Price Ten Cents. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS'S 
 
 NEW 
 
 CHKISTMAS STORY. 
 
 LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 I. HOW MES. LlRRIPER CARRIED ON THE BUSINESS. 
 
 II. How THE FIRST FLOOR WENT TO CROWLET CASTLE. 
 
 III. HOW THE SlDE-EoOM WAS ATTENDED BY A DOCTOR. 
 
 IV. How THE SECOND FLOOR KEPT A DOG. 
 V. How THE THIRD FLOOR KNEW THE POTTERIES. 
 VI. How THE BEST ATTIC WAS UNDER A CLOUD. 
 VII. How THE PARLOURS ADDED A FEW WORDS. 
 
 NEW YOKK: 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FKANKLIN SQUARE. 
 1863.
 
 LffiRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 i. 
 
 HOW MBS. LIRRIPER CARRIED OS THE BUSINESS. 
 
 WHOEVER would begin to be worried with 
 letting Lodgings that wasn't a lone woman with 
 a living to get is a thing inconceivable to me my 
 dear, excuse the familiarity but it comes natural 
 to me in my own little room when wishing to 
 open my mind to those that I can trust and I 
 should be truly thankful if they were all man- 
 kind but such is not so, for have but a Furnished 
 bill in the window and your watch on the man- 
 tlepiece and farewell to it if you turn your back 
 for but a second however gentlemanly the man- 
 ners, nor is being of your own s^x any safe- 
 guard as I have reason in the form of sugar- 
 tongs to know, for that lady (and a fine woman 
 she was) got me to run for a glass of water on 
 the plea of going to be confined, which certainly 
 turned out true but it was in the Station-House. 
 
 Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street Strand 
 situated midway between the City and St. James's 
 and within five minutes' walk of the principal 
 places of public amusement is my address. I 
 have rented this house many years as the parish 
 rate-books will testify and" I could wish my 
 landlord was as alive to the fact as I am myself, 
 but no bless you not a half a pound of paint to 
 save his life nor so much my dear as a tile upon 
 the roof though on your bended knees. 
 
 My dear you never have found Number 
 Eighty-one Norfolk Street Strand advertised in 
 Bradshaw's Railway Guide and with the blessing 
 of Heaven you never will or shall so find it. 
 Some there" are who do not think it lowering 
 themselves to make their names that cheap and 
 even going the lengths of a portrait of the house 
 not like it with a blot in every window and a coach 
 and four at the door, but what will suit Wozen- 
 ham's lower down on the other side of the way 
 will not suit me, Miss Wozenham having her 
 opinions and me having mine, though when it 
 comes to systematic underbidding capable of 
 being proved on oath in a court of justice and 
 taking the form of " If Mrs. Lirriper names 
 eighteen shillings a week, I name fifteen and 
 six" it then comes to a settlement between your- 
 self and your conscience supposing for the sake 
 of argument your name to be Wozenham which 
 I am well aware it is not or my opinion of you 
 would be greatly lowered, and as to airy bed- 
 rooms and a night-porter in constant attendance 
 the less said the better, the bedrooms being stuffy 
 and the porter stuff. 
 
 It is forty years ago since me and my poor 
 Lirriper got married at St. Clement's Danes 
 where I now have a sitting in a very pleasant 
 pew with genteel company and my own hassock 
 and being partial to evening service not too 
 
 crowded. My poor Lirriper was a handsome 
 figure of a man with a beaming eye and a voice 
 as mellow as a musical instrument made of hon- 
 ey and steel, but he had ever been a free liver 
 being in the commercial traveling line and trav- 
 eling what he called a limekiln road "a drv 
 road, Emma my dear," my poor Lirriper says to 
 me "where I have to lay the dust with one drink 
 or another all day long and half the night, and it 
 wears me Emma" and this led to his running 
 through a good deal and might have run through 
 the turnpike too when that dreadful horse that 
 never would stand still for a single instant set 
 off, but for its being night and the gate shut and 
 consequently took his wheel my poor Lirriper 
 and the gig smashed to atoms and never spoke 
 afterwards. He was a handsome figure of a 
 man and a man with a jovial heart and a sweet 
 temper, but if they had come up then they never 
 could have given you the mellowness of his voice, 
 and indeed I consider photographs wanting in 
 mellowness as a general rule and making you 
 look like a new-ploughed field. 
 
 My poor Lirriper being behindhand with the 
 world and being buried at Hatficld church in 
 Hertfordshire, not that it was his native place 
 hut that he had a liking for the Salisbury Arms 
 where we went upon our wedding-day and passed 
 as happy a fortnight as ever happy was, I went 
 round to the creditors and I says "Gentlemen 
 I am acquainted with the fact that I am not an- 
 swerable for my late husband's debts but I wish 
 to pay them for I am his lawful wife and his 
 good name is dear to me. I am going into the 
 Lodgings gentlemen as a business and if I 
 | prosjjer every farthing that my late^busband 
 owed shall be paid for the sake of trie love I 
 bore him, by this right hand." It took a long 
 time to do but it was done, and the silver 
 cream-jug which is between ourselves and the 
 bed and the mattress in my room tip-stairs (or it 
 would have found legs so sure as ever the Fur- 
 nished bill was up) being presented by the gen- 
 tlemen engraved "To Mrs. Lirriper a mark of 
 grateful respect for her honourable conduct" 
 gave me a turn which was too much for my 
 feelings, till Mr. Betley which at that time had 
 the parlours and loved his joke says " Cheer up 
 Mrs. Lirriper, you should feel as if it was only 
 your christening and they were your godfathers 
 and godmothers which did promise for you." 
 And it brought me round, and I don't mind" con- 
 fessing to you my dear that I then put a sand- 
 wich and a drop of sherry in a little basket and 
 went down to Hatfield churchyard outside the 
 coach and kissed my hand and laid it with a 
 kind of a proud and swelling love on my hus- 
 band's grave, though bless you it had taken me 
 so long to clear his name that my wedding ring
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 was worn quite fine and smooth when I laid it 
 on the green green waving gni>s. 
 
 I am an old woman now and my good looks 
 are gone but that's me my dear over the plate- 
 warmer and considered like in the times when 
 you used to pay two guineas on ivory and took 
 your chance pretty much how you came out, 
 which made you very careful how you left it 
 about afterwards because people were turned so 
 red and uncomfortable by mostly guessing it 
 was somebody else quite different, and there was 
 ouce a certain person that had put his money in 
 a hop business that came in one morning to pay 
 his rent and his respects being the second floor 
 that would have taken it down from its hook 
 and put it in his breast pocket you understand 
 my dear for the L, he says, of the original 
 only there was no mellowness in his voice and I 
 wouldn't let him, but his opinion of it you may 
 gather from his saying to it " Speak to me 
 Emma!" which was far from a rational obser- 
 vation no doubt but slill a tribute to its being a 
 likeness, and I think myself it was like me when 
 I was young and wore that sort of stays. 
 
 But it was about the Lodgings that I was in- 
 tending to hold forth and certainly I ought to 
 know something of the business having been in 
 it so long, for it was early in the second year of 
 my married life that I lost my poorLirriper and 
 I set up at Islington directly afterwards and aft- 
 erwards came here, being two houses and eight 
 and thirty years and some losses and a deal of 
 experience. 
 
 Girls are your first trial after fixtures and 
 they try you even worse than what I call the 
 Wandering Christians, though why they should 
 roam the earth looking for bills and then com- 
 ing in and viewing the apartments and stickling 
 about terms and never at all wanting them or 
 dreaming of taking them being already provided, 
 is a mystery I should be thankful to have ex- 
 plained if by any miracle it could be. It's won- 
 derful they live so long and thrive so on it but I 
 suppose the exercise makes it healthy, knocking 
 so much and going from house to house and up 
 and down stairs all day, and then their pretend- 
 ing to be so particular and punctual is a most 
 astonishing thing, looking at their watches and 
 saying "Could you give me the refusal of the 
 rooms till twenty minutes past eleven the day 
 after to-morrow in the forenoon, and supposing 
 it to be considered essential by my friend from 
 the country could there be a small iron bedstead 
 put in the little room upon the stairs?" Win- 
 when I was new to it my dear I used to con- 
 sider before I promised and to make my mind 
 anxious with calculations and to get quite wea- 
 ried out with disappointments, but now I says 
 "Certainly by all means" well knowing it's'a 
 Wandering Christian and I shall hear no more 
 about it, indeed by this time I know most of the 
 Wandering Christians by sight as well as they 
 know me, it being the habit of each individual 
 revolving round London in that capacity to 
 come back about twice a year, and it's very re- 
 markable that it runs in families, and the chil- 
 dren grow up to it, but even were it otherwise I 
 should no sooner hear of the friend from the 
 country which is a certain sign that I should nod 
 and say to myself You're a Wandering Chris- 
 tian, though whether they are (as I have heard) 
 persons of small property with a taste for regu- 
 
 lar employment and frequent change of scene I 
 cannot undertake to tell you. 
 
 Girls as I was beginning to remark are one 
 of your first and your lasting troubles, being 
 like your teeth which begin with convulsions 
 and never cease tormenting you from the time 
 you cut them till they cut you, and then you 
 don't want to part with them which seems hard 
 but we must all succumb or buy artificial, and 
 even where you get a will nine times out of ten 
 you'll get a dirty face with it, and naturally 
 lodgers do not like good society to be shown in 
 with a smear of black across the nose or a 
 smudgy eyebrow. Where they pick the black 
 up is a mystery I cannot solve, as in the case of 
 the willingest girl that ever came into a house 
 half starved poor thing, a girl so willing that I 
 called her Willing Sophy down upon her knees 
 scrubbing early and late and ever cheerful but 
 always smiling with a black face. And I says to 
 Sophy "Now Sophy my good girl have a regular 
 day for your stoves and keep the width of the 
 Airy between yourself and the blacking and do 
 not brush your hair with the bottoms of the 
 saucepans and do not meddle with the snuffs of 
 the candles and it stands to reason that it can 
 no longer be" yet there it was and always on 
 her nose, which turning up and being broad at 
 the end seemed to boast of it and caused warn- 
 ing from a steady gentleman and excellent 
 lodger with breakfast by the week but a little 
 irritable and use of a sitting-i*oom when re- 
 quired, his words being "Mrs. Lirriper I have 
 arrived at the point of admitting that the Black 
 is a man and a brother, but only in a natural 
 form and when it can't be got off." Well con- 
 sequently I put poor Sophy on to other work 
 and forbid her answering the door or answering 
 a bell on any account but she was so unfortu- 
 nately willing that nothing would stop her fly- 
 ing up the kitchen stairs whenever a bell was 
 heard to tingle. I put it to her "Oh Sophy 
 Sophy for goodness goodness sake where does it 
 come from ?" To which that poor unlucky will- 
 ing mortal bursting out crying to see me so vexed 
 replied "I took a deal of black into me ma'am 
 when I was a small child being much neglected 
 and I think it must be, that it works out," so 
 it continuing to work out of that poor thing an<i 
 not having another fault to find with her I says 
 Sophy "what do you seriously think of my help- 
 ing you away to New South Wales where it 
 might not be noticed ?" Nor did I ever repent 
 the money which was well spent, for she mar- 
 ried the ship's cook on the voyage (himself a 
 Mulotter) and did well and lived happy, and so 
 far as ever I heard it was not noticed in a new 
 state of society to her dying day. 
 
 In what way Miss Wozenham lower down on 
 the other side of the way reconciled it to her 
 feelings as a lady (which she is not) to entice 
 Mary Anne Perkinsop from my service is best 
 known to herself, I do not know and I do net 
 wish to know how opinions are formed at Wo- 
 zenham's on any point. But Mary Anne Per- 
 kinsop although I behaved handsomely to her 
 and she behaved unhandsomely to me was worth 
 her weight in gold as overawing lodgers with- 
 out driving them away, for lodgers would be far 
 more sparing of their bells with Mary Anne than 
 I ever knew them be with Maid or Mistress, 
 which is a great triumph especially when accom-
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 panied with a cast in the eye and a bag of bones, 
 but it was the steadiness of her way with them 
 through her father's having failed in Pork. It 
 was Mary Anne's looking so respectable in her 
 person and being so strict in her spirits that con- 
 quered the tea-and-sugarest gentleman (for he 
 weighed them both in a pair of scales every 
 morning) that I have ever had to deal with anil 
 no lamb grew meeker, still it afterwards came 
 round to me that Miss Wozenham happening to 
 pass and seeing Mary Anne take in the milk of 
 a milkman that made free in a rosy-faced way 
 (I think no worse of him) with every girl in the 
 street but was quite frozen up like the statue at 
 Charing Cross by her, saw Mary Anne's value 
 in the lodging business and went as high as one 
 pound per quarter more, consequently Mary 
 Anne with not a word betwixt us says "If you 
 will provide yourself Mrs. Lirriper in a month' 
 from this day /have already done the same," 
 which hurt me and I said so, and she then hurt 
 me more by insinuating that her father having 
 failed in Pork had laid her open to it. 
 
 My dear I do assure you it's a harassing thing 
 to know what kind of girls to give the preference 
 to, for if they are lively they get bell'd off their 
 legs and if they are sluggish you suffer from it 
 yourself in complaints and if they are sparkling- 
 eyed they get made love to and if they are smart 
 in their persons they try on your Lodger's bon- 
 nets and if they are musical I defy you to keep 
 them away from bands and organs, and allowing 
 for any difference you like in their heads their 
 heads will be always out of window just the 
 same. And then what the gentlemen like in 
 girls the ladies don't, which is fruitful hot water 
 for all parties, and then there's temper though 
 such a temper as Caroline Maxey's I hope not 
 often. A good-looking black-eyed girl was Car- 
 oline and a comely made girl to your cost when 
 she did break out and laid about her, as took 
 place first and last through a new-married coup- 
 le come to see London in the first floor and the 
 lady very high and it was supposed not liking 
 the good looks of Caroline having none of her 
 own to spare, but anyhow she did try Caroline 
 though that was no excuse. So one afternoon 
 Caroline comes down into the kitchen flushed 
 and flashing, and she says to me "Mrs. Lirriper 
 that woman in the first has aggravated me past 
 bearing,"! says "Caroline keep your temper," 
 Caroline says with a curdling laugh " Keep my 
 temper ? You're right Mrs. Lirriper, so I will. 
 Capital D her!" bursts out Caroline (you might 
 have struck me into the centre of the earth with 
 a feather when she said it) "I'll give her a touch 
 of the temper that / keep !" Caroline downs 
 with her hair my dear, screeches and rushes up- 
 stairs, I following as fast as my trembling legs 
 could bear me, but before I got into the room 
 the dinner cloth and pink and white service all 
 dragged off upon the floor with a crash and the 
 new married couple on their backs in the fire- 
 grate, him with the shovel and tongs and a di<h 
 of cucumber across him and a mercy it was sum- 
 mer-time. "Caroline"! says "be calm," but ! 
 she catches off my cap and tears it in her teeth J 
 as she passes me, then pounces on the new mar- ! 
 ried lady makes her a bundle of ribbons takes 
 her by the two ears and knocks the back of her 
 head upon the carpet Murder screaming all the 
 time Policemen running down the street and 
 
 Wozenham's windows (judge of my feelings 
 when I came to know it) thrown up and Miss 
 Wozenham calling out from the balcony with 
 crocodile's tears ''It's Mrs. Lirriper been" over- 
 charging somebody to madness she'll be mur- 
 dered I always thought so Pleeseman save 
 her!" My dear four of them and Caroline be- 
 hind the chitfuiiiere attacking with the poker 
 and when disarmed prize lighting with her 
 double fists, and down and up and up and down 
 and dreadful ! But I couldn't bear to see the 
 poor young creature roughly handled and her 
 hair torn when they got the better of her, and I 
 says " Gentlemen Policemen pray remember 
 that her sex is the sex of your mothers and sis- 
 ters and your sweethearts, and God bless them 
 and you !" And there she was sitting down on 
 the ground handcuffed, taking breath against the 
 skirting-board and them cool with their coats in 
 strips, and all she says was " Mrs. Lirriper I am 
 sorry as ever I touched you, for you're a kind 
 motherly old thing," and it made me think that 
 I had often wished I had been a mother indeed 
 and how would my heart have felt if I had been 
 the mother of that girl ! Well you know it 
 turned out at the Police-office that she had done 
 it before, and she had her clothes away and was 
 sent to prison, and when she was to come out I 
 trotted off to the gate in the evening with just a 
 morsel of jelly in that little basket of mine to 
 give her a mite of strength to face the world 
 again, and there I met with a very decent moth- 
 er waiting for her son through bad company and 
 a stubborn one he was with his half boots not 
 laced. So out came Caroline and I says "Car- 
 oline come along with me and sit down under 
 the wall where it's retired and eat a little trifle 
 that I have brought with me to do you good" 
 and she throws her arms round my neck and 
 says sobbing "O why were you never a mother 
 when there are such mothers as there are!" she 
 says, and in half a minute more she begins to 
 laugh and says "Did I really tear your cap to 
 shreds?" and when I told her "You certainly 
 did so Caroline" she laughed again and said 
 while she patted my face "Then why do you 
 wear such queer old caps you dear old thing? 
 If you hadn't worn such queer old caps I don't 
 think I should have done it even then." Fancy 
 the girl ! Nothing could pet out of her what 
 she was going to do except O she would do well 
 enough, and we parted she being very thankful 
 and kissing my hands, and I never more saw or 
 heard of that girl, except that I shall always be- 
 lieve that a very genteel cap which was brought 
 anonymous to me one Saturday night in an oil- 
 skin basket by a most impertinent young spar- 
 row of a monkey whistling with dirty shoes on 
 the clean steps and playing the harp on the Airy 
 railings with a hoop-stick came from Caroline. 
 
 What you lay yourself open to my dear in the 
 way of being the object of uncharitable suspi- 
 cions wnen you go into the Lodging business I 
 have not the words to tell you, but never was I 
 so dishonourable as to have two keys nor would 
 I willingly think it even of Miss Wozenham, 
 lower down on the other side of the way sincere- 
 ly hoping that it may not be, though doubtless 
 at the same time money cannot come from no- 
 where and it is not reason to suppose that Brad- 
 shaws put it in for love 1x3 it blotty as it may. 
 It is a hardship hurting to the feelings that
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 Lodgers open their minds so wide to the idea 
 that you are trying to get the better of them and 
 shut their minds so close to the idea that they 
 arc trying to get the better of you, but as Major 
 Jackman says to me "I know the ways of this 
 circular world Mrs. Lirriper, and that's one of 
 'em all round it" and many is the little ruffle in 
 my mind that the Major has smoothed, for he is 
 a clever man who has seen much. Dear dear, 
 thirteen years have passed though it seems but 
 yesterday since I was sitting with my glasses on 
 at the open front parlour window one evening in 
 August (the parlours being then vacant) reading 
 yesterday's paper my eyes for print being poor 
 though still I am thankful to say a long sight at 
 a distance, when I hear a gentleman come post- 
 ing across the road and up the street in a dread- 
 ful rage talking to himself in a fury and d'ing 
 and c'ing somebody. "By George!" says lie 
 out loud and clutching his walking-stick, " I'll 
 go to Mrs. Lirriper's. Which is Mrs. Lirri- 
 per's ?" Then looking round and seeing me he 
 flourishes his hat right off his head as if I had 
 been the queen and he says "Excuse the intru- 
 sion Madam, but pray Madam can yon tell me 
 at what number in this street there resides a 
 well-known and much - respected lady by the 
 name of Lirriper?" A little flustered though I 
 must say gratified I took off my glasses and curt- 
 seyed and said " Sir, Mrs. Lirriper is your hum- 
 ble servant." "As-tonishing !" said he. "A 
 million pardons! Madam, may I ask you to 
 have- the kindness to direct one of your domestics 
 to open the door to a gentleman in search of 
 apartments, by the name of Jackman ?" I had 
 never heard the name but a politer gentleman I 
 never hope to see, for says he " Madam I am 
 shocked at your opening the door yourself to no 
 worthier a fellow than Jemmy Jackman. After 
 you Madam. I never precede a lady." Then 
 he comes into the parlours and he sniffs and he 
 says "Hah! These are parlours ! Not musty 
 cupboards" he says ' ' but parlours, and no smell 
 of coal-sacks." Now my dear it having been re- 
 marked by some inimical to the whole neigh- 
 bourhood that it always smells of coal -sacks 
 wKich might prove a drawback to Lodgers if en- 
 couraged, I says to the Major gently though firm- 
 ly that I think he is referring to Arundel or 
 Surrey or Howard but not Norfolk. " Madam" 
 says he "I refer to Wozenham's lower down 
 over the way Madam you can form no notion 
 what Wozenham's is Madam it is a vast coal- 
 sack, and Miss Wozenham has the principles 
 and manners of a female heaver Madam from 
 the manner in which I have heard her mention 
 you I know she has no appreciation of a lady, 
 and from the manner in which she has conduct- 
 ed herself towards me I know she has no appre- 
 ciation of a gentleman Madam my name is 
 Jackraan should you require any other refer- 
 ence than what I have already said, I name the 
 Bank of England perhaps you know it !" Such 
 was the beginning of the Major's occupying the 
 parlours and from that hour to this the same 
 and a most obliging Lodger and punctual in all 
 rospects except one irregular which I need not 
 particularly specify, but made up for by his be- 
 ing a protection and at all times ready to fill in 
 the papers of the Assessed Taxes and Juries and 
 that, and once collared a young man with the 
 drawing-room clock under his cloak, and once 
 
 on the parapets with his own hands and blank- 
 ets put out the kitchen chimney and afterwards 
 attending the summons made a most eloquent 
 speech against the Parish before the magistrates 
 and saved the engine, and ever quite the gentle- 
 man though passionate. And certainly Miss 
 Wozenham's detaining the trunks and umbrella 
 was not in a liberal spirit though it may have 
 been according to her rights in law or an act 1 
 would myself have stooped to, the Major being 
 so much the gentleman that though he is far 
 from tall he seems almost so when he has his 
 shirt frill out and his frock-coat on and his hat 
 with the curly brims, and in what service he was 
 I cannot truly tell you my dear whether Militia 
 or Foreign, for I never heard him even name 
 himself as Major but always simple "Jemmy 
 Jackman" and once soon after he came when I 
 felt it my duty to let him know that Miss Wo- 
 zenham had put it about that he was no Major 
 and I took the liberty of adding "which you are 
 sir" his words were "Madam at any rate I am 
 not a Minor, and sufficient for the day is the 
 evil thereof" which cannot be denied to be the 
 sacred truth, nor yet his military ways of having 
 his boots with only the dirt brushed off taken to 
 him in the front parlour every morning on a 
 clean plate and varnishing them himself with a 
 little sponge and a saucer and a whistle in a 
 whisper so sure as ever his breakfast is ended, 
 and so neat his ways that it never soils his linen 
 which is scrupulous though more in quality than 
 quantity, neither that nor his moustachios which 
 to the best of my belief are done at the same 
 time and which are as black and shining as his 
 boots, his head of hair being a lovely white. 
 
 It was the third year nearly up of the Major's 
 being in the parlours that early one morning in 
 the month of February when Parliament was 
 coming on and you may therefore suppose a 
 number of impostors were about ready to take 
 hold of anything they could get, a gentleman 
 and lady from the country came in to view the 
 Second, and I well remember that I had been 
 looking out of window and had watched them 
 and the heavy sleet driving down the street to- 
 gether looking for bills. I did not quite take to 
 the face of the gentleman though he was good- 
 looking too but the lady was a very pretty young 
 thing and delicate, and it seemed" too rough for 
 her to be out at all though she had only come 
 from the Adelphi Hotel which would not have 
 been much above a quarter of a mile if the 
 weather had been less severe. Now it did so 
 happen my dear that I had been forced to put 
 five shillings weekly additional on the second in 
 consequence of a loss from running away full- 
 dressed as if going out to a dinner-party, which 
 was very artful and had made me rather suspi- 
 cious taking it along with Parliament, so when 
 the gentleman proposed three months certain 
 and the money in advance and leave then re- 
 served to renew on the same terms fur six 
 months more, I says I was not quite certain but 
 that I might have engaged myself to another 
 party but would stop down stairs and look into 
 it it' they would take a seat. They took a seat 
 and I went down to the handle of the Major's 
 door that I had already began to consult finding 
 it a great blessing, and I knew by his whistling 
 in a whisper that he was varnishing his boots 
 which was generally considered private, howev-
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 er he kindly calk out " If it's you, Madam, come 
 in," and I went in and told him. 
 
 "Well, Madam," says the Major rubbing his 
 nose as I did fear at the moment with the 
 black sponge but it was only his knuckle, he be- 
 ing always neat and dexterous with his fingers 
 "well, Madain, I suppose you would be glad 
 of the money?" 
 
 I was delicate of saying "Yes" too out, for a lit- 
 tle extra colour rose into the Major's cheeks and 
 there was irregularity which I will not particu- 
 larly specify in a quarter which I will not name. 
 
 "I am of opinion, Madam," says the Major 
 " that when money is ready for you when it is 
 ready for you Mrs. Lirriper you ought to take 
 it. What is there against it, Madam, in this 
 case up-stairs?" 
 
 " I really cannot say there is anything against 
 it sir, still I thought I would consult you. " 
 
 " You said a newly-married couple, I think, 
 Madam," says the Major. 
 
 I says "Ye-es. Evidently. And indeed the 
 young lady mentioned to me in a casual way that 
 she had not been married many months." 
 
 The Major rubbed his nose again and stirred 
 the varnish round and round in its little saucer 
 with his piece of sponge and took to his whis- 
 tling in a whisper for a few moments. Then he 
 says "You would call it a Good Let, Madam?" 
 
 " Oh certainly a Good Let sir." 
 
 " Say they renew for the additional six 
 months. Would it put you about very much 
 Madam if if the worst was to come to the 
 worst?" said the Major. 
 
 "Well I hardly know," I says to the Major. 
 "It depends upon circumstances. Would you 
 object sir for instance?" 
 
 "I?" says the Major. "Object? Jemmy 
 Jackman ? Mrs. Lirriper close with the pro- 
 posal." 
 
 So I went up-stairs and accepted, and they 
 came in next day which was Saturday and the 
 Major was so good as to draw up a Memoran- 
 dum of an agreement in a beautiful round hand 
 and expressions that sounded to me equally le- 
 pal and* military, and Mr. Edson signed it on the 
 Monday morning and the Major called upon Mr. 
 Edson on the Tuesday and Mr. Edson called 
 upon the Major on the Wednesday and the Sec- 
 ond and the parlours were as friendly as could be 
 wished. 
 
 The three months paid for had run out and we 
 had got without any fresh overtures as to pay- 
 ment into May my dear, when there came an 
 obligation upon Mr. Edson to go a business ex- 
 pedition right across the Isle of Man, which fell 
 quite unexpected on that pretty little thing and 
 is not a place that according to my views is par- 
 ticularly in the way to anywhere at any time but 
 that may be a matter of opinion. So short a 
 notice was it that he was to go next day, and 
 dreadfully she cried poor pretty and I am sure I 
 cried too when I saw her on the cold pavement 
 in the sharp east wind it being a very back- 
 ward spring that year taking a last leave of him 
 with her pretty bright hair blowing this way and 
 that and her arms clinging round his neck and 
 him saying "There there there! Now let me 
 go Peggy." And by that time it was plain that 
 what the Major had been so accommodating as 
 to say he would not object to happening in the 
 house, would happen in it, and I told her as 
 
 much when he was gone while I comforted her 
 with my arm up the staircase, for I says "You 
 will soon have others to keep up for my pretty 
 and you must think of that." 
 
 His letter never came when it ought to have 
 come and what she went through morning after 
 morning when the postman brought none for 
 her the very postman himself compassionated 
 when she ran down to the door, and yet we can- 
 not wonder at its being calculated to blunt the 
 feelings to have all the trouble of other people's 
 letters and none of the pleasure and doing it of- 
 tcner in the mud and mizzle than not and at a 
 rate of wages more resembling Little Britain 
 than Great. But at last one morning when she 
 was too poorly to come running down stairs he 
 says to me with a pleased look in his face that 
 made me next to love the man in his uniform 
 coat though he was dripping wet " I have taken 
 you first in the street this morning Mrs. Lirriper, 
 for here's the one for Mrs. Edson." I went up 
 to her bedroom with it fast as ever I could go, 
 and she sat up in bed when she saw it and kiss- 
 ed it and tore it open and then a blank stare 
 came upon her. "It's very short !" she says lift- 
 ing her large eyes to my face. " O Mrs. Lirri- 
 per it's very short !" I says " My dear Mrs. Ed- 
 son no doubt that's because your husband hadn't 
 time to write more just at that time." "No 
 doubt, no doubt," says she, and puts her two 
 hands on her face and turns round in her bed. 
 
 I shut her softly in and I crept down stairs 
 and I tapped at the Major's door, and when the 
 Major having his thin slices of bacon in his own 
 Dutch oven saw me he came out of his chair 
 and put me down on the sofa. "Hush!" says 
 he, " I see something's the matter. Don't speak 
 take time." I says " O Major I'm afraid there's 
 cruel work up-stairs." "Yes yes" says he "I 
 had begun to be afraid of it take time. " And 
 then in opposition to his own words he rages 
 out frightfully, and says "I shall never forgive 
 myself Madam, that I, Jemmy Jackman, didn't 
 see it all that morning didn't go straight up- 
 stairs when my boot-sponge was in my hand 
 didn't force it down his throat and choke him 
 dead with it on the spot !" 
 
 The Major and me agreed when we came to 
 ourselves that just at present we could do no 
 more than take on to suspect nothing and use 
 our best endeavours to keep that poor young 
 creature quiet, and what I ever should have done 
 without the Major when it got about among the 
 organ -men that quiet was our object is un- 
 known, for ha made lion and tiger war upon 
 them to that degree that without seeing it I 
 could not have believed it was in any gentleman 
 to have such a power of bursting out with fire- 
 irons walking-sticks water -jugs coals potatoes 
 off his table the very hat off his head, and at 
 the same time so furious in foreign languages 
 that they would stand with their handles half 
 turned fixedjike the Sleeping Ugly for I can- 
 not say Beauty. 
 
 Ever to see the postman come near the house 
 now gave me such a fear that it was a reprieve 
 when he went by, but in about another ten days 
 or a fortnight he says again " Here's one for 
 Mrs. Edson. Is she pretty well?" "She is 
 pretty well postman, but not well enough to rise 
 so early as she used" which was so far gospel- 
 truth.
 
 s 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 I carried the letter in to the Major at his 
 breakfast and I says tottering " Major I have not 
 the courage to take it up to her." 
 
 "It's an ill-looking villain of a letter,'' says 
 the Major. 
 
 "I have not the courage Major" I says again 
 in a tremble "to take it up to her." 
 
 After seeming lost in consideration for some 
 moments the Major say?, raising his head as if 
 something new and useful had occurred to his 
 mind " Mrs. Lirriper, I shall never forgive my- 
 self that I, Jemmy Jackman, didn't go straight 
 up-stairs that morning when my boot-sponge was 
 in my hand and force it down his throat and 
 choke him dead with it." 
 
 "Major" I says a little hasty "you didn't do 
 it which is a blessing, for it would have done no 
 good and I think your sponge was better em- 
 ployed on your own honourable boots." 
 
 So we got to be rational, and planned that I 
 should tap at her bedroom door and lay the let- 
 ter on the mat outside and wait on the upper 
 landing for what might happen, and never was 
 gunpowder cannon-balls or shells or rockets 
 more dreaded than that dreadful letter was by 
 me as I took it to the second floor. 
 
 A te/rible loud scream sounded through the 
 house the minute after she had opened it, and 
 I found her on the floor lying as if her life was 
 gone. My dear I never looked at the face of the 
 letter which was lying open by her, for there was 
 no occasion. 
 
 Everything I needed to bring her round the 
 Major Drought up with his own hands, besides 
 running out to the chemist's for what was not 
 in the house and likewise having the fiercest of 
 all his many skirmishes with a musical instru- 
 ment representing a ball-room I do not know in 
 what particular country and company waltzing 
 in and out at folding-doors with rolling eyes. 
 When after a long time I saw her coming to, I 
 slipped on the landing till I heard her cry, and 
 then I went in and says cheerily "Mrs. Edson 
 you're not well my dear and it's not to be won- 
 dered at," as if I had not been in before. Wheth- 
 er she believed or disbelieved I cannot say and 
 it would signify nothing if I could, but I stayed 
 by her for hours and then she God ever blesses 
 me ! and says she will try to rest for her head is 
 bad. 
 
 " Major," I whispers, looking in at the par- 
 lours, " I beg and pray of you don't go out." 
 
 The Major whispers "Madam, trust me I will 
 do no such a thing. How is she ?" 
 
 I says "Major the good Lord above us only 
 knows what burns and rages in her poor mind. 
 I left her sitting at her window. I am going to 
 sit at mine." 
 
 It came on afternoon and it came on evening. 
 Norfolk is a delightful street to lodge in pro- 
 vided you don't go lower down but of a sum- 
 mer evening when the dust and waste paper lie 
 in it and stray children play in it and a kind of 
 a gritty calm and bake settles on it and a peal 
 of church-bells is practising in the neighbour- 
 hood it is a trifle dull, and never have I seen it 
 since at such a time and never shall I see it ev- 
 ermore at such a time without seeing the dull 
 June evening when that forlorn young creature 
 sat at her o]>en corner window on the second 
 and me at my open corner window Oho other 
 corner) on the third. Something merciful, some- 
 
 thing wiser and better far than my own self, had 
 moved me while it was yet light to sit in my 
 bonnet and shawl, and as the shadows fell and 
 the tide rose I could sometimes when I put out 
 my head and looked at her window below see 
 that she leaned out a little looking down the 
 street. It was just settling dark when I saw her 
 in the street. 
 
 So fearful of losing sight of her that it almost 
 stops my breath while I tell it, I went down 
 stairs faster than I ever moved in all my life 
 and only tapped with my hand at the Major's 
 door in passing it and slipping out. She was 
 gone already. I made the same speed down the 
 street and when I came to the comer of Howard- 
 street I saw that she had turned it and was there 
 plain befo're me going towards the west. O with 
 what a thankful heart I saw her going along ! 
 
 She was quite unacquainted with London and 
 had very seldom been out for more than an air- 
 ing in our own street where she knew two or 
 three little children belonging to neighbours and 
 had sometimes stood among them at the end of 
 the street looking at the water. She must be 
 going at hazard I knew, still she kept the by- 
 streets quite correctly as long as they would 
 serve her, and then turned up into the Strand. 
 But at every comer I could see her head turned 
 one way, and that way was always the river way. 
 
 It may have been only the darkness and quiet 
 of the Adelphi that caused her to strike into it 
 but she struck into it much as readily as if she 
 had set out to go there, which perhaps was the 
 case. She went straight down to the Terrace 
 and along it and looked over the iron rail, and 
 I often woke afterwards in my own bed with the 
 horror of seeing her doing it. The desertion of 
 the wharf below and the flowing of the high wa- 
 ter there seemed to settle her purpose. She look- 
 ed about as if to make out the way down, and 
 she struck out the right way or the wrong way 
 I don't know which, for I don't know the place 
 before or since and I followed her the way she 
 went. 
 
 ' It was noticeable that all this time she never 
 once looked back. But there was now a great 
 change in the manner of her going, and instead 
 of going at a steady quick walk with her arms 
 folded before her,- among the dark dismal arch- 
 es she went in a wild way with her arms opened 
 wide, as if they were wings and she was flying 
 to her death. 
 
 We were on the wharf and she stopped. I 
 stopped. I saw her hands at her bonnet-strings, 
 and I rushed between her and the brink and took 
 her round the waist with both my arms. She 
 might have drowned me, I felt then, but she 
 could never have got quit of me. 
 
 Down to that moment my mind had been all 
 in a maze and not half an idea had I had in it 
 what I should say to her, but the instant I touch- 
 ed her it came to me like magic and I had un- 
 natural voice and my senses and even almost my 
 breath. 
 
 ' ' Mrs. Edson ! " I says ' ' My dear ! Take rare. 
 How ever did you lose your way nn<l stumble on 
 a dangerous place like this? Why you must 
 have come here by the most perplexing streets 
 in all London. No wonder you arc lost, I am 
 sure. And this place too ! Why I thought no- 
 body ever got here, except me to order my cor,!? 
 and the Major in the parlours to smoke his cigar!"
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. . 9 
 
 for I saw that blessed man close by, pretend- of it I would always meet that look, and she 
 ing to it. I would often offer me her trembling lip to kiss, 
 
 " Hah Hah Hum !" coughs the Major. much more like a little affectionate half-broken- 
 
 " And good gracious me" I says, "why here 
 
 "Halloa! who goes there!" says the Major 
 in a military manner. 
 
 "Well!" I says, "if this don't beat every- 
 thing ! Don't you know us Major Jackman ?" 
 
 "Halloa!" says the Major. "Who calls on 
 Jemmy Jackman ?" (and more out of breath he* 
 was, and did it less like life, than I should have 
 expected). 
 
 "Why here's Mrs. Edson Major'' I says, 
 "strolling out to cool her poor head which has 
 been very bad. has missed her way and got lost, 
 and Goodness knows where she might have got 
 to but for me coming here to drop an order into 
 my coal merchant's letter-box and you coming 
 here to smoke your cigar! And you really are 
 not well enough my dear" I says to her " to be 
 half so far from home without me. And your 
 arm will be very acceptable I am sure Major" I 
 says to him "and I know she may lean upon it 
 as heavy as she likes." And now we had both 
 got her thanks be Above ! one on each side. 
 
 She was all in a cold shiver and she so con- 
 tinued till I laid her on her own bed, and up to 
 the early morning she held me by the hand and 
 moaned and moanad " O wicked, wicked, wick- 
 ed !" But when at last I made believe to droop 
 my head and be overpowered with a dead sleep, 
 I heard that poor young creature give such 
 touching and such humble thanks for being pre- 
 served from taking her own life in her madness 
 that I thought I should have cried my eyes out 
 on the counterpane and I knew she was safe. 
 
 Being well enough to do and able to afford it, 
 tns and the Major laid our little plans next day 
 while she was asleep worn out, and so I says to 
 her as soon as I could do it nicely : 
 
 "Mrs. Edson my dear, when Mr. Edson paid 
 me the rent for these further six months " 
 
 She gave a start and I felt her large eyes look 
 at me, but I went on with it and with my nee- 
 
 dlework. 
 
 -I can't say that I am quite sure I dated 
 
 hearted child than ever I can imagine any grown 
 person. 
 
 One time the trembling of this poor lip was 
 so strong and her tears ran down so fast that I 
 thought she was going to tell me all her woe, so 
 I takes her two hands in mine and I says : 
 
 "No my dear not now, you had best not try 
 to do it now. Wait for better times when you 
 have got over this and are strong, and then you 
 shall tell me whatever you will. Shall it be 
 agreed?" 
 
 With our hands still joined she nodded her 
 head many times, and she lifted my hands and 
 put them to her lips and to her bosom. 
 
 "Only one word now my dear" I says. "Is 
 there any one ?" 
 
 She looked inquiringly "Any one?" 
 
 "That I can goto?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No one that I can bring?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No one is wanted by me my dear. Now 
 that may be considered past and gone." 
 
 Not much more than a week afterwards for 
 this was far on in the time of our being so to- 
 gether I was bending over at her bedside with 
 my ear down to her lips, by turns listening for 
 her breath and looking for a sign of life in her 
 face. At last it came in a solemn way not in 
 a flash but like a kind of pale faint light brought 
 very slow to the face. 
 
 She said something to me that had no sonnd 
 in it, but I saw she asked me : 
 
 "Is this death?" 
 
 And I says ' ' Poor dear poor dear, I think it 
 is." 
 
 Knowing somehow that she wanted me to 
 move her weak right hand, I took it and laid it 
 on her breast and then folded her other hand 
 upon it, and she prayed a good good prayer and 
 I joined in it poor me though there were no 
 words spoke. Then I brought the baby in its 
 wrappers from where it lay, and I says : 
 
 "My dear this is sent to a childless old wo- 
 
 the receipt right. Could you let me look at it?" ', man. This is for me to take care of." 
 
 She laid her frozen cold hand upon mine and i The trembling lip was put np towards my face 
 she looked through me when I was forced to for the last time, and I dearly kissed it. 
 
 "Yes my dear" I says. "Please God! Me 
 
 look up from my needlework ; but I had taken 
 the precaution of having on my spectacles. 
 
 " I have no receipt'' says she. 
 
 " Ah ! Then he has got it" I says in a care- 
 less way. "It's of no great consequence. A 
 receipt's a receipt." 
 
 From that time she always had hold of my 
 hand when I could spare it which was generally 
 only when I read to her, for of course she and 
 me had our bits of needlework to plod at and 
 
 and the Major." 
 
 I don't know how to tell it right, but I saw 
 her soul brighten and leap up, and get free and 
 fly awav in the grateful look. 
 
 ****** 
 
 So this is the why and wherefore of its coming 
 to pass my dear that we called him Jemmy, be- 
 ing after the Major his own godfather with Lir- 
 riper for a surname being after myself, and never 
 
 neither of us was very handy at those little was a dear child such a brightening thing in a 
 things, though I am still rather proud of my , Lodgings or such a playmate to his grandmother 
 
 share in them too considering. And though she as Jemmy to this house and me, and always 
 
 took to all I read to her, I used to fancy that good and minding what he was told (upon the 
 
 next to what was taught upon the Mount she whole) and soothing for the temper and making 
 
 took most of all to His gentle compassion for us everything pleasanter except when he grew old 
 
 poor women and to His young life and to how enough to drop his cap down Wozenham's Airy 
 
 His mother was proud of him and treasured His and they wouldn't hand it up to him, and being 
 
 sayings in her heart. She had a grateful look 
 in her eyes that never never never will be out of 
 mine until they are closed in my last sleep, and 
 
 worked into a state I put on my best bonnet and 
 gloves and parasol with the child in iny hand 
 and I says "Miss Wozenhara I little thought 
 
 when I chanced to look at her without thinking ever to have entered your house but unle?s my 
 2
 
 10 
 
 .MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 granuMin's cap is instantly restored, the laws of 
 this country regulating the property of the Sub- 
 ject shall at length decide bet\s ixt yourself and 
 me, cost what it may." "With a sneer upon her 
 face which diJ strike me I must say as being ex- 
 pressive of two keys but it may have been a mis- 
 take and if there is any doubt let Miss Wozen- 
 ham have the full benefit of it as is but right, 
 she rang the bell and she says "Jane, is there a 
 street-child's old cap down our Airy?" I says 
 Mi-s Wozenham before your housemaid an- 
 swers that question you must allow me to inform 
 you to your face that my grandson is not a street- 
 child and is not in the habit of wearing old caps. 
 In fact" I says " Miss Wozenham I am far from 
 sure that my grandson's cap may not be newer 
 th.iu your own" which was perfectly savage in 
 inc. her lace being the commonest machine- 
 make washed and torn besides, but I had been 
 put into a state to begin with fomented by im- 
 pertinence. Miss "Wo7.enb.ain says red in the 
 face "Jane you heard my question, is there any 
 child's cap down our Airy?'' "Yes Ma'am" 
 says Jane " I think I did see some such rubbish 
 a lying there." "Then" says Miss Wozenham 
 ' " let these visitors out, and then throw up that 
 worthless article out of my premises.' 1 But here 
 the child who had been staring at Miss Wozen- 
 ham with all his eyes and more, frowns down 
 his little eyebrows purses up his little mouth puts 
 his chubby legs far apart turns his little dimpled 
 fists round ^id round slowly over one another 
 like a little coffee-mill, and says to her "Oo 
 impdent to mi Gran, me tut oor hi!" "Oh!" 
 says Miss Wozenham looking down scornfully at 
 the Mite "this is not a street-child is it not! 
 Really !" I bursts out laughing and I says 
 Miss Wozenham if this an't a pretty sight to 
 you I don't envy your feelings and I wish you 
 good day. Jemmy come along with Gran." 
 And I was still in the best of humours though 
 his cap came flying up into the street as if it 
 had been just turned on out of the water-plug, 
 and I went home laughing all the way, all ow- 
 ing to that dear boy. 
 
 The miles and miles that me and the Major 
 have travelled with Jemmy in the dusk between 
 the lights are not to be calculated, Jemmy ck^v- 
 ing on the coach-box which is the Major's bfas5- 
 bound writing-desk on the table, me inside in 
 the easy-chair and the Major Guard up behind 
 with a brown-paper horn doing it really won- 
 derful. I do assure you my clear that some- 
 times when I have taken a few winks in my 
 place inside the coach and have come half awake 
 by the flashing light of the fire and have heard 
 that precious pet driving and the Major blowing 
 up behind to have the change of horses ready 
 when we got to the Inn, I have half believed we 
 were on the old North Road that my poor Lir- 
 riper knew so well. Then to see that child and 
 the Major both wrapped up getting do\vn to 
 warm their feet and going stamping about and 
 having glasses of ale out of the paper match- 
 boxes on the chimney-piece is to see the Major 
 enjoying it fully as much as the child I am very 
 sure, and its equal to any play when Coachee 
 opens the coach-door to look in at me inside 
 and say " Wery 'past that 'tnge. 'Frightened 
 old lady?" 
 
 But what my inexpressible feelings were when 
 we lost that child can only be compared to the 
 
 Major's which were not a shade better, through 
 I his straying out at five years old and eleven 
 o'clock in the forenoon and never heard of by 
 j word or sign or deed till half-past nine at night, 
 : when the Major had gone to the Editor of the 
 Times newspaper to put in an advertisement, 
 which came out next day four and twenty hours 
 after he was found, and which I mean 'always 
 carefully to keep in my lavender drawer as the 
 first printed account of him. The more the day 
 got on, the more I got distracted and the Major 
 too and both of us made worse by the comr osea 
 ways of the police though very civil and obliging 
 and what I must call their obstinacy in not en- 
 tertaining the idea that he was stolen. "We 
 mostly find Mum" says the sergeant who came 
 round to comfort me, which lie didn't at all and 
 he had been one of the private constables in 
 Caroline's time to which he referred in his open- 
 ing words when he said "Don't give way to 
 uneasiness in your mind Mum, it'll all come as 
 right as my nose did when I got the same barked 
 by that young woman in your second floor" 
 says this sergeant "we mostly find Mum as peo- 
 ple ain't over anxious to have what I may call 
 second-hand children. You'll get him back 
 Mum." "O but my dear good sir" I says clasping 
 my hands and wringing them and clasping them 
 again "he is such an uncommon child!" "Yes 
 Mum" says the sergeant, "we mostly find that 
 too Mum. The question is what his clothes were 
 worth." " His clothes" I says " were not worth 
 much sir for he. had only got his plaving-dress 
 
 on, but the dear child ! " "All right Mum" 
 
 says the sergeant. " You'll get him back Mum. 
 And even if he'd had his best clothes on it 
 wouldn't come to worse than his being found 
 wrapped up in a cabbage-leaf, a shivering in a 
 lane." His words pierced my heart like dag- 
 gers and daggers, and me and the Major ran in 
 and out like wild things all day long till the 
 Major returning from his interview with the 
 Editor of the Times at night rushes into my lit- 
 tle room hysterical and squeezes my hand and 
 wipes his eyes and says "Joy joy officer in 
 plain clothes came up on the steps as I was let- 
 ting myself in compose your feelings Jem- 
 my's found." Consequently I fainted away and 
 when I came to embraced the legs of the officer 
 in plain clothes who seemed to be taking a kind 
 of a quiet inventory in his mind of the property 
 in my little room with brown whiskers, and I 
 says "Blessings on you sir where is the Dar- 
 ling!" and he says "In Kennington Station 
 House." I was dropping at his feet Stone at 
 the image of that Innocence in cells with mur- 
 derers when he adds "He followed the Mon- 
 key." I says deeming it slang language "Oh 
 sir explain for a loving grandmother what Mon- 
 key !" He says " him in the spangled cap with 
 the strap under the chin, as won't keep on him 
 as sweeps the crossings on a round table and 
 don't want to draw his sabre more than he can 
 help. " Then I understood it all and most thank- 
 fully thanked him, and me and the Major and 
 him drove over to Kennington and there we 
 found our boy lying quite comfortable before a 
 blazing fire having sweetly played himself t3 
 sleep upon a small accordion nothing like so big 
 as a flat iron which they had been so kind as to 
 lend him for the purpose and which it appeared 
 had been stopped upon a very young person.
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 11 
 
 My dear the system upon which the Major 
 commenced and as I may say perfected Jem- 
 my's learning when he was so small that if the 
 dear was on the other side of the table you had 
 to look under it instead of over it to see him 
 with his mother's own bright hair in beautiful 
 curls, is a thing that ought to be known to the 
 Throne and Lords and Commons and then might 
 obtain some promotion for the Major which he 
 well deserves and would be none the worse for 
 (speaking between friends) L. S. D.-ically. 
 When the Major first undertook his learning he 
 says to me : 
 
 " I'm going Madam" he says " to make our 
 child a Calculating Boy." 
 
 " Major" I says, "you terrify me and may do 
 the pet a permanent injury you would never for- 
 give yourself." 
 
 "Madam," says the Major, "next to my re- 
 gret that when I had my boot-sponge in my 
 hand, I didn't choke that scoundrel with it 
 on the spot " 
 
 "There! For Gracious sake," I interrupts, 
 "let his conscience find him without sponges." 
 
 " 1 say next to that regret, Madam," says 
 
 the Major " would be the regret with which my 
 breast," which he tapped, "would be surcharged 
 if this fine mind was not early cultivated. But 
 mark me Madam," says the Major holding up 
 his forefinger "cultivated on a principle that 
 will make it a delight." 
 
 "Major" I says "I will be candid with you 
 and tell you openly that if ever I find the dear 
 child fall off in his appetite I shall know it is 
 his calculations and shall put a stop to them at 
 two minutes' notice. Or if I find them mount- 
 ing to his head' 1 I says, "or striking any ways 
 cold to his stomach or leading to anything ap- 
 pfroaching flabbiness in his legs, the result will 
 be the same, but Major you are a clever man and 
 have seen much and you love the child and are 
 his own godfather, and if you feel a confidence 
 in trying try." 
 
 " Spoken" Madam" says the Major "like Emma 
 Lirriper. All I have to ask Madam, is, that you 
 will leave my godson and myself to make a week 
 or two's preparations for surprising you, and that 
 you will give me leave to have up and down any 
 small articles not actually in use that I may re- 
 quire from the kitchen." 
 
 "From the kitchen Major?" I says half feel- 
 ing as if he had a mind to cook the child. 
 
 "From the- kitchen" says the Major, and 
 smiles and swells, and at the same time looks 
 taller. 
 
 So I passed my word and the Major and the 
 dear boy were shut up together for half an hour 
 at a time through a certain while, and never 
 could I hear anything going on betwixt them 
 but talking and laughing and Jemmy clapping 
 his hands and screaming out numbers, so I says 
 to myself "it has not harmed him yet" nor 
 could I on examining the dear find any si;j;ns 
 of it anywhere about him which was likewise a 
 great relief. At last one day Jemmy brings me 
 a card in joke in the Major's neat writing "The 
 Mess". Jemmy Jackman" for we had given him 
 tha Major's other name too "request the hon- 
 our of Mrs. Lirriper's company at the Jackman 
 Institution in the front parlour this evening at 
 five, military time, to witness a few slight feats 
 of elementary arithmetic." And if you'll be- 
 
 lieve me there in tlio front parlour at five punc- 
 tual to the moment was the Major behind the 
 Pembroke table with both leaves up and a lot 
 of things from the kitchen tidily set out on old 
 newspapers spread atop of it, and there was the 
 Mite stood up on a chair with his rosy cheeks 
 Hushing and his eyes sparkling clusters of dia- 
 monds. 
 
 "Now Gran'' says he, "oo tit down and don't 
 oo touch ler people" for he saw with every one 
 of those diamonds of his that I was going to give 
 him a squeeze. 
 
 " Very well sir" I says " I am obedient in this 
 good company I am sure." And I sits down in 
 the easy-chair that was put for me, shaking my 
 sides. 
 
 But picture my admiration when the Major 
 going on almost as quick as if he was conjur- 
 ing sets out all the articles he names, and says, 
 "Three saucepans, an Italian iron, a hand-bull, 
 a toasting-fork, a nutmeg-grater, four pot-lids, a 
 spice-box, two egg-cups, and a chopping-board 
 how many?" and when that Mite instantly 
 cries " Tifteen, tut down live and carry ler 'top- 
 pin-board" and then claps his hands draws up 
 his legs and dances on his chair ! 
 
 My dear with the same astonishing ease and 
 correctness him and the Major added up the ta- 
 bles chairs and sofy, the picters fender and fire- 
 irons their own selves me and the cat and the 
 eyes in Miss Wozcnham's head, and whenever 
 the sum was done Young Roses and Diamonds 
 claps his hands and draws up his legs and dances 
 on his chair. 
 
 The pride of the Major! (".Here's a mind 
 Ma'am!" he says to me behind his hand.) 
 
 Then he says aloud, ""We now come to the 
 next elementary rule : which is called " 
 
 "Umtraction !" cries Jemmy. 
 
 " Right" says the Major. "We have here a 
 toasting-fork, a potato in its natural state, two 
 pot-lids, one egg-cup, a wooden spoon, and two 
 skewers, from which it is necessary for commer- 
 cial purposes to subtract a sprat -gridiron, a .small 
 pickle-jar, two lemons, one pepper-castor, a black- 
 beetle-trap, and a knob of the dresser-drawer 
 what remains?" 
 
 "Toatin-fork !" cries Jemmy. 
 
 " In numbers how many?" says the Major. 
 
 " One !" cries Jemmy. 
 
 ("Here's a boy, Ma'am?" says the Major to 
 me, behind his hand.) 
 
 Then the Major goes on : 
 
 "We now approach the next elementary rule : 
 which is entitled " 
 
 " Tickleication !" cries Jemmy. 
 
 "Correct" says the Major. 
 
 But my dear to relate to you in detail the way 
 in which" they multiplied fourteen sticks of fire- 
 wood by two bits of ginger and a larding-needle, 
 or divided pretty well everything else there was 
 on the table by the heater of the Italian iron and 
 a chamber candlestick, and got a lemon over, 
 would make my head spin round and round and 
 round as it did at the time. So I says '-if 
 you'll excuse my addressing the chair Professor 
 Jackman I think the period of the lecture has 
 now arrived when it becomes necessary that I 
 should take a good hug of this young scholar.'' 
 Upon which Jemmy calls out from his station on 
 the chair "Gran oo open oor arms and me'll 
 make a 'pring into 'em." So I opened my arms
 
 12 
 
 MRS. LIREIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 to him as I had opened my sorrowful heart when 
 his poor young mother lay a dying, and he had 
 his jump and we had a good long hug together 
 and the Major prouder than any peacock says 
 to me behind his hand, "You need not let him 
 know it Madam" (which I certainly need not 
 for the Major was quite audihle) "but he is a 
 boy!" 
 
 In this way Jemmy grew and grew and went 
 to day-school and continued under the Major 
 too, and in summer we were as happy as the 
 days were long and in winter we were as happy 
 as the days were short and there seemed to rest 
 a Blessing on the Lodgings for they as good as 
 Let themselves and would have done it if there 
 had been twice the accommodation, when sore 
 and hard against my will I one day says to the 
 Major 
 
 " Major you know what I am going to break 
 to you. Our boy must go to boarding-school.'' 
 
 It was a sad sight to see the Major's counte- 
 nance drop, and I pitied the good soul with all 
 my heart. 
 
 " Yes Major" I says " though he is as popular 
 with the Lodgers as you are yourself and though 
 he is to you and me what only you and me 
 know, still it is in the course of things and Life 
 is made of partings and we must part with our 
 Pet." 
 
 Bold as I spoke, I saw two Majors and half 
 a dozen fireplaces, and when the poor Major put 
 one of his neat bright-varnished boots upon the 
 fender and his elbow on his knee and his head 
 upon his hand and rocked himself a little to and 
 fro, I was dreadfully cut up. 
 
 "But" says I clearing my throat "you have 
 so well prepared him Major he has had such a 
 Tutor in you that he will have none of the 
 first drudgery to go through. And he is so 
 clever besides that he'll, soon make his way to 
 the front rank." 
 
 " He is a boy" says the Major having sniffed 
 "that has not his like on the face of the 
 earth. " 
 
 "True as you say Major, and it is not for us 
 merely for our own sakes to do anything to keep 
 him back from being a credit and an ornament 
 wherever he goes and perhaps even rising to be 
 a great man, is it Major? He will have all my 
 little savings when my work is done (being all 
 the world to me) and we must try to make him 
 a wise man and a good man, mustn't we Major ?" 
 
 "Madam" says the Major rising "Jemmy 
 Jackman is becoming an older file than I was 
 aware of, and you put him to shame. You arc 
 thoroughly right Madam. You are simply and 
 undeniably right. And if you'll excuse me, I'll 
 take a walk." 
 
 So the Major being gone out and Jemmy be- 
 ing at home, I got the child into my little room 
 here and I stood him by my chair and I took 
 his mother's own curls in my hand and I spoke 
 to him loving and serious. And when I had 
 reminded the darling how that he was now in 
 his tenth year and when I had said to him about 
 his getting on in life pretty much what I had 
 said to the Major I broke to him how that we 
 must have this same parting, and there I was 
 forced to stop for there I saw of a sudden the 
 well remembered lip with its tremble, and it so 
 brought back that time! But with the spirit 
 that was in him he controlled it soon and he 
 
 says gravely nodding through his tears, "I un- 
 derstand Gran I know it must be, Gran go on 
 Gran, don't be afraid of me." And when I had 
 said all that ever I could think of, he turned his 
 bright steady face to mine and he says just a 
 little broken here and there "You shall see 
 Gran that I can be a man and that I can do 
 anything that is grateful and loving to you 
 nnd if I don't grow up to be what you would 
 like to have me I hope it will be because I 
 shall die." And with that he sat down by me 
 and I went on to tell him of the school of which 
 I had excellent recommendations and where it 
 was and how many scholars and what games 
 they played as I had heard and what length of 
 holidays, to all of which he listened bright and 
 clear. And so it came that at last he says 
 "And now dear Gran let me kneel down here 
 where I have been used to say my prayers and 
 let me fold my face for just a minute in your 
 gown and let me cry, for you have been more 
 than father more than mother more than 
 brothers sisters friends to me !" And so he 
 did cry and I too and we were both much the 
 better for it. 
 
 From that time forth he was true to his word 
 and ever blithe and ready, and even when me 
 and the Major took him d'own into Lincolnshire 
 he was far the gayest of the party though for 
 sure and certain he might easily have been that, 
 but he really was and put life into us only when 
 it came to the last Good-by, he says with a wist- 
 ful look "You wouldn't have me not really sor- 
 ry would you Gran?" and when I says "No 
 dear, Lord forbid !" he says " I am glad of that !" 
 and ran in out of sight. 
 
 But now that the child was gone out of the 
 Lodgings the Major fell into a regularly moping 
 state. It was taken notice of by all the Lodgers 
 that the Major moped. He hadn't even the 
 same air of being rather tall that he used to 
 have, and if he varnished his boots with a single 
 gleam of interest it was as much as he did. 
 
 One evening the Major came into my little 
 room to take a cup of tea and a morsel of but- 
 tered toast and to read Jemmy's newest letter 
 which had arrived that afternoon (by the very 
 same postman more than middle-aged upon the 
 Beat now), and the letter raising him up a littl 
 I says to the Major : 
 
 " Major you mustn't get into a moping way." 
 
 The Major shook his head. "Jemmy Jack- 
 man Madam," he says with a deep sigh, " is an 
 older file than I thought him." 
 
 "Moping is not the way to grow younger 
 Major." 
 
 "My dear Madam," says the Major, "is 
 there any way of growing younger ?" 
 
 Feeling that the Major was getting rather 
 the best of that point I made a diversion to an- 
 other. 
 
 "Thirteen years! Thir-teen years! Many 
 Lodgers have come and gone, in the thirteen 
 years that you have lived in the parlours Major." 
 
 "Hah!" says the Major warming. "Many 
 Madam, many." 
 
 "And I should say you have been familiar 
 with them all ?" 
 
 "As a rule (with its exception like all rules) 
 my dear Madam" says the' Major, " they have 
 honoured me with their acquaintance, and not 
 nnfrequently with their confidence."
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 13 
 
 Watching the Major as he drooped his white 
 head and stroked his black moustachios and 
 moped again, a thought which I think njust 
 have been going about looking for an owner 
 somewhere dropped into my old noddle if you 
 will excuse the expression. 
 
 "The walls of my Lodgings" I says in a 
 casual way for my dear it is of no use going 
 straight, at a man who mopes "might have 
 something to tell, if they could tell it." 
 
 The Major neither moved nor said anything 
 but I saw he was attending with his shoulders 
 my dear attending with his shoulders to what 
 I said. In fact I saw that his shoulders were 
 struck by it. 
 
 "The dear boy was always fond of story- 
 books" I went on, like as if I was talking to my- 
 self. "I am sure this house his own home 
 might write a story or two for his reading one 
 day or another." 
 
 The Major's shoulders gave a dip and a curve 
 and his head came up in his shirt-collar. The 
 Major's head came up in his shirt-collar as I 
 hadn't seen it coine up since Jemmy went to 
 school. 
 
 "It is unquestionable that in intervals of 
 cribbage and a friendly rubber, my dear Mad- 
 am," says the Major, "and also over what used 
 to be called in my young times in the salad 
 days of Jemmy Jackman the social glass, I 
 have exchanged many a reminiscence with your 
 Lodgers." 
 
 My remark was I confess I made it with the 
 deepest and artfullest of intentions "I wish 
 our dear boy had heard them !" 
 
 "Are you serious Madam?" asks the Major 
 starting and turning full round. 
 
 "Why not Major?" 
 
 "Madam" says the Major, turning up one of 
 his cuffs, "they shall be written for him." 
 
 "Ah! Now you speak" I says giving my 
 hands a pleased clap. "Now you are in a way 
 out of moping Major." 
 
 "Between this and my holidays I mean the 
 dear boy's" says the Major turning up his other 
 cuff, "a good deal may be done towards it." 
 
 "Major you are a clever man and you have 
 seen much and not a doubt of it." 
 
 "I'll begin," says the Major looking as tall 
 as ever he did, "to-morrow." 
 
 My dear the Major was another man in three 
 days and he was himself again in a week and he 
 wrote and wrote and wrote with his pen scratch- 
 ing like rats behind the wainscot, and whether 
 he had many grounds to go upon or whether he 
 did at all romance I cannot tell you, but what 
 he has written is in the left-hand glass closet of 
 the little bookcase close behind yon, and if you'll 
 put your hand in you'll find it come out heavy 
 in lumps sewn together and being beautifully 
 plain and unknown Greek and Hebrew to my- 
 self and me quite wakeful, I shall take it as a 
 favour if you'll read out loud and read on. 
 
 II. 
 
 HOW THE FIRST FLOOR WEST TO CROWLET 
 CASTLE. 
 
 I HAVE come back to London, Major, pos- 
 sessed by a family-story that I have picked up 
 
 in the countiy. While I was out of town, I 
 visited the ruins of the great old Norman castle 
 of Sir Mark Crowley, the last baronet of his 
 name, who had been dead nearly a hundred 
 years. I stayed in the village near the castle, 
 and thence I bring back some of the particulars 
 of the tale I am going to tell you, derived from 
 old inhabitants who heard them from their fa- 
 thers ; no longer ago. 
 
 We drove from our little sea-bathing place, 
 in Sussex, to see the massive ruins of Crowley 
 Castle, which is the show-excursion of Merton. 
 We had to alight at a field gate ; the road fur- 
 ther on being too bad for the slightly-built car- 
 riage, or the poor tired Merton horse ; and we 
 walked for about a quarter of a mile through 
 uneven ground, which had once been an Italian 
 garden ; and then we came to a bridge over a 
 dry moat, and went over the groove of a port- 
 cullis that had once closed the massive entrance, 
 into an empty space surrounded by thick walls, 
 draperied with ivy, unroofed, and open to the 
 sky. We could judge' of the beautiful tracery 
 that had been in the windows, by the remains 
 of the stonework here and there ; and an old 
 man "ever so old," he called himself when 
 we inquired his exact age who scrambled and 
 stumbled out of some lair in the least devas- 
 tated part of the ruins at our approach, and who 
 established himself as our guide, showed us a 
 scrap of glass yet lingering in what was the 
 window of the great drawing-room not above 
 seventy years ago. After he had done his duty, 
 he hobbled with us to the neighbouring church, 
 where the knightly Crowleys lie buried : some 
 commemorated by ancient brasses, some by al- 
 tar-tombs, some by fine Latin epitaphs, bestow- 
 ing upon them every virtue under the sun. He 
 had to take the church-key back to the adjoin- 
 ing parsonage at the entrance of the long strag- 
 gling street which forms the village of Crowley. 
 The castle and the church were on the summit 
 of a hill, from which we could see the distant 
 line of sea beyond the misty marshes. The vil- 
 lage fell away from the church and parsonage, 
 down the hill. The aspect of the place was 
 little, if at all, changed from its aspect in the 
 year 1772. 
 
 But I must begin a little earlier. From one 
 of the Latin epitaphs I learnt that Amelia Lady 
 Crowley died in 1756, deeply regretted by her 
 loving husband, Sir Mark. He never married 
 again, though his wife had left him no heir to 
 his name or his estate only a little tiny pirl 
 Theresa Crowley. This child would inherit her 
 mother's fortune, and all that Sir Mark was free 
 to leave ; but this little was not much ; the cas- 
 tle and all the lands going to his sister's son, 
 Marmaduke, or as he was usually called Duke, 
 Brownlow. Duke's parents were dead, and his 
 uncle was his guardian, and his guardian's house 
 was his home. The lad was some seven or eight 
 years older than his cousin; and probably Sir 
 Mark thought it not unlikely that his daughter 
 and his heir might make a match. Tli 
 mother had had some foreign blood in her, and 
 had been brought up in France not so far away 
 but that its shores might be seen by any one 
 who cho?e to take an easy day's ride from Crow- 
 Icy Castle for the purpose. 
 
 L:vly Crowley bad been a delicar". elegant 
 creature, but no great beauty, judging from all
 
 Mils. LIRBIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 accounts; Sir Mark's family were famous for 
 their good looks ; Theresa, an unusually lucky 
 child, inherited the outward graces of both her 
 parents. A portrait which I saw of her, de- 
 graded to a station over the parlor 'chimney- 
 piece in the village inn, showed me black hair, 
 soft yet arch grey eyes with brows and lashes 
 of the same tint as her hair, a full pretty passion- 
 ate mouth, and a round slender throat. She 
 was a wilful little creature, and her father's in- 
 dulgence made her more wayward. She had a 
 nurse, too, a French bonne, whose mother had 
 been about my lady from her youth, who had 
 followed my lady to England, and who had died 
 there. Vietorinc had been in attendance on the 
 young Theresa from her earliest infancy, and al- 
 most took the place of a parent in power and af- 
 fection in power, as to ordering and arranging 
 almost what she liked, concerning the child's 
 management in love, because they speak to this 
 day of the black year when virulent small-pox 
 was rifo in Crowley, and when, Sir Mark being 
 far away on some diplomatic mission in Vien- 
 na, I fancy Victorine shut herself up with Miss 
 Theresa when the child was taken ill with the 
 disease, and nursed her night and day. She only 
 succumbed to the dreadful illness when all dan- 
 ger to the child was over. Theresa came out of 
 it with unblemished beauty ; Victorine barely 
 escaped with life, and was disfigured for life. 
 
 This disfigurement put a stop to much un- 
 founded scandal which had been afloat respect- 
 ing the French servant's great influence over 
 Sir Mark. He was, in fact, an easy and indo- 
 lent man, rarely excited to any vehemence of 
 emotion, and who felt it to be a point of honour 
 to carry out his dead wife's wish that Victorine 
 should never leave Theresa, and that the man- 
 agement of the child should be confided to her. 
 Only once had there been a struggle for power 
 between Sir Mark and the bonne, and then she 
 had won the victory. And no wonder, if the 
 old butler's account were true ; for he had pone 
 into the room unawares, and had found Sir Mark 
 and Victorine at high words; and he said that 
 Victorine was white with rage, that her eyes 
 were blazing with passionate fire, that her voice 
 was low and her words were few, but that, al- 
 though she spoke in French, and he the butler 
 only knew his native English, he would rather 
 have been sworn at by a drunken grenadier with 
 a sword in his hand, than have had those words 
 of Victorine's addressed to him. 
 
 Even the choice of Theresa's masters was left 
 to Victorine. A little reference was occasional- 
 ly made to Madam Hawtrey, the parson's wife, 
 and a distant relation of Sir Mark's, but, seeing 
 that, if Victorine chose so to order it, Madam 
 Hawtrey's own little daughter Bessy would have 
 been deprived of the advantages resulting from 
 gratuitous companionship in all Theresa's les- 
 sons, she was careful how she opposed or made 
 an enemy of Mademoiselle Victorine. Bessy 
 was a gentle quiet child, and grew up to be a 
 sensible sweet-tempered girl, with a very fair 
 share of English beauty ; fresh complexion, 
 brown-eyed round-faced, with a stiff though well- 
 made figure, as different as possible from There- 
 sa's slight lithe graceful form. Duke was a 
 young man to these two maidens, while they to 
 him were little more than children. Of course 
 he admired his cousin Theresa th rn ^* "''" 
 
 would not ? but lie was establishing his first 
 principles of morality for himself, and her con- 
 duct towards Bessy sometimes jarred against his 
 ideas of right. One day, after she had been ty- 
 rannising over the self-contained and patient 
 Bessy so as to make the latter cry and both the 
 amount of the tyranny and the crying were un- 
 usual circumstances, for Theresa was of a gener- 
 ous nature when not put out of the way Duke 
 spoke to his cousin : 
 
 "Theresa! you had no right to blame Bessy 
 as you did. It was as much your fault as hers". 
 You were as much bound to remember Mr. 
 Dawson's directions about the sums you were to 
 do for him, as she was." 
 
 The girl opened her great grey eyes in sur- 
 prise. She to blame ! 
 
 "What does Bessy come to the castle for, I 
 wonder ? They pay nothing we pay all. The 
 least she can do is to remember for me what we 
 are told. I shan't trouble myself with attend- 
 ing to Mr. Dawson's directions ; and if Bessy 
 does not like to do so, she can stay away. She 
 already knows enough to earn her bread as a 
 maid : which I suppose is what she'll have to 
 come to." 
 
 The moment Theresa had said this, she could 
 have bitten her tongue out for the meanness and 
 rancour of the speech. She saw pain and disap- 
 pointment clearly expressed on Duke's face ; 
 and, in another moment, her impulses would have 
 carried her to the opposite extreme, and slse 
 would have spoken out her self-reproach. But 
 Duke thought it his duty to remonstrate with 
 her, and to read her a homily, which, however 
 true and just, weakened the effect of the look of 
 distress on his face. Her wits were called into 
 play to refute his arguments ; her head rather 
 than her heart took the prominent part in the 
 controversy ; and it ended unsatisfactorily to 
 both ; he, going away with dismal though un- 
 spoken prognostics touching what she would be- 
 come as a woman if she were so supercilious 
 and unfeeling as a girl ; she, the moment his 
 back was turned, throwing herself on the floor 
 and sobbing as if her heart would break. Vic- 
 torine heard her darling's passionate sobs, and 
 came in. 
 
 " What hast thou, my angel ? Who has been 
 vexing thee, tell me, my cherished ?" 
 
 She tried to raise the girl, but Theresa would 
 not be raised ; neither wpuld she speak till she 
 chose, in spite of Victorine's entreaties. When 
 she chose, she lifted herself up, still sitting on 
 the floor, and putting her tangled hair off her 
 flushed tear-stained face, said : 
 
 "Never mind, it was only something Duke 
 said; I don't care for it now." And refusing 
 Victorine's aid, she got up, and stood thought- 
 fully looking out of window. 
 
 ""That Duke !" exclaimed Victorine. " What 
 business has that Mr. Duke to go vex my dar- 
 ling? He is not your husband yet, that he 
 should scold you, or that you should mind what 
 he says." 
 
 Theresa listened and gained a new idea ; but 
 she gave no outward sign of attention, or of her 
 now hearing for the first time how that she was 
 supposed to be intended for her cousin's wife. 
 She made no reply to Victorine's caresses and 
 speeches ; one might almost say she shook her 
 off. As soon as she was Ifift.^ hnr^Jf, she took
 
 MRS. LIRRirER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 18 
 
 her hat, and going out alone, as she was wont, 
 in the pleasure-grounds, she went down the ter- 
 race steps, crossed the bowling-green, and open- 
 ed a little wicket-gate which led into the garden 
 of the parsonage. There, were Bessy and her 
 mother, gathering fruit. It was Bessy whom 
 Theresa sought ; for there was something in 
 .Madam Hawtrey's silky manner that was al- 
 ways rather repugnant to her. However, she 
 was not going to shrink from her resolution 
 because Madam Hawtrey was there. So she 
 went up to the startled Bessy, and said to her, 
 as if she were reciting a prepared speech : "Bes- 
 sy, I behaved very crossly to you ; I had no bus- 
 iness to have spoken to you as I did." "Will 
 you forgive me?" was the pro-determined end 
 of this confession ; but somehow, when it came 
 to that, she could not say it with Madam Haw- 
 trey standing by, ready to smile and to courtsey 
 as soon as she could catch Theresa's eye. There 
 was no need to ask forgiveness though ; for 
 -Bessy had put down her half-filled basket, and 
 came softly up to Theresa, stealing her brown 
 soiled-stained little hand into the young lady's 
 soft wiiite one, and looking up at her with lov- 
 ing brown eyes. 
 
 "I am so sorry, but I think it was the sums 
 on page 108. I have been looking and looking, 
 and I am almost sure." 
 
 Her exculpatory tone caught her mother's ear, 
 although her words did not. 
 
 "I am sure, Miss Theresa, Bessy is so grate- 
 ful for the privileges of learning with you ! It 
 is such an advantage to her ! I often tell her, 
 ' Take pattern by Miss Theresa, and do as she 
 does, and try and speak as she does, and there'll 
 not be a parson's daughter in all Sussex to com- 
 pare with you.' Don't I, Bessy ?" 
 
 Theresa shrugged her shoulders a trick she 
 had caught from Victorine and, turning to Bes- 
 sy, asked her what she was going to do with 
 those gooseberries she was gathering? And as 
 Theresa spoke, she lazily picked the ripest out 
 of the basket, and ate them. 
 
 " They are for a pudding," said Bessy. " As 
 soon as we have gathered enough, I am going in 
 to make it." 
 
 "I'll come and help you," said Theresa, ea- 
 gerly. "I should so like to make a pudding. 
 Our Monsieur Antoine never makes gooseberry 
 puddings." 
 
 Duke came past the parsonage an hour or so 
 afterwards : and, looking in by chance through 
 the open casement windows of the kitchen, saw 
 Theresa pinned up in a bib and apron, her arms 
 all over flour, flourishing a rolling-pin, and laugh- 
 ing and chattering with Bessy similarly attired. 
 Duke had spent his morning ostensibly in fish- 
 ing, but in reality in weighing in his own mind 
 what he could do or say to soften the obdurate 
 heart of his cousin. And here it was, all inex- 
 plicably right, as if by some enchanter's wand ! 
 
 The only conclusion Duke could come to was 
 the same that many a wise (and foolish) man 
 had come to before his day : 
 
 " Well ! Women are past my comprehen- 
 sion, that's all!" 
 
 When all this took place, Theresa was about 
 fifteen; Bessy was perhaps six months older; 
 Duke was just leaving Oxford. His uncle, Sir 
 Mark, was excessively fond of him ; yes ! and 
 proud, too, for he had distinguished himself at 
 
 college, and every one spoke well of him. And 
 he, for his part, 'loved Sir Mark, and, unspoiled 
 by the fame and reputation he had gained at 
 Christ Church, paid respectful deference 
 Mark's opinions. 
 
 As Theresa grew older, her father suj'po-eJ 
 that he played his curds well in singing Duke'.- 
 praises on every possible occasion. She tossed 
 her head, and said nothing. Thanks to Victo- 
 rine's revelations, she understood the tendency 
 of her father's speeches. She intended to make 
 her own choice of a husband when the time 
 came ; and it might be Duke, or it might be 
 some one else. When Duke did not lecture or 
 prose, but was sitting his horse so splendidly at 
 the meet, before the huntsman gave the Ma-}. 
 "Found;" when Duke was holding his own in 
 discourse with other men ; when Duke gave her 
 a short sharp word of command on any occa- 
 sion ; then she decided that she would marry 
 him, and no one else. But when he found fault, 
 or stumbled about awkwardly in a minuet, or 
 talked moralities against duelling, then she was 
 sure that Duke should never be her husband. 
 She wondered if he knew about it ; if any one 
 had told him, as Victorine had told her; if her 
 father had revealed his thoughts and wishes to 
 his nephew, as plainly as he had done to his 
 daughter? This last query made her cheeks 
 burn ; and, on the days when the suspicion had 
 been brought by any chance prominently before 
 her mind, she was especially rude and disagree- 
 able to Duke. 
 
 He was to go abroad on the grand tour of 
 Europe, to which young men of fortune usually 
 devoted three years. He was to have a tutor, 
 because all young men of his rank had tutors ; 
 else he was quite wise enough, and steady 
 enough, to have done without one, and proba- 
 bly knew a good deal more about what was best 
 to be observed in the countries they were going 
 to visit, than Mr. Roberts, his appointed bear- 
 leader. He was to come back full of historical 
 and political knowledge, speaking French and 
 Italian like a native, and having a smattering 
 of barbarous German, and he was to enter the 
 House as a county member, if possible as a 
 borough member at the worst ; and was to make 
 a great success; and then, as every one under- 
 stood, he was to marry his cousin Theresa. 
 
 He sj)oke to her father about it, before start- 
 ing on his travels. It was after dinner in Crow- 
 ley Castle. Sir Mark and Duke sat alone, each 
 pensive at the thought of the coming parting. 
 
 "Theresa is but young," said Duke, breaking 
 into speech after a long silence, "but if you 
 have no objection, uncle, I should like to speak 
 to her before I leave England, about my my 
 hopes." 
 
 Sir Mark played with his glass, poured out 
 some more wine, drank it off at a draught, and 
 then replied": 
 
 "No, Duke, no. Leave her in peace with 
 me. I have looked forward to having her for 
 my eompanion through these three years; they'll 
 soon pass away" (to age, but not to youth), 
 "and I should like to have her undivided heart 
 till you come back. No, Duke! Three years 
 will soon pass away, and then we'll have a royal 
 wedding." 
 
 Duke sighed, but said no more. The next 
 d;iv was the la-t. He wanted Theresa to 70 with
 
 16 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 him to take leave of the Hawtreys at the Par- 
 sonage, and of the villagers; but she was wilful, 
 and would not. He remembered, years after- 
 wards, how Bessy's gentle peaceful manner had 
 struck him as contrasted with Theresa's, on that 
 last day. Both girls regretted his departure. 
 He had' been so uniformly gentle and thoughtful 
 in his behaviour to Bessy, that, without any idea 
 of love, she felt him to be her pattern of noble 
 chivalrous manhood ; the only person, except 
 her father, who was steadily kind to her. She 
 admired his sentiments, she esteemed his princi- 
 ples, she considered his long evolvement of his 
 ideas as the truest eloquence. He had lent her 
 books, he had directed her studies ; all the ad- 
 vice and information which Theresa had re- 
 jected had fallen to Bessy's lot, and she had re- 
 ceived it thankfully. 
 
 Theresa burst into a passion of tears as soon 
 as Duke and his suite were out of sight. She 
 had refused the farewell kiss her father had 
 told her to give him, but had waved her white 
 handkerchief out of the great drawing-room 
 window (that very window in which the old 
 guide showed me the small piece of glass still 
 lingering). But Duke had ridden away with 
 slack rein and downcast head, without looking 
 back. 
 
 His absence was a great blank in Sir Mark's 
 life. He had never sought London much as a 
 place of residence ; in former days he had been 
 suspected of favouring the Stuarts ; but nothing 
 could be proved against him, and he had sub- 
 sided into a very tolerably faithful subject of 
 King George the Third. Still, a cold shoulder 
 having been turned to him by the court party 
 at one time, he had become prepossessed against 
 the English capital. On the contrary, his wife's 
 predilections and his own tendencies had always 
 made Paris a very agreeable place of residence 
 to him. To Paris he at length resorted again, 
 when the blank in his life oppressed him ; and 
 from Paris, about two years after Duke's de- 
 parture, he returned after a short absence from 
 home, and suddenly announced to his daughter 
 and the household that he had taken an apart- 
 ment in the Rue Louis le Grand for the coming 
 winter, to which there was to be an immediate 
 removal of his daughter, Victorine, and certain 
 other personal attendants and servants. 
 
 Nothing could exceed Theresa's mad joy at 
 this unexpected news. She sprang upon her 
 father's neck, and kissed him till she was tired 
 whatever he was. She ran to Victorine, and 
 told her to guess what "heavenly bliss" was go- 
 ing to befal them, dancing round the middle- 
 aged woman until she, in her spoilt impatience, 
 was becoming angry, when, kissing her, she told 
 her, and ran off to the Parsonage, and thence 
 to the church, bursting in upon morning prayers 
 for it was All Saints' Day, although she had 
 forgotten it and filliping a scrap* of paper on 
 which she had hastily written, "We are going 
 to Paris for the winter all of us," rolled into a 
 ball, from the castle pew to that of the parson. 
 She saw Bessy redden as she caught it, put it 
 into her pocket unread, and, after an apologetic 
 glance at the curtained seat in which Theresa 
 was, go on with her meek responses. Theresa 
 went out by the private door in a momentary fit 
 of passion. "Stupid cold-blooded creature!" 
 she s;iid to herself. But that afternoon Bessy 
 
 came to the castle, so sorry and so losing her 
 own sorrow in sympathy with her friend's glad- 
 ness, that Theresa took her into favour again. 
 The girls parted with promises of correspond- 
 ence, and with some regret : the greatest on 
 Bessy's side. Some grand promises of Paris 
 fashion, and presents of dress, Theresa made in 
 her patronising way ; but Bessy did not seem to 
 care much for them which was fortunate, for 
 they were never fulfilled. 
 
 Sir Mark had an idea in his head of perfect- 
 ing Theresa's accomplishments and manners by 
 Parisian masters and Parisian society. English 
 residents in Venice, Florence, Rome, wrote to 
 their friends at home about Duke. They spoke 
 of him as of what we should, at the present day, 
 call a "rising young man." His praises ran so 
 high, that Sir Mark began to fear lest his hand- 
 some nephew, feted by princes, courted by am- 
 bassadors, made love to by lovely Italian ladies, 
 might find Theresa too country-bred for his 
 taste. 
 
 Thus had come about, the engaging of the 
 splendid apartment in the Rue Louis le Grand. 
 The street itself is narrow, and now-a-davs we 
 are apt to think the situation close ; but in those 
 days it was the height of fashion ; for, the great 
 arbiter of fashion, the Due de Richelieu, lived 
 there, and, to inhabit an apartment in that 
 street, was in itself a mark of bon ton. Victor- 
 ine seemed almost crazy with delight when they 
 took possession of their new abode. " This dear 
 Paris ! This lovely France ! And now I see 
 my young lady, my darling, my angel, in a room 
 suited to her beauty and her rank : such as my 
 lady her mother would have planned for her, if 
 she had lived. Any allusion to her dead mother 
 always touched Theresa to the quick. She was 
 in her bed, under the blue silk curtains of an 
 alcove, when Victorine said this, being too 
 much fatigued after her journey to respond to 
 Vicforine's rhapsodies ; but now she put out her 
 little hand and gave Victorine's a pressure of 
 gratitude and pleasure. Next day she wander- 
 ed about the rooms and admired their splendour 
 almost to Victorine's content. Her father, Sir 
 Mark, found a handsome carriage and horses 
 for his darling's use ; and also found that not less 
 necessary article a married lady of rank who 
 would take his girl under her wing. When all 
 these preliminary arrangements were made, who 
 so wildly happy as Theresa ! Her carriage was 
 of the newest fashion, fit to vie with any on the 
 Cours de la Reine, the then fashionable drive. 
 The box at the Grand Opera, and at the Fran- 
 9ais, which she shared with Madame la Duch- 
 esse de G., was the centre of observation; Vic- 
 torine was in her best humour, Theresa's credit 
 at her dressmaker's was unlimited, her indul- 
 gent father was charmed with all she did and 
 said. She had masters, it is true ; but, to a rich 
 and beautiful young lady, masters were wonder- 
 fully complaisant, and with them as with all the 
 world, she did what she pleased. Of Parisian 
 society, she had enough and more than enough. 
 The duchess went everywhere, and Theresa went 
 too. So did a certain Count de la Grange : 
 some relation or connexion of the duchess : 
 handsome, with a south of France handsome- 
 ness : with delicate features, marred by an over- 
 softness of expression, from which (so men said) 
 the tiger was occasionally seen to peep forth.
 
 MRS. LIKRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 17 
 
 Bnt, for elegance of dress and demeanour he 
 had not his fellow in Paris which of course 
 meant, not in the world. 
 
 Sir Mark heard rumours of this man's con- 
 duct, which were not pleasing to him ; but when 
 he accompanied his daughter into society, the 
 count was only as deferential as it became a 
 gentleman to be to so much beauty and grace. 
 When Theresa was taken out by the duchess to 
 the opera, to balls, to petits soupers, without her 
 father, then the count was more than deferen- 
 tial ; he was adoring. It was a little intoxica- 
 ting for a girl brought up in the solitude of an 
 English village, to have so many worshippers at 
 her feet all at once, in the great gay city ; and 
 the inbred coquetry of her nature came out, 
 adding to her outward grace, if taking away 
 from the purity and dignity of her character. 
 It was Victorine's delight to send her darling 
 out arrayed for conquest; her hair delicately 
 powdered, and scented with marechale ; her lit- 
 tle " mouehes" put on with skill ; the tiny half- 
 moon patch, to lengthen the already almond- 
 shaped eye ; the minute star to give the effect 
 of a dimple at the corner of her scarlet lips ; the 
 silver gauze looped up over the petticoat of blue 
 brocade, distended over a hoop, much as gowns 
 are worn in our days; the coral ornaments of her 
 silver dress, matching with the tint of the high 
 heels to her shoes. And, at night, Victorine 
 was never tired of listening and questioning; 
 of triumphing in Theresa's triumphs ; of invari- 
 ably reminding her that she was bound to marry 
 the absent cousin, and return to the half-feudal 
 state of the old castle in Sussex. 
 
 Still, even now, if Duke had returned from 
 Italy, all might have gone well ; but when Sir 
 Mark, alarmed by the various proposals he 're- 
 ceived for Theresa's hand from needy French 
 noblemen, and by the admiration she was ex- 
 citing everywhere, wrote to Duke, and urged 
 him to join them in Paris on his return from 
 his travels, Duke answered that three months 
 were yet unexpired of the time allotted for the 
 grand tour ; and that he was anxious to avail 
 himself of that interval to see something of 
 Spain. Sir Mark read this letter aloud to 
 Theresa, with many expressions of annoyance 
 as he read. Theresa merely said, "Of course, 
 Duke does what he likes," and turned away to 
 see some new lace brought for her inspection. 
 She heard her father sigh over a reperusal 
 of Duke's letter, and she set her teeth in the 
 anger she would not show in acts or words. 
 That day the Count de Grange met with gentler 
 treatment from her than he had done for many 
 days than he had done since her father's letter 
 to Duke had been sent off to Genoa. As ill for- 
 tune would have it, Sir Mark had occasion to 
 return to England at this time, and he, guileless 
 himself, consigned Theresa and her maid Vic- 
 torine, and her man Felix, to the care of the 
 duchess for three weeks. They were to reside 
 at the Hotel de G. during this time. The duch- 
 ess welcomed them in her most caressing man- 
 ner, and showed Theresa the suite of rooms, 
 with the little private staircase, appropriated to 
 her use. 
 
 The Count de Grange was an habitual visitor 
 at the house of his cousin the duchess, who was 
 a gay Parisian, absorbed in her life of giddy dis- 
 sipation. The count found means of influencing 
 3 
 
 Victorine in his favour ; not by money ; so 
 coarse a bribe would have had no power over 
 her ; but by many presents, accompanied with 
 sentimental letters, breathing devotion to IK r 
 charge, and extremest appreciation of the faith- 
 ful friend whom Theresa looked upon as ft 
 mother, and whom for this reason he, the count, 
 revered and loved. Intermixed, were wily allu- 
 sions to his great possessions in Provence, and 
 to his ancient lineage : the one mortgaged, the 
 other disgraced. Victorine, whose right hand 
 had forgotten its cunning in the length of her 
 dreary vegetation at Crowley Castle, was de- 
 ceived, and became a vehement advocate of the 
 dissolute Adonis of the Paris saloons, in his suit 
 to her darling. When Sir Mark came back, he 
 was dismayed and shocked beyond measure by 
 finding the count and Theresa at his feet, en- 
 treating him to forgive their stolen marriage 
 a marriage which, though incomplete as to its 
 legal forms, was yet too complete to be other- 
 wise than sanctioned by Theresa's nearest friends. 
 The duchess accused her cousin of perfidy and 
 treason. Sir Mark said nothing. But his 
 health failed from that time, and he sank into 
 an old querulous grey-haired man. 
 
 There was some ado, I know not what, be- 
 tween Sir Mark and the count regarding the 
 control and disposition of the fortune which 
 Theresa inherited from her mother. The count 
 gained the victory, owing to the different nature 
 of the French laws from the English ; and this 
 made Sir Mark abjure the country and the city 
 he had loved so long. Henceforward, he swore, 
 his foot should never touch French soil; if 
 Theresa liked to come and see him at Crowley 
 Castle, she should be as welcome as a daughter 
 of the house ought to be, and ever should be : 
 but her husband should never enter the gates of 
 the house in Sir Mark's lifetime. 
 
 For some months he was out of humour with 
 Duke, because of his tardy return from his tour 
 and his delay in joining them in Paris : through 
 which, so Sir Mark fancied, Theresa's marriage 
 had been brought about. But when Duke came 
 home, depressed in spirits and submissive to his 
 uncle, even under unjust blame Sir Mark re- 
 stored him to favour in the course of a summer's 
 day, and henceforth added another injury to the 
 debtor side of the count's reckoning. 
 
 Duke never told his uncle of the woful ill-re- 
 port he had heard of the count in Paris, where 
 lie had found all the better part of the French 
 nobility pitying the lovely English heiress who 
 had been entrapped into a marriage with one of 
 the most disreputable of their order, a gambler 
 and a reprobate. He could not leave Paris with- 
 out seeing Theresa, whom he believed to be as 
 yet unacquainted with his arrival in the city, so 
 he went to call upon her one evening. She was 
 sitting alone, splendidly dressed, ravishingly 
 beautiful; she made a step forward to meet 
 him, hardly heeding the announcement of his 
 name; for she had recognized a man's tread, 
 and fancied it was her husband, coming to ac- 
 company her to some grand reception. Duke 
 saw the quick change from hope to disappoint- 
 ment on her mobile face, and she spoke out at 
 once her reason. " Adolphe promised to come 
 and fetch me; the princess receives to-night. I 
 hardly expected a visit from you, cousin Duke," 
 recovering herself into a pretty proud reserve.
 
 18 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 "It is a fortnight, I think, since I heard you 
 were in Paris. I had given up all expectation 
 of the honour of a visit from you!" 
 
 Duke felt that, as she had hoard of his being 
 there, it would be awkward to make excuses 
 wliicli both she and lie must know to be false, or 
 explanations the very truth of which would be 
 offensive to the loving, trusting, deceived wife. 
 So, he turned the conversation to his travels, his 
 heart aching for her all the time, as he noticed 
 her wandering attention when she heard any 
 passing sound. Ten, eleven, twelve o'clock ; he 
 would not leave her. lie thought his presence 
 was a comfort and a pleasure to her. But when 
 one o'clock struck, she said some unexpected 
 business must have detained her husband, and 
 she was glad of it, as she had all along felt too 
 much tired to go out: and besides, the happy 
 consequence of her husband's detention had beeu 
 that long talk with Duke. 
 
 lie did not see her again after this polite dis- 
 missal, nor did he see her husband at all. 
 Whether through ill chance, or carefully dis- 
 guised purpose, it did so happen that he called 
 several times, he wrote several notes requesting 
 an appointment when he might come with the 
 certainty of finding the count and countess at 
 home, in order to wish them farewell before set- 
 ting out for England. All in vain. But he 
 said nothing to Sir Mark of all this. He only 
 tried to fill up the blank in the old man's life. 
 He went between Sir Mark and the tenants to 
 whom he was unwilling to show himself unac- 
 companied by the beautiful daughter, who had 
 so often been his companion in his walks and 
 rides, before that ill-omened winter in Paris. 
 He was thankful to have the power of returning 
 the long kindness his uncle had shown him in 
 childhood; thankful to be of use to him in his 
 desertion ; thankful to atone in same measure 
 for his neglect of his uncle's wish that he should 
 have made a hasty return to Paris. 
 
 But it was a little dull after the long excite- 
 ment of travel, after associating with all that 
 was most cultivated and seeing all that was most 
 famous, in Europe, to be shut up in that vast 
 magnificent dreary old castle, with Sir Mark for 
 a perpetual companion Sir Mark, and no other. 
 The parsonage was near at hand, and occasion- 
 ally Mr. Hawtrey came in to visit his parishioner 
 in his trouble. But Sir Mark kept the clergy- 
 man at hay ; he knew that his brother in age, 
 his brother in circumstances (for had not Mr. 
 Hawtrey an only child and she a daughter?), 
 was sympathising with him in his sorrow, and 
 he was too proud to hear it ; indeed, sometimes 
 he was so rude to his old neighbour, that Duke 
 would go next morning to the Parsonage, to 
 soothe the smart. 
 
 And so and so gradually, imperceptibly, at 
 last his heart was drawn to Bessy. Her mother 
 angled and angled skilfully ; at first scarcely 
 daring to hope ; then remembering her own de- 
 scent from the same stock as Duke, she drew 
 herself up, and set to work with fresh skill and 
 vigour. To be sure, it was a dangerous game 
 for a mother to play ; for her daughter's happi- 
 ness was staked on her success. How could 
 simple country-bred Bessy help being attracted 
 to the courtly handsome man, travelled and ac- 
 complished, good and gentle, whom she saw 
 every day, and who treated her with the kind 
 
 familiarity of a brother ; while he was not a 
 brother, but in some measure a disappointed 
 man, as everybody knew? Bessy was a daisy 
 of an English maiden; pure good to the heart's 
 core and most hidden thought ; sensible in all 
 her accustomed daily ways, yet not so much 
 without imagination as not to desire something 
 beyond the narrow range of knowledge and ex- 
 perience in which her days had hitherto been 
 passed. Add to this her pretty figure, a bright 
 healthy complexion, lovely teeth, and quite 
 enough of beauty in her other features to have 
 rendered her the belle of a country town, if her 
 lot had been cast in such a place ; and it is not 
 to be wondered at, that, after she had been se- 
 cretly in love with Duke with all her heart for 
 nearly a year, almost worshipping him, he should 
 discover that, of all the women he had ever 
 known except perhaps the lost Theresa Bessy 
 Hawtrey had it in her power to make him the 
 happiest of men. 
 
 Sir Mark grumbled a little; but now-a-days 
 he grumbled at every thing, poor disappointed, 
 all but childless, old man. As to the vicar he 
 stood astonished and almost dismayed. "Have 
 you thought enough about it, Mr. Duke?" the 
 parson asked. ' ' Young men are apt to do tli ings 
 in a hurry, that they repent at leisure. Bessy 
 is a good girl, a good girl, God bless her : but 
 she has not been brought up as your wife should 
 have been : at least as folks will say your wife 
 should have been. Though I may say for her 
 she has a very pretty sprinkling of mathematics. 
 I taught her myself, Mr. Duke." 
 
 "May I go and ask her myself? I only want 
 your permission," urged Duke. 
 
 "Ay, go ! But perhaps you'd better ask Mad- 
 am first. She will like to be told everything as 
 soon as me." 
 
 But Duke did not care for Madam. He rushed 
 through the open door of the Parsonage, into the 
 homely sitting-rooms, and softly called for Bessy. 
 When she came, he took her by the hand and 
 led her forth into the field-path at the back of 
 the orchard, and there he won his bride to the 
 full content of both their hearts. 
 
 All this time the inhabitants of Crowley Castle 
 and the quiet people of the neighbouring village 
 of Crowley, heard but little of " The Countess," 
 as it was their fashion to call her. Sir Mark 
 had his letters from her, it is true, and he read 
 them over and over again, and moaned over 
 them, and sighed, and put them carefully away 
 in a bundle. But they were like arrows of pain 
 to him. None knew their contents ; none, even 
 knowing them, would have dreamed, any more 
 than he did, for all his moans and sighs, of the 
 utter wretchedness of the writer. Love had long 
 since vanished from the habitation of that pair ; 
 a habitation, not a home, even in its brightest 
 days. Love had gone out of the window, long 
 before poverty had come in at the door : yet that 
 grim visitant who never tarries in tracking a dis- 
 reputable gambler had now arrived. The count 
 lost the last remnants of his character as a man 
 who played honourably, and thenceforth that 
 being pretty nearly the only sin which banished 
 men from good society in those days he had to 
 play where and how he could. Theresa's money 
 went as her poor angry father had foretold. By- 
 and-bv, and without her consent, her jewel-box 
 was rifled ; the diamonds round the locket hold-
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 19 
 
 ing her mother's picture were wrenched and 
 picked out by no careful hand. Victorine found 
 Theresa crying over the poor relics; crying 
 at last, without disguise, as if her heart would 
 break. 
 
 "Oh, mamma! mamma! mamma!" she sobbed 
 ont, holding up the smashed and disfigured 
 miniature as an explanation of her grief. She 
 was sitting on the floor, on which she had thrown 
 herself in the first discovery of the theft. Vic- 
 torine sat down by her, taking her head upon 
 her breast, and soothing her. She did not ask 
 who had done it ; she asked Theresa no question 
 which the latter would have shrunk from an- 
 swering ; she knew all in that hour, without the 
 . count's name having passed the lips of either of 
 them. And from that time she watched him as 
 a tiger watches his prey. 
 
 When the letters came from England, the 
 three letters from Sir Mark and the affianced 
 bride and bridegroom, announcing the approach- 
 ing marriage of Duke and Bessy, Theresa took 
 them straight to Victorine. Theresa's lips were 
 tightened, her pale cheeks were paler. She 
 waited for Victorine to speak. Not a word did 
 the Frenchwoman utter ; but she smoothed the 
 letters one over the other, and tore them in two, 
 throwing the pieces on the ground, and stamping 
 on them. 
 
 "Oh, Victorine!" cried Theresa, dismayed 
 at passion that went so far beyond her own, "I 
 never expected it I never thought of it but, 
 perhaps, it was but natural." 
 
 " It was not natural ; it was infamous ! To 
 have loved you once, and not to wait for chances, 
 but to take up with that mean poor girl at the 
 Parsonage. Pah! and he r letter! Sir Mark is 
 of my mind, though, I can see. I am sorry I 
 tore up his letter. He feels, he knows, that Mr. 
 Duke Brownlow ought to have waited, waited, 
 waited. Some one waited fourteen years, did 
 he not? The count will not live for ever." 
 
 Theresa did not see the face of wicked mean- 
 ing as those last words were spoken. 
 
 Another year rolled heavily on its course of 
 wretchedness to Theresa. That same revolution 
 of time brought increase of peace and joy to the 
 English couple, striving humbly, striving well, 
 to do their duty as children to the unhappy and 
 deserted Sir Mark. They had their reward in 
 the birth of a little girl. Yet, close on the heels 
 of this birth followed a great sorrow. The good 
 parson died, after a short sudden illness. Then 
 came the customary trouble after the death of a 
 clergyman. The widow had to leave the Par- 
 sonage, the home of a lifetime, and seek a new 
 resting-place for her declining years. 
 
 Fortunately for all parties, the new vicar was 
 a bachelor; no other than the tutor who had 
 accompanied Duke on his grand tour ; and it 
 was made a condition that he should allow the 
 widow of his predecessor to remain at the Par- 
 sonage as his housekeeper. Bessy would fain 
 have had her mother at the castle, and this 
 course would have been infinitely preferred by 
 Madam Haw trey, who, indeed, suggested the 
 wish to her daughter. But Sir Mark was ob- 
 stinately against it ; nor did he spare his caustic 
 remarks ou Madam Hawtrey, even before her 
 own daughter. He had never quite forgiven 
 Dnk"'^ marriage, although he was personally 
 exceedingly fond of Bessy. He referred this 
 
 marriage, in some part, and perhaps to no great- 
 er extent than was true, to madam's good man- 
 agement in throwing the young people togeth- 
 er ; and he was explicit in the expression of his 
 opinion. 
 
 Poor Theresa ! Every day she more and more 
 bitterly rued her ill-starred marriage. Often and 
 often she cried to herself, when she was alone in 
 the dead of the night, I cannot bear it I can- 
 not bear it !" But again in the daylight her 
 pride would help her to keep her woe to herself. 
 She could not bear the gaze of pitying eyes ; she 
 could not bear eve,n Victorine's fierce sympathy. 
 She might have gone home like a poor prodigal 
 to her father, if Duke and Bessy had not, as she 
 imagined, reigned triumphant in her place, both 
 in her father's heart and in her father's home. 
 And all this while, that father almost hated the 
 tender attentions which were rendered to him 
 by those who were not his Theresa, his only 
 child, for whose presence he yearned and longed 
 in silent misery. Then again (to return to 
 Theresa), her husband had his fits of kindness 
 towards her. If he had been veiy fortunate in 
 play, if he had heard other men admire her, he 
 would come back for a few moments to his loy- 
 alty, and would lure back the poor tortured 
 heart, only to crush it afresh. One day after 
 a short time of easy temper, caresses, and levity 
 she found out something, I know not what, in 
 his life, which stung her to the quick. Her 
 sharp wits and sharper tongue spoke out most 
 cutting insults ; at first he smiled, as if rather 
 amused to see how she was ransacking her brain 
 to find stabbing speeches; but at length she 
 touched some sore ; he scarcely lost the mocking 
 smile upon his face, but his eyes flashed lurid 
 fire, and his heavy closed hand fell on her white 
 shoulder with a terrible blow ! 
 
 She stood up, facing him, tearless, deadly 
 white. "The poor old man at home !" was all 
 she said, trembling, shivering all over, but with 
 her eyes fixed on his coward face. He shrank 
 from her look, laughed aloud to hide what- 
 ever feeling might be hidden in his bosom, and 
 left the room. She only said again, "The poor 
 old man the poor old deserted, desolate man !" 
 and felt about blindly for a chair. 
 
 She had not sat down a minute though, be- 
 fore she started up and rang her bell. It was 
 Victorine's office to answer it ; but Theresa 
 looked almost surprised to see her. "You ! I 
 wanted the others I want them all! They 
 shall all see how their master treats his wife ! 
 Look here !" she pushed the gauze neckerchief 
 from her shoulder the mark was there red and 
 swollen. " Bid them all come here Victorine, 
 Amade'e, Jean, Adele, all I will be justified by 
 their testimony, whatever I do !" Then she fell 
 to shaking and crying. 
 
 Victorine said nothing, but went to a certain 
 cupboard where she kept medicines and drugs 
 of which she alone knew the properties, and 
 there she mixed a draught, which she made her 
 mistress take. Whatever its nature was, it was 
 soothing. Theresa leaned back in her chair, 
 still sobbing heavily from time to time, until at 
 last she dropped into a kind of doze. Then 
 Victorine softly lifted the neckerchief, which had 
 fallen into its place, and looked at the mark. 
 She did not speak ; but her whole face was a 
 fearful threat. After she had looked her fill,
 
 20 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 she smiled a deadly smile. And then she touched 
 the soft bruised flesh with her lips, much as 
 though Theresa were the child she had been 
 twenty years ago. Soft as the touch was There- 
 sa shivered, and started and half awoke. "Are 
 they come?" she murmured; "Amadee, Jean, 
 Adele ?" but without waiting for an answer she 
 fell asleep again. 
 
 Victorine went quietly back to the cupboard 
 where she kept her drugs, and stayed there, 
 mixing something noiselessly. When she had 
 done what she wanted, she returned to her mis- 
 tress's bedroom, and looked at her, still sleep- 
 ing. Then she began to arrange the room. No 
 blue silk curtains and silver mirrors, now, as in 
 the Rue Louis le Grand. A washed-out faded 
 Indian chintz, and an old battered toilette serv- 
 ice of Japan-ware ; the disorderly signs of the 
 count's late presence; an emptied flask of liqueur. 
 
 All the time Victorine arranged this room 
 she kept saying to herself, "At last! At last!" 
 Theresa slept through the daylight, slept late 
 into the evening, leaning back where she had 
 fallen in her chair. She was so motionless that 
 Victorine appeared alarmed. Once or twice 
 she felt her pulse, and gazed earnestly into the 
 tear-stained face. Once, she very carefully lift- 
 ed one of the eyelids, and holding a lighted 
 taper near, peered into the eye. Apparently 
 satisfied, she went out and ordered a basin of 
 broth to be ready when she asked for it. Again 
 she sat in deep silence ; nothing stirred in the 
 closed chamber ; but in the street the carriages 
 began to roll, and the footmen and torch-bear- 
 ers to cry aloud their masters' names and titles, 
 to show what carriage in that narrow street be- 
 low was entitled to precedence. A carriage 
 stopped at the hotel of which they occupied the 
 third floor. Then the bell of their apartment 
 rang loudly rang violently. Victorine went out 
 to see what it was that might disturb her dar- 
 ling as she called Theresa to herself her 
 sli e; 'n.; lady as she spoke of her to her serv- 
 ants. 
 
 She met those servants bringing in their mas- 
 ter, the count, dead. Dead with a sword-wound 
 received in some infamous struggle. Victorine 
 stood and looked at him. "Better so," she mut- 
 tered. "Better so. But, monseigneur, yon 
 shall take this with you, whithersoever your 
 wicked soul is fleeing." And she struck him a 
 stroke on his shoulder, just where Theresa's 
 bruise was. It was as light a stroke as well 
 could be ; but this irreverence to the dead called 
 forth indignation even from the hardest bearers 
 of the body. Little recked Victorine. She 
 turned her back on the corpse, went to her cup- 
 board, took out the mixture she had made with 
 so much care, poured it )out upon the bare wood- 
 en floor, and smeared it about with her foot. 
 
 A fortnight later, when no news had come 
 from Theresa for many weeks, a poor chaise 
 was seen from the castle windows lumbering 
 slowly up the carriage road to the gate. No 
 one thought much of it; perhaps it was some 
 friend of the housekeeper's ; perhaps it was some 
 humble relation of Mrs. Duke's (for many such 
 had found out their cousin since her marriage). 
 No one noticed the shabby carriage much, until 
 the hall-porter was startled by the sound of the 
 great bell pealing, and, on opening wide the 
 hall-doors, saw standing before him the Made- 
 
 moiselle Victorine of old days thinner, sallow- 
 er, in mourning. In the carriage sat Theresa, 
 in the deep widow's weeds of those days. She 
 looked out of the carriage-window wistfully, in 
 beyond Joseph, the hall-porter. 
 
 "My father!" she cried, eagerly, before Vic- 
 torine could speak. "Is Sir Mark well?" 
 ("alive" Was her first thought, but she dared 
 not give the word utterance.) 
 
 "Call Mr. Duke!" said Joseph, speaking to 
 some one unseen. Then he came forward. 
 "God bless you, Miss! God bless you! And 
 this day of all days! Sir Mark is well least- 
 ways he's sadly changed. Where's Mr. Duke ? 
 Call him ! My young lady's fainting !" 
 
 And this was Theresa's return home. None 
 ever knew how much she had suffered since she 
 had left home. If any one had known, Victo- 
 rine would never have stood there dressed in 
 that mourning. She put it on, sorely against 
 her will, for the purpose of upholding the lying 
 fiction of Theresa's having been a happy pros- 
 perous marriage. She was always indignant if 
 any one of the old servants fell back into the 
 once familiar appellation of Miss Theresa. "The 
 countess," she would say, in lofty rebuke. 
 
 What passed between Theresa and her father 
 at that first interview no one ever knew. AVlieth- 
 er she told him anything of her married life, or 
 whether she only soothed the tears he shed on 
 seeing her again, by sweet repetition of tender 
 words and caresses snch as are the sugared 
 pabulum of age as well as of infancy no one 
 ever knew. Neither Duke nor his wife ever 
 beard her allude to the time she had passed in 
 Paris, except in the most cursory and superficial 
 manner. Sir Mark was anxious to show her 
 that all was forgiven, and would fain have dis- 
 placed Bessy from her place as lady of the cas- 
 tle, and made Theresa take the headship of 
 the house, and sit at table where the mistress 
 ought to be. And Bessy would have given 
 up her onerous dignities without a word ; for 
 Duk-3 was always more jealous for his wife's 
 position than she herself was, but Theresa de- 
 clined to assume any such place in the house- 
 hold, saying, in the languid way which now 
 seemed habitual to her, that English house- 
 keeping, and all the domestic arrangements of 
 an English country house were cumbrous and 
 wearisome to her; that if Bessy would continue 
 to act as she had done hitherto, and would so 
 forestal what must be her natural duties at some 
 future period, she, Theresa, should be infinitely 
 obliged. 
 
 Bessy consented, and in everything tried to 
 remember what Theresa liked, and how affairs 
 were ordered in the old Theresa days. She 
 wished the servants to feel that "the countess" 
 had equal rights with herself in the manage- 
 ment of the house. But she, to whom the 
 housekeeper takes her accounts she in whose 
 hands the power of conferring favours and privi- 
 leges remains de facto will always be held by 
 servants as the mistress : and Theresa's claims 
 soon sank into the background. At first, she 
 was too broken-spirited, too languid, to care for 
 anything but quiet rest in her father's compan- 
 ionship. They sat sometimes for hours hand in 
 hand ; or they sauntered out on the terraces, 
 hardly speaking, but happy ; because they were 
 once more together, and once more on loving
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER S LODGINGS. 
 
 21 
 
 terms. Theresa grew strong during this time 
 of gentle brooding peace. The pinched pale 
 face of anxiety lined with traces of suffering, re- 
 laxed into the soft oval ; the light came into the 
 eyes, the colour came into the cheeks. 
 
 But, in the autumn after Theresa's return, Sir 
 JjL'irk died; it had been a gradual decline of 
 strength, and his last moments were passed in 
 her arms. Her new misfortune threw her back 
 into the wan worn creature she had been when 
 she first came home, a widow, to Crowley Cas- 
 tle ; she shut herself up in her rooms, and al- 
 lowed no one to come near her but Victorine. 
 Neither Duke nor Bessy was admitted into the 
 darkened rooms, which she had huug with black 
 cloth in solemn funereal state. 
 
 Victorine's life since her return to the castle 
 had been anything but peaceable. New powers 
 had arisen in the housekeeper's room. Madam 
 Brownlow had her maid, far more exacting than 
 Madam Brownlow herself; and a new house- 
 keeper reigned in the place of her who was for- 
 merly but an echo of Victorine's opinions. Victor- 
 ine's own temper, too, was not improved by her 
 four years abroad, and there was a general dis- 
 position among the servants to resist all her as- 
 sumption of authority. She felt her powerless- 
 ness after a struggle or two, but treasured up her 
 vengeance. If she had lost power over the 
 household, however, there was no diminution 
 of her influence over her mistress. It was her 
 device at last that lured the countess out of her 
 gloomy seclusion. 
 
 Almost the only creature Victorine cared for, 
 besides Theresa, was the little Mary Brownlow. 
 What there was of softness in her woman's na- 
 ture, seemed to come out towards children ; 
 though, if the child had been a boy instead of a 
 girl, it is probable that Victorine might not 
 have taken it into her good graces. As it was, 
 the French nurse and the English child were 
 capital friends ; and when Victorine sent Mary 
 into the countess's room, and bade her not be 
 afraid, but ask the lady in her infantine babble 
 to come out and see Mary's snow -man, she 
 knew that the little one, for her sake, would 
 put her small hand into Theresa's, and thus 
 plead with more success, because with less pur- 
 pose, than any one else had been able to plead. 
 Out came Theresa, colourless and sad, holding 
 Mary by the hand. They went, unobserved as 
 they thought, to the great gallery-window, and 
 looked out into the court-yard ; then Theresa 
 returned to her rooms. But the ice was broken, 
 and before the winter was over, Theresa fell 
 into her old ways, and sometimes smiled, and 
 sometimes even laughed, until chance visitors 
 again spoke of her rare beauty and her courtly 
 grace. 
 
 , It was noticeable that Theresa revived first 
 out of her lassitude to an interest in all Duke's 
 pursuits. She grew weary of Bessy's small 
 cares and domestic talk now about the serv- 
 ants, now about her mother and the Parsonage, 
 now about the parish. She questioned Duke 
 about his travels, and could enter into his appre- 
 ciation and judgment of foreign nations ; she 
 perceived the latent powers of his mind ; she be- 
 came impatient of their remaining dormant in 
 country seclusion. She had spoken of leaving 
 Crowley Castle, and of finding some other home, 
 soon after her father's death ; but both Duke 
 
 and Bessy had urged her to stay with them, 
 iving, in the pure innocence of her heart, 
 how glad she was that, in the probably itR-n.-as- 
 ing cares of her nursery, Duke would have a 
 companion so much to his mind. 
 
 About a year after Sir Mark's death, the mem- 
 ber for Sussex died, and Theresa set herself to 
 stir up Duke to assume his place. With some 
 difficulty (for Bessy was passive : perhaps even 
 opposed to the scheme in her quiet way), There- 
 sa succeeded, and Duke was elected. She was 
 vexed at Bessy's torpor, as she called it, in the 
 whole affair ; vexed as she now often was with 
 Bessy's sluggish interest in all things beyond her 
 immediate ken. Once, when Theresa tried to 
 make Bessy perceive how Duke might shine and 
 rise in his new sphere, Bessy burst into 'tears, 
 and said, "You speak as if his presence here 
 were nothing, and his fame in London every- 
 thing. I can not help fearing that he will leave 
 off caring for all the quiet ways in which we 
 have been so happy ever since we were mar- 
 ried." 
 
 "But when he is here," replied Theresa, " and 
 when he wants to talk to you of politics, of for- 
 eign news, of great public interests, you drag 
 him down to your level of woman's cai-es." 
 
 " Do I ?" said Bessy. " Do I drag him down ? 
 I wisli I was cleverer ; but you know, Theresa, 
 I was never clever in anything but housewifery." 
 
 Theresa was touched for a moment by this 
 humility. 
 
 "Yet, Bessy, you have a great deal of judg- 
 ment, if you will but exercise it. Try and take 
 an interest in all he cares for, as well as making 
 him try and take an interest in home affairs." 
 
 But, somehow, this kind of conversation too 
 often ended in dissatisfaction on both sides ; and 
 the sen-ants gathered, from induction rather 
 than from words, that the two ladies were not 
 on the most cordial terms; however friendly 
 they might wish to be, and might strive to ap- 
 pear. Madam Hawtrey, too, allowed her jeal- 
 ousy of Theresa to deepen into dislike. She 
 was jealous because, in some unreasonable way, 
 she had taken it into her head that Theresa's 
 presence at the castle was the reason why she 
 was not urged to take up her abode there on Sir 
 Mark's death: as if there were not rooms and 
 suits of rooms enough to lodge a wilderness of 
 dowagers in the building, if the owner so wish- 
 ed. But Duke had certain ideas pretty strong- 
 ly fixed in his mind ; and one was a repugnance 
 to his mother-in-law's constant company. But 
 he greatly increased her income as soon as he 
 had it in his power, and left it entirely to herself 
 how she should spend it. 
 
 Having now the means of travelling about, 
 Madam Hawtrey betook herself pretty frequent- 
 ly to such watering-places as were in vogue at 
 that day, or went to pay visits at the houses of 
 those friends who occasionally came lumbering 
 up in shabby vehicles to visit their cousin Bessy 
 at the castle. Theresa cared little for Madam 
 Hawtrey's coldness ; perhaps, indeed, never per- 
 ceived "it. She gave up striving with Bessy, 
 too ; it was hopeless to try to make her an in- 
 tellectual ambitious companion to her husband. 
 He had spoken in the House; he had written a 
 pamphlet that made much noise ; the minister 
 of the day had sought him out and was trying 
 to attach him to the government. Theresa, with
 
 22 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 her Parisian experience of the way in which 
 women influenced politics, would have given 
 anything for the Brownlows to have taken a 
 house in London. She longed to see the great 
 politicians, to find herself in the thick of the 
 struggle for place and power, the brilliant centre 
 of all that was worth hearing and seeing in the 
 kingdom. There had been some talk of this 
 same London house; but Bessy had pleaded 
 against it earnestly while Theresa sat by in in- 
 dignant silence, until she could bear the discus- 
 sion no longer; going oft' to her own sitting- 
 room, where Victorine was at work. Here her 
 pent-up words found vent not addressed to her 
 sen-ant, but not restrained before her : 
 
 "I can not bear it to see him cramped in by 
 her narrow mind, to hear her weak selfish argu- 
 ments, urged because she feels she would be out 
 of place beside him. And Duke is hampered 
 with this woman : he whose powers are un- 
 known even to himself, or he would put her 
 feeble nature on one side, and seek his higher 
 atmosphere. How he would shine! How he 
 does shine ! Good Heaven ! To think " 
 
 And here she sank into silence, watched by 
 Victorine's furtive eyes. 
 
 Duke had excelled all he had previously done 
 by some great burst of eloquence, and the coun- 
 try rang with his words. He was to come down 
 to Crowley Castle for a parliamentary recess, 
 which occurred almost immediately after this. 
 Theresa calculated the hours of each part of the 
 complicated journey, and could have told to five 
 minutes when he might be expected; but the 
 baby was ill and absorbed all Bessy's attention. 
 She was in the nursery by the cradle in which 
 the child slept, when her husband came riding 
 tip to the castle gate. But Theresa was at the 
 gate; her hair all out of powder, and blowing 
 away into dishevelled curls, as the hood of her 
 cloak fell back ; her lips parted with a breath- 
 less welcome; her eyes shining out love and 
 pride. Duke was but mortal. All London 
 chanted his rising fame ; and here in his home 
 Theresa seemed to be the only person who ap- 
 preciated him. 
 
 The servants clustered in the great hall ; for 
 it was now some length of time since he had 
 been at home. Victorine was there, with some 
 head-gear for her lady ; and when, in reply to 
 his inquiry for his wife, the grave butler assert- 
 ed that she was with young master, who was, 
 they feared, very seriously ill, Victorine said, 
 with the familiarity of an old servant, and as if 
 to assuage Duke's anxiety: "Madam fancies 
 the child is ill, because she can think of nothing 
 but him, and perpetual watching has made her 
 nervous." The child, however, was really ill ; 
 and after a brief greeting to her husband, Bessy 
 returned to her nursery, leaving Theresa to 
 question, to hear, to sympathise. That night 
 she gave way to another burst of disparaging re- 
 marks on poor motherly homely Bessy, and that 
 night Victorine thought she read a deeper secret 
 in Theresa's heart. 
 
 The child was scarcely ever out of its mother's 
 arms ; but the illness became worse, and it was 
 nigh unto death. Some cream had been set 
 aside for the little wailing creature, and Victor- 
 ine had unwittingly used it for the making of a 
 cosmetic for her mistress. When the servant in 
 charge of it reproved her, a quarrel began as to 
 
 their respective mistress's right to give orders in 
 the household. Before the dispute ended, pret- 
 ty strong things had been said on both sides. 
 
 The child died. The heir was lifeless ; the 
 servants were in whispering dismay, and bustling 
 disunion of their mourning ; Duke felt the van- 
 ity of fame, as compared to a baby's life. iThc- 
 rcsa. was full of sympathy, but dared not express 
 it to him; so tender was her heart becoming. 
 Victorine regretted the death in her own way. 
 Bessy lay speechless, and tearless ; net caring 
 for loving voices, nor for gentle touches ; taking 
 neither food nor drink ; neither sleeping nor 
 weeping. " Send for her mother," the doctor 
 said ; for Madam Hawtrey was away on her vis- 
 its, and the letters telling her of her grand- 
 child's illness had not reached her in the slow- 
 delaying cross-country posts of those days. So 
 she was sent for ; by a man riding express, as a 
 quicker and surer means than the post. 
 
 Meanwhile, the nurses, exhausted by then- 
 watching, found the care of liftle Mary by day 
 quite enough. Madam's maid sat up with Bes- 
 sy for a night or two ; Duke striding in from 
 time to time through the dark hours to look at 
 the white motionless face, which would have 
 seemed like the face of one dead, but for the 
 long-quivering sighs that came up from the over- 
 laden heart. The doctor tried his dru<:s, in 
 vain, and then he tried again. This night, Vic- 
 torine at her own earnest request, sat up instead 
 of the maid. As usual, towards midnight, Duke 
 came stealing in with shaded light. "Hash !" 
 said Victorine, her finger on her lips. "She 
 sleeps at last." Morning dawned faint and pale, 
 and still she slept. The doctor came, and stole 
 in on tip-toe, rejoicing in the effect of his drugs. 
 They all stood round the bed ; Duke, Theresa, 
 Victorine. Suddenly the doctor a strange 
 change upon him, a strange fear in his face 
 felt the patient's pulse, put his ear to her open 
 lips, called for a glass a feather. The mirror 
 was not dimmed, the delicate fibres stirred not. 
 Bessy was dead. 
 
 I pass rapidly over many months. Theresa 
 was again overwhelmed with grief, or rather, I 
 should say, remorse; for now that Bessy was 
 gone, and" buried out of sight, all her innocent 
 virtues, all her feminine homeliness, came vivid- 
 ly into Theresa's mind not as wearisome, but 
 as admirable, qualities of which she had been 
 too blind to perceive the value. Bessy had been 
 her own old companion too, in the happy days 
 of childhood, and of innocence. Theresa rather 
 shunned than sought Duke's company now. She 
 remained at the castle, it is true, and Madam 
 Hawtrey, as Theresa's only condition of contin- 
 uing where she was, came to live under the same 
 roof. Duke felt his wife's death deeply, but rea- 
 sonably, as became his character. He was per- 
 plexed by Theresa's bursts of grief, knowing, as 
 he dimly did, that she and Bessy had not lived 
 together in perfect harmony. But he was much 
 in London now ; a rising statesman ; and when, 
 in autumn, he spent some time at the castle, he 
 was full of admiration for the strangely patient 
 way in which Theresa behaved towards the old 
 lady. It seemed to Duke that in his absence 
 Madam Hawtrey had assumed absolute power in 
 his household, and that the high-spirited The- 
 resa submitted to her fantasies with even more 
 docility than her own daughter would have done.
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 23 
 
 Towards Mary, Theresa was always kind and 
 indulgent. 
 
 Another autumn came ; and before it went, 
 old ties were renewed, and Theresa was pledged 
 to become her cousin's wife. 
 
 There were two people strongly affected by 
 this news when it was promulgated ; one and 
 this was natural under the circumstances was 
 Madam Hawtrey ; who chose to resent the mar- 
 riage as a deep personal offense to herself as 
 well as to her daughter's memory, and who 
 sternly rejecting all Theresa's entreaties, and 
 Duke's invitation to continue her residence at 
 the castle, went off into lodgings in the village. 
 The other person strongly affected by the news 
 was Victorine. 
 
 From being a dry active energetic middlc-nged 
 woman, she now, at the time of Theresa's en- 
 gagement, sank into the passive languor of ad- 
 vanced life. It seemed as if she felt no more 
 need of effort, or strain, or exertion. She sought 
 solitude; liked nothing better than to sit in her 
 room adjoining Theresa's dressing-room, some- 
 times sunk in a reverie, sometimes employed on 
 an intricate piece of knitting with almost spas- 
 modic activity. But wherever Theresa went, 
 thither would Victorine go. Theresa had im- 
 agined that her old nurse would prefer being left 
 at the castle, in the soothing tranquillity of the 
 country, to accompanying her and her husband 
 to the house in Grosvenor-square, which they had 
 taken for the parliamentary season. But the 
 mere offer of a choice seemed to irritate Victo- 
 rine inexpressibly. She looked upon the pro- 
 posal as a sign that Theresa considered her as 
 superannuated that her nursling was weary of 
 her, and wished to supplant her services by those 
 of a younger maid. It seemed impossible to 
 dislodge this idea when it had once entered into 
 her head, and it led to frequent bursts of temper, 
 in which she violently upbraided Theresa for her 
 ingratitude towards so faithful a follower. 
 
 One day, Victorine went a little further in 
 her expressions than usual, and Theresa, usual- 
 ly so forbearing towards her, turned at last. 
 "Really, Victoriue!" she said, "this is misery 
 to both of us. You say you never feel so wicked 
 as when I am near you ; that my ingratitude is 
 such as would be disowned by fiends ; what can 
 I, what must I do ? You say you are never so 
 unhappy as when you are near me ; must we, 
 then, part ? Would that be for your happiness?" 
 
 " And is that what it has come to !" exclaimed 
 Victorine. "In my country they reckon a build- 
 ing secure against wind and storm and all the 
 ravages of time, if the first mortar used has been 
 tempered with human blood. But not even our 
 joint secret, though it was tempered well with 
 blood, can hold our lives together! How much 
 less all the care, all the love, that I lavished upon 
 you in the days of my youth and strength !" 
 
 Theresa came close to the chair in which Vic- 
 torine was seated. She took hold of her hand 
 and held it fast in her own. "Speak Victor- 
 ine," said she. hoarsely, "and tell me what 
 you mean. What is our joint secret? And 
 what do you mean by its being a secret of blood? 
 Speak out. I WILL know." 
 
 "As if you do not know !" replied Victorine, 
 harshly. "You don't remember my visits to 
 Bianconi, the Italian chemist in the Marais, 
 long ago?'' She looked into Theresa's face, to 
 
 see if her words had suggested any deeper mean- 
 ing than met the ear. No ; Theresa's look was 
 stern, but free and innocent. 
 
 "You told me you went there to learn the 
 composition of certain unguents, and cosmetics, 
 and domestic medicines." 
 
 " Ay, and paid high for my knowledge, too," 
 said Victorine, with a low chuckle. " I learned 
 more than you have mentioned, my lady count- 
 ess. I learnt the secret nature of many drugs 
 to, speak plainly, I learnt the art of poisoning. 
 And," suddenly standing up, "it was for your 
 sake I learnt it. For your service you wh^ 
 would fain cast me off in my old age. For you !'' 
 
 Theresa blanched to a deadly white. But she 
 tried to move neither feature nor limb, nor to 
 avert her eyes for one moment from the eyes 
 that defied her. "For my service, Victorine?" 
 
 " Yes ! The quieting draught was all ready 
 for your husband when they brought him home 
 dead." 
 
 "Thank God his death does not lie at your 
 door ! '' 
 
 "Thank God?" mocked Victorine. "The 
 wish for his death does lie at your door ; and 
 the intent to rid you of him does lie at my door. 
 And I am not ashamed of it. Not I ! It was 
 not for myself I would have done it, but because 
 you suffered so. He had struck you, whom I 
 had nursed on my breast." 
 
 " Oh, Victorine !" said Theresa, with a shud- 
 der. "Those days are past. Do not let us re- 
 cal them. I was so wicked because I was so 
 miserable ; and now I am so happy, so inex- 
 pressibly happy, that do let me try to make 
 you happy too ! " 
 
 "You ought to try," said Victorine, not yet 
 pacified ; " can't you see how the incomplete 
 action once stopped by Fate was tried again, 
 and with success ; and how you are now reaping 
 the benefit of my sin, if sin it was?" 
 
 " Victorine ! I do not know what you mean !" 
 But some terror must have come over her, she 
 so trembled and so shivered. 
 
 "Do you not indeed! Madame Brownlow, 
 the country girl from Crowley Parsonage, need- 
 ed sleep, and would fain forget the little child's 
 death that was pressing on her brain. I helped 
 the doctor to his end. She sleeps now, and she 
 has met her baby before this, if priests' tales 
 are true. And you, my beauty, my queen, you 
 reign in her stead ! Don't treat the poor Vic- 
 torine as if she were mad, and speaking in her 
 madness. I have heard of tricks like that being 
 played, when the crime was done, and the crim- 
 inal of uee no longer." 
 
 That evening, Duke was surprised by his wife's 
 ! entreaty and petition that she might leave him, 
 and return with Victorine and her other per- 
 sonal servants to the seclusion of Crowley Castle. 
 She, the great London toast, the powerful en- 
 chantress of society, and most of all, the darling 
 wife and true companion, with this sudden fancy 
 for this complete retirement, and for leaving her 
 husband when he was first fully entering into the 
 comprehension of all that a wife might be! Was 
 it ill health ? Only last night she had been in 
 dazzling beauty, in brilliant spirits ; this morn- 
 ing only, she had been so merry and tender. 
 But Theresa denied that she was in any way in- 
 disposed ; and seemed suddenly so unwilling to 
 speuk of herself, and so much depressed, that
 
 MHS. LirjlIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 Duke saw nothing for it but to grant her wi-h 
 and let her go. lie missed her terribly. No 
 more pleasant tete-a-tete breakfasts, enlivened 
 by her sense and wit, and cheered by her pretty 
 i-aivssinic ways. No gentle secretary now, to sit 
 I iy his side through long long hours, never weary. 
 When he went into society, he no longer found 
 his appearance watched and waited for by the 
 loveliest woman there. When ho came home 
 from the House at night, there was no one to 
 take an interest in his speeches, to be indignant 
 at all that annoyed him, and charmed and proud 
 of all the admiration he had won. He longed 
 for the time to come when he would be able to 
 go down for a day or two to see his wife ; for 
 her letters appeared to him dull and flat after 
 her bright companionship. No wonder th-H her 
 letters came out of a heavy heart, knowing what 
 she know. 
 
 She scarcely dared to go near Victorine, whose 
 moods were becoming as variable as though she 
 were indeed the mad woman she had tauntingly 
 defied Theresa to call her. At times she was mis- 
 erable because Theresa looked so ill, and seem- 
 ed so deeply unhappy. At other times she was 
 jealous because she fancied Theresa shrank from 
 her and avoided her. So, wearing her life out 
 with passion, Victorine's health grew daily worse 
 and worse during that summer. 
 
 Theresa's only comfort seemed to be little 
 Mary's society. She seemed as though she could 
 not lavish love enough upon the motherless child, 
 who repaid Theresa's affection with all the pret- 
 ty demonst: Hiveness of her age. She would 
 carry the little three-year-old maiden in her 
 arms when she went to see Victorine, or would 
 have Mary playing about in her dressing-room, 
 if the old Frenchwoman, for some jealous freak, 
 would come and arrange her lady's hair with her 
 trembling hands. To avoid giving offence to 
 Victorine, Theresa engaged no other maid ; to 
 shun over-much or over-frank conversation with 
 Victorine, she always had little Mary with her 
 when there was a chance of the French waiting- 
 maid coming in. For, the presence of the child 
 was a holy restraint even on Victorine's tongue ; 
 she would sometimes check her fierce temper, to 
 caress the little creature playing at her knees; 
 and would only dart a covert bitter sting at 
 Theresa under the guise of a warning against 
 ingratitude, to Mary. 
 
 Theresa drooped and drooped in this dread- 
 ful life. She sought out Madam Hawtrey, and 
 prayed her to come on a long visit to the castle. 
 She was lonely, she said, asking for madam's 
 company as a favour to herself. Madam Haw- 
 trey was difficult to persuade; but the more 
 she resisted, the more Theresa entreated; and 
 when once madam was at the castle, her own 
 daughter had never been so dutiful, so humble 
 a slave to her slightest fancy as was the proud 
 Theresa now. 
 
 Yet, for all this, the lady of the castle drooped 
 and drooped, and when Duke came down to see 
 his darling he was in utter dismay at her looks. 
 Yet she said she was well enough, only tired. 
 If she had anything more upon her mind, she 
 refused him her confidence. lie watched her 
 narrowly, trying to forestal her smallest desires. 
 He saw her tender affection for Mary, and 
 thought he had never seen so lovely and tender 
 a mother to another woman's child. He won- 
 
 dered at her patience with Madam Hawtrey, re- 
 membering how often his own stock had "been 
 exhausted by his mother-in-law, and how the 
 brilliant Theresa had formerly scouted and flout- 
 ed at the vicar's wife. With all this renewed 
 sense of his darling's virtues and charms, the 
 idea of losing her was too terrible to bear. 
 
 He would listen to no pleas, to no objections. 
 Before he returned to town, where his presence 
 was a political necessity, he sought the best 
 medical advice that could be had in the neigh- 
 bourhood. The doctors came ; they could make 
 but little out of Theresa, if her vehement asser- 
 tion were true that she had nothing on her mind. 
 Nothing. 
 
 "Humour him at least, my dear lady!" said 
 the doctor, who had known Theresa from her 
 infancy, but who, living at the distant county 
 town, was only called in on the Olympian occa- 
 sions of great state illnesses. "Humour your 
 husband, and perhaps do yourself some good 
 too, by consenting to his desire that you should 
 have change of air. Brighthelmstone.is a quiet 
 village by the sea-side. Consent, like a gracious 
 lady, to go there for a few weeks." 
 
 So, Theresa, worn out with opposition, con- 
 sented, and Duke made all the arrangements 
 for taking her, and little Mary, and the neces- 
 sary suite of sen-ants, to Brighton, as we call it 
 now. He resolved in his own mind that The- 
 resa's personal attendant should be some woman 
 young enough to watch and wait upon her mis- 
 tress, and not Victorine, to whom Theresa was 
 in reality a servant. But of this plan, neither 
 Theresa nor Victorine knew anything until the 
 former was in the carriage with her husband 
 some miles distant from the castle. Then he, a 
 little exultant in the good management by which 
 he supposed he had spared his wife the pain and 
 trouble of decision, told her that Victorine was 
 left behind, and that a new accomplished Lon- 
 don maid would await her at her journey's end. 
 
 Theresa only exclaimed " O ! What will Vic- 
 torine say?" and covered her face, and^at shiv- 
 ering and speechless. 
 
 What Victorine did say, when she found out 
 the trick, as i.'.ie esteemed it, that had been play- 
 ed upon her, was too terrible to repeat. She 
 lashed herself up into an ungoverned passion ; 
 and then became so really and seriously ill that 
 the sen-ants went to fetch Madam Ilawtrey in 
 terror and dismay. But when that lady came, 
 Victorine shut her eyes, and refused to look at 
 her. "She has got her daughter in her hand! 
 I will not look!" Shaking all the time she ut- 
 tered these awe-stricken words, as if she were 
 in an ague-fit. "Bring the countess back to 
 me. Let her face the dead woman standing there. 
 I will not do it. They wanted her to sleep and 
 so dfrd the countess, that she might step into her 
 lawful place. Theresa, Theresa, where are you ? 
 You tempted me. What I did, I did in your 
 service. And you have pone away, and left me 
 alone with the dead woman! It was the same 
 drug as the doctor gave, after all only he gave 
 little, and I gave much. My lady the countess 
 spent her money well when she sent me to the 
 old Italian to learn his trade. Lotions for the 
 complexion, and a discriminating use of poison- 
 ous drugs. I discriminated, and Theresa profit- 
 ed ; and now she is his wife, and has left me 
 . here alone with the dead woman. Theresa,
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 Theresa, come back and save me from the dead 
 woman !" 
 
 Madam Hawtrey stood by, horror-stricken. 
 "Fetch the vicar," said she, under her breath, 
 to a servant. 
 
 "The village doctor is coming, "said someone 
 near. " How she raves ! Is it delirium ?'' 
 
 "It is no delirium," said Bessy's mother. 
 "Would to Heaven it were!" 
 
 Theresa had a happy day with her husband 
 at Brighthelmstone before he set off on his re- 
 turn to London. She watched him riding away, 
 .his servant following with his portmanteau. Oft- 
 en and often did Duke look back at the figure 
 of his wife, waving her handkerchief, till a turn 
 of the road hid her from his sight. He had to 
 pass through a little village not ten miles from 
 his home, and there a servant, with his letters 
 and further luggage, was to await him. There 
 he found a mysterious, imperative note, requir- 
 ing his immediate presence at Crowley Castle. 
 Something in the awe-stricken face of the serv- 
 ant from the castle, led Duke to question him. 
 But all he could say was, that Victorine lay dy- 
 ing, and that Madam Hawtrey had said that 
 after that letter the master was sure to return, 
 and so would need no luggage. Something 
 lurked behind, evidently. Duke rode home at 
 speed. The vicar was looking out for him. 
 ' My dear boy," said he, relapsing into the old 
 relations of tutor and pupil, "prepare yourself.'' 
 
 "What for?" said Duke, abruptly; for the 
 being told to prepare himself, without being 
 told for what, irritated him in his present mood. 
 "Victorine is dead?" 
 
 "No! She says she will not die until she 
 has sjon you, and got you to forgive her, if 
 Madam Hawtrey will not. But first read this : 
 it is a terrible confession, made by her before 
 me, a magistrate, believing herself to be on the 
 point of death !" 
 
 Duke read the paper containing little more 
 in point of detail than I have already given 
 the horrible words taken down in the short-hand 
 in which the vicar used to write his mild prosy 
 sermons: his pupil knew the character of old. 
 Duke read it twice. Then he said : " She is 
 raving, poor creature!" But for all that, his 
 heart's blood ran cold, and he would fain not 
 have faced the woman, but would rather have 
 remained in doubt to his dying day. 
 
 He went up the stairs three steps at a time, 
 and then turned and faced the vicar, with a look 
 like the stern calmness of death. "I wish to 
 see her alone." He turned out all the watching 
 women, and then he went to the bedside where 
 Victor! no sat, half propped up with pillows, 
 watching all his doings and his looks, with her 
 hollow awful eyes. " Now, Victorine, I will 
 read this paper aloud to you. Perhaps your 
 mind has been wandering; but you understand 
 me now?" A feeble murmur of assent met his 
 listening ear. "If any statement in this paper 
 be not true, make me a si^n. Hold up your 
 hand for God's sake hold up your hand. And 
 if you can do it with truth in this, your hour of 
 dying, Lord have mercy upon you ; but if you 
 cannot hold up your hand, then Lord have mer- 
 cy upon me !" 
 " He read the paper slowly ; clause by clause 
 he read the paper. No sign ; no uplifted hand. 
 At the end she spoke, and he bent his head to 
 
 listen. " The Countess Theresa you know 
 she who has left me to die alone she" then 
 mortal strength failed, and Duke was left alone 
 in the chamber of death. 
 
 He stayed in the chamber many minutes, 
 quite still. Then he left the room, and said to 
 the first domestic he could find, " The woman 
 is dead. See that she is attended to." But he 
 went to the vicar, and had a long long talk with 
 him. He sent a confidential servant for little 
 Mary on some pretext, hardly careful, or plaus- 
 ible enough ; but his mood was desperate, and 
 he seemed to forget almost everything but Bes- 
 sy, his first wife, his innocent girlish bride. 
 
 Theresa could ill spare her little darling, and 
 was perplexed by the summons ; but an expla- 
 nation of it was to come in a day or two. It 
 came. 
 
 "Victorine is dead; I need say no more. 
 She could not carry her awful secret into the 
 next world, but told all. I can think of nothing 
 but my poor Bessy, delivered over to the' cruelty 
 of such a woman. And you, Theresa, I leave 
 you to your conscience, for you have slept in my 
 bosom. Henceforward I am a stranger to you. 
 By the time you receive this, I, and my child, 
 and that poor murdered girl's mother, will have 
 left England. What will be our next step I 
 know not. My agent will do for you what you 
 need." 
 
 Theresa sprang up and rang her bell with mad 
 haste. "Get me a horse !" she cried, " and bid 
 William be ready to ride with me for his life 
 for my life along the coast, to Dover !" 
 
 They rode and they galloped through the 
 night, scarcely staying to bait their horses. But 
 when they came to Dover, they looked out to 
 sea upon the white sails that bore Duke and his 
 child away. Theresa was too late, and it broke 
 her heart. She lies buried in Dover church- 
 yard. After long years .Duke returned to En- 
 gland ; but his place in parliament knew him no 
 more, and his daughter's husband sold Crowley 
 Castle to a stranger. 
 
 III. 
 
 HOW THE 8IDE-KOOM WAS ATTENDED BY A 
 DOCTOR. 
 
 How the Doctor found his way into our so- 
 ciety, none of us can tell. It did not occur to 
 us to inquire into the matter at the time, and 
 now the point is lost in the dim obscurity of the 
 past. We only know that he appeared suddenly 
 and mysteriously. It was shortly after we had 
 formed our Mutual Admiration Society, in this 
 very room in Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings. We 
 were discussing things in general in our usual 
 amiable way, admiring poets, worshipping he- 
 roes, and taking all men and all things for what 
 they seemed. We were young and ingenuous, 
 pleased with our own ideas, and with each oth- 
 er's ; full of belief and trust in all things good 
 and noble, and with no hatred, save for what 
 was false, and base, and mean. In this spirit 
 we were commenting with indignation upon a 
 now heresy with regard to the age of the world, 
 when a strange voice broke in upon our conver- 
 sation. 
 
 'I bog your pardon; you are wrong. The
 
 MRS. LIBRIPEB'S LODGINGS. 
 
 age ut'tlic MorKl is exactly tlirec millions eight 
 hundred and ninety-seven thousand four hun- 
 dred and twenty-live years, eight months, four- 
 teen days, nine hours, thirty-live minutes, and 
 seventeen seconds." 
 
 At the first sound of this mysterious voice we 
 all looked up, and perceived standing on the 
 hearth-rug hetbre the tire by which you sit. Ma- 
 jor, a little closely-knit, middle-aged man, dress- 
 ed in black. He had a hooked nose, piercing 
 black eyes, and a grizzled beard, and his head 
 was covered with a shock of crisp dark hair. 
 Our first impulse was to resent the stranger's 
 interference as an impertinence, and to demand 
 what business he had in that room in Mrs. Lir- 
 riper's house, sacred to the social meetings of 
 the Mutual Admiration Society ? But we no 
 sooner set eyes upon him than the impulse was 
 checked, and we remained for a minute or so 
 gazing upon the stranger in silence. We saw 
 at a glance that he was no mere meddling fool. 
 He was considerably older than any of us there 
 present, his face beamed with intelligence, his 
 eyes sparkled with humour, and his whole ex- 
 pression was that of a man confident of mental 
 strength and superiority. The look on his face 
 seemed to imply that he had reckoned us all up 
 in an instant. So much were we impressed by 
 the stranger's appearance, that we quite forgot 
 the queries which had naturally occurred to us 
 when he interrupted our conversation : Who are 
 you ? Where do you belong to ? How did you 
 come here ? It was allowable for a member of 
 the society to introduce a friend ; but none of us 
 had introduced him, and we were the only mem- 
 bers in the room. None of us had seen him 
 enter, nor had we been conscious of his presence 
 until we heard his voice. On comparing notes 
 afterwards, it was found that the same thought 
 had flitted across all our minds. Had he come 
 down the chimney? Or up through the floor? 
 But at the time, as we saw no smoke and smelt 
 no brimstone, we dismissed the suspicion for the 
 more natural explanation that some member 
 had introduced him, and had gone away, leav- 
 ing him there. I was mentally framing a civil 
 question with the view of elucidating this point, 
 when the stranger, who spoke with a foreign ac- 
 cent, again addressed us. 
 
 "I trust," he said, "I am not intruding upon 
 your society : but the subject of your discussion 
 is one that I have studied deeply, and I was be- 
 trayed into a remark by by my enthusiasm : I 
 beg you will pardon me." 
 
 He said this so affably, and with so much dig- 
 nified politeness of an elderly kind, that we were 
 all disarmed, and protested, in a body, that there 
 was no occasion for any apology. And it fol- 
 lowed upon this, in some sort of insensible way, 
 that the stranger came and took a seat among 
 us, and spent the evening with us, proving a 
 match for us in the airy gaiety of our discus- 
 sions, and more than a match for us in all kinds 
 of knowledge. We were all charmed with the 
 stranger, and he appeared to be highly pleased 
 with us. When he went away he shook hands 
 with us with marked cordiality and warmth, 
 and left us his card. It bore this inscription : 
 
 DOCTOB GOLIATH, Pn.D. 
 
 After this, the doctor regularly frequented our 
 society, and we took his coming as a matter of 
 
 course ; being quite content to accept his great 
 learning and numerous accomplishments as a 
 certificate of his eligibility for membership in 
 our fraternity. It was no wonder that we came 
 to look upon the doctor as a great personage. 
 His fund of knowledge was inexhaustible. He 
 seemed to know everything not generally and 
 in a superficial manner but -particularly and mi- 
 nutely. It was not, however, by making a pa- 
 rade of his knowledge that he gave us this im- 
 pression. He let it out incidently, as occasion 
 required. If language were the topic, the doc- 
 tor, by a few off-hand remarks, made it plain to 
 us that he was acquainted with almost every 
 language under the sun. He spoke English 
 with an accent which partook of the character 
 of almost every modern tongue. If law came 
 up, he could discourse of codes and judgments 
 with the utmost familiarity, citing act, chapter, 
 and section, as if the whole study of his life had 
 been law. So with politics, history, geology, 
 chemistry, mechanics, and even medicine. No- 
 thing came amiss to Doctor Goliath. He was 
 an animated Cyclopaedia of universal knowledge. 
 But there was nothing of the pedant about him. 
 He treated his learning as bagatelle ; he threw 
 off his knowledge as other people throw off 
 jokes: he was only serious when he mixed a 
 salad, brewed a bowl of punch, or played a"' 
 game of piquet. He was not at all proud of 
 being able to translate the Ratcatcher's Daugh- 
 ter into six languages, including Greek and Ara- 
 bic ; but he believed he was the only man on 
 the face of the earth who knew the exact pro- 
 portions of oil and vinegar requisite for the 
 proper mixture of a potato-salad. It was im- 
 possible to resist the spell of Doctor Goliath's 
 wonderful character. He was learned in the 
 highest degree ; yet he had all the reckless jol- 
 lity of a schoolboy, and could talk nonsense 
 and make sport of wisdom and philosophy bet- 
 ter than any of us. He took our society by 
 storm ; he became an oracle ; we quoted him as 
 an authority, and spoke of him as the doctor, as 
 if there were no other doctor on the face of the 
 earth. 
 
 Shortly before the doctor's appearance among 
 us, we, the members of the Mutual Admiration 
 Society, had sworn eternal friendship. We had 
 vowed ever to love each other, ever to believe 
 in each other, ever to be true and just and kind- 
 ly towards each other, and never to be estranged 
 one from another, either by prosperity or ad- 
 versity. As a sign and symbol of our brother- 
 hood, we had agreed to call each other by fa- 
 miliar and affectionate abbreviations of our Chris- 
 tian names ; and, in pursuance of this amiable 
 scheme, we had arranged to present each other 
 with loving cups. As we were a society of little 
 wealth, except in the matter of loving-kindness 
 and mutual admiration, it was resolved that the 
 cups should be fashioned of pewter, of the meas- 
 ure of one quart, and each with two handles. 
 The order was given, the loving-cups were made, 
 and each bore an inscription in this wise : " To 
 Tom from Sam, Jack, Will, Ned, Charley, and 
 Harry, a token of Friendship ;'' this inscription 
 being only varied as regarded the relative posi- 
 tions of donors and recipient. The cups were 
 all ready, and nothing remained to be clone but 
 to pay the money and bring them away from the 
 shop of our Benvenuto Cellini, which was situ-
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 27 
 
 ated in the parish of St. Martin V-in-the-Fields. 
 A delay, however, occurred, owing to circum- 
 stances which I need not particularise further 
 than to say, that they were circumstances over 
 which we had no control. 
 
 This delay, owing to the obduracy of these un- 
 controllahle circumstances, continued for some 
 weeks, when, one evening, Tom came in with a 
 large brown paper parcel under his arm. It 
 was a parcel of strange and unwonted aspect. 
 
 " Ha! ha!" cried the doctor, "what have we 
 here? Say, my Tom, is it something to eat, 
 something to drink, something perchance to 
 smoke ? For in such things only doth my soul 
 delight." 
 
 "I don't believe you when yoa say that, doc- 
 tor," said Tom, quite seriously; for Tom had 
 fallen more prostrate than any of us before the 
 doctor's great character. 
 
 "Not believe me?" cried the doctor. "I 
 mean it. Man, sir, is an animal whose only 
 misfortune is, that he is endowed with the ac- 
 cursed power of thinking. If I were not pos- 
 sessed by this evil spirit of Thought, do you 
 know what I would do ?" 
 
 Tom could form no idea what he would do. 
 
 "Well, then," said the doctor, "I would lie 
 all day in the sun, and eat potato-salad out of 
 a trough !" 
 
 "What! like a pig?" Tom exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, like a pig," said the doctor. "I never 
 see a pig lying on clean straw, with his snout 
 poked into a delightful mess of barley-meal and 
 cabbage-leaves, but I become frightfully envi- 
 ous 1" 
 
 " Oh, doctor !" we all exclaimed in chorus. 
 
 "Fact. I say to myself, How much better 
 off, how much happier, is this pig than I ! To 
 obtain my potato-salad, without which life would 
 be a blank, I have to do a deed my soul abhors. 
 I have to work. The pig has no work to do 
 for that troughfol of barley-meal and cabbage- 
 leaves. Because I am an animal endowed with 
 the power of thought and reason, I was sent to 
 school and taught to read. See what misfor- 
 tune, what misery, that has brought upon me! 
 You laugh, but am I not driven to read books, 
 and parliamentary debates, and leading arti- 
 cles? I was induced the other day to attend a 
 social congress. If I had been a pig, I should 
 not have had to endure that." 
 
 "Ah, but, doctor," said Tom, "the pig has 
 no better part." 
 
 The doctor burst into a yell of exultation. 
 
 " What ! The pig no better part ? Ha ! ha ! 
 Sir, the better part of pig is pork. The butcher 
 comes to me, and to the pig alike ; but what 
 remains of me when he has done his fell work ? 
 You put me in a box and screw me down, and 
 stow me away out of sight ; and you pretend to 
 grieve for me. But the pig you eat him, and 
 rejoice in earnest ! And that reminds me that 
 I shall have a pork-chop for supper. By the 
 way, is it a lettuce you have in that paper par- 
 cel, Tom ?" 
 
 "It is not a lettuce, doctor." 
 
 "Not a lettuce! Ha! I see something glit- 
 ter precious metal gold? no, silver! to ob- 
 tain which, in a commensurate quantity, I would 
 commit crimes murder !" 
 
 "Oh, doctor," said Tom, "you are giving 
 yourself a character which you don't deserve." 
 
 "Am I ?" said the doctor. " You don't know 
 me. And after all, what is murder? Nothing. 
 You kill two or three of your fellow-creatures 
 a dozen, for that matter; what then? There 
 are plenty more. Do you know what is the 
 population of the earth? I will tell you. Ex- 
 actly one thousand three hundred millions eight 
 hundred and ninety-nine thousand six hundred 
 and twenty souls. How many murders are com- 
 mitted in the course of a year do you imagine ? 
 You think only those you read of in the news- 
 papers. Bah! An intimate knowledge of the 
 subject enables me to inform you that the num- 
 ber of murders committed in Great Britain and 
 Ireland, and the Channel Islands, annually, 
 amounts to fifteen thousand seven hundred and 
 forty-five. It is one of the laws of nature for 
 keeping down the population. Every man who 
 commits a murder obeys this law." 
 
 Tom's hair was beginning to stand on end, 
 for the doctor said all this with a terrible fierce- 
 ness of manner. His strange philosophy was 
 not without its effect upon the rest of us. We 
 had been accustomed to a good deal of freedom 
 in our discussions, but we had never ventured 
 upon anything so audacious as this. 
 
 "Come, Tom," said the doctor, "unveil your 
 treasure, and let me see if it be worth my while 
 lying in wait for you in the dark lanes as you go 
 home to-night." 
 
 "Well, no, it isn't, doctor," said Tom, "for 
 the article is only of pewter," And Tom un- 
 covered his loving-cup. Circumstances had re- 
 lented in Tom's case, and he had gone and paid 
 for his own loving-cup. 
 
 " Pewter !" said the doctor. "Bah! it is not 
 worth my while ; but if it had been silver, now, 
 
 why then I might " And the doctor put on 
 
 a diabolical expression, that seemed to signify 
 highway robbery accompanied with violence, and 
 murder followed by immediate dissection. Pres- 
 ently the doctor noticed the inscription. " Ha! 
 ha!" he said, "what is this? An inscription! 
 'To Tom, from Sam, Jack, Will, Ned, Charley, 
 and Harry a token of Friendship.' Friend- 
 ship? Ha! ha! 'tis but a name, an empty 
 name, a mockery, a delusion, and a snare. I 
 tell you there is no such thing in the world." 
 
 "Oh, don't say that, doctor!" cried Tom, 
 looking quite hurt. 
 
 "Ah," returned the doctor, "yon wi\J find it 
 ont. I have always found it out ; and since I 
 formed my first friendship and was deceived 
 it is now let me see how many years? one 
 thousand eight hundred and but no mat- 
 ter." 
 
 The doctor paused, as if oppressed with pain- 
 ful recollections. 
 
 "Ned," said Sam, leaning across to me, "do 
 you know what I think the doctor is?" 
 
 " No," I said. 
 
 " Well," he said, " hang'd if I don't think he 
 is the Wandering Jew. Look at his boots !" 
 
 I looked at his boots. They were not neat 
 boots : that was all I perceived about them. 
 
 "Don't you observe," said Sam, "how flat 
 and trodden down they are? The doctor has 
 done a deal of walking in those boots. Mark 
 their strange and ancient shape ! Look at the 
 dust upon them it is the dust of centuries!" 
 
 The doctor was roaring with laughter at the 
 idea of our mutual presentation scheme, and
 
 28 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 was culling us ''innocents," and Tom's loving- 
 cup a "mug." 
 
 Tom was getting red in the face and looking 
 ashamed. In fact, we were all looking rather 
 sheepish ; for it had never struck us until now, 
 how silly and sentimental we all were. We 
 said nothing to the doctor about the six other 
 loving-cups tftat were waiting to be paid for 
 and claimed ; and when Tom, with a face as 
 red^as a coal, covered up his " mug" as the doc- 
 tor called it and put it away, we were glad to 
 change the subject, to escape from our cmbar- 
 11 1. We were so thoroughly ashamed of 
 ourselves, that we endeavoured to redeem our 
 characters in the eyes of the doctor, by plunging 
 recklessly into any depth of cynical opinion that 
 he chose to sound. And the doctor, in the 
 course of time, led ns to the very bottom of the 
 pit of cynicism. As we listened to him, and 
 held converse with him day after day, we began 
 to see how very green and unsophisticated we 
 had all been. We came to know that the poets 
 and heroes whom we had worshipped were no- 
 thing but humbugs and pretenders ; that the 
 great statesmen whom we had believed in and 
 admired, were blunderers or traitors; that the 
 mighty potentates whose power and sagacity we 
 had extolled, were tyrannical miscreants, or 
 puppets in the hands of others; that the philan- 
 thropists whom all men praised, were conceited 
 self-seeking hypocrites ; that the patriots whose 
 names we had reverenced in common with all 
 the world, were scoundrels of the deepest dye. 
 The doctor's influence led us on insensibly, step 
 by step. How could we resist it ? It was a fas- 
 cination. He knew everything, could prove ev- 
 erything, and had such a store of facts that we 
 had never heard of in support of his conclusions, 
 that it was impossible, with our limited knowl- 
 edge, to withstand him. We were shocked at 
 first; but, as the revolution proceeded, we got 
 used to the sight of blood, and saw the heads of 
 our heroes fall with the utmost indifference. At 
 length we came to revel in it, and sought for 
 new victims, that we might demolish them, and 
 do our despite upon them. The doctor led the 
 way more boldly as we advanced. He hinted 
 darkly at crimes in which he had had a hand, 
 and at crimes which he would yet commit when 
 the opportunity arrived. Whenever a murder 
 was committed, the doctor was the friend and 
 advocate of the murderer, and vowed fierce 
 vengeance against the judge and jury who con- 
 demned him to be hanged. When news of war 
 and disaster came, he rubbed his hands and 
 gloated over it with glee, because he had proph- 
 esied what would happen through the imbecility 
 and treason of infamous scoundrels who called 
 themselves statesmen and generals. 
 
 From a Mutual Admiration Society we be- 
 came a society of iconoclasts.- Tom, and Jack, 
 and Sam, and Harry, and the rest of us, who 
 had begun by swearing eternal friendship, were 
 now bitter disputants, despising each other's 
 mental qualities, calling each other duffers be- 
 hind each other's backs, and laughing all the 
 old modest pretensions to scorn. The loving- 
 cups had faded out of memory. I passed the 
 shop of our Benvenuto Cellini, the pewterer, 
 one day, and saw the whole six exposed in the 
 window for sale. I called upon Tom, to show 
 him an article demolishing a popular author 
 
 whom we had once idolised, and I noticed his 
 loving-cup stowed away under the table with a 
 waste-paper-basket and a spittoon. It had grown 
 dull and battered, like a public-house pot, and 
 was filled with short black pipes, and matches, 
 and ends of cigars, and rubbish. I kicked it 
 playfully with my foot, and laughed ; and Tom 
 blushed and put it away out of sight. 
 
 Our society, in its new form, prospered ex- 
 ceedingly. We became famous for the freedom 
 of our speech and the audacity of our opinions. 
 Our company was much sought after, and we 
 were proud of our originality and independence. 
 We spent all our leisure hours together, and 
 our defiant discussions kept us in a constant 
 state of mental intoxication. But a sober mo- 
 ment arrived. 
 
 Tom and I sat together, one gloomy day, alone. 
 We were solemn and moody, and smoked in si- 
 lence. At length Tom said : 
 
 "Ned, I passed the shop to-day, and saw 
 those six loving-cups in the window." 
 
 I replied, fretfully, "Bother the loving-cups!" 
 
 "No," said Tom, "I have other thoughts at 
 this present moment; I have had them often, 
 but have smothered them smothered them 
 ruthlessly, Ned ; but they have always come to 
 life again. They are very lively to-night ow- 
 ing, perhaps, to the fog, or the state of my liver, 
 or the state of my conscience and I can't smoth- 
 er them." 
 
 "What do yon mean, Tom?" 
 
 " You remember when we ordered the cups ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The doctor came among ns shortly after- 
 wards ?" 
 
 "He did." 
 
 "And we didn't carry out our intention." 
 
 " No. You pai J for yours, Tom, and brought 
 it away, but the rest are still unredeemed pledges 
 of affection." 
 
 " Exactly," said Tom ; " and that was owing 
 to the doctor. He laughed at us. He made us 
 ashamed of ourselves. He made me ashamed 
 of myself. But I had paid for my cup, and 
 brought it away, and the thing was done. If I 
 had not done it when I did, I should never have 
 done it. What were we ashamed of?" 
 
 " Silliness," I said. 
 
 "No, kindliness and good feeling, which we 
 can't have too much of in this short journey." 
 
 I did not answer. Tom went on. 
 
 "This doctor has upset us all. He has 
 changed our nature. He has turned the milk 
 of human kindness that was in us, sour. He is 
 a very fascinating person, I grant ; but who is 
 he? None of us know. He came among us 
 mysteriously ; we accepted him without ques- 
 tion. Yet we don't know any thing about him. 
 We don't know what he is; what he does; 
 where he lives; or even what country he be- 
 longs to." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, I sometimes think he is the devil. 
 He is very pleasant, but he is diabolical in all 
 his views and opinions, nevertheless. If he is 
 not the devil, he has, at any rate, played the 
 dvil with us. I feel it at quiet moments like 
 these, when we are not excited and bandying 
 flippant jokes and unbelieving sarcasms." 
 
 I smoked for a few moments in silence, and I 
 then said :
 
 MBS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 29 
 
 "I feel it, too, exactly as you do, Tom. I 
 have wished to say so often, oulv only I didn't 
 like." 
 
 "Ned that is exactly what I have felt. Sup- 
 pose we take courage now." 
 
 " Suppose we do," I said. 
 
 " Very well, then," said Tom. " Let us find 
 out who this Doctor Goliath is. what he is, and 
 all about him." 
 
 Tom had scarcely said the words when the 
 doctor came in. He had a small bag in his 
 hand, and a parcel under his arm. 
 
 "I am not going to stay this evening," he 
 said. " I have work to do work that tiie world 
 will hear of. Ha?" And he contracted his 
 brows darkly, and laid his finger on his nose in 
 a portentous manner. 
 
 "Good night," he said; "if I survive, well 
 and good ; if not, remember me but as to that, 
 I don't imagine for a moment that you will 
 do any thing of the sort. You will say 'poor 
 wretch,' and then go on with your jokes and 
 your sport. 'Tis the way of this vile world, 
 which has been a huge mistake from the begin- 
 ning. Farewell." 
 
 "Ned," said Tom, "let us follow him." 
 
 We did so. We followed him into the Strand 
 and on to the hridge, where he had an alterca- 
 tion with the toll-keeper. We could hear the 
 words "swindle," "imposition," "highway rob- 
 bery;" and we saw the doctor's face under the 
 lamp glaring savagely at the man. At length 
 he ilung down his halfpenny, and walked hur- 
 riedly on, but stopped abruptly at the first re- 
 cess, turned into it, and looked over the parapet 
 at the river. We had long seriously entertained 
 the suspicion among many others of a like 
 kind that the doctor knew something about 
 the mvsterious, and as yet undiscovered, mur- 
 der, which is associated with that spot. He had 
 hinted at it himself often. 
 
 "Look!" said Tom. "Fascination draws 
 him to the scene of his crime. 1 almost wish he 
 would throw himself over." 
 
 But the doctor did no such thing. After 
 looking down at the river for a few moments, 
 he leaped off the stone ledge, and passed on. 
 We followed at a safe distance, and kept him in 
 sight through a great many narrow and gloomy 
 streets, where our only guide was the dark figure 
 moving like a shadow before us. At length the 
 doctor turned up a narrow passage, and disap- 
 peared. We ran forward to the entrance, but 
 the passage was completely dark, and we could 
 see nothing. We hesitated for a moment, but 
 immediately summoned up courage and fol- 
 lowed, groping our way in the dark with the 
 assistance of the*wall. On coming out at the 
 other end of this dark tunnel, we found our- 
 selves in a triangular court lighted by a single 
 pas-lamp placed at the apex of the triangle. 
 There seemed to be no entrance to it save by 
 the narrow passage through which we had 
 passed. All these strange and mysterious char- 
 acteristics of the place we were enabled to see at 
 a glance, by the aid of the one gas-lamp that 
 stood like a mark of admiration in the corner. 
 And that glance took in the cloudy figure of the 
 doctor standing at a door in the darkest nook 
 of the court, knocking. He was admitted be- 
 fore we reached the spot, but we had marked 
 the house. It was number thirteen. 
 
 "An ogglesome number," said Tom. And 
 there was an ogglesome plaster head over the 
 doorway a head, with a leer upon its face, and 
 a reckoning-up expression, just like the doctor's. 
 It seemed to be laughing at the fool's errand we 
 had come upon. 
 
 I said, " What are we to do now ?" 
 
 " Well, really, I don't know," said Tom. 
 
 " Stop," I cried ; " I see a bill in the window. 
 What does it say ?" 
 
 Tom suggested, "Mangling done," as being 
 most appropriate to a house inhabited by Doctor 
 Goliath. 
 
 But it was not mangling. It was " Lodgings 
 to Let for a Single Gentleman." 
 
 "Let us knock," I said, "and inquire about 
 the lodgings, and ascertain what sort of a place 
 it is." 
 
 We saw a light pass into the first floor. That 
 was evidently the doctor's room, and he had 
 gone up-stairs. We waited a little, and then 
 knocked. The door was opened by an elderly 
 lady of exceedingly benignant aspect, who wore 
 the remnants of a smile upon her face. The 
 smile was evidently not intended for us, but we 
 took it as if it were, and reciprocated with a 
 smiling inquiry about the lodgings. Would we 
 step in and look at them ? They were two rooms 
 downstairs: a sitting-room and a bedroom. As 
 the elderly lady, with a candle in her hand, was 
 leading the way along the passage, the doctor 
 called from above, 
 
 " Mrs. Mavor, I want you here directly." 
 
 "Excuse me a moment, gentlemen," said 
 Mrs. Mavor; "the doctor, my first-floor lodger, 
 has just come in, and wants his coffee. Tray 
 take a seat in the parlour." 
 
 Mrs. Mavor left us, and went up-stairs, and 
 the next moment we heard the doctor saying in 
 loud and angry tones : 
 
 "Where is my spider? How dare yon sweep 
 away my spider with your murderous broom ?" 
 
 "Oh, the nasty thing !" we heard Mrs. Mavor 
 begin to say, but the doctor would not let her 
 
 "Nasty thing! That's your opinion. What 
 do you suppose that spider's opinion is of you, 
 when you come and bring his house about his 
 ears in the midst of his industry? How would 
 you like it? Let me tell you that spider had as- 
 much right to live as you have ; more more ! 
 He was industrious, which you are not ; he had 
 a large family to support, which you have not ; 
 and if he did spread a net to catch the flies, don't 
 you hang up 'Lodgings to Let,' and take in 
 single young men, like myself, and do for them? 
 You are a heartless, wicked woman, Mrs. Ma- 
 vor." 
 
 Mrs. Mavor came down almost immediately, 
 laughing. 
 
 " That's my first-floor lodger, Doctor Goliath," 
 she said ; " he has strange ways in some things, 
 and pretends to get in an awful temper if any- 
 one touches h4s pets ; but he is such a good kind 
 soul !" 
 
 Tom and I began to stare. 
 
 " He has been with me now over seven years," 
 Mrs. Mavor continued, "and he has behaved so 
 well to me, and has been so kind to me when I 
 have been ill, that nothing should induce me to 
 take any person into the house that might dis- 
 turb him or put him out of his ways. If the
 
 30 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 doctor were to leave Povis-place, I am sure I 
 don't know what nil the neighbours and the poor 
 people about here would do ; for he doctors them 
 when they are ill, and he advises them when 
 they are well, and he writes letters for them, 
 and gets up subscriptions for them when there's 
 any misfortune; and the children they're all 
 wild after him ! Very often you'll see him here 
 in the place, when he has been the gentlest and 
 best of friends to their fathers and mothers, play- 
 ing games with them, and a seore of romping 
 boys and girls on the top of his back but he 
 don't mind ; he's so good natured, and so fond 
 of children !" 
 
 Tom and I were opening our eyes wider and 
 wider. The doctor called again : "Mrs. Mavor, 
 bring me a ball of worsted, and let it be nice 
 and soft." 
 
 .Mrs. Mavor went up-stairs with the worsted, 
 and came back again smiling. 
 
 " He has got his dumb pets round him now," 
 she said, "and one of them has had an acci- 
 dent, and he can't bear to see the poor creature 
 suffer. He is so tender-hearted !" 
 
 Tom and I were speechless. The doctor's 
 pets, what could they be ? Imps ? 
 
 I said to Mrs. Mavor, that we had heard of 
 Doctor Goliath, that he was a very learned and 
 skilful man, and that we would like to have a 
 peep at him, if she would permit us. Mrs. Ma- 
 vor Ijesitated. He would be angry, she said, if 
 he knew it. We put it upon our admiration for 
 the man, and she consented ; but we were only 
 to peep through the door, and were not to make 
 a noise. 
 
 We went up-stairs quietly to the doctor's land- 
 ing. His door was ajar, and we could see near- 
 ly half the room through the crack, without be- 
 ing seen. If it had been possible to open our 
 eyes any wider, we should have clone it now. 
 
 For, the doctor was seated at a table on which 
 his tea-things were laid. A canary-bird sat 
 perched upon his head, a kitten was sporting at 
 his feet, and he himself was occupied in binding 
 up the leg of a guinea-pig. 
 
 "Poor little thing!" he was saying. "I am 
 so sorry, so sorry; but never mind. There, 
 there ! I will bind up its poor little leg, and it 
 will pet w r ell and run about as nicely as ever. 
 Ah, little cat ; now you know what I told you 
 about that canary-bird. If you kill that canary- 
 bird, I shall kill you. That is the law of Moses, 
 little cat : it is a cruel law, I think, but I am 
 afraid I should have to put it in force; for I 
 love that little bird, and I love you, too, little 
 cat, so you will not kill my pretty canary, will j 
 you? Sweet, sweet!" And the "bird, perched 
 upon the doctor's head, was answering "Sweet, 
 sweet!" , 
 
 Mrs. Mavor was behind us, calling to ns in a 
 loud whisper to come away. We astonished 
 Mrs. Mavor and her lodger both. We walked 
 right into the doctor's room. 
 
 He started at the sound of onr footsteps ; and 
 when he saw us he turned pale with anger. 
 
 "What means this this unwarrantable this 
 impertinent intrusion ?" 
 
 lie poured such a volley of angry words upon 
 us that we were confused, and scarcely knew 
 how to act. I saw that the only course was to 
 take the bull by the horns. 
 
 "Doctor," I said, "you are an old humbug." 
 
 "What do you mean; what do you mean, 
 sir? How dare you !" returned the doctor. 
 
 " And I say so too," struck in the mild Tom, 
 who had never before been known to speak so 
 bold; "doctor, you are an old humbug." 
 
 "Well, upon my word," said the doctor, " the 
 audacity of this proceeding " 
 
 "Who taught us to be audacious, doctor?" 
 Tom asked, before he could finish the sentence. 
 
 The doctor gave way. He laughed, and he 
 looked sheepish as sheepish as we had looked 
 when he discovered our loving-cup scheme. He 
 scarcely knew what to say, and he put on a 
 fierce look again, and called Mrs. Mavor. 
 
 " How dare you allow strangers to enter my 
 room in this manner? Take that bird and that 
 mischievous cat and that nasty guinea-pig away, 
 directly." 
 
 "It's of no use, doctor," said Tom ; " we have 
 found you out, and you can't deceive us any- 
 more. I have thought until now that you were 
 an incarnate fiend, but I find you belong to the 
 other side." Tom evidently meant that the doc- 
 tor was a sort of angel, but he did not use the 
 word ; being probably struck with the incongru- 
 ity of associating an angelic embodiment with a 
 wide-awake hat and Blucher boots. 
 
 The doctor laughed : which encouraged Tom 
 to address a moral lesson, en the doctor's con- 
 duct, to Mrs. Mavor. 
 
 "To all of us, Mrs. Mavor. he has made him- 
 self out a diabolical person : fierce, bloodthirsty, 
 cruel. We had made a little Paradise among 
 ourselves, and he entered it, like the beguiling 
 serpent, and made us all wicked and unhappy. 
 What did he do it for?" 
 
 Mrs. Mavor, seeing that the doctor was getting 
 the worst of it, plucked up courage and spoke out. 
 "He does it everywhere beyond the boundaries 
 of Povis-place, and I'll tell you what he does it 
 for. He is ashamed of being good, and kind, and 
 tender-hearted .'" 
 
 " A pretty thing to be ashamed of," said Tom. 
 
 "I've half a mind to punch his head !" 
 
 "No, don't," said the doctor, laughing. " Sit 
 down and have a cup of coffee, and then Mrs. 
 Mavor will come and join us in a game of whist, 
 and we'll have a potato-salad for supper, and 
 I'll brew such a bowl of punch as I flatter my- 
 self no man on the face of the earth besides my- 
 self " 
 
 "Doctor," said Tom again, "you're a hum- 
 bug." 
 
 We told all to the society, and the next time 
 the doctor came among us at Mrs. Lirriper's 
 here, he was received with shouts of derisive 
 welcome. 
 
 The doctor gave a party inPovis-placc, and 
 we were all invited. There was so much victuals, 
 there were so many bottles of German w r ine, and 
 there was so large a number of guests, that Mrs. 
 Mavor's small tenement was in some danger of 
 bursting. If I remember rightly, the provisions 
 were on the scale of a ham and two fowls and a 
 dozen of hocheimer, to each guest : to say no- 
 thing of the potato-saiad, which was made in a 
 bran new wash-hand basin, purchased for the 
 occasion. 
 
 And after supper there was a presentation. 
 The loving-cups had been redeemed ; and one 
 more was added to the number; and there they 
 were, all bright and glittering having been
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 31 
 
 nibbed up expressly for the occasion in a row ' 
 upon the table. And the extra one was in- 
 scribed, " To tho Doctor, from Tom, Ned, Sam, ! 
 Will, Jack, Charley, and Harry, a Token of j 
 Friendship and Esteem." 
 
 Though our old heroes and idols are all set ' 
 Tip on their pedestals long ago, Major, we are j 
 still given to cynical and audacious talk in our 
 society, which is still held in my rooms here. 
 But it deceives no one ; and when the doctor 
 tries to be fierce, he blushes at the feeble and 
 foolish attempt he is making to conceal the ten- 
 derness of the kindest heart that ever beat. 
 
 IV. 
 
 HOW TIIK SECOXD FLOOR KEPT A DOG. 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER rather objects to dogs, you say, 
 Major ? Very natural in a London house. Shall 
 I tell you why I hope she will not object to my 
 dog, Major ? Help yourself. So I will. 
 
 "Ah, but, to goodness, look you, will her 
 bite?" exclaimed an old Welshwoman, as she 
 pulled her big hat further on her head, and 
 looked askance at the big black dog which the 
 man sitting next her had just hauled on to the 
 coach-roof. 
 
 "It isn't a her, and he won't bite," was the 
 sententious reply of the dog's master. 
 
 Not a pleasant-looking man, this; tall and 
 thin, whiskerless and sallow faced ; his head 
 looking more like a bladder of lard surmounted 
 by a scratch-wig, than anything human : dressed 
 all in black, with a stiff shiny hat, beaver gloves, 
 and thick lustreless Wellington boots. He had 
 enormous collars encircling his face and growing 
 peakedly out of a huge black silk cravat; he 
 had a black satin waistcoat and a silver watch- 
 guard, and an umbrella in a shiny oilskin case, 
 and a hard slippery cold black cowskin bag, with 
 J. M. upon it in staring white letters; and he 
 looked very much like what he was Mr. John 
 Mortihoy, junior partner in the house of Crump 
 and Mortiboy, Manchester warehousemen, Fri- 
 day-street, Cheapside, London. 
 
 What brought Mr. John Mortiboy into Wales 
 to spend his holidays, or what induced such a 
 pillar of British commerce to encumber himself 
 with a dog, is no business of ours, Major. All I 
 know, is, that he had been set down at the Bar- 
 berth-road station, had dragged the black cow- 
 skin bag from under his seat, had released the 
 dog from a square bare receptacle which the 
 animal had filled with howls, and had mounted 
 himself and his dog on to the top of the coach 
 travelling toward the little watering-place of 
 Penethly. The dog, a big black retriever, lay 
 on the coach-roof with his fine head erect, now 
 gazing round the landscape, now dropping his 
 cold muzzle between his paws and taking snatch- 
 es of sleep. His master sat on the extreme edge 
 of the seat, with one Wellington boot very much 
 displayed and dangling in the air, and he, the 
 Wellington boot's owner, apparently deriving 
 much enjoyment from the suction of his um- 
 brella-handle. He cast his big eyes .round him 
 now and then at certain portions of the scenery 
 pointed out by the coachman, and expressed his 
 opinion that "it was "handsome," but beyond 
 
 that never vouchsafed a word until the coach 
 drew up at the Koyal Inn at IVncthly, when he 
 went at once round to the stables and superin- 
 tended the preparation of a meal for his dog, 
 then ordered a "point steak well beat, potatoes, 
 and a pint of sherry," to be ready for him in an 
 hour's time; inquired the way to Albion Villa ; 
 and set off for Albion Villa accompanied by his 
 dog Beppo. 
 
 I don't think Mr. John Mortiboy was much 
 wanted at Albion Villa, nor that he was exactly 
 the kind of man who would have suited its in- 
 mates. They were little conscious of the ap- 
 proach of his hard creaking boots, striding over 
 the ill-paved High-street of the little town, and 
 were enjoying themselves after their own simple 
 fashion. The blinds were down, the candles 
 were lighted, and Mrs. Barford was pretending 
 to be knitting, but really enjoying a placid sleep ; 
 Ellen, her eldest daughter, was reading a mag- 
 azine ; Kate, her youngest, was making some 
 sketches under the observant tuition of a slirn 
 gentleman with a light beard, who apparently 
 took the greatest interest in his pupil. Upon 
 this little group the clang of the gate bell, the 
 creaking of Mr. John Mortiboy's boots, and the 
 strident tones of Mr. John Mortiboy's voice, fell 
 uncomfortably. ''Say Mr. John Mortiboy, of 
 London," he exclaimed, while yet in the little 
 passage outside. The startled Welsh servant 
 having obeyed him, he followed close upon her 
 heels into the room. 
 
 " Servant, ladies !" said he, with a short cir- 
 cular nod, "servant, Mrs. Barford? Best to 
 explain matters wholesale. You wonder who I 
 am. You're sister-in-law to my uncle, Jonas 
 Crump. I'm my uncle's partner in Friday-street. 
 Done too much ; rather baked in the head 
 heavy consignments and sitting up late at night 
 poring over figures. The doctor recommend- 
 ed change of air; uncle Crump recommended 
 Penethly, and mentioned you. I came down 
 here, and have taken the liberty of calling. 
 Down, Beppo ! Don't mind him, miss, he won't 
 hurt you." 
 
 " Oh ! I'm not afraid of the dog!" said Ellen, 
 with a slight start at Mr. Mortiboy's general 
 manner, and at his calling her "Miss." Kate 
 looked on in wonder, and the slim gentleman 
 with the light beard confided to the said beard 
 the word "Brute." 
 
 " We're very pleased to see you, Mr. Mor- 
 tiboy," said Mrs. Barford, "and and hope that 
 you will soon recover your health in our quiet 
 village. I'm sure anything that we can can 
 do my daughters, Miss Ellen, Miss Kate Bar- 
 ford ; a friend of ours, Mr. Sandham we shall 
 
 be most happy to " As Mrs. Barford's voice 
 
 died away in the contemplation of the happiness 
 before her, the young ladies and Mr. Sandham 
 bowed, and Mr. Mortiboy favoured them with a 
 series of short nods. Then he said, abruptly turn- 
 ing to the slim gentleman, "In the army, sir?" 
 
 "No, sir, I am not!" retorted the slim gen- 
 tleman, with great promptitude. 
 
 "Beg pardon, no offence! Volunteer, per- 
 haps ? Hair, you know, beard, ct csetera, made 
 me think you were in the military line. Many 
 voting gents now-a-days are volunteers!" 
 
 '.Mr. Sandham is an artist," said Mrs. Bar- 
 ford, interposing in dread lest there should be 
 an outbreak.
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 "Oh ah!" said Mr. Mortiboy. "Bad trade 
 that demand not equal to supply, is it ? Too 
 many hands employed ; barely bread and > 
 I'm told, for any but the top-sawyers." 
 
 "Sir!" said Mr. Sandham, in a loud tone of 
 voice, and fiercely. 
 
 "Edward!" said Miss Kate, beneath her 
 breath, appealingly. 
 
 "Won't yon take some refreshment, Mr. 
 Mortiboy?" asked Mrs. Barford, warningly. 
 " We're'just going to supper." 
 
 "No, thank you, mam," said Mr. Mortiboy. 
 "I've a steak and potatoes waiting forme at the 
 Royal, after which I shall turn in at once, as I'm 
 done up by my journey. Good night, ladies 
 all ! Good night to you, sir ! I'll look you tip 
 to-morrow morning, and if any of you want to 
 go for a turn, I shall be proud to beau you about. 
 Good night!" And beckoning his dog, Mr. 
 Mortiboy took his departure. 
 
 Scarcely had the door closed behind him, than 
 the long-restrained comments began. 
 
 "A pleasant visitor uncle Crump has sent us, 
 mamma!" said Kate. 
 
 " Uncle Crump, indeed ! Who never sent us 
 anything before, except a five-pound note when 
 poor papa died !" exclaimed Ellen. 
 
 " But you won't, will you, mamma, you won't 
 be put upon in this way? You won't have this 
 horrid man running in and out at all times and 
 seasons, and " 
 
 " And beau-ing us about ! the vulgar wretch !" 
 interrupted Kate. 
 
 "My dears! my dears!" said Mrs. Barford, 
 "it strikes me that some one has been teaching 
 you very strong language." 
 
 "Not I, Mrs. Barford," said Mr. Sandham; 
 " absolve me from that ; though I must own that 
 if ever I saw a man who wanted kicking " 
 
 "Nonsense, Mr. Sandham. This gentleman 
 is imbued with certain London peculiarities, no 
 doubt; but I dare say there's good in him. 
 There must be, or he would never be the partner 
 of such an upright man as Jonas Crump." 
 
 "Upright man ! Pooh !" said Kate ; and then 
 the supper came in, and the subject dropped. 
 
 At nine o'clock next morning, just as the 
 breakfast-things had been cleared, and Mrs. 
 Barford was going through her usual interview 
 with the cook, Kate, who was sitting in the lit- 
 tle bay-window, started and exclaimed: "Oh, 
 mamma! Here's this horrid man !" 
 
 Ellen peeped over her shoulder, and said, " I 
 think he looks, if possible, more dreadful by day- 
 light than by candlelight!" 
 
 Mr. John Mortiboy, utterly unconscious of the 
 effect he was producing, unlatched the garden- 
 gate, and then for the first time looking up, nod- 
 ded shortly and familiarly at the sisters. " How 
 do, young ladies?" he called from the garden. 
 "Fine morning this; fresh and nil that sort of 
 thing ! I feel better already. When a London 
 man's a little overdone, nothing sets him up so 
 soon as a sniff of the briny." 
 
 And then he took a great gulp, as if to swallow 
 as much fresh air as possible, and entered the 
 house, followed by his dog. 
 
 "Did you hear him, Nelly?" asked Kate 
 " The wretch ! I'm sure 7 won't be seen walk- 
 ing with him, in his nasty black clothes, like an 
 undertaker !" 
 
 " He has a chimney-pot h*at on. and has 
 
 brought his umbrella! Fancy! At the sen!" 
 said Ellen. 
 
 "Good morning, Mrs. Barford," said Mr. 
 Mortiboy; "domestic arrangements, eh? I 
 understand. If you've no objection, I'll do my- 
 self the pleasure of cutting my mutton with you 
 to-day. And mutton it will be, I suppose ! 
 Can't get any beef here, I understand, except 
 on Friday, which is killing-day for the bar- 
 racks. Bad arrangement that ; wants altera- 
 tion." 
 
 " Hadn't you better alter it then, Mr. Morti- 
 boy," said Kate; "superintending the butcher 
 will be a pleasant way of spending your holi- 
 day." 
 
 " Joking, miss, eh ? Well, I don't mind. But 
 ain't you coming out, young ladies, for a mouth- 
 ful of air. I suppose the old lady don't move so 
 early. " 
 
 "If you refer to mamma," said Ellen, frigid- 
 ly, " she never goes out until just before dinner." 
 
 " Ah, I thought not. Old folks must wait un- 
 til the air is what they call warmed by the sun. 
 But that won't hinder our taking a turn, I sup- 
 pose. Where's Whiskerandos ?" 
 
 " If, as I presume, you mean Mr. Sandham, 
 the gentleman who was here last night, I can- 
 not inform you, Mr. Mortiboy," said Kate, with 
 a very flushed face, and a slightly trembling 
 voice ; "but I would advise you not to let him 
 hear you joking about him, as he is rather quick- 
 tempered." 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Mortiboy, "a 
 fire-eater is he ? Well, there's no duelling now, 
 you know. Any nonsense of that sort, give 
 a man in charge of a policeman, or summons 
 him before a magistrate, and get him bound 
 over." 
 
 Just at this moment Mrs. Barford came in 
 and told the girls to get their hats on, and show 
 Mr. Mortiboy the prettiest spots in the village, 
 the Castle Hill, the ruined Abbey, and the 
 Smuggler's Leap. To these places they went, 
 Mr. Mortiboy discoursing the whole way of the 
 badness of the roads, and of what improvements 
 might be made if they had a properly constituted 
 local board of health at Penethly ; declaring that 
 the cries of "Milford oysters," and "fresh had- 
 dick," were entirely unconstitutional and illegal, 
 as no one had a right to shout in the public- 
 streets ; that there ought to be proper stands 
 provided for the car-drivers ; and that a regular 
 police supervision was urgently demanded. He 
 did not think much of the Abbey ruins, and he 
 laughed in scorn at the story of the Smuggler's 
 Leap. As they were on their homeward way, 
 coming round the Castle Hill, they met Mr. 
 Sandham, very ruddy and fresh, and shiny, and 
 with a couple of towels in his hand. He took 
 off his wide-awake as he approached the ladies. 
 and bowed slightly to Mr. Mortiboy. 
 
 "Ah Mr. Sandham !" said Ellen, with an ad- 
 monitory finger, you have been bathing again 
 by St. Catherine's Rock, after all the warning 
 we gave you !" 
 
 " My dear Ellen," interposed Kate with a 
 petulant air, " how can you ? If Mr. Sandham 
 chooses to risk his life after what he has been 
 told, it surely is nothing to us !" I 
 
 " Now, Miss Kate, Miss Kate, that's not 
 fair!"' said Sandham; "you know," he added, 
 drop] ling his voice, " that every word of yours
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 33 
 
 would have weight with mo, but the tide was 
 slack this morning, and really there is no other 
 place where a swimmer can really enjoy a hath. 
 You are a swimmer, Mr. Mortiboy? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied that gentleman. "Yes, 
 sir, I can manage it. I've had lessons at Peerless 
 Pool and the Holborn Baths, and can keep up 
 W3ll enough. But I don't like it. I don't see 
 much fun in what are absurdly called the ' man- 
 ly exercises.' Twenty years ago, young men 
 used to like driving coaches ; now I can't con- 
 ceive duller work than holding a bunch of thick 
 leather reins in your hand, steering four tired 
 horses, sitting on a hard seat, and listening to 
 the conversation of an uneducated coachman. I 
 never ride, because I hate bumping up and down 
 on a hard saddle and rubbing the skin off my 
 body ; I never play cricket, because in the hot 
 weather I like to keep quiet and cool, and not 
 toil in the sun ; aud as to going out shooting and 
 stumping over miles of stubble in September, 
 lugging a big gun and tiring myself to death, I 
 look upon that as the pursuit of a maniac ! I 
 am a practical man !" 
 
 " You are indeed !" said Kate, as she dropped 
 gradually behind with Mr. ISandham, and left 
 the practical man and her sister Ellen to lead 
 the way to the house. 
 
 It is unnecessary to recount the sayings and 
 doings of Mr. John Mortiboy during the next 
 few days. It is enough that he spent the great- 
 er portion of them with the Barford family, and 
 that he so elaborated his ideas of practicality, 
 and so enveighed against every thing that was 
 not absolutely useful in a mercantile point of 
 view including, in a measure, art, poetry, music, 
 and the domestic affections that he incurred 
 the unmitigated hatred of the young ladies, and 
 even fell to zero in Mrs. Barford's estimation. 
 
 It was about the fifth morning after the in- 
 trusion of this utterly incongruous element jnto 
 the society of Albion Villa, that Ellen and Kate 
 strolled out immediately after breakfast with the 
 view of escaping the expected visit of their per- 
 secutor, and made their way to the Castle Hill. 
 The night had been tempestuous,. and from their 
 window they had noticed that a heavy sea was 
 running : they consequently were not surprised 
 to see a little group of people gathered on the 
 heights looking towards St. Catherine's Rock : a 
 huge mass of granite surmounted by an old ruin, 
 round which, when it was insulated at high wa- 
 ter, the tide always swept with a peculiar and 
 dangerous swirl. But when they joined the 
 group, among which were several of their friends, 
 they found that the concourse were regarding, 
 with interest mingled with fright, the move- 
 ments of a swimmer who had rounded the ex- 
 tremity of Catherine's, and was seen making for 
 the shore. 
 
 "He'll never doit," said Captain Calthorp, 
 an old half-pay dragoon, who had been tempt- 
 ed by the cheapness of Penethly to pitch his tent 
 there; " he'll never do it, by Jove ! Yes! Well 
 struggled, sir ; he made a point there hold on, 
 now, and he's in." 
 
 " Vfho is it ?" asked the coast-guard lieutenant 
 who was standing by. " Any one we know ?" 
 
 "I can't tell at this distance!" said Captain 
 
 Calthorp, "though it looks like stay! There's 
 
 one of your look-out men on the height, with a 
 glass ; give him a hail !" 
 
 "Yoho! Morgan! "cried the lieutenant. "Ay, 
 ay, sir!" was the man's ready response, though 
 the glass was never moved. " Bring that glass 
 down here!" "Ay, ay, sir;" and in two min- 
 utes the old coast-guard-man was by his officer's 
 side. He saluted and handed the glass, but as 
 he did so he said, in an undertone, "God help 
 the gentleman, he's done ! Ah, look you now, 
 poor thing, nothing can save him." 
 
 "What!" cries the lieutenant, clapping the 
 glass to his eye. " By Jove, you're right ! he's 
 
 in a bad way, and it why it's the artist chap, 
 
 that friend of the Barfords' !" 
 
 "Who?" screamed Kate, rushing up at the 
 moment. " Who did you say, Mr. Lawford ? 
 Oh, for God's sake, save him ! Save him, Mr. 
 Lawford! Save him, Captain Calthorp!" 
 
 " My dear young lady," said the last-named 
 gentleman, ' ' I am sure Lawford didn't know 
 you were here, or he wouldn't " 
 
 " This is no time for ceremony, Captain Cal- 
 thorp," said Ellen; "for Heaven's sake let 
 
 some effort be made to save my sister's to 
 
 save Mr. Sand ham !" 
 
 "My dear Miss Barford," said Lawford, who 
 had been whispering with Morgan, "I fear no 
 mortal aid can avail the poor dear fellow now. 
 Before we could descend the rock, and launch 
 a boat, with the tide ebbing at the rate it now 
 is " 
 
 "Hur would have been swep' round Cath- 
 'rine's, and away out to sea!" said Morgan. 
 
 " Oh, help him !" screamed Kate. " Oh, how 
 cruel ! how cowardly ! Oh, help him, Mr. Law- 
 ford !" She lifted up her hands piteously to the 
 lieutenant. "Oh, Mr. Mortiboy," she exclaim- 
 ed, as that gentleman came slowly saunter- 
 ing up the hill with Beppo at his heels, " for 
 God's sake, save Mr. Sandham !" 
 
 " Save Mr. Sandham my dear young lady ; 
 I don't exactly comprehend !" began Mr. Mor- 
 tiboy, looking vaguely in the direction of her 
 outstretched hand ; then suddenly, " Good 
 Lord! is that his head? There! Down 
 there !" 
 
 "Yes!" whispered Ellen Barford; "yes! 
 They say he will be whirled away before a boat 
 could be launched they say he is lost now!" 
 
 " Not at all ! Not yet, at least !" replied 
 Mortiboy, excited, but without much percepti- 
 ble alteration of manner. "While there's life 
 there's hope, you know, Miss B., and even yet 
 
 we may Here, Beppo ! Hi, man ! hi ! Good 
 
 boy !" The dog came, leaping round his mas- 
 ter. "Hi! ho! Not here! There! there! 
 Look, boy !" catching him by the collar, and 
 pointing down to where Sandham's head was a 
 mere speck on the water. "Look, man ! Look, 
 old boy ! He sees it, by Jove !" as the dog ut- 
 tered a low growl, and became restive. "In, 
 old man ! In, fine fellow ! In, Beppo ! Look ! 
 Noble dog, in he goes !" 
 
 In he went, with one bound over the low 
 stone wall, then quickly down the sloping slip- 
 pery boulders, then with a plunge into the sea 
 lost sight of for a moment, rising to view again, 
 paddling off straight for the drowning man. The 
 swift current whirled him in eddies here and 
 there, but still the brave dog persevered ; the 
 spectators held there breath, as they saw him 
 bearing down upon the black speck, which was 
 every second growing smaller and smaller, and re-
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 ceding further and further from the land. But 
 the dog made grand progress, the strong suck- 
 ing under-current helped him, and he arrived at 
 Sandham's side just in time for the drowning man 
 to fling his arms round the dog's neck, and to 
 feel his shoulder seized by the dog's teeth. They 
 sa\v this from the shore, and then Kate Barford 
 fainted. 
 
 But the work was only half done : the dog 
 turned round and battled bravely for the shore, 
 but he was encumbered by his burden, and now 
 the current was against him. He strove and 
 strove, but the way he made was small, and 
 every foot was gained with intense struggling 
 and'cxertion. "By Jove! He'll never doit," 
 cried Lieutenant Lawford, with the glass at his 
 eye, and, as he said the words, old Morgan, the 
 preventive-man, added through his teeth, "Hur 
 must be helped, at any cost," and sped away 
 down the rock, shaping his course to where a 
 small pleasure-boat lay high and dry on the 
 sand. I'm with you, governor," cried John 
 Mortiboy ; " I can't feather, but I pull a strong- 
 ish oar ;" and he followed the old man as best he 
 could. The boat was reached, and pushed by 
 main force to the water's edge, where Mortiboy 
 entered it, and old Morgan ran in, waist-deep, 
 to give it the starting shove, and then leaped in 
 to join his comrade. On they pulled, Morgan 
 with a measured steady stroke, Mortiboy with 
 fevered strong jerks that sent the boat's head 
 now to the right, now to the left : when old Mor- 
 gan, suddenly looking over his shoulder, called 
 out, " Hur's done ! Hur's sinking now, both 
 on 'em ! " Mortiboy looked round too ; they 
 were still some ten boats' length from the ob- 
 jects of their pursuit, and both dog and man 
 were vanishing. "Not yet!" cried he; and in 
 an instant he had torn off the black coat and the 
 Wellington boots, and had flung himself, as 
 nobly as his own dog, into the sea. 
 
 A very few strokes brought him to Sandham ; 
 he seized him by the hair of his head, and bat- 
 tled bravely with the waves ; the flog, recognis- 
 ing his master, seemed to take fresh courage, 
 and the trio floated until old Morgan dragged 
 them one by one into the boat. When they 
 reached the shore, all Penethly was on the beach, 
 cheering with all its might : they lifted out Mr. 
 Sandham, insensible but likely to recover, and 
 they administered a very stiff glass of grog to Mr. 
 Mortiboy, who was shivering like an aspen-leaf, 
 but who received even greater warmth from a 
 warm pressure of Ellen Barford's hand, and a 
 whispered "God bless you, Mr. Mortiboy !" than 
 from the grog though he took that, too, like a 
 man whom it comforted. As for Beppo, I don't 
 know what the fishing population would not have 
 done for him, but that he positively refused to 
 stir from Sandham's side. As they carried the 
 artist up to his lodgings the dog buried his nose 
 in the pendent hand, and did not leave until he 
 had seen his charge safely placed in bed. 
 
 Mr. Sandham was, in his own words, "All 
 right" next day, but Mr. Mortiboy, unaccustomed 
 to exercise and damp, fell ill, and was confined 
 to his bed for several weeks would have never 
 left it, I think, but for the care and attention of 
 his three nurses from Albion Villa. Of these, 
 Ellen was the most constant and the most regu- 
 lar, and the patient always seemed better under 
 her care. 
 
 "He is making progress, Kate," she said one 
 night to her sister. "He is a good patient. You 
 know, as he would say himself, he is so practi- 
 cal." 
 
 " God bless his practicality, Nell," said Ktte. 
 with tears in her eyes. " Think what it did for 
 us !" 
 
 Three years have passed since then, Major, 
 and a family group is going to be gathered in a 
 large square room built as a kind of excrescence 
 to a very pretty villa in Kensington. This is to 
 be the studio of Mr. Sandham, A.R.A. But as 
 the mortar and plaster are extraordinarily slow 
 in drying (when were they not, Major?), Mr. 
 Sandham, A.R.A., come up from Wales with 
 the family group, to take possession, has estab- 
 lished the group at the excellent Lodgings of the 
 excellent Mrs. Lirriper, and he, the owner of 
 said studio, is smoking a pipe with a worthy Ma- 
 jor, and smoothing with his slippered foot the 
 rough curly back t>f his dog Beppo, who is 
 stretched in front of the fire. Mrs. Sandham, 
 formerly Kate Barford, is working at a baby's 
 frock, and asking now and then the advice of her 
 sister, who is frilling a little cap. (There the/ 
 are, Major. Don't tell them that I said so.) 
 
 "How late John is to-night, Ellen !" says old 
 Mrs. Barford, from her place in the chimney- 
 corner. (You hear her, Major ?) 
 
 "Always at Christmas-time, dear mother," 
 says Ellen. (There she is, Major.) " Since un- 
 cle Crump's death, you know, John's business is 
 trebled, and it all hangs on him, dear old fel- 
 low!" 
 
 "He will be late for supper, Nelly," says Sand- 
 ham. " ( Excuse me, Major.)" 
 
 "No he won't, Ned!" cries a cheery voice at 
 the door as John Mortiboy appears; "no he 
 won't. He's never late for any thing good. 
 Don't you know, he's a practical man ?" 
 
 Mr. Mortiboy, Major Jackman, Major, Mr. 
 Mortiboy ! 
 
 V. 
 
 HOW THE THIRD FLOOR KNEW THE POTTERIES. 
 
 I AM a plain man, Major, and you may not 
 dislike to hear a plain statement of facts from 
 me. Some of those facts lie beyond my under- 
 standing. I do not pretend to explain them. I 
 only know that they happened as I relate them, 
 and" that I pledge myself for the truth of every 
 word of them. 
 
 I began life roughly enough, down among the 
 Potteries. I was an orphan ; and my earliest 
 recollections are of a great porcelain manufac- 
 :ory in the country of the Potteries, where I 
 iclped about the yard, picked up what halfpence 
 "ell in my way. and slept in a harness-loft over 
 the stable. Those were hard times ; but things 
 lettered themselves as I grew older and stronger, 
 especially after George Barnard had come to be 
 'oreman of the yard. 
 
 George Barnard was a Wesleyan we, were 
 mostly dissenters in the Potteries sober, clear- 
 leaded, somewhat sulky and silent, but a good 
 fellow every inch of him, and my best friend at 
 the time when I most nee-led a good friend. He 
 took me out of the yard, and set me to the fur-
 
 MRS. LIRUIPEIl'S LODGINGS. 
 
 35 
 
 nace-work. He entered me on the books at a 
 fixed rate of wages. He helped me to pay for a 
 little cheap schooling four nights a week ; and 
 he led me to go with him on Sundays to the 
 chapel down by the river-side, where I first saw 
 Leah Payne. She was his sweetheart, and so 
 pretty that I used to forget the preacher and ev- 
 ery body else, when I looked at her. When she 
 joined in the singing, I heard no voice but hers. 
 If she asked me for the hymn-book, I used to 
 blush and tremble. I believe I worshipped her, 
 in my stupid ignorant way ; and I think I wor- 
 shipped Barnard almost as blindly, though after 
 a different fashion. I felt I owed him every 
 thing. I knew that he had saved me, body and 
 mind ; and I looked up to him as a savage might 
 look up to a missionary. 
 
 Leah was the daughter of a plumber, who lived 
 close by the chapel. She was twenty, and George 
 about seven or eight-and-thirty. Some captious 
 fulks said there was too much difference in their 
 ages ; but she was so serious-minded, and they 
 loved each other so earnestly and quietly, that, 
 if nothing had come between them during their 
 courtship, I don't believe the question of dis- 
 'parity would ever have troubled the happiness 
 of their married lives. Something did come, 
 however ; and that something was a Frenchman, 
 called Louis Laroche. He was a painter on por- 
 celain, from the famous works at Sevres; and 
 our master, it was said, had engaged him for 
 three years certain, at such wages as none of 
 our own people, however skilful, could hope to 
 command. It was about the beginning or mid- 
 dle of September when he first came among us. 
 He looked very young; was small, dark, and 
 well made ; had little white soft hands, and a 
 silky motistache ; and spoke English nearly as 
 well as I do. None of us liked him ; but that 
 was only natural, seeing how he was put over 
 the head of every Englishman in the place. 
 Besides, though he was alwnys smiling and civil, 
 we couldn't help seeing that he thought himself 
 ever so much better than the rest of us ; and that 
 was not pleasant. Neither was it pleasant to 
 see him strolling about the town, dressed just 
 like a gentleman, when working hours were 
 over ; smoking good cigars, when we were forced 
 to be content with a pipe of common tobacco ; 
 hiring a horse on Sunday afternoons, when we 
 were trudging a-foot; and taking his pleasure 
 as if the world was m.ide for him to enjoy, and 
 us to work in. 
 
 " Ben, boy," said George, " there's something 
 wrong about" that Frenchman." 
 
 It was on a Saturday afternoon, and we were 
 sitting on a pile of empty seggars against the 
 door of the furnace-room, waiting till the men 
 should all have cleared out of the yard. Seg- 
 gars are deep earthen boxos in which the pot- 
 tery is put, while being fired in the kiln. 
 
 I looked up, inquiringly. 
 
 "About the Count?" said I, for that was the 
 nickname by which he went in the pottery. 
 
 George nodded, and paused for a moment with 
 his chin resting on his palms. 
 
 " He has an evil eye," said he ; " and a false 
 smile. Something wrong about him." 
 
 I drew nearer, and listened to George as if he 
 had been an oracle. 
 
 "Beside?," added he, in his slow quiet way, 
 with his eyes fixed straight before him as if he 
 
 was thinking aloud, " there's a young look abont 
 him that isn't natural. Take him just at sight, 
 and you'd think he was almost a boy; but look 
 close at him see the little fine wrinkles under 
 his eyes, and the hard lines about his mouth, 
 and then tell me his age, if you can! Why, 
 Ben, boy, he's as old as I am, pretty near; ay, 
 and as strong, too. You stare ; but I tell you 
 that, slight as he looks, he could fling you o'ver 
 his shoulder as if you were a feather. And as 
 for his hands, little and white as they are, there 
 are muscles of iron inside them, take my word 
 for it." 
 
 "But, George, how can you know?" 
 
 " Because I have a warning against him," re- 
 plied George, very gravely. " Because, when- 
 ever he is by, I feel as if my eyes saw clearer, 
 and my ears heard keener, than at other times. 
 Maybe it's presumption, but I sometimes feel as 
 if I had a call to guard myself and others against 
 him. Look at the children, Ben, how they 
 shrink away from him ; and see there, now ! 
 Ask Captain what he thinks of him ! Ben, that 
 dog likes him no better than I do." 
 
 I looked, and saw Captain crouching by his 
 kennel with his ears laid back, growling audibly, 
 as the Frenchman came slowly down the steps 
 leading from his own workshop at the upper end 
 of the yard. On the last step he paused ; lighted 
 a cigar ; glanced round, as if to see whether any 
 one was by ; and then walked straight over to 
 within a couple of yards of the kennel. Captain 
 gave a short angry snarl, and laid his muzzle 
 close down upon his paws, ready for a spring. 
 The Frenchman folded his arms deliberately, 
 fixed his eyes on the dog, and stood calmly 
 smoking. He knew exactly how far he dared 
 go, and kept just that one foot out of harm's 
 way. All at once he stooped, puffed a mouthful 
 of smoke in the dog's eyes, burst into a mock- 
 ing laugh, turned lightly on his heel, and walked 
 away ; leaving Captain straining at his chain, 
 and barking after him like a mad creature. 
 
 Days went by, and I, at work in my own de- 
 partment, saw no more of the Count. Sunday 
 came the third, I think, after I had talked with 
 George in the yard. Going with George to 
 chapel, as usual, in the morning, I noticed that 
 there was something gtrange and anxious in his 
 face, and that he scarcely opened his lips to me 
 on the way. Still I said nothing. It was not 
 my place to question him: and I remember 
 thinking to myself that the cloud would all clear 
 off as soon as he found himself by Leah's side, 
 holding the same book, and joining in the same 
 hymn. It did not, however, for no Leah was 
 there, I looked every moment to the door, ex- 
 pecting to see her sweet face coming in ; but 
 George never lifted his eyes from his book, or 
 seemed to notice that her place was empty. Thus 
 the whole sen-ice went by, and my thoughts wan- 
 dered continually from the words of the preacher. 
 As soon as the last blessing was spoken, and we 
 were fairly across the threshold, I turned to 
 George, and asked if Leah was ill ? 
 
 " No," said he, gloomily. " She's not ill." 
 
 "Then why wasn't she?" 
 
 "I'll tell you why," he interrupted, impa- 
 tiently. " Because you've seen her here for the 
 last time. She's never coming to chapel again." 
 
 "Never coming to the chapel again?" I fal- 
 tered, laying my hand on his sleeve in the earn-
 
 36 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 estness of my surprise. " Why, George, what 
 is the matter?" 
 
 But he shook my hand off, and stamped with 
 his iron heel till the pavement rang again. 
 
 "Don't ask me," said he, roughly. "Let me 
 alone. You'll know soon enough." 
 
 And with this he turned off down a by-lane 
 leading towards tlio hills, and left me without 
 another word. 
 
 I had had plenty of hard treatment in my 
 time ; but never, until that moment, an angry 
 look or syllable from George. I did not know 
 how to be'ar it. That day my dinner seemed as 
 if it would choke me ; and in the afternoon I 
 went out and wandered restlessly about the fields 
 till the hour for evening prayers came round. I 
 then returned to the chapel, and sat down on a 
 tomb outside, waiting for George. I saw the 
 congregation go in by twos and threes ; I heard 
 the first psalm-tune echo solemnly through the 
 evening stillness ; but no George came. Then 
 the service began, and I knew that, punctual as 
 his habits were, it was of no use to expect him 
 any longer. Where could he be ? What could 
 have happened ? Why should Leah Payne never 
 come to chapel again ? Had she gone over to 
 some other sect, and was that why George seemed 
 so unhappy ? 
 
 Sitting there in the little dreary churchyard 
 with the darkness fast gathering around me, I 
 asked myself these questions over and over again, 
 till my brain ached ; for I was not much used 
 to thinking about anything in those times. At 
 last, I could bear to sit quiet no longer. The 
 sudden thought struck me that I would go to 
 Leah, and learn what the matter was, from her 
 own lips. I sprang to my feet, and set off at 
 once towards her home. 
 
 It was quite dark, and a light rain was begin- 
 ning to fall. I found the garden-gate open, and 
 a quick hope flashed across me that George 
 might be there. I drew back for a moment, 
 hesitating whether to knock or ring, when a 
 sound of voices in the passage, and the sudden 
 gleaming of a bright line of light under the door, 
 warned me that some one was coming out. 
 Taken by surprise, and quite unprepared for the 
 moment with anything to say, I shrank back be- 
 hind the porch, and waited until those within 
 should have passed out. The door opened, and 
 the light streamed suddenly upon the roses and 
 the wet gravel. 
 
 "It rains," said Leah, bending forward and 
 shading the candle with her hand. 
 
 "And is as cold as Siberia," added another 
 voice, which was not George's, and yet sounded 
 strangely familiar. "Ugh! what a climate for 
 such a flower as my darling to bloom in !" 
 
 " Is it so much finer in France ?" asked Leah, 
 softly. 
 
 "As much finer as blue skies a'nd sunshine 
 can make it. Why, my angel, even your bright 
 ayes will be ten times brighter, and your rosy 
 cheeks ten times rosier, when they are trans- 
 planted to Paris. Ah ! I can give you no idea 
 of the wonders of Paris the broad streets plant- 
 ed with trees, the palaces, the shops, the gar- 
 dens ! it is a city of enchantment." 
 
 " It must be, indeed 1" said Leah. " And you 
 will really take me to see all those beautiful 
 shops?" 
 
 "Every Sunday, my darling Bah! don't 
 
 look so shocked. The shops in Paris are always 
 open on Sunday, and everybody makes holiday. 
 You will soon get over these prejudices." 
 
 "I fear it is very wrong to take so much 
 pleasure in the things of this world," sighed 
 ! Leah. 
 
 The Frenchman laughed and answered her 
 with a kiss. 
 
 "Good night, my sweet little saint!" and he 
 ran lightly down the path, and disappeared in 
 the darkness. Leah sighed again, lingered a 
 moment, and then closed the door. 
 
 Stupefied and bewildered, I stood for some 
 : seconds like a stone statue, unable to move ; 
 scarcely able to think. At length, I roused my- 
 self, as it were mechanically, and went towards 
 ; the gate. At that instant a heavy hand was 
 j laid upon my shoulder, and a hoarse voice close 
 beside my ear> said : 
 
 "Who are you ? What are you doing here ?" 
 
 It was George. I knew him at once, in spite 
 of the darkness, and stammered his name. He 
 took his hand quickly from my shoulder. 
 
 "How long have you been here?" said he, 
 fiercely. "What right have you to lurk about, 
 like a spy in the dark? God help me, Ben 
 I'm half mad. I don't mean to be harsh to you." 
 
 "I'm sure you don't," I cried, earnestly. 
 
 "It's that cursed Frenchman," he went on, 
 in a voice that sounded like the groan of one in 
 pain. "He's a villain. I know he's a villain; 
 and I've had a warning against him ever since 
 the first moment he came among us. He'll 
 make her miserable, and break her heart some 
 day my pretty Leah and I loved her so ! But 
 I'll be revenged as sure as there's a sun in 
 heaven, I'll be revenged !" 
 
 His vehemence terrified me. I tried to per- 
 suade him to go home ; but he would not listen 
 to me. 
 
 " No, no," he said. " Go home yourself, boy, 
 and let me be. My blood is on fire : this rain 
 is good for me, and I am better alone." 
 
 "If I could only do something to help 
 you " 
 
 "You can't," interrupted he. "Nobody can 
 help me. I'm a ruined man, and I don't care 
 what becomes of me. The Lord forgive me ! 
 my heart' is full of wickedness, and my thoughts 
 are the promptings of Satan. There go for 
 Heaven's sake, go. I don't know what I say, or 
 what I do!" 
 
 I went, for I did not dare refuse any longer ; 
 but I lingered awhile at the corner of the street, 
 and watched him pacing to and fro, to and fro 
 in the driving rain. At length I turned reluct- 
 antly away, and went home. 
 
 I lay aw'ake that night for hours, thinking over 
 the events of the day, and hating the Frenchman 
 from my very soul. I could not hate Leah. I 
 had worshipped her too long and too faithfully 
 for that ; but I looked upon her as a creature 
 given over to destruction. I fell asleep towards 
 morning, and woke again shortly after daybreak. 
 When I reached the pottery, I found George 
 there before me, looking very pale, but quite 
 himself, and setting the men to their work the 
 same as usual. I said nothing about what had 
 happened the day before. Something in his 
 face silenced me ; but seeing him so steady and 
 composed, I took heart and began to hope he 
 had fought through the worst of his trouble.
 
 MRS. LIERIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 37 
 
 By-and-by the Frenchman came through the 
 yard, gay and off-hand, with his cigar in his 
 mouth, and his hands in his pockets. George 
 turned sharply away into one of the workshops, 
 and shut the door. I drew a deep breath of re- 
 lief. My dread was to see them come to an 
 open quarrel ; and I felt that as long as they 
 kept clear of that, all would be well. 
 
 Thus the Monday went by, and the Tuesday ; 
 and still George kept aloof from me. I had 
 sense enough not to be hurt by this. I felt he 
 had a pood right to be silent, if silence helped 
 him to bear his trial better ; and I made np my 
 mind never to breathe another syllable on the 
 subject, unless he began; 
 
 Wednesday came. I had overslept myself 
 that morning, and came to work a quarter after 
 the hour, expecting to be fined ; for George was 
 very strict as foreman of the yard, and treated 
 friends and enemies just the same. Instead of 
 blaming me, however, he called me up, and said: 
 
 " Ben, whose turn is it this week to sit up ?" 
 
 " Mine, sir," I replied. (I always called him 
 " Sir" in working hours.) 
 
 "Well, then, you may go home to-day, and 
 the same on Thursday and Friday ; for there's 
 a large batch of work for the ovens to-night, and 
 there'll be the same to-morrow night and the 
 night after." 
 
 "All right, sir," said I. "Then I'll be here 
 by seven this evening." 
 
 " No, half-past nine will be soon enough. I've 
 some accounts to make up, and I shall be here 
 myself till then. Mind you are true to time, 
 though." 
 
 " I'll be as true as the clock, sir," I replied, 
 and was turning away when he called me back 
 again. 
 
 " You're a good lad, Ben," said he. " Shake 
 hands." 
 
 I seized his hand, and pressed it warmly. 
 
 "If I'm good for anything, George," I an- 
 swered with all my heart, "it's you who have 
 made me so. God bless you for it !" 
 
 "Amen!" said he, in a troubled voice, put- 
 ting his hand to his hat. 
 
 And so we parted. 
 
 In general, I went to bed by day when I was 
 attending to the firing by night ; but this morn- 
 ing I had already slept longer than usual, and 
 wanted exercise more than rest. So I ran home; 
 put a bit of bread and meat in my pocket ; 
 snatched up my big thorn stick; and started off 
 for a long day in the country. When I came 
 home, it was quite dark and beginning to rain, 
 just as it had begun to rain at about the same 
 time that wretched Sunday evening: so I 
 changed my wet boots, had an early supper and 
 a nap in the chimney-corner, and went down to 
 the works at a few minutes before half-past nine. 
 Arriving at the factory gate, I found it ajar, and 
 so walked in and closed it after me. I remem- 
 ber thinking at the time that it was unlike 
 George's usual caution to leave it so; but it 
 passed from my mind next moment. Having 
 slipped in the bolt, I then went straight over to 
 George's little counting-house, where the gas 
 was shining cheerfully in the window. Here 
 also, somewhat to my surprise, I found the door 
 open, and the room empty. I went in. The 
 threshold and part of the floor was wetted by the 
 driving rain. The wages-book was open on the 
 
 desk, George's pen stood in the ink, and his hat 
 hung on its usual peg in the corner. I con- 
 cluded, of course, that he had gone round to the 
 ovens ; so, following him, I took down his hat 
 and carried it with me, for it was now raining 
 fast. 
 
 The baking-houses lay just opposite, on the 
 other side of the yard. There were three of 
 them, opening one out of the other; and in 
 each, the great furnace filled all the middle of 
 the room. These furnaces are, in fact, large 
 kilns built of brick, with an oven closed in by an 
 iron door in the centre of each, and a chimney 
 going up through the roof. The pottery, en"- 
 closed in seggars, stands round inside on shelves, 
 and has to be turned from time to time while 
 the firing is going on. To turn these seggars, 
 test the heat, and keep the fires up, was my 
 work at the period of which I am now telling 
 you, Major. 
 
 Well ! I went through the baking-houses one 
 after the other, and found all empty alike. Then 
 a strange vague uneasy feeling came over me, 
 and I began to wonder what could have become 
 of George. It was possible that he might be 
 in one of the workshops ; so I ran over to the 
 counting-house, lighted a lantern, and made a 
 thorough survey of the yards. I tried the doors; 
 they were all locked as, usual. I peeped into 
 the open sheds ; they were all vacant. I called 
 "George! George!" in every part of the outer 
 premises ; but the wind and rain drove back my 
 voice, and no other voice replied to it. Forced 
 at last to believe that he was really gone, I took 
 his hat back to the counting-house, put away the 
 wages-book, extinguished the gas, and prepared 
 for my solitary watch. 
 
 The night was mild, and the heat in the bak- 
 ing-rooms intense. I knew, by experience, that 
 the ovens had been overheated, and that none 
 of the porcelain must go in at least for the next 
 two hours; so I carried my stool to the door, 
 settled myself in a sheltered corner where the 
 air could reach me, but not the rain, and fell to 
 wondering where George could have gone, and 
 why he should not have waited till the time ap- 
 pointed. That he had left in haste was clear 
 not because his hat remained behind, for he 
 might have had a cap with him but because he 
 had left the book open, and the gas lighted. 
 Perhaps one of the workmen had met with some 
 accident, and he had been summoned away so 
 urgently that he had no time to think of any- 
 thing; perhaps he would even now come back 
 presently to see that all was right before he 
 went home to his lodgings. Turning these 
 things over in my mind, I grew drowsy, my 
 thoughts wandered, and I fell asleep. 
 
 I cannot tell how long my nap lasted. I had 
 walked a great distance that day, and I slept 
 heavily ; but I awoke all in a moment, with a 
 sort of terror upon me, and, looking up, saw 
 George Barnard sitting on a stool before the oven 
 door, with the firelight full upon his face. 
 
 Ashamed to be found sleeping:, I started to my 
 feet. At the same instant, he rose, turned away 
 without even looking towards me, and went out 
 into the next room. 
 
 "Don't be angry, George," I cried, following 
 him. "None of the seggars are in. I knew 
 the fires were too strong, and " 
 
 The words died on my lips. I had followed
 
 38 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 him from the first room to the second, from the 
 second to the third, and iu the third I lost 
 him! 
 
 I could not believe my eyes. I opened the 
 end door leading into the yard, and looked out ; 
 but he was nowhere in sight. I went round to 
 the back of the baking-houses, looked behind the 
 furnaces, ran over to the counting-house, called 
 him by his name over and over again ; but all 
 was dark, silent, lonely, as ever. 
 
 Then I remembered how I had bolted the 
 outer gate, and how impossible it was that he 
 should have come in without ringing. Then, 
 too, I began again to doubt the evidence of my 
 own senses, and to think I must have been 
 dreaming. 
 
 I went back to my old post by the door of the 
 first baking-house, and sat down for a moment 
 to collect my thoughts. 
 
 "In the first place," said I to myself, "there 
 is but one outer gate. That outer gate I bolted 
 on the inside, and it is bolted still. In the next 
 place, I searched the premises, and found all the 
 sheds empty, and the workshop-doors padlocked 
 as usual on the outside. I proved that George 
 was nowhere about, when I came, aud I know 
 he could not have come in since, without my 
 knowledge. Therefore it is a dream. It is cer- 
 tainly a dream, and there's an end of it." 
 
 And with this I trimmed my lantern and pro- 
 ceeded to test the temperature of the furnaces. 
 We used to do this, I should tell you, by the in- 
 troduction of little roughly-moulded lumps of 
 common fire-clay. If the heat is too great, they 
 crack ; if too little, they remain damp and moist ; 
 if just right, they become firm and smooth all 
 over, and pass into the biscuit stage. Well, I 
 took my three little lumps of clay, put one in 
 each oven, waited while I counted five hundred, 
 and then went round again to see the results. 
 The two first were in capital condition, the third 
 had flown into a dozen pieces. This proved that 
 the seggars might at once go into ovens One and 
 Two, but that number Three had been overheat- 
 ed, and must be allowed to go on cooling for an 
 hour or two longer. 
 
 I therefore stocked One and Two with nine 
 rows of seggars, three deep on each shelf; left 
 the rest waiting till number Three was in a con- 
 dition to be trusted ; and, fearful of falling asleep 
 again, now that the firing was in progress, walk- 
 ed up and down the rooms to keep myself awake. 
 This was hot work, however, and I could not 
 stand it very, long ; so I went back presently to 
 my stool .by the door, and fell to thinking about 
 my dream. The more I thought of it, the more 
 strangely real it seemed, and the more I felt 
 convinced that I was actually on my feet, when 
 I saw George get up and walk into the adjoin- 
 ing room. I was also certain that I had still 
 continued to see him as he passed out of the sec- 
 ond room into the third, and that at that time I 
 was even following his very footsteps. Was it 
 possible, I asked myself, that I could have been 
 up and moving, and yet not quite awake? I 
 had heard of people walking in their sleep. 
 Could it be that I was walking in mine, and 
 never waked till I reached the cool air of the 
 yard ? All this seemed likely enough, so I dis- 
 missed the matter from my mind, and passed the 
 rest of the night in attending to the seggars, 
 adding fresh fuel from time to time to the fur- 
 
 naces of the first and second ovens, and now and 
 then taking a turn through the yards. As for 
 Number Three, it kept up its heat to such a de- 
 gree that it was almost day before I dared trust 
 the seggars to go in it. 
 
 Thus the hours went by ; and at half-past 
 seven on Thursday morning, the men came to 
 their work. It was now my turn to go oft" duty, 
 but I wanted to see George before I left, and so 
 waited for him in the counting-house, while a 
 lad named Steve Storr took my place at the 
 ovens. But the clock went on from half-past 
 seven to a quarter to eight; then to eight 
 o'clock ; then to a quarter-past eight and slill 
 George never made his appearance. At length, 
 when the hand got round to half-past eight, I 
 grew weary of waiting, took up my hat, ran 
 home, went to bed, and slept profoundly until 
 past four in the afternoon. 
 
 That evening I went down to the factory quite 
 early ; for I had a restlessness upon me, and I 
 wanted to see George before he left for the night. 
 This time I found the gate bolted, and I rang 
 for admittance. 
 
 "How early you are, Ben!" said Steve Storr, 
 as he let me in. 
 
 "Mr. Barnard's not gone?" I asked, quickly, 
 for I saw at the first glance that the gas was out 
 in the counting-house. 
 
 "He's not gone," said Steve, "because he's 
 never been." 
 
 "Never been?" 
 
 "No ; and what's stranger still, he's not been 
 home either, since dinner yesterday." 
 
 "But he was here last night?" 
 
 "Oh yes, he was here last night, making np 
 the books. John Parker was witli him till past 
 six ; and you found him here, didn't you, at half- 
 past nine ?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Well, he's gone, anyhow. Good night !" 
 
 "Good night!" 
 
 I took the lantern from his hand, bolted him 
 out mechanically, and made my way to the bak- 
 ing-houses like one in a stupor. G'eorge gone? 
 Gone without a word of warning to his employer, 
 or of farewell to his fellow-workmen ? I could 
 not understand it. I could not believe it. I sat 
 down bewildered, incredulous, stunned. Then 
 came hot tears, doubts, terrifying suspicions. I 
 remembered the wild words he had spoken a few 
 nights back ; t!-o strange calm by which they 
 were followed ; my dream of the evening before. 
 I had heard of men who drowned themselves for 
 love ; and the turbid Severn ran close by so 
 close, that one might pitch a stone into it from 
 some of the workshop windows. 
 
 These thoughts were too horrible. I dared 
 not dwell upon them. I turned to work, to 
 free myself from them, if I could ; and began by 
 examining the ovens. The temperature of all 
 was much higher than on the previous night, the 
 heat having been gradually increased during the 
 last twelve hours. It was now my business to 
 keep the heat on the increase for twelve more ; 
 after which it would be allowed, as gradually, 
 to subside, until the pottery was cool enough for 
 removal. To turn the seggars, and add fuel to 
 the two first furnaces, was my first work. As be- 
 fore, I found number three in advance of the 
 others, and so left it for half an hour, or an 
 hour. I then went round the yard ; tried the
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 39 
 
 doors ; let the dog loose ; and brought him back 
 with me to the baking- houses, for company. 
 After that I set my lantern on a shelf beside the 
 door, took a book from my pocket, and began 
 to read. 
 
 I remember the title of the book as well as 
 possible. It was called Bowlker's Art of An- 
 gling, and contained little rude cuts of all kinds 
 of artificial flies, hooks, and other tackle. But 
 I could not keep my mind to it for two minutes 
 together; and at last I gave it up in despair, 
 covered my face with my hands, and fell into a 
 long absorbing painful train of thought. A 
 considerable time had gone by thus maybe an 
 hour when I was roused by a low whimpering 
 howl from Captain, who was lying at my feet. 
 I looked up with a start, just as I had started 
 the night before, and with the same vague ter- 
 ror; and saw, exactly in the same place and in 
 the same attitude, with the firelight full upon him 
 George Barnard ! 
 
 At this sight, a fear heavier than the fear of 
 death fell upon me, and my tongue seemed 
 paralysed in my mouth. Then, just as last 
 night, he rose, or seemed to rise, and went slow- 
 ly out into the next room. A power stronger 
 than myself appeared to compel me, reluctantly, 
 to follow him. I saw him pass through the sec- 
 ond room cross the threshold of the third room 
 walk straight up to the oven and there pause. 
 He then turned, for the first time, with the 
 glare of the red firelight pouring out upon him 
 from the open door of the furnace, and looked 
 at me, face to face. In the same instant his 
 whole frame and countenance seemed to glow 
 and become transparent, as if the fire were all 
 within him and around him and in that glow 
 he became, as it were, absorbed into the furnace, 
 and disappeared ! 
 
 I uttered a wild cry, tried to stagger from the 
 room, and fell insensible before I reached the 
 door. 
 
 When I next opened my eyes the gray dawn 
 was in the sky ; the furnace doors were all 
 closed as I had left them when I last went round ; 
 the dog was quietly sleeping not far from my 
 side ; and the man were ringing at the gate, to be 
 let in. 
 
 I told my tale from beginning to end, and 
 was laughed at, as a matter of course, by all 
 who heard it. When it was found, however, 
 that my statements never varied, and, above all, 
 that George Barnard continued absent, some 
 few began to talk it over seriously, and among 
 those few the master of the works. He forbade 
 the furnace to be cleared out, called in the aid 
 of a celebrated naturalist, and had the ashes sub- 
 mitted to a scientific examination. The result 
 was as follows : 
 
 The ashes were found to have been largely 
 saturated with some kind of fatty animal matter. 
 A considerable portion of those ashes consisted 
 of charred bone. A semi-circular piece of iron, 
 which evidently had once been the heel of a 
 workman's heavy boot, was found, half fused, at 
 one corner of the furnace. Near it a tibia bone, 
 which still retained sufficient of its original form 
 and texture to render identification possible. 
 This bone, however, was so much charred, that 
 it fell into powder on being handled. 
 
 After this, not many doubted that George 
 
 Barnard had been foully murdered, and that his 
 body had been thrust into the furnace. Sus- 
 picion fell upon Louis Laroche. He was ar- 
 rested, a coroner's inquest was held, and every 
 circumstance connected with the night of the 
 murder was as thoroughly sifted and investi- 
 gated as possible. All the sifting in the world, 
 however, failed either to clear or to condemn 
 Louis Laroche. On the very night of his re- 
 lease he left the place by the mail train, and 
 was never seen or heard of there again. As 
 for Leah, I know not what became of her. I 
 went away myself before many weeks were over, 
 and never have set foot among the Potteries from 
 that hour to this. 
 
 VI. 
 
 HOW THE BEST ATTIC WAS UNDER A CLOUD. 
 
 MAJOR, you have assured me of your sympa- 
 thy ; you shall receive my confidence. I not 
 only seem as you have searchingly observed 
 "under a cloud," but I am. I entered (shall I 
 say like a balloon?) into a dense stratum of 
 cloud, obscuring the wretched earth from view, 
 in the year eighteen hundred and dash, in the 
 sweet summer season, when nature, as has been 
 remarked by some distinguished poet, puts on 
 her gayest garb, and when her countenance is 
 adorned with the sunniest and loveliest of smiles. 
 Ah ! what are now those smiles to me? What 
 care I for sunshine or for verdure? For me, 
 summer is no more. For, I must ever remem- 
 ber that it was in the summer that the canker 
 ate its way into my heart's core that it was in 
 the summer that I parted with my belief in man- 
 kind that it was in summer that I knew for 
 the first time that WOJIAX but this is premature. 
 Pray be seated. 
 
 I have no doubt that my appearance and 
 words convey to you, Major, and to all observant 
 persons, that I have an elevated soul. In fact, 
 were it otherwise, how could I be under a cloud ? 
 The sordid soul won't blight. To one possess- 
 ing an elevated soul like myself, the task of 
 keeping accounts at a furrier's (in a large way) 
 could not be otherwise than repugnant. It was 
 repugnant, and the rapture of getting a holiday, 
 which was annually accorded me in June not 
 a busy month in the fur-trade was something 
 perfectly indescribable. Of course, whenever 
 my vacation time came round, I invariably 
 rushed off to the country ; there to indulge my 
 natural tastes and commune with our mother, 
 Nature. 
 
 On the particular occasion of which I have 
 now to speak, I had, however, other commun- 
 ings to look forward to, besides those in which 
 nature takes her silent yet eloquent part. I 
 loved Aha! Love Woman Vertigo De- 
 spair I beg your pardon I will be calm. I 
 loved Miss Nuttlebury. Miss Nuttlebury lived . 
 in the neighbourhood of Dartford(at a convenient 
 distance from the Powder-Mills), so in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Dartford (rather further from the 
 Powder-Mills) I determined to spend my vaca- 
 tion. I made arrangements at a certain small 
 roadside inn for my board and lodging. 
 
 I was acquainted nay, I was on friendly 
 terms with the Nuttleburys. Mr. Nuttlebury,
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 a land surveyor in a rather small way, was an 
 old friend of my father's ; so I had access to the 
 house. I had access also, as I thought, to the 
 heart of Mary, which was Miss Nuttlebury's 
 name. If I was mistaken Aha! but I am 
 again premature. You are aware, or perhaps 
 you are not aware, that my name is Oliver Crom- 
 well Shrubsole so called after the great Pro- 
 tector of British rights; the man who, or rather 
 but for whom but I am again premature, or 
 rather, I should say, on the whole the reverse. 
 
 The first days of my residence near Fordleigh, 
 the name of the village where the Nettleburys 
 dwelt, were happy in the extreme. I saw much 
 of Mary. I walked with Mary, made hay with 
 Mary, observed the moon in Mary's society, and 
 in vain sought to interest Mary in those mys- 
 terious shadows which diversify the surface of 
 that luminary. I subsequently endeavoured to 
 interest the fair girl in other matters nearer 
 home in short, in myself; and I fondly imag- 
 ined that I succeeded in doing so. 
 
 One day, when I had dropped in at the family 
 dinner-hour not from base motives, for I was 
 boarded at my inn by contract I found the fam- 
 ily conversing on a subject which caused me 
 considerable uneasiness. At the moment of my 
 arrival, Mr. Nettlebury was uttering these words : 
 
 "At what time will he be here, then?" 
 (He?) 
 
 I listened breathless, after the first salutation 
 had passed, for more ; I was not long in ascer- 
 taining that "he" was a cousin of Mary's, who 
 was coming down to spend some days at-Ford- 
 leigh, and whose arrival was anticipated by the 
 whole family with expressions of delight. The 
 younger boy and girl Nuttleburys seemed to be 
 especially rapturous at the prospect of the Beast's 
 arrival, and from this I angured ill. Altogether, 
 I felt that there was a trying scene coming ; that 
 my opportunities of converse with my soul's idol 
 would be fewer than they had been, and that 
 general discomfort and misery were about to en- 
 sue. I was right. 
 
 Oho ! I beg yonr pardon I will be calm. 
 
 The Beast, "He," arrived in the course of 
 that very afternoon, and I believe I am not 
 speaking too strongly in affirming that we " he" 
 and I hated each other cordially from the first 
 moment of our exchanging glances. He was 
 an under-hand looking beast, short of stature ; 
 such a creature as any high-souled woman should 
 have abhorred the sight of; but his prospects 
 were good, he having some small situation in the 
 Custom-house, on the strength of which, he gave 
 himself airs, as if he was a member of the gov- 
 ernment ; and when he talked of the country, 
 he spoke of it as "we." Alas! how could I 
 compete with him? What could I talk about, 
 except the fur-trade, and the best method of 
 keeping the moths under? So, having nothing 
 to talk about, I remained sulky and glum and 
 silent : a condition in which a man does not 
 usually tell to advantage in society. I felt that ' 
 I was not telling to advantage, and this made 
 me hate the beast whose disgusting name was j 
 Huffell more cordially than before. It affords ' 
 me a gloomy pleasure to think that I never once 
 lost an opportunity of contradicting him flat 
 in the course of that first evening. But, some- 
 how or other, he generally got the best of it: 
 possibly because I had contradicted him for the 
 
 sake of doing so, and without bestowing a 
 thought upon the rights or wrongs of the mat- 
 ter under discussion. But the worst of it was, 
 that it did appear to me that Mary my Mary 
 seemed to be on the side of Huffell. Her e'yes 
 would brighten or I thought so when 'he 
 triumphed. And what right had she to go and 
 fig herself out like that, in all her finery for 
 Huffell ? She never did so for me. 
 
 "This must be put a stop to, and promptly," 
 I muttered to myself, as I walked back to my 
 inn in a state of the most intense fury. And 
 to leave him there with the field all to "himself! 
 What might he not be saying of me at that mo- 
 ment ? Turning me into ridicule, perhaps ? I 
 resolved to crush him next day, or perish in the 
 attempt. 
 
 Next day I lay in wait for him, and presently 
 I thought my opportunity had come. 
 
 "WE shall have to make some change about 
 that appointment of Sir Cornelius," said Huffell, 
 "or he'll have all his family in the office in a 
 week." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' we f " I asked, with 
 ferocious emphasis. 
 
 "I mean government," he answered, coolly. 
 
 "Well but you're not government," was my 
 dignified reply. "The Custom-house, even as 
 represented by those who hold high positions 
 in it, has as little to do with governing the coun- 
 try as' can well be imagined. The higher offi- 
 cials in the Custom-house are at best rather 
 government servants than government advisers, 
 while the lower " 
 
 "Well, sir, ' the lower ?' " 
 
 "The less they try to connect themselves with 
 their betters by talking about ' we,' the better for 
 all parties." I said this in a scathing manner, 
 and feeling painfully warm in the forehead. 
 
 " Your're talking about what you don't under- 
 stand, sir," said the exciseman or the tide-wait- 
 er, or whatever he was. We're, all in the same 
 boat. Pray do you never say ' we' when talking 
 of your master's shop?" 
 
 " Master's shop, sir?" 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," said he, mocking- 
 ly, "aren't you a cashier in a fur-shop?" 
 
 Shop ! Fur-shop ! I could have seen him 
 seen him moth eaten. 
 
 "I'll tell yon what I'm not, sir," I burst out, 
 losing self-control, "I am not the man to put np 
 with the con foun ded impudence of an ob- 
 scure tide-waiter." 
 
 "Tide-waiter!" repeated the Beast, starting 
 to his feet. 
 
 "Tide-waiter," I calmly reiterated. . 
 
 At this, the whole family of the Nuttleburys, 
 who had hitherto appeared to be paralysed, in- 
 terposed, one screeching out one thing, another 
 yelling another. But they were all Mary and 
 all against me, and affirmed that I had pur- 
 posely picked a quarrel with their relation 
 which, by-the-by, I rather think I had. The un- 
 pleasantness ended in Mr. Nuttlebury's request- 
 ing me, in so many words, to withdraw. 
 
 "After what has occurred there is nothing 
 left for me, but to do so," I remarked, making 
 towards the door with much majesty; "but if 
 Mr. Huffell thinks he has heard the last of this, 
 he is a good deal mistaken. As for you, Mary," 
 I continued ; but before I could complete my 
 sentence I experienced a sensation of an elderly
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 hand in my coat-collar, and found myself in the 
 passage, with the room door closed against me. 
 I lost no time in vacating this ignominious posi- 
 tion, and seeking the open air. Presently I 
 found myself at my desk writing to Dewsnap. 
 
 Dewsnap was then my greatest friend. He 
 was, like me, in the fur business, and was a fine 
 honourable upright nohle fellow, as bold as brass, 
 and always especially sensitive about the point 
 of honour. To this friend I wrote a long ac- 
 count of all that had happened ; asking his ad- 
 vice. I mentioned at the end of my letter that 
 I was only restrained by the want of a pair of 
 pistols, from inviting this wretched being to a 
 hostile meeting. 
 
 The next day I passed in retirement, specu- 
 lating much on what Dewsnap's answer would 
 be. It was a day of heavy rain, and I had plen- 
 ty of time to mourn over my exclusion from the 
 cheerful abode of the Nuttleburys, and to reflect 
 how much better off my rival was (sunning him- 
 self in my adored one's smiles) than I, a lonely 
 exile, flattening my nose against the \\Sndow of 
 a country inn, and watching the drippings of 
 the roof-dVain as they splashed into the fast-fill- 
 ing water-butt. It is needless to say that I re- 
 tired to rest early, and that I was unable to 
 sleep. 
 
 I could sleep next morning, however, and 
 did so till a late hour. I was aroused from a 
 heavy slumber, by a loud knocking at my door, 
 and the sound of a voice which I seemed to rec- 
 ognize. 
 
 "Here, Shrubsole! Hi, Oliver! Let me in. 
 Shrubsole, what a lazy fellow you are!" 
 
 Gracious Heaven, was it possible ? Was it the 
 voice of Dewsnap? I rose, unlocked the door, 
 and jumped into bed again. 
 
 Yes, it was my friend. He entered erect, vig- 
 orous, energetic as usual, deposited a small car- 
 pet-bag near the door, and, retaining a curious- 
 looking oblong mahogany box under his arm, 
 advanced to greet me. 
 
 "What on earth do you do lying in bed at 
 this time of the day?'' said Dewsnap, grasping 
 my hand. 
 
 "I couldn't sleep till morning came, "I an- 
 swered, passing my hand athwart my brow. ' ' But 
 how did you get away?" 
 
 "Oli, I've got a few days' holiday, and am 
 come down to answer your letter in person. 
 Well ? How's this affair going on ?" 
 
 " Do not ask me," I groaned. " It has made 
 me wretched. I know no more. You don't 
 know how fond I was of that girl." 
 
 "Well, and you shall have her yet. I'm go- 
 ing to settle it all for you," said Dewsnap, con- 
 fidently. 
 
 "What do you mean to do?" I asked, with 
 some hesitation. 
 
 "Do? Why, there's only one thing to do?" 
 He rattled the queer-looking mahogany box as 
 though it contained metallic pills. 
 
 "What have you got in that box?" I asked. 
 
 "There's a pair of pistols in this box," paid 
 Dewsnap, proudly, "with either one of which 
 it would almost be a pleasure b find yourself 
 winged." 
 
 "Sir?" I observed, sitting up in bed with 
 marked displeasure. 
 
 "You mentioned your difficulty about weap- 
 ons, so I borrowed them of a friend of mine 
 
 a gunmaker and brought them down with 
 me." 
 
 "Hang him!" I thought, "how very prompt 
 he has been about it. Amazingly prompt, to 
 be sure. You think, then," I added, aloud, 
 "that there's no no other way out of the diffi- 
 culty?" 
 
 "Apology," said Dewsnap, who had now 
 opened the box, and was clicking away with the 
 lock of one of the weapons, with the muzzle di- 
 rected towards my head "ample apology on 
 the part of the other side is the only alterna- 
 tive. Written apology, in fact." 
 
 "Ah," I replied, "I don't think the otherside 
 will agree to that." 
 
 "Then," said my friend, extending his pistol, 
 and aiming at a portrait of the Marquis of Gran- 
 by hanging over the fireplace: "then we must 
 put a bullet into the exciseman." 
 
 (And suppose the exciseman puts a bullet 
 into me, I thought to myself. So erratic is 
 thought !) 
 
 "Where does the exciseman live ?" inquired 
 my friend, putting on his hat. "There is not 
 a moment to be lost in these cases." 
 
 "Wait till I'm dressed," I remonstrated, " and 
 I'll show you. Or you can go after breakfast." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. The people down stairs will 
 tell me where to find him. Nuttleburys, I think 
 you said? I'll be there and back by the time 
 you're ready for breakfast." 
 
 He was out of the room almost before he had 
 done speaking, and I was left to make my toilet 
 and improve my appetite for breakfast with the 
 reflection that the number of such meals in storej 
 for me was, perhaps, more limited than I could 
 have wished. Perhaps I a little regretted having 
 put the affair into the hands of my energetic- 
 friend. So erratic (I may again remark) is hu- 
 man thought ! 
 
 I waited some time for my friend, but was 
 obliged at last to begin breakfast without him. 
 As the meal was approaching its termination, I 
 saw him pass the window of the little parlour in 
 which I took my meals, and immediately after- 
 wards he entered the room. 
 
 " Well," he said, sitting down at the table and 
 commencing a vigorous attack on the eatables, 
 " it is as I expected. We are driven to extrem- 
 ities." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" I asked. 
 
 "I mean, "remarked Dewsnap, chipping away 
 at his egg, " that the other side declines to 
 apologise, and that consequently the other side 
 must be bowled down ; shot." 
 
 "Oh dear me," I said relenting, Major, re- 
 lenting "I shouldn't like to do that." 
 
 " You wouldn't like to do that ? May I ask, 
 Mr. Shrubsole, what you mean by that remark?" 
 
 "I mean that,, that is there no other way 
 out of it?" 
 
 "Now look here, Shrubsole," said my com- 
 panion, with a severe air, and suspending for a 
 moment his attack on the breakfast ; "you have 
 put this affair in my hands, and you must allow 
 me to carry it through, according to the laws 
 of honour. It is extremely painful to me to be 
 engaged in such an affair" (I couldn't help 
 thinking that he seemed rather to enjoy it), 
 "but, being engaged in it, I shall go through 
 with it to the end. Come! We'll get these 
 things cleared away, and then you shall sit down
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 and \vrite a formal challenge, which I will un- 
 dertake to deliver in the proper quarter.'' 
 
 Dewsnap was too much for me. He seemed 
 to have all the right phrases at his tongue's end ; 
 he was so tremendously well-informed as to what 
 was the right thing to do, and the right thing 
 to say when conducting an affair of this kind, 
 that I could not help asking him whether he 
 had ever been engaged in one before ? 
 
 "No," he said, "no: but I believe I have a 
 sort of aptitude for the kind of thing. Indeed, 
 I have always felt that I should be in my element 
 in arranging the details of an affair of honour." 
 
 4 ' How you would enjoy being a principal in- 
 stead of a second !" I said rather maliciously; 
 for Dewsnap's alacrity aggravated me. 
 
 "No, not a bit, my dear fellow. I take such 
 an interest in this affair that I identify myself 
 with you entirely, and quite feel as if I was a 
 principal." 
 
 (Then you feel a very curious sensation about 
 the pit of "the stomach, my boy, I thought to my- 
 self. I did not however give the thought ex- 
 pression. I merely mention it as an instance of 
 the erratic nature of thought.) 
 
 "By-the-by," remarked Dewsnap, as he pock- 
 eted my challenge and prepared to depart, " I 
 forgot to mention that one or two fellows of our 
 acquaintance are coming down." 
 
 "One or two fellows?" I repeated, in a high- 
 ly displeased, nay, crushing tone. 
 
 "Yes, Cripps is coming, and Fowler, and per- 
 haps Kershaw, if he can get away. We were 
 talking your affair over, the evening before I 
 left, and they were all so much interested in it 
 for I predicted from the first that there must 
 lie a meeting that they're all coining down to 
 see you through it." 
 
 How I cursed my own folly in having entrust- 
 ed the keeping of my honour to this dreadfully 
 zealous friend of mine ! I thought, as lie march- 
 ed off erect and fussy with that wretched chal- 
 lenge in his pocket, that there was something 
 positively bloodthirsty about the man. And 
 then those other fellows coming down for the 
 express purpose of seeing somebody shot ! For 
 that was their purpose, I felt. I fully believed 
 that, if by any fortunate chance there should be 
 no blood shed, those so-called friends of mine 
 would go away disgusted. 
 
 The train of reflection into which I had fallen 
 was interrupted at this juncture, by the appear- 
 ance outside the window, of three human fig- 
 ures. These turned out, on inspection, to be 
 no other than the individuals whose taste for 
 excitement I had been condemning so strongly 
 in my own mind. There they were, Messrs. 
 Cripps, Fowler, and Kershaw, grinning and ges- 
 ticulating at me through the window, like vul- 
 gar unfeeling idiots as they were. And one of 
 them (I think it was Cripps) had the brutality 
 to put himself into the attitude supposed to be 
 the correct one for a duellist, wiih his left hand 
 behind his back, and his right raised as if to dis- 
 charge an imaginary pistol. 
 
 They were in the room with me directly, large, 
 noisy, and vulgar, laughing and guffawing 
 making comments on my appearance, asking me 
 if I had made my will, what I had left to each 
 of them, and otherwise conducting themselves 
 in a manner calculated to turn one's milk of 
 human kindness to bitterest gall. How they 
 
 enjoyed it ! "When they learned that Dewsnap 
 was actually at that time away on a war mission, 
 and that he might return at any moment with 
 the fatal answer I say when they heard that, 
 they positively gloated over me. They sat down 
 and stared at me, and even' now and then one 
 of them would say, with a low, chuckling gig- 
 gle, "I say, old fellow! How do feel about it 
 now?" It was a hideous relief to me when 
 Dewsnap returned with the baleful news that 
 the challenge was accepted, and that the meet- 
 ing was appointed for the next morning at eight 
 o'clock. 
 
 Those ruffians enjoyed themselves that after- 
 noon to the utmost. They had such a pleasure 
 in store for next day, that it gave an added zest 
 to everything they did. It sharpened their ap- 
 petites, it stimulated their thirst, it imparted to 
 the skittles with which they amused themselves 
 during the afternoon, an additional charm. The 
 evening was devoted to conviviality. Dewsnap, 
 after spending some time in oiling the triggers 
 of the pistols, remarked that now they were in 
 such prime condition, that they would "snap a 
 fellow's head off, almost without his knowing 
 it." This inhuman remark was made at the 
 moment when we were separating for the night. 
 
 I passed the greater part of the dark hours in 
 writing letters of farewell to my relations and in 
 composing a stinger for Miss Mary Nuttlebury, 
 which I trusted would embitter the whole of her 
 future life. Then I threw myself on my bed 
 which was not wholly devoid of knobs and 
 found for a few hours the oblivion I desired. 
 
 We were first on the ground. Indeed, it was 
 necessary that we should be, as those three fero- 
 cious Anabaptists, Cripps, Fowler, and Kershaw, 
 had to be stowed away in places of concealment 
 whence they could see without being seen ; but 
 even when this stowage had been accomplished 
 and the fatal hour had arrived, we were still 
 kept waiting so long that a faint hope misgiv- 
 ing, I meant to say began to dawn in my heart 
 that my adversary had been seized with a sud- 
 den panic, and had fled at flie last moment, leav- 
 ing me master of the situation, with a bloodless 
 victory. 
 
 The sound of voices, and of laughter laughter 
 reached me while I was musing on the pros- 
 pect of an honourable escape from my perilous 
 position. In another moment my antagonist, 
 still talking and laughing with some one who 
 closely followed him, jumped over a stile at the 
 side of the field in which we awaited him. 
 Grinning in the most impudent manner, my an- 
 tagonist inquired of his second, who was the vil- 
 laga apothecary's assistant, whether he was a 
 good hand at patching up bullet wounds ? 
 
 It was at this moment that an incident oc- 
 curred which caused a small delay in our pro- 
 ceedings. One of the Anabaptists Cripps 
 had, with a view to concealment, and also per- 
 Tiaps with a view to keeping out of harm's way, 
 perched himself in a tree which commanded a 
 good view of the field of action ; but not having 
 used sufficient caution in the choice of his posi- 
 tion, he had trusted his weight to a bough which 
 proved unequal to the task of sustaining it. Con- 
 sequently it happened that just as the seconds 
 were beginning their preliminary arrangements, 
 and during an awful pause, the unlucky Cripps 
 came plunging and crashing to the ground, where
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 he remained seated at the foot of the tree in a 
 state of undignified ruin and prostration. 
 
 After this there was a prodigious row and confu- 
 sion. My opponent having thus discovered that 
 there was one person observing our proceedings 
 from a place of concealment, concluded natu- 
 rally enough that there might be others. Ac- 
 cordingly a search was promptly instituted, which 
 ended in the unearthing of my two other friends, 
 who were obliged to emerge from their hiding- 
 places in a very humiliated and crestfallen con- 
 dition. My adversary would not hear of fight- 
 ing a duel in the presence of so large an audi- 
 ence, and so it ended in the three brutal Ana- 
 baptists being very much to my satisfaction 
 expelled from the field. The appearance they 
 presented as they retired along the pathway in 
 Indian file, was the most abject thing I have 
 ever beheld. 
 
 This little business disposed of, there remained 
 the great affair of the day to settle, and it took 
 a great deal of settlement. There were diver- 
 sities of opinions about every detail connected 
 with the murderous operations. There were dis- 
 putes about the number of paces which should 
 separate the combatants, about the length of 
 those paces, about the proper method of loading 
 pistols, about the best way of giving the signal 
 to fire about every thing. But what disgusted 
 me most, was the levity displayed by my oppo- 
 nent, who seemed to think the whole thing a 
 capital joke, sneering and sniggering at every 
 thing that was done or said. Does the man bear 
 a charmed life, I asked myself, that he behaves with 
 such sickening flippancy when about to risk it? 
 
 At last all these endless preliminaries were 
 settled, and Mr. Huffell and I remained staring 
 defiance at each other with a distance of only 
 twelve paces between us. The beast was grin- 
 ning even now, and when he was asked for the 
 last time whether he was prepared to make an 
 apology, he absolutely laughed. 
 
 It had been arranged that one of the seconds, 
 Iluffjll's as it happened, should count one, two, 
 three, and that at the word "three" we should 
 both fire (if we could) at the same moment. 
 My heart felt so tight at about this period, that 
 I fancied it must have contracted to half its usual 
 size, and I had a sensation of being light on my 
 legs, and inordinately tall, such as one has after 
 having had a fever. 
 
 "One!" said the apothecary, and the mono- 
 svllable was followed by quite a long pause. 
 * "Two!" 
 
 "Stop!" cried a voice, which I recognized as 
 the voice of my adversary, "I have something 
 to say." 
 
 I whisked myself round in a moment, and saw 
 that Mr. Huffell had thrown his weapon down 
 on the ground, and had left the position which 
 had been assigned to him. 
 
 "What have you to say, sir?" asked the in- 
 exorable Dewsnap, in a severe tone ; " whatever 
 it is, you have chosen a most extraordinary mo- 
 ment to say it in." 
 
 " I have changed my mind," said Mr. Huffell, 
 in a lachrymose tone; "I think that duelling is 
 sinful, and I consent to apologise." 
 
 Astounded as I was at this announcement, I 
 had yet leisure to observe that the apothecary 
 did not look in the least surprised at what had 
 happened. 
 
 "You consent to apologise ?" asked Dewsnap, 
 " to resign all claim to the lady, to express your 
 deep contrition for the insolent expressions you 
 have made use of towards my friend?" 
 
 "I consent," was the reply. 
 
 ' We must have it all down in writing, mind !" 
 stipulated my uncompromising friend. 
 
 "You shall have it all down in writing," said 
 the contrite one. 
 
 ' Well, this i.s a most extraordinary and un- 
 satisfactory sort of thing," said Dewsnap, turn- 
 ing to me. "What are we to do ?" 
 
 "It is unsatisfactory, but I suppose we must 
 accept his apology," I answered, in a leisurely 
 and nonchalant manner. My heart expanded 
 at about this period. 
 
 "Has anybody got writing materials about 
 him by chance ?" asked my second, in a not very 
 conciliatory tone. 
 
 Yes, the apothecary had, and he whipped them 
 out in a moment a note-book of unusual size, 
 and an indelible ink-pencil. 
 
 An apology of the most humble and abject 
 kind was now dictated by my friend Dewsnap, 
 and written down by the crushed and conquered 
 Huffell. When he had affixed his signature to 
 the document, it exactly filled one leaf of the 
 apothecary's memorandum-book. The leaf was 
 torn out and handed to my representative. At 
 that moment the sound of the village-clock strik- 
 ing nine reached us from the distant church. 
 
 Mr. Huffell started as if the day were more 
 advanced than he anticipated. 
 
 "I believe that the document is regular?" ho 
 asked. "If so, there is nothing to detain us in 
 a spot henceforth replete with painful associa- 
 tions. Gentlemen both, good morning." 
 
 "Good morning, sir," said Dewsnap, sharp- 
 ly ; "and allow me to add, that you have reason 
 to consider yourself an uncommonly lucky young 
 man." 
 
 "I do so consider myself, I assure you," re- 
 torted the servile wretch. 
 
 With that, he took his leave and disappeared 
 over the stile, closely followed by his companion. 
 Again I thought I heard this precious pair ex- 
 plode into fits of laughter as soon as they were 
 on the other side of the hedge. 
 
 Dewsnap looked at me, and I looked at Dew- 
 snap, but we could make nothing of it. It was 
 the most inexplicable thing that the man should 
 have gone so far, should have had his finger on 
 the trigger of his pistol, should have waited till 
 the very signal to fire was on the lips of his sec- 
 ond, and should then have broken down in that 
 lamentable manner. It really was, as my friend 
 and I agreed, the most disgraceful piece of cow- 
 ardice of which we had ever had experience. 
 Another point on which we were agreed, was, 
 that our side had come out of this affair with 
 an amount of honour and glory, such as is rare- 
 ly achieved by the sons of men in this practical 
 and tin-romantic age. 
 
 And now behold the victor and his friends, 
 asseir.bled round the small clining-table at the 
 George and Dragon, and celebrating their tri- 
 umph by a breakfast ! in preparing which all the 
 resources of the establishment were brought into 
 play. 
 
 It was a solemn occasion. The moment, I 
 acknowledge, was to me a glorious one. My 
 friends, naturally proud of their associate, and
 
 44 
 
 MRS. LIRRIFER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 anxious to commemorate in some fitting manner 
 the event of the morning, had invited me to this 
 meal to be provided at their own expense. These 
 dear fellows were no longer my guests. I was 
 theirs. Dewsnap was in the chair it was of the 
 Windsor pattern I was placed on his right : 
 while at the other end of the table, which was 
 not very far off, another Windsor chair sup- 
 ported the person of Mr. Crip] s, the vice. The 
 viands set before us were of the most recherche 
 description, and when these had been done full 
 justice to, and the chair had called for a bottle 
 of champagne, our hilarity began almost to 
 verge on the boisterous. My own mirth, in- 
 deed, was chastened by one pervading thought, 
 of which I never for a moment lost sight. Had 
 I not a secret joy which champagne could neither 
 increase nor diminish ? Had not my rival form- 
 ally abdicated, and was I not that very day to 
 appear in the presence of Mary Nuttlebury as 
 one who had risked his life for her sake ? Yes. 
 I waited impatiently for the hour when these 
 good fellows should take their departure, de- 
 termining that, the moment they were gone, I 
 would take possession of the field ingloriously 
 vacated by my rival, and would enjoy the fruits 
 of my victory. I was aroused from these reflec- 
 tions by the voice of my friend Dewsnap. It 
 was, however, no longer the familiar acquaint- 
 ance who spoke, but the official chairman. 
 
 Mr. Dewsnap began by remarking that we 
 were met together on an occasion and under 
 circumstances, of a very peculiar he might al- 
 most say of an anomalous nature. To begin 
 with, here was a social meeting nay, a conviv- 
 ial meeting, taking place at ten o'clock in the 
 forenoon. That was the first anomaly. And 
 for what was that meeting convened? TO com- 
 memorate an act belonging to a class of achieve- 
 ments usually associated with a bygone age, 
 rather than with that in which an inexorable 
 Destiny had cast the lots of the present genera- 
 tion. Here was the second anomaly. Yes, these 
 were anomalies, but anomalies of what a delight- 
 ful kind ! Would there were more such ! It 
 was Mr. Dewsnap went on to say the fashion 
 of the day to decry the practice of duelling, but 
 he, for his part, had always felt that circum- 
 stances might occur in the course of any man's 
 career which would render an appeal to arms 
 desirable nay, to one who was sensitive on the 
 point of honour, inevitable and he therefore 
 thought it highly important that the practice of 
 duelling should not wholly fall into desuetude, 
 but should be occasionally revived, as it had 
 been on on in short, the present occasion. 
 
 At this moment, curiously enough, a faint 
 cheer was heard in the distance. It came, doubt- 
 less, from the throats of some of the village-boys, 
 and presently subsided. It was enough, how- 
 ever, to deprive our worthy chair of the thread 
 of his eloquence, so that he was compelled to 
 start again on a new tack. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Mr. Dewsnap, "I must 
 throw myself on your indulgence if my words 
 fail to flow as freely as I could wish. I am, to 
 begin with, gentlemen, powerfully moved, and 
 that alone is enough to deprive me of any small 
 amount of eloquence of which I may at other 
 times be possessed. Likewise, I must frankly 
 own that I am unaccustomed to public speak- 
 ing at ten o'clock in the morning, and that the 
 
 day-light puts me out. And yet," continued the 
 chair, "I do not know why this should be so. 
 Do not wedding-breakfasts take place by day- 
 light ? And are not speeches made on those oc- 
 casions? And, after all, why should we not look 
 upon this very meal as, to "a certain extent, a 
 wedding-breakfast? You seem surprised, gen- 
 tlemen, at this inquiry, but I will ask you wheth- 
 er the event we are met together to celebrate 
 the event of this morning has not been the first 
 act of a drama which we all hope will terminate 
 in a wedding the wedding of our noble and 
 courageous friend ?" 
 
 It was a curious thing that, just when our 
 chairman had got as far as this in his speech, 
 the cheering we had heard before was repeated ; 
 though now much more loudly. It was also a 
 curious thing that the bells of the village church, 
 which was not very far off, began to ring a merry 
 peal. There might not be much to concern us, 
 in this, but still it was curious. The attention 
 of Mr. Dewsnap's audience began to wander, 
 and their glances were, from time to time, di- 
 rected towards the window. Mr. Dewsnap's 
 own attention began also to wander, and the 
 thread of his discourse seemed once more to elude 
 his grasp: 
 
 "Gentlemen," he began again, resolved, like 
 a true orator as he was, to avail himself of acci- 
 dent, "I was remarking that this festive meal 
 was, in some sort and by a figure of speech, a 
 kind of wedding-breakfast, and while the words 
 were yet upon my lips, behold the bells of the 
 village church break out into a joyous peal ! 
 Gentlemen, there is something almost supernat- 
 ural about this. It is a happy augury, and as 
 such I accept it." 
 
 The bells were becoming quite frantic now, 
 and the entering was louder. 
 
 "And as suchl accept it !" repeated Mr. Dews- 
 nap. " Gentlemen, I should not be surprised if 
 this were an ovation offered to our noble and 
 courageous friend. The villagers have heard of 
 his noble and courageous conduct, and are ap- 
 proaching the inn to offer their humble congrat- 
 ulations." 
 
 It was quite certain that the villagers were 
 approaching the inn, for the sound of their 
 voices became every moment louder and louder. 
 We all began to be restless under our chairman's 
 eloquence, and when nt length the sound of 
 wheels rapidly approaching was added to the 
 cheering and the bell-ringing, I could bear it no 
 longer, and rushed hastily to the window, fol- 
 lowed by everybody else in the room, the chair 
 himself included. 
 
 A carnage and pair drove swiftly past the 
 window. Major, I sicken while I speak. There 
 was a postilion on the near horse, and on that 
 postilion's jacket was a Oho! Excuse me, I 
 beg a wedding-favour. It was an open car- 
 riage, and in it were seated two persons ; one, 
 was the gentleman, who had made me that hum- 
 ble apology not much more than an hour ago ; 
 the other, was Mary Nuttlebury, now, if I were to 
 believe the evidence of my senses, Mary Huffell. 
 They both laughed when they saw me at the 
 window, and kissed their hands to me as they 
 whirled away. 
 
 I became as one frantic. I pushed my friends, 
 who in vain sought to restrain me, on one side. 
 I rushed out into the village street. I veiled
 
 " SOUTHBW IREGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 MRS. LIRRi: 
 
 after the carriage. I gesticulated at the carria 
 I ran after the carriage. But to what purjios 
 It was over. The thing was done. I had to 
 return to the inn, the laughing-stock of the rude 
 and ignorant populace. 
 
 I know no more. I don't know what became 
 of me, how my bill at the inn was defrayed, how 
 I got away. I only know that I am finally, 
 hopelessly, and irretrievably under a cloud ; 
 that all my old companions, and my old habits 
 have become odious to me ; and that even the 
 very lodgings in which I formerly resided were 
 so unbearable, owing to the furniture being im- 
 pregnated with painful associations, that I was 
 obliged to remove and take up my quarters else- 
 where. This, sir, is how I came to occupy these 
 rooms, and I may here mention if indeed the 
 testimonial of a blighted wretch is of any value 
 that I have no cause to regret my change of 
 abode, and that I regard Mrs. Lirriper as a 
 most unexeeptionable person, laboring indeed, 
 as far as I can see, under only one defect. 
 She is A WOMAN. 
 
 VII. 
 
 HOW THE PARLOURS ADDED A FEW WORDS. 
 
 I HAVE the honour of presenting myself by 
 the name of Jackman. I esteem it a proud 
 privilege to go down to posterity through the 
 instrumentality of the most remarkable boy that 
 ever lived by the name of JESIMY JACKMAN 
 LIRRIPER and of my m >st worthy and most 
 highly respected friend, Mrs. Emma Lirriper, of 
 Eighty-one, Norfolk-street, Strand, in the Coun- 
 ty of Middlesex, in the United Kingdom of Great 
 Britain and Ireland. 
 
 It is not for me to express the rapture with 
 which we received that dear and eminently 
 remarkable boy, on the occurrence of his first 
 Christmas holidays. Suffice it to observe that 
 when he came flying into the house with two 
 splendid prizes (Arithmetic, and Exemplary 
 Conduct), Mrs. Lirriper and myself embraced 
 with emotion, and instantly took him to the 
 Play, where we were all three admirably enter- 
 tained. 
 
 Nor, is it to render homage to the virtues of 
 the best of her good and honoured sex whom, 
 in deference to her unassuming worth, I will 
 only here designate by the initials E. L. that 
 I add this record to the bundle of papers with 
 which our, in a most distinguished degree, re- 
 markable boy has expressed himself delighted, 
 before re-consigning the same to the left-hand 
 glass closet of Mrs. Lirriper's little bookcase. 
 
 Neither, is it to obtrude the name of the old 
 originalsuperannuated obscure Jemmy Jackman, 
 once (to his degradation) of Wozenham's, long 
 (to his elevation) of Lirriper's. If I could be 
 consciously guilty of that piece of bad taste, it 
 would indeed be a work of supererogation, now 
 that the name is borne by JEMMY JACKMAX LIR- 
 RIPER. 
 
 No. I take up my humble pen to register a 
 little record of our strikingly remarkable boy, 
 which my poor capacity regards as presenting a 
 pleasant little picture of the dear boy's mind. 
 The picture may be interesting to himself when 
 he is a man. 
 
 45 
 
 659 895 Jscd to- 
 
 gether. Jemmy was never silent tor five min- 
 utes, except in church-time. He talked as we 
 sat by the fire, he talked when we were out 
 walking, he talked as we sat by the fire again, 
 he talked incessantly at dinner, though he made 
 a dinner almost as remarkable as himself. It 
 was the spring of happiness in his fresh young 
 heart flowing and flowing, and it fertilised (if I 
 may be allowed so bold a figure) my much-es- 
 teemed friend, and J J the present writer. 
 
 There were only we three. We dined in my 
 esteemed friend's little room, and our entertain- 
 ment was perfect. But everything in the es- 
 tablishment is, in neatness, order, and comfort, 
 always perfect. After dinner, our boy slipt away 
 to his old stool at my esteemed friend's knee, 
 and there, with his hot chesnuts and his glass 
 of brown sherry (really, a most excellent wine !) 
 on a chair for a table, his face outshone the ap- 
 ples in the dish. 
 
 We talked of these jottings of mine, which 
 Jemmy had read through and through by that 
 time ; and so it came about that my esteemed 
 friend remarked, as she sat smoothing Jemmy's 
 curls : 
 
 " And as you belong to the house too Jem- 
 my, and so much more than the Lodgers, hav- 
 ing been born in it why, your story ought to 
 be added to the rest, I think, one of these days." 
 
 Jemmy's eyes sparkled at this, and he said, 
 "So /think,' Gran." 
 
 Then, he sat looking at the fire, and then he 
 began to laugh, in a sort of confidence with the 
 fire, and then he said, folding his arms across 
 my esteemed friend's lap and raising his bright 
 face to hers : 
 
 ' Would you like to hear a boy's story, Gran ?" 
 
 ' Of all things," replied my esteemed friend. 
 
 ' Would you, godfather ?" 
 
 ' Of all things," I too replied. 
 
 ' Well then," said Jemmy, "I'll tell you one." 
 
 Here, our indisputably remarkable boy gave 
 himself a hug, and laughed again, musically, at 
 the idea of his coming out in that new line. 
 Then, he once more took the fire into the same 
 sort of confidence as before, and began : 
 
 "Once upon a time, When pigs drank wine, 
 And monkeys chewed tobaccer, 'Twas neither 
 in your time nor mine, But that's no mack- 
 er " 
 
 " Bless the child !" cried my esteemed friend, 
 "what's amiss with his brain!' 1 
 
 "It's poetry, Gran," returned Jemmy, shout- 
 ing with laughter. "We always begin stories 
 that way, at school." 
 
 " Gave me quite a turn, Major," said my es- 
 teemed friend, fanning herself with a plate. 
 " Thought he was light-headed !" 
 
 "In those remarkable times, Gran and God- 
 father, there was once a boy ; not me, you 
 know." 
 
 "No, no," says my respected friend, "not 
 you. Not him, Major, you understand?" 
 
 "No, no," says I. 
 
 "And he went to school in Rutlandshire " 
 
 "Why not Lincolnshire?" says my respected 
 friend. 
 
 ' ' Why not, yon dear old Gran ? Because 1 
 go to school in Lincolnshire, don't I?" 
 
 "Ah ! to be sure !" says my respected friend.
 
 46 
 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 "And it's not Jemmy, you understand, Ma- 
 jor?" 
 
 ",No, no," says I. 
 
 " Well !" our "boy proceeded, hugging himself 
 comfortably, and laughing merrily (again in con- 
 fidence with the fire), before he again looked up 
 in Mrs. Lirriper's face, "and so he was tremen- 
 dously in love with his schoolmaster's daughter, 
 and she was the most beautiful creature that 
 ever was seen, and she had brown eyes, and she 
 had brown hair all curling beautifully, and she 
 had a delicious voice, and she was delicious al- 
 together, and her name was Seraphiua." 
 
 "What's the name of your schoolmaster's 
 daughter, Jemmy ?" asks my respected friend. 
 
 "Polly!" replied Jemmy, pointing his fore- 
 finger at her. "There now! Caught you! 
 Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 When he and my respected friend had had a 
 laugh and a hug together, our admittedly re- 
 markable boy resumed with a great relish : 
 
 "Well! And so he loved her. And so he 
 thought about her, and dreamed about her, and 
 made her presents of oranges and nuts, and 
 would have made her presents of pearls and 
 diamonds if he could have afforded it out of his 
 pocket-money, but he couldn't. And so her fa- 
 ther O, he WAS a Tartar ! Keeping the boys 
 up to the mark, holding examinations once a 
 month, lecturing upon all sorts of subjects at all 
 sorts of times, and knowing everything in the 
 world out of book. And so this boy " 
 
 "Had he any name?" asks my respected 
 
 e t 
 
 mend. 
 
 "Xo he hadn't, Gran. Ha! ha! There 
 now ! Caught you again !" 
 
 After this, they had another laugh and an- 
 other hug, and then our boy went on. 
 
 " Well ! And so this boy he had a friend 
 about as old as himself, at the same school, and 
 his name (for He had a name, as it happened) 
 was let me remember was Bobbo." 
 
 "Not Bob," says my respected friend. 
 
 " Of course not," says Jemmy. " What made 
 yon think it was, Gran ? Well ! And so this 
 friend was the cleverest and bravest and best 
 looking and most generous of all the friends that 
 ever were, and so he was in love with Seraphina's 
 sister, and so Seraphina's sister was in love with 
 hhn, and so they all grew up." 
 
 ' ' Bless us !" says my respected friend. ' 'They 
 were very sudden about it." 
 
 "So they all grew up," our boy repeated, 
 laughing heartily, "and Bobbo and this boy went 
 away together on horseback to seek their for- 
 tunes, and they partly got their horses by favour, 
 and partly in a bargain ; that is to say, they had 
 saved up between them seven-and-fourpence, and 
 the two horses, being Arabs, were worth more, 
 only the man said he would take that, to favour 
 them. Well ! And so they made their fortunes, 
 and came prancing back to the school, with their 
 pockets full of gold enough to last for ever. And 
 so they rajig at the parents' and visitors' bell 
 (not the back gate), and when the bell was an- 
 swered they proclaimed, ' The same as if it was 
 scarlet fever ! Every boy goes home for an in- 
 definite period!' And then there was great 
 
 hurrahing, and then they kissed Seraphina and 
 her sister each his own love and not the other's 
 on any account and then they ordered the Tar- 
 tar into instant confinement." 
 
 "Poor man!" said my respected friend. 
 
 "Into instant confinement, Gran," repeated 
 Jemmy, trying to look severe and roaring with 
 laughter, "and he was to have nothing to eat 
 but the boys' dinners, and was to drink half a 
 cask of their beer, every day. And so then the 
 preparations were made for the two weddings, 
 and there were hampers, and potted things, and 
 sweet things, and nuts, and postage-stamps, and 
 all manner of things. And so they were so 
 jolly, that they let the Tartar out, and he was 
 jolly too." 
 
 "I am glad they let him out," says my re- 
 spected friend, "because he had only done his 
 duty." 
 
 " Oh but hadn't he overdone it though !" cried 
 Jemmy. " Well ! And so then this boy mount- 
 ed his horse, with his bridle in his arms, and 
 cantered away, and cantered on and on till he 
 came to a certain place where he'had a certain 
 Gran and a certain godfather not you two, you 
 know." 
 
 "No, no," we both said. 
 
 " And there he was received with great re- 
 joicings, and he filled the cupboard and the 
 bookcase with gold, and he showered it out on 
 his Gran and his godfather because they were 
 the two kindest and dearest people that ever 
 lived in this world. And so while they were 
 sitting up to their knees in gold, a knocking was 
 heard at the street door, and who should it be 
 but Bobbo, also on horseback with his bride in 
 his arms, and what had he come to say but that 
 he would take (at double rent) all the Lodgings 
 for over, that were not wanted by this boy and 
 this Gran and this godfather, and that they 
 would all live together, and all be happy ! And 
 so they were, and so it never ended !" 
 
 "And was there no quarrelling?" asked my 
 respected friend, as Jemmy sat upon her lap, and 
 hugged her. 
 
 'No! Nobody ever quarrelled." 
 'And did the money never melt away?" 
 'No ! Nobody could ever spend it all." 
 ' And did none of them ever grow older?" 
 'No! Nobody ever grew older after that." 
 'And did none of them ever die ?" 
 ' O no, no, no, Gran ! " exclaimed our dear 
 boy, laying his cheek upon her breast, and 
 drawing her closer to him.- "Nobody ever 
 died." 
 
 "Ah Major, Major," says my respected friend, 
 smiling benignly upon me. "This beats our 
 stories. Let us end with the Boy's story, Ma- 
 jor, for the Boy's story is the best that is ever 
 told!" 
 
 In submission to which request on the part of 
 the best of women, I have here noted it down as 
 faithfully as my best abilities, coupled with my 
 best intentions, would admit, subscribing it with 
 my name, 
 
 J. JACKMAN. 
 
 THE PARLOURS. 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS. 
 
 THE END.
 
 Dec., 1863. 
 
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 University 
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