BERKELEY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 
 f./t/A 
 
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The waters rose e^ery instant with sullen sound. 
 
 p 283. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 036 
 
 47/6 
 
 PAGE 
 COTJSIX PlIILLlS 5 
 
 Company Manneks 139 
 
 ilK. Haeiuson's Co>:fessio.ns 167 
 
 TuE Sexto:s's Hep.o *272 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 witii funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 littp://www.archive.org/details/cousinphillisotliOOgaskrich 
 
COUSIN PHILLISi 
 
 AND OTHEE TALES. 
 
 COUSI]^ PHILLIS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 It is a great thing for a lad when he is first turned into 
 the independence of lodgings. I do not think I ever 
 was so satisfied and proud in my life as when, at seven- 
 teen, I sate down in a little three-cornered room above a 
 pastry-cook's shop in the county town of Eltham. My 
 father had left me that afternoon, after delivering him- 
 self of a few plain precepts, strongly expressed, for my 
 guidance in the new course of life on which I was enter- 
 ing. I was to be a clerk under the engineer who had 
 undertaken to make the little branch line from Eltham 
 to Hornby. My father had got me this situation, which 
 was in a position rather above his own in life ; or per- 
 haps I should say, above the station in which he was 
 
 1—3 
 
6 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 bom and bred ; for he was raising himself eveiy year in 
 men's consideration and respect. He was a mechanic 
 by trade, but he had some inventive genius, and a great 
 deal of perseverance, and had devised several valuable 
 improvements in railway machinery. He did not do this 
 for profit, though, as was reasonable, what came in the 
 natural course of things was acceptable ; he worked out 
 his ideas, because, as he said, " until he could put them 
 into shape, they plagued him by night and by day." 
 But this is enough about my dear father ; it is a good 
 thing for a country where there are many like him. He 
 was a sturdy Independent by descent and conviction; 
 and this it was, I believe, which made him place me in 
 the lodgings at the pastry-cook's. The shop was kept 
 by the two sisters of our minister at home ; and this 
 was considered as a sort of safeguard to my morals, when 
 I was turned loose upon the temptations of the county 
 town, with a salary of thirty pounds a year. 
 
 My father had given up two precious days, and put on 
 his Sunday clothes, in order to bring me to Eltham, and 
 accompany me first to the ofiice, to introduce me to my 
 new master (wlio was under some obligations to my father 
 for a suggestion), and next to take me to call on the 
 Independent minister of the little congregation at Eltham. 
 And then he left me ; and though sorry to part with him, 
 I now began to taste with relish the pleasure of being 
 my own master. I unpacked the hamper that my 
 mother had provided me with, and smelt the pots of 
 preserve with all the delight of a possessor who might 
 break into their contents at any time he pleased. I 
 handled and weighed in my fancy the home-cured ham, 
 which seemed to promise me interminable feasts ; and. 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 7 
 
 above all, there was the fine savour of knowing that I 
 might eat of these dainties when I liked, at my sole ^vill, 
 not dependent on the pleasure of any one else, however 
 indulgent. I stowed my eatables away in the little corner 
 cupboard — that room was all corners, and everything was 
 placed in a corner, the fire-place, the window, the cup- 
 board ; I myself seemed to be the only thing in the 
 middle, and there was hardly room for me. The table 
 was made of a folding leaf under the window, and the 
 window looked out upon the market-place ; so the studies 
 for the prosecution of which my father had brought him- 
 self to pay extra for a sitting-room for me, ran a con- 
 siderable chance of being diverted from books to men 
 and women. I was to have my meals with the two 
 elderly Miss Browns in the little parlour behind the 
 thi-ee-comered shop downstairs ; my breakfasts and din- 
 ners at least, for, as my hours in an evening were likely 
 to be uncertain, my tea or supper was to be an indepen- 
 dent meal. 
 
 Then, after this pride and satisfaction, came a sense 
 of desolation. I had never been fi'om home before, and 
 I was an only child ; and though my father's spoken 
 maxim had been, " Spare the rod, and spoil the child," 
 yet, unconsciously, his heart had yearned after me, and 
 his ways towards me were more tender than he knew, or 
 would have approved of in himself could he have known. 
 My mother, who never professed sternness, was far more 
 severe than my father : perhaps my boyish faults annoyed 
 her more ; for I remember, now that I have written the 
 above words, how she pleaded for me once in my riper 
 years, when I had really offended against my father's 
 sense of right. 
 
8 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 But I have nothing to do with that now. It is about 
 cousin Phillis that I am going to write, and as yet I am 
 far enough from even saying who cousin Phillis was. 
 
 For some months after I was settled in Eltham, the 
 new employment in which I was engaged — the new inde- 
 pendence of my life — occupied all my thoughts. I was 
 at my desk by eight o'clock, home to dinner at one, back 
 at the office by two. The afternoon work was more un- 
 certain than the mornings ; it might be the same, or it 
 might be that I had to accompany Mr. Holdsworth, the 
 managing engineer, to some point on the line between 
 Eltham and Hornby. This I always enjoyed, because of 
 the variety, and because of the country we traversed 
 (which was very wild and pretty), and because I was 
 thrown into companionship with Mr. Holdsworth, who 
 held the position of hero in my boyish mind. He was a 
 young man of five-and-twenty or so, and was in a station 
 above mine, both by birth and education ; and he had 
 travelled on the Continent, and wore mustachios and 
 whiskers of a somewhat foreign fashion. I was proud of 
 being seen with him. He was really a fine fellow in a 
 good number of ways, and I might have fallen into much 
 worse hands. 
 
 Every Saturday I wrote home, telling of my weekly 
 doings — my father had insisted upon this; but there 
 was so little variety in my life that I often found it hard 
 work to fill a letter. On Sundays I went twice to chapel, 
 up a dark narrow entry, to hear droning hymns, and long 
 prayers, and a still longer sermon, preached to a small 
 congregation, of which I was, by nearly a score of years, 
 the youngest member. Occasionally, Mr. Peters, the 
 minister, would ask me home to tea after the second 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 9 
 
 service. I dreaded the honeur, for I usually sate on the 
 edge of my chair all the evening, and answered solemn 
 questions, put in a deep bass voice, until household 
 prayer-time came, at eight o'clock, when Mrs. Peters 
 came in, smoothing down her apron, and the maid-of-all- 
 work followed, and first a sermon, and then a chapter 
 was read, and a long impromptu prayer followed, till 
 some instinct told Mr. Peters that supper-time had come, 
 and we rose from our knees with hunger for our pre- 
 dominant feeling. Over supper the minister did unbend 
 a little into one or two ponderous jokes, as if to show me 
 that ministers were men, after all. And then at ten 
 o'clock I went home, and enjoyed my long-repressed 
 yawns in the three-cornered room before going to bed. 
 
 Dinah and Hannah Dawson, so theii' names were put 
 on the board above the shop-door — I always called them 
 Miss Dawson and Miss Hannah — considered these visits 
 of mine to Mr. Peters as the greatest honour a young 
 man could have ; and evidently thought that if, after 
 such privileges, I did not work out my salvation, I was a 
 sort of modern Judas Iscariot. On the contrary, they 
 shook theii' heads over my intercourse with Mr. Holds- 
 worth. He had been so kind to me in many ways, that 
 when I cut into my ham, I hovered over the thought of 
 asking him to tea in my room, more especially as the 
 annual fair was being held in Eltham market-place, and 
 the sight of the booths, the merry-go-rounds, the wild- 
 beast shows, and such country pomps, was (as I thought 
 at seventeen) very attractive. But when I ventured to 
 allude to my wish in even distant terms. Miss Hannah 
 caught me up, and spoke of the sinfulness of such sights, 
 and something about wallowing in the mire, and then 
 
10 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 vaulted into France, and spoke evil of the nation, and 
 all who had ever set foot therein, till, seeing that her 
 anger was concentrating itself into a point, and that that 
 point was Mr. Holdsworth, I thought it would be better 
 to finish my breakfast, and make what haste I could out 
 of the sound of her voice. I rather wondered afterwards 
 to hear her and Miss Dawson counting up their weekly 
 profits with glee, and saying that a pastiy-cook's shop in 
 the comer of the market-place, in Eltham fair week, was 
 no such bad thing. However, I never ventured to ask 
 Mr. Holdsworth to my lodgings. 
 
 There is not much to tell about this fii'st year of mine 
 at Eltham. But when I was nearly nineteen, and begin- 
 ning to think of whiskers on my own account, I came to 
 know cousin Phillis, whose very existence had been 
 unknown to me till then. Mr. Holdsworth and I had 
 been out to Heathbridge for a day, working hard. 
 Heathbridge was near Hornby, for our line of railway 
 was above half finished. Of course, a day's outing was 
 a great thing to tell about in my weekly letters ; and I 
 fell to describing the country — a fault I was not often 
 guilty of. I told my father of the bogs, all over wild 
 myrtle and soft moss, and shaking ground over which we 
 had to carry our line ; and how Mr. Holdsworth and I 
 had gone for our mid- day meals — for we had to stay 
 here for two days and a night — to a pretty village hard 
 by, Heathbridge proper ; and how I hoped we should 
 often have to go there, for the shaking, uncertain ground 
 was puzzling our engineers — one end of the line going 
 up as soon as the other was weighted down. (I had no 
 thought for the shareholders' interests, as may be seen ; 
 we had to make a new line on firmer ground before the 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 11 
 
 junction railway was completed.) I told all this at great 
 length, thankful to fill up my paper. By return letter, I 
 heard that a second- cousin of my mother's was married 
 to the Independent minister of Hornby, Ebenezer Holman 
 by name, and lived at Heathbridge proper ; the very 
 Heathbridge I had described, or so my mother believed, 
 for she had never seen her cousin Phillis Green, who was 
 something of an heiress (my father believed), being her 
 father's only child, and old Thomas Green had owned an 
 estate of near upon fifty acres, which must have come to 
 his daughter. My mother's feeling of kinship seemed 
 to have been strongly stirred by the mention of Heath- 
 bridge ; for my father said she desired me, if ever I went 
 thither again, to make inquiiy for the Eeverend Ebenezer 
 Holman ; and if indeed he lived there, I was further to 
 ask if he had not married one Phillis Green ; and if both 
 these questions were answered in the affirmative, I was 
 to go and introduce myself as the only child of Margaret 
 Manning, born Moneypenny. I was enraged at myself 
 for having named Heathbridge at all, when I found what 
 it was drawing down upon me. One Independent minis- 
 ter, as I said to myself, was enough for any man ; and 
 here I knew (that is to say, I had been catechized on 
 Sabbath mornings by) Mr. Hunter, our minister at home ; 
 and I had had to be civil to old Peters at Eltham, and 
 behave myself for five hours running whenever he asked 
 me to tea at his house ; and now, just as I felt the free 
 air blowing about me up at Heathbridge, I was to ferret 
 out another minister, and I should perhaps have to be 
 catechized by him, or else asked to^tea at his house. 
 Besides, I did not like pushing myself upon strangers, 
 who perhaps had never heard of my mother's name, and 
 
12 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 such an odd ncame as it was — Moneypenny ; and if tliey 
 had, had never cared more for her than she had for them, 
 apparently, until this unlucky mention of Heathbridge. 
 
 Still, I would not disobey my parents in such a trifle, 
 however irksome it might be. So the next time our 
 business took me to Heathbridge, and we were dining in 
 the little sanded inn-parlour, I took the opportunity of 
 Mr. Holdsworth's being out of the room, and asked the 
 questions which I was bidden to ask of the rosy- cheeked 
 maid. I was either unintelligible or she was stupid ; 
 for she said she did not know, but would ask master ; 
 and of course the landlord came in to understand what 
 it was I wanted to know ; and I had to bring out all my 
 stammering inquiries before Mr. Holdsworth, who would 
 never have attended to them, I dare say, if I had not 
 blushed, and blundered, and made such a fool of myself. 
 
 *' Yes," the landlord said, *' the Hope Farm was in 
 Heathbridge proper, and the owner's name was Holman, 
 and he was an Independent minister, and, as far as the 
 landlord could tell, his wife's Christian name was Phillis, 
 anyhow her maiden name was Green." 
 
 " Eolations of yours ? " asked Mr. Holdsworth. 
 
 " No, sir — only my mother's second-cousins. Yes, 
 I suppose they are relations. But I never saw them in 
 my Hfe." 
 
 " The Hope Farm is not a stone's thi'ow from here," 
 said the ofl&cious landlord, going to the window. " If 
 you carry your eye over yon bed of hollyhocks, over the 
 damson-trees in the orchard yonder, you may see a 
 stack of queer-like stone chimneys. Them is the Hope 
 Farm chimneys ; it's an old place, though Holman keeps 
 it in good order." 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 13 
 
 I^Ii'. Holdsworth had risen from the table with more 
 promptitude than I had, and was standing by the window, 
 looking. At the landlord's last words, he turned round, 
 smiling, — " It is not often that parsons know how to 
 keep land in order, is it ? " 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, but I must speak as I find ; and 
 Minister Holman — we call the Church clergymen here 
 ' parson,' sir ; he would be a bit jealous if he heard 
 a Dissenter called parson — Minister Holman knows 
 what he's about as well as e'er a faiTaer in the neigh- 
 bourhood. He gives up five days a week to his own 
 work, and two to the Lord's ; and it is difficult to say 
 which he works hardest at. He spends Saturday and 
 Sunday a-writing sermons and a-visiting his flock at 
 Hornby; and at five o'clock on Monday morning he'll 
 be guiding his plough in the Hope Farm yonder just as 
 well as if he could neither read nor write. But your 
 dinner will be getting cold, gentlemen." 
 
 So we went back to table. After a while, Mr. Holds- 
 worth broke the silence : — '' If I were you, Manning, 
 I'd look up these relations of yours. You can go and 
 see what they're like while we're waiting for Dobson's 
 estimates, and I'll smoke a cigar in the garden mean- 
 while." 
 
 ''Thank you, sir. But I don't know them, and I 
 don't think I want to know them." 
 
 "What did you ask all those questions for, then?" 
 said he, looking quickly up at me. He had no notion 
 of doing or saying things without a purpose. I did 
 not answer, so he continued, — "Make up your mind, 
 and go ofi' and see what this farmer-minister is like, and 
 come back and tell me — I should like to hear." 
 
14 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 I was so in the habit of yielding to his authority, or 
 influence, that I never thought of resisting, but went on 
 my errand, though I remember feeling as if I would 
 rather have had my head cut off. The landlord, who 
 had evidently taken an interest in the event of our 
 discussion in a way that country landlords have, accom- 
 panied me to the house-door, and gave me repeated 
 directions, as if I was likely to miss my way in two 
 hundred yards. But I listened to him, for I was glad 
 of the delay, to screw up my courage for the effort of 
 facing unknown people and introducing myself. I went 
 along the lane, I recollect, switching at all the taller 
 roadside weeds, till, after a turn or two, I found myself 
 close in front of the Hope Farm. There was a garden 
 between the house and the shady, grassy lane ; I after- 
 wards found that this garden was called the court ; 
 perhaps because there was a low wall round it, with 
 an iron railing on the top of the wall, and two great 
 gates between pillars crowned with stone balls for a 
 state entrance to the flagged path leading up to the 
 front door. It was not the habit of the place to go 
 in either by these great gates or by the front door; 
 the gates, indeed, were locked, as I found, though the 
 door stood wide open. I had to go round by a side- 
 path lightly worn on a broad grassy way, which led 
 past the court-wall, past a horse-mount, half covered 
 with stone-crop and the little wild yellow fumitory, to 
 another door — "the curate," as I found it was termed 
 by the master of the house, while the front door, 
 " handsome and all for show," was termed the *' rector." 
 I knocked with my hand upon the " curate " door ; 
 a tall girl, about my o^vn age, as I thought, came and 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 15 
 
 opened it, and stood there silent, waiting to know my 
 errand. I see her now — cousin Phillis. The westering 
 sun shone full upon her, and made a slanting stream of 
 light into the room within. She was dressed in dark 
 blue cotton of some kind; up to her throat, down to 
 her wrists, with a little frill of the same wherever it 
 touched her white skin. And such a white skin as it 
 was ! I have never seen the like. She had light hair, 
 nearer yellow than any other colour. She looked me 
 steadily in the face with large, quiet eyes, wondering, 
 but untroubled by the sight of a stranger. I thought 
 it odd that so old, so full-grown as she was, she should 
 wear a pinafore over her gown. 
 
 Before I had quite made up my mind what to say in 
 reply to her mute inquiry of what I wanted there, a 
 woman's voice called out, " Who is it, Phillis ? If it 
 is any one for butter- milk send them round to the 
 back-door." 
 
 I thought I could rather speak to the owner of that 
 voice than to the girl before me ; so I passed her, and 
 stood at the entrance of a room, hat in hand, for this 
 side-door opened straight into the hall or house-place 
 where the family sate when work was done. There 
 was a brisk little woman of forty or so ironing some 
 huge muslin cravats under the light of a long vine- 
 shaded casement window. She looked at me distrust- 
 fully till I began to speak. " My name is Paul 
 Manning," said I; but I saw she did not know the 
 name. '' My mother's name was Moneypenny," said 
 I, — " Margaret Moneypenny." 
 
 " And she married one John Manning, of Birming- 
 ham," said Mrs. Holman, eagerly. *' And you'll be 
 
16 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 her son. Sit down ! I am right glad to see you. To 
 think of your being Margaret's son ! Why, she was 
 almost a child not so long ago. Well, to be sure, 
 it is five-and-twenty years ago. And what brings you 
 into these parts ? " 
 
 She sate down herself, as if oppressed by her curiosity 
 as to all the five-and-twenty years that had passed 
 by since she had seen my mother. Her daughter 
 Phillis took up her knitting — a long grey worsted man's 
 stocking, I remember — and knitted away without looking 
 at her work. I felt that the steady gaze of those deep 
 grey eyes was upon me, though once, when I stealthily 
 raised mine to hers, she was examining something on 
 the wall above my head. 
 
 When I had answered all my cousin Holman's ques- 
 tions, she heaved a long breath, and said, " To think 
 of Margaret Moneypenny's boy being in our house ! I 
 wish the minister was here. Phillis, in what field is 
 thy father to-day ? " 
 
 "In the five-acre; they are beginning to cut the 
 corn." 
 
 '' He'll not like being sent for, then, else I should 
 have liked you to have seen the minister. But the five- 
 acre is a good step ofi". You shall have a glass of wine 
 and a bit of cake before you stir from this house, though. 
 You're bound to go, you say, or else the minister comes 
 in mostly when the men have their four o'clock." 
 
 *' I must go — I ought to have been ofi* before now." 
 
 " Here, then, Phillis, take the keys." She gave her 
 daughter some whispered directions, and Phillis left the 
 room. 
 
 ** She is my cousin, is she not ?" I asked. I knew 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 17 
 
 slie was, but somehow I wanted to talk of her, and did 
 not know how to begin. 
 
 " Yes — Phillis Holman. She is our only child — 
 now." 
 
 Either from that " now," or from a strange momentary 
 wistfulness in her eyes, I knew that there had been more 
 children, who were now dead. 
 
 "How old is cousin Phillis?" said I, scarcely ven- 
 turing on the new name, it seemed too prettily familiar 
 for me to call her by it ; but cousin Holman took no 
 notice of it, answering straight to the purpose. 
 
 *' Seventeen last May-day ; but the minister does not 
 like to hear me calling it May-day," said she, checking 
 herself with a little awe. " Phillis was seventeen on the 
 first day of May last," she repeated in an emended 
 edition. 
 
 ''And I am nineteen in another month," thought I, 
 to myself ; I don't know why. 
 
 Then Phillis came in, carrying a tray with wine and 
 cake upon it. 
 
 " AVe keep a house-servant," said cousin Holman, 
 '' but it is churning day, and she is busy." It was 
 meant as a little proud apology for her daughter's being 
 the handmaiden. 
 
 ''I like doing it, mother," said Phillis, in her grave, 
 full voice. 
 
 I felt as if I were somebody in the Old Testament — 
 who, I could not recollect — being served and waited upon 
 by the daughter of the host. Was I like Abraham's 
 steward, when Piebekah gave him to drink at the well ? 
 I thought Isaac had not gone the pleasantest way to 
 work in winning him a wife. But Phillis never thought 
 
18 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 al)Out sncli things. She was a stately, gracious young 
 woman, in the di'ess and with the simplicity of a 
 child. 
 
 As I had been taught, I drank to the health of my 
 new-found cousin and her husband ; and then I ventured 
 to name my cousin Phillis with a little bow of my head 
 towards her; but I was too awkvv^ard to look and see 
 how she took my compliment. ** I must go now," said 
 I, rising. 
 
 Neither of the women had thought of sharing in the 
 wine ; cousin Holman had broken a bit of cake for 
 fonn's sake. 
 
 " I wish the minister had been within," said his wife, 
 rising too. Secretly I was very glad he was not. I did 
 not take kindly to ministers in those days, and I thought 
 he must be a particular kind of man, by his objecting to 
 the term May-day. But before I went, cousin Holman 
 made me promise that I would come back on the 
 Saturday following and spend Sunday with them ; whea 
 I should see something of *' the minister." 
 
 " Come on Friday, if you can," were her last words 
 as she stood at the curate-door, shading her eyes from 
 the sinking sun with her hand. 
 
 Inside the house sate cousin Phillis, her golden hair, 
 her dazzling complexion, lighting up the corner of the 
 vine-shadowed room. She had not risen when I bade 
 her good-by ; she had looked at me straight as she said 
 her tranquil words of farewell. 
 
 I found Mr. Holdsworth do^ra at the line, hard at 
 "work superintending. As soon as he had a pause, he 
 said, "Well, Manning, what are the new cousins like ? 
 How do preaching and farming seem to get on together ? 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 19 
 
 If the minister turns out to be practical as well as 
 reverend, I shall begin to respect hun." 
 
 But he hardly attended to my answer, he was so 
 much more occupied with directing his work-people. 
 Indeed, my answer did not come very readily ; and the 
 most distinct part of it was the mention of the invitation 
 that had been given me. 
 
 " Oh, of course you can go — and on Friday, too, if 
 you like; there is no reason why not this week; and 
 you've done a long spell of work this time, old 
 fellow." 
 
 I thought that I did not want to go on Friday ; but 
 when the day came, I found that I should prefer going 
 to staying away, so I availed myself of Mr. Holdsworth's 
 permission, and went over to Hope Farm some time in 
 the afternoon, a little later than my last visit. I found 
 the " curate " open to admit the soft September air, so 
 tempered by the wannth of the sun, that it was warmer 
 out of doors than in, although the wooden log lay 
 smouldering in front of a heap of hot ashes on the 
 hearth. The vine -leaves over the window had a tinge 
 more yellow, their hedges were here and there scorched 
 and browned; there was no ii'oning about, and cousin 
 Holman sate just outside the house, mending a shirt. 
 Phillis was at her knitting indoors : it seemed as if she 
 had been at it all the v/eek. The many-speckled fowls 
 were pecking about in the farmyard beyond, and the 
 milk-cans glittered with brightness, hung out to sweeten. 
 The court was so full of flowers that they crept out upon 
 the low-covered wall and horse-mount, and were even to 
 be found self-sown upon the turf that bordered the path 
 to the back of the house. I fancied that my Sunday 
 
20 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 coat -was scented for days afterwards by tlie bushes of 
 sweetbriar and the fraxinella that perfumed the air. 
 From time to time cousin Holman put her hand into a 
 covered basket at her feet, and threw handsful of com 
 down for the pigeons that cooed and fluttered in the air 
 around, in expectation of this treat. 
 
 I had a thorough welcome as soon as she saw me. 
 *' Now this is kind — this is right down friendly," 
 shaking my hand warmly. *' Phillis, your cousin 
 Manning is come ! " 
 
 " Call me Paul, will you ? " said I ; " they call me so 
 at home, and Manning in the office." 
 
 " Well, Paul, then. Your room is all ready for you, 
 Paul, for, as I said to the minister, ' I'll have it ready 
 whether he comes o' Friday or not.' And the minister 
 said he must go up to the Ashfield whether you were to 
 come or not ; but he would come home betimes to see if 
 you were here. I'll show you to your room, and you can 
 wash the dust off a bit." 
 
 After I came down, I think she did not quite know 
 what to do with me ; or she might think that I was dull ; 
 or she might have work to do in which I hindered her ; for 
 she called Phillis, and bade her put on her bonnet, and 
 go with me to the Ashfield, and find father. So we set 
 off, I in a little flutter of a desire to make myself agree- 
 able, but wishing that my companion were not quite so 
 tall; for she was above me in height. While I was 
 wondeiing how to begin our conversation, she took up 
 the words. 
 
 " I suppose, cousin Paul, you have to be very busy at 
 your work all day long in general." 
 
 *' Yes, we have to be in the office at half-past eight; 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 21 
 
 and we have an hour for dinner, and then we go at it 
 again till eight or nine." 
 
 " Then you have not much time for reading." 
 
 " No," said I, with a sudden consciousness that I did 
 not make the most of what leisure I had. 
 
 " No more have I. Father always gets an hour 
 before going a-field in the mornings, but mother does 
 not like me to get up so early." 
 
 " My mother is always wanting me to get up earher 
 when I am at home." 
 
 " What time do you get up ? " 
 
 *'0h! — ah! — sometimes half-past sis; not often 
 though; " for I remembered only twice that I had done 
 so during the past summer. 
 
 She turned her head and looked at me. 
 
 " Father is up at thi-ee ; and so was mother till she 
 was ill. I should like to be up at four." 
 
 " Your father up at three ! Why, what has he to do 
 at that hour? " 
 
 " What has he not to do ? He has his private 
 exercise in his own room; he always rings the great 
 bell which calls the men to milking; he rouses up 
 Betty, our maid; as often as not he gives the horses 
 their feed before the man is up — ^for Jem, who takes 
 care of the horses, is an old man ; and father is always 
 loth to disturb him; he looks at the calves, and the 
 shoulders, heels, traces, chaff, and corn before the 
 horses go a-field ; he has often to whip-cord the plough- 
 whips ; he sees the hogs fed ; he looks into the swill- 
 tubs, and writes his orders for what is wanted for food 
 for man and beast ; yes, and for fuel, too. And then, if 
 he has a bit of time to spare, he comes in and reads 
 
22 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 Tvith me— "but only English; we keep Latin for tlie 
 evenings, that we may have time to enjoy it ; and then 
 he calls in the man to breakfast, and cuts the boys' 
 bread and cheese ; and sees their wooden bottles filled, 
 and sends them off to their work ; — and by this time it 
 is half-past six, and we have our breakfast. There is 
 father," she exclaimed, pointing out to me a man in his 
 shirt-sleeves, taller by the head than the other two with 
 whom he was working. We only saw him through the 
 leaves of the ash-trees growing in the hedge, and I 
 thought I must be confusing the figures, or mistaken : 
 that man still looked like a very powerful labourer, and 
 had none of the precise demureness of appearance which 
 I had always imagined was the characteristic of a 
 minister. It was the Reverend Ebenezer Holman, how- 
 ever. He gave us a nod as we entered the stubble- 
 field ; and I think he would have come to meet us but 
 that he was in the middle of giving some du*ections to his 
 men. I could see that Phillis was built more after his 
 type than her mother's. He, like his daughter, was 
 largely made, and of a fair, ruddy complexion, whereas 
 hers was brilliant and delicate. His hair had been 
 yellow or sandy, but now was grizzled. Yet his grey 
 haii-s betokened no failure in strength. I never saw 
 a more powerful man — deep chest, lean flanks, well- 
 planted head. By this time we were nearly up to 
 him ; and he interrupted himself and stepped forwards ; 
 holding out his hand to me, but addressing Phillis. 
 
 " Well, my lass, this is cousin Manning, I suppose. 
 Wait a minute, young man, and I'll put on my coat, and 
 
 give you a decorous and formal welcome. But Ned 
 
 Hall, there ouofht to be a water-furrow across this land : 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 23 
 
 it's a nasty, stiff, clayey, dauby bit of ground, and tbou 
 and I must fall to, come next Monday — I beg your 
 pardon, cousin Manning — and there's old Jem's cottage 
 wants a bit of tliatcli ; you can do that job to-morrow 
 while I am busy." Then, suddenly changing the tone 
 of his deep bass voice to an odd suggestion of chapels 
 and preachers, he added, *'Now, I will give out the 
 psalm, * Come all harmonious tongues,' to be sung to 
 * Mount Ephraim ' tune." 
 
 He lifted his spade in his hand, and began to beat 
 time with it; the two labourers seemed to know both 
 words and music, though I did not ; and so did Phillis : 
 her rich voice followed her father's as he set the tune ; 
 and the men came in with more uncertainty, but still 
 harmoniously. PhiUis looked at me once or twice with 
 a little surprise at my silence ; but I did not know the 
 words. There we five stood, bareheaded, excepting 
 Phillis, in the tawny stubble-field, from which all the 
 shocks of corn had not yet been carried — a dark wood 
 on one side, where the woodpigeons were cooing; blue 
 distance seen through the ash-trees on the other. Some- 
 how, I think that if I had known the words, and could 
 have sung, my throat would have been choked up hy the 
 feeling of the unaccustomed scene. 
 
 The hymn was ended, and the men had di'awn off 
 before I could stir. I saw the minister beginning to put 
 on his coat, and looking at me with fi-iendly inspection 
 in his gaze, before I could rouse myself. 
 
 " I dare say you railway gentlemen don't wind up the 
 day with singing a psalm together," said he ; " but it is 
 not a bad practice — not a bad practice. We have had it 
 ^ bit earlier to-day for hospitality's sake — that's all." 
 
24: COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 I had notliing particular to say to this, though I was 
 thinking a great deal. From time to time I stole a look 
 at my companion. His coat was black, and so was his 
 waistcoat ; neckcloth he had none, his strong full throat 
 being hare above the snow-white shirt. He wore drab- 
 coloured knee-breeches, grey worsted stockings (I 
 thought I knew the maker), and strong-nailed shoes. 
 He carried his hat in his hand, as if he liked to feel the 
 coming breeze lifting his hair. After a while, I saw 
 that the father took hold of the daughter's hand, and so, 
 they holding each other, went along towards home. We 
 had to cross a lane. In it there were two little children, 
 one lying prone on the grass in a passion of crying, the 
 other standing stock still, with its finger in its mouth, 
 the large tears slowly rolling down its cheeks for sym- 
 pathy. The cause of their distress was evident ; there 
 was a broken brown pitcher, and a little pool of spilt 
 milk on the road. 
 
 " Hollo ! Hollo ! What's all this ? " said the minister. 
 *' Why, what have you been about. Tommy," lifting the 
 little petticoated lad, who was lying sobbing, with one 
 vigorous arm. Tommy looked at him with surprise in 
 his round eyes, but no affright — they were evidently old 
 acquaintances. 
 
 " Mammy's jug! " said he, at last, beginning to cry 
 afresh. 
 
 *' Well ! and will crying piece mammy's jug, or pick 
 up spilt milk ? How did you manage it. Tommy ?" 
 
 " Ho" (jerking his head at the other) " and me was 
 running races." 
 
 *' Tommy said he could beat me," put in the other. 
 
 ** Now, I wonder what will make you two silly lads 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 25 
 
 mind, and not run races again with a pitcher of milk 
 between you," said the minister, as if musing. " I 
 might flog you, and so save mammy the trouble ; for I 
 dare say she'll do it if I don't." The fresh burst of 
 whim^Dering from both showed the probability of this. 
 *' Or I might take you to the Hope Farm, and give you 
 some more milk ; but then you'd be running races again, 
 and my milk would follow that to the ground, and make 
 another white pool. I think the flogging would be best 
 — don't you ?" 
 
 " We would never run races no more," said the elder 
 of the two. 
 
 " Then you'd not be boys ; you'd be angels." 
 
 *' No, we shouldn't." 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 They looked into each other's eyes for an answer to 
 this puzzling question. At length, one said, " Angels 
 is dead folk." 
 
 '' Come ; we'll not get too deep into theology. What 
 do you think of my lending you a tin can with a lid to 
 carry the milk home in ? That would not break, at any 
 rate ; though I w^ould not answer for the milk not spill- 
 ing if you ran races. That's it !" 
 
 He had dropped his daughter's hand, and now held 
 out each of his to the little fellows. Phillis and I fol- 
 lowed, and listened to the prattle which the minister's 
 companions now poured out to him, and which he was 
 evidently enjoying. At a certain point, there was a 
 sudden burst of the tawny, ruddy-evening landscape. 
 The minister turned round and quoted a line or two of 
 Latin. 
 
 " It's wonderful," said he, " how exactly Virgil has 
 
^6 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 hit the enduring epithets, nearly two thousand years ago, 
 and in Italy ; and yet how it describes to a T what is 
 now lying hefore us in the parish of Heathhridge, 
 comity , England." 
 
 ^' I dare say it does," said I, all aglow with shame, 
 for I had forgotten the little Latin I ever knew. 
 
 The minister shifted his eyes to Phillis's face; it 
 mutely gave him back the sympathetic appreciation that 
 I, in my ignorance, could not bestow. 
 
 " Oh ! this is w^orse than the catechism," thought I ; 
 *' that was only remembering words." 
 
 " Phillis, lass, thou must go home with these lads, 
 and tell their mother all about the race and the milk. 
 Mammy must always know the truth," now speaking to 
 the children. '' And tell her, too, from me that I have 
 got the best birch rod in the parish ; and that if she 
 ever thinks her children want a flogging she must bring 
 them to me, and, if I think they deserve it, I'll give it 
 them better than she can." So Phillis led the children 
 towards the daily, somewhere in the back yard, and I 
 followed the minister in through the " curate " into the 
 house-place. 
 
 " Their mother," said he, *' is a bit of a vixen, and 
 apt to punish her children without rhyme or reason. I 
 try to keep the parish rod as well as the parish bull." 
 
 He sate down in the three-cornered chair by the fire- 
 side, and looked around the empty room. 
 
 " Where's the missus ? " said he to himself. But she 
 was there in a minute ; it was her regular plan to give 
 bim his welcome home — by a look, by a touch, nothing 
 more — as soon as she could after his return, and he had 
 missed her now. Kegardless of my presence, he went 
 
COUSIX PEILLIS. 27 
 
 over the day's doings to her ; and then, getting u-p, he 
 said he must go and make himself " reverend," and that 
 then we would have a cup of tea in the parlour. The 
 parlour was a large room with two casemented windows 
 on the other side of the broad flagged passage leading 
 from the rector-door to the wide staircase, with its 
 shalloY>-, polished oaken steps, on which no carpet was 
 ever laid. The parloui'-floor was covered in the middle 
 by a home-made carpeting of needlework and list. One 
 or two quaint family pictures of the Holman family hung 
 round the walls ; the fire-grate and irons were much 
 ornamented with brass ; and on a table against the wall 
 between the windows, a great beau-pot of flowers was 
 placed upon the folio volumes of Matthew Hem-y's Bible. 
 It was a compliment to me to use this room, and I tried 
 to be grateful for it ; but we never had our meals there 
 after that first day, and I was glad of it ; for the large 
 house-place, living-room, dining-room, whichever you 
 might like to call it, was twice as comfortable and cheer- 
 ful. There was a rug in front of the great large fire- 
 place, and an oven by the grate, and a crook, with the 
 kettle hanging from it, over the bright wood-fire ; every- 
 thing that ought to be black and polished in that room 
 was black and polished ; and the flags, and window- 
 curtains, and such things as were to be white and 
 clean, vrere just spotless in their purity. Opposite to 
 the fire-place, extending the whole length of the room, 
 was an oaken shovel-board, with the right incline for a 
 skilful player to send the weights into the prescribed 
 space. There were baskets of v/hite work about, and a 
 small shelf of books hung against the wall, books used 
 for reading, and not for propping up a beau-pot of 
 
28 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 flowers. I took down one or two of tliose books once 
 when I was left alone in the house-place on the first 
 evening — Virgil, Caesar, a Greek grammar — oh, dear ! ah, 
 me ! and Phillis Holman's name in each of them ! I 
 shut them up, and put them back in their places, and 
 walked as far away from the bookshelf as I could. Yes, 
 and I gave my cousin Phillis a wide berth, although she 
 was sitting at her work quietly enough, and her hair 
 was looking more golden, her dark eyelashes longer, her 
 round pillar of a throat whiter than ever. "VVe had done 
 tea, and we had returned into the house-place that the 
 minister might smoke his pipe without fear of con- 
 taminating the drab damask window-curtains of the 
 parlour. He had made himself '' reverend " by putting 
 on one of the voluminous white muslin neckcloths that I 
 had seen cousin Holman ironing that first visit I had 
 paid to the Hope Farm, and by making one or two 
 other unimportant changes in his dress. He sate look- 
 ing steadily at me, but whether he saw me or not I 
 cannot tell. At the time I fancied that he did, and was 
 gauging me in some unknown fashion in his secret mind. 
 Every now and then he took his pipe out of his mouth, 
 knocked out the ashes, and asked me some fresh ques- 
 tion. As long as these related to my acquirements or 
 my reading, I shuffled uneasily and did not know what 
 to answer. By-and-by he got round to the more practical 
 subject of railroads, and on this I was more at home. 
 I really had taken an interest in my work ; nor would 
 Mr. Holdsworth, indeed, have kept me in his employ- 
 ment if I had not given my mind as well as my time to 
 it ; and I was, besides, full of the difficulties which beset 
 us just then, owing to our not being able to find a steady 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 20 
 
 bottom on the Heathbriclge moss, over which we wished 
 to carry our line. In the midst of all my eagerness in 
 speaking about this, I could not help being struck with 
 the extreme pertinence of his questions. I do not mean 
 that he did not show ignorance of many of the details of 
 engineering: that was to have been expected; but on 
 the premises he had got hold of, he thought clearly and 
 reasoned logically. Phillis — so like him as she was both 
 in body and mind — kept stopping at her work and look- 
 ing at me, trying to fully understand all that I said. 
 I felt she did ; and perhaps it made me take more pains 
 in using clear expressions, and arranging my words, 
 than I otherwise should. 
 
 '' She shall see I know something worth knowing, 
 though it mayn't be her dead-and-gone languages," 
 thought I. 
 
 ''I see," said the minister, at length. ''I under- 
 stand it aJl. You've a clear, good head of your own, my 
 lad, — choose how you came by it." 
 
 " From my father," said I, proudly. '' Have you not 
 heard of his discovery of a new method of shunting ? 
 It was in the Gazette. It was patented. I thought 
 every one had heard of Manning's patent winch." 
 
 ''We don't know who invented the alphabet," said he, 
 half smiling, and taking up his pipe. 
 
 " No, I dare say not, sir," replied I, half offended ; 
 '^ that's so long ago." 
 
 Puff— puff— puff. 
 
 '' But your father must be a notable man. I heard 
 of him once before ; and it is not many a one fifty 
 miles away whose fame reaches Heathbridge." 
 
 ** My father is a notable man, sir. It is not me that 
 
30 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 says so ; it is Mr. Holdswortli, and — and every- 
 body." 
 
 '' He is riglit to stand up for his father," said cousin 
 Hoknan, as if she were pleading for me. 
 
 I chafed inwardly, thinking that my father needed no 
 one to stand up for him. He was man sufficient for 
 himself. 
 
 "Yes — he is right," said the minister, placidly. 
 " Right, because it comes from his heart — right, too, 
 as I believe, in point of fact. Else there is many a 
 young cockerel that will stand upon a dunghill and crow 
 about his father, by way of making his own plumage to 
 shine. I should like to know thy father," he went on, tuim- 
 ing straight to me, with a kindly, frank look in his eyes. 
 
 But I was vexed, and would take no notice. Presently, 
 having finished his pipe, he got up and left the room. 
 Phillis put her work hastily down, and went after him. 
 In a minute or two she returned, and sate down again. 
 Not long after, and before I had quite recovered my 
 good temper, he opened the door out of which he had 
 passed, and called to me to come to him. I went across 
 a narrow stone passage into a strange, many-cornered 
 room, not ten feet in area, part study, part counting- 
 house, looking into the farm-yard ; with a desk to sit at, 
 a desk to stand at, a spittoon, a set of shelves with old 
 divinity books upon them ; another, smaller, filled with 
 books on farriery, farming, manures, and such subjects, 
 with pieces of paper containing memoranda stuck against 
 the whitewashed walls with wafers, nails, pins, anything 
 that came readiest to hand ; a box of carpenter's tools 
 on the floor, aiid some manuscripts in short-hand on 
 the desk. 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 31 
 
 He turned round lialf laughing. "That foolish giil 
 of mine thinks I have vexed you " — putting his large, 
 powerful hand on my shoulder. " * Nay,' says I ; 
 ' kindly meant is kindly taken ' — is it not so ? " 
 
 ^' It was not quite, sir," replied I, vanquished by his 
 manner ; '' but it shall be in future." 
 
 " Come, that's right. You and I shall be friends. 
 Indeed, it's not many a one I would bring in here. But 
 I was reading a book this morning, and I could not 
 make it out ; it is a book that was left here by mistake 
 one day ; I had subscribed to Brother Robinson's 
 sermons ; and I was glad to see this instead of them, 
 for sermons though they be, they're . . . well, never 
 mind ! I took 'em both, and made my old coat do a bit 
 longer; but all's fish that comes to my net. I have 
 fewer books than leisure to read them, and I have a 
 prodigious big appetite. Here it is." 
 
 It was a volume of stiff mechanics, involving many 
 technical terms, and some rather deep mathematics. 
 These last, w^hich would have puzzled me, seemed easy 
 enough to him ; all that he wanted was the explanations 
 of the technical words, which I could easily give. 
 
 While he was looking through the book to find the 
 places where he had been puzzled, my wandering eye 
 caught on some of the papers on the wall, and I could 
 not help reading one, which has stuck by me ever since. 
 At first, it seemed a kind of weekly diary ; but then I 
 saw that the seven days were portioned out for special 
 prayers and intercessions : Monday for his family, Tues- 
 day for enemies, Wednesday for the Independent churches, 
 Thursday for all other churches, Friday for persons 
 afflicted, Saturday for his own soul, Sunday for all wan- 
 
82 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 derers and sinners, that they might be brought home to 
 the fold. 
 
 We were called back into the house-place to have 
 supper. A door opening into the kitchen was opened ; 
 and all stood up in both rooms, while the minister, tall, 
 large, one hand resting on the spread table, the other 
 lifted up, said, in the deep voice that would have been 
 loud had it not been so full and rich, but with the 
 peculiar accent or twang that I believe is considered 
 devout by some people, " Whether we eat or drink, or 
 whatsoever we do, let us do all to the glory of God." 
 
 The supper was an immense meat-pie. We of the 
 house-place were helped first ; then the minister hit the 
 handle of his buck-horn carving-knife on the table once, 
 and said, — 
 
 *' Now or never," which meant, did any of us want 
 any more ; and when we had all declined, either by 
 silence or by words, he knocked twice with his knife on 
 the table, and Betty came in through the open door, and 
 carried off the great dish to the kitchen, where an old man 
 and a young one, and a help-girl, were awaiting their meal. 
 
 " Shut the door, if you will," said the minister to 
 Betty. 
 
 *' That's in honour of you," said cousin Holman, in a 
 tone of satisfaction, as the door was shut. " When 
 we've no stranger with us, the minister is so fond of 
 keeping the door open, and talking to the men and maids, 
 just as much as to Phillis and me." 
 
 *' It brings us all together like a household just before 
 we meet as a household in prayer," said he, in explana- 
 tion. *' But to go back to what we were talking about — 
 can you tell me of any simple book on dynamics that I 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. S3 
 
 could put in my pocket, aud study a littlo at leisure 
 times in tlie day ? " 
 
 " Leisure times, father?" said PhiUis, with a nearer 
 aj^proach to a smile than I had yet seen on her face. 
 
 *'Yes; leisure times, daughter. There is many an 
 odd minute lost in waiting for other folk ; and now that 
 railroads are coming so near us, it behoves us to know 
 something about them." 
 
 I thought of his own description of his "prodigious 
 big appetite " for learning. And he had a good appetite 
 of his own for the more material victual before liim. 
 But I saw, or fancied I saw, that he had some nile for 
 himself in the matter both of food and drink. 
 
 As soon as supper was done the household assembled 
 for prayer. It was a long impromptu evening prayer ; 
 and it would have seemed desultory enough had I not 
 had a glimpse of the kind of day that preceded it, and 
 so been able to find a clue to the thoughts that preceded 
 the disjointed utterances ; for he kept there kneeling 
 down in the centre of a circle, his eyes shut, his out- 
 stretched hands pressed palm to palm — sometimes with 
 a long pause of silence, as if waiting to see if there was 
 anything else he wished to '* lay before the Lord " (to use 
 his own expression) — before he concluded with the bless- 
 ing. He prayed for the cattle and live creatures, rather 
 to my surprise ; for my attention had begun to wander, 
 till it was recalled by the familiar words. 
 
 And here I must not forget to name an odd incident 
 at the conclusion of the prayer, and before we had risen 
 from our knees (indeed before Betty was well awake, for 
 she made a nightly practice of having a sound nap, her 
 weary head lying on her stalwart arms); the minister, 
 
 3 
 
34 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 still kneeling in our midst, but with his eyes wide open, 
 and his arms dropped by his side, spoke to the elder 
 man, who turned round on his knees to attend. " John, 
 didst see that Daisy had her warm mash to-night ; for 
 ^ve must not neglect the means, John — two quarts of 
 gruel, a spoonful of ginger, and a gill of beer — the poor 
 beast needs it, and I fear it slipped out of my mind to 
 tell thee ; and here was I asking a blessing and neglect- 
 ing the means, which is a mockery," said he, dropping 
 his voice. 
 
 Before we went to bed he told me he should see little 
 or nothing more of me during my visit, which was to 
 end on Sunday evening, as he always gave up both 
 Saturday and Sabbath to his work in the ministry. I 
 remembered that the landlord at the inn had told me this 
 on the day when I first inquired about these new relations 
 of mine ; and I did not dislike the opportunity which I 
 saw would be afforded me of becoming more acquainted 
 with cousin Holman and Phillis, though I earnestly 
 hoped that the latter would not attack me on the subject 
 of the dead languages. 
 
 I went to bed, and di'eamed that I was as tall as 
 cousin Phillis, and had a sudden and miraculous growth 
 of whisker, and a still more miraculous acquaintance 
 with Latin and Greek. Alas ! I wakened up still a 
 short, beardless lad, with " temjmsfurfit" for my sole 
 remembrance of the little Latin I had once learnt. 
 V/hile I was dressing, a bright thought came over me : 
 I could question cousin Phillis, instead of her question- 
 ing me, and so manage to keep the choice of the sub- 
 jects of conversation in my own power. 
 
 Early as it was, every one had breakfasted, and my 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 35 
 
 basin of bread and milk was put on the oven-top to 
 await my coming dowTi. Every one was gone about 
 their work. The first to come into the house-place was 
 Phillis with a basket of eggs. Faithful to my resolution, 
 I asked — 
 
 " What are those ? " 
 
 She looked at me for a moment, and then said 
 gravely— 
 
 ''Potatoes!" 
 
 *' No ! they are not," said I. '' They are eggs. 
 What do you mean by saying they are potatoes ? " 
 
 " What do you mean by asking me what they were, 
 when they were plain to be seen ? " retorted she. 
 
 We were both getting a little angry with each other. 
 
 " I don't know. I wanted to begin to talk to you ; 
 and I was afraid you would talk to me about books 
 as you did yesterday. I have not read much ; and you 
 and the minister have read so much." 
 
 "I have not," said she. "But you are our guest; 
 and mother says I must make it pleasant to you. We 
 won't talk of books. What must we talk about ? " 
 
 " I don't know. How old are you ? " 
 
 *' Seventeen last May. How old are you ? " 
 
 "I am nineteen. Older than you by nearly two 
 years," said I, drawing myself up to my full height. 
 
 " I should not have thought you were above sixteen," 
 she replied, as quietly as if she were not saying the 
 most provoking thing she possibly could. Then came 
 a pause. 
 
 '' "What are you going to do now ? " asked I. 
 
 *' I should be dusting the bed-chambers ; but mother 
 said I had better stay and make it pleasant to you," 
 
36 COUSIN THILLIS. 
 
 said she, a little plaintively, as if dusting rooms was far 
 the easiest task. 
 
 "Will you take me to see the live-stock? I like 
 animals, though I don't know much about them." 
 
 '' Oh, do you ? I am so glad ! I was afraid you 
 would not like animals, as you did not like books." 
 
 I wondered why she said this. I think it was because 
 she had begun to fancy all our tastes must be dissimilar. 
 We went together all through the farm-yard; we fed 
 the poultry, she kneeling down with her pinafore full 
 of corn and meal, and tempting the little timid, downy 
 chickens upon it, much to the anxiety of the fussy 
 ruffled hen, their mother. She called to the pigeons, 
 who fluttered down at the sound of her voice. She 
 and I examined the great sleek cart-horses ; sympathized 
 in our dislike of pigs ; fed the calves ; coaxed the sick 
 cow, Daisy ; and admired the others out at pasture ; 
 and came back tired and hungry and dirty at dinner- 
 time, having quite forgotten that there were such 
 things as dead languages, and consequently capital 
 friends. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Cousin Holman gave me the weekly county newspaper 
 to read aloud to her, while she mended stockings out 
 of a high piled-up basket, Phillis helping her mother. 
 I read and read, unregardful of the words I was uttering, 
 thinking of all manner of other things ; of the bright 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 37 
 
 colour of Phillis's hair, as the afternoon sun fell on 
 her bending head ; of the silence of the house, which 
 enabled me to hear the double tick of the old clock 
 which stood half-way up the stairs ; of the variety of 
 inarticulate noises which cousin Holman made while 
 I read, to show her sympathy, wonder, or horror at 
 the nev/spaper intelligence. The tranquil monotony of 
 that hour made me feel as if I had lived for ever, and 
 should live for ever droning out paragraphs in that 
 warm sunny room, with my two quiet hearers, and the 
 curled-up pussy cat sleeping on the hearth-rag, and 
 the clock on the house-stairs perpetually clicking out 
 the passage of the moments. By-aud-by Betty the 
 servant came to the door into the kitchen, and made 
 a sign to Phillis', who put her half-mended stocking 
 down, and went away to the kitchen without a word. 
 Looking at cousin Holman a minute or two afterwards, 
 I saw that she had dropped her chin upon her breast, 
 and had fallen fast asleep. I put the newspaper down, 
 and was nearly following her example, when a waft of 
 air from some unseen source, slightly opened the door 
 of communication with the kitchen, that Phillis must 
 have left unfastened ; and I saw part of her figure as 
 she sate by the dresser, peeling apples with quick 
 dexterity of finger, but with repeated turnings of her 
 head towards some book lying on the dresser by her. 
 I softly rose, and as softly w^ent into the kitchen, and 
 looked over her shoulder; before she was aware of 
 my neighbourhood, I had seen that the book was in a 
 language unknown to me, and the running title was 
 Ulnferuo. Just as I was making out the relationship 
 of this word to " infernal," she started and turned 
 
SS COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 round, and, as if continuing lier thought as she spoke, 
 she sighed out, — 
 
 " Oh ! it is so difficult ! Can you help me ? " 
 putting her finger below a line. 
 
 "Me! I! Not I! I don't even know what lan- 
 guage it is in ! " 
 
 "Don't you see it is Dante?" she replied, almost 
 petulantly ; she did so want help. 
 
 "Italian, then?" said I, dubiously; for I was not 
 quite sure. 
 
 "Yes. And I do so want to make it out. Father 
 can help me a little, for he knows Latin ; but then he 
 has so little time." 
 
 "You haye not much, I should think, if you have 
 often to try and do two things at once, as you are doing 
 now." 
 
 " Oh ! that's nothing ! Father bought a heap of old 
 books cheap. And I knew something about Dante 
 before ; and I have always liked Virgil so much. Paring 
 apples is nothing, if I could only malie out this old 
 Italian. I wish you knew it." 
 
 "I wish I did," said I, moved by her impetuosity 
 of tone. "If, now, only Mr. Holdsworth were here; 
 he can speak Italian like anything, I believe." 
 
 ''Who is Mr. Holdsworth ? " said Phillis, looking up. 
 
 " Oh, he's our head engineer. He's a regular first- 
 rate fellow ! He can do anything ; " my hero-worship 
 and my pride in my chief all coming into play. Besides, 
 if I was not clever and book-learned myself, it was some- 
 thing to belong to some one who was. 
 
 " How is it that he speaks Italian ? " asked Phillis. 
 
 " He had to make a railway through Piedmont, which 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 39 
 
 is in Italy, I believe ; and lie had to talk to all the 
 workmen in Italian ; and I have heard him say that for 
 nearly two years he had only Italian books to read in 
 the queer outlandish places he was in." 
 
 '' Oh, dear ! " said Phillis ; " I wish " and then 
 
 she stopped. I was not quite sure whether to say the 
 next thing that came into my mind ; but I said it. 
 
 " Could I ask him anything about your book, or your 
 difficulties? " 
 
 She was silent for a minute or so, and then she mada 
 reply— 
 
 "No! I think not. Thank you veiy much, though. 
 I can generally puzzle a thing out in time. And then, 
 perhaps, I remember it better than if some one had 
 helped me. Ill put it away now, and you must move 
 off, for I've got to make the paste for the pies ; v,e 
 always have a cold dinner on Sabbaths." 
 
 " But I may stay and help you, maj-n't I ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; not that you can help at all, but I like 
 to have you with me." 
 
 I was both flattered and annoyed at this straight- 
 forward avowal. I was pleased that she liked me ; but 
 I was young coxcomb enough to have wished to play 
 the lover, and I was quite wise enough to perceive that 
 if she had any idea of the kind in her head she would 
 never have spoken out so frankly. I comforted myself 
 immediately, however, by finding out that the grapes 
 were sour. A great tall girl in a pinafore, half a head 
 taller than I was, reading books that I had never heard 
 of, and talking about them too, as of far more interest 
 than any mere personal subjects ; that was the last day 
 on which I ever thought of my dear cousin Phillis as 
 
40 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 the possible mistress of my heart arxd life. But we 
 Y/ere all the greater friends for this idea being utterly 
 l')ut away and buried out of sight. 
 
 Late in the evening the minister came home from 
 Homby. He had been calling on the different members 
 of his flock ; and unsatisfactory work it had proved to 
 him, it seemed from the fragments that dropped out of 
 his thoughts into his talk. 
 
 *' I don't sec the men ; they are all at their biisiness, 
 their shops, or their warehouses ; they ought to be there. 
 I have no fault to find with them; only if a pastor's 
 teaching or words of admonition are good for an^iihing, 
 they are needed by the men as much as by the 
 women." 
 
 "Cannot you go and see them in their places of 
 business, and remind them of their Christian privileges 
 and duties, minister?" asked cousin Holman, who 
 evidently thought that her husband's words could never 
 be out of place. 
 
 *' No ! " said he, shaking his head. ** I judge them 
 by myself. If there are clouds in the sky, and I am 
 getting in the hay just ready for loading, and rain 
 sure to come in the night, I should look ill upon 
 brother Robinson if he came into the field to speak 
 about serious things." 
 
 " But, at any rate, father, you do good to the women, 
 and perhaps they repeat what you have said to them 
 to their husbands and children ? " 
 
 "It is to be hoped they do, for I cannot reach the 
 men directly ; but the women are apt to tarry before 
 coming to me, to put on ribbons and gauds ; as if they 
 could hear the message I bear to them best in thcii* 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 41 
 
 smart clotlies. Mrs. DoLson to-day Pliillis, I am 
 
 thankful thou dost not care for the vanities of dress ! " 
 
 Phillis reddened a little as she said, in a low humble 
 voice, — 
 
 ''But I do, father, I'm afraid. I often wish I could 
 wear pretty- coloured ribbons round my throat like the 
 squire's daughters." 
 
 "It's but natural, minister!" said his wife; "I'm 
 not above liking a silk gown better than a cotton one 
 myself!" 
 
 " The love of dress is a temptation and a snare," said 
 he, gravely. " The true adornment is a meek and quiet 
 spirit. And, wife," said he, as a sudden thought crossed 
 his mind, " in that matter I, too, have sinned. I wanted 
 to ask you, could we not sleep in the grey room, instead 
 of our own ? " 
 
 " Sleep in the grey room ? — change our room at this 
 time o' day ? " cousin Holman asked, in dismay. 
 
 "Yes," said he. "It would save me from a daily 
 temptation to anger. Look at my chin ! " he continued ; 
 "I cut it this morning — I cut it on Wednesday when 
 I was shaving ; I do not know how many times I have 
 cut it of late, and all from impatience at seeing Timothy 
 Cooper at his work in the yard." 
 
 " He's a downright lazy tyke ! " said cousin Holman. 
 " He's not worth his wage. There's but little he can 
 do, and what he can do, he does badly." 
 
 "True," said the minister. "But he is but, so to 
 speak, a half-wit ; and yet he has got a wife and 
 children." 
 
 " More shame for him! " 
 
 "But that is past change. And if I turn him off, 
 
42 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 no one else will take liim on. Yet I cannot help watcli- 
 ing him of a morning as he goes sauntering abont his 
 work in the yard; and I watch, and I watch, till the 
 old Adam rises strong within me at his lazy ways, and 
 some day, I am afraid, I shall go down and send him 
 about his business — let alone the way in which he 
 makes me cut myself while I am shaving — and then 
 his wife and children will starve. I wisli we could move 
 to the grey room." 
 
 I do not remember much more of my first visit to the 
 Hope Fai-m. We went to chapel in Heathbridge, slowly 
 and decorously walking along the lanes, raddy and tawny 
 with the colouring of the coming autumn. The minister 
 walked a little before us, his hands behind his back, his 
 head bent down, thinking about the discourse to be 
 delivered to his people, cousin Holman said; and w^e 
 spoke low and quietly, in order not to inteiTupt his 
 thoughts. But I could not help noticing the respectful 
 gi'eetings which he received from both rich and poor as 
 we went along; greetings which he acknowledged with 
 a kindly wave of his hand, but with no words of reply. 
 As we drew near the town, I could see some of the 
 young fellows we met cast admiring looks on Phillis ; 
 and that made me look too. She had on a white go^\'n, 
 and a short black silk cloak, according to the fashion of 
 the day. A straw honnet wdth brown ribbon strings ; 
 that was all. But what her di'ess wanted in colour, her 
 sweet bonny face had. The walk made her cheeks bloom 
 like the rose ; the very whites of her eyes had a blue 
 tinge in them, and her dark eyelashes brought out the 
 depth of the blue eyes themselves. Her yellow hair was 
 put away as straight as its natural curliness would allow. 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 43 
 
 If Siie did not perceive the admiration she excited, I am 
 sure cousin Holmau did ; for she looked as fierce and as 
 proud as ever her quiet face could look, guarding her 
 treasure, and yet glad to perceive that others could see 
 that it was a treasure. That afternoon I had to return 
 to Eltham to be ready for the next day's work. I found 
 out afterwards that the minister and his family v/ere all 
 *' exercised in spirit," as to v/hether they did well in 
 asking me to repeat my visits at the Hope Farm, seeing 
 that of necessity I must return to Eltham on the Sab- 
 bath-day. However, they did go on asking me, and 
 I went on visiting them, whenever my other engage- 
 ments permitted me, Mr. Holdsworth being in this case, 
 as in all, a kind and indulgent fiiend. Nor did my new 
 acquaintances oust him from my strong regard and ad- 
 miration. I had room in my heart for all, I am happy 
 to say, and as far as I can remember, I kept praising 
 each to the other in a manner which, if I had been an 
 older man, living more amongst people of the world, 
 I should have thought unwise, as well as a little ridicu- 
 lous. It was unwise, certainly, as it was almost sure 
 to cause disappointment if ever they did become ac- 
 quainted; and perhaps it was ridiculous, though I do 
 not think we any of us thought it so at the time. The 
 minister used to listen to my accounts of Mr. Holds - 
 woi-th's many accomplishments and various adventures 
 in travel with the truest interest, and most kindly good 
 faith ; and Mr. Holdsworth in return liked to hear about 
 my visits to the farm, and description of my cousin's 
 life there — liked it, I mean, as much as he liked any- 
 thing that was merely narrative, without leading to 
 action. 
 
44 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 So I went to the farm certainly, on an average, once 
 a montli during that autumn ; the course of life there 
 was so peaceful and quiet, that I can only remember one 
 small event, and that was one that I think I took more 
 notice of than any one else : Phillis left off v;earing the 
 pinafores that had always been so obnoxious to me ; I do 
 not know why they were banished, but on one of my 
 visits I found them replaced by pretty linen aprons in 
 the morning, and a black silk one in the afternoon. 
 And the blue cotton gown became a brown stuff one as 
 winter drew on ; this sounds like some book I once read, 
 in which a migration from the blue bed to the brown 
 was spoken of as a gi'eat family event. 
 
 Towards Christmas my dear father came to see me, 
 and to consult Mr. Holdsworth about the improvement 
 which has since been known as " Manning's driving 
 wheel." Mr. Holdsworth, as I think I have before said, 
 had a very great regard for my father, who had been 
 employed in the same great machine-shop in which 
 Mr. Holdsworth had served his apprenticeship ; and he 
 and my father had many mutual jokes about one of 
 these gentlemen-apprentices who used to set about his 
 smith's work in white wash-leather gloves, for fear of 
 spoiling his hands. Mr. Holdsworth often spoke to me 
 about my father as having the same kind of genius for 
 mechanical invention as that of George Stephenson, and 
 my father had come over now to consult him about 
 several improvements, as well as an offer of partnership. 
 It was a great pleasure to me to see the mutual regard 
 of these two men. Mr. Holdsworth, young, handsome, 
 keen, well-dressed, an object of admiration to all the 
 youth of Eltham; my father, in his decent but un- 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 45 
 
 fashionable Sunday clothes, his plain, sensible face full 
 of hard lines, the marks of toil and thought, — his hands, 
 blackened beyond the power of soap and water by years 
 of labour in the foundry ; speaking a strong Northern 
 dialect, -while Mr. Holdsworth had a long soft drawl in 
 his voice, as many of the Southerners have, and was 
 reckoned in Eltham to give himself airs. 
 
 Although most of my father's leisure time was occu- 
 pied with conversations about the business I have men- 
 tioned, he felt that he ought not to leave Eltham without 
 going to pay his respects to the relations who had been 
 so kind to his son. So he and I ran up on an engine 
 along the incomplete line as far as Heathbridge, and 
 went, by invitation, to spend a day at the farm. 
 
 It was odd and yet pleasant to me to perceive how 
 these two men, each having led up to this point such 
 totally dissimilar lives, seemed to come together by 
 instinct, after one quiet straight look into each other's 
 faces. My father was a thin, wiry man of five foot 
 seven; the minister was a broad-shouldered, fresh- 
 coloured man of six foot one; they were neither of 
 them great talkers in general — perhaps the minister 
 the most so — but they spoke much to each other. My 
 father went into the fields with the minister; I think 
 I see him now, with his hands behind his back, listening 
 intently to all explanations of tillage, and the different 
 processes of farming ; occasionally taking up an imple- 
 ment, as if unconsciously, and examining it with a 
 critical eye, and now and then asking a question, which 
 I could see was considered as pertinent by his com- 
 panion. Then we returned to look at the cattle, housed 
 and bedded in expectation of the snow-storm hanging 
 
46 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 black on tlie western liorizon, and my father learned tlie 
 points of a cow with as much attention as if he meant to 
 turn farmer. He had his little book that he used for 
 mechanical memoranda and measurements in his pocket, 
 and he took it out to write down '' straight back," 
 " small muzzle," ''deep barrel," and I know not what 
 else, under the head " cow." He was veiy critical on a 
 turnip-cutting machine, the clumsiness of which first 
 incited him to talli ; and when we went into the house 
 he sat thinking and quiet for a bit, w^hile Phillis and her 
 mother made the last preparations for tea, with a little 
 unheeded apology from cousin Holman, because we were 
 not sitting in the best parlour, which she thought might 
 be chilly on so cold a night. I wanted nothing better 
 than the blazing, crackling fire that sent a glow over all 
 the house-place, and warmed the snowy flags under our 
 feet till they seemed to have more heat than the crimson 
 rug right in front of the fire. After tea, .as Phillis and 
 I were talking together very happily, I heard an in*e- 
 pressible exclamation from cousin Holman, — 
 
 " Whatever is the man about ! " 
 
 And on looking round, I saw my father taking a straight 
 burning stick out of the fire, and, after waiting for a 
 minute, and examining the charred end to see if it was 
 fitted for his pui-pose, he went to the hard-wood dresser, 
 scoured to the last pitch of whiteness and cleanliness, and 
 began drawing with the stick ; the best substitute for chalk 
 or charcoal within his reach, for his pocket-book pencil 
 was not strong or bold enough for his purpose. When 
 he had done, he began to explain his new model of a 
 turnip-cutting machine to the minister, who had been 
 watching him in silence all the time. Cousin Holman 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 47 
 
 liad, in the meantime, taken a duster out of a di-awer, 
 and, under pretence of being as mucli interested as her 
 husband in the drawing, was secretly trying on an out- 
 side mark how easily it would come off, and whether it 
 would leave her dresser as white as before. Then Phillis 
 was sent for the book on dynamics, about which I had 
 been consulted during my first visit, and my father had 
 to explain many difficulties, which he did in language as 
 clear a^ his mind, making drawings with his stick 
 wherever they were needed as illustrations, the minister 
 sitting with his massive head resting on his hands, his 
 elbows on the table, almost unconscious of Phillis, lean- 
 ing over and listening greedily, with her hand on his 
 shoulder, sucking in information like her father's own 
 daughter. I was rather sorry for cousin Holman ; I 
 had been so once or twice before ; for do what she 
 would, she was completely unable even to understand the 
 pleasure her husband and daughter took in intellectual 
 pursuits, much less to care in the least herself for the 
 pursuits themselves, and was thus unavoidably thrown 
 out of some of their interests. I had once or twice 
 thought she was a little jealous of her o^m child, as a 
 fitter companion for her husband than she was herself ; 
 and I fancied the minister himself was aware of this 
 feeling, for I had noticed an occasional sudden change 
 of subject, and a tenderness of appeal in his voice as he 
 spoke to her, which always made her look contented and 
 peaceful again. I do not think that Phillis ever per- 
 ceived these little shadows ; in the first place, she had 
 such complete reverence for her parents that she listened 
 to them both as if they had been St. Peter and St. Paul; 
 and besides, she was always too much engrossed with 
 
48 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 any matter in hand to think about other people's man- 
 ners and looks. 
 
 This night I could see, though she did not, how much 
 she was winning on my father. She asked a few 
 questions which showed that she had followed his expla- 
 nations up to that point ; possibly, too, her unusual 
 beauty might have something to do with his favourable 
 impression of her ; but he made no scruple of express- 
 ing his admiration of her to her father and mother in 
 her absence from the room ; and from that evening I 
 date a project of his which came out to me a day or two 
 afterwards, as we sate in my little three-cornered room 
 in Eltham. 
 
 *' Paul," he began, " I never thought to be a rich 
 man ; but I think it's coming upon me. Some folk are 
 making a deal of my new machine (calling it by its 
 technical name), and Ellison, of the Borough Green 
 Works, has gone so far as to ask me to be his partner." 
 
 " Mr. Ellison the Justice ! — who lives in King Street ? 
 why, he drives his carriage!" said I, doubting, yet 
 exultant. 
 
 " Ay, lad, John Ellison. But that's no sign that I 
 shall drive my caniage. Though I should like to save 
 thy mother walking, for she's not so young as she was. 
 But that's a long way off, anyhow. I reckon I should 
 stai-t with a third profit. It might be seven hundred, or 
 it might be more. I should like to have the power to 
 work out some fancies o' mine. I care for that much 
 more than for th' brass. And Ellison has no lads ; and 
 by nature the business would come to thee in course o' 
 time. Ellison's lasses are but bits o' things, and are 
 not like to come by husbands just yet ; and when they 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 40 
 
 do, maybe they'll not be in the mechanical line. It will 
 be an opening for thee, lad, if thou art steady. Thou'rt 
 not great shakes, I know, in th' inventing line ; but 
 many a one gets on better without having fancies for 
 something he does not see and never has seen. I'm 
 right down glad to see that mother's cousins are such 
 uncommon folk for sense and goodness. I have taken 
 the minister to my heart like a brother ; and she is a 
 womanly quiet sort of a body. And I'll tell you frank^ 
 Paul, it will be a happy day for me if ever you can come 
 and tell me that Phillis Holman is like to be my 
 daughter. I think if that lass had not a penny, she 
 would be the making of a man ; and she'll have yon 
 house and lands, and you may be her match yet in 
 fortune if all goes well." 
 
 I was growing as red as fire ; I did not Imow what to 
 say, and yet I wanted to say something ; but the idea of 
 having a wife of my own at some future day, though it 
 had often floated about in my ovm head, sounded so 
 strange when it was thus first spoken about by my 
 father. He saw my confusion, and half smiling said, — 
 
 " Well, lad, what dost say to the old father's plans ? 
 Thou art but young, to be sure ; but when I was thy 
 age, I would ha' given my right hand if I might ha' 
 thought of the chance of wedding the lass I cared 
 for " 
 
 " My mother ?" asked I, a little struck by the change 
 of his tone of voice. 
 
 " No ! not thy mother. Thy mother is a very good 
 woman — none better. No ! the lass I cared for at nine- 
 teen ne'er knew how I loved her, and a year or two after 
 and she was dead, and ne'er knew. I think she would 
 
 4 
 
bO COUSIN PniLLIS. 
 
 lia' been glad to lia' known it, poor Molly ; but I bad to 
 leave tbe place wbere we lived for to try to earn my 
 bread — and I meant to come back — but before ever I 
 did, sbe was dead and gone: I ba' never gone tbere 
 since. But if you fancy Pliillis Holman, and can get 
 her to fancy you, my lad, it sball go different with you, 
 Paul, to wbat it did with your father." 
 
 I took counsel with myself very rapidly, and I came 
 to a clear conclusion. 
 
 " Father," said I, " if I fancied Phillis ever so much, 
 she would never fancy me. I like her as much as I 
 could like a sister ; and she likes me as if I were her 
 brother — her younger brother." 
 
 I could see my father's countenance fall a little. 
 
 " You see she's so clever — she's more like a man 
 than a woman — -she knows Latin and Greek." 
 
 " She'd forget 'em, if she'd a houseful of children," 
 was my father's comment on this. 
 
 " But she knows many a thing besides, and is wise as 
 well as learned ; she has been so much with her father. 
 She would never 'think much of me, and I should like 
 my wife to think a deal of her husband." 
 
 "It is not just book-learning or the want of it as 
 makes a wife think much or little of her husband," 
 replied my father, evidently unwilling to give up a pro- 
 ject which had taken deep root in his mind. " It's a 
 something — I don't rightly know how to call it — if he's 
 manly, and sensible, and straightforward ; and I reckon 
 3-ou're that, my boy." 
 
 " I don't think I should like to have a wife taller 
 than I am, father," said I, smiling ; he smiled too, but 
 not heartily. 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 51 
 
 " Well," said he, after a pause. " It's but a fev; 
 days I've been tliinking of it, but I'd got as fond of my 
 notion as if it had been a new engine as I'd been 
 planning out. Here's our Paul, thinks I to myself, a 
 good sensible breed o' lad, as has never vexed or troubled 
 his mother or me ; with a good business opening out 
 before him, age nineteen, not so bad-looking, though 
 perhaps not to call handsome, and here's his cousin, not 
 too near a cousin, but just nice, as one may say ; aged 
 seventeen, good and true, and well brought up to work 
 with her hands as well as her head ; a scholar— but that 
 can't be helped, and is more her misfortune than her 
 fault, seeing she is the only child of a scholar — and as 
 I said afore, once she's a wife and a mother she'll forget 
 it all, I'll be bound — with a good fortune in land and 
 house when it shall please the Lord to take her parents 
 to himself; with eyes like poor Molly's for beauty, a 
 colour that comes and goes on a milk-v/hite skin, and as 
 pretty a mouth " 
 
 *' Wliy, Mr. Manning, what fair lady are you describ- 
 ing?" asked Mr. Holdsworth, who had come quickly 
 and suddenly upon our tete-a-tete , and had caught my 
 father's last words as he entered the room. 
 
 Both my father and I felt rather abashed ; it was 
 such an odd subject for us to be talking about ; but my 
 father, like a straightforward simple man as he was, 
 spoke out the truth. 
 
 " I've been telling Paul of Ellison's offer, and saying 
 how good an opening it made for him— — " 
 
 *' I wish I'd as good," said Mr. Holdsworth. " But 
 has the business a * pretty mouth ?'" 
 
 *' You're always so full of your joking, Mr. Holds- 
 
 4 — o 
 
52 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 worth," said my father. " I was going to say that if 
 he and his cousin Phillis Holman liked to make it up 
 between them, I would put no spoke in the wheel." 
 
 *' Phillis Holman ! " said Mr. Holdsworth. '' Is she 
 the daughter of the minister- farmer out at Heath- 
 bridge ? Have I been helping on the course of trae 
 love by letting you go there so often ? I knew nothing 
 of it." 
 
 '' There is nothing to know," said I, more annoyed 
 than I chose to show. " There is no more true love in 
 the case than may be between the first brother and 
 sister you may choose to meet. I have been telling 
 father she would never think of me ; she's a great deal 
 taller and cleverer ; and I'd rather be taller and more 
 learned than my wife when I have one." 
 
 *' And it is she, then, that has the pretty mouth your 
 father spoke about ? I should think that would be an 
 antidote to the cleverness and learning. But I ought to 
 apologize for breaking in upon your last night ; I came 
 upon business to your father." 
 
 And then he and my father began to talk about many 
 things that had no interest for me just then, and I began 
 to go over again my conversation with my father. The 
 more I thought about it, the more I felt that I had 
 spoken traly about my feelings towards Phillis Holman. 
 I loved her dearly as a sister, but I could never fancy 
 her as my wife. Still less could I think of her ever — 
 yes, condescending, that is the word — condescending to 
 marry me. I was roused from a reverie on what I should 
 like my possible wife to be, by hearing my father's warm 
 praise of the minister, as a most unusual character ; 
 how they had got back from the diameter of driving- 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 53 
 
 wheels to the subject of the Holmans I could never tell; 
 but I saw that my father's weighty praises were exciting 
 some curiosity in Mr. Hoklsworth's mind ; indeed, he 
 said, almost in a voice of reproach, — 
 
 '* Why, Paul, you never told me what kind of a 
 fellow this minister-cousin of yours was ! " 
 
 "■ I don't know that I found out, sir," said I. " But 
 if I had, I don't think you'd have listened to me, as you 
 have done to my father." 
 
 " No ! most likely not, old fellow," replied Mr. Holds- 
 worth, laughing. And again and afresh I saw what a 
 handsome pleasant clear face his was ; and though this 
 evening I had been a bit put out with him — through 
 his sudden coming, and his having heai'd my father's 
 open-hearted confidence — my hero resumed all his 
 empire over me by his bright meri-y laugh. 
 
 And if he had not resumed his old place that night, 
 he would have done so the next day, when, after my 
 father's departure, Mr. Holdsworth spoke about him 
 with such just respect for his character, such ungrudging 
 admiration of his great mechanical genius, that I was 
 compelled to say, almost unawares, — 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I am very much obliged to you." 
 
 " Oh, you're not at all. I am only speaking the 
 truth. Here's a Birmingham workman, self-educated, 
 one may say — having never associated with stimulating 
 minds, or had what advantages travel and contact with 
 the world may be supposed to afford — working out his 
 o^ra thoughts into steel and iron, making a scientific 
 name for himself — a fortune, if it pleases him to work 
 for money — and keeping his singleness of heai-t, his 
 perfect simplicity of manner ; it puts me out of patience 
 
54 COUSIN PniLLIS. 
 
 to think of my expensive scliooling, my travels hither 
 and thither, my heaps of scientific hooks, and I have 
 done nothing to speak of. But it's evidently good 
 blood ; there's that Mr. Holman, that cousin of yours, 
 made of the same stuff." 
 
 ''■ But he's only cousin because he married my 
 mother's second cousin," said I. 
 
 " That knocks a pretty theory on the head, and twice 
 over, too. I should like to make Holman's acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 "I am sure they ^vould be so glad to see you at 
 Hope Farm," said I, eagerly. " In fact, they've 
 asked me to bring you several times : only I thought 
 you would find it dull." 
 
 *'Not at all. I can't go yet though, even if you 
 
 do get me an invitation ; for the Company 
 
 want me to go to the Valley, and look over the 
 
 ground a bit for them, to see if it vrould do for a branch 
 line ; it's a job w'hich may take me away for some 
 time ; but I shall be backwards and forwards, and you're 
 quite up to doing what is needed in my absence ; the 
 only work that may be beyond you is keeping old Jevons 
 from drinking." 
 
 He went on giving me directions about the manage- 
 ment of the men employed on the line, and no more 
 was said then, or for several months, about his going- 
 
 to Hope Farm. He went off into Valley, a dark 
 
 overshadowed dale, where the sun seemed to set behind 
 the hills before four o'clock on midsummer afternoon. 
 
 Perhaps it was this that brought on the attack of low 
 fever which he had soon after the beginning of the new 
 year; he was very ill for many w'eeks, almost many 
 
COUSIX PHILLIS. 55 
 
 months ; a married sister — liis only relation, I tliink — 
 came clown fi'om London to nurse him, and I went over 
 to him when I could, to see him, and give him " mascu- 
 line news," as he called it ; reports of the progress of 
 the line, wliich, I am glad to say, I was able to carry 
 on in his absence, in the slow gradual way which suited 
 the company best, while trade was in a languid state, 
 and money dear in the market. Of course, with this 
 occupation for my scanty leism'e, I did not often go over 
 to Hope Farm. "Whenever I did go, I met with a 
 thorough welcome; and many inquiries were made as 
 to Holdsworth's illness, and the progress of his recovery. 
 At length, in June I think it was, he was sufficiently 
 recovered to come back to his lodgings at Eltham, and 
 resume part at least of his work. His sister, Mrs. 
 Robinson, had been obliged to leave him some weeks 
 before, owing to some epidemic amongst her own children. 
 As long as I had seen Mr. Holdsworth in the rooms at 
 the little inn at Hensleydale, where I had been accus- 
 tomed to look upon him as an invalid, I had not been 
 aware of the visible shake his fever had given to his 
 health. But, once back in the old lodgings, where I had 
 always seen him so buoj^ant, eloquent, decided, and 
 vigorous in former days, my spirits sank at the change 
 in one whom I had always regarded with a strong feeling 
 of admiring affection. He sank into silence and despond- 
 ency after the least exertion ; he seemed as if he could 
 not make up his mind to any action, or else that, when 
 it was made up, he lacked strength to carry out his 
 purpose. Of course, it was but the natural state of 
 slow convalescence, after so sharp an illness ; but, at 
 the time, I did not know this, and perhaps I represented 
 
56 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 liis state as more serious than it was to my kind relations 
 at Hope Farm ; who, in their grave, simple, eager way, 
 immediately thought of the only help they could give. 
 
 " Bring him out here," said the minister. " Our air 
 here is good to a proverb ; the June days are fine ; ho 
 may loiter away his time in the hay-field, and the sweet 
 smells will be a balm in themselves — better than physic." 
 
 " And," said cousin Holman, scarcely waiting for 
 her husband to finish his sentence, '' tell him there 
 is new milk and fresh eggs to be had for the asking ; 
 it's lucky Daisy has just calved, for her milk is always 
 as good as other cow's cream ; and there is the plaid 
 room with the morning sun all streaming in." 
 
 Phillis said nothing, but looked as much interested in 
 the project as any one. I took it up myself. I wanted 
 them to see him ; him to know them. I proposed it to 
 him when I got home. He was too languid after the 
 day's fatigue, to be willing to make the little exertion of 
 going amongst strangers ; and disappointed me by almost 
 declining to accept the invitation I brought. The next 
 morning it was difi'erent ; he apologized for his un- 
 graciousness of the night before ; and told me that he 
 would get all things in train, so as to be ready to go out 
 with me to Hope Farm on the following Saturday. 
 
 " For you must go with me, Manning," said he ; '"' I 
 used to be as impudent a fellow as need be, and rather 
 liked going amongst strangers, and making my way ; 
 but since my illness I am almost like a girl, and turn 
 hot and cold with shyness, as they do, I fancy." 
 
 So it was fixed. We w^ere to go out to Hope Fann on 
 Saturday afternoon ; and it vras also understood that if 
 the air and the life suited Mr. Holdsworth, he was to 
 
COUSIN THILLIS. 57 
 
 remain there for a week or ten cla5-s, doing wliat work lie 
 could at that end of the line, while I took his place at 
 Eltham to the best of my ability. I gi-ew a little nervous, 
 as the time drew near, and wondered how the brilliant 
 Holdsworth would agree with the quiet quaint family of 
 the minister ; how they would like him, and many of his 
 half-foreign ways. I tried to prepare him, by telling 
 him from time to time little things about the goings-ou 
 at Hope Farm. 
 
 "Manning," said he, "I see you don't think I am 
 half good enough for your friends. Out with it, man." 
 
 "No," I replied, boldly. "I think you are good; 
 but I don't know if you are quite of their kind of 
 goodness." 
 
 "And you've found out already that there is greater 
 chance of disagreement between two ' kinds of goodness,' 
 each having its own idea of right, than between a given 
 goodness and a moderate degree of naughtiness — which 
 last often arises from an indifference to right ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I think you're talking metaphysics, 
 and I am sure tliat is bad for you." 
 
 " * When a man talks to you in a way that you don't 
 understand about a thing which he docs not understand, 
 them's metaphysics.' You remember the clown's defini- 
 tion, don't you. Manning ?" 
 
 " No, I don't," said I. " But what I do understand 
 is, that you must go to bed ; and tell me at what time 
 we must start to-morrow, that I may go to Hepworth, 
 and get those letters written we were talking about tJiis 
 morning." 
 
 " Wait till to-morrow, and let us see what the day is 
 like," he answered, with such languid indecision as 
 
58 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 shov/ed me he was over-fatigued. So I went my 
 way. 
 
 The morrow was blue and sunny, and beautiful ; the 
 very perfection of an early summer's day. Mr. Holds- 
 worth was all impatience to be off into the countiy ; 
 morning had brought back his freshness and strength, 
 and consequent eagerness to be doing. I was afraid we 
 were going to my cousin's farm rather too early, before 
 they would expect us ; but what could I do with such a 
 restless vehement man as Holdsworth was that morning ? 
 We came down upon the Hope Farm before the dew was 
 off the grass on the shady side of the lane ; the great 
 house-dog was loose, basking in the sun, near the closed 
 side door. I was surprised at this door being shut, for 
 all summer long it was open from morning to night ; but 
 it was only on latch. I opened it, Kover watching me 
 with half-suspicious, half-trustful eyes. The room was 
 empty. 
 
 "I don't know where they can be," said I. ''But 
 come in and sit down while I go and look for them. 
 You must be tired." 
 
 " Not I. This sweet balmy air is like a thousand 
 tonics. Besides, this room is hot, and smells of those 
 pungent wood-ashes. What are we to do ? " 
 
 " Go round to the kitchen. Betty will tell us where 
 they are." 
 
 So we went round into the fannyard, Eover accom- 
 panying us out of a grave sense of duty. Betty was 
 v\'ashing out her milk -pans in the cold bubbling spring- 
 water that constantly trickled in and out of a stone 
 trough. In such weather as this most of her kitchen- 
 work was done out of doors. 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 59 
 
 ** Ell, dear ! " said she, " the minister and missus is 
 away at Hornby ! They ne'er thought of your coming 
 so betimes ! The missus had some errands to do, and 
 she .thought as she'd walk with the minister and be back 
 by dinner-time." 
 
 ** Did not they expect us to dinner ? " said I. 
 
 *' Well, they did, and they did not, as I may say. 
 Missus said to me the cold lamb would do well enough 
 if you did not come ; and if you did I was to put on a 
 chicken and some bacon to boil ; and I'll go do it now, 
 for it is hard to boil bacon enough." 
 
 *'And is PhiUis gone, too?" Mr. Holdcworth was 
 making friends wdth Rover. 
 
 *' No ! She's just somewhere about. I reckon you'll 
 find her in the kitchen-garden, getting peas." 
 
 " Let us go there," said Holdsworth, suddenly leaving 
 off his play with the dog. 
 
 So I led the way into the kitchen-garden. It v/as in 
 the first promise of a summer profuse in vegetables and 
 fruits. Perhaps it was not so much cared for as other 
 parts of the property ; but it was more attended to than 
 most kitchen-gardens belonging to farm-houses. There 
 were borders of flowers along each side of the gravel 
 walks ; and there was an old sheltering wall on the north 
 side covered mth tolerably choice fruit-trees ; there was 
 a slope down to the fish-pond at the end, where there 
 were great strawberry-beds ; and raspberry-bushes and 
 rose-bushes grew wherever there was a space ; it seemed 
 a chance which had been planted. Long rows of peas 
 stretched at right angles from the main walk, and I saw 
 Phillis stooping down among them, before she saw us. 
 As soon as she heard our cranching steps on the gravel, 
 
CO COUSIN PIIILLIS. 
 
 slie stood up, and shading her eyes from the sun, recog- 
 nized us. She was quite still for a moment, and then 
 came slowly towards us, blushing a little from evident 
 shyness. I had never seen Phillis shy before. 
 
 '' This is Mr. Holdsworth, Phillis," said I, as soon as 
 I had shaken hands with her. She glanced up at him, 
 and then looked down, more flushed than ever at his 
 grand foimality of taking his hat off and bowing ; such 
 manners had never been seen at Hope Farm before. 
 
 " Father and mother are out. They will be so sorry; 
 you did not write, Paul, as you said you would." 
 
 "It was my fault," said Holdsworth, understanding 
 what she meant as well as if she had put it more fully 
 into words. " I have not yet given up all the privileges 
 of an invalid ; one of which is indecision. Last night, 
 when your cousin asked me at what time we were to 
 start, I really could not make up my mind." 
 
 Phillis seemed as if she could not make up her mind 
 as to what to do with us. I tried to help her — 
 
 "Have you finished getting peas?" taking hold of 
 the half-filled basket she was unconsciously holding in 
 her hand ; "or may we stay and help you ? " 
 
 "If you would. But perhaps it will tire 3'ou, sir?" 
 added she, speaking now to Holdsworth. 
 
 " Not a bit," said he. " It will carry me back twenty 
 years in my life, when I used to gather peas in my 
 grandfather's garden, I suppose I may eat a few as I 
 go along? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir. But if you went to the strawberry- 
 beds you would find some strawberries ripe, and Paul 
 can show you where they are." 
 
 " I am afraid you distrust me. I can assure you I 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 61 
 
 know tlie exact fulness at wliicli peas should be gathered. 
 I take great care not to pluck them when they are 
 unripe. I will not be turned off, as unfit for my work." 
 
 This was a style of half -joking talk that Phillis was 
 not accustomed to. She looked for a moment as if she 
 would have liked to defend herself from the playful 
 charge of distrust made against her, but she ended by 
 not saying a word. We all plucked our peas in busy 
 silence for the next five minutes. Then Holdsworth 
 lifted himself up from between the rows, and said, a 
 little wearily, — 
 
 " I am afraid I must strike work. I am not as strong 
 as I fancied myself." 
 
 PhilUs was full of penitence immediately. He did, 
 indeed, look pale ; and she blamed herself for having 
 allowed him to help her. 
 
 " It was very thoughtless of me. I did not knov/ — I 
 thought, perhaps, you really liked it. I ought to have 
 offered you something to eat, sir ! Oh, Paul, we have 
 gathered quite enough ; how stupid I was to forget that 
 Mr. Holdsworth had been ill ! " And in a blushing 
 hurry she led the way towards the house. We went in, 
 and she moved a heavy cushioned chair forwards, into 
 which Holdsworth was only too glad to sink. Then 
 with deft and quiet speed she brought in a little tray, wine, 
 water, cake, home-made bread, and newly-churned butter. 
 She stood by in some anxiety till, after bite and sup, the 
 colour returned to Mr. Holdsworth's face, and he would 
 fain have made us some laughing apologies for the fright 
 he had given us. But then Phillis drew back from her 
 innocent show of care and interest, and relapsed into the 
 cold shyness habitual to her when she was first thi'own 
 
62 COUSIN rniLLis. 
 
 into the company of strangers. She brought out the last 
 week's county paper (which Mr. Holdsworth had read five 
 days ago), and then quietly withdrew; and then he 
 subsided into languor, leaning back and shutting his 
 e3'es as if he would go to sleep. I stole into the kitchen 
 after Phillis ; but she had made the round of the corner 
 of the house outside, and I found her sitting on the 
 horse-mount, with her basket of peas, and a basin into 
 which she was shelling them. Eover lay at her feet, 
 snapping now and then at the flies. I went to her, and 
 tried to help her ; but somehow the sweet crisp young 
 peas found their way more frequently into my mouth 
 than into the basket, while we talked together in a low 
 tone, fearful of being overheard through the open case- 
 ments of the house-place in which Holdsworth was 
 resting. 
 
 " Don't you think him handsome ? " asked I. 
 
 " Perhaps — yes — I have hardly looked at him," she 
 replied. '' But is not he very like a foreigner ? " 
 
 *' Yes, he cuts his hair foreign fashion," said I. 
 
 " I like an Englishman to look like an Englishman." 
 
 " I don't think he thinks about it. He says he began 
 that way when he was in Italy, because everybody wore 
 it so, and it is natural to keep it on in England." 
 
 " Not if he began it in Italy because everybody there 
 wore it so. Everybody here wears it differently." 
 
 I was a little offended with Phillis's logical fault- 
 finding with my friend ; and I determined to change the 
 subject. 
 
 " When is your mother coming home ? " 
 
 " I should think she might come any time now ; but 
 she had to go and see Mrs. Morton, who was ill, and 
 
COUSIN PHILLTS. Go 
 
 slic might be kept, riiid not be liome till dinner. Don't 
 you think you ought to go and see how Mr. Holdsworth 
 is going on, Paul ? He may be faint again." 
 
 I went at her bidding ; but there was no need for it. 
 Mr. Holdsworth was up, standing by the window, his 
 hands in his pockets ; he had evidently been watching 
 us. He turned away as I entered. 
 
 " So that is the girl I found your good father planning 
 for your mfe, Paul, that eyening when I interrupted 
 you ! Are you of the same coy mind still ? It did not 
 look like it a minute ago." 
 
 " Phillis and I understand each other," I replied, 
 sturdily. " We are like brother and sister. She would 
 not have me as a husband if there was not another man 
 in the world ; and it would take a deal to make me think 
 of her — as my father wishes" (somehow I did not like 
 to say " as a wife "), " but we love each other deai-ly." 
 
 "Well, I am rather sui*prised at it — not at your 
 loving each other in a brother-and- sister kind of way — 
 but at your finding it so impossible to fall in love with 
 such a beautiful woman." 
 
 Woman ! beautiful woman ! I had thought of Phillis 
 as a comely but awkward girl ; and I could not banish 
 the pinafore from my mind's eye when I tried to picture 
 her to myself. Now I turned, as Mr. Holdsworth had 
 done, to look at her again out of the window : she had 
 just finished her task, and vras standing up, her back to 
 us, holding the basket, and the basin in it, high in air, 
 out of Piover's reach, who was giving vent to his delight 
 at the probability of a change of place by glad leaps and 
 barks, and snatches at what he imagined to be a with- 
 held prize. At length she grevr tired of their mutual 
 
G4 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 play, and with a feint of striking him, and a *' Down, 
 Rover ! do hush ! " she looked towards the window 
 where we were standing, as if to reassure herself that 
 no one had been disturbed by the noise, and seeing us, 
 she coloured all over, and hurried aw^ay, with Rover still 
 curving in sinuous lines about her as she walked. 
 
 " I should like to have sketched her," said Mr. 
 Holdsworth, as he turned away. He went back to his 
 chair, and rested in silence for a minute or two. Then 
 he was up again. 
 
 *' I would give a good deal for a book," said he. " It 
 v/ould keep me quiet." He began to look round ; there 
 were a few volumes at one end of the shovel-board. 
 
 *' Fifth volume of Matthew Henry's Commentary,'' 
 said he, reading their titles aloud. '' Housewife's com- 
 2'>lete Manual ; Benidge on Prayer; L' Inferno — Dante ! " 
 in great surprise. " Why, who reads this ?" 
 
 **I told you Phillis read it. Don't you remember? 
 She knows Latin and Greek, too." 
 
 " To be sure ! I remember ! But somehow I never 
 put two and two together. That quiet girl, full of house- 
 hold work, is the wonderful scholar, then, that put you 
 to rout with her questions when you first began to come 
 here. To be sure, ' Cousin Phillis ! ' Wliat's here : a 
 paper with the hard, obsolete words written out. I 
 wonder what sort of a dictionary she has got. Baretti 
 won't tell her all these words. Stay! I have got a pencil 
 here. I'll write down the most accepted meanings, and 
 save her a little trouble." 
 
 So he took her book and the paper back to the little 
 round table, and employed himself in writing explana- 
 tions and definitions of the words which had troubled 
 
COUSIN PIIILLIS. C5 
 
 lier. I was not sure if lie was not taldn<? a liberty : 
 
 it did not quite please me, and yet I did not know why. 
 He had only just done, and replaced the paper in the 
 book, and put the latter back in its place, when I 
 heard the sound of wheels stopping in the lane, and 
 looking out, I saw cousin Holman getting out of a neigh- 
 bour's gig, making her little curtsey of acknowledgment, 
 and then coming towards the house. I went out to 
 meet her. 
 
 *' Oh, Paul ! " said she, " I am so sorry I was kept ; 
 and then Thomas Dobson said if I v/ould wait a quarter 
 
 of an hour he would But where's your friend 
 
 Mr. Holds worth ? I hope he is come ? " 
 
 Just then he came out, and with his pleasant cordial 
 manner took her hand, and thanked her for asking him 
 to come out here to get strong. 
 
 " I'm sure I am very glad to see you, sir. It was the 
 minister's thought. I took it into my head you would 
 be dull in our quiet house, for Paul says you've been such 
 a great traveller ; but the minister said that dulness 
 would perhaps suit you while you were but ailing, and 
 that I was to ask Paul to be here as much as he could. 
 I hope you'll find yourself happy with us, I'm sure, sir. 
 Has Phillis given you something to eat and drink, I 
 wonder ? there's a deal in eating a little often, if one 
 has to get strong after an illness." And then she began 
 to question him as to the details of his indisposition in 
 her simple motherly way. He seemed at once to under- 
 stand her, and to enter into friendly relations with her. 
 It was not quite the same in the evening when the 
 minister came home. Men have always a little natural 
 antipathy to get over when they first meet as strangers. 
 
 5 
 
66 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 But in this case eacli was disposed to make an effort to 
 like the other ; only each was to each a specimen of an 
 unknown class. I had to leaye the Hope Farm on Sunday- 
 afternoon, as I had Mr. Holdsworth's work as well as my 
 own to look to in Eltham ; and I was not at all sure how 
 things would go on during the week that Holdsworth was 
 to remain on his visit ; I had heen once or twice in hot 
 water already at the near clash of opinions between the 
 minister and my much-vaunted friend. On the Wed- 
 nesday I received a short note from Holdsworth ; he 
 was going to stay on, and return with me on the follow- 
 ing Sunday, and he wanted me to send him a certain 
 list of hooks, his theodolite, and other surveying instru- 
 ments, all of which could easily be conveyed down the 
 line to Heathbridge. I went to his lodgings and picked 
 out the books. Italian, Latin, trigonometry ; a pretty 
 considerable parcel they made, besides the implements. 
 I began to be curious as to the general progress of 
 affairs at Hope Farm, but I could not go over till the 
 Saturday. At Heathbridge I found Holdsworth, come 
 to meet me. He was looking quite a different man to 
 what I had left him ; embrowned, sparkles in his eyes, 
 so languid before. I told him how much stronger he 
 looked. 
 
 *' Yes ! " said he. '* I am fidging fain to be at work 
 again. Last week I dreaded the thoughts of my em- 
 ployment ; now I am full of desire to begin. This week 
 in the country has done wonders for me." 
 
 " You have enjoyed yourself, then ? " 
 
 *' Oh ! it has been perfect in its way. Such a thorough 
 country life ! and yet removed from the dulness which I 
 always used to fancy accompanied country life, by the 
 
COUSIX PHILLIS. C7 
 
 extraordinary intelligeuce of tlie minister. I have 
 fallen into calling him ' the minister,' like every one 
 else." 
 
 *' Yon get on with him, then ? " said I. "I was a 
 little afraid." 
 
 ^' I was on the verge of displeasing him once or twice, 
 I fear, with random assertions and exaggerated expres- 
 sions, such as one always uses with other people, and 
 thinks nothing of; but I tried to check myself when I 
 saw how it shocked the good man ; and really it is very 
 wholesome exercise, this trying to make one's word3 
 represent one's thoughts, instead of merely looking to 
 their effect on others." 
 
 " Then you are quite friends now ? " I asked. 
 
 "Yes, thoroughly; at any rate as far as I go. I 
 never met with a man with such a desii'e for knov/ledge. 
 In information, as far as it can be gained from books, 
 he far exceeds me on most subjects ; but then I have 
 
 travelled and seen Were not you sui-prised at the 
 
 list of things I sent for ? " 
 
 '' Yes ; I thought it did not promise much rest.' 
 
 *' Oh ! some of the books were for the minister, and 
 some for his daughter. (I call her Phillis to myself, 
 but I use euphuisms in speaking about her to others. 
 I don't like to seem familiar, and yet Miss Holman is a 
 term I have never heard used.)" 
 
 " I thought the Italian books were for her." 
 
 " Yes ! Fancy her tiying at Dante for her first book 
 in Italian ! I had a capital novel by Manzoni, / 
 Promessi Sposi, just the thing for a beginner; and if 
 she must still puzzle out Dante, my dictionary is far 
 better than hers." 
 
 5—2 
 
68 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 " Then she found out you liad wi'ittcu tliose delluitions 
 on lier list of words ? " 
 
 ''Oh! yes" — with a smile of amusement and plea- 
 sure. He was going to tell me w^hat had taken place, 
 hut checked himself. 
 
 " But I don't think the minister will like your having 
 given her a novel to read ? " 
 
 *' Pooh ! What can he more harmless ? Why make 
 a bughear of a word ? It is as pretty and innocent a 
 tale as can he met with. You don't suppose they take 
 Virgil for gospel ? " 
 
 By this time we were at the farm. I think Phillis 
 gave me a warmer welcome than usual, and cousin 
 Holman was kindness itself. Yet somehow I felt as 
 if I had lost my place, and that Holdsworth had taken 
 it. He knew all the ways of the house ; ho was full 
 of little filial attentions to cousin Holman ; he treated 
 Phillis with the affectionate condescension of an elder 
 brother ; not a bit more ; not in any way difi'erent. He 
 questioned me about the progress of affairs in Eltham 
 with eager interest. 
 
 '' Ah ! " said cousin Holman, " you'll be spending a 
 different kind of time next week to what you have done 
 this ! I can see how busy you'll make yourself ! But 
 if you don't take care you'll be ill again, and have to 
 come back to our quiet ways of going on." 
 
 "Do you suppose I shall need to be ill to wish to 
 come back here ? " he answered, warmly. " I am only 
 afraid you have treated me so kindly that I shall always 
 be turning up on your hands." 
 
 '' That's right," she replied. ** Only don't go and 
 make yourself ill by over-work. I hope you'll go on 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 69 
 
 with a cup of new milk eveiy morning, for I am sure 
 that is the best medicine ; and put a teaspoonful of rum 
 in it, if you like ; many a one speaks highly of that, 
 only we had no rum in the house." 
 
 I brought with me an atmosphere of active life which 
 I think he had begun to miss ; and it was natural that 
 he should seek my company, after his week of retire- 
 ment. Once I saw Phillis looking at us as we talked 
 together with a kind of wistful curiosity; but as soon 
 as she caught my eye, she turned away, blushing 
 deeply. 
 
 That evening I had a little talk with the minister. 
 I strolled along the Hornby road to meet him ; for 
 Holdsworth was giving Phillis an ItaHan lesson, and 
 cousin Holman had fallen asleep over her work. 
 
 Somehow, and not unwillingly on my part, our talk 
 fell on the friend whom I had introduced to the Hope 
 Farm. 
 
 " Yes ! I like him ! " said the minister, weighing 
 his words a little as he spoke. "I like him. I hope 
 I am justified in doing it, but he takes hold of me, as 
 it were ; and I have almost been afraid lest he carries 
 me away, in spite of my judgment." 
 
 " He is a good fellow ; indeed he is," said I. "My 
 father thinks well of him; and I have seen a deal of 
 him. I would not have had him come here if I did not 
 know that you would approve of him." 
 
 "Yes," (once more hesitating,) "I like him, and I 
 think he is an upright man ; there is a want of serious- 
 ness in his talk at times, but, at the same time, it is 
 wonderful to listen to him ! He makes Horace and 
 Yirgil living, instead of dead, by the stories he tells 
 
70 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 me of Hs sojonru in tlie very countries where they livedo 
 and where to this day, he says But it is like dram- 
 drinking. I listen to him till I forget my duties, and 
 am carried off my feet. Last Sabbath evening he led 
 us away into talk on profane subjects ill befitting the 
 day." 
 
 By this time we were at the house, and our conver- 
 sation stopped. But before the day was out, I say/ 
 the unconscious hold that my friend had got over all 
 the family. And no wonder : he had seen so much and 
 done so much as compared to them, and he told about 
 it all so easily and naturally, and yet as I never heard 
 any one else do; and his ready pencil was out in an 
 instant to draw on scraps of paper all sorts of illus- 
 trations — modes of drawing up water in Northern Italy, 
 wine-carts, buffaloes, stone-pines, I knov/ not what. 
 After we had all looked at these drawings, Phillis 
 gathered them together, and took them. 
 
 It is many years since I have seen thee, Edward 
 Holdsworth, but thou wast a delightful fellovv^ ! Ay, 
 and a good one too ; though much son'ow was caused 
 by thee I 
 
 PAET III. 
 
 Just after this I went home for a week's holiday. 
 Evei^thing was prospering there; my father's new 
 partnership gave evident satisfaction to both parties. 
 There was no display of increased wealth in our modest 
 
cousix pniLLis. 71 
 
 liouseliold ; but my mother liad a few extra comforts 
 provided for her by her husband. I made acquaintance 
 Tvith Mr. and Mrs. Ellison, and first saw j^retty Margaret 
 Ellison, who is now my wife. When I returned to 
 Eltham, I found that a step was decided upon, which 
 had been in contemplation for some time ; that Holds- 
 worth and I should remove our quarters to Hornby ; our 
 daily presence, and as much of our time as possible, 
 being required for the completion of the line at that end. 
 
 Of course this led to greater facility of intercourse 
 with the Hope Fann people. We could easily v/aik out 
 there after our day's work was done, and spend a balmy 
 evening hour or two, and yet return before the summer's 
 twilight had quite faded away. Many a time, indeed, 
 we would fain have stayed longer — the open air, the 
 fresh and pleasant country, made so agreeable a contrast 
 to the close, hot town lodgings which I shared with 
 Mr. Holdsworth ; but early hours, both at eve and morn, 
 were an imperative necessity with the minister, and he 
 made no scruple at turning either or both of us out of 
 the house directly after evening prayer, or " exercise," 
 as he called it. The remembrance of many a happy 
 day, and of several little scenes, comes back upon me as 
 I think of that summer. They rise like pictures to my 
 memory, and in this way I can date their succession ; 
 for I know that corn harvest must have come after hay- 
 making, apple-gathering after com-harvest. 
 
 The removal to Hornby took up some time, during 
 which we had neither of us any leisure to go out to the 
 Hope Farm. Mr. Holdsworth had been out there once 
 during my absence at home. One sultry evening, when 
 work was done, he proposed our walking out and paying 
 
4 2 COUSIN THILLIS. 
 
 the Holmans a visit. It so happened that I had omitted 
 to write iny usual weekly letter home in our press of 
 business, and I wished to finish that before going out. 
 Then he said that he would go, and that I could follow 
 him if I liked. This I did in aboat an hour ; the 
 weather was so oppressive, I remember, that I took off 
 my coat as I walked, and hung it over my arm. All the 
 doors and v/indows at the farm were open when I arrived 
 there, and eveiy tiny leaf on the trees was still. The 
 silence of the place was profound ; at first I thought that 
 it was entirely deserted; but just as I drew near the 
 door I heard a weak sweet voice begin to sing ; it was 
 cousin Holman, all by herself in the house-place, piping 
 up a hymn, as she knitted away in the clouded light. 
 She gave me a kindly welcome, and poured out all the 
 small domestic news of the fortnight past upon me, and, 
 in return, I told her about my own people and my visit 
 at home. 
 
 " Where were the rest ? " at length I asked. 
 
 Betty and the men were in the field helping with the 
 last load of hay, for the minister said there would be 
 rain before the morning. Yes, and the minister himself, 
 and Phillis, and Mr. Holdsworth, were all there helping. 
 She thought that she herself could have done some- 
 thing ; but perhaps she was the least fit for hay-making 
 cf any one ; and somebody must stay at home and take 
 care of the house, there were so many tramps about ; if 
 I had not had something to do with the railroad she 
 Vs'ould have called them navvies. I asked her if she 
 minded being left alone, as I should like to go and help ; 
 and having her full and glad permission to leave her 
 alone, I went off, following her directions : through the 
 
COUSIX PHILLIS. 73 
 
 farmyard, past the cattle-pond, into the ash-field, beyond 
 into the higher field with two holly-bushes in the middle. 
 I arrived there: there was Betty with all the farming 
 men, and a cleared field, and a heavily laden cart ; one 
 man at the top of the great pile ready to catch the 
 fragrant hay which the others threw up to him with their 
 pitchforks ; a little heap of cast-off clothes in a corner of 
 the field (for the heat, even at seven o'clock, was iu- 
 sufi'erable), a few cans and baskets, and Rover lying by 
 them panting, and keeping watch. Plenty of loud, 
 hearty, cheerful talking ; but no minister, no Phillis, no 
 Mr. Holdsworth. Betty saw me first, and under- 
 standing who it was that I was in search of, she came 
 towards me. 
 
 " They're out yonder — agait wi' them things o' 
 Measter Holdsworth's." 
 
 So "out 3'onder" I v;ent ; out on to a broad upland 
 common, full of red sand-banks, and sweeps and hollows ; 
 bordered by dark firs, purple in the coming shadows, 
 but near at hand all ablaze with flowering gorse, or, as 
 we call it in the south, furze-bushes, which, seen against 
 the belt of distant trees, appeared brilhantly golden. 
 On this heath, a little way from the field-gate, I saw 
 the three. I counted their heads, joined together in an 
 eager group over Holdsworth's theodolite. He was 
 teaching the minister the practical art of surveying and 
 taking a level. I was wanted to assist, and was quickly 
 set to work to hold the chain. PhiUis was as intent as 
 her fiither ; she had hardly time to greet me, so desirous 
 was she to hear some answer to her father's question. 
 
 So we went on, the dark clouds still gathering, for 
 perhaps five minutes after my arrival. Then came the 
 
74 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 blinding lightning and tlie rumble and quick-following 
 rattling peal of thunder right over our heads. It came 
 sooner than I expected, sooner than they had looked 
 for : the rain delayed not ; it came pouring down ; and 
 what were we to do for shelter ? Phillis had nothing on 
 but her indoor things — no bonnet, no shavrl. Quick as 
 the darting lightning around us, Holdsworth took off his 
 coat and wrapped it round her neck and shoulders, and, 
 almost without a word, hurried us all into such poor 
 shelter as one of the overhanging sand-banks could give. 
 There we were, cowered down, close together, Phillis 
 innermost, almost too tightly packed to free her arms 
 enough to divest herself of the coat, which she, in her 
 turn, tried to put lightly over Holdsworth's shoulders. 
 In doing so she touched his shirt. 
 
 " Oh, how wet you are ! " she cried, in pitying dismay ; 
 " and you've hardly got over your fever ! Oh, Mr. 
 Holdsworth, I am so sorry!" He turned his head a 
 little, smiling at her. 
 
 ''If I do catch cold, it is all my fault for having 
 deluded you into staying out here ! " but she only 
 murmured again, " I am so sorry." 
 
 The minister spoke now. " It is a regular downpour. 
 Please God that the hay is saved ! But there is no 
 likelihood of its ceasing, and I had better go home at 
 once, and send you all some wraps ; umbrellas will not 
 be safe with yonder thunder and lightning." 
 
 Both Holdsworth and I offered to go instead of him ; 
 but he was resolved, although perhaps it would have been 
 wiser if Holdsworth, wet as he already was, had kept him- 
 self in exercise. As he moved off, Phillis crept out, and 
 could see on to the storm-swept heath. Part of Holds- 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 75 
 
 wortli's apparatus still remained exposed to all the rain. 
 Before v.'e could have any warning, she had rushed out 
 of the shelter and collected the various things, and 
 brought them hack in triumph to where we crouched. 
 Holdsworth had stood up, uncei-tain whether to go to 
 her assistance or not. She came running hack, her long 
 lovely hair floating and dripping, her eyes glad and 
 bright, and her colour freshened to a glow of health by 
 the exercise and the rain. 
 
 *' Now, Miss Holman, that's what I call wilful," said 
 Holdsworth, as she gave them to him. " No, I won't 
 thank you " (his looks were thanking her all the time). 
 " My little bit of dampness annoyed you, because you 
 thought I had got wet in your service ; so you were 
 determined to make me as uncomfortable as you were 
 yourself. It was an unchristian piece of revenge ! " 
 
 His tone of badinage (as the French call it) would 
 have been palpable enough to any one accustomed to the 
 world ; but Phillis was not, and it distressed or rather 
 bewildered her. "Unchristian" had to her a very 
 serious meaning ; it was not a word to be used lightly ; 
 and though she did not exactly understand what wrong 
 it was that she was accused of doing, she was evidently 
 desirous to throw off the imputation. At first her 
 earnestness to disclaim unkind motives amused Holds- 
 worth ; while his light continuance of the joke perplexed 
 her still more ; but at last he said something gravely, 
 and in too low a tone for me to hear, which made her 
 all at once become silent, and called out her blushes. 
 After a while, the minister came back, a moving mass 
 of shawls, cloaks, and umbrellas. Phillis kept very 
 close to her father's side on our return to the farm. Sho 
 
76 COUSIN pniLLis. 
 
 appeared to me to be shrinking away from Holclsworth, 
 while he had not the slightest variation in his manner 
 from what it usually was in his graver moods ; kind, 
 protecting, and thoughtful towards her. Of course, 
 there was a great commotion about our wet clothes ; 
 but I name the little events of that evening now because 
 I wondered at the time what he had said in that lov; 
 voice to silence Phillis so effectually, and because, in 
 thinking of their intercourse by the light of future 
 events, that evening stands out with some prominence. 
 
 I have said that after our removal to Hornby our 
 communications with the fann became almost of daily 
 occurrence. Cousin Holman and I were the two who 
 had least to do with this intimacy. After Mr. Holds- 
 Vs'orth regained his health, he too often talked above her 
 head in intellectual matters, and too often in his light 
 bantering tone for her to feel quite at her ease with him. 
 I really believe that he adopted this latter tone in 
 speaking to her because he did not knov/ what to talk 
 about to a purely motherly woman, whose intellect had 
 never been cultivated, and whose loving heart was 
 entirely occupied with her husband, her child, her 
 household affairs, and, perhaps, a little with the concerns 
 of the members of her husband's congregation, because 
 they, in a way, belonged to her husband. I had noticed 
 before that she had fleeting shadows of jealousy even of 
 Phillis, when her daughter and her husband appeared to 
 have strong interests and sympathies in things which 
 were quite beyond her comprehension. I had noticed 
 it in my first acquaintance with them, I say, and had 
 admired the delicate tact which made the minister, on 
 such occasions, bring the conversation back to such 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 77 
 
 subjects as those on which his wife, with her practical 
 experience of every- day life, was an authority ; while 
 Phillis, devoted to her father, unconsciously followed his 
 lead, totally unaware, in her filial reverence, of his 
 motive for doing so. 
 
 To return to Holdsworth. The minister had at more 
 than one time spoken of him to me with slight distrust, 
 principally occasioned by the suspicion that his careless 
 words were not always those of soherness and truth. 
 But it was more as a protest against the fascination 
 which the younger man evidently exercised over the 
 elder one — more as it were to strengthen himself against 
 yielding to this fascination — that the minister spoke out 
 to me about this failing of Holdsworth's, as it a^Dpeared 
 to him. In return Holdsworth was subdued by the 
 minister's uprightness and goodness, and dehghted with 
 his clear intellect — his strong healthy craving after 
 further knowledge. I never met two men who took 
 more thorough pleasure and relish in each other's 
 society. To Phillis his relation continued that of an 
 elder brother : he directed her studies into new paths, 
 he patiently drew out the expression of many of her 
 thoughts, and perplexities, and unformed theories — 
 scarcely ever now falHng into the vein of banter which 
 she was so slow to understand. 
 
 One day — harvest-time — he had been drawing on a 
 loose piece of paper — sketching ears of corn, sketching 
 carts drawn by bullocks and laden with grapes — all the 
 time talking with Phillis and me, cousin Holman putting 
 in her not pertinent remarks, when suddenly ho said to 
 Phillis,— 
 
 " Keep your head still ; I see a sketch ! I have often 
 
78 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 tried to cli-aw your liead from memory, and failed ; but I 
 think I can do it now. If I succeed I will give it to 
 your mother. You would like a portrait of your daughter 
 as Ceres, would you not, ma'am ?" 
 
 " I should like a picture of her; yes, very much, 
 thank you, Mr. Holdsworth ; but if you put that straw 
 in her hair," (he was holding some wheat ears above her 
 passive head, looking at the effect with an artistic eye,) 
 " you'll ruffle her hair. Phillis, my dear, if you're to 
 have your picture taken, go upstairs, and brush your 
 hair smooth." 
 
 " Not on any account. I beg your pardon, but I want 
 hair loosely flowing." 
 
 He began to draw, looking intently at Phillis ; I could 
 see this stare of his discomposed her — her colour came 
 and went, her breath quickened with the consciousness 
 of his regard ; at last, when he said, " Please look at 
 me for a minute or two, I want to get in the eyes," she 
 looked up at him, quivered, and suddenly got up and 
 left the room. He did not say a word, but went on with 
 some other part of the drawing ; his silence was un- 
 natural, and his dark cheek blanched a little. Cousin 
 Holman looked up from her work, and put her spectacles 
 down. 
 
 " What's the matter ? Where is she gone ?" 
 
 Holdsworth never uttered a word, but went on draw- 
 ing. I felt obliged to say something; it was stupid 
 enough, but stupidity was better than silence just 
 then. 
 
 " I'll go and call her," said I. So I went into the 
 hall, and to the bottom of the stairs ; but just as I was 
 going to call Phillis, she came down swiftly with her 
 
" You -would lii:e a portrait of your daughter as Ceres, would you not, 
 ma'am ? " p. 78. 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 79 
 
 bonnet on, and saying, '' I'm going to father in the five- 
 acre," passed out by the open '' rector," right in front 
 of the house-place windows, and out at the little white 
 side-gate. She had been seen by her mother and 
 Holdsworth, as she passed ; so there was no need for 
 explanation, only cousin Holman and I had a long dis- 
 cussion as to whether she could have found the room 
 too hot, or what had occasioned her sudden departure. 
 Holdsworth was very quiet during all the rest of that 
 day ; nor did he resume the portrait-taking by his own 
 desire, only at my cousin Holman's request the next 
 time that he came ; and then he said he should not 
 require any more formal sittings for only such a slight 
 sketch as he felt himself capable of making. Phillis 
 was just the same as ever the next time I saw her after 
 her abrupt passing me in the hall. She never gave any 
 explanation of her rush out of the room. 
 
 So all things went on, at least as far as my observa- 
 tion reached at the time, or memory can recall now, till 
 the great apple-gathering of the year. The nights were 
 frosty, the mornings and evenings were misty, but at 
 mid -day all was sunny and bright, and it was one mid- 
 day that both of us being on the line near Heathbridge, 
 and knowing that they were gathering apples at the 
 farm, we resolved to spend the men's dinner-hour in 
 going over there. We found the great clothes-baskets 
 full of apples, scenting the house, and stopping up the 
 way ; and an universal air of merry contentment with 
 this the final produce of the year. The yellow leaves 
 hung on the trees ready to flutter down at the slightest 
 puff of air ; the great bushes of Michaelmas daisies in 
 the kitchen-garden were making their last show of 
 
80 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 flowers. We must needs taste tlie fruit olT tlie different 
 trees, and pass our judgment as to their flavour ; and 
 we went away with our pockets stuffed with those that 
 we liked best. As we had passed to the orchard, 
 Holdsworth had admired and spoken about some flower 
 which he saw ; it so happened he had never seen this 
 old-fashioned kind since the days of his boyhood. I do 
 not know whether he had thought anything more about 
 this chance speech of his, but I know I had not — when 
 Phillis, who had been missing just at the last moment of 
 our hurried visit, re-appeared with a little nosegay of 
 this same flower, which she was tying up with a blade 
 of grass. She offered it to Holdsworth as he stood with 
 her father on the point of departure. I saw their faces. 
 I saw for the first time an unmistakable look of love in 
 his black eyes ; it was more than gratitude for the little 
 attention ; it was tender and beseeching — passionate. 
 She shrank from it in confusion, her glance fell on me ; 
 and, partly to hide her emotion, partly out of real kind- 
 ness at what might appear ungracious neglect of an older 
 friend, she flew off' to gather me a few late-blooming 
 China roses. But it was the first time she had ever 
 done anything of the kind for me. 
 
 We had to walk fast to be back on the line before the 
 men's return, so we spoke but little to each other, and of 
 course the afternoon was too much occupied for us to 
 have any talk. In the evening we went back to our 
 joint lodgings in Hornby. There, on the table, lay a 
 letter for Holdsworth, which had been forwarded to him 
 from Eltham. As our tea was ready, and I had had 
 nothing to eat since morning, I fell to directly without 
 paying much attention to my companion as he opened 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 81 
 
 and read his letter. He was very silent for a fev; 
 minutes ; at length he said, — 
 
 " Old fellow! I'm going to leave you! " 
 
 '' Leave me ! " said I. '' How ? When ? " 
 
 " This letter ought to have come to hand sooner. It 
 is fit'om Greathed the engineer " (Greathed was well 
 knov.Ti in those days ; he is dead now, and his name 
 half- forgotten) ; "he wants to see me about some busi- 
 ness ; in fact, I may as well tell you, Paul, this letter 
 contains a very advantageous proposal for me to go out 
 to Canada, and superintend the making of a line there." 
 
 I was in utter dismay. 
 
 *' But what ^vill our company say to that ?" 
 
 *' Oh, Greathed has the superintendence of this line, 
 you know ; and he is going to be engineer in chief to 
 this Canadian line ; many of the shareholders in this 
 company are going in for the other, so I fancy they will 
 make no difficulty in following Greathed's lead. He 
 says he has a young man ready to put in my place." 
 
 " I hate him," said I. 
 
 *' Thank you," said Holdsworth, laughing. 
 
 " But you must not," he resumed ; *' for this is a very 
 good thing for me, and, of course, if no one can be 
 found to take my inferior work, I can't be spared to take 
 the superior. I only wish I had received this letter a 
 day sooner. Every hour is of consequence, for Greathed 
 says they are threatening a rival line. Do you know, 
 Paul, I almost fancy I must go up to-night ? I can take 
 an engine back to Eltham, and catch the night train. I 
 should not like Greathed to think me lukewarm." 
 
 *' But you'll come back ? " I asked, distressed at the 
 thought of this sudden parting. 
 
82 COUSm PHILLIS. 
 
 *' oil, yes ! At least I hope so. They may want me 
 to go out by the next steamer, that will be on Saturday." 
 He began to eat and drink standing, but I think he was 
 quite unconscious of the nature of either his food or 
 his drink. 
 
 "I will go to-night. Activity and readiness go a 
 long way in our profession. Remember that, my boy ! 
 I hope I shall come back, biit if I don't, be sure and 
 recollect all the words of wisdom that have fallen from 
 my lips. Now where's the portmanteau ? If I can gain 
 half an hour for a gathering up of my things in Eltham, 
 so much the better. I'm clear of debt anyhow ; and 
 what I owe for my lodgings you can pay for me out of 
 my quarter's salar}% due November 4th." 
 
 " Then you don't think jou will come back ? " I said, 
 despondingly. 
 
 ^' 1 will come back some time, never fear," said he, 
 kindly. "I maybe back in a couple of days, having 
 been found incompetent for the Canadian work ; or I 
 may not be wanted to go out so soon as I now anticipate. 
 Anyhow you don't suppose I am going to forget you, 
 Paul — this work out there ought not to take me above 
 two years, and, perhaps, after that, we may be employed 
 together again." 
 
 Perhaps ! I had very little hope. The same kind of 
 happy days never returns. However, I did all I could 
 in helping him : clothes, papers, books, instruments ; 
 how we pushed and struggled — how I stuffed. All was 
 done in a much shorter time than we had calculated 
 upon, when I had run down to the sheds to order the 
 engine. I was going to drive him to Eltham. We sat 
 ready for a summons. Holdsworth took up the little 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 83 
 
 nosegay that lie had brought away from the Hope Farm, 
 and had laid on the mantel-piece on first coming into 
 the room. He smelt at it, and caressed it with his lips. 
 
 " What grieves mo is that I did not know — that I have 
 not said good-by to — to them." 
 
 He spoke in a grave tone, the shadow of the coming 
 separation falling upon him at last. 
 
 " I will tell them," said I. '' I am sure they will be 
 very sorry." Then we were silent. 
 
 '' I never liked any family so much." 
 
 " I knevv^ you would like them." 
 
 *' How one's thoughts change, — this morning I was 
 full of a hope, Paul." He paused, and then he said, — 
 
 '' You put that sketch in carefully ? " 
 
 " That outline of a head ? " asked I. But I knew he 
 meant an abortive sketch of Phillis, which had not been 
 successful enough for him to complete it with shading or 
 colouring. 
 
 " Yes. What a sweet innocent face it is ! and yet so — 
 Oh, dear!" 
 
 He sighed and got up, his hands in his pockets, to 
 walk up and down the room in evident disturbance of 
 mind. He suddenly stopped opposite to me. 
 
 '^ You'll tell them how it all was. Be sure and tell 
 the good minister that I was so sorry not to wish him 
 good-by, and to thank him and his wife for all their 
 kindness. As for Phillis, — please God in two years I'll 
 be back and tell her myself all in my heart." 
 
 *' Y^ou love Phillis, then ? " said I. 
 
 "Love her! — Yes, that I do. Who could help it, 
 seeing her as I have done ? Her character as unusual 
 and rare as her beauty ! God bless her ! God kee;> 
 
 6—2 
 
84 COUSIX PHILLIS. 
 
 her in her high tranqiiillity, her pure innocence. — 
 Two years ! It is a long time. — But she lives in such 
 .seclusion, almost like the sleeping beauty, Paul," — (he 
 was smiling nov/, though a minute before I had thought 
 him on the verge of tears,) — " but I shall come back 
 like a prince from Canada, and waken her to my 
 love. I can't help hoping that it won't be difficult, eh, 
 Paul?" 
 
 This touch of coxcombry displeased me a little, and I 
 made no answer. He went on, half apologetically, — 
 
 " You see, the salary they offer me is large ; and 
 beside that, this experience wdll give me a name which 
 will entitle me to expect a still larger in any future 
 undertaking." 
 
 " That won't influence Philiis." 
 
 " No ! but it v/ill make me more eligible in the eyes 
 of her father and mother." 
 
 I made no answer. 
 
 "You give me your best wishes, Paul," said he, 
 almost pleading. " You would like me for a cousin ? " 
 
 I heard the scream and whistle of the engine ready 
 down at the sheds. 
 
 "Ay, that I should," I repHed, suddenly softened 
 towards my friend now that he was going away. " I wish 
 you were to be married to-morrow, and I were to be best 
 man." 
 
 " Thank you, lad. Now for this cursed portmanteau 
 (hov7 the minister would be shocked) ; but it is heavy ! '* 
 and off we sped into the darkness. 
 
 He only just caught the night train at Eltham, and I 
 slept, desolately enough, at my old lodgings at Miss 
 Dawson's, for that night. Of course the next few days 
 
cousix rniLLis. 85 
 
 I was busier than ever, doing both bis vrork and my 
 own. Then came a letter from him, very short and 
 affectionate. He was going out in the Saturday steamer, 
 as he had more than half expected ; and by the following 
 Monday the man who was to succeed him would be 
 down at Eltham. There was a P.S., with only these 
 words : — 
 
 " My nosegay goes with me to Canada, but I do not 
 need it to remind me of Hope Farm." 
 
 Saturday came ; but it was very late before I could 
 go out to the farm. It was a frosty night, the stars 
 shone clear above me, and the road was crisping beneath 
 my feet. They must have heard my footsteps before I got 
 up to the house. They were sitting at their usual employ- 
 ments in the house-place when I went in. Phillis's eyes 
 went beyond me in their look of welcome, and then fell 
 in quiet disappointment on her work. 
 
 ''And Where's Mr. Holdsworth ? " asked cousin 
 Holman, in a minute or two. " I hope his cold is not 
 worse, — ^I did not like his short cough." 
 
 I laughed awkwardly ; for I felt that I was the bearer 
 of unpleasant news. 
 
 " His cold had need be better— for he's gone— gouo 
 away to Canada ! " 
 
 I purposely looked away from Phillis, as I thus 
 abruptly told my news. 
 
 " To Canada ! " said the minister. 
 
 " Gone away ! " said his wife. 
 
 But no word from Phillis. 
 
 "Yes!" said I. ''He found a letter at Hornby 
 when we got home the other night— when we got home 
 fi'om here; he ought to have o-ot it sooner; ho was 
 
86 COUSIN THILLIS. 
 
 ordered to go up to London direct!}', and to see some 
 people about a new line in Canada, and he's gone to lay 
 it down ; lie lias sailed to-day. He was sadly grieved 
 not to have time to come out and wish you all good-by ; 
 but he started for London within two hours after he got 
 that letter. He bade me thank you most gratefully for 
 all your kindnesses ; he was very sorry not to come here 
 once again." 
 
 Phillis got up and left the room with noiseless steps. 
 
 *' I am very sorry," said the minister. 
 
 " I am sure so am I ! " said cousin Holman. " I was 
 real fond of that lad ever since I nursed him last June 
 after that bad fever." 
 
 The minister went on asking me questions respecting 
 Holdsworth's future plans ; and brought out a large old- 
 fashioned atlas, that he might find out the exact places 
 between which the new railroad was to run. Then 
 supper was ready ; it vras always on the table as soon 
 as the clock on the stairs struck eight, and down came 
 Phillis — her face white and set, her dry eyes looking 
 defiance to me, for I am afraid I hurt her maidenly 
 pride by my glance of sympathetic interest as she 
 entered the room. Never a word did she say — never a 
 question did she ask about the absent friend, yet she 
 forced herself to talk. 
 
 And so it was all the next day. She was as pale as 
 could be, like one who has received some shock; but 
 she would not let me talk to her, and she tried hard to 
 behave as usual. Two or three times I repeated, in 
 public, the various affectionate messages to the family 
 with which I vras charged by Holdsworth ; but she took 
 no more notice of them than if my words had been 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 87 
 
 empty air. And in this mood I left lier on the Sabbath 
 
 My new master was not half so indulgent as my old 
 one. He kept up strict discipline as to hours, so that it 
 was some time before I could again go out, even to pay 
 a call at the Hope Farm. 
 
 It was a cold misty evening in November. The air, 
 even indoors, seemed full of haze ; yet there was a great 
 log burning on the hearth, which ought to have made 
 the room cheerful. Cousin Holman and Phillis were 
 sitting at the little round table before the fire, working 
 away in silence. The minister had his books out on the 
 dresser, seemingly deep in study, by the light of his 
 solitary candle ; perhaps the fear of distui'bing him made 
 the unusual stillness of the room. But a welcome was 
 ready for me from all ; not noisy, not demonstrative — 
 that it never was ; my damp wrappers were taken ofi", 
 the next meal was hastened, and a chair placed for 
 me on one side of the fire, so that I pretty much com- 
 manded a view of the room. My eye caught on Phillis, 
 looking so pale and weary, and with a sort of aching 
 tone (if I may call it so) in her voice. She was doing 
 all the accustomed things — fulfilling small household 
 duties, but somehow differently — I can't tell 3'ou how, 
 for she was just as deft and quick in her movements, 
 only the light spring was gone out of them. Cousin 
 Holman began to question me; even the minister put 
 aside his books, and came and stood on the opposite 
 side of the fire-place, to hear what waft of intelhgence 
 I brought. I had first to tell them why I had not been 
 to see them for so lonpr — more than five weeks. The 
 
88 COUSIN pniLLis. 
 
 answer was simple enough ; business and the necessity 
 of attending strictly to the orders of a new super- 
 intendent, who had not yet learned trust, much less 
 indulgence. The minister nodded his approval of my 
 conduct, and said, — 
 
 ''Right, Paul! 'Servants, ohey in all things your 
 masters according to the flesh.' I have had my fears lest 
 you had too much licence under Edward Holdsworth." 
 
 " Ah," said cousin Holman, " poor Mr. Holdsworth, 
 he'll be on the salt seas by this time ! " 
 
 "No, indeed," said I, "he's landed. I have had a 
 letter from him fi'om HaHfax." 
 
 Immediately a shower of questions fell thick upon me. 
 When? How? "What was he doing? How did he 
 like it ? What sort of a voyage ? &c. 
 
 " Many is the time we have thought of him when the 
 wind was blowing so hard ; the old quince-tree is blown 
 down, Paul, that on the right-hand of the great pear- 
 tree ; it was blown down last Monday week, and it was 
 that night that I asked the minister to pray in an 
 especial manner for all them that went down in ships 
 upon the gi-eat deep, and he said then, that Mr. Holds- 
 worth might be already landed ; but I said, even if the 
 prayer did not fit him, it was sure to be fitting some- 
 body out at sea, who would need the Lord's care. Both 
 PhilHs and I thought he would be a month on the seas." 
 
 Phillis began to speak, but her voice did not come 
 rightly at first. It was a little higher pitched than 
 usual, when she said — 
 
 "We thought he would be a month if he went in a 
 sailing-vessel, or perhaps longer. I suppose he vs'cnt in 
 a steamer?" 
 
COUSIN rniLLis. 80 
 
 " Old Obacliali Grimshaw was more tlian six weeks in 
 getting to America," observed cousin Holman. 
 
 *' I presume lie cannot as yet tell bow be likes bis 
 new work ? " asked tbe minister. 
 
 " No ! be is but just landed ; it is but one i^age long. 
 I'll read it to you, sball I ? — 
 
 "Dear Paul, — 
 
 " We are safe on shore, after a rough passage. Thought 
 you would like to hear this, but homeward-bound steamer is 
 making signals for letters. Will write again soon. It seems a 
 year since I left Hornby. Longer since I was at the farm. I 
 have got my nosegay safe. Remember me to the Ilolmans, 
 
 " Yours, " E. H." 
 
 ''Tbat's not mucb, certainly," said tbe minister. 
 *'But it's a comfort to know he's on land these blovvy 
 nigbts." 
 
 Pbillis said nothing. She kept her bead bent down 
 over ber work ; but I don't think she put a stitcb in, 
 wbile I was reading tbe letter. I wondered if she 
 understood what nosegay was meant; but I could not 
 tell. When next she lifted up ber face, there were two 
 spots of brilliant colour on tbe cbeeks that bad been so 
 pale before. After I bad spent an hour or two there, I 
 was bound to return back to Hornby. I told them I 
 did not know wben I could come again, as we — by 
 which I mean the company — bad undertaken tbe Hens- 
 leydale line; that branch for wbicb poor Eoldsworth 
 was surveying vvben be caught bis fever. 
 
 '' But you'll have a boHday at Christmas," said my 
 cousin. '' Surely tbey'll not be such bcatbens as to 
 work you tben? " 
 
 <' Perbaps tbe lad will be going bome," said tbo 
 
00 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 minister, as if to mitigate his wife's urgency ; but for 
 all that, I helieve he wanted me to come. Phillis fixed 
 her eyes on me with a wistful expression, hard to resist. 
 But, indeed, I had no thought of resisting. Under my 
 new master I had no hope of a holiday long enough to 
 enable me to go to Birmingham and see my parents 
 with any comfort ; and nothing could be pleasanter to 
 me than to find myself at home at my cousin's for a 
 day or two, then. So it was fixed that we were to meet 
 in Hornby Chapel on Christmas Day, and that I was to 
 accompany them home after service, and if possible to 
 stay over the next day. 
 
 I was not able to get to chapel till late on the appointed 
 day, and so I took a seat near the door in considerable 
 shame, although it really was not my fault. When the 
 service was ended, I went and stood in the porch to 
 await the coming out of my cousins. Some worthy 
 people belonging to the congregation clustered into a 
 group just where I stood, and exchanged the good wishes 
 of the season. It had just begun to snow, and this 
 occasioned a little delay, and they fell into further con- 
 versation. I was not attending to what was not meant 
 for me to hear, till I caught the name of Phillis Holman. 
 And then I listened ; where was the harm ? 
 
 " I never saw any one so changed ! " 
 
 " I asked Mrs. Holman," quoth another, " 'Is PhilHs 
 well ? ' and she just said she had been having a cold 
 which had pulled her dov/n ; she did not seem to think 
 anything of it." 
 
 " They had best take care of her," said one of the 
 oldest of the good ladies ; " Phillis comes of a family 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 91 
 
 as is not loDg-livecl. Her mother's sister, Lydia Green, 
 lier OAvn aunt as was, died of a decline just when she 
 was about this lass's age." 
 
 This ill-omened talk was broken in upon by the 
 coming out of the minister, his wife and daughter, and 
 the consequent interchange of Christmas complhnents. 
 I had had a shock, and felt heavy-hearted and anxious, 
 and hardly up to making the appropriate replies to the 
 kind greetings of my relations. I looked askance at 
 Phillis. She had certainly grown taller and slighter, 
 and was thinner ; but there was a flush of colour on 
 her face which deceived me for a time, and made m.e 
 think she was looking as well as ever. I only saw 
 her paleness after we had returned to the farm, and 
 she had subsided into silence and quiet. Her gi'ey ejes 
 looked hollow and sad ; her complexion was of a dead 
 white. But she went about just as usual ; at least, just 
 as she had done the last time I was there, and seemed 
 to have no ailment ; and I was inclined to think that 
 my cousin was right when she had answered* the in- 
 quiries of the good-natured gossips, and told them that 
 Phillis was suffering from the consequences of a bad 
 cold, nothing more. 
 
 I have said that I was to stay over the next day ; a 
 great deal of snow had come down, but not all, they 
 said, though the ground was covered deep with the 
 white fall. The minister was anxiously housing his 
 cattle, and preparing all things for a long continuance 
 of the same kind of weather. The men were chopping 
 wood, sending wheat to the mill to be ground before the 
 road should become impassable for a cart and horse. 
 My cousin and Phillis had gone upstairs to the apple- 
 
92 COUSIN PIIILLI3. 
 
 room to cover up the fruit from the frost. I had been 
 out the greater part of the morning, and came in about 
 an hour before dinner. To my sui-prise, knowing hov/ 
 she had pLanned to be engaged, I found Phillis sitting 
 at the dresser, resting her head on her two hands and 
 reading, or seeming to read. She did not look up "when 
 I came in, but murmured something about her mother 
 having sent her down out of the cokl. It flashed across 
 me that she was ci7ing, but I put it down to some little 
 spirt of temper; I might have known better than to 
 suspect the gentle, serene Phillis of crossness, poor 
 girl; I stooped down, and began to stir and build up 
 the fire, which appeared to have been neglected. While 
 my head was down I heard a noise which made me pause 
 and listen — a sob, an unmistakable, irrepressible sob. 
 I started up. 
 
 " Phillis ! " I cried, going towards her, with my hand 
 out, to take hers for sympathy with her sorrow, vv-hatever 
 it was. But she was too quick for me, she held her 
 hand out of my grasp, for fear of my detaining her ; as 
 she quickly passed out of the house, she said, — 
 
 "Don't, Paul! I cannot bear it!" and passed me, 
 still sobbing, and v/ent out into the keen, open air. 
 
 I stood still and wondered. What could have come to 
 Phillis ? The most perfect harmony prevailed in the 
 family, and Phillis especially, good and gentle as she 
 was, was so beloved that if they had found out that her 
 finger ached, it would have cast a shadow over their 
 hearts. Had I done anything to vex her ? No : she 
 was crying before I came in. I went to look at her 
 book — one of those unintelligible Italian books. I 
 could make neither head nor tail of it. I saw some 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 93 
 
 pencil-notes on tlie margin, in Holclswortli's hand- 
 writing. 
 
 Could tlipvt be it? Could tliat be the cause of her 
 white looks, her weary ej'es, her wasted figure, her 
 struggling sobs ? This idea came upon me like a flash 
 of lightning on a dark night, making all things so clear 
 we cannot forget them afterwards when the gloomy 
 obscurity returns. I was still standing with the book in 
 my hand when I heard cousin Holman's footsteps on the 
 stairs, and as I did not wish to speak to her just then, I 
 followed Phillis's example, and rushed out of the house. 
 The snow was lying on the ground ; I could track her 
 feet by the marks they had made ; I could see where 
 Eover had joined her. I followed on till I came to a 
 great stack of wood in the orchard — it was built up 
 against the back wall of the outbuildings, — and I recol- 
 lected then how Phillis had told me, that first day when 
 we strolled about together, that underneath this stack 
 had been her hermitage, her sanctuary, when she was a 
 child ; how she used to bring her book to study there, or 
 her work, when she was not wanted in the house ; and 
 she had now evidently gone back to this quiet retreat of 
 her childhood, forgetful of the clue given me by her foot- 
 marks on the new-fiillen snow. The stack was built up 
 veiy high ; but through the interstices of the sticks I 
 could see her figure, although I did not all at once 
 perceive how I could get to her. She was sitting on a 
 log of wood. Rover by her. She had laid her cheek on 
 Rover's head, and had her arm round his neck, partly 
 for a pillow, partly from an instinctive craving for warmth 
 on that bitter cold day. She was making a low moan, 
 like an animal in pain, or perhaps more like the sobbing 
 
94 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 of tlie wind. Rover, liiglily flattered by lier caress, and 
 also, perhaps, touched by sympathy, was flapping his 
 heavy tail against the ground, but not otherwise moving 
 a hair, until he heard my approach with his quick erected 
 ears. Then, with a short, abrupt bark of distrust, he 
 sprang up as if to leave his mistress. Both he and I 
 were immovably still for a moment. I was not sure 
 if what I longed to do was wise : and yet I could not 
 bear to see the sweet serenity of my dear cousin's life 
 so disturbed by a suffering which I thought I could 
 assuage. But Pv,ovei''s ears were sharper than my 
 breathing was noiseless : he heard me, and sprang out 
 from under Phillis's restraining hand. 
 
 " Oh, Rover, don't you leave me, too," she plained out. 
 
 " Phillis ! " said I, seeing by Rover's exit that the 
 entrance to where she sat was to be found on the other 
 side of the stack. " Phillis, come out ! You have got 
 a cold already ; and it is not fit for you to sit there on 
 such a day as this. You know how displeased and 
 anxious it would make them all." 
 
 She sighed, but obeyed ; stooping a little, she came 
 out, and stood upright, opposite to me in the lonely, 
 leafless orchard. Her face looked so meek and so sad 
 that 1 felt as if I ought to beg her pardon for my neces- 
 sarily authoritative words. 
 
 *' Sometimes I feel the house so close," she said ; 
 '' and I used to sit under the wood-stack when I was a 
 child. It was very kind of you, but there was no need 
 to come after me. I don't catch cold easily." 
 
 '* Come with me into this cow-house, Phillis. I have 
 got something to say to you ; and I can't stand this cold, 
 if you can." 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 95 
 
 I think she would have fain run away again ; but her 
 fit of energy was all spent. She followed me unwillingly 
 enough — that I could see. The place to which I took 
 her was fall of the fragrant breath of the cows, and was 
 a little warmer than the outer air. I put her inside, and 
 stood myself in the doorway, thinking hov/ 1 could best 
 begin. At last I plunged into it. 
 
 "I must see that you don't get cold for more reasons 
 than one ; if you are ill, Holdsworth will be so anxious 
 and miserable out there " (by which I meant Canada) — 
 
 She shot one penetrating look at me, and then turned 
 her face away with a slightly impatient movement. If 
 she could have run away then she would, but I held the 
 means of exit in my own power. " In for a penny in 
 for a pound," thought I, and I went on rapidly, anyhovv-. 
 
 *' He talked so much about you, just before he left — 
 that night after he had been here, you know — and you 
 had given him those flowers." She put her hands up to 
 hide her face, but she was listening now — listening with 
 all her ears. 
 
 '' He had never spoken much about you before, but 
 the sudden going away unlocked his heart, and he told 
 me how he loved you, and how he hoped on his return 
 that you might be his wife." 
 
 ''Don't," said she, almost gasping out the word, 
 which she had tried once or twice before to speak ; but 
 her voice had been choked. Now she put her hand 
 backwards ; she had quite turned away from me, and 
 felt for mine. She gave it a soft lingering pressure ; 
 and then she put her arms down on the wooden division, 
 and laid her head on it, and cried quiet tears. I did not 
 understand her at once, and feared lest I had mistaken 
 
9G COUSIN rniLLis. 
 
 the whole case, and only anno^-ed her. I went up to her. 
 " Oh, Phillis ! I am so sorry — I thought you would, 
 perhaps, have cared to hear it ; he did talk so feelingly, 
 as if he did love you so much, and somehow I thought 
 it would give you pleasure." 
 
 She lifted up her head and looked at me. Such a 
 look ! Her eyes, glittering with tears as they were, 
 expressed an almost heavenly happiness ; her tender 
 mouth was curved with rapture — her colour vivid and 
 blushing; but as if she was afraid her face expressed 
 too much, more than the thankfulness to me she was 
 essa3-ing to speak, she hid it again almost immediately. 
 So it was all right then, and my conjecture was well- 
 founded ! I tried to remember something more to tell 
 her of what he had said, but again she stopped 
 me. 
 
 " Don't," she said. She still kept her face covered 
 and hidden. In half a minute she added, in a very 
 low voice, *' Please, Paul, I think I would rather not 
 hear any more — I don't mean but what I have — but 
 
 what I am very much obliged Onl}^ — only, I 
 
 think I would rather hear the rest from himself when 
 he comes back." 
 
 And then she cried a little more, in quite a different 
 way. I did not say any more, I w^aited for her. By- 
 and-by she turned towards me — not meeting my eyes, 
 hovvever; and putting her hand in mine just as if we 
 were two children, she said, — 
 
 " We had best go back now — I don't look as if I had 
 been crying, do I ? " 
 
 " You look as if you had a bad cold," was ail the 
 answer I made. 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 97 
 
 *' Oh ! but I am — I am quite well, only cold ; and a 
 good run will warm me. Come along, Paul." 
 
 So we ran, hand in hand, till, just as we were on the 
 threshold of the house, she stopped — • 
 
 *' Paul, please, we won't speak about that again." 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 When I went over on Easter Day I heard the chapel- 
 gossips complimenting cousin Holman on her daughter's 
 blooming looks, quite forgetful of theii' sinister lu'ophecies 
 three months before. And I looked at Phillis, and did 
 not wonder at their words. I had not seen her since the 
 day after Christmas Day. I had left the Hope Farm 
 only a few hours after I had told her the news which 
 had quickened her heart into renewed life and vigour. 
 The remembrance of our conversation in the cow-house 
 was vividly in my mind as I looked at her when her 
 bright healthy appearance was remarked upon. As her 
 eyes met mine our mutual recollections flashed intelligence 
 from one to the other. She turned away, her colour 
 heightening as she did so. She seemed to be shy of 
 me for the first few hours after our meeting, and I felt 
 rather vexed with her for her conscious avoidance of me 
 after my long absence. I had stepped a little out of 
 my usual line in telling her what I did ; not that I had 
 received any charge of secrecy, or given even the 
 slightest promise to Holdsworth that I would not 
 repeat his words. But I had an uneasy feeling some- 
 
 7 
 
98 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 times wtien I thought of what I had done in the 
 excitement of seeing Phillis so ill and in so much 
 trouhle. I meant to have told Holdsworth when I 
 wrote next to him; hut when I had my half-finished 
 letter hefore me I sate with my pen in my hand hesitating. 
 I had more scruple in revealing what I had found out 
 or guessed at of Phillis's secret than in repeating to her 
 his spoken words. I did not think I had any right to 
 say out to him what I helieved — namely, that she loved 
 him dearly, and had felt his absence even to the injury 
 of her health. Yet to explain what I had done in telling 
 her how he had spoken about her that last night, it 
 would be necessary to give my reasons, so I had settled 
 within myself to leave it alone. As she had told me 
 she should like to hear all the details and fuller par- 
 ticulars and more explicit declarations first from him, 
 so he should have the pleasure of extracting the delicious 
 tender secret from her maidenly lips. I would not 
 betray my guesses, my surmises, my all but certain 
 knowledge of the state of her heart. I had received two 
 letters from him after he had settled to his business ; 
 they were full of life and energy ; but in each there had 
 been a message to the family at the Hope Farm of more 
 than common regard ; and a slight but distinct mention 
 of Phillis herself, showing that she stood single and 
 alone in his memory. These letters I had sent on to 
 the minister, for he was sure to care for them, even 
 supposing he had been unacquainted with their writer, 
 because they were so clever and so picturesquely worded 
 that they brought, as it were, a whiff of foreign atmo- 
 sphere into his circumscribed life. I used to wonder 
 what was the trade or business in which the minister 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 9^ 
 
 would not Haye tliriven, mentally I mean, if it had so 
 happened that he had been called into that state. He 
 would have made a capital engineer, that I know ; and 
 he had a fancy for the sea, like many other land-locked 
 men to whom the great deep is a mystei-y and a fascina- 
 tion. He read law-books with relish ; and, once happen- 
 ing to borrow Be Lolme or the British Constitution (or 
 some such title), he talked about jurisprudence till he 
 was far beyond my depth. But to return to Holdsworth's 
 letters. AYhen the minister sent them back he also 
 wrote out a list of questions suggested by their perusal, 
 which I was to pass on in my answers to Holdsworth, 
 until I thought of suggesting a direct correspondence 
 between the two. That was the state of things as 
 regarded the absent one when I went to the farm for 
 my Easter visit, and when I found Phillis in that state 
 of shy reserve towards me which I have named before. 
 I thought she was ungrateful ; for I was not quite sure 
 if I had done wisely in having told her what I did. I 
 had committed a fault, or a folly, perhaps, and all for 
 her sake ; and here was she, less fi-iends with me than 
 she had ever been before. This little estrangement 
 only lasted a few hours. I think that as soon as she 
 felt pretty sure of there being no recuiTence, either by 
 word, look, or allusion, to the one subject that was 
 predominant in her mind, she came back to her old 
 sisterly ways with me. She had much to tell me of 
 her own familiar interests; how Rover had been ill, 
 and how anxious they had all of them been, and how, 
 after some little discussion between her father and 
 her, both equally grieved by the sufferings of the old 
 dog, he had been " remembered in the household 
 
 7—2 
 
100 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 prayers," and how he had hegim to get hetter only the 
 very next day, and then she would have led me into a 
 conversation on the right ends of prayer, and on special 
 providences, and I know not what; only I ^'jibbed" 
 like their old cart-horse, and refused to stir a step 
 in that direction. Then we talked about the different 
 broods of chickens, and she showed me the hens that 
 were good mothers, and told me the characters of all 
 the poultry with the utmost good faith ; and in all good 
 faith I listened, for I believe there was a gi-eat deal of 
 truth in all she said. And then we strolled on into the 
 wood beyond the ash-meadow, and both of us sought for 
 oarly primroses, and the fresh green crinkled leaves. 
 :She was not afraid of being alone with me after the 
 first day. I never saw her so lovely, or so happy. I 
 think she hardly knew why she was so happy all the 
 time. I can see her now, standing under the budding 
 branches of the gray trees, over which a tinge of green 
 seemed to be deepening day after day, her sun-bonnet 
 fallen back on her neck, her hands full of delicate wood- 
 flowers, quite unconscious of my gaze, but intent on 
 sweet mockery of some bird in neighbouring bush or 
 tree. She had the ai-t of warbling, and replying to the 
 notes of different birds, and knew their song, their habits 
 and ways, more accurately than any one else I ever 
 knew. She had often done it at my request the spring 
 before ; but this year she really gurgled, and whistled, 
 mid warbled just as they did, out of the very fulness and 
 joy of her heart. She was more than ever the very 
 apple of her father's eye ; her mother gave her both 
 her own share of love, and that of the dead child who 
 had died in infancy. I have heard cousin Holman 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 101 
 
 murmur, after a long dreamy look at Pliillis, and tell 
 herself how like she was growing to Johnnie, and soothe 
 herself with plaintive inarticulate sounds, and many 
 gentle shakes of the head, for the aching sense of loss 
 she would never get over in this world. The old 
 servants about the place had the dumb loyal attachment 
 to the child of the land, common to most agricultural 
 labourers ; not often stirred into activity or expression. 
 My cousin Phillis was like a rose that had come to full 
 bloom on the sunny side of a lonely house, sheltered 
 from storms. I have read in some book of poetry — 
 
 A maid whom there were none to praise, 
 And very few to love. 
 
 And somehow those lines always reminded me of Phillis ; 
 yet they were not true of her either. I never heard her 
 praised ; and out of her own household there were very 
 lew to love her; but though no one spoke out their 
 approbation, she always did right in her parents' eyes, 
 out of her natural simple goodness and wisdom. Holds- 
 worth's name was never mentioned between us when we 
 were alone ; but I had sent on his letters to the minister, 
 as I have said ; and more than once he began to talk 
 about our absent friend, when he was smoking his pipe 
 after the day's work was done. Then Phillis hung her 
 head a little over her work, and listened in silence. 
 
 " I miss him more than I thought for ; no offence to 
 you, Paul. I said once his company was like dram- 
 drinking ; that was before I knew him ; and perhaps I 
 spoke in a spirit of judgment. To some men's minds 
 everything presents itself strongly, and they speak ac- 
 cordingly ; and so did he. And I thought in my vanity 
 
102 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 of censorship that his were not true and sober words ; 
 they would not have been if I had used them, but they 
 were so to a man of his class of perceptions. I thought 
 of the measure with which I had been meting to him 
 when Brother Robinson was here last Thursday, and 
 told me that a poor little quotation I was mating from 
 the Georgics savoured of vain babbling and profane 
 heathenism. He went so far as to say that by learning 
 other languages than our own, we were flying in the face 
 of the Lord's purpose when He had said, at the building 
 of the Tower of Babel, that he would confound their 
 languages so that they should not understand each 
 other's speech. As Brother Robinson was to me, so 
 was I to the quick Y,^its, bright senses, and ready words 
 of Holdsworth." 
 
 The first little cloud upon my peace came in the shape 
 of a letter from Canada, in which there were two or 
 three sentences that troubled me more than they ought 
 to have done, to judge merely from the words employed. 
 It was this : — " I should feel dreary enough in this out- 
 of-the-way place if it were not for a friendship I have 
 fonned with a French Canadian of the name of Ven- 
 tadour. He and his family are a great resource to me 
 in the long evenings. I never heard such delicious 
 vocal music as the voices of these Ventadour boys and 
 girls in their part songs ; and the foreign element re- 
 tained in their characters and manner of living reminds 
 me of some of the happiest days of my life. Lucille, 
 the second daughter, is curiously like Phillis Holman." 
 In vain I said to myself that it was probably this like- 
 ness that made him take pleasure in the society of the 
 Ventadour family. In vain I told my anxious fancy that 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 103 
 
 notliing could be more natural than this intimacy, and 
 that there was no sign of its leading to any consequence 
 that ought to disturb me. I had a presentiment, and I 
 was disturbed ; and I could not reason it away. I dare 
 say my presentiment was rendered more persistent and 
 ieen by the doubts which would force themselves into 
 my mind, as to whether I had done well in repeating 
 Holdsworth's words to Phillis. Her state of Yi\dd happi- 
 ness this summer was markedly different to the peaceful 
 serenity of former days. If in my thoughtfulness at 
 noticing this I caught her eye, she blushed and sparkled 
 all over, guessing that I was remembering our joint 
 secret. Her eyes fell before mine, as if she could 
 iardly bear me to see the revelation of their bright 
 glances. And yet I considered again, and comforted 
 myself by the reflection that, if this change had been 
 anything more than my silly fancy, her father or her 
 mother would have perceived it. But they went on in 
 tranquil unconsciousness and undisturbed peace. 
 
 A change in my o^n life was quickly approaching. In 
 
 the July of this year my occupation on the railway 
 
 and its branches came to an end. The lines were com- 
 pleted, and I was to leave shii'e, to return to Bir- 
 mingham, where there was a niche already provided for 
 me in my father s prosperous business. But before I 
 left the north it was an understood thing amongst us all 
 that I was to go and pay a visit of some weeks at the 
 Hope Farm. My father was as much pleased at this 
 plan as I was ; and the dear family of cousins often 
 spoke of things to be done, and sights to be shown me, 
 during this visit. My want of wisdom in having told 
 '^ that thing " (under such ambiguous words I concealed 
 
104 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 the injudicious confidence I had made to Phillis) was the 
 only drawback to my anticipations of pleasure. 
 
 The ways of life were too simple at the Hope Farm 
 for my coming to them to make the slightest disturb- 
 ance. I knew my room, like a son of the house. I 
 knew the regular course of their days, and that I was 
 expected to fall into it, like one of the family. Deep 
 summer peace brooded over the place ; the wann golden 
 air was filled with the murmur of insects near at hand, 
 the more distant sound of voices out in the fields, the 
 clear far-away rumble of carts over the stone-paved 
 lanes miles away. The heat was too great for the 
 birds to be singing; only now and then one might 
 hear the wood-pigeons in the trees beyond the ash-field. 
 The cattle stood knee-deep in the pond, flicking their 
 tails about to keep off the flies. The minister stood in 
 the hay-field, without hat or cravat, coat or waistcoat, 
 panting and smiling. Phillis had been leading the row 
 of farm-servants, turning the swathes of fragrant hay 
 with measured movement. She went to the end — to 
 the hedge, and then, throwing down her rake, she came 
 to me with her free sisterly welcome. *' Go, Paul ! " 
 said the minister. ** We need all hands to make use 
 of the sunshine to-day. * Whatsoever thine hand findeth 
 to do, do it with all thy might.' It will be a healthy 
 change of work for thee, lad ; and I find my best rest 
 in change of work." So off I went, a willing labourer, 
 follomng Phillis' s lead ; it was the primitive distinction 
 of rank ; the boy who frightened the sparrows off the 
 fruit was the last in our rear. We did not leave off 
 till the red sun was gone down behind the fir-trees 
 bordering the common. Then we went home to supper 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 105 
 
 ' — prayers — to bed ; some bird singing far into the night, 
 as I heard it through my open window, and the poultry 
 beginning their clatter and cackle in the earliest morn- 
 ing. I had carried what luggage I immediately needed 
 wdth me from my lodgings, and the rest was to be sent 
 by the carrier. He brought it to the farm betimes that 
 morning, and along with it he brought a letter or two 
 that had arrived since I had left. I was talking to 
 cousin Holman — about my mother's ways of making 
 bread, I remember ; cousin Holman was questioning 
 me, and had got me far beyond my depth — -in the 
 house-place, when the letters were brought in by one 
 of the men, and I had to pay the earner for his trouble 
 before I could look at them. A bill — a Canadian letter! 
 What instinct made me so thankful that I was alone 
 wdth my dear unobservant cousin? What made me 
 hurry them away into my coat-pocket ? I do not know. 
 I felt strange and sick, and made irrelevant answers, I 
 am afraid. Then I went to my room, ostensibly to 
 carry up my boxes. I sate on the side of my bed and 
 opened my letter from Holdsworth. It seemed to me 
 as if I had read its contents before, and knew exactly 
 what he had got to say. I knew he was going to bo 
 married to Lucille Yontadour ; nay, that he icas manied ; 
 for this was the 5th of July, and he wrote word that his 
 marriage was fixed to take place on the 29th of June. 
 I knew all the reasons he gave, all the raptures he 
 went into. I held the letter loosely in my hands, and 
 looked into vacancy, yet I saw a chaffinch's nest on the 
 lichen-covered trunk of an old apple-tree opposite my 
 window, and saw the mother-bird come fluttering in to 
 feed her brood, — and yet I did not see it, although it 
 
lOG COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 seemed to me afterwards as if I could have drawn eveiy 
 fibre, every feather. I was stirred up to action by the 
 merry sound of voices and the clamp of rustic feet 
 coming home for the mid-day meal. I knew I must 
 go down to dinner ; I knew, too, I must tell Phillis ; 
 for in his happy egotism, his new-fangled foppery, 
 Holds worth had put in a P.S., saying that he should 
 send wedding-cards to me and some other Hornby and 
 Eltham acquaintances, and "to his kind friends at 
 Hope Farm." PhilHs had faded away to one among 
 several " kind friends." I don't know how I got through 
 dinner that day. I remember forcing myself to eat, and 
 talking hai'd ; but I also recollect the wondering look 
 in the minister's eyes. He was not one to think evil 
 without cause ; but many a one would have taken me 
 for drunk. As soon as I decently could I left the table, 
 saying I would go out for a walk. At first I must have 
 tried to stun reflection by rapid walking, for I had lost 
 myself on the high moorlands far beyond the familiar 
 gorse-covered common, before I was obliged for very 
 weariness to slacken my pace. I kept wishing — oh ! 
 how fervently washing I had never committed that 
 blunder ; that the one little half-hour's indiscretion 
 could be blotted out. Alternating with this was anger 
 against Holdsworth ; unjust enough, I dare say. I sup- 
 pose I stayed in that solitary place for a good hour or 
 more, and then I turned homewards, resolving to get 
 over the telling Phillis at the first opportunity, but 
 shrinking from the fulfilment of my resolution so much 
 that when I came into the house and saw Phillis (doors 
 and windows open wdde in the sultiy weather) alone in 
 the kitchen, I became quite sick with apprehension. 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 107 
 
 She was standing by the dresser, cutting up a great 
 household loaf into hunches of bread for the hungry 
 labourers who might come in any minute, for the heayj 
 thunder- clouds were overspreading the sky. She looked 
 round as she heard my step. 
 
 ^' You should have been in the field, helping with the 
 hay," said she, in her calm, pleasant voice. I had 
 heard her as I came near the house softly chanting 
 some hymn-tune, and the peacefulness of that seemed to 
 be brooding over her now. 
 
 " Perhaps I should. It looks as if it was going to 
 rain." 
 
 '' Yes ; there is thunder about. Mother has had to 
 go to bed with one of her bad headaches. Now you are 
 come in " 
 
 ''Phillis," said I, rushing at my subject and inter- 
 rupting her, " I went a long v/alk to think over a letter 
 I had this morning — a letter from Canada. You don't 
 know how it has grieved me." I held it out to her as 
 I spoke. Her colour changed a little, but it was moro 
 the reflection of my face, I think, than because she 
 formed any definite idea from my v/ords. Still she did 
 not take the letter. I had to bid her read it, before 
 she quite understood what I wished. She sate down 
 rather suddenly as she received it into her hands ; 
 and, spreading it on the dresser before her, she rested 
 her forehead on the palms of her hands, her arms sup- 
 ported on the table, her figure a little averted, and her 
 countenance thus shaded. I looked out of the open 
 window; my heart was very heavy. Hoy; peaceful it 
 all seemed in the farmyard ! Peace and plenty. How 
 still and deep was the silence of the house ! Tick-tick 
 
108 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 went the unseen clock on the wide staircase. I liad 
 heard the rustle once, when she turned over the page 
 of thin paper. She must have read to the end. Yet 
 she did not move, or say a word, or even sigh. I kept 
 on looking out of the window, my hands in my pockets. 
 I wonder how long that time really was ? It seemed to 
 me interminahle — unhearable. At length I looked round 
 at her. She must have felt my look, for she changed 
 her attitude with a quick shai-p movement, and caught 
 my eyes. 
 
 ''Don't look so sorry, Paul," she said. "Don't, 
 please. I can't hear it. There is nothing to he soriy 
 for. I think not, at least. You have not done wrong, 
 at any rate." I felt that I groaned, but I don't think 
 she heard me. "And he, — there's no wrong in his 
 maiTjing, is there ? I'm sure I hope he'll be happy. 
 Oh ! how I hope it ! " These last words were like a 
 wail ; but I believe she was afraid of breaking down, 
 for she changed the key in which she spoke, and hurried 
 on. "Lucille — that's our English Lucy, I suppose? 
 
 Lucille Holdsworth ! It's a pretty name ; and I hope 
 
 I forget what I was going to say. Oh ! it was this. 
 Paul, I think we need never speak about this again; 
 only remember you are not to be sorry. You have not 
 done wrong ; you have been very, very kind ; and if 1 
 see you looking grieved I don't knov/ what I might do ; 
 — I might break down, you know." 
 
 I think she was on the point of doing so then, but the 
 dark storm came dashing down, and the thunder- cloud 
 broke right above the house, as it seemed. Her mother, 
 roused from sleep, called out for Phillis ; the men and 
 women from the hayfield came running into shelter, 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 109 
 
 clrencliecl through. The minister followed, smiling, and 
 not unpleasantly excited by the war of elements; for, 
 by dint of hard work through the long summer's day, 
 the greater part of the hay was safely housed in the 
 barn in the field. Once or twice in the succeedincr 
 bustle I came across Phillis, always busy, and, as it 
 seemed to me, always doing the right thing. When I 
 was alone in my own room at night I allowed myself to 
 feel relieved ; and to believe that the worst was over, 
 and was not so very bad after all. But the succeeding 
 days v\^ere very miserable. Sometimes I thought it must 
 be my fancy that falsely represented Phillis to me as 
 strangely changed, for surely, if this idea of mine was 
 well-founded, her parents — her father and mother — her 
 own flesh and blood — would have been the first to per- 
 ceive it. Yet they went on in their household peace 
 and content ; if anything, a little more cheerfully than 
 usual, for the "harvest of the first-fruits," as the 
 minister called it, had been more bounteous than usual, 
 and there was plenty all around in which the humblest 
 labourer was made to share. After the one thunderstorm, 
 came one or two lovely serene summer days, during 
 which the hay was all carried ; and then succeeded long 
 soft rains filling the ears of corn, and causing the mown 
 grass to spring afresh. The minister allowed himself a 
 few more hours of relaxation and home enjoyment than 
 usual during this wet spell : hard earth-bound frost was 
 his winter holiday ; these wet days, after the hay har- 
 vest, his summer holiday. We sate with open windows, 
 the fragrance and the fi^eshness called out by the soft- 
 falling rain filling the house-place; while the quiet 
 ceaseless patter among the leaves outside ought to have 
 
110 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 had tlie same lulling effect as all other gentle pei-petual 
 sounds, such as mill-wheels and bubbling springs, have 
 on the nerves of happy people. But two of us w^ere not 
 happy. I was sure enough of myself, for one. I was 
 worse than sure, — I was wretchedly anxious about 
 Phillis. Ever since that day of the thunderstorm there 
 had been a new, shai-p, discordant sound to me in her 
 voice, a sort of jangle in her tone ; and her restless eyes 
 had no quietness in them ; and her colour came and 
 went without a cause that I could find out. The 
 minis! r, happy in ignorance of what most concerned 
 him, brought out his books ^ his learned volumes and 
 classics. Whether he read and talked to Phillis, or to 
 me, I do not know ; but feeling by instinct that she was 
 not, could not be, attending to the peaceful details, so 
 strange and foreign to the turmoil in her heart, I forced 
 myself to listen, and if possible to understand. 
 
 "Look here!" said the minister, tapping the old 
 vellum-bound book he held; "in the first Georgic he 
 speaks of rolling and irrigation ; a little further on he 
 insists on choice of the best seed, and advises us to keep 
 the drains clear. Again, no Scotch fai'mer could give 
 shrewder advice than to cut light meadows while the 
 dew is on, even though it involve night-work. It is all 
 living truth in these days." He began beating time 
 with a ruler upon his knee, to some Latin lines he read 
 aloud just then. I suppose the monotonous chant irri- 
 tated Phillis to some irregular energy, for I remember 
 the quick knotting and breaking of the thread with 
 which she was sewing. I never hear that snap repeated 
 now, without suspecting some sting or stab troubling the 
 heart of the worker. Cousin Holman, at her peaceful 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. Ill 
 
 knitting, noticed the reason why Phillis had so constantly 
 to interrupt the progress of her seam. 
 
 " It is bad thread, I'm afraid," she said, in a gentle 
 sympathetic voice. But it was too much for Phillis. 
 
 " The thread is had — everything is had — I am so 
 tii'ed of it all!" And she put down her work, and 
 hastily left the room. I do not suppose that in all her 
 life Phillis had ever shown so much temper before. In 
 many a family the tone, the manner, would not have 
 been noticed ; but here it fell with a sharp surprise upon 
 the sweet, calm atmosphere of home. The minister put 
 down ruler and book, and pushed his spectacles up to 
 his forehead. The mother looked distressed for a 
 moment, and then smoothed her features and said in 
 an explanatory tone, — " It's the weather, I think. 
 Some people feel it different to others. It always brings 
 on a headache with me." She got up to follow her 
 daughter, but half-way to the door she thought better 
 of it, and came back to her seat. Good mother ! she 
 hoped the better to conceal the unusual spirt of temper, 
 by pretending not to take much notice of it. *' Go on, 
 minister," she said; "it is very interesting what you 
 are reading about, and when I don't quite understand it, 
 I like the sound of your voice." So he went on, but 
 languidly and irregularly, and beat no more time with 
 his ruler to any Latin lines. When the dusk came on, 
 early that July night because of the cloudy sky, Phillis 
 came softly back, making as though nothing had hap- 
 pened. She took up her work, but it was too dark to 
 do many stitches ; and she dropped it soon. Then I saw 
 how her hand stole into her mother's, and how this latter 
 fondled it with quiet little caresses, while the minister, 
 
112 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 as fully aware as I was of this tender pantomime, went 
 on talking in a happier tone of voice about things as 
 uninteresting to him, at the time, I very believe, as they 
 were to me ; and that is saying a good deal, and shows 
 how much more real what was passing before him was, 
 even to a farmer, than the agiicultural customs of the 
 ancients. 
 
 I remember one thing more, — an attack which Betty 
 the servant made upon me one day as I came in through 
 the kitchen where she was churning, and stopped to ask 
 her for a drink of buttermilk. 
 
 " I say, cousin Paul," (she had adopted the family 
 habit of addressing me generally as cousin Paul, and 
 always speaking of me in that form,) " something's 
 amiss with our Phillis, and I reckon you've a good guess 
 what it is. She's not one to take up wi' such as you," 
 (not complimentary, but that Betty never was, even to 
 those for whom she felt the highest respect,) " but I'd 
 as lief yon Holdsworth had never come near us. So 
 there you've a bit o' my mind." 
 
 And a very unsatisfactory bit it was. I did not know 
 what to answer to the glimpse at the real state of the 
 case implied in the shrewd woman's speech ; so I tried 
 to put her off by assuming surprise at her first assertion. 
 
 " Amiss with Phillis ! I should like to know why you 
 think anything is wrong with her. She looks as bloom- 
 ing as any one can do." 
 
 " Poor lad! 3'ou're but a big child after all; and 
 you've likely never beared of a fever-flush. But you 
 know better nor that, my fine fellow ! so don't think for 
 to iDut me off wi' blooms and blossoms and such-like 
 talk. What makes her walk about for hours and hours 
 
COUSIN' PHILLIS. 113 
 
 o' uiglits when she used to be abed and asleep ? I sleep 
 next room to her, and hear her plain as can be. What 
 makes her come in panting and ready to drop into that 
 chair," — nodding to one close to the door, — " and it's 
 
 * Oh ! Betty, some water, please ? ' That's the way she 
 comes in now, when she used to come back as fresh and 
 bright as she went out. If yon friend o' yours has 
 played her false, he's a deal for t' answer for ; she's a 
 lass who's as sweet and as sound as a nut, and the very 
 apple of her father's eye, and of her mother' too, only 
 wi' her she ranks second to th' minister. You'll have to 
 look after yon chap, for I, for one, will stand no wTong 
 to our Phillis." 
 
 What was I to do, or to say ? I wanted to justify 
 Holdsworth, to keep Phillis's secret, and to pacify the 
 woman all in the same breath. I did not take the best 
 course, I'm afraid. 
 
 '' 1 don't believe Holdsworth ever spoke a word of — 
 of love to her in all his life. I'm sure he didn't." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! but there's eyes, and there's hands, as well 
 as tongues ; and a man has two o' th' one and but one 
 o' t'other." 
 
 *' And she's so young ; do you suppose her parents 
 would not have seen it ? " 
 
 ''Well! if you axe me that, I'll say out boldly, 
 
 * No.' They've called her ' the child ' so long — ' the 
 child ' is always their name for her when they talk on her 
 between themselves, as if never anybody else had a ewe- 
 lamb before them — that she's grown up to be a woman 
 under their very eyes, and they look on her still as if 
 she were in her long clothes. And you ne'er heard on a 
 man falling in love wi' a babby in long clothes ! " 
 
 8 
 
ll-i COUSIN PIIILLIS. 
 
 '' No !" said I, half laughing. But slie Yicnt on as 
 grave as a judge. 
 
 " Ay! you see you'll laugh at the hare thought on it 
 — and I'll he hound th' minister, though he's not a 
 laughing man, would ha' sniggled at th' notion of falling 
 in love wi' the child. Where's Holdsworth off to ? " 
 
 " Canada," said I, shortly. 
 
 " Canada here, Canada there," she replied testily. 
 *' Tell me how far he's off, instead of giving me your 
 gihherish. Is he a two days' journey away ? or a threo ? 
 or a week ?" 
 
 " He's ever so far off— three weeks at the least," 
 cried I in despair. '• And he's either married, or just 
 going to he. So there ! " I expected a fresh hurst of 
 anger. But no ; the matter was too serious. Betty sate 
 down, and kept silence for a minute or two. She looked 
 so miserable and downcast, that I could not help going 
 on, and taking her a little into my confidence. 
 
 "It is quite true what I said. I know he never 
 spoke a word to her. I think he liked her, hut it's all 
 over now. The best thing we can do — the best and 
 kindest for her — and I know you love her, Betty " 
 
 " I nursed her in my arms ; I gave her little brother 
 liis last taste o' earthly food," said Betty, putting her 
 apron up to her eyes. 
 
 " Well ! don't let us show her we guess that she is 
 grieving ; she'll get over it the sooner. Her father and 
 mother don't even guess at it, and v/e must make as if 
 we didn't. It's too late now to do anything else." 
 
 '' I'll never let on ; I know nought. I've known true 
 love mysel', in my day. But I wdsh he'd been farred 
 before he ever came near this house, with his ' Please 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 115 
 
 Eetty' this, and ' Please Betty' that, and drinking np 
 our new milk as if he'd been a cat. I hate such 
 beguiling ways." 
 
 I thought it was as well to let her exhaust herself in 
 abusing the absent Holdsworth ; if it was shabby and 
 treacherous in me, I came in for my punishment directly. 
 
 '* It's a caution to a man how he goes about beguiling. 
 Some men do it as easy and innocent as cooing doves. 
 Don't you be none of 'em, my lad. Not that you've got 
 the gifts to do it, either ; you're no great shakes to look 
 at, neither for figure, nor yet for face, and it would need 
 be a deaf adder to be taken in wi' your words, though 
 there may be no great harm in 'em." A lad of nineteen 
 or twenty is not flattered by such an out-spoken opinion 
 even from the oldest and ugliest of her sex ; and I was 
 only too glad to change the subject by my repeated in- 
 junctions to keep Phillis's secret. The end of our con- 
 versation was this speech of hers : — 
 
 *' You great gaupus, for all you're called cousin o' th' 
 minister — many a one is cursed wi' fools for cousins — 
 d'ye think I can't see sense except thi'ough your 
 spectacles ? I give you leave to cut out my tongue, and 
 nail it up on th' bam-door for a caution to magpies, if I 
 let out on that poor wench, either to herself, or any one 
 that is hers, as the Bible says. Now you've heard me 
 speak Scripture language, perhaps you'll be content, and 
 leave me my kitchen to myself." 
 
 During all these days, from the 5th of July to the 
 17th, I must have forgotten what Holdsworth had said 
 about sending cards. And yet I think I could not have 
 quite forgotten ; but, once having told Phillis about his 
 marriage, I must have looked upon the after consequence 
 
116 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 of cards as of no importance. At any rate they came 
 upon me as a sui-prise at last. The penny-post reform^ 
 as people call it, had come into operation a short time 
 before ; but the never-ending stream of notes and letters 
 which seem now to flow in upon most households had 
 not yet begun its course ; at least in those remote parts. 
 There was a post-office at Hornby ; and an old fellow, 
 who stowed away the few letters in any or all his pockets, 
 as it best suited him, was the letter-carrier to Heath- 
 bridge and the neighbourhood. I have often met him 
 in the lanes thereabouts, and asked him for letters. 
 Sometimes I have come upon him, sitting on the hedge - 
 bank resting ; and he has begged me to read him an 
 address, too illegible for his spectacled eyes to decipher. 
 When I used to inquire if he had anything for me, or 
 for Holdsworth (he was not particular to whom he gave 
 up the letters, so that he got rid of them- somehow, and 
 could set off homewards), he would say he thought that 
 he had, for such was his invariable safe form of answer ; 
 and would fumble in breast-pockets, waistcoat-pockets, 
 breeches-pockets, and, as a last resource, in coat-tail 
 pockets ; and at length try to comfort me, if I looked 
 disappointed, by telling me, "Hoo had missed this 
 toime, but was sure to write to-morrow;" **Hoo'* 
 representing an imaginary sweetheart. 
 
 Sometimes I had seen the minister bring home a 
 letter which he had found lying for him at the little 
 shop that was the post-office at Heathbridge, or from 
 the gi'ander establishment at Hornby. Once or twice 
 Josiah, the carter, remembered that the old letter-carrier 
 had trusted him with an epistle to *' Measter," as they 
 had met in the lanes. I think it must have been about 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 117 
 
 ten clays after my arrival at tlie farm, and my talk to 
 Phillis cutting bread-and-butter at the kitchen dresser, 
 before the day on which the minister suddenly spoke at 
 the dinner-table, and said — 
 
 '' By-the-by, I've got a letter in my pocket. Reach 
 me my coat here, Phillis." The weather was still sultry, 
 and for coolness and ease the minister was sitting in his 
 shirt-sleeves. *'I went to Heathbridge about the paper 
 they had sent me, which spoils all the pens — and I 
 called at the post-office, and found a letter for me, 
 unpaid, — and they did not like to trust it to old Zekiel. 
 Ay ! here it is ! Now we shall hear news of Holdsworth, 
 — I thought I'd keep it till we were all together." My 
 heart seemed to stop beating, and I hung my head over 
 my plate, not daring to look up. What would come of 
 it now ? What was PhilHs doing ? How was she look- 
 ing ? A moment of suspense, — and then he spoke again. 
 *' Why ! what's this ? Here are two visiting tickets 
 with his name on, no writing at all. No ! it's not his 
 name on both. Mes. Holdsworth! The young man 
 has gone and got married." I lifted my head at these 
 words ; I could not help looking just for one instant at 
 Phillis. It seemed to me as if she had been keeping 
 watch over my face and ways. Her face was brilliantly 
 flushed ; her eyes were dry and glittering ; but she did 
 not speak ; her lips were set together almost as if she 
 was pinching them tight to prevent words or sounds 
 coming out. Cousin Holman's face expressed surprise 
 and interest. 
 
 "Well!" said she, ''who'd ha' thought it! He's 
 made quick work of his wooing and wedding. I'm sure 
 I wish him happy. Let me see " — counting on her 
 
118 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 fingers, — " October, November, December, Januaiy, 
 February, March, April, May, June, July, — at least 
 ■we're at tbe 28th, — it is nearly ten months after all^ 
 and reckon a month each way off " 
 
 "Did you knov; of this news before?" said the 
 minister, turning sharp round on me, sui-prised, I 
 suppose, at my silence, — hardly suspicious, as yet. 
 
 " I knew — I had heard — something. It is to a 
 French Canadian young lady," I went on, forcing myself 
 to talk. '' Her name is Ventadour." 
 
 *' Lucille Ventadour ! " said Phillis, in a shai-p voice,, 
 out of tune. 
 
 " Then you knew too ! " exclaimed the minister. 
 
 We both spoke at once. I said, " I heard of the 
 
 probability of , and told Phillis." She said, "He 
 
 is married to Lucille Ventadour, of French descent ; one 
 of a large family near St. Meurice ; am not I right ? " 
 I nodded. " Paul told me, — that is all we know, is 
 not it ? Did you see the Howsons, father, in Heath- 
 bridge ? " and she forced herself to talk more than she 
 had done for several days, asking many questions, 
 tiding, as I could see, to keep the conversation off the 
 one raw surface, on which to touch was agony. I had 
 less self-command ; but I followed her lead. I was not 
 so much absorbed in the conversation but what I could 
 see that the minister was puzzled and uneasy ; though 
 he seconded Phillis's efforts to prevent her mother from 
 recurring to the great piece of news, and uttering con- 
 tinual exclamations of wonder and sui*prise. But with 
 that one exception we were all disturbed out of our 
 natural equanimity, more or less. Every day, every 
 hour, I was reproaching myself more and more for my 
 
COUSIN PEILLIS. 110 
 
 blundering ofliciousness. If only I had held my foolish 
 tongue for that one half-hour ; if only I had not been 
 in such impatient haste to do something to relieve pain ! 
 I could have knocked my stupid head against the wall 
 in my remorse. Yet all I could do now was to second 
 the brave girl in her efforts to conceal her disappoint- 
 ment and keep her maidenly secret. But I thought that 
 dinner would never, never come to an end. I suffered 
 for her, even more than for myself. Until nov/ every- 
 thing which I had heard spoken in that happy household 
 were simple words of true meaning. If we had aught 
 to say, we said it; and if any one preferred silence, 
 nay if all did so, there would have been no spasmodic, 
 forced efforts to talk for the sake of talking, or to keep 
 off intrusive thoughts or suspicions. 
 
 At length we got up from our places, and prepared to 
 disperse ; but two or three of ns had lost our zest and 
 interest in the daily labour. The minister stood looking 
 out of the window in silence, and when he roused 
 himself to go out to the fields where his labourers were 
 working, it was with a sigh ; and he tried to avert his 
 troubled face as he passed us on his way to the door. 
 "When he had left us, I caught sight of Phillis's face, 
 as, thinking herself unobseiTed, her countenance relaxed 
 for a moment or two into sad, woful weariness. She 
 started into briskness again when her mother spoke, and 
 hurried away to do some Httle errand at her bidding. 
 AVhen we two were alone, cousin Holman recurred to 
 Holdsvvorth's marriage. She was one of those people 
 who like to view an event from every side of probability, 
 or even possibility; and she had been cut short from 
 indulging herself in this way during dinner. 
 
120 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 "To think of Mr. Holdswortli's being mamed ! I 
 can't get over it, Paul. Not but what he was a very 
 nice young man ! I don't like her name, though ; it 
 sounds foreign. Say it again, my dear. I hope she'll 
 know how to take care of him, English fashion. He is 
 not strong, and if she does not see that his things are 
 well aired, I should be afraid of the old cough." 
 
 *'He always said he was stronger than he had ever 
 been before, after that fever." 
 
 *' He might think so, but I have my doubts. He was 
 a very pleasant young man, but he did not stand nursing 
 very well. He got tired of being coddled, as he called 
 it. I hope they'll soon come back to England, and then 
 he'll have a chance for his health. I wonder now, if she 
 speaks English ; but, to be sure, he can speak foreign 
 tongues like anything, as I've heard the minister say." 
 
 And so we went on for some time, till she became 
 drowsy over her knitting, on the sultry summer after- 
 noon ; and I stole away for a walk, for I wanted some 
 solitude in which to think over things, and, alas ! to 
 blame myself with poignant stabs of remorse. 
 
 I lounged lazily as soon as I got to the wood. Here 
 and there the bubbling, brawling brook circled round 
 a great stone, or a root of an old tree, and made a 
 pool ; otheiivise it coursed brightly over the gravel and 
 stones. I stood by one of these for more than half an 
 hour, or, indeed, longer, throwing bits of wood or pebbles 
 into the water, and wondering what I could do to remedy 
 the present state of things. Of course all my medita- 
 tion was of no use ; and at length the distant sound of 
 the horn employed to tell the men far afield to leave off 
 work, warned me that it was six o'clock, and time for 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 121 
 
 me to go home. Then I caught wafts of the loud-voiced 
 singing of the evening psalm. As I was crossing the 
 ash-field, I saw the minister at some distance talking to 
 a man. I could not hear what they were saying, but I 
 saw an impatient or dissentient (I could not tell which) 
 gesture on the part of the former, who walked quickly 
 away, and was apparently absorbed in his thoughts, for 
 though he passed wdthin twenty yards of me, as both our 
 paths converged towards home, he took no notice of me. 
 He passed the evening in a way which was even worse 
 than dinner-time. The minister was silent, depressed, 
 even irritable. Poor cousin Holman was utterly per- 
 plexed by this unusual frame of mind and temper in her 
 husband ; she was not well herself, and was suffering 
 from the extreme and sultry heat, which made her less 
 talkative than usual. Phillis, usually so reverently 
 tender to her parents, so soft, so gentle, seemed now to 
 take no notice of the unusual state of things, but talked 
 to me — to any one, on indifferent subjects, regardless of 
 her father's gravity, of her mother's piteous looks of 
 bewilderment. But once my e3'es fell upon her hands, 
 concealed under the table, and I could see the passionate, 
 convulsive manner in which she laced and interlaced her 
 fingers perpetually, wringing them together from time to 
 time, wringing till the compressed flesh became perfectly 
 white. What could I do ? I talked with her, as I saw 
 she wished ; her grey eyes had dark circles round them, 
 and a strange kind of dark light in them ; her cheeks 
 were flushed, but her lips were white and v/an. I won- 
 dered that others did not read these signs as clearly as I 
 did. But perhaps they did ; I think, from what came 
 afterwards, the minister did. 
 
122 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 Poor cousin liolman ! she worshipped her husband ; 
 and the outward signs of his uneasiness were more 
 patent to her simple heart than were her daughter's. 
 After a while she could bear it no longer. She got 
 up, and, softly laying her hand on his broad stooping 
 shoulder, she said, — 
 
 " What is the matter, minister ? Has anything gone 
 wrong ? " 
 
 He started as if from a dream. Phillis hung her 
 head, and caught her breath in terror at the answer she 
 feared. But he, looking round with a sweeping glance, 
 turned his broad, Vv^ise face up to his anxious wife, and 
 forced a smile, and took her hand in a reassuring manner. 
 
 '' I am blaming myself, dear. I have been overcome 
 with anger this afternoon. I scarcely knew v/hat I was 
 doing, but I turned away Timothy Cooper. He has 
 killed the Ribstone pippin at the comer of the orchard ; 
 gone and piled the quicklime for the mortar for the new 
 stable wall against the trunk of the tree — stupid fellow I 
 killed the tree outright — and it loaded with apples ! " 
 
 ''And Ribstone pippins are so scarce," said sympathetic 
 cousin Holman. 
 
 " Ay ! But Timothy is but a half-wit ; and he has a 
 wife and children. He had often put me to it sore, with 
 his slothful ways, but I had laid it before the Lord, and 
 striven to bear with him. But I will not stand it any 
 longer, it's past my patience. And he has notice to 
 find another place. Wife, we won't talk more about it." 
 He took her hand gently off his shoulder, touched it with 
 his lips ; but relapsed into a silence as profound, if not 
 quite so morose in appearance, as before. I could not 
 tell why, but this bit of talk between her father and 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 123 
 
 mother seemed to take all the factitious spirits out of 
 Phillis. She did not speak now, but looked out of the 
 open casement at the calm large moon, slowly moving 
 through the twilight sky. Once I thought her eyes 
 were filling wdth tears ; but, if so, she shook them ofi', 
 and arose with alacrity when her mother, tired and dis- 
 pirited, proposed to go to bed immediately after prayers. 
 Vie all said good-night in our separate ways to the 
 minister, who still sat at the table with the great Bible 
 open before him, not much looking up at any of our 
 salutations, but returning them kindly. But when I, 
 last of all, was on the point of leaving the room, he 
 said, still scarcely looking up — 
 
 ''Paul, you vnll oblige me by staying here a few 
 minutes. I would fain have some talk with you." 
 
 I knew what was coming, all in a moment. I care- 
 fully shut-to the door, put out my candle, and sat down 
 to my fate. He seemed to find some difficulty in begin- 
 ning, for, if I had not heard that he wanted to speak to 
 me, I should never have guessed it, he seemed so much 
 absorbed in reading a chapter to the end. Suddenly he 
 lifted his head up and said, — 
 
 " It is about that fiiend of yours, Holdsworth ! Paul, 
 have you any reason for thinking he has played tricks 
 upon Phillis ? " 
 
 I saw that his eyes were blazing with such a fire of 
 anger at the bare idea, that I lost all my presence of 
 mind, and only repeated, — 
 
 " Played tricks on Phillis ! " 
 
 " Ay ! you know what I mean : made love to her, 
 courted her, made her think that he loved her, and then 
 gone away and left her. Put it as you will, only give 
 
124 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 me an answer of some kind or anotlier — a true answer, 
 I mean — and don't repeat my words, Paul." 
 
 He was shaking all over as he said this. I did not 
 delay a moment in answering him, — 
 
 " I do not belieye that Edward Holdsworth ever played 
 tricks on Phillis, ever made love to her ; he never, to 
 my knowledge, made her believe that he loved her." 
 
 I stopped ; I wanted to nerve up my courage for a 
 confession, yet I wished to save the secret of Phillis' s 
 love for Holdsworth as much as I could ; that secret 
 which she had so striven to keep sacred and safe ; and 
 I had need of some reflection before I went on with 
 what I had to say. 
 
 He began again before I had quite arranged my 
 manner of speech. It w^as almost as if to himself, — ■ 
 "She is my only child; my little daughter! She is 
 hardly out of childhood ; I have thought to gather her 
 under my wings for years to come ; her mother and I 
 would lay down our lives to keep her from harm and 
 grief." Then, raising his voice, and looking at me, he 
 said, "Something has gone wrong with the child ; and 
 it seemed to me to date from the time she heard of that 
 marriage. It is hard to think that you may know more 
 of her secret cares and sorrows than I do, — but perhaps 
 you do, Paul, perhaps you do, — only, if it be not a sin, 
 tell me what I can do to make her happy again ; tell me." 
 
 " It will not do much good, I am afraid," said I, 
 " but I will own how wrong I did ; I don't mean wrong 
 in the way of sin, but in the w^ay of judgment. Holds- 
 worth told me just before he w^ent that he loved Phillis, 
 and hoped to make her his wife, and I told her." 
 
 There ! it was out ; all my part in it, at least ; and I 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 125 
 
 set my lips tight together, and waited for the words to 
 come. I did not see his face ; I looked straight at the 
 wall opposite; hut I heard him once begin to speak, 
 and then turn over the leaves in the book before him. 
 How awfully still that room was ! The air outside, how 
 still it was! The open windows let in no rustle of 
 leaves, no twitter or movement of birds — no sound 
 whatever. The clock on the stairs — the minister's hard 
 breathing— was it to go on for ever ? Impatient beyond 
 bearing at the deep quiet, I spoke again, — 
 " I did it for the best, as I thought." 
 The minister shut the book to hastily, and stood up. 
 Then I saw how angry he was. 
 
 '' For the best, do you say ? It was best, was it, to 
 go and tell a young girl what you never told a word 
 of to her parents, who trusted you like a son of 
 their own?" 
 
 He began walking about, up and down the room 
 close under the open windows, churning up his bitter 
 thoughts of me. 
 
 " To put such thoughts into the child's head," continued 
 he; "to spoil her peaceful maidenhood with talk about 
 another man's love; and such love, too," he spoke 
 scornfully now — "a love that is ready for any young 
 woman. Oh, the misery in my poor little daughter's 
 face to-day at dinner — the misery, Paul ! I thought 
 you were one to be trusted — ^your father's son too, to go 
 and put such thoughts into the child's mind ; you two 
 talking together about that man wishing to marry her." 
 I could not help remembering the pinafore, the 
 childish garment which Phillis wore so long, as if her 
 parents were unaware of her progress tovfards woman- 
 
126 COUSIX PHILLIS. 
 
 liood. Just in the same way tlio minister spoke and 
 thought of her now, as a child, whose innocent peace 
 I had spoiled by vain and foolish talk. I knew that the 
 truth was different, though I could hardly have told it 
 now ; but, indeed, I never thought of trying to tell ; it 
 was far from my mind to add one iota to the sorrow 
 which I had caused. The minister went on walking, 
 occasionally stopping to move things on the table, or 
 articles of furniture, in a shai'p, impatient, meaningless 
 way, then he began again, — 
 
 " So young, so pure from the world ! how could you 
 go and talk to such a child, raising hopes, exciting 
 feelings — all to end thus ; and best so, even though I 
 saw her poor piteous face look as it did. I can't forgive 
 you, Paul ; it was more than wrong — it was wicked — to 
 go and repeat that man's words." 
 
 His back was now to the door, and, in listening to 
 his low angry tones, he did not hear it slowly open, nor 
 did he see Phillis, standing just within the room, until 
 he turned round ; then he stood still. She must have 
 been half undressed ; but she had covered herself with 
 a dark winter cloak, which fell in long folds to her 
 white, naked, noiseless feet. Her face was strangely 
 pale : her eyes heavy in the black circles round them. 
 She came up to the table very slowly, and leant her 
 hand upon it, saying mournfully, — 
 
 '' Father, you must not blame Paul. I could not 
 help hearing a great deal of what you were saying. He 
 did tell me, and perhaps it would have been wiser not, 
 dear Paul ! But — oh, dear ! oh, dear ! I am so sick 
 with shame ! He told me out of his kind heart, because 
 he saw — that I was so very unhappy at his going away." 
 
COUSIN THILLIS. 127 
 
 She hung her head, and leant more heavily than 
 before on her supporting hand. 
 
 " I don't understand," said her father ; but he was 
 beginning to understand. Phillis did not answer till he 
 asked her again. I could have struck him now for his 
 cruelty ; but then I knew all. 
 
 ** I loved him, father ! " she said at length, raising 
 her eyes to the minister's face. 
 
 " Had he ever spoken of love to you ? Paul says not !" 
 
 "Never." She let fall her eyes, and drooped more 
 than ever. I almost thought she would fall. 
 
 " I could not have believed it," said he, in a hard 
 voice, yet sighing the moment he had spoken. A dead 
 silence for a moment. "Paul! I was unjust to you. 
 You deserved blame, but not all that I said." Then 
 again a silence. I thought I saw Phillis's white lips 
 moving, but it might be the flickering of the candle- 
 light — a moth had flown in through the open casement, 
 and was fluttering round the flame ; I might have saved 
 it, but I did not care to do so, my heart was too full of 
 other things. At any rate, no sound was heard for long 
 endless minutes. Then he said, — " Phillis ! did we 
 not make you happy here ? Have we not loved you 
 enough? " 
 
 She did not seem to understand the drift of this 
 question ; she looked up as if bewildered, and her 
 beautiful eyes dilated with a painfal, tortured expres- 
 sion. He went on, without noticing the look on her 
 face ; he did not see it, I am sure. 
 
 " And yet you would have left us, left your home, left 
 your father and your mother, and gone away with this 
 stranger, wandering over the world." 
 
128 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 He suffered, too ; there were tones of pain in tlie 
 voice in whicli he uttered this reproach. Probably the 
 father and daughter were never so far apart in their 
 lives, so unsympathetic. Yet some new terror came over 
 her, and it was to him she turned for help. A shadow 
 came over her face, and she tottered towards her father ; 
 falling down, her arms across his knees, and moaning 
 out, — 
 
 *' Father, my head ! my head ! " and then she slipped 
 through his quick- enfolding arms, and lay on the ground 
 at his feet. 
 
 I shall never forget his sudden look of agony while I 
 live ; never ! We raised her up ; her colour had 
 strangely darkened ; she was insensible. I ran through 
 the back-kitchen to the yard pump, and brought back 
 w^ater. The minister had her on his knees, her head 
 against his breast, almost as though she w^ere a sleeping 
 child. He was trying to rise up with his poor precious 
 burden, but the momentary terror had robbed the strong 
 man of his strength, and he sank back in his chair with 
 sobbing breath. 
 
 "She is not dead, Paul! is she?" he whispered, 
 hoarse, as I came near him. 
 
 I, too, could not speak, but I pointed to the quivering 
 of the muscles round her mouth. Just then cousin 
 Holman, attracted by some unwonted sound, came down. 
 I remember I was surprised at the time at her presence 
 of mind, she seemed to know so much better what to do 
 than the minister, in the midst of the sick affright which 
 blanched her countenance, and made her tremble all 
 over. I think now that it was the recollection of what 
 had gone before ; the miserable thought that possibly his 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 129 
 
 words had brouglit on this attack, wliatever it might be, 
 that so unmanned the minister. "We carried her up- 
 stairs, and while the women were putting her to bed, 
 still unconscious, still slightly convulsed, I slipped out, 
 and saddled one of the horses, and rode as fast as the 
 heavy-trotting beast could go, to Hornby, to find the 
 doctor there, and bring him back. He was out, might 
 be detained the whole night. I remember saying, " God 
 help us all ! " as I sate on my horse, under the window, 
 through which the apprentice's head had appeared to 
 answer my furious tugs at the night-bell. He was a 
 good-natured fellow. He said, — 
 
 ^' He may be homo in half an hour, there's no 
 knowing; but I daresay he will. I'll send him out to the 
 Hope Farm directly he comes in. It's that good-looking 
 young woman, Holman's daughter, that's ill, isn't it ? " 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " It would be a pity if she was to go. She's an only 
 child, isn't she ? I'll get up, and smoke a pipe in the 
 surgery, ready for the governor's coming home. I might 
 go to sleep if I v;ent to bed again." 
 
 '' Thank you, you're a good fellow ! " and I rode back 
 almost as quickly as I came. 
 
 It was a brain fever. The doctor said so, when he 
 came in the early summer morning. I believe v;e had 
 come to know the nature of the illness in the night- 
 watches that had gone before. As to hope of ultimate 
 recoveiT, or even evil prophecy of the probable end, the 
 cautious doctor would be entrapped into neither. He 
 gave his directions, and promised to come again ; so soon, 
 that this one thing showed his opinion of the gravity of 
 the case. 
 
 9 
 
130 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 By God's mercy she recovered, but it was a long,, 
 weaiy time first. According to previously made plans, I 
 was to have gone home at the beginning of August. 
 But all such ideas were put aside now, without a word 
 being spoken. I really think that I was necessary in 
 the house, and especially necessaiy to the minister at 
 this time ; my father was the last man in the world, 
 under such circumstances, to expect me home. 
 
 I say, I think I was necessaiy in the house. Every 
 person (I had almost said every creature, for all the 
 dumb beasts seemed to know and love Phillis) about the 
 place went grieving and sad, as though a cloud was over 
 the sun. They did their work, each striving to steer 
 clear of the temptation to eye-service, in fulfilment of 
 the trust reposed in them by the minister. For the day 
 after Phillis had been taken ill, he had called all the men 
 employed on the fann into the empty barn ; and there 
 he had entreated then- prayers for his only child ; and 
 then and there he had told them of his present inca- 
 pacity for thought about any other thing in this world 
 but his little daughter, lying nigh unto death, and he 
 had asked them to go on with theu' daily labours as best 
 they could, without his direction. So, as I say, these 
 honest men did their work to the best of their ability, 
 but they slouched along with sad and careful faces, 
 coming one by one in the dim mornings to ask news of 
 the sorrow that overshadowed the house ; and receiving 
 Betty's intelligence, always rather darkened by passing 
 through her mind, with slow shakes of the head, and a 
 dull wistfulness of sympathy. But, poor fellows, they 
 were hardly fit to be trusted with hasty messages, and 
 here my poor services came in. One time I was to ride 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 131 
 
 hard to Sir William Bentinck's, and petition for ice out 
 of liis ice-house, to put on Phillis's head. Another it 
 was to Eltham I must go, by train, horse, anyhow, and 
 bid the doctor there come for a consultation, for fi'esh 
 symptoms had appeared, which Mr. Brown, of Hornby, 
 considered unfavourable. Many an hour have I sate on 
 the window-seat, half-way up the stairs, close by the old 
 clock, listening in the hot stillness of the house for the 
 sounds in the sick-room. The minister and I met often, 
 but spoke together seldom. He looked so old — so old ! 
 He shared the nursing with his wife ; the strength that 
 was needed seemed to be given to them both in that day. 
 They required no one else about their child. Every 
 office about her was sacred to them ; even Betty only 
 went into the room for the most necessary purposes. 
 Once I saw Phillis through the open door ; her pretty 
 golden hair had been cut off long before ; her head was 
 covered with wet cloths, and she was moving it backwards 
 and forwards on the pillow, with weaiy, never-ending 
 motion, her poor eyes shut, trying in the old accustomed 
 way to croon out a hymn tune, but perpetually breaking 
 it up into moans of pain. Her mother sate by her, 
 tearless, changing the cloths upon her head with patient 
 solicitude. I did not see the minister at first, but there 
 he was in a dark corner, dovm upon his knees, his hands 
 clasped together in passionate prayer. Then the door 
 shut, and I saw no more. 
 
 One day he was wanted ; and I had to summon him. 
 Brother Kobinson and another minister, hearing of his 
 *' trial," had come to see him. I told him this upon 
 the stair-landing in a whisper. He was strangely 
 troubled. 
 
 9—2 
 
132 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 *' They v,i\\ want me to lay bare my heart. I cannot 
 do it. Panl, stay with me. They mean well ; hut as 
 for spiritual help at such a time — it is God only, God 
 only, who can give it." 
 
 So I went in with him. They were two ministers 
 from the neighbourhood ; both older than Ebenezer 
 Holman ; but evidently inferior to him in education and 
 "worldly position. I thought they looked at me as if I 
 were an intrader, but remembering the minister's words 
 I held my ground, and took up one of poor Phillis's 
 books (of which I could not read a v/ord) to have an 
 ostensible occupation. Presently I was asked to " engage 
 in prayer," and we all knelt down; Brother Robinson 
 ^'leading," and quoting largely as I remember from the 
 Book of Job. He seemed to take for his text, if texts 
 are ever taken for prayers, " Behold thou hast instmcted 
 many ; but now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest, 
 it toucheth thee and thou art troubled." T\Tien we 
 others rose up, the minister continued for some minutes 
 on his knees. Then he too got up, and stood facing us, 
 for a moment, before we all sate down in conclave. 
 After a pause Bobinson began — 
 
 *' We grieve for you, Brother Holman, for your trouble 
 is great. But we would fain have you remember you 
 are as a light set on a hill; and the congregations 
 are looking at you with watchful eyes. We have been 
 talking as we came along on the two duties required of 
 you in this strait ; Brother Hodgson and me. And we 
 have resolved to exhort you on these two points. First, 
 God has given you the opportunity of showing forth an 
 example of resignation." Poor Mr. Holman visibly 
 winced at this word. I could fancy how he had tossed 
 
COUSIN PHILLIS. 133 
 
 aside sncli brotherly preachings in his happier moments ; 
 but now his whole system was unstrung, and " resigna- 
 tion " seemed a term which presupposed that the dreaded 
 misery of losing Phillis was inevitable. But good stupid 
 Mr. Eobinson went on. "We hear on all sides that 
 there are scarce any hopes of your child's recoveiy ; 
 and it may be well to bring you to mind of Abraham ; 
 and how he was willing to kill his only child when the 
 Lord commanded. Take example by him, Brother 
 Holman. Let us hear you say, ' The Lord giveth and 
 the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the 
 Lord!'" 
 
 There was a pause of expectancy. I verily believe the 
 minister tried to feel it ; but he could not. Heart of 
 flesh was too strong. Heart of stone he had not, 
 
 '•' I will say it to my God, when He gives me strength, 
 — when the day comes," he spoke at last. 
 
 The other two looked at each other, and shook their 
 heads. I think the reluctance to answer as they wished 
 was not quite unexpected. The minister went on : 
 " There are hopes yet," he said, as if to himself. " God 
 has given me a great heart for hoping, and I will not 
 look foi'ward beyond the hour." Then turning more to 
 them, and speaking louder, he added : *' Brethren, God 
 will strengthen me when the time comes, when such 
 resignation as you speak of is needed. Till then I 
 cannot feel it ; and what I do not feel I will not express ; 
 using words as if they were a charm." He was getting 
 chafed, I could see. 
 
 He had rather put them out by these speeches of his ; 
 but after a short time and some more shakes of the head, 
 Piobinson began again, — 
 
134 COUSIN PniLLIS. 
 
 *' Secondly, we would liave you listen to the voice of 
 tlie rod, and ask yourself for what sins this trial has 
 been laid upon you ; whether you may not have been too 
 much given up to your farm and your cattle ; whether 
 this world's learning has not puffed you up to vain 
 conceit and neglect of the things of God ; whether you 
 have not made an idol of your daughter ? " 
 
 " I cannot answer — I will not answer ! " exclaimed the 
 minister. " My sins I confess to God. But if they 
 were scarlet (and they are so in His sight," he added, 
 humbly), "I hold with Christ that afflictions are not 
 sent by God in wrath as penalties for sin." 
 
 " Is that orthodox. Brother Robinson ? " ashed the 
 third minister, in a deferential tone of inquiry. 
 
 Despite the minister's injunction not to leave him, I 
 thought matters were getting so serious that a little 
 homely interruption would be more to the purpose than 
 my continued presence, and I went round to the kitchen 
 to ask for Betty's help. 
 
 " 'Od rot 'em ! " said she ; '' they're always a-coming 
 at inconvenient times ; and they have such hearty appe- 
 tites, they'll make nothing of what would have served 
 master and you since our poor lass has been ill. I've 
 but a bit of cold beef in th' house ; but I'll do some 
 ham and eggs, and that '11 rout 'em from woriying the 
 minister. They're a deal quieter after they've had their 
 victual. Last time as old Eobinson came, he was very 
 reprehensible upon master's learning, v/hich he couldn't 
 compass to save his life, so he needn't have been afeard 
 of that temptation, and used words long enough to have 
 knocked a body down ; but after me and missus had 
 given him his fill of victual, and he'd had some good ale 
 
COUSIN PHILLTS. 135 
 
 and a pipe, he spoke just like any other man, and could 
 crack a joke with me." 
 
 Theu' visit was the only break in the long weary days 
 and nights. I do not mean that no other inquiries were 
 made. I believe that all the neighbours hung about the 
 place daily till they could learn from some out-comer 
 how Phillis Holman was. But they knew better than to 
 come up to the house, for the August weather was so 
 hot that eveiy door and window was kept constantly 
 open, and the least sound outside penetrated all through. 
 I am sure the cocks and hens had a sad time of it ; for 
 Betty drove them all into an empty barn, and kept them 
 fastened up in the dark for several days, with very little 
 effect as regarded their crowing and clacking. At 
 length came a sleep which was the crisis, and from 
 which she wakened up with a new faint life. Her 
 slumber had lasted many, many hours. We scarcely 
 dared to breathe or move during the time; we had 
 striven to hope so long, that we were sick at heart, and 
 durst not trust in the favourable signs : the even 
 breathing, the moistened skin, the sHght return of deli- 
 cate colour into the pale, wan lips. I recollect stealing 
 out that evening in the dusk, and wandering down the 
 grassy lane, under the shadow of the over-arching elms 
 to the little bridge at the foot of the hill, where the lane 
 to the Hope Farm joined another road to Hornby. On 
 the low parapet of that bridge I found Timothy Cooper, 
 the stupid, half-witted labourer, sitting, idly throwing 
 bits of mortar into the brook below. He just looked up 
 at me as I came near, but gave me no greeting, either 
 by word or gesture. He had generally made some sign 
 of recognition to me, but this time I thought he was 
 sullen at being dismissed. Nevertheless I felt as if it 
 
136 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 would be a relief to talk a little to some one, and I sate 
 down by him. While I was thinking how to begin, he 
 yawned weariedly. 
 
 " You are tired, Tim ? " said I. 
 
 '' Ay," said he. " But I reckon I may go home now." 
 
 " Have you been sitting here long ? " 
 
 "Welly all day long. Leastways sin' seven i' th' 
 morning." 
 
 '' Why, what in the world have you been doing ? " 
 
 "Nought." 
 
 " Why have you been sitting here, then ? " 
 
 " T' keep carts off." He was up now, stretching 
 himself, and shaking his lubberly limbs. 
 
 " Carts! what carts?" 
 
 " Carts as might ha' wakened yon wench ! It's 
 Hornby market-day. I reckon yo're no better nor a 
 half-wdt yoursel'." He cocked his eye at me as if he 
 were gauging my intellect. 
 
 " And have you been sitting here all day to keep the 
 lane quiet ?" 
 
 "Ay. I've nought else to do. Th' minister has 
 turned me adrift. Have yo' heard how th' lass is faring 
 to-night ?" 
 
 " They hope she'll waken better for this long sleep. 
 Good-night to you, and God bless you, Timothy," said I. 
 
 He scarcely took any notice of my words, as he lum- 
 bered across a stile that led to his cottage. Presently I 
 went home to the farm. Phillis had stirred, had spoken 
 two or three faint words. Her mother was with her, 
 dropping nourishment into her scarce conscious mouth. 
 The rest of the household were summoned to evening 
 prayer for the first time for many days. It was a return 
 to the daily habits of happiness and health. But in 
 
cousm PHiLLis. 137 
 
 these silent days our very lives liad been an unspoken 
 prayer. Now we met in the house-place, and looked at 
 each other with strange recognition of th6 thankfulness 
 on all our faces. We knelt do-^n; we waited for the 
 minister's voice. He did not begin as usual. He could 
 not; he was choking. Presently we heard the strong 
 man's sob. Then old John turned round on his knees, 
 and said — 
 
 ''Minister, I reckon we have blessed the Lord wi' all 
 our souls, though we've ne'er talked about it ; and maybe 
 He'll not need spoken words this night. God bless us 
 all, and keep our Phillis safe from harm ! Amen." 
 
 Old John's impromptu prayer was all we had that night. 
 
 " Our Phillis," as he had called her, grew better day 
 by day from that time. Not quickly ; I sometimes grew 
 desponding, and feared that she would never be what she 
 had been before ; no more she has, in some ways. 
 
 I seized an early opportunity to tell the minister about 
 Timothy Cooper's unsolicited v/atch on the bridge 
 during the long summer's day. 
 
 '•' God forgive me ! " said the minister. " I have 
 been too proud in my ov/n conceit. The first steps I 
 take out of this house shall be to Cooper's cottage." 
 
 I need hardly say Timothy was reinstated in his place 
 on the farm ; and I have often since admired the patience 
 with which his master tried to teach him how to do the 
 easy work which was henceforward carefully adjusted to 
 his capacity. 
 
 Phillis was carried downstairs, and lay for hour after 
 hour quite silent on the great sofa, drawn up under the 
 windows of the house-place. She seemed always the 
 same, gentle, quiet, and sad. Her energy did not return 
 with her bodily strength. It was sometimes pitiful to 
 
138 COUSIN PHILLIS. 
 
 see her parents' Tain endeavours to rouse her to interest. 
 One day the minister brought her a set of blue ribbons, 
 reminding hei' with a tender smile of a former conversa- 
 tion in which she had owned to a love of such feminine 
 vanities. She spoke gratefully to him, but when he was 
 gone she laid them on one side, and languidly shut her 
 eyes. Another time I saw her mother bring her the 
 Latin and Italian books that she had been so fond of 
 before her illness — or, rather, before Holdsworth had 
 gone away. That was worst of all. She turned her 
 face to the wall, and cried as soon as her mother's back 
 was turned. Betty was laying the cloth for the early 
 dinner. Her sharp eyes saw the state of the case. 
 
 *' Now, Phillis ! " said she, coming up to the sofa ; 
 " we ha' done a' we can for you, and th' doctors has 
 done a' they can for you, and I think the Lord has done 
 a' He can for you, and more than you deserve, too, if you 
 don't do something for yourself. If I were you, I'd rise 
 up and snuff the moon, sooner than break your father's 
 and your mother's hearts wi' watching and waiting till it 
 pleases you to fight your own way back to cheerfulness. 
 There, I never favoured long preachings, and I've said 
 my say." 
 
 A day or two after Phillis asked me, when we were 
 alone, if I thought my father and mother v/ould allow her 
 to go and stay with them for a couple of months. She 
 blushed a little as she faltered out her wish for change 
 of thought and scene. 
 
 " Only for a short time, Paul. Then — we will go 
 back to the peace of the old days. I know we shall ; I 
 can, and I will ! " 
 
( 130 ) 
 
 COMPANY MANNERS. 
 
 Victor Cousin, the Frencli philosopher, has undei-taken 
 a new task within the last few years. Whether as a 
 relaxation from, or a continuation of, his study of meta- 
 physics, I do not know, but he has begun to wiite the 
 biogi'aphies of some of the celebrated French women of 
 the 17th century. In making out his list, he is carefal 
 to distinguish between authoresses and " femmes 
 d'esprit," ranking the latter infinitely the higher in every 
 point of view. The first of his series is Jacqueline 
 Pascal, the sister of Blaise, known at Port Royal as the 
 Sister Euphemia — a holy, pure, and sainted woman. 
 The second whom the grave philosopher has chosen as a 
 subject for his biography is that beautiful, splendid 
 sinner of the Fronde, the fair-haired Duchess de Longue- 
 ville. He draws the pure and perfect outlines of Jacque- 
 line Pascal's character with a severe and correct pencil ; 
 he paints the lovely duchess with the fond, admiring 
 exaggeration of a lover. The wits of Paris, in conse- 
 quence, have written the following epitaph for him : 
 *' Here lies Victor Cousin, the great philosopher^ in love 
 
140 COMPANY MANNERS. 
 
 witli the Duchess de Longueville, who died a century- 
 and-a-half before he was born." 
 
 Even the friends of this Duchess, insignificant in 
 themselves, become dear and illustrious to Cousin for 
 her fair sake. It is not long since he contributed an 
 article on Madame de Sable to the Revue des Beux 
 Mondes, which has since been published separately, and 
 which has suggested the thoughts and fancies that I am 
 now going to lay before the patient public. This Madame 
 de Sable was, in her prime, an habitual guest at the 
 Hotel Ptambouillet, the superb habitation which was the 
 centre of the witty and learned as well as the pompous 
 and pedantic society of Paris, in the days of Louis the 
 Thirteenth. When these gatherings had come to an 
 end after Madame de Ptambouillet' s death, and before 
 Moliere had turned the tradition thereof into exquisite 
 ridicule, there were several attempts to form circles that 
 should preserve some of the stately refinement of the 
 Hotel Rambouillet. Mademoiselle Scudery had her 
 Saturdays; but, an authoress herself, and collecting 
 around her merely clever people, without regard to birth 
 or breeding, M. Cousin does not hold the idea of her 
 Saturdays in high esteem. Madame de Sable, a gentle- 
 woman by birth : intelligent enough doubtless from 
 having been an associate of Menage, Voiture, Madame 
 de Sevigne, and others in the grand hotel (whose meet- 
 ings must have been delightful enough at the time, 
 though that wicked Moliere has stepped between us and 
 them, and we can only see them as he chooses us to do) : 
 Madame de Sable, friend of the resplendent fair-haired 
 Duchess de Longueville, had weekly meetings which 
 M. Cousin ranks fai- above the more pretentious Satur- 
 
COMPANY MANNERS. 141 
 
 days of Mademoiselle Scuclei7. In short, the last pago 
 of his memoir of Madame de Sable — where we matter- 
 of-fact English people are apt to put in praise of the 
 morals and religion of the person whose life we have been 
 writing — is devoted to this acme of praise. Madame de 
 Sable had all the requisites w^hich enabled her " tenir 
 Tin salon " with honour to herself and pleasure to her 
 friends. 
 
 Apaii; from this crowning accomplishment, the good 
 French lady seems to have been common-place enough. 
 She was well-born, well-bred, and the company she kept 
 must have made her tolerably intelligent. She was 
 married to a dull husband, and doubtless had her small 
 flirtations after she early became a widow ; M. Cousin 
 hints at them, but they were never scandalous or promi- 
 nently before the public. Past middle life, she took to 
 the process of " making her salvation," and inclined to 
 the Port-Royalists. She was given to liking dainty 
 things to eat, in spite of her Jansenism. She had a 
 female friend that she quarrelled with, off and on, during 
 her life. And (to wind up something like Lady O'Looney, 
 of famous memory,) she knew^ how '' tenir un salon." 
 M. Cousin tells us that she was remarkable in no one 
 thing or quality, and attributes to that single simple fact 
 the success of her life. 
 
 Now, since I have read these memoirs of Madame de 
 Sable, I have thought much and deeply thereupon. At 
 first, I was inclined to laugh at the extreme importance 
 which w^as attached to this art of " receiving company," 
 — no ! that translation will not do — " holding a drawing- 
 room " is even worse, because that implies the state and 
 reserve of royalty ; — shall we call it the art of " Sable- 
 
M2' COMPANY MANNERS. 
 
 ing ?" But when I thought of my experience in English 
 society; of the evenings dreaded before they came, and 
 sighed over in recollection, because they were so ineffably 
 dull ; I saw that to Sable well, did require, as M. Cousin 
 implied, the union of many excellent qualities and not- 
 to-be-disputed little graces. I asked some French people 
 if they could give me the recipe, for it seemed most 
 likely to be traditional, if not still extant in their nation. 
 I offer to you their ideas, fragmentary though they be ; 
 and then I will tell you some of my own ; at last, 
 perhaps, with the addition of yours, oh, most v/orthy 
 readers ! we may discover the lost art of Sableing. 
 
 Said the French lady: " A woman to be successful in 
 Sableing must be past youth, yet not past the power of 
 attracting. She must do this by her sweet and gracious 
 manners, and quick, ready tact in perceiving those who 
 have not had their share of attention, or leading the 
 conversation away from any subject which may give pain 
 to any one present." " Those rules hold good in Eng- 
 land," said I. My friend went on: " She should never 
 be prominent in anything ; she should keep silence as 
 long as any one else will talk ; but when conversation 
 flag?, she should throv/ herself into the breach with 
 the same spirit with which I notice that the young 
 ladies of the house, where a ball is given, stand 
 quietly by till the dancers are tu'ed, and then spring 
 into the arena to carry on the spirit and the music till 
 the others are ready to begin again." 
 
 " But," said the French gentleman, " even at this 
 time, when subjects for conversation are wanted, she 
 should rather suggest than enlarge — ask questions rathei* 
 than give her own opinions." 
 
coMPAifY :maxneiis. 143> 
 
 *'To be sure," said the lady. "Madame Recamier, 
 vv'liose salons were the most perfect of this century, 
 always withheld her opinions on books, or men, or 
 measures, until all around her had given theirs ; then 
 she, as it were, collected and harmonized them, saying 
 a kind thing here, and a gentle thing there, and speak- 
 ing ever with her own quiet sense, till people the most 
 oppressed leamt to understand each other's point of 
 Tiew, which it is a great thing for opponents to do." 
 
 " Then the number of the people whom you receive, 
 is another consideration. I should say not less than 
 twelve, nor more than twenty," continued the gentle- 
 man. " The evenings should be appointed — say weekly, 
 — fortnightly at the beginning of January, which is our 
 season. Fix an early hour for opening the room. People 
 are caught then in their freshness, before they become 
 exhausted by other parties." 
 
 The lady spoke : " For my part, I prefer catching my 
 friends after they have left the grander balls or recep- 
 tions. One hears then the remarks, the wit, the reason, 
 and the satire which they had been storing up dui-ing 
 theii' evening of imposed silence or of ceremonious 
 speaking." 
 
 "A little good-humoured satii-e is a veiy agreeable 
 sauce," replied the gentleman, "but it must be good- 
 humoured, and the listeners must be good-humoured ; 
 above all, the conversation must be general, and not 
 the chat, chat, chat up in a comer, by which the 
 English so often distinguish themselves. You do not 
 go into society to exchange secrets with your intimate 
 friends ; you go to render yourselves agreeable to every 
 one present, and to help all to pass a happy evening." 
 
144 COMPANY MANNERS. 
 
 " Strangers should not be admitted," said the lady, 
 taking up the strain. '' They would not start fair with 
 the others ; they would be ignorant of the allusions that 
 refer to conversations on the previous evenings ; they 
 would not understand the — what shall I call it — slang ? 
 I mean those expressions having relation to past occur- 
 rences, or by-gone witticisms common to all those who 
 are in the habit of meeting." 
 
 " Madame de Duras and Madame Kecamier never 
 made advances to any stranger. Their salons were the 
 best that Paris has known in this generation. All who 
 wished to be admitted, had to wait and prove their 
 fitness by being agreeable elsewhere ; to earn their 
 diploma, as it were, among the circle of these ladies' 
 acquaintances ; and, at last, it was a high favour to be 
 received by them." 
 
 " They missed the society of many celebrities by 
 adhering so strictly to this unspoken rule," said the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Bah ! " said the lady. " Celebrities ! what has one 
 to do with them in society ? As celebrities, they are 
 simply bores. Because a man has discovered a planet, 
 it does not follow that he can converse agreeably, even 
 on his own subjects ; often people are drained dry by 
 one action or expression of their lives — drained dry for 
 all the purposes of a ' salon.' The writer of books, for 
 instance, cannot afford' to talk twenty pages for nothing, 
 so he is either profoundly silent, or else he gives you 
 the mere rinsings of his mind. I am speaking now of 
 him as a mere celebrity, and justifying the wisdom 
 of the ladies we were speaking of, in not seeking after 
 such people ; indeed, in being rather shy of them. 
 
COMPANY MANNEES. 145 
 
 Somo of tlieir fiieuds were the most celebrated people 
 of tlieir day, but they Tvere received in their old capacity 
 of agreeable men ; a higher character, by far. Then," 
 said she, turning to me, " I believe that you English 
 spoil the perfection of conversation by having your 
 i\)oms as brilliantly lighted tor an evening the charm 
 of which depends on what one hears, as for an evening 
 when youth and beauty are to display themselves among 
 flowers and festoons, and every kind oi pretty ornament. 
 I would never have a room affect people as being dark 
 on their first entrance into it ; but there is a kind of 
 moonlight as compared to sunlight, in which people 
 talk more freely and naturally ; where shy people will 
 enter upon a conversation v/ithout a dread of every 
 change of colour or involuntary movement being seen 
 — -just as we are always more confidential over a fire 
 than anywhere else — as women talk most openly in the 
 dimly-lighted bedroom at curling-time." 
 
 *'Away with your shy people," said the gentleman. 
 ''Persons who are self-conscious, thinking of an invo- 
 luntary redness or paleness, an unbecoming movement 
 of the countenance, more than the subject of which they 
 are talking, should not go into society at all. But, 
 because women are so much more liable to this nervous 
 weakness than men, the preponderance of people in a 
 salon should ahvays be on the side of the men." 
 
 I do not think I gained more hints as to the lost art 
 from my French friends. Let us see if my own experi- 
 ence in England can furnish any more ideas. 
 
 First, let us take the preparations to be made before 
 our house, our room, or our lodgings, can be made to 
 receive society. Of course I am not meaning the pre- 
 
 10 
 
146 CO^IPANY IvIANXERS. 
 
 l^arations needed for dancing or musical evenings. I 
 am taking tliose parties wliich have pleasant conver- 
 sation and liapi^y social intercourse for their aiTirmcd 
 intention. They may be dinners, suppers, tea — I don't 
 care what they are called, provided their end is defined. 
 If your friends have not dined, and it suits you to give 
 them a dinner, in the name of Lucullus, let them dine ; 
 hut take care that there shall he something besides the 
 mere food and wino to make their fattening agreeable at 
 the time and pleasant to remember, otherwise you had 
 better pack up for each his portions of the dainty dish, 
 and send it separately, in hot- water trays, so that he 
 can eat comfortably behind a door, like Sancho Panza, 
 and have done with it. And yet I don't see why we 
 should be like ascetics ; I fancy there is a grace ol 
 preparation, a sort of festive trumpet-call, that is right 
 and proper to distinguish the day on which vve receive 
 our friends from common days, unmarked by such white 
 stones. The thought and care we take for them to set 
 before them of our best, may imply some self-denial on 
 our less fortunate days. I have been in houses where 
 all, from the scullion maid upward, worked double-tides 
 gladly, because "Master's friends" were coming; and 
 everything must be nice, and good, and all the rooms 
 must look bright, and clean, and pretty. And, as " a 
 merry heart goes all the way," preparations made in 
 this welcoming, hospitable spirit, never seem to tiro 
 any one half so much as where servants instinctively 
 feel that it has been said in the parlour, *' We must 
 have so-and-so," or " Oh, dear ! we have never had 
 the so-and-so's." Yes, I like a little pomp, and luxury, 
 and stateliness, to mark our happy days of receiving 
 
COilPANY ITANNEES. 147 
 
 friends as a festival ; Liit I do not think I y.'ould throv/ 
 my power of procuring luxuries solely into the eating 
 and drinking line. 
 
 My friends would probably be surprised (some wear 
 caps, and some wigs) if I provided them with garlands 
 of flowers, after the manner of the ancient Greeks ; but, 
 put flowers on the table (none of your shams, wax or 
 otherwise ; I prefer an honest v/ay-side root of prim- 
 roses, in a common vase of white ware, to the gi-andest 
 bunch of stiff-rustling artificial rarities in a silver 
 epergne). A flower or two by the side of each person's 
 plate would not be out of the way, as to expense, and 
 would be a very agreeable pretty piece of mute welcome. 
 Cooks and sculiiou-maids, acting in the sympathetic 
 spirit I have described, would do their very best, from 
 boiling the potatoes well, to sending in ail the dishes in 
 the best possible order. I think I would have eveiy 
 imaginary dinner sent up on the Original Mr. Y/alker's 
 plan; each dish separately, hot and hot. I have an 
 idea that when I go to live in Utopia (not before next 
 Chi'istmas), I will have a kind of hot-water sideboard, 
 such as I think I have seen in great houses, and that 
 nothing shall appear on the table but what is pleasant to 
 the eye. However simple the food, I would do it, and 
 my friends (and may I not add the Giver ?) the respect 
 of presenting it at table as well-cooked, as eatable, as 
 wholesome as my poor means allowed ; and to this end, 
 rather than to a variety of dishes, would I direct my 
 care. AVe have no associations with beef and mutton ; 
 geese may remind us of the Capitol ; and peacocks of 
 Juno ; a pigeon-pie of " the simplicity of Venus' doves," 
 but who thinks of the leafy covert which has been her 
 
 10—2 
 
148 COMPANY MANNEES. 
 
 home in life, Yvlien he sees a roasted hare ? No^Y, 
 flowers as an ornament, do lead our thoughts away from 
 their present beauty and fragrance. I am almost sure 
 Madame de Sable had flowers in her salon, and as she 
 was fond of dainties herself, I can fancy her smooth 
 benevolence of character, taking delight in some personal 
 preparations made in . the morning for the anticipated 
 friends of the evening. I can fancy her stewing sweet- 
 breads in a silver saucepan, or dressing salad with her 
 delicate, plump, white hands ; not that I ever saw a 
 silver saucepan. I was formerly ignorant enough to 
 think that they were only used in the Sleeping Beauty's 
 kitchen, or in the preparations for the marriage of 
 Eiquet-with-the-Tuft ; but I have been assured that there 
 fire such things, and that they impart a most delicate 
 flavour, or no flavour to the victuals cooked therein ; 
 so I assert again, Madame de Sable cooked sweetbreads 
 for her friends in a silver saucepan ; but never to fatigue 
 herself with those previous labours. She knew the true 
 taste of her friends too well ; they cared for her firstly, 
 as an element in their agreeable evening — the silver 
 saucepan in which they were all to meet; the oil in 
 which their several ingredients were to be softened of 
 v/hat was harsh or discordant — very secondary would bo 
 their interest in her sweetbreads. 
 
 Of sweetbreads they'll get mony an ane, 
 Of Sable ne'er anither. 
 
 But part of my care beforehand should go to the 
 homely article of waiting. I should not mind having 
 none at all ; a dumb waiter, peiDper, salt, bread, and 
 condiments vrithin the reach or by the side of all. 
 
COMPANY MANNERS. 149 
 
 Little kindly attentions from one guest to another tend 
 to take off the selfish character of the mere act of 
 eating ; and, besides, the guests would (or should) be 
 too well educated, too delicate of tact, to interrupt a 
 burst of wit, or feeling, or eloquence, as a mere footman 
 often does with the perpetual " Sherry, or Madeira?" 
 or with the names of those mysterious entremets that 
 always remind me of a white kid glove that I once ate 
 with Vsechamel sauce, and found very tender and good, 
 under the name of Oreilles de Veau a-la-something, but 
 which experiment I never wish to repeat. There is 
 something graceful and kindly In the little attention 
 by which one guest silently puts by his neighbour all 
 that he may require. I consider it a better opening to 
 ultimate friendship, if my unknown neighbour mutely 
 passes me the salt, or silently understands that I like 
 sugar to my soup, than if he had been introduced by his 
 full name and title, and labelled with the one distin- 
 guishing action or book of his life, after the manner of 
 some who are rather show-men than hosts. 
 
 But, to return to the subject of waiting. I have 
 always believed that the charm of those little suppers, 
 famous fi'om time immemorial as the delightful P.S. 
 to operas, was that there was no formal waiting, or 
 over-careful arrangement of the table ; a certain sweet 
 neglect pervaded all, very compatible with true elegance. 
 The perfection of waitmg is named in the story of the 
 White Cat, where, if you remember, the hero prince is 
 waited upon by hands without bodies, as he sits at table 
 with the White Cat, and is served with that delicate 
 fricassee of mice. By hands without bodies, I am very 
 far from meaning hands without heads. Some people 
 
150 CO:iPANY MANNERS. 
 
 prefer female -waiters ; foot- women as it were. I liaTe 
 weighed both sides of the subject well in my mind, 
 before sitting down to write this i^aper, and my verdict 
 goes in favour of men ; for, all other things being equal, 
 their superior strength gives them the power of doing 
 things without effort, and consequently with less noise 
 than any woman. The quiet ease and solemn soundless 
 movement of some men-servants is wonderful to vratch. 
 Last summer, I was staying in a house served by such 
 list-shod, soft-spoken, velvet- handed domestics. One 
 day, the butler touched a spoon with a fork ; — the 
 master of the house looked at him as Jupiter may have 
 looked at Hebe, when she made that clumsy step. " No 
 noise, sir, if you please ; " and v/e, as well as the ser- 
 vant, were hushed into the solemn stillness of the room, 
 and were graced and genteel, if not merry and sociable. 
 Still, bursts and clashes, and clatters at the side-table, 
 do disturb conversation ; and I maintain that for avoiding 
 these, men-servants are better than women. Women 
 have to add an effort to the natural exercise of what 
 strength they possess before they can lift heavy things — 
 sirloins of beef, saddles of mutton, and the like ; and 
 they cannot calculate the additional force of such an 
 effort,- so down comes the dish and the mutton and all, 
 with a sound and a splash that surprises us even more 
 than the Phillis, who is neat-handed only when she has 
 to do with things that require delicacy and lightness of 
 touch, not struggle of arm. 
 
 And, now I think of it. Mademoiselle de Sable must 
 have taken the White Cat for her model; there must 
 evidently have been the same noiseless ease and grace 
 about the movements of both ; the same purring, happy, 
 
COMPANY JIANXERS. 151 
 
 iuarticulate moments of satisfaction, when sniTounded by 
 pleasant cii-cumstances, must have been uttered by both. 
 My ovTD. mouth has watered before now at the account 
 of that fricassee of mice prepared especially for the 
 White Cat ; and M. Cousin alludes more than once to 
 ]\radame de Sable's love for " friandises." Madame 
 de Sable avoided the society of literary women, and so 
 I am sure did i]ie White Cat. Both had an instinctive 
 sense of what was comfortable ; both loved home vvith 
 tenacious affection ; and yet I am mistaken if each had 
 not their own little private love of adventure — touches 
 of the gips}\ 
 
 The reason why I think Madame de Sable had this 
 touch in her is because she knew how " tenir un salon." 
 You do not see the connection between gipsyism and the 
 art of being a good hostess, — of receiving pleasantly. I 
 do ; but I am not sure if I can explain it. In the first 
 place, gipsies must be people of quick impulse and ready 
 wit ; entering into fresh ideas, and new modes of life 
 with joyous ardour and energy, and fertile in expedients 
 for extricating themselves from the various difficulties 
 into which their wandering life leads them. They must 
 have a lofty disregard for ''convenances," and yet a 
 power of graceful adaptation. They evidently have a 
 vivid sense of the picturesque, and a love of adventure, 
 -which, if it does not show itself in action, must show 
 itself in sjTupathy with other's doings. Now, which of 
 these qualities would be out of place in Madame de 
 Sable ? From what we read of the life of her contem- 
 porary, Madame de Sevigne, we see that impromptu 
 expedients were necessary m those times, when the 
 thought ox the morning made the pleasure of the evening. 
 
152 COilPAIJY :!JANNERS. 
 
 and when people snatclicd their enjoyments from hand io 
 mouth, as it were, while yet six-wecks-imTitations were 
 not. Now, I have noticed that in some parties where 
 we were all precise and sensible, ice-hound under some 
 indefinable stiff restraint, some little domestic contre- 
 temps, if frankly acknowledged by the hostess, has 
 suddenly unloosed tongues and hearts in a supernatural 
 manner ; 
 
 Tlic upper air hursts into life, 
 
 more especially if some unusual expedient had to be 
 resorted to, giving the whole the flavour and zest of a 
 pie-nic. Toasting bread in a drawing-room, coaxing up 
 a half-extinguished fire by dint of brown sugar, news- 
 papers, and pretty good-for-nothing bellows, turning a 
 packing-case upside down for a seat, and covering in with 
 a stray piece of velvet ; these are, I am afraid, the only 
 things that can call upon us for unexpected exertion, 
 now that all is arranged and re- arranged for every party 
 a month beforehand. But I have lived in other times 
 and other places, I have been in the veiy heart and 
 depth of Wales ; within three miles of the house of tho 
 high sheriff of the county, who was giving a state-dinner 
 on a certain day, to which the gentleman with whom I 
 was staying was invited. He was on the point of leaving 
 his house in his little Norvv'egian carriole, and v/e were 
 on the point of sitting down to dinner, when a man rode 
 up in hot haste — a servant from the high sheriff's camo 
 to beg for our ioint off the spit. Fish, game, poultry — 
 they had all the delicacies of their own land ; but tho 
 butcher from the nearest market-town had failed them, 
 and at the last moment they had to send ofi' a groom 
 
COMPANY HAXXEES. 153 
 
 a-begging to tlicir neighbours. My relation departed 
 ignorant of our dinnerless state ; but lie came back in 
 great deligbt with his party. After the soup and fish 
 had been removed, there had been a long pause (the 
 joint had got cold on its ride, and had to be re-warmed) ; 
 a message was brought to the host, who had immediately 
 confided his perplexity to his guests, and put it to the 
 vote whether they would wait for the joint, or have the 
 order of the courses changed, and eat the third before 
 the second. Every one had enjoyed the merry dilemma ; 
 the ice was broken, and all went on pleasantly and easily 
 in a party where there vras rather a heterogeneous 
 mixture of politics and opinions. Dinner parties in 
 those days and in that part of Wales was somewhat 
 regulated by the arrival of the little sailing vessels, 
 which, having discharged theu' cargo at Bristol or Liver- 
 pool, brought back commissioned purchases for the 
 different families. A chest of oranges for Mr. Williams, 
 or Mr. Wynn, was a sure signal that before many days 
 were over, Mr. Williams or Mr. Wynn would give a 
 dinner party ; strike while the iron was hot ; eat while 
 the oranges were fresh. A man rode round to all the 
 different houses when any farmer planned such a mighty 
 event as killing a cow, to ask what part each family 
 would take. Visiting acquaintances lived ten or twelve 
 miles from each other, separated by bad and hilly roads ; 
 the moon had always to be consulted before issuing 
 invitations ; and then the mode of proceeding was usually 
 something like this. The invited friends came to dinner 
 at half-past five or six ; these vrere always those from 
 the greatest distance, — the nearer neighbours came later 
 on in the evening. After the gentlemen had left the 
 
154 COilPANY MAXKEP.S. 
 
 dining-room, it was cleared for dancing. Tlie fragments 
 of the dinner, prepared by ready cooks, served for supper ; 
 tea was ready some time towards one or two, and the 
 dancers went merrily on till a seven or eight o'clock 
 breakfast, after which they rode or drove home by broad 
 da^^light. I was never at one of these meetings, although 
 staying in a house from which many went ; I was con- 
 sidered too young ; but from what I heard they were really 
 excessively pleasant, sociable gatherings, although not 
 quite entitled to be classed with Madame de Sable's salons. 
 To return to the fact that a slightly gipsy and impromptu 
 character, either in the hostess or in the arrangements, or 
 in the amusements, adds a piquancy to the charm : let 
 any one remember the agreeable private teas that go on in 
 many houses about five o'clock. I remember those in 
 one house particularly, as remarkably illustrating what I 
 am trying to prove. These teas were held in a large 
 dismantled school-room, and a superannuated school- 
 room is usually the most doleful chamber imaginable. 
 I never saw this by full daylight, I only knovv^ that it was 
 lofty and large, that we went to it through a long galler}' 
 library, through which we never passed at any other 
 time, the school-room having been accessible to the 
 children in former days by a private staircase — that great 
 "branches of trees swept against the windows with a long 
 plaintive moan, as if tortured by the wind, — that below 
 in the stable-yard two Irish stag-hounds set up their 
 musical bays to mingle with the outlandish Spanish which 
 a parrot in the room continually talked out of the dark- 
 ness in which its perch was placed, — that the Vv^alls of 
 the room seemed to recede as in a dream, and, instead 
 of them, the flickering firelight painted tropical forests or 
 
COMPANY MANXERS. 155 
 
 Norwegian fiords, according to the will of our talkers. 
 I know this tea was nominally private to the ladies, but 
 that all the gentlemen strayed in most punctually by 
 accident — that the fire was always in that state when 
 somebody had to poke with the hard blows of despair, 
 and somebody else to fetch in logs of wood from the basket 
 outside, and somebody else to unload his pockets of 
 fir-bobs, which last were always efficacious, and threw 
 beautiful dancing lights far and wide. And then there was 
 i\ black kettle, long ago too old for kitchen use, that leaked 
 and ran, and sputtered against the blue and sulphur- 
 coloured fiames, and did everything that was imjn'oper, 
 but the water out of which made the best tea in the 
 world, which we drank out of unmatched cups, the relics 
 of several school-room sets. We ate thick bread and 
 butter in the darkness v»'ith a vigour of appetite which 
 had quite disappeared at the well-lighted eight o'clock 
 dinner. "Who ate it I don't know, for we stole from our 
 j)laces round the fire-side to the tea-table in comparative 
 darkness in the twilight near the window and helped 
 ourselves, and came back on tiptoe to hear one of the 
 party tell of wild enchanted spicy islands in the Eastern 
 Archipelago, or buried cities in farthest Mexico ; he used 
 to look into the fire and draw, and paint with words in a 
 manner perfectly marvellous, and with an art which he 
 had quite lost at the' formal dinner-time. Our host was 
 scientific ; a name of high repute ; he too told us of 
 wonderful discoveries, strange surmises, glimpses into 
 something far away and utterly dream-like. His son 
 had been in Norway fishing ; then, when he sat all 
 splashed with hunting, he too could tell of adventures in 
 a natural racy way. The girls busy with their heavy 
 
156 COMPANY MANNERS. 
 
 kettle, and with their tea-making, put in a joyous word 
 now and then. At dinner the host talked of nothing 
 more intelligible than French mathematics ; the heir 
 drawled out an infinite deal of nothing about the 
 ''Shakespeare and musical glasses" of the day; the 
 traveller gave us latitudes and longitudes, and rates of 
 population, exports and imports, with the greatest pre- 
 cision ; and the girls were as pretty, helpless, inane fine 
 ladies as you would wish to see. 
 
 Speaking of wood fires, reminds me of Madame de 
 Sable's fires. Of course they were of wood, being in 
 Paris ; but I believe that even if she had lived in a coal 
 country, she would have burned wood by instinctive 
 preference, as a lady I once knew, always ordered a 
 lump of caunel coal to be brought up if ever her friends 
 seemed silent and dull. A wood fire has a kind of 
 spiritual, dancing, glancing life about it. It is an elvish 
 companion, crackling, hissing, bubbling : throwing out 
 beautiful jets of vivid many-coloured flame. The best 
 wood-fires I know, are those at Keswick. Making lead 
 pencils is the business of the place ; and the cedar chips 
 for scent, and the thinnings of the larch and fir planta- 
 tions thereabouts for warm and brilHant light, make such 
 a fire as Madam^e de Sable would have delighted in. 
 
 Depend upon it, too, every seat in her salon was easy 
 and comfortable of its kind. They might not be made 
 of any rare kind of wood, nor covered very magnificently, 
 but the bodies of her friends could rest and repose in 
 them in easy unconstrained attitudes. No one can be 
 agreeable, perched on a chair which does not afford 
 space for proper support. I defy the most accomplished 
 professional wit to go on utter^g "mots" in a chair 
 
compact: manners. 157 
 
 witli a stiff, hard, upright back, or with his legs miserahly 
 dangling. No ! Madame de Sable's seats were commo- 
 dious, and probably varied to suit all tastes ; nor was 
 there anything in the shape of a large and cumbrous 
 article of furniture placed .right in the middle of her 
 room, so as to prevent her visitors from changing their 
 places, or drawing near to each other, or to the fire, if 
 they so willed it. I imagine, likewise, that she had that 
 placid, kindly manner, which would never show any loss 
 of self-possession. I fancy that there was a welcome 
 ready for all, even though some came a little earlier than 
 they were expected. 
 
 I was once very much struck by the perfect breeding 
 of an old Welsh herb-woman, with whom I drank tea, — 
 a tea which was not tea after all, — an infusion of balm 
 and black-currant leaves, with a pinch of lime blossom 
 to give it a Pekoe flavour. She had boasted of the 
 delicacy of this beverage to me on the previous day, and 
 I had begged to be allowed to come and drink a cup 
 with her. The only drawback was that she had but one 
 cup, but she immediately bethought her that she had 
 two saucers, one of which would do just as well, indeed, 
 better than any cup. I was anxious to be in time, and 
 so I was too early. She had not done dusting and 
 rubbing when I arrived, but she made no fuss ; she was 
 glad to see me, and quietly bade me welcome, though I 
 had come before all was as she could have wished. She 
 gave me a dusted chair, sate down herself, with her 
 kilted petticoats and working apron, and talked to me as 
 if she had not a care or a thought on her mind but the 
 enjoyment of the present time. By-and-by, in moving 
 about the room, she slipped behind the bed-curtain, still 
 
158 COIIPANY MANNERS. 
 
 coiiYersing. I lieard the splasli of vvater, and a drawer 
 open and sliiit; and then my hostess emerged spruce, 
 and clean, and graced, but not one ^vhit more agreeable 
 or at her ease than she had been for the previous half 
 hour in her working dress. 
 
 There are a set of people who put on their agreeable- 
 ness with their gowns. Here again I have studied the 
 subject, and the result is, that I find people of this 
 description are more pleasant in society in their second- 
 best than in their very best dresses. These last are 
 new ; and the persons I am speaking of never feel 
 thoroughly at home in them, never lose their conscious- 
 ness of unusual finery until the first stain has been 
 made. With their best gowns they put on an unusual 
 fineness of language ; they say "commence" instead 
 of " begin ; " they inquire if they may " assist," instead 
 of asking if they may " help " you to anything. And 
 yet there are some, very far from vain or self-conscious, 
 who are never so agreeable as when they have a dim, 
 half-defined idea that they are looking their best — not in 
 finery, but in air, arrangement, or complexion. I have 
 a notion that Madame de Sable, with her fine instincts, 
 was aware of this, and that there were one or two secrets 
 about the furniture and disposition of light in her salon 
 which are lost in these degenerate days. I heard, or 
 read, lately, that v/e make a great mistake in furnishing 
 our reception-rooms with all the light and delicate 
 colours, the profusion of ornament, and flecked and 
 spotted chintzes, if we wish to show ofi^ the human face 
 and figure ; that our ancestors and the great painters 
 knew better, with their somewhat sombre and heavy- 
 tinted back-grounds, relieving or throwing out into full 
 
CCilPANY ITAXXEKS. 159 
 
 relief tlie rounded figure and tlie delicate peacli-like 
 complexion. 
 
 I fancy Madame de Sable's salon was furnished with 
 deep warm soberness of tone ; lighted up by flowers, 
 and happy animated people, in a brilliancy of dress- 
 which would be lost now-a-days against our satin walls ^ 
 and flower-bestrewn carpets, and gilding, gilding every- 
 where. Then somehovr, conversation must have flowed 
 naturally into sense or nonsense, as the case might be. 
 People must have gone to her house well prepared for 
 either lot. It might be that wit would come uppermost, 
 sparkling, crackling, leaping, calling out echoes all 
 around ; or the same people might talk vdih. all their 
 might and wisdom, on some grave and important subject 
 of the day, in that manner which we have got into the 
 way of calling " earnest," but which term has struck 
 me as being slightly flavoured by cant, ever since I heard 
 of an " earnest uncle." At any rate, whether grave or gay, 
 people did not go up to Madame de Sable's salons with, 
 a set purpose of being either the one or the other. They 
 were carried away by the subject of the conversation, by 
 the humour of the moment. I have visited a good deal 
 among a set of people who piqued themselves on being* 
 rational. We have talked what they called sense, but 
 what I call platitudes, till I have longed, like Southey 
 in the Doctor, to come out with some interminable non- 
 sensical word (Aballibogibcuganorribo was his, I think), 
 as a relief for my despair at not being able to think of 
 anything more that was sensible. It would have done 
 me good to have said it, and I could have stai-ted afresh 
 on the rational tack. But I never did. I sank into 
 inane silence, which I hope was taken for wisdom. One 
 
IGO COMPAirr MANNERS. 
 
 of this set paid a relation of mine a profound compli- 
 ment, for so slie meant it to be, " Oil, Miss F. ! you are 
 so trite ! " But as it is not in every one's power to bo 
 rational, and " trite," at all times and in all places, dis- 
 charging our sense at a given place,, like water from a 
 fireman's hose ; and as some of us are cisterns rather 
 than fountains, and may have our stores exhausted, 
 why is it not more general to call in other aids to con- 
 versation, in order to enable us to pass an agreeable 
 evening ? 
 
 But I v;ill come back to this presently. Only let me 
 say that there is but one thing more tiresome than an 
 evening when everybody tries to be profound and sen- 
 sible, and that is an evening when everybody tries to be 
 witty. I have a disagreeable sense of eflfort and un- 
 naturalness at both times ; but the everlasting attempt, 
 even v/hen it succeeds, to be clever and amusing, is the 
 v/orse of the two. People try to say brilliant rather 
 than true things ; they not only catch eager hold of the 
 superficial and ridiculous in other persons, and in events 
 generally, but from constantly looking out for subjects 
 for jokes, and "mots," and satire, they become pos- 
 sessed of a kind of sore susceptibility themselves, and 
 are afraid of their own working selves, and dare not give 
 way to any expression of feeling, or any noble indigna- 
 tion or enthusiasm. This kind of weaiying wit is far 
 different from humour, which wells up and forces its way 
 out irrepressibly, and calls forth smiles and laughter, 
 but not vei7 far apart from tears. Depend upon it, some 
 of Madame de Sable's friends had been moved in a most 
 abundant and genial measure. They knew how to nar- 
 rate too. Yeiy simple, say you ? I say, no ! I believe 
 
COMPANY 3IANNE11S. 161 
 
 the art of telling a story is born with some people, and 
 these have it to perfection ; but all might acquire some 
 expertness in it, and ought to do so, before launching 
 out into the muddled, complex, hesitating, broken, dis- 
 jointed, poor, bald, accounts of events which have neither 
 unity, nor colour, nor life, nor end in them, that one 
 sometimes hears. 
 
 But as to the rational parties that are in truth so 
 irrational, when all talk up to an assumed character, 
 instead of showing themselves what they really are, and 
 so extending each other's knowledge of the infinite and 
 beautiful capacities of human nature — whenever I see 
 the grave sedate faces, with their good but anxious 
 expression, I remember how I was once, long ago, at a 
 party like this ; every one had brought out his or her 
 wisdom, and aired it for the good of the company ; one 
 or two had from a sense of duty, and without any special 
 living interest in the matter, improved us by telling us 
 of some new scientific discovery, the details of which 
 were all and each of them wrong, as I learnt afterwards ; 
 if they had been right, we should not have been any the 
 wiser; — and just at the pitch when any more useful 
 infoiTnation might have brought on congestion of the 
 brain, a stranger to the town, a beautiful, audacious, 
 but most feminine romp, proposed a game, and such a 
 game, for us wise men of Gotham ! But she (now long 
 still and quiet after her bright life, so full of pretty 
 pranks) was a creature whom all who looked on loved ; 
 and ^\ith grave hesitating astonishment we knelt round 
 a circular table at her word of command. She made 
 one of the circle, and producing a feather out of some 
 sofa pillow, she told us she should blow it up into the 
 
 11 
 
162 COMPANY lyiANNEES. 
 
 air, and whichever of us it fioated near, must puff away 
 to keep it from falling on the table. I suspect we all 
 looked like Keeley in the " Camp at Chobham," and 
 were surprised at our own obedience to this ridiculous, 
 senseless mandate, given with a graceful imperiousness, 
 as if it were too royal to be disputed. We knelt on, 
 puffing away with the utm.ost intentness, looking like a 
 set of elderly 
 
 *' Fools ! " No ! my dear sir. I was going to say 
 elderly cherubim. But making fools of ourselves, was 
 better than making owls, as we had been doing. 
 
 I will mention another party, where a game of some 
 kind would have been a blessing. It was at a very 
 respectable tradesman's house. We went at half-past 
 four, and found a well- warmed handsome sitting-room, 
 with block upon block of unburnt coal behind the fire ; 
 on the table there was a tray with wine and cake, 
 oranges and almonds, and raisins, of which we were 
 urged to partake. In half-an-hour came tea"; none of 
 your flimsy meals, with wafer bread and butter, and 
 three biscuits and a half. This was a grave and serious 
 proceeding; tea, coflee, bread of all kinds, cold fowl, 
 tongue, ham, potted meats — I don't know what. Tea 
 lasted about an hour, and then the cake and wine tray 
 was restored to its fonner place. The stock of subjects 
 of common interest was getting low, and, in spite of 
 our good--\nll, long stretches of silence occurred, pro- 
 ducing a stillness, which made our host nervously attack 
 the fire, and stir it up to a yet greater glow of intense 
 heat ; and the hostess invariably rose at such times, and 
 urged us to "eat another maccaroon." The first I 
 revelled in, the second I enjoyed, the third I got 
 
COMPANY MANNERS. 1G3 
 
 tlirough, the four I siglied over, the fiffcli reminded me 
 uncomfortably of that part of Sterne's Sentimental Journey, 
 where he feeds a donkey with maccaroons, — and when, 
 at the sight of the sixth, I rose to come away, a burst 
 of imploring, indignant surprise greeted me : " You are 
 surely never going before supper ! " I stopped. I ate 
 that supper. Hot jugged hare, hot roast turkey, hot 
 boiled hai^, hot apple-tart, hot toasted cheese. No 
 wonder I am old before my time. Now these good 
 people were really striving, and taking pains, and laying 
 out money, to make the evening pass agreeably, but the 
 only way they could think of to amuse their guests, was, 
 giving them plenty to eat. If they had asked one of 
 their children they could doubtless have suggested half- 
 a-dozen games, which we could all have played at when 
 our subjects of common interest failed, and which would 
 have carried us over the evening quietly and simply, if 
 not brilliantly. But in many a small assemblage of 
 people, where the persons collected are incongruous, 
 where talking cannot go on through so many hours, 
 without becoming flat or laboured, why have we not 
 oftener recourse to games of some kind. 
 
 Wit, Advice, Bout-rimes, Lights, Spanish merchant, 
 Twenty Questions — eveiy one knows these, and many 
 more, if they would only not think it beneath them to 
 be called upon by a despairing hostess to play at them. 
 Of course to play them well requires a little more exer- 
 tion of intellect than quoting other people's sense and 
 wisdom, or misquoting science. But I do not think it 
 takes as much thought and memory, and consideration, 
 as it does to be " up " in the science of good eating and 
 drinking. A profound knowledge of this branch of 
 
 11—2 
 
164 COMPANY MANNERS. 
 
 learning seems in general to have absorbed all the 
 faculties before it could be brought to an^-thing like 
 perfection. So I do not consider games as entailing 
 so much mental fatigue as a man must undergo before 
 he is qualified to decide upon dishes. I once noticed 
 the worn and anxious look of a famous diner-out, when 
 called upon by his no less anxious host to decide upon 
 the merits of a salad, mixed by no hands, §s you may 
 guess, but those of the host in question. The guest, 
 doctor of the art of good living, tasted, paused, tasted 
 again, — and then, with gentle solemnity, gave forth his 
 condemnatory opinion. I happened to be his next 
 neighbour, and slowly turning his meditative full-moon 
 face round to me, he gave me the valuable infonnation 
 that to eat a salad in perfection some one should be 
 racing from lettuce to shalot, from shalot to endive, and 
 so on, all the time that soup and fish were being eaten ; 
 that the vegetables should be gathered, washed, sliced, 
 blended, eaten, all in a quarter of an hour. I bowed as 
 in the presence of a master; and felt, no wonder his 
 head was bald, and his face heavily wrinkled. 
 
 I have said nothing of books. Yet I am sure that 
 if Madame de Sable lived now, they would be seen in 
 her salon as part of its natural indispensable furniture ; 
 not brought out, and strewed here and there when 
 "company was coming," but as habitual presences in 
 her room, wanting which, she would want a sense of 
 warmth and comfort and companionship. Putting out 
 books as a sort of preparation for an evening, as a 
 means for making it pass agreeably, is running a great 
 risk. In the first place, books are by such people, and 
 on such occasions, chosen more for their outside than 
 
COMPANY MANNERS. 1G5 
 
 tlieir inside. And in the next, they are the "mere 
 materical mih. which wisdom (or wit) builds ; " and if 
 persons don't know how to use the material, they will 
 suggest nothing. I imagine Madame do Sable would 
 have the volumes she herself was reading, or those 
 which, being new, contained any matter of present 
 interest, left about, as they would naturally be. I 
 could also fancy that her guests would not feel bound 
 to talk continually, whether they had anything to say 
 or not, but that there might be pauses of not unpleasant 
 silence — a quiet darkness out of which they might be 
 certain that the little stars would glimmer soon. I 
 can believe that in such pauses of repose, some one 
 might open a book, and catching on a suggestive sen- 
 tence, might dash off again into the full flow of con- 
 versation. But I cannot fancy any grand preparations 
 for what was to be said among people, each of whom 
 brought the best dish in bringing himself; and whose 
 own ^tore of living, individual thought and feeling, and 
 mother-wit, would be infinitely better than any cut-and- 
 dry determination to devote the evening to mutual 
 improvement. If people are really good and wise, their 
 goodness and their wisdom flow out unconsciously, and 
 benefit like sunfight. So, books for reference, books 
 for impromptu suggestion, but never books to serve 
 for texts to a lecture. Engravings fall under some- 
 thing like the same rules. To some they say eveiy- 
 thing ; to ignorant and unprepared minds, nothing. I 
 remember noticing this in watching how people looked 
 at a very valuable portfolio belonging to an acquaint- 
 ance of mine, which contained engraved and authentic 
 portraits of almost every possible person; fi-om king 
 
166 COMPANY MAlXXEnS. 
 
 and kaiser down to notorious beggars and criminals * 
 including all tlie celebrated men, women, and actors 
 whose likenesses could be obtained. To some, this 
 portfolio gave food for observation, meditation and con- 
 versation. It brought before them every kind of human 
 tragedy, — every variety of scenery and costume and 
 grouping in the background, thronged with figures 
 called up by their imagination. Others took them up 
 and laid them down, simply saying, " This is a pretty 
 face ! " "Oh, what a pair of eyebrows ! " " Look at 
 this queer dress ! " 
 
 Yet, after all, having something to take up and to 
 look at, is a relief and of use to persons who, without 
 being self-conscious, are nervous from not being accus- 
 tomed to society. Oh, Cassandra ! Kemember w^hen 
 you with your rich gold coins of thought, with your 
 noble power of choice expression, were set down, and 
 were thankful to be set down, to look at some paltiy 
 engravings, just because people did not know how to 
 get at your ore, and you did not care a button whether 
 they did or not, and were rather bored by their attempts, 
 the end of which you never found out. While I, with 
 my rattling tinselly rubbish, was thought " agi'eeable 
 and an acquisition ! " You would have been valued at 
 Madame de Sable's, where the sympathetic and intel- 
 lectual stream of conversation would have borne you 
 and your golden fragments away with it, by its soft 
 resistless gentle force. 
 
( 1G7 ) 
 
 MR. HAEEISOl^'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The fire was burning gaily. My wife had just gone 
 upstairs to put baby to bed. Charles sat opposite to 
 me, looking very brown and handsome. It was pleasant 
 enough that we should feel sure of spending some weeks 
 under the same roof, a thing which we had never done 
 since we were mere boys. I felt too lazy to talk, so 
 I ate walnuts and looked into the fire. But Charles 
 grew restless. 
 
 *' Now that your wife is gone upstairs, Will, you must 
 tell me what I've wanted to ask you ever since I saw 
 her this morning. Tell me aU about the wooing and 
 winning. I want to have the receipt for getting such a 
 spicy little wife of my own. Your letters only gave the 
 barest details. So set to, man, and tell me every 
 particular." 
 
 '' If I tell you all, it will be a long story." 
 " Never fear. If I get tired, I can go to sleep, and 
 dream that I am back again, a lonely bachelor, in 
 Cejdon ; and I can waken up when you have done, to 
 
168 Mn. haPcRISOn's confessions. 
 
 know tliat I am under your roof. Dash away, man ! 
 
 * Once upon a time, a gallant young baclielor ' 
 
 There's a beginning for you ! " 
 
 " Well, then, ' once ujion a time, a gallant young 
 bachelor' was sorely puzzled where to settle, when he 
 had completed his education as a surgeon. — I must 
 speak in the first person ; I cannot go on as a gallant 
 young bachelor. — I had just finished walking the 
 hospitals when you went to Ceylon, and, if you 
 remember, I wanted to go abroad like you, and thought 
 of ofi'ering myself as a ship- surgeon ; but I found I 
 should rather lose caste in my profession ; so I hesitated, 
 and while I was hesitating, I received a letter fi-om my 
 father's cousin, Mr. Morgan, — that old gentleman who 
 used to write such long letters of good advice to my 
 mother, and who tipped me a five-pound note when I 
 agreed to be bound apprentice to Mr. Howard, instead 
 of going to sea. Well, it seems the old gentleman had 
 all along thought of taking me as his partner, if I 
 turned out pretty well ; and as he heard a good account 
 of me from an old friend of his, who was a surgeon at 
 Guy's, he wrote to propose this arrangement : I was to 
 have a third of the profits for five years ; after that, 
 half ; and eventually I was to succeed to the whole. It 
 was no bad ofi'er for a penniless man like me, as 
 Mr. Morgan had a capital country practice, and, though 
 I did not know him personally, I had formed a pretty 
 good idea of him, as an honourable, kind-hearted, 
 fidgetty, meddlesome old bachelor ; and a veiy correct 
 notion it was, as I found out in the very first half-hour 
 of seeing him. I had had some idea that I was to live 
 in his house, as he was a bachelor and a kind of family 
 
MR. hahrison's confessions. 1G9 
 
 frloncl ; and I think lie was afraid tliat I should expect 
 this arrangement, for when I walked up to his door, 
 with the porter carrying my portmanteau, he met me 
 on the steps, and while he held my hand and shook it, 
 he said to the porter, ' Jerry, if you'll wait a moment, 
 Mr. Harrison will be ready to go with you to his 
 lodgings, at Jocelyn's, you know ; ' and then turning 
 to me, he addressed his first words of welcome. I was 
 a little inclined to think him inhospitable, but I got to 
 understand him better afterwards. ' Jocelyn's,' said 
 he, ' is the best place I have been able to hit upon in 
 a hurry, and there is a good deal of fever about, which 
 made me desirous that you should come this month, — 
 a low kind of typhoid, in the oldest part of the town. 
 I think you'll be comfortable there for a week or two. 
 I have taken the liberty of desiring my housekeeper to 
 send down one or two things which give the place a 
 little more of a home aspect, — an easy chair, a beautiful 
 case of preparations, and one or two little matters in 
 the way of eatables ; but if you'll take my advice, I've 
 a plan in my head which we will talk about to-morrow 
 morning. At present, I don't like to keep you standing 
 out on the steps here, so I'll not detain you from your 
 lodgings, where I rather think my housekeeper is gone 
 to get tea ready for you.' 
 
 " I thought I understood the old gentleman's anxiety 
 for his own health, which he put upon care for mine, 
 for he had on a kind of loose grey coat, and no hat on 
 his head. But I wondered that he did not ask me 
 in-doors, instead of keeping me on the steps. I believe, 
 after all, I made a mistake in supposing he was afraid 
 of taking cold; he was only afraid of being seen in 
 
170 MR. nAERISO:N''S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 dishahille. And for his apparent inliospitality, I had 
 not been long in Buncombe before I understood the 
 comfort of having one's house considered as a castle 
 into which no one might intrude, and saw good reason 
 for the practice Mr. Morgan had established of coming 
 to his door to speak to every one. It was only the 
 effect of habit that made him receive me so. Before 
 long, I had the fi'ee run of his house. 
 
 *' There w^as every sign of kind attention and fore- 
 thought on the part of some one, whom I could not 
 doubt to be Mr. Morgan, in my lodgings. I was too 
 lazy to do much that evening, and sat in the little bow- 
 window which projected over Jocelyn's shop, looking up 
 and down the street. Duncombe calls itself a town, 
 but I should call it a village. Really, looking from 
 Jocelyn's, it is a very picturesque place. The houses 
 are anything but regular ; they may be mean in their 
 details ; but altogether they look well ; they have not 
 that flat unrelieved front, which many towns of far more 
 pretensions present. Here and there a bow-window — 
 every now and then a gable, cutting up against the 
 sky — occasionally a projecting upper story — throws 
 good effect of light and shadow along the street ; and 
 they have a queer fashion of theii' own of colouring the 
 whitewash of some of the houses with a sort of pink 
 blotting-paper tinge, more like the stone of which 
 Mayence is built than anything else. It may be very 
 bad taste, but to my mind it gives a rich warmth to 
 the colouring. Then, here and there a dwelling-house 
 has a court in front, mth a grass-plot on each side 
 of the flagged walk, and a large tree or two — limes 
 or horse-chestnuts — which send their great projecting 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 171 
 
 Tipper brandies over into the street, mailing round dry 
 places of shelter on the pavement in the times of 
 summer showers. 
 
 " While I was sitting in the bow-window, thinking of 
 the contrast between this place and the lodgings in the 
 heart of London, which I had left only twelve hours 
 before, — the window open here, and, although in the 
 centre of the town, admitting only scents from the 
 mignonette boxes on the sill, instead of the dust and 
 
 smoke of Street, — the only sound heard in this, 
 
 the principal street, being the voices of mothers calling 
 their playing children home to bed, and the eight o'clock 
 bell of the old parish church bimbomming in remem- 
 brance of the curfew ; — while I was sitting thus idly, 
 the door opened, and the little maid-servant, droiiping 
 a courtesy, said — 
 
 " ' Please, sir, Mrs. Munton's compliments, and. 
 she would be glad to know how you are after your 
 journey.' 
 
 " There ! was not that hearty and kind ? Would 
 even the dearest chum I had at Guy's have thought 
 of doing such a thing ? while Mrs. Munton, whose name 
 I had never heard of before, was doubtless suffering 
 anxiety till I could relieve her mind by sending back 
 word that I was pretty well. 
 
 " * My compliments to Mrs. Munton, and T am pretty 
 well : much obliged to her.' It was as well to say only 
 * pretty well,' for ' very well ' would have destroyed the 
 interest Mrs. Munton evidently felt in me. Good Mrs. 
 Munton ! Kind Mrs. Munton ! Perhaps, also, young, 
 — handsome, — rich, — widowed Mrs. Munton ! I rubbed 
 my hands with delight and amusement, and, resuming 
 
172 MR. nARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 my post of observation, began to -ponder at v/liicli liouse 
 Mrs. Munton lived. 
 
 *' Again the little tap, and tlie little maid-servant : 
 
 " ' Please, sir. Miss Tomkinsons' compliments, and 
 they would be glad to knov; how you feel yourself after 
 your journey.' 
 
 " I don't know why, but Miss Tomkinsons' name had 
 not such a halo about it as Mrs. Munton's. Still it was 
 very pretty in Miss Tomkinsons to send and inquire. I 
 only wished I did not feel so perfectly robust. I was 
 almost ashamed that I could not send word I was quite 
 exhausted by fatigue, and had fainted twice since my 
 arrival. If I had but had a headache, at least! I 
 heaved a deep breath : my chest was in perfect order ; 
 I had caught no cold ; so I answered again — 
 
 '' ' Much obliged to the Miss Tomkinsons; I am not 
 much fatigued ; tolerably well ; my compliments.' 
 
 *' Little Sally could hardly have got downstairs, before 
 she returned, bright and breathless : — 
 
 *' ' Mr. and Mrs. Bullock's compliments, sir, and they 
 hope you are pretty well after your journey.' 
 
 " Who would have expected such kindness from such 
 an unpromising name ? Mr. and Mrs. Bullock were 
 less interesting, it is true, than their predecessors ; but 
 I graciously replied — 
 
 *'*My compliments; a night's rest will perfectly 
 recruit me.' 
 
 *' The same message was presently brought up from 
 one or two more unknown kind hearts. I really wished 
 I were not so ruddy-looking. I was afraid I should 
 disappoint the tender-hearted town when they saw what 
 a hale young fellow I was. And I was almost ashamed 
 
MR. haerison's confessions. 173 
 
 of confessing to a great appetite for supper when Sally 
 came up to inquire what I would have. Beef-steaks 
 were so tempting ; but perhaps I ought rather to have 
 water-gruel, and go to bed. The beef-steak carried 
 the day, however. I need not have felt such a gentle 
 elation of spirits, as this mark of the town's attention 
 is paid to every one when they arrive after a journey. 
 Many of the same people have sent to inquire after 
 you, — great, hulking, brown fellow as you are, — only 
 Sally spared you the infliction of devising interesting 
 answers. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " The next morning Mr. Morgan came before I had 
 finished breakfast. He was the most dapper little man 
 I ever met. I see the affection with which people cling 
 to the style of dress that was in vogue when they were 
 beaux and belles, and received the most admiration. 
 They are unwilling to believe that their youth and 
 beauty are gone, and think that the prevailing mode 
 is unbecoming. Mr. Morgan vdll inveigh by the hour 
 together against frock-coats, for instance, and whiskers. 
 He keeps his chin close shaven, wears a black dress- 
 coat, and dark-grey pantaloons ; and in his morning 
 round to his town patients, he invariably wears the 
 brightest and blackest of Hessian boots, with dangling 
 silk tassels on each side. When he goes home, about 
 ten o'clock, to prepare for his ride to see his country 
 patients, he puts on the most dandy top-boots I ever 
 
174 MR. HAEEISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 saw, wliicli he gets from some wonderful boot-mal:er 
 a hundred miles off. His appearance is what one calls 
 *jemmy:' there is no other word that will do for it. 
 He was evidently a little discomfited when he saw me 
 in my breakfast costume, with the habits which I 
 brought with me from the fellows at Guy's; my feet 
 against the fire-place, my chair balanced on its hind 
 legs (a habit of sitting which I afterwards discovered 
 he particularly abhorred) ; slippers on my feet (wliich, 
 also, he considered a most ungentlemanly piece of un- 
 tidiness ' out of a bedroom ') ; in short, from what I 
 afterwards learned, every prejudice he had was outraged 
 by my appearance on this first visit of his. I put my 
 book down, and sprang up to receive him. He stood, 
 hat and cane in hand. 
 
 *' ' I came to inquire if it would be convenient for 3-0U 
 to accompany me on my morning's round, and to be 
 introduced to a few of our friends.' I quite detected 
 the little tone of coldness, induced by his disappoint- 
 ment at my appearance, though he never imagined that 
 it v.'as in any way perceptible. ' I will be ready directly, 
 sir;' said I ; and bolted into my bedroom, only too happy 
 to escape his scrutinising eye. 
 
 '' When I returned, I was made aware, by sundiy 
 indescribable little coughs and hesitating noises, that 
 my dress did not satisfy him. I stood ready, hat and 
 gloves in hand ; but still he did not offer to set off on our 
 round. I grew very red and hot. At length he said — 
 
 " ' Excuse me, my dear young friend, but may I ask 
 if you have no other coat besides that — ' cut-away,' I 
 believe you call them ? — We are rather sticklers for 
 propriety, I believe, in Buncombe ; and much depends 
 
MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIOXS. 175 
 
 on a first impression. Let it be professional, my dear 
 sir. Black is the garb of our profession. Forgive my 
 speaking so plainly, but I consider myself in loco 
 jjcirentis.' 
 
 " He was so kind, so bland, and, in truth, so fiiendly, 
 that I felt it would be most childish to take offence; 
 but I had a little resentment in my heart at this way of 
 being treated. However, I mumbled, ' Oh, certainly, 
 sir, if you wish it ; ' and returned once more to change 
 my coat — my poor cut-away. 
 
 " ' Those coats, sir, give a man rather too much of a 
 sporting appearance, not quite befitting the learned pro- 
 fessions ; more as if you came down here to hunt than 
 to be the Galen or Hippocrates of the neighbourhood.' 
 He smiled graciously, so I smothered a sigh ; for, to tell 
 you the truth, I had rather anticipated — and, in fact, had 
 boasted at Guy's of the runs I hoped to have with the 
 hounds ; for Duncombe was in a famous hunting district. 
 But all these ideas were quite dispersed when Mr. Morgan 
 led me to the inn-yard, where there was a horse-dealer 
 on his way to a neighbouring fair, and ' strongly advised 
 iQe,' — which in our relative circumstances was equi- 
 valent to an injunction, — to purchase a little, useful, 
 fast-trotting, brown cob, instead of a fine showj horse, 
 ' who would take any fence I put him to,' as the horse- 
 dealer assured me. Mr. Morgan was evidently pleased 
 when I bowed to his decision, and gave up all hopes of 
 an occasional hunt. 
 
 " He opened out a great deal more after this pur- 
 chase. He told me his plan of establishing me in a 
 house of my own, which looked more respectable, not to 
 say professional, than being in lodgings ; and then he 
 
176 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 went on to say that lie had lately lost a friend, a brother 
 surgeon in a neighbouring town, who had left a widoY/ 
 with a small income, who would be \evy glad to live with 
 me, and act as mistress to my establishment; thus 
 lessening the expense. 
 
 " ' She is a lady-like woman,' said Mr. Morgan, 'to 
 judge from the little I have seen of her ; about forty-five 
 or so ; and may really be of some help to you in the 
 little etiquettes of our profession ; the slight delicate 
 attentions which every man has to learn, if he wishes to 
 get on in life. This is Mrs. Munton's, sir,' said he, 
 stopping short at a very unromantic-looking green door, 
 with a brass knocker. 
 
 " I had no time to say, ' Who is Mrs. Munton ? ' 
 before we had heard Mrs. Munton was at home, and were 
 following the tidy elderly servant up the narrow carpeted 
 stairs into the drawing-room. Mrs. Munton was the 
 wddow of a former vicar, upwards of sixty, rather deaf; 
 but like all the deaf people I have ever seen, very fond 
 of talking ; perhaps because she then knew the subject, 
 which passed out of her grasp when another began to 
 speak. She was ill of a chronic complaint, which often 
 incapacitated her from going out ; and the kind people 
 of the town were in the habit of coming to see her and 
 sit with her, and of bringing her the newest, freshest, 
 tid-bits of news ; so that her room was the centre of 
 the gossip of Buncombe ; — not of scandal, mind ; for I 
 make a distinction between gossip and scandal. Now 
 you can fancy the discrepancy between the ideal and the 
 real Mrs. Munton. Instead of any foolish notion of a 
 beautiful blooming widow, tenderly anxious about the 
 health of the stranger, I saw a homely, talkative, elderly 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 177 
 
 person, with a keen observant eye, and marks of suffer- 
 ing on lier face ; plain in manner and dress, but still un- 
 mistakeablj a lady. She talked to Mr. Morgan, but she 
 looked at me ; and I saw that nothing I did escaped her 
 notice. Mr. Morgan annoyed me by his anxiety to show 
 mo off; but he was kindly anxious to bring out every 
 circumstance to my credit in Mrs. Munton's hearing, 
 knowing well that the town crier had not more opportu- 
 nities to publish all about me than she had. 
 
 " ' What was that remark you repeated to me of 
 Sir Astley Cooper's ? ' asked he. It had been the most 
 trivial speech in the world that I had named as we w\alked 
 along, and I felt ashamed of having to repeat it : but it 
 answered Mr. Morgan's purpose, and before night all 
 the town had heard that I was a favourite pupil of 
 Sir Astley 's (I had never seen him but twice in my life) ; 
 and Mr. Morgan was afraid that as soon as he knew my 
 full value I should be retained by Sir Astley to assist 
 him in his duties as surgeon to the Royal Family. 
 Every little circumstance was pressed into the conver- 
 sation which could add to my importance. 
 
 " 'As I once heard Sir Robert Peel remark to Mr. 
 Harrison, the father of our young friend here — The 
 moons in August are remarkably full and bright.' — If 
 you remember, Charles, my father was always proud of 
 having sold a pair of gloves to Sir Robert, when he was 
 staying at the Grange, near Biddicombe, and I suppose 
 good Mr. Morgan had paid his only visit to my father at 
 the time ; but Mrs. Munton evidently looked at me with 
 double respect after this incidental remark, which I was 
 amused to meet with, a fev/ months afterwards, disguised 
 in the statement that my father was an intimate friend 
 
 12 
 
178 MR. hahrisox's confessions. 
 
 of tlie Premier's, and liad, in fact, been the adviser of 
 most of the measures taken by liim in public life. I sat 
 b}^ half indignant and half amused. Mr. Morgan looked 
 so complacently pleased at the whole effect of the con- 
 versation, that I did not care to mar it by explanations ; 
 and, indeed, I had little idea at the time how small 
 sayings were the seeds of great events in the town of 
 Duncombe. When we left Mrs. Munton's, he was in a 
 blandly communicative mood. 
 
 *' ' You will find it a curious statistical f^ict, but five- 
 sixths of our householders of a certain rank in Duncombe 
 are women. We have v.ddows and old maids in rich 
 abundance. In fact, my dear sir, I believe that you and 
 I are almost the only gentlemen in the place, — Mr. 
 Bullock, of course, excepted. By gentlemen, I mean 
 professional men. It behoves us to remember, sir, that 
 so many of the female sex rely upon us for the kindness 
 and protection which every man who is vrorthy of the 
 name is always so happy to render.' 
 
 " Miss Tomkinson, where we next called, did not 
 strike me as remarkably requiring protection from any 
 man. She was a tall, gaunt, masculine-looking woman, 
 wdth an air of defiance about her, naturally ; this, how- 
 ever, she softened and mitigated, as far as she was able, 
 in favour of Mr. Morgan. He, it seemed to me, stood 
 a little in awe of the lady, who was very brusque and 
 plain-spoken, and evidently piqued herself on her decision 
 of character and sincerity of speech. 
 
 " ' So, this is the Mr. Harrison v\'e have heard so 
 much of from you, Mr. Morgan ? I must say, from what 
 I had heard, that I had expected something a little 
 more — hum — hum ! But he's young yet ; he's young. 
 
im. hahrison's confessioxs. 179 
 
 We have been all anticipating an Apollo, Mr. Harrison, 
 from Mr. Morgan's description, and an iEsculajnus com- 
 bined in one ; or, perhaps I might confine mjself to 
 saying Apollo, as he, I believe, was the god of medicine ! ' 
 
 ''How could Mr. Morgan have described me without 
 seeing me ? I asked myself. 
 
 " Miss Tomkinson put on her spectacles, and adjusted 
 them on her Roman nose. Suddenly relaxing from her 
 severity of inspection, she said to Mr. Morgan — ' But 
 you must see Caroline. I had nearly forgotten it ; she 
 is busy with the girls, but I will send for her. She had 
 a bad headache yesterday, and looked very pale ; it 
 made me veiy uncomfortable.' 
 
 " She rang the bell and desired the servant to fetch 
 Miss Caroline. 
 
 " Miss Caroline was the younger sister — younger by 
 twenty years ; and so considered as a child by Miss 
 Tomkinson, who was fifty-five, at the very least. If 
 she was considered as a cliild, she v/as also petted and 
 caressed, and cared for as a child ; for she had been left 
 as a baby to the charge of her elder sister ; and when 
 the father died, and they had to set up a school. Miss 
 Tomkinson took upon herself eveiy difficult arrangement, 
 and denied herself every pleasure, and made every sacri- 
 fice in order that ' Carry ' might not feel the change in 
 their cu'cumstances. My wife tells me she once knew 
 the sisters purchase a piece of silk, enough, with manage- 
 ment, to have made two govms ; but Carry wished for 
 flounces, or some such fal-lals ; and, without a word, 
 Miss Tomkinson gave up her gown to have the whole 
 made up as Carry wished, into one handsome one ; and 
 wore an old shabby affair herself as cheerfully as if it 
 were Genoa velvet. That tells the sort of relationship 
 
 12—2 
 
180 IIR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIOJ^S. 
 
 between the sisters as well as anything, and I consider 
 ni3^self very good to name it thus early, for it was long 
 before I found out Miss Tomkinson's real goodness; 
 and we had a great quarrel first. Miss Caroline looked 
 very delicate and die-away when she came in ; she was 
 as soft and sentimental as Miss Tomkinson was hard and 
 masculine ; and had a way of saying, ' Oh, sister, how 
 can you ? ' at Miss Tomkinson's startling speeches, which 
 I never liked, — especially as it was accompanied by a 
 sort of protesting look at the company present, as if she 
 wished to have it understood that she was shocked at 
 her sister's outre manners. Now, that was not faithful 
 between sisters. A remonstrance in private might have 
 done good, — though, for my own part, I have gro'^n to 
 like Miss Tomkinson's speeches and ways ; but I don't 
 like the way some people have of separating themselves 
 from what may be unpopular in their relations. I know 
 I spoke rather shortly to Miss Caroline when she asked 
 me whether I could bear the change from ' the great 
 metropolis ' to a little country village. In the first 
 j)lace, why could not she call it ' London,' or ' town,' 
 and have done with it ? And in the next place, why 
 should she not love the place that was her home well 
 enough to fancy that every one would like it when they 
 came to know it as well as she did ? 
 
 *'I was conscious I was rather abrupt in my conver- 
 sation with her, and I saw that Mr. Morgan was watching 
 me, though he pretended to be listening to Miss Tom- 
 kinson's whispered account of her sister's symptoms. 
 But when we were once more in the street, he began, 
 * My dear young friend ' 
 
 " I winced ; for all the morning I had noticed that 
 when he was going to give a little unpalatable advice, he 
 
MR. IIArtRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 181 
 
 always kjgaii Vvitli ' My dear young friend.' He had 
 done so about the horse. 
 
 " ' My dear young friend, there are one or two hints 
 I shoukl like to give you about your manner. The 
 great Sir Everard Home used to say, ' a general prac- 
 titioner should either have a very good manner, or a very 
 bad one.' Now, in the latter ease, he must be possessed 
 of talents and acquirements sufficient to insure his being 
 sought after, whatever his manner might be. But the 
 rudeness will give notoriety to these qualifications. 
 Abernethy is a case in point. I rather, myself, question 
 the taste of bad manners. I, therefore, have studied to 
 acquire an attentive, anxious politeness, which combines 
 ease and grace with a tender regard and interest. I am 
 not aware whether I have succeeded (few men do) in 
 coming up to my ideal ; but I recommend you to strive 
 after this manner, peculiarly befitting our profession. 
 Identify yourself with your patients, my dear sir. You 
 have sympathy in your good heart, I am sure, to really 
 feel pain when listening to their account of their suffer- 
 ings, and it soothes them to see the expression of this 
 feeling in your manner. It is, in fact, sir, manners that 
 make the man in our profession. I don't set myself up 
 
 as an example, far from it ; — but This is Mr. Hutton's, 
 
 our vicar ; one of the servants is indisposed, and I shall 
 be glad of the opportunity of introducing you. YVe can 
 resume our conversation at another time.' 
 
 "I had not been aware that we had been holding a 
 conversation, in which, I believe, the assistance of two 
 persons is required. Why had not Mr. Hutton sent to 
 ask after my health the evening before, according to the 
 custom of the place ? I felt rather ofiended." 
 
182 3111. HATmiSON'S C02JFESSI0NS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " The vicarage was on the north side of the street, at 
 the end opening towards the hills. It was a long low 
 house, receding behind its neighbours ; a court was 
 between the door and the street, with a flag- walk and 
 an old stone cistern on the right-hand side of the door ; 
 Solomon's seal growing under the windows. Some one 
 was watching from behind the window- curtain ; for the 
 door opened, as if by magic, as soon as we reached it ; 
 and we entered a low room, which served as hp.ll, and 
 was matted all over, with deep old-fashioned window- 
 seats, and Dutch tiles in the fire-place; altogether it 
 was very cool and refreshing, after the hot sun in the 
 white and red street. 
 
 *' * Bessy is not so well, Mr. Morgan,' said the 
 sweet little girl of eleven or so, who had opened the 
 door. ' Sophy wanted to send for you ; but papa said 
 he was sure you would come soon this morning, and 
 we were to remember that there were other sick people 
 wanting you.' 
 
 '' ' Here's Mr. Morgan, Sophy,' said she, opening- 
 the door into an inner room, to which we descended a 
 step, as I remember well, — for I was nearly falHng 
 down it, I was so caught by the picture within. It 
 v/as like a picture, — at least, seen through the door- 
 frame. A sort of mixture of crimson and sea-green 
 in the ^'oom, and a sunny garden beyond ; a very low 
 casement window, open to the amber air; clusters of 
 v/hite roses peeping in, and Sophy sitting on a cushion 
 on the ground, the light coming from above on her 
 
Sophy and Walter. 
 
 p. 182. 
 
Jill. lIArcRISON S C0XFESSI0X3. 183 
 
 head, and a little sturdy roimd-eyed brotLor kneeling 
 by her, to whom she was teaching the alphabet. It 
 was a mighty relief to him when we came in, as I 
 could see ; and I am much mistaken if he was easily 
 caught again to say his lesson, when he was once sent 
 off to find papa. Sophy rose quietly, and of course 
 we were just introduced, and that was all, before she 
 took Mr. Morgan upstairs to see her sick servant. I 
 was left to myself in the room. It looked so like a 
 home, that it at once made me know the full chaim 
 of the word. There were books and work about, and 
 tokens of employment ; there was a child's plaything 
 on the lloor; and against the sea-green walls there 
 hung a likeness or two, done in v/ater-colours ; — one, 
 I was sure, was that of Sophy's mother. The chairs 
 and sofa were covered with chintz, the same as the 
 cui-tains — a little pretty red rose on a white ground. 
 I don't know where the crimson came from, but I am 
 sure there vras crimson somewhere ; perhaps in the 
 carpet. There was a glass door besides the window, 
 and you went up a step into the garden. This was 
 first, a grass plot, just under the windows, and beyond 
 that, straight gravel walks, v/ith box-borders and narrow- 
 flower-beds on each side, most brilliant and gay at the 
 end of August, as it was then ; and behind the flower- 
 borders were fruit-trees trained over wood-work, so as 
 to shut out the beds of kitchen-garden within. 
 
 " While I v/as looking round, a gentleman came in, 
 who, I was sure, was the vicar. It was rather awkv;ard, 
 for I had to account for my presence there. 
 
 " ' I came with Mr. Morgan ; my name is Harrison,' 
 SAid I, bowing. I could see he was not much enlightened 
 
184 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 by this explanation, but we sat clown and talked about 
 the time of year, or some such matter, till Sophy and 
 Mr. Morgan came back. Then I saw Mr. Morgan to 
 advantage. With a man whom he respected, as he 
 did the vicar, he lost the prim artificial manner he 
 had in general, and was calm and dignified ; but not 
 so dignified as the vicar. I never saw any one like 
 him. He was very quiet and reserved, almost absent 
 at times ; his personal appearance was not striking ; 
 but he vv'as altogether a man j^ou would talk to with 
 your hat ofi" whenever you met him. It was his character 
 that produced this efi'cct — character that he never thought 
 about, but that appeared in every word, and look, and 
 motion. 
 
 " Sophy,' said he, ' Mr. Morgan looks very warm ; 
 could you not gather a few jargonelle pears off the south 
 wall ? I fancy there are some ripe there. Our jargonelle 
 pears are remarkably early this year.' 
 
 " Sophy went into the sunny garden, and I saw 
 her take a rake and tilt at the pears, which were above 
 her reach, apparently. The parlour had become chilly 
 (I found out afterwards it had a flag floor, which accounts 
 for its coldness), and I thought I should like to go into 
 the warm sun. I said I would go and help the young 
 lady ; and without v/aiting for an answer, I went into 
 the wann, scented garden, where the bees were rifling 
 the flowers, and making a continual busy sound. I 
 think Sophy had begun to despair of getting the fruit, 
 and was glad of my assistance. I thought I was very 
 senseless to have knocked them down so soon, when I 
 found we were to go in as soon as they were gathered. 
 I should have liked to have walked round the srarden, 
 
MR. HAr.EISON'S COXFESSIOI^S. 185 
 
 but Sopliy walked straight off with tlie pears, and I 
 could do nothing but follow her. She took up her 
 needlework while we ate them: they were very soon 
 finished, and when the vicar had ended his conversation 
 with Mr. Morgan about some poor people, we rose up 
 to come away. I was thankful that Mr. Morgan had 
 said so little about me. I could not have endured that 
 he should have introduced Sir Astley Cooper or Sir 
 Eobert Peel at the vicarage ; not yet could I have 
 brooked much mention of my ' great opportunities for 
 acquiring a thorough knowledge of my profession,' 
 which I had heard him describe to Miss Tomkinson, 
 while her sister was talking to me. Luckily, however, 
 he spared me all this at the vicar's. When we left, 
 it was time to mount our horses and go the countiy 
 rounds, and I was glad of it." 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 " BY-AXD-BYthe inhabitants of Buncombe began to have 
 parties in my honour. Mr. Morgan told me it was on 
 my account, or I don't think I should have found it out. 
 But he was pleased at every fresh invitation, and rubbed 
 his hands, and chuckled, as if it was a compliment to 
 himself, as in truth it was. 
 
 *' Meanwhile, the arraugement with Mrs. Rose had 
 been brought to a conclusion. She was to bring her 
 furniture, and place it in a house, of which I was to pay 
 the rent. She was to be the mistress, and, in return, 
 
186 MR. HARBISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 slie was not to pay anything for her hoard. Mr. Morgan 
 took tho house, and delighted in advising and settling 
 all my affairs. I was partly indolent, and partly amused, 
 and was altogether passive. The house he took for me 
 was near his own : it had two sitting-rooms downstairs^ 
 opening into each other by folding-doors, which were, 
 however, kept shut in general. The back room was my 
 consulting room (' the libraiy,' he advised me to call it)^ 
 and gave me a skull to put on the top of my bookcase, 
 in which the medical books were all ranged on the con- 
 spicuous shelves ; while Miss Austen, Dickens, and 
 Thackeray were, by Mr. Morgan himself, skilfully placed 
 in a careless way, upside down, or with their backs 
 turned to the wall. The front parlour was to be the 
 dining-room, and the room above was furnished with 
 Mrs. Rose's drawing-room chairs and table, though I 
 found she preferred sitting downstairs in the dining-room 
 close to the window, where, between eveiy stitch, she 
 could look up and see what was going on in the street. 
 I felt rather queer to be the master of this house, filled 
 with another person's furniture, before I had even seen 
 the lady whose property it was. 
 
 "Presently she arrived. Mr. Morgan met her at the 
 inn where the coach stopped, and accompanied her to 
 my house. I could see them out of the drawing-room 
 window, the little gentleman stepping daintily along, 
 flourishing his cane, and evidently talking away. She 
 was a little taller than he was, and in deep widow's 
 mourning ; such veils and falls, and capes and cloaks, 
 that she looked like a black crape haycock. When we 
 v/ere introduced, she put up her thick veil, and looked 
 around and si.Grhcd. 
 
3IR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 187 
 
 " * Your appecarance and circumstances, Mr. Harrison, 
 remind me forcibly of the time when I was married to 
 my dear husband, now at rest. He was then, like you, 
 commencing practice as a surgeon. For twenty years I 
 sympathized with him, and assisted him by everv' means 
 in my power, even to making up pills when the young 
 man was out. May we live together in like hannony for 
 an equal length of time ! May the regard between us 
 be equally sincere, although, instead of being conjugal, 
 it is to be maternal and filial ! ' 
 
 " I am sure she had been concocting this speech in 
 the coach, for she afterwards told me she was the only 
 passenger. When she had ended, I felt as if I ought to 
 have had a glass of wine in my hand to drink, after the 
 manner of toasts. And yet I doubt if I should have 
 done it heartily, for I did not hope to live with her for 
 twenty years ; it had rather a dreaiy sound. However, 
 I only bowed, and kept my thoughts to myself. I asked 
 Mr. Morgan, while Mrs. Rose was upstairs taking off 
 her things, to stay to tea ; to which he agreed, and kept 
 iiibbing his hands with satisfaction, saying — 
 
 "'Veiy fine woman, sir; veiy fine woman! And 
 what a manner ! How she will receive patients, who 
 may wish to leave a message during your absence. Such 
 a flowtof words to be sure ! ' 
 
 " Mr. Morgan could not stay long after tea, as there 
 w^ere one or two cases to be seen. I would willingly have 
 gone, and had my hat on, indeed, for the pui-pose, when, 
 he said it would not be respectful, ' not the thing,' to 
 leave Mrs. Rose the first evening of her arrival. 
 
 ** ' Tender deference to the sex, — to a widow in the 
 first months of her loneliness, — requires little considera- 
 
188 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 tion, my clear sir. I will leave that case at Miss Tom- 
 kinson's for you ; you will perhaps call early to-morrow 
 morning. Miss Tomkinson is rather particular, and is 
 apt to speak plainly if she does not think herself properly 
 attended to.' 
 
 " I had often noticed that he shuffled off the visits to 
 Miss Tomkinson's on me, and I suspect he was a little 
 afraid of the lady. 
 
 " It was rather a long evening with Mrs. Eose. She 
 had nothing to do, thinking it civil, I suppose, to stop 
 in the parlour, and not go upstairs and unpack. I 
 begged I might he no restraint upon her if she wished 
 to do so ; hut (rather to my disappointment) she smiled 
 in a measured, subdued way, and said it would be a 
 pleasure to her to become better acquainted with me. 
 She went upstairs once, and my heart misgave me when 
 I saw her come down with a clean folded pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. Oh, my prophetic soul ! — she was no sooner 
 seated, than she began to give me an account of her 
 late husband's illness, and symptoms, and death. It 
 was a very common case, but she evidently seemed to 
 think it had been peculiar. She had just a smattering of 
 medical knowledge, and used the technical terms so very 
 mat apropos that I could hardly keep from smiling ; but I 
 would not have done it for the world, she was evidently 
 in such deep and sincere distress. At last she said — 
 
 *' ' I have the " dognoses " of my dear husband's 
 complaint in my desk, Mr. Harrison, if you would like to 
 draw up the case for the Lancet. I think he would have 
 felt gratified, poor fellow, if he had been told such a 
 compliment would be paid to his remains, and that his 
 case should appear in those distinguished columns.' 
 
aiR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 189 
 
 " It was rather awkward ; for the case was of the veiy 
 commonest, as I said before. HoweTer, I had not been 
 even this short time in practice without having learnt a 
 few of those noises which do not compromise one, and yet 
 may bear a very significant construction if the listener 
 chooses to exert a little imagination. 
 
 '' Before the end of the evening, we were such friends 
 that she brought me down the late Mr. Rose's picture to 
 look at. She told me she could not bear, herself, to 
 gaze upon the beloved features ; but that if I would look 
 upon the miniature, she would avert her face. I offered 
 to take it into my own hands, but she seemed wounded 
 at the proposal, and said she never, never could trust 
 such a treasure out of her own possession ; so she turned 
 her head very much over her left shoulder, while I 
 examined the likeness held by her extended right arm. 
 
 " The late Mr. Rose must have been rather a good- 
 looking jolly man ; and the artist had given him such a 
 broad smile, and such a tv^inkle about the eyes, that it 
 really was hard to help smiling back at him. However, 
 I restrained myself. 
 
 '' At first Mrs. Rose objected to accepting any of the 
 invitations which were sent her to accompany me to the 
 tea-parties in the town. She was so good and simple, 
 that I was sure she had no other reason than the one 
 which she alleged — the short time that had elapsed since 
 her husband's death ; or else, now that I had had some 
 experience of the entertainments which she declined so 
 pertinaciously, I might have suspected that she was 
 glad of the excuse. I used sometimes to wish that I 
 was a widow. I came home tired from a hard day's 
 riding, and if I had but felt sure that Mr. Morgan would 
 
190 ZvIU. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 not come in, I should certainly have put on my slippers 
 and my loose morning coat, and have indulged in a 
 cigar in the garden. It seemed a cruel sacrifice to 
 society to dress myself in tight boots, and a stiff coat, 
 and go to a five o'clock tea. But Mr. Morgan read 
 me such lectures upon the necessity of cultivating the 
 good-will of the people among whom I was settled, and 
 seemed so sorry, and almost hurt, when I once com- 
 plained of the dulness of these parties, that I felt I 
 could not he so selfish as to decline more than one out 
 of thi-ee. Mr. Morgan, if he found that I had an 
 invitation for the evening, vrould often take the longer 
 round, and the more distant visits. I suspected him at 
 first of the design, which I confess I often entertained, 
 of shirking the parties ; but I soon found out he was 
 really making a sacrifice of his inclinations for what he 
 considered to be my advantage." 
 
 CHAPTEK Y. 
 
 *' Theee V7as one invitation which seemed to promise a 
 good deal of pleasure. Mr. Bullock (who is the attorney 
 of Buncombe) was mamcd a second time to a lady from 
 a lai-ge provincial town ; she wished to lead the fashion, 
 — a thing very easy to do, for every one was willing to 
 follow her. So instead of giving a tea-party in my 
 honour, she proposed a pic-nic to some old hall in the 
 neighbourhood ; and really the arrangements sounded 
 tempting enough. Every patient we had seemed full 
 
MR. haerison's confessions. 191 
 
 of the subject ; both those who were iiiYitecl and those 
 who were not. There was a moat round the house, with 
 a boat on it ; and there was a gallery in the hall, from 
 which music sounded delightfully. The family to whom 
 the place belonged were abroad, and lived at a newer 
 and grander mansion when they were at home ; there 
 were only a farmer and his wife in the old hail, and 
 they were to have the charge of the preparations. The 
 little, kind-hearted town was delighted when the sun 
 shone bright on the October morning of our pic-nic; 
 the shopkeepers and cottagers all looked pleased as they 
 saw the cavalcade gathering at Mr. Bullock's door. We 
 were somewhere about twenty in number; a ' silent few,* 
 she called us ; but I thought we were quite enough. 
 There were the Miss Tomkinsons, and two of their 
 young ladies — one of them belonged to a ' county 
 family,' Mrs. Bullock told me in a whisper ; then came 
 Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Bullock, and a tribe of little 
 children, the offspring of the present wife. Miss Bullock 
 w'as only a step-daughter. Mrs. Munton had accepted 
 the invitation to join our party, which was rather un- 
 expected by the host and hostess, I imagine, from little 
 remarks that I overheard ; but they made her very 
 welcome. Miss Horsman (a maiden lady who had been 
 on a visit from home till last week) was another. And 
 last, there were the vicar and his children. These, 
 with Mr. Morgan and myself, made up the party. I 
 was very much pleased to see something more of the 
 vicar's family. He had come in occasionally to the 
 evening parties, it is true ; and spoken kindly to us 
 all ; but it v/as not his habit to stay veiy long at them. 
 And his daughter was, he said, too young to visit. 
 
192 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 Slie liad had the charge of her little sisters and brother 
 since her mother's death, which took up a good deal 
 of her time, and she was glad of the evenings to pur- 
 sue her own studies. But to-day the case was different ; 
 and Sophy, and Helen, and Lizzie, and even little 
 Walter, were all there, standing at Mrs. Bullock's door ; 
 for we none of us could he patient enough to sit still 
 in the parlour with Mrs. Munton and the elder ones, 
 quietly waiting for the two chaises and the spring-cart, 
 which were to have been there by two o'clock, and now 
 it was nearly a quarter past. ' Shameful ! the bright- 
 ness of the day would be gone.' The sympathetic shop- 
 keepers standing at their respective doors with their 
 hands in their pockets, had, one and all, their heads 
 turned in the direction from which the carriages (as 
 Mrs. Bullock called them) were to come. There v»'as 
 a rumble along the paved street ; and the shopkeepers 
 turned and smiled, and bowed their heads congratu- 
 latingly to us ; all the mothers and all the little children 
 of the place stood clustering round the door to see us 
 set off. I had my horse waiting ; and, meanwhile, I 
 assisted people into their vehicles. One sees a good 
 deal of management on such occasions. Mrs. Munton 
 was handed first into one of the chaises ; then there 
 was a little hanging back, for most of the young people 
 wished to go in the cart, — I don't know why. Miss 
 Horsman, hoAvever, came forward, and as she was known 
 to be the intimate friend of Mrs. Munton, so far was 
 satisfactory.. But who was to be third? — bodkin with 
 two old ladies, who liked the windows shut ? I saw 
 Sophy speaking to Helen ; and then she came forward 
 and offered to be the third. The two old ladies looked 
 
MR. HARRISOX'S C0:N"FESSI0XS. 193 
 
 pleased and glad (as every one did near Sopliy) ; so 
 that chaise-full was arranged. Just as it was going 
 off, however, the servant from the vicarage came running 
 with a note for her master. When he had read it, he 
 went to the chaise-door, and I suppose told Sophy, what 
 I afterwards heard him say to Mrs. Bullock, that the 
 clergyman of a neighbouring parish was ill, and unable 
 to read the funeral service for one of his parishioners, 
 who was to be buried that afternoon. The vicar was, 
 of course, obliged to go, and said he should not return 
 home that night. It seemed a relief to some, I per- 
 ceived, to be without the little restraint of his dignified 
 presence. Mr. Morgan came up just at the moment, 
 having ridden hard all the morning to be in time to 
 join our party ; so we were resigned, on the whole, to 
 the vicar's absence. His own family regretted him the 
 most, I noticed, and I liked them all the better for 
 it. I believe that I came next in being sorry for his 
 departure ; but I respected and admired him, and felt 
 always the better for having been in his company. 
 Miss Tomkinson, Mrs. Bullock, and the ' county ' young 
 lady, were in the next chaise. I think the last would 
 Tather have been in the cart with the younger and 
 merrier set, but I imagine that was considered infra- 
 dig. The remainder of the party were to ride and tie ; 
 and a most riotous laughing set they were. Mr. Morgan 
 and I were on horseback ; at least I led my horse, with 
 little Walter riding on him ; his fat, sturdy legs standing 
 stiff out on each side of my cob's broad back. He was 
 a little darling, and chattered all the way, his sister 
 Sophy being the heroine of all his stories. I found 
 he owed this day's excursion entirely to her begging 
 
194 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 papa to let him come ; nurse ^vas strongly against it — 
 * cross old nurse ! ' he called her once, and then said, 
 ' No, not cross ; kind nurse ; Sophy tells Walter not 
 to say cross nurse.' I never saw so young a child so 
 hrave. The horse shied at a log of wood. Walter 
 looked very red, and grasped the mane, but sat upright 
 like a little man, and never spoke all the time the horse 
 was dancing. When it was over he looked at me, and 
 smiled — 
 
 " ' You would not let me be hurt, Mr. Harrison, would 
 you?' He was the most winning little fellow I ever 
 saw. 
 
 '' There were frequent cries to me from the cart, ' Oh, 
 Mr. Harrison ! do get us that branch of blackberries ; 
 you can reach it with your whip handle.' ' Oh, Mr. 
 Harrison ! there were such splendid nuts on the other 
 side of that hedge ; would you just turn back for them?' 
 Miss Caroline Tomkinson was once or twice rather faint 
 with the motion of the cart, and asked me for my smell- 
 ing-bottle, as she had forgotten hers. I was amused at 
 the idea of my carrying such articles about with me. 
 Then she thought she should Hke to walk, and got out, 
 and came on my side of the road ; but I found little 
 Walter the pleasanter companion, and soon set the horse 
 off into a trot, with which pace her tender constitution 
 could not keep up. 
 
 '' Tlie road to the old hall was along a sandy lane, 
 with high hedge-banks ; the wych-elms almost met over- 
 head. ' Shocking fanning ! ' Mr. Bullock called out ; 
 and so it might be, but it was very pleasant and pic- 
 turesque looking. The trees were gorgeous, in their 
 orange and crimson hues, varied by great dark green 
 
ME. HAKRISON S C0XFESSI0X3. 195 
 
 holly bushes, glistening in the autumn sun. I should 
 have thought the colours too vivid, if I had seen them 
 in a picture, especially when we wound up the brow, 
 after crossing the little bridge over the brook — (what 
 laughing and screaming there was as the cart splashed 
 thi'ough the sparkling water !) — and I caught the purple 
 hills beyond. We could see the old hall, too, from that 
 point, with its warm rich woods billowing up behind, and 
 the blue waters of the moat lying still under the sun- 
 light. 
 
 " Laughing and talking is very hungi-y work, and 
 there was a universal petition for dinner when we arrived 
 at the lawn before the hall, where it had been arranged 
 that we were to dine. I saw Miss Carry take Miss 
 Tomkinson aside, and whisper to her ; and presently the 
 elder sister came up to me, where I was busy, rather 
 apart, making a seat of hay, which I had fetched from 
 the farmer's loft for my little friend Walter, who, I had 
 noticed, was rather hoarse, and for whom I was afraid of 
 a seat on the grass, diy as it appeared to be. 
 
 " 'Mr. Harrison, Caroline tells me she has been 
 feeling very faint, and she is afi'aid of a return of 
 one of her attacks. She says she has more confidence 
 in your medical powers than in Mr. Morgan's. I should 
 not be sincere if I did not say that I differ fi'om her ; 
 but as it is so, may I beg you to keep an eye upon her ? 
 I tell her she had better not have come if she did not 
 feel well ; but, poor girl, she had set her heart upon this 
 day's pleasure. I have ofi'ered to go home with her ; 
 but she says, if she can only feel sure you are at hand, 
 she would rather stay.' 
 
 *' Of course I bowed, and promised all due attend- 
 
 13—2 
 
196 MR. HAERISON'S CONFESSIOITS. 
 
 ance on Miss Caroline ; and in the mean time, until slie 
 did require my services, I thouglit I miglit as well go and 
 help the vicar's daughter, who looked so fresh and pretty 
 in her white muslin dress, here, there, and everywhere, 
 now in the sunshine, now in the green shade, helping 
 every one to be comfortable, and thinking of every one 
 but herself. 
 
 " Presently Mr. Morgan came up. 
 " ' Miss Caroline does not feel quite well. I have 
 23romised your services to her sister.' 
 
 '' ' So have I, sir. But Miss Sophy cannot carry this 
 heavy basket.' 
 
 *' I did not mean her to have heard this excuse ; but 
 she caught it up and said — 
 
 *' ' Oh, yes, I can ! I can take the things out one by 
 one. Go to poor Miss Caroline, pray, Mr. Harrison.' 
 
 *' I went; but very unwillingly, I must say. When 
 I had once seated myself by her, I think she must have 
 felt better. It was, probably, only a nervous fear, 
 which was relieved when she knew she had assistance 
 near at hand ; for she made a capital dinner. I thought 
 she would never end her modest requests for * just a 
 little more pigeon-pie, or a merry-thou:,ht of chicken.' 
 Such a hearty meal would, I hoped, effectually revive 
 her ; and so it did ; for she told me she thought she 
 could manage to walk round the garden, and see the old 
 peacock yews, if I would kindly give her my arm. It 
 was very provoking ; I had so set my heart upon being 
 with the vicar's children. I advised Miss Caroline 
 strongly to lie down a little, and rest before tea, on the 
 sofa in the farmer's kitchen ; you cannot think how per- 
 suasively I begged her to take care of herself. At last 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 197 
 
 she consented, thanking me for my tender interest ; she 
 should never forget my kind attention to her. She little 
 knew what was in my mind at the time. However, she 
 was safely consigned to the farmer's wife, and I was 
 rushing out in search of a white gown and a waving 
 figure, when I encountered Mrs. Bullock at the door of 
 the Hall. She was a fine, fierce-looking v/oman. I 
 thought she had appeared a little displeased at my (un- 
 willing) attentions to Miss Caroline at dinner-time ; but 
 now, seeing me alone, she was all smiles. 
 
 *' ' Oh, Mr. Harrison, all alone ! How is that ? What 
 are the young ladies about to allow such churlishness ? 
 And, by the way, I have ieft a young lady who will be 
 very glad of your assistance, I am sure — my daughter, 
 Jemima (her step-daughter, she meant). Mr. Bullock 
 is so particular, and so tender a father, that he would be 
 frightened to death at the idea of her going into the 
 boat on the moat unless she was with some one who 
 could swim. He is gone to discuss the new wheel- 
 plough with the farmer — (you know agriculture is his 
 hobby, although law, horrid law, is his business). But 
 the poor girl is pining on the bank, longing for my per- 
 mission to join the others, which I dare not give unless 
 you will kindly accompany her, and promise, if any 
 accident happens, to preserve her safe.' 
 
 *' Oh, Sophy, why was no one anxious about you ?" 
 
9 
 
 198 MR. HASEISOA^'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Miss Bullock was standing by the water-side, looking 
 wistfully, as I thouglit, at the water-party ; the sound of 
 whose merry laughter came pleasantly enough from the 
 boat, which lay off (for, indeed, no one knew how to 
 row, and she was of a clumsy flat-bottomed build,) about 
 a hundred yards, ' v/eather-bound,' as they shouted out, 
 among the long stalks of the water-lilies. 
 
 " Miss Bullock did not look up till I came close to 
 her ; and then, when I told her my errand, she lifted up 
 her great hearj^, sad eyes, and looked at me for a 
 moment. It struck me, at the time, that she expected 
 to find some expression on my face which was not there, 
 and that its absence was a relief to her. She was a very 
 pale, unhappy-looking girl, but very quiet, and, if not 
 agreeable in manner, at any rate not forward or offensive. 
 I called to the party in the boat, and they came slowly 
 enough through the large, cool, green lily-leaves towards 
 us. When they got near, we saw there was no room for 
 us, and Miss Bullock said she would rather stay in the 
 meadow and saunter about, if I v/ould go into the boat ; 
 and I am certain from the look on her countenance that 
 she spoke the truth ; but Miss Horsman called out in a 
 sharp voice, while she smiled in a very disagreeable 
 knowing vv^ay, — 
 
 " ' Oh, mamma will be displeased if you don't come 
 in. Miss Bullock, after all her trouble in making such a 
 nice arrangement.' 
 
 '' At this speech the poor girl hesitated, and at last, 
 in an undecided way, as if she was not sure whether she 
 
MR. haerison's confessions. 199 
 
 was doing right, slie took Sophy's place in the boat. 
 Helen and Lizzie landed vdih their sister, so that there 
 was plenty of room for Miss Tomkmson, Miss Horsman, 
 and all the little Bullocks ; and the three vicarage girls 
 went off strolling along the meadow side, and playing 
 with Walter who was in a high state of excitement. 
 The sun was getting low, but the declining Hght was 
 beautiful upon the water ; and, to add to the charm of 
 the time, Sophy and her sisters, standing on the green 
 lawn, in front of the hall, struck up the little German 
 canon, which I had never heard before, — 
 
 ' Oh -wie -^Yolil ist mir am abend,' &c. 
 
 At last we were summoned to tug the boat to the 
 landmg-steps on the lawn, tea and a blazing wood fire 
 being ready for us in the hall. I was offering my ann 
 to Miss Horsman, as she was a little lame, Vv-hen she 
 said again, in her peculiar disagreeable way, ' Had you 
 not better take Miss Bullock, Mr. Harrison ? It will be 
 more satisfactory.' 
 
 " I helped Miss Horsman up the steps, however, and 
 then she repeated her advice; so, remembering that 
 Miss Bullock was in fact the daughter of my entertainers, 
 I went to her ; but though she accepted my aim, I could 
 perceive she was sorry that I had offered it. 
 
 " The hall was lighted by the glorious wood fire in 
 the wide old grate ; the daylight was dying away in the 
 vrest ; and the large windows admitted but little of what 
 was left, through their small leaded frames, with coats of 
 arms emblazoned upon them. The farmer's wife had 
 set out a great long table, which was piled with good 
 things : and a huge black kettle sang on the glowing 
 
200 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 fire, wliicli sent a cheerful warmtli tlirough the room as 
 it crackled and blazed. Mr. Morgan (who I found had 
 heen taking a little round in the neighbourhood among 
 his patients) was there smiling and rubbing his hands as 
 usual. Mr. Bullock was holding a conversation with the 
 farmer at the garden door on the nature of different 
 manures, in which it struck me that if Mr. Bullock had 
 the fine names and the theories on his side, the farmer 
 had all the practical knowledge and the experience, and 
 I know which I would have trusted. I think Mr. Bullock 
 rather liked to talk about Liebig in my hearing; it 
 sounded well, and was knowing. Mrs. Bullock was not 
 particularly placid in her mood. In the first place, I 
 wanted to sit by the vicar's daughter, and Miss Caroline 
 as decidedly wanted to sit on my other side, being afraid 
 of her fainting fits, I imagine. But Mrs. Bullock called 
 me to a place near her daughter. Now I thought I had 
 done enough civility to a girl who was evidently annoyed 
 rather than pleased by my attentions, and I pretended 
 to be busy stooping under the table for Miss Caroline's 
 gloves, which were missing ; but it was of no avail ; 
 Mrs. Bullock's fine severe eyes were awaiting my re- 
 appearance, and she summoned me again. 
 
 *' ' I am keeping this place on my right hand for you, 
 Mr. Harrison. Jemima ; sit still ! ' 
 
 *' I went up to the post of honour and tried to busy 
 myself with pouring out cofi'ee to hide my chagrin ; but 
 after forgetting to empty the water put in ('to wann the 
 cups,' Mrs. Bullock said), and omitting to add any 
 sugar, the lady told me she would dispense wdth my 
 services, and turn me over to my neighbour on the other 
 side. 
 
MR. HAEHISOX'S COXFESSIOXS. 201 
 
 *' 'Talking to the j'ounger lady was, no doubt, more 
 Mr. Harrison's vocation than assisting the elder one.' 
 I dare say it was only the manner that made the words 
 seem offensive. Miss Horsman sat opposite to me, 
 smiling away. Miss Bullock did not speak, but seemed 
 more depressed than ever. At length Miss Horsman 
 and Mrs. Bullock got to a war of inuendoes, which were 
 completely unintelligible to me ; and I was very much 
 displeased with my situation. While, at the bottom of 
 the table, Mr. Morgan and Mr. Bullock were making 
 the young ones laugh most heartily. Part of the joke 
 was Mr. Morgan's insisting upon making tea at that 
 end ; and Sophy and Helen vrere busy contriving every 
 possible mistake for him. I thought honour was a very 
 good thing, but merriment a better. Here was I in the 
 place of distinction, hearing nothing but cross words. 
 At last the time came for us to go home. As the 
 evening was damp, the seats in the chaises were the best 
 and most to be desired. — And now Sophy offered to go 
 in the cart ; only she seemed anxious, and so was I, that 
 Walter should be secured from the effects of the white 
 wreaths of fog rolling up from the valley ; but the little 
 violent, affectionate fellow would not be separated from 
 Sophy. She made a nest for him on her knee in one 
 corner of the cart, and covered him with her own shawl ; 
 and I hoped that he would take no harm. Miss Tom- 
 kinson, Mr. Bullock, and some of the young ones vv^alked ; 
 but I seemed chained to the windows of the chaise, for 
 Miss Caroline begged me not to leave her, as she was 
 dreadfully afraid of robbers ; and Mrs. Bullock implored 
 me to see that the man did not overturn them in the bad 
 roads, as he had certainly had too much to drink. 
 
202 MR. HAREISO^-'S COXFESSIONS. 
 
 " I became so irritable before I readied home, that I 
 thougbt it was the most disagreeable day of pleasure 
 I had ever had, and could hardly bear to answer 
 Mrs. Piose's never-ending questions. She told me, how- 
 ever, that from my account the day was so charming 
 that she thought she should relax in the rigour of her 
 seclusion, and mingle a little more in the society of 
 which I gave so tempting a description. She really 
 thought her dear Mr. Kose would have mshed it ; and 
 his will should be law to her after his death, as it had 
 ever been during his life. In compliance, therefore, 
 with his wishes, she would even do a little violence to 
 her own feelings. 
 
 " She was very good and kind ; not merely attentive 
 to everything which she thought could conduce to my 
 comfort, but willing to take any trouble in providing the 
 broths and nourishing food which I often found it con- 
 venient to order, under the name of kitchen-physic, for 
 my poorer patients ; and I really did not see the use of 
 her shutting herself up, in mere compliance with an 
 etiquette, when she began to msh to mix in the little 
 quiet society of Buncombe. Accordingly I urged her to 
 begin to visit, and even when applied to as to what 
 I imagined the late Mr. Kose's wishes on that subject 
 would have been, answered for that worthy gentleman, 
 and assured his widow that I was convinced he would 
 have regretted deeply her giving way to immoderate 
 grief, and would have been rather grateful than other- 
 wise at seeing her endeavour to divert her thoughts by a 
 few quiet visits. She cheered up, and said, ' as I really 
 thought so, she would sacrifice her own inclinations, and 
 accept the very next invitation that came.' 
 
:\IR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIOXS. 20^ 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 *' I WAS roused from my sleep in the middle of tlie niglit 
 by a messenger from the vicarage. Little AValter had 
 got the croup, and Mr. Morgan had been sent for into 
 the country. I dressed myself hastily, and went through 
 the quiet little street. There was a light burning up- 
 stairs at the vicarage. It was in the nursery. The 
 servant, who opened the door the instant I knocked, was 
 crj-ing sadly, and could hardly answer my inquiries as I 
 went up stairs, two steps at a time, to see my little 
 favourite. 
 
 " The nursery w\as a great large room. At the farther 
 end it was lighted by a common candle, which left the 
 other end, where the door was, in shade, so I suppose 
 the nurse did not see me come in, for she was speaking 
 very crossly. 
 
 " ' Miss Sophy ! ' said she, ' I told you over and over 
 again it was not fit for him to go, with the hoarseness 
 that he had, and you would take him. It will break 
 your papa's heart, I know ; but it's none of my doing.' 
 
 " Whatever Sophy felt, she did not speak in answer 
 to this. She was on her knees by the warm bath, in 
 which the little fellow was struggling to get his breath, 
 with a look of terror on his face that I have often noticed 
 in young children when smitten by a sudden and violent 
 illness. It seems as if they recognised something infinite 
 and invisible, at whose bidding the pain and the anguish 
 come, from which no love can shield them. It is a very 
 heart-rending look to observe, because it comes on the 
 faces of those who are too young to receive comfort from 
 
204 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 the words of faith, or tlie promises of religion. "Walter 
 had his arms tight round Sophy's neck, as if she, 
 hithei-to his paradise-angel, could save him from the 
 dread shadow of Death. Yes ! of Death ! I knelt down 
 by him on the other side, and examined him. The very 
 robustness of his little frame gave violence to the disease, 
 which is always one of the most fearful by which children 
 of his age can be attacked. 
 
 "'Don't tremble, Watty,' said Sophy, in a soothing 
 tone ; * it's Mr. Harrison, darling, who let you ride on 
 his horse.' I could detect the quivering in the voice, 
 which she tried to make so calm and soft to quiet the 
 little fellow's fears. We took him out of the bath, and 
 I went for leeches. While I was away, Mr. Morgan 
 came. He loved the vicarage children as if he were their 
 uncle; but he stood still and aghast at the sight of 
 Walter, — so lately bright and strong, — and now huriy- 
 ing alone to the awful change, — to the silent mysterious 
 land, where, tended and cared for as he had been on 
 earth, he must go — alone. The little fellow ! the darling ! 
 
 "We applied the leeches to his throat. He resisted 
 at first ; but Sophy, God bless her, put the agony of 
 her grief on one side, and thought only of him, and 
 began to sing the little songs he loved. We were all 
 still. The gardener had gone to fetch the vicar; but he 
 was twelve miles off, and we doubted if he would come 
 in time. I don't know if they had any hope ; but the 
 first moment Mr. Morgan's eyes met mine, I saw that 
 he, like me, had none. The ticking of the house-clock 
 sounded through the dark quiet house. Walter was 
 sleeping now, with the black leeches yet hanging to his 
 fair, white throat. Still Sophy went on singing little 
 
MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIOIs^S. 205 
 
 lullabies, which she had sung under far different and 
 happier circumstances. I remember one verse, because 
 it struck me at the time as strangely applicable. 
 
 * Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
 Thy rest shall angels keep; 
 While on the grass the lamb shall feed. 
 And never suifer want or need. 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep.* 
 
 The tears were in Mr. Morgan's eyes. I do not think 
 either he or I could have spoken in our natural tones ; 
 but the brave girl went on clear though low. She 
 stopped at last, and looked up. 
 
 '' ' He is better, is he not, Mr. Morgan ? ' 
 
 " * No, my dear. He is — ahem ' — he could not speak 
 all at once. Then he said — ' My dear ! he will be better 
 soon. Think of your mamma, my dear Miss Sophy, 
 She will be very thankful to have one of her darlings safe 
 with her, where she is.' 
 
 '•' Still she did not cry. But she bent her head 
 down on the little face, and kissed it long and 
 tenderly. 
 
 '* ' I will go for Helen and Lizzie. They will be 
 sorry not to see him again.' She rose up and went for 
 them. Poor girls, they came in, in their dressing-go'wns, 
 with eyes dilated with sudden emotion, pale with terror, 
 stealing softly along, as if sound could disturb him. 
 Sophy comforted them by gentle caresses. It was over soon. 
 
 " Mr. Morgan was fairly crying like a child. But he 
 thought it necessary to apologize to me, for what I 
 honoured him for. ' I am a little overdone by yester- 
 day's work, sir. I have had one or two bad nights, and 
 they rather upset me. "When I was your age I was as 
 
206 MR. HARRISO^^'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 strong and manly as any one, and would have scorned to 
 shed tears.' 
 
 " Sophy came up to where we stood. 
 
 '' ' Mr. Morgan ! I am so sorry for papa. How shall I 
 tell him ? ' She was struggling against her own grief 
 for her father's sake. Mr. Morgan offered to await his 
 coming home ; and she seemed thankful for the pro- 
 posal. I, new friend, almost stranger, might stay no 
 longer. The street was as quiet as ever ; not a shadow 
 was changed; for it was not yet four o'clock. But 
 durinf;; the night a soul had departed. 
 
 ''From all I could see, and all I could learn, the 
 vicar and his daughter strove which should comfort the 
 other the most. Each thought of the other's grief, — 
 each prayed for the other rather than for themselves. 
 We saw them walking out, countrywards ; and we heard 
 of them in the cottages of the poor. But it was some 
 time before I happened to meet either of them again. 
 And then I felt, from something indescribable in their 
 manner towards me, that I was one of the 
 
 ' Peculiar people, whom Death had made dear.' 
 
 That one day at the old hall had done this. I was, 
 perhaps, the last person who had given the little fellow 
 any unusual pleasure. Poor Yv''alter! I wish I could 
 have done more to make his short life happy ! 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIOXS. 207 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 *' There was a little lull, out of respect to the Vicar's 
 grief, in the visiting. It gave time to Mrs. Rose to 
 soften down the anguish of her weeds. 
 
 " At Christmas, Miss Tomkinson sent out invitations 
 for a party. Miss Caroline had once or twice apologized 
 to me because such an event had not taken place before ; 
 but, as she said, ' the avocations of their daily life pre- 
 vented their having such little reunions except in the 
 vacations.' And, sure enough, as soon as the holidays 
 began, came the civil little note : 
 
 " ' The Misses Tomkinson request the pleasure of 
 Mrs. Rose's and Mr. Harrison's company at tea, on the 
 evening of Monday, the 23rd inst. Tea at five o'clock." 
 
 " Mrs. Rose's spirit roused, like a war-horse at the 
 sound of the trumpet, at this. She was not of a 
 repining disposition, but I do think she believed the 
 party-giving population of Buncombe had given up 
 inviting her, as soon as she had determined to relent, 
 and accept the invitations, in compliance with the late 
 Mr. Rose's wishes. 
 
 " Such snippings of white love-ribbon as I found 
 everywhere, making the carpet untidy ! One day, too, 
 unluckily, a small box was brought to me by mistake. 
 I did not look at the direction, for I never doubted it 
 was some hyoscyamus which I was expecting from 
 London; so I tore it open, and saw inside a piece of 
 paper, with ' No more gray hair,' in large letters, upon 
 it. I folded it up in a hurry, and sealed it afresh, and 
 
208 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 gave it to Mrs. Eose; but I could not refrain from 
 asking her, soon after, if she coukl recommend me any- 
 thing to keep my hair from turning gray, adding that I 
 thought prevention -was better than cure. I think she 
 made out the im^Dression of my seal on the paper after 
 that ; for I learned that she had been crying, and that 
 she talked about there being no sympathy left in the 
 world for her since Mr. Kose's death; and that she 
 counted the days until she could rejoin him in the better 
 world. I think she counted the days to Miss Tomkin- 
 son's party, too ; she talked so much about it. 
 
 " The covers were taken off Miss Tomkinson's chairs, 
 and curtains, and sofas ; and a great jar fall of artificial 
 flowers was placed in the centre of the table, which, as 
 Miss Caroline told me, was all her doing, as she doated 
 on the beautiful and artistic in life. Miss Tomkinson 
 stood, erect as a grenadier, close to the door, receiving 
 her friends, and heartily shaking them by the hands as 
 they entered : she said she was truly glad to see them. 
 And so she really was. 
 
 ''We had just finished tea, and Miss Caroline had 
 brought out a little pack of conversation cards — sheaves 
 of slips of card-board, with intellectual or sentimental 
 questions on one set, and equally intellectual and senti- 
 mental answers on the other ; and as the answers were 
 fit to any and all the questions, you may think they were 
 a characterless and ' wersh ' set of things. I had just 
 been asked by Miss Caroline, — 
 
 " ' Can you tell what those dearest to you thinJc of you 
 at this i^esent time ? ' and had answered, — 
 
 " ' How can you expect me to reveal such a secret to the 
 present comjjany ! ' when the servant announced that a 
 
MR. HARRISON S CONFESSIONS. 209 
 
 gentleman, a friend of mine, wished to speak to me 
 down- stairs. 
 
 "'Oh, show him up, Martha, show him up!' said 
 Miss Tomkinson, in her hospitality. 
 
 " ' Any friend of our friend's is welcome,' said Miss 
 Caroline, in an insinuating tone. 
 
 *' I jumped up, however, thinking it might he some 
 one on business ; but I was so penned in by the spider- 
 legged tables, stuck out on every side, that I could not 
 make the haste I wished ; and before I could prevent it, 
 Martha had shown up Jack Marshland, who was on his 
 road home for a day or two at Christmas. 
 
 " He came up in a hearty way, bowing to Miss Tom- 
 kinson, and explaining that he had found himself in my 
 neighbourhood, and had come over to pass a night with 
 me, and that my servant had directed him where I was. 
 
 "His voice, loud at all times, sounded like Stentor's, 
 in that little room, where we all spoke in a kind of pur- 
 ring way. He had no swell in his tones; they were 
 forte from the beginning. At first it seemed like the 
 days of my youth come back again, to hear full manly 
 speaking ; I felt proud of my friend, as he thanked Miss 
 Tomkinson for her kindness in asking him to stay the 
 evening. By-and-by he came up to me, and 1 dare say 
 he thought he had lowered his voice, for he looked as if 
 speaking confidentially, while in fact the whole room 
 might have heard him. 
 
 " ' Frank, my boy, when shall we have dinner at this 
 good old lady's ? I'm deuced hungry.' 
 
 " Dinner ! Why, we had had tea an hour ago. While 
 he yet spoke, Martha came in with a little tray, on which 
 was a single cup of coffee and three slices of wafer bread- 
 
 14 
 
210 HE. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 and-Lutter. His dismay, and his evident submission to 
 the decrees of Fate, tickled me so much, that I thought 
 he should have a further taste of the life I led from 
 month's end to month's end, and I gave up my plan of 
 taking him home at once, and enjoyed the anticipation of 
 the hearty laugh we should have together at the end 
 of the evening. I was famously punished for my deter- 
 mination. 
 
 " ' Shall we continue our game ? ' asked Miss Caroline, 
 who had never relinquished her sheaf of questions. 
 
 " We went on questioning and answering, with little 
 gain of information to either paiiy. 
 
 " ' No such thing as heavy betting in this game, eh, 
 Frank ? ' asked Jack, who had been watching us. ' You 
 don't lose ten pounds at a sitting, I guess, as you used 
 to do at Short's. Playing for love, I suppose you call it.' 
 
 "Miss Caroline simpered, and looked down. Jack 
 was not thinking of her. He was thinking of the days 
 we had had at the Mermaid. Suddenly he said, ' Where 
 w^ere you this day last year, Frank ? ' 
 
 " ' I don't remember ! ' said I. 
 
 " ' Then I'll tell you. It's the 23rd— the day yon 
 were taken up for knocking down the fellow in Long-acre, 
 and that I had to bail you out ready for Christmas-day. 
 You are in more agreeable quarters to-night.' 
 
 " He did not intend this reminiscence to be heard, but 
 was not in the least put out when Miss Tomkinson, with 
 a face of dire sui-prise, asked, — 
 
 '' ' Mr. Harrison taken up, sir?' 
 
 *' ' Oh, yes, ma'am; and you see it was so common 
 an affair with him to be locked up that he can't remember 
 the dates of his different imprisonments.' 
 
MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIONS. 211 
 
 "He laugliecl heartily; and so should I, but that I 
 saw the impression it made. The thing was, in fact, 
 simple enough, and capable of easy explanation. I had 
 been made angry by seeing a great hulking fellow, out oi 
 mere wantonness, break the crutch from under a cripple ; 
 and I struck the man more violently than I intended, 
 and down he went, yelling out for the police, and I had 
 to go before the magistrate to be released. I disdained 
 giving this explanation at the time. It was no business 
 of theirs what I had been doing a year ago ; but still 
 Jack might have held his tongTie. Howaver, that unruly 
 member of his was set a-going, and he told me afterwards 
 he was resolved to let the old ladies into a little of life ; 
 and accordingly he remembered every practical joke we 
 had ever had, and talked and laughed, and roared again. 
 I tried to converse with Miss Caroline — Mrs. Munton — 
 any one ; but Jack was the hero of the evening, and every 
 one was listening to him. 
 
 " ' Then he has never sent any hoaxing letters since 
 he came here, has he ? Good boy ! He has turned 
 over a new leaf. He was the deepest dog at that I 
 ever met with. Such anonymous letters as he used to 
 send ! Do you remember that to Mrs. Walbrook, eh, 
 Frank ? That was too bad ! ' (the wTetch was laughing 
 all the time.) ' No ; I won't tell about it — don't be afraid. 
 Such a shameful hoax ! ' (laughing again). 
 
 " ' Pray do tell,' I called out ; for he made it seem 
 far worse than it was. 
 
 " ' Oh no, no ; you've established a better character — 
 I would not for the world nip your budding efibrts. Y/e'll 
 bury the past in oblivion.' 
 
 I tried to tell my neighbours the story to which he 
 
 14—2 
 
212 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 alluded; but tliey were attracted by the merriment of 
 Jack's manner, and did not care to hear the plain 
 matter of fact. 
 
 *' Then came a pause ; Jack was talking almost quietly 
 to Miss Horsman. Suddenly he called across the room 
 — ' How many times have you been out with the hounds ? 
 The hedges were blind very late this year, but you must 
 have had some good mild days since.' 
 
 " ^1 have never been out,' said I, shortly. 
 
 "'Never! — whew ! Why, I thought that was 
 
 the great attraction to Duncombe.' 
 
 *' Now was not he provoking ? He would condole 
 with me, and fixed the subject in the minds of every one 
 present. 
 
 " The supper trays were brought in, and there was a 
 shuffling of situations. He and I were close together 
 again. 
 
 " * I say, Frank, what will you lay me that I don't 
 clear that tray before people are ready for their second 
 helping ? I'm as hungry as a hound.' 
 
 " 'You shall have a round of beef and a raw leg of 
 mutton when you get home. Only do behave yourself 
 here.' 
 
 " ' Well, for your sake ; but keep me away from those 
 trays, or I'll not answer for myself. " Hould me, or I'll 
 fight," as the Irishman said. I'll go and talk to that 
 little old lady in blue, and sit with my back to those 
 ghosts of eatables.* 
 
 *' He sat down by Miss Caroline, who would not have 
 liked his description of her; and began an earnest, 
 tolerably quiet conversation. I tried to be as agreeable 
 as I could, to do away with the impression he had given 
 
MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIOXS. 213 
 
 of me ; but I found that every one drew up a little 
 stiffly at my approach, and did not encourage me to 
 make any remarks. 
 
 " In the middle of my attempts, I heard Miss Caroline 
 beg Jack to take a glass of wine, and I saw him help 
 himself to what appeared to be port ; but in an instant 
 he set it down from his lips, exclaiming, ' Vinegar, by 
 Jove ! ' He made the most horribly wry face ; and Miss 
 Tomkinson came up in a severe hurry to investigate the 
 affair. It turned out it was some black currant wine, on 
 which she particularly piqued herself; I drank two 
 glasses of it to ingratiate myself with her, and can 
 testify to its sourness. I don't think she noticed my 
 exertions, she was so much engrossed in listening to 
 Jack's excuses for his mal-apropos observation. He 
 told her with the gravest face that he had been a tee- 
 totaller so long that he had but a confused recollection 
 of the distinction between wine and vinegar, particularly 
 •eschewing the latter, because it had been twice fennented ; 
 and that he had imagined Miss Caroline had asked him 
 to take toast-and-water, or he should never have touched 
 the decanter. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " As we were walking home, Jack said, * Lord, Frank ! 
 I've had such fun with the little lady in blue. I told 
 her you -WTote to me every Saturday, telling me the 
 events of the week. She took all in.' He stopped to 
 
214 MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIOXS. 
 
 laugli; for lie bubbled and chuckled so tliat lie could 
 not laugh and walk. ' And I told her you were deeply 
 in loTe,' (another laugh) ; ' and that I could not get you 
 to tell me the name of the lady, but that she had light 
 brown hair, — in short, I drew from life, and gave her 
 an exact description of herself; and that I was most 
 anxious to see her, and implore her to be merciful to 
 you, for that you were a most timid, faint-hearted fellow 
 with women.' He laughed till I thought he would have 
 fallen down. ' I begged her, if she could guess who it 
 was from my description — I'll answer for it she did — I 
 took care of that ; for I said you described a mole on 
 the left cheek, in the most poetical way, saying Venus 
 had pinched it out of envy at seeing any one more 
 lovely — oh, hold me up, or I shall fall — laughing and 
 hunger make me so weak ; — well, I say, I begged her, 
 if she knew who your fair one could be, to implore her 
 to save you. I said I knew one of 3^our lungs had gone 
 after a former unfortunate love- affair, and that I could 
 not answer for the other if the lady here were cruel. 
 She spoke of a respirator; but I told her that might 
 do very well for the odd lung; but vfould it minister 
 to a heart diseased? I really did talk fine; — I have 
 found out the secret of eloquence — it's behoving what 
 you've got to say ; and I worked myself well up with 
 fancying you manied to the little lady in blue.' 
 
 ''I got to laughing at last, angry as I had been ; hi& 
 impudence was irresistible. Mrs. Kose had come home 
 in the sedan, and gone to bed ; and he and I sat up 
 over the round of beef and brandy- and- water till two 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 ''He told me I had got quite into the professional 
 
MR. HARRISON'S COXEESSIO^^S. 215 
 
 •way of mousing about a room, and mewing and purring 
 according as my patients were ill or well. He mimicked 
 me, and made me laugh at myself. He left early the 
 next morning. 
 
 "Mr. Morgan came at his usual hour; he and 
 Marshland would never have agreed, and I should have 
 been uncomfortable to see two fiiends of mine disliking 
 and despising each other. 
 
 " Mr. Morgan was ruffled ; but with his deferential 
 manner to women, he smoothed himself down before 
 Mrs. Rose, — regretted that he had not been able to 
 come to Miss Tomkinson's the evening before, and con- 
 sequently had not seen her in the society she was so 
 well calculated to adorn. But when we were by our- 
 selves, he said, — 
 
 " ' I was sent for to Mrs. Munton's this morning — the 
 old spasms. May I ask what is this story she tells me 
 about, — about prison, in fact ? I trust, sir, she has 
 
 made some little mistake, and that you never were ; 
 
 that it is an unfounded report.' He could not get it 
 out, — ' that you were in Kewgate for three months ! ' 
 I burst out laughing ; the stoij had grown like a mush- 
 room indeed. Mr. Morgan looked grave. I told him 
 the truth. Still he looked grave. * I've no doubt, sir, 
 that you acted rightly; but it has an awkward sound. 
 I imagined fi-om your hilarity just now that there was no 
 foundation whatever for the story. Unfortunately there is . ' 
 
 " ' I was only a night at the police-station. I would 
 go there again for the same cause, sir.' 
 
 a I Ycry fine spirit, sir, — quite like Don Quixote ; but 
 don't you see you might as well have been to the hulks 
 at once ? " 
 
216 ME. HAERISON'S confessions. 
 
 '"No, sir ; I don't.' 
 
 '' ' Take my word, before long, the story will have 
 grown to that. However, we won't anticipate evil. 
 Me72s conscia recti, you remember, is the great thing. 
 The part I regret is, that it may require some short 
 time to overcome a little prejudice which the story may 
 excite against you. However, we won't dwell on it. 
 Mens conscia recti! Don't think about it, sir.' 
 
 *' It was clear he was thinking a good deal about it. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Two or three days before this time, I had had an 
 invitation from the Bullocks to dine with them on 
 Christmas-day. Mrs. Rose was going to spend the 
 week with friends in the town where she fonnerly lived ; 
 and I had been pleased at the notion of being received 
 into a family, and of being a little with Mr. Bullock, 
 who struck me as a bluff good-hearted fellow. 
 
 "But this Tuesday before Christmas-day, there came 
 an invitation from the vicar to dine there ; there were to 
 be only their own family and Mr. Morgan. ' Only their 
 own family.' It was getting to be all the world to me. 
 I was in a passion with myself for having been so ready 
 to accept Mr. Bullock's invitation, — coarse and un- 
 gentlemanly as he was ; with his wife's airs of pretension, 
 and Miss Bullock's stupidity. I turned it over in my 
 mind. No ! I could not have a bad headache, which 
 should prevent me going to the place I did not care for, 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 217 
 
 and yet leave me at liberty to go where I wished. All I 
 could do was to join the vicarage girls after church, and 
 walk by their side in a long country ramble. They were 
 quiet; not sad, exactly; but it was evident that the 
 thought of Walter was in their minds on this day. We 
 went through a copse where there were a good number 
 of evergi-eens planted as covers for game. The snow 
 was on the ground ; but the sky was clear and bright, 
 and the sun glittered on the smooth holly-leaves. Lizzie 
 asked me to gather her some of the very bright red 
 herries, and she was beginning a sentence with, — 
 
 *' ' Do you remember ,' when Ellen said ' Hush,' 
 
 and looked towards Sophy, who was walking a little 
 apart, and crying softly to herself. There was evidently 
 some connection between Walter and the holly-berries, 
 for Lizzie threw them away at once when she saw 
 Sophy's tears. Soon we came to a stile which led to an 
 open breezy common, half-covered with gorse. I helped 
 the little girls over it, and set them to run down the 
 slope; but I took Sophy's arm in mine, and though 
 I could not speak, I think she knew how I was feeling 
 for her. I could hardly bear to bid her good-by at the 
 vicarage gate; it seemed as if I ought to go in and 
 spend the day with her. 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 '< I VENTED my ill-humour in being late for the Bullocks' 
 dinner. There were one or two clerks, towards whom 
 Mr. Bullock was patronising and pressing. Mrs. Bui- 
 
218 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 lock was decked out in extraordinary finery. I\Iiss 
 Bullock looked plainer than ever ; but she had on some 
 old gown or other, I think, for I heard Mrs. Bullock tell 
 her she was always making a figure of herself. I began 
 to-day to suspect that the mother would not be soiTy if 
 I took a fancy to the step-daughter. I was again placed 
 near her at dinner, and when the little ones came in to 
 dessert, I was made to notice how fond of children she 
 was, and indeed when one of them nestled to her, her 
 face did brighten ; but the moment she caught this loud- 
 whispered remark, the gloom came back again, with 
 something even of anger in her look ; and she was quite 
 sullen and obstinate when urged to sing in the drawing- 
 room. Mrs. Bullock turned to me — 
 
 " ' Some young ladies won't sing unless they are 
 asked by gentlemen.' She spoke very crossly. ' If you 
 ask Jemima, she will probably sing. To oblige me, it is 
 evident she will not.' 
 
 " I thought the singing, when we got it, would pro- 
 bably be a great bore ; however, I did as I was bid, and 
 went with my request to the young lady, v/ho was sitting 
 a little apart. She looked up at me with eyes full of 
 tears, and said, in a decided tone (which, if I had not 
 seen her eyes, I should have said was as cross as her 
 mamma's), ' No, sir, I will not.' She got up, and left 
 the room. I expected to hear Mrs. Bullock abuse her 
 for her obstinacy. Instead of that, she began to tell me 
 of the money that had been spent on her education ; of 
 T.'hat each separate accomplishment had cost. * She was 
 timid,' she said, 'but very musical. Wherever her 
 future home might be, there would be no want of music' 
 She went on praising her till I hated her. If they 
 
MR. IIAr.llISOXS COXFESSIOXS. 210 
 
 tliouglit I was going to marry that great lubberly girl, 
 tliey were mistaken. Mr. Bullock and tlie clerks came 
 up. He brought out Liebig, and called me to him. 
 
 " ' I can understand a good deal of this agricultural 
 chemistry,' said he, 'and have put it in practice- 
 without much success, hitherto, I confess. But these 
 unconnected letters puzzle me a little. I suppose they 
 have some meaning, or else I should say it was mere 
 book-making to put them in.' 
 
 " ' I think they give the page a very ragged appear- 
 ance,' said Mrs. Bullock, who had joined us. 'I inherit 
 a little of my late father's taste for books, and must say 
 I like to see a good type, a broad margin, and an elegant 
 binding. My father despised variety; how he would 
 have held up his hands aghast at the cheap literature of 
 these times ! He did not require many books, but he 
 would have twenty editions of those that he had ; and 
 he paid more for binding than he did for the books 
 themselves. But elegance vras everything with him. 
 He would not have admitted your Liebig, Mr. Bullock ; 
 neither the nature of the subject, nor the common type, 
 nor the common way in which your book is got up, vrould 
 have suited him.' 
 
 " ' Go and make tea, my dear, and leave Mr. Harrison 
 and me to talk over a few of these manures.' 
 
 " We settled to it ; I explained the meaning of the 
 symbols, and the doctrine of chemical equivalents. At 
 last he said, 'Doctor! you're giving me too strong a 
 dose of it at one tune. Let's have a small quantity 
 taken " hodie ; " that's professional, as Mr. Morgan would 
 call it. Come in and call when you have leisure, and 
 give me a lesson in my alphabet. Of all you've been 
 
220 MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIOXS. 
 
 telling me I can only remember that C means carbon 
 and oxygen ; and I see one must know the meaning 
 of all these confounded letters before one can do much 
 good with Liebig. 
 
 " ' We dine at three,' said Mrs. Bullock. ' Thei-e 
 will always be a knife and fork for Mr. Harrison. 
 Bullock ! don't confine your invitation to the evening ! ' 
 
 " ' Why, you see, I've a nap always after dinner, so I 
 could not be learning chemistry then.' 
 
 " ' Don't be so selfish, Mr. B. Think of the pleasure 
 Jemima and I shall have in Mr. Harrison's society.' 
 
 "I put a stop to the discussion by saying I w^ould 
 come in in the evenings occasionally, and give Mr. Bullock 
 a lesson, but that my professional duties occupied me 
 invariably until that time. 
 
 '' I liked Mr. Bullock. He was simple, and shrewd ; 
 and to be with a man was a relief, after all the feminine 
 society I went through every day. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 *' The next morning I met Miss Horsman. 
 
 " ' So you dined at Mr. Bullock's yesterday, Mr. 
 Harrison ? Quite a family party, I hear. They are 
 quite charmed with you, and your knowledge of chemistry. 
 Mr. Bullock told me so, in Hodgson's shop, just now. 
 Miss Bullock is a nice girl, eh, Mr. Harrison ? ' She 
 looked sharply at me. Of course, whatever I thought, 
 I could do nothing but assent. ' A nice little fortune, 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 221 
 
 too, — three thousand pounds, Consols, from her own 
 mother.' 
 
 " What did I care ? She might have three millions 
 for me. I had hegun to think a good deal about money, 
 though, but not in connection with her. I had been 
 doing up our books ready to send out our Christmas 
 bills, and had been wondering how far the vicar would 
 consider three hundred a year, with a prospect of 
 increase, would justify me in thinking of Sophy. Think 
 of her I could not help ; and the more I thought of 
 how good, and sweet, and pretty she was, the more I 
 felt that she ought to have far more than I could oiler. 
 Besides my father was a shopkeeper, and I saw the 
 vicar had a sort of respect for family. I determined to 
 try and be very attentive to my profession. I was as 
 civil as could be to every one ; and wore the nap off the 
 brim of my hat by taking it off so often. 
 
 " I had my eyes open to every glimpse of Sophy. I 
 am overstocked with gloves now that I bought at that 
 time, by way of making errands into the shops where I 
 saw her black gown. I bought pounds upon pounds of 
 arrow-root, till I was tired of the eternal arrow-root 
 puddings Mrs. Rose gave me. I asked her if she could 
 not make bread of it, but she seemed to think that 
 would be expensive ; so I took to soap as a safe pur- 
 chase. I believe soap improves by keeping. 
 
222 JtlE. HAREISOX'S COXFESSIOXS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ^' The more I knew of Mrs. Eose, tlie Letter I liked 
 her. Slie was sweet, and kind, and motkerly, and we 
 never had any rubs. I hurt her once or twice, I think, 
 by cutting her short in her long stories about Mr. Rose. 
 But I found out that when she had plenty to do she did 
 not think of him quite so much ; so I expressed a wish 
 for Corazza shirts, and in the puzzle of devising how 
 they were to be cut out, she forgot Mr. Rose for some 
 time. I was still more pleased by her v/ay about some 
 legacy her elder brother left her. I don't know the 
 amount, bat it was something handsome, and she might 
 have set up housekeeping for herself: but, instead, 
 she told Mr. Morgan (who repeated it to me), that she 
 should continue with me, as she had quite an elder 
 sister's interest in me. 
 
 " The ' country young lady,' Miss Tyrrell, returned 
 to Miss Tomkinson's after the holidays. She had an 
 enlargement of the tonsils, which required to be fre- 
 quently touched with caustic, so I often called to see 
 her. Miss Caroline always received me, and kept me 
 talking in her washed-out style, after I had seen my 
 patient. One day she told me she thought she had 
 a weakness about the heart, and would be glad if I would 
 bring my stethoscope the next time, which I accordingly 
 did; and while I was on my knees listening to the 
 pulsations, one of the young ladies came in. She said : 
 
 ''Oh dear! I never! I beg your pardon, ma'am,' 
 and scuttled out. There was not much the matter with 
 Miss Caroline's heart : a little feeble in action or so, a 
 
MR. HAEllISOX'S COXFESSIOXS. 223 
 
 mere matter of weakness and general languor. Wlien 
 I went clown I saw two or tkree of the girls peeping 
 out of the half-closed school-room door, but they shut it 
 immediatelj^, and I heard them laughing. The next time 
 I called, Miss Tomkinson was sitting in state to receive 
 me. 
 
 " ' Miss Tyrrell's throat does not seem to make much 
 progress. Do you understand the case, Mr. Harrison — 
 or should we have further advice ? I think Mr. Morgan 
 w^ould probably know more about it.' 
 
 " I assured her it was the simplest thing in the world ; 
 that it always implied a little toipor in the constitution, 
 and that we preferred working through the system, which 
 of course was a slow process, and that the medicine the 
 young lady was taking (iodide of iron) was sure to be 
 successful, although the progress would not be rapid. 
 She bent her head, and said, ' It might be so ; but she 
 confessed she had more confidence in medicines which 
 had some effect.' 
 
 " She seemed to expect me to tell her something ; 
 but I had nothing to say, and accordingly I bade good- 
 by. Somehow Miss Tomkinson always managed to 
 make me feel veiy small, by a succession of snubbings ; 
 and whenever I left her I had always to comfort myself 
 under her contradictions by saying to myself, ' Her 
 saying it is so, does not make it so.' Or I invented good 
 retorts w'hich I might have made to her brusque speeches 
 if I had but thought of them at the right time. But it 
 was provoking that I had not had the presence of mind 
 to recollect them just when they were wanted. 
 
224: MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " On the whole, things went on smoothly. Mr. Holden's 
 legacy came in just about this time ; and I felt quite 
 rich. Five hundred pounds would furnish the house, 
 I thought, when Mrs. Rose left and Sophy came. I 
 was delighted, too, to imagine that Sophy perceived 
 the difference of my manner to her from what it was 
 to any one else, and that she was embarrassed and shy 
 in consequence, but not displeased with me for it. All 
 was so flourishing that I went about on wings instead 
 of feet. We w^ere very busy, without having anxious 
 cares. My legacy was paid into Mr. Bullock's hands, 
 who united a little banking business to his profession 
 of law. In return for his advice about investments 
 (which I never meant to take, having a more charming, 
 if less profitable, mode in my head), I went pretty fre- 
 quently to teach him his agricultural chemistry. I was 
 so happy in Sophy's blushes that I was universally 
 benevolent, and desirous of giving pleasure to every 
 one. I went, at Mrs. Bullock's general invitation, to 
 dinner there one day unexpectedly ; but there was such 
 a fuss of ill- concealed preparation consequent upon my 
 coming, that I never went again. Her little boy came 
 in, with an audibly given message from the cook, to 
 ask — 
 
 " ' If this was the gentleman as she was to send in 
 the best dinner-service and dessert for ? ' 
 
 " I looked deaf, but determined never to go again. 
 
 *' Miss Bullock and I, meanwhile, became rather 
 friendlv. We found out that we mutually disliked each 
 
MR. HAnPJSOXS CONFESSIONS. '22 
 
 other ; and were contented with the discovery. If 
 people are worth anything, this sort of non-liking is 
 a very good beginning of friendship. Eveiy good quality 
 is revealed naturally and slowly, and is a pleasant 
 surprise. I found out that Miss Bullock was sensible, 
 and even sweet-tempered, when not irritated by her 
 stepmother's endeavours to show her off. But she 
 would sulk for hours after Mrs. Bullock's offensive 
 praise of her good points. And I never saw such a 
 black passion as she went into when she suddenly came 
 into the room when Mrs. Bullock was telling me of 
 all the offers she had had. 
 
 " My legacy made me feel up to extravagance. I 
 scoured the country for a glorious nosegay of camellias, 
 which I sent to Sophy on Valentine's day. I durst not 
 add a line, but I wished the flov/ers could speak, and 
 tell her how I loved her. 
 
 "I called on Miss Tyrrell that day. Miss Caroline 
 was more simpering and affected than ever ; and full 
 of allusions to the day. 
 
 "'Do you affix much sincerity of meaning to the 
 little gallantries of this day, Mr. Harrison ? ' asked 
 she in a languishing tone. I thought of my camellias, 
 and hov>r my heart had gone with them into Sophy's 
 keeping ; and I told her I thought one might often 
 take advantage of such a time to hint at feelings one 
 dared not fully express. 
 
 ''I remembered afterwards the forced display she 
 made, after Miss Tyrrell left the room, of a valentine. 
 But I took no notice at the time ; my head was full 
 of Sophy. 
 
 ^' It was on that very day that John Brouncker, the 
 
 15 
 
226 MR. HARRISON S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 gardener to all of us who had small gardens to keep 
 in order, fell down and injured his wrist severely (I 
 don't give you the details of the case, because they 
 would not interest you, being too technical; if you've 
 any curiosity, you will find them in the Lancet of 
 August in that year.) We all liked John, and this 
 accident was felt like a town's misfortune. The gardens, 
 too, just wanted doing up. Both Mr. Morgan and I 
 went directly to him. It was a very av/kward case, and 
 his wife and children were crying sadly. He himself 
 was in great distress at being thrown out of work. He 
 begged us to do something that would cure him speedily^ 
 as he could not afford to be laid up, with six children 
 depending on him for bread. We did not say much 
 before him, but we both thought the arm would have 
 to come off, and it was his right arm. We talked it 
 over when we came out of the cottage. Mr. Morgan 
 had no doubt of the necessity. I went back at dinner- 
 time to see the poor fellow. He was feverish and 
 anxious. He had caught up some expression of Mr. 
 Morgan's in the morning, and had guessed the measure 
 we had in contemplation. He bade his wife leave the 
 room, and spoke to me by myself. 
 
 '*' If you please, sir, I'd rather be done for at once- 
 than have my arm taken off, and be a burden to my 
 family. I'm not afraid of dying, but I could not stand 
 being a cripple for life, eating bread, and not able to 
 earn it.' 
 
 ** The tears were in his eyes with earnestness. I 
 had all along been more doubtful about the necessity of 
 the amputation than Mr. Morgan. I knew the improved 
 treatment in such cases. In his days there was much 
 
MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIONS. 227 
 
 more of tlie rough and ready in surgical practice ; so I 
 gave the poor fellow some hope. 
 
 " In the afternoon I met Mr. Bullock. 
 
 " ' So you're to try your hand at an amputation to- 
 morrovi^, I hear. Poor John Brouncker ! I used to 
 tell him he was not careful enough about his ladders. 
 Mr. Morgan is quite excited about it. He asked me 
 to be present, and see how well a man from Guy's could 
 operate ; he says he is sure you'll do it beautifully. Pah ! 
 no such sights for me, thank you.' 
 
 " Piuddy Mr. Bullock went a shade or two paler at 
 the thought. 
 
 " ' Curious ! how professionally a man views these 
 things. Here's Mr. Morgan, who has been all along 
 as proud of you as if you were his own son, absolutely 
 rubbing his hands at the idea of this cro-wning glory, 
 this feather in your cap ! He told me just now he 
 knew he had always been too nervous to be a good 
 operator ; and had therefore preferred sending for White 
 from Chesterton. But now any one might have a serious 
 accident who liked, for you would be always at hand.' 
 
 " I told Mr. Bullock, I really thought we might avoid 
 the amputation ; but his mind was pre-occupied with 
 the idea of it, and he did not care to listen to me. The 
 whole town was full of it. That is a charm in a little 
 town, everybody is so sympathetically full of the same 
 events. Even Miss Horsman stopped me to ask after 
 John Brouncker with interest ; but she threw cold water 
 upon my intention of saving the arm. 
 
 " ' As for the wife and family, we'll take care of them. 
 Think what a fine opportunity you have of showing off, 
 Mr. Harrison ! ' 
 
 15—2 
 
228 MPw. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 *' That was just like her. Always ready with her 
 suggestions of ill-natured or interested motives. 
 
 '* Mr. Morgan heard my proposal of a mode of treat- 
 ment by which I thought it possible that the arm might 
 be saved. 
 
 " * I differ from you, Mr. Harrison,' said he. * I 
 regret it, but I differ in toto from you. Your kind 
 heart deceives you in this instance. There is no doubt 
 that amputation must take place — not later than to- 
 morrow morning, I should say. I have made myself at 
 liberty to attend upon you, sir ; I shall be happy to 
 officiate as your assistant. Time was when I should 
 have been proud to be principal, but a little trembling 
 in my arm incapacitates me.' 
 
 *'I urged my reasons upon him again; but he was 
 obstinate. He had, in fact, boasted so much of my 
 acquirements as an operator, that he was unwilling I 
 should lose this opportunity of displaying my skill. He 
 could not see that there would be greater skill evinced 
 in saving the arm ; nor did I think of this at the time. 
 I grew angiy at his old-fashioned narrow-mindedness, 
 as I thought it ; and I became dogged in my resolution 
 to adhere to my own course. We parted very coolly ; 
 and I went straight off to John Brouncker to tell him 
 I believed that I could save the arm, if he would refuse 
 to have it amputated. When I calmed myself a little, 
 before going in and speaking to him, I could not help 
 acknowledging that we should run some risk of locked 
 jaw ; but, on the whole, and after giving most earnest 
 conscientious thought to the case, I was sure that my 
 mode of treatment would be best. 
 
 " He was a sensible man. I told him the difference 
 
MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIO^^S. 229 
 
 of opinion that existed between Mr. Morgan and myself. 
 I said that there might be some little risk attending the 
 non-amputation ; but that I should guard against it, and 
 I trusted that I should be able to preserve his aim. 
 
 " ' Under God's blessing,' said he, reverently. I 
 bowed my head. I don't like to talk too frequently o:.' 
 the dependence which I always felt on that holy blessing, 
 as to the result of my efforts ; but I was glad to hear 
 that speech of John's, because it showed a calm and 
 faithful heart ; and I had almost certain hopes of him 
 from that time. 
 
 *'We agreed that he should tell Mr. Morgan the 
 reason of ^ his objections to the amputation, and his 
 reliance on my opinion. I determined to recur to eveiy 
 book I had relating to such cases, and to convince Mr. 
 Morgan, if I could, of my wisdom. Unluckily, I found 
 out afterwards that he had met Miss Horsman in the 
 time that intervened before I saw him again at his own 
 house that evening ; and she had more than hinted that 
 I shrunk from performing the operation, ' for very good 
 reasons, no doubt. She had heard that the medical 
 students in London were a bad set, and were not re- 
 markable for regular attendance in the hospitals. She 
 might be mistaken ; but she thought it v>-as, perhaps, 
 quite as well poor John Brouncker had not his arm 
 cut off by . Was there not such a thing as morti- 
 fication coming on after a clumsy operation ? It v;as, 
 perhaps, only a choice of deaths ! ' 
 
 '- Mr. Morgan had been stung at all this. Perhaps 
 I did not speak quite respectfully enough ; I was a good 
 deal excited. We only got more and more angry with 
 each other ; though he, to do him justice, v/as as civil 
 
230 SIR. harkison's confessions. 
 
 as could be all the time, tliinliing that thereby he con- 
 cealed his vexation and disappointment. He did not 
 try to conceal his anxiety about poor John. I went 
 home weary and dispirited. I made up and took the 
 necessary applications to John ; and, promising to re- 
 turn with the dawn of day (I would fain have stayed, 
 but I did not wish him to be alarmed about himself), 
 I went home, and resolved to sit up and study the 
 treatment of similar cases. 
 
 " Mrs. Rose knocked at the door. 
 
 " ' Come in ! ' said I, shai-ply. 
 
 " She said she had seen I had something on my mind 
 all day, and she could not go to bed without asking if 
 there was nothing she could do. She was good and 
 kind ; and I could not help telling her a little of the 
 truth. She listened pleasantly ; and I shook her warmly 
 by the hand, thinking that though she might not be very 
 wise, her good heart made her worth a dozen keen, 
 sharp, hard people, like Miss Horsman. 
 
 "When I went at daybreak, I saw John's wife for 
 a few minutes outside of the door. She seemed to wish 
 her husband had been in Mr. Morgan's hands rather 
 than mine : but she gave me as good an account as I 
 dared to hope for of the manner in which her husband 
 had passed the night. This w^as confirmed by my own 
 examination. 
 
 " When Mr. Morgan and I visited him together later 
 on in the day, John said what we had agreed upon the 
 day before ; and I told Mr. Morgan openly that it was 
 by my advice that amputation was declined. He did not 
 speak to me till we had left the house. Then he said — 
 ' Now, sir, from this time, I consider this case entirely 
 
MR. IIAimiSON'S CONFESSIONS. 231 
 
 in your liands. Only remember tlie poor fellow has a 
 •wife and six children. In case you come round to my 
 opinion, remember that Mr. White could come over, as 
 he has done before, for the operation.' 
 
 " So ! Mr. Morgan believed I declined operating 
 because I felt myself incapable. — Very well! — I was 
 much mortified. 
 
 '' An hour after we parted, I received a note to this 
 effect — 
 
 " Dear Sir,— I will take tlic long round to-day, to leave you 
 tit liberty to atteud to Brounckcr's case, which I feel to be a very 
 responsible one. 
 
 " ' J. Morgan.' 
 
 " This was kindly done. I went back, as soon as I 
 could, to John's cottage. While I w^as in the inner 
 room with him, I heard the Miss Tomkinsons' voices 
 outside. They had called to inquire. Miss Tomkinson 
 came in, and evidently was poking and snuffing about. 
 (Mrs. Brouncker told her that I w^as within ; and within 
 I resolved to be till they had gone.) 
 
 '''What is this close smell?' asked she. *I am 
 afraid you are not cleanly. Cheese ! — cheese in this 
 cupboard ! No wonder there is an unpleasant smell. 
 Don't you know how particular you should be about 
 being clean when there is illness about ? ' 
 
 " Mrs. Brouncker was exquisitely clean in general, 
 and was piqued at these remarks. 
 
 " ' If you please, ma'am, I could not leave John 
 yesterday to do any house-work, and Jenny put the 
 dinner-things away. She is but eight years old.' 
 
 " But this did not satisfy Miss Tomkinson, who was 
 ■evidently pursuing the course of her observations. 
 
232 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 *' ' Fresli butter, I declare ! Well now, Mrs. Brouncker^ 
 do you know I dou't allow myself fresli butter at this 
 time of the year? How can you save, indeed, with 
 such extravagance ! ' 
 
 " ' Please, ma'am,' answered Mrs. Brouncker, 'you'd 
 think it strange, if I was to take such liberties in your 
 house as you're taking here.' 
 
 ** I expected to hear a sharp answer. Ko ! Miss 
 Tomkinson liked true plain-speaking. The only person 
 in whom she would tolerate round-about ways of talking 
 was her sister. 
 
 '' ' Well, that's true,' she said. ' Still, you must not 
 be above taking advice. Fresh butter is extravagant at 
 this time of the year. However, you're a good kind of 
 woman, and I've a great respect for John. Send Jenny 
 for some broth as soon as he can take it. Come^ 
 Caroline, we have got to go on to Williams's.' 
 
 " But Miss Caroline said that she was tired, and 
 would rest where she was till Miss Tomkinson came 
 back. I was a prisoner for some time, I found. When. 
 she was alone with Mrs. Brouncker, she said, — 
 
 " ' You must not be hurt by my sister's abrupt 
 manner. She means well. She has not much imagi- 
 nation or sympathy, and cannot understand the dis- 
 traction of mind produced by the illness of a worshipped 
 husband.' I could hear the loud sigh of commisera- 
 tion which followed this speech. Mrs. Brouncker 
 said, — 
 
 " ' Please, ma'am, I don't worship my husband. I 
 would not be so wicked.' 
 
 " * Goodness ! — You don't think it wicked, do you ? 
 For my part, if I should worship, I should. 
 
MR. ILiRIlISON'S CONFESSIONS. 233 
 
 adore liim.' I thought she need not imagine such 
 improbable cases. But sturdy Mrs. Brouncker said 
 again,— 
 
 " ' I hope I know my duty better. I've not learned, 
 my Commandments for nothing. I know whom I ought 
 to worship.' 
 
 *' Just then the children came in, dirty and unwashed, 
 I have no doubt. And now Miss Caroline's real nature 
 peeped out. She spoke shai-ply to them, and asked 
 them if they had no manners, little pigs as they were, 
 to come brushing against her silk gown in that way ? 
 She sweetened herself again, and was as sugary as love 
 when Miss Tomkinson returned for her, accompanied by 
 one whose voice, 'like winds in summer sighing,' I knew 
 to be my dear Sophy's. 
 
 " She did not say much; but what she did say, and 
 the manner in which she spoke, was tender and com- 
 passionate in the highest degree ; and she came to take 
 the four little ones back with her to the Yicarage, in 
 order that they might be out of their mother's way ; the 
 older two might help at home. She offered to wash 
 their hands and faces ; and when I emerged from my 
 inner chamber, after the Miss Tomkinsons had left, 
 I found her v,ith a chubby child on her knees, bubbling 
 and spluttering against her white wet hand, with a face 
 bright, rosy, and merry under the operation. Just as I 
 came in, she said to him, ' There, Jemmy, now I can 
 kiss you with this nice clean face.' 
 
 ** She coloured when she saw me. I liked her speak- 
 ing, and I liked her silence. She was silent now, and 
 I ' lo'ed a' the better.' I gave my directions to Mrs. 
 Brouncker, and hastened to overtake Sophy and the 
 
23-1 MR. HARRISOX'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 cliildren; but tliey had gone round by tlie lanes, I 
 suppose, for I saw nothing of them. 
 
 " I was very anxious about the case. At night I 
 went again. Miss Horsman had been there ; I believe 
 she was really kind among the poor, but she could not 
 help leaving a sting behind her everywhere. She had 
 been frightening Mrs. Brouncker about her husband; 
 and been, I have no doubt, expressing her doubts of my 
 skill ; for Mrs. Brouncker began : 
 
 *' ' Oh, please, sir, if you'll only let Mr. Morgan 
 take off his arm. I will never think the worse of you 
 for not being able to do it.' 
 
 " I told her it was from no doubt of my own compe- 
 tency to perform the operation that I wished to save the 
 arm ; but that he himself was anxious to have it 
 spared. 
 
 " ' Ay, bless him ! ho frets about not earning enough 
 to keep us, if he's crippled ; but, sir, I don't care about 
 that. I would work my fingers to the bone, and so 
 would the children ; I'm sure we'd be proud to do for 
 him, and keep him ; God bless him ! it would be far 
 better to have him only with one arm, than to have him 
 in the churchyard, Miss Horsman says ' 
 
 '' ' Confound Miss Horsman !' said I. 
 
 '' ' Thank you, Mr. Harrison,' said her well-known 
 voice behind me. She had come out, dark as it was, to 
 bring some old linen to Mrs. Brouncker; for, as I said 
 before, she was very kind to all the poor people of Dun- 
 combe. 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon ; ' for I really was sorry for my 
 speech, or rather, that she had heard it. 
 
 '' ' There is no occasion for any apology,' she replied, 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 235 
 
 d^a^YiIlg herself u^), and pinching her lips into a very 
 venomous shape. 
 
 " John was doing pretty well ; but of course the 
 danger of locked jav/ was not over. Before I left, his 
 wife entreated mo to take off the arm ; she wrung her 
 hands in her passionate entreaty. ' Spare him to me, 
 Mr. Harrison,' she implored. Miss Horsman stood by. 
 It was mortifying enough ; but I thought of the power 
 which was in my hands, as I firmly believed, of saving 
 the limb ; and I was inflexible. 
 
 " You cannot think how pleasantly Mrs. Rose's sym- 
 pathy came in on my return. To be sure she did not 
 understand one word of the case, which I detailed to 
 her ; but she listened with interest, and, as long as she 
 held her tongue, I thought she was really taking it in ; 
 but her first remark was as mal-apropos as could be. 
 
 " ' You are anxious to save the tibia — I see com- 
 pletely how difiicult that will be. My late husband had 
 a case exactly similar, and I remember his anxiety ; but 
 you must not distress yourself too much, my dear Mr. 
 Harrison ; I have no doubt it will end well.' 
 
 '' I knew she had no grounds for this assurance, and 
 yet it comforted me. 
 
 " However, as it happened, John did fully as well as 
 I could hope ; of course he was long in rallying his 
 strength ; and, indeed, sea-air was evidently so neces- 
 sary for his complete restoration, that I accepted with 
 gratitude Mrs. Rose's proposal of sending him to High- 
 port for a fortnight or three weeks. Her kind generosity 
 in this matter made me more desirous than ever of pay- 
 ing her every mark of respect and attention. 
 
236 Jin. HAnEISON'S COKFESSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " About tliis time there was a sale at Ashmeadow, a 
 pretty house in the neighbourhood of Duucombe. It 
 was likewise an easy walk, and the spring days tempted 
 many people thither, who had no intention of buying 
 anything, but who liked the idea of rambling through 
 the woods, gay with early primroses and wild daffodils, 
 and of seeing the gardens and house, which till now had 
 been shut up from the ingress of the townspeople. 
 Mrs. Rose had planned to go, but an unlucky cold pre- 
 vented her. She begged me to bring her a very parti- 
 cular account, saying she delighted in details, and 
 always questioned the late Mr. Rose as to the side dishes 
 of the dinners to which he M'ent. The late Mr. Rose's 
 conduct was always held up as a model to me, by the 
 way. I walked to Ashmeadow, pausing, or loitering 
 with different parties of towns-people, all bound in the 
 same direction. At last I found the vicar and Sophy, 
 and with them I stayed. I sat by Sophy, and talked and 
 listened. A sale is a very pleasant gathering after all. 
 The auctioneer, in a country place, is privileged to joke 
 from his rostrum ; and having a personal knowledge of 
 most of the people, can sometimes make a very keen 
 hit at their circumstances, and turn the laugh against 
 them. For instance, on the present occasion, there was 
 a farmer present, with his wife, who w^as notoriously the 
 grey mare. The auctioneer was selling some horse- 
 cloths, and called out to recommend the article to her, 
 telling her, with a knowing look at the company, that 
 they would make her a dashing pair of trousers, if she 
 was in want of such an article. She drew herself up 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 237 
 
 with dignity, and said, ' Come, Jolin, we've had enough 
 of these.' Whereupon there was a burst of laughter, 
 and in the midst of it John meekly followed his wife out 
 of the place. The furniture in the sitting-rooms was, I 
 believe, very beautiful, but I did not notice it much. 
 Suddenly I heard the auctioneer speaking to me, ' Mr. 
 Harrison, won't you give me a bid for this table ? ' 
 
 " It was a very pretty little table of walnut- wood. I 
 thought it would go into my study very well, so I gave 
 him a bid. I saw Miss Horsman bidding against me, so 
 I went o& with full force, and at last it was knocked 
 down to me. The auctioneer smiled, and congratulated me. 
 
 " ' A most useful present for Mrs. Harrison, when 
 that lady comes.' 
 
 " Everybody laughed. They like a joke about mar- 
 riage, it is so easy of comprehension. But the table 
 which I had thought was for writing, turned out to be a 
 work-table, scissors and thimble complete. No wonder 
 I looked foolish. Sophy was not looking at me, that was 
 one comfort. She was busy arranging a nosegay of 
 wood-anemone and mid sorrel. 
 
 " Miss Horsman came up, with her curious eyes. 
 
 " ' I had no idea things were far enough advanced for 
 you to be purchasing a work-table, Mr. Harrison.' 
 
 " I laughed off my awkwardness. 
 
 '' ' Did not you. Miss Horsman ? You are very much 
 behindhand. You have not heard of my piano, then ? ' 
 
 *' ' No, indeed,' said she, half uncertain whether I 
 was serious or not. ' Then it seems there is nothing 
 wanting but the lady.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps she may not be wanting either,' said I, 
 for I wished to pei^plex her keen curiosity. 
 
238 ini. haurison's confessions. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 *' When I got home from my round, I found Mrs. Rose 
 in some sorrow. 
 
 "'Miss Horsman called after you left,' said she. 
 * Have you heard how John Brouncker is at Highport ? ' 
 
 II i Yeiy well,' replied I. * I called on his wife just 
 now, and she had just got a letter from him. She had 
 been anxious about him, for she had not heard for a 
 week. However, all's right now; and she has pretty 
 well of work at Mrs. Munton's, as her servant is ill. 
 Oh, they'll do, never fear.' 
 
 " ' At Mrs. Munton's ? Oh, that accounts for it, 
 then. She is so deaf, and makes such blunders.' 
 
 " ' Accounts for what ? ' asked I. 
 
 '' ' Oh, perhaps I had better not tell you,' hesitated 
 Mrs. Rose. 
 
 '' ' Yes, tell me at once. I beg your pardon, but I 
 hate mysteries.' 
 
 '* ' You are so hke my poor dear Mr. Rose. He used 
 to speak to me just in that sharp, cross way. — It is only 
 that Miss Horsman called. She had been making a 
 collection for John Erouncker's widows and ' — 
 
 *' ' But the man's alive ! ' said I. 
 
 " ' So it seems. But Mrs. Munton had told her that 
 he was dead. And she has got Mr. Morgan's name 
 down at the head of the list, and Mr. Bullock's ' — 
 
 "Mr. Morgan and I had got into a short, cool way 
 of speaking to each other ever since we had differed so 
 much about the treatment of Erouncker's arm ; and I 
 had heard once or twice of his shakes of the head over 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 23i^ 
 
 Jolin's case. He would not have spoken against my 
 metliod for the world, and fancied that he concealed his 
 fears. 
 
 " ' Miss Horsman is very ill-natured, I think,' sighed 
 forth Mrs. Rose. 
 
 " I saw that something had been said of which I had 
 not heard, for the mere fact of collecting money for the 
 widow was good-natured, whoever did it ; so I asked 
 quietly what she had said. 
 
 *' ' Oh, I don't know if I should tell you. I only 
 know she made me cry ; for I'm not well, and I can't 
 bear to hear any one that I live with abused.' 
 
 " Come ! this was pretty plain. 
 
 " ' What did Miss Horsman say of me?' asked I, 
 half laughing, for I knew there was no love lost 
 between us. 
 
 " ' Oh, she only said she wondered you could go to 
 sales, and spend your money there, when your ignorance 
 had made Jane Brouncker a widow, and her children 
 fatherless.' 
 
 "'Pooh! pooh! John's alive, and likely to live as 
 long as you or I, thanks to you, Mrs. Rose.' 
 
 " When my work-table came home, Mrs. Rose was so 
 struck with its beauty and completeness, and I was so 
 much obliged to her for her identification of my interests 
 wdth hers, and the kindness of her whole conduct about 
 John, that I begged her to accept of it. She seemed 
 very much pleased ; and, after a few apologies, she con- 
 sented to take it, and placed it in the most conspicuous 
 part of the front parlour, where she usually sat. There 
 Avas a good deal of morning calling in Duncombe after 
 the sale, and, during this time, the fact of John's being 
 
240 3IE. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 alive was establisliecT to the conviction of all except Miss 
 Horsman, who, I believe, still doubted. I myself told 
 Mr. Morgan, who immediately went to reclaim his money ; 
 saying to me, that he was thankful of the information ; 
 he was truly glad to hear it ; and he shook me warmly 
 by the hand for the first time for a month. 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 " A FEW days after the sale, I was in the consulting- 
 room. The servant must have left the folding-doors a 
 little ajar, I think. Mrs. Munton came to call on Mrs, 
 Rose ; and the former being deaf, I heard all the speeches 
 of the latter lady, as she was obliged to speak very loud 
 in order to be heard. She began : — 
 
 " ' This is a great pleasure, Mrs. Munton, so seldom 
 as you are well enough to go out.' 
 
 " Mumble, mumble, mumble, through the door. 
 
 *' ' Oh, very well, thank you. Take this seat, and 
 then you can admire my new work-table, ma'am ; a 
 present from Mr. Harrison.' 
 
 "Mumble, mumble. 
 
 '' ' Who could have told you, ma'am ? Miss Horsman ? 
 Oh, yes, I showed it Miss Horsman.' 
 
 " Mumble, mumble. 
 
 *" I don't quite understand you, ma'am.' 
 
 "Mumble, mumble. 
 
 " ' I'm not blushing, I believe. I really am quite in 
 the dark as to what you mean.' 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 2il 
 
 "Mumble, mninLIe. 
 
 " * Oh yes, Mr. Harrison and I are most comfortable 
 togetber. He reminds me so of my dear Mr. Eose ; — 
 just as fidgety and anxious in bis profession.' 
 
 *' Mumble, mumble. 
 
 " 'I'm sure you are joking now, ma'am.' Then I 
 heard a pretty loud — 
 
 "'Oh no;' mumble, mumble, mumble, for a long 
 time. 
 
 "'Did he really? "Well, I'm sure I don't know. 
 I should be sony to think he was doomed to be un- 
 fortunate in so serious an affair; but you know my 
 undying regard for the late Mr. Rose. 
 
 " Another long mumble. 
 
 "'You're veiy kind, I'm sure. Mr. Rose always 
 thought more of my happiness than his own ' — a little 
 crying — ' but the turtle-dove has always been my ideal, 
 ma'am.' 
 
 " Mumble, mumble. 
 
 " ' No one could have been happier than I. As you 
 say, it is a compliment to matrimony.' 
 
 "Mumble. 
 
 " ' Oh, but you must not repeat such a thing. Mr. 
 Harrison would not like it. He can't bear to have his 
 affairs spoken about.' 
 
 " Then there was a change of subject ; an inquiry 
 after some poor person, I imagine ; I heard Mrs. Rose 
 say— 
 
 " * She has got a mucous membrane, I'm afraid, 
 ma'am.' 
 
 " A commiserating mumble. 
 
 " 'Not always fatal. I believe Mr. Rose knew some 
 
 16 
 
2-i2 MR. IIAIHIISOIS^'S C0XFESSI0X3. 
 
 cases that lived for years after it was discovered tliat 
 they had a mucous membrane.' — A pause. Then Mrs. 
 Rose spoke in a different tone. 
 
 " 'Are you sure, ma'am, there is no mistake about 
 what he said ? ' 
 
 " Mumble. 
 
 *''Pray don't be so observant, Mrs. Munton ; you 
 find out too much. One can have no little secrets.' 
 
 " The call broke up ; and I heard Mrs. Munton say 
 in the passage, ' I wish you joy, ma'am, with all my 
 heart. There's no use denying it; for I've seen all 
 along Vv^hat would happen.' 
 
 " When I went in to dinner, I said to Mrs. Eose — 
 
 " ' You've had Mrs. Munton here, I think. Did she 
 bring any news ? ' To my surprise, she bridled and 
 simpered, and replied, ' Oh, you must not ask, Mr. 
 Harrison : such foolish reports.' 
 
 " I did not ask, as she seemed to wish me not, and 
 I knew there were silly reports always about. Then I 
 think she was vexed that I did not ask. Altogether she 
 went on so strangely that I could not help looking at 
 her; and then she took up a hand-screen, and held it 
 between me and her. I really felt rather anxiously. 
 
 " ' Are you not feeling well ? ' said I, innocently. 
 
 " ' Oh, thank you, I believe I'm quite well; only the 
 room is rather warm, is it not ? ' 
 
 " * Let me put the blinds down for you ; the sun 
 begins to have a good deal of power.' I drev/ down the 
 bdinds. 
 
 *' ' You are so attentive, Mr. Harrison. Mr. Eose 
 Jiimself never did more for my little wishes than you do.' 
 
 *' ' I wish I could do more, — I wish I could show you 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 243 
 
 liow much I feel ' lier kindness to Jolin Brouncker, 
 
 I was going on to say ; but I was just then called out 
 to a patient. Before I went I turned back, and said — 
 
 '' ' Take care of yourself, my dear Mrs. Piose ; you 
 had better rest a little.' 
 
 " ' For your sake, I will,' said she tsaderly. 
 
 " I did not care for whose sake she did it. Only I 
 really thought she was not quite well, and required rest. 
 I thought she was more affected than usual at tea-time ; 
 and could have been angry with her nonsensical ways 
 once or t^Yice, but that I knew the real goodness of her 
 heart. She said she wished she had the power to 
 sweeten my life as she could my tea. I told her what 
 a comfort she had been all during my late time of 
 anxiety, and then I stole out to try if I could hear the 
 evening singing at the Vicarage, by standing close to 
 the firarden wall. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 *' The next morning I met Mr. Bullock by appointment, 
 to talk a little about the legacy which was paid into his 
 hands. As I was leaving his office, feeling full of my 
 riches, I met Miss Horsman. She smiled rather grimly, 
 and said : 
 
 " ' Oh ! Mr. Harrison, I must congratulate, I believe. 
 I don't know whether I ought to have known, but as I 
 do, I must wish you joy. A very nice little sum, too. 
 I always said you would have money.' 
 
 16—2 
 
244 Mil. hareison's confessions. 
 
 " So slie had found out my legacy, had she ? Well, 
 it was no secret, and one likes the reputation of being 
 a person of property. Accordingly I smiled, and said 
 I was much obliged to her, and if I could alter the 
 figures to my liking, she might congratulate me still 
 more. 
 
 " She said, ' Oh, Mr. Harrison, you can't have every- 
 thing. It would be better the other way, certainly. 
 Money is the great thing, as you've found out. The 
 relation died most opportunely, I must say.' 
 
 " ' He was no relative,' said I ; ' only an intimate 
 friend.' 
 
 " 'Dear-ah-me! I thought it had been a brother! 
 Well, at any rate, the legacy is safe.' 
 
 " I wished her good morning, and passed on. Before 
 long I was sent for to Miss Tomkinson's. 
 
 " Miss Tomkinson sat in severe state to receive me. 
 I went in with an air of ease, because I always felt so 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 *' ' Is this true that I hear ? ' asked she, in an inquisi- 
 torial manner. 
 
 " I thought she alluded to my five hundred pounds. 
 So I smiled, and said that I believed it was. 
 
 " ' Can money be so great an object with you, Mr. 
 Harrison ? ' she asked again. 
 
 " I said I had never cared much for money, except as 
 an assistance to any plan of settling in life ; and then, 
 as I did not like her severe way of treating the subject, 
 I said that I hoped every one was well ; though of course 
 I expected some one was ill, or I should not have been 
 sent for. 
 
 " Miss Tomkinson looked very grave and sad. Then 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 245 
 
 she answered, ' Caroline is very poorly — tlie old palpita- 
 tions at the heart ; but of course that is nothing to you.' 
 
 '' I said I was very sorry. She had a weakness there, 
 I knew. Could I see her? I might he able to order 
 something for her. 
 
 " I thought I heard Miss Tomklnson say something 
 in a low voice about my being a heartless deceiver. 
 Then she spoke up. * I was always distrustful of you, 
 Mr. Harrison. I never liked your looks. I begged 
 Caroline again and again not to confide in you. I 
 foresaw how it v;ould end. And now I fear her precious 
 life will be a sacrifice.' 
 
 '' I begged her not to distress herself, for in all pro- 
 bability there was very little the matter with her sister. 
 Might I see her ? 
 
 " * No ! ' she said, shortly, standing up as if to dismiss 
 me. ' There has been too much of this seeing and 
 calling. By my consent, you shall never see her again.' 
 
 " I bowed. I was annoyed, of course. Such a dis- 
 missal might injure my practice just when I was most 
 anxious to increase it. 
 
 '' ' Have you no apology, no excuse to offer ? ' 
 
 '' I said I had done my best ; I did not feel that 
 there was any reason to offer an apology. I wished her 
 good morning. Suddenly she came forwards. 
 
 '' ' Oh, Mr. Harrison,' said she, ' if j^ou have really 
 loved Caroline, do not let a little paltry money make 
 you desert her for another.' 
 
 " I was struck dumb. Loved Miss Caroline ! I loved 
 Miss Tomkinson a great deal better, and yet I disliked 
 her. She went on. 
 
 " ' I have saved nearly thi-ee thousand pounds. If 
 
24G MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIOXS. 
 
 you think you are too poor to many Tsitliout money, 
 I will give it all to Caroline. I am strong, and can go 
 on working ; but she is weak, and this disappointment 
 Trill kill her.' She sat down suddenly, and covered her 
 face with her hands. Then she looked up. 
 
 " ' You are unwilling, I see. Don't suppose I would 
 have urged you if it had been for myself ; but she has 
 had so much sorrow.' And now she faii'ly cried aloud. 
 I tried to explain ; but she Vv-ould not listen, but kept 
 saying, * Leave the house, sir ; leave the house ! ' But 
 I would be heard. 
 
 " ' I have never had any feeling warmer than respect 
 for Miss Caroline, and I have never sho\^-n any different 
 feeling. I never for an instant thought of making her 
 my wife, and she has had no cause in my behaviour to 
 imagine I entertained any such intention.' 
 
 " ' This is adding insult to injuiy,' said she. • Leave 
 the house, sir, this instant ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " I WENT, and sadly enough. In a small town such an 
 occurrence is sure to be talked about, and to mxake a 
 great deal of mischief. When I went home to dinner 
 I was so full of it, and foresaw so clearly that I should 
 need some advocate soon to set the case in its right 
 light, that I determined on making a confidante of good 
 Mrs. Rose. I could not eat. She watched me tenderly, 
 and sighed when she saw my want of appetite. 
 
IIR. HARRISON S CONFESSIONS, 247 
 
 ** * I am sure you have sometliing on jowy mind, 
 Mr. Harrison. Would it be — would it not be — a relief 
 to impart it to some sympathizing friend ? ' 
 
 *' It was just what I wanted to do. 
 
 *' ' My dear kind Mrs. Rose,' said I, ' I must tell j-ou, 
 if you will listen.' 
 
 " She took up the fire-screen, and held it, as j'cster- 
 day, between me and her. 
 
 " ' The most unfortunate misunderstanding has taken 
 place. Miss Tomkinson thinks that I have been paying 
 attentions to Miss Caroline ; when, in fact — may I tell 
 you, Mrs. Rose ? — my afi'ections are placed elsewhere. 
 Perhaps you have found it out already ? ' for indeed I 
 thought I had been too much in love to conceal my 
 attachment to Sophy from any one who knew my move- 
 ments as well as Mrs. Rose. 
 
 '' She hung down her head, and said she believed she 
 had found out my secret. 
 
 " ' Then only think how miserably I am situated. If 
 I have any hope — oh, Mrs. Rose, do you think I have 
 any hope ? ' 
 
 *' She put the hand-screen still more before her face, 
 and after some hesitation she said she thought ' if I 
 persevered — in time — I might have hope.' And then 
 she suddenly got up, and left the room. 
 
248 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " That afternoon I met Mr. Bullock in tlie street. My 
 mind was so full of the affair with Miss Tomkinson, that 
 I should have passed him without notice, if he had not 
 stopped me short, and said that he must speak to me ; 
 ahout my wonderful five hundred pounds, I supposed. 
 But I did not care for that now. 
 
 *' * What is this I hear,' said he, severely, ' ahout 
 your engagement with Mrs. Rose ? ' 
 
 *' * With Mrs. Rose ! ' said I, almost laughing, although 
 my heart was heavy enough. 
 
 " ' Yes ! with Mrs. Rose ! ' said he, sternly. 
 
 " 'I'm not enaged to Mrs. Rose,' I replied. ' There 
 is some mistake.' 
 
 " ' I'm glad to hear it, sir,' he answered, * wery glad. 
 It requires some explanation, however. Mrs. Rose has 
 been congratulated, and has acknowledged the truth of 
 the report. It is confirmed by many facts. The work- 
 tahle you bought, confessing your intention of giving it 
 to your future wife, is given to her. How do you 
 account for these things, sir ? ' 
 
 *' I said I did not pretend to account for them. At 
 present, a good deal was inexplicable ; and when I could 
 give an explanation, I did not think that I should feel 
 myself called upon to give it to him. 
 
 a i Very well, sir, veiy well,' replied he, growing very 
 red. * I shall take care, and let Mr. Morgan know the 
 opinion I entertain of yon. What do you think that 
 man deserves to be called who enters a family under the 
 plea of friendship, and takes advantage of his intimacy 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 249 
 
 to ^in the affections of the daughter, and then engages 
 himself to another woman ? ' 
 
 «' I thought he referred to Miss Caroline. I simply 
 said I could only say that I was not engaged ; and that 
 Miss Tomldnson had heen quite mistaken in supposing 
 I had heen paying any attentions to her sister heyond 
 those dictated hy mere ciYility. 
 
 '' ' Miss Tomkinson ! Miss Caroline ! I don't under- 
 stand to what you refer. Is there another victim to 
 your perfidy ! What I allude to are the attentions you 
 have paid to my daughter, Miss Bullock.' 
 
 " Another! I could hut disclaim, as I had done in 
 the case of Miss Caroline ; hut I hegan to he in despair. 
 Would Miss Horsman, too, come forward as a victim to 
 my tender affections ? It was all Mr. Morgan's doing, 
 who had lectured me into this tenderly deferential 
 manner. But on the score of Miss Bullock, I was 
 hrave in my innocence. I had positively disliked her ; 
 and so I told her father, though in more civil and 
 measured terms, adding that I was sure the feeling was 
 reciprocal. 
 
 " He looked as if he would like to horsewhip me. I 
 longed to call him out. 
 
 "'I hope my daughter has had sense enough to 
 despise you ; I hope she has, that's all. I trust my wife 
 may he mistaken as to her feelings.' 
 
 " So, he had heard all through the medium of his 
 wife. That explained something, and rather calmed me. 
 I hegged he would ask Miss Bullock if she had ever 
 thought I had any ulterior ohject in my intercourse with 
 her, heyond mere friendliness (and not so much of that, 
 I might have added). I would refer it to her. 
 
250 MPu. HAErvISON S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 " ' Girls,' said Mr. Bullock, a little more quietly, ' do 
 not like to acknowledge that they have been deceived 
 and disappointed. I consider my wife's testimony as 
 likely to be nearer the tnith than my daughter's, for 
 that reason. And she tells me she never doubted but 
 that, if not absolutely engaged, you understood each 
 other perfectly. She is sure Jemima is deeply wounded 
 by your engagement to Mrs. Rose.' 
 
 *' ' Once for all, I am not engaged to anybody. Till 
 you have seen your daughter, and learnt the tnith from 
 her, I will wish you farewell.' 
 
 " I bowed in a stiff, haughty manner, and walked off 
 homewards. But when I got to my own door, I remem- 
 bered Mrs. Bose, and all that Mr. Bullock had said 
 about her acknowledging the truth of the report of my 
 engagement to her. Where could I go to be safe ? 
 Mrs. Rose, Miss Bullock, Miss Caroline — they lived as 
 it were at the three points of an equilateral triangle; 
 here was I in the centre. I would go to Mr. Morgan's, 
 and drink tea with him. There, at any rate, I wa& 
 secure from any one wanting to marry me ; and I might 
 be as professionally bland as I liked, without being mis- 
 understood. But there, too, a coiitrctemjys awaited me. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 *' Mr. Morgan was looking grave. After a minute or 
 two of humming and hawing, he said — 
 
 *' * I have been sent for to Miss Caroline Tomkinson,, 
 
MR. lIAlUilSON'S CONFESSIONS. 251 
 
 Mr. Harrison. I am sorry to hear of this — I am grieved 
 to find that there seems to have been some trifling -with 
 the affections of a very worthy lady. Miss Tomkinson^ 
 Y/ho is in sad distress, tells me that they had eveiy 
 reason to believe that yon were attached to her sister. 
 May I ask if you do not intend to marry her ? ' 
 
 " I said nothing was farther from my thoughts. 
 
 " ' My dear sir,' said Mr. Morgan, rather agitated, 
 ' do not express yourself so strongly and vehemently. It 
 is derogatory to the sex to speak so. It is more respect- 
 ful to say, in these cases, that you do not venture ta 
 entertain a hope ; such a manner is generally under- 
 stood, and does not sound like such positive objection.' 
 
 "'I cannot help it, sir; I must talk in my ovm 
 natural manner. I would not speak disrespectfully of 
 any woman; but nothing should induce me to marry 
 Miss Caroline Tomkinson ; not if she were Yenus 
 herself, and Queen of England into the bargain. I 
 cannot understand what has given rise to the idea.' 
 
 " 'Indeed, sir ; I think that is very plain. You have 
 a trifling case to attend to in the house, and you invari- 
 ably make it a pretext for seeing and conversing with the 
 lady.' 
 
 " ' That was her doing, not mine ! ' said I, vehemently. 
 
 " 'Allow me to go on. You are discovered on your 
 knees before her, — a positive injury to the establishment, 
 as Miss Tomkinson observes ; a most passionate valen- 
 tine is sent ; and when questioned, you acknowledge the 
 sincerity of meaning which you affix to such things,' — 
 he stopped, for in his earnestness he had been talking 
 more quickly than usual, and was out of breath. I burst 
 in v.ith my explanations — 
 
252 MR. HARRISONS CONFESSIONS. 
 
 " ' The valentine I knew nothing about.' 
 
 " ' It is in your handwriting,' said he, coldly. ' I 
 should be most deeply grieved to— in fact, I will not 
 think it possible of your father's son. But I must say, 
 it is in your handwriting.' 
 
 " I tried again, and at last succeeded in convincing 
 him that I had been only unfortunate, not intentionally 
 guilty of winning Miss Caroline's affections. I said that 
 I had been endeavouring, it was true, to practise the 
 manner he had recommended, of universal sympathy, 
 and recalled to his mind some of the advice he had 
 given me. He was a good deal hurried. 
 
 "'But, my dear sir, I had no idea that you would 
 carry it out to such consequences. "Philandering," 
 Miss Tomkinson called it. That is a hard word, sir. 
 My manner has been always tender and sympathetic : 
 but I am not aware that I ever excited any hopes ; there 
 never was any report about me. I believe no lady was 
 ever attached to me. You must strive after this happy 
 medium, sir.' 
 
 " I was still distressed. Mr. Morgan had only heard 
 of one, but there were three ladies (including Miss 
 Bullock) hoping to marry me. He saw my annoy- 
 ance. 
 
 "'Don't be too much distressed about it, my dear 
 sir; I was sure you were too honourable a man, from 
 the first. With a conscience like yours, I would defy 
 the world.' 
 
 " He became anxious to console me, and I was hesi- 
 tating whether I would not tell him all my three dilemmas, 
 when a note was brought in to him. It was from Mrs. 
 Munton. He threw it to me with a face of dismay. 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 253 
 
 " My dear Mr. Morgax, — I most sincerely congratulate you 
 on the happy matrimonial engagement I hear you have formed 
 ^vith Miss Tomkinson. All previous circumstances, as I have 
 just been remarking to Miss Horsman, combine to promise you 
 felicity. And I wish that every blessing may attend your mar- 
 ried life. 
 
 " Most sincerely yours, 
 
 " Jane Munton. 
 
 ^'I could not help lauglilng, be liad been so lately 
 congratulating bimself that no report of the kind bad 
 ever been circulated about bimself. He said — 
 
 " * Sir! this is no laughing matter ; I assure you it is 
 not.' I could not resist asking, if I was to conclude 
 that there was no truth in the report. 
 
 ''Truth, sir! it's a lie from beginning to end. I 
 don't like to speak too decidedly about any lady; and 
 I've a great respect for Miss Tomkinson ; but I do assure 
 you, sir, I'd as soon marry one of her Majesty's Life 
 Guards. I would rather ;— it would be more suitable. 
 Miss Tomkinson is a very worthy lady ; but she's a per- 
 fect grenadier.' 
 
 *' He grew very nervous. He was evidently insecure. 
 He thought it not impossible that Miss Tomkinson might 
 come and marry him, vi et armls. 1 am sure he had 
 some dim idea of abduction in his mind. Still, he was 
 better off than I was ; for he was in his own house, and 
 report had only engaged him to one lady : while I stood 
 like Paris among three contending beauties. Truly, an 
 apple of discord had been thrown into our little town. 
 I suspected, at the time, what I know now, that it was 
 Miss Horsman's doing ; not intentionally, I will do her 
 the justice to say. But she had shouted out the story 
 of my behaviour to Miss Caroline up Mrs. Munton's 
 
254 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 tmmpet ; and tliat lady, possessed with the idea that I 
 ivas engaged to Mrs. Eose, had imagined the masculine 
 pronoun to relate to Mr. Morgan, whom she had seen 
 only that afternoon tete-a-tete with Miss Tomkinson, con- 
 doling with her in some tender deferential manner, I'll be 
 bound. 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 *' I WAS very cowardly. I positively dared not go home ; 
 but at length I was obliged to. I had done all I could 
 to console Mr. Morgan, but he refused to be comforted. 
 I went at last. I rang at the bell. I don't know who 
 opened the door, but I think it was Mrs. Rose. I kept 
 a handkerchief to my face, and, muttering something 
 about having a dreadful toothache, I flew up to my room, 
 and bolted the door. I had no candle; but what did 
 that signify. I was safe. I could not sleep ; and when 
 I did fall into a sort of doze, it was ten times worse 
 vv^akening up. I could not remember whether I was en- 
 gaged or not. If I was engaged, who was the lady ? I 
 had always considered myself as rather plain than other- 
 wise ; but surely I had made a mistake. Fascinating I 
 certainly must be ; but perhaps I was handsome. As 
 soon as day dawned, I got up to ascertain the fact at the 
 looking-glass. Even with the best disposition to be con- 
 vinced, I could not see any striking beauty in my round 
 face, with an unshaven beard and a nightcap like a fool's 
 cap at the top. No ! I must be content to be plain, but 
 agreeable. All this I tell you in confidence. I would 
 
MR. UAlUilSONS CONFESSIO^tS. 25o 
 
 not have my little bit of vanity known for the world. I 
 fell asleep tov/ards morning. I was awakened by a tap 
 at my door. It was Peggy : slie put in a hand with a 
 note. I took it. 
 
 '' ' It is not from Miss Horsman?' said I, half in 
 joke — half in veiy earnest fright. 
 
 " ' No, sir; Mr. Morgan's man brought it.' 
 
 " I opened it. It ran thus : 
 
 " My dear Sir, — It is now nearly twenty years since I have 
 had a little relaxation, and I find that my health requires it. I 
 have also the utmost confidence in you, and I am sure this feeling 
 is shared by our patients. I have, therefore, no scruple in putting 
 in execution a hastily formed plan, and going to Chesterton to 
 catch tlie early train on my way to Paris. If your accounts are 
 good, I shall remain away probably a fortnight. Direct to 
 Meuricc's. " Yours, most truly, 
 
 " J. Morgan. 
 
 " P.S.— Perhaps it may be as well not to name where I am 
 gone, especially to Miss Tomkinson, 
 
 " He had deserted me. He — mth only one report — 
 had left me to stand my ground with three. 
 
 " ' Mrs. Ptose's kind regards, sir, and it's nearly nine 
 o'clock. Breakfast has been ready this hour, sir.' 
 
 " ' Tell Mrs. Eose I don't w^ant any breakfast. Or 
 stay ' (for I was very hungry), ' I will take a cup of tea and 
 some toast up here.' 
 
 " 'Peggy brought the tray to the door. 
 
 '' ' I hope you're not ill, sir ?' said she kindly. 
 
 ^' ' Not very. I shall be better when I get into the air.' 
 
 '' ' Mrs. Rose seems sadly put about,' said she, ' she 
 seems so grieved like.' 
 
 '' I watched my opportunity, and went out by the side 
 door in the garden. 
 
256 MR. HARBISON'S COXFESSIOXS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " I HAD intended to ask Mr. Morgan to call at the 
 vicarage, and give his parting explanation before they 
 could hear the report. Now, I thought that if I could 
 see Sophy, I would speak to her myself; but I did not 
 wish to encounter the vicar. I went along the lane at 
 the back of the vicarage, and came suddenly upon Miss 
 Bullock. She coloured, and asked me if I would allow 
 her to speak to me. I could only be resigned ; but I 
 thought I could probably set one report at rest by this 
 conversation. 
 
 " She was almost crying. 
 
 *' ' I must tell you, Mr. Harrison, I have watched yon 
 here in order to speak to you. I heard with the greatest 
 regret of papa's conversation with you yesterday.' She 
 was fairly crying. * I believe Mrs. Bullock finds me in 
 her way, and wants to have me married. It is the only 
 way in which I can account for such a complete misre- 
 presentation as she had told papa. I don't care for you, 
 in the least, sir. You never paid me any attentions. 
 You've been almost rude to me ; and I have liked you 
 the better. That's to say, I never have liked you.' 
 
 " ' I am truly glad to hear what you say,' answered I. 
 * Don't distress yourself. I was sure there was some 
 mistake.' 
 
 " But she cried bitterly. 
 
 " * It is so hard to feel that my marriage — my ab- 
 sence — is desired so earnestly at home. I dread every 
 new acquaintance we form with any gentleman. It is 
 sure to be the beginning of a series of attacks on him, 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 257 
 
 of which everybody must he aware, and to which they 
 may think I am a willing party. But I should not much 
 mind if it were not for the conviction that she wishes me 
 so earnestly away. Oh, my own dear mamma, 3^ou 
 would never ' 
 
 *' She cried more than ever. I was truly sorry for 
 her, and had just taken her hand, and began — ' My dear 
 
 Miss Bullock ' when the door in the wall of the 
 
 vicarage garden opened. It was the vicar letting out 
 Miss Tomkinson, whose face was all swelled with crying. 
 He saw me ; but he did not bow, or make any sign. On 
 the contrary, he looked down as from a severe eminence, 
 and shut the door hastily. I turned to Miss Bullock. 
 
 *' ' I am afraid the vicar has been hearing something 
 to my disadvantage from Miss Tomkinson, and it is very 
 
 awkward ' She finished my sentence — ' To have 
 
 found us here together. Yes, but as long as we under- 
 stand that we do not care for each other, it does not 
 signify what people say.' 
 
 " ' Oh, but to me it does,' said I ! ' I may, perhaps, 
 tell you — but do not mention it to a creature — I am 
 attached to Miss Hutton.' 
 
 " ' To Sophy! Oh, Mr. Harrison, I am so glad; 
 she is such a sweet creature. Oh, I wish you joy.' 
 
 " ' Not yet ; I have never spoken about it.' 
 
 '' ' Oh, but it is certain to happen.' She jumped 
 with a woman's rapidity to a conclusion. And then she 
 began to praise Sophy. Never was a man yet who did 
 not like to hear the praises of his mistress. I walked 
 by her side ; we came past the front of the vicarage 
 together. I looked up, and saw Sophy there, and she 
 saw me. 
 
 17 
 
258 MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIONS. 
 
 '' That afternoon slie was sent away ; sent to visit her 
 aunt ostensibly ; in reality, because of the reports of my 
 conduct, which were showered down upon the "Vicar, and 
 one of which he saw confirmed by his own eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 <' I HEAKD of Sophy's departure as one heard of every- 
 thing, soon after it had taken place. I did not care for 
 the awkwardness of my situation, which had so perplexed 
 and amused me in the morning. I felt that something 
 was wrong ; that Sophy was taken away from me. I 
 sank into despair. If anybody liked to marry me they 
 might. I was willing to be sacrificed. I did not speak 
 to Mrs. Rose. She wondered at me, and grieved over 
 my coldness, I saw ; but I had left off feeling anything. 
 Miss Tomkinson cut me in the street ; and it did not 
 break my heart. Sophy was gone away ; that was all I 
 cared for. Where had they sent her to ? Who was her 
 aunt, that she should go and visit her ? One day I met 
 Lizzie, who looked as though she had been told not to 
 speak to me, but could not help doing so. 
 
 '< ' Have you heard from your sister ? ' said I. 
 
 *' * Yes.' 
 
 *' ' Where is she ? I hope she is well.* 
 
 " ' She is at the Looms (I was not much wiser). Oh 
 yes, she is very well. Fanny says she was at the Assembly 
 last Wednesday, and danced all night with the officers.' 
 
 " I thought I would enter njyself a member of the Peace 
 Society at once. She was a little flirt, and a hard-hearted 
 creature. I don't think I wished Lizzie good-by. 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 *' What most people would have considered a more 
 serious evil than Sophy's absence, befell me. I found 
 that my practice was falling off. The prejudice of the 
 town ran strongly against me. Mrs. Munton told me 
 all that was said. She heard it through Miss Horsman. 
 It was said, — cruel little town, — that my negligence or 
 ignorance had been the cause of Walter's death ; that 
 Miss Tyrrell had become worse under my. treatment; 
 and that John Brouncker was all but dead, if he was not 
 quite, from my mismanagement. All Jack Marshland's 
 jokes and revelations, which had, I thought, gone to 
 oblivion, were raked up to my discredit. He himself, 
 formerly, to my astonishment, rather a iavourite with the 
 good people of Buncombe, was spoken of as one of my 
 disreputable fiiends. 
 
 *'In short, so prejudiced were the good people of 
 Duncombe that I believe a veiy little would have made 
 them suspect me of a brutal highway robbery, which 
 took place in the neighbourhood about this time. Mrs. 
 Munton told me apropos of the robbery — that she had 
 never yet understood the cause of my year's imprison- 
 ment in Newgate ; she had no doubt, from what 
 Mr. Morgan had told her, there was some good reason 
 for it ; but if I would tell her the particulars, she should 
 like to know them. 
 
 *' Miss Tomkinson sent for Mr. White, fi'om Chesterton, 
 to see Miss Caroline ; and, as he was coming over, all 
 our old patients seemed to take advantage of it, and send 
 for him too. 
 
 17—2 
 
260 MR. HARBISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 " But the worst of all was tlie vicar's manner to me. 
 If lie had cut me, I could have asked him why he did so. 
 But the freezing change in his behaviour was indescrib- 
 able, though bitterly felt. I heard of Sophy's gaiety 
 from Lizzie. I thought of writing to her. Just then 
 Mr. Morgan's fortnight of absence expired. I was 
 wearied out by Mrs. Kose's tender vagaries, and took 
 no comfort from her sympathy, which indeed I rather 
 avoided. Her tears ii-ritated, instead of grieving me. 
 I wished I could tell her at once that I had no intention 
 of marrying her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Mr. Morgan had not been at home above two hours 
 before he was sent for to the Vicarage. Sophy had come 
 back, and I had never heard of it. She had come home 
 ill and weary, and longing for rest : and the rest seemed 
 approaching with awful strides. Mr. Morgan forgot all 
 his Parisian adventures, and all his terror of Miss Tom- 
 kinson, when he was sent for to see her. She was ill of 
 . a fever, which made fearful progress. When he told me, 
 I wished to force the Vicarage door, if I might but see 
 her. But I controlled myself; and only cursed my 
 weak indecision, which had prevented my writing to her. 
 It was well I had no patients ; they would have had but 
 a poor chance of attention. I hung about Mr. Morgan, 
 who might see her, and did see her. But from what he 
 told me, I perceived that the measures he was adopting 
 were powerless to check so sudden and violent an illness. 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 261 
 
 Oil ! if tliey would but let me see her. But tliat was 
 out of the question. It was not merely that the Yicar 
 had heard of my character as a gay Lothario, but that 
 doubts had been thrown out of my medical skill. The 
 accounts grew worse. Suddenly, my resolution was 
 taken. Mr. Morgan's very regard for Sophy made him 
 more than usually timid in his practice. I had my horse 
 saddled, and galloped to Chesterton. I took the express 
 
 train to town. I went to Dr. . I told him every 
 
 particular of the case. He listened; but shook his 
 head. He wi'ote down a prescription ; and recommended 
 a new preparation, not yet in full use ; a preparation of 
 a poison, in fact. 
 
 "*It may save her,' said he. ' It is a chance, in 
 such a state of things as you describe. It must be 
 given on the fifth day if the pulse will bear it. Crabbe 
 makes up the preparation most skilfully. Let me hear 
 from you, I beg.' 
 
 " I went to Crabbe's, I begged to make it up myself; 
 but my hands trembled, so that I could not weigh the 
 quantities. I asked the young man to do it for me. I 
 went, without touching food, to the station, with my 
 medicine and my prescription in my pocket. Back we 
 flew through the country. I sprang on Bay Maldon, 
 which my groom had in waiting, and galloped across the 
 country to Buncombe.* 
 
 ^' But I drew bridle when I came to the top of the 
 hill — the hill above the old hall, from which we catch 
 the first glimpse of the town, for I thought within 
 myself that she might be dead ; and I dreaded to come 
 near certainty. The hawthorns were out in the woods, 
 the young lambs were in the meadows, the song of the 
 
262 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 tkruslies filled the air; but it only made the thought 
 the more terrihie. 
 
 " * What, if in this world of hope and life she lies 
 dead ! ' I heard the church bells soft and clear. I 
 sickened to listen. Was it the passing bell ? No ! — 
 it was ringing eight o'clock. I put spurs to my horse, 
 down hill as it was. We dashed into the town. I 
 turned him, saddle and bridle, into the stable-yard, and 
 went off to Mr. Morgan's. 
 
 '^ ' Is she— ? ' said I. * How is she ? ' 
 
 a ' Yeiy ill.- My poor fellow, I see how it is with 
 you. She may live — but I fear. My dear sii', I am 
 very much afraid.' 
 
 "I told him of my journey and consultation with. 
 
 Dr. , and showed him the prescription. His hands 
 
 trembled as he put on his spectacles to read it. 
 
 " * This is a very dangerous medicine, sir,' said he, 
 with his finger under the name of the poison. 
 
 " ' It is a new preparation,' said I. * Dr. relies 
 
 much upon it.' 
 
 *''I dare not administer it,' he replied. 'I have 
 never tried it. It must be very powerful. I dare not 
 play tricks in this case.' 
 
 " I believe I stamped with impatience ; but it was all 
 of no use. My journey had been in vain. The more 
 I urged the imminent danger of tne case requiring some 
 powerful remedy, the more nervous he became. 
 
 " I told him I would throw up the partnership. I 
 threatened him vdth that, though, in fact, it was only 
 what I felt I ought to do, and had resolved upon before 
 Sophy's illness, as I had lost the confidence of his 
 patients. He only said — 
 
MR. harpjson's coxfessioxs. 2G3 
 
 " * I cannot help it, sir. I shall regret it for your 
 father's sake ; but I must do my duty. I dare not run 
 the risk of giving Miss Sophy this violent medicine, — a 
 preparation of a deadly poison.' 
 
 " I left him without a word. He was quite right in 
 adhering to his own views, as I can see now ; but, at 
 the time, I thought him brutal and obstinate. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 *' I WENT home. I spoke rudely to Mrs. Rose, who 
 awaited my return at the door. I rushed past, and 
 locked myself in my room. I could not go to bed. 
 
 " The morning sun came pouring in, and enraged me, 
 as everything did since Mr. Morgan refused. I pulled 
 the blind down so violently that the string broke. "VMiat 
 did it signify ? The light might come in. What was 
 the sun to me ? And then I remembered that that sun 
 might be shining on her, — dead. 
 
 " I sat down and covered my face. Mrs. Rose knocked 
 at the door. I opened it. She had never been in bed, 
 and had been crying too. 
 
 " ' Mr. Morgan wants to speak to you, sir ! ' 
 
 *' I rushed back for my medicine, and went to him. 
 He stood at the door, pale and anxious. 
 
 " ' She's alive, sir,' said he, ' but that's all. We 
 have sent for Dr. Hamilton. I'm afraid he will not 
 come in time. Do you know, sir, I think we should 
 venture — with Dr. 's sanction — to give her that 
 
2G4 MR. haerison's confessions. 
 
 medicine. It is but a cliance ; but it is the only one, 
 I'm afraid.' He fairly cried before lie had ended. 
 
 " ^I've got it here,' said I, setting off to walk; but 
 he could not go so fast. 
 
 '< 'I beg your pardon, sir,' said he, 'for my abrupt 
 refusal last night.' 
 
 *' ' Indeed, sir,' said I ; ' I ought much rather to beg 
 your pardon. I was very violent.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! never mind ! never mind ! Will you repeat 
 what Dr. said ? ' 
 
 "I did so; and then I asked, with a meekness that 
 astonished myself, if I might not go in and administer it. 
 
 *' ' No, sir,' said he, 'I'm afraid not. I am sure 
 your good heart would not wish to give pain. Besides, 
 it might agitate her, if she has any consciousness before 
 death. In her delirium she has often mentioned your 
 name ; and, sir, I'm sure you won't name it again, as 
 it may, in fact, be considered a professional secret ; but 
 I did hear our good Vicar speak a little strongly about 
 you ; in fact, sir, I did hear him curse you. You see 
 the mischief it might make in the parish, I'm sure, if 
 this were known.' 
 
 *' I gave him the medicine, and watched him in, and 
 saw the door shut. I hung about the place all day. 
 Poor and rich all came to inquire. The county people 
 drove up in their carriages, — the halt and the lame 
 came on their crutches. Their anxiety did my heart 
 good. Mr. Morgan told me that she slept, and I 
 watched Dr. Hamilton into the house. The night came 
 on. She slept. I watched round the house. I saw 
 the light high up, burning still and steady. Then I 
 saw it moved. It was the crisis, in one way or other. 
 
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIOifS. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 *' Mr. Morgan came out. Good old man ! The tears 
 were running down his cheeks : he could not speak ; 
 but kept shaking my hands. I did not want words. 
 I understood that she was better. 
 
 " 'Dr. Hamilton says, it was the only medicine that 
 could have saved her. I was an old fool, sir. I beg 
 your pardon. The Vicar shall know all. I beg your 
 pardon, sir, if I was abrupt.' 
 
 *' Everything went on brilliantly from this time. 
 
 *' Mr. Bullock called to apologize for his mistake, and 
 consequent upbraiding. John Brouncker came home, 
 brave and well. 
 
 " There was still Miss Tomkinson in the ranks of the 
 enemy ; and Mrs. Hose too much, I feared, in the 
 ranks of the fiiends. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 *' One night she had gone to bed, and I was thinking 
 of going. I had been studying in the back room, 
 where I went for refuge from her in the present position 
 of affaii's ; (I read a good number of surgical books 
 about this time, and also Vanity Fair,) when I heard 
 a loud, long- continued knocking at the door, enough to 
 waken the whole street. Before I could get to open it, 
 I heard that well-known bass of Jack Marshland's, once 
 heard never to be forgotten, pipe up the negro song, 
 " ' Who's dat knocking at de door ? ' 
 
266 ME. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 " Though it was raining hard at the time, and I stood 
 waiting to let him in, he would finish his melody in the 
 open air ; loud and clear along the street it sounded. I 
 saw Miss Tomkinson's night-capped head emerge from 
 a window. She called out ' Police ! police ! ' 
 
 " Now there were no police, only a rheumatic con- 
 stable in the town ; but it was the custom of the ladies, 
 when alanned at night, to call an imaginaiy police, 
 which had, they thought, an intimidating effect ; but 
 as every one knew the real state of the unwatched town, 
 we did not much mind it in general. Just now, however, 
 I wanted to regain my character. So I pulled Jack in, 
 quavering as he entered. 
 
 " 'You've spoilt a good shake,' said he, 'that's what 
 you have. I'm nearly up to Jenny Lind ; and you see 
 I'm a nightingale, like her.' 
 
 " We sat up late ; and I don't know how it was, but 
 I told him all my matrimonial misadventures. 
 
 '' 'I thought I could imitate your hand pretty well," 
 said he. * My word ! it was a flaming valentine ! No 
 wonder she thought you loved her ! ' 
 
 '''So that was your doing, was it? Now I'll tell 
 you what you shall do to make up for it. You shall 
 write me a letter confessing your hoax — a letter that I can 
 show.' 
 
 " ' Give me pen and paper, my boy ! you shall dictate. 
 " With a deeply penitent heart — " will that do for a 
 beginning ? ' 
 
 " I told him what to write ; a simple, straightforward 
 confession of his practical joke. I enclosed it in a few 
 lines of regret that, unknown to me, any of my friends 
 should have so acted. 
 
::ii. hakrison's confessioxs. 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 *' All this time I knew that Sophy was slowly recovering. 
 One day I met Miss Bullock, who had seen her. 
 
 *' ' We have been talking about you,' said she, with a 
 bright smile ; for since she knew I disliked her, she 
 felt quite at her ease, and could smile very pleasantly. 
 I understood that she had been explaining the misunder- 
 standing about herself to Sophy; so that when Jack 
 Marshland's note had been sent to Miss Tomkinson's, 
 I thought myself in a fair way to have my character 
 established in two quarters. But the third was my 
 dilemma. Mrs. Piose had really so much of my tme 
 regard for her good qualities, that I disliked the idea 
 of a formal explanation, in which a good deal must be 
 said on my side to wound her. We had become veiy 
 much estranged ever since I had heard of this report 
 of my engagement to her. I saw that she grieved over 
 it. "While Jack Marshland stayed with us, I felt at 
 my ease in the presence of a third person. But he 
 told me confidentially he durst not stay long, for fear 
 some of the ladies should snap him up, and maiTy him. 
 Indeed I myself did not think it unlikely that he would 
 snap one of them up if he could. For when we met Miss 
 Bullock one day, and heard her hopeful, joyous account 
 of Sophy's progi-ess (to whom she vras a daily visitor), 
 he asked me who that bright-looking girl was ? And 
 when I told him she was the Miss Bullock of whom I 
 had spoken to him, he was pleased to observe that he 
 thought I had been a great fool, and asked me if Sophy 
 had anj-thing like such splendid eyes. He made me 
 
268 MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 
 
 repeat about Miss Bullock's unhappy circumstances at 
 home, and then became very thoughtful — a most unusual 
 and morbid symptom in his case. 
 
 *' Soon after he went, by Mr. Morgan's kind offices 
 and explanations, I was pennitted to see Sophy. I 
 might not speak much ; it was prohibited for fear 
 of agitating her. We talked of the weather and the 
 flowers ; and we were silent. But her little white thin 
 hand lay in mine ; and we understood each other without 
 words. I had a long interview with the Vicar after- 
 wards ; and came away glad and satisfied. 
 
 *' Mr. Morgan called in the afternoon, evidently 
 anxious, though he made no direct inquiries (he was too 
 polite for that), to hear the result of my visit at the 
 Yicarage. I told him to give me joy. He shook me 
 warmly by the hand ; and then rubbed his own together. 
 I thought I would consult him about my dilemma with 
 Mrs. Rose, who, I was afraid, would be deeply affected 
 by my engagement. 
 
 " ' There is only one awkward circumstance,' said I, — 
 ' about Mrs. Rose.' I hesitated how to word the fact 
 of her having received congi-atulations on her supposed 
 engagement with me, and her manifest attachment ; but, 
 before I could speak, he broke in. 
 
 " ' My dear sir, you need not trouble yourself about 
 that ; she will have a home. In fact, sir,' said he, red- 
 dening a little, ' I thought it would, perhaps, put a stop 
 to those reports connecting my name with Miss Tomkin- 
 son's, if I married some one else. I hoped it might 
 prove an efficacious contradiction. And I was struck 
 with admiration for Mrs. Rose's undying memory of her 
 late husband. Not to be prolix, I have this morning 
 
jSIR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS. 269 
 
 Obtained Mrs. Rose's consent to — ^to marry her, in fact, 
 sir ! ' said he, jerking out the climax. 
 
 '' Here was an event ! Then Mr. Morgan had never 
 heard the report ahout Mrs. Rose and me. (To this 
 day, I think she would have taken me, if I had pro- 
 posed.) So much the hetter. 
 
 " Marriages were in the fashion that year. Mr. 
 Bullock met me one morning, as I was going to ride 
 with Sophy. He and I had quite got over our mis- 
 understanding, thanks to Jemima, and were as friendly 
 as ever. This morning he was chuckling aloud as he 
 walked. 
 
 *' 'Stop, Mr. Harrison! ' he said, as I went quickly 
 past. * Have you*heard the news ? Miss Horsman has 
 just told me Miss Caroline has eloped with young 
 Hoggins ! She is ten years older than he is ! How can 
 her gentility like being married to a tallow-chandler? 
 It is a very good thing for her, though,' he added, in a 
 more serious manner ; * Old Hoggins is very rich ; and 
 though he's angry just now, he will soon be reconciled.' 
 
 " Any vanity I might have entertained on the score of 
 the three ladies who were, at one time, said to be cap- 
 tivated by my charms, was being rapidly dispersed. 
 Soon after Mr. Hoggins' marriage, I met Miss Tomkin- 
 son face to face, for the first time since our memorable 
 conversation. She stopped me, and said, — 
 
 "'Don't refuse to receive my congratulations, Mr. 
 Harrison, on your most happy engagement to Miss 
 Hutton. I owe you an apology, too, for my behaviour 
 when I last saw you at our house. I really did think 
 Caroline was attached to you then ; and it irritated me, 
 I confess, in a very wrong and unjustifiable way. But I 
 
270 Mil. haheison's confessioxs. 
 
 heard her telling Mr. Hoggins only yesterday that she 
 had heen attached to him for years ; ever since he was 
 in pinafores, she dated it from ; and when I asked her 
 afterwards how she could say so, after her distress on 
 hearing that false report about you and Mrs. Eose, she 
 cried, and said I never had understood her ; and that 
 the hysterics which alarmed me so much, were simply 
 caused by eating pickled cucumber. I am very sorry for 
 my stupidity, and improper way of speaking ; but I hope 
 we are friends now, Mr. Harrison, for I should wish to 
 be liked by Sophy's husband.' 
 
 •' Good Miss Tomkinson ! to believe the substitution 
 of indigestion for disappointed affection. I shook her 
 warmly by the hand ; and we have b6en all right ever 
 since. I think I told you she is baby's godmother." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 *' I HAD some difficulty in persuading Jack Marshland to 
 be groomsman ; but when he heard all the arrangements, 
 he came. Miss Bullock was bridesmaid. He liked us 
 all so well, that he came again at Christmas, and was 
 far better behaved than he had been the year before. 
 He won golden opinions indeed. Miss Tomkinson said 
 he was a refonned young man. We dined all together at 
 Mr. Morgan's (the Vicar wanted us to go there ; but, 
 from what Sophy told me, Helen was not confident of 
 the mincemeat, and rather dreaded so large a party). 
 We had a jolly day of it. Mrs. Morgan was as kind 
 
MR. HARRISON'S COXFESSIOXS. 271 
 
 and motherly as ever. Miss Horsman certainly did set 
 out a story that the Vicar was thinking of Miss Tomkin- 
 son for his second ; or else, I think, we had no other 
 report circulated in consequence of our happy, meriy 
 Christmas-day; and it is a wonder, considering how 
 Jack Marshland went on with Jemima. 
 
 *' Here Sophy came back from putting baby to bed; 
 and Charles wakened up." 
 
( 272 ) 
 
 THE SEXTON'S HEEO. 
 
 The afternoon sun shed down his glorioHS rays on the 
 grassy churchyard, making the shadow, cast by the old 
 yew-tree under which we sat, seem deeper and deeper by 
 contrast. The everlasting hum of myriads of summer 
 insects made luxurious lullaby. 
 
 Of the view that lay beneath our gaze, I cannot speak 
 adequately. The foreground was the grey- stone wall of 
 the vicarage -garden ; rich in the colouring made by in- 
 numerable lichens, fems, ivy of most tender green and 
 most delicate tracery, and the vivid scarlet of the crane's- 
 bill, which found a home in every nook and crevice — and 
 at the summit of that old wall flaunted some unpruned 
 tendrils of the vine, and long flower-laden branches of 
 the climbing rose-tree, trained against the inner side. 
 Beyond, lay meadow green, and mountain grey, and the 
 blue dazzle of Morecambe Bay, as it sparkled between 
 us and the more distant view. 
 
 For a while we were silent, living in sight and mur- 
 muring sound. Then Jeremy took up our conversation 
 
THE sexton's hero. 273 
 
 where, suddenly feeling weariness, as we saw that deep 
 green shadowy resting-place, we had ceased speaking a 
 quarter of an hour before. 
 
 It is one of the luxuries of holiday-time that thoughts 
 are not rudely shaken from us by outward violence of 
 hurry and busy impatience, but fall maturely from our 
 lips in the sunny leisure of our days. The stock may 
 be bad, but the fruit is ripe. 
 
 " How would you then define a hero ?" I asked. 
 
 There was a long pause, and I had almost forgotten 
 my question in watching a clcud-shadow floating over 
 the far-away hills, when Jeremy made answer : 
 
 " My idea of a hero is one who acts up to the highest 
 idea of duty he has been able to form, no matter at 
 what sacrifice. I think that by this definition, we may 
 include all phases of character, even to the heroes of 
 old, whose sole (and to us, low) idea of duty consisted 
 in personal prowess." 
 
 " Then you would even admit the military heroes ?" 
 asked I. 
 
 " I would ; with a certain kind of pity for the circum- 
 stances which had given them no higher ideas of duty. 
 Still, if they sacrificed self to do what they sincerely 
 believed to be right, I do not think I could deny them 
 the title of hero." 
 
 '' A poor, unchristian heroism, whose manifestation 
 consists in injury to others ! " I said. 
 
 We were both startled by a third voice. 
 
 '' If I might make so bold, sir" — and then the 
 speaker stopped. 
 
 It was the Sexton, whom, when we first arrived, we 
 had noticed, as an accessory to the scene, but whom we 
 
 18 
 
274 THE sexton's hero. 
 
 had forgotten, as much as though he were as inanimate 
 as one of the moss-covered head-stones. 
 
 " If I might be so bold," said he again, waiting leave 
 to speak. Jeremy bowed in deference to his white, un- 
 covered head. And so encouraged, he went on. 
 
 " What that gentleman" (alluding to my last speech) 
 *' has just now said, brings to my mind one who is dead 
 and gone this many a year ago. I, may be, have not 
 rightly understood your meaning, gentlemen, but as far 
 as I could gather it, I think you'd both have given in to 
 thinking poor Gilbert Dawson a hero. At any rate," 
 said he, heaving a long quivering sigh, " I have reason 
 to think him so." 
 
 " Will you take a seat, sir, and tell us about him ?" 
 said Jeremy, standing up until the old man was seated. 
 I confess I felt impatient at the interruption. 
 
 " It will be forty-five year come Martinmas," said 
 the Sexton, sitting down on a grassy mound at our 
 feet, " since I finished my 'prenticeship, and settled 
 down at Lindal. You can see Lindal, sir, at evenings 
 and mornings across the bay ; a little to the right of 
 Grange; at least, I used to see it, many a time and 
 oft, afore my sight grew so dark : and I have spent 
 many a quarter of an hour a -gazing at it far away, and 
 thinking of the days I lived there, till the tears came so 
 thick to my eyes, I could gaze no longer. I shall never 
 look upon it again, either far-off or near, but you may 
 see it, both ways, and a terrible bonny spot it is. In my 
 young days, when I went to settle there, it was full of as 
 wild a set of young fellows as ever were clapped eyes on ; 
 all for fighting, poaching, quarrelling, and such like 
 work. I were startled myself when I first found what 
 
THE sexton's hero. 275 
 
 a set I were among, but soon I began to fall into tlieir 
 ways, and I ended by being as rough a cbap as any on 
 'em. I'd been there a matter of two year, and were 
 reckoned by most the cock of the village, when Gilbert 
 Dawson, as I was speaking of, came to Lindal. He 
 were about as strapping a chap as I was, (I used to 
 be six feet high, though now I'm so shrunk and 
 doubled up,) and, as we were like in the same trade 
 (both used to prepare osiers and wood for the Liver- 
 pool coopers, who get a deal of stuff from the copses 
 round the bay, sir,) we were thrown together, and 
 took mightily to each other. I put my best leg fore- 
 most to be equal with Gilbert, for I'd had some 
 schooling, though since I'd been at Lindal I'd lost a 
 good part of what I'd learnt; and I kept my rough 
 ways out of sight for a time, I felt so ashamed of his 
 getting to know them. But that did not last long. I 
 began to think he fancied a girl I dearly loved, but 
 who had always held off from me. Eh ! but she was 
 a pretty one in those days ! There's none like her, 
 now. I think I see her going along the road with her 
 dancing tread, and shaking back her long yellow curls, 
 to give me or any other young fellow a saucy word ; no 
 wonder Gilbert was taken with her, for all he was grave, 
 and she so merry and light. But I began to think she 
 liked him again ; and then my blood was all afire. I 
 got to hate him for everything he did. Afore-time I had 
 stood by, admiring to see him, how he leapt, and what a 
 quoiter and cricketer he was. And now I ground my 
 teeth with hatred whene'er he did a thing which caught 
 Letty's eye. I could read it in her look that she liked 
 him, for all she held herself just as high with him as 
 
 18—2 
 
276 THE sexton's hero. 
 
 witli all tlie rest. Lord God forgive me ! how I hated 
 that man." 
 
 He spoke as if the hatred were a thing of yesterday, 
 so clear within his memory were shown the actions and 
 feelings of his youth. And then he dropped his voice, 
 and said : 
 
 '' Well ! I began to look out to pick a quarrel with 
 him, for my blood was up to fight him. If I beat him, 
 (and I were a rare boxer in those days,) I thought 
 Letty would cool towards him. So one evening at 
 quoits (I'm sure I don't know how or why, but large 
 doings grow out of small words) I fell out with him, 
 and challenged him to fight. I could see he were 
 very wi'oth by his colour coming and going — and, as 
 I said before, he were a fine active young fellow. But 
 all at once he drew in, and said he would not fight. 
 Such a yell as the Lindal lads, who were watching us, 
 set up ! I hear it yet. I could na' help but fed sony 
 for him, to be so scorned, and I thought he'd not rightly 
 taken my meaning, and I'd give him another chance ; 
 so I said it again, and dared him, as plain as words 
 could speak, to fight out the quarrel. He told me then, 
 he had no quarrel against me ; that he might have said 
 something to put me up ; he did not know that he had, 
 but that if he had, he asked pardon ; but that he would 
 not fight no-how. 
 
 " 1 was so full of scorn at his cowardliness, that I 
 was vexed I'd given him the second chance, and I joined 
 in the yell that was set up, twice as bad as before. He 
 stood it out, his teeth set, and looking very white, and 
 when we were silent for want of breath, he said out loud, 
 but in a hoarse voice, quite different from his own — 
 
THE sexton's hero. 277 
 
 *"I cannot fight, because I think it is wrong to 
 quarrel, and use violence.' 
 
 " Then he turned to go away ; I were so beside 
 mj^self with scorn and hate, that I called out, — 
 
 "'Tell truth, lad, at least; if thou dare not fight, 
 dunnot go and tell a lie about it. Mother's moppet is 
 afraid of a black eye, pretty dear. It shannot be hui't, 
 but it munnot tell lies.' 
 
 " Well, they laughed, but I could not laugh. It 
 seemed such a thing for a stout young chap to be a 
 coward, and afraid ! 
 
 " Before the sun had set, it was talked of all over 
 Lindal, how I had challenged Gilbert to fight, and how 
 he'd denied me ; and the folks stood at their doors, 
 and looked at him going up the hill to his home, as if 
 he'd been a monkey or a foreigner, — but no one wished 
 him good e'en. Such a thing as refusing to fight had 
 never been heard of afore at Lindal. Next day, however, 
 they had found voice. The men muttered the word 
 ' coward ' in his hearing, and kept aloof ; the women 
 tittered as he passed, and the little impudent lads and 
 lasses shouted out, ' How long is it sin' thou turned 
 quaker ? ' ' Good-by, Jonathan Broad-brim,' and such 
 like jests. 
 
 " That evening I met him, with Letty by his side, 
 coming up from the shore. She was almost crying as 
 I came upon them at the turn of the lane ; and looking 
 up in his face, as if begging him something. And so 
 she was, she told me it after. For she did really like 
 him ; and could not abide to hear him scorned by every 
 one lor being a coward ; and she, coy as she was, all 
 but told him that very night that she loved him, and 
 
278 THE sexton's hero. 
 
 begged him not to disgrace himself, but fight me as I'd 
 dared him to. When he still stuck to it he could not, 
 for that it was wrong, she was so vexed and mad-like at 
 the way she'd spoken, and the feelings she'd let out to 
 coax him, that she said more stinging things about his 
 being a coward than all the rest put together, (according 
 to what she told me, sir, afterwards,) and ended by 
 saying she'd never speak to him again, as long as she 
 lived ; — she did once again though, — her blessing was 
 the last human speech that reached his ear in his wild 
 death struggle. 
 
 '' But much happened afore that time. From the day 
 I met them walking, Letty turned towards me ; I could 
 see a part of it was to spite Gilbert, for she'd be twice as 
 kind when he was near, or likely to hear of it ; but by- 
 and-by she get to like me for my own sake, and it was 
 all settled for our marriage. Gilbert kept aloof from 
 every one, and fell into a sad, careless way. His very 
 gait was changed ; his step used to be brisk and 
 sounding, and now his foot lingered heavily on the 
 ground. I used to try and daunt him with my eye, 
 but he would always meet my look in a steady, quiet 
 way, for all so much about him was altered ; the lads 
 would not play with him ; and as soon as he found he 
 was to be slighted by them whenever he came to quoiting 
 or cricket, he just left off coming. 
 
 " The old clerk was the only one he kept company 
 with ; or perhaps, rightly to speak, the only one who 
 would keep company with him. They got so thick at 
 last, that old Jonas would say, Gilbert had gospel on 
 his side, and did no more than gospel told him to do ; 
 but we none of us gave much credit to what he said, 
 
THE sexton's hero. 279 
 
 more by token our vicar had a brother, a colonel in the 
 army ; and as we threeped it many a time to Jonas, 
 would he set himself up to know the gospel better 
 than the yicar ? that would be putting the cart afore 
 the horse, like the French radicals. And if the 
 vicar had thought quarrelling and fighting wicked, and 
 again the Bible, would he have made so much work 
 about all the victories, that were as plenty as black- 
 berries at that time of day, and kept the little bell of 
 Lindal church for ever ringing ; or would he have 
 thought so much of ' my brother the colonel,' as he was 
 always talking on ? 
 
 " After I was married to Letty I left ofi" hating Gilbert. 
 I even kind of pitied him — he was so scorned and 
 slighted ; and for all he'd a bold look about him, as if 
 he were not ashamed, he seemed pining and shrunk. 
 It's a wearying thing to be kept at arm's length by 
 one's kind ; and so Gilbert found it, poor fellow. The 
 little children took to him, though; they'd be round 
 about him like a swarm of bees — them as was too young 
 to know what a coward was, and only felt that he was 
 ever ready to love and to help them, and was never loud 
 or cross, however naughty they might be. After a while 
 we had our little one too ; such a blessed darling she 
 was, and dearly did we love her ; Letty in especial, who 
 seemed to get all the thought I used to think sometimes 
 she wanted, after she had her baby to care for. 
 
 " All my kin lived on this side the bay, up above 
 Kellet. Jane (that's her that lies buried near yon white 
 rose-tree) was to be married, and nought would serve 
 her but that Letty and I must come to the wedding; 
 for all my sisters loved Letty, she had such winning 
 
280 THE sexton's hero. 
 
 ways with her. Letty did not like to leave her baby, 
 nor yet did I want her to take it : so, after a talk, we 
 fixed to leave it with Letty's mother for the afternoon. 
 I could see her heart ached a bit, for she'd never left it 
 till then, and she seemed to fear all manner of evil, even 
 to the French coming and taking it away. Well ! we 
 borrowed a shandry, and harnessed my old grey mare, 
 as I used in th' cart, and set off as grand as King George 
 across the Sands about three o'clock, for you see it were 
 high water about twelve, and we'd to go and come back 
 same tide, as Letty could not leave her baby for long. 
 It were a merry afternoon, were that ; last time I ever saw 
 Letty laugh heartily ; and for that matter, last time I ever 
 laughed downright hearty myself. The latest crossing 
 time fell about nine o'clock, and we were late at starting. 
 Clocks were wrong ; and we'd a piece of work chasing a 
 pig father had given Letty to take home ; we bagged him 
 at last, and he screeched and screeched in the back part 
 o' th' shandry, and we laughed and they laughed ; and in 
 the midst of all the merriment the sun set, and that 
 sober'd us a bit, for then we knew what time it was. I 
 whipped the old mare, but she was a deal beener than 
 she was in the morning, and would neither go quick up 
 nor down the brows, and they're not a few 'twixt Kellet 
 and the shore. On the sands it were worse. They were 
 very heavy, for the fresh had come down after the rains 
 we'd had. Lord ! how I did whip the poor mare, to make 
 the most of the red light as yet lasted. You, maybe, 
 don't know the Sands, gentlemen. From Bolton side, 
 where we started from, it is better than six mile to Cart- 
 lane, and two channels to cross, let alone holes and quick- 
 sands. At the second channel from us the guide waits. 
 
THE sexton's hero. 281 
 
 all during crossing time from sunrise to sunset ; — but for 
 the three hours on each side high water he's not there, 
 in course. He stays after sunset if he's forespoken, 
 not else. So now you know where we were that awful 
 night. For we'd crossed the first channel about two 
 mile, and it were growing darker and darker above and 
 around us, all but one red line of light above the hills, 
 when we came to a hollow (for all the Sands look so 
 flat, there's many a hollow in them where you lose all 
 sight of the shore). We were longer than we should 
 ha' been in crossing the hollow, the sand was so quick ; 
 and when we came up again, there, again the blackness, 
 was the white line of the rushing tide coming up the 
 bay ! It looked not a mile from us ; and when the 
 wind blows up the bay, it comes swifter than a galloping 
 horse. ' Lord help us ! ' said I ; and then I were sorry 
 I'd spoken, to frighten Letty, but the words were crushed 
 out of my heart by the terror. I felt her shiver up by 
 my side, and clutch my coat. And as if the pig (as 
 had screeched himself hoarse some time ago) had found 
 out the danger we were all in, he took to squealing 
 again, enough to bewilder any man. I cursed him 
 between my teeth for his noise ; and yet it was God's 
 answer to my prayer, blind sinner as I was. Ay ! you 
 may smile, sir, but God can work through many a 
 scornful thing, if need be. 
 
 " By this time the mare were all in a lather, and 
 trembling and panting, as if in mortal fright ; for though 
 we were on the last bank afore the second channel, the 
 water was gathering up her legs ; and she^so tired out ! 
 When we came close to the channel she stood still, and 
 not all my flogging could get her to stir; she fairly groaned 
 
282 THE sexton's hero. 
 
 aloud, and shook in a terrible quaking way. Till now Letty 
 had not spoken ; only held my coat tightly. I heard her 
 say something, and bent down my head. 
 
 *' 'I think, John — I think — I shall never see baby 
 again ! ' 
 
 '' And then she sent up such a cry — so loud and shrill, 
 and pitiful ! It fairly maddened me. I pulled out my 
 knife to spur on the old mare, that it might end one way 
 or the other, for the water was stealing sullenly up to 
 the very axle tree, let alone the white waves that knew 
 no mercy in their steady advance. That one quarter of an 
 hour, sir, seemed as long as all my life since. Thoughts, 
 and fancies, and dreams, and memory, ran into each 
 other. The mist, the heavy mist, that was like a ghastly 
 curtain, shutting us in for death, seemed to bring with it 
 the scents of the flowers that grew around our own 
 threshold ; — it might be, for it was falling on them like 
 blessed dew, though to us it was a shroud. Letty told 
 me at after, she heard her baby crying for her, above the 
 gurgling of the rising waters, as plain as ever she heard 
 anything ; but the sea-birds were skirling, and the pig 
 shrieking ; I never caught it ; it was miles away, at any 
 rate. 
 
 " Just as I'd gotten my knife out, another sound was 
 close upon us, blending with the gurgle of the near 
 waters, and the roar of the distant ; (not so distant 
 though ;) we could hardly see, but we thought we saw 
 something black against the deep lead colour of wave, 
 and mist, and sky. It neared, and neared : with slow, 
 steady motion, it came across the channel right to where 
 we were. 
 
 God ! it was Gilbert Dawson on his strong bay horse. 
 
THE sexton's hero. 283 
 
 '' Few words did we speak, and little time had we to 
 say tliem in. I had no knowledge at that moment of 
 past or future — only of one present thought — how to 
 save Letty, and, if I could, myself. I only remembered 
 afterwards that Gilbert said he had been guided by an 
 animal's shriek of terror; I only heard when all was 
 over, that he had been uneasy about our return, because 
 of the depth of fresh, and had borrowed a pillion, and 
 saddled his horse early in the evening, and ridden down 
 to Cart-lane to watch for us. If all had gone well, we 
 should ne'er have heard of it. As it was, old Jonas 
 told it, the tears down-dropping from his withered cheeks. 
 
 *' We fastened his horse to the shandiy. We lifted 
 Letty to the pilHon. The waters rose eveiy instant 
 with sullen sound. They were all but in the shandiy. 
 Letty clung to the pillion handles, but drooped her head 
 as if she had yet no hope of life. Swifter than thought, 
 (and yet he might have had time for thought and for 
 temptation, sir: — if he had ridden off with Letty, he 
 would have been saved not me,) Gilbert was in the 
 shandry by my side. 
 
 " ' Quick ! ' said he, clear and firm, ' You must ride 
 before her, and keep her up. The horse can swim. By 
 God's mercy I will follow. I can cut the traces, and if 
 the mare is not hampered with the shandi-y, she'll carry 
 me safely through. At any rate, you are a husband and 
 a father. No one cares for me.' 
 
 " Do not hate me, gentlemen. I often wish that 
 night was a dream. It has haunted my sleep ever since 
 like a di'eam, and yet it was no dream. I took his place 
 on the saddle, and put Letty's arms around me, and felt 
 her head rest on my shoulder. I trust in God I spoke 
 
284 THE sexton's hero. 
 
 some word of thanks ; but I can't remember. I only 
 recollect Liettj raising her head, and calling out, — 
 
 " God bless you, Gilbert Dawson, for saving my baby 
 from being an orphan this night.' And then she fell 
 against me, as if unconscious. 
 
 "■ I bore her thi'ough ; or, rather, the strong horse 
 swam bravely through the gathering waves. We were 
 (kipping wet when we reached the banks in-shore ; but 
 we could have but one thought — where was Gilbert ? 
 Thick mists and heaving waters compassed us round. 
 Where was he ? We shouted. Letty, faint as she was, 
 raised her voice and shouted, clear and shrill. No 
 answer came, the sea boomed on with ceaseless sullen 
 beat. I rode to the guide's house. He was a-bed, and 
 would not get up, though I offered him more than I was 
 worth. Perhaps he knew it, the cursed old villain ! At 
 any rate I'd have paid it if I'd toiled my life long. He 
 said I might take his horn and welcome. I did, and 
 blew such a blast through the still, black night, the 
 echoes came back upon the heavy air: but no human 
 voice or sound v>^as heard ; that wild blast could not 
 awaken the dead. 
 
 "I took Letty home to her baby, over whom she 
 wept the live -long night. I rode back to the shore 
 about Cart-lane ; and to and fro, with weary march, did 
 I pace along the brink of the waters, now and then 
 shouting out into the silence a vain cry for Gilbert. 
 The waters went back and left no trace. Two days 
 afterwards he was washed ashore near Flukeborough. 
 The shandry and poor old mare were lound half-buried 
 in a heap of sand by Arnside Knot. As far as we could 
 guess, he had dropped his knife while trying to cut the 
 
THE sexton's hero. 285 
 
 traces, and so had lost all chance of life. Any rate, 
 the knife -^-as found in a cleft of the shaft. 
 
 ** His friends came over from Garstang to his funeral. 
 I wanted to go chief mourner, but it was not my right, 
 and I might not ; though I've never done mourning him 
 to this day. When his sister packed up his things, 
 I begged hard for something that had been his. She 
 would give me none of his clothes (she was a right-down 
 having woman), as she had boys of her own, who might 
 grow up into them. But she threw me his Bible, as she 
 said they'd gotten one already, and his were but a poor 
 used-up thing. It was his, and so I cared for it. It 
 were a black leather one, with pockets at the sides, old- 
 fashioned-wise ; and in one were a bunch of wild flowers, 
 Letty said she could almost be sure were some she had 
 once given him. 
 
 *' There were many a text in the Gospel, marked 
 broad with his carpenter's pencil, which more than bore 
 him out in his refusal to fight. Of a surety, sir, there's 
 call enough for bravery in the service of God, and to 
 show love to man, without quarrelling and fighting. 
 
 " Thank you, gentlemen, for listening to me. Your 
 words called up the thoughts of him, and my heart was 
 full to speaking. But I must make up ; I've to dig a 
 grave for a little child, who is to be buried to-morrow 
 morning, just when his playmates are trooping off to 
 school." 
 
 <* But tell us of Letty; is she yet alive?" asked 
 Jeremy. 
 
 The old man shook his head, and struggled against a 
 choking sigh. After a minute's pause he said, — 
 
 " She died in less than two year at after that night. 
 
286 THE sexton's hero. 
 
 She was never like the same again. She would sit 
 thinking, on Gilbert, I guessed ; but I could not blame 
 her. We had a boy, and we named it Gilbert Dawson 
 Knipe; he thafs stoker on the London railway. Our 
 girl was earned off in teething, and Letty just quietly 
 drooped, and died in less than a six week. They were 
 buried here ; so I came to be near them, and away from 
 Lindal, a place I could never abide after Letty was 
 gone." 
 
 He turned to his work, and we, having rested suffi- 
 ciently, rose up, and came away. 
 
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