THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 TALKS. POEMS, 
 
 AMI 
 
 ft p y Ti \ K ^ ft p ■«• ■*■ » » 
 
 in 
 
 EMiiA Holmes: 
 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE MAKKHAM TWEDDELL. 
 
 Fellow of the Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries Copenhagen; Oor- 
 l of the Royal Historical Society, London; Member 
 i S iciety, and of the Archaeological and Architectural 
 S cietyof Durham and Northumberland; Honorary Member 
 i Manchesti r Literary Club, and of the Whitby Literary 
 and Philosophical Society; late Pell >w of the Societie 
 of Antiquaries of Sc tUandand of Newcastle on-Tyne, 
 Member uf the K yal Archaeological Institute oi 
 Great Britain and Ireland, the Yorkshire Ar- 
 shi il Zealand Topographical Society, the 
 Tyneside Naturalists' Field Club, the 
 Berwickshire Naturalists' Club, 
 *c, &c. 
 
 Supplied to Subscribers only. 
 
 STOKESLEY: TWEDDELL AND SONS 
 J. GOULD PRINTER, MIDDL^SBROl GH
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 Any pecuniary profit that may be derived from the publication 
 of the present volume, or of a contemplated Secjnd Series of 
 Tales, Poems, and Masonic Papers, by Emra Holmes, will 
 be presented to a Brother Freemason, who has been unexpectedly 
 plunged in poverty in the declining years of his life. 
 
 Editors of Magazines or Newspapers who may notice the present 
 volume, whether favourably or otherwise will much oblige by send- 
 ing a copy of their Eeview to the Publishers.
 
 ?R 
 
 TO 
 
 CJje ftic$t Smtmirafcle 8rtfmr $f)iltp, 
 
 Uiscouni Sfanbopc of Paljoir ana $;iran f tauljopc of 
 
 (£I6aston, 
 
 THIS LITTLE BOOK 
 IS D E D I CATE D, 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF ~RATITUDE FOE MANY COURTESIES 
 RECEIVED AT Ills HANDS, BY 
 
 J I is Lordship's 
 
 Very obedient Servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 Fowkt, Cornwall, 
 
 1S77. 

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page. 
 
 Biographical Sketch of the Author. ... 3 
 
 Tales. 
 
 The Lady Muriel ... ... ... ... ... 17 
 
 Gerard Montagu, a Winter's Tale ... ... ... 49 
 
 Ernest Blake, a Christmas Story ... ... ... 83 
 
 Waiting fur Her, a Mesmerist's Story ... ... ... 10G 
 
 Hopelessly ; or Madge .Raymond's Midnight Hide, and what 
 
 came of it ... ... ... ... ... 136 
 
 Poems. 
 
 Hubert and Ida. a Legend of St. Swithin's Eve ... ... 41 
 
 Autumn ... ... ... ... ... ... 81 
 
 A Thought on a Summer Sea ... ... ... ... 82 
 
 " Only a Christmas Eoso " ... ... ... ...103 
 
 A Stricken Heart ... ... ... ... ... 133 
 
 Old Truths ... ... ... ... ... 167 
 
 Masonic Papers. 
 
 .\"tes on the old Minute Books of the British Union Lodge, 
 
 No. 114, Ipswich; First Minute Book ... ... ...168 
 
 Do. Second Minute Book... ... ... 186 
 
 Do. Third Minute Book ... ... ... 200
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 OF 
 
 MR. EMRA HOLMES. 
 
 During the summer of 1839, among the visitors to the pleasant 
 village of Old Cleeve, in Somersetshire (where William de 
 Romara founded a Cistercian monastery, in 1 188, in honour of the 
 Virgin Mary, some small portion of which yet remains, part hav- 
 ing been turned into a private residence — where green fields, and 
 orchards, and woodlands, supply numerous pretty pastoral pic- 
 tures — and where the craggy cliffs and wild waves of the Bristol 
 Channel, with every description of vessel bound for, or returning 
 from, all parts of the globe, afford plentiful scope for marine 
 news), an artist and hi»- wife might have been observed — both, 
 apparently, in the full flush of life — enjoying alike the pure air 
 and the beauty of the surrounding scenery. They were a happy 
 and a loving pair, full of high tastes and virtuous aspirations ; at 
 peac2 with God and all His creatures ; and delighting most in each 
 other's society. Humble as they were good and gifted (and that 
 lady's pen was known as far, at least, as her husband's pencil), 
 they made sunshine wherever they went; for every one felt 
 better for having known them. Their creed might, or might not, 
 be our creed, gentle reader; their politics might, or might not, 
 be our party politics; but their living, practical piety was such 
 as would recommend them to all with whom true devotion is 
 more than their own narrow notions of theology ; and their noble 
 love of country, and strong sympathies with the poo* under every 
 possible affliction, could not but endear them to all true patriots, 
 under whatever banner they might range themselves in the body 
 politic. Instead of inviting rich neighbours to a wedding-feast, 
 they gave bread to the poor. Unable to carry out the now too- 
 little-hccded religion injunction of feeding the poor on the same 
 large scale as good Bernard Gilpin, •■ the Apostle of the North, - ' 
 was accustomed to do in his hallowed manse at Houghton-lc-
 
 4 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 Spring,* in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, they did their little 
 well every week, in their small cottage-kitchen at home, both to 
 old people and to young children ; reminding me forcibly of that 
 fine passage in Sterne's Tristram Shandy (a book, I suppose, I 
 should be ashamed of quoting after Thackeray's cutting criticism 
 of the author in his English Humourists'): — "' Prithee, Trim,' 
 quoth my father, turning round to him, ' What dost thou mean 
 by honouring thy father and mother ? ' — ' Allowing them, an' 
 please your honour, three halfpence a day out of my pay, when 
 they grow old.' — ' And didst thou do that, Trim ? ' said Yorick. 
 — ' He did, indeed,' replied my uncle Toby. — ' Then, Trim,' said 
 Yorick, springing out of his chair, and taking the corporal by 
 the hand, ' thou art the best commentator upon that part of the 
 Decalogue ; and I honour thee more for it, Corporal Trim, than 
 if thou hadst had a hand in the Talmud itself." 
 
 The artist, Marcus H. Holmes, was then some thirty-six years 
 of age ; having been born at Bristol in 1803, and named after the 
 Beresford family, one of whom, Lady Araminta Monk, was his 
 godmother. His mother, an Irish lady, died when he was very 
 young, and he was educated at the Bristol Grammar School, and 
 afterwards became a student at the Royal Academy, under Fuseli, 
 where he won the silver medal for Still Life. Returning to Bris- 
 tol, he settled down there as an artist, as his father had done 
 before him, contributing occasional pictures to the exhibitions of 
 the Royal Academy, and to those of the Old Society of Water- 
 colour Painters, of which both his father and himself were mem- 
 bers ; and teaching drawing in the vicinage. One of his pupils 
 was Eugenie, the late Empress of the French, who at one time 
 pursued her studies at Clifton. On the 12th of July, 1833, he 
 married Miss Elizabeth Emra, one of the daughters of the Rev. 
 John Emra, vicar of St. George's, Bristol, since which their resi- 
 dence had been in a pleasant little cottage, called Homefield, 
 under the very shadow of the trees of her father's vicarage, as we 
 shall see anon. 
 
 I have said that Marcus Holmes was also the son of an artist. 
 His father, George Holmes, was a native of Ireland, being born 
 at Dublin, about the year 177G; and at his father's house the ill- 
 fated Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Em- 
 metts, and other Irish patriots, who loved their country " not 
 wisely, but too well," used to meet. He was educated at White's 
 Grammar School, with the Duke of Wellington, Curran, Sheri- 
 dan, and Tom Moore. When the chivalry of Ireland, peasant 
 
 * See '■ The Bards and Authors of Cleveland and South Durham."
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 and peer, formed that famous army of Volunteers, which is at 
 least the most gorgeous pageant that passes in view before us as 
 we unroll the long scroll of her sorrowful annals, and which 
 (could they only, Freemason-like, have elevated their mental 
 vision above the low and blinding mists of sectarian jealousies) 
 might have regenerated old Erin a century ago— George Holmes 
 had the honour of being one of the units which made up that 
 noble hundred thousand. About the year 1796, he married a 
 young lady from Kilkenny. It was during one of those periods 
 "of bloodshed which have blazoned gules the vert shield of the 
 Emerald Isle, that a body was borne past the door of their house, 
 during the absence of George Holmes on duty, which his young 
 wife feared was that of her husband, who was uninjured ; but the 
 shock so alarmed her that her nervous system suffered in conse- 
 quence, and the doctors advised her removal to England, in the 
 then perturbed state of the country, as absolutely necessary to 
 save her life. George Holmes, therefore, bade adieu to his loved 
 native land, and went to Bristol about 1802, where his son Mar- 
 cus was born in the following year. His wife dying soon after, 
 he removed for a few years to London, where he had published, 
 in 1801, a delightful octavo volume, entitled Sketches in some of 
 the Southern Counties of Ireland, collected during a Tour in tin 
 Autumn, 1797, in a Series of Letters. The work is illustrated 
 with beautiful views of the interior of the Abbey of Holy Cross, 
 the cathedral-crowned Eock of Cashel, Cormac's Chapel on the 
 south side of the said cathedral, Ross Castle, Mucruss Lake, and 
 Lismore Castle, etc., from his own pencil ; and the sixteen Let- 
 ters of which the volume is composed are not only most pleasant 
 reading, but are full of historical and archaeological information, 
 both his father and himself being well versed in antiquities. The 
 book was dedicated to the Duchess of Devonshire, and was the 
 means of procuring for him the patronage of the Dukes of Lein- 
 ster and of Devonshire, Viscount de Vesci, and others of the 
 nobility. 
 
 Macaolay has well remarked, that " it is not easy for a modem 
 Englishman, who can pass in a day from his club in Saint Jan 
 Street to his shooting box among the Grampians, and who finds 
 in his shooting box all the comforts and luxuries of his club, to 
 believe that, in the time of his great-grandfather, Saint James's 
 btle connection with the Grampians as with the 
 Andes. Yet so it was. In the south of our island scarcely any- 
 thing was known aboul the Celtic part of Scotland ; and what \\ a I 
 known excited no feeling but contempt and loathing." Well I hen 
 might George Holmes write seventy-six years ago, in the Preface
 
 6 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 to his valuable work :— " At this period of universal informa- 
 tion, while the historic and descriptive pages of the most distant 
 climes are unfolded to our view, are we not naturally to suppose 
 those parts nearest the heart of the empire, through which a 
 great portion of its life blood flows, should be intimately known? 
 Yet, strange to say, Ireland, which, for a space of six hundred 
 years and more, has been politically connected with, and con- 
 tinues to be a powerful and valuable gem, in the crown of Great 
 Britain, is less known to the people of England, in general, than 
 the most remote regions." It was, I believe, tbe first work ever 
 published on the picturesque scenery of Ireland, and I am only 
 sorry that my space is too limited here to favour my readers with 
 a few extracts. 
 
 Eeturning to Bristol he ultimately settled there in 1808, and 
 married a Miss Anstey, of Devizes, who bore him three children, 
 — George, afterwards a physician, who died in Canada — Annie, 
 married to the Rev. John Curran, a Canadian clergyman, who 
 was great nephew of the celebrated John Philpot Curran, and 
 cousin of the late Right Reverend Doctor Cronyn, Lord Bishop 
 of Huron — and Mary Holmes, a lady who is still living, whose 
 performances on the piano were very much admired at the great 
 Exhibition of 1851, and the composer of numerous pieces of music 
 which have been highly commended. 
 
 George Holmes claimed a "collateral descent" from Sir Robert 
 Hobnes, Charles the Second's buccaneering admiral, whom Hume 
 terms " the cursed beginner of two Dutch wars," and to belong 
 to a branch of the family of the Barons Holmes, of Kilmallock, 
 in the peerage of Ireland, whose title became extinct in 1804. 
 But as Napoleon, when offered a pedigree tracing his descent 
 from one of the princely families of Italy, proudly exclaimed, 
 — " Bah ! I date my patent of nobility from Montenotte," the 
 scene of his first victory as commander of an army ; so may the 
 Holmeses and the Emras safely ground their claims to the respect 
 of their fellow-creatures on their own contributions to the civili- 
 sation of the nineteenth century, though the estates of their 
 ancestors would be very valuable possessions. 
 
 George Holmes was tbe intimate friend of Bird, Danby, and 
 Eagles (the art-critic of Blackwood's Magazine) ; was one of the 
 leaders of the old School of Water-colour Painters ; and, in con- 
 junction with J. D. Harding, brought out lithography as applied 
 to free-hand drawing. He died m Canada, about the year 1852, 
 whither he had emigrated some few years before. 
 
 Such were the father and paternal grandfather of our author. 
 Let us now briefly glance at his mother.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 7 
 
 The Bev. John Emra, vicar of St. George's, Bristol, was the 
 son of a West Indian slave-owner, a native of the Island of St. 
 Christopher, and the family was supposed to be of Spanish ex- 
 traction. He was sent to England to finish his education, and 
 after leaving Oxford was ordained. He married a Somersetshire 
 heiress, Miss Elizabeth Bastone Blake, daughter of Francis Blake, 
 of Minehead, where two of the celebrated Admiral Blake's bro- 
 thers had settled, and their descendants had continued to reside. 
 Elizabeth Emra, one of the parson's daughters, was born, as ap- 
 pears by the entry in her father's Bible, November 20th, 1804. 
 " She was," writes a sister, in a loving memoir, published in 
 1NI4,* " blessed with a considerable measure of health ; and, 
 though her frame was small and delicate, she was not deficient in 
 strength ; but while yet very young, she, together with several 
 of her sisters, was attacked by the small-pox ; and, though its 
 virulence was thought to be abated by previous vaccination, it 
 assumed in her case a severe form, exciting painful apprehensions 
 at the time, and long after leaving its traces on a brow and neck 
 which had been so very smooth and fair. Her patience, however, 
 failed not under this severe trial ; and some verses, among the 
 first which her manuscripts contain, scarcely wanting the finished 
 elegance of her later compositions, manifest that her fancy al- 
 ready roved among poetic visions, and, what is far better, that 
 she humbled herself under the chastening of what she felt to be 
 her Fatlters hand. 'They were occasioned by her being refused 
 initer, and may be thought of sufficient interest to be inserted 
 here : — 
 
 'Health to the sick, and cordial to the faint. 
 
 Why is thy sparkling draught denied to me '. 
 
 Oh ! could I .see thee as thou gushest forth 
 
 From the green hill, and murmuring glid'st along, 
 
 Fever would leave these veins, and health again 
 
 Bound in each pulse, and (low through every vein. 
 
 ( Ih ! who will hear me to the lone retreat, 
 
 \Vhere freshest moss is press'd by fairy feet ; 
 
 Where tin- low Fern her graceful leaf extends, 
 
 And with the wild bee's Uiss the dewy primro se bends? 
 
 Cease, burning fever; beating heart, be still; 
 
 Soul, meekly suffer; 't is thy Saviour's will ; 
 
 His arm sustains, bis smile shall comfort thee, 
 
 And he himself shall i.i vim: water be.' " 
 
 Not bad juvenile poetry, certainly, and giving evidence of much 
 more brain power than was ever possessed by those miserable 
 charlatans, whatever diplomas they may hold, the Doctor San- 
 
 * "A Sister's Record, or Memoir of Mrs. Marcus II. Holmes."
 
 8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 gradoes who delight in " thwarting nature," — who would purge, 
 and bleed, and blister without mercy, but could not think of al- 
 lowing the parched lips of a feverish patient to be cooled with 
 the best of all beverages for every living creature, whether in 
 health or during disease — pure water. 
 
 From her girlhood to her grave, literature, both in prose and 
 verse, was a source of consolation and of pleasure to her gentle 
 spirit : for the character she depicted of good Mrs. Rachael Short, 
 in her moral and religious tale of Hope and Disappointment, 
 written only the year before her death, may be well appropriated 
 to its gifted writer : — 
 
 " Hers was the might of exceeding gentleness ; not a selfish- 
 ness that sometimes gains that name, and tbat shrinks from per- 
 sonal inconvenience and exertion ; but that, bearing all things, 
 believing all things, watches its own actions and intentions with 
 a jealous eye, and yields not one point to idleness, nor one to ease. 
 W ith a frame so delicate that every exertion made it tremble, it 
 was amazing through what hardship and trial she passed in her 
 daily round of duty, ' The Angel,' the poor people used to call 
 her ; for wherever there was distress, wherever there was trouble, 
 there came she ministering." 
 
 Miss Elizabeth Emra was a contributor of verses to The Forget- 
 me-Not, one of the elegant annuals then so fashionable"; and, in 
 1830, she published her most important work, Scenes in our Par- 
 ish, b>/ a " Country Parson's" Daughter; one of the best religious 
 books I ever read, being quite free from that maudlin self-right- 
 eousness and hateful cant which too often imposes upon a credu- 
 lous world for religion. Truly has Tom Hood sung : — 
 
 " "With sweet kind natures, as in honey'd cells, 
 
 Religion lives, and feels herself at home ; 
 But- only on a formal visit dwells 
 
 Where wasps, instead of bees, have form'd the comb." 
 
 You need not read many pages of either of the volumes of the 
 Scenes in our Parish (for she published a second series in 1832) 
 to be convinced that her head and heart were just what a parson's 
 daughter's should be. " Do you love the country ? " she asks, in 
 her Introduction to the first. " Thither I will wander with you ; 
 not, indeed, through such scenery as our native land can show, in 
 some of its most favoured retreats : I may gaze with you on the 
 silver mirror of no Ilydal lake ; I can take you to no Walla Crag ; 
 nor, southward to the Gothic ruin, where the grass grows in the 
 deserted aisles ; and the ivy hangs in heavy wreathes round the 
 arches, which once echoed gloriously to the Te Deum, as the 
 music pealed from the vaulted roof," and stole over the placid
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. V 
 
 Wye : I can linger with you in no such silent and beautiful wood 
 walks ; and I may pause on no such height with you as the cliff 
 at Piercefield : yet come with me. ' Gud made the country ; ' 
 here are wild flowers, and clear waters, such as none but God 
 could make: and for the stories connected with our walks ; — Can 
 you stoop to the common concerns of life? For if you enjoy 
 nothing but romance and glowing fiction, I forewarn you that 
 we had better part ; — I never saw a knight, or a lady,— a titled 
 lady I mean, — in my life ; and the fairies of our forest forsook 
 their haunts here, in the same day in which the first coal-pit was 
 opened. — But have you a heart that can sympathise with human 
 hearts, that throb, and ache, and flutter, as itself has done ? Can 
 you feel for sojourners here, who know the wear and tear of this 
 ' work day world,' as you have known it ? Will you take inter- 
 est in the recital of 
 
 ' Familiar matter of to-day, 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Some natural sorrow, grief, or pain, 
 Which has been, and may be again ? 
 
 Above all, do you like to observe God's ways, the book of His 
 nature and the lines of His providence ? Then let us ponder over 
 the mysterious pages together ; and if we bring to the perusal 
 simple hearts, however dim our eyes may be, I doubt not we shall 
 study them with profit." And she tells us, in the spirit of true 
 authorship, that she wrote " because in a life of much leisure and 
 much retirement, it has been my greatest pleasure to do so. 
 Hitherto, it has never been anything but an amusement, a relaxa- 
 tion from duties and employments, all pleasant in their way, but 
 not one half so pleasant as this." 
 
 Living through the dreadful Bristol riots of 1831, in hourly 
 dread of their vicarage and church being burnt by an ignorant 
 and infuriated mob, who shouted and yelled in the name of Re- 
 form ; and beholding from her father's windows and garden the 
 raging flames which consumed the jails, episcopal palace, mansion 
 house, custom house, and many private residences of the anti- 
 Reformers ; it is not wonderful that a " Parson's Daughter," who 
 regarded the certainly ill-advised execution of Charles I. as 
 second only in guilt to the crucifixion of Christ, should be unable 
 to sympathise with the progress of that Constitutional Parlia- 
 mentary Reform which has made our England what she is. But 
 hear her noble tribute to the starving pitmen of her parish : — 
 '• Some of these poor fellows have walked to distant parts of the 
 kingdom, vainly seeking employment, and come hack disheart- 
 ened, and weary and penniless and foot-sore. Others yet more
 
 10 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 hopelessly set out early every morning, asking for work for miles 
 round the neighbourhood, and come back at night hungry and 
 without means to supply their own or their children's hunger. 
 ' 1 might say he's walked hundreds of miles,' said poor Patty, 
 looking round with tears in her eyes at her husband, who sat on 
 a low stool against the wall, gloomily leaning his head on his 
 hands — 'and now he's so weak for want of necessaries, I don't 
 think that he could do a day's work if he had it— and indeed his 
 shoes are quite worn out.' " And how feelingly she tells us how 
 " when poor Joseph had known hunger and cold all through the 
 winter, his health gave way. I have known him undertake a 
 day's work gladly when he had not a morsel of food to take with 
 him. He worked hard all day, from six in the morning till six 
 at night. Twelve long hours, dear reader, in which you and I 
 probably have had three or four meals. But Joseph worked hard 
 all day without saying he was hungry, and it was not till his em- 
 ployer witnessed his eagerness to receive some broken meat of- 
 fered him, in addition to his day's wages, that he had any idea 
 that Joseph had not tasted food that day. It was no strange 
 thing to him— but are not ours patient people ? He was taken 
 ill, and carried to the infirmary— lay ill two or three weeks, and 
 I saw the shabby funeral procession wind its way down the road 
 on the first Sunday in May. How sadly poor a mourning party 
 it was you may fancy, when I tell you that it was long before the 
 poor widow could collect eightpence to pay for turning the rusty 
 silk of the bonnet and binding it with crape." 
 
 Though, like every other thinker, I have my own pet scheme 
 of polibics, I trust above cabal, and my own notions of theology, 
 without wishing or believing that the Almighty Father of us all 
 will damn those who do not see as I see ; I have felt from child- 
 hood that it is not the colour of a ribbon, nor the name of a party, 
 that makes us patriots ; it is not the regular attendance at any 
 place of worship, however good in itself, nor the mouthing of any 
 creed, orthodox or heterodox, that makes us religious or irreli- 
 gious ; but whoever really serve the Eternal Spirit " in spirit and 
 in truth," and love their neighbour as themselves, are already 
 " accepted of God," and cannot but be useful members" of any 
 community in which their lot may be cast. Tried by this stand- 
 ard, the parents of Emra Holmes seem to me to have reached a 
 much " higher level " than mankind in general, whose many 
 money tricks are quite enough to favourably dispose one to the 
 learned Scottish judge, poor old Lord Monboddo's theory, that 
 they are only a civilised species of monkeys ! Let us be devoutly 
 thankful for every living argument to the contrary ; and seek
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 11 
 
 faithfully to so wisely fashion our own lives as to convince the 
 world that, whatever our origin, we are not travelling monkey-ward. 
 
 It would have shown but poor appreciation of healthy English 
 literature, if Scenes in our Parish had not found at least " fit 
 audience tho' few." Among those competent judges who heartily 
 commended it were two of our most eminent poets, — the Rev. 
 William Lisle Bowles, then rector of Bremhill, in Wiltshire, and 
 canon of Salisbury, — and Robert Southey, the poet-laureate : the 
 latter of whom spoke of the " Parson's Daughter " as an honour 
 to his and her native city ; and, when paying a short visit to his 
 friend John May, at Clifton, went and called upon her at St. 
 George's vicarage. 
 
 " It is not'needful minutely to descsibe the growing up of that 
 deep affection which, blessed be God," writes her sister, " became 
 a source of much happiness, and which succeeding years did but 
 strengthen. He who inspired it was first known, and familiarly 
 received, as the friend of her dear and only remaining brother. 
 With this world's goods the young artist was but scantily fur- 
 nished, but he was rich in industry and talent, in a flow of cheer- 
 ful and happy spirits, and high Christian principle ; and after the 
 acquaintance of a year or two, and a few simple and prudent 
 arrangements, Elizabeth Emra, on the 12th of July, 1833, became 
 the wife of Marcus Holmes. It was her happy privilege to re- 
 main under the very wing of her dear and honoured parents. By 
 an arrangement entirely in accordance with their humble and 
 homely views, the young couple settled in a small but not incon- 
 venient house, in what was literally ' Homefield.' * * * She 
 greatly enjoyed her proximity to her beloved relatives, and says, 
 in simple verse, 
 
 1 Mine is a breezy English cot, 
 
 Anuiiid it many a flower- 
 Telia of a blast though lowly lot, 
 
 Of life's fresh summer linur. 
 
 Fur Friendship there her dearest sees, 
 
 There kindred footsteps pjqme, 
 And the shadow of my father's trees 
 
 Falls on my husband's home. 
 
 The, same deep Sabbath bel] I hear 
 
 As in my childhood's days, 
 And the BBaae honoured voice arid dear 
 
 That taught my earliest praise.' " 
 
 On the Oth of July. 1834; her first child, a girl; was born ; and in 
 1836 she published A Mother's Offt/rvhQ t<> ihr ifovm^n Mt&ntb&t-df 
 the Ohtrth of England, dedicated by 'permission to Dr. Burgess, 
 Bishop of Salisbury. " It intends," she says, " to be an explana-
 
 12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 tion of the principal seasons in our Church's year — Advent, 
 Epiphany, &c, in as simple and affectionate language as I can 
 write, and with a few verses of poetry to every chapter." It is a 
 well-written commentary on the collects of the Church of Eng- 
 land, of which she says she every day saw cause to thank God 
 that He permitted her to be brought up a member. About the 
 same time she commenced her Realities of Life, many of the ar- 
 ticles appearing in the British Magazine ; a second edition of the 
 book, with three additional stories, being published in lX-fL', 
 under the altered title of Old Hetty, and other Realities of Life. 
 
 Such were the artist, Marcus H. Holmes, and the " Parson's 
 Daughter," his wife, with whom I opened the present paper. 
 But why specially locate them at Old Cleeve ? Let us see. 
 
 " During a week or two in the summer, the season of long days 
 and sunny skies," writes hersister, "she was accustomed to go with 
 her husband and a child or two, as the case might be, to an inex- 
 pensive lodging in some retired but beautiful locality, and freed 
 in a measure from household cares, delighting in the productions 
 of his rapid pencil, and the new and lovely scenery ; she ever ac- 
 counted these seasons as among the happiest in her life. * * * 
 It was on one of these occasions that, led on by love of her pleas- 
 ant holiday, and unwilling to frustrate a scheme of her kind 
 husband's, she left home when such a step was not perhaps 
 strictly prudent ; and at the village of Cleve was born one of her 
 little sons, in the summer of 1839. Such a delay of her return 
 home was, of course, in many respects undesirable, and she much 
 missed the presence and society of her dear relatives, but she was 
 not apt to magnify an inconvenience into an affliction ; the small 
 bed-room, with its checked curtains, and the stone floor below, 
 were no grievances to her : and full of gratitude for the conveni- 
 ences ministered by the kind friends raised up around her, she 
 wrote thus in the course of a fortnight to her anxious friends at 
 home, — ■' Oh, how shall I praise the Lord for all the benefits he 
 has shown me, forgiving all my sin, healing all my infirmities, 
 renewing my strength like the eagle's ? I certainly never had a 
 more healthy or thriving child thau my little son appears at pre- 
 sent, and certainly never one who saw half so much company, or 
 was so much admired. Ouly yesterday, two neighbouring ladies 
 sent their footman, as I sat busy at my patchwork, to know if 
 Mrs. Holmes was well enough to receive them ? Of course I was, 
 and, when they came, they were most anxious to know if I was 
 the author of that beautijful work, Scenes in our Parish ; so I 
 suppose the visit was rather in compliment to the book than to 
 my son, whom nevertheless they much admired.' "
 
 LIOGEAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 13 
 
 Thus the author of the following Tales, Poems, and Masonic 
 Papers, was born at Cleeve, on the 4th of July, 183'J. In the 
 Sisters Record already quoted, we have the following description 
 of our author's early home at St. George's : — 
 
 " We desire thankfully to acknowledge that, amid all her cares 
 and anxieties, our dear Elizabeth had a happy and pleasant 
 home : and oh, how kind was the greeting with which relatives 
 and friends were welcomed there — how frank the courteous hos- 
 pitality with which she produced the ready refreshment they 
 were most likely to enjoy. A pleasant place was her sitting 
 room : it was wonderful that so small an apartment, with so 
 many little ones running in and out, could be always so very neat. 
 Her books and a few drawings and historical prints, gave a 
 finished look to the mere cottage room. For further ornament 
 there were bright flowers fresh every day, and casts of fonts and 
 cherub heads ; there was besides a pair of antlers, festooned with 
 various curious things, which furnished many an instructive tale 
 to her listening children, whom she led on with happy facility 
 from earthly to heavenly things. * * * If the day was weary, 
 she had a smile and fond welcome ever ready for the evening, and 
 gladly hailed the quiet hour, which, while her health lasted, she 
 was accustomed to spend in reading to her husband, while he was 
 busy with his pencil at her side." And if any of the children had 
 annoyed her during the day, she did not trouble him about it, 
 saying " it was cruel, Tvhen a man came home tired with his day's 
 work, tn be greeted with complaints of his children." 
 
 But the Kev. John Emra died, and the " Parson's Daughter " 
 had to give up the latch key which she had hitherto had since 
 her marriage, so as to gain admittance at will to the vicarage 
 garden, and St. George's to her and to hers was no longer what 
 it had been. So in December of ls42, Mr. and Mrs. Marcus 
 II. Holmes, with their six children, removed to Westbury Hill, 
 only a few miles off, and within easy access of her sisters' new 
 abode. It was there that she finished and prepared for the press 
 her last work, //<»/-« and Disappointment; it was there, on the 
 l.'Uh of April, 1843, she wrote her last verses, "On hearing 
 the Bells ring, on the evening of Thursday in Passion Week ; " 
 and it was there that she died in childbed, early in the morning 
 of Tuesday, October 10th, in the same year. She herself had 
 written, while still a maiden at home: — "It is a sad sight to see 
 an infant in mourning for its mother, but it has been my lot In 
 sec it wry often. And yei ii is lomething more strange ami 
 sadder still, to see the bending and tottering form of the parent 
 come, time after time, to the grave in which he longs to rest
 
 14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 himself ; but of which those whom he expected to be the strength 
 of his age take a premature possession." And again : — " When 
 quite young, she lost her mother; and oh, how much is told in 
 that little sentence ! How many kindnesses unperformed ! sor- 
 rows unsoothed ! hours of sickness unattended! " * 
 
 Mr. Marcus H. Holmes died in January, 1854, at Minehead, in 
 Somersetshire, where he lies buried. 
 
 The Emras have been essentially a literary family ; more so, 
 indeed, than any other I remember. I could fill every page of 
 the present volume by merely glancing at the numerous produc- 
 tions they have sent to the press. 
 
 A wealthy lady, in token of her admiration of Scenes in our 
 Parish, hearing that the husband of the authoress was an artist 
 not too well off in worldly matters, left a widower, with a large 
 family, generously offered him a presentation to Christ's Hospital 
 for his son ; which was, of course, gratefully accepted ; and Ernra 
 Holmes, who was just seven years of age, went to the Prepara- 
 tory School at Hertford, in July, 1846. Three years afterwards, 
 he was removed to London ; and, in 1854, left the Blue Coat 
 School, having completed his fifteenth year. He afterwards went, 
 for two or three years, to the Grammar School at Shepton Mal- 
 lett, in Somersetshire, the head master of which, Mr. John Far- 
 brother, who was also known as the local historian of that ancient 
 town, was a connection of the family. In March, 1857, on the 
 nomination of R. Uuncombe Shafto, Esq., M.P. for North Dur- 
 ham, after passing the usual civil service examination, he was 
 appointed to a junior clerkship in the Long Room of H.M. Customs 
 at Liverpool ; and, six months later, was promoted to a like situ- 
 ation in the Customs at Hartlepool. There Emra Holmes re- 
 mained until 1865, when he removed to Stockton-on-Tees, where 
 he resided for two years ; afterwards removing to Seaton Carew, 
 at which little watering-place he continued to live until August 
 186 ( J, when he was appointed to the first clerkship in the Cus- 
 toms at Ipswich. In November, 1876, he received what a recent 
 writer in the Civilian calls "the blue ribbon of the civil service " 
 by being appointed to the Collectorship of Woodbridge, in Suffolk. 
 In April, 1877, he was removed to the more lucrative post of 
 Collector at Fowey, in Cornwall. 
 
 Mr. Emra Holmes happening to be a resident in South Durham 
 at the very time when I was collecting materials for biographical 
 notices of all the poets and prose writers of the district, I could 
 not but notice his many promising contributions to the press of 
 
 * " Scenes in our Parish."
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 15 
 
 the northern counties; and since then we have been for years 
 fellow-labourers in the London Masonic press, especially in Bro. 
 Kenning's excellent publications, The Freemason, and The Ma- 
 sonic Magazine. It was, indeed, during his residence in South 
 Durham that all that was manly and noble in his character first 
 markedly showed itself. Those public readings, which he is still 
 so ready to give to delighted audiences, for every good object, ori- 
 ginated in South Durham; and there, in 1861, he first saw the 
 light of that glorious Freemasonry, of which he has ever since 
 been a teacher as well as a learner, a writer as well as a reader. 
 In the Second Series, I hope to trace his Masonic career, from his 
 initiation as E.A. to his highest honours, coupling therewith some 
 few, perhaps not altogether irrevelant, remarks on the various 
 degrees. Suffice it here to say, that whatever Mr. Holmes takes 
 in hand, he goes ahead with ; — our trans- Atlantic cousins most 
 certainly ought to have had him, and he would have been half 
 way to the Presidency by this : even with us his feet fall in 
 pleasant places, and he succeeds where others fail. Entering the 
 Volunteer Artillery at Hartlepool as a simple private, in a few 
 years he became first lieutenant. He had scarcely smelt the salt 
 brine around his new home there, before he was one of the most 
 energetic members of the committee of the Mechanics' Institute. 
 As an amateur comic singer and mimic, he was so enthusiastically 
 successful, that he was obliged to give up both, at least as a rule, 
 in public company, fosjear they interfered with his more serious 
 labours ; but it is to be hoped that his musical voice will long be 
 heard in choice lectures and readings to help to elevate the tastes 
 of his countrymen, and his pen will long be spared to blend in- 
 struction with amusement. 
 
 On the 17th of September, 1868, Mr. Emra Holmes was united 
 in wedlock with Eliza, second daughter of Mr. Thomas Smith 
 Mawdesley, son of the Rev. Henry Mawdeslcy, vicar of Ramsey, 
 in Huntingdonshire ; descended from the lords of Mawdesley and 
 Heskin in Lancashire during at least the reigns of the first three 
 Henries. By this marriage there is issue three children, Edith 
 Emra Mawdesley, Emra, and Marcus Henry Holmes. 
 
 Rose Cottage, Stokesley, May, 1877.
 
 ACROSTIC 
 
 FOBWABDED TO MR. AND MES. HOLMES 
 
 ON THEIR 
 
 WEDDING DAY. 
 
 E 'en though but feebly my untutor'd muse 
 M ay strike the lyre, at least the lowly strain 
 R eceive as heartfelt and sincere, excuse 
 A 11 imperfections nor my song disdain. 
 
 A 11 that the heart can wish of happiness, 
 N o cloud o'ershadowing, be ever thine, 
 D omestic joys to comfort and to bless, 
 
 E ach pure delight that renders life divine, 
 
 L ove that can change not, friendship true to lend 
 
 I n every season its consoling ray, 
 
 Z ealous, unshrinkiDg, faithful to the end, 
 
 A faith that passeth but with life away. 
 
 H onour, just meed of intellectual worth, 
 f taste, refinement, high accomplishment, 
 L et all who know accord thee — 'tis but truth. 
 M ay thus thy life in wise content be spent, 
 E ach passing year still bringing higher fame, 
 S omo fresh allurement to adorn thy name. 
 
 Harry H. Smeyer. 
 Staith House, 
 
 West Hartlepool.
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 AN INTRODUCTION. 
 
 John Falconbridge was an eccentric man, and one of those 
 eccentric men whom you cannot help liking for their very- 
 eccentricity. A tall, rather plain, odd-looking fellow, with 
 a scar on the left temple, as if from a sabre cut ; carelessly, I had 
 almost said shabbily, dressed ; but with something unmistakable 
 about his manner, whreh told you he was a gentleman. When 
 we met him in Paris, at the table d'hote, at the Hotel de Lille et 
 d' Albion, in the autumn of 1867, we little thought how inter- 
 ested we should become in our queer bachelor friend, as we used 
 to call him. He used always to sit in the same place in the salk 
 a manger, always wore the same dark grey shooting coat and 
 black scarf negligently folded and pinned, the same indifferently- 
 fitting grey trousers. He didn't seem to talk much to the people 
 about him, as we did, but paid sufficient attention to his knife 
 and fork to give one the idea that he was something of a gourmet, 
 which was rather strengthened by observing how admirably he 
 got served off the best dishes, and how assiduously the waiters 
 attended to his wants, as if feeling that they at last had hit upon 
 an Englishman who knew how to dine. My wife pitied him, 
 because he seemed so thoroughly alone, and I determined to culti
 
 18 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 vate him, because there was an inexplicable something about the 
 man which interested me. 
 
 When we came down on Sunday morning to go to church, our 
 friend was in the public drawing-room, reading the Thnes. I 
 had broken the ice the night before, by enlarging upon the 
 weather, which, as it happened, was decidedly English and un- 
 certain at the time ; so we soon got into conversation. 
 
 " Going to church, are you ? " said he. " I never go to church 
 here ; don't see the use of it. You young people do too much, see 
 too much. St. Roche is all very well, music good, and all that ; 
 and, of course, if you haven't been there, it's as well to go, once. 
 You should go to St. Cloud this afternoon. The fair is going on 
 now — worth seeing for people new to Parisian life. I come to 
 Paris for quiet, subscribe to Galignani's, spend my Sundays 
 mostly there, take a drive in the Blois, and, perhaps, now and 
 then pay a visit to Mabille," he added sotto voce to me. 
 
 " Do you know any one here ? " I asked. 
 
 " In the hotel ? No ; haven't spoken to a soul since I came, 
 except yourself and Mrs. ," and here he paused, remember- 
 ing that he did not yet know our names, though we had found 
 out his from the visitors' book. 
 
 " Mildrid, dear — Mr. Falconbridge," I said, smiling, as I intro- 
 duced him to my wife, at his surprise at my knowing his name. 
 " Mr. Falconbridge — Mrs. Beverley." 
 
 We soon became great friends, and Mr. Falconbridge used to 
 say, in his dry, quaint, sad way, " I like people to come and talk 
 to me, and I like your wife. Come and sit near me at the table 
 d'hote, and mind I sit next your wife." 
 
 Mildrid got interested in him, and once said to me, " I am sure 
 Mr. Falconbridge must have had some great grief, some dreadful 
 trouble to bear. He speaks to me so gravely and sadly some- 
 times, and then turns it off with some sharp satirical phrase which
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 19 
 
 makes me wonder whether he has a broken heart or no heart at 
 all." 
 
 " You may be sure it's not a broken heart," I told her; "what- 
 ever women do, men don't suffer from such weaknesses." 
 
 We succeeded in getting him to go with us one day to take a 
 drive in the Bois de Boulogne — the last day of our sojourn in the 
 gay city. We returned just in time for table d'hote at five o'clock, 
 and rose at seven to catch the mail train at the Great Northern 
 Line for Boulogne. 
 
 We had been laughing at some of his cynical old bachelor 
 sayings— my wife and I — and she was wondering why, iu the 
 midst of our pleasantries, he would suddenly grow so grave. 
 
 " What was it you were telling him, Mildred, that made him 
 laugh so much ? " 
 
 "Oh, it was about my cousin Muriel's skating feat on the mere 
 last winter, when she prevented Captain Boscawen proposing, 
 until at last he got so tired with rushing after her on the ice that 
 he had to give in at leTlgth, and own himself vanquished. Mr. 
 Falconbridge asked what her name was, and when I said Muriel 
 he grew pale, and seemed as if there was something painful in the 
 name to him. Of course, I changed the subject at once. And, 
 then, you, having sufficiently aired your French with the driver, 
 came to the rescue." 
 
 " Ah ! I fancy his is a queer history." 
 
 We were all standing in the vestibule, watching the arrivals, 
 and waiting for a vulture, to take us to the station, when an 
 elderly widow lady and her daughter— apparently a lovely girl 
 of about seventeen — arrived. 
 
 Mr. Falconbridge was scanning them in his careless manner ; 
 but as they passed us to ascend to the suite of apartments pre- 
 pared for them, a troubled look came over his face, and my wife 
 fancied she heard him say something about Muriel to himself, as 
 
 b2
 
 20 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 he bid us a hasty adieu, and hurried out into the Rue St Honore'. 
 He was going off to Baden in the morning, he remarked : might 
 he hope to see us again ; if not there, at least in England, some 
 
 day? 
 
 " Come to us at Weston," I said. " We shall always have a 
 knife and fork and a spare room at your disposal." 
 
 And so we parted, after a three weeks' pleasant acquaintance 
 
 in Paris. 
 
 His address was his club, he told us the " Travellers'," and I 
 found out afterwards that he was numbered amongst the savans. 
 Blest with apparently ample means ; a life of leisure ; following 
 no occupation or profession, and wandering over Europe in search 
 of happiness, peace, and pleasure, what had that man to wish for? 
 
 Why was he so imbued with melancholy ? 
 
 And who was Muriel ?
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 21 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IPSWICH. A CONFESSION. 
 
 Last summer I had a letter from John Falconbridge, in which 
 he said he had taken a charming house in the environs of Ipswich, 
 with pleasant grounds and a lovely view of the river Orwell. His 
 only relative — an old aunt, Mrs. Vaux, whose husband, an army 
 surgeon, had recently died, leaving her very poorly provided for 
 —had come to keep the house for him, and he was preparing a 
 home for his ward, who was coming home from school in 
 Germany in the autumn, the climate not suiting her. The letter 
 ended by expressing a hope that my wife and I would go and 
 spend a month with them, as he was particularly anxious that we 
 should make the acquaintance of the young lady. 
 
 Mrs. Beverley was unable to leave home just then, having only 
 recently recovered from a severe illness ; but I had been over- 
 worked in the office. My partner in the firm (of Beverley, 
 Marten, and Co., exporters) had been a long business tour on the 
 Continent, leaving me to conduct affairs at home ; so my wife 
 urged me to go, as I needed change and rest, and I was very glad 
 to accept my friend's hospitality. 
 
 Leaving Mildrid in charge of my two fair cousins, Mary and 
 Sophy Grey, at Weston, I took a tourist ticket for Harwich, and 
 from thence made my way to Ipswich by one of the steamers 
 which ply daily on the beautiful river. 
 
 It was a lovely September morning when we left the landing 
 stage at Harwich and steamed out into the noble estuary and con- 
 fluence of the Stour and Orwell— the two fine rivers joining here
 
 22 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 and flowing into the sea. As we proceeded, I was struck by the 
 pleasing effect produced by the graceful curves iu the river, with 
 its verdant sloping banks, covered with fine trees. As one ap- 
 proaches Ipswich, these banks assume the dignity of hills, with 
 handsome mansions, and a picturesque tower or church peeping - 
 out here and there from amongst the foliage. Fancy a scene like 
 this — seagulls flying hither and thither, uttering their shrill 
 notes ; a heron stalking amongst the mud inlets in search of 
 food ; a covey of wild ducks sweeping over the water close to its 
 surface; a yacht belonging to some noble owner at its anchorage 
 near, with fishing craft coming in from sea ; a merchantman 
 sailing majestically by, laden with corn from the Danube ; 
 pleasure boats and fishing parties in plenty, and the bells of St. 
 Mary le Tower ringing out a merry peal, which comes sweetly 
 over the water ; and you will not wonder that I was enchanted 
 with these sights and sounds, the ever- varying evidences of life, 
 joy, and beauty. We make the last bend of the river, whose ser- 
 pentine course is one of its chief attractions, and as we come up 
 get a first sight of the ancient and interesting town, lying in the 
 hollow of a basin, its streets meandering irregularly up the gentle 
 acclivities which pass for hills in Suffolk. 
 
 Windmills here and there crown the summits, which are 
 covered iu some parts with fine plantations ; elegant villas are 
 seen amid the trees ; a crowd of churches, some of them of stately 
 proportions, with their battlemented towers rising from the midst 
 of the quaint gabled roofs of the old houses ; and the grand Town 
 Hall, with its lofty and beautiful clock tower, are amongst the 
 most prominent features of the town. The elegant spire of St. 
 Mary le Tower rises conspicuous amongst the rest. There is also 
 a fine Custom House, with noble facade and campanile, in the 
 Italian style of architecture, at the side of the spacious docks, and 
 broad quays, planted with trees, and having a charming prome-
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 23 
 
 nade, adorned with shrubs. The picture was full of interest, and 
 could not fail to strike a stranger. The people of Ipswich are 
 proud of their town, and show great good taste in adding to its 
 many natural beauties. 
 
 I was delighted with my trip up the river ; the distance, twelve 
 miles, and the time occupied, only an hour and a half, being just 
 long enough to give one pleasure without fatigue. 
 
 On landing at Stoke Bridge, I was met by Falconbridge, to 
 whom I expressed my satisfaction at visiting so pretty a place- 
 He expected his ward the following week. She was to come 
 from Antwerp in one of the Great Eastern Company's boats, and 
 we were to meet her at Harwich. 
 
 There was something odd at times about Falconbridge which 
 almost startled me, and when I knew his history I was not more 
 relieved. 
 
 Little by little it had come out. A chance word here, and an 
 allusion there, piqued my curiosity, and awoke my interest. I 
 fancied that I might do him some good if he would only confide 
 his secret to me, and that, at all events, I could better enter into 
 his feelings and sympathise with him ; that, in short, I could be 
 more companionable, when it seemed to me he needed a com- 
 panion. I pressed him very much, therefore, to make me his 
 confidant. 
 
 We were sitting out on the lawn after dinner, smoking our 
 cigars, and looking at the lovely river below us, stretched out 
 like a great lake, as it seems looking from the Belstead Road. I 
 had been roaming about Ipswich all the morning with Falcon- 
 bridge, and had drawn him out on the history of the old place, 
 astonished to find that he was so well acquainted with the neigh- 
 bourhood. He had shown me Wolsey's gate, all that remains of 
 the college founded by the great cardinal, and I remember, on 
 our going up Silent Street, its name struck me as being so singular.
 
 24 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " I thought you were, like myself, Falconbridge, until recently 
 quite a stranger here," I remarked. 
 
 " Oh, not at all," he languidly replied ; " was here ten years." 
 
 " Indeed." 
 
 " Yes. Muriel's mother was ill, and came to Dovercourt — that 
 little watering-place near Harwich, you know— to stay, the 
 doctors recommending the place. I took lodgings here in Silent 
 Street, at that old house with the four gables and carved corner 
 post. The Dame struck me as it struck you. Perhaps I shall go 
 back there some day," he said gravely. " Dovercourt was a much 
 smaller place than it is now. The lodgings were poor, and the 
 accommodation generally bad. I don't suppose she would ever 
 have heard of the place, which has wonderfully improved of late, 
 but that her husband had the remnant of a once large property 
 in the neighbourhood, and the second title in the family was Lord 
 Chelmoudiston. However, the sea air was too keen, and she did 
 not get any better, so I took a small house for her here on the 
 Woodbridge Road, about a mile and a half from the centre of the 
 town. They have built quite a little colony there now, and call it 
 California ; and there she lived with a maiden aunt of her's, Miss 
 Lacy, and little Lady Muriel." 
 
 " These strawberries are very fine ones, Falconbridge." 
 
 " Well, yes ; they are grown here." 
 
 •' What a fine view that is, to be sure ! This is a charming 
 place. By the way, the lady you spoke of this morning was a 
 relative of yours, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, not at all. She was a widow, with aristocratic connec- 
 tions, but very few friends in the world, and I was, I fancy, the 
 best able to be of use to her." 
 
 " You interest me much. Pray who was she ? " 
 
 " Well, when I first knew her she was Muriel Aldithley, a 
 governess in the family of one of the canons at Canchester.
 
 THE LADY MUEIEL. 25 
 
 The Aldithleys were poor, but they came of a good stock. I have 
 a daguerreotype on the mantelpiece in the dining-room — you 
 noticed it perhaps — by Claudet." 
 
 "I did; a fair lady, with light brown hair and very large blue 
 eyes, something like the young lady who came into the hotel at 
 Paris last year just as we were leaving, you remember." 
 
 " Yes, you are right ; there was a likeness. Well, that was 
 Muriel's mother." 
 
 " She must have been a lovely woman. Was she an old friend 
 of yours ? " 
 
 " Hum — rather. I knew her, I suppose, ten years." 
 
 " Intimately ? " 
 
 « Intimately." 
 
 " Pardon my curiosity," I said, " but it seems so strange to me 
 — a middle-aged bachelor becoming the guardian of a young lady 
 whose mother (a lady of title, as I conclude) was no connection, 
 only the friend of a man who, of all others, seems to me the 
 least likely to be impressed by female charms or to be affected by 
 female weaknesses, an3 who, I should think, could hardly plead 
 guilty to a Platonic attachment." 
 
 "Hum. My dear fellow, perhaps I'm more romantic than I 
 look. You are a married man, and a deuced lucky fellow. How- 
 ever, I am not. I thought I should be once, though." 
 
 " Why don't you marry, man ? You've lots of property ; you 
 are not old — fivc-and-forty must be the outside of your age; and 
 lots of nice girls would have you." 
 
 " Very possible, I dare say ; but there was but one woman 
 whom I cared for." 
 
 « What was her name, if I may ask? " 
 
 li Muriel Aldithley."
 
 26 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 JOHN FALCONBEIDGE'S STOEY. MUEIEL ALDITHLEY. 
 
 " It was in the winter of 1850,"' Falconbridge said, " that I 
 first met Muriel. She was then governess at Canon Penny- 
 father's, at Canchester, as I think I told you. I was then a 
 lieutenant in a line regiment stationed there. The county ball 
 was given on the 20th of December, and the officers of my regi- 
 ment were invited. One of them, Auberon Mandeville, the 
 captain of my company, a dissolute fellow, but a man very highly 
 connected, was one of our number who went. Muriel was there 
 with the Miss Pennyfathers, and was at once singled out for a 
 great deal of attention , on account of her graceful manners and 
 beautiful face. I've seen many lovely women since, but never 
 one to equal her. I danced a great deal with her; so did Mande- 
 ville; and the fellows at mess next day chaffed us about our 
 making such a dead set at la belle Aldithley. I was younger then 
 than I am now, and some light words that Mandeville dropped 
 about her nettled me ; we quarrelled ; and duelling being out of 
 fashion, we satisfied ourselves, I suppose, with a mutual ' cut.' 
 About a month after the ball, I had been spending the evening 
 with a fellow called Bloxam, who had taken me several times to 
 the Pennyfathers, who were connections of his, and we had all 
 become great friends. Muriel had become to me something 
 dearer than a friend — but more of this anon. Well, Bloxam and 
 I were strolling home rather late (twelve o'clock, I expect) to my 
 quarters. We had to pass through the Close to take advantage of 
 the short cut. My friend, being a nephew of the Dean, could
 
 THE LADY MUEIEL. 27 
 
 always get through the great gates, which were closed at eight 
 o'clock, when the curfew rang. Just as we past the Deanery, we 
 heard voices talking close to the carriage entrance to the Penny- 
 fathers. I thought I recognised one of the voices, hut was not 
 sure. Curiosity, or perhaps some deeper feeling, drew me to the 
 spot, and then I found that the men, whoever they were, had got 
 somehow into the garden, and it was clear that one of them at 
 least was the worse for liquor. From what I could gather, it 
 seemed that the fellow who was tipsy was asking the other two 
 to assist him to carry off Miss Aldithley, and I soon found out by 
 the voice that it was no other than Captain Mandeville who was 
 speaking, his Irish experiences evidently telling upon him in his 
 present state; for I cannot believe that in his sober senses the 
 fellow would have thought for a moment on anything so mad as 
 this scheme. The other two men were to go — the one to the 
 front, the other to the back of the house. The young lady was 
 quite agreeable it seemed — so Mandeville said ; and the concerted 
 signal was a low whistle given three times. When this was 
 heard, the man at the»front of the house was to hurry off to the 
 Elms (the name of one of the Canons houses in the Precincts), 
 where a cab was standing waiting to take home some of the com- 
 pany from a dinner-party. The cabman had been bribed with a 
 sovereign to come at once. Mandeville and the young lady, who 
 would get out of the bedroom window, and come down by a 
 ladder the other man had procured and placed against the wall, 
 would go off in a cab, as if from the dinner. Dr. Pennyfather 
 was away, and only the two daughters, the governess, and two 
 maid servants were in the house. It was clear to us that the men 
 were making a tool of Maudevillc, and that they intended to 
 commit a burglary. 
 
 " I had my reasons for believing that Miss Aldithley, so far 
 from meditating an elopement with Mandeville, rather favoured
 
 28 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 my pretensions, and it must be owned I was desperately in love 
 with her. 
 
 "Judge, then, of my amazement and indignation, when I over- 
 heard this dastardly scheme for kidnapping the girl I loved best 
 in all the world. There was not time for anything but imme- 
 diate action. I knew that my brother in arms was of so noble a 
 nature that he would not scruple about ways and means to effect 
 his purpose ; and I knew also that Muriel did not comprehend 
 that the handsome " officer " was nothing more nor less than a 
 thorough scamp. The wall was too high to climb, but they must 
 have entered by the back gateway, which had probably been left 
 unfastened. Bloxam went round to the back at once to let loose 
 the great St. Bernard dog, which knew hiin, whilst I went to the 
 front to intercept the man who had gone for the cab. The pre- 
 concerted signal was heard just as I got to the garden gate, and 
 a man passed me running stealthily under the shadow of the wall. 
 The rattle of a cab and a shrill scream sounded on my ear. 
 Making my way round to the side of the house, I saw Mandeville 
 at the top of the ladder, and the white form of a woman appar- 
 ently leaning out of the window. A sudden crash, and the ladder 
 had fallen down with its burden. A hoarse bark, and up bounded 
 " Lion " to my assistance as I was struggling with one of the 
 fellows, who I found had been trying to get into the kitchen win- 
 dow, and whom I had collared. Presently a policeman came 
 upon the scene; and, as I had stunned one of the fellows, and the 
 dog had pinned the other, we soon managed to give them into 
 custody. Mandeville's arm was broken, and we had to assist him 
 into the cab — which was made a very different use of to what was 
 intended— and he was taken home. The papers got hold of a 
 queer version of the affair. I afterwards learned that Miss Al- 
 dithley had formed an attachment to Captain Mandeville, which 
 I did not credit ; but for her sake, and for her character, I was
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 29 
 
 silent about the matter. The Hampshire Gazette stated that ' a 
 daring attempt at burglary had been made at the house of one of 
 the Canons residentiary of Canchester, and but for the prompt arri- 
 val of two of the officers of the 57th Regiment, and the heroic con- 
 duct of Captain Mandeville — who, seeing one of the robbers enter 
 through the window of one of the rooms, followed the man, and, 
 after a desperate struggle, succeeded in saving the property, and 
 probably the lives, of some of the inmates, though it regretted to 
 say he had sustained considerable injury, and had his arm broken 
 in the attempt — the consequences might have been serious.' 
 Bloxam and I held our peace, and the story told, no doubt. If I 
 had ever said anything to Miss Aldithley which could be con- 
 strued into a disparaging remark about Mandeville, Muriel put it 
 down to my jealousy ; and though I continued to pay her devoted 
 attention, she seemed to be changing towards me. The truth 
 must be told, I began to hate Mandeville ; yet it must be owned 
 he was a fascinating fellow where he chose to fascinate. 
 
 " Muriel soon grew-to like— and, I fancied, to more than like 
 — him. He was always putting himself in her way, and there 
 were few women who could resist him. Only a few days before 
 the burglary, I had proposed to, and, as I thought, had not been 
 rejected by, her. She had not then come under his baneful in- 
 fluence. I felt, therefore, that I was justified in speaking to her 
 about him ; but she was, it must be owned, a flirt. To my as- 
 tonishment, when, some day's afterwards, Captain Mandeville's 
 name came up in the course of conversation, Muriel said, — 
 
 "'It is quite clear, Mr. Falconbridgc, that you are jealous of 
 Captain Mandeville, and you cannot trust me. We had better, 
 therefore, part.' 
 
 "'Muriel,' I answered, ' you misunderstand me. I bear him no 
 ill will, and you ought to know how devoted 1 am to you ; pray 
 uDsay what you have just said.'
 
 30 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " ' I do not wish to quarrel with you,' she answered, ' but I am 
 tired of this espionage. I intend to be free again, and so good 
 morning, Mr. Falconbridge,' and with that she sailed out of the 
 room. 
 
 " I could not believe it ; it seemed all like a dream ; and it was 
 some time before I could realise the fact that I was a discarded 
 lover. The next day I called again. She would not see me. I 
 wrote, asking for an explanation. My letter was returned, and a 
 pretty little emerald ring I had given her was sent back. I was 
 dreadfully cut up about it ; but, then, you see, I was 27, and she 
 20. I buoyed myself up with the hope that she was infatuated 
 with this man ; that the thing would wear off; and that, in time, 
 it would all come right again. Our regiment was ordered to 
 Chatham, and I never saw or heard anything more of Muriel for 
 three years. I wrote to her once a year during that time, telling 
 her that whenever she chose to change her mind I was ready and 
 willing to keep my promise if she would only keep hers. The 
 first time she returned my letter without comment ; the second 
 year she wrote me a civil little note, saying she was engaged to 
 Captain Mandeville. He had exchanged into another regiment, 
 and was going out to India. When last I heard — it was soon 
 after I had written to her for the third time (I always wrote on 
 the anniversary of the day I first met her at the county ball) — 
 in reply she sent me this ;" and, as he spoke, FalConbridge pulled 
 out of his vest a small Russia leather pocket-book, and taking out 
 one little perfumed sheet of paper, read the following : — 
 
 " ' Dear Mr. Falconbridge, 
 
 '"I am going to be married to-morrow, and I want you 
 to forgive me the wrong I did you three years ago. I fear I did 
 not know my own mind then ; perhaps I do not know it now. I 
 shall always look upon you as a dear friend, and I feel that I was
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 31 
 
 quite unworthy of your love. Will you forgive me?— Your 
 sincere friend, 
 
 " ' Muriel Aldithley.' 
 
 " The next day I saw the announcement of her marriage to Major 
 Mandeville." 
 
 " How did you answer that letter ? It sounds like the letter of 
 a kind-hearted woman ? " 
 
 " Well, I kept a copy of my answer, because I thought that the 
 sentiments I then expressed I might, by constant reiteration, teach 
 myself to feel, and I used to take out the letter and read first hers 
 and then my reply. You can read it if you like." 
 
 I took the paper from him, and read as follows : — 
 
 " My Dear Miss Aldithley, — 
 
 " Thank you very much for your kind letter. I shall 
 prize it dearly, as I prize anything of yours. I forgave you long 
 ago, and now that you are married, I shall do my utmost to for- 
 give your husband. He knew I loved you, and knew also that 
 you were affianced to me. He came between us, and I can hardly 
 blame you for admiring one who was so much handsomer and 
 richer than I. 
 
 " It is I who ought to beg you to forgive me for aspiring to 
 your hand. Our paths are different now. You go to India ; our 
 regiment is ordered to Canada ; we may never meet again. Pray 
 remember this, however, that if ever I can render you a service, if 
 ever I can be of any use to you, command me, and I will as 
 happily obey your wishes as if I had not been, — Your discarded 
 lover, 
 
 " John Falconbridoe."
 
 32 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 LADY MURIEL. 
 
 " What became of the lady ? " I asked. 
 
 Falconbridge was in a profound reverie, and took no notice. 
 At last, with a sort of half-start, he seemed to recover himself, 
 and said, — 
 
 " Pardon me, my thoughts were far away. Did you speak ? " 
 
 I repeated the question. 
 
 " Oh, ah, yes ; I will tell you. It was only six months after her 
 marriage that, by the sudden death of Mandeville's cousin, whose 
 only son had predeceased him by a few months only, he came into 
 the earldom of Kilpatrick, and my friend became an Irish Coun- 
 tess. He did not enjoy the dignity long, however, for, four 
 months afterwards, I saw his death in the papers, which occurred 
 through a fall from his horse in the hunting-field, and at twenty- 
 four Muriel was a widowed Countess, and would shortly become a 
 mother. In the event of there being no son, the title and estates 
 went to a distant cousin, and the Earl, always a careless man and 
 by no means a loving husband, had made no provision for his 
 widow whatever. Poor thing ! it was a time of great anxiety for 
 her. If, in the course of the next three months, she should 
 happily become the mother of a boy, he would be the eighth Earl 
 of Kilpatrick, the possessor of a proud title and ample estate, and 
 she, as his mother and guardian, would live in comfort and even 
 affluence. If, on the contrary, the posthumous child should be a 
 girl, she would be left almost penniless and without a home. The 
 family had never taken any notice of her, always talking, as I
 
 THE LADY MURIEL, 33 
 
 heard, of " that dreadful mesalliance," as they were pleased to 
 call it, with much disdain. It was not likely, therefore, that she 
 would look to them for anything. Meanwhile, of course, she was 
 left in possession at Castle Court. I did not go to Canada after 
 all. Our regiment had been ordered out to the Crimea, the war 
 having broken out. I should have preferred staying in England 
 for her sake, especially just then ; but no man of honour could 
 leave the army at such a time. I suppose it was owing to her 
 trouble and anxiety, poor thing ! but the little stranger made 
 its appearance two months before it was expected, and it was a 
 girl. The news reached me just two days before I sailed, and I 
 went immediately to my bankers, arranged for the purchase of 
 £10,000 worth of consols — almost the whole of my available pro- 
 perty then — and had it entered in her name, so that she should 
 not be entirely penniless. I left instructions also that £200 
 should be immediately paid her, and that the money should be 
 conveyed in such a manner as to lead her to suppose it was her 
 husband's property. I ivell knew that her proud spirit would not 
 allow her to receive it from me. The next news I heard was that 
 she had left Castle Court with her child, and had gone to Ryde 
 for the winter. I did not meet her for three years, though I had 
 taken occasion to write to her once or twice to proffer my services 
 if she needed them, and she always wrote me pretty frank replies. 
 " It was in the spring of 1857 that we met, soon after my re- 
 turn from the Crimea. Directly the war was over I sold out, 
 making up my mind to ask her to marry me. From motives of 
 delicacy I had refrained from approaching her as a lover hitherto, 
 because I knew she felt her husband's death very much, though 
 he had not treated her kindly. As I told you, however, she was 
 ailing, and in 1858 I took lodgings for her at Dovercourt, the 
 doctors recommending her to leave Derbyshire, where she then 
 was, and try the sea air for herself and the little girl. I grew 
 
 c
 
 34 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 very much attached to the little Muriel, as you may imagine, for 
 she was very like her mother ; and her delicacy of health, whilst 
 it endeared her more to her mother, perhaps, was not the less 
 attractive to me. Poor girl ! 1 could not bear to lose her now ; 
 it would break my heart. Well, Lady Kilpatrick at length grew, 
 I think, to like me enough to promise me her hand, and we were 
 to be married in the autumn of that year. But, to my great 
 grief, as the summer drew on, she had another attack of the dis- 
 order with which she had been previously afflicted. It baffled 
 the skill of the doctors, and soon her days were numbered, and I 
 found that I must lose the only friend, the only woman whom I 
 loved in the world. A countess is never without friends of a 
 sort ; but Muriel was not rich enough to mix in the society her 
 rank would warrant, and the circumstances of her life, the 
 troubles she had passed through, and her always delicate health, 
 combined to make her lead a very secluded — ill-natured people 
 called it a very exclusive — life. She was an interesting invalid — 
 a lady of title, whom every one knew by name and by sight ; but 
 no one intimately ; and although many people of position called 
 upon her at Ipswich, she always returned their calls, and the ac- 
 quaintance ended there. Not that she was proud — far from it ; 
 but the circumstances of her life altogether, as I have said, led 
 her to live secluded and much alone. 
 
 " It was just such a day as this, I remember, that I saw her 
 last— a lovely, soft autumn day. She was much better, and had 
 so far recovered that she could be carried into the garden to enjoy 
 the balmy air and the beautiful sunlight. 
 
 " ' John,' she said, ' 1 feel better to-day, much better. If I 
 recover, I will try to be a good wife to you.' 
 
 " ' God grant you may, dear,' I answered. 
 
 " ' But if I should not, you will be good to Muriel, will you 
 not?'
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 35 
 
 " ' She shall be as dear to me as if she were my own child.' 
 
 " ' Thank you! you are too good to me and mine,' she answered, 
 with the tears welliug up into her beautiful eyes. 
 
 " Beverley, you don't know what I have gone through. 
 
 " The doctors buoyed me up with hopes that she would recover. 
 Mrs. Vaux thought that she was gaining strength daily. So 
 much better was she that I took a house, and had already com- 
 menced furnishing it in anticipation of a coming event which was 
 to bring such happiness to me, when one morning I was hastily 
 summoned to Kilmallock Lodge, only just in time to find that 
 Muriel had broken a blood-vessel, and was rapidly sinking. In 
 an hour from my arrival, she was no more ! 
 
 " Man, I cried like a child ! the blow was almost too heavy to 
 bear. The one hope, the life, the joy of my heart was gone, and 
 only coldness and weariness remained. 
 
 "I have smiled sometimes to find, by some chance expression of 
 yours, that you fancied me a gloomy misanthrope, a cynic, a 
 misogynist. 
 
 " I suppose you little know how much I have gone through. 
 Well, to make a long story short, I may tell you that the noble 
 relations who had held aloof from her whilst alive, now she was 
 dead, took her from me, and laid her in the burial ground at 
 Castle Court beside her husband. The grand funeral — what a 
 mockery it was to treat her as a countess only when she was 
 dead ! The thing disgusted me. They offered to take the little 
 girl to educate ; but Muriel's last request was that I should take 
 care of the child, and I would not give her up to them. 
 
 " After Lady Kilpatrick's death I couldn't stay in England. 
 
 " I got unsettled, and roamed about, visiting, in the course of 
 
 my rambles, Baden, Paris, Biarritz, Vienna, Rome, Switzerland, 
 
 but could not bear to abide in any place long at once, and thus 
 
 spent some years seeking for relief in change of scene and company. 
 
 o2
 
 36 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " I don't suppose I have led a very good or useful life. On the 
 contrary, I have wasted my time a good deal, I dare say ; and, to 
 tell you frankly, I think it was through meeting you last year 
 in Paris that I was led first to think of coming back to England 
 and settling down. Muriel's health, too, not being very good at 
 Heidelberg, where I sent her as soon as she was old enough to 
 leave England, made me resolve to make a home for her here. 
 
 " 1 had spent a fortune abroad ; but some capital investments 
 here have more than recouped all I lost there. 
 
 " Of course, my ward gets all I have when I die." 
 
 " Do you believe in these capital investments ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I'm secure enough. Half my property is invested in 
 the great shipbuilding company in the north — Waters, Waters, 
 and Company." 
 
 " The deuce it is," I said. 
 
 " Yes; and it will be a fine property for Muriel some day, man! 
 you see if it isn't. 
 
 " Poor child ! she is now fourteen ; how the time goes ! I am 
 going to have a resident governess here for her, besides teachers 
 from the town ; and I particularly wanted Mrs. Beverley to be 
 here just now to give me advice about her." 
 
 I had listened attentively to Falconbridge's story, and could 
 not help pitying him as he told it. 
 
 Two or three days afterwards he came down very much excited,' 
 and told me he had received a letter from the people at Heidel- 
 berg with whom Lady Muriel resided, and was sorry to find that 
 she had been ill; but the letter said she was now better, and 
 would come by the boat the next day (Thursday). 
 
 We decided to take circuit tickets, and go down by the boat, 
 returning by the train with Muriel. On our way down, I noticed 
 something very strange in Falconbridge's manner, which startled 
 me. He complained of his head, which reminded me that he had
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 37 
 
 received a sword-cut on his forehead in the Crimean war, which 
 had affected the brain at the time, but from which he had long 
 recovered, as I thought. 
 
 He was talking rather gloomily, and said something about 
 Muriel ; if anything should happen, I should find his will all 
 right. 
 
 I rallied him about being so dispirited, but without much effect. 
 
 When we got to Harwich, we found that the boat had not 
 come in from Antwerp, but a telegram awaited Mr. Falconbridge. 
 It was dated from the Hotel de l'Europe, and it informed him in 
 the usual curt way that " Lady Muriel Mandeville was unable to 
 proceed. It was feared she was dying." 
 
 I shall never forget the ashy paleness that overspread his face 
 when he read the intelligence. 
 
 I tried to rouse him, but without effect for some time. He sat 
 down in the hotel that we had gone to, read the telegram, and 
 the tears coursed down his cheeks as he said to himself, 
 
 " Poor child ! poorchild !" 
 
 It was a pitiful sight to see a man like him, usually so difficult 
 to move, completely broken down. 
 
 Shall it be owned, my own eyes moistened as I heard him say- 
 ing over those words to himself, like one dazed, 
 
 " Poor child ! poor child I" 
 
 The next boat did not leave for Antwerp till the following 
 evening, and I persuaded him to come back with me to Ipswich. 
 For some reason or other he would go back by boat, instead of 
 taking the train.
 
 38 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 VERY NEAR TO SILENT STREET. 
 
 " The day is lovely," I said, trying to get him to talk to me as 
 we made our way down to the steamboat. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Aren't you well, old fellow ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes. I'm all right," he answered, looking straightfor- 
 ward at vacancy, and seeming to see nothing. 
 
 " Take a glass of brandy before we go," I urged. " You look 
 pale, man, and knocked up." 
 
 " No, thanks, I'm all right." 
 
 We had brought down his St. Bernard dog, Lion, with us. 
 The poor beast often came with us in our walks, and having fol- 
 lowed us to the station in the morning, we had allowed him to 
 accompany us. At Harwich we missed him, however ; but just 
 as the steamer started, it tracked us out, and, coming down with 
 a bound on the landing stage, at once leapt into the water and 
 swam after us. It was a faithful beast ; a shaggy,- fawn-coloured 
 coat, and a large, beautiful head, with great foolish, loving eyes, 
 as mild as any woman's, and a temper as placid and good as ever 
 dog owned. 
 
 Falconbridge was very fond of it, for it was a present from 
 Lady Kilpatrick, to whom it had been given by the Misses Penny- 
 fathers, and its sire was the same dog that figured in the memor- 
 able scene years ago at Canchester. 
 
 The poor thing barked and swam after us as fast it could, but 
 the steamer soon got ahead, and I feared the dog would be
 
 THE LADY MURIEL. 39 
 
 drowned. On any other occasion Falconbridge would have been 
 the first to go to the rescue of poor Lion ; but there he sat 
 moodily with his face buried in his hands, taking no heed of what 
 was passing by. At last I went to the captain, who good-natur- 
 edly stopped the boat, and in a few minutes we got the faithful 
 beast on board. 
 
 It immediately ran to its master, and crouched at his feet, but 
 he took no notice of it. 
 
 I was walking to the other end of the vessel, when there was a 
 sudden cry, 
 
 " A man overboard !" 
 A rush to the side of the vessel, which was immediately stopped, 
 showed me Falconbridge in the water. A loud bark and a great 
 plunge, and '• Lion " was seen swimming with his arm in its mouth. 
 
 To lower the boat, to take up the body, was the work of a 
 minute or two only ; to restore consciousness took a much longer 
 time. 
 
 I hurried down into the cabin, which was cleared of passengers, 
 and there was the dog whiuing pitifully, and licking his master's 
 hands, which hung down lifelessly by his side. 
 But, thank God ! he was saved, though it was long before he 
 
 recovered. When he did he was a changed man. 
 
 ***** 
 
 It appeared that some one had lent him the day's newspaper ; 
 he took it, out of civility, for a moment, and as he handed it back 
 with thanks, his eye caught the heading of a paragraph : — 
 "Failure of the great Shipping Company — Waters, Waters, and 
 Co.'' The sudden shock caused by seeing this news of the wreck 
 of his fortunes was too much for him. A sudden, dreadful im- 
 pulse seized him, and he sprang over the side of the vessel, in- 
 tending to end his troubles there and then. He recovered, 
 however, and so did Lady Muriel.
 
 40 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 Waters, Waters, and Co., only suspended payment for a time, 
 and now are as prosperous as ever. 
 
 Ipswich and its associations were too painful to poor Falcon- 
 bridge, and he soon gave up his house there, and he and his ward 
 and Mrs. Vaux have come to reside near us at Weston. 
 
 Little Lady Muriel promises to be as beautiful and accom- 
 plished as her mother, and she loves John Falconbridge quite as 
 much as if he had been her father. 
 
 The last time I saw him he had but lately become convalescent. 
 He said, 
 
 " Well, old fellow, I was very near Silent Street, wasn't I, that 
 day ? I was out of my mind then, I have fancied since, and if 
 it had not been for ' Lion,' Lady Kilpatrick's last present to me, 
 my dear little Muriel would have been left without a protector ; 
 but God has been very good to me, and I trust I may never for- 
 get His many mercies." 
 
 Jgfcv.
 
 HUBERT AND IDA 
 
 A LEGEND OF ST. SWITHIN S EVE. 
 
 Glorious sunset rays were glinting, 
 Hill and dale, and mount and lea ; 
 
 Purpling white smoke curling upwards 
 From the minute gun at sea. 
 
 Tinting all the rippling waters, 
 And the vessels sailing o'er ; 
 
 Making golden tower and steeple, 
 With the glories as of yore. 
 
 Twilight came upon the ocean, 
 Came and touch'd the ancient town ; 
 
 Slumb'rous shadows brooded over 
 Lofty headland, noble down. 
 
 And the curfew, sounding sweetly, 
 Caught by western evening breeze, 
 
 Floated over town and steeple, 
 Over those soft summer seas. 
 
 All around seem'd calm and peaceful, 
 All on earth, on sea, and sky, 
 
 Just as if there were no sorrow, 
 Strife, or discord ever nigh. 
 
 So thought Countess Eva gravely, 
 As she look'd o'er sea and land ;
 
 42 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 Look'd out westward through the gloaming, 
 Seeking loved ones on the strand. 
 
 One, a fair and stately maiden. 
 
 Eldest of a noble band, 
 And another leved as fondly, 
 
 Walking with her hand in hand. 
 
 Sauntering careless in the twilight, 
 
 Over shingle, yellow sand, 
 In and out, o'er rocks and caverns, 
 
 Still they linger hand in hand. 
 
 Now the tide is creeping, crawling, 
 Like a treacherous snake it moves, 
 
 Slowly round the cliffs and upwards, 
 Towards those Countess Eva loves. 
 
 Looking down from beetling crag-pt-th, 
 
 High above the fated pair, 
 Countess Eva sees the peril 
 
 Of the dear ones loitering there. 
 
 The summer morn a path of glory 
 Spreads across the glassy sea ; 
 
 Billow over billow rolling, 
 With a soft sound ceaselessly. 
 
 Onwards with a stealthy motion, 
 Like a truant creeping home, 
 
 See the tide comes sweeping, flowing, 
 With the white crest of its foam. 
 
 In the pathway of the moonbeams, 
 Where they shimmer on the strand, 
 
 By chill waters now surrounded, 
 Still they wander hand in hand. 
 
 Seeking here and there some outlet, 
 Hoping yet some path to find,
 
 HUBERT AND IDA. 
 
 Which may lead them yet to safety. 
 Leaving treach'rous sands behind. 
 
 Vainly do they call for succour, 
 None are near to help and save ; 
 
 Rushing waters come between them, — 
 Both must find a watery grave. 
 
 Oh ! the terrible despairing, 
 Oh ! the anxious, bitter cry 
 
 Of the mother who, above them, 
 Standing breathless, sees them die. 
 
 Sees the waters lapping round them, 
 Narrowing ever where they stand, 
 
 Till a last, sad vestige only 
 Now remains of shifting sand. 
 
 And the lover's mute appealing 
 To the God who reigns above, 
 
 Seems but mock'd by swelling waters, 
 As they hear him from his love. 
 
 So in death e'en they're divided, 
 
 For a cruel hungry wave 
 Carries her away, and sunders 
 
 That brief union in the grave. 
 
 A love of years, a love of childhood, 
 Which had only grown with time, 
 
 Now to close, oh, bitter ending ! 
 Just when both are in their prime. 
 
 Still he would have borne it bravely, 
 Call'd that bitter past but sweet, 
 
 If the false sea had not robb'd him, 
 E'en in death of her so sweet. 
 
 Parted by the glittering wavelets, 
 Plashing idly on the shore, 
 
 43
 
 44 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 Just a little distance only. 
 But to meet, oh ! nevermore. 
 
 From the grave he could not save her, 
 Though he now himself might save, 
 
 For a huge wave hears him safely 
 To the shore, to find — a grave. 
 
 Just across the streak of glory, 
 Comes a shadow and a cloud ; 
 
 Winds are rising now and sobbing 
 As of death, and of a shroud. 
 
 Dimly sees he coming towards him, 
 Washing nearer with each wave, 
 
 What was only bow the maiden 
 Whom he loved, but could not save. 
 
 Clamb'ring up on rock above him, 
 Looking down on that sweet face, 
 
 Borne so close beneath him, peaceful, 
 Full till now of light and grace ! 
 
 Can he live now she is taken 
 From his side in fear and pain ? 
 
 Can he look on her fond mother ? 
 Ne'er on this earth, ne'er again. 
 
 She, the stately, noble lady, 
 
 Standing awestruck, shrieks for aid ; 
 
 But, alas ! no echo answers ; 
 All her last hopes sadly fade. 
 
 Grief and fear o'ercome the mother, 
 Standing 'neath that placid moon ; 
 
 Calling vainly for assistance, 
 Sinking down in helpless swoon. 
 
 But the lover hears the last cry, 
 Dimly distant though it seems ;
 
 HUBERT AND IDA. 
 
 Just as one hears sounds and voices 
 In the visions that are dreams. 
 
 Dimly sounds the shrill beseeching 
 Wail that comes along the breeze : 
 
 Like the cry of some strange night-bird, 
 Heard 'midst grand old forest trees. 
 
 Something told him that a mother's 
 Sad lament gone up on high, 
 
 Had repeated the old story- 
 Earthly love is born to die. 
 
 That this world is not for ever ; 
 
 That here pleasure turns to pain ; 
 And the happiness of summer 
 
 Soon brings winter in its train. 
 
 And with one wild sob of madness, 
 Holding life without her cheap, 
 
 Looking down upon the waters, 
 Hubert took the fatal leap. 
 
 Down where Ida fair was lying, 
 
 In a little fairy cove, 
 Where the straggling moonbeams wander'd, 
 
 And the wave plash'd soft above. 
 
 And the fishers tell the story, 
 How one, passing on the cliff, 
 
 Saw the tragedy enacted, 
 
 Saw the corpses stark and stiff. 
 
 When the tide had slowly fallen, 
 Leaving these two on the shore, 
 
 He descended, with another, 
 And with help the lovers bore 
 
 45
 
 46 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 Up the craggy path, and homeward 
 
 To the castle of the lord, 
 Where the sad tale they related 
 
 Of the daughter he adored. 
 
 Side hy side the lovers lie now, 
 In the great ancestral tomb, 
 
 'Neath the stately fane, where slumber 
 All the dead in endless gloom. 
 
 Countess Eva now amongst them : 
 Never did she come again, 
 
 But on that drear night she wander'd 
 Over breezy down and plain ; 
 
 Gone distraught, and always asking 
 When would Ida e'er return ? 
 
 Sinking slowly, ever sinking, 
 Her life's lamp doth feebly burn. 
 
 And at last the Countess Bertram 
 Went the way we all must go ; 
 
 And the old baronial mansion 
 Was once more the house of woe. 
 
 Now they all are gone and vanish'd ; 
 
 Naught remains to tell of those, 
 Save the sculptured urn and hatchments, 
 
 Showing where they now repose. 
 
 But the fishermen still show you 
 That great rock, the Lover's Leap, 
 
 And the Fairy Cove, and tell you 
 
 Tales that make your cold blood creep. 
 
 How once every year at even 
 
 Two young forms do wend their way, 
 
 Over sand and over shingle, 
 Towards the cliffs near the bay.
 
 HUBERT AND IDA. 47 
 
 How the tragic scene's repeated 
 
 Where the faithful lovers died, 
 Where the hodies were discover'd, 
 
 And the mother wildly cried. 
 
 And some think the place is hauDted, 
 
 But of that I cannot say ; 
 Only on St. Swithin's even, 
 
 Naught would make me pass that way. 
 
 Still the glorious rays are glinting 
 Hill and dale, and mound and lea ; 
 
 Still the white smoke purples upwards 
 From the minute gun at sea. 
 
 Just another cloudless even, 
 Like the time I said before ; 
 
 And the sunset on the steeple 
 Brings back glories as of yore. 
 
 Tell such stories as I tell now, 
 Of a day now long gone by ; 
 
 Just to bring back the remembrance 
 Of some lost chord silently. 
 
 Some sweet scent— a sound of music — 
 Some one word — how oft they bring 
 
 A joy, a sorrow, or a something 
 That perchance to which we cling. 
 
 So this hour and day have brought me 
 Back to this old legend too ; 
 
 And I tell you as I've heard it, 
 Vouching that at least 'tis true. 
 
 And if you can find that old town, 
 Which stands nobly by the sea ;
 
 48 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 With its church, an ancient building, 
 Founded by the Bruce, say we : 
 
 Men, on asking, they will show you 
 Fairy Cove and Lover's Leap ; 
 
 And I trow will show you also 
 Those grey cliffs so bold and steep.
 
 GERARD MONTAGU 
 
 a winter's tale, 
 sequel to the " lady muriel." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ALL HALLOW EVE. 
 
 It was All Hallow Eve, the year of grace one thousand eight 
 hundred and sixty-nine, and a pleasant party were sitting round 
 a table in the drawing room of one of the new villas just built at 
 the outskirts of Weston-super-Mare. The evening was cold, and 
 a good fire burned in the grate, the warm curtains were drawn, 
 and there was a cosy winter-evening aspect about Chantry Villa 
 pleasant to contemplate. 
 
 My dear old bachelor friend, John Falconbridge, and his ward 
 had come in to spend the evening with us, and we were keeping 
 Lady Muriel's birthday. 
 
 Lady Muriel Mandeville was John Falconbridge's ward. There 
 was no relationship between them, but we had heard (indeed he 
 told me himself) a sad story about his being engaged to her 
 mother, the youug Dowager Countess Kilpatrick, and how she 
 died, and he adopted her daughter, then a little girl. 
 
 John wanted us very much to spend the evening with them — 
 their house was close to ours— but Mildred had asked Gerard 
 Montagu to tea with us that evening, and so they all came in to 
 spend Halloween with us. 
 
 B
 
 50 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 Old Mrs. Vaux, Captain Falconbridge's aunt and housekeeper, 
 was unwell, and begged to be excused, but we were a pleasant 
 little party nevertheless. 
 
 My wife came into the room saying, " Fred, what do you think 
 those silly people are doing in the kitchen ? Margaret and Ellen 
 are burning nuts on the fire place, and Margaret is almost cry- 
 ing with vexation because she and John won't burn together." 
 
 " What does it all mean, Mrs. Beverley? " Lady Muriel asks. 
 
 " Why, don't you know that on Halloween people burn nuts 
 together on the hob ? You take two — one is yourself, and the 
 other is your lover. Well, if they burn slowly together, side by 
 side, then you will be married; if a nut cracks or jumps, your 
 lover will prove unfaithful. It is an Irish custom, I believe." 
 
 " And a Scotch one, too, my dear," I said, correcting Mildred, 
 " don't you know Burns' poem, Halloween ? 
 
 ' The auld guidwife's well-hoordit nuts 
 Are round and round divided, 
 And mony lads' and lasses' fates 
 Are there that night decided ; 
 Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 
 
 And burn thegither trimly ; 
 Some start awa' wi' saucy pride, 
 And jump out-owre the chimly, 
 
 Fu' high that night. 
 
 ' Jean slips in twa' wi' tentie e'e ; 
 Wha' 'twas she wadna' tell ; 
 But this is Jock, and this is me, 
 
 She says in to hersel' ; 
 He bleezed owre her, and she owre him, 
 
 As they wad never mair part ; 
 Till, fuff ! he started up the lum, 
 And Jean had e'en a sair heart 
 
 To see't that night.'"
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 51 
 
 " What fun ! " cried Lady Muriel. " Let us have some nuts, 
 and try our fortune." 
 
 Well, we burnt my cousin Mary Grey and young Frank 
 Henderson together, but they didn't like it all, and Frank 
 bounced off the bar and into the grate ; then we tried her sister 
 Sophy and Paul Dedham, but it was no use — so we concluded 
 that those two young people must pick up fresh admirers, or live 
 and die old maids. 
 
 Then Muriel, who had been educated abroad and knew but 
 little about old English customs, was initiated into the mysteries 
 of ducking for apples, and eating one before the looking-glass, 
 with a view to discover her future husband, who, it is believed, is 
 seen peeping over her shoulder. Then we got talkiDg about the 
 other rites and ceremonies celebrated on Halloween ; and I re- 
 membered that popular belief ascribed to children born on that 
 night the possession of certain mysterious faculties, such as that 
 of perceiving and holding converse with supernatural beings. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, it will be recollected, makes use of this cir- 
 cumstance in his romance of The Monastery. 
 
 By-and-bye Mildred said, " How is it Mr. Montagu has not 
 come ? I thought you said, Fred, he would come to tea ? " 
 
 " So I did. I met him on the Knightstone Road and gave him 
 your invitation, and he said he certainly would come ; but he's 
 never to be depended upon. These business fellows never are." 
 
 "Is Mr. Montagu an old friend of yours?" Falconbridge asked ; 
 "I don't remember hearing you mention his name before?" 
 
 " No, I dare say not, yet he and I were at Ipswich Grammar 
 School fifteen or twenty years ago, and I had quite lost sight of 
 him till the other day, when he found us out. He's a Suffolk 
 man, and one of those men who are making haste to be rich. He 
 lives in the north of England, and is in the corn trade. I only 
 hope he won't come to grief or ruin his health. He's safe to do 
 
 d2
 
 52 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 one or the other, by over application to business," I added. " I 
 remember him. It seems only yesterday, when we big fellows 
 used to chaff little Gerard. He was a nice boy, though." 
 
 " Gerard Montagu — what a pretty, romantic name ! " Muriel 
 says, pensively. 
 
 " Yes, and his is a romantic history." 
 " Indeed, do tell us about it ; I am quite curious." 
 '• Well, Montagu is a good name, you know. There are the 
 Montagus Dukes of Manchester and Earls of Sandwich, and 
 Montagues Baroos ltokeby, and there were, in the old days, 
 Montagus Barons, Earls and Dukes of Montagu ; the Montagues 
 Earls of Halifax, besides the Montacutes (which is the original 
 name) who were Earls of Salisbury in 1337. But I don't think 
 Gerald lays claim to be descended from any of these, but only 
 from an old knightly family in Suffolk, who once held large 
 estates within eight or ten miles of Ipswich. I remember his 
 showing me an old silver seal once, with some arms engraved 
 thereon, which he took the trouble to tell me were, in the 
 language of heraldry, argent, three fusils in fesse gules, and I 
 afterwards found out (though he never told me) that they were 
 the arms of the Montacutes, Earls of Salisbury, of Edward the 
 First's reign. His father, on his deathbed, had given him this 
 seal, which he said had been in the family over two hundred 
 years, and that it wes almost the only thing left that seemed to 
 prove their descent. He told him, so Gerald said, that the lawyers 
 had been to him more than once about some property, the heirs 
 for which were wanted, but he had no proofs, and, being poor 
 (he was chaplain to some hospital, I think), he had not the means 
 to prosecute his claims ; but he reminded Gerard that the day 
 might come when he should be able to claim his own." 
 " Were the estates large ? " Falconbridge asked. 
 " Worth four or five thousand a year, I should think."
 
 GESARD MONTAGU. 53 
 
 " Hum, does Montagu pin much faith on the seal ? " 
 
 " Why ? How do you mean ? " I enquired. 
 
 " Well, don't you know there are crowds of people who fancy 
 that there are large estates somewhere to which they are the 
 rightfid heirs — if they could only prove it? " 
 
 " Ay. there's the rub." 
 
 " And then there's the statute of limitations, too ; if any one 
 has had undisputed possession for twenty or sixty years (whicli 
 is it ?) the estate is secured to the present possessor." 
 
 '• How cruel of you, uncle, to talk so," Muriel puts in. " It's 
 so romantic to fancy Mr. Montagu will recover the possessions 
 his ancestors owned after a lapse, perhaps of centuries, and I like 
 romance." 
 
 " I dare say you do, my dear ; but facts are stubborn things, 
 and I doubt if Mr. Montagu will have much chance of getting 
 back the family estates, unless he has some better proof than an 
 old seal to help him." 
 
 •' Does he expect himself to be successful ? " Falconbridge 
 added, turning to me. 
 
 " Well, no ; I don't fancy he thinks much about the matter. 
 But what reminded me of it was an advertisement in the 2Hmes 
 the other day, headed ' Heir-at-law wanted ;' and appended to 
 the paragraph the significant phrase, ' // this should meet the eye 
 of Ceo/frey Montayu, or Ins next of kin, he is requested to apply 
 
 at Mr. , solicitor,' (I forget the name and address) ' wh 
 
 he may learn something in his advantage? 1 cut the paragraph 
 out, and sent it to Montagu, at Darlington." 
 
 "But I thought Mr. Montagu's name was Gerard," Muriel 
 suggests. 
 
 " Quite true ; but his father's was Geoffrey." 
 
 " Well, did he go and see this lawyer ? " 
 
 " Yes, he came south on purpose, so he told me yesterday,
 
 54 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 He's rather knocked up with over work, and anxiety, and, 
 although he's been successful in one or two corn speculations, it's 
 a queer time, he says, now. He's struggled hard for a long time, 
 having been battling with the world ever since he left school, and 
 his great idea is to buy back the family estates, if he cannot get 
 them any other way." 
 
 " I am quite interested in your friend," Muriel says. " How 
 stupid of him not to come to-night, and my birthday, too," she- 
 adds, with a pretty pout. 
 
 " Why, my dear child," Falconbridge answers, " Mr. Montagu 
 must be over thirty, if he was at school with Beverley, and you 
 are only sixteen." 
 
 "Over thirty] why he is quite an old man; no, I mean a 
 middle-aged man," the little chatterbox cries, as she corrects her- 
 self, remembering that her dear uncle (as she fondly calls her 
 guardian) is much older, and her reflections are scarcely compli- 
 mentary to his age. 
 
 After a merry evening, thanks to my dear wife's good-natured 
 efforts, we all separated ; Mildred remarking, as she put a warm 
 comforter round Lady Muriel's neck, and kissed her : — " Good 
 night, dear, get home out of the snow as soon as you can (it was 
 falling heavily at the time) and don't dream of any future hus- 
 banos to-night."
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 55 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 lady muriel's dream, and gerard Montagu's 
 confession. 
 
 " Muriel, Muriel, dear, get up ! " 
 
 The speaker is Mrs. Vaux, who has gone into Lady Muriel's 
 hed-room in her sac de nut'/, looking more peculiar than pictur- 
 esque. 
 No response. 
 
 " What can be the matter with the child, she will not wake ? 
 Margaret, do come and see if you can wake her : I never did see 
 a girl in so sound a sleep in my life ; and the house may be burned 
 down over our heads," Mrs. Vaux continues. 
 
 " My lady, my lad* ! " the housemaid cries, and tries to rouse 
 her without effect. " Law, ma'am, how she does sleep." 
 
 There had been an alarm of fire from some old maids over the 
 way — fortunately, however, not founded on fact — at least it was 
 only a chimney, and that was soon put out, but not before the 
 neighbouring households were unnecessarily roused from their 
 slumbers at five o'clock in the morning. 
 
 At length, peace being restored in the Crescent, and Mrs. 
 Vaux's fears subsided in a measure, Muriel was left to her slum- 
 bers, which were so profound as to be almost death-like. 
 
 When they all came down to breakfast, Lady Muriel com- 
 plained of headache. 
 
 " You slept well enough — or at all events sound enough.'' 
 Mrs. Vaux said. 
 '•Did I, dear aunt? I had such an odd dream. I dreamt I
 
 56 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 was carried away against my will to a place very far away. It 
 was in England, though, because the people spoke English, and 
 looked like English. There was a broad, beautiful river, with 
 parks on either side of it, and trees right down to the water's 
 edge. But the land was covered with snow, and it all looked so 
 white, and glistening, and ghost-like, under the moon which was 
 shining overhead. I found myself suddenly close to a great 
 mansion. In the distance I could see quite clear in the moonlight 
 a large town with towers and spires. It seemed quite sheltered 
 by little hills, which rose at its back and sides, and appeared to 
 nestle at their base, and its streets to try and climb up their sides. 
 Once I was close to the town, and looking at it, and then I was 
 at the great house, and a young man came out and spoke to me. 
 He was so handsome ; tall, and dark, with curly hair, and suck 
 nice whiskers. I am sure I should know him again if I saw him, 
 and the town and the river. Well, then all was mist again, and 
 after a long time I came back. It was such an odd dream ; quite 
 unlike other dreams." 
 
 ■' Well, my dear, I dare say, it was in consequence of all your 
 talk last night. John was telling me about your Halloween 
 doings." 
 
 " Perhaps it was Mr. Montagu I saw, aunt." 
 
 " Who is Mr. Montagu, Muriel ? " 
 
 " Oh ! don't you know ? " 
 
 And then pretty fair-haired Lady Muriel told Mrs. Vaux all 
 about our hero. 
 
 Meanwhile that gentleman was taking a constitutional on the 
 new pier preparatory to breakfast. He had come down for a few 
 days to taste the briny odours at Weston-super- Mud (as some one 
 truly, though not very politely, named this now fashionable 
 watering place), not so much on account of the place itself, for 
 he was not a believer in the efficacy of iodine, said to be given
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 57 
 
 out of the oozy slime at low water, but principally on my account, 
 as he found that I had taken a house there. I used to run up and 
 down every day to Bristol, to my place of business. My wife 
 told me when I got home that night that he was coming to take 
 tea with us at seven o'clock (I always dined in Bristol), and 
 mentioned incidentally that she had met him that morning when 
 walking with Lady Muriel, and that he seemed much struck with 
 her little ladyship. lie was profuse in his apologies for not 
 coming as he had promised the previous evening, but business 
 had prevented him ; " and your husband will tell you, Mrs. 
 Beverley," he added, " that I make it a principle never to neg- 
 lect business." 
 
 " Mr. Montagu," Margaret announces, as she ushers into the 
 room a tall, dark, gentlemanly-looking man, about thirty years of 
 age, perhaps a little more. 
 
 Little Ethel, our only child, aged two years, is sitting on the 
 floor amusing us with her small gossip and pretty ways ; but her 
 mother, who is one of* those matrons that does not care to bore 
 her guests with her babies as some people do, signs to Margaret 
 to take off the little imp, who at first looks defiant, but at length 
 good-naturedly succumbs, and trots off laughingly after " Mad- 
 die," as she calls our housemaid. Gerard begs that the little one 
 shall not be taken away on his account, as he is fond of children ; 
 but mamma is peremptory, and only after much entreaty pro- 
 mises that baby shall come back to say good night. 
 
 We were sitting silently round the fire after baby's departure. 
 
 " Well, Gerard, what are you dreaming about ? " I said, obser- 
 ving that usually amusing bachelor gazing into vacancy, as sober 
 as a judge, and quite as stupid looking. 
 
 " Well, I was thinking of your fair friend, Mrs. Beverley," he 
 said, addressing my wife. 
 
 " Well, and what do you think of her, Mr. Montagu? "
 
 58 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " Me ? Oh, I don't know ; she has a very sweet face, I think. 
 I like those oval faces, with large violet eyes, and hair that some- 
 times looks dark and sometimes fair. You don't often see that 
 hair, I think ; it looks as if it were intended to he black or brown, 
 only some stray sunbeams have got caught in its silken meshes. 
 Tell me about her, Fred, I admire the little Lady very much," he 
 added. 
 
 " Well, first and foremost, she is only sixteen." 
 
 " Nonsense : she looks quite nineteen or twenty." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say she does to a stranger, for she has had a great 
 deal of trouble." 
 
 " I think I understood you she was a lady of title ? " Gerard 
 said, turning to Mildred. 
 
 " Yes ; her father was Lord Kilpatrick, but on his death the 
 title went to a distant cousin, who lives in the north of England. 
 The Earl died intestate, and his widow was left entirely unpro- 
 vided for ; but Lady Muriel has found a good friend in Capt. 
 Falconbridge, who has adopted her, and no doubt on his death 
 she will be very well off." 
 
 " Have her family taken no notice of her ? " 
 
 " Not the slightest ; indeed they scarcely know of her existence. 
 I believe Lady Kilpatrick, considering herself neglected by them 
 in her life, and being a proud woman, made Capt. Falconbridge 
 (who was an old lover of hers, and was to have married her had 
 she not been carried off suddenly) promise to have no communi- 
 cation with them if he could avoid it. Her name appears in 
 Burke, and that is about all the connection her Ladyship has with 
 the aristocracy ; and, besides ourselves, they scarcely kuow a soul 
 in Weston but the doctor and the clergyman of the parish," I 
 added. 
 
 "Kilpatrick! I fancy I've heard that name before," Gerard 
 remarks. " What is the second title ? "
 
 GEBAKD MONTAGU. 59 
 
 " Viscount Cheknondiston." 
 
 " Lord Chelmondiston ! Of course I know the name. He was 
 Captain in our Artillery Corps at Abbot Wrington." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Yes, and a very nice fellow, though rather fast. I don't sup- 
 pose he's more than twenty-three or so." 
 
 " What's he like ? " 
 
 " Well, he's not at all like Lady Muriel." 
 
 " Don't suppose he is, for she takes after her mother, so I've 
 heard Falconbridge say ; and, besides, the relationship must be 
 very remote. I've been told that the title went to a cousin about 
 sixteen times removed." 
 
 " Nonsense, Fred," murmurs Mrs. Beverley, over her work. 
 
 " Well, my dear. I am sure the late Earl of Kilpatrick was a 
 precious distant relative of the present one, who it is hoped is a 
 better sort of fellow than he was." 
 
 Presently baby, who had been put to bed but resolutely re- 
 fused to sleep, was brought down stairs in an unpleasant state of 
 wakefulness, and not being one of the shy sort, immediately made 
 overtures to Gerard, who seemed nothing loath to take her, much 
 to her mother's delight, and he immediately rose a hundred per 
 cent, in her estimation I could see. However, the young urchin 
 persisted in flogging her doll to such an extent for some heinous 
 offence against propriety (which it was thought dolls were not in 
 the habit of committing), and otherwise became so obstreperous 
 through Montagu's encouragement, that summary measures had 
 to be resorted to, and the young tyrant removed from the scene 
 of her labours in a state of howl. 
 
 "Baby's a great favourite with everybody," her mamma 
 proudly says, " but Lady Muriel quite spoils her." 
 
 " Indeed," said Gerard. " Then who would not be spoiled ? 
 'Tis a sweet face, the sweetest I have ever seen."
 
 60 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " Who's ? Baby's ? " Mildred asked. 
 
 " No. Your friend, Lady Muriel's." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, she is pretty." 
 
 When we retired for the night Mildred said to me, " Fred, 
 dear, I do believe it's a case of love at first sight." 
 
 " What between Gerard and the baby ? " 
 
 " No, you great goose." 
 
 " Well, who then ? " 
 
 " Why, Mr. Montagu, of course ; can't you see he's fallen in 
 love with Muriel ? " 
 
 " Bosh ! my dear ; you women are all match-makers. It's all 
 bosh." 
 
 " Well, he's a nice fellow ; I like him ; and how baby took to 
 him!"
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 61 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONFIDENCES. GERARD'S ADVENTURE. 
 
 A marvellous day for the 5th of November, a quiet, warm, 
 lovely autumn day, and but for its shortness it might be mistaken 
 for September. 
 
 Some one suggested that the weather was so fine we might 
 all have a sail, and, as Montagu's stay would be short, and we 
 ought to take advantage of every fine day, I gave myself a holi- 
 day, and we went with the party from the Crescent over to Brean 
 Down, and roamed about the part where the new fortifications 
 are being constructed. Gerard attached himself to Lady Muriel, 
 who seemed pleased with his attentions. 
 " Do you despise trade ? " he asked her. 
 
 "Despise trade I Oh. dear, no; why should I? Uncle's 
 kindest friend, Mr. Beverley, is in trade. I think his firm are 
 large brokers and exporters in Bristol." 
 
 " Well, you know that some people in your Ladyship's class do 
 affect to despise it." 
 
 " I dare say they do. But I don't know anyone in my class, 
 as you call it ; and I'm sure I don't want to if they are all as cold 
 and unkind as my father was to poor mamma ; " and her little 
 Ladyship dashed a tear away with a haughty effort at self-control 
 and attempted concealment as painful recollections rose up in 
 her mind. 
 
 " You do not despise business, Mr. Montagu, do you ? " she 
 presently inquired. 
 
 • No, I like it well enough when one has an object."
 
 62 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " And yours is a noble ambition, I think." 
 
 " Mine ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think it is noble to strive to win back the old estates 
 which have been in your family for centuries, and which have 
 left you through no fault of your own." 
 
 " Do you ? " Gerard said, and the colour mounted his cheek 
 with mingled pride and pleasure as he looked at the sweet maiden 
 walking by his side, and thought that for her sake it would be a 
 worthy ambition to strive and to succeed. 
 
 " Mr. Beverley said you had had some communication with a 
 London lawyer about those estates." 
 
 " Yes, I saw Mr. Grainger, and he seemed to think he could 
 prove my claims ; but of course I had to authorise him to pro- 
 ceed, and equally of course there were preliminary expenses. I 
 don't know what to think about it. I ran down to Ipswich 
 whilst in town, and took a cab over to the place, saw the church 
 and the old hall, and took an impression of one or two of the 
 brasses of my ancestors — one of Queen Elizabeth's and one of 
 Charles the First's reign," he added. 
 
 " Is it a pretty place ? " 
 
 " Very, for Suffolk, but, you know, nothing to compare with 
 Somersetshire. The country about is undulating in some parts, 
 but mostly very flat. The village of Montagu is much scattered, 
 but the old church stands very well, near the high road, — the 
 churchyard is bounded on two sides by the park, and the great 
 avenue is close to the old grey tower, which looks very pretty 
 seen through the vista of trees. The old hall was originally built 
 by my family about the fourteenth century, though little remains 
 of the original structure but the foundations, I suspect. The pre- 
 sent edifice is decidedly Tudor in character, and was erected in 
 the early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign." 
 
 " Well, I hope you will be successful," Muriel says warmly,
 
 GEEABD MONTAGU. 63 
 
 looking up in her frank, winning way into his face ; " you have 
 my best wishes, I'm sure." 
 
 "Thank you, Lady Muriel; there is nothing I should prize 
 higher than your good wishes," Gerard replies earnestly. 
 
 " Indeed, you are too kind," Muriel says quickly ; and with 
 woman's instinct changes the subject, as if feeling she was getting 
 on dangerous ground. 
 
 Gerard had seen a good deal of Lady Muriel the last few days. 
 
 We were so intimate with the Falconbridge household that 
 scarcely a day passed but we were either at theirs or they at ours. 
 
 [That's pure Suffolk, the last phrase, I take it.] 
 
 When we got home they must needs make a day of it, and we 
 all went in to tea at the Crescent ; and Falconbridge, to please 
 the young people (my cousins were there), let off a lot of fire- 
 works; and Gerard must needs persuade Lady Muriel, who was 
 fond of fun, and like all pretty maidens disposed to be a little 
 flirt, to go outside and see them better. We left early, and I per- 
 suaded Falconbridge fo walk down with us and have a smoke ; 
 and Mildred, having seen we were properly provided with the 
 nicotian weed and the necessary pipes, left us to our fate. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Montagu," Falconbridge said, " Beverley here has 
 been telling us about you being advertised for the other day in 
 the papers. I hope something is likely to come of it." 
 
 " Thanks, — I don't know I'm sure ; I'm beginning to disbe- 
 lieve in old estates and old families." 
 
 '• Indeed. Rather hard I think in the face of facts; but there's 
 no doubt that the aristocracy of to-day were in too many cases 
 the i»n r< mis of yesterday; and the working man of the nine- 
 teenth century boasts in some instances the blood of the Planta- 
 genets." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 " Sure of it. Why isn't it Burke, in his Vicissitudes ofFami-
 
 64 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 lies, who tells us that there is living at this moment in Beaulieu, 
 in Hants, a woodman who is the lineal descendant of one of the 
 Plantagenet kings ? 
 
 " Isn't the present representative of the great northern 
 family, the Conyers, a postman at Hexham, or somewhere there- 
 abouts ? I knew an Irish baronet myself a pauper in a hospital 
 in the north, and his next heir was one of the Irish constabulary. 
 
 " Then look back at the history of many of our aristocracy. 
 One man's great grandfather was a grocer, became Lord Mayor 
 of London, and got made a baronet. His son gets into Parlia- 
 ment, and is made a Peer when a new batch is wanted to swamp 
 the Lords on some Liberal question. The present lord is twice 
 as proud and haughty as a De Courcy, a Stanley, a Howard, or a 
 Percy. 
 
 " Another noble lord's grandfather was a lawyer, and becomes 
 Lord Chancellor ; he marries his cook, and his grandson figures 
 in the Divorce Court. Or perhaps the descendant of twenty 
 earls, an effete gentleman who boasts of his blue blood obtained 
 through marrying in and in for ten generations, until it has 
 become, shall I say ichor, falls in love and marries a pretty act- 
 ress, and the result is that the azure becomes more crimson, and 
 the brains of the new generation are improved in quality, whilst 
 the physical man is improved in tone. I've had some experience, 
 and I say this, that in these days money is everything, blood and 
 birth nothing. 
 
 " A man with money can aspire to any one ! "' 
 
 " By-the-bye, Gerard, I think you said you knew Lord Chel- 
 mondiston, Lady Muriel's relative," I put in. 
 
 " Well, I don't know much of him. The first time I met him, 
 it was a queer business." 
 
 " You don't say so ! " 
 
 " Yes, I do. I was then in business at South Wrington, and
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 65 
 
 was going home to Barton, where I lodged — about two 
 miles off. 
 
 " Abbot Wrington is an old town in the north of England, 
 standing on a peninsula, and jutting out into the sea. South 
 Wrington, the new town, lies more back, and stretches away to 
 the south, rather towards Barton, which is a little watering place, 
 you know. There are large iron works at South Wrington, and 
 at the time I speak of the men were out on strike. Some of them 
 were desperate-looking fellows, and I often thought I would 
 rather not meet any of them on a dark night. Well, I had been 
 on drill (I was a full private in our Artillery Corps), and we 
 strolled into the Royal Hotel afterwards, to have a smoke and 
 a glass of grog before going home, for it was a cold night in 
 December. Lord Chelmondiston had been on drill too ; but, to 
 tell the truth, he was rather a fast fellow at that timo— it's now 
 four years ago, he was only nineteen or twenty, and I dare say 
 he's altered now. At any rate, he went off to the theatre with 
 Menzies, one of our captains, and a great toady. Where they 
 went afterwards I don't know, but I left the hotel a little before 
 twelve, and was on my way home, when I heard the sound of some 
 one riding furiously behind me. The tide was up, and I couldn't 
 get by the sands, which were always covered at high water, and 
 there was nothing for it but to go over the sand hills (or bents, 
 as they call them in the north), which in the darkness was not 
 pleasant ; they are so full of pitfalls. I thought this fellow must 
 either be mad or a fool, or he would not come pounding along at this 
 pace such a night as this, and in such a place. However, he 
 passed me at a gallop, yelling out as he went by a drunken 
 ' Tally ho ! ' 
 
 " Fearing something would be sure to happen, I hurried after 
 him as fast as I could, and I don't suppose I hud gone another 
 hundred yard before I heard a cry of ' Help! ' 
 
 E
 
 66 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " Sure enough his Lordship is down, I thought. Lucky for 
 him its soft sand and not hard boulder. 
 
 " I ran on as fast as I could, as I heard another cry ; and, by 
 Jove, there he was, pitched off the horse on to his head, and two 
 fellows trying to rob him. I recognised one of them as a man I 
 had seen at the Iron Works, and before he could say Jack Robin- 
 son I had given him a crack with the flat of my sword bayonet, 
 which sent him down like a shot. The other fellow was off in 
 quick sticks, and luckily we were not far from a lonely farm 
 house, which stands midway between Barton and West Wrington, 
 and I was able to get assistance and to take him in. 
 
 " His collar bone was out, but we got him removed in a few 
 days to the Castle, and my dear old friend, Dr. Evans (a first- 
 class fellow), attended him, and soon pulled him through. I 
 think it did him good, you know ; I don't believe he's been drunk 
 since." 
 
 " Sharp lesson, certainly,— lucky that you were in the way, it 
 strikes me," Falconbridge remarked. 
 
 " Was he going home ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well, he thought he was, I suppose, but the fact is, if he had 
 gone much farther he would have found himself in the German 
 Ocean, I suspect." 
 
 " What became of the fellow you knocked down ? " said Fal- 
 conbridge. 
 
 "Oh, he? James Beard, I remember the fellow's name was. 
 We picked him up ; he was stunned, you know ; and we took 
 him in, and then sent off for a policeman. 
 
 " I had to appear against him at the assizes, and he got two years- 
 
 " He says ' he oices me one, and means to pay me some day," " 
 
 he added. 
 
 " Did Lord Chelmondiston express himself as grateful to you?'' 
 
 Falconbridge asked.
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 67 
 
 " Oh, yes. he behaved like a brick, and has been very civil to 
 me since then. 
 
 " Of course, the papers got hold of the story, but they told a 
 lot of lies, praised me up no end, and said nothing about his 
 Lordship's being drunk. They headed it ' Daririg Highway 
 Robbery ' ; and there was an illustration of course in the Police 
 News, and didn't they make me handsome ! " 
 
 As Gerard went back to his hotel that night he thought a 
 great deal about what Falconbridge had said about birth, and 
 blood, and money, and he resolved to himself this task : to win 
 back the Montagu estates, and, if successful, to offer Lady Muriel 
 his hand. 
 
 " She will not despise me because I'm a corn merchant,'' he 
 said, '• and Falconbridge is too much a man of the world to op- 
 pose it, if I can only make her love me. At any rate, if / ever 
 marry at all, Muriel shall be my ivife." 
 
 t.2
 
 68 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Six mouths have passed away, and the early summer days have 
 come again. 
 
 Gerard soon returned to the North, after spending a very happy 
 fortnight, so he said, at Weston-super-Mare : thanks to me, he 
 observed, but my wife thought perhaps the thanks were more due 
 to Lady Muriel. 
 
 I heard from him twice or thrice since, and he never failed to 
 inquire particularly after her. He was getting on very well, I 
 understood, but I could not help fancying he was overtasking his 
 strength, and one day he would rue it. 
 
 He used to start from Darlington (where he had gone to reside, 
 as being more central for his business) early in the morning, in 
 time for Leeds corn market ; and, after travelling almost all day 
 and attending the sale, he would get home at six or seven o'clock 
 quite done up, having probably tasted nothing since he left home 
 in the morning. Three or four days in the week he was travel- 
 ling, attending even the London market, and so, by his unre- 
 mitting attention to business, was laying the seeds of disease in 
 the race for wealth. He used to complain of his head a good 
 deal, but he would say, when urged to take more rest, that a poor 
 man must work — that bread was so hard to get now-a-days, and 
 that he had an object in view, an ambition, which wealth alone 
 would enable him to gratify. 
 
 Dr. Evans warned him that constant railway travelling had 
 been proved to be most baneful — that it laid the train of brain
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. (39 
 
 diseases, besides affecting the health in other ways, and he would 
 not answer for the results if Montagu persisted in sticking so 
 close to business. Montagu only laughed at hirn, called him a 
 jolly old humbug, and told him about Lady Muriel. 
 
 He was his dear friend, and so he confided in him, though per- 
 haps he would not have told his secret to any one else in the world. 
 
 And Dr. Evans' face (which usually looked so grave and sad, 
 as if he had troubles and trials which he could not confide to 
 another) grew graver and sadder, and he went his way with a 
 sigh on his lips and a pain at his heart. 
 
 Yes, it must be owned that our hero had fallen in love with 
 charming Muriel Mandeville ; and " absence only made his 
 heart grow fonder," as Moore says. 
 
 Did Lady Muriel return his affection ? Time alone will prove. 
 
 " Mother," Lord Chelmondiston said, strolling into her Lady- 
 ship's boudoir at Sneyd Park, Lord Kilpatricks estate on the 
 Orwell ; " Mother, I met Montagu in town this morning ; he's 
 looking shockingly knocked up. It's such an age since I had 
 seen him, that I was quite delighted. I met him in the Park, a 
 most unlikely place to see him he told me, but he was so fagged 
 with business that he had come out for an airing. I took him 
 into the Junior Carlton, and gave him some lunch ; he wouldn't 
 come at first, but I may say I dragged him.'' 
 
 " My dear, I hope you did no such thing." 
 
 " Yes, I did. figuratively, of course." 
 
 " Well, dear," Lady Kilpatrick said, looking quite relieved to 
 find that his lordship had not had recourse to physical force to in- 
 duce his friend to accompany him to his club ; " and what did 
 Mr. Montagu say to you ? " 
 
 " Oh, lots, mother. I believe he's knocking himself up with 
 business. By the way, he said he had met a relation of ours at 
 Weston last autumn."
 
 70 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 •' Impossible, Arthur." 
 
 '• Quite true, mother, my cousin — Muriel Mandeville.'' 
 
 " Oh, the late Countess's daughter. What sort of a girl is she ? 
 Her mother was pretty, but she was a governess, I believe, design- 
 ing I dare say, and no doubt managed to make your father's 
 cousin marry her." 
 
 " That's a very unjust speech of yours, mother, and not like 
 you," her son replied indignantly. 
 
 " Well, dear," Lady Kilpatrick said pleasantly, " perhaps you 
 are right, but you have not answered my question." 
 
 " Oh, Montagu says ' she's lovely, she's divine,' and all that 
 sort of thing ; — fact is, I believe he's in love with her." 
 
 " Nonsense, Arthur." 
 
 •' Well, mother, and why shouldn't he ? If her own relations 
 take no notice of her, I don't see why other people shouldn't. 
 
 " I declare," the young Lord went on, " I was quite ashamed 
 of myself when I thought I did not know my own cousin — who 
 was living amongst strangers, because her own kith and kin 
 forget the ties of relationship. 
 
 " Besides, if it comes to that, we ought to be very thankful to 
 her for being a girl." 
 
 Her Ladyship burst out laughing. 
 
 " Well, you may laugh, mother, — but if Lady Kilpatrick had 
 had a son instead of a daughter — father would have been plain Mr. 
 Mandeville, and you would not have been Countess of Kilpatrick." 
 
 Her Ladyship was silent ; the shaft had gone home. 
 
 Lord Chelmondiston saw his advantage, and pressed it. 
 
 " Mother, don't you think it would be kind to ask Muriel to 
 come and see us ? " 
 
 " Well, Arthur, I really don't know, I will think about it. 
 
 " And now, dear boy, you must leave me, for it is half-past 
 seven, and I must dress for dinner,"
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 71 
 
 " I say, mother, Montagu says Captain Falconbridge, with 
 whom Muriel lives, is fifty if a day, and looks ever so much older," 
 the young fellow returned to remark, and then he left his mother 
 to her own reflections. 
 
 Her Ladyship did think about it, and the more she thought 
 about it the more it seemed to her that they had acted unkindly 
 to Lady Muriel. 
 
 It is true that they had written once to her since her mother's 
 death — but her letter, she admitted, was not calculated to make a 
 very good impression. They had somehow looked down upon 
 Muriel's mother because she was not born in the purple — but 
 what did they know about her ? Nothing ! She was a perfect 
 lady, every one said that, and her only crime was her poverty, 
 which, coupled with the fact that she had won Lord Kilpatrick's 
 heart, who every one knew was a scamp — was sufficient for what 
 — to make the relatives of her child neglect her as if she were 
 basely bom. 
 
 Then, too, there was this attachment of Mr. Montagu's — there 
 might be no truth in it — but if there were, what then, who was 
 to blame? If Lady Muriel married out of her circle it would 
 certainly be the fault of the family. Mr. Montagu was a very 
 worthy young man, — very worthy indeed; — they owed him a 
 debt of gratitude for saving Arthur's life ; — but still Lady Muriel 
 must not be suffered to marry a corn merchant. She would in- 
 vite Muriel to come and see them at Sneyd Park, — and she 
 should accompany them to their place in Ireland, Castle Court, 
 where she was born, — she should be introduced to people in her 
 own sphere of life,— and this dream (if there w r ere any dreaming 
 on her part) should pass away as all dreams do. 
 
 Having satisfied herself as to her goodness of heart in thinking 
 of the poor orphan — (she would have been the last to admit that 
 family pride and noblesse oblige had anything to do with it) — her
 
 72 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 Ladyship resolved to invite Muriel to Sneyd Park — and Lord 
 Kilpatrick offering no objection (he never did) a missive was sent 
 to Weston-super-Mare accordingly. 
 
 It came a day or two after the conversation between mother 
 and son related above, and it found John Falconbridge sitting on 
 the sands, and Lady Muriel near him, reading Lothair. 
 
 " Uncle, are all the great people beautiful and talented, as Mr. 
 Disraeli describes them ? " 
 
 " Oh, Disraeli sees the aristocracy and their surroundings 
 through rose coloured spectacles. The book is clever — but if 
 we had had a few ugly peers, plain and stupid peeresses, and less 
 about Ayranisrn, Semitic races, and Theodoras — the book would 
 have been more realistic, certainly more readable." 
 
 " I should like to know more about the people he describes, 
 uncle — to judge for myself." 
 
 " Would you," he said, and looked at her curiously. 
 
 " I've had a letter, would you like to see it? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, if you like." 
 
 " It's from Lady Kilpatrick ! " 
 
 John Falconbridge started and turned pale, but collecting him- 
 self, said sadly, 
 
 " I suppose it's to ask you to go there ? " 
 
 " Why, how did you guess that ? " 
 
 " I've long had a presentiment that they would." 
 
 " They ask me to go and make a long visit ; isn't it kind of 
 Lady Kilpatrick ? I am so happy." 
 
 Then suddenly she looked up and saw the big tears in his eyes, and 
 she stole her pretty little hand into his big broad palm, and was silent. 
 
 " Well, dear, and you will go of course? " 
 
 " No, not for worlds, uncle, if you do not wish it. You have 
 been a father to me. I owe everything to you, and no one shall 
 take me from you."
 
 GERAKD MONTAGU. 73 
 
 " Ah, my dear, I am afraid they will ; and if they should, I 
 think it would break my heart to lose you." 
 
 John Falconbridge was, however, too unselfish to stand in the 
 way of Muriel's happiness. A week afterwards Muriel was at 
 
 Sneyd Park. 
 
 She had never been in this part of the country before, though 
 when she returned from school in Germany it was intended she 
 should come by one of the Great Eastern boats to Harwich, but 
 her illness prevented, and she afterwards came the Calais and Dover 
 route. Yet somehow the scene was strangely familiar. The 
 beautiful river, the view of its great curves from the Hall, the 
 distant town of Ipswich, all seemed like some picture she had 
 seen, some vision of the place she had seen long ago. 
 
 Lady Kilpatrick came out and greeted her warmly. Lord 
 Chelmondislon, who had intended meeting her at the station, 
 came in soon after, and she could not help remarking to Lady 
 Kilpatrick when they were introduced, 
 
 " It all seems veryodd, but if I did not know to the contrary, 
 I should be quite positive that I had seen Lord Chelmondiston 
 before." 
 
 " Say Arthur, please," that young aristocrat put in with his 
 most fascinating smile; "you know we are cousins, but it is 
 strange, I seem to feel that I have seen your face before." 
 
 Muriel laughed a merry laugh, and remarked that " her face 
 was by no means an uncommon one." 
 
 Her dark handsome cousin was about to make a very compli- 
 mentary answer, for the lady was pretty, and he was an intense 
 admirer of pretty women, but Lady Kilpatrick carried away her 
 young relative to take off her things. 
 
 She enjoyed her visit very much. Lady Kilpatrick was not a 
 bad sort of woman, and she soon got to be fond of the sweet, even- 
 tempered, clever girl who had come amongst them. There were
 
 74 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 lots of people there, and Muriel saw plenty of company. After stay- 
 ing a month or two the Countess's quick eye discerned something 
 which made her think that her son had certainly fallen in love with 
 his pretty cousin, and she was by no means sure that the feeling was 
 not reciprocal. She certainly had not bargained for this, but Lord 
 Chelmondiston had been rather fast, and it would be as well, now 
 that he was twenty-four, that he should think of settling down. 
 Lady Muriel was only seventeen, and perhaps, after all, there 
 might be nothing in it. Besides, how about Mr. Montagu? 
 She never had been able to make anything out about that. 
 Muriel had once or twice mentioned him, but it was in such a 
 way that one would not have thought there was any feeling in 
 that quarter. At any rate matters must take their course; it 
 would be time enough to interfere when interference became 
 necessary. Perhaps if she were to speak now, she might only put 
 ideas into their heads which were not there before. 
 
 So her Ladyship said nothing. 
 
 One day they took Lord Kilpatrick's yacht and sailed down the 
 Orwell and up the Stour. There was a party of five or six, but 
 somehow or other Lord Chelmondiston and Lady Muriel seemed 
 to have so much to say to each other as to have little time to 
 devote to their guests. Somebody said something about old cus- 
 toms, and Halloween came up in the course of conversation, 
 which reminded Muriel that her birthday was on that day. Lord 
 Chelmondiston bent over her and said, 
 
 " Muriel, shall I tell you a secret ? " 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " Well, of course you won't believe it ? " 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " Well, last October we had some Irish people, the Bourchiers, 
 at the Hall, and they taught me a Halloween spell. I tried it, 
 and sat up all night to watch the result.
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 
 
 75 
 
 " I declare to you most solemnly that you walked into the Hall, 
 and I saw you the same as I saw you when first you came to us. 
 
 " You stayed a minute or two and then you vanished as you 
 came. I was sorry I had attempted to tamper with the powers 
 of the unseen world, but if I were on my oath before a court of 
 justice, I should swear it." 
 
 Muriel blushed, and then seemed a little frightened. 
 
 " Do you not believe me ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she said. 
 
 " Do you know what it meant ? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " It meant you were to marry me." 
 
 " How silly you are, Arthur," Muriel said, and then she went 
 to the other end of the yacht and joined the others.
 
 76 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 D E MOKTUIS. 
 
 The end of last July Gerard came in upon us at Weston quite 
 unexpectedly. Mildred was shocked at his appearance, for he 
 looked haggard to a degree, and almost wild at times. 
 
 He had lost a great deal of money lately through some unfor- 
 tunate ventures, and he had been to his lawyer in London about 
 the estates, and evidently had not received good news, though for 
 some days he was taciturn, almost morose, ^when we approached 
 the subject. He had heard that Lady Muriel was at Sneyd Park, 
 but seemed to expect that she would have been home again ere this. 
 
 My wife was distressed about him. He didn't seem to know 
 what to do with himself — he was always going in and out, but 
 he seemed restless and not himself at all. He was very anxious 
 to hear everything about Muriel, how her relatives treated her, 
 how she liked her cousin, and above all when she was coming 
 back! 
 
 My wife had her suspicions, from certain letters she had re- 
 ceived from the little lady, that all was not as it should be, and 
 Gerard's chance was small ; but she had no opportunity of saying 
 anything, because he neither made her nor me his confidante in 
 the matter. 
 
 The last night he was with us (I had gone down to Falcon- 
 bridge's for a quiet smoke, as he was rather lonely in Muriel's 
 absence) he seemed more hopeful, Mildred thought, but he was 
 bewailing his poverty, and wondering how it was poor men ever 
 got married.
 
 GERARD MONTAGU. 77 
 
 " Well," Mildred said, '• I suppose it all depends upon whether 
 people love each other very much, but if people marry when they 
 are poor the love must not be all on one side." 
 
 " Well, I've nothing to marry on now," he said. 
 
 Then Mildred answered quietly, whilst she took little Ethel on 
 her knee, and was apparently busying herself in fastening baby's 
 shoe — 
 
 " It would not be honourable, would it, for any one to propose 
 if they had not enough to live on ? 
 
 " Now, baby dear, I will sing you one of your own little 
 nursery rhymes, and Mr. Montagu shall listen to us, shan't he, 
 dear ? " and she warbled to baby, much to that little innocent's 
 delight, who tried to join : — 
 
 " There was a little man, and he wooed a little maid, 
 And he said, • Little maid, will you wed, wed, wed ? 
 I have little more to say, Then will you ? yea or nay ; 
 For least said is^oonest mended— ded, ded, ded.' 
 
 " The little maid replied, some say a little sigh'd, 
 
 ' But what shall we have for to eat, eat, eat? 
 
 Will the love that you're so rich in, make a fire in the kitchen ? 
 
 Or the little God of Love turn the spit, spit, spit? ' " 
 
 When Montagu rose to go he said — 
 
 " Good bye, Mrs. Beverley. Baby has taught me a lesson to- 
 night. I shall not forget it." 
 
 A month afterwards I received a letter from his great friend, 
 Dr. Evans, which shocked us all very much. 
 
 It ran as follows : — 
 
 " Darlington, :51st August, 1870. 
 " My Dear Mb. Beverley, — 
 
 " I am sure you will be very grieved to hear that our 
 mutual friend, Montagu, is no more.
 
 78 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " He died on the 28th of this month, in the Lunatic Asylum at 
 York. I had long feared that his brain was becoming affected, 
 and warned him not to overtask his strength, but it was una- 
 vailing. Almost immediately after his return from the South a 
 marked change was observed in him. It began by his fancying 
 that he was always followed about by a man whom he was in- 
 strumental in bringing to justice some years ago in a highway 
 robbery case. Then he got a scheme into his head, and went 
 about for signatures to get an Act of Parliament passed about 
 some estates near Ipswich, which he said were his. 
 
 " The poor fellow had been prosecuting his claims for some 
 time, and it was thought he was approaching a successful issue, 
 when his lawyer discovered that although he was the undoubted 
 heir, the last purchaser had, about a hundred years ago, suspect- 
 ing some flaw in the title, protected himself by a special Act of 
 Parliament. Montagu had paid something 'like £1,000 to this 
 man, and all to no purpose. 
 
 " Then, poor fellow, it appears he had formed an attachment 
 to a young lady in the South, living somewhere near you, as I 
 understood, and from what transpired during his stay at Weston 
 he gathered that his hopes were at an end in that quarter. This, 
 together with the losses in business he had recently sustained, 
 preyed upon his mind to that extent that, fearing he would do 
 violence to himself, we took him to York. 
 
 " Strange to say, when we got to the Asylum he was to all 
 appearances as sane as you and I ; so much so indeed that the 
 doctor, turning to us, said pleasantly, after a pause, < And which, 
 gentlemen, is the patient?' Then he laughed in our faces, 
 accused us of conspiring to shut him up ; and we were obliged to 
 take him home again. Soon, however, he had a recurrence of 
 the attack, he was removed to the Asylum, grew rapidly worse, 
 and succumbed at last, I have lost a good friend in poor Gerard
 
 GERARD MONTAGU 79 
 
 Montagu, who was universally liked and respected here, and as 
 you may suppose his death has made a painful impression in this 
 neighbourhood. I should add that I found amongst his papers a 
 little packet, which I enclose, addressed to Lady Muriel Mande- 
 ville. As I do not know her ladyship's address, may I beg you 
 to give it her?— Yours truly, 
 
 " George Moore Evans." 
 
 Mildred could not help weeping when she heard the distressing 
 news, and I was also very much cut up. 
 
 Ethel (who was her mother's almost constant companion), see- 
 ing the tears in her eyes, cried too, out of sympathy, as children 
 do ; but, poor thing, she cannot understand why her kind friend 
 never comes now ; and she often asks her mother when " good 
 Midder Montadu," as she called him, is coming again. It is a 
 trite saying, but a true one, that misfortunes never come singly. 
 My dear friend Falconbridge never seemed himself after Muriel 
 left, and I was alarnlfed to find him in a fit one night when I 
 strolled in to have my accustomed cigar with him. 
 
 We telegraphed immediately for Lady Muriel, who came late 
 the next evening, too late, however, to see him alive. 
 
 Poor little dear, she was dreadfully distressed when she found 
 her dear guardian was no more. My wife thought she would be 
 really ill ; it seemed to have such an effect upon her. 
 
 It was not for some days that we dared to break to her the 
 news of Gerard's sat fate. She had a kind, warm heart, and wept 
 tears of sympathy when Mildred read Dr. Evan's letter to her. 
 
 I don't think she hiul any idea of the depth of Gerald's affec- 
 tion for her. He had been too honourable to say one word, until 
 he felt he should be in a position to offer her marriage. But she 
 took the little packet, opened it, and found therein a beaut i lid 
 emerald ring
 
 80 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " Will you not wear it for his sake ? " Mildred said, " it can 
 do you no harm." 
 
 " Oh, yes, — if I may ; — if he will let me." 
 
 Mildred looked up askance, and saw pretty Muriel's face suf- 
 fused with blushes. 
 
 Mildred went up to her and whispered something. 
 
 Muriel blushed and smiled. 
 
 " I am so glad, dear." 
 
 " What does it all mean ? " I asked. 
 
 ' ; Nothing, dear." 
 
 I afterwards learnt that there was a sort of tacit understanding 
 between Muriel and somebody else ; and about a month after 
 the Morning Post announced that — 
 
 " An alliance was contemplated between Lord Chelmondis- 
 ton, only son of the Earl and Countess of Kilpatrick, and his 
 cousin, Lady Muriel Mandeville." 
 
 THE END. 
 

 
 AUTUMN 
 
 The autumn waxeth old, 
 
 The sua sets o'er the sea ; 
 His golden rays so cold, 
 
 So cold they shine on me. 
 
 The warmth of the summer sun 
 Has gone with the summer leaves; 
 
 And the glory of the year went by 
 When the reapers bound their sheaves. 
 
 Then the bearded grain was full, 
 
 As the sickle cut it down ; 
 Whilst the flowers of earth had faded, 
 
 That on mossy banks had grown. 
 
 The autumn winds blow cold; 
 
 And grey clouds dim the sky ; 
 The wild blasts tell the dreary tale, 
 
 That winter draweth nigh. 
 
 The giant lords of the forest, — 
 
 The grand, the olden trees, — 
 Lowly they bend their heads to hear 
 
 The whispering of the breeza. 
 
 The swallow southward flies, 
 And dead eaves flutter and fall ; 
 
 Golden and crimson they cover the ground, 
 Like a splendid funeral pall. 
 
 The ocean is oovet'd with foam, 
 Pot the storm-king rri^ns around ; 
 
 i
 
 82 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 And the dreary roar of the soughing waves, 
 Disturbs the peace profound. 
 
 And the glittering dew-drops lie 
 Unquench'd in the morning light ; 
 
 And all Nature seems to die. 
 
 With its myriad forms so bright. 
 
 But the spring-tide comes again, 
 With its verdure and its flowers ; 
 
 And Nature shall again rejoice, 
 
 Through the live-long summer hours. 
 
 A THOUGHT ON A SUMMER SEA. 
 
 When the golden sun is sinking 
 Down beneath the western sea, 
 
 Oft there comes a solemn, silent, 
 Brooding calm of mystery. 
 
 And the night shades, slowly creeping 
 
 Up and over all the main, 
 Cover up the old world softly, 
 
 So she goes to sleep again. 
 
 Then the stars shine out so sweetly, 
 
 Sadly o'er the quiet scene, 
 Till the glimmering, gleaming twilight, 
 
 Comes and drowns them in its sheen. 
 
 So they shut their bright eyes slowly 
 
 Very slowly, one by one ; 
 And the earth awaits the coming 
 
 Of her sovereign lord the sun.
 
 ERNEST BLAKE 
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 
 
 My father was a poor surgeon in the city of Gloucester, where he 
 was hoth liked and respected, and his loss was much lamented. 
 I was left an orphan very young, when I was scarce twelve years 
 old. Our large and hitherto happy family party was broken up, 
 and my brothers and myself sent out to make our fortunes in the 
 world, friendless and alone. Not altogether friendless, though : 
 for my uncle Joseph, who was a banker in Edinburgh, got both 
 my brothers into the navy (they were just thirteen and fourteen 
 when they entered), a»d, when I left school, some two years after, 
 took me into the bank in Edinburgh, where I have since re- 
 mained. My three sisters were taken charge of by another uncle, 
 a lawyer in Gloucester, possessed of some means : the husband of 
 a beautiful wife, very much younger than himself, but not the 
 father of a family. I had been some three years in the bank, had 
 many friends in the north, and, what was equally pleasant to a 
 prudent man, had saved a little money, and was now in the re- 
 ceipt of (for a young man) a tolerable income. Perhaps I am a 
 little romantic and superstitious— I rather think I must be ; for, 
 when Christmas came round this year — it was 1856 — I felt that 
 I must go down to Gloucester, to see my sisters, and that some- 
 thing of great consequence to myself would happen there. Uncle 
 Joseph gave me a week's holiday, a large hamper of Scotch cakes 
 ind othei weetmeats, and a bos containing sonv pretty Christ- 
 en
 
 84 t ALES AND POEMS. 
 
 urns presents for my sisters and the family at Coatharn House — 
 that was the name of our adopted home — and sent me off on my 
 journey. 
 
 I always like to go by the night mail, and so started by the 
 5-55 train, which would carry me through to London by half- 
 past ten on the following morning. I had some business in 
 town : I could finish it during the day, and, as time more than 
 money was the object, I could soon dash down to Gloucester by 
 the Great Western, and be with my sisters by ten or eleven that 
 night. I marked out my time in this way ; and the evening of 
 Tuesday, the 22nd of December, saw me comfortably ensconced 
 in a first-class carriage prepared for my night journey to the 
 south. Our compartment was full all the way to Newcastle, 
 where the other passengers got out, leaving me alone ; and I 
 hoped to remain undisturbed for the rest of my journey — as it 
 was now eleven o'clock, and I wanted to get a quiet sleep — till I 
 got to London. However, I was doomed to disappointment; 
 for, scarcely had the door closed after the retreating passengers, 
 and I had comfortably settled myself back for a nap, than a 
 gentleman and lady entered the carriage, and as the guard came 
 round to examine the tickets I saw " London " on theirs. The 
 gentleman — whom I at first mistook for a clergyman, but who 
 turned out to be a barrister, on the northern circuit — looked at 
 me earnestly as he entered : and I at him, for there was some- 
 thing about the man that took my fancy ; and he also appeared 
 to be satisfied after his scrutiny. Tall and commanding in figure, 
 with hair and beard like Hamlet's father, " a sable silvered," 
 and with a tout ensemble that bespoke high breeding, Mr. Vernon 
 was just such a man as I could like ; and, as for his daughter (he 
 called her Annie, and I soon found out the relationship) she was 
 one of those beings who seem like angels in disguise sent to earth 
 on missions of love and mercy. It must be owned that I am an
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 
 
 85 
 
 ardent admirer of the sex, and certainly here admiration was not 
 misplaced. I cannot describe now how she was habited, but it 
 was in a dark dress, with a white burnous cloak on, that I first 
 saw Annie Vernon, with such sunny ringlets half escaping from 
 the charming little bonnet, which shielded her fair face, and with 
 such sweet blue eyes aud lovely Grecian features, dainty hands, 
 and charming figure, as I shall never forget. There was a cer- 
 tain pallor on her cheeks that made me sigh for her, and at times 
 a haggard expression about the face, which spoke of frequent 
 pain and sometimes agony. I noticed all this in a glance, aud it 
 was quite sufficient to interest me in the young lady and her 
 father, and I think we all improved upon acquaintance. 
 
 We had travelled as far as York, and had all of us taken a little 
 refreshment there. Miss Vernon took a cup of hot coffee, and 
 presently complained that it and the cold night wind had brought 
 on an attack of neuralgia, a complaint from which it appeared she 
 had long suffered. Again the haggard, weary look came o'er 
 that fair face, and I longed to relieve her from her suffering. 
 Have you ever read, gentle reader, Dr. Gregory's Letters to a 
 Candid Enquirer f because, if yoa have not, read them at once. 
 I had read the work, and had been introduced to Dr. Gregory 
 himself, who was, at the time I speak of, Professor of Chemistry 
 at the University of Edinburgh, and had imbibed the doctrines 
 and philosophy of Mesmer when very young. Of late, too, I had 
 experimented a good deal in animal magnetism, and to a certain 
 extent studied the science ever since I left school, with what suc- 
 cess the reader has yet to learn. I had frequently thrown " sub- 
 jects " in!o the magnetic sleep, and had cured such slight 
 maladies as trouble the teeth and head upon more than one 
 occasion. So I thought that mesmerism might relieve his daugh- 
 ter, and accordingly asked Mr. Vernon if there were any objec- 
 tions to my throwing the young lady into the magnetic sleep in
 
 86 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 order to take away the pain which seemed, at times, as if it would 
 overcome her. 
 
 " Oh no," said he, " I have seen enough of mesmerism to 
 believe in it, and shall be glad, indeed, if you can be of any ser- 
 vice to Annie." 
 
 " Trust me, I will do my best, if only the young lady will 
 submit ? " was my reply ; and, Miss Vernon having no objection, 
 I at once commenced operations. I had learnt their names from 
 the label on their luggage, and their relationship from Mr. Ver- 
 non's observations. 
 
 " And now, if you please, Miss Vernon," I began, "you must 
 be content for the next half hour or so to submit to my will ; 
 have no fears for yourself ; I will not harm you ; your father can 
 interfere if he thinks proper. Look in my eyes steadily — so : do 
 not blink or shut your eyes at all till you are forced to do so, 
 and, once closed, do not attempt to open them again till I tell you." 
 
 " Very well, I will do as you bid," replied she ; " only take 
 away this dreadful pain." 
 
 It was wonderful how friendly we had become within the last 
 hour or two ; but then you see we had been talking all the way 
 down from Newcastle, and had become quite intimate already. 
 Whirling along at thirty miles an hour in the dead of night, with 
 no sound save the thud-thud of the carriage wheels rattling over 
 the metal rails at terrific speed, puffing and snorting, the iron 
 horse prances onwards through the night air, drawing at his 
 back, besides his living freight, ten thousand written thoughts 
 addressed to friends and kinsmen hundreds of miles away. Mean- 
 while, I am sitting gazing earnestly and fixedly into Annie's 
 sweet blue eyes, and waving my hands before her steadily and 
 slowly. In measured time I beat the air, whilst pouring as it 
 were the magic anodyne down over her yielding form. At length 
 the eyelids droop, the hand relaxes its grasp, the whole form seems
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 87 
 
 to lose its active power, the head falls against the cushioned back 
 of the carriage, the eyes close, and she is asleep. I still continue 
 for a minute or two to make the passes, for though all pain has 
 gone, I want " to make assurance doubly sure," by deepening the 
 sleep. At length I pause. 
 
 Mr. Vernon remarks : " How very extraordinary ! " 
 
 I smile in triumph at having so soon accomplished my object. 
 
 " Have you ever seen anything of clairvoyance, Mr. Vernou ? " 
 say 1—" and may I ask you, has Miss Vernon ever been mes- 
 merised before ? " 
 
 "To your first query, no. I have seen little of mesmerism 
 except in the mere ordinary phenomena, and to the other, not to 
 my knowledge. Indeed, I don't think my daughter has ever heard 
 much about the science." 
 
 '• Well then, sir, I shall, with your permission, endeavour to 
 call out the clairvoyant faculty, which I think your daughter, 
 Miss Vernon, possesses : perhaps you may see what is extraor- 
 dinary indeed." 
 
 " Miss Vernon, are you asleep ? " I ask. 
 
 There is no response. 
 
 " Answer me," I say authoritatively, at the same time slighty 
 touching the organs of individuality and firmness, and pointing 
 at the eyes (this commands obedience). 
 
 " Ye-es," at length gasps out the lady, in a manner and tone 
 exactly opposite to her usual way of speaking. 
 
 " Do you see?" I ask. 
 
 Again the pause, and again the same hesitation of speech, as 
 if she were tongue-tied. 
 
 I make a few rapid upward passes over the mouth, and she 
 answers readily, " No." 
 
 " Then I command you to see," and with that I draw from my 
 coat a steel rod, and point it first to her eyes, then to her lips,
 
 88 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 and then to her heaving bosom ; she bounds as if a dart of flame 
 had pierced her heart, and then falls back, in a trance-like state, 
 and remains still and motionless. 
 
 How lovely and yet how weird-like she looked just then, as 
 she lay back against the rich dark cushions of the carriage, with 
 her fair golderl curls in wild confusion falling down over her neck 
 and shoulders, and contrasting strangely with the sombre hue of 
 her dress, and the darkened half-hid shapes round her, just visible 
 through the obscurity. The lamp was burning low, and gleamed 
 fitfully and luridly down upon us all, sometimes leaving us in al- 
 most total darkness, and then throwing out one sickly yellow ray, 
 which caused fantastic shapes to dance before our eyes, and 
 brought out the shadowed outline and pale face of the sleeping 
 beauty like some ghostly visitant doomed thus to appear. All 
 was still and silent as the grave within, and an expression of un- 
 earthly beauty and spiritual intelligence had settled on her coun- 
 tenance ; the roses stole back for an instant to her cheeks, and 
 then disappeared, and she seemed listening and looking at sights 
 and sounds perchance thousands of miles away. So, then," I 
 touched her eyes, and bade her speak. 
 
 ■• Can you now see ? " I repeat. 
 
 " Yes ! " is the reply, and then I pause to ponder for a little 
 time to collect my scattered thoughts. 
 
 Mr. Vernon cries, " Annie, do you see me ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Can she not see ? " he asks of me. 
 
 " No, indeed, nor hear either, unless placed en rapport with 
 you. At this moment the lady can neither see nor hear, except 
 I will it, and by my transferring, as it were, a portion of my 
 power to another," I reply. 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 " It is even as I say, and I give you free leave to shout as lustily
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 89 
 
 as you can : Miss Vernon will be quite unconscious of what you 
 are doing." 
 
 Just at this moment we were entering a tunnel, and the engine 
 gave a loud shrill whistle of warning as we dashed through ; hut 
 Miss Vernon remained with as placid and unruffled a countenance 
 as if the stillness of night reigned profound — not a muscle moved, 
 and there was not the slightest indication of consciousness. 
 
 " Are you satisfied now, Mr. Vernon ? " I ask. 
 
 He bows acquiescence, and I proceed with my manipulations. 
 
 Having placed them en rapport, as it is called : " Miss Vernon, 
 who is this ? " I ask. 
 
 " My papa." 
 
 "What is his name?" 
 
 " Lord Vernon ! " 
 
 I look round to Mr. Vernon, enquiringly. He starts, turns 
 slightly pale, and says, 
 
 " My daughter is certainly giving me a title to which I cannot 
 say I have no right, but which I certainly do not bear at present ; 
 but I will tell you, if you care to hear, all about it some day." 
 
 " Perhaps it may be that Miss Vernon sees what you will 
 become," I suggest, " and so addresses you by a title you may 
 some day bear." 
 
 " Heaven knows ; I have had a great deal of trouble about it ; 
 but ask her if she knows anything ? " 
 
 " Miss Vernon, why do you call your father Lord Vernon ? " 
 
 " Because he is Lord Vernon, or at least, can establish his claim 
 to that title." 
 
 " How so ? " Mr. Vernon asks. 
 
 " Why, my lord " (he looks pleased and smiles at this style of 
 address), " I see some papers." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " At Mr. SoanesV
 
 90 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " The family solicitor,'* he explains to me. 
 
 " What are they ? " 
 
 " One, a very old parchment, written over in curious characters? 
 and one in some foreign language — Latin, I think." 
 
 " Is it signed ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " By whom ? " 
 
 " Shall I spell it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " E-d-v-a-r-d-u-s IV., Edward the Fourth." 
 
 " It is," explains Mr. Vernon, " the patent conferring the title 
 of Barou upon my ancestor, or, what is more probable, a copy of 
 it, and a document I have long been searching for, but hitherto 
 without avail." 
 
 " What other papers do you see ? " 
 
 " One which looks like a certificate of some kind, and two or 
 three folded up together." 
 
 " Can you see the names, if there are any, in the certificate ? " 
 
 " Yes ; John and Margaret Vernon." 
 
 " How very extraordinary," says Mr. Vernon to me ; "I do 
 believe, Sir, that this is the very certificate of marriage between 
 an ancestor of mine and a ceitain fair lady about whose origin or 
 antecedents I have been hitherto unable to gather anything. I 
 verily believe that this will make my evidence complete before 
 the Committee of Privileges of the House of Lords." 
 
 The fact was, as I afterwards learned, that Mr. Vernon was a 
 claimant for an old baronage created in 1-470, and which had 
 been in abeyance since 1760, when the 13th Lord had died, 
 leaving five daughters, who were, of course, equal claimants for 
 the title and estates. The patent was made out, as almost all the 
 old titles were, for the heirs-general, instead of being limited to 
 the '• heirs male of his body lawfully begotten," as they have it
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 91 
 
 now-a-days ; and, in consequence, the law was that the title 
 should remain in abeyance till the descendants of four of the 
 sisters had all died off, when the family which remained, if they 
 eould make good their claim, would become the possessors of both 
 title and estates. Diligent enquiry had been made for many 
 years, and it had been proved that the families of three of the 
 sisters had become extinct. About the fourth there was no cer- 
 tainty; but more of that anon. Mr. Vernon's telling me this 
 reminded me that my mother's name was Vernon ; and I should 
 remark here, by the way, with reference to the name being re- 
 tained through female descendants, that Mr. Vernon told me it 
 was ordered in the old Lord's will that, if either of his daughters 
 marriad, their husbands should take the name of Vernon ; and a 
 certain sum was left to pay the necessary fees required on obtain- 
 ing a " sign manual " for that purpose. 
 
 Mr. Vernon was overjoyed upon hearing that the missing 
 documents which were so essential to prove his claim were safe, 
 feeling sure they would be found. Nor was he disappointed, for, 
 sure enough, there they were, in an old oak chest in the lawyer's 
 office, hid away snug from the light for this many a day, and now 
 only discovered through the wonderful faculty of clairvoyance. 
 
 I had often seen clairvoyance before, and had once or twice 
 succeeded in eliciting it myself, but never with so complete suc- 
 cess as upon this occasion ; and I was so delighted with what I 
 had witnessed, that I determined to put to the test these inborn 
 powers of Miss Vernon, and endeavour to produce some of those 
 phenomena which mesmerists classify under the names of " intro- 
 vision " and " prevision," or prophecy. 
 
 And here, gentle reader, I must tell you a secret. Long years 
 ago, when I was quite a boy, I had fallen in love with a young 
 lady who lived near Gloucester, and whose father was a retired 
 officer in the army, living on his half pay and some little private
 
 92 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 property which had been left to him. Major de Courcy was a 
 proud man — proud of his birth, for he represented a cadet branch 
 of one of the oldest families in the realm, and proud of his posi- 
 tion. He was looked up to in Gloucester as one of its chief 
 citizens, and might have been elected any time these ten years 
 mayor of that ancient city. Mrs. de Courcy was one of the 
 most fascinating women I ever beheld, and one of the best, too ; 
 and, as for the daughter — oh! how I loved her. Amy de 
 Courcy was an only daughter, possibly a little spoilt, but she was 
 such a graceful creature, with hair of light brown, and beautiful 
 grey eyes (Sir Joshua Reynolds says grey eyes are the most ex- 
 pressive), a swan neck, and sylph-like figure, that would have 
 rivetted the gaze and commanded the admiration of the most 
 confirmed misogynist. I had been almost always away at school, 
 so seldom saw her, and for many a year was in love with Amy 
 simply because she was my ideal of perfection. My boyish affec- 
 tion had almost died away — at least I thought so ; and yet I still 
 wore round my neck a little locket, with one tiny ringlet of her 
 beautiful hair enshrined therein. I had seldom seen her of late 
 years, and knew that she did not care for me as much even as for 
 her pet Persian cat ; and, indeed, for that matter, it would have 
 been strange indeed if my affection had been reciprocated, we 
 were so nearly strangers to each other. 
 
 But to return. I said I wanted to put to proof those wonderful 
 tales about clairvoyant's gifts of foresight, and telling by certain 
 media what was happening to certain persons. So, whilst Mr. Ver- 
 non was taking down his notes, I took out my little locket, placed 
 it in Miss Vernon's hand, and bade her tell me what it was. 
 
 " It is a locket," she replied, wearily, after pressing it to her 
 forehead, to which it appeared the organ of sight had fled. I 
 made some energetic passes over her, and she seemed to imbibe 
 fresh vigour with each wave of the hands, and to increase in in-
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 98 
 
 telligence with each downward sweep, as I poured the magnetic 
 fluid upon her. 
 
 " Whose hair is this ? " I asked, " tell me what you see ? " 
 
 Presently, after holding the locket, as before, to her forehead, 
 and with a great effort, as if straining after something, she replied, 
 
 '•I see an old mansion, with a large and ancient gateway, a 
 church at one side, and a great avenue of trees up to the house." 
 
 " Well, and what else ? Who is there ? " 
 
 " Some ladies and an old gentleman." 
 
 " Do you see a young lady there ? " 
 
 '• Yes." 
 
 " Who is she ? " 
 
 " It is the young lady to whom this hair belongs." 
 
 " Good." 
 
 I paused for a moment, and then said, hurriedly and low, 
 
 " Can you look into her heart, and tell me if she loves any than 
 herself ? " 
 
 Do not sneer, gentle reader, clairvoyance is sometimes all but 
 omniscient ! 
 
 " She is very fond of her mother." 
 
 " How can you tell ? " 
 
 " I see her constantly looking at her, and, sometimes, when no 
 one is near, she goes up and kisses her." 
 
 " Well, but does she love any one else ? Has she any lover ? " 
 I ask excitedly. 
 
 " I cannot tell," she murmurs in reply, wearily. 
 
 " But you must, I command you," and with that I again drew 
 out my steel wand and touched her. 
 
 Instantly she darted forward, and then fell back for a moment, 
 as if electrified, recovered herself and murmured " No." 
 
 Inexpressibly relieved at what I have heard, I proceed with my 
 questions.
 
 94 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " What are they talking about ? " I ask. 
 
 " An elder lady, her mother, is speaking to her." 
 
 " Well, listen to what they say." 
 
 " She says that she has received a letter from Miss Blake, say- 
 ing that her brother Ernest " 
 
 " Yes, I am Ernest Blake ; well, go on." 
 
 " That Ernest comes home for a few days at Christmas, and 
 they would like to bring him over to see them." 
 
 " Well, what does Amy say ? " I am sure it is Amy. 
 
 " She says, ' Let them come here.' " 
 
 " Well, and shall I go ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 It is enough, I am more than satisfied. 
 
 " Now, Miss Vernon, I have fatigued you much, and you shall 
 sleep — sleep soundly for a few hours, until we get to town." 
 
 With that I motioned Mr. Vernon what I was going to do, and 
 with a few rapid passes threw my patient into a deep sleep, from 
 which I knew she would awake refreshed and well. 
 
 So then she slept. Five hours afterwards she awoke refreshed, 
 and quite recovered : quite oblivious of all that had passed since 
 I had put forth the charm of " woven paces and of waving arms," 
 and robbed her of all consciousness. Mr. Vernon briefly thanked 
 me for the marvels I had disclosed to him, and for curing his 
 daughter, for the time being, at least, of that most painful ner- 
 vous disease, tic doloreux ; whilst I had to thank him for his 
 kindness in allowing me to experiment upon so fair a subject as 
 his daughter. We then dozed away till we got near London, 
 and chatted to each other during the rest of the journey, I pro- 
 mising to visit them when next in Newcastle. And when I left 
 my two companions, after awakening Miss Vernon, it was with 
 feelings of something like pain. I had only known them twelve 
 hours, but then twelve hours in a carriage all to yourselves, and
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 95 
 
 with young people especially, is quite sufficient to make an 
 agreeable acquaintance, that may afterwards ripen into a lasting 
 friendship. I may here add that Miss Vernon's affliction never 
 returned again. I soon finished my business in London, and was 
 in Gloucester within a few hours, received with such generous 
 hospitality by my jolly good-natured uncle and his charming wife 
 — not to mention my sisters — as quite satisfied me of their tender 
 regard for my welfare and continued interest in their nephew. 
 
 " And now, if you please, Mr. Ernest," says my eldest sister, 
 in her capitally assumed prim way, "you are to go with me (or 
 with us rather, for we have since determined all to go) to Anham 
 Court to see the de Courcy's ; they have kindly invited us to go 
 up there where they are staying for a short time, to-morrow." 
 " Of course you will go, dear," Ethel says. 
 Ethel is my youngest sister, and I think I am fondest of her — 
 at least I make her my confidante, and tell her all the state 
 secrets, of which everybody else is supposed to be ignorant ; but 
 somehow or other I think they all know. 
 
 " Of course, Ethel," I say gallantly, " if you say so I go." 
 " But Ethel is not the attraction, Ernest, is she ? " Bella puts 
 in, giving a glance at me at the same time, intended to convey 
 that she knows all about it. 
 
 " My sister's company is quite attraction enough for me," I 
 respond, blushing at the same time, as I feel everybody knows I 
 am going to see Amy. 
 
 " Blushing at eighteen, and a young man too — how absurd ! " 
 I fancy I hear somebody say. 
 
 Well, perhaps it is, but I could not help it, at that time, never- 
 theless. 
 
 " Ernest, my boy," says Uncle Joseph, " you have never told 
 us how all the good folks at Edinburgh arc, and what you have 
 brought in that great hamper and box."
 
 96 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " Ah ! I quite forgot ; thinking so much of the pleasure of 
 seeing you all again had quite driven out of my head all the 
 messages." 
 
 " Has not Amy something to do with it ? " whispers Ethel 
 maliciously. 
 
 " Well, perhaps it has," thought I, but I didn't say so. 
 
 Next day we went to Anham. My sisters knew the way — 1 
 did not — and though I had some recollection of Miss Vernon's 
 previsions about some old mansion I was to see, I was not pre- 
 pared for so accurate a description as that she gave. 
 
 It was a lovely morning when we set out to walk to Anham 
 Court, and it was the 24th of December— Amy's birthday. How I 
 longed to present her something to show I loved — but I knew it 
 would be resented if I, a mere boy, and with prospects so dispro- 
 portionate to the de Courcy's standard of eligible young men, 
 should so presume. I knew that in their eyes I should never be 
 deemed worthy of their daughter's hand, and yet I aared to love 
 her. What a lovely morning that was, and how happy we were, 
 as we trudged along to see our friends at the old mansion ! I 
 was curious to see the place, and curious to see Amy, who had 
 grown up since I had last seen her, and of whose memory, it must 
 be owned, I was enamoured, rather than herself. As we entered 
 the park, with its grand old elms, stately sycamores, and sturdy 
 oaks lifting up their leafless branches to the skies, and swaying 
 to and fro with melancholy sighing as the wintry winds whistled 
 through them, I thought of the company of olden days that had 
 been seen here. This old hall had belonged to the Lord of 
 Valentra, and here in old time tournaments had been held. 
 Knights, armed cap-a-pie in glittering steel, had tilted here before 
 the noblest of the land ; and once they bent their knee before 
 King Edward III., when the king's grand-daughter had been 
 wedded to Lord Aymer de Valentra. The snow had fallen, and
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 97 
 
 was now frozen to the boughs of the trees, and covered the gables 
 and roof of the old mansion. How cold it looked that day, and 
 yet how pleasant. Christmas time seems always pleasant, even in 
 an old deserted manor hall. The mansion itself was fast moulder- 
 ing away, and the tapestries and ancient armour that hung 
 within that hall have all disappeared. The old church was there, 
 grey and somewhat gloomy, and the beautiful sloping lawn that 
 went down to the river that passed beneath was covered with 
 snow. 
 
 And there I saw Amy. I remember I hardly dared to look at 
 her when she came into the room, and they all shook hands with 
 us. And, when we went out into the garden for a stroll round 
 before going home, I could not say a word, but only gazed upon 
 her as she passed. Then I went back, scarce uttering a single 
 word till we got home, and feeling that it was all over, I loved 
 her without hope of winning h"r, and so I knew it would be till 
 my dying day. 
 
 My brief visit to "the south had done me good. I needed the 
 change of air, and altogether I was not sorry I had seen Amy. I 
 returned once more to Edinburgh and duty. I had hoped that 
 my affection was for the ideal, and that when I should see her 
 again I should find out that she was not my ideal; but, the 
 moment I saw her I felt the reality, the force, and fervency of 
 my passion for her, and, at the same time, felt the hopelessness 
 of my suit. Every year I came clown, at Christmas, to Glouces- 
 ter, and every year contrived to see Amy. Eight winters had 
 passed away — I was now twenty-six. Some changes had taken 
 place in our family. One of my brothers had risen to be a lieuten- 
 ant, and then fallen a sacrifice, in the Russian war, to the terrible 
 ambition of a despot. The other was rising in the service. My 
 sisters had all married, excepting the youngest, Ethel, who was 
 as much my confidante as ever, and who knew that I was not 
 
 '■■
 
 98 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 going to marry unybody but one who lived in Gloucester, and if 
 I could not marry her, I should live and die an old bachelor. I 
 was young enough to change my mind ; but she knew I would 
 not do it. Mr. Vernon had removed to London, to carry on the 
 better his researches into the genealogy of his family, and to 
 assert his claims before the Committee of Privileges in the House 
 of Lords. My eldest brother, Robert, had been from home several 
 times since I had first known the Vernons ; and, when oppor- 
 tunity offered, I gave him an introduction to them in London, 
 and he used very often to go there to see them. He was on fur- 
 lough, and came home in high spirits one day when he had just 
 returned from London — whither he had gone, as he said, on 
 special business — and told me he wanted to say something very 
 particular if I could only come out for a walk. 
 
 How is it that we can talk better when rambling about ? 
 
 " Well, Robert, and what is it all about ? " I asked, as we 
 were briskly walking out into the country on a fine frosty 
 morning. 
 
 " You know, Ernest," he said, " how much I have seen of the 
 Vernons for the last three or four years, and how much they have 
 got to like me." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " and what then, brother mine ? " 
 
 " Oh, you stupid fellow," says Robert, " and can't you divine 
 that I have fallen in love with the daughter, and she has accep- 
 ted me." 
 
 " Oh, oh, is that it, my boy ? " I responded, with something 
 like a sigh ; for I had flattered myself that Miss Vernon rather 
 liked me, and, although I was in love with another, I suppose I 
 should not have objected to think that the fair Annie was pining 
 for me. 
 
 " Well, now that you have told me, Robert, I'll tell you what, 
 I'm glad to hear it, and I heartily congratulate you, my dear boy,
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 
 
 99 
 
 and if you had not got it you might have got something else— 
 that's all," I remarked. 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, Ernest ? " says Commander 
 Robert — he was a commander now, in the Royal Navy. 
 
 " Why, just this. Do you remember my telling you about Mr. 
 Vernon's claims for a peerage, which is dormant, and which he 
 hopes to get called out of abeyance in his favour ? " 
 
 "Yes. Well?" 
 
 " You know our mother was a Vernon, do you not? " 
 
 - Yes." 
 
 " Well, perhaps, you don't know that she was one of the heirs 
 general to this title of Lord Vernon of Wye." 
 
 " No— is that so ? " 
 
 " Yes. Since Mr. Vernon interested me in this subject I have, 
 for the last five years, been poring over musty registers and old 
 histories, and all sorts of curious documents, to arrive at the truth 
 of the matter ; and 1 think I have pretty well proved that all the 
 descendants of the five sisters are dead, except Mr. Vernon's 
 family and our own. If you had not been engaged to the young 
 lady, I'm not so sure but I should have contested his claim to the 
 title and estates. However, as, by your marriage with her, the 
 two families are to be again united, all our claims are settled." 
 
 And so Robert made his confidences to me, and I told him 
 about our pedigree. 
 
 It was another Christmas eve, and we were all down at Glou- 
 cester enjoying ourselves. Such a large party there was there. 
 The De Courcy's had been invited to come; and the Vernons 
 from London ; and the two married sisters, with their husbands 
 — one an artist, the other a physician ; and a whole host of 
 others. The Vernons could not come, as Mr. Vernon had been 
 obliged 1o stay in London about this suit of his, which was expec- 
 ted to be settled definitively within a few days, and we were all
 
 100 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 rather anxious about it. more especially as every one now knew 
 of Robert's engagement. I had been a little sad lately, for it was 
 rumoured that Miss de Courcy was just engaged to a young offi- 
 cer, who had come to the barracks near the city ; and I feared it 
 was true, for he was well connected and sufficiently eligible. So 
 I determined to ask her that night if this were so. It was New 
 Year's Eve, and we had had a quite dinner, followed in the even- 
 ing by a dance ; and I had succeeded in engaging Miss de Courcy 
 for a polka at the beginning of the evening. After the dance 
 was over, instead of leading her to a seat and leaving her. I asked 
 her to walk through the rooms with me, as I wanted to speak to 
 her. 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, I have no objection," she said, looking at me 
 curiously. 
 
 Then we wandered through the rooms together, Miss de 
 Courcy commenting on what she saw — sometimes kindly, some- 
 times satirically, as women will when they know what is coming 
 — whilst I scarcely observed anything, but was thinking sadly 
 how I should begin. It was a regular Christmas party, just such 
 an one as my dear old uncle liked to gather round him on such 
 an occasion. There were young people and married people, and 
 old people, and little children, such a medley of our friends and 
 such pleasant happy faces they seemed all to have. In one room 
 we had contrived to settle down some of the elders ; and as there 
 were some notable whist players amongst them, the games did 
 not lack in interest there. In another room we had packed most 
 of the little ones away, where tbey were playing at " blind man's 
 buff," and had just blindfolded Ethel as we entered the room. 
 Ethel was very fond of children, and was a great favourite 
 amongst the little ones. The carpet had been taken up in the 
 large library leading from the hall, and here the dancing was 
 going on. Little groups here and there were seen mostly in the
 
 ERNEST BLAKE. 101 
 
 corners and near the windows, who seemed to be engaged very 
 pleasantly, especially where they were in couples. One or two 
 disappointed maiden ladies, with imposing head-dresses and an- 
 tique dresses, sat back, disgusted at the proceedings — especially 
 such as still danced, or attempted to do so, and could not get 
 partners for the next polka or quadrille. And there were a few 
 wall-flowers scattered along the sides of the room ; and the chival- 
 rous gentlemen led these out to the dance, and did their duty 
 well. And ever and anon my uncle's kindly face or my aunt's 
 charming countenance beamed down upon them all ; and then 
 they went amongst the others — a pattern host and hostess. Then, 
 at last, I mustered up courage, and determined to speak my 
 whole mind once for whole. 
 
 " Miss de Courcy," I began, " do you remember that visit to 
 Anham Hall, and how I could not speak to you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember. To tell you the truth, Mr. Blake, I 
 thought you rather stupid." 
 
 How these words chilled me; but the decisive moment had 
 come, and 1 must know my fate ; so I just answered, 
 
 " Perhaps I was foolish then, and perhaps I am now ; but it 
 does not much matter. Will you let me take the privilege of an 
 old friend, however, and congratulate you ? " 
 
 " What about ? " asks my fair friend, demurely. 
 
 " I heard that you were engaged to Captain Vesey. Is it 
 true ? " I asked carelessly, and yet waiting for an answer as if 
 life or death depended upon it. 
 
 " Yes, it is perfectly true," she said, calmly. 
 
 " But what makes you so pale ; and why do you startle ? " she 
 added. 
 
 " Oh ! nothing — the heat of the room — a sudden spasm — it 
 will be gone directly. There, I am well again, now. Here is 
 Captain Vesey ; let me hand you over to his care. Au revoir"
 
 102 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 I walked out into the cold air, and it refreshed me ; and pre- 
 sently my sister Ethel came to me, and kissed me sorrowfully, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 Ethel is coming to keep house for me now. I shall be an old 
 bachelor ; and so good bye, and happiness go with you all. The 
 most momentous periods of our lives are oftentimes the shortest. 
 
 I should just add one line, to say that Mr. Vernon made good 
 his claim to the peerage (chiefly through Miss Vernon's clair- 
 voyant discoveries), and there were none to dispute it with him. 
 He is now Lord Vernon, and his daughter the Hon. Mrs. Blake. 
 Last Christmas-day a little boy was born, who is to be called 
 Ernest Blake, and who will one day be Lord Vernon. Miss de 
 Courcy married Captain Vesey, who was killed in the Indian 
 mutiny, after having been made a major, and, through a cousin's 
 death, coming in to the title of Lord Viscount Vesey, which he 
 has left to a small boy, the very picture of his mother and not 
 unlike his Lordship. Her Ladyship, the fair widow, who is still 
 very yuuug, has refused several offers since then ; and 1 love her 
 as much now as ever I did. 
 
 What will be the end of it ? Who shall tell ?
 
 ONLY A CHRISTMAS ROSE." 
 
 Fak from the land where the mist o'er the river 
 
 Settles in gloom on the sad winter day. 
 Where the cold winds made us cower and shiver, 
 
 Thinking of sunny homes so far away, 
 
 Yon little maid and I caught in the northern blast. 
 
 Hurried along where the waterfall throws 
 Myriads of rainbow tints, up in white vapour cast, 
 
 Scattering foam blossoms, on its way goes. 
 
 What was it made me think, looking down on you then, 
 Searching the depths of those dreamy brown eyes, 
 
 That life withouFyou would ever be worthless, wheu 
 With you such visions of joy could arise ? 
 
 Ah ! well I know not, but winter sounds pipe so loud ; 
 
 Cold beats the snow upon my little Rose, 
 Who, nestling close to me, with her head lowly bow'd, 
 
 Happily homewards she on her way goes. 
 
 Out by the river side, out in the bleak north wind, 
 Angel of mercy my bright one has been ; 
 
 Taking some Christmas cheer to a lone sinner 
 Who lives in the cottage away down the dene. 
 
 A poor stricken mortal, whom men had forsaken ; 
 
 A cast away thrown on a desolate shore ; 
 Who, hopeless and faithless, by death was near taken, 
 
 And lost in this world nnd the next evermore. 
 
 But my Rose had found him, one summer day's ramble, 
 An old man and weary with life's heavy chain;
 
 104 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 A past that was best forgot, future he heeded not, 
 Present that was but one dreary with pain. 
 
 And she, the poor curate's fair only daughter, 
 
 Pitied the trials and griefs of the poor ; 
 And often she wander'd, and deeply she ponder'd, 
 
 How to give help from her own little store. 
 
 Ah ! well I bless the day which then sent me that way, 
 Aimlessly roaming by sweet Orwell's side ; 
 
 Only on pleasure bent, careless which path I went, 
 Thinking of self whate'er might betide. 
 
 This little minist'ring angel who trod the path 
 
 Of life and of duty in so pure a way, 
 Shamed me out myself, and thoughts of the aftermath 
 
 Came to me, and shall stay by me alway. 
 
 My little Rose has made me think of others ; 
 
 Taught me that duty is now first of all ; 
 How pleasure, like beauty, is fleeting, they're brothers, 
 
 And to the true man they must ever soon pall. 
 
 Midst blushes that make her sweet face look far sweeter, 
 She owns that one summer-tide not long ago, 
 
 She thought that some distant time — what could be sweeter ? 
 Fate might be propitious ; —she loved me ? — ah ! no. 
 
 And I, well I'm free to own once when I saw her, 
 Coming from church with her father one day, 
 
 I sketch'd the charming face, striving to catch the grace 
 Of the bright winsome look that o'er it did play. 
 
 Well now she has promised some day that is far away, 
 
 If I will wait for her, she will be mine ; 
 But father is old, and him she must still obey, 
 
 Till the death angel comes in his own time. 
 
 "lis cold about us now out by the river 
 
 Which widens its boundaries down to the sea ;
 
 ONLY A CHRISTMAS ROSE. 
 
 105 
 
 The storm birds are hovering hither and thither. 
 But what are life's storms to her and to me ? 
 
 I'll wait for her, live for her, strive to do bravely ; 
 
 Shield her from trouhle, and give hex repose ; 
 I leave her at father's door, while she says gravely, 
 
 And sadly, but sweetly, my little Rose :— 
 
 " Good bye, come and see me once more ere you leave us, 
 Father will gladly your friendship accept , 
 
 And when you come again, oh, do not grieve us ":— 
 My poor little maiden said no more, but wept. 
 
 A shadow, an icy blast, seem'd to pass by the porch ; 
 
 A nameless misery came like a dream, 
 And settled upon us both, as if death's flaming torch 
 
 Had mark'd out a victim with its luried gleam. 
 
 « Good bye, my own darling," I said, and I kiss'd her, 
 
 " A soldier's first word is duty, you know- 
 To-morrow my iurlough is ended, but next year, 
 Oh ! many a walk by the river we'll go." 
 
 Ah ! I came back again to that sweet Orwell river 
 A year or two after, perchance it was more ; 
 
 I found that the cruel blasts of that harsh winter 
 Had robb'd life of happy days for me in store. 
 
 There are flowers in heaven, I know, and I pray for 
 The day that may take me where no winter snows 
 
 Shall ever more cover the grave of my lover ; 
 And I shall see once again my little Rose.
 
 WAITING FOR HER 
 
 a mesmerist's story. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Uncle Archdale gave a Christmas party two years ago, and, of 
 course, I was there. He is our bachelor uncle, you know. We 
 have no parents, Lucy and I ; but every Christmas day uncle had 
 his nephews and nieces to dinner with him, and we always went 
 with the rest. That year we went all together : not one of the 
 family had left the nest ; now, alas, they are all scattered, and 
 perhaps may never meet again on this side of the grave. 
 
 Tom has gone to Australia. Philip has married my sister 
 Lucy. He is a clergyman in the "West Riding ; and she makes a 
 very good little parson's wife. My cousin Maud— dear Maud- 
 has gone out as a governess, but some day I hope to be able to 
 offer her a home. You see I live in a large town, and I am a 
 young surgeon, without many friends ; but I mean to push my 
 way, and Maud is willing to wait— so I daresay we shall be 
 married some fine day. 
 
 Bertie, and Mary, and Constance are with an uncle in Ireland ; 
 and Willie, poor boy, went to India and was drowned. Dear old 
 Uncle Archdale died last year, he was then 60 ; and so I have 
 told you how we were all separated. 
 
 Well, as I was saying, Uncle Archdale gave his usual Christ- 
 mas party, and we were all there. I hardly know why he liked.
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 107 
 
 to give it either, for he was always rather grave on Christmas 
 Day, though merry at other times ; and, though he was kindness 
 itself, yet on these occasions of our annual visit we always felt it 
 rather melancholy dining at Alforde House. 
 
 After dinner we were sitting round the table at desert. There 
 was a great fire burning in the grate, uncle had feasted us well, 
 and we young fellows were very happy sipping our wine — some 
 of the port was 1820 brand — whilst my fair cousins were more 
 intent on the walnuts, almonds, and raisins, preserved ginger, 
 ratafias and so forth, though of course they drank to a merry 
 Christmas. Said Uncle Arcbdale — 
 
 " I think, my dears, I'll tell you a story." 
 
 " Oh, do, uncle," we all answered. 
 
 " Tell us about that pretty locket you always wear round your 
 neck," Lucy slyly puts in. 
 
 I never saw the locket, but uncle seemed almost to wince as 
 Lucy spoke. 
 
 " Tell us uncle," says Mary, " why you are always so grave on 
 Christmas Day?" 
 
 " No, no, tell us," says Philip, "why you never got married?" 
 
 " Well, my dears," said my uncle, " suppose I answer you all 
 three, and yet make one story of it ? " 
 
 " Oh, do, uncle ; we should like it so much," we all chorused. 
 
 " I don't know that you will care about the story, my dears," 
 he said, " but perhaps it may do you no harm," he continued, 
 looking particularly at Philip and me. I think he knew then all 
 about our feelings, and about Lucy and Maud, for he smiled very 
 kindly on them. 
 
 " It is a long time ago, my dears," he said, " since I first re- 
 member waiting for her, and I must wait a long time yet, I think, 
 before she comes. 
 
 " You can look at her likeness if you like.
 
 108 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " Here it is ; " and the old man — older in trouble and grief and 
 care than in years — handed us out the locket containing the like- 
 ness of Millicent. 
 
 I have it now before me ; he left it amongst other treasures to 
 me in his will. What a sweet face it is ! What soft, earnest 
 blue eyes she has ; what a placid, calm look of gentle innocence 
 is there ! She has her fair hair parted smoothly from her fore- 
 head, and looped up simply behind and fastened with some pretty 
 comb, and she wears a little cross on her breast. And what a 
 sweet oval, pensive face it is : the small, well-shaped mouth, the 
 pure, serene brows, the smooth forehead, not so high as to make 
 her look ugly and learned, nor yet so low as to be unintellectual. 
 She must have had a graceful fig ure too, for, though we have 
 but the head and bust here, we can see by the sloping shoulders, 
 the well-set head and swan-like neck, that the harmony of nature 
 could not be disturbed by giving a faulty figure to such a perfect face. 
 
 " It was Christmas time," my uncle continued, " in the year 
 1822, when I first saw Millicent, and at a Christmas party. I 
 was only eighteen — and a mere boy— she was as old as I in years, 
 and a great deal older in mind. 
 
 " Christmas Eve, and my father — your grandfather — (who was 
 an artist, you know) had gathered the young people round him 
 on this occasion, as was his wont, and a very jolly party it was. 
 We used to romp more in those days, my dears, than you do now 
 I fancy, and I think we loved each other more ardently than you 
 do now. I dare say we fought more, too, and I don't suppose we 
 were so refined altogether as the new generation is. However we 
 had dancing, and hunt the slipper, and blind man's buff, and after 
 supper kissing under the mistletoe. 
 
 " And I remember I kissed Millicent. 
 
 " I think I almost wish I had not done so now, for that kiss 
 cost me a good deal ; it cost me my heart, my dears'.
 
 WAITING FOE HER. 
 
 109 
 
 '• I don't -know how it was, but so it was —from that hour to 
 this I have loved Millicent. 
 
 "She didn't care for me, though," the old man continued. 
 " She thought me a mere boy, and scorned my love. But what 
 was that to me ? I loved her, and I thought, foolish lad that I 
 was, that if I were only constant to her, some day or other Milly 
 would be mine : and so for years and years I was waiting for her.' 
 " But did you never ask her to marry you? " Lucy asks. 
 " Oh, yes, my dear, I asked her, but I shall come to that 
 presently. 
 
 " Well, it was before railways were thought of, and we were 
 down in Somersetshire. We lived there then, and I was going 
 up to town to walk the hospitals. I had come up from Exeter 
 the night before, whither I had been sent by my father to see 
 some creditors of his (he was an extravagant man, your grand- 
 father, and always in debt), and who should get in at Bath but 
 Milli'-ent. She was also going to London to see her mother, who 
 had been taken dangerously ill there. I had seen her many 
 times since that Christmas party, and two years had gone over 
 our heads. We had met frequently at various houses at Bath 
 and Warminster, where she had relatives, and I had friends ; and 
 we were now pleasant acquaintance, if nothing more. So we 
 journeyed on together ; and, as you may imagine, I did not lose 
 any opportunity to improve the occasion ; and before we got to 
 London I had asked her to be mine. 
 
 " Milly laughed outright at what she chose to call my effron- 
 tery in proposing to her, and ' such a boy as I was,' she said. 
 
 " Mortified, deeply wounded at her cruelty, so I thought then, 
 I determined to leave the coach at the next stage, which was 
 Reading, and leave Millicent and her aunt Frances to continue 
 the journey by themselves. 
 
 " We soon reached Heading, and the coachman, whom T had
 
 110 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 suspected of imbibing, got down to have just another glass at the 
 hotel where we changed horses. 
 
 "It was a bitter cold night, on the 24th of December, 1824, 
 when the Highflyer left the George and Dragon Hotel, at five 
 p.m., for London. I was standing outside the door of the hotel, 
 looking at the travellers with a pitying, self-satisfied air, as I 
 thought how cold and uncomfortable they must he, and how 
 cozy I should be when I went into the bar parlour and had a chat 
 with mine host and his pretty daughter over a glass of his famous 
 milk punch before the great blazing fire that was burning so 
 pleasantly within. 
 
 " What was it made me order the hostler to get ready the light 
 trap I had seen in the coach-house, just as they had gone, the 
 four greys darting away with one bound as he lightly touched 
 the off leader on the flank with his whip, and the guard blew his 
 bugle merrily as they dashed off through the streets and out on 
 the hard frozen high road on their way to the modern Babylon ? 
 
 " Perhaps some presentiment of evil, unlooked for, unforseen. 
 Perhaps only the fear arising from the very perceptible condition 
 of the driver when he got on to his box and handled his ribbons. 
 
 " It was a quarter of an hour, however, before we started, and 
 it would be only by hard driving that we could catch up the 
 Highflyer — one of the fastest and most famous coaches of those 
 days. I knew that about ten miles from Reading the high road 
 turned an angle sharply over the low bridge which spanned a 
 tributary of the Thames. The stream was wide here, and shallow 
 enough to be easily forded in summer ; bat after the recent rains 
 we had had, and the frost only now setting in, I knew the place 
 to be a dangerous one, even to the most wary traveller, and 
 doubly so when, as in the present case, it was very doubtful 
 whether the bridge was not in an unsound state from the rotten- 
 ness of the timbers of which it was principally composed :
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 
 
 Ill 
 
 and the condition of the coachman gave me also great un- 
 easiness. 
 
 " ' Now, my man, hurry on,' I said to the lad, half stable boy, 
 half groom, who was driving me, ' I'll give you a crown if we 
 catch them.' 
 
 " ' All right, sir, we'll do it,' he answered. 
 
 ' ; ' Go it, Bess,' he continued to the horse— a young cob it was, 
 I remember — touching her sharply over the shoulders with his 
 whip. She answered with a bound, and set off at a fast trot, which, 
 had it only continued, would have soon brought us up with the 
 object of our anxiety. We were now three miles out of Reading, 
 going at nine good miles the hour. The Highflyer did ten, but 
 
 then she would probably slop at M , a little village about 
 
 eight miles from Reading, the lad said, as he heard the stout 
 gentleman with the big cotton umbrella say he should get down 
 there. He would persist in sitting outside with the guard, 
 because, he said, ' He wasn't going to be boxed up with a parcel 
 of women, though it was a cold night. Thank goodness he had 
 enough of them at home without meeting his troubles halfway 
 by seeking them elsewhere,' he gruffly, and not very politely, 
 added. 
 
 " ' And Mr. Markham,' that was the coachman's name, ' he'll 
 stop at the Bag and Feathers, too, sir,' the lad continued ; ' he 
 always does stay for a toothful of " cold without " when he s 
 had a drop, sir. If you don't mind, sir,' the boy said presently, 
 ' we'll just cut across the common here, sir. It's rather dark, but 
 I know every inch of the way, and it'll save us a good three miles, 
 sir, every bit of it.' 
 
 " ' All right, my lad,' I said, ' only catch the coach before she 
 passes Hammon'a corner (the place I have alluded to) and I'll 
 give you another crown.' 
 
 " Away we went over the common : it was now pitch dark — a
 
 112 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 cloudy sky and the snow slightly falling. Across the smooth and 
 hardened turf, at full gallop— away we went for life and death 
 Presently we heard the sound of wheels, distant at first, but 
 growing painfully nearer every moment. Oh, if they should pass 
 the corner before we were there ! If the huge coach, guided by 
 the drunken brute who now held the reins (but who was only 
 overtaken at Christmas time, and famed as the best whip in the 
 three counties, as his apologists averred) should swerve but a few 
 inches from the path, it and its precious cargo would be sub- 
 merged in the now rapid rushing stream, Milly, my own Milly, 
 would be drowned before my eyes. The thought maddened me. 
 
 " Lashing the horse furiously, we dashed forward at renewed 
 speed, and crossed the bridge just before the mail coach came up. 
 Markham was driving viciously ; one moment more and we 
 should have been too late. 
 
 " The leader, frightened at the white coping stones of the 
 bridge covered with snow, and wild with the treatment he had 
 evidently received, now suddenly turned, was rushing across the 
 road, making as it were for the parapet of the bridge, and in a 
 moment the coach which had been swaying to and fro was 
 dragged forward towards the stream, into which it would have 
 fallen had not I drawn up across the road, jumped out of the trap, 
 seized the leader, and forced him back almost on his haunches, 
 till I had driven back the coach, which had received a check from 
 coming into contact with the large curb-stone at the corner of the 
 bridge, into the road again. Another dash made by the off horse 
 - -another swerving of the coach, and she was thrown violently 
 over on her side, and two of the horses fell to the ground. 
 c Here, lad, here ; not a moment to spare,' I shouted to the boy ; 
 and by great exertions we broke open the door, and helped the 
 ladies out. Poor things ! they were both hurt seriously, though 
 not so seriously as I had feared. The coach was almost smashed
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 113 
 
 to atoms, and the coachman lay with his leg broken at some distance 
 from the vehicle. The horses were soon disengaged from the har- 
 ness, and the old gentleman, who, wonderful to say, had got off with 
 only a few bruises, rode off, on one of them, in search of a doctor. 
 
 " I determined to take the ladies back with me to Beading, 
 leaving the guard, who was himself almost uninjured, to attend 
 to the coachman and the horses. 
 
 " Poor Milly ! how brave she was. I helped her up very ten- 
 derly, you may be sure ; her arm was broken, but she bore the 
 pain so quietly, bidding me only look after Aunt Frances, who 
 was very much terrified, and whose nerves appeared to have been 
 terribly shaken by the unfortunate mishap, but who was other- 
 wise uninjured as far as I could learn. 
 
 " ' Madge,' she said presently, ' will you forgive me behaving 
 so unkindly to you as I did to-day. I am very grateful to you 
 for coming to our assistance when you did. I feel somehow as if 
 I owed my life to you,*nd you can do with me what you like now.' 
 
 " ' Thank you, dear,' I said quietly, ' I shall always love you; ' 
 that was all the answer I made. 
 
 " We got back to Reading, and as we had no friends there, the 
 ladies stopped at the George and Dragon, and I determined to 
 stay by them, until some one should come to take charge of them, 
 or they should be able to go on to London. 
 
 " You see we had no telegraph then, and no express trains, to 
 let our friends know in an hour or two after the accident what 
 had happened, or to bring them to us as soon as now. 
 
 " It would take two days at least to bring our friends from 
 Bath, and a whole day or more to get to London. So I remained 
 where I was, simply writing down to my father and to Milly's to 
 tel! what had happened. The few days that followed, my dears, 
 were the happiest days of my life, I think. Aunt Frances — I 
 used to call her so, though she was no actual relation of my 
 
 n
 
 11-1 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 mother's — was very poorly the next day, and poor Milly was 
 quite feverish and low ; but yet she would not obey the doctor's 
 directions to stay in bed after the second day, but would come 
 down stairs in the parlour (I had taken private rooms for the 
 party) and talk to me. Oh, how I drank in the music of her 
 voice ! How I listened, and looked, and loved ! I knew she was 
 grateful to me for saving her life, she said — though I don't know 
 that I did that exactly— and I felt that she was mistaking that 
 sentiment for love ; and she thought then that she might some 
 day, that she did then, return my affection. 
 
 '• She was so kind and gentle to me in those days, and never 
 was slave more willing than I to wait upon her and obey her 
 behests. It was one long golden dream. I knew it could not 
 last. I kuew the spell would be broken soon. I knew that in a 
 few days, perhaps a week at the farthest, her mother, who we had 
 heard was getting better, would send some one for her, and I 
 kuew that when that some one came I must be gone. 
 
 '• The arm was obstinate, or surgeon unskilful, and what should 
 have taken only a fortnight or so, took a month or more. 
 
 " And as the days wore on we became more and more to each 
 other. Milly was becoming all the world to me, and I was 
 ceasing to be merely a pleasant passing acquaintance in her eyes, 
 but a warm admiring friend. 
 
 " Sometimes I used to fancy that she loved me, but I soon 
 found the love was only gratitude. 
 
 " I think at that time, my dears, Milly would have married me ; 
 but I knew it would not have been for love and love only, and I 
 scorned to take her simply for gratitude's sake. 
 
 " Was I right, I wonder, in going away as I did without 
 saying another word ? 
 
 " I don't know, I only know that she was my heart's one idol, 
 and I was limiting for her."
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 115 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 We were still sitting round the fire. Philip had just put a great 
 log of wood on, and Lucy was saying that it was far too pleasant 
 to have the lights brought in yet, it was so cosy sitting in the 
 firelight listening to uncle's story. 
 
 " Take another glass of wine, uncle," Tom said, " you will be 
 getting tired of talking." 
 
 " Well, I think I will, my boy," Uncle Archdale replied, 
 rousing himself. 
 
 He had been looking dreamily into the fire for the last ten 
 minutes, and had never spoken a word. 
 
 " Now, boys, you must look after yourselves," he said, cheerily ; 
 " remember this is Liberty Hall ! Tom, I think the bottle is 
 with you. 
 
 " And you, young ladies, I suppose you would like to go up to 
 the drawing room and have some music ? " 
 
 " Oh, please, uncle, we would much rather stay here and listen 
 to your story ; let Mary bring in the coffee here," Lucy put in. 
 She was the oldest, and, therefore, fit spokesman — woman, I 
 should say. 
 
 " As you please, young people," he answered, " as you please." 
 
 So we had tea down stairs, and Aunt Miriam rang the bell, 
 and gave the desired order. 
 
 Aunt Miriam was Uncle Archdale's eldest sister, who kept 
 house for him. A very quiet old maid, with whom we did just 
 as we liked. She was a maiden lady, I should say, not an old 
 
 H 2
 
 IK) TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 maid; the distinction is obvious. I know many a dear old 
 maiden lady with no queer ways, no cold-hearted whims and 
 oddities, no desire to snub young people and back-bite their 
 neighbours, but women with warm young hearts and generous 
 sympathies: always trying to do their best to win the love of all 
 around them by their deeds of beneficence and charity, and try- 
 ing to merit also the approbation of the Almighty Disposer of us 
 all. I did not mean to digress in this way, but I can't bear to 
 hear people carping at single ladies for being single. 
 
 Dear me, I know many a one single from choice; and let 
 me tell you, young people, it's my belief that there are very 
 few women indeed but have had chances of marrying if they 
 liked. 
 
 "Well, my dears," uncle began, "I suppose you wish me to 
 go on with my story ? " 
 
 ■• Yes, yes," we all answered. 
 
 ■ : Imagine then, my dears," uncle went on, " that two years 
 had passed away. I was entered at St. Thomas' Hospital. Dr. 
 Elliotson was then Assistant Physician there : he had been elec- 
 ted to that post in 1817. It was not till 1837 that he owned 
 himself the leader of the mesmeric party ; but at this time, 1824, 
 mesmerism was much discussed amongst the students at St. 
 Thomas ; and about three years later, Professor Gregory, who 
 had filled the chair of Chemistry at Edinburgh, had his attention 
 drawn to the subject by Monsieur Comdet, of Geneva, who had 
 seen the famous cases of Dr. Petetin, of Lyons, whose work on 
 the subject I read. 
 
 " I had become much interested in the subject, and had deter- 
 mined, if opportunity should offer, to try for myself the truth or 
 falsehood of mesmerism. 
 
 " An opportunity did offer, and sooner than I expected. But 
 I must not anticipate. Since the day when I gave up the charge
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 117 
 
 of Millicent I had never seen her but twice. She had gone home, 
 had speedily recovered, and the last tidings I had heard of her 
 were, that she was engaged to he married to a young clergyman, 
 who had recently come to reside in the neighbourhood of Orley 
 House, Mr. Bertram's residence. 
 
 " Mr. Bertram, Milly's father, was a gentleman of great pride 
 and of undoubted family. The Barony of Bertram, of which he 
 was One of the claimants, had fallen into abeyance in 1311, when 
 Roger, son and heir of the first Baron (so created 1264) died, 
 leaving an only daughter, Agnes, who, dying s. p., as the heralds 
 say, the Barony fell into abeyance amongst the descendants of 
 her four aunts, daughters of the first lord. I merely mention 
 this to show that if he was proud of his family and lineage, 
 length and nobility of descent were some excuse. 
 
 " He owned a small estate in the country, and had contracted 
 but few intimacies amongst his neighbours, except your grand- 
 father, who had beeri one of the notable exceptions. 
 
 " I don't think I ought to blame Milly for changing so sud- 
 denly. She had not indeed changed really, only she had fancied 
 she loved me, and now she found she did not. Looking back 
 upon it now I cannot blame her. I had now been some two 
 years in London, and had never written to her, as indeed I had 
 no right to do ; but though my sister had seen her often, she 
 never sent a kindly message to me — perhaps fearful to give me 
 encouragement — and I, equally proud with herself, never ex- 
 pressed any desire to know how or where she was. I knew she 
 liked me, but I knew she did not love me, so I had been waiting 
 for a sign of the change, and lo ! this was the sign : 
 
 '• My own Milly — the idol of my heart — the one hope of my 
 life — she to whom I had secretly and sacredly affianced myself, 
 as I madly thought, though she had never been a party to the 
 bargain, poor girl — she whom I so fervently, passionately, and
 
 118 TALES AND POHMS. 
 
 deeply loved — had bestowed the whole wealth of her affections 
 upon another, and I — I — was left alone. 
 
 " What would I not give to make her love me ! What wonld 
 I not do to make her wholly mine ! A sudden thought came 
 over me and made me shudder as I pictured it in my mind. 
 
 " What was this new science of mesmerism — this wonderful 
 power of fascination ? Could it be used to make her bow to my 
 will — could I make her yield to my wishes ? 
 
 " I should tell you that I lodged in London with one Mrs. Win- 
 grove. Ralph Wingrove, who was a distant connection of her 
 husband's, and who was my chum at St. Thomas', first took me 
 there, and I soon changed my quarters to come and live with the 
 family at Bloomsbury. Kate Wingrove was a sweet, nice girl, 
 very lady-lake, with black ringlets and a pale face. They were, 
 I'm afraid, what Mr. Thackeray would call a shabby-genteel 
 family — indeed Mrs. Wingrove was a decayed gentlewoman, who 
 was forced to make a living out of her boarders. I rather think 
 they fancied I wanted Kate. We certainly were great friends, 
 and I was very much interested in her, poor girl — for there was 
 something indescribably mysterious that attracted us to each 
 other, and made us seek each other's society far oftener than per- 
 haps was good for either. Mrs. Wingrove trusted Kate and 
 trusted me so thoroughly, however, that there was no bounds to 
 our intimacy. 
 
 " I think in this she was wrong, as the sequel will show. 
 
 " Ralph and I were tyros in mesmerism. 
 
 " One day he said to me, ' I say, Madge, did it never strike you 
 that Kate would make a good clairvoyante ? I think that's the 
 new name for these extatic mesmeric subjects ? ' 
 
 " ' Well, I will confess the idea has entered my mind,' I said. 
 
 " ' Why not try her ? ' he went on. 
 
 " ' I don't know, I'm sure ; perhaps she would object."
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 119 
 
 " ' Not a bit of it, old fellow— not at your hands, I'll promise 
 you.' 
 
 " ' Well, some day we'll try the experiment, if Kate's agreeable.' 
 
 " Singular to say, that very night Kate was complaining of 
 neuralgia in the face and head. 
 
 " I offered to try and cure her, and thus began our mesmeric 
 seances. 
 
 " Would to God they had ended there. 
 
 " In ten minutes I had succeeded in putting her into a pro- 
 found sleep. Mrs. Wingrove and Ralph both present. In five 
 minutes more I required her to awake refreshed and recovered. 
 
 " And she did so. 
 
 4i Charmed with my success, we were led to make further ex- 
 periments, and I soon found that Kate possessed the true clairvoy- 
 ance faculty The study of animal magnetism is a strangely 
 fascinating one; and within six months I had so completely 
 gained possession of Kate's will, that I could send her into a pro- 
 found slumber in the course of a minute or two. I remember one 
 night, when she had gone off into a state of coma, and I was 
 asking her questions relating to all things from time unto eter- 
 nity, she suddenly startled me by saying— 
 
 " ' I see a fair lady, with such a sweet, sad, pensive face,' she 
 added ; and in a minute she continued, ' it is the same face as 
 that in your locket.' 
 
 " ' Where is she ?' I asked. 
 
 " ' I cannot tell.' 
 
 " ' But you must,' I replied— and I touched her heaving bosom, 
 her eyes, and her lips, with a little magnetised steel rod, which I 
 carried about with me— at the same time placing in her hand the 
 locket containing Millicent's likeness and a lock of her beautiful 
 
 hair. 
 
 « My good sister Miriam got me this a year or two ago, and I
 
 120 TALKS AND POEMS. 
 
 always wore it next my heart. Milly did not even dream of its 
 existence. 
 
 " In a minute or two, with a deep-drawn sigh, she said, 
 
 •• ■ I see, now. She is standing in a garden which crowns a 
 lofty hill — a pretty house built like an Elizabethan cottage is 
 behind her— in the distance is a wide spreading landscape with 
 great hills on either side — and the river running between them. 
 She is talking with a gentleman.' 
 
 " ' What is he like? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' Well, he is tall and slight, with auburn hair, and large eyes. 
 He is pale and rather sickly looking — and looks like a clergyman.' 
 
 " ' My rival,' I thought. 
 
 " ' Yes, your rival.' She answered to my thought. I started. 
 Has it come to this, I said to myself, that one can even read 
 another's thoughts. 
 
 '• ' Kate, ' I said, do you think you can impress Millicent with 
 the thought that I love her ? ' 
 
 " ' I will try,' she said. ' but you must will it too with all your 
 own power.' 
 
 '• Presently a smile crept over her face, and she said softly, 
 
 -' ' It is done ! I see her start, and then grow sad and though- 
 ful. She is thinking now. She wishes she could love you.' 
 
 " ' Is there any hope ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' she said fervently, after a long pause, ' yes, if ' 
 
 " ' If what,' I urge impatiently. 
 
 " ' If your rival were out of the way.' 
 
 " ' Out of the way,' I muttered to myself, ' out of the way.' 
 
 '■ A horrid thought seized me. 
 
 " ' Can you impress him ? ' I muttered fiercely. 
 
 (i ' For your sake I will try.' 
 
 " For my sake. What was this ? I paused to collect my 
 thoughts. I let her rest awhile whilst I think. That last effort
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 121 
 
 of hers did her harm, I fancy, for she put her hand to her side 
 and complained of her heart beating so fast and feebly. 
 
 " She had said to me once, ' You can do anything with me ; I 
 am powerless in your hands ; you will kill me some day.' 
 
 " ' Do impress him, then, from me. Haunt him,' I said 
 sternly. ' Let him think this of Millicent. She shall he mine, 
 not his.' 
 
 " ' Take my hand, press it hard,' Kate said, ' and send your 
 will with it.' 
 
 " I did so ; she remained quiet for a minute, and then half 
 rose from the sofa on which she was reclining, heaved a deep sigh, 
 and fell back apparently utterly prostrated. 
 
 " ' Wake me,' she said, ' Wake me, I am in pain ! ' 
 
 " I got up for a moment, slowly made the passes over her, and 
 firmly replied these words — 
 
 " ' Be calm and be refreshed.' 
 
 " In a few minutes jshe recovered : but again begged me to 
 awake her. 
 
 " ' Did you affect him ? ' I ask. 
 
 " ' Yes.' 
 
 « < How ? ' 
 
 " ' When you pressed my hand, I went to him, and I impressed 
 him with your thought.' 
 
 « ' What did he do ? ' 
 
 " ' He fell to the ground.' 
 
 " « What then ? ' 
 
 " ' I could see no further.' 
 
 " I mused awhile. ' Kate,' I said, at length, ' I want to talk 
 to you. Sleep for an hour,' I continued; ' sleep and be refreshed.' 
 
 "I waved my hands slowly over her for a few minutes, until 
 she sank into a sleep so profound as would have startled the neo- 
 phyte magnetist ; but I knew that she would derive fresh vigour
 
 122 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 and support from so peaceful a slumber ; and she would be of 
 service to me in my schemes when she recovered. Kate's was a 
 dual existence now. I was sapping her very life's blood to attain 
 my own selfish end ; but what did I care for that ? I loved 
 Millicent, and I had determined she should be mine. Circum- 
 stances had been against me of late. 
 
 " Mrs. Bertram, even before Milly was engaged to Mr. Thorn- 
 ton, had discovered my secret, and had discouraged my visits to 
 the house in consequence. 
 
 " I had not yet got my certificates from the College of Sur- 
 geons, so was not in anything like a position to marry. Had I 
 been so, I should have tried my fortunes once again, and faced a 
 second refusal from her lips ; but it was useless going to her now 
 when I had nothing to offer. 
 
 " I had thought the Bertrams were mercenary, but it was clear 
 they were not so, or they would not have allowed their daughter 
 to be engaged to so poor a man as this Mr. Thornton must be. 
 If I could only drive him away — I did not wish to do him harm 
 — perhaps she might get to like me. 
 
 " ' In love and war all politics are fair,' I said to myself. ' I 
 don't suppose it will harm him.' 
 
 " In an hour exactly Kate awoke; — that is to say, she came out 
 of the deathlike trance in which she had been lying, into the 
 usual lucid state in which she was previously. 
 
 " I should tell you, that when Kate was awake to self-con- 
 sciousness she liked me, that was all. When she was under the 
 influence of my magnetic power she loved me — she was my slave. 
 
 " It is an awful power for one human being to have over 
 another. 
 
 " Mesmerism is like other of God's good gifts — it can be per- 
 verted to evil. 
 
 " ' Kate,' I said, ' I want you to help me. Will you do so ? '
 
 WAITING FOR HEK. 123 
 
 " ' Yes.' 
 
 " « Whatever I ask you to do ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' she answered slowly, almost sorrowfully, ' whatever 
 you command I must obey.' 
 
 " ' Then I wish to marry Millicent.' 
 
 " ' Do you ? ' she murmured, with a sigh. 
 
 " ' Yes, and you can help me to win her, by removing all ob- 
 stacles from my path. Look for the clergyman ; do you see him ? ' 
 
 " After a long while she murmured painfully, 
 
 " ' No, I cannot find him.' 
 
 " I touched her with the rod of steel. She bounded as if a 
 flame of fire had darted through her, and then replied, faintly, 
 
 " ' I see him.' 
 
 " ' Where ? ' I ask. 
 
 " ' In the house ; he is reclining on the sofa, and they are all 
 round him.' 
 
 " ' What is he saying.? ' 
 
 " • He is telling them that he had a horrid dream, that was all. 
 That some one came behind him, aud pressed his hand so pain- 
 fully that he turned round, but no one was there, and he heard 
 words like this : " Millicent ! she shall be mine, not thine ! " 
 
 " I smiled at this triumphantly, and then I formed a resolution. 
 
 " ' Kate, you can wake now,' I said, and she awoke. 
 
 " I resolved then in my own mind that I would haunt him."
 
 124 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 Tea had been brought in, and taken out again, before Uncle 
 Archdale continued his story. He had left the room just before 
 tea, and had returned from the surgery with a packet of letters or 
 papers evidently taken from the escritoire. 
 
 Uncle did not practice now. He had acquired a little property, 
 and some great aunts of ours had left him money, and he was 
 very comfortably off ; only he would persist in calling his library 
 the surgery, though there was not a bottle or potion in it. 
 
 " Well," my uncle said, as he sat down again, " I suppose, my 
 dears, I must finish my story." 
 
 " Oh, yes, if you please, we should like to hear the end, and we 
 are not at all tired," Lucy replied. 
 
 " Well, then, I will tell you the rest," he continued. 
 
 " The usual time for walking the hospitals had passed away, 
 it was three years then — now I think it is five," my uncle resumed. 
 
 " I had just got my certificates from the Apothecaries' Com- 
 pany and College of Surgeons, testifying to my efficiency in 
 compounding nasty medicines, and in setting compound fractures, 
 and so forth. 
 
 " Medicine was nasty in those days; now they make it pleasant 
 to the taste, don't they, young man ? " he said, turning to me. 
 
 " Well sir, we have improved a little in that way, I believe." 
 
 '• Yes," uncle continued, " I had come out a full blown surgeon 
 and general practitioner ; I had left the Wingroves, very much 
 to Kate's grief, and her mother's dismay. The latter had quite
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 125 
 
 made up her inind I should marry her daughter, though Kate, 
 poor girl, knew well enough who it was I was waiting for. The 
 extraordinary power I had exercised over her had increased with 
 time, and by means of her clairvoyant dreams, I had kept myself 
 informed of Millicents whereabouts. From my sister, too, I 
 learned -occasionally what was going on, though she seldom saw 
 the Bertrams now, as my father had left the neighbourhood, and 
 gone to live at Salisbury. This much I knew, however, that 
 Milly was still unmarried, and Mr. Thornton was still constant 
 to her. 
 
 " I should tell you that the night before I left Bloomsbury— it 
 was the 6th of October, 1S27 — I had a long seance with Kate: it 
 might be the last I should ever have, and I felt that now or never 
 I must act, As you may scarcely credit the story, Lucy shall 
 read you this letter about it," and he handed to her an old 
 franked letter, yellow with age, and dusty, written in a weak, 
 feeble hand, the hand of a sick man. There was an endorsement 
 on the back, which ran fhus : — 
 
 " This letter from Edmund Thornton given to me by Millicent 
 Bertram on Christmas morning, 1830." 
 
 " Thretfbrd Parsonage, 7th October, 1827. 
 
 " My Dearest, — 
 
 " I don't know how to write this letter. 
 
 " I am afraid you will think me mad. 
 
 " I am afraid I am mad. Forgive me if I am incoherent; but 
 so much has troubled me of late, that I think sometimes I am 
 tried more than other men. I have a fearful presentiment that 
 we shall never— that we can never — be married. Sometimes 
 these warnings come to me more palpably than at other times. 
 Sometimes when 1 am sitting in my study reading of an even- 
 ing, 1 feel a pressure on my arm, and I turn and see by my side 
 a figure, that of a lady, with a pale face and long black elf locks,
 
 126 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 and a voice seems to come from afar off, saying, ' Millicent shall 
 be mine, never thine.' Not once or twice only have I seen this, 
 but many times. It is killing me. No man can be braver than 
 I can be, where any earthly material danger exists, but this per- 
 petual haunting of a spiritual presence threatens to turn my brain. 
 
 " The horrors of last night, if they should return, will deprive 
 me of my reason. 
 
 " I feel it going even now. I have prayed against it, but God 
 has not seen fit to hear my prayer. Perhaps it is sent to try me. 
 I know not, but this I know, that in life or in death, I strive to 
 serve Him. And I love you, oh my darling, as I shall ever love 
 you, purely, devotedly, and constantly. 
 
 " Last night I had retired early to my room, for I had been 
 suffering from a severe cold. It was about ten o'clock, and I was 
 sitting for a few minutes over the fire in my bed-room musing, 
 when suddenly I felt a hand, a woman's hand, grasp my arm. I 
 turned, and saw as plain as eye could see, a tall woman by my 
 side. It was the pale lady with the black ringlets. She frowned 
 upon me, and I shuddered as I saw another hand steal out of the 
 space, holding a wand of fire.* In the wand seemed to lay the 
 mysterious influence which paralysed me. 
 
 " I shall never forget that hand. Upon one finger was a ring 
 formed like a serpent, with its tail in its mouth, and its eyes were 
 jewels. Out of the space came a voice, the same voice I had 
 heard before, and it said — Millicent shall be mine, ntver thine! 
 At the sound of these words I fell to the ground, and when I 
 next became conscious, I found I had been put into bed, and the 
 
 * Sensitives can perceive magnets in the dark by the light they emit. 
 Mesmeric subjects often describe flames of light issuing from the tips of 
 fingers, and from the eyes of the operator. A magnetised rod would ap- 
 pear to be illuminated to a sensitive. The reader is referred to Reichen- 
 bach's Researches in Magnetism, for further information on this subject.
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 127 
 
 doctor had come to see me, as the landlady had sent word that I 
 had taken a fit. 
 
 '■ Oh, that horrible night, the remembrance of it is so appalling 
 that I am seized with fearful pain about the heart whenever I 
 think about it, and a violent trembling comes upon me. * * * 
 
 " I left off there because the doctor came, and now he says I 
 am suffering from an affection of the heart, and any great excite- 
 ment would be dangerous. I am to go away from here, as the 
 air, he says, appears to have an enervating effect upon me. 
 
 " Of course it is no use speaking to him of what I saw. 
 
 " Dearest, dearest Milly, I hope nothing may come to separate 
 us. God bless you, my own. — Your ever loving, 
 
 " Edmund." 
 
 Maud looked up when Lucy had finished reading this letter, 
 and said — 
 
 " Uncle, you have a ring like a serpent on your finger, and it 
 has diamonds for eyes." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I hav^," my uncle answered — nothing more. 
 
 " To resume then. 
 
 " In three months from that date I was settled at H., about 
 half way between Warminster and Salisbury. One of my aunts 
 had advanced £1,000 to place me with me the medical man of 
 that place as his partner. I went up to London once, to spend a 
 a day or two with some friends, and stayed two evenings with the 
 Wingroves. 
 
 " Kate was glad to see me, you may be sure, so was Mrs. 
 Wingrove. 
 
 " The last evening 1 was there I sent Kate to haunt M->: 
 Thornton, 
 
 " She described the scene. 
 
 " ' Where is he ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' He is with a lady,' she answered, ' the same lady I saw
 
 128 
 
 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 before. I think he has come to spend Christmas with them. 
 They are sitting in the drawing room. She has been singing to 
 him ; and he to her. The last song he sung was, " When other 
 lips," I think, for I see it on the top of some music on the piano. 
 Now she is leaving the room. She has gone away for something. 
 He is sitting over the fire. How pale and wan he looks." 
 " ' Impress him from mef I said. 
 
 " ' Oh, no, do not harm him any more ; you will kill him. 
 " ' I care not what I do,' I said, ' has he not robbed me of my 
 heart's idol ? Go to him,' I continued sternly. 
 
 " ( Oh ! do not force me,' she said, pleadingly, ' you have in- 
 jured him enough. See what a wreck he is already ! ' 
 " ' It is enough,' I angrily rejoined. ' Obey me.' 
 " She fell back upon the sofa on which she had been reclining, 
 and swooned away. 
 
 " 1 heeded her not, but paced the room for some minutes ; then 
 I approached her where she lay, placed my hands upon her 
 shoulders, breathed upon her cold brows, and in a few moments 
 she had recovered. 
 
 " ' Wake me,' she said, ' oh, wake me; I am in pain.' 
 " ' Tell me,' I asked, < where is he ? ' 
 " ' I cannot see him.' 
 
 " ' Look,' I said, and I touched her again with my steel rod. 
 " '.Ah ! ' she answered, with a sigh of pain and anguish. 
 "'What is it?' I asked. 
 
 " She burst into tears, and in a moment would have been in 
 hysterics, had I not again placed my hands upon her shoulders, 
 and breathed upon her calmness and repose. 
 " ' Answer me, what is the matter ? ' 
 
 " I shall never forget the feeling that came over me, when she 
 replied, slowly, and with awful solemnity, 
 " ' He is dead, and you have killed him.'
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 129 
 
 " The jury brought in a verdict of ' Died by the visitation 
 of God.' 
 
 " Ah, my dears," the old man said, " never let passion get the 
 mastery over you ; never try to accomplish your ends, whatever 
 they may be, by foul means. Had I never heard anything of 
 mesmerism, I should have been a happier man ; but I have re- 
 pented now of my wickedness, and I trust I am forgiven." 
 
 The old man was affected by the memory of the past, and I 
 saw him clasp his hands as if in prayer for a moment or two, and 
 then he bowed his head. 
 
 " Why did you not marry Millicent after all, uncle ? " Maud 
 presently asked. 
 
 " There, my dear, is the saddest part of the story. I was over- 
 come with remorse, and never could bear to hear the subject of 
 mesmerism mentioned since. Of course I had not meant to kill 
 poor Edmund — all I wanted to accomplish was his retirement or 
 dismissal. I wanted to frighten him into the belief that his 
 marrying Millicent was impossible, and that if ever it were pos- 
 sible it would prove fatal to her happiness and to his ; but I never 
 dreamed of the dreadful ending of my plot, and the reaction upon 
 myself was frightful. I was taken severely ill. For weeks I lay 
 at death's door ; and months had passed away before I had re- 
 covered. I was a changed man ;— changed in everything, save 
 my undying love for Millicent. 
 
 " Before Edmund's death I had been a man careless about reli- 
 gion, but now I was a poor penitent sinner, humbly trying to 
 lead a new life, to fit me for that eternity to which we are all 
 hurrying." 
 
 The old man spoke reverently, and his solemn words made a 
 deep impression upon us. 
 
 " And, my dears, I was still waiting for Milly. 
 
 <; Two years passed by. 
 
 I
 
 130 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " Time, the great restorer, had done much to soften her grief, 
 but her sorrows had been a great trial to her, and she bore it 
 well. The darling, I see her now. Her face had grown more 
 pensive — the cheek had lost its bloom ; the smile had grown more 
 sweet, and the laugh was still as silvery as ever, only we did 
 not hear it often now. 
 
 " She knew I loved her, but she could not bring herself to think 
 of me as anything but a friend — a brother. 
 
 " She knew nothing of my magnetic Itauntings — nothing of my 
 mesmeric seances. 
 
 " Poor Edmund had died of heart disease — they all knew that ; 
 he had suffered from it long, and then he had been subject to 
 epileptic fits. 
 
 " She always knew he was delicate. 
 
 " I was now getting into a good country practice, and could 
 offer Milly a home, but I did not like to hurry her. 
 
 " Another Christmas party at Warminster, and Milly was 
 invited. 
 
 u Mr. Wybrants was the medical man with whom I had served 
 my apprenticeship, and he gave a large annual party. 
 
 " I had never been before, but this year I had resolved to go, 
 if only to meet Milly, who was staying with an aunt there, and 
 who knew I had accepted the invitation. 
 
 " I had made up my mind to give her another invitation. 
 Would she accept mine ? 
 
 " It was a merry party ; young people, and old people, and 
 middle-aged people, and children were there, and it was Christ- 
 mas Eve. 
 
 *' How I love the little Children ! — I should have liked to have 
 had some of my own, but Providence has seen fit that it should 
 be otherwise. 
 
 " I had not enjoyed it so much as I had expected : I had
 
 WAITING FOR HER. 131 
 
 romped enough with the children it is true. We had blind man's 
 buff, and they made me a blind man. 
 
 " Then we had snapdragon, and I burned my fingers, getting 
 out the raisins for little Lizzie, and Girtie, and Alice. 
 
 " And after the children had gone we had dancing, and I 
 kissed dear old Mrs. Wybrants under the misletoe. How they did 
 all laugh ! ' Just like the old bachelor,' they said. 
 
 " And we had a nice supper, too, and good port and sherry to 
 wash it down — none of your nasty French wines. Champagne 
 was very dear then, and one seldom tasted it in the country, ex- 
 cept at the Hall, perhaps, or at the Court. But I did not much 
 enjoy it, for Millicent was not there. 
 
 " The doctor gave me a bed, and, feeling tired with my exer- 
 tions, and with romping with the children, I retired early. Mrs. 
 W. had told me casually, in reply to my inquiries about Milly, 
 that she was afraid she was very poorly, but she hoped there was 
 no danger. 
 
 " Very poorly, no danger, I muttered to myself. I never knew 
 she was unwell. 
 
 w It was too late to call at the house, and ask after her. My 
 presence would only disturb her perhaps ; and then I thought re- 
 morsefully how happy I had been playing with the children all the 
 while she was ill. So I determined to go the first thing in the 
 morning : and comforting myself with that thought I fell asleep. 
 
 " I must have slept for two hours or more ; when I awoke, the 
 clock was striking one. It was a lovely winter moonlight night, 
 and I could see out of the window the snow thick upon the 
 gables opposite ours. It was very cold — bitterly cold. What 
 was that icy blast that passed me there ? I looked up — and saw 
 — Milly standing at the foot of my bed, and the rays of the moon 
 shone upon her, but herjiyure threw no shadow on the floor. 
 
 " I was not frightened, but an inexpressible grief came over me 
 
 1 2
 
 182 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 —a feeling of utter desolation was upon me. I gazed with awe, 
 but with no craven fear upon the form— and then it slowly van- 
 ished from my eyes. My dears, I got up, and I fell upon my 
 knees at the foot of my bed, and I prayed the Almighty to spare 
 her to me. I prayed that this might not be a foreshadowing of 
 the end— and then afterwards I slept. 
 
 " In the morning I found that letter in my room, which Lucy 
 has read to you. In the morning I heard that which sent the 
 blood back ice cold to my heart— I heard that Millicent had died 
 at one o'clock on Christmas morning. 
 
 " So you see, my dears, that is the story of the locket — that is 
 the reason I have never married — that is the reason I am always 
 sad on Christmas day. I had loved her many years— I had done 
 wrong to try and win her. I had repented, but I was punished 
 for my sin. I was waiting for her then— I am waiting for her 
 now— waiting for the great day of account, when I may claim her 
 again perhaps — waiting till then ! " 
 
 The old man ceased— the tears were standing in his eyes. He 
 slowly got up and left the room, and we saw him no more that 
 night. Poor uncle ! his heart was so full that he could not even 
 wish us good night, and so was forced to leave us, lest we should 
 see the weakness of tears. 
 
 THE END.
 
 A STRICKEN HEART 
 
 In every bush the sweet birds sing, 
 On every bough the buds have come ; 
 
 All nature speaks of balmy Spring, 
 Of resurrection from the tomb. 
 
 The scented May on every hedge, 
 
 The cuckoo calling to his mate ; 
 A gladsome look is everywhere, 
 
 And only I am desolate. 
 
 A world of happiness around ; 
 
 The picture of a fair young life ; 
 So full of hope, and peace, and love, 
 
 As though there were no fear or strife. 
 
 I stood at brink of mossy dell, 
 
 And listen 'd to the warblers there ; 
 
 And wonder'd at sweet Philomel, 
 As loud he chanted to his fair. 
 
 Why sing the birds on every tree? 
 
 Why glow the fields with bright wild flowers? 
 What all this vernal wealth to me, 
 
 Who nevermore have happy hours ? 
 
 Be still, sad heart, no more repine ; 
 
 Should all the world be sad for thee; 
 What, if the brightness of thy life 
 
 Have gone, and joy no more can be ? 
 
 The earth is fair ; some hearts are kind ; 
 And nature now bow glad she seems ;
 
 134 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 The youug lambs gambol in their joy, 
 The morning sun hath rosy beams. 
 
 The verdant meads are wet with dew, 
 The modest violet hangs her head 
 
 In mossy brake, where daffodils 
 Have bloom'd on saffron-tinted bed. 
 
 Take heart of grace, and look on these, 
 And thank the Maker of them all, 
 
 That he hath made a world so bright, 
 And granted joy to great and small. 
 
 Doth Death come only now to thee ? 
 
 Hath Love betray'd no other one ? 
 Ah, tear-drops fall from other eyes, 
 
 And gloom comes when the day is done. 
 
 The grey clouds sail across the sky, 
 And cast deep shadows o'er the meads ; 
 
 There is no joy for cloister'd nun, 
 Nor grey-clad friar who tells his beads. 
 
 The fire of life hath long gone out, 
 
 The glow of love long quench'd hath been ; 
 
 And only the cold grey of life, 
 
 Remains for these ; no more is seen. 
 
 Yet they are well content, and thou 
 Must learn to be resign'd as they, 
 
 Eemembering that, though Spring-time now, 
 The autumn is not far away. 
 
 With patient waiting peace will come, 
 And grace to bear thy weary load ; 
 
 So pray that when thy earthly home 
 Thou leavest for that bright abode — 
 
 In those celestial mansions where 
 An everlasting Spring-time reigns,
 
 A STRICKEN HEART. 
 
 135 
 
 And there shall be no Summer glare, 
 Nor melancholy Autumn strains ; 
 
 No winds that sigh through empty aisles, 
 Of leafless trees in forest vast; 
 
 Thou wilt remember, yet forget, 
 The pain of life which now is past. 
 
 So welcome Autumn's slow decay, 
 And welcome death and Winter's pall, 
 
 When " flowers are in their grassy tombs, 
 And tears of dew are on them all." * 
 
 * Thin exquisite thought in from Hood's Poem on Autumu.
 
 HOPELESSLY; 
 
 .>,■ 
 
 OR, MADGE RAYMOND S MIDNIGHT RIDE, AND WHAT CAME 
 
 OF IT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 On the Christmas Eve in the year of grace 1859, the good town 
 of Marton-on-the-Hill was very gay ; all the shops were open till 
 a late hour, and numbers of pedestrians, principally of the " lower 
 orders," might be seen wending their way to the High-street, to 
 buy their Christmas dinner. It had been snowing heavily, and 
 the night was sharp and frosty. Very pretty looked the old town 
 that night ; and very happy looked the faces of the people as 
 they crowded in and out the shops. These latter were gaily de- 
 corated with evergreens, and wonderful devices in fruit and vege- 
 tables, tricked out with coloured papers of astonishing and 
 curious patterns. 
 
 I don't know that an artist would say much for the taste dis- 
 played in these preparations for the festivities of Christmas ; but 
 the motto in almonds, on a bed of raisins, " A Merry Christmas 
 to You ; " or, " A Happy New Year," done in oranges, upon a 
 lovely background of currants, spoke to the warm hearts of the 
 work people in a language significant of Christmas cheer, and 
 elicited from them warmer expressions of approbation, probably, 
 than anything more artistic might have produced.
 
 HOPELESSLY. 137 
 
 Marton had been the centre of an agricultural district until the 
 last few years, and nothing more. It had its cattle show and fair 
 once a year — the show held late in December, the fair in August. 
 Generally, too, they managed to get up a Hunt Dinner and Ball 
 during Christmas week. Otherwise, it had been rather a dull 
 place to live in ; and the youth of Marton had had a hard time 
 of it to get anything like rational amusement after office hours. 
 Extensive potteries and ironworks had, however, been recently 
 opened, and Marton had begun to taste of the prosperity which 
 had come upon its sister towns in Staffordshire. Situated within 
 150 miles of town, and with the new branch lines to Macclesfield 
 and Newcastle-under-Lyme just completed, easy communication 
 was opened to the great towns in the neighbourhood, and trade 
 was springing up again. 
 
 But there had been a strike in the Iron Trade, the staple busi- 
 ness of the town. There had been also one or two failures in the 
 other great branches, of commerce, and much distress had pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 Marton, however, was, as I said before, an agricultural as well 
 as a manufacturing town. The harvest this year had been good, 
 and the fair just passed had been the best attended for many a 
 year past. The strike was now over, and the men had come to 
 an agreement with the ironmasters, which, as it was likely to be 
 profitable to both, promised to be more satisfactory than any of 
 the previous overtures which had been made on either side. The 
 great firms which had collapsed, had given place to new compan- 
 ies, formed upon surer bases, with men of integrity, talent, energy, 
 and capital to back them, at their head ; and Marton once more 
 looked up. 
 
 No wonder, then, that the poor people looked happier this 
 Christmas time. Many an one could go to church to-morrow, 
 who had no; been there this long time, to thank God for His pre-
 
 138 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 sent mercies to them, and to pray hopefully for a blessing upon 
 them in the future. 
 
 The old church stands in the centre of the town, but sur- 
 rounded by a large grave-yard, now long disused. Some fine elm 
 trees overshadow it : they make a famous rookery in summer 
 time; but the birds have deserted it now. Marton smoke has 
 not yet killed them ; but ere long, no doubt, 'twill do its work 
 and the last remnant of the country in the heart of Marton will 
 die its death. 
 
 Let us step inside the church. It is lighted up we see — not 
 for service though. They are putting the last touches to the 
 decorations ; and pretty Miss Birch, the Vicar's daughter, is direc- 
 ting Frank Asburn — who, we see, is perched high up on a ladder 
 — how to place a legend of evergreens and berries over the 
 chancel arch. 
 
 " How is it Mr. Raymond is not here to-night ? " Mrs. Wray- 
 ton asks. 
 
 Mrs. Wrayton is the handsome young wife of Cecil Wrayton, 
 attorney-at-law, and niece of the Rev. John Birch, M.A., vicar of 
 Marton-on-the-Hill. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wrayton are Madge Raymond's dearest friends, 
 and Mrs. Wrayton is a little vexed at Madge for not helping 
 them in decorating St. Swithins, as he had promised. 
 
 " I really cannot tell," Frank replies, " I've not seen Madge 
 for some days." His real name was Madgwick, a family name. 
 
 " I thought you were great friends ? " Miss Birch said, inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 " So we are." 
 
 "Then why don't you go and see him; I dare say he's 
 ill ? " 
 
 " Well, if you particularly wish it,fl will — though I don't sup- 
 pose he's got anything more than an attack of enmti"
 
 HOPELESSLY. 139 
 
 li You know I don't wish anything of the kind," Minna Birch 
 responded, evidently piqued. 
 
 " I don't know anything about it," Frank answers, laughingly ; 
 " but now, I think, we've finished. These festoons look very 
 pretty. I wish we could have had a Latin cross done in holly 
 upon the altar — it would have looked so well ; only the people 
 here are such red-hot Protestants, I suppose they wouldn't like 
 it." 
 
 " Papa would not like anything of that kind on the Communion 
 Table," Minna says, simply. 
 
 " Well, we will not argue the point, Miss Birch. I will just 
 step over to Kaymond's rooms, and see if anything is the matter. 
 I expect the real fact is that he's forgotten all about decorating 
 the church." 
 
 They talk in low tones, as remembering the place they are in. 
 
 The party took a last glance at the wreathed columns, the 
 texts done in holly berries, the graceful festoons of laurel, holly, 
 and fir, which coupled the noble Norman pillars together, and the 
 double triangles and other mystic symbols fixed upon the walls, 
 and then left the church. 
 
 Miss Birch looked up to see whether Mr. Ashburn would offer 
 to escort her home, or whether she should have to beg the com- 
 pany of Mr. and Mrs. Wrayton back to the vicarage. Frank, 
 however, walked off unceremoniously, evidently in deep thought 
 after bidding them " Good night," and soon solved the question. 
 
 Pretty Miss Birch walks silently home with the Wraytons, who 
 wonder why the usually talkative young lady is struck dumb 
 to-night. 
 
 Once out in the open street, Mr. Frank strides off to his friend 
 Madge Raymond's lodgings, some quarter of a mile off, and a 
 little way out of the town. 
 
 " I wonder whether there's anything up with the fair Marie ? "
 
 140 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 he asks himself. " What a fool Madge is to allow himself to fall 
 in love with ' sic kittle cattle.' " 
 
 The young lady thus alluded to is the walking lady at the New 
 Theatre (a very handsome building just erected), a pretty golden- 
 haired demoiselle, with a very fascinating manner and no heart — 
 who has fairly bewitched Madge, and caused that young gentle- 
 man to perform that acrobatic feat known as " falling head over 
 ears in love " with the charming little actress. 
 
 If the truth must be told, Madge is not the only one who has 
 been caught in the toils. Half-a-dozen at least of the young men 
 of the best families of Marton have laid their hearts, or at least 
 their purses, at the disposal of the fair Marie Vavasour (real name, 
 Polly Smith). Madge Raymond, however, had been the favoured 
 suitor ; and many an envious look had been cast at him, as he 
 entered the boxes at half play of an evening, and Marie, the little 
 flirt, had given him a glance of recognition — half nod, half smile 
 — the moment that she came on the stage in the second piece. 
 
 And here let it be said that, coquette as she was, and fond of 
 flattery and presents — especially the latter — no one had ever been 
 known to say a word against her character ; for she was very care- 
 ful in her conduct, and never came to or went from the theatre 
 without her mother or one of the elder ladies of the company as 
 chaperone. Men said of her contemptuously, " Oh, she goes in 
 for matrimony." 
 
 Madge Raymond was the nephew of Mr. Brigham, the wealthy 
 town-clerk of Marton, and was understood to be his heir. 
 
 It was said of Marton once, by a wag, that it was governed by 
 a Town Council, the Town Council was governed by the Mayor, 
 and the Mayor was governed by the Town Clerk — ergo, the Town 
 Clerk was Marton. There was a good deal of truth in this asser- 
 tion. The town councillors were mostly men of no position, and 
 Mr. Brigham was a clever lawyer, and not without a spice of the
 
 HOPELESSLY. 141 
 
 jbrtiter in re. He was a bachelor and misogynist, and discour- 
 aged the idea of matrimony on the part of his nephew as much 
 as possible. 
 
 If the truth must be told, Madge, though now twenty-one, and 
 old enough to know better, was madly in love with the fair ac- 
 tress at the new theatre; and she, finding his intentions were 
 honourable, and being somewhat dubious of the attentions of her 
 other admirers, had encouraged him a good deal, until he, poor 
 fellow, was willing to die for her, like a romantic young fool that 
 he was. Miss Vavasour used to walk out into the country on Sun- 
 day afternoons — always, however, accompanied by her mother ; 
 and Madge was permitted to join them, which he did with great 
 satisfaction to himself, and greatly to the disgust of the other 
 aspirants to her favour. 
 
 Prank Ashburn had often pondered over these things within 
 the last few weeks ; and, annoyed though he was at his friend's 
 infatuation, he was .determined, if possible, to prevent Madge 
 committing the folly he was evidently contemplating. 
 
 Mr. Brigham, too, had been vexed beyond measure at what he 
 heard about his nephew. — of course greatly exaggerated by the 
 Marton people, who were celebrated scandal-mongers, and gloated 
 over ' the improper conduct of that wild young man, Mr. Raymond.' 
 Knowing the great influence Frank had over his nephew, Mr. 
 Brigham called one night unexpectedly at his rooms, and the re- 
 sult of a long conversation was that Frank, by Mr. Brigham's 
 desire, wrote Miss Vavasour a letter — short, sharp, and decisive 
 — which he had duly posted three days ago, and now awaited an 
 answer. Of this, however, Madge knew nothing. 
 
 " Mr. Raymond at home ? " Frank asks, as he taps at the door 
 of the lodgings in Queen Street, where his friend hangs out. 
 
 " No, sir ; he hasn't been home since the morning," the girl 
 replies, as she opens the door.
 
 142 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " Pretty looking sort of piece of goods, if she were only 
 washed," Frank thinks, as he surveys the servant, who is house- 
 maid, cook, and boots, and scullery maid all in one,— and pauses 
 for a minute wondering where his friend can be. 
 
 " Not in since the morning, and now eleven o'clock. Have 
 you any idea where he is ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " I'll go and see if he's at the club ; " and off he walks. 
 
 " Can't have been such a fool as to run off with that girl," he 
 mutters to himself, as he strides along at a good pace to Charlton 
 Street, where the club is held. " I shouldn't wonder at any folly 
 he might commit, though, by Jove. He certainly is desperately 
 in love with her." 
 
 No one has seen him at the club, but some one saw him this 
 evening at the theatre. 
 
 Miss Vavasour was not there, however, and her part had been 
 read by the prompter, after the manager had apologised to the 
 audience for her absence — no reason for which, though, had been 
 given. 
 
 The next morning, Frank called again at his friend's rooms, 
 but they had heard nothing of him. He could not help feeling 
 somewhat alarmed, and the sight of his expressive countenance 
 quite overcame the Marchioness (they had nicknamed her so after 
 Dickens's Marchioness), who burst into tears, declaring that Mr. 
 Raymond had always been very kind to her, and " she was sure 
 he must be dead, or murdered, or something, because he was 
 always home at nights before." 
 
 Having pacified the weeping Abigail, by assuring her that he 
 was sure it was all right, and Mr. Raymond had probably only 
 gone out to spend a day or two with some friends in the country, 
 Frank walked off to church, wondering inwardly whether any- 
 thing really was the matter, as Madge had promised to dine with
 
 HOPELESSLY. 143 
 
 him at the Wrayton's that day, and Mr. Brighanl was to be 
 there too. 
 
 " Here's a pretty kettle of fish," he exclaimed ; " and I'll be 
 bound to say it's all my doing. The letter to that girl is at the 
 bottom of it. I'll be hanged if it isn't." 
 
 I am afraid Mr. Frank did not enter into the beauty of the 
 glorious service of Christmas Day with that heartiness which was 
 his wont. 
 
 After it was over, he called again at Queen Street, and left the 
 Wraytons just after dinner in the evening, to see if his friend 
 had returned ; but still no sign. 
 
 The next day, too, came and went ; and yet no tidings. Sorely 
 perplexed, annoyed, and now really alarmed, he called at the 
 station master's house — for the trains running only as on Sunday, 
 the station was closed ; but neither from him nor from any of the 
 police could he glean any tidings of his friend. 
 
 Christmas Day did not pass very pleasantly, after all, with 
 some people in Marton. 
 
 Z ^*ua£iv-Jx W^^
 
 144 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 A MIDNIGHT RIDE. 
 
 Near to midnight of this Christmas Eve, Mr. Madge Raymond 
 is walking moodily down a lane in the outskirts of Marton, pon- 
 dering deeply upon something which evidently engages his whole 
 attention, as he stumbles against the solitary wayfarer trudging 
 homeward, who has just crossed the path, and scarcely troubles 
 himself to mutter an apology. As he passes under the last lamp, 
 on the Chilton road, we catch a hasty glimpse of him. Nice- 
 looking enough, certainly ; a profusion of light brown hair ; by 
 no means despisable whiskers and moustache ; a well-knit, if not 
 very robust figure ; and a certain gentlemanly bearing, unmis- 
 takable in its character, which stamps at once our hero as a well 
 bred young fellow. Handsome, ardent, generous to a fault, hot- 
 blooded, chivalrous, conceited, clever, proud, impulsive ; a good 
 friend, a noble enemy ; with nothing mean and selfish about him; 
 but open as the day ; brave as a lion and gentle as a lamb; frank 
 enough in all that concerned himself, but secret as the night in 
 all that concerned others' confidence entrusted to his keeping; 
 full of little faults and foibles, but with not a particle of vice 
 about the man, — what wonder if he was at once the darling, 
 the hero of the ladies of Marton, the envied rival of the men. 
 
 He was so guileless himself, that he believed every woman an 
 angel, and all men honest. Most people liked him, though many 
 looked upon him as a " ne'er do well." He had been a midship- 
 man in the navy, but his father dying at the age of thirty-eight, 
 of consumption (he had married very early in life, and his wife
 
 HOPELESSLY. 145 
 
 had died in giving J)irth to Madge), and in very poor cir- 
 cumstances, he left the sea at eighteen, and came to Marton 
 on his uncle's invitation, and was supposed to help him in 
 the office, until he would make up his mind what profession to 
 adopt. 
 
 He was an indolent fellow, but did not lack ability ; and the 
 great fault of his character seemed to be a want of application 
 and deficiency of ballast. Such was Madge Raymond at the out- 
 set of our story. 
 
 Madge has received a curious, unsatisfactory note, from Miss 
 Vavasour this morning, bidding him good bye, and telling him 
 that he must never hope to see her again. 
 
 The fact of the matter is, that the fair artiste, discovering from 
 Mr. Asliburn's letter — (written, as he informs her, under instruc- 
 tions from Mr. Raymond's uncle and guardian) — that the old 
 gentleman refuses to assist his nephew in any way in the event 
 of his marrying the young actress — such a contemplated step 
 having been hinted to him by Mr. Raymond himself — makes up 
 her mind to accept the son of a wealthy ironmaster, who has pro- 
 posed to her, and who, fearing that the fickle fair one may change 
 her mind, has persuaded her into an elopement. 
 
 Madge had haunted the stage door of the theatre during the 
 morning when rehearsal was on, but saw nothing of the object of 
 his devotion. Directly the doors were opened at night, he had 
 posted himself in the stage box, in hopes of catching a glimpse 
 of Marie before she came on the stage. But again he was dis- 
 appointed, for no Marie appeared. 
 
 Making his way behind as soon as the curtain dropped, he en- 
 countered the proprietor — an old gentleman, who had frequently 
 imbibed a friendly glass of something hot at Madge's expense — 
 and from him learnt the tidings, which touched him to the quick, 
 that Miss Vavasour had gone off (as it was said) by the nine
 
 146 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 o'clock train to Newcastle-under-Lyme, in company with Mr. 
 Shotter, the ironmaster's son. 
 
 And this was the end of it all ! For the last two months and 
 more he had been following this girl with all the foolish, loving 
 tenderness of a simp] p. noble faith ! Believing nothing of her 
 but what was fair and of good report, shielding her from the 
 wicked flatteries of the designing, and standing forth as her 
 champion in many a fight. The wealth of worship — pure and 
 noble worship — he had bestowed, the love he had cherished, the 
 devotion he had shown, the perseverance with which he had 
 urged his suit, even the costly presents with which he had en- 
 riched her and beggared himself, in that short time — these should 
 have pleaded for him, and kept her constant. But no. 
 
 She was an actress — a very perfect actress for one so young. 
 She could look and sigh, and murmur " dearest " with the most 
 exquisitely-tender, musical voice, and make poor Madge as happy 
 in the sunshine of her smiles as if all Nature had inspired him to 
 be so ; and then, whea he was gone, some other favourite was 
 brought forward to be smitten by the same baleful sunstroke. 
 
 During the last week or two, Mrs. Vavasour had invited Madge 
 to come and take tea with them three or four times ; and, now 
 that an understanding had grown up between the two, and it 
 was understood Madge would marry her if his uncle would only 
 do something for him, he had been allowed to wait for Marie and 
 escort her home after the play was over. 
 
 Madge had not yet actually asked his uncle's consent, if the 
 truth must be told, being afraid ; but he had made no secret of 
 his intention, and so the matter had got to the old man's ears. 
 William Brigham, rightly enough, conjectured that if he was too 
 severe with his nephew, he might do something foolish and run 
 away with the girl, who no doubt would marry him if she saw 
 any prospect of his (Mr. Brigham's) assisting them. So he
 
 HOPELESSLY. 147 
 
 thought it best to confer with Madge's old friend, young Ash- 
 burn, who was his senior by some six or seven years, and a sensi- 
 ble, quiet, and gentlemanly man of the world. The result was, 
 as we have seen, Miss Vavasour had eloped, and her lover left to 
 wear the willow. Christmas Eve is not a happy one to him. 
 
 It is now midnight. The bells of St. Swithin have just chimed 
 out the quarters, and now the great bell is striking the hour. It 
 has been a lovely moonlight night ; but the wind has risen, and 
 the sky is now covered with clouds. There will be a snow-storm 
 presently. Not a soul to be seen— nothing stirring save the wind. 
 
 Far down the lane the railroad crosses the highway ; the gates 
 are open though, now ; and but for the red lamps placed on the 
 posts, which somewhat dimly lights the way, you would not 
 know you were near a railway, so dark and silent is all around. 
 Utterly careless as to what becomes of him, frenzied with rage 
 at Marie's perfidy, and perhaps suffering from the effects of the 
 drink he had beerufoolishly imbibing to drive dull care away, 
 Madge strides hastily along the road, perfectly indifferent as to 
 where he is going. The crossing is not a hundred yards from the 
 station ; and as he approaches, the gates swing back, and a long 
 train of empty carriages, which have brought excursionists down 
 to the cattle show, just over, moves out of the station, and ap- 
 proaches the spot where Madge is standing, close to the gates. 
 A sudden whim comes over him to see where the train is going, 
 probably to shunt at the points some half a mile down the line, 
 as he thinks. No sooner said than done. As the train slowly 
 passes, it is a comparatively easy matter to jump up upon the 
 foot-boards of one of the carriages, and hold on to the rail which 
 girds the carriage — a third-class one. Our hero is somewhat dis- 
 mayed, however, to find that the train does not slacken speed at 
 the junction at Low Marton, but, with a sharp whistle from the 
 engine, rattles through the station, and dashes forward on its 
 
 k 2
 
 148 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 way, increasing in pace every moment. With wonderful cool- 
 ness and pluck — all his faculties restored by the sense of danger 
 —he cautiously walks along the foot-rail of three or four of the 
 carriages, stretching forward, clutching the handles of the doors, 
 which are five feet apart, to sustain him, as there is no hand-rail 
 to any but the third-class carriages, and so makes his way for- 
 ward to the front of the train. His object is to get as far as the 
 engine, if possible, though there are something like thirty car- 
 riages in all, and he is not a sixth part of the way up yet. 
 
 A whirr — a crash — a blinding light — a scream, and they have 
 passed Shrival station, and on again — going at a speed of thirty 
 miles an hour. It is useless now to hope to stop the train, as he 
 would now be too far from home to be able to walk there to- 
 night. Then he tries to get in at one of the carriages. But the 
 doors are all locked. Just now they are swinging round the 
 curve at Weltham, and speed is slackened. Madge just grazes a 
 telegraph post as thsy pass, and begins to feel that his position 
 is by no means a pleasant one. It is now very cold, and he feels 
 that he cannot hold on to the door handle much longer, his 
 hands have become so numb. To leap down at the speed at 
 which they are going would be madness ; besides, it's so dark you 
 couldn't see two yards before you. If he could only get to the 
 top of one of the carriages, he would be safer there. 
 
 Eattle-rattle — thud-thud — clatter-clatter— the great engine 
 pounds its way along the iron highway, wallowing in fire and 
 water, and vomiting forth its flame and smoke ; screaming past 
 station after station, like some horrid fiend, making night hide- 
 ous with its unearthly music. , » _ 
 
 A train rushing through a station at full speed at the dead of 
 night is not a pleasant subject to contemplate, at least to our 
 thinking. Mogford is now passed ; we are fifteen miles from 
 Marton, and still no appearance of stopping. Another ten
 
 HOPELESSLY. 
 
 149 
 
 minutes of gloom, ami we have gone over nearly as many miles. 
 Ruswarp is in view, and we have got out of the high bleak flat 
 country into the midst of the hills near Congleton Edge. A 
 light break in the clouds helps Madge to see his way, and he 
 cautiously, but surely, makes his way round to the side of the 
 carriage on which he is standing, and proceeds to mount on to 
 the buffers, and from thence to the seat on the top. 
 
 Oh, horrors ; he has slipped ! 
 
 A cloud passes over the moon, and the train is enshrouded in 
 darkness. Another drifting of the heavy mass of vapour now 
 falling in snow flakes, and we see, ^y the dim light, Madge 
 hanging by his hands to the little rail which surrounds the seat 
 on the top of the carriage, and struggling to obtain a foothold. 
 A moment, and it is done, and now he has managed to clamber 
 up, and is seated upon the carriage top, as coolly as if it was an 
 every day matter with him. 
 
 " By Jove, I w^s nearly done for, tha v , time. I wonder if I 
 shall ever get home again. Here's a pretty go," our hero ejacu- 
 lated, as he makes himself as comfortable as he can in such a 
 particularly airy situation. 
 
 " Hollo, here's a tunnel. I suppose I must duck," and down 
 he bends, holding on by his hands at the sides, and bending him- 
 self double as the train dashes under an arch. 
 
 " Not a tunnel after all, only a viaduct. I needn't have ducked 
 for that, unless to learn the via. That's a pun, by the way : 
 fancy a fellow punning in such a position as I am." And the 
 young fellow burst out into a hearty laugh at the incongruity of 
 the thing. 
 
 Cold, dreadfully cold ; dark, pitchy dark. Only now and then, 
 as a station is passed, the flash of a passing signal-lamp lights up 
 the train as it whirls by, and shows it crusted with a covering of 
 Bnow, driving along at forty miles per hour.
 
 150 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 Aud now Madge knows they must be approaching the great 
 tunnel which is cut through Boughton Edge, and begins to think 
 seriously of what he should do. The Elton Bridge tunnel is one 
 of the lowest in England, and it is very doubtful if any ordinary- 
 sized man, sitting upright upon the top of a carriage, could pass 
 under in safety. 
 
 Whirr-whirr — clatter-clatter — thud-thud — the train dashes on- 
 ward through the dead of night, over a snow-clad earth under a 
 gloomy sky. 
 
 A sudden break in the cloud reveals to him the approaching 
 danger from the tunnel. Again he bends forward and lies low ; 
 and with a screech and a roar, the train dashes into the stifling 
 cavernous darkness — the lamps casting a lurid glare on its rugged 
 walls, " not light, but only darkness visible " — and through it 
 and into the night air again. 
 
 His cane, which he had carelessly stuck into one of the lamps, 
 is snapped in half — the two pieces, however, lie on the top of the 
 carriage. 
 
 " Confound it," the young gentleman says, as he observes this, 
 " got smashed because I stuck it upright in that pepper castor. 
 Let's see what the height of the thing would be beside me. By 
 Jove, only half an inch difference between us. So ! I suppose if 
 I had not seen the tunnel, and bobbed down in time, my head 
 would have been smashed. Hang it all, I am getting tired of 
 this lark. I wonder how long it's going to last, and where the 
 dickens I am going to. I'll try what a cigar will do. What a 
 fool I was not to think of that before. It's confoundedly cold." 
 
 On again, but sensible diminution of speed. 
 
 " We are getting to Macclesfield, fifty miles from home. Well, 
 that's a caution. Wonder if it will stop here ? Hope so. Hang 
 that girl ! " 
 
 The train does stop, luckily for our hero, and he dismounts
 
 HOPELESSLY. 
 
 151 
 
 from his dangerous pedestal, thanking his stars that he's got safe 
 to terra linnet again. 
 
 Light hearted fellow though he is, he is somewhat sobered by 
 this night's journey ; and the midnight ride has affected him 
 more than he cares to own. 
 
 Making his way as best he can, half-starved with the cold as 
 he is, and by no means desirous of being seen by the guard or 
 porter in charge of the train, he finds his way to an inn, knocks 
 up the inmates, at last gains admission, and is soon in the arms of 
 Morpheus. 
 
 The next morning — Christmas morning — he is in a high state 
 of fever, brought on by exposure to the cold. The following day 
 he is worse, and sends off for his friend Ashburn. The third day 
 he is delirious, and raving about Marie.
 
 152 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EXPLANATORY. TEMPORA MUTANTUR. 
 
 Me. Ashburn is one of the firm of Wrayton and Ashburn, 
 solicitors. 
 
 It is Thursday morning, two days after Christmas Day ; and 
 Frank is sitting chatting pleasantly to dear Mrs. Wrayton, who 
 is pouring out her husband's coffee — he, lazy fellow, not down yet. 
 
 " No letters come yet, Mrs. Wrayton ? I thought I'd step 
 down to see if there were any on my way to the office. I am 
 getting anxious about Raymond" — (Frank has had no letters 
 addressed here lately). 
 
 A servant enters while he is speaking, and hands'the letters to 
 her mistress, who reads aloud the addresses — " Mrs. Cecil Wray- 
 ton," " Mrs. C. Wrayton," " Messrs. Wrayton and Ashburn," 
 " Frank Ashburn, Esq., care of Messrs. Wrayton and Ashburn." 
 
 " What a queer way of addressing you, and what a queer hand ! 
 Here, there are a great many more. Cecil wont be angry with 
 me for looking over his letters first ; but I expected a reply from 
 Miss Edwardes, my husband's cousin, whom we had asked to 
 come and stay with us this Christmas. She ought to have been 
 here a week ago. Such a pretty girl, Mr. Ashburn ; and money, 
 too, I believe. I must introduce you two. I dare say you would 
 suit each other." 
 
 " Thanks ; but I am afraid I might not prove so impressible as 
 you think, nor the lady either ; and, besides, I don't believe in 
 marrying for money." 
 
 " Don't you ? I thought you did, as you have never married yet."
 
 HOPELESSLY. 153 
 
 « Is not that woman's logic ? I am too poor to think of such 
 a luxury as matrimony ; and the mere fact of the lady whom I 
 love heing rich would be, I am afraid, a great barrier to my pro- 
 posing, since I should be sure she would think I wanted to marry 
 her only for her money." 
 
 " That would all depend upon the girl herself. If I had been 
 ever so rich, I should not have thought Cecil married me for my 
 money." 
 
 " Oh, that's a different thing, you are so ," and here Frank 
 
 paused. 
 
 He did not want to offend Mrs. Wrayton by flattering her ; 
 and yet he was just on the point of saying something which was 
 very complimentary indeed, but stopped himself, and added, " I 
 mean you are so nice, and kind, and attractive, and all that sort 
 of thing." 
 
 " Thank you, you are good enough to say so. Oh, I forgot to 
 give you the letter. "I hope there is news from Mr. Raymond ; " 
 and Mrs. Wrayton, failing to find a reply from Miss Edwardes, 
 gave the bundle to Frank, who soon singled out two from the 
 heap. Hastily opening the first he read as follows : — 
 
 "Nags Head, Macclesfield, 26th Dec, 1859. 
 
 " Mr Dear Ashburn, — 
 
 " I am rather poorly. Please come to see me. I hope 
 I am not going to be laid up. — Yours, in haste, 
 
 " Madge Eaymond. 
 « P.S.— Tell the Wraytons, but don't alarm my uncle." 
 The other letter, the one Mrs. Wrayton had noticed as pecu- 
 liarly written, was from Miss Vavasour. It was not pleasantly 
 written, and is not worth reproducing here ; and Frank crumpled 
 it up in his pocket, apologised to Mrs. Wrayton for going directly, 
 desired her to explain to her husband, and left the house.
 
 154 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 " I wonder whether he cares for Minna ? " Mrs. Wrayton says, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " What can he the matter with Mr. Eaymond ? — I'll go at 
 once. I hope the boy isn't ill. How on earth has he got Mac- 
 clesfield? I wish he were more careful of himself; he'll go off 
 in a consumption one of these days." Thus spoke Frank as he 
 paced thoughtfully down the street. 
 
 By mid-day he was at Macclesfield, and found poor Madge 
 very ill. He had not even gone home to take anything, hut had 
 just walked off to the station from the office with a small valise, 
 which he generally kept there, containing such necessaries as a 
 bachelor usually carries about with him. 
 
 And Madge raved about Marie ! 
 
 As his friend heard him, he wished most devoutly he had had 
 nothing to do with the letter, which at Mr. Brigham's dictation 
 he had written to her. 
 
 In three weeks time, however, Madge was well enough to be 
 removed ; and Frank, who had stayed with him a week of that 
 time, but had now gone down to Marton, returned to take him back. 
 
 " Put on my great coat ; yours is not warm enough, and you 
 mustn't catch cold," Frank said, as he assisted his friend to attire 
 himself this fine frosty morning, in the middle of January, 1860, 
 and helped him into the cab which was to take them to the 
 station. 
 
 Master Madge Raymond is not the better for his midnight ride. 
 
 One evening they are sitting talking together over the fire, in 
 Madge's rooms, and Madge is railing against women in general, 
 and actresses in particular. 
 
 " They are all the same— false and fickle, fickle and false." 
 
 " There you are wrong," Frank says, quietly. " I have known 
 actresses as pure and noble characters as you would find any- 
 where ; women who would adorn any society, no matter how
 
 HOPELESSLY. 
 
 155 
 
 high, no matter how virtuous. You have no right to judge of a 
 class by a single specimen." 
 
 " And pray, where did you gain your experience of them, most 
 sapient judge ? " 
 
 " Never mind ; I am not going to confess to you, my boy. 
 But you must remember I've not been in Marton all my life. 
 Well, I must be off ; I have an engagement at eight. Ah ! I see 
 my great coat is here ; I was wondering where it was. It's a fine 
 night, I Ihink I'll leave it here. Good night, old fellow. Don't 
 become a misogynist." So saying, off he went, leaving Madge 
 ruminating over the fire. 
 
 " How the old fellow fired up when I spoke about actresses ! 
 What the dickens was it made that girl leave me in the lurch as 
 she did ? What a fool I was to think so much about her ! I 
 wish to goodness I could forget her. I think I'll have a smoke." 
 He got up and felt in the pocket of Frank's great coat, where he 
 had put half-a-dozen 'cigars ; and, in taking one from its depth, 
 brought out a crumpled-up note, which he was just going to con- 
 sign to the flames as rubbish, when his own name in it caught 
 his eye. The signature, " Marie Vavasour," caused him to open 
 and read it without hesitation ; and, I am afraid, he muttered 
 something very like an oath as he finished it. 
 
 "Cool of that fellow, Ashburn, to interfere in my business. 
 So, that's the reading of the riddle, is it ? I'll not stand it ; I'm 
 hanged if I do." 
 
 The young gentleman had worked himself up into a rage, and 
 perhaps it was as well that Frank Ashburn did not come in justthen. 
 
 They quarrelled, and Frank tried to explain — but Madge 
 would hear nothing. 
 
 " It was a confounded Bhame," he said, " for a man who called 
 himself his friend to interfere in his business in such an unwar- 
 rantable and impertinent manner as Ashburn had done."
 
 156 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 They parted — Frank, ' : more in sorrow than in anger." 
 
 Two years have rolled away, Madge has not improved. He has 
 got the character of heing a great flirt ; and, wanting the advice 
 and council of his friend to steer him, he has grown rather wild. 
 Not that he does anything very wrong, hut that he does nothing 
 good. He has got the character of being fickle, too, and his 
 uncle is in hopes he will hecome, as he is striving to become, a 
 woman hater. It was a long time before he recovered from the 
 effects of his wild night's excursion. It was feared that his lungs 
 were affected, and he has not yet got so strong as could be wished. 
 
 It is now the summer of 1863. Madge has long since forgot- 
 ten Marie, and would like to make it up again with Frank, but 
 he is too proud to ask forgiveness. Frank, on the other hand, is 
 equally desirous that their old friendship should be renewed ; but 
 he disapproves of so many things Madge has done lately, and 
 feels that he is of such an uncertain and changeable disposition, 
 that, if he offered him advice, there might only arise other differ- 
 ences, and then they might quarrel again. 
 
 A new company has just been formed, and Mr. Brigham, who 
 has invested a good deal of money in it, is made a director. He 
 has always looked upon himself as under obligations to Frank for 
 the part he took about the fair Marie. Since then, they have 
 had frequent intercourse together in business matters. Mr. Brig- 
 ham has put many things into his young friend's way, as magis- 
 trates' clerk, and thinks very highly of his talents. The directors 
 are looking out for a secretary, and Mr. Brigham proposes Mr. Ash- 
 burn ; but to the astonishment of the worthy town clerk he declines. 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow," Mr. Brigham says, " it's £500 a-year, 
 and very likely will increase as the company prospers. You don't 
 make such an income now ? " 
 
 " No ; I am only junior partner, and I have far less than that, 
 certainly ; still, I am fond of my profession, and should not like
 
 HOPELESSLY. 157 
 
 to leave it, and I think I would rather not take it, though I am 
 very much obliged to you, Mr. Brigham, for all your kindness." 
 
 " I am glad you like your profession. No man ever got on 
 who did not like his calling." 
 
 " If you will allow me, I will recommend a friend of my own, 
 who, I think, would suit you," Frank pleaded. 
 
 " And who may that he, sir ? " the old man says, somewhat 
 testily. 
 
 " Your nephew, sir." 
 
 " My nephew, sir ! He is far too wild." 
 
 " That is only for want of occupation. Put him in a position 
 of responsibility, and make him feel that everything depends upon 
 his conduct ; and, rely upon it, he has some good stuff in him, 
 and he will do you no discredit." 
 
 " You are very good to speak so well of Madge, Mr. Ashburn ; 
 but I thought you and he were not very good friends ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, the quarelling is on his side, not mine." 
 
 " He is not very strong at present, I believe," Mr. Brigham 
 says, after a pause. " I am afraid I've rather neglected him. 
 Poor fellow, he's never known a father's care or a mother's love. 
 My sister was the only woman I ever knew worth caring for. 
 I'll send him off to Killarney for a month or two, to see what 
 that will do for him— and then, if he's pretty strong again, and 
 takes to the idea, I'll see about the secretaryship. We shan't be 
 in full working order for three months yet, so there's plenty of 
 time. I'll take care to let my nephew know at whose recommen- 
 dation he gets the post," Mr. Brigham added. " Good morning, 
 Mr. Ashburn." 
 
 " Good morning," and they part. 
 
 Frank feels very much better after this, and does not now 
 regret the share he had in Madge's discomfiture, since he sees 
 good may come out of it after all.
 
 158 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 RECONCILIATION. 
 
 " Dear old boy, I am so glad we have made it all up. I've often 
 wished to ask you to be friends again, but I was too proud." 
 
 It is Madge Raymond who is speaking, and they are in Frank's 
 room, having a cosy dinner — a fortnight after the events in the 
 last chapter. 
 
 Mr. Brigham had sent for Madge specially, to tell him that his 
 friend Frank Ashburn had declined, in his favour, a situation he 
 meant to give him ; and took the opportunity of expatiating 
 upon the sentiments of friendship which Mr. Ashburn had ex- 
 pressed, until poor Madge began to feel heartily ashamed of him- 
 self for ever bearing malice against a friend who had evidently 
 ever borne his real interest at heart ; and so, briefly thanking his 
 uncle for his kindness, he, impulsive, generous, high-souled fellow 
 as he was, went straight to Frank Asburn*s room, and begged for 
 forgiveness of all his folly and petulance. The tears stood in 
 Frank's eyes as he warmly shook his hand ; and those two were 
 happier in their reconciliation that evening than either of them 
 had been for this many a day. Of course, they ratified the re- 
 newal of friendship with an interchange of dinners — they would 
 hardly have been English not to do so ; and now they are chat- 
 ting away in Frank's room, over a bottle of wine and some straw- 
 berries; and Madge is building castles in the air. 
 
 " My uncle did not say exactly what this place was he was 
 going to give me. Perhaps he's not certain of getting it, and so 
 does not want to disappoint me. I shall be glad to get some
 
 HOPELESSLY. 159 
 
 settled work, you know, Frank. My uncle, he's a very good 
 fellow, you know ; I don't want to say a word against him ; but 
 he's let me have my own way so much, that I'm scarcely fit for 
 anything, you know. I've gone in and out of the office just as I 
 have liked, done as little or as much work as I chose — uncle 
 Brigham has taken no notice of me. If I worked hard he never 
 praised me ; if I did nothing he never complained. I just re- 
 ceived my £150 a- year, and that was all about it." 
 
 " Well, my boy, you must settle down now," Frank says, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I mean to. But I don't think my uncle would have 
 cared much if I had gone to the devil." 
 
 " You are wrong there, I think. Your uncle is peculiar, per- 
 haps, in his views, especially as regards the ladies ; but I am sure 
 he wishes you well." 
 
 " Give us a cigar. Thanks. Very good one, this. Where did 
 you get it ? " and Frank puffs away for a minue or two, and 
 then says, 
 
 " I say, Madge, why don't you get married ? " 
 
 " Married, my dear fellqw ? Why, I'm only twenty-four — I 
 might say tu r/uorjue to that." 
 
 " Oh, with me it's a different matter ; I'm too poor at present ; 
 — you have your uncle to back you." 
 
 " Not in the matrimonial line, though. I mean to marry for 
 money when I do commit the deed. I'll trouble you for the wine 
 — it's with you. Thanks, half a glass will do; I can't stand 
 much." 
 
 " You mean to marry for money, do you ? " Frank answers, 
 meditatively knocking 1 lie ash off the end of his cigar, against 
 the fireplace as he speaks. 
 
 " Yes, I think so. Why not?" 
 
 •• Take my advice, Madge — don't."
 
 160 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 « Well, what's a fellow to do ? " 
 
 " Work, my boy, work ! If you can't maintain a wife by your 
 own exertions — aye, and as a lady, too — you are not the man I 
 took you for." 
 
 " Oh, it's all very well to say so. If a fellow were awfully in 
 love with a girl, I dare say he might do something ; but I shall 
 never love again. Besides, supposing I should fall in love with a 
 girl who had tin, how then ? " Madge continued. 
 
 " Well, with your avowed sentiments and your character as a 
 flirt — don't wince — it would be awkward, as, no doubt, the lady 
 would think you approached her for her money. In that case, I 
 suppose you could only trust to time, and to your own devotion, 
 to prove you loved her for herself alone. Besides if a girl is 
 clever and good looking, she has no right to think you make love 
 to her for the filthy lucre. If she is ugly, it's a different matter. 
 By the way, Madge, you are going to Kiilarney, are you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, to-morrow." 
 
 " Very likely you'll meet with some fair ' Norah Creina ' there 
 who'll steal your heart away." 
 
 " Oh, I'm not likely to fall in love with an Irish girl." 
 
 4i Well, I don't know. I think very likely you will fall in love, 
 and hopelessly."
 
 HOPELESSLY. 161 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAY EDWAKDES. THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 Letter from Madge Raymond, Esq., to Ids friend Frank 
 Ashburn, Esq. 
 
 " Lake Hotel, Killarney, 24th July, 18G3. 
 
 " My Dear old Boy, — 
 
 " You are a prophet, and no mistake. I dare say you 
 have heen wondering why I have been here three weeks, and yet 
 have never written to you. You'll never guess the cause, so I 
 will tell you. I've actually fallen in love. Such a glorious girl 
 — you can't think. -We were saying, only the other day, how 
 hard it was for a fellow to be a hero now-a-days. Nobody had a 
 chance, except in a novel, of showing how he loved a girl, or 
 anything of that sort. But fortune favoured me ; and I'll tell 
 you, as briefly as I can, all about it. 
 
 " Yesterday week a party put up here — a Sir William Edwardes 
 and his wife; two daughters, rather plain; and two nieces, one 
 very pretty. He is an old baronet of Charles I.'s creation (the 
 title must be about contemporary with your cousin's), but I fancy 
 he's rather poor. One of the nieces— the one I am going to tell 
 you about— is an heiress; so I am told. Her name is Marian 
 Wentworth Edwardes, but they always cill her May. Such a 
 pretty girl! Exquisite complexion— pink and white; black 
 hair, worn rather short, and one mass of ringlets ; fine arched 
 pencilled brows ; glorious, flashing, huge browu eyes, the most 
 expressive I ever saw; a pretty mouth, evidently meant for
 
 162 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 kisses ; and pearly teeth. She is rather under the middle height, 
 has pretty hands and feet, the sweetest and most musical voice I 
 ever heard, and the most charming accent (not brogue, mark me) 
 I ever heard from the lips of a lady. 
 
 " The Irish ladies are very nice, and May Edwardes is the most 
 fascinating little piece of goods I ever met. So much for her. 
 The old fellow was very jolly and agreeable, and we got on very 
 well together. They live somewhere in Galway, I believe ; and, 
 strange to say, had never seen Killarney before ; so I volunteered 
 to be their cicerone. We went, of course, through the Gap of 
 Dunloe, and down the lakes. Then, the second day, I took them 
 up Mangerton. Another day, we went through Colonel Herbert 
 of Muckross's estate, and so forth, and through the lakes that 
 way. 
 
 " The Irish are not awfully stiff, consequential, and reserved, 
 as we English are : and in a few days I was as intimate as possi- 
 ble with them. I happened to mention Marton, and Miss Ed- 
 wardes (my Miss Edwardes) said she knew the Wraytons there ; 
 and, if I remember right, added that your partner was her cousin. 
 She said she had had a letter from Mrs. Wrayton, only a week 
 or two since, asking her to come and stay with them ; that it 
 was the second invitation she had had, but was afraid she should 
 have to decline it. 
 
 " Well, last Friday evening, some one proposed we should visit 
 Innisfallen by moonlight. Lady Edwardes would not go, but 
 Sir William accompanied us. We got to Innisfallen, admired 
 the ruined chapel, explored the island, and, on returning, Miss 
 Edwardes missed her brooch, which she fancied she must have 
 dropped at the other end of the island, near the part called the 
 Bed of Honour— the Duke of Rutland's resting-place when he 
 was Lord-Lieutenant. The rest of the party wanted to go over 
 to see Ross Castle— from which Lord Castle Rosse takes his title
 
 HOPELESSLY. 163 
 
 — a fine old ruin on the mainland, a very little distance from In- 
 nisfallen, and so left Miss Edwardes, myself, and Sir William's 
 two sons — lads of about fourteen and twelve — to look for the 
 brooch until their return. We had just got to a point from 
 which there is a lovely view of the lakes, with the Purple Moun- 
 tain in front of us, and Mangerton standing sentinel gloomily 
 behind, when I heard a scream, and looking round, found that 
 May had slipped, and had fallen into the water. Hastily pulling 
 my coat off, I jumped in, and before she sank for the third time, 
 caught hold of her, and, thank God, brought her to land before 
 life was quite extinct. William Edwardes ran off at once for as- 
 sistance, leaving me, as best I could, to apply what restoratives I 
 could think of. Luckily I had a small flask of brandy with me, 
 and after giving her a little, she revived. It was half an hour 
 before they came. 
 
 " Such delicious tejror I never experienced before. As I held 
 the poor child in my arms, and tried to bring her back to life, I 
 felt that perhaps, after all, it might be happier for me to die 
 thus. We got her home at last. She has been confined to her 
 room ever since, but got up to-day for the first time. I have had 
 a slight cold, but am otherwise no worse. 
 
 " I shall never forget her sweet pale face — oh, so dead pale — 
 turned up to heaven, with the moonbeams smiling sadly upon 
 it, as I placed her on the bank, and covered her with my coat 
 and a shawl we had, and watched and waited till help should 
 come. She looked so like an angel asleep. 
 
 " I can't write any more just now. — Yours ever, 
 
 " Madge." 
 
 Letter fiom Miss Mai/ Edwardes to Mrs. Cecil Wrayton. 
 " My Dear Mrs. Wrayton, — 
 
 " A thousand thanks for your kind invitation. I will
 
 164 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 really come to Marton very soon, but just at present I can't come, 
 for I have hardly recovered yet from an accident which happened 
 to me on Friday. I will write again in a few days, but I know 
 you will forgive me writing more at present, as I am not by any 
 means well yet, and very little tires me. 
 
 " Give my kindest love to Cousin Cecil, and believe me, my 
 dear Mrs. Wrayton, very affectionately yours, 
 
 " Mat Edwakdes. 
 
 " P.S. — A Mr. Raymond is staying here now, who talks of you 
 and Cecil very warmly. My uncle and cousins like him very 
 much ; and I owe my life to him." 
 
 It was not till Frank and Mrs. Wrayton compared notes that 
 they came to a right conclusion as to the meaning of the two 
 epistles above quoted. 
 
 In another fortnight Madge returned. He and his friend were 
 discussing matters matrimonial a few evenings afterwards, when 
 Madge said, 
 
 " Confound it all. I wish she were not rich." 
 
 " And who, pray, is she ? " Frank asks, provokingly. 
 
 " Oh, you know who I mean." 
 
 " Well, if you mean Miss Edwardes, may I be permitted to 
 ask how do you know that she is rich ? " 
 
 "Well, somebody said that Sir William Edwardes' -niece was 
 an heiress." 
 
 " So she is ; but it is the other one, Miss Barham." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Certain." 
 
 " Well, then, I'm glad to hear it. Give us. your hand, old 
 fellow, you've made me so happy." 
 
 " How now ? I thought you were going to marry for 
 money." 
 
 " Oh, hang money ! "
 
 HOPELESSLY. 165 
 
 " Well, have you spoken to Sir William ? You know he's her 
 guardian." 
 
 " No, I haven't ; " — and a cloud came over the expressive face 
 of her hero. " I suppose he won't have me because I'm no great 
 catch, and our family never were anybody. I say, Frank, yours 
 is a good family, isn't it ? " 
 
 "Pretty fair, I believe. We were barons in Edward IIL's 
 time." 
 
 " Wish I were of good family. We are nobody, you know. I 
 doubt if I had a grandfather." 
 
 " My dear boy, unless you are a duke, or a lord at least, good 
 family goes for nothing now-a-days. People take you for what 
 you are, not for what you were. No one cares a jot who your 
 ancestors were. The question is, ' What are you worth ? ' Go 
 in and win, my boy, go in and win. Your uncle has given you 
 this secretaryship." 
 
 " Dear old Frank,^rou are a good fellow. If I do succeed, I'm 
 
 sure I shall have you to thank for it." 
 
 ***** * 
 
 Christmas has come round again — the Christmas of 1865. 
 Pretty May Edwardes is now Mrs. Madge Eaymond. They are 
 sitting over their Christmas dinner— or rather dessert — and Uncle 
 Brigham is there. He has been heard to declare that, if there 
 was ever any woman in the world worth caring for, besides his 
 sister, it is Mrs. Madge Eaymond. 
 
 " And so, May, that was my midnight's ride," Madge is say- 
 ing, as he concludes the account of the adventure related m 
 these pages. 
 
 " Well, it's all very wonderful, dear ; and I'm glad, after all, 
 you had that adventure." 
 
 « Why ? " 
 
 " Because, if you had not, you would not have been ill, and
 
 166 TALES AND POEMS. 
 
 you would not have gone to Killarney for your health]; and then 
 you would not have seen poor little me, would you ? " 
 
 Uncle Brighain is having a quiet nap over the fire, with his 
 handkerchief over his face. 
 
 " Did you really fall in love with me at first sight ? " May 
 says again, presently, for the thousandth time, at least, since they 
 have heen married. 
 
 Madge came round and answered her by putting his arms 
 round her waist, and lifting up her face to his, as he gazed into 
 those truthful eyes of hers with a look of infinite tenderness, and 
 answered, as he kissed her, 
 
 " Yes, darling, who could help loving you ? I loved you from 
 the first — passionately — Hopelessly ! " 
 
 " God knows how I thank Him every hour for such a blessing 
 as you are," May says, after a long pause, her eyes moistening 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " You will be glad to hear, dear, that Mr. Birch has at length 
 given his consent to the match between Minna and your friend 
 Mr. Ashburn. I am very glad. I think he was hopelessly in love 
 with her, dear old fellow." 
 
 " Yes, dear ; but it will not now, you know, be Hopelessly 1 " 
 
 THE END.
 
 OLD TRUTHS. 
 
 There are women will not pry ; 
 There are babes who never cry ; 
 There are men who will not lie ; 
 There be names that will not die. 
 
 There are deeds that leave no stain, 
 Yet are fruitful source of pain ; 
 There are things we cannot see, 
 Yet exist or are to be. 
 
 There is that without a name 
 Brings upon it nought but shame ; 
 In this old mortality, 
 Nought so great as chastity.
 
 MASONIC PAPERS 
 
 NOTES ON THE OLD MINUTE BOOKS OF THE BRITISH 
 UNION LODGE, No. 114, IPSWICH. A.D., 1762. 
 
 FIBST MINUTE BOOK. 
 
 A very interesting book is the first Minute Book of this old 
 Lodge, though it has seen much service and fared ill in the hands 
 it has passed through. It seems to have got into the possession 
 of some cowan, and to have been given over to the tender mercies 
 of some child or children, for almost every leaf has a piece snip- 
 ped out of it, and youthful scrawls and attempts at caligraphy 
 disfigure almost every page. 
 
 The first page in the book (apparently one is lost), which is 
 dated 5th April, 1762. contains a part of the 3rd rule, or by-law, 
 which has reference to the ballot ; white and black beans being 
 used, as at present, in determining the important question as to 
 whether a candidate should or should not be received into the 
 time-honoured fraternity. 
 
 " Fourthly," runs the rule, " That after every brother has put 
 in a bean as directed, the box be then delivered to the master, by 
 the secretary, for his inspection. Fifthly and lastly — that if the 
 master find a black bean in the box, no further mention shall be 
 made to the intended member." 
 
 A very considerate rule this last, and one which might be more 
 generally adopted than it is. The secrecy of the ballot I have
 
 ,h 
 
 MASONIC PAPEKS. 169 
 
 known to be " more honoured in the breach than the observance," 
 
 ough not in the lodge of which I am writing. 
 
 And touching this said system of ballot, it would be well if 
 there were some fixed rule as to how it should be exercised. In 
 England an entered apprentice can exercise his right of voting 
 on any question before the lodge, from the election of W.M. to 
 the admission of a candidate to the mysteries and privileges of 
 Freemasonry. In America, I believe, it is different ; no brother 
 can vote until he is a Master Mason. 
 
 In England the ceremony of voting differed in different lodges. 
 In some the deacon carried round the ballot box to each member, 
 and a most objectionable practice, since the officer could hardly 
 fail to see how the brother voted, and the secrecy of the ballot 
 became a farce. In other lodges the brethren went indiscrimin- 
 ately, and all in a heap, up to the treasurer's desk, and thus con- 
 fusion was made, and the importance of the ballot was not 
 impressed on the neophyte by a ceremony which should always 
 be done " decently and in order." 
 
 But to return to the British Union and its first record of 
 minutes. This volume appears to have served the double purpose 
 of a minute and presence book, and underneath the by-laws 
 quoted we have the signatures of the brethren present. 
 
 John Clarke, Master ; John Hunter, Senior Warden ; W. 
 Clarke, Junior Warden ; John Prentice, Stephen Buston, Thos. 
 R. Scott, John Concour, Joseph Clarke, Wm. Prentice. There is 
 no date to this meeting, but the next one is dated 5th April, 
 1762, when, in addition to the names mentioned above, there 
 appear to have been two visitors present, Jonas Philips and 
 Marchal Calksen, the latter probably a foreigner. A note is put 
 at the bottom of the entry to the effect that a certain brother, 
 whose name has been cut out, being absent, forfeits sixpence. 
 The next meeting appears to have been held l'Jth April, 1762.
 
 170 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 At this lodge Bros. Thos. Nichol-Scott, Jon?- Clarke and John 
 Concour were raised Masters ; and there is a N.B. that certain of 
 the brethren, all but the visitors and candidates in fact, each paid 
 sixpence, we will suppose for refreshment. 
 
 At the meeting dated 17th May, 1762, only four brethren ap- 
 pear to have been present, and the lodge seems to have been 
 under the rule of the J.W., neither the W.M. nor S.W. being 
 there. 
 
 At a lodge held on the 21st June, Wm. Paxman was proposed 
 for ballot on St. John's day, together with Bobert Fenn, and ac- 
 cordingly on the 24th June it appears they were regularly made, 
 agreeable to the by-laws heretofore entered in this book. At the 
 same time John Hunter was, with the unanimous consent of this 
 lodge, elected Master for the ensuing half-year, Wm. Clarke, 
 S.W., and J. Prentice, J.W. of the lodge. This is a very inter- 
 esting minute, since it would appear that a certury ago the 
 Master was, occasionally at least, elected half-yearly, and the 
 Wardens, instead of being the nominees of the Master, were, like 
 himself, elected by the brethren. 
 
 At the next lodge meeting, John Hunter's name appears as 
 Master, and John Clarke's as P.M. ; but there is>othing to show 
 that there was any special ceremony in inducting the new W.M. 
 into the chair of K.S., though I should be sorry to assert, as 
 some of the exact writers on Masonic subjects would, that the 
 mere absence of mention of the admitting to the installed Mas- 
 ter's degree, was proof positive that no such degree existed at 
 this time. 
 
 On the 2nd August, 1762, the Master appears to have been 
 amongst the absentees, and John Clarke signs as D. Master, both 
 on this and the following lodge night. Depute Master is quite a 
 Scotch " style," and I never remember to have seen it in an En- 
 glish minute book before. A Captain John Softly, of Sunder-
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 171 
 
 land, no doubt in the merchantile service, was regularly made on 
 this occasion. Kobert Fenn appears to have served the office of 
 Tyler at this time. A Mr. Wm. Enefer, of Harwich, was duly 
 admitted a brother on the 15th November, 1762, and raised a 
 fellowcraft the same night. This seems to have been a common 
 practice to give the two degrees in one night, for on the very 
 next lodge night Mr. John Bailey, of Harwich, was duly admitted 
 a brother, and raised fellowcraft. At this time the Master is des- 
 cribed as Eight Worshipful, a term now only applied to Provin- 
 cial Grand Masters in this country, though in Scotland the 
 holder of the gavel is still described as E.W.M. Right Worship- 
 ful, by the way, is, if I mistake not, the style of a Knight, whilst 
 Worshipful is that of an Esquire. The former is still used, we 
 believe, by some of the Mayors of our older corporations in the 
 great cities, by the Vicar General of the Province of Canterbury, 
 and the Judge of the Bishop of London's Consistory Court, 
 though the latter is the more usual title assumed by Mayors and 
 Aldermen, and, I believe, the Masters of the City Livery Com- 
 panies, the relics of the trade guilds of the middle ages. Accord- 
 ing to Burke, Mayors of boroughs and Justices of the Peace are 
 Esquires by virtue of their office ; so are servants of the Crown, 
 holding responsible and independent positions, and it is on this 
 ground that magistrates are always addressed as " Your Wor- 
 ship." The modern fashion of dubbing everybody Esquire who 
 does not actually keep a shop, is as ridiculous as the servant- 
 galism of the day whose representatives have their letters ad- 
 dressed Miss, and speak of each other as " me and another 
 young lady." But I am sadly digressing from the title Worship- 
 ful. Does it not suggest itself to my brethren that the mere title 
 accorded to a Master shows that his position as such was con- 
 sidered a century ago, and should be now, as one of very high 
 importance in the craft ; and, as in choosing the Mayor of a
 
 172 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 town, it is generally the most distinguished citizen who can be 
 prevailed upon to take the office who is selected to fill the post, 
 and the one whose means, social position, or great talent justify 
 the selection ; so in Masonry, we should always be careful to put 
 into office brethren to whom the title Worshipful might properly 
 be applied, without raising a sneer from the outside world at its 
 application to a brother who fails to dignify the office, either by 
 his capacity, his character, or his position in society. But this is 
 a digression which, in later years, at all events, could have no 
 possible application so far as the British Union Lodge is con- 
 cerned ; a lodge which at the present time occupies the first posi- 
 tion in the province of Suffolk, and compares favourably in the 
 social status of its members with almost any lodge in England. 
 Recurring to my notes of the British Union, I find that Bro. Wm. 
 Clarke was unanimously chosen Master at the St. John's Festival, 
 27th December, 1762, at which time the Wardens were also 
 elected. The names of brethren absent appear to be regularly 
 recorded, and against their names at the January meeting in 1763 
 I find that the forfeits are to be paid the first night when present. 
 
 Whether a recurrence to this good, old practice would secure a 
 more regular attendance at lodge meetings, I do not know, and, 
 perhaps, so far as the members generally are concerned, it would 
 be unwise to revive the rule ; but with regard to office-bearers it 
 is a matter for consideration for the craft generally whether a 
 fine (which should invariably be enforced) inflicted upon all offi- 
 cers absent at regular lodge meetings would not be a sure way of 
 securing really good officers, and good working. Of course sick- 
 ness, the pressing emergencies of public or private avocations, 
 would be always fairly considered ; but these apart, brethren who 
 willingly accept office should be made to fulfil the duties apper- 
 taining thereto. 
 
 At the lodge meeting held on the 5th February, 1763, Mr.
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 173 
 
 George Ward and Mr. John Watson, of Harwich, were proposed 
 to he admitted brethren, and the latter appears to have been ini- 
 tiated and admitted to the second degree of Masonry the follow- 
 ing lodge night. 
 
 At this time it was " ordered by the lodge that no person be 
 ever proposed for being made a brother unless the proposing 
 brother will promise to pay the usual admittance fee of a guinea," 
 [the full amount charged for initiation at that time] " in case the 
 person so proposed should fail attending at the time then fixed 
 for his making, unless a satisfactory reason be given for his non- 
 attendance." It would be well if this rule were enforced now 
 generally. No candidate should ever be allowed to be proposed 
 until the proposition fee, obtained from him, and not advanced by 
 the proposer, be paid. A great deal of unnecessary trouble and 
 annoyance would be spared if this admirable by-law were at all 
 times strictly enforced. 
 
 On the 3rd October, 17G3, Bros. William Prentice, William 
 Paxinan and Robert Fenn were raised Masters. The last two of 
 these brethren had been made August, 17G2, and it would be 
 worth knowing whether a year was required to elapse between 
 the passing and raising, as at present practised in some countries, 
 and notably, I believe in Prussia. There is a regular record of 
 visitors' names at this period, but nothing to show from what 
 lodges they hailed. 
 
 At the St. John's Festival, 27th December, 17G3,Bros. William 
 Enefer, John Watson and Richard Bennett were raised Masters. 
 Watson had been initiated and admitted to the second degree of 
 Masonry, February, 1763; Enefer had been " admitted a brother 
 and raised a fcllowcraft," November, 1762, by which we may 
 conclude that a much longer interval elapsed between the passing 
 and raising than is now deemed necessary, in the one case ten 
 months, and in the other more than twelve months being the
 
 174 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 period allowed to pass before the brethren were deemed eligible 
 for the Master's degree. It does not appear, however, that there 
 was any fixed rule upon the subject. Bro. James Clements, a 
 visitor who had previously attended the lodge in October, 1763, 
 was " raised a Master " at the lodge meeting, 20th February, 
 1764. At the previous lodge William Swain, schoolmaster, of 
 Woodbridge, was ballotted for, and unanimously approved of, for 
 initiation ; and at the following one Gardiner Whiteside, of Yar- 
 mouth Ship (probably a publican, let us hope not a sinner), was 
 duly ballotted for, and was made the next meeting. 
 
 In June, 1764, Thos. Buck was ballotted for, accepted, and 
 " immediately raised a f ellowcraf t," the term jjassed apparently 
 not being used at this period. Several foreigners appear to have 
 visited the British Union from time to time, as we may gather 
 from the mention of such visiting brethren as Peter Mitaux, who 
 subsequently joined the lodge, Benjamin Didior, Jasper Fatay (in 
 another place spelt Fsetus), Arnold Grownwald, &c. 
 
 Gardiner Whiteside, made in June, was raised to the third 
 degree of Masonry in September, 1 764, which seems conclusively 
 to show that there was no settled rule as to the limit of time 
 between conferring the degrees longer than that allowed by the 
 Book of Constitutions. 
 
 On the 17th December, 1764, there were four visitors present, 
 hailing respectively from St. John's (we presume New Brunswick), 
 Sunderland, Norwich and Harwich. This is the first notice of 
 the locality from whence the visiting brethren came. 
 
 A regular record appears throughout of the absentees as well 
 as of those present. 
 
 At the meeting held December, 1765, we find the record of 
 the names of the Master, W T ardens and Tyler, who were all elec- 
 ted by the lodge. 
 
 At the meeting held 7th December, 1767, William Kolly, a
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 175 
 
 vizitant (sic) brother, and Thomas "Woodwards, Peter Wooton, 
 William Clarke, Joseph William, and John Spooner were all 
 raised Masters. William Clarke, an inn-holder, one of the 
 brethren named, it appears, was ballotted for in June, 176G, and 
 probably was made the next lodge night, but there is, unfortun- 
 ately, a hiatus between June, 1766, and December, 1767, through 
 the destructiveness of the juveniles who have had access to, and 
 done their best to maltreat, this old record of the British Union. 
 
 In December, 1767, there is the usual record of the election of 
 the Master and Wardens, with the addition of that of Secretary, 
 Bro. John Spooner being appointed to that responsible office. 
 At this lodge, William Kerridge was made a Mason in due form, 
 " agreeable to ye order of last lodge night, having paid one 
 guinea in ye hands of Mr. John Prentice for his admission." A 
 similar memorandum is made against several names of brethren 
 made, and we are, therefore, left to the conclusion, as before sug- 
 gested, that a guinea- was the fee charged for initiation, and that 
 it included admission to the fellowcraft degree, but whether it 
 also carried the candidate through the third degree is not made 
 manifest. Certain it is that the fee charged was very much less 
 than at present. Mr. Kobcrt Easter, of Walten-on-the-Naze, was 
 ballotted for, and duly elected, made an entered apprentice, and 
 " past " fellowcraft, July 21st, 176S. This is the first record of 
 the word passed as applied to the F.C. degree. 
 
 At the regular meeting on the 20th February, 1769, we find 
 that Bro. William Kerridge was proposed to be raised Master next 
 lodge night (he was subsequently made M.M. in April), from 
 which it would appear that brethren did not as a matter of right 
 go forward to the third degree, but were, in some measure, 
 dependent upon the goodwill of the lodge, and we will suppose 
 their own merits, for advancement in the order. Kerridge had 
 been made in May. 176s
 
 176 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 From an entry made in the minute book it would appear that 
 the meeting on the 20th March, 1769, was held at the Green 
 Man, a hostelry which probably at that time held a much better 
 position than it does now, as it is a very humble tavern. At the 
 next meeting, held on the 3rd April, in the same year, the fol- 
 lowing important note occnrs : 
 
 " At this lodge it was agreed that the incorporating the 
 Society of Free and Accepted Masons would be of general benefit, 
 and past this lodge nemine contradicente, and the instrument for 
 that purpose was signed accordingly." 
 
 The Freemasons as a society have never been incorporated yet, 
 except, I understand, the Supreme Council of the 33°, A. & A. 
 Eite, which, I believe, was registered two or three years since. 
 In 1771, a bill was brought into Parliament by the Honouroble 
 Charles Dillon, the Deputy Grand Master, for incorporating the 
 Society by Act of Parliament ; but on the second reading of the 
 bill, it having been opposed by Mr. Onslow, at the desire of 
 several brethren who had petitioned the House against it, 
 Mr. Dillon moved to postpone the consideration of it " sine die," 
 thus the design of an incorporation fell to the ground. There 
 are some who still think, however, amongst the number, that the 
 resolution of the members of the British Union was a good one, 
 and the incorporation of the Craft " a consummation devoutly to 
 be wished. 
 
 Two brethren, visitors from the Koyal Alfred Lodge, attended 
 the lodge meeting in September, 1770. Bro. Joseph Clarke was 
 duly elected K.W.M. on the 27th December, 1770. The War- 
 dens and Secretary were also elected, as appears to have been 
 customary at this period. 
 
 William Barnes was made a Mason March 29, 1771, and raised 
 to the degree of F.C., and in August of that year Mark Lione 
 was made.
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 177 
 
 At this date, we note that Bro. Wootton has received £2 7s. to 
 be accounted for : — 
 
 For Bro. Woollaston ... ... £110 
 
 For Bro. Marks Lione ... ... 16 
 
 £2 7 
 
 Bro. Woollaston is entered before as Woolverston and Woollas- 
 ton indifferently, and appears to have been made in August, 1770. 
 Let us hope that Bro. Lione was not a foreigner, and charged 
 higher than a native would have been for the honours of Masonry. 
 Such things have beeD, and at the present time there is a wide 
 distinction between a foreigner, or one born without the pale of 
 Ipswich and Suffolk, and a man "native, and to the manner 
 born," though it is fair to add that this exclusiveness does not 
 extend to Masons and Masonry so far as my experience goes. * 
 
 In September, 1771, one Thomas Milner was proposed and 
 " legally admitted "": appended is a note to the effect that the 
 above Thomas Milner was afterwards rejected, being a Minor. 
 
 Marks Lione was raised fellow craft IGth September, 1771, 
 which appears to be the first instance on record of a brother being 
 passed at an interval of time after his being admitted. 
 
 December 28th, 1771, St. John's. At a lodge then held Bro. 
 John Prentice was elected Eight Worshipful Master. So runs 
 the minute of that day. The Wardens, Secretary, and Tyler, 
 were all elected at the same time. On the 4th January, 1773, 1 
 find it ordered that no person be in future made a brother of this 
 Lodge for a less consideration than the sum of £1 lis. Gd. 
 
 Touching this said term, Right Worshipful, I have already 
 
 * Sec Mrs. Eilvu.it'.) 'A Woman's Wrong." "St. Bedes," &e, for the 
 opinion of a literatour on tho exercise of hospitality, and the kindness to 
 Grangers Hhown >>y the East Angllaus, or the reverse. 
 
 U
 
 178 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 said, it is the style of a Knight, though the old heralds say that 
 Esquire is also a title of Worship. By the way, if I mistake not, 
 the members of the Eoyal Order of Scotland (who are said to 
 have descended from the Knights, whom Kobert the Bruce erec- 
 ted into a new order of Masonic chivalry after the battle of 
 Bannockburn in 1314), address each other formally as Right 
 Worshipful Sir, and claim to be Knights Companions of the 
 R.S.Y.C.S. 
 
 Old Izaak Walton, who is just now denounced by some of the 
 Faculty as the most thorough-going vivisector in his following 
 the " gentle craft," dedicates his world-known book, " The Com- 
 plete Angler," to the Right Worshipful John Offley, Esq., of 
 Madeley Manor, in the county of Stafford ; " My most honoured 
 Friend." The date of the work is 1653. 
 
 Can any one tell us if Walton was a Freemason ? He speaks 
 of "my friend Elias Ashmole, Esq.," who all the world knows was 
 a member of the Craft and a Rosicrucian, and it would be interest- 
 ing: to know whether he himself was one of the little band of 
 Speculative Masons who kept the Craft alive at that time. 
 
 To return to the British Union and its Records, between 
 December 1771 and January, 1773, only one meeting appears to 
 have been held, and no record seems to have been regularly made 
 from this time, of the absent as well as present members as here- 
 tofore, and consequently no clue given as to the prosperity and 
 numbers of the Lodge. In July, 1762, there appear to have been 
 eleven members in the Lodge, three of w r hom were absent. In 
 February, 1769, there must have been fourteen members, eight of 
 whom are written off as absent, two being at sea, and another ex- 
 cused. At the November meeting in 1769, held at the Green 
 Man, six were present besides two visitors, and eight were absent. 
 Old Ipswich and Suffolk names constantly appear — Clarke, Pren- 
 tice, Fenn, Dodd, Oliver, Harris, Bailey, Woollaston, or Wollas-
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 179 
 
 ton, Whiteside, Woodward, Kerridge, Tovell, and others being 
 amongst the number. 
 
 Under date 17th November, 1773, we find the following: — 
 " At this Lodge a letter from Rowland Holt, Esq., Prov. Grand 
 Master for the County of Suffolk, was read, and it was agreed and 
 ordered that the Master of tbis Lodge do answer the same by the 
 next general post, and that he wait on the Grand Secretary, and 
 subscribe one guinea towards the general charity, to be paid out 
 of this Lodge." 
 
 In January, 1774, we find that Thomas Milner, who had been 
 previously rejected as a Minor, was now " made in due form and 
 raised fellow craft." It was agreed and ordered that the sum of 
 three shillings be paid into the hands of the Treasurer by every 
 Brother belonging to the Lodge ; no more than the sum of one 
 shilling being spent on every lodge night for each member then 
 present, the remainder to be applied as a fund for such purposes 
 as the Lodge should think fit. Eleven Brethren were present on 
 this occasion, and four noted as absent. On the 27th December, 
 1774, we find the following note: — 
 
 " At the above Lodge held this day, John Spooner was chose 
 (sic) S.W. in the room of Bro. R. Tovell, and after was chose 
 R.W.M. ; W. Paxman, S.W. ; John Prentice, J.W. ; W. Usher, 
 Tyler; Robert Manning, Secretary ; Peter Wotton, Treasurer." 
 
 It would seem from this note, that the Brethren thought it 
 necessary that a Brother should fill the office of S.W. previous to 
 his election to the chair of K.S., but tha Book of Constitutions 
 merely directs that a Master shall have filled the office of Warden 
 (either Senior or Junior is sufficient to render a candidate eligible) 
 for twelve calendar months. A very salutary regulation. 
 
 In January, 1 775, James Woollward and Robert Manning were 
 ed to the degree of Master, and paid to Peter Wootton, 
 Treasurer, five shillings each. 
 
 m 2
 
 180 MASONIC PAPEBS. 
 
 It would appear from this, that an extra and special charge 
 was made for this degree a century ago. What would our 
 Brethren say if such were the practice now ? Woollward had 
 been made August, 1 770, and Manning January, 1774 ; so it is 
 clear that at this time it was customary for a much longer period 
 to elapse between the conferring of the second and third degrees 
 than is at present practised. On the other hand a much shorter 
 interval occurred between the first and second degrees, which 
 were, in fact, mostly given the same night. Our present system, 
 which keeps the mean between the two extremes (as the Preface 
 to our good old Prayer Book says), seems, after all, the best; a 
 month's interval between each degree being, to my thinking, 
 much better than the Scotch rule, which allows all the degrees to 
 be given at one Lodge on one night ; or the Prussian, which re- 
 quires an interval of a year between each degree. On the 1st 
 February, 1775, we find it resolved that the Lodge do remit to 
 the Grand Fund of Charity £1 Is., also the sum of four shillings 
 towards the building of the Hall! 
 
 At this time, Lord Petre, a Roman Catholic, was Grand Master, 
 and under his auspices Freemasons' Hall was commenced and 
 completed. The Committee formed for that purpose purchased 
 the ground in Gt. Queen Street, and the conveyance of the pre- 
 mises was made out in the names of Lord Petre, the Dukes of 
 Beaufort and Chandos, Earl Ferrers, and Viscount Dudley and 
 Ward, who were appointed Trustees. In 1792, £20,000 had 
 been expended on the building, and if other Lodges contributed 
 as liberally as the British Union, we can understand readily the 
 statement made by Preston, that a considerable debt remained on 
 the building. On the 1st February, 1775, we find a note which, 
 I will answer for it, will not be found in the Minutes of this year 
 of grace, 1875. 
 
 '• Received of the visiting Brethren, 5s."
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 181 
 
 Whatever was the case a century ago, the Members of the 
 British Union of to-day pride themselves on the exercise of a 
 courteous reception to all and sundry, and evidence in their con- 
 duct their full belief in the sacred rites of hospitality. May the 
 day be long distant when visitors are otherwise received, and 
 when the stranger is expected to pay for all he gets. 
 
 At a Special Lodge held at the Green Man, 28th April, 1775, 
 it was agreed and ordered that " from this night forward, every 
 Brother belonging to this Lodge, shall meet on the first Tuesday 
 of every month and spend one shilling, or being absent forfeit as 
 undermentioned, and the forfeits to be expended once a quarter 
 of a year, and whatever Brother shall not pay off his arrears once 
 a quarter to be excluded — viz., 
 
 R.W.M. 2s. Od. 
 
 S. & J. Wardens ... Is. Gd. 
 
 Any other of the Brethren one shilling on not showing suffi- 
 cient cause of such absence." 
 
 Nine Brethren were present at this meeting and four are 
 recorded as absent. 
 
 Would it not be a good thing to revive these fines in some of 
 our Lodges where there is too often a lax attendance on the part 
 of the officers ? 
 
 The Lodge seems flourishing at this time, for at the May meet- 
 ing in 1770, held on the 7th, we find twelve members present, 
 nine absent, and two candidates were admitted to the first and 
 second degrees. 
 
 A Lodge appears to have been held on the following night, a 
 most unusual course, and, if an adjourned meeting, I believe un- 
 constitutional. At this Lodge, Benjamin Woollward and Edward 
 Wiles were raised Masters, and paid five shillings each. Miles 
 was Tyler, and had been initiated and passed February, 1775,
 
 182 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 We find another most interesting note at this meeting, as 
 follows : — 
 
 " By order of the Lodge the Treasurer paid Bro. Pargman and 
 Bro. Prentice four shillings each, as Operative Masons." 
 
 The November Lodge in this year was well attended : eighteen 
 members were present, eleven visitors, and four are recorded as 
 absent. William Woollaston, John Bloomfield, John Humphreys, 
 and Robert Bowles (all Ipswich names) were raised to the degree 
 of fellow craft on this occasion, two of these brethren having 
 been made in September. 
 
 They must have been a genial lot, these brethren of a century 
 since, for, at the next Lodge, held on the loth November, we find 
 a note to the effect that, " This night the above members went 
 in procession to the play, called ' Bold Stroke for a Wife, with 
 the Padlock.' Had a full house." 
 
 One fancies that, as with the outside world, sometimes all is 
 not so serene as it should be in Masonry, for at the Lodge held 
 on St. John's Day, 27 th December, 1776, at the Green Man, we 
 find the following : — 
 
 " Bro. James Woollward, S.W. by seniority, was to have taken 
 the chair, but as Wm. Clarke, R.W.M., was absent, all business 
 (particularly that on St. John's Day) was omitted ; also Bro. 
 Manning, J.W., insisted on resigning the jewel, on account of 
 the Lodge not being regularly kept up." 
 
 Bro. Woollward either was not competent, or he was not popu- 
 lar, for we find that at the March meeting in 1777, Robert Man- 
 ning was elected R.W.M. ; John Prentice, S.W. ; Benj. Foxwell, 
 J.W. ; J. Bloomfield, Treasurer and Secretary ; and Bro. Paxman, 
 Tyler, for the remainder of the year. 
 
 " Resolved this night that every brother who intends to belong 
 to this Lodge, shall sign his hand and pay into the hands of the 
 Treasurer the sum of three shillings as quarterage, and so on for
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 183 
 
 every quarter. Upon default thereof, his name is to be erased 
 from the Lodge. 
 
 Here follows the list of members, and for the benefit of the 
 Ipswich and Suffolk readers of these " Masonic Papers," some of 
 whose ancestors may be amongst them, I will give the names : — 
 
 Joseph Clarke ; W. Clarke ; Robert Manning, R.W.M. ; John 
 Prentice, S.W. ; Edward Wiles ; Wm. Prentice ; Benj. Woollard; 
 Win. Howes ; Lawrence Rainbird ; John Humphries ; Charles 
 Lord ; Edmund Prentice ; John Philby ; Cornelius Hill ; Samuel 
 Ribbans ; Benj. Huggins ; R. Page, Junr. ; John Blomfield, 
 Treasurer and Secretary ; Benj. Foxwell, J.W. ; Wm. Usher ; 
 Wm. Kerridge ; Robert King ; John Spooner ; James Wooll- 
 ward ; Caleb Howard. On the 10th March, 1777, Bros. Huggins, 
 Blomfield, Humphreys, Usher, E. Prentice, C. Hill, and another 
 Brother whose name is indecipherable, were raised to the degree 
 of Master, and for the cash account for that evening, we find the 
 entry : seven Brothers, raised Masters, £2 odd. The shillings 
 and pence are torn off, which is perhaps as well, since the next 
 entry is also wanting the amount " received from two visiting 
 brethren " — pointing to a very objectionable and most unhospit- 
 able practice noticed before, of making the visitors pay for 
 whatever they got. 
 
 Under date May Gth, 1777, 1 find the following entry :— " By 
 order of tbe Grand Lodge no person shall be made a Mason for 
 less than £2 2s., and made a resolve of this Lodge accordingly." 
 
 The Green Man seems to have become unpopular to the 
 Brethren of the Lodge. Probably as the Grand Lodge had raised 
 the fee for initiation, candidates of a higher class were seeking 
 admission, and the humble hostelry which had been deemed good 
 enough for the founders of the Lodge and their immediate suc- 
 cessors, was now considered not sufficiently aristocratic for the 
 Brethren introduced under the new rfyime. At any rate, on the
 
 184 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 3rd June, 1777, a motion was made by the K.W.M., at the re- 
 quest of several Brethren, to have the Lodge removed, and it was 
 ballotted for accordingly, when the members voted — 
 For its removal ... ... 10 
 
 Against ... ... ... 3 
 
 It was therefore agreed " That this Lodge be removed to Bro. 
 Philby's, at the Coffee House in Ipswich, if the Deputy Grand 
 Master thinks proper." 
 
 On the 8th July, the Lodge, still meeting at the Green Man, 
 Godfrey Burdett was proposed, and he was made and passed a 
 fellowcraft at the August meeting. Up to this time the Lodge 
 had no name; but on the 29th July, 1777, we find a very im- 
 portant and very interesting minute. It runs as follows : — 
 '• From this evening 'tis resolved this Lodge is called by the title 
 of the British Union Lodge, Ipswich, and ordered to be inserted 
 in the Grand List of Lodges accordingly." 
 
 On the 2nd September, we find the Lodge had removed to the 
 Coffee House, and Bro. J. Philby proposed that night General 
 Green as a candidate for Masonic honours, and at the following 
 Lodge meeting in October, the gallant officer and William Lane 
 " were made Masons, and admitted to the degree of fellows of 
 the craft." 
 
 On the 4th November, we come across another entry, which 
 will be of interest to the present members of the Lodge, since 
 some of the old jewels are still in use : — 
 
 " To Bro. John Prentice for P.M. Jewel, seventeen shillings, 
 paid by the Treasurer, also to Bro. Spooner for the Secretary's 
 Jewel and the P.M. ribband nineteen shillings, paid also by the 
 Treasurer ; and that the said jewels are now the property of the 
 said Lodge." 
 
 On the 13th November, Bros. Lord, Philby, Burdett, Drake, 
 Green, and Land, were raised to the degree of Master, and paid
 
 MASONIC PAPEKS. 185 
 
 the sum of five shillings each, and one shilling each to the Tyler. 
 Either the ceremony must have been much shorter than it is 
 now, or the brethren must have been taken all together, for it 
 would be impossible to go through the ceremony with each separ- 
 ately, as is now generally the practice in working this sublime 
 degree. In this night's cash account, we find " To Bro. Pren- 
 tice, for the book of the History of Masonry, 3s." 
 
 One would be anxious to know what history this was, who it 
 was by, and where the copy now is. 
 
 On the 21st December, the Brethren went to the play to see 
 the " Merry Wives of Windsor," by our Brother Shakespeare, as 
 our excellent Bro. Parkinson would say. Twenty members and 
 twelve visitors, including one clergyman, the Rev. Drake (as they 
 say in Suffolk), appear to have been present, and eight are en- 
 tered as absent. The Lodge appears to have flourished at this 
 time. Removing to Bro. Philby's Coffee House had probably 
 raised it in public estimation, hence the influx of new members. 
 On the 2nd of December the thanks of the Lodge were given to 
 Bro. Philby for a present of a set of jewels and working tools. 
 
 On the 27th December, 1777, fifteen members were present, 
 and being the Festival of St. John, the Officers were elected. 
 The minute is thus recorded : — 
 
 " The Brotherhood elect Bro. Joseph Clarke Master of this 
 Lodge for 1778; Bro. Benj. Foxwell, S.W., and Bro. J. Blom- 
 field, J.W. for the said year. Also Bro. Win. Drake, Secretary 
 and Treasurer. Also that the Lodge do present to Bro. John 
 Blomfield, late Secretary and Treasurer, a medal for his indefatig- 
 able services in his late office." 
 
 Under date January Cth, 1778, 1 find a long array of names of 
 Brethren of the Lodge, though we can hardly imagine them all 
 to have been present. No less than forty- two are entered, 
 amongst thorn we note many well-known Ipswich names : Church-
 
 18G MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 man, Gooding, King, Canham, Popper, Catchpole, Crisp, Sparrow, 
 Spalding, Garrett, Toosey, Elliston, Deward, and Mills being 
 amongst the number. The Lodge this night bought a new Book 
 of Constitutions, price 10s. Gd., rather a high figure for the work. 
 On February 24th, Thomas Askew and Wm, Christie were regu- 
 larly made and admitted fellowcrafts. Both are Ipswich names, 
 and no doubt relatives of both are living, though I fancy they 
 are not now Masons. 
 
 At the May meeting it was resolved that the yearly subscrip- 
 tion should be twelve shillings. 
 
 At the end of this first volume of the minutes, I find a debtor 
 and creditor account of the Lodge, from which it appears that 
 Bro. Joseph Clarke, who was made March 8th, 1762, and paid £1 
 lis. Gd. for his initiation, and the subsequently made Masons paid 
 £1 Is. One Brother hailed from Sunderland, the majority were 
 from Harwich, and one was a Yarmouth man. 
 
 At the June meeting in 1778, twenty-five were present, so the 
 Lodge must have been flourishing then. 
 
 Under date September 1st, 1778, by the unanimous consent of 
 
 the Lodge, Bro. R H was rejected becoming a member 
 
 of this Lodge. One would like to know how Mr. H. had so 
 raised the ire of this Lodge as to ensure his unanimous rejection. 
 
 The first minute book of this old Lodge ends in 1779, with a 
 list of the members of the British Union which would have been 
 interesting if it were complete, but unfortunately half the sheet 
 containing the names is torn out, and as a large number of the 
 pages are maltreated in the same way, it is possible that many 
 important minutes are irrecoverably lost. 
 
 SECOND MINUTE BOOK. 
 The second Minute Book of this old Lodge commences 1770, 
 with a cash account — and disbursements on the 27th December,
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 187 
 
 St. John's Day — from which it appears that the hanquet was at 
 the expense of the Lodge ; a very bad custom, and one it would 
 be well not to see imitated, though I fear amongst the London 
 Lodges it is in many cases the rule, and not the exception, that 
 the Brethren dine at the expense of the Lodge, and not at their 
 own, and the great Masonic charities suffer in consequence. 
 
 On this night I find amongst the payments : — " To meat and 
 sauce for dinner," £1 19s. Gd. ; for liquor, £2 4s.; total £4 3s. 
 Gd. — for eating and drinking ! and below it is ordered that the 
 Treasurer do send to Bro. Heseltine, Grand Secretary, one guinea 
 for the use of the General Fund of Charity, by February 1st, 17S0. 
 
 Here is a text for a Masonic sermon at once. The Brethren of 
 the British Union Lodge of to-day (except in the laudable exer- 
 cise of hospitality, always exercised without stint or measure, to 
 all visitors, no matter from whence they come, who honour the 
 Lodge by their presence at its meetings), never allow the funds 
 of the Lodge to be expended in refreshment, as so many metro- 
 politan Lodges do, but each member pays a reasonable price, say 
 two shillings and sixpence, for a thoroughly substantial, but by 
 no means extravagant, repast, and he may take what stimulant 
 he pleases, or none at all, so that if he is a teetotaler, and even a 
 Good Templar, he is perfectly at liberty to drink his toasts in 
 water if he please, no man urging him to drink or to abstain, but 
 leaving him to do what seems best in his own eyes. 
 
 One of the great objections to Masonry I have seen somewhere, 
 has been its suppers and its toasts, inciting men to drink against 
 their will, and leading weak men astray, by the gay society of 
 the crafL For myself, I do not believe for a moment in the 
 statements made by our enemies, that Masonry or its banquets 
 have a tendency to lead men astray. 
 
 I strongly believe in the social part of the Masonic meeting, 
 when the brethren from labour seek refreshment, and I should be
 
 188 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 sorry to see the pleasant after part done away with, but at the 
 same time I am strongly of opinion that the Lodge funds should 
 never be trenched upon except in exercise of hospitality to stran- 
 gers ; but the members who stay to supper, or dinner, or what- 
 ever name it goes by, should be content to pay for it. Were this 
 practice universal, and extravagant banquets tabooed, the chari- 
 ties would get the benefit, and the social gatherings would be 
 none the less pleasant because they were inexpensive. This is a 
 matter which chiefly concerns our London brethren, however, as, 
 except in Liverpool perhaps, and one or two of our great cities 
 the provincial Masons do not go in for extravagant banquets, save 
 on very rare occasions. Even at our Provincial Grand Lodge 
 meetings, the dinner provided is generally a question of a few 
 shillings only, and I do not know that when properly served 
 (which by the way is seldom the case, through the great paucity 
 of waiters), they are not as pleasant as the monthly and quarterly 
 banquets held by some London Lodges at a cost of a guinea, and 
 sometimes two, to each brother who wishes to partake of the 
 costly repast. 
 
 Apparently harmony did not reign supreme in the British 
 Union at this time, for on the 7th March, 1780, we find a record 
 
 that " Bro. T. C (for obvious reasons we suppress the names), 
 
 by order of the Master and the rest of the brethren, is excluded 
 this Lodge ; " the reason of his exclusion is carefully scored out, 
 and no one but an expert, or the celebrated Blind Man at the 
 Post Office, could now decipher the cause of this order. Likewise 
 
 W. K , for a scandalous report of calling the fraternity a 
 
 society, and that advice be sent to the Grand Lodge, in order to 
 have him erased out of their book, and excluded from all regular 
 Lodges," &c. So runs the minute, and from it we cannot fail 
 to gather that the Lodge (as too many Lodges are now doing 
 every day) had made the great mistake of admitting men within
 
 MASONIC PAPEBS. 189 
 
 its portals who would do nothing but bring the society into 
 contempt, so thoroughly and manifestly unfit were they to par- 
 ticipate in the mysteries of Masonry. 
 
 On the 5th June, 1781, we note the following minute, which is 
 suggestive in many ways : — 
 
 " This evening it was unanimously agreed that the Secretary 
 should provide the Lodge with a Freemasons' Calendar annually, 
 and the expense to be paid out of the fund of the Lodge." One 
 cannot help thinking we should have more masonic students, 
 more seekers after light, and fewer knife and fork Masons, if each 
 Lodge now took, not only the Cosmopolitan Masonic Calendar, 
 but the Freemason, and the Masonic Magazine, and so contri- 
 buted to the diffusion of masonic knowledge, and to what is of so 
 great value in these days of calumny and calling in question, the 
 collection and preservation of masonic facts. 
 
 To return to the minutes, I have here to note that the informa- 
 tion is of the most meffgre description, the account of each Lodge 
 meeting contains little more than a list of names of those pre- 
 sent, and now and then a cash account, from which I gather that 
 all refreshment supplied was at the expense of the Lodge funds, 
 except in the case of a visitor, who was generally mulcted of 
 eightecnpence for what he took. 
 
 In September, 1781, the Lodge was removed to Bro. S. Kib- 
 bans', at the " Golden Lion," then, as now, a famous hostelry ; 
 and, on the following Lodge night, it was ordered, " that the 
 Secretary do send to the Grand Lodge to acquaint them of the 
 same immediately, to have their approbation." It would appear 
 that the Provincial Grand Master was never consulted in the 
 matter. At the present time it is doubtful whether a step 
 of this kind would be allowed without the sanction of the Prov. 
 G.M. 
 
 At the lodge held in June, 1782, we note the presence of a
 
 190 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 visiting brother, Andrew Gough, from the United Traders' Lodge, 
 " Pewter Platter," Hart Street, Covent Garden. 
 
 On the 2-i-th June, St. John Baptist's day, wc find that the 
 festival was duly kept, and apparently at the expense of the 
 Lodge, for under the head of disbursements, we notice the signi- 
 ficant items, Bill, £2 17s. lOd. ; servants, 5s. Eleven brethren 
 were present. 
 
 On the 30th June, we find the following interesting minute: — 
 " This evening Mr. Wm. Lane, operative mason, was made in due 
 forme, and raised (sic) to ye second degree, and paid his admis- 
 sion money into the hands of the Treasurer, and one pound one 
 shilling for the expense of the evening." 
 
 The admission fee at the time appears to have been £2 2s., 
 besides a registration fee of 8s. Gd , and this only took the 
 brother into the second degree. 
 
 There could hardly have been any settled fee, however, after 
 initiation, for I find Bro. Philby charged 8s. 6d. for the second 
 and third degrees, which were both given to him on one night, 
 the 2nd October, 17S1 ; and, on the same occasion, Bro. John 
 Covenoy, a visiting Brother, was raised a Master Mason, and 
 charged LOs. 6d. for the degree. On the occasion of Bro. Lane's 
 being initiated, he is charged £2 2s., besides 8s. 6d. registration 
 fee, and an extra 2s. Cd. for being raised to the second degree, so 
 that with the amount charged " for the expense of the evening," 
 the operative mason pays altogether £3 14s., which only takes 
 him through the second degree. 
 
 Let us hope he was a well-to-do operative, or he would not 
 have much encouragement to proceed further, from the fees and 
 fines exacted. 
 
 By the way, it has always struck me that it is a great pity 
 Grand Lodge does not encourage the admission of operative 
 masons, and the formation of operative Lodges, pure and simple,
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 191 
 
 where the principles of architecture, and the mysteries of build- 
 ing might be taught. In Scotland, some of the ancient opera- 
 tive Lodges still ex'st, and speculative masonry is still connected 
 with its originator, operative masonry, much, I trust, to their 
 mutual advantage. At present, so far as we know, there is no 
 connection between the Craft and the architects and builders of 
 to-day, — more*s the pity, at least so far as England is concerned. 
 In the Antient and Accepted Eite there is a degree, the twelfth 
 of that Eite, and the ninth of the Ineffable series, known as 
 Grand Master Architect, which presupposes a connection with 
 operative masonry, and of which we find the following account 
 in Webb's Freemasons Monitor, an American work of some repu- 
 tation : — " This is strictly speaking a scientific degree, and much 
 resembles in this respect the second or fellowcraft degree of the 
 York Eite. In it the principles of architecture, and the connec- 
 tion of the liberal arts and sciences with masonry are unfolded, 
 and the lecture embraces a series of instructions well calculated 
 to interest the neophyte. The candidate for admission is subjec- 
 ted to a rigid examination as to his skill and proficiency in archi- 
 tecture (masonry), and is required to produce evidence that he is 
 qualified intellectually and morally to be admitted among the 
 G.M.A., and engage in building the great moral edifice. The 
 assembly is called a Chapter. It is decorated with white hang- 
 ings, sprinkled with red flames, emblematical of the purity of 
 heart, and zeal, which should be the characteristics of every 
 G.M.A. The five arches of architecture should be delineated in 
 the Chapter, together with a representation of the north star in 
 the north, and seven small stars surrounding it. This signifies 
 that as the north star is a sure guide to mariners, so should virtuo 
 be the guiding star of every G.M.A. The Master, seated in tho 
 E., represents King Solomon; he is styled Most Potent. The 
 S.W., in the W., is called Grand Inspector. The brethren, in
 
 i92 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 addition to black robes and capes, as in the preceding degree, 
 wear a stone-coloured ribbon from the left shoulder to the right 
 hip, like the Royal Arch sash, and the jewel is suspended from 
 it as in the Koyal Order of Scotland. The jewel is a gold medal 
 with the five orders of architecture, a star, and a case of mathe- 
 matical instruments delineated on both sides. The apron is of 
 stone colour, with a pocket in the centre, and on the flap a star." 
 Mackey says the apron is white, lined and bordered with black, 
 with a compass, square, and rule painted thereon. The French 
 have the same colour, but do not mention the compass, square, 
 and rule. The following is the symbolic history, for the truth of 
 which I need hardly say I do not vouch. " Masonic tradition 
 (according to Bro. Carson's Monitor of the Antient and Accepted 
 Rite) informs us that King S. established this grade with a view 
 to forming a school of architecture, for the instruction of the 
 craftsmen employed in the building of the Temple, and to ani- 
 mate them with a desire of arriving at perfection in the royal 
 art. He was a prince equally renowned for his justice, wisdom, 
 and foresight : he, therefore, desired to reward the faithful and 
 meritorious craftsmen ; so that by perfection in the art, they 
 might be better prepared to approach the throne of God. He 
 accordingly, for this purpose, cast his eyes upon the Grand 
 Masters of the workmen, the Sublime Knights Elected, as persons 
 properly qualified to assist him in preparing for the fulfilment of 
 the promise made to Enoch, to Moses, and to David, that in the 
 fulness of time God would dwell in a fixed Temple, and that His 
 name should be there." 
 
 Mackey, in his admirable Lexicon of Masonry, to which I have 
 alluded before in the course of these notes, tells us of another 
 degree connected with architecture, and it must be admitted with 
 the occult sciences, in the order of African Architects. It appears 
 that in the year 1707, one Baucherren instituted in Prussia, with
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 193 
 
 the concurrence of Frederick II., a society which he called by the 
 above name. The object of the Institution was historical re- 
 search; but it contained a Ritual which partook of masonry, 
 Christianity, alchemy, and chivalry. It was divided into two 
 temples, and was composed of eleven degrees. In the first tem- 
 ple were the degrees of 1, Apprentice; 2, Fellowcraft; and 3, 
 Master. In the second temple were the degrees of 4, Apprentice 
 of Egyptian Secrets ; .", Initiate of Egyptian Secrets ; <>, Cosmo- 
 politan Brother ; 7, Christian Philosopher ; 8, Master of Egyptian 
 Secrets; 9, Esquire; 10, Soldier ; and 11, Knight. The Society 
 constructed a vast building intended as a Grand Chapter of the 
 Order, and which contained an excellent library, a museum of 
 natural history, and a chemical laboratory. For a long time the 
 African Architects decreed annually a gold medal, worth fifty 
 ducats, to the author of the best memoir on the history of 
 masonry. Why should not the Grand Lodge, or the Supreme 
 Council, do the same? 
 
 Ragon, who seldom speaks well of any other rite than his own, 
 has, however, in his Orthodoxie Mctfonnique, paid the following 
 tribute to the African Architects : — " Their intercourse was 
 modest and dignified. They did not esteem decorations, aprons, 
 collars, jewels, &c, but were rather fond of luxury, and delighted 
 in sententions apothegms, whose meaning was sublime, but con- 
 cealed. In their assemblies they read essays, and communicated 
 the results of their researches. At, their simpie and decorous 
 banquets instructive and scientific discourses were delivered. 
 While their initiations were gratuitous, they gave liberal assis- 
 tance to such zealous brethren as were in needy circumstances. 
 They published in Germany many important documents on the 
 subject of Freemasonry." 
 
 ( ndei date, October 3, 1 782, we find that this evening a lodge 
 was convened by order of the R.W.M. and Wardens in order to 
 
 N
 
 194 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 " spend ye evening with Bro. John Bloinfield, and from him to 
 
 receive the benefit of the 3 L s, which was accordingly done 
 
 to ye general satisfaction of the brethren present." 
 
 No doubt Kro. Bloomfield delivered or explained the three 
 lectures, and it is noteworthy the guarded way in which this is 
 noted, very different to the open and diffuse manner in which the 
 minutes are often kept, and perhaps, I might add, too often 
 reported in the Freemason. 
 
 On St. John the Evangelist's Day, December 27, 1782, it is 
 recorded that this evening Bro. Kobert Tovell, Secretary, was 
 raised to the degree of Past Master, being found worthy. 
 
 Some of our younger brethren will be surprised to learn that 
 it was a common custom in the last century, and is, I believe, 
 even now, in Scotland, to confer the titular degree of Past 
 Master upon brethren who have never passed the chair. In Eng- 
 land now we all know a Past Master is a brother who has served 
 the office of Warden in some warranted lodge, and has been elec- 
 ted by the majority of the lodge to fill the chair of K.S. He is 
 then duly installed, receiving the secrets of what are called the 
 Installed Master's degree, and from thenceforth, so long as he is 
 a subscribing member of any lodge, he retains his rank as Past 
 Master and is entitled to a seat in Grand Lodge. 
 
 On the 5th November, 17S2, "Mr. John Spooner was nomi- 
 nated to take the chair for the ensuing year ; and at the St. 
 John's Festival following he was elected R.W.M. ; Bro. B. Fox- 
 well, S.W. ; Bro. Jacob Bunnett, J.W. ; Bro. S. Ribbans, 
 Treasurer; and Robert Tovell, Secretary. Thus it would appear, 
 as has been before remarked, that at this time all the superior 
 officers in the lodge were elected, as is the case now in Royal 
 Arch Chapters, and not as now, when the W.M. appoints all his 
 own officers from the S.W. downwards, except the Treasurer, 
 who keeps the keys of the money-chest, and the Tyler, who is
 
 MASONIC PAPEKS. 195 
 
 the serving brother of the Lodge, and not the servant of the 
 Master, as some appear to think. 
 
 On March 4th, 1783, Robert Koymer. from " ye Twins Lodge, 
 Norwich," was a visitor. No such Lodge appears now in the 
 i( Cosmopolitan Calendar," though there are no less than six in 
 the old cathedral town. 
 
 William Lane, Operative Mason, appears amongst the brethren 
 present at a Lodge holden on the 4th November, 1783, and I find 
 that on this evening the brethren went from the Lodge room at 
 ye Golden Lyon in procession to the theatre to see the comedy, 
 " As You Like It," with the musical piece called the " Deserter." 
 The same evening Michael Sharp, musician ; Peter Dagueville, 
 dancing master; Thomas Smith, innholder ; Stephen Prentice, 
 shipwright ; and William Bennett, cooper and innholder, were 
 proposed for initiation. 
 
 On November 18, 1783, "Bro. James Garrod was raised to ye 
 degree of Master Mason, being found worthy." This night also 
 " Mr. M. Sharp was made a Mason in due form, and was admit- 
 ted to the second and third degree of Masonry." The other four 
 brethren noted above were all initialed, but took only the first 
 degree. This is the first instance we have yet come across where 
 a brother has taken the three degrees in one night. The fees are 
 all given, and it appears Bro. Sharp was charged as follows : — 
 
 For Admission ... ... £2 2 
 
 „ Registration Fees ... 8 6 
 
 ., Second Degree ... ... () 2 (J 
 
 „ Raised Master ... ... o 6 
 
 E2 19 
 
 There were eighl visitors present, and seven of them appear to 
 have paid ten shillings and sixpence altogether for the honour 
 
 n2
 
 196 MASONIC PAPEBS. 
 
 of sitting at the same table with the brethren of the British 
 Union. 
 
 Under date January G, 1784, 1 note that this evening, "R. L. 
 (of course I do not publish the name) was expelled this Lodge 
 for unworthy transactions perfectly clear to ye E.W.M. and 
 brethren then present, and was in due form divested of the badge 
 of a Mason by the J.W." 
 
 On March 2, 1784, 1 note that whilst Bro. Bennett was raised 
 to ye degree of a Master Mason, Bros. T. Askew, Thomas Smith, 
 and G. Walham " passed ye chair." This, of course, alludes to 
 the titular Past Master degree, of which mention has already 
 been made. Two brethren— one a grocer, and the other a 
 cabinet maker — were initiated on the 14th June, 1784. 
 
 On the 24th of that month, St. John Baptist's Day, the bre- 
 thren went in procession to St. Mary Tower Church, and an 
 excellent sermon was preached from the 20th and 21st verses of 
 St. Jude by the Rev. V. L. Barnard, who afterwards visited the 
 Lodge in October. Several brethren from Hadleigh were pro- 
 posed to take the second and third degrees the following lodge 
 night. Under the head of disbursements for this night we find: 
 To one dozen aprons, this day, 12s. "What would my good 
 friend Bro. Kenning say to such a price for aprons now-a-days ? 
 I am afraid they must have been poor lambskins, or else the price 
 of leather has strangely gone iip since 1784. 
 
 At the lodge meeting, November 2, 1784, it was proposed that 
 Bros. J. Gooding, W. Harris, and Thomas Smith should be 
 passed and raised to third degree next lodge night ; so that, as 
 we have before remarked, it is evident that at this time brethren 
 did not take their degrees as a matter of course as they do now, 
 but each step was taken by favour of the Lodge. 
 
 Bro. William Lane, operative Mason, became'S.W. this year, 
 being elected 27th December, St. Jobti's Day, when the festival
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 197 
 
 was duly observed, and the brethren had an ordinary at one shil- 
 ling and sixpence, dinner being ordered for twenty, and at the 
 Lodge there appear to have been present a deputation from the 
 Lodge No. 42G in ye King's 1st Regiment of Dragoon Guards, 
 which was probably quartered in the town at that time, the 
 brethren representing this military Lodge consisting of the 
 D.R.W.M., a P.M., and the S. and J.W.'s. 
 
 I note that there was paid to Bro. Foxwell 3s. for painting and 
 gilding ye flag-staff belonging to ye Royal Edmund Lodge ; but 
 what this Lodge was, whether it is still in existence, and why 
 the British Union had to pay, I cannot tell. 
 
 The Lodge meeting on January 27, 1785, was convened at Bro. 
 Higgin's, at ye Bull, Cornhill, Ipswich. Why it met here, and 
 whether there was authority to do so, does not appear. " This 
 evening it was unanimously agreed that no Mason who is not a 
 member of any Lodge, and being a resident of this town, shall 
 not be allowed to visit this Lodge any more than three times, 
 except they choose to join and make proofs of their being a sub- 
 scriber of some constituted Lodge." The English is a little 
 defective, but the meaning is obvious, which reminds me of a 
 reply Coleridge made to some lady's argument, " Madam, your 
 reasons are wrong, but your conclusions are right." 
 
 Some people think that when people are proposed as Free- 
 masons, as a matter of course they are accepted — free and ac- 
 cepted — the brethren being only too eager to take anybody in. 
 Whatever may be the fact now in some lodges, it was not so in 
 17-5 in the British Union, for I find that on the 1st March of 
 that year, Mr. L. P. (I think it better not to give the name) was 
 ballotted for and rejected, and his admission money was returned 
 to the brother who proposed him, which brother and another in 
 consequence, I suppose, of his rejection, thereupon withdrew 
 •hes from the Lodge.
 
 198 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 On May 30, 178.", a Lodge was convened, " in order to inform 
 Bro. John Conder, Bro. M. Willoughby, and Bro. W. Fenton of 
 a dispensation being sent for them to hold a Lodge of Free and 
 Accepted Masons in due form at the Green Man, Ipswich, for the 
 space of six months and no longer. Signed and sealed by Row- 
 land Holt, Esq., Prov. Gr. Master for Suffolk." 
 
 At the August meeting, in 1785, three brethren from the 
 Perfect Friendship Lodge were present as visitors. It was or- 
 dered and agreed to this evening by the R.W.M. and brethren 
 present, that any visiting brother from ye Lodge of Perfect 
 Friendship should pay no more than one shilling for each visit to 
 this Lodge; and it is also agreed by the R.W.M. and brethren of 
 the Lodge of Perfect Friendship that no brother from the British 
 Union Lodge shall pay any more than one shilling for each visit 
 to them. So a treaty of reciprocity appears to have been entered 
 into, and the most favoured country clause of modern commercial 
 treaties anticipated. At the following meeting it was " ordered 
 and agreed that if any brother chooses to eat supper he must pay 
 that expense extraordinary, as no eating is allowed to be paid for 
 out of the fund of the Lodge. N.B. — the above is ordered to be 
 made the 25th article in ye code of by-laws." This was an ex- 
 cellent rule, and one that should be universally adopted, but it 
 would have been better had it extended to the drinking as well 
 as eating. Bro. William Lane was elected December, 1785, as 
 R.W.M., and Mr. John Morgan, surgeon, was proposed for initia- 
 tion, and on the following Lodge night the quarterage was 
 raised from three shillings to four shillings. In February, Mr. 
 Hugh Dyer, an operative Mason, was proposed for initiation, and 
 was initiated in March. Under the head of disbursements we 
 note — " Relieved a stranger, two shillings and sixpence. N.B. — 
 the above stranger called himself Abraham Shrrief, an Algerine." 
 At the June meeting we note, to a distressed brother two shil-
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 199 
 
 lings and sixpence ; and in the August following another note — 
 to a stranger two shillings and sixpence. 
 
 At the November meeting, in 178G, we find the following 
 minute :— " This evening it was ordered by the R.W.M. and 
 brethren present that ye Secretary do write to Bro. Blomfield to 
 inquire into ye merits of nominating a gentleman in the county 
 to preside as Prov. Gr. Master to fill ye vacancy of R. Holt, Esq., 
 deceased. N.B. — the gentlemen mentioned are P.C. Crespigny, 
 Esq., William Middleton, Esq., and — Holt, Esq." The William 
 Middleton here mentioned was no doubt the same gentleman 
 mentioned in Burke as of Crowfield Hall. He was the son of 
 Arthur Middleton, Governor of South Carolina, and his eldest 
 son, who by the way appears to have been born this year (1780), 
 was created a Baronet in 1804. He married the sister of Earl 
 Browulow. The present representative of the family is Admiral 
 Sir George Brooke-Middleton ; and Shrublands, the family seat, 
 is one of the fines*- places in Suffolk. The P. C. Crespigny 
 mentioned was probably the Philip Champion de Crespigny, who 
 was M.P. for Aldeburgh, Suffolk, and died in 1803. It was his 
 brother who was created a baronet in 1805, he having received 
 the Prince Regent at his place in Surrey. He was Receiver- 
 General of Droits of Admiralty for half a century, and his son, 
 the second baronet, who was M P. for Southampton, and married 
 the daughter of the fourth Earl of Plymouth, was Provincial 
 Grand Master of Hants. The De Crespignys are of French ex- 
 traction, and claim to descend from the Barons de Frenes and 
 Viscomte de Vire, who flourished about 1350. There is little 
 doubt but that either of these gentlemen would have dignified 
 the office of Prov. Grand Master for Suffolk. 
 
 The second minute book of the British Union Lodge ter- 
 minates with this record. 
 
 I have alluded to the introduction of operative Masons into
 
 200 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 our Order as testified in these records, and I am disposed to sug- 
 gest, that Grand Lodge, the Supreme Council 33°, and Grand 
 Mark Lodge especially, as being perhaps most nearly allied to 
 operative Masonry, should foster the study of architecture in 
 every way. Why should they not, for instance, give a gold 
 medal away every year to the writer of the best paper on archi- 
 tecture or archaeology, or any kindred subject, or for the best 
 design for cathedral, church, castle, or mansion ? Would it not 
 be a good thing if operative Masons were encouraged to join us 
 by being admitted at a lower fee, and in the case of the A. and 
 A. Rite I believe it would popularise that Rite and make it much 
 more useful if all architects were given up to the 12th degree, 
 that of Grand Master Architect, for a nominal fee on taking the 
 usual obligation of allegiance to the S.G.C. 33°. Further we 
 submit that such offices as Grand and Prov. Grand Superinten- 
 dent of Works in the Craft, and Grand Inspector of Works in 
 the Mark Grand Lodge should be confined exclusively to pro- 
 fessional architects or civil engineers, or to such as have made 
 architecture and archaeology their peculiar study. I have known 
 drapers appointed to such offices who did not know what archaeo- 
 logy was. The restoration of churches and cathedrals and the 
 preservation of castles and other places of historical interest 
 ought to be a matter of the greatest possible interest to the three 
 great Masonic bodies we have named ; and Freemasons at large, 
 if they are worthy of their descent, and believe at all in the 
 traditions of the Order, should surely show as keen a delight in 
 these records of the past — these monuments of history — as do the 
 outer world, who are not Masons. But do they ? That is the 
 question. 
 
 THIRD MINUTE BOOK. 
 
 The third Minute Book of this old Lodge commences with a list
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 201 
 
 of the members in 1786-7, and the account of their quarterly 
 subscriptions, from which it would appear that they were all free 
 from arrears with only one single exception, and that brother 
 only owed for one quarter. I rather fancy there are a great 
 many Lodges now-a-days would be glad to report so satisfactory 
 a state of their financial condition. It may perhaps be of in- 
 terest, at all events to the Freemasons in the Province of Suffolk, 
 to give the names of the brethren who were members at this 
 time. There were thirty-one in all, but one, Bro. Dagueville, I 
 think the name is, appears to have resigned ; and their names 
 appear in the following order : — 
 
 John Spooner, Eobert Manning, William Lane, senr., who is 
 called throughout the records, the Operative Mason ; Samuel 
 Ribban, Robert Tovell, John Blomfield, James Woolward, John 
 Humphrey , Thomas Askew, Benjamin Huggins, Joseph Schold- 
 ing, Joseph Dobnam, William Lane, junr., Thomas Smith, inn- 
 holder, Robert Turner^ Robert Coles, Robert Cole, Robert Worth, 
 John Ripshaw, John Gooding, William Morris, Thomas Smith, 
 William P. Johnstone, Hugh Dyer, Richard Smith, Benjamin 
 Dikes, William Marmall, Richard Lewis, Philip Hunt, Thomas 
 Hinsby, William Churchman. In the list of members for the 
 following year I find the name of William Middleton, Esq. No 
 doubt this is the gentleman mentioned in my last paper as one of 
 the candidates for the Prov. Grand Mastership of Suffolk. * 
 Bro. MuUUeton's name with the affix carefully given, appears in 
 17811, and 1790, and 1791, as still belonging to the Lodge. And 
 in the last-named year occur the names of James Devereux, C. 
 Metralcourt, George Marven, and George Jermyn, all well-sound- 
 ing names, but who the owners were I am not now able to 
 ascertain. 
 
 Under date December 27th, 1780, St. John's Day, I find the 
 
 ♦ He afterwards became Prov. U.M. as will be seen further on.
 
 202 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 following minute : " Last Lodge night a motion being made by 
 several brethren " (a new idea by the way), " and it was unani- 
 mously agreed to, that every member of this Lodge being absent 
 from dinner on either of ye Festivals of St. John, to forfeit one 
 shilling to ye fund of this Lodge," from which it would appear 
 that at this time both Festivals were kept. 
 
 The Summer Festival, now known as the Feast of Roses, is 
 evidently the outcome of this old custom, though it is not now 
 held on the Saint's day. Neither is the Winter Festival kept on 
 the 27th December ; but whenever the Lodge happens to meet 
 during that month, and the W.M. Elect is installed ; and it is 
 worthy of consideration whether a return to the old custom of a 
 century ago is not desirable, and the Lodge might attend divine 
 worship, as it did sometimes then, and celebrate the Festivals 
 afterwards. 
 
 Amongst the other officers at this time I note a Senior and 
 Junior Steward, and I think it best to call attention to this fact, 
 for those officers are not now appointed in this Lodge I believe, 
 nor in many others, which I think is a great mistake; their 
 duties are to look after the brethren at refreshment, under the 
 guidance of the M.C., and they should see that the banquet is 
 properly served, that the waiters do their duty, and the guests 
 paid due attention to. In the Freemasons Manual, an American 
 work of some reputation, amongst other duties attached to their 
 office, the Deacons are required to examine and welcome, visiting 
 brethren, and the Stewards are to provide refreshments and make 
 a regular report of the expense to the Treasurer, also to see that 
 the regalia of the Lodge are in good order and always ready for 
 use. On appointment to office, the following is the address made 
 to them by the Installating Master in America : 
 
 " Brothers, — You are appointed Stewards to this Lodge. The 
 duties of your office are to assist in the collection of dues and
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 208 
 
 subscriptions ; to keep an account of the Lodge expenses ; to see 
 that the tables are properly furnished at refreshment, and that 
 every Brother is suitably provided for ; and generally to assist the 
 Deacons and other Officers in performing their duties. Your 
 regular and early attendance will afford the best proof of your 
 zeal and attachment to the Lodge." From this it is apparent 
 that the office is by no means considered unimportant, and the 
 appointment of junior members to fulfil its functions will only 
 the better prepare them for other and more onerous duties. 
 
 On February 11th, 1787, a Lodge was convened at the " Sun'' 
 in order to join in procession to attend the funeral of Bro. Fen- 
 ton, a member of the Perfect Friendship Lodge. The following 
 Lodge night a pedestal, cushion, and stool were ordered for the 
 use of this Lodge, and they were accordingly provided at a cost 
 of £2 13s. lid. by the meeting of the Lodge held in May, when 
 also a motion was made that a small subscription should be made 
 towards the expense "of the burial of Bro. Thomas Column, who 
 was unfortunately drowned — which was done. One is always 
 glad to come across these little evidences of the benevolent 
 character of our Order. Mere names are nothing, and one can 
 get but little idea of the status of the Lodge unless one knows 
 the social standing of its members. 
 
 One night I find a brandy merchant proposed, on another an 
 exciseman is admitted, and he soon after proposes another officer 
 of that much maligned body. At the June meeting, 1788, Bro. 
 William Middleton, Esq., was proposed by Bro. Ribbans as a 
 member of this Lodge, and his admission money, ten shillings, 
 was paid into the hands of the Treasurer. Bro. Middleton's at- 
 tendance at the Lodge has been before noted. 
 
 In February, 1789, William Wade, Clerk to the Collector of 
 Excise, was proposed, and was admitted in March. 
 
 I am glad to notice a pencil note " free " against the names of
 
 204 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 visiting Brothers about this date, 1789. Mr. Thomas Wright, 
 carpenter, of Copdock, Suffolk, was proposed at the meeting in 
 December, which shows how various were the callings of the 
 members of the Lodge at this time : I very much doubt whether 
 a carpenter would have much chance of admission now. On the 
 2nd March, 1790, 1 find Bro. Bussell, of the Philanthropic Lodge, 
 Long Melford, Suffolk, a visitor of the Lodge. This Lodge is 
 not now in existence, at all events it is not in the Cosmopolitan 
 Calendar. The following Lodge night a visiting Brother from 
 St. John's Lodge was present, but which of the St. John's I do 
 not know. 
 
 Amongst the members present on the ">th October, 1790, we 
 find the name of William Middleton, Esq., Prov. G.M. for the 
 county, but there is no record as to when or where he was in- 
 stalled except the note below. It is a curious fact that the pre- 
 sent justly-esteemed and very popular Prov. G.M., Lord Waveney, 
 is also a member of this Lodge. 
 
 The next Lodge night, the 2nd November, the following 
 minute occurs : " It was this evening proposed, and unanimously 
 agreed, that a Lodge be convened for all the members of the 
 Lodge that choose to pass the chair; and those absent, to be 
 summoned for that purpose on Wednesday, the 3rd inst. ; and it 
 is further unanimously agreed that the tickets of admission on the 
 day of Installation (sic) of Bro. Middleton shall be ten shillings 
 and sixpence each." Accordingly on the following night I find 
 that no less than twelve brethren passed the chair. Probably 
 this was done to qualify them to attend the Installatiou of Bro. 
 Middleton, as only W.M.'s, P.M.'s, and actual Wardens have a 
 vote and seat in P.G.L. Allusion has before been made to this 
 custom of giving brethren the rank of P.M., who never were 
 Installed Masters, and there is therefore now no occasion to 
 refer to a most objectionable practice, now happily obsolete.
 
 MASONIC PAPERS. 205 
 
 At a meeting held December 7th, amongst the disbursements, 
 I notice one that would strike our London brethren, " Paid to a 
 Blue-coat Boy, one shilling." The Blue-coat Boy alluded to, 
 however, was not one from the famous Christ's Hospital in Lon- 
 don, but the little old building known as Christ's Hospital, at 
 Ipswich, founded, I believe, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. 
 But why the boy got one shilling, and what he had to do with 
 the Freemasons, I cannot tell. On St. John's Day of this year, a 
 watchmaker, stationer, " gent," and upholsterer (sic) were pro- 
 posed for initiation, and in the following March I find a wheel- 
 wright initiated. 
 
 The provincial clothiug, I fancy, must have been a very differ- 
 ent sort of thing to what it is now, when a full suit costs six or 
 eight guineas, especially if got up in Bro. Kenning's best style. 
 Under date April ."), 1791, 1 find — 
 
 '• To two Provincial Aprons, three shillings and sixpence ; 
 each, seven shillings." I very much doubt whether a Prov. Gr. 
 Officer could be found now who would condescend to wear a 
 three shilling-and-sixpcnuy apron. On the 16th March, 1791, a 
 general Lodge was convened at the " White Lion," St. Mary, 
 Stoke, Ipswich, " to attend to ye funeral duties of Bro. T. Askew, 
 in the churchyard of St. Mary, Stoke." Twenty brethren were 
 present from the British Union, twelve from the Perfect Friend- 
 ship Lodge, and five visitors. On the 30th of the same month I 
 find that a general Lodge was held at the " Golden Lion," to 
 attend the funeral duties of Bro. P. Hunt, who was also buried at 
 St. Mary, Stoke, Ipswich. Eighteen members of the British 
 Union were present, thirteen of the Perfect Friendship, and 
 seven visitors. 
 
 In the Ancient and Accepted Rite abroad, what are called 
 Funeral or Sorrow Lodges are always held, and in that valuable 
 work, the Monitor of the Ancient and Accepted Rile, by Bro. E.
 
 206 MASONIC PAPEKS. 
 
 T. Carson 32°, we find an account of the grade in which these 
 ceremonies are performed. 
 
 The degree is called Perfect Master, the 5th grade of the A. 
 and A. Rite, and the second of the Ineffable series. Bro. Carson 
 says : " This grade was originally established as a grateful tribute 
 of respect to the memory of a departed worthy brother." Its 
 ritual and lectures furnish many interesting details of the mode 
 of his interment, and the honours paid to his memory. The 
 ceremonies are gloomy and funereal, and well calculated to fill the 
 mind with solemn thoughts. In this grade are held the Lodge of 
 Sorrow, and are performed the funeral ceremonies of any brother 
 of the sublime degree. The Lodge is hung with green tapestry 
 on eight white columns, four in each side, at equal distances. It 
 is illuminated by sixteen lights, four in each cardinal point. * 
 
 In Scotland, as well as in America, Sorrow Lodges are fre- 
 quently held. In this country, however, we rarely or never read 
 of such a thing in the Freemason, not even in the A. and A. Rite, 
 which seems curious. The reason is probably because so few 
 Masons are buried as Masons. In the United States, a great 
 parade is made of Masonry ; not so, however, in England. Ex- 
 cept under very extraordinary circumstances, such as the Installa- 
 tion of the Prince of Wales, or the annual meeting of the Prov. 
 Grand Lodge, in our various Provinces — the Masons in England 
 rarely appear in public at all, and as the Constitutions only allow 
 of a Masonic Funeral at the express desire of the deceased brother 
 made (publicly, I believe) before his death, of course the occa- 
 sions are few and far between, when Sorrow Lodge could ap- 
 propriately be held, except by brethren of the high degrees, who 
 are few in number, not more, I suppose, than a twentieth part of 
 the Craft. 
 
 * The French say sixty-four,— sixteen in each corner of the Lodge.
 
 MASONIC PAPEKS. 207 
 
 To return, however, to the Minutes of the British Union 
 Lodge, I find an interesting one under date May 3rd, 1791 : 
 
 " This evening a motion was made by W.S.W., in full Lodge 
 assembled, to send to the Royal Cumberland or Freemason's 
 Schools ye sum of £1 Is. ; and £1 Is. towards ye expenditure of 
 the new Regalia, which is now fitting out at ye Grand Lodge, in 
 honour of ye Prince of Wales, Grand Master of England. Ye 
 above was seconded by ye R.W.M. and J.W., and unanimously 
 agreed to by ye brethren present." 
 
 At the Lodge meeting, August 2nd, 1791, the Lodge was 
 visited by Bro. Bazil Hown, or Heron, D.P.G.M., who appears to 
 have been accompanied by Bros. J. R. Willett, P.G., Treasurer, 
 and J. Thompson, M.D., P.G.S.W. ; the P.G.M. Bro. Middleton 
 was also present. If all Prov. Grand Masters make it a point of 
 visiting every Lodge in their province, where it is a small one, 
 once a year, and, where the province is large, as in E. and W. 
 Lancashire, once in every two or three years, it would tend to 
 uniformity of working — would bring them face to face with the 
 real working Masons, and not merely the ornamental ones, and 
 the result would be, a better selection of Provincial Grand Offi- 
 cers than is now often made — the doing away of many abuses 
 that now exist, and it would prevent much of that heart-burning 
 and petty jealousy, which unhappily have an existence even 
 amongst Masons. It often happens, however, that the Prov. 
 CM. is a nobleman, whose political or other public duties pre- 
 vent his paying that attention to the duties of his high office 
 which his station demands. In such cases he should appoint as 
 his deputy an energetic brother, of good social standing — a long 
 purse and much leisure. Such men, and they are to be found, I 
 am persuaded, in every province, might worthily fulfil the duties 
 delegated to them, in the advancement of Masonry in general, 
 and their own provinces in particular.
 
 208 MASONIC PAPERS. 
 
 In September, 1791, it was found that the present expenditure 
 was greater than the finances would allow, and the quarterly sub- 
 scription was accordingly raised from four shillings to seven 
 shillings and sixpence, a rather large increase. Two brethren 
 resigned in consequence, but the great majority of the brethren 
 appear to have been in favour of the change. 
 
 James Norford, a visiting Brother from the Royal Edwin 
 Lodge, Bury St. Edmunds, was present at the December meeting. 
 This Lodge, like the rest mentioned before, appears to have gone 
 the way of all flesh ; but when it became extinct I do not know. 
 
 So ends the third volume of the Old Minutes. The books are 
 in bad condition, pages are cut out, and scarcely a leaf is whole. 
 The Minutes are put in in the baldest possible way ; but still I 
 think have a little to interest the brethren of the mystic tie as to 
 what occurred in our lodges, and what manner of men composed 
 them, from the middle to the end of the eighteenth century. 
 
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 By ETA MAWR. 
 
 COMMENDATIONS OF ETA MAWR'S POEMS. 
 
 " An eloquent volume. . . . I find much to admire in ' Count Ulaski ' 
 and ' Aurelia,' especially the latter, and the Translations appear to me 
 composed with rare ease and felicity. They introduce me to many poems 
 with which I was before unacquainted."- Lord Lytton. 
 
 " A very pleasing and delightful volume ... The charm of metre 
 goes a good way with me, and I like to pause and linger over flowing and 
 graceful verse, and that yours most assuredly is. . . . But to return to 
 those two tales, 'Ulaski' and ' Aurelia,' they are full of interest, the one 
 of active, the other of sedentary interest, or, as the Germans would distin- 
 guish them, of obj> ctive and subjective interest. ... I have read the 
 minor poems also with a great deal of enjoyment. The ' Sonnet to Handel' 
 struck me as particularly good. ' The Stocking Knitter ' is a gem."— 'Sir 
 J. Herschel. 
 
 " I like your ' Aurelia ' exceedingly, and your ' Golden Mean.' Your 
 verses are loaded with thought "— Itev. George Gilfillan. 
 
 " In the volume before us there are a thousand beauties. . . . We 
 really think that no fruits of the modern muse contain finer passages, or 
 show deeper knowledge of the human heart than ' Ula -ki ' and l Aurelia.' 
 . . . The minor poems, both original and from the German, have genu- 
 ine force and sweetness. . . . The 'Poet of Coila ' has never been 
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 . . . The noblest efforts of Burns's genius, and the finest qualities in 
 those efforts, are referred to with equal warmth of admiration, and sound- 
 ness of critical judgment. The tributes entitled 'Gibsoniana' are warm, 
 genial, graceful, < loquent, and well deserved, for undoubtedly Gibson 
 stands on the highest roll of British sculptors."— Durham Advertiser. 
 
 " Her translations of German poetry are excellent and well selected, and, 
 taking her book altogether, it is decidedly an honour to the head and 
 heart of the authoress."— Illustrated Times. 
 
 " Here we have in a small compass a great deal of very good poetry. 
 . . . The prespnt volume fully sustains, and, we think, adds in no small 
 degree to the reputation achieved by its predecessor." — W. T. Kime, Esq., 
 Barrister-at-Law, J.P., Editor of " Albert the Good," &c. 
 
 " In reviving the memory of poor Poland you have struck most forcibly 
 the chords of my heart, for from a very early age I have felt for its suffer- 
 ings a sincere sympathy."— M. G. Soiling, a German correspondent.
 
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 a Blank Verse Poem, by John Ryley Robinson, LL.D. ; with 
 Tailpiece by Bewick. 
 
 No. 10. — Sunnyside Gill, a Blank Verse Poem, by George 
 Markham Tweddell, F.R.S.N.A., Copenhagen, &c. 
 
 No. 11. — Cleveland Thoughts, or the Poetry of Toil, a Blank 
 Verse Poem, by Angus Macpherson, C.E. ; with Tailpiece by 
 Bewick. 
 
 No. 12. — The Saxon Cross, Church, fyc, at Dewsbury, by John 
 Ryley Robinson, LL.D. ; with four fine Illustrations, and a Lin- 
 ton Tailpiece. 
 
 No. 13. — Aicd Gab, o' Steers; How he Tried te Stveetheart 
 Betty Moss : a Trew Teale, related in the North York Dialect, 
 by Florence Cleveia ■d ; with a Glossary. 
 
 No. 14. — The Cleveland Knit//,/, or Orii/in of English Alum 
 Making, a Bullad, by the late Maurice H. Dale ; with a Por- 
 trait of Lambert Russell, and a Tailpiece by Bewick. 
 
 No. 15. — In Memoriam. On the heath of Mark Philips, Esq., 
 a Blank Verse Poem, by George Markham Tweddell. 
 
 No. 10. — 'Ihe Baron of Greystoke, a Legendary Ballad ; by the 
 Rev. James Holme, B.A., late Vicar of Kirkleatham. 
 
 No. 17. — A Voice from Elood and Fell, by the late J. G. Grant.
 
 Complete in one volume of 100 pages, fscp. 8vo., printed on good paper, 
 
 bound in blue cloth, gilt lettered, price Is. fid., or strongly bound and 
 
 richly ornamented, i's. Cd. ; by bookpost 2d. extra. 
 
 RHYMES AND SKETCHES TO ILLUSTRATE THE 
 CLEVELAND DIALECT, 
 
 By Mrs. G. M. Tweddell (Florence Cleveland). 
 
 COMMENDATIONS. 
 
 From His Grace the Archbishop of York. — " An interesting 
 volume of Sketches. It has, besides its poetical interest, a certain 
 philological interest too. I am very glad to possess it." 
 
 From Robert Henry Allan. Esq., F.S.A., J.P., D.L., &c, of 
 Blackwell Hall. — " My dear Mr. Tweddell, I have received three 
 copies of Mrs. Tweddell 's elegant and clever volume. The 
 Sketches are very characteristic and most amusing ; and the 
 Glossary is as essentially necessary as it is valuable. . . Will 
 you kindly send me twenty-seven extra bound copies (2/6 each), 
 which, with the three copies just received, will make up the 
 thirty copies subscribed for by Mrs. Allan and myself, for which 
 I beg leave to enclose a cheque on Messrs. Backhouse and Co. for 
 £5, and which you will be so obliging as to hand to Mrs. Twed- 
 dell with our united compliments." 
 
 From the Rev. T. P. Williamson ^formerly of Gisbrough) 
 Vicar of Little Brickhill, Bucks., Author of If Either — Which, 
 &c. — " Alluding to your Preface, I may say, that it is a happy 
 thing that no other person u-as writing in the Cleveland Dialect 
 at this time ; for I am certain no other person could have pro- 
 duced so delightful a little book as yours. It is not only the 
 ' Cleveland Dialect ' very happily rendered, but the whole 
 (whether poetry or prose) hits off the Cleveland character of a 
 former day in a way that leaves nothing to be desired." 
 
 From the Rev. James Holme, B.A., late Vicar of Kirkleatham, 
 Author of Leisu/e Musings and Devotional Meaitations, Mount 
 Grace Abbey, and other Poems. — " I have long intended to write 
 and thank you for the beautiful little volume of your excellent 
 rustic poems." 
 
 From Mr. J. H. Eccles, of Leeds, Author of YorKshre Songs, 
 &c. — " I like both Poems and Sketches very much, and think 
 they are a credit both to your head and heart. . . . Believe 
 me to be your sincere wisher, that the work may have the popu- 
 larity it deserves, and dear old Cleveland furnish you with themes 
 for many poems and sketches of such naturalness and beauty." 
 
 From William Danby, Esq., of Elmfield House, Exeter (for- 
 merly of Gisbrough), Author of Poems, &c. — " I received Mrs. 
 Tweddell's book on Saturday night, and enclose stamps. It was,
 
 as Uriah Heap says, ' like the ringing of old bellses ' to hear, as 
 it were, through the void of time, the sound of the robust verna- 
 cular of my native district. . . I have already had great 
 pleasure in reading several of the pieces, and am looking forward 
 to the opportunity of making myself acquainted with the rest. . 
 I can only hope that many ' Bobs ' may be induced to ' stop at 
 yam ' at nights, and read Mrs. Tweddell's sound moral lessons, 
 and occasional pathetic utterances, to their families. The rail- 
 ways, and the vast introduction of an abnormal population, con- 
 sequent on the development of the iron trade, must have gone 
 far to banish much of the old Dialect, and induce many natives 
 to attempt a more cosmopolitan mode of speech ; and therefore 
 we should be the more obliged to Mrs. Tweddell for her en- 
 deavour that it should not be wholly forgotten. She has done 
 for the North Riding what Hughes has done for Wiltshire, Barnes 
 for Dorsetshire, ' Nathan Hogg ' for Devonshire, Tregellas for 
 Cornwall, and other writers for other counties." 
 
 From Eta Mawr, Authoress of Far and Near, The Story of 
 Count Ulaski, Amelia, and other Poems, &c. — " Accept my best 
 thanks, my dear ' Florence Cleveland,' for the elegantly bound 
 copy of your Riiymes and Sketches to illustrate the Cleveland Dia- 
 lect, whose contents 1 had already devoured in their humbler 
 garb, with much admiration of the skill and talent, the wit and 
 humour, of the clever authoress, and the excellent moral tone 
 everywhere, but unobtrusively, pervadiug it. . . I hope your 
 little book will have customers among the class who speak its 
 language, and that both wives and husbands will benefit by such 
 moral lessons as are conveyed in ' Come, stop at yam te neet, 
 Bob,' &c. Of the prose Sketches my favourite is the inimitable 
 ' Betty Moth,' but they are all very good in their way." 
 
 From Mr. W. M. Egglestone, Author of Weardale Forest. — 
 " When I came home last night, Mrs. Tweddell's Cleveland 
 Sketches was on my table. I glanced through the work, and 
 read ' Stowslay Cattle Show,' which pleased me very much. 
 With some trifling exceptions, the Cleveland Dialect is very much 
 like that of Weardale. How Bill and Polly liked each other, and 
 how they bungled about expressing their love, their sweet-heart- 
 ing at the gate, &c, is very much like the style how a Weardale 
 lad and lass, twenty years ago, would have done. The sketch of 
 ' Polly Rivers's Trip te Stowslay Cattle Show ' reads as if it had 
 been taken down in shorthand from the lips of the veritable 
 Polly, it is so life-like and interesting." 
 
 From the late Alexander Craig Gibson, Esq., F.S.A., with a 
 presentation copy of his admirable work on The Folk-Speech of 
 Cumberland and some Districts adjacent. — " With the Author's 
 kind regards to Mrs. G. M. Tweddell, in whom he is gratified to 
 have discovered a congenial taste."
 
 Prom Mr. William Andrews, F.R.H.S., Author of The History 
 of the Dunmore Flitch, &c. — " I am very much pleased with Mrs. 
 Tweddell's volume, and so are all those who have seen it. 
 Though I like all the pieces, the poem on ' T' Awd Cleveland 
 Customs ' delights me most." 
 
 From Mr. F. K. Robinson, Author of A Glossary of Yorkshire 
 Words and Phrases, collected in Whitby and the Neighbourhood ; 
 Whitby : its Abbey, and the principal parts of the Neighbourhood, 
 &c. — " Florence Cleveland is very happy in her North Yorkshire 
 productions. She has both an eye and an ear for its picturesque 
 and expressive Dialect." 
 
 From Louis H. Phillips, Esq., Barrister-at-Law. — " I have to 
 thank you very much for Mrs. Tweddell's most interesting book, 
 which I have just finished reading. It is really a refreshing and 
 agreeable contribution to the local literature of the day ; and you 
 may take my compliment (such as it is worth) as the more sin- 
 cere in that I am no admirer of local, by which I mean dialect, 
 verses or sketches as a rule. I admit their value in their place, 
 for special and antiquarian purposes ; but as Johnson said about 
 wines, ' they are not for me.' If the book had not been your 
 wife's, probably I should not have looked at it. As it is, I own 
 myself rewarded." 
 
 From Mrs. Macquoid, Authoress of Forgotten by the Woi Id, f Jester 
 Kirton, By the Sea., Doris Earuyh, &c. — "Please thank Mrs. 
 Tweddell for the pleasure her verses have given us. Some of 
 them are very pretty." 
 
 The above are selected from scores of others, from all classes 
 of persons. The following London and provincial publications 
 have also commended the work, viz. — The Archaeologist, the 
 Barnsley Chronicle, the Barnsley Times, the Bradford Chronicle, 
 the Chelsea Times, the City Press, the Criterion, the Derbyshire 
 Courier, the Durham Advertiser, the Durham Chronicle, the 
 Eastern Morning News, the Freemason, the Gisbrough Exchange, 
 the Harrogate Gazette, the Hull News, the Hull Packet, Iron, the 
 Knaresbro' Times, the Leamington Courier, the Leeds Mercury, 
 Lloyd's Weekly London Newspaper, the Masonic Magazine, the 
 Middlesbrough Exchange, the Middlesbrough News, the Middles- 
 brough and Stockton Gazette, the Middlesbrough Temperance 
 Visitor, the Newcastle Daily Chronicle, the Northern Echo, the 
 Otley News, the Pictorial World, the Sheffield Times and Iris, 
 the South Durham Herald, the Sunderland Times, the Tadcaster 
 Post, the Waikouaiti and Shag Valley Herald (Hawksbury, Pro- 
 vince of Otago, New Zealand), the Wakefield Free Press, the 
 Westminster Chronicle, the Wetherby News, the Whitby Gazette, 
 the Whitby Times, the York Hera'd, the Yorkshire Gazette, the 
 Yorkshire Post, and others.
 
 THE GREAT AMERICAN MASONIC POEM. 
 
 Price 2d., or sent post free to any part of Great Britain or Ireland 
 on receipt of five halfpenny postage stamps, 
 
 KING SOLOMON'S TEMPLE, 
 
 A MASONIC POEM, 
 
 BY BRO. AUGUSTINE J. H. DUGANNE, 
 OF NEW YORK CITY. 
 
 "Whether we consider its unusual length, the facility of its expression, 
 the fervent glow of its imagery, its flowing versification, or that grand 
 poetical conception which bespeaks its author truly a poet, it may be re- 
 garded certainly, and without a fault, as the finest Masonic poem in the 
 English language."— American Freemason. 
 
 " The English Craft owe a debt of gratitude to Bro. Tweddell for bring- 
 ing within their reach, in this exceedingly cheap and compendious form, the 
 chef-d'a;uvre of Masonic puetry. This beautiful production was written by 
 Bro. Augustine J. H. Duganne, of New York, a brother who, we rejoice to 
 say, is still alive, and enjoys the confidence and esteem of his fellow-citi- 
 zens. It will be remembered by cur readers, that our contributor, 'The 
 Son of Salathiel,' quoted three stanzas from this remarkable poem in the 
 opening chapters of his 'Freemasonry in England,' in No. 60, and from 
 these specimens the brethren can imagine how exquisite and unique is the 
 completed poem."— The Freemason. 
 
 "The poem cannot be otherwise than deeply interesting to every judi- 
 cious reader, and especially so to the members of the ancient Craft." — 
 Kedcar and Saltburn Net^s. 
 
 " One of the finest pieces of Speculative Masonry in the literature of any 
 nation." — Middlesbrough Exchange. 
 
 "The metre of the poem is easy and flowing, and the language chaste 
 and vigorous."— Middlesbrough News. 
 
 "The poem is a grand production, and worthy of the Craft, and of the 
 United States D Uy,- which iB saying a great deal, as the Fraternity 
 
 in the East -rn Hemisphere are at the front in all matters appertaining to 
 the History, Ceremonies, or Regulations of our Institutions."— Bro. W. 
 J. Hughan, P.M., P.S.G.D., P. Prov. G. Sec. for Cornwall, &c. 
 
 "The Fraternity have to thank Bro. Tweddcll for his reproduction, in a 
 
 cheap though neat form, ol IHB Masonic poem of the day— an allegorical 
 
 entitled ■ King Solomon's Temple,' in which tho symbolism of the 
 
 is introduced with a copiousness and appositeness that stamps the 
 
 w . irk :is 'a mighty Masonic Psalm ' indeed, highly to be commended to the 
 
 herhood." -Bro. David Murray Lyon, P.M., Sec. to the Grand Lodge 
 
 of Scotland, ice. 
 
 " Messrs. Tweddell (one of the firm being Bro. Geo. M. Twcddell, F.S.A., 
 <fcc, who will be familiarly known to our readers as a very old contributor 
 to tli | ) have recently re-printed and issued this striking Masonic 
 
 P the shape of a neat pamphlet. Messrs. Tweddell deserve credit 
 
 cting this admirable Masonic 
 
 i 'production Ln this country. The beautiful allegory which per- 
 .. a throughout, the happiness of its expression . 
 and > commend it to the study and perusal of every member of tho 
 
 Order. '- I i m b Magazine. 
 
 %* Where six or more copies are ordered, no charge will bo mudo for 
 Postage.
 
 lieduced from Is. Gd. to Is., or post free to any part of Great 
 Britain or Ireland on receipt of fourteen penny postage stamps, 
 
 W ith a Map of the District on both sides of Tees Bay, the second 
 edition, revised by the Author, of 
 
 THE VISITOR'S HANDBOOK TO REDCAR 
 
 COATHAM, AND SALTBURN-BY-THE-SEA, 
 
 With Historical and Descriptive Accounts of Places of Interest 
 in the Neighbourhood suitable for Rambles. 
 
 By GEORGE MARKHAM TWEDDELL. 
 
 " I have received so much pleasure from its perusal and guidance 
 through the Saltbum locality, that 1 consider it cheap at even double its 
 price."— John Eeed Appleton, Esq., F.S.A. 
 
 " This little book, which has reached its second edition, will find a wel- 
 come place in the knapsack of every traveller visiting the delishtful re- 
 treats upon which it dilates. It is full of interesting and valuable informa- 
 tion, historical and descriptive, which is given in the familiar and easy 
 style so desirable and proper in productions of this nature, The author 
 has availed himself largely of authorities bearing upon the subjects before 
 him, but his quotations are well chosen for their direct applicability, and 
 are connected in a happy and judicious manner. The poetical illustrations, 
 drawn from some of our best poets, tend to diversify the character of the 
 work, and, beine everywhere exceedingly appropriate, they are by no 
 means the least interesting features in this useful and entertaining little 
 handbook, which may be safely recommended to the notice of all who take 
 an interest in the charming locality of which it treats." — Middlesbro' News. 
 
 " Visitors to Redcar wish to know something about the antecedents of 
 the place, and Mr. Tweddell has thrown many pleasing and antiquarian 
 researches together to make a useful book for their information. The ad- 
 jacent villages aDd things of note are treated of, and the attention of visi- 
 tors called to many interesting places and objects which are noted in the 
 neighbourhood. Mr. Tweddell has done the public service in printing a 
 second edition of his interesting little work, which will not fail to please 
 and be useful to all who read it." — Stockton Herald. 
 
 " The writer of this little volume has for many years been well known 
 as the author of several works of considerable literary merit, amongst 
 which that of ' Shakspere, his Times and Contemporaries,' is undoubtedly 
 his best, and occupies no mean rank in the voluminous literature relating 
 to the ' myriad-minded bard of Avon.' The reputation Mr. Tweddell has 
 earned for himself by the work just mentioned is fully sustained in the 
 present publication. Being a native of a locality adjoiuing that which he 
 describes, and possessing an immense fund of local, antiquarian, topo- 
 graphical, and historical information, combined with mental gifts of a very 
 high order, he was well qualified for the task he undertook in the produc- 
 tion of a handbook to Redcar and its vicinity. The work shows evidences 
 of a very entensive research for facts relating to the places he describes, 
 which he has used in a most judicious manner. His descriptions are full 
 and accurate, and a vein of genuine humour runs through the work, re- 
 lieving it of that dull and tedious air which is so characteristic of works of 
 this class. In short, it does much credit to the taste, industry, and ability 
 of its author. Every visitor to Redcar or the neighbourhood should pro- 
 vide himself with this handbook, and thus secure one of the best of guides 
 and companions for his rambles."— Stockton Gazette and Middlesbrough 
 Times.
 
 TESTIMONIAL 
 
 TO 
 
 GEOEGE MARKHAM TWEDDELL. 
 
 It has long been the wish of many of the friends and admirers of this well 
 known Author and Public Speaker, to present him with some substantial 
 Testimonial of esteem, for his life-long Labours for the Mental and Moral 
 Elevation of the People. There has scarcely been a movement in the path 
 of Progress which he has not aided, publicly and privately, by his tongue 
 and pen, from his youth up to the present time ; often at a great pecuniary 
 loss to himself; so that many, who may have differed widely from him in 
 opinion, have not hesitated to express their admiration of the enthusiastic 
 and unflinching manner in which he has always devoted his abilities in 
 Btriving to promote whatever appeared to him to be for the good of huma- 
 nity, whether popular or otherwise. The present Testimonial will consist 
 of a PURSE OF GOLD, to help him through heavy losses and family 
 affliction, over which he has no control, and to aid him to complete those 
 Literary Labours in which he is known to have been so long engaged ; 
 whilst to preserve an enduring record of its presentation, the names of all 
 the Subscribers, whether of pounds or of pence, will be printed in book 
 form, and copies deposited in all the principal public libraries, as well as 
 distributed among the Subscribers. The Testimonial will not be of a Sec- 
 tarian, Party, or even Local character; and Subscriptions for the same 
 t\ ill In' gladly received, and duly acknowledged, by 
 
 "Win. Andrews. F.R.H.S., No. 10, Colonial Street, Hull. 
 
 Churli s Hill. Draper, 1, Sussex-street, Middlesbrough, and High- 
 
 sfreet, Redcar. 
 Isaac Binns, F.E.H.S., Borough Accountant, Batley. 
 Ii. Bro&dbridge, Minister of the Unsectarian Church, Wilnccote, 
 
 near Tamworth. 
 A. .1. Broadbridge, Over eer's Office, Middlesbrough. 
 J. Tom burgess, F.S.A., Grassbrooke, Lcamiugtou.
 
 W. H. Burnett, Editor of the Daily Exchange, Middlesbrough. 
 
 F. B. Cooke, Manager of the National Provincial Bank of Eng- 
 land, Stokesley. 
 
 T. W. Craster, M.D., Linthorpe Eoad, Middlesbrough. 
 
 L. F. Crummey, M.R.C.S., Manor House, Great Ayton. 
 
 John Dixon, Merchant, Skelton, via Marske-by-the-Sea. 
 
 John Dunning, Ex- Mayor, Southfield Villas, Middlesbrough. 
 
 J. F. Elgee, Manager of Backhouse and Co's Bank, Middlesbro'. 
 
 Thomas B. Forster (Sec. to the " Wharton " Lodge, I.O. Oddfel- 
 lows), 32, High-street, Skelton, Cleveland. 
 
 Joseph Gould, Printer, 24, South-street, Middlesbrough. 
 
 Spencer T. Hall, " The Sherwood Forester," Burnley. 
 
 Emra Holmes, Collector of Customs, Fowey, Cornwall. 
 
 George Kenning, Masonic Jeweller and Publisher, 198, Fleet- 
 street, 1, 2, and 3, Little Britain, and 175, Aldersgate-street, 
 London ; 2, Monument Place, Liverpool ; and 9, West 
 Howard-street, Glasgow. 
 
 Samuel F. Longstaffe, F.R.H.S., Norton Green, Stockton-on-Tees. 
 
 John Macfarlane and Sons, Booksellers, Middlesbrough. 
 
 Win. Mason, Berlin House, Newport Road, Middlesbrough. 
 
 David Normington, Watchmaker, Stokesley. 
 
 Rev. John Oxlee, Rector of Cowesby, via Thirsk. 
 
 Thomas Rawling (Sec. to Stokesley District I.O. Oddfellows), 
 Stamp Office, Gisbrough. 
 
 Henry Roberts, 37, Rushford-street, Middlesbrough. 
 
 John Ryley Robinson, LL.D., Westgate, Dewsbury. 
 
 John Sutherst, Cleveland Ironworks, Gisbrough. 
 
 Fred. Wake (Sec. to Friendly Dividend Society), Carlton-in- 
 Cleveland. 
 
 George Watson, J.P., Cleveland Villas, Middlesbrough. 
 
 Richard Watson, Manager of the Darlington District Joint Stock 
 Bank, Stc .esley. 
 
 Thomas Watson, Auctioneer, 4, Grange Road, Darlington. 
 
 Persons wishing to be added to the above List, are requested 
 to send their names and addresses to 
 
 WILLIAM ANDREWS, F.R.H.S., 
 
 Honorary Secretary. 
 No. 10, Colonial Street, Hull, 
 
 June, 1877. 

 
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 NOV 4 1965 
 
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