 
 But still she had remained at Lo Puy a month, and did not go ; 
 a circumstance which was considered singular, but by no means 
 unpleasant, both by the innkeeper and by the gentleman in 
 question. 
 
 The facts, as regai-ded Mrs. Thompson, were as follows : — She 
 was the widow of a gentleman who had served for many years 
 in the civil service of the East Indies, and who, on dying, had 
 left her a comfortable income of — it matters not how many 
 poimds, but constituting quite a sufficiency to enable her to live 
 at her ease and educate her daughters. 
 
 Her children had been sent home to England before her hus- 
 band's death, and after that event she had followed them ; but there, 
 though she was possessed of moderate wealth, she had no friends 
 and few acquaintances, and after a little while she had found lifo 
 to be rather dull. Her customs were not those of England, nor 
 were her propensities English; therefore she had gone abroad, 
 and having received some recommendation of this school at Le 
 Puy, had made her way thither. As it appeared to her that she 
 rcaUy enjoyed more consideration at Le Puy than had been 
 accorded to her either at Torquay or Leamington, there sho 
 remained from day to day. The total payment required at tho 
 Hotel des Ambassadeurs was but six francs daily for herself and 
 three and a half for her little girl ; and where else could she 
 live with a better junction of economy and comfort ? And then 
 the gentleman who always sat next to her was so exceedingly 
 civil! 
 
 The gentleman's name was M. Lacordaire. So much she 
 knew, and had learned to call him by his name very frequently. 
 Mimmy, too, was quite intimate with M. Lacordaire ; but nothing 
 more than his name was known of him. Put M. Lacordaire 
 carried a general letter of recommendation in his face, manner, • 
 gait, dress, and tone of voice. In all these respects there ww 
 
THB CHATEAU OP PRINCE POUGNAO. 171 
 
 notHing left to be desired ; and, in addition to this, lie was deco 
 rated, and wore the little red ribbon of the Legion of Honour, 
 ingeniously twisted into the shape of a small flower. 
 
 M. Lacordaire might be senior in age to ^Mrs. Thompson by 
 about ten years, nor had he about him any of the airs or graces 
 of a would-be young man. His hair, which he wore very short, 
 was grizzled, as was also the small pretence of a whisker which 
 came down about as far as the middle of his ear ; but the tuft on 
 his chin was still brown, without a gray hair. His eyes were 
 bright and tender, his voice was low and soft, his hands were 
 very white, his clothes were always new and well fitting, and a 
 better-brushed hat could not be seen out of Paiis, nor perhaps 
 in it. 
 
 Kow^ during the weeks which Mrs. Thompson had passed at 
 Le Puy, the acquaintance which she had formed with M. Lacor- 
 daiio had progressed beyond the prolonged meals in the sallo h 
 manger. He had occasionally sat beside her evening table as she 
 took her English cup of tea in her own room, her bed being duly 
 screened off in its distant niche by becoming curtams ; and then 
 he had occasionally walked beside her, as he civilly escorted her 
 to the lions of the place ; and he had once accompanied her, 
 Bitting on the back seat of a French voiture, when she had «;one 
 forth to see something of the surrounding country. 
 
 On all such occasions she had been accompanied by one of her 
 daughters, and the world of Le Puy had had nothing material to 
 Bay against her. But still the world of Le Puy had whispered a 
 little, suggesting that M. Lacordaire knew very well what he was 
 about. But might not Mrs. Thompson also know as well what 
 she waa about? At any rate, everything had gone on very 
 pleasantly since the acquaintance had been made. And now, so 
 much having been explained, we will go back to the elaborate 
 breakfast at the Hotel des Ambassadeurs. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson, holding Mimmy by the hand, walked into the 
 room some few minutes after the last bell had been rung, and 
 took the place which was now hers by custom. The gentlemen 
 who constantly frequented the house all bowed to her, but'M. 
 Lacordaire rose from his seat and offered her his hand. 
 
 " And how is Mees Meemy this morning ? " said he ; for *twas 
 thus he always pronounced her name. 
 
 Miss Mimmy, answering for herself, declared that she was very 
 well, and suggested that M. Lacordaire should give her a fig from 
 off a dish that was placed immediately before him on the table. . 
 This M. LfMioidaire did, presenting it yeiy ele^tly between his 
 
172 TALES Of ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 two Angers, and tnoking a littlo bow to the little lady as lie 
 did 80. 
 
 ** Fie, Mimmy ! " said her mother ; " why do you ask for the 
 
 things hcforo the waiter brings them round r" 
 
 ** Ihit, mamma," said Mimmy, speaking English, **M. Locor- 
 daiiv always gives mo a fig every morning." 
 
 **M. Laconlniix) always spoils you, I think," nnsweitnl Mrs. 
 Thompson, in Fivnch. And then they went thoroughly to work 
 at their breakfast. During the whole meal M. Lacordaire 
 ftttendcd assiduously to his neighbour ; and did so without any 
 evil ivsult, exco]>t that one rrenehnmn witli a black moustache, 
 ot the head of the table, trod on the too of another Frenchman 
 with another black moustache — winking as ho made tho sign- 
 just as M. Lacoixlaiiv, having selectcnl a bunch of grapes, put it 
 on ^[rs. Thompson's plate with infinite grace. 13ut who among 
 us all is free fi-om such impertinences as these ? 
 
 "But madamo really must see tho chuteau of Piinco Polignao 
 befoi*e she leaves Lo Fuy," saiil M. Lacoixlaire. 
 
 *'Tho chuteau of who?" o.iked Mimmy, to whoso young cart 
 tho French words were already becoming familiar. 
 
 "Prince l^olignac, my dear. AVell, 1 really don't know, M. 
 Lacordairo ; — I have seen a great deid of tho place already, and 
 I shall bo going now vciy soon ; probably in a day or two," said 
 Hrs. Thompson. 
 
 ** But madiuno must positively seo the chriteau," said M. Lacor- 
 daire, very impressively ; and then after a pause ho added, " If 
 nuidame will have tho complais>ancc to commission mo to procure 
 a carriage for this aftcnioon, and will allow me the honour to bo 
 her guide, I shidl consider myself ono of tho most fortunate of 
 men." 
 
 ** Oh, yes, mamma, do go," said Mimmy, clapping her hands. 
 •* And it is Thursday, and Lilian can go with us." 
 
 " Be quiet, Mimmy, do. Thank you, no, M. Lacordaire. I 
 could not go to-day ; but I am exhemely obliged by your polite- 
 ness.'* 
 
 M. Lacordaire still pressed tho matter, and Mrs, Thompson 
 still declined till it was time to rise from the table. She then 
 declared that she did not think it possible that she should visit 
 the chateau before she left Le Puy ; but that she would give him 
 an answer at dinner. 
 
 The most tedious time in the day to Mrs. Thompson were the 
 two hours after breakfast. At one o'clock she daily went to the 
 tchool, taking Mimmy, who for an hour or two ahared her eist^r'i 
 
InE CHATEAU OP PRINCfl rOLTQNAO. 1?S 
 
 Jcfpohb. This nnd lior little excurpions about tlio plnco, ond licr 
 elioppinp, ninnn^cd to make away "with her afternoon. Then in 
 the cvcninj;, bIio prnerally saw Bometliinp; of M. Lncordoiro. Uut 
 thoRo two hours iii'ter breakfast were liard of killing. 
 
 On this occasion, when sho gained her own room, ftho M nsunl 
 placed Mimmy on the Kofa with a needle. 3Ier custom then was 
 to take up a novel ; hut on this morning phe pat herself down in 
 her arm-chair, and resting her head upon her hand and elbow, 
 began to turn over certain circumstances in her mind, 
 
 " Mamma," said Mimmy, *' why won't you go with M. Lncor- 
 3a ire to that place belonging to tho piinco ? rrincc— Polly 
 domething, wasn't it?'* 
 
 *' ^lind your work, my dear," paid Mrs. Thompson. 
 
 ** IJut I do 80 wish you'd go, mamma. ^Vhat wu» tho princc'i 
 name ? '» 
 
 «' roHgnac.** 
 
 •* gramma, ain't princes very great people ? '* 
 
 ** Yes, my dear ; sometimes." 
 
 ** Is rrincc rolly-mic like our Prince Alfred ?•* 
 
 **Ko, n\y dear ; not at all. At least, 1 BUpposc not.'' 
 
 •* Is his mother a queen ? " 
 
 ** No, my dear." 
 
 ** Then his father must be a king ?** 
 
 ** No, my dear. It is quite a different thing here. ITerc in 
 Tranre they have a great many princes." 
 
 " "NVcll, at any rate I fihould like to see a prince's chateau ; so 
 1 do hope you'll go." And then there was a pause. "Mamma, 
 could it come to pass, here in Prance, that M. Lacordairo should 
 ever be a prince ? " 
 
 " M. Lacordaire a prince I No ; don't talk such nonsense, but 
 mind your work." 
 
 ** Isn't M. Lacordaire a very nice man? Ain't you very fond 
 of him?" 
 
 To this question Mrs. Thompson made no ahswer. 
 
 ** Mamma," continued Mimmy, after a moment's pause, " won't 
 you tell me whether you are fond of M. Lacordaire ? I'm quite 
 sure of this, — that he's very fond of you." 
 
 " "What makes you think that ? '* asked Mrs. Thompson, who 
 could not bring herself to refrain from the question. 
 
 ** Because he looks at you in that way, mamma, and squeezes 
 your hand." 
 
 " Nonsense, child," said Mrs. Thompson ; " hold your tongufiw 
 I don't know what can have put such stuff into your head." 
 
174 fALSS 09 ALt. OOtmtRtES. 
 
 •* But ho does, mamma," said Mimmy, who raiely allowed h« 
 mother to put her down. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson made no tother answer, hut again sat with 
 her head resting on her hand. She also, if the truth must ho 
 told, waa thinking of M. Lacordaire and his foRdness for hersell 
 Ho had squeezed her hand and he had looked into her face. 
 However much it may have heen nonsense on Mimmy's port to 
 talk of such things, they had not the less absolutely occurred, 
 "vVas it really the fact that M. Lacordaire was in love with her ? 
 
 And if 60, what return should she, or could she make to such 
 a passion ? He had looked at her yesterday, and squeezed her 
 hand to-day. Might it not he probable that he would advance a 
 step further to-morrow ? If so, what answer would she be pre- 
 pared to make to him ? 
 
 She did not think — so she said to herself — that she had any 
 particular objection to marrying again. Thompson had been 
 dead now for four years, and neither his friends, nor her friends, 
 nor the world coiild say she was wrong on that score. And as 
 to marrying a Frenchman, she could not say she felt within her- 
 self any absolute repugnance to doing that. Of her own country, 
 speaking of England as such, she, in truth, knew but little— 
 and perhaps cared less. She had gone to India almost as a child, 
 and England had not been specially kind to her on her return. 
 She had fcimd it dull and cold, stiff, and almost ill-natiu-ed. 
 People there had not smiled on her and been civil as M. 
 Lacordaire had done. As far as England and Englishmen wero 
 considered she saw no reason why she should not marry M, 
 Lacordaire. 
 
 And then, as regarded the man ; could she in her heart say 
 that she was prepared to love, honour, and obey M. Lacordaire ? 
 She certainly knew no reason why she should not do so. She did 
 not know much of him, sho said to herself at first ; but sho 
 knew as much, she said afterwards, as she had known personally 
 of Mr. Thompson before their marriage. She had known, to bo 
 sure, what was Mr. Thompson's profession and what his income; 
 orj if not, some one else had known for her. As to both these 
 points she ^7as quite in the dark as regiuxled M. Lacordaire. 
 
 Personally, she ceitainly did like him, as she said to herself 
 more than once. There was a coui-tcsy and softness about him 
 which weie very gratifying to her; and then, his appearance 
 was so mu( h in his favour. He was not veiy young, sho acknow- 
 ledged ; but neither was sho young herself. It was quite cvideut 
 that ho wu fond of her children, and that ho would be a kind 
 
5nB CHATEAU OP PRll^CE l>OLlaNAO. l75 
 
 and affectionate father to them. Indeed, there was kindness in 
 all that he did. 
 
 Should she many again, — and she put it to herself quite hypo- 
 thctically, — she would look for no romance in such a second 
 marriage. She would he content to sit down in a quiet home, to 
 tlio tame duU realities of life, satisfied with the companionship 
 of a man who would he kind and gentle to her, and whom she 
 could respect and esteem. Where could she find a companion 
 with whom this could he more safely anticipated than with M, ' 
 Lacordaire? 
 
 And so she argued the question within her own hrcast in a 
 manner not unfriendly to that gentleman. That there was as 
 yet one great hindrance she at once saw ; hut then that might 
 he remedied hy a word. She did not know what was his income 
 or his profession. The chambermaid, whom she had interrogated, 
 had told her that he was a "marchand." To merchants, gene- 
 rally, she felt that she had no objection. The Barings and the 
 Rothschilds were merchants, as was also that wonderful man at 
 Bombay, Sir Hommajee Bommajee, who was worth she did not 
 know how many thousand lacs of rupees. 
 
 That it would behove her, on her own account and that of her 
 daughters, to take care of her own little fortune in contracting 
 any such connection, that she felt strongly. She would never bo 
 commit herself as to put security in that respect out of her 
 power. But then she did not think that M. Lacordaire would 
 ever ask her to do so ; at any rate, she was determined on this, 
 that there should never he any doubt on that matter ; and as sho 
 firmly resolved on this, she again took up her hook, and for a 
 minute or two made an attempt to read. 
 
 *' Mamma," said Mimmy, "will M. Lacordaire go up to tho 
 school to see Lilian when you go away from thig? ** 
 
 ** Indeed, I cannot say, my dear. If Lilian is a good girl, 
 J^rhaps ho may do so now and then.** 
 
 " Ajid win he write to you and tell you how she is ? ** 
 
 ** Lilian can write for herself; can she not ? ** 
 
 "Oh yes; I suppose she can; but I hope M.* Lacordaire 
 vill write too. We shall come back hero some day ; shan't we, 
 mauuna?" 
 
 ** I cannot say, my dear." 
 
 "I do so hope we shall see M. Lacordaire again. Do you 
 know what I was thinking, mamma? " 
 
 " Little girls like you ought not to think," said IkTrs. Thompson, 
 Walking slowly out of the room to the top of the stairs and oack 
 
176 tAtES of ALL COtJNTRTBS. 
 
 a^QiR ; for slie had felt the necessity of preventing Miinmy ftom 
 disclosing ony more of her thoughts. "And now, my dear, get 
 yourself ready, and we will go up to the school." 
 
 Mrs. Thoippson always dressed herself with care, though not 
 in especially fine clothes, before she went down to dinner at the 
 table d'hote ; but on this occasion she was more than usually 
 particular. She hai'dly explained to herself why she did this ; 
 but, nevertheless, as she stood before the glass, she did in a 
 certain manner feel that the circumstances of her future life 
 might perhaps depend on what might be said and done that 
 evening. She had not absolutely decided whether or no she 
 
 would go to the Prince's chateau ; but if she did go . "Well, 
 
 if she did ; what then ? She had sense enough, as she assured 
 herself more than ouco, to regulate her own conduct with pro- 
 priety in any such emergency. 
 
 During the dinner, M. Lacordairo conversed in his usual 
 manner, but said nothing whatever about the visit to Polignac, 
 He was very kind to Mimmy, and very courteous to her mother, 
 but did not appear to be at all more particular than usual. 
 Indeed, it might bo a question whether he was not less so. As 
 eho had entered the room Mrs. Thompson had said to herself that, 
 perhaps, after all, it would bo better that there should be nothing 
 more thought about it ; but before the four of five courses were 
 over, she was beginning to feel a little disappointed. 
 
 And now the fruit was on the table, after the consumption of 
 wliich it was her practice to retire. It was certainly open to her 
 to ask M. Lacordairo to take tea with her that evening, as she 
 had done on foimer occasions ; but she felt that she must not do 
 this now, considering the immediate circumstances of the ease. 
 If any further steps were to be taken, they must be taken by 
 him, and not by her ; — or else by Mimmy, who, just as her 
 mother was slowly consuming her last grapes, ran round to the 
 back of M. Lacordaire's chair, and whispered something into liis 
 ear. It may be presumed that Mrs. Thompson did not see the 
 intention of the movement in time to aiTCst it, for she did nothing 
 till the whispering had been whispered ; and then she rebuked 
 the child, bade her not to be troublesome, and with more than 
 usual austerity in her voice, desired her to get hcrseK ready to 
 go up stairs to their chamber. 
 
 As she spoke she herself rose from her chair, and made her 
 final little bow to tlie table, and her other final little bow and 
 Bmilo to M. Lacordaire ; but this was certain to all who saw it, 
 that the smile was not as gracious as usual. 
 
THE CHATEAU OP PRINCE rOLlGNAC. 177 
 
 As she walked forth, M. Lacordaire rose from his chair — 
 such being his constant practice when she left the table ; but on 
 this occasion he accompanied her to the door. 
 
 <*And has madame decided," he asked, "whether she will 
 permit me to accompany her to the chateau ? '* 
 
 *'Well, I really don't know," said Mrs. Thompson. 
 
 **Mces Mccmy," continued M. Lacordaire, ** is very anxious 
 to see the rock, and I may perhaps hope that Mecs Lilian would 
 
 be pleased with such a little excursion. As for myself " 
 
 and then M. Lacordaire put his hand upon his heart in a manner 
 that seemed to speak more plainly than he had ever spoken. 
 
 **Well, if the children would really like it, and — as you are 
 BO very kind," said Mra. Thompson ; and so the matter was 
 conceded. 
 
 "To-morrow afternoon ? " suggested M. Lacordaire. But Mrs. 
 Thompson fixed on Saturday, thereby showing that she herself 
 was in no hurry for the expedition. 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad! " said Mimmy, when they had re-entered 
 their own room. ** Mamma, do let me tell Lilian myself when 
 I go up to the school to-morrow ! " 
 
 But mamma was in no humour to say much to her child on 
 tliis subject at the present moment. She threw herself back on 
 her sofa in perfect silence, and began to reflect whether she 
 would like to sign her name in future as Fanny Lacordaire, 
 instead of Fanny Thompson. It certainly seemed as though 
 things were verging towards such a necessity. A marchand ! 
 But a mai'chand of what ? She had an instinctive feeling that 
 the people in the hotel were talking about her and M. Lacordaire, 
 and was therefore more than ever averse to asking any one a 
 question. 
 
 As she went up to the school the next afternoon, she walked 
 through more of the streets cf Le Puy than was necessary, and 
 in eveiy street she looked at the names which she »aw over the 
 doors of the more respectable houses of business. But she 
 looked in vain. It might be that M. Lacordaire was a marchand 
 of so specially high a quality as to bo under no necessity to put 
 up his name at all. Sir Hommajee Bommajec's name did not 
 appear over any door in Bombay ; — at least, she thought not. 
 
 And then came the Saturday morning. " We shall be ready 
 at two," she said, as she left the breakfast-table ; " and perhaps 
 you would not mind calling for Lilian on the way." 
 
 M. Lacordaire would be delighted to call anywhere for any- 
 body on behalf of Mrs. Thompson ; and then, as he got to the 
 
178 TALES OP ALL OOUNTRIES. 
 
 door of the salon, he offered her his hand. He did io with m 
 much French courtesy that she could not refuse it, and then she 
 felt that his purpose was more tender than ever it hod been. 
 And why not, if this was the destiny which Fate had prepared 
 for her ? 
 
 Mrs. Thompson would rather hare got into the carnage at any 
 other spot in Le Puy than at that at which she was forced to do 
 60 — the chief entrance, namely, of the Hotel dcs Ambassadeurs. 
 And what made it worse was this, that an appearance of a 
 special fete was given to the occasion. M. Lacordaire was 
 dressed in more than his Sunday best. Ho had on new yellow 
 kid gloves. His coat, if not new, was newer than any Mrs. 
 Thompson had yet observed, and was lined with silk up to the 
 very collar. Ho had on patent leather boots, which glittered, 
 as Mrs. Thompson thought, much too conspicuously. And as for 
 his hat, it was quite evident that it was li'esh that morning from 
 the maker's block. 
 
 In this costume, with his hat in his hand, he stood under the 
 great gateway of the hotel, ready to hand j^lrs. Thompson into 
 tlic carriage. This would have been nothing if the landlord and 
 landlady had not been there also, as well as the man-cook, and 
 the four waiters, and the lillo de chambro. Two or three other 
 pair of eyes Mrs. Thompson also saw, as she glanced round, and 
 then Mimmy walked across the yard in her best clothes with a 
 fete-day air about her for which her mother would have liked to 
 have whipped her. 
 
 But what did it matter? If it was written in the book that she 
 should become Madame Lacordaire, of course the world would 
 know that there must have been some preparatory love-making. 
 Let them have their laugh ; a good husband would not be dearly 
 purchased at so trifling an expense. And so they sallied forth 
 with ah'cady half the ceremony of a wedding. 
 
 Mimray seated herself opposite to her mother, and M. Lacordaire 
 also sat with his back to the horses, leaving the second place of 
 honoui' fur Lilian. "Pray make yoursuU' comibrtable, M. Lacor- 
 daire, and don't mind her," said Mrs. Thompson. I3ut he was 
 linn in his purpose of civility, perhaps making up his mind that 
 when he should in tiiith stand in the place of papa to the young 
 lady, then would be his time for having the back seat in the 
 can-iage. 
 
 Lilian, also in her best frock, came down the school-steps, and 
 thi'ce of the school teachers came with her. It would have added 
 to Mrs. Thompson's happiness at that moment if M. Lacordaire 
 
TDB CHATEAU OP PRIKCE POLIQNAO, 179 
 
 would havo kept his polished boots out of sight, and put his 
 yellow gloves into his pocket. 
 
 And then they stai-ted. The road from Le Pay to Polignao is 
 nearly all up hill ; and a very steep hill it is, so that there was 
 plenty of time for eonversation. But the girls had it nearly all 
 to themselves. Mimmy thought that she had never found M, 
 Lacordaire so stupid ; and Lilian told her sister on the first safo 
 opportunity that occurred, that it seemed very much as though 
 they were all going to church. 
 
 " And do any of the Polignac people ever livo at thia place ? " 
 asked Mrs. Thompson, hy way of making conversation; in answer 
 to wliich M. Lacordaire informed madamo that the place was at 
 present only a ruin ; and then there was again silence till they 
 found themselves under the rock, and were infoimed by the 
 driver that the rest of the ascent must bo made on foot. 
 
 The rock now stood abrupt and precipitous above their heads. 
 It was larger in its circumference and with much larger space on 
 its summit than those other volcanic rocks in and close to the 
 town ; but then at the same time it was higlicr from the ground, 
 and (^uito as inaccessible, except by the single path wluch led up 
 to tlio chateau. 
 
 M. Lacordaire, with conspicuous gallantry, first assisted Mrs. 
 Thompson from the carriage, and then handed down the two 
 young ladies, Ko lady could have been so difficult to please as 
 to complain of him, and yet Mrs. Thompson thought that ho was 
 not as agi-ecable as usual. Those homd boots and those homd 
 gloves gave him such an air of holiday fineiy that neither could 
 he bo at his ease wearing them, nor could she, in seeing them 
 worn. 
 
 They were soon taken in hand by the poor woman whose 
 privilege it was to show the ruins. For a little distance they 
 walked up the path in single file ; not that it was too narrow to 
 accommodate two, but M. Lacordaire's courage had not yet been 
 screwed to a point which admitted of his ofl'ering his arm to the 
 widow. For in France, it must bo remembered, that this means 
 more than it does in some other countries. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson felt that aU this was silly and useless. If they 
 were not to be dear friends this coming out feting together, thoso 
 boots and gloves and new hat were all very foolish ; and if they 
 were, the sooner they understood each other the better. So Mrs. 
 Thompson, finding that the path was steep and the weather 
 warm, stood still for a while leaning against the wall, with a 
 look of considerable fatigue in her face. 
 
 v2 
 
]80 TALK OF ALL OOTJNTnilSS. 
 
 " Will mailamo permit mo tho honour of offorinp; her my arm?** 
 Baid M. Laconlftiro. ** Tho road ia so extrttordinorily etccp for 
 madamo to climb.' ' 
 
 Mrs. Thompson did permit him tho honour, and 80 they went 
 on till they reached tho top. 
 
 Tho view from the summit was both extensive and grand, but 
 neither Lilian- nor ^limmy were much pleased with tho place. 
 Tho elder eiater, who had talked over the matter with her school 
 companion?*, expected a fine castle with tuiTcts, battlements, and 
 romunco ; and the other expected a pretty smiling house, such as 
 princes, in her mind, ought to inhabit. 
 
 Instead of this thc^ found an old turret, with steps so brolcen 
 thtit }>i. Laconlairo did not care to ascend them, and tho ruined 
 walls of a mansion, in which nothing was to bo seen but tho 
 remains of an enonnous kitchen chimney. 
 
 " It was tho kitclien of tho family," said the g\iido. 
 
 " Oh," said ^Irs. Thompson. 
 
 ** And this," said tho woman, taking them into the next ruined 
 compartment, " was tho kitchen of monsieur et madame." 
 
 ">Vhat! two kitchens?" exclaimed Lilian, upon which 
 M. Lacoixlairo exphiined that tlio ancestors of tho Prince do 
 Polignao had been very great people, and had therefore required 
 culinary perfonnanccs on a great scale. 
 
 And then tho woman began to chatter something about an 
 oracle of Apollo. There was, she said, a hole in tho rock, from 
 which in past times, perhaps more than a hundred years ago, tho 
 oraclo used to spealc forth niysterious words. 
 
 ** There," she said, pointing to a part of tho rock at some 
 distance, ** was tlio hole. And if the ladies would follow 
 her to a little outhouse which was just beyond, she would show 
 them tho huge stono mouth out of which tho oraclo used to 
 speak." 
 
 Lilian and Mimmy both declared at onco for seeing the oracle, 
 but Mrs. Thompson expressed her determination to remain Hitting 
 where she was upon the turf. So tho guide started oft' with 
 tho young ladies ; and will it bo thought sui-prising that M. 
 Lacordairo should have remained alone by tho side of Mrs. 
 Thompson ? 
 
 It must be now or never, Mrs. Thompson felt ; and as regarded 
 M. Lacordaire, ho probably entertained some idea of tho samo 
 kind. Mrs. Thompson's inclinations, though they had never 
 been very strong in tho matter, were certainly in favour of tho 
 ** now." M. Lacordairo'e inclinations were stronger. Ho had 
 
TUB CnATEAU OP PRINCE POLIO NAO. 181 
 
 fully and finiily made up his mind in favour of matrimony ; but 
 then ho waa not so absolutely in favour of the ** now.'* Mrs. 
 Thompson's mind, if ono could liavo read it, would have shown 
 u p:rcat objection to shilly-fihallying, as sho was accustomed to 
 call it. liut M. Lacordairc, were it not for tho danger which 
 might thcnco arise, would have seen no objection to somo -slight 
 further procrastination. His courage was beginning, perhaps, to 
 ooze out from his fingers' ends. 
 
 " I declare that those girls have scampered away over so far," 
 said ^[rs. Thompson. 
 
 •* Would madamc wish that I should call them back?'* said 
 M. Lacordairc, innocently. 
 
 ** Oh, no, dear children ! let them enjoy themselves ; it will bo 
 a plcasure.to them to run about tho rock, and I suppose they will 
 bo safe with that woman ?" 
 
 ** Oh, yes, quite safe," said M. Lacordairc ; and then there was 
 another little pause. 
 
 [Mrs. Thompson was sitting on a broken fragment of a stone 
 just outside the entrance to tho old family kitchen, and M. Lacor- 
 dairc was standing immediately before her. Ho had in his hand 
 a little cane with which ho sometimes slapped his boots and 
 sometimes poked about among the rubbish. His hat was not 
 quite straight on his head, having a little jaunty twist to ono 
 side, with reference to which, by-the-bye, Mrs. Thompson then 
 resolved that she would make a change, should ever tho gentle- 
 man become her own property. Ho still wore his gloves, and 
 was very smart ; but it was clear to boo that ho was not at 
 his case. 
 
 ** I hope the heat docs not incommode you," ho said after a 
 few moments' silence. Mrs. Thompson declared that it did not, 
 that she liked a good deal of heat, and that, on tho whole, sho 
 was veiy well where sho was. She was afraid, however, that 
 she was detaining M. Lacordairc, who might probably wish to 
 be moving about upon tho rock. In answer to which M. Lacor- 
 dairc declared that ho never could be so happy anywhere as^ in 
 her close vicinity. 
 
 *' You arc too good to mc," said Mrs. Thompson, almost sigh- 
 ing. ** I don't know what my stay hero would have been without 
 your great kindness." 
 
 '* It is madame that has been kind to mo," said M. Lacordairc, 
 pressing tho handle of his cane against his heart. 
 
 There was then another pause, after which Mrs. Thompson 
 •aid that that was oil his French politeness ; that she knew that 
 
IS2 TALES Olf ALL OOUNTMES, 
 
 Bhe had been yery troublesome to him, but that she would now 
 Boon be gone ; and that then, in her own country, she would 
 never forgot his great goodness. 
 
 " Ah, madamo I" said M. Lacordaire ; and, as ho said it, much 
 more was expressed in his face than in his words. But, then, 
 vou con neither accept nor reject a gentleman by what ho says in 
 lis faco. Ho blushed, too, up to his grizzled hair, and, turning 
 round, walked a step or two away from the widow's seat, and 
 back again. 
 
 Mrs. Tliompson the while sat quite still. The displaced frag- 
 ment, lying, as it did, near a comer of the building, made not 
 nn uncomfoi'tablo cliair. She had only to bo careful that she 
 did not injure her liut or crush her clothes, and throw in a 
 word here and thero to assist the gentleman, should occasion 
 permit it. 
 
 ** Madiimo 1" said M. Lacordaire, on his return from a second 
 little walk. 
 
 ** Monsieur!" replied Mrs. Thompson, perceiving that M. 
 Lacortlairo paused in his speech. 
 
 ** Madame," ho began again, and then, oa he again paused, 
 Mrs. Thompson looked up to him very sweetly ; ** madamo, what 
 I am going to say will, I am afraid, seem to evince by far too 
 great audacity on my part." 
 
 Mrs. Thompson may, perhaps, have thought that, at the pro« 
 Bcnt moment, audacity was not his fault. She replied, however, 
 that sho was quite sure that monsieur would say nothing that 
 was in any way unbecoming either for him to speak or for her 
 to hear. 
 
 ** Madame, may I have ground to hope that such may bo your 
 sentiments alter I have spoken! Madame" — and now ho went 
 do^vn, absolutely on liis kncss, on the hard stones; and Mrs. 
 Thompson, looking about into the distance, almost thought that 
 sho saw the top of the guide's cap — ** Madame, I have looked 
 forward to this opportunity as ono in which I may declare for 
 you the greatest passion that I have ever yet felt. Madame, with 
 all my heart and soul I love you. [Madame, I offer to you tho 
 homage of my lieart, my hand, tho happiness of my life, and all 
 that I possess in this world ;" and then, taking lier hand grace- 
 fully between liis gloves, he pressed his lips against the tips of 
 her fingers. 
 
 If the thing was to be done, this way of doing it was, perhap?, 
 as good as any other. It was one, at any rate, which left no 
 doubt whatev^f as to the gentleman's intentions. Mrs. Thompson, 
 
THE CHATEAU OF PRINCE POLIGNAO. 183 
 
 could sho have had her own way, would not have allowed her 
 lover of fifty to go down upon his knees, and would have spared 
 him much of the romance of his declaration. So also would she 
 have spared him his yellow gloves and his polished hoots. But 
 these wero a pait of the necessity of the situation, and there- 
 fore she wisely took them as matters to he passed over with 
 indifTorence. Seeing, however, that M. Lacordaire still remained 
 on his knees, it was necessary that she should take some step 
 toward raising him, especially as her two chxldi'en and the guide 
 would infallibly be upon them before long. 
 
 **M. Lacordaire," she said, **you surprise mo greatly; hut 
 pray get up." 
 
 "But will madamc vouchsafe to give me somo small gi'ound 
 for hope ?" 
 
 ** The girls will bo hero directly, M. Lacordaire ; pray get up. 
 I can talk to you much better if you will stand up, or ail dt^wu 
 on one of these stones." 
 
 M. Lacordau'o did as ho was bid ; ho got up, wiped the kneet 
 of liis pantaloons with his handkerchief, sat down beside hot, 
 and then pressed the handle of his cane to his heart. 
 
 ** You really have so surprised mo that I hardly know how to 
 answer you," said Mrs. Thompson. ** Indeed, I cannot bring 
 myself to imagine that you are in earnest." 
 
 *'Ah, madamc, do not be so cruel! How can I have lived 
 with you FO long, sat beside you for so many days, without having 
 received your image into my heart ? I am in earnest ! Alas ! 
 I fiar too much in earnest!" And then he looked at her with 
 all his eyes, and sighed with all his strength. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson's prudence told her that it would bo well to 
 settle the matter, in one way or the other, as soon as possible. 
 Long peiiods of love-making were fit for younger people than 
 licrself and her future possible husband. Her object would bo 
 to make him comfortable if she could, and that he should do tho 
 same for her, if that also were possible. As for lookings and 
 sighings and pressings of the hand, she had gone through all that 
 somo twenty years since in India, when Thompson had been 
 yoimg, and she was still in her teens. 
 
 *'But,M. Lacordaire, there are so many things to he considered. 
 There I I hear the children coming ! Let us walk this way for 
 a minute." And they turned behind a wall wliich placed them 
 out of sight, and wcdked on a few paces till they reached % 
 parapet, which stood on the uttermost edge of the high rook, 
 leaning u|>on tlm the^ continued their conyersatioo. 
 
184 TALES 07 ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 "There ore bo many things to be considered/' said Mrs. 
 Thompson again. 
 
 " Yes, of course,'* said M. Lacordaire. " But my one great 
 consideration is this ; — that I love madamo to distraction." 
 " I am very much flattered ; of course, any lady would bo feoL 
 
 But, M. Lacordaire " 
 
 "liladame, I am all attention. But, if you would deign to 
 make me hnppy, say that one word, * I love you ! * " M. Lacorr 
 dairc, as he uttered these words, did not look, as the saying is, at 
 Ilia best. But Mrs. Thompson forgave him. She knew tlmt . 
 ckkTly gentlemen under such ckcumstonces do not look at their 
 best. 
 
 " But if I consented to — to — to such an arrangement, I could 
 only do so on seeing that it would bo beneficial — or, at any rate, . 
 not injurious — to my children ; and that it would offer to our- 
 selves a fair promise of future hnppmess." 
 
 ** Ah, mudame ; it would bo tlio dearest wish of my heart to bo 
 
 a second father to those two young ladies ; except, indeed " 
 
 and then M. Lacordaire stopped the flow of his speech. 
 
 " In such matters it is so much the best to bo explicit at once," 
 said Mrs. Ihompson. 
 
 ** Oh, yes ; certainly I Nothing con be more wise than 
 madarae." 
 
 "And tho happiness of a household depends bo much on 
 money." 
 
 "Madamo!" 
 
 " Let me say a word or two. Monsieur Lacordaire. I have 
 enough for myself and my chiklren ; and, should I every marry 
 again, I should not, I hope, be felt as a burden by my husband ; 
 but it would, of course, bo my duty to know what were his cir- 
 cumstances before I accepted him. Of yourself, personally, I 
 have seen nothing that I do not like.** 
 "Oh, madamo!" 
 
 " But as yet I know nothing of your circumstances.** 
 M. Lacordaire, perhaps, did feel that Mrs. Thompson's prudence 
 was of a strong, masculine description ; but he hardly liked her 
 the less on this account. To give him his due he was not 
 desirous of maiTying her solely for her money's sake. He also 
 wished for a comfortable home, and proposed to give as much as 
 he got ; only he had been anxious to wrap up the solid cake of 
 this business in a casing of sugar of romance. Mrs. Thompson 
 would not have tho sugar ; but the coke might not be the woree 
 on that account. 
 
THE CHATEAU OF PRINCE POLiaNAC. 185 
 
 ** No, madamc, not as yet ; but they shall all be made opea 
 aiid at your disposal," said M. Lacordaire j and Mrs. Thompsoq 
 bowed approvingly. 
 
 "I am in business," continued M. Lacordaire; **and my 
 business gives mo eight thousand francs a year." 
 
 "Four times eight are thirty-two," said Mrs. Thompson to 
 herself ; putting the francs into pounds sterling, in the manner 
 that she had always found to bo the readiest. Well, 80 far tho 
 statement was satisfactory. An income of three humhed and - 
 twenty pounds a year from business, joined to her own, might do 
 very well. She did not in the least suspect M, Lacordaii'o c£ 
 being false, and so far the matter sounded well. 
 
 ** And what is tho business ? " she asked, in a tone of voice 
 intended to be indifferent, but which neveilheless showed that 
 she listened anxiously for an answer to her question. 
 
 They were both standing with their arms upon the wall, look- 
 ing down upon the town of Le Puy ; but they had so stood that 
 each could see tho other's countenance as they talked. !Mrs, 
 Thompson could now perceive that M. Lacordaire became red in 
 the face, as he paused before answering her. She was near to 
 him, and seeing his emotion gently touched his ann with her 
 hand. This she did to reassure him, for she saw that ho wag 
 ashamed of having to declare that ho was a tradesman. As for 
 herself, she had made up her mind to bear with this, if she found, 
 OS she felt sure she would fmd, that the trade was one which 
 would not degrade either him or her. Hitherto, indeed, — in her 
 early days, — she had looked down on trade ; but of what benefit 
 had her grand ideas been to her when she had retunied to Eng- 
 land ? She had tried her hand at English genteel society, and 
 no one had seemed to care for her. Therefore, she touched his 
 ann lightly with her fingers that she might encourage him. 
 
 He paused for a moment, as I have said, and became red ; and 
 then feeling that ho had shown some symptoms of shame — and 
 feeling also, probably, that it was unmanly in him to do so, ho 
 shook himself slightly, raised his head up somewhat more proudly 
 than was his wont, looked her full in the face with more strength 
 of character than she had yet seen him assume ; and then, dechu-ed 
 his business. 
 
 " Madame," he said, in a very audible, but not in a loud voice, 
 ** madame — je snis tailleur." And having so spoken, he turned 
 •lightly from her and looked dow^ over tho valley towards L9 
 Puy. 
 
 « • • • • 
 
186 TALES OF ALL C0ITNTIIIE8. • 
 
 There wm nothing more said npon the suhject ai they droT« 
 down from the rock of Polignac hack to the town. Immediately 
 on receiving the announcement, Mrs. Thompson found that she 
 had no answer to make. She withdrew her hand — and felt at 
 once that she had received a hlow. It was not that she was 
 angry with M. Lacordairo for hcing a tailor ; nor was she angry 
 with him in that, hcing a tailor, he had so addi-csscd her. But 
 she was surprised, disappointed, and altogetlier put hcyond her 
 ease. She had, at any rate, not expected this. She had drcanu d 
 'of his being a banker; thought that, perhaps, he might have 
 been a wiuo merchant ; but her idea had never gone below u 
 jeweller or watchmaker. AVTien those words broke upon her car, 
 ** Madame, je suis taillcur," she had felt herself to bo speechless. 
 
 But the words had not been a minute spoken when Lilian and 
 ^liramy ran up to their mother. **0h, mamma," said Lilian, 
 ** wo thought you were lost ; we have searched for you all over 
 the chateau." 
 
 *' AVe have been sitting very quietly here, my dear, looking at 
 the view," said Mrs. Thompson. 
 
 " But, mamma, I do wish you'd see the mouth of the oracle. 
 It is BO largo, and so round, and so ugly. I put my aim into it 
 all tho way," said Mimmy. 
 
 But at the present moment her mamma felt no interest in tho 
 mouth of tho oraclo ; and so they all walked down together to 
 tho caniagc. And, though the way was steep, Mrs. Thompson 
 managed to pick her steps without the assistance of an arm ; nor 
 did M. Lacordaii'o presume to offer it. 
 
 The drive back to town was very silent. Mrs. Thompson did 
 make ono or two attempts at conversation, but they were not 
 eflectual. M. Lacordairo could not speak at his ease till this 
 matter was settled, and he already had begun to perceive that 
 his business was against him. AVhy is it that tho trade of a 
 tailor should be less honourable than that of a habcixlashcr, or 
 even a grocer ? 
 
 They sat next each other at dinner,' as usual ; and here, as all 
 eyes were upon them, they both made a great struggle to behave 
 in their accustomed way. But even in this they failed. All tho 
 world of the Hotel des Ambassadcurs knew that M. Lacordfiiro 
 had gone forth to mako an offer to Mrs. Thompson, and all tliat 
 world, therefore, was full of speculation. But aJl tho world 
 could make nothing of it. M. Lacordairo did look like a rejected 
 man, but Mrs. Thompson did not look like the woman wlio had 
 rejected him. That the offer had been mad,^ — in that everybody 
 
 i 
 
THE CHATEAU OP PRINCE POLIGNAa 187 
 
 ftl^ccd, from the Benior habitue of the house who always sat at 
 the head of the tabic, down to the junior assistant gar9on. But 
 as to reading the riddle, there was no accord among them. 
 
 When the dessert was done, Mrs. Thompson, as usual, withdi-ew, 
 and M. Lacordaii-e, as usual, bowed as ho stood behind his own 
 chair. He did not, however, attempt to follow her. 
 
 But when she reached the door she called him. He was at 
 her side in a moment, and then she whispered in his ear — 
 
 "And I, also — I will be of the same business." 
 
 "When M. Lacordaire regained the table the senior habitue, the 
 junior gar(,'on, and all the intermediate ranks of men at the 
 Hotel dcs Ambassadeurs knew that they might congratulate him. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson had made a great struggle ; but, speaking for 
 myself, I am inclined to think that ahe arrived at last at a wise 
 
AAKON TROW. 
 
 I WOULD Wish to declare, at the bcprinninpj cf this etory, that I 
 ehiiU never regard that cluster of islets ■which wo call Bermuda 
 ofl tho Fortunate Islands of tho ancients. Do not let professional 
 peographers toko mo up, and say that no ono has so accounted 
 tliem, and that tho ancients have never been supposed to havo 
 Rotten thoTUHclves so fur westwards. What I mean to assort is 
 this — tlmt, hiid any nnoient been carried tlutlicr by ent<«rT)n«o 
 or stress of weatlier, ho would not have given those iHhinds so 
 good a name. That the Neapolitan sailors of King Alonzo should 
 havo been wrecked here, I consider to be more likely. The vexed 
 Ik'rmootheB is a good name for them. There is no getting in or 
 out of them without tho greatest difileulty, and a patient, slow 
 navigation, which is very heart-rending. Tluit Caliban should 
 have lived hero I can imagine ; that Ariel would htivo been hiik 
 of the place is certain ; and that Governor rrospero should havo 
 been willing to abandon his governorship, I conceive to have been 
 only natural. AVhen one regaids tho present state of the place, 
 one is tempted to doubt whether any of tho governors huvo been 
 conjurors since his days. 
 
 JJennuda, as all the world knows, is a IHntiHh colony at which 
 we maintain a convict establisliment. ^fost of our outlying 
 convict efitablishment^ have been sent back upon our hands from 
 our colonies, but hero one is still maintained. There is also in 
 the islands a strong militaiy fortress, though not a fortress looking 
 magniticent to the eyes of civilians, as do Malta and Gibraltar. 
 There are also hi're some six thousand white people and some six 
 thousand black ])eo])l(', eating, drinking, sU'cping, and dying. 
 
 The convict eHtaiilislimi'nt is the m<mt notable feature ui }Ur» 
 muda to a stranger, but it does not seem to attract much attention 
 from tho regular inhabitants of the place. There is no intercourse 
 between tho prisoners and tho Bermudiaus. Tho convicts are 
 
AARON TROW, 189 
 
 rarely seen by them, and the convict islands ore rarely visited. 
 As to the prisoners themselves, of course it is not open to them— 
 or sliould not be open to them — to have intercourse with any but 
 the prison authorities. 
 
 There liave, however, been instances in which convicts havo 
 escaped from their confinement, and made their way out among 
 the islands. Poor wretches ! As a rule, there is but little chanco 
 for any that can so escape. The whole length of the cluster is 
 but twenty miles, and the breadth is under four. The prisoners 
 ore, of course, white men, nnd the lower orders of 13ermuda, 
 amonj? whom alone could a ninagatc have any chance of hiding 
 himself, are all negroes ; so that such a one would be known at 
 once. Their clothes arc all marked. Their only chance of a 
 permanent escape would be in the hold of an American ship ; but 
 wlmt captain of an American or other ship would willingly en- 
 cumber himself with an escaped convict ? But, nevertheless, men 
 have escaped ; and in one instance, I believe, a convict got away, 
 80 that oi him no farther tidings were ever heard. 
 
 For the truth of the following tale I will not by any means 
 Touch. If one were to inquire on the spot one might probably 
 find that the ladies all believe it, and the old men ; that all tho 
 young men know exactly how much of it is false and how much 
 true ; and that the steady, middle-aged, well-to-do islanders are 
 quite convinced that it is romance from beginning to end. My 
 readers may range themselves with the ladies, tho young men, or 
 the steady, well-to-do, middle-aged islanders, as they please. 
 
 Some years ago, soon after tho prison was first established ou 
 its present footing, three men did escape from it, and among them a 
 certain notorious prisoner named Aaron Trow. Trow's antecedents 
 in England had not been so villanously bad as those of many of 
 his fellow-convicts, though tho one oflencc for which ho was 
 punished had been of a deep dye : he had shed man's blood. At 
 a period of great distress in a raanuliictuiing town he had led 
 men on to riot, and with his own hand had slain the first con- 
 stable who had endeavoured to do his duty against him. There 
 liad been courage in tho doing of tho deed, and probably no 
 malice ; but the deed, let its moral blackness have been what it 
 might, had sent him to Bermuda, with a sentence against him of 
 penal semtude for life. Had he been then amenable to prison 
 discipline,— "Cven then, with such a sentence against him as that, 
 —ho might have won his way back, after the lapse of years, to 
 the children, and perhaps, to the wife, that he had left behind 
 him ; but he was amenable to no roles — ^to no discipline. His 
 
190 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 heart was sore to death with an idea of injury, and ho launei 
 himself against the bars of his cage with a feeling that it would 
 ho well if ho could so lash himself till he might perish in his f\iry. 
 And then a day came in which an attempt was made by a largo 
 body of convicts, under his leadership, to get the better of the 
 officers of the prison. It is hardly necessary to say that the 
 attempt tailed. Such attempts always fail. It failed on thi-i 
 occasion signally, and Trow, with two other men, were condemned 
 to be scourged terribly, and then kept in solitary confinement fop 
 some lengthened term of months. Before, however, tho day of 
 scourging came, Trow and liis two associates had escaped. 
 
 I have not the space to tell how this was effected, nor the 
 power to describe the manner. They did escape from tho esta- 
 blishment into the islands, and though two of them were taken 
 after a single day's run at libci-ty, Aaron Trow had not been yet 
 retaken even when a week was over. "When a month was over 
 he had not been retaken, and the officers of the prison began to 
 say that he had got away from them in a vessel to the States. It 
 was impossible, they said, tliiit he should have remained in tho 
 islands and not been discovered. It was not impossible that ho 
 might have destroyed himself, leaving his body where it had not 
 yet been found. But he could not have lived on in Bermuda 
 duiing that month's search. So, at least, said the officers of tho 
 prison* There was, however, a report through the islands that 
 he had been seen from time to time ; that he had gotten bread 
 from tho negroes at night, threatening them with death if they 
 told of his whereabouts ; and that all the clothes of the mate of 
 a vessel had been stolen while tho man was bathing, including a 
 suit of dark blue cloth, in which suit of clothes, or in one of such 
 a nature, a stranger had been seen skulking about tho rocks near 
 St. George. All this tho governor of tho prison affected to dis- 
 believe, but tho opinion was becoming very rife in the islands 
 that Aaron Trow was still there. 
 
 A vigilant search, however, is a task of great labour, and 
 cannot bo kept up for ever. By degrees it was relaxed. Tho 
 warders and gaolers* ceased to patrol the island roads by night, 
 and it was agreed that Aaron Trow was gone, or that ho would 
 be starved to death, or that he would in time be driven to leave 
 such traces of his whereabouts as must lead to his discovery ; 
 and this at last did turn out to be the fact. 
 
 There is a sort of prettiness about these islands which, though 
 it never rises to the loveliness of romantic scenery, is neverthe- 
 less attractiye in its way. The land breaks itself into little knplls. 
 
AARON TROW. 191 
 
 and the sea runs up, hither and thither, in a thousand creeks and 
 inlets ; and then, too, when the oleanders arc in bloom, they givo 
 a •wonderfully bright colour to the landscape. Oleanders seem 
 to be the roses of Bermuda, and are cultivated round all the 
 "N-illagcs of the better class through the islands. There are two 
 towns, St. George and Hamilton, and one main high-road, which 
 connects them ; but even this high-road is broken by a ferry, over 
 which every vehicle going from St. George to Hamilton must bo 
 conveyed. Most of the locomotion in these parts is done by boats, 
 and the residents look to the sea, with its narrow creeks, as their 
 best highway from their faims to their best market. In those 
 days — and those days were not very long since — the building of 
 email ships was their cliief trade, and they valued their land 
 mostly for the small scrubby cedar-trees with which this trade 
 was canicd on. 
 
 As one goes from St. George to Hamilton the road runs between 
 two seas ; that to the right is the ocean ; that on the left is an 
 inland creek, which runs up through a large portion of the 
 islands, so that the land on the other side of it is near to the 
 traveller. For a considerable portion of the way there are no 
 houses lying near the road, and there is one residence, some way 
 from the road, so secluded that no other house lies within a mile 
 of it by land. By water it might probably be reached within half 
 a mile. This place was called Crump Island, and here lived, and 
 had lived for many years, an old gentleman, a native of Bermuda, 
 whose business it had been to buy up cedar wood and sell it to 
 the ship-builders at Hamilton. In our story wo shall not have 
 very much to do with old Mr. Bergen, but it ^vill be necessary 
 to say a word or two about his house. 
 
 It stood upon what would have been an island in the creek, 
 had not a narrow causeway, barely broad enough for a road, 
 jomed it to that larger island on which stands the town of 
 St. George. As the main road approaches the ferry it runs 
 through some rough, hilly, open ground, which on the right 
 side towards the ocean has never been cultivated. Tlio distance 
 from the ocean hero may, perhaps, be a quarter of a mile, and 
 the ground is for the most part covered with low furze. On the 
 left of the road the land is cultivated in patches, and here, some 
 half mile or more from the ferry, a path turns away to Crump 
 Island. The house cannot be seen from the road, and, indeed, can 
 hardly be seen at all, except from the sea. It lies, perhaps, three 
 furlongs from the high road, and the path to it is but little usedf 
 as the passage to and from it is chidfly mode by water. 
 
102 TALES OF ALL COtJOTRIES. 
 
 Here, at the time of our story, li^ed Mr. Bergen, and hew 
 lived Mr. Bergen's daughter. Miss Bergen was well known at 
 St. George's as a steady, good girl, who spent her time in looking 
 after her father's household matters, in managing his two hlack 
 moid-servants and the black gardener, and who did her duty in 
 that sphere of life to which she had been called. She was a 
 comely, well-shaped young woman, with a sweet countenance, 
 rather large in size, and very quiet in demeanour. In her earlier 
 years, when young girls usually first bud forth into womanly 
 beauty, the neighbours had not thought much of Anastasia 
 Bergen, nor had the young men of St. George been wont to stay 
 their boats under the window of Cnmip Cottage in order that 
 they might listen to her voice or feci the light of her eye ; but 
 slowly, as years went by, Anastasia Bergen became a woman 
 that a man might well love ; and a man learned to love her who 
 was well worthy of a woman's heart. This was Caleb Morton, 
 the Presbyterian minister of St. George ; and Caleb Morton had 
 been engaged to maiTy Miss Bergen for the last two years past, 
 at the period of Aaron Trow's escape from prison. 
 
 Caleb Morton was not a native of Bermuda, but had been sent 
 thither by the synod of his church from Nova Scotia. Ho was a 
 tall, handsome man, at this time of some thirty years of age, of 
 a presence which might almost have been called commanding. 
 He wns very strong, but of a temperament which did not often 
 give him opportunity to put forth his strength ; and his life had 
 been such that neither he nor others knew of what nature might 
 be his courage. The greater part of his life was spent in 
 preaching to some few of the white people around him, and in 
 teaching as many of the blacks as he could get to hear him. His 
 duys were very quiet, and had been altogether without excite- 
 ment imtil he had met with Anastasia Bergen. It will suffice 
 for us to say that he did meet her, and that now, for two ycart 
 past, they had been engaged as man and wife. 
 
 Old Mr. Bergen, when he heard of the engagement, was not 
 well pleased at the information. In the first place, his daughter 
 was very necessary to him, and the idea of her marrying and 
 going away had hardly as yet occurred to him ; and then ho 
 was by no means inclined to part with any ot his money. It 
 must not be presumed that he had amassed a fortune by his 
 trade in cedar wood. Few tradesmen in Bermuda do, as I 
 imagine, amass fortunes. Of some few hundred pounds he was 
 possessed, and these, in the course of nature, would go to his 
 daughter when he died j but he had no inclination to hand anj 
 
AARON TROW. l93 
 
 portion of them over to his daughter hefore they did go to her 
 in the course of nature. Now, the income which Caleb Mor- 
 ton earned as a Presbyterian clergyman was not large, and, 
 tlicrcforc, no day had been fixed aa yet for his marriage with 
 Anastasia. 
 
 But, though the old man had been from the first averse to tho 
 match, his hostility had not been active. He had not forbidden 
 Mr. Moiton his house, or affected to be in any degree angry 
 because his daughter had a lover. He had merely grumbled 
 forth an intimation that those who marry in haste repent at 
 leisure, — that love kept nobody waiTa if the pot did not boil ; and 
 that, as fofhim, it was as much as he could do to keep his own 
 pot boiling at Cnmip Cottage. In answer to this Anastasia said 
 nothing. She asked him for no money, but still kept his accounts, 
 managed his household, and looked patiently forwai'd for better 
 days. 
 
 Old Mr. Bergen himself spent much of his time at Hamilton, 
 where he had a woodyard with a couple of rooms attached to it. 
 It was his custom to remain hero three nights of tho week, 
 during which Ajiastasia was left alone at the cottage ; and it 
 happened by no means seldom that she was altogether alone, for 
 tlie negro whom they called the gardener would go to her father's 
 place at Hamilton, and the two black girls would crawl away up 
 to the road, tired with the monotony of tho sea at the cottage. 
 Caleb had more than once told her that sho was too much alone, 
 but she had laughed at him, saying that solitude in Bermuda 
 was not dangerous. Kor, indeed, was it ; for the people arc 
 quiet and well-mannered, lacking much energy, but being, in 
 the Biune degree, free from any propensity to violence. 
 
 ** So you are going," she said to her lover, one evening, as ho 
 rose fi'om the chair on which ho had been swinging himself at 
 the door of tho cottage which looks down over tho creek of the 
 6ca. He had sat there for an hour talking to her as sho worked, 
 or watching her as she moved about the place. It was a beauti- 
 ful evening, and the sun had been falling to rest with almost 
 tropical gloiy before his feet. The bright oleanders were red 
 "vsith their blossoms all around him, and ho had thoroughly 
 enjoyed his hour of easy rest. ** So you are going," she said to 
 him, not putting her work out of her hand as he rose to depart. 
 
 ** Yes ; and it is time for mo to go. I have still work to do 
 before I can get to bed. Ah, well ; I suppose the day will comt* 
 at last when I need not leave you as soon as my hour of rcil if 
 
194 TALES OP Alt COUNTRtES. 
 
 " Come ; of course it will come. Tkat is, if your reverenod 
 should choose to wait for it another ten years or bo." 
 
 ** I believe you would not mind waiting twenty years." 
 
 ** Not if a certain friend of mine would como down and see 
 mo of evenings when I'm alone after tho day. It seems to mo 
 that I shouklu't mind waiting as long as I hud that to look for.'* 
 
 ** You are right not to be impatient," ho said to her, after a 
 pause, ns he held hor hand before he went. ** Quito right. I , 
 only wish I could school myself to be as easy about it." 
 
 **I did not say, I was easy," said Anastasia. "People ai*o 
 seldom easy in this world, I take it. I said I could be patient. 
 Do not look in that way, as though you pretended that you were 
 dissatisfied with me. You know that I am true to you, and you 
 ought to be VC17 proud of me." 
 
 "I am proud of you, Anastasia " on hearing which she 
 
 got up and courtcsicd to him. "I am proud of you; so proud 
 of you that I feci you should not bo left here all alone, with no 
 one to help you if you were in trouble." 
 
 *' Women don't get into trouble m men do, nnd do not want 
 any one to help them. If you were alono in tho house you 
 Would liave to go to bed without your supper, becuuse you could 
 not xialco a bnsin of boiled milk ready for your own meal. Now, 
 when your reverence has gone, I shall go to work and have my 
 tea comfortably." And then ho did go, bidding God bless her 
 OS ho left her. Three hours after that ho was disturbed in his 
 own lodgings by ono of the negro girls from the cottage rushing 
 to his door, aud begging him in Heaven's namo to come down to 
 tho nssisliinco of her mistresfl. 
 
 ■\Vluu IMorton left her, AnfistaRia did not proceed to do as she 
 had said, and Rec mod to have forgotten her evening meal. 8ho 
 hud been working scduluuHly witli lier needle durin-^ idl lliut 
 last convci-sation ; but when her lover was gone, she allowed tho 
 work to fall Lom her hands, and sat motionless for awhile, 
 gazing at the last streak of colour left by the setting sun ; but 
 tliero was no longer a sign of its glory to bo traced in tho, 
 heavens around her. Tho twiliglit in Bermuda is not long and 
 enduring as it is with um, though tho davliKht doe,^ not depart 
 suddenly, leaving the darkness of night behind it without any 
 intermediate time of warning, as is tho case fiuther south, down 
 among tho islands of the tropics. But the soft, sweet light of 
 the evening had waned and gone, and night had absolutely como 
 upon her, while Anaslafcia was titill seated before the cottago 
 Vfiilx her (yes ilxed upon thu whito etreak of motionlcM BeA 
 
AARON TROW.* 195 
 
 which was etill visible through the gloom. She was thinking 
 of liim, of his ways of life, of his happiness, and of her duty 
 towards him. She had told him, with her pretty feminine false- 
 ness, that she could wait without impatience ; hut now she said to 
 herself that it would not bo good for him to wait longer. He lived 
 filonc and without comfort, working very hard for liis poor pittance, 
 and she could see, and feel, and understand that a companion in 
 his life was to him almost a necessity. She would tell her father 
 tliat all this must be brought to an end. She would not ask 
 him for money, but she would make him understand that her 
 seiTices must, at any rate in part, bo transferred. Why should 
 not she and Morton still live at the cottage when they were 
 married ? And so thinking, and at last resolving, she sat there 
 till the dark night fell upon her. 
 
 She was at last disturbed by feeling a man's hand upon her 
 shoulder. She jumped from her chair and faced him, — not 
 screaming, for it was especially within her power to control 
 herself, and to make no utterance except with forethought. 
 Perhaps it might have been bettor for her had she screamed, and 
 sent a shrill shriek down the shore of that inland sea. She was 
 silent, however, and with awe -struck face and outstretched hands 
 gazed into the face of him who still held her by the shoulder. 
 The night was dark ; but her eyes were now accustomed to the 
 darkness, and she could see indistinctly something of his features. 
 He was a low-sized man, dressed in a suit of sailor's blue clothing, 
 with a rough cap of hair on his head, and a beard that had not 
 been clipped for many weeks. His eyes were large, and hoUow, 
 and frightfully bright, so that she seemed to see nothing else of 
 him ; but sho felt the strength of his fingers as he grasped her 
 tighter and more tightly by the arm. 
 
 ** "Who are you ?" she said, after a moment's pause. 
 
 "Do you know me?" he asked. 
 
 "Know you! No." But the words were hardly out of her 
 mouth before it struck her that the man was Aaron Trow, of 
 whom every one in Bennuda had been talking. 
 
 " Come into the house," he said, " and give me food." And 
 he still held her with his hand as though ho would compel her 
 to follow him. 
 
 She stood for a moment thinking what she would say to him ; 
 for even then, with that terrible man standing close to her in the 
 darkness, her presence of mind did not desert her. ** Surely," 
 ihe said, *' I will give yon food if you are hungry. But take 
 your kmd hvm me. No man would lay his handi oa a womar*^ 
 
 2 
 
196 TALES OP ALL COUKTRIES. 
 
 ** A woman!** soiiL tho stranger. "What does the BtarreA 
 wolf care for that ? A woman's blood is as sweet to him as that 
 of a man. Come into the house, I tell you." And then she 
 preceded him through the open door into the narrow passage, 
 and thence to the kitchen. There she saw that the back door, 
 leading out on the other side of the house, was open, and she 
 knew that he had come do^vn from the road and entered on that 
 Bide. She threw her eyca around, looking fur the negro girls ; but 
 tliey were away, and she remembered that there was no human 
 being within sound of her voice but this man who had told her 
 that ho was as a wolf tliii'sty after her blood ! 
 
 *' Give me food at once," he said. 
 
 ** And will you go if I give it you ?** she asked. 
 
 "I will knock out your bmina if you do not," he replied, 
 lifting from the grate a short, thick poker which lay there. 
 *' Bo as I bid you at once. You also would bo like a tiger if 
 you hud fasted for two days, as I have done." 
 
 She could see, as she moved across the kitchen, that ho had 
 alieady soai'chcd tliero for something that ho might eat, but that 
 he had searched in vain. With tho closo economy common 
 among his class in the islands, all comestibles were kept under 
 close lock and key in the house of Mr. Bergen. Tlieir daily 
 allowance was given day by day to the ncgi'O servants, and even 
 the fragments were then gathered up and locked away in safety. 
 She moved across the kitchen to the accustomed cupboard, taking 
 the keys from lier pocket, and he followed close upon her. There 
 was a small oil lamp hanging from tho low ceiling which just 
 gave them light to sec each other. She lifted her liand to this 
 to take it from its hook, but he prevented her. •* 'No, by Hea- 
 ven!" he said, "you don't touch that till I've done with it. 
 There's light enough for you to di-ag out your Scraps." 
 
 She did drag out her scraps and a bowl of milk, which might 
 hold perhaps a quait. There was a fragment of bread, a morsel 
 of cold potuto-cukc, and the bone of a kg of kid. " And is that 
 all ?" said he. But as he spoko he fleshed his teeth against the 
 bone as a dog would have done. 
 
 ♦' It is the best I have," she said ; " I wish it were better, and 
 you should have had it without violence, as you have suffered so 
 long from hunger." 
 
 "Bah! Better; yes! You would give the best no doubt, 
 and set the hell hounds on my track the moment I am gone. I 
 know how much I might expect from your chaiity." 
 
 " I would have fed you for pity's siic," she answered. 
 
 I 
 
AAKON TROW. 197 
 
 *'PIty! "Who are you, that you should dare to pity me! 
 
 By , my young woman, it is I that pity you. I muet cut 
 
 your throat unless you give mo money. Do you know that ?" 
 
 ** Money ! I have got no money." 
 
 *'1'11 make you have some hefore I go. Come; dcn*t move 
 till I have done." And as he spoke to her he went on tugging 
 at the hone, and swallowing the lumps of stale hread. He had 
 already finished the howl of milk. *' And, now," said he, " tell 
 me who I nm." 
 • ** I isuppose you are Aaron Trow," she answered, very slowly. 
 
 He said nothing on hearing this, hut continued his meal, 
 standing close to her so that she might not possibly escape from 
 him out into the darkness. Twice or thrice in those few minutes 
 she made up her mind to make such an attempt, feeling that it 
 would be better to leave him in possession of the house, and 
 make sure, if possible, of her own life. There was no money 
 there ; not a dollar ! \Vhat money her father kept in his posses- 
 sion was locked up in his safe at Hamilton. And might he not 
 keep to his threat, and murder her, when he found that she could 
 give him nothing ? She did not tremble outwardly, as she stood 
 there watching him as he ate, but she thought how probable it 
 miglit be that her last moments were very near. And yet she 
 could scmtinise his features, form, and garments, so as to carry 
 away in her mind a perfect picture of them. Aaron Trow — for 
 of course it was the escaped convict — was not a man of frightful, 
 hideous aspect. Had the world used him well, giving him when 
 he was young ample wages and separating him from turlmlent 
 spirits, he also might have used the world well ; and then women 
 would have praised the brightness of his eye and the manly vigour 
 of his brow. But things had not gone well with him. He had 
 been separated from the wife he had loved, and the children who 
 had been raised at his knee, — separated by liis own violence ; 
 and now, as he had said of himself, he was *a wolf rather than a 
 man. As he stood there satisfying the craving of his appetite, 
 breaking up the large morsels of food, he was an object very sad 
 to be seen. Hunger had made him gaunt and yellow, he was 
 squalid with the dirt of his hidden lair, and he had the look of a 
 beast; — that look to which men fall when they live like the 
 brutes of prey, as outcasts from their brethren. But still there 
 was that about his brow which might have redeemed him, — 
 which might have turned her horror into pity, bad he been willing 
 that it should be so. 
 
 ** And now give me eome brand^p*/' be scud. 
 
198 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 There wm brandy in tlio house, — in the Bitting-room whicli 
 was close at their hand, and the key of the little press which 
 held it was in her pocket. It was useless, she thought, to re- 
 fuse him ; and so she told him that there was a bottle partly Ml, 
 but that she must go to the next room to fetch it him. 
 
 " "We'll go together, my darling," ho said. " There's nothing 
 like good company." And he again put his hand upon her anu 
 ns they passed into the family sitting-room. 
 
 " I must toko the light," she said. But he unhooked it him- 
 self, and carried it in his own hand. 
 
 Again she went to work without trembling. She found the 
 key of the side cupboard, and unlocking the door, handed liim a 
 bottle wliicli might contain about lialf-a-pint of spirits. "And 
 is that all?" ho said. 
 
 *' There is a full bottle here," she answered, handing him 
 another ; " but if you drink it, you will be drunk, and they will 
 catch you." 
 
 '• By Hco-vcns, yes ; and you would bo the first to help them ; 
 would you not?" 
 
 " Look licrc," hho answered. *' If you will go now, I will not 
 pay a word to nny ono of your coming, nor si^t tliom on your trark 
 to iullow you. There, take tho full bottlu with you. If you 
 will go, you shall bo safe from me." 
 " What, and go without money I" 
 
 ** I have none to give you. You may believe me when I say 
 so. I have not a dollar in the house." 
 
 Before ho spoke again ho riiised tho half empty bottle to his 
 inoulli, and drank as long as theio wuh u diop to drink. **Tliere," 
 said he, putting the bottle down,** I am better after that. As to 
 the other, you oi'o right, and I will take it with me. And now, 
 young woman, about the money ?" 
 ** I tell you that I have not a dollar." 
 
 " Look here," said he, and ho spoke now in a softer voice, as 
 though ho would bo on friendly terms with her.^ " Give me ten 
 sovereigns, and I will go. I know you have it, and with ten 
 sovereigns it is possible that I may save my life. You are good, 
 and would not wish that a man should die so horrid a death. I 
 know you are good. Come, give mo the money." And lie put 
 his hands up, beseeching her, and looked into her face with 
 imploring eyes. 
 
 *' On the word of a Cliristian woman I have not got money to 
 ^ve vou," she replied. 
 
 <* i^onsense ?" And as he spoke he took her by tho arm and 
 
AARON TROW. 199 
 
 shook her. Ho shook her violently bo that he hurt her, and her 
 breath for a moment was all but gone from her. "I tell you 
 you must' make dollars before I leave you, or I "will so handle 
 you that it would have been better for you to coin your very 
 blood." 
 
 '* May God help me at my need," she said, "as I have not 
 above a few penny pieees in the house." 
 
 "And you expect mo to believe that! Look here I I will 
 phnkc the teeth out of )our head, but I will have it from you." 
 And he did shako her again, using both his hands and striking 
 her against the wall . 
 
 "Would you — murder mo?" she said, hardly able now to 
 utter the words. 
 
 " Murder you, yes ; why not ? I cannot bo worse than lam, 
 were I to murder you tea times over. But with money I may 
 possibly be better." 
 
 " I have it not." 
 
 ** Then I will do worse than murder you. I will make you 
 Buch an object that all the world shall loathe to look on you." 
 And BO saying he took her by the arm and dragged her forth from 
 the wall against which she had stood. 
 
 Then there came from her a shriek that was heard far down 
 the shore of that silent sea, and away across to the solitary houses 
 of those living on the other side, — a shriek, very sad, sharp, and 
 prolonged, — which told plainly to those who heard it of woman's 
 woe when in her extremest peril. That sound was spoken of in 
 Bermuda for many a day after that, as something which had 
 been terrible to hear. But then, at that moment, as it came 
 wailing through the dark, it sounded as though it were not 
 human. Of those who heard it, not one guessed from whence it 
 came, nor was the hand of any brother put forward to help that 
 woman at her need. 
 
 "Did you hear that?" said the young wife to her husband, 
 from the far side of the arm of the sea. 
 
 "Hear it! Oh Heaven, yes! Whence did it come?" Tho 
 young wife could not say from whence it came, but clung close 
 to her husband's breast, comforting herself with the knowledge 
 that that terrible sorrow was not hers. 
 
 But aid did come at last, or rather that which seemed as aid. 
 Long and terrible was the fight between that human beast of prey 
 and the poor victim which had fallen into his talons. Anastasia 
 Bergen was a strong, wcU-built woman, and now that the timo 
 bad come to her when a struggle was necessary, a struggle for 
 
20C TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 life, for honour, for the happiness of him who was more to het 
 than herself, she fought like a tigress attacked in her own lair. 
 At such a moment as this she also could become wild and savage 
 as the beast of tho forest. When ho pinioned her arms with ono 
 of his, us ho pressed her down upon the floor, she caught the first 
 joint of the forefinger of his other hand between her teeth till he 
 yelled in agony, and another sound was heard across the silent 
 water. And then, when one hand was loosed in tho struggle, 
 she twisted it through his long hair, and dragged back his head 
 till his eyes wero nearly starting from their sockets. Anastasia 
 Bergen had hitherto been jo. sheer woman, all feminine in her 
 nature. But now the foam came to her mouth, and fire sprang 
 from her eyes, and tho muscles of her body worked as though 
 she had been trained to deeds of Tiolence. Of -N-iolence, Aaron 
 Trow had known much in his rough life, but never had ho 
 combated with harder antagonisw than her whom he now held 
 beneath his breast. 
 
 << By I will put an end to you," he exclaimed, in liis 
 
 wrath, as he struck her violently across the face with his elbow. 
 His hand was occui)icd, and ho could not use it for a blow, but, 
 nevertheless, the violcnco was so great that the blood gushed from 
 her nostrils, while the back of her head was driven with violence 
 against the floor. But she did not lof.e her hold of him. Tier 
 hand was still twined closely through his thick hair, and in 
 every move he made she clung to him with all her might. 
 " Leave go my hair," he shouted at her, but she still kept her 
 hold, though he again dashed her head against the floor. 
 
 There was still light in tho room, for when he first graspeC 
 her with both his hands, he had put the lamp down on a small 
 table. Now they wero rolling on the floor together, and twice ho 
 had essayed to kneel on her that he might thus crush tho breath 
 from her body, and deprive her altogether of her strength ; but 
 she had been too active for him, moving herself along the ground, 
 though in doing so she di'agged him with her. But by degrees 
 he got one hand at liberty, and with that he pulled a clasp knife 
 out of his pocket and opened it. *' I will cut your head off' if 
 you do not let go my hair," he said. But still she held fast by 
 him. Ho then stabbed at her ann, using his left hand and 
 making short, ineffectual blows. Her dress partly saved ber, 
 and partly also the continual movement of all her limbs ; but, 
 nevertheless, tho knife wounded her. It wounded her in several 
 places about the arm, covering them both with bUod ; — but still 
 eh^ hun^ ox« go close -^f as her grasp in her agony, that^ as ah^ 
 
AARON TROW. 201 
 
 afterwards found, she cut the skin of her othi hands with her 
 own nails. Had the man's hair been less thick or strong, or her 
 own tenacity less steadfast, he would have murdered her before 
 any interruption could have saved her. 
 
 And yet he had not purposed to murder her, or even, in the 
 first instance, to inflict on her auy bodily harm. But he had 
 been determined to get money. With such a sum of money as 
 be had named, it might, he thought, be possible for him to win 
 his way across to America. He might bribe men to hide him in 
 the hold of a ship, and thus there might be for him, at any rate, 
 a possibility of escape. That there must be money in the house 
 ho had still thought when first ho laid hands on the poor woman ; 
 and then, when the struggle had once begun, when he had felt her 
 muscles contending with his, the passion of tlie beast was aroused 
 within him, and he strove against her as he would have stiiven 
 against a dog. But yet, when the knife was in his hand, ho 
 had not driven it against her heart. 
 
 Then suddenly, while they were yet rolling on the floor, there 
 was a sound of footsteps in the passage. Aaron Trow instantly 
 leaped to liis feet, leaving his victim on the ground, with huge 
 lumps of his thick clotted hair in her hand. Thus, and thus only, 
 could he have liberated himself from her grasp. He rushed at 
 the door, and there he* came against the two negro servant- 
 girls who had returned do^vn to their kitchen from the road 
 on which they had been straying. Trow, as he half saw 
 them in the dark, not knowing how many there might be, or 
 whether there was a man among them, rushed through them, 
 upsetting one scared girl in his passage. With the instinct and 
 with the timidity of a beast, his impulse now was to escape, and 
 he hurried away back to the road and to his lair, lea^'ing the three 
 women together in the cottage. Poor wretch ! As ho crossed 
 the road, not skulking in his impotent haste, but running at 
 his best, another pair of eyes saw him, and when the search be- 
 came hot after him, it was known that his hiding-place was not 
 distant. 
 
 It was some time before any of the women were able to act, 
 and when some step was taken, Anastasia was the first to take 
 it. She had not absolutely swooned, but the reaction, after the 
 viokuce of her efforts, was so great, that for some minutes she 
 had been unable to speak. She had risen from the floor when 
 Trow left her, and had even followed him to the door ; but 
 since that she had fallen back into her father's old arm-chair, 
 and there sat gasping not onl^r for wordS| but for breath also. 
 
80» TALBfl 0? AU COWTRIBS. 
 
 At lost bTio l)ado one of tho girl« to run into Bt. Gcorp^e, and l^g 
 Mr. Morton to como to hor aid. Tho girl would not etir without 
 her companion ; and oven then, Anastftsia, covered as sho was 
 •with blood, with dishevelled hair, and her clolhcs half torn from 
 her bwly, accompanied them ob far as tho road. There they 
 found a nep:ro lad ptill hanging about the plncc, and he told lliem 
 that he had seen tho man cross tho road, and run down over the 
 open ground towards tho rocks of tho sea-coast. " He must bo 
 tlicro," paid tho lad, pointing in the direction of ft corner of tho 
 rocks ; " unh'Ps ho swim across tlio mouth of tho ferry." Uut t]io 
 mouth of that ferry is an nnn of tho sea, and it was not probublo 
 that a man wouhl do tluit when ho miglit have taken tho narrow 
 water by keeping on tlio otlier side of tho road. 
 
 At about ono that night Caleb ^loiion reached tho cottago 
 breathless witli running, and before a word was spoken between 
 tliem, Anastasia luid fallen on his shoulder and had fainted. As 
 Boon as she M'as in the arms of her lover, uU her power had gono 
 from her. Tho spirit and passion of tho tiger had gone, and sho 
 was again a weak wonum shiuldenng at the thought of wluit slio 
 liad Buffered. Bho remembered that sho had had tho mon's hand 
 between her teeth, and by degrees she found his hair still clinging 
 to her fingers ; but even then sho could hardly call to mind tho 
 nature of tho struggle she had undergone. His hot breath close 
 to lier own cheek she did remember, and his glaring eyes, and 
 even the roughness of his beard us he pressed his face against her 
 own ; but she could not say whence had come tho blood, nor till 
 her arm became stiff and Uiotionless did sho know that sho hud 
 been wounded. 
 
 It was all joy with her now, as she But motionless without 
 Bpeuking, while ho administered to her wants and spoko words 
 of love into her ears. She n membered tho man's horrid threat, 
 and knew that by God's mercy she had been saved. And he was 
 there caressing her, loving lier, eomfoiiing her! As sho thought 
 of tho fate that had threatened her, of the evil that had been so 
 imminent, sho full forward on lier knees, and with incoherent 
 Bobs uttered her thanksgivings, while her head was still supported 
 on his arms. 
 
 It was almost morning before she could induce herself to leave 
 him and lie down. \Vith him sho seemed to bo so perfectly safe ; 
 cut tho moment ho was uwuy sho could see Aaron Trow's eyes 
 gleaming at her across tho room. At last, liowever, sho slept ; 
 and when he saw that she was at rest, he told himself that his 
 work must then be^dn. Hitherto Caleb Morton had lived in all 
 
AARON TROW. JJOS 
 
 resivccts tho life of ft'mftn of pcaco ; l)ut now, ftwlcing WmBclf no 
 questions as to tho proprI<jty of what ho would do, \mn<; no 
 inward arguments as to this or that lino of conduct, ho girded 
 tho sword on his loins, and prepared himself for war. Tho 
 wretch who had thus treated tho woman whom he loved should 
 ho liuntcd down liko a wild beast, as long as ho had arms 
 and legs with which to cany on tho hunt. Ho would pursue 
 tlio miscreant with any weapons that might corao to his hands ; 
 und might Heaven help hira at his nerd ns hn dealt forth 
 punishment to that man, if ho caught him within his grasp. 
 Those who hfid hitherto known Moi-ton in tho island, could not 
 recognise tho man as ho camo forth on that day, thirsty after 
 hlood, nnd desirous to thrust himself into personal conflict with 
 tho wild ruffian who had injured him. Tho meek Presbyterian 
 minister had been a preacher, preaching ways of peace, and 
 living in accordance with his own doctrines. Tho world had 
 been very quiet for him, and ho had walked quietly in his 
 appointed path. Ihit now tho world was quiet no longer, nor 
 was there any preaching of peace. His cry was for blood ; for 
 tho blood of tho untaTnr!d savage brute who had como npon his 
 young doo in her solitude, and striven with such brutal violence 
 to tear her heart from hcT bosom. 
 
 Ho got to his assistance early in tho morning some of tho con- 
 stables from St. George, nnd before tho day was over, ho was 
 joined bv two or three of tho warders from tho convict establish- 
 ment. There was with him also a fnend or two, and thus a 
 party was formed, numbering together ten or twelve persons. 
 Tlic.y were of course all armed, and therefore it might bo thouglit 
 that there would bo but small chance for tho wret-ched man if tliey 
 should como upon his track. At first they all searched t<;gether, 
 thinking from tho tidings which had reached them that he must 
 be near to them ; but gradually they spread themselves along 
 the rocks between St. George and the ferry, keeping watchmen on 
 tho road, so that ho should not escape unnoticed into the island. 
 
 Ten times during the day did Anastasia send from the cottago 
 up to Morton, begging him to leave the search to others, and 
 come down to her. But not for a moment would he lose the 
 scent of his prey. What ! should it bo said that she had been so 
 treated, and that others had avenged her ? He sent back to say 
 that her father waa with her now, and that ho would como when 
 his work wa» over. And in that job of work the life-blood of 
 Aaron Trow waa counted up. 
 
 Toworda ovoning tho^r were all congregated on tho road xvoar 
 
204 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 to the spot at wliich the path turns off towards the cottage, when 
 a voice was heard hallooing to them from the summit of a little 
 hill which lies between the road and the sea on the side towards 
 the ferry, and presently a boy came running down to them full 
 of news. ** Danny Lund has seen him," said the boy, ** he has 
 seen him plainly m among the rocks." And then came Danny 
 Lund himself, a small negio lad about fourteen years of age, who 
 was known in those parts as the idlest, most dishonest, and most 
 useless of his race. On this occasion, however, Danny Lund 
 becnme important, and every one listened to him. He had seen, 
 he said, a paii' of eyes moving down in a cave of the rocks which 
 he well knew. Ma had been in the cave often, he said, and 
 could get there aguin. Ihit not now; not while that pair of 
 eyes was moving iit the bottom of it. And so they all went up 
 over the hill, Morton leading the way with hot liastc. In his 
 waistband he held a pistol, and his hand grasped a short iron bar 
 with which he had armed himself. They ascended the top of 
 the hill, and when there, the open sea was before them on two 
 sides, and on the third was the nan'ow creek over which tlio 
 feny passed. Immediately beneath their feet were the broken 
 rocks ; for on that side, towards the sea, the earth and grass oi 
 the hill descended but a little way towards the water. Down 
 among the rocks they all went, silently, Caleb Morton leading 
 the way, and Danny Lund directing him from behind. 
 
 " Mr. Morton," said an elderly man from St. George, **had 
 you not better let the warders of the gaol go first ; ho is a des- 
 perate man, and tliey will best understand his ways?" 
 
 In answer to this Morton said nothing, but ho would let no 
 one put a foot before him. He still pressed forwai'd among the 
 rocks, and at last came to a spot from whence he might have 
 sprung at one leap into the ocean. It was a broken cranny on 
 the sea-shore into which the sea beat, and suiTounded on every 
 side but the one by huge broken fragments of stone, which at 
 first sight seemed as though they would have admitted of a path 
 down among them to the water's edge ; but which, when scanned 
 more closely, were seen to be so large in size, that no man could 
 climb from one to another. It was a singularly romantic spot, 
 but now well known to them all there, for they had visited it 
 over and over again that morning. 
 
 " In there," said Danny Lund, keeping well behind Morton's 
 body, and pointing at the same time to a cavern high up among 
 the rocks, but quite on the opposite side of the little inlet of tiio 
 sea. The. mouth of the cavern was not twenty yards from 
 
 I 
 
/4All<>N TROW. 205 
 
 "whcro they stood, but at tho first sight it seemed as though 
 it must be impossible to reach it. The precipice on the brink of 
 which they all now stood, ran down sheer into the sea, and the fall 
 from the mouth of the cavern on the other side was as steep. 
 But Danny solved the mysterj by pointing upwards, and show- 
 ing them liow he had been Uftcd to climb to a projecting rock 
 over their heads, and from thence creep round by certain vantages 
 of the stone till he was able to let himself down into the aper- 
 ture. But now, at the present moment, he was unwilling to 
 miike essay of his prowess as a cragsman. He had, he said, been 
 up on that projecting rock thiice, and there had seen the eyes 
 moving in the cavern. Ho was quite sure of that fact of the 
 pair of eyes, and declined to asv^.end the rock again. 
 
 Traces soon became visible to them by whicli they knew that 
 some one had passed in and out of the cavern recently. Tho 
 stone, when examined, bore those marks of fnction which passage 
 and repassagc over it will always give. At the spot from whence 
 the climber left tho platform and commenced his ascent, the side 
 of the stone had been rubbeil by the close fiiction of a man's 
 body. A light boy like Danny Lund might find his way in and 
 out without leaving such marlis behind him, but no heavy man 
 could do so. Thus before long they all were tatisficd that Aaron 
 Trow was in the cavern before them. 
 
 Then there was a long consultation as to what they would do 
 to cany on the hunt, and how they would drive the tiger Irom 
 his lair. That he should not jigain come out, except to fall into 
 tlit'ir hands, was to all of them a matter of course. They would 
 keep watch and ward there, though it might be for days and 
 nights. But that was a process which did not satisfy Morton, 
 and did not indeed well satisfy uny of them. It was not only that 
 they desii-ed to inflict punishment on the miscreant in accordance 
 with tho law, but also that they did not desire that the miserable 
 man should die in a hole like a starved dog, and that then they 
 should go after him to take out bis wretched skeleton. There 
 was something in that idea so horrid in every way, that all 
 agreed that active steps must bo taken. The warders of tho 
 prison felt that they would all be disgraced if they could not 
 take their prisoner alive. Yet who would get ro\ind thai perilous 
 lodge in the face of such an adversary ? A touch to any man 
 while climbing there would send him headlong down among the 
 waves ! And then his fancy told to each what might be the 
 nature of an embrace with such an animal as that, driven to 
 despair, hopeless of life, armed, as they knew, at any rate, with 
 
206 TALES 0? ALli COUNTRIES. 
 
 a knifo ! If tihe first adventuroui spirit shotild succeed in crawl- 
 ing round that ledge, what would be the reception which he 
 might expect in the terrible depth of that cavern? 
 
 They called to their prisoner, bidding him come out, and tell- 
 ing him that they would fire in upon him if he did not show 
 himself ; but not a sound was heard. It was indeed possible 
 that they should send their bullets to, perhaps, every comer of th© 
 cavern ; and if so, in that way they might slaughter him ; but 
 even of this they were not sure. Who could tell that there might 
 not be some protected nook in which he could lay secure ? And 
 who could tell when the man was struck, or whether he were 
 wounded ? 
 
 ** I will get to him," said Morton, speaking with a low dogged 
 voice, and so saying he clambered up to the rock to which 
 Danny Lund had pointed. Many voices at once attempted to 
 restrain him, and one or two put their hands iipon him to 
 keep him back, but ho was too quick for them, and now 
 stood upon the ledge of rock. ** Can you see him ? " they asked 
 below. 
 
 ** I can see nothing within the cavern," said Morton. 
 " Look down very hard, Massa," said Danny, " very hard in- 
 deed, down in deep dark hole, and then see him big eyes 
 moving ! " 
 
 Morton now crept along the ledge, or rather ho was beginning 
 to do so, having put forward his shoulders and arms to make a 
 first stop in advance from the spot on which ho was resting, when 
 a hand was put foi-th from one corner of the cavern's mouth, — a 
 hand armed with a pistol ; — and a shot was fired. There could 
 be no doubt now but that Danny Lund was right, and no doubt 
 now as to the whereabouts of Aaron Trow. 
 . A hand was put forth, a pistol was fired, and Caleb Morton 
 Btm clinging to a comer of the rock with both his arms was seen 
 to falter. " He is wounded," said one of the voices from below ; 
 and then they all expected to see him fall into the sea. But he 
 did not fall, and after a moment or two, he proceeded carefully 
 to pick his steps along the ledge. The ball had touched him, grazing 
 his check, and cutting through thelight whiskers that he wore ; but 
 he had not felt it, though the blow had nearly knocked him from 
 his perch. And then four or five shots were fired from the rocks 
 into the mouth of the cavern. The man's arm had been seen, 
 and indeed one or two declared that they had traced the dim 
 outline of his figure. But no sound was heard to come from the 
 cavcrui except the Bhar^) crack of the bullets against the tock| 
 
AAHON TROW. fi07 
 
 end the echo of the gunpowder. There had been no groan as of 
 a man wonnded, no sound of a body falling, no voice wailing in 
 despair. For a few seconds all was dark with the smoke of tho 
 gunpowder, and then the empty mouth of the cave was again 
 yawning before their eyes. !Morton was now near it, ctill 
 cautiously creeping. Tho first danger to which he was exposed 
 was this ; that his enemy within the recess might push him 
 do^vn from the rocks with a touch. But on the other hand, 
 there were three or four men ready to fire, tho moment that a 
 hand should be put forth ; and then Morton could swim, — was 
 known to bo a strong swimmer ; — whereas of Aaron Trow it was 
 already declared by the prison gaolers that he could not swim. 
 Two of the warders had now followed Morton on tho rocks, so 
 that in the event of his making good his entrance into tho 
 cavern, and holding his enemy at bay for a minute, ho would bo 
 joined by aid. 
 
 It was strange to see how those different men conducted 
 themselves as they stood on tho opposite platform watching tho 
 attack. The officers from tho prison had no other thought but 
 of their prisoner, and were intent on taking him alivo or dead. 
 To them it was littlo or nothing what became of Moi-ton. It 
 was their business to encounter peril, and they were ready to do 
 s§ ; — feeling, however, by no means sorry to have such a man as 
 Morton in advance of them. Very little was said by them. 
 They had their wits about them, and remembered that cveiy 
 word spoken for the ^idance of their ally would bo heard also 
 by the escaped convict. Their prey was sure, sooner or later, 
 and had not Morton been so eager in liis pursuit, they would 
 have waited till some plan had been devised of trapping hira 
 without danger. But the townsmen from St. George, of whom 
 some dozen were now standing there, were quick and eager and 
 loud in their counsels. " Stay where you are, Mr. Morton, — 
 stay awhilo for tho love of God — or he'll have you down." 
 *'Now's your time, Caleb; in on him now, and you'll have him." 
 ** Close with him, Morton, close with him at once ; it's your only 
 chance." "There's four of us hero; we'll fii'c on him if ho as 
 much 08 shows a limb.'* All of which words as they were heard 
 by that poor wretch within, must have sounded to him as tho 
 barking of a pack of hounds thirsting for his blood. For him at 
 any rate there was no longer any hope in this world* 
 
 M^ reader, when chance has taken you into the hunting-field, 
 has it ever been your lot to sit by on horseback, and watch tho 
 Egging out of a fox? The operation is not an xincommon onc^ 
 
408 TALES Olr All COtNTRIEl* 
 
 and in some oountrios it is hold to bo in accordonoe with tlie 
 rules of fair sport. For myself, I think that when the brute has 
 90 fur Httvod Inmnrir, ho should bo entitled to the benefit of his 
 cunning; but I will not now discuss tho propriety or impropriety 
 of that practice in vcnery. I can never, however, watch tho 
 doing of that wor^ without thinking much of the agonising 
 struggles of the poor beast whose last refuge is being torn from 
 over his head. There ho lies within a few yards of his arch 
 cnemv, tho huntsman. Tho thick breath of the hounds mnko 
 hot tho air within his hole. Tho sound of tlieir voices is closo 
 upon his ears. His breust is nearly bursting with the violenco 
 of that effort which at lust has brought him to his retreat. And 
 then pickaxe and mattock are plied above his head, and ncu/er 
 and more neai* to him press liis foes, — Ids doubk) foes, humau 
 and canine, — till at last a huge hand grasps him, and he is 
 drugged IbrUi among liis enemies. Almost us soon us liis (syes 
 liuvu seen tho light tho eager noses of u dozen lioiuids huvo 
 moistened themselves in his eutruils. Ah mu ! 1 know that 
 he is vermin, the veimin alter whom I have been risking my 
 neck, with a bold ambition that I might ultimately witness his 
 death-stmggles ; but, nevertheless, I would fain have saved him 
 that lust half hour of gradually dimiiushed hope. 
 
 And Aaron Trow was now like a hunted fox, doomed te bo 
 dug out from his lust refuge, with this addition to liis miseiy, 
 that these hounds when they cuuglit their prey, would not put 
 him at once out of his misery. AVhcn first he saw that tlu-ong 
 of men coming down fi'om tho hill top and resting on the plat- 
 form, he know that his futo was come. 'NVlicn they called to 
 him to suiTcnder himself he was silent, but ho knew that his 
 silence was of no avail. To them who were so eager to be liis 
 captors tho matter seemed to be still one of considerable diffi* 
 culty ; but, to his thinking, there was no difficulty. There were 
 there some score of men, fully armed, \\qthin twenty ytu'ds of 
 him. If he but showed a trace of his limbs he would become 
 a mark for their bullets. And then if he were wounded, and no 
 one would come to him I If they allowed liim to lie there with- 
 out food till he perished! AVould it not be well for him to 
 yield himself? Then they called again and he was still silent. 
 That idea of yielding is vciy terrible to the heait of a man. 
 And when the worst had come to tho worst, did not the ocean 
 run deep beneath his cavern's mouth? 
 
 But as they yelled at him and hallooed, maldng their prepa- 
 rations for his death, his presence of mind deserted the poor 
 
AARON TROTT. 209 
 
 wretcli. He had stolen an old pistol on one of his marauding 
 expeditions, of which one barrel liad been loaded. That in his 
 mad despair he had tired ; and now, as ho lay near the mouth of 
 the cavern, under tlie cover of the projecting stone, he had no 
 weapon with him but his hands. He had had a knife, but that 
 had dropped from liim during the struggle on the floor of the 
 cottage. He had now nothing but his hands, and was consider- 
 ing how he might best use them in ridding himself of the fii'st 
 of liis pursuers. The man was near him, armed, with all the 
 power and majesty of right on his side; whereas on his side, 
 Aaron Trow had nothing, — not a hope. He raised his head that 
 he might look forth, and a dozen voices shouted as his face 
 appeared above the aperture. A dozen weapons were levelled 
 at him, and he could see the gleaming of the muzzles of the 
 guns. And then the foot of his pursuer was already on the 
 comer stone at the cavern's mouth. **Now, Caleb, on him at 
 once!" shouted a voice. Ah me ! it was a moment in which to 
 pity even such a man as Aaron Trow. 
 
 **Now, Caleb, at him at once!" shouted the voice. No, by 
 heavens; not so, even yet! The sound of triumph in those 
 M'ords raised the last burst of energy in the breast of that 
 wretched man ; and he sprang forth, head foremost, irora his 
 prison house. Forth he came, manifest enough before the eyes 
 of them all, and with head well down, and hands outstretched, 
 but with his wide glanng eyes still turned towards his pursuers 
 as he fell, he plunged down into the waves beneath him. Two 
 of those who stood by, almost unconscious of what they did, fired 
 at his body as it made its rapid way to the water ; but, as they 
 afterwards found, neither of the bullets struck him. Morton, 
 when his prey tlms leaped forth, escaping him for awhile, was 
 already on the verge of the cavern, — had even then prepared his 
 foot for that onward spiing which should bring him to the throat 
 of his foe. But he arrested himself, and for a moment stood 
 tliere watching the body as it struck the water, and hid itself at 
 once beneath tlie ripple. He stood there for a moment watching 
 tlie deed and its cli'ect, and then leaving his hold upon the rock, 
 he once again followed his quarry. Dowti he went, head fore- 
 most, right on to the track in the waves which the other had 
 made ; and when the two rose to the surface together, each was 
 struggling in the grasp of the other. 
 
 It was a foolish, nay, a mad deed to do. The poor wretch 
 who had first fallen coidd not have escaped. He coiUd not even 
 swim, and had therefore flung himself to certain destrucUoa 
 
210 TALKS OF ALL OOtJNTMES. 
 
 Vfhon ho took that leap fVom out of tho carefn'i month. It 
 would havo been sad to sco him perish beneath tho waves,— to 
 watch him as ho roBo, giispinp for breath, and then to sco 
 him winkinf? np;ain, to ri«o tiKnin, and then to go for over. But 
 liis life had been fairly forfeit,— and why should ono bo much 
 more prcciouB \m\t been flnnp after it ? It wa« surely with no 
 view of saving that pitiful life that Caleb Morton had leaped 
 after his enemy. But tho hound, hot with the chase, will 
 follow tho Btug oyer tho precii)i<'e and dash himself to pieces 
 against tho rocks. Tho beti«t thirsting for blood will rush in 
 iivvn omong the weapons of men. Morton in his fury had felt 
 but ono desire, hununl with but ono ]>apsion. If the Fates 
 would but grant him to fix his clutches in tl^e throat of tho man 
 who had ill-used his lore; for tho rest it might all r,o as it 
 would. 
 
 In tho earlier part of tho morning, while they wero all search- 
 ing for their victim, they had brought a boat ti]) into this very 
 inlet amoug the rocks ; and the samo boat had been at hand 
 during tho whole day. Unluckily, before they had come hither, 
 it had been taken round tho headland to a ])laco anu)ng tho 
 rocks at which a government skilf is always moored. Tlui sea 
 was still so quiet that there was hardly a ripple on it, and tho 
 boat had been again sent for when first it was siipposed that th(>y 
 had at last traced Aaron Trow to his hiding-place. Anxiously 
 now wero all eyes turned to the headland, but us yet no bout 
 was there, 
 
 Tho two men rose to tho surface, each stniggling in tho annj 
 of tho other. Trow, though he was in an element to which ho 
 was not used, though ho had sprung thither us another suicide 
 might spring to certain death beneath a railway engine, did not 
 ttltoKctluu' lose his presence of mind. Prompted by a double 
 instinct, ho had clutched hold of ^foi-ton's body when ho en- 
 countered it beneath the waters. He held on to it, as to his 
 only protection, and he held on to him also as to his only enemy. 
 If there was a chance for a life struggle, they would share that 
 chance together ; and If not, then together would they meet that 
 other fate. 
 
 Caleb Morton was a very strong man, and though ono of his 
 trms was altogether encumbered by his antagonist, his other 
 arm and liis legs wero free. AV'ith tliese ho seemed to succeed in 
 keeping his head above tho water, weighted as he was with tho 
 body of his foe. But Trow's etlorts were also iiBcd with the view 
 of keeping himself above the water. Though he hud purposed 
 
AARON TROW. 211 
 
 to destroy himself in taking that leap, and now hoped for nothing 
 better than that they might both perish together, he yet struggled 
 to keep liis head above the waves. Bodily power ho had nono 
 left to him, except that of holding on to Morton's arm and 
 plunging with his legs ; but ho did hold on, and thus both their 
 heads remained above tlio surlaco. 
 
 But this could not last long. It was easy to seo that Trow' a 
 Btrengtli was nearly spent, and that when ho went down Moiion 
 must go with him. If indeed they could bo separated, — if 
 3rf)rton could onco mako himself free from that embrace into 
 which ho had been so anxious to Iciip, — then indeed there might 
 be a hope. All round that little inlet tlio rock fell sheer do^vn 
 into the deep sea, so that there was no rcsting-placo for a foot ; 
 but roimd the headlands on cither side, even within forty or fifty 
 yards of that spot, Iilorton might rest on the rocks, till a boat 
 shculd como to his assistance. To him that distance would havo 
 been nothing, if only his limbs had been ot liberty. 
 
 Upon the platform of rocks they were all at their wits' ends. 
 Many were anxious to fire at Trow ; but even if they hit him, 
 would ^Morton's position havo been better? Would not tho 
 wounded man have still clung to him who was not wounded ? 
 And then there could bo no certainty that any one of them would 
 hit the right man. The ripple of tho waves, though it was 
 very sliglit, nevertheless suiticed to keep tho bodies in motion ; 
 and then, too, thoro was not among them any marksman peculiar 
 for his skill. 
 
 Morton's efforts in tho water wero too severe to admit of his 
 speaking, but lie could hear and understand tho words which 
 wero addressed to him. ''Shako him off, Caleb." *• Strike 
 him from you with your foot." *'Swim to the right shore; 
 swim for it, even if you take him with you." Yes ; he could 
 hear them all ; but hearing and obeying wero very different. It 
 was not easy to shako off that dying man ; and as for swimming 
 with liim, that was clearly impossible. It was as much as ho 
 could do to keep his head above water, lot alone any attempt to 
 move in one settled direction. 
 
 For some four or five minutes they lay thus battling on the 
 waves before tho head of cither of them went down. Trow hod 
 oeen twice below the surface, but it was before he had suc- 
 ceeded in supporting himsolf by Morton^s arm. Now it seemed 
 as though he must sink again, — as though both must sink. 
 His mouth was barely kept above the water, and as Morton shook 
 him with his oirn^ tho tide would pass oyer him. It waa horrid 
 
 92 
 
212 TALES OP ALL COtJNTRnS. 
 
 to watch from the shore the glaring upturned eyes of the dying 
 wretch, as his long streaming hair lay back upon the wave. 
 ** Now, Caleb, hold him down. Hold him under," was shouted 
 in the roico of some eager friend. Rising up on the waterj 
 lilorton made a last effort to do as he was bid. He did press the 
 man*8 head down, — well down below the surface, — ^but still the 
 hand clung to him, and as he struck out against the water, ho 
 was powerless against that grasp. 
 
 Then there came a loud shout along the shore, and all those on 
 the platform, whoso eyes had been fixed so closely on that terrible 
 struggle beneath them, rushed towards the rocks on the other coast. 
 The sound of oars was heard close to them, — an eager pressing 
 stroke, as of men who knew well that they were rowing for the 
 salvation of a life. On they came, close under the rocks, obey- 
 ing with every muscle of their bodies the behests of those who 
 called to them from the shore. The boat came with such 
 rapidity, — was so recklessly urged, that it was driven somewhat 
 beyond the inlet ; but in passing, a blow was struck which made 
 Caleb Morton once more the master of his own life. The two 
 men had been carried out in their struggle towards the open sea ; 
 and as the boat curved in, so as to be as close as the rocks would 
 allow, the bodies of the men were brought within the sweep of 
 the oars. He in the bow — for there were four pulling in thb 
 toat — had raised his oar as he neared the rocks, — had raised it 
 high above the water ; and now, as they passed close by the 
 struggling men, ho let it fall with all its force on the upturned 
 face of the wretched convict. It was a tenible, frightful thing 
 to do, — thus striking one who was so stricken ; but who shall 
 say that the blow was not good and just? Methinks, however, 
 that the eyes and face of that dying man will haunt for over the 
 di-eams of him who carried that oar I 
 
 Trow never rose again to the surface. Three days afterwards 
 his body was found at the ferry, and then they carried him to 
 the convict island and buiicd him. Morton was picked up and 
 taken into the boat. His life was saved ; but it may be a ques- 
 tion how the battle might have gone had not that friendly oar 
 been raised in his behalf. As it was, he lay at the cottage for 
 days before he was able to be moved, so as to receive the con- 
 gratulations of those who had watched that terrible conflict from 
 the shore. Nor did he feel that there had been anything in that 
 day's work of which he could be proud ; — much rather of which 
 it behoved him to be thoroughly ashamed. Some six months 
 after that he obtained the hand of Anastasia Bergen, but they 
 
AARON TROW, 213 
 
 dj.) vt*^ ifeTjiaiii long in Bermuda. "He went away, back to 
 luf» own country," my informant told me; "because he could 
 not endure to meet the ghost of Aaron Trow, at that point of the 
 road which passes near the cottage." That the ghost of Aaron 
 Trow may be seen there and round the little rocky inlet of the 
 r«e, » part of the creed of GYeiy young woman in Beimuik, 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYa 
 
 Wnr Mrs. General Talbojs first made up her mind to pass ttie 
 winter of 1859 at Rome 1 never clearlv understood. To myself 
 she explained her purposes, soon after her arrival at the Eternal 
 City, by declaring, in her own enthusiastic manner, that she was 
 inspired by a burning desire to drink fresh at the still living 
 fountains of classical poetry and sentiment. But I always 
 thought that there was something more than this in it. Classical 
 poetry and sentiment were doubtless very dear to her ; but so 
 also, I imagine, were the substantial comforts of llardovcr 
 Lodge, the (jcneral's house in Berkshii'c ; and I do not think 
 that she would have emigrated for the winter had there not been 
 some slight domestic misunderstanding. Let this, however, bo 
 fully made clear, — that such misunderstanding, if it existed, 
 must have been simply an aflair of temper. No impropriety of 
 conduct has, I am veiy bure, ever been imputed to the lady. 
 The General, as all the world knows, is hot ; and Mrs. Talboys, 
 when the sweet rivers of her enthusiasm are imfed by congenitd 
 waters, can, I believe, make herself disagreeable. 
 
 Ihit be this as it may, in Kovember, 1859, Mrs. Talboys camo 
 uuiong us English at llome, and soon succeeded in obtaining for 
 herself' a comfortable footing in our society. AVe all thought her 
 more remarkable for her mental attributes than for physical per- 
 fection ; but, nevertheless, she was, in her own way, a sightly 
 woman. She had no special brilliance, either of eye or com- 
 plexion, such as would produce sudden flames in susceptible 
 liearts ; nor did slie seem to demand instant homage by the form 
 and step of a goddess ; but we found her to be a good-looking 
 woman of some thiity or thirty-three years of age, with soft, 
 peach-like cheeks, — rather too like those of a cherub, with 
 sparkling eyes which were hardly large enough, with good teeth, 
 ft white forehead, a dimpled chin and a full bust. Such, out* 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOTS. S15 
 
 wanllr, was Mrs. General Talboys. The description of tho inward 
 vomaiji is tho purport to which these few pages will be devoted. 
 
 Theto are two qualities to which tho best of mankind are much 
 subject, which are nearly related to each other, and as to which 
 the world has not yet decided whether they are to be clnsaod 
 anionp; the pood or evil attributes of our nature. Men and women 
 are under the influence of them both, but men oftenest undergo 
 the former, and women the latter. They arc ambition and en- 
 thusiasm. Now Mrs. Talboys was an enthusiastic woman. 
 
 As to ambition, generally as tho world agrees with Mark 
 Antony in stigmatising it as a grievous fault, I am myself clear 
 that it is a virtue ; but with ambition at present we have no 
 concern. Enthusiasm also, as I think, leans to virtue's side ; or, 
 at least, if it be a fault, of all faults it is the prettiest. But then, 
 to partake at all of virtue, or even to be in any degree pretty, tho 
 enthusiasm must be true. 
 
 "Bad coin is known from good by tlio ring of it ; and so is bad 
 cntliusiasm. Let tho coiner be ever so clever at his art, in tho 
 coining of enthusiasm the sound of true gold can never bo 
 imparted to tho false metal. And I doubt whether tho cleverest 
 she in tho world ran muko falso cnthusiuRm palatable to tho tasto 
 of man. To the taste of any woman tho enthusiasm ol another 
 woman is never very palatable. 
 
 We understood at Home that Mrs. Talboys had a considerable 
 family, — four or five children, we were told; but she brought 
 with her only one daughter, a little girl about twelve years of 
 age. She had torn herself asunder, as she told me, from the 
 younger nurslings of her heart, and had left them to the care of a 
 devoted female attendant, whose love was all but maternal. And 
 then she said a word or two about the General, in terms which 
 made me almost think that this quasi-maternal love extended 
 itself beyond the children. The idea, however, was a mistaken 
 one, arising from the strength of her hmguage, to which I was 
 then unaccustomed. I have since become aware that nothing 
 can be more decorous than old Mrs. Upton, the excellent head- 
 nurse at Hardover Lodge ; and no gentleman more discreet in his 
 condiKit than General Talboys. 
 
 And I may as well here declare, also, that there could bo no 
 more vii-tuous woman than tho Genertd's wife. Her marriage 
 vow was to her paramount to all other vows and bonds whatever. 
 Tho General's honour was quite safe when ho sent her off to 
 Homo by herself; and he no doubt knew that it was so. Bli 
 robur ei es triplex^ of which I belioye no weapons of any 
 
216 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 assailant coulJ get the better. But, neveitheless, '^e used to 
 fancy that she haid no repugnance to impropriety in other women^ 
 — to what the world generally calls impropriety. Invincibly 
 attached herself to the marriage tie, she would constantly speak 
 of it as by no means necessarily binding on others ; and, virtuous 
 herself as any griffin of propriety, she constantly patronised, at 
 any rate, the theory of infidelity in her neighbours. She was 
 very eager in denouncing the prejudices of the English world, 
 declaring that she had found existence among them to be no 
 longer possible for herself. She was hot against the stem unfor- 
 givciiess of British matrons, and equally eager in reprobating the 
 stiff conventionalities of a religion in which she said tliat none of 
 its votaries had faith, though they all allowed themselves to be 
 enslaved. 
 
 We had at that time a small set at Rome, consisting chiefly 
 of English and Americans, who habitutdly met at each other's 
 rooms, and spent many of our evening liours in discussing Italian 
 poliiics. AVo wuri', mont of uh, paintiTH, poutH, novelists, or 
 sculptors ; — perhaps I should say would-be painters, poets, novel- 
 ists, and sculptors, — aspirants hoping to become some day recog- 
 nised; and among us Mrs. Talboys took her place, naturally 
 enough, on account of a veiy pretty taste she had for painting. 
 I do not know that she ever originated anything that was grand ; 
 but she made some nice copies, and was fond, at any rate, of art 
 conversation. She wrote essays, too, which she showed in con- 
 fidence to various gentlemen, and had some idea of taking lessons 
 in modelling. 
 
 In all our circle Conrad Mackinnon, an American, was, pwhaps, 
 the person most qualified to be styled its leader. He was one 
 who absolutely did gain his living, and an ample living too, by 
 his pen, and was regarded on all sides as a literary lion, justified 
 by success in roaring at any tone ho might please. His usual 
 roar was not exactly that of a sucking-dove or a nightingale ; 
 but it was a good-humoured roar, not very off'ensive to any man, 
 and apparently acceptable enough to some ladies. He was a big 
 burly man, near to fifty as I suppose, somewhat awkward in his 
 gait, and somewhat loud in his laugh. But though nigh to fifty, 
 and thus ungainly, ho liked to be smiled on by pretty women, 
 and liked, as some said, to bo flattered by them also. If so, ho 
 should have been happy, for the ladies at Homo at tbut time 
 made much of Conrad ^Mackinnon. 
 
 Of "Mm. Mackinnon no one did make very much, and yet F'Ab 
 was one of tho sweetest, dearest, (quietest, littlo creatures Ihut 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS, 217 
 
 ever made glad a man's fireside. She was exquisitely pretty, 
 always in good humour, never stupid, self-denying to a fault, 
 and yet she was generally in the background. She would seldom 
 come fonvard of her own will, but was contented to sit behind her 
 teapot and hear Mackinnon do his roaring. He was certainly much 
 given to what the world at Rome called flirting, but this did not 
 in the least annoy her. She was twenty yeai-s his junior, and 
 yet she never flirted with any one. AVomen would tell her — 
 good-natured friends — how Mackinnon went on ; but she received 
 such tidings as an excellent joke, observing that he had always 
 done the same, and no doubt always would until he was ninety. 
 I do believe that she was a happy woman ; and yet I used to 
 think that she should have been happier. There is, however, no 
 knowing the inside of another man's house, or reading the riddles 
 of another man's joy and sorrow. 
 
 We had also there another lion, — a lion cub, — entitled to roar 
 a little, and of him also I must say something. Charles O'Brien 
 was a young man, about twenty-five years of age, who had sent 
 out from his studio in the preceding year a certain bust, supposed 
 by his admiix^rs to be unsurpassed by any eff'oi't of ancient or 
 modem genius. I am no judge of sculpture, and will not, there- 
 fore, pronounce an opinion ; but many w^ho considered themselves 
 to be judges, declared that it was a ** goodish head and shoulders," 
 and nothing more. I merely mention the fact, as it was on tho 
 eti'cngth of that head and shoulders that O'Brien separated him- 
 self from a throng of others such as himself in Rome, walked 
 solitary during the days, and threw himself at tho feet of various 
 ladies when the days were over. He had ridden on the shoulders 
 of his bust into a prominent place in our circle, and there encoun- 
 tered much feminine admiration — from Mrs. General Talboys and 
 others. 
 
 Some eighteen or twenty of us used to meet eveiy Sunday 
 evening in Mrs. Mackinnon's drawing-room. Many of us, indeed, 
 were in the habit of seeing each other daily, and of visiting 
 together the haunts in Rome which are best loved by art-loving 
 strangers; but here, in this drawing-room, wo were sure to 
 come together, and here before the end of November, Mrs. Tal- 
 boys might always be found, not in any accustomed seat, but 
 moving about the room as the diflerent male mental attractions 
 of our society might chance to move themselves. She was at 
 first greatly taken by Mackinnon, — ^who also was, I think, a little 
 fttirrod by her admiration, though he stoutly denied the charge. 
 She became, however, very dear to us all before she left us, tmd 
 
918 TALES OF AU. COUNTRXEl 
 
 certainly we OTred to her our love, for sho added infinitely to the 
 joya of our winter. 
 
 " I havo como hero to refresh myself," sho said to Mackinnon 
 ono evening — to Muoltinnon and myself, for we were standing 
 together. 
 
 " Shall I get you tea ? " said I. 
 
 "And "will you have eomething to eat ? " Mackinnon asked. 
 
 <' No, no, no ;" she answered. " Tea, yes ; but for Heaven's 
 sake let nothing solid dispel the associations of such a meeting 
 osUiiHl" 
 
 '♦ I thought you might liavo dined early," said Mackinnon. 
 Kow Mackinnon was a man whoso own dinner was very dear to 
 him. I have seen him become hesty and unpleasant, even under 
 the pillars of the Forum, when ho thought that the party wera 
 placing his fish in jeopardy by their desire to linger thero too 
 long. 
 
 •'Karlyl Yes. No; I know nc^ when it was. Ono dines 
 nnd Hlfcps in obedience to thiit duU day which weighs down so 
 generally the particle of our spirit. But the clay may sometimes 
 bo forgotten. Here I can always forget it." 
 
 *' I thought you asked for refreshment," I said. Sho only 
 looked at me, whose small attempts at prose composition hjul, up 
 to that time, been altogether uumceesbful, and then aildressed 
 hersi'lf in reply to iMiiclannon. 
 
 " It is the air which wo breaths that fills our lungs and gives 
 us life and light. It is that which refreshes us if pure, or sinks 
 us into stagnation if it bo foul. Let mo for awhile inhale tho 
 breath of an invigorating literatura. Sit down, Mr. Mackinnon ; 
 I havo a question that I must put to you." And then she suc- 
 ceeded in carrying him off into a comer. As far as I could seo 
 ho went willingly enough at that time, though ho soon became 
 averse to any lerg retirement in conipimy with 'Mxf\. Talboys. 
 
 AVo none of ue qnito unjerdtood what were her exact ideas on 
 tho subject of revealed religion. Somebody, I think, had told 
 her that thero were among us one or two whose opinions were 
 not exactly orthodox according to the doctiines of the established 
 Knglish cliurch. If so, she was determined to show us that sho 
 also was advanced beyond the prejudices of an old and dry school 
 of theology. ** I have thrown do^vn all the bai-riers of religion," 
 she said to poor ^I^rs. Mackinnon, ** and am looking for the sen- 
 timents of a pure Christianity." 
 
 ** Thrown down all tho barriers of religion ! " said Mrs. Mao« 
 kinnon, in a tone of horror which was not appreciated. 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS. 219 
 
 •'Indeed, yes," said Mrs. Talboys, with an exulting voice, 
 ** Are not the days for such trammels gouo by ? " 
 
 " But yet you hold by Christianity? " 
 
 *'A pure Christianity, unstained by blood and perjury, by 
 hypocrisy and verbose genuflection. Can I not worship and say 
 my prayers among the clouds ? " And she pointed to the lofty 
 ceiling and the handsome chandelier. 
 
 " But Ida goes to church," said Mrs. ^jLTackinnon. Ida Talboys 
 was her daughter. Kow, it may be observed, that many who 
 throw down the barriers of religion, so far as those barriers may 
 affect themselves, still maincain them on behalf of their children. 
 ** Yes," said Mrs. Talboys ; ** dear Ida ! her soft spirit is not yet 
 adapted to receive the perfect truth. We are obliged to govern 
 children by tho strength of their prejudices." And then she 
 moved away, for it was seldom that Mrs. Talboys remained long 
 in conversation with any lady. 
 
 Mackinnon, I believe, soon becanie tired of her. He liked her 
 flattery, and at first declared that she was clever and nice ; but 
 her niccncss was too purely celestial to satisfy his mundane tastes. 
 Mackinnon himself ca^ revel among the clouds in his own writ- 
 ings, and can lej^ve us sometimes in doubt whether he ever means 
 to come back to parth ; but when his foot is on terra firma, ho 
 loves to feel tho earthly substratum which supports his weight. 
 "With women ho likes a hand that can remain an unnecessaiy 
 moment witliin his own, an eye that can glisten with the sparkle 
 of champagne, a heart weak enough to make its owner's arm 
 tremble within his own beneath the moonlight gloom of the 
 Coliseum arches. A dash of sentiment the while makes all these 
 things the sweeter ; but tho sentiment alone will not sufticc for 
 him. Mrs. Talboys did, I believe, drink her glass of champagne, 
 as do other ladies ; but with her it had no such pleasing effect. 
 It loosened only her tongue, but never her eye. Her arm, I think, 
 never trembled, and her hand never lingered. The General waa 
 always si^fe, and happy, perhaps, in his solitary safety. 
 
 It so happened that we had unfortunately among us two artists 
 who had quarrelled with their wives. O'Brien, whom I have 
 before mentioned, was one of them. In his case, I believe hira 
 to liave been almost aa ft:ce from blame as a man can be whose 
 maniage vas i^ itself a fault. However, he had a wife in 
 Ireland some ten years plder than himself; and though he might 
 sometimes almost forget the fact, his friends and neighbours were 
 well aware of it. In the other case the whole fault probably 
 was with the husband. He was an ill-tempered| bad-hearted 
 
220 TALES OT ALL OOUNTRIES. 
 
 man, clever enough, but without principle; and he'w&i oim* 
 tinuolly guilty of tho groat sin of speaking evil of the womua 
 •whoso name ho should have been anxious to protect. In both 
 cases our friend Mrs. Talboys took a warm interest, and in cacli 
 of them she sympathised with tho present husband against tho 
 absent wife. 
 
 Of tho consolation which sho offered in tho latter instance wo 
 used to liear something from Mackinnon. Ho would repeat to 
 liis wife, and to mo and my wife, tho conversations which sho 
 had with him. ** Poor Brown ;" sho would say, **I pity him, 
 with ray very heart's blood." 
 
 *' You aro awaro tlmt ho has comforted himself in his desola- 
 tion," ^[ackinnon replied. 
 
 ** I know very well to what you allude. I tliink I may say 
 that I uiu coiiverHiiiil with all tho circumstances of this lieart- 
 blighting sacrillce." Mrs. Talboys was apt to boast of tho 
 thorough conlidenco reposed in her by all those in whom sho took 
 an interest. " Yes, ho has sought such comfort in another love 
 OS tho hard cruel world would allow him." 
 
 " Or perhaps something: more than that," said Mackinnon. 
 ** Ho has a family here in Home, you know ; two little babies." 
 
 ** I know it, I know it," bIio said. *' Cherub angels!" and 
 ns sho spoko sho looked up into tho ugly face of Marcus Aurelius; 
 for they were standing at tho moment under tho figure of the 
 great horseman on tho Campidoglio. *' I have seen them, and 
 they aro the children of innocence. If all tho blood of all tho 
 Howards ran in their veins it could not mako their birth moro 
 noble ! " 
 
 ** Not if the father and mother of all the Howards had never 
 been married," said Mackinnon. 
 
 ** AVliat ; that from you, Mr. Mackinnon!" said Mrs. Talboys, 
 turning her back with energy upon the equestrian statue, and look- 
 ing up into tho faces, first of Pollux and then of Castor, as though 
 from them she might gain some inspiration on the subject which 
 Marcus Aurelius in his coldness had denied to her. " From you, 
 who have so nobly claimed for mankind the divine attributes of 
 free action ! From you, who liavo tauglit my mind to soar abovo 
 the petty bonds which one man in his littleness contrives for the 
 subjection of his brother. Mackinnon ! you who aro so great! " 
 And she now looked up into his face. " Mackinnon, unsay those 
 words." 
 
 "They are illegitimate," said hcj "and if there was any 
 landed property ' 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS. S2l 
 
 " Landed property I and that from an American I *• 
 
 *' The children ore English, you know." 
 
 *' Landed property ! The time will shortly come — ay, and I 
 icc it coming — when that hateful word shall bo expunged from 
 the calendar ; when landed property shall ho no more. "What 1 
 shall the free soul of a God-bora man submit itself for ever to 
 such trammels as that ? Shall we never escape from the clay 
 which so long has manacled the subtler particles of the divine 
 Fpirit? Ay, yes, Mackinnon ;" and then she took him by the 
 iirm, and led him to tho top of the hugo steps which lead down 
 from the Campidoglio into the streets of modeni Home. ** Look 
 down upon that countless multitude." Mackinnon looked down, 
 imd saw three groups of French soldiers, with three or four littlo 
 men in each group ; he saw, also, a couple of dirty friars, and 
 three priests very slowly beginning the side ascent to the church 
 of the Ara Coeli. *' Look down upon that countless multitude," 
 said ^[rs. Talboys, and she stretched her arms out over tho half- 
 deserted city. ** They are escaping now from these trammels,— 
 now, now, — now that I am speaking.** 
 
 " They have escaped long ago from all such trammels as that 
 of landed property," said Mackinnon. 
 
 ** Ay, and from all terrestrial bonds,'* she continued, not exactly 
 remarking the pith of his last obsor\'ation ; ** from bonds quasi- 
 terrestrial and quasi-celestial. Tho full-formed limbs of the 
 present age, running with quick streams of generous blood, will 
 no longer bear the ligatures which past times have woven for the 
 decrepit. Look down upon that multitude, !^^ackinnon: they 
 shall all be free." And then, still clutching him by the ann, and 
 still standing at the top of those stairs, she gave forth her pro- 
 phecy "Nvith the fuiy of a Sybil. 
 
 " They shall all be free. Oh, Eome, thou eternal one ! thou 
 who hast bowed thy neck to imperial pride and priestly craft; 
 thou who hast suffered sorely, even to this hour, from Nero down 
 to rio Nono, — the days of thine oppression are over. Gone from 
 thy enfranchised ways for ever is the clang of the PraDtorian 
 cohoils, and the more odious drone of meddling monks ! ** And 
 yet, as Mackinnon observed, there still stood the dirty friars and 
 the small French soldiers ; and there still.toiled the slow priests, 
 wending their tedious way up to the church of the Ara Coeli. 
 But that was the mundane view of the matter, — a view not 
 regarded by Mrs. Talboys in her ecstasy. *' Italia,** she con- 
 tinued," ** Italia una, one and indivisible in thy rights, and 
 indivisible also in thy wrongs 1 to us is it given to see the accom« 
 
922)1 TALKS or ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 plinlimf nt of thy glory. A people nlmll ari»o ftiwirid tMno t^Mft 
 fnx'fttcr in the ixixmU of tho woiid tlmh tliyHclplos, thy Omcclii, 
 or thy CtCMaM. l^ot in torrmlR of blootl, or with BcrivamN of 
 hcrt^ttvod mothcM, uliull lliy now trin!tiph« bo fttnincd. ]hit mind 
 p]uill (lomiimto over mutter } luid doonuMl, toRctlicr with I'ojios 
 iinil iJourbotH, >villi cimlinalf*, (liplonmtiNtu, iinil police spies, 
 ij;noranro mul pivpidico uluill })o dnvcnlVotnlliy smiling? Iniriiccs. 
 Atul (hen lUnno Bnall n^iiin bccinno th(^ f'liir cupital of tlio fiiin^st 
 iv^ion ol* iMiiopo. .llithi^r Nhall Hook tlio niliMniin of tho AVorld, 
 cnjwding into thy nmrtH nil that Ood und tnan cnn p;ivc'. \Vc'ultli| 
 boaiitv» and innui'cn('<» nhall nioct in thy stronlrt " 
 
 ** 'l^hoiv will bou cotiHidel'ablo ohango beforo tlmt takos plnco/* 
 inid ^iarkinnon. 
 
 ** Thoro pball bo n consulorahlo chanpo/* uho nnswcrcd, 
 ** ^faokinnon, to thro it in riven to rend tho Hip;nR of tho time ; 
 nnd hast thou not road? >Vhy have tho fleldn of ^fngentn and 
 SollVrino boon piled with tho corpsen of dyinp lieroes? "NVhy 
 huvo tho waters of the Mincio mn red with tho blood of mnrtyrw? 
 That Italy nn^::ht bo \nutod and Homo immortal. Hero, RtatulinR 
 on tho Capitoliiim of tho ancient city, 1 say that it sludl bo m ; 
 und tlu>\i, ^larkinnon, who liearest me, knowest tlmt my words 
 uro true." 
 
 There was not then in Homo,— I may almost say thero wan 
 i\ot in Italy, an Knglishman or an American who did not winh 
 XN-cll to tho cau8o for which Italy was and is still contending ; oh 
 also there is hanlly ono who does not now regard that canno as 
 will-nigh trinmpliant; but, nevcrthelcsH, it "was almoHt impos- 
 piblo to svmpathiso with Mrs. Talboys. As ^luckinnon said, hIio 
 Hew so high that theix> was no comfort in Hying with her. 
 
 ** Well," t»aid he, *' .Brown and tho rest of them uro dov'i brlow. 
 Shall wo go and join them ? " 
 
 *' Toor Jhownl Itow "wns it that, in speaking of liis tmublcv*, 
 wo woi\> led on to this heart-stirring thomo? Yes, I Imvo seen 
 them, tho sweet angels ; and 1 tell you al^o that I havo seen 
 their n\other. I insisted on going to her when 1 hcafl her 
 history fi\»m lunK" 
 
 "And what is she like, ^frs. Tolboys ? " 
 
 " "NVclI ; education has dono moro for somo of us than fof 
 othoi-a ; and thero nro those from whoso morals und sentimcr t« 
 vo might thankfully draw a lesson, whose mannerh and outwanl 
 pestuns aiv not s\ich as custom has made agreeablo to ns. You, 
 1 know, can understand that. I havo seen her, and feel sure 
 that she is pure iu heart and high in principle. Has she not 
 
MRS. OENimAt *AliB0Y9. 223 
 
 sncnficcd herself, and is not sclf-fiacrifico thn surest gimrnntco for 
 true nobility of clmracter? "Would ^frs. Macldunon object to 
 my bringing them together?'* 
 
 ^riickinnon was obliged to declare that ho thought his wifo 
 would objc(;<", ; and fn>ni thiit timo fortli ho and Mrs. Talboys 
 eeascd to bo very cIoho in their friendHbip. She still ean\o totbo 
 liouse every Sunday evening, still rclVesbed herself at tho foun- 
 tains of his literary rills ; b\it her speciid ])roi)hecie8 from hence- 
 forth were poured into other ears. And it bo happened that 
 O'JJrien now became her chief ally. I do not remember that she 
 troubled licrself much furtbor with tho cherub angels or with their 
 niotber; and 1 am inclimnl to think tbat, taking up wanrdy, as * 
 she did, the story of O'JJrien's matrimonial wrongs, sho forgot 
 the little history of tbolh-owns. lie that ns it may, Mrs.Talboyg 
 and O'Hricn now became strictly confidential, and sho would 
 enlarge by the half-hour togctber on tho misoriea of her friend'» 
 position, to any one whom sbe could get to licar her. 
 
 *' I'll tell you what, Fanny," !Mackinnon said to liis wife ono 
 day, — to his wife and to mine, for wo were all togctlier ; *' we sludl 
 liave a row in the houso if wo don't tuko euro. O'JJrion will bo 
 making love to ^frs. Talboys." 
 
 ** N()U8(>nse," said ^frs. Mackinnon. ** You aro always think- 
 ing tbat somebody is going to mako lore to somo ono." 
 ** Somebody always is," said ho. 
 
 ** Sbe's old eno\igli to bo his mother," sai<l ^frs. TSfackinnon. 
 ** Wbat does that matter to an Irisbman ? " said Mackinnon. 
 *' Besides, I doubt if thero is moro than livo years' diflerenco 
 between them." 
 
 "Thero must bo moro than that," said my wife. "Ida 
 Talbovs is twelve, I know, and I am not nuito suro that Ida is 
 tho eldest." 
 
 ** If sbe had a son in tho Guards it wo\dd make no differenco," 
 said Maokintam. "Tliero aro men who consider themselves 
 bound to nudvc lovo to a woman under certain circumstances, let 
 the age of the lady bo what it may. O'Jirien is such a ono ; and 
 if she sympathises with him much oRener, ho will mistako tlio 
 matter, and go down on his knees. You ought to put liiiu oa 
 his guard," ho said, addressing himself to his wife. 
 
 ** Indeed, I shaU do no such thing," said sho ; " if they arc 
 two fools, they must, liko other fools, pay tho price of th(ur 
 folly.** As a rule thero could bo no sottcr creature tlmn Mrs. 
 Mackinnon ; but it seemoil to mo that her tcndcmcM noTur 0X» 
 tcodod itself in tho direction of Mrs. Talboysb 
 
224 TALES OF ALL COtJNTRlES. 
 
 Just at this time, towards the end, that is, of November, we 
 made a party to visit the tombs which lie along the Appian AV'ay, 
 beyond that most beautiful of all sepulchres, the tomb of Cecilia 
 MetoUa. It was a delicious day, and we had driven along this 
 road for a couple of miles beyond the waUs of the city, enjoying 
 the most lovely view which the neighbourhood of Rome affords, 
 — looking over the wondrous ruins of the old aqueducts, up to- 
 wards Tivoli and Palcstrina. Of all the environs of Rome this 
 is, on a fair clear day, tho most enchanting ; and here perhaps, 
 among a world of tombs, thoughts and almost memories of tho 
 old, old days come upon one with the greatest force. The gran- 
 deur of Rome is best seen and understood from beneath the walls 
 of the Coliseum, and its beauty among the pillars of the Forum 
 and the arches of the Sacred AVay ; but its history and full become 
 more palpable to tho mind, and more clearly realised, out hero 
 among the tombs, where the eyes rest upon the mountains whoso 
 shadus were cool to the old Romans as to us, — than anywhere 
 within the walls of the city. Here we look out at the same 
 Tivoli and the same Proeneste, glittering in the sunshine, em- 
 bowered among the far-off valleys, which were dear to them; 
 and tho blue mountains have not crumbled away into ruins, 
 AVithin Rome itself we can see nothing as they saw it. 
 
 Our party consisted of some dozen or fifteen persons, and as a 
 hamper with luncheon in it had been left on the grassy slope at 
 the base of the tomb of Cecilia Metella, the expedition had in it 
 something of the nature of a picnic. Mrs. Talboys was of course 
 with us, and Ida Talboys. O'Brien also was there. The 
 hamper had been prepared in Mrs. Mackinnon's room, under the 
 immediate eye of Mackinnon himself, and they therefore were 
 regarded as the dominant spirits of tho party. My wife was 
 leagued with Mrs. Mackinnon, as was usually the case ; and 
 there seemed to be a general opinion among those who were 
 closely in confidence together, that something would happen in 
 the O'Brien-Talboys matter. The two had been inseparable on 
 the previous evening, for Mrs. Talboys had been urging on tho 
 young Irishman her coimsels respecting his domestic troubles. 
 Sir Cresswell Cressweil, she had told him, was his refuge. 
 ** Why should his soul submit to bonds which the world had now 
 declared to be intolerable ? Divorce was not now the privilege 
 of the drssolute rich. Spirits which were incompatible need no 
 longer be compelled to fret beneath the same couples." In short, 
 ahe had recommended him to go to England and get rid of his 
 wife, OS she would, with a little encouragement, have recom 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS. S25 
 
 mended any man to get rid of anything. I am sure that, had 
 eho heen skilfully brought on to the subject, she might have 
 been induced to pronounce a verdict against such ligatures for 
 the body as coats, waistcoats, and trowsers. Her aspirations for 
 freedom ignored all bounds, and, in theory, there were no bar- 
 riers which she was not willing to demolish. 
 
 Poor O'Brien, as wc all now began to see, had taken the matter 
 amiss. He had offered to make a bust of Mrs. Talboys, and she 
 had consented, expressing a wish that it might find a place among 
 those who had devoted themselves to the enfranchisement of their 
 fellow-creatures. I really think she had but little of a woman's 
 customary personal vanity. I know she had an idea that her eyo 
 was lighted up in her warmer moments by some special fire, that 
 sparks of liberty shone round her brow, and that her bosom 
 heaved with glorious aspirations ; but all these feelings had 
 reference to her inner genius, not to any outward beauty. But 
 O'Brien misunderstood the woman, and thought it necessary to 
 gaze into her face, and sigh as though his heart wore breaking. 
 Indeed he declared to a young friend that Mrs. Talboys was 
 perfect in her style of beauty, and began the bust with this idea. 
 It was gradually becoming clear to us all that he would bring 
 himself to grief; but in such a matter who can caution a man? 
 
 Mrs. Mackinnon had contrived to separate them in making tho 
 carriage arrangements on this day, but this only added fuel to 
 the fire which was now burning within O'Brien's bosom. I 
 believe that ho really did love her, in his easy, eager, eusceptiblo 
 Irish way. That he would get over the littlo episode without 
 any serious injury to his heart no one doubted; but then, what 
 would occur when the declaration was made ? How would Mrs. 
 Talboys bear it ? 
 
 ** She deserves it," said Mrs. Mackinnon. 
 "And twice as much," my wife added. "Why is it that 
 women are so spiteful to each other ? 
 
 Early in the day Mrs. Talboys clambered up to tho top of a 
 tomb, and made a little speech, holding a parasol over her head. 
 Beneath her feet, she said, reposed the ashes of some bloated 
 senator, some glutton of the empire, who had swallowed into his 
 maw the provision necessary for a tribe. Old Rome had fallen 
 through such selfishness as that; but :iew Rome would not 
 forget the lesson. All this was very well, and then O'Brien 
 helped her down ; but after this there was no separating them. 
 For her own part she would sooner have had Mackinnon at her 
 elbow^r But Mackinnon now had found some other dbow. 
 
226 TAtfiS Of ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 "Enough of that was as good as a feast," he hod said to his wifd. 
 And thereforo Mrs. Talboys, quite unconscious of eril, allowed 
 herself to be engrossed by O'Brien. 
 
 And then, about three o'clock, we returned to the hamper. 
 Luncheon under such circumstances always means dinner, and 
 we arranged ourselves for a very comfortable meal. To those 
 who know the tomb of Cecilia Metella no description of the scene 
 is necessary, and to those who do not, no description will convey 
 a fair idea of its reality. It is itself a lai'go low tower of great 
 diameter, but of beautiful proportion, staiuling far outside the 
 city, close on to the side of the old Ronuin way. It has been 
 embattled on the top by some latter-day baron, in order that it 
 might bo used for protection to the castle, which has been built 
 on and attached to it. If t remember rightly, this was done by 
 one of the Frangipani, and a very lovely ruin he has made of it. 
 I know no castellated old tumble-down residence in Italy more 
 picturesque than this baronial adjunct to the old Roman tomb, 
 or which better tallies with the ideas engendered within our 
 minds by Mis. lladclilFe and the Mysteries of Udolpho. It lies 
 along the road, protected on the side of the city by the proud 
 sepulchre of the lloman matron, and up to the long ruined walls 
 of the back of the building stretches a grassy slope, at the bottom 
 of which are the remains of an old Roman circus. Beyond that 
 is the long, thin, graceful line of the Claudian aqueduct, with 
 Soracte in the distance to the left, and Tivoli, Palestine, and 
 Frascati lying among the hills wliich bound the view. That 
 Frangipani bar-on was in the right of it, and I hope ho got the 
 value of his monty out of the residence which he built for liim- 
 Bclf. I doubt, however, that ho did but little good to those who 
 lived in his close neighbourhood. 
 
 "VVo had a very comfortable little banquet seated on the broken 
 lumps of stone which lie about under the walls of tho tomb. I 
 wonder whether the shade of Cecilia Metella was looking down 
 upon us. AVe have heard much of her in these latter days, and 
 yet wc know nothing about her, nor can conceive why sho 
 was honoured with a bigger tomb than any other Roman matron. 
 There were those then among our party who believed that she 
 might still come back among us, and with due assistance from 
 some cognate susceptible spirit, explain to us the cause of her 
 widowed husband's liberality. Alas, alas ! if we may judge of tho 
 Romans by ourselves, the tme reason for such sepul.chral grandeur 
 would redound little to the credit of the lady Cecilia Metella 
 herself, or to that of Crassus, her bereaved and desolate lord. 
 
MES. GENERAL TALBOYS. 22t < 
 
 She did not come among us on tlie occasion of tliis banquet, 
 possibly because we had no tables there to turn in preparation 
 for her presence ; but, had slic done so, she could not have been 
 more eloquent of things of the other world than was Mrs. Tal- 
 boys. I have said that Mrs. Talboys' eye never glanced more 
 bnghtly after a glass of champagne, but I am inclined to think 
 that on this occasion it may have done so. O'Brien enacted 
 Ganymede, and was, perhaps, more liberal than other latter-day 
 Gauymcdos, to whose services Mrs. Talboys had been accustomed. 
 Let it not, however, be suspected by any one that she exceeded 
 the limits of a discreet joyousness. By no means ! The gene- 
 rous wine penetrated, perhaps, to some inner cells of her hetu-t, 
 and brought forth thoughts in sparkling words, which otherwise 
 might have remained concealed ; but there was nothing in what 
 she thought or spoke calculated to givo umbrage cither to an 
 anchorite or to a vestal. A word or two she said or sung about 
 the flowing bowl, and once she called for Falemian ; but beyond 
 this her converse was chiefly of the rights of man and the weak- 
 ness of women ; of the iron ages that were past, and of the 
 golden time that was to come. 
 
 She called a toast and drank to the hopes of the latter his- 
 torians of the nineteenth century. Then it was that she bade 
 O'Brien **Fill high the bowl with Samian wine." The Irish- 
 man took her at her word, and she raised the bumper, and waved 
 it over her head before she put it to her lips. I am bound to 
 declare that she did not spill a drop. ** The true * Fiilernian 
 grape,'" she said, as she deposited the empty beaker on the grass 
 beneath her elbow. Viler cliampngno I do not think I ever 
 swallowed ; but it was the theoiy of the wine, not its palpable 
 body present there, as it were, in the flesh, which inspired her. 
 There was really something grand about her on that occasion, 
 and her enthusiasm almost amounted to reality. 
 
 Mackinnon was amused, and encouraged her, as, I must con- 
 fess, did I also. Mrs. Mackinnon made useless little signs to her 
 husband, really fearing that the Falemian would do its good 
 olhccs too thoroughly. My wife, getting me apart as I walked 
 round the circle distributing viands, remarked that **the woman 
 was a fool, and would disgrace herself." But I observed that 
 after the disposal of that bumper she worshipped the rosy god in 
 theory only, and therefore gaw no occasion to interfere. " Come, 
 Bacchus," she said ; " and come, Silenus, if thou wilt ; I know 
 that ye are hovering round the graves of your departed favouritca. 
 And yC| tQO| nymphs of Egeria," and ihe pointed to tlio cUsslft 
 
928 TAl^ OF ALL OOUNTRIGS. 
 
 grovo which was all but close to us as wo sat there. " In olden 
 days yo did not always despise the abodes of men. But why 
 should wo inToke the presence of the gods, — we, who can become 
 godlike ourselves ! "We ourselves are the deities of the present 
 age. For us shall the tables bo spread with ambrosia ; for us 
 shall the nectar flow." 
 
 Upon the whole it was very good fooling, — for awhile ; and as 
 soon as we were tired of it we arose from our seats, and began 
 to stroll about the place. It was beginning to bo a little dusk, 
 and somewhat cool, but the evening air was pleasant, and the 
 ladies, putting on their shawls, did nob seem inclined at once to 
 get into the carriages. At any rate, Mrs. Talboys was not so 
 inclined, for she started down the hill towards the long low wall 
 of the old Roman circus at the bottom ; and O'Urien, close at her 
 elbow, started with licr. 
 
 *'Ida, my dear, you had better remain here,** she said to 
 her daughter; ''you will be tired if you como as far as wo 
 uro going." 
 
 ** Oh, no, manimn, I shall net," said Ida. " You get tired 
 much quicker than I do." 
 
 ** Oh, yes, you will ; besides I do not wish you to come." 
 There was an end of it for Ida, and l^Irs. Talboys and O'Brien 
 walked off togetlier, wliile we all looked into each other's faces. 
 ** It would bo a charity to go with them," said Mackinnon. 
 "Do you be charitable, then," said bis wife. 
 ** It should bo a lady," said he. 
 
 *' It is a pity that tho mother of tlu spotleBS cherubim is not 
 here for the occasion," said she. ** I hardly think that any ono 
 less gifted will undertake such a self sacrifice." Any attempt of 
 the kind would, however, now have been too late, for they wero 
 already at tho bottom of the hill. O'Brien had certainly drunk 
 freely of the pernicious contents of those long-necked bottles ; 
 and though no one could fairly accuse him of being tipsy, never- 
 theless that which might have made others drunk had made him 
 bold, and he dared to do — perhaps more than might become a 
 man. If under any circumstances he could be fool enough to 
 make an avowal of love to Mrs. Talboys, ho might bo expected, 
 as wo all thought, to do it now. 
 
 AVe watched t"hcm as they made for a gap in the wall which 
 led through into the largo encloHcd space of tho old circus. It 
 had been an arena for chariot gamers, and they liad gone down 
 with tho avowed purpose of searching where might have been 
 tho meta, and ascertaining how tho diivera could have turned 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS 229 
 
 when at their full speed. For awhile we had heard their voices, 
 — or rather her voice especially. ** The heart of a man, O'Brien, 
 should suffice for all emergencies," wo had heard her say. Sho 
 had assumed a strange habit of calling men by their simple 
 names, as men address each other. "When she did this to Mac- 
 kinnon, who was much older than herself, wo had been all 
 amused by it, and other ladies of our party had taken to call 
 him ** Mackinnon " when Mrs. Talboys was not by ; but wo had 
 felt the comedy to be less safe with O'Brien, especially when, on 
 one occasion, we heard him address her as Arabella. She did not 
 seem to be in any way struck by his doing so, and wo supposed, , 
 therefore, that it had become frequent between them. What 
 reply he made at the moment about the heart of a man I do not 
 know ; — and then in a few minutes they disappeared through 
 the gap in the wall. 
 
 None of us followed them, though it would have seemed the 
 most natural thing in the world to do so had nothing out of tho 
 way been expected. A? it was we remained there round tho 
 tomb quizzing the little foibles of our dear friend, and hoping 
 that O'Brien would be quick in what he was doing. That ho 
 would undoubtedly get a slap in tho face — metaphorically — wo 
 all felt certain, for none of us doubted tho rigid propriety of tho 
 lady's intentions. Some of us strolled into the buildings, and 
 some of us got out on to the road ; but wc all of us were think- 
 ing that O'Brien was very slow a considerable time before w© 
 saw Mrs. Talboys reappear through the gap. 
 
 At last, however, she was there, and wc at once saw that sho 
 was alone. She came on, breasting the hill with quick steps, 
 and when she drew near wc could see that there was a frown as 
 of injured majesty on her brow. Mackinnon and his wife went 
 forward to meet her. If she were really in trouble it would be 
 fitting in some way to assist her ; and of all women Mrs. Mac- 
 kinnon was tho last to see another woman suffer from ill-usage 
 without attempting to aid her. ** I certainly never liked her," 
 Mrs. Mackinnon said afterwards; **but I waa bound to go and 
 liear her tale, when she really had a tale to tell." 
 
 And Mrs. Talboys now had a tale to tell, — if she chose to tell 
 it. The ladies of our party declared afterwards that she would 
 have acted more wisely had she kept to herself both O'Brien** 
 words to her and her answer. " She was well able to take care 
 of herself," Mrs. Mackinnon said ; ** and, after all, the silly man 
 had taken an answer when he got it." Not, however, that 
 O'Brien h&d token his answer ^uito immediately, ao far aa J 
 
230 TAL35S OF ALL CammTEB, 
 
 ©ould TiTtdoritand from what we heard of the matter afteiw 
 irardfl. 
 
 At the present Hioment Mtb. Tolboy* came up the rising ground 
 all alone, and et a quick naco, *' Tho man 1ms insulted mo,'* 
 »ho said aloud, as well as nor panting breath would allow her, 
 and as soon as sho was nenr ohoukIi to Krs. irurUinnon to spculc 
 to lu>r. 
 
 " I am sorry for that," said Mrs. Mackinnon. " I suppose he 
 has taken a little too much wine.*' 
 
 "No; it was a premeditated insult. Tho base-hearted churl 
 has failed to understand tho meaning of true, honest sympathy." 
 
 "Ho will forget all about it when ho is sober," said Mackin- 
 non, meaning to comfoi-t her. 
 
 " WTiut care I what ho remembers or what ho forgets ! " she 
 eaid, turning upon poor Mackinnon indignantly. "You men 
 gi'ovel so in your ideas " " And yet," as Mackinnon said after- 
 wards, " she had been telling me that I was a fool for tho last 
 three weeks." — " You men grovel bo in your ideas, that you can- 
 not understand the feelings of a true-hearted woman. "NVhat can 
 his forgelfulncss or his remembrance bo to mc ? Must not I 
 remember this insult ? Is it possible that I should forget it ? " 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mackinnon only had gone forward to meet her j 
 hut, nevertheless, she spoko so loud tliat all heard her who were 
 Btill clustered round tho spot on which we had dined. 
 
 " Wliat has become of Mr. O'Brien?" a lady wliispered to me. 
 
 I had a field-glass with me, and, looking round, I saw his hat 
 as he was walking inside tho walls of the circus in tho direc- 
 tion towards tho city. " And very foolish ho must feel," said 
 the lady. 
 
 " No doubt ho is used to it," said another. 
 
 "But considciing her age, you know," said tho first, who 
 might have been perhaps three years younger than Mrs. Talboys, 
 and who was not lierself averse to tho excitement of a moderate 
 fiirtation. But then why should sho have been averse, seeing 
 that she had not as yet become subject to tho will of any 
 imperial lord? 
 
 " He would have felt much more foolish/' said the third, " if 
 she had listened to what he said to her." 
 
 " Well I don't know," said the second ; " nobody would have 
 knovm anything about it then, and in a few weeks they would 
 have gradually become tired of each other in the ordinary way." 
 
 But in the meantime Mrs. Talbovs was among us. There had 
 been no attempt at secrcsy, and she was still loudly inveighing 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS. 231 
 
 a{»ainst the grovelling propensities of men. " That's quite true, 
 Mrs. Tnlboys," said one of the elder ladies; **but then women 
 arc not always so careful as they should bo. Of course I do not 
 mean to say that there has been any fault on your part." 
 
 "Fault on my part! Of course there has been fault on my 
 part. No one can mako any mistake without fault to somo 
 extent. I took him to be a man of sense, and ho is a fool. Go 
 to Naples indeed I " 
 
 , " Did he want you to go to Naples ? " asked Mrs. Mackinnon. 
 ** Yes ; that was' what ho suggested. We were to leave by the 
 train for Ci^^ta Vecchia at six to-morrow morning, and catch the 
 8t(>amer which leaves Leghorn to-night. Don't tell me of wine. 
 He was prepared for it ! " And she looked round about on us 
 with an air of injured majesty in her face which was almost 
 insupportable. 
 
 ** 1 wonder whether he took tho tickets over-night," said 
 Mackinnon. 
 
 *' Naples !" sho said, as though now speaking exclusively to 
 herself, *' the only ground in Italy which has as yet made no 
 Ftrugglo on behalf of freedom ; — a fitting residence for such a 
 dastard!" 
 
 ** You would have found it very pleasant at this season," said 
 tho unmarried lady, who was three yeai's her junior. 
 
 3ily wife had taken Ida out of the way when the first com- 
 plaining note from Mrs. Talboys had been heard ascending the 
 hill. But now, when matters began gradually to become 
 quiescent, sho brought her back, suggesting, as she did so, that 
 they might begin to think of returning. 
 
 *' It is getting very cold, Ida, dear, is it not?" said she. 
 
 " But where is Mr. O'Brien ? " said Ida. 
 
 ** Ho has fled, — as poltroons always fly," said Mrs. Talboys. 
 I believe in my heart that she would have been glad to have 
 had him there in the middle of the circle, nnd to ha^o triumphe() 
 over him publicly among us all. No feeling of shame would 
 have kept her silent fbr a moment. 
 
 ** Fled ! " said Ida, looking up into her mother's face. 
 
 ** Yes, fled, my child." And sho seized her daughter in her 
 arms, and pressed her closely to her bosom. " Cowards always 
 fly." 
 
 " Is Mr. O'Brien a coward?" Ida asked. 
 
 " Yes, a coward, a very coward I And he has fled before the 
 glance of an honest woman's eye. Come, Mrs. Mackinnon, shall 
 we go back to the city ? 1 am sorry that the amusement of th^ 
 
233 TALES OF ALL CW/NTRIBS. 
 
 day Bhonld have received this check.** And she walked forraid 
 to the carriage and took her place in it with on air that showed that 
 she was proud of the way in whi6h she had conducted herself. 
 
 " She is a little conceited about it after all," said that un- 
 married lady. '* If poor Mr. O'Brien had not shown so much 
 premature anxiety with reference to that little journey to Naples, 
 things might have gone quietly after all." • 
 
 But the unmarried lady was wrong in her judgment. Mrs. 
 Talboys was proud and conceited in the matter, — but not proud 
 of having excited tlio admiration of her Irish lover. She was 
 proud of her own subsequent conduct, and gave herself credit for 
 coming out strongly as a noble-minded matron. ** I believe she 
 thinks," said ^Irs. ^[jickinnon, "that her virtue is quite Spartan 
 ond unique ; and if she remains in Home she'll boast of it tlirough 
 the whole winter." 
 
 *' If she docs, she may bo certain that O'Brien will do the 
 same," said Mackinnon. ** And in spite of his having fled from 
 the field, it is upon tlic cards that ho may get the best of it. 
 Mrs. Talboys is a very excellent woman. She has proved her 
 excellence beyond a doubt. But, nevertheless, she is susceptible 
 of ridicule." 
 
 Wo all felt a little anxiety to hear O'Brien's account of the 
 matter, and after having deposited the ladies at their homes, 
 Mackinnon and I went off to liis lodgings. At first he was 
 denied to us, but after awhile wo got his ser^^ant to acknowledge 
 tbat lie was at home, and then wo made our way up to liis 
 studio. "We found him seated behind a half-foi*med model, or 
 rather a mere lump of clay punched into something resembling the 
 shape of a liead, "svith a pipe in his mouth and a bit of stick in 
 his hand. He was pretending to work, though we both knew 
 that it was out of the question that ho should do anything in his 
 present frame of mind. 
 
 " I think I heaixl my servant tell you that I wi\8 not at home," 
 said lie. 
 
 " Yes, he did," said Mackinnon, *'and would have sworn to 
 it too if we would have let him. Come, don't pretend to be 
 Burly." 
 
 ** I am very busy, Mr. ^lackinnon." 
 
 ** Completing your head of Mrs. Talboys, I suppose, before 
 you start for Naples." 
 
 ** You don't mean to say that she has told you all about it," 
 and ho turned away from his work, and looked up into our faccB 
 with a comical expression^ half of tun and half of despair. 
 
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS. 233 
 
 •'Eveiy word of it," Baid I. "When you want a lady to 
 travel with you, never ask her to get up so early in winter." 
 
 "But, 0'13rien, how could you bo such an ass?" said Mack- 
 itinon. "As it has turned out, thcro is no very great hann 
 doQo. You have insulted a respectable middle-aged woman, tho 
 mother of a family, and tho wife of a general officer, and therb 
 is an end of it ; — unless, indeed, the general officer should como 
 out from England to call you to account." 
 
 •' Ho is welcome," said O'Brien, haughtily. 
 
 "No doubt, my dear fellow," said Mackinnon; "thot would 
 be a dignified and pleasant ending to the affair. But what I 
 want to know is this ; — what would you have done if she had I 
 agreed to go?" 
 
 ** He never calculated on the possibility of such a contingency," 
 Baid I. 
 
 *'By heavens, then, I thought sho would like it," said he. 
 
 " And to oblige her you wcro content to saciifico yourself,*' 
 Baid Mackinnon. 
 
 "Well, that was just it. "What tho deuco is a fellow to do 
 when a woman goes on in that way. She told rae down there, 
 upon the old race course you know, that matiimonial bonds were 
 made for fools and slaves. "What was I to suppose that sho 
 meant by that ? But to make all sure, I asked her what sort of 
 a fellow the General was. * Dear old man,* sho said, clasping 
 her hands together. *Ho might, you know, have been my 
 father.* * I "svish ho were,' said I, * because then you'd bo free.* 
 
 * I am free,* said she, stamping on the ground, and looking up at 
 me as much as to say that she cared for no one. * Then,' said I, 
 
 * accept all that is left of the licurt of Wenccslaus O'Brien, 
 ond I threw myself before her in her path. * Hand,' said I, 
 'I have none to give, but tho blood which runs red through 
 my veins is descended from a d-oublo lino of kings.' I said that 
 because sho is always fond of riding a high horse. I had gotten 
 close under tho wall, so that none of you should sec me from tho 
 tower." 
 
 " And what answer did she make ? ** said Mackinnon. 
 
 " Why she was pleased as Punch ; — gave me both her hands, 
 and declared that wo would be fiiends for ever. It is my belief, 
 Mackinnon, that that woman never heard anything of the kind 
 before. The General, no doubt, did it by letter.** 
 
 " And how was it that she changed her mind?" 
 
 " Why ; I got up, put my arm round her waist, and told her 
 that we would be qS to Naples. I'm blest if she didn't giye m» 
 
234 TALES OP ALL COUITTBMB. 
 
 a knock in the ribs that nearly sent me back^^ ardfl. She took my 
 breath away, so that I couldn't speak to her.*' 
 
 ''And then "', 
 
 " Oh, there was nothing more. Of course I saw how it was. 
 So she walked off one way and I tho other. On the whole I 
 consider that I am well out of it." 
 
 " And 60 do I," said ilackinnon, very gravely. " But if you 
 will allow mo to give you my advice, I would suggest that it 
 would bo well to avoid Fuch mistakes in future.** 
 
 "Upon my word," said O'Brien, excusing himself, "I don't 
 know what a man is to do under such circumstances. I give you 
 my honour that I did it all to oblige her." 
 
 ^Vg then decided that Mackinnon should convey to tho injured 
 lady tho humblo apology of her late admirer. It was settled 
 that no detailed excuses should be made. It should be left to 
 her to consider whether tho deed which had been done might 
 have been occasioned by wine, or by the folly of a moment,— -or 
 by her own indiscreet enthusiasm. No one but tho two wero 
 present when the message was given, and therefore we were 
 obliged to trust to Mackinnon* s accuracy for an account of it. 
 
 She stood on very high ground indeed, he said, at first refus- 
 ing to hear anything that he had to say on the matter. *' Tho 
 foolish young man," she declared, "was below her anger and 
 below her contempt." 
 
 " lie is not the first Irishman that has been made indiscreet by 
 beauty," said Mackinnon. 
 
 " A truce to that," she replied, waving her hand with an air 
 of assumed majesty. "The incident, contemptible as it is, has 
 been unpleasimt to me. It will necessitate my withdrawal from 
 Home." 
 
 "Oh, no, Mrs. Talboys; that will be making too much of 
 him." 
 
 " The greatest hero that lives,** she answered, " may have his 
 house made uninhabitable by a very small insect." Mackinnon 
 swore that those were her own words. Conse(iuently a 8obn(iU(>t 
 was attached to O'Brien of whicli ho by no means approved. 
 And from that day wo always called Mrs. Talboys " the hero." 
 
 Mackinnon prevailed at last with her, and she did not leave 
 Rome. She was even induced to send a message to 0'Briei\ 
 con", oying her forgiveness. They shook hands together with 
 great eclat in Mrs. Mackinnon's di'uwing-room ; but I do not 
 suppose that she ever again offered to him sympathy on the score 
 Qf bis matrimonial troubles. 
 
THE PARSON^S DAUGHTER OF OXNEY OOLNE. 
 
 The prettiest ecencry in all England — and if I am contradicted 
 in that assertion, I will say in all Europe — is in Devonshire, on 
 the Bouthem and south-eastern skirts of Dartmoor, where the 
 rivers Dart, and Avon, and Tcign form themselves, and where 
 the broken moor is half cultivated, and the wild-looking upland 
 fields are half moor. In making this assertion I am often met 
 with much doubt, but it is by persons who do not really know 
 the locality. Men and women talk to me on the matter, who 
 have travelled do^vn the line of railway from Exeter to Plymouth, 
 who have spent a fortnight at Torquay, and perhaps made an 
 excursion from Tavistock to the convict piison on Dartmoor. 
 But who knows the glories of Chagford? Who has walked 
 through the parish of Manaton ? "Who is conversant with Lust- 
 leigh Cleeves and AVithycombo in the moor ? Who has explored 
 Ilolne Chase,? Gentle reader, believe me that you will be rash 
 in contradicting me, unless you have done these things. 
 
 There or thereabouts — I will not say by the waters of which 
 little river it is washed — is the parish of Oxney Colne. And 
 for those who wish to see all the beauties of this lovely country, 
 a sojourn in Oxney Colne would be most desirable, seeing that 
 the sojourner would then be brought nearer to all that he would 
 wish to visit, than at any other spot in the country. But there 
 is an objection to any such arrangement. There are only two 
 decent houses in the whole parish, and these are — or were when 
 I knew the locality — small and fully occupied by their pos- 
 sessors. The larger and better is the parsonage, in which lived 
 the parson and his daughter; and the smaller is a freehold 
 wsidence of a certain Miss Lo Smyrger, who owned a farm of 
 a hundred acres, which was rented by one Farmer Cloysey, and 
 who also possessed some thirty acres round her own honse^ 
 
236 TALF^ OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 which she managed herself, regarding herself to he qnite as great 
 in cream as ■ Mr. Cloysoy, and altogether superior to him in the 
 article of cyder. *' But ycu has to pay no rent, Miss," Farmer 
 Cloysey would sav, when Miss Lo Smyrger expressed this 
 opinion of her art in a manner too defiant. ** Yeu pays no rent, 
 or yeu couldn't do it." Miss Lo Smyrger was an old maid, with 
 a pceligrco nnd blood of her own, a hundred and thii-ty acres of 
 fcc-simplo land on the borders of Dartmoor, fifty years of age, a 
 constitution of iron, and an opinion of her own on every subject 
 under the sun. 
 
 And now for the parson and his daughter. The parson's name 
 was "NVoolsworthy — or Woolathy, as it was pronounced by all those 
 who lived around him — the Rev. Saul AV^oolsworthy ; and his 
 daughter was Patience "Woolsworthy, or Miss Patty, as she was 
 known to the Devonshire world of those parta. That name of 
 Patience had not been well chosen for her, for she was a hot- 
 tempered damsel, warm in her convictions, and inclined to 
 express them freely. She had but two closely intimate friends 
 in the world, and by both of them this freedom of expression had 
 now been fully permitted to her smco she was a child. Miss Lo 
 Smyi'ger and her father were well accustomed to her ways, and 
 on the whole well satisfied with them. The former was equally 
 free and equally warm-tempered as herself, and as Mr. Wools- 
 worthy "v^as allowed by his daughter to bo quite paramount on 
 his own subject — for ho had a subject — he did not object to his 
 daughter being paramount on all others. A pretty girl was 
 Patience Woolsworthy at the time of which I am writing, and 
 one who possessed much that was worthy of remark and admira- 
 tion, had she lived where beauty meets with admiration, or 
 where force of character is remarked. Put at Oxney Colne, 
 on the borders of Dartmoor, there were few to appreciate her, 
 and it seemed as though she herself had but little idea ot 
 caining her talent further afield, so that it might not remain for 
 C'^er wrapped in a blanket. 
 
 She was a pretty girl, tall and slender, with dark eyes and 
 black hair. Her eyes were perhaps too round for regular beauty, 
 aBd her hair was perhaps too crisp ; her mouth was largo and 
 ezpressive ; her nose was finely formed, though a critic in female 
 form might have declared it to be somewhat broad. But her 
 countenancG altogether was wonderfully attractive — if only it 
 might bo seen without that resolution for dominion which occa- 
 eionally marred it, though sometimes it even added to her 
 attractions. 
 
THE PA1\S0N*S DAUaUTER OJ OXNEY COLNE. 237 
 
 It must be confessed on behalf of Patience "Woolswortby, that 
 the circumstances of her life had peremptorily called upon her 
 to exercise dominion. She had lost her mother "when she was 
 sixteen, and had had neither brcther nor sister. She had no 
 neighbours near her fit either from education or rank to interfere 
 in the conduct of her life, excepting always Miss Le Smyrger. 
 Miss Lo Smyrger would have done anything for her, including 
 the whole management of her morals and of the parsonage house- 
 hold, had Patience been content with such an arrangement. But 
 much as Patience had ever loved Miss Le Smyrger, she was not 
 content with this, and therefore she had been called on to put 
 forth a strong hand of her own. She had put forth this strong 
 hand early, and hence had come the charactci which I am attempt- 
 ing to describe. But I must say on behalf of this girl, that it 
 was not only over others that she thus exercised dominion. In 
 acquiring that power she had also acquired the much greater 
 power of exercising rule over herself. 
 
 But why should her father have been ignored in these family 
 arrangements ? Perhaps it may almost suffice to say, that of all 
 living men her father was the man best conversant with the 
 anticjuities of the county in which he lived. He was the Jonathan 
 Oldbuck of Devonshire, and especially of Dartmoor, without that 
 decision of character which enabled Oldbuck to keep his women- 
 kind in some kind of subjection, and probably enabled him also 
 to see that his weekly bills did not pass their proper limits. Our 
 Mr. Oldbuck, of Oxney Colne, was sadly deficient in these. As 
 a parish pastor with but a small cure, he did his duty with suffi- 
 cient energy, to keep him, at any rate, from reproach. He was 
 kind and charitable to the poor, punctual in his services, for- 
 bearing with the fanners around him, mild with his brother 
 clergjTnen, and inditferent to aught that bishop or archdeacon 
 might think or say of him. I do not name this latter attribute 
 as a virtue, but as a fact. But all these points were as nothing 
 in the known character of Mr. "NYoolsworthy, of Oxney Colne. 
 He was the antiquarian of Dartmoor. That was his line of life. 
 It was in that capacity that he was known to the Devonshire 
 world ; it was as such that ho journeyed about with his humble 
 carpet-bag, staying away from his parsonage a night or two at a 
 time ; it was in that character that he received now and again 
 stray visitors in the single spare bedroom — not friends asked to 
 see him and his girl because of their friendship — but men who 
 knew something as to this buried stone, or that old land-mark. 
 In all thcso lyings his daughter lot him have his own wa^. 
 
238 tALES OJ AtL COUNTRIES. 
 
 assisting and encouraging him. That was his lino of life, and 
 therefore she respected it. But in all other matters eho chose to 
 be paramount at the parsonage. 
 
 Mr. Woolswoi-thy was a little man, who always wore, except 
 on ISundays, grey clothes — clothes of so light a grey that they 
 would liordiy have been regarded as clerical in a district less 
 xtniote. lie had now reached a goodly age, being full seventy 
 years old ; but still he was wiry and active, and showed but few 
 symptoms of decay, llis head was bold, nnd the few remaining 
 lofks that surrounded it were nearly white. But th(>ro was a 
 look of energy about his mouth, and a humour in liis li^ht grey 
 eye, wliich forbade those who knew him to regard him altogether 
 as an old man. As it was, he could walk from Oxncy Colno to 
 I'ricstown, fifteen long Devonshire miles across the moor ; and 
 ho who could do that could hardly bo regarded as too old for 
 work. 
 
 But our present story will have more to do with his daughter 
 than with him. A pretty girl, I have said, was Patience "\Vools- 
 worthy ; and one, too, in Inany ways remarkable. She liad 
 taken her outlook into life, weighing the things which she had 
 and those which she had not, in a manner very unusual, and, as 
 a rule, not always desirable for a young lady. The things which 
 she had not were very many. She had not society ; she had not a 
 fortune; she had not any. assurance of future means of liveli- 
 hood ; she had not high hope of procuring for herself a position in 
 lite by marriage ; she had not that excitement and pleasure in life 
 which she read of in such books as found their way down to 
 Oxney Colnc Parsonage. It would be easy to add to the list of 
 the things wliich she had not ; and this list against herself she 
 made out with the utmost vigour. The things which she had, or 
 those rather which she assured herself of having, were much 
 more easily counted. She had the birth and education of a lady, 
 the strength of a healtliy woman, and a will of her own. Such 
 was the list as she made it out for herself, and I protest that I 
 assert no more than the truth in saying that she never added to 
 it either beauty, wit, or tident. 
 
 I began these descriptions by saying tnat Oxney Colne would, 
 of all places, bo the best spot from which a tourist could visit 
 those parts of Devonshire, but for the fact that he could obtain 
 there none of the accommodation which tourists require. A 
 brother antiquarian might, perhaps, in those days have done so, 
 seeiug that there was, as I have said, a spare bedroom at the 
 parsonage. Any intimate iiiend of Mas Le Smyrger's might be 
 
THE parson's daughter OP OXNEY COLNE. 239 
 
 AS foi-tunato, for she was equally well provided at Oxney Combe, 
 by which name her house was known. But Miss Lc Smyrgcr 
 was not given to extensive hospitality, and it was only to thoso 
 who were bound to her, either by ties of blood or of very old 
 friendship, that she delighted to open her doors. As her old 
 friends were very few in number, as those few lived at a dis- 
 tance, and as her nearest relations were higher in the world than 
 she was, and were said by herself to look down upon her, the 
 visits made to Oxney Combo were few and far between. 
 
 But now, at tho period of which I am writing, such a vinit 
 Was about to be made. Miss Lc Smyrgcr had a younger sister, 
 who had inherited a properiy in the parish of Oxney Colne equal 
 to that of the lady who now lived there ; but tliis the younger 
 sister had inherited beauty also, and she therefore, in early lil'e, 
 hiul found sundry lovers, one of whom became her husband, 
 bhc liad manied a man even then well to do in the world, but 
 now rich and almost mighty ; a Member of Parlifmient, a lord 
 of this and that board, a man who had a house in Eaton Square, 
 and a park in the north of England ; and in this way her course 
 of life had been veiy much divided from that of our Miss Lo 
 Smyrger. But tho Lord of the Goverament Board had been 
 blessed with various children ; and perhaps it was now thought 
 expedient to look after Aunt Penelope's Devonshire acres. Aunt 
 Penelopo was empowered to leave tlicm to whom she pleased ; 
 and though it was thought in Eaton Square that she must, as a 
 matter of course, leave them to one of tho family, nevertheless 
 a little cousinly intercourse might make tho thing more certain. 
 I will not say that this was the sole cause of such a visit, but in 
 these days a visit was to bo made by Captain Broughton to his 
 aunt. !Now Captain John Broughton was tho second son of 
 Alfonso Broughton, of Clapham Park and Eaton Square, Member 
 of Parliament, and Lord of tho aforesaid Government Board. 
 
 " And what do you mean to do with him ? " Patience Wools- 
 worthy asked of Miss Lo Smyrgcr when that lady walked over 
 from tho Combo to say that her nephew John was to arrive on 
 the following morning. 
 
 " Do with him? AVhy I shall bring him over hero to talk to 
 your father." 
 
 " He'll bo too fiiflhionablo for that ; and papa won*t trouble his 
 head about him if he finds that ho doesn't core for Dartmoor." 
 
 " ThcL he may fall in love with you, my dear." 
 
 " "Well, yes ; there's that resource at any rate, and for your 
 fnkQ I dard say I should be more ciyil to him than papa* Bttk 
 
JJ40 lALES OP ALL COUNTHrfiS. 
 
 he'll 80on get tired of making love, and what you'll do then t . 
 cannot imagine." 
 
 That Miss Woolsworthy felt no interest in the coming of the 
 Captain I will not pretend to suy. The advent of any etrangep 
 ■with whom she would bo called on to associate must bo matter of 
 interest to her in that secluded place ; and she was not so abso- 
 lutely unliko other young ladies that tho arrival of an unmarried 
 young mnu would bo tho sumo to her as tho advent of somo 
 piitriiirchul paterfamilias. In taking that outlook into lifo of 
 which I have spoken, she had never said to herself that she 
 despised those things from which other girls received tho excite- 
 ment, the joys, and the disappointment of their lives. She had 
 simply given herself to understand that very little of such things 
 would come her way, and that it behoved her to livo^to livo 
 hai)|)ily if such might be possible — witliout experiencing tho 
 need of them. She hud heard, when tliero was no thought of 
 any such visit to Oxney Colne, that John Broughton was a 
 handsome, clever man — ono who thought much of himself, and 
 was thought much of by otliers — tliat tliere had been somo talk 
 of his munying a great heiress, which marriage, however, hud 
 not taken place through unwillingness on his part, and that ho 
 was on tho whole a man of more mark in tho world than tho 
 ordinary captain of ordinary regiments. 
 
 Captain Broughton came to Oxncy Combe, stayed there a fort-, 
 night, — tho intended period for his projected visit having been 
 fixed at three or four days, — and then went his way. IIo went , 
 his way back to liis London haunts, tho time of tho year then 
 being the close of tho Easter holidays ; but as ho did bo ho told 
 his aunt that ho should a?s\iredly return to her in tho autumn. 
 
 *• And assuredly I eh all bo liappy to see you, John — if you 
 come with a certain purpose. If you have no such purpose, you 
 had better remain away." 
 
 ** I shall assuredly come," tho Captain had replied, and then 
 he had gone on his journey. 
 
 Tho summer passed rapidly by, and very little was said between 
 ^liss Lo Smyrger and MissWoolsworthy aboutCuptain Broughton. 
 In many respects — nay, I may say, as to all ordinary matters, no 
 two women could well bo more intimate with each other than 
 they were, — and more tlian that, they had tho courage each to 
 talk to tho other with absolute truth as to things concerning 
 themselves — a courage in which dear friends often fail. But 
 nevertheless, very little was said between them about Captain 
 John Broughton. All that was said may bo hei-o repeated. 
 
tHE parson's DAUOnTER OP OXNEt COLNB, 241 
 
 ** John Bays that ho shall return hero in August," Misa Lo 
 Bmyrger said, as Patience was sitting with her in tho parlour at 
 Oxncy Corahc, on the morning after that gentleman's departure. 
 
 ** Ho told me so himself," said Patience ; and as she spoke her 
 round dark eyes assumed a look of more than ordinary self-will. 
 If Miss Le Smyrger had intended to carry the conversation any 
 further, she changed her mind as she looked at her companion. 
 Then, as I said, the summer ran by, and towards the close of tho 
 warm days of July, Miss Le Smyrger, sitting in the same chair 
 in the same room, again took up tho conversation. 
 
 ** I got a letter from John tliis morning. Ho says that ho 
 shall be here on the third." 
 
 <' Does he?" 
 
 *' IIo i'^ very punctual to the time ho named." 
 
 " Yes ; I fancy that ho is a punctual man," said Paiicnco. 
 
 " I hope that you will be glad t-o see him, " said Miss Le 
 Smyrger. 
 
 *' Very glad to see him," said Patience, with a bold clear voice; 
 and then the conversation was again dropped, and nothing 
 further was said till after Captain Broughton's second arrival in 
 tlic parish. 
 
 Four months had then passed since his departure, and during 
 that time Miss "VVoolsworthy had perfonned all her usual daily 
 duties in their accustomed course. No one could discover that 
 she had been less careful in her household matters than hac'. been 
 her wont, less willing to go among her poor neighbours, or less 
 assiduous in her attentions to her father. But not the less was 
 there a fcebng in the minds of those around her that some great 
 change had come upon her. She would sit during the long sum- 
 mer evenings on a certain spot outside the parsonage orchard, at 
 tho top of a small sloping held in which their solitary cow was 
 always pastured, with a book on her knees before her, but rarely 
 readiiig. There she would sit, with tho beautiful >iew down to 
 tho winding river below her, watching tho setting sun, and 
 thinking, thinking, thinking — thinking of something of which 
 she had never spoken. Often would Miss Lo Smyrger come 
 upon her there, and sometimes would pass by her even without a 
 word ; but never — ^never once did she dare to ask her of the 
 matter of her thoughts. But she knew the matter well enough. 
 Ko confession was necessary to inform her that Patience Wools- 
 worthy was in love with John Broughton — ay, in love, to the 
 foil and entire loss of her whole heart. 
 
 On one evening she was so sitting till the July sun had £allea 
 
 E 
 
242 TALES OF ALL COUITTBlEfiL 
 
 and hidden himself for the night, when her father came upon her 
 as ho returned from one of his rambles on the moor, " Patty," 
 he said, " you are always sitting there now. Is it not late ? 
 Will you not be cold?" 
 
 ** No, papa,*' said she, **I shall not he cold.** 
 
 ** But won't you come to the house ? I miss you when you 
 come in so late that there* s no time to say a word before we go 
 to bed." 
 
 She got up and followed him into the parsonage, and when 
 they were in the sittinj^-room together, and the door was closed, 
 she came up to him and kissed him. ** Papa," she said, '* would 
 it make you very unhappy if I were to leave you ?" 
 
 "Leave me!" he said, startled by the serious and almost 
 solemn tone of her voice. ** Do you mean for always ? '* 
 
 ** If I were to marry, papa ? " 
 
 " Oh, marry ! No ; that would not make me unhappy. It 
 would make me very happy, Putty, to see you married to a man 
 you would love — very, very happy ; though my days would bo 
 desolate without you." 
 
 " That is it, papa. What would you do if I went from yon?" 
 
 "What would it matter, Patty? I should bo free, at any 
 rate, from a load which often presses heavy on me now. What 
 will you do when I shall leave you ? A few more years and all 
 will be over with me. Put who is it, lovo ? Has anybody said 
 anything to you? " 
 
 "It was only an idea, papa. I don't often think of such a 
 thing; but I did think of it then." And so the subject was 
 allowed to pass by. This had happened before the day of tho 
 second arrival had been absolutely fixed and made known to Miss 
 Woolsworthy. 
 
 And then that second arrival took place. The reader may 
 have understood from the words with which Miss Le Smyrger 
 authorised her nephew to make his second visit to Oxney Combe 
 that Miss Woolsworthy's passion was not altogether unauthorised. 
 Captain Broughton had been told that he was not to como unless he 
 came with a certain purpose ; and having been so told, he still per- 
 sisted in coming. There can be no doubt but that he well imder- 
 stood the purport to which his aunt alluded. " I shall assuredly 
 come," he had said. And true to his word, he was now there. 
 
 Patience knew exactly tho hour at which he must arrive at tho 
 station at Ne^vton Abbot, and the time also which it would take 
 to travel over those twelve uphill miles from the station to Oxney. 
 It need hardly b© said that she paid no visit to Miss Lo Smyrger** 
 
a:HE PARSON*S DAUGHTER OF OXNEY COLNE. 243 
 
 house on that afternoon ; but she might have known something 
 of Captain Broughton's approach without going thither* His 
 road to the Comhc passed by the parsonage-gate, and had Patience 
 sat even at her bedroom window she must have seen him. But 
 on such a morning she would not sit at her bedroom window- 
 she would do nothing which would force her to accuse herself of 
 a restless longing for her lover's coming. It was for him to seek 
 her. If he choso to do so, he know the way to the parsonage. 
 
 Miss Le Smyrger — good, dear, honest, hearty Miss Le Smyr- 
 gcr, was in a fever of anxiety on behalf of her Mend. It was 
 not that she wished her nephew to marry Patience — or rather 
 that she had entertained any such wish when he first came 
 among them. She was not given to match-making, and moreover 
 thought, or had thought within herself, that they of Oxney 
 Colne could do very well without any admixture from Eaton 
 Square. Her plan of life had been that, when old Mr.Woolsworthy 
 was taken away from Dartmoor, Patience should live with her ; 
 and that when she also shuffled off her coil, then Patience 
 "NVoolsworthy should be the maiden mistress of Oxney Combe— 
 of Oxney Combo and Mr. Cloysey's farm — to the utter detri- 
 ment of all the Proughtons. Such had been her plan before 
 nephew John had come among them — a plan not to be spoken 
 of till the coming of that dark day which should make Patience 
 an orphan. But now her nephew had been there, and all was 
 to be altered. Miss Le Srayrger's plan would have provided a 
 companion for her old age ; but that had not been her chief 
 object. She had thought more of Patience than of herself, and 
 now it seemed that a prospect of a higher happiness was opening 
 for her friend. 
 
 ** John," she said, as soon as the first greetings were over, " do 
 you remember the last words that I said to you before you went 
 away?" Kow, for myself, I much admire Miss' Le Smyrger's 
 heartiness, but I do not think much of her discretion. It would 
 have been better, perhaps, had she allowed things to take their 
 course. 
 
 ** I can't say that I do," said the Captain. At the same time 
 the Captain did remember very well what those last words had 
 been. 
 
 " I am 80 glad to see you, so delighted to see you, if— if— 
 if — ,** and then she paused, for with all her courage she hardly 
 dared to ask her nephew whether ho had come there with the 
 express purpose of asking Miss "Woolsworthy to marry him. 
 
 To tell the truth, for there is no room for mystoxy within 
 
 a 2 
 
244 TALES Of ALt COtKTRIES. 
 
 tho limits of this short stoiy, — to tell, I say, at a word the pl«dn 
 and eimple truth, Captain Broughton had already asked that 
 question. On the day hefore he left Oxney Colnc, he had in 
 Bet terms proposed to the parson's daughter, and indeed tho 
 "word^, the hot and frequent words, which previously to that had 
 fallen like sweetest honey into tho ears of Patience AVoolsworthy, 
 had made it imperative on him to do so. When a man in such 
 a place as that has talked to a girl of love day after day, must 
 not he talk of it to some definite purpose on tho day on which 
 ho leaves her? Or if he do not, must he not submit to bo 
 regarded as false, selfish, and almost fraudulent? Captain 
 Broughton, however, had asked the question honestly and ti-uly. 
 Ho had done so honestly and truly, but in words, or, perhaps, 
 simply with a tone, that had hardly sufficed to satisfy tho proud 
 spirit of tho girl ho loved. She by tliat time had confessed to 
 herself that she loved him with all her heart ; but she had made 
 no such confession to him. To him she had ppoken no word, 
 granted no favour, that airy lover might right lully regard as a 
 token of lovo returned. She had listened to him as he spoke, 
 and bade him keep such sayings for the drawing-rooms of his 
 fasliionablc fiiends. Then he liad spoken out and had asked for 
 that hand, — not, perhaps, as a suitor tremulous with hope, — but 
 OS a rich man who knov« s that he can command that which ho 
 desires to purchase. 
 
 **You should think more of this," she had said to him at last. 
 **If you would really have me for your wife, it will not be much 
 to you to return hero again when time for thinking of it elmll 
 have passed by." With these words she had dismissed him, and 
 now ho had again come back to Oxney Colne. But still sho 
 would not place herself at the window to look for him, nor dress 
 herself in other than her simple morning country dress, nor 
 omit one item of her daily work. If he wished to talce her at 
 all, he should wish to take her as she really was, in her plain 
 country life, but ho should take her also with full observance of 
 all those privileges which maidens aro allowed to claim from 
 their lovers. Ho should contract no ceremonious obaervanco 
 because she was the daughter of a poor country parson who 
 would come to him without a shilling, whereas he stood high in 
 the world's books. He had asked her to give him all that she 
 had, and that all she was ready to give, witliout stint. But tho 
 g:ift must be valued before it could be given or received. He 
 also was to give her as much, and she would accept it as beyond 
 all price. But sho would not allow that that which was offered 
 
THE parson's daughter OF OXNEY COLNB. 245 
 
 to bcr was in any degree the more precious because of his out- 
 "wanl worldly standing. 
 
 Sho would not pretend to herself that she thought he would 
 come to her that day, and therefore she busied herself in the 
 kitchen and about the house, giving directions to her two maids 
 as though the afternoon would pass as all other days did pass in 
 that household. They usually dined at four, and she rarely in 
 these summer months went far from the house before that hour. 
 At four precisely she sat down with her father, and then said 
 that she was going up as far as Helpholrae after dinner. Help- 
 liolme was a solitary I'annhouse in another parish, on the border 
 of the moor, and Mr. Woolsworthy asked her whether he should 
 accompany her. 
 
 "Do, papa," she said, "if you are not too tired." And yet 
 she had thought how probable it might be that sho should meet 
 Jolin Broughton on her walk. And so it was arranged; but 
 just as dinner was over, ^Ir. Woolsworthy remembered himself. 
 " Gracious me," he said, "how my memory is going. Grib- 
 bles, from Ivybridge, and old John Poulter, from Bovey, are 
 coming to meet hero by appointment. You can't put Helpholme 
 off till to-morrow? " 
 
 Patience, however, never put off anything, and therefore at 
 six o'clock, when her father had finished his slender modicum of 
 toddy, she tied on her hat and went on her walk. She started 
 with a quick step, and left no word to say by which route she 
 would go. As she passed up along the little lane which led 
 towards Oxney Combe, sho would not even look to see if he was 
 coming towards her ; and when she left the road, passing over a 
 stone stile into a little path which ran first through the upland 
 fields, and then across the moor ground towards Helpholme, she 
 did not look back once, or listen for his coming step. 
 
 She paid her visit, remaining upwards of an hour with the 
 old bedridden mother of the tenant of Helpholme. "(rod bless 
 you, my darling ! " said the old woman as she left her ; " and send 
 you some one to make your own path bright and happy through 
 the world.'* These words were still ringing in her ears with all 
 their significance as she saw John Broughton waiting for her at 
 the first stile which sho had to pass after leaving the farmer's 
 haggard. 
 
 " Patty," he said, as he took her hand, and held it close with- 
 in both his own, "what a chase I have had after you I" 
 
 "And who asked you, Captain Broughton?" she answered, 
 smiling. " If the journey was too much for your poor London 
 
JW6 TALBS OP ALL OOTJNTRim 
 
 strengitli, could yon not have waited till to-morrow morning, 
 when you would have found me at the parsonage?" But she 
 did not draw her hand away from him, or in any way Drctcnd 
 that ho had not a right to accost her as a lover. 
 
 " No, I could not wait. I am more eager to see those I love 
 than you seem to be.'* 
 
 " How do you know whom I love, or how eager I might ho to 
 Bce them ? There is an old woman there whom I love, and I 
 have thought nothing of this walk with the object of seeing her." 
 And now, slowly drawing her hand away from him, she pointed 
 to tho farmhouse wliich she had left. 
 
 "Patty," ho said, after a minute's pause, during which she 
 had looked full into his face with all tho force of lior bright 
 eyes ; ** I have come from London to-day, straight down hero to 
 Oxncy, and from my aunt's house close upon your footsteps after 
 yon, to ask you that one question — Do you love me?" 
 
 "What a Ilcrcules!" she said, again laughing. "Do you 
 really mean that you left London only this morning? "Why, you 
 must have been livo hours in a railway carriage and two in a 
 postchaiso, not to talk of the walk afterwards. . You ought to 
 take more care of yourself, Captain Broughton !" 
 
 He would have been' angry with her — for ho did not like to 
 be quizzed — had she not put her hand on his arm as she spoke, 
 and the softness of her touch had redeemed tho offence of her 
 words. 
 
 " All that I have done," said he, " that I may hear one word 
 from you." 
 
 " That any word of mine should have such potency 1 But let 
 ns walk on, or my father will take us for some of the standing 
 stones of the moor. How have you found your aunt ? If you 
 only knew the cares that have sat on her dear shoulders for the 
 last week past, in order that your high mightiness might have a 
 sufficiency to eat and drink in these desolate half-stiirved regions! " 
 " Slio might have Baved herself such anxiety. No one can care 
 less for such things than I do." 
 
 " And yet I think I have heard you boast of the cook of your 
 club." And then again there was silence for a miuute or two. 
 '' "Patty," said he, stopping again in the path; "answer my 
 question. I have a right to demand an answer. Do you love 
 me?" 
 
 " And what if I do ? What if I have been so silly as to 
 allow your perfections to bo too many for my weak heart r "What 
 then. CaDtajn Proughton ? " 
 
THE parson's DAUaniER OP OXNET OOLNE. 247 
 
 ** It cnnnot bo that you love me, or you would not joke now.'* 
 
 " Perhaps not, indeed," she said. It seemed as though she 
 were resolved not to yield an inch in her own humour. And 
 then apaiu they walked on. 
 
 *' Patty," ho said once more, ** I shall get an answer from you 
 to-night, — this evening ; now, during this walk, or I shall return 
 to-mon*ow, and never revisit this spot again." 
 
 " Oh, Captain Broughton, how should wo over manage to lire 
 without you?" 
 
 ** Very well," ho said ; " up to the end of this walk I can bear 
 it all ; — and ono word spoken then will mend it all." 
 
 During the whole of this time she felt that she wns ill-using 
 him. She knew that she loved him with all her lienit ; that it 
 would nearly kill her to part with him ; that she had heard his 
 renewed offer with an ecstacy of joy. She acknowledged to her- 
 Bclf that he was giving proof of his devotion as strong as any 
 which a girl could receive from her lover. And yet sho could 
 hardly bring herself to say the word ho longed to hear. That 
 word once said, and then she knew that she must succumb to her 
 love for ever ! That word once said, and there would be nothing 
 for her but to spoil him with her idolatry! That word onco said, 
 and she must continue to repeat it into his cars, till pcrlir.ps ho 
 mij^ht bo tired of hearing it ! And now he had threatened }»er, 
 and how could she speak after that ? Sho certainly would not 
 epeak it unless he asked her again without such threat. And so 
 they walked on in silence. 
 
 "Patty," ho said at last. "By the heavens above ub you 
 shall answer me. Do you love mo ? " 
 
 She now stood still, and almost trembled as she looked up into 
 his face. Sho stood opposite to him for a moment, and then 
 placing her two hands on his shoulders, sho answered him. **'I 
 do, I do, I do," she said, ** with all my heart ; with all my heart — 
 with all my heart and strength." And then her head fell upon 
 his breast. 
 
 Captain Broughton was almost as much surprised as delighted 
 by the warmth of the acknowledgment mado by the eager-hearted 
 passionate girl whom he now held within his arms. She had 
 said it now ; the words had been spoken ; and there was nothing 
 for her but to swear to him over and over again with her sweetest 
 oaths, that those words were true — ^true as her soul. And vm* 
 fwcet was the walk down txom thence to the parsonage gate. ^ 
 
248 TALE3 OF ALL COUNTRIEa 
 
 epoke no more of the distance of the ground, or the length of hit 
 day's journey. But he stopped her at every turn that he might 
 press her arm the closer to his own, that he might look into the 
 brightness of her eyes, and prolong his hour of delight. There 
 were no more gibes now on her tongue, no raillery at his London 
 finery, no laughing comments on his coming and going. AVith 
 downright honesty she told him everything: how she had loved 
 him belbro her heart was warranted in such a passion ; how, with 
 much thinking, she had resolved that it would be unwise to take 
 him at his first word, and had thought it better that he should 
 return to London, and then think over it ;' how she had almost 
 repented of her courage when she had feared, during those long 
 summer days, that he would forget her ; and how her heart had 
 leapt for joy when her old friend had told her that he was coming. 
 
 ** And yet," said he, ** you were not glad to see mo ! " 
 
 *' Oh, was I not glad ? You cannot understand the feelings of 
 a girl who has lived secluded as I have done. Glad is no word 
 for the joy I felt. But it was not seeing you that I cared for so 
 much. It was the knowledge that you were near mo once again. 
 I almost wish now that I had not seen you till to-morrow." But 
 as she spoke she pressed his arm, and this caress gave the lio to 
 her last words. 
 
 ** No, do not come in to-night," she said, when she reached the 
 little ^vicket that led up to the pai-sonage. ** Indeed, you shall 
 not. I could not behave myself properly if you did." 
 
 *' But I dvjn't want you to behave properly." 
 
 ** Oh ! I am to keep that for London, am I ? But, neverthe* 
 less, Captain Broughton, I will not invite you either to tea or to 
 Bupper to-night." 
 
 ** Surely I may shake hands with your father." 
 
 **Not to-night — not till John, I may tell him, may I 
 
 not ? I must tell him at once." 
 
 <* Certainly," said he. 
 
 " And then you shall see him to-morrow. Let me see— at 
 what hour shall I bid you come ? " 
 
 " To breakfast." 
 
 *'No, indeed. "What on earth would your aunt do with her 
 broiled turkey and the cold pie ? I have got no cold pie for you." 
 
 *' I hate cold pie." 
 
 " What a pity ! But, John, I should be forced to leave you^ 
 directly after breakfast. Come down— come down at two, or' 
 three ; and then I will go back with you to Aunt Penelope. I 
 must see her to-morrow ; " and so at last the matter was settled. 
 
THE parson's DAUGUTER OP OXNEY COLNB. 249 
 
 and tlie happy Captain, as he left her, was hardly resisted in his 
 attempt to press her lips to his own. 
 
 When she entered the parlour in which her father was sitting, 
 there still were Gribblcs and Poulter discussing some knotty point 
 of Devon lore. So Patience took off her liat, and sat herself- 
 down, waiting till they should go. For full an hour she had to 
 wait, and then Gribbles and Poulter did go. But it was not in 
 such matters as this that Patience Woolsworthy was impatient. 
 She could wait, and wait, and wait, curbing herself for weeks and 
 months, while the thing waited for was in her eyes good ; hut 
 she could not curb her hot thoughts or her hot words whom 
 things came to be discussed which she did not think to be good. 
 ** Papa," she said, when Giibbles' long-drawn last word had 
 been spoken at the door. " Do you remember how I asked you 
 the other day what you would say if I were to leave you ? " 
 ** Yes, surely," ho replied, looking up at her in astonishment. 
 *'I am going to leave you now," she said. "Dear, dearest 
 father, how am I to go from you ? " 
 
 ** Going to leave me," said ho, thinking of her visit to Help- 
 holme, and thinking of nothing else. 
 
 Now, there had been a story about Helpholme. That bed- 
 ridden old lady there had a stalwart son, who was now the owner 
 of the Helpholme pastures. But though owner in fee of all those 
 wild acres, and of the cattle which they supported, he was not 
 much above the farmers around him, either in manners or educa- 
 tion. Ho had his merits, however ; for he was honest, well-to-do 
 in the world, and modest withal. How strong love had grown 
 up, springing from neighbourly kindness, between our Patience 
 and his mother, it needs not here to tell ; but rising from it had 
 come another love — or an ambition which might have grown to 
 love. The young man, after much thought, had not dared to 
 speak to Miss Woolsworthy, but he had sent a message by Mis3 
 Lo Smyrger. If there could be any hope for him, he would 
 present himself as a suitor — on trial. He did not owe a shilling 
 in the world, and had money by him — saved. He wouldn*t ask 
 the parson for a shilling of fortune. Such had heen the tenor of 
 his message, and Miss Le Smyrger had delivered it faithfully, 
 " Ho does not mean it," Patience had said with her stem voice. 
 ** Indeed he does, my dear. You may be sure he is in earnest," 
 Hiss Le Smyrger had replied ; ** and theiQ is not an honester man 
 in these parts." 
 
 ** Tell hun," said Patience, not attending to the latter poi*tiou 
 of her friend's laat speechi '* that it cannot be— make him under* 
 
250 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 ftand, you know — and tell him also that tlio matter shall be 
 thought of no more.'* The matter had, at any rate, been spoken 
 of no more, but the young former still remained a bachelor, and 
 Helpholme still wanted a miBtress. But all this came lock upon 
 the parson's mind when his daughter told him that she was about 
 to leave him. 
 
 " Yes, dearest," she said ; and as she spoke she now knelt at 
 his knees. " I have been asked in marriage, and I have given 
 myself away." 
 
 " Well, my love, if you will bo happy ^* 
 
 *' I hope I shall ; I think I shall. But you, papa ? " 
 
 " You will not be far from us." 
 
 •* Oh, yes ; in London." 
 
 "In London?" 
 
 ** Captain Broughton lives in London generally." 
 
 "And has Captain Broughton asked you to marry him ?" 
 
 " Yes, papa — who clso ? Is ho not good ? Will you not love 
 him ? Oh, papa, do not say that I am wrong to love him ? " 
 
 Ho never told her his mistake, or explained to her that ho had 
 not thought it possible that the high-placed son of the London 
 great mtin should have fallen in love with his undowered daughter ; 
 but he embraced her, and told her, with all his enthusiasm, that 
 he rejoiced in her loy, and would bo happy in her happiness. 
 " My own Patty," he said, " I have ever known that you were 
 too good for this life of ours here." And then the evening wore 
 ftway into tho night, ^vith many tears, but still with much 
 happiness. 
 
 Captain Broughton, as he walked back to Oxncy Combe, made 
 up his mind that he would say nothing on the matter to his aunt 
 till the next morning. He wanted to think over it all, and to 
 tliink it over, if possible, by himself. He had taken a step in 
 life, the most important that a man is ever called on to take, and 
 ho had to reflect whether or no he had taken it with wisdom. 
 
 " Have you seen her ? " said Miss Le Smyrger, very anxiously, 
 when ho came into the dra^wing-room. 
 
 "Miss AYoolswortliy you mean," said ho. "Yes, I've seen 
 her. As I found her out, I took a long walk, and happened to 
 meet her. Do you know, aunt, I think I'll go to bed ; I was up 
 at five this morning, and have been on the move ever since." 
 
 Miss Le Smyrger perceived that she was to hear nothing that 
 evening, so she handed him his candlestick and allowed him to 
 go to his room. 
 
 But Captain Broughton did not immediately retire to bed, nor 
 
THE parson's DAUanTEn OP OXNEY COLNE. 251 
 
 when ho did so was he able to sleep at once. Had this stop that 
 ho had taken been a wise one ? He was Lot a man who, in 
 worldly matters, had allowed things to arrange themselves for 
 him, as is the case with so many men. He had formed -views 
 for himself, and had a theory of life. Money for money's sake 
 he had declared to himself to be bad. Money, as a concomitant 
 to tilings which were in themselves good, ho had declared to 
 himself to be good also. That concomitant in this affair of his 
 mariiage, he had now missed. Well ; he had made up his mind 
 to that, and would put up with the loss. He had means of 
 living of his own, the means not so extensive as might have been 
 desirable. That it would be well for him to become a married 
 man, looking merely to the state of life as opposed to his present 
 8tat€, he had fully resolved. On that point, therefore, there was 
 nothing to repent. That Patty "Woolsworthy was good, affec- 
 tionate, clever, and beautiful, he was sufficiently satisfied. It 
 would be odd indeed if he were not so satisfied now, seeing that 
 for the last four months he had so declared to himself daily with 
 many inward asseverations. And yet though he repeated, now 
 again, that he was satisfied, I do not think that ho was so fully 
 satisfied of it as he had been throughout the whole of those four 
 months. It is sad to say so, but I fear — I fear that such was the 
 case. When you have your plaything, how much of the antici- 
 pated pleasure vanishes, especially if it be won easily. 
 
 He had told none of his family what were his intentions in this 
 second visit to Devonshire, and now he had to bethink himself 
 whether they would be satisfied. What would his sister say, 
 she who had married the Honourable Augustus Gumbleton, gold- 
 stick-in-waiting to Her Majesty's Privy Council? Would she 
 receive Patience with open arms, and make much of her about 
 London ? And then how far would London suit Patience, or 
 would Patience suit London ? There would be much for him to 
 do in teaching her, and it would be well for him to set about the 
 lesson without loss of time. So far he got that night, but when 
 the morning came he. went a step further, and began mentally to 
 criticise her manner to himself. It had been very sweet, that 
 warm, that full, that ready declaration of love. Yes; it had 
 been very sweet ; but — ^but—- ; when, after her little jokes, she 
 did confess her love, had she not been a little too free for feminine 
 excellence? A man likes to be told that he is loved, but he 
 hardly wishes that the girl he is to marry should fling herself at 
 his head I 
 
 Ah me I jret ; it was thus ho argue4 to lUmself as on that 
 
252 TALES OP ALL OCtJNTRIES. 
 
 morning lio went through tho arrangomcnt«j of his toilet. *• Then 
 ho was a brute/* you say, my pretty reader. I have never said 
 that he was not a brute. J3ut this I remark, that many such 
 brutes are to bo met with in tho beaten paths of tho world's 
 hip:hway. When Patience Woolsworthy had answered him coldly, 
 bidding; hini po back to London nnd think over hia love ; while it 
 seemed from lier manner that at any rate as yet she did not caro 
 i'or liim; wliilo ho was absent from lier, and, th(?reforc, lonp^n;? 
 for her, tlio possession of her charms, her talent and bri^lit 
 lionesty of pui7)oso had seemed to him a thin;* most desirable. 
 Kow they were his own. They had, in fact, been his own from 
 the first. Tho heart of this country-bred girl had fallen at tlio 
 fust word from his mouth. Had she not so confessed to him? 
 She was very nice — very nice indeed. lie loved her dearly. 
 JUit had ho not Kold himself too cheaply? 
 
 I by no means say tliat ho was not a bnito. Ihit whether 
 brute or no, ho was an honest man, and luid no rc'motest dream, 
 either tlien, on that morninpr, or during tlie following days on 
 which such thouglita pressed more quickly on his mind — of 
 breaking away from his pledged word. At breakfast on that 
 morning ho told all to Miss Lo Smyrger, and that lady, with 
 warm and gracious intentions, confided to him her purpo.so 
 reganling her property. " I have always regarded Patience aa 
 my heir," she said, ** and shall do so still." 
 **0h, indeed," said Captain ]Jroughton. 
 
 ** Uut it is a great, great pleasure to me to think that sho 
 will give back the little property to my sister's child. You 
 will have your mother's, and thus it will uU come together 
 again." 
 
 **Ah!" said Captain Broughton. Ho had his own ideas 
 nbout property, and did not, even under existing circumstances, 
 lilco to hear that his aunt considered herself at liberty to leavo 
 the acres away to one who was by blood quite a stranger to tho 
 family. 
 
 "Docs Patience know of this?" he asked. 
 *'Not a word," said Miss Lc Smyrger. And then nothing 
 more was said upon tho subject. 
 
 On tliut afternoon he went down and received tho parson's 
 benediction end congratulations with a good grace. Patience 
 eaid Tory little on the occasion, and indeed was absent during 
 the greater part of the interview. The two lovers then walked 
 up to Oxnej Combe, and there were more benedictions and more 
 congratulations. ** All went merry as a marriage bell," at 6uy 
 
TUE parson's DAUanTER OP OXNEY C0LN15. '>53 
 
 rato as fur nfl ralicnco was conccnicd. Not a word liud yet 
 fallen from that dear mouth, not a look had yet come over that 
 hnr. Isome face, which tended in anyway to mar licr hliss. Ifer 
 jirst day of acknowledpjed lovo was a day altogether happy, and 
 when nho prayed for liim as she knelt beHido lier hod there was 
 no feeling in her mind that any fear need disturb her joy. 
 
 I will pass over the next three or four days very quickly, 
 merely Paying tliat Putiencc did not find them bo pleasant as 
 that lirst day alter her engagement. There was something in 
 her lover's manner — something which at first she could not 
 define — which by degrees seemed to grato a;"iin8t her feelings. 
 He was suflicienlly allVctionatc, that being a matter on which 
 she did not refjuire much demonstration ; but joined to his alfec- 
 tion there seemed to be ; she hardly liked to suggest to her- 
 self a liarsh word, but could it bo possible that ho was beginning 
 to think that she was not good enough for him ? And then slio 
 osked herself the question — was she good enough for him ? If 
 there were doubt about that, the match should bo broken off, 
 thougli she tore her o^vn heart out in the struggle. The truth, 
 however, was this — that ho had begun that teaching which ho 
 had already found to be so necessary. Now, had any one essayed 
 to teach Tatienco German or mathematics, with that young 
 lady's freo consent, I believe that she would have been found u 
 meek scholar, liut it was not probable that she would bo meek 
 when she found a self-appointed tutor teaching her manners and 
 conduct without her consent. 
 
 So matters went on for four or five days, and on the eveninj^ 
 of the fitth day Captain Broughton and his aunt drank tea at tho 
 parsonage. Nothing very especial occurred ; but as tho parson 
 and Aliss Lo Srayiger insisted on playing backgammon with 
 devoted perseverance during tho whole evening, iJroughton had 
 a good opportunity of saying a word or two about those changes 
 in his lady-love which a life in London would require — ^nd 
 Bomc word he said also — some single slight word as to the higher 
 etation in life to wliich he would exalt liis bndc. Patience loro 
 it — for her father and Miss Le Smyrger were in the room — sho 
 bore it well, speaking no syllable of anger, and enduring, for tho 
 ftiomcnt, the implied scorn of the old parsonage. Then the 
 evening broke up, and Captain Broughton walked back to Oxnoy 
 Combe with his aunt. "Patty," her father said to her before 
 they went to bed, **ho seems to mo to be a most excellent young 
 man." "Dear papa," she answered, kissing him. "And terri- 
 bly deep in love," said Mr. Woolsworthy. "Oh, I don't knoir 
 
264 tALES OP AlL COtJNtRlfiS. 
 
 abont that,** sho answered, as she left him wife hei sweetest 
 smile. But though she could thus smile at her father's joke, 
 she had already made up her mind that there was otill something 
 to be learned as to her promised husband before she could place 
 herself altogether in his hands. She would ask him whether ho 
 thought himself liable to injury from this proposed marriage ; 
 and though he should deny any such thought, she would know 
 from the manner of his denial what his true feelings were. 
 
 And he, too, on that night, during his silent walk with Miss 
 Le Smyrgcr, had cutertaincd some similar thoughts. **Ifcar 
 she is obbliuatc," 'lo said to himself, and then he had half ac- 
 cused her of being sullen also. ** If that bo her temper, what a 
 life of misery I have before me ! " 
 
 "Have you fixed a day yet?" his aunt asked him as they 
 came near to her house. 
 
 "No, not yet ; I don't know whether it will suit me to fix it 
 before I leave." 
 
 "Why, it was but the other day you were in such a hurry." 
 
 " Ah — yes — I have thought more about it since then." 
 
 "I should have imagined that this would depend on what 
 Patty thinks," said Miss Le Smyrger, standing up for the privi- 
 leges of her sex. "It is presumed that the gentleman is always 
 ready as soon as the lady will consent." 
 
 "Yes, in ordinary cases it is so ; but when a girl is taken out 
 of her own sphere " 
 
 " Her own sphere ! Lot mo caution you, Master John, not to 
 talk to Patty about her own sphere." 
 
 "Aunt Penelope, as Patience is to be my wife and not yours, I 
 must claim pennission to speak to her on such subjects as may 
 seem suitable to me." And then they parted — not in the best 
 humour with each other. 
 
 On the following day Captain Broughton and Miss Wools- 
 WOAtliy did not meet till the evening. She had said, before 
 those few ill-omened words had passed her lover's lips, that she 
 would probably be at Miss Le Smyrger's house on tho following 
 morning. Those ill-omened words did pass her lover's lips, and 
 then she remained at home. This did not come from sullcnness, 
 nor even from anger, but from a conviction that it would bo well 
 that she should think much before she met him again. Nor was 
 he anxious to hurry a meeting. His thought — his base thought 
 — was this ; that she would bo sure to come up to the Ccmbe 
 after him; but she did not come, and therefore in the evenirg he 
 •went down to her, and asked her to walk with him. 
 
THE parson's daughter OP OXNEY COLNE. 255 
 
 They went away by the path that led to Helpholme, and little 
 was said between them till they had walked some mile together. 
 Patience, as she went along the path, remembered almost to the 
 letter the sweet words which had greeted her ears as she came 
 down that way with him on the night of his arrival ; but he 
 remembered nothing of that sweetness then. Had he not made 
 an ass of himself during these last six months ? That WM tho 
 thought which very much had possession of his mind. 
 
 '* rutience," he said at last, having hitherto spoken only an 
 indiiierent word now and again since they had left the parsonage, 
 *♦ Tatience, 1 hope you realise tho importance of tho step which 
 you and I are about to take ? " 
 
 **0f course I do," she answered. **What an odd question 
 that is for you to ask ! " 
 
 ** Because," said he, ** sometimes I almost doubt it. It seems 
 to me as though you thought you could remove yourself from 
 here to your new home with no more trouble than when you go 
 from home up to the Combe." 
 
 ** Is that meant for a reproach, John ? " 
 
 *• Xo, not for a reproach, but for advice. Certainly not for a 
 reproach." 
 
 "1 am glad of that." 
 
 " But I should wish to make you think how great is tho leap 
 in the world which you are about to take." Then again they 
 walked on for many steps before she answered him. 
 
 ** Tell me, then, John," she said, when she had sufficiently 
 considered what words she should speak ; and as she spoke a 
 bright colour suffused her face, and her eyes flashed almost with 
 anger. **What leap dc you mean? Do you mean a leap 
 upwards?" 
 
 ** Well, yes ; I hope it will be so." 
 
 " In one sense, certainly, it would be a leap upwards. To be 
 tho wife of the man I loved ; to have tho privilege of holding 
 his happiness in my hand ; to know that I was his own — tho 
 companion whom ho had chosen out of all tho world — that 
 would, indeed, bo a leap upwards ; a leap almost to heaven, it 
 all that were so. But if you mean upwards in any other 
 Bcnse " 
 
 ** I waa thinking of the social scale." 
 
 "Then, Captain Broughton, your thoughts were doing mo 
 dishonour." 
 
 " Doing you dishonour I " 
 
 ** Yes, doing me dishonour. That your £ftther is, in the world'f 
 
256 TALE8 Of ALL COTTNTRfflS, 
 
 esteem, a greater man than mine is doubtlesA tnie enough. That 
 you, as a man, are richer than I am as a woman, is doubtless also 
 true. But you dishonour me, and yourself also, if these things 
 can weigh with you now.'* 
 
 *' Patience, — ^I think you can hardly know what words you are 
 saying to me." 
 
 ** Pardon me, but I think I do. Nothing that you can give 
 me — no gifts of that description — can weigh aught against that 
 winch I am giving you. If you had all the wealth and rank of 
 the gi-eatest lord in tho land, it would count as nothing in such 
 a scale. If — as I have not doubted — if in return for my heart 
 you have given mo yours, then — then — then you have paid me 
 fully. But when g&ts such as those are going, nothing else can 
 count even as a make-weight." 
 
 ** I do not quite understand you," he answered, after a pause. 
 ** I fear you are a little high-flown." And then, while the even- 
 ing was still early, they walked back to the parsonage almost 
 without another word. 
 
 Captain Broughton at this time had only one full day more to 
 remain at Oxney Colne. On the afternoon following that he was 
 to go as far as Exeter, and thence return to London. Of course, 
 it was to be expected that tho wedding day would be fixed before 
 he went, and much had been said about it during the first day or 
 two of his engagement. Then he had pressed for an eai'ly time, 
 and Patience, with a girl's usual difiidence, had asked for some 
 little delay. But now nothing was said on the subject ; and how 
 was it probable that such a matter could bo settled after such a 
 conversation as that which I have related ? That evening, Miss 
 Le Smyrgcr asked whether the day had been fixed. ** No," said 
 Captain Broughton, harshly ; *' nothing has been fixed." ** But 
 it will be arranged before you go ? " '* Probably not," he said; 
 and then the subject was dropped for the time. 
 
 ** John," she said, just before she went to bed, **if there be 
 anything wi'ong between you and Patience, I conjure you to tell 
 me." 
 
 **You had better ask her," he replied. "I can tell you 
 nothing." 
 
 On the following morning he was much surprised by seeing 
 Patience on the gravel path before Miss Le Smyrger's gate im- 
 mediately after breakfast. He went to the door to open it for 
 her, and she, as she gave him her hand, told him that she came 
 up to speak to him. There was no hesitation in her manner, nor 
 any look of anger in her face. But there was in her gait and 
 
THE PAP.SON*S DAUGHTER OP OXNEY COLNB. 257 
 
 form, in her voice and countenance, a fixedness of purpose whicli 
 he had never seen before, or at any rate had never acknowledged." 
 
 *' Certainly," said he. " Shall I come out with you, or will 
 you come up stairs ? " 
 
 "Wc can sit down in the summer-house," she said; and 
 thither they both went. 
 
 " Captain Broughton." she said — and she began her task the 
 moment that they were both seated — **you and I have engaged 
 ourselves as man and wife, but perhaps we have been over rash." 
 
 <*How so?" said he. 
 
 *' It may be — and indeed I will say more — it is the case that 
 we have made this engagement without knowing enough of each 
 other's character." 
 
 ** I have not thought so." 
 
 ** The time will perhaps come when you will so think, but for 
 the fake of all that we most value, let it come before it is too 
 late. What would be our fate — ^how terrible would be our 
 misery — if such a thought should come to cither of us after we 
 have linked our lots together." 
 
 There was a solemnity about her as she thus spoke which 
 almost repressed him, — which for a time did prevent him from 
 taking that tone of authority which on such a subject he would 
 choose to adopt. But he recovered himself. ** I hardly think 
 that this comes well from you," he said. 
 
 " From whom else should it come ? "Who else «an fight my 
 battle for mo ; and, John, who else can fight that same battle on 
 your behalf? I tell you this, that with your mind standing 
 towards me as it does stand at present, you could not give mo 
 your hand at the altar with true words and a happy conscience. 
 Am I not true? You have half repented of your bargain 
 already. Is it not so ? " 
 
 He did not answer her ; but getting up from his scat walked 
 to the front of the summer-house, and stood there with his back 
 turned upon her. It was not that he meant to be ungracious, 
 but in truth he did not know how to answer her. He had half 
 repented of his bargain. 
 
 ** John," she said, getting up and following him, so that she 
 could put her hand upon his arm, <♦ I have been very angry with 
 you." 
 
 ** Angry with me ! " he said, turning sharp upon her. 
 "Yes, angry with you. You would have treated me like a 
 child. But that feeling has gone now. I am not angry now. 
 There is my hand ;— the hand of a inmi. Lot the words that 
 
458 TALES Of ALt COUNTRM. 
 
 haye been spotcn between us be as though they had not been 
 spoken. Let us both be free." 
 <*I)o you mean it ?'*^ 
 
 *' Certuinly I mean it." As she spoke these words her eyes 
 filled with tears, in epito of all the eflorts eho could make ; but 
 ho was not looking at her, and her efforts had sufficed to prevent 
 any sob from bcinj^ audible. 
 
 •MVith all my heart," ho said; and it was manifest from his 
 tone that ho had no thought of her happiness as ho spoke. It 
 was true that she had been angiy with him — angiy, as she had 
 herself declared ; but nevci*theless, in what she hud said and 
 what she had done, she had thought more of his happiness than 
 of her own. Now sho was angry once again. 
 
 "With all your heart, Captain Brou<;liton ! AVell, so be it. 
 If with all your heart, then is the necessity bo much tho greater. 
 You goto-moiTow. Sliall wo say farewell now? " 
 ** Tatience, I am not going to be lectured." 
 ** Certainly not by me. Shall wc say farewell now ? '* 
 •* Yes, if you are determined." 
 
 "I am determined. Parewell, Captain Broughton. You have 
 all my wishes for your liappiness." And she held out her hand 
 to him. 
 
 "ratienco!" he said. And ho looked at her with a dark 
 frown, as though he would strive to frighten her into submission. 
 If so, ho might have saved himself any such attempt. 
 
 "Farewell, Captain Broughton. Give mo your hand, for I 
 cannot stay." Ho gave her his hand, hardly knowing why he 
 did so. Hho lilted it to her lipH and kissed it, and then, having 
 him, passed from thu summer-houso down through tho witket- 
 gato, and straight home to the parsonage. 
 
 Duiing the whole of that day she said no woitl to any one of 
 wliat had occurred. AVlien she was once more at homo she went 
 about her household ail'airs as she had done on that day of his 
 arrival. AVhcn she sat down to dinner with her father ho 
 observed nothing to make him think that she was unhappy; 
 nor during tho uveninj; was there any expression in her face,, 
 or any tone in her voice, which excited his attention. On tho 
 following morning Captain Broughton called at the parsonage, 
 and the servant-girl brought word to her mistress that ho was 
 in the parlour. But she would not see him. ** Laws, miss, you 
 ain't a quarrelled with your beau? " the poor f^irl said. "No, 
 not quarrelled," she said ; " but give him that." It was a scrap 
 of paper, contaiuing a word or two in pencil. *' It ii better that 
 
THB parson's daughter of oxney colne. 259 
 
 wo pliould not meet again. God blcsa you." And from that day 
 to this, now more than ten years, they never have met. 
 
 "Papa," she said to her father that afternoon, ''dear papa, 
 do not be angry with me. It is all over between me and John 
 ■Broughton. Dearest, you and I will not bo separated." 
 
 It would be useless here to tell how p:rcat was the old man's 
 surprise and how true his son'ow. As the tale was told to him 
 no cause was given for ungcr with any one. Kot a word w&b 
 spoken against the suitor who had on that day returned to London 
 with a full conviction that now at least ho was relieved from 
 his engagement. ** Patty, my darling child," ho said, "may 
 God gi-ant that it be for the best ! " 
 
 *' It is for the best," she answered stoutly. *'For this place 
 I am fit ; and I much doubt whether I am fit for any other." 
 
 On that day she did not see Miss Le Smyrgcr, but on tho 
 following morning, knowing that Captain Broughton had gone 
 off, having heard the wheels of the carriage as they passed by 
 the parsonage gate on his way to the station, — she walked up to 
 the Combo. 
 
 *' He has told you, I suppose ? " said she. 
 "Yes," said Miss Lo bmyrger. "And I will never eccbim 
 again unless he asks your pardon on his knees. I have told him 
 so. I would not even give him my hand aa he went." 
 
 " But why 80, thou kindest one? The fault was mine more 
 than his." 
 
 ♦* I understand. I have eyes in my head," said tho old maid. 
 " I have watched him for the last four or five days. If you 
 could have kept the truth to yourself and bade him keep off 
 fi(^m you, he would have been at your feet now, licking tho 
 (lust from your shoes." 
 
 " But, dear friend, I do not want a man to lick dust from my 
 fthocs." 
 
 "Ah, you are a fool. You do not know the value of your own 
 wealth." 
 
 " True ; I have been a fool. I was a fool to think that one 
 coming from such a life as he has led could be happy with such 
 as I am. I know the truth now. I have bought the lesson 
 dearly, — but perhaps not too dearly, seeing that it will never 
 be forgotten." 
 
 There was but little more said about the matter between our 
 tlurce friends at Oxney Colne. "What, indeed, could be said? 
 Miss Le Smyrger for a year or two still expected that her nephew 
 Would return and claim his bride ; but he has neror done w^ 
 
 §2 
 
2G0 ^ALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 nor lins there been any corrc«ponclcnco between them. Patlcncd 
 Woolnworthy hml U'urntHl lior lonnon <lenrly. Hlio had givrn 
 licr whole honrt to tlio man ; and, though who so bore herself 
 that no one was aware of the violence of the struggle, novcr- 
 thcleaa the struggle within her bosom was very violent. She 
 never told herself that she hud done wrong ; she never regretted 
 her loss ; but yet — yet — the loss was very haid to bear. He 
 uIho hud loved her, but he was not capable of a love which could 
 much injure his daily peace. Her daily peace was gone for 
 jiiuuy u (Iiiy to eoinc. 
 
 Her father is Btill living ; but there is a curate now in tho 
 polish. In conjunction with him and with Miss Le Smyrgcr 
 she spends her time in the concerns of the parish. In her own 
 eyes she is a confirmed old rauid ; nnd such is my opinion alp-, 
 Ihe romance of her life wus pluyed out in that summer. She 
 never sits now lonely on tho hill-side thinking how much she 
 might do for one whom she really loved. Lut with a largo 
 heart she loves many, and, with no romance, she works hard to 
 lighten tho burdens of those she loves. 
 
 As for Captain 13roughton, all the world know that he did 
 marry that great heiress with whom his name was once before 
 connected, and that he is now a useful member of Parliament, 
 working on committees three or four days a week with a zeal 
 that is indefatigable. Sometimes, not often, as ho tliinks of 
 rutiene^ Woolsworthy, a gratiiied smile comes acrosa his fftce. 
 
GEORGE WALKER AT SUEZ. 
 
 Op all the spots on the world's surface that I, George "Walker, 
 of Friday Street, London, have ever visited, Suez in Ejrypt, at 
 the head of the Red Sea, is by far the vilest, the most unpleasant, 
 and the least interesting. There are no women there, no water, 
 and no vegetation. It is surrounded, and indeed often filled, 
 by a world of sand. A scorching sun is always overhead ; 
 and one is domiciled in a huge cavernous hotel, which seems 
 to have been made purposely destitute of all the comforts of 
 civilised life. Nevertheless, in looking back upon the week 
 of my life which I spent there I always enjoy a certain sort of 
 triumph ; — or rather, upon one day of that week, which lends 
 a sort of halo not only to my sojourn at Suez, but to the whole 
 period of my residence in Egypt. 
 
 I am free to confess that I am not a great man, and that, at 
 any rate in the earlier part of my career, I had a hankering after 
 the homage which is paid to greatness. I would fain have been 
 a popular orator, feeding myself on the incense tendered to mo 
 by thousands ; or failing that, a man born to power, whom those 
 around him were compelled to respect, and perhaps to fear. I 
 am not ashamed to acknowledge this, and I believe that most 
 of my neighbours in Friday Street would own as much were 
 they as candid and open-hearted as myself. 
 
 It is now Bomo time since I was recommended to pass the 
 first four months of the year in Cairo because I had a sore- 
 throat. The doctor may have been right, but I shall never 
 divest myself of the idea that my partners wished to be rid of 
 me while they made certain changes in the management of the 
 firm. They would not otherwise have shown such interest 
 every time I blew my nose or relieved my huskiness by a slight 
 cough ; — they would not have been so intimate with that surgeon 
 torn St BarUiolomew's who dined with them twice at the Albion ; 
 
262 TALES Of ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 nor would they have gone to work directly that my hack was 
 turned, and have done those very things which they could not 
 have done had I remained at home. I3e that aa it may, I was 
 frightened and went to Cairo, and while there I made a trip to 
 Bucz for a week. 
 
 I was not happy at Cairo, for I knew nobody there, and the 
 people at the hotel were, as I thought, uncivil. It seemed to 
 me as though I were allowed to go in and out merely by suffer- 
 ance ; and yet I paid my bill regularly every week. The house 
 was full of company, but the company was made up of parties 
 of twos and threes, and they all seemed to have tlieir own 
 friends. I did make attempts to overcome that terrible British 
 exclusivcness, that noli me tangero with which on Englishman 
 arras himself, and in which he thinks it necessary to envelop 
 his wife ; but it was in vain, and I found myself sitting down 
 to breakfast and dinner, day tifter day, as much alone as I 
 should do if I called for a chop at a separate table in the 
 Cathedral Coffee-house. And yet at breakfast and dinner I 
 made one of an assemblage of thirty or forty people. That I 
 thought dull. 
 
 I3ut aa I stood one morning on the steps before the hotel, 
 bethinking myself that my throat was as well as ever I re- 
 membered it to be, I was suddenly slapped on the back. Never 
 in my life did I feel a moro pleasant sensation, or tVim round 
 with more unaffected delight to return a friend's greeting. It 
 was as though a cup of water had been handed to mo in the 
 desert. I knew that a cargo of passengers for Australia had 
 reached Cairo that morning, and were to be passed on to Suez 
 as soon as the railway would take them, and did not therefore 
 expect that the greeting had come from any sojourner in Egypt. 
 I should perhaps have explained that the even tenor of our life 
 at the hotel was disturbed some four times a month by a flight 
 tlirough Cairo of a flock of travellers, who like locusts eat up all 
 that there was eatable at the Inn for the day. They sat down 
 at the same tables with us, never mixing with us, ha^-ing their 
 separate interests and hopes, and being often, as I thought, 
 somewhat loud and almost selfish in the expression of them. 
 These flocks consisted of passengers passing and repassing by the 
 overland route to and li-om India and Australia; and had I 
 nothing else to tell, I should delight to describe all that I 
 watched of their habits and manners — the outward bound being 
 80 different in their traits from their brethren on their return. 
 But I have to tell of my own triumph at Suez, and must there- 
 
GEORGE WALKER AT SUEZ. 263 
 
 fore hasten on to say that on turning round quickly with my 
 ©utstrctched hand, I found it clasped by John liobinson. 
 
 "Well, Robinson, is this you?" "Holloa, Walker, what 
 arc you doinj? hero ? " That of course was the style of greeting. 
 Elsewhere I should not have cared much to meet John Robinson, 
 for he was a man who had never done well in the world. Ho 
 had been in business and connected with a fairly good house in 
 Sisc Lane, but he had manied early, and things had not exactly 
 gone well with him. I don't think the house broke, but he did ; 
 and so ho was driven to take himself and five children off to 
 Australia. Elsewhere I should not have cared to come across him, 
 but I was positively glad to be slapped on the back by anybody 
 on that landing-place in front of Shcphcard's Hotel at Cairo. 
 
 I soon learned that Robinson with his wife and children, 
 ftnd indeed with all the rest of the Australian cargo, were to bo 
 passed on to Suez that afternoon, and after a while I agreed to 
 accompany their paiiy. I had made up my mind, on coming 
 out from England, that I would see all tho wonders of Egypt, 
 and hitherto I had seen nothing. I did rido on one day some 
 fifteen miles on a donkey to see the petrified forest ; but tho 
 guide, who called himself a dragoman, took me wrong or cheated 
 me in some way. We rode half the day over a stony, sandy 
 plain, seeing nothing, with a terrible wind that filled my mouth 
 with grit, and at last the dragoman got off. " Dere," said he, 
 picking up a small bit of stone, " Dis is do forest made of stone. 
 Carry that home." Then we turned round and rodo back to 
 Cairo. My chief observation as to the country was this — that 
 whichever way we went, tho wind blew into our teeth. Tho 
 day's work cost mo fivc-and-twenty shillings, and since that 
 I had not as yet made any other expedition. I was therefore 
 glad of an opportunity of going to Suez, and of making tho 
 journey in company with an acquaintance. 
 
 At that time the railway was open, as far as I remember, 
 nearly half the way from Cairo to Suez. It did not run four or 
 five times a day, as railways do in other countries, but four or 
 live times a month. In fhct, it only carried passengers on the 
 arrival of these flocks passing between England and her Eastern 
 possessions. There were trains passing backwards and forwards 
 constantly, as I perceived in walking to and Irom the station ; 
 but, as I learned, they carried nothing but the labourers working 
 on the line, and the water sent into the Desert for their use. It 
 struck me forcibly at the time that I should not have liked to 
 have mone^ in that investment. 
 
264 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 Well; I went with Robinson to Suez. The journey, like 
 everything else in Egypt, was sandy, hot, and unpleasant. Th« 
 railway carriages were pretty fair, and we had room enough ; but 
 even in them the dust waG a great nuisance. We travelled about 
 ten miles an hour, and stopped about an hour at every ten miles. 
 This waa tedious, but we had cigars with us and a trifle of brandy 
 and water; and in this manner the railway journey wore itself 
 away. In the middle of the night, however, wo were moved 
 from the railway carriages into omnibuses, as they were called, 
 and then I was not comtbi'tablc. These omnibuses were wooden 
 boxes, placed each upon a pair of wheels, and supposed to bo 
 capable of carrying six passengers. I was thmst into one with 
 Eobinson, his wife and live children, and immediately began to 
 repent of my good-nature in accompanying them. To each 
 vehicle were attached four horses or mules, and I must acknow- 
 ledge that as on the railway they went as slow as possible, so now 
 in these conveyances, dragged through the sand, they went as fast 
 as the beasts could be made to gallop. I remember the Fox 
 Tally-ho coach on the Birmingham road when Uoyce drove it, 
 but as regards pace the Pox Tally-ho was notliing to these 
 machines in Egypt. On the first going off I was jolted right on 
 to Mrs. R. and her infant ; and for a long time that lady thouglit 
 that the child had been squeezed out of its proper shape ; but at 
 last we arrived at Suez, and the baby seemed to mo to bo all 
 right when it was handed down into tho boat at Suez. 
 
 The Robinsons were allowed time to breakfast at that cavernous 
 hotel — which looked to me like a scheme to save the expense of 
 the passengers* meal on board the ship — and then they were off. 
 I shook hands with him heartily as I parted with him at the 
 quay, and wished him well through all lus troubles. A man who 
 takes a wife and five young children out into a colony, and that 
 with his pockets but indifferently lined, certainly has his troubles 
 before him. So he has at home, no doubt; but, judging for 
 myself, I should always prefer sticking to the old ship as long as 
 there is a bag of biscuits in the locker. Poor Robinson ! I have 
 never heard a word of him or his since that day, and sincerely 
 trust that the baby was none the worse for the little accident in 
 the box. 
 
 And now I had the prospect of a week before mo at Suez, and 
 the Robinsons had not been gone half an hour before I began to 
 feel that I should have been better off even at Cairo. I secured 
 a bedroom at tho hotel — I might have seemed sixty bedrooms 
 had I wanted them — and then went out and stood at the Iront 
 
GEORGE WALKER AT SUEZ. 265 
 
 door, or gate. It is a large house, built round a quadrangle, 
 looking with one front towards the head of the Red Sea, and with 
 the other into and on a sandy, dead-looking, open square. There 
 I stood for ten minutes, and finding that it was too hot to go 
 forth, returned to the long cavernous room in which we had 
 breakfasted. In that long cavernous room I was destined to cat 
 all my meals for the next six days. Now at Cairo I could, at any 
 rate, see my fellow-creatures at their food. So I lit a cigar, and 
 began to wonder whether I could survive the week. It was now 
 clear to me that I had done a very rash thing in coming to Suez 
 with the Robinsons. 
 
 Somebody about the place had asked me my name, and I had 
 told it plainly — George Walker. I never was ashamed of my 
 name yet, and never had cause to be. I believe at this day it 
 will go as far in Friday Street as any other. A man may bo 
 popular, or he may not. That depends mostly on circumstances 
 which are in themselves tiiiling. But the value of his name 
 depends on the way in which he is known at his bank, I have 
 never dealt in tea spoons or gra\-y spoons, but my name will go as 
 far as another name. *' George Walker," I answered, therefore, 
 in a tone of some little authority, to the man who asked me, and 
 who sat inside the gate of the hotel in an old di'cssing-gown and 
 slippers. 
 
 That was a melanchdly day with me, and twenty times before 
 dinner did I wish myself back at Cairo. I had been travelling 
 all night, and therelbre hoped that I might get through some 
 little time in sleeping, but the mosquitoes attacked me the 
 moment I laid myself down. In other places mosquitoes torment 
 you only at night, but at Suez they buzz around you, without 
 ceasing, at all hours. A scorching sun was blazing overhead, 
 . and absolutely forbade me to leave the house. I stood for a while 
 in the verandah, looking do^vn at the few small vessels which 
 were moored to the quay, but there was no life in them ; not a 
 sail was set, not a boatman or a sailor was to be seen, and the 
 very water looked as though it were hot. I could fancy the glare 
 of the sun was cracking the paint on the gunwales of the boats. 
 I was the only visitor in the house, and during all the long hours 
 of the morning it seemed as though the servants had deserted it. 
 
 I dined at four ; not that I chose that hour, but because no 
 choice was given to me. At the hotels in Egypt one has to dino 
 at an hour fixed by the landlord, and no entreaties will suffice to 
 obtain a meal at any other. So at four I dined, and after dinuer 
 was again reduced to despair. 
 
266 TALES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 I yrta ritttng In tho cftTcrnous chamber almost mad at the 
 proflpect of tho week beforo me, -when I heard a noiso as of 
 yarions feet in the passage lending from tho quadrangle. "Was it 
 poRsiblo that other human beings were coming into tho hotel — 
 Christian human beings at whom I could look, whoso voices 1 
 could hear, whof^e words I could undfistiind, and with whom I 
 might possibly nssociuto ? I did not move, however, for I was 
 plill hot, and I knew that my chances might be better if I did 
 not show myself over eager for companionship at the first moment. 
 The door, however, was soon opened, and I saw that at least in 
 one respect I was destined to bo disappointed. The strangers 
 who were entering the room word not Christians — if I might 
 judge by the nature of tho garments in which they were clothed. 
 
 Tho door had been opened by the man in an old dressing-gown 
 and slippers, whom I had seen sitting inside the gate. He was 
 the Arab porter of the hotel, and as he marshalled the new 
 visitors into the room, I heard him pronounce some sound similar 
 to my own name, and perceived that he pointed me out to tho 
 most prominent person of thoso who then entered tho apariment. 
 This was a stout, portly man, dressed from head to foot in Easterr. 
 costume of tho brightest colours. He wore, not only the red fez 
 cap which everybody wears — even I had accustomed myself to a 
 fez cap — ^but a turban round it, of which the voluminous folds 
 were snowy white. His face was fat, but not the less grave, and 
 the lower part of it was envelopi'd in a magnificent beard, whieh 
 projected round it on all sides, and touched his breast as he 
 walked. It was a grand grizzled beard, and I acknowledged at 
 a moment that it added a singular dignity to tho appearance of 
 the stranger. His llowing robe was of bright colours, and tho 
 under garment which fitted close round his breast, and then 
 descended, becoming beneath his sash a pair of the loosest panta- 
 loons — I might, perhaps, better describe them as bags — was a 
 rich tawny silk. These loose pantaloons were tied close round 
 his legs, above the ankle, and over a pair of scrupulously white 
 stockings, and on his feet he wore a pair of yellow slippers. It 
 was maniiest to me at a glanco that tho Arab gentleman was got 
 up in his best raiment, and that no expense had been spared en 
 his suit. 
 
 And here I cannot but make a remark on the personal bearing 
 of these Arabs. "Whether they be Arabs or Turks, or Copts, it 
 is always the same. They are a mean, false, cowardly race, I 
 believe. They will bear blows, and respect tho man who gives 
 them. Fear gjoes further with tliem tluiii love, and betweea 
 
OmnOTi WALTCl^n AT SUEZ. 267 
 
 mnn nnd man thoy understand nothing of forbearance. Ho whd 
 ilocs not exact from tlicm all that he can exact is simply a fool 
 in their estimation, to the extent of that wliich ho loses. In all 
 this, they aro immeasurahly inferior to us who liave hud Cliristian 
 toaching. But in ono thmg they heat us. They always know 
 how to maintain their personal dipjiity. 
 
 Look at my friend and partner Judkins, m he stands with his 
 hands in his trousers pockets at tlic door of our house in Friday 
 Street. AVhat can bo meaner than his appearance? He is a 
 Btumpy, short, podgy man ; but then so also was my Arab friend 
 at Suez. Judkins is always dressed from head to foot in a, 
 decent black cloth suit; his coat is ever a dress coat, and is 
 neither old nor 8ha])by. On his head ho carries a shining now 
 pilk hat, such as fasliion in our metropolis demands. Judkins is 
 ratlier a dandy than otherwise, piquing himself somcwhiit on his 
 apparel. And yet how mean is his appearance, as compared 
 with the appearance of that Arab; — how mean also is his gait, 
 liow ignoble his step ! Judkins could buy that Arab out four 
 times over, and hardly feel the loss ; and yet were they to enter 
 a room together, Judkins would know and acknowledge by his 
 look that he was the inferior personage. Not the less, should a 
 personal quarrel arise between them, would Judkins punch the 
 Arab's head ; ay, and reduce him to utter ignominy at his feet. 
 Judkins would break his heart in despair rather than not return 
 a blow ; whereas the Arab would put up w'.th any indignity of 
 that sort. Nevertheless Judkins is altogether deficient in per- 
 sonal dignity. I often thought, as the hours hung in Egypt, 
 whether it miglit not bo practicable to introduce an oriental 
 costume in Friday Street, 
 
 At this mom(}iit, as the Arab gentleman entered the cavernous 
 coffee-room, I felt that I was greatly the inferior personage. He 
 was followed by four or five others, dressed somewhat as himself, 
 though by no means in such magnificent colours, and by ono 
 gentleman in a coat and trousers. The gentleman in the coat 
 and trousers came last, and I could see that he was one of the 
 least of the num.ber. As for myself, I felt almost overawed by 
 the dignity of the stout party in the turban, and seeing that ho 
 came directly across the room to the place where I was seated, I 
 got upon my legs and made him some sign of Christian obeisance. 
 I am a little man, and not podgy, as is Judkins, and I flatter 
 myself that I showed more deportment, at any rate, than ho 
 Would have exhibited. 
 I made, as X have sai^, soiQe Christian obeisance. I bobb64 
 
2G8 TALES Of ALL OOUNTBTES. 
 
 my head, that is, rubbinp my hands together the Tvliile, and 
 cxprcpscd on opinion that it was a lino day. 13ut if I was civil, 
 Ofl I hope I wuB, tho Arab wius much more bo. IIo advanced till 
 ho was about six pacca from mc, then placed his right hnnd open 
 upon his silken brcnst, and inclining forward with his wholo 
 body, made to mo a bow which Judkins never could accomplish. 
 Tho turban and tho flowing robe might bo possiblo in Friday 
 Htrect, but of what avail would bo tho outer garments and moro 
 symbols, if tho inner Bcntiment of personal dignity were wimt- 
 ing ? I have often since tried it when alone, but I could never 
 accomplish anything like that bow. Tho Arab with tho Hewing 
 robe bowed, and the other Arabs all boweu also ; iind alter tliut 
 tho Christian gentleman with tho coat and trousers made a leg. 
 I mndo a leg also, nibbing my hands again, and added to my 
 former remarks that it was rather hot. 
 
 ♦* Dat berry true," said the port(T in tho dirty dressing-gown, 
 "who stood by. I could see at a glance that tho manner of that 
 porter towards mo was gi'catly altered, and I began to feel com* 
 Ibrted in my wretchcduess. Perhaps a Christian from Friday 
 Street, with plenty of money in his pockets, would stand in 
 higher esteem at Suez than at Cairo. If so, that alono would 
 go far to atone for the apparent wretchedness of the place. At 
 Cairo I had not received that attention which had certainly been 
 duo to me as the second partner in the flourishing Manchester 
 house of Grimes, Walker, and Judkins. 
 
 But now, as my friend with the beard again bowed to me, I 
 felt that this deficiency was to be made up. It was clear, how- 
 ever, that this new acquaintance, though I liked the manner of 
 it, would be attended with considerable inconvenience, for tlio 
 Arab gentleman commenced an address to mo in French. It has 
 always been to me a source of sorrow that my parents did not 
 teach mo the Frenc^i language, and this deficiency on my pai-t 
 has given rise to an incredible amount of supercilious overbear- 
 ing pretension on the part of Judkins — who after all can hardly 
 do more than translate a correspondent's letter. I do not believe 
 that be could have understood that Arab's oration, but at any 
 rate I did not. IIo went on to the end, however, speaking for 
 some three or four minutes, and then again ho bowed. If I 
 could only have learned that bow, I might still have been greater 
 than Judkins with all his French. 
 
 ** I am very sorry," said I, ** but I don't exactly follow the 
 French language when it is spoken." 
 
 " Ah ! no French ! " said tho Arab In rery broken English, 
 
GEORGE WALKER AT SUEZ. 269 
 
 **dat 18 ono sorrow." How is it that these fellows Icam all 
 languaj^es under the sun ? I afterwards found that this man 
 could talk Italian, and Turkish, and Armenian fluently, and say 
 a few words in German, as ho could also in English. I could 
 not ask for my dinner in any other language than English, if it 
 were to save mc from starvation. Then he called to the Cliristian 
 gentleman in the pantaloons, and, as far as I could understand, 
 made over to him the duty of interpreting hetween us. There 
 Bcemed, however, to ho ono difficulty in the way of this hcing 
 canied on with efficiency. The Christian gentleman could not 
 Fpeak English himself. Ho knew of it perhaps something moro 
 than did tlio A rah, hut hy no means enough to cnahlo us to have 
 a fluent conversation. 
 
 And had tlio interpreter — who turned out to he an Italian 
 from Trieste, attached to the Austrian Consulate at Alexandria 
 — had the interpreter spoken English with the greatest ease, I 
 should have had considerahle difficulty in understanding and 
 digesting in all its bearings, the proposition made to me. I5ut 
 helore I proceed to the proposition, I must desciibe a ceremony 
 which took place previous to its discussion. I had hardly 
 observed, when first the procession entered the room, that ono 
 of my friend's followers — my friend's name, as I learned after- 
 wards, was Mahmoud al Ackbar, and I will therefore call him 
 IMalimoud — that one of Mahmoud's followers bore in his amis a 
 bundle of long sticks, and that another carried an iron pot and a 
 tray. Such was the case, and these two followers came forward 
 to perform their services, while I, having been literally pressed 
 do>vn on to the sofa by ^tahmoud, watched them in their progi'css. 
 Mahmoud also sat down, and not a word was spoken while the 
 ceremony went on. The man with the sticks first placed on the 
 ground two little pans — one at my feet, and then one at the feet 
 of his master. After that he loosed an ornamented bag which 
 he carried round his neck, and producing from it tobacco, pro- 
 ceeded to fill two pipes. This he did with the utmost gravity, and 
 apparently with very peculiar care. The pipes had been already 
 fixed at one end of the stick, and to the other end the man had 
 fastened two large yellow balls. These, as I afterwards per- 
 ceived, were mouth-pieces made of amber. Then ho lit the 
 pipes, drawing up the difficult smoke by long painful Bucking<» 
 at the mouthpiece, and then, when the work had become appa- 
 rently easy, he handed one pipe to me, and the other to hi« 
 master. The bowk be had first placed in the little pans on the 
 ground. 
 
270 TALK9 Of ALL COUNTRttS. 
 
 During all this time no word was spoken, and I was left 
 altogether in the dark as to the cause which had produced this 
 extraordinary courtesy. There was a stationary sofa — they called 
 it there a divan — which was llxcd into the comer of the room, 
 and on one side of the angle sat Mahmoud al Ackhar, with his 
 feet tucked under him, while I sat on the other. The remainder 
 of the party stood around, and I felt so little master of the 
 occasion, that I did not know whether it would become me to 
 bid them be seated. I was not master of the entertainment. 
 They were not my pipes. Nor was it my coffee, which I saw 
 one of the followers preparing in a distant part of the room. 
 And, indeed, I was much confused as to the management of tho 
 stick and amber mouth-piece with which I had been presented. 
 "With a cigar I am as much at home as any man in tho City. I 
 can nibble off tho end of it, and smoke it to the last ash, when I 
 am three parts asleep. But I had never before been invited to 
 regale myself with such an instrument as this. "What was I to 
 do with that huge yellow boll ? So I watched my new friend 
 closely. 
 
 It had manifestly been a part of his urbanity not to commence 
 till I had done so, but seeing my difficulty ho at last raised tho 
 ball to his mouth and sucked at it. I looked at him and envied 
 tho gravity of his countenance, and tho dignity of his demeanour. 
 I sucked also, but I made a sputtering noise, and must confess 
 that I did not enjoy it. Tho smoke curled gracefully from his 
 mouth and nostrils as ho sat there in mute composure. I was 
 muto as regarded speech, but I coughed as the smoko came from 
 mo in convulsive puffs. And then tho attendant brought us 
 coffee in littlo tin cups — black coffee, without sugar and full of 
 grit, of which tho berries had been only bruised, not ground. 1 
 took the cup imd swallowed tho mixture, for I could not refuse, 
 but I wish that I might have asked for some milk and sugar. 
 Kevertheless there was something very pleasing in tho wholo 
 ceremony, and at last I began to find myself more at home with 
 my pipe. 
 
 When Mahmoud hod exhausted his tobacco, and perceived that 
 I also had ceased to puff forth smoke, he spoke in Itdian to the in- 
 terpreter, and the interpreter forthwith proceeded to explain to 
 me the purport of this visit. This was done with much difficulty, 
 for the interpreter's stock of English was veiy scanty — but after 
 awhile I understood, or thought I understood, as follows : — At somo 
 previous peiiod of my existence I had done some deed which 
 had given infinite satisfaction to Mahmoud ol Ackbar. Whether^ 
 
OEORQE walker At SUEZ. 271 
 
 howerer, I had clone it myself, or whether my father had done 
 it, was not quite clear to me. My father, then some time 
 deceased, had been a wharfinger at Liveq)Ool, and it was quite 
 possible that Mahmoud might have found himself at that port. 
 Hahmoud had heard of my arrival in Egypt, and had been given 
 to understand that I was coming to Suez — to carry myself away 
 in the ship, as the interpreter phrased it. This I could not 
 understand, but I let it pass. Having heard these agreeable 
 tidings — and Mahmoud, sitting in the comer, bowed low to me 
 as this was eaid — he had prepared for my acceptance a slight 
 rofectvon for the morrow, hoping that I Would not carry myself 
 away in the Bhip till this had been eaten. On this subject I 
 Boon made him quite at ease, and he then proceeded to explain 
 that as there was a point of interest at Suez, Mahmoud was 
 anxious that I should partake of the refection somewhat in the 
 guise of a picnic, at the AVell of Moses, over in Asia, on the 
 oilier side of the head of the lied Sea. Mahmoud would pro- 
 vide a boat to take across the party in the morning, and camels 
 on which we would return after sunset. Or else wo would go 
 and return on camels, or go on camels and return in the boat. 
 Indeed any arrangement would be made that I preferred. If I 
 was afraid of the heat, and disliked the open boat, I could be 
 tarried round in a litter. The provisions had already been sent 
 over to the Well of Moses in the anticipation that I would not 
 refuse this little request. 
 
 I did not refuse it. Nothing could have been more agreeable 
 to me than this plan of seeing something of the sights and won- 
 ders of this land, — and of this seeing them in good company. I 
 had not heard of the Well of Moses before, but now that I 
 learned that it was in Asia, — in another quarter of the globe, to 
 bo reached by a tnmsit of the lied Sea, to be retuiiicd from 
 by a journey on camels* backs, — I burned with anxiety to 
 visit its waters. What a story would this be for Judkins I This 
 was, no doubt, the point at which the Israelites had passed. Of 
 those waters had they drunk. I almost felt that I had already 
 found one of Pharaoh's chariot wheels. I readily gave my assent, 
 and then, with much ceremony and many low salaams, Mahmoud 
 and his attendant left me. **I am very glad that I came to 
 Suez," said I to myself. 
 
 I did not sleep much that night, for the mosquitoes of Suez 
 arc very persevering; but I was saved from tho agonising 
 despair which these animals bo frequently produce, by my agree- 
 able thoughtA OA to Mahmoud ol A.ckbar* 1 will put it ta onjf Uf 
 
272 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 my readers who have travelled, whether it is not a painful thing 
 to find ono's-Bclf regarded omon|? strangers without any kindness 
 or ceremonious courtesy. I had on this account been wretched 
 at Cairo, but all this was to bo made up to me at Suez. Nothing 
 could bo more pleasant thnn the whole conduct of Mahraoud al 
 Ackbar, and I determined to tuko full advantage of it, not caring 
 overmuch what might bo the nature of tlioso previous favours to 
 which he had alluded. That was his look-out, and if ho was 
 satisfied, why should not I be so also ? 
 
 On the following morning I was dressed at six, and, looking 
 out of my bed-room, I saw tho boat in which wo were to bo 
 wafted into Asia being brought up to the quay close under my 
 window. It had been arranged that we should start early, so 
 m to avoid tho mid-day sun, breakfast in the boat, — Malnnoud 
 in this way engaged to provide me with two refections, — tako 
 our rest at noon in a pavilion which had been built close upon 
 the well of the patriarch, and then eat our dinner, and return 
 riding upon camels in the cool of ihe evening. Nothing could 
 sound more pleasant than such a plan ; and knowing as I did 
 that the hampers of provisions had already been sent over, I did 
 not doubt tl. it the table arrangements would bo excellent. Even 
 now, standing at my window, I could see a basket laden with 
 long-necked bottles going into tho boat, and became aware that 
 wo should not depend altogether for our morning repast on that 
 gi'itty coffee which my friend Mahmoud's followers prepared. 
 
 I had promised to bo ready at six, and liaving carefully com- 
 pleted my toilet, and put a clean collar and comb into my 
 pocket ready for dinner, I descended to the great gateway and 
 walked slowly round to tho quay. As I passed out, the porter 
 greeted me with a low obeisance, and walking on, I felt that I 
 Btepped the ground with a soii of dignity of which I had before 
 been ignorant. It is not, as a rule, the man who gives grace and 
 honour to tho position, but the position which confers tho graco 
 and honour upon the man. 1 have often envied the solemn 
 gravity and grand demeanour of tho Lord Chancellor, as I have 
 seen him on the bench ; but I almost think that even Judkins 
 would look grave and dignified under sucli a wig. Mahmoud id 
 Ackbar had called upon me and done me lionour. and I felt my- 
 self personally capable of sustaining before tho people of Suez 
 the honour which ho had done me. 
 
 As I walked forth with a proud step from beneath the portal, 
 I perceived, looking down from the square along the street, that 
 there was already some commotion in tho town. I saw tbo 
 
GiEORQE WALKDU AT SUE^i. 2^3 
 
 llowing robes of many Arabs, with their backs turned towards 
 mc, and I thoupjht that I observed the identical gown and turban 
 of my friend Mahmoud on the back and head of a stout short 
 man, who was hurrying round a comer in the distance. I felt 
 sure that it was Mahmoud. Some of his servants had failed in 
 their preparations, I said to myself, as I made my way round to 
 the water's edge. This was only another testimony how anxious 
 he was to do mo honour. 
 
 I stood for a while on the edge of the quay looking into tho 
 boat, and admiring tho comfortable cushions which were luxu- 
 riously arranged around the scats. Tho men who were at work 
 did not know me, and I was unnoticed, but I should soon tako 
 my place upon tho softest of those cushions. I walked slowly 
 backwards and forwards on the quay, listening to a hum 0/ 
 voices that came to me from a distance. There was clearly some- 
 thing stirring in the town, and I felt certain that all tho move- 
 ment and all those distant voices were connected in some way 
 with my expedition to the Well of Moses. At last there came a 
 lad upon the walk dressed in Frank costume, and I asked him what 
 was in the wind. He was a clerk attached to an English ware- 
 house, and he told me that there liad been an arrival from%Cairo. 
 He knew no more than that, but he had heard that tho omni- 
 buses had just come in. Could it be possible that Mahmoud al 
 Ackbar had heard of another old acquaintance, and had gone to 
 welcome him also ? 
 
 At first my iileas on the subject were altogether pleasant. I 
 by no means wished to monopolise tho delights of all thoso 
 cushions, nor would it bo to me a cause of sorrow that thero 
 should be some one to share with mo the conversational powers 
 of that interpreter. Should another fnicat be found, ho might 
 also be an Englishman, and I might thus form an acquaintance 
 which would be desirable. Thinking of these things, I walked 
 the quay for some minutes in a happy state of mind ; but by 
 degrees I became impatient, and by degrees also disturbed in my 
 spirit. I obserx'ed that one of tho Arab boatmen walked round 
 from the vessel to the front of tho hotel, and that on his return 
 he looked at me — as I thought, not with courteous eyes. Then 
 also I saw, or rather heard, some one in tho verandah of tho 
 hotel above me, and was conscious that I was being viewed 
 from thence. I walked and walked, and nobody camo to nie, 
 and I perceived by my watch that it was seven •*clock. The 
 noise, too, had come nearer and nearer, and I was now aware 
 that wheels had been drawn up before tho ^ut door of th« 
 
 « 
 
i7i tALES 0^ Att COtOTRtEfl. 
 
 hotel, and that many voices were epeakiiig there. It might he 
 that Mahmoud should wait for some other friend, hut why did 
 ho not send some ono to inform me ? And then, as I made a 
 sudden kim at the end of the quay, I caught sight of the retreat- 
 ing legs of the Austrian interpreter, and 1 hocame aware that he 
 had betn sent down, and had gone away, afraid to speak to mo. 
 **AVhat can I do?" said I to myself, **I can hut keep my 
 ground." I owned that I feared to go round to the front of tho 
 hotel. So I still walked slowly up and down the length of tlio 
 quay, and began to whistle to show that I was not uneasy. The 
 Arab sailors looked at me uncomfortably, and from time to time 
 some one peered at me round the corner. It was now fully 
 half-past seven, and tho sun was becoming hot in the heavens. 
 Why did wo not hasten to place ourselves beneath the awning in 
 that boat. 
 
 I had just made up my mind that I would go round to the 
 front and penetrate this mystery, when, on turning, I saw 
 approaching to mo a man dressed at any rate like an English 
 gentleman. As ho came near to me, he raised his hat, and 
 accosted me in our own language. " Mr. George Walker, I 
 believe ? " said he. 
 
 ** Yes," said I, with some little attempt at a high demeanour, 
 *' of the firm of Grimes, Walker, and Judkins, Friday Street, 
 London." 
 
 **A mest respectable house, I am sure," said he. "I am 
 afraid there has been a little mistake here." 
 
 "Ko mistake as to tho respectability of that house," said I. 
 I felt that I was again alone in the world, and that it was. 
 necessary that I should support myself. Mahmoud al Ackbar 
 had separated himself from me for ever. Of that I had no 
 longer a doubt. 
 
 ** Oh, none at all," said he. "But about this little expedi- 
 tion over tho water;" and ho pointed contemptuously to tho 
 boat. "There has been a mistake about that, Mr. Walker; I 
 happen to be the English Vice-Consul here." 
 
 I took off my hat and bowed. It was the first time I hod 
 ever been addressed civilly by any English consular authority. 
 
 '* And they have made me get out of bed to come down here 
 and explain all this to you." 
 
 "All what?" said I. 
 
 "You are a man of the world, I know, and 1*11 just tell it 
 you plainly. My old friend, Mahmoud al Ackbar, has mistaken 
 you ibr Sir George Walker, tho new Lieutenant-Govenior of 
 
GEORGE WALKER AT SUEZ. 275 
 
 Pegu. Sir George "Walker is here now ; he has come this morn- 
 ing ; and Mahmoud is ashamed to face you after what has 
 occurred. If you won't object to withdraw with me into the 
 hotel, I'll explain it all." 
 
 I felt as though a thunderbolt had fallen ; and I must say, that 
 even up to this day I think that the Consul might have been u 
 little less abrupt. " "Wo can get in here," said he, evidently in 
 a huny, and pointing to a small door which opened out from one 
 comer of the house to the quay. AVTiat could I do but follow 
 him ? I did follow him, and in a few words learned the remainder 
 of the story. "When he had once withdrawn me from the public 
 walk he seemed but little anxious about the rest, and soon loft 
 me again alone. The facts, as far as I could learn them, were 
 simply these. 
 
 Sir George "Walker, who was now going out to Pegu as 
 Governor, had been in India before, commanding an army there. 
 I had never heard of him before, and had made no attempt to 
 pass myself off as his relative. Nobody could have been more 
 innocent than I was — or have received worse usage. I have as 
 much right to the name as he has. "Well ; when he was in India 
 before, he had taken the city of Begum after a tenible siege — 
 Begum, I think the Consul called it ; and Mahmoud had been 
 there, having been, it seems, a great man at Begum, and Sir 
 George had spared him and his money; and in this way tho 
 whole thing had come to pass. There was no further explanation, 
 than that. The rest of it was all transparent. Mahmoud, having 
 heard my name from the porter, had hurried down to invite me to 
 his party. So far so good. But why had he been afraid to faco 
 me in the morning ? And, seeing that the fault had all been his, 
 why had he not asked rae to join the expedition ? Sir Georgo 
 and I may, after all, be cousins. But, coward as he was, ho had 
 been afraid of me. When they found that I was on the quay, 
 they had been afraid of me, not knowing how to get rid of me. I 
 wish that I had kept the quay all day, and stared them down one 
 by one as they entered the boat. But I was down in the mouth, 
 and when the Consul left me, I crept wearily back to my bed- 
 room. 
 
 And the Consul did leave me almost immediately. A faint 
 hope had, at one time, come upon me that he would have asked 
 me to breakfast. Had he done so, I should have felt it as a full 
 compensation for all that I had suffered. I am not an exacting 
 man, but I own that I like civility. In Friday Street I caa 
 commaud it, and in Priday Street for the rest of my life will I 
 
276 TALES OP ALL COtJKTRIES. 
 
 remain. From this Consul I received no civility. Ai Boon aslio 
 had got me out of the way and spoken tlie few words which he 
 had to say, he again raised his hat and left me. I also again 
 raised mine, and then crept up to my bed-room. 
 
 From my window, standing a little behind the white curtain, 
 I could see the whole embarkation. There was Mahmoud al 
 Ackbar, looking indeed a little hot, but still going through his 
 work with all that excellence of deportment which had graced 
 him on the preceding evening. Had his foot slipped, and had ho 
 fallen backwards into that shallow water, my spirit would, I con- 
 fess, have been relieved. But, on the contrary, everything went 
 well with him. There was the real Sir George, my namesake 
 and perhaps my cousin, as fresh as paint, cool from the bath 
 which he had been taking while I hud been walking on that 
 terrace. How is it that these governors and commiuders-in-chief 
 go through such a deal of work without fagp:ing ? It was not 
 yet two hours since ho was jolting about in that omnibus-box, 
 and there he had been all night. I could not have gone off to 
 the Well of Moses immediately on my arrival. It's the dignity 
 of the position that does it. I have long knoAvn that the head oif 
 a firm must never count on a mere clerk to get through as much 
 work as he could do himself. It's the interest in the matter that 
 Buppoits the man. 
 
 They went, and Sir George, as I was well assured, had never 
 heard a word about me. Had he done so, is it probable that ho 
 would have requested my attendance ? 
 
 But Mahmoud and his followers no doubt kept their own 
 counsel as to that little mistake. There they went, and the 
 gentle rippling breeze filled their sail pleasantly, as the boat 
 moved away into the bay. I felt no spite against any of them 
 but Mahmoud. "Why had he avoided me with such cowardice ? 
 I could still see them when the morning tchibouk was handed to 
 Sir George ; and, though I wished him no hanii, I did envy him 
 as he lay there reclining luxuriously upon the cushions. 
 
 A more wretched day than that I never spent in my life. As 
 I went in and out, the porter at the gate absolutely scoffed at me. 
 Once I made up my mind to complain within the house. But 
 what could I have said of the diity Arab ? They would have 
 told me that it was his religion, or a national obsen'ance, or meant 
 for a courtesy. Yv'hat can a mjm do, in a strange country, when 
 he is told that a native spits in his face by way of civility ? I 
 bore it, I bore it — like a man ; and sighed for the comforts of 
 
 ■M 
 
GEOROE WALKER AT SUEZ. 277 
 
 As to ono matter, I made up my mind on that day, and I fully 
 carried out my purpose on the next : I would go across to the 
 Well of Moses in a boat. I would visit the coasts of Asia. And 
 I would ride back into Africa on a camel. Though I did it alone, 
 I would have ray day's pleasuring. I had money in my pocket, and, 
 though it might cost me £20, I would see all that my namesako 
 had seen. It did cost me the best part of £20 ; and as for the 
 pleasuring, I cannot say much for it. 
 
 I went to bed early that night, haying concluded my bargain 
 for the morrow with a rapacious Arab who spoke English. I went 
 to bed early in order to escape the returning party, and was again 
 on the quay at six the next morning. On this occasion, I stepped 
 boldly into the boat the very moment that I came along tho 
 shore. There is nothing in the world like paying for what you 
 use. I saw myself to the bottle of brandy and the cold meat, and 
 acknowledged that a cigar out of my own case would suit mo 
 better than that long stick. The long stick might do very well 
 for a Governor of Pegu, but would be highly inconvenient ia 
 Tiiday Street. 
 
 "Well, I am not going to give an account of my day's journey 
 here, though perhaps I may do so some day. I did go to the Well 
 of Moses — if a small dirty pool of salt water, lying high above the 
 sands, can be called a well ; I did eat my dinner in the miserable 
 ruined cottage which they graced by the name of a pavilion ; and, 
 alas for my poor bones ! I did ride home upon a camel. If Sir 
 George did so early, and started for Pegu the next morning — and 
 I was informed such was the fact — he must have been made of 
 iron. I laid in bed the whole day suffering greviously ; but I was 
 told that on such a journey I should have slakened my throat 
 with oranges, and not with brandy. 
 
 I survived those four terrible days which remained to me at 
 Suez, and after another month was once again in Friday Street. 
 I suffered greatly on the occasion ; but it is some consolation to 
 me to reflect that I smoked a pipe of peace with Mahmoud al 
 Ackbar ; that I saw the hero of Begum while journeying out to 
 new triumphs at Pegu ; that I sailed into Asia in my own yacht^ 
 hired for the occasion ; and that I rode back into Africa on a 
 camel. Nor con Judkins, with all his ill-nature, xob me of thete 
 remembrances. 
 
THE MISTLETOE BOUOH. 
 
 " Let tbft boys have it if they like it," said Mw. Oarrow, 
 pleading to her only daughter on behalf of her two eons. 
 
 "Pray don't, mamma," said Elizabeth Garrow. "It only 
 means rompinpj. To me all that is detestable, and I am sure it is 
 not the sort of thing that Miss Holmes would like." 
 
 ** "Wo always had it at Christmas when wo were young.** 
 *' But, mamma, the world is so changed." 
 The point in dispute was one vciy delicate in its nature, hardly 
 to be discussed in all its bearings, even in fiction, and the very 
 mention of which between mothiT and daughter showed a great! 
 amount of close confidence between them. It was no less than 
 this. Should that branch ol mistletoe which Frank Garrow had 
 brought homo with him out of the Lowther woods be hung up 
 Christmas Kvc in the dining-room at Thwaito Kail, according to 
 his wishi's ; or should permission for such lianging be positively 
 refused? It was clearly a thing not to bo done alter such a dis- 
 cuRsion, and therefore the decision given by Mrs. Gari'ow was 
 against it. 
 
 I am inclined to think that Miss Garrow was right in saying 
 that the world is changed as touching misletoe boughs. Kissing, 
 I fear, is less innocent now than it used to be when our grand- 
 mothers were alive, and wo have become more fastidious in ouif 
 amusements. Nevertheless, I think that she made herself fairly 
 open to the raillery with which her brothers attacked her. 
 
 "Honi Boit qui mal y pensc," said Frank, who was eighteen. 
 ** Nobody will want to kiss you, my lady Fineairs," said Harry, 
 who was just a year younger. 
 
 "Because you choose to bo a Puritan, there are to be no more 
 cokes and ale in the house," said Frank. 
 
 ** Still waters run deep ; we all know that," said Hany. 
 The boys had not been preeent when the matter was decided 
 
THE MISTLl^TOE BOUOH. 279 
 
 between Mrs. arrow and her duughtcr, hor had tho mother been 
 present wheu these littlo amenities had passed betwoeu tho 
 brothers and sister. 
 
 ''Only that mamma has said it, and I wouhln*t Bccm to go 
 np;!unst her," said Frank, ** I'd ask my father. Ho wouldn't givo 
 way to such nonsense, 1 know." 
 
 Elizabeth turned away without answering, and left tho room. 
 Her eyes were full of tears, but she would not let them see that 
 they had vexed her. They were only two days homo from school, 
 and for tho last week before their coming, all her thoughts had 
 been to prepare for their Christmas pleasures. Sho had arranged 
 tlieir rooms, making everything warm and pretty. Out of her 
 own pocket slie had bought a shot-belt for one, and skates for tho 
 other. She had told tho old groom that her pony was to belong 
 exclusively to Master Harry for the holidays, and now Harry told I 
 her that still waters ran deep. She had been driven to the use of 
 all her eloquence in inducing her father to purchase that gun for 
 Trank, and now Frank called her a Puritan. And why? Sho 
 did not choose that a mistletoe bough should bo liung in her 
 father's hall, when Godfrey Holmes was coming to visit him. Sho 
 could not explain this to Frank, but Frank might have had tho 
 wit to understand it. But Frank was thinking only of Patty 
 Coverdalc, a blue-eyed littlo romp of sixteen, who, with her sister 
 Kate, was coming from Penrith to spend the Christmas at Thwaito 
 Hall. Elizabeth left tho room with lier slow, graceful step, 
 hiding her tears, — hiding all emotion, as latterly she had taught 
 herself that it was feminine to do. "There goes my lady Fine- 
 airs," said Harry, sending his shrill voice after her. 
 
 Thwaite Hall was not a place of much pretension. It was a 
 moderate-sized house, surrounded by pretty gardens and shrub- 
 beries, close down upon the river Eamont, on tho "Westmoreland 
 side of the river, looking over to a lovely wooded bank in Cumber- 
 land. All the world knows that the Eamont runs out of TJlles- 
 water, dividing the two counties, passing under Penrith Bridge 
 and by tho old ruins of Brougham Castle, below which it joins 
 the Eden. Thwaito Hall nestled down close upon tho clear rocky 
 stream about half way between XJlleswater and Penrith, and had 
 been built just at a bend of the river. The windows of the dining- 
 parlour and of the drawing-room stood at right angles to each 
 other, and yet each commanded a roach of the stream. Imme- 
 diately from a side of the house steps were cut down through the 
 red rock to tho water's edge, and here a small boat was dways 
 moored to a chain. Tho chain was stretched across tho i^vcr, 
 
280 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 fixed to the staples driyen into the rook on either side, ond the 
 boat was pulled backwards and forwards over the stream without 
 aid from oars or paddles. From tha opposite side a path led 
 through the woods and across the fields to Penrith, and this was 
 the route commonly used between Thwaite Hall and the town. 
 
 Major Gorrow was a retired officer of Engineers, who had seen 
 service in all parts of the world, and who was now spending the 
 evening of his days on a small property which had come to him 
 from his father. Ho held in his own hands about twenty acres of 
 land, and ho was the owner of one small farm close by, which was 
 let to a tenant. That, together with his half-pay, and the interest 
 of his wife's thousand pounds, suffice*! to educate his children and 
 keep the wolf at a comfortable distance from his door. He himself 
 was a spare thin man, with quiet, lazy, literary habits. He had 
 d«ne the work of life, but had so done it as to permit of his en- 
 joying that which was left to him. His sole remaining care was 
 the establishment of his children ; and, as far as he could see, ho 
 had no grouni for anticipating disappointment. They were clever, 
 good-looking, well-disposed young puopla, and upon the whole it 
 may bo said that the sun shone bri^jhtly on Thwatto Hall. Of 
 Mrs. GaiTow it may suffice to say that she always deserved such 
 sunshine. 
 
 For years past it had been the practice of the family to have 
 gome sort of gathering at Thwaite Hall during Christmas. God- 
 trey Holmes had been left under the guardianship of Major 
 Garrow, and, as he had always spent his Ohiistmas holidays with 
 his guardian, this, perhaps, had given nno to the practice. Then 
 the Coverdales were cousins of the Garrows, and they had usually 
 been there as children. At the Cnristmas last past the custom 
 had been broken, for young Holmes had been abroad. Previous 
 to that, they had all been children, excepting him. But now 
 that they were to meet again, they were no longer children. 
 Elizabeth, at any rate, was not so, for she had already counted 
 nineteen winters. And Isabella Holmes was coming. Now 
 Isabella was two years older than Elizabeth, and had been edu- 
 cated in Brussels ; moreover she was comparatively a stranger at 
 Thwaite HaU, never ha^g been at those early Christmas meetings, . 
 
 And now I must take permission to begin my story by telling 
 a lady's secret. Elizabeth Garrow had already been in love with 
 Godfrey Holmes, or perhaps it might be more becoming to say I 
 that Godfrey Holmes had already been in love with her. They 
 had already been engaged ; and, alas ! tkey hUd already agreed 
 that that engagement should be broken off i 
 
THE MISTLETOE BOUGH. 281 
 
 Young Holmes was now twenty-seven years of age, and was 
 employed in a bank at Liverpool, not as a clerk, but as assistant- 
 manager, with a large salary. He was a man well to do in the 
 world, who had money also of his own, and who might well afford 
 to marry. Some two years since, on the eve of leaving Thwaito 
 Ilall, he had with low doubting whisper told Elizabeth that ho 
 loved her, and she had flown trembling to her mother. ** Godfrey, 
 my boy," the father said to him, as he parted with him the next 
 morning, ** Bessy is only a child, and too young to think of this 
 yet." At the next Chiistmas Godfrey was in Italy, and the 
 thing was gone by, — so at least the father and mother said to 
 each other. But the young people had met in the summer, and 
 one joyful letter had come ti-om the girl home to her mother. ** I 
 have accepted him. Dearest, dearest mamma, I do love him. 
 But don't tell papa yet, for I have not quite accepted him. I 
 tliink I am sure, but I am not quite sure. I am not quite eui-e 
 about him." 
 
 A'nd then, two days after that, there had como a letter that was 
 not at all joyful. ** Dearest Mamma, — It is not to be. It is not 
 written in the book. We have both agreed that it will not do. I 
 am Ro glad that you have not told dear papa, for I could never 
 make him understand. You will understand, for I shall tell you 
 everything, down to his very words. But we have agreed that 
 there shall be no quarrel. It shall be exactly as it was, and he 
 will come at Christmas all the same. It would never do that he 
 and papa should be separated, nor could we now put off Isabella. 
 It is better so in every way, for there is and need be no quarrel. 
 We still like each other. I am sure I like him, but I know that 
 I should not make him happy as his wife. He says it is my fault. 
 I, at any rate, have never told him that I thought it his." From 
 all which it will be seen that the confidence between the mother 
 and daughter was very close. 
 
 Elizabeth Garrow was a very good girl, but it might almost be 
 a question whether she was not too good. She had learned, or 
 thought that she had learned, that most girls are vapid, silly, and 
 useless, — given chiefly to pleasure-seeking and a hankering after 
 lovers ; and she had resolved that she would not be such a one. 
 Industry, self-denial, and a religious purpose in life, were the 
 tasks which she set herself; and she went about the performance 
 of them with much courage. But such tasks, though they are 
 excellently well adapted to fit a young lady for ttie work of 
 living, HKiy also bo carried too far, and thus have the effect of 
 unfitting her for that work. When ElLsabeth Garrow made up 
 
29>2 TALES OP ALL OOUNTRIEfl. 
 
 her inind that the flnding of a hushand was not the only purpose 
 of life, she did very well. It is very well that a young lady 
 should feel herself capable ot going through the world happily 
 without one. But in teaching herself this she also taught 
 herself to think that there was a certain merit in refusing her- 
 self the natural delight of a lover, even though the possession i 
 of the lover were compatible with aU her duties to herself, hef j 
 father and mother, and the world at large. It was not that she) 
 had determined to have no lover. She made no such resolve, 
 and when the proper lover came he was admitted to her heart.] 
 But she declared to herself unconsciously that she must put a] 
 guard upon herself, lest she should be betrayed into weakness 
 by her own happiness. She had resolved that in lo\'ing hei 
 lord she would not worship him, and that in gi^'ing her heartj 
 she would only so give it as it should be given to a humj 
 creature like herself. She had acted on these high resolvos,j 
 and hence it had come to pass, — not unnaturally, — that ^r.j 
 Godfrey Holmes had told her that it was '* her fault." 
 
 IShe was a pretty, fair girl, with soft dark-brown hair, anc 
 soft long dark eyelashes. Her grey eyes, though quiet in theii 
 tone, were tender and lustrous. Her face was oval, and the' 
 lines of her cheek and chin perfect in their symmetiy. She was 
 generally quiet in her demeanour, but when moved she could 
 ronso herself to g/eat energy, and speak with feeling and almost 
 with lire. Her fault was u reverence for martyrdom in general, 
 and a feeling, of which she was unconscious, that it became a 
 young woman to be unhappy in secret ; — that it became a young 
 WJimiin, 1 nii^vlit rallu-r nay, to huvo a source of unliniipincpH 
 liidden Irom the world iu general, and endund without any 
 detriment to her outward cheerfulness. AVe know the story of 
 the Spartan boy who held the fox under his tunic. The fox 
 was biting into him, — into the very entrails; but the young 
 hero spake never h word. Now Bessy Garrow "Was inclined to 
 think that it was a good thing to have a fox always biting, so 
 that the tonnent caused no milling to her outward smiles. Now 
 ot this monu'Tit tho fox within her bosom was biting her soro 
 enough, but sbo bore it without llinciliing. 
 
 ** If you would rather that he should not come I will have it 
 arranged," her mother had said to her. 
 
 ** Not for world?," she had answered. *' I should never think 
 well of myself again." 
 
 Her mother had changed her o>vn mind more than once ns io, 
 tho «onduot iu tliis matter ^vliich miifht bo best for her to follow, 
 
lUB MISTLETOE BOUGH. 283 
 
 thinking solely of her daughtor*8 welfare. ** If he comes they 
 will be reconciled, and she will be happy," had been her first 
 idea. But then there was a stem fixedness of purpose in Bessy's 
 words when she spoke of Mr. Holmes, which had expelled this 
 hope, and Mrs. Guitow had for a while thought it better that 
 the young man should not come. But Bessy would not pennit 
 this. It would vex her father, put out of course the arrange- 
 ments of other people, and display weakness on her own part. 
 He should come, and she would endure without flinching while 
 the fox gnawed at her. 
 
 That battle of the mistletoe had been fought on the morning 
 before Christmas-day, and the Holmeses came on Christmas-eve. 
 Isabella was comparatively a stranger, and therefore received 
 at first the greater share of attention. She anc^ Elizabeth had 
 once seen each other, and for the hist year or two had corre- 
 sponded, but personally they liad never been intimate. Un- 
 fortunately for the latter, that story of Godfrey's offer and 
 acceptance had been communicated to Isabella, as had of course 
 the immediately subsequent story of their separation. : But 
 now it would bo almost impossible to avoid the subject in 
 conversation. ** Pearest Isabella, let it be as though it had 
 never been," she had said in one of her letters. But some- 
 times it is very difficult to let things be as though they had ncvef 
 been. 
 
 The fii'st evening passed over very well. The two Coverdalc 
 girls were there, and there had been much talking and merry 
 laughter, rather juvenile in its nature, but on the whole none 
 the worse for that. Isabella Holmes was a fine, tall, handsome 
 girl ; good-humoured, and well disposed to be pleased ; rather 
 Frenchified in her manners, and quite able to taiie care of her- 
 self. But she was not above round games, and did not turn up 
 her nose at the boys. Godfrey behaved himself excellently, 
 talking much to the Major, but by no means avoiding Miss 
 Garrow. Mrs. G arrow, though she had known him since he 
 was a boy, had taken an aversion to him since he had quaiTelled 
 with her daughter ; but there was no room on this first night 
 for showing such aversion, and everything went oflf well. 
 
 ** Godfrey is very much improved," the Major said to his wife 
 that night. 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 «* Indeed I do. He has filled out and become a fine man." 
 
 *• In personal appearance, you mean. Yes, he is well-looking 
 enough." 
 
284 TALES OP ALL COimTRIES. 
 
 " And in hie monncr, too. He is doing tincommonly well !n 
 Liverpool, I can tell you ; and if he should think of Bessy — ** 
 
 *' There is nothing of that sort," snid Mrs. Gnrrow. 
 
 ** }re did speak to mo, you know, — two years ngo. Bessy wai 
 too young then, and so indeed was he. But if she likes him—** 
 
 " I don't tkink she does."^ 
 
 ** Then there's an end of it." And so they went to bed. 
 
 *' Frank," said the sister to her elder brother, knocking at hii 
 door when they had all gone up stairs, " may I come in, — if you 
 uro not in bod r" 
 
 *' In bed," Hnid he, looking up with smno little pndo from his 
 Greek book ; *' I've one hundred and fifty lines to do before I 
 can get to bed. It'll bo two, I suppose. I've got to mug 
 uncommon hard these holidays. I have only one more half, you 
 know, and thci> " 
 
 ''Don't overdo it, Frank." 
 
 " No ; I won't ovt rdo it. I mean to tako ono day a week, 
 ond work eiglit hours a day on the other five. That will bo 
 forty hours a week, and will give mo just two hundred hours 
 for the holidays. I have got it all down here on a table. That 
 will be a hundred and five for Greek play, forty for Algebra — " 
 ond so he explained to her the exact destiny of all Ids long hours 
 of proposed labour. Ho had as yet been homo a day and a half, 
 and had succeeded in drawing out with red lines and blue figures 
 the tid)lo wliich lio nhowed her, "If I can do that, it will bO] 
 pretty well ; won't it ? " 
 
 "But, Frank, you have come home for your holidays, — to 
 enjoy yourself?" 
 
 " But a fellow must work now-a-davs." 
 
 "Don't overdo it, dear; that's all. But, Frank, I could j 
 not rest if I went to bed without speaking to you. You mado 
 mo unlmj)py to-day." 
 
 "Did I, Bossy ?" 
 
 " You called me a Puritan, and then you quoted that ill-j 
 
 natured French proverb at me. Do you really believe yourj 
 
 sister thinks evil, Frank?" and as she sjjoko sho put her ormj 
 
 caressingly round liis neck. 
 
 " Of courHo 1 don't." 
 
 " Then why say so ? Ifarry is so much younger and sol 
 thoughtless that 1 can bear what ho says without so much' 
 suffering. But if you and I are not friends I shall be very 
 wretched. If you knew how I have looked forward to your 
 coming home ! " 
 
The mistletoe bouqa. 285 
 
 ** I did not mean to vex you, and I won't say sucli things 
 again." 
 
 ** That's my own Frank. "Wliat I said to mamma, I said 
 because I thought it right ; but you must not say that I am a 
 Puritan. I would do anything in my power to make your 
 holidays bright and pleasant. I know that boys require so much 
 more to amuse them than girls do. Good night, dearest ; pray 
 don't overdo yourself with work, and do take care of your eyes." 
 So saying she kissed him and went her way. In twenty minutes 
 after that, he had gone to sleep over his book ; and when ho 
 woke up to find the candle guttering down, he resolved that he 
 would not begin his measured hours till Christmas-day was fairly 
 over. 
 
 The morning of Christmas-day passed very quietly. They all 
 went to church, and then sat round the fire chatting until tho 
 four o'clock dinner was ready. The Coverdale girls thought it 
 was rather more dull than former Thwaite Hall festi^*ities, and 
 Frank was seen to yawn. But then everybody knows that tho 
 real fun of Christmas never begins till the day itself be passed. 
 The beef and pudding are ponderous, and unless there be abso- 
 lute children in the party, there is a difficulty in grafting any 
 special afternoon amusements on the Sunday pursuits of tho 
 moiTiing. In the evening they were to have a dance ; that had 
 been distinctly promised to Patty Coverdale ; but the dance 
 would not commence till eight. The beef and pudding were 
 ponderous, but with due efforts they were overcome and dis- 
 appeared. The glass of port was sipped, the almonds and 
 raisins were nibbled, and then the ladies left the room. Ten 
 minutes after that Elizabeth found herself seated with Isabella 
 Holmes over tho fire in her father's little book-room. It was 
 not by her that this meeting was arranged, for she dreaded such 
 a constrained confidence ; but of course it could not be avoided, 
 and perhaps it might be as well now as hereafter. 
 
 ** Bessy," said the elder girl, "I am dying to be alone with 
 you for a moment." 
 
 '*Well, you shall not die ; that is, if being alone with me 
 will save you." 
 
 ** I have 80 much to say to you. And if you have any true 
 friendship in you, you also will have so much to say to me." 
 Miss Garrow perhaps had no true friendship in her at that 
 moment, for she would gladly have avoided saying anything, 
 had that been possible. But in order to prove that she waa not 
 deficient in Mendship, she gave her Mend her hand. 
 
286 TALES Of ALXi COUNTRIES. 
 
 "And now tell me everything about Godfrey,** said Isabella, 
 
 *• Dear Bella, I have nothing to tell ; — literally nothing." 
 
 ** That is nonsense. Stop a moment, dear, and understand 
 that I do not mean to offend you. It cannot bo that you have 
 nothing to tell, if you chooso to tell it. You are not the girl to 
 have accepted Godfrey without loving him, nor is he the man to 
 have asked you without loving you. "When you writ© me word 
 tliat you have changed your mind, as you mifjlit about a dress, 
 of coairso I know you have not told mc all. Now I insist upon 
 knowing it, — that is, if wc arc to be friends. I would not 
 speak a word to Godfrey till I had seen you, in order that I might 
 hear your story first. 
 
 " Indeed, Bella, there is no story to telL" 
 
 "Then I must ask him." 
 
 ** If you wish to play the part of a true friend to me, yon will 
 let the matter pass by and say nothing. You must understand 
 that, circumstanced as we are, your brother's visit here, — what 
 I mean is, that it is very difficult for mo to act and speak exactly 
 as I should do, and a lew unfortunate words spoken may make 
 my position unendurable." 
 
 "Will you answer mo one question ?** 
 
 " I cannot tell. ^ I think I will." 
 
 ** Do you love him ? " For a moment or two Bossy remained 
 silent, striving to arrange her words so that they should contain 
 no falsehood, and yet betray no truth. "Ah, I see you do," con- 
 tinued Miss Holmes. "But of course you do, >Vhy else did 
 you accept him?" 
 
 " I fancied that I did, as young ladies do sometimes fancy." 
 
 "And will you say that you do not, now?" Again Bessy was 
 silent, and then her friend rose from her seat. "I see it all," 
 she said. "What a pity it was that you both had not some 
 fiicnd like me by you at the time ! But perhaps it may not bo 
 too late." 
 
 I need not repeat at length all the protestations wliich upon 
 this were poured foi-th with hot energy by poor Bessy. She 
 endeavoured to explain how great had been tho difficulty of her 
 position. This Christmas visit had been arranged before that 
 unhappy affair at Liverpool had occurred. Isabella's visit had 
 been partly one of business, it being necessary that certain 
 money affairs should bo arranged between her, her brother, and 
 the Major. "I determined," said Bessy, "not to let my feel- 
 ings stand in the way ; and hoped that things might settle down 
 to thcii' former friendly footing. I already fear that I have been 
 
THE MTSTLEtOE BOUOfl. 287 
 
 WTOU^, but it will be unpjcnerous in you to punish me." Then 
 eho went on to say tliat if anybody attempted to interfere with 
 her, she shouhl at once go away to her mother's sister, who lived 
 at Hexham, in ^""orthumberland. 
 
 Then came the dance, and the hearts of Kato and Patty 
 Coverdalc were at last happy, liut here again poor Bessy was 
 mode to understand how terribly difhcult was this experiment of 
 entertaining: on a footing of friendship a lover with whom she 
 had quarrelled .only a month or two before. That she must as 
 a nccessitv become the partner of Godfrey Holmes she had 
 already calculated, and so much eho was prepared to endure. 
 Her brothers would of course dance with the Coverdalc girls, 
 and her father would of course stand up with Isabella. Thero 
 was no other possible arrangement, at any rate as a beginning. 
 She had schooled herself, too, as to the way in which she would 
 speak to him on the occasion, and how she would remain mis- 
 tress of herself and of her thoughts. But when the time came tho 
 difficulty wca almost too much for her. 
 
 ** You do not care much for dancing, if I remember? " said he. 
 
 **0h yes, I do. Not as Patty Coverdalc does. It's a passion 
 with her. But then I am older than Patty Coverdalc." Alter 
 tJiat he was silent for a minute or two. 
 
 ** It seems so odd to me to be here again," he'said. It was' odd ; 
 — she felt that it was odd. But he ought not to have said so. 
 
 ** Two years make a great difference. The boys have grown 
 BO much." 
 
 "Yes, and there are other things," said he. 
 
 '* Bella was never hero before ; at least not with you.** 
 
 " No. But I did not exactly mean that. All that would not 
 make the place so strange. But your mother seems altered to 
 me. She used to be almost like my own mother." 
 
 **I suppose she finds that you are a more foimidable person 
 as you grow older. It was all very well scolding you when you 
 were a clerk in tho bank, but it does not do to scold tho 
 manager. These arc the penalties men pay for becoming great." 
 
 ** It is not my greatness that stands in my way, but — " 
 
 "Then I'm sure I cannot say what it is. But Patty will 
 scold you if you do not mind the figure, though you were tho 
 whole Board of Directors packed into one. She won't respect 
 ^u if you neglect your present work." 
 
 When Bessy went to bed that night she began to feci that she 
 had attempted too much. "Mamma," she said, "could I not 
 make some excuse and go away to Aunt Mary ?" 
 
 
tM TALKS OF AtL COUKTnm. 
 
 *' What now?" 
 
 **Ye8, mamma; now; to-morrow. I need not say that It | 
 will make mo very unhappy to bo away at such a timo, but I J 
 begin to think that it will bo better." 
 
 "What will papa say?" 
 
 "You must tell him alL" 
 
 "And Aunt Mary must be told also. You would not like 
 thut. Has he said anything ? " 
 
 "No, nothing ; — very little, that is. But Bella has spoken to 
 me. Oh, nmmma, I think wo have been very wrong in this. 
 That is, I have been wrong. I feel as though I should disgrace 
 myself, and turn the whole party hero into a misfortune." 
 
 It would be dreadful, that telling of tho storj' to her father 
 ,and to her aunt, and such a necessity must, if possible, bo 
 avoided. Should such a necessity actually come, tho former 
 task would, no doubt, bo done by her mother, but tliat would 
 not lighten the load materially. After a fortnight she would 
 again meet her father, aud would bo forced to discuss it. "I 
 will remain if it be pos8i])le," she said; "but, mamma, if I wish 
 to go, you will not stop me ? " Her mother promised that sho 
 would not stop her, but strongly advised her to stand her 
 gi-ound. 
 
 On tho following morning, when she came down stairs before 
 breakfast, shu found l«'rank htantliiig in tho Imll witli liin gun, of 
 which ho was tiying tho lock. " It is not loaded, is it, Trauk ?" 
 Bttid she. 
 
 "Oh dear, no; no one thinks of loading now-a-days till ho 
 has got out of the house. Directly after breakfast I am going 
 across witli Godfrey to the back of Grcystock, to see after some 
 moor-fowl. He asked me to go, and I couldn't well refuse." 
 
 " Of course not. Why should you ?" 
 
 "It will be deuced hard work to make up tho time. I was 
 to have been up at four this morning, but that alarum went olf 
 and never woke me. However, I shall be able to do sometliing 
 to-night." 
 
 " Don't make a slavery of your holidays, Frank. What's the 
 good of having a new gun if you're rot to use it?" 
 
 "It's not the new gun. I'm not such a child as that comes 
 to. But, you see, Godfrey is here, and one ought to bo civil to 
 him. I'll tell you what I want you girls to do, Bessy. You 
 must come and meet us on our way home. Come over in the 
 boat and along the path to the Pattei'dale road. We'll be then* 
 under t]v! hill about five." 
 
THE MISTLETOE BOUGU. 28d 
 
 ♦* And if yon arc not, wo arc to wait in the Rnow?" 
 
 ** Don't niako diflicultica, liusHy. I toll you wo will bo thcro* 
 "We arc to go in the cart, and so nliall have plenty of time." 
 
 *' And liow do you know the other girls will go?'* 
 
 ** AVhy, to t^^-ll you the truth, Tatty Covcrdalo has promised. 
 As for Miss Holmes, if she won't, why you must leave her at 
 home with mamma, liut Kato and Tatty can't como without 
 you." 
 
 ** Your discH'tion has found that out, has it?" 
 
 **Th(y say so. IJut you will come; won't you, Bessy? As 
 for waiting, it's all nonsense. Of course you can walk on. Ihifc 
 we'll bo at the stile by live. I've got my watch, you know." 
 And th(!n Tcs.sy ])romis( d him. What would she not have dono 
 for him that was in her power to do? 
 
 *MJo! Of course I'll go," said Miss Holmes. "I'm up to 
 anything. I'd have gone with them this morning, and liavo 
 taken u gun if they'd asked me. liut, by-the-bye, I'd better 
 not." 
 
 **"\Vhy not?" said Patty, who was hardly yet without fear 
 lest something should mar the expe<lition. 
 
 ** AVhat will three g(!ntlcmcn do with four ladies ?" 
 
 ** Oh, I forgot," said Tatty innocently. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't care," eaid Kato ; **you may have Ilarry ii 
 you like." 
 
 ** Thank you for notliing," said Miss Holmes. ** I want one 
 for myself. It's all very well for you to make the offer, but 
 what should I do if Harry wouldn't have mo ? There arc two 
 Bi<le?', you know, to every bargain." 
 
 ** I'm sure he isn't anything to mo," said Kate. *' Why, he's 
 not quite seventeen years old yet ! " 
 
 " Toor boy ! "What a shamo to dispose of him so soon. We'll 
 let liim off lor a year or two ; won't we. Miss Coverdale ? But 
 as there seems by acknowledgment to bo one beau with unap- 
 propriated services " 
 
 **I'm sure I have appropriated nobody," said Patty, "and 
 didn't intend." 
 
 ** Godfrey, then, is the only knight whose services arc claimed,*' 
 Raid Miss Holmes, looking at Bessy. Bessy made no immediate 
 answer with cither her eyes or tongue ; but when the Covenlalci 
 were gone, she took her new friend to task. 
 
 " How can you £U those young girls' hauU with sucb oon- 
 scnsc?" 
 
 ** ^^uture has dono that, my dear." 
 
 a 
 
Sdd TALES OF ALL COUNTRHSfl. 
 
 *'But nature should be trained; should it not? You will 
 mako them tliink that those foolish boys are in love with them." 
 
 **Tho foolish boys, as you call them, will look after that 
 themselves. It seems to me that the foolish boys kilow what 
 they are about better than some of their elders." And then, 
 tiftcr a moment's pause, she added, "As for my brother, I have 
 no patience with hiria." 
 
 ^'Pray do not discuss your brother," said Bessy. "And, 
 Bella, unless you wish to drive mo away, pray do not speak of 
 him and me together as you did just now." 
 
 "Are you so bad as that, — that the slightest commonplace 
 joke upsets you? Would not his services bo due to you as a 
 matter of course ? If you are so sore about it, you will betray 
 your own secret." 
 
 ** I have no secret, — none at least from you, or from mamma; 
 and, indeed, none from him. "Wo were both very foolisli, tliink- 
 ing that we knew each other and our own hearts, when wo 
 knew neither." 
 
 ** I hate to hear people talk of knowing their hearts. My 
 idea is, that if you like a young man, and he asks you to marry 
 him, you ought to have him. That is, if there is enough to live 
 on. I don't know what more is wanted. But girls are getting 
 to talk and think as though they were to send their hearts 
 through some fiery furnace of trial before they may givo them 
 up to a husband's keeping. I am not at all sure that tho 
 French fashion is not tho best, and that these things shouldn't 
 be managed by the fathers and mothers, or perhaps by tho family 
 lawyers. Girls wlio are so intent upon knowing their own hearts 
 generally end by knowing nobody's heart but their own; and 
 then they die old maids." 
 
 "Better that than give themselves to the keeping of those 
 they don't know and cannot esteem." 
 
 "That's a matter of taste. I mean to take the first that 
 comes, so long as he looks like a gentleman, and has not less 
 than eight hundred a year. Now Godfrey does look like a 
 gentleman, and has double that. If I had such a chance I 
 ehouldn't think twice about it." 
 
 " But I have no such chance." 
 
 " That's the way the wind blows ; is it ?" 
 
 "No, no. Oh, Bella, pray, pray leave me alone. Pray do not 
 interfere. There is no wind blowing in any way. All that I 
 Vant is your silence and your sympathy." 
 
 «« Very weli I will bo silent and sympathetic as tho grave* 
 
tHK MiSTLETOB BOUQIl. 291 
 
 Only don't imagine that I am cold as tlie grave also. I don't 
 exactly appreciate your ideas ; but if I can do no good, 1 "svill 
 at any rate endcaTOur to do no harm." 
 
 Alter luncli, at about three, they Started on their walk, and 
 managed to feiTy themselves over the river. ** Oh, do let me, 
 I3essy," said Kate Coverdalc. "I understand all about it. Look 
 here, Miss Holmes. You pull the chain through your hands " 
 
 ** And inevitably tear your gloves to pieces," said Miss Ilolmcs. 
 Kate certainly had done so, and did not seem to be particularly 
 well pleased with the accident. "There's a nasty nail in the 
 chain," she said. ** I wonder those stupid boys did not tell us." 
 
 Of course they reached the trysting-placo much too soon, and 
 were very tired of walking up and down to keep their feet 
 wann, before the sportsmen came up. But this was their own ' 
 fault, seeing that they had reached the stile half an hour before 
 the time fixed. 
 
 "I never will go anywhere to meet gentlemen again," said 
 Miss Holmes. "It is most preposterous that ladies should bo 
 left in the snow for an hour. Well, young men, what sport 
 have you had?" 
 
 " I shot the big black cock," said Harry. 
 
 "Hid you indeed?" said Kate Coverdale. 
 
 "And hero are the feathers out of his tail for you. Ho 
 dropped them in the water, and I had to go in after them up to 
 my middle. But I told you that I would, so I was determined 
 to get them." 
 
 " Oh, you silly, silly boy," said Kate. " But I'll keep them 
 for over. I will indeed." This was said a little apart, for 
 Harry had managed to draw the young lady aside before ho 
 presented the feathers. 
 
 Frank had also his trophies for Patty, and the tale to tell ol his 
 own prowess. In that he was a year older than Ids brother, ho 
 was by a year's growth less ready to tender his present to his 
 lady-love, openly in the presence of them all. But he lound his 
 o])portunity, <md then he and Patty went on a little in advance. 
 Kate also was deep in her consolations to Harry for his ducking ; 
 and therefore the four disposed of themselves in the manner 
 pre\'iou8ly suggested by Miss Holmes. Miss Holmes, therefore, 
 and her brother, and Bessy Garrow, were left together in the 
 path, and discussed the performances of the day in a manner 
 that elicited no very ecstatic interest. So they Wfidked for a mile, 
 and by degrees the conversation between tbed dwindled dowxk 
 almost to nothing. 
 
lS0;2 TALES Of ALL COtJKTRnA 
 
 "Tlioro I* nothing I diMliko bo much as coming out witK 
 people younger than myBolf," suid MIha llohncs. *♦ One always 
 li't'la BO old and dull. Listen to those children there ; they mnko 
 me feel m though I were on old midden aunt, brought out with 
 them to do propriety." 
 
 *' Tatty won't at all approve if she hears you call her a 
 child." 
 
 ** Nor hhall I approve, if rIio tn'ats mo like on old woman," 
 and then bIio stepped on and joined the children. ** I wouhbi't 
 spoil even their sport if 1 could help it," she said to herself. 
 *• liut with them I shall only be a teniponuy nuisance ; if I 
 remain behhid I shall become a pennanent evil." And thus 
 }k"ssy and her old lover were left by themselvcH. 
 
 '* 1 hope you will get on well with Bella," said Godfrey, when 
 they had remained silent for a minute or two. 
 
 *' Oil, yes. She is so good-natured and light-si)iriled that 
 everybody must like her. She lias been used to so much amuse- 
 ment tuid active life, that 1 know she jimst lind it very dull 
 here." 
 
 "She is never dull anywhere, — even at Liveii)ool, which, 
 for a young lady, 1 sometimeb think the dullest place on earth. I 
 know it is for a man." 
 
 ** A num who has work to do can never be dull ; can he? " 
 
 " Indeed he can ; as dull aa death. I am so oiten enough. I 
 have lu^ver been very bright there, liessy, since you lell us." 
 There was nothing in his calling her J{e^sy, for it hnd become a 
 liabit with him since they W(Te children ; and they had formerly 
 agreed that everythiiig between them shuuld l)e as it had breu 
 before thutfooli.sh whis[>er of love had been spoken and received. 
 Indeed, provision had been nuide by them hpieially on tliis point, 
 so tluit tluTe need be no awkwanlness in this mode of addri'sslng 
 each otlier. Such ])rovi8iou had seen\ed to be very prudent, but 
 it hardly had the desired ellect on the present occK.^ion. 
 
 ** 1 hardly know what you mean by brighiiicfcy," she said, after 
 a pause. ** Perhaps it is not intended that people's lives should 
 bo what you call bright." 
 
 ** Life ought to be as bright as we can make it." 
 
 ** It all depends on the nu-aning of the word. I suppose wo 
 are not very bright here at Thwaite Hall, but yet we think our- 
 selves very happy." 
 
 ** T am sure you are," said Godfrey. ** I very often think of 
 you hfixtj." 
 
 '* V.'c always think of plutes where we have been when wa 
 
THE WISTLFTOR Bouon. 293 
 
 wore youTij^," paid BcHsy ; ond then again they wull{cd on for 
 8oine way in Hihnco, and BcsHy began to inoreaflo lier pace with 
 Hk! view of cateliing the cliildren. The present "walk to her was 
 anylliing but briglit, and nha ])ethoiight licrself with dismay that 
 then; wero fttill two miles before bho reached tlio Ferry. 
 
 "li<'Hsy," Godfrey said at last. And then ho stopped as though 
 lie were doul^tfiil how to proceed. She, however, did not say a 
 word, but walked on quickly, as though her only liopo was in 
 catching tlic party belbro l)cr. iJut they also were walking 
 quickly, for Jlella was determined that she would not bo 
 caught. 
 
 ♦^ Jiessy, T must speak to you onco of what passed between ui 
 at LivcT^jool." 
 
 ** ^fuf^t you ? '* said she. 
 
 ** Unless you poHitiv(>ly forbid it." 
 
 *' Stoj), Godfrey," she said. And Ihcy did stop in the path, 
 for n(»w she no longer tlioiight of pulting an end to her cmbar- 
 rsiMMuicnt l)y overtaking her companions. "If any such words 
 are nrccKsary for your comfort,, it would hnrdly become me to 
 ioibid them. AVere 1 to speak so hai.slily you would acnisc mo 
 alt< rwards in your own heart. It must be for you to judge 
 whether it is well to reopen a wound that is nearly healed." 
 
 *']{utwith mc it w not nearly healed. The wound is open 
 always." 
 
 " There arc some Imrts," she said, "which do not admit of an 
 absolute and perHet cure, urdcss aft«,r long years." As she said 
 80, she could not but thin^c how mucli better was liis chance of 
 hU(h perfect cure than her own. With her, — so she said to her- 
 self, — such curing was all but impossible; whereas with him, 
 it was as impossible that the injury should last. 
 
 " Jiessy," he said, and he again stopped her on the narrow 
 path, standing immediately bf.fore her on the way, "you »- 
 memlicr all the circumstances that made uu part ? " 
 
 ** Yes ; I think I remember them." 
 
 " And you still tliink that we were right to part? " 
 
 She paused for a moment before she answered him ; but it wa« 
 only for a moment, and then she spoke quite firmly. "Yc»», 
 Godfrey, I do ; I have thought about it much eince then. I have 
 thought, I fear, to no good purpose about aught else. But I 
 have never thought that we had been unwifto in that," 
 
 "And yet I think you loved me." 
 
 ** I am bound to confess I did so, as otherwise I must confcM 
 xny&clf a liar. I told you at tho time that I loved yoU| and I 
 
294 TALTO Oy ALL COT7NTRTE8. 
 
 told you so trnly. But it is better, ten times better, tbat those 
 who love should part, evon though they still should love, than 
 that two should be joined together who are incapable of making 
 each other happy. Remember what you told mo." 
 " I do remember." 
 
 *' You found yourself unhappy in your engagement, and you 
 said it was my fault." 
 
 " Bessy, there is my hand. If you have ceased to love me, 
 there is an end of it. But if you love mo still, let all that be 
 forgotten." 
 
 ♦' Porgottcn, Godfrey ! How can it bo forgotten ? You were 
 unhappy, and it was my fault. My fault, as it would be if I 
 tried to solace a sick child with arithmetic, or feed a dog with 
 grass. I had no right to love you, knowing you as I did ; and 
 knowing also that my ways would not bo your ways, ^ly 
 punishment I understand, and it is not more than I can bear ; 
 but I had hoped that your punishment would have been soon 
 over." 
 
 " You are too proud, Bessy." 
 
 ** That is very likely. Frank says that I am a Puritan, and] 
 pride was the worst of their sins." 
 
 *' Too proud and unbending. In marriage should not the] 
 man and woman adapt themselves to each other? " 
 
 ** When they arc married, yes. And every girl who thinks of J 
 marrying should know tliat in very much she must adapt hcrselfj 
 to her husuand. But I do not think that a woman should be the! 
 ivy, to tako tho direction of every brnnoh of the tree to which! 
 she clings. If she docs so, what can bo her own character?] 
 But wo must go on, or wo shall bo too lato," 
 *' And you will give rao no other answer ? " 
 •* None othur, (iodlrey. Ilavo you not just now, at this vox 
 moment, told me that I was too proud ? Can it bo possible that 
 you should wish to tio yourself for life to female pride ? And if 
 you tell mo that now, at such a moment as this, what would you 
 tell hw in tho rlofui intinmry of inarried lif(^, when tho trifk'S of 
 cveiy day would huvo woru away tho courtcblcs of guiat and 
 lover?" 
 
 There was a sharpness of rebuke in this which Godfrey Holmes 
 could not at tho moment overcome. Nevertheless he knew the 
 girl, and understood tho workings of her heart and mind. Now, 
 in hor present state, sho could bo unbending, proud, and almost 
 rough, in that she had inufh to lose in diclining tho renewed 
 oiler which ho mudu her, nhu would, as it were, continuuUy 
 
TnU IMTSTLETOE BOUOH. 295 
 
 prompt liersclf to be harsh and inflexible. Had he been poor, 
 had she not loved him, had not all good things sceracd to have 
 attended the promise of such a maniage, she would have been 
 less suspicious of herself in receiving the offer, and more gracious 
 in replying to it. Had he lost all his money before he came 
 back to her, she would have taken him at once ; or had he been 
 depdved of an eye, or become crippled in his legs, she would 
 haye done so. But, circumstanced as he was, she had no motive 
 to tenderness. There was an organic defect in her character, 
 which no doubt was plainly maikcd by its own bump in her 
 cranium, — tho bump of philomartp'dom, it might properly be 
 called. She had shipwrecked her own happiness in rejecting 
 Godfrey Holmes ; but it seemed to her to be the proper thing 
 tliat a well-behaved young lady should shipwreck her own happi- 
 ness. For the last month or two she had been tossed about by 
 the waters and was nearly di'owned. Now there was beautiful 
 land again close to her, and a strong pleasant hand stretched out 
 to save her. But though she had suffered tenibly among tho 
 waves, she still thought it wrong to be saved. It would be so 
 pleasant to take that hand, so sweet, so joyous, that it surely 
 must bo wrong. That was her doctrine ; and Godfrey Holmes, 
 though he hardly analysed the matter, partly understood that it 
 was so. And yet, if once she were landed on that green island, 
 she would be so happy. She spoke with scorn of a woman 
 clinging to a tree like ivj ; and yet, were she once married, no 
 woman would cling to her husband with sweeter feminine 
 tenacity than Bessy Garrow. He spoke no further word to lur 
 as he walked home, but in handing her down to the ferry-boat 
 he pressed her hand. For a second it seemed as though she had 
 returned this pressure. If so, the action was involuntary, and 
 her hand instantly resumed its stiffness to his touch. 
 
 It was late that night when Major GaiTow went to his bed- 
 room, but his wife was still up, waiting for him. " AVell," said 
 she, " what has he said to you ? He has been with you above 
 an hour." 
 
 ** Such stories are not very quickly told ; and in this case it was 
 necessary to understand him very accurately. At length I thint 
 I do understand him." 
 
 It is not necessary to repeat at length all that was said on that 
 night between Major and Mrs. Garrow, as to tho offer which had 
 now for a third time been made to their daughter. On that even- 
 ing, after the ladies had gone, and when the two boys had taken 
 themselyeB off, Godfrey Holmes told his tale to his host, and |u4 
 
208 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 honewtly explained to him what he bcliovod to bo the state of hit 
 (lauKhtor'ii ♦'oollnRfl. "Now you know oil,'* mu\ ho. "I do 
 bcliovo that nho lovo« mo, and if who doo«, porhaps who may still 
 liMtcn to you." Miijor Oarrow did not foul miro tlmt ho *' know 
 it all." But when no had fully discuRsed the mattor that night 
 with his wife, then ho thought that perhaps he hod arrived ot 
 that knowledge. 
 
 On the foUowinp; mominp; Bossy learned from the maid, at an 
 early hour, that Oodfn^y Ilolmcs had loft Thwaito Hall and gono 
 ha(!k to Liverpool. To the girl sho Mtiid nothing on the sulijcrt, 
 but she felt obliged to say a word or two to Bella. ** It is his 
 eoining that I regret," she said ; — "that ho should have had tho 
 trouble and annoyance for nothing. I acknowledge that it was 
 my fault, and I nm very sorry." 
 
 "It cannot bo helped," said Miss ITolmcs, somewhat gravely. 
 "Ah to luH niiHfortunes, I presume that his journeys between 
 here and Jjiverpool are not tlio wornt of them." 
 
 Afler breakfast on that day Besav was nummoned into her 
 father's book-room, und found him there, and her mother also. 
 " lioHsy," said he, "nit down, my dear. You know why Godfrey 
 has lett us this morning ? " 
 
 Bessy walked round tho room, so that in sitting sho might bo 
 close to ln'r motlier and take her motlier'i* hand la lu-r own, " I 
 impp(M(t I «ln, ]>npa," she said, 
 
 " Ho was with mo late last night, Bessy ; and when ho told mo 
 what had passed between you I agreed with him that ho had 
 better go." 
 
 " It was bettor that ho should go, papa," 
 
 " ]hit ho hiw left a message for you." 
 
 " A message, papa ? " 
 
 " Yes, BesHy. And your mother ngroos with mo that it had 
 better bo given to you. It is this, — that if you will send him 
 word to come again, ho will bo here by Twelfth-night. Ho 
 came before on my invitation, but if he returns it must be on 
 yours." 
 
 "Oh, papa, I cannot." 
 
 " I do not say that you can, but think of It calmly before you 
 nltog(»tlier refiiao. You shall give mo your answer on New Year'i 
 morning." 
 
 " Jklamma knows that it would be impossible," said Bessy. 
 
 " Not impossible, dearest. 
 
 " In mich a matter you should do what you believe to be right," 
 said hc) fathei* 
 
 Ji 
 
THE MISTLETOE Bouon. 297 
 
 -* If I were to ask him here again, it would be telling him that 
 I would " 
 
 ** Exactly, Bessy. It would be telling him that you would bo 
 his wife. He would understand it so, and so woidd your mother 
 and I. It must be so understood altogether." 
 
 ** But, papa, whcu we were at Liverpool " 
 
 "I have told him everything, dearest," said !^^rs. Garrow. 
 
 ** I think I understand the whole," said the Major; "and in 
 Buch a matter as this I will not give you counsel on either side. 
 But you must remember that in making up your mind, you must 
 tljink of him as well as of yourself. If you do not love him ; — if 
 yoii feel that as his wifo you should not love him, there is not 
 another word to be said. I need not explain to my daughter tliat 
 under such circumstances she would bo wrong to encourage tho 
 visits of a suitor. But your mother says you do love him." 
 
 ** Oh, mamma!" 
 
 ♦* I will not ask you. But if you do ; — if you have so told him, 
 and allowed him to build up an idea of his life-happiness on such 
 telling, you will, I think, sin greatly against him by allowing a 
 false terainine pride to mar his happiness. \Yhen once a girl has 
 confessed to a man that she loves him, the confession and the love 
 together put upon her the burden of a duty towards him, which 
 she cannot with impunity throw aside." Then he kissed her, 
 and bidding her give him a reply on the morning of the new year, 
 left her with her mother. 
 
 She had four days for consideration, and they went past her by 
 no means easily. Could she have been alone with her mother, 
 the struggle would not have been so painful ; but there was tho 
 necessity that she should talk to Isabella Holmes, and the necessity 
 also that she should not neglect the Coverdales. I^othing could 
 have been kinder than Bella. She did not speak on the subject 
 till tho morning of the last day, and then only in a very few 
 words. *' Bessy," she said, " as you are great, be merciful." 
 
 ** But I am not great, and it would not be mercy." 
 
 ** As to that," said Bella, *' he has surely a right to his own 
 opinion." 
 
 On that evening she was sitting alone in her room when hep 
 mother came to her, and her eyes were red with weeping. Pen 
 and paper were before her, as though she were resolved to write, 
 but hitherto no word had been written. 
 
 ** Well, Bessy," said her mother, sitting down close beside her; 
 ** is the deed done?" 
 
 ** What deed, mamma? Who says that I am to do it ?^ . 
 
298 TALES OP ALL COTOTRIBS. 
 
 "The deed ia not the writing, but the resolution to write. 
 rive words will be sufficient, — if only those five words may be 
 written." 
 
 " It is for one*8 whole life, mamma. For his life, at well as 
 my own." 
 
 " True, Bessy ; — that is quite true. But equally true whether 
 you bid him come or allow him to remain away. That taslc of 
 making up one's mind for life, must at last be done in some 
 special moment of that life." 
 
 ** Mamma, mamma ; tell me what I should do." 
 But this Mrs. G arrow would not do. ** I will write the words 
 for you if you like," she said, *' but it is you who must resolve 
 that they shall bo written. I cannot bid my darling go away 
 and leave me for another home ; — I can only say that in my heart 
 I do believe that home would be a happy one." 
 
 It was morning before the note was written, but when tho 
 morning came Bessy had written it and brought it to her mother. 
 *' You must take it to papa," she said. Then she went and 
 hid herself from all eyes till the noon had passed. ** Dear God- 
 frey," the letter ran, ** Papa says that you will return on Wednes- 
 day if I write to ask you. Do come back to us, — if you wish it. 
 Yours always, Bessy." 
 
 ** It is as good as though she had filled tho sheet," said tho 
 Major. But in sending it to Godfrey Holmes, ho did not omit a 
 few accompanying remarks of his own. 
 
 An answer came from Godfrey by return of post ; and on tho 
 afternoon of tho sixth of January, Frauk Garrow drove over 
 to the station at Penrith to meet him. On their way back to 
 Thwaitc Hall there grew up a very close confidence between tho 
 two future brothers-in-law, and Frank explained with great 
 perspicuity a little plan which he had arranged himself. "As 
 soon as it is dark, so that she won't see it, Harry will hang it up 
 in the dining-room," he said, ** and mind you go in there before 
 you go anywhere else." 
 
 " I am very glad you have come back, Godfrey," said tho 
 Major, meeting him in the hall. 
 
 ** God bless you, dear Godfrey," said Mrs. Garrow, *' you will 
 find Bessy in the dining-room," she whispered ; but in so 
 whispering she was quite unconscious of the mistletoe boftgh. 
 
 And so also was Bessy, nor do I think that sho was much 
 more conscious whon that introduction was over. Godfrey had 
 made all manner of promises to Frank, but when tlie moment 
 arrived, he had found the moment too important for any special 
 
THE MISTLETOE BOUGH. 299 
 
 reference to the little bough above his head. Not so, however, 
 Patty Covcrdale. " It's a shame," said she, bursting cut of the 
 room, ** and if I'd known what you had done, nothing on earth 
 should have induced me to go in. I won't enter the room till I 
 know that you have taken it out." Nevertheless her sister Kate 
 was bold enough to adlvd the myateiy before the even^i; wm 
 ever. 
 
HETURNING HOME. 
 
 It Is generolly supposed that people who lire at liome,— 
 good domestic people, who lovo tea and their aim-chairs, and 
 who keep the pnrlour hcarth-nip ever warra,^t is Rcnerally 
 supposed that these are tho people who value home the most, 
 and best appreciate all the comforts of that cherished institution. 
 I am inclined to doubt this. It is, I think, to those who live 
 fai-thest away from home, to those who find the greatest 
 difliculty in visiting home, that the word conveys the sweetest 
 idea. In some distcmt parts of the world it may be that an 
 Englishman acknowlddgcs his permanent resting place ; but 
 there are many others in which he will not call his daily house, 
 his home, lie would, in his own idea, desecrate the word by 
 doing so. His homo is across the blue waters, in the little 
 nortliem island, which perhaps he may visit no more ; which 
 he has left, at any rate, for lialf his life ; from which circum- 
 stances, ami the necessity of living, have banished him. His 
 home is still in England, and when he speaks of homo his 
 thoughts are there. 
 
 No one can understand the intensity of this feeling who 
 lias not seen or felt tho absence of interest in life which falls 
 to the lot of many who have to eat their bread on distant soils. 
 AVo are all apt to think that a life in strange countries will bo 
 a life of exciteiucnt, of stirring enteii)rise, and vaned scenes ;— 
 tluit in abandoning the comforts of home, we sliall receive in 
 exchange more of movement and of adventure tlian would como 
 in our way in our own tamo country ; and this feeling has, I 
 am sure, sent many a young man roaming. Take any spiiitcd 
 fellow of twenty, and ask him whether he would like to go to 
 Mexico for tho next ten years ! Pi-udence and his father may 
 ultimately save him from such banishment, but he will not 
 refuse >vithout a pang of regret. 
 
utrruRNiNO iiOMB. 301 
 
 Alas! it is a mistake. Bread may bo canutl, and fortunes, 
 perhaps, made in such countries ; and as it is the destiny of our 
 race to spread itself over the •svido face of the globe, it is well 
 that there should bo something to gild and paint the outward 
 face of that lot wliich bo many are called upon to choose. But 
 for a life of daily excitement, there is no life like life in England ; 
 and the farther that one goes from England the more stagnant, I 
 think, do tlie waters of existence become. 
 
 But if it be so for men, it is ten times more so for women. An 
 Englishman, if ho bo at Guatemala or Belize, must work for 
 his bread, and that work will find him in thought and excite- 
 ment. But what of his wife ? AVhero will she find excitement ? 
 By what pursuit will she repay herself for all that she has left 
 behind lier at her mother's fu-eside ? She will love her husband. 
 Yes ; that at least ! If there bo not tliat, there will be a hell, 
 indeed. Tlien she will nurse her children, tmd talk of her— 
 lioiue. AVhen the time shall come tliat her promised return 
 tliither is within a year or two of its accomplishment, her 
 thoughts will all bo fixed on that coming pleasure, as ai'C tbo 
 thoughts of a young girl on her first ball for tho fortnight 
 before tliat event comes off. 
 
 On tlic central plain of tliat portion of Central America 
 which is called Costa Rica stands the city of San Jose. It ia 
 the capital of tho llepublic, — for Costa llica is a llepublic, — 
 and, for Central America, is a town of some impoiiancc. It is 
 in the middle of the coffee distiict, surrounded by rich soil on 
 whi«h the sugar-cane is produced, is blessed with a climate only 
 moderately hut, and tho native inhabitants arc neither cut- 
 throats nor cannibals. It may be said, therefore, that by 
 compaiison with some other spots to which Euglislmien and 
 others arc congregated for tho gathering together of money, 
 San Joso may be considered as a happy region; but, never- 
 thelesj*, a life there is not in every way desirable. It is a dull 
 place, with little to interest either the eye or the ear. Although 
 the heat of the tropics is but little felt there on account of its 
 altitude, men and women become too lifeless for much cntei'prisc. 
 There is no society. There arc a few Germans and a few 
 Englishmen in the place, who sec each other on matters of 
 business during tho day ; but, sombre as life generally is, tlioy 
 »eem to care little for each other's company on any other footing. 
 I know not to what point tho aspirations of the Germans may 
 itrctch themselves, but to tho English tho ono idea that gives 
 iolt to lifo is tho idea of hozAO. On eoine day, however distant 
 
tOi tAtfiS OF ALti COUKTIiniS. 
 
 it may b«, thoy will once more turn tboir faces towards th» 
 little northern iBland, nnd then all will be well with them. 
 
 To a ccrtuln Engliehman there, and to his dear littlo wife, 
 this prospect came some few years sinco somewhat suddenly. 
 Kvcnts and tidings, it matters not which or wliat, brought it 
 about that thoy resolved between themselves that they would 
 start immediately ; — almost immediately. ThoT would pack up 
 nnd leave San JosO within four months of tho day on which 
 their pui-pose was first formed. At San Josu a period of only 
 four months for such a puq)080 was immediately. It creates a 
 feeling of instant excitement, a necessity for instant dolnp, a 
 consciousness tlmt there was in those few weeks ample work both 
 for tho hands and thoughts, — work almost more than ample. 
 Tho dear littlo wife, who for tho lust two years had been so 
 listless, felt herHclf flurried. 
 
 *• Harry," she said to hor husband, **how shall wo ever bo 
 ready?" And her pretty face was liglited up with unusual 
 brightness at tho luijjpy tliought of so much hasto with sucli an 
 object. "And baby's tilings too," she said, as she thought of 
 nil tho various littlo articles of dress that would be ncjcded. 
 A journey from San Josu to Southampton cannot in truth bo 
 made as easily as one from London to Liverpool. Let us think 
 of u mouth to bo passed without any aid from the washerwomun, 
 and the givat<'et piu't of that month amidst tho ewelteiing heats 
 of Uio AVest Indian tropics ! 
 
 In tho firat mouth of her hurry and flurry Mrs. Arkwright 
 was a happy woman. Sho would seo her mother again and her 
 Bisters. It was now four years since she had left them on tho 
 ^ quay at Southampton, whilo all their hearts were broken at tho 
 parting. She was a young brido then, going forth with her new 
 lord to meet the stem world. Ho hwl then been homo to look 
 for a wife, and he had found what ho looked for in the younger 
 sister of his piutner. For he, Henry Arkwright, and his wife's 
 brother, Abel King, luul established themselves together in San 
 Joso. And now, sho thought, how there would bo another 
 meeting on those quays at which there should bo no broken 
 hearts ; at which there should be love without sorrow, ond 
 kisses, sweet with tho sweetness of welcome, not bitter with the 
 bitterness of parting. And people told her, — tho few neighbours 
 around her, — how happy, how fortunate sho was to get homo 
 thus early in her life. They had been out some ten, — soma 
 twenty years, and still tho day of their return was distant. And 
 then she pressed her liviag baby to hor breast, and wiped away 
 
HETDRNINO IIOMfl. 80S 
 
 a trnr as «ho thought of tho other darling whom eho would loavo 
 htncnth tluit distant sod. 
 
 And then camo the qucation ns to tho route home. Sim Josu 
 ntnndfl in the middle of the high plain of Coftta liica, half way 
 hctwocn the Pacific and tho Atlantic. The joui-ney tlicnco down 
 to the Pacific is, hy comparison, easy. There is a road, and tho 
 mules on which the travellers must ride go flteadily and easily 
 down to Punta Arenas, the port on that ocean. There are inns, 
 too, on tho way, — places of puhlic cnti-ilainment at which 
 refreshment may ho ohtained, and beds, or fair suhHtitutes for 
 hcds. ]hit then by this route tho traveller must take a leuj; 
 additional sea voyage. He must convey himself and his wearv 
 b.iggage down to that wretched placo on the Pacific, there wnit 
 for a steamer to take liim to Panamd, cross tho isthmus, and 
 reship himself in the other waters for Ins long journey home. 
 That terrible unshipping and reshipping is a Pore burden to tho 
 unaccustomed traveller. When it is absolutely necessary, — then 
 indeed it is done without much thouglit ; but in the case of tho 
 Arkwrights it was not absolutely necessaiy. And there was 
 atiother reason whi<'h turned Mrs. Arkwright's lieait ngninst 
 that joumey by Punt' Arenas. Tho place is urdiealthy, having 
 . at certain s(uisons a very bad name ;•— and here on their outward 
 jotiniey her husband bad been taken ill. She had never ceased 
 to tljiuk of the foilnight she liad epimt there among uncouth 
 strangers, during a portion of which his lifo had trembled in th& 
 balance. Early, therefore, in those four months she begged 
 that she might not be taken round by Punt' Arenas. There was 
 another route, "llarry, if you love mc, let me go by tho 
 Serupifpii." As to Hiury's loving her, there was no doubt about 
 that, as sho well knew. 
 
 There was this other route by tho Serapiqui river, and by 
 Orcytown. Oreytown, it is true, is quite as unhealthy as Punt* 
 Arenas, and by that route one's baggage must be shipped and 
 unshipped into small boata. There are all manner of difliculties 
 attached to it. Perhaps no direct road to and from any city on 
 tho world's surface is subject to sharper fatigue while it lasts. 
 Journeying by this route also, tho traveller leaves San Joso 
 mounted on his mule, and so mounted ho makes his way through 
 tho vast primeval forests down to the hanks of the Serapiqui 
 river. Tliat there is a track for him is of course true ; but it is 
 Bunply a track, and during nine months of the twelve is so deep 
 in mud that the mules sink in it to their bellies. Then, when tho 
 river has been rcachcd| the travoUer scats him in his caaoep fuid 
 
304* TALES OP ALL OOtmTRIES. 
 
 for t>f diiys i« paddled down, — down along the So/apiqtii, lute 
 t)io Sun Juan llivcr, and down along tho San Juan till ho rcnchca 
 Oreytown, passing ono night at some hut on tho river side. At 
 Orcytown ho waits for tlio utoamor which will carry him hia 
 ilrst Btngo on hi« road towards Southampton. Ho must bo a 
 connoisfluur in diHugreoablcs of every kind who can say with any 
 preciHion whether Oreytown or Tunt' Arenas is tho hotter place 
 for a week's sojourn. 
 
 For a full month Kr. Arkwright would not give way to hii 
 wife. At i\vHt lie nil ))ut eonciuered her hy declaring thut llio 
 Henipi(pii journey would bo dangerous for tho baby; but slio 
 heard IVom some o!ie that it could be made less fatiguing for tlio 
 baby than the other route. A baby hud been carried down in a 
 litter strapped on to u mule's back. A guide at tho mule's head 
 would be necessary, and that was all. AVhen once in her boat 
 the baby would be as well «ih in her cradle. Wluit purpose can- 
 not u woman gain by ]M'rseverauce? Her puii^so iu this iiistanco 
 !MrM. Arkwright did at hiht gain ]>y pcrNovrring. 
 
 And then their ])repiuution8 for the journey went on with much 
 flurrying and hot haste. To us at home, who live and feel our 
 lite every day, tho manufactiiro of endless buby-lincn and tho 
 ynieking of mountains of clothes does not give an idea of much 
 ])leasurabl« exeitenu'ut ; but at Sun Jose, where there was 
 scarci'ly motion i'nough in exist<'nco to prevent its waters from 
 becoming foul with stagmition, this packing of buby-lincn wat 
 delightlul, and for u mouth or so the days went by with huppy 
 ■wings. 
 
 Ihit by di^gHM^s reports began to reach both Arkwright and 
 his wife us to this i\ew route, which nuide them uueusy. Tho 
 wet seuMon had been ])rolonged, and even though they might not 
 be deluged by riiin themselves, tho path would bo in such u stjito 
 of mud as to render tho labour incessant. Ono or two peojjlo 
 declared that the road was unlit lit any tiino for a woman, — (Uid 
 then tho river would bo much swollen. These tidings did not reach 
 Arkwright and his wife together, or at any rate not till luto amidst 
 their prepurutions, or a cluuigo might still have been made. As 
 it was, ttlter ull her entreuties, Mrs. Arkwri«^ht did not like to 
 ask him nguin to alter his ])hins ; and he, having altered thcra 
 once, wus uvnso to chuntj;e them ugain. So things went on till 
 tho mules and tho boats Imd been hired, nnd things had gone so 
 fur thut no change could then be made without much cost and 
 trouble. 
 
 Duiiiig tho lust ten duys of their sojourn ut Sun Jose, Mrs. 
 
KBTURNTNa IIOMR. 805 
 
 Arkwright had lost nil that nppcarnnco of joy which hnd chocTcd 
 up licr Bwcet faco during tho laat fow month«. Terror at that 
 terrible journey obliterated in her mind nil tho linppineas which 
 hnd arisen from tho hope of being soon at homo. 8ho was 
 tliorouphly cowed by tho danger to bo encountered, and would 
 gladly have gono down to Punt' Arenas, had it been now pos- 
 piblo that sho could bo arrange it. It rained, and rained, and 
 gtill rained, when there was now only a week from tho time they 
 itartcd. Oh ! if they could only wait for another montli ! JJut 
 this sho said to no one. After what had passed between her and 
 her husband, sho had not tho lieait to say such words to him. 
 Arkwright liimself was a mun not given to much tidking, a 
 silent thoughtful man, stern withal in his outward bearing, but 
 londer-heart-ed and loving in his naitire. Tho sweet young wifo 
 who had left all, and como with him out to that dull dintant 
 place, was very dear to him, — dearer tlian she herself was aware, 
 nnd in theso days ho was thinking much of her coining trouldes. 
 AVhy.had ho given way to her foolish prayers ? Ah, why indeed ? 
 
 And thus tho last few days of their sojourn in San Joso passed 
 •way from them. Onco or twice during these days she did 
 speak out, expressing her fears. Her feelings were too much for 
 lier, and slio could not restrain h(!rself. ** Poor mamma,*' sho 
 said, **I shidl never see her I " And then ag.iin, "JIurry, I 
 know I shall never reach homo alive." 
 
 "Fanny, my darling, that is nonsense." But in order that 
 his spoken word might not sound stem to her, ho took her in his 
 arms and kissed her. 
 
 '♦You must behave well, Fanny," ho said to her the day 
 before they started. Though her heai-t was then very low within 
 her, slie promised him that slic would do her best, nnd then sho 
 made a great resolution. Though she should be dying on tho 
 road, sho would not complain Ix^yond the absolute necessity of 
 her nature. She fully recognised his thoughtful tender kindness, 
 for though ho thus cautioned her, he nover told her that tho 
 dangers which sho feared were tho result of her own choice. 
 He never throw in her teeth those prayers which she hod made, 
 in yielding to which he knew that lie had been weak. 
 
 Then como tho morning of their departure. The party of 
 travellers' consisted of four besides tho baby. There was Mr. 
 Arkwright, his wife, and an English nurse, who was going to 
 England with them, and her brother, Abel King, who was to 
 I accompany them as far as tho Scrapiqui River. "When they had 
 1 leached iksA, the real labour of the journey would be over. 
 
806 TALES Of ALL ^JOUNTRIES. 
 
 Thoy had eight mules ; four for the four travellers, ono fop tha 
 baby, a spare mule laden simply with blankets, so that Mrs, 
 Arkwright might change in order that she should not be fatigued 
 by the fatigue of her beast, and two for their luggage. The 
 heavier portion of their baggage had already been sent off by 
 Punt* Arenas, and would meet them at the other side of the 
 Isthmus of Panam^ 
 
 "For the lost four days the rain had ceased, — ^had ceased at any 
 rate at San Jos6. Those who knew the countiy well. Would 
 know that it might still bo raining over those vast forests ; but 
 now as the matter was settled, they would hope for the host. 
 On that morning on which they started the sun ithonc fairly, and 
 they accepted this as an omen of good. liuby seemed to lay 
 comfortably on her pile of bknkets on the mule's back, and tho 
 face of tho tall Indian guide who took his placo at that mule's 
 head pleased the anxious mother. 
 
 "Not leave him over," ho said in Spanish, laying his hand on 
 tho cord which was fastened to tho beast's head ; and not for 
 ono moment did ho leave his charge, though the labour of stick- 
 ing close to him was very great. 
 
 Thoy had four attendants or guides, all of whom mode tho 
 joumcy on foot. That they wero all men of mixed race was 
 probable ; but three of them would have been called Snaniards, 
 Spaniards, that is, of Costa llica, and the other would l)e called 
 nn Indian. Ono of tho Spaniards was tho leader, or chief man 
 of tho party, but tho others seemed to stand on an equal footing 
 with each other ; and indeed the place of greatest caro had been 
 given to tho Indian. 
 
 For the first four or five miles their route lay along tho liigh 
 road which leads from San Josu to Punt* Arenas, cmd so fur a 
 group of acquaintances followed them, all mounted on mides. 
 Here, where tho ways forked, their road leading through tho 
 gi'eat forests to tho Atlantic, they separated, and many tears 
 were shed on each side. AVliat might bo tho future life of tho 
 Arkwrights had not been absolutely fixed, but there was a strong 
 hope on their part that they might never be forced to retura to 
 Costa lUca. Those from wliom they now parted hud not seemed 
 to bo dear to them in any especial degreo whilo they nil lived 
 together in the same small towu, seeing each other day by dayj 
 but now, — now that they might never meet again, a certain lovo 
 sprang uj) for tho old familiar faces, and women kissed each 
 other who hitherto had hardly cared to enter cadi other's houses. 
 
 And then tho party of tho Arkwrights again etailed, and iti 
 
retuhnino home. 807 
 
 itxjody work began. In the whole of the first day the way be- 
 neath their feet was tolerably good, and the weather continued 
 fine. It was one long gradual ascent from the plain where the 
 roads parted, but there was no real labour in travelling. Mrs. 
 Arkwnght rode beside her baby's mule, at the head of which 
 the Indian always walked, and the two men went together iu 
 front. The huHband had found that his wife would prefer this, 
 08 long as the road allowed of such an arrangement. Iler heart 
 was too full to admit of much epeaking, and so they went on in 
 Bilenco. 
 
 The first night was passed in a hut by the roadside, which 
 Becmed to bo deserted, — a hut or ranoho as it is called in that 
 country. Their food they had, of course, brought with them ; 
 and here, by common consent, they endeavoured in some sort to 
 make themselves merry. 
 
 " Fanny," Arkwriglit said to her, ** it is not so bad after all ; 
 eh, my darling?" 
 
 **Iso," she onswered; **only that the mule tires one bo. 
 Will all the days be as long as that ? " 
 
 llo had not the heart to tell hor that as rcgfirded hours of 
 work, that first day must of necessity be the shortest. They liad 
 risen to a considerable altitude, and tlio night was very cold ; 
 but baby was enveloped among a pile of coloured blankets, and 
 tilings did not go very badly with them ; only this, that when 
 Fanny Arkwnght rose from her haid bed, her limbs were moro 
 weary and much moro stiff than they had been when Arkwnght 
 had lifted her from her mule. 
 
 On the second morning they mounted before the day had quito 
 broken, in order that they might breakfast on the summit of tho 
 ridge which separates the two oceans. At this spot the good 
 rooid comes to on end, ojid tho forest track begins ; and hero 
 also, they would, in truth, enter tho forest, though their path 
 had for some time been among straggling trees and bushes. And 
 now, again, they rode two and two, up to this place of halting, 
 Arkwright and lling well knowing that from hence their labours 
 would in truth commence. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Arkwright, when sho reached this resting-place, 
 would fain have remained there for tho rest of the day. Ono 
 i word, in her low, plaintive voice, she said, asking whether they 
 , might not sleep in the large shed which stonda there. But this 
 j|i"was manifestly impossible. At such a pace they would never 
 I reach Qreytown ; and she spoke no further word whcD bo told 
 Iher tiuit they must go on* 
 
808 TALW 0^ ALL OOUNTRTRS. 
 
 At n1>out noon Ihut day lliu Hlo of tiiivclli'm formnt lintAf Into 
 tlio lino whioh it nlliTWcinln kept durinp: tho wliolc of tho joumt'y, 
 unit ilwn MmHimI liy ilin imrrow ])»ith ififo t)in fwont, Flrnt 
 wiilkod tho liMulor of ilio ^^iildcN, Wwn ruiotlmr nmn following 
 liini ; Abol lUng cfimo noxt, cmd boliintl liim tho nniM-ncrvdnt ; 
 then tho b(ihv*« miilo, with tho Indiim over lit itw lirtul ; cIoho cit 
 IiIh ho<'l« foflowoil ^IrM. AiUwrJKlit, nn thni tho iiiotlior'H oyo 
 iiiij^lit ho ulwtiyR on licr child ; and uftcr Iwr her huHJiimd ; thon 
 another j^tjido on foot complotcMl tlin imtiihcr of th«» truvclh-rH. 
 In this way tlicy went on and on, day alter <lay, till tlusy reached 
 tlio hanlcH of tho Hcrnpicpii, never onco varying their places in tho 
 proccRsion. Ah they Hlailed in the moniiiip:, ro they went on 
 till their noon-day'R rent, and ro again they niado their evening 
 nnirch. In that jouniey there wan no idea of variety, no Rcarch- 
 infj; alter the ])leaHnreM of fio'iiery, no atteniplrt at eonveiHalion 
 with any ohject of intercHl or aniiiKcinent, What wordR wero 
 ppoken were those niniply needfnl, or ])roduced by Rytnpathy for 
 BuH'erinp. So th(»y journeyed, alwayR in tho sanio ])laceR, with 
 one exception. They began tlieir work with two guidcH Icadijig 
 them, but before the ilrst day waH over on<» of them had I'lillcn 
 back to 11h^ Hide of ^frn. Arkwright, for nhe waw unublo to nit on 
 lier mule without RUpport. 
 
 Their dnily work waH divided into two RtiigrH, nn nn to glvo 
 Bonu< bourn for n mI in tlu^ middle of tlio day. Jt bad been 
 arranged that the iliHlinuH^ for each day rIiouM not be long,— 
 Bhoubl bo very Rhort a« wan thought by tlnjm all when they 
 talked it over at Hun Johu ; but now tho hours which they pasHcd 
 in tho saddle seemed to bo endlcRS. Their doRcent began from 
 that ridge of which I have spoken, and they bad no sooner 
 turned their faces down npon tho mountain Rlopes looking 
 towaixls the Atlantic, than that paRMigo of mud began to which 
 there was no cessation till they found themHclves on the banks of 
 the JSerapiqui river. I doubt whetlnT it bo poRRiblo to convoy 
 in words an adequate idea of tho labour of riding over such a 
 path. It is not that any actiro exertion is necessary, — that ther« 
 IS anything which recjuires doing. Tho traveller lias before hira 
 the sunple task of sitting on his mule from hour to hour, and of 
 Beeing that liis knees do not get thwmselves jammed against tho 
 trees ; but ut every step the beast }>o rides has to drag his legs 
 out from tho deep clinging mud, and the body of tho rider never 
 knows ono moment of ease. ^Vhy tho mules do not die on tho 
 road, I cannot say. They live through it, and do not appear to 
 •ulitT. They have their own way iu everything, for no exertion 
 
HETURNINO nOMB. 809 
 
 on til rl<lor*fl part will mako them "walk cither faster or slower 
 than in their wont. 
 
 On tho (lay on which they entered the forest, — that being tho 
 pecond of their jounicy, — Mrs. Arkwright had asked for mercy, 
 for pernuHsion to eRcn[)o that R(KJond Btage. On tho next bIio 
 allowed herself to ho lilted into her saddle alter her mid- day rest 
 witliout n word. Hlio hud tried to sleep, hut in vain ; and had 
 eat williin n littlo Init, looking out upon tlie desolate scene beforo 
 her, with her hahy in her lap. JSho liad this one comfort, that 
 of all tho travelers, she, tho hahy, suffered tho least. They had 
 now left the high grounds, and tho heat was becoming great, 
 though not as yet intense. And then, tho Indian guide, looking 
 out slowly over tho forest, saw that tho rain was not yet over. 
 He sT)(>ke a word or two to one of his companions in a low voico 
 and in a patois which Mrs. Arkwright did not understand, and 
 then going after thu husband, told him that tho heavens wero 
 threatening. 
 
 " We have only two Icogues," said Arkwright, ** and it may 
 perhaps hold up." 
 
 ** It will begin in an hour," said tho Indian, "and tho two 
 leagues are four hours." 
 
 ** And to-morrow," asked Arkwright. 
 
 ** To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow it will still 
 rain," said the giiidc, looking ue ho spoke up over tho huge 
 prini(!val forest. 
 
 ** Then we had better stait at once," said Arkwright, ** beforo 
 the first falling drops frighten the women." So tho mules wero 
 brought out, and ho lilted his uncomplaining wife on to tho 
 blankets which formed her pillion. The filo again formed itself, 
 and slowly they wound their way out from tho small cnclosuro 
 by which tho hut was suiTounded ; — out from tho enclosure on 
 to a rough scrap of uudrained pasture ground from wliich tho 
 trees had been cleared. In a few minutes tliey were onco moro 
 fctniggling through tho mud. 
 
 Th(! name of tho spot which our travellers had just left is 
 €arablan(!0. There they found u woman living all alone. Her 
 husband was uway, she told them, at San Jose, but would bo 
 back to her when tho dry weather came, to look up tho young 
 cattle wliich were straymg in the forest. What a life for a 
 woman! Nevertheless, in talking with Mrs. Arkwright sho 
 mado no complaint of her own lot, but had done what little sho 
 could to comibrt the poor lady who was so little able to bear tha 
 fatigues of her journey. 
 
810 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 "Is the road very bad?" Mrs. Arkwright asked her in • 
 whisper. 
 
 *' Ah, yes ; it is a bad road.** 
 
 *' And when shall we be at the river ? " 
 
 " It took mo four days," said the woman. 
 
 " Then I shall never sec my mother again,** and aa she spoke 
 ^[rs. Arkwright pressed her baby to her bosom. Immediately, 
 after that her husband came in, and they started. 
 
 Their path now led away across the slope of a mountain which 
 seemed to fall from tho very top of that central ridge in an 
 nnbroken descent down to tho valley at its foot. Hitherto, since 
 they had entered tho forest, they had had nothing before their 
 eyes but the trees and bushes which grew close around them. 
 But now a x^-ospect of unrivalled grandeur was opened before 
 them, if only had they been able to enjoy it. At tho bottom of 
 the valley ran a river, which, so great was the depth, looked like 
 a moving silver cord ; and on the other side of this there arose 
 another mountain, steep but unbroken like that which they were 
 passing, — unbroken, so that the eye could stretch from the river 
 up to the very summit. Not a spot on that mountain side or on 
 their side either was left uncovered by thick forest, which had 
 stood there untouched by man since nature first produced it. 
 
 But all this was nothing to our travellers, nor was the clang 
 of the macaws anything, or the roaiing of tho little congo ape. 
 Kothing was gained by them irom beautiful scenery, nor was 
 there any fear from the beasts of prey. The immediate pain of 
 each step of the journey drove all other feelings from them, and 
 their thoughts were bounded by an intense desire for the evening 
 halt. 
 
 And then, as the guide hud prophesied, the rain began. At 
 fii'st it came in such Bmall soft drops that it was found to bo 
 refresliing, but the clouds soon gathered and poured foilh their 
 collected waters as though it hud not ruined for n^onths amon}; 
 those mountains. Not that it came in big drops, or witli tlio 
 violence which wind can give it, beating hither and tiiithcr, 
 breaking brunches from the trees, and rising up again as it pat- 
 tered against the ground. There was no violence in tlie rain. It . 
 fell softly in a long, continuous, noiseless stream, sinking into 
 everything that it touched, converting the deep rich earth on all 
 bides into mud. 
 
 Not a word was said by any of them as it came on. The 
 Indian covered tho baby with her blanket, closer than she* was 
 covered before, and the guide who walked by Mrs. Aikwright's 
 
RETURNINa HOMB. 811 
 
 rido drew her cloak around her knees. But such efforts were in 
 vain. There is a rain that will penetrate everything, and such 
 was the rain which fell upon them now. Nevertheless, as I 
 have said, hardly a word was spoken. The poor woman, finding 
 that the heat of her cloak increased her sufferings, threw it open 
 again. 
 
 ** Fanny,*^ said her husband, " you had better let him protect 
 you as well as he can." 
 
 She answered him merely by an impatient wave of her hand, 
 iiitoTidiTi.nf to Higiiify tluit who could not upcak, but tliat in thin 
 matter she must have her way. 
 
 A.f tcr that her husband made no further attempt to control her. 
 He could see, however, that ever and again she would have 
 slipped forward from her mule and fallen, had not the man by 
 her side steadied her with his hand. At every tree he protected 
 her knees and feet, though there was hardly room for him to 
 move between the beast and the bank against which he was 
 thrust. 
 
 And then, at last, that day^s work was also over, and Fanny 
 Arkwright slipped from her pillion down into her husband's 
 arms at the door of another rancho in the forest. Here there 
 lived a large family adding from year to year to the patch of 
 ground which they had rescued from the wood, and valiantly 
 doing their part in the extension of civilisation. Our party was 
 but a few steps from the door when they left their mules, but 
 ^Irs. Ajkwright did not now as heretofore hasten to receive her 
 baby in her arms. AVhen placed upon the ground, she still 
 leaned against the mule, and her husband saw that he must cany 
 her into the hut. This he did, and then, wet, mud-laden, dis- 
 hevelled as she was, she laid herself down upon the planks that 
 were to foim her bed, and there stretched out her arms for her 
 infant. On that evening they undressed and tended her like a 
 child ; and then when she was alone with her husband, she 
 repeated to him her sad foreboding. 
 
 ** Harry," she said, ♦♦ I shall never see my mother again." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Fanny, you will see her and talk over all these 
 troubles with pleasure. It is very bad, I know ; but wo shall 
 live through it yet." 
 
 *' You will, of course ; and you will take baby home to her." 
 
 ** And face her without you I Ko, my darling. Three more 
 days' riding, or rather two and a half, will bring us to the river, 
 and then your trouble will be over. All will be easy after 
 that'' 
 
S12 TALES 07 ALL OOUNTRXES. 
 
 " Ah, Hany, you do not know." 
 
 " I do Icnow that it is very bad, my girl, but you mutt oheer 
 up. Wo shall bo laughing at all this in a month's time." 
 
 On tho following morning she allowed herself to bo lifted up, 
 speaking no word of remonstrance. Indeed she was like a child 
 in their hands, having dropped all the dignity and authority of 
 a woman's demeanour. It rained n gain during tho whole of this 
 day, and tho heat was becoming oppressive as every liour they 
 were descending nearer and nearer to the sea level. During this 
 first stage hardly a word was spoken by any one ; but when sho 
 was again taken from her mule sho was in tears. Tho poor 
 sen-ant-girl, too, was almost prostrate with fatigue, and abso- 
 lutely unable to wait upon her mistress, or even to do anything 
 for herself. Nevertheless they did make the second stage, seeing 
 that their mid-day resting place had been under tho trees of tho 
 forest. Had there been any hut there, they would have remained 
 for the night. 
 
 On the following day they rested oltogethor, though tho plaeo 
 at which they remained had but few attractions. It was another 
 forest hut inhabited by an old Spanish couple who were by no 
 means willing to give thom room, although they paid for their 
 accommodation at exorbitant rates. It is one singularity of 
 places strange and out of tho way like such forest tracks as 
 these, that money in small sums is hardly valued. Dollars there 
 were not appreciated as sixpences are in this rich country. 
 But there they stayed for a day, and tlie guides employed them- 
 selves in making a litter with long poles so that they might 
 cany Mrs. Arkwright over a portion of tho ground. Poor 
 fellows ! When once sho had thus changed her mode of con- 
 veyance, she never again was lifted on to the mule. 
 
 There was strong reason against this day's delay. They were 
 to go down tho 8erapi(pu along with the post, which would 
 overtake them on its bunks. But if the post should pass them 
 before they got there, it could not wait ; and then they would 
 be deprived of the best canoo on tho water. Then also it was 
 possible, if they encoimtered further delay, that tlie steamer 
 niii>^ht sail from Greytown without them, and a month's residence 
 at that frightful place be thus made necessaiy. 
 
 Tho day's rest apparently did little to relieve Mrs. Arkwright*! 
 Bufferings. On the following day she allowed herself to bo put 
 upon the mule, but after tho first hour tho beasts were stopped 
 and she was taken off it. During that hour they had travelled 
 hardly over half a league. At that time sho so sobbed and 
 
RETURNINa HOME. 813 
 
 moaned that Arkwright absolutely feared that eho would perish, 
 in the forest, and he implored the guides to use the poles which 
 they had prepared. She liad declared to him over and over 
 again that she felt sure that she should die, and, half-delirious 
 with weariness and suffering, had begged him to leave her at 
 the last hut. They had not yet come to the flat ground over 
 which a litter might bo carried with comparative case ; but 
 nevertheless the men yielded, and she was placed in a recumbent 
 position upon blankets, supported by bouglis of trees. In this 
 way she went through that day with somewhat less of sufleriug 
 than before, and without that necessity for self-exertion which 
 had been worse to her than any suifeiing. 
 
 There were places between that and tho river at which ono 
 would have said that it was impossible that a litter should bo 
 carried, or even impossible that a mule should walk with a load 
 on his back. But still they went on, and tho men carried their 
 burden without complaining. Not a word was said about money, 
 or extra pay ; — not a word, at least by them ; and when Ark- 
 wright was profuse in his offer, their leader told hira that they 
 would not have done it for money. But for the poor suffering 
 Seiiora they would make exertions which no money would have 
 bought from thcra. 
 
 On the next day about noon the post Aid pass them, consisting 
 of three strong men caiTying great weights on their backs, 
 suspended by bands from their forelieads. They travelled much 
 quicker than our friends, and would reach the banks of tho river 
 that evening. In their ordinary course they would start down 
 the river close upon daybreak on tho following day ; but, after 
 some consultation with tho guides, they agreed to wait till noon. 
 Poor Mrs. Arkwright knew nothing of hours or of any such 
 arrangements now, but her husband greatly doubted their power 
 of catching this mail despatch. However, it did not much 
 depend on their exertions that afternoon. Their resting-place 
 was marked out for them, and they could not go beyond it, 
 unless indeed they could make the whole journey, which was 
 impossible. 
 
 But towards evening matters seemed to improve with them. 
 They had now got on to ground which was more open, and the 
 men who carried the litter could walk with greater ease. Mrs. 
 Arkwright also complained less, and when they reached their 
 resting-place on that night, said nothing of a wish to he left there 
 to her fate. This was a place called Padregol, a «acao plantation, 
 whick had been cleared in the forest with much labour. Thert 
 
814 TALES 07 AIL 00UNTRIE8. 
 
 was A honso here containing three rooms, and some forty or fifty 
 acres round it hod been stripped of the forest trees. But never- 
 theless the adventure had not been a prosperous one, for tho 
 place was at that time deserted. There were the cacao plants, 
 but there was no one to pick the cacao. There was a certain 
 melancholy beauty about tho place. A few grand trees hud 
 been left standing near the house, and the grass around was 
 rich and park-liko. But it was deserted, and nothing was heard 
 but tho roaring of tho congos. Ah mo ! Indeed it was a molun- 
 choly place an it was Been by some of that party afterwanls. 
 
 On tho following morning they were astii* very early, and 
 Mrs. Arkwrii;ht was so much better that she offered to sit again 
 upon her mule. The men, however, declared that they would finish 
 their task, and she was placed again upon tho litter. And tlien 
 with slow and weary step they did make their way to the river 
 bank. It was not yet noon when they saw the mud fort whicli 
 stands there, and as they drew into tho enclosure round a small 
 liouso which stands close by tho river side, they saw tho three 
 postmen still busy about their packages. 
 
 "Thank God!^' said Arkwright. 
 
 '* Thank God, indeed !" said his brother. " All will bo right 
 with you now." 
 
 ** Well, Fanny," said her husband, as he took her very gently 
 from tho litter and seated her on a bench which stood outpido 
 the door. '* It is all over now, — is it not?" 
 
 She answered him by a shower of tears, but they were tears 
 which brought her relief. Ho was aware of this, and therefore 
 stood by her, still holding her by both her hands while her head 
 rested ogainst his side. ** You will find tho motion of tho boat 
 very gentle," he said; "indeed there will be no motion, und 
 you and baby will sleep all tho way down to Greytown." Slio 
 did not answer him in wortls, but sho looked up into his face, 
 and ho could sec that her spirit was recovering itself. 
 
 There was almost a crowd of people collected on the spot, pro- 
 pamtory to the departure of the canoes. In tho first place tliero 
 was the commandant of the fort, to whom tho small house belonged. 
 He was looking to the passports of our friends, and with duo dili- 
 gence endeavouring to make something of the occasion, by dis- 
 covering fatal legal impediments to tho further prosecution of 
 their voyage, which impediments would disappear on the pajTnent 
 of certain dollars. And then there were half a dozen Costa Ilican 
 soldiers, men with coloured caps and old muskets, ready to support 
 the dignity and authority of tho commandant. There were the 
 
RETUKNINa HOME. 815 _ 
 
 guides talcing pfiyinont from Abel Kinp for their past work, and 
 the postmun prcpaiing their boats for the fuilher journey. And 
 then there was a certain German there, with a Gei-man servant, 
 to whom the boats belonged. He also was very busy preparing 
 for the river voyage. He was not going down with them, but 
 it was his business to see them well started. A singular looking 
 man was he, with a huge shoggy beard, and shaggy uncombed 
 liair, but with blight blue eyes, which gave to his face a re- 
 maikablo look of sweetness. Ho was an uncouth man to the 
 eye, and yet a child would have trusted herself with him in a 
 forest. -^ 
 
 At this place they remained some two hours. Coffee was 
 prepared here, and Mrs. Arkwright refreshed herself and her 
 child. They washed and arranged their clothes, and when she 
 stepped down the steep bank, clinging to her husband's aiTn as 
 she mudc her way towards the boat, she smiled upon him as he 
 looked at her. 
 
 " it is all over now, — is it not, my girl ? " — ^ho said, encourag- 
 ing her. 
 
 ** Oh, Harry, do not talk about it,'* she answered, shuddering. 
 
 ** Ihit I M'ant you to say a word to me to lot me know that you 
 are better." 
 
 " I am better, — much better." 
 
 ** And you will see your mother again; will you not; and 
 give baby to her yourself? '* 
 
 To this she made no immediate answer, for she was on a level 
 with the river, and the canoe was close at her feet. And then 
 she had to bid farewell to her brother. Ho was now the unfor- 
 tunate one of the party, for his destiny required that ho should 
 go back to San Joso alone, — go back and remain there perhaps 
 some ten years longer before he might look for the happiness of 
 liome. 
 
 *' God bless you, dearest Abel," she said, kissing him and sob- 
 bing as she spoke. 
 
 ** Good-bye, Panny," he said, " and do not let them forget mo 
 in England. It is a great comfort to think that the worst of 
 your troubles are over." 
 
 " Oh, — she's all right now," said Arkwright. ** Good-bye, 
 old boy," — and the two brothers-in-law grasped each other's 
 hands heartily. "Keep up your spirits, and we'll have you 
 home before long." 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right," said the other. But from the tone of 
 the voices, it was clear that poor Eing waa despondent at tho 
 
316 TALES OP ALL OOUNTRIES. 
 
 thoughts of his coming solitude, and that Arkwright was already 
 triumphing in his emancipation. 
 
 And then, with mucli core, Fanny Arkwright was stovi-cd 
 oway in tlio boat. There was a great contest about the baby, 
 but at last it was arranged, that at any rate for the liiBt few hours 
 slio sluniM be ph\ced iu the boat with tlie servant. The mother 
 was told that by this phm she would feel herself at liberty to 
 Bleep during the heat of the day, and then fiho might hope to 
 liavo strength to look to the child when they should be on nhoro 
 during the night. In tliis way therefore they prepared to stint, 
 while Abel King stood on the bank looking at them with wishful 
 eyes. In tlie lirst boat were two Indians puddling, and a third 
 man steering with another paddle. In the middle there Was 
 n\ueh luggage, and near the luggage sous to be under shade, was 
 the baby's soli bed. If nothing evil luippened to the boat, tlio 
 child could not be more safe in the best cradle that was ever 
 rocked. "With lier was tike maid-ser^'out aad sonic stranger who 
 was also going down to Greytown. 
 
 In the second boat were the same number of men to paddle, 
 the Indian guide being one of them, and there were the mails 
 placed. Then there was a seat arranged with blankets, cloaks, 
 and cushions, for ^Frs. Arkwright, so that she migh*' lean back 
 and sleep without fatigue, and immediately opposite to her her 
 husband placed himself. " You all look veiy comfortable," said 
 poor Abel from the bank. 
 
 ♦* AVe shall do veiy well now," said Arkwright. 
 ** And I do think 1 shall see mamma again," said his wife. 
 '• That's right, old girl ; — of course you will see her. iN'ow 
 then, — we are all ready." And with some little assistance from 
 the Gernuin on the bank, the first boat was pushed off into tho 
 stream. 
 
 The river in this place is rai)id, because the full course of tlio 
 water is somewhat impeded by u bank of cai'th jutting out from 
 the opposite side of tho river into tho stream ; but it is not so 
 rapid as to make any recognised danger in the embarkation. 
 lielow this bank, which is opposite to the spot at wliich the boats 
 were entered, there were four or five broken trees in the water, 
 some of the shattered boughs of which showed themselves above 
 the surface. These are cidled snags, and are veiy dangerous if 
 they are met with in the course of the stream ; but in this 
 instance no danger was apprehended from them, as they lay con- 
 siderably to the left of the passage which the boats would take. 
 Tho first canoo was pushed olf by the Cienuan, and went rapidly 
 
 I 
 
KETURNINO HOME. 317 
 
 ftwny. The waters were stronp with rnin, nncl it was pretty to 
 Bco with what velocity the boat was carried on somo hundred of 
 yards in advance of the other by the force of the first effort of tho 
 piiddlc. Tho German, however, from ttio bank holloaed to tho 
 first men in Spanish, bidding them relax their efforts for a while ; 
 and then ho said a word or two of caution to those who were now 
 on the point of starting. 
 
 Tho boat then was pushed steadily forward, tho man at tho 
 stern keeping it with his paddlo a little farther away from tho 
 bank at which they had embarked. It was close under tho land 
 that the stream ran the fastest, and in obedience to tho directions 
 given to him ho made his course somewhat nearer to tho sunken 
 trees. It was but one turn of his liand that gavo tho light boat 
 its direction, but that turn of the hand was too strong. Had tho 
 anxious master of the canoes been but a thouglit less anxious, all 
 might have been well ; but, as it was, tho prow of the boat 
 was can gilt by somo slight hidden branch which impeded its 
 course and turned it round in tho rapid river. Tho whole length 
 of tho canoo was thus brought against tlio sunken tree, and in 
 half a niinuto the five occupants of tho boat were struggling in 
 the stream. 
 
 Abel King and the German were both standing on tho bank 
 close to the water when this happened, and each for a momtiut 
 looked into the other's face. *' IStand where you are," shouted 
 Ihe GeiTuan, ** so that you may assist them from the shore. I 
 will go in." And then, throwing from him his boots and coat, 
 he plunged into the river. 
 
 The canoe had been swept round so as to be brought by tho 
 force of the waters absolutely in among the upturned roots and 
 broken stumps of the trees which impeded the river, and thus, 
 when the party was upset, they were at first to be seen scram- 
 bling among the branches. I3ut unfortunately there was much 
 more wood below the water than above it, and the force of tlio 
 stream was so great, that those who caught hold of tho timber 
 were not able to support themselves by it above tho surface. 
 Arkwright was soon to bo seen somo forty yards down, having 
 been earned clear of tho trees, and hero ho got out of tho river 
 on the further bank. Tho distance to him was not above forty 
 yards, but from tho nature of tho ground he could not get up 
 towards his wife, unless he could have forced his way against the 
 stream. 
 
 The Indian who had had charge of the baby rose quickly to 
 tliO iurface, was carried once round in the eddy, with his head 
 
81S TALEfl OP ALL OOtTNTRlES. 
 
 high above the water, and then won scon to throw himself among 
 tho broken wood, llo hod soon tho drefia of Uio poor woman, and 
 mudo hi« effort to save her. Tho other two men wore bo caught 
 by tho frapnonts of tho boughn, tliat thoy could not cxtiicuto 
 themselves so as to make any exertions ; ultimately, however, 
 they also pot out on the further bank. 
 
 Mrs. Arkwright had sunk at once on being precipitated into 
 tho water, but the buoyancy of her clothes had brought her for 
 a moment again to tho surface. She hnd risen for a moment, 
 nnd then hiul ngnin gone down, immediately below tho forked 
 trunk of a }iugo tree ; — liiid gono down, uliin, aliiH 1 never to Hho 
 again with life within her bosom. Tho poor Indian modo two 
 attempts to save her, and then carao up himself, incapable of 
 further effort. 
 
 It was then that the German, the owner of the canoes, who had 
 fouglit his way with great efforts across the violence of the waters, 
 and indeed up against the stream for some few yards, made hid 
 eflbrt to save tho life of that poor friiil creature. Ifo had watched 
 the spot at whi«h aho had gono down, and even while struggliDg 
 across tho river, had seen how tho Indian hod followed lier and 
 liad failed. It was now his turn, lliw life was in his lumd, and 
 ho was prepared to throw it away in that attempt. Having suc- 
 ceeded in placing himself a little above tho lai'go tree, ho turned 
 liis face towards the bottom of the liver, and dived down among 
 tlio branches. And he also, after that, was never ngnin seen 
 with the life-blood flowing round his heai-t. 
 
 "NVlicn tho sun set that night, the two swollen corpses were 
 lying in the Commandant's hut, and Abel Ring and ArkwTight 
 were sitting beside them. Arkwright had his baby sleeping in 
 his arms, but he sat there for hours, — into the middle of tho long 
 night, — without speaking a word to any one. 
 
 "Harry," said his brother at last, *' come away and lay down. 
 It will be good for you to sleep." 
 
 *^ Kothing over will bo good again for me," said he. 
 
 ** You must bear up againct your sorrow as other men do," 
 Boid Ring. 
 
 " Why am I not sleeping with her as the poor German sleeps? 
 "Why did I let another man take my place in dying for her ? " 
 And then he walked away that the other might not see the tears 
 on his face. 
 
 It was a sad night, — that at the Conimandant^s hut, and a 
 sad morning followed upon it. It must bo remembered that they 
 had there none of those appurtenances which ai*e so necesAary to 
 
nETURNtNO HOMfl. $l9 
 
 xnalco woo decent and niisfortun* comfortable. They sat through 
 the night in the small hut, and in the moniing they came forth 
 with their clothes still wet and dirty, with their haggard faces, 
 and weary stiff limbs, encumbered with the horrid task of bury- 
 ing that loved body among the forest trees. And then, to keep 
 life in them till it was done, the brandy flask passed from hand 
 to hand ; and after that, with slow but resolute efforts, they 
 reformed the litter on which the living woman had been carried 
 thither, and took her body back to the wild plantation at Pad- 
 regal. There they dug for her her grave, and repeating over her 
 some portion of the service for the dead, left her to sleep tho 
 sleep of death. But before they left her, they erected a pal- 
 lisade of timber round the grave, so that tho beasts of tho forcbt 
 should not tear tho body from its resting-place. 
 
 "When that was done Arkwright and his brother made their 
 slow journey back to San Jose. The widowed husband could 
 not face his dnrling't mother with suck s Ule upon liit tongut 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 
 
 CiRCUMSTAi^cES took mo to the Holy Land without a companion, 
 and compelled mo to visit Bethany, the Mount of Olives, and tho 
 Church of the Sepulchre alone. I acknowledge myself to be a 
 gregarious animal, or, perhaps, rather one of those which nature 
 has intended to go in pairs. At any rate I dislike solitude, and 
 especially travelling solitude, and was, therefore, rather sad at 
 
 heart as I sat one night at Z 's hotel, in Jerusalem, thinking 
 
 over my proposed wanderings for the next few days. Early on 
 tho following morning I intended to start, of course on horse- 
 hack, for the Dead Sea, the banks of Jordan, Jericho, and those 
 mountaina of the wilderness through which it is supposed 
 that Our Saviour wandered for the forty days when tho devil 
 tempted him. I would then return to the Holy City, and 
 remaining only long enough to refresh my horse and wipe tho 
 dust from my hands and feet, I would start again for Jaffa, and 
 there catch a certain Austrian steamer which would take me to 
 Egypt. Such was my programme, and I confess that I wast 
 but ill contented with it, seeing that I was to be alone during 
 tho time. 
 
 I had already made all my arrangements, and though I had 
 no reason for any doubt as to my personal security during the 
 trip, I did not feel altogether satisfied with them. I intended 
 to take a French guide, or dragoman, who had been with me for 
 Bome days, and to put myself under the peculiar guardiansliip of 
 two Eedouin Arabs, who were to accompany me as long as I 
 should remain east of Jerusalera. This travelling through the 
 desert under the protection of Bedouins was, in idea, pleasant 
 enough ; and I must here declare that I did not at all bcgrudgo 
 the forty shillings which I was told by our British consul that I 
 must pay them for their trouble, in accordance with the esta- 
 blished taxifL But I did begrudge the fact of the tariff. I 
 
A HIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 3^1 
 
 woulA rather have fallen in with my fiiendly Arabs, as it were 
 by chance, and have rewarded their fidelity at the end of our 
 joint joumeyings by a donation of piastres to be settled by my- 
 self, and which, under such circumstances, would certainly have 
 been as agreeable to them as the stipulated sum. In the samo 
 way I dislike having waiters put down in my bill. I find that I 
 pay them twice over, and thus lose money ; and as they do not 
 expect to be so treated, I never have the advantage of their 
 civility. The world, I fear, is becoming too fond of tariffs. 
 
 **A tariff!" said I to the consul, feeling that the whole 
 romance of my expedition would be dissipated by such an 
 arrangement. "Then I'll go alone ; I'll take a revolver with me." 
 ''You can't do it, sir," said the consul, in a dry and some- 
 what angry tone. **You have no more right to ride through 
 that couutiy without paying the regular price for protection, 
 
 than you have to stop in Z 's hotel without settling the 
 
 bill." 
 
 I could not contest the point, so I ordered my Bedouins for 
 the appointed day, exactly as I would send for a ticket-porter at 
 home, and determined to make the best of it. The wild un- 
 limited sands, the desolation of the Dead Sea, the rushing waters 
 of Jordan, the outlines of the mountains of Moab ; — those things 
 the consular tariff could not alter, nor deprive them of the 
 glories of their association. 
 
 I had submitted, and the arrangements had been made. 
 Joseph, my dragoman, was to come to me with the horses and 
 an Arab groom at five in the morning, and we were to encounter 
 our Bedouins outside the gate of St. Stephen, down the hill, 
 where the road turns, close to the tomb of the Virgin. 
 
 I was sitting alone in the public room at the hotel, filling my 
 fla.sk with brandy, — for matters of primary importance I never 
 leave to sen-ant, dragoman, or guide, — when the waiter entered, 
 and said that a gentleman wished to speak with me. The gen- 
 tleman had not sent in his card or name ; but any gentleman 
 was welcome to me in my solitude, and I requested that the 
 gentleman might enter. In appearance the gentleman certainly 
 was a gentleman, for I thought that I had never before seen a 
 young man whose looks were more in his favour, or whose face 
 end gait and outward bearing seemed to betoken better breeding. 
 I He might be some twenty or twenty-one years of age, was slight 
 t and well made, with very black hair, which he wore rather long, 
 i^j very dark long bright eyes, a straight nose, and teeth that were 
 |i) perfectly white. He was dressed throughout i& grci^ tweed 
 
iH^ TALES or ALL OOUNTRtDS. 
 
 clothing, having coat, waistcoat, and trousore of tlio same ; and 
 in his hand lio carried a Tcry broad-brimmed Btraw hat. 
 
 '• ^Ir. JoncB, I believe," he said, us lie bowed to me. Jones i| 
 H pood travelling name, and, if the reader will allow me, I wil* 
 call myself Jones on the present occasion. 
 
 ** Yes," I sirid, pausing with the bmndy-bottlo in one hand, 
 and the flask in the other. ** That'8 my name ; I'm Jones. Can 
 I do anything for you, bir ? " 
 
 ** AVhy, yes, you can," said ht. **3J^y name is Smith, — Jolm 
 Smith." 
 
 'Tray sit down, Mr. Smith," I si'id, pointing to a cliair. 
 *' Will you do anything in this way ? " ond I proi)osed to hand 
 iho bottle to him. ** As far as I can judge from a shoi-t stay, 
 you won't find much like that in Jerusalem." 
 
 lie declined the Cognac, however, and immediately began liis 
 story. ** I hear, Mr. Jones," said he, "that you aro going to 
 !Moab to-morrow." 
 
 " Well," I replied, *' I don't know whether I shall cross the 
 water. It's not veiy easy, I take it, at all times ; but I shall 
 ceiiainly get as iiir as Jordan. Can I do anything for you in 
 those parts ? " 
 
 And then he explained to nie what was the object of his visit. 
 Ho was quite alone in Jerusalem, as I was myself, and was stay* 
 
 ing at H 's hotel. He had heard that I was starting for tho 
 
 Dead Sea, and had called to ask if I objected to his joining me. 
 He had found himself, he said, very lonely ; and as ho had heard 
 that I also was alone, ho had ventured to cidl and make his pro- 
 position. He seemed to bo very bashful, and half ashamed of 
 what he was doing ; and when ho had done speaking he declared 
 himself conscious that he was intruding, and expressed a hope 
 that I would not hesitate to say so if his suggestion were from 
 any cause disagreeable to me. 
 
 As a rule I am rather shy of chtmco travelling English friends 
 It has BO frequently hapi)ened to me that I have had to blush for 
 the acciuaintances whom I have selected, that I seldom indulge in 
 any close intunacies of this kind. But, nevertheless, I was taken 
 with John Smith, in spite of his name. There was so much 
 about him that was pleasant, both to the eye and to tho undtr- 
 Btanding! One meets constantly with men from contact witli 
 whom one revolts without knowing the cause of such dislike. 
 The cut of their beard is displeasing, or the mode in which they 
 walk or speak, liut, on the other hand, there are nun who arc 
 Atti-activei und I must confess that I was attracted by Joha 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINl 323 
 
 Smitli at first Biglit. I hesitated, however, for a minute ; for 
 there arc eundry things of whicli it behoves a traveller to think 
 before he can join a companion for such a journey as that which 
 I was about to make. Could the young man rise early, and 
 remain in the saddle for ten hours together ? Could ho live upon 
 hard-boiled eggs and brandy-and- water ? Could ho tiike his 
 chance of a tent under which to sleep, and make himself happy 
 with the bare fact of being in the deseii ? lie saw my hesitation, 
 and attributed it to a cause which was not present in my mind 
 at the moment, though the subject was one of the greatest import- 
 ance when strangers consent to join themselves together for a time, 
 and agree to become no strangers on the spur of the moment. 
 
 ** Of course I will take half the expense," said he, absolutely 
 blusliing as he mentioned the matter. 
 
 "As to that there will bo very little. You have your own 
 horse, of course ?" 
 
 «* Oh, yes." 
 
 ** My dragoman and groom-boy will do for both. But you*ll 
 have to pay forty sh ill in. '<s to tho Arabs! There's no gc'ttin(? 
 over tlmt. The consul won't even look alter your dead body, if 
 you get murdered, without going through that ceremony." 
 
 Mr. Smith immediately produced his purse, which he tendered 
 to nie. ** If you will manage it all," said he, ** it will make it 
 BO much the easier, and 1 shall bo iiilinitely obliged to you.'* 
 This of course I declined to do. I had no business with his purse, 
 and explained to him that if wo went together we could settle 
 that on our return to Jerusalem. **Eut could ho go through 
 really hard work ? " I asked, lie answered me with an assurance 
 that he would and could do anything in that way that it was 
 possible for man to perform. As for eating and diinking he cared 
 nothing about it, and would undeilakc to be astir at any hour of 
 the morning that might be named. As for sleeping accommoda- 
 tion, he did not care if he kept his clothes on for a week together, 
 lie looked slight and weak ; but he spoke so well, and that with- 
 out boasting, that I ultimately agi'ccd to his proposal, and in a 
 
 few minutes he took his leave of me, promising to be at Z 's 
 
 door with his horse at five o'clock on the following morning. 
 
 *' I winh you'd allow mo to luuvo niy pui-HO with you," liu »uid 
 again. 
 
 " I cannot think of it. There is no possible occasion for it," 
 I said again. ** If there is anything to pay, I'll ask you for it 
 when tho journey is over. That forty shillings you must fork 
 out IVg a law of tho Modes and Persians." 
 
 y3 
 
32dt TALr.S OP ML COTmTMBS. 
 
 *• rd bolter g:lTo it you ut onco," ho wiM ngnin, ofTorinp: m© 
 money. IJut 1 would not hnvo it. It would bo quito time 
 i'TiouKh forthnt when tlio Aridm woro Icuviiif; us. 
 
 •' iU'Ciiuw," )\o uddi'd, ••HtmngiTu, 1 know, nro BomifHmrs 
 BUBpiriotiH (ibout mon(>y ; nnd I would not, for worlds, hiivo you 
 tbink tbat I would ]>ut you to cxpi-nRo." 1 iiHHurod liim tltut 1 
 did not think ho, iind thin iho nubjrct wan dropped. 
 
 ilo wiiH, ut any rato, uj)to birt tnno, lorwlicn 1 came down on 
 tbo following nionnnf; I lound liini in tlu^ narrow Htrcct, tbo llrnt 
 on lu)r»i'back. Jompb, ibo Fn-nclunan, waH Htrappinj? on to a 
 ^^u^b ])ony our bi'lonKiiiKH, and was Hlarin^ at Mr. Sniitb. My 
 ni'W i'rirnd, unloiitinatcly, roubl not Ppcak a word of Fn'ticli, 
 and tlu'rrforo 1 bad to oxpbiin to tlio dragoman liow it bad conio 
 to ]mHH that our ]Mirty was to bo cnhirgcd. 
 
 •' Hut tho IJcdiMiiuM will expect full ]Miy for botb," nald bo, 
 abirnird. ^len in tliul cIiims, and I'Mpccially Orienlidn, alwayn 
 think that every arrun^enienl of life, let it bu nnubi in what way 
 it will, iw nuido witb the inlciilion of Havinf; hoimo expejiw, or 
 clieatin^^ Honu-body out of Honu) nioiu^y. They do not underMtand 
 that men can liavo any other o]>je<t, and aro ever on their gtnud 
 but tlie Having sliouhf b(^ inado ut their cost, or lent they Hhould 
 bo tlie vietinm of the fraud. 
 ^'AllriKbt," wiid 1. 
 
 " 1 Nball bo reniJonHible, ^loUHieur," said tlio dragonuin, 
 piteounly. 
 
 *• It hIuiU bo all rigbt," wald I, again. '* If tbat does wot 
 Hatisfy yt>u, you nuiy renudn bel»ind." 
 
 *' If ^louHieur navH it i» all right, of eourso it in m ; " nnd 
 then bo eompleted biH wtrapping. Wo took blanketw witb uh, of 
 wbieb I bad to borrow two out of tbo liotel for my friend Smith, 
 a 8nudl bauiper of proviHionn, a muk eonlaining forage for tbo 
 horses, and a largo enipty jar, ho that wo might supply ourselves 
 witb water >vheu leaving tlio neighbourhood of well« for any 
 considerable tinu\ 
 
 •♦ I ought to have brougbttboao things for mywdf," 8aid Smith, 
 qtiite tmbappy atlinding tbat ho bad thrown on me the neressity 
 of cati>ring for him. Ihit 1 laughed at bim. Baying that it waf 
 nothing ; he should do as mueb for me another tinu\ 1 am ])re- 
 pared to own tbat 1 do not willingly rush up-stairs and load 
 myself willi blankets out of strange rooms for men whom 1 do 
 not know ; nor, as a rule, do 1 nudce all the Smiths of the world 
 free of my canteen. Ibit, witb reference to this fellow I did feel 
 moro tliuu ordinarily good-nuturod and unscltisb. Thoro wu» 
 
A IlIDR ACllOflS PALKSTINK. 825 
 
 ftonKlhinp in tlio tnnn of lii« voi'rn wliirli \vm mMacinry ; nnfl I 
 Bhould iviiUy )i(ivo lolt vc^xcd Iwul iinyihing occurnd at tho lant 
 nioniriil, to iMTVcni Iuh K'»'"^C ^vith m(\ 
 
 JiCl it 1)0 11 rulo M'illi ovfiy iimu to carry nn Kn^;liHli muldlo 
 Avitli luiii ^vlH•n tnivcUin^ in 1)i(5 Kast. Of what inatcrial is 
 formed tlio iictlu'r iiuiii of u Turk I liavo never bcrii inforuKMl, 
 but 1 am Hure that it in not llenh and Mood. No jIchIi and Mood, 
 — Hiiujdy llesli utal Mood, — eonld "NV'itlistand tlio wear and tear of 
 a Tinkisli Haddle. This heinp; tljo eaHo, and tin? eonMecjuenceM 
 ])ein;; well known to me, 1 wan j;rieved to find that Smith wan 
 not ])roi)erly provided, lie waH Heated on one of t'nose hard, red, 
 lii;,di-i)ointed nuuhineM, in whieh the whovelH intended to aet U4 
 utirrnpH are attached in Hueh u manner, and lianpf ut Hur.h an 
 an(;]e, um to ho almolut<'ly deHtrnctivo to the le^ of a ('hiiHtian. 
 There is no ])art of the (JhriHtian body with which the Turkinh 
 Haddlo romcH in eontact that does not heeomo more or Ichh nuieo- 
 rated. J have Hiit in onu for days, ])»it 1 left it u tiayed nwin ; 
 und, therefore, 1 was Ho?Ty for Smith. 
 
 1 explained this io liim, takin;; hold of his lepj by the calf to 
 bIiow how the leather would chaf(^ him ; but it Hccimed to mo 
 that \n) did not ([uito like my interference?. <' Never mind," Hai(l 
 lie, twitching his lej? away, ** 1 have lidden in this way beforo." 
 
 " 'i'hen you must have suffered tin; verj* mischief?" 
 
 "Only (I litth?, und I Hhall bo used U) it now. You will not 
 bear me eonjplain." 
 
 "Hy heavens, you might have beard mo complain a mile off 
 when I came to the end of ji jouniey 1 onco took. I roared liko 
 a bull when I began to cool. Joseph, could you not get tt 
 Kuropean naddlo for ^Ir. Smith? " ]Jut Joseph did not ncian to 
 like Mr. Smith, und'deelared Huvh a thing to bo impoHsiblo. No 
 Kuropean in Jerusalem would think of lending so preciouB an 
 ailicle, except to a very dear fnend. Joseph himself was on an 
 Knglish saddle, und I made up my mind that aftx.T the first stage, 
 wo would bribe liim to make an exchange. And then wo 8tarU;d. 
 The JJedouins were not with us, but we were to meet them, us I 
 have said before, outside St. Stephen's gate. " And if they arc 
 not there," said Josc^pli, ** wo shall bo euro to como across them 
 on the road." 
 
 *• Not there ! " said I. " How about tho consuVs tariff, if thoy 
 don't keep their part of tho engagement ? " Uut Joseph explained 
 to me that their part of the engagement really amounted to this,— 
 that wo should rido into their country without moloBtatioUi pro* 
 Tided that such aod euch payments were mode. 
 
826 TALES or ALL COTJirTRlES. 
 
 It Wfts the period of Easter, nnd Jerusalem was f\ill of pilgrimi. 
 Even at thnt onrly hour of the mominj* wo could hardly mako 
 our woy through \\\o narrow Btrrctw. It must bo understood that 
 there is no accommodation in the town for the fourteen or fifteen 
 thoii«<and stranpors wlio flork to the Holy Sepulchre nt this period 
 of the year. Many of them plerp out in the open air, lying on 
 low benrhes whicli run along the outside walls of the liouscs, or 
 even on tlio ground, wrapped in their thirk hoods jmd clonks. 
 81umberer8 such as these arc cosily di«t\irbcd, nor are they 
 detained h>ng at their toilets. They Mliake tliem^elves lilce dogs, 
 and growl and stretch tliemselves, and tlien they arc ready lor 
 the day. 
 
 \Vc rode out of the town in a long file. First went the groom- 
 hoy ; I forgc^t his proper Rvrian app(>liation, but we used to call 
 him Mueheiry, that sound being in Pomo sort like the name. 
 Tlicn followecl the horse with tlie forage and blankets, and next 
 to him my friend Smith in the Turkish saddle. I was behind 
 him, and Joseph brouglit up the rear. "NVe moved slowly down 
 tlie Via Dolorosa, noting the spot at which our Saviour is said to 
 have faHen while bearing his cross ; we paf<5!ed by Tihite's house, 
 and paused at the gate of the Temple, — the gate which once was 
 beautiful, — looking down into the hole of the pool in which tho 
 maimed and hidt were healed whenever the waters moved. AVhat 
 names they are ! And yet there at Jenisalem they are bandied 
 to and fro with as little reverence as are the fanciful appellations 
 given by guides to rocks and stones and little lakes in all countries 
 uverrun by tourists. 
 
 "For thoi'c who would still fain believe, — let them stay at 
 liome," said my friend Smith. 
 
 "For those who cannot divide tho wheat from tho chaff, let 
 fhem stay at home," I answered. And then we rode out through 
 St. Stephen's gate, having the mountain of the men of Galileo 
 directly before us, and the Mount of Olives a little to our right, 
 and the Valley of Jehoshaphat lying between us and it. " Of 
 course you know rU these places now ? " said Smith. I answered 
 that I did know them well. 
 
 "And was it not better for you when you knew them only 
 in Holy Writ?" he osked. 
 
 "No, by Jove," said I. "The mountains stand where they 
 ever stood. The same valleys are still green with the morning 
 dew, and the water-courses arc unchanged. The children of 
 Mahomet may build their tawdiy temple on the threshing-floor 
 which David bought that there might stand the Lord's house. 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 827 
 
 ^fan may undo what man did, even tlioiifrh the doer was Solomon. 
 Ihit licrc wc litivc God's hondiwork and Ilia own evidences." 
 
 At tlie bottom of the sleep descent from tlio city gate we camo 
 to tlie tomh of tljc Virgin ; and hy special agreement made M'ith 
 Josepli wo k^ft our liorscs liere for n few moments, in order tliat 
 we might descend into the H\i])teiTanean chapel under tlie tomb, 
 in which mass was at tliis moment being said. Tliero is somc- 
 lliirg awAil in that ehaptd, wlien, as at tlio present moment, it is 
 crowded with Eastern worsliippers from tlio very altar np to the 
 top of the dark steps hy which the descent is made. It must ho 
 remembered that Kastem worshippers are not like the ehurch- 
 po(>rs of London, or even of Kome or (.'ologne. They arc wild 
 men of vanous nations and races, — !Maroiiites from Lebanon, 
 ]{oumelians, Candiotes, Copts fiom Upper Kgypt, Knssians from 
 the Crimea, Arm<"nians and Abyssinians. They savour strongly 
 of Oriental life and of Oriental dirt. They arc chid in skins or 
 hair)' cloaks with huge hoods. Their heads are shaved, and 
 their faces covered with short, grisly, fierce beards. Th(>y arc 
 pilent mostly, looking out of their eyes ferociously, as though 
 murder were in their thouglits, and rapine. Ihit they never 
 f»louch, or cringe in their bodies, or shuffle in their gait. Dirty, 
 fieree-looking, uncouth, repellent as they are, there is always 
 about them a something of personal dignity which is not compa- 
 tible with an Englishman's ordinaiy hat and pantaloons. 
 
 As we were about to descend, preparing to make our way 
 through the crowd, Smith took hold of my arm. "That will 
 never do, my dear fellow," said I, ** the job will bo tough enough 
 for a single file, but wc should never cut our way two and two. 
 I'm broad- shouhhTcd and will go first.'* So I did, and gradually 
 wc worked our way»into the body of tho chapel. How is it that 
 EnglishuK^n can push themselves anywhere ? These men were 
 fierce-looking, and had murder and rapine, as I have said, almost 
 in their eyes. One would have supposed that they were not 
 lambs or doves, capable of being thrust hero or there without 
 anger on their part ; and they, too, were all anxious to descend 
 and approach the altar. Yet we did win our way through them, 
 and apparently no man was angry with us. I doubt, after all, 
 whether a ferocious eye and a strong smell and dirt are so effica- 
 cious in creating awo and obedience in others, as an open brow 
 and traces of soap and water. I know this, at least, — ^that a 
 dirty ^taronito would make very little progress, if he attempted 
 to shove his way unfairly through a crowd of Englishmen at tho 
 door of a London theatre. We did shore unfairly, and we did 
 
328 TALKS OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 mako proprress, till we found ourselves in the centre of the dense 
 crowd collected in the body of the chapel. 
 
 Having pot so fur, our next object was to pet out ogain. The 
 place WttB dark, mysterious, and full of strango mlours ; but dark- 
 ness, mystery, and etranpo odours soon loso their charms when 
 m(»n have much work before tlicm. Josoph had made a point of 
 ))ouig allowed to attend mass before the altar of the Virgin, but 
 ft very fow minutes sufTloed for liis prayers. So wo again turned 
 routul and pushed our way back again, Smitli still following in 
 my wako. llie men who had let us ])ass once let us pass again 
 without opposition or show of auger. To them tlio occasion was 
 very holy. Tliey wero stretching out their hands in every direr- 
 tiou, with long tapers, in oixler that they might obtain a spark 
 of tlio sacred lire which was burning on one of the altars. An 
 we made our way out wo passed many who, witli dumb motions, 
 begged us to assist tliem in their object. And we did assist them, 
 pelting lights lor tlu'ir tapers, handing them to and IVo, and 
 using the aulhorily with which wu seemed to bo invested. Jhit 
 Smitii, 1 obsi>rved, was much moro courteous in this way to the 
 women than to tlio men, as I did not forget to remind him when 
 wo wero aftt>r\vard8 on our road together. 
 
 Remounting our horses wo r«do slowly up the winding osoent 
 of the Blount of Olives, turning round at the brow of the hill to 
 look back over Jerustdem. {Sonu'tinu^s I thinlc that of all spots 
 in the world thia one should bo the spot^most cheiished in the 
 memory of Christians. It was there that Ho stood when Ho 
 wept^over the city. So much wo do know, though we are 
 ignorant, and ever shall bo so, of the site of His cross and of the 
 tomb. And then we descended on tho eastern side of the hill, 
 passing through Bethany, the town of Lazarus nnd his sisters, 
 and turned our faces steadily towards tho mountains of Moab. 
 
 Hitlkerto we had met no Ik'douins, and I interrogated my 
 dragonum about them moro than once ; but ho always told mo 
 that it did not signify ; wo should meet them, he said, before 
 liny danger could arise. "As for danger," said I, ** I think 
 moi-o of this than I do of tho Arabs," and I put my hand on my 
 revolver. ** But as they agreed to bo here, here they ought to 
 be. Don't you carry a revolver. Smith ? " 
 
 Smith said that ho never had done so, but that ho would tuko 
 the charge of mine if I liked. To this, however, I demurred. " I 
 never part with my pistol to any one," I said, rather (b'ily. But 
 ho explained that he only intended to signify that if there wero 
 danger to bo encountered, he would bo glad to encounter it ; and 
 
▲ HIDE AOKOSS PALESTINE. 329 
 
 I fully believed liim. ""Wo flhan*t Imvo much figlitiug,*' I ro- 
 
 {)Hc(l ; *'but if tliero \h\ any, tho tool will como roudicst to tho 
 land of its muster. liut if you mean to remain liero long 1 
 would adviwo you to get ono. Tlieno Orientals arc u people with 
 whom ajjpearances go a long way, and, as u rule, lew and 
 respect mean tlio same thing with them. A pistol hanging over 
 your loins is no great trouble to you, and looks as thougli you 
 could bite. Many a dog goes through tho world well by merely 
 showing his teeth." 
 
 And then my companion began to talk of himself. " IIo did 
 not," lie said, "mean to remain in Syria very long." 
 
 "JNor I eith(}r," said I. ** I havo done with tliis part of tho 
 world for the present, and shall take tho next Bt<Mimor from Jaffa 
 for Alexandria. I shall only have ono night in Jerusalem on 
 my return," 
 
 Alter this ho remained silent for a few moments and then de- 
 clared that that also had been his intention. Ho was almost 
 asliamed to say so, however, beca\iso it looked as though ho had 
 resolved to hook himself on to mo. So ho answered, expressing 
 almost regret at tho circumstanco. 
 
 "Don't let that trouble you," said I ; ''I shall bo delighted to 
 have your company. When you know mo Ix^tter, as I hope you 
 will do, you will lind that if such wero not tho case I should U^U 
 you so as frankly. I shall remain in Cairo some little time ; so 
 tliat beyond our arrival in Kgypt, I can answer for nothing." 
 
 He said that ho cxpecUid letters at Alexandria which would 
 govern his future movements. I thought ho seenuKl sad as ho 
 said so, and imagined, from his manner, that he did not expect 
 very happy tidings. Indeed I had made up my mind that ho 
 was by no means free from caro or sorrow. Ho had not tho air of 
 a man who could say of himself that ho was " totus teres atquo 
 rotundus." But I had no wish to inquire, and tho matter would 
 havo dropped had ho not liimself added — "I fear that I shall 
 meet acquaintances in Egypt whom it will give mc no pleasuro 
 to sec." 
 
 "Then," said I, "if I were you, I would go to Constanti- 
 nople instead ; — indeed, anywhere rather than fall among friends 
 who are not Inendly. And the nearer the friend is, the more 
 ono feels that sort of thing. To my way of thinking, there is 
 nothing on earth so pleasant as a pleasant wife ; but then, what 
 is there so damnable as one that is unpleasant ?" 
 
 "Are you a married man?" he inquired. All his questions 
 were put in a low tone of voice which seemed to give to them on 
 
880 TATiTO Of ALL OOUJTTnnSS. 
 
 air of special intcregt, ond made one almost feel that they were 
 OBked with Bomo special view to ono*8 individual wcll'uro. Now 
 tlio fact in, that I om a married man with a family ; hat I am 
 not murh piven to talk to ptranperR ahoiit my domcHtic concerns, 
 rind, therelbre, thon^h I Imd no particular ohject in view, 1 
 drnicd my ohlip;ntion« in this renpect. "No," wild I ; '•! htivo 
 not eomo to that promotion yit. I am too frequ(;ntly on tlio 
 move to write myself down as ratorfamilins." 
 
 "Then you know nothing about that pleasantness of which 
 you spoke just now ? " 
 
 " Nor of the unpleasantness, thank Go<l ; my personal cxpcri- 
 CTicoH are all to come, — as also aro yours, I presume ? " 
 
 It was pohhUjIo that l>o had hampered liimHcli' with some 
 woman, and that she was to meet him at Alexandria. Toot 
 follow ! thought I. But his unhappincss was not of that kind. 
 **No," said he; "I am not manicd; I am all alone in tho 
 world." 
 
 "Then I certainly would not oUow myself to bo troubled by 
 unpleasant acquaint ances." 
 
 It was now four liours since we had left Jcnisalem, ond we 
 had arrived Jit the place at Nvhich it was proposed that we should 
 breakfast. There was a large well there, and shade af lorded by 
 A rock under which the water sprung ; and tho Arabs had con- 
 utructed a tank out of which the horses could drink, so thnt tho 
 plani was ordiniuily known as tho first stupe out of Jerusalem. 
 
 Smith liad said not a word about his saddle, or complained in 
 nny way of discomfort, so that 1 had in tnith forgotten tlu^ sub- 
 ject, Other matters had continually presented tliemselvos, and 
 1 had n(>ver even asked him liow ho had fared. 1 now jumped 
 from my horse, but I perceived at once that ho was unable to do 
 BO. He smiled faintly, as his eye caught mine, but I knew that 
 he wanted assistance. "Ah," said I, "that confounded Turkish 
 saddle has already galled your skin. I sec how it is ; I shall 
 have to doctor you with a little brandy, — externally applied, my 
 friend." But I lent him my shoidder, and with that assistance 
 lie got down, veiy gently and slowly. 
 
 AVc ate our breakfast with a good will ; bread and cold fowl 
 and brandy-and-water, witli a hard-boiled egg by way of a 
 final delicacy ; and then I began to bargain with Joseph for the 
 lotm of his English paddle. I saw that Smith could not get 
 through the journey with that monstrous Turkish affair, and 
 that he would go on M'ithout complaining till he fainted or camo 
 to some other eigual giief. But the Frenchman, seeing tlio 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 831 
 
 plight in "which we were, was disposed to drive n Tcry hard 
 hargain. He wanted forty shillings, the price of a pair of live 
 liedouins, for the accommodation, and declared that, even then, 
 he should make the sacrifice only out of consideration to me. 
 
 <<Very well," said I. "I'm tolerably tough myself, and I'll 
 change with the gentleman. The chances are that I shall not bo 
 in a very liberal humour when I reach Jaffa with stiff limbs and 
 a sore skin. I have a very good memory, Joseph." 
 
 " I'll take thirty shillings, Mr. Jones; though I shall have to 
 groan all the way like a condemned devil." 
 
 I struck a bargain with him at last for five-and- twenty, and 
 set liim to work to make the necessary change on the horses. 
 " It will be just the same thing to him," I said to Smith. " I 
 find that he is as much used to one as to the other. 
 
 "But how much money are you to pay him?" ho asked. 
 " Oh, notliing," I replied. " Give him a few piastres when 
 you part with him at Jaffa." I do not know why I should havo 
 felt thus inclined to pay money out of my pocket for this Smith, 
 — a man whom I had only seen for the first time on the pre- 
 ceding evening, and whose temperament was so essentioUy dif- 
 ferent from my own ; but so I did. I would have done almost 
 anything in reason for his comfort ; and yet he was a melancholy 
 fellow, with good inward pluck as I believed, but without that 
 outward show of dash and hardihood which I confess I love to 
 see. " Pray tell him that I'll pay him for it," said he. " We'll 
 make that all right," I answered; and then wo remounted,- - 
 not without some difficulty on his part. " You should have let 
 me rub in that brandy," I said. " You can't conceive how 
 efficaciously I would have done it." But he made me no 
 answer. 
 
 At noon wo met a caravan of pilgrims coming up from Jordan. 
 There might be some three or four hundred, but the number 
 seemed to be treble that, from the loose and straggling line in 
 which they journeyed. It was a very singular sight, as they 
 moved slowly along the narrow path through the sand, coming 
 out of a defile among the hills, which was perhaps a quarter of a 
 mile in front of us, passing us as we stood still by the wayside, and 
 then winding again out of sight on the track over which wo had 
 come. Some rode on camels, — a whole family, in many cases, 
 being perched on the same animal. I observed a very old man 
 and a very old woman slung in panniers over a camel's back, — 
 not such panniers as might be befitting such a purpose, but 
 8<^uare baskct8| so that tho heads and heels of each of tiie old 
 
832 tALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 couplo hunp out of the rear and front. " Surely tho jonrnoy 
 •will bo their death," I said to Joseph. "Yes it vrill," ho 
 replied, quite coolly ; " but whnt matter how soon they die now 
 t'liiit they liavo bathed in Jonlan ?" Very many rodo on donkeys; 
 two, pencrally, on each donkey ; others, who had command of 
 money, on horses ; but the preater number walked, toiling pain- 
 iuUy iVom JcruHulem to Jericho on the lirBt day, slcepinp there 
 in tents and poinp to bathe on the second day, and then returning 
 from Jeiicho to Jerusalem on the third. The pilpiimape is made 
 throughout in acconlanco with fixed rules, and there is a tarilf 
 for tho tent accommodation at Jericho, — so much per head per 
 night, including tho use of hot water. 
 
 fc)timding there, close by tho wayside, we could Bce not only 
 tho garments and faces of these strange people, b\it wo could 
 watch their gestures and form some opinion of what was going 
 on within their thoughts. Tliey were much quieter, — tamer, as 
 it were, — than Englishmen would be under such circuniHtunces. 
 Those who were carried seemed to sit on their beantH in passive 
 tranquillity, neither enjoying nor sullering anything. Their 
 object had been to wasli in Jordan, — to do that onco in their 
 lives ; — and they had washed in Jordan. Tho benefit expected 
 was not to bo imnu'diately spiritual. No earnest prayerfulness 
 was considered nec(.'ssary after tho ceremony. To these members 
 of the (Ireek Chnsiian Church it liad been handed down from 
 father to son that washing in Jordan ('nco during life was efllca- 
 cious towards salvation. And therefore tho journey had been mado 
 nt terrible cost and temble risk ; for these people had come fiom 
 nfar, and were from their habits but littlo capable of long jour- 
 neys, ^fany die under tho toil ; but this matters not if tiiey do 
 not dio before they have reached Jordan. Homo few there are, 
 undoubtedly, more ecstatic in this great deed of their religion. 
 One num I especially noticed on this day. lie had bound him- 
 self to nudio tho pilgrimage from Jerusalem to tho river with ono 
 foot bare. IIo was of a better class, and was even nobly dressed, 
 as though it were a part of his vow to show to all men that ho 
 did this deed, wealthy and great though ho was. llo was a fine 
 man, perhaps thirty years of ago, with a well-grown beard descend- 
 ing on his breast, and at his girdle ho carried a brace of pistols. 
 Ihit never in my life had I seen bodily pain so plainly written 
 in a mim's face. The sweat was falling from his brow, and his 
 eyes were strained and bloodshot with agony. He liad no stick, 
 his vow, 1 presume, debariing liim from such assistance, and ho 
 limped along, putting to the ^ound the heel of tho unprotected 
 
A HIDE ACROSS PALESTII^fi. 83S 
 
 foot. I could fioo it, nnd it wns a nifi8S of blood, and sores, and 
 liiokcn Hkiii. An It'ihIi j;iil would walk from JcruBnlem to 
 Jciiclio "without hIiocr, and bo not a penny the woihc for it. Thia 
 poor fellow elearly Hulfered ho much that I was almost inclined 
 to think that in tho perConnimeo of his p(>nanco ho had done 
 Honielhin^ to aj^gravato bin pain. Those around him paid no 
 attention to him, and tlu^ dragoman seemed to think nothin}^ of 
 tlie all'air whatever. ** Those i'ools of Greeks do not understand 
 ilie (,'hri.stiau religion," bo suid, being himself a Latin or llomun 
 Catholic. 
 
 At tho tail of the lino wo encountered two JJedouins, who 
 were in charge of tho caravan, and Joseph at onco addressed 
 them. The men were mounted, ono on u very sorry-looking 
 jade, but the other on a good stout Arab barb. They had guns 
 slung behind their backs, <;oloure<l handkerchiefs on their heads, 
 and they wore the striped ])ernou8e. Tho pailey went on for 
 about ten minutes, during which tho procession of pilgrims 
 wound out of sight ; and it ended in our being accompanied by 
 the two Arabs, who thus left their greater charge to take caro of 
 itself back to the city. I understood afterwards that they had 
 endeavoured to persuado Joseph that wo might just as well go 
 on alone, nu-rely satisfying tho demand of tho tariif. ]Uit ho had 
 pointed out that I was a particular man, and that under such 
 circumstances the fimd settlement might bo doubtful. So they 
 turned and accompanied ns ; but, as u matter of fact, wo should 
 luivo been as well without tliem. 
 
 The sun was beginning to fall i<itho heavens when we readied 
 the act\ial margin of tho Dead Sea. "Wo had seen tho glitter of 
 its still waters for a long time previously, shining under the sun 
 as though it were not real. AVo have often heard, and some of 
 us have seen, how effects of light and shade together will pro- 
 duce 80 vivid an appearance of water where there is no water, 
 as to deceive tho most experienced. But tho reverse was tho 
 case here. There was tho lake, and there it had been before our 
 eyes for the last two hours ; and yet it looked, then and now, a« 
 though it were an imago of a lake, and not real water. I had 
 long since made up my mind to bathe in it, feeling well con- 
 vinced that I could do bo without harm to myself, and I Imd 
 been endeavouring to persuado Smith to accompany me ; but lio 
 positively refused. IIo would bathe, ho said, neither in the 
 i)ead Sea nor in the river Jordan. IIo did not like bathing, and 
 preferred to do his washing in his own room. Of course I had 
 nothing further to say, and begged that, under thcso circum- 
 
884 tAtSS 0^ ALL COtTNTRIEa. 
 
 Btancea, lie would take charge of my purse and pistola wliile t 
 was in the water. This he agreed to do • but even in this ho 
 was strange and almost uncivil. I was to bathe from the far- 
 thest point of a little island, into which there was a rough 
 causeway from the land made of stones and broken pieces of 
 wood, and I exhorted him to go with me thither ; but he in- 
 sisted on remaining with his horse on the mainland at some 
 little distance from the island. Ho did not feel inclined to go 
 do^v^l to the water's edge, he said. 
 
 I confess that at this moment I almost suspected that he was 
 going to play mo foul, and I hesitated. He saw in an instant what 
 was passing through my mind. •' You had better take your pistol 
 and money with you ; they will be quite safe on your clothes.'* 
 Lut to have kept the things now would have shown suspicion too 
 plainly, and as I could not bring myself to do that, I gave them 
 up. I have sometimes thought that I was a fool to do so. 
 
 I went away by myself to the end of the island, and then I 
 did bathe. It is impossible to conceive anything more desolate 
 than the appeai'ance of the place. The land shelves vciy gi*a- 
 dually away to the water, and the whole margin, to the breadth 
 of some twenty or tliirty feet, is strewn with the debris of 
 rushes, bits of timber, and old white withered reeds. Whence 
 these bits of timber have come it seems difficult to say. The 
 appeoi-ancc is as though the water had receded and left them 
 there. I have heard it said that there is no vegetation near the 
 Dead Sea ; but such is not the case, for these rushes do grow on 
 the bank. I found it difficult enough to get into the water, for 
 the ground shelves doTrn very slowly, and is rough with stones 
 and large pieces of half-rotten wood ; moveover, when I was in 
 nearly up to my hip?, the water knocked me down ; indeed, it did 
 60 when I had gono us foi- as my knees, but I recovered myself, 
 and by perseveran-jo did proceed somewhat farther. It must not 
 be imagined that ilda knocking do^vn was eflfected by the move- 
 ment of the watc^. There is no such movement. Eveiy thing is 
 perfectly still, and the Huid seems hardly to be displaced by tho 
 entrance of the uody ; but the effect is that one's feet are 
 tripped up, and tliat one falls prostrate on to the surface. Tho 
 water is so stron^^ and buoyant, that, when above a few feet in 
 depth has to be cucountered, the strength and weight of tho 
 bather are not sufficient to keep down his feet and legs. I then 
 essayed to swim ; but I could not do this in the ordinaiy way, 
 as I was unable to keep enough of my body below the surface ; 
 fio that my head and face seemed to be propelled down upon it. 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINa 335 
 
 I turned round and floated, but the glare of the sun was sft 
 powerful that I could not remain long in that position. How- 
 ever, I had bathed in tlie Dead Sea, and was so far satisfied. 
 
 Anything more abominable to the palate than this water, if it 
 be water, I never had inside my mouth.- I expected it to bo 
 extremely salt, and no doubt, if it were analysed, such would bo 
 the result ; but there is a flavour in it which kills the salt. Ko 
 attempt can be made at describing this taste. It may bo imagined 
 that I did not drink lieartily, merely taking up a drop or two 
 with my tongue from the palm of my hand ; but it seemed to 
 me as though I had been drenched with it. Even brandy would 
 not relievo me from it. And then my whole body was in a 
 mess, and I felt as though I had been rubbed with pitch. 
 Looking at my limbs, I saw no sign on them of the fluid. They 
 seemed to dry from this as they 'usually do from any other water ; 
 but still the feeling remained. However, I was to ride fi-om 
 hence to a spot on tho banks of Jordan, which I should reach in 
 an hour, and at which I would wash ; so I clothed myself, and 
 prepared for my departure. 
 
 Seated in my position in the island T was unable to see what 
 was going on among the remainder of tho paity, and therefore 
 could not tell whether my pistols and money was safe. I dressed, 
 therefore, rather hurriedly, and on getting again to the shore, 
 found that Mr. Jolin Smith had not levanted. He was seated on 
 his horse at some distance from Joseph and tho Arabs, and had 
 no appearance of being in league with those, no doubt, worthy 
 guides. I certainly had suspected a iTise, and now was angry 
 with myself that I had done so ; and yet, in London, one would 
 not trust one's money to a stranger whom one had met twenty- 
 four hours since in a cofi'ee-room ! AVhy, tlien, do it with a 
 stranger whom one chanced to meet in a desert? 
 
 " Thanks," 1 said, as ho handed mo my belongings. ** I wish 
 I could have induced you to come in also. The Dead Sea is 
 now at your elbow, and, therefore, you think nothing of it; 
 but in ten or fifteen years' time, you would be glad to bo able 
 to tell your children that you had bathed in it.'* 
 
 ** I shall never have any children to care for such tidings," he 
 replied. 
 
 Tlie river Jordan, for some miles above tho point nt winch it 
 joins tho Dead Sea, runs through very steep banks, — bank? 
 which are almost precipitous, — and is, as it were, guarded by 
 Vho thick trees and bushes which grow upon its sides. This w 
 to much tho case, that one may ride, as we did, for a considerablo 
 
33d tALBS 0^ ALL (DOUKTRmS. 
 
 distance along tlie margin, and not be able even to approach tlid 
 water. I had a fancy for bathing in some spot of mv own selection, 
 instead of going to the open shore frequented by tul the pilgrims ; 
 but I was baffled in this. When I did ioi-ce my way down to 
 the river side, I found that the water run so rapidly, and that 
 the bushes and boughs of trees grew so fur over and into the 
 stream, as to make it impossible for me to bathe. I could not 
 have got in without my clothes, and having got in, I could not 
 have got out again. I was, therefore obliged to put up with the 
 open muddy shore to which the bathers descend, and at which 
 wo may presume that Joshua passed when he came over as one 
 of the twelve spies to spy out the land. And even here I could 
 not go full into the stream as I would fain have done, lest I 
 should bo carried down, and so have assisted to whiten the shores 
 of the Dead Sea with my bones. As to getting over to the 
 Moabitish side of the river, tliat was plainly impossible ; and, 
 indeed, it seemed to bo the prevailing opinion that the passage of 
 the river was not practicable without going up as far as Samaria. 
 And yet wo know that there, or thereabouts, the Israelites did 
 cross it. 
 
 I jumped from my horse the moment I got to the place, and 
 once more gave my purse and pistols to my friend. " You are 
 going to bathe again?" he said. "Certainly," said I; "you 
 don't suppose that I would come to Jordan and not wash there, 
 oven if I were not foul with the foulness of the Dead Sea!" 
 ** You'll kill yourself, in your present state of heat;" he said, 
 remonstrating just as one's mother or wife might do. But even 
 hud it been my mother or wife I could not have attended to 
 Buch remonstrance then ; and before ho hud done looking at me 
 witli those big eyes of his, my coat and waistcoat and cravat 
 were on the ground, and I was at work at my braces ; where- 
 upon he turned fi'om me slowly, and strolled away into the wood. 
 On this occasion I had no base fears about my money. 
 
 And then I did bathe, — very uncomfortably. The shore was 
 muddy with the feet of the pilgrims, and the river so rapid that 
 I hardly dared to get beyond the mud. I did manage to take a 
 plunge in, head-foremost, but I was forced to wade out through 
 the dirt and slush, so that I found it difficult to make my feet 
 and legs clean enough for my shoes aud stockings; and then, 
 moreover, the flies ]^lagucd me most onmorcifuUy. I should 
 havo thought that the filthy flavour from the Dead Sea would 
 have saved me from that nuisance ; but the mosquitoes there- 
 abouts arc probably used to it. Finding this process of bathing 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 837 
 
 to be BO difficalt, I inquired as to the practice of the pilgrims. 
 I found that -with them, bathing in Jordan has come to be much 
 the same as baptism has with us. It does not mean immersion,. 
 No doubt they do take off their shoes and stockings ; but they do 
 not strip, and go bodily into the water. 
 
 As soon as I was dressed I found that Smith was again at 
 my side with purse and pistols. "We then went up a little 
 above the wood, and sat down together on the long sandy grass 
 It was now quite evening, so that the short Sjrrian twilight had 
 commenced, and the sun was no longer hot in the heavens. It 
 would be night as we rode on to the tents at Jericho ; but thcro 
 was no difficulty as to the way, and therefore we did not hurr}' 
 the horses, who were feeding on the grass. "We sat down 
 together on a spot from which we could sec the stream, — close 
 together, so that when I stretched myself out in my weaiiness, 
 as I did before wo started, my head rested on his legs. Ah, mo ! 
 one does not take such liberties with new friends in England. 
 It was a place which led one on to some special thoughts. The 
 mountains of Moab were before us, very plain in their outline. 
 " Moab is my wash-pot, and over Edom will I cast out my shoe ! " 
 There they were before us, very visible to the eye, and wo began 
 naturally to ask questions of each other. "Why was Moab tho 
 wash-pot, and Edom thus cursed with indignity? "Why had 
 the right bank of the river been selected for such great purposes, 
 whereas the left was thus condemned ? Was there, at that time, 
 any special fertility in this land of promise which has since 
 departed from it ? "We are told of a bunch of grapes which took 
 two men to carry it ; but now there is not a vino in tho whole 
 country side. Now-a-days the sandy plain round Jericho is as 
 dry and arid as are any of the valleys of Moab. The Jordan was 
 running beneath our feet, — the Jordan in which tho leprous 
 king had washed, though the bright rivers of his own Damascus 
 were so much nearer to his hand. It was but a. humble stream 
 to which he was sent ; but the opot probably was higher up, 
 above the Sea of Galilee, where the river is narrow. But 
 another also had come down to this river, perhaps to this very 
 spot on its shores, and submitted Himself to its waters ; — as to 
 whom, perhaps, it will be better that I should not speak much 
 in this light storj'. 
 
 The Dead Sea was on our right, still glittering in the distance, 
 and behind us lay the plains of Jericho and the wretched col- 
 lection of huts which still bears the name of the ancient city. 
 Beyond that, but still seemingly within easy distance of u«| were 
 
8dd TALtS 0? AtL COUNTRIES. 
 
 tho mountains of tho wilderness. The wUderness ! In trutb, 
 tho spot was ono which did lend to many thoughts. 
 
 AVo talked of these things, as to many of which I found that 
 my friend was much more free in his doubts and questionings than 
 myself; and then our words camo back to ourselvoo, tho natural 
 centre of all men's thoughts and words. ** From what you say/' 
 I said, " I gather that you have had enough of this land?'* 
 
 ** Quite enough," ho said. " "Why seek such spots as theso, 
 if they only dispel the associations and veneration of one's child- 
 hood?" 
 
 "But with me such associations and veneration aro riveted 
 the F.tronger by seeing tho places, and p\itting my liand upon tho 
 spots. I do not speak of that fictitious marble slab up there ; 
 but hero, among tho sandhills by tliis river, and at tho Blount of 
 Olives over which we passed, I do believe.'* 
 
 Ho paused a moment, and then replied : " To mc it is all 
 nothing, — absolutely nothing. Uut then do wo not know that 
 our thoughts aro formed, and our beliefs modelled, not on tlio 
 outward signs or intrinsic evidences of things, — as would be tho 
 case were wo always rational, — but by the inner workings of 
 the mind itself? At the present turn of my lifo I can believo 
 in nothing that is gracious." 
 
 '* All, you mean that you arc unhappy. You have come to 
 grief in some of your doings or belongings, and therefore lind 
 that all things aro bitter to the taste. I havo had my palate out 
 of order too; but the proper appreciation of ilavours has come 
 back to me. Bah, — how noisome was that Dead Sea water ! " 
 
 '* Tlie Dead Sea waters aro noisome," lie said; '* a^^ ^ ^^^'^o 
 been drinking of them by long draughts." 
 
 '•Long draughts!" I answered, thinking to console him. 
 * Draughts havo not been long which can have been swallowed 
 in your years. Your disease may bo acute, but it cannot yet 
 have become chronic. A man always thinks at the moment of 
 each misfortuno that that speeial misery will last his lifetime ; 
 but God is too good for that. I do not know what ails you ; but 
 this day twelvemonth will see you again as sound as a roadi." 
 
 "\Vo then sat silent for a while, during which I was pniling at 
 ft cigar. Smith, among his accomplishments, did not reckon that 
 of smoking, — which was a griwf to me ; for a man enjoys tho 
 tobacco doubly when another is enjoying it with him. 
 
 *' No, you do not know what ails me," he said at last, " and, 
 therefore, cannot judge." 
 
 ** Perhaps not, m^ deai' fellow. But my experience tells mo 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 839 
 
 tbat early wounds aro generally capable of euro ; and, therefore, 
 I Burmiso that yours may bo bo. Tho heart at your time of lifo 
 is not worn out, and has strength and soundness left wherewith 
 to throw off its maladies. I hopo it may bo so with you." 
 
 ** Ood knows. I do not mean to say tliat there ore none moro 
 to bo pitied than I am ; but at tho present moment, I am not — 
 not light-hearted." 
 
 " I wish I could caso your burden, my dear fellow." 
 
 ** It is most preposterous in mo thus to force myself upon you, 
 and then trouble you with my cares. But I had been alono so 
 long, and I was so weary of it ! " 
 
 ** By Jovo, ond so had I. Make no apology. And let mo 
 tell you this, — though perhaps you will not credit mo, — that I 
 would sooner laugh with a comrade than cry with him is true 
 enough ; but, if occasion demands, I can do the latter also." 
 
 lie then put out his hand to me, and I pressed it in token of 
 my friendsliip. My own hand was hot and rough with the heat 
 and sand ; but his was soft and cool almost as a woman's. I 
 thoroughly hate an effeminate man ; but, in spite of a certain 
 womanly softness about this fellow, I could not hate him. 
 "Yes," I continued, "though somewhat unused to tho melting 
 mood, I also sometimes give forth my medicinal gums. I don't 
 want to nsk you any questions, and, as u rule, 1 hate to bo told 
 secrets, but if I can bo of any service to you in any matter I will 
 do my best. I don't say this with referenco to the present 
 moment, but think of it before we part." 
 
 I looked round at him and saw that he was in tears. " I know 
 that you will think that I am a weak fool," ho said, pressing his 
 handkerchief to his eyes. 
 
 ** I3y no means. There are moments in a man's lifo when it 
 becomes him to weep like a woman ; but the older he grows the 
 moro seldom those moments come to him. As fiir as I can see 
 of men, they never cry at that which disgraces them." 
 
 ** It is left for women to do that," he answered. 
 
 ** Oh, women 1 X woman cries for everything and for nothing. 
 It is the sharpest arrow she has in her quiver, — the best card in 
 her hand. When a woman cries, what can you do but give her 
 all she asks for ? " 
 
 ** Do you — dislike women ? " 
 
 ** No, by Jovo I I am never really happy unless one is near 
 me, or moro than ono. A man, as a rule, has an amount of 
 energy within him which ho cannot turn to profit on himself 
 alone. It is good for him to have a woman by him tl((^t ^ may 
 
 i2 
 
840 fALES OP ALL COUNTRlUa 
 
 work for her, and thus have exercise for his limbs and facultlea, 
 I am very fond of women. But I always like those best who are 
 most helpless." 
 
 Wo were silent again for a while, and it was during this 
 time that I found myself lying with my head in his lap. I had 
 slept, but it could have been but for a few minutes, and when I 
 woke I found his hand upon my brow. As I started up he Baid 
 that the flies had been anuoying me, and that he had not chosen 
 to waken me as I sccracd weary. " It has been that double 
 bathinj:," I said, apologetically; fori always feel ashamed when 
 I am detected sleeping in the day. ** In hot weather the wuttT 
 docs make one drowsy. 13y Jove, it's getting dark ; wo had 
 better have the horses." 
 
 *♦ Stay half a moment," he said, speaking very softly, and 
 laying his hand upon my arm, "I will not detain you a 
 minute." 
 
 ** There is no hurry in life," I said. 
 
 ** You promised me just now you would assist me." 
 
 ** If it bo in my power, I will." 
 
 "Before wo part at Alexandria I will endeavour to tell you 
 
 the story of my troubles, and then if you can aid me " It 
 
 struck me as ho paused that I had made a rash promise, but 
 nevertheless I must stand by it now — with one or two provisoes. 
 The chances were that the young man was short of money, or 
 else that he had got into a scrape about a girl. In either case I 
 might give him some slight assistance ; but, then, it behoved mo 
 to make him understand that I would not consent to become a 
 participator in mischief. I was too old to get my head wiUingly 
 into a scrape, and tliis I must endeavour to make him under- 
 stand. 
 
 ** I will, if it be in my power," I said. " I will ask no ques- 
 tions now ; but if your trouble be about some lady " 
 
 '* It is not," said he. 
 
 " Well ; so be it. Of all troubles those are the most trouble- 
 some. If you are short of cash " 
 
 " No, I am not short of cash." 
 
 *' You are not. That's well too ; for want of money is a sore 
 trouble also." And then I paused before I came to the point 
 " I do not suspect anything bad of you, Smith. Had I done so, 
 I should not have spoken aa I have done. And if there be 
 nothing bad " 
 
 ** There is nothing disgraceful," he said. 
 
 " That is just what I mean; and in that case I will do any- 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 841 
 
 thing for you that may bo within my power. Now lot ns look 
 lor Joscpli and the muchcrry-boy, for it is time that we were at 
 Jericho." 
 
 I cannot describe at lenj^b the whole of our journey from 
 thence to our tents at Jericho, nor back to Jeruflalem, nor even 
 from Jerusalem to Jaffa. At Jericho wo did sleep in tents, pay- 
 ing 80 much per night, according to the tariff. AVc wandered 
 out at night, and drank coffee with a family of Arabs in the 
 desert, silling in a ring round their coffee-kettle. And we saw a 
 Turkish soldier punished with the bastinado, — a siglit which did 
 not do mo any good, and which made Smith very sick. Indeed 
 after the first blow he walked away. Jericho is a remarkable 
 ppot in that pilgrim week, and I wish I had space to describe it. 
 iJut I have not, for I must huiry on, back to Jerusalem and 
 thence to Jaffa. I lind much to tell also of those liedouins ; how 
 they were essentially true to us, but teased us almost to frenzy 
 by their continual begging. They begged for our food and our 
 diink, for our cigars and our gunpowtler, for the clotlies off our 
 backs, and the handkerchiefs out of our pockets. As to gun- 
 powder I luid none to give tlwra, for my charges were all mada 
 up in carl ridges ; and 1 learned that the guns behind their backs 
 WiTe a mere pretence, for they had not a grain of powder among 
 them. 
 
 Wo slept one night in Jerusalem, and started early on the 
 following morning. Smilh came to my hotel so that we might 
 be ready together for the move. We still earned with us Joseph 
 and the mucherry-boy ; but for our Bedouins, who had duly 
 received their forty shillings a piece, we had no further use. On 
 our road down to Jenisalem we had much chat together, but 
 only one adventure. Those pilgiims, of a\ horn I have spoken, 
 journey to Jerusalem in the greatest number by the route which 
 we were now taking from it, and they come in long droves, 
 reaching Jaffa in crowds by the French and Austrian steamers 
 from Smyrna, Damascus, and Constantinople. As their number 
 confers security in that somewhat insecure countiy, many 
 travellers from the west of Eirrope make arrangements to travel 
 with them. On our way down we met the last of these caravans 
 for the year, and we were passing it for more than two hours. 
 On this occasion I rode first, and Smith was immediately behind 
 me ; but of a sudden I observed him to wheel his horse round, 
 and to clamber downwardM among bushes and stones towards a 
 river that ran below us. ** Hallo, Smith," I cried, *' you will 
 destroy your hone, and yourself too." £ut he would not answer 
 
34s2 TALES OF ALL COXmrKTES. 
 
 me, and all I could do was to draw up in the path and woiti 
 My confusion was made the worse, oa at that moment a long string 
 of pilgrims was passing by* " Good morning, sir,** said an old 
 man to me in good English. I looked up as I answered him, 
 and saw a grey-hnired gentleman, of very solemn and sad aspect. 
 Ho might be seventy years of age, and I could see that he was 
 attended by three or foui' servants. I shall never forget tho 
 severe and sorrowful expression of his eyes, over which his heavy 
 eyebrows hung low. *' Are there many English in Jerusalem ?'* 
 ho asked. ** A good many," I replied; ** there always are at 
 Easter." " Can you tell me anything of any of them ? " ho 
 asked. **Not a word," said I, fori knew no one; "but our 
 consul can." And then wo bowed to each other and he 
 passed on. 
 
 I got off my horso and scrambled down on foot after Smith. 
 I found him gathering berries and bushes as though his very soul 
 were mad with botany ; but as I had seen nothing of this in him 
 before, I asked what strange freak had taken him. 
 
 ** You were talking to that old man," he said. 
 
 ** Well, yes, I was." 
 
 '* That is tho relation of whom I have spoken to you.*' 
 
 <<Thed he is!" 
 
 '* And I would avoid him, if it be possible." 
 
 1 then learned that the old gentleman was his uncle. He had 
 no living father or mother, and ho now supposed that his rela« 
 tivo was going to Jerusalem in quest of him. ** If so," said I, 
 " you will undoubtedly give him leg bail, unless the Austiian 
 boat is more than ordinarily late. It is as much as we shall do 
 to catch it, and you may be half over Africa, or far gone on your 
 way to India, before lie can be on your track again." 
 
 '* I will tell you all about it at Alexandria," he replied; and 
 then he scrambled up again with his horse, and we went on. 
 That night we slept at the Armenian convent at Ilamlath, or 
 Hamath. This place is supposed to stand on tho site of Ari- 
 mathea, and is marked as such in many of tho maps. The 
 monks at this time of the year are veiy busy, as the pilgiims all 
 stay here for one night on their routes backwards and forwards, 
 and the place on such occasions is tembly crowded. On tlio 
 night of our visit it was nearly empty, as a caravan had left it 
 that morning ; and thus we were indulged with separate cells, a. 
 point on which my companion seemed to lay considerable stress. 
 
 On the following day, at about noon, we entered Jafia, and put 
 up at an inn there which is kept by a Pole. The boat from 
 
A niDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 8l3 
 
 J3eyi-out, which toucnc8 at Jaffa on its way to Alexandria, was 
 not yet in, nor even sighted ; we Were therefore amply in time. 
 " Shall we piiil to-night? " I asked of the agent. <* Yea, in all 
 probability," he replied. " If the signal bo seen before three 
 wc shall do so. If not, then not;" and so I returned to the 
 hotel. 
 
 Smith had involuntarily shown signs of fatigue during the 
 journey, but yet he had borne up well against it. I had never 
 felt called on to grant any extra indulgence as to time because 
 the work was too much for him. But now he was a good deal 
 knocked up, and I was a little frightened, fearing that I had 
 over-driven him under the heat of the sun. I was alarmed lest 
 ho should have fever, and proposed to send for the Jaffa doctor. 
 But this he utterly refused. He would shut himself for an hour 
 or two in his room, he said, and by that time he trusted the boat 
 would be in sight. It was clear to me that he was very anxious 
 on the subject, fearing that his uncle would bo back upon his 
 heels before he had started. 
 
 I ordered a serious breakfast for myself, for with me, on such 
 occasions, my appetite demands more immediate attention than 
 my limbs. I also acknowledge that I become fatigued, and can 
 lay myself at length during such idle days and sleep from hour 
 to hour ; but the desire to do so never comes till I have well 
 eaten and drunken. A bottle of French wine, three or four 
 cutlets of goats* floch, an omelet made out of the freshest eggs, 
 and an enormous dish of oranges, was the banquet set before 
 me ; and though I might have found fault with it in Paris or 
 London, I thought that it did well enough in Jaffa. My poor 
 Iriend could not join me, but had a cup of coffee in his room. 
 *' At any rate take a little brandy in it," I said to him, as I 
 stood over his bed. " I could not swallow it," said he, looking 
 at me with almost beseeching eyes. **Beshrew the fellow," I 
 said to myself as I left him, carefully closing the door, so that 
 the sound should not shake him; "he is little better than a 
 woman, and yet I have become as fond of him as though he were 
 my brother." 
 
 I W(!nt out at three, but up to that time the boat kad not 
 been signalled. " And we shall not get out to-night ? " '* No, 
 not to-night," said the agent. ** And what time to-morrow ? " 
 ** If she comes in this evening, you will start by daylighti But 
 they bo manage her departure from Beyrout, that she seldom is 
 here in the evening." "It will bo noon to-morrow then?" 
 "Yes," the man said, "noon to-morrow.** I calculated, how- 
 
iM TALES OF ALL OOUNTBTES. 
 
 ever, that the old gentleman could not possibly be on onr tracli 
 by that time. He would not have reached Jerusalem till lute in 
 the day on which we saw him, and it would take him some time 
 to obtain tidings of his nephew. But it might be possible that 
 messengers sent by him should reach Jaffa by four or five on the 
 day after his arrival. That would be this very day which wo 
 were now wasting at Jaffa. * Having thus made my calculations, 
 I returned to Smith to give him such consolation as it might bo 
 in my power to afford. 
 
 Ho seemed to bo dreadfully afflicted by all this. ** Ho will 
 have traced mc to Jerusalem, and then again away ; and will 
 follow mo immediately." 
 
 *' That is all very well," I said ; "but let even a young man 
 do the best he can, and he will not get from Jerusalem to Jaffa 
 in less than twelve hours. Your uncle is not a young man, and 
 could not possibly do the journey under two days." 
 
 **But he will send. Ho will not mind what money ho 
 Bpends." 
 
 ** And if he does send, take off your hat to his messengers, and 
 bid them carry your complaints back. You are not a felon 
 whom he can arrest." 
 
 ** "Noy he cannot arrest mc ; but, ah ! you do not understand;" 
 and then he sat up on the bed, and seemed as though ho were 
 going to wring his hands in despair. 
 
 I waited for some half hour in his room, thinking that he 
 would tell me this story of his. If he required that I should 
 give him my aid in the presence either of his uncle or of his 
 uncle's myrmidons, I must at any rate know what was likely to 
 be the dispute between them. But as he said nothing I sug- 
 gested that he should stroll out with me among the orange-groves 
 by which the town is surrounded. In answer to this he looked 
 up piteously into my face as though begging me to be merciful 
 to him. "You are strong," said he, "and cannot understand 
 what it is to feel fatigue as I do." And yet he had declared on 
 commencing his journey that he would not be found to com- 
 plain ? Nor had he complained by a single word till after that 
 encounter with his uncle. Nay, he had borne up well till this 
 news had reached us of the boat being late. I felt convinced 
 that if the boat were at this moment lying in the harbour all that 
 appearance of excessive weakness would soon vanish. AVhat it 
 was that he feared I could not guess ; but it was manifest to mo 
 that some great terror almost overwhelmed him. 
 
 ** My idea is," said I,— and I suppose that I spoke with some- 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 345 
 
 thing lesg of good-nattire in my tone than I had assumed for the 
 last day or two, **that no man should, under any circumstances, 
 be 80 afraid of another man, as to tremble at his presence, — 
 either at his presence or his expected presence." 
 
 ** Ah, now you are an^^ with me ; now you despise me! " 
 
 ** Neither the one nor the otlier. But if I may take the libei-ty 
 of a friend with you, I should advise you to combat this feeling 
 of horror. If you do not, it will unman you. After all, what 
 can your uncle do to you ? He cannot rob you of your heart 
 and soul. He cannot touch your inner self." 
 
 " You do not know," he said. 
 
 ** Ah but. Smith, I do know that. Whatever may be this 
 quarrel between you and him, you should not tremble at the 
 thoufjht of him ; unless indeed " 
 
 ''Unless what?" 
 
 ** Unless you had done aught that should make you tremble 
 before eveiy honest man." I own I had begun to have my 
 doubts of him, and to fear that he had absolutely disgraced him- 
 self. Even in such case I, — I indiWdually, — did not wish to ba 
 severe on him ; but I should be annoyed to find that I had opened 
 my heart to a swindler or a practised knave. 
 
 ** I will tell you all to-morrow," said he ; ** but I have been 
 guilty of nothing of that sort." 
 
 In the evening he did come out, and sat with me as I smoked 
 my cigar. The boat, he was told, would almost undoubtedly 
 come in by daybreak on the following morning, and be off at 
 nine; whereas it was very improbable that any arrival from 
 Jerusalem would be so early as that. "Beside," I reminded 
 him, "your uncle wiU hardly hurry down to Jaffa, because he 
 will have no reason to think but what you have already stai-ted. 
 There are no telegraphs here, you know." 
 
 In the evening he was still very sad, though the paroxysm of 
 his terror seemed to have passed away. I would not bother him, 
 as he had himself chosen the following morning for the telling of 
 his story. So I sat and smoked, and talked to him about our past 
 journey, and by degrees the power of speech came back to him, 
 and I again felt that I loved him ! Yes, loved him 1 I have 
 not taken many such fancies into my head, at so short a notice ; 
 but I did love him, as though he were a younger brother. I felt 
 a delight in serving him, and though I was almost old enough to 
 bo his father, I ministered to him as though he had been an old 
 man, or a woman. 
 
 On the following morning we were stirring at daybreak, and 
 
846 TALES OP ALL COUNmiKS. 
 
 found that the Tcssel was in eight. She would "be in the roadi 
 off the town in two hours' time, thoy said, and would start at 
 eleven or twelve. And then we walked round by the gate of the 
 town, and sauntered a quarter of a mile or so along the way that 
 leads towards Jerusalem. I could sec that his eye was anxiously 
 turned down the road, but he said nothing. AVo saw no cloud 
 of dust, and then we returned to breakfast. 
 
 *' The steamer has come to anchor," said our dirty Polish host 
 to us in execrable English. ** And wo may bo olf on board,'* 
 said Smith. ** Not yet," he said ; ** they must put llicir ciirgo 
 out first." I saw, however, that Smith was uneasy, and I mailo 
 up my mind to go off to the vessel at once. AVhcn they should 
 see an English portmanteau making an offer to come \ip the 
 gangway, the Austrian sailors would not stop it. So I called for 
 the bill, and ordered that the things should be taken down to tho 
 wretched broken heap of rutten timber which they called a quay. 
 Smith had not told me his story, but no doubt ho would ua soon 
 Qg lie was on board. 
 
 I was in tho act of sciuabbling with tho Pole over the last 
 demand for piastres, when we heaixl a noise in the gateway of 
 the inn, and I saw Smith's countenance become pale. It was an 
 Englishman's voice asking if there were any strangers there ; so 
 I went into tho courtyard, closing tho door behind me, and 
 turning the key upon the landlord and Smith. *' Smith," said I 
 to myself, " will keep tho Polo quiet if ho have any wit left." 
 
 The man who had asked the question had the air of un upper 
 English servant, and I thought that I recognised one of thor,o 
 whom 1 had seen with tho old gentleman on the road ; but tho 
 Timtter wu« hoou ])ut at rent by tlm uppearancM* of that griitlemau 
 himself, lie walked up into tho courtyard, looked hard at me 
 from under those bushy eyebrows, just riwsed his hat, and then 
 said, ** I believe I am speaking to Mr. Jones." 
 
 *♦ Yes," said I, "I um Mr. Jones. Can I have tho honour of 
 serving you':*" 
 
 Tliere was something peculiarly iniph asant al)out thin num's 
 fuco. At the ]»reM('nt njomeiil 1 examined it elos«ly, and eoiilil 
 understand tho great aversion which liis nephew felt lowanU 
 him. lie 1 joked like a gentleman and like a man of talent, nor 
 was there a.iything of meanness in his face; neither was he ill- 
 looking, in the usual acceptation of the word ; but one couhl see 
 that ho was solemn, austere, and overbearing; that lie would ho 
 incapable of any light enjoyment, and unforgiving towards ail 
 oll'cncctf. 1 took Itim to bu u man wlio^ being old JiiinHclfy could 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 347 
 
 never remember that he had been young, and who, therefore, 
 hated the levities of youth. To me such a character is specially 
 odious ; for I would fain, if it be possible, be young even to my 
 grave. Smith, if ho were clever, might escape from the window 
 of the room, which opened out upon a terrace, and still get down 
 to the steamer. I would keep the old man in play for some 
 time ; and, even though I lost my passage, would bo true to my 
 friend. There lay our joint luggage at my feet in the yard. If 
 Smith would venture away without his portion of it, all might 
 yet be right. 
 
 "My name, sir, is Sir William Weston," ho began. I had 
 heard of the name before, and knew him to be a man of wealth, 
 and fiimily, and note. I took oiT my hat, and «aid that I had 
 much honour in meeting Sir William Weston. 
 
 ** And I presume you know the object with which I am now 
 here," he continued. 
 
 " Not exactly," said I. ** Nor do I understand how I possibly 
 should know it, seeing that, up to this moment, I did not even 
 know your name, and have heard nothing conceraing either 
 your movrnirntfl i»r your iiH'iilirt," 
 
 '* Sir," said he, •' I have hitherto believed that I might at any 
 rate expect from you the truth." 
 
 ** Sir," said I, "I am bold to think that you will not dare to 
 tell me, either now, or at any other time, that you have received, 
 or expect to receive, from me anything that is not true." 
 
 He then stood still, looking at me for a moment or two, and I 
 beg to assert that I looked as fully at him. There was, at any 
 rate, no cause why I sliould tremble before him. I was not his 
 nephew, nor was I responsible for his nephew's doings towards 
 liim. Two of his servants were behind him, and on my side 
 there stood a boy and girl belonging to the inn. They, however, 
 could not understand a word of English. I saw that he was 
 hesitating, but at last he spoke out. I confess, now, that his 
 words, when they were spoken, did, at the first moment, make 
 me tremble. 
 
 "I have to charge you," said he, "with eloping with my 
 niece, and I demand of you to inform me where she is. You are 
 perfectly aware tliat I am her guardian by law." 
 
 I did tremble ; — not that I cared much for Sir William'g 
 guardianship, but I saw before me so terrible an embarrassment ! 
 And then I felt so thoroughly abashed in that I had allowed 
 myself to be so deceived ! It all came back upon me in a 
 moment, and covered me with a shame that even mode mo UusU* 
 
848 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIIW. 
 
 I had trarelled through the desert with a woman for days, and 
 had not discovered her, though she had given mo a thousand 
 signs. All those signs I remembered now, and I blushed pain 
 fully. When her hand was on my forehead I still thought that 
 slie was a man ! I declare that at this moment I felt a stronger 
 disinclination to face my lato companion than I did to encounter 
 her angiy uncle. 
 
 *' Your niece!" I said, spciking with a sheepish bewilder* 
 mcnt which should have convin ccd him at once of my innocenne. 
 8ho had asked me, too, whether I was a married man, and 1 liiid 
 dinied it. How was I to escape from such a mess of misfortunes ? 
 I declare that I began to forget her troubles in my own. 
 
 •'Yes, my niece, — !Miss Julia AVeston. The disgrace which 
 you have brought upon mo must be wiped out ; i)ut my first 
 duty is to save that unfoi-tunatc young woman from further 
 misery." 
 
 **If it bo as you say," I exclaimed, "by the honour of a 
 gentleman '* 
 
 " I care nothing for the honour of a gentleman till I see it 
 proved. Be good enough to inform mo, sir, whether Miss "Weston 
 18 in this house." 
 
 3^'or tt moment I hesitated ; but I saw at onco that I should 
 make myself n.'sponsible for certain mischief, of which I was at 
 any rate hitherto in tnith innocent, if 1 allowed myself to become 
 a party to concealing a young lady. Up to this period 1 could 
 Qt any rate defend myself, whether my defence were believed or 
 not believed. I still had a hope that the charming Julia mif^ht 
 have escaped through the window, and a feeling that if she liad 
 done so I was not responsible. When I turned the lock I turned 
 it on Smith. 
 
 I'or a moment I hesitated, and then walked slowly across the 
 yard and opened the door. " Sir William," I said, as 1 did so, 
 ** I travelled here with a companion dressed as a man; and I 
 telieved him to be what ho seemed till tliis minute." 
 
 "Sir!" said Sir AVilliam, with a look of scorn in his faco 
 which gave mo the lie in my teeth as plainly as any words could 
 do. And then he entered the room. The Pole was standing in 
 one comer, apparently amazed at what was going on, and Smith, 
 ^I may as well call her Miss Weston at once, for the baronet's 
 statement was true, — was sitting on a sort of divan in the comer 
 of tho chamber hiding her face in her hands. She had mado 
 no attempt at an escape, and a full explanation was therefore 
 indispeneable. For myself I own that I felt ashamed of my 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE. 849 
 
 part in the play, — ashnmcd even of my own innoccncy. Had I 
 been less innocent I Bliould certainly have contrived to ay)pear 
 much less gnilty. Had it occurred to me on the bankfl of tlio 
 Jordan that 8mith was a lady, I flhould not have travelled with 
 her in her gentloman'B hahilimentfi from JeniRulem to Jaffa. 
 Had she consented to remain under my protection, she must huvo 
 done 80 without a mas(|uenide. 
 
 The uncle stood etill and looked at his niece. Ho proba))ly 
 understood how thoroUf^hly stem and disap:reeablo was his own 
 face, and considered that ho could punish the crimo of his rela- 
 tive in no severer way than by looking at her. In this I think 
 ho was right. iJut at last there was a necessity for speaking. 
 ** Unfortunate young woman! " ho said, and then paused. 
 
 ** AVe had better get rid of the landlord," I said, ** before wo 
 come to any explanation." And I motioned to the man to leave 
 the room. This ho did very unwillingly, but at last ho was 
 gone. 
 
 ** I fear that it is needless to care on her account who may 
 hear the story rf her sliame," said Sir William. I looked at 
 Miss AVeston, but she still sat hiding her face. However, if she 
 did not defend herself, it was necessary that 1 should defend 
 botli her and me. 
 
 ** 1 do not know how far I may bo at liberty to speak with 
 reference to tlie private matters of yourself or of your — your niece, 
 Kir William Weston. I would not willingly interfere " 
 
 "Sir," said he, **your interference liaa already taken place. 
 Will you have the goodness to explain to mo what arc your 
 intentions with regard to that lady ?" 
 
 My intentions ! Heaven help me ! My intentions, of course, 
 were to leave her in her uncle's hands. Indeed, I could hardly 
 be said to have formed any intention since I had learned that I 
 had been honoured by a lady's presence. At this moment I deeply 
 regretted that I had thoughtlessly stated to her that I was an 
 unmarried man. In doing so I had had no object, lint at that 
 time ** Smith" had been quite a stranger to me, and I had not 
 thought it necessary to declare my own private concerns. Since 
 that i had talked bo little of myself that the fact of my family 
 at homo had not been mentioned. *' Will you have the goodness 
 to explain what are your intentions with regard to that lady ? " 
 said the baronet. 
 
 ** Oh, Uncle William !" exclaimed Miss Weston, now at length 
 raising her head from her hands. 
 
 '*HoId your peace, madam," said ho. '^When called upoa 
 
BBO TALES OF AIL COtJNTRlES. 
 
 to spcat, yon will find your words with difficulty enough. Sir, 
 I am waiting for an answer from you." 
 
 " But, uncle, he is nothing to me ; — the gontloman ii nothing 
 to mo!" 
 
 " By the heavens above ub, ho shall be eomotliing, or I will 
 know tho rcascm why ! What ! he has gone off with you ; ho 
 liaa travelled through tho country with you, hiding you from 
 your only natural friend; ho has been your companion for 
 
 weeks *' 
 
 *♦ Six days, sir," said I. 
 
 "Sir!" said tho baronet, again giving me the lie. "And 
 now," ho continued, addressing his nieco, " you tell mo tliat ho . 
 is nothing to you. Ho shall give me his promise that lio will 
 moko you his wife at tho consulate at Alexandria, or I will 
 destroy liim. I know who ho is." 
 
 ** If you know who I am," said I, "you must know " 
 
 But he would not listen to mo. "And as for you, madom, 
 
 unless he makes mc that promise " And tlien ho paused in 
 
 his threat, and, turning round, looked mo in tho face. 1 saw 
 that sho also was looking at me, though not openly as he did , 
 and some flattering devil that was at work round my heart, 
 would have persuaded that she also would have heard a certain 
 answer given without dismay, — would even liavo received com- 
 fort in her agony from such an answer. But tho reader knows 
 how completely that answer was out of my power. 
 
 " I have not tho slightest ground for supposing," said I, 
 "that tho lady would accede to such an arrangement, — if it 
 were possible. My acquaintance witli her has been altogether 
 
 confined to . To tell tho truth, I have not been in Miss 
 
 AVeston's confidence, and have only taken her for that which sho 
 has seemed to be." 
 
 ** kSir!" said the baronet, again looking at me as though he 
 woidd wither mo on the spot for my falsehood. 
 
 **lt is tnie!" said Julia, getting up from her seat, and ap- 
 pealing A'ith clasped hands to her uncle — "as true as Heaven." 
 " !>ladam !" said he, " do you both take mo for a fool ? " 
 " That you should take mo for one," said I, " would be very 
 natural. Tho facts are as wo state to you. ^tiss Weston, — as I 
 now learn that she is, — did mc tho honour of calling at my 
 
 hotel, having heard " And then it seemed to me as though 
 
 I were attempting to screen myself by telling the story against 
 her, so I was again silent. Never in my life had I been in a 
 position of such cxtraortUnary diihculty. Tho duty which I owed 
 
A UTTiTJ ACnOgg rAT.KSTTNK. 851 
 
 to Julia as ft woman, and to Sir William ns a piiardinn, and to 
 myself a8 the fatluT of a family, all clashed with each other. I 
 was anxious to bo ;;eneroiv;, honcRt, and prudent, but it was 
 impo?isiblo ; bo 1 made up my mind to say nothing; further. 
 
 ** Mr. Jones," snid the baronet, " I have explained to you the 
 only arrnnpoment which under tho present circumstances I can 
 permit to pass without open exposure and condigTi punishment. 
 That you are a gentleman by birth, education, and position I am 
 aware," — whereupon I raised my hat, nnd then ho continued : 
 ** That lady has three hundred a year of her own " 
 
 " And attractions, personal and mental, which aro worth ten 
 times the money," said I, and I bowed to my fair friend, who 
 looked at mo the while with sad beseeching eyes. I confess that 
 the mistress of my bosom, had she known my thoughts at that ono 
 moment, mipht have had cause for nnpjer. 
 
 <<Very well," continued he. **Then tho proposal which I 
 fiame, cannot, I ima^ne, but be satisfactory. If you will mako 
 to her and to me the only amends which it is in your power as 
 a gentleman to afford, I will forgive all. Tell mc that you will 
 make her your wife on your arrival in Egj-pt." 
 
 I would have given anything not to have looked at Miss 
 "Weston at this moment, but I could not help it. I did turn my 
 face half round to her before I answered, and then felt that I 
 had been cruel in doing so. ** Hir William," said I, "1 havo 
 at home already a wife and family of my own." 
 
 ** It is not true ! " said be, retreating a et<p, and staring at 
 me with amazement. 
 
 '* There is something, sir," I re])lied, ** in tho unprecedented 
 circumstances of this meeting, and in your position with regard 
 to that lady, which, joined to your advanced age, will enable mo 
 to regard that useless insult as unspoken. 1 am a married man. 
 There is the signature of my wife's last letter," and I handed 
 him one which 1 had received as 1 was leaving Jerusalem. 
 
 ]iut the coarse violent contradiction which Sir William had 
 given mc was nothing compared with the reproach conveyed in 
 Miss Wefeton's countenance. She looked at mo as though ail her 
 anger were now turned against me. And yet, methought, there 
 was more of sorrow than of resentment in her countenance, liut 
 what cause was there for either ? Why should I be reproached, 
 even by her look ? She did not remember at the moment that 
 when I answered her chance question as to my domestic affairs, 
 I had answered it as to a man who was a stranger to me, and 
 not aa to a beautiful woman, with whom I was (ibout to paM 
 
S52 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 c<5rtain days in close and intimate RocictT. To her, at the mo- 
 ment, it Bccmed as thougli 1 liod cruelly deceived her. In truth, 
 the one person n-ally deceived had been myself. 
 
 And hero I must explain, on behalf of tho Iwly, that when 
 she first joined mo she had no other view than that of s<;eing tho 
 banks of tho Jordan in that puiic which sho had chosen to 
 assume, in or<ler to escnpe from tlio solemnity and austerity of a 
 (liMiif^eciihlo relative. She liad been very foolish, and that was 
 all. I take it that sho had first left her uncle at Constantinople, 
 ])ut on thirt point I never got certain information. Alterwanl*^, 
 while we were travelling together, tho idea had come upon her, 
 that she might go on as far as Alexandna with me. And then 
 
 , I know nothing furthcT of the huly's intentions, but 1 am 
 
 certain that her wiHhoM were good and pure. ][er unrlc had 
 ])een intolerable to lier, and sho hud fled from him. Such hud 
 been her oflenee, and no more. 
 
 **Then, sir," Haid the barontit, giving mo back my letter, 
 **you muHt bo a double-dved villain." 
 
 *' And you, sir," luid 1 But hero Julia Weston intcr- 
 
 mpU'd mc. 
 
 " XJn(;le, you altogether wrong this gentleman," she said. 
 *' lie has been kind to me b(!yond my power of words to ex- 
 press ; but, till told by you, be knew nothing of my H(!eret. Nor 
 would he liavo known it," she added, looking down uj)on tho 
 ground. As to that latter assertion, I was at libeily to believe 
 us much UH 1 pleased. 
 
 I'he Tolo now came to tho door, informing us that any who 
 wiHiK'd to start by the packet must go on board, and therefore, 
 us tho unreuHonable old g(jntleman jxirceived, it was nccesHary 
 that we shoiild all make our arrangements. I cannot say that 
 .th(5y weie siich as enable mc to look back on them with satis- 
 faction, lie did se(!m now at last to believe that I liad ber-n an 
 unconscious agent in his niece's stratagem, but he hardly on that 
 account becumo civil to me. *' It was absolutely necesHary," ho 
 said, " that )io and that unfortunate young woman," as he would 
 call her, ** should de[»art at once, — by this sliip now going." 
 To tills proposition of course I made no opposition. ** And you, 
 Mr. Jonep/' ho ooutinued, '* will at onco perceive that you, us a 
 gentleman, slioiild allow us to proceed on our journey without 
 the honoi.r of your company." 
 
 This was v(;ry dreadful, biit what coidd I say ; or, indred, 
 what could I do? ^ly most earnest desire in the matter was to 
 Bavo Miss Weston from annoyance ; and under existing circum- 
 
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINB. 353 
 
 stances my profi(;n(/0 on bofinl could not l)ut bo a burden to her. 
 And tlion, if 1 went, — if I did ^o, in oppowition to tljo wi.shc^H of 
 tlio baronet, could I tnist my own prudence ? It was better for 
 all parties that I ftliould remain. 
 
 *• Hir William," said I, after a minute's consideration, *' if 
 you will apologise to mo for the ^om insults you bavo offered 
 mc, it shall bo as you say." 
 
 •'Mr. JoncH," said Sir William, "I do apolo;,nsc for the words 
 whieh 1 um-il to you while I was labouring; under a very natural 
 nuHconcoption of the circumstjineea." I do not know that I was 
 mueli the lH;ttcr for the apology, but at the moment I regarded 
 it sufficient. 
 
 Their thinj^s wcT" then hurried down to the strand, and I 
 aceompani(!d them tc he niined quay. I took off my liat to Sir 
 William ns he was fiist letdown into the boat. If e descended 
 first, so that he might receive his niece, — for all Jiiffa now knew 
 tljat it Wfis tt lady, — and then 1 p^ave her my hand for the last 
 time. "Ood bless you, Miss Weston," 1 said, pressing it 
 closely. *' God bless you, ^tr. Jones," she replied. And from 
 that day to this I have neither spoken to her nor seen her. 
 
 I waited a fortnight at Jaffa for the French boat, eating cutletf 
 of goat's flesh, and wandering among the orange groves. I cer- 
 tainly look back on that fortnight as the most miserable jKrriod of 
 my life. I had been deceived, and had failed to discover tho 
 deceit, even though the deceiver had perhaps wished that I 
 •houlii do 10. for that blindncsa I hayc never fbrgivcA mysoli^ 
 
 2A 
 
THE HOUSE OF HEINE BROTHERS, 11^ 
 MUNICH. 
 
 The liouBO of Heine Brothers, in Municb, was of good repute at 
 the time of which I am about to toll, — a time not long ago ; and is 
 80 still, I trust. It was of good repute in its own way, seeing 
 that no man doubted the word or solvency of Ileino Brothers ; 
 but they did not possess, as bankers, what would in England bo 
 considered a largo or profitable business. Tho operations of 
 English bankers are bewildering in their magnitude. Legions 
 of clerks are employed, Tho senior book-keepers, thougli only 
 salaried servants, arc themselves great men; while tho real 
 partners ore inscrutable, mysterious, opulent beyond measure, 
 and altogether unknown to Ihcir customers. Take any firm at 
 random, — Brown, Jones, and Cox, let us say, — the probability is 
 that Jones has been dead these fifty years, that Brown is a 
 Cabinet ^Innster, and that Cox is master of a pack of hounds in 
 Leicestershire. But it was by no means so with the house of 
 Heine Brotliers, of Munich. There they were, the two elderly 
 men, daily to be seen at their dingy office in tho Schrannen 
 riatz ; and if any business was to be transacted requiring the 
 interchange of more than a word or two, it was the younger 
 brother with whom the customer wa>=<, as a matter of course, 
 brought into contact. There were tliree clerks in the establish- 
 ment ; an old man, namely, who sat with the elder brother and 
 had no personal dealings with the public ; a young Englishman, 
 of whom we sluill anon hear more ; and a boy who ran messages, 
 I)ut the wood on to the stoves, and swept out the bank. Truly 
 the house of Heine Brothers was of no great importance ; but 
 nevertheless it was of good repute. 
 
 The office, I have said, was in the Schrannen Platz, or old 
 ^liirkct-place. Munich, as every one knows, is chiefly to bo 
 noted as a now town,— so new that many of tho etrects and moat 
 
THE HOUSE OF HEINE BROTHERS. 355 
 
 of tho palaces look as though they had heen sent home last nlpjht 
 from tho builders, and had only just been taken out of their 
 bandboxes. It is angular, methodical, unfinished, and palatial. 
 But there is an old town ; and, though the old town be not of 
 surpassing interest, it is as dingy, crooked, intricate, and dark as 
 other old towns in Germany. Here, in the old Maiket-place, up 
 one long broad staircase, were situated the two rooms in which 
 ■was held the bank of Heine Brothers. 
 
 Of the elder member of the firm we shall have something to 
 say before this story be completed. He was an ' old bachelor, 
 and was possessed of a bachelor's dwelling somewhere out in the 
 suburbs of the city. The junior brother was a married man, 
 with a wife some twenty years younger than himself, with two 
 daughters, the elder of whom was now one-and-twcnty, and one 
 son. His name was Ernest Heine, whereas the senior brother 
 was known as Uncle Hatto. Ernest Heine and his wife in- 
 liabited a portion of one of those new palatial residences at tho 
 further end of the Ludwigs Strasse ; but not because they thus 
 lived must it bo considered that they were palatial people. By 
 no means let it be so thought, as such an idea would altogether 
 militate against whatever tiuth of character painting there may 
 be in this tale. They were not palatial people, but the very 
 reverse, living in homely guise, pursuing homely duties, and 
 satis>fied with homely pleasures. Up two pairs of stairs, however, 
 in that street of palaces, they lived, having there a commodious 
 suite of large rooms, furnished, after the manner of the Germans, 
 somewhat gaudily as regarded their best salon, and with some- 
 what meagio comfort as legarded their other rooms. But, whether 
 in respect of that which was mc-agro. or whether in respect of 
 that wnich was gaudy, they were as well off as their neighbours ; 
 and this, as I take it, is the point of excellence which is desirable. 
 
 Ernest Heine was at this time 07er sixty ; his wife was past 
 forty ; and his eldest daughter, as I have said, was twenty-one 
 years of age. His second child, also a girl, was six years 
 younger ; and theii' third child, a boy, had not been born till 
 another similar interval had elapsed. He was named Hatto after 
 his uncle, au-.l the two girls had been christened Isa and Agnes, 
 fcuch, in number and mode of life, was the family of the Heines. 
 
 "We English folk are apt to imagine that we are nearer akin to 
 Ckimans than to our other continental neighbours. This may bo 
 80 in blood, but, nevertheless, tho difference in manners is so 
 striking, that it could hardly be enhanced. An EngUshman 
 moving himAclf off to a city in tho middlo of Central Amerioa 
 
 A ▲ A 
 
d5C tALES OP A\L COUNTRIES. 
 
 will find tlie customs to which he must adapt himself less strange 
 to him there, than he would in many a Gherman town. But in 
 no degree of life is the difference more remarkable than among 
 unmarried but marriageable young women. It is not my pur- 
 pose at the present moment to attribute a superiority in this 
 matter to either nationality. Each has its own charm, its own 
 excellence, its own Heaven- given grace, whereby men are led up 
 to purer thoughts and sweet desires ; and each may possibly 
 have its own defect. I will not here describe the excellence or 
 defect of either ; but will, if it be in my power, say a word as 
 to this difference. The German girl of one-and-twenty, — our 
 Isa's age, — is more sedate, more womanly, more meditative than 
 her English sister. The world's work is more in her thoughts, 
 and the world's amusements less so. She probably knows less of 
 those things which women learn than the English girl, but that 
 which she does know is nearer to her hand for use. She is not 
 BO much accustomed to society, but nevertheless she is more 
 mistress of her own manner. She is not taught to think so much 
 of those things which flurry and disturb the mind, and thcreloro 
 she is seldom flunied and disturbed. To lioth of them, love, — 
 the idea of love, — must be the thought of all the most absorb- 
 ing ; for is it not fated for tbem that the joys and soitows of their 
 future life must depend upon it? Uut the idea of the (lermiiii 
 girl is the more realistic, and the less romantic. Poetiy and 
 tiction fhe may luivo read, thoiigh of the latter sparingly ; but 
 they will not have imbued her with that liope lor some transcen- 
 dental paradise of affection which so often fills and exalts the 
 hearts of our daughtws hero at home. She is moderate in her 
 aspirations, requiiing less excitement than an English girl ; and 
 never forgetting the solid necessities of life, — as they are so often 
 forgotten here in England. In associating with young men, an 
 English gu'l will always remember that in each one she so meets 
 she may find an admirer whom she may possibly love, or an 
 admirer whom she may probably be called on to repel. She is 
 ever conscious of the fact of tliis position ; and a ronuinco is thus 
 engendered which, if it may at times be dangerous, is at any rate 
 always channing. IJut the German girl, in her Hini])li(ity, has 
 no such consciousness. As you and I, my reader, might probably 
 become dear friends were we to meet and know each other, so 
 may the German girl learn to love the fair-haired youth with 
 whom chance has for a time associated her ; but to her mind 
 there occurs no smggestive reason why it should be so, — no pro- 
 bability tliut tlio youth may regard her in such li|;^ht| becuubo 
 
THE HOUSE OP HEINE BROTHERg. 357 
 
 that chance has corao to pass. She can therefore give him her 
 hand without trepidation, and talk with him for half an hour, 
 when called on to do so, as calmly as she might do with his 
 sister. 
 
 Such a one was Isa Heine at the time of which I nm writing. 
 "We English, in our passion for daily excitement, might call her 
 phlegmatic, but we should call her so unjustly. Life to her was 
 a serious matter, of which the daily duties and daily wants were 
 sufficient to occupy her thoughts. She was her mother's com- 
 panion, the instructress of both her brother and her sister, and 
 the charm of her father's vacant hours. With such calls upon 
 her time, and so many realities around her, her imagination did 
 not teach her to look for joys beyond those of her present life 
 and home. When love and marriage should come to her, as come 
 they probably might, she would endeavour to attune herself to a 
 new happiness and a new sphere of duties. In the meantime 
 she was contented to keep her mother's accounts, and look after 
 her brother and sister up two pair of stairs in the Ludwigs 
 Strasse. But change would certainly come, wc may prophesy ; 
 lor Isa Heine was a beautiful girl, tall and graceful, comely to 
 the eye, and fit in every way to bo loved and cherished as the 
 partner of a man's home. 
 
 I have said that an English clerk made a part of that small 
 establislmientin the dingy banking-office in the Schrannen Platz, 
 and I must say a word or two of Herbert Onslow. In his early 
 career he had not been fortunate. His father, with means suffi- 
 ciently moderate, and with a family more than sufficiently large, 
 had sent him to a public school at which he had been very idle, 
 and ,then to one of the universities, at which he had run into 
 debt, and had therefore left without a degi'ec. When this 
 occurred, a family council of war had been held among the 
 Onslows, and it was decided that Herbert should be sent off to 
 the banking-house of Heines, at Munich, there being a cousinship 
 between the families, and some existing connections of business. 
 It was, therefore, so settled ; and Herbert, willing enough to see 
 the world, — as he considered he should do by going to Munich, — '■ 
 started for his German home, with injunctions, very tender from 
 his mother, and very solemn from his aggrieved father. But 
 there was nothing bad at the heart about young Onslow, and if 
 the solemn father had well considered it, he might perhaps have 
 felt that those debts at Cambridge reflected more fault on him 
 than on his son. When Herbert arrived at Munich, his cousins, 
 tlie Heines^ — ^far-away cousina though they were, — ^behaved 
 
858 TALES or ALL COTTTmiTES, 
 
 kindly to him. They established him at first in lodgings, where 
 he was boarded with many others, having heard somewhat of his 
 early youth. But when Madame Heine, at tho ond of twelve 
 months, perceived that he was punctual at tho bank, and that 
 Ilia allowances, which, thouRh moderate in England, wcro hand- 
 some in Munich, carried him on without debt, she opened her 
 motherly arms and suggested to his mother and to himself, that 
 ho should live with them. In this way ho also was domiciled 
 up two pairs of stairs in tho palatial residence in tho Ludwigs 
 Strasso. 
 
 Uut all this happened long nf^o, Isa Hcino had been only 
 seventeen when her cousin had first come to Munich, and had 
 mado acquaintance with him rather as a child than os a woman. 
 And when, as she ripened into womanhood, this young man 
 came more closely among them, it did not strike her that tho 
 change would affect her more powerfully than it would tho 
 others. Her undo and father, she knew, had approved of Her- 
 bert at tho bank; and Herbert had shown that he could be 
 steady ; therefore he was to be taken into their family, paying 
 his annual subsidy, instead of being left with strangers at tho 
 boarding-house. AH this was very simple to her. She assisted 
 in mending his linen, as she did her father's; sho visited hib 
 room daily, as sho visited all tho others ; sho took notice of his 
 likings and dislikings as touching their table arrangement", — but 
 by no means such notice as she did of her father's ; and without 
 ony flutter, inwardly in her imagination or outwardly as regarded 
 the world, she made him one of the family. So things went on 
 for a year, — nay, so things went on for two years with her, after 
 Herbert Onslow had come to tho Ludwigs Strasse. 
 
 Ihit tho matter had been regarded in a very different light by 
 Herbert himself. "When the proposition had been made to him, 
 liis first idea liad been that so close a eomiection with a giii g-o 
 very pretty would be delightful. Ho had blushed as he l:ad 
 given in his odhesion ; but Madame Heine, when sho saw tho 
 blush, had attributed it to anything but tho true cause. "Wh.on 
 Isa had asked him as to his wants and wishes, he had blusiicd 
 again, but she had been as ignorant as her mother. The inthcr 
 had merely stipulated that, as tho young Englishman paid for his 
 board, ho should have tho full value of his money, so that Isa 
 and Agnes gave up their pretty front room, going into ono that 
 was inl'crior, and jfutto was put to sleep in tho littlo closet that 
 had been pupa's own peculiar property. But nobody eompluiued 
 of this, for it was understood that the money was ot servico. 
 
THE HOUSE OP HEINE BROTHERS 359 
 
 For the first year Herbert found that nothing especial hap- 
 :^ened. He always fancied that he was in love with Isa, and 
 wrote some poetry about her. But the poetry was in English, 
 and Isa could not read it, even had he dared to show it to her. 
 During Ihn Hi'coud year ho wi'Tit lionio to Kti^'lutul fur thn-u 
 montlis, and by confessing a passion to ono of his sisters, really 
 brought himself to feel one. He returned to Munich resolved to 
 tell Isa that the possibility of his remaining there depended upon 
 her acceptance of his heart ; but for months he did not find him- 
 self able to put his resolution in force. She was so sedate, so 
 womanly, so attentive as regarded cousinly friendship, and so 
 cold as regarded everything else, that he did not know how to 
 speak to her. With an English girl whom he had met three 
 times at a ball, ht might have been much more able to make 
 progress. He was alone with Isa frequently, for neither father, 
 mother, nor Isa herself objected to such communion ; but yet 
 things so went between them that lie could not take her by tho 
 hand and tell her that he loved her. And thus the third year 
 of his life in Munich, and the second of his residence in tho 
 Ludwigs Strassc, went by him. So the years went by, and Isa 
 was now past twenty. To Herbert, in his reveries, it seemed as 
 though lite, and the joys of life, were slipping away from him. 
 Uut no such feeling disturbed any of the Heines. Life, of course, 
 was slipping away ; but then is it not the destiny of man that 
 lite should slip away? Their wants were all satisfied, and for 
 them, that, together with their close family aff'ection, was hap- 
 piness enough. 
 
 At last, however, Herbert so spoke, or so looked, that both 
 Isa and her mother that liis heart was touched. He stiU declared 
 to himself that he had made no sign, and that he was an oaf, an 
 ass, a coward, in that he had not done so. But he had made some 
 sign, and tho sign had been read. There was no secret, — no 
 necessity for a secret on the subject between the mother and 
 daughter, but yet it was not spoken of all at once. There was 
 some little increase of caution between them as Herbert's name 
 was mentioned, bo that gradually each knew what the other 
 thought ; bi^t for weeks, that was alL Then at last the mother 
 epoke out. 
 
 *' Isa," she said, "I think that Herbert Onslow is becoming 
 attached to you." 
 
 ** He has never said so, mamma," 
 
 ** Ko ; I am sure he has not. Had he done bo, you 'W0uI4 
 have told me. NeTertheless, is it not true ? " 
 
860. TALES OP AiX COUNTRIES. 
 
 ** TVellf mamma, I cannot say. It may be to. Such an idea 
 has occurred to me, but I have abandoned it as needless. li' he 
 lias ony tiling to say ho will sav it.'* 
 
 *' And if ho were to speak, how should yon answer him ? " . 
 
 " I should take time to think. I do not at all know what 
 means ho has for a scj) irate establishment.*' Then the subject 
 was dropped between ilium for that time, and Isa, in her com- 
 munications with her cousin, was somewhat more reserved than 
 she had been. 
 
 " Irii, arc you in lovo with TTerbcrt?** Agnes asked her, as 
 they were togothcr in their room one night. 
 
 "In love with him? Koj why should I be in love with 
 him?" 
 
 " I think he is in love with you," said Agnes. 
 
 ** That is quite nnotlior thing," said Isa, laughing. ** But if so, 
 he has not taken me into his confidence. Perhaps he has you." 
 
 " Oh no. lEo wotiM not do tliiit, I think. Not but wliat wo 
 are great friends, and I lovo him dearly. "Would it not bo nice 
 for you and him to bo betrothed ? '' 
 
 ** That depends on many things, my dear.** 
 
 *' Oh yt'8, I know. Torhapa lie has not got money enough. 
 But you could live here, you know, and ho has got some money, 
 because ho so oitcn rides on horseback." And then the matter 
 was dropped between the two sisters. 
 
 Herbert had given English lessons to the two girls, but the 
 lessons had been found tedious, and had dwindled away. Isa, 
 nevertheless, had kept up her exercises, duly translating German 
 into English, and English into German ; and occasionally she had 
 shown them to her cousin. Now, however, she altogether gave 
 over such showing of them, but, nevertheless, worked at the task 
 with more energy than before. 
 
 ** Isa," he 8uid to her one day, — having with some difficulty 
 found her alone in the parlour, " Isa, why should not wo go on 
 with our English ? " 
 
 *' Because it is troublesome, — ^to you I mean.** 
 
 "Troublesome. AVell ; yes; it is troublesome. Nothing 
 good is to be had without trouble. But I should like it if you 
 would not mind." 
 
 *' You know how sick you were of it before ; — ^besides, I shall 
 never be able to speak it." 
 
 *' I shall not get sick of it now, Isa.** 
 
 " Oh yes you would ; — in two days." 
 
 ** And I want you to speak it. I desire it especially,** 
 
THE HOUSE OP HEINE BROTHERS. 3G1 
 
 ** AVhy especially ? " asked Isa. And oven she, with all her 
 tranquillity of demeanour, could hardly preserve her even tone 
 and quiet look, as she asked the necessary question. 
 
 " I will tell you why," said Herbert ; and as he spoke, ho got 
 tip from his seat, and took a step or two over towards her, where 
 she was sitting near the window. Isa, as she saw him, still con- 
 tinued her work, and strove hard to give to the stitches all that 
 attention which they required. ** I will tell you why I would 
 wish you to talk my language. Because I love you, Isa, and 
 would have you for my wife, — if that be possible." 
 
 She still continued her work, and the stitches, if not quite as 
 perfect as usual, sufficed for their purpose. 
 
 ** That is why I wish it. Now will you consent to learn from 
 me again ? " 
 
 ** If I did, Herbert, that consent would include another." 
 
 " Yes ; certainly it would. That is what I intend. And now 
 will you learn from me again ? " 
 
 " That is, — you mean to ask, will I marry you ? " 
 
 " Will you love me ? Can you learn to love me? Oh, Isa, I 
 have thought cf this so long ! But you have seemed so cold that 
 I have not dared to speak. Isa, can you love me ?" And ho 
 Bat himself close beside her. Now that the ice was broken, ho 
 was quite prepared to become an ardent lover, — if she would allow 
 of such ardour. But as he sat down she rose. 
 
 ** I cannot answer such a question on the sudden," she said. 
 ** Give me till to-morrow, Herbert, and then I will make you a 
 reply ; " whereupon she left him, and he stood alone in the 
 room, having done the deed on which he had been meditating 
 for the last two years. About half an hour afterwards he mother 
 on the stairs as he was going to his chamber. ** May I speak to 
 your father about this," he said, hardly stopping her as he asked 
 the question. " Oh yes ; surely," she answered ; and then again 
 they parted. To him this last-accorded permission sounded as 
 though it carried with it more weight than it in truth possessed. 
 In his own country a reference to the lady's father is taken as 
 indicating a full consent on the lady's part, should the stern 
 paterfamilias raise no objection. But Isa had no such meaning. 
 She had told him that she could not give her answer till the 
 morrow. If, howoT er, he chose to consult her father on the sub- 
 ject, she had no objection. It would probably be necessary that 
 Bhe should discuss the whole matter in family conclave, before 
 ahe could bring herself to give any reply. 
 
 On that ni^t, before he went to bed, he did speak to her 
 
362 TALBS OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 father ; and Isa also, before she went to rest, spoke to her mother. 
 It was pingular to him that there should appear to be so little 
 privacy on the subject ; that there should be held to be so little 
 necessity for a secret. Had ho made a suggestion that an extra 
 room should be allotted to him at bo much per annum, the pro- 
 position could not have been discussed with simpler case. At 
 last, after a three days* debate, the matter ended thus, — with by 
 no means a sufficiency of romance for his taste. Isa had agreed 
 to become his betrothed if certain pecuniary conditions should or 
 could be fulfilled. It appeared now that Herbert's father had 
 promised tliat somo small modicum of capital should bo forth- 
 coming after a term of years, and that Heine Brotlicrs luid 
 agreed that the Englishman should have a proportionate share 
 in the bank when that promise should be brought to bear. Lei 
 it not be supposed that Herbert would thus become a million- 
 aire. If all went well, the best would bo that some three hun- 
 dred a year would accrue to him from the bank, instead of the 
 quarter of that income which he at present received. But three 
 hundred a year goes a long way at Munich, and Isa's parents 
 were willing that she should be Herbert's wife if such an income 
 should be forthcoming. 
 
 But even of this there was much doubt. Application to 
 Herbert's father could not be judiciously made for some months. 
 The earliest period at which, in accordance with old Hatto 
 Heine's agreement, young Onslow might be admitted to the bank, 
 was still distant by four years ; and the present moment was 
 thought to bo inopportune for applying to him for any act of 
 grace. Let them wait, said papa and mamma Heine, — at any 
 rate till New Year's Day, then ten months distant. Isa quietly 
 said that she would wait till New Year's Day. Herbert fretted, 
 fumed, and declared that he was ill-treated. But in the end he 
 also agreed to wait. What else could ho do ? 
 
 "But we shall see each other daily, and be close to each 
 other," he said to Isa, looking tenderly into her eyes. *' Yes," 
 she replied, "we shall see each other daily— of course. But, 
 Jlorbert '* 
 
 Herbert looked up at her and paused for her to go on. 
 
 "I have promised mamma that there shall be no change 
 between up, — in our manner to each other, I mean. We ai-e 
 not betrothed as yet, you know, and perhaps wo may never 
 bo so." 
 
 "Isa!" 
 
 " It may not be possible, you know. And therefore we will 
 
THE HOUSE OP HEINE BUOTHERS. 863 
 
 g\) on 23i before. Of course we shall see each other, and of conrso 
 we shall be fiicnds.'* 
 
 ncrbert Onslow again fretted and again fumed, but ho did not 
 have his way. He had looked forward to the ecstasies of a 
 lover's life, but very few of those ecstasies were awarded to him. 
 He rarely found himself alone with Isa, and when he did do so, 
 her coldness overawed him. He could dare to scold her, and 
 sometimes did do so, but ho could not dare to take the slightest 
 liberty. Once, on that night when the qualified consent of 
 papa and mamma Heine had first been given, ho had been allowed 
 to touch her lips with his own ; but since that day there had 
 been for him no such delight as that. She would not even allow 
 her hand to remain in his. When they all passed their evenings 
 together in the beer-garden, she would studiously manage that 
 his cliair should not be close to hur own. Occasionally she 
 would walk with him, but not more frequently now than of yore. 
 Very few, indeed, of a lover's privileges did he enjoy. And in 
 this way the long year wore itself out, and Isa Heine was one- 
 and-twenty. 
 
 All those family details which had made it inexpedient to 
 apply either to old Hatto or to Herbert's father before the end of 
 the year need not be specially explained. Old Hatto, who had 
 by far the greater share in the business, was a tyrant somewhat 
 feared both by his brother and sister-in-law ; and the elder 
 Onslow, as was known to them all, was a man straitened in cir- 
 cumstances. Eut soon after New Year's Day the proposition 
 was made in the Schrannen Platz, and the letter was written. 
 On this occasion Madame Heine went down to the bank, and 
 together vrith her husband, was closeted for an hour with old 
 \ Hatto. Uncle Hatto' s verdict was not favourable. As to the 
 I young people's marriage, that was his brother's affair, not his. 
 But as to the partnership, that was a serious matter. Who ever 
 |! heard of a paitnership being given away merely because a man 
 1 wanted to marry ? He would keep to his promise, and if the 
 I stipulated moneys were forthcoming, Herbert Onslow should 
 j become a partner, — ^in four years. Nor was the reply from 
 ■England more favourable. The alliance was regarded by all the 
 jOnslows very favourably. Nothing could be nicer than such a 
 toarriage ! They already knew dear Isa bo well by description I 
 JBut as for the money, — ^that could not in any way be forth- 
 I coming till the end of ^e stipulated period. 
 
 I** And what shall we do ? *' said Herbert to Papa Heine. 
 "You must wait," said h«. 
 
864 TALES OP ALL COUNTRTEI. 
 
 "For four years ? ** OBkcd TTerl)ort. 
 
 " You must wait, — as I did," said Papa Heine. " I was forty 
 before I could many." Papa Ilcine, however, should not hnvo 
 forgottt'n to say that his bride was only twenty, and thot if he 
 had waited, she had not. 
 
 "Isa," Herbert said to her, when all this had been fully 
 explained to her, ** what do you say now ? " 
 
 •* Of course it is all over," said she, very calmly. 
 
 "Oh, Isa, is that your love ? " 
 
 **2s^o, Herbert, that is not my love ; that is my discretion ; " 
 and she even lauf^lied with her mild low laughter, as she 
 answered him. ** You know you are too impatient to wait four 
 years, and what else therefore can I say?" 
 
 **I wonder whetlier you love mo'?" said Herbert, with a 
 gi'nnd look of injured sentiment. 
 
 "Well ; in your sense of the word I do not think I do. I do 
 not love you so tliat I need make every one around us unhappy 
 because circumstances forbid me to marry you. That sort of 
 love would be baneful.'* 
 
 "Ah no, you do not know what love means I " 
 
 "Not your boistiTous, heartbreaking English love, Herbert. 
 And, Herbert, sometimes I think you had better go homo and 
 look for a bride there. Though you fancy that you lovo me, in 
 your heart you hardly approve of me." 
 
 "Fancy that I love you ! Do you think, Isa, that a man can 
 carry his heart round to one customer after another as tho 
 huckster carries his wares ? ** 
 
 " Yes ; I tliiuk he can. I know that men do. "What did your 
 hero Waverley do with his hetu-t in that grand English novel 
 which you gave me to read ? I am not Flora Mac Ivor, but you 
 may iind a lloso Jiradwardine." 
 
 "And you really wish me to do so?" 
 
 " Look here, Herbert. It is bad to boast, but I will make this 
 boast. I am so little selfish, that I desire above all that you 
 shoiild do that which may make you most happy and contented. 
 1 will be quite frank with you. I love you well enough to wait 
 these four years with tho hope of becoming your wife when they 
 are over. But you will think but little of my lovo when I tell 
 you that this waiting would not make mo unhappy. I should 
 go on as I do now, and bo contented." 
 
 " Oh heavens ! " sighed Herbert. 
 
 " But OS I know that this would not suit you, — as I feel sure 
 that ouch delay would gall you evei-y day, as I doubt whether it 
 
THE HOUSE OF HEINE BROTHERS. 865 
 
 would not make you sick of mo long before the four years bo 
 over, — my iidvico is, that wo should let this matter drop." 
 
 Ho now walked up to her and took her hand, and as ho did so 
 there was something in his gait and look and tone of voice that 
 stirred her heart more sharply than it had yet been stirred. "And 
 even that would not make you unhappy," he said. 
 
 She paused before she replied, leaving her hand in his, for ho 
 was contented to hold it without peculiar pressure. ** I will not 
 say BO," she replied. **I3ut, Hcrbeit, I think that you press mc 
 too hard. Is it not enough that I leave you to bo the aibiter of 
 my destiny?" 
 
 •* I would learn the very truth of your heart," he replied. 
 
 " 1 cannot tell you that truth more plainly. Methinks I havo 
 told it too plainly already. If you wish it, I will hold myself 
 as engaged to you, — to be marncd to you when those four years 
 ore past. But, remember, I do not ad vise it. If you wish it, 
 you shall havo back your troth. And that I think will bo tho 
 wiser course." 
 
 IJut neither alternative contented Ilerbei-t Onslow, and at the 
 time he did not resolve on either, lie had some little present 
 income from home, some fifty pounds a year or so, and he would 
 be satislied to marry on that and on his salary as a clerk; but 
 to tliis papa and mamma Heine would not consent; — neither 
 would Isa. 
 
 **You are not a saving, close man," she said to him when ho 
 boasted of his economies. " Ko Englishmen are. You could 
 not live comibrtably in two small rooms, and with bad dinners." 
 
 *' I do not care a straw about my dinners." 
 
 **Kot now that you are a lover, but you would do when you 
 were a husband. And you change your linen almost cveiy day." 
 
 "Bah!" 
 
 "Yes; bah, if you pleaso. But I know what these things 
 cost. You had )>etler go to England and fetch a rich wife. Then 
 you will become a partner at once, and Uncle Hatto won't snub 
 you. And you will be a grand man, and havo a horse to rido 
 on." Whereupon Herbert went away in disgust. Nothing in 
 all this made him so unhappy as the feeling that Isa, under all 
 their joint privations, would not be unhajjpy herself. As far as 
 he could see, all this made no difference in Isa. 
 
 But, in ti-uth, he had not yet read Isa's character very 
 thoroug?ily. Sbe had spoken truly in saying that she knew 
 nothing of tliut boiGterous love which was now tormenting hiiu, 
 and making him gloomy ; but nevertheless she loved liim. &hC| 
 
S66 TALES OF ALL COUimtlESL 
 
 in her eliort life, had learnt many lessens of Belf-denial ; and 
 now with reference to this half-promised husband she would 
 again have practised such a lesson. Had he agreed at once to go 
 from her, she would have balanced her own account within her 
 own breast, and have kept to herself all her sufferings. Thero 
 would have been no outward show of baffled love, — none even in 
 the colour of her cheeks ; for such was the nature of her tem- 
 perament. But she did suffer for him. Day by day she began 
 to think that his love, though boisterous as she had at first called 
 it, was more deep-seated than she had believed. He made no 
 slightest sign that he would accept any of those proffers which 
 Bhe had made him of release. Though he said so loudly that this 
 waiting for four years was an impossibility, ho spoke of no courso 
 that would bo more possible, — except that evidently impossible 
 courso of an cai'ly marriage. And thus, while ho with redoubled 
 vehemence charged her with coldness and want of love, her lovo 
 waxed warmer and wai-mer, and his happiness became the chief 
 object of her thoughts. "What could she do that ho might no 
 longer suffer ? 
 
 And then he took a step which was very strange to them all. 
 He banished himself altogether from the house, going away 
 again into lodgings, **No," he said, on the morning of his de- 
 partui'c, " I do not release you. I will never release you. You 
 ore mine, and I have a right so to call you. If you choose to 
 release yourself, I cannot help it j but in doing so you will bo 
 forsworn.'* 
 
 **Nay, but, Herbert, I have sworn to nothing,'* said she, 
 meaning that she had not been formally betrothed to him. 
 
 *'You can do as you please; it is a matter of conscience; 
 but I tell you what are my feelings. Hero I cannot stay, for I 
 should go mad ; but I shall see you occasionally j — ^perhaps on 
 Sundays." 
 
 '*0h, Herbert!" 
 
 "Well, what would you have? If you really cared to see me 
 it would not be thus. All I ask of you now is this, that if you 
 decide, — absolutely decide on throwing me over, you will tell mo 
 at once. Then I shall leave Munich." 
 
 *' Herbert, I will never throw you over." So they parted, 
 and Onslow went forth to his new lodgings. 
 
 Her promise that she would never throw him over was the 
 warmest word of love that she had ever spoken, but even that 
 was said in her own quiet, imimpassioned way. There was in it 
 but very little show of ioYOi though there might be an assurance 
 
ISE HOUSE OP HEINE BROTHERS. 367 
 
 of constancy. But her constancy he did not, in truth, much 
 doubt. Four years, — fourteen, — or twenty-four, would he the 
 Bamo to her, he said, as he seated himself m the dull, cold room 
 which he had chosen. While living in the Ludwigs Strasse he 
 did not know how much had been daily done for his comfort by 
 tliat hand which he had been so seldom allowed to press ; but ho 
 knew that he was now cold and comfortless, and he wished him- 
 self back in the Ludwigs Strasse. 
 
 ** Mamma," said Isa, when they were alone. " Is not Uncle 
 Hatto rather hard on us ? Papa said that he would ask this as a 
 favour from his brother." 
 
 ** So he did, my dear ; and offered to give up more of his own 
 time. But your Uncle Hatto is hard." 
 
 ** He is rich, is he not ? " 
 
 *' Well ; your father says not. Your father says that he spends 
 all his income. Though he is hard and obstinate, he is not selfish. 
 He is very good to the poor, but I believe ho thinks that early 
 maniagcs arc very foolish." 
 
 ** Mamma," said Isa again, when they had sat for some minutes 
 in silence over their work. 
 
 *'Well, my love?" 
 
 ** Have you spoken to Uncle Hatto about this?" 
 
 **No, dear; not since that day when your papa and I first 
 went to liim. To tell the truth, I am almost afraid to speak to 
 him ; but, if you wish it, I will do so." 
 
 "I do wish it, mamma. But you must not think that I am 
 discontented or impatient. I do not know that I have any right 
 to ask my uncle for his money ; — for it comes to that." 
 
 ** I suppose it does, my dear." 
 
 *' And as for myself, I am happy here with you and papa. I 
 do not think so much of these four years." 
 
 " You would still be young, Isa; — quite young enough." 
 
 ** And what if I were not young? What does it matter ? But, 
 mamma, there has been that between Herbert and me which 
 makes mo feel myself bound to think of him. As you and papa 
 have sanctioned it, you are bound to think of him also. I know 
 that he is unhappy, living there all alone." 
 
 ** But why did ho go, dear ? " 
 
 •" I think ho was right to go. I could understand his doing 
 that. Ho is not like us, and would have been fretful here, want- 
 ing that which I could not give him. He became worse from 
 day to day, and was silent and morose. I am glad he went. 3oX^ 
 uiaQkma, for his sako I widh tliat thifl oould bd fihorto^^*- 
 
868 TiLES OP ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 Madame Heine told her daughter that she would, if Isa wished 
 it, herself go to the Schrannen Platz, and see what could bo dont 
 by talking to Undo Hatto. " But," she added, "I fear that no 
 good will come of it." 
 
 " Can harm come, mamma?** 
 
 *' No, I do not think harm can come." 
 
 ** I'll tell you what, mamma, I will go to TJnclo Hatto myself, 
 if you will let me. He is cross I know ; but I shall not be afraid 
 of him. I feel that I ought to do something." And so the 
 matter was settled, Madame Heine being by no means averse to 
 escape a further personal visit to the Head of the banking csta- 
 blislimcnt. 
 
 Madame Heine well iinderstood what her daughter meant, 
 when she said she ought to do something, thougli Isa feared that 
 she had imperfectly expressed her meaning. When he, Herbert, 
 was willing to do so much to prove his love, — when ho was ready 
 to sacrifice all the little comforts of comparative wealth to which 
 ho had been accustomed, in order that she might be his companion 
 and wife, — did it not behove her to give some proof of her love 
 also ? She could not be demonstrative as he was. Such exhi- 
 bition of feeling would be quite contrary to her ideas of female 
 delicacy, and to her very nature. But if called on to work for 
 him, that she could do as long as strength remained to her. I3ut 
 there was no sacrifice which would be of ser>'ice, nor any work 
 which would avail. Therefore she was driven to think what she 
 might do on Ids behalf, and at lost she resolved to make her 
 personal appeal to Uncle Hutto. 
 
 " Shall I tell papa ? " Isa asked of her mother. 
 
 " I will do so," said Madame Heine. And then the younger 
 member of the fiim was infonned as to the step which was to bo 
 taken; and he, though ho said nothing to forbid the attempt, 
 held out no hope that it would bo successful. 
 
 Uncle Hutto was a littlo sniifTy man, now full soventy years of 
 age, who passed seven hours of everjr week-day of his lifo in the 
 dark buck elminber behind the bunking-room of tho firm, and ho 
 had so passed every week-day of his life for more years than any 
 of tlie family could now remember. He had made the house wliat 
 it was, and had taken his brother into partnership when that 
 brother married. All the family were somewhat afraid of him, 
 including even his partner. He rarely came to tho apartments 
 in tho Ludwigs Strasse, as ho himself lived in one of the older 
 and shabbier suburbs on tho other side of the town. Thither he 
 always walked, starting punctually from tho bunk at four o'clock, 
 
THE HOUSE OP HEINE BROTHERS. 369 
 
 and from thence ho always walked in the moraing, reaching tho 
 bank punctually at nine. His two nieces knew him well ; for 
 on certain stated days they were wont to attend on him at his 
 lo<lgings, where they would bo regaled with cakes, and afterwards 
 go with him to some old-fashioned beer-garden in his neighbour- 
 hood. But these fcsti\4ties were of a sombro kind ; and if, on 
 any occasion, circumstances prevented tho fulfilment of the cere- 
 mony, neither of the girls would be loud in their lamentations. 
 
 In London, a visit paid by a niece to her uncle would, in all 
 probability, be made at tho uncle's private residence; but at 
 Munich private and public matters were not so ofTectually divided. 
 Isa therefore, having put on her hat and shawl, walked off by 
 herself to tho Schrannen Platz. 
 
 **Is Uncle Hatto inside?" she asked; and the answer was 
 given to her by her own lover. Yes, he was within ; but tho old 
 clerk was with him. Isa, however, signified her wish to see her 
 uncle alone, and in a few minutes the ancient grey-haired servant 
 of the house came out into the larger room. 
 
 ** You can go in now, Miss Isa," ho said. And Isa found her- 
 eelf in the presence of her uncle before sho had been two minutes 
 under the roof. In the mean time Ernest Heine, her father, had 
 said not a word, and Herbert knew that something very special 
 must be about to occur. 
 
 ** Well, my bonny bird," euid Uncle Hatto, ** and what do you 
 want at the bank ? " Cheery words, such as these, were by no 
 means uncommon with Uncle Hatto; but Isa knew very well 
 that no presage could be dra\vn from them of any special good 
 nature or temporary weakness on his part. 
 
 ** Uncle Hatto," she began, rushing at once into tho middle of 
 her affair, "you know, I believe, that I am engaged to marry 
 Herbei-t Onslow?" 
 
 ** I know no such thing," said he. ** I thought I understood 
 your father specially to say that there had been no betrothal." 
 
 ** No, Undo Hatto, there has been no betrothal; that cer- 
 tainly is true ; but, nevertheless, we are engaged to each other." 
 
 •* Well," said Uncle Hatto, very sourly ; and now there was 
 no longer any che*^ry tone, or any calling of pretty names. 
 
 *• Perhaps you may Ihms. all this very foolish," said Isa, who, 
 in spite of her resolves to do so, was hardly able to look up 
 gallantly into her uncle's face as she thus talked of her own love 
 alfairs. 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Uncle Hatto. "I do think it foolish for 
 young people to hold themselves betrothed before they have got 
 
 B B 
 
870 TALBfl OP ALL OOUNTRIEfl. 
 
 anything to live on, ond so I have told your father. Ho ansT^ tTod 
 mo by saying that you wore not betrothed." 
 
 " Nor are wo. Pnpa is quite right in that." 
 
 ** Then, my dear, 1 would odviso you to toll tho young man 
 that, ns neither of you havo means of your own, tho thing must 
 bo at an end, It is tho o\\\y step for you to ttiko. If you ii|j!:re<d 
 to wait, one of you miglit dio, or his money might never bo forth- 
 coming, or you might see somebody elso tliat you liked better." 
 
 " I don't think I shall do that." 
 
 ** You can't tell. And if you don't, tho chances oro ten to one 
 that ho will." 
 
 Tins little })low, which was intended to bo sovcro, did not hit 
 Isa at all liaid. That yhm of a Hose IJradwardine she hei8clf liad 
 proposed in good faith, tliinking that she could euduro Huch a 
 termination te tho all'air without lliiiching. Sho was probably 
 wrong in this estimate of her power; but, nevertheless, her 
 present object was his release from unhappiness and doubt, not 
 her own. 
 
 " Tt might bo po," she said. 
 
 " 'J'aU(< my word for it, it wotjld. Look idl around. Thcro 
 Was Adelaide Schrojuier, — b\it that was before your time, and 
 you would not remember." Considering that Adelaide Sehropmr 
 had been for many years a grandmother, it was probable that Isu 
 would not remember. 
 
 ** ]{ut, Uncle Hatto, you havo not heard mc. I want to say 
 something to you, if it will not take too mucli of your time." In 
 nns'A'er to whicli, Undo Ifatto muttered something which was 
 unheeded, to signify that Isa might speak. 
 
 ** I also think that a long engagement is a foolish thing, and 
 BO does Uerbert." 
 
 ** But he wants to marry at once." 
 
 ** Yes, he wants to marry — perhaps not at once, but soon." 
 
 " And 1 suppose you havo come to say that you want the same 
 thing." 
 
 Isa blushed ever so faintly as alio commenced her answer. 
 "Yes, uncle, I do wish tho samo thing. What ho wishes, I 
 wish.'- 
 
 ** Veiy likely, — very likely." 
 
 '* Don't be eccmful to me, undo. "When two people love each 
 other, it is natural that each should wish that which tlio other 
 farncMtly deMircH," 
 
 "Oh, very natural, my doar^ that you should wish to get 
 married I * 
 
*ALES OP ALL OOUNIRIE^. 371 
 
 ** Uncle Hatto, I did not think that you would be unkind to 
 me, though I knew that you would be stem." 
 
 ** Well, go on. What have you to say ? I am not stem ; but 
 I have no doubt you will think me unkind. People are always 
 unkind who do not do what they are asked." 
 
 "Pupa says that Herbert Onslow is some day to become a 
 partner in the bank." 
 
 ** That depends on certain circumstances. Neither I nor your 
 papa can say whether he will or no." 
 
 But Isa went on as though she had not heard the last reply. 
 " I have come to ask you to admit him as a partner at once." 
 
 ** Ah, I supposed so j — just as you might ask me to give you a 
 new ribbon." 
 
 ♦* Put, uncle, I never did ask you to give me a new ribbon. I 
 never asked you to give mo anything for myself ; nor do I ask 
 this for myself." 
 
 ** Do you think that if I could do it, — which of course I can't,— 
 I would not sooner do it for you, who ore my own flesh and blood, 
 tlian for him, who is a stranger? " 
 
 '* Kay ; he is no stranger. He has sat at your desk and obeyed 
 your orders for nearly four years. Papa says that he has done 
 well in the bank." 
 
 ** Humph ! If every clerk that does well, — ^pretty well, that 
 is, — wanted a partnership, where should we be, m^ dear ? No, 
 my dear, go home and tell him when you see him in the evening 
 that all this must be at an end. Men's places in the world aro 
 not given away so easily as that. They must cither be earned 
 or purchased. Herbert Onslow has as yet done neither, and 
 therefore he is not entitled to take a wife. I should have been 
 glad to have had a wife at his age, — at least I suppose I should, 
 but at any rate I could not afford it." 
 
 But Isa had by no means as yet done. So far the interview 
 had progressed exactly as she had anticipated. She had never 
 supposed it possible that her uncle would grant her so important 
 a request as soon as she opened her mouth to ask it. She had 
 not lor a moment expected that things would go so easily with 
 her. Indeed she had never expected that any success would 
 attend her efforts ; but, if any success were possible, the work 
 which must achieve that success must now commence. It waa 
 necessary that she should first state her request plainly before she 
 began to urge it with such eloquence as she had at her command* 
 
 ** I can understand what you say, Uncle Hatto." ^ 
 
 *'I wn glad of that, at any rate." 
 
 BS2 
 
872 TAliES OP ALI. COrNTRIEd. 
 
 " And I know that I liavo no right to ask you for anything.** 
 *' I do not say that. Anything in reason, that a girl liko you 
 should ask of her old undo, I would give you.'* 
 
 ** I have no such roasonahlo request to make, uncle. I havo 
 never wonted new ribbons from you or gay toys. Even from my 
 own mother I havo not wanted them ; — not wanted them faster 
 than they seemed to come williout any asking." 
 ** No, no ; you have been a good girl." 
 
 *' I have been a happy girl ; and quite happy with those I 
 loved, and with what rrovideiico had given me. I had nothing 
 to ask for. But now I am no longer happy, nor can I bo unless 
 you do for mo this which I ask of you. 1 havo wanted nothing 
 till now, and now in my need I conio to you." 
 ** Ami now you want a husband with u fortune! '* 
 ** No ! " and that single wonl she spoke, not loudly, for her 
 voice was low and soft, but witli an accent which can-ied it 
 Bharply to his ear and to his brain. And then she rose from her 
 seat as she went on. " Your scorn, \incle, is unjust, — unjust and 
 untrue. I have ever acted maidenly, as has become my mother's 
 daughter." 
 
 ** Yes, yes, yes; — I believe that." 
 
 "And 1 can say more than tlmt for myself. My thoughts 
 have been the same, nor havo my wishes even, over gone beyond 
 tliem. And when this young man camo to me, telling me of his 
 feelings, I gave liim no answer till I had consulted my mother." 
 ** She should havo bade you not to think of him." 
 " Ah, you are not a mother, and cannot know. "Why should 
 I not think of him when he was good and kind, honest and hard- 
 working ? And then he had thought of mo first. AVhy should I 
 not think of him ? Did not mamma listen to my father when ho 
 came to her?" 
 
 ** JJut your father was forty years old, and had a business." 
 ** You gave it him. Uncle Hatto. I have heiird him say so." 
 **And therefore I am to do as much for you. And then next 
 year Agnes will come to me ; and so before I die I shall seo you 
 all in want, with largo families. No, Isa ; I will not scorn you, 
 but tliis thing I cannot do." 
 
 "But I havo not told you all yet. You say that I want a 
 husband." 
 
 "Well, well ; I did not mean to say it harshly." 
 "I do want — to bo married." And hero her courage failed 
 her a little, and for a moment her eye fell to the ground. "It 
 is true, uncle. He has asked mo whether I could love him, and 
 
THE HOUSB OF HEINE BROTHERS. 873 
 
 I havo told him I could. ITo has asked mo whether I would bo 
 his wife, and I havo pven him a promifio. After that, must not 
 his happiness be my liappiness, and his misery my misery ? Am 
 1 not liis wife already before God V " 
 
 **No, no," said Uncle Hatto, loudly. 
 
 **Ah, but I am. Nono feel tho strength of tho bonds but 
 those who arc themselves bound. I know my duty to my father 
 nnd mother, and with God's help I will do it, but I am not tho 
 less bound to him. AVithout their approval I will not stand with 
 him at tlio (dtnr ; but not the less is my lot joined to his for this 
 world. Nothing could release mc from that but his wish." 
 
 ** And he will wish it in a month or two." 
 
 " Excuse mc, Uncle Hatto, but in that I can only judge for my- 
 self as best I may. He has loved mo now for two years " 
 
 "PHha!" 
 
 **And whether it be wise or foolish, I havo sanctioned it. I 
 ccmnot now go back with honour, even if my own heart would 
 let me. His welfare must bo my welfare, and his sorrow my 
 Borrow. Therefore I am bound to do for him anything that a 
 girl may do lor tho man she loves ; and, as I knew of no other 
 resource, I come to you to help me." 
 
 **And he, sitting out there, knows what you arc saying." 
 
 **^rost ceitainly not. Ho knows no moro than that ho haa 
 Bcen mo enter this room." 
 
 **I am glad of that, because I would not wish that ho should 
 bo disappointed. In this matter, my dear, I cannot do anything 
 for you." 
 
 *'And that is your last answer, undo ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed.* When you come to think over this some twenty 
 years hence, you will know then that I am right, and that your 
 request was imreasonable. 
 
 '* It may be so," she replied, ** but I do not think it." 
 
 ** It will bo so. Such favours as you now ask are not granted 
 in this world for light reasons." 
 
 ** Light reasons! "Well, uncle, I have had my say, and will 
 not take up your time longer." 
 
 *' Good-bye, my dear. I am sorry that I cannot oblige you ;— 
 tSiat it is quite out of my power to oblige you." 
 
 Then sho went, giving him her hand as she parted from him ; 
 and ho, as she left the room looked anxiously at her, watching 
 her countenance and her gait, and listening to tho very fall of her 
 footstep. **Ah,"he said to himself, when he was alone, "the 
 young pcoplo have the best of it The sun shines for them ; bmt 
 
874 TALES OF ALL COtJNTMM. 
 
 why sliouM they have all ? Poor m ho is, ho is a hfippy dop,— 
 a Imppy dopr. fiut pho is Unco too gv)od for him. Why did she 
 not take to one of her own country ? *' 
 
 Istt, as slio passed through tho bank, wnilcd Rwootly on her 
 father, and then smiled sweetly nt her lover, notldinp to hiin 
 witli a pleasant kindly nod. If ho could have heard all that had 
 passed at that intor^•iew, how much more lio would havo known 
 of her than ho now knew, and how proud lio would havo Ixn^n of 
 her love. No word was spoken as she went out, and then she 
 walked liomo with oven step, as she liiid walked thilher. It can 
 hardly ho siiid tluit she was disappointed, as sho liad oxpecteil 
 nothing. iJut pc^ojdo liopo who do not expect, and thougli her 
 step wjus oven and lier face culni, yet her lieart was sad. 
 
 ♦• jMannna," sho said, "there is no hope from Undo llatto.'* 
 
 "So I feared, my dear." 
 
 "lUit I thought it right to try— for Herbert's sake." 
 
 " I hope it will not do him an injury in tho bank." 
 
 "Oh, manima, do not put tluit into my head. If that wore 
 nddiul to it all, I should indeinl bo wretched." 
 
 "No; ho is too just for that. Poor young man I Sometimes 
 I almost think it would bo better that ho should go back to 
 Kuglaud." 
 
 "^famma, if ho did, I should — break my heart." 
 
 "Isa!" 
 
 "Well, mamma! But do not suppose that I moan to com- 
 plain, whatever hoppens." 
 
 " lUit I hud been so sure that you hod constrained your 
 feelings ! " 
 
 "So I had, — till I knew myself. Mamma, I could wait for 
 years, if ho were contented to wait by my side. If I could see 
 him happy, I could watch him and love him, and bo happy also. 
 I do not want to havo him kneeling to me, tmd making sweet 
 speeches ; but it has gone too far now, — and 1 could not bear to 
 lose him." And thus to her mother she confessed tho truth. 
 
 There was nothing more said between Isa and her mother on 
 tho subjeet, and for two days tho matter remained as it then 
 stood, ^ladamo Heino hud been deeply grieved at hearing those 
 la^t words which her daughter had spoken. To her also that 
 ptate of quieseenco whiih Isa hiid so long alfeeted seemed to bo 
 the proper state at which a maiden's heart sliould stand till aftj^r 
 her marriage vows had been pronounced. She had watched her 
 Isa, and had approved of cverj'thing, — of everything till this 
 IftAt. avowal had been made. lUut now, though she could not 
 
tllR IIOUflTH OF IIKTNB BROTIIETIS, ^75 
 
 approve, Ftlio cxj)n^f<p.c(l no (liHu])])roviil in words. Slic ifOH.scd 
 her (liui;;]»l(r'8 Imnd and mpluMl, nnd then ilio two ifiid no 
 more U]u)n Uio niiittor. In this way, for two dayn, '.noro was 
 8il(nc(! in llui iip;irtnunt« in tlic Lndwi.;;H SlrnRKo , for oven 
 when tho fiitlicr rctiiniod from liis work, th(^ wholo circle fult 
 tluit flicir old family mirth waa for tho prcHout noccsRurily 
 laid uHidc*. 
 
 On tho niorninf; of tho third day, fd)out noon, Madame Jlcino 
 rctiinicd lionu^ from tlu^ nnirkct with Imi, and uh tlu!y readied 
 the landing, Ap;neH nH!t tliem with a pficket. '• J''ritz l)roup;ht it 
 fntni the l»ank," said Aj^tk^h. Now i'ritz was tho Imy who run 
 messa};eH and Hwept out the ofHoo, and Madame lleino put out 
 her hand for tho parcel, thinkinj;, not unnaturally, that it waa 
 for luT. ]Uit Ap:TU'8 would not ^ivo it to her luotlier. "It is) 
 for yo\i, Isa," hIic waid. Then Iwa, looking; at tho addrcHn, 
 recoj^nised the handwriting of her uncle. " Mamma," bIic Haid, 
 ** 1 will come to you directly ; " and then she passed quickly 
 away into her own room. 
 
 Tho parc(d waa noon opencid, and contained a noto from licr 
 iincl(», and a stitf, large document, looking uh though it liad como 
 from the hands of ft lawyer. I Ha ghmccd at tho document, '^d 
 read Pomo few of the wonls on tho outer fold, but they did not 
 carry homo to her mind any clear perception of their meaning. 
 She was flurried at tho moment, and tho wonls, perhaps, wcro 
 not very plain. Then nho took uj) her noto, and that was plain 
 enough. It was very short, and ran as follows :— 
 
 ** Mv dear Nicco, 
 
 "You told mo on Monday that I was fctcrn, and harsh, and 
 unjust. IVrhaps I was. If so, I "nope tho encloflcd will mako 
 anu lids, and that you will not think mo such an old fool as I 
 think myself. " Your affectionato uncle, 
 
 "Hatto Hej^e. 
 
 " I have told nohody yet, and tho enclosed will require my 
 brother's signature ; but I suppose he will not object." 
 
 # « # # # « « 
 
 " But he does not know it, mamma," said Isa. "Who is to 
 
 tell him ? Oh, mamma, you must tell him." 
 
 "Nay, my dear ; but it must be your own present to him." 
 "I could not give it him. It is Uncle Hatto's present 
 
 Mamma, when I left him I thought that hifl eye was kind 
 
 tome" 
 
876 TALES 07 ALL 00UNTRIK8. 
 
 " His heart, at any rate, has been very kind." And then again 
 they looked over the document, and talked of the wedding which 
 muHt now bo near at hand. But still they hod not as yet 
 decided how Herbert should be informed. 
 
 At last Isa resolved that she herself would write to him. She 
 did write, and this was her letter:— 
 
 " Dear Herbert, 
 *' Mamma and I wish to see you, and beg that you will come 
 up to us this evening. Wo have tidings for you which I hope 
 you will receive with joy. I may as well tell you at once, as I 
 do not wish to flurry you. TJnclo llatto has sent to us a docu- 
 ment which admits you as a partner into the bank. If, therefore, 
 you wish to go on with our engagement, I suppose there is 
 notliing now to cause any very great delay. 
 
 *'I8A.»» 
 
 The letter was very simple, and Isa, when she had written 
 it, subsided into all her customary quiescence. Indeed, when 
 Herbert came to the Ludwigs Strasse, not in the evening as ho 
 was bidden to do, but instantly, leaving his own dinner uneaten, 
 and coming upon tlio Heincs in the midst of their dinner, sho 
 was more than usually tranquil. But his love was, as she had 
 told liim, boisterous. He could not contain himself, and embraced 
 them all, and then scolded Isa because she was so calm. 
 
 "Why should I not bo calm," said she, *' now that I know 
 you are happy?" 
 
 The house in the Schrannen Platz still goes by the name of 
 Heine Brothers, but the mercantile world in Bavaria, and in 
 some cities out of Bavaria, is well aware that the real pith 
 and marrow of the business is derived from the energy of the 
 young English partner. 
 
877 
 
 THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX- 
 
 I FiTisT 3ftW the man who kept his money in a box in tho midst 
 of the •ravine of tho Via Mala. I interchanged a few words 
 with him or with his wife at tho hospice, at tho top of tlie 
 Sphigen ; and I became acquainted with him in tho courtyard of 
 Conradi's hotel at Chiavenna. It was, however, afterwards 
 at UcUaggio, on tho lake of Como, that that acquaintance 
 ripened into intimacy. A good many years have rolled by sinco 
 then, and I belie vo this little episode in liis life may bo told 
 without pain to tho feelings of any one. 
 
 His name was ; let us for the present say that his name 
 
 was Greene. How he learned that my name was llobinson I do not 
 Know, but I remember well that he addressed me by my name at 
 Chia\Tnna. To go back, liowc ver, for a moment to the Via !&[ala ;— 
 I had been staying for a few days at tho Golden Eagle at Tasia,— 
 which, by-the-byc, I hold to be tho best small inn in all Switzer- 
 land, and its hostess to be, or to have been, certainly the- prettiest 
 landlady, — and on tho day of my departure southwards, I had 
 walked on, into tho Via Mala, so that tho diligence might pick 
 mo up in tho gorge. This pass I regard as ono of tho grandest 
 spots to which my wandering stops have over carried mo, and 
 though I had already lingered about it for many hours, I now 
 walked thither again to take my last farewell of its dark towering 
 rocks, its narrow causeway and roaring river, trusting to my 
 friend tho landlady to see that my luggage was duly packed upon 
 the diligence. I need hardly say that my friend did not betray 
 her trust. 
 
 As one goes out from Switzerland towards Italy, the road 
 through the Via Mala ascends somewhat steeply, and passengers 
 by tho diligence may walk from the inn at Tusis into the gorge, 
 and make their way through tho greater part of the ravine 
 before the vehicle will overtake them. This, howerer. Ma 
 
378 TALES Of ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 Orccnc with his wife and daughter had omitted to do. When 
 the diligence passed mo in the defile, the horses trotting for a few 
 yards over somo level portion of the road, I saw a man's nose 
 pressed closfl against the glass of the coiipo window. I saw nioro 
 of his noso than of any other part of liis face, but yet I conld 
 prrceivo tluit )iis nock was twiHt<'d and liis cyo uptun\cd, and 
 that lio was making a painful eflbrt to look upwards to tho sum- 
 mit of tho rocks from his position inside tho carringc. 
 
 There was such a roar of wind and waters at tlio spot that it 
 was not practicable to sjx'iik to him, but I beckoned with n»y 
 linger and then pointed to the road, indicating that he should 
 have walked, lie understood mo, tho\ig]i 1 did not at iho 
 moment uiidei'Hlaiid his aUKwering gesturo. It was subscfjucntly, 
 when I knew somewliat of liis liabits, that he explained to nui 
 that on pointing to his open mouth, he liad intended to signify 
 that ho would bo afraid of sore throat in exposing himself to tho 
 ttir of that damp and narrow passage. 
 
 I got up into tho conductor's covered seat ot tho back of tho 
 dilig<iice, and in this ])OMition eijcountend tho diitling snow of 
 the Sjdugen. 1 think it is coldest of idl tho pnsHcs. Near tho 
 top of the puHs the diligence stops for awhile, and it is here, if 1 
 remember, that the Austrian officials demand tho travellers' 
 assports. At least in those days they did so. These officials 
 ave now retreated behind the Quadiilatere, — soon, as wo hope, 
 to make a further retreat, — and the district belongs to the king- 
 dom of United Italy. There is a place of refreshment or hospiro 
 liei'e, into whicli wo uU went for a few monuntH, and I tluu 
 saw that my IViend with tho weak throat was accompanied by 
 two ladies. 
 
 ** You should not have missed tho Yia Mala," I said to him, 
 as ho stood warming his toes at the liugo covered stove. 
 
 *' "NVo miss everytliing," said tho elder of the two ladies, who, 
 however, was vei-y much younger than the gentleman, and not 
 very much older thiin her cotnjxinion. 
 
 *• 1 saw it beautirully, nuininui," said tho younger one ; where- 
 upon mamma gave her head a toss, and made up her mind, as I 
 thought, to take some little vengeance before long upon her 
 step-daughter. I observed that Miss Greene always called her 
 step-mother mamma on tho first approach of any stranger, so 
 tliut tho nature of the connection between them might bo under- 
 stood. And I observed alno that the elder lady always gave licr 
 head a toss when she was so addressed. 
 
 ** Wo don't mean to enjoy ouraelves till wc get down to tho 
 
 I 
 
TUE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONET IN A BOX. 379 
 
 lalvC of Corao," said Mr. Greene. As I looked at him cowcrinpj 
 over the stove, and saw how oppressed he was with pjreat coats and 
 warm wrappings for his throat, I quite agreed with him that ho 
 liad not begun to enjoy himself as yet. Then we all got into our 
 places again, and I saw no more of the Greenes till wc were 
 standing huddled together in the large courtyard of Conradi'i 
 hotel at Chiavenna. 
 
 Chiavenna is the first Italian town which the tourist reaches 
 by this route, and I know no town in the North of Italy which 
 is so closely surrounded by beautiful scenery. The traveller as 
 he falls dqvhi to it from the Splugcn road is bewildsred by the 
 loveliness of the valleys, — that is to say, if he so arranges that 
 he can sec them without pressing his nose against the glass of a 
 coach window. And then from the town itself there arc walks 
 of two, three, and four hours, which I think arc unsurpassed for 
 wild and sometimes startling beauties. One gets into little 
 valleys, green as emeralds, and surrounded on all sides by grey 
 broken rocks, in which Italian Kasselases might have lived in 
 perfect bliss ; and then again one comes upon distant views up 
 the river courses, bounded far away by the spurs of the Alps, 
 which arc perfect, — ^to which the fancy can add no additional 
 charm. Conradi's hotel also is by no means bad ; or was not in 
 those days. Per my part I am inclined to think that Italian 
 hotels have received a worse name than they deserve ; and I 
 must profess that, looking merely to creature comforts, I would 
 much sooner stay a week at the Golden Key at Chiavenna, than 
 with mine host of the King's Head in the thiiving commercial 
 town of ^[uddleboro, on the borders of Yorkshire and Lancashire. 
 I am always rather keen about my room in travelling, and 
 having secured a chamber looking out upon the mountains, had 
 returned to the court-yard to collect my baggage before Mr. 
 Greene had succeeded in realising his position', or understanding 
 that he had to take upon himself the duties of settling his 
 family for the night in the hotel by which he was surrounded. 
 "When I descended he was stripping off the outermost of three 
 great coats, and four waiters around him were beseeching him 
 to tell them what accommodation he would require. Mr. 
 Greene was giving sundry very urgent instructions to the con- 
 ductor respecting his boxes ; but as these were given in English, 
 I was not surprised to find that tliey were not accurately followed. 
 The man, however, was much too courteous to say in any lan- 
 guage that he did not understand every word that was said to 
 him. Miss Greene was standing apart, doing nothinflc. As she 
 
880 TALES OP ALL COTTim^mi. 
 
 WQ8 only oightoon years of npc, it was of courso hc^r biiRincsB to 
 ilo nothinj? ; and a vory pretty littlo fcirl nho was, by no means 
 ij^nonint of Iier own beauty, and poasoMcd of quite aufiloient wit 
 to enuble her to make the mo8t of it. 
 
 Mr. Greene was very leisurely in his proceedings, and the foui 
 waiters were almost reduced to despair. 
 
 " I wnnt two bed-rooms, a dressing-room, and some dinner," 
 he said at hist, speaking very slowly, and in his own venuiciihir, 
 I could not in the least assist him by translating it into Italian, 
 for I did not speak a word of the hmguago myself ; but 1 suggestid 
 that tlie man would understand Trencli. The waiter, liowever, 
 had understood English. AVaiters do \inderstand all languages with 
 a fiieility that is marvellous ; and tliis one now suggested tluit 
 ^Irs. (ireeue sliouhl foHow liim \ip-stairs. ^!rs. (heene, how- 
 ever, would not move till she had seen that her boxes were all 
 right ; aud as My». Greene was also a pretty woman, I found my- 
 Bcdf bound to apply myself to Iut assistimce. 
 
 *H)h, thank vou," said she. **Tho people arc so stupid that 
 one can rtuilly do notliing with them. And as for ]Mr. CJreene, 
 he is of no use at all. You see that box, the smaller one. I 
 have fourlwindred pounds' worth of jewellery in that, and there- 
 fore I aui obliged to look after it." 
 
 " Indeed," said I, rather startled at this amount of confidenco 
 on rather a short acciuaintance. *• In that case I do not wonder 
 nt your being careful. ]hit is it not rather rash, perhaps " 
 
 ** 1 know what you are going to say. AVell, perhaps it is rash. 
 But when you arc going to foreign courts, what are you to do ? 
 If you have got those sort of things you must wear them." 
 
 As I was not mysi>lf possessed of anything of that soi-t, and had 
 no intention of going to any foreign court, I could not argue tho 
 matter with her. liut I assisted her in getting together an 
 enormous pile of luggage, among which there were seven largo 
 boxes covered with canvas, such as ladies not uncommonly carry 
 with them when travelling. That one which she represented a^ 
 Ixung smaller than tho others, and as holding jewellery, might bo 
 about a yard long by a foot and a ludf deep. Being ignorant in 
 those matters, 1 should luive thought it sufllcient to cany all a 
 lady's wanlrobo for twelve nujuths. "NVlun tho boxes wire c(»l- 
 lected together, sho sat down upon the jewel-case and looked up 
 into my face. Sho was a i)retty woman, perhajjs thirty years of 
 age, with long light yellow luiir, which sho allowed to escape 
 from her bonnet, knowing, perhaps, that it was not unbecoming 
 to her when thus dishevelled, ller skin was very delicate, and 
 
TIIF. MA!^ WHO KRPT IltS MONKY IN A rOX. ^81 
 
 her complexion good. Iiuli'ed lior faco would liiivo been alto* 
 pellier pivpoRscsHing liad tluTo not been ft wnnt of gentleness in 
 lier eyes. Jfcr Imiids, too, were soft and small, and on the whole 
 she nniy bo said to liavo been possessed of ft strong battciy 0/ 
 ieniiiiine atlructioiis. Sbo also well knew liow to use thorn. 
 
 •* Whisprr," she said to me, with ft peculiar but vciy propel 
 aspiration on tho h — " Wli-hisper," and both by tho aspiration 
 ttud tho use of tho wonl I knew at onco from what island she had 
 come. ** Mr. Greene keeps all liis money in this box also ; bo I 
 never let it go out of my sight for 0. moment. Jiut whatever you 
 do, don't tell him that I told you so." 
 
 I laid my hand on my lieart, and made a Boleran asseveration 
 that I would not divulge her seeret. 1 need not, however, havo 
 troubled myself much on that liead, for as I walked up stairs, 
 keei>ing my eye upon tho precious trunk, Mr. Orccno addressed 
 mc. 
 
 "You are an Knglishm'i •, Mr. Robinson," said ho. I ac- 
 knowledg(>d that 1 was. 
 
 *' I am another. My wife, liowever, is Insh. ^[y daughter,— 
 by a formi'r maniiige, — is English also. You see that box there." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said I, **I see it." I "began to bo bo fascinated 
 by tho box that I could not keep my eyes off it. 
 
 " 1 don't know whether or no it is prudent, but I keep all my 
 mon(>y there ; my money for travelling, I mean." 
 
 ** If 1 were you, then," I answered, *'I would not say any- 
 thing about it to any one." 
 
 "Oh, no, of course not," said ho; **I should not think of 
 mentioning it. ]Jut those bngands in Italy always take away 
 what you havo about your person, but they don't meddle with 
 the heavy luggage.'* 
 
 ** Bills of cxeliaugo, or circular notes," I suggested. 
 
 ** Ah, yes ; and if you can't identify yourself, or happen to 
 havo a headache, you cim't get them changed. I asked an old 
 friend of mine, who has been connected with tho Bank of 
 England for tho last fifty years, and ho osaured mc that there 
 was nothing like sovereigns." 
 
 ** But you never get tho value for them." 
 
 " "NVell, not quite. One loses a franc, or a franc and a half. 
 But still, there's tho certainty, and that's tho great matter. An 
 English sovereign will go anywhere," and he spoke these wordi 
 with considerable triumph, 
 
 </ Undoubtedly, if you consent to loso a shilling on each 
 •ovoreign." 
 
38^. tALES OP ALL COtTNTRlES. 
 
 " At any rate, I have got three hundred and fifty in that box,** 
 he said. ** I have them, done up in rolls of twenty-five pounds 
 each." 
 
 I again recommended him to keep this arrangement of his 
 as private as possible, — a piece of counsel -which I confess seemed 
 to mo to bo much needed, — and then I "went away to my own 
 room, having first accepted an invitation from Mrs. Greene to 
 join their party at dinner. " Do," said she ; ** we have been bo 
 dull, and it will be so pleasant." 
 
 I did not require to bo much pressed to join myself to a 
 party in which there was so pretty a girl as Miss Greene, and so 
 attractive a woman as Mrs. Greene. I therefore accepted the 
 invitation readily, and went away to make my toilet. As I did 
 80 I passed the door of Mr. Greene's room, and saw the long filo 
 of boxes being borne into the centre of it. 
 
 I spent a pleasant evening, with, however, one or two slight 
 drawbacks. As to old Greene himself, he was all that was 
 amiable ; but then he was nervous, full of cares, and somewhat 
 apt to be a bore. He wanted information on a thousand points, 
 and did not seem to understand that a young man might prefer 
 the conversation of his daughter to his own. Not that he showed 
 Any solicitude to prevent conversation on the pai-t of his daughter. 
 I should have been perfectly at liberty to talk to either of tho 
 ladies had he not wished to engross all my attention to himself. 
 He also had found it dull to bo alone with his wife and daughter 
 for the last six weeks. 
 
 Ho was a small spare man, probably over fifty years of age, 
 who gave me to understand that he had lived in London all his 
 life, and had made his own fortune in tho city. "What ho had 
 done in the city to make his fortune he did not say. Had I come 
 across him there I should no doubt have found him to bo a shai^) 
 man of business, quite competent to teach me many a useful 
 lesson of which I was as ignorant as an infant. Had ho cauglit 
 mo on the Exchange, or at Lloyd's, or in the big room of tho 
 Bank of England, 1 should have been compelled to ask him every- 
 thing. Now, in this little town under the Alps, ho was as much 
 lost as I should have been in Lombard Street, and was ready 
 enough to look to me for infonnation. I was by no means chary 
 in giving him my counsel, and imparting to him my ideas on things 
 in general in that part of the world ; — only I should have pre- 
 ferred to be allowed to make myself civil to his daughter. 
 
 In tho course of conversation it was mentioned by him tliat 
 they intended to stay a few days at Lellaggio, which, as all the 
 
THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX. 383 
 
 world knows, is a central spot on the lake of Como, and a favourite 
 restiiif^-placo for travellers. There are three lakes which all 
 meet here, and to all of which wo give the name of Como. They 
 are properly called the lakes of Como, ColicOj and Lecco ; and 
 lk'llaf?5;io is the spot at which their waters join each other. I 
 had half made up my mind to sleep there one night on my road 
 into Italy, and now, on hearing their purpose, I declared that 
 such was my intention. 
 
 **How very pleasant," said Mrs. Greene. " It will be quite 
 delightful to have some one to show us how to settle ourselves, 
 
 for really " 
 
 ** My dear, I'm sure you can't say that you ever have much 
 trouble." 
 
 **And who does then, Mr. Greene? I am sure Sophonisba 
 does not do much to help me." 
 
 "You won't let me," said Sophonisba, whose name I had not 
 before heard. Her papa had called her Sophy in the yard of the 
 inn. Sophonisba Greene ! Sophonisba llobinson did not sound 
 so badly in my ears, and I confess that I had tried the names 
 together. Her papa had mentioned to me that ho had no other 
 child, and had mentioned also that he had made his fortune. 
 
 And then there was a little family contest as to the amount 
 of travelling labour which fell to the lot of each of the party, 
 during which I retired to one of the windows of the big front 
 room in which wo were sitting. And how much of this labour 
 there is incidental to a tourist's pursuits ! And how often these 
 little contests do arise upon a journey ! "Who has ever travelled 
 and not known them ? I had taken up such a position at the 
 window as might, I thought, have removed me out of hearing ; 
 but nevertheless from time to time a word would catch my 
 ear about that precious box. '* I have never taken my eyes 
 oif it since I left England," said Mrs. Greene, speaking quick, 
 and with a considerable brogue superinduced by her energy. 
 ** "Where would it have been at Basle if I had not been looking 
 afther it?" ** Quito safe," said Sophonisba; ''those largo 
 things always are safe." "Are they. Miss? That's all you 
 know about it. I suppose your bonnet-box was quite safe 
 when I found it on the platform at — at— I forget the name 
 of the place ? " 
 
 ** Freidrichshafen," said Sophonisba, with almost an unneces* 
 Bary amount of Teutonic skHl in her pronunciation. "Well, 
 mamma, you have told me of that at least twenty times." Soon 
 after that, the ladie« took them to their own roonui wooi;;^ withtho 
 
884 Tales of all oouKmias. 
 
 travelling of tv70 days and a night, and !Mt. Greene went fall 
 asleep in the very comfortless chair in which ho was seated. 
 At four o'clock on the next morning we started on our journey. 
 
 " Early to bed, and early to riw, 
 Ii the way to be healthy, and wealthy, and wise.** 
 
 We all know that lesson, and many of us believe in it; but 
 if the lesson bo true, the Italians ought to be the healthiest 
 and wealthiest and wisest of all men and women. Three or 
 four o'clock seems to them quite a natural hour for commencing 
 the day's work. AVhy we should have started from Chiavenna 
 at four o'clock in order that we might be kept waiting for the 
 boat an hour and a half on the little quay at Colico, I don't 
 know ; but such was our destiny. There we remained an hour 
 and a half, Mrs. Greene sitting pertinaciously on the one 
 important box. She had designated it as being smaller than 
 the others, and, as all the seven were now ranged in a row, 
 I had an opportunity of comparing them. It was something 
 smaller, — perhaps an inch less high, and an inch and a half 
 shoi-ter. She was a shai-p woman, and observed my scrutiny. 
 ** I always know it," she said in a loud whisper, "by this littlo 
 hole in the canvas," and she put her finger on a slight rent 
 on one of the ends. " As for Greene, if one of those Italian 
 brigands were to walk off with it on his shoulders, before his 
 eyes, he wouldn't bo the wiser. How helpless you men are, 
 Mr. Eobinson ! " 
 
 "It is well for us that we have women to look after us." 
 
 "But you have got no one to look after you ; — or perhaps you 
 have left her behind ? " 
 
 " No, indeed. I'm all alone in the world as yet. But it's 
 not my own fault. I have asked half a dozen." 
 
 " Now, Mr. llobinson ! '* And in this way the time passed 
 on the quay at Colico, till the boat came and took us away. I 
 should have preferred to pass my time in making myself agree- 
 able to the younger lady; but the younger lady stood aloof, 
 turning up her nose, rs I thought, at her mamma. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe the scenery about Colico. The 
 little town itself is one of the vilest places under the sun, having 
 no accommodation for travellers, and being excessively un- 
 healthy ; but there is very little either north or south of the 
 Alps, — and, perhaps, I may add, very little elsewhere, — to 
 beat the beauty of the mountains which cluster round tho 
 head of the lake. When we had sat upon those boxes thus 
 
.THE MAN WHO KEPT HI3 MONEY IN A BOX. $85 
 
 honr and a half, we were taken on board the steamer, which 
 had been lying off a little way from the shore, and then wo 
 commenced our journey. Of course there was a good deal of 
 exertion and care necessary in getting the packages off from 
 the shore on to the boat, and I observed that any one with half 
 an eye in his head might have seen that the mental anxiety 
 expended on that one box which was marked by the small hole 
 in the canvas far exceeded that which was extended to all the 
 other six boxes. ** They deserve that it should be stolen," I said 
 to myself, *' for being such fools." And then we went down to 
 breakfast in the cabin. 
 
 ** I suppose it must be safe," said Mrs. Greene to me, ignoring 
 the fact that the cabin waiter understood English, although she 
 had just ordered some veal cutlets in that language. 
 
 ** As safe as a church," I replied, not wishing to give much 
 apparent importance to the subject. 
 
 ** They can't carry it off here," said Mr. Greene. But he 
 was innocent of any attempt at a joke, and was looking at me 
 with all his eyes. 
 
 "They might throw it overboard," said Sophonisba. I at 
 once made up my mind that she could not be a good-natured 
 girl. The moment that brealdast was over, Mrs. Greene returned 
 again up-stairs, and I found her seated on one of the benches 
 near the funnel, from which she could keep her eyes fixed upon 
 the box. ** When one is obliged to carry about one's jewels 
 with one, one must be careful, Mr. Robinson," she said to mo 
 apologetically, liut I was becoming tired of the box, and the 
 funnel was hot and unpleasant, therefore I left her. 
 
 I had made up my mind that Sophonisba was ill-natured ; 
 but, nevertheless, she was pretty, and I new went through some 
 little manoeuvres with the object of getting into conversation 
 with her. This I soon did, and was surprised by her frankness. 
 ** How tired you must be of mamma and her box," she said to 
 me. To this I made some answer, declaring that I was rather 
 interested than otherwise in the safety of the precious trunk. 
 ** It makes me sick," said Sophonisba, "to hear her go on in that 
 way to a perfect stranger. I heard what she said about her 
 jewellery." 
 
 **It is natural she should be anxious," I said, "seeing that 
 it contains so much that is valuable." 
 
 "Why did she bring them ? " said Sophonisba.^ " She managed 
 to live very weU without jewels till papa married her, about a 
 year since ; and now she can't travel about for a month without 
 
 20 
 
sW f ALtaJ 0* Alt OotmtRiifl. 
 
 lagging ttlea with hot eterywhefe. I should b<J w glad if some 
 
 one Would dtool thorn." 
 
 *' But ftU Mf. Greene's money is there hIro." 
 . ** I don't Wtint papa to bo bothered, but 1 declaro I wish tho 
 box might bo lost for a dtiy or so. 8ho is such a fool ; don't you 
 tliink Po, Mr. Ilobinson?'' 
 
 At this time it was just fotiftcen hours since I first had mado 
 their ac(niaintanco in tho yard of Connuli's lietel, and of tlioso 
 fourteen hours more than half hnd been passed in bed. I must 
 confess that I looked upon Sophonisba as beini; almost more 
 iiulisoreet than her nuKhcr-in-luw. Never! lielcss, nho was not 
 stupitl, and I continued my conversation >vith her tho greatest 
 part of tho way down tho lake towards liellaggio. 
 
 Theso steamers which run up and down the lako of Como and 
 tho Lago !Miip;};iore, put out their passengers at tho towns on tho 
 bimks of the water by means of small rowinj^-boats, and tho 
 pei*sons who arc about to disembark p;cnerally have their own 
 articles ready to their hands wlien their turn comes for leaving 
 tho steamer. As wo came near to liclln^sio, I looked up my 
 own portmanteau, and, pointing to the beautiful wood-covered 
 hill that stands at the fork of tho waters, told my fiiend Ureeno 
 that ho was near his destination. ** I am very glad to lu^ar 
 it." said he, coniphicetitly, but ho did not at the moment busy 
 himself about tlio boxes. Then tho small boat ran up alongHido 
 the steatwer, and the ptissengers for ('diuo and Milan crowded 
 up tho side. 
 
 " We have to go in tlmt boat," I said to Greono. 
 
 *' Nonsense ! " ho exclaimed. 
 
 *• Oh, but wo have." 
 
 ** What ! put our boxes into that boat,'* said Mrs. Greene. 
 ** Oh dear ! Here, boatnum ! th.^re aro seven of these boxes, all 
 In white like this," atid sho pointed to tho ono that had tho 
 ludo in tho canvas, •* Make liaste. And there ur(» two bagix, 
 and my dressing case, and Mr. Greene's portmanteau. Mr. 
 Greene, where is your portmanteau ? " 
 
 The boatman whom she addivssed, no doubt did not understand 
 ftWonlof Knglish, but nevertlieless ho knew what she meant, 
 and, being well accustomed to tho work, got all the luggage 
 togetlier in an incredil)ly small number of moments. 
 
 *' If yt)U will got down into tlio bout," 1 saltl, •* 1 will boo that 
 tho luggage follows you before 1 leave the desk." 
 
 " I won't stir," she said, " till I see that box lifted dowa 
 Take caro ; you'll let it fall Into the lako. I know you will." 
 
THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN ▲ BOX. 387 
 
 " I wish they would," Sophonisba whispered into my car. 
 Mr. Grcono said nothing, but I could sco that liis eyes wcro 
 as anxiously fixed on what waa going on as were thoso of his wife. 
 At last, however, tho three Greenes wero in the boat, as also 
 were all tho packages. Then I followed them, my portmanteau 
 having gone down before mo, and wo pushed off for Uellaggio. 
 Up to this period most of tho attendants around us had under- 
 Btood a wortl or two of Engliflli, but now it would bo well if 
 wo could find eomo ono to whoso cars French ^ould not bo 
 unfamiliar. As regarded Mr. Grccno and his wife, they, I found, 
 must give up all conversation, as they knew nothing of any 
 language but their own. Sophonisba could make herself under- 
 stood in French, and was quite at home, as she assured me, in 
 German. And then tho boat was beached on tho shore at 
 Uollaggio, and wo all had to go again to work with tho object 
 of getting ourselves lodged at tho hotel which overlooks tho 
 "water. 
 
 I had learned before that tho Greenes wero quite free from any 
 trouble in tliis respect, for their rooms had been taken for them 
 before they left England. Tiiisting to this, Mrs. Greene gave 
 licrsclf no inconsiderable airs tho moment her foot was on tho 
 shore, and ordered tho people about as though she wero tho Lady 
 Paramount of Bellaggio. Italians, however, aro used to this 
 from travellers of a certain description. They never resent such 
 conduct, but simply put it down in the bill with the other 
 oi-ticles. Mrs. Greene's words on this occasion were innocent 
 enough, seeing that they wero English ; but had I been that 
 head waiter who came down to tho beach "vvith his nice black 
 shiny hair, and his napkin under his arm, I should havo thought 
 her manner veiy insolent. 
 
 Indeed, as it was, I did think bo, and was inclined to be angry 
 with her. Sho was to remain for some time at Bellaggio, and there- 
 fore it behoved her, as she thought, to assume the character of 
 tho grand lady at once. Hitherto sho had been willing enough 
 to do tho work, but now she began to order about Mr. Greene 
 and Sophonisba ; and, as it appeared to me, to order me about 
 also. I did not quite enjoy this ; so leaving her still among her 
 luggage and satellites, I walked up to the hotel to see about my 
 own bed-room. I had some seltzer water, stood at the window 
 for three or four minutes, and then walked up and down tho 
 room. But still the Greentis were not there. As I had put in 
 At Bellaggio solely with the object of seeing something more of 
 Sophoniaba, it would not do for me to quoi^ with them, or to 
 
 QQ2 
 
»?8 TALES Of AXX OOrKTRlES. 
 
 nlloT7 them bo to settle themselves in their private sitting-room, 
 that I should be excluded. Therefor© I returned again to the 
 road by which they must come up, and met the procession near 
 the house. 
 
 Mrs. Greene was leading it with great majesty, the waiter with 
 the shiny hair walking by her side to point out to her the way. 
 Then came all the luggage, — each porter carrying a white 
 canvtts-covercd box. Tliut which was so valuable no doubt was 
 carried next to Mrs. Greene, so that she might at a moment's 
 notice put her eye upon the well-known valuable rent. I confess 
 that I did not observe the hole as the train passed by me, nor did 
 I count the number of the boxes. Seven boxes, all nliko, are 
 very many; and then they were followed by three other men 
 with the inferior articles, — Mr. Greene's portmanteau, the carpet- 
 bog, &c., &c. At the toil of the line, I found Mr. Greene, and 
 behind him Sophonisba. •♦ All your fatigues will bo over now," 
 I said to the gentleman, thinking it well not to be too particular 
 in my attentions to his daughter. Ho was panting beneath a 
 tenible great-coat, having forgotten that the shores of an Italian 
 lake ai'e not so cold as the summits of the Alps, and did not 
 answer me. ** I'm sure I hope so," said Sophonisba. " And I 
 shall advise papa not to go any farther unless he can persuade 
 Mrs. Greene to send her jewels home." ** Sophy, my dear," he 
 said, ** for Heaven's sake let us have a little peace since we are 
 here." From all which I gathered that Mr. Green had not been 
 fortunate in his second matrimonial adventure. We then made 
 our way slowly up to the hotel, having been altogether distanced 
 by the porters, and when we reached the house wo found that 
 the different packages were already being carried away through 
 the house, some this way and some that. Mrs. Green, the mean- 
 wliile, was talking loudly at the door of her own sitting-room. 
 
 *' Mr. Greene," she said, as soon as she saw her heavily 
 oppressed spouse, — for the noonday sun was up, — ** Mr. Greene, 
 where are you?" 
 
 *' Here, my dear," and Mr. Greene threw himself panting into 
 the corner of a sofa. 
 
 **A little seltzer water and brandy," I suggested. Mr. 
 Greene's inmost heart leaped at the hint, and nothing that liis 
 remonstrant wife could say would induce him to move, until he 
 had enjoyed the delicious draught. In the mean time the box 
 with the hole in the canvas had been lost. 
 
 Yes ; when we came to look into matters, to count the pack- 
 ages, and to find out where we were, the box with the hole in 
 
THB MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX, 889 
 
 the canvas was not there. Or, at any rate, Mrs. Greene said it 
 was not there. I worked hard to look it up, and even went into 
 Sophonisba's bed-room in my search. In Sophonisba's bed-room 
 there was but one canvas-covered box. ** That is my own," said 
 she, ** and it is all that I have, except this bag," 
 
 ** Where on earth can it bo?" said I, sitting down on the 
 trunk in question. At tlie moment I almost thought that she 
 had been instrumental in hiding it. 
 
 "How am. I to know?" she answered; and I fancied that 
 even she Was dismayed. " "What a fool that woman is ! " 
 
 ** The box must be in the house," I said. 
 
 *' Do find it, for papa's sake ; there's a good fellow. He will 
 be so wretched without his money. I heard him say that he had 
 only two pounds in his purse." 
 
 ** Oh, I can let him have money to go on with," I answered 
 grandly. And then I went oflf to prove that I was a good fellow, 
 and searched throughout the house. Two white boxes had by 
 order been left downstairs, as they would not be needed ; and 
 these two were in a large cupboard of the hall, which was used 
 expressly for stowing away lugKagc And then there were three 
 in Mrs. Greene's bed-room, which had been taken there as con- 
 taining the wardrobe which she would require while remaining 
 at Bcllaggio. I searched every one of these myself to see if 1 
 could find the hole in the canvas. But the hole in the canvas 
 was not there. And, let me count as I would, I could make out 
 only six. Now there certainly had been seven on board the 
 steamer, though I could not swear that I had seen the seven put 
 into the small boat. 
 
 ** Mr. Greene," said the lady standing in the middle of her 
 remaining treasures, all of which were now open, ** you are 
 worth nothing when travelling. Were you not behind ? " But 
 Mr. Greene's mind was full, and he did not answer. 
 
 " It has been stolen before your very eyes," she continued. 
 
 " Nonsense, mamma," said Sophonisba. " If ever it came out 
 of the steamer it certainly came into the house." 
 
 **I saw it out of the steamer," said Mrs. Greene, **and it 
 certainly is not in the house. Mr. Bobinson, may I trouble you 
 to send for the police ? — at once, if you please, nr." 
 
 I had been at Bcllaggio twice before, but nevertheless I was 
 ignorant of their system of police. And tlien, again, I did not 
 loiow what was the Italian for the word. 
 
 '* I will speak to the landlord," I said. 
 * ** If you will haye the goodness to send for the police at once, 
 
392 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 room, and had there spread my portmanteaa open npon some 
 table or stool in the comer. It was a convcment arrangement^ 
 •nd there I left it during thfl whole period of my sojourn. 
 
 Mrs. Greene had given the Imdlord an hour to find the box, 
 and during that time the landlord, the landlady, theJr three 
 daughters, and all the scrvnnts in the house certainly did exert 
 themselves to the utmost. Half a dozen times they came to my 
 door, but I was luxuriating in a washing-tub, making up for that 
 four-o*clock start from Chiavcnna. I assured them, however, 
 that the box was not there, and so the search passed by. At the 
 end of the hour I went back to the Greenes according to promise, 
 having resolved that some one must bo scut on to Como to look 
 after the missing article. 
 
 There was no necessity to knock at their sitting-room door, for 
 it was wide open. I walked in, and found Mrs. Greene still 
 •jngaged in attacking the landlord, while all the porters who had 
 carried the luggage up to the house were standing round. Her 
 voice was loud above the others, but, luckily for them all, she 
 was speaking English. The landlord, I saw, was becoming 
 sulky. He spoke in Italian, and wo none of us understood liim, 
 but I gathered that he was declining to do anything further. 
 The box, he was certain, had never come out of the steamer. 
 The Boots stood by interpreting into Trench, and, acting a3 
 Bccond interpreter, I put it into Englinli. 
 
 Mr. Greene, who was seated on the sofa, groaned audibly, but 
 said nothing. Sophonisba, who was sitting by him, beat upon the 
 floor with both her feet. 
 
 " Do you hear, Mr. Greene ? ** said she, turning to him. *' Bo 
 you mean to allow that vast amount of property to be lost with- 
 out an effort ? Are you prepared to replace my jewels ? " 
 
 " Her jewels ! '* said Sophonisba, looking up into my face. 
 ** Papa had to pay the bill for every stitch she had when he 
 married her.** These last words were so spoken as to be audible 
 only by me, but her first exclamation was loud enough. "NVero 
 they people for whom it would bo worth my while to delay my 
 journey, and put myself to serious inconvenience with rofcrenco 
 to money ? 
 
 A few minutes afterwards I found myself with Greene on the 
 terrace before the house. ** AVliat ought I to do ? " said he. 
 
 **Go to Como/* said 1, **and look after your box. I will 
 remain here and go on board lijic return steamer. It may perhape 
 be there.'* 
 
 •* But I can't speak a word of Italian,** said he. 
 
TUE MAN WUO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX. 393 
 
 " Tako tho Boots," said I 
 
 ** But I can't speak a word of French." And then it ended 
 in my undertaking to go to Oomo. i swear tnat tho thought 
 struck mo that I might as well take my portmanteau with me, 
 and cut and run when I got there. The Greenes were nothing 
 to me. 
 
 I did not, however, do this. I made tho poor man n promise, 
 and I kept it. I took merely a dressing-bag, for I knew that I 
 must sleep at Como ; and, thus resolving to disarrange all my 
 plans, I started. I was in tho midst of beautiful scenery, but I 
 found it quite impossible to draw any enjoyment from it ; — from 
 that or from anything around me. My whole mind was given \ip 
 to anathemas against this odious box, as to which I had un- 
 doubtedly heavy cause of complaint. What was tho box to me ? 
 I went to Como by the afternoon steamer, and spent a long dreary 
 evening down on tho steamboat quays searching everywhere, and 
 searching in vain. The boat by which we had left Colico had 
 gone back to Colico, but tho people swore that nothing had been 
 left on board it. It was just possible that such a box might have 
 gone on to Milan with the luggage of other passengers. 
 
 I slept at Como, and on the following morning I went on to 
 Milan. There was no trace of the box to bo found in that city. 
 I went round to every hotel and travelling office, but could hear 
 nothing of it. Parties had gone to Venice, and Florence, and 
 Bologna, and any of them might have taken tho box. No one, 
 however, remembered it ; and I returned back to Como, and 
 thence to Bellaggio, reaching the latter place at nine in the even- 
 ing, disappointed, weary, and cross. 
 
 ** Has Monsieur found the accursed trunk ? " said the Bellaggio 
 Boots, meeting me on the quay. 
 
 " In tho name of tho , no. Has it not turned up here ? '* 
 
 " Monsieur," said the Boots, " we shall all be mad soon. Tho 
 poor master, he is mad already." And then I went up to the 
 house. 
 
 ** My jewels ! " shouted Mrs. Greene, rushing to me with lier 
 arms stretched out as soon as she heard my step in the corridor. 
 I am sure that she would have embraced me had I found the 
 box. I had not, however, earned any such reward. ** 1 can 
 hear nothing of the box either at Como or Milan," I said. 
 
 ** Then what on earth am I to do for my money? " said Mr. 
 Greene. 
 
 I had had neither dinner nor sapper, but the elder Grccnei 
 did not care for that. Mr. Greene sat silent in despair, and Mrs. 
 
394 TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES. 
 
 Greene storme<l about the room in her anger. " I am afraid yoti 
 are very tired," said Sophonisba. 
 
 " I am tired, and hungry, and thirsty,** said I. I wa8 begin* 
 ning to get angry, and to think myself ill used. And that idea 
 as to a family of swindlers became strong again. Greene had 
 bon'owed ten napoleons from me before I started for Como, and I 
 had spent above four in my fruitless journey to that place and 
 Milan. I was beginiiing to fear that my whole purpose as to ■ 
 Venice and the Tyi'ol would be destroyed ; and I had promised 
 to meet friends at Innspruck, who, — who were verj' much pre- 
 ferable to the Greenes. As events turned out, I did meet them. 
 Had I failed in this, the present Mrs. liobinson would not have 
 been sitting opposite to mo. 
 
 I went to my room and dressed myself, and then Sophonisba 
 presided over the tea-table for me. ** What are we to do ? " she 
 asked mo in a confidential whif^pcr. 
 
 *' Wait for money from Kngland." 
 
 **But they will think we aro all sharpers,*' she said; "and 
 upon my word I do not wonder at it from the way in which that 
 woman goes on." She then leaned forwai'd, resting her elbow 
 on the table and her face on her hand, and told me a long history 
 of all their family discomforts. Her papa was a very good sort 
 of man, only ho had been made a fool of by that intriguing 
 woman, who had been left without a sixpence with which to 
 bless lierself. And now they hud notliing but quarrels and misery. 
 Papa did not always got the worst of it; — papa could rouso 
 himself sometimefi ; only now ho was beaten down and cowed l)y 
 the loss of his money. This whispering confidence was very nice 
 in its way, sr-eing that Soplionisba was a pretty girl ; but tho 
 whole matter seemed to bo full of suspicion. 
 
 ** If they did not want to take yo\i in in ono way, they did in 
 another," said tho present Mrs. liobinson, when I told tho story 
 to her at Innspruck. I beg that it may bo understood that at 
 the time of my meeting the Greenes I was not engaged to tho 
 present ^Irs. liobinson, and was open to make any matiimonial 
 engagement that might have been pleasing to me. 
 
 On tho next morning, after breakfast, we held a council of 
 war. I had been informed that Mr. Greene had made a fortune, 
 And was justified in presuming him to be a lich man. It seemed 
 to me, therefore, that his course was easy. Lot him wait at 
 Bellaggio for more money, and when he returucd home, let him 
 buy Mrs. Greene more jewels. A poor man always presumes 
 that a rich man is indifferent about his money. But in truth a 
 
THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX. 395 
 
 rich man never is indiflferent about his money, and poor Greene 
 looked very blank at my proposition. 
 
 *' Do you mean to eay that it's gone for ever? " he asked. 
 
 *' I'll not leave the country without knowing more about it,** 
 Baid Mrs. Greene. 
 
 **It certainly is very odd," said Sophonisba. Even Sopho- 
 iiisba seemed to think that I was too off-hand. 
 
 ** It will be a month before I can get money, and my bill hero 
 will be something tremendous," said Greene. 
 
 "I wouldn't pay them a farthing till I got my box," said 
 Mrs. Greene. 
 
 "That's nonsense," said Sophonisba. And so it wafl. 
 
 ** Hold your tonj^uc, Miss! " said the step-mother. 
 
 ** Indeed, I shall not hold my tongue," said the step-daughter. 
 
 Poor Greene ! He had lost more than his box within the last 
 twelve months ; for, as I had learned in that whispered conver- 
 sation over the tea-table with Sophonisba, this was in reality 
 her papa's marriage trip. 
 
 Another day was now gonCj and we all went to bed. Had I 
 not been very foolish I should have had myself called at five in 
 the morning, and have gone away by the early boat, leaving my 
 ten napoleons behind me. But, unfortunately, Sophonisba had 
 exacted a promise from me that I would not do this, and thus all 
 chance of spending a day or two in Venice was lost to me. 
 Moreover, I was thoroughly fatigued, and almost glad of any 
 ' excuse which would allow me to lie in bed on the following 
 morning. I did lie in bed till nine o'clock, and then found the 
 Greenes at breakfast. 
 
 **Let us go and look at the Serbelloni Gardens," said I, as 
 Boon as the silent meal was over j ** or take a boat over to tht 
 Sommariva Villa." 
 
 ** I should like it so much," said Sophonisba. 
 
 "Wo will do nothing of the kind till I have found my pro- 
 perty," said Mrs, Greene. " Mr. Kobinson, what arrangement 
 did you make yesterday with the police at Como ?" 
 
 "The police at Como?" I said. "I did not go to the 
 police." 
 
 ** Not go to the police ? And do you mean to say that I am 
 to be robbed of my jewels and no efforts made for redress ? Is 
 there no such thing as a constable in this wretched country ? 
 Hi. Greene, I do insist upon it that you at once go to the nearest 
 British consul," 
 
 ^* I iiuppoM I had l>«tter write homo for money," said he. 
 
396 TALES OF ALL OOUl^TRIEB. 
 
 *'And do you mean to say that you haven't written yetf** 
 Baid I, probably with some acrimony in my voice. 
 
 "You needn't scold papa," said Sophomsba. 
 
 ** I don't know what I am to do," said Mr. G^^cene, and h« 
 began walking up and down tho room ; but still he did not call 
 for pen and ink, and I began again to feel that ho was a 
 swindler. "Was it possible that a man of business, who had mndo 
 his foi-tuno in London, should allow his wife to keep all her 
 jewels in a box, and carry about his own money in the same ? 
 
 "I don't see why you need bo so very unhappy, papa," said 
 Sophonisba. ** Mr. llobinson, I'm sure, wiU let you have what- 
 ever money you may want at present." This was pleasant ! 
 
 "And will Mr. llobinson return mo my jewels which were 
 lost, I must say, in a great measure, thi-ough his carelessness," 
 said Mrs. Greene. This was plcasanter ! 
 
 "Upon my word, Mrs. Greene, I must deny that," said 1, 
 jumping up. "What on earth could I have done more than I did 
 do ? I iiave been to Milan and nearly fagged myself to death." 
 
 "AVhy didn't you bring a policeman back with you ? " 
 
 "You would tell everybody on board tho boat what there was 
 in it," said I. 
 
 " I told nobody but you," she answered. 
 
 " I suppose you mean to imply that I've taken the box," I 
 rejoined. So that on this, tho third or fourth day of our ac- 
 quaintance, we did not go on together quite pleasantly. 
 
 But what annoyed me, perhaps, the most, was the confidence 
 with which it seemed to be Mr. Greene's intention to lean upon 
 my resources. He certainly had not written homo yet, and had 
 taken my ten napoleons, as one friend may take a few shillings 
 from another when he finds that ho has left his own silver on his 
 dressing-table. AVhat could he have wanted of ten napoleons ? 
 He had alleged the necessity of paying the porters, but the few 
 francs ho had had in his pocket would have been enough for that. 
 And now Sophonisba was ever and again prompt in lier assur- 
 ances tlmt he need not annoy himself about money, because I 
 was at his right hand. I wont upstairs into my own room, and 
 counting all my treasures, found that thirty-six pounds and some 
 odd silver was tho extent of my wealth. . "With that I had to 
 go, at any rate, as far as Innspi-uck, and from thence back to 
 London. It was quite impossible that I should make myself 
 responsible for the Greenes' bill at Bellaggio. 
 
 "We dined early, and after dinner, according to a promise made 
 in the morning, Sophonisba ascended with me into the Serbelloni 
 
THE MAN WUO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX. 307 
 
 Gardens, and walked round tho terraces on that beautiful hill 
 which commands tho view of tho three lakes. When wo started 
 I confess that I would sooner have gone alone, for I was sick of 
 the Greenes in my very soul. "Wo had had a terrible day. Tho 
 landlord had been sent for so often, that ho refused to show him- 
 self again. Tho landlady — though Italians of that class aro 
 always courteous — had been so driven that she snapped her 
 fingers in Mrs. Greene's face. The three girls would not show 
 themselves. The waiters kept out of the way as much ns pos- 
 sible ; and the Boots, in confidence, abused them to mo behind 
 their back. ** Monsieur,'* said the Boots, "do you think there 
 ever was such a box ?" ** Perhaps not," said I ; and yet I knew 
 that I had seen it. 
 
 I would, theretore, have preferred to walk without Sophonisba; 
 but that now was impossible. So I determined that I would 
 utilise the occasion by telling her of my present purpose. I had 
 resolved to start on the following day, and it was now necessary 
 to make my friends understand that it was not in my power to 
 extend to them any further pecuniaiy assistance. 
 
 Sophonisba, when wo were on the hill, seemed tc have for- 
 gotten the box, and to bo willing that I should forget it also. 
 But this was impossible. "When, therefore, she told mo how 
 sweet it was to escape from that terrible woman, and leaned on 
 my arm with all the freedom of old aenaaintance, I was obliged 
 to cut short the pleasure of the moment. 
 
 ** I hope your father has written that letter," said I. 
 
 **He means to write it from Milan. "We know you want to 
 get on, so we purpose to leave hero the day after to-mon-ow." 
 
 ** Oh ! " said I, thinking of the bill immediately, and remem- 
 bering that Mrs. Greene had insisted on having champagne for 
 dinner. 
 
 "And if anything more is to be done about the nasty box, it 
 may be done there," continued Sophonisba. 
 
 ** But I must go to-morrow," said I, " at 5 a.m." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Sophonisba. "Go to-morrow, when I, — ^I 
 mean we, — are going on the next day ! " 
 
 "And I might as well explain," said I, gently dropping tho 
 hand that was on my arm, " that I find, — 1 find it will be im- 
 possible for me — to — to " 
 
 "To what?" 
 
 "To advance Mr. Greene anymore money just at present.'* 
 Then Sophonisba's arm dropped all at once, and she exclaimed, 
 •*Oh,Mr.Eobinflonl" 
 
308 tALES Of Att COtmtRMl 
 
 After all, there was a certain hard good sense ahont Miss 
 Ureene which would have protected her from my evil thoughts 
 had I known all the truth. I found out afterwards that she was 
 a con8iderable heiress, and, in q)ite of the opinion expressed by 
 the present Mrs. Robinson when Miss "Walker, I do not for a 
 moment think she would have accepted mo had I offered to her. 
 
 "You are quite right not to embarrass yourself," she said, 
 when I explained to her my immediate circumstances; *' but why 
 did you make papa on offer which you cannot perform ? He must 
 remain hero now till ho hears from England. Had you explained 
 it all at first, tho ten napoleons would have carried us to Milan." 
 This was all true, and yet I thought it hard upon me. 
 
 It was evident to me now, that Sophonisba was prepared to 
 join her step-mother in thinking that I had ill-treated them, and 
 1 had not much doubt that I should find Mr. Greene to be of tho 
 samo opinion. There was very little more said between us 
 during the walk, and when wo reached the hotel at seven or 
 half-past seven o'clock, I merely remarked that I would go in 
 and wish her father and mother good-bye. " I suppose you will 
 irink tea with us," said Sophonisba, and to this I assented. 
 
 I went into my o^vn room, and put all my things into my 
 portmanteau, for according to the custom, which is invariable in 
 Italy when an early start is premeditated, the Boots was imp(;ra- 
 tivc in his demand that tho luggage should bo ready over night. 
 I then went to tho Greene's sitting-room, and found that the 
 whole party was now aware of my intentions. 
 
 *' So you arc going to desert us," said Mrs. Greene. 
 
 " I must go on upon my joum'iy," I pleaded in a weak apolo- 
 getic voice. 
 
 '' Go on upon your journey, sir ! " said Mrs. Greene. " I would 
 not for a moment have you put your»elf to inconvenience on 
 our account." And yet I had already lost fourteen napoleons, 
 and given up all prospect of going to Venice ! 
 
 ** Mr. Robinson is certainly right not to break his engagement 
 with Miss "Walker," said Sophonisba. Now I had said not a 
 word about an engagement with Miss "Walker, having only men- 
 tioned incidentally that she would be one of tho party at Inu' 
 spruck. "But," continued she, "I think he should not have 
 misled us." And in this way wo enjoyed our evening meal. 
 
 I was just about to shake hands with them all, previous to my 
 final departure from their presence, when the Boots camo into 
 the room. 
 
 ** rU leave the portmanteau till to-morrow morning/' eoid ho* 
 
IHE MAN WHO KEPT UIS MONEY IN A BOX. 399 
 
 •'All right," said I. 
 
 ** Because," said he, ** there will be sirch a crowd of things in 
 the hall. The big trunk I will take away now." 
 " Big trunk,— what big tiimk ? " 
 
 ** The tiiink with your rug over it, on which your portmanteau 
 stood." 
 
 I looked round at Mr., Mrs., and Miss Greene, and saw that 
 they were all looking at me. I looked round at them, and as 
 their eyes met mine I felt that I turned as red as fire. I imme- 
 diately jumped up and rushed away to my own room, hearing as 
 I went that all their steps were following me. I rushed to the 
 inner reress, pulled down the portmanteau, which still remained 
 in its old place, tore away my own cari)ot rug wliich covered the 
 
 support beneath it, and there saw a white canvas-covered 
 
 box, with a hole in the canvas on the side next to me ! 
 
 "It is my box," said Mrs. Greene, pushing me away, as she 
 hurried up and put her finger within the rent. 
 
 ** It certainly does look like it," said Mr. Greene, peering over 
 his wife's shoulder. 
 
 *' There's no doubt about the box," said Sophonisba. 
 
 ** Kot the least in life," said I, trying to assume an :ndiff'ercnt 
 look. 
 
 ** Mon Dieu !" said the Boots. 
 
 "Corpo di Baccho!" exclaimed the landlord, who had now 
 joined the party. 
 
 **0h — h — h — h — !" screamed Mrs. Greene, and then she 
 threw herself back on to my bed, and shrieked hysterically. 
 
 There was no doubt whatsoever about the fact. There was 
 the lost box, and there it had been during all those tedious hours 
 of unavailing search. AVhilo I was suff'ering all that fatigue in 
 Milan, spending my precious zwanzigers in driving about from 
 one hotel to another, the box had been safe, standing in my own. 
 room at Bellaggio, hidden by my own rug. And now that it 
 was found e^'crybody looked at me as though it were all my fault. 
 Mrs. Greene's eyes, when she had done being hysterical, were 
 terrible, and Sophonisba looked at me as though I were a con«- 
 victcd thief. 
 
 "Who put the box here?" I said, turning fiercely upon the 
 Boots. 
 
 " I did," said the Boots, "by Monsieur's express order." 
 
 •* By my order?" I exclaimed. 
 
 " Certainly," said the Boots. 
 
 ** Corpo di Baccho I" said the landlord, and he also looked at 
 
400 TALES Of ALL OOtJNTRtlM. 
 
 mc as tliongh I wore a thiof. In the mean time the landlady and 
 tho throo dauglitcrs had clustered round Mrs. Greene, administer- 
 ing to her all manner of Italian consolation. Tho box, and tht 
 money, nnd tho jewels were after all a reality; and much 
 incivility can bo forgiven to a lady who ha« really lo»t her 
 jewels, and hw rriilly f(»und thrm iigian. 
 
 Tliero and then there arose a hurly-burly among us as to the 
 manner in which tho odious trunk found its way into my room. 
 Hud anybody been just enough to consider tho mutter coolly, it 
 must Imvo been quite clear tluit I could not have ordered it tliero. 
 "NVhen I entered tlio hot(3l, tho boxes were oh'eady being liigped 
 abotit, and I hnd spolu'ii ii wonl to no o\u) concrrning tlwm. 
 TImt traitoro\iH JJootH had done it,— no doubt without malico 
 prepense ; but ho had dono it ; and now that tho Greenes were 
 once more known as moneyed people, ho turned upon me, and 
 told me to my face, that I had desired that box to bo taken to 
 my own room as part of my own luggage ! 
 
 ** ^ly dear," said Mr. Greene, turning to his wife, ** you should 
 never mention the contents of your luggage to any one." 
 
 **I iievtT will again," said Mrs. Greene, with a mock re- 
 pentant air, " but 1 really thought -" 
 
 ** One never can bo sure of sharpers," said Mr. Grecno. 
 
 ** That's true," said Mrs. Greene. 
 
 "After all, it may have been accidental," said Sophonisba, on 
 hearing which good-natured surmise both papa and mamma Greeno 
 shook their suspicious heads. 
 
 1 was resolved to say nothing then. It was all but impossible 
 that they should really think tliat I had intended to steal their 
 box ; nor, if they du\ think so, would it have become mo to 
 vindicate myself before tho landlord and all his servants. I 
 stood by therefore in silence, while two of tho men raised the 
 trunk, and joined tho procession which followed it as it was 
 carried out of my room into that of tho legitimate owner. 
 Everybody in the house was there by that time, and iMrs. 
 Greeno, enjoying the triumph, by no means grudged them the 
 entrance into her sitting-room. She had felt that she was 
 suspected, and now she was determined that tho world of Bel- 
 la gio should know how much she was above suspicion. The box 
 was put down upon two chairs, the supporters who had borne it 
 retiring a pace each. Mrs. Greene then advanced proudly with 
 the selected key, and ^Ir. Greene stood by at her right shoulder, 
 ready to receive his portion of the hidden treasure. Sophonisba 
 was now indiflferent, and threw heruelf on the sofa, wlulo I 
 
THE MAN WnO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX. 401 
 
 '' alkcd up and down the room thoughtfully, — meditating what 
 irords I should say when I took my lost farewell of the Greenes. 
 But as I wilkcd I could see what occirred. Mrs. Greeno 
 opened the box, and displayed to view the ample folds of a huge 
 yellow woollen dressing-down. I could fancy that she would not 
 willingly have exhibited this article of her toilet, had she not 
 felt that its existence would speedily bo merged in the prescnco 
 of tho glories wliich were to follow. Tliis had merely been the 
 padding at tho top of tho box. Under that lay a long papier- 
 macho case, and in that were all her treasures. *' Ah, tliey aro 
 Bafe," sho said, opening the lid and looking upon her tawdry 
 pearls and carbuncles. 
 
 Mr. Greene, in the mean time, well knowing tho passage for 
 his hand, had dived down to tho very bottom of tho box, and 
 seized hold of a small canvas bag. *' It is hero," said ho, 
 dragging it up, *' and as far as I can tell, as yet, the knot has 
 not been untied." Whereupon ho sat himself down by Sophon- 
 iflba, and employing her to assist him in holding them, began to 
 count his rolls. "They aro all right," said ho ; and he wiped 
 the perspiration from his brow. 
 
 I had not yet made up my mind in what manner I might best 
 utter my last words among them so as to maintain the dignity of 
 my character, and now I was standing over against Mr. Greeno 
 with my arms folded on my breast. I had on my face a frown of 
 displeasure, which I am able to assume upon occasions, but I had 
 not yet determined what words I would use. After all, perhaps, 
 it might be as well that I should leave them without any last 
 words. 
 
 " Greene, my dear," said the lady, " pay the gentleman his 
 ten napoleons. " 
 
 *' Oh yes, certainly ;" whereupon Mr. Greeno undid one of the 
 rolls and extracted eight sovereigns. ** I believe that will make 
 it right, sir," said he, handing them to me. 
 
 I took tho gold, slipped it with an indifferent air into my 
 waistcoat pocket, and then refolded my arms across my breast. 
 
 **Papa," said Sophoniaba, in a very audible whisper, "Mr. 
 Kobinson went for you to Como. Indeed, I believe he says he 
 went to Milan." 
 
 " Do not let that be mentioned," said L 
 ** By all means pay him his expenses," said Mrs. Greene ; " I 
 would not owe him anything for worlds." 
 " He should be paid," said Sophoniaba. 
 ^ Oh, certainly," said Mr, Greene. And lie at once extracted 
 
402 TALES Of AUi COUNTRIES. 
 
 another torereign, and tendered it to me in the face of Us 
 
 assembled multitude. 
 
 This was too much ! ** Mr. Greene," said I, ** I intended to 
 be of service to you when I went to Milan, and you are very 
 ■welcome to the benefit of my intentions. The expense of that 
 journey, whatever may be its amount, is my own alfair.'* And I 
 remained standing with my closed arms. 
 
 ** Wo will be under no obligation to him," said Mrs. Greene ; 
 •* and I sliall insist on his taking the money." 
 
 *' The servant will put it on his dressing-table," said Sopho- 
 nisba. And she handed the sovereign to tho Boots, giving him 
 instructions. 
 
 *' Keep it yourself, Antonio," I said. "Wbereupon tho man 
 chucked it to the ceiling with his thumb, caught it as it fell, and 
 with a well-satisfied air, dropped it into the recesses of his 
 pocket. The air of the Greenes was also well satisfied, for they 
 lelt that they had paid me in full for all my services. 
 
 And now, with many obsequious bows and assurances of deep 
 respect, tho landlord and his family withdrew from the room. 
 ""Was there anything else they could do for Mrs. Greene?" 
 Mrs. Greene was all aff'ability. She had shown her jewels to 
 tho girls, and allowed them to express their admiration in pretty 
 Italian superlatives. There was nothing else she wanU4 to- 
 night. She was very happy and liked Bella ggio. She would 
 stay yet a week, and would make herself quite happy. And, 
 though none of them understood a word that the other said, each 
 understood that things were now rose-coloured, and so with 
 scrapings, bows, and grinning smiles, the landlord and all his 
 myrmidons withdrew. Mr. Greene was still counting his money, 
 sovereign by sovereign, and I was stUl standing wiUi my folded 
 arms upon my bosom. 
 
 ** I believe I may now go," said I. 
 *' Good night," said Mrs. Greene. 
 ** Adieu," said Sophonisba. 
 
 *'I have the pleasure of wishing you good-bye," said "^U. 
 Greene. 
 
 And then I walked out of the room. After all, what was tho 
 nse of saying anything ? And what could I say that would havo 
 done mo any sci-vice ? If they were capable of thinking me a 
 thief, — which they certainly did, — nothing that I could sny 
 would remove tho impression. Nor, as I thought, was it suit- 
 able that I should defend myself from such an imputation. 
 What were tho Greenes to me? So I walked slowly out oi 
 
THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEV IN A BOX. 403 
 
 tbe room, and never again saw one of the family from that day 
 to this. 
 
 As I stood upon the beach the next morning, while my port- 
 manteau was being handed into the boat, I gave the Boots five 
 zwanzigers. I was determined to show him that I did not con- 
 descend to feel anger against him. 
 
 He took the money, looked into my face, and then whispered 
 to me, ** Why did you not give me a word of notice beforehand ? " 
 he said, and winked his eye. He was evidently a thief, and took 
 me to be another ; — ^but what did it matter ? 
 
 I went thence to Milan, in which city I had no heart to look 
 at anything; thence to Verona, and so over the pass of the 
 Brenner to Innspruck. When I once found myself near to my 
 dear friends the Walkers I was again a happy man ; and I may 
 safely declare that, though a portion of my journey was so 
 troublesome and unfortunate, I look back upon tliat tour sm tha 
 happiest and tbe luckiest epoch of mj li£a. 
 
 9_io- W. H. smTH * aOV, PrinWrs, ta^ StnaO, W.a s-^ 
 
/Tt. 4.i7A.rX 
 
THE COMPLETE WORKS 
 
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 #HARLES Sickens. 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 THE PICKWICK PAPERS, 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 DOM BEY AND SON. 
 
 VOL. IV. 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 
 
 VOL. V. 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD. 
 
 VOU VI. 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE. 
 
 VOL. VM. 
 
 LITTLE DORRIT. 
 
 VOL. Via. 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 
 
 VOL. IX. 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE. 
 HARD TIMES. 
 
 VOL. X. 
 
 SKETCHES BY "BOZ," 
 TWELVE TALES, and 
 FIVE CHRISTMAS BOOKS. 
 
 A Christmas Carol 
 
 TIM Battle xA Life. Sec, &C. 
 VOL. XL 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 VOL. Xlt 
 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 
 
 And other Stories. 
 Master Humphrey's Clooki do. 
 
 VOL. XIIL 
 
 TALE OF TWO CITIES. 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 
 
 VOL. XIV. 
 
 UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER. 
 EDWIN DROOD. 
 
 VOL. XV. 
 
 SKETCHES OF YOUNG 
 
 GENTLEMEN, AND YOUNQ 
 
 COUPLES. 
 CHILD'S HISTORY of ENGLAND. 
 
 VOL. XVL 
 
 EIGHT CHRISTMAS STORIES 
 
 Frtmt "Hcuseheld tV«rdt.' 
 SEVEN /»w»» "AUlkt Year Round," 
 
 AND FOUR READINGS, viz.:— 
 
 The Poor Traireller 
 Boou at the HoUy-Tre« laa 
 Mrs. GAHip 
 The Story of Lhtle Dombey 
 
 The strange Gentleman: a Play. 
 
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 mistaken for decline, nervousness, slow fever and irregu'ar pulse, sometimes falntness, con- 
 vulsive, often causing sudden death, heat and itching about the anus, which often cause* 
 ihem to be mistaken for piles, dizziness, sore throaf, and inflamnutioa of the bowels. The 
 Above symptoms vary according to the kind of worms. 
 
 Williams' (Poniardawe) Worm Loze.nges are prepared from the original 
 receipt by 
 
 J. DAVIES, Chemist, 31, High Street, Swansea, 
 
 And sold by most Chemists at 9i^., I3jr/., and 2s. gJ. per box ; 
 by post, 14 or 34 Stamps. 
 
 Pretecttd by thi CmKrnment Stamp, ah which art enirwvtd iht wordt^ 
 ••Williams' Worm Lozenges." 
 
18^8 
 !T749ta 
 
^ 
 
RICHARD smith' & CO. 
 
 NURSERYMEN & SEED MERCHANTS, 
 
 WORCESTER. 
 
 The undermentioned Descriptive Lists Free on application. 
 
 looses, Fruit and Orchard House Trees, Evergreen and Deciduous Trees 
 
 ond Shrubs, Conifers, Forest Trees, Creepers, Stove and Greenhouse Plants, 
 
 Herbaceous and Alpine Plants, Bedding Plants, Bulbs, Vegetable, Flower, 
 
 and Farm Seeds. 
 
 mM^ FOR BEAUTIFUL p,, 
 
 ^i^^ FLOWERS AND FRUITS '^ '' 
 
 USE 
 
 CHUBB, ROUND & CO.'S 
 
 PATENT 
 
 COCOA-E^UT Y\mi REFUSE 
 
 BY CHUBB'S PATENT PROCESS, 
 
 As supplied to all the Royal Gardens and principal Nurseries of Europe. 
 
 Useful at all seasons. Invaluable for Pottinjj, Plunging, Forcing, Ferneries, 
 Sirawbeiiies, Bedding-out Plants, &c. Destroys all Slugs and Insects. 
 
 Sacks, ij. ed. each ; lo sacks, 13.?. ; 15 sacks, i8j. ; 20 sacks, 23J. ; 30 
 flacks, 30.. (all sacks included) ; truck load, free on rail, £2. Limited 
 <iuantit:es of P.M. special quality granulated, in packs only, 2s. td, each (Two 
 Prize Medals), valuable for potting and use in conservatory. Terms strictly 
 Cash wiih order. To obtnin the genuine article, buy direct from the Manu- 
 facturers. CHUBB, ROUND & CO., Fibre Works, West Ferry Road, 
 :Millwall, London, £. 
 
 THE UNIVERSAL HOUSEHOLD REMEDIES! II 
 
 I. 
 
 I 
 
 Miflfflj 
 
 These excellent FAMILY MEDICINES are invaluable in the treatment of all 
 ailments incidental to every Household. The PiLLS Purify, Re^^ulaie^ and 
 Stren!:then the whole system, while the OiNTMKNT is unequalled for the cure of 
 Bad Legs, Dad Breasts, Old Wounds, Sores, and Ulcers. Possessed of these 
 Rembdics. every Mother has at once the means of Quriog most Complaints to 
 which herself or family is liab'.e. , , ; '^ 
 
 N.B.-^Advice gratis at 90, LAT£ 533, Oxfcrd Street, London, daily between ihi 
 hours of It and 4, or by letter, ^ ^ 
 
 yf^. i>^S: SLS Y. 
 
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 CO 
 
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GOLD WIEOAL, PARIS, it 
 
 ball ^ mMm. 
 
 EXTRA'CT.; 
 
 GUARANTEED PURE COCOA ON 
 
 "Strictly pure, easily iassoiilated."~i 
 
 W, W. SToDbAi . P.T.C., F.C.S., Oity a.^ Oountit Aualifsti 
 
 '<Fure Cocca, a portion of oil extracte 
 
 C11AKLE8 A.Cameuon, M.D.,F.K.0,S.I., A>iahjit/o. 
 
 ^ 
 
 t^ 
 
 '1,) 
 
 fa 
 
 '-^i:;a# 
 
 
 ^ V^ 
 
 COCOA POD CUT OPEN SHOWING THE NUTS i. 
 
 m$ mum^ Oil 
 
 Prepared with the celebrated Cocoa of Caracas, 
 
 with other choice descriptions. i 
 
 ' A most delicious and valuable artic 
 
 6/ 
 
 ^'.v' rr 
 
 15 International Prize Medals awarded to J. S. Fry \ 
 
^- 
 
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 TO"^ 202 Main Library 1 /561 
 
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 1. month loans may be renewed by calling 642-3405 
 
 Vyear loans may be recharged by bringing the books to the Cifculalion Oe»k 
 
 Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due date 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
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 REC, CIR JAN 28 -^ 
 
 ^AW4J98a 
 
 isa M A R 18 1988 
 
 •^m^WW 
 
 FORM NO. DD6, 60m, 
 
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GENERAL LIBRARY - U.C. BERKELEY 
 
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