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 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 

 
 '
 
 HARRY VANES INTERVIEW WITH WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 Page 159.
 
 WILLIAM ALLAIR 
 
 OK, 
 
 RUNNING AWAY To SKA. 
 
 MRS HENRY WOOD, 
 
 Al limn OP "BAST I.YNNK." "THE CHANHINGS," II' , ETC. 
 
 FRONT.l.?riEi"E FROM A DRAWING BY F. GILBERT. 
 
 LONDON: 
 GRIFFITH AND FA R R A N, 
 
 (SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS . 
 CORNER OF ST PAUL'S CHURCHTARD. 
 MDCCCLXIV.
 
 MURRAY A.\'I> Gir.l',, PRINTERS, EDI5EUROH.
 
 I 
 
 4 
 
 PR. 
 
 SZ>4x. 
 
 C i) X TE N T 8. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE TWENTY-NINTH OF MAY, 
 
 Tage 
 5 
 
 THE SHOW, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 17 
 
 HARRY VANE, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 33 
 
 EMPTY TARTS, . 
 
 PUNISHMENT, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 45 
 
 57 
 
 RESULTS, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 66 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 MR GRUFF JONES NEXT, 
 
 to 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE OFFICIAL LETTER, 
 
 82 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE MIDDY IN EMBRYO, 
 
 92 
 
 
 53807
 
 iv . ONTENTS 
 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 AN ILL-OMENED RESOLVE, ..... 102 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A I. \i'i. wmi A GIG, . . . . .110 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 MB GBUFF JUNES AGAIN, . . . . .11!) 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 AWAKING FROM THE DELUSION, . . . .126 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 A TASTE 0] THE SEA, . . . . .133 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 THE OPEN BOAT AT SEA, ..... 147 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE MEETING IX CALCUTTA, .... 155 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 HOT WORK, ....... 167 
 
 ( HAPTER XVIII. 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, . . . . .176 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 DYING EN THE FIELD HOSPITAL, . . . .186
 
 WILLIAM ALLAIE: 
 
 OK, 
 
 RUNNING AWAY TO SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HIE TWENTY- NIMH UK MAY. 
 
 I like writing for buys, and I am going to tell them a 
 story of real life. I hope all those who are especially 
 inclined to be scapegraces will learn it by heart. 
 
 Never was there a pleasanter village than that of 
 Whittermead, situated in a charming nook of old Eng- 
 land. It had its colony of gentlemen's houses, its 
 clustering cottages, its farm homesteads. An aristo- 
 cratic village it was pleased to call itself, and a loyal 
 village, too; which was the cause, possibly, why sundry 
 old-fashioned customs, that had become obsolete in most 
 places, reigned there still in triumph. Its enemies 
 were apt to ridicule the place, and reproach it as being, 
 in reference to the world in general, " a day behind 
 the fair." 
 
 Two days in the year were kept as public holidays, 
 and Whittermead, in its ultra loyalty, prided itself upon 
 the fact. The days were the twenty-ninth of May. and 
 
 A
 
 fi WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 the fifth of November. Had the show on the one day, 
 and the Guy Fawkeses and fireworks on the other, been 
 done away with, the boys would have broken out into 
 open rebellion ; more particularly, the scholars of Dr 
 Eobertsonf school, a semi-public school of renown in 
 the county. It is with the twenty-ninth of May that 
 Ave have to do ; but not a very recent one ; I am tell- 
 ing you of years ago. 
 
 In the heart of the town there stood a white, de- 
 tached house. It was inhabited by a gentleman of the 
 name of Allair ; a solicitor of good practice for a small 
 local place. His eldest son, "William, gives the title to 
 this book. 
 
 On the morning spoken of, the church bells rang out 
 a merry peal, heralding in the holiday ; so early, that 
 few people were awake to hear them. Their sound 
 aroused many, — amongst others, "William Allair. He 
 started from his pillow, a good-looking, fair boy of 
 fifteen, and stared around him. 
 
 "The bells already!" cried he, winking and blinking 
 his blue eyes between sleep and wake. " And — if I 
 don't believe it's a fine morning ! " 
 
 Taking a flying leap from his bed, lie pulled aside the 
 window, curtain, and the glorious beauty of a bright 
 morning burst upon his delighted view — all the more 
 beautiful from its contrast to many preceding days. 
 The weather had been dull and gloomy up to the very 
 Last night, and bets wire pending that the twenty-ninth 
 would be the same. Boys ought not to bet; but they 
 do: and I see no use to ignore the fact, when writing 
 of them. It was a lovely landscape thai met William's 
 sight, as he Looked forth ; for this house of Mr Allair,
 
 THE TWENTY-NINTH OF MAY. 7 
 
 built on a gentle eminence, commanded a view of the 
 surrounding country. The blue sky, dark and serene, 
 was without a cloud ; the grass, fresh with the bright 
 green of spring, glittered with dew drops ; the hedges 
 were gay with the white and pink-flowering May ; the 
 early birds were singing sweetly; and the many coloured 
 flowers were opening to the morning sun. William 
 Allair took it all in with greedy eyes, with a rapt move- 
 ment of half-disbelieving delight. 
 
 " What a stupid I was, not to take Jenniker's bet 
 that the day Avould be a bad one ! " 
 
 He glanced at his watch, and found that it had 
 stopped. In his flurry of anticipation the night before, 
 he had forgotten to wind it up. Perhaps it was already 
 late ! Bursting out of the room with dismay at the 
 thought, en chemise-de-nuit, as he was, he sprang across 
 the corridor, and drummed sharply on the opposite door. 
 
 " Who's there ? What is it V" cried a drowsy voice 
 from the inside — that of his sister Alice. 
 
 He opened the door, and thrust in his head. " Now, 
 vou girls ! Are you going to sleep all day ? I knew 
 what your boast was worth — that you'd be up first and 
 call me." 
 
 " Is it late?" asked Alice, turning her head ixpon the 
 pillow : while a pretty little face beside her rose up and 
 >tared. 
 
 " I am afraid it is. I forgot to wind up my watch. 
 Of course ! that's sure to be the case — the only morn- 
 ing I cared to know the time." 
 
 "I do believe it is fine!" exclaimed AHce. "Is it 
 William?" 
 
 " If you get up. you'll see. It's not pouring cats and
 
 8 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 dogs. Get up, Rose. I'll give you ten minutes to dress 
 in. Shall I call Edmund?" 
 
 " No," replied Alice Allair. " Mamma forbid it last 
 night She said he was never well throughout the day 
 if aroused up early. And it is true. If you'll shut the 
 door, "William, Ave will soon dress." 
 
 Bent upon a congenial expedition, they were not long 
 preparing themselves for it. They were going out to 
 observe the custom of the place on the twenty-ninth of 
 May — that of starting abroad with the sun, to gather 
 and gild oak-balls. 
 
 The clock struck six as they went out — William, Alice, 
 and Rose Allair. Quiet enough looked the village in the 
 early morning, but few shutters being open or blinds 
 undrawn. The publicans had been abroad earlier, how- 
 ever ; for great branches of oak, nearly as large as trees, 
 w< re already raised in triumph over their several signs. 
 
 " 1 wonder whether the Vanes are ready, or whether 
 we shall have to wait?" said Alice, as they were ap- 
 proaching a handsome white Louse, its portico supported 
 by Corinthian pillars. " I hope they Avill not have 
 turned lie-a-beds !" 
 
 " Trust to Harry Vane for that," was William's an- 
 swer. " lie is never behindhand." 
 
 Scarcely were the words spoken, when the door of 
 the house opened, and oul leaped an agile, active boy, 
 somewhal younger than William. It was Harry Vane. 
 A dark-eyed, noble, line boy, careless and random in 
 manner, somewhat too sanguine; but'good at heart, 
 truthful, generous. Caroline Vane followed; a hand- 
 Bome girl. But Bhe descended the steps decorously: 
 not, as her brother did. in a Hying leap.
 
 THK TWENTY-NINTH OF MAY. V» 
 
 "Halloa! how are you?" shouted out Harry Vane, 
 
 catching sight of them in the distance. 
 
 "Halloa!" came the response from William. "I 
 say! is it not prime to see this splendid morning?" he 
 added, as they came nearer. 
 
 "First-rate!" was Harry Vane's answer. "Oh, I 
 said we should have it," he carelessly added. " Some 
 of you croakers prophesied it would be wet. I knew 
 better. As if we should get anything but sunshine on 
 the twenty-ninth of May!" 
 
 " You always do look on the bright side of things," 
 said William, as they all went on in a heap. The man- 
 ner of their walking could be called nothing else. 
 
 " And you on the dark." 
 
 " At any rate, we were justified in croaking, in this 
 instance," returned William. " The rain threatened us 
 yesterday ; and had been threatening us for days past." 
 
 " The more reason for its changing to fine," argued 
 Harry Vane. " The longest and darkest night gets 
 morning at the end of it. Summer will come in brightly 
 now. You'll see." 
 
 " It is to be hoped it will ; we have had a pretty good 
 share of all that's dull," remarked William. " The grass 
 wants fine weather. The farmers are complaining." 
 
 "Did you ever know the farmers do anything but 
 complain?" returned Harry Vane. "Some of them 
 will be found to find fault with to-day. In fine wea- 
 ther they want it wet ; and in wet weather, they 
 grumble that it is not dry. I say, have you met any 
 of the fellows on your road?" 
 
 "Not one. Perhaps Robertson's man has turned 
 crusty, and won't let the boarders out !"
 
 ID WILLIAM ALLAH!. 
 
 '• He had better try that on ! They'd climb the 
 chimneys, but what they'd come. Or make ropes of 
 the sheets, and get out that way. / would. Robertson 
 would look over it, too ; he'd never attempt to stop the 
 oak-balling on this day. "Where's Jenniker, I wonder '.'" 
 
 " Talking about Jenniker," said William, " I met 
 him last night. I left my Euripides at school by mis- 
 take, and in coming back from getting it, came across 
 
 Jenniker. He said But there's no depending on 
 
 a word he says," broke off William. " He is always 
 romancing." 
 
 " Romancing, you call it ! He is the greatest — cram 
 teller — in all the school. I use a genteel appellation, 
 young ladies, in deference to your presence," said 
 Harry with a laugh, raising his hat to his sister and 
 to Alice and Rose Allair. " Jenniker will get sent to 
 Coventry one of these days, as sure as he is alive. He 
 will go too far." 
 
 " The wonder is, that he has not been sent already. 
 Look at that tale of the traps, the other day ! How we 
 were all taken in!" 
 
 " What was his romance last night?" 
 
 " He said he had just seen Vane — you ; and that you 
 were boasting of some jolly news. Then it was decided 
 you were to go to sea." 
 
 "That's tolerably correct, for Jenniker. I told him 
 it was nearly decided. It would only have been in 
 keeping had he said I was gone." 
 
 "That will never be decided, Harry,'* interposed 
 i iroline Vane. i; Never, in the manner you hope for." 
 
 ""Won't it. Carry! Do you know what mamma said 
 night?"
 
 THE TWENTY-NINTH OF MAY. 1 1 
 
 " What did she say?" eagerly asked William. 
 
 " I had got into hot water with her ; chopped a piece 
 off the dining-room table, in chopping some wood for 
 my new boat. So she told papa I was fit for nothing 
 but the sea, and the sooner I was off the more tranquil 
 the house would be. She was angry at the moment, 
 yoii know." 
 
 " Oh, yes, we all say things at times the very oppo- 
 site to what we mean," remarked William, rather tes- 
 tily. " Of course she objects in reality just as much as 
 ever ? " 
 
 " Of course: mothers always do. Mine thinks I shall 
 come to grief among the fishes. Papa laughs at her." 
 
 " He sees no objection," observed William, eagerly, 
 who appeared to hold a remarkably strong interest in 
 the point. 
 
 " Not he ; though he won't say as much to me. The 
 mother thinks — the fishes sparing me — I shoidd return 
 from my first voyage utterly unpresentable ; a sort of 
 animal between a Robinson Crusoe and a tattooed wild 
 Indian ; and never come into a civilised being again. 
 But, mark you, Allair, she has never said I shall not 
 
 go-" 
 
 "What if she did?" 
 
 " Don't talk about that," said Harry, hastily. " The 
 having to give up my golden visions would be a climax 
 I'd rather not contemplate. Oh, it won't come to that ! 
 Papa sympathizes with me. I know he does. He 
 cared as much for the sea as I do, and they forbid his 
 going. His father was a brave old commander, and 
 fought many a battle under Nelson." 
 
 •• Who forbid his going?"
 
 12 WILLIAM ALLAIK. 
 
 •• His mother. She said it was bad enough to have 
 her husband at sea, without having her son there. 
 Papa says he never regretted the not going but once, 
 and that has been ever since. I suppose I inherit my 
 taste from him. The mother often says she is thankful 
 Frederick has no liking for it."' 
 
 " And I'm sure I am thankful,"' interposed Caroline 
 Vane. " A grievous calamity, it would be, to have two 
 brothers, one's only brothers, obstinately bent upon 
 turning themselves into rough, roving, disagreeable 
 sailors. "' 
 
 " There are worse misfortunes at sea than that would 
 be," said Harry, nodding his head. " However, Carry, 
 you have your wish as to Fred. He hates the sea and 
 all things connected with it. He would rather do any- 
 thing on earth than go to sea; turn day-labourer, or 
 lion-feeder at a wild beast show."' 
 
 Alice Allair laughed. "I don't think your brother Fre- 
 derick betrays great inclination for labour of any sort." 
 
 "Not he," said Harry. "He is the laziest fellow 
 alive. It is a good thing for him that he was the eldest 
 son, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Otherwise, 
 I fear Mr Fred would have stood a chance of starving." 
 
 " I can tell you what,"' said William, " it is the 
 being born to the silver spoon that does the mischief. 
 When a fellow knows he has got to work, he does work ; 
 but if there's not a necessity, he won't make it." 
 
 A little bit of wisdom w.onderfully true to come from 
 the lips of a boy of fifteen ; and I daresay you, my 
 boys, are thinking so. But you must not give William 
 Allair credit for it ; it was borrowed from his father. 
 Mr Allair had echoed it in his presence many and many
 
 THE TWENTY-NINTH OF MAT. 13 
 
 a time. You will find it to be the case as you go 
 through life : possibly you have noticed it already. 
 Fortunes have done more harm than good in this world. 
 I'd rather see a boy born to honourable work, with a 
 ready heart to do it, than see him born to a fortune. 
 
 " I suppose that's it," returned Harry Vane, in re- 
 ply to William's remark. " If Fred had not been born 
 to money, I don't know how he would have lived. 
 Idleness is his besetting sin ! My father says he shall 
 learn some profession, just to keep his days from being 
 spent in mischief: Fred says he will not." 
 
 " One would suppose the sea, as a profession, would 
 suit him well, then,"' remarked William. " A nice idle 
 life it is, that of a sailor's." 
 
 " An idle life!" repeated Harry Vane. "What on 
 earth are you talking of, Allair? A sailor's work is 
 never done." 
 
 "Rubbish!" cried William. ''AVhat can there be 
 to do on board a ship ? Get her once under weigh, 
 the sails set, and all that, and you have only to walk 
 about the deck and watch the waves. Except, of 
 course, in a storm. In calm weather, you may shoot at 
 the sea-birds all day." 
 
 The remark amused Harry Vane excessively. He 
 stared at William. " Well, you have got a rum notion 
 of a sailor's life ! " he said. " Where did you pick it 
 up ? Just you go out before the mast for a few 
 months. That would help you to a little general 
 knowledge in the nautical line." 
 
 " I shouldn't mind," was the answer. " Before the 
 mast, or behind the mast, it woidd be all one to me, so 
 that I got there. Any thing's better than being chained
 
 11 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 to a desk all day ; to have to scratch, scratch, scratch, 
 at a pen until your teeth are set on edge, and your 
 eyes are dazzled." 
 
 "A desk!" scorned Harry Vane. "I would not 
 stop at a desk, I would not lead such a humdrum life, 
 to be made Lord Chancellor of England. Better cut a 
 fellow's legs off at once ! " 
 
 " Yes," grumbled William, his tone one of warm re- 
 sentment. " And they wish to condemn me to the life. 
 It's a shame ! " 
 
 " You have often said you should like the life," said 
 Alice Allair. " You always said so, until you got this 
 sea freak into your head." 
 
 "What do girls know about it?" retorted William, 
 who had no better confuting argument at hand ; but 
 he laughed good-naturedly at his sister as he said it. 
 " You hold your tongue, Alice." 
 
 Alice Allair did not choose to take the hint. " When 
 boys talk of wanting to go to sea," cried she, "it is 
 generally an excuse for a fit of idleness." 
 
 " Call it idleness, if you like," said William. " If you 
 had the choice, you might think idleness — which of 
 course means only that you have your time to yourself 
 — preferable to being shut up in an office, glued down 
 to a desk." 
 
 " But, for how short a time you would be glued down ! 
 At least, closely. Three or four years, and then " 
 
 " Oh, my service to you, Mademoiselle Alice ! Years 
 count for nothing, I suppose. What next, pray? I 
 wish I was going for a sailor," continued William, in a 
 gleeful tone, his fair face flushing with pleasure at the 
 thought. " Voyaging about from port to port, and
 
 THE TWENTY-NINTH OF MAT. 1 ■"> 
 
 seeing foreign countries! That would be something 
 like a life." 
 
 " Oh, it is a jolly life !" burst out Harry Vane, in one 
 of his fits of enthusiasm, to which, it must be owned, 
 he was somewhat given. " The very sight of a ship 
 sends my pidses into a thrill. It does, Caroline ; and 
 you need not look at me so mockingly. To see a 
 vessel, with her white sails spread, scudding through 
 the water ; to be at the main-top-gallant mast-head 
 and watch her speed, the glorious sea stretched out 
 around ; to feel the motion of the good ship as she 
 rides along majestically, the breeze fanning your face, 
 perhaps the sun, a blaze of splendour, rising in the 
 east! — oh, you cannot, any of you, tell the enjoyment 
 that it is. You have never experienced it." 
 
 " Ah ! that was an unlucky voyage of yours, to 
 Spain and back!" observed Caroline Vane, in a tone of 
 vexation. 
 
 Harry laughed out gleefully, and came down from 
 his imaginary perch on the main-top-gallant. 
 
 "Why do you call it an unlucky voyage?" asked 
 little Eose Allair. " He did come back." 
 
 " I'll explain it," said Harry, before Caroline could 
 speak. " When Captain Marsh was going to Spain 
 with his ship — only a merchantman, you know, of two 
 or three hundred tons — he invited me to make the 
 voyage with him. ' Oh, dear yes, and thank you,' 
 cried mamma. ' He will be dreadfully sea-sick, and 
 that will cure him of his passion for the sea.' Accord- 
 ingly I started ; and teas sea-sick, not much, though ; 
 and I made the voyage, there and home ; and when I 
 got back, poor mamma found she was out in her reckon-
 
 10 WILLIAM ALLAH!. 
 
 ing. The taste had been confirmed in me. If I had only 
 longed for the sea before, I loved it then. Ever since, 
 mamma and Carry have called it my unlucky voyage." 
 
 " It was the most unlucky step you ever took," per- 
 sisted Caroline. 
 
 Harry laughed. " It was a mistake, Carry, that's 
 all," said he, quietly. "As if a trifle of sea-sickness 
 could put me out of conceit of the sea ! Why, I'd 
 rather be sea-sick for ever, than not go ! " 
 
 i; Don't talk randomly," rebuked Caroline, who was 
 older than her brother. " Harry, I wonder whether 
 Fred will come out this morning ? " 
 
 "No, I am sure he will not," replied Harry. " He 
 is above coming out on this morning expedition now. 
 Don't you remember last year? — he said it was his last 
 time. Since Fred passed his eighteenth birthday, he 
 has thought himself a man. Besides, Fred likes his 
 bed too well to leave it, when there's an excuse for 
 stopping in ir." 
 
 "William had fallen into silence. He was thinking 
 how lucky was Harry Vane in possessing a father who 
 saw no ogres in the sea. And thus they reached the 
 Grange meadow, a very favourite resort ; and the two 
 boys began to scramble over the stile, as boys will do 
 when in much hastr j , with little regard to ceremony, or 
 to the young ladies with them. 
 
 " There stands Jenniker !" exclaimed William, point- 
 ing with his finger. 
 
 " And there's another with him ! Who is it ?" 
 
 •' Where? Oh, I see, behind the tree." 
 
 " Why, I declare it is that ignoramus, Tom Fisher! Of 
 all dolts! Whatever brings Jenniker out with him ?"
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SHOW. 
 
 Of the two boys standing there, one was of a tall, 
 powerful frame, almost a man. That was Jenniker. 
 The other was tall also, but slight and delicate. That 
 was Fisher. In point of fact, Fisher was an overgrown 
 dandy of sixteen, wearing a gold chain across his waist- 
 coat, and two rings on his left little finger ; a garnet 
 set round with pearls, and an emerald studded with 
 paste diamonds. His hands were white, his nails fault- 
 less, and his coat was cut in the height of fashion. His 
 manner was slow ; his brains were not particularly 
 bright. He had been reared in the heart of London, 
 had scarcely ever been beyond it, until this visit, which 
 he was paying to some friends in Whhtermead. In his 
 utter ignorance of country sights and country habits, 
 Dr Robertson's pupils, with whom he was brought in 
 contact, felt inclined to convert him into a sort of butt 
 for their mocking sport. What with his dandy-cut 
 coats, his white hands, his rings, his effeminacy alto- 
 gether, and his real ignorance, the hoys enjoyed a 
 treat. 
 
 "I say, Vane, what do you think?" called out 
 Jenniker, at the top of his voice, as they approached. 
 •• Fisher, here, does not know one tree from another ; 
 can't tell an oak from an ash, or a birch from a willow. 
 He says he only knows a poplar; and, that, becai;se it"-
 
 18 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 tall and thin, like the wooden trees they sell with chil- 
 dren's toys in Arcadia." 
 
 " I did not say in Arcadia," hastily corrected Fisher, 
 '• I said in the Lowther Arcade." 
 
 "Oh, the Lowther Arcade! is it not the same?" 
 cried Jenniker, putting on the full tide of ridicule. 
 "My patience and conscience! Not to know a tree 
 when you see it ! I've heard of girls not knowing lots 
 of things, but I never did hear of a fellow not knowing 
 trees. You are a curiosity worth taking about the 
 country in a travelling caravan, Master Fisher." 
 
 " Be quiet, Jenniker," said William AHair. " Why 
 do you begin upon him ? He has always lived in Lon- 
 don, where there are no trees to be seen." 
 
 " Right in the midst of it," put in Harry Vane. 
 " By Aldgate Pump." 
 
 " No, I don't live by Aldgate Pump," resentfully 
 spoke Fisher. " I have not seen Aldgate Pump above 
 half-a-dozen times in my life." 
 
 "It's by Temple Bar, then." 
 
 " Well, Temple Bar is not Aldgate Pump," re- 
 torted Fisher. " Aldgate Pump's down Whitechapel 
 way." 
 
 " Are there any trees round Temple Bar, Master 
 Fisher?" cried Jenniker, returning to the charge. 
 
 " You had better go up to London and see," retorted 
 Fisher, who by no means relished their aggravating 
 salutation of " Master." " If there are no trees in Lon- 
 don, there are plenty outside it. At Clapham, where 
 my aunt lives, they abound. I daresay I could tell the 
 names of* many, if I wanted to tell them." 
 
 ••Let's hear, Fisher," said Harry Vane. "Do you
 
 i he snow. 19 
 
 know what these trees are?" pointing to those under- 
 neath which they were standing. 
 
 Fisher looked up at the trees. He did not know 
 them, but he did not like to confess to the ignorance. 
 Another moment, and his face brightened. 
 
 " Perhaps they are ivy?" suggested he. 
 
 The boys leaned against the trees in their agony of 
 laughter, and the young ladies — who were not upon 
 their drawing-room manners — shrieked aloud with it, 
 driving Fisher wild. Other- young ladies, other school- 
 boys were running up from various points in the 
 distance, and the audience promised to be a large one. 
 
 " What is there to mock at ? " asked Fisher. " Come ! 
 This is ivy that's around them. I know ivy when I 
 see it, as well as you. My aunt's house at Clapham is 
 covered with it." 
 
 " That's ivy, but the trees are not," jerked out Harry 
 Vane, in the midst of his convulsion. " "We'll give you 
 three guesses of what the trees are, Fisher ; and if you 
 can't hit upon the right thing, you shall go up them 
 and get down some boughs." 
 
 " Up a tree !" returned the dismayed Fisher, who had 
 probably never in his experience climbed anything 
 more formidable than to the top of an omnibus. " I 
 Avish you may get it ! My hands and my clothes are 
 not going to be torn, I can tell you." 
 
 At this moment a whole troop of new-comers came 
 within hearing distance, many of Dr Robertson's scholars 
 being amoncrst them. 
 
 " Fisher thought these trees were ivys," said Jenniker, 
 with a very broad grin ; Mr Jenniker being rather 
 addicted to grinning, when he found he could annoy
 
 20 WILLIAM ALLAIIL 
 
 any friend with it. " We are going to give him three 
 guesses, and if lie can't hit upon the right name, he 
 pays forfeit and goes up the tree." 
 
 " Why don't you ask me to climb up to the moon at 
 once?'" cried Fisher. "You don't get me up the stem 
 of a tree." 
 
 " The stem ! the stem ! ha, ha, ha ! ho, ho, ho !" shook 
 the boys, holding their sides. " He calls the trunk the 
 stem ! " 
 
 " The trunk, then," said Fisher. " A thick, round, 
 high trunk like that, where there's nothing to lodge 
 your feet upon ! Go up yourselves, if you want some- 
 body to go up. I'd as soon attempt to mount a greasy 
 pole at a fair." 
 
 " You'll have to try it," shouted the boys. " Let's 
 hear the first guess. I'll bet the contents of my pockets 
 against Dick Jenniker's, that Fisher does not name them." 
 
 "Wouldn't you like it, Harris!" returned Mr Dick 
 Jenniker. " I have got a valuable bank note or two in 
 mine." 
 
 Another laugh, at Jenniker's boast of l>ank notes. Of 
 all the school, his pockets were generally the most empty ; 
 he was one who spent his money faster than it came in. 
 
 " Come, Fisher, we are waiting for you." 
 
 " Oh, well, I don't mind guessing," said Fisher, who 
 was, on the whole, of an accommodating, peaceably in- 
 clined nature. 
 
 " Let's see. They are not poplars " 
 
 A shout of derision drowned the conclusion of Fisher's 
 sentence. " Go ahead ! That's the first guess." 
 
 " That was not a guess at all," disputed Fisher. ' 1 
 knew tin - \ were not poplars."
 
 TILE SHOW. 21 
 
 "That's a fine shuffle!" cried a dozen disputing 
 voices, eager to take any advantage, as boy's voices 
 proverbially are. " You want to do us out of four 
 guesses." 
 
 " He knows poplars. Jenniker said so," observed 
 William Allair. 
 
 " Yes, yes, let that go," said Harry Vane. " He 
 said he knew poplars, before this was brought up." 
 
 " Poplars are tall, straight, upright trees," said simple 
 Tom Fisher. " You can't suppose I mistook these for 
 poplars." 
 
 " As tall and as straight as those charming wooden 
 trees that come out of Arcadia. He has been to Arcadia," 
 added Jenniker in an aside explanation to the new- 
 comers, " and knows the trees there. The shepherdesses 
 stand underneath them all day with flowered crooks in 
 their hands. You needn't stare, Mr Fisher. Go on 
 and take your first guess." 
 
 " An elm," returned Fisher at a venture, thinking it 
 might be as well not to say anything about Arcadia 
 and the shepherdesses. 
 
 " That's one guess. Off again." 
 
 " A fir," hesitated Fisher, scanning the tree. 
 
 " That's rich, that is ! Go at it." 
 
 " Well, you give me no time to remember names." 
 
 " Plenty of time. Off for the third." 
 "Is it a mountain-ash, then?" concluded Fisher, 
 who never having, to his knowledge, seen a moun- 
 tain-ash, thought that might be a reason for this being 
 one. 
 
 " All over, all over ! He has had his three guesses. 
 Why, you stupid, could you look up at these trees, and
 
 22 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 not know what the}' are? Don't you see the balls on 
 them ? Have you never heard of oak -balls ?" 
 
 " Haven't I ! We call them oak-apples in London. 
 Is it an oak-tree ?" 
 
 " To be sure it is." 
 
 '• Well, I icas stupid ! I thought of oak once, and 
 meant to guess it, but you put me out with that bother 
 about the poplars. I said you did not give me time." 
 
 "Any donkey would have known it was an oak-tree by 
 the balls, Master Fisher," politely observed Jenniker. 
 
 " I saw no balls," grumbled Fisher, who did not 
 relish Jenniker's allusions. 
 
 " Don't you see them now ?" 
 
 " Yes, now you tell me they are there. But one has 
 to look closely to do it, mixed up, as they are, amongst 
 the leaves." 
 
 "Now for tin 1 penalty," said Jenniker, who was rub- 
 bing his hands as if expecting some choice gratification. 
 " Let us see how a London gentleman can climb." 
 
 " I can't climb, I tell you," dissented Fisher. " I 
 won't climb. There ! " 
 
 " A bargain's a bargain, sir, as we reckon in the 
 country," persisted Jenniker. " A favoured mortal 
 who has been admitted to the sunny plains of Arcady, 
 ought not to be shy of trees. I saw a picture of it 
 once. The ground was moss, and the skies were blue 
 streaked with pink. Come, Mr Fisher." 
 
 " A bargain is no bargain when it's made on one 
 side only. That's London fashion. If you think I am 
 going to tear my clothes to rags with your trees, you 
 are mistaken. I mightn't care so much if my tailor 
 were at hand to replenish them."
 
 THE SHOW. 23 
 
 " You are keeping your friends waiting, Mr Fisher," 
 returned Jenniker with polite suavity. " That's not 
 good manners. Up with you, and fling down a cart- 
 load of sprays. Choose those that have balls. We 
 want to gild them." 
 
 " What do you say you want to do ? " inquired 
 Fisher, not understanding. 
 
 " Gild them. Did you leave your hearing in Ar- 
 cadia ? It is the custom here to carry gilded oak-balls 
 on the twenty-ninth of May." 
 
 " How do ~ r o\\ "ild them ?" 
 
 " With sheets of gold leaf. Don't you see our paper 
 books here, with the gilt leaves between ? The girls 
 gild : perhaps you'll help them. Come, Fisher, no 
 shuffling ! Up the stem, as you call it." 
 
 " Now, look you here," returned Fisher, taking out 
 a penknife to trim his finger nails. " You won't get 
 me up that tree, if you badger for the whole day ; any 
 more than you'll get me up that church steeple yonder. 
 And you may just as well drop the subject as waste 
 your time over it." 
 
 There might have been a forced ascent and some 
 disturbance, but the girls — as they had just been un- 
 ceremoniously styled — interfered, saying they woidd 
 go home if any quarrelling took place. So Fisher was 
 left to repose on mother earth in peace and safety ; 
 and the others mounted the trees. 
 
 When as many sprays were torn off as were wanted, 
 and the young ladies, many of whom were assembled 
 now, had finished the gilding, they all roved about, 
 enjoying themselves. Conversing, laughing, giving chaff 
 to Tom Fisher and to each other ; and plucking the
 
 24 WILLIAM ALLAIIL 
 
 May and the hedge flowers. Some chased each other 
 over the meadows, snatching handfnls of buttercups 
 and daisies, only to scatter them ; plucking, in gleeful 
 merriment, the cowslips and bluebells ; seeking for 
 late primroses, for remaining violets. Their happy 
 laughter mingled with the sunshine, with the sweet 
 fragrance of the blossoms ; whilst the ringing of the 
 distant bells fell on the car with the softest me- 
 lody. 
 
 Presently some of them heard the cuckoo, and the 
 rest stood still, their voices hushed. But the bird 
 ceased its notes, and flew away to a distance. 
 
 Then the shouting and laughter were renewed, and the 
 running through the long grass on its many coloured 
 flowers, which was not exactly beneficial to the future 
 crop of hay ; and it was well, I think, that Squire 
 Jones, to whom the field belonged, had not come oak- 
 balling, himself, and caught them there. Little cared 
 they for l lie hay, that was to be: the present grass and 
 its flowers were enough for them ; the cowslips had 
 never been so yellow, the May so pink, the clover so 
 sweet, the bluebells so blue. All things were lovely. 
 The weather had been gloomy so long that this warm 
 sunny morning seemed like a very glimpse of Eden ; it 
 might have spoken to them of God. 
 
 But these hours of enjoyment passed quickly, and 
 the village chimes told eight all too soon. Jt was the 
 signal lor returning home to breakfast; and away they 
 trooped, gradually, bearing their gilded oak-sprays. 
 Other days they had to be in school by seven o'clock, 
 I nit there was holiday on this one. It came but once a 
 year, that morning ramble, and the gravest schoolboy
 
 THE SHOW. 25 
 
 among them — to be a freshman probably next year — 
 was content for the time to be a child again. 
 
 As they passed Mr Vane's house, a gentlemanly 
 young man stood on its threshold, watching the return. 
 It was Frederick Vane, the handsomest of that hand- 
 some family. Had he but been as good as he was 
 handsome ! Harry, only that morning, had called 
 idleness his brother's besetting sin. As yet, it was 
 perhaps his worst and only sin : but it is one that leads 
 to others. A favourite copy is that, given us with our 
 earliest writing lessons : " Idleness is the root of all 
 evil." 
 
 "Why did you not come with us, Mr Frederick?" 
 asked one of the passers-by. 
 
 He leaned against the stone pillar of the portico as 
 he answered ; leaned in his favourite listless fashion, 
 and a smile sweet and sunny, but still a listless smile, 
 parted his lips. Frederick Vane was beginning to 
 conjugate that noted French verb, the most dangerous 
 that can make itself at home with a young and attrac- 
 tive man ; was repeating over the first person of its 
 first tense to himself hourly: " Je rrtennui." 
 
 " Why did I not go with you?" he repeated. " I 
 leave the glories of the twenty-ninth of May, getting 
 up by star-light and oak-balling included, to those who 
 are still in love with them. I have had my day at it." 
 
 " It is not so bad a day yet." 
 
 " True — for you. Each age has its favourite kaleide- 
 scope. Well, Mr William Allair, is that a whole tree 
 or only some branches of it ? You will make your 
 shoidders ache." 
 
 " I'd rather it was a ship's mast," returned William
 
 26 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 gaily, but quite without reference to the point, so far 
 as Frederick Vane or anybody else could see. " Old 
 Symes the shoemaker was regretting last night that he 
 could not go out to get a bough for his door, his leg 
 being 'worse, so I said I'd bring him one." 
 
 " Very polite of you, I'm sure," returned Frederick, 
 in bis thoroughly pleasant, but half mocking manner. 
 " I hope none of you gentlemen" — throwing his eyes 
 on the group of boys who had stopped — " will find 
 yourselves too late for breakfast. It is close upon 
 nine." 
 
 The remark caused a diversion. The being " too 
 late" for breakfast is not an agreeable prospect to 
 schoolboys with hungry appetites, and most of them 
 set off at a canter for their respective homes, or for 
 that of their head master, Dr Robertson. 
 
 William Allair and his sisters did not, at any rate, 
 find themselves too late for theirs. Mr and Mrs Allair 
 had waited for them. They had an indulgent home : 
 one of those not too common, where careful training, 
 anxious practical lessons, are blended with kindness. 
 Their young brother Edmund, their poor afflicted 
 brother Edmund, came forward eagerly as they entered 
 the house, and he broke into a meaningless shout of 
 delight as they loaded him with sprays of gilded oak- 
 balls, and flew on to their plentiful breakfast. It is to 
 be hoped the rest of the boys found as good a one and 
 as hearty a welcome. 
 
 The meal over, and early attire changed for best, 
 
 they waited with feverish impatience for the great 
 
 nt of the day — the proc< sion, popularly called the 
 
 "show;" a show which had annually enraptured the
 
 THE snow. 27 
 
 younger eyes of Whittermead for not far short of two 
 centuries. 
 
 At half-past ten the church bells rang out for ser- 
 vice ; not with their Sunday ding-dong — as Dr Kobert- 
 son's boys irreverently expressed it — but with the same 
 joyous chimes as in the early morning. Whittermead, 
 in its loyalty, made a point of attending divine service 
 on the twenty-ninth of May. And this show, passing 
 doAvn the street amidst the throng of admiring gazers, 
 was on its way to attend service as they were. 
 
 It was heralded by two great branches of oak, borne 
 abreast, as large as trees. Large streaming flags and 
 silken banners followed, preceding a band of music, 
 which to the ears of those assembled rivalled anything 
 that could be achieved by the band of her Majesty's 
 Life Guards. Then came a stream, two and two, of 
 decorated men, their coats gay with ribbons, and their 
 hands with a spray of gilded oak. Next appeared a 
 high spreading canopy of evergreens, garnished with 
 blossoms and stars, wondrous to behold, underneath 
 which walked two men, each bearing on his shoulder a 
 lovely child, fancifully and gaily dressed, half covered 
 with flowers and ribbons, some with gold and silver 
 spangles, anything that was beautiful to the eye. They 
 were called pages. And this was repeated over and over 
 again — banners, flags, decorated men, green canopies, 
 and the charming little children ; all save the music 
 and the heralding oak boughs. Now followed the 
 grand object of interest, especially to the boys — the 
 Iron Man. He wore a complete suit of iron armour, 
 hence his appellation, and was mounted on a ponderous 
 horse. His left hand held the bridle of his charger,
 
 28 WILLIAM ALLAIK. 
 
 and his right hand grasped a long, sharp spear, which 
 was brandished terrifically, and thrust close to the face 
 of all who ventured within its reach. 
 
 " What's that for?" cried Fisher, who had looked 
 on with amazed eyes. " Who is he meant to repre- 
 sent?" 
 
 " Oliver Cromwell," said Jenniker. 
 
 " No," interposed Gripper, one of Dr Eobertson's 
 boys, — in fact, they had most of them collected in a 
 group. " Not Oliver Cromwell. It's meant for Charles 
 himself, I think." 
 
 " Then, Avere I you, I wouldn't ' think' till I could 
 think better," retorted Jenniker to Gripper. " Who 
 ever heard of a king riding in iron armour from top 
 to toe, face and all ? — unless he were going to battle. 
 Charles was never called the Iron Alan." 
 
 " It's meant for Cromwell, just as much as it's meant 
 for Jenniker," observed Gripper to Fisher. 
 
 " Jenniker's right," said Harry Vane. " It is meant 
 for Cromwell." 
 
 " It is not." 
 
 " Very well," said Harry Vane, with a laugh. " Have 
 it your own way, Gripper, and then perhaps you'll live 
 the longer." 
 
 " But don't let Master Fisher carry a cock-and-bull 
 story back to Temple Bar with him, informing the 
 natives there that Charles II. rides annually in armour 
 at WTiittermead," persisted Jenniker. " He'll be going 
 to Arcadia and spreading it there, if we don't mind." 
 
 '.' Going where?" cried Fisher, Avho did not catch the 
 word. 
 
 " To Arcadia," repeated Jenniker. " So once for
 
 THE SHOW. 29 
 
 all, Mr Fisher, understand: that Iron Man is old Oliver, 
 if you have ever heard of him." 
 
 " What had Oliver Cromwell to do with it ? " asked 
 Fisher. 
 
 " Why, don't yon know that this is the anniversary 
 of King Charles's restoration ? " said Jenniker. 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 " Well, you are a green goose, Fisher ! Any young 
 lady, but you, would have known that. That's why 
 we go to church." 
 
 " What has our going to church to do with King 
 Charles ? He has been dead long enough, hasn't he ?" 
 
 " Oh, we go to pray for the continuation of Royalty, 
 and all that. At least, that's the popular understand- 
 ing." 
 
 " And what are those children for?" again demanded 
 Mr Tom Fisher. " They are not ngly." 
 
 " Those are the pages," said Gruff Jones. 
 
 "Pages?" debated Fisher. "I thought they were 
 meant for angels, or Cupids. They look much more 
 like that sort of thing." 
 
 " Our nurse used to tell us they were meant for 
 baby angels," timidly observed a young gentleman of 
 eight, who had just been entered at Dr Robertson's. 
 
 " Your nurse is an old woman,'' responded Harry 
 Vane. 
 
 " An out-and-out one," added Jenniker. " If they 
 represented angels, they'd dress them with wings, 
 wouldn't they, little muff?" 
 
 " Besides," quoth Gripper, " what had angels to do 
 with King Charles's procession?" 
 
 " Or with Charles, either?" struck in Monitor Sey-
 
 30 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 mour. "It' we may believe all that's told, an angel's 
 opposite had more to do with him." 
 
 " And Cupid most of all," rejoined Jenniker, with 
 one of his broad grins. 
 
 There was a laugh in Jenniker's immediate neigh- 
 bourhood, and the remark was passed on through the 
 line of senior boys. 
 
 " I consider those pages the best worth seeing in all 
 the show," said Fisher. 
 
 " Do you hear that?" cried Jenniker to the throng 
 of boys. " Master Fisher considers the pages the best 
 worth seeing! Is he a lady, or is he a junior?" Both 
 of which " species" — as Mr Jenniker gallantly expressed 
 it — being known to favour the pages. The schoolboys 
 curled their lips at them, and talked largely of the Iron 
 Man. 
 
 Arrived at the church, the procession entered it. 
 The Iron Man, after being assisted from his charger 
 and divested of his spear and helmet, clanking himself 
 up the aisle to his appropriated seat. The boys pressed 
 forward, and got as close to him as they could. 
 
 The church was very full ; as fidl as on Sundays : 
 and the service for the restoration of the Royal Family 
 was performed. At its conclusion, a large portion of 
 the congregation hastened, somewhat indecorously, from 
 the church, that they might secure good places to see 
 the show pass back again. It did so in the same order 
 that it had come. The Iron Man, resuming his helmet, 
 contrived, with a great deal of difficulty and some as- 
 sistance, to remount his steed : but the weighty armour 
 had fatigued him, and the spear was not brandished 
 quite so fii rcely as in coming. The pretty dresses of
 
 THE SHOW. 31 
 
 the pages were tumbled, and their little faces flushed 
 from their having gone to sleep ; but all things looked 
 as well as before to the general eye : and the ringing- 
 bells again chimed out merrily in the noonday sun- 
 light, 
 
 Ah ! what show in after life could ever equal that 
 rustic show of childhood? Look full at it! boys, girls, 
 children, look at it ! gaze your fill ; feast your eyes 
 upon it ere it shall have passed ; another sight and yet 
 another, before it shall quite fade away in the distance. 
 Remember it well. It will recur to your memory in 
 after years as a vision of all that was beautiful. When 
 you are men and women, it may chance that you will 
 see sights ten times as fine. The Lord Mayor's show, 
 with its tinsel and glitter of coaches, and soldiers, and 
 scarlet robes, and ponderous gold chains ; a royal coro- 
 nation, with its imposing gorgeousness ; or a fete-dieu 
 in France — and in that fete there will be canopies and 
 banners, and lovely children, fancifully habited as are 
 these pages — and incense-scattering priests in their 
 golden-worked robes, singing their deep, harmonious 
 chant ; but although their splendour may dazzle the 
 eye, and a momentary gratification be excited in the 
 mind, where will be the delight with which you gaze 
 upon this simple show, now, in your childhood? Gone. 
 For the fresh feelings that caused you to find rapture 
 in external things will have left you with your youth. 
 So, gaze your fill, I say, at the show, and be happy 
 while you may. Now is the reality of existence ; the 
 conscious, glowing sense of enjoyment in all things : 
 hereafter little of it will remain to you but its name 
 and its remembrance.
 
 32 WILLIAM ALLAI1L 
 
 More pleasure yet : for in Whittermead it was a day 
 < "iisecrated to it. Dinner-parties and tea-parties, and 
 cakes, and sweetmeats, and happy faces; and boys 
 upon their best behaviour, and young ladies radiant in 
 blue ribbons and white muslin, with green and gilded 
 oak-leaves sparkling in their shining hair. 
 
 But it came to an end. All things bright must come 
 to an end, as well as all things sad. And the joyous 
 revellers went home to bed in a trance of happiness, 
 to dream it all over again, and to wish that every day 
 id the year was the twenty-ninth of May. 
 
 But there was one of those whom you met this morn- 
 ing who did not take part in the feasting or the revelry 
 — and that was Frederick Vane. Frederick Vane de- 
 parted that day for the great metropolis, where he had 
 been wildly desirous of making a sojourn, and had at 
 length got leave from Mr Vane to do so. It was his 
 Arcadia. But one known as yet in imagination only, 
 for he had not been there since he was a child.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HARRY VAXK. 
 
 My dear boys, I have said that this story is written 
 especially for you. As you go on, you will probably 
 discover why I have written it. I would wish to warn 
 you against disobedience. You have heard of popular 
 fallacies, but I can tell you that there never was a more 
 decided one than that fallacy of yours — the belief that 
 you know better than your parents. How often has a 
 boy come to an issue with his father and mother, and 
 decamped to sea in disobedience ! He has picked up 
 that agreeable but most deceptive notion, that the going 
 to sea will prove a remedy for all evils under the sun. 
 Another fallacy. 
 
 I make no doubt you must know some who have so 
 gone : I feel sure you know some who are wanting to 
 go. A boy grows dissatisfied, lazy, tired ; tired of all 
 things ; tired of land — or rather of the life he is lead- 
 ing on land — and he thinks he will go to sea. He 
 thinks it will cure him. So it will, with a vengeance. 
 Talk to him of the hardships he will have to encounter ; 
 the endurance he must fortify himself with against the 
 hardships ! You may as well talk to the winds. Did 
 you ever know sons who have gone off to sea in this 
 manner, and have never returned ? I have. I have 
 known some who have only gone out to die. It is a 
 
 this running away to sea : how
 
 3 I WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 common, I believe that few of us know or suspect. 
 Some have gone in half opposition ; some in downright 
 defiance and disobedience ; some, in cunning stealth, 
 running away clandestinely. These boys are often re- 
 markably unfitted for a sea life ; and that they find out 
 to their cost. A boy who embraces the sea as a pro- 
 fession ought to have been fitted for it by nature, other- 
 wise it will prove for him the most miserable of all 
 lives that he could lead on earth. Many have sunk 
 under the hardships ; many will sink again. Never you 
 be tempted to resort to it. Never run away to sea. 
 If any one of you should find the seduction approaching 
 near him, fly from it as you would fly from a pestilence. 
 You can read on now. 
 
 At seven o'clock, on the morning following the show 
 of the 29th of May, the boys were all in school, except 
 one. Dr Robertson took a few boarders, but most of 
 his pupils were out-door ones. It was a renowned and 
 expensive school, equal to any in the county. The one 
 not at school was William Allair. He was subject to 
 violent sick headaches, and awoke with one that morn- 
 ing. His absence at these times was readily allowed by 
 Dr Robertson, who knew that while the pain lasted he 
 was incapable of study. 
 
 Of all the boys, the two between whom existed the 
 greatest intimacy and friendship, were Harry Vane and 
 William Allair ; and yet no two could present to each 
 other a greater contrast. Harry Vane, far in advance of 
 hi- years, high-spirited, noble, independent, was one of 
 those who are sure to hold sway amongst and rule their 
 fellows. He was universally admired for his daring, yet 
 gfrnr-rons spirit; and his well-known prepossession for,
 
 HARTtY VANE, 6b 
 
 and constant talk of the sea, had created a sort of excited 
 fancy for it in the school. Several had begun to be al- 
 most as eager for it as he was. But with this difference ; 
 while his liking for it was innate — the prompting of 
 nature — theirs was nothing more than a passing fancy, 
 into which they had worked themselves. Squire Jones's 
 eldest son and William Allair were the most seriously 
 impressed. It was like the hay fever, which had broken 
 out in the school the summer previously. Several got 
 a touch of it, but only one or two were attacked dan- 
 gerously. 
 
 Harry Vane's predilection for the sea was in truth a 
 real one. It had certainly been born with him. Rely 
 upon it, that some peculiar liking, a talent for some 
 certain sphere of usefulness, over and above all others, 
 is born with all of us. Not a boy, amongst you who 
 read this, but has been endowed with qualities by the 
 great Creator that will fit him for some calling in life 
 more especially than for other callings. Try and find 
 out what it is, and then put yoxir whole energy into it. 
 
 Before Harry Vane could well speak, he would leap 
 and crow at the sight of his boat. I mean a little toy 
 boat, as large as your hand, which had been given him. 
 Every other toy was thrust aside for this darling play- 
 thing. He was six years old when Mr and Mrs Vane 
 went to spend a. month or two at the sea-side, and there 
 he saw real boats, real ships, and the sight excited him 
 to intense joy. His nurse reproached him with having 
 " gone mad " after them, and grew sick and tired with 
 her constant visits to the beach and the harbour, for he 
 was ever dragging her there. He contrived, child 
 though he was, to pick up the names applied by sailors
 
 36 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 to the different parts of a ship : the jib-boom, the main- 
 stays, the mizen-mast, the fo'castle, and all the rest ; 
 and he was for ever using them. His whole talk was 
 of a ship. Mrs Vane found the names unintelligible, 
 and told him they sounded vulgar : Mr Vane laughed, 
 and wondered how the boy picked them up. 
 
 One day there arose a sad state of excitement. Harry 
 was lost. The nurse, with the three children, Frederick, 
 Caroline, and Harry, had gone to the beach, where she 
 speedily amused herself gossiping with other nurses, 
 nurse fashion, while the children, joined by other chil- 
 dren, hunted after sea-shells, and dug holes in the sands. 
 "When the time came to collect them for home, Harry had 
 disappeared. Where was he ? Nobody knew ; nobody 
 had seen him go away. The nurse was in a dreadful 
 state of terror : she feared he might have run after the 
 receding tide, and had got drowned in the sea. The 
 bevy of nurses ran about wildly ; the children sobbed ; 
 and some fishermen, who were standing near, asked 
 the nurse if they should get the drags. To go home 
 with her tale to Mr and Mrs Vane was the worst task 
 that servant had been put to throughout her life. 
 
 Mr Vane, to whom she spoke first, was not greatly 
 alarmed. He did not deem it probable that an active 
 lad like Harry should let himself be drowned in silence ; 
 and remembering his passion for ships, he thought it 
 much more likely that he had found his way to the 
 1 1 arbour. Charging the nurse to say nothing to her 
 mistress, he hastened to the harbour ; and there was the 
 truant found, having strayed on to a ship. It was a 
 trading sloop, which had put in the previous night ; and 
 Harry was asking question after question, as he exa-
 
 HARRY VANE. 37 
 
 mined every corner of it with delighted curiosity, and 
 making himself perfectly at home. The captain was 
 pleased with the little fellow's intelligence and anima- 
 tion. He made much of him ; gave him a pretty little 
 model of a ship, so gratified was he at the child's calling 
 the various parts of his own by their nautical appella- 
 tions ; and when Mr Vane got on board, Harry was 
 being regaled with cold plum-duff. 
 
 Mr Vane, after some chiding, inquired into particu- 
 lars. Harry could only plead the attractions of the 
 ships as an excuse for having strolled from the beach. 
 Arrived at the harbour, his attention became absorbed 
 by the sloop ; there was something about her build that 
 fascinated him ; and he speedily made acquaintance 
 with her sailors. They told him he might come on 
 board at high water, when the ship would be on a level 
 with the sides of the harbour, and he could walk on to 
 her without danger. Harry did not Avait for the high 
 water, or for a second invitation, but went on at once, 
 throwing danger to the winds. 
 
 " Why, how did you get on? " inquired Mr Vane, in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Down that perpendicular ladder, sir," interposed the 
 captain. " I was on deck, giving some orders, when, 
 what should I see, but a yoiuigster, a babby, as may be 
 said, swing himself on to the gangway and begin to 
 descend ? It made my flesh creep to see him, it did : 
 a little un, like that, walking down such a place: the 
 least false step, and it would have been all over with 
 him, falling from that height. I shouted out to him to 
 get back again, when he turned and looked at me as 
 fearless as you please, which made me shout out louder. 
 
 c
 
 38 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 All to no purpose : down he came, as lissome as a cat, and 
 after I'd scolded him for his venturesomeness — which 
 I took French leave to do, sir, just as if he had been a 
 child of my own — we showed him over the ship. And 
 a fine, intelligent youngster he is, as ever I came across. 
 But he seems to have no fear about him." 
 
 " He never had any sense of fear," said Mr Vane, in 
 a vexed tone. " He dreads no danger." 
 
 " He has been climbing in places aboard this vessel, 
 such as one double his age would look twice at before 
 venturing up," rejoined the captain. 
 
 " But you don't look at my ship, papa ! " exclaimed 
 Harry, impatiently interrupting the conversation, and 
 exhibiting his present to his father for about the tenth 
 time. " Isn't she a clipper? " 
 
 " And what a state you have made your socks and 
 legs in ! " resumed Mr Vane. " And look at your nice 
 dress ! " 
 
 Harry glanced down. He was at the age of pretty 
 dresses and white frilled drawers. The dress was spoilt, 
 covered with dirt and tar. 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing,'" he equably answered, with all 
 the unconcern in the world. " Papa, when I grow up 
 a man, I'll not be captain of such a vessel as this. She's 
 only a sloop. She is neither a brig nor a frigate. But 
 I like her shape." 
 
 " He seems to have a hankering after ships," re- 
 marked the captain. 
 
 " Rather too much of it," said Mr Vane. 
 
 At this moment Harry slipped away. The next, he 
 was down the side of the vessel, into a little boat, which 
 had ju^t begun to float with the rising tide. Mr Vane,
 
 HARRY VANE. 39 
 
 •who could see danger, if Harry could not, ordered him 
 up again ; but as soon as lie readied deck, he was climb- 
 ing up the mainmast. 
 
 " As handy as if he had served his apprenticeship to 
 it," remarked the captain, following him with his eyes, 
 while Mr Vane called to him to come down. " You'll 
 have to make a sailor of him, sir, it strikes me. He 
 has been going on in the way you see, and talking about 
 ships ever since he has been aboard. When I put that 
 little model in his hand, ' Oh, this is a brig,' says he ; 
 and I asked him how he knew it was a brig. ' Why, 
 by the rigging,' quoth he, as 'cute as possible." 
 
 " He has certainly a wonderful inclination for the 
 sea," observed Mr Vane. " He seems to take to it natu- 
 rally, as young ducks take to water. His mother would 
 check it, if she could." 
 
 " She'll never check such an inclination as that, sir," 
 said the captain. "When you see it evinced by so 
 young a child, you may make sure it's born with 'em. 
 Older boys put likings on, and get fancies into their 
 heads of their own accord : one of this age don't. I 
 never knew but one have such a hankering after it as 
 this lad seems to have. His friends were all against 
 him, but it was of no use." 
 
 " He carried the day, I suppose ? " remarked Mr Vane, 
 speaking chiefly because the captain was looking at him, 
 and seemed to expect an answer. 
 
 " Father, mother, brothers, sisters, grandfathers, and 
 grandmothers, all were against it. They were at him 
 continually ; wanting to bind him 'prentice to a trade ; 
 inventing all sorts of horrid tales of the sea ; foretelling 
 all manner of ill for him, if he went. And that was me."
 
 40 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 '• You! " exclaimed Harry, who had come down, and 
 was listening. 
 
 " Me, myself," repeated the captain. " I loved the 
 sea ; and all their talk was as nothing in my ear. Never, 
 sure, did one love it as I loved it." 
 
 " And they would not let you go ? " cried Harry with 
 trembling eagerness. 
 
 " Not for a long while." 
 
 " And how did you get there at last ? Did you run 
 away ? " 
 
 The captain shook his head. " I was sorely tempted 
 to it. They put me to a tailor ; of all trades, the one I 
 mortally hated. Ay, I Avas sorely tempted, Heaven 
 knows ; and once I had even packed up my traps in a 
 handkercher, what few they were, and had it in my 
 head to start that same night. But somehow I could 
 not do it. Not that I shrank from what was before me, 
 or felt afraid of anything I might have to encounter ; 
 but it came into my mind — listen, my good little boy ! 
 — that God's blessing would never rest upon me, if I 
 left home in rebellious disobedience to my parents." 
 
 Harry did not speak. He stood with his earnest, 
 great brown eyes devouring the captain, and the crim- 
 son of emotion flushing his clear young cheeks. 
 
 " So I stopped. I stopped and tried to like my 
 trade. 1 tried hard, but it seemed to go against me, and 
 I could make no hand at it. That was the dreariest 
 portion of my life ; I hardly like to look back to it 
 now. After a while tilings worked round. My father 
 and mother found I was not fitted for an inland life, 
 and at last they consented to my going. Consented 
 freely; and I departed, happier than a king, and fear-
 
 HARRY VANE. 41 
 
 ing not for the future, for they had prayed God to 
 speed me." 
 
 " And were you not very glad when you did get 
 right on to the sea ? " asked Harry eagerly. 
 
 "Very glad ; very happy. And God has prospered 
 me from that hour to this, and enabled me to support 
 my parents in their old age." 
 
 " And I'll be a sailor, too," cried Harry resolutely. 
 " And if papa and mamma ever want money, I'll send 
 home all mine for them." 
 
 The captain nodded his head oracularly. It said to 
 Mr Vane, as plainly as nod coidd say, that he would 
 never do successful battle with this inclination of his 
 son's. Perhaps Mr Vane did not intend to try. 
 
 They quitted the sloop, Mr Vane thanking the cap- 
 tain for his kindness to the boy, and Master Harry was 
 marched home to the tune of a sharp lecture, turning 
 upon young gentlemen who ran away from their nurses, 
 leaving them sick with fright. 
 
 This little episode and its attendant circumstances, 
 more especially what he had seen of the lad on board 
 the sloop, strongly impressed the mind of Mr Vane. 
 As the years went on, he began asking himself whether 
 he and Mrs Vane were doing right, to endeavour to 
 thwart by every means in their power this inclination 
 of Harry's for a sea life : he asked himself a more 
 solemn question — whether it had not been implanted 
 in the boy's mind, nay, in his nature, by God. 
 
 Mr Vane knew that Harry was — to use a familiar 
 expression — cut out for a sailor. By constitution he 
 was pre-eminently fitted for it, and in that lay a great 
 contrast between him and William Allair. "Work was
 
 42 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 as nothing to him. Of hardships he could bear a vast 
 deal. That which would go far towards killing William 
 Allair, he could endure without a murmur, almost with- 
 out a thought. For privation he did not care ; or, to 
 speak more correctly, what was privation to boys in 
 general, was no privation to him. Were they con- 
 demned to bread and water for punishment — while a 
 punishment it would indeed be to the rest of the boys, 
 above all, to William Allair — Harry Vane did not re- 
 gard it as such. No lad should go to sea without being 
 sure of his physical powers, of his strength, of his capa- 
 bility to endure hardships and privation ; ay, and to 
 make the best of them. 
 
 A famous mechanic, too, was Harry Vane. He could 
 mend anything that came to pieces, put glass in the 
 summer-house window frame, patch up the desks that 
 got broken, and turn out model ships as nicely made as 
 that one given him on board the trading sloop when he 
 was a youngster. A first-rate carpenter was he ; and 
 one day he remarked to William Allair that he could 
 rig a jury bowsprit or make a jib-boom for a ship with 
 the best of them in case of necessity. 
 " What necessity?" asked William. 
 " What necessity, now ! Can't you guess ? Suppose 
 we were a thousand miles from land, with no carpenter 
 on board, and our jib-boom went crash in a storm, or a 
 meeting -hip carried away our bowsprit? These are 
 what I should call cases of necessity." 
 
 Calm in temper, cool in moments of danger, gifted 
 with great and quick presence of mind, was Harry 
 Vane. But, if he had a sailor's desirable qualities, he 
 had also some of a sailors faults. Thoughtless, care-
 
 HARRY VANE. 43 
 
 less, and extravagant was he ; swayed by the impulse of 
 the moment, rarely casting a glance to the future. In 
 money matters, none could be more improvident. He 
 never possessed a sixpence. The instant money was 
 given him, it burnt a hole in his pocket, and was scat- 
 tered right and .left. Off to the shop for sweetmeats, 
 away to the cutler's to leave his tools to be ground, buy- 
 ing up anything exposed for sale that took his eye ; 
 spending, in short, to the last farthing, and forgetting 
 to save money to pay for the grinding of his tools. One 
 day he saw three poor shipwrecked sailors, who were 
 asking charity. Of course he had no money ; he never 
 had any ; and he was a couple of miles from home. 
 Harry was in an agony ; he longed to relieve them ; if 
 there was one human being his heart yearned to above 
 all others, it was a sailor. He darted into a road-side 
 shop ; it was a small shoemaker's ; tore off his jacket, 
 borrowed a shilling upon it, gave his name and address, 
 handed the shilling to the sailors, listened to and sym- 
 pathized with their tale ; and went home jacketless. 
 
 His daring courage and contempt for danger led him 
 into innumerable scrapes. It almost seemed that he 
 bore a charmed lite, so many perilous situations did he 
 come out of unscathed. He made a trouble of nothing. 
 Of a happy and contented mind, the cares and crosses 
 of life — for schoolboys have their crosses and cares as 
 well as other people — passed over him lightly and 
 smoothly as a light fleecy cloud passes over the face of 
 the sun. And here, again, lay a contrast between him 
 and William Allah'. The latter would run to meet 
 trouble half way, while Harry would not see it if it 
 came.
 
 44 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 Everybody liked Harry Vane : all admired the gene- 
 rous boy and his happy temperament, "With rich and 
 poor he was an equal favourite ; and one great charac- 
 teristic of him was, that he did not understand false 
 pride ; he possessed none of it. One day he would be 
 seen driving along in state in Lord Sayingham's coro- 
 neted carriage ; the next he was jolting through the 
 village in the baker's cart. And if, when in the cart, 
 he by chance met the carriage, whilst another boy — 
 could one have been found to allow himself to get into 
 it — would gladly have sunk to the bottom amidst the 
 loaves, Harry sat as erect and unconcerned as before ; 
 the same gay good temper in his eye and smile on his 
 lip, as he lifted his hat to Lady Sayingham. In fact, 
 he possessed that independent, fearless spirit which 
 exalts its owner into a sort of hero, whom all are eager 
 to admire and imitate. Was it any wonder that such a 
 boy should hold sway over his companions ? 
 
 But they need not have fallen into the notion that, 
 because Harry Vane was constituted for a sea life, they 
 must be. A few are constituted for it. That great 
 Creator who made the sea, has made men fitted to go 
 upon it as their home, their life's work ; but they are 
 but sufficient, units amid the millions ; and where a 
 sailor is not fitted for the life and its hardships, it is the 
 very greatest and most bitter mistake to have embraced 
 it. A mistake which brings repentance in its train, but 
 rarely remedy.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EMPTY TARTS. 
 
 William Allair lay in bed with his sick headache. He 
 came down in the latter part of the day. His sisters 
 were out ; Mrs Allair and Edmund in the drawing- 
 room. William was taking a chair, when Edmund 
 started up, and, with a vacant smile, drew him towards 
 the sofa. 
 
 Poor Edmund Allair ! He was an afflicted boy ; not 
 being so bright in intellect as he might have been. 
 The neighbourhood called him " silly," and that was not 
 a bad term to express his state. Not an idiot, he had 
 yet little or no power of mind ; none of intellect. 
 Trifles amused him, as they might have amused a child 
 of three years old. Could he get a peacock's feather to 
 stick in his cap, he would pace the lawn before the 
 house, glorying in his finery, nodding his head majesti- 
 cally to anybody who would look at him, and bursting 
 out often with his loud, distressing, vacant laugh. 
 There was no hope that his state would ever be ame- 
 liorated, or that he would be fit for any occupation. 
 Therefore he would have to be wholly provided for. It 
 was a great affliction to Mr and Mrs Allair, as you may 
 naturally suppose. They were not rich. Mr Allah- 
 had also reason to believe that his would be no Ion a: 
 life : a disease which carried off his father in his prime,
 
 46 
 
 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 had begun, he feared, to show its symptoms upon him. 
 He hoped to last until William should be of an age to 
 replace him in his profession, so that the practice might 
 be kept together. "William, however, had been allow- 
 ing certain foolish visions of a sea life to unsettle him. 
 Very foolish they were as regarded himself ; for if ever 
 a boy was unfitted for hardships and bodily exertion, 
 that exertion which comprises hard work, it was William 
 Allah*. 
 
 He took the sofa offered by Edmund, who sat down 
 on a footstool at William's feet. Edmund, loving by 
 nature, held his brother's hand, and frequently kissed 
 it, gazing tenderly up into his face. William, on his 
 part, gazed at the sun, then nearing the horizon. He 
 recalled Harry Vane's raptures the previous morning 
 over a sea life, and began fancying — well, I hardly know 
 what he was fancying : something to the effect that he 
 Avas on the sea, many hundreds of leagues away, all alone 
 in an open boat. And what with the thought of his 
 loneliness, which was imaginary ; and his intense gaze 
 at the dazzling sun, which was real, the tears came into 
 his eyes. He had been cherishing these charming sea 
 visions all day in bed, by way of soothing his pain. Mrs 
 Allair, a very pretty, gentle-featured woman, not unlike 
 William himself, looked up from her book. She was 
 young yet, and Tier braided hair had no need of cap, 
 and the hanging lace of her open sleeves shaded her 
 rounded arms. 
 
 •• What are you thinking of, William V" 
 William mused himself. "Just at that moment, 
 mamma, I was thinking how beautiful it must be to see 
 the sun set at sea."
 
 EMPTY TARTS. 47 
 
 " A sunset is beautiful anywhere." 
 
 Another pause. William broke it in a half-caress 
 ing, half-sighing tone. 
 
 " What a happy life Harry Vane's will be ! It is de 
 cided that he is to go to sea. Or, as good as decided." 
 
 " I make no doubt that, for him, it will be a happy 
 life." 
 
 Mrs Allair laid a stress upon the words "for him." 
 William rather fired at that. 
 
 "Why for him, mamma'? Why not for me? " 
 
 " My darling boy, you know why." 
 
 " But I must be a sailor. Mamma, dear, you might 
 take my part." 
 
 " William, we have discussed this subject before," she 
 answered, a shade of annoyance in her tone. " A 
 sailors life would prove a misery to you. My dear, 
 understand well what I repeat — a misery. You are 
 just as unfitted for the calling, as Harry Vane is adapted 
 for it." 
 
 " That's what all mothers say," grumbled William. 
 " Harry Vane remarked it only yesterday. One would 
 think the sea was a pool of devouring fire, by the way 
 they seem to dread it for their sons." 
 
 " It is not dreaded for all sons. Were Harry Vane 
 my son, I would cordially approve of it for him, and 
 send him away with my blessing." 
 
 " And yet you woidd forbid it to me ! " 
 
 " I have told you why, times and times. It is out of 
 consideration for your own welfare. You and Harry 
 Vane are differently constituted ; and the walk in life 
 that would suit the one, would be especially ill adapted 
 for the other. In bodily powers, in temperament, you
 
 48 WILLIAM ALLAIK. 
 
 are precisely opposite. Do you remember the cut 
 fingers, "William?" 
 
 William winced. " As if that were worth bringing 
 np in argument, mamma ! I was not seven years old." 
 
 " But neither was Harry Vane," said Mrs Allairwith 
 a smile. And William was conscious that the argument 
 was strong against him. The reminiscence was this : — 
 
 Once they had been making a boat together. That 
 is, Harry was the acting man ; William's help chiefly 
 consisting in sewing the sails : no hand at carpentering 
 work was he. Master Fisher's hands were not more 
 delicate than William Allair's. Sawing, hammering, 
 cutting, and planing were not in his Hue : and they 
 never Avould be. He was holding a certain piece of 
 wood steady, for Harry to chop. Away chopped Harry 
 with a sharp knife, much too sharp for a young gentle- 
 man of seven to possess ; and the knife went a little too 
 far, and alighted on the fingers of both. William's was 
 a mere scratch ; the skin was cut, and a little drop of 
 blood slowly appeared. Harry Vane's was cut to the 
 bone, and the blood came forth in a stream. William 
 looked at his own finger, at the little scratch and the 
 one drop of blood, and was in danger of fainting from 
 terror; his lips turned white, his frame trembled. He 
 never saw the injury to Harry Vane ; he was too much 
 absorbed in his own. Harry Vane carelessly wrapped 
 his handkerchief round his own woixnd, led William to 
 tli'' house, and asked them to attend to him, and then 
 ran, whistling, off' to the chemist, and asked him to " do 
 it up with a bit of plaster." The chemist did so ; told 
 him it was an awkward cut, and that he was a little 
 hero. Back went Harry to Mr Allair's, and there he
 
 EMPTY TARTS. 49 
 
 found — oh, dear ! — that poor William had been obliged 
 to be put to bed, sick and faint. So Harry went into 
 the summer-house alone, and continued his work just 
 as though nothing had happened. And this might be 
 taken as a specimen of endurance of each boy. William 
 was of an age now not to care for a solitary drop of 
 blood ; but Harry Vane would bear with better firmness 
 the taking off of a leg, than William would the strap- 
 ping up of a finger, were it cut as badly as Harry's had 
 been. Harry's hands were everlastingly coming to 
 grief : gashes, bruises, abrasions abounded on " them. 
 What cared he ? He would just tie a handkerchief 
 round till the blood had stopped, and then the places 
 were left, exposed to the dirt and the air, to get well, 
 or not, as they liked. 
 
 " William," resumed Mrs Allah', impressively, " a 
 sailor's life, such as some are obliged to lead, would kill 
 you." 
 
 " Kill me ! " repeated William, in his spirit of dis- 
 belief ; and perhaps his tone savoured also of mockery. 
 " It is the most charming life going. Look what a fine 
 time they have of it when they go cruising in the 
 Mediterranean ! " 
 
 " But they can't go cruising in the Mediterranean for 
 ever." 
 
 " It must be uncommonly pleasant when they do." 
 
 " A sailor must bear all weathers and all tempera- 
 tures," remarked Mrs Vane. " The fierce cold of the 
 poles may stagnate the blood in his veins, and the burn- 
 ing sun of the tropics must glare on him with unmiti- 
 gated heat. Take up a bar of cold iron in the frozen 
 regions, and it will shrivel the flesh off your hands ;
 
 50 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 •while the dreadful heat, under the line, has sent many 
 to their grave with brain fever. How would you bear 
 these extremes ? I have heard you complain bitterly 
 of the cold of a wintry day, and of the heat of a summer 
 one, in mild, temperate England." 
 
 " Of course, I should make up my mind to put up 
 with these inconveniences." 
 
 " And a very good resolution too, where the incon- 
 veniences are inevitable^ But, William, they would 
 not by you be less keenly felt." 
 
 " Well, if they were, they would hurt nobody but 
 myself. The thought of being planted down to copy 
 mouldy old parchments from morning till night is un- 
 bearable. I'd as soon be put in a prison for life." 
 
 " Eandom words, William." 
 
 William felt they were ; but he had not the grace 
 to say so. 
 
 " Never think, my boy, that my opposition to this 
 ideal fancy you have taken up is prompted by any 
 motives, save the urgent wish for your own happiness. 
 Do not interrupt, William; it is an ideal, not a real 
 one. Children are inclined to be undutiful and head- 
 strong, thinking that they know best, and preferring 
 to take their own course. They think that the oppo- 
 sition to their own wishes proceeds from a love of ride ; 
 but, William, do not you so deceive yourself. Believe 
 me, that nothing on earth can equal the anxiety of a 
 mother for her child." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I know. I know you are anxious for 
 me." 
 
 " I wish, my darling boy, that you could be shown 
 the working of a sea life in its true light : that you
 
 EMPTY TARTS. 51 
 
 could witness its toil and hardship, and — in nearly all 
 its cases, when boys have gone as you are wishing to 
 go — its inward pining and repentance. Harry Vane 
 will go to what he loves, for his whole heart is in it ; 
 but were you to go, you would find out your mistake 
 too late." 
 
 "Gruff Jones is going," returned William, his spirit 
 of disbelief and opposition again rising. 
 
 " Gruff Jones ! " echoed Mrs Allair. "My dear, you 
 are mistaken. It was only yesterday, when we were 
 looking at the show, that the squire told me the very 
 notion of his being allowed to go was absurd." 
 
 " Gruff says he will go, and I think he will," an- 
 swered William. " He says, if the squire persists in 
 refusing him, he shall run away." 
 
 Mrs Allair did no1 like the words; they seemed to 
 throw some strange chill on her heart. She shook as 
 with a sudden inward fear, and her lips grew white. 
 
 "My son, put those dangerous thoughts away from 
 you," she said, in a low, solemn tone, tenderly laying 
 her hand upon his shoulder. " Run away ! what sort 
 of a step would that be ? Think you, God's blessing 
 would ever rest upon it ? " 
 
 " Mamma, I was only talking of Gruff." 
 
 " It frightens me, William, to hear of a boy running 
 away from home. I never knew good come of such a 
 step yet. I do not think good could come of it. If — 
 What is it, Elizabeth?" 
 
 One of the servants had come to call her from the 
 room. William remained, looking at the glories in the 
 western sky, his thoughts far away. A few minutes 
 more, and four or five of the schoolboys came in. On
 
 52 WILLIAM ALL AIR. 
 
 their way home from evening school, they had resolved 
 to look up William. 
 
 " Here he is ! — alive !" began Jenniker. " We 
 thought you'd be dead by this time, Allair." 
 
 '• Did you?" returned William, rather crossly. He 
 could not put up with " chaff " as well as some of the 
 boys could. Of a gentle, timid, yielding disposition, 
 he was less fitted for the rough life of a public school 
 than some of them were. His very appearance was 
 indicative of his sensitive nature, with his refined fea- 
 tures, his soft blue eyes, his bright complexion, and his 
 fair, wavy hair. 
 
 Gruff Jones, one of the visitors, flung himself into a 
 chair with an action of impatience. He was a short, 
 stout lad, the eldest son of Squire Jones, a gentleman 
 of some importance at Whittermead. The boys had 
 nicknamed him " Gruff" on account of some peculi- 
 arity in his voice. 
 
 "It is of no use talking to the governor," Gruff 
 began, in a grumbling tone. " He won't as much 
 as hear me name the sea now. He'll never let me 
 go." 
 
 " Bother him till he does," advised Jenniker. 
 
 Gruff shook his head. " He won't be bothered. If 
 I begin but with half a word, he shuts my mouth up. 
 I will go !" added the young gentleman, stamping his 
 foot. " The thing is, if he sets his face dead against 
 it, how am I to get there ?" 
 
 " Run away," said Jenniker. 
 
 " Jenniker told me yesterday you had made up your 
 mind to run away," interrupted William Allair. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," mused Gruff, who was rather
 
 EMPTY TARTS. o3 
 
 a mild sort of boy, in spite of his gruff voice. "I'm 
 afraid it wouldn't do." 
 
 •-.Not do!" echoed daring Jennifer. "Just hear 
 him!" he added, turning to the rest. "He's afraid it 
 wouldn't do to run away ! If you want to do a thing, 
 and other folks say you shan't, the best way is, to cut 
 the matter short by doing it." 
 
 Gruff considered. Apparently he did not see his 
 way clear. " I might not get safe off," debated he. 
 "The squire might catch me up and bring me back, 
 and have me before him on the bench, as a vagabond. 
 You don't know what he is when lie's put up. He'd 
 no more care fur putting one of its in prison, than he 
 cares for commit thiL r the poachers. Besides, where 
 could I run to ? I should have neither money nor 
 outfit; and there'd he no fun in going to sea without 
 your uniform." 
 
 " Have it your own way," said Jenniker. " If you 
 won't bother the squire into sending you, and won't 
 start mi your own account, you must humdrum on at 
 Whittermead for life, feeding your own innocent sheep, 
 and cultivating your crops of mild turnips. They'll 
 put you on the bench, perhaps, when you are of age, 
 and you can sit there and commit poachers on your 
 own account." 
 
 Gruff Jones did not like the bantering tone. " What 
 would you advise me to do, Jenniker?" he asked. 
 
 •' You needn't come to me for advice. I wash my hands 
 of milksops," he added, making a motion of rubbing one 
 hand over the other. Gruff looked irresolute. 
 
 " Shall you run away. Vane, if they don't let you 
 
 go ?" he asked. 
 
 D
 
 54 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 " No," said Harry Vane. " I expect they will let 
 me go." 
 
 " But if they don't, I said?" persisted Gruff. 
 
 " Then I must put up with it as I best can. I should 
 never run away. No good comes of that." 
 
 " Better run away than be kept from doing what 
 you like," spoke up Jenniker. 
 
 " Better not. An old merchant captain told me 
 once that running away never prospered anybody. I 
 don't believe it does. / am not going to run. Stuff !" 
 
 " I don't know but what I shall have to run," struck 
 in Jenniker. " I'd not bet upon it." 
 
 " It won't matter so much for you," responded Harry 
 Vane. " You have no father to disobey." 
 
 " No. And the commandments don't tell us we 
 must honour our uncles and our step-aunts," returned 
 the incorrigible Jenniker. " I am getting into hot 
 water at home." 
 
 " Worse hot Avater than usual?" 
 
 " A sight worse. But I have paid them out. There's 
 a party gone to Cummerton Castle to-day — a picnic." 
 
 Jenniker' s face was so radiant with mischief, his tone 
 so suggestive, that the boys inquired what his joke was. 
 
 " I was invited to this picnic, mind you ; I know I 
 was, for Mildred whispered it to me some days ago," 
 he answered. " I thought I was going, until last night. 
 No, if you please ! My uncle and step-aunt gravely 
 told me I should only be in mischief if I went, and 
 Bpoil the party. I have served them out." 
 
 " Don't say step-aunt, Jenniker. It does sound so!" 
 
 " I shall say it. She's no aunt of mine, and I shan't 
 call her one. Well, it made me mad, as you may
 
 EMPTY TARTS. 55 
 
 guess, finding I was to be put out of the fun, so I 
 thought I'd spoil theirs a bit. The folks Avere to take 
 their own provisions. One lot took meat ; another lot 
 took poultry ; another, cheese and bread-and-butter ; 
 another, wine ; another, knives and forks, and dishes 
 and spoons, and tea-kettles and glasses, and all that 
 sort of rattletraps. It fell to our lot at home to find 
 pastry and custards. All yesterday afternoon, as soon 
 as the show was over, my step-aunt, and Mildred, and 
 the cook were melting themselves over the kitchen fire, 
 boiling the custards, and baking the tarts. Mrs Jenni- 
 ker did not make big pies ; about a couple of hundred 
 of little tarts ; just what we could take in at a mouth- 
 fid, you know. I heard her say to Mildred they'd be 
 more convenient to carry than pies in dishes. All 
 covered they were ; no jam to be seen : perhaps she 
 thought it would run out on the road " 
 
 " My ! shouldn't I like to have been before that col- 
 lation!" struck in Gruff Jones, while the whole of the 
 boys stood with watering mouths. 
 
 " Don't interrupt," said Jenniker, winking his eyes. 
 " 'Twas all got ready by night : custards corked up in 
 Avide-mouthed bottles, and put in a hamper ; tarts 
 packed in another hamper. And then it was I found 
 I was not to get any, or any fun, either. So down to 
 the cellar I crept, when the house was in bed, and got 
 at the dainties." 
 
 " Did you finish the lot, Jenniker?" asked the boys, 
 in a despairing state of envy that the luck had not 
 been theirs. 
 
 " I didn't eat them ; I spoiled them," said Jenniker, 
 winking again — a very ugly accomplishment, but Jen-
 
 56 -WILLIAM ALLAIK. 
 
 niker had some ugly ones. " I uncorked the custard 
 bottles, and poured in a little shalot vinegar ; and you 
 may guess what the flavour was then, besides turning 
 the stuff to curd. Then I took the tops off the tarts, 
 all neat and clean, with my penknife, and devoured 
 the contents, and fastened on the tops again with white 
 of egg ; leaving them just the same, to look at, as they 
 were before." 
 
 "Jove! what a treat ! Was it all jam?" 
 "Jam, and other stuff. Apple, and lemon, and 
 rhubarb, and green goosegogs — oh, about fifty sorts,' 
 answered Jenniker. " I demolished it all. I was down 
 there three hours, stuffing, and accomplishing the job 
 neatlv. "When I came up, nobody could have told that 
 so much as a finger had been laid upon the hampers. 
 Hadn't I the stomach-ache, though, towards the morn- 
 ing ! They'll be returning home, that picnic lot, in 
 about an hour's time." 
 
 The boys sat in a trance of delight, devouring the 
 tale as eagerly as Mr Jenniker had devoured the in- 
 sides of the tarts. And poor Edmund Allair laughed 
 :.nd crowed incessantly, without understanding what 
 there was to laugh at.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 PUNISHMENT. 
 
 One black sheep will spoil a flock. One black boy — 
 speaking with regard to the sheep and the boy meta- 
 phorically — will spoil a whole school. 
 
 Harry Vane infected his companions with a love for 
 the sea ; but he was not the black sheep. That boy 
 Avas Jenniker, the eldest of them all. 
 
 Nothing overwhelmingly bad, either, was there in 
 Jenniker. He possessed no very evil habits ; he did 
 not thieve or kill. But Jenniker was daringly self- 
 willed; somewhat loose in principle; inclined to dis- 
 obedience and rebellion ; and Jenniker's shortcomings 
 in these respects worked contagion in the school. 
 
 In some respects poor Jenniker was to be pitied. He 
 had not the advantage, the safeguard, of a happy home. 
 Left an orphan at an early age, he had been brought 
 up by an uncle and aunt. His aunt was fond of him 
 and treated him well; his uncle also treated him well 
 during her life. But she died; and the time came 
 when his uncle took another wife, and the second Mrs 
 Jenniker set her face against the boy. There had been 
 war to the knife ever since. And it is hot improbable 
 that Jenniker would have made short work of it and 
 run away long ago, but for the earnest pleadings of his 
 sweet cousin Mildred. 
 
 He went home, after boasting of his exploits, as to
 
 58 WILLIAM ALLAIK. 
 
 the tarts, at Allair's. Mr Jenniker, a wealthy farmer, 
 lived about a mile out of Whittermead, at the Manor 
 Farm. Jenniker — Dick, he was generally called at 
 home — was deep in the preparation of his lessons for 
 the following morning, when the carriage drove up, 
 containing his uncle, Mrs Jenniker, and Mildred. 
 Some friends were with them ; they had come to spend 
 the evening ; and Jenniker escaped anger for the time. 
 Mildred came to him in the study, gave him an account 
 of the day's proceedings, told him the trick was assumed 
 to be his, and that Mrs Jenniker vowed vengeance 
 against him. 
 
 Jenniker only laughed. But when the guests had 
 left, the storm fell upon his head, Mr and Mrs Jenni- 
 ker heaping reproaches upon it. Jenniker retorted, 
 and there was an angry scene. The boy — he was not 
 much more than a boy, though he was so big and tall 
 — spoke out as he had never spoken. Mildred burst 
 into tears. These disputes made the sorrow of her life. 
 
 " Such a row!" said careless Jenniker to the boys of 
 his desk the next morning at early school. " They 
 quarrelled with me, and I quarrelled with them." 
 
 "But about the tarts, Jenniker?" cried the boys, 
 eagerly. " How did they find the trick out?" 
 
 " I'd give a guinea to have been there and seen the 
 fun !" responded Jenniker. " When the time came for 
 the repast to be spread, the company turned out their 
 hampers, and my step-aunt turned out hers. The tarts 
 looked all right, but the custard didn't. ' My dear,' 
 says uncle to her, 'your custard has turned.' ' My 
 custard turned !' says she : ' it's not likely ;' for if there's 
 one thing she prides herself upon, it's the making of
 
 PUNISHMENT. 59 
 
 her cheesecakes and custards. So my uncle tastes the 
 custard, and finds it sour — all turned. ' It's my belief 
 there's vinegar in it,' cried he. So that put her up. 
 1 What shoidd bring vinegar in my custards ? ' she 
 asked. ' Taste it,' returned uncle. Well, she did taste, 
 and the company all round tasted, and they found a 
 
 flavour of onions in addition to the vinegar, and " 
 
 " Stop a bit, Jenniker! How did you get at this?" 
 " Mildred told me. I wish you wouldn't put a fellow 
 out," responded Jenniker. And he hastened to con- 
 tinue his story, adding to it, no doubt, sundry flourish- 
 ings and embellishments of his own. " The custard 
 was thrown away, and the dinner proceeded. When 
 the meats were done with, the tarts came on. You 
 know old Mother Graham ? Well, she was served first, 
 being the oldest and fattest. ' What sort will you take, 
 ma'am?' asks Mrs Jenniker, who presided over her own 
 tarts. ' I'll take a gooseberry, ma'am,' replies Mother 
 Graham. So Mrs Jenniker looks at her private marks, 
 and sent her a gooseberry, and Mother Graham takes a 
 good bite at it. ' Goodness me, ma'am ! ' she shrieks 
 out, ' you have forgotten the fruit ! ' ' Forgotten the 
 fruit!' repeats Mrs Jenniker, resenting the rudeness. 
 'Don't, mother!' whispers her son, the parson, to her 
 — for he thought it was nothing but rudeness — ' Mrs 
 Jenniker always puts plenty of fruit in her tarts.' 
 ' But there's none ! ' cries out Mother Graham to him ; 
 and she pulls the tart apart before the company. This 
 flustered Mrs Jenniker ; she told Mildred angrily that 
 it was her carelessness, for it was she who had filled the 
 tarts : and she hands Mother Graham another. ' But 
 what tarts are these?' cries Mother Graham, taking a
 
 60 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 bite as before. ' They have got no insides to them.' 
 Mrs Jenniker, in a tearful passion, cut a few open, and 
 found they had no insides, but were hollow and empty. 
 Mildred says I should have seen the consternation.' 
 
 The desk was in an ecstasy. It had not been treated 
 to such a tale for many a day. 
 
 " They laid the blame upon my shoulders at once, 
 my uncle and step-aunt," went on Jenniker, " vowing 
 vengeance upon me. They said I had done it on pur- 
 pose to vex Mrs Jenniker, and they told the company 
 so. They told the company I was vile and undutiful, 
 the wickedest fellow of a nephew going; and " 
 
 " How did they know it was you who did it ?" inter- 
 rupted one at the desk. 
 
 " Oh, they guessed that. Of course, they would 
 guess it. I knew they would when I was demolishing 
 the tarts. Mildred would not do such a thing, and the 
 servants wouldn't ; so there was nobody to pitch upon 
 but me. If " 
 
 " Silence!" interrupted the voice of Dr Eobertson. 
 
 The room was a large one. Dr Robertson's desk was 
 placed in the middle; the desk at which sat these boys 
 was at the upper end, extending alongside the wall. 
 At the other end of the room, opposite to their desk, 
 was the entrance door. Jenniker waited until the echo 
 of the master's voice had died away, and then began 
 again. 
 
 • You should have heard the uproar there was last 
 
 night. They abused me, and I almsed them. I told 
 
 that step-aunt of mine a bit of truth, and she didn't 
 
 h it: that the Manor Farm had been a pleasant 
 
 place until Bhe stepped into it, but it nevr would
 
 PUNISHMENT. 61 
 
 again. That angered my uncle, and he promised to get 
 me punished to-day by Dr Robertson. He had better!" 
 
 Vain defiance of Jenniker's ! Scarcely had it passed 
 his lips, when the schoolroom door opened, and some 
 one entered it. The boys, who had been so eagerly 
 enjoying the tale, recoiled with surprise. 
 
 " Jenniker ! look there ! " 
 
 Jenniker did louk. It was his uncle, Mr Jenniker. 
 He did not appear angry, but there was an expression 
 of cold firmness on his face that spoke volumes to Jen- 
 niker, who knew all its turns. That Mr Jenniker was 
 in earnest respecting the threatened punishment, his 
 coming thus early before breakfast proved. He went 
 aside with Dr Robert>on, and spoke with him for some 
 minutes in a low tone. 
 
 What lie said was never known. It was rumoured 
 in the school afterwards that he put the affair in a very 
 strong light indeed, and accused his nephew of theft. 
 At any rate, whatever may have been the precise nature 
 of the representation, he succeeded in his demand for 
 extreme punishment. The doctor called Jenniker up, 
 spoke a few severe words, summoned his man-servant, 
 and ordered Jenniker to prepare for a flogging. 
 
 Jenniker's face flushed. "With all his escapades, he 
 had never been flogged; indeed, it was a punishment 
 scarcely ever resorted to by Dr Robertson. " What 
 have I done to deserve a flogging?" asked he. 
 
 •■ Yonr own conscience can tell you that," replied 
 the doctor. " Mr Jenniker has satisfied me upon the 
 point." 
 
 " I only played them a lark, sir," said Jenniker, look- 
 ing from his uncle to the doctor. " I took the insides
 
 62 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 out of some tarts for their picnic yesterday. That does 
 not merit a flogging." 
 
 " Your conduct in many ways is incorrigibly bad, I 
 find ; it has been for some time," returned the doctor, 
 taking out his great birch. " I hope this punishment 
 will have an effect upon you." 
 
 " What have you been telling him, uncle ?" angrily 
 asked Jenniker. 
 
 " The truth," curtly replied Mr Jenniker. 
 
 " Hoist him," said Dr Robertson to his servant, giv- 
 ing the word of command in a sharp tone, while Mr 
 Jenniker stood with an impassive face, never speaking, 
 watching for the infliction of the punishment. 
 
 " I won't be flogged ! I won't !" said Jenniker, loudly 
 and rebelliously. " I have done nothing to deserve it." 
 
 Resistance to power in a case like this, where the 
 might lies all on one side, is of little use, and Jenniker 
 found it so. He was seized upon, his back bared, and 
 the birch soundly applied. 
 
 It was not a pleasant sight : he was too big to be 
 flogged ; and it looked more like punishing a soldier 
 than a schoolboy. Jenniker was the tallest in the 
 school, standing over five feet eight. 
 
 " I hope you'll remember this," cried Mr Jenniker to 
 him, with his disagreeably calm impassiveness, when 
 the punishment was over. And, taking leave of the 
 doctor, he quitted the school. 
 
 Jenniker returned to his desk, sullen and resentful. 
 There was a look on his face that boded no good, could 
 the boys have read it. 
 
 " How did it taste, Jenniker?" came the intruding 
 whisper.
 
 PUNISHMENT. G3 
 
 There will always be found some boys ready to pay 
 off these shafts. Jenniker heard it, and brought down 
 his fist on the desk with a fierce word. 
 
 " The first of you that throws that flogging in my 
 teeth, or even gives me so much as a look over it, shall 
 be licked into powder. I promise it. Now! Goon, 
 if you dare : you are none of you strong enough to fight 
 with me." 
 
 In a trial of strength, Jenniker was a match for 
 almost any two boys in the school; and, as none had a 
 wish to be converted into " powder," they decided to let 
 Jenniker alone. It was their wisest plan. Of a good- 
 humoured, careless nature in general, Jenniker, when 
 aroused — though it took a good deal to do it — would 
 show out (as the school expressed it) as savage as any 
 wild heathen. 
 
 So the desk was silent, and by and by the morning 
 school broke up for breakfast. Jenniker was the first 
 to depart. He strode across the long room with steps 
 so fierce and swift, that the boys could only watch him 
 in something like surprise. When they got out, he had 
 disappeared. 
 
 The school collected in a knot, talking over the great 
 event of the morning. A few who bore ill will to Jen- 
 niker declared that it " served him right," but the 
 popular opinion of the majority was that it was " too 
 bad." If Jenniker was insolent — and they all knew he 
 could be that, when it pleased him — that step-aunt, of 
 his, was cruel : always " on at him," " thwarting and ag- 
 gravating him continually." If stern old Jenniker 
 
 The conclave was interrupted by Dr Robertson, ap- 
 parently by accident. He halted, and told the boys
 
 6 I WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 they had better hasten home to breakfast, if they had a 
 mind to be in time for ten o'clock school. And the 
 boys had no resource but to disperse. 
 
 When they reassembled after breakfast, Jenniker was 
 not one of them. His place remained empty. The 
 boys did not wonder much : it was just what was to be 
 expected from independent Jenniker. And even bets 
 were laid one with another whether he would make his 
 appearance after dinner. 
 
 He did not — as the event proved. The place at his 
 desk Avas still vacant in the afternoon. Dr Robertson 
 said nothing ; but he was probably resolving upon a 
 further punishment for the gentleman, for this daring 
 attempt at insubordination. 
 
 Not a sight did the boys catch of him all day, in 
 school or out. They were in the habit of assembling at 
 Dr Robertson's in the evening, to prepare their exer 
 i ases and lessons for the ensuing day. It was not a 
 compulsory attendance this, and no masters were pre- 
 sent ; one of the \inder ones occasionally would be there, 
 but it Avas not very usual. It was thought Jenniker 
 would probably come, and the school mustered in force ; 
 but they were disappointed. There was no Jenniker. 
 
 " He won't show himself until to-morrow morning," 
 cried Gripper. "I said from the first he'd not come 
 in to-day. " 
 
 " And right of him too," said Gruff Jones, who had a 
 tongue. " I'd not, I know, if I had been flogged 
 as Jenniker was." 
 
 " Suppose we go up to his place, and see him?" 
 
 "Sup] ; you do nothing of the sort!" retorted 
 
 Monitor Seymour, witli decision. "Jenniker won't
 
 PUNISHMENT. G5 
 
 thank any of you fellows for intruding on him. Let 
 him have his smart out; it will be over with to-day." 
 
 And for once the boys thought well to follow ad- 
 vice. It might be as well to let Jenniker's temper 
 cool down.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 RESULTS. 
 
 The following day was Friday. The boys flew to early 
 morning school with unwonted alacrity, getting there 
 before seven. They cherished a nameless curiosity to 
 see how Jenniker looked after his flogging. 
 
 Jenniker, however, chose to be late. Dr Robertson 
 also was late, it being nearly eight when he entered the 
 room. Casting his eyes around as he took his seat, he 
 noted the absence of Jenniker. 
 
 " Where's Jenniker? " he called out. 
 
 " He is not come, sir." 
 
 " Not come ! " repeated Dr Robertson. " Where is 
 he then ? " he added, after a pause. 
 
 There Avas no reply. 
 
 " Have any of you seen him ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 The whole school spoke now. None of them had 
 seen him. They had not seen him since he left the 
 school the previous morning, after the flogging. 
 
 Dr Robertson ran his eyes over the boys, and called 
 up Vane. 
 
 " Go to the Manor Farm," he said. " Inquire why 
 Jenniker is not at school, and say 1 demand his imme- 
 diate attendance. Don't linger on your errand, Vane," 
 sharply added the doctor, as a particular injunction to 
 his messenger. 
 
 Harry Vane liked the. expedition excessively. The 
 school envied him, and resentfully thought Vane was
 
 RESULTS. 67 
 
 always in luck. A scamper up to the Manor Farm was 
 rather more agreeable, on a sunshiny June morning, 
 than the bending over the school desks at their horrid 
 books, as they termed them ; and the " horrid books " 
 did not get much of their attention during his absence. 
 Harry Vane was shown into the breakfast room at 
 the Manor Farm. Pretty Mildred was alone in it. Her 
 papa had gone riding round his farm, and Mrs Jenniker 
 was not down. " I have come to ask about Jenniker," 
 said Harry. " Robertson is in such a temper." 
 
 Mildred looked alarmed. " What about him ? " she 
 asked. " Is he ill ? " 
 
 " Is who ill ? " returned Harry Vane, not under- 
 standing. 
 " Richard." 
 
 " Richard ! " repeated Harry. " I don't know what 
 you mean, Mildred. He has not been near school since 
 yesterday morning. I have come to order him there." 
 Mildred's face began to grow white. The words 
 brought to her she knew not what of dread. " He has 
 not been home since yesterday morning," she whispered. 
 " Where is he ? What can have become of him ? " 
 
 Harry Vane could only look at her in surprise. 
 Where could Jenniker have gone? 
 
 "Was it a dreadful Hogging?" asked Mildred, in a 
 shuddering whisper. 
 
 " Pretty smart," was the answer. " What did he say 
 about it?" 
 
 " I have not seen him," replied Mildred. " He has 
 not come home. When papa came into breakfast yes- 
 terday morning, he told my aunt that he had been 
 having Dick punished. It made me feel sick when he
 
 fi8 • WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 spoke of the flogging, and I burst into tears. Papa was 
 angry : he said I was always ready to take Richard's 
 part ; and when I wished to ask further about it, he 
 would not answer." 
 
 " But what an odd thing that he should not have 
 come home ! " ejaculated Harry Vane, unable to over- 
 come his surprise. 
 
 " / wondered," said Mildred, doing her best to choke 
 down her fright and her tears. " Papa said, no doubt 
 Dr Robertson had kept him for further punishment." 
 
 " What a notion ! " returned Harry Vane. " When 
 a flogging's over, the punishment's over." 
 
 Mildred was shivering. "When night came on, and 
 still Richard did not come, what I thought was, that 
 papa had requeued Dr Robertson to keep him. Papa 
 did not seem in the least uneasy, and Mrs Jenniker 
 never mentioned Richard's name throughout the day." 
 "Where can he have got to, though?" reiterated 
 Harry. "If I go back without him, Robertson will be 
 in a rage." 
 
 " He is not here," was all poor Mildred could reply. 
 " Oh. I wish they had not flogged him ! What will be 
 the result of it ? 
 
 Jt was hastily decided between them that a servant 
 should accompany Harry Vane back, partly, as Mildred 
 hoped, to gather some news of Richard; partly, as 
 Harry suggested, to bear out the information that 
 Jenniker was not at home Mildred called the man. 
 gave him his orders, and they departed. 
 
 Harry Vane looked flushed when he entered the 
 Bchool. Mr Jenniker's servant awkwardly touched his 
 hat. and then stood with it in his hand near the door.
 
 RESULTS. 69 
 
 " If you please, sir, Jenniker is not at home," said 
 Harry, addressing Dr Robertson. "He has not been 
 home since yesterday morning." 
 
 "Then where is lie?" uttered the amazed doctor, 
 after a pause, given to digest the news. " Did you see 
 Mr Jenniker ? " 
 
 " Xo, sir, he was out on the farm. I saw Miss Mildred. 
 She said her papa, when he found Jenniker did not go 
 home, thought you had kept him for punishment," 
 
 " I should not be likely to keep him all night, had I 
 detained him for the day. Mr Jenniker might have 
 known that. What do you want, my man ? " the doctor 
 added, turning to the servant, 
 
 " Miss Mildred gave me orders to come here, sir, and 
 ask what you thought — as to where Master Richard can 
 have got to," was the man's reply. " She seems quite 
 alarmed, sir.*' 
 
 " I cannot tell at all," said the doctor. " I can form 
 no opinion upon the subject, tell Miss Jenniker, unless 
 it is that he is hiding somewhere. It is very bad 
 conduct. Mr Jenniker ought to be informed imme- 
 diately." 
 
 The man, giving his hair a touch to the doctor, and 
 another general touch to the school, quitted the room. 
 Dr Robertson looked round on the throng of boys. 
 They were partaking of the excitement, as to Jenniker. 
 Not one had his eyes on his duties. 
 
 " Are you sure that none of you have seen Jenniker 
 since yesterday morning ? " he asked. 
 
 The boys replied that they were. Quite sure. 
 " Did he say anything when school was over? Or 
 give any clue as to where he was £oincr? " 
 
 E
 
 70 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 A boy named Wilkins answered. He fancied the 
 doctor looked at him particularly. 
 
 " Jenniker did not wait to say anything, sir. lie 
 went out of school first, the moment the doors were 
 opened. I don't think he spoke a word to any of us 
 after the flogging, except to warn us that he would bear 
 no comments upon it." 
 
 "It is very strange where " Dr Robertson's 
 
 words were arrested by the reappearance of Mr Jenni- 
 ker's servant. The man came in, looking wild, his face 
 excited, his hair standing on end. 
 
 " He has gone and enlisted for a soldier ! " gasped he, 
 altogether ignoring ceremony. 
 
 "What? Who?" exclaimed the doctor, while the 
 whole school, including the under masters, stood up in 
 commotion. 
 
 " Master Richard has, sir. As I went out from 
 here, Bailiff Thompson was a passing, and he stopped 
 me. He says he see our Master Richard in Bur- 
 chester last night, along with a recruiting troop, and 
 he had got colours a Hying from his hat. He has 
 gone and 'listed, for certain," added the man, quite in 
 an agony. 
 
 Dr Robertson paused ; he did not much like the news. 
 " Make the best of your way home to your master, and 
 acquaint him," he. presently said. "Is Thompson sure 
 thai it was young Jenniker ? " he resumed, almost un- 
 able to take in the unpleasant tidings. 
 
 "There can't lie no mistake, .sir. Thompson says he 
 spoke to him. I always said as it would end in some- 
 thing bad," concluded the man, as he turned to depart. 
 "Master Richard was so random and self-willed: he
 
 RESULTS. 71 
 
 never cared for nobody. Master and mistress have 
 crossed him, too, a good deal of late." 
 
 The tidings were giving Dr Robertson very great 
 concern. When the school broke up for breakfast, he 
 proceeded to the Manor Farm. Mr Jenniker had re- 
 turned home then, and was in possession of the news. 
 
 " He must be seen after," said Dr Robertson. 
 
 "Not by me." 
 
 " Seen after, and bought off," continued the doctor. 
 
 " Not by me, I say," repeated Mr Jenniker. "He is 
 a wicked, ungrateful boy. A little taste of the world's 
 hardships will do him good." 
 
 ■• But there's no knowing what trouble and mischief 
 he may get into," urged the doctor. "There's no fore- 
 
 ing where it may cud." 
 
 " It is his own lookout," replied Mr Jenniker. ." As 
 he has made his bed, so shall he lie upon it." 
 
 And nothing was done for Richard Jenniker. Had 
 Mr Jenniker possessed boys of his own, he had possibly 
 been more lenient to his nephew's faults. He was what 
 is called a gentleman farmer, had plenty of money, and 
 intended Richard to be a farmer after him. This, 
 Richard had stoutly repudiated. He had "no liking 
 that way," he urged, and wished for a more stirring 
 life. Jenniker possessed a trilling patrimony; not 
 much. He was inclined to be wild, and was thoroughly 
 idle. "A scamp of a boy," Mr Jenniker had been in 
 the habit of calling him ; and he called it him more 
 forcibly now. There had been frequent disputes be- 
 tween them, it turned out, touching Richard's future 
 occupation : he was to have left school at the midsum- 
 mer, now close upon them.
 
 72 WILLIAM ALLAIK. 
 
 There was no doubt that Richard Jenniker had felt 
 the disgrace of the flogging keenly. It appeared that 
 instead of going home to breakfast afterwards, he pro- 
 ceeded on foot to Burchester, a large city, some seven 
 miles distant. Xot, probably, with any ulterior aim : 
 anywhere, anywhere out of Whittermead ; anywhere 
 to walk off his angry feelings, his bitter humiliation. 
 Richard Jenniker was in that frame of mind when it 
 seems a relief to run away from oneself ; but that, as 
 we are all aware, can never be done. He scarcely 
 cared what became of himself; he was at enmity that 
 day with the whole world : even the thoughtless taunt 
 of one of the boys at his desk, " How did it taste, Jen- 
 niker?" bore its own sharp sting of pain. He was 
 at enmity with Whittermead : he'd never go back to it, 
 he vowed to himself in his rage. He would have gone 
 back to it, there's no doubt, thai night or the following 
 day, according to the time his anger took to cool, had 
 not circumstances ordained it otherwise. 
 
 Miserable, unhappy, ill-fated circumstances ! No 
 sooner had he entered Burchester, than he fell in with 
 a recruiting sergeant. The man accosted him with his 
 wiles, and Jenniker, yielding to the fit of recklessness 
 upon him, enlisted. The process over, some flying 
 streamers were affixed to his hat ; and he with the rest 
 of the raw recruits their streamers flying also, took a 
 march through the town under convoy of the watchful 
 _eant. and were met, as you have heard, by Bailiff 
 Thompson, who brought home the news. 
 
 "Whittermead was divided in its opinion. Some lay- 
 ing the blame wholly on Richard Jenniker; others 
 deeming that Mr and Mrs Jenniker deserved at least a
 
 RESULTS. 73 
 
 share of it. Had less harshness and some kind per- 
 suasion been extended to him, they argued, Dick would 
 have turned out better. But conflicting opinions 
 amounted to nothing : what was done, was done. 
 
 Mr Jenniker would not buy him off. The most per- 
 sistent of all his urgers, that he should do so, was Dr 
 Robertson, who may have had a certain flogging prick- 
 ing his conscience. Mr Jenniker totally refused, and at 
 length declined to listen. " Dick had enlisted of his 
 own accord, and Dick should abide by it," was all he 
 said. So poor Dick was left to his fate. 
 
 Short work is sometimes made of it, I would have 
 you to know, young gentlemen, when a boy takes the 
 extreme step that Jenniker had just taken. On the 
 very morning that his loss was discovered, at the very 
 hour that Harry Vane was relating to the doctor the 
 fact of his not having gone home, Jenniker was in the 
 gitard's box of a railway train, speeding to Portsmouth. 
 The rest of the simple recruits were with him, all that 
 the crafty sergeant, by any plausibility of wile and per- 
 suasion, had been able to enlist. The regiment to 
 which they had sold themselves was collected at Ports- 
 mouth, under orders to embark for India. This news 
 travelled to Whittermead and to the Manor Farm. 
 
 Others had done urging Mr Jenniker on the subject 
 of his nephew: they had found it a hopeless task. 
 Mildred pleaded still. 
 
 " Papa ! papa ! " she uttered, in much agitation, and 
 the tears streamed down her gentle, face ; u p ray buy 
 Richard off! Do not let him go out in this way ! He 
 may never return. Buy him off! oh, buy him off!" 
 
 " It is no business of yours. Mildred, that you need
 
 74 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 concern yourself," \v;is the reply of Mr Jenniker, reso- 
 lute in his obduracy. 
 
 " Think of his hard life ! " she wailed. 
 
 " I make no doubt it will be hard,'' equably returned 
 Mr Jenniker. " He should have thought of its hard- 
 ships himself, before entering upon it. What people 
 sow., that must they reap." 
 
 Never was there a truer axiom. Take note of it, 
 boys. Accordingly as you sow, so you will reap. Put 
 good seed into the ground, and good fruit will come up, 
 and bring a blessing with it. But, if you scatter the 
 bad seed broadcast, it can but return upon you its own 
 recompense, Kind brings forth kind.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mil GRUFF JONES NEXT. 
 
 Jennikee's escapade made great noise in tlie school. 
 It left its impression behind it : and that gentleman was 
 some way on his voyage to India with his regiment, 
 before another syllable was heard from any one boy 
 about " running away." But the impressions stamped 
 on the minds of schoolboys are effaceable as prints on 
 the sea-side sand ; and as the time wore on, old feelings 
 began to resume their tendency. The next to rebel was 
 Mr Gruff Jones. 
 
 Not to run away. Mr Gruff possessed too much 
 innate conscientiousness to attempt that ; and he was 
 besides of a timid temperament. But he did what Jen- 
 niker had once advised him to do : he worried his father. 
 
 "Let me go to sea! I can't stop on land. I shall 
 never be happy unless I go to sea." And this was the 
 burden of his song night and day. Squire Jones grew 
 weary. What was more, he grew provoked and angry. 
 Constant dropping will wear away a stone; and young 
 Mr Grulf's everlasting refrain wore away the patience 
 of Squire Jones. 
 
 " Very well, young gentleman," said the squire, one 
 evening when Gruff was pitching it rather strongly. 
 " We'll have an end to this. I know of a trading vessel 
 that's going to the Mauritius, three hundred and thirty 
 tons burthen, and I'll bind you apprentice to the captain."
 
 76 WILLIAM ALL AIR. 
 
 Gruff was in an ecstasy. Little cared lie, in his blind 
 wilfulness, how he got to sea, provided he did get there. 
 Apprentice or not apprentice ; a trading lugger or a 
 fine frigate ; before the mast, or a gentleman middy ; it 
 all seemed one to Gruff. His experience had to come. 
 
 " Is it true, papa ? " gasped Gruff, in an agony of 
 dread lest the squire was only joking. " Will you 
 really let me go ? " 
 
 " Don't I tell you so ? " returned Squire Jones. " The 
 opportunity is offered me of placing an apprentice on 
 board that ship, and I'll place you. As you will go, 
 you shall go." 
 
 Gruff, scarcely knowing whether he stood on his 
 head or his heels, tore off to find his friends, the boys 
 of his own desk. They were at their evening work in 
 the school, and Gruff astonished them by bursting into 
 the room like a lunatic, and flinging his cap into the air. 
 
 " I am going at last ! " he cried, when he could speak 
 for want of breath and excitement. "The squire has 
 come to his senses." 
 
 " Going where ? " they asked. " To sea ? " 
 
 Gruff nodded, nodded fifty times ; Gruff made 
 pirouettes over the desks ; Gruff' executed a wild dance 
 round the room on his legs and head. The school 
 came to the conclusion, that if Squire Jones had come 
 to his senses, his son had undoubtedly lost his. That 
 day two months the unhappy Gruff would have per- 
 formed unheard-of penance to be on land again ; for he 
 had then found out what a sea life teas, to his miserable 
 cost. But that is neither here nor there. At present, 
 Beeing it only in prospective, it was all codleur de rose 
 to Gruff.
 
 MR GRUFF JONES NEXT. 77 
 
 " T say, Gruff, tell us how you are going. In the 
 navy ? " 
 
 " Navy be hanged ! I am too old. How can I go in 
 that when I have never been entered? The squire 
 knows of a trading vessel bound for the Mauritius, and 
 he says he will put me apprentice to the captain." 
 
 One of the boys gave a shrill whistle. It was Grip- 
 per, who was not infected with the sea mania, Gripper 
 knew somewhat more of ships, and the work of those 
 who had to man them, than most of the boys did. " Is 
 she a big vessel, Gruff?" asked he. 
 
 " Three hundred and thirty tons." 
 
 Gripper turned up his nose. " Oh ! a dirty little 
 trading sloop ! I'll tell you what, Gruff: if the squire's 
 not doing this to give you a sickener, call me a Dutch- 
 man." 
 
 " You are an idiot, Gripper!" retorted Gruff, strongly 
 resenting the insinuation. 
 
 " Thank you. You'll see. He is, as sure as sure 
 can be. He is putting you in her to give you a benefit 
 — and bring you to your senses."' 
 
 " I think so too," said Harry Vane. " Squire Jones 
 has been so averse to the sea for Gruff all along." 
 
 "It won't do it, then!" cried Mr Gruff in a heat. 
 " You are an idiot too, Vane. I'd as soon go in a trad- 
 ing sloop as I'd go in the biggest naval ship afloat." 
 
 " Seven decks and no bottom," put in Gripper. 
 
 " You are a jackass, Gripper !" returned Gruff, im- 
 proving upon his compliments and chafing consider- 
 ably. " What does it matter how you go to sea, pro- 
 vided you do go ? The struggle is to get there at all, 
 when all one's folks are set dead against it."
 
 10 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 "Yes, that's it," acquiesced a voice hitherto silent. 
 It was that of William Allair. He sat with his face 
 
 eagerly raised, his check-, hectic, Ins eyes bright. To 
 hear that Gruff Jones was actually going, seemed to 
 speak of hope for himself. 
 
 "Look here, Gruff," resumed Gripper, who had seen 
 a good deal of ships at sea and in harbour ; the reason 
 possibly why the sea fever had not infected him. " Jok- 
 ing apart, they are wretched, comfortless things, those 
 trading vessels. All hands have to work, and work alike. 
 Nine times out of ten they are imperfectly manned." 
 
 " I don't care how much I work." 
 
 " You have never tried work yet." 
 
 "And what do you mean by 'imperfectly manned?" 
 pursued Gruff, resentfully. 
 
 " Why, suppose the complement of men necessary to 
 work a vessel is, say, fifteen," explained Gripper ; 
 " she'll put to sea with only ten or so, boys included. 
 A nice treat that, for the lot ! They have to be at 
 work pretty well night and day." 
 
 "What fun !" cried Gruff. " I shall like it. Anns 
 were made for work." 
 
 •■ Gripper's saying it out of envy, Gruff," interposed 
 William Allair. " Because he is not going himself." 
 
 " It's nothing else," assented Gruff. 
 
 Gripper laughed good-humouredly. "I wouldn't 
 make the sea my profession if you paid me in gold to 
 do it. Yane knows I would not. Nobody ever heard 
 me speak up for the sea. If Gruff goes, he'll wish him- 
 self hack again. Speak the truth, Yane : won't he 
 have a sickener ?" 
 
 •• [t's awfully hard work on some of those trading
 
 MK GRUFF JONES NEXT. 7 ( J 
 
 ships," acknowledged Harry Vane. "Sometimes, too, 
 the treatment's bad. It depends a good deal upon the 
 mate you get." 
 
 "The captain, you mean, Vane," said Allair. 
 
 " 1 mean the mate. lie has more to do with tin- 
 apprentice boys than the captain has. You will be sure 
 to have enough of it, Gruff, any way."' 
 
 " That's first-rate, Vane ! you talking of hard work 
 at sea," spoke up an incredulous boy : and vastly in- 
 credulous they all were, as to there being anything of 
 consequence to do on board a ship. " You have said, 
 hundreds of times, that you did not care what amount 
 of work you should have to do at sea." 
 
 "/don't," said Harry Vane. ""Work does not come 
 amiss to me, be it ever so laborious. Gruff's made of 
 different metal. So is Allair." 
 
 " What's that ?" cried William, in a fiery tone. 
 
 " So you are," said Gripper. " Vane's right. You 
 are no more fit to go to sea than a girl. As to Gruff, 
 he is the eldest son, and drops into a fortune by in- 
 heritance. If ever some of us are to count enough 
 fortune to get bread and cheese, we must work for it. 
 But I'd not work at sea. Some of these days, when 
 Gruff has to heave at the winch, and his arms are 
 aching like mad, and the sweat's pouring off him in 
 bucket fnls. and he knows by experience that it's 
 nothing but work, work, work, from the vessel's start- 
 ing from one port till she puts into another — a species 
 of Ixion's wheel, you know, which he must be always 
 turning — then he'll say to himself, ' What a fool I was 
 to come here, when I might be at home enjoying my- 
 self, and doing nothing; ! ' " 
 
 7 CO
 
 80 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 " That's true," nodded Harry Vane. 
 
 The boys stared in surprise, Gruff Jones in particular. 
 " What has come to you, Vane?" he asked. "You 
 are always preaching up for the sea. Why turn against 
 it now ? I'd never be a turncoat!" 
 
 " No fear of my turning against it," replied Harry 
 Y;me. " It is a glorious life, better than any other in 
 the world, and 1 hope it will be mine. But I am not 
 such a daft as to hug myself with the idea that there'll 
 be nothing to do. You were talking about traders : 
 well, I know that at sea the work's never done in 
 them. I shall like the life, even if I go in a trader. 
 But some of you would not." 
 
 " That's all brag," cried Gruff Jones. " We shall 
 like it as well as you. Why shouldn't we ? " 
 
 Harry Vane bent over his exercise again. Where 
 was the use of talking further ? 
 
 "I say, Grippcr, what's the winch for?" resumed 
 Gruff. " What do they want with a winch on board 
 ship?" 
 
 " You'll find out soon enough, if you go in a trader," 
 returned Gripper, with a laugh. 
 
 " If I go !" ironically retorted Gruff. "As if any- 
 thing should stop me now !" 
 
 " Everybody's not obliged to go in a trader," said 
 William Allair. 
 
 " Not obliged ; true," assented Gripper. " Jones 
 has just told us he's going in one ; and all you fellows 
 who intend running away can't expect anything else. 
 It's only those nasty dirty traders who look at runaway 
 chaps. But, go in any ship you will, you'll find the 
 work enough."
 
 MR GRUFF JONES NEXT. 81 
 
 " Keep your ridicule to yourself, Gripper," advised 
 Gruff Joues. " I shall go, in spite of the work." 
 
 There is no one thing that boys, having had no 
 experience of a sea life, arc, as a rule, so incredulous 
 about, as that there is much work to be done at sea. 
 " What's the work at sea?" said Gruff, scornfully and 
 incredulously. " 1 shall go, in spite of the work." 
 
 And accordingly young Mr Gruff, the squire in em- 
 bryo, did go. Preliminaries were arranged, the outfit 
 Avas provided, and the gentleman was conducted by his 
 father on board the trading sloop, spoken of, and com- 
 menced his voyage to the Mauritius.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE OFFICIAL LETTER. 
 
 Ox the day that Squire Jones returned to Whitter- 
 niead, from seeing his son on board, he encountered Mr 
 Allair. 
 
 " So you are back, squire," cried Mr Allair, as he 
 shook hands. "And is Hugh actually off'?" 
 
 " Actually and truly," replied Squire Jones. " I'd 
 have put him downright before the mast, but for the 
 had companionship of the sailors. As it is, I expect 
 he will get too much of that. But there's no help for 
 it. He must take his chance." 
 
 " I suppose he must." 
 
 " He'll have to labour with the lowest of them. It 
 i-* the only way to deal with a boy who gets the sea 
 lever into him : let him go, and work it out. Hugh 
 has no more genuine liking or adaptation for that sort 
 of life than I have. And that he will find out before 
 he is much older." 
 
 " He will come hack thankful enough to settle down 
 into a quiet country life," remarked .Mr Allair. 
 
 "'lust so; that's why 1 have sent him. 1 can't 
 think what possesses the hoys to suffer these wild 
 notions to enter their heads," exclaimed Sijuire Jones, 
 in a tone "f vexation. "There's your son ; he's another, 
 I hear."
 
 THE OFFICIAL LETTER. 83 
 
 " It arises partly from indolence, partly from a love 
 of roving inherent in some boys, chiefly from a mistaken 
 notion of a sea life. At least, I set it down to those 
 causes," continued Mr Allair. " They see a pretty little 
 skiff gliding on the calm waters of a lake — bask in her 
 themselves, possibly, in the pleasant inertness of a 
 summer's day ; and they pick up their notion of life on 
 board ship from that, assuming that the one must be 
 as easy and delightful as the other. A more agreeable 
 mode of spending their time, they think, than working 
 with the hands or the brain, on land." 
 
 " That is precisely it," remarked the squire. " Any 
 way, I expect Master Hugh will get enough of it before 
 lie is back." 
 
 Nothing occurred after this for some little time, 
 worthy of being recorded. The school had dispersed 
 I'm- the summer holidays, always held late at Dr 
 Kobertson's, and the boys were enjoying them, while 
 Master Gruff Jones was enjoying the benefit of his 
 chosen voyage. 
 
 One morning Mr and Mrs Vane were seated at 
 breakfast, Caroline and Harry with them. Frederick 
 was not back yet : apparently he was finding a London 
 life agreeable. 
 
 A servant came in with the Letters. There Avere two : 
 both of them for Mr Vane. One of them he opened 
 in some hurry, glanced over its contents, and put it 
 away in his pocket. 
 
 " That letter has an official look," remarked Mrs 
 Vane to him. " Who is it from ?" 
 
 Mr Vane controlled a smile, and answered, somewhat 
 evasively, " It is en business."
 
 84 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 Harry swallowed his breakfast in haste, and then 
 rose. The summer holidays are a glorious time, bovs 
 think, when they have their liberty throughout the 
 sunny day. 
 
 •• Where are you off to, Harry?" 
 
 " Out fly-fishing, papa. I and Allair are going to 
 see if we can't get some fish out of that lazy stream. 
 Gripper said he'd come too, if he could. But we were 
 not to wait for him." 
 
 " "Will you defer your expedition for an hour?" 
 
 Harry scarcely understood. " Allair's waiting for 
 me, papa. I said I'd be with him by nine o'clock." 
 
 "Nevertheless, when I request you to wait a little, I 
 suppose you can ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course, papa,," replied Harry, in a cheerful, 
 ready tone of acquiescence. With all his carelessness, 
 he was a thoroughly obedient, right-minded boy. 
 
 You can run to Allair's, and tell him that you cannot 
 start just yet- Then come back again." 
 
 •■ Very well," said Harry. " Do you want me to go 
 out for you, papa ? " 
 
 "All in good time. You will see what I want by 
 and by." 
 
 Harry tossed on his cap, and departed. They saw 
 him careering down the road, whistling, leaping, shout- 
 ing, as healthy boys are given to do. Mr Vane waited 
 until Caroline left the room, and then turned to his 
 wife, speaking somewhat abruptly. 
 
 "The time has come when something must be de- 
 d about Harry. Sea, or not sea? Which is it to 
 be?" 
 
 ■• Frederick, why do you ask me ?"
 
 THE OFFICIAL LETTER. 8.3 
 
 " Because it rests with you. He has decided to go 
 to sea, ourselves permitting it. My consent is ready. 
 What of yours? If you object, something else must 
 be thought of for him." 
 
 Mrs Vane leaned her head upon her hand, sighing 
 
 ply. " 1 suppose I must say that my consent is also 
 
 !y," she presently said, lifting her face and its sad 
 
 expression. " I cannot conceal from myself that Harry 
 
 appears to be fitted for the sea far more than he is 
 
 <l for any home occupation ; and I have latterly 
 
 been bringing my mind to contemplate it as a thing 
 
 that will be." 
 
 " You are doing wisely, Anne," said Mr Vane. 
 
 " I consent, out of regard to his wishes — his happi- 
 ness. He says he could not be happy on land." 
 
 •■ Harry would like your approbation better than 
 your bare consent," returned Mr Vane, with a smile. 
 He had always believed it would come to this. 
 
 •• He shall have it," said Mrs Vane. " If he does go, 
 he shall not go in a half-and-half way. I can no longer 
 blind myself to the fact — to the belief, I should rather 
 say — that it is the sphere where his talents will find 
 their proper vent ; and therefore my duty is plain. 
 Harry shall go : and may God speed him [" 
 
 •■ I have never understood the ground of your anti- 
 pathy, Anne." remarked Mr Vane. 
 
 "The danger. Nothing else. On board a ship there 
 will he but a plank between him and eternity." 
 
 •■ r< -. there will : God's protecting hand. The same 
 God who has watched over and taken care of him on 
 land, will watch over and protect him on the waters." 
 
 ■• V s, yes, 1 know. I know." she reverently answered 
 
 F
 
 86 WILLIAM ALLAIli. 
 
 " But " — after a pause — " we do Lear continually of 
 tearful and fatal shipwrecks." 
 
 " I cannot deny it. Let us hope that a better fate 
 may be his. Though, when a lad embraces the sea as 
 his occupation, he must be worse than thoughtless if 
 he does not remember that he also embraces its dangers. 
 My father passed his years at sea, and he lived to a 
 good old age, Anne." 
 
 " Ay," replied Mrs Vane, who appeared buried in in- 
 ward thought. 
 
 " 'What is the matter ? You look vexed." 
 
 " I am taking blame to myself," she answered, with 
 a half smile. "I might have foreseen that this would 
 be the ending. In fact, I did foresee it: and yet I kept 
 thrusting the thought away from me. I ought to have 
 looked it fully in the face, and allowed proper measures 
 to be taken." 
 
 " What do you mean by proper measures ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have foreseen it, almost from the boy's in- 
 fancy," she continued, as if she heard not Mr Vane's 
 question. "Much as I disliked the idea of it myself, 
 there was always a conviction in my inmost heart, a 
 hidden voice, that would now and then make itself heard 
 in Bpite of me, whispering that the sea would eventually 
 II - destination. It was this silent conviction 
 
 that kept me from over saying, 'You shall not go. 1 
 will never consent,' My opposition to it has always 
 been a negative one." 
 
 ■• < »i which Master Harry has not failed to hold cog- 
 : tee. II" has repeatedly said, ' Mamma has never 
 said I shall not go.' Bui you were speaking of taking 
 proper measuri s."
 
 THE OFFICIAL LETTER. 87 
 
 •• Of their not having been taken," corrected Mrs 
 Vane. " And I say that I blame myself. Had I sum- 
 moned up the courage to look at it in the proper light, 
 he might have been entered for the navy. Of course 
 it is too late to do it now, and the merchant service 
 alone is open to him." 
 
 Mr Vane laughed. " Well, I had the courage," he 
 said, taking a letter from his pocket, and throwing it 
 upon the table. " Harry has been entered for the 
 navy long ago, and this letter contains his appoint- 
 ment. " 
 
 Mrs Vane could not immediately take in the sense of 
 the words. "Entered for the navy long ago!" she 
 ejaculated. " Harry V" 
 
 " Even so. / foresaw that the sea would inevitably, 
 humanly speaking, be his destination, and I caused bis 
 name to be entered. Had you declined to allow him 
 to depart, the appointment would have been returned, 
 and no harm done" 
 
 "I am so glad to hear it!" exclaimed Mrs Vane. 
 " Von smile ! You are thinking how suddenly I have 
 veered round in my opinions ! But I assure you there 
 is no suddenness in if. 1 have been, as I tell you, for 
 some time making my mind up to the unavoidable 
 necessity. And it is the doing so which has, I believe, 
 in a measure, reconciled me to it." 
 
 " You will be quite reconciled in time," said Mr 
 Vane. 
 
 " Yes, I make no doubt of it. 1 must trust him to 
 God." 
 
 They waited somewhat impatiently for Harry to 
 enter. Mr Vane slowly paced the carpet of the break-
 
 88 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 fast room. Mrs Vane sat in deep thought. Presently 
 he came flying in, eyes bright, cheeks glowing. " Now, 
 papa ? " 
 
 Mr Vane wheeled round. " You are soon hack, Mr 
 Midshipman." 
 
 The words, the meaning tone, sent the hopeful blood 
 coursing to the boy's heart. "Papa! Why do you 
 call me that?" 
 
 " Would you like to serve her Majesty, and do 
 brave battle with her enemies, if called upon?" 
 
 " Do you mean to say that I am going into the 
 navy?" asked Henry, his eagerness great. 
 
 " Did you notice that I received a large letter this 
 morning? — your mamma remarked that it had an offi- 
 cial look.*' 
 "Yes— yes!" 
 
 " It contained your appointment. Harry Vane, Mid- 
 shipman, R.N. How do you like the sound?" 
 
 Harry turned bis eyes upon his mother. His father 
 was laughing, his tone a joking one altogether ; never- 
 theless he believed the truth the words conveyed. But 
 what of his mother ? 
 
 The tears stood in her eyes as she held oul her hand 
 to him. "I have consented, Harry." 
 
 "Oh, mamma! How shall 1 ever thank you?" 
 
 '• By being still my own noble boy, dutiful and good, 
 
 nigh you are away from me." *"" 
 
 "I will try to be. Papa, what ship am I commis- 
 sioned to? I'm I join at once ?" 
 
 "Hark at the impatience ! " exclaimed Mr Vane, in 
 a mock serious tone. "Why don't you ask, young 
 gentleman, what ship will have the honour of carrying
 
 THE OFFICIAL LETTER. 89 
 
 vour flag? You must undergo a nice little course of 
 study first, sir : instead of joining a ship, you join the 
 naval college, and fag for your examination. In six 
 months' time you may think about a ship — if you are 
 lucky." 
 
 " All right ! " cried Harry, heartily. " I'll fag ; fag 
 with the best of them. What do you think I have 
 been doing, papa?" 
 
 " Many things that you ought not, I expect." 
 
 " I daresay I have," honestly confessed Harry. " But 
 I have been studying navigation. I have indeed, papa, 
 all my spare time. I got the books out of Robertson's 
 library, and I shouldn't be afraid now to navigate a 
 ship with any captain going." 
 
 Mr Vane burst into a laugh. " That is modest, 
 Harry, at any rate." 
 
 " "Well, papa, it seems to come to me by intuition. 
 Gruff Jones thought he'd have a go in at it ; and he 
 did, and was tired in a week. Horrid stuff, he called 
 it ; as dry as sawdust." 
 
 Mr Vane left the room, laughing still. Harry turned 
 to his mother. 
 
 " Mamma, why is it that you have always, until now, 
 so disliked the idea of my going to sea ?" 
 
 " Your papa has just asked me nearly the same ques- 
 tion. I answer you as I answered him. The danger, 
 Harry ! Have you ever reflected that on board ship 
 there will be but a plank between you and eternity?" 
 
 Harry looked a shade graver than usual. His coun- 
 tenance brightened as he hastened to reply : 
 
 " There's no real danger on board one of her Ma- 
 jesty's ships, mamma. They never get drowned — as
 
 i>0 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 the children say. I hope I shall be appointed to a 
 three-decker! They are well built, well manned, and 
 their strength is our protection." 
 
 "What else do you think is your protection?" quietly 
 rejoined Mrs Vane. 
 
 lie made no reply: though quite conscious what she 
 meant. 
 
 " When I spoke to your papa of the danger, my boy, 
 he reminded me that the same God who has hitherto 
 ■watched over you on the land, will watch over you on 
 the sea. All. Harry! you talk of the ship's strength 
 being your protection. What protection could there be 
 in a tew frail boards, vmless He held them together?" 
 
 '■ Mamma, I was speaking only of man's strength." 
 
 " I know. Listen to me, darling. The sea is a 
 hazardous life, more so than common : take you heed, 
 therefore, that you abide always under God's good 
 care. Morning after morning, night after night, com- 
 mit yourself to Him. Never omit it; never forget it. 
 Try and find God. Try and realize the fact that He is 
 ever present with you, your powerful Protector, so 
 long as you trust to Him. Amidst the hurry and 
 bustle of a sea life, steal a moment sometimes for Him; 
 in the silent deck watches, let your heart be often 
 lifted up to Him. Trust yourself wholly to God: let 
 your ever-recurring daily prayer be, ' Lord, my time is 
 in Thy hand : do Thou undertake for me!' And then 
 you may rest assured that, whether He shall see fit to 
 spare you, or to take you, it must, and will, be for the 
 1" st. Do you think you can realize this, Harry'/" 
 
 " I can hope for it," he answered. 
 
 "Hope and Btrive. Your prayers will not a^
 
 THE OFFICIAL LETTER. 91 
 
 alone. For every one that yon breathe, I shall offer 
 up its fellow. It is a pleasant belief, that which some 
 of our divines have given utterance to — that the urgent 
 prayers of a mother for her child are never lost. Void 
 they may be, for a time — dormant the answer may 
 seem to lie : but the fruit appears at last. I often 
 think that no prayers can be so urgently fervent, as 
 those sent up by a mother for her boy at sea." 
 
 "What was it papa wanted with me?" inquired 
 Harry, after a pause, turning to a lighter subject. 
 
 " To inform you of the news ; and to let you know 
 that you would have but a few days longer at Whit- 
 termead. You may go on your fishing expedition now."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE MIODY IX EMBRYO. 
 
 The fishing expedition, all-important as it was before, 
 had faded into nothingness. What was that trifling 
 pastime in comparison with these great tidings? Boil- 
 ing over with excitement, scarcely knowing whether he 
 stood on his head or his heels, Harry Vane hunted out 
 his glazed sailor's hat — the article he had invested a 
 certain Christmas-box in the previous Christmas — and 
 proceeded to the linen-drapers shop. There he went 
 in trust for lour yards of blue ribbon, wound it round 
 his hat, leaving the ends flying, and proceeded to show 
 himself in the village. " I am going to sea ! I am 
 going at last 1" was his salute to everybody. At length 
 he reached Mr Allair's. 
 
 " Give me joy, William [" he cried, bursting in, and 
 waving his hat in triumph. " The long lane has at 
 length had a turning." ^P 
 
 "What on earth do you mean?" asked William 
 Allair, staring al the ribbons. 
 
 " I am off in a few days ; off to Woolwich, or some 
 <>f those places, and in six months join the navy — the 
 best middy it ever had, if it will only appreciate me." 
 
 " You have gone deranged, I think." 
 
 " It's with joy, then. Why, I am telling you nothing 
 hut sober fact. The governor — like a sensible governor 
 that he i itered my name for the navy long ago,
 
 THE .MIDDY IN EMBRYO. 93 
 
 though he inner spoke of it ; and to-day my appoint- 
 ment arrived. Of course he had to speak of it then." 
 
 "In the navy!" repeated William, rather over- 
 whelmed with the news that had broken upon him. 
 
 "Is it not prime? I had made up my mind, if I 
 did get to sea, to have a hard working life of it, on 
 board some obscure trader perhaps, — like Gruff Jones's, 
 — and now there's this glorious prospect opened to me. 
 Oh, I am so heartily glad ! I shall be as happy as the 
 days are long." 
 
 William sighed a sigh of envy. " But what will 
 Mrs Vane say?" he questioned. 
 
 " She is a dear mother, and has shown out sensible 
 too. She says it is evidently my appointed sphere of 
 usefulness in life ; and so she'll oppose it no longer, 
 but send me away with a God speed." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I wish other mothers and people 
 would show out sensible," cried poor William — discontent 
 and envy uncommonly rife in his heart just then. "What 
 have you tied those blue things round your hat for?" 
 
 " To let the public in general know of my luck," 
 said Harry, with a laugh. " I shall hang a flag out at 
 my bed-room window when I get home. I say, I am 
 in no mood for fishing to day. I must race about to 
 spread the news — going to Lady Sayingham first. I 
 know she'll be glad." 
 
 "Who cares for fishing?" returned William. "I 
 don't. I don't mind if I never go fishing again. I wish 
 I was you, Vane ! Some people do get all the luck of 
 it in this world." 
 
 Harry Vane laughed good-naturedly. " Never was 
 such luck as mine."
 
 '.I [ WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 •• Well, this is a change!" repeated William. " Why, 
 it was only yesterday you were saying your hope of sea 
 was further off than ever." 
 
 " I thought it was. But, look you, I did not despair 
 of going some time or other." 
 
 " Suppose they had still held out against it — your 
 father and Mrs Vane — what should you have done? 
 Run away ?" 
 
 "What rubbish! Gruff Jones asked me that, one 
 day. As if I should take the reins into my own hands 
 in that way ! No good comes of defying your father, 
 when they are good fathers, you know, as ours are. 
 Besides, it's not gentlemanly to play the runagate." 
 
 "Then what should you have done," persisted Wil- 
 liam, "supposing they had held out in denying you the 
 
 L?" 
 
 " Stopped on land, and made the best of it, always 
 hoping thai something or other would turn up to 
 subdue their prejudices. I did not think my mother 
 would come-to, yel awhile, at any rale; and I never 
 would have gone in opposition to her, She is my 
 mother, you know, Allair, and a regular good mother, 
 too; and I'd not have turned against her. I shall 
 look out for luck and happiness now. And that's what 
 I never should have had, if I had gone in opposition 
 to my mother." 
 
 William sat drumming on the table. "I wish fathers 
 and mothers could see with our eyes!" he impulsively 
 cried. 
 
 •■ I had been casting aboul in my mind what I could 
 do — what employment would be the least distasteful 
 to me, hopes of the sea being at a discount," went on
 
 THE MIDDY IX EMBRYO. 95 
 
 Harry. ''And 1 had nearly fixed on being a ship's 
 carpenter." 
 
 "A ship's carpenter!" repeated William, in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "In some of OUT great big dockyards," he continued, 
 with equanimity. " A ship's carpenter, or ship-builder, 
 — anything of that, It would have brought me into 
 constant contact with ships ; and that's the next best 
 thing to sailing in them." 
 
 " But to be a ship's carpenter ! That's such hard 
 work!" 
 
 " Well, a builder, then. But what do I care for 
 hard work ? Knocking about suits me. And, as I tell 
 you, I should always have had the hope upon me that 
 some lucky turn-up would send me to sea. But, I say, 
 Allair, what a stunning thing it is that 1 have got on 
 so far with navigation ! I ivould stick to that ; and I 
 did. Ha, ha ! that's of more use to me than Latin and 
 Greek. I'll leave the classics to you — you'll want them. 
 William Allair, Esquire, attorney-at-law, and one of 
 the Masters Extraordinary in the High Court of Chan- 
 cery ! Exempli gratia /" 
 
 Catching up his hat, with a joyous, ringing laugh, 
 Harry Vane tossed it on his head sideways, sailor 
 fashion, and tore away towards Sayingham Court, his 
 blue streamers flying behind him. 
 
 William remained alone, giving way to one of the 
 most discontented reveries he had ever had the pleasure 
 of indulging. It showed itself in his countenance. He 
 carried his gloomy looks into the presence of his mother. 
 
 " What can be the matter?" she exclaimed, as soon 
 as she caught sight of his face.
 
 Oil WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 •• Harry Vane's going to sea." 
 
 Mrs Allair was surprised at the answer. "To sea ! 
 Well, need you look so sorrowful over it ? lie will be 
 home occasionally, I suppose." 
 
 "Who's looking sorrowful over that?" not very 
 dutifully responded William ; but he was in a testy 
 temper. " I wish I coidd go with him ! That's why I 
 look sorrowful : because I want to so, and can't." 
 
 Mrs Allair laughed pleasantly. "Don't envy him, 
 William. You will find happiness in a home life — he 
 in a sea one." 
 
 "Mr and Mrs Vane have consented, have approved. 
 It turns out that he was entered for the navy long ago, 
 and now his appointment's come," continued William, 
 in a tone of fierce resentment against things in general. 
 
 "I am glad to hear it: glad that Mrs Vane has seen 
 for the best at last. Were Harry Vane my boy, I 
 believe I should have seen it long ago." 
 
 "That's good, mother!" retorted William; "when 
 you know how you hate the sea." 
 
 " I don't hate it ; you are mistaken. What would 
 become of our ships, our commerce, our prosperity, our 
 proud name as mistress of the world, if there w r ere to 
 be no sailors ?" 
 
 " I am sure you hate it for me." 
 
 "That is another thing. Though 'hate' is not pre- 
 ly the right word." 
 
 "You and Mrs Vane both hate the sea like poison," 
 
 persisted William, who was not in a conciliatory mood. 
 
 " At least, she has hated it up to now; and it's odd to 
 
 what has changed her," he added, par parenthese. 
 
 " Were it the river Styx, you could neither of you
 
 THE MIDDY IX EMBRYO. 97 
 
 have gone on more against it. Do you remember the 
 duet you kept xip, the last time we were at the Vanes' 
 at tea?" 
 
 " Our ' going on,' as you call it, has arisen from 
 different motives," said Mrs Allair. " Mrs Vane dis- 
 likes a sea life in itself. She dislikes it for its hazards, 
 its dangers— dislikes to live a life of almost constant 
 separation from her son : hence has arisen her opposi- 
 tion to Harry's embracing it. My objection is a dif- 
 ferent one. I dislike it for you, because I know how 
 entirely unfitted you are for it, both in temperament 
 and physical capacity. Were you constituted as Harry 
 Vane is, you should go with pleasure." 
 
 "Where's the difference between one boy and an- 
 other?" debated William, who of course was seeing 
 things through his own one-sided spectacles. " There's 
 none." 
 
 Mrs Allair quite laughed at the words. " So much 
 difference is there, William, that what would be pastime 
 to one boy would kill another. Do you suppose that 
 all are endowed alike ? — equally strong to endure the 
 rubs and crosses of life?" 
 
 " Well, it's not very kind of you, mamma, to preach 
 up for Harry Vane, and ridicule me." 
 
 " When boys fall into an absurd temper, the best 
 plan is to let them alone until they fall out of it again," 
 said Mrs Allair, still good-humouredly. " Be reason- 
 able, William. There has been no preaching for Harry 
 Vane, except in saying that he is fitted for a sea life ; 
 and there has certainly been no ridicule cast upon you. 
 You have each your several and individual talents. 
 Never was a boy more suited to a profession than you
 
 98 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 are to follow thai of youx father: but were Harry Vane 
 to attempt to follow it, he would break down. You are 
 adapted for one sphere; he for another. The prospect 
 of making it your pursuit in life afforded you pleasure 
 at one time." 
 
 " That was before I knew anything about the sea." 
 " Allow me to ask you a question, "William — if you 
 can for a momenl get the sea out of your head. "Were 
 you left at liberty to choose your profession, is not that 
 of a solicitor tin- one you would prefer?" 
 " I would prefer going to sea." 
 
 " I asked you to put the sea out of your head for an 
 instant. 1 speak of life on land. Answer me." 
 
 " Well, I'd as soon be a lawyer as anything else. 
 Rather, I think. There's no hard work in it." 
 
 " Yes, 1 knew it. You have no dislike to the calling, 
 in itself, bul ill'' contrary; and you are well adapted 
 for it. lint in this wild notion that you have taken up, 
 and persist in encouraging, you lose sight of things 
 fitting. I can only compare you to a blind man, 
 "William— one who has taken a wrong turning, and 
 bis way along in darl believing he is on 
 
 the right road, whereas each step takes him farther 
 from his destination." 
 
 •■ '1 be world calls all lawyers rogues," cried dutiful 
 William. 
 
 Mr- Allaii' turned ber eyes gravely upon him. 
 •• William!" 
 
 The boy blushed at the silenl reproof. It was very 
 like .-in insult to his father's name, and he wished he 
 
 had not spoken it. 
 
 li . All lawyers are not rogues," pursued .Mrs Allair,
 
 THE MIDDY IX EMBRYO. 99 
 
 quietly. " Some ore honest and honourable, even in 
 the sight of men ; striving earnestly to do right before 
 God. William, you know that your father is one of 
 these." 
 
 " I know he is. Indeed, mamma, when I spoke, I 
 was not thinking of him." 
 
 " And you can be one of these honourable men, if 
 you will. A profession or a trade is just what its 
 exerciser makes it ; one of honour, or one of shame. 
 The highest calling in life is that of a minister of God ; 
 and yet, William, we know how some, professing it, 
 have made it a disgrace." 
 
 " I wish I was in Harry Vane's shoes — going to sea," 
 ejaculated William, reverting to the old grievance. " I 
 shouldn't disgrace that. Seymour must hand over his 
 wager, now." 
 
 " What wager?" asked Mrs Allair. 
 
 " Oh, he laid a bet with young Eobertson. There 
 was a talk in the school — knowing how his going to 
 sea was objected to at home — as to whether Vane 
 wouldn't take French leave, and run away. Seymour 
 bet he would " 
 
 " William!" 
 
 The interrupting word was spoken in a tone of pain- 
 ful wailing. William looked up in surprise. Every 
 vestige of colour had forsaken his mother's cheek, and 
 she gazed at him with a yearning look of apprehension. 
 Had a prophetic vision of the future come across her? 
 
 " Why, mamma, what's the matter?'' 
 
 " I do not like to hear such things spoken. Wicked 
 ideas they are, William^ Had Harry Vane taken so 
 false a step, it would have killed his mother."
 
 1(>0 WILLIAM A.LLAIR. 
 
 " Killed her!" echoed William. 
 
 " It surely would. Were my darling boy" — she laid 
 her hand impressively upon his shoulder — " my best 
 and dearest son, ever to fall into so terrible an act of 
 disobedience, it would kill me. Not at once ; no : but, 
 if I know anything of myself, the sorrow would bring 
 me to a lingering death. It must be a grievous thing, 
 William, to die of a broken heart," she added, with a 
 shiver. 
 
 " Mamma, what are you saying!" 
 
 " I think I could bear any sorrow better than the 
 rebellion of my children. Not for my sake ; no, no. I 
 could struggle with the trouble it might bring to me ; 
 but I could not bear it for them. Nothing but sorrow 
 could be in store for them, if they so set at defiance the 
 law of Ciot]. Fur every pain a child feels, its mother 
 undergoes one infinitely greater. She suffers in and 
 for her children. Many a mother has been laid in her 
 grave by the ungrateful conduct of her sons. William, 
 take you care never so to offend, if you would have 
 God's blessing rest upon you." 
 
 William was softened to contrition. "You cannot 
 f ar such a step for me, mamma!" 
 
 " My boy, I would almost rather die than fear it ! I 
 do not fear it." 
 
 " Vuu never shall have cause," whispered William. 
 He spoke in his earnest belief: and the tears shone in 
 his i be fondly kissed his mother. 
 
 A few days, and Harry Vane departed. The whole 
 village was sad, for he was a favourite with everybody; 
 but none were more sad than William Allair. Not 
 that he was grieving after Harry Vane, personally:
 
 THE MIDDY IN EMBRYO. 101 
 
 boys are not so sentimental. His grief lay chiefly for 
 himself : because he was not going ; or, so far as he 
 saw, likely to go. 
 
 " This is obstinacy, "William," said Mr Allair, hear- 
 ing a rebellious and discontented speech that William 
 gave utterance to. " You must let your good sense 
 return to you, or you will seriously displease me." 
 
 " "We can't help our likes and dislikes, papa." 
 
 " We can persuade ourselves into any liking or dis- 
 liking that Ave choose," significantly rejoined Mr Allair ; 
 " especially when we turn obstinate over it. You have 
 picked up this very absurd fancy about the sea, and 
 are hugging it and cherishing it by every means in 
 your power. Take care that it does not over-master 
 you, so as to render you permanently dissatisfied and 
 miserable. Put it away from you, "William. It is 
 good advice, mind, that I give you." 
 
 " Of course you think it is, papa." 
 
 " And you don't," said Mr Allair. He never sup- 
 posed this fancy of William's would turn out to be a 
 serious one, or that they should have trouble over it. 
 " William," he resumed, in a joking tone, " my old 
 uncle was very fond of repeating a certain truth to us 
 boys, wishing it to be impressed upon our memory. 
 ' Young folks think old folks fools ; but the old folks 
 know the voung ones to be so.'" 
 
 " What a donkev the old fellow must have been I" 
 thought William.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AX II. I. -OMENED RESOLVE. 
 
 The time went on. Harry Vane, in cine course, joined 
 the " Hercules," Captain Stafford, as midshipman, and 
 the ship departed on what was thought would prove 
 a long cruise. 
 
 There was a spirit of obstinacy in William Allair, not 
 altogether pleasant, Did he set his mind upon a thing 
 and get opposed, so much the more eager became he 
 for it, simply because he tvas opposed. Mr Allair's re- 
 mark, that we can persuade ourselves into any liking 
 or disliking thai we choose, was a perfectly correct one. 
 , take you notice of this. When you are earnestly 
 bent upon some project, some idea, and protest that you 
 cannol gel it out of your head, such hold has it there, 
 although you know (if you listen to your conscience) 
 that it oughl to be got out, just try and discover whether 
 the fault does not lie with you. You are prejudiced in 
 it > favour; you look at it but from one point of view ; 
 you think, there it is in your head, and there it must 
 be, and all your efforts tend to keep it there. Suppose 
 '.'.ii were to try tin opposite course; to make a few 
 nine efforts to throw it away, instead of to keep it ; 
 i might find tin; benefit. So great is this prejudice 
 carried, that a boy may set on and long for the moon ; 
 ay, and may grow ill, miserable, feverish, because he 
 can'1 gel it. But were the coveted thing thrown into
 
 AX ILL-OMENED RESOLVE. 103 
 
 his lap — the moon, or any other toy so wished for — he 
 □light find it a source of pain, instead of pleasure ; a 
 subject for loathing, rather than for liking. 
 
 It was just so with William Allair. You have seen 
 that he had set his mind upon going to sea ; and 
 although he promised his mother he would no longer 
 think of it, the desire continued in all its unabated 
 force. He tried no means, save wrong ones, to make 
 good his promise. Instead of striving manfully to put 
 the wish from him, he took all possible pains to aug- 
 ment it, The appetite grows by what it feeds on. He 
 so fed this ideal desire, that it was becoming nearly 
 irrepressible. Never once did he say to himself, " I 
 will turn my thoughts away from its fascinations." 
 All his wishes were on the wrong side, and pursued 
 in a spirit of discontent. " How I wish I could go ! 
 What a shame it is of them to deny me ! As if they 
 could tell what I should like to be, so well as I can !" 
 After this fashion did the gentleman daily and hourly 
 reason. 
 
 Harry Vane's final departure, in high glowing spirits, 
 had tended to fan the flame. Before he joined the 
 " Hercules," he came home for a few daj-s ; and his 
 golden visions, breathed in William's hearing, of the 
 stirring life he was about to enter on, excited William 
 beyond everything. He grew pining, moping, miser- 
 able ; cmite unhappy. 
 
 And so had passed the months : autumn, winter, 
 spring; and summer came round again and was quickly 
 Hitting. 
 
 Dr Robertson's school broke up for the summer holi- 
 days. William quitted it for good, and was very
 
 104 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 shortly to be articled to his father. But about this 
 time, as ill luck would have it, there arrived a young 
 man at Whittermead on a visit to the Jennikers. His 
 name was Carter, and he was related to Mrs Jenniker. 
 He was a sailor, second mate of an Indiaman, of which 
 vessel his father was captain and part owner. 
 
 Young Carter had seen only the more favourable 
 auspices of a sea life. Voyaging with and under his 
 father, in a fine vessel, well disciplined, well provi- 
 sioned, accustomed to the sea from boyhood — for he 
 had more than once been taken the voyage to India for 
 pleasure — possessing also a natural liking for it, there 
 is no wonder that he spoke of it in terms of enthusiasm. 
 He had nearly as great a liking for it as had Harry 
 Vane. With this gentleman William became intimate, 
 and it was productive to him of much mischief. 
 
 William imparted to him his longing for the sea. 
 Mr Carter, fond of boasting, proud of speaking well of 
 his own pursuit in life, encouraged the longing. He 
 pictured a sea life in colours so glowing, that one, with 
 less inclination for it than William, might well have 
 been taken in. His own good sense ought to have told 
 him that James Carter had seen only the bright side of 
 the profession; and all professions have two sides, a 
 bright and a dark one. Sometimes the dark becomes 
 bright, and the bright dark, accoi'ding as the eyes of 
 the regarders view them. Three weeks did the visit 
 of Mr Carter last; three pernicious weeks to William 
 Allair. He had dwelt a vast deal too much upon going 
 a before; hut now he dwelt upon it in a different 
 spirit. Then he had said, " I wish I could go;" now 
 he began to say, "I will go."
 
 AN ILL-OMENED RESOLVE. 105 
 
 His entire conversation now, whether with young 
 Carter or others, was of the sea. His thoughts by day 
 never quitted it ; at night his dreams brought it to him 
 again. You may perceive that he never attempted not 
 to think of it; he encouraged his mind to dwell upon 
 it ; and therein lay his error. 
 
 At home he said nothing ; he had given over speak- 
 ing of it to his father and mother. 
 
 A hint had been imparted to William of the disease 
 that threatened his father — that he could look for no 
 long life. It was Mrs Allair who had told him ; and 
 hence it was so necessary that he — he, William — 
 should be rendered capable of taking to the business 
 in his father's place. But the impression made upon 
 him at the time by this communication had worn away. 
 lie was sure his father was not ill, he reasoned with 
 himself. He was active, and lively, and looked well — 
 why shouldn't he live as long as other people ? As for 
 himself, he should get plenty of money at sea. Sailors, 
 especially when they got to be mates, had good pay ; 
 and captains always made money ; some of them were 
 as rich as Croesus. Oh, yes, he should fill his pockets 
 with money there, and he'd bring every farthing of it 
 home to his dear mother. 
 
 Somewhat after this fashion did William constantly 
 reason. His mind was unsettled, his brain was at work, 
 his heart was miserable. The first day that he was to 
 take his place in his father's office happened to be the 
 day fixed for James Carter's departure from Whitter- 
 mead. At half-past nine, the usual hour of Mr AUair's 
 proceeding to his office, he looked into a room that his 
 children were fond of sitting in.
 
 IOC) WILLIAM ALLATK. 
 
 " Come, William." 
 
 " I'll follow you, papa. I'll be there as soon as you 
 arc." But the words were not spoken cheerfully or 
 readily. 
 
 He took liis hat, however, and went out after his 
 father. It was a warm, beautiful day — too warm ; 
 inclining idle people to idleness. William, as a matter 
 of course, began wishing that he could go roaming 
 about the fields, instead of being cooped up in a close 
 room, and — worse thought still! — where he was to be 
 cooped up for ever so many years to come. In the 
 midst of his murmurs, an open carriage came bowling 
 towards him. It contained Mr Jenniker and James 
 Carter, the latter being driven to the four-mile-off 
 station to catch the London train. James Carter, who 
 had previously taken leave, moved his hat in an ani- 
 mated manner to William. 
 
 "Yes! he may well look pleased," grumbled Wil- 
 liam, as he turned to gaze after the carriage. " He is 
 going to enjoy the beauty of this sunny day, while I 
 must be stewed to death in that horrible old office. 
 Put Carter into one, and see whether he'd stand it! 
 And next wick he sets sail for China! It's a shame 
 there should be so much disparity in the world!" 
 
 In this remarkably cordial mood did William take 
 his appointed place on the high stool at the clerk's 
 desk, and begin the work assigned him. It was the 
 copying of a deed. But now Ave all know how unpalat- 
 able — nay, how almost unbearable — is a task to which 
 we set ourselves unwillingly. With every word that 
 William wrote, his eyes were- raised to the dusky panes 
 of the window opposite him. A wretchedly discontented
 
 AX ILL-OMENED RESOLVE. 107 
 
 feeling filled his mind. He was longing to be career- 
 ing abroad in that bright sunshine, or to be basking 
 idly beside some gleaming pond ; in short, to be doing 
 anything but what he was doing. 
 
 The day seemed a terribly long one, and his task 
 irksome to a degree — as was sure to be the case, pur- 
 suing it with so ill a will. Had it been the most de- 
 lightful employment, he would, in his present temper, 
 have completed it rebelliously. He set himself against 
 it. Every line that he wrote chafed his spirit worse 
 than the preceding one ; and, at length, it was with 
 difficulty that he could bring himself or his fingers to 
 go on with it at all. Like an idle child, who is put to 
 learn a lesson when he would rather play, the closer he 
 is kept to his task, the more impatient and fretful does 
 he become. William Allair was like too many of you. 
 How often are you discontented with the task assigned 
 you, and get through it perforce, your unwilling spirit 
 bubbling up to rebellion ! You think the fault lies in 
 the work — that it is irksome beyond bearing, flat, stale, 
 unprofitable ; everything that the English language can 
 express of bad. But you are mistaken ; the fault is in 
 you. Throw your antipathy to the winds ; return to it 
 witli a willing mind, a cheerful spirit, and you will find 
 its irksomeness gone. William Allair had not the sense 
 to do this. 
 
 At five o'clock, and in a very ill humour, he left the 
 office for the day. Contrasting, as he went along, the 
 dull employment he had been kept to, with the delight 
 of a sail over the dark blue waters — as Mr James 
 Carter was wont to style the sea. They are green 
 sometimes, though, mind you, and very angry. Upon
 
 108 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 entering home, his brother Edmund came dancing glee- 
 fully about him, holding something concealed in his 
 hand. " It's for you," said Edmund, with his vacant 
 laugh. " Guess." 
 
 " Don't tease, Edmund," was the fretful answer. " I 
 am too tired to guess. Keep it yourself." 
 
 "Tired, are you?" asked Mrs Allair. 
 
 " Just dead," groaned William. 
 
 " But what has so tired you?" 
 
 " Why, the writing, of course. Write, write, write 
 all day — the pen going upon one parchment, and the 
 eyes upon another. I feel quite ill. I am convinced I 
 can't stand it long." 
 
 " You will soon get used to it." 
 
 "I shall never get used to it. And I shall never like it." 
 
 " Not if you set your mind against it, as I fear you 
 are doing," replied Mrs Allair. She need not have said, 
 " I fear : " it was all too plain. William was allowing this 
 discontent to take entire possession of him ; making his 
 mind unhappy, souring his temper. He loved his mother 
 beyond everything in life ; but he was losing sight both 
 of love and duty in this unhappy state of feeling. 
 
 " How hot it has been to-day!" exclaimed William, 
 " Too hot to stop in-doors, unless you are forced to it." 
 
 " I always thought out of doors was hotter than in, 
 in the extreme summer weather," remarked Mrs Allair. 
 " Where ifl your papa?" she added. "The dinner is 
 waiting." 
 
 " He is coming soon, I suppose," ungraciously rejoined 
 William. 
 
 " Edmund is holding a letter for you. It is from 
 Harry Vane. They received a packet from him to-day,
 
 AN ILL-OMENED RESOLVE. 109 
 
 and Caroline brought yours up. He is well and happy. 
 The one he wrote to her she read aloud to us. Edmund, 
 give it to your brother." 
 
 William tore open the letter, glanced at its contents, 
 swallowed down his dinner at a speed enough to choke 
 him, and then went to his own room, to digest the 
 letter at leisure. But it had come at a most unlucky 
 time, filled, as it was, with a" seductive description of 
 Harry Vane's sea life, painted in accordance with his 
 peculiar temperament, his highly- wrought imagination. 
 He had not deceived himself ; his satisfaction in it was 
 as great as he had expected it woidd be ; and he ex- 
 pressed his regret that William was not with him ; or, 
 at any rate, on board a ship of some sort, He said he 
 had been in a storm at sea ; that no description could 
 do justice to its terrific grandeur, and that he had felt 
 subdued and awe-struck, but never for one instant 
 alarmed. The letter also contained some charming 
 anecdotes of Madeira — all in midshipman style — and of 
 other places where they had touched ; and it concluded 
 with the information that the captain was a " stunner," 
 and the " grub " good. 
 
 William read the letter over and over again. To his 
 jaundiced mind, it appeared to contain — that is, the 
 ship — all that can exist of earthly Elysium. A dim 
 thought which had long hovered over his mind, and as 
 often been thrust away again, came rushing on now 
 with ominous force. It brought a hot glow to his face. 
 He made some resistance to it, for the conscience was at 
 variance with the will. But the mental repugnance grew 
 fainter and fainter ; and at length William Allair rose up, 
 yielding to the temptation, and his fate in life was sealed.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A RACE WITH A GIG. 
 
 It was a battle; but not a great one. Where the 
 wish to do wrong is powerful, and the conscience 
 deadened, resistance does not cost much. 
 
 The resolve to run away had come over William 
 Allair. The wicked resolve. He determined to quit 
 his father's house clandestinely, proceed to London or 
 Liverpool, and get himself engaged on board a ship 
 about to sail for some distant port. He leaned his head 
 upon his hand, and thought it over. While he did so, 
 a wavering arose within him, and at the same moment 
 a harsh, discordant noise was heard, as of some bird of 
 prey flying over the house. Why did he not take the 
 ill omen as a warning? He wavered, I say. And then 
 he set himself deliberately to recall Mr Carter's glowing 
 descriptions, his murine tales, and again read_ Harry 
 Vane's letter: just as though he wished to subdue the 
 wavering. He was deliberating, he thought. But he 
 was deliberating in a partial manner, all the bias lean- 
 ing to one side. So the faint, still small voice that 
 would have saved him was disregarded ; and he rose 
 up with bis resolution fixed. 
 
 Yet, pause ere you execute it, William Allair! As 
 you value your happiness in this life, and, it may be, in 
 the next, pause ! If no other thought can deter you, 
 remember your mother. You were her first-born ; you
 
 A BACE WITH A QIC. Ill 
 
 arc dearer to her than any other tie on earth : the love 
 she bears for you is planted in every fibre of her heart, 
 is interwoven with her existence. She guarded you in 
 infancy, watched over you in sickness, soothed you in 
 your wayward childhood. She has looked at you until 
 her eyes were dim with tears in her excess of love ; she 
 has caught you to her bosom, praying that God woidd 
 have mercy on you, and keep you in this world and in 
 the next. When you have been wrathful, when you 
 have committed faults, and others have chidden, she 
 has found excuses for you in her heart, loving you all 
 the more for their harshness. Others may, and do, love 
 you ; but not as she does. The love of a mother stands 
 alone ; there is nothing on earth so deep and so holy. 
 
 There is no passion, no affection in the whole Avide 
 world of nature, that can be compared in its enduring 
 strength with that of a mother. A brother loves his 
 sister, a sister her brother ; a father loves his child, the 
 child its father ; and there is another love spoken of 
 in the world, "William Allair, which it may chance you 
 will some day experience, but which, all-potent as it is, 
 cannot stand beside a mother's ; for her love for you will 
 be green and fresh, when all of that transient one, save 
 its remembrance, shall have passed away. The heart 
 of all — father, sister, brother — may grow cold to you ; 
 but your mother's, never. Shame, poverty, guilt, every 
 ill that will cause others to shun you, does but draw 
 closer the love of a mother ; it is the only solace that 
 will cling to you in your depth of gudt and sorrow. 
 And you would fly from a shield such as this ? My 
 boy, in mercy to your mother, desert her not. 
 
 Think what you are about to do. To isolate yourself
 
 112 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 from her, to leave her to anxiety and despair, ignorant 
 of your destination, uncertain what your fate may be. 
 Pause, ere you thus requite her love, and embitter her 
 whole future life with this black ingratitude ! 
 
 Know you not, that if she could fathom your project, 
 she would cast herself on her knees before you, and 
 implore you, with tears and kisses, not to fly from her ; 
 not to turn her tranquil days to one long, bitter, un- 
 availing yearning — the yearning to behold you, her 
 dearest and best-beloved child ? Know you not that, 
 night and morning, she bends before God in supplica- 
 tion for you, that you may be good, dutiful, kept from 
 the evil? Know you not that she would rather lose 
 life in this world, than that you should lose it? 
 
 Oh ! pause, pause, William Allair ! pause, ere you 
 fling back this all-enduring love! It is a painful thing 
 to rend a mother's heart ; to bring grey hairs upon her 
 head before their time ; to shorten her declining years 
 of life with anguish. It is a sin that must cry aloud 
 in its ascent to heaven : pause, ere you are guilty of it ! 
 Have you forgotten that it was she who taught you 
 certain commandments with her own lips, and bade you 
 strive to keep them? Have you forgotten this one? 
 " Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days 
 mav be long in the land which the lord thy god 
 giveth thee." 
 
 No, you have not forgotten it, William Allair : the 
 words rush to your mind now, and your conscience 
 shrinks. But you attempt to make a compromise with 
 your conscience. You resolve that you will one day 
 come back to your mother's hearth, at no great distance 
 of time — when you shall have been over the broad seas,
 
 A RACE WITH A GIG. 113 
 
 or to those foreign lands you seem so desirous to visit 
 — and then you will implore her pardon with tears and 
 contrition, and be all to her that a son should be. 
 But does no shadow of the future cross you ? does no 
 suggestion whisper that it is just possible you never 
 may return ? that you may die in one of those foreign 
 lands, or on those broad seas ? You will do well to 
 pause. I toll it you for the last time. 
 
 You will not? 
 
 Then you must follow your own course. Yet, re- 
 member, when you are on the world of waters — when, 
 as Mrs Vane aptly expressed it, there is only a plank 
 between you and eternity, and the waves rush, and the 
 winds shriek around you, and the good ship seems 
 destined to sink — when you call in anguish upon your 
 father and mother's name, and would fain implore their 
 forgiveness before appearing at the bar of a higher 
 tribunal; remember that it is you who have placed 
 yourself beyond the power of receiving it. 
 
 William Allair shook off his reverie, shook off com- 
 punction with it, unlocked a drawer, and examined his 
 purse. It contained eighteen shillings. Had it been 
 Harry Vane's, it would not have contained eighteen 
 farthings ; but William had always been more inclined 
 to save than to spend. 
 
 Mrs Allair also held a sovereign of his. A few days 
 previously, his uncle had sent him one as a present, 
 wishing him at the same time joy of his articles. 
 
 " He knows they are a bitter pill," was William's 
 remark at the time. 
 
 He tied up a few things in a pocket-handkerchief, 
 .sailor fashion, locked the bundle in a drawer, lest it
 
 1 14 WILLIAM ALLAH!. 
 
 should be espied, and went down stairs. The tea-things 
 were on the table, but only his mother and sisters were 
 in the room. 
 
 " Mamma, you have a sovereign of mine. The one 
 my uncle sent me. I want it, please." 
 
 "Very well. But don't go spending ir in waste, 
 William." 
 
 " Waste! oh, dear, no. Can you give it me now?" 
 
 Alice looked up. " You can't want it now, William: 
 you are not going out. Let mamma give it yon at her 
 leisure." 
 
 " It is no affair of yours, Alice. Mamma, please ! I 
 really do want it." 
 
 Mrs Allair laughed, as she rose to get the money. 
 " That you may have the pleasure of seeing it in your 
 own purse," she said, as she handed it to him. 
 
 But he was not dead to all feeling. No, no. In spite 
 of the wicked project which occupied his mind, which 
 appeared to him so fraught with glowing colours for the 
 future, he fell miserably wretched. And when his 
 mother bent over him for her good-night kiss, hu 
 thought his heart would have broken. 
 
 When everybody was at rest, and the house quiet, 
 he opened the door of his chamber to steal down stairs. 
 He stood listening for some moments, and then moved 
 forward. Alice's dour was before him, his mother's at 
 the end of the corridor. William could see them, in the 
 fiint light that came in from the corridor window, and 
 almost expected them in his self-consciousness to open, 
 and somebody to come out and pounce upon him. 
 Holding by the balustrades when he reached the stair-. 
 he attempt* '1 to go a little quicker ; but the stairs began
 
 A RACE WITH A GIG. 115 
 
 to creak alarmingly, and he stood still, his face hot, his 
 breath hushed. 
 
 "What excuse could he make if he were found ? He 
 could not offer the plea that he was going for a walk : 
 people don't take walks at midnight, as a matter of 
 choice. He could not say he made a mistake, and got 
 up thinking it was morning : they'd ask him whether 
 he dressed in the dark. And he could not well say he 
 was promendain^ in his sleep Mr William Allair's face 
 grew hotter. 
 
 But things remained quiet, and he went more slowly, 
 step by step, the stairs creaking dreadfully — just as you 
 have found them creak, boys, when wishing to steal up 
 or down unnoticed. Unmolested, he at length gained 
 the street, door, and was about to unlock it, when he 
 remembered he had left his bundle behind. 
 
 For one single moment the thought came over him, 
 should he relinquish his expedition ? Oh that he had ! 
 that \w had suffered the delay to sway him, to act upon 
 him as an omen ! 
 
 He crept up stairs again, reached his room, got the 
 bundle, and crept down. This time he opened the door, 
 and got safely out, closing it as softly as possible after him. 
 There was no moon ; but the stars were shining, and 
 the night was warm and light. He stood a moment 
 deliberating upon his course, and then he started. He 
 had resolved to go to Liverpool. Not towards any 
 railway station went lie. He Avas afraid of that, afraid 
 he might be traced ; but chose rather bye-roads. The 
 way once chosen, onward he pressed ; now walking with 
 rapid strides, now running swiftly, terribly afraid lest 
 he should be missed and overtaken.
 
 116 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 Very slowly did the hours of the night seem to pass ; 
 and on, went he, putting more distance between him- 
 self and Whittermead. "They'll be sure not to miss 
 me before breakfast-time," he kept repeating to himself: 
 but there was an under-current of fear at work within 
 him, -whispering that he might be missed earlier, and 
 overtaken, lie thought the night would never go. 
 
 It was just past four in the morning, for William had 
 his watch with him ; the sun was rising, and he was 
 pelting along at a fine pace, tired to death ; when he 
 heard the sound of wheels behind. Were they after 
 him ? One hasty look back, and away he tore as fast 
 as his legs could carry him. Something there was, at 
 a great distance, coming along at a strapping pace ; 
 but what, he could not yet discern. 
 
 Away he dashed. The vehicle came dashing on 
 faster. William snatched another look, and saw that it 
 was a gig. 
 
 A gig! His father's, no doubt. There was no feas- 
 ible way of escape for William. On either side of the 
 road was a perpendicular embankment, the climbing 
 which was impossible. There was nothing for it but to 
 go blindly on, or to turn back and face the gig. 
 
 Another stolen glance. Yes, sure enough, it was 
 their gig, and one gentleman in it : his father, of course. 
 What was he to do? What was he to do? William 
 had heard of earthquakes. He began to wish that one 
 would obligingly sever the earth just then, and allow 
 him to drop into the chasm. 
 
 On it came :it full gallop, he was sure ; and on went 
 William at full gallop also : his face streaming down 
 with perspiration, his breath panting. He thought of
 
 A RACE WITH A GIG. 1 1 7 
 
 Dick Turpin'8 ride to York, and questioned if the 
 renowned highwayman had ridden faster than /<• was 
 then running. 
 
 But he could not keep tip the pace, and the 
 gained upon him ; canto-, canter, canter ; nearer, 
 nearer, nearer. It was at his heels now ; and now — it 
 was abreast of him. 
 
 With a desperate effort be turned his face towards 
 it ; no good in holding out longer ; and there he beheld 
 — what ? Why, sufficient to impress fully on his mind 
 the old adage, " Conscience doth make cowards of us 
 all." 
 
 It was neither hi-* father, nor Ins father's gig; but a 
 tanner on bis way to a market-town. The stranger 
 accosted him. 
 
 "So, young gentleman, you are pretty fast ! Why, 
 you weren't afraid of me — eh ?" 
 
 '•Afraid! oh, no!" panted William, alarmed lest 
 suspicion should be excited. " 1 am in a hurry, and. 
 seeing your gig coming, I thought I'd have a race with 
 it. It has got me on, you see." 
 
 •• You have got on, pretty smartly. I have come at a 
 tolerable pace, lor I'm later than 1 thought to he. I 
 am going on to Brickborough, a matter "f eleven miles 
 vet. [t's the fair there to-day." 
 
 BrickborouLih was the very town William was making 
 for, where he would take the rail. How he wished the 
 farmer would invite him into the gig I "lam 
 on to Brickborough, too," he said. 
 
 The farmer did invite him; perhaps, taking the hint. 
 •• Will you accept a seal inmychay?" he asked, ""i 
 are heartily welcome to it." 
 
 ii
 
 1 18 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 And very -welcome, indeed, did it prove to the tired 
 runaway, who parried the farmer's questions cleverly, 
 and arrived safely at Brickborough. Thence he woidd 
 make his way to Liverpool in the best manner that he 
 could. 
 
 " They'll make sure I have gone up to London to join 
 Carter, and will raise the hue-and-cry in that direction," 
 he cogitated, " which will give me time to get clear off 
 on the briny ocean. Ah, ha ! I am too deep for them !" 
 
 Ah, William ! deep and clever as you deem yourself 
 now, the time will come when you would give all your 
 future existence to re-live the period of this ill-starred 
 journey, so that you might have been less " deep," and 
 have suffered yourself to be overtaken !
 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 VI. GRUFF .TONES AGAIX. 
 
 When the morning broke at Whittermead, .and the 
 AJlairs assembled at breakfast, "William's place was 
 vacant. 
 
 " Lazy boy ! he has overslept himself," said Rose. 
 
 A servant was placing a dish of toasted bacon on the 
 table. Mrs A Hair spoke to her. 
 
 " Go up to Master William's room, Sarah. Tell him 
 we are at breakfast." 
 
 Sarah went, stayed some minutes, and came back 
 again. " I've knocked till I'm tired, ma'am," said she 
 " He won't answer." 
 
 "Perhaps he is not awake yet," suggested !.' 
 
 "Oh, I know," said Alice. "lie thinks that there's 
 no seven o'clock scIi.h.I now. and won't gel up. lie is 
 sure to be awake ; he has allowed Sarah to knock !■> 
 tea--.' her." 
 
 " Go up again, Sarah," said Mrs Allair. " If he docs 
 not answer, go into his room. It is possible he may 
 have overslept himself. He said lasl night hewasvery 
 tired." 
 
 The servant did as she -\v;is bid, and the next minute 
 came flying into the room big with excitement, her eyes 
 staring and her mouth open. 
 
 "Oh, ma'am! oh, sir! whatever has happened? 
 Master William is not in his room, and the bed has
 
 120 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 never been slept in ! Where can he have took himself 
 to?" 
 
 " Nonsense ! You must be mistaken, Sarah," spoke 
 Mr Allair. But Mrs Allair turned deadly pale. 
 
 " Hoav can I be mistaken, sir ? There's the bed for 
 anybody to see. And I am sure he is not in the 
 room." 
 
 Alice and Rose Allair ran up the stairs. Mrs Allair 
 followed more slowly ; she knew not what she Avas 
 dreading. Mr Allair came after her. The chamber 
 was empty, as the servant had said. There was no trace 
 of William : no trace that he had been in since the pre- 
 vious evening, 
 
 Mrs Allair turned her gaze upon her husband, words 
 faltering from her ashy lips. " What can be the mean- 
 ing of this?" 
 
 " I'll let Master William know what is the meaning, 
 
 when I catch hold of him," was the angry rejoinder. 
 
 " He must have got out on some spree with the school - 
 
 boys. But it is strange, too! He never attempted 
 
 ach a thing before." 
 
 " He came up to bed all right last night, sir, and 
 went into his room," interposed Sarah, who stood in as 
 much consternation as anybody, whilst poor Edmund 
 Looked vacantly from side to side. " The young ladies 
 came up at the same lime." 
 
 Mrs Allair drew her husband aside. "A fearful, 
 strange dread is upon me," she uttered. " I fear he has 
 run away." 
 
 "Run away!" repeated Mr Allair, incredulously. 
 " What for? Where should he run to V" 
 
 She would have said " To sea," but the words refused
 
 MB GRUFF JONES AGAIN. 121 
 
 to come. She seized hold of a chair to save herself from 
 
 falling. 
 
 " Don't distress yourself," said her husband, sooth- 
 ingly; "there's nothing to be alarmed at. It is not 
 likely he should have run away, as you call it. If he 
 has, we'll soon bring him back again, I can promise 
 him that." 
 
 A shriek from Sarah interrupted Mr Allair. She had 
 been gratifying her curiosity by an inspection of Wil- 
 liam's drawers. " Some of his things are gone," she 
 called out. " Here's only three of his shirts, and not 
 half his liandkechers. He must have gone off some- 
 where, on the sly, I should be a feared, meaning to stop. 
 What's that?" 
 
 It was a fall. Mrs Allair had fainted away. 
 
 The news of William's disappearance went forth to 
 Whittermead, and the village was speedily up in arms. 
 When back news came to be gathered and combined, 
 scraps of fact, items of suspicion, it appeared to be only 
 too conclusive that William hud run away. His press- 
 ing for the sovereign the previous night appeared one 
 very conclusive fact against him. Mr Allair did not at 
 first admit the probability ; but he was obliged to yield. 
 Some of the schoolboys privately told him that WU- 
 liam had "for certain" gone off to be a sailor: had 
 gone, " for certain," to join James Carter. Mr Allair 
 at length adopted the same view, and departed for 
 London by the first train, in search of him. 
 
 But that was not the only surprise Whittermead was 
 favoured with that day. 
 
 A brown, lanky, worn-looking object arrived in the 
 afternoon at Whittermead. A contrite sort of object,
 
 122 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 with hanging Load and bent eyelids. He bore some 
 resemblance, the village thought, to Master Gruff 
 Jones ; but Master Gruff had never been seen in a 
 shamefaced plight such as this. 
 
 Master Gruff it proved to be ; and shamefaced 
 enough. For he was come to ask grace of his father 
 for his past rebellion, and fervently to implore never to 
 be sent to sea again. 
 
 " So you have had enough of it!" cried the squire, 
 his surprise a little abated, when the gentleman reached 
 his presence. 
 
 Master Gruff, albeit getting on now to be Mr Gruff, 
 burst into tears : long-restrained, grievous, heart-broken 
 tears, none the less bitter for their having been fur 
 months suppressed. " Oh, father! don't send me back 
 again!" he wailed forth. "A sailor's life on board 
 those working vessels is worse (ban a dog's!" 
 
 " Ilighty tighty, but this is news!" exclaimed the 
 ^'|iiire. " A fine change in the weather, this ! I under- 
 stood you to say thai in going to sea you would step 
 into a sort of terrestrial paradise." 
 
 "Paradise!" groaned Gruff. 
 
 "You did say it. Where's the mistake, Hugh?" 
 
 " Father, it is the most awful life," wailed Hugh. 
 " It's enough to kill a dog. There ! And you are 
 beaten black and blue besides! And instead of the 
 ship being a beautiful, trim, clean thing, ever in apple- 
 pie order, with her noble sails set, as yon read of in 
 Marryat's novels, or as the talk used to be in the school, 
 and Vane boasted, she's a dirty, clumsy, unmanageable 
 mass of ugliness, always wanting to be attended to, with 
 no place where von can sit, and close fetid holes to
 
 
 MK GRUFF JONES AGAIN. 123 
 
 sleep in, worse than your dog-kennels, and scores of 
 rats running over you ! And we are kept at labour 
 night and day, and our naked feet and hands are cut and 
 bruised with the work ; and for weeks together we don't 
 have a dry thread about us, for the water washes in, 
 and soaks everything on board, clothes on and clothes 
 off. O sir ! do have pity upon me ! I carCt go back 
 again." 
 
 Squire Jones never felt more inclined to laugh. It 
 was precisely what he had anticipated. 
 
 " And then the language you hear ; ay, and get to 
 learn, too!" went on Mr Gruff, his sobs nearly choking 
 him. " It's a wonder that the skies don't fall with it. 
 And you have to eat biscuit with the maggots in it, and 
 green beef — junk they call it — oh, it's awfully sickening. 
 Father, I'd rather be put to sweep a crossing at home 
 than I'd be at sea ! " 
 
 " I can't believe my own ears," mocked the squire, 
 keeping his countenance. " I have told everybody what 
 a charming life my eldest son had entered upon ; no- 
 thing that I had axev heard or read could come up to 
 it, save fairy land, or the scenes in the ' Tales of the 
 Genii.' How is it, I say, Hugh?" 
 
 " Don't send me back again 1" besought Gruff, in his 
 agony. " Put me into a coffin, and follow me to the 
 grave if you like, but don't send me back again. Father, 
 dear father ! I would ten times over rather be dead and 
 lying at peace in my grave, than live under the hard- 
 ships of a sea life." 
 
 Mr Jones changed his tone to seriousness. " You 
 chose the life, Hugh." 
 
 " I did not choose that — the life I found. I chose
 
 124 WILLIAM ALLAH?. 
 
 the picture drawn by the boys and Harry Vane — the 
 false, pleasant aspect given to it in false books. You 
 remember those two plates, father, in ' Martin Chuzzle- 
 Avit, 1 of the famous city of Eden. The beauty, the 
 fertility of the drawn picture, and the utter desolation 
 of the reality. "Well, going to sea is like those pictures : 
 it is an exact illustration of them ; I have thought of 
 them many a time in my misery, when I have been up 
 aloft. We are led to look for everything that's plea- 
 sant and smooth ; but when we get afloat, we find out 
 the deceit, and the horrors we have entered on." 
 
 " You lead yourselves to look for smoothness, Hugh. 
 / told you you'd find what it seems you have found." 
 
 Gruff hung his head. " It's true, father. My mind 
 was perverted, and I would not listen to you. Forgive 
 me the past, and let me stay on land. You will not 
 force me to go again?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said the squire, keeping up 
 the joke. " Perhaps another voyage would prove bet- 
 ter, more agreeable to you than the last has been?" 
 
 Down went Gruff on his knees, and sobbed out his 
 prayer, more terrified than before. 
 
 " I should never come back again alive. I should 
 die of the hardships. Father, don't send me !" 
 
 " Will you turn rebellious again, Hugh, if I forgive 
 you now !" 
 
 " Never. This has cured me, father." 
 
 " Very well. I am glad it has. There's nothing like 
 Belf-cure. Get up. Which of the two do you think 
 now knew best, young six* — you or I ?" 
 
 I ■; nfj rose from his knees humble and thankful. Hi- 
 contrition was genuine, for so had been his hardships.
 
 MR GRUFF JONES A.6AIN. 125 
 
 " Another of you is off to-day, I hear," remarked the 
 
 .squire — " William Allair." 
 
 " Not off to sea!" returned Gruff. 
 
 " It is supposed so. He has disappeared, nobody 
 knows whither, taking some shirts with him. Went 
 away in the night. He had the sea fever upon him, so 
 there's little doubt that he is off to it." 
 
 '• My goodness!" exclaimed Gruff, rubbing his tear- 
 ful face. "Run away to sea! I am sorry for him. 
 Poor Allair ! he little thinks what it is." 
 
 " A pity but you had come home a clay sooner. It 
 might have stopped him." 
 
 "I don't know," mused Hugh, casting his thoughts 
 back to his fever. " When you are regularly in for it, 
 all the talking in the world doesn't stop you. You don't 
 believe it, and don't listen to it." 
 
 "The only thing would be, then, to drive back tin; 
 fever in its onset, not to suffer it to take hold of you," 
 said the squire. 
 
 " Ah ! if we could ! — if Ave did but know ! " lamented 
 Gruff. 
 
 " Could!" returned the squire. " What do you mean 
 by that? A right-minded lad, anxious to do his duty, 
 does not say 'If I could.' He says 'I will.' Don't 
 forget that, Master Hugh." 
 
 Pray don't you forget it, either, boy-.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AWAKIXG FROM THE DELUSION. 
 
 But meanwhile where was William Allair? Speeding 
 fast to that delightful Eden of his imagination, the sea. 
 He reached Liverpool unmolested, unpursued. Mr 
 Allair, you see, was on a false scent : he had gone to 
 London. "William's object was to engage himself on 
 board some vessel, any that was about to start, as a 
 working sailor : he could not expect to go in a higher 
 capacity at present. Difficulties, however, lay in his 
 path. He had no registered ticket, no discharge, no 
 outfit. It was his fortune, however, to fall in with 
 people who taught him how to overcome these little 
 obstacles : certain men called crimps, who infest sea- 
 port towns, and are ever on the look-out for victims, 
 young men green as "William Allair, green as you would 
 be, my dear boy, were you to run blindfold into their 
 friendly hands. They assumed tin; protectorship of 
 William, and things went on swimmingly and smoothly. 
 A ship was instantly found for him, one about to depart 
 at once — the " Prosperous," an American vessel, hailing 
 from New York. He bound himself to work on board 
 her fur three years, as an "apprentice," and a small 
 outfit was provided ; how very small and short, "William 
 never knew until he was at sea; the clothes he had 
 gone down in, and the contents of his pockets, includ- 
 the valuable gold watch which had been a le;j
 
 
 AWAKING FROM THE DELUSION'. 127 
 
 from his grandfather, being left on shore in compensa- 
 tion. That gold watch was worth forty pounds. He 
 rather rebelled at the binding himself for three years; 
 but was assured that it was the only way in which he 
 could get to sea, and that at the end of the three years 
 he would be promoted to the place of second mate, with 
 immense wages. William believed his friends. 
 
 The vessel was a trader, of four hundred tons bur- 
 then, having the usual complement of men on board, 
 all of whom were Americans, save a boy who joined 
 when William did. The captain's name was Janns ; he 
 was of Dutch extraction, but had himself been born in 
 the States. He was not a prepossessing man in features ; 
 truth to say, William did not like the look of him at 
 all ; but he strove to admire him as a bluff sea-captain. 
 
 There was one thing, however, that did strike on his 
 heart with somewhat of a chill. Whenever William 
 had thought of a ship — and it had been pretty fre- 
 quently, as you know — the picture that rose up in his 
 imagination was of a trim, elegantly-built vessel, her 
 white sails set, and her colours waving, gliding majes- 
 tically over a wide expanse of transparent waters, deep 
 and beautiful in colour as a painter's ultramarine. Just 
 the ship, in fact, that you see exposed for sale under a 
 glass case, or in the paintings of some of the first mas- 
 ters. Gruff Jones, you may remember, had cherished 
 the same ideas. But what did William see when he 
 first reached Liverpool ? It was a dull, rainy day ; so 
 that may have made the aspect of things worse ; but he 
 saw a heap of dirty, ugly, black-looking vessels huddled 
 together, — a heterogeneous mass of sides, decks, spars, 
 masts, ropes, pitch, tar, dirt, and confusion, all floating in
 
 128 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 the muddy, turbid, yellowish-tinted water of the docks. 
 The sight struck coldly and oddly upon William, leaving 
 its natural impression. He was not like Harry Vane. 
 The latter's heart yearned to a ship, no matter how unfa- 
 vourably viewed ; William's heart already recoiled from 
 them, as they looked there ; though he would not have 
 admitted the fact for the world, even to himself. " But 
 this will soon be changed," reasoned William. " Let 
 us get a day's sail, or so, from port ; leave this thick, 
 unpleasant-looking water behind ; and give the fair ship 
 range on her pure native element. That will be the 
 time o' day ! " 
 
 The " Prosperous" was ready for sea when William 
 joined her. She was about returning to New York, and 
 it was expected would thence be sent to California — 
 at that time far from being deemed a desirable country 
 to visit. What a scene it was to William when the 
 il made preparations for getting under weigh ! 
 Hurrying, screaming, shouting, swearing! Innumer- 
 able orders were given. Some to him: orders which 
 In: could not obey, simply from being at a loss to know 
 what was meant, and how he was to execute them. 
 .Many a hard word was given him, and harder blow ; 
 pushed hither, knocked thither ; contemptuously thrust 
 aside, and called a lazy, sneaking land-lubber! Yards 
 bad to be braced, sails loosed, the craft around cleared. 
 It appeared a maze of confusion, and William was in a 
 maze with it. But the start was effected at last; the 
 moorings were loosened, the docks and the river were 
 left behind, the ship commenced her course on the sea, 
 rolling from side to side with the ground swell: and 
 William Allair was fairly launched on his perilous
 
 AWAKING FROM THE DELUSION. 1 29 
 
 voyage, and had bid adieu to England and to case and 
 happiness for ever. 
 
 Had William Allair wished to be treated to the ills 
 of a sailor's life in their worst bearings, he could not 
 have fixed upon a better ship than this identical one, 
 the " Prosperous." Life on board her was not a favour- 
 able specimen of the American service. Hardships are 
 found in their ships, as they are in ours. 
 
 And, as the days passed on, he became slowly but 
 surely aware how widely different was the reality from 
 the fabled romance he had conjured up. And then 
 came repentance : that terrible, unavading repentance, 
 which saddens the brain, and turns the heart to sick- 
 ness. What a life was his ? How could he so madly, 
 so blindly, have rushed upon it ? He, who had not 
 known what it was to soil his hands, who had never so 
 much as cleaned the boots he walked in, or brushed 
 the clothes he wore, had now to pass his days in toil 
 that was totally unfitted for him. He, who had often 
 said to Harry Vane that a sailor's must be a deli- 
 ciously lazy life, who had laughed in derision when 
 told the contrary, had now to find that a sailor's work 
 is never done. From the rising of the sun to its going 
 down, it was toil, toil, toil ; added to which, there were 
 the midnight watches, and broken rest. 
 
 Thousands like William Allair have fallen, and arc 
 falling, into the same error. " What can there be to 
 do at sea?" they cry. If you, my inexperienced boys, 
 feel inclined to stand upon the dispute, and make the 
 same inquiry, take what I now tell you as an answer. 
 The hardest, the most laborious life you can possibly 
 fix upon, I may say the most cruel life, is that of a
 
 130 WILLIAM A.LLAIR. 
 
 sailor's on board these merchant ships ; and it is, of 
 ;ill others, the most comfortless. It is of no use to 
 go into details of the labour; you "would find the de- 
 scription tedious, and not understand at last ; but rely 
 upon it, it has broken many and many a spirit, many 
 a heart, many a life. Gruff" Jones's expression, " It is 
 a worse life than a dog's," was not an inapt one. 
 
 No unhappy criminal at the galleys labours half so 
 hard in his chains as did William Allair, now he was a 
 common seaman : neither are the transports kept under 
 more strict discipline than was he. The forecastle 
 where he lived, in common with some dozen or fifteen 
 others, was a dark, damp, wretched hole, so full of 
 chests and lumber of some sort or other, that there was 
 no room to sit or move in it. The everlasting salt junk 
 was their food : at home he would have gone without 
 meat for a month, rather than have touched it. The 
 mode of taking their meals reminded him of Mr Jenni- 
 ker's pigs taking theirs. A large, hard, red lump of 
 this junk was put in a small tub in the forecastle, and 
 each man, with his own sheath knife, cut off what he 
 wanted. It was eaten with equally hard, unpalatable 
 ■nit. This was the living; it was rarely varied; 
 and the drink was water. Night and morning they 
 had a tin jug full of tea. It was made in a furnace, 
 -Mine treacle stirred into it with a rolling-pin, and 
 served out to them, tea-leaves and all. William would 
 ht his leaves settle to the bottom, but most of the 
 sailors swallowed them with the tea. The "Prosperous" 
 was a temperance ship, as it is called ; consequently 
 there was no grog. The captain took enough, though, 
 for his "v. n mare.
 
 AWAKING FROM THE DELUSION. lol 
 
 William was not alive at first to tlie full ills of his 
 position. He never thought that the incessant work 
 was to last ; he supposed it to be but what was neces- 
 sary upon getting out to sea. lie lay in his berth, 
 suffering agonies from sea-sickness ; too ill to pay at- 
 tention to the coarse fare eaten around him : but he 
 did gaze upon the wretched place, with its inexpres- 
 sibly close, nauseous smell, that was henceforth to be 
 his home ; he gazed upon the rude, hardened crew, 
 with whom he must fraternize. He, the refined "Wil- 
 liam Allair, so unfitted, both by nature and education, 
 to be forced into the rough companionship of such ! 
 He woidd henceforth have many bitter pills to swallow, 
 but none that would be felt more annoy ingly than this. 
 
 Bitter pills indeed ! and in his obstinate ignorance 
 he had honoured the articles that were to bind him to 
 his father by the same epithet. He would recall the 
 expression now, coidd he exchange his present life for 
 the one he had then rejected. 
 
 And the time went on ; and with the exception of 
 one short note, written to his mother, Whittermead 
 heard nothing of him, any more than it had of Dick 
 Jenniker. 
 
 It would be nearly an impossible task to describe 
 the sensations of Mrs Allair in the first few days fol- 
 lowing his departure : quite impossible for you fully 
 to understand them. "When convinced that he was 
 actually gone ; when Mr Allair returned at length from 
 London bringing no tidings of him ; then her hopes 
 turned to letters, to receiving news from him by means 
 of writing. But to say her "hopes" turned to that, is 
 an expression denoting most imperfectly the state of
 
 132 WILLIAM ALLAIE. 
 
 her mind and heart. Fevered in brain, fevered in 
 body, her nights and days were passed in one long, 
 miserable yearning. Ten times a day would she walk 
 to the post-office, in the fond and foolish delusion that 
 the postman, by some unusual oversight, had forgotten 
 to leave the letter at her house. " Is there any letter 
 for me ? Is there any letter for me ? " was the burthen 
 of her cry. And the old postmistress who dealt out 
 the letters would silently shake her head in sympathy 
 at the sad voice, the sadder face, and whisper a faint 
 hope that there might be one on the morrow. People 
 began to say, that unless news came, it woidd kill Mrs 
 Allair. 
 
 At length news did come, in the shape of a letter 
 from William himself. It was written in Liverpool, 
 but not posted until he had sailed some days : Wil- 
 liam's " friends " took care of that. It told her little 
 more than that he was alive and well, and about to 
 embark on the life he had so longed for — the sea. It 
 did not give a clue to the precise ship he had em- 
 barked in, or for what particular port he was bound ; 
 but he promised to write all these details the instant 
 they made it. And he begged her and his father to 
 pardon the step he had taken, to wish him good luck 
 in his venture, and to look forward to their next joy- 
 fid meeting. 
 
 Alas! even at the very hour that Mrs Allair was 
 reading that most unsatisfactory note, William's re- 
 pentance was setting in.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A TASTE in THE SEA. 
 
 The stay of the ship "Prosperous" in New York was 
 limited. It may be asked by many, why William 
 Ailair did in 4 make a second run and quit the ship, as 
 he found himself so uncomfortable upon it. Whether 
 he would have attempted the step, 1 am unable to say ; 
 but at any rate he had do opportunity given him, 
 being by far too closely watched. Possibly the cap- 
 tain doubted whether such mighl not be his intention ; 
 for he never allowed him to go on Bhore but i • 
 and then it was under convoy of the mate. From this 
 port William wrote home more fully, Btating where be 
 was, and that they were bound to the coast of Cali- 
 fornia round Cape Horn. Nol a word was there in 
 his letter of having realized the pleasure he had 
 confidently counted on ; neither was there mention of 
 his bitter disappointment, or oi his cruelly hard life; 
 but there was a vein of sadness running through it, 
 which told too surely its own tale, and the unhappi- 
 E him who wrote it. So, all the tidings con- 
 veyed to his anxious relatives, to his mother, v. 
 that he was in the severe trading service, bound upon 
 the hardest known voyage, and that he was unhappy 
 in body and in mind. 
 
 The "Prosperous" commenced her voyi Cali- 
 
 fornia from New York, passing by Cape Horn. Ah! 
 
 i
 
 134 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 William had it now. If he had found the passage from 
 England to America bad, what did he think of this, 
 for a change ? lie wondered whether he could live 
 through its ills. But let us get on at present, and you 
 shall hear a little about it on the homeward voyage. 
 In about five months they arrived at their destination, 
 and anchored at Santa Barbara. After discharging her 
 cargo, the "Prosperous" was to take in another, con- 
 sisting chiefly of hides ; to do which, the captain said 
 would occupy them full two years from the time of 
 arrival. 
 
 Neither is there leisure to give to the time spent off 
 California, whether at Santa Barbara, Monterey, San 
 Pedro, San Diego, or San Francisco, all of which bays, 
 or ports, the ship was located in by turns. But, no 
 matter where they were, the work was always hard, 
 though it varied from the monotonous labour at sea. 
 The landing of the cargo was sharp work, very sharp 
 for William Allair, especially the rolling of^the weighty 
 casks up the hilly beach. Their whole exerted strength 
 scarcely prevented the barrels rolling back upon them : 
 their naked feet were constantly bleeding; bruised, 
 and cut with the rough stones. The cargo landed, 
 they were employed in getting off hides from the shore 
 to the ship. Who that had known William Allair in 
 England could recognise him now? Dressed in the 
 roughest, Lowest, meanest attire, his feet bare, his head 
 ered with hides — the usual mode of carrying them! 
 lie had shrunk from a cut finger at home, delicately 
 wrapped up in a piece of linen rag: he had to bear 
 the far sharper pain of his bleeding feet. There Avas 
 no wrapping up for them; cuts and wounds were left
 
 A TASTE OF THE SEA. 135 
 
 undressed and exposed to the rough beach, to be cut 
 again. 
 
 You may be puzzled to know, boys, why he did not 
 wear shoes. It is a common practice for the working 
 sailor to go barefoot, and it was not possible to do 
 otherwise at that time on the Mexican coast. Shoes 
 were not, or scarcely to be, procured there : and the 
 beach-work, combined with the constant wetting from 
 the surf, would have worn out a pair almost in a day. 
 
 The hides had to be cixred after being collected ; or, 
 to speak more intelligibly, to be converted into leather. 
 This process was long, difficult, and disagreeable ; the 
 putrid flesh, sticking to the hides in places, oppressed 
 the men with sickening nausea, and rendered William, 
 more delicately reared than they, frequently ill. But 
 ill or well, he must never cease from labour. I cannot 
 tell you whether the same long and troublesome pro- 
 cess has to be pursued now by the creAvs of the vessels 
 going to California for hides ; but I can tell you that 
 it was the case at the time of which I am writing. In 
 addition to this labour, the ship had to be tended and 
 worked just as though they were at sea. The winds 
 on the Californian coast are exceedingly violent, espe- 
 cially those blowing from the south-east. Often they 
 would have to put out to sea, and remain out for days 
 together, encountering all the danger and hardship of 
 a storm. So sudden would be the approach of these 
 squalls, that all hands must work away for their lives, 
 and get the from the coast ; otherwise she^ would 
 
 have been driven on shore, and dashed to pieces. And 
 the curing of these fragrant hides had to be pursued 
 all the same ; for the process, once begun, must be
 
 136 WILLIAM ALLAIE. 
 
 continued without interruption, if they would preserve 
 their hides and their leather. 
 
 A vastly agreeable life, was it not ? Perhaps some 
 of you would like to try it? 
 
 Brit, to linger on the Mexican coast, would for us he 
 neither profitable nor pleasant, and I have promised 
 you some account of the return. 
 
 It was in the month of May, 1848 — for you remember 
 we are not writing of very late years — that the " Pros- 
 perous" commenced her homeward voyage, after a stay 
 of considerably more than two years on the Californian 
 coast, and nearly three since "William AUair's departure 
 from home. 
 
 Three years ! Three years of hardship, toil, and 
 privation ! without a word of love or hope from the 
 old house at home ! Whether his friends wrote to him 
 or not, he did not know. In the letter William had 
 written from New York, he had been able to give no 
 definite address : and so irregular was the postage 
 system at that time in California-, that, had they sent a 
 dozen letters, the chances were he never would have 
 received one. 
 
 The "Prosperous" was returning direct to New York, 
 where "William would receive his wages, and whence 
 his intention was to proceed immediately to England. 
 Two of the crew were left behind at San Diego: the 
 hard labour, with the incessant exposure on the coast, 
 had wrought their effects : and when the shipwasready 
 t'/ -ail. they were so ill that Captain Janns would not 
 bring them away. Earnestly they implored not to be 
 h-l'i on that inhospitable, half savage shore; but tin' 
 captain coarsely answered, with an oath, that sick men
 
 A TASTE OF THE SEA. 137 
 
 were not wanted on board ship. In point of fact, this 
 is true. If a sailor falls sick on board, he must get 
 well as he best can ; there is nobody to nurse him. So 
 the men were left ; which rendered the vessel two 
 hands short. 
 
 As they neared Cape Horn, the weather became fear- 
 fully hard. They expected to pass it in July, the very 
 worst month of all the twelve in that region of per- 
 petual winter. By the latter end of June, they had 
 come up with what the experienced sailors called Cape 
 weather. Often, after their long, cheerless watch on 
 deck, the men had scarcely descended to the forecastle, 
 when " All hands ahoy!" would send them back flying: 
 sails must be taken in with double-cpiick speed, to wear 
 through the scpiall that was coming. On, would come 
 the blast ; long before they were ready for it ; sleet, 
 snow, rain, and wind. Such wind ! Never on shore let 
 us talk again of the wind taking our breath away ! The 
 heavily laden ship would be thrown nearly on her beam 
 ends, her timbers cracking, her top-gallant masts bend- 
 ing, the foam dashing over her bows, as she careered 
 madly through the storm. The hands climbed aloft : 
 what though the hail cut their faces, and nearly blinded 
 them, as it drove horizontally across the ocean, and the 
 violent wind impeded almost entirely their movements ! 
 — still they must work the ship. It was no child's 
 play. The sails were as hard as boards, but they must 
 be hauled and furled, and the men were wet through 
 as they stood upon the yards ; their hands, already 
 stiffened and numbed, had to be beaten fiercely on the 
 sails to prevent the fingers freezing. Not so quickly 
 could they get through the business as they might
 
 138 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 have done under Letter auspices ; it was impossible to 
 go along quickly, with the shrouds and rigging iced 
 over; also, they were short of hands. An hour, an 
 hour and a half, two hours would pass, ere the task 
 was done : and the half-frozen, hard-worked crew 
 would descend from its completion, to find the hour 
 had just struck for their watch on deck to be resumed. 
 
 It was on one of these days that the English lad, who 
 had joined the ship at Liverpool at the same time as 
 William AUair, got into trouble with the captain. His 
 name was Robert Stone : commonly known on board as 
 " Bob." Captain Janus was not of choice language at 
 any time, but in moments of anger it became — well, 
 what would not look orthodox upon paper. Showered 
 down upon the unhappy Bob, it was not orthodox 
 either, at least to his thinking, for he believed he was 
 undeserving of it : and fatigued and worn out with his 
 hard work, lie answered insolently. One word led to 
 another on both sides; and the captain, unused to have 
 his harshest mandate reflected on, ilew into a foaming 
 passion, and ordered Bob to be seized up. The whole 
 crew was summoned to witness the spectacle. Stone 
 Was made fasl to the shrouds, his back bared ; and the 
 captain himself undertook the office of castigator. 
 
 The rope whirled in the air, and descended — 
 
 One< ! 
 
 "Oh, spare me! spare me!" shrieked Bob, leaping 
 ii]) with the pain. 
 
 Twice ! " I'll spare you," retorted the captain, 
 " when I have brought you to your senses ! I'll teach 
 you what it i- to brave me." 
 
 Thrice! four times! ever so many times; until the
 
 A TASTE OF THE SEA. DJ'J 
 
 unhappy culprit fainted. And "William Allair, sick 
 •with horror, thought he should have fainted too. It 
 was a widely different exhibition, this, from the milder 
 one bestowed upon liichard Jenniker in the old school- 
 room. 
 
 Half an hour elapsed. The larboard watch were 
 keeping their watch on deck. Bob Stone belonged to 
 this watch ; but it may be thought by you inexperi- 
 enced land boys that he was at any rate let off work 
 for that day. No such thing. Bob's back had been 
 treated to a wash of salt and water, and Bob himself 
 was at his post on deck. Bob had not opened his lips 
 since ; and a sullen expression of pain pervaded his 
 countenance. A gloomy silence reigned in the ship. 
 The captain paced the deck, zigzag fashion, for the 
 cargo stowed there left little room for walking ; the 
 mate stood to windward, looking at the appearance of 
 the weather; when a sudden command, "Lay aloft 
 there and unfurl the sails," was heard. 
 
 The men of the larboard watch prepared to man the 
 rigging. Bob Stone alone went slowly. By those look- 
 ing on, it may have been thought he went unwillingly : 
 but that unfortunate back of his may have been alone 
 in fault. 
 
 "Do you want another flogging?'' roared the cap- 
 tain, as he sprang towards him, with an oath. " What 
 are you loitering for, you skulking land-lubber?'' 
 
 He dragged himself up painfully : that was evident ; 
 and bore a hand with the rest. The captain recom- 
 menced his zigzag step, and the mate stretched out his 
 hand for the night glass : he did not much like ap- 
 pearances out to windward.
 
 140 WILLIAM ALLAH!. 
 
 " What's that ?" cried he. 
 
 It was a sudden splash in the water : just as if a 
 heavy weight had dropped, dash, into it. The captain 
 and mate hurried to the vessel's side. 
 
 ••A man overboard! A man overboard!" rose up 
 the cry, echoing from one end of the ship to the other. 
 Down came the men from the yards, like cats, eager to 
 get out the quarter boat, before the order could be 
 spoken. 
 
 One of the men had dropped from the yards aloft. 
 Which of them? The larboard watch looked at one 
 another : the captain looked at them collectively. The 
 missing one was Bob Stone. 
 
 The boat was got off, and rowed towards the spot ; 
 but the ill-fated Bob was never seen again. In vain 
 they strained their eyes around ; no trace could be 
 discerned of him. and the boat put back again. 
 
 " That makes a third hand gone !*' was the comment 
 of the sailors, one to another. "How shall we be able 
 t<i wear the ship round the Cape?" 
 
 If William Allair had felt sick at the flogging, how- 
 did he feel now ? An inward prayer went up to God, 
 that the unhappy lad might have slipped unwittingly 
 from the yards ; and not have thrown himself off, in 
 his shame and unhappiness. 
 
 Ere the boat had been made fast again, night was 
 closing in ; their night. At that period of the year, 
 round Cape Horn, the sun, on favourable days, rises at 
 nine and sets at three : but it is not often they can get 
 to see the sun at all. A dismal scene, it was, that lone- 
 trip and her isolated crew. Many hundred miles 
 away from available land : exposed to all the incle-
 
 A TASTE OF THE SEA. 141 
 
 mencies of a Cape winter ; living almost in a perpetual 
 night ; in danger of being drifted down by floating 
 masses of ice, tokens of which they bad already begun 
 to see ; the dreadful hardships of their life and posi- 
 tion cannot well be exaggerated. And now the visit 
 of Death ! Xo wonder that the men felt their spirits 
 sinking ! 
 
 The night set in heavily. Rain, sleet, and hail came 
 down upon them ; and the wind howled with an omi- 
 nous sound. The thermometer had fallen greatly since 
 the morning, which called forth the mate's opinion that 
 they must be near large ice islands. Airs Allair had 
 used to complain if William got his feet wet, or was out 
 in the rain so as to damp his jacket. It was a mercy, 
 William thought, that she did not see what he was 
 exposed to now. It may be said that the men lived in 
 water. All the clothing they possessed (and very short 
 and scant it was !) was perpetually wet : there were no 
 means of drying it. Did the sun peep lazily out, their 
 things would be hung up, but they did not dry. After 
 a severe watch of four hours, they would take their 
 clothes off in the forecastle, wring the water from 
 them, and put on the change from which the water had 
 been in a like manner previously wrung. But the dis- 
 comfort of the wet clothes was nothing, compared to 
 that of the boots — thick boots being indispensable to a 
 Cape Horn attire. Always saturated with wet were 
 they, rendering the feet miserably cold. You may get 
 your feet warm in bed, young gentlemen ; but you are 
 not rounding Cape Horn, in a Cape winter. The berths 
 on board the " Prosperous " were as wet as the men, 
 for they coidd only get into them in their wet clothing.
 
 142 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 Perhaps you arc indulged with a fire in your bed- 
 chamber, when there is a little frost on the ground? 
 Some boys get it, who are coddled up, not brought up. 
 They should try William Allair's life for a day, just by 
 way of change. His face and hands were often cut 
 with the large, sharp hailstones; and these same hands, 
 their wounds exposed, must hold on by the hulls and 
 spars, a mass of ice, hauling and pulling the stiffened 
 sails, and taking knots with the running rigging, the 
 ropes so hard that there was no bending them. The 
 men's clothes froze upon them. It was with some dif- 
 ficulty they could prevent their bodies freezing also. 
 There was no comfort for them, no ease, no semblance 
 of either : and their snatches of sleep in their damp 
 berths would be all too frecpiently interrupted with 
 the arousing cry, — " All hands ahoy!" 
 
 But, to go back to this night. Its long, tedious 
 iteen hours wore away ; and when the dawn broke, 
 they found the mate's opinion, that they were coming 
 to the ice, to be correct. On this day the sun was 
 out, and it shone brightly. About twelve o'clock they 
 came in view of an iceberg. It was the most beauti- 
 ful sight conceivable : the strangest and finest picture 
 possible to be imagined. No painting has ever done 
 justice to an iceberg, neither can any description : an 
 
 md of ice, shaped like a mountain, its height tapered 
 off into transparent pinnacles, and its general colour 
 azure, shading imperceptibly into the pure white of the 
 pinnacles, whose glittering tops were brilliant in the 
 sun, the waves rising white and foaming at its base. A 
 wondrously grand object was it, as it moved through 
 the clear, blue waters with slow and stately action.
 
 A TASTE OF THE SKA. 143 
 
 Occasionally it was heard to crack -with a noise like 
 thunder, and portions of it dropped away into the sea 
 below, causing the waves to dash aloft and fall again, 
 like so many cascades of silver. 
 
 As the ship bore cautiously on her course, innumer- 
 able ice islands appeared, some large, some small ; and 
 also large tracts, or fields, of floating ice, causing their 
 progress to be exceedingly difficult and dangerous. It 
 was next to impossible to steer the ship clear of them. 
 The captain and crew were quite alive to their peril ; 
 they were in constant apprehension that one or other 
 of these masses of ice would drift against the ship and 
 stave her in, in which case nothing coidd have saved 
 them. " The boats V " suggests some green little boy. 
 How would you steer a boat amidst those floating 
 mounds of ice ? And, even if the boats could live, you 
 would be frozen to death in a few hours, off Cape Horn. 
 
 On the second day of their reaching these fields of 
 ice, it began to blow a gale when the sun went down. 
 Or it may be better to say, when daylight declined ; for 
 the sun had been visible but for a few minutes, and 
 then it looked like a copper-coloured ball. The ship 
 was tossed hither and thither, the hail and sleet whistled 
 around them, and, to add to the dangers of their situa- 
 tion, a dense fog came on. What an anxious night 
 were they about to pass ! Eighteen hours of darkness, 
 with a fog so thick that nothing could be discerned at 
 a few yards' distance, the ship in momentary danger of 
 being stove in by some floating mass of ice, or of going 
 to pieces on an ice island ! The captain ordered the 
 ship to be hove-to, and then sent for all hands aft. 
 He told them that they were in imminent peril, and
 
 144 WILLIAM ALLAH:. 
 
 that not a soul must quit the deck that night. The 
 
 men had their respective stations assigned them, Avhence 
 they would keep as sharp a look-oiit as the fog and 
 darkness permitted, feeling that ere the dawn of another 
 day, the ship and all that she contained might have dis- 
 appeared beneath the waters. They went, silent and 
 anxious, each man to his post. Slowly the night dragged 
 its course along, the various notices that ice was near, 
 from one watch or other, forming the only break to its 
 painful monotony. It was blowing frightfully from the 
 east, and the hail and snow beat sharply against the 
 men. The captain was mostly on deck ; if he retired 
 to his cabin for a few minutes, the mate took the com- 
 mand. 
 
 At daybreak, nine in the morning, some of the men 
 went below for breakfast, nearly dropping with fatigue 
 and anxiety, and stiff with the ice on their clothes. No 
 refreshment had been given them during the long sus- 
 pense of that evcr-to-be-remembcred night; not a taste 
 of anything. The captain and mate had partaken of 
 some in the cabin more than once, but nothing had been 
 offered to the worn-out men. Some snatches of sleep 
 were obtained by them in turn during the daylight ; and 
 with three o'clock p.m. again came the dark, and the 
 fatigue and anxiety of the previous night had once 
 more to be endured. 
 
 This continued for some days: the fog and the gales, 
 coupled with the dangerous ice, compelling the ship to 
 be -till hove-to. William Allan's station had been, part 
 of the time, the very worst on the ship; it was upon 
 the fori a place excessively exposed to the wind 
 
 and weather. Anxiety, remorse, despair, and fear —
 
 A TASTE OF TJIE SKA. 145 
 
 the incessant fear that each hour -would be his last — 
 in conjunction with the toil and hardships of his lot, 
 were working their effects upon him, rendering him 
 ill in body as he had long been in mind. A slow fever 
 attacked him, ripening into a remittent one as the days 
 went on. 
 
 lie became very ill with it. But, ill as he was, he 
 might not quit his work, for it would have rendered 
 another hand to be counted short in the already badly- 
 manned ship. Moments of delirium passed across his 
 brain when lying between the watches in his damp 
 berth in the wretched forecastle, and he would vainly 
 endeavour to close his eyes in sleep. Pictures would 
 arise of his happy home, the home he had so recklessly 
 and .blindly given up ; a remembrance of the ease he 
 had enjoyed, the serenity of the line of life chalked out 
 for him, contrasting bitterly with his present toil and 
 sufferings. Even the old office, then so despised and 
 hated, was now regarded as a very haven of calmness 
 and rest. Visions of his dear mother were of frequent 
 occurrence. In that state, half sleep, half delirium, 
 induced by fever, he would fancy he saw her. Some- 
 times she was ill and grieving after him, sometimes she 
 would look well and happy as of yore ; but always was 
 she yearning for and anticipating the period of his re- 
 turn. Once he fancied — it was but a repetition of his 
 waking thoughts, his unceasing longings — that he was 
 back again; his mother all joy; his lather, though at 
 first chiding, all forgiveness ; his sisters clinging round 
 him ; his poor brother wild with glee. And what 
 seemed his own sensations? Why, they might be 
 compared to those of one who has quitted misery for
 
 111. WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 Elysium. His toils and troubles at sea were over, and 
 lie was with his family, never, never to leave them, 
 never to go near the hated sea again. But lie was not 
 quit of the sea yet. 
 
 "Eight bells there, below — do you hear?" broke 
 violently his dream ; and starting up, he rushed on deck 
 with his shipmates. A day and a night he did lie by; 
 there was no help for it. A miserable place, though, 
 was that forecastle to be in! The water dripped down 
 on all sides of it, lumber and wet clothes filled up its 
 confined space ; while the air was unpleasantly fetid and 
 pernicious, chiefly from its being kept closely shut up. 
 As to the living? Why, sick or well, there was the 
 salt junk tub. His head was racked with pain; his 
 limbs were now shivering with ague, now burning with 
 fever; his tongue and throat were parched. How he 
 would have been waited and tended on at home ! But 
 here there was no consolation ; there were none to help 
 him ! 
 
 But we will not follow him in his illness, or the ship 
 through the weeks that they tried in vain to double Cape 
 Horn. William AUair had deliberately brought all 
 this discomfort upon himself. One vague hope — it 
 seemed too far off to be anything but vague in their 
 present peril — did buoy up his sinking heart : the hope 
 that it would :ill he as he had seen it in his feverish 
 drcuaj •
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE OPEN BOAT AT SEA. 
 
 The weary weeks wore away, and the ship progressed. 
 A happy day on board was that, when they left the 
 Cape behind them. They had finer weather after pass- 
 ing it, and a change for the better became not a hope, 
 but a certainty. Each day the sun began to get higher, 
 though the ice on the ship did not yet thaw ; whilst 
 every night sank some constellation in the south, and 
 raised a more familiar one in the northern horizon. 
 When "William had first seen the groups of stars he had 
 been accustomed to live under, disappear and give place 
 to strange ones, the Magellan clouds, the Southern 
 Cross, a sharp undefined feeling of dread would shoot 
 across him ; it seemed as if he was going into an un- 
 known world. 
 
 And now the good ship went on gallantly, bearing 
 a press of sail. They had got into open water and open 
 weather, as the sailors called it. Hey for home ! 
 William's heart leaped to every knot she. made ; and 
 he almost dared to whisper to himself that God had 
 seen how terrible had been his punishment, and would 
 in mercy forgive him and send him safely home again. 
 
 Fair and gently ! Stop a bit. This favourable change 
 a\;is not to last to the end. After some prolongation 
 of it, which had got them well forward, the weather one 
 morning altered. Squalls of wind and rain came on,
 
 148 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 which soon increased to half a gale, and the look-out 
 — to use the words of the mate — was downright ugly. 
 The captain ordered the courses to be reefed and furled, 
 the sails secured, and all other precautions taken against 
 the storm that was threatening. 
 
 A dark, heavy night set in. The gale increased, the 
 captain remained on deck, and the ship laboured much, 
 the boiling waves rushing over her bows and flinging 
 their foam aloft. Now she rose on the heaving waves, 
 now she buried her Mack shrouds in the deep, her tall 
 masts rising and sinking, looking — had there been any- 
 distant spectators — like a thing supernatural amidst the 
 surrounding gloom. Suddenly she plunged wildly for- 
 ward, and encountered a heavy sea, which threw her 
 on her beam ends. There was a sharp, affrighted cry, 
 and one of the sailors came forward, terror on his coun- 
 tenance. The vessel had shipped a quantity of water. 
 
 The mate rushed to the hold. It was even as the 
 man said. The ship had sprung a leak. A short while, 
 and the water rose up to five feet. 
 
 All hands were set to work at the pumps ; and after 
 some hours' labour, the quantity was considerablv de- 
 creased. The leak was found, and the carpenter set 
 it repairing it. But the gale increased. By the 
 morning it was Mowing awfully. The captain's I 
 wore a look of anxiety, while the mate seemed to be 
 gifted with ubiquity, so many part- of the ship was he 
 seen in, almost at the same moment. 
 
 The wind abated a little with the broad daylight ; but 
 when the Min went down, the storm came on again with 
 terrific violence. Another leak was sprung ; either the 
 former had re-opened, or the fresh one was close to it,
 
 TJ1E OPEN BOAT AT SEA. 149 
 
 and the water rushed in impetuously. Everything was 
 done that could be, in their unhappy situation. The 
 pumps were worked incessantly, the captain strove to 
 give his orders cheerfully : whatever his faults of tem- 
 per, he was a thorough seaman, and the men obeyed 
 him. They worked, but not with a will ; one dark 
 thought weighed down their spirits — that they might, 
 before morning, be in another world. Oh, what an 
 awfid time it was ! we, wdio have lived all our lives on 
 shore, can form no idea of it. The night pitchy dark ; 
 the wind howling and shrieking in gusts that seemed to 
 be almost unearthly ; the crashing of the timbers as the 
 masts rent and toppled ; the devoted ship, huge and 
 shadowy in the night's gloom, crying and groaning as 
 she was tossed about with the blast ; the waves rushing 
 mountains high, foaming and hissing, beating over and 
 against the ship, buffeting those who were in her. The 
 ill-fated men plyed away at the pumps, their spirits and 
 their bodies sinking, but conscious that it was their one 
 only chance for life. Every moment threatened to dash 
 the ship in pieces. Her mizen-mast and rudder had 
 been carried away, and her decks swept. Two of the 
 seamen, poor fellows, were already gone. Worn out 
 with fatigue, numbed with the cold, bruised and bat- 
 tered by the tempest, they had been washed away, not 
 having the strength to hold on, while performing some 
 necessary duty. 
 
 And was it for this that William Allair had cpuitted 
 his sheltering home? to endure years of never-ceasing 
 hardship, and at last to perish far away, amidst the 
 horrors of that night ? 
 
 It was now a matter of certainty that the ship was 
 
 K
 
 150 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 gradually sinking, and they must nieet their fate with 
 what calmness and resignation they could. Another 
 soul, the second mate, was washed overboard. Nothing 
 more could be done ; the pumps were abandoned in 
 despair ; three of the crew climbed up to the main 
 rigging, deeming that a few minutes more of life would 
 be left to them there than if they remained below. 
 
 With the morning, the violence of the storm had 
 worn itself out, and the sea was, comparatively speak- 
 ing, calm. The captain announced to the mate that he 
 had resolved to make one trial for their lives, by trust- 
 ing themselves to the jolly boat, which, strange to say, 
 had not been swept away. 
 
 The mate shook his head. He did not think it pos- 
 sible the boat could live, even if they could succeed in 
 launching it and getting safely into it. 
 
 " It is worth the trial," argued the captain. " To 
 remain in the ship is certain destruction. In a few 
 hours her masts will be under water. I am aware that 
 death is almost as certain, and may, perhaps, be quicker 
 in the boat ; still there is a chance. Life is sweet to 
 us all." 
 
 " Oh, try it, sir ! " uttered William, clasping his hands 
 in supplication. " If there be but the faintest glimmer- 
 ing of hope, let us try it, rather than die here !" 
 
 The captain turned sharply upon him. But common 
 peril has a wonderful tendency to equalize men ; and 
 the breach of discipline passed unreproved. 
 
 The sailors were called from the rigging, where they 
 had climbed ; but they did not answer, and remained 
 immovable. They had been frozen to death amidst the 
 horrors of that fatal night.
 
 THE OPEN BOAT AT SEA. 151 
 
 With immense difficulty the boat was launched, an- 
 other life having been lost in the process. The captain 
 lowered himself into it last. " God alone," said he, 
 " can save and help us now." 
 
 And God did help them, and carried them in safety 
 away from that wreck, through the tempestuous sea, in 
 the direction they wished to go. Ere they were out of 
 sight of the ship, the water had nearly engulfed her, the 
 feet of the dead men, as they dangled from the rigging, 
 being just immerged in it. 
 
 Four days passed aw T ay, and that frail boat and its 
 suffering crew were still at the mercy of the waters. 
 The weather, meantime, had become beautifully serene 
 and mild, and there was a favourable breeze to fill their 
 bit of canvas, that they were fain to call a sail. This 
 was the fifth day that they had been drifting on that 
 desolate sea ; no land, no sail in view to cheer their 
 drooping spirits ; no eye conscious of their need of help, 
 save one. Their stock of sustenance, consisting of 
 biscuit and water, was running low, although they had 
 been, from the first, on the shortest allowance, the 
 captain pointing out the necessity of the food being eked 
 out. The nights were raw and cold, exposed, as they 
 were, in the open boat; but as they drew nearer to the 
 equator, towards which, happily to say, the wind con- 
 tinued to drift them, the temperature grew milder. 
 
 They suffered greatly from thirst, a very small quan- 
 tity of water being doled out each morning. If a 
 shower of rain fell, they spread handkerchiefs — all they 
 had — to catch it ; and when they were thoroughly wet, 
 they wrung the rain out, and drank it. This afforded 
 some relief. The captain's character appeared to be
 
 152 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 entirely changed since the commencement of their suf- 
 ferings ; but nothing subdues a man like the fear of 
 approaching death. There was a Prayer Book in the 
 boat ; it had belonged to poor Bob Stone, and the 
 captain had brought it with him from the ship. Each 
 day he read prayers to the men, never omitting the ser- 
 vice to be used in peril at sea. The men bared their 
 heads, and listened reverently. Hardened as they were, 
 reprobate as they had been, there was not one but sup- 
 plicated fervently for forgiveness, whether it should be 
 their fate to live or die. 
 
 But now, for two successive days and nights, they 
 had no rain ; their allowance of water was less, and the 
 most intolerable thirst prevailed. Another day, and 
 the pangs of famine were added to those of thirst, their 
 biscuit being exhausted. The carpenter and one of the 
 other men yielded to the temptation of drinking the sea 
 water, although cautioned against it by the rest, who 
 declared they would endure any amount of suffering 
 rather than attempt it. It produced a widely different 
 effect upon the two. The carpenter seemed renovated 
 and refreshed by it, suffering no evil consequences ; 
 while the other, in a short space of time, died in deli- 
 rious agony. 
 
 And, next, the captain began to sink. Of all those 
 in the boat, the one who might be supposed least calcu- 
 lated to battle with the hardships of their situation was 
 "William Allair. Yet he appealed to bear up manfully ; 
 while the captain, a strong man and hearty, was slowly 
 resigning Ins life. It was a calm, peaceful evening, that 
 on which he died. The sun was drawing towards the 
 west, and its beams fell aslant upon his pallid features.
 
 THE OPEN BOAT AT .SEA. 153 
 
 He knew he should not see it rise on the morrow. 
 With a feeble farewell to the men, he leaned his head 
 upon William's shoulder, next to whom he sat, and 
 never moved again. William heard him softly praying. 
 Ah, my boys, what a mercy it is that we have a God, a 
 Saviour to fly to, in our extremity of need ! When the 
 sun rose in the morning they were consigning his body 
 to the deep ; the mate, though himself scarcely able to 
 speak, reading over him the service for the burial of the 
 dead at sea. I hope his spirit was happy ! 
 
 A fearful thought began to pervade the boat. You 
 may guess what it was, if you are familiar with accounts 
 of this kind of suffering. The pains of hunger are 
 grievous to be borne, the love of life is strong, and 
 
 ; but they drove away the horrible thought for 
 
 the present. 
 
 Again returned the dawn of day, and there was no 
 relief. About mid-day another died. William Allair, 
 the only good scholar left in the boat — in fact, the only 
 scholar of any account who had been in it, or in the 
 ship — feebly read the prayers over him as they threw 
 him into the sea. The mate was too far gone to at- 
 tempt it. 
 
 And now the dreadful thought, above alluded to, 
 passed into words. William Allair raised his voice 
 against it ; the mate also, who collected strength to 
 speak. William told them that where the unnatural 
 food had been resorted to, those partaking of it had 
 become raving mad, and so died. 
 
 Before the discussion ended, the night closed in, and 
 they tacitly agreed to leave its decision until the morn- 
 ing. When that morning came, the mate was dead,
 
 154 "WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 and William Allair was in a feverish stupor. The men 
 were desperate now, and bruited a question amongst 
 themselves : should they draw lots, or should they kill 
 him— -William ? 
 
 But what is that object in the distance? One of the 
 sailors spies it out. A sail! And making towards 
 them ! Oh, surely it cannot be ! And yet — it is ! God 
 had remembered them at last. 
 
 Such was the depression and lethargy of the men, that 
 they mostly looked at it with a stupid, unmeaning stare. 
 But soon they burst into tears ; and the carpenter, tak- 
 ing the book, read from it a prayer of thanksgiving in 
 his untutored accent. 
 
 Gallantly came on the good ship. And now it neared 
 them ; and now it was abreast of them. Her captain 
 turned away his face as he drank in at a glance the 
 sorrow and suffering disclosed to view. The mate was 
 in the boat, unburied ; for they had been too weak, per- 
 haps too apathetical, to be in a hurry to throw him 
 overboard. 
 
 The hearty, rough sailors, compassionate in their help 
 as women, descended from their ship, and tenderly bore 
 the weak on board in their arms. By proper care and 
 attention all were recovered. But when William Allair 
 first awoke to the change, his confused thought was that 
 he was in an angel's ship, sailing to the blessed port of 
 Heaven.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE MEETING IN CALCUTTA. 
 
 The vessel which had picked them up proved to be the 
 barque " Texas," bound from one of the ports of Brazil 
 to Calcutta. Here was an overwhelming disappoint- 
 ment to William ! — he was about to be borne once more 
 far away from his home. But there was no help for it ; 
 and he could not in gratitude quarrel with the means 
 which had saved his life. He, with the other men 
 saved, assisted to work the ship, she being short of 
 hands ; a fever having carried off four or five of her 
 crew, after the " Texas" left port. But she was healthy 
 now. The carpenter was especially welcome, their own 
 having been one of those who had died. 
 
 As if to compensate for their previous disasters, the 
 voyage to Calcutta was most favourable, and performed 
 in a remarkably short time. When they reached that 
 port, William Allair quitted the ship : he was not wanted 
 longer. So there he was, adrift in the world in a strange 
 land : possessing nothing ; not even a shred of clothing, 
 save what he stood upright in. 18-18 was now draw- 
 ing to a close. 
 
 His whole thoughts were directed towards getting to 
 England. And the only way open to him to accomplish 
 that, was by working his passage over. Down he went 
 to the river, to see if there were any craft about to sail 
 who might require hands. Moored there was a small
 
 150 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 brig, containing some officers and men belonging (as was 
 told to William) to a fine frigate lying at Diamond 
 Harbour — a British man-of-war. His informant said 
 that he heard hands were wanted for the frigate. 
 "William resolved to go on board the brig, and get him- 
 self engaged, if possible. He was extremely anxious ; 
 for he began to fear that he was again growing ill. In 
 point of fact, he had not recovered the fever, or the 
 hardships following upon it. 
 
 He made his way on to the brig, which was called 
 the " Lord Hastings," and was waiting to be spoken to, 
 when his attention was attracted to a tall, handsome 
 young officer pacing the cpiarter-deck. Not for his fine 
 figure did William regard him, not for his prepossessing 
 looks; but because the face seemed known to him. 
 
 Where had he seen it ? He could not recollect. The 
 features were familiar ; and yet not familiar. Once, as 
 a brother officer passed and spoke, the object of William's 
 attention smiled in reply. That smile awoke a strange 
 thrill in his heart, for it seemed to call up remembrances 
 of Whittermead. 
 
 " Who is that gentleman?" inquired William, of the 
 Steward's man, who was standing by. 
 
 " That ? He's one of our lieutenants. Mr Vane." 
 
 The flush of awaking recollection flew to William's 
 countenance. Could it be ? " What is his Christian 
 name ?" he hastily asked. 
 
 "His Christian name? Well — let's see. Oh, it's 
 Harry." 
 
 " Belonging to the ' Hercules?'" 
 
 " The 'Hercules,' Captain Stafford." 
 
 " This is nol the 'Hercules?'"
 
 THE MEETING IN CALCUTTA. 157 
 
 " This the ' Hercules !' You are not much of a sailor, 
 young fellow ; or else } r ou have never heard what her 
 tonnage is. Why, she's a seventy-gun ship ! Vessels 
 of that class can't get up here ; they have to stop at 
 Diamond Harbour. This brig is only a temporary 
 thing that we got to bring us up the Ganges to Calcutta. 
 You won't see many a finer man than Lieutenant Vane." 
 
 It was even so ! His dear old companion and friend, 
 Harry Vane, stood before him. The man talked on, 
 but William heard him not. For one brief moment he 
 forgot his position : the tide of memory ebbed back to 
 the past, obliterating the present ; there was the Harry 
 Vane of their school days, and he was William Allair. 
 He took a step forwards : pleasurable eagerness in his 
 eyes, his hand extended, an exclamation on his lips ; 
 but recollection returned to him in time, and he re- 
 treated again. What ! should he — a common sailor, 
 low in rank, shabby in appearance, applying on the ship 
 for work — should he dare to advance to the quarter- 
 deck, and boldly offer his hand, and claim acquaintance 
 with one of its chief officers ? Back ! back, William 
 Allair ! you deliberately chose your own station in life, 
 and you must abide by it. 
 
 The heart bitterness rose in his throat as if it would 
 have suffocated him. He turned away; and, without 
 saying a syllable to anybody, left the ship. He must 
 find some other means of going home, or stay in India. 
 Anything rather than join the " Hercules." 
 
 The next day, William was lying in Calcutta Hospital, 
 with an attack of incipient brain fever. The severity 
 of the voyage round Cape Horn, the privations, the ex- 
 posure on the open sea, and now the dreadful heat
 
 158 WILLIAM ALL AIR. 
 
 raging in Calcutta, all combined to induce it. Added to 
 which causes, must be classed his remorse and anxiety 
 of mind. The attack, in truth, was a slight one ; more 
 to be called a threatening than a positive attack. The 
 remedies applied were prompt, and in a few days its 
 danger had passed ; but it left him deplorably weak 
 and spiritless, and, as he believed, dying. 
 
 Oh ! his had been a bitter fate ! To have toiled hard, 
 lived hard, and now to die in an Indian hospital ! With- 
 out a familiar face around him ! without a possibility 
 of sending a farewell word to the mother he had so 
 rashly disobeyed and cast aside ! 
 
 Yes, there was a chance. If the brig " Hastings " 
 had not sailed, he might send to Harry Vane. Unless 
 the latter's nature was strangely altered, he would not 
 fail to come at the summons, although it was but to see 
 a poor sick sailor. A sick sailor ! Harry Vane would 
 have tramped to the end of the world to relieve one. 
 He would bear home William's dying messages. But 
 how was he to be communicated with ? 
 
 Means for that seemed to rise up without searching. 
 In the next bed to William's lay a yoimg man who was 
 frequently visited by a sailor, an Englishman. William 
 had been too ill to take much note of this previously ; 
 but when the man came again, he spoke to him. 
 
 " Do you know," he feebly asked, beckoning the man 
 to him, as he was about to leave his friend, " whether 
 the brig ' Lord Hastings' has gone down the river ?" 
 
 " Nbl yet," was the answer. " But I fancy she'll be 
 off by to-morrow, for they have been busy aboard her 
 all day, getting her into sailing trim. Our ship's a-lying 
 alongside of her, and I only wish we was a-doing the
 
 THE MEETING IX CALCUTTA. 159 
 
 like. I hate this horrid weather : it have broiled some 
 of us pretty nigh to death since we come. I have been 
 froze stiff at the North Pole, and thought nothing o' 
 that, compared with this here heat." 
 
 "Will you take a note for me on board the 'Hastings?'" 
 
 " Two if you like ; notes not being weighty to carry. 
 If they was, I don't know as I coidd. I might be afraid 
 of melting, perhaps." 
 
 " "When are you going down ? " 
 
 " Straight on ahead now." 
 
 " Will you reach me my clothes, and get out my 
 pencil ? There's a piece of paper, too, somewhere." 
 
 " Sharp's the word, and quick's the motion," cried the 
 good-natured sailor, as he sought and found the articles 
 required. 
 
 William strove to use them ; but the paper clattered 
 in his emaciated hands, and the pencil fell. " I am too 
 weak," he sighed. " You must deliver a message in- 
 stead." 
 
 " With all my heart. What is it ?" 
 
 " Ask to see Mr Vane. He is one of the lieutenants. 
 Tell him that — that I — tell him that a sailor is lying 
 here, and craves to see him." 
 
 " Who shall I say ? Any name ? " 
 
 " Say " But William would not utter his name, 
 
 that it should be spoken out aloud on board the " Hast- 
 ings." Harry Vane might have talked of his old com- 
 panion to his brother officers. "I think I can write 
 just a word," he said. 
 
 By the help of the sailor, who propped him up, he 
 contrived to scrawl the words, " William Allair, Whit- 
 termead."
 
 100 WILLIAM ALLAIPv. 
 
 " Give him that," lie said, folding the paper. " And 
 tell him to come in mercy, for that I am dying." 
 
 "Avast there !" said the man, -with a hearty cheer, 
 which was cut short in the bud by remembering where 
 he was. "Never you give way about ' dying,' or take 
 up any such notions ! It's this gloomy place you be in 
 — giving you sick folks the mollygrubs, and all sorts of 
 blues. You'll be well enough in a week or two, com- 
 rade. Cheer up ! I say." 
 
 The man departed, and went on board the " Lord 
 Hastings," as he had promised. Lieutenant Vane was 
 not there ; he had gone ashore. So he could but leave 
 the paper and a message. " That the young man what 
 was writ in there was a-dying up at the hospital. 
 Leastways, he thought he was a-dying, and wanted Mr 
 Vane to go up quick and see him." 
 
 When Harry Vane reached the hospital, it was past 
 the hour for visitors ; but he procured admittance. 
 William was lying then in an uneasy slumber : but, as 
 if conscious of who was bending over him, scarcely had 
 I bury Vane scanned his countenance, when he started 
 up awake. 
 
 With bis burning, trembling, eager hands, he seized 
 those that were extended to him. The emotion was too 
 much ; and, reduced and wretched as he was, he burst 
 into tears, and sobbed like a child. 
 
 I Fairy Vane leaned over him. He pressed his wasted 
 hands in his, he spoke soothing words of calmness, he 
 held a cup of water to his lips. A little while, and 
 William lay quiet, but exhausted. It was the Harry 
 Vane of other days; affectionate, cordial, impetuou- : 
 ready to make as much of William — the friendl
 
 THE MEETING IN CALCUTTA. 1G1 
 
 beaten-down, poor apprentice sailor — as though he had 
 been a royal middy. 
 
 A few whispered explanations passed between them : 
 it was not the time or place for lengthened ones. Wil- 
 liam's state was too weak to admit of it, and Harry 
 Vane had to hurry back to the brig. She was on the 
 point of sailing ; and he was left in command of her 
 down to Diamond Harbour. He had not been to 
 England, he said, since he first left it ; but the 
 " Hercules" was ordered home now. 
 
 " Have you ever heard anything of me ? Did any of 
 them speak of me in their letters ? " 
 
 " Often. Caroline especially. I heard all about 
 your going off, and have lived in hopes of dropping 
 across you at some lucky port or other." 
 
 " I was not like you," said William, with a bitterness 
 he could not disguise. " You went with the approba- 
 tion of your parents, and things have prospered with 
 you : I left them in rebellious defiance, and — am the 
 wreck you see. You used to say to Gruff Jones that 
 an expedition entered into in disobedience would never 
 prosper." 
 
 " I often said it. I hold the same opinion still. 
 Talking of Gruff, did he not soon have enough of it ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I have heard nothing since I left. 
 Did he ? " 
 
 Harry Vane laughed. '< I thought he would. He 
 was not cut out for the sea. He is a gentleman now, 
 lording it as the squire's heir : and rides to cover." 
 
 William sighed. " You get news, I suppose, of your 
 brother Fred? How is he?" 
 
 Hairy Vane's face became somewhat clouded. " I
 
 162 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 don't hear much of any of them, and I have not heard 
 recently," he answered. " The ' Hercules ' has gone 
 from place to place, and we miss our letters. Fred has 
 been in trouble, I fear." 
 
 " What sort of trouble ?" questioned William. 
 
 " He has been spending too much. A fellow with 
 nothing to do with his time, hands and brain alike idle, 
 must get into some mischief: it's almost a thing of 
 necessity. Fred should have embraced some profession, 
 if only to keep him straight. But I have not heard 
 for some time, and I hope things are right again." 
 
 " What parts of the world have you been in ?" re- 
 sumed WiUiam. 
 
 "In several. But if " he looked at William's 
 
 wasted countenance, and somewhat altered the words 
 he was about to speak — " when Ave meet again, I'll give 
 you details. There's no time now." 
 
 "Are you still fond of the sea?" and the question 
 was uttered more like an exclamation. 
 
 " I am. Not but that it's a sharp sort of life. I 
 think I could scarcely live on land. You know," he 
 added, with a smile, " they used to tell me I was not 
 fit to live there." 
 
 " They were right. You were constituted for a sea 
 life: 1, not — as they used to tell me. I would not 
 listen to them ; I thought I knew better than they did ; 
 
 I was bent on following out my own obstinate self-will. 
 
 I I aven knows I have paid for it." 
 
 "But there lias been a wide contrast in the service 
 
 we have seen," rejoined Harry. " You have experienced 
 
 the darkest shades of a sea life ; I, the bright ones. 
 
 ionately fond as I was of the sea, I should not hive
 
 THE MEETING IX CALCUTTA. 163 
 
 relished a Cape Horn voyage after hides, in a Yankee 
 trader." 
 
 " You are about returning to England now?" 
 
 " Immediately ; and I hope we shall not be long 
 making it. The ' Hercules ' is a fast sailer." 
 
 "And to Whittermead?" 
 
 " You may be sure I shall go there the instant I can 
 get leave, after we touch land. Satisfied as I am with 
 the sea, it has not taken from me the longing to see 
 home and its ties. Do you remember my careering 
 through the place, with the blue ribbons round my 
 hat, when my appointment arrived? What a young 
 donkey I was ! " 
 
 " Will you bear a message for me to my home?" 
 
 " Why ask the question, William ? Woidd I could 
 bear you with it ! I wish you could be removed on 
 board ! " he continued, impulsively. " But your malady 
 — fever — bars it." 
 
 " I sent for you to-day, that you might take a word 
 of love home for me. The thought that I was left here 
 to die, neglected and friendless as any poor stray dog 
 might be, was helping to kill me. When I knew you 
 were at Calcutta, and coidd convey news of me home, 
 it eased death of half its load. Otherwise I would not 
 have troubled or pained you by making myself known." 
 
 "William!" 
 
 " A few days ago, before this illness came on, I was 
 on board the ' Lord Hastings,' and recognised you. I 
 was nearly as close to you as I am now." 
 
 Harry Vane stared. " Why in the world did you 
 not let me know it?" 
 
 " In the impulse of the moment, in the joy at meet-
 
 164 WILLIAM ALLAIB. 
 
 ing you, I was starting forward with extended bands ; 
 but I recalled my senses before committing myself. I 
 bad forgotten how changed were our positions since we 
 last met ; bow I had dropped in the scale of society." 
 
 " And I should have flown with open arms to meet 
 you, there or elsewhere," cried Harry Vane, in excite- 
 ment. " Change of position, indeed ! Is that a reason 
 for shunning an old friend ? Never, in my creed. It 
 never was, and it never will be. You ought not to 
 have gone off the brig, leaving me in ignorance that 
 you had been there." 
 
 " I had the wretchedest old pea-jacket on, and 
 patched trousers ! " 
 
 " Old pea-jacket ! patched trousers ! " reiterated 
 Harry Vane. " "What on earth has that to do with it ? 
 If a fellow I cared for came to me without either, 
 painted down blue instead, he'd be all the more wel- 
 come. You would have been my dear past friend, 
 William, introduced to my brother officers as such, just 
 as heartily ;ih if you had been clothed in purple and 
 gold. We shan't look askance at old pea-jackets in 
 heaven. The world never could beat any of that sort 
 of pride into me when I was a youngster, you know, 
 and I have not learnt it yet. 1 say, old fellow, bear 
 up ; you are growing exhausted." 
 
 " See them at home — my father, my sisters," 
 whispered William, who felt his strength sinking. "Tell 
 them how severe has been my punishment ; that I had 
 not been a day at sea before I began to repent, to sus- 
 pect how full of hardship and misery was the life I 
 had embraced. Tell them that from that moment to 
 this I have never had an hour's enjoyment, an hour's
 
 TIIK MEETING IN CALCUTTA. 165 
 
 real from fcoiL I have had no peace of mind. My 
 time has been passed in the vain yearning for home, in 
 
 futile endeavours to repress the stings of repentance" 
 " I don't think you ought to excite yourself like this." 
 " And see my mother, Harry. My dear, dear 
 mother ! See her alone. Tell her, that in all tin- 
 trouble I have borne since I left her, and which has 
 gone well-nigh to madden me, I have never ceased to 
 think of her. Tell her that the remembrance of my 
 ungrateful conduct, in leaving her as I did, has been to 
 me as the very core of my anguish. Tell her that 
 until I left home I did not know how dear she was to 
 me ; and that the misery I have endured, the illness 
 that is upon me, the death which may overtake me, I 
 feel that I have no right to murmur at, for they are but 
 the result of my conduct to her — a child's ingratitude 
 working out its retribution." 
 
 " Now, I won't stop to listen to this despondency," 
 cried Harry Vane. " I'll deliver your messages, but I 
 shall just say the state you were in. "When a fellow's 
 sick, it's all gloom, gloom, gloom ! You will get home 
 yet, and be the happiest of the happy there, from the 
 very contrast those days will present to these." 
 
 " Oh that it were so ! that it could be so ! Do you 
 know," William continued, while the flush of fever and 
 excitement lighted up his cheek, " there were times 
 when I dreamt that it would ? And it is this hope — if 
 you can call any feeling so faint and vague a hope — 
 which has sustained me, and helped me to battle with 
 my untoward fate." 
 
 •• And let it enable you still to battle with it!" re- 
 joined Harry Vane, fervently.
 
 166 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 " Tell my mother, that if I do live to reach home, it 
 will have been the remembrance of her that has borne 
 me on my way ; otherwise, I must have sunk. And 
 tell her that if I should not live to see her, and hear her 
 whisper my forgiveness, her name and a prayer for her 
 happiness will be one of the last upon my lips in dying." 
 
 " I will tell her all. But bear manfully up, William, 
 and you will one day tell her yourself. What fun we'll 
 have, you and I, when we get once more together at 
 Whittermead ! Won't it be a joyous time ! Won't we 
 set the bells to ring ! Cheer up, old boy ! " 
 
 Lieutenant Vane departed, and sailed down the river 
 the next morning in command of his brig. He was 
 but the third lieutenant ; the second, who had come up 
 in charge of her, had fallen ill ; hence it devolved upon 
 him. 
 
 And William was left in the hospital. 

 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HOT WORK. * 
 
 William Allair slowly recovered. In the hospital, a 
 few beds removed from his own, a sick soldier had been 
 lying. This man, who grew convalescent before Wil- 
 liam, used to come to William's bed, sit on it, and talk 
 to him. His name was Alfred Langly, an Englishman, 
 of liberal education. An intimacy ensued between 
 them. Both were strangers in the strange land, both 
 were sick in the strange hospital, both had been 
 reared to occupy a better position in life. For 
 the first time since he left Whittermead, William con- 
 fided who he was to this young man, the trials he 
 had undergone, and his earnest desire to reach home, 
 though without knowing now how he should get there. 
 To go as a working sailor coidd not be thought of in 
 his present reduced state. No captain would ship him. 
 
 " Join the Queen's troops in India first," cried Alfred 
 Langly. We are on the eve of some decisive battles 
 with the Sikhs, there's no doubt of it, and loads of prize 
 money will be obtained. You might try it just for a 
 campaign, line your purse, and then get sent home as 
 an invalided soldier." 
 
 Now William was weak and ill in mind and body, or 
 he never would have listened to so unwise a proposal. 
 Langly was always urging it ; not that he had any 
 sinister motive ; he believed he was advising for the
 
 1 68 WILLIAM ALLAIH. 
 
 best, A person, by dint of long-continued argument, 
 all on one side, may be persuaded into believing that 
 " black's white;" and in an evil hour William consented 
 to the scheme, to try it "just for a campaign." The 
 vision presented to his eyes — that of going home with 
 money in his pockets and good broad-cloth on his back 
 — was undoubtedly fascinating. The having to arrive 
 at Whittermead in the " wretchedest old pea-jacket and 
 patched trousers," had long been a sore upon his mind. 
 
 A detachment of one of her Majesty's regiments, the 
 one to which Langly belonged, had been sent down to 
 Calcutta ; and William Allair enlisted in it. It was 
 departing to join the main army, then on the eve of 
 encountering the Sikhs at Moultan. 
 
 You have heard of the Sikhs and our furious battles 
 with them. They were a peaceable race of men once 
 — not unlike the people we in England call Quakers ; 
 but certain religious persecutions from the Mohameds 
 and Hindoos drove them to rebellion. They inhabited 
 the Punjaub, or land of five waters, on the western side 
 of the Sutlcj, its capital Lahore. Their king, Runjeet 
 Singh, had the good sense to conciliate the favour of 
 the British Government in India; although he cast his 
 longing eyes to the kingdom of the Sikhs on the eastern 
 side of the Sutlej, thinking how much he should like to 
 unite it with bis own. But it was not to be attempted, 
 for those Sikhs were under the special protection of the 
 British. 
 
 There was peace >o long as Eunjeel Singh lived, but 
 not for long alter that. In December 1845, the Sikhs, 
 whose monarch was then a puny boy, named Dhuleep 
 Singh, crossed the Sutlej, and formed themselves into
 
 HOT WORK. 169 
 
 camp at Ferozeshah, intending to attack our troops. A 
 desperate battle was fought at Moodkee, the British 
 forces being commanded by Sir Hugh Gough, seconded 
 by Sir John Littler. We won, of course ; but it was a 
 well-contested battle. The next engagement was fought 
 at Ferozepore. The Governor-General of India, Sir 
 Henry Hardinge, joined himself to the army ; and, 
 laying aside his honours as Governor-General, fought 
 under Sir Hugh Gongh. The Sikhs were thoroughly 
 defeated, and it was supposed they had had enough of 
 fighting — as Gruff Jones had of the sea. 
 
 In 1848 they again ventured to give us some trouble. 
 And in December began the siege of the city of Moultan, 
 their stronghold. They made a desperate resistance, 
 and the fight lasted many days. It was at last taken 
 by storm. There ensued some disastrous skirmishes at 
 a place called Eamnugger, and then came the dreadful 
 battle of Chillianwallah. You must all have heard of that. 
 
 William Allair arrived at Moidtan during its siege. 
 He had discovered that he was quite as unfitted for a 
 soldier's life as he had been for a sailor's. Forced 
 marches in the dreadful heat, no water, no refreshment 
 until the end of the march — when, perhaps, they 
 would haA r e to wait hours before their rations, tents, 
 and baggage covdd arrive — told upon him. An enor- 
 mous number of camels was required to carry the 
 baggage of the army : it was in the proportion of one 
 camel to two men. Each animal was fastened by the 
 nostril to the tail of the one preceding him ; and this 
 unwieldy train, with its native attendants, actually 
 extended over more than fifteen miles, its progre^ 
 being about a mile and a half an hour. You need not
 
 170 WILLTAM ALLATR. 
 
 wonder that they got in a day too late for the fair, or 
 that the exhausted men grew ill, waiting for the sus- 
 tenance they so much needed. The poor patient animals 
 were often shamefully overladen — it was the last 
 feather, thought William, that broke the camel's back. 
 When one of them toppled over, his load was dis- 
 tributed among the rest ; and they, being already laden 
 to the very extreme ounce that they could bear, would 
 often, with the additional weight, fall also, thereby pro- 
 ducing no end of confusion. 
 
 On the morning of the 12th January 1849, under 
 the command of General Lord Gough, formerly Sir 
 Hugh, the whole army moved from Lusooree to Ding- 
 hee. On the loth, at half -past seven, they again 
 marched on, the field hospital stores being in the rear 
 of the heavy guns. The field hospital stores ! In the 
 course of a few hours, hundreds of those men, marching 
 in health and strength, required their aid, whilst others 
 were beyond that, and all other aid, forever. Towards 
 mid-day they came upon the encampment of the Sikhs. 
 It was on the left hank of the Jhelum, on rising ground 
 behind the jungle, the name of the place Chillianwallah, 
 and said to be the very spot on which occurred the 
 battle between Porus and Alexander the Great, two 
 thousand years before. 
 
 Unwisely, our men, fatigued with their march, were 
 hurried into battle: far better that they had been 
 allowed to wait until the following day. It might have 
 l'"i- we were the attackers — not the Sikhs. 
 Weary, travel-worn, hungry, thirsty, unrefreshed, the 
 British troops were forced into action, without plan, 
 without order.
 
 HOT WORK. 171 
 
 And an awful butchery of human life it was, that 
 same battle of Chillianwallah ! It lasted from two 
 o'clock until dark, a hand-to-hand fight, sword meeting 
 sword, bayonet meeting bayonet. About four o'clock 
 the British were hemmed in on all sides, and their 
 artillery was firing to the front, to the rear, and to the 
 flanks. Guns were taken and re-taken, colours captured 
 and lost. Roar, and din, and confusion reigned around. 
 The roll of the musketry deepened ; the thunder of the 
 cannonading grew louder ; the bullets of the enemy 
 whizzed about like hailstones ; while, mingling with 
 the shouts and noise of the combatants, came the 
 shrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dying. 
 Ever and anon, above the roar of the tempest, the 
 hoarse voice of some commander wordd be heard — 
 
 " Men of the Europeans, prepare to charge. 
 
 Charge!" 
 
 " How do you like it, Allah-?" exclaimed Langly, 
 who fought by William's side. " It's the hottest work 
 I ever was in. Those Sikhs fight like demons." 
 
 " And our men like bull-dogs," was William's brief 
 reply. 
 
 " Have your eyes about you ! " exclaimed Langly, 
 hurriedly. " Unless I am mistaken, they are bearing 
 down upon us, sword in hand. Poor Hill ! " he con- 
 tinued as a soldier fell at his side : " that was a fatal 
 bullet for you ! There fall two officers ! Heavens ! 
 how they are swept down ! Can you see who they are, 
 Allair?" 
 
 William turned his eyes ; but before he could an- 
 swer, something fell in his path. It was Langly, shot 
 down to death.
 
 172 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 There was no stopping, and William was hurried on. 
 He was an eye-witness to the dreadful slaughter in the 
 Queen's 24th regiment. On they came, at full speed, 
 this ill-fated corps: but, what could that handful do 
 against the numbers that overwhelmed them ? The 
 Sikhs were like ferocious beasts of prey, howling, swear- 
 ing, dealing death with their deadly weapons. The 
 unhappy 24th were exposed to it all ; to the full SAveep 
 of their batteries, the full play of their musketry. Man 
 after man fell, officer a Iter officer ; half the regiment 
 was cut down in a few minutes, and the rest were 
 falling. Two hundred lay dead, three hundred wounded 
 — only in this one ill-fated regiment. 
 
 But, who is this who advances, sword in hand, gal- 
 lantly leading on his men to avenge the death of so 
 many of his comrades ? It is Brigadier Pennycuick ; 
 as brave and honourable a soldier as ever drew breath. 
 William Allair knew him well, and recognised him ; 
 for, let me tell you, that in a scene such as this it is not 
 so easy to recognise individuals as it is on the quiet 
 field of peace. He had fought in many a campaign, . 
 but tliis was to be his last, Almost as William looker!, 
 he was struck down, sent to follow his companions, 
 who were already standing before God. The Sikhs, 
 with their mutilating weapons, and the Brigadier's own 
 men, began to contend lor the body. 
 
 But now another Hies up, and plants himself astride 
 on the dead Brigadier. His hand grasps his drawn 
 sword, and he waves it nobly ; bul his heart is rent, for 
 the dead whom he- would guard is his father. It was 
 indeed the brave old officer's son ; a noble boy, younger 
 by three years than William. Bui recently had he
 
 HOT WORK. 173 
 
 quitted England, full of hope, and in the highest spirits. 
 And it was to run this brief career that he had come to 
 India ! Brave lad ! His spirit was good to defend his 
 father against them all ; but the Sikhs would not let the 
 boy escape with life. He fell under their weapons ; and 
 the two, father and son, were left lying on the battle- 
 field together. 
 
 The dead and the dying lay in heaps upon the 
 ground. Numbers, who might have been saved by 
 surgical care and assistance, were left alone to die. 
 And for this there was no help. Night stopped the 
 carnage. And then William, with others, helped to do 
 what he could for the wounded. It was a fearful task ; 
 one to make a strong man's heart shrink. They lay, 
 writhing in their agony ; not a surgeon to be had, not 
 a taste of water ! There was no linen to bandage up 
 their wounds ; there were no pillows to place their 
 beating heads upon, save the dead men and horses that 
 strewed the earth around them. How do you think 
 you would like to make one on a battle-field ? 
 
 After a while William Allair, thoroughly exhausted, 
 lay down on the field. But not to sleep. A more 
 dreadful night he never passed ; he almost wished for 
 a return of his delirium and the miserable forecastle of 
 the " Prosperous." He had been slightly wounded in his 
 left hand ; it pained him much, though it was nothing 
 to look at ; and he felt ready to perish with the intense 
 thirst Tremblingly alive was he to the horrible details 
 around him ; not only to the multitude of dead. The 
 wails of the dying were ringing in his ears; the in- 
 cessant cry for water ; the anguished prayer from the 
 wounded, not to be left there, amidst the dead, to die.
 
 17 1 WILLIAM ALLAIlt. 
 
 Another feature of discomfort was soon added to the 
 scene. A thick, drizzling rain came on, wetting to the 
 skin, and putting William in mind of the perpetual soak- 
 ing he had experienced in rounding Cape Horn. He 
 rose from the ground at length, and wandered about, 
 not openly complaining — he never did that, — but bit- 
 terly deploring the wild infatuation which had led him 
 to quit his home for scenes such as these. Never was 
 his folly more present to him than on this dreadful 
 night. 
 
 "Without knowing it, he came upon the field hospital. 
 And he never forgot the sight presented to his view. 
 Poor, poor men ! poor, sick, disabled soldiers ! They 
 were lying on the ground with little help ; medical at- 
 tendance was lamentably scarce, and the hospital appa- 
 ratus was not there ! Awful suffering witnessed he 
 that night. One incessant cry Avent up around — 
 " Water ! water ! water ! " And there was none. 
 
 Who gained the victory V We claimed it, and the 
 Sikhs claimed it. One thing was certain — that we lost 
 standards and guns, and did not hold the field of battle. 
 The following morning Lord Gough rode round, in the 
 midst of the rain, and gave orders to mark out an en- 
 campment. At four o'clock the funeral of the officers 
 took place. William attended it. Thirteen of the ill— 
 fated 21 tli were buried in one grave ; Brigadier Penny- 
 cuick and his son were buried in another. 
 
 A day or two later, William was in the hospital, 
 
 waiting to have his hand dressed. If'- f<;lt languid and 
 
 rish ; and clinging to him was a presentiment that 
 
 hould never leave the plains of India alive. It was 
 
 singular thai this idea should have come to him. He
 
 JIoT WORK. 175 
 
 had escaped unhurt — or all but unhurt — from that 
 desperate battle. Why then should a fear of death 
 follow him now? It cannot be said why. These things 
 are unaccountable. But the presentiment did haunt 
 him. 
 
 Whilst he was waiting, the chaplain, the Reverend 
 Mr Whiting, entered, and prepared to administer the 
 eacrament of the Lord's Supper to the dying, and to 
 rs who might wish for its consolation. For the 
 first time in his life William Allair partook of it. Few 
 but did. The scenes gone through lately had brought 
 men to their senses ; the worst and most callous of 
 them had become alive to the awful consideration that 
 he possessed an immortal soid, to be welcomed or re- 
 jected by Heaven. 
 
 William knelt there with the rest, humbly repentant. 
 His eyes were blinded with tears, his heart was riven 
 with sorrow ; and when he rose up, he dared to hope 
 his sinful disobedience had been forgiven, and that, 
 should it be his fate to die on those battle plains, he 
 might sink to rest in calm trust and peace.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 
 
 WlLLIAlA Aelair lingered in the hospital, willing to 
 bestow his services, where so many were in need. He 
 was standing close by the side of one who had received 
 a wound in the leg, less dangerous than painfid. He 
 was a remarkably well-grown young man, six feet two 
 inches high, and not above a year or two, as William 
 judged, older than himself. 
 
 William fell into a train of thought. A comrade 
 had called this young man " Jenniker," and the name 
 had brought up vivid memories of home. Was it pos- 
 sible that the wounded soldier, stretched there before 
 him, could be the once intimate companion of his boy- 
 hood ? He had entered the army, and had gone out 
 to India. William scanned him attentively, and de- 
 cided in the negative ; for, in the darkened, bronzed 
 face lying there, across which a contraction of pain 
 often passed, he could not trace the fair features of the 
 careless schoolboy. But William might have remem- 
 bered that since they met, the years which change the 
 boy into the man had passed. 
 
 " Lend a hand to put this precious leg of mine 
 straight, will you, comrade?" he exclaimed, suddenly 
 addressing William. 
 
 "You are from England," William remarked, as he 
 
 feted him.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 180 
 
 " Merry England, as they call it," was the answer. 
 " Not that I found it so merry, or I should not have 
 taken wing from it. Though, with all its faults, it was 
 a decided improvement upon this." 
 
 It was certainly Jenniker. The words were charac- 
 teristic of him. 
 
 " You are from Whittermead ! You are Eichard 
 Jenniker ! " cried William eagerly, as he laid hold of 
 his hand. 
 
 " And who the wonder are you ? " demanded Jen- 
 niker, partially raising himself on his elbows, and re- 
 garding William from top to toe. 
 
 " Do you not remember me V " 
 
 " I never saw you." 
 
 " Indeed you have, hundreds of times. We passed 
 years at Dr Robertson's together." 
 
 " Then I have forgotten you out and out. Were 
 you to tell me your name I should not recognise it." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you would. You have not forgotten 
 William Allair, any more than I have forgotten Richard 
 Jenniker." 
 
 They remained silent for some minutes, their hands 
 locked together, each one examining the lace of the 
 other. 
 
 " I trace your features now," cried Jenniker. " But 
 you are much altered. How broad you have got in the 
 shoulders !" 
 
 "My service at sea has done that for me." 
 
 " And how you stoop ! " 
 
 " So would you, if you had had nothing but a high 
 chest to sit upon for three years. Going to sea spoils 
 the figure, if it spoils nothing else, Jenniker."
 
 178 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 Ji Duiker laughed. "I heard you were gone off on 
 a pleasure trip to the Mexican coast ; or enjoying the 
 ial climate of the Polar regions. Who would have 
 dreamt of seeing you here ? " 
 
 William explained in a few words. That he had 
 been shipwrecked, was rescued, and carried to Calcutta, 
 where he had joined the British troops. 
 
 " What utter fools we were !" burst forth Jenniker. 
 " Self-willed, lamentable fools ! To leave England, 
 where we might have lived in ease and plenty, and 
 blindly embark on the perils of an untried, unknown 
 life ! I'll tell you what I have been tempted to com- 
 pare it to, Allair ; to the madness of those unhappy 
 wretches, who rush, uncalled, from this world to the 
 next. They know not the soundings they enter upon, 
 neither did we." 
 
 William groaned in spirit. His " soundings " had, 
 indeed, been false. 
 
 '* But, Allair, there was one excuse for me, which 
 you had not — if an excuse can ever be found for de- 
 camping away in disobedience. You had a jolly home 
 and loving friends: I had neither." 
 
 "Too true." 
 
 "I had an uncle, who did not care a straw for me ; 
 a step-aunt, who hated me. The only being who ever 
 cast a thought to me was Mildred. With a father and 
 mother, such a- you possessed, I should have been 
 another sort of chap. It would not have been Dick 
 • I' aniker the scapegrace, but Richard Jenniker the 
 affectionate, dutiful son Don't look so incredulous, 
 Allair : it would." 
 
 '•I am not incredulous," replied William. "At the
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 179 
 
 time of your leaving, many persons spoke out plainly, 
 and condemned Mr Jenniker for his harshness. Lord 
 Sayingham told him of it to his face. He said you 
 ought to have been bought off." 
 
 " Oughts don't go for much in this world. He was 
 harsh to me ! I wrote to him soon after I got out here ; 
 it was just after — the writing, I mean — our engage- 
 ments with those demons of Sikhs at Moodkee and 
 Ferozeshah, in 184.5. Precious hot work they were, 
 those actions ; and I had the luck of arriving just in 
 time for both. I was wounded at Ferozeshah ; and 
 while I was lying ill, not knowing, and perhaps not 
 caring, whether I should live or die, I wrote to my 
 uncle a letter of contrition. Begging pardon — or some- 
 thing akin to it — for my ungrateful escapade, and ex- 
 pressing a hope that if I lived to return to Europe, we 
 might be better friends and relatives than we had ever 
 been. Not a word spoke I of my soldier's life ; that I 
 did not find it altogether a bed of roses ; and I don't 
 suppose it would have elicited any sympathy if I had. 
 Well, would you believe it, Allair ? — he never answered 
 the letter! He has never given me a condescending 
 line since I left." 
 
 " Perhaps he did not receive your letter," said 
 "William. 
 
 " I know he did," was the answer. " And that they 
 flung it aside as they had flung me — a thing unworthy 
 of notice. Mildred writes to me ; but she has to do it 
 on the sly. A sweet, gentle girl is she ! and there Avas 
 more friendship between us than the world knew of. 
 She did not think me all bad, and I deemed her the 
 most estimable of human beings ! "
 
 176 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 " Then — if you correspond with Mildred — you must 
 know all the news of Whittermead ! " burst forth 
 William. 
 
 " She gives me the tops and tails of it. What of 
 that?" 
 
 " Oh, tell me ! — let me hear ! — what do you know of 
 home ; my home ? " he exclaimed, in painful excite- 
 ment. 
 
 Jenniker looked at him, and hesitated. " When did 
 you hear last V " he questioned. 
 " I have never heard since I left." 
 " Never heard ! " 
 
 " How could I hear, blocked up on that remote Cali- 
 fomian coast ? The vessel or two that did come out 
 there, sported the stars and the stripes. At any rate, 
 if letters came, I never got them." 
 
 " Then you are in ignorance of — of anything that 
 may have transpired since you left 'i " returned Jenniker, 
 who was looking rather subdued. 
 
 " Very nearly so. I saw Harry Vane in Calcutta. 
 I was in the hospital, and discovered by accident that 
 he was on board a vessel lying in the Ganges. He 
 could not tell me much. He had not been home since 
 he left, neither had he recently heard. The ' Hercules ' 
 had been at New South Wales, and he supposed his 
 letters had miscarried. It was fifteen months, full, 
 since he had bad news. How were they all at home, 
 when Mildred last wrote V " 
 
 Jenniker made no reply. He was a bad adept at 
 deception, fond as he used to be of the I'omancing — as 
 William had once called it — with which he used to 
 cram tin- school. William saw that there was some-
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 181 
 
 thing to be told which Jenniker did not like to tell. To 
 one of quick imagination, this sort of suspense is next 
 to unbearable. A sensation as of death-sickness came 
 over his heart, but he maintained an outward calmness. 
 Those who feel the most deeply show it least. 
 
 " I see you have some bad news to tell me, Jenniker. 
 Let me know the worst at once." 
 
 Jenniker still hesitated. He did not much relish the 
 task before him. 
 
 " You arc making me ill," murmured William. 
 " Why don't you speak out? I have strength to bear 
 it, whatever it may be. Are — are my father and 
 mother dead ? " 
 
 " One of them," answered Jenniker, in a low voice. 
 
 " My father thought his life would not be a long 
 one," returned William, battling with his suspense. 
 
 " When I last heard Mr Allair was ill." 
 
 " And my mother ?" 
 
 " She is dead." 
 
 There was a silence. William's face was white and 
 rigid as marble. 
 
 " What did she die of?" he presently asked. 
 
 " It was said of a broken heart." 
 
 A broken heart ! The. perspiration broke out, in 
 drops as large as peas, over his livid features. 
 
 " I see it all!" he said. " My conduct killed her. 
 In my dreams this has been sometimes shadowed forth." 
 
 "Now, don't think worse of it than it was!" cried 
 Jenniker, glad that the ice was broken. " She went 
 off like a person in a decline. I don't believe in broken 
 hearts, for my part ; they are all moonshine, and double 
 moonshine. She loved you dearly, Allair, and called 
 
 M
 
 182 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 upon you to the last. So, how could you have killed 
 her?" 
 
 " Called upon me to the last," echoed William, with 
 the air of one who repeats what he does not hear. 
 
 " Mildred wrote me all about it ; she was stopping- 
 there at the time, with your sisters," continued Jen- 
 niker. " For three days previous to her death, she was 
 scarcely in her right mind ; it was that wandering, 1 
 conclude, that sometimes precedes it. Her whole talk, 
 then, was of you ; now praying that you might be pre- 
 served on the sea, now fancying she saw you in danger 
 of shipwreck, and crying wildly to the sailors to save 
 you. Next, she would witness you in all imaginary 
 hardships, and lament, in the most heartrending terms, 
 that you were exposed to such; again she woidd fancy 
 you had returned, and that she was clasping you in her 
 arms, wild with joy and thankfulness, sobbing hysteri- 
 cally." 
 
 " Go on; tell it all," said William, for Jenniker had 
 
 Stopped. 
 
 "But in all her illness, in this wandering, or previous 
 to it, she never breathed against you a word of re- 
 proach ; you were still her darling William ; her eldest 
 and dearest child. But they said she never held up 
 her head, so to speak, from the night you left ; and after 
 the receipl of a letter you wrote from America, her 
 health visibly declined. 
 
 William made no reply- 11° only wiped the moisture 
 from his blow. 
 
 "In this letter, as Mildred related it to me, you said 
 vmi were working on an American trading ship, and 
 were bound for California, round Cape Horn. Now,
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. lS.'i 
 
 of all dreadful accounts that anybody could give or 
 imagine, of what the life was on board these ships, 
 Gruff Jones gave the worst to Mrs Allair. Like an 
 idiot, as he was, for his pains !" 
 
 "lie told truth; — it is the worst," interrupted 
 William. 
 
 " Well, he need not have said it. It couldn't im- 
 prove things for you, and it only made her worry and 
 fret over them. Let him go open-mouthed with his 
 tale to all the village, had he liked, but he might have 
 had the sense to spare Mrs Allair. Gruff always was 
 a booby. Why couldn't he have persuaded her that 
 the trading ships were little models of Paradise, where 
 the chaps had nothing to do but sit ci'oss-legged all 
 day, and dine on beefsteak and onions?" 
 
 Jenniker stopped again, but still William never spoke. 
 
 " She had imagined the life dark enough before, but 
 Gruff 's description was the climax. Always was she 
 brooding over the hardships you must undergo, the 
 perils you were exposed to. Not that she said much ; 
 but they could see how it was. And, from what 
 escaped her in the death-delirium, it was evident that 
 these sorrows had haunted her night and day. Added 
 to which, was the constant fear, or presentiment if you 
 like, that you would not live to return." 
 
 "When did she die?" questioned William, burying 
 his face in his hands. 
 
 " About twelve months ago, I think ; but I am a bad 
 one to remember dates. Stay — it was in January ; for 
 [ know in the same letter, Mildred told me how thev 
 kept up Christmas at the Jennikers'. Yes, a twelve- 
 month ago. as near as possible"
 
 18 1 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 "Two whole years and some mouths of sorrow, of 
 yearning, for me!" he gasped. "And this is true!" 
 
 "True!" echoed Jenniker, taking the words as a 
 question. " I shouldn't give it yoii if it were not true." 
 
 " How was my father V" 
 
 " Ailing," Mildred said ; " not over strong." 
 
 "And the rest?" he conthmcd, his face still hid in 
 his hands. 
 
 " Oh, the rest were all well," carelessly replied Jenni- 
 ker. " Edmund as silly as ever." 
 
 " I will come in another time, Kichard," said Wil- 
 liam, starting up. But Jenniker caught him by the 
 hand. 
 
 " Don't take it to heart in this way, Allah-. Fathers 
 and mot hers must die, and it's only in the course of 
 nature that they should go before we do. I lost mine 
 when I was a lad. Don't take it so much to heart ! " 
 
 William wrung his hand ; and, without a word — for 
 could not utter it — made his way from the field 
 hospital. 
 
 And when the shades of night fell and shielded him 
 from observation, he threw himself on the ground, and 
 sobbed aloud, in his excess of grief. The rain was fall- 
 ing in torrents, the earth was soaked with it, for it had 
 scarcely ceased since the night of the battle. But he 
 was unmindful of rain. His cup of sorrow was indeed 
 full ; and he would have been thankful to die on the 
 '-pot, as he lay there. Never had the consequence of 
 his folly, in all its sad reality, come home to him until 
 now. Hi- best friend on earth was gone; had broken 
 her hearl for him ; had called upon him in dying: and 
 he was far away, and knew il not.
 
 AX D NTEXPECTED M EETI XG. 1 8 5 
 
 Was it for this that he had passed through his dangers 
 aud his sorrows V Through the hard work on the coast ; 
 through the harder life at sea ; through the fever and 
 delirium; through the fatigue of the forced marches; 
 through the horrors of the battle-field! Against all 
 had his spirit fought ; for there was ever a still small 
 hope alive in his heart, whispering him to hear up, that 
 he might once more behold the mother whose love he 
 had so wantonly cast aside. And now he knew thai 
 that mother had died ; and died for him ! 
 
 Bury your face in the wet earth, William Allair, and 
 call in vain upon her Avho is no longer on earth to 
 respond. The sin of a child's ingratitude is a grievous 
 one; and grievous must be its retribution.
 
 CHAPTEK XIX. 
 
 DYING IN THE 1'IKLD HOSPITAL, 
 
 Both the Sikhs and the British forces remained some 
 three weeks at Chilliauwallah, in the position each had 
 taken up after the battle. Then the Sikhs moved away 
 in the night towards Goojerat, a town situated seventeen 
 miles distant, midway between the Jhelum and the 
 Chenab. They took possession of the place, and en- 
 trenched themselves round about it. 
 
 Lord Gough followed them, marching up his troops. 
 I wonder if you have a tolerably correct idea of what 
 inarching in India is ? It is essentially different from 
 marching in England. Weary work it is there — killing 
 work sometimes. They have often to push through 
 plains of thick jungle breast high ; or they plod over 
 the hot sand, the small dust from which flies into their 
 eyes, blinding them for the time, and causing intoler- 
 able pain. For a change, the land will be a marshy 
 swamp, and they must wade through that. In those 
 forced marches the burning sun seems to be a very fire, 
 oppressing the brain, blistering the face, scorching 
 them through their hot, heavy clothing. And there's 
 not a drop of water to be obtained, did you give your 
 life for it. 
 
 William Allan's hand did not heal. It gave him 
 
 ;it pain, and became suddenly much worse ; greatly 
 
 inflamed and swollen. This was after the march of the
 
 DYING IN THE FIELD HOSPITAL. 187 
 
 troops to Goojerat, where they encamped in front of 
 the Sikhs. The medical staff ordered William to lie 
 by : they did not like the look of his hand at all ; and 
 a whisper went round amongst them, that locked-jaw 
 might supervene. "Wound or no wound, he was cer- 
 tainly very ill. During the last month his spirits had 
 alarmingly sunk, and he was worn to a skeleton. 
 
 On the morning of the 21st of February, at sunrise, 
 the troops got under arms, and formed up in order of 
 battle. Lord Gough cantered down the lines, each 
 regiment cheering him as he passed. The men and 
 officers generally were in high spirits, chatty and 
 cordial : an acquaintance, who at another time would 
 be passed with a hare nod, is met with a warm grasp 
 of the hand, when there is a chance that that dav's 
 salutation may be the last. 
 
 A little before eight, the bugles sounded the advance. 
 A shout, that made the plain ring, broke from the 
 entire army, as it moved on in answer. The morning 
 was clear and beautiful, the landscape most fair, the 
 land rich with cultivation. Between columns of in- 
 fantry, their scarlet uniforms dazzling the eye, stalked 
 the elephants, drawing the heavy guns. Dividing the 
 divisions of infantry, went a light field battery ; and 
 between each brigade rode a troop of horse artillery, in 
 their handsome dresses of dark blue. To the Hanks 
 rode the cavalry, some in quiet French grey, some in 
 the sparkling costumes peculiar to the dragoons and 
 lancers; while the irregular cavalry favoured all colours: 
 flaming yellow, bright green, sky blue, scarlet and gold. 
 And this beautiful scene was soon to be marred by 
 war.
 
 WILLIAM ALLAIB. 
 
 The action commenced immediately, and for three 
 hours raged incessantly — the guns booming, the balls 
 from either side ploughing up the earth, shattering 
 those who stood on it. Doolie after doolie, long lines. 
 of them, passed in procession, bearing the wounded to 
 the field hospital. Towards mid-day the battle ceased 
 — not the slaying. The Sikhs had lost ; they wore 
 riving heller skelter from the field, and the British 
 bore down upon them, striking and slaying without 
 quarter or mercy. They were hewn down by thousands ; 
 and those who took shelter in the village were shot or 
 bayoneted. For ten miles did the pursuit last ; and as the 
 British rode back to camp, it was over the numberless 
 bodies of the slain. Charming work, that battle doing! 
 
 Strange confusion was in the camp of the Sikhs. 
 Tumbrils and waggons were standing upside down ; 
 the ground was strewed with the dead and dying ; 
 wounded horses were dashing madly about in their 
 pain ; camels and oxen danced in the rear, oversetting 
 whatever came in their way, and turning summersets for 
 themselves. The work of slaughter from the victori- 
 ous British troops — mad then, as w T ell as merciless — 
 went on as hard as it could go. In this engagement we 
 recaptured all our guns and standards lost at Cliillian- 
 wallah, as well as many belonging to the enemy. 
 
 And William Allair? Was ho in all this disastrous 
 turmoil and melee, as he had been in that of Chillian ? 
 No. Then where was he? In the field hospital, dying 
 of locked-jaw. As the doctors surmised, the fatal ter- 
 mination had supervened. 
 
 lie lay there, restless and full of pain ; yet snatching 
 at intervals a few moments of sleep. In one of these
 
 DYING IN THE FIELD HOSPITAL. 189 
 
 1 >lessed intervals there came to him the sweetest dream ! 
 All the more so, from the contrast it presented to his 
 ■waking realities. 
 
 He dreamt that he was at home at Whittermead ; 
 that it was one of those brilliant, sunny days of spring, 
 which, in spite of our railings against this unlucky 
 climate, do condescend to visit us now and then. Just 
 such a day as that happy 29th of May, when you 
 met William Allair for the first time. He thought he 
 was in the Grange meadow, lounging (it seemed too 
 warm to run) through its growing grass, all sparkling 
 with cowslips and bluebells, and those lilac -coloured 
 flowers, not unlike a bluebell in shape, that they called 
 cookoos. He vaulted over the stile — it was less trouble 
 than to open the five-barred gate at its side — and con- 
 tinued his way towards Grange brook. Very soon 
 the murmuring of the rivulet, as it ran on its course 
 between the banks, where grew so many violets 
 and primroses, reached his ear ; and, with a pace im- 
 perceptibly quicker, he gained its side. The overhang- 
 ing trees, of many sorts and sizes, cast over the stream 
 their grateful shade — oak, ash, lime, horse-chestnut, 
 willow, fir, larch ; underneath which William had lain 
 hundreds of times in his boyhood, gazing up through 
 their leaves at the dark blue sky. It had puzzled the 
 Cockney, Mr Fisher, to tell their names: it would have 
 puzzled him still. Here, in imagination, "William threw 
 himself now, and watched the water. Nature seemed 
 at rest. The birds were singing in the calm, quiet air, 
 hopping from tree to tree ; the butterflies and bees 
 sported on the fragrant banks ; and the ringing bells of 
 Whittermead came flowing to his ear with the sweetest
 
 190 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 melody, sweeter than ever he had heard it in life. 
 Strange that this dream should visit him amidst bodily 
 sufferings so great! But so it was. Tt was almost as 
 though they were for the brief moment suspended. 
 He seemed to lie yet on that pleasant grass. The 
 branches of the trees fanned the gentle breeze in his 
 face, and wafted onwards the faint perfume of the lime 
 blossoms ; never had he seemed so completely to realize 
 the rest of earthly peace. And now, as he looked, 
 there knelt Edmund, in that little dell by the miniature 
 brick bridge ; and his sisters, Alice and Rose, were 
 sitting on the worn old oak stump. By their side was 
 another form, whom he soon distinguished to be that of 
 Caroline Vane, with her handsome eyes and stately 
 presence. They were threading a daisy chain for 
 Edmund — as they had many a time done in reality. 
 A double chain, it seemed, they were going to make 
 him ; for while Caroline Vane plucked the blossoms 
 from the stalks, Alice and Rose were both passing their 
 needles through the daisies. Suddenly he saw his 
 mother at his side, looking down upon him with her 
 gentle smile ; but at the same moment a terrible thirst 
 came on, like that he had been forced to endure several 
 times of late. " Oh, mamma ! I am so thirsty ! " he said ; 
 and she smiled again, and dipped a glass, which he now 
 saw she held in her hand, into the crystal stream of the 
 rivulet, through whose clearness might be seen the 
 white pebbles underneath. She raised it, brimming 
 full, and handed it to William. Whilst he was drink- 
 ing, he saw his father and Harry Vane opposite to him. 
 The latter laughed and spoke; but William was too 
 agreeably occupied to listen.
 
 DYING IX THE FIELD HOSPITAL. 1 ( .>1 
 
 lie laid down the glass. It was the sweetest draught 
 he had ever tasted: but, even while his lips were wet 
 with its moisture, a dreadful change took place. The 
 most frightful pain was racking him, such as he had 
 once never imagined could be borne; the thirst he 
 had just slaked had returned tenfold ; the soft music 
 of the bells had changed to jarring sounds ; while all 
 around him seemed to lie wounded men, soldiers, cry- 
 ing out with agony. For one blissful moment, William 
 was unconscious that he had awoke to reality. 
 
 Oh, boys, boys ! Never, never desert, as he did, your 
 lather's home. Should the temptation ever assail you, 
 pause on the very threshold of the ill-omened thought, 
 and remember William Allah*. 
 
 One of the surgeons, Dr MacRae, came up and 
 looked at him, for he had given vent to a sharp wail 
 of anguish. The doctor little thought that it proceeded 
 from the sick mind, rather than from the body. How 
 should he think it ? He passed on : nothing more 
 could be done in this world for William Allair. 
 
 He turned his painful eyes, over which the shades of 
 death were gathering, upon the doolies, as they were 
 brought in with the wounded. In one of those doolies 
 lay the fine form of Richard Jenniker. Cured of the 
 hurt received at Chillianwallah, he had gone forth that 
 morning, a hale, healthy man ; and now he was brought 
 back, wounded unto death. 
 
 " Lay me down here," he panted to the soldiers who 
 1 iore him, indicating by a nervous motion of the hand the 
 spot close to William. " I suppose this is our last day 
 on earth, Allair, so we may as well die in company." 
 
 " Can nothing be done for you?" murmured William.
 
 192 WILLIAM ALLAIR. 
 
 ■whose indistinct utterance and closed mouth prevented 
 Jcnniker's catching at more than the sound of the 
 words, and he had to guess at the sense. 
 
 " Nothing, they say. I have got a big hole in the side, 
 and the blood's welling out of me like a waterspout." 
 
 " I was in hopes you would have been spared. And 
 would have borne back tidings of my death to Whitter- 
 'mead." 
 
 " It is decreed otherwise, it seems. By this time to- 
 morrow, we shall both have passed into another world." 
 
 William cast his reproachful eyes towards him. 
 
 " I know what that means," cried Jenniker. " You 
 would say that my tone of speech ill becomes such as 
 we are. But it comes natural to me. I meant nothing 
 wrong : nobody could at an hour like this. God is 
 all-powerful to save. He forgives what we'd not for- 
 give to one another. We have seen our share of ill in 
 this life, Allair, knocked about as we have been : let 
 us trust that, by God's mercy, which we greatly need, 
 the next will prove a brighter and a better world for i 
 
 "Amen!" said William, as he clasped his hands 
 together. " Amen, Amen !" 
 
 Tiny were both buried the next morning in the 
 common grave, shared by the others who had died in 
 the night. What should we all do with this world's 
 sin, and mistakes, and suffering, but for that other 
 blessed world which has to come! — for God's mercy, 
 for our Saviour's love ! 
 
 And now, boys, what, do you think of running away 
 a ? 
 
 MURRAY AND QIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
 (Drigmal ftttatk f itarg. 
 
 A CATALOGUE 
 
 oy 
 
 NEW AND POPULAR WORKS, 
 
 PRINCIPALLY FOR YOUNG PERSONS. 
 
 ""ced to Ne* 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO 
 
 NEWBEEY AND HAEEIS, 
 CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, LONDOX. 
 
 MDCCCLX1V.
 
 Stafy'j $IImmna!efr 6tft |0ol;s. 
 
 EVERY PAGE KICHLY PRINTED IN COLD AND COLOURS. 
 
 THE FLORAL GIFT. 
 
 Small 4to, prico 14s. cloth elegaut; 21s. morocco extra. 
 
 APHORISMS OF THE WISE AND GOOD : 
 
 With a Photographic Portrait of Milton. Price 9s. cloth 
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 \* Printed the same size, and forming a companion to 
 "Shakespeare's Household Words. 1 ' 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S HOUSEHOLD WORDS : 
 
 With a Photographic Portrait taken from the Monument at 
 Stratford-on-Avon. Price 9s. cloth elegant; 14s. morocco 
 antique. 
 
 " An exquisite littlo gem, fit to be the Christmas ottering to Titania or 
 Queen Hub." — The Critic. 
 
 THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON : 
 
 From the Book of Proverbs. With a Frontispiece repre- 
 senting the Queen of Sheba's Visit to Solomon. Small 4to 
 price 14s. cloth elegant ; 18s. calf; 21s. morocco antique. 
 
 THE BRIDAL SOUVENIR: 
 
 Containing the Choicest Thoughts of the Best Authors, in 
 
 Prose and Verse. New Edition, with Portrait of the Princess 
 
 Koyal after Winterhalter. Elegantly bound iu white and 
 
 gold, price 21s. 
 
 " A splendid Bpccimon of decorative art, and well suited for a bridal gift." 
 — Literary Gazette. 
 
 THE RIRTHDAY SOUVENIR: 
 
 A Book of Thoughts on Life and Immortality. Small 4to, 
 price 12s. Gd. illuminated cloth ; 18s. morocco antique. 
 
 LIGHT FOR THE PATH OF LIFE: 
 
 From the Holy Scriptures. Small 4to, price 12s. cloth 
 elegant; 15s. calf, gilt edges ; 18s. morocco antique. 
 
 NEW BOOK OF EMBLEMS. 
 
 Square Svo, price 21 j. cloth elegant; 27«. calf extra; 31s. Gd. morocco 
 antique. Ueautiful./y printed by Whiltingham, in Old English type, with 
 the Initial Letter* and Borders in lied. 
 
 ^ptu'tual (Concrils : 
 
 Extracted from the Writings of the Fathers, the Old English 
 roots, &c., with One Hundred Designs, forming Symbolical 
 Illustrations to the passages, by W. Harry Rogers. 
 
 "A book full of deep thought and beautiful yet quaint artistio work." — 
 
 Art Journal.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR WORKS. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "MARY POWELL," ETC. 
 
 THE INTERRUPTED WEDDING: 
 
 A Hungarian Tale. With an Illustration by Henry 
 Warren. Post Svo, price u's., extra cloth. 
 
 MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NEW TALE FOR BOYS. 
 
 WILLIAM ALL AIR; 
 
 Or, Running Away to Sea. By the Author of "East 
 Lynne," "TheChannings," &c. Frontispiece by F. Gilbert. 
 Fcap. 8vo ; price 2s. 6'd. cloth ; 3s. gilt edges. 
 
 LADY LUSHIHGTON. 
 
 THE HAPPY HOME; 
 
 Or, The Children at the Red House. By Lady Lt/shing- 
 ton. Illustrated by G. J. Pinwell. .Super-royal 16'mo, 
 price 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. 6'd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 ELWES' NEW EOOK FOR EOYS. 
 
 LUKE ASHLEIGH; 
 
 Or, School Life in Holland. By Alfred Elwes, Author 
 of "Guy Rivers," "Paul Blake," &c. Illustrated by G. 
 DH Maurier. Fcap. Svo, price 5s. cloth ; 5s. 6d. gilt edges.
 
 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 MRS. DAVENPORT. 
 
 OUR BIRTHDAYS; 
 
 And How to Improve Them. By Mrs. E. DAVENronT, 
 Author of "Fickle Flora," &c. Frontispiece by D. H. 
 Friston. Fcap. 8vo, price 2s. 6d. ; cloth, 3s. gilt edges. 
 
 REV, H. P. DUNSTER. 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES OF LANCASTRIAN TIMES. 
 
 By the Rev. H. P. Dunster, M.A. With Illustrations by 
 John Franklin. Fcap. 8vo, price 5s. cloth ; 5s. 6d. gilt 
 edges. 
 
 TINY STORIES FOR TINY READERS IN TINY WORDS. 
 
 By the Author of "Tuppy," "Triumphs of Steam," &c. 
 With Twelve Illustrations by Weir. Supor-royal lCmo, 
 price 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. Cd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 NURSERY NONSENSE; 
 
 Or, Rhymes without Reason. By DArcy W. Thompson. 
 With Sixty Illustrations by C. H. Bennett. Imperial 
 16mo, price 2s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. Gd. coloured, cloth elegant, 
 gilt edges. 
 
 LITTLE BY LITTLE: 
 
 A Series of Graduated Lessons in the Art of Reading Music. 
 By the Author of "Conversations on Harmony." Oblong 
 8vo, price 3s. 6d. cloth.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWEERY AND HARRIS. 
 
 MEMORABLE BATTLES IN ENGLISH HISTOET; 
 
 Where Fought, Why Fought, and their Results, with the 
 Military Lives of the Commanders. By W. H. Daven- 
 port Adams, Author of "Neptune's Heroes." Frontispiece 
 by Robert Dudley. Post Svo, price 7s. 6d., extra cloth. 
 
 " Of the care and honesty of the author's labours, the book gives 
 abundant proof." — Athenaum. 
 
 OUR SOLDIERS; 
 
 Or, Anecdotes of the Gallant Deeds of the British Army 
 during the reign of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. By 
 W. H. G. Kingston. With Frontispiece from a painting 
 in the Victoria Cross Gallery. Fcap. Svo, price 3s. cloth ; 
 3s. 6d. gilt edges. 
 
 OUR SAILORS; 
 
 Or, Anecdotes of the Gallant Deeds of the British Navy 
 during the reign of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. With 
 Frontispiece. Fcap. Svo, price 3s. cloth; 3s. Gd. gilt edges. 
 
 %* These volumes abundantly prove that both our officers and men in 
 the Army and Navy have been found as ready as ever to dare and to do as 
 were dared and done of yore, when led by a Nelson or a Wellington. 
 
 A HANDBOOK 01' THE HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES : 
 
 Including the Colonial Period, War of Independence, Con- 
 stitution of the States, &c. By Hugo Reid, late Principal 
 of Dalhousie College, Halifax, Nova Scotia. Fcap. Svo, 
 price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER'S BUDGET 
 
 Of Stories and Verses. By FhaS'ce;-; Freeling Broderip, 
 Author of "Tiny Tadpole," &c. With Illustrations by her 
 brother, Thomas Hood. Super- royal 16mo, price 3s. 6d. 
 cloth; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " Some of the most charming little inventions that ever adorned this de- 
 partment of literature." — Illustrated Timet. 
 
 ■ - ' — ■» *^
 
 GRIFFITH AND FARItAX, 
 
 THE LOVES OF TOM 1UCKER AND LITTLE BO-PEEP. 
 
 Written and Illustrated by Thomas Hood. Quarto, price 
 2s. 6d., coloured plates. 
 "Full of fun and good humour. The illustrations are excellent."— Critic. 
 
 SCENES AND STORIES OF THE RHINE. 
 
 By M. Betham Edwards, Author of "Holidays among 
 the Mountains," &c. With Illustrations by F. W. Keil. 
 Super-royal lGino, price 3s. Gd. cloth; 4s. 6d. coloured, 
 gilt edges. 
 "Full of amusing incident, good etorics, and sprightly pictures. "-~Dial. 
 
 NURSERY FUN: 
 
 Or the Little Folks' Picture Book. The Illustrations by C. 
 H. Bennett. Quarto, price 2s. 6d., coloured plates. 
 " Will be greeted with shouts of laughter in any nursery." — Critic. 
 
 PLAY-BOOM STORIES; 
 
 Or, How to Make Peace. By Georoiana M. Craik. 
 With Illustrations by C. Green. Super-royal 16mo, price 
 3s. b'd. cloth ; 4s. Gd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "This book will come with 'peace' on its wings into many a play- 
 room." — Art Journal. 
 
 PICKLE FLORA, 
 
 And her Sea-side Friends. By Emma DaveNKirt. Illus- 
 trated by Absolon. Super-royal lGrao., price 3s. Gd. cloth; 
 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 LIVE TOYS; 
 
 Or, Anecdotes of our Four-legged and other Pets. By 
 Emma Davenport. Illustrations by II. Weir. Super-royal 
 lGrno, price 2s. Gd. cloth; 3s. Gd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " One of Hip bost kind of books for youthful readers; its dumb heroes 
 have all the interest of characters in fiction."— Guardian. 
 
 THE FAITHFUL HOUND: 
 
 A Story in Verse founded on fact. By LADT Thomas, with 
 Illustrations by H. Weir. Imperial 16mo, price 2s. 6d., 
 cloth ; 3s. Gd., coloured, gilt edges.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 
 
 DEDICATED TO ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 THE STORY OF KING ARTHUR, 
 
 And his Knights of the Bound Table. Compiled and 
 arranged by J. T. K. With Illustrations by G-. H. Thomas. 
 Post 8vo, price 7s. cloth ; 9s. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " The story of King Arthur will never die while there are Englishmen to 
 study and English boys to devour its tales of adventure." — Preface. 
 
 CAPTAIN MARRYAT'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 HARRY AT SCHOOL. 
 
 By Emilia Marryat. Illustrations by Absolon. Super- 
 royal 16mo, price 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " Really good, and fitted to delight little boys."— Spectator. 
 
 LONG EVENINGS ; 
 
 Or, Stories for My Little Friends, by Emilia Marryat. 
 Illustrated by Absolon. Second Edition. Super-royal 
 ]6mo, price 2s. 6d. cloth; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " This book cannot fail to be a favourite." — Art Journal. 
 
 THOMAS HOOD'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 TINY TADPOLE, 
 
 And other Tales. By Frances Freeling Broderii\ 
 With Illustrations by her Brother, Thomas Hood. Super- 
 royal 16mo, price 3s. 6d. cloth; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " A remarkable book, produced by the brother and sister of a family in 
 which genius and fun are inherited." — Saturday ltevieic. 
 
 DISTANT HOMES; 
 
 Or, the Graham Family in New Zealand. By Mrs. I. E. 
 Aylmer. With Illustrations by J. Jackson. Super-royal 
 16mo, price 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "All who have the good fortune to make acquaintance with thi3 book 
 will derive not only amusement, but a vast amouut of instruction." — 
 Englith Churchman. 
 
 a3
 
 8 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 WORKS FOR BOYS, BY ALFRED ELWES. 
 
 With Illustrations, Fcap. 8vo, price 5s. cloth ; 5s. 6d. gilt edges, 
 
 GUY MYERS ; 
 
 Or, a Boy's Struggles in the Great World. Illustrations 
 by H. Anelay. 
 
 " Mr. Elwes sustains his reputation. Roys Trill derive both pleasure and 
 profit from the reading of ' Guy Rivers.' "—Athen&um. 
 
 RALPH SEABROOKE; 
 
 Or, the Adventures of a Young Artist in Piedmont and 
 Tuscany. Illustrated by Robert Dudley. 
 
 " This book contains a considerable amount of interesting and amusing 
 description with regard to the manners and the habits of the Italians." — 
 Illustrated ifWStl 
 
 FRANK AND ANDREA j 
 
 Or, Forest Life in the Island of Sardinia. Illustrated by 
 Dudley. 
 
 " The descriptions of Sardinian life and scenery are admirable." — 
 Athenaum. 
 
 PAUL BLAKEj 
 
 Or, The Story of a Boy's Perils in the Islands of Corsica 
 and Month Cristo. Illustrated by Anelay. 
 
 "This spirited and engaging story will lead our young friends to a very 
 intimate acquaintance with the islaudof Corsica." — Art Journal. 
 
 MEADOW LEA; 
 
 Or, the Gipsy Children. A Stoiy founded on Fact. By the 
 Author of "The Triumphs of Steam," "Our Eastern Em- 
 pire," &c With Illustrations by John Gilbert. Fcap. 
 Svo, price 4s. 6d. cloth ; 5s. gilt edges. 
 
 NEPTUNE'S BEEOESj 
 
 Or, The Sea Kings of England ; from Hawkins to Franklin. 
 By W. Jf. D. Adams. Illustrated by Morgan. Fcap. 
 8vo, price 5s. cloth ; 5s. Gd. gilt edges. 
 
 " We trust Old England will ever have writers as ready and able as Mr. 
 Adams to interpret to her children the noble lives of her greatest men." — 
 Athenaum.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. V 
 
 DALTON'S BOOKS FOR BOYS. 
 With Illustrations, Fcap. 8vo, price 5s. cloth; 5s. 6d. gilt edges. 
 
 LOST IX CEYLON: 
 
 The Story of a Boy and Girl's Adventures in the Woods and 
 Wilds of the Lion King of Kandy. Illustrated by Weih. 
 
 " Clever, exciting, and full of true description."— Spectator. 
 
 THE WHITE ELEPHANT; 
 
 Or, the Hunters of Ava, and the King of the Golden Foot. 
 Illustrated by Harkison Weir. 
 
 " Full of dash, nerve, and spirit, and withal freshness."— Literary Gazette. 
 
 THE WAR TIGER; 
 
 Or, Adventures and Wonderful Fortunes op the 
 Young Sea-Chief and his Lad Chow. Illustrated by 
 H. S. Melville. 
 
 " A tale of lively adventure, vigorously told, and embodying much curious 
 information," — Ji lust rated Hew*. 
 
 THE LATE THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 FAIRY LAND ; 
 
 Or, Recreation for the Rising Generation, in Prose and 
 Verse. By the late Thomas and Jane Hood, their Son and 
 Daughter, &c. Illustrated by T. Hood, Jun. Super-royal 
 lGmo, price 3s. 6d. cloth; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "These tales are charming. Before it goes into the nursery, we recom- 
 mend that all grown-up people should study ' Fuiry Land.' "—blackwooJ. 
 
 THE HEADLONG CAREER AND WOFUL ENDING OF 
 
 PRECOCIOUS PIGGY. Written for his Children, by the 
 late Thomas Hood. With a Preface by his Daughter ; and 
 Illustrated by his Son. Third Edition. Post 4to, price 
 2s. 6d. coloured ; 3s. 6d. mounted on cloth. 
 
 "The Illustrations are intensely humorous." — The Critic.
 
 10 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 THE NME LIVES OF A CAT: 
 
 A Talo of Wonder. Written and Illustrated by C. H. 
 Bennett. Twenty-four Engravings. Imperial 16uio, price 
 2s. cloth ; 2s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " Rich in the quaint humour and fancy that a man of genius knows how to 
 spare for the eniivenment of children." — Examiner, 
 
 LANDELLS' INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING WORKS. 
 
 THE BOY'S OWN TOY MAKER : 
 
 A Practical Illustrated Guide to the useful employment of 
 Leisure Hours. By E. Landells. Sixth Edition. With 
 200 Illustrations. Koyal lfimo, price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 " A new and valuable form of endless amusement." — Nonconformist. 
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 —Economist, 
 
 THE GIRL'S OWN TOY MAKER, 
 
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 cloth. 
 "A perfect magazine of information."— Illustrated News of the World. 
 
 HOME PASTIME; 
 
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 \* By this novel and ingenious " Pastime," beautiful Models 
 can be made by Children from the Cards, by attending to the 
 plain and simple Instructions in the Book. 
 
 " As a delightful exercise of ingenuity, and a most sensible mode of pass- 
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 trated News. 
 
 " Should bo in every house blessed with the presence of children."— The 
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 THE ILLUSTRATED PAPER MODEL MAKER: 
 
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 Models. By E. Landells. Price 2s., in a neat Envelope. 
 
 " A most excellent method of educating both eye and hand in the know- 
 ledge of form."— English Churchman.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 11 
 
 BLIND MAN'S HOLIDAY; 
 
 Or, Short Tales for the Nursery. By the Author of " Mia 
 and Charlie," &c. Illustrated by Absolon. Super-royal 
 16mo, price 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. Cd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 " Yerytrue to nature and admirable in feeling." — Guardian. 
 
 FUNNY FABLES FOR LITTLE FOLKS. 
 
 By Frances Freelixg Brodeiup (Daughter of the late 
 Thomas Hood). Illustrated by her Brother. Super-royal 
 16mo, price 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "The Fables contain the happiest mingling of fun, fancy, humour, and 
 instruction."— Art Journal, 
 
 WORKS FOR DISTRIBUTION. 
 
 A WOMAN'S SECRET; 
 
 Or, How to Make Home Happy. Twenty-fourth Thousand. 
 18mo, with Frontispiece. Price 6d. 
 
 By the same Author, uniform in size and price. 
 
 WOMAN'S WORIj 
 
 Or, How she can Help the Sick. Fourteenth Thousand. 
 
 A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS ; 
 
 Or, the Mother's Assistant in cases of Burns, Scalds, Cuts, 
 &c. Seventh Thousand. 
 
 PAY TO-DAY, TRUST TO-MORROW : 
 
 A Story founded on Facts, illustrative of the Evils of the 
 Tally System. Fifth Thousand. 
 
 NURSERY WORK; 
 
 Or, Hannah Baker's First Place. Fourth Thousand. 
 
 STORIES OF HOME LIFE. 
 
 Being the Four First Works as above, bound in One Volume, 
 price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 FAMILY PRAYERS FOR COTTAGE HOMES; 
 
 "With a few Words on Prayer, and Select Scripture Pas- 
 sages. Fcap. 8vo, price 4d. limp cloth. 
 
 %* These little works are admirably adapted for circulation among the 
 working classes. 
 
 a4
 
 12 GRIFFITH AND FAKRAN, 
 
 THR TRIUMPHS OF STEAM; 
 
 Or, Stories prom the Lives of Watt, Arkwright, and 
 Stephenson. By the Author of "Might not Right," " Our 
 Eastern Empire," &c. With Illustrations by J. Gilbekt. 
 Dedicated by permission to the late Robert Stephenson. 
 Second Edition. Royal 16mo, price 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. 6d.. 
 coloured, gilt edges. 
 " A most delicious -volume of examples."— Art Journal. 
 
 MIGHT NOT EIGHT; 
 
 Or, Stories of the Discovery and Conquest of 
 America. Illustrated by J. Gilbert. Royal 16mo, price 
 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. 6d. coloured, and gilt edges. 
 
 " With the fortunes of Columbus, Cortes, and Pizarro, for the staple of 
 these stories, the writer has succeeded in producing a very interesting 
 volume." — Illuttrated IfetDt. 
 
 HISTORY OF INDIA FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 OUR EASTERN EMPIRE; 
 
 Or, Stories from the History of British India. With 
 Four Illustrations. Second Edition, with continuation to 
 the Proclamation of Queen Victoria. Royal 16mo, 3s. Gd. 
 cloth ; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 "These stories are charming, and convey a general view of the progress of 
 
 our Empire in the East. The tales are told'with admirable clearness."— 
 
 Athenaum. 
 
 THE MARTYR LAND; 
 
 Or, Tales of the Vaudois. Frontispiece by J. Gilbert. 
 Royal 16mo, price 3s. Cd. cloth. 
 
 "YHiile practical lessons run throughout, they are never obtruded; the 
 whole tone ia refined without affectation, religious and cheerful."— Englith 
 Churchman. 
 
 TUPPV; 
 
 Or, the Autobiography of a Donkey. By the Author of 
 " The Triumphs of Steam," &.c. &c. Illustrated by HAR- 
 BISON Weir. Second Edition. Super-royal 16mo, price 
 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3a. 6d. coloured, gilt edge3. 
 
 " A very intelligent donkey, worthy of the diatinction conferred upon him 
 by the artist." — Art Journal.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 13 
 
 - 
 
 HOLIDAYS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS ; 
 
 Or, Scenes and Stories of Wales. By M. Betham Edwards. 
 Illustrated by F. J. Skill. Super-royal 16mo, price 3s. 6d. 
 cloth ; 4s. Gd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " The most charming book for girls we have met with for a long time." — 
 Sell's Messenger, 
 
 THE FAIRY TALES OF SCIENCE: 
 
 A Book for Youth. By J. C. Brough. With 16 beautiful 
 Illustrations by C. H. Bennett. Fcap. 8vo, price 5s. cloth. 
 
 " Science, perhaps, was never made more attractive and easy of entrance 
 into the youthful mind." — The Builder. 
 
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 moat useful, books of the season." — Oentleman't Magazine. 
 
 SUNDAY EVENINGS WITH SOPHIA ; 
 
 Or, Little Talks on Great Subjects. A Book for Girls. 
 By Leonora G. Bell. With Frontispiece by J. Absolon. 
 Fcap. 8vo, price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 " A very suitable gift for a thoughtful girl." — Bell's Messenger, 
 
 SCENES OF ANIMAL LISE AND CHARACTER: 
 
 From Natcre and Kecollection. In Twenty Plates. By 
 J. B. 4to, price 2s. plain ; 2s. 6d. coloured, fancy boards. 
 
 " Truer, heartier, more playful, or more enjoyable sketches of animal life 
 could scarcely be found anywhere." — Spectator, 
 
 HCT0RTAL GEOGRAPHY, 
 
 For the Use of Children, presenting at one View Illustrations 
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 and definite Ideas of their Meaning. On a large sheet Im- 
 perial, price 2s. 6d., printed in tints ; 5s. on roller, var- 
 nished. 
 
 HAND SHADOWS, 
 
 To be thrown upon the Wall. Ey Henry Bursill. First 
 and Second Series, each containing Eighteen Novel and 
 Original Designs. 4to, price 2s. each, plain j 2s. 6d. 
 coloured. 
 " Uncommonly clever— some 'Wonderful effects are produced." — The Press. 
 
 A 5
 
 14 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 OLD NURSE'S BOOK OF RHYMES, JINGLES, AND 
 
 Ditties. Edited and Illustrated by C. H. Bennett, 
 Author of "Shadows," With Ninety Engravings. Ecap. 
 4to, price 3s. 6d. cloth, plain, or 6s. coloured. 
 
 "The illustrations are all so replete with fun and imagination, that we 
 scarcely know who will be most pleased with the book, the good-natured 
 grandfather who gives it, or the chubby grandchild who gets it, for a 
 Christmas-Box." — Notes and Queries. 
 
 BERRIES AND BLOSSOMS: 
 
 A Verse Book for Young Children. By T. Westwood. 
 With coloured Frontispiece and Title. Super-royal lGino, 
 price 3s. Gd. gilt edges. 
 
 THE GRATEFUL SPARROW. 
 
 A True Story. Third Edition, with Frontispiece. Price 6d. 
 sewed. 
 
 HOW I BECAME A GOVERNESS. 
 
 By the Author of "The Grateful Sparrow." With Frontis- 
 piece. Price Is. sewed. 
 
 DICKY BIRDS. 
 
 A True Story, by the Author of "The Grateful Sparrow." 
 With Frontispiece. Price 6d. 
 
 JACK FROST AND BETTY SNOW; 
 
 With^othee Tales foe Wintry Nights and Brainy 
 Days. Illustrated by II. Weir. 2s. Gd. cloth ; Ss. Gd. 
 coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "The dedication of these pretty tales proves by whom they are written ; 
 they are indelibly stamped wit li that natural and graceful method of amusing 
 while instructing which only persons of genius possess." — Art Journal. 
 
 MAC!) SUMMERS THE SIGHTLESS: 
 
 A Naurative for the Young. Illustrated by Absolon. 
 3s. Gd. cloth ; 4s. Gd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 " A touching und beautiful story." — Christian Treasury. 
 
 CLARA HOPE; 
 
 Or, The Blade and the Ear. By Miss Milner. With 
 Frontispiece by Birket Foster. Fcap. 8vo, price 3s. 6d. 
 oloth ; 4s. Gd. cloth elegant, gilt edges. 
 "A beautiful narrative, showing how bad habits may be eradicated, and 
 evil tempera subdued." — British Mother's Journal,
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 15 
 
 THE ADVEtfTtffiES AND EXPEMEICES OF BIDDY 
 
 Dorking, AND of the Fat Frog. Edited by Mrs. S. C. 
 Hall. Illustrated by H. Wkik. 2s. Cd. cloth; 3s. 6d. 
 coloured, gilt edges. 
 " Most amusingly and wittily told."— Morning Herald. 
 
 HISTORICAL ACTING CHARADES; 
 
 Or, Amusements kob 'Winter Evenings. By the Author 
 of "Cat and Dog," &c. New Edition. Fcap. 8vo, price 
 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. gilt edges. 
 "A rare book forChristmas parties, and of practical Talue." — Illustrated News. 
 
 THE STORY OF JACK AND THE GIANTS. 
 
 With Thirty-five Illustrations by EiCHARD DOYLE. Beauti- 
 fully printed. New and Cheaper Edition. Fcap. 4to, price 
 2s. 6d. cloth ; Ss. Gd. coloured, cloth, gilt edges. 
 
 " In Doyle's drawings we haTe wonderful conceptions, which will secure the 
 book a place amongst the treasures of collectors, as well as excite the imagi- 
 nations of children." — Illustrated Times. 
 
 THE EARLY DAWfl; 
 
 Or, Stories to think about. Ey a Country Clergyman. 
 
 Illustrated by H. Weir, &c. Small 4to, price 2s. 6d. 
 
 cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " The matter is both wholesome and instructive, and must fascinate as 
 well as benefit the young." — Literarium. 
 
 ANGELO ; 
 
 Or, the Pine Forest among the Alps. By Geraldine 
 
 E. Jewsbuky, Author of "The Adopted Child,'" &c. With 
 
 Illustrations by John Absolon. Small 4to, price 2s. 6d. 
 
 cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "As pretty a child's story as one might look for on a winter's day."— 
 Examiner. 
 
 GRANNY'S WONDERITL CHAIR; 
 
 And its Tales of Fairy Times. Ey Frances Browne. 
 
 With Illustrations by Kenny Meadows. Small 4to. 
 
 3s. Gd. cloth ; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " One of the happiest Mendings of marvel and moral we have ever seen." 
 — Literary Gazette.
 
 16 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A QUARTERN LOAF. 
 
 Rhymes and Pictures. By William Newman. 12 Illus- 
 trations. Price 6d. plain, Is. coloured; or mounted on 
 linen and bound in cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Uniform in size and price. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A SCUTTLE OF COALS. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A LUMP OF SUGAE. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A BALE OF COTTON. (Just published.) 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A GOLDEN SOVEREIGN. < Just P ub " 
 
 fished.) 
 
 %• The Loaf, Tea, and Sugar bound in one volume, cloth, 2s. plain, 
 33. 6d. coloured; also Sugar, Cotton, and Gold, in one volume, same price. 
 
 FAGGOTS FOR THE FIRESIDE; 
 
 Or, Tales of Fact and Fancy. By Peter Parley. Twelve 
 Tinted Illustrations. New Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 cloth; 4s. Gd. coloured. 
 " A new work by Peter Parley is a pleasant greeting for all boys and girls, 
 wherever the English language is spoken or read. He has a happy method 
 of conveving information, while seeming to address kimself to the imagina- 
 tion."—' The Critic. 
 
 THE DISCONTENTED CHILDREN: 
 
 And how they were Cured. By Mary and Eliz. Kirby. 
 Illustrated by H. K. Browne (Phiz). Second Edition, 
 price 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 *' We know no bettor method of banishing 'discontent' from school-room 
 and nursery than by introducing this wise and clever story to their inmates." 
 — Art Journal. 
 
 THE TALKING BUD; 
 
 Or, The Little Grab who knew what was going to 
 Haii'EN. By M. and E. Kirby. With Illustrations by 
 II. K. Browne. Price 2s. Cd. cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured. 
 
 "The story ia ingeniously told, and the moral clearly shown." 
 
 Athenceum. 
 
 JULIA MAITLANU; 
 
 Or, Pride goes before a Fall. By M. and E. Kxbbt. 
 
 Illustrated by John Absolon. Price 2s. 6d. cloth; 3s. 6d. 
 coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " It is nearly such a story as Miss Edgeworth might have written on the 
 same theme." — The Frest.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 17 
 
 TALES OF MAGIC AND MEAN1M 
 
 Written and Illustrated by Alfred CROWQUILL. Price 
 
 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " Cleverly written and abounding in frolic and pathos, and inculcating so 
 pure a moral, that we must pronounce him a very fortunate little fellow who 
 catches these ' Tales of Magic' from a Christmas-tree." — Athenaeum. 
 
 THE REMARKABLE HISTORY OF THE HOUSE THAT 
 
 JACK BUILT. Splendidly Illustrated and magnificently 
 
 Illuminated by The Son of a Genius. Price 2s., in fancy 
 
 cover. 
 
 " Magnificent in suggestion, and most comical in expression." — 
 Athenaeum. 
 
 LETTERS FROM SARAWAK, 
 
 Addressed to a Child. Embracing an Account of the Man- 
 ners, Customs, and Religion of the Inhabitants of Borneo, 
 with Incidents of Missionary Life. By Mrs. M'Dougall. 
 Fourth Thousand, with Illustrations. 3s. 6d. cloth. 
 " All is new, interesting, and admirably told." — Cliurch and State Gazette. 
 
 COMICAL PICTURE BOOKS. 
 Uniform in nize with " The Struwwelpeter." 
 
 PICTURE FABLES. 
 
 Written and Illustrated by Alfred Crowquill. Sixteen 
 large coloured Plates. Price 2s. 6d. fancy boards. 
 
 THE CARELESS CHICKEN. 
 
 By the Baron Krakemsides. With Sixteen large coloured 
 Plates, by Alfred Crowquill. 4to, 2s. 6d. fancy boards. 
 
 FUNNY LEAVES FOR THE YOUNGER BRANCHES. 
 
 By the Baron Krakemsides of Burstenoudelafen Castle. 
 Illustrated by Alfred Crowquill. Coloured Plates. 2s. 6d. 
 
 LAUGH AND GROW WISE. 
 
 By the Senior Owl of Ivy Hall. With Sixteen Large 
 Coloured Plates. 4to, price 2s. 6d. fancy boards. 
 *»* Mounted on cloth, Is. each extra. 
 
 a6
 
 IS GIUFFITII AND 
 
 PEEP AT THE TIXIES; 
 
 Or, Legends op the West. By Mrs. Bray, Author of 
 "Life of Stothard," &c. Illustrations by H. Iv. Browne 
 (Phiz). Price 3s. Gd. cloth ; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 "A peep at the actual Pixies of Devonshire, faithfully described by Mrs. 
 Bray^ is a treat. Her knowledge of the locality, her affection for her sub- 
 ject, her exquisite feeling for nature, and her real delight in fairy lore, have 
 given a freshness to the little volume we did not expect. The notes at the 
 end contain matter of interest for all who feel a desire to know the origin of 
 such tales and legends." — Art Journal. 
 
 OCEAN AND HER RULERS; 
 
 A Narrative of the Nations who have from the Earliest 
 Ages held dominion over the Sea ; comprising a brief History 
 of Navigation, from the remotest Periods to the Present 
 Time. By Alfred Elwes. Fcap. 8vo, 5s. cloth. 
 " The volume is replete with valuable and interesting information; and 
 
 we cordially recommend it as a useful auxiliary in the school-room, and 
 
 entertaining companion in the library." — Morning Post. 
 
 A BOOK FOR EVERY CHILD. 
 
 THE FAVOURITE PICTUBK-BOOI : 
 
 A Gallery of Delights, designed for the Amusement and 
 Instruction of the Young. With several hundred Illustra- 
 tions from Drawings by J. Absolon, H. K. Browne 
 (Phiz), J. Gilbert, T. Landsebb, J. Leech, J. S. Prout, 
 H. Weir, &c. New Edition. Koyal 4to, price 3s. 6d. 
 bound in anew and elegant cover; 7s. b*d. coloured; 10s. Gd. 
 coloured and mounted on cloth. 
 
 THE DAY OF A BABY-BOY: 
 
 A Story for a Little Child. By E. Berger, with Illustra- 
 tions by John Absolon. Second Edition. Super-royal 
 16mo, price 2s. Gd. cloth; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "A sweet little book for the nursery."— Christian Times. 
 
 CAT AND DOG; 
 
 Or, Memoirs of Puss and the Captain. A Story founded 
 
 on Fact. Illustrated by Harbison Weir. Sixth Edition. 
 
 Super-royal lGmo, 2s. Gd. cloth ; 3s. Gd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "The author of this amusing little tale is evidently a keen observer of 
 
 nature. The illustration* are wall executed; and tlie moral which points 
 
 the tale is conveyed iu the most attractive form." — Britannia.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWEERY AND HARRIS. 1 'J 
 
 THE DOLL AND HEE FRIENDS j 
 
 Or, Memoirs op the Lady Sekaphina. By the Author 
 of "Cat and Dog." Third Edition. With Four Illus- 
 trations hy H. K. Browne (Phiz). Small 4to, 2s. 6d. cloth ; 
 3s. Gd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " Evidently written by one who has brought great powers to bear upon 
 a small matter." — Morning Herald. 
 
 CLARISSA DONNELLY; 
 
 Or, The History op an Adopted Child. By Geraldine 
 
 E. Jeyvsbury. With an Illustration by John Absolon. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. gilt edges. 
 
 "With wonderful power, only to be matched by as admirable a sim- 
 plicity, Miss Jewsbury has narrated the history of a child. For nobility of 
 purpose, for simple, nervous writing, and for artistic construction, it is one 
 of the most valuable works of the day." — Lady's Companion. 
 
 FAMTLIAR NATURAL HISTORY. 
 
 With Forty- two Illustrations by Harrison Weir, and de- 
 scriptive letter-press by Mrs. It. Lee. Price 3s. 6d. cloth, 
 plain ; 5s. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 HARRY HAWKINS'S HRoOK; 
 
 Showing how he Learned to Aspirate his H's. Frontis- 
 piece by Weiu. (Second Edition, price O'd. 
 
 "No family or schoolroom within, or indeed beyond, the sound of Row 
 bells, should be without tkis merry manual." — Art Journal. 
 
 THE FAMILY BIBLE NEWLY OPENED: 
 
 With Uncle Goodwin's Account of it. By Jefferys 
 Taylor, Author of " A Glance at the Globe," &c. Frontis- 
 piece by J. Gilbert. Fcap. 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 " A very good account of the Sacred Writings, adapted to the taste, 
 feelings, and intelligence of young people." — Educational Timet. 
 
 " Parents will also find it a great aid in the religious teaching of their 
 families." — Edinburgh li'itness. 
 
 KATE AND ROSALIND; 
 
 Or, Early Experiences. By the Author of " Quicksands 
 on Foreign Shores," &c. Fcap. 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth; 4s. gilt 
 edges. 
 
 "A book of unusual merit. The story is exceedingly well told, and the 
 characters are drawn with a freedom and boldness seldom met with." — 
 Church of Unglund Quarterly. 
 
 " The Irish scenes are of an excellence that has not been surpassed since 
 the best days of .Miss Edgeworth." — Franer's Magazine.
 
 20 GRIFFITH AND FAKRAN, 
 
 WORKS BY THE LATE MRS. R. LEE. 
 
 ANECDOTES OF THE HABITS AND INSTINCTS OF 
 
 ANIMALS. Third and Cheaper Edition. With Six Illus- 
 trations by Weir. Fcap. Svo, 3s. 6d. cloth, 4s. gilt edges. 
 
 ANECDOTES OF THE HABITS AND INSTINCTS OF 
 
 BIRDS, FISHES, AND REPTILES. Second and Cheaper 
 Edition. With Six Illustrations by Harrison Weie. Fcap. 
 Svo, 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. gilt edges. 
 
 "Amusing, instructive, nnd ably written." — Literary Gazette. 
 " Mrs. Lee's authorities — to name only one, Professor Owen — are, for 
 the most part, first-rate." — Athenmum. 
 
 ADVENTURES IN AUSTRALIA; 
 
 Or, The Wanderings of Captain Spencer in the Bush 
 and the Wilds. Second Edition. Illustrated by Pkout. 
 Fcap. 8vo, 5s. cloth; 5s. 6d. gilt edges. 
 
 " This volume should find a place in every school library, and it will, we 
 are sure, be a very welcome and useful prize."— Educational Times. 
 
 THE AFRICAN WANDERERS; 
 
 Or, The Adventures of Carlos and Antonio ; embracing 
 interesting Descriptions of the Manners and Customs of the 
 Western Tribes. Third Edition. With Eight Engravings. 
 Fcap. 8vo, 5s. cloth ; 5s. 6d. gilt edges. 
 "In strongly recommending this admirable work to the attention of 
 
 young readers, we feel that wo are rendering a real service to the cause of 
 
 African civilization." — Patriot. 
 
 TWELVE STORIES OF THE SAYINGS AND DOINGS OF 
 
 ANIMALS. With Illustrations by J. W. Archer. 
 Third Edition, 2s. Gd. cloth; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 PLAYING AT SETTLERS; 
 
 Or, The Faggot House. Second Edition. Illustrated 
 by Gilbert. Price 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured, 
 
 ELEGANT GIFT FOR A LADY. 
 
 TREKS, PLANTS, AND FLOWERS; 
 
 Their Beauties, Uses, and Influences. By Mrs. R. Lee. 
 With beautiful coloured Illustrations by J. Andrews. Svo, 
 piice 10s. Gd. cloth elegant, gilt edges. 
 
 "The volume is at once useful as a botanical work, and exquisite as the 
 ornament ol'n boudoir table."— Britannia. 
 "As full of interest as of beauty."— Art Journal.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 21 
 
 W. H. G. KINGSTON'S BOOKS FOR BOYS. 
 
 With Illustrations, Fcap. 8vo, price 5s. each, cloth ; 5s. 6d. 
 gilt edges. 
 
 TBUE BLUE; 
 
 Or, the Life and Adventures of a British Seaman of the Old 
 School. 
 
 " There is about all Mr. Kingston's tales a spirit of hopefulness, honesty, 
 and cheery good principle, which makes them most wholesome as well as 
 most interesting reading. This volume would form an appropriate addition 
 to any ship-board library." — Era. 
 
 WILL WEATHERBDELM: 
 
 Or, The Yarn of an Old Sailor about his Early Life 
 and Adventures. Illustrated by G. H. Thomas. 
 
 "Overflowing with maritime adventures, and characters graphically 
 described."— Critic. 
 
 FRED MARKHAM IN EUSSIlj 
 
 Or, The Boy Travellers in the Land of the Czar. 
 With Illustrations by Ii. T. Landells. 
 
 "Most admirably does this book unite a capital narrative with the com- 
 munication of valuable information respecting Russia." — Nonconformist. 
 
 SALT WATER ; 
 
 Or, Neil D'Arcy's Sea Life and Adventures (a Book 
 for Boys). With Eight Illustrations by Anelay. 
 
 " With the exception of Captain Marryat, wo know of no English author 
 who will compare with Mr. Kingston as a writer of books of nautical adven- 
 ture." — Illustrated News. 
 
 MANCO, THE PERUVIAN CHIEF. 
 
 With Illustrations by Carl Schmolze. 
 
 " A capital book; the story being one of much interest, and presenting a 
 good account of the history and institutions, the customs aud manners of the 
 country." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 MARK SEAWORTII: 
 
 A Tale of the Indian Ocean. With Illustrations by J. 
 Absolon. Second Edition. 
 
 "No more interesting, nor more safe book, can be put iuto the hands of 
 youth ; and to boys especially ' Mark Scaworth" will be a treasure of de- 
 light."— Art Journal. 
 
 PETEBTHE WHALER: 
 
 His Early Life and Adventures in the Arctic Regions. 
 Second Edition. With Illustrations by E. Duncan. 
 
 " In short, a book which the old may, but which the young must, read 
 when they have once begun it." — Athenoeum.
 
 22 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 NEW AND BEAUTIFUL LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD : 
 
 A Tale. By Oliver Goldsmith. Printed by "Whittingham. 
 With Eight Illustrations by J. Absolon. Square fcap. 
 Svo, price 5s. cloth ; 7s. half-bound morocco, Roxburghe 
 style ; 103. 6d. antique morocco. 
 
 " Mr. Absolon's graphic sketches add greatly to the interest of the 
 volume : altogether, it is as pretty an edition of the 'Vicar' as we have seen. 
 }I i's. Primrose herself would consider it ' well dressed.' " — Art Journal. 
 
 " A. delightful edition of one of the most delightful of works : the fine old 
 t ype and thick paper make this volume attractive to any lover of books." — 
 Edinburgh Guardian. 
 
 GOOD IX EVERYTHING j 
 
 Or, The Early Hibtobt of Gilbert Harland. By Mrs. 
 Barwell, Author of " Little Lessons for Little Learners," 
 &c. Second Edition. With Illustrations by John Gilbert. 
 Royal 16mo, 2s. 6d. cloth; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "The moral of this exquisite little tale will do more good than a thousand 
 set tasks abounding with dry and uninteresting truisms." — Bell'sMeteenger. 
 
 DOMESTIC PETS: 
 
 Their Habits and Management ; with Illustrative Anecdotes. 
 By Mrs. Loudon. With Illustrations by Harrison Weir. 
 Second Thousand. Fcap. Svo, 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 Contents : — The Dog, Cat, Squirrel, Rabbit, Guinea- 
 Pig, White Mice, the Parrot and other Talking- Birds, 
 Singing-Birds, Doves and Pigeons, Gold and Silver Fish. 
 
 "AU who study Mrs. Loudon's pages will be able to treat their pets with 
 certainty and wisdom."— Standard of Freedom. 
 
 TALES OF SCHOOL LIFE. 
 
 By Agnes Loudon, Author of "Tales for Young People." 
 With Illustrations by John Absolon. Second Edition. 
 Royal ltimo, 2s. Gd. plain ; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "lhe".e rominivences of school-days will be recognised as truthful pic- 
 tures of f-vcry-dny occurrence. The style is colloquial and pleasant, and 
 therefore well suited to those for whose perusal it is intended.— Athenaum.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 23 
 
 THE FAVOURITE LIMARY. 
 
 A Series of Works for the Young ; each with an Illustration 
 by a well-known Artist. Price One Shilling, cloth. 
 
 1. THE ESKDALE HERD- BOY. By Lady Stoddabt. 
 
 2. MRS. LEICESTER'S SCHOOL. By Charles and 
 
 Mary Lamb. 
 
 3. HISTORY OF THE ROBINS. By Mrs. Trimmer. 
 
 4. MEMOIRS OF BOB THE SPOTTED TERRIER. 
 
 5. KEEPER'S TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF HIS 
 
 MASTER. 
 
 G. THE SCOTTISH ORPHANS. By Lady Stoddart. 
 
 7. NEVER WRONG ; or, THE YOUNG DISPU- 
 
 TANT ; and "IT WAS ONLY IN FUN." 
 
 8. THE LIFE AND PERAMBULATIONS OF A 
 
 MOUSE. 
 
 9. EASY INTRODUCTION TO THE KNOWLEDGE 
 
 OF NATURE. By Mrs. Trimmer. 
 
 10. RIGHT AND WRONG. By the Author of " Always 
 
 Happy." 
 
 11. HARRY'S HOLIDAY. By Jefferys Taylor. 
 
 12. SHORT POEMS AND HYMNS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 The above may be had, Two Volumes bound in one, at Two Shillings. 
 cloth ; or 2s. 6d. gilt edges, as follows : — 
 
 1. LADY STODDART'S SCOTTISH TALES. 
 
 2. ANIMAL HISTORIES. The Dog. 
 
 8. ANIMAL HISTORIES. The Robins and MODBB. 
 
 4. TALES FOR BOYS. Harry's Holiday and Never 
 
 Wrong. 
 
 5. TALES FOR GIRLS. Mrs. Leicester's School 
 
 and Right and Wrong. 
 
 6. POETRY AND NATURE. Short Poems and Trim- 
 
 mer's Introduction.
 
 24 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 TALES FBOM CATLAND. 
 
 Dedicated to the Young Kittens of England. By an Old 
 Tabby. Illustrated by H. Weir. Fourth Edition. Small 
 4to, 2s. 6d. plain ; 3s. 6d. coloured. 
 
 "The combination of quiet humour and sound sense has made this one of 
 the pleasantest little books of the season." — Lady's Newspaper. 
 
 THE WONDERS OF HOME, IN ELEVEN STOEIES. 
 
 By Grandfather Grey. With Illustrations. Third Edition, 
 roy. 16mo, 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured. — Contents : — 
 Story of— 1. A Cup of Tea. 2. A Piece of Sugar. 
 
 3. A Milk-Jug. 4. A Lump of Coal. 
 
 5. Some Hot Water. 6. A Pin. 
 
 7. Jenny's Sash. 8. Harry's Jacket. 
 
 9. A Tumbler. 10. A Knife. 
 
 11. This Book. 
 
 " The idea is excellent, and its execution equally commendable. The 
 subjects are very happily told in a light yet sensible manner." — Weekly News. 
 
 EVEEY-DAY THINGS; 
 
 Or, Useful Knowledge respecting the Principal Animal, 
 
 Vegetable, and Mineral Substances in Common Use. 
 
 Written for Young Persons, by a Lady. Second Edition, 
 
 revised. 18mo, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 "A little encyclopedia of useful knowledge; deserving a place in every 
 juvenile library." — Evangelical Magazine. 
 
 PRICE SIXPENCE EACH, PLAIN; ONE SHILLING, COLOURED. 
 
 In super-royal 16mo, beautifully printed, each with Seven Illus- 
 trations by Harrison Weir, and Descriptions by Mrs. Lee. 
 
 1. BRITISH ANIMALS. First Series. 
 
 2. BRITISH ANIMALS. Second Series. 
 
 3. BRITISH BIRDS. 
 
 4. FOREIGN ANIMALS. First Series. 
 
 5. FOREIGN ANIMALS. Second Series. 
 
 6. FOREIGN BIRDS. 
 
 * # * Or bound in One Vol. under the title of "Familiar Natural 
 History," see page 19. 
 
 Uniform in size and 'price with the above. 
 THE FARM AND ITS SCENES. With Six Pictures from 
 
 Drawings by Harrison Weir. 
 THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. With 
 
 Six Illustrations by Watts Phillips. 
 
 THE PEACOCK AT HOME AND THE BUTTERFLY'S 
 BALL. With Four Illustrations by Harrison Weir.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBEKY AND HARRIS. 25 
 
 A WORD TO THE WISH ; 
 
 Or, Hints on the Current Impropriety of Expression 
 in Writing and Speaking. By Parry Gwynne. Tenth 
 Thousand. 18mo, price 6d. sewed, or Is. cloth, gilt edges. 
 
 "All who wish to mind their p's and q's should consult this little volume." 
 — Gentleman's Magazine. 
 
 "May be advantageously consulted by even the well-educated." — 
 Athenceum. 
 
 STORIES OF JULIAN AND HIS PLAYFELLOWS. 
 
 Written by his Mamma. With Four Illustrations by John 
 Absolon. Second Edition. Small 4to, 2s. 6d. plain ; 3s. 6d. 
 coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " The lessons taught by Julian's mamma are each fraught with an excel- 
 lent moral." — Morning Advertiser. 
 
 BLADES AND FLOWERS; 
 
 Poems for Children. By M. S. C. Frontispiece by H. 
 Anelay. Fcap. Svo, price 2s. cloth. 
 
 " Breathing the samo spirit as the nursery poems of Jane Taylor."— 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 AUNT JANE'S VEESES FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 By Mrs. T. D. Crewdson. Illustrated with twelve beauti- 
 ful Engravings. Fcap. Svo, 3s. (id. cloth. 
 
 "A charming little volume of excellent moral and religious tendency."— 
 Evangelical Magazine. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 KIT BAM, THE BRITISH S1N1SAI) ; 
 
 Or, The Yarn3 of an Old Mariner. By Mary Cow- 
 den Clarke, Author of "The Concordance to Shakspeare," 
 &c. Fcap. 8vo, price 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. gilt edges. 
 
 " A more captivating volume for juvenilis recreativo reading we never 
 remember to have seen." — Standard of Freedom.
 
 26 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 RHYMES OF ROYALTY. 
 
 The History op England in Verse, from the Norman 
 Conquest to the reign of Queen Victoria ; with an Ap- 
 pendix, comprising a Summary of the leading events in 
 each reign. Fcap. Svo, with Frontispiece. 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 THE LADY'S ALBUM OF FANCY WORK; 
 
 Consisting of Novel, Elegant, and Useful Patterns in Knitting, 
 Netting, Crochet, and Embroidery, printed in colours. Bound 
 in a beautiful cover. New Edit. Post 4to, 3s. 6d. gilt edges. 
 
 VISITS TO BEECHYVOOD FARM; 
 
 Or, Country Pleasures and Hints for Happiness, ad- 
 dressed to the Young. By Catharine M, A. Couper. 
 Illustrations by Absolon. Small 4to, 3s. 6d. plain; 4s. 6d. col. 
 
 " The work is well calculated to impress upon the minds of the young the 
 superiority of simple and natural pleasures over tho3e which are artificial." 
 — Englishwoman's Magazine. 
 
 MARIN DE LA VOYE'S ELEMENTARY FRENCH WORKS. 
 
 Li;s JElWESNARRATEDJRSj 
 
 Ou, Petits Contes Moraux. With a Key to the difficult 
 Words and Phrases. Frontispiece. Second Edition. 18mo, 
 2s. cloth. 
 
 " "Written in pure and caBy French."— Morning Pott. 
 
 THE PICTORIAL FRENCH GRAMMAR, 
 
 Fob the Use op Children. With Eighty Engravings. 
 Royal 16mo ; price Is. 6d. cloth; Is. sewed. 
 
 "The publication has (rreater than mechanical merit; it contains the 
 principal' f the French language, exhibited in a plain and expres- 
 
 sive manner." — Hjpcclator.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 27 
 
 THE FIRST BOOK OF GEOGRAPHY : 
 
 A Text Book for Beginners, and a Guide to the Young 
 Teacher. By Hugo Ueid, Author of " Elements of Astro- 
 nomy." Third Edition, carefully revised. 18mo, Is. sewed. 
 
 " One of the most sensible little books on the subject of Geography we 
 have met with."— Educational Times. " As a lesson-book it will charm the 
 pupil by its brief, natural style." — Episcopalian. 
 
 THE MODERN BRITISH PLUTARCH; 
 
 Or, Lives of Men distinguished in the recent HIS- 
 TORY OF OUR COUNTRY FOR THEIR TALENTS, VIRTUES, 
 
 and Achievements. By W. C. Taylor, LL.D., Author 
 of "A Manual of Ancient and Modern History," &c. 
 12mo. Second Thousand. 4s. 6d. cloth; 5s. gilt edges. 
 
 " A work which will bo welcomed in any circle of intelligent young per- 
 sons." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 HOME AMUSEMENTS: 
 
 A Choice Collection of Riddles, Charades, Conundrums, 
 Parlour Games, and Forfeits. By Peter Puzzlewell, Esq., 
 of Rebus Hall. New Edition, revised and enlarged, with 
 Frontispiece by H. K. Browne (Phiz). 16mo, 2s. o'd. cloth. 
 
 EARLY DAYS OF ENGLISH PRINCES. 
 
 By Mrs. Russell Grey. Dedicated, by permission, to the 
 Duchess of Roxburghe. With Illustrations by John Frank- 
 lin. Small 4to, 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 " Just the book for giving children some first notions of English history, 
 ns the personages it speaks about are themselves young." — Manchester 
 Examiner. 
 
 FIRST STEPS TO SCOTTISH HISTORY. 
 
 By Miss Rodwell, Author of "First Steps to English 
 History." With Ten Illustrations by Weigall. 16mo, 
 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. Gd. coloured. 
 
 "It is the first popular book in which we have seen the outlines of the 
 e.irlv history of the Scottish tribes exhibited with anything like accuracy." 
 — Glasgoic Constitutional. 
 
 " The work is throughout agreeably and lucidly written." — Midland 
 Counties Herald.
 
 28 
 
 GRIFFITH AND FAEBAN, 
 
 LONDON CEIES AND PUBLIC EDIFICES, 
 
 Illustrated in Twenty-four Engravings by Luke Limner ; 
 with descriptive Letter-press. Square 12mo, 2s. 6d. plain ; 
 5s. coloured. Bound in emblematic cover. 
 
 THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE] 
 
 Or, Points and Pickings op Information about CniNA 
 and the Chinese. By the late "Old Humphrey." With 
 Twenty Engravings. Fcap. 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth ; 4s. gilt edges. 
 
 "The book is exactly what the author proposed it should be, full of good 
 information, good feeling, and good temper." — Allen's Indian Mail. 
 
 " Even well-known topics are treated with a graceful air of noTelty."— 
 Athcncsum, 
 
 TALKS EROM THE COOT OE OBERON: 
 
 Containing the favourite Histories of Tom Thumb, Graciosa 
 and Percinet, Valentine and Orson, and Children in 
 the Wood. With Sixteen Illustrations by Alfred Crow- 
 quill. Small 4to, 2s. Gd. plain ; 3s. 6d. coloured. 
 
 GLIMPSES OF NATURE, 
 
 And Objects of Interest described, during a Visit to 
 the Isle of Wight. Designed to assist and encourage 
 Young Persons in forming habits of Observation. By Mrs. 
 Loudon. Second Edition, enlarged. With Eorty-one Illus- 
 trations. 3s. Cd. cloth. 
 
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 "The moral is in the good, broad, unmistakable style of the best fairy 
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 "The story i3 written with excellent taste and sly humour."— Allai.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 29 
 
 WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF MAMMA'S BIBLE STORIES. 
 
 FANNY AND HEB MAMMA; 
 
 Or, Easy Lessons for Children. In which it is attempted 
 to bring Scriptural Principles into Daily Practice. Illus- 
 trated by J. Gilbert. Third Edition. 16mo, 2s. Gd. cloth j 
 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 "A little book in beautiful large clear type, to suit the capacity of infant 
 readers, which we can with pleasure recommend." — Christian Lady's Mag, 
 
 SHOUT AND SIMPLE PRAYERS 
 
 For the Use op Young Children, with Hymns. Fifth 
 Edition. Square 16rao, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 " Well adapted to the capacities of children, — beginning with the simplest 
 forms which the youngest child may lisp at its mother's l;hee, and proceeding 
 willi those suited to its gradually advancing age. Special prayers, designed 
 fi >r particular circumstances and occasions, are added. "We cordially recom- 
 mend the book." — Christian Guardian. 
 
 MAMMA'S BIBLE STORIES 
 
 For her Little Boys and Girls, adapted to the capacities 
 of very young children. Eleventh Edition, with Twelve En- 
 gravings. 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. 6d. Coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 A SEQUEL TO MAMMA'S BIBLE STORIES. 
 
 Fifth and Cheaper Edition. With Twelve Illustrations. 
 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 SCRIPTURE HISTORIES TOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 With Sixteen Illustrations by John Gilbert. Super- 
 royal lGmo, price 3s. cloth; 4s. 6d. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 contents : 
 
 The History of Joseph. 
 History of Moses. 
 
 History of our Saviour. 
 The Miracles of Christ. 
 
 * * 
 
 * 
 
 Sold separately : 6d. each, plain ; Is. coloured. 
 
 i 
 
 BIBLE SCENES; 
 
 Or, Sunday Employment for very Young Children. 
 Consisting of Twelve Coloured Illustrations on Cards, and 
 the History written in Simple Language. In a neat Box 
 3s. 6d. ; or dissected as a Puzzle, Gs. 6d. 
 
 First Series : History of Joseph. 
 Second Series : History of our 
 
 Saviour. 
 
 Third Series: Historyof Moses. 
 Fourth Scries : The Miracles 
 of Christ. 
 
 . " It is hoped that these ' Scenes ' may form a useful and interesting addi- 
 tion to the Babbath occupations of the Nursery. From their very earliest 
 infancy little children will listen with interest and delight to stories brought 
 thus palpably before their eyes by means of illustration."— Preface.
 
 30 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 RHODA ; 
 
 Or, The Excellence op Charity. Fourth Edition. With 
 Illustrations. lGmo, 2s. cloth. 
 
 "Not only adapted for children, but many parents might derive great 
 advantage from studying its simple truths." — Church and State Gazette. 
 
 TRUE STOEIES FROM ANCIENT IITSTORY, 
 
 Chronologically arranged from the Creation of the World to 
 the Death of Charlemagne. Twelfth Edition. With 24 
 Steel Engravings. 12mo, 5s. cloth. 
 
 TRUE STORIES PROM MODERN HISTORY, 
 
 Chronologically arranged from the Death of Charlemagne 
 to the Present Time. Eighth Edition. With 24 Steel 
 Engravings. 12mo, 5s. cloth. 
 
 MRS. TRIMMER'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Revised and brought down to the Present Time by Mrs. 
 Milner. With Portraits of the Sovereigns in their proper 
 costume, and Frontispiece by Harvey. New Edition in 
 One Volume. 5s. cloth. 
 
 " The editing has been very judiciously done. The work has an esta- 
 blished reputation for the clearness of its genealogical and chronological 
 tables, and for its pervading tone of Christian piety." — Church and State 
 Gazette. 
 
 STORIES FROM THE OLD AND NEW TESTAMENTS, 
 
 On an improved plan. By the Rev. Bourne Hall Draper. 
 With 48 Engravings. Sixth Edition. 12mo, 5s. cloth. 
 
 THE WARS OF THE JEWS, 
 
 As related by Jokephus ; adapted to the capacities of Young 
 Persons. With 24 Engravings. Sixth Edit. 4s. Gd. cloth. 
 
 THE PRINCE OF WALES'S PELMER. 
 
 With 300 Illustrations by J. Gilbert. Dedicated to Her 
 Majesty. New Edition, price Cd. ; with title and cover 
 printed in gold and colours, Is. 
 
 HOW TO BE HAPPY; 
 
 Or, Fairy Gifts : to which is added, A SELECTION OF 
 MORAL ALLEGORIES, from the best English Writers. 
 Second Edition. With 8 Engravings. 12mo, 3s. Gd. cloth.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 31 
 
 THE ABBE GAULTIER'S GEOGRAPHICAL WORKS. 
 
 I. FAMILIAR GEOGRAPHY, 
 
 With a concise Treatise on the Artificial Sphere, and two 
 coloured Maps, illustrative of the principal Geographical 
 Terms. Fifteenth Edition. lGmo, ils. cloth. 
 
 IL AN ATLAS, 
 
 Adapted to the Abbe" Gaultier's Geographical Games, con- 
 sisting of 8 Maps, coloured, and 7 in Outline, &c. Folio, 
 15s. half-bound. 
 
 BUTLER'S OUTLINE MAPS, AND KEY; 
 
 Or, Geographical and Biographical Exercises ; with a Set 
 of Coloured Outline Maps ; designed for the Use of Young 
 Persons. By the late William Butler. Enlarged by the 
 Author's Son, J. 0. Butler. Thirty-second Edition, revised. 
 Price 4s. 
 
 BATTLE-FIELDS. 
 
 A graphic Guide to the Places described in the History of 
 England as the scenes of such Events ; with the situation of 
 the principal Naval Engagements fought on the Coast of the 
 British Empire. By Mr. Wauthier, Geographer. On a 
 large sheet, 3s. 6d. ; in case, 6s. ; or mounted on rollers, var- 
 nished, 9s. 
 
 TABULAR VIEWS OF THE GEOGRAPHY AND SACRED 
 
 HISTORY OF PALESTINE, & OF THE TEAVELS 
 OF ST. PAUL. Intended for Pupil Teachers, and others 
 engaged in Class Teaching. By A. T. White. Oblong 8vo, 
 price Is. sewedi 
 
 THE CHILD'S GRAMMAR. 
 
 By the late Lady Fenn, under the assumed name of Mrs. 
 Lovechild. Forty-ninth Edition. 18mo, 9d. cloth. 
 
 ROWBOTHAM'S NEW AND EASY METHOD OF LEARN- 
 ING the FRENCH GENDERS. New Edition. Cd. 
 
 BELLENGER'S FRENCH WORD AND PHRASE-BOOK; 
 
 Containing a select Vocabulary aud Dialogues, for the Use 
 of Beginners. New Edition, Is. sewed. 
 
 DER SCHWATZER; 
 
 Or, The Prattler. An amusing Introduction to the Ger- 
 man Language, on the Plan of " Le Babillard." With 1C 
 Illustrations. Price 2s. cloth.
 
 32 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 ALWAYS HAPPY; 
 
 Or, Anecdotes of Felix and Lis Sister Serena. By the 
 Author of "Claudine," &c. Eighteenth Edition, with new 
 Illustrations. Royal ISmo, price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 ANDERSEN'S (II. C.) NIGHTINGALE AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 2s. 6d. plain ; 3s. 6d. coloured. 
 
 ANECDOTES OF KINGS, 
 
 Selected from History ; or, Gertrude's Stories for Children. 
 New Edition. "With Engravings. 23. 6d. plain; 3s. 6d. 
 coloured. 
 
 BIBLE ILLUSTRATIONS ; 
 
 Or, a Description of Manners and Customs peculiar to 
 the East. By the Bev. B. H. Draper. With Engravings. 
 Fourth Edition. Bevised by Dr. Kitto. 3s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 THE BRITISH HISTORY BRIEFLY TOLD, 
 
 And a Description of the Ancient Customs, Sports, and 
 Pastimes of the English. Embellished with full-length 
 Portraits of the Sovereigns of England in their proper 
 Costumes, and 18 other Engravings. 3s. Cd. cloth. 
 
 CHIT-CHAT; 
 
 Or, Short Tales in Short Words. By a Mother, Author 
 of "Always Happy." Eighth Edition. With New En- 
 gravings. 2s. 6d. cloth ; 3s. Cd. coloured, gilt edges. 
 
 CONVERSATIONS ON THE LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST. 
 
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 With 12 Engravings. 2s. 6d. plain ; 3s. 6d. coloured. 
 
 COSMORAMA. 
 
 The Manners, Customs, and Costumes of all Nations of the 
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 rous Illustrations. 3s. 6d. plain; and 4s. 6d. coloured. 
 
 INFANTINE KNOWLEDGE; 
 
 A Spelling and Reading Book, on a Popular Plan, combining 
 much Useful Information with the Rudiments of Learning. 
 By the Author of "The Child's Grammar." With nume- 
 rous Engravings. Ninth Edit. 2s. 6d. plain; 3s. 6d. col. 
 
 CS TO CORRECT FANCIES; 
 
 Or, Short Narratives compiled from the Biography of 
 Remarkable Women. By a Mother. With Engravings. 
 3s. 6d. plain; 4s. 6d. coloured.
 
 SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 33 
 
 FJtUITS OF ENTERPRISE, 
 
 Exhibited in the Travels of Belzoni in Egypt and Nubia. 
 Thirteenth Edition, with six Illustrations byBlBKEX Foster. 
 18mo, price 3s. cloth. 
 
 THE GARDEN; 
 
 Or, Frederick's Monthly Instructions for the Management 
 and Formation of a Flower-Garden. Fourth Edition. 
 With Engravings of the Flowers in Bloom for each Month 
 in the Year, &c. 3s. 6d. plain ; or 6s. with the Flowers col. 
 
 EASY LESSONS; 
 
 Or, Leading-Strings to Knowledge. New Edition, with 
 8 Engravings. 2s. 6d. plain ; 3s. 6d. coloured. 
 
 KEY TO KNOWLEDGE; 
 
 Or, Things in Common Use simply and shortly explained. 
 By a Mother, Author of "Always Happy," &c. Thirteenth 
 Edition. With Sixty Illustrations. 3s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 THE LADDER TO LEARNING: 
 
 A Collection of Fables, Original and Select, arranged pro- 
 gressively in words of One, Two, and Three Syllables. Edited 
 and improved by the late Mrs. Trimmer. With 79 Cuts. 
 Nineteenth Edition. 3s. Cd. cloth. 
 
 LITTLE LESSONS FOR LITTLE LEARNERS, 
 
 In Words of One Syllable. By Mrs. Barwelx. Ninth 
 Edit., with numerous Illustrations. 2s. 6d. plain; 3s. 6d. col. 
 
 THE LITTLE READER; 
 
 A Progressive Step to Knowledge. Fourth Edition, with 
 sixteen Plates. Price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 MAMMA'S LESSONS 
 
 For her Little Boys and Girls. Thirteenth Edition, with eight 
 Engravings. Price 2s. (id. cloth ; 3s. b'd. coloured, gilt 
 edges. 
 
 THE MINE; 
 
 Or, Subterranean Wonders. An Account of the Operations 
 of the Miner, and the Products of his Labours. By the late 
 Rev. Isaac Taylor. Sixth Edition, with numerous cor- 
 rections and additions, by Mrs. Loudon. With 45 Wood- 
 cuts and 16 Steel Engravings. 3s. 6d. cloth.
 
 ol GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 
 THE OCEAN: 
 
 A Description of Wonders and important Products of thu 
 Sea. Second Edition. With Illustrations of 37 Genera of 
 Shells, by SOWEBBY; and 4 Steel and 50 Wood Engravings. 
 3s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 THE RIVAL CRUSOES, 
 
 And other Tales. By Agnes Strickland, Author of "The 
 Queens of England." Sixth Edition. Price 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 SHORT TALES, 
 
 Written for Children. By Dame Trueloye and her Friends. 
 A new Edition, with 20 Engravings. 3s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 THE STUDENTS; 
 
 Or, Biographies of the Grecian Philosophers. 12mo, price 
 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 STORIES OF EDWARD AND HIS LITTLE FRIENDS. 
 
 With 12 Illustrations. Second Edit. 3s. 6d. plain ; 4s. 6d. col. 
 
 SUNDAY LESSONS FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 By Mrs. Barwell. Fourth Edition. 2s. 6d. plain ; 3s. col. 
 
 A VISIT TO GROVE COTTAGE, 
 
 And the India Cabinet Opened. By the Author of "Fruits 
 of Enterprise. " New Edition. 18mo, price 3a. cloth. 
 
 DISSECTIONS FOR YOUNG CHILDREN. 
 
 In a Neat Box. Price 5s. each. 
 
 1. Scenes from the Lives of Joseph and Moses. 
 
 2. Scenes from the History of Our Saviour. 
 
 3. Old Mother Hubbard and her Dog. 
 
 4. The Life and Death of Cock Kobin. 
 
 TWO SHILLINGS EACH, CLOTH. 
 With Frontispiece, <L-c. 
 
 DEB SCHWATZEK : an 
 amusing Introduction to the 
 
 COUNSELS AT HOME ; 
 with Anecdotes, Tales, &c. 
 
 German Language. 16plates. MORAL TALES. By a Fa- 
 LE BABILLARD; an amus- I THBB. With 2 Engravii 
 
 ing Introduction to the j ANECDOTES OF PETER 
 French Language. 16 plates. THE GREAT, Emperor of 
 
 Sixth Edition. Russia. ISmo.
 
 SUCCESSOKS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS. 
 
 35 
 
 ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE EACH, CLOTH. 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF A 
 GENIUS. By Mrs. Hof- 
 
 LAND. 
 
 ELLEN THE TEACHER. 
 By Mks. Hofland. 
 
 THE SOX OF A GENIUS. 
 By Mrs. Hoflaxd. 
 
 THEODORE ; or, the Cru- 
 saders. By Mrs. Hofland. 
 
 TRIMMER'S (MRS.) OLD 
 TESTAMENT LESSONS. 
 With 40 Engravings. 
 
 TRIMMER'S (MRS.) NEW 
 TESTAMENT LESSONS. 
 
 "With 40 Engravings. 
 
 ONE SHILLING EACH, CLOTH. 
 
 SPRING FLOWERS and the 
 MONTHLY MONITUR. 
 
 THE CHILD'S DUTY". 
 
 The HISTORY of PRINCE 
 LEE BOO. Twentieth 
 Edition. 
 
 Price Is. plain, Is. 6d. coloured cloth. 
 
 THE DAISY. Twenty-seventh 
 Edition. With Thirty En- 
 gravings. 
 
 THE COWSLIP. Twenty- 
 fourth Edition. With 
 Thirty Engravings. 
 
 DURABLE NURSERY BOOKS, 
 
 MOUNTED ON CLOTH, WITH COLOURED PLATES, 
 ONE SHILLING EACH. 
 
 1 Alphabet of Goody Two- 
 
 Shoes. 
 
 2 Cinderella. 
 
 3 Cock Robin. 
 
 4 Courtship of Jenny 
 
 Wren. 
 
 5 Dame Trot and her Cat. 
 
 6 History of an Apple Pie. 
 
 7 House that Jack built. 
 
 8 Little Rhymes for Little 
 
 Folks. 
 
 9 Mother Hubbard. 
 
 10 Monkey's Frolic. 
 
 11 Old Woman and her Pig. 
 
 12 Puss in Boots. 
 
 13 Tommy Trip's Museum of 
 
 Birds, Part I. 
 U Part II. 
 
 DURABLE BOOKS FOR SUNDAY READING. 
 
 Price 6d. each. 
 
 SCENES FROM THE LIVES OF JOSEPH AND MOSES. 
 With Illustrations by John Gilbert. Printed on Linen. 
 
 SCENES FROM THE HISTORY OF OUR SAVIOUR. 
 With Illustrations by John Gilbert. Printed on Linen. 

 
 36 PUBLISHED BY GRIFFITH AND FARRAN. 
 
 ONE THOUSAND ARITHMETICAL TESTS ; 
 
 Or, the Examiner's Assistant, specially adapted, by a Novel 
 Arrangement of the Subject, for Examination Purposes, but 
 also suited for general Use in Schools. By T. S. Cayzer, 
 Head Master of Queen Elizabeth's Hospital, Bristol. Second 
 Edition, revised and stereotyped. 12mo, price Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 Answers to the above, price Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 DARNELL'S EDUCATIONAL WORKS. 
 
 The attention of all interested in the subject of Education is 
 invited to these "Works, now in extensive use throughout the 
 Kingdom, prepared by Mr. Darnell, a Schoolmaster of many 
 years' experience. 
 
 1. COPY BOOKS. — A sure and certain road to a Good 
 
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 Large Post, Sixteen Is umbers, 6d. each. 
 
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 •_• This series may also be had on very superior paper, marble covers, 
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 2. GRAMMAR made intelligible to Children, Is. cloth. 
 
 3. ARITHMETIC made intelligible to Children, Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 , *«* Key to Parts 2 and 3, price Is. cloth. 
 
 4. READING, a Short and Certain Road to, price 6d. cloth. 
 
 GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, 
 COEHEB OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. 
 
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