li
 
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 WORKS 
 
 Preparing for Publication. 
 
 LAYS AND LEGENDS OF FANCY AND FABLE. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE IMAGINATIVE CHARAgTER OF DIFFERENT 
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 Designed to elucidate the philosophy of fiction as well as to afford 
 specimens of those marvels which have entered into popular belief, 
 and taken a permanent place in literature. The classical inventions 
 of the Greeks, the romantic fables of the middle ages, the gorgeous 
 and sometimes gloomy conceptions of the orientals, and our own 
 pleasing superstitions of fairy lore, will be exemplified by specimens, 
 and the influence of fancy on belief will be illustrated by a variety 
 of legends most of which have not hitherto been brought before the 
 English public. By W. C. Taylor, L.L.D. 
 
 Adorned with Twenty beautiful line Engravings on Steel, from 
 pictures by British Artists, and several Woodcuts, elegantly printed 
 in demy 4to, and richly bound in gilt, Price 21s. 
 
 THE BOOK OF ART; 
 
 Or, Cartoons, Frescoes, Sculpture, and Decorative Art, as applied to 
 the New Houses of Parliament, as also to building in general : with 
 an Appendix, containing an Historical Notice of the Exhibitions in 
 Westminster Hall. 
 
 The Volume, which will contain at least One Hundred Engravings, 
 is printing in the best manner, in royal 4to. Price 15s. hand- 
 somelv bound.
 
 PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION. 
 
 On lite 1st of November, Part 1., Price Half-a-crown, to be continued 
 Monthly, and completed in Ten Parts, 
 
 WANDERINGS OF A PEN AND PENCIL ; 
 
 Being the results of an antiquainan and picturesque tour through the 
 Midland Counties of England, by F. P. Palmer & Alfred Crow- 
 quill. The illustrations will be drawn on wood by the latter, and 
 engraved by our best wood-cutters. 
 
 The Book will present something of interest for those readers who 
 cherish the affection for antiquity, or an appreciation of manners, 
 customs, and legends which abound in the nooks of " Merry 
 England." 
 
 At Christmas, 
 
 THE 
 
 HONEY STEW OF THE COUNTESS BERTHA. 
 
 9[ dTairn ^alf. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF ALEXANDER DUMAS BY 
 MARIANNE TAYLOR, 
 
 With Coloured Engravings. 
 
 Square Royal. 
 
 RAMBLES IN NORMANDY. 
 
 BY JAMES HAIRBY, M.D. 
 
 Normandy, the cradle of our monarchy and aristocracy, the last 
 resting-place of our early kings, and the scene of our first great 
 struggles against France, must ever have strong interest for Eng- 
 lishmen. We find our national associations connected with its most 
 striking localities ; and many of our leading families must refer to 
 the archives of this province for the antiquities of their race. It is 
 also as rich in natural scenery as it is in historical associations ; its 
 peasants surpass those of the rest of France in industry, intelligence, 
 and comforts ; while the numerous English families who annually 
 visit its sea-coast for the purpose of bathing have brought it almost 
 us close to England in alliance as it was anciently in connection. 
 
 This Volume will record the impressions of a two years' residence, 
 and sundry journeyings in the province, furnishing a useful guide 
 to visitors, and information for tarry-at-home travellers. The Il- 
 lustrations will consist of a variety of subjects, Costume, Landscape, 
 and Architecture.
 
 WISE SAWS 
 
 AND 
 
 MODERN INSTANCES. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New-Street- Square.
 
 WISE SAWS 
 
 ANC 
 
 MODERF INSTANCES. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS COOPER, 
 
 THE CHARTIST, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 " THE PURGATORY OF SUICIDES." 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR JEREMIAH HOW, 
 209. PICCADILLY. 
 
 1845.
 
 ?1^. 
 
 •+^6 5 
 
 TO 
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 My friend, heart-homage, in this simple strain, 
 I yield thee for thy toil to aid the Right I 
 Too long hath genius, with a guilty slight. 
 Passed by the thousands who life's load sustain 
 Of scorn and indigence, — to court the vain 
 And foppish crowd, — or laud, in phrases dight 
 With fulsome flattery, some pampered wight 
 Who counts himself for polished porcelain, — - 
 The poor for vulgar clay ! A nobler path, — 
 
 Disdaining hireling censure, hireling praise, — 
 Thou, for thyself, hast chosen. Still, in faith 
 
 That thy true toil shall hasten the boon days 
 Of brotherhood renewed, brother, toil on ! — 
 All upright hearts give thee blythe benison ! 
 
 1292149
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 With the exception of the last three sketches, the 
 pieces composing these two volumes were written 
 during the author's confinement, for " conspiracy," 
 in Stafford gaol, merely, as a relief from the in- 
 tenser thought exercised in the composition of his 
 " Prison-Rhyme," — " The Purgatory of Suicides," — 
 already published. Higher merit than naturalness 
 combined with truth is not claimed for any of the 
 stories : they are, simply, such as any man may 
 write who has the least power of pourtraying the 
 images which human life, in some of its humblest, 
 least disguised forms, has impressed on his memory, 
 — while the heart has formed no attachment suf- 
 ficiently powerful to seduce the judgment into a 
 decision, that it is either wise or honest to hide these 
 images from the observance of others. Nearly all 
 the homely characters sketched are real, — some of 
 them, in their very names ; and the few adventures
 
 Vm ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 allotted to them, are devoid of romance and intricacy, 
 because they seldom exceed fact. 
 
 The " Old Lincolnshire," so often mentioned in 
 these simple pieces, and endeared to the writer of 
 them by the associations of thirty years of his life, 
 is likely soon to disappear before the social changes 
 of that New Lincolnshire which railway " civilis- 
 ation " will summon into existence : — would that the 
 manufacturing-misery of the modern Leicestershire, 
 outlined in two or three uncoloured and painfully- 
 veritable pictures, might, as speedily, evanish ! 
 
 Of the three concluding sketches, the writer feels 
 it right to state that the first is merely a slight 
 alteration of a series of paragraphs furnished to the 
 Stamford Mercury, in 1838, and records strict facts 
 which were then occurring in Lincolnshire ; while 
 the two remaining fragments were intended to form 
 parts of a novel, in some degree autobiographical, 
 — but the completion of which was relinquished, at 
 first, from a toilful engagement with the sterner 
 business of life, and at length from a growing pre- 
 ference for other subjects. 
 
 134, Blachfriars Road, 
 London, Nov. 1, 1845.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 or 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 KucKY Sarson, the Barber ; or, the Disciple of 
 
 Equality - - - - -1 
 
 Raven Dick, the Poacher ; or, " Who scratched the 
 
 Bull?" - - - - - 20 
 
 Tim Swallow-whistle, the Tailor ; or, " Every Dog 
 
 HAS HIS Day " - - - - 38 
 
 Davy Lidgitt, the Carrier ; or, the Man who 
 
 brought his nine-pence to nought - - 57 
 
 The Fisherman and the Fiddler ; or, " Don't say so 
 
 till you are sure " - - - - 72 
 
 Master Zerubbabel, the Antiquary ; and how he 
 
 FOUND out the " Noose larning " - - 104 
 
 The beggared Gentleman, and his crooked Stick - 127 
 The Nurture of a young Sailor ; or, the History of 
 
 Cockle Tom - - - - - 142 
 
 The Last Days of an old Sailor; or, "Butter your 
 
 Shirt ! Sing Tantara-bobus, make Shift ! " - 159 
 
 Dorothy Pyecroft's Preaching ; or, " Charity begins 
 
 at Home" - - - - - 177
 
 X 
 
 COXTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Minister of Mercy - - - - 189 
 
 " Merrie England" — no more ! - - . 201 
 
 Seth Thompson, the Stockinger; or, "When Things 
 
 ARE AT the worst, THEY BEGIN TO MEND " - - 218 
 
 Sam SiMKiNS, the Run-away ; or, Villainy as a 
 Refuge from the Tortures of Sour-godliness - 23-5
 
 KUCKY SARSON, THE BAEBEII; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE DISCIPLE OP EQUALITY. 
 
 Once upon a time — and that was when " French 
 principles," as they were called, were beginning to 
 spread in England, and here and there one began to 
 profess admiration of the new I'epublic, — there lived 
 in the little tOAvn of Caistor, in North Lincolnshire, 
 a notable barber of the name of Habakkuk Sarson, — 
 but " Kucky " was the name by which he was fami- 
 liarly known ; for Lincolnshire folk are a plain folk, 
 and don't like, nor ever did, to trouble themselves 
 with uttering long cramp names. 
 
 It would be difficult to say how it was exactly, 
 but somehow or other, in spite of the alarm which 
 landowners and tenantry alike felt at the broaching 
 of " Jacobinism," — that terror terrorum to the squire- 
 archy and farmers, — Kucky Sarson contrived to keep 
 a fair share of custom in the matter of clipping hair 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 KUCKY SAESON, THE BARBER. 
 
 and scraping beards. Scarcely an hour of the day 
 but Kucky had a customer; or if customers scanted, he 
 was sure to have company for gossip. Perhaps it 
 was chiefly owing to the frank-heartedness and real 
 courtesy of manner which the barber mingled with 
 his earnest speech — for he was a very great talker, 
 and a good one too, — that he was respected by almost 
 all who knew him, notwithstanding his open profes- 
 sion of the principles of " equality." 
 
 Indeed, it was a maxim of Kucky Sarson, that, " if 
 you believed all men to be equal, you ought to treat 
 every man like a gentleman." " That is the especial 
 hinderance to the spread of first principles, sir," said 
 Kucky to a customer one day. " Democrats foolishly 
 imagine, sir, that democracy consists in barking like a 
 bull-dog, or growling like a bear, at every man they 
 meet ; when, the fact is, that that is just the way to 
 repel a sensible man from both yourself and your 
 principles. Don't you think so, sir ? " 
 
 Kucky's customer would have answered, but Kucky 
 held him at that moment by the nose, and was ap- 
 plying a keen razor to his upper lip. The earnest 
 shaver did not think of this, but supposed, since his 
 customer was a stranger, that he Avas either modest 
 or unacquainted with politics ; and, in the latter case, 
 Kucky was too true an enthusiast to omit the op- 
 portunity of trying to make a convert — so he re- 
 sumed, after clearing his throat w^ith a loud " a-hem ! " 
 
 " If the beautiful principles of equality do not
 
 KUCKY SARSON, THE BARBER. 3 
 
 spread, sir," he said, resolving to show his best graces 
 of conversational style to a well-dressed stranger, " in 
 my humble opinion, it will be chiefly attributable to 
 the miscalculating rudeness of those who affect to 
 advocate them. These principles, in themselves, are 
 so self-evidently true, and so happily calculated to 
 ensure the felicity of the human family, that it is im- 
 possible for any unprejudiced man to " 
 
 " Pardon me, friend," said the stranger, extricating 
 his nose from the barber's fingers somewhat dexter- 
 ously, " there may be considerable doubt about the 
 self-evident truth of the principles you are speaking 
 of: you seem to me to be somewhat too hasty in 
 concluding that every one, from even a candid review 
 of them, must acknowledge them to be incontrovert- 
 ible. Give me leave to say, my good friend, that 
 nothing will be more stoutly controverted than these 
 same doctrines of human equality." 
 
 " Men may controvert them, sir," rejoined the 
 barber, with some shade of an approach to asperity of 
 manner, " but I cannot, in my conscience, give them 
 credit for sincerity. Who was ever born into the 
 world with a star on his breast or his shoulder, to 
 signify that he ought to rule his fellows solely by his 
 own will? — or who was ever created with a crook on 
 his knee, to signify that he ought to bow down to the 
 caprice of others ? No, sir, the doctrines of equality 
 are as clear as daylight when opposed to the darkness 
 of slavery and mastership. In short, sir, ' Eight is 
 
 B 2
 
 4 KUCKY SARSON, THE BARBER. 
 
 every man's, but wrong is no man's right/ was a 
 maxim of my grandfather, — and I think it settles the 
 question." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed the stranger, staring at the 
 barber's last words, and opening his lips till the lather 
 ran into his mouth. 
 
 " Yes, sir — I think so," repeated Kucky, striving 
 to look as confident as before, but evidently somewhat 
 doubtful, on second thought, of the conclusiveness of 
 his own odd logic, — "I think so, sir ; for, as I hold 
 it to be a natural right for every man to be governed 
 only by his own consent, so I conclude it to be 
 wrong for any other man to attempt to rule him 
 Avithout first askino; his will or waitino; his choice. 
 I think those two points are as clear as twice two 
 makes four : the first is a right, and belongs to every 
 man, and the second is a wrong that should be 
 practised by no man. Does not my grandfather's 
 precept mean the same thing — ' Right is every 
 man's, but wrong is no man's right ? ' " 
 
 " Pardon me, my friend," replied the gentleman, 
 unable entirely to suppress a smile, " if I say that I 
 admire your sincerity more than your logic. Allow 
 me further to say " 
 
 " Oh, allow, sir ! " exclaimed the barber, bowing- 
 very low, and spreading out his hands, — " to be sure, 
 I allow every man to judge for himself, sir. It would 
 be extremely inconsistent in me, who claim the fullest 
 freedom of opinion myself, to refuse others the liberty
 
 KUCKY SAESON, THE BARBER. 5 
 
 of thought, sir. I pray you, sir, forgive me if I have 
 been a little too positive in my manner : I will assure 
 you, sir, I am not a bigot, — indeed, I am not " 
 
 " Stay, stay, my friend ! " cried the stranger, puz- 
 zled and bothered with the superlative politeness of 
 him of the razor, " if you will finish your operation 
 upon my chin, we will have half-an-hour's talk on 
 these subjects afterwards. In the mean time, believe 
 me, I am happy to find you are so truly tolerant of 
 other men's opinions : if we all cultivated that spirit, 
 this world would speedily be much happier than 
 it is." 
 
 " Excellent — excellent, sir ! " exclaimed the honest 
 and enthusiastic barber, resuming liis shaving, but 
 too much excited to leave his favourite theme — " you 
 speak like a true gentleman, sir. I see we really 
 agree, although we may seem to differ ; for you have 
 just maintained a sentiment which is purely in accord- 
 ance Avith the principles I profess. Some great man 
 once said, ' No man was ever born with a saddle 
 on his back, nor was any other man brought into the 
 world ready booted and spurred to ride him.' That 
 was a very true and striking saying : do you recollect 
 it, sir?" 
 
 " I recollect it, and admire it much," answered the 
 gentleman; "but I do not just now remember whose 
 
 it IS. 
 
 " Nor I, sir," rejoined the garrulous barber ; " but 
 that is of little consequence, sir : truths are valuable 
 
 B 3
 
 6 KUCKY SARSON, THE BARBER. 
 
 solely for their own weight, and not for the sake of 
 those who utter them." 
 
 " There, again, we differ," observed the stranger. 
 " I think that many truths are doubly valuable ; — 
 first, for their intrinsic excellence, and often, second- 
 arily, for the sake of the great and the good men who 
 utter them. For instance, the striking saying you 
 have just quoted becomes, to my mind, as a passion- 
 ate lover of his own country, increasedly valuable, 
 when I remember that it is attributed to the illustrious 
 patriot-martyr, Algernon Sydney." 
 
 " ^Tliy, sir," resumed Kucky Sarson, who was the 
 soul of ingenuity at an argument, " the man, and the 
 truth he utters, are very often one, essentially. Some 
 men's lives — nay, their very deaths, — are great truths 
 in themselves, — like the life and death of the noble 
 commonwealthsman you have just mentioned: in 
 such cases the man becomes so closely and entirely 
 identified with the truths he utters, that he and thev 
 may be said to be one." 
 
 " You are now really becoming too refined for me, 
 my friend," replied the gentleman, laughing. " But 
 give me the pleasure of your company for a couple of 
 hours at my inn, if you please, and I will do ray best 
 to discuss these jwints with you, good-humouredly 
 and charitably, over a glass of wine." 
 
 The barber was making his politest acknowledg- 
 ments, and was assuring the gentleman that he felt 
 highly honoured and gratified by his handsome in-
 
 KUCKY SAESON, THE BAKBEll. 7 
 
 vitation, -when old Farmer Garbutt, a regular customer 
 of Kucky's for more than thirty years past, although 
 a stout " church-ancl-king " man, pushed his burly 
 person in at the little shop door, and gruffly bidding 
 the barber " good-morning," sat down in the shaving- 
 chair, which the gentleman had just quitted. Farmer 
 Garbutt could not have come at a moment when he 
 was less welcome ; but Kucky Sarson could not de- 
 cline to shave a beard he had shorn for so lono- a 
 period, and therefore politely assured the strange 
 gentleman that he would be with him, at his inn, in 
 the course of a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Ere the farmer's beard was cleansed, however, 
 more than one additional chin had gathered round 
 the chair ; and what was most vexing to Kucky, in 
 his impatient mood, was the " striking fact " that all 
 the chins and their beards belonged to the most 
 extreme and sturdy opposers of Kucky's republican 
 princiijles to be found among his regular customers. 
 With all his acquirement of suave manners, the poor 
 barber was greatly in danger of going into a passion, 
 as he heard, first one, and then another, allude, jeer- 
 ingly, to the persecution that was commencing against 
 Kucky's favourite doctrines. Yet he kept down the 
 rising storm within, though Avith a considerable 
 struggle : — 
 
 " Ay, ay — they'll soon hang all the levellers 
 out o' the way, I'll* warrant 'em!" said gruflf Gar- 
 
 B 4
 
 8 KUCKY SARSON, THE BARBEE. 
 
 butt, rolling his eye in wicked waggery at his neigh- 
 bours, and then threateningly at Kucky. 
 
 " What else can folk expect that side with cutting 
 off kings' heads ? " cried Bobby Sparrow, a dapper 
 little master-tailor, who made and repaired habits for 
 the parson, and all the genteel people, of Caistor 
 and its vicinity. 
 
 " More by token — such folk as would pull down 
 all the parish churches, and murder all the Protest- 
 ants ! " added old Davy Gregson, a fat little retired 
 man of business, who liked to enjoy his joke, — sitting 
 in a corner of the old shop, and thrusting his tongue 
 grotesquely into his cheek, — although he was nearly 
 fourscore. 
 
 " You will please to remember, gentlemen," inter- 
 jected the barber, driven to the extremity of his 
 temper, " that /am not an advocate either for cutting 
 off kings' heads, or pulling down parish churches, or 
 murdering people of any religion, much more my 
 own." 
 
 " But ye take part with rogues that do, neighbour 
 Kucky," said Bobby Sparrow, with provoking pert- 
 ness, — " and the more's the shame to you ! " 
 
 " Ay, marry, good faith — that he does ! " ex- 
 claimed old Davy Gregson, enjoying the barber's 
 apparent soreness ; " and it has always been held 
 that the abettor is as bad as the thief or the mur- 
 derer ! " 
 
 " If you mean to be respected, Kucky Sarson,"
 
 KUCKY SARSON, TUE BARBER. 9 
 
 growled old farmer Garbutt, " be advised, and give 
 up all your Jacobin notions. The Squire says it 
 would be ruin for this country to be without a king 
 and an established church. I had a famous talk with 
 him on all these things at the rent-day ; and so he 
 said : and if such gentlefolk as Squire Pelham don't 
 know what belongs to good government, I should 
 like to know who does." 
 
 " Squire Pelham's great-grandfather was of a 
 somewhat different opinion," answered the barber : 
 *' Peregrine Pelham was his name ; and he signed the 
 death-warrant of Charles Stuart." 
 
 " The Lord be merciful to us ! " exclaimed old 
 Davy, beginning to look really alarmed — " why, 
 that was in the time of the awful troubles that my 
 grandmother used to talk so sorrowfully about ! — 
 Surely you don't wish that such grievous days were 
 come again, do you, Kucky Sarson ? " 
 
 " God forbid !" ejaculated farmer Garbutt, solemnly, 
 
 " You all knoio I don't, before you ask me," an- 
 swered the barber, with some show of dignity. " I 
 defy any one of you to say that there is a quieter 
 and more upright citizen in England than I am. 
 Who can say that I ever injured him ? w4io dares 
 say that I ever cheated any man of one farthing — 
 ay, or that I owe him one ? And do I ever try to 
 compel any man to think as I think ? Speak ! — 
 any one of you that can charge me with an act of 
 wrongfulness, or a single speech of intolerance ! " 
 
 B 5
 
 10 KUCKY SARSOX, THE BAEBEE. 
 
 " Well, well — excuse us, Kucky ! We all re- 
 gard you as an excellent neighbour. But you seem 
 more short about taking a joke than usual," answered 
 the dapper little master-tailor. 
 
 The barber merely bowed, and said, " Well, well — 
 never mind, never mind, neighbours ! we are none 
 the worse friends for a joke. " But he was con- 
 scious that he felt short-tempered, and heartily 
 wished his customers w^ould shorten their stay, in 
 order that he mio-ht visit the gentleman at his inn. 
 Agreeably to his wish, the farmer, the master-tailor, 
 and the retired man of business each shook hands 
 heartily with Kuckv, after a few more sentences of 
 restorative kindness, and bid him " good-day." The 
 barber forthwith doiFed his apron and fore-pocket, 
 adjusted his neckerchief, brushed his hat, exchanged 
 his shop-jacket for his holiday-coat, and crying 
 " Shop, my dear ! " to his wife, hurried away to- 
 wards the inn, where, according to the strange gen- 
 tleman's request, Kucky had promised to meet him. 
 
 To the barber's great mortification, v/hen he 
 arrived at the inn the gentleman had been called out, 
 and had left word that he would be happy to receive 
 his new acquaintance at six in the evening. Kucky 
 Sarson felt half disposed to be unhappy with disap- 
 pointment ; for he feared that he would be unable to 
 leave his shop at that busy hour of the evening. He 
 was hastening homeward, and striving to banish this 
 unpleasant feeling, when, passing by the end of a
 
 KUCKY SARSON, TUE BARBER. 1 1 
 
 narrow street or lane, he suddenly saw the strange 
 gentleman in close conversation with a ragged, dirty- 
 looking female, who seemed by her uncouth garb and 
 sun-burnt complexion to belong to the wandering 
 race of the gypsies. The barber stopped short and 
 gazed in astonishment at what he saw. The woman 
 bent her keen eyes upon him ; but the strange gen- 
 tleman seemed too much absorbed in looking at and 
 talking to the gypsy to be aware that he was dis- 
 covered. 
 
 The barber passed on to his shop, pondering much 
 upon what he had observed. — " What in the name 
 of prudence and propriety ! " soliloquised Kucky, 
 " can such a person have to do with a houseless out- 
 cast and vagabond of a gypsy ? " The more he 
 thought upon it, the more he wondered ; till, in the 
 course of an hour, seeing that no one stepped into 
 the shop, he felt so exquisitely curious to know the 
 meaning of what he had seen, that he once more 
 doffed his apron and shop-coat, put on his holiday 
 covering, and sallied forth again in search of the 
 strano-e gentleman's secret. 
 
 Turning the first corner of the street, he suddenly 
 ran hard against his old gossip, Davy Gregson, and 
 nearly knocked him down in his haste. 
 
 " Hey-day, Kucky ! " exclaimed Davy, " what a 
 hurry you are in I — I reckon you are posting away 
 to see the gentleman dance with the gypsy ! " 
 
 Davy Gregson's exclamation operated like light- 
 
 B 6
 
 12 KUCKY SAESON, THE BARBER. 
 
 ning upon the barber : he took to his heels and ran, 
 in the direction from whence Davy came, with all the 
 mettle he possessed. Just as he was crossing the 
 way, however, at the end of one street with the in- 
 tent to run down another, he was suddenly seized by 
 little Bobby Sparrow, the dapper master-tailor. 
 
 " What the dickens are you running so for, 
 Kucky ? " asked the little man ; " you'll be too late 
 to see the gentleman huddle the gypsy — it's all 
 over, and " 
 
 " Huddle the gypsy ! " exclaimed Kucky, " I 
 thought he was dancing with her ? " 
 
 " So he was : but he fell to kissino; and huddlinsj 
 her after that," answered Sparrow. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake let me go see," cried the bar- 
 ber ; and bolted away again at the hazard of tearing 
 his coat, which the tailor had kept hold of. But 
 before he had stretched one hundred yards, he was 
 once more stopped; and this time it was by the 
 strong and effectual gripe of gruff farmer Garbutt. 
 
 " Art thou mad, Kucky Sarson ? " asked the 
 farmer, " or what is the reason that thou art scam- 
 pering away at such a hare-brained rate ? " 
 
 " The gypsy ! " gasped the barber, still striving to 
 run, — " the gypsy and the gentleman ! " 
 
 " Pshaw, man ! — the gentleman has suddenly 
 found his sister who was stolen when she was young," 
 said the farmer : " the gentleman has explained it all 
 himself, and has taken the young woman into the
 
 KUCKY SAESON, THE BARBER. 13 
 
 Pelham's Arms, where he puts up. I thought thou 
 hadst had more sense, Kucky, than to run after any 
 crowd that gathered in the street." 
 
 "Crowd! " echoed the barber, "was there a crowd 
 then ? 
 
 " A crowd ! " repeated the farmer, " that was 
 there, I assure thee. There : good-bye, Kucky ! " 
 and so saying he loosed hold of his neighbour, who 
 was now in some degree cooled down. 
 
 Kucky Sarson did not set off to run again; but 
 walked musingly on towards the Pelham's Arms 
 Inn, resolved, if possible, to get at the bottom of the 
 curious incidents just related. He was shown into 
 the strange gentleman's room at once, when he had 
 intimated that it Avould be inconvenient for liim to 
 call at six in the evening. And now the barber felt 
 completely embarrassed, and quite ashamed of his 
 own curiosity, in having forced himself upon the 
 stranger so suddenly after the affecting occurrence 
 he had just been informed of by old farmer Garbutt. 
 In fact, Kucky had begun to stammer forth very odd 
 apologies, and was backing out of the room with a 
 profusion of bows and scrapes, when the gentleman 
 rose, and leading his newly-recovered relative by the 
 hand, introduced her to his humble visitor. Kucky 
 Sarson recognised her face for the same he had seen 
 in the narrow street a short time before; but the 
 altered dress and demeanour of the female caused him 
 to take her hand with much greater reverence than
 
 14 KUCKY SARSON, THE BAEBER. 
 
 he would have shown had that hand been offered hmi 
 when he first saw its owner. 
 
 " I saw you a short time ago, when my brother 
 had just discovered me,'" observed the female, as the 
 barber took her hand. 
 
 **You did, madam," replied he, stammering with 
 confusion, and surprised at the peculiar grace where- 
 with, he now thought, the gypsy conducted herself. 
 
 " No doubt you felt greatly surprised when you 
 saw us," observed the gentleman. 
 
 *' I must say I did," answered the barber, still 
 looking very bashful, 
 
 *' Did you witness any of my capers in the street, 
 my friend ? I am fearful that I have played a some- 
 what foolish part, for my elation well nigh drove me 
 out of my senses. Come, my good friend," concluded 
 the gentleman, noting the shy look of the barber, 
 " let us sit down, and, over a comfortable glass of 
 wine, talk over this matter; — not forgetting your 
 family adage of 'Right is every man's, but Wrong is 
 no man's right.' " 
 
 They were seated accordingly; and the barber, 
 having been plied with a couple of glasses of claret, 
 and his shame-facedness having vanished, the gentle- 
 man renewed the conversation, with a look of great 
 good-humour. 
 
 " My good friend," said he, " I remember an ob- 
 servation of yours which, it strikes me, you cannot 
 always bring to bear upon your mind with the force
 
 KUCKY SARSOJST, THE BARBER. 15 
 
 of a maxim, although you profess to have made it 
 one : it was that ' When we believe all men to be 
 equal, we ought to treat every man like a gentleman.' 
 Now, tell me, frankly, did you not completely forget 
 your principles of equality at the moment you saw 
 me with this my beloved and only sister, in the guise 
 of a vagabond gypsy ? " The gentleman took the 
 hand of his recovered relative once more in his own, 
 and they looked with joy and love upon each other. 
 
 The barber felt conscience-stricken with the incon- 
 sistency between his philosophy and his practice, in 
 this notable instance, and, despite his natural loqua- 
 city, remained dumb. 
 
 " Nay, my good friend," resumed the stranger ; 
 " do not think yourself unlike other people. Let me 
 see you rally, and display the spirit you did this 
 morning : all the world is too prone to fail in the act 
 of applying principles and professions to practice." 
 
 " I do, indeed, feel," said the barber at length, but 
 still hanging down his head, " that I have not felt and 
 acted as a discij)le of the great doctrine of equality 
 ought to have felt and acted this day." 
 
 " And I think you will not fail to draw this great 
 lesson from your own experience, my friend," rejoined 
 the gentleman, " that, however intrinsically true it 
 may be that we are all equal in the eye of Him who 
 made us, yet our birth, our early associations, our 
 habits, — in brief, the whole complexity of circum- 
 stances with which we are every hour, nay, every
 
 16 KUCKY SARSON, THE BARBER. 
 
 moment, sm*rouncled, renders It absolutely impossible 
 for any of us to act at all times, or even generally, 
 upon the conviction of that most undeniable and 
 solemn truth." 
 
 " You are perfectly right, sir," replied the barber, 
 conscious that the stranger spoke the language of 
 common sense, and feeling humbled into willing dis- 
 ciple ship. 
 
 " And, granting the doctrine of equality to be 
 strictly true," continued the gentleman, " yet how 
 long, how very long must it be, ere the race of man- 
 kind shall be able to throw off their prejudices,— 
 their present artificial condition, shall we call it ? — 
 so completely as to reinduce and reinstate that univer- 
 sal equality we have just agreed to be natural." 
 
 " Very sensible, sir," interjected Kucky Sarson ; 
 " but I am just thinking," he added, feeling some re- 
 turn of his usual confidence, *' that equality never 
 will be reinstated, unless we spread its great doctrines 
 by all the rueans in our powder. Equality must be 
 enuntiated, maintained, and defended, sir ; or, like 
 other truths which have lain hid for ages, it will not 
 produce any fruit." 
 
 " True, my good friend," answered the gentleman ; 
 " but permit me to remind you that practice is more 
 powerful than precept. If we each sought to act 
 towards our fellow-creatures as if they were really 
 our brethi'en and sisters, the principles of a true 
 equality would soon gain a citadel in each human
 
 KUCKY SAESON, THE BARBER. 17 
 
 heart. It is the putting into practice of this deep 
 conviction of our common brothei'hood wliich is really 
 most worthy of our endeavours. We may contend 
 against the artificial distinctions which are established 
 among men till doomsday ; but if we do not, on all 
 occasions, display brotherly feeling towards our fel- 
 lows, our contention will produce no salutary effect." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," said the barber, " I feel you are by 
 far the more consistent i^hilosopher of the two " 
 
 " Nay," said the gentleman, cutting short the bar- 
 ber's strain of intended panegyric ; " I would not 
 have you suppose that I am a perfect practiser of the 
 maxims I am recommending. I never yet found a 
 man who fulfilled his own definition of a philanthro- 
 pist, a patriot, or a philosopher, — that is, if his defi- 
 nition were worthy of being termed one. I only 
 press this fact upon your notice, my friend : that I 
 was once in the habit of talking as loudly about 
 equality as yourself, — nay, even dogmatically about 
 it, and that is not like your way of talking; but I 
 have ceased to talk about the name, and am now en- 
 deavouring to spread the spirit of it. I try to do all 
 the good I can, to make every one as happy as I can, 
 to banish all the misery I can. I cannot always 
 keep in mind that every human being I meet is my 
 brother or sister; for the force of old habit is such 
 that a pernicious aristocracy moves Avithin me some- 
 times, but I try to keep it down. My friend, I am 
 preaching to you, rather than conversing icith you ;
 
 18 KUCKY SARSON, THE BARBER. 
 
 but we will now leave this subject for some lighter 
 theme, if you please ; only permit me to say, in con- 
 clusion, that you must never believe yourself to be a 
 thorough disciple of Equality while a grain of offence 
 arises in your mind on seeing a gentleman converse 
 with a gypsy." 
 
 It would be tiresome to pursue any further the 
 conversation of the barber and the strange gentleman. 
 Suffice it to say that Kucky Sarson was an altered 
 man from that day, though he never saw the gentle- 
 man again. He subdued the habit of expressing his 
 convictions in terms which he knew must give offence 
 and create prejudice, rather than advance truth, couch 
 them as courteously as he might in the flourish of 
 politeness. He turned his efforts, in the humble 
 sphere of his conventional existence, rather towards 
 preparing the world for rigid truth, than towards im- 
 pelling the people into the acknowledgment and prac- 
 tice of principles of which they had not as yet learned 
 the alphabet. These changes, to Kucky Sarson's 
 honour be it spoken, came over his spirit, not through 
 cowardice, — for he possessed enough of strength of 
 mind and pi'inciple to have braved a prison, had he 
 thought his lot cast in the fitting and becoming time : 
 it was honest conviction which acted as a mollifier of 
 Kucky 's manners, and the usefulness of the change 
 in him was evidenced by the greater good he effected 
 in his modified charactei'. He preserved his grand- 
 father's favourite saying to the last day of his life ;
 
 KUCKY SAESON, THE BARBER. 19 
 
 and, as no one sought more ardently to fulfil the cha- 
 racter of an humble philanthropist, — to alleviate dis- 
 tress wherever he found it, — to soften and dissipate 
 asperity of temper, and to create the genuine feeling 
 of brotherhood, and the practice of self-sacrifice 
 among all men, — so his name and favourite adage 
 were remembered after his death ; insomuch that 
 when a word tending to diflference arose among the 
 plain inhabitants of Caistor-in-Lindsey, it was usvially 
 succeeded, and the difference prevented, by some one 
 observing, " Why, neighbours, what's the use of 
 wrangling ? You know what good Kucky Sarson 
 used to say, — ' Right is every man'sj and Wrong is 
 no man's right.' "
 
 20 
 
 RAVEN DICK, THE POACHER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 "WHO SCRATCHED THE BULL?" 
 
 KiAH DoBSON, — they ahvays called him Iviah " for 
 shortness sake," as we used to say in Lincolnshire ; 
 but his full name Avas Hezekiah, — Kiah DoIdsou 
 was a hearty buck of a farmer, who ploughed about 
 fifty acres, and fed sheep and bullocks on about fifty 
 others. He was a tenant of good old Squire Ander- 
 son, the ancestor of the A^arboroughs, who are called 
 Lords in these new-fashioned times. Lindsey and 
 its largest landlord presented, it need scarcely be 
 said, very different features sixty years ago to those 
 they present now. Squire Anderson kept a coach, 
 but he had not three or four, like his successor, the 
 peer : he had one good house at Manby, but he had 
 not that and a much grander one at Brocklesby, an- 
 other at Appuldercome, in the Isle of Wight, and 
 another in town.
 
 KAVEN DICK, THE POACHER. 21 
 
 The farmers of Liiidsey kept each a good nag, for 
 market service, and so forth ; but it was a very, very 
 scarce thing to find a blood horse in their stables ; 
 and when their dames went to market, it was on the 
 pillion-seat, behind the farmer himself, and not in 
 the modern kickshaw o-jnr. There were none of vour 
 strongholds of starvation, which the famishing thou- 
 sands call " Bastiles," in those days ; and a horn of 
 good humming ale, and a motherly slice of bread and 
 cheese, awaited the acceptance of any poor man who 
 happened to be journeying, and called either at the 
 hall of the squire or at the cottages of any of the 
 farmers on his extensive estates. 
 
 Kiah Dobson was nearing his cottage one Novem- 
 ber evening, a little before dusk, when a figure caught 
 his eye, the sight of which roused his gall, — and yet 
 Kiah was by no means a choleric or hasty-tempered 
 man. It was Raven Dick, the poacher, that the 
 farmer was so wroth to see ; for Dick was beheld 
 as the farmer had beheld him nearly fifty times before, 
 — with a bundle of dead hares imder his arm. The 
 farmer turned to cross the home-close in another di- 
 rection, willing, as it seemed, to give Dick another 
 fair opportunity of getting safely away. But "the 
 devil was in Dick for impudence," as Kiah used often 
 to say, — " if you gave him an inch, he would be 
 sure to take an ell ! " Not content with imposing on 
 farmer Dobson's good-nature forty-nine times in the 
 course of his harum-scarum life, he must e'en " try it
 
 22 RAVEN DICK, THE POACHER. 
 
 on" for the fiftieth, and so made the experiment just 
 once too often. 
 
 "Farmer! how d'ye feel yoursen?" said Dick, 
 striding up to Kiah Dobson, and looking him full in 
 the face, as bold as a bull-dog. 
 
 " Better than thou'lt feel, scapegrace ! when thou 
 gets thy hempen collar on ! " replied the farmer, 
 snarling as angrily as a mastiff when he doesn't like 
 you. 
 
 " May be the thread of it isn't spun yet," retorted 
 Dick, mocking the farmer's angry tone. 
 
 " Surely, old Nick himself isn't more impudent 
 than his children that wear his own colour ! " exclaimed 
 Kiah, darting a withering look at Dick's black face, 
 for Dick's skin was even swarthier than a gypsy's; 
 and I might as well say now as at any other time, 
 that the sable shade of Dick's countenance, coupled 
 with their knowledge of his wild way of life, were 
 the emphatic reasons why his neighbours gave him 
 the epithet of " Raven." 
 
 Now, above all things, Dick did not like these 
 reflections on his unfair colour; so, with something 
 in the shape of an oath, Dick turned his heel in 
 dudgeon, and seemed, not at all to the farmer's dis- 
 pleasure, to be bent on making his way home. 
 
 Dame Dobson, who was a stout country-wife, and 
 was labouring lustily at her churn, and scolding one 
 of her maids, who had been idling, just as her hus- 
 band entered the cottage, caught a sight of the well-
 
 RAVEN DICK, THE POACHER. 23 
 
 known poacher with the hares under his arm ere the 
 former could close the door, and, with the anger that 
 her maid had kindled, was ill prepared to brook new- 
 provocation. 
 
 " Shame on thee, Kiah, for letting that rascal 
 escape so often ! " she exclaimed, screaming so loudly 
 that Dick could hear her words distinctly, though 
 nearly half way over the close ; " it will come to the 
 Squire's ears at long-last, thou may depend on't ! 
 and then thou knowst what will follow ! " 
 
 " Hang the villain ! " said Kiah, " he really deserves 
 nabbing ; and I've half a mind to go after him and 
 collar him ; for, confound him ! he grows more bra- 
 zenly impudent than a miller's horse ! he's getting 
 worse than come-out ! " 
 
 " You'll ha' no need to do that," said the incor- 
 rigibly idle maiden, who had gone to the window to 
 peep at the poacher, in spite of her mistress's fierce 
 scolding, " he's turned again, and has been listening 
 to you, and now he's coming hither as fast as shanks' 
 horse can carry him ! " 
 
 And so it was, for Dick had changed his intent ; 
 and, with a perverse will, now strode, at full stretch, 
 towards the door of the farm house. 
 
 " Curse his gallows-neck ! " exclaimed farmer Dob- 
 son, between his teeth, when he heard the maiden's 
 words: "has he such a brass -face as that comes to? 
 I'll nab him this time, or I'm a Dutchman else !" 
 
 Raven Dick's foot was on the grunsel almost
 
 24 EAVEN DICK, THE POACHER. 
 
 before the farmer had finished this last sentence ; and 
 throwing liimself on a chair in the kitchen, and the 
 hares on the cottage floor, alike with the air and im- 
 pudence of one who braves the gallows, he asked for a 
 horn of ale and a lump of bread and cheese with as 
 little ceremony as if he had been a squire in his own 
 mansion. Dick's audacity, however, had now over- 
 stretched its mark. The farmer's strong fist was on 
 Dick's frock collar in a moment ; the next, the farmer 
 had dragged him from his seat ; and, in the third, 
 Dick was prostrate on the cottage floor. Unluckily, 
 Kiah Dobson's anger overbalanced his caution ; and, 
 with the impetuosity of his own force upon the poa- 
 cher, Kiah brought himself, also, to the floor. 
 
 Dick had so long careered it over the farmer's fields, 
 by day and by night, and had so often '■ snickled," 
 or noosed the hares, as one may say, under the 
 farmer's nose, and the farmer had all the while 
 taken it so mildly, that -the poacher was never more 
 surprised in his life than at this portentous assault 
 upon his person by mild, good-natured Kiah Dobson. 
 Had it not been for his imaginary security of feeling, 
 the poacher would not so easily have been overthrown. 
 And, as it was, Dick was not disposed to believe that 
 all was over with him; he speedily succeeded in 
 wriggling his body from under the farmer's weight, 
 and, in the course of a few minutes, had his knee 
 upon Kiah's breast, and began to grab the farmer so 
 tightly by the throat that he soon grew blacker than
 
 RAVEX DICK, THE POACHER. 25 
 
 Dick himself. Luckily Dame Dobson's churn staff 
 came to the rescue. She pommelled the hard head 
 of the poacher so soundly, and her strokes came so 
 thick and fast after each other, that he was compelled 
 to loose his hold on the farmer's throat, in order to 
 catch the churn-staff from the farmer's wife. The 
 engagement, however, now became more furious. 
 Poor Kiah lay gasping on the floor, for some moments, 
 unable to rise, much less to aim a blow at the ad- 
 versary ; but the war was at its height between 
 Raven Dick and the dame, and two stout maidens of 
 her service. Mops, brooms, and brushes were suc- 
 cessively impelled with no playful force towards the 
 seasoned skull of the poacher, but were shivered with 
 the rapidity of lightning, as he dexterously cavight 
 hold of them, and wrested them from the hands of his 
 clamorous assailants. The din of female tonsrues 
 was scarcely less than the noise of blows ; and when 
 the more effective ammunition was all expended, the 
 discharge was confined, at last, to the small shot of 
 epithets, poured in every imaginable shape, from 
 the fair musketry of the three female belligerents' 
 mouths. 
 
 The scene had now become as laughable as pre- 
 viously it had been serious. Raven Dick stood on a 
 chair in the middle of the floor, drawing his face into 
 the most whimsical forms and mocking the Avomen, 
 while they stood around him, each with hands on hip, 
 and tearing their throats with the effort to abuse and 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 EAVEN DICKj THE POACHER. 
 
 irritate, or otherwise to shame him. The farmer, 
 seeing Avhat turn the war had taken, had seated him- 
 self on a chair, and forgetting his anger, was shaking 
 his sides with laughter at the ludicrous and unwonted 
 scene presented that night in his kitchen. The affray 
 at length shrank into silence ; the women's tongues 
 were fairly wearied ; they each sat down to rest ; and 
 so Dick sat down, likewise. 
 
 " Dang it Dick, thou'rt a good woolled 'un ! " said 
 the hearty farmer ; " but thou art an idle rogue, after 
 all." 
 
 " How so, Maister Kiah ? " asked the saucy 
 poacher ; " why do you call me an idle rogue ? " 
 
 " Because thou art fonder of stealins; than work- 
 ing," quickly replied the farmer. 
 
 "Stealing, say you?" rejoined Dick, his brows 
 knitting together ; " I scorn your Avords, Kiah 
 Dobson ! — You lie in your throat ! — What do I 
 steal?" 
 
 " The 'squire's hares, by dozens, thou saucy 
 varlet," answered Kiah. 
 
 " How come they to be the 'squire's hares ? " 
 asked Dick, fixing his eyes very keenly on the 
 farmer. 
 
 " By feeding and breeding on his land," answered 
 Kiah Dobson. 
 
 " But dont you plough the land. Farmer Dob- 
 son?" 
 
 " To be sure I do "
 
 RAVEN DICK, THE POACHER. 27 
 
 " And don't you buy the seed to sow upon the 
 land ? " 
 
 " Sartainly I do " 
 
 " And don't you sow the seed when you have 
 bought it?" 
 
 " Ay, and I can sow a breadth with here and 
 there a fellow in any " 
 
 *' Pshaw ! — don't you watch the corn while it is 
 growing, weed it, and attend to it till it is ripe ? and 
 do not you, with the sweat of your own brow, and the 
 help of those you hire with your own purse, reap the 
 corn, and gather it into the stack-yard ? — and don't 
 you, afterwards, pay many a shilling in wages for 
 Roger Brown, and Tim Wilson, and others, to thrash 
 your corn for you ? — and don't you consider the corn 
 yours when you are taking it to market ? — and don't 
 you think you have a right to receive the money for 
 which you sell it ? " 
 
 " Ay, and I would ftiin be knowing, Dick, who 
 besides has so good a right to it as I have," replied 
 the farmer, starting to his feet with warmth, and not 
 apprehending the drift of Dick's queries. 
 
 " Then the corn which these poor hares have eaten 
 during the summer," said Dick, pointing to the dead 
 animals which lay on the floor, " was your corn, and 
 not the 'squire's, for you pay him his rent, don't 
 you, Kiah ? " 
 
 " Zounds, ay ! to the very day," instantly and 
 proudly replied the farmer. 
 
 c 2
 
 28 RAVEN DICK, THE POACHER. 
 
 '^ And yet you durst not kill a hare, and be seen 
 in doing it," said Dick, not permitting a moment's 
 pause to take place. 
 
 " Me kill a hare ! " exclaimed Kiah, scratching his 
 head, and colouring very deeply ; " Lord ! you know, 
 Dick, I've no licence ; and, besides, the 'squire 
 always reckons the hares his own, you know." 
 
 " Does he ? " said Dick, with a peculiar sneer, 
 " then he's a fool for so doing. — Why, Farmer 
 Dobson, don't you remember how, last latter-end, 
 three persons came from Lincoln, and went shooting 
 like wild devils over the whole estate, murdering and 
 bagging all they could see ? And it's more than 
 likely you'll have a greater number of the Lincoln 
 Minster Jackdaws, as the 'squire called 'em, this 
 month than you had last November ; and will the 
 'squire be such a fool as to call the hares his own 
 then, when the black thieves are packing off with 
 them, think you ? " 
 
 " Dang it ! thou talks very odd, Dick ! " said the 
 farmer, sitting down very quietly, fixing his eyes on 
 the floor, and scratching his head harder than before ; 
 " thou talks very odd, but what thou say'st is as true 
 as the gospel, for all that." 
 
 " That it is, as sure as eggs are eggs," added the 
 dame, into whose mind conviction had been entering 
 a little more quickly than into that of her husband. 
 
 " There now ! " exclaimed Dick, springing from his 
 seat, and feeling proud of the power of his argu-
 
 RAVEN DICK, THE rOAClIEll. 29 
 
 mentation, Avlien he saw both the farmer and his wife 
 brought over so triumphantly to his side of the 
 question. " There now, you see, Kiali Dobson, a 
 man may be judged very wrongly, and be condemned 
 for a thief and a rogue by many who are either 
 — saving your presence, farmer — thorough fools 
 or rogues themselves, and yet, all the while, he may 
 be quite as honest as his neighbours. Now, don't 
 you think it hard, Kiah, under all the circumstances, 
 that you are not allowed to kill a hare when you 
 like ? " 
 
 " I'm not thinking so much about that," replied 
 Farmer Dobson, his eyes still bent very thoughtfully 
 downward — " I'm not thinking so much about that, 
 as I am wondering how, in the name of Old Nick, 
 these things came to be as they are. You see, Dick, 
 it Avas the same in my father's time, though I've 
 heard him say that my grandfather used to tell how, 
 in the time of the great troubles, folks killed game 
 when and where they liked ; but that was only owing 
 to the unsettled state of things, for these laws about 
 the game were made before that time I take it, 
 Dick." 
 
 " According to what I've learned about it," said 
 Dick, looking still more proud than before, and 
 feeling himself superior in information to the rest of 
 the company, " these Game Laws, as they are called, 
 began with William the Conqueror, the king that 
 I dare say you've heard of, farmer, that came from 
 
 c 3
 
 30 KAVEN DICKj THE POACHER. 
 
 beyond the sea, and got possession of this country, 
 when " 
 
 '■' Likely, likely," said the farmer, yawning, and 
 growing wearied of Dick's learning ; " I don't care 
 two straws who first made such laws, Dick ; but I'm 
 sure of one thing — that it must be wrong, when one 
 thinks on it, that the great folk should claim the 
 wild creatures God Almighty makes himself as their 
 own, when, all the while, they have no more right 
 to 'era than other folk." 
 
 " To be sure it's wa^ong, farmer," said Dick. 
 " What right could any man have, whether he 
 were a king, or a 'squire, or a parson, to say to all 
 the people of this country, or any other country, 
 ' You shall none of yoii kill a stag, or a hare, or a 
 pheasant, under pain of losing a hand, or going to 
 prison ? ' The only wonder is, farmer, that people 
 have submitted to these laws so long and so quietly." 
 
 " Why, yoii see, Dick," continued the farmer, 
 whose common sense was of a more solid character 
 than Dick's, though his perceptions were not quite so 
 acute at the outset of an enquiry — " you see, Dick, 
 this law is contrived, like most other laws, to draw 
 a number of folk into the love and the liking of it : 
 it isn't simply one man noiv, whatever it might have 
 been formerly, that is interested in keeping up these 
 Game Laws. Rich folks generally think they ought 
 to do no other but uphold 'em. They say, that all 
 the game would soon be destroyed if every body was
 
 EAVEN DICK, THE TOACnEK. 31 
 
 allowed to kill hares and pheasants when and where 
 they like. The 'squire, too, sends presents, you know, 
 to his acquaintances the great folk in London, and 
 elsewhere ; and if hares and pheasants and partridges 
 were as common with poor folk as with rich, why, 
 the great folk would soon scorn to have 'em on their 
 tables. * There are Avheels within wheels,' as the 
 miller says, Dick. Rich folk are sure to hang to- 
 gether on their side of the wheat-sack ; and that is 
 the reason — more than their money, Dick, mind ye ! 
 more than their money — why they are so much 
 more powerful than the poor. And for the self-same 
 reason that they are so powerful, Dick," concluded 
 the farmer, seeming determined to finish his speech 
 in spite of the poacher's evident dislike to it, "I 
 think it is far better for all who lo\e peace and 
 quietness, and a whole skin, to keep out of harm's 
 way. You understand me, Dick ! Come, dame, fill 
 us a good jug of ale, and let us have a bit of bread 
 and cheese, or a moutliful of bacon, and Dick and I 
 will talk these things over a bit, just in a quiet and 
 sensible way." 
 
 The dame hasted to set her hospitality before her 
 spouse and the poacher ; and it soon became hard to 
 say which most excelled in the act of doing justice to 
 it. The strong ale, however, was most freely partaken 
 by the poacher, and, under its potency, Dick's tongue 
 soon began to indulge itself with a tolerably large 
 
 licence. 
 
 c 4
 
 32 RAVEN DICKj THE POACHEE. 
 
 " I' faith, farmer," lie said, " you gave me a rough- 
 ish reception when I crossed your thi-eshold; you 
 must do things gentlier another time, when you're 
 disposed for a cramp : it's only a fool-hardy sort of a 
 thing to take a bull by the horns : it's ten times wiser, 
 when he makes a butt at you, to scratch him a bit, 
 and coax him, and smooth him down." 
 
 The farmer was a little nettled by Raven Dick's 
 taunting tone and the devilry of his eye ; but he 
 thought one scuffle enough for a day, and so replied 
 with a somewhat forced look of good humour, " I 
 hardly think it's wisest at all times, Dick. I think, 
 for my own part, the only way sometimes is to take 
 a bull by the horns. And besides, Dick, whoever 
 heard o' such a thing as scratching a bull ? You may 
 scratch an angry cur, you know, Dick," he concluded 
 with a laugh, "but a bull! — no, no, Dick, scratching 
 a bull won't do at all ! " 
 
 " I know what I say. Farmer Dobson," cried Dick 
 aloud, thumping one hand upon the table, and pour- 
 ins the ale on the outside of the horn, instead of 
 into it, with the other, " I know what I say, — and I 
 say scratching V 
 
 " Speak in the house, Dick ! " retorted the farmer, 
 colouring, " thou wilt not talk better sense for shout- 
 ing. I tell thee that that bull's only a fool of a bull 
 that will stand scratcliing ! Wilt thou make me believe, 
 think'st thou, that any body Avould be such a goose, 
 for instance, as to try to scratch my old white bull
 
 RAVEN DICK, THE POACHEE. 33 
 
 in the second home close ? Thou won't venture to 
 scratch him, I'm pretty sartain, Dick, with all thy 
 brag and bluster to boot ! " 
 
 " Won't I ? " cried Dick, fiercely ; " why, what do 
 ye fancy is to hinder me, eh ! old clod-pate ? " 
 
 " Dick, Dick ! " said the farmer, cooling himself 
 with the remembrance that the poacher was a much 
 younger and inexperienced man than himself, and 
 tapping the wild youth admonishingly on the shoulder, 
 " it is far wiser for a man to go steadily about getting 
 his bread, than either to scratch bulls, or to snickle 
 hares, depend on't. I don't say but that you have as 
 much right to practise one as t'other, if you feel 
 inclined; only, you are almost sure to repent it in 
 the end, in either case : you understand me, Dick ? " 
 
 " 'Od dang it ! " hiccupped Dick, setting his ragged 
 hat on one side, and looking at the farmer as if he 
 intended him to understand he was no ordinary hero, 
 " do ye think, Kiah Dobson, that I fear aught that 
 may happen ? I say I icill scratch your bull ; ay, 
 and I'll tame him, too, as I've tamed you ? " 
 
 "Better not," replied the farmer drily; "better 
 go quietly home, Dick, and try to earn thy living 
 honestly, like thy father and thy brother Ned." 
 
 " To Jericho with 'em both ! " roared Raven Dick, 
 bouncing up from his seat : " they're fools both of 
 'em ! I don't intend to slave for ever, and never have 
 any fun, like them. No, no ! I'll have a hare Avhen 
 I like ; ay, and I'll scratch a bull when I like, too ! 
 
 c 5
 
 S4 RAVEN DICK, THE POACHER. 
 
 — SO here goes ! " and out sallied the intoxicated 
 poacher, snatching up the dead hares as he went, and 
 placing them under his arm as before. Farmer 
 Dobson and the dame followed, for tlieir curiosity- 
 was, naturally, too highly excited to permit their re- 
 maining behind. 
 
 Just as Dick vaulted over the first hedge, for he 
 was in too heroic a vein to think of taking the stile, 
 though it was close by, Dick met one who was no 
 stranger to him. It was the squire's gamekeeper. 
 The moon shone brightly, and the gamekeeper 
 looked hard at Dick, and still harder at the hares 
 under his arm. But although the gamekeeper had 
 his gun with him as usual, he most likely felt un- 
 willing to encounter one so strong, and withal so 
 reckless as he knew Haven Dick to be, for he did not 
 speak to him. Dick spoke to the gamekeeper, not- 
 withstanding. 
 
 " Heigho ! " said he, " brother poacher ! how are 
 you for fun ? just stop and look at me, wliile I scratch 
 Kiah Dobson's old bull, will ye?" and off he w^ent 
 along the hedge-row in quest of his new game, while 
 the gamekeeper and the farmer and his wife stood 
 crazing; after him in astonishment. 
 
 Scarcely sooner said than done ! Dick came up to 
 the bull as he lay in the pasture, quietly and unsus- 
 pectingly chewing the cud, and Dick began to scratch 
 the bull. It need hardly be said that if Dick thought 
 this very funny, the horned beast's thoughts were of
 
 RAVEN DICK, THE POACHER. 35 
 
 another complexion. The bull rose, blurred, and ran 
 bang upon Dick, goring his ribs, throwing him up, 
 and, bounding to the other side of the field, left the 
 scratcher senseless upon the grass, and all before you 
 could have found breath to say, " Jack Robinson ! " 
 had you been looking on, like the gamekeeper and 
 farmer and dame Dobson. 
 
 Nothing in the wide world could have given the 
 gamekeeper greater pleasure than Dick's overthrow. 
 " Farmer Dobson," said he, " now is the time to nab 
 the rascal : fetch your wheelbarrow, and we'll put 
 him into it, and take him away to the next con- 
 stable's, and he shall put him into the close-hole, till 
 justice can be had upon him : it will do the Squire's 
 heart good, I'm sure, to learn that we have noosed 
 the Raven at last, after he has noosed so many score 
 brace o' game." 
 
 Kiah Dobson's heart felt reluctant to assist in im- 
 prisoning Dick, 'scapegrace, although he knew him to 
 be : but how could he refuse compliance with the re- 
 quest of the squire's gamekeeper, for there lay the hares 
 by the poacher's side ? Besides, as Kiah often used 
 to say, when he related the story in after years, 
 he reflected that although Dick was so good a logician 
 on the evils of the Game Laws, yet he had become 
 so outrageously daring in bidding defiance to danger, 
 that he feared ill would come on it, if a timely check 
 were not given to his course. So Kiah went and 
 
 c 6
 
 36 RAVEN DICK, THE POACnER. 
 
 fetched tlie barrow, and he and the gamekeeper lifted 
 Dick into it, and away they wheeled him to the next 
 constable's house. A surgeon attended to Dick's 
 wounds, when he had brought him to his senses a 
 little ; and, the next Aveek, the squire himself, sit- 
 ting in judicial state at the hall of Manby, committed 
 Dick to the House of Correction for six months. 
 
 Dick found the labour of knocking hemp — the 
 usual employ of prisoners in the gaols of North 
 Lincolnshire at that period — to be but pitiful 
 " fun." And when he reflected that he would be 
 likely to come there again, or to some worse place, 
 if he ever afterwards ventured to renew his prac- 
 tice of " snickling " hares, he steadily resolved to 
 •' work like his father and his brother Ned," as Far- 
 mer Dobson advised. Dick's views on the Game 
 Laws never altered ; but he felt, after this sorrowful 
 experience, it would be worse than folly to dream of 
 violating them with impunity, in a country where 
 " the rich all hung together on their own side of the 
 wheat sack," as Kiah Dobson had observed. Now 
 and then, when he happened to have shaken hands 
 too freely with his old acquaintance Sir John Barley- 
 corn, even years after his impi'isonment. Raven Dick 
 would be liable to relapse into some shade of his old 
 feeling, and putting on a " gallows-look," as the 
 landlord of the Harrows and Plough, in Frodding- 
 ham, used to call it, he would threaten to return
 
 RAVEN DICK, THE rOACIIEE. 37 
 
 to his old trade. But there was one saying which, 
 when " passed about " on the long settle of the 
 public-house, was always sure to raise a hearty cho- 
 rus of laughter at Dick's expense, and to have the 
 effect of dispelling, in a twinkling, all Dick's dreams 
 of having more " fun:" it was — " Who scratched 
 the Bull?"
 
 38 
 
 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR; 
 
 OR, 
 
 "EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY." 
 
 Tim Swallow-whistle, the tailor, lived at Horn- 
 castle, a thriving little agricultural town in the centre 
 of Lincolnshire, and now well-known even to the 
 verge of Europe for its prodigious yearly horse 
 fair, to which Russ and Pruss, Netherlander and 
 Austrian, Frenchman, Swiss, and Italian, with even, 
 at times, the turban'd Turk, may be beheld flocking 
 to purchase from the rare show of steeds : " but 
 let that pass ! " Tim was not one of your fashion- 
 able tailors, it is true, but he was reckoned an " un- 
 common neat hand " at his trade. Indeed, old Cocky 
 Davy, Avho was a very emperor among the Lincoln- 
 shire tailors, always declared Tim to be the cleverest 
 apprentice that ever received his indentures at his 
 hands. Old Cocky — he was so termed on account 
 of the particular loftiness of his carriage — Old 
 Cocky had one especial maxim ; it was, " Strike your 
 needle dead, yoii dog; and make your thread cry
 
 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 39 
 
 * twang ! ' " — and no one apprentice that ever sat 
 upon Davy's shop-board so fully gratified his master 
 by the gallant and complete style in which he ful- 
 filled this maxim, as did Tim Swallow-whistle. Cocky 
 Davy was often heard to say — ay, and to swear it 
 too, when in his cups — that it did his heart good to 
 see the masterly manner in which Tim used to strike 
 the cloth. And then, for finishing a button-hole, 
 " Good heavens ! " — Cocky Davy would declare in 
 the White Swan parlour, when the clock was on the 
 stroke of twelve — " why, Tim could turn the thing 
 oiFhis fingers with every cast of the thread as regular 
 and exact as if he had worked it by geometry ; " and 
 then Cocky would thump his pewter tankard with 
 vehement force upon mine host's white wooden table, 
 and call to have it re -filled for the last time that 
 night. 
 
 It may easily be guessed that Tim Swallow-whistle 
 was not only a clever hand, but a hard-working lad, 
 while an apprentice, or otherwise he would not have 
 worn such excelling commendations from a master 
 who was quite as frequently found in the parlour of 
 the White Swan as in his own shop, and therefore 
 found it of incalculable value to himself to possess an 
 apprentice who would work hard while his master 
 played. Now, as a loitering apprentice usually makes 
 a worthless, idle man, so a diligent lad is almost in- 
 variably found to carry his early habits of industry 
 into mature life, and to make a stirring and prosper-
 
 40 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOE. 
 
 ous citizen, unless some untoward circumstances arise 
 to bereave liim of the power for exertion, or to de- 
 prive him of its legitimate and well-deserved fruits. 
 
 Tim Swallow-whistle did not belie the promise of 
 his youth. He was full forty years old when the in- 
 cidents occurred we are about to relate ; and up to 
 that time, as he used himself to say, " Nobody could 
 ever say he had an idle bone in his skin." But, let a 
 man be as industrious and well-disposed as he may, 
 ten to one but somebody or other in this crooked 
 world will be found determined to find fault with 
 him. So it was with Tim : he " minded his own 
 business " most emphatically ; for he was regularly 
 found on his shop-board every morning, winter or 
 summer, as the clock struck five ; and he seldom 
 quitted it before seven at night, unless on some 
 special holiday occasion : he " paid every one their 
 own " — that is to say, he kept no scores, either at 
 the baker's, the butcher's, the grocer's, or at the ale- 
 house : he had a whole coat on his back — though 
 there was, here and there, a patch in it of his own 
 neatest style of repair : and, to conclude the catalogue 
 of his competency in his own language, " he had 
 always something to eat when other folk went to 
 dinner." 
 
 Tim contrived to keep up to this standard of com- 
 parative comfort, too, in spite of a breeding wife, who 
 had stocked his cottage with nine " small children," 
 though he was not married till he was tliirty. With
 
 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOK. 41 
 
 SO many excellences, who could have thought that 
 any one would be bad enough to attempt to mar 
 Tun's well-earned happmess ? But the world is, what 
 we have just termed it, a crooked world ; and so 
 poor Tim was doomed to meet with undeserved 
 annoyance. 
 
 Just opposite Tim's little shop lived a great pro- 
 fessor of sour-godliness. Unluckily, he was not only 
 of the same homely trade with Tim, but was enabled 
 to hold up his head more loftily among his fellow- 
 tradesmen, by reason that a maiden aunt happened 
 to die and leave him a neat little freehold that 
 brousfht him in 50/. a-vear, in addition to his earn- 
 ings by the shears, needle, and thimble. Jedediah 
 Prim — for so was this fortunate tailor called — 
 was adjudged by his neighbours to be ill-disposed 
 towards his poorer brother snip, solely because Tim 
 had always sufficient employ for himself and an ap- 
 prentice, whereas Prim's manners were so unin- 
 viting, and his character so mean, that he barely 
 ensured occupation for his own sohtary needle. 
 
 Since Prim, at heart, was a worshipper of Mam- 
 mon above all other gods, it was not at all wonderful 
 that he felt envious at his neighbour's trade. Never- 
 theless, Prim ever affected the greatest scorn of these 
 neighbourly charges of avarice and envy, and most 
 piously averred that he had no other distaste to " the 
 man over the way," as he called Tim, than that wdiich 
 was created in his soul by " the ungodly man's pro-
 
 42 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 
 
 faneness ! " " He is every day selling his soul to 
 Satan by the whistling of the Evil One's own tunes ! " 
 was Prim's godly lamentation over the evil ways of 
 his neighbour. This was a severe hit at the only 
 kind of recreation in which poor Tim indulged. He 
 had been a hard whistler, as well as a hard worker, 
 from a lad ; and from the peculiarity of his way of 
 whistling, which very much resembled an endless 
 twitter, Tim caught the curious soubriquet of " Swal- 
 low-whistle " among his fellow-apprentices at Cocky 
 Davy's, and kept it to liis dying day. 
 
 Now, whistling or twittering are but very humble 
 kinds of melody, but I care not however lowly or 
 merely imitative may be the degree of the divine 
 faculty of music that a human creature may be en- 
 dowed wdth, I'll warrant him, there will be something 
 like real nobility of heart or mind about him, let his 
 vocation and whereabouts in this ill-arranged world 
 be what it may. And truly, so much might, without 
 hesitancy, be affirmed of twitterino* Tim the tailor of 
 Horncastle. With all his knowledge of the ill-will 
 borne towards him by Prim the puritan, Tim Swal- 
 low-whistle would have sprung off his shop-board like 
 a bounding fawn, and with a bounding heart of joy, 
 to have done the envious Jedediah a good turn. Yet, 
 with all his bountiful good-nature, Tim possessed a 
 fair share of shrewdness. He had lived long enough 
 to learn that over-weening envy usually overshoots 
 its mark, and most severely punishes its own volun-
 
 TIM SAVxiivLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 43 
 
 tary slaves. Thus, of all men In the little town of 
 Horncastle, Tim SAvallow-whistle was least disturbed 
 at what every one talked of as a scandalous matter, 
 namely, the envy and malevolence of Jedediah Prim, 
 the religious tailor. " Never mind ; ' every dog has 
 his day ! ' " Tim would reply, and twitter away again, 
 to every successive tale his neighbours brought him, 
 about what Prim said, and what Prim did : for you 
 never knew of two neighbours being "at outs" in 
 your life, but a host of voluntary messengers, on 
 either side, could be found to fetch and carry fuel to 
 maintain the heat between them. 
 
 What moved Tim Swallow-whistle more than any 
 other event in his life was the fact of Prim the puri- 
 tan being made overseer of the poor, and throwing 
 Tim's poor old grandmother entirely upon his main- 
 tenance. The aged woman had nearly reached a 
 century of years ; and, at the mere cost of half-a- 
 crown per week to the parish, was nursed in her 
 second childhood by Tim's Avidowed mother, who 
 lived in a little cottage, hard by her son. Tim had 
 willingly, nay eagerly, contributed to supply the 
 wants of the two aged women through all the diffi- 
 culties felt by a man situated as he was, with an in- 
 creasing family, for there Avas not a grain of sordid- 
 ness in his noble nature ; but it was no joke for poor 
 Tim to have the entire weight of the burthen cast 
 upon him. For several days after the announcement 
 was formally made him — and pious Prim took care
 
 44 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOE. 
 
 to have the devilish satisfaction of performing the 
 annoying business himself — poor Tim suspended his 
 twittering, and " struck his needle dead" in a savage 
 mood of reflection. Tim's reflection ended, however, 
 in the way that, with such a heart, it was natural 
 for it to end, — in the manly resolve that he Avould 
 work the very skin off his fingers, and go without a 
 meal every day in the week, rather than permit his 
 old grandmother to want. " Every dog has his 
 day ! " echoed Tim, recovering his wonted elasticity of 
 spirits ; " Jedediah Prim Avill not be overseer of the 
 poor for the parish of Horncastle to all eternity;" 
 and away he burst into a mellifluous twitter that 
 floated, in the form of " Merrily danced the Quakers," 
 gaily across the street, and entered into the very 
 "porches of the ears" of Prim the puritan, much 
 to the deadly annoyance of that heart of envy. Dur- 
 ing the continuance of Tim's overture for the day, 
 there entered into his cottage a travelling tinker, who 
 besought leave of the tailor to light his pipe. 
 
 " Ay, lad, and welcome," blithely answered Tim ; 
 and away he went twittering his old burthen of 
 " Merrily danced the Quakers." 
 
 " Marry, good faith, maister ! " said the tinker, 
 foldino; his arms and looking; as if he felt inclined for 
 ' a bit of chat,' as they say in Lincolnshire ; " why, 
 that was the very tune my poor old mother was so 
 fond of! I can't help feeling fond on't, d'ye know, 
 maister ; for my mother was a good mother to me —
 
 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 45 
 
 the Lord rest her soul ! " and the hardy tinker's voice 
 faltered in a way that showed his heart had its tender 
 place, notwithstanding his rough exterior. Tim's 
 twittering was arrested ; the tinker had touched hira 
 on a tender chord, and his whole heart vibrated, sym- 
 pathetically. 
 
 " Sit you down a while, friend, and smoke your 
 pipe quietly," said Tim, jiointing to a seat near his 
 shop-board ; " I'll tell our Becky to get out the 
 copper kettle for you to mend as soon as she comes 
 down stairs ; we haven't used it these three years for 
 want o'mending." 
 
 '"' And times have been too hard for you to have it 
 mended before, I reckon, maister," said the tinker. 
 
 " Nay, as for that," replied Tim Avith a smile and 
 a shake of the head, " they're not much mended now ; 
 I find it to be only a cross-grained world, I'll assure 
 you, friend ; but I always make it a maxim to take 
 things as easy as I can ; for, as I always say, ' Every 
 dog has his day,' and among the rest of the poor 
 dogs one doesn't know but one's own turn to have 
 a day may come yet." 
 
 " Right, maister, right ! ejaculated the tinker, 
 drawing a full breath at his pipe, and puffing out a 
 full cloud of satisfaction ; " there's sartainly a com- 
 fort in thinking so : yet it isn't a pleasing thing to 
 be striving to do one's best, and to pay every one 
 their own, and yet to be trampled upon, as poor folks 
 too commonly are in this world."
 
 46 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 
 
 " Very true, friend," cliimed in Tim Swallow- 
 whistle, assenting readily to a remark that reminded 
 him so strikingly of his own experience ; " very true : 
 there's nothing that gives an honest man any uneasi- 
 ness equal to that : for my part, I've no wish to be 
 richer or loftier than my neighbours ; but I must say 
 the man must feel it hard who's ill-used, after striv- 
 ing to do the best he can for everybody as well as 
 himself." 
 
 " Well, you see, maister, it shows that what the 
 Scripter says is true, ' that money is the root of all 
 evil,' " rejoined the tinker ; " for you'll always ob- 
 serve that a man begins to trample upon you as soon 
 as he happens to begin to get on in the world a little 
 better than yourself." 
 
 " 'Tis too often the case, friend," said Tim, not 
 fully approving of the tinker's sweeping remark, but 
 still feeling the forceful truth of it in his own case ; 
 " and yet I can't understand how it should be so." 
 
 " At any rate, maister," said the tinker, interrupt- 
 ing the other, " one can understand one thing : 
 that if things could be put more on a level in this 
 world, there wouldn't be such foul dealings as we see 
 now ; for if one man wasn't allowed to be so much 
 stronger in the pocket than another, all men would 
 be more likely to gain respect ; all this bowing and 
 scraping of poor to rich would be at an end, I mean." 
 
 " Why, yes," interjected the tailor, stopping his 
 needle when it was but half way through the cloth
 
 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOE. 47 
 
 and feeling a disposition to be abstracted ; " that's 
 true enough — true enough, friend : but for my part 
 I don't see how the vast difference between the rich 
 and the poor is to be remedied. You see it's the 
 nat'ral course of things : some folk are idle, and 
 others unlucky ; while money makes money, when a 
 man once gets hold on't — that is, if he tries to turn 
 it over, and takes care of it as it gathers." 
 
 " Just so, maister ; that's all very true as far as it 
 goes," rejoined the tinker ; " but I think that's not 
 exactly what the parson calls the end o' the chapter. 
 I'm but a plain man, and no great scholar ; but I 
 always take Brimmijem and Sheffield in my yearly 
 round, and one hears a bit o' long headed-talk, mais- 
 ter, now and then in such places : you'll excuse me 
 if I tell you a little of what 1 think about these 
 things." 
 
 " Prythee, don't mention that, in that sort of a 
 way," said Tim, hastily ; " I'll assure thee that 
 there's nobody likes a man that speaks his mind 
 better than I do." 
 
 "' Thank ye, maister," continued the tinker ; " then 
 I'll tell you what I think : I think there ought to be a 
 law to compel folk that make money so fast to use it 
 in making their fellow-creatures happy, instead of 
 spending it on finery and foolishness." 
 
 " Why, you would make folks kind and good by 
 law then, friend ! Hum ! I can't see," disputed 
 Tim, again suspending his needle, and looking very
 
 48 TIM SWALLOAV-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 
 
 metaphysically upon the corner pane of his shop 
 window, " I can't see how that scheme would be 
 likely to succeed. Excuse me, friend, but I think 
 you are talking about may-be's that'll never fly." 
 
 *' Look ye, now, maister," resumed the tinker, 
 laying down his pipe, raising his hand with the fore- 
 finger pointed, and looking greatly in earnest to 
 substantiate his theory ; " this is my point : God 
 Almighty made us all of the same flesh and blood, 
 not some of china and the rest of brown marl: he 
 made us to live like brothers ; and if one had better 
 wit than the rest, it was his duty to use it for the 
 benefit of all his brothers and sisters, as well as for 
 his own benefit. So, if a man by money makes 
 money, since he can't do that without the help of 
 other folk, I maintain that that money ought to be 
 distributed, and all that it will buy, for the benefit 
 of all, but more especially for the comfort of those 
 whom the money-maker made use of in making his 
 money." 
 
 " You mean, if I understand you," said Tim 
 Swallow-whistle, looking as much like a logician as 
 he knew how, in order to keep the tinker in coun- 
 tenance — " you mean, my friend, that when men 
 with full pockets employ men with empty ones, and 
 by the labour of the poor make their full pockets 
 flow over, there ought to be a fairer division of the 
 profit." 
 
 " That's exactly what I mean, maister," answered
 
 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 49 
 
 the tinker, smiling with enthusiasm, " you have 
 hit the nail on the head, completely : I think there 
 ought to be a law, ay, and I think it's moi'e needed 
 than any other law, to prevent the rich from em- 
 ploying the poor just for wliat wages they please, 
 and to so order things that every man who makes 
 money by other men's labour shall be compelled to 
 give his workmen such a share of his profits as will 
 enable them and their wives and children to live in 
 decency and comfort, instead of rich men being al- 
 lowed to grow richer and wantoner every day, while 
 their poor slaves go, often, with naked backs and 
 hungry bellies. Ah, maister," concluded the tinker 
 iu a tone where the heart was heard, " you know 
 little about the real suffering there is in England ; 
 but I can tell you one thing, — and that is, that in 
 the manufacturing places, where this pinch-gut 
 system is most felt, thousands say they won't stand 
 it much longer ! " 
 
 The tinker ended this speech in a tone of voice so 
 loud that Tim Swallow-whistle felt prompted to look 
 round him for listeners. To his great chagrin. Prim 
 the Puritan stood pricking his ears, but a few yards 
 from Tim's door, with his back turned towards it, 
 but evidently collecting every seditious syllable 
 uttered by the travelling tinker. Tim placed his 
 fore-finger significantly to his lips ; and the tinker, 
 marking the direction of Tim's eyes, took the hint, 
 and immediately turned the conversation to the sub- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 
 
 ject of the copper tea-kettle. The tailor's wife was 
 called clown-stairs ; the kettle was produced ; the bar- 
 gain was readily struck ; and the tinker proceeded, 
 out of doors, with his vocation. Tim Swallow- 
 whistle, mcan^Yhile, being left to uninterrupted re- 
 flection, turned over and over again, in his mind, the 
 weighty thoughts which had been started by the tra- 
 veller. Tim could not easily quell the indignation 
 against money-making oppression which the tinker's 
 tale had raised within him ; and the plain man's plain 
 reasoning, respecting the rights of the labouring poor, 
 appeared to him uncontradictable ; yet all his sym- 
 pathies for the distressed yielded, at length, to the 
 strength of his common sense, and the consciousness 
 that, care as much as he might, he could not alter the 
 state of the oppressed : — 
 
 " The world is as it is" said Tim to himself, mus- 
 tering up as much wisdom as he was master of; " it 
 has not been right this many a long year, if all that 
 our forefathers said can be true : and, what's worse, 
 one doesn't see much chance of its being speedily set 
 to rights. But what's the use of grumbling at it, 
 day after day ? that would only whitter the flesh oif 
 one's poor bones. No, no ; what the man says is 
 true enough, no doubt," concluded the soliloquising 
 Swallow-whistle ; " but I will not make myself un- 
 easy about what I can't mend : at least I won't any 
 further than I can help. Let the world wag ! I'll try 
 to make myself as easy as I can in it, with all its
 
 TIM SWALLOW- WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 51 
 
 awkwardness. Every dog has liis day, — and per- 
 haps mine will come yet." 
 
 This was no elevated moral channel in which Tim's 
 thoughts were running when the tinker re-entered ; 
 but it was one which had served to drain Tim's 
 heart from the troublous inundation of discontent, 
 amid the toils and difficulties of his whole mature 
 life. Tim invited the tinker to take another pipe, 
 and entered on the old subject in a way that showed 
 his mind was made up. 
 
 " Well, my good friend," he began, " I have been 
 thinking about what has fallen to your lot to see ; 
 and I must take the liberty to tell you, that although 
 I cannot help feeling grieved for the distress of others, 
 yet I very much doubt the wisdom of a man dwell- 
 ing on these thoughts of sorrow till he feels a dis- 
 position to be discontented with every thing around 
 him." 
 
 " So do I, maister," chimed in the tinker, interrupt- 
 ing Tim, — " so do I : but when one sees and hears of 
 things that one knows to be wrong, one can hardly 
 prevent one's sen, you know, from turning 'em over 
 in one's mind, and trying to think how they could be 
 righted. I'm not a man given to low spirits, mysen, 
 maister ; I contrive to keep my heart up, and go on ; 
 though I don't think the world's quite right, for all 
 that." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear what you said just now," con- 
 tinued Tim : " I assure you I've some little rough 
 
 D 2
 
 52 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 
 
 usage to bear ; but I always find cheei'fulness, and a 
 disposition to make the best o'tliings, by far the wisest 
 way of living." 
 
 *' So do I, maister," again burst in the tinker, very 
 much to the annoyance of the tailor, who wanted to 
 come to the end of his " say," without interruption — 
 " so do I ; only, you know there's no harm in talk- 
 ing about these things, now and then. And, besides, 
 maister, you know, the world never will be any bet- 
 ter, if we all shut our eyes, and say we see no wrong 
 in it." 
 
 " Right, very right," replied Tim, a little bit put 
 out of the path he had intended to take, but still 
 resolved to make direct for his point, if he could ; " I 
 don't deny that : but how long will it be before the 
 world is bettered, even if we keep our eyes open, and 
 tell aloud of all the wrong we know in it ? You and 
 I are not the fix'st who have discovered the world to 
 be wrong, depend on't. Tinkers and tailors," con- 
 tinued Tim, smihng as he proceeded, " have been 
 found in many countries, as far as my little book- 
 larning informs me, who have imagined they could 
 repair the rents in the world ; but, in too many 
 cases, these fellows were the very greatest practisers 
 upon the helplessness of their weaker brethren. As 
 for the few who have been in earnest, they have 
 usually been silenced, in one way or other, by those 
 whose interest it was to keep up the wrong in the 
 world. That the world never Avill be better," con-
 
 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 53 
 
 eluded Tim, " I will not undertake to say ; but the 
 day, I fear, is so far distant, my good friend, that you 
 and I will neither of us be likely to live to see it. 
 Don't take it amiss ; but I can't help thinking so." 
 
 The tinker was ready with an answer ; but two 
 custoiners of Tim's here came in, and the travelling 
 tinker, thinking that it would be both ill-mannered 
 and wearisome to the tailor for him to stay, and 
 attempt to renew the conversation, wished Tim 
 " Good day," and prepared to set out again on his 
 journey. Tim extended his hand, and returned the 
 tinker's friendly gripe in a way that told the traveller 
 his few strong hints would be thought of on another 
 day. 
 
 With all Tim Swallow-whistle's shrewdness, he 
 was perfectly free from craft. The thoughts created 
 in his mind by this conversation with the travelling 
 tinker naturally found their way, now and then, into 
 his exchanges of opinion with his customers. Prim 
 the Puritan was not slow in learning this: in fact, 
 his evil nature had plotted Tim's destruction from 
 the moment that he overheard the conversation be- 
 tween Tim and the tinker. Spies w^ere sent to draw 
 the tailor out ; and, eventually, poor Tim was set 
 down in the day-book of every influential man in 
 Horncastle as a " dangerous and seditious fellow." 
 From that day, poor Tim Swallow-whistle's business 
 began to decline. The trial was a bitter one to Tim ; 
 f'>\' his a2;ed o-randmother sank to the ^I'ave, behold- 
 
 D 3
 
 54 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 
 
 ing the clouds of adversity gather around her grand- 
 child's dwelling ; but, in the serenity of death, 
 steadfastly directed her weeping descendant to trust 
 in uprightness, and it would be his comfort. Then 
 his mother sickened and died, — yielding, after a hard 
 struggle, to the Last Enemy, but expiring with an 
 exultant smile, after assuring her child that her own 
 greatest consolation was that she had been dutiful to 
 her mother, and she was confident he would yet see 
 bi'ight days as the reward of his spotless filial piety. 
 
 In vain Tim asked for parochial relief in the hour 
 of his sore straitness, when his wife's health failed 
 with the labour of waiting upon her sick relatives, 
 and when Tim's earnings dwindled to a starving pit- 
 tance by reason of his being compelled to wait upon 
 .those around him that could not helj) themselves. 
 Prim held the purse-strings of the parish tight. Tim 
 fasted often when his neighbours fed, and fed well : 
 but he never despaired. " Every dog has his day," 
 he still thought, but refrained from saying much, and 
 still battled with thoughts that would have unman- 
 ned him. 
 
 Tim was repeating to himself his old adage one 
 afternoon, about six months after his mother s death, 
 when the clergyman of the parish entered his cottage, 
 and, to Tim's indescribable surprise, desired Tim to 
 take the measure of him for a new suit ! Now the 
 fact was, that the clergyman was, necessarily, more 
 than once in Tim's dwelling during the successive
 
 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOR. 55 
 
 illnesses of his grandmother and mother ; and, al- 
 though prejudiced against the tailor, from the reports 
 circulated to his detriment, yet he was too sensible a 
 man not to use his opportunities of scrutinising Tim's 
 real character, and too much a gentleman, in the best 
 sense of the word, to permit a poor but worthy man 
 to suffer if his own help could avail to relieve him. 
 The clergyman saw that Tim wore his heart too 
 much on the outside of his waistcoat to be a rogue ; 
 and the clergyman determined to help Tim by his 
 patronage and his " good Avord." 
 
 The prejudices against Tim, however, were not 
 dispelled all at once, though many began to look 
 upon him with new eyes when they heard that the 
 town-parson had actually given him orders for a 
 new suit. The climax of the poor tailor's sorrows 
 was now, however, gone by ; and the future was 
 preparing for him its triumphs and joys. One 
 event gave him some trouble ; but what kind of 
 trouble ? Ah ! it Avas of that kind which is most 
 truly troublous to a heart which has struggled to 
 train itself into correctness. The termination of 
 Prim's two years of overseership arrived, and the 
 parish vestry would not pass his accounts, having 
 discovered him to be guilty of an immense embez- 
 zlement ! Tim had real trouble with his own heart 
 throughout the whole of the day on which he first 
 learnt this fact. Exultation over his old enemy was 
 
 D 4
 
 56 TIM SWALLOW-WHISTLE, THE TAILOIt 
 
 the feeling that strove to be uppermost; but TInl 
 virtuously kept it down. 
 
 Succeeding years displayed a striking contrast in 
 the lives of Tim Swallow-whistle and Prim the 
 Puritan. The houses which the cheatlno- overseer 
 had recently bought with the finilts of his fraud were 
 sold to raise law-expenses ; even his aunt's freehold 
 went to the hammer for the same purpose : and Pi-im 
 only escaped a prison by some technical flaw in the 
 wording of the proceedings taken out against him. 
 He was ruined, however, and became comparatively 
 a beggar, while his character sank for life. Tim's 
 honesty and industry, on the other hand, raised him 
 daily in the estimation of his neighbours. Compe- 
 tence, amounting, at length, well-nigh to wealth, 
 beamed upon him, and, ere his grey hairs went down 
 to the grave, he lived to leave a crown-piece, often, 
 at the door of the ragged and wretched man who 
 was once his envious persecutor and the oppressive 
 overseer. — Tim Swallow-whistle preserved, even to 
 his dying day, that nobility of hcarj; which forbade 
 him to triumph over a fallen enemy ; but he would 
 often repeat, half mechanically, to himself, when 
 passing from the poverty-stricken door of Prim the 
 Puritan, " Every dog has his day.''^
 
 57 
 
 DAVY LIDGITT, THE GAMIER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MAN WHO BROUGHT HIS NINEPENCE TO NOUGHT. 
 
 Louth, sixty years ago, as now, was the handsomest 
 as weH as the larsfest town in the north of Lincoln- 
 sliire, though you would not then have seen in it, as 
 you may now, if you go that way, a dashing mail- 
 coach, with a dashing red-coated and gold-laced 
 guard, dash off and dash in daily to and from Rasen, 
 and Gainsborough, and Sheffield. "Long" Lud- 
 forth, too — (they spell it " Ludford " on the maps ; 
 but, doubtless, they who live there know better the 
 name of the place than your mere map-makers !) — 
 Long Ludforth, too, was nearly as deserving of its 
 name, then, as now. And, in default of all other 
 means of conveyance for goods and passengers, Davy 
 Lidgitt, the carrier, traversed the ten miles of dis- 
 tance between the village and market-town " every 
 Wednesday and Saturday — twice a week, regular," 
 as the inscription read on the front of his neat tilted 
 cart ; for your new-fangled way of sticking the car- 
 
 D 5
 
 58 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 
 
 rler's name on one side of his vehicle had not then 
 been invented by the tax-making gentry at head- 
 quarters. 
 
 Davy Lidgitt was excelled in diligence and punc- 
 tuality by never a carrier, even in those diligent and 
 punctual times, and gained the universal respect of 
 his employers, and, what was of more solid value, a 
 neat little independence, to boot, as the reward of 
 his life of industry and uprightness. Davy, — it 
 should be " Old Davy ;" for that was the name by 
 which he was known for the greater part of his 
 public life, — Old Davy would have felt himself to 
 be a happy man could he have regarded young Davy, 
 his son, as one who was likely to tread, morally as 
 well as physically, in his steps. But Old Davy Lid- 
 gitt, like all other mortals, lacked the single ingre- 
 dient in his cup which could give it the power of 
 making his bliss complete on this side the grave. 
 
 Not that young Davy was idle, or profligate, or 
 devoid of wit, according to some people's acceptation 
 of the term. In fact, the majority of the plain vil- 
 lagers of Long Ludforth agreed that, "if aught, young 
 Davy Lidgitt had ower much wit for one of his 
 calling." And, for activity, few could match young 
 Davy. From a mere child he aspired to wield his 
 father's long whip, and at ten years old could man- 
 ao-e the brown mare and the black horse that com- 
 posed the carrier's team as well as Old Davy himself 
 could manage them. Moreover, he was always to be
 
 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIEE. 59 
 
 found about the cart or the stable, at the market- 
 town, when the goods were delivered, and could 
 never be tempted to spend either his time, health, or 
 money at the ale-tap. Up to the age of five-and- 
 twenty, — when Old Davy, at sixty, fully retired to 
 enjoy the brief remnant of life in the snug but small 
 cottage he had purchased, — young Davy had not 
 failed to accompany his father as regularly as Wed- 
 nesday and Saturday returned in each Aveek to Louth 
 and back, attending so rigidly and cleverly to every 
 item of parcel and package, letter and message, that 
 the villagers would one and all declare " young Davy 
 Lidgitt had a head like an almanack ! " 
 
 "Why, what in the world, then, could it be," you 
 will ask, "that caused old Davy to look upon a lad, 
 with his son's commendations, in the light of dis- 
 paragement ? " If the truth must be told, we must 
 begin at the beginning. Young Davy showed sundry 
 symptoms of a disposition that his father did not like, 
 even when a child : he would hook the gears one day 
 in one mode and another day in another, often to the 
 provocation of some such harsh exclamation on the 
 part of the senior Lidgitt, as — " 'Od rabbet thee ! 
 thou'st been at thy kickshaw tricks again, with the 
 old mare's belly-band : she'll be kicking thy busy 
 brains out some of these days !" And many a kick, 
 to say troth, young Davy received for these " kick- 
 shaw " tricks : but he persevered, with the belief that 
 the way of harnessing a cart-horse might be improved. 
 
 D 6
 
 60 DAYY LIDGITT, THE CAEEIEE. 
 
 Yet his father could never discern that either in this 
 or any other of his displays of genius, such as 
 clipping or tying the manes of the horses in whim- 
 sical forms, or hanging their collars, and halters, and 
 so forth, in " apple-pie order," as the old man called it, 
 in the home stable — I say, old Davy could never 
 arrive at the conclusion that young Davy, in any of 
 these intended " improvements " ever effected a real 
 one. 
 
 " But, Lord love thee, Davy ! " Betty Lidgitt 
 would usually say, when her spouse had been relating 
 his boy's latest whim, in her ears, at supper-time, — 
 " Lord love thee, Davy, he's only a cliild ; and thou 
 knaws childer will be childer : one can't set old heads 
 upo' young shouthers : he'll give over with his 
 meagrims w^hen he grows older : thou wants patient- 
 ness, Davy, — patientness ! Thou knaws I tell'd thee 
 so, before we were married ! " 
 
 These pleasant motherly excuses for the lad quieted 
 the father for some years ; but, one day, when tlie 
 young " Reformer " had proceeded so far as to take 
 away the horse-shoe from the door-jamb, — that mys- 
 tic surety of good kick to the cottage by the opinions 
 of every inhabitant of Long Ludforth, and w^hich the 
 parson had never said was wrong, — old Davy could 
 forbear no longer to put into execution a resolve that 
 had been for some months forming in his mind. 
 
 " Betty ! I'll take him to Wise Tom, and have his 
 planet ruled ! " said he, " for I feel sartain and sewer
 
 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 61 
 
 some'at isn't right about the lad : he's the very devil 
 for mischief! Lord ha' marcy on us, if the young 
 varment hasn't tucken the horse-shoe away now ! 
 some'at will be happening us I'm sewer ! " 
 
 And, on the following Monday morning, when his 
 team had rested a day after their usual Saturday's 
 travel, old Davy Lidgitt arose betimes, and, calling 
 up his son, set forth with him on the way to Welton, 
 to visit the astrologer. 
 
 It will be long before the memory of old Tom Cussitt, 
 " the wise man of Welton," will be forgot in Lindsey. 
 " Cusworth " was his proper name, but old Lindsey 
 folk made it a rule to shorten folks' names when they 
 had to use them often, and there were few names 
 more frequently in a peasant's mouth, at that time of 
 the day, for twenty miles round Louth, than that of 
 " Tom Cussitt." Good Lord ! if one were to tell all 
 the stories one has heard of his discoveries of stolen 
 goods by the stars ; of the marks he was wont to put 
 on the thieves, that the owners of the sroods mifjht 
 know the rogues when they saw 'em ; of the wondrous 
 way in which he could show a love-sick maiden her 
 future husband in the old-fashioned witch-lookino- 
 mirror that hung in his darkened room ; and of the 
 strange focts he foretold to some people, when he 
 " cast their nativities," — that mystic process in 
 which he never erred a hair's breadth, — why, it 
 would take a twelvemonth to go through the labour ! 
 But, to attend to old and young Davy. It was but
 
 62 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CAREIER. 
 
 half-a-dozen miles from Long Ludforth to Welton, 
 and so they and their little team were soon there. 
 
 Young Davy, it may be guessed, gazed hard at the 
 " Wise Man," and thought him an awful-looking 
 personage, though Tom Cussitt was, at that time of 
 day, a somewhat handsome-looking man. His fine 
 clear blue eye was not, as yet, overhung with those 
 bushy, unsightly brows that marked him in old age ; 
 his fair, ruddy skin was not, as yet, disfigured and 
 concealed by the filthy long gray beard he afterwards 
 wore ; nor had his fine manly height yet contracted 
 a stoop. Old Davy had often seen Wise Tom before, 
 having frequently conveyed customers to his cottage, 
 and therefore he did not stare at him with wonder or 
 surprise, like the lad. As for Tom, he, of course, 
 stared at neither father nor son, being quite prepared, 
 like Sidrophel, to say to every comer — 
 
 " I (lid expect you here, and knew, 
 Before you spake, your business, too." 
 
 Not that Tom Cussitt was one of your ordinary 
 conjurers, — your mere schemers who take up the 
 trade to scrape a shillino; from the gulls amono; man- 
 kind. Many a rich man has gone from Tom's door 
 without being able, although he proffered pounds to 
 the star-gazer, to obtain one syllable from him in 
 solution of the great problem of futurity which the 
 rich man desired so much to know. Nor did Tom 
 usually set about the process of solving a " horary
 
 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CAllKIER. 63 
 
 question," or " telling a fortune," with the imposing 
 forms of books and almanacks. On some special 
 occasions he would resort, like other clerks of the 
 Btariy craft, to these learned appearances ; but, more 
 customarily, a single strong pithy remark, or two, 
 delivered over his pipe, and in the course of a general 
 conversation in which he engaged his visitors, com- 
 prised the gist of his prophecy respecting the future 
 life of an inquirer, or of his direction for the re- 
 covery of stolen goods or chattels. Whatever might 
 be the wise man's own confidence in the rules of 
 prognostication by the stars, every shrewd observer 
 noted that the prophet delivered his oracles rather by 
 the gauge and admeasurement which his strong com- 
 mon sense enabled him to form of human character, 
 and the accuracy by which it enabled him to judge 
 of circumstances, than by any exercise of mathema- 
 tical or other description of learned skill. 
 
 Old Davy was too full with the budget of young 
 Davy's vagaries to need much craft on the part of one 
 who wished to draw him out. The "Wise Man quickly 
 kenned what kind of stuff the young chap was made 
 of, and did not feel that it required any great exercise 
 of his wisdom to ken it, either. Old Davy, however, 
 with all his fears for the lad's capricious inclinations, 
 and their probable consequences when he liimself 
 might be lain in the grave, was scarcely prepared for 
 the stunning severity of the single definitive sentence
 
 64 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 
 
 wlierewltli Wise Tom summed up his propliecy of 
 young Davy's " fortune." 
 
 " Well, then, Maister Cussitt," said Davy the elder, 
 taking his pipe from his mouth, after the lapse of an 
 hour's chat, "and so what do you think of him? 
 I've tell'd you the day, I'm sewer, quite exact ; and 
 I've told you the hour at which Betty brought him 
 into the world, as near as I can remember." 
 
 " Reach us a spell, my lad ! " said Cussitt to the 
 younger Davy, and pointed to a neat wire case that 
 hung against the wall, and contained long strips of 
 paper wrapped up for pipe-lighters. 
 
 " You'll want two," said the very sharp lad, " for 
 my fayther's pipe's out, an' all ! " 
 
 " Is it, lad ? " said old Davy, looking eagerly into 
 the head of his pipe. " Lord ! what eyes thou hast ! 
 there's nothing can 'scape thee, I declare ! " And he 
 chuckled with pleasure at his boy's acuteness. 
 
 " And so what think you, then," he asked again — 
 " what think you, Maister Cussitt, will be our Davy's 
 luck ? " 
 
 Young Davy had just lighted the two spells, had 
 held them to the pipes, severally, and had thrown 
 the papers, neither of them half consumed, upon 
 the fire. 
 
 " Think ! " exclaimed the wise man, eyeing the 
 youngster fiercely, and glancing at the father with 
 a look that seemed to ask if there M'as now any need 
 to tell what he thought — " think ! " said he; " why.
 
 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 65 
 
 that he'll bring his nlnepcncc to nought ! " And he 
 thrust his middle finger into the pipe-head to put 
 out the fire in the tobacco, and placed the pipe, 
 sternly, on the mantle-piece. 
 
 Old Davy's face fell ; and he also laid down his 
 pipe. Tom Cussitt took his large-skirted hat from 
 the peg, called to his maid for the milking-kit, and 
 prepared, according to his wont, to go forth and milk 
 his cows ; for he followed husbandry in humble and 
 industrious style during the greater part of his life, 
 notwithstanding his astrological profession. " Good 
 morning, Davy Lidgitt ! " he said ; and left father 
 and son, alike wonder-stricken, by the fire-side. 
 
 There, however, they did not remain many mi- 
 nutes, but were on their way to Ludforth; and a 
 melancholy way it seemed to old Davy. Betty Lid- 
 gitt felt as melancholy as her husband when he had 
 related Tom Cussitt's laconic prophecy. Yet she 
 strove to comfort her spouse with the encouraging 
 remembrance, that " the Wise Man had not said 
 much; and, for the little that he did say, why, 
 belike, it "svas meant more for caution than aught 
 worse." Old Davy was willing to think so, but 
 could not succeed in persuading himself of it ; and, 
 indeed, young Davy showed " too much of the cloven 
 foot," as his father somewhat sourly said, at times, 
 " to lead a body to think that the imp of mischief 
 would ever leave him ; " so that, to his dying day, 
 poor old Davy would, ever and anon, sigh over his
 
 6j6 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 
 
 remembrance of Tom Cussltt's short but sorrowfully 
 significant saying. 
 
 The story would become tiresome by going over 
 the catalogue of a thousandth part of young Davy 
 Lidgilt's doings in the " improving w^ay," during the 
 dozen years that intervened between the visit to the 
 Wise man of Welton and old Davy's retirement from 
 business as a carrier. Nor is it needful to chronicle 
 similar deeds of the son that occurred from that 
 period to the day of the father's death, — though 
 some of these latter sorely harassed the old man's 
 temper, — especially young Davy's purchase of 
 coloured collars for the horses, and a fancy tilt, that 
 cost thrice the price of the old one, and let in the 
 rain ! It was when old Davy was " safe under the 
 sod," as the sexton said when he had finished the 
 covering of his grave, and clapped it soundly with 
 his spade in token of admiration for his own work, — it 
 was then that young Davy began to let all the world 
 in Long Ludforth see there was a man amongst them 
 that possessed brains. 
 
 First, the " reformer " pulled down his father's low 
 cottage, and engaged a swaggering builder to erect a 
 tall four-storied house of brick, with a slated roof, on 
 the same sjoot, taking in the little spot that had 
 glowed so delightfully for many a year with roses, 
 and pansies, and marigolds. True, the purse of two 
 hundred spade-aces, left by his economical parent, 
 did not suffice to finish the house in the style he had
 
 DAVY LIDGITT, TUE CARRIER. 67 
 
 devised ; so lie warned the bricklayer to stop at three 
 stories, and to leave out some of the fantastic stone 
 ornaments he had procured at Louth. lie sold the 
 ornaments and some of the other extra materials which 
 had already been brought upon his premises ; but he 
 permitted a tradesman to take them on credit, and 
 was never paid for them. Then, finding the house 
 was likely to remain unroofed for lack of money, he 
 was constrained to go a-borrowing ; but the errand 
 and the reception he met reminded him strongly of 
 one of his old father's sayings, which he used to tliink 
 very simple when the old man Avas alive, — " He 
 that goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing ! " — but 
 young Davy did not think the proverb quite so sim- 
 ple, now. The farmers shook their heads at him, 
 wherever he went, and said " No ; " without a syllable 
 of preface or addenda. And as for the monied men 
 at Louth, they had all taken their gauge of young 
 Davy Lidgitt, as well as the Wise Man of Welton ; 
 and the " man of Improvements " could only borrow 
 on a hard morto-asre. 
 
 " And who are you to put Into this new house 
 when it is finished, blister Lidgitt? " asked Grumley, 
 the grocer, of Loutli, very politely, one day, as he 
 was riding past, and saw young Davy standing by to 
 look at the builders. 
 
 Young Davy looked foolish at the question ; for, 
 having neither father nor mother, brother nor sister,
 
 68 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 
 
 in the world, he could only answer that he had no one 
 to put into it but himself. 
 
 The grocer earnestly begged his company to din- 
 ner, when he next came to Louth ;. and young Davy 
 felt so much flattered by so unusual an invitation, 
 that he instantly accepted it. And young Davy 
 found Mr. Grumley very cordial, and Mrs. Grumley 
 exceedingly kind, — but, above all, the 3Iisses Grum- 
 ley were the most interesting creatures he had ever 
 seen ! The eldest, especially, Avon his respect, — 
 or, he did not exactly know what to call it, — for he 
 had thought more about improvements in horses, 
 and carts, and stables, and houses, than aught else, 
 all his life. But the eldest Miss — the Miss Grum- 
 ley, by emphasis of courtesy — talked so sensibly 
 about the clever improvements that young Mr. 
 Brown had made in his farm-house, at Raithby, now 
 his father was dead ; and how he had married Miss 
 Green, the chandler's daughter, and had bought such 
 a nice gig ! 
 
 To tell the reader at once, what he plainly sees 
 is about coming to pass, young Mister Davy Lid- 
 gitt married Miss Grumley ; and he also bought a 
 nice gig — but it was bought on credit ! 
 
 Procecdhig with his " reforms " and " improve- 
 ments," Davy turned daily carrier from Long Lud- 
 forth to Louth, in a smart, light van, having disposed 
 of his father's old cart. But now young Davy began 
 to think, — not willingly, but perforce, — for bills
 
 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 69 
 
 were pouring in upon him that he could not pay. 
 But Mr. Grumley was ready to joi7i in a note, since 
 young Davy had already performed that kindness, 
 more than once, for his father-in-law. Still young 
 Davy was compelled to think ; for, more than once, 
 his grand daihj trip in the new van to Louth did not 
 aiFord freightage enough to cover the expense of the 
 two toll-gates which " improvement " had set up 
 between Long Ludforth and Louth market-place. 
 So Davy fell oif to " every other day " as a carrier. 
 This was his first retrograde " reform," hut, alas ! it 
 was not his last. 
 
 Expenses daily became heavier. Mrs. Lidgitt was 
 gay when a grocer's daughter in a market town; 
 but she felt it requisite and becoming to " take the 
 lead" in dress, since her settlement in a village, 
 where the affair, too, was so comparatively easy. And 
 then, in the course of two years, two little Lidgitts 
 were squalling about the house ; and, in addition to 
 one regular maid-servant, and an occasional help from 
 a stable-boy, a nurse was introduced as a constant 
 member of Davy's household establishment. 
 
 Tlie visit of a lawyer, one day, put the family into 
 a flutter. Davy was taken aside, and informed that 
 Mr. So-and-so had resolved to call in his mortgage. 
 Davy's heart sunk, until he thought he must have 
 dropped ; but how ovex'joyed he became when Lawyer 
 Gripple so cheerfully offered himself as mortgagee to 
 succeed his client Mr. So-and-so ! Yet, when the
 
 70 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 
 
 new mortgage-deed was completed, Davy found him- 
 self, somehow or other, a hundred pounds more in 
 debt for his house than before ! 
 
 Young Davy Lidgitt now began to think more 
 deeply, and proposed some curtailments of weekly 
 expenditure to his wife ; but she wept so passionately 
 at the mention of them, that Davy's heart smote him 
 for his cruelty. Then he tried to resolve on lessening 
 his own " appearances ; " but pride gat the better of 
 him, and he dashed along, till at the end of one more 
 year. Lawyer Gripple suddenly "called in his money," 
 and followed up the call ere Davy could answer it, or 
 procure another friend, by taking possession of Davy's 
 house, and telling him that thenceforth he ceased to 
 be any thing but a tenant, and for that title must pay 
 him — Lawyer Gripple — twenty pounds a-year. 
 
 Before Davy could recover his surprise at this 
 rapacious deed, Mr. Grumley failed in very heavy 
 responsibilities, with very small assets, and young 
 Davy was sent to prison for the debts to which he 
 had pledged himself on account of his father-in-law. 
 
 To end a sorrowful story as speedily as possible, it 
 remains but to say, that when poor Davy got out of 
 gaol he found his wife and her children nearly starv- 
 ing and in rags, and living in a scanty, down-coming 
 cottage, not half the size of that wherein his father and 
 mother had lived so many years in contentment and 
 prosperity — his house was not only entirely gone, but 
 his van and horses were sold, and his business had
 
 DAVY LIDGITT, THE CARRIER. 71 
 
 passed, months before, into the hands of an industrious 
 stranger. 
 
 Penniless, sick, and wretched, poor Davy Lidgitt 
 was compelled to apply to the parish for bread, and 
 he had no alternative but to obey their direction, and 
 break stones on the road ! 
 
 He Avas beheld in that employ for many years 
 after — a ftillen, broken-spirited man ; — and often 
 would the aged women observe to each other, — as 
 they passed him by to work in the fields, and remem- 
 bered Tom Cussitt's prophecy, to which Davy's father 
 would so often recur in his neighbours' hearing, — 
 " So much for the man who hath brought his nine- 
 pence to nought ! "
 
 72 
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 DON'T SAY SO TILL YOU ARE SURE/ 
 
 Ir is a long day since Zed Marrowby and Phil Gar- 
 rett passed quietly away from this wilderness of con- 
 fusion and wrong, and their names are well-nigh 
 forgotten. But they were, each of them, so unlike 
 other folk in their way of life, and in their old- 
 fashioned habits of thinking and talking, that there 
 is no wonder they have slipped out of the world's 
 memory as well as out of the world itself. Two odd 
 old fellows they were deemed for many a year, albeit 
 there are few happier old fellows, upon the Avhole, 
 than they were. And who were they ? 
 
 Zed was an humble fishermen on the Trent, and 
 never knew what it was to be possessed, at once, of 
 twenty shillings in his life. His father was called 
 Zedekiah, but the son never reached that long-name 
 dignity. Zed was taught the art and mystery of 
 fishing with an angle, fishing with set lines and hooks, 
 fishing with nets — in brief, all kinds of fresh-water
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 73 
 
 fishing, when a boy, by his father, — whose father and 
 grandfather before him were each and all fishermen. 
 Zed Avas a bachelor all his life long, and that means 
 fourscore and five ; and Zed never had but one bosom- 
 friend, and that was blind Phil Garrett the fiddler. 
 
 Phil could not trace his ancestry in an uninter- 
 rupted fine for several generations like his friend Zed. 
 In fact, it may seem strange to a world so wise as the 
 world is nowadays, but Phil Garrett never knew 
 who was his own father ! His earliest recollections 
 were of hard usage by all around him save his mother, 
 who herself died of hard usage, and left him to the 
 ruthless world, a blind orphan at a tender age. There 
 was as great doubt about Phil's true Christian name as 
 there was about his parentage : some said it was 
 Philip, and others said it ought to be Philander; 
 here and there one contended it must be Philibert, 
 while his god-mother, Abigail, inclined to believe it 
 was Philemon, but even she could not justly re- 
 member — for, as she used to say, " the parson quite 
 took away her recollection of it, by hemming and 
 hawing, and being so long about the trifling matter 
 of sprinking the child — and all the while she was 
 pretty sartain the christening-cake would be burnt 
 under the wood-ashes, for she made it herself, and 
 placed it under the dish at the last moment, in order 
 that it might not be spoilt while they were at church." 
 However, Phil contrived to teach himself to play on 
 the fiddle when a boy, and thereby managed to win 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLEE. 
 
 liis own living, without ever seeing the sun, or know- 
 ing exactly, either his own name, or the name of his 
 father. 
 
 Zed and Phil were nearly of an age, and became 
 attached to each other when they were in their teens : 
 jndeed, from that period of life they were inseparable, 
 except on special occasions. It was a singular com- 
 panionship, was that of Zed Marrowby, the fisherman, 
 and blind Phil Garrett, the fiddler. As soon as day 
 broke, through spring, summer, and autumn. Zed 
 might be seen wending his way among the osiers, on 
 the banks of old Trent, towards his small narrow 
 boat ; and blind Phil, with his fiddle-case under his 
 arm, might be seen leaning on Zed's left shoulder, and 
 hurrying along with him. No matter how heavily it 
 rained, or strongly it blew, the two happy old 
 fellows were as constant in their time of rising, and 
 of their embarkation, as the sun was in mounting 
 above the east, unless Phil happened to be engaged 
 for a wedding or a wake, for the blind fiddler was in 
 high request for all the rustic rejoicings around 
 Torksey, where the singular companions lived — I 
 mean, at Marton, and Sturton, and Fenton, and New- 
 ton, on the Lincolnshire side of the Trent ; and not less 
 at Laneham, and Dunham, and Drayton, and Hampton, 
 and Leverton, on the side of merry Nottinghamshire. 
 Winter, you would say, would be but a dreary 
 season for the two old cronies, since it would put a 
 stop to their voyaging, and, by confining them within
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 75 
 
 doors, would make them mopish and melancholy. 
 But you are wrong, if you say so. There were nets 
 and lines to make and to mend, and the past to 
 recount, and the future to reckon upon; and Phil would 
 play on his fiddle while Zed would sing, and when 
 Phil's arm was weary with scraping, and Zed's throat 
 was sore with piping. Zed would listen till he fell 
 asleep with Phil telling ghost-stories and fairy-tales, 
 and love-ditties and robber- ventures, — all of which he 
 had learned from his god-mother, old Abigail Cull- 
 simple, at once the most famous herbwoman, midwife, 
 and tale-teller, in her own day and generation, for 
 threescore miles round about ancient Torksey on the 
 Trent, — nay, it were perilous to assert that she ever 
 had an equal, in these three combined qualifications, 
 throughout the whole region of Lindsey. 
 
 It would take some thousands of pages to narrate 
 half the adventures in rain and fair weather, of the 
 fisherman and fiddler, during their threescore years of 
 friendship. Let it suffice to take up their life-story 
 for some two or three days of the last summer they 
 spent together in this world, commencing with a 
 fine morning in which they unmoored their little boat 
 somewhat earlier than usual, in order to reach Little- 
 borough for a wedding, before the turn of the tide. 
 The morning was such a delicious one, that, old as 
 they were, the two old voyagers could not restrain their 
 feeling of pleasure at the balmy and refreshing effect 
 it had upon their weather-beaten frames ; and, blind 
 
 E 2
 
 76 THE FISHEKMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 as poor Phil was, you could not have failed, had you 
 seen his expressive face when under very pleasurable 
 emotion, to discern that it scarcely needs the language 
 of eyes to demonstrate the heart's happiness. Their 
 little skiff darted like a fowl along the stream, so 
 finely did opening nature seem to nerve the old men's 
 arms, and puff their little sail ; the very fishes seemed 
 scarcely to have time to take alarm while the oars 
 plashed amid the liquid silver, but darted and gam- 
 bolled after each other, — the rapid dace and the 
 delicate bleak, and the golden-finned perch, — every 
 moment to the surface of the stream, exulting, as it 
 seemed, in the solar glory. It was a morning to fill with 
 music every human soul that has any music in itself. 
 The sweet matin lute of the lark thrilled through the 
 heavens, and the still sweeter voice of the blythe milk- 
 maid, as she tripped it, fresh and rosy, over the lea, 
 was heard waking the echoes with her plaintive love- 
 melody. Zed and Phil were too true children of 
 Nature to disobey her influences, and thus chanted 
 their hearts' sedate joy, as they bent at the oar : — 
 
 " Merrily we go, my man — 
 Merrily with the tide ! 
 Catch the breezes while you can - 
 Here we'll not abide ! 
 
 Storm and calm will soon be o'er 
 Spread the flowing sail ! 
 
 Lift thy heart with sorrow sore — 
 Catch the fav'ring gale !
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 77 
 
 Wouldst thou weep till set of sun — 
 
 From the break of day ? 
 This life's stream will soon be run — 
 
 Laugh, then, while you may ! 
 
 Mariners in life's frail boat — 
 
 Sighs and tears are vain ! 
 Cheerily let's onward float — 
 
 Soon the port we'll gain ! 
 
 Merrily we go, my man — 
 
 Merrily with the tide ! 
 Catch the breezes while you can. — 
 
 Merrily onward glide ! " 
 
 Again and again they doubled tlie last verse, those 
 brave old voyagers ! until many a milk-maid came up 
 the banks of Trent, leaving her cows on the lea, to 
 listen more nearly to the merry song they had so often 
 heard before from the two quaint companions of the 
 fishing-boat. 
 
 The little ferry of Littleborough was at length 
 gained, and Zed leaped as gaily on shore as if he 
 were yet in his youth, and then handed Phil out, 
 with his fiddle-case under his arm ; and when the 
 skiff was moored, away they hasted to the " Ferry 
 Boat Inn," as the humble public-house was loftily 
 termed, and where the intended wedding and merry- 
 making was about to be held. After half-a-dozen 
 hearty gripes of the hand, and as many congratula- 
 tions on their good looks, the two old men were zea- 
 lously pressed to " eat and drink, and not spare," 
 
 E 3
 
 78 THE FISHEKMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 by the bluff landlord. And, nothing loth. Zed and 
 Phil sat down on the long-settle, and made free with 
 a good hearty beef-steak pie, and a tankard of ale ; 
 and the landlord was ready to fill again ere the latter 
 was fairly empty. " Don't ye be dainty about it, my 
 hearties," said he,' " for the youngsters will be down- 
 stairs soon ; they've been dressing this I don't know 
 how long ; and you'll ha' plenty to do, I warrant ye, 
 when they happen to find that you're come : so do 
 justice to your fare ! " 
 
 And anon the bride that was to be was brought 
 down-stairs by a crowd of laughing lasses, and, blush- 
 ing like the May, was placed in a chair adorned with 
 flowers ; and soon the lads burst in with the bride- 
 groom, all in best array of plush and velveteen ; and 
 when he stepped up to the chaired beauty for a morn- 
 ing's buss, the lads pulled him away and said " nay ; " 
 and then all clapped their hands with delight when 
 they first saw Zed and Phil in the corner, and all 
 shouted, as if they were mad, for a good thumping 
 ditty that would put mettle in their heels. So Phil 
 struck up first " Malbrook's gone to battle," and then 
 " Gee-ho, Dobbin," and then " Grist the Miller," 
 and then " She will and she won't," and then, 
 " Nelly is gone to be married ; " and each lad took 
 his lass, and led up or followed the dance to the capers 
 of Phil's bow, till " The parson's come ! " resounded 
 through the kitchen ; and the marriage-procession 
 was immediately formed, and the kitchen was de-
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 79 
 
 serted, for even Zed and Phil went off, the one 
 to see, and the other to hear, lovely Polly of the 
 Ferry-Boat Inn given away to sprightly and honest 
 young farmer Brown that morning, at the neighbour- 
 ing parish church of Sturton-lc- Steeple. 
 
 The ceremony over, and the kitchen regained, feast- 
 ing, fun, and frolic, were the order of the day. Phil's 
 fiddle and Zed's throat were worked till the owners of 
 them could scarcely work longer ; and oh, the tales 
 that Phil told, and the songs that Zed sung, in the 
 course of that merry wedding-day ! why, the like of 
 'em could not be said or sung by man or maid, wife 
 or widow, within all Christendom ! 
 
 Don't imagine, either, that the fun and frolic were 
 partaken of merely by the younkers : let me tell you, 
 that even the fat landlord himself, although verging 
 on fourscore, caught so much of the spirit of the 
 time, that he jumped up, all of a sudden, after watch- 
 ing the nodding head and smirking face of Dame 
 Dinah Brown, the grandmother of the bridegroom, 
 and discerning how she began to fidget, like himself, 
 — I say he jumped up all of a sudden, and, seizing 
 her hand, whirled her away, not in the least unwil- 
 ling, to show the young lads and lasses that they 
 had not forgotten a quick step, and all that, as old as 
 they were. And, by Jingo ! how all-alive did Phil 
 look, while he screwed up his catgut for a new 
 strain ; and never was any thing seen in mortal man 
 more wonderful than the ecstatic changes of his blind 
 
 E 4
 
 80 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 face, while lie struck up " Green leaves all grow sere !" 
 as an accompaniment to the frisking feet of Dame 
 Dinah and the fat old landlord. And then he changed 
 the strain for one of rich merriment, while his sight- 
 less and strangely expressive countenance depicted 
 every shade of wild and wilder glee, and vibrated 
 throughout its whole surface with every thrill of the 
 melody and gambol of the bow ; insomuch that more 
 than one youth forgot every thing around, and stood 
 gazing at Phil's face, thinking they would never 
 forget how it looked, if they lived even to be as old 
 as Methusaleh. 
 
 On and on the aged dancers skipped, and " crossed " 
 and " set," looking as gleeful as if they had never 
 known what it was to be grave, until, streaming 
 with sweat, and fairly wearied out with the mad em- 
 ployment they had been giving their heels, and to 
 which they had been strangers for many a long year, 
 they were constrained to sit down, avowing, mean- 
 wliile, that " they only wished they were young 
 again, for then they would show the youngsters 
 what a bit o' dancing was in their time ! " 
 
 When the sun had set. Zed began to feel some 
 degree of uneasiness to be gone. There was the 
 Trent to voyage, for at least three miles, in order 
 to reach their home at Torksey, and Zed knew the 
 stream would be somewhat swoUen, but much more 
 he feared the state of his own upper story, since he 
 had not been able to resist the pressing invitations
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 81 
 
 and challenges, first of one and then of another, and, 
 consequently, liis potations had been somewhat nu- 
 merous. Having given Phil the hint, Phil began 
 to complain of exhaustion as to his tale-budget, and 
 of the power of liis nerves to direct the bow ; but it 
 was long ere this Avould avail, and many a roaring 
 ditty was launched forth from the thunder of Phil's 
 catgut, amid the thundering heels of the country 
 lads and lasses, before the two aged cronies could 
 manage to obtain leave, once more, to launch their 
 little boat, and strike off for home. The farewell 
 chords Avere at last struck, the fiddle was boxed ; 
 and, accompanied to the water's edge by a merry 
 company. Zed and Phil pushed oiF from shore amidst 
 the hearty cheers of the merry-makers. Then, each 
 taking his oar, as usual, away they went with the 
 tide, that now swejjt up the river's course. 
 
 Much as they had sung that merry day, the two 
 brave old fellows, nevertheless, trolled forth more 
 than one ditty before they reached Torksey; and 
 neither of them suffered any depression of spirits or 
 strength as they prosecuted their homeward voyage. 
 Zed Marrowby, especially — and, in good faith his 
 alacrity must be fairly confessed to have owed its 
 greater intensity to his most frequent potations — Zed, 
 especially, sprung on shore with the nimbleness of a 
 lad of twenty, as soon as they arrived in front of the 
 
 ruins of old Torksey castle, which stands like a 
 
 E 5
 
 82 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLEE. 
 
 blighted, and yet beautiful tbing of the past, beside 
 the very brink of the noble stream. 
 
 *' As sure as a gun, Pliil," cried the mellow old 
 fellow, stamping with vehemence, as he was leading 
 Phil under a propped fragment of the old fabric, 
 " we'll not go to bed to-night till we've seen whether 
 there be any gold in these vaults, as the story goes ! 
 I've heard you tell the tale about folks hiding their 
 coin here, in the time of bloody Oliver, until my 
 patience is worn out. I'm determined, Phil, to 
 know whether any money can be found here, or not ! " 
 
 " Why, zowks. Zed ! " exclaimed Pliil Garrett, 
 " you're not so mad with that glass o' rum they gave 
 you before you pushed off as to have taken it into 
 your head to " 
 
 " Don't bother me, Phil ! " said the fisherman in a 
 pet, " I'm determined to fish up the gold out of 
 these old vaults before midnight, as late as it is, and 
 that's the long and short on't ! " 
 
 " ' Don't say so till you're sure ! ' " cried Phil, uttering 
 an old saying that he was very fond of; "how will 
 you dig up the gold. Zed ? you have never a shovel 
 nor a pick-axe, you know." 
 
 " Then I'll soon have both," replied Zed ; " you 
 sit down here on this stone, Phil, and I'll go and 
 slive into the Talbot yard, and I'll Avarrant it I'll 
 soon have a pick-axe and a shovel." And off Zed 
 scampered as fast as liis old heels, impelled by his 
 heated head, could carry him.
 
 THE F'lSHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 83 
 
 "Bring the dark lanthorn with you!" cried Phil, 
 shouting after him as loudly as he dared to shout ; 
 and then, sitting down on the grass in lieu of the 
 hard stone, began to think of the oddness and sud- 
 denness of Zed's resolution. " What a fool Zed 
 always becomes when he gets a drop of rum ! " thought 
 Phil to himself ; " and, confound it ! I feel queerish, 
 somehow, myself. I wish I had not drunk that tipler 
 o'rum. It was very foolish of me, for I always tell 
 Zed to stick to good old Sir John Barleycorn, and 
 then no great harm can come on it. But what's the 
 use of grumbling and growling at one's self when it's 
 done ? I'll e'en make the best on't, since it is so." 
 And Phil was about to troll forth another merry 
 ditty, when he remembered that it Avas near mid- 
 night, that it must be thereabouts pitch dark, and 
 that he was among the ruins of Torksey Castle, 
 where, according to a queer skin-freezing story he 
 was wont to tell himself, the lady without the head 
 was often seen to walk at midnight ! So Phil, too 
 muddled to remember that he could not have seen 
 the headless lady if she had appeared, held his peace, 
 and thought it was better to keep quiet in such a 
 queer place and at such a queer time of night. 
 
 Phil had not long to Avait for the return of his 
 eccentric companion. Zed soon was at Phil's side, 
 and, grasping his hand, assured him they would soon 
 be as rich as Jews with the buried gold. 
 
 "■ ' Don't say so till you're sure !'" again cried Pliil ; 
 
 E 6
 
 84 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 but Zed took no notice of it, and upheaving the pick- 
 axe, without spending a moment in considering 
 whereabouts he ought to begin, struck at the ground 
 with all his might, assisted, not a little, at the first, 
 by his invisible but potent friend. Dr. Alcohol. 
 
 "Have you begun so soon. Zed?" asked Phil. 
 
 " Ay, to be sure," replied Zed, " I'm in earnest, 
 man, and mean to have this gold, depend on't." 
 
 " I' faith, it seems as though you did," returned 
 Phil, feeling disposed to roast his old friend, as they 
 say ; " do you find aught yet ?" 
 
 *' Pooh !" answered Zed, "let me get another foot 
 or so deeper, and then ask me." 
 
 " Oh, I'm in no hurry," said Phil ; " only I thought 
 I might as well be knowing. But are you tired so 
 soon. Zed?" 
 
 " I'm only just resting a moment," replied Zed ; 
 but he was up, and was working away again with 
 the pick-axe the next minute. Then he took the 
 shovel and began to clear away the loose earth, so as 
 to be able to see, by the light of the lanthorn, how 
 deeply he had penetrated the ground. 
 
 " Do you see aught yet ? " asked Phil with a 
 slight titter which he suppressed as well as he could. 
 
 " Don't be in such a confounded hurry ! I didn't 
 think a bit o'gold would ha' made you so covetous to 
 get at it ! " answered Zed, throwing down the pick- 
 axe, and pretending to be in a pet, though, in reality, 
 it was the tremendous ache in his back that caused
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 85 
 
 him to throw down an instrument of labour to which 
 his aged hands were quite unused. 
 
 " Nay, nay, I tell you, I'm in no hurry at all," 
 again retorted Phil ; " only, as I said before, I 
 thought I might as well be knowing." 
 
 " All right, Pliil ! " cried Zed, in a twinkling of 
 time, " here goes again ! " and struck more savagely 
 at the ground this time than ever ; for, in spite of his 
 affected coolness, the old fisherman began to feel very 
 impatient. In the course of a very few minutes, 
 however. Zed was again unable, from sheer weariness, 
 to proceed, and, although he changed his implement 
 again for the spade, yet his back ached too violently 
 for him to go on with his gold-finding, so he sat 
 down once more to rest, and wiped the streaming 
 perspiration from his aged face with a hand that 
 trembled, as indeed he trembled all over, like an aspen 
 leaf. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " cried Phil, " how you puff and 
 blow, Zed ! Do you begin to feel ill with your hard 
 work?" 
 
 " Pshaw ! how old-womanish you talk ! " retorted 
 the fisherman, and started up again, like a young 
 blood of four-and-twenty. But, somehow or other. 
 Zed found it quite impossible to get on, the ache in 
 his old back was so violent. 
 
 ^' I say, Phil," he said, pausing suddenly, and look- 
 ing very cunning at the fiddler, — though the fiddler 
 could not see either the sly wink of his eye or any
 
 86 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 other of the signs by Avhich the old fisherman intended 
 it to be understood that a very shreAvd thought had 
 struck him, — "I say, Phil, what d'ye suppose I'm 
 just now thinking about ?" ' 
 
 " Can't tell exactly," replied Phil, though he had 
 a somewhat knowing idea of what was coming, for 
 all that. 
 
 " Why, I was thinking Oh ! " said the poor 
 
 old fisherman, feeling a twinge in his back so dread- 
 fully excruciating that it forced him to cry out before 
 he was aware — 
 
 " What ! have you found the gold ? " asked Phil, 
 bursting into a titter ; " have you found it, Zed?" 
 
 " Found the devil ! " exclaimed Zed, growing really 
 ill-tempered at being thus coolly roasted by his old 
 companion. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, take care. Zed ; or we may 
 find him, with a witness, in this queer place, and at 
 this queer time o'night ! " rejoined the fiddler ; " but 
 what may you be thinking about, after all, Zed?" 
 
 "Why, I was thinking we might cover up this 
 hole, so that no notice would be taken of it, and then 
 come and finish the job another time," replied Zed, 
 who felt so much ashamed of what pain compelled 
 him to say, that he could with difficulty get through 
 his speech. 
 
 " Come, now, sit you down a bit. Zed," said Phil, 
 in a tone of hearty kindness, that always came over 
 Zed's more boisterous nature with the power of a
 
 TnE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 87 
 
 sweet lull after a squall, — " sit you down a bit, and 
 let's have a bit o'talk, while you rest yourself, for 
 I'm sure your old bones must ache with pain and 
 weariness. Now, I say. Zed, just tell me, will you, 
 what would you do with tliis gold if you found it ? " 
 
 " Do with it 1 " exclaimed Zed, staring at the fiddler, 
 though the fiddler could not stare at him; "what 
 would I do Avith it, Phil?" 
 
 "Ay, Avhat would you do with it? Are you 
 tired of the old boat, after we've cruised in her so 
 many long years?" 
 
 " Tired of her ! God forbid ! " answered Zed, with 
 warmth rendered ludicrous by his insobriety ; " no, 
 Phil ! you and I will never forsake the old boat until 
 our own poor old timbers fall fairly in pieces ! " 
 
 *' I thought you could not be thinking about that," 
 said Phil ; " but what, then, I say. Zed, — what 
 could you contrive to do with this gold, if you found 
 it?" 
 
 " We could comfort the hearts of poor Dick Tol- 
 ler's motherless and fatherless children, and poor Bob 
 Wilson's and Joe Martin's widows with it, you know, 
 Phil," answered the old fisherman. 
 
 " God bless your old heart. Zed ! " cried Phil, 
 grasping his old comrade's hand, wliile his voice 
 faltered with deep emotion, " tliat's spoken just like 
 you ! But I tell you. Zed, it is but a wild scheme to 
 be killing yourself with trying to find this gold." 
 
 " To speak truth," said Zed, interrupting the other.
 
 88 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLEPw 
 
 " I begin to think so, too : only, you see, Phil, this 
 old head o'mine always turns so wild when I happen 
 to be such a fool as to take rum when they offer it 
 me. As you always say, Phil, if one could but have 
 the resolution to stick to Sir John Barleycorn in- 
 stead of " 
 
 " Well, well, Zed, say no more about it," said 
 Phil, remembering that the transgression was not 
 entirely confined to his friend ; " shovel in the moulds 
 as soon as you can, and let us be making our way 
 home, for yon's twelve by the church clock, and we 
 mustn't be after sunrise, you know, to-morrow; 
 'twill be bad luck if we be, depend on't." 
 
 So Zed shovelled in the earth as fast as his aches 
 and pains would permit him ; and at length Phil 
 threw the pick-axe over his shoulder, and Zed bear- 
 ing the fiddle-box, and shovel, and lanthorn, without 
 spending more time in talking, they hied them home 
 as nimbly as they could, dropping the pick-axe and 
 shovel over the Talbot yard wall as they went by, 
 and speedily throwing themselves on their joint bed, 
 when they had reached it, fell asleep almost in a 
 moment. 
 
 Before the sun arose, however, they were up and 
 in the open air ; but Zed groaned heavily, more than 
 once, as they went along towards the Trent bank, 
 for his aged bones were very stiff" at the joints, as he 
 said, and he often called himself a fool, inwardly, as 
 he thought of his wild, money-digging freak of the
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLEE. 89 
 
 preceding night. His melancholy, however, was but 
 transitory. The merry-hearted old men were soon 
 on their favourite element ; the sun began to throw 
 its cheering beams once more upon the rippling 
 waters ; and, as the willows on the banks of the noble 
 Trent waved in the gentle breeze, and the rich 
 meadows on the border of the river sent forth their 
 reviving fragrance. Zed lifted up his head, while his 
 hand plied the oar, and in the fulness of a happy 
 heart thus opened the conversation for the day : — 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't change places with the king 
 on his throne, Phil ; I don't believe there's a hap- 
 pier pair than you and I, Phil, in the wide world. 
 And yet, now, as wild a scheme as that was of mine 
 last night, I cannot help wishing, this morning, that 
 we had some o' that gold at this moment. I could 
 like to try my hand, Phil, as old and inexperienced 
 as it is in such work, at making some part of the 
 world happier." 
 
 " And so could I, Zed," said Phil ; " and now 
 don't you think that my godmother's grandfather's 
 plan of dividing the land would be a good one, and 
 tend to make the world happier, if it were carried 
 into effect ? " 
 
 " The deuce is in you, Phil, for always bringing 
 up that plan of your godmother's grandfather ! " said 
 old Zed ; " why, the plan may be good enough, 
 Phil ; but how can it be brought about ? " 
 
 " How can you get the gold ? " retorted Phil.
 
 90 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLEE. 
 
 " Good ! " said Zed, with a hearty laugh ; " i'faith, 
 Phil, one scheme is as likely to be brought about as 
 the other: but, take hold of that end o' the net, 
 Pliil, for I see a famous pike or two, darting about ; 
 and, you know, we must try to get something 
 to-day." 
 
 The net was thrown out, but failed; and, what 
 was most unusual, the labour of Zed and Phil was 
 continued for several hours without the capture even 
 of a solitary eel. Phil often thought Zed threw out 
 the net very wildly, and imagined the liquor he took 
 at the wedding had not yet spent its eiFects on him ; 
 but the blind man could not be sure, for Zed seemed 
 resolutely taciturn. 
 
 'Twas about ten in the forenoon that Phil felt the 
 little boat was " brought up," — he thought in an 
 inlet, or small creek, on the Lindsey side of the 
 Trent, after they had laboured with nets and lines 
 ever since ^ a little after sunrise, and all without a 
 single instance of success. 
 
 " Phil, d'ye know why I've pulled in here this 
 morning ? " said Zed, as he was mooring the skiff. 
 
 *' No, by'r leddy ! " answered the old-fashioned 
 fiddler, " I can't tell, for the life of me ! but it seems 
 to me that you've pulled in at Burton Folly, — have 
 you not. Zed ? and what's the meaning of it ? " 
 
 " Look sharp, Phil ! " said Zed, briskly helping 
 Phil out of the boat, " we've had hard luck in the 
 water this morning, but we'll try our luck on land
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLEE. 91 
 
 for once : we'll have one or two of 'Squire Hutton's 
 pheasants before we leave the holt." 
 
 " ' Don't say so till you're sure ! ' " said Phil, for that 
 was a common saying with him, as I hinted before ; 
 " I wish I could look sharp, as you bid me. Zed, — 
 for I'll be hanged if you are not tearing my poor 
 legs among the whins, like old pork, as the saying 
 goes." 
 
 " The deuce I am!" exclaimed Zed, slackening his 
 pace; "I wouldn't hurt you, for all the world, Phil: 
 but you know it's worth while trying to catch a 
 pheasant or two, — they're such fine game." 
 
 " I don't know. Zed," rejoined Phil, " whether it 
 be worth while or not : we may get into a scrape by 
 it, as old as we are, and " 
 
 *' Pshaw ! " cried Zed, with an air of resolute 
 contempt ; " come along, Phil ! — come along ! " 
 
 " O come along, ay ! " said Phil ; " I shall go 
 with you, if you go to the very devil ! — but then I 
 don't see what's the use of going there, yet, — as old 
 'Squire Pimpleface used to say, when he gave up 
 playing cards at Saturday midnight, and refused, ever 
 after to play on Sunday mornings " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Zed, stopping short, — " my eyes ! 
 why, that must be the gamekeeper ! No, it isn't : — 
 but we had better lie down, Phil." 
 
 " Down be it then!" said Phil, prostrating himself 
 among the long grass, while the old fisherman fol- 
 lowed his example.
 
 92 THE FISHEKMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 " Now, tell me," continued the fiddler. In a whisper, 
 as they lay along among the grass, and the fisherman 
 was anxiously keeping the look-out, — " tell me how 
 you intend to catch the pheasants, Zed: you know 
 you've no gun ; and you can't catch 'em with a net in 
 open day, — besides you haven't brought the net out 
 of the boat, have you ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! " replied Zed, " why, I've heard my father 
 say that 'Squire Button's pheasants used to be as 
 tame as bantam cocks, even in his time. "VYe may 
 catch 'em, bless your soul ! ay, easily ! And, if 
 not, I'm sure I could hit one and knock it down with 
 my hat." 
 
 The blind fiddler burst into an uncontrollable fit of 
 laughter on hearing this artless declaration from his 
 ancient companion. 
 
 " Zowks, Zed ! " he exclaimed at last, " thou hast 
 got some wild maggots, for sure, into thy head this 
 morning ! prythee look out again, and see if the 
 coast be clear; for the sooner we shove off in the 
 boat again the better, I'm very sartain." 
 
 " Confound that fellow ! he's coming this way," 
 said Zed, in a voice of alarm. And, indeed, there 
 now seemed to be cause for fear, seeing that a tall man, 
 with a gun on his shoulder, was hastening down the 
 hill, apparently in a direction towards the foolish 
 hiding-place of the fiddler and the fisherman. 
 
 « What shall we do, Phil ? " asked Zed, in the 
 next breath.
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 93 
 
 " Cut and run ! " cried Phil, and spnmg up as 
 nimbly as a hare when you stumble upon her seat. 
 
 " Come along, then ! " said Zed ; and, seizing his 
 blind companion by the hand, away they galloped, 
 as fast as their old limbs would wag down the decli- 
 vity, to the boat. 
 
 Zed pushed Phil, head over heels, into the skijBT, 
 and, jumping in himself, scudded away out of the 
 creek as fast as he could possibly " scull," or turn 
 the oar, at the boat's stern, after the manner of a 
 screw, in the water. The gamekeeper came up the 
 water-side, and approached within a few yards of the 
 boat, before the adventurers could make their way 
 back into the broad Trent. 
 
 " You are two very old men," said he, lifting up 
 his hand in a warning manner, " or I would certainly 
 detain you, and have you indicted for trespass. Take 
 care you are never found here again ! " 
 
 Neither of the old men made a word of reply ; and 
 the gamekeeper walked away. 
 
 " Detained us ! — would he ? " said Zed, in a low, 
 but contemptuous tone, as soon as they had gained 
 the breadth of the river, and the gamekeeper was 
 sufficiently out of hearing, — " how could he have 
 done that, if he had tried, think you, Phil ? " 
 
 " Never mind talking about that. Zed, — let us be 
 content with having got out of a scrape," answered 
 blind Phil : " but now tell me. Zed," he continued, 
 putting an oar on one side of the boat, and taking his
 
 94 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 share of labour with as easy naturakiess as if he had 
 possessed the most perfect eyesight, — " what it could 
 be that put such a wild notion into your head as to 
 lead you to think of catching a pheasant with your 
 hand, or of knocking it down with your hat : — why 
 didn't you take a bit o' salt to throw on its tail. 
 Zed ? " concluded the fiddler, and burst into another 
 fit of helpless laughter. 
 
 " He — he — he ! " said the fisherman, forcing a 
 faint laugh, to conceal his shame and vexation ; — 
 " never mind, — never mind that, Phil ! " he said, — 
 " my old head gets weak, or I might ha' been sure 
 it would be a fool's errand. Was not it a mighty 
 piece of impudence in that thief of a gamekeeper, 
 think you, to tell us he had a mind to indict us for 
 ' trespass,' as the Jack-in-office called it ? — what 
 harm could we do, Phil, by just trampling among 
 the grass for a few minutes ? " 
 
 "Poor folks are not allowed to tread upon rich 
 folks' land, you know, Zed, without their leave," 
 said the fiddler. 
 
 " No ; but isn't it hard that there should be such 
 a law, Phil ? " said the fisherman. 
 
 " Why, as for that. Zed," replied Phil, '•' my god- 
 mother's grandfather, — who, my godmother used to 
 tell me, was a famous scholar in his day, — used to say 
 that all the land belonged to every body, and that no- 
 body ought ever to have called an acre his own, in 
 particular. If that had been the case, you see. Zed,
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLEE. 95 
 
 the gamekeeper could not have threatened to indict 
 you and me for trespass this morning." 
 
 " No more he could, Phil," rejoined Zed ; " but, 
 then, if the land belonged to every body, — in such a 
 way that nobody could say an acre belonged to him, 
 only, — why, how would the land be ploughed and 
 the grain sown, — for you know the old saying, 
 Phil, * What's every body's business is nobody's 
 business ? ' " 
 
 "My godmother's grandfather used to say that 
 people ought to join in companies to do it," replied 
 Phil : " it's a subject I am not master of to the ex- 
 tent he was, by all account ; but I feel sure of one 
 thing. Zed, — that the world could not have been 
 much worse divided than it is at present, since the 
 rich have so much land among them, and the poor 
 have none." 
 
 " You are right there, Phil, beyond ♦ a grain 
 o'doubt," rejoined Zed. 
 
 " And my godmother's grandfather used to say 
 besides," continued the fiddler, " that God Almighty 
 gave the world to every body, and that the rich had 
 stolen the poor's share of the land — for God Al- 
 mighty never left them destitute." 
 
 " Then, in that case, Phil," said the fisherman, 
 " there is a share, each, belonging to you and to me : 
 and then it seems doubly hard to be told, when your 
 own share has been stolen from you, that you shall
 
 96 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 be indicted for trespassing upon the land of one that 
 has more than his share — doesn't It, Phil ? " 
 
 " Right, Zed, right ! " returned Phil ; " I'm pleased 
 to find you relish a bit of sensible talk, now and 
 then ; and can you deny, now, that that plan of my 
 godmother's grandfather would be a real good one, 
 and tend to make every body happy. Place all the 
 folks In the world on a level. Zed, — and let every 
 man take his fair share in ploughing and tilling, you 
 know. Zed, — and then let every man share in cut- 
 ting the corn, — and all would have a fair title to 
 eat it. You must see this to be fair — quite fair. 
 Zed?" 
 
 " Fair enough, no doubt," replied the fisherman ; 
 " but then, Phil, — as I always ask you, but you 
 never answer me, — how can you contrive to bring 
 all this about ? " 
 
 *' Nay, now, you don't argue fair!" answered 
 Phil ; and it was the only answer he had, like many 
 more learned proposers of good theories. 
 
 " A plague on all such gibberish ! " exclaimed Zed, 
 " we shall want but a small share of any thing long, 
 and if we don't get our fair six feet of land when we 
 have done sailing, why, we can rest very well in 
 Davy Jones's locker. Where's the use of bothering 
 our old brains with such crabbed matters ? " 
 
 *' Ods bobs and bodiklns ! " replied Phil, " but I 
 think you are about right. Zed : I must own it's only
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 97 
 
 a simple sort of a thing for you and I to be troubling 
 our heads about great folks and their lands." 
 
 " I' faith, you talk sense, Phil ! " said Zed ; " con- 
 found the great folks ! let 'em take their land ! We've 
 managed to push along through threescore summers 
 and more, and we can manage to get through, I think, 
 now. But, swape in, Phil ! for we're just alongside 
 Littleborough again, and I'm so hungry that I feel 
 inclined to step on shore, aud ask for a bite of the 
 wedding-cake this morning : I'll warrant 'em they'll 
 be keeping up the merriment yet." 
 
 " Promise me one thing, though. Zed," said Phil, — 
 " that you'll take no more rum, if they offer it you, 
 and that you won't stay longer than a couple of hours 
 or so." 
 
 " Don't think I shall play the fool twice over ! " 
 retorted Zed ; " I'll warrant it I'll come away as sober 
 as a judge this time, and take no more fool's tricks 
 into my head to-day." 
 
 " ' Don't say so till you're sure ! ' " observed Phil, in 
 his usual sly way ; but Zed did not answer, for they 
 were now at shore, and the fisherman had leaped out, 
 and was once more mooring the little boat. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to relate that Zed found it 
 impossible to keep Jiis hasty promise of a very short 
 stay, seeing that the " Weddingers " Avere " keeping 
 it up " in true old-foshioned style, and Phil's fiddle 
 became, right soon, the very soul of their merriment. 
 Phil, however, had made his mind up, and succeeded, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 though with great effort, iu getting his old com- 
 panion once more fairly afloat and on the way home 
 about an hour before sunset. Although Zed had, 
 indeed, the virtue to refuse the parting cup of rum, 
 Avhen it was offered, yet his old noddle was far from 
 being its own perfect master, by reason of his frequent 
 revisitations of the ale-pottle ; and the first mile on 
 the Avater was all music of the most gleeful nature 
 Avith the old voyagers. " Indeed," as Phil himself 
 used to say, Avhen talking about it, " Ave had each of 
 us whetted our Avhistles till will-ye, nil-ye, we must 
 pipe, and couldn't help it I " They Avere trolling forth, 
 for the last time, then' old burthen of 
 
 " Says I to myself, says I, 
 Though I can't laugh, I won't cry ; 
 Let 'em kill us that dare ; they're all fools that care : 
 We all shall live till we die ! " 
 
 Avhen the report of a gun, and the sudden flight of 
 a drooping heron across the Trent, arrested their 
 music. 
 
 " By Jingo ! she's a dead bird, in three minutes ! " 
 exclaimed Zed ; " mark how her right wing droops, 
 Phil ! " 
 
 *' I wish I could mark it," said Phil ; " but you 
 always forget that my poor old eyes are blanks, Avhen 
 you've " 
 
 " There she goes, plop among the osiers ! " cried 
 Zed, in an ecstasy ; " i>u\l aAvay to the larboard, 
 Phil. I'll have her in a twink. "
 
 THE riSIIERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 99 
 
 " ' Don't say so till you're sure ! ' •' observed Phil, 
 but pulled away like a dragon in the direction recom- 
 mended by liis companion, nevertheless. 
 
 Zed leaped out of the boat in a confounded hurrv 
 when he thought it was near enough for him to gain 
 the shore ; but he leaped out too soon, for he fell flat 
 on his face among the "warp," as the mud of the 
 Trent is called in Lincolnshire, and floundered like a 
 flat fish when it has been left by the water in a 
 situation where it cannot get away. 
 
 " Holloa ! what, in the name o' bad luck, are you 
 about ? " cried Phil, hearing poor Zed make a mighty 
 scuffle among the mud. 
 
 Zed made no answer, but kept struggling on ; for 
 the fact was, that he was so eager to secure the bird, 
 that he had succeeded in laying hold of one of its 
 legs, and, keeping hold, prevented himself from 
 rising. The heron and Zed made a desperate flap- 
 ping and floundering, insomuch that Phil roared out, 
 more than once, — 
 
 " What, in the name of heaven and earth, are you 
 about, I say. Zed ? " 
 
 "Keep the boat in shore," cried Zed, with his 
 mouth half filled with mud ; " I shall have her in 
 another minute." 
 
 " ' Don't say so till you're sure ! ' " retorted Phil 
 again ; and just then the sportsman who had shot 
 the heron jumped out of his boat on a firmer part of 
 the strand, and, running along the bank, arrived at 
 
 F 2
 
 100 THE FISHEEMAX AND THE FIDDLEE. 
 
 the spot where Zed was struggling wdth the bird. 
 He struck off Zed's hold of the fowl with a slight 
 blow from his fowling-piece, and bore away the bird 
 in triumph. Zed slipped into the Trent, and went 
 souse over head, but rose instantly, and clambered 
 into the boat. He vented his disappointment and 
 vexation against the sportsman in no very gentle 
 terms, while the sportsman mocked him from the 
 bank; and, when the captor of the heron stepped 
 into his boat. Zed urged Phil to pull away, that they 
 might capsize the fellow, and give him a ducking, as 
 he said in his foolish haste. But Phil was always 
 Zed's better ansrel, though he was but a blind old 
 fiddler. " No, no. Zed," he cried, " you shall not 
 go that way. Let us make for home, that you may 
 get to the fii'e-side. I say you shall not go — and I 
 mean it, too." 
 
 Nobody in the world could control Zed Marrowby 
 but Phil Garret, when old Zed was in his fuddled 
 freaks ; and even Phil could not always succeed ; but 
 Zed's wet shirt helped to cool his choler in this 
 instance. 
 
 "To old Nick with the fellow, and his heron-sue !" 
 cried Zed, pulling in the same direction with Phil; 
 " I'll e'en let him take his live lumber : what good 
 will it do him?" 
 
 " Just as the fox said of the grapes, when he 
 couldn't reach 'em — ■ ' Hang 'em ! they're as sour as 
 crabs!'" rejoined Phil; "but that was what I said
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 101 
 
 to myself, when you were struggling so liard to get 
 the useless fowl ; and what good would it have done 
 you. Zed?" 
 
 "Hang me, if I know, exactly!" replied Zed, 
 looking foolish, and wishing himself in a corner. 
 
 " You wouldn't like to eat a heron-sue, for they're 
 as rank as stinking fish, I've heard say," continued 
 Phil ; " and Avhat else you would have done with it 
 I'm quite at a loss to guess : but never mind. Zed, 
 you've got a cooler, now, — and I think you won't 
 be so hot again for some time to come." 
 
 " Well, well, it's all in our lifetime," said Zed, 
 resolving to be cheerful ; " only pull away, and let 
 us get to our own fire-side, that I may dry my old 
 skin, there's a jolly fellow !" 
 
 " So I will. Zed," replied Phil, and doubled the 
 force of his strokes at the oar ; " but I hope you'll 
 promise me not to resume your gold-digging when 
 w^e land under the old castle- walls." 
 
 " I will, I will, Phil, — and so don't banter me 
 any more ; I shall be a cooler man for some time to 
 come, after this, depend on't," answered Zed, with 
 his teeth chattering. 
 
 And Zed spoke as truly as ever a prophet spoke, 
 and much more truly than many ; for, although he 
 got Avell warmed ere he went to bed, yet his partici- 
 pation of so much extra liquor at the wedding, his 
 foolish freak at money-digging the preceding night, 
 and his cold bath to conclude, operating together 
 
 F ^
 
 102 THE riSHER3IAN AND THE FIDDLER. 
 
 upon his aged frame, produced rheumatic effects 
 which never left him. 
 
 Zed Marrowby and Phil Garrett left their voy- 
 aging at the close of that summer. True, they made 
 all fit and industrious preparation for the next 
 spring; and Zed's heart was gleefully bent on re- 
 suming their old cruises on their beloved Trent, and 
 in their beloved old boat ; but Phil listened with a 
 foreboding heart to the deep cough which shook 
 Zed's old body tlirough the winter, and often inter- 
 rupted his fervid utterances of Avhat pleasure he ex- 
 pected when summer should come again. And when 
 Zed Marrowby would exclaim, " We shall have 
 another merry summer's cruise yet, Phil!" Phil 
 Garret would answer with more solemnity, much 
 more, than was his wont to put on, " Don't say so 
 till you're are sure. I think. Zed, we shall cruise no 
 more in this world ; and I hope our next port will 
 be in a better land." Zed poohed and pshawed, for 
 some time, at this " solemn way o' talking," as he 
 called it ; but at length he began to feel that Phil 
 was right — he grew feebler as the spring drew 
 nearer, and when it came, feeling the expectation to 
 be vain of ever stepping again into the beloved old 
 boat, he took Phil's advice — for he said he always 
 thought it worth more than tlie parson's — and 
 strove to fix his mind on reaching the happy port in 
 the better land. 
 
 Zed Marrowby's end was calm and peaceful ; and
 
 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FIDDLER. 103 
 
 SO was that of Phil Garret, his faithful companion, 
 who was also laid under the green sod in old Torksey 
 churchyard within six months after. The memory 
 of their names and lives is well-nigh lost in the rural 
 locality where they lived ; but there is not a saying- 
 more common in old Lincolnshire to this day than 
 that quaint caution so often uttered by the blind 
 fiddler to his less grave comrade, " Don't say so till 
 you are sure ! " 
 
 F 4
 
 104 MASTEK ZEEUBBABEL, 
 
 MASTEli ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 THE A^TIurARY; 
 
 HOW HE FOUXD OUT THE •• XOOSE LARXIXG. 
 
 AxTiQUAEiES are scarce now-a-days. Don't mis- 
 take me^ reader ; I know that there is an abundance 
 of writers on things which are ancient — av, and 
 more, that certain pragmatical folk pretend now 
 to know more exactly how every thing went on two 
 thousand vears aero, nav four thousand rears asfo, 
 than was known a few generations since by the first 
 scholars in Europe. But don't say I question the 
 likelihood of people knowing more about the ancients 
 the farther time removes us from them, — because 
 that would be literarv heresv, and would bring 
 upon an unlucky wight the hot persecution of the 
 orthodox. But — I repeat it — Antiquaries are scarce 
 now-a-davs. I mean, vour real thorough-bred ones, 
 if I mav sav so — the fine old fellows who forgot their 
 breakfasts and dinners, walked out in their night- 
 caps, went to bed in their inexpressibles, — in brief.
 
 THE .\:n-tiquary. 105 
 
 did all manner of queer absent things by reason that 
 they were ever present, in mind, with the long bearded 
 Druids, or the starched Romans, or the wao-o-ish 
 Athenians, or the broth-supping Spartans, or some 
 other of the peoples who have been dead and buried 
 hundreds and hundreds of vears a2;o. Talk of anti- 
 quaries ! — where are your lean, skeleton, paragons 
 of patience now, who can dwell seven years, with 
 ecstasy, on the contemplation of a nail proven to 
 have been attached to a horse-shoe of ten centuries 
 old, — or who will write you, fasting, twenty folio 
 sheets on the discovery of an urn of Roman coins, 
 or the opening of a British tumulus ? The race is now 
 extinct : it has been driven out of existence by the 
 newer and more civilised race of the g-entlemen anti- 
 quaries, — just as the aborigines of Xew Holland and 
 Xorth America are following where the Peruvians 
 have already gone, into the realm of nought, before 
 the European grasp-alls. 
 
 One of the latest existing specimens of the genuine 
 antiquary was to be found in the little county town 
 of Oakham, in little Rutland, some seventy years by- 
 gone. Zerubbabel Dickinson was his name, and he 
 was proud of it : — and many an unwdling and loiter- 
 ing urchin had he whipt through the nouns and verbs, 
 and the " Propria quaj maribus," into the '• As in 
 pnesenti," in his time, for he kept the best school in 
 the town, during his best days ; — and when his vigour 
 declined, and his eyes and ears gi*ew somewhat dim. 
 
 F O
 
 106 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 he still continued to exert his skill and intelligence 
 in the induction of a more contracted number of 
 pupils into the porches of classic learning. But then 
 he no longer enjoyed the high gratification of being 
 addressed in his full, imposing name, alike by peasant, 
 tradesman, or gentleman : Zerubbabel sunk to " Hub- 
 by," as the fine old pedagogue's shoulders declined 
 in their stately height, and his slower sense rendered 
 it less certain that he heard distinctly every syllable 
 which was uttered by his acquaintances. Yet there 
 was no acidity of motive, no ill-naturedness, ia 
 the use of this familiar abbreviation, for Hubby 
 Dickinson was as much beloved, if he were not quite 
 so stiffly respected, as "Master Zerubbabel" had 
 been. And that shows, almost beyond the necessity 
 of telling, that the fine old antiquary had contracted 
 no rust of the heart among the rusty coins he had 
 turned over so oft and so ecstatically ; but, rather, 
 that his excellent nature had mellowed and become 
 more loveable with age, though it had shrunk from 
 its former somewhat pride-blown proportions. 
 
 Self-complacence Hubby Dickinson had felt, in his 
 day, — and he must have been a jihilosopher, indeed, 
 could he have utterly subdued such a feeling, — see- 
 ing that his learning was esteemed, by gentle and 
 simple, a thing so ponderous and vast, that every 
 body wondered how Master Zerubbabel's brain could 
 hold it, or his shoulders bear the burthen of it. Ccrtes, 
 there was not even a clergyman in the neighbour-
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. 107 
 
 hood, despite his Oxford or Cambridge matriculation, 
 but what resorted to the humble abode of the great 
 antiquarian schoolmaster for the interpretation of 
 difficult Greek or Hebrew texts; not an ancient 
 will or parchment ever puzzled a Rutland lawyer, 
 but it was brought to Master Zerubbabel Dickinson 
 to decipher it; and not a ploughboy or a hcdger 
 or ditcher found a rust- eaten coin, or an ancient key, 
 or a mysterious-looking fragment of pottery beneath 
 the earth's surface, but they would forthwith journey 
 to the dwelling of the " high-larnt" Oakham school- 
 master to learn the meaning, or the use, or the value 
 of their discovery. Coins the illustrious Zerubbabel 
 possessed of all ages, and almost all countries — at 
 least, so he believed, — and keys of the most ornate 
 Saxon fashion ; and spear-heads and arrow-heads of 
 the most primitive Keltic rudeness ; beaking-bills of 
 the age of A Ifred, and daggers of the reign of Canute ; 
 fragments of steel-shirts that had been worn in 
 the Crusades ; and hilts and crosses of swords which 
 had done service in Cressy or Agincourt: and all 
 these were so learnedly arranged, that their order, 
 itself, proclaimed the antiquary's incomparable erudi- 
 tion ; while the syllables he would utter in illustration 
 of their uses, and ages, and owners, and concomitants 
 innumerable, left you in a perfect whirl of wonder ! 
 
 Now, of all these, the priceless contents of his 
 precious museum, Zerubbabel had written folio upon 
 folio ; and still continued to write thereon, feelino- 
 
 F 6
 
 108 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 that it behoved him to say all that possibly could be 
 said, on topics of such surpassing magnitude and im- 
 portance, ere he ventured to give his lucubrations to 
 the world. Nevertheless, these were minor labours, 
 which, compared with one great and grand under- 
 taking that occupied nine-tenths of every leisure 
 hour of his more advanced life, were but as so many 
 ant-hills to a pyramid. 
 
 Reader, hast thou ever seen the old castle of Oak- 
 ham ? If thou hast not, and opportunity will serve, 
 prythee, go thither, and feast thy eyes with the 
 Avondrous array — not of breathing sculptures, or 
 matchless pictures ; not of antique folios or curiously 
 carven cabinets ; not of storied tapestries or blazing 
 heraldries — but of horse-shoes : ay, horse-shoes of 
 all sorts and sizes, that adorn the walls of that singular 
 old Saxon hall, — supported by its " antique pillars 
 massy proof," — and stretching its primitive roof over- 
 head. A sight it is, pregnant with abundant re- 
 flection, that curious monument of feudalism ; and 
 many and marvellous are the stories they tell you 
 about its origin : but, chiefly, they report that Ferrers 
 — the Earl now, but simply, the ferrier, or farrier, 
 to the victorious Norman — obtained, with this fief, 
 authority to demand a horse-shoe of any knight, 
 baron, or earl, who rode for the first time through 
 his manor of Oakham. And many a veritable shoe 
 taken from the foot of the steed of proud baron, or 
 chivalrous knight, — his name obliterated by the rust
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. 109 
 
 of ages, — you beliold on those walls ; but there- 
 with now mingle the mock-shoes of the modern great : 
 a semblance, merely, put up at a great price, in some 
 instances, they say. Gigantic shapes, some of these 
 modern thino;s are : such are those bearino; the in- 
 scriptions " H. R. H. the Prince Regent," and 
 " H. R. H. the Duchess of Kent," Avhich latter hath 
 a more diminutive one beside it, inscribed " the 
 Princess Victoria." Of the judges, who here hold 
 the courts of assize, the modern monuments of this 
 curious kind are the most numerous ; and if you listen 
 to a sly Oakhamer he will not fail to tell you how 
 often that model of political consistency, of generosity, 
 liberality, integrity, impartiality, gentleness, and all 
 the enlightened virtues — the ever-to-be-commemo- 
 rated Abinger — was dunned for his five pounds, and 
 how often he contrived to slip, like an eel, through 
 the fingers of those whose office or privilege it is to 
 claim the shoe or the price of it, before he was 
 finally caught. Yet there is the shoe of the stainless 
 and exalted legal functionary on the wall, — so that 
 he loas caught at last ! 
 
 Pardon, reader, this most unseemly wandering 
 from the illustrious subject of our present biography, 
 the erudite Zerubbabel Dickinson. Now it was 
 in the contemplation of this unique monument of 
 baronial greatness, — it was in the collection and 
 collocation of manuscripts relative to the identity of 
 the several shoes, — it was in the array of the jiedi-
 
 110 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 grees of those in whose naines they were put up, — ■ 
 it was in brushing away the rust (not from the shoes, 
 for the discerning Dickinson would have adjudged 
 him a pagan, of a verity, and no Christian, who dared 
 to disturb a grain of it !) ■ — the rust of uncertainty 
 that Iiung about the names and memories of those to 
 whom the more ancient furniture of horses' feet be- 
 longed, — it was in this mine profound of all that was 
 important, and noble, and useful, and great, and 
 grand, about the countless catalogue of horse-shoes 
 that were nailed to the walls of the great hall in the 
 castle of Oakham, that the learned and laborious 
 Zerubbabel dug and delved, — it was on these themes, 
 I say (and I scarcely know how to express myself 
 worthily on so magnitudinous a matter), that the 
 indefatigable and magnanimous schoolmaster-anti- 
 quary expended the choicest energies of his un- 
 tiring intellect. 
 
 This, courteous reader, was the j)rime labour — 
 the ojms majus of Master Zerubbabel Dickinson. 
 The work was to have been entituled " Tallagium 
 illustrissimuTn ; seu Catalogus solearum ferrearum " — 
 with I know not how many more urns and arums, 
 besides. Was to have been ? Yes ; for let it not be 
 supposed that so stupendous a work was ever finished. 
 It was the opinion of the laborious Zerubbabel him- 
 self that it never could be finished, so transcendent 
 was the heau-ideal of such a work that he had con- 
 ceived.
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. Ill 
 
 But enough of a subject which, in this degenerate 
 age, will never be placed at its right value. This 
 slender fragment of a biographic memorial was not 
 commenced so much with the view of showing how 
 truly great a man was the erudite Master Zerubbabel, 
 — since we would despair as deeply of doing justice 
 to so immense a subject as Zerubbabel himself des- 
 l^aired of completing the leviathan folios of the miglity 
 " Tallagium ilhistrissimum : " we have a more philo- 
 sophic purpose in view — namely, the proof, by history, 
 of the striking moral truism, that the greatest men 
 arc very little men when you take them out of their 
 accustomed sphere : in other words, that the Avisest 
 men are fools when you talk to them about things 
 with which, in spite of their wisdom, they are not 
 conversant. But why prove a truism? Ah, my 
 friend, these same truisms, as the world calls them, 
 for the greater part, are just the very things that 
 want proving . 
 
 " Master Hubby," said a jolly fat farmer who 
 called, with his ftit wife and her egg-basket, at the 
 schoolmaster's door, towards five of the clock on a 
 market afternoon, ''w^e've browt ye a queer, odd- 
 fashionedish sort on a thing, here, that we fun i'th' 
 home clooas tuther day ; can ye tell us what it is ? " 
 and the farmer produced an ancient fragment of iron- 
 Avork of a crooked form, but so unlike any modern 
 utensil of any kind, that any one but an antiquary 
 might Avell be puzzled with it. Nay, the profoundly
 
 112 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 erudite Zerubbabel himself was nonplused for the 
 moment ! He turned it over and over, and put on 
 his spectacles, and then took them off again, and 
 wiped them, and re-odjusted them to the most per- 
 fect distance for his natural optics — that is to say, he 
 placed them as near to the very tip of his nose as they 
 would remain without falling off, — but all his delays 
 for consideration would not do : he was compelled to 
 confess that he did not know what it was ! 
 
 " Why dooant ye, indeed ? " cried the farmer with 
 a stare. 
 
 " The Lord ha' marcy on us ! you dooant say so, 
 Master Hubby, do ye ? " echoed the farmer's wife, 
 perfectly electrified with the thought that there was 
 any thing ancient which Hubby did not understand ; 
 and she set down her basket of eggs, and drew out 
 her spectacle-case, and put on her spectacles also, to 
 gaze at Hubby in his. 
 
 And so there stood the odd trio at the learned 
 schoolmaster's door: the man of ancient learning, 
 barnacled to the nose-tip, and holding up the curious 
 crooked rusty piece of iron with a gaze of indescrib- 
 able eagerness ; and the farmer with open mouth, and 
 hands buried in the profound pockets of the plush 
 waistcoat that enveloped the goodly rotundity of his 
 person ; and the farmer's wife, with the basket at 
 her feet, her arms a-kimbo, and her eyes directed 
 with intense earnestness through her spectacles on
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. 113 
 
 the movements of the illustrious Zcrubbabel's counte- 
 nance. 
 
 There was a perfect silence of full three minutes, 
 and still the trio gazed on. 
 
 " Where found ye it ? " asked Hubby, at last, 
 not knowing what other question to adventure. 
 
 *' At Hambleton on tli' hill," replied the farmer ; 
 " and what think ye to't then now. Master Hubby ? " 
 he asked a<2;ain. 
 
 Zerubbabel shook his head, and there was again a 
 profound and perfect silence. 
 
 " You know, Davy," said the farmer's wife, at 
 length, " young Bob Rakeabout said he was some- 
 how of a mind it was " 
 
 " Pooh, woman ! " said the impatient farmer : 
 '' where's the use and sense of telling what such a 
 rattle-scallion as he thinks ?" 
 
 " Nay, but, Davy," reiterated the spouse, " it may 
 be of use, for they say he's book-larnt." 
 
 " Book-larnt ! ay, mally good faith, I think as 
 much : and noose-larnt, too," replied the farmer; " and 
 I wish, when his last noose is tied, he may be allowed 
 benefit o' clargy ! " and he burst into a loud laugh at 
 his own wit. 
 
 " Well, howsomever," said the wife, " young Bob 
 said he could swear it was a spur, and nowt else." 
 
 " Calcar equitis Bomani, of a verity ! " exclaimed 
 Zerubbabel, and danced with ecstasy, till the farmer 
 and his wife stared harder than ever.
 
 114 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 *' Ha ! ye fun' it out ? " cried the farmer's wife : 
 " Lord ! maister Hubby, do tell us what ye thiuk 
 it is." 
 
 *' A spur, good neighbours, a spur it is, no doubt, 
 and hath belonged to some valorous Roman knight 
 many ages ago," replied Hubby. 
 
 " Why, zowks, then. Bob was right," said the 
 farmer ; " and pray ye, Maister Hubby, accept a 
 dozen o' pullets' eggs with it, for it is not worth 
 having by itself." 
 
 Zerubbabel was of a very different opinion, but 
 very thankfully received the eggs, notwithstanding ; 
 and his homely visitors bade him good afternoon. 
 
 And now did the deeply learned man retire into 
 the very penetralia of reflection, and meditation, and 
 thought, and consideration, and so forth ; yet the 
 " vasty cavern " of his mind displayed other and 
 more profound concernments than admiration of the 
 invaluable Roman spur. " Noose-larnt " — that was 
 the singular word which riveted his thought. 
 " Noose-larnt ! — what could it mean ? That was 
 the great question which the great^ Zerubbabel 
 asked of himself — for he knew no higher authority 
 on such high matters — at least one hundred times 
 before he went to bed ; but he slept — answerless ! 
 Again, on the succeeding day — ay, and on the 
 day succeeding that day — Hubby Dickinson pon- 
 dered on the same profound problem ; and, on the 
 third night, when he had extended his cogitations to
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. 115 
 
 the stroke of twelve, and his sole remaining candle 
 was reduced to one inch of tallow, and four of black 
 wick, curling through and through the struggling 
 bit of flame, and spreading gloom rather than light 
 over Hubby's little studium — then it was that 
 Hubby Dickinson, feeling one thought go through 
 him like a flash of lightning, suddenly sprang up, 
 crying out, " Eureka — eureka ! " and plucked an 
 ancient volume from its shelf to satisfy himself of 
 the correctness of his thought. 
 
 The searcher for enlightenment snuffed the candle 
 Avith a speed and dexterity which few could equal, 
 — performing the act with Nature's snuffers, his 
 fingers, — feeling that the vastitude and urgency of 
 the inquiry did not permit the delay of employing 
 the aid of man's mechanic invention, — and then, and 
 then — opening the ancient volume, and turning to 
 the name he contemplated, and fixing his spectacles, 
 once again, in the most advantageous position — the 
 ardent and delighted antiquary read out aloud to 
 himself the following passage from the said ancient 
 tome : — 
 
 " Anaxagoras, the disciple of Anaximenes, was sur- 
 named JVous, which signifieth intelligence, by reason 
 of his excelling quickness of parts, and a certain, I 
 know not what, of instant perception or discernment 
 of nice difficulties in a twinkling. For whereas 
 other wise men went round about to survey the 
 questions to them proponed, on this side and that,
 
 116 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 and, after much nice calculation and naming of 
 postulates, drew from the balance of probabilities 
 what they affirmed to be a correct answer, this 
 philosopher manifested a strength and clearness of 
 judgment, and swiftness of reasoning, Avhich might be 
 said to partake of intuition, — a faculty which the 
 gods themselves only possess in its perfection : and 
 thus it came to pass that Anaxagoras Avas called, in 
 the Hellenistic tongue. Nous, or intelligence." 
 
 That was the passage he read ; and when he had 
 read it he closed the heavy quarto with a noise like 
 the report of a gun, and again cried out that " he had 
 found it " with all his power of lungs. And then, 
 feeling that he had done business enough for one 
 night, in having made so transcendentally-sagacious 
 a discovery, he put out the small remnant of candle, 
 groped his way to his bed-side, and, while he per- 
 formed the prefatory work of unclothing, thus he 
 soliloquised : — 
 
 " Yea, of a verity, this is the true interpretation 
 of the mystery. This ' Noose-larnt ' young man is 
 some great natural genius, — some miracle of mother 
 wit, — some second Anacharis the Scythian, who 
 would very likely beat all the wise men of this time, 
 although he never entered the pale of the schools, — 
 nay, perhaps, hath never passed beyond the limits of 
 the lordship of Hambleton-on-the-hill. I have no 
 doubt of it ; for none but such a genius could have 
 determined, without witchcraft, that this curiously
 
 THE ANTIQUAllY. 117 
 
 shapen piece of ancient armour pertained to the 
 heel. It is strange that my friend, the parson of 
 Hambleton, — - Avho must have given the young man 
 this expressive epithet, seeing that the rural people 
 understand no Greek, — it is strange that he never 
 told me of the existence of this youth. But I will 
 essay to find him out, if I be spared till the iiiorning 
 light ! O Ilubby Dickinson ! though few now 
 call you Zerubbabel, yet you may have lived to 
 this age for a high purpose, even to bring to 
 light the name and singular endowments of this 
 ' Noose- larnt ' youth ! Why, the discovery may even 
 ennoble you beyond the composition of the grand 
 Tallagium ! " And then Hubby fell asleep, and 
 dreamt delightfully; but the delight itself, of his 
 dream awoke him, and again he began to soliloquise 
 amid the darkness : — 
 
 " Why, it is as clear and luminous as the sun at 
 noon to my mind," he said to himself: " nothing 
 less than the possession of a high degree of the faculty 
 of intuition could have enabled this youth to an- 
 nounce such a truth. Verily, there is no wonder 
 the rude peasant people entertain suspicions that he 
 hath a familiar, or is a wizard : and that they do 
 entertain such ideas is evident from that stranirc 
 exclamation, or rather optation, of Gaffer Davy — 
 he Avished when the youth's last noose was tied he 
 might find benefit o'clergy. There, is an allusion to 
 the ancient privilege of escape from the halter by a
 
 118 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 neck-verse, which I have illustrated in the Tallagium. 
 Doubtless, the farmers and ploughmen believe this 
 singular youth to be one who deals in the black art, 
 and think his mal-practices may bring him to the 
 gallows. Ah, it is the way in which the lights of 
 the world have been treated in all ages ! I will find 
 out the abode of this miracle of nature, that I 
 will ! " he said, and again fell asleep. 
 
 The morning broke. Hubby opened his eyes, and 
 forthwith arose to renew his self-consfratulations. 
 " Ah, Hubby," said he to himself, " you will live to 
 be called Master Zerubbabel again, by gentle and 
 simple ; for you ai'e destined, this day, to achieve a 
 great work ! " And then he went over the roll of 
 his reasonings again, and, feeling more assured than 
 ever of the certitude of them, he again congratulated 
 himself. " Ay, as old as I am, I have not lost my 
 power of peneti'ating a matter," he said ; " tell me 
 who, in the whole county of Rutland, except myself, 
 could have found this out from the simple premises 
 on which it was given me to erect my sagacious 
 hypothesis ? " 
 
 Reader, — was Hubby Dickinson a very silly old 
 fellow to talk and think thus ? Ah, how many of 
 your great philosophers have reared their world- 
 admired hypotheses from premises as slight ; and 
 yet how long it was before the folly of many of 
 them was found out ! 
 
 Well, there was now but one step to be taken as
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. 119 
 
 a preliminary to the commencement of Hubby's 
 journey to Plambleton, which, he was sure, would 
 be memorable while the world lasted: it was — to 
 give his scholars a holiday. 
 
 Reader, — talk of potentates by whatever name 
 you will ; but your schoolmaster is your only em- 
 peror ! Can he not make laws — break laws — bind 
 his subjects — set them free — and, in one word, do 
 what he listeth ? I tell thee, reader, that his is the 
 true imjyerium in imperio : his will is law, and who 
 can gainsay it ? Thou knowest of no potentate so 
 truly imperial as the village schoolmaster. 
 
 And Hubby Dickinson — had he not po\Yer in 
 himself, and of himself — to give his boys a holiday ? 
 That he had ; and when the word was given, ye 
 powers ! what a rush was there over benches, and 
 wdiat a scampering for hats ; and then the huzza ! 
 when the threshold was passed and the plans for 
 fun throughout the live-long day that were formed ! 
 Woe worth the world ! one owes it a srudffe, one is 
 tempted to think, since it hath taken away from our 
 lips the nectared chalice of childhood, and giveth us 
 now, from day to day, no other draught but this 
 unsavoury minglement, wherein one scarcely knows 
 whether the bitterness or the insipidity most pre- 
 vails ! 
 
 It was but three short miles from Oakham to Ham- 
 bleton ; and Hubby Dickinson's eagerness of desire
 
 120 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 gave such strength and speed to his limbs that he 
 soon reached the village. 
 
 " Pray, my good friend," said he to a farmer on 
 horseback, as he entered the place, " can you say 
 where I shall find the singularly endowed youth who 
 is familiarly called Bob Rakeabout, the Noose- 
 larnt?" 
 
 Poor Hubby ! how he stared, and how loftily in- 
 dignant he felt, when the farmer returned him a 
 broad horse-laugh for an answer, and, setting spurs 
 to his horse, rode away ! He was not to be driven 
 from his purpose, however, and put the same ques- 
 tion to a pedestrian, next. The man, who was a 
 ditcher Avith a shovel on his shoulder, touched, or 
 rather nipped, his hat skirts, and asked what the 
 gentleman said ; and when he clearly understood that 
 Bob Rakeabout was wanted, his reply was, that he 
 knew not where he would be found, unless at the 
 alehouse. Hubby thanked his informant, but was 
 sure within himself that there was some '^mistake 
 arising from the man's dulness, for it could not be 
 that a genius of so magnificent a grade as the human 
 being he was seeking could be found loitering in a 
 vulgar alehouse. So on Hubby strode, looking at 
 the ground, and thinking, and thinking, — till, at 
 last, he was accosted by a very dark-visaged and 
 singularly dressed man, who stood by a tent in a 
 lane, on the other side of the village — for the thinker 
 had passed quite through it, unconsciously.
 
 THE ANTIQUAEY. 121 
 
 " Fine weather, sir," said the man; " you seem to 
 be in a brown study." 
 
 " Pray, my friend," said Hubby, Instantly, " know 
 you one Bob Rakeabout, a singularly gifted youth 
 who, I am Informed, hath obtained the significant 
 epithet of the ' Noose-larnt ? ' " 
 
 The man took his short black pipe from his mouth, 
 and stared agape for a few seconds, and then said, 
 with a smothered laugh, — 
 
 " Oh, Bob ! Ay, I know him Avell : he's famous 
 for noose-larnlno; ! " 
 
 Hubby Dickinson's heart leaped within him, and he 
 bounded from the side of the road Into the centre of 
 the lane, and, grasping the man's hand, conjured him 
 to lead him to the youth's presence. By this time, 
 three or four more dark faces had gathered at the 
 entrance of the tent. 
 
 " Come In a bit," said the man to whom the 
 antiquary had addressed himself. And, winking at 
 his companions, the gipsy led Hubby Into the tent. 
 
 Hubby was placed upon a sack that covered a clump 
 of wood, and was invited to partake some bread and 
 cheese, — while a boy ran into the village to fetch 
 Bob Rakeabout. Having, In his eagerness, utterly 
 forgot his breakfast at home. Hubby felt nothing 
 loth when he saw the food, and accordingly ac- 
 cepted a " good farrantly piece," as the gipsies called 
 It. A humming horn of ale followed, and then 
 another, and another. Indeed, the contents of the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 huge black earthen bottle were passed about rather 
 freely. Endless questions followed, and strange 
 answers were given ; and sometimes the gipsies 
 stared, and at others they smiled, and often they 
 were in danger of laughing outright. 
 
 At length the boy returned, and, behold ! imme- 
 diately afterwards Bob Rakeabout, the " Noose-larnt" 
 himself, entered the tent! Hubby rose to receive 
 him, bareheaded ; but, he knew not how it was, it 
 was somewhat difficult for him to stand, and so he 
 sat down again. As for the great natural phenome- 
 non himself, he stretched his brawny hand to each of 
 the gipsies, and they shook it with remarkable good- 
 humour. Then, seizing the black earthen bottle, he 
 apphed it to his mouth, without either using the horn 
 or waiting for invitation to drink. 
 
 Hubby's thinkings were becoming somewhat con- 
 fused; but he turned, inwardly, to the fact that 
 Diogenes threw away his dish when he saw the boy 
 drink out of his hand. " Of a verity, the youth is 
 one of Nature's own miracles ! " said he to himself. 
 
 Forthwith, Bob Rakeabout rakishly laughed as he 
 took out a large pouch, composed of mole-skins, and 
 filled with tobacco. He laid it open on the floor of 
 the tent, filled his own short pipe from it, and the 
 gipsies immediately followed his example. Hubby, 
 as yet, had scarcely spoken to Bob ; but when the 
 whole company began to smoke, and the antiquary 
 was again pressed to drink, for more than one reason
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. 123 
 
 he quietly remarked that he much wished to con- 
 verse with this youth alone. 
 
 " Oh, ay," replied the gipsy, Avhom Hubby had 
 seen first, " Bob will have no objection to that : — 
 you can show this gentleman some noose-laming, 
 can't you. Bob ? " 
 
 The gipsies tittered, — but Bob understood the 
 question, — for much had been said by himself and 
 the gipsies in the peculiar slang of their tribe, which 
 Hubby had not comprehended. 
 
 " Take another horn, sir," said Bob ; " and give 
 us another ten minutes to smoke our pipes out, and 
 I'll show ye some noose-larning, in a twink." 
 
 Hubby's head swum partly with pleasure, but 
 much more with the strong ale, to which he was 
 unused ; but he drank off the other horn, in eager 
 expectation of such a mental feast to follow it as he 
 had never yet tasted. 
 
 " Come along wi' me, sir ! " cried Bob, springing 
 up, suddenly, at the end of less than ten minutes ; 
 " come along wi' me, and I'll show ye some noose- 
 larning ! " 
 
 " Are ye really off, Bob ? " asked the gipsies, all 
 together. 
 
 " Ay, ay," he answered, " kick up a roaster, and 
 set on iron-jack against I come back." 
 
 Hubby thought this strange talk ; but he had not 
 time to think much about it, for Bob seized him by 
 the hand, and away they scampered together over two 
 
 G 2
 
 124 MASTER ZERUBBABEL, 
 
 or three fields, and then entered a wood. And here 
 Bob took from his pocket certain strange engines of 
 wood and wire, and, showing Hubby the noose at- 
 tached to each, planted them severally in little 
 openings of bush or brake, while Hubby stared like 
 one that was thunder-struck, for Bob only uttered 
 one word — " Noose-larning ! " and then, seizing 
 Hubby by the arm, hurried him on again. At 
 length, in the thickest part of the wood. Bob began 
 to take up engines instead of putting them down 
 — but, lo ! there were dead hares attached to them. 
 
 And now poor Hubby Dickinson saw of what kind 
 of mettle the " miracle of mother-wit " was made, and, 
 taking to his heels, he ran from the poacher with as 
 much haste as if a legion of fiends were behind him. 
 Did the poacher follow ? Not he, indeed. He only 
 burst into hysterics of laughter, and then went on 
 with his business. 
 
 And whither fled the antiquary ? Indeed, he knew 
 not ; but, having emerged from the wood, he ran as 
 long as the fumes of the strong malt-liquor in his brains 
 permitted him to retain possession of the power of liis 
 feet ; and, when they failed him, he fell souse into a 
 ditch, which happened merely to contain mud instead 
 of water, and remained there, insensible and asleep 
 for the greater part of the time, till late in the after- 
 noon. 
 
 As luck would have it, the parson of Hambleton, 
 who was an old antiquarian crony of Hubby's, took
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. 125 
 
 his afternoon walk in that direction, and, to his per- 
 fect amazement, found his erudite friend in the ditch. 
 
 " Noose-larning ! " roared out Hubby, and shook 
 and shuddered, when the parson had poked him with 
 his walking-stick until he waked him : — " Noose - 
 laming ! " he still uttered, beholding the poacher in 
 the wood, in his bewildered condition. With much 
 ado. Hubby was at length fully brought to the re 
 membrance of what he was about, and being by that 
 time perfectly sober, — but dreadfully cramped, — 
 he clambered out of the ditch; and though sorely 
 ashamed of his bedaubed condition, and much more of 
 his doating folly, he accompanied his friend to the 
 parsonage-house at Hambleton, and, after much en- 
 treaty, with all the simplicity of liis soul, recounted 
 all he could remember of the whole adventure, com- 
 mencing with Gaffer Davy's visit and the present 
 of the Roman spur. 
 
 Oft was the hearty laugh of the plain Oakhamers 
 raised at Hubby Dickinson's expense, during the re- 
 mainder of his life ; but the fine old fellow's adven- 
 ture never lessened their esteem for him. He was 
 never permitted to want, even when age had stiffened 
 his limbs and almost totally closed his eyes and ears. 
 Town and country were alike proud of the learning 
 that he had possessed ; and the villages, especially, 
 believed that his like would never be seen in Rut- 
 land again, even to the day of judgment. 
 
 G 3
 
 126 MASTER ZERUBBABEL. 
 
 In tlie lapse of a few months, Hubby got over the 
 shame and soreness of mind created by his adventure 
 so entirely, as to be able to relish a joke about it ; 
 and, when his lamp of life was quivering and ready 
 to sink, nothing would so soon cause it to blaze up 
 with a healthy and cheerful light as a joke about 
 the " noose-larning " — unless it were a grave and 
 respectful mention of the " Tallagium illustrissimum." 
 But the lamp of that life went out at last, though its 
 exit from mortality was peaceful and gentle as the 
 sinking to sleep of a babe ; and never yet has " the 
 like " been seen in little Rutland, for wondrous learn- 
 ing, of Master Zerubbabel Dickinson.
 
 127 
 
 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMATs^, 
 
 AKD 
 
 HIS CROOKED STICK. 
 
 There is not a slglit In the world more distressful 
 to the bosom that retains any measure in it of " the 
 milk of human kindness " than that of an abject, 
 poverty-stricken fellow-creature, who once rolled in 
 wealth and plenty. Even the born beggar, who has 
 lived a beggar all his life, feels an involuntary com- 
 passion for such a man. And, if his fall be attri- 
 butable to no avaricious spirit of speculation, or 
 proud and sensual excess — but is the effect of For- 
 tune's untoward frown, or the result of what the 
 selfish world calls an imprudent practice of relieving 
 the distressed, the " beggared gentleman " is surely 
 a legitimate object of universal commiseration. 
 
 *"' Poor Mr. Cliiford ! " the most ragged and 
 hungry inhabitant of Kirton-in-Lindsey would ex- 
 claim, " how much he is to be pitied ! — I never 
 thought to see liim come to this I " And when the 
 subject of this general pity happened to let fall his 
 
 G 4
 
 128 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN". 
 
 curious crooked stick through infirmity of age, there 
 was not a poor man or woman in the little town but 
 would hasten to restore it to him who seemed to 
 regard it as the most prizeable possession he had left 
 in the world. It was moving to see the instant act 
 of ceremonious courtesy to Avhich the recipient of this 
 simple heart-kindness would resort. He would raise 
 his hat, and smile with the same polite expression of 
 thankfulness as in his best days. No one who saw 
 him could forget that he had been a gentleman. 
 And yet the home of his old age was one of squalid 
 misery ! 
 
 Hugh Clifford's father Avas a descendant, by a 
 younger branch, of a noble family, and had gained 
 a considerable fortune as a merchant in the port of 
 Hull. He died in the beginnino; of the reisrn of 
 George the Third, and left his accumulated wealth to 
 his only son, who was then at college. Hugh hastened 
 home, on the sudden death of his father, and, by the 
 advice of a few friends, resolved to carry on his 
 father's mercantile concern. Twelve months, how- 
 ever, served to disgust him with business. His 
 wealth, instead of augmenting, began rapidly to de- 
 crease under the peculations of clerks and managers, 
 to whom the business was necessarily entrusted, and 
 he took the resolution, ere it was too late, of retiring, 
 after he had disposed of his " concern," to a pretty 
 little estate which had fallen to him, by his mother's 
 right, at the pleasant little rural town of Kirton-in-
 
 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 129 
 
 Linclsey, that like " a city set on a hill " delights the 
 eye of the traveller for miles before he reaches it. 
 
 For many years, Hugh Clifford's house was a 
 general refuge for the distressed. None ever knocked 
 at his gate, and told a tale of want, but they found 
 instant relief. Hugh CliiFord's heart was expansive 
 as Nature herself. He felt that all men were his 
 brethren, and that, if he merely tendered them lip- 
 kindness when they were in sorrow, it was but mockery. 
 He pondered over the precepts and history of the 
 Great Exemplar, until, nature and reason combining 
 to stimulate him, his whole life became an effort to 
 banish the misery of human-kind. And yet the 
 sphere in which he acted was comparatively narrow ; 
 for his natural intelligence was not of that high order 
 which marks out for itself extended fields of enter- 
 prize in philanthropy. Hugh Clifford could not be 
 termed a planet, like Howard, that visited widely 
 distant climes in its great dispensing orbit of good- 
 ness ; but he was most veritably a star of benevolence, 
 that cheered with a pure and genial light all within 
 its neighbourhood who partook of woe and wretched- 
 ness. 
 
 Living, by his charity, in the very core of poor 
 men's hearts, and respected for his true politeness 
 and urbanity by his wealthier neighbours, Huo-h 
 Clifford, while he rendered others happy, was be- 
 lieved to be himself a very happy man. Never- 
 theless, for twenty years after he had passed the 
 
 G 5
 
 130 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 
 
 prime of age, discomfort and distress were gradually 
 stealing upon him ; and these, too, from a source 
 which was almost entirely unsuspected by the ma- 
 jority of his neighbours. True, it was sometimes 
 remarked that fox-eyed lawyer Merrick was often, 
 very often, at CliiFord cottage, — and this was con- 
 sidered to be anomalous, since Hugh Clifford's ac- 
 quaintances had been uniformly chosen for some 
 quality which distinguished them In the little town 
 and its neighbourhood, as benefactors rather than 
 oppressors of the poor : albeit lawyer Merrick was 
 notoriously of the latter description of character. 
 A few shrewd, hard-bargaining farmers also made a 
 notch In their memories, now and then, that lawyer 
 Merrick's purchases of odd bits of land were be- 
 coming frequent now he seemed to be so very oft a 
 visitor at good Mr. Clifford's. 
 
 Notwithstanding these slight precurses of suspicion, 
 it came, at length, upon the ears of the Kirton people, 
 l)Oor and rich together, like the shock of an earth- 
 quake, that " poor good old Mr. Clifford was turned 
 bodily out of doors, with nothing but the clothes on 
 his back and his favourite crooked stick in his hand, 
 a complete pauper, for that he had been getting into 
 lawyer Merrick's debt for years and years, by bor- 
 rowing small sums upon his estate, whereby all he 
 Avas worth was mortgaged to the lawyer, who had 
 now suddenly foreclosed, and pounced upon house
 
 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 131 
 
 and land, pushing good old Mr. Clifford away, by 
 the shoulders ! " 
 
 " Poor Mr. Clifford ! " was echoed by every body ; 
 — but who helped " poor Mr. Clifford ? " 
 
 There lay the hardest fact in the good man's his- 
 tory. The little tradesmen who had shared his daily 
 orders for the relief of the miserable had none of them 
 more than five pounds in their books against him ; 
 but each of them made out a bill of thrice the amount 
 of their debt, and so figured in the Avorld's compassion 
 as great losers by the " beggared gentleman," instead 
 of ingrates, when they shut their doors against him. 
 The farmers shook their heads, and buttoned up their 
 fobs, saying, " It was no wonder that all was over 
 with Mr. Clifford : he ought to have remembered 
 that, ' Charity begins at home.' " The parish parson, 
 who was the prime whip of the neighboiu'hood, and 
 spent more days of the year with 'Squire Harrison's 
 hounds than he spent in his pulpit and study, thrice 
 told, only struck his top-boots violently Avith his 
 whip, and said, " God bless me ! I always^ thought 
 the poor fellow was cracked in his upper story ! 
 Why, he must have meant to end his days in an 
 alms-house, or he would not have undertaken to 
 keep all the poor in my parish and the surrounding 
 parishes to boot ! " and, springing into the stirrups, 
 was out of sight in a minute. 
 
 And into an alms-house poor Hugh Clifford went, 
 but not until he had wandered through the little 
 
 G 6
 
 132 THE BEGGAEED GENTLEMAN. 
 
 town three or four times, leaning upon his curious 
 crooked stick, and looking as if unconscious of the 
 crowd of tearful poor men and women that followed 
 him. At first, the parish overseers waited, in the 
 expectation that, as a matter of course, either the 
 parson or some of the " better sort of people" would 
 invite the " beggared gentleman " into their houses ; 
 but when it was seen that no such invitation was 
 given, while, all the time, the poor fallen man was 
 w^andering in the street with derangement manifest 
 in his looks, the piizzled overseers laid their heads 
 to"'ether, and airreed that one of the alms-houses 
 sliould be apportioned for Mr. Clifford's home, and 
 that an old deaf female pauper should be put under 
 the same roof to wait upon him. 
 
 For many days the poor victim to his own good- 
 ness w^as silent and helpless, and, by order of the 
 parish surgeon, was disturbed, on the rugged bed 
 where he lay, no oftener than was necessary to 
 arouse him in order that he might be fed ; for his 
 mental powders seemed to have undergone so complete 
 a paralysis as to render him insensible to the calls of 
 nature. After the lapse of some weeks, during the 
 latter half of which he seemed to be absorbed in ab- 
 stract devotion, poor Hugh Clifford's mind rallied. 
 And now the meekness with Avhicli he bore his ad- 
 versity was equally remarkable with the perfectness 
 of that pity he had evermore displayed for the 
 wretched diuring the term of his prosperity. He
 
 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 133 
 
 accepted the smallest act of kindness with gratitude ; 
 and the poor deaf old female pauper never knew what 
 it was to hear him utter a word of complaint. 
 
 The remnant of his life may be summed up in a 
 few lines. All who had the means of ameliorating 
 his lot neglected him ; and all who wished for the 
 means, and had hearts to have used them in his* re- 
 lief, lacked them. He lived years in his beggared 
 condition, and died calmly and quietly, complaining 
 of nothing in the world, nor of the world itself, and 
 leaving but one request, — that his curious crooked 
 stick might be placed by his right side, in his coffin, 
 and buried with him ! 
 
 The deaf old female pauper who had waited on 
 him did not fail to communicate this strange request 
 to the parish overseers when they came to look at 
 Hugh Clifford's corpse, prior to giving orders for his 
 burial. It may be guessed that the singular request 
 gave rise to much wonder and some enquiry. But 
 the old female could only answer that the good gen- 
 tleman would often i^lace his odd-looking walking- 
 stick in the corner, and sit on his bedside lookino; 
 very intently upon it ; and that often he would turn 
 the other side of it to the wall, and then sit and look 
 at it again ; and several times she had seen him take 
 a little note-book from his coat pocket, at the breast, 
 and write in it, looking, ever and anon, at the 
 curious crooked stick. 
 
 The latter part of the old female's communication
 
 134 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 
 
 of course occasioned a search. The pocket-book was 
 found, and in it a paper covered with a close manu- 
 script of a most curious character, but one that served 
 to display the anatomy of poor Hugh Clifford's heart 
 under his misfortunes more fully than it could have 
 been laid open and read in either deathbed confes- 
 sion, or funeral sermon. It ran as follows : — 
 
 " A Soliloquy on my only faithful and never-failing 
 friend, — my beloved and valued crooked stick. 
 
 " Ay, there thou art, — my own crooked stick ! — 
 My heart cleaves to thee, in thy crookedness ; and I 
 love thus to look upon thee, more and more, daily, 
 as thou leanest by the wall in that corner, — remem- 
 bering that thou and I were not always tenants of 
 an alms-house. 
 
 " I love to look upon thee, with a melancholy yet 
 pleasurable love, beholding that thou preservest thy 
 crooked identity, — yea, remainest as crooked as ever 
 thou wert ! I know not whether aught within me, 
 or, indeed, any thing but thyself without me, be still 
 the same as on that beautiful summer eve when, more 
 than fifty years ago, I cut thee from the venerable 
 crab-tree whereon thou didst grow, and we formed 
 our inseparable friendship. 
 
 " The wise men of this age would tell me that not 
 a particle of the body I had then, at nineteen, is to 
 be found in this old body of threescore and ten, —
 
 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 135 
 
 but that blood, bone, brains, and all its other youth- 
 ful components, are changed. I know not, my dear 
 crooked crab-stick, how truly they may speak ; but 
 this I know, — that I then was proud of a perfect 
 and spotless array of teeth, while, now, my old 
 gums are tenantless ; that then my eyes were sharp 
 and strong, while now I see, with the utmost diffi- 
 culty, objects removed half a yard from my nose : 
 that then my ears were instruments of use, and 
 porches for receiving the brain's most precious visit- 
 ants, the sounds of music, — while, now, they only 
 serve to plague me when I see people's lips moving, 
 and think, like other old fools, that folks are always 
 talking about me ; and, that I used to have ' a 
 handsome head of hair,' as my barber always called 
 it, on quarter-day, when he expected his salary, — 
 while, now, I behold a perpetual winter above my 
 brow, and on my brow itself ! 
 
 '^ But, ah ! my faithful friend, why should I lament 
 the changes which have come upon me ? Fate, or 
 Fortune, or whatever power I might fancifully charge 
 with my evil day, cannot avenge herself of me so 
 bitterly as she might, — if I had teeth to be set on 
 edge with inferior food, — eyes to be offended with 
 the rude shapes of this straw mattrass and rush-bot- 
 tomed chair, — ears to be tormented with the jangling 
 of earthen porringers, as the poor deaf old woman 
 knocks them against each other, — and hair which I 
 could not dress for lack of a mirror !
 
 136 THE BEGGAEED GENTLEMAI^". 
 
 " And then, as to my Inner man, good lack, 
 my beloved crooked crab-stick ! though thou remain- 
 est the same, how is this my inner man changed 1 
 ay, how hath it changed and changed again, since 
 our first dear friendship was formed ! Yet I said in 
 my heart, once, that my mind could never change 
 in its regard for what I was pleased to call ' certain 
 great principles ! ' Alack ! I have lived to feel un- 
 certain about the certainty and greatness of ahnost 
 all principles ! and 
 
 " But stop ! how is this, that having taken thee 
 into my hand, I begin, just now, to question the 
 reality of thy crookedness ? Art thou really so very, 
 very crooked, my dearly beloved stick ? 
 
 " There ! I place thee, again, in thy own corner, 
 that so thou mayst lean against thy own spot in the 
 wall, and lo ! thy crookedness is made, once more, 
 fully manifest ! No, no, my friend — for Hugh Clif- 
 ford loves thee too well and sincerely to call himself 
 thy ' master,' and think of thee as of a slave ! — no, 
 no, it is too late in life for the ' beggared gentle- 
 man ' to deceive himself — thou art crooked, crooked 
 indeed ! 
 
 " But ah ! my beloved stick, it is for thy crooked- 
 ness I love thee, above all, though not for it alone. 
 I avow to thee, as I have often avowed, in times 
 past, when no human ear heard me, that I thank 
 thee, my faithful, crooked, unfailing friend, for all 
 thy service. Twice, wdien wielded by my right arm.
 
 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 137 
 
 didst tlioii2;h enable me to deliver a weak fellow- 
 creature from his stronger, who Avoiild have slain 
 him because he had not filthy gold or silver to 
 satisfy the robber : ten times didst thou empower 
 me to wrest open the cottage doors of dying human 
 beings deserted by their kind, and unable to arise 
 and welcome their deliverer: nay, once didst thou 
 enable me to preserve my own poor life when the 
 plunderer who now possesseth my house and land 
 would have secretly and bloodily taken it ! 
 
 *' What thouo;li it brino;eth some sorrow to re- 
 member the angelic face and form I saw, for the last 
 time, but an hour before I cut thee from thy parent 
 tree ? Ah ! how well doth life assort the lot of its 
 inheritors, even when they most deeply repine ! The 
 sea devoured my Mary — my beauty, my only love, 
 and I repined that she was not spared to share my 
 riches and possessions ; alas ! would she not have had 
 to share my lot, also, in this alms-house ? Indeed, 
 my friend, I was blessed that I gained thy friendship 
 that night, when my love was taken from me, for 
 how great a comfort hast thou been to me ! 
 
 " I tender thee these my heartfelt thanks, now 
 our long and interesting friendship is in the yellow 
 leaf ! Many a mile hast thou travelled with me, — 
 unfailingly hast thou supported my steps in manhood 
 and old age, — in all weathers, — and never shrunk 
 from me, nor upbraided either my haste or my tarry- 
 ing, my speed or my slowness, ray lavishness or my
 
 138 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 
 
 poverty; but Hugh Clifford cannot expect, in the 
 nature of things, to remain with thee much longer. 
 He loves thee so well, that he would fain thou 
 mightst be laid by his side in the grave: yet such 
 a request may be met churlishly by those who pro- 
 vide Hugh's coffin, — and thou mayst become the sup- 
 port of another, who will, peradventure, proudly call 
 thee his * property ' instead of his ' companion ! ' " 
 
 " Farewell, then, my dearly-beloved and highly 
 valued friend — farewell ! but not before I have 
 more fully thanked thee : 
 
 " Above all, my precious crooked stick, I return 
 thee hearty thanks that thou hast been to me a truth- 
 ful mirror — yea, a bright and glittering looking- 
 glass, — although the eye of the undiscerning, and of 
 those who judge after the outward seeming and sur- 
 face appeai'ance, would misreckon thee to be a dry, 
 dull, oj^aque crooked crab-stick! Yea, a mirror, I 
 say, thou hast been to me, — reflecting upon my spi- 
 ritual retina, — the judgment, — that great fact, which, 
 in my folly, I oft would have hidden from myself, — 
 that I resembled thee ! 
 
 " Yet, thou pitiedest me in thy heart, — hard and 
 unfeeling as some would say that heart must be, the 
 heart of a crooked crab-stick ! — yea, thou pitiedst 
 me therein, and didst still from thy old corner re- 
 gard me with the same unflatteringly argumentative 
 and admonitory aspect, — penetrating my heart with
 
 THE BEGGAKED GENTLEMAN. 139 
 
 the faithful laiiofuaixe of thine : ' Hudi ! look at me 
 and know thyself.' 
 
 " And I have looked at thee, and I do noio look 
 at thee, and in thy veritable crookedness I behold 
 my own !" 
 
 " Reader, — who wilt find this my solemn and earn- 
 est soliloquy, when I am gone, — hast thou a crooked 
 stick ? 
 
 " ' I, Mr. Clifford !' answers some young pvippy of 
 one-and-twenty, who, perchance, may take my paper 
 into his dainty fingers, ' I am not so vulgar as to 
 carry a crooked stick: my cane is most beautifully 
 polished, and it is a perfectly straight one ! ' " 
 
 " Pshaw ! my brave lad ! I sought not thy an- 
 swer : do not be so pert : think more, and talk less, 
 for the next thirty years ; and then re-consider my 
 question. 
 
 *' ' I understand your censorious query, Mr. Clif- 
 ford,' says another, some score of years older, and 
 with less buckram but more gauze in his composi- 
 tion — * I understand you : but the fact is, iht/ stick 
 is not a crooked stick : it is perfectly straight, and 
 hath always been straight : 'tis the evil-disposed and 
 calumnious world who call it crooked : albeit, if they 
 would only view it aright, they would perceive that 
 all the parts of it which they think crooked and per- 
 verse are direct as a geometrical right line ! ' 
 
 *' Alas, my reader with the pretended straight stick ! 
 thou pratest in vain to Hugh Clifford, the ' beggared
 
 140 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 
 
 gentleman ! ' I tell thee, plainly, thy stick is, like 
 mine, a crooked one ; nay, I tell thee, that every 
 man's stick is but a crooked stick. And, of all curses 
 under which this poor abused world groans, may it 
 be speedily and effectually delivered, I pray, in my 
 old a2;e and in an alms-house, from the cant of the 
 starched faces who assure their fellow-creatures with 
 so much show of sanctity that their crooked sticks 
 are straight ones ! 
 
 " Farewell, then, once again, my beloved but 
 crooked friend, and thanks for thy faithfulness ! 
 alas, that I neglected to use thy silent admonitions 
 as I ought to have used them, when the serpent who 
 wrecked me was wont to shed his false tears while I 
 related my tales of the poor in his ears ! Fool that 
 I was to take those tears, and the offers to lend more 
 money that followed, for proofs of his feeling heart ! 
 Ah, my friend, had I to spend life again, I would 
 attend more closely to thy monitions, and would not 
 credit a man's professions of humanity, unless they 
 cost him something ! But it is too late to repent at 
 what I fear I could not have avoided if I had even 
 seen my error. 
 
 " Let it pass ! Hugh Clifford's heart danceth for 
 joy, even amidst the squalor of an ahns-house, that 
 he can point to no inconsiderable portion of his life, 
 and say with truth regarding it, as one said of old — 
 ' When the ear heard me, then it blessed me : 
 and when the eye saw me it gave witness to me :
 
 THE BEGGARED GENTLEMAN. 141 
 
 because I delivered the poor that cried, and the 
 fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The 
 blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon 
 me : and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.' — 
 
 " Yet see I my image in thine, my dear faith- 
 ful friend ! my stick is but a crooked one, though 
 I have done some little good in my life ! Ostenta- 
 tion hath mixed itself, more or less, with my purest 
 charities, — anger hath too often burned in my bosom 
 till the morning light : I have not always ' done as I 
 would be done by ; ' I have too often behaved con- 
 temptuously to my fellow-creatures, forgetting that 
 I was but a poor, pitiful earth-worm, like themselves. 
 I am but a crooked stick, like thee, my beloved friend, 
 with all my imagined excellency. 
 
 " But, finally, I tliank thee, that thou hast per- 
 severingly shown me that I was not perfect: thou 
 hast preserved me from self-deceit, or at least hast 
 chased it away, when it hath led me into temporary 
 captivity. 
 
 " Farewell, then, my beloved crooked stick ! — and 
 if he who, first or last, readeth this my serious soli- 
 loquy feeleth inclined to laugh thereat, let him 
 answer my question, when I ask him if he be able to 
 point to one human thing that hath been to him 
 what thou hast been to me — for fifty years, an ever- 
 faithful and never-failing friend V^
 
 142 
 
 THE 
 
 NURTURE or A YOUNG SAILOR; 
 
 OB, 
 
 .THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 
 
 Cockle Tom was born in poverty, cradled in hard- 
 ship, and schooled, never in the alphabet, but per- 
 petually in endurance of labour, hungei', and fatigue. 
 His manhood was brief ; but his death was generous 
 and heroic. He was one of the humble children of 
 genuine romance, which England produces in pro- 
 fusion, but whose lives are unchronicled, and the 
 moral of their story lost, simply from the fact that, 
 though full of virtuous ambition, they are untainted 
 with vain-glory : they neither seek for notice in 
 cities, nor lay claim to distinction in public assem- 
 blies ; but they restlessly seek to obtain and preserve 
 the reputation that they are hard-workers, undaunted 
 by any danger, and capable of sustaining any amount 
 of fatigue, or undertaking any risk, even that of life 
 itself, to benefit the existence or preserve the life of 
 a fellow-creature. Such is genuine Saxon character 
 — genuine old English nature : Avhat elements for 
 useful greatness in a nation, if its rulers were
 
 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 143 
 
 Alfreds ! But to proceed with our humble bio- 
 graphy : — 
 
 Cockle Tom was born at Northcotes-on-the-Sands, 
 a slender, straggling village, bleakly situate on the 
 Lincolnshire sea-coast, and at no great distance from 
 the mouth of the Humber. His father was a simple 
 fisherman, who rented the " cockle sands," as they 
 were called, — an extent of something more than a 
 mile, belonging to the parish of Northcotes, and pos- 
 sessed in fee-simple by the principal landholder in 
 the neighbourhood. Having married young, and 
 being early the head of a numerous small family, 
 Tom's father, from the penury of his condition, was 
 constrained to introduce every one of his male chil- 
 dren, at least, to the rough and painful labour of 
 gathering cockles on the sea-beach by the time they 
 had reached the tender age of five years. And at 
 that age was Tom first taken, by his elder brothers, 
 without shoes or stockings, with a bundle of rags 
 rather than clothes around him, and a red flannel 
 night-cap tied fast round his head, to gather the 
 shell-fish, by scraping them out of the sand with his 
 little hands, and putting them into a small hempen 
 bag tied round his loins. Little Tom was very eager 
 to go ; — for " the sea ! the sea ! " was his unvarying 
 song (chanted in a wild, untaught melody which per- 
 haps even Neiikomm himself would have thought 
 beautiful, could he have listened to it) from the 
 day when he was three years old, the first day on
 
 144 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 
 
 which his father bore him on shoulder to gaze upon 
 the ships riding in the German Ocean. But poor 
 little Tom cried bitterly with frozen hands, and cold, 
 and hunger, before the day was over, and it was time 
 to return to his mother's aproned knee, and the 
 soothing heaven of sympathy that dwelt on her 
 tongue and in her eyes. 
 
 Yet, on the morrow, little Tom would go again. 
 The father would have left him at home till the 
 Spring strengthened and the sun came nearer, for it 
 was but early March as yet ; but the little adven- 
 turer was too true to his nature to accept the boon. 
 And from that day, summer and winter, except when 
 even the father himself was compelled to stay at 
 home by reason of an unusual storm, Tom continued 
 to mount his little red night-cap, like the rest, and 
 make one among the picturesque line of industrious 
 stragglers on the sea-beach. To school Tom never 
 went in his life : though his lot would not have been 
 more highly favoured in that respect, had he been 
 the child of a peasant in the interior, or even the son 
 of a decent mechanic in Lincolnshire, at that period, 
 — for we are speaking of events of seventy years' 
 date, from their commencement to our own time, — 
 and at that far-back period the idea of sending a poor 
 man's child to school was regarded as a piece of over- 
 weening pride that deserved no gentle rebuke from 
 " the better sort of people." But what though he 
 could never read ? he could make boats ; and indeed
 
 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 145 
 
 his earliest error was a display of that kind of in- 
 genuity, for he bored a hole in the bottom of his 
 mother's bread-tin when but four years' old, stuck a 
 wooden mast in it, fitted on a sail, and set it afloat 
 on the surface of a brook that ran by the end of his 
 father's little garden ; and, while he clapped his little 
 hands in ecstasy, away dashed his ship to the sea ! 
 lie was severely chidden for this, but z«o^ floo-o-ed : 
 that was not his mother's way ; she happened to have 
 too much good sense to brutify her offspring : and 
 the lecture served to shew him that he had done 
 foolishly, — but it did not annihilate that passion for 
 ships and the sea which his first sight of them had 
 created within him. He could make boats — did we 
 say ? ay, and he made a ship, too, — such a ship ! — 
 though this was when he was ten years old, and had 
 seen the magnificent merchant-vessels from the Me- 
 diterranean and the West Indies go by in full sail 
 for the Huffiber and the port of Hull, — such a 
 ship, with masts, and yards, and rigging, and port- 
 holes, and even miniature sailors, — it was so won- 
 drous a piece of art as the oldest villager in North- 
 cotes had never seen, and rendered little Tom the 
 every-day talk of all its inhabitants. Such talk did 
 not render little Tom vain, however, for his yearninn- 
 mind had influenced his hands to form the ship from 
 no principle of praise-seeking : it was a type that 
 signified he meant to sail in such an ocean-vehicle — 
 
 if the simple people could so have read it. 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 
 
 Unmindful of praise, and true to the energy that 
 was growing within him, little Tom learnt to swim, 
 and dive, and play with the huge ocean as familiarly 
 as with his elder brothers. More especially if a 
 vessel chanced to anchor near the shore, either to 
 wait for a change of wind, or to barter for fish, that 
 was a temptation so powerful with Tom, that he sel- 
 dom waited for his father's return, if at a distance 
 with the boat, — but into the wave he would plunge, 
 and speedily gain the vessel, becoming, in a few 
 minutes, a favourite with every one on board, for his 
 sense and activity. Tom's brothers shared the plea- 
 sure, or at least the benefits, of these ventures, though 
 they were neither skilful nor courageous enough to 
 share the peril ; for little Tom usually returned, 
 bearing by the strings in his mouth, like a water dog, 
 his cockle-bag filled with precious scraps of sea-biscuit, 
 and sometimes a bit or two of boiled salt beef, — a 
 priceless luxury for the brotliers, to whom noble 
 little Tom invariably gave up the bag, as soon as he 
 reached the shore. 
 
 By the time that Tom was regularly entered as 
 one of his poor father's labouring band, the strongest 
 of his three elder brothers was taken by the father, 
 into the little boat, taught to assist in managing the 
 bladdered nets, and so advanced from a mere cockle- 
 gatherer to an embryo fisherman. The two next 
 brothers were neither sufficiently strong, active, or 
 enterprising, ever to rival the oldest ; but when Tom 
 was ten years old, though Jack was fifteen, his father
 
 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 147 
 
 preferred taking him in the boat. The little hero 
 not only gained greater knowledge, but rapidly grew 
 in courage, presence of mind, and plan for adventure, 
 by the change. In fact, the fathci''s circumstances 
 were speedily bettered by his child's intelligence and 
 energy. 
 
 One day, while his father was " dealing " the largest 
 
 net out of the boat, so as to prevent its getting 
 
 "foul," and little Tom was riding upon the old 
 
 horse which the father was necessitated to keep for 
 
 his daily use, towing the end of the net by a line to 
 
 the required distance into the water, he perceived 
 
 that he Avas among an unusually large shoal of fine 
 
 fish, — and so swam the horse out, considerably, with 
 
 the intent to have a full sweep of the treasure. IMuch 
 
 to the lad's chagrin, however, the father hallooed, and 
 
 motioned, and menaced, for him to come back ; and 
 
 so Tom, who was too true a lad to disobey when his 
 
 father seemed so angry, was constrained to give up 
 
 his prize, and the result was that the father had to 
 
 meet his usual chapman for the Louth market with 
 
 only a very pitiful take of fisli for the day. Tom 
 
 was then but twelve years old, but his shrewdness 
 
 discerned how greatly these timid acts of his father 
 
 served to gird in the hungry family with straitness. 
 
 He had never disobeyed on a large scale before ; but 
 
 his spirit prompted him to what, according to his 
 
 unschooled casuistry, he conceived to be a virtuous 
 
 disobedience, now — and yet it was a venturous and 
 
 H 2
 
 148 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 
 
 perilous deed for a clilld that he undertook. And 
 thus he went about it. 
 
 He drew his mother aside, as soon as they returned 
 home in the evening, and dazzled her imagination 
 with his brilliant and excited account of the value 
 and fineness of the shoal he had seen, and told her 
 he was resolved to have them before the next morning. 
 
 " The Lord help thee, bairn ! " exclaimed the 
 mother; " what art thou talking of?" 
 
 " Talking sense, mother," said Tom ; " and you'll 
 see it : for you must sit up till Jack and I come back 
 with the old horse : we'll set oif as soon as my fay ther 
 has gone to bed and fallen fast asleep." 
 
 " Jack !" cried the mother, " why, it '11 make him 
 tremble to talk o' such a thing ! " 
 
 " The more's the shame for him, then," replied the 
 little hero ; " if he does tremble, and durst not go, 
 I shall think him a lubber " — a word that Tom had 
 learnt from the sailors, and, of course, was very fond 
 of using: " the moon's at full, and we can see as well 
 as by daylight to manage the net." 
 
 " Thou'lt be drownded, bairn," said the mother ; 
 " and, besides, the fish may be all gone from where 
 tliou saw 'em tliis morning." 
 
 " Not they," insisted Tom ; " they 're brits, mother, 
 — fine large brits," he repeated, with sparkling eyes ; 
 *' and you 've heard my fayther say over and over 
 again that flat fish stay in a snug bottom for days 
 together. I saw 'em spread all along the far flat.
 
 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 149 
 
 within the sunk rocks, toward Donna Hoak : they 've 
 found fine shelter, and plenty to feed on, no doubt, 
 and they won't go away ; they'll make pounds, mother 
 — and we need money, you know, mother." 
 
 Tom's mother gazed at him with fond wonder : so 
 much ardour, so much earnest zeal to benefit his 
 l^arents, and brothers and sisters, in one so young — 
 it was almost too much for her, and the tears rose, as 
 she stood silently looking at her child, with one hand 
 on his shoulder, and his eager, entreating eyes pene- 
 trating into her very soul to learn whether he would 
 win her consent. He prevailed, however, and she 
 heard the last footsteps of the old horse, as it slowly 
 left the door of the cottage, witli Tom and Jack on 
 its back, and the net packed behind, Avith feelings of 
 excited apprehension she had not felt since the first 
 storm after her marriage, when her husband was out 
 at sea. 
 
 "What's that?" asked the father, half awaking 
 at the sound of the horse's feet, and wonderinsf that 
 his wife was still up ; but she rendered him some 
 evasive answer, and continued darning one of the 
 children's rent garments, telling him that she must 
 have it done for the boy to put on in the morning. 
 Leavino; the reader to imagine the mother's a2;onisin2: 
 doubts and fears, and anxious listenings to the move- 
 ment of every changeful sound of the night, let us 
 attend to Tom and bis brother, and their daring ad- 
 venture. Not that it needs any expanded description, 
 
 H 3
 
 150 THE HISTOEY OF COCKLE TOM. 
 
 — for it was entered upon, and achieved, with all Tom's 
 soul thrown into it, in such a way as to render it 
 memorable to Jack's latest day, when Jack told it to 
 his children. Jack was fearful enough at remaining 
 alone in the boat to hand out the net by moonlight, — 
 but Tom was dashing alono- on the old horse that was 
 a good swimmer, and Avas not long in doubling and 
 returning. Again and again was their swoop of the 
 sea repeated, till their strength was well-nigh ex- 
 hausted with toiling to carry on land their loads of 
 fish. A mighty harvest from the great waters it 
 was, to be reaped by the energy and intrepidity of a 
 boy of twelve years old. The fish were concealed 
 in a " crike " or small freshet, a little removed from 
 the beach, where it was easy to form a dam ; and with 
 one good load upon the old horse, fastened in the 
 folded net, the lads set off on foot, long before day- 
 light, from the beach, and speedily were at their 
 father's cottage-door with this earnest of their booty. 
 
 " Whoa hoa I" cried Tom aloud to the old horse, 
 almost before it was time to stop ; and his mother, 
 who was already in front of her cottage, lifted up her 
 closed hand, and shook it, and cried, " Hush, bairn, 
 — whisht, whisht ! — thy fayther will hear thee, and 
 v/hat's to be done then ? " 
 
 But Tom was neither to be hushed nor whished. 
 *' Tell my fayther to get up, and take Dick and 
 Will with him to fetch the rest o' the brits and rays, 
 while Jack and I have some breakfast, for we are
 
 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 151 
 
 hungry above a bit," he said ; and he tumbled the 
 fish out of the net, and told his mother they had left 
 ten times as many in the crike. What cared Tom 
 whether his father felt incHned to scold or not ? He 
 knew that the booty Avould silently and overwhelm- 
 ingly plead his pardon. And oh, the trembling joy 
 and pride of the poor mother, — her thoughts of 
 large pecuniary relief and admiration of her child's 
 noble act, combining, and causing her to prattle with 
 so much elation that she scarcely knew Avhat she 
 said ! 
 
 Seven pounds, in sterling English money, Tom's 
 poor father made of his child's night adventure : a 
 sum he had never approached for one day's, no, nor 
 one week's labour in his little boat, since he had 
 possessed it. Need it be said that Tom's father was 
 proud of him ? He loved all his children : they and 
 his wife were his jewels, his only idols in the world ; 
 and to picture truly his yearnings for their happiness, 
 as he cast a thought towards his cottage, or counted 
 his boys by their little red caps, toiling, meanwhile, 
 afar off from the beach where the children straggled 
 sometimes at great distances from each other, at their 
 hardy employ, ■ — to tell what truly exalted thinkings 
 passed hourly through the mind of that poor fisher- 
 man, tossed upon the surge often a whole day without 
 a fragment of gain, and yet clinging with glowing love 
 to his wife and children on land, — oh, it would form 
 a theme to kindle the sweetest eloquence of the gentle 
 
 H 4
 
 152 THE HISTORY OF COCKLfi TOM. 
 
 yet godlike Shakspere himself! But it was natural 
 that Tom should become his father's peculiar pride, 
 for he was, indeed, a child to be proud of. 
 
 It was, therefore, a melancholy sound, the first 
 request of that heroic boy, w^hen he became four- 
 teen — a sorrowful note in the ears of his dotino^ 
 parents — that he might become a sailor, and leave 
 them ! The father and mother exchanged a drearv 
 look, and said nought. It was a request they might 
 expect, one day or other, for the lad had always 
 raved about the darling life of a sailor, and he was 
 now becomino; of an asre when it was fit he should 
 enter on such a profession as he intended to follow 
 for life : but yet they had always put the thought 
 aside, and clung to the enjoymxcnt of possessing such 
 a son, and beholding him as " the light of their eyes," 
 daily. Tom saw and felt what his parents endured 
 when he presented his first request, and he did not 
 renew it till another month had flown, and a Boston 
 sloop was lying off the cockle-sands, laden with 
 timber from Hull, when he again asked if he might 
 go for a sailor. This time, however, the question 
 was put under circumstances which seemed to soften 
 the dread of separation. Boston was a Lincolnshire 
 port, and a voyage thither and back, on trial, would 
 soon be performed, so that they would soon see their 
 darling again ; and therefore his parents gave consent 
 for Tom's departure. 
 
 The boy became as much the darling of the little
 
 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 153 
 
 crew in the sloop, during their brief voyage, as he 
 had been of his father and mother. They gave him 
 the name which stuck to him through life, as soon as 
 they had heard his history, to w^hich, indeed, they 
 were scarcely strangers, for it was not the first time 
 he had been on board their shallop. And " Cockle 
 Tom " was proud to tell his new name when he saw 
 his home again : it had been given him by sailors, 
 and it was, therefore, more honourable in his estima- 
 tion than knighthood or nobility given by a monarch 
 would have been, had he known of either. 
 
 There was now no putting off the complete sepa- 
 ration from their noblest child for Tom's parents. 
 He had fully made up his mind to live on the sea, 
 his darling element : and, besides, he had been to 
 Hull, the port to which the Boston sloop traded, and 
 had seen the Greenland whale-ships, and talked with 
 the sailors till he was all excitement for the noble 
 daring of joining in an attack upon the vast sea- 
 monsters, and seeing the mountain icebergs, and 
 hearing the roaring of the white bears. His father 
 therefore prepared clothing for the lad, and began to 
 think of setting out with him for Hull, in order to 
 see him safely committed, as a sailor- apprentice, to 
 the care of some kind and fatherly sort of Greenland 
 captain. 
 
 It was a dull week that young Cockle Tom passed 
 at home ; for, despite his enthusiasm, the complete 
 separation from his parents was a thought that cut 
 
 H 5
 
 154 THE HISTORY OP COCKLE TOM. 
 
 him to the quick. Did, then, the fisherman's child, 
 who had been led forth to endure the cold sea wind, 
 and labour, and hunger, from infancy, love his 
 parents ? Ay, that did he, and with such a love 
 as you know nothing of, young spruce, who have 
 been to boarding-school, and have since become 
 versed in all the hollownesses of " respectable life." 
 If there was a sacred corner in Tom's heart, it was 
 that where the precious images of his father and 
 mother were enshrined. Toil, fatigue, hunger, pain, 
 loss of sleep, nay, death itself, he would have encoun- 
 tered at any moment to benefit them ; and, young 
 as he was, he formed strong judgments on men's cha - 
 racters who fiiiled in parental duty. He never 
 swore but once in his life, before leaving home, and 
 that was when a young farmer in the parish married 
 a flaunting wife, and gave up his aged father, blind 
 and palsy-stricken, to be placed in an alms-house. 
 " D — n his eyes ! " exclaimed young Tom, while his 
 own eyes flashed fire, " I should like to grapple his 
 weasand, as big as he is ! " That was a rude ex- 
 pression, and a strange one, too, for a boy of fourteen ; 
 but while his mother reproved it with such a look as 
 she had never given him before, — and he blushed 
 like scarlet, and promised, with tears in his eyes, 
 never to swear again, — yet she read within Tom's 
 heart, by the aid of those few syllables, the existence 
 of a principle which, she felt, more truly ennobled
 
 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 155 
 
 her child than the highest earthly titles Avould have 
 ao-OTandised him. 
 
 It was some relief to young Tom to reflect that his 
 parents were now in comparatively comfortable cir- 
 cumstances, and chiefly through his means. The ice 
 of timidity once broken, Jack had become more ad- 
 venturous, and within one year, by the joint efforts 
 of the two brothers, so great an increase took place 
 in the fish the father had to offer for sale, that he 
 was enabled to buy the little cottage in w^hich he 
 lived, with the garden adjoining, as well as to clothe 
 his whole family. The next year furnished a new 
 and larger boat, and an extra horse, besides stocking 
 the little purse of the father with a few spare guineas 
 in gold — the noble old spade-aces which " looked so 
 much like real money," as our forefathers used to say, 
 when they first saw the queer, " fly-away-blow-away " 
 paper money. 
 
 Did they cry — Tom, or his mother -^ when the 
 separation came? Ay, and brothers, and sisters, 
 and father too, as he was about to depart with him — 
 real tears, to be sure ; for, as much like their native 
 oaks as our genuine old English race were in their 
 hardihood and endurance of storms, their hearts were 
 of the tenderest — in the right place. A still severer 
 feeling of desolation Avas experienced by Tom and 
 his father when they parted at Hull; but Tom 
 " girt up the loins of his mind," and buried his sor- 
 
 H 6
 
 156 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 
 
 rov/ In listening to the sailors' talk, and in thinking 
 of his coming adventures. 
 
 And now " the history of Cockle Tom " may end ; 
 for our purpose Is not to write a long story, but to 
 show how a simple and yet truly noble character may 
 1)6 formed : and that purpose is accomplished as 
 well as we are able to reach it. For the remainder 
 of Cockle Tom's life, — it was that of the true En- 
 glish sailor, — full of generosity and noble daring, 
 shaded, here and there, with a dash of passion, or a 
 fit of insobriety at the end of a long voyage of suf- 
 fering, but tinted to brilliancy with many an act of 
 exalted sacrifice. Five voyages Cockle Tom made to 
 Greenland, or the Straits ; three to the West Indies, 
 and one to the East ; six times he passed through the 
 Straits of Gibraltar and visited Malta, or Corfu, or 
 Constantinople ; and four times he voyaged to the 
 Guinea coast, ere he reached the age of thirty. That 
 was the limit of his life ; but he had saved as manv 
 lives as he numbered years by that time. As an 
 expert swimmer, — as a soul that would venture even 
 into the jaws of death to save a drowning man, — as 
 a shipmate that would always take the severer share 
 of toil and ease another, — as an agile and clever 
 mariner that was unexcelled in the rapidity and per- 
 fection with which he could execute any manoeuvre in 
 the management of his ship, — as the heart of fun and 
 merriment, — and as the lad whose 2>urse was ever 
 at the command of a brother in need, — Cockle Tom
 
 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 15,7 
 
 was the glory and pride of every " true British tar " 
 who knew him. 
 
 And how fresh did liis fihal love remain amidst 
 separation and newness of scene ! His father and 
 mother kept that sacred corner in his heart, per- 
 fectly nnrivallcd, for many a long year ; and when 
 he admitted another fair image there it was not 
 allowed to encroach upon the consecrated room oc- 
 cupied by the old ones. He loved his wife, whom 
 he married at five-and-twenty, and slie deserved his 
 love ; but he did not love his parents the less for 
 that. They received many a solid proof of his affec- 
 tion, although they seldom saw him ; and the news 
 of his death, though it did not distract them with 
 unseemly grief, dimmed the brightness of their de- 
 clining days. 
 
 Cockle Tom lay in harbour at Hull, after his re- 
 turn from the fourth Guinea voyage : his vessel was 
 delivered of its cargo : a friend had written " home " 
 for him, — for his father's cottage was " home '' 
 with him, even after he had married and had a little 
 neat house in Hull. On the morrow, his young wife 
 and himself were to have set out to see his aged 
 parents once more, when, in the fineness of the 
 evening, while numerous pleasure-boats were jost- 
 ling each other in the narrow space of the harbour, 
 throno-ed as it was with large and small craft, one 
 boat upset, and five human lives were in danger. In 
 a moment, Tom had plunged from the deck where
 
 158 THE HISTORY OF COCKLE TOM. 
 
 he stood, and the next moment had placed two in 
 safety in one of the boats: a second struggle, and 
 two more were rescued ; but, in attempting to save 
 the last, the dying struggler, or the cramp, over- 
 powered him, and he sunk to rise no more ! Such 
 was the consistent end of the life of Cockle Tom, — 
 the " true British sailor." 
 
 " A bold peasantry, their country's pride," are 
 fast fading : may our other twin jewel in English na- 
 tional character — the noble sailor — ever preserve its 
 lustre !
 
 159 
 
 THE 
 
 LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR; 
 
 OR, 
 
 "BUTTER YOUR SHIRT! 
 SING TANTARA^-BOBUS, MAKE SHIFT!" 
 
 Among the few survivors of our " glorious" sea-fights 
 which the Peace sent home to Gainsbro'j a busy 
 little port on the Trent, was old Matthew Hardcastle, 
 a veteran of threescore and ten, and something more. 
 It was said that Matthew might have been discharged 
 from ship-board some years earlier ; but his attach- 
 ment to the sea was extreme, and he was at length, 
 to speak plainly, forced out of the navy. 
 
 Gainsbro' was, at that particular period, somewhat 
 fertile in the production of eccentric folk, for Joe 
 Hornby was then to be seen in it, with his hat stuck 
 full of field flowers, and sometimes, to the peril of 
 its " crown," fixed on his head wrong side upwards, 
 because " the world was turned upside down ; " and 
 the septuagenarian spinster, Nelly Fish, might be 
 seen flaunting along the narrow causeway, her strange 
 pile of five or six straw hats, which she Avore one 
 upon another, to show that " she knew all the fashions
 
 IGO THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 
 
 tliat had been, as well as those that were ; " — and ]Mar- 
 tin Jackson would, ever and anon, sally forth In some 
 odd guise that demonstrated his lunacy ; for to-day 
 he might be seen covered with papers on which were 
 written all kinds of queer criticisms on the rulers of the 
 day, and to-morrow he would go through the streets 
 clad in his wife's chemise for an outer robe, and wearing 
 an old horseman's helmet with a fox's tail for a plume, 
 while half-a-dozen terriers yelped away at his heels, 
 following- thick and fast to the mad hunter's cries of 
 "Yo-ho! yo ho I Hark forward I Tantivy! Yo- 
 
 ho ! yo-ho ! " 
 
 Such were some of the strange relics of humanity 
 which aftbrded grave problems for those who were 
 able to moralise, or thought they were, at that time, 
 in Gainsbro' ; but, amidst all and sundry of its human 
 cataloo-ue, none of the curious articles thereof at- 
 tracted more general attention, as they passed to and 
 fro in the streets of the little town, than the veteran 
 warrior-seaman, Matthew Hardcastle. Indeed, Mat- 
 thew was beheld, by " gentle and simple," in a dif- 
 ferent light to the eccentrics, poor things! before 
 mentioned. The world, in spite of its conviction that 
 it is wrono- to laugh, laughs on at the antics and 
 whims of the helpless beings it calls " insane ; " and 
 Gainsbro' followed the way of the world in laughing, 
 too often, at poor Joe Hornby, and Nelly Fish, and 
 jSIartin Jackson ; but it was by no means a custom to 
 laugh at Matthew Hardcastle.
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 161 
 
 i\Iattliew was a tall, well-built old fellow, and did 
 not lose an inch of his height, notwithstanding his 
 very advanced age. His brave face resembled more 
 the gnarled bark of an old oak than any other thing 
 that ever existed ; it was a real sea-fai-ing face, was 
 Matthew's, if ever a man wore one in this world. 
 And then his wis: ! All the town talked of Matthew 
 Hardcastle's wig. It did not ftiU below the shoulders, 
 like the princely-looking old wigs of the days of 
 IVIarlborough ; but it was a veiy grand, burly Avig, 
 for all that. It reached below the ears of the fine old 
 man, considerably ; and it displayed five tiers of 
 curls, — glorious curls they were I ]Matthew's grand 
 three-cocked hat, too, — for he and old George Laugh- 
 ton, the currier, with his soul of independence, and 
 Charley Careless, the Httle high-spirited silversmith, 
 were the three last men inGainsbro' who refused to put 
 away the splendid head-covering of their forefathers 
 for the paltiy upper gear of modern times, — ]Mat- 
 thew's three-cocked hat stood higher behind than it 
 did before, and, conjoined with the grandeur of his 
 wig, caused jNIatthew to look as bold and imposing as 
 a brigadier major ! And whoever met Matthew on 
 the causeway, rocking as he went with a regular 
 naval kind of motion, and supporting his aged steps 
 by a bamboo in either hand, was sure to say, " Good 
 morning to you, Matthew ! I hope you are quite 
 well this morning ! " if they were considered to be his 
 equals or superiors in rank; while all tlie little boys
 
 162 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 
 
 and girls were wont to stop and bow or courtesy to 
 him. and sa}^, " Your sarvant, Matthew ! " Such was 
 the real honour paid to the aged sailor who had fought 
 " the battles of his country," as they were called. 
 
 The time came, however, when all this show of 
 respect to the brave old sailor ceased, for he lived too 
 long ! Twenty more years made his age hard upon 
 one hundred. That was a rare age to live ; but it 
 Avould have been better for ]\Iatthew if he had died 
 ten years earlier, for he lived till the effects of the 
 "glorious" battles in which he had been engaged 
 began to be felt — and felt grievously, even in that 
 district, which you will deem comparatively happy 
 when viewed after your mind's eye has been dwelling 
 on the fathomless miseries of our dense hives of manu- 
 facture. He lived till hungry and ragged labourers 
 l)egan to stand daily in melancholy groups, and with 
 folded arms, in the streets, and till the parish authorities 
 began to talk of pulling down the old workhouse, to 
 build a new " bastile" on the lovely green spot where 
 the children used to resort to play at sand-mills ! 
 
 Matthew felt the change in the " civilisation," as 
 it was called, of the times, sensibly, as old as he was ; 
 but thei'e was an inexhaustible spring of vivacity in 
 the old seaman's noble nature, and in spite of age, 
 infirmities, and bad times, Matthew Hardcastle was 
 the merriest, as well as the oldest man in Gainsbro'. 
 " Butter your shirt, sing tantara-bobus make shift ! " 
 INIatthew would say, morning, noon, and night, when
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 163 
 
 the poor would be uttering their plaints in his ears ; 
 and the whimsical saying, together with tlie jolly old 
 fellow's way of uttering it, many a time turned the 
 mourning of his neighbours into mirth. 
 
 One day, a stranger heard this singular saying, as 
 lie was journeying through the town, and passing by 
 the street end of the alley where Matthew was leaning 
 on his two sticks to take the evening air, and chatting 
 with his neighbours, according to his custom. The 
 traveller could not fail to be struck with the saying, 
 for he had heard it before ; and he had seen the 
 veteran who uttered it before, though it was many a 
 long year since. The traveller stopped, and gazed on 
 the old sailor for a moment or two, and then stretched 
 out his aged hand^ — ^for he, too, was an old man — to 
 grasp the hand of his ancient friend. 
 
 " Matthew Hardcastle ! what, old Matthew ! " he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 Matthew stared, and seemed at a loss for a few 
 seconds ; but, at length, he let one stick fall, as it 
 were mechanically, and, clasping his old friend's hand 
 with the hearty gripe of a true sailor, cried aloud, 
 while the fire of his youth seemed once more to 
 gleam from his eyes, — 
 
 " What ! Paul Perkins ! God bless thy heart ! 
 "Why, I thought — but God bless thy heart and soul, 
 how art thou? — I thought thou hadst gone to Davy's 
 locker ten or fifteen years ago ! " 
 
 " And I little thought that ever these old eyes were
 
 164 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 
 
 again to look upon Matthew Ilardcastle," replied 
 Paul ; " why, Lord save us, you nuist be an amazing 
 age ! I am nearly threescore and ten, but you were 
 a man in your prime when I was but little older than 
 a child, you know." 
 
 " Butter your shirt, sing tantara-bobus make 
 shift ! " answered jolly old Matthew ; " what matters 
 it how old one may be ? We shall live till we die 
 — kill us that dare ! " And the pair of sound-hearted 
 old tars burst into a merry laugli that came up so 
 clearly from the well-spring of their hearts as to 
 create a kindred merriment through the curious crowd, 
 which had by this time begun to gather round them, 
 in the narrow street. 
 
 " Well, but come, shipmate, this must not be a 
 dry meeting," said Paul ; " suppose we ste]) into the 
 E,ed Lion, or the Black Horse, that I see on the 
 signs here, hard by, and wet our whistles together, 
 once more. It may be for the last time, you know, 
 in this world." 
 
 " Avast, heaving ! " replied Matthew ; " I have no 
 ol)jection for Molly Crabtree, here, to fetch us a jack 
 of rum or so, and we can have it in my little berth ; 
 but my old head won't bear the racket of a public- 
 house now, Paul." 
 
 " Well, well, have it your own way. Mat," re- 
 plied the other ; and the two ancient men adjourned, 
 as fast as their stiffened limbs would permit them, to 
 Matthew's little dwelling in the alley.
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 165 
 
 Matthew's hammock — for he could never be per- 
 suaded to sleep in a bed — was slung at one corner of 
 the narrow room, and just under it was placed his 
 arm-chair. He would fain have given up his usual 
 seat, on this occasion, to his friend ; but Paul Perkins 
 had too much real and untaught courtesy to accept 
 of it. 
 
 " No, no, keep on board your own ship, Matthew," 
 he cried; "I won't do any such thing: sit ye down, 
 sit ye down." 
 
 And so Matthew sat down, with tliis entreaty, 
 and reared his two sticks against the wall, and doffed 
 his rare hat, and showed his wig in all its glory. 
 Paul looked round the room, and could not help 
 indulging in the natural exultation of a sailor. Kelson, 
 and Plowe, and Duncan, and Rodney, showed their 
 gallant faces, according to the best skill of some humble 
 limner, over the little mantelpiece : a fine model of a 
 first-rate man-of-war — the work of Matthew's own 
 fingers in his younger days — stood, in unapproach- 
 able pride, upon a little dresser on the opposite side 
 of the dwelling ; and, above it, a curious tobacco-pipe, 
 from some foreign shore, curled its enormous leno;tli 
 around three or four nails driven into the wall, and 
 displayed the painted image of a black-a-moor's head, 
 at its extremity. Other odd fragments of a sailor's 
 fondness, such as small carved " figure-heads " of 
 vessels, wrought with the pocket-knife, to relieve 
 hours of tedium, pouches of kangaroo-skin, the
 
 166 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 
 
 favourite i*eposltories of the sailor's favourite weed, 
 pipe-stoppers of bone, cut into grotesque shapes, 
 and such-like nick-knackeries decorated the walls, 
 till scarcely a bare patch of them could be seen. 
 
 " Well, and I suppose you're at home here, Mat, 
 eh ? " said Paul, his face beaming with pleasure as he 
 asked the question. 
 
 A sudden and unwonted shade came over MatthcAv's 
 countenance : " Hum ! " said he, gloomily, " liked 
 the old Dreadnought better ; but she's now — God 
 bless her ! — only a hull, like me. But butter your 
 shirt ! " cried the gallant-hearted old fellow, bursting 
 into his prevailing gaiety, — " sing tantara-bobus make 
 shift ! we shall live till we die — kill us that dare ! " 
 And again the old lads set up a merry laugh in unison, 
 and were as happy, for the nonce, as the proudest 
 monarchs in Christendom. 
 
 Molly Crabtree now entered with the rum, and 
 began to prepare the grog, that real nectar for the 
 sailor. The precious glass was mixed, and went round 
 over and over again ; nor would the old sailors be said 
 " nay " when Molly looked modest about it : she was 
 compelled to take a sip each time when it came to her 
 turn. Old shipmates were named, and the bi'avery 
 and virtues of the dead were honoured ; hearty and 
 kind wishes for the welfare of the livino; were ex- 
 pressed; old stories Avere told, and the joys of old 
 times were recorded Avith a sigh ; but sighing usually 
 was folloAved by a laugh amid the utterance of old
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOK. 167 
 
 Matthew's singular expletive, " Butter your shirt ! 
 sing tantara-bobus make shift ! " 
 
 " Upon my honour, Mat," at length said Paul, 
 for, as it began to grow towards midnight, the phrase- 
 ology of the ancient mariners began to grow more con- 
 sequential, — more by token that the "jack " of rum 
 had now been repeated, for the third time — " upon 
 my honour, Mat, you and I were no skinkers in that 
 hot action when you first wore the buttered shirt." 
 
 " Why, Lord ha' marcy on us ! " cried Molly 
 Crabtree, who had been listening all along, and 
 staring like an owl at twilight, during the successive 
 strange recitals of the two old seafarers, — " did 
 Matthew ever wear a real buttered shirt, then ? For 
 Heaven's sake tell us the meaning; on't ! " 
 
 " That I will, ma'am," said Paul touching his hat 
 as gallantly as an admiral ; " you see, it was du- 
 ring a severe engagement with the Dutchmen that 
 Mat and I were ordered to the main-top, — but 
 hardly had we reached it, Avhen a shot from the 
 enemy cut our mainmast fairly in two, and hurled us 
 both on to the enemy's deck, in the midst of more than 
 a hundred heavy-bottomed Dutchmen ! To dream of 
 fighting against such odds, ma'am, you'll understand 
 was, of course, out of all question ; so we quietly 
 walked our bodies, to the tune of 'donner and 
 blitzen,' down below, to become close prisoners under 
 hatches. Now it so happened, d'ye see, ma'am ? that 
 the only fellow-prisoners we found in the hole where
 
 168 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 
 
 they crammed us were cheeses and queer big tubs ; 
 and we felt a nat'ral sort of a curiosity to rummage 
 about the hole, when left in the dark by ourselves. 
 Clambering up some o' these huge tubs at one end 
 of the hole, we both lost footing together, and fell 
 head over heels into the midst of something that was 
 remarkably soft ; and there we struggled, and 
 struggled hard, too, — but 'twas all in vain, we could 
 not flounder out, — and so were content to remain 
 closed on all sides up to the neck, with just our heads 
 bobbing out, and gasping for breath. Shiver my 
 timbers, if ever I was so pickled before or since ! 
 At length the Dutchman was taken ; and when some 
 of our lads made their way into the dark hole Avhere 
 we were, we began to hail 'em. — " Dreadnought 
 a-hoy ! " said Mat: "The Union Jack a-hoy!" said 
 I : " Who's there, in the devil's name ? " cried one : 
 " Why that's old Mat Hardcastle's growl — where 
 the devil is he ? " said first one of our lads and then 
 another. And, as sure as you're there, ma'am, " 
 continued Paul, growing more polite and gallant as 
 he proceeded, " what with one noise or another, it 
 wasn't until the lads had driven their marling-spikes 
 through almost every cask in the hole, that Mat and 
 I were discovered up to the neck in one of the Dutch- 
 men's big butter firkins. We were a good deal 
 ashamed, ma'am, o' course, being as how we Avere 
 soaked to the skin in the grease, for it warmed, as we 
 stuck in it ; and no doubt by its melting, we should
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 169 
 
 ha' been able to have got out of it without help, if we 
 had had to stay much longer before we had been 
 found. The worst of it was, we could not get time 
 to strip for some hours after, and this made us both 
 mighty uneasy, for many was the joke that was 
 passed upon us as to how we liked our buttered 
 shirts. But Mat's heart was always light, all his 
 life long ; and he answered all who asked that saucy 
 question, just as he puts by all sorrow now, with 
 *' Butter your shirt ! Sing tantarara-bobus make 
 shift ! — and ever since then INIatthew has kept his 
 saying ; and it is not a bad one, either, let me tell 
 you, ma'am! what think ye?" concluded Paul 
 Perkins, and took a stiffer pull at the grog than he 
 had ever done that night, thinking that he deserved 
 it for his cleverness, and feeling himself entitled to 
 a double pull because he had missed his turn by 
 telling this yarn. 
 
 Molly Crabtree only answered with a hearty laugh, 
 and Paul laughed too, but Matthew laughed louder 
 and longer than either of them, for he was ' a practised 
 laugher, and lived by it,' as he used jokingly to say. 
 But now the fourth measure of grog was done, and 
 it was too late to buy more; so the conversation 
 began to grow less boisterous. Molly rose to depart ; 
 and the two veterans were left by themselves. Paul 
 urged Matthew to get into his hammock, and Mat- 
 thew urged Paul ; but neither could prevail on the 
 other, and so at last they fairly fell asleep in their 
 
 VOL. L I
 
 170. LAST DATS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 
 
 chairs, and neither of them awoke, — though they each 
 snored as loud as a rhinocei'os, — until Molly Crabtree 
 came and opened the shutters some hours after sun- 
 rise the ensuing morning. Their limbs were tolerably 
 stiff, and their heads ached beyond a joke, it may 
 easily be guessed, for it was many a long day since 
 either of them had gone to sleep groggy. They 
 made the best of their aches and pains, however, 
 when they awoke, and, after a hearty renewed gripe 
 of friendship, thrust each a lumping quid of tobacco 
 into his mouth, and then quietly awaited the prepar- 
 ation of breakfast by Molly Crabtree. 
 
 Now, as natural as our forefathers always reckoned 
 it to be to get drunk, or, at least, tipsy, with an 
 old friend, when you met him after a long absence 
 or separation, yet it was always felt to be not less 
 natural that the cosy companions of the preceding 
 night talked like sober men the next morning. So 
 it was with Matthew Hardcastle and Paul Perkins. 
 
 " Matthew, — I've been thinking," began Paul, 
 very measuredly, as he was sipping the cocoa-sop out 
 of a bright brown earthen porringer, with a spoon, in 
 imitation of his host, — " I've been thinking, — we 
 shall soon be in our last port." 
 
 " True, very true," said Matthew, " and, d'ye know, 
 Paul? I would not much care if wc had the same 
 voyage to go again, save and except a little at the 
 end on't." 
 
 " Then we don't think alike," said Paul, dropping
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 171 
 
 his spoon into the porringer, and looking thonghtful : 
 " I'm sure, Mat, you'll bear me witness that I'm no 
 skinkerly coward ; but, splice me, if I don't think 
 that all this warring and figliting, and blowing up of 
 poor men's limbs is, after all, a great piece of wick- 
 edness. And, besides that, I've thought very much 
 of late, — and particularly since I've seen the times 
 change so much, — that this setting of poor English- 
 men on to fight poor foreigners, and poor foreigners 
 to fight poor Englishmen, is only a deep scheme, on 
 the part of the rich abroad and the rich at home, to 
 keep the poor down." 
 
 "Say you so, Paul ?" exclaimed Matthew, also 
 resting his spoon on the brim of the porringer, and 
 looking very intently upon his friend ; " why, you 
 know, Paul, if we had not gone to fight the foreigners, 
 they would have come to fight us." 
 
 "But who amongst 'em was it that wanted to 
 fight? just think of that, INIatthew," rejoined Paul, 
 very earnestly. " You and I had no quarrel with the 
 French, or the Dutch, or the Spaniard, you know. 
 And what poor foreigners, think you, had any quar- 
 rel with the people here? No, no, depend on it, 
 Matthew, the poor never made these Avars, nor ever 
 thought of fighting, or wished to fight, on either 
 side : it was the rich — ' our betters,' as they are 
 called — who began the quarrel, and then pushed us, 
 or dragged us, into it, to lose our limbs, or shed our 
 blood, or escape if we could." 
 
 I 2
 
 172 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 
 
 " Ton my word," said Matthew, shaking his wig, 
 very significantly, "I've had some such thoughts as 
 these now and then, — and you're making a strong 
 yarn on't, Paul, I confess, — but what's the use of 
 muddling one's old brains with such tilings ? You 
 know what I always say, Paul, — ' Butter your 
 shirt " 
 
 " Nay, but avast a bit. Mat," said Paul, looking 
 invincibly serious ; " we are getting fast into our 
 last port, as I said before : and, if we have been un- 
 thinking fools all our lives, I don't see why we 
 should not open our eyes and look about us a bit, 
 before we step on the last shore. Times are harder 
 now than ever you and I knew 'em ; and, as much 
 fuss as there used to be made about an old seaman, 
 all that sort of thing is gone. I question if you 
 and I live a few years longer, and grow cranky, — 
 and, God knows, I begin to feel queer, night and 
 morning, — but folks will grow weary of waiting on us, 
 and the parish wolves will haul us away to the work- 
 house, and pocket our little pensions." 
 
 " God Almighty forbid ! " ejaculated Matthew, 
 very fervently. 
 
 " But 'tis very likely to come to pass, however, let 
 me tell you," rejoined Paul; "you knew Jerry 
 Simpson: he was berthsman with us, if you re- 
 member, and lost an arm at Trafalgar, He wouldn't 
 go into Greenwich college, but went and settled in 
 Shoreditch, with his old sister. She died two
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 173 
 
 twelvemonths ago, and poor old Jerry soon grew 
 helpless — so they took him into the parish poor- 
 house, pocketing his pension, and he died there, of 
 sheer grief, about six months ago. That was a rum 
 reward for fighting for his country so bravely as 
 Jerry did " 
 
 " By G — d it was ! " exclaimed old Matthew, 
 involuntarily — for the fine old fellow had not ut- 
 tered an oath for years before : " the Lord ha ' mercy 
 upon me for swearing, poor old sinner that I am ! " 
 he continued : — " but you don't say that that's true 
 about Jerry vSimpson, do you, Paul? why he used 
 to rush into a gun-boat like a ravenous wolf! 
 Shiver my old timbers ! but a braver sailor than 
 Jerry never stepped upon deck ! " 
 
 *' 'Pon the word of a sailor, what I have said is 
 true," replied Paul, "for I saw it with my own 
 sorrowful eyes. But now don't you perceive, Mat- 
 thew," resumed Paul, eager to take advantage of the 
 impression this fact had made, " that the change in 
 the state of things is owing to the heavy taxes caused 
 by the war, and " 
 
 (e 
 
 Why, you see, Paul, I don't understand these 
 tilings," said Matthew, impatiently ; " but I feel 
 you are right about us poor dogs never wishing to 
 bite the foreigners — for I never had such a thought 
 till I got on board ship. But why is it that great 
 folks wish to shed blood at such a rate ? What do 
 they want, and what would they have ? 'Zounds ! 
 
 I 3
 
 174 THE LAST DAYS OF AN OLD SAILOE. 
 
 if I have but my bit o' bacco, and can rest at night, 
 I'm as happy as any of 'em. And then, again, Paul, 
 why is it — excuse me, Paul, if I seem to talk 
 foolish ; I'm older than you, but you always had 
 more book laming, I'm well aware — why is it that 
 the poor don't let the rich fight their battles them- 
 selves, if they want any fighting?" 
 
 " Why, there, now, you old billy-goat ! " ex- 
 claimed Paul, laughing; "you know that both you 
 and I were dragged off by the press-gang, just as we 
 were about to step on shore at Wapping ; and were 
 not thousands hauled away, in the same manner, 
 throughout the war ? ' Why is it that we don't let 
 'em fight their own battles themselves ' indeed ! why, 
 you know. Mat, the poor dogs are compelled to obey 
 the rich ones, in this world. What I want'you to see 
 is that the rich dogs make these w^ars on purpose to 
 keep the poor dogs under. And yet I don't know, 
 Matthew, that either you or I can alter things : it is 
 past our time o' life ; and, besides, I believe the 
 whole consarn will before long tumble to pieces of 
 itself, for the world's about tired of it." 
 
 " Blow me !" exclaimed Matthew, completely wea- 
 ried of the subject, and anxious to resume his usual 
 careless and happy vein, " if I can see the use of all 
 your palaver, Paul : you may be right, in the main, 
 but then you make no sail, take as many tacks as you 
 will. You still end by saying the poor dogs are 
 forced to bark and bite as the rich dogs bid 'em ;
 
 TUE LAST DATS OF AN OLD SAILOR. 175 
 
 and you own that we're both too old to do aught 
 towards bettering things ; and, besides, you say the 
 consarn's doomed to fall to pieces by its own rotten- 
 ness ; and so, instead of bothering my old brains 
 about it, I still say, as I did when we got out of the 
 Dutchmen's firkin, ' Butter your shirt ! sing tan- 
 tarara-bobus make shift ! ' " 
 
 The argument was ended with a hearty laugh on 
 both sides, for, as toughly as Paul had spun his yarn, 
 it was clear, from his last observation, that he was 
 beo-innino; to esteem his work as " labour in vain." 
 That day and another passed in calling old times to 
 mind ; and, on the fourth day, the two ancient 
 friends and fellows in many a storm and broil, 
 parted, never to meet again on the lee-shore of 
 Time. 
 
 Old Matthew Hardcastle kept up his gaiety of 
 heart till his last day, though that day was, to the 
 full, as doleful as his trusty friend Paul Perkins had 
 prognosticated it would be. Reader, — if ever it 
 falls in your way to visit old Gainsbro', you will 
 learn that, in the main, what I am about to relate is 
 too true. In proportion as Matthew became help- 
 less, people were wearied with waiting upon him ; 
 and, disgraceful to relate ! the old warrior-seaman 
 was, at length, neglected till his aged body swarmed 
 with filth. Instead of respect, disgust was now ex- 
 pressed for him, by an unreasonable world. Paul 
 Perkins' prophecy came true to the letter : the parish 
 
 I 4
 
 176 THE LAST DATS OF AN' OLD SAILOR. 
 
 " worthies " came to " take care of him ; " they took 
 him to the poor-house ; he was stripped stark-naked 
 in the wash-house ; and cold water was " swabbed," 
 as he himself would have said, upon his aged body- 
 to cleanse him ! Even in that moment, the brave 
 companion of Howe and Nelson strove to keep up 
 the gaiety of his noble heart, and once essayed his old 
 
 saying, " Butter your shirt ! sing " But his aged 
 
 lips quivered, and his jaws chattered with the cold, 
 — and his bold old heart broke with the barbarous 
 treatment he was undergoing ! 
 
 Oh ! this is a world of wrong ; and it will take 
 a great deal of effort to right it, if ever it be righted 
 at all. Keader ! if you even think, with Paul 
 Perkins, that the bad system under which so many 
 groan, will, at length, fall to pieces by virtue, or 
 rather by the vice, of its own imperfections, — is it 
 not, still, sensible and philanthropic to be doing what 
 little we can to hasten what we feel to be " a con- 
 summation devoutly to be wished ? "
 
 177 
 
 DOROTHY PYECHOFT'S PREACHING 
 
 OR, 
 
 ii 
 
 CHARITY BEGmS AT HOME." 
 
 All the world, in the village of Sturton-le-Steeple, 
 had said so, before the time of old Dorothy Pyecroft ; 
 but Dorothy did not join all the world in saying so. 
 Sturton is a homely little place, situate in the plea- 
 sant shire of Nottingham, and lying within a couijle 
 of miles of the Trent, and old Lincolnshire ; and 
 its church steeple forms a pretty object in the land- 
 scape which you view from the hills above Gainsboro'. 
 Dorothy Pyecroft, from the time that she was a child 
 but the height of a table, went to Gainsboro' market 
 with butter, eggs, or poultry, as regularly as Tuesday 
 returned in each week ; for the hearty old dame used 
 commonly to boast that she had never known what 
 it was to have a day's illness in her life, although, at 
 the season we are beginning to gossip about, she was 
 full threescore and ten. It was a bonny sight to see 
 
 I
 
 178 DOROTHY PYECEOFT'S PREACHING. 
 
 the clame go tripping o'er the charming lea which 
 spreads its flowery riches from Sturton-le- Steeple to 
 the banks of noble Trent, by four of the clock on a 
 gay summer's morning, with the clean milking-pail 
 under lier arm, that was bare to the elbow. You 
 would have thought, at a distance, she had been 
 some blithe maiden in her teens. And then the 
 cheerful and clear tone in which she summoned her 
 cows, calling to them as kindly as if they were her 
 children — " Come, my pratty creatures !" a call that 
 was the signal for a treat of pleasing pastoral music 
 to the enthusiastic early angler on the Trent : the 
 rich, varied " low " of the cows, — alto, tenor, and 
 bass, — answered that call, in changeful echo across 
 the stream ; the angler's delighted ear caught a 
 treble, heavenward, from the matin lark, to complete 
 the " harmony ; " and even the cackling of the geese, 
 uttering their confused joy at the sound of the dame's 
 voice, seemed to mingle no unpleasing " discord " 
 with the natural chorus. By the time that her 
 morning's milking was over, the spoilt maidens of 
 the village were only beginning to open their kitchen 
 window-shutters ; and she usually passed the whole 
 train of them, loitering and chattering about their 
 sweethearts, on their way to the lea, as she returned 
 home, with the rich load upon her head, and her 
 arms fixed as properly a-kimbo as could be shown by 
 the sprightllest lass that ever carried a milking-pail. 
 Some little shame was commonly felt among the
 
 DOROTHY PYECROFT'S PREACHING. 179 
 
 loiterers as they passed the exemplary old woman, — 
 but it did not result in their reformation. Old 
 Farmer Muxloe, Avho was always abroad at day- 
 break, and usually chatted a few moments with the 
 dame just at the point where the footpath crossed 
 the bridle-way over the lea, often commented, in no 
 very measured terms, on the decline of discipline 
 among milk-maids since the days when he was a 
 lad. 
 
 " Ah, dame ! " he used to say, " there have been 
 sore changes since you and I used to take a turn 
 around the maypole ; I'm sure the world gets lazier 
 and lazier every day." 
 
 " Why, you see, neighbour, fashions change," the 
 old dame would reply — for she ever loved to take the 
 more charitable side of a question ; " maybe, things 
 may change again, and folk may take to getting up 
 earlier, after a few more years are over." 
 
 " I'faith, I've little hope on't," the old fanner 
 would reply, and shake his head, and smile ; " but 
 there's nobody like thee, Dolly, for taking the kindest 
 side." 
 
 " Why, neighbour, I always think it the best," 
 Dorothy would rejoin, with a benevolent smile ; " I 
 never saw things grow better by harsh words and 
 harsh thinkings, in my time." 
 
 And then the old farmer would smile again, and 
 say, " Well, well, that's just hkc thee ! God bless 
 thee, Dolly, and good morning to thee!" and away 
 
 I G
 
 180 DOROTHY PYECROFT's PREACHING. 
 
 he would turn Dobbin's head, and proceed on his 
 usual morning's ride from field to field. 
 
 The work of her little dairy, added to the care of 
 a humble household, composed of an infirm and help- 
 less husband, and an equally infirm maiden sister, — 
 with, all and sundry, a stout house-dog, two tabby- 
 cats, and a fruitful poultry-yard, — usually occupied 
 Dorothy Pyecroft through the bustling forenoon of 
 each day ; and when there was no immediate call 
 upon her skill and benevolence among sick neigh- 
 bours, — for she was the cleverest herb-woman in 
 the village, and exercised her knowledge of the 
 healing art without fee, or willing acceptance even of 
 thanks, — she would sit in her polished high -backed 
 chaii-, and work through the livelong afternoon at 
 her spinning-wheel, drowsing her two infirm compa- 
 nions into a salutary rest and forgetfulness with the 
 humming monotony of her labour, but revolving 
 within her own mind many a useful and solemn 
 thought, meanwhile. 
 
 Dorothy sat absorbed in this her favourite employ, 
 one afternoon in autumn, when an itinerant pedlar 
 made his customary call at the cottage-door. The 
 dame's mind was so deeply involved in the contri- 
 vance of one of her little plans of benevolence, that 
 she did not recognise the face of the traveller until 
 he had addressed her twice. 
 
 " Any small wares for children ? any needles, pins, 
 or thimbles?" cried the pedlar, running through the
 
 DOROTHY PYECROFT'S PREACHING. 181 
 
 list of his articles with the glibness of frequent repe- 
 tition. 
 
 " No, Jonah : I want none," replied the dame, 
 kindly ; " but, maybe, you'll take a horn o' beer, and 
 a crumb or two o' bread and cheese ? " 
 
 The pedlar assented, well pleased, and lowered 
 the pack from his shoulders, and set down the basket 
 from his hand, next seating himself in a chair with- 
 out the ceremonial of asking, and in all the gladsome 
 confidence of welcome. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, dame," he said, and 
 smacked his lips with pleasurable anticipation, as he 
 took the horn of smiling beer and the piece of bread 
 and cheese from the dame's hand. 
 
 " You're welcome, Jonah," replied the dame, 
 heartily. " Have you walked far to-day ? and what 
 luck have you had ? " 
 
 " I've come twenty miles, and have never taken 
 handsel yet, dame," answered Jonah, in a melancholy 
 tone. 
 
 " So, poor heart!" said Dorothy, very pitifully; 
 " I must buy a trifling dozen of needles of thee, 
 however, before thou goest. I fear times are hard, 
 Jonah : I hear many and grievous complaints." 
 
 " Times are harder than ever I knew them to be, 
 dame, I assure you," rejoined Jonah ; " and they 
 that have a little money seem most determined to 
 hold it fast. Sore murmurings are made about this 
 by poor folk : but I don't wonder at it, myself," con-
 
 182 DOROTHY PYECEOFT's PREACHIXG. 
 
 eluded the worldly pedlar, " for, in such sore times 
 as these, there's no knowing what a body may come 
 to want : and, as the old saying goes, you know, 
 dame, ' Charity begins at home ! ' " — and Jonah buried 
 his nose in the ale-horn, thinking he had said some- 
 thing so wisely conclusive that it could not be con- 
 tradicted. 
 
 " They say it was a parson who first used that 
 saying," observed Dorothy, glancing from her wheel, 
 very keenly, towards the pedlar ; " but, for my part, 
 Jonah, I am very far from thinking it such a saying 
 as a parson ought to use." 
 
 " Say you, dame ? " said Jonah, opening his eyes 
 very wide. 
 
 " Did charity begin at home with their master?" 
 said Dorothy, by way of explanation. 
 
 "Ah, dame!" said the pedlar, quickly discerning 
 Dorothy's meaning, " I fear but few parsons think 
 of imitating their master now-a-days ! " 
 
 " That's more than I like to say," observed the 
 gentle Dorothy; " I think there are more good 
 people in the world than some folk think for ; — but 
 I'm sure, Jonah, we all want a better understanding 
 of our duty towards each other." 
 
 " Right, Dame Dorothy, right ! — that's the best 
 sort of religion ; but there's the least of it in this 
 world," rejoined the joedlar. 
 
 " Why, Jonah," continued the good dame, " I 
 think there might easily be a great deal more good
 
 DOROTHY t>YECROFT'S PREACHING. 183 
 
 in the world than there is. Every body ought to 
 remember how many little kindnesses it is in their 
 power to 2^erform for others, without any hurt to 
 themselves." 
 
 " Yes, a sight o'good might be done in that way, 
 dame," observed the pedlar, beginning very much to 
 admire Dorothy's remarks ; " and how much more 
 happy the world would be then ! " 
 
 " Just so ! " exclaimed Dorothy, her aged face 
 beaming with benevolence ; " that is the true way 
 of making the world happy, for all to be trying to 
 do their fellow-creatures some kindness. And then, 
 you see, Jonah, when once the pleasure of thus acting 
 began to be felt, there would soon be a pretty ge- 
 neral willingness to make greater efforts, and even 
 sacrifices of self-interest, as it is wrongly called, in 
 order to experience greater pleasure, and likewise to 
 increase the world's happiness." 
 
 " Truly, dame," said the pedlar, " you do me good 
 to hear you talk. I'm but a poor scholar ; yet I can 
 tell, without book, that you must be right." 
 
 " But then, you see, Jonah," continued the dame, 
 half unconscious of Jonah's last observation, " if 
 every body were to say, ' Charity begins at home,' 
 this general happiness would never begin. I like 
 best, Jonah, to think of the example of the Blessed 
 Being who came into the world to do us all good. 
 He went about pitying the miserable and afflicted.
 
 184 DOROTHY PYECROPT'S PREACHING. 
 
 and healing and blessing them. Charity did not 
 besin at home with him, Jonah I" 
 
 The tears were now hastening down Jonah's rough 
 cheeks. How forcible are lessons of goodness ! how 
 irresistibly the heart owns their power ! Jonah could 
 not support the conversation further. Dorothy's plain 
 and unaffected remarks sunk deep in to his bosom ; and 
 when he rose up, and buckled on his pack once more, 
 and the aged dame gave him " handsel," or first 
 money for the day, by purchasing a few pins and 
 needles, the poor pedlar bade her farewell in an 
 accent that showed he felt more than common thank- 
 fulness for her kindness. 
 
 Alas ! this is a world where good impressions are, 
 too often, speedily effaced by bad ones. Jonah called, 
 next at the gate of a wealthy squire, and, with hat 
 in hand, asked for leave to go up to the kitchen-door 
 and expose his wares to the servants. The squire 
 refused; and when Jonah pleaded his poverty, and 
 ventured to remonstrate, the squire frowningly 
 threatened, to set the dogs upon him, if he did not 
 instantly decamp ! Jonah turned away, and bitterly 
 cursed the unfeeling heart of the rich man, — avow- 
 ing, internally, that Dorothy Pyecroft was only a 
 doating old fool, — for, after all, " Charity begun at 
 home ! " 
 
 Scarcely had the pedlar taken twenty steps from 
 Dame Dorothy's cottage, ere the village clergyman 
 knocked at her door. The dame knew the young
 
 DOROTHY PYECROFTS PREACHING. 185 
 
 parson's " rap-rap-rap ! " It was quick and conse- 
 quential, and unlike the way of knocldng at a door 
 used by any one else in Sturton, who thought it ne- 
 cessary to be so ceremonious as to give notice before 
 they entered their neighbour's dwelling. Dame Do- 
 rothy ceased her spinning, and rose to open the door, 
 curtesying with natural politeness, and inviting her 
 visitor to be seated. 
 
 " Thank ye ! " said the parson, raising his brows 
 superciliously, joutting the hook-end of his hunting- 
 whip to his mouth, and striding about the floor in his 
 spurred boots; "sit you down, I beg. Dame Pye- 
 croft ! sit you down — I'll not sit, thank ye ! " 
 
 " I fear, sir, there is a great deal of suffering at 
 present," said Dorothy, sitting down, and fixing her 
 mild blue eyes upon the thoughtless young coxcomb, 
 and feeling too earnestly in love with goodness to 
 lose any opportunity of reconunending its glorious 
 lessons. 
 
 " Oh ! — suffering ! — ay ! '' observed the young 
 clergyman, in a tone that showed he did not know 
 what it was to think seriously : " you know there 
 always was a difference between the rich and the 
 poor." 
 
 " But do you not think, sir, that the rich might 
 lessen the difference between themselves and the 
 poor, without injuring themselves?" asked Dorothy, 
 in a tone of mild but firm expostulation. 
 
 " Why, as to that, I can't say exactly," replied
 
 186 DOROTHY PYECROFT'S PREACHING. 
 
 the parson, apparently brought to a halt in his 
 thoughtlessness, and unable to extricate himself from 
 the difficulty in which his ignorance placed him ; " I 
 can't say exactly ; but, you know. Dame Pyecroft, 
 some people have nothing to give away, though they 
 may be better off than many of the poor : with such 
 people, you know. Dame Pyecroft, the old proverb 
 holds good, that ' Charity begins at home.' " 
 
 " I am grieved to hear you quote that proverb, 
 sir," said Dorothy ; " I had just been exerting my poor 
 wits to show that that saying was not a right one, in 
 the hearing of poor Jonah the pedlar, before your 
 reverence came in." 
 
 " Not a right saying, Dame Pyecroft ? Why, you 
 know it is a very old-established saying ; and I think 
 it a very shrewd one," rejoined the clergyman. 
 
 " But it is not so old as the New Testament, su-," 
 replied Dorothy, with a winning smile ; " and as 
 shrewd as it is, do you think, sir, it was ever acted 
 upon by your Great Master ? " 
 
 The young clergyman took his hook- whip from his 
 mouth, laid it on the table, took out his pocket- 
 handkerchief, and, blushing up to the eyes, sat down 
 before he attempted an answer to the good old dame's 
 meek but powerful question. 
 
 " You will remember. Dame Dorothy," he said, 
 at length, " that the Saviour was in very different 
 circumstances to all other human beings that ever 
 lived."
 
 DOROTHY PYECROFT'S PREACHING. 187 
 
 " But you will remember, sir," rejoined Dorothy, 
 in the same mildly pertinacious manner, " that that 
 Blessed Being said to his disciples, ' I have given 
 you an example, that ye shall do as I have done to 
 you : if I have washed your feet, ye ought also to 
 wash one another's feet.' " 
 
 " Yes : that is very beautiful," said the young 
 clergyman, feeling the irresistible force of goodness, 
 and speaking as if he had never read the passage in 
 the book for himself: " the Saviour's example is 
 very beautiful." 
 
 " And does not your reverence perceive how easy 
 and delightful it would be for every one to begin to 
 follow it?" immediately rejoined Dorothy, taking 
 advantage of the good impression which, she saw, was 
 being made on the mind of the young parson ; " how 
 easily might all who have enough give even of their 
 little superfluity ; how easily might we all do each 
 other kindnesses which would cost us nothing ! What 
 solid pleasure this would bring back upon each of 
 our hearts ; and how surely it would lead us to make 
 sacrifices, in order to experience the richer pleasure 
 of doing greater good ! Oh, sir," concluded the 
 good old creature, with a tear that an angel might 
 envy gliding down her aged and benevolent cheek, 
 " I cannot think that any one knows the secret of 
 true happiness who practises the precept — ' Charity 
 begins at home ! ' " 
 
 The young and inexperienced man gazed with a
 
 188 DOROTHY PYECROFT'S PREACHING. 
 
 strange expression at his new and humble teacher. 
 This was better preaching than he had ever heard 
 or practised. His heart had been misled, but not 
 thoroughly vitiated, by a selfish and falsely styled 
 "respectable" education. He was too much affected 
 to prolong the conversation then; but he became, 
 from that time, a pupil at the feet of the aged Dorothy. 
 His fine manners were laid aside. He became a real 
 pastor. He was, from that day, more frequently in 
 the cottages of the poor, twenty times over' than in 
 the houses of the rich. He distributed of his sub- 
 stance to relieve the wants of others, and lived him- 
 self upon little. He forgot creeds to preach good- 
 ness, and pity, and mercy, and love. He preached 
 till he wept, and his audiences wept with him. His 
 life was an embodiment of the virtues he inculcated. 
 And when, in the course of five short years, he laid 
 down his body in the grave, a victim to the earnest 
 conviction of his mind, the poor crowded around 
 his hallowed resting-place with streaming eyes, and 
 loving, but afflicted hearts, wishing they might be 
 where he was when they died, since they were sure 
 hi^ presence, they said, of itself would make a 
 heaven ! 
 
 The young clergyman interred Dorothy Pyecroft 
 but half a year before his own departure ; and her 
 last words were words of thankfulness that ever she 
 had shown the young man the fallacy, of the proverb 
 - — " Charity begins at home."
 
 189 
 
 THE 
 
 MINISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 Leicester has the appearance of a new town as you 
 glance at it, in your rapid course on the Midland 
 Counties Railway. And, if the " locomotives " halt 
 for a few minutes at a point on the line where you have 
 a full view of the goodly borough, the momentary 
 impression which numerous ancient church-towers 
 gives you of the real antiquity of the place is soon 
 effaced by the extensive rows of newly-built houses 
 that stretch away on every side till they appear to 
 cover almost the entire populous area on Avhicli you 
 are gazing. Successive gusts of prosperity for 
 the manufacturers, occurring at various periods 
 during the last forty years, — too often followed by 
 severe depressions, — have in fact swelled the town 
 to more than double its size at the close of the last 
 century. 
 
 Yet a few days' sojourn in the borough would 
 afford a lover of antiquity no inferior treat. The 
 massive wall and arched vaults of a ruin, believed to
 
 190 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 have formed part of a temple of Janus during the 
 ages that Britain was under Roman sway, — the 
 ivied remains of the noble abbey where the im- 
 perious and vice-regal Wolsey "laid his bones," — 
 the sternly frowning " Newarke," or entrance-tower 
 to the castle of the Grantmesnels, Bellomonts, 
 Blanchmaines, De Montforts, Plantagenets, and other 
 proud Earls of Leicester, — the solitary wooded 
 mound on which the castle itself anciently stood, — 
 the rich minute carving of the old churches, — the 
 quaint interior of the old town-hall, — the grotesque 
 exterior of much of the really ancient part of the 
 town, composed of dwellings striped with timber 
 and plaster, and decked with ornamented or over- 
 hanging gables, — dwellings wherein the soldiers of 
 the fated kingly Crookt-back were billeted on the 
 night before Bosworth-field, — these, and sundry 
 other features of historic chronicle and change, could 
 not fail to awaken eager interest in an antiquarian. 
 Our story, however, concerns itself less Avith the 
 outward than the inward, and regards rather the 
 misery of the living than the pride of the dead. 
 
 Passing along the ancient line of highway from 
 York to London, from the churchless burial-yard of 
 St. Leonard, over the old North bridge, revealing 
 the meandering Soar and the meadows of the old 
 monks ; by the curious Gothic west-door of the very 
 ancient church of All Saints, that almost compels 
 you to stop and look at it ; and then, by the trans-
 
 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 191 
 
 verse streets, where the venerable " high cross " was 
 taken down but a few years ago, and reaching that 
 part of the ancient principal line of street called 
 " Southgate," where modern Goths so lately took 
 doAvn that most interesting historical relic, the house 
 in which the last regal Plantagenet slept the night 
 before his death; (a splendid gable filled with a 
 world of old English associations, and breathing a 
 wholesome lesson to despotism from every atom of 
 its mouldering substance !) the traveller would come 
 to a ruinous-looking entry of a street on his right, 
 bearing the chivalrous designation of "Red Cross 
 Street." At the door of a low, crumbling house 
 about halfway down this ancient bye-street, a dis- 
 senting minister stopped one winter's evening some 
 eight-and-twenty years ago, to make his usual call 
 of duty and benevolence. His gentle knock, how- 
 ever, was not answered ; and, before he could repeat 
 it, he was saluted hastily by a rich manufacturer, 
 a member of his congregation, who was passing by 
 on some business errand. 
 
 " You are the very man I wanted to see," said 
 the minister in a very earnest tone, seizing the 
 manufacturer by one arm, as if he feared the man 
 of business might feel disposed to escape him : " I 
 want half an hour's conversation with you, sir." 
 
 *' But I cannot stay now, sir," replied the manu- 
 factnrcr; "will you join me in my morning ride in 
 the gig to-morrow ? Do, sir ; it will do you good."
 
 192 THE MINISTEK OF MERCY. 
 
 " I will, I will ; thank you, sir," answered the 
 minister, in a quick, nervous way that seemed to be 
 usual with him ; and they shook hands with great 
 apparent fervour, and bid each other " good night." 
 
 The dissenting minister did not find entrance 
 into the low, ruined-looking house, until a neighbour 
 or two had forced open the door. A light was 
 then brought, and a picture of affecting interest was 
 revealed. A venerable silver-haired man lay breath- 
 ing his last ; and by the side of his humble bed, with 
 folded hands, knelt she who had been the partaker of 
 his joys and sorrows for sixty years, lost to all con- 
 sciousness except that of mental prayer for her de- 
 parting husband. The sound of the minister's voice 
 seemed to arouse her for a moment ; but she relapsed 
 again into complete obliviousness of all things, save 
 the one absorbing feeling created by the view of that 
 gasping pallid form that lay before her. So the 
 minister knelt, likewise ; and Avhen the neighbours 
 who had entered with him had followed his example 
 he prayed audibly and earnestly, yet so reverently 
 and pathetically, that, while he prayed and wept, 
 the neighbours thought themselves in the presence of 
 some superior being, with a soul of compass to em- 
 brace and bless the whole human race, rather than 
 a mere mortal. The face of the dying man kindled, 
 too, with wondrous feeling, when he heard the 
 sounds of that well-known and beloved voice, though 
 he had seemed past consciousness but a few moments
 
 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 193 
 
 before. And when tlie minister paused in his peti- 
 tion, and saw the aged man's look fixed upon him, he 
 said, with unutterable sweetness and tenderness, — 
 
 '' William, my dear old friend, is all well Avithin ? 
 — is your hope still blooming and full of immor- 
 tality ? " 
 
 The aged man raised his withered riiiht hand with 
 a last effort — waved it thrice — smiled with an inef- 
 fable smile, — and expired ! 
 
 The minister was raising the aged and speechless 
 widow from her kneeling posture, and placing her in 
 an arm-chair, when her married daughter and several 
 other neighbours entered the house of death. The 
 minister recognised the daughter, and, after com- 
 mitting the widow earnestly to her care, emptied his 
 waistcoat pocket of the silver it contained, and gave 
 it, without counting, into the hands of the astonished 
 young woman, who stood staring, while the good 
 man snatched up his hat, and, saying " God bless 
 you all ! I'll call again to-morrow : God bless you 
 all ! " hurried away in a moment. 
 
 A tall, grave-looking man, in the habit of a 
 gentleman, bowed courteously to the dissenting mi- 
 nister, as he was turning the corner of the High 
 Street, and, addressing him by his name, uttered 
 the customary observations on the severity of the 
 weather. 
 
 " Ah, my dear sir," spake the dissenting minister, 
 unable, from the state of his feelings, to answer in 
 
 YOL. I. S
 
 194 THE MINISTER OP MERCY. 
 
 the same strain, " I wish I had had you with me a 
 quarter of an hour ago." 
 
 " Why, sir ? " asked the gentleman. 
 
 " That you might have seen, for yourself, how a 
 Christian can die," answered the minister. 
 
 " Ah ! " replied the gentleman, with a look of serious 
 concern, " there you, and all truly Christian mi- 
 nisters, find a field of more exalted enterprise than 
 the whole world of turmoil and strife, put together, 
 can furnish. I envy you, my dear sir — I envy you, 
 more than I can express to you." 
 
 " It is, indeed, a field of exalted, of truly glorious 
 enterprise, the visiting of death-beds — the pour- 
 ing of heavenly consolation into the spirit that is 
 leaving its frail clay tabernacle, and the gladdening 
 of the human wretchedness which is left to mourn 
 and weep," bvirst forth the good minister, forgetting 
 that he stood in the bleak, cold, open street, and not 
 in his pulpit ; " but, oh, my good friend, what a 
 dark, disconsolate scene would your Free-thinking 
 make of the chamber of death, were it as univers- 
 ally spread as you wish it to be ! " 
 
 " It is there where you always have the advantage 
 of me, sir," rejoined the gentleman; " I have ac- 
 knowledged it, again and again ; and I feel the force 
 of that reflection so powerfully, sometimes, that I 
 half resolve to spend the remainder of my life in 
 some scheme of philanthropy, and, meanwhile, join 
 in persuading men to believe Christianity, although
 
 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 195 
 
 I do not believe its liistoricjil evidences are worth a 
 straw " 
 
 " But that would be wrong, sir ! " said the minister 
 interrupting the other, very earnestly. 
 
 " So I think, sir," continued the gentleman ; " and 
 yet I feel sometimes as if I should become guilty of 
 a crime by striving to take away w^hat I regard as a 
 pleasant deceit from men, — their chance, by imbibing 
 a full confidence in Christianity, of expiring not 
 merely with calmness, but with rapturous joy and 
 triumph. Free-thinking wall never enable even the 
 largest intellect, the most highly cultivated man, to 
 die thus ; much less will it give such a death to an 
 imperfectly educated or ignorant man. But then, I 
 reflect again, that it would be morally and veritably 
 criminal in me to join in strengthening what I sin- 
 cerely believe to be falsehood." 
 
 " And so It would, sir," said the dissenting mi- 
 nister, taking the gentleman's arm, who offered it, 
 that they might walk on to avoid some degree of the 
 cold ; " so it would, sir : it would render you a very 
 contemptible creature. Let me tell you, sir, that 
 with all the delight I experience in fulfilling some 
 little of my duty as a Christian minister, the remem- 
 brance of it would not move me one inch towards the 
 bed of a dying man with the view of offering him the 
 consolations of revealed religion — if I believed such 
 consolations to be a mere farce. I would scorn to 
 mock him w^ith false hopes. You know how deeply 
 
 K 2
 
 196 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 I regret your scepticism, my dear sir ; but I would 
 not see you veil it through a spurious tenderness. 
 No, sir: truth and sincerity are the purest jewels 
 in human character; even pity and benevolence, 
 themselves, are gems of inferior water." 
 
 " I wish all Christians were like yourself," said 
 the gentleman, after a pause of admiration for the 
 great and good being with whom he felt it a real pri- 
 vilege to walk ; " but I see so little practice of good- 
 ness from the hundreds around me who profess a 
 religion that enthrones it, that the sight tends much 
 to confirm me in my old opinions." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," observed the minister, in a very 
 grave tone, " I must tell you that you will be guilty 
 of great self-deceit, if you imagine that the wicked- 
 ness of hypocrites, or the slackness of lukewarm 
 professors, will form a valid excuse for your rejection 
 of Christ's mission, should you, one day, prove it 
 
 true." 
 
 " I know it, my dear sir," replied the gentleman ; 
 " I know it well ; though I thank you for your kind 
 and well-meant zeal in reminding me of it. I will 
 tell you one thought of mine, however, — and it is 
 one that fixes itself very forcibly before my judg- 
 ment, — if callousness to the sufferings of their Avork- 
 men continues to increase among the manufacturers 
 as rapidly as it has increased for the last ten years, 
 Christianity will be openly scoffed at by the poor of 
 the next generation, in the very streets where we are 
 now walking."
 
 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 197 
 
 " You have only expressed what I expressed hist 
 Sunday morning from my own pulpit, sir," returned 
 the minister, — seeming too deeply affected with his 
 strong belief of the probability of such an event to be 
 able to add more. 
 
 " I hear that the wretched framework-knitters 
 suffer more and more from abatements of wages and 
 other encroachments upon their means of subsistence, 
 of the most unfeeling and unprincipled character," 
 resumed the gentleman ; " and although hundreds 
 are without work at the present time, and the com- 
 plaints of suffering from want of food, fuel, and 
 clothing, are so loud and frequent, yet not a single 
 rich manufacturer of the many that profess religion, 
 in Leicester, proposes to open a pul:)lic subscription 
 for the poor, according to the humane custom of 
 past times. I heard a wdiisper that you had begun 
 to stir up the languid charity of some of your friends 
 towards the commencement of a subscription : was 
 I rightly informed, sir?" 
 
 " It is the very subject I intend to broach to Mr. 
 
 , to-morrow morning," replied the minister, 
 
 with an enthusiastic glow suffusing his expressive 
 face. 
 
 " Please place your own name for that sum some- 
 where on the list," said the gentleman, taking a note 
 for 20Z. out of his pocket-book and giving it to the 
 minister. 
 
 The good preacher was trying to stifle liis grate- 
 
 K 3
 
 198 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 ful tears, in order to thank the sceptic, — but the 
 latter bowed and strode away ; and the good preacher, 
 as he walked towards his own house in deep reflective 
 silence, had many thoughts of the true interpretation 
 of such words as " infidel " and " Cliristian " that 
 would have startled his audience, if he had uttered 
 them before it on the following Sunday. 
 
 In spite of an agonised bodily system, the minister 
 was early abroad the next morning, and his glorious 
 brow beamed with pleasure, when the maid-servant 
 announced that the rich manufacturer's gig was at the 
 door, and the conversation was near that he hoped 
 would result in the effective commencement of a sub- 
 scription to relieve the misery, and hunger, and cold, 
 and disease, under which the depressed stockingers 
 and their families were groaning that severe winter. 
 Yet the philanthropist, with all his guilelessness, 
 knew the man he had to deal with, and proceeded in a 
 somewhat circumlocutory way to his object. In the 
 end, he enforced the claims of man as a brother, the 
 admirableness and divinity of charity, and the inde- 
 feasible rights of the working man as a substantial 
 agent in the creation of wealth, with so much of the 
 potentiality of his transcendent eloquence, that the 
 manufacturer, in spite of the resistance his heart's 
 avarice made to the godlike theme, assented to the 
 proposal that he should begin the public subscription. 
 But how heart-stricken with grief and shame did the 
 golden-tongued pleader feel when, on producing the
 
 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 199 
 
 little book he had prepared for collecting the names 
 of subscribers, the rich manufacturer hesitated as 
 soon as he had written his name, bit the end of his 
 cedar pencil, and then hastily put five pounds at the 
 end of his name I The minister did not thank him, 
 for his soul was too noble to permit his tongue to 
 utter one word which his heart would not accompany : 
 but he had, again, some peculiar thoughts about the 
 true interpretation of the words " infidel" and 
 « Christian." 
 
 Neither was the good man to be damped by such 
 
 an inauspicious beginning; but begging Mr. 
 
 would not drive on again till he, the minister, had 
 got safely out of the gig, bid the rich churl " good 
 morning," posted away to the house of another " of 
 whom the world was not w^orthy," but with whom 
 Leicester was likewise blessed at that time: the 
 Rev. Mr. Robinson, vicar of St. Mary's, stayed till 
 that good man formed a little collecting book, and 
 then left him to divide the work of canvassing the 
 town for names to form the subscription list. As- 
 sisted occasionally by others, the dissenting minister 
 persevered, till, in the lapse of several days, and at 
 the cost to himself of excruciating visitations of 
 increased pain in the night season, he completed such 
 a list as gave effectual relief to the hundreds of his 
 suffering fellow-creatui'es then inhabiting Leicester. 
 
 That labour was no sooner ended than he com- 
 menced a close inquiry into the real state of the 
 
 K 4
 
 200 THE MINISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 staple trade of the town ; and, finding that the reports 
 of oppression and extortion, the foul fruits of ava- 
 ricious competition, were not exaggerated, he sat 
 down and wrote an appeal in behalf of the suffering 
 framework-knitters that might have jeopardied the 
 favour and acceptance of a less able preacher with 
 the wealthier members of his conOTeo-ation. 
 
 o o 
 
 It might be imprudent to go on: the starving 
 stockingers of Leicester have no longer such an ad- 
 vocate ; and, as highly as some profess to esteem the 
 memory of the truly good, they may feel angered by 
 this introduction of a portrait which, as imperfectly 
 as it is delineated, they will already have recognised 
 to their shame. If a stranger to old Leicester should 
 ask whose is the portrait this faint limning is intended 
 to call to memory, it is hoped it will not be deemed 
 an act of desecration to introduce, in a volume of 
 merely fugitive essays, a name too truly holy to be 
 lightly mentioned, — a name inscribed, ineffaceably, 
 in English literature, by the sunbeam of his peerless 
 and hallowed eloquence to Avhom it belonged, — the 
 name of Egbert Hall.
 
 201 
 
 a 
 
 MEMIE ENGLAND "-NO MORE! 
 
 The present generation, — the generation succeed- 
 ing that in which the eloquent philanthropist and 
 the sceptical gentleman lived and conversed, — has it 
 witnessed any verification of the serious prophecy 
 uttered in that winter evening's conversation in the 
 streets of Leicester ? The following brief but truth- 
 ful sketch will furnish an answer. 
 
 On an April morning in forty-two — scarcely four 
 years bygone, — a group of five or six destitute- 
 looking men were standing on a well-known space 
 in Leicester, where the frustrum of a Koman mile- 
 stone (surmounted, in true Gothic style, with a fan- 
 tastic cross) was preserved within an iron palisade, 
 and where the long narrow avenue of Barkby Lane, 
 enters the wide trading street called Belo;rave 
 Gate. The paleness and dejection of the men's 
 faces, as well as the ragged condition of their cloth- 
 ing, would have told how fearfully they were strug- 
 gling with poverty and want, if their words had net 
 been overheard.
 
 202 "MEREIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 
 
 " Never mind the lad, John," said the tallest 
 and somewhat the hardest-featured man of the 
 j)arty ; " he can't be worse off than he would have 
 been at home, let him be where he will. What's 
 the use of grieving about him ? He was tired of 
 pining at home, no doubt, and has gone to try if he 
 can't mend his luck. You'll hear of him again, 
 soon, from some quarter or other." 
 
 " But I can't satisfy myself about him, in that 
 way, George," replied the man to whom this rough 
 exhortation was addressed; " if the foolish lad be 
 dravv'n into company that tempts him to steal, I may 
 have to hear him sentenced to transj)ortation, and 
 that would be no joke, George." 
 
 *' I see nothing so very serious, even in that^" 
 observed another of the group ; " I would as lief 
 be transported to-morrow as stay here to starve, as 
 I've done for the last six months." 
 
 " It would seem serious to me, though," rejoined 
 Jolm, " to see my owm child transported." 
 
 " Why, John, to men that scorn to steal, in 
 spite of starvation," resumed George, " it's painful 
 to see any child, or man either, transported : but 
 where's the real disgrace of it ? The man that pro- 
 nounces the sentence is, in nine cases out of ten, a 
 bigger villain than him that's called ' the criminal.' 
 Disgrace is only a name — a mere name, you know, 
 John." 
 
 *' I'm aware there's a good deal o' truth in that,"
 
 " MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 203 
 
 replied John ; " the names of things would be al- 
 tered a good deal, if the world was set right : but, 
 as wrong as things are now, yet I hope my lad 
 will never steal, and have to be sentenced to trans- 
 portation. I've often had to hear him cry for bread, 
 since he was born, and had none to give him ; 
 but I would sooner see him perish with hunger than 
 live to hear him transported, for I think it would 
 break my heart ; — and God Almighty forbid I ever 
 should have to hear it ! " 
 
 " Goddle Mitey ! " said George, pronouncing the 
 syllables in a mocking manner, and setting up a 
 bitter laugh, which was joined by every member of 
 the group, except the mournful man who had just 
 spoken ; " who told thee there was one ? Thy 
 grandmother and the parsons ? Don't talk such 
 nonsense any more, John ! it's time we all gave it 
 over: they've managed to grind men to the dust 
 with their priestcraft, and we shall never be righted 
 till we throw it off ! " 
 
 " No, no," chimed in another, immediately ; " they 
 may cant and prate about it : but, if their God ex- 
 isted, he would never permit us to suffer as we do !" 
 
 " Well, I'm come seriously to the same conclu- 
 sion," said one who had not spoken before, and was 
 the palest and thinnest of the group : " I think all 
 their talk about a Providence that disposes the lot 
 of men differently here, ' for His Own great mys- 
 terious purposes,' as they phrase it, is mere mys- 
 
 K 6
 
 204 "MEREIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 
 
 terious humbug, to keep us quiet. What purpose 
 could a being have, who, they say, is as infinitely 
 good as he is infinitely powerful, in placing me where 
 I must undergo insult and starvation, while He 
 places that man, — the oppressor and grinder, who 
 is riding past now, in his gig, — in plenty and 
 abundance?" 
 
 " Right, Benjamin," said George ; " they can't 
 get quit of their diflficulty, quibble as they may : if 
 they bedaub us with such nicknames as * Atheistical 
 Socialists,' we can defy them to make the riddle 
 plainer by their own Jonathan Edwards, that they 
 say good Robert Hall read over thirteen times, 
 and pronounced ' irrefragable.' " 
 
 " Just so," resumed Benjamin, " whether man be 
 called a ' Creature of Circumstance,' or a ' Creature 
 of Necessity,' it amounts to the same thing. And, 
 then, none of the Arminian sects can make out a 
 case : they only prove the same thing as the Calvinist 
 and the Socialist, when their blundering argument is 
 sifted to the bottom." 
 
 " So that, if there be a Providence," continued 
 George, "^ it has appointed, or permitted, — which 
 
 they like, for it comes to the same, — that old 
 
 should fling the three dozen hose in your face last 
 November, and that you should be out of work, 
 and pine ever since ; it appointed that I should get 
 a few potatoes or a herring, by begging, or go 
 ■without food altogether, some days since Christmas ;
 
 "MEREIE ENGLAND" — NO MOKE I 205 
 
 and that each of us here, though we are willing to 
 work, should have to starve; while it appointed 
 that the mayor should live in a fine house, and swell 
 his riches, by charging whole frame-rents, month 
 after month, to scores of poor starving stockingers 
 that had from him but half week's work." 
 
 " And, with all their talk about piety," rejoined 
 Benjamin, " I think there is no piety at all in be- 
 lieving in the existence of such a Providence ; and 
 since, it appears, it can't be proved that Providence 
 is of any other character, if there be One at all, I 
 think it less impious to believe in None." 
 
 John stood by while this conversation was going 
 on ; but he heard little of it, — for his heart was too 
 heavy with concern for his child, — and, in a little 
 time, he took his way, silently and slowly, towards 
 other groups of unemployed and equally destitute 
 men, who were standing on the wider space of ground, 
 at the junction of several streets, — a locality known 
 by the names of " the Coal-hill," and " the Hay- 
 market," from the nature of the merchandise sold 
 there, at different periods, in the open air. 
 
 " Have you found the lad yet ? " said one of John's 
 acquaintances, when he reached the outermost group. 
 
 " No, William," replied the downcast father ; 
 " and I begin to have some very troublesome fears 
 about him, I'll assure you." 
 
 " But why should you, John ? " expostulated the 
 other ; " he's only gone to try if he can't mend him-
 
 206 "MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 
 
 self Look you, John ! " he said, pointing ex- 
 citedly at what he suddenly saw ; " there he goes, 
 with the recruiting serjeant ! " 
 
 The father ran towards the soldier and his child ; 
 and every group on the Coal-hill was speedily in 
 motion when they saw and heard the father endea- 
 vouring to drag off the lad from the soldier, who 
 seized the arm of his prize, and endeavoured to de- 
 tain him. An increasing crowd soon hemmed in the 
 party, — a great tumult arose, — and three policemen 
 were speedily on the spot. 
 
 " Stick to your resolution, my boy ! " cried the 
 soldier, grasping the lad's arm with all his might ; 
 " you'll never want bread nor clothes in the army." 
 
 " But he'll be a sold slave, and must be shot at, 
 like a dog ! " cried the father, striving to rescue his 
 child, — a pale, tall stripling, who seemed to be but 
 sixteen or seventeen years of age. 
 
 " Man-butcher ! — Blood-hound ! " shouted several 
 voices in the crowd : whereat the policemen raised 
 their staves, and called aloud to the crowd to " stand 
 back!" 
 
 " I demand, in the Queen's name, that you make 
 this fellow loose his hold of my recruit ! " said the 
 soldier, in a loud, angry tone, to the policemen ; two 
 of whom seemed to be about obeying him, when a 
 dark, stern-browed man among the crowd, of much 
 more strong and sinewy appearance than the majority 
 of the working multitude who composed it, stepped 
 forward, and said, —
 
 "MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 207 
 
 " Let any policemen touch him that dare ! If 
 they do they shall repent it ! There's no law to pre- 
 vent a father from taking hold of his own cliild's arm 
 to hinder him from playing the fool ! " 
 
 The men in blue slunk back at these words ; and 
 the soldier himself seemed intimidated at perceiving 
 the father's cause taken up by an individual of such 
 determination. 
 
 " Tom," said the determined man to the lad, 
 '•' have you taken the soldier's money ?" 
 
 " Not yet," answered the lad, after a few moments' 
 hesitation. 
 
 " Then he shall have my life before he has thee ! " 
 said the father, whose heart leaped at the answer, 
 and infused so much strength into his arm, that with 
 another pull he brought off his lad, entirely, from 
 the soldier's hold. The crowd now burst into a 
 shout of triumph ; and when the soldier would have 
 followed, to recapture his victim, the stern-browed 
 man confronted him with a look of silent defiance ; 
 and the red-coat, after uttering a volley of oaths, 
 walked off amidst the derision of the multitude. 
 
 " Don't you think you were a fool, Tom, to be 
 juggled with that cut-throat ? " said the stern-browed 
 man to the lad, while the crowd gathered around 
 him and his father. 
 
 " I wasn't so soon juggled," replied the lad ; " he's 
 been at me this three months ; but I never yielded 
 till this morning, when I felt almost pined to death.
 
 208 "MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MOKE ! 
 
 and he made me have some breakfast with him, — 
 but he'll not get hold of me again ! " 
 
 " That's right, my lad ! " said one of the crowd ; 
 " the bloody rascals have not had two Leicester re- 
 cruits these two years ; and I hope they'll never have 
 another." 
 
 " No, no, our eyes are getting opened," said an- 
 other working-man ; " they may be able to kill us 
 off by starvation, at home ; but I hope young and 
 old will have too much sense, in future, to give or 
 sell their bodies to be shot at, for tyrants." 
 
 " Ay, ay, we should soon set the lordlings fast, 
 if all working-men refused to go for soldiers," said 
 another. 
 
 " So we should. Smith," said a sedate-lookinjr 
 elderly man ; " that's more sensible than talking of 
 fighting when we've no weapons, nor money to buy 
 'em, nor strength to use 'em." 
 
 " Then we shall wait a long while for the Charter, 
 if we wait till we get it by leaving 'em no soldiers to 
 keep us down," said a young, bold-looking man, with 
 a fiery look ; " for they'll always find plenty of 
 Johnny Kaws ready to list in the farming districts." 
 
 " And we shall wait a longer while still if we try 
 to get it by fighting, under our present circum- 
 stances," answered the elderly man, in a firm tone ; 
 " that could only make things worse, as all such 
 fool's tricks have ended, before." 
 
 " You're right, Randal, you're right ! " cried seve-
 
 "MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MOEE ! 209 
 
 ral voices in the crowd ; and the advocate of the buo:- 
 bear " physical force " said not another word on the 
 subject. 
 
 " No, no, lads ! " continued the "moral force" man, 
 " let us go on, telling 'em our minds, without whis- 
 pering, — and let us throw off their cursed priest- 
 craft, — and the system will come to an end, — and 
 before long. But fighting tricks would be sure to 
 fail ; because they're the strongest, — and they know 
 it." 
 
 "Yes, it must end, — and very soon," observed 
 another working-man ; " the shopkeepers Avon't be 
 long before they join us ; for they begin to squeak, 
 most woefully." 
 
 " The shopkeepers, lad ! " said the dark-looking 
 man, who had confronted the soldier ; " never let us 
 look for their help : there is not a spark of inde- 
 pendence in any of 'em : they have had it in their 
 power, by their votes, to have ended misrule, before 
 now, if they had had the will." 
 
 " Poor devils ! they're all fast at their bankers', 
 and dare no more vote against their tyrants than 
 they dare attempt to fly," said another. 
 
 " There is no dependence on any of the middle 
 class," said the dark-looking man ; " they are as bad 
 as the aristocrats. You see this last winter has 
 passed over, entirely, without any subscription for 
 the poor, again, — as severe a winter as it has 
 been."
 
 210 "MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 
 
 " Ay, and work scarcer and scarcer, every day," 
 said another. 
 
 " They say there are eight hundred out o'work 
 now, in Leicester," said the elderly, sedate man, who 
 had spoken before ; and I heard a manufacturer say 
 there would be twice as many before the summer 
 went over : but he added, that the people deserved 
 to be pinched, since they would not join the Corn 
 Law Repealers." 
 
 A burst of indignation, and some curses and im- 
 precations, followed. 
 
 " Does he go to chapel ? " asked one. 
 
 " Yes ; and he's a member of the Charles Street 
 meeting," said the elderly man. 
 
 " There's your religion, again ! " — " There's 
 your saintship ! " — " There's your Christianity ! " 
 — " There's their Providence and their Goddle 
 Mitey ! " — were the varied indignant exclamations 
 among the starved crowd, as soon as the answer was 
 heard. 
 
 " I should think they invented the Bastile Mill, 
 while they were at chapel ! " said one. 
 
 " Is it smashed again ? " asked another. 
 
 " No ; but it soon will be," answered the man who 
 confi'onted the soldier. 
 
 These, and similar observations, were uttered 
 aloud, in the open street, at broad day, by hundreds 
 of starved, oppressed, and insulted framework-knit- 
 ters, who thus gave vent to their despair. Such
 
 "MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 211 
 
 conversations were customary sounds in John's ears, 
 and, having recovered his son, he took him by the 
 arm, after this brief delay, and, walking slowly back 
 towards the Roman milestone, the two bent their 
 steps down the narrow street called Barkby Lane. 
 
 After threading an alley, they reached a small 
 wretchedly furnished habitation; and the lad burst 
 into tears, as his mother sprung from her laborious 
 employ at the wash-tub, and threw her arms rovind 
 his neck, and kissed him. Two or three neighbours 
 came in, in another minute, and congratvilating the 
 father and mother, on their having found their son, 
 a conversation followed on the hatefulness of becoming 
 " a paid cut-throat for tyrants," the substance of 
 which would have been as unpleasing to " the powers 
 that be " as the conversation in the street, had they 
 heard the two. The entry, into the squalid-looking 
 house, of another neighbour, pale and dejected be- 
 yond description, gave a new turn to the homely 
 discourse. 
 
 " Your son has come back, I see, John," said the 
 new-comer, in a very faint voice : " I wish my 
 husband would come home." 
 
 " Thy husband, Mary ! " said John ; " why, where's 
 he gone ? Bless me, woman, how ill you look ! — 
 What's the matter?" 
 
 The woman's infant had begun to cry while she 
 spoke ; and she had bared her breast, and given it to 
 the child : but — Nature was exhausted ! there was no
 
 212 "MEERIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 
 
 . milk ; — and, while the infant struggled and screamed, 
 the woman fainted. 
 
 She recovered, under the kindly and sympathetic 
 attention of the neighbours ; and the scanty resources 
 of the group were laid under contribution for restoring 
 some degree of strength, by means of food, to the 
 woman and her child. One furnished a cup of milk, 
 another a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, another brought 
 a little bread ; and when the child was quieted, and 
 the mother was able, she commenced her sad nar- 
 rative. She had not, she said, tasted food of any 
 kind for a day and two nights : she had pawned or 
 sold every article of clotliing, except what she had 
 on, and she was without a bonnet entirely : nor had 
 her husband any other clothes than the rags in which 
 he had gone out, two hours before, with the intent 
 to try the relieving officer, once more, for a loaf, or 
 a trifle of money: to complete their misery, they 
 owed six weeks' rent for the room in which lay the 
 bag of shavings that formed their bed ; and, if they 
 could not pay the next week's rent, they must turn 
 out into the street, or go into the Bastile. 
 
 Her recital was scarcely concluded, when the sor- 
 rowful husband returned. He had been driven away 
 by the relieving officer, and threatened with the gaol, 
 if he came again, unless it was to bring his wife and 
 child with him to enter the Union Bastile ! — and 
 the man sat down, and wept. 
 
 And then the children of misery mingled their
 
 "MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 213 
 
 consolations, — If reflections drawn from despair could 
 be so called, — and endeavoured to fortify the heart of 
 the yielding man, by reminding him that they would 
 not have to starve long, for life, with all its miseries, 
 would soon be over. 
 
 "I wonder why it ever begun!" exclaimed the 
 man who had been yielding to tears, but now sud- 
 denly burst out into bitter language : " I think it 's 
 a pity but that God had found something better to 
 do than to make such poor miserable wretches as 
 we are ! " 
 
 " Lord ! what queer thoughts thou hast, Jim ! " 
 said the woman who had previously fainted, and she 
 burst into a half-convulsive laugh. 
 
 " Indeed, it 's altogether a mystery to me," said 
 the man who had so recently found his son ; " we 
 seem to be born for nothing but trouble. And 
 then the queerest thing is that we are to go to liell, 
 at last, if we don't do every thing exactly square. 
 My poor father always taught me to reverence reli- 
 gion ; and I don't like to say any thing against it, 
 but I 'm hard put to it, at times, Jim, I '11 assure ye. 
 It sounds strange, that we are to be burnt for ever, 
 after pining and starving here ; for how can a man 
 keep his temper, and be thankful, as they say we 
 ought to be, when he would work and can 't get it, 
 and, while he starves, sees oppressors ride in their 
 gigs, and build their great warehouses ? " 
 
 " It 's mere humbug, John, to keep us down :
 
 214 "MEREIE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 
 
 that's what it is ! " said Jim : " one of these piety- 
 mongers left us a tract last week ; and what shoidd 
 it contain but that old tale of Bishop Burnet, about 
 the widow that somebody avIio peeped through the 
 chinks of the window-shutters saw kneeling by a 
 table with a crust of bread before her, and crying 
 out in rapture, * All this and Christ!' I tell thee 
 what, John, if old Burnet had been brought down 
 from his gold and fat living, and had tried it himself, 
 I could better have believed him. It's a tale told like 
 many others to make fools and slaves of us : that's 
 what I think. Ay, and I told the long-faced fellow 
 so that fetched the tract. He looked very sourly at 
 me, and said the poor did not use to trouble them- 
 selves about politics in his father's time, and every 
 body was more comfortable then than they are now. 
 ' The more fools were they,' said I : * if the poor had 
 begun to think of their rights sooner, instead of 
 listening to religious cant, we should not have been 
 so badly off now:' and away he went, and never 
 said another word. 
 
 " But I don't like to give way to bad thoughts 
 about religion, after all, Jim," said John : " it's 
 very mysterious — the present state of things : but 
 we may find it all explained in the next life." 
 
 " Prythee, John," exclaimed the other, interrupt- 
 ing him, impatiently, " don't talk so weakly. That's 
 the way they all wrap it up ; and if a guess in the 
 dark and a ' maybe ' will do for an argument, why
 
 "MEimiE ENGLAND" — NO MORE ! 215 
 
 any thing will do. Until somebody can prove to me 
 that there is another life after this, I shall think it 
 my duty to think about this only. Now just look 
 at this, John ! If there be another life after this, 
 why the present is worth nothing: every moment 
 here ought to be spent in caring for eternity ; and 
 every man who really believes in such a life would 
 not care how he passed this, so that he could but be 
 making a preparation for the next : is n't that true, 
 John?" 
 
 " To be sure it is, Jim ; and what o' that ? " 
 " Why, then, tell me which of 'em believes in 
 such a life. Do you see any of the canting tribe less 
 eager than others to get better houses, finer chairs 
 and tables, larger shops, and more trade ? Is old 
 Sour-Godliness in the north, there, more easily 
 brought to give up a penny in the dozen to save a 
 starving stockinger than the grinders that don't pro- 
 fess religion ? I tell thee, John, it 's all fudge : they 
 don't believe it themselves, or else they would imi- 
 tate Christ before they tell us to be like him ! " 
 
 Reader ! the conversation shall not be prolonged, 
 lest the object of this sketch should be mistaken. 
 These conversations are real: they are no coinages. 
 Go to Leicester, or any other of the suffering toAvns 
 of depressed manufacture, where men compete with 
 each other in machinery till human hands are of 
 little use, and rival each other in wicked zeal to 
 reduce man to the merest minimum of subsistence.
 
 216 "MERRIE ENGLAND" — NO MOEE ! 
 
 If the missionary people — and this is not said with 
 a view to question the true greatness and utility of 
 their eiforts — if they would be consistent, let them 
 send their heralds into the manufacturing districts, 
 and first convert the " infidels " there, ere they send 
 their expensive messengers to India. But let it be 
 understood that the heralds must be furnished with 
 brains, as well as tongues ; for whoever enters 
 Leicester, or any other of the populous starving 
 hives of England, must expect to find the deepest 
 subjects of theology, and government, and political 
 economy, taken up with a subtlety that would often 
 puzzle a graduate of Oxford or Cambridge. Who- 
 ever supposes the starving " manufacturing masses " 
 know no more, and can use no better language, than 
 the peasantry in the agricultural counties, will find 
 himself egregiously mistaken. 'Tis ten to one but 
 he will learn more of a profound subject in one hour's 
 conversation of starving stockingers than he would 
 do in ten lectures of a university professor. Let the 
 missionary people try these quarters, then ; but let 
 their heralds "know their business" ere they go, or 
 they will make as slow progress as Egede and the 
 Moravians among the Greenlanders. One hint may 
 be given. Let them begin with the manufacturers ; 
 and, if they succeed in making real converts to 
 Christianity in that quarter, their success will be 
 tolerably certain among the woi'king- men, and toler- 
 ably easy in its achievement.
 
 "MEKUIE ENGLAND" NO MOIIE ! 217 
 
 There is no " tale" to finish about John or his 
 lad, or Jem and his wife. They went on starving, — 
 begging, — receiving threats of imprisonment, — tried 
 the " Bastile " for a few weeks, — came out and had 
 a little work, — starved again ; and they are still 
 going the same miserable round, like thousands in 
 " merrie England." What are your thoughts, 
 reader ? 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 218 
 
 SETH THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGED; 
 
 OR, 
 
 WHEN THINGS ARE AT THE WORST, 
 THEY BEGIN TO MEND." 
 
 LEiCESTEESniKE stockingers call that a false proverb. 
 " People have said so all our lives," say they ; " but, 
 although we have each and all agreed, every day, 
 that things were at the worst, they never begun to 
 mend yet ! " This was not their language sixty years 
 ago, but it is their daily language now ; and the 
 story that follows is but, as it were, of yesterday. 
 
 Seth Thompson was the only child of a widow, 
 by the time that he was six years old, and became a 
 *' winding boy," in a shop of half-starved framework- 
 knitters at Hinckley, ■ — a kindred lot with hundreds 
 of children of the same age, in Leicestershire. Seth's 
 mother vv'as a tender mother to her child ; but he 
 met tenderness in no other quarter. He was weakly, 
 and since that rendered him unable to get on with his 
 winding of the yarn as fast as stronger children, he 
 was abused and beaten by the journeymen, while the 
 master stockinger, for every slight flaw in his work, —
 
 SETH THOMPSON, THE STOCKlXGEll. 219 
 
 though It always resulted from a failure of strength 
 rather than carelessness, — unfeelingly took the op- 
 portunity to " dock " his paltry wages. 
 
 Since her child could seldom add more than a 
 shilling or fifteen-pence to the three, or, at most, four 
 shillings, she was able to earn herself, — and she had 
 to pay a heavy weekly rent for their humble home, — 
 it will readily be understood that neither widow 
 Thompson nor Seth were acquainted with the 
 meaning of the word " luxury," either in food or 
 habits, A scanty allowance of oatmeal and water 
 formed their breakfast, potatoes and salt their dinner, 
 and a limited portion of bread, Avith a wretchedly 
 diluted something called " tea" as an accompaniment, 
 constituted their late afternoon, or evening meal ; and 
 they knew no variety for years, winter or summer. 
 The widow's child went shoeless in the warm season, 
 and the cast-off substitutes he wore in winter, to- 
 gether with lack of warmth in his poor mother's 
 home, and repulses from the shop fire by the master 
 and men while at work, subjected him, through 
 nearly the whole of every winter, to chilblains and 
 other diseases of the feet. Rags were his familiar 
 acquaintances, and, boy-like, he felt none of the 
 aching shame and sorrow experienced by his mother 
 when she beheld his destitute covering, and reflected 
 that her regrets would not enable her to amend his 
 tattered condition. 
 
 Seth's mother died when he reached fifteen, and 
 
 J. 2
 
 220 SETH THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGER. 
 
 expressed thankfulness, on her death-bed, that she 
 was about to quit a world of misery, after being per- 
 mitted to live till her child was in some measure able 
 to struggle for himself. In spite of hard usage and 
 starvation, Seth grew up a strong lad, compared with 
 the puny youngsters that form the majority of the 
 junior population in manufacturing districts. He 
 was quick-witted, too, and had gathered a know- 
 ledge of letters and syllables, amidst the references 
 to cheap newspapers and hourly conversation on 
 politics by starving and naturally discontented stock- 
 ingers. From a winding-boy, Seth was advanced to 
 the frame, and, by the time he had reached seven- 
 teen, was not only able to earn as much as any other 
 stockinger in Hinckley, when he could get Avork, 
 but, with the usually improvident haste of the miser- 
 able and degraded, married a poor " seamer," who 
 was two years younger than himself. 
 
 Seth Thompson at twenty-one, with a wife who 
 was but nineteen, had become the parent of four 
 children ; and since he had never been able to bring 
 home to his family more than seven shillings in one 
 week, when the usual villainous deductions were 
 made by master and manufacturer, in the shape of 
 " frame-rent " and other " charges," — since he had 
 often had but half-work, with the usual deduction of 
 whole charges, and had been utterly without work for 
 six several periods, of from five to nine weeks each, 
 during the four years of his married life, — the fol-
 
 SETII THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGER. 221 
 
 lowing hasty sketch of the picture which this *' home 
 of an Englishman" presented one noon, when a 
 stranger knocked at the door, and it was opened by 
 Seth himself, will scarcely be thought overdrawn : — 
 Except a grey deal table, there was not a single 
 article within the walls which could be called " fur- 
 niture," by the least propriety of language. This 
 stood at the farther side of the room, and held a few 
 soiled books and papers, Seth's torn and embrowned 
 hat, and the mother's tattered straw bonnet. The 
 mother sat on a three-legged stool, beside an osier 
 cradle, and was suckling her youngest child while 
 she was eating potatoes and salt from an earthen 
 dish upon her knee. Seth's dish of the same food 
 stood on a seat formed of a board nailed roughly 
 across the frame of a broken chair ; while, in the 
 centre of the floor, where the broken bricks had dis- 
 appeared and left the earth bare, the three elder 
 babes sat squatted round a board whereon boiled 
 potatoes in their skins were piled, — a meal they were 
 devouring greedily, squeezing the inside of the root 
 into their mouths with their tiny hands, after the 
 mode said to be practised in an Irish cabin. An 
 empty iron pot stood near the low expiring fire, and 
 three rude logs of wood lay near it, — the children's 
 usual seats when they had partaken their meal. A 
 description of the children's filthy and bedaubed ap- 
 pearance with the potatoe starch, and of the " looped 
 and window^ed " rags that formed their covering, 
 
 L 3
 
 222 SETII THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGEK. 
 
 could only produce pain to the reader. Setli's clothing 
 was not much superior to that of his offspring ; but 
 the clean cap and coloured cotton handkerchief of the 
 mother, with her own really beautiful but delicate 
 face and form, gave some relief to the melancholy 
 picture. 
 
 Seth blushed, as he took up his dish of potatoes, 
 and offered the stranger his fragment of a seat. And 
 the stranger blushed, too, but refused the seat with a 
 look of so much benevolence that Seth's heart glowed 
 to behold it ; and his wife set down her porringer, 
 and hushed the children that the stranger might de- 
 liver his errand with the greater ease. 
 
 **Your name is Thompson, I undei'stand," said 
 the stranger ; " pray, do you know what was your 
 mother's maiden name ? " 
 
 " Greenwood, — Martha Greenwood was my poor 
 mother's maiden name, sir," replied Seth, with the 
 tears starting to his eyes. 
 
 The stranger seemed to have some difficulty in 
 restraining similar feelings ; and gazed, sadly, round 
 upon the room and its squalid appearance, for a few 
 moments, in silence. 
 
 Seth looked hard at his visitor, and thought of 
 one whom his mother had often talked of; but did 
 not like to put an abrupt question, though he ima- 
 gined the stranger's features strongly resembled his 
 parent's. 
 
 " Are working people in Leicestershire usually so
 
 SETII TIIOMrSON, THE STOCKIXGEK. 223 
 
 r.ncomfortably situated as you appear to be ?" asked 
 he stranger, in a tone of deep commiseration which 
 he appeared to be unable to control. 
 
 Seth Thompson and his wife looked uneasily at 
 each other, and then fixed their gaze on the floor. 
 
 " Why, sir," replied Seth, blushing more deeply 
 than before, " we married very betlme, and our family, 
 you see, has grown very fast ; wc hope things will 
 mend a little with us when some o' the children are 
 old enough to earn a little. We've only been badly 
 off as yet, but you'd find a many not much better 
 off, sir, I assure you, in Hinckley and elsewhere." 
 
 The stranger paused again, and the working of his 
 features manifested strong inward fcelino-. 
 
 " I see nothing but potatoes," he resumed ; " I 
 hope your meal is unusually poor to-day, and that you 
 and your family generally have a little meat at 
 dinner." 
 
 " Meat, sir ! " exclaimed Seth ; '' we have not 
 known what it is to set a bit of meat before our 
 children more than three times since the first was 
 born ; we usually had a little for our Sunday dinner 
 wdien we were first married, but we can't afford it 
 now ! " 
 
 *' Good God ! " cried the stranger, Avith a look 
 that demonstrated his agony of grief and indig- 
 nation, " is this England, — the happy England, that 
 I have heard the blacks in the West Indies talk of 
 as a Paradise ? " 
 
 L 4
 
 224 SETH THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGEE. 
 
 '^Are you my mother's brother? Is your name 
 Elijah Greenwood?" asked Seth Thompson, unable 
 longer to restrain the question. 
 
 " Yes," replied the visitor, and sat down upon 
 Seth's rude seat, to recover his self-possession. • — 
 
 That was a happy visit for poor Seth Thompson, 
 and his wife and children. His mother had often 
 talked of her only brother who went for a sailor when 
 a boy, and was reported to be settled in some respect- 
 able situation in the West Indies, but concernina' 
 whom she never received any certain information. 
 Elijah Greenwood had suddenly become rich, by the 
 death of a childless old planter, Avhom he had faith- 
 fully served, and who had left him his entire estate. 
 England was Elijah's first thought, when this cir- 
 cumstance took place ; and, as soon as he could settle 
 his new possession under some careful and trusty 
 superintendence till his return, he had taken ship, 
 and come to his native country and shire. By 
 inquiry at the inn, he had learnt the afflictive fact of 
 his sister's death, but had been guided to the poverty- 
 stricken habitation of her son. 
 
 That was the last night that Seth Thompson and 
 his children slept on their hard straw sacks on the 
 floor, — the last day that they wore rags and tatters, 
 and dined upon potatoes and salt. Seth's uncle 
 placed him in a comfortable cottage, bought him 
 suitable furniture, gave him a purse of 50/. for ready 
 money, and promised him a half-yearly remittance
 
 SETII TIIOMrSOX, THE STOCKIXGER. 225 
 
 from Jamaica, for the remainder of his, the uncle's, 
 life, with a certainty of a considerable sum at his 
 death. 
 
 Seth and his wife could not listen, for a moment, 
 to a proposal for leaving England, althougli they had 
 experienced little but misery in it, their -whole lives. 
 The uncle, however, obtained from them a promise 
 that they Avould not restrain any of their children 
 from going out to Jamaica ; and did not leave them 
 till he had seen them fairly and comfortably settled, 
 and beheld Avhat he thought a prospect of comfort for 
 them, in the future. Indeed, on the very morning 
 succeeding that in which Seth's new fortune became 
 known, the hitherto despised stockinger was sent for 
 by the principal manufacturer of liosen, in Hinckley, 
 and offered " a shop of frames," in the language of 
 the working men ; that is, he was invited to become 
 a "master," or one who receives the "stuiF" from 
 the capitalist or manufacturer, and holds of him, 
 likewise, a given number of fi'ames, — varying from 
 half-a-dozen to a score or thirty, or even more ; and 
 thus becomes a profit-sharing middleman between the 
 manufacturer and the labouring framework -knitters. 
 Seth accepted the offer, for it seemed most natural 
 to him to continue in the line of manufacture to 
 which he had been brought up ; and his uncle, with 
 pleasurable hopes for his prosperity, bade him fare- 
 well ! — 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Seth to his wife, as they 
 
 L 5
 
 226 SETH THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGEK. 
 
 sat down to a plentiful dinner, surrounded with their 
 neatly-dressed and happy children, the day after the 
 uncle's departure, " we used to say we should never 
 prove the truth of the old proverb, but we have 
 proved it at last : times came to the worst with us, 
 and began to mend." 
 
 " Thank God ! we have proved it, my love," replied 
 the wife ; " and I wish our poor neighbours could 
 prove it as well." 
 
 Seth sighed, — and was silent. 
 
 Some years rolled over, and Seth Thompson had 
 become a well-informed, and deep-thinking man, but 
 one in whom was no longer to be found that passionate 
 attachment to his native country which he once felt. 
 The manufacturer under whom he exercised the office 
 of " master," had borrowed the greater part of Seth's 
 uncle's remittances, as regularly as they arrived ; and 
 as Seth received due interest for these loans, and 
 confided that the manufacturer's wealth was real, 
 he believed he was taking a prudent way of laying 
 up enough for the maintenance of his old age, or for 
 meeting the misfortunes of sickness, should they come. 
 But the manufacturer broke ; and away went all that 
 Seth had placed in his hands. Every week failures 
 became more frequent, — employ grew scantier, for 
 trade was said to decrease, though machinery in- 
 creased, — - discontent lowered on every brow, — and 
 the following sketch of what was said at a meeting 
 of starving framework-knitters held in Seth Thomp-
 
 SETII TnOMPSON, THE STOCKINGEE. 227 
 
 son's shop but a month before he quitted England 
 for ever, may serve to show what Avere his own re- 
 flections, and those of the suffering beings around 
 him. 
 
 About twenty working men had assembled, and 
 stood in three or four groups, — no " chairman " 
 having been, as yet, chosen, since a greater number 
 of attendants was expected. 
 
 " I wish thou would throw that ugly thing away, 
 Timothy ! " said a pale, intellectual looking work- 
 man, to one whose appearance was rendered filthy, 
 in addition to his ragged destitution, by a dirty pipe 
 stuck in his teeth, and so short that the head scarcely 
 projected beyond his nose. 
 
 " I know it's ugly, Robert," replied the other, in a 
 tone between self-accusation and despair, — " but it 
 helps to pass away time. I've thrown it away twice, 
 — but I couldn't help taking to it again last week, 
 when I had nought to do. I think I should have 
 hanged myself if I had not smoked a bit o' 'bacco." 
 
 " Well, I'm resolute that I'll neither smoke nor 
 drink any more," said a third : " the tyrants can do 
 what they like with us, as long as we feed their vices 
 by paying taxes. If all men would be o' my mind 
 there would soon be an end of their extravagance, — 
 for they would have nothing to support it." 
 
 " Indeed, James," replied the smoker, " I don't 
 feel so sure about your plan as you seem to be, your- 
 self: you'll never persuade all working-men to give 
 
 I- 6
 
 228 SETH THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGEE. 
 
 up a sup of ale or a pipe, if they can get hold of 
 either ; but, not to talk of that, what's to hinder the 
 great rascals from inventing other taxes if these 
 fail ? " 
 
 " They couldn't easily be hindered, unless we had 
 all votes," said the first speaker, " we're all well aware 
 of that ; but it would put 'em about, and render the 
 party more unpopular that wanted to put on a new- 
 tax." 
 
 " I don't think that's so certain, either," replied 
 the smoker ; " depend on't, neither Whigs nor Tories 
 will run back from the support of taxes. D'ye ever 
 read of either party agreeing to 'stop the supplies,' as 
 they call it, or join in any measure to prevent taxes 
 from being collected till grievances are redressed ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, not we," chimed another, lio-htiner 
 his short pipe by the help of his neighbour's, and 
 folding his arms, with a look of something like mock 
 bravery ; " and, for my part, I don't think they ever 
 will be redressed till we redress 'em ourselves ! " 
 
 " Ah, Joseph ! " said the pale-looking man, shaking 
 his head, " depend upon it that's all a dream ! How 
 are poor starvelings like us, who have neither the 
 means of buying a musket, nor strength to march and 
 use it, if he had it, — how are we to overthrow thou- 
 sands of disciplined troops with all their endless re- 
 sources of ammunition ? — It's all a dream, Joseph ! 
 depend on't." 
 
 " Then what are we to do, — lie down and die ? "
 
 SETII THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGER. 229 
 
 asked the other ; but looked as if he were aware lie 
 had spoken foolishly, under the impulse of despair. 
 
 " I'm sure I often wish to die," said another, 
 joining the conversation in a doleful tone ; " I've 
 buried my two youngest, and the oldest lad's going 
 fast after his poor mother ; one can't get bread enough 
 to keep body and soul together ! " 
 
 " Well, if it hadn't been for Seth Thompson's 
 kindness," said another, " I believe I should have 
 been dead by this time. I never felt so near putting 
 an end to my life as I did last Sunday morning. 
 I've been out o' work, now, nine weeks ; and last 
 Saturday I never put a crumb in my mouth, for I 
 couldn't get it, and I caught up a raw potatoe in 
 the street last Sunday morning, and ate it for sheer 
 hunger. Seth Thompson saw me, and — God bless 
 his heart I — he called me in and gave me a cup of 
 warm coffee and some toast, and slipped a shilling 
 into my hand." And the man turned aside to dash 
 away his tears. 
 
 " Ay, depend upon it, we shall miss Seth, when 
 he leaves us," said several voices together. 
 
 " It's many a year since there was a master in 
 Hinckley like him," said the man with the short 
 black pipe, " and, I fear, when he is gone, the whole 
 srrindino; crew will be more barefaced than ever with 
 their extortions and oppressions of poor men. Seth 
 knew what it was to be nipped himself when he was
 
 230 SETH THOMPSON, THE STOCKIXGEE. 
 
 younger ; that's the reason that he can feel for others 
 that suffer." 
 
 " It isn't always the case, though," said another ; 
 "look at skin-flint Jimps, the glove -master ; I re- 
 member him Avhen he was as ragged as an ass's colt : 
 and where is there such another grinding villain as 
 Jimps, now he is so well off? " 
 
 " The more's the shame for a man that preaches 
 and professes to be religious," said the smoker. 
 
 " It was but last Saturday forenoon," resumed the 
 man who had mentioned Jimps, the glove-master, 
 " that he docked us two- pence a dozen, again : and 
 when I asked him if his conscience wouldn't reproach 
 him when he went to chapel, he looked like a fiend, 
 and said, ' Bob ! I knew Avhat it was to be ground 
 once ; but its my turn to grind now ! ' " 
 
 " And they call that religion, do they ? " said the 
 smoker, with an imprecation. 
 
 " It won't mend it to SAvear, my lad," said the in- 
 tellectual-looking man ; " we know one thing, — that 
 whatever such a fellow as this may do that professes 
 religion, he doesn't imitate the conduct of his Mas- 
 ter." 
 
 " I believe religion's all a bag of moonshine," said 
 the smoker, " or else they that profess it would not 
 act as they do." 
 
 " Don't talk so rashly, Tim," rejoined the other ; 
 " we always repent when we speak in ill-temper. 
 Kcllgion can't cure hypocrites, man, though it can
 
 SETII TIIOMPSOX, THE STOCKINGEK. 231 
 
 turn Jrunkavtls and tliicves into sober and honest 
 men : it does not prove that religion is all a bag of 
 moonshine, because some scoundrels make a handle 
 of it. Truth's truth, in spite of all the scandal that 
 falsehood and deceit brings upon it." 
 
 " Isn't it time we got to business ? " said one of 
 the group. 
 
 " I don't think it will be of any use to wait longer," 
 said another ; " there will not be more with us, if we 
 wait another hour ; the truth is, that men dare not 
 attend a meeting like this, for fear of being turned 
 off, and so being starved outright ; — there's scarcely 
 any spirit left in Hinckley." 
 
 " I propose that Seth Thompson takes the chair," 
 said another, taking off his ragged hat, and speaking 
 aloud. 
 
 A faint clapping of hands followed, and Seth took 
 a seat upon a raised part of one of the frames at the 
 end of the shop, and opened the meeting according to 
 the simple but business-like form, which working- 
 men are wont to observe in similar meetings, in the 
 manufacturing districts. 
 
 " I feel it would scarcely become me to say much, 
 my friends," he said, " since I am about to leave 
 you. I thought, at one time, that nothing could 
 have ever inclined me to leave old England ; but it 
 seems like folly to me, now, to harbour an attach- 
 ment to a country where one sees nothing but 
 misery, nor any chance of improvement. I would not
 
 232 SETH THOMPSON, THE STOCKINGER. 
 
 wish to damp your spirits ; but if I were to tell you 
 how much uneasiness I have endured for some years 
 past, even while you have seen me apparently well 
 off and comfortable, you would not wonder that I 
 am resolved to quit this country, since I have the 
 offer of ease and plenty, though in a foreign clime. 
 I tell you, working men, that I had power over Mr. 
 
 , by the moneys I had lent him, or I should 
 
 have been turned out of this shop years ago. Week 
 by week have we quarrelled, because I would not 
 practise the tyrannies and extortions upon woi'king 
 men that he recommended and urged. It is but a 
 hateful employ to a man of any feeling, — is that of 
 a master-stockinger under an avaricious and inhuman 
 hosier. But, if the master's situation be so far from 
 being a happy one, I need not tell you that I know well, 
 by experience, how much more miserable is that of the 
 starved and degraded working-man. Indeed, indeed, 
 — I see no hope for you, my friends, — yet, I rej^cat, 
 I would not Avish to damp your spirits. Perhaps 
 things may mend yet ; but I confess I see no likeli- 
 hood of it, till the poor are represented as well as the 
 rich." 
 
 It might produce weariness to go through all the 
 topics that were touched upon by Seth and others. 
 They were such as are familiarly handled, daily, in 
 the manufacturing districts ; ay, and with a degree 
 of mental force and sound reasoning, — if not with 
 polish of words, — that would make some gentlefolk
 
 SETII TnOMPSON, THE STOCKINGER. 233 
 
 stare, If they were to hear the sounds proceeding from 
 the hao-o-ard fio'ures In rag's who often utter them. The 
 " deceit " of the Reform Bill, as It is usually termed 
 by manufacturing " operatives ; " the trickery of the 
 Wliigs ; the corruption and tyranny of the Tories ; 
 the heartlessness of the manufacturers and " the 
 League ; " and the right of every sane Englishman 
 of one and twenty years of age to a vote In the 
 election of those Avho have to govern him, were 
 each and all broadly, and unshrinkingly, and yet not 
 intemperately, asserted. 
 
 One or two, in an under-tone, ventured to suggest 
 that It might be advantageous to try, once more, 
 to act with the Anti-Corn Law men, since many 
 of the members of the League professed democracy ; 
 and, if that were done, Avorking men would not fear 
 to attend a meeting such as that they Avere then 
 holding. But this was scouted by the majority ; 
 and a proposal was, at length, made. In a written 
 form, and seconded, — " That a branch of an asso- 
 ciation of working men, similar to one that was stated 
 to have been just established at Leicester, should be 
 formed." The motion was put and carried, — a com- 
 mittee, and secretary, and treasurer, were chosen, — 
 and the men seemed to put off their dejection, and 
 grow energetic in their resolution to attempt their 
 own deliverance from misery. In the only way that 
 they conceived it could ever be substantially effected : 
 but their purpose came to the ears of the manu-
 
 234 SETH THOMPSOX, THE STOCKINGEE. 
 
 facturers on tlie following day, threats of loss of 
 work were issued, and no association was established ! 
 Seth ThomiDson took his family to the West 
 Indies, pursuant to the many and urgent requests con- 
 tained in his uncle's letters, and soon entered upon the 
 enjoyment of the plenty in store for him. Hinckley 
 stockingers remain in their misery still; and, per- 
 haps, there is scarcely a place in England where 
 starving working men have so little hope, — although 
 " things," they say, " have come to the worst," — 
 that " they " will ever " begin to mend."
 
 235 
 
 SAM SIMKINS, THE RUN-AWAY ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 YILLAINY AS A REFUGE FROM THE TORTURES OF 
 SOUR-GODLINESS. 
 
 Sam Simkins was a -wild lad, — but whose fault 
 was it that he became so ? That was the significant 
 question which uniformly followed the commemora- 
 tion of his history among the old women of the 
 village where he was born, and where, after the 
 early death of his father and mother, he was ap- 
 prenticed, by the parish, to Mr. Jonas Straitlace, the 
 saddler and collar-maker. The vIllao;e was not more 
 than half-a-dozen miles from Birmingham; and to 
 that town Sam usually trudged once or twice in the 
 working part of the week on his master's business 
 errands, and, invariably, accompanied his master 
 thither twice on the Sunday, to attend the ministry 
 of a Calvlnlstic teacher. 
 
 With the exception of a very restricted number of 
 hours for sleep, these were the only portions of Sam's 
 existence that could come within the name of relaxa-
 
 236 SAM SIMKINS, THE RUN-AWAY. 
 
 tion. Some people gave Sam's master the title of 
 a " money-grub ; " but Mr. Jonas Straitlace himself 
 modestly laid claim to the character of one who was 
 
 " diligent in business, fervent in spirit, and " the 
 
 reader knows the rest. In brief, he was one of 
 the too numerous description of follv who cast their 
 sour into the sweets of innocent enjoyment on every 
 occasion within their compass, and strive to throw a 
 universal pall over the world by keej^ing their fellow- 
 creatures in mind that the next life alone is worth a 
 moment's thought, — and yet, daily and hourly illus- 
 trate their own gloomy lesson by grasping at the dirt 
 called money as eagerly as if they believed they could 
 carry it with them over the ford of the grave, and 
 that it would be still more current coin in the 
 next life than in this. Strict rates of char2i;e to his 
 customers in an age of competition prevented Strait- 
 lace from extending his business ; but the conse- 
 quence was, that he grew more pinching towards 
 himself, and still more towards his apprentice, in 
 allowing the body its proper amount of sustenance, 
 or the general constitution its necessary share of 
 healthful unbending. Sam was pinched in his 
 measure of food, and watched while he ate it, lest 
 the spoon should travel so slowly to his mouth as to 
 prevent his return to labour after the lapse of an ap- 
 pointed number of minutes ; he was " alarumed " up 
 at five in winter, and at four in summer, and kept at 
 the bench till eight ; and what went down more
 
 SAM SIMKINS, THE liUN-AWAY. 237 
 
 hardly with Sam than either scant food and sleep, or 
 unceasingly painful toil, was the fact, that his 
 master's vinegared piety overflowed with such zeal for 
 Sara's spiritual welfare as to compel him to spend the 
 remaining time till ten, every working-day evening, 
 in reading one book. Nay, the lad, in spite of the 
 remembrance that every other apprentice in the vil- 
 lage was allowed, at least, an hour's holyday-time, 
 each day, would have felt it to be some amelioration 
 of his captive lot, had he been allowed to derive such 
 amusement from the book as it might afford ; but 
 Straitlace's zeal for Sam's happiness in the next life, 
 taught him that he must use even this extreme 
 resort to mortify the lad in the present state of ex- 
 istence, and, therefore, Sam must read nothing but 
 the Prophets, in one division of the book, and the 
 Epistles, in the other ! 
 
 Such was the discipline to which Mr. Jonas 
 Straitlace subjected Sam Simkins from the age of 
 nine, when the parish placed the lad under his care, 
 to fifteen. Straitlace had one invariable answer to 
 all who remonstrated with him on the undue severity, 
 the imprisoning strictness, he exercised towards his 
 apprentice : — " Train up a child in the way he 
 should go," he would say, quoting the whole text, 
 "that's a Bible reason for what I do: it doesn't 
 allow me to parley with flesh and blood : I must 
 obey it." 
 
 Mr. Jonas Straitlace had found that fine moral
 
 238 SAM SIMKINS, THE EUN-AWAT. 
 
 pearl in the great Oriental treasure-house of the 
 wisdom-jewels of ages, and he was too sordidly igno- 
 rant to know that the originator of the maxim never 
 intended the " should go " to be left to the judicature 
 either of brain-sick zealots and morbid pietists, or of 
 rash experimenters and fanciful speculatists. But 
 what cared Straitlace about the legitimate and fair in- 
 terpretation of the text ? His ready quotation of it 
 served his purpose : it kept " meddlers," as he called 
 them, at arm's length, and secured the links of that 
 grinding slavery Avhich held Sam to his task, and 
 bi'ought money into the till. 
 
 It would be a heart-sickening detail, that of the 
 incidental miseries Sam experienced in these six 
 years : suffice it to say, his chain was tightened till 
 it snapped. He contrived to form an acquaintance 
 in Birmingham who advised him to " cut " his tyrant- 
 master, and " cut " him he did. Yet, IMr. Jonas 
 Straitlace knew the value of Sam's earnino-s too well 
 to be inclined to give up his bird without trying to 
 catch it again. He set out for Birmingham, made 
 inquiry, and learned that Sam, in spite of being mi- 
 nuted by his master's watch, had contrived, almost 
 uniformly, on his errands, to spend a quarter of an horn- 
 in a certain low public-house, and that he had done 
 this, habitually, for more than a twelvemonth past. 
 Straitlace bent his steps to this resort, and, by his 
 crafty mode of questioning, ascertained from the 
 landlord that Sam had that very morning been in
 
 SAM SIMKINS, THE RUN-AWAY. 239 
 
 his house with one " Jinks," — yet that was not the 
 man's right name, the landlord added, but only a 
 name he went by. 
 
 *•' And pray who is this Jinks ? " asked Straitlace. 
 
 He was once a man in great trust, sir," answered 
 the landlord, with some solemnity : " he was head 
 clerk in a first-rate lawyers's office in this town. 
 But it was found out at last, that Jinks had 'bezzled 
 a good deal o' money belonging to the firm ; and so 
 he was sent to gaol for a couple o' year ; nay, he 
 was very near being hanged. And so when he came 
 out o' limbo, you understand, why nobody would 
 trust, or hardly look on him ; and he's now got from 
 bad to worse." 
 
 " Wliat mean you by that ? " asked Jonas. 
 
 " The least said is the soonest mended," replied the 
 landlord. 
 
 "I wish you could tell me where I could see 
 this man," said Straitlace : " the lad is my appren- 
 tice, and this man will do him no good : besides, I 
 am losing money by his absence." 
 
 The landlord stared, bit his lip, with a look that 
 told he wished he had not talked so fast, and then 
 made answer that he was busy that morning, and, be- 
 sides, it Avas ten thousand to one whether Jinks 
 could be found in his hiding-hole, if they w^ere to go 
 to it : — " and, more than all," he added, " there 
 is no believing him, he is such a fellow to thump : 
 he tells so many lies, poking liis eyes into every
 
 240 SAM SIMKINS, THE RUN-AWAY. 
 
 corner, and never looking in your face all the while, 
 that I often think Jinks must find it hard to invent 
 new ones." 
 
 Straitlace was versed sufficiently in human cha- 
 racter to discern that the prattling landlord was made 
 of squeezable materials, and so he urged his questions 
 and entreaties until he had won his point, and the 
 landlord undertook to conduct him to " Jinks's hiding 
 hole." 
 
 Threading an alley in one of the dingiest streets in 
 the town, they wound through several crooked pas- 
 sages, and arrived at a paltry-looking small square. 
 From a corner of this dirty and half-ruined quad- 
 rangle, the landlord advanced along a path that could 
 scarcely be supposed to lead to a human dwelling. 
 It was what is designated a "twitchel " in the midland 
 counties, being barely wide enough to admit one 
 person at a time, — and was the boundary line of 
 two rows of buildings, the eaves of which overhung 
 it, and rendered the passage as gloomy as if it were 
 scarcely yet twilight. Straitlace scrambled with dif- 
 ficulty after his conductor, and over the heaps of 
 cinders, broken pots, and oyster and muscle shells 
 which lay along this dark tract ; and when they 
 came to the end of it, and had descended half-a- 
 dozen stone steps, they arrived at what looked like 
 the door of a cellar. Here the landlord shook his 
 fist at Straitlace, and compressed his features, as a 
 signal for his companion to keep strict silence. He
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 241 
 
 then tapped, very gently, at the door ; but, though 
 he repeated his thnid knock, no one answered. 
 
 " Jmks ! Jinks ! I say," he whispered through the 
 key-hole, after he had knocked the third time. 
 
 " Who's there ? " said a sharp, angry voice. 
 
 "It's only me. Jinks: — I want to speak t' ye," 
 answered the landlord. 
 
 "You lie, Jemmy Jolter : — there's more than you 
 only," retorted Jinks, with a snarl so sudden and 
 crabbed that it flung the other entirely off his 
 guard. 
 
 " Well — but — but," Jemmy stammered ; " this 
 person wants to see you about that youth that was 
 with you this morning, Jinks, and " 
 
 " AVhew ! Jemmy Jolter, you've let it out again," 
 replied the strange voice within : " get home, ye 
 long-tongued fool, get home ! what fool is that beside 
 ye to employ such a sieve to carry water ? " 
 
 " Oh, very well. Jinks," said the weak landlord, 
 turning round in dudgeon : " a time may come when 
 you may want a good turn doing, you know." 
 
 " I'll let you in, by yourself. Jemmy, if you like," 
 said the keeper of this questionable garrison, fearful 
 of losing the good offices of the landlord ; " or I'll 
 admit that verjuice-faced fellow who stands beside 
 you, with the white apron round him." 
 
 The outer party here looked at each other with 
 some alarm, on finding they were each seen so plainly 
 by one who was to them invisible. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAT. 
 
 " You don't think I shall advise a respectable man 
 and a stranger to come into such a den as yours, 
 alone, — do ye, Jinks ? " said the other, in a voice of 
 disj^leasure. 
 
 " Then you may both keep out," retorted the con- 
 cealed speaker ; " at any rate, you'll both be safe 
 there. Twist my withers, if ever I admit two clients 
 into chambers at once ! No, no ! it wouldn't do. 
 Jemmy ! What I say here goes into only one pair 
 of ears besides my own." 
 
 " I'll venture alone, if he'll only admit me," said 
 Straitlace, his eagerness to learn something of Sam, 
 and, if possible, to recover the possession of him, 
 subduing the repugnance he felt against trusting 
 himself alone in such suspicious company. 
 
 The door was slightly opened in a moment ; and 
 before the landlord could remonstrate, Straitlace 
 was admitted, and the bolts were again closed within. 
 Jinks seized his visitor by the hand, and rapidly 
 pulled him up a dai-k stair. Straitlace's mind mis- 
 gave him, as he reached the top of the ascent : it 
 conducted to a narrow apartment in which there was 
 no furniture but a broken chair, and a strong wooden 
 bench ; while a bottle, and an earthen pot, with some 
 discoloured papers, covered the end of a barrel which 
 appeared to serve the wretched habitant of the room 
 for a table. There was no fire in the dirty grate, 
 and viewed through the murky light admitted by the 
 small window which was half-obscured with papers,
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 243 
 
 patching the broken panes, the appearance of the 
 squaHcl chamber sent a shuddering feeling over 
 Straitlace's skin. 
 
 " Well, and so now you are admitted to my 
 sanctum sanctorum^ — what's your will ? " asked Jinks, 
 with a grin of derision, and seating himself on the 
 broken chair. 
 
 Straitlace was not a timid man ; but the dark skin, 
 projecting teeth, and overhanging brows of the figure 
 before him, and, more than all, the diabolical fire of 
 his eyes, really affrighted him, and he remained 
 speechless. 
 
 " Don't stare at me in that Avay, you fool," said 
 the grim figure, savagely ; " I'm not a wizard, though 
 I do deal with the devil sometimes. What d'ye 
 want to know about Sam Simkins?" 
 
 Straitlace was amazed at the effrontery of the 
 fellow, in turn : " I insist upon it, that you tell me 
 where he is, since you seem to know," he said, his 
 displeasure giving him a little spirit. 
 
 " Whew ! " was the only answer made by the 
 grim figure, who turned the empty pot towards the 
 light, and then looked into it, and then looked at 
 Straitlace, who was 'born sooner than yesterday,' 
 as they say in the midlands ; but who was not dis- 
 posed to show that he penetrated the meaning of the 
 spunger's masonic sort of hint. 
 
 " I insist upon knowing where you have concealed 
 
 M 2
 
 244 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 
 
 my apprentice," said Straitlace, trying to put on a 
 bold look. 
 
 " I've neither concealed him, nor shall I snitch, 
 and tell you where he is, if you ape the bully," replied 
 Jinks, with cold mockery. 
 
 " Then, as sure as you sit there, you villain," 
 answered Straitlace, thinking he should lose the end 
 of his errand entirely, if he did not keep up the 
 appearance of determination, " I'll have you before 
 a magistrate, and imprison you till the boy is pro- 
 duced." 
 
 " I advise you to be cool," answered Jinks, with a 
 look of such peculiar devilry that it made Straitlace 
 feel chill with fear : " you wouldn't get me before a 
 magistrate if you were to try. And, besides, there's 
 more than one can light a match ; and your cottage 
 will burn, you know, — ay, and your collars and old 
 saddle traps too." 
 
 Straitlace dared not threaten now ; he found that 
 the fellow knew him ; and he felt the peril of the 
 o-round he stood on. He sank on the bench, and 
 gazed timidly and silently at the broken-down 
 lawyer's clerk, who evidently enjoyed his triumph. 
 
 " You're cooler, I see," resumed Jinks, and then 
 looked into the earthen pot again. 
 
 " I don't mind a trifle, by way of recompense," 
 said Straitlace, torturing his tongue to frame the 
 words, " if you'll only assist me in recovering my 
 apprentice."
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 245 
 
 "Eayther sensible that," answered Jinks taunt- 
 ingly ; but still looked into the empty pot. 
 
 Straitlace overcame his own master-passion for the 
 instant, and placed a half-crown beside the empty 
 drinking cup ; but Jinks instantly pushed it oiF the 
 barrel, into the floor, in contempt. Straitlace felt 
 the blood rush to his neck and face, but once more 
 struggled with his own reluctance, took up the half- 
 crown, and laid down a half-sovereign in its stead. 
 
 " Sensible, — very ! " observed Jinks, slowly ; 
 and then suddenly starting up, said, " Now, Mister 
 Jonas Straitlace, what will you give to have this 
 stray dog of yours put quietly into your hands, 
 muzzled and collared, so that you may take him home 
 safely?" 
 
 " Isn't that enough ? " said the other leeringly. 
 
 *' Two whole sovereigns into my hands to-morrow 
 morning at seven,— here, — at the bottom of the 
 steps, — and you have him. Otherwise, there's your 
 road. Mister Jonas Straitlace," returned Jinks, and 
 pointed to the stairs. 
 
 The saddler saw he was in a most disadvantageous 
 position for making a choice, and hesitated. 
 
 *' I've other clients,' and have no time to fool away 
 upon you," rejoined Jinks : " speak the word ! yes or 
 no," and moved towards the steps. 
 
 " Then I '11 be here at that time," answered Strait- 
 lace, with a mental reservation ; and he had scarcely 
 uttered the words when three knocks were distinctly 
 
 M 3
 
 246 SAM SIMKINS THE KUN-AWAY. 
 
 given under liis feet ; but Jinks seized his hand, 
 hurried him down the steps, and thrust him out, and 
 bolted the door behind him, with a strength and speed 
 that caused him to turn round and stare at the closed 
 door with wonder, when he stood once more in the 
 twitchel. 
 
 The landlord seized his arm, and recalled him to 
 the remembrance of where he was. Straitlace evaded 
 the landlord's inquiries as to the result of his errand, 
 persuaded that he could best carry into effect the 
 scheme which had suggested itself to him, with other 
 aid than that of a person who appeared to have some 
 connection with Jinks. He marked the way to the 
 door, and paid particular observance to the passages, 
 and to the exact locality of the street, and thanking 
 the landlord for his trouble, took his way home, 
 somewhat to the surprise of the landlord himself, 
 who had expected he would return to the public- 
 house. 
 
 On the night succeeding the morning in which 
 Straitlace had been admitted to that squalid chamber, 
 the narrow space itself was changed into a hold of 
 guilty riot and thievish conspiracy. The fumes of 
 tobacco which filled the room would have rendered 
 respiration impossible to any but the actual participa- 
 tors in that scene of infamy ; the fog of smoke being 
 so dense that the human beings there assembled 
 seemed to be kneaded into the thick vapour rather 
 than surrounded by it. The struggling flames of a
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 247 
 
 fire which had just been kindled, and was covered by 
 a huge iron vessel, nearly choked up the draught of 
 the narrow chimney, and threw an uncertain light 
 upon the figures which nearly filled the narrow room. 
 The singular beinof who was the habitual tenant of 
 the chamber sat in his broken chair close by the fire, 
 augmenting the gross sociality of his associates by 
 the vehemence with which he consumed tobacco in a 
 wooden pipe ; but adding not a word to their busy con- 
 versation. A strong coarse-looking woman, crouched 
 immediately before the fire, was alternately attempt- 
 ing to clear a passage for its progress, and slicing 
 onions from her apron to put into the caldron. Her 
 short clay pipe, with the filthy black cup scarcely 
 protruding beyond her nose, showed her attaclunent 
 to the favourite excitement of her depraved com- 
 panions. Behind her stood the barrel, before de- 
 scribed as the only substitute for a table in Jinks's 
 room, and upon the end of it was placed a large 
 metal jug of spirits, which the various members of 
 the group lifted to their lips, by turns, as inclination 
 moved them. 
 
 The confused conversation was suspended in a mo- 
 ment by three distinct and measured raps being given 
 at the door below ; and Jinks jumped up, exclaiming, 
 " That's the young 'un I told you of: I'll let him in." 
 And he darted down the steps, unbolted the door, 
 pulled in Sam Simkins, and, in the lapse of scarcely 
 three minutes, introduced him to the villainous com- 
 
 M 4
 
 248 8AM SIMKINS THE KUN-AWAY. 
 
 pany. The fellows gazed at Sam, and one swore 
 that he only looked like a starved rat, and another 
 said he was more like a stunted badger; but all 
 agreed that he looked likely to be useful, for he had 
 a hawk's eye in his head. Sam felt somewhat 
 loutish at the unrestrained gaze of the thieves ; but 
 Jinks placed him upon the bench next his own chair, 
 chucked him imder the chin, and holding the metal 
 jug to his mouth, told him to drink. Sam did drink 
 a little, and thought the draught scorched his throat ; 
 yet in a few minutes he felt a flow of spirits that 
 completely banished his bashfulness. 
 
 " And so you've cut the starve-gut rascal, eh, 
 young'un?" said an impudent-looking fellow who sat 
 on the farther end of the bench, and who was, at 
 once, the most frequent visitor to the jug, and the 
 most eager talker in the villainous conclave. 
 
 " What the devil was he to do else ? " said Jinks, 
 seeming to wish to keep off from the lad the assail- 
 ment of questions by the gang : " was he to stay and 
 be pined outright? — Bess," he continued, addressing 
 the woman, " isn't the stuff ready ? " 
 
 " The can's empty," said the fellow who had just 
 spoken, interrupting Jinks : " we'll have it filled 
 
 again." 
 
 " Not to-night," said Jinks, with an oath. 
 
 " Not to-night! — why not, old hang-dog, and be 
 d — d to ye ? " asked the other, dropping his pipe, and 
 looking as if he would fell his opposer.
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN- AW AY. 249 
 
 " Because there's a job on hand that requires cool 
 brains, ye guzzling ape!" answered Jinks, in a tone 
 which showed he was not to be frightened by the 
 bully, his brother in roguery. " Wide-mouthed Bob 
 will be here directly, and we must then prepare for 
 business." 
 
 " What the devil can he be about to be so late?" 
 cried the woman, who was still squatted before the 
 fire: "the broth's ready, and I shall pour it out if 
 he doesn't come in a crack. Hark!" she said, — and 
 the quarrelsome crew were silent : — " there he is ! " 
 
 Jinks started from his broken chair at the sound 
 of a whistle, hurried down the steps, and was speedily 
 in his old position again, while the new comer was 
 welcomed with shouts of " Give us your hand, cap- 
 tain ! — success to ye ! " 
 
 " Silence, you fools ! " said he who was thus 
 saluted: "d'ye mean to bring the bull-dogs upon 
 us ?" And he took up the jug, but finding it empty, 
 he looked discontented. Jinks, however, seized the 
 jug, removed the barrel from the spot on which it 
 stood, pulled up a trap-door, and descended, and then 
 returned with the jug refilled, with the usual rapidity 
 that characterised his movements. 
 
 " Ay, ay, you know who's come now, old juggler," 
 said the bully, tauntingly, to Jinks as he again ap- 
 peared from the subterraneous room, with the vessel 
 full of brandy. 
 
 " Yes, and I know that they have a right to the 
 
 M 5
 
 250 SAM SIMKINS THE EUN-AWAY. 
 
 sugar-candy that are the first to put their fingers into 
 the fire to get it," said Jinks, showing his ugly teeth 
 very fi^rbiddingly ; " and not every skinking coward 
 that ties liis neck to his heels to save it when there's 
 work to be done." 
 
 The bully returned no answer, seeming conscious 
 that his cowardice deserved the rebuke. 
 
 " Get the suj)per-tools out, Jinks," said the woman, 
 and took the boiling caldron from the fire. 
 
 Jinks climbed upon his chair, and reaching down 
 a large wooden bowl, from its concealment in the 
 ceiling of the room, placed it upon the end of the 
 barrel, and sat down again. 
 
 " Why, you old brute, do ye think we are going to 
 pig it all out of one trough, on a night like this ? " 
 exclaimed the woman, pouring out the stew into the 
 bowl : — *' reach every man his pap-spoon and dish, 
 or I'll spoil your grinding before you begin ! " and she 
 aimed a blow, with a brazen ladle, at Jinks's scalp, 
 which he evaded, and reached forth a set of basins 
 and spoons from the same strange repository. 
 
 The steamy flavour of Bess's cookery speedily 
 attracted the appetites of her companions. Limbs of 
 fowls and game, mingled with the soup, showed the 
 illicit source from which such a company had ob- 
 tained the raw provisions for the meal. Bess poured 
 out half a basin of the stew first, for the individual 
 who was called " captain," and filling up the vessel 
 with brandy from the jug, handed it to the leader.
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 251 
 
 with a coarse coaxing smile. She then served the 
 rest, in the order they sat, beginning with Jinks, and 
 not forgetting the lad. Sam smacked his lips at 
 such a treat, and congratulated himself on having 
 taken the advice of Jinks, and run away from his 
 master. He soon disposed of the contents of his 
 basin ; and then felt strongly attracted to notice the 
 appearance and behaviour of hira whom the thieves 
 acknowledged as their principal. 
 
 The personal appearance of Wide-mouthed Bob 
 rendered the dependence of the crew upon his pre- 
 sence and enterprise, Sam thought, a matter of no 
 wonder. His stature was full six feet, and the great 
 breadth of his chest and shoulders, and extreme 
 length of his arms, terminated by hands of monstrous 
 size, gave demonstrations of unusual physical power. 
 The width of his mouth was the most striking feature 
 in his face, and had procured for him the common 
 nickname by which Jinks had first mentioned him 
 during the evening. The forbidding glance of his 
 large eyes, from under a low forehead, and brows as 
 shaggy as if they pertained to an ass's colt, with the 
 bull-dog shape of his head, at the sides, causing his 
 ears to stand forward after a form scarcely human, 
 were also peculiarities in the features of the captain- 
 burglar. 
 
 His third basin being despatched by this power- 
 ful animal, for such his peculiarity of frame seemed 
 to warrant his being termed, the conversation took a 
 
 M 6
 
 252 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 
 
 turn for business. Robberies of a cheese Avarehouse, 
 a flour shop, a liquor vault, and even of the subter- 
 ranean workshop of a " smasher," or maker and vender 
 of false coin, were planned. The only debate was, 
 which was to be undertaken first ; and as there was 
 some difficulty in settling this point, the captain 
 called for the jug to be replenished. Jinks descended 
 once more, but returned with only half the vessel 
 full, and, setting it down, declared the barrel be- 
 low was empty. 
 
 " Then that determines the point," observed Wide- 
 mouthed Bob : " we must make our way direct to the 
 brandy cellar." 
 
 The gang immediately assented, — the liquor was 
 shared ; and in a few minutes, all, save Jinks, and 
 the woman, and the lad, descended by the stairs, and 
 departed on their lawless enterprise. 
 
 Sam Simkins had fallen asleep some time before the 
 departure of the gang, but was awaked by Jinks, as 
 soon as he had bolted the door and re-ascended the 
 steps, to receive his first wholesale lesson in villainy. 
 The lad felt the lesson very unwelcome to his nature, 
 at the beginning; but the remembrance of the 
 horrors from which he had escaped, and the promise 
 and prospect of a wild freedom, and a continuance 
 of the good fare he had met among the thieves, soon 
 subdued the inward whisper that he was going 
 wrong. Jinks and the woman were most successful
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 253 
 
 in tlicir schooling of Sam, while they dwelt upon his 
 master's conduct towards him : — 
 
 " But did the nigger-driver never let you play a 
 bit, Sam ? " asked the woman : " you say you always 
 dropped work at eight, and went to bed at ten : — 
 what did ye in the two hours, my lad ? " 
 
 " I used to read Jeremiah, and the rest of the 
 prophet-books in the Bible, and Romans, and Corin- 
 thians, and them ere parts of the Testament," an- 
 swered Sam : " mester would na let me read owt else, 
 unless I managed to do it slily." 
 
 " And what did ye think to what you read, Sam ?" 
 asked Jinks, suddenly dropping his pipe, and looking 
 at the lad with an air of new interest. 
 
 " He, he ! " snivelled the lad, and twisted his 
 thumbs with a loutish look, — " I could na make owt 
 on 'em ! " 
 
 " How the devil were ye likely ? " said Jinks : 
 " that Paul would puzzle a Philadelphia lawyer, for 
 he was a devilish long-headed fellow, and no mistake ; 
 as for Jeremiah, and the rest of 'em, I know little 
 about 'em ; but it was an ugly slavish way of using 
 you, my lad, — you'll find the difference now. All 
 that you have to do is to mind your P's and Q's, 
 and ril warrant ye, it'll be a merry life for ye." 
 
 The lad snivelled again, and felt wonderfully 
 pleased. 
 
 " Now hark ye, Sam," continued Jinks, " who
 
 254 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN- A WAY. 
 
 had your master in the house, besides himself and 
 you?" 
 
 " The missus," answered Sam ; " but hur never 
 taks no notice o' nowt, hur's ower deeaf." 
 
 " Capital ! " exclaimed Jinks, cracking his thumb 
 and finger ; and then the lad received instruction as 
 to his first grand act of villainy, and while he was re- 
 ceiving it, Bess prepared the caldron, once more. 
 
 Three hours elapsed, and the whistle of Wide- 
 mouthed Bob was heard again. Jinks performed his 
 porter's office as before, and the captain and three 
 others of the gang speedily tugged up the stairs a 
 couple of kegs of liquor, which were as speedily 
 concealed in the subterranean room. 
 
 " Where's the rest o' the birds ? " asked the woman. 
 
 " Sent 'em home to roost," replied the captain ; 
 " and now you and all of us must cut, old girl, and 
 leave Jinks to his cage." 
 
 " But not before we've tasted the new broach," 
 said the woman. 
 
 " No more tasting of it, this morning," anwered 
 Bob ; " we shall soon be blown, if we carry on that 
 game : we'll have breakfast and go." 
 
 The word of the leader was law. The stew was 
 again poured up; and when it was devoured, Sam 
 having his share as before, the chief burglar, and the 
 other three thieves, with the woman, departed ; and 
 Sam Simkins also set out on the errand for which 
 Jinks had lately bestowed instruction upon him.
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 255 
 
 At eight the following morning, Mr. Jonas Strait- 
 lace appeared in the twitchel, as before, and sum- 
 moned the attention of Jinks by a bold rap. Jinks 
 was speedily at the door, and Straitlace was again 
 admitted into the thievish head-quarters. 
 
 " Now for the chink ! " said the broken-down 
 lawyer. 
 
 " But where's the lad ? " asked Straitlace. 
 
 " The moment you down with the dust, that mo- 
 ment I tell you where he is, safe and sound, and 
 nearer home than yovi think of; so that you'll have 
 very little trouble to seek him," answered Jinks. 
 
 " When I find the lad I'll pay you," said the sad- 
 dler ; " you may be deceiving me." 
 
 " Why, d — n it ! " said Jinks, " what d'ye take me 
 for? — let that sneaking fellow, who stands squeezed 
 up in the corner there below, be witness between us." 
 
 Straitlace turned pale ; but Jinks was at the bot- 
 tom of the stair in a moment, and again ascended, 
 bringing up a man dressed in a thick top coat that 
 covered his under dress. 
 
 " Now, let this constable be witness between us," 
 said Jinks : " he's a respectable man, and you could 
 not have brought a better man with you." 
 
 Straitlace was amazed; — -but he summoned re- 
 solution, and said, " Constable, I insist upon your 
 taking this man into custody, for having either de- 
 coyed away from me, or concealed, or harboured, my 
 runaway 'prentice." j .
 
 256 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 
 
 The constable put on a very stupid look, and 
 answered, — " Why, as to that, I've no proof of any 
 part of it, you know, and I decline to interfere." 
 
 Straitlace felt confounded at the fact of his own 
 man, as he had deemed the constable, deserting him, 
 and stood staring in amazement. 
 
 " Now, Mister Jonas Straitlace," said Jinks, " I'd 
 have you to remember that I don't give professional 
 advice for nought, any more than other lawyers. You 
 came here to ask my help and instruction, and I en- 
 gaged to give it you for two sovereigns : pay me that 
 down, and I undertake that you shall find your ap- 
 prentice at home when you return." 
 
 The saddler felt enraged at the villain's impudence, 
 but the constable was against him: — "If you made 
 that bargain you had better keep it," said the func- 
 tionary, "and if this man breaks it, then I shall 
 be witness to it." And Straitlace felt he was so 
 awkwardly fixed in that suspicious place, and between 
 the two, that he gave Jinks the two sovereigns. 
 Had he kept a strict watch upon the motions of the 
 constable and Jinks he would have seen them share 
 the booty, ere they hurried down the stair. 
 
 Straitlace reached home, and found that Sam had 
 returned, but was again departed. His deaf wife 
 could only tell that she had scolded him, and made 
 him get to work in the shop without his breakfast ; 
 but she did not know when he went off again. The 
 condition of the " till," in the shop, fully proclaimed
 
 SAM SIMKINS THE RUN-AWAY. 257 
 
 the way in wliich Sam had employed himself during 
 his brief stay. It had been forcibly wrested from its 
 place, though strongly fixed, and robbed of its con- 
 tents, which were not great, but were sufficient to 
 destroy, by their loss, the peace of Mr. Straitlace's 
 spu'itual mind for many a day after. 
 
 Straitlace sat down to his work instead of going 
 again in search of Sam Simkins. Of what value 
 would a thief be to me ? was one question he asked 
 himself; and — shall I spend in law, to prosecute him, 
 more money than I have thrown away already ? was 
 another. A few days after, he met the constable in 
 Birmino-ham, and related his disaster. " You act 
 wisest to keep quiet," said the constable : " it seems 
 the man kept his word in sending the lad home, — 
 so that I don't see how you could have the law of 
 him, there ; and as for the young scoundrel, he would 
 do you no good : — good-day, sir." 
 
 Straitlace did not know whether there was any 
 soundness in the man's observation about law ; but 
 he was loath to spend more money or lose his time, — 
 so he gave Sam up. 
 
 The lad returned to Jinks's "hiding-hole," and 
 received great commendations for the clever way in 
 which he had used the "jemmy," or small steel crow- 
 bar, which Jinks had entrusted to him. The robbery 
 of his master's till was his first performance with this 
 crack tool that old gaol-birds chirp so much of; but 
 it was not his last, by many a score. He progressed
 
 258 SAM SIMKINS THE KUN-AWAY. 
 
 in skill till he became the favourite comrade of Wide- 
 mouthed Bob, and the two were the terror of the 
 neighbourhood for years. 
 
 It could serve no virtuous purpose to detail his 
 thieveries ; and as for the character of the company 
 he kept, the sketch foregoing may suffice to show 
 what it was. He was, at length, sent over-sea for 
 life, in company with the leader and two others of 
 the gang ; while Jinks escaped, only to decoy more 
 lads into vice, and train them for the hulks or the gal- 
 lows ; but Mr. Jonas Straitlace, through the grinding 
 of his customers, lost them, — so that he took no more 
 apprentices to train up, in his own peculiar way, for 
 Jinks's second training and perfecting process. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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 WISE SAWS 
 
 AND 
 
 MODERN INSTANCES. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 London : 
 
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 WISE SAWS 
 
 AND 
 
 MODERN INSTANCES. 
 
 BY 
 
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 THE CHARTIST, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR JEREMIAH HOW, 
 209. PICCADILLY. 
 
 1845.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The old Corpoeation - - - - 7 
 
 Ned Wilcom ; A Story of a Father's Sacrifice of his 
 
 Child at the Shrine of Mammon - - 25 
 
 London 'Venture ; or, the old Story over again - 42 
 The Lad who felt like a Fish out of Water - 60 
 
 The Intellectual Lever that lacked a Fulcrum - 84 
 Nicholas Nixon, " Gentleman," who could not under- 
 stand WHY, BUT WHO KNEW " IT WAS SO " - - 111 
 
 Signs of the Times ; or, One Parson and Two Clerks 123 
 Dame Deborah Thrumpkinson, and her Orphan Ap- 
 prentice, Joe - - - - loO 
 Toby Lackpenny the Philosophical : a Devotee of 
 the Marvellous .... 204
 
 THE OLD CORPORATION. 
 
 Those words " odd," and " singular," and " ec- 
 centric," what odd, singular, eccentric sort of words 
 they are, reader ! How often they mean nothing, — 
 being thrown out, as descriptions of character, by 
 drivelling Ignorance, who scrapes them up as the 
 dregs, — the mere siftings left at the bottom of his 
 vocabulary, when he has expended his scant collec- 
 tion of more definite images-in-syllables. And how 
 much more often are they affixed to the memories of 
 the living or dead, who have been real brothers among 
 men, and have thus earned these epithets from jaun- 
 diced envy, or guilty selfishness, or heartless pride 
 and tyranny. How little it commends to us, either 
 our common nature, or such corrupt fashioning as 
 ages of wrong have given it, that, if we would be- 
 come acquainted with a truly good man, — a being 
 to love and to knit the heart unto, — we must seek 
 for him among the class of character which the 
 world — woe worth it ! — calls " odd," or " singular," 
 or " eccentric ! " 
 
 A 4
 
 8 THE OLD CORPOEATION. 
 
 Yet so it is, the best of mankind, those, most veri- 
 tably, "of whom the world was not worthy," have been, 
 in their day, either the batt for the sneers of silliness, 
 or the object of envy's relentless hate, or they have 
 toiled and toiled, perhaps unto martyrdom, beneath 
 the withering, blasting frown of pride and ojopression. 
 Ay, and let us be honest with ourselves, and confess, 
 that though years or hard experience may have bet- 
 tered our own natures, — for we are all too much like 
 that kind of fruit which takes long days and many 
 weathers to ripen it, so as to bring forth its most 
 wholesome flavour, — let us be honest, I say, with 
 ourselves, and confess, that we were as foolishly 
 willing as others, in our youth, to laugh at what 
 the varlet world calls oddness, and singularity, 
 and eccentricity. Some of us, however, now see 
 matters in a somewhat different light. We have dis- 
 covered that there is some marrow of meaning in 
 many of those old saws we once thouglit so tiresome 
 and dry, — such as, " All is not gold that glitters," 
 and, " Judge not a nut by the shell," and the like ; 
 and we say, within ourselves, when we are in a 
 moralising mood, (as you and I are now, reader,) that, 
 if we were young again, we would not join the world 
 in laughing as we used to laugh with it, at certain 
 queer folk who dwell in our memories, — for we begin 
 to have a shrewd suspicion that they were among the 
 true " diamonds in the rough " of human character. 
 
 And, to be truly candid with ourselves, reader.
 
 THE OLD CORPORATION. 9 
 
 have not you and I found out, by this time, that 
 we are, to all intents and purposes, as " odd," and 
 as " singular," and as " eccentric," as other folk ? 
 Is not the jewel of the truth this, — as pointless 
 as the saying may look at first sight, — that — All 
 men are singular? Hath not every man his likes 
 and his dislikes, his whims and his caprices, his 
 fancies and his hobbies, his faults and his failings? 
 And are not these found so strangely interwoven in 
 our daily thinkings, and sayings, and doings, that 
 they may well make observers ponder upon them, 
 if they had not enough of similar employment at 
 home ? Nay, if some one unnatural sort of thought, 
 or impression, or habit, which each of us have, 
 could be seen, at all times, by every body, in its 
 true dimensions, would it not look as uncouth as 
 one of those huge boulders of primary rock tumbled 
 down from the mass, and left sticking out from 
 some late-formed strata of marl, quite at a distance 
 from its proper place, that the geologists talk of? 
 Would not the thought, or impression, or habit, if 
 our most attached friends could see it in its proper 
 moral bulk, dwarf many of our " excellencies," as 
 their partiality phrases it, and really render us poor 
 deformed things, in their judgment ? 
 
 " What, then, do ye mean to preach us into the 
 belief that it is a crime for us ever to have a hearty, 
 harmless laugh, at a queer fellow when we chance 
 to see him ? " Not exactly so, my lads ; but we 
 
 A 5
 
 10 THE OLD CORPOKATIOF. 
 
 ough^ never to forget that we are queer fellows 
 ourselves. Nor ought we to fail in the reflection 
 thatj if we were fully acquainted with that queer 
 fellow, it might happen we should discover him to 
 be of infinitely more moral value than ten thousand 
 of the smooth-trimmed estimables in the eye of the 
 world, who conform to all its precepts so obediently 
 that they never anger it. And, much more, if we 
 kno^ enough of the " queer fellow " to be aware 
 that a true, warm, glowing, fraternal heart for his 
 fellow-creatures beats in his bosom, notwithstand- 
 ing^ a few outward traits of somewhat striking dif- 
 ference from the crowd, why, then, it becomes our 
 bounden duty, — I will not say, never to smile at 
 his peculiarities, for that sort of puritanism will not 
 make us better men, — but to dwell upon his virtues 
 and excellencies, — to extol them, yea, to enthrone 
 them, whenever he is seen, or heard, or talked of, 
 by those with whom we company. 
 
 Perhaps political party is more universal than 
 any other bad influence without, in misguiding 
 Englishmen into ill-natured, or contemptuous, or 
 depreciatory judgments of their neighbours and fel- 
 low-townsmen. The last dozen or fifteen years, 
 especially, have engendered a superabundance of this 
 foul canker ; — so many new rivalries have sprung 
 up with the great changes in political and muni- 
 cipal institutions; and men, from the mightiest to 
 the meanest, have been caught up, and whirled along.
 
 THE OLD CORPORATION. 11 
 
 in many instances so involuntarily, into the rush and 
 torrent of change. And yet, how the lapse of these 
 dozen or fifteen years hath altered the judgment 
 of many of us, with regard to some men and their 
 party-cries. What a wide-spread " liberal " lauda- 
 tion, for instance, there was about the famous de- 
 finition of a Tory, in the T'lmes^ — and yet how 
 soon it became its own " duck-leo-o-ed drummer- 
 boy," and all that ! Nay, how soon did some of 
 the very chiefs of the potential reforming party, — 
 from idols of the multitude, — by their refusal to 
 complete what they had begun, and, indeed, in 
 some instances, by their open manifestation of a 
 will to undo what they had done, — become its scoff 
 and scorn, nay, even its detestation ! 
 
 And then the old " Guilds," or " Corporations," to 
 which the new " Town-Councils " have succeeded, — 
 what] a general tendency to exaggeration there was 
 in the mode of judging of them, and in the tone of 
 talking and writing about them, especially in the 
 public prints. How witty were the newspaper people 
 in their conceits of conserving, or pickling, or em- 
 balming an alderman, and having him placed in the 
 British Museum, as a curiosity for antiquaries to 
 form profound speculations upon, some ten or twelve 
 centuries into futurity ! Ay, and how eloquently 
 abusive was the prevailing Whig strain about " nests 
 of corruption," and " rotten lumber," and " fine 
 pickings," and " impositions, and frauds, and dark 
 
 A 6
 
 12 THE OLD CORPORATION. 
 
 rogueries of the self-elect ! " And how the scale has 
 turned, since, in the greater share of boroughs, where 
 the poor and labouring classes threw up their hats 
 for joy at "municipal reform," — and now mutter 
 discontent at the pride of upstarts become insolent 
 oppressors, — or openly curse, as in the poverty-stricken 
 and hunger-bitten manufacturing districts, at the re- 
 lentless and grinding tyrannies of the recreant middle- 
 classes whom municipal honours have drawn off from 
 their hot-blooded radicalism, and converted into cold, 
 unfeeling, merciless wielders of magisterial or other 
 local power. 
 
 There was, it cannot be denied, in the droll trap- 
 pings and antiquated mummeries of the old guilds, 
 ■ — in their ermined scarlet cloaks, and funny cocked 
 hats, and in their maces and staves, — and above all, 
 in the starch, and march, and swelling, and strut, and 
 pomposity, with which these were worn or borne, — 
 much that was calculated to tickle the spectator into 
 mirth; but, really, when one thinks of it, are the 
 horse-hair wig of a bishop, a judge, or a barrister, the 
 robe and coronet of a peer, or the crown and sceptre 
 of a king or queen, less like playthings for upgrown 
 children than w^ere tlie " regalia " and antique habits 
 of the old corporation- men? Was Cromwell so far 
 beside the mark when he called the Speaker's mace a 
 " fool's bauble ? " — and might not the expression be 
 applied with as much fitness to many other " ensigns 
 of office," as they are called ?
 
 THE OLD CORrORATION. 13 
 
 And again : though it is true that a grand uncur- 
 taining of robbery, — for that is the plain English of 
 it, — was made in some, at least, of the old boroughs, 
 by the inquest of that parliamentary commission 
 wliich preceded the sweeping away of the old cor- 
 porations, — yet are we not, now, become conscious, 
 that amid the party heat and animosity of the period, 
 much private excellence was over-shaded or forgotten 
 in the rage of public censure, — nay, that much virtue 
 was denied, even where it was known to exist, lest 
 the recognition of it should mar the scheme for over- 
 throwing the party to which that virtue was at- 
 tached ? 
 
 This is a long exordium for a fugitive sketch, and 
 it is time to say it has sprung from reflections created 
 in the mind of an imprisoned " conspirator " and 
 " mover of sedition," by the flitting across his cell, in 
 his imagination, of sundry bygone shapes with whom 
 he was, more or less, familiar at one period of his 
 changeful life. It is the " Old Corporation " of the 
 ancient and time-honoured city of Lincoln, of which 
 the writer speaks; — and though wit might discover 
 among its members many a foible that would form 
 a picture to " make those laugh whose lungs are 
 tickled o' the sere," yet generosity, and justice, no 
 less, must confess, that after the most searchino- in- 
 quiry and exposure, they were neither individually 
 nor collectively stained with the acts of peculation 
 and embezzlement, nor application of public funds to
 
 14 THE OLD CORPORATION. 
 
 political party purposes, which were so heavily, and, 
 no doubt, truly charged on some of the old guilds in 
 other parts of the country. 
 
 Yet they were, as a body, supporters of the ancien 
 regime, as was natural : they had been inured, the 
 greater part of them, through nearly the whole of 
 their lives, to look upon the established state of 
 things as the best and fittest; — and, no doubt, the 
 majority of them conscientiously believed it to be so, 
 — failino", throus-h the confined and stinted nature 
 of their social training, to reflect that what was 
 productive to themselves, the few, of pleasure or 
 comfort, might confer no benefits on the many, — but 
 rather be a source, to these, of deep and increasing 
 suffering. Passing by many a picture that starts to 
 memory of " mayoralty," and its ludicrous airs of 
 greatness, and many a reminiscence of grave joke 
 and lighter whimsicality, — of burlesque importance, 
 and mirth-moving earnestness about trifles, — recol- 
 lection dwells with consolated interest on more 
 durable limnings of simple, uncorrupted manners, 
 and warm hearts, and really expansive natures, that 
 belonged to some of that " Old Corporation." 
 
 There is one comes before me, vividly, at this 
 moment, — while that sweet robin-red-breast hops 
 into my day-room, and bends his neck to look at me 
 so knowingly and friendlily in my loneliness, as he 
 doth, almost daily; — and the loved bird's image con- 
 sorts delightfully with him I was thinking of, — for.
 
 THE OLD CORPORATION. 15 
 
 above all things, the fine, noble-hearted, yet meek 
 and gentle old alderman, loved to be thought and 
 esteemed an ornithologist! That was his pride, his 
 loftiest aim, his highest ambition, — as far as repu- 
 tation or a name was the subject of his thought. As 
 for his charities, and enlarged acts of sympathy for 
 his suffering fellow-creatures, his deeds of mercy and 
 goodness, he strove to hide them, performing them 
 often by stealth, and half denying the performance 
 of them, when admiration of his beneficence kindled 
 praise of it in his hearing. Ah ! it is too true : he 
 relieved wretchedness till his purse was scanty, and 
 his circumstances were straitened; — and then, — and 
 then, — in spite of his aldermanic dignity, in spite of 
 his " respectable " family connections, and even the 
 respectability of his own practice and profession, as a 
 surgeon, — he was mentioned as the " odd," — the 
 " singular," — the " eccentric " Mr. ! 
 
 That is the world. Who would have dreamt that 
 
 Alderman was odd, or singular, or eccentric, 
 
 had he kept his money, instead of giving it to the 
 distressed ? 
 
 But the kind-hearted old man thirsted for reputation 
 as an ornithologist. Well, and in good sooth, he had 
 some solid claim to it. Bu'ds were his passion ; and 
 you seldom met any one who knew so much about 
 them. I know not whether his relatives keep the 
 book of drawings which the good man showed to me, 
 as he had showed it to hundreds, with so much in-
 
 16 THE OLD CORPORATION. 
 
 nocent pride ; — taking care to relate how it had been 
 begun when he was a young apprentice, and had 
 taken him years to complete : above all, that it was 
 the product of early hours stolen from sleep, and had 
 never robbed, his professional duties of their pi-oper 
 share of attention. They ought to keep it, however, 
 and to value it too. Not for the sake of any sur- 
 passing excellence in the portraitures of birds with 
 which it was filled ; for, although the good old man 
 was so proud of the " real birds," which he used to 
 observe it contained, yet they were embodied to 
 the eye somewhat in Chinese taste, as clearly as 
 I can remember: rather with exactitude of pencil- 
 lings and shades, than with skill in the " drawing " 
 or attitude of the bird, or observance of rules of per- 
 spective, or " fore-shortening," or any of the intrica- 
 cies of art. But the heart — the heart of the good 
 man whose hand performed these curious and labo- 
 rious limnings — should stamp a precious value on the 
 book that contained them. 
 
 Nor was it a mere unmeaning hobby, this love of 
 the feathered tribe which was so strong in the bene- 
 volent alderman. He was another Gilbert White in 
 diligence of observation on their habits in the woods 
 and fields, and on the heath and the moor. In his 
 rural rides as a surgeon, he was ever learning some 
 fact relative to their economy, and he most diligently 
 chronicled it. And at the return of the season, he 
 was as punctually periodical as the fall of the leaf in
 
 THE OLD CORPORATION. 17 
 
 acquainting his friendly circle with his impressions 
 relative to the severity or the openness of the ensu- 
 inof winter, from his observations on the feathered 
 tribe. Many of these " prognostications," as some 
 13eople called them, although he never assumed the 
 character of a prophet himself, were registered in 
 the Stamford Mercury, the long-established and 
 ably-conducted medium of information for the ex- 
 tensive though thinly-peopled district of Lincoln- 
 shire ; and they so seldom failed to be realised, that 
 the ornithological surgeon was often complimented 
 on his prophecies. " Nay," he would reply, " I am 
 no prophet : I only go by Nature's books : you may 
 do the same, if you'll read them." 
 
 Was it his diligent and loving perusal of these 
 books which imbued him with that never-failing zeal 
 to relieve the miserable ? was it by his continued 
 drinking of the lessons of bounty and care discover- 
 able in those books, that kept open, to his latest day, 
 the sluices of his beneficent heart, — so that the icy 
 influences of the world never froze them up, — but 
 they were left to well out goodness, and tenderness, 
 and pity, for the poor, and hungry, and sick, and 
 miserable, to the end of his life ? 
 
 One cannot suj)press a persuasion of this kind ; 
 and it seems next to impossible but that Gilbert 
 "V\^iite must have gladdened the poor of his " Sel- 
 borne," to the very extent of his means, and, per- 
 haps, sometimes beyond it, — secretly, humbly, and
 
 18 THE OLD COKPOEATION. 
 
 unobtrusively, — while his amiable mind was display- 
 ing so simply and charmingly, in that correspondence 
 with Tennant and Barrington, its devoted love and 
 admiration of the characters in " Nature's books." 
 This thought may be but a prejudice of the imagin- 
 ation ; but such prejudices are less criminal than the 
 prejudices of the judgment or understanding, and 
 one feels unwilling to have them removed in a case 
 like this : we have, alas ! too many examples of evil 
 contradictions in the characters we thirst to love, — 
 and our worship even of the noblest intelligences, — 
 such as Bacon, — is too often checked by them. 
 
 In the devoted reader of " Nature's books," how- 
 ever, of whom we are immediately speaking, there 
 was a delightful harmony of character. *' I cannot 
 
 pay you, yet, Mr. ," — said a poor woman to him, 
 
 as I walked by his side, along the High Street of 
 St. Botolph's parish, listening to his autumnal chro- 
 nicle, — "I cannot pay you yet, sir, for my husband 
 is out of work." — " Pr'ythee, never mind, woman," 
 replied the good man. " Make thyself easy, and 
 get that poor boy a pair of shoes, before thou pays 
 me ! " — " God bless you, sir ! " replied the poor wo- 
 man, with her ragged and shoeless lad, and dropped 
 a courtesy, while the grateful tear rolled down her 
 cheek. I looked, with an impulse of admiration, at 
 the face of the good alderman, as we passed along, 
 and the tears were coursing each other adown his 
 face likewise !
 
 THE OLD CORPORATION. 19 
 
 And liow often have I heard, — what, indeed, well- 
 nigh every citizen of old Lincoln had either heard, or 
 witnessed, — of his bounteous relief of famishing and 
 clotheless families he was called to attend during the 
 sickness of a child or father, or the mother's agony 
 of Nature. One thought presents itself painfully : it 
 is, that while he manifested so true a fraternity with 
 man, and lived a life of so much private, unobtrusive 
 blessing, — he was so frequently the victim of en- 
 croacliing and designing knaves. His ready loans of 
 money, in his wealthiest days, to needy tradesmen, 
 were often punctually and honestly returned ; but he 
 was too often victimised. And there is one image 
 now crosses me, very legibly, — that used to haunt 
 and pester the good-hearted man, even up to the 
 period of his straitness, — ever goading him with 
 some plea of difficulty, and essaying to squeeze out 
 of him another sum, under the unprincipled name 
 of a loan. He was a " limb of the law," who had 
 been " done up " in his profession, for his want of 
 honesty. And yet I have some misgivings whether 
 that human being were so morally culpable as his 
 life of shuffle, and deceit, and meanness, would lead 
 one to think; for I remember how often I noticed 
 the large indentation across his bald head, caused by 
 some accident, in which the bone of the skull had 
 been bent or broken, and, consequently, the brain 
 injured. His career is at an end, however ; and 
 whatever might be the true solution of the problem
 
 20 THE OLD CORPOEATION. 
 
 of his idiosyncrasy, one cannot help feeling a re- 
 gret that the best and finest natures should so often, 
 in this world, become a prey to the worst, — as in 
 the case of this vile practiser, who often boasted over 
 his brandy, in the presence of some base associate, 
 that he had gulled the alderman again ! 
 
 Memory calls up another form less distinctly, since 
 it belonged to one who was much nearer the end of 
 his course ; and the impression of his identity de- 
 pends more on what others said of him than on 
 any thing like personal or intimate acquaintance with 
 his character. From some unskilfulness of speech, 
 or want of grace in outward demeanour, or some other 
 mark that the world thought " odd," or " singular," 
 or " eccentric," he had gained the odd, singular, and 
 eccentric, but very distinctive soubriquet of Alderman 
 Lob. He was a bulky sort of man externally, talked 
 thick, yet talked a great deal ; was laid up with the 
 gout often, and passed his closing years totally within 
 doors as an invalid: but many a poverty-stricken 
 habitant of Lincoln found weekly relief at his door ; 
 and more than one aged and infirm creature prayed 
 for the lengthening out of his life, in the fear they 
 would be left destitute, or be compelled to go into 
 the workhouse, when they could no longer depend on 
 his weekly charity. 
 
 The master-spirit of that old guild, though too 
 mentally acute, and too successful in the acquirement 
 of wealth to leave room for the world to term him
 
 THE OLD CORPORATION. 21 
 
 odd, or singular, or eccentric, united in his composi- 
 tion some high qualities that now rise in kindly 
 answer to the record memory gives of the bitter 
 things spoken of him by party. He had been the 
 " town-clerk" of the guild, and even then wielded 
 the principal power in it, being really its master, 
 though nominally its servant; and only laid aside 
 the black gown and quill to don an alderman's er- 
 mined cloak, because he had become too wealthy 
 either to desire longer to reap the salary, or undergo 
 the fatigue and labour of his first office. 
 
 His attention to every man in whom he discerned 
 superior ability, without regard to conventional grade, 
 and often in defiance of its rules ; his real liberality in 
 giving aid to honest industry, wherever he found it ; 
 his munificence in assisting either the " charities " 
 which are the just pride of old Lincoln, or any plan 
 for presenting its citizens with amusement that com- 
 bined usefulness : these were among his life-long 
 acts. And, in spite of the keen raUlery with which 
 his shrewd penetration of character often led him to 
 visit the vulgar conceit or afiectation of some with 
 whom his office brought him into frequent contact, 
 all bore testimony to his intelligence and honour. 
 Nay, although he was one who never professed any 
 fervid sympathy with popular progress, and therefore 
 was not likely to become a favourite with a people so 
 strongly political as the Lincoln cits were a few years 
 ago, yet so deeply did they regard him as a man who.
 
 22 THE OLD COEPORATION. 
 
 by the excellence of his understanding, had done 
 honour to their city in bearing one of its chief offices, 
 that a general and reverential sorrow was expressed 
 when his end approached, for it was seen, in his 
 wasted frame and fading eye, many months before 
 the fatal moment came. 
 
 Perhaps their knowledge of the one bitter draught 
 that was mingled with his life's chalice, during the 
 concluding years of his course, served greatly to 
 soften their thoughts towards the intellectual chief 
 of the old municipal institution, even while many of 
 them rejoiced at the overthrow of the institution it- 
 self. His tenderly beloved and highly accomplished 
 daughter, — his only child, — faded and died ; and, 
 therewith, the charm of life seemed broken for him. 
 How often was this a subject of kindly-spirited con- 
 verse among citizens as he passed ; and how reflect- 
 ingly did they note what they learnt to be his own 
 poignant observations on that heart-rending bereave- 
 ment ! — his pithy and thrilling confessions that he 
 had toiled for nothing ! — that life was only a scene 
 of disappointment ! — that he had used unceasing ex- 
 ertion to attain wealth ; but he had, now, neither 
 " chick nor child " to leave it to ! So fertile is life 
 in affording moral nurture and correction to all 
 hearts ! — creating sympathy with the sorrowful bro- 
 ther, with him to whom the bitter cup is appointed ; 
 but infusing a salutary admonition, meanwhile, not 
 tp B^t our hearts too passionately on things of clay.
 
 THE OLD CORPOEATION. 23 
 
 lest we doom ourselves also to drink of that bitter- 
 ness ! 
 
 He who was esteemed the most " odd," the most 
 " singular," the most " eccentric " member of that 
 Old Corporation, lingered long after its demise ; and 
 by the popularity of his character, as the only radi- 
 cal alderman of the Old, became a town councillor, 
 and eventually a mayor, under the New municipal 
 institution. How rife were the stories of his furious 
 attacks upon the " self-elect " of the olden time ! — 
 and what a rich hue of the burlesque was thrown 
 around the pictures that were given of him in daily 
 conversation ! Yet, who did not, in spite of his slen- 
 derness of intellect, love him for his incorruptible 
 honesty, and, above all, for his unfailing benevo- 
 lence ? Oh! there was not a human being, — beggar, 
 pauper, distressed stranger, or townsman, — who ever 
 went from his door unrelieved ; nor could he pass, 
 in the street, a fellow-creature whose appearance le,d 
 him to suppose he had found a real sufferer, but 
 he must inquire into it, even unsolicited. The ab- 
 horrent enactments of the New Poor Law, — how 
 he hated them ! — and how staggered he felt in his 
 reforming faith, when the " liberal " administration 
 urged the passing of the strange Malthusian measure ! 
 " I cannot understand it ! " he would exclaim, in the 
 hearing of the numerous participants in his English 
 hospitality ; " I never thought that Eeform was to 
 make the poor more miserable, and the poorest of
 
 24 THE OLD CORPORATION. 
 
 the poor the most miserable : it is a mystery to 
 me ! Surely it is a mistake in Lord Grey and Lord 
 Brougham ! " So the good old man thought and 
 said ; but he did not live to see the " liberal " law- 
 makers either correct their mistake, or acknowledge 
 that they had made one, — though agonised thousands 
 pealed that sad truth in their ears I
 
 25 
 
 NED WILCOM ; 
 
 A STOH.Y OF 
 
 A FATHER'S SACRIFICE OF HIS CHILD 
 
 AT THE 
 
 SHRINE OF MAMMON. 
 
 " SiRRAii ! you have nothing to do but to get on in 
 the world. You may do that, if you will. The 
 way is open for you, as it was for uie ; so get up 
 to London, and try. There's twenty pounds for 
 you : I'll give you twenty thousand, as soon as you 
 show me one thousand of your own ; but I won't 
 give you another ftxrthing till you pro-se to me that 
 you know the value of money, and can get it your- 
 self. And mark me, sir ! if you haven't the nouse 
 to make something out in the world, you shall live 
 and die a beggar, for me ; for I'll leave all I have to 
 your sisters, and cut you off with a shilling. There, 
 sir ! there's your road ! Good morning ! " 
 
 And so saying, Mr. Ned Wilcom, senior, pushed 
 Mr. Ned Wilcom, junior, his only son, out of his 
 
 VOL. II. B
 
 26 NED AVILCOM. 
 
 counting-liousCj and shut the door upon him. That 
 was an awkward way for a rich Leeds merchant to 
 receive a son on the completion of his ajiprenticeship 
 as a draper, and at the early age of twenty. Yet it 
 was no worse than young Ned expected. Nor did it 
 break his heart, as it would have broken the heart 
 of a lad who had been more tenderly nurtured. Ned 
 Wilcom never saw his father occupied with any 
 other thought, act, employ, or pleasure, but what 
 pertained to money-getting ; nor ever heard his 
 father pass an encomium on any human character in 
 his life, save on such as succeeded in piling together 
 large fortunes from small beginnings, or enriched 
 themselves by outwitting their neighbours. From 
 the ase of nine to sixteen, he had onlv seen his 
 father twice a year — Midsummer and Christmas; and 
 having lost his mother when a mere infant, he never 
 knew or felt the softening influences of maternal 
 affection. The artificial life of a boarding-school, 
 during those seven years, infused a good deal of 
 craft, and nearly as large a measure of heartlessness, 
 into Ned's nature — for it was not originally of such 
 tendencies. The master and ushers were hypocrites 
 and tyrants, only differing in grade ; and if there 
 were a lad with a little more gentleness, humanity, 
 and openness about him than the rest, Ned observed 
 that he soon " went to the wall " among his school- 
 fellows. And so, with one influence or other, Ned 
 Wilcom left school with the firm persuasion that the
 
 NED WILCOM. 27 
 
 world Avas a general battle-field, where the weak and 
 the virtuous were destined to become the prey of 
 the strong and the crafty ; and, all things considered, 
 Ned resolved to take sides with the winning party. 
 
 Such were Ned's resolves at sixteen ; and they 
 were by no means changed in their direction, or 
 weakened in their vigour, by an apprenticeship in a 
 dashing and aspiring draper's shop in Liverpool 
 during the succeeding four years. To that sea-port 
 he was accompanied, per coach, by his ftither ; whose 
 parting words then were, that he was to remember 
 that " he was going to be taught how to make money, 
 the only thing worth learning ; " and, until he re- 
 ceived the summary benediction already rehearsed, 
 Ned did not see his father again. It is true, he 
 received from home a half-yearly letter, but it never 
 harped on more than one string, and that was the 
 old one ; so that, drawing his inferences from these 
 premises, Ned Wilcom was not surprised to be dis- 
 missed in five minutes, with twenty pounds, and to 
 have the counting-house door shut in his face by his 
 own father. 
 
 Within a week after his arrival in London, Ned 
 Wilcom found a situation; and it was one to his 
 heart's content — as he told his father in a letter of 
 five lines, for he knew his parent too Avell to trouble 
 him with a longer epistle. The lad's ambition could 
 only have been more highly grafrfied by a reception 
 into the establishment of Swan and Edgar, in the 
 
 B 2
 
 28 NED WILCOM. 
 
 Quadrant,- or the superb "Waterloo House" in 
 Cockspur Street, for he had obtained a place in that 
 immensest of show-shops which attracts the stranger 
 crowds in St. Paul's Churchyard, where the busi- 
 ness was of a less select nature than in the two rival 
 first-rate shops at the West End, and w^as therefore 
 a more fitting field for the exercise of such know- 
 ledge and tact as Ned had acquired in Liverpool. 
 And all went on exceedingly well with Ned for 
 several weeks. It is true, the discipline of the 
 establishment was somewhat more rigorous than in 
 the house he had quitted ; but he was prepared to 
 expect it. He was compelled to " look sharp about 
 him;" but he had heard in the country that that 
 would be the case. The matter of vianding, the 
 exact minute of remaining out in the evening, the 
 amoimt of exertion and energy in discharging his 
 duties, all was so exactly defined, measured, and 
 timed, that to a mere raw apprentice from the 
 country, or to one whose mind was less determinately 
 girt up to make his way, the situation would have 
 seemed any thing but pleasant. Ned, however, felt 
 quite at home, for he had yoked his will to his 
 necessities ; and in lieu of indulging the slightest dis- 
 position to grumble at his lot, set success before him- 
 self, and determined to achieve it. With a mind so 
 fully made up, a handsome figure, a winning address, 
 and a fair portion of natural shrewdness, Ned was 
 Bure to conduct himself in such a way as to please
 
 NED WILCOM. 29 
 
 his employers. In fact, in the course of a dozen or 
 fifteen weeks, he became the decided favourite with 
 the manager of the concern, and, of course, ex- 
 perienced proportionate pecuniary advancement. 
 
 But a woeful change awaited Ned Wilcom, despite 
 these fair prospt.^cts. His eagerness to succeed had 
 urged him to stretch his powers beyond their 
 strength, and his resolve to economise, so as to win 
 the means of early independence, induced him to 
 deny himself too rigidly of under-clothing, and the 
 consequence was, that a nervous lassitude and a 
 severe cold at once attacked him. He bore up some 
 days ; but was a little shocked to observe a change 
 of look in the manager, and to overhear a little 
 whispering by way of comment on his lack of energy. 
 Five days had passed ; but on the morning of the 
 sixth, it was with extreme difficulty he rose from 
 bed, and so lethargic were his faculties, that he felt 
 it utterly impossible to put on appearances of exces- 
 sive complaisance, or to display the customary 
 grimaces of civility. Towards noon, excessive pains 
 in the head and chest drove him from the shop ; and, 
 without saying a word to any one, he sought his 
 sleeping-room, and threw himself on his bed. Here 
 he was found in a state of insensibility, in the course 
 of half an hour was undressed, and put into bed. 
 Ned refused the cool offers of extra diet made him, 
 when he came to his senses ; and when visited by 
 the manager, said he had no doubt he would be quite 
 
 B 3
 
 oO NED AVILCOM. 
 
 well by the next morning. The manager elevated 
 his brows, said he hoped so, and walked away im- 
 mediately. 
 
 When the morning came, however, the youth was 
 so weak that he felt he would be utterly incapable of. 
 exertion if he went down stairs ; yet he would have 
 attempted it, had not one who had been much longer 
 in the establishment than himself — though Ned had 
 passed him by, in preferment — stepped into his bed- 
 room, and most pressingly persuaded him not to think 
 of going down. So Ned put off his half resolve to 
 go down, and thi-ew himself again on the bed. But 
 what was his surprise, grief, and disgust, on seeing 
 this very individual step again into his room in the 
 course of five minutes, to announce with the most 
 marble coldness of look, that the manager desired 
 Mr. Wilcora would get up and make out his account 
 — for it was against rule for any one to remain on the 
 establishment who was unable to attend to business. 
 " Immediately," Avas the only word the messenger 
 added, turning back as he was about to quit the 
 room, and then departing with a wicked sneer upon 
 his face. Poor Ned ! he felt he was in a hard case ; 
 but his native pride was too gi-eat to permit him to 
 weep, or give way. Indignation strung his nerves 
 for the nonce ; he bounced up — dressed himself — 
 though he trembled like one in the palsy — made out 
 his account — went down stairs, and presented it — was
 
 NED WILCOM. 31 
 
 paid, by the manager's order — and quitted the pre- 
 mises, in the lapse of fifteen minutes. 
 
 Occupied with the vengeful feeling that was natural 
 after such cruel treatment — though it was but an 
 every -day fact, with drapers' assistants, in London — 
 the youth had arrived in Fleet Street ere he bethought 
 him that he had left his clothes behind him, and had 
 not made up his mind as to where he was going. 
 Faintness began to come over him, and he was com- 
 pelled to cling to a window for support. Two pas- 
 sengers on the causeway stopped, and began to 
 address him sympathetically ; the rest of the living 
 stream swept on, without staying to notice him. A 
 cabman, however, less from sympathy than from the 
 hope of employ, speedily brought his vehicle to the 
 edge of the slabs, and jumping from his seat with the 
 reins in his hand, asked if he could be of any service 
 to the gentleman. Ned felt it was not a time for 
 prolonged consideration, and earnestly, though feebly, 
 desired the cabman to convey him to some decen' 
 boarding-house. One of the persons supporting him 
 saw that his state did not permit questioning, and 
 prevented the cabman's asking where he would be 
 driven to, by telling the man to proceed at once to a 
 number he mentioned in Bolt Court. The same indi- 
 vidual walked by the side of the cab, for the little way 
 that it was to the entry of the court, and then helped 
 to support Ned to the house. A sick man, however, 
 was not likely to meet with a very hearty welcome in 
 
 B 4
 
 32 NED WILCOM. 
 
 a London boardlng-liouse ; and. In spite of the entrea- 
 ties of the person who accompanied him, the youth 
 wouhl have had the door shut upon him, had he not 
 roused all his remaining vigour, and assured the keeper 
 of the establishment, not only that he would soon be 
 Avell, but that he was able to pay for what he might 
 need. With such assurances he was reluctantly re- 
 ceived, and supported up stairs to a bed-room. Pre- 
 sence of mind served him to give order for fetching 
 his portmanteau from the establishment he had just 
 quitted ; and it was well that it was so, for he became 
 Insensible almost immediately. A fever ensued of 
 some weeks' continuance ; and, at the end of it, when 
 Ned regained his consciousness, he found himself 
 reduced to a state of emaciation, and under medical 
 attendance, with a deeply reduced purse. 
 
 These were concomitants of a nature to bring great 
 pain to the mind of one like Ned Wilcom ; and it was 
 ■with a severe struggle that he shut out despair, and 
 encouraged himself to believe that, though so griev- 
 ously frustrated In his commencing hopes of inde- 
 pendence, the prospect of success would again bud, 
 and finally blossom. After ascertaining from his 
 physician that his state would bear a removal to a less 
 expensive lodging, Ned wrote home to his father, and 
 Informed him of his unfortunate condition, and of 
 what had led to It. Mr. Wilcom, senior, was a little 
 surprised to receive a second letter from his son so 
 soon, for " he had no notion," as he used to sav, " of
 
 NED WILCOM. 33 
 
 lads perpetually writing home, like unweaned babies 
 that wanted pap ; " and he, therefore, broke the seal 
 of poor Ned's letter with no remarkable degree of 
 good humour. The lengtli of the letter, when opened, 
 caused the money-getting father to throw it aside 
 with an indescribable curl of the lip and nose, and a 
 loud " Pshaw ! " — and that was all the attention the 
 poor youth's epistle received for the five next suc- 
 ceeding days, that is to say, until Sunday came, and 
 the merchant thought he had time to look at it. The 
 next mornino; Ned Wilcom received his father's 
 answer: it was simply — 
 
 *' Sir, 
 
 "Yours came to hand last Monday. If your 
 illness was brought on by want of caution, it ought 
 to teach you prudence. If you have been unlucky, 
 you arc only like many more ; and, as your grand- 
 father used to say, the best way and the manliest, 
 with troubles, is to grin and abide by them. Wish 
 you better. 
 
 " Your humble servant, 
 
 " Edward Wilcom, senior. 
 
 The letter dropped from Ned's hand like a lump of 
 lead too heavy to hold. "With all his knowledge of 
 his father's nature and habits, he had not expected 
 this. Indeed, Ned's uninterrupted good health, 
 through the whole of his brief space of life, had pre-
 
 Q I 
 
 i NED WILCOM. 
 
 vented the possibility of his testing his father's 
 tenderness before. For some hours, the youth expe- 
 rienced misery he had never known till then ; and 
 was so completely paralysed with the sense of his 
 wretched and deserted state, that the physician, who 
 made his usual call in the afternoon, could obtain no 
 intelligent answer to his questions ; and though by 
 no means one whose heart overflowed with the milk 
 of human kindness, felt constrained. In a sympathising 
 tone, to ask if any thing extraordinary had occurred 
 to his patient. JSTed pointed to the letter which lay 
 on the floor, and In spite of the hardness of feeling 
 Into which he had trained himself, burst into a 
 flood of tears. 
 
 Nature was thus sufficiently relieved to enable the 
 youth to answer the physician's inquiries as to his 
 father's wealth, habits, and so on, with a slight but 
 very significant additional query as to the extent of 
 Ned's remaining stock of money. The conclusion 
 was not any promise of help, but cool advice to 
 remove, forthwith, to a cheaper lodging ; or which, 
 the physician remarked, would be far more prudent, 
 to an hospital. The latter alternative Ned could 
 not brook then, so he did remove to a cheaper 
 lodging; but his feebleness disappeared so slowly, 
 and the contents of his slender purse so rapidly, that 
 he was compelled to enter an hospital, after dis- 
 charging his medical attendant's bill, and finding
 
 NED WILCOM. 35 
 
 himself possessed but of one sovereign, at the end of 
 another fortnight. 
 
 For six dreary months Ned Wilcom's feeble state 
 compelled him to remain an inmate of this charitable 
 establishment ; and though his Avants were amply 
 provided for, and his complaints and sufferings were 
 met with prompt and sympathising kindness and 
 attention, yet his spirit was greatly soured. He ven- 
 tured one more letter to his father, but it received no 
 greater welcome than the former one ; and, in the 
 bitterness of his soul, Ned cursed the parent who 
 could thus treat his child, and resolved never to write 
 home again, as long as he lived. 
 
 At leno-th, he vras strono; enouo;h to leave his refus'e, 
 and without staying to be told that he must go, he 
 went. Once more, he took a cheap lodging, but a much 
 cheaper one, as far as price went, than before, and in 
 one of the purlieus of Lambeth, where he would have 
 scorned almost to set his foot, when he first arrived 
 in London. Though his scanty sovereign would 
 have recommended instant search for a situation, his 
 great weakness, and his looking-glass, told him he 
 must take, at least, one week's further rest. He took 
 it, and then commenced inquiry for a situation, not 
 at the establishment where his misfortunes com- 
 menced, neither at any of the first-rate fashionable 
 shops. Sourness of spirit kept liim at a distance 
 from the cathedral churchyard ; and the somewhat 
 seedy condition, even of his best suit, debarred his 
 
 B 6
 
 36 NED WILCOM. 
 
 admission, he believed, at any of the "tip-top" 
 houses. So he sought to be engaged in some more 
 humble establishment ; but, alas ! his pallid face and 
 sunken eye, his hollow voice and feeble step, Avere 
 against him ; and a shake of the head, or a hard 
 stare, with a decided negative, was the invariable an- 
 swer to his applications. 
 
 To shorten the melancholy story of his deeper de- 
 scent into wretchedness — at the end of the tenth 
 week after his departure from the hospital, he was 
 so far restored to strength as to be able to walk up- 
 right, to speak in his natural tone of firmness, and 
 would have been competent to have discharged the 
 duties of a draper's assistant in any shop in the me- 
 tropolis ; but every article of clothing he had possessed, 
 except two shirts, two pairs of stockings, and the 
 outer suit he constantly wore, were all in pawn, and 
 he was, now, absolutely — penniless ! 
 
 It was when the eleventh week began, and the 
 dreaded Monday morning returned, Avhen his weekly 
 lodging-rent should be paid, that Ned stealthily 
 descended from his attic, and passed, unobserved by 
 his landlady, from the front door, to wander he knew 
 not whither — except to avoid shame. By the Marsh 
 Gate he passed, and through the New Cut, and over 
 Blackfriars' Bridge, and, losing the remembrance of 
 v/here he was, he wandered from street to street, till, 
 suddenly, in Old Street, he -was awoke to the sense of 
 delight — a feeling he had long been a stranger to 
 
 V.' CJ Cj O
 
 NED WILCOM. 37 
 
 — by seeing a half-crown at the edge of the pave- 
 ment, as he sauntered along with his head dropped 
 on his chest. He snatched it up with inconceivable 
 eagerness : no one was near to whom he could sup- 
 pose it belonged, had his necessity permitted him to 
 think of asking for its proper owner ; and galled by 
 a complete abstinence of two wdiole days, he hurried 
 to the very first appearance of food that met his 
 eye — a stall of coarse shell-fish. 
 
 " How d'ye sell them ? — what d'ye call them ? " 
 were the questions he put to the poor ragged man 
 who stood by this stall of strange vendibles that 
 Ned had seen poverty-stricken children and females 
 stand to eat, but had never tasted them himself. 
 
 *'Ve calls 'em vilks, sir," answered the man, 
 " six a penny : shall I open ye a penn'orth o' fresh 
 uns, sir ? " 
 
 " Oh ! these will do — let me have a dozen," said 
 JSFcd Wilcom, and seized, and devoured a couple in a 
 moment. 
 
 " La ! stop, sir ! " cried the man — " you vants wi- 
 negar to 'em ! " — and he took the old broken bottle 
 of earthenware, with the cork and a hole in it, and 
 would fain have poured some of the horrible adulter- 
 ation upon the shell-fish, but the very smell of it was 
 too much for the youth's senses. He devoured the 
 dozen ; but though tlic first mouthful had seemed 
 delicious, he had some difficulty in gulping the last ;
 
 38 NED WILCOM. 
 
 and had not proceeded twenty paces from the stall, 
 after receivino; the chano-e for his half-crown, be- 
 fore he felt half overcome with sickness and nausea. 
 He was about to pass by a dram-shop — but the 
 thought suddenly struck him that a small glass of 
 brandy would dispel the sickness ; and he stepped in 
 and called for one. An elderly female was sipping 
 a very small glass of liquoi', when Ned crossed the 
 threshold, but passed out immediately, after giving 
 him a keen glance, as he gave his call, and laid a 
 shilling on the dram-shop counter. By this woman 
 he was immediately accosted, Avhen he quitted the 
 dram-shop : — 
 
 " Have you taken coffee this morning, sir ? " said 
 she, with a short courtesy : " I shall be happy to ac- 
 commodate you, if you have not, sir : my house is 
 just here, sir " — and so saying, she led the way into 
 Bath Street, at the corner of St. Luke's, and Ned, 
 half- helplessly, followed ; for though the brandy had 
 dispelled the sickness, it seemed to have given a 
 wolvish strength to his two days' hunger. 
 
 A younger female, tawdrily clad, but possessing 
 features of sufficient power to attract Ned's espe- 
 cial gaze, was the only apparent occupant of the 
 low habitation into which the elderly woman led the 
 way. Breakfast was speedily prepared, in a some- 
 what humble mode, but Ned was too hungry to be 
 delicate. The younger woman was soon engaged
 
 NED WILCOM. 39 
 
 SO freely and familiarly in conversation with the 
 youth, as to venture a mirthful observation on his 
 good appetite. Ned's heart glowed too warmly with 
 the fitful delight of having found the half-crown and 
 the means of a breakfast, to permit him to cultivate 
 secrecy. He told it outright — the fact that he had 
 fasted two days, and found the half-crown but half 
 an hour before on the pavement. What will not the 
 tongue tell, when the heart has been suddenly and 
 unexpectedly unbondaged, though it be but tempo- 
 rarily, from deep-during sorrow ? 
 
 And then, of course, that confession led to others, 
 and the whole story of Ned's life and parentage, of 
 his sickness and harsh treatment, and of his sufferings 
 and deprivations, till that moment, were unfolded. 
 And then came the formidable question — What 
 did he now intend to do? — and it was one that 
 brought back the full sense of his misery, for his 
 half-crown was reduced already to a shilling ; and he 
 knew not what must become of him when that was 
 spent — unless he stood in the streets to beg ! 
 
 The evil moment that was to seal Ned's ruin was 
 come. The elderly female at a glance given her by 
 the younger, which the youth's misery prevented his 
 observing, threw on her shawl, and went out. — 
 
 She returned — but it was after two hours had 
 passed ; and Ned Wilcom, who, when he entered 
 London, believed himself heir to a gentleman's for- 
 tune and rank, had become the slave of a prostitute.
 
 40 XED WILCOM. 
 
 and had pledged himself to take lessons from her in 
 the practice of dishonesty. That very afternoon, he 
 entered on his gnilty profession: she hung on his 
 arm, and as they entered a crowded thoroughfare she 
 taught him to purloia, successirely, a handkerchief, a 
 book, and a watch, from the pockets of passengers. 
 
 The perfect security with which his first thefts 
 were accomplished, and the galling remembrance of 
 his past indignities, added to the new fascination 
 above mentioned, stifled the reproaches of Xed ^Vil- 
 com's conscience, when the hour of reflection came. 
 He advanced in the downward path, until he became 
 a daring burglar, and a skilful adept at swindling, 
 under the name of card-playing, in addition to his 
 more petty practice on pockets. Some idea of his 
 sons fate, at length reached the brutal and sordid 
 mind of Wilcom the elder. He commissioned a 
 friend, two or three times, on his London journies, to 
 make strict inquiry as to the accuracy of the reports 
 concerning Xed. The youth avoided the search as 
 much as possible, but could not prevent the truth 
 from reaching his native town. 
 
 The catastrophe approached in another year. The 
 papers contained an account of Xed's apprehension 
 for a series of daring robberies: his father's acquaint- 
 ances boldly and honestly reprehended his unparental 
 cruelty : and though the ^lammon-worshipping 
 wretch was unmoved for some time, at lensrth he 
 dashed up to town to " see what all the noise was
 
 NED WILCOM. 41 
 
 about,'* as he said. He arriyed soon enoiigh to see 
 his son at the bar as a degraded criminal ; and before 
 he had gazed upon him for more than five minutes, 
 heard him sentenced to transportation for life I Xed 
 •vras immediately reconducted to his cell, while his 
 father fell, senseless, in the Court : and though he 
 was taken home to Leeds the following week, it was 
 to be a helpless, doating pandytic, and a proverb to 
 the end of his life.
 
 42 
 
 LONDON 'VENTURE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE OLD STORY OVER AGAIN. 
 
 It was in the year '39, a little before the "Dog-cart 
 Nuisance/' as it used to be called, was abolished in 
 Loudon, that Ingram Wilson had some curious 
 thoughts as he stood looking at a very old and 
 interesting dog, in one of the by-streets of the 
 Borough. — Ingi-am Wilson, it ought to have been 
 first said, was a young man who had forsaken an 
 engagement on a thriving newspaper in an opulent 
 agricultural district, and had " come up to London," 
 partly through a slight disagreement with his former 
 patron, but chiefly through a vivid persuasion, that 
 London was the only true starting point for " a man 
 of genius," a title to which young Ingram laid 
 claim. Now, this claim had never been questioned 
 by any one in the country, and Ingram thought 
 every one would as readily acknowledge it in the 
 metropolis. How could Ingram Wilson help think-
 
 LONDON 'venture, 43 
 
 ing so, when every body had asked him, for three 
 years, " why he did not go to London, and make 
 his fortune?" But, good lack ! when Ingram ar- 
 rived in London, and had stared at all the lions 
 for three days, he began to feel himself in a desart, 
 even amidst thousands. He knew nobody, and 
 nobody knew him. He stept into two or three 
 newspaper offices, stationers' shops, and booksellers' 
 little warehouses, asking questions about an engage- 
 ment; but people looked at him so suspiciously, 
 that he grew afraid of asking further. He looked 
 at the Times, and the Herald, and the Chronicle 
 every morning, in one coffee -house or other — 
 walked to this place and that — or wrote letters of 
 application, in answer to advertisements, but all 
 was in vain : two months fled entirely, and he had 
 not received a single hour's employ, or earned one 
 farthing in London ; and he Avas now reduced to his 
 last sovereign ! 
 
 Feeling the necessity of an instant resort to the 
 strictest and most prudential economy, he quitted 
 his lodgings, and found one, (a beggarly bed, a 
 chair, and broken table, in a fifth floor,) at eighteen- 
 pence a week. All day he was out, and sometimes 
 dined on threepenn'orth of boiled beef and potatoes, 
 and sometimes he didn't : however, he contrived 
 to make the sovereign last one more month, for he 
 still found no employ. And now he Avas come to 
 selling or pawning — what he had never been driven
 
 44 LONDON Venture. 
 
 to before. In his life. His books none of the pawn- 
 brokers would have : they were an article that 
 could be turned to no account, if not redeemed. So 
 Ingram pawned his watch ; but for so small a sum, 
 that though he was still more economical, he could 
 only stretch another month on the "lent money," 
 as he called it, little supposing he would never see 
 the watch again. And then went extra articles of 
 clothing, till he could go no farther. And Avhen 
 six months were gone, part of his books were gone 
 likewise ; but they were sold at comparatively waste- 
 paper price at the second-hand booksellers. 
 
 It was then, at the expiration of six months' 
 trial of London, without having foimd one hour's 
 employ, and when he had reduced his clothes till he 
 looked "shabby," and had not half-a-dozen books 
 left that would fetch him the value of another week's 
 subsistence at the book-stalls ; — it was then that 
 young Ingram Wilson had " some curious thoughts 
 as he stood looking at a veiy old and interesting 
 dog, in one of the by-streets of the Borough." 
 
 Ingram had been much disgusted with every dog- 
 cart he had seen before ; for he was driven to mo- 
 ralise, almost by necessity, as he wandered about 
 from street to street ; and he had made many a 
 notch in his mind about costermongers ridino- on 
 the front of their dog-carts in a morning, " four- 
 in-hand," and all in a row, yelping as they galloped 
 under the lash of the whip ; and how much they
 
 LONDON 'venture. 45 
 
 must resemble Esquimaux emperors and Kam- 
 scliatka princes, if there were any ; and of the 
 wieked glee of the rascally young sweeps who 
 would rattle down Blackfriars' Road, and St. George's 
 Road, and other roads of an evening, racing one 
 against another — " taking home " the one-dog shay 
 of some cat's meat man or dealer in greens, who 
 had thus committed his chariot and animals to these 
 sooty Jehus, Avhile he himself staid at some favourite 
 resort to smoke and tipple " heavy wet " till mid- 
 night. I say, young Ingram Wilson had made 
 many a notch in his mind about these, and other 
 dog-cart phenomena ; but he had never felt so much 
 melancholy intei-est in looking at a dog in a cart, as 
 he felt in lookino; at this " verv old and interestino; 
 dog." 
 
 There might be something in the way in which 
 his attention was first aroused to look at the dog. 
 He liad just entered this by-street, and was so 
 much absorbed in reflecting on his own increasingly 
 perilous circumstances, that he had not even noticed 
 the name of the street (though this was a joractice 
 he usually attended to so punctually, that he grew 
 quite familiar with numerous localities during the 
 six months) : — he merely saw that it was a street of 
 some length, with a ground- story room to every 
 house on the right hand, — what would be termed a 
 cellar in the country, — fenced off by neat palisades 
 from the flagged pavement. His reverie was broken
 
 46 LONDON 'venture. 
 
 suddenly, by the shrill, and peculiarly disagreeable, 
 and well-known cry " Cat's m-e-a-t ! " and the man 
 jumped from his vehicle, the dog stood stock still, 
 and almost along the Avholc line of the street, cats 
 white, and black, and tabby, and tortoiseshell, were 
 suddenly at the palisades of the houses, setting up 
 their backs and tails, and uttering a shrill " mew ! " 
 Ingram was a little struck with this ; but still more 
 with a fine large black tom-cat, that leaped from 
 the palisade of the house where the cart was stand- 
 ing, and ran under the old dog's head. Setting up 
 his back and tail, he passed under the head of the 
 dog again and again, so coaxingly and soothingly, 
 and uttered so kindly sympathetic a "purr," every 
 time that he passed backward and forward, and the 
 poor aged dog arched his neck, and hung his ears 
 forward, and bent down to receive the soft rub of'' 
 the cat's back under his chin, and looked so grate- 
 ful, that Ingram stood still, and pondered curiously 
 on this display of sympathy between brute creatures 
 — a quality that he began to think scarce among 
 human beings. 
 
 The poor old dog looked almost like a bag of 
 leather, with a collection of old bones in it : he was 
 so gaunt and worn, and the hair was so much chafed 
 off, in sundry places with his harness; and, more- 
 over, his back and limbs were so crooked and bent, 
 that Ingram felt sure the dog had known no slight 
 portion of slavery in his day. And, perhaps, he had
 
 LONDON 'venture. 47 
 
 a hard master, and no one sympathised with him but 
 this black tom-cat, thought the poverty-stricken phi- 
 losopher — but who sympathises with me ? That was 
 his only sour thought, but it did not abide with 
 him. The man returned to the cart, said, " Go on ! " 
 and the dog went on; but none of the other cats 
 came to rub under the old doo-'s head. Injrram felt 
 he was attracting the man's frowning notice, by 
 standing to look at the dog, and so he walked on 
 to think. 
 
 " The world is not all misery for that poor old 
 dog," thought Ingram, as he w^alked on : " very 
 likely, the few minutes' pleasure he receives every 
 morning from the gentle sympathy of the black tom- 
 cat renders him happily forgetful of the labour and 
 hardness of the remaining part of the day. And 
 yet, the poor old dog looked as if he were poorly 
 fed ; and what a mortification it must be to be carry- 
 ing food to the cats, and have so little himself: al- 
 ways in the smell of it, but never or seldom to 
 taste : almost as bad as Tantalus steeped to the very 
 chin, and most likely drenched through the skin, and 
 yet dry as a fish ! There is a something that pleases 
 me, however, very much, in this act of the kind, 
 brotherly tom-cat," said Ingram to himself, " and 
 I'll see this sight ao-ain." 
 
 And Ingram saw the sight again, for he took care 
 to walk in the same neighbourhood for the three 
 mornings following, and felt increasing pleasure in
 
 48 LONDON 'venture. 
 
 witnessing the black tom-cat rub his back under the 
 poor old dog's chin, while the dog looked each morn- 
 ing as richly gratified as ever. Ingram Wilson was 
 satisfied that if those few minutes' pleasure did not 
 form a compensation for the poor dog's every day's 
 pain, they went very far towards it. 
 
 But the circumstance of a pale, handsome young 
 man, though rather seediiy dressed, coming through 
 that particular street every morning, for four morn- 
 ings, at the same hour, and standing to look at that 
 old dog and tom-cat, was an occurrence not likely 
 to go unnoticed in London, where people notice 
 every minute circumstance in a way that much sur- 
 prised Ingram Wilson, when he first began to find it 
 out, for he had calculated on a very different sort of 
 feeling in that respect. Nothing, indeed, annoyed 
 him so much as the keen impudent stare of strangers, 
 full in his face, and for several seconds : for Ingram 
 did not reflect that he must be staring equally hard, 
 or he would not know that other people were staring 
 at him. And nothing pestered him more than to 
 observe passengers smile and talk to their companions, 
 as they observed Ingram's lips move, when some 
 thought passed through his mind earnestly ; and yet 
 he forgot how much he had been struck with that 
 circumstance, above every thing, when he first walked 
 along Cheapside, and Ludgate and Fleet Streets, and 
 the Strand : the very great number of people who 
 talked to themselves as they walked alone, and even
 
 LONDON Venture. 49 
 
 motioned with their hands in the most earnest 
 manner. 
 
 Ingram had been closely observed, and the ob- 
 servance, on the fourth morning, produced him an 
 adventure. He was turning to move on, at the end 
 of his fourth soliloquy on the dog-and-cat spectacle, 
 when a tall gentlemanly person, with a cane, stepped 
 from the house Avhere the tom-cat ran in, and seemed 
 bent on walking along the street in Ingram's com- 
 pany. 
 
 " A fine morning, sir, " said the gentleman : " you 
 seemed to be interested with our fine old cat and his 
 way of saying, ' How d'ye do ? ' to the old dog, every 
 mornina;." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I was," answered Ingram, " somewhat 
 pleased with the pretty expression, as he thought it, 
 of the gentleman, and the silvery voice in which he 
 spoke. 
 
 *' Ay, sir, there's more kindness among dumb 
 creatures tlian we think of," rejoined the gentleman : 
 " much more, I'm inclined to think, than amongst 
 human beings." 
 
 " Do you think so, sir ? " asked Ingram ; for the 
 observation awoke a vague painfulncss that he did 
 not like, at once, to express to a stranger. 
 
 " AVhy, have you found nothing but kindness, 
 young man, in the world, hitherto ? " said the stranger, 
 with a look that Ingram tliouglit so benevolent as 
 to be completely melted by it. " Have you found 
 
 VOL. IL c
 
 50 LONDON 'venture. 
 
 nothing but kindness, now, in London, permit me to 
 ask ? You are from the country, I think ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Ingram, feeling too much at 
 work with regret within to say more. 
 
 " Seeking for a situation, and finding none, per- 
 haps ? " continued the gentleman ; " and — but I 
 shall, perhaps, be obtruding where I have no right 
 — perhaps, beginning to feel it difficult to subsist?" 
 
 Ingram looked volumes, but could not reply : he 
 had lived on two cups of muddy coffee and a roll, 
 daily, for the last month, and this was the first 
 and only human being who had troubled himself 
 to ask him a question relative to his circumstances. 
 Ingram was next invited, very, very kindly, to re- 
 turn to the stranger's house ; and he could not muster 
 pride enough to refuse. There was one face at the 
 window, which had been there every one of the four 
 mornings that Ingram had passed, although he had 
 not seen it ; but he saw it now, and he thought it 
 the sweetest he had ever seen ; and, indeed, it was 
 looking very angelically just then, when he caught 
 the first glimpse of it. 'Twas an expression that 
 said, " Oh ! he's come back, just as I wished ! " — if 
 Ingram could have read it, 
 
 Ingram Wilson had found a friend: not a rich 
 one, as he speedily found, but a human being with a 
 heart — a real heart — and IngTam could not have 
 found any thing more valuable had he searched the 
 world over. After partaking a good plain breakfast
 
 LONDON 'venture. 51 
 
 — for, although the forenoon was advanced, the poor 
 young fellow had not, till then, broken his fast — 
 Ingram composed his spirits, and, at the request of 
 his new friend — his first London friend — related 
 the cause and intent of his leaving the country. His 
 course of suffering in London he touched upon but 
 slightly at first ; but the gentleman gradually and 
 Avinningly drew the entire truth from him, and then 
 proceeded, with a paternal look, to give Ingram some 
 little advice as to the future. 
 
 " You have only erred as hundreds have erred 
 before you," he said : — " hundreds ! " I might 
 have said thousands ; for it is not merely through 
 the persuasion that they shall be able to attain 
 eminence in literature that the young come on 
 adventure to London. A sort of universal romantic 
 idea pervades the minds of most young people with 
 regard to the capital; and, indeed, it is the same 
 almost all over Europe, and, for any thing I know to 
 the contraxy, all over the world. I am sure, how- 
 ever, that the feeling is equally strong, and I think 
 stronger in France. All young French people have 
 an idea that Paris is the only place wherein to attain 
 their wishes. With the same impression, all young 
 people imagine, if they can only struggle up to 
 London, they shall make something out in the world. 
 Alas ! thousands reach this overgrown hive, merely 
 to starve and die In it ; and they are fortunate who 
 can find their way back into the country without
 
 52 LONDON VENTURE. 
 
 falling victims to their own romance. Now, permit 
 me to ask — and yet, your own account of the little 
 rupture of good feeling between your former patron 
 and yourself almost answers the question before- 
 hand — did you bring with you any note of intro- 
 duction or recommendation to any person in London?" 
 
 Ingram answered, that the thought had presented 
 itself before he left the country, that a note of in- 
 troduction from his patron to certain newspaper 
 offices might be serviceable, but pride and temporary 
 anger had prevented his asking the favour. 
 
 Ingram's new friend shook his head, but looked 
 compassionately upon the lad, and told him nothing 
 could be done without an introduction in London : 
 it was what every one looked for who received an 
 application, and what every body must be furnished 
 with who made one. 
 
 The youth caught eagerly at the Information, and 
 said he could yet obtain a note of introduction — 
 and he thought more than one — from the country : — 
 such notes, too, as he thought must certainly be 
 available in procuring him an engagement on some of 
 the leading periodicals : or, perhaps, an offer for an 
 independent work ; and he had several tales and 
 romances begun. 
 
 The gentleman smiled, but soon warned Ingram, 
 in a serious tone, not to depend so sanguinely on 
 what he had not tried. " I said that nothiniy could 
 be done without an introduction," he continued ; " but
 
 LONDON 'venture. 53 
 
 I did not tell yoii that introductions were always suc- 
 cessful in bringing benefits to those who presented 
 them." 
 
 However, Ingram's constitution did not permit 
 him to sober down without experience, when once an 
 idea had seized him. The gentleman quickly per- 
 ceived it ; for he had partaken of the same tempera- 
 ment in youth, although he had cooled down by age and 
 disappointment. He did not use further dissuasion, 
 then ; but permitted Ingram to retire to his lodgings 
 to write the letters he began to talk about, with hope 
 beaming so lucidly in his face, and only pressed him 
 cordially to sup with him in the evening. Ingram 
 retired, shaking hands fervently and gratefully with 
 the gentleman and his elderly lady, and then with 
 the daughter — and saw nothing, mentally, all the 
 way to his lodgings, but the sweet face of her whose 
 hand he had last shaken. A thousand visions suc- 
 ceeded during that day as he wrote the letters — 
 thought ao-ain and again of the beautiful face — took 
 the letters to the post-office — and, in the evening, 
 a2;ain saw the sweet face, and talked with the sensible 
 gentleman, and received his kind hospitality. 
 
 The gentleman ventured to give a hint that he 
 himself had influence enough to help Ingram to some 
 occasional employ as a copyist at the British Mu- 
 seum ; but Ingram had, all along, most romantically 
 resolved to aim at something more dignified ; and, in 
 his present sanguine mood, in spite of his poverty, he 
 
 c 3
 
 54 LONDON 'VENTUEE. 
 
 gave no ear to tlie gentleman's hint. So tlie gen- 
 tleman did not repeat his hint ; but reserved it, for 
 an occasion when, he feared, it Avould become but too 
 acceptable to the young man. 
 
 A week passed, and Ingram breakfasted at ten, 
 and supped at eight, every morning and evening of 
 the term, with the gentleman and his wife and 
 daughter. The week was one of immense anxiety 
 to Ingram when he was at his own lodgings, or wan- 
 dering in the street ; but it was productive of real 
 pleasure, in the shape of solid information and advice 
 from the kind gentleman ; and it gave a commence- 
 ment to a mutual and avowed attachment between 
 the youth and the gentleman's beautiful and gentle 
 dauo-hter. 
 
 At the end of a week, two letters of introduction 
 arrived : one to the M. P. who represented the 
 borous;h in which Ino-ram had resided, and to whose 
 cause he had rendered some service in his foi'mer 
 newspaper capacity ; the other was from a baronet, 
 Ingram had also served in a similar mode, to a literary 
 man of some eminence ; in fact, the M. P. Avas also 
 an eminent litterateur, so that Ingram's hopes grew 
 large and fervid. The gentleman advised moder- 
 ation ; but Ingram could not observe it : his con- 
 stitution, as yet, was master of his reason. He was 
 smilingly received by the literary man ; but he could 
 not help observing that the literary man smiled more 
 as he read the baronet's letter, than at his, Ingram's,
 
 LONDON 'venture. 55 
 
 application. He was begged politely to call again. 
 He did call again — and again — and again — before 
 he found the literary man once more " at home." 
 The event was a recommendation to wait on a small 
 publisher, who had commenced a small periodical, and 
 wanted a young man of genius, and all that, to edit 
 it. Ingram went to work in that quarter : — helped 
 to bring out four weekly numbers of the periodical 
 — received one sovereign for his month's labour — 
 and then the thing was stopped, like hundreds of 
 similar ephemera, because " it did not sell." 
 
 The same literary man was visited again, when 
 this engagement failed ; but Ingram left his door in 
 wrath, and never called again; because he smo the 
 literary man enter his own house, while he, Ingram, 
 was but at a dozen yards' distance from it ; and yet 
 the servant affirmed " he was not at home." 
 
 Ingram's better and more magnificent hopes, 
 however, Avere yet undissipated. During his month's 
 harassing and ill-paid labour on the unsuccessful 
 mao-azine, he was awaiting an important decision: 
 at least he believed so. The literary M. P. had also 
 received him with smiles — smiles that Ingram had 
 been inured to at election seasons ; but which, as 
 green as he was, he always felt to be assumed ; 
 for it is the heart, not the understanding, that really 
 judges of the genuineness of a smile. Yet, on the 
 occasion of Ingram's first call at the town residence 
 of the legislator, the smile was so prolonged, that 
 
 c 4
 
 56 LONDOx 'venture. 
 
 Ingram conceived it to be more like a real smile, 
 than the evanescent and valvular-like changes of skin 
 and muscle that the M. P. always seemed to have at 
 such delightful and momentary command while 
 " canvassing " or " retvirning thanks," in the borough 
 he represented. And then the M. P. entered, of his 
 own accord, on the inquiry as to ichat Ingram had 
 written, and begged he would entrust a httle manu- 
 script or two, to his, the M. P.'s, care, and he would 
 place them in the hand of his own publisher, with his 
 own recommendation, if he believed they possessed 
 merit. 
 
 The if shook Ingram a little ; but he, next day, 
 took his best manuscript, and left it at the M. P.'s 
 house, for he was " not at home," like the other lite- 
 rary man, although Ingram really thought he heard 
 his voice, when the servant took in the name of the 
 caller ; but the valet said, " Not at home, sir," when 
 he returned, and so Ingram left the manuscript, and 
 called again next day. To make the story as short 
 as possible, he called fifteen times dui'ing the four 
 weeks, but had only one more interview with the 
 literary M. P. during that term ; and this was the 
 product of it : the M. P. assured Ingram that his 
 manuscript possessed merit, much merit ; that he 
 had left it with his own publisher ; and begged 
 Ingram would call again in a few more days, and 
 he would tell him whether the publisher received it. 
 
 This seemed to Ingram Wilson a very solid foun-
 
 LONDOX 'venture. 57 
 
 datlon for most magnificent hopes. How could a 
 publisher refuse a manuscript which was so highly 
 recommended? and how could the M, P. fail, very 
 highly, to recommend what he himself said " pos- 
 sessed merit, much merit?" Such were Ingram's 
 questions ; and he was a little shocked to see his 
 friend, the kind gentleman, shake his head and give 
 a silent look, Avhen they were proposed in the gentle- 
 man's hearing. 
 
 Another month passed, and the dream was dis- 
 sipated ! Ingram was always answered, " Not at 
 home," when he called at the M. P.'s : his friend, 
 the kind gentleman, called at the publisher's, and 
 learned, most unequivocally, that the publisher had 
 never had such a manuscript prsented to him, either 
 by the M. P. or any other person : Ingram wrote to 
 the M. P., and received his manuscript by a mes- 
 senger, for an answer ; and was only prevented from 
 writing back to tell the M. P. he was a rascal, by the 
 advice, or, rather, authority, for it amounted to that, 
 of his friend, the kind gentleman. 
 
 And now, Ingram, spirit-broken and humbled with 
 what he conceived to be his sanguine and foundation- 
 less folly, vowed to his friend that he would never 
 believe promises in future, and would copy at the 
 Museum, or " do any thing " as a means of obtain- 
 ing a mere livelihood, till he could finish one of his 
 works entirely, and try a publisher by his own ap- 
 plication, and solely on the merits of his production. 
 
 c 5
 
 58 LONDON 'venture. 
 
 The gentleman cheered the youth^ as well as he was 
 able, but Ingram drooped from that time. 
 
 A winter of heartache, inward grief, mortified 
 pride, colds and coughs, and, eventually, consump- 
 tion, succeeded. And then the sweet face of his 
 beloved faded ; and when the spring returned, it did 
 not brino; back the roses to her cheek. 
 
 A summer of toil for little pecuniary reward suc- 
 ceeded that winter, and Ingram received, at length, 
 the appalling information from his friend, the kind 
 gentleman, that he had embarrassed himself by en- 
 tertaining him, for the gentleman was merely a 
 retired half-pay naval oflficer. A look, depicturing 
 such agony as Ingram never saw before, in the face 
 of man, accompanied this declaration on the part of 
 his friend, and Ingram never felt so truly miserable, 
 since he was born, as he felt while witnessing it. 
 
 There was no room for hesitation : Ingram never 
 tasted food in the kind gentleman's house after that 
 avowal. Yet he called every day to exchange words 
 of grateful friendship with the gentleman, words and 
 looks of love with the beautiful being that was fast 
 journeying to the tomb. In mid-winter she died : 
 her delicate constitution, her sensitive fears and 
 griefs for Ingram's fate, combined, were too much 
 for her endurance. 
 
 Ingram drooped, and became a dependent on cha- 
 rity, in an hospital for six weeks ; and then the kind 
 gentleman and his wife followed his corpse to the
 
 LONDON 'venture. 59 
 
 grave, which was dug beside that of their daughter — 
 the beloved of the unfortunate young man of genius ! 
 Will the story prevent or check romance and ad- 
 venture in others ? Ah ! no : more Chattertons will 
 perish, more Otways be choked with a crust, unless 
 human nature becomes unlike its former and present 
 self; ay, and more Shaksperes will prosper, in the 
 ages to come, or, otherwise, the true glory and vigour 
 of the human mind have all gone by, and the future 
 must feed on its dregs ! 
 
 c 6
 
 60 
 
 THE LAD WHO FELT LIKE A FISH 
 OUT OF WATER. 
 
 DiGGORT Lawson was not fond of his baptismal 
 name, and often wondered what in the world had put 
 it into his fathei''s head to give him such a one. But 
 where was the use of grumbling, now the name was 
 inevitably his own ? — was a sensible thought which 
 often passed through the brain of Dig (for his mother 
 used to shorten the awkward name into that still 
 more awkward one of three letters), where was the 
 use of grumbling about it ? His name could not 
 mend him if Nature had marred him, nor could it 
 mar him if Nature had made him fit for any good 
 and useful purpose of existence. 
 
 With such thoughts, though but a very little 
 lad, Diggory used to ramble, when school was up, 
 about pleasant Nottingham, where he was born, and 
 about its charming neighbourhood. His father was 
 only a poor lace-weaver ; bvit an affectionate and 
 almost overweening fondness for their only child 
 rendered his parents prompt to sacrifice any personal
 
 THE LAD LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATER. 61 
 
 comfort, in order to secure liira a respectable portion 
 of education. The lad was, therefore, kept steadily 
 at school. But his father mino:led no little of the 
 eccentric in his constitution, as may be guessed from 
 the name he gave his child, for he had no " family 
 reason " for it ; and so it happened, which was not 
 at all the worse, that the lad was not left to gather 
 his knowledge simply from the dry and barren teach- 
 ing of a day-school. His father was a dabbler in the 
 mathematics, in astronomy, in dialling, in botany 
 and floriculture, in history and antiquities; and so 
 Dig Lawson caught a tincture of each of these know- 
 ledges, at such seasons as his father felt disposed to 
 communicate what he knew of them. 
 
 Nor did the irregularity of communication in his 
 father's fragmentary hints prevent the lad's mind 
 and its stores from takino; a reoular form. That 
 form was somewhat unique, perhaps, but a true 
 philosopher would have thought it symmetrical. The 
 lad did not forget his humble condition : he was 
 never proud : but his thinkings were far more exalted 
 than those of the majority of the children who were, 
 at times, his playmates. The greater part of his 
 leisure was spent in lonely wanderings. And if any 
 locality in England can tend to elevate the senti- 
 ments of its young habitants, one would tliink it to 
 be Nottingham, Such was its effect, however, on 
 the mind of young Dig Lawson : he became a vehicle 
 of noble, though somewhat romantic thinkings, while
 
 62 THE LAD "WHO FELT 
 
 wandering in the meadows by the beautiful Trent, 
 and watching, alternately, the ripple of the stream, 
 or the unfolding of some beautiful flower that grew 
 on its border ; or ramblino; over the wildnernesses of 
 the Forest -ground, so classically English, and giving 
 himself up, for the nonce, to day-dreams of Robin 
 Hood, till he half imagined he saw the merry band 
 tripping over the hill-side among the furze and 
 stunted trees, clad in their Lincoln green, and heard 
 the real sound of bold Robin's bugle ; or climbing 
 the rocks that project round the beautiful park, and 
 looking up at " Mortimer's Hole " in the castled cliff, 
 and picturing the chivalrous attack on the concealed 
 traitor by the mailed bands of the third Edward ; or 
 creeping among the strange-looking Druid caves on 
 the border of the silver Lene, and conjuring up in his 
 imagination the white-bearded priests crowned with 
 oak, and bearing the " mistletoe bough," and chant- 
 ing the hymn to the sun or moon, while a croAvd of 
 painted Britons struck up the chorus " Derry-down." 
 Less florid but more substantial thinkings often oc- 
 cupied him, when he watched the last rays of the 
 setting sun tint up the windows of the modern build- 
 ing called " the Castle" (the unruly Radicals had 
 not blackened it then,) and remembered how, on its 
 memorable rock, the fated Stuart first unfurled the 
 standard of war against his own people and parlia- 
 ment, and how unweariedly the high-souled and in- 
 corruptible Hutchinson sustained the harassments of
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATER. 63 
 
 petty faction so long on the same spot. These more 
 weighty thoughts, especially, visited him as his boy- 
 hood began to ripen into youth. And as soon as his 
 understanding began to mature, and he became 
 capable of combining the useful with the comely, in 
 his delights and preferences, he could derive almost 
 as much pleasure from a walk round the splendid 
 area of the market-place of his native town, as from 
 a stroll In the park, or by the Trent. He was often 
 told there was no market-place like it in England ; 
 and he felt as proud of Its superb space and neat 
 ornamental piazzas, as If he were a man, and owner of 
 half the buildings round it. Diggory Lawson, there- 
 fore, had not yet become " the lad who felt like a 
 fish out of water." 
 
 Neither did Dig at all resemble such an unfortu- 
 nate animal for the three years, that is to say, from 
 fourteen to seventeen, that he passed at his father's 
 humble trade. Every leisure season was spent In 
 literature ; and he had not only read some hundreds 
 of volumes by the time tliat he had reached the age 
 of seventeen, but he had made some attempts at ori- 
 ginal composition that were by no means contemp- 
 tible. The lad was happy enough, and was likely to 
 make a happy and useful man, had " Luck " — that 
 spirit with so questionable a name — kept out of his 
 father's way, and thereby prevented the father from 
 placing himself in Dig's way. 
 
 The brilliant but evanescent " Bobbin-net " specu-
 
 64 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 lation sprung up, like a forest of mushrooms — Avith 
 an immense surface of promise, but very slender 
 stalk for continuance — in the town of Nottingham. 
 Diggory's father was just the man to jump into a 
 new scheme ; and he really jumped into the bobbin- 
 net speculation to some purpose, apparently, for he 
 realised a thousand pounds' profit in twelve months. 
 Such " luck," of course, determined him to continue 
 in the pursuit of money, in the same line ; but he 
 was seized, alas ! with a vehement resolution to make 
 Dig iiito a o;entleman ! 
 
 The large admixture of whimsicality in his father's 
 composition, however, left Diggory's destiny in a 
 very nondescript condition for some time ; since his 
 ideas of the exactest, best, and fittest way of making 
 his lad into the tiling he thought of were none of the 
 clearest, and most fixed. One step, and one only, 
 could Dig's father determine upon — and that was — 
 that Dig should work no more ! No : he could work 
 himself, and could make as much money as ever Dig 
 would want as long as he lived : but Dig shouldn't 
 work ; and his mother said, " No, that he shouldn't," 
 when she heard her husband say so ; and so Dig was 
 compelled, as the neighbours said, to " drop it " — 
 and to lay aside his every-day clothes, and put on his 
 Sunday ones, and to consider that, from tliat day 
 forth, he had done working with his hands — to the 
 end of his life. 
 
 Well : for a lad of seventeen, who was so fond of
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF AVATEK. 65 
 
 books and of sentimentalising by the Trent, and in 
 the Park, and as far as Clifton Grove, this was, cer- 
 tainly, for the first week, a glorious state of existence. 
 But, somehow or other, the second holyday week, in 
 Sunday clothes every day, was not so happy as the 
 first ; and when the third arrived — then Diggory 
 Lawson, for the first time in his life, became " the 
 lad who felt like a fish out of water." The river did 
 not look so beautiful and silvery; nor the flowers so 
 lovely, nor the Park so green ; in brief. Dig was tired 
 of all he saw, and all he read, and tired even of him- 
 self ; and he told his father and mother so outright. 
 But la ! the mother had an answer for Dig so nicely 
 opportune that she was in ecstacies to tell it — for 
 she was sure it was a piece of such excellent " luck." 
 Mrs. Strutabout, the lace-merchant's lady (who had 
 a large family of unmarried daughters), had sent so 
 politely to say that she would be very happy to see 
 young Mister Lawson to tea that afternoon — and 
 they were such respectable people ! Dig's father 
 said, " Capital ! just the thing ! " when he heard it ; 
 for he felt instantaneously sure — and indeed all his 
 convictions ran by fits and starts — that thatwsis cer- 
 tainly a step towards making Dig into a gentleman. 
 An introduction to genteel society, to " respectable " 
 company — what could be finer ? 
 
 Diggory himself, however, hung his head, and felt 
 shy about it, for he had never been " out to tea " be- 
 fore, in his life. But his father said, " Pshaw ! you
 
 66 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 young sliame-face ! you must shake all that off: re- 
 member I intend you to be as respectable a man as 
 any of 'em ! " And the mother reminded Diggory 
 that he would be sure to hear some music, for the 
 young ladies Strutabout were thumping away on the 
 piano from morning to night ; you might hear them 
 any hour of the day that you went by the front- 
 room windows. It Avas the last hint that enabled 
 Diggory to master his bashfulness ; for although he 
 knew not a note scientifically, nor could he play on 
 any instrument, yet his love of music amounted to a 
 passion. 
 
 And so, at five o'clock in the afternoon, Dig 
 knocked, with a heart pit-a-pat, at the front-door of 
 the merchant Strutabout, and was immediately wel- 
 comed in, and received, in the best room, by Mrs. 
 Strutabout herself, so smilingly — and by the half 
 dozen Misses Strutabout, so sweetly — that he hardly 
 knew where he was with the novelty of so much 
 genteel welcome. One of the young ladies, so gently 
 and winningly, took his hat, saying, " Pray let me 
 take your hat. Mister Lawson ! " — for poor Diggory, 
 in his plainness, had brought it into the room, and, 
 for the life of him did not know where to put it ! 
 And then " the infinite deal of nothings " that the 
 young ladies talked for a full half hour — Mrs. Strut- 
 about herself retiring, and saying so politely, " She 
 hoped Mister Lawson would excuse her a short 
 time," — and poor Diggory's difficulty in framing
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATER. 67 
 
 answers about nothing ! If they had talked of any- 
 body he knew from books, either of Socrates or 
 Alexander, of Cicero or Cresar, of Wat Tyler or 
 John of Gaunt, of Hampden or Lord Chatham, of 
 Marlborough or Napoleon ; or of anybody that was 
 " worth talking about," as he said to himself; or of 
 any thing, or place, or substance, of which any thing 
 could be said that was sensible, Diggory could have 
 talked, ay, and in good, thundering, long-syllabled 
 w^ords, too, as well as any man or youth in the three 
 kingdoms. But to take up a full half-hour in prat- 
 tlino; about — Lord ! he could not describe it when he 
 returned home, it was such infantile sort of stuff as 
 he had never supposed mortals uttered in " respect- 
 able " or any other sort of society ! Diggory Lawson 
 was, indeed, during that half-hour, " the lad tlrnt felt 
 like a fish out of water." 
 
 At length, Mrs. Strutabout sailed in with her high 
 turban cap, and her wide- spread swelling dress, more 
 smilingly than ever, and the tea was brought in, and 
 Mr. Strutabout arrived from the counting-house, and 
 places began to be taken, and Mister Lawson Avas 
 " begged " to come to the table, " unless he chose to 
 take a cup where he was." Diggory stared at the 
 addition to the invitation. And it was well for him 
 that ]Mr. Strutabout jumped up, and began to urge 
 him to the table, for had they handed Dig a cup of 
 tea with cake, as he sat in the recess by the window, 
 he Avould have been in a woful pucker, no doubt.
 
 68 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 As it wasj he was in trouble enough. Poor Dig- 
 gory ! he took his tea every day in a basin at home, 
 and held up a book before it, devouring the contents 
 of the volume far more eagerly than his food ; and it 
 Avas a cruel piece of ambition in his mother and father 
 to thrust him upon " respectable" society so unthink- 
 ingly. It may seem strange to fine drawing-room 
 people, but with all Dig's knowledge, and as old as 
 he was, the silver tea-spoon bothered him so inde- 
 scribably, in the cup, that he knew not what to do ; 
 yet he durst not put it out upon the tray, because he 
 saw, by peeping aside with his head down, that no one 
 else did so. The eldest Miss Strutabout saw this, 
 and would have liked to show him how to place the 
 spoon neatly under the side of his forefinger, but 
 then, it would be so strange a thing to tell him at 
 table. As for the younger misses they were much 
 disposed to giggle at poor Dig's awkwardness, only 
 the mother looked gentle daggers at them, and re- 
 strained their lightness. The good lady strove to 
 hide Diggory's blunders, and the merchant engaged 
 the youth in general talk on trade and business, so 
 as to enable him to get through with the appearance 
 that he was too much taken up with the conversation 
 to attend to table etiquette. But for all this good 
 service and kindly interference, Diggory Lawson, 
 while at Mrs. Strutabout's tea-table, was indeed, 
 and of a truth, " the lad who felt like a fish out of 
 water."
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATER. 69 
 
 The mortal agony was at last ended ; and Diggory 
 began to hope that he would reap some little enjoy- 
 ment from his stay the remainder of the evening, 
 since the piano was mentioned. But, lackadaisy I 
 the young ladies thumped and rattled, till Dig- 
 thought it was any thing but music ; and as for their 
 sino-inn- — so unlike the simple ditties of the milk- 
 maids, under the cows, which he used to listen in 
 the early summer mornings by the " pasture Trent," 
 with the skylark carolling overhead — so much like 
 the midnight melody of some stray grimalkin w^as 
 the sinirino; of the Misses Strutabout, that it made 
 Dig wish himself, over and over again, five miles out 
 of hearing of it. He must endure it, however, since 
 he dare not offend the family by suddenly Avith- 
 drawing, they were so " respectable : " nay, more, 
 he was compelled to praise, for at the end of every 
 overture, or solo, or duet, he was asked " how he 
 liked that ?" or " what he thought of that ? " and the 
 poor lad was compelled to torture his tongue into the 
 utterance of commendations on wdiat he began actu- 
 ally to loathe, until the announcement of supper gave 
 a momentary suspension to his discontent. And 
 merely momentary was his ease, for the confounded 
 ceremoniousness of the supper plagued him worse than 
 the etiquette of the tea-table ; and passing over the 
 mention of all his blushes and throbbings, under the 
 consciousness that he knew nothing about the niceties 
 of this second eating process, let us come at once to
 
 70 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 the end of the adventure, and say that Avhen he had 
 fairly stepped into the street at ten o'clock, and 
 when, after unnumbered polite adieus, the door of 
 the merchant Strutabout was closed behind him, 
 Diggory Lawson drew in a full breath of air with a 
 feeling of thankfulness similar to that of one who 
 passes out of a prison after a twelvemonth's confine- 
 ment. 
 
 Very gleefully did Dig's mother salute her boy 
 when he came home, and his father not less proudly ; 
 but how queer they felt, when the poor lad told them 
 he had " felt like a fish out of water ! " And when 
 Diggory had given them such a brief account of his 
 treat, as his dislike would permit, they looked at 
 each other, and began to think, and to remember, that 
 " they ought to have known that the lad would 
 meet with fine manners that he was unused to at 
 home." But Dig's father told him to " cheer up," 
 for he would know better how to go on another 
 time. But Diggory, inwardly, felt indisposed to 
 try another time ; yet he did not say so, and so the 
 affair passed over. 
 
 Now Diggory's mother knew no more about the 
 right way of making the lad into a gentleman than 
 the father ; but she began to grow greatly distressed 
 at observing tlie lad's restlessness and disquietude, 
 for the hours and days went over Diggory's head 
 more heavily the longer he was idle. So she seriously 
 took her husband to task, as they say in Netting-
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATER. 71 
 
 hamshlre, about his delay in determining how Dig 
 Avas to begin to be a gentleman. Her discourse 
 would have rendered the poor man very uneasy, 
 indeed, had not " luck " extricated him from his 
 dilemma on the next day succeeding the curtain 
 lecture. 
 
 In his new manufacture, Diggory Lawson's father 
 did business with a Londoner : this personage made 
 his quarterly call at the very moment when his 
 customer was so much intent on the great problem 
 as to display much concern in his face. A shrewd 
 question was ]3ut : Dig's father told his trouble, 
 and the cockney gave most instantaneous advice how 
 the thing was to be done, as soon as he had been 
 informed of what was so much desired. " The 
 young man must be had out to travel," he said; 
 " he would procure him a ' highly respectable ' 
 situation as a genteel commercial traveller for a house 
 in town : tlLat Avas the way to set him off in the 
 world, and make a real gentleman of him, for he 
 would be thrown int9 the very best society ! " 
 
 Such was the cockney's advice ; and it was sincere, 
 too, for the pert little man really believed there was 
 nothing in the world more " highly respectable " than 
 that morsel of vanity — himself ! And then his 
 prate Avas so fluent, so glib, so high sounding, he 
 Avas such a walking vocabulary of commercial phrases, 
 that he completely enfevered Dig's father Avith the 
 persuasion of his cleverness ; and the countryro.an
 
 72 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 yielded to the advice of tlie Londoner, believins: 
 he had been shown the very best way in the world 
 for beginning to make his son into a gentleman. 
 The lad was, it is true, willing to go, he was so weary 
 of the insipidity of his present idleness, and besides, 
 he wanted to see London, and other parts of the 
 country, never having yet quitted his native shire ; 
 but yet his common sense vras a little suspicious, that 
 this was not exactly the way to make him a gentle- 
 man. Still this suspicion on the part of Diggory 
 was no impediment in the way of a trial — for the 
 lad did not so much wish to be a 2;entleman as a 
 man — and he thought a little knowledge of the 
 world would not prevent his progress towards that 
 better climax. 
 
 "Mr. Lawson, the bobbin-net manufacturer," would 
 have had his son fashionably clothed ere he started 
 for town ; but the cockney turned up his nose at 
 the very idea. " It was a thing quite out of cha- 
 racter," he told ]Mr. Lawson : " all the country 
 tailors' fits were reckoned only dresses for scarecrows 
 by the best tailors in town : it wouldn't do at all : he 
 was against it, most decidedly ! " 
 
 Young Diggor}^ therefore, Avas im pursed with a 
 handsome sum, more than sufficient to purchase an 
 outfit in London ; for his father well knew he could 
 trust to his prudence, and was despatched, per mail, 
 to town, in company with the all-sufficient Londoner. 
 A week, or so, was spent, in visiting the various
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATEPv. 73 
 
 public exhibitions, and seeing the sights, — ■ a change 
 of neat suits was purchased (for the lad was too 
 sensible to be fooled into the kickshaw dandy habits 
 which the cockney recommended), — a situation, a 
 " highly respectable " situation, (although but at very 
 low remuneration, a thing of no consequence to Dig- 
 gory,) was procured by the all-sufEcient gentleman ; 
 and off started the new adventurer into Kent, to 
 canvass for orders for a citizen and dry-salter of 
 London. 
 
 The merchant, his employer, had had but one in- 
 terview with him, having engaged him chiefly through 
 a quick impression of his solid intelligence, rather 
 than from the cockney's florid recommendation ; but 
 the cockney gave him a regular " drill,'" as it might 
 be Called in his new profession, before he started 
 out ; and, although the tradesmen upon whom he 
 called perceived that he was a " new beginner," 
 yet his good sense prevented his experiencing any 
 insurmountable difficulty in making his way as a 
 commercial traveller. In feet, Diggory had a much 
 larger stock of theoretical knowledge to enable him 
 to eke out his deficiencies in what was practical, than 
 most young fellows who go out, for the first time, 
 on similar engagements ; and, therefore, it was not 
 as a " greenhorn " among tradesmen, that he was 
 likely to feel " like a fish out of water : " that was 
 not the sort of uneasiness that newlv awaited Diggory 
 Lawson. 
 
 VOL. IL D
 
 74 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 What was it then ? — Nothing less than the old 
 pest in a new form : — etiquette. He had been most 
 cogently admonished by the cockney to take up his 
 quarters at the very best commercial inns in his 
 prescribed route, — or it would let down his employer, 
 disgust customers, and injure his patron's business ; 
 nor had he been less earnestly warned to avoid 
 deporting himself in any way contrary to the rules 
 and customs of gentlemen he would meet with, who 
 were " on the road " like himself, and who had 
 their " highly respectable " established usages. Dlg- 
 gory, like an obedient son, followed his father's 
 monitions, and strove to conduct himself exactly as 
 the Londoner advised and directed. At the first- 
 rate commercial inn in each town he stopped, hasted 
 to canvass the tradesmen, and punctually returned 
 to the inn at the hour when he was told dinner 
 would be on the table in the " Commercial Room." 
 Dlggory, too, being a sharp lad, as the reader knows 
 by this time, bought a book on " Etiquette " and 
 all that sort of thing, while in London : but though 
 he imagined he would be a match for his new com- 
 peers " of the road," he found himself sorely mis- 
 taken, in the very outset, at Maidstone. 
 
 At four, exactly, returned Dlggory to his inn, 
 having despatched considerable business for a mere 
 beginner, and entered the " Commercial Room." A 
 buzz and a general whisper w^ent round, as he en- 
 tered, and no one returned his courteous movement
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATER. 75 
 
 (for lie followed his book) when he performed it ! 
 The company was large, well-dressed, and from the 
 *' bang-up " appearance of the numerous leather 
 i:)ortmanteaus under the side- tables in the room, and 
 the dashing whips and proud cloaks on the hooks, 
 Diggory w^as sure they were, indeed, what the 
 cockney would call " highly respectable " commer- 
 cial gentlemen, or " gentlemen on the road." It 
 was strange, he thought, that they should be so 
 uncourteous. Yet, Diggory observed, that every 
 new comer was received in the same way ; and so he 
 set it down in his memory that it was the wrong time 
 of the day for bows of courtesy among " commercial 
 gentlemen ;" — and that was not a bad idea, either, for 
 so green an observer, — especially as the gentlemen 
 had not dined. 
 
 Dinner Avas brought in, and a tolerably sumptuous 
 affair it was. " Commercial gentlemen," even at the 
 " first-rate commercial inns," don't "cut it quite so fat" 
 (for so vulgar a phrase may be allowed since it will 
 apply to the dinners) now-a-days, as they did then, — 
 since we are speaking of something more than twenty 
 years bygone ; and the last twenty years, Avith their 
 wonderful innovations of railway travelling and in- 
 creased competition, have made woeful alterations 
 among your princely commercial travellers : they were 
 the innkeeper's grandees then: the case is altered 
 now. Diggory, with all his intellectuality and sentl- 
 mentalism and so forth, w^as pleased to see the goodly 
 
 D 2
 
 76 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 provisions of the table, for lie was very hungry ; and 
 he began to muster up his recollections of " the book 
 of etiquette." 
 
 But, behold ! — a single moment threw all his cal- 
 culations out of order. He was the youngest in the 
 room ; and by the rules of the road, he must, there- 
 fore, take the post of vice-president at the dinner ! 
 Diggory's book said nothing about this ; for it was 
 not written expressly for " commercial gentlemen," 
 but for " good society " generally. Poor Dig took 
 the post, however, but felt in a strange perturbation 
 as the gentleman at his right hand intimated a wish 
 for a little mutton, and looked at him, " the Vice ! " 
 The chairman was already helping his end of the 
 table to shces of a sirloin, and so Diggory drew the 
 piece of hot mutton near him, and was beginning to 
 cut, but did it so awkwardly that the gentleman at 
 his right-hand, who was somewhat of a gourmand, 
 cried out, " Oh dear, sir ! not that way ! " Diggory 
 stopped, — stared, — blushed : but the chairman, an 
 elderly and fatherly-looking man, put on an en- 
 couraging smile, and said, " Lengthwise, sir, if you 
 please ; not across : the other way keeps in the 
 o-ravy best." Diggory's heart cleaved to the man 
 who told him this so kindly and handsomely, and he 
 thanked the chairman, adding, in his simplicity, 
 that he was unused to carving mutton, especially a 
 shoulder, he added, looking at it, and thinking it 
 could not be a leg.
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATER. 77 
 
 *' A shoulder ! " exclaimed the gentleman on his 
 right hand, staring like one who was horror-struck ; 
 " why, God bless me, 'tis a saddle ! " 
 
 Diggory blushed worse than before, for there was 
 a perceptible laugli round the table ; but he made no 
 reply, and tried to proceed with his work of carving. 
 Trembling as he did, there was no wonder that he 
 spattered the right-hand gentleman with gravy until 
 the gentleman grew angry. And then Diggory 
 apologised ; but the gentleman, still more indignantly, 
 besought him to go on, and not keep the company 
 waitino;, — meanins; himself. How 2:lad was the lad 
 when he had succeeded in filling the man's plate, and 
 silencinij him ! The rest whom he had to accom- 
 modate were of less irritable natures ; but no one 
 offered to relieve him, until each had despatched their 
 first plate, and then Diggory's appetite was gone, for 
 he had not been able to eat a mouthful up to that 
 time, through the throng of his new and difficult em- 
 ployment. 
 
 The next course increased poor Diggory's trouble : 
 he knew no more about carving a fowl than con- 
 ducting a ship to China ; and when he had cut off a 
 blundering slice at a venture, and put it on the right- 
 hand gentleman's plate, the irritable gourmand stared 
 ferociously in his face, shovelled the clumsy slice off 
 the plate into the dish, cried aloud, " Mangling done 
 here ! " and to Diggory's consternation seized the 
 carving-knife and fork, to cut for himself. 
 
 D 3
 
 78 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 And now the chairman interfered. " He trusted 
 he should be supported by the company, sitting there 
 as he did: if the young gentleman was an impro- 
 ficient in the duties of the table, perhaps he might be 
 allowed to say that they all knew what it Avas to be 
 young at one time in their lives, and he did think — 
 though he was the last man in the world to wish to 
 give the slightest offence — that the gentleman to the 
 right of the vice-president of that table had not acted 
 so courteously as he might have done." And then 
 there was a pretty general " Hear, hear ! " But 
 quickly uprose the irritable gentleman, and rejected 
 the admonition of the president with scorn, and 
 thumped the table during his delivery of a most 
 energetic oration of half a minute, until he shook 
 the glasses so that they rang changes against each 
 other. 
 
 The irritable gentleman no sooner sat down than 
 another arose, and another, and another, each de- 
 manding that he should apologise to the president 
 for his Avant of courtesy, and the irritable g-entleman 
 yielded to apologise — though it Avas far more from 
 eagerness to eat, than a return of good-nature. — 
 DIggory was " assisted " in cutting vip the foAvl by 
 one on his left, Avho began to be warmed with sym- 
 pathy for the youth, now the sympathiser's stomach 
 Avas allayed in some small degree by sundry hearty 
 slices of mutton. To the draAving of the cloth 
 Diggory experienced no further mortification : but
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATEK. 79 
 
 the past was enough, in any conscience ; and during 
 the season in which that company of " liighly re- 
 spectable gentlemen " were masticating their viands, 
 poor Diggory, who did not eat three mouthfuls, 
 might most aptly be styled " the lad who felt like a 
 fish out of water." 
 
 And now the wine was pushed about ; and whether 
 it was the little " tiff " which had taken place during 
 the dinner, or whatever might be the cause, con- 
 siderable difficulty was felt, for some time, by all the 
 company, in attaining that sense of freedom, that 
 warm hilariousness, which an Englishman always 
 looks for, over the bottle, and by the charm of which, 
 and not by the animal gust for the liquor, drinking 
 usages have become so widely established. This un- 
 easy feeling, however, was dissipated by degrees; 
 and then, by the natural reaction of the human spirits, 
 the zest for good-fellowship grew unbounded. And 
 yet this over-heated, steamy sort of boon companion- 
 ship manifested itself exactly as might be expected 
 among " highly respectable commercial gentlemen," 
 though poor Diggory was too ignorant of the genus 
 to make the proper calculation. They neither called 
 each other by familiar names, nor sang, nor shouted, 
 nor huzzaed, nor laughed, till they hiccupped. 
 Compliments, that out-heroded Herod in their gor- 
 geousness of dress and brilliancy of colouring, — 
 good- wishes, — mighty, vast, profound, coming from 
 the " bottom of their hearts," — for the prosperity of 
 
 D 4
 
 80 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 each other in their iindertakings, — testimonies to 
 each other's " respectability " (alivays first), honour, 
 candour, probity, (take the first catalogue of the 
 virtues you find, and supply all the rest,) — flowed 
 out of the smiling, bubbling, fountain of their wine- 
 warmed hearts, and wreathed itself so fantastically 
 into the vaporous shapes of words (if that be non- 
 sense, take it for a specimen of their speeches), — 
 that Diggory Lawson was puzzled to determine 
 whether they were more lunatic or tipsy. 
 
 Luckily, he found a little relief, both corporeally 
 and mentally in nibbling at the remnant of the des- 
 sert, which the whole company forgot for wine and 
 speechifying. Yet he had but a torturous time of 
 it, and was still " the lad who felt like a fish out of 
 water." 
 
 It should scarcely be omitted, that by the natural 
 way of ascending from the mediocre to the sublime, 
 so genial to the minds of " highly respectable com- 
 mercial gentlemen," the last hour of the speechifying 
 was entirely occupied by that grand problem, — that 
 question of questions, — that important and absorb- 
 ing interrogation of " the commercial room," — " Is 
 it not time to smoke ? " 
 
 Now the president insisted, that eight o'clock being 
 the established hour for " permitting to smoke " in 
 that room, he, as president of that company, sitting 
 there as he did, could not grant permission to smoke, 
 since it was but just seven. And then arose the
 
 LIKE A FISH OUT OF WATER. 81 
 
 irritable little gentleman who talked so politely about 
 " mangling " when Diggory spoilt the fowl. He 
 really felt that he must claim the indulgence of the 
 company : but he would appeal to every gentleman 
 in the room, and he, most conscientiously, felt that 
 he could safely and confidently appeal to them, and 
 he was sure they would bear testimony that no one 
 was more observant than himself of the rules of tliat 
 room, (and then there was a general " Hear, hear ! " 
 though Diggory, in spite of his timidity, could not for- 
 bear saying " Hem !") — and he would feel it beneath 
 him to infringe on the necessary regulations for the 
 preservation of comfort in good society ; but yet, — 
 but yet, — on the present occasion, — feeling as they 
 all did, that warmth of esteem, and union of senti- 
 ment and feeling, and — (we omit a page here) — he 
 thought the president of that company might take it 
 upon him to dispense with the peculiar rule relative 
 to smoking on that occasion. 
 
 Pro and con — the arguments were equally labo- 
 rious, equally long, and equally senseless ; and the 
 president, being one of the oldest " gentlemen on the 
 road," and though very bland in his nature, yet a 
 stickler for custom, stuck to his point to the last, 
 and was only worsted by the clock. Truly, Diggory 
 Lawson, during the smoke discussion, was " the lad 
 who felt like a fish out of water." Much more did 
 he resemble the said unlucky fish when the smoking 
 
 » 5
 
 82 THE LAD WHO FELT 
 
 began, insomuch that he was compelled to seize an 
 early opportunity of retiring to bed. 
 
 Diggory Lawson completed his journey, but re- 
 turned to London with a complete mental nausea of 
 the cockney's plan for making him into a gentleman. 
 Torn entirely from his beloved books, he was in- 
 finitely more miserable than when their only com- 
 panionship subjected him to weariness. His mind 
 hurried with anxiety, dissipated by the unintellectual 
 nature of his engagement, annoyed and disgusted 
 with the manners of those lie was compelled to 
 regard as the proper associates of his leisure, he 
 wrote home to his father entreating permission to 
 return. One paragraph will show the character of 
 his letter : — 
 
 " Not a single thought or habit of my short life 
 has prepared me for such an engagment as that pro- 
 cured me by your friend. It was misery enough to 
 listen to the prattle of ' unldea'd girls,' as Dr. John- 
 son expressed himself on a similar occasion ; but of 
 all the tortures in the world, deliver me from the 
 company of empty, conceit-blown mortals, who have 
 such large notions of their own importance as these 
 ' highly respectable commercial gentlemen.' I entreat 
 your permission to return home, for I am ' like a fish 
 out of water.' " 
 
 The boon was readily granted, — for Diggory's 
 mother, having never been separated from her child 
 before, had wept every day since she parted with
 
 LIKE A FlSn OUT OF WATER. 83 
 
 him. The very next month, Dig's father gave up 
 the notion of making him into a gentleman, — for 
 the bobbin-net speculation waned, — and there was 
 an end to making an immense fortune in a twink- 
 ling. He embarked the little capital he had gained 
 in the more staple manufacture of the town, took 
 Diggory into the trade, and associating with plain, 
 sensible men, and cultivating knowledge in his leisure 
 hours, Diggory Lawson was happier every day, and 
 was no longer " the lad who felt like a fish out of 
 water." 
 
 s 6
 
 84 
 
 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER THAT 
 LACKED A EULCRUM. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer had suddenly inherited an estate of 
 something more than five hundred a year, by the 
 death of an uncle, and was persuaded by bis Whig 
 acquaintances in the metropolis, since he had just 
 jumped into "a qualification," to set himself in 
 earnest about getting into Parliament : for a seat 
 then, when Lord Melbourne's premiership seemed to 
 be held by a very frail tenure, might — his cockney 
 friends entreated him to remember — enable him to 
 « save the country" for, at least, another year, from 
 the " merciless grasp" of the Tories. So Mr. Mor- 
 timer set his wits to work, to find out out how the 
 seat was to be gained. He hunted for opinions 
 wherever he went ; but none " took his fancy " so 
 much as a shrewd hour's advice given him one day, 
 without a fee, by a lawyer, or a person who said he 
 was one, and with whom he fell into conversation on 
 board one of the Richmond steamers.
 
 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER. 85 
 
 " Start a newspaper, sir; that's your only sure 
 card, for cheapness," said the earnest talking man 
 who called himself " a solicitor : " " the press gives a 
 man a power that is irresistible." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer was struck with the words, and 
 wondered that he had never, by his own unassisted 
 thought, alighted on so " tangibly-intelligent an idea," 
 as he inwardly and emphatically termed it. But the 
 "lesral o;entleman's" next words made him feel still 
 niore confident that he was talking to a man who was 
 worth listeninij; to : — a solid matter-of-fact man, and 
 not a mere fanciful idealist : — one who surveyed 
 his ground before he either trod upon it himself, or 
 recommended others to set their feet upon it. 
 
 " And, if I were asked," the said legal gentleman 
 continued, loitliout being asked, — "if I were asked 
 where would you start it ? I should say ' Kent,' in 
 one word. You desire to serve the j)resent admi- 
 nistration. Well : there's Greenwich, and Deptford, 
 and Woolwich : the naval and military establish- 
 ments give the government full sweep there : Cha- 
 tham, the same : Deal and Sandwich, no diifercnce : 
 Dover, as beforesaid : Hy the — there Marchbanks 
 (that's the genteel way of pronouncing his name) 
 can put you in if he likes, for he's a Whig : Canter- 
 bury : Lord Albert Conyngham's going out, and a 
 Whig's sure to be retui^ned there. In fact, there is 
 but old Rochester where the Tories are sure ; and 
 Maidstone where the Conservatives can't easily be
 
 86 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 got out. Start a paper on Whig principles in Kent, 
 sir ; and — this is autumn of Eighteen-Forty — and, 
 my word to a thousand pounds ! before Forty-one is 
 out, you will be returned for one or other of the 
 Kentish boroughs." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer was quite decided : he declared he 
 was. And so he buttoned up the breast of his surtout, 
 and put on his gloves, after pulling them off very 
 suddenly, — and began to walk, very energetically, 
 about the deck of the little packet. The "solicitor" 
 took care to keep close to his elbow, suggesting, and 
 then answering, a hundred questions on hops, and 
 cherries, and wheat, and sanfoin, and clover, and 
 smuggled spirits and tobacco ; and the scores of 
 " houses to let" at the watering-places, and the com- 
 pany there, and how it differed at Margate and 
 Ramsgate, and Dover and Gravesend, respectively ; 
 and, in short, on " all and sundry," the natural and 
 manufactured productions of " Kent, the first English 
 county in point of rank," as the legal gentleman 
 assured Mr. Mortimer it was always esteemed to be. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer was quite decided : he declared he 
 
 was ! 
 
 " Egad ! now I recollect," said the legal gentleman. 
 " A friend of mine in one of the streets leading into 
 Cheapside, has, at this very time, a large assortment 
 of type, with a small handy machine-press, a most 
 neat affair, I'll assure you ! in fact, every thing that 
 would be suitable for a commencement : they came
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 87 
 
 into his hands for a bad debt, and might be had 
 amazingly cheap." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer looked just as eager as the solicitor 
 wished him to look. 
 
 " And, if you like," continued the solicitor ; " if 
 you like, — but 'tis of no consequence if you prefer 
 new type, — only that would be most confoundedly 
 expensive, — but, if you like, — I have no doubt I 
 could get the whole lump, — I had almost said, dirt- 
 cheap for you " 
 
 Mr. Mortimer commissioned the legal gentleman, 
 in a twinkling, to make the purchase ; for he was 
 decided : he declared he was. So Mr. Mortimer gave 
 the gentleman his card; and the "solicitor" (who 
 swore, when he discovered that he had " lost his card- 
 case") gave Mr. Mortimer his address ; and as the 
 packet was at Westminster Stairs by this time, Mr. 
 Mortimer got out, and bade "good day," with a 
 grateful smile, to the " solicitor," who remained in 
 the boat to land at London Bridge, for the city. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer dined very heartily, and in most 
 speechless silence ; for he was exceedingly full of 
 thought, and exceedingly pleased with his good- 
 fortune. Every thing had fallen out so exceedingly, 
 so wonderfully lucky. The advice of the legal 
 gentleman was so intelligent, — so sensible, — so deeply 
 distinguished by common sense, which Dean Swift 
 (Mr. Mortimer remembered) always said was of 
 more value than all other kinds of sense put together.
 
 88 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 In fact, the man he (Mr. Mortimer) could clearly see 
 was " up to snuffj" and knew all about the mysteries 
 of government influence, and where it lay, and what 
 the county produced; and — every thing! But to 
 complete his good fortune, to put the crowning mark 
 upon it, this very man knew where type and a 
 machine-press was to be had for a mere trifle ! so 
 that he (Mr. Mortimer) had nothing to do but to 
 write out an advertisement for the Chronicle ; and 
 he icould write it out that very afternoon, and take it 
 to the oflfice himself; and to-morrow morning, within 
 three hours of the paper being published, no doubt, 
 half-a-score literary men would be at the door, as 
 corrivals and competitors for the new editorship. 
 
 Thus was Mr. Mortimer ruminating over his third 
 oflass of claret, when the servant's announcement that 
 
 Mr. 'had called, — the very legal gentleman whom 
 
 Mr. Mortimer left at "Westminster Stairs but two 
 hours before, — caused him to open his eyes very 
 wide, and ask the gentleman's name again. The 
 gentleman was introduced, however, and, with a 
 world of apologies, but another world of assurances 
 that it resulted from his zeal to serve Mr. Mortimer, 
 regretted that he should have intruded at such a 
 time ; but he had bought the machine-press and the 
 type, for he had run upon his friend in Cheaj)side 
 before he reached his own residence, and snapped up 
 the whole thing before any one else found it, and it 
 was now actually at the door !
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 89 
 
 "At the door!" cried Mr. Mortimer, — "what 
 door?" 
 
 " My dear sir," answered the legal gentleman, 
 with singular suavity, " I regret exceedingly, as I 
 have just observed, that I should have Intruded at 
 this particidar time ; but I knew the highly Impor- 
 tant object, — the national object, as I may say, — 
 that you had fixed your mind upon - — admitted of no 
 delay, and so I went to work instanter. To a gentle- 
 man who Is rather unused to these things " 
 
 Mr. Mortimer confessed he was unused to these 
 things, and felt that he ought to feel grateful, exceed- 
 ingly grateful, to the gentleman. 
 
 The gentleman begged there might be no apology. 
 
 — But Mr. Mortimer really felt he ought to apologise. 
 
 — Yet the gentleman most particularly begged there 
 might be no apology; and — there was the little bill! 
 
 — and — where would Mr. Mortimer have the goods 
 put, since they were in a van — the very first thing, 
 in the shape of a conveyance, that the gentleman 
 could see when he had bargained for the type and the 
 machine-press — in a van, at the door ! 
 
 The bill was something more than one hundred 
 pounds, and — and — Mr. Mortimer was staggered, 
 for he had not calculated on half the sum ; but, what 
 could he say ? It would be so disrespectful, so un- 
 grateful, so ungentlemanlike, to demur to the price 
 or the purchase ; so Mr. Mortimer thanked the gen- 
 tleman " most heartily : " he was under very deep
 
 90 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 obligations to liim: it was wliat he ought not to 
 expect from a mere stranger : he would retain a 
 most grateful sense of the gentleman's kindness. 
 And he begged the gentleman would be seated ; and 
 would the gentleman take claret, or did he prefer 
 Burgundy ? 
 
 The gentleman reminded Mr. Mortimer that the 
 van was at the door, and it was necessary to say 
 what was to be done with the goods. He (the " legal 
 gentleman") had an unoccupied office just now on his 
 hands, and it was at Mr. Mortimer's service if 
 
 An Eno-lish thought shot across Mr. Mortimer's 
 mind, and he rang the bell, and summoned his land- 
 lady. " Did she know of any upholsterer, or other 
 tradesman in the neighbourhood, who could take care 
 of a little furniture that was in the van at the door?" 
 The landlady replied that she did, and Mr. Mortimer 
 begged she would see it taken care of, in her own 
 name. 
 
 The legal gentleman looked very sharply and 
 earnestly at his watch, — when the landlady withdrew, 
 and Mr. Mortimer again mentioned the wine. He, 
 the " legal gentleman," really could not stay at that 
 particular time : he had acted thus promptly in order 
 to serve Mr. Mortimer, for he was aware of the vast 
 importance of promptitude in national affairs, and 
 Mr. Mortimer's particular business might most em- 
 phatically be termed a national affair, wdien its ultimate 
 purpose was considered.
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 91 
 
 Mr. Mortimer could not press the gentleman 
 under such circumstances, so began to write out a 
 cheque for the amount of the bill. A sudden 
 thought struck him, hoAvevcr, just as he had handed 
 it to the gentleman. 
 
 " We must talk one point over, my dear sir," he 
 said, "and that is, ivhere must the paper be published? 
 for you observed that there were already several 
 small papers of an insignificant character in the 
 county, and that they were published at different 
 towns. Now where must my new paper be published, 
 so as best to compete with one of them ? " 
 
 The legal gentleman looked as if taken aback for 
 a moment, but speedily answered, " Why not in 
 London ?" 
 
 " Hum ! " replied Mr. Mortimer, musingly : 
 " would not that be rather out of character ? Mijrht 
 not the Kentish people deny that the paper was a 
 Kentish paper at all, then ? " 
 
 " Your plan, sir, is this," answered the solicitor, 
 with the same air of unanswerable decision and dis- 
 cernment Avhich he wore in the steamer ; — " take a 
 trip of observation through the whole county for 
 yourself: it will cost you little, if you go shrewdly 
 to work ; and you will learn much, by the way, that 
 will be of immense service to you, in the great under- 
 taking itself : that's the likeliest way to find your 
 fulcrum, as a clever mechanical friend of mine 
 always says, and then plant your intellectual lever ;
 
 92 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 and may it prove successful, sir, is my heart's 
 best wish, in raising you speedily to the House of 
 Commons ! " 
 
 The legal gentleman rounded with a smile ; but 
 his speech needed no gilding for jSIr. Mortimer: it 
 went to the inmost chamber of his brain, with the 
 speed and power of instant and undisturbable con- 
 viction ; and he shook his adviser most fervently by 
 the hand, and regretted, again and again, that the 
 gentleman could not stay and spend the evening, 
 but hoped he would have the pleasure of his com- 
 pany again, when he, Mr. Mortimer, had completed 
 the little projected tour. The legal gentleman as- 
 sured Mr. Mortimer he would feel honoured in 
 accepting the invitation, and, with great politeness, 
 withdrew. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer's Kentish tour was commenced 
 the very next morning. He was in the street at 
 Greenwich, as soon as the first train could arrive 
 there, in its fifteen minutes' journey from the foot of 
 London Bridge. Mr. Mortimer could, of course, think 
 of no step so likely to be taken with a view to obtain- 
 ing information, as calling at a respectable business -like 
 inn. He had made a little inquiry in the railway 
 carriage ; and " The Mitre " and " The Greyhound " 
 were recommended as highly respectable resorts of 
 company. Mr. Mortimer bent his steps towards 
 the Greyhound. He found the landlord to be a 
 person of very frank and pleasing appearance, and
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 93 
 
 of very courteous manners ; but it was too early for 
 company, so the tourist intimated that he would re- 
 quire dinner at such an hour, and went out to saunter 
 a few hours about the Hospital and the Park. 
 There seemed to be much that a person might be 
 pleased with, he thought, amidst all that he saw ; 
 but his mind was fixed on obtaining information, and 
 he could see no one walking in the Park, nor about 
 the Hospital colonnades, that was at all likely, in 
 his judgment, to tell him any thing about the desira- 
 bleness or propriety of starting a newspaper at 
 Greenwich. He passed several old pensioners, while 
 in this discontented mood, sitting under the shade of 
 the noble chestnut trees, some recounting their naval 
 adventures while turning the quid, or smoking, and 
 others reading. Suddenly, he observed that a veteran 
 who was reclining alone was reading a newspaper ; 
 and the whim seized him to make a little inquiry in 
 the line of his own pursuit, though he thought it a 
 somewhat unlikely quarter from whence to obtain 
 the information he was seeking. 
 
 " You are busy, I see, my friend," said Mr. Mor- 
 timer : " any particular news, just now ?" 
 
 "Why no, sir?" answered the veteran, looking 
 through his spectacles at the person who asked him 
 the question : " every thing seems very dull, but 
 you know they always fill the newspapers up with 
 something, — what with things that happen and
 
 94 THE IXTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 things tliat never did happen, and what with things 
 that they invent, and things that they borrow." 
 
 " Do you read the papers much ? " asked Mr. Mor- 
 timer, thinking the old man displayed shrewdness 
 enough to deserve another question. 
 
 " "\"\liy, sir, I might read 'em more than I do, if 
 I would," answered the veteran ; " but I don't think 
 it worth the trouble. This is a London paper, and 
 I see it weekly. They publish two papers in Green- 
 wich here, but they're neither of 'era worth looking 
 at, according to my thinking. How they get sup- 
 ported I can't make out, for nobody thinks any thing 
 of 'em ; yet I heard a person say that there was strong 
 talk of another being started by some gentleman 
 that's disposed to fool his money away. 'Tis a pity 
 but what somebody or other would advise him dif- 
 ferent, for it's the wildest scheme in the world, I 
 think, to imagine that any newspaper can prosper 
 in a place hke this, that's so near London." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer felt as if he would have dropped 
 into the earth, and had but just presence of mind 
 left to bid the old pensioner " good morning," before 
 he walked away to recover the blow thus given to 
 his hopes. But he consoled himself by reflecting 
 that it was a " mere ^nilgar old man " who had de- 
 livered this opinion, — one who was not at all likely 
 to know what chance there was for the success of a 
 newspaper enterprise, into which so many commercial 
 and political interests and considerations must needs be
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 95 
 
 woven. It must be a matter altogether beyond the 
 scope and reach of a mere Green\Yich pensioner. After 
 restoring his own confidence in some degree, the tourist 
 returned to his inn, dined, read the papers, and at 
 length had the pleasure of seeing the evening com- 
 pany begin to gather. But Mr. Mortimer was re- 
 solved to make longer preliminary observation this 
 time, ere he introduced the subject that most nearly 
 concerned him. He was pleased to find, by attend- 
 ing to the tone of remarks, as the current subjects 
 of ]Mahomet Ali, and Xapier, and the Syrian ques- 
 tion, were being discussed, that the two great parties 
 of Whigs and Tories were fully represented in the 
 room. He thought this a fortunate circumstance for 
 himself, since he would be less likelv to gather a 
 biassed decision among the company, on his great 
 newspaper question, when he thought the time was 
 come for his introduction of it. And after waitino- 
 long, he did introduce it, cautiously concealing, as he 
 thought, the fact, that he himself was desirous of com- 
 mencing a Kentish paper. But Mr. Mortimer was 
 not the cunningest man in the world, and more than 
 one member of the company perceived his purpose 
 before the close of the conversation. 
 
 " Vy, sir, you understand,'' — began a very elderly 
 person, of a portly figure, who seemed to be held in 
 great respect by his companions, but who, by his 
 dialect, had evidently been thrown among the least 
 cultivated portion of the metropolitan j^opulation, —
 
 96 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 "you understand, that's a vay o' liembarklng 
 cappitle, as it vere, vicli I vouldn't recommend, for 
 von : for, by the same rule, you understand, another 
 gen'huans a-been thinking of it, and I said the same, 
 you understand, to him." 
 
 But Mr. Mortimer did not understand; and he 
 therefore made no reply. 
 
 " But it depends a good deal on the particular 
 object the individual has in view who embarks the 
 capital," observed a thin, keen-looking man : " if 
 Captain Dundas, now, were to start a paper in 
 Greenwich, it could not fail to answer his purpose." 
 
 " By the same rule," interjected the elderly per- 
 son, " that's quite another affair, as it vere. The 
 Captain, you understand, — and success to him say 
 I, vith all my 'art I — the Captain, you understand, 
 by the same rule, vouldn't care about the paper 
 paying." 
 
 " Exactly," observed the bland landlord, reconciling 
 the apparent difference of his guests ; " so that that 
 does not disprove your point." 
 
 " But pray, gentlemen," asked Mr. Mortimer, " may 
 I ask what would be the particular object of Captain 
 Dundas, if he were to start a new paper in your 
 town?" 
 
 " O ! Parliament, sir ! — Parliament, of course ! " 
 quickly replied the thin, keen-looking man, with a 
 very significant shake of the head. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer's blood beat quick with a rush of
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 97 
 
 tlioughts; but he resolved to be prudent, and so lie 
 said nothing ; but he felt more than ever assured of 
 the le<>;al o;entleman's intelligence who had first re- 
 commended his present errand, and he sank gently 
 back, when he had sipped largely at his brandy and 
 water, and pulled away vehemently at his cigar. 
 " It is indeed the intellectual lever, as the gentleman 
 said," reflected Mr. ISIortimer within himself, 
 " whereby a man may raise himself to the House 
 of Commons : evexy intelligent man thinks so : but 
 then — where to plant the f idcrum ? " 
 
 So Mr. Mortimer rejoined the conversation, which 
 was now in full tide respecting the relative chances 
 of a new Whig, and a new Tory paper ; and pressed 
 the question very closely, whether, in the whole 
 county of Kent, Greenwich were the more likely 
 place to start a new paper. To this question there 
 were many answers : one said it was a better place 
 than Woolwich, where a new paper had just started; 
 and another compared it with Gravesend ; and others 
 with Canterbury, and Dover ; but there was a fair ma- 
 jority in the room for Greenwich ; — yet, what chiefly 
 puzzled Mr. Mortimer was the fact, that when he 
 subjected his own doubt to the consideration of the 
 company, as to whether the immediate proximity of 
 Greenwich to London would not militate ao;ainst the 
 chances of prosperity for a new Greenwich paper, 
 there were equal numbers, for and against. One cir- 
 cumstance particularly gratified Mr. Mortimer : the 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 98 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 thin, keen-looking man strenuously maintained that 
 the contiguity of Greenwich to London would be, 
 and was, and must necessarily be, the strongest, the 
 most advantageous point of view in which the Avhole 
 question to be solved could be entered upon. The 
 thin, keen-looking man said a great deal more, — 
 but, somehow or other, Mr. Mortimer understood him 
 less, the more he talked ; and as the hour was ad- 
 vancing on midnight, Mr. Mortimer withdrew, resolv- 
 ing to turn the whole conversation over, and make 
 up his mind in bed. 
 
 But Ml". Mortimer did not turn the conversation 
 over there, for he had smoked and drank too much, 
 in his earnestness, to keep awake one minute when he 
 was fairly abed. Yet he dreamt wonderful things about 
 the " Intellectual Lever," — things that warmed and 
 enraptured his ftmcy when he woke the next morning ; 
 — but nothing about the " fulcrum," — so that he 
 gained no help by his dreams towards making up his 
 mind about publishing at Greenwich. It was "all 
 right," however, Mr. Mortimer reflected, as he sat 
 down to breakfast, — it was all right, that he did not 
 make up his mind at the outset : it was most judi- 
 cious to keep himself, mentally, in cquilibrio, until he 
 had been round the country, completed his tour of 
 observation, and then put the merits and advantages 
 of each town side by side, — so as to enable himself 
 to draw a correct judgment. 
 
 If aU Mr. Mortimer's thinkings were to be related.
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCEUJVI. 99 
 
 liis story would be a very long one. Suffice it to 
 say, that he, forthwith, set out for Lewisham, when 
 he had breakfasted, and paid his bill, and bidden the 
 landlord good-morning. From Lewisham Mr. Mor- 
 timer strode on to Bromley ; and from Bromley, per 
 stage-coach, he went to Sevenoaks, and the next day 
 to Tunbi-idge, and to the Wells the following day. 
 This w^as the route Mr. Mortimer had most sagaciously 
 chalked out for himself, — he being thoroughly bent 
 on making the complete circuit of the county. The 
 " Intellectual Lever " he took care to mention where- 
 ever he went, — for he had now fully resolved to give 
 his projected newspaper that name, — and he thought 
 every one looked as pleased with it as he felt himself. 
 Indeed, every one was delighted during the whole of 
 this part of Mr. Mortimer's tour with the idea of a 
 newspaper that was to take up the interests of parts 
 of the county which, they assured him, had been so 
 much neglected, notwithstanding they were so highly 
 important. Equal delight and similar assurances 
 greeted the ears of the projector at Cranbrook, and 
 Tenterden, and Ashford, and Hythe, and Folkestone, 
 — insomuch that Mr. Mortimer began to feel more 
 than ever puzzled with the task of arranging, in his 
 own mind, the astounding claims of importance pre- 
 ferred by the respectable denizens of the towns 
 through which he passed, — ever announcing his de- 
 sign of planting the " Intellectual Lever " — when he 
 should have found a " fulcrum." 
 
 E 2
 
 100 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 At Dover, Mr. Mortimer made a longer halt, find- 
 ing a most agreeable lodging at the Gun Hotel, and 
 meeting, moreover, advisers of a determined character 
 for " planting the Intellectual Lever " there : it was 
 the key of England, these counsellors assured Mr. 
 Mortimer : it was, really, the only natural " fulcrum " 
 for the lever, seeing that it received the first conti- 
 nental news : it was, anciently, of so much import- 
 ance ; it was about to become of so much importance, 
 by the formation of a grand new harbour, and by its 
 new railway connection with London ; and, above all, 
 it sent two members to parliament. Mr. Mortimer 
 was troubled, for the Dover counsellors assured him 
 they would have nothing to do with a Greenwich 
 paper : Greenwich was nothing to them ; and as for 
 the other towns through which the projector had 
 passed, they only laughed to hear them mentioned. 
 
 " It must be Dover," thought Mr. Mortimer ; — 
 yet he had resolved to act prudently, and so he did 
 not positively say so ; but bidding his earnest ad- 
 visers a very earnest farewell, mounted a daily con- 
 veyance for Deal and Walmer. There, he was 
 assured by all with whom he conversed, that the 
 " Intellectual Lever " must be published at Dover, — 
 and then — and then — it could not fail to secure the 
 entire patronage of Deal and Walmer ! Mr. Mortimer 
 thought the Deal and Walmer people talked somewhat 
 inflatedly anent their straggling sea-side villages, — 
 for so he was inclined to call them : but then, he
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 101 
 
 reflected again, that tliey shared Avith Sandwicli in 
 returning two members to Parliament. To Sandwich 
 he went, next day ; but — what was the importance 
 of any town he had visited compared with Sandwich 
 — in the eyes of its little population ? Mr. Mortimer 
 was perplexed — greatly perplexed — for the little old 
 town looked, to him, so very unimportant, and the 
 claims of its inhabitants to political consideration 
 were so lofty ! Dover ? yes, they thought Dover 
 might do, — or Canterbury ; but the "lever" must 
 be planted in their neighbourhood. In fact, Mr. 
 Mortimer perceived, clearly enough, that the Sand- 
 wichers would have liked to tell him, plainly, that 
 Sandwich was the proper '' fulcrum " for the " Intel- 
 lectual Lever," — but very shame withheld them. 
 
 The next day, the traveller went on in the same 
 kind of daily conveyance — half-cab, half-cart — to 
 Ramsgate. The journeying was very pleasant, in 
 the neighbourhood of the sea, and the company very 
 cheerful ; but they were not of a character to under- 
 stand much about levers and fulcrums, — so Mr. 
 Mortimer said nothing about either, but listened 
 rather than conversed. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer had been perplexed before, — but 
 what could describe his perplexity, when he had spent 
 a day each in Ramsgate and Margate? He was 
 lectured rather than told, — by every company he 
 joined, — on the absolute, the imperative necessity of 
 regarding " the Isle of Thanet" in its proper light: 
 
 E 3
 
 102 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 every body was neglecting it : no one attended to it : 
 their interests were vanishing : property was becom- 
 ing of no value : any petty village in Kent could have 
 its pufFs and its praises, while their toAvns — the two 
 most respectable watering-places in all England — 
 were forgotten ! Dover ? — - nonsense ! — Canterburv 
 was the place — if the gentleman did not like to ven- 
 ture on taking the Isle of Thanet for a fulcrum. But 
 the gentleman must remain another day, and attend 
 the grand " annual dinner of the Isle of Thanet," at 
 the "Ranelagh Gardens;" — a delightful spot, Mr. 
 Mortimer was assured it was : the gentleman would 
 then be able to draw some more accurate conclusion 
 as to the real importance of their distinct part of 
 Kent. So Mr. Mortimer staid, and attended the 
 dinner, and was much pleased, for a time. A London 
 editor of a newspaper was there, it is true ; and drew 
 a little more attention than Mr. Mortimer was pleased 
 to see ; but then, the editor belonged to a daily paper, 
 and Mr. Mortimer consoled himself with the belief 
 that that would not stand in the way of his weekly 
 "lever," when he had found the fulcrum, and planted 
 it. But, alack ! poor Mr. Mortimer — how did he 
 feel during the last three hours of the feast ; — for it 
 was a protracted midnight affair, according to custom, 
 elsewhere, in similar " annual " meetings ; — how did 
 poor Mr. Mortimer feel when, after all the usual 
 " loyal toasts " had been drunk, — and the grand toast 
 of the evening, the " prosperity " toast, came on, —
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 103 
 
 an anibitlous llamsgate-man dared to put the name 
 of his town before the name of Margate ! Thunder 
 and liirhtninG;! Etna and Vesuvius! — Was there 
 ever any thing comparable to the rage that followed, 
 and the denunciation, and the eloquent invective, so far 
 transcending Chatham and Grattan and Brougham, 
 and all the wielders of scathing sarcasm that ever 
 breathed ! Ten ? — no ! nor twenty pages — would 
 not hold the speeches : — so 'tis to no purpose making 
 more words about it : INIr. jNIortimer was — to use a 
 very expressive slang phrase or two — Mr. Mortimer 
 was completely jiummaxed and jiabhergasted ; or, as 
 Jonathan would say — he was " struck all of a heap I " 
 ISIr. Mortimer's head reeled, and he said nothing, — 
 no ! not a word, as they crammed him into a carriage 
 with half-a-dozen more, at midnight, to go back to 
 Margate ; though the reason might, partly, be, that 
 he had tippled two bottles of sherry, and was asleep : 
 but, sufKcc it to say, that, the next morning, ]\Ir. 
 Mortimer left INIargate for Canterbury, more than 
 ever puzzled with the immense problem of the " re- 
 lative importance " of towns in Kent, — more than 
 ever in a quandary as to where the true and indis- 
 putable " fulcrum " existed for " planting the intel- 
 lectual lever." 
 
 Canterbury, — ah! Canterbury was a city lie had 
 often longed to see, and he had, more than once, half 
 made up his mind to visit it, for mere curiosity. 
 But, Jioiv, when his brains were in such a Avhirl Avith 
 
 £ 4
 
 104 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 thinking about the lever, and finding such alarming 
 difficulty in discovering the fulcrum — why he forgot 
 Becket, and the Black Prince, and St. Augustine, 
 and deferred all historical inquiries and all sight- 
 seeing, and asked about nought but newspapers. 
 " Newspapers, sir ! " — exclaimed the landlord of the 
 inn at Avhich he alighted, — " newspapers ! — why, 
 Lord love ye ! we have four published here in Can- 
 terbury, already ! " 
 
 Mr. Mortimer stared more than ever he had stared 
 in his life. " Four !" he echoed ; " four ! What sort 
 o' papers are they, pray ? " 
 
 " Sort o' papers, sir ! " answered the landlord, 
 " why very capital papers : three of 'em at least, — 
 them as is heddited by Mr. Mudford, a werry clever 
 man, sir." 
 
 " Mudford ! — what — Mudford that used to edit 
 the Courier?" 
 
 " The werry same gen'lman, sir," answered the 
 cockney landlord. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer turned pale. " And the other 
 paper ? " he said, by way of question. 
 
 " Oh ! that, sir, is a low radical affair — " The Kent 
 Herald ; " — but I don't belong to that party, though 
 they're werry strong here ; and the paper sells well, 
 they say." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer sat down, and tried to think. He 
 sipped a pint of sheny, and munched a couple of 
 biscuits, and he did think ; for the result was, that he
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 105 
 
 took coach In another hour, and set off for Chatham 
 and Rochester. 
 
 And now, Mr. Mortimer, singularly enough, rose 
 from zero to fever heat, in his hopes and resolves 
 about the fulcrum and the intellectual lever. " The 
 four towns," as the Chatham people told him, — 
 Strood, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton, — united 
 as they were, lying around the basin of the Medway, 
 filled with trading enterprise, blending so many great 
 interests, — the dockyard, the soldiers' barracks, the 
 hulks, the Dissenters, so all-powerful in Chatham, 
 the Jew brokers, the cigar smugglers (or makers 
 rather), the corporation of Rochester and its two 
 members, and Chatham and its one member of Par- 
 liament, the cathedral, and the castle in ruins, — were 
 all thrown upon Mr. Mortimer in such clustered 
 phrases of inviting importance, that he completely 
 lost his "rules of prudence," and proclaimed in a 
 tone very like a shout, and very like Archimedes, only 
 he didn't speak Greek, — "I have found it ! " ^es : 
 Mr. Mortimer declared he had found it ; found the 
 fulcrum for the lever, and the new newspaper should 
 be published at Chatham : the forty thousand in- 
 habitants of the four towns, he said, were surely able 
 to support a paper themselves. He was decided, he 
 declared he was. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer's resolution was confirmed beyond 
 the possibility of change, he felt assured, by a little 
 voyage in the steamer to Sheerness. Chatham was 
 
 E 5
 
 106 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 "just the place," the Sheerness j)eople assured him, 
 for the pubhcation of a paper, and they would support 
 it ; in fact, it would have the support of " the lohole 
 Isle of Sheppy !" Mr, Morthner was exhilarated, — 
 nay, he was exultant ; and, although he had deter- 
 mined only to stay an hour in Sheerness, and then 
 get on board a steamer for returning up the Thames, 
 he was so pleased that he remained all day, and 
 di'ank as hard, in his earnestness, as he had at the 
 " Kanelagh Gardens " in the Isle of Thanet. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer had but one call now to make, in 
 order to complete the line of Kentish survey, — circle, 
 rather, which he had so sagaciously laid down for 
 himself; and he, accordingly, got out at Gravesend, 
 the next morning, as he vras proceeding in the packet 
 on the Thames. Not that Mr. Mortimer thought 
 Gravesend of great importance, but it might be as 
 well, he said within himself, to call there. Unfortu- 
 nate Mr. Mortimer ! what did he know of the " rela- 
 tive importance " of the towns of Kent? Landlords, 
 company, shopkeepers, loungers of all grades, in fact, 
 every body, insisted that Gravesend was the only 
 place in Kent where a paper could possibly prosper ! 
 People little thought of the real worth of Gravesend. 
 " But you have no member of parliament," said poor 
 Mr. Mortimer, feeling all his old tribulation returning. 
 What then ? it was answered : they had a corjjoration, 
 and two piers, and two packet companies, with eternal 
 war between the piers and the companies, — war that
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 107 
 
 shook the whole bank of the Thames, and was even 
 perceived to have caused sundry vibrations in London 
 bridge itself, where " the companies' " packets landed 
 their passengers. Besides, they had had a paper in 
 Gravesend once, — " The Journal," — and it pros- 
 pered ; but no sooner was it removed to Greenwich 
 than it became worthless. That ouo;ht to be a con- 
 vincing proof to Mr. Mortimer that Gravesend was 
 the proper, the only fulcrum for his intellectual lever. 
 Above all, — Gravesend was now become " Lon- 
 don in parvo," — a fine, well-fed and well-dressed 
 gentleman observed : genteel people, — he meant 
 prosperous merchants, — removed their families 
 thither for the entire summer season, and just took 
 the run with the steamers to London and back, 
 morning and evening, to transact business : the me- 
 tropolis possessed its finest suburb in the rising and 
 extending and rapidly-improving town of Gravesend ! 
 — and the company cheered the gentleman's speech 
 most enthusiastically, — and, poor Mr. Mortimer! he 
 was, more than ever, confounded, puzzled, bothered, 
 perplexed, flummaxed, and flabbergasted ! He could 
 not return to London that day : that was as clear as 
 the sun at noon, — although the " fulcrum " question 
 was become so disastrously dim, since he left Chat- 
 ham and Sheerness. Nay, Mr. Mortimer staid at 
 Gravesend even the whole of the following day ; and 
 the more people he saw — (and he saw no end of 
 new faces, — in fact, they appeared to him, in his 
 
 E 6
 
 108 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER 
 
 puzzled condition, to spring out of the earth — though 
 the fact was they came in fresh shoals by the packet 
 every morning, noon, and night, from town,) — the 
 more people he saw, the more he was told that 
 Gravesend was the place whei*ein he ought to publish 
 " The Intellectual Lever : " that there he could lift 
 all Kent, and get himself returned, — the conclusion, 
 he thought, ought to be, — for any Kentish borough 
 he chose to represent ! 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Mortimer to himself, as he was 
 dressing on the fourth morning of his stay in Graves- 
 end : " it is strange — certainly." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer would have said more to himself, — 
 but he just then happened to be glancing down into 
 the street, as he was tying his neckerchief, and seeing 
 an omnibus going by, — one of the regular and fre- 
 quent conveyances from Gravesend to Chatham, — 
 that run the eight miles with passengers, — he read 
 upon one of its sides — " Meets conveyances to 
 Maidstone." 
 
 " Why, what in the world has possessed me, all 
 this time ? " exclaimed Mr. Mortimer, aloud, although 
 he was alone, — " what in the world has possessed 
 me, that I have been going round Kent, and calling 
 at every little hole without thinking of Maidstone, — 
 the county town, — where the assizes are held, — in 
 the veiy core and centre of the shire ? " 
 
 There was no one to answer Mr. Mortimer, — but 
 he was down stairs in another minute, — besought the
 
 THAT LACKED A FULCRUM. 109 
 
 landlord to stop the omnibus, — paid his bill, — and 
 set off, breakfastless, for Maidstone, by way of Chat- 
 ham. Mr. Mortimer was resolved he would have his 
 own unbiassed judgment this time, and so called on 
 no one at Chatham or Rochester. 
 
 Maidstone — finished Mr. Mortimer ! A new news- 
 paper for Kent? — why, every one assured him it was 
 of all schemes the most foolish. The " Maidstone 
 Gazette," on the Whig side, was edited by Mr. 
 Whiting, a gentleman of real talent, swarmed with 
 advertisements, and had a good circulation: the 
 " Maidstone Journal," on the Conservative side, was 
 rising into favour and patronage, with its own party : 
 these were the two real representatives of Kent : 
 there was no room for another paper: fools might 
 speculate, in any corner, to please knaves, and throw 
 their money away : there was no full growth of 
 radicalism, as in the manufacturing districts: London 
 was so near at hand that its daily papers and literary 
 periodicals supplied every want : — in short, every 
 man of any pretensions to common sense assured 
 Mr. Mortimer, if he desired to throw away his fortune, 
 his projected "lever" was the vexy instrument to 
 enable him to throw it away effectually, — if he chose 
 Kent for the " fulcrum ! " 
 
 Mr. Mortimer returned to London an altered man. 
 He believed he had been "humbugged;" and so it 
 proved. He tried to find " the solicitor," but no such 
 person was to be found at the house he had pencilled
 
 110 THE INTELLECTUAL LEVEPw 
 
 down on his tablets. "Ah !" thought Mr. Mortimer, 
 as he returned towards the West end, — " how lucky- 
 it was that I bethought me not to let the fellow place 
 the types and the press in his * office,' as he called it ! " 
 Mr. Mortimer resolved to sell the materials, get back 
 his hundred pounds, and give up the scheme. He 
 sent for an appraiser. The press was only fit to 
 burn, and the types had to be sold for old metal I ! — 
 Mr. Mortimer is not in parliament yet.
 
 Ill 
 
 NICHOLAS NIXON, " GENTLEMAN,' 
 
 WHO COULD NOT UNDERSTAND WHY, BUT 
 AVHO KNEW " IT WAS SO." 
 
 Dullness was well nigh at the meridian of her reign 
 in old Lincoln. In the solemn " precincts " of the 
 cathedral the humble bees seemed almost afraid to 
 disturb the solitude by a hum ; and venerable maiden 
 ladies had no vicissitude of existence, save an occa- 
 sional scold at their servants, or a grumbling com- 
 plaint of " short measure " to the coalman as he made 
 his weekly call. And, indeed, the rest of the city 
 was most autumnally tame and uninteresting. The 
 fashionables were at the watering-places, — the throng 
 of the w orking population was in the fields, — and 
 while one tradesman complained, with a yawn, to his 
 neighbour, that there was " nothing doing, and no 
 money stirring," the other invariably rejoined, " No, 
 nor won't be, till after harvest ! " — and then imitated 
 his neighbour in stretching his mouth from ear to ear. 
 In fact, the only interesting people you met were
 
 112 NICHOLAS NIXON. 
 
 those who endeavoured to keep you awake by col- 
 lecting and pourhig out several dull, disagreeable, or 
 doleful subjects in a breath ; such as the relation of 
 the robbery of such a tradesman's shop at noon-day, — 
 the thieves having taken advantage of the extreme 
 dullness of the time to effect their villainous scheme ; 
 
 — or, the accident of the poor-fellow, the bricklayer's 
 assistant, falling from the top of his ladder, Avith the 
 hod on his head, and being taken up to the hospital ; 
 
 — coupled with the " remarkable fact " that he was 
 the second husband of a poor woman whose first fell 
 from a pear-tree, and was killed, leaving her with 
 a large family ; — with an additional half-score of 
 disasters, if your nerves or inclination would permit 
 you to stay and learn the sum-total of the catalogue. 
 
 Nicholas Nixon, " gentleman," had dwelt threescore 
 years in the venerable city ; that is to say, the whole 
 of his life, and had kept decent state as a householder 
 among the genteel people of the Minster-yard, for at 
 least half of the term. Living "retired," on a yearly 
 income, and passing each successive day of his ex- 
 istence in an almost unvaried routine of eating, 
 washing, dressing, walking, and sleeping, one would 
 have thought that all seasons of the year would have 
 become equally agreeable or indifferent to him. But 
 Mr. Nixon was too true a INIinster-yard cit either to 
 feel or to affect indifference in a matter that, he knew, 
 drew forth so much dull comment among his fellow- 
 citizens, as did the dullness of the autumn season.
 
 NICHOLAS NIXON. 113 
 
 " Really, Mr. Subdean," said he to that cathedral 
 dignitary, as he overtook him, by the County Hos- 
 pital, at the top of the " Steep Hill," in the forenoon 
 of one of these drowsy days, " I think our autumns 
 grow duller and duller every year : I'm sure you must 
 feel it to be a bore that you are in residence this 
 latter end." 
 
 " I feel it to be a little dull to be among you, at 
 this time of the year, Mr. Nixon," replied the sub- 
 dean, " but still it is an agreeable change." 
 
 ** I am glad you can think so, sir," rejoined Gen- 
 tleman Nixon ; — for that was the mode by which he 
 was usually distinguished from the several tradesmen 
 Nixons who inhabited the city, — " I am glad you can 
 bring yourself to think so : for my own part, I feel it 
 to be very dull, very dull, indeed ! — Are you for a 
 walk to the Bar, sir ? " 
 
 " I am, Mr. Nixon : shall I have the pleasure of 
 your company ? " was the rejoinder of the courteous 
 and kind-natured clergyman. 
 
 " I shall be most happy, Mr. Subdean : I feel very 
 highly honoured, sir : I " 
 
 " And what is the best news, stirring, Mr. Nixon ?" 
 asked the subdean, desirous of cutting short the re- 
 tired gentleman's flourish of politeness. 
 
 " Well, sir," answered Mr. Nicholas, very quickly, 
 " I think the best news is that the poor freemen have 
 had the spirit to stop this mushroom scheme of the 
 town council to turn the West Common into a
 
 114 NICHOLAS NIXON. 
 
 botanical garden. They are a misclilevous set, these 
 Below-hill Whig-radicals, depend upon it, Mr. 
 Subdean : we shall have need to look sharp after 'em." 
 
 The churchman was full well acquainted with 
 Gentleman Nixon's undeviating adherence to the 
 " Pinli " partisanship, — that is to say, Sibthorpian, or 
 " House-of-Canwick " side of politics, which was most 
 prevalent ' Above-hill " — the division of old Lincoln 
 comprising the habitations situate around the ancient 
 castle and magnificent cathedral, and beyond which the 
 Roman city did not extend. The subdean, I say, 
 knew well that Mr. Nixon was among the most un- 
 chanjTino; of the well-nio;h chano;eless denizens in this 
 elevated region : he knew that IMr. Nicholas professed 
 the highest, the most exclusive toryism ; and therefore 
 he showed no signs of surprise at the uncharitable 
 manner in which Mr. Nicholas chose to express him- 
 self upon the question of the political morality dis- 
 played by the citizens dwelling in the lower region ; 
 and yet the clergyman, by one gentle word, excited 
 great surprise in Mr. Nicholas Nixon. 
 
 " I really don't think the new corporation are 
 intentionally mischievous," said he ; "I have no 
 doubt they mean well : 'tis reckoned to be an age of 
 improvements, you know, Mr. Nixon, and they must 
 be in the fashion." 
 
 " 'Pon my honour, sir, I don't understand the rule 
 by which you distinguish between mischievous deeds 
 and Intentions," sharply observed Mr. Nicholas : " I
 
 NICHOLAS NIXON. 115 
 
 always think that when a number of men deliberately 
 attempt mischief they mean it." 
 
 " I think their scheme would have been less ob- 
 jectionable had they proposed that each of the poor 
 freemen should have cultivated a little plot of garden 
 ground for himself on the common," observed the 
 churchman, by way of parrying the citizen's strong 
 remark. 
 
 "But the law would not permit that, in my 
 opinion, any more than the other," said the retired 
 gentleman : " besides, the fact is just this, sir : once 
 permit these reforming gentry to begin their schemes 
 of improvement, and one acre after another would 
 disappear from the corporate tenure of the freemen, — 
 until, the property becoming individual, it would 
 quickly be bought for a dog's price, by one or other 
 of these liberals who have longer purses and more 
 knavish heads than the rest of their neighbours." 
 
 " I hope none of the new corporation are such 
 men as you are speaking of," said the subdean : " you 
 know, Mr. Nixon, I neither go along with them nor 
 their party ; but I do not like to be uncharitable." 
 
 " Uncharitable ! nonsense, sir ! " exclaimed the 
 exclusive cit, forgetting his courtesy, through bigoted 
 partisanship : " I do not hold these fellows to be at 
 all deserving of a charitable opinion, for I believe 
 them capable of any Avickedness. Why, sir, as Mr. 
 Christopher shrewdly observed on the hustings in the 
 castle-yard at the last county contest, while he pointed
 
 116 NICHOLAS NIXON. 
 
 to the venerable Minster, ' These fellows would turn 
 that sacred and time-hallowed building into a cotton- 
 mill to-morrow if they had the power.' I believe he 
 hit the mark there, sir, for he made the liberals very 
 sore, I assure you," and Mr. Nicholas Nixon chuckled 
 with a vindictive pleasure as he ended. 
 
 " If I did not excuse Mr. Christopher from a know- 
 ledge of the rash speeches which excitement and 
 opposition impel country gentlemen to deliver on 
 the hustings," rejoined the clergyman, looking some- 
 what grave, " I could not hesitate to censure him for 
 making so offensive a remark. I do not see any 
 good to be done by this fierce spirit of quarrel — but 
 much evil." 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr. Subdean," persisted Gentleman 
 Nixon, « but I really must say that I think if all of 
 us were as tamely disposed as yourself, the church 
 would soon tumble over your ears." 
 
 "I think nothing can tend to build it up so 
 securely, Mr. Nixon," returned the dignitary, with a 
 smile, " as showing the world that we, as ministers of 
 the church, are the truest friends of mankind, — the 
 readiest and most cheerful toilers for human happi- 
 ness. You know I never like to talk politics, in any 
 shape ; I would much rather hear you and other gen- 
 tlemen propose some plan for making the poor more 
 comfortable in their circumstances, — or join you in 
 any little scheme for amusing them. Do you attend
 
 NICHOLAS NIXON. 117 
 
 the concerts of these young working-men in St. 
 Peter's church, Mr. Nixon ? " 
 
 " Sir, I take the Uberty to tell you plainly," per- 
 severed the heated "Pink" partisan, "that the easy 
 good-nature of such kind-hearted people as yourself, 
 and the indolence of our most respectable citizens 
 Above-hill, go far to make it nearly impossible, 
 already, to recover any degree of influence in city 
 affairs. We are almost a lost party : the Blues have it 
 all their own way, — and although you must be aware 
 they are bent on ruining the poor entirely, under the 
 mask of helping them, yet you will not lend a hand 
 
 to oppose them " 
 
 " But am I not telling you, my dear sir," inter- 
 rupted the subdean, " that I think all the quarrels 
 in the world can never convince mankind — the poor 
 as well as the rest — that the quarrellers are the 
 friends of mankind ? If the Blue party be so bitterly 
 bent on ruining the poor, as you say they are — let 
 us carry relief into the houses of the poor always in 
 the spirit of benevolence, and never as an act to 
 oppose a party. If we look at the very persons we 
 have to relieve, I think we may learn to do this, — for 
 indeed, Mr. Nixon, there is no denying but that the 
 poor are much more skilful in discerning the motives 
 of those who visit them with charitable professions, 
 than they were some years ago." 
 
 " Why, sir, what with Methodist cant on the one 
 hand, and demagoguism on the other, the poor are
 
 118 NICHOLAS NIXON. 
 
 spoilt," replied Mr. Nicliolas, in the same tart spirit : 
 " they have the impudence, nowadays, to pry into 
 the conduct of all ranks - and conditions : your cloth 
 does not screen you from their envious inquisitive- 
 ness ; and they make all kinds of offensive and sneer- 
 ino" remarks on respectable people. And then, their 
 pride ! Why now, IVIr. Subdean, here we are, nearly 
 at St. Botolph's bar, and not a single poor man has 
 paid you a mark of respect, all the way we have 
 walked! Take my word for it, sir, — forty years ago 
 if I had been honoured to walk down the street with 
 a cathedral dignitary, I should have seen every poor 
 man that we met touch his hat to him ! I ask you, 
 sir, what is to come of such a state of things ? " con- 
 cluded Mr. Nicholas, in a very earnest and emphatic 
 tone. 
 
 The churchman fairly burst into laughter ; and 
 had it been any other than a Minster grandee, Gen- 
 tleman Nixon would have been highly irritated by 
 his mirth. As it w^as, he began to suspect himself of 
 folly, for having carried his opposition to such an ex- 
 tremity in a merely friendly dialogue. 
 
 " Come now, Mr. Nixon," resumed the subdean, 
 in a tone of pleasant expostulation," does not this 
 very circumstance, of the striking change in manners 
 that you have alluded to, convince you that the hostile 
 course is unwise? Do you expect, now, that the 
 poor can be brought to observe the same outwardly
 
 NICHOLAS NIXON. 119 
 
 submissive courtesies that their fathers joractised when 
 you and I Avere young ? " 
 
 " AVell, I must confess, I do not," tardily — but 
 perforce of conviction — Mr. Nicholas made answer. 
 
 "It would be foolish to expect it, Mr. Mxon/' 
 continued the clergyman ; " and as they will continue 
 to keep the course they have commenced outwardly, 
 so w^ill they grow in the habit of scrutinising the con- 
 duct of those above them. I think the time is nearly 
 at hand when neither Blues nor Pinks, nor any other 
 shade of political party, will be able to raise excite- 
 ments by attempting to persuade the poor, that these 
 are designing to cheat them, while those are their dis- 
 interested and sympathising friends. The times are 
 changed, for the English people are changed : we 
 cannot deny it, since we have here a proof of it, Mr. 
 Nixon." 
 
 " That we have, too truly, Mr. Subdean ! " echoed 
 Mr. Nicholas, and sighed very dolorously. 
 
 " Nay, I do not think there is any cause for regret, 
 in all this," observed his cheerful and more enlio-ht- 
 ened acquaintance ; " whatever severe causes may 
 have operated to produce it, no philanthropist can 
 regret that there is discernible the commencement of 
 a spirit of self-respect on the part of the poor. We 
 are all equal in the sight of our Maker, you know, 
 my friend ; and for my part I assure you, I do not 
 desire that the old usages of servility should be re- 
 sumed, and the great first law of human brotherhood
 
 120 NICHOLAS NIXON. 
 
 be again lost sight of — for, I suspect, that was too 
 often the fact while the brother in superfine cloth re- 
 ceived such frequent obeisance from the brother in 
 ragged linen." 
 
 " I must again say you surprise me greatly, sir," 
 observed Gentleman Nixon, beginning again to 
 recover his belligerent humour. 
 
 " But do not be surprised, Mr. Nixon," answered 
 the churchman, instantly and persuasively : " the 
 world has changed, though you remain an honest 
 Tory, and " 
 
 " And you have become a Whig, sir, I fear," ob- 
 served Mr. Nicholas, while his face and throat began 
 to assume the hue of a distempered turkey-cock. 
 
 " No, Mr. Nixon, a Conservative, if you please," 
 
 " All the same," said the retired gentleman, but 
 with a subsidence of his mettle ; " scarcely any thing 
 but a distinction without a difference." 
 
 " To speak the broad truth," resumed the clergy- 
 man, " there are but very few now, who boast them- 
 selves, ■ — as you do, Mr. Nixon, most honestly, — to 
 be Tories. Nor are you very far from right in your 
 belief of the resemblance of some other parties, — for 
 the old Whig and the modern Conservative are nearly 
 akin. The modern Whig would also have been a 
 Radical some few years ago, while the hotter advo- 
 cates for change have also considerably enlarged their 
 demands." 
 
 " And do you pretend to tell me, Mr. Subdean,"
 
 NICHOLAS NIXOX. 121 
 
 asked Mr. NIcIiolas, very impatiently, '" that you and 
 others are any other than madmen to yield to this 
 Jacobinical spirit of change ? — I say Jacobinical — 
 the plain word that my father used, and that I believe 
 to be the best word.^' 
 
 *' But I do not believe it to be the best word, my 
 
 dear sir," repeated the subdean, and took the hand of 
 
 the retired gentleman with a smile, — seeing they 
 
 were about to separate ; " I believe we should be 
 
 madmen indeed if we did not yield wisely to this 
 
 spirit of change. You will never find me among the 
 
 advocates of rash and hasty changes, Mr. Nixon ; but 
 
 I repeat — change has begun, — and if we do not yield 
 
 to it wisely, it will speedily proceed more rashly and 
 
 hastily than diWj of us would wish to see. All parties 
 
 are amalgamating, for they are blending names ; and 
 
 all ranks are convei'ging to a common point, where 
 
 rank will be forgotten. Forty years ago you could 
 
 not have imagined that a cathedral dignitary would 
 
 have walked from the 'Chequer Gate to St. Botolph's 
 
 Bar, and not one of the hundreds of poor men he met 
 
 ever touch their hat to him ; — and yet you have 
 
 walked with me every inch of the way this morning, 
 
 and seen every poor man pass by without showing 
 
 the subdean any more respect than he shows to one 
 
 of his ragged neighbours : — you have seen this, Mr. 
 
 Nixon, and you cannot deny that it was so. Good 
 
 morning, sir ! " '' 
 
 " Good moi'ning, sir!" echoed Mr. Nicholas Nixon, 
 VOL. II. F
 
 122 NICHOLAS NIXON. 
 
 thougli It was somewliat vacantly. And thrice he 
 turned to look after the clergyman when they had se- 
 parated, — stunned and confounded as he felt at what 
 the dignitary had said ; and then wondered how it 
 could be ! But the more Mr. Nicholas wondered, the 
 less he could comprehend what he wondered at. He 
 knew that he himself was what he was thirty years 
 ago, — the same old-fashioned Tory, who, even then, 
 lived each day alike, in the same house in the Minster- 
 yard ; but as for the subdean and many others, 
 though he perceived they had changed, he could not 
 comprehend why : — all that he could comprehend 
 was, — that it ivas so.
 
 123 
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES 
 
 OR, 
 
 ONE PARSON AND TWO CLERKS. 
 
 It was at the very time, — for History is notori- 
 ously fond of synchronisms for her greatest events, — 
 witness My^ale and Plataja, fought and won on 
 the self-same day, — it was at the very time that 
 Papineau and the Canadian rebels took up swords 
 and guns to resist Sir John Colborne nnd the En- 
 glish troops, — that the old women of Stow, in the 
 parts of Lindsey, took up eggs to pelt the parish 
 parson ! 
 
 All the world knows, or if it doth not know it has 
 profited but little by the industry of antiquarians, 
 that Stow, in the division of Lindsey, and eight miles 
 north-and-by-west of Lincoln, was an ancient Roman 
 station, under the euphonic ajjpellation of Sidna- 
 cester ; that under that name it was the seat of a 
 Saxon bishopric ; that although Remigius de Fes- 
 
 F 2
 
 124 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 champ, one of the Norman tyrant's fightuig church- 
 men, transferred the seat of the diocese to Lin- 
 coln, yet when the stately cathedral Avhich he 
 founded was finished, while they placed his episcopal 
 effigy on one of the grand pinnacles of the imposing 
 west front, they fixed the grotesque image of " the 
 Swineher 1 of Stow " (holding in his hand the horn 
 which he gave filled with silver pennies, towards 
 building the Minster,) on the other ; that the epis- 
 copal palace of Stow was the favourite residence of 
 the bishops of Lincoln down to the close of the four- 
 teenth century, and that Stow still gives title to 
 an archdeacon ; lastly, that its venerable-looking 
 church, dedicated to the blessed Virgin, constructed 
 in the form of the Holy Eood, and adorned with a 
 west door of decayed Gothic grandeur, is, to this day, 
 called "the Mother of Lincoln Minster." 
 
 Now such being the distinctions of Stow itself, of 
 course the " Perpetual Curate " of Stow, on receiving 
 the awful impressment of episcopal hands, and the 
 mysterious investiture of canonical habits, together 
 with the comfortable appointment of the patron to 
 the vacant curacy, entered on the discharge of his 
 spiritual functions with strong notions of the altitude 
 of his office, and of the plenary powers attached 
 thereto. The ideas of the governed, however, in 
 these days, somehow or other, don't happen to pre- 
 serve an equal altitude, respecting office, with those 
 of the governors ; and the new Perpetual Curate of
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 125 
 
 Stow, tlie successor to the once vice-regal priests of 
 Sldnacester, Avas stricken with ghostly astonishment 
 at finding that sundry rustics of his parish cared not 
 a bodle for his new authority ; that they snapped 
 their fingers at his counsel and reproofs ; and, setting 
 at nought his college learning, preferred lending their 
 ears to the unlearned Wesleyan local preachers, — a 
 race of heretics who are so vuloar and unfashionable 
 as to follow the example of Paul, and other vulgar 
 workers of old, Avho earned their bread with the 
 labour of their own hands, and yet, occasionally, mini- 
 stered in Avord and doctrine. In the very nature 
 of things this was unsavoury to a clergyman, — 
 especially to a young one, — but more especially to 
 one who actually stood in the shoes, speaking spi- 
 ritually, of the princely and potential bishops of 
 Sidnacester : it was not for him, above all established 
 teachers in the shire, to endure such contemptuous 
 preferences, and by that endurance permit heresy to 
 bud and blossom unchecked. 
 
 Now, a neighbouring reverend brother of his, the 
 fox-hunting she])herd of Willingham, was also very 
 grievously pestered with these energetic heretics, — 
 and he had resorted to the ancient evangelical custom 
 of thunderino; forth anathemas ao;ainst them from his 
 pulpit : but that only seemed to render the pestiferous 
 teachers more successful, — so the Perpetual Curate 
 of Stow resolved to exert the whole power of his wit 
 in discovering some eifectual way of doing, what his 
 
 r 3
 
 126 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 zealous and pious brother of Willingham could not 
 do, — driving out heresy, and subduing the rebellious 
 spirit of his flock. So to work the Perpetual Curate 
 went with his wit, and a profound mine he wrought : 
 such a mine as would, no doubt, have blown up 
 heresy for ever in his parish, had he ever been able 
 to put the match to it : so profound, that, since his 
 scheme was frusti-ated, no one has ever been able to 
 fathom it, and, therefore, nobodi/ cun tell anybody what 
 it really was. But how was it that a scheme so 
 profound, so workmanlike, so masterly, did not suc- 
 ceed ? Alas I how often in this frail humanitv of 
 ours do the most exalted enterprises fail, yea, often 
 by the unexpected resistance of the very instruments 
 on which we think we can most unerringly and safely 
 depend ! And thus it was with the great Perpetual 
 Curate : he was most magnanimously bent on sub- 
 duing revolt and heresy, when, lo ! even Sir Amen, 
 his clerk, lifted up his heel against him ! 
 
 Now this was a notable event of a very auspicious 
 character for the revolters. Clerk William Middle- 
 ton was no ordinary clerk. Gervase Middleton, his 
 father, had been clerk before him. Clerk William 
 Middleton had, therefore, an important hereditary 
 stamp upon him. And then, he was a schollard, as 
 the old women called it, and was so gentle, that he 
 was never known to hurt a worm ; so moral, that he 
 was never seen drunk in his life ; so religious, that 
 he never used a stronger oath than " Many good
 
 SIGNS or THE TIMES. 127 
 
 faith ! " and " By'r Lady ! " (old oaths of popish times 
 that are not yet lost in old Lincolnshire) ; and so up- 
 right, that he would hot deny his conscience, even for 
 the parson ! This was no ordinary auxiliary on the 
 side of the enemy ; and there was no wonder that it 
 put the Perpetual Curate, for a while, to his wit's 
 end, to hear the reports which were brought to him 
 by one Spurr (who was spurred on by his own in- 
 ward aims to reach Sir Amen's office), of the stout 
 and unflinching and open assertions made in the 
 streets of Stow, by Clerk William Middleton, that 
 the Methodists had as much right to preach as the 
 parson ! It was heresy he did not expect from such 
 a quarter; but he was resolved he would be even 
 with this member of the revolt, however; so he 
 played a master-stroke so suddenly, that it shook the 
 whole parish like an earthquake: he actually un- 
 clerked Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk 
 Gervase, the old, learned, hereditary, gentle, moral, 
 upright, pious, and religious parish-clerk ! ! ! 
 
 This Avas a most unprecedented and most unex- 
 pected event ; and it gave rise, as may be guessed it 
 would, to a mighty concatenation of stupendous oc- 
 currences. The spirit of the Perpetual Curate was 
 roused, and his genius, too, as was proved by his 
 statesmanlike blow at the ringleader of the rustic 
 confederacy ; and the spirit of the parishioners was 
 roused likewise, for they were determined that, al- 
 though the parson might appoint a new clerk, they 
 
 F 4
 
 128 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 would stick by tlie old one. The ensuing Sunday, 
 accordingly, brought forth the strange anomaly of one 
 parson with tivo clerks, reading the church service in 
 the ancient aisle of Stow ! Moreover, when the 
 chosen of the Perpetual Curate was beheld to be the 
 egregious tale-bearer and notorious sycophant, Spurr, 
 who was no adept at the letters of his prayer-book, 
 the churchwarden and parishioners were alike wroth, 
 and resolved, still more resolutely, on abiding by 
 their old respected utterer of amens. Clerk William 
 Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase. Thus it fell 
 out that Clerk Spurr, — we know not, nor care we, 
 what was his pronomen, or "christened" name, as 
 they call it in Lincolnshire ; whether it were Moses 
 or Mahershalalhashbaz, Nahum or Nebuchadnez- 
 zar, Jeremiah or Judas Iscariot, we cannot tell, 
 nor doth it concern the dignity of this our record, to 
 say with positiveness, — for the fellow was but as a 
 buzzard to a sparrow-hawk, when compared Avith the 
 rightful clerk ; but thus it fell out, that Clerk Spurr 
 was called " the Parson's Clerk," while Clerk Wil- 
 liam Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase, bore the 
 creditable and legitimate epithet of " the Parish 
 Clerk." 
 
 And, then, it came to pass that, when announce- 
 ments of christenings, burials, or marriages, had to 
 be made, the parishioners, in the spirit of their pre- 
 ference, commissioned their own clerk, " the Parish 
 Clerk," to inform his Reverence the Perpetual Curate
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 129 
 
 of the same, and to request the fulfihnent of the 
 accustomed rites. But the cooler the parishioners 
 grew towards " the Parson's Clerk," the hotter did 
 the parson grow towards his parishioners. He scorned 
 to compromise his sacerdotal dignity by attempting a 
 reconciliation with the unruly spirits by Avhich he 
 was surrounded : he spurned the ignoble example of 
 the ancient worthies wdio thought the first and last 
 part of Christianity was meekness and long-suffering ; 
 and he meditated a still more afflictive stroke of reta- 
 liation on his spiritual rebels. 
 
 Clerk William Middleton conveyed a request to 
 his spiritual superior from a sorrowing villager to bury 
 his dead child ; — but the grand Perpetual Curate 
 would not fulfil the request because it was brought 
 him by the discai'ded, though old, hereditary Amen, 
 — and adjourned, in dudgeon, to the hamlet of Coates, 
 — while the poor villager's child was put into its 
 grave, — as every child of such rebels deserved to be 
 put, — like a dog, ■ — without a prayer being read, or 
 a hope expressed about its resurrection ! 
 
 This circumstance sank deeply into the minds of 
 the Stow revolters : it was a something that had never 
 been heard of a clergyman in the memory of man, — 
 at least at Stow in the parts of Lindsey : it made 
 their skin creep, and the very " hair of their flesh to 
 stand up," — for they were simple, unsophisticated 
 sort of people, and, therefore, all strong mental emo- 
 tions had the same effects upon their physical frames, 
 
 F 5
 
 130 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 as the author of " Job " and Homer describe In then- 
 days. But the strong feeling did not evaporate 
 through the pores of their skin, especially with the 
 more noble, though tenderer, sex: tliey laid their 
 heads together to do such a deed upon a parson as 
 had never been done upon one since the name of 
 parson had been known in Stow. In a short time 
 another message had to be despatched to the Perpe- 
 tual Curate : a woman had to be churched, and a 
 child to be buried, on the same afternoon, - — and, 
 judging from the former example, the villagers con- 
 jectured that his lieverence would " make himself 
 scarce " after the churching, and leave this child, also, 
 unburiftd. And now, a valorous army of the female 
 gender, their pockets plentifully provided with plenipo- 
 tent ammunition of eggs, formed themselves, in heroic 
 ambuscade, near the church door, purposing right 
 courageously to assail the clerical enemy, if he should 
 haughtily refuse the offices of Christian sepulture to 
 the deceased child. " Enterprises of great pith and 
 moment," however, as the immortal one saith, often 
 " their currents turn awry, and lose the name of 
 action." So it was in this ambuscade so gloriously 
 planned. The clerical enemy wisely capitulated : his 
 clerk, " the Parson's Clerk," preceded the Perpetual 
 Curate from the church, as a herald of moderation, 
 assuring the armed battalion that his reverence would 
 peaceably inter the child ; and, forthwith, some of 
 the gallant troop immediately (/rounded their arms.
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 131 
 
 while others preferred throwincj them to a distance, — 
 in token that they put away all hostile thoughts far 
 from them. 
 
 And here, perchance, this chivalrous history might 
 have ended, had not the demon of Litigation, who 
 was doubtless hovering near the field of intended 
 affray, taken the case into his own foul hands. Some 
 part of the rejected artillery chanced to alight upon 
 the garments of " the Parson's Clerk's " wife, and of 
 the Pei'petual Curate's servant-maid. It was in vain 
 that the members of the ambuscade protested this 
 mishap to be owing in no degree to their intent : — 
 the parson commenced an action at law against the 
 entire petticoat regiment, or its ringleaders, for 
 " assault and battery." 
 
 Another untoward event thickened the quarrel, 
 and doubled the action at law ; but the event itself 
 cannot be so distinctly related as the last, seeing it 
 occurred in the dark, while the female ambuscade 
 was planted by broad daylight. The successor of the 
 bishops, bearing a staff instead of a ci'osier, and his 
 chosen Amen, bearing a hayfork, chanced to meet 
 two youths connected with the revolters, one evening 
 after dusk, in the churchyard. Who gave the primal 
 assault cannot be positively affirmed, for it is not over 
 safe to speak closely after the parties in a squabble, 
 when there are no other witnesses. However, a 
 fight certainly took place, even among the tombs of 
 the dead ; and so high did the wrath of the belligerent 
 
 F 6
 
 132 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 Clerk Spurr rise In the conflict, that a cottager, 
 neighbouring to the church, heard with alarm, even 
 at his own door, the said clerkly warrior threaten to 
 stab his opponent with the hayfork ! Ere the cot- 
 tager could quit his door, up came the parson and 
 demanded help ; but the cottager honestly told the 
 parson " he would look better at home." His Kever- 
 ence then sought " help" at the blacksmith's shop, 
 but there, also, no one thought he needed it, — and 
 so he retreated to his lodgings. 
 
 Such, In a few words, was the cause of the double 
 action at law ; and, at the ensuing KIrton sessions, 
 the two youngsters who had either cudgelled the 
 parson, or had been cudgelled themselves, together 
 with the ringleaders of the famous female ambus- 
 cade, were together tried for " assault and battery." 
 But the wrathful parson did not get his will : the 
 affair was so ludicrous that he was compelled to 
 consent that It should be "hushed up." 
 
 To hush up the heart-burnings of the parties, on 
 their return to the seat of war, was, however, not so 
 easy a matter. Above all things, did It now become 
 a difficult task to keep peace between the rival clerks. 
 Passing by the many minor occasions wherein fiery 
 frowns and black glances Avere exchanged, this his- 
 tory, which we must abridge, through dread of being 
 adjudged tedious, conducts us to another notable 
 event, which became the subject of another " actlon- 
 at-law," at a succeeding KIrton Quarter Sessions.
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 133 
 
 The funeral of a parishioner was about to take 
 place, and the friends of the deceased " particularly 
 requested" that Clerk William Middleton, the son of 
 Clerk Gervase, — the true "Parish Clerk," — the 
 old, hereditary, and established, and legitimate pro- 
 nouncer of conclusive aniens, — might give the 
 responses at this funeral. Clerk Spurr, the " Parson's 
 Clerk," however, determined on contesting the 
 point; — and — a struggle for the old folio prayer- 
 book actually took place in the church ! 
 
 Here, again, was a sight that had never been 
 beheld, or dreamt of, before, in the parish of Stow : 
 but as strange and indecorous a sight as it was, it 
 was one that many a rural spectator declared he 
 wouldn't have missed for a quart of ale ! — The very 
 mourners for the dead were compelled to hide their 
 lauo-hino; faces with their white handkerchiefs, — for 
 the grotesque wrestling of the rival clerks, and their 
 looks of rage, as they together grasped and tugged 
 at the prayer-book, put weeping out of the question. 
 The parson had got through — "I said I will take 
 heed to my ways," — and wanted to begin — " Lord, 
 thou hast been our refuge," — but there stood 
 the wrestlers, grasping, and j^ulling, and panting, 
 and sweating, — and it was a most difficult thing 
 to say which would be likely to beat. Many a 
 stout farmer that shook his sides, — for the laugh 
 became broad and general, in spite of the solemnity 
 of the occasion, — lonsed to shout out, " A crown to
 
 134 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 a groat upon Middleton!" — but restrained himself, 
 xlt length, — the genuine, hereditary spirit of the 
 true "Parish Clerk" prevailed !^ — he possessed the 
 book : the " Parson's Clerk " sought a seat, to 
 take his breath ; — and Clerk William, panting, and 
 Aviping the streaming perspiration from his comely 
 and heroic brow, proceeded to echo the " Confession" 
 after the Perpetual Curate. 
 
 Such was the cause of the " action " brought by 
 Spurr (at the direction, and by the ghostly advice 
 of the Perpetual Curate) against Middleton at the 
 succeeding sessions, — an action of "assault committed 
 by the said Middleton upon him the said Spurr, 
 while in the performance of duty." The jury, on 
 this occasion, — to make short of the narrative, — 
 sat till eleven at night, — the Court rang with laugh- 
 ter for hours, — and the affair was, at last, got rid 
 of, — by some legal resort, and Spurr (or his 
 advisers) were saddled Avith costs. Tliat was a 
 conclusion that "gravelled" Spurr, as he said, on 
 leaving the Court ; and the Perpetual Curate was 
 also "gravelled" — though he did not use the same 
 expression ; and they each showed it, soon after their 
 second return to the old seat of war. But another 
 slight event must first be chronicled, ere the several 
 succeeding and exalted doings of the " Parson's 
 Clerk" and the Perpetual Curate are narrated. 
 
 Thomas Skill, was a skilful yeoman of good report, 
 holding two farms in the ancient parish of Stow ;
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 135 
 
 and although he eschewed all heresy and dissent, 
 and willed to worship after the fashion of his fore- 
 fathers, — who had been creditable yeomen in Stow 
 from time immemorial, — yet liked he not of the 
 wayward doings of his Reverence the Perpetual 
 Curate. Now it chanced that on a certain Sunday 
 in November that the said Skill the skilful went, as 
 was his pious and religious wont, to pay his devotions 
 according to law, in the parish church of Stow, the 
 ancient and venerated sanctuary of his forefathers. 
 As a holder of two farms, be it observed, this credit- 
 able yeoman had a right, by the customs of this rural 
 district, to two pews; nevertheless, being by no 
 means a person of an unreasonable disposition, he was 
 content, on that day, to occupy but one, if so be that 
 he might be allowed to worship quietly. Neverthe- 
 less, scarcely was he seated, ere a certain Jesse Ellis, 
 an aged man of some rural rank as a master-husband- 
 man who had been selected by the Perpetual Curate 
 as his churchwarden, came up to the pew-door, said 
 " he was ordered to pull Skill out," and, forthwith, 
 attempted to put the " order " into execution. Did 
 Skill the skilful resist ? — Did he yield ? No, no : he 
 knew a trick worth two of either. He had not his 
 name for nought ! When Ellis laid his grasp vehe- 
 mently on the pew-door, skilful Skill held it fast for 
 a few moments, and then skilfully let it go, — all in 
 a moment, — so that the vehement Ellis, by the vehe- 
 mence of his grasp and the rebound of the jiew-door.
 
 136 SIGNS or THE TIMES. 
 
 was overthrown ; and there he lay, — he, the parson's 
 own chnrch warden, — on the floor of the aisle of 
 Stow church, in the time of " divine service," with 
 the congregation from their seats and pews, and the 
 Perpetual Curate, from his reading-desk, and Clerk 
 Spurr, the " Parson's Clerk," and Clerk William 
 Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase, squeezing one 
 another in the desk below, and yet looking on, and 
 all looking on, at his signal defeat and overthrow : 
 there he " lay vanquished — confounded ; " — like 
 Milton's Satan, sprawling on the « fiery gulf," 
 when all the fiiUen angels were sprawling there like- 
 wise, but yet looking on and shaking their heads at 
 him for a rash captain — no doubt ! 
 
 Then appeared Skill the skilful, and Ellis the 
 sprawler, before a bench of " Her Majesty's Justices 
 of the Peace for the parts of Lindsey," in the Moot- 
 hall of Gainsborough ; where the justices acted with 
 sense and discernment, and dismissed the sprawler's 
 suit, saddling him with costs. An end might have 
 come to this episode here ; but the sprawler and his 
 son were people of spirit, and were so much dissatis- 
 fied with this decision of the justices, that they went 
 home muttering all the way about law, and declaring 
 to every one they met, that they " would yet have it.'" 
 And so skilful Skill thought it wise and prudent to 
 let them " have it ; " and, therefore, from mere neigh- 
 bourly good humour, commenced his action, in turn, 
 against the said Jesse Ellis for attempting to pull
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIxMES. 137 
 
 him out of his own pew, on the said Sunday in No- 
 vember, and in the parish church of Stow aforesaid. 
 Our manuscript hath, in this place, an hiatus; so 
 that we cannot say how the said action terminated : 
 but it will not excite wonder that amidst the ravelled 
 tissue of broils and litigations occasioned by the 
 gospel-mi ndedness of the illustrious successor to the 
 Sidnacestrian prelates, some of their issues should 
 escape complete and satisfactory chronicle. " 
 
 It bchoveth, moreover, that we now attend to the 
 more lofty department of this our history of ecclesi- 
 astical revolutions, — for, as the sun transcendeth 
 the stars, so do the acts of sacerdotal personages out- 
 shine the brightest deeds of the vulgar laity. 
 
 And first, of the continued luminous acts and 
 deeds of Clerk Spurr, the notable and notorious 
 " Parson's Clerk," the hero of the hayfork. Let none 
 imagine that he always warred with such a vulgar 
 weapon of the field ; forasmuch as his Reverence the 
 Perpetual Curate, being in possession of a grand 
 double-barrelled gun, was wont to commit and intrust 
 it to the lawful custody of his worthy coadjutor in 
 heroic exercises, the heroic Clerk Spurr. Neither 
 did it redound a little to the credit of the Perpetual 
 Curate's humanity, that he did so commit and in- 
 trust the said formidable piece of ordnance to the 
 custody of the said Spurr; — forasmucli as the life 
 and safety of that hero of the hayfork were discerned 
 to be seriously in danger, — inasmuch as it had been
 
 138 SIGNS OF THE TIJVIES. 
 
 proven how the maUclous urchins of the community, 
 participating deeply in the heart-burnings of their 
 sires and mothers, were wont often to annoy, with 
 sundry small pebbles and other mischief- working 
 missiles, the precious person of the said liero. Lest, 
 therefore, these assaults should issue in some bodily 
 harm to himself, the man of nightly valour was 
 equipped with the gun, and speedily proceeded to 
 defend himself therewith, in the manner that shall 
 now be described and related, together with the 
 fruition of his new act of heroism. 
 
 The night was two hours old, — no moon, no 
 stars, — it was deeply dark and murkily cloudy, and 
 — but never mind all that ! Anon, up cometh the 
 troop of youngsters, whispering laughter, and saying 
 " Hush ! " to each other, as they approach the camp 
 of the enemy. Little thought they, as they marched 
 along, each laden with his pocket of pebbles, of the 
 sore discomfiture which had been planned for them 
 by the foe ! Clerk Spurr, that signal warrior of the 
 implement with prongs, had planted himself, firelock 
 on shoulder, eye full of aim, and heart full of valour, 
 close by the usual point of attack. The besiegers 
 halt, — and, in a moment, a shower of gravel gravel- 
 leth their enemy; but loud as was the war-cry of their 
 tiny voices, above it rose the booming thunder of the 
 *' Parson's Clerk's " grand double-barrelled gun, — ■ 
 and woeful was the effect thereof ! ! ! The shot or the 
 wadding, — the manuscript sayeth not which — had
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 139 
 
 entered, — not the brains, nor, even, the hats of the 
 juvenile assailants, — but — but — the church win- 
 dows ! Away scampered the youngsters, — every mo- 
 ther's son feeling whether his head was off or on, — and 
 yelling, till every cottage door in the neighbourhood 
 was thrown open, and lights were brought out in 
 alarm ! Down tumbled the old coloured glass from 
 the ancient muUions, rdttling on the tomb-stones 
 beneath, and sounding like curses on sacrilege in the 
 ears of tlie affrighted hero of the gun and the hay- 
 fork ! His Aveapon dropped, — for he was panic- 
 struck ! The churchwardens brovight a bill against 
 him for the repair of the church-windows : he refused 
 to pay : was brought before the Lincoln county ma- 
 gistrates for recovery ; and the hero of the hayfork 
 had to " fork out" seven shillings and sixpence for 
 his freak ! The Stow rustics grinned from ear to ear, 
 nodded approbation of the sentence, and spread mirth 
 and fun when they reached home with the news ; 
 but the reverend successor of the ancient episcopal 
 potencies was sorely grieved at heart when he heard 
 of this rejietition of defeat for his chosen and chop- 
 fallen ejaculator of amens. 
 
 As for the grand Perpetual Curate himself, his 
 personal troubles and griefs, and the uninterrupted 
 continuation thereof, would require volumes for full 
 narration. Suffice it to say, ere we bring this ex- 
 alted record to an end, that, in the profundity of his 
 wisdom, he resorted to multitudinous devices of apos-
 
 140 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 lolical character, after the defeats a*; law that have 
 been heretofore noted. During ten successive Sun- 
 days he resorted to a most novel course of Christi- 
 anity, closing the service after merely reading a few 
 of the "Sentences," — or, in addition, a few words of 
 the " Absolution," — and then, leaving his flock to find 
 their way to heaven as they might. The legitimate 
 " Parish Clerk" would come into his desk pretty 
 early ; then would come in the " Parson's Clerk ; " 
 and, lastly, the parson would walk into his desk, and 
 commence reading after the following unique me- 
 thod : — 
 
 " When the wicked man turneth away from his 
 wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that 
 which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive. 
 
 William Middleton ! I charge you to come out 
 
 of that seat, and let the clerk come in peaceably and 
 quietly ! " 
 
 The poor " Parish Clerk," meanwhile, would make 
 no answer; but full meekly, and in the spirit of his 
 vocation, would hold his peace. Again the parson 
 would proceed : — 
 
 " Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth 
 
 us in sundry places to William Middleton ! if 
 
 you do not come out of that seat, and cease inter- 
 rupting me in my duty, I sliall conclude the service ! " 
 
 And then would he close the book, — the poor 
 " Parish Clerk" answering not a word, — and, 
 walking to the communion-table, give a couple of
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 141 
 
 parish alms-loaves to svicli as he chose to call — 
 usually his oicm clerk, for one, — and then, — and 
 then, — - in the spirit of Jewel and Latimer, and the 
 rest of the tireless and devoted exemplars of his reli- 
 gion, Avould he quit the consecrated edifice, and leave 
 the congregation to finish by themselves, — or dis- 
 perse, Avhich of course they preferred to do, after 
 witnessing these apostolical exhibitions. One more 
 relation of the subtle and profound devices of the 
 immortal and Perpetual Curate, ere we come to an 
 end. 
 
 Vexed, teased, troubled, and circumvented, as he 
 was, it came to pass that, in the plenitude of his 
 mortified and yet haughty reflections, the successor 
 of purple prelates bethought him that it was not 
 seemly for the rebellious herdsmen, ploughmen, and 
 other rustics of low degree, wherewith he was sur- 
 rounded, to walk daily over the " consecrated 
 ground" of the churchyard, in the ancient footpath. 
 The more he thouo-ht of it the more he shuddered at 
 it ; that a number of rude rebels, with their here- 
 tical and sacrilegious feet, should tread daily on 
 o-round which had been " consecrated " in the hal- 
 lowed mists of dateless antiquity, by mitred mag- 
 nates, before whose uplifted crosier kings had lowered 
 their sceptres, and mailed barons trembled and turned 
 pale. It was not to be permitted : the magnanimous 
 Perpetual Curate resolved to root out such impious 
 sacrilege from the face of the earth ; and immedi-
 
 142 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 ately fastened up the gates of the said ancient foot- 
 path with strong locks and chains ; yea, planted 
 goodly young trees in the line of road hitherto 
 trodden by unworthy and rebellious rustics. Nay, 
 more, conceiving that even the remembrance of every 
 grandmother and great-grandfather of such a stiff- 
 necked generation should be obliterated, his high- 
 minded Reverence gave order that all the hillocks 
 over the graves should be laid low, and the whole 
 churchyard be levelled ! 
 
 But now the grand priest had reached a climax, in 
 the judgment of his parishioners ; and now arose the 
 mighty wrath of the people, — that barrier which 
 hath so often stood before proud priests, — yea, and 
 will so stand again, — seeming to bear on its front, 
 " Thus far shall ye go, and no further, and here shall 
 your proud wills be stayed!" A parishioner, whose 
 purse was lined with a store of guineas to back his 
 resolution, avowed that the Perpetual Curate, if he 
 caused to be touched a single clod that covered the 
 ashes of his, the parishioner's, forefathers, should have 
 his clerical cup sweetened: with all the sugar that 
 could be purchased for him in a court of law ; and, 
 lo ! the successor of the prelates of Sidnacester re- 
 scinded his " order" for levelling the quiet graves of 
 the dead ! 
 
 Nor long did the other late devices of his canonical 
 wisdom stand. The urchins of the parish contrived 
 to slip slily over the churchyard wall, and to break
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 143 
 
 down the newly-planted trees; and, at length, one 
 parishioner, having conversed with Sir John Barley- 
 corn at Gainsborough market, and being strongly 
 advised by that notable counsellor of courage to set 
 the proud parson at nought, and "break his bonds 
 asunder," rushed to the churchyard gates, as soon as 
 he arrived at his native village, and smiting at locks 
 and chains, as if he had been Samson before Gaza, 
 burst his Avay valiantly through, — and, thereafter^ 
 did the sacrilegious feet of every rebel rustic again 
 press the path of their forefathers, without let or 
 impediment ! Such are the sovereign achievements 
 of the magisterial " people," when engaged in the 
 assertion of their time-hallowed " rights ! " What 
 are the acts of emperors compared therewith ? 
 
 And now come we to the final " action " in this 
 concatena^/o?i of l\tigatio?i, one that gave consternation 
 to the poor "parish clerk," be it understood. We 
 have spoken of the " actions " at the first Kirton 
 Sessions; namely, the Perpetual Curate versus the 
 Female Ambuscaders, and the Perpetual Curate 
 versus the Cudgellers in the dark : then spoke we of 
 the " action " at the next sessions. Clerk Spurr, the 
 Parson's Clerk, v. Clerk William Middleton, the son 
 of Clerk Gervase, the Parish Clerk : then of the petit 
 " action " before the Gainsborough Justices — Ellis 
 V. Skill : then of the greater " action " at assize — 
 Skill V. Ellis : then of the " action " before the 
 Lincoln magistrates for recovery of value for broken
 
 144 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 cliurcli-wiudows — the Churchwardens of Stow v. the 
 Parson's Clerk : lastly, of the threatened action by 
 the parishioner of the long purse, which the Per- 
 petual Cui-ate avoided by rescinding his presumptuous 
 " order " for levelling the graves : ■ — but now come 
 we to the final " action " — the action of actions : 
 that to which all the rest formed but a petty preface : 
 that wherein the Perpetual Curate departing from all 
 by-ways of attack, undisguisedly assumed a position 
 of legal and spiritual antagonism against the foe 
 whom he esteemed as the chief author of his ills, the 
 disturber of his projected schemes, that would, so 
 many months before, have issued in subjugating the 
 rebels, and consuming heresy in his parish, — against 
 the old, hereditary, gentle, moral, upright parish 
 clerk, Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk 
 Gervase. 
 
 And where was the action commenced ? — Before 
 the county magistrates, — or at sessions, — or at 
 assize ? Pooh ! nonsense ! — that Avas not the way 
 to finish Middleton's business as the parson intended 
 to finish it. Where then ? In the Queen's Bench, 
 or the Common Pleas, or the Exchequer? No. 
 What then, in the Vice Chancellor's Court, or the 
 Court of Chancery itself ? Not one of 'em, sir ; but 
 in a more awful court than any of 'em, or all of 'em 
 put together : in the Spiritual Court, sir ! 
 
 What aged dame in Llndsey had not heard of the 
 Spiritual Court ? why the mere sound of the word
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 145 
 
 served to fill her with mysterious awe, and to call up 
 in her memory all the fireside stories of her grand- 
 mothers : how such awful " penances " were inflicted 
 by this court, on erring females, in their days, — when 
 the dread power of the priesthood was displayed in 
 punishing the subjects of that natural frailty called 
 " scandal," by compelling them to walk up the 
 church aisle covered with a white sheet, and bearino- 
 a wax taper in their hand ! With such associations 
 derived from his grandmother, only conceive how 
 aAvfully queer poor, moral, gentle, religious, upright 
 Clerk William felt when he received the mysterious 
 " writ," issued against him by this mysterious court. 
 " Schollard," as he Avas, it was so strange a thing to 
 look upon, that he instantly sent for the parish school- 
 master, who, with spectacles on nose, and frequent 
 spelling and some mispelling, read aloud — to a house 
 full of consternated neighbours, — Clerk William 
 turning pale as he heard the beginning, — 
 
 " In the Name of God, Amen ! 
 
 " We, John Haggard, Doctor in Civil and Canon 
 Law, Vicar-General in spirituals of the Right 
 Reverend Father in, God, John, by Divine Permis- 
 sion, Lord Bishop of Lincoln, and official Principal 
 of the Episcopal and Consistorial Court of Lincoln, 
 lawfully constituted, — to you William Middleton, of 
 the parish of Stow, &c. &c., touching and concerning 
 your soul's health, and the lawful correction and 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 146 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 reformation of your manners and excesses, and more 
 especially for profaning the parish church of Stow 
 aforesaid, by brawling, quarrelling, or chiding in the 
 said parish church during the celebration of divine 
 
 service therein by the Rev. , perpetual curate, 
 
 &c. &c., and also for contumacious behaviour, and 
 refusing to obey the lawful commands of the said 
 ," &c. &c. 
 
 And then followed a pompous quotation from a 
 statute of Edward the Sixth, showing that a clergy- 
 man had power to prohibit a contumacious member 
 of his flock ab inr/ressu ecclesicB, — that is to say, 
 from entering the church : in other words, to ex- 
 communicate him ! Furthermore, an act of the 53d 
 George III. was quoted, declaring that " Persons 
 who may be pronounced or declared to be excommu- 
 nicate by any ecclesiastical court in definitive sentences, 
 or in interlocutory decrees, having the force and effect 
 of definitive sentences, as spiritual censures for of- 
 fences of ecclesiastical cognisance, shall incur impri- 
 sonment not exceeding six months, as the court 
 pronouncing or decreeing such person excommunicate 
 shall direct." 
 
 That was a soi'e shake for poor Clerk William ! 
 Excommunicated ! Why, tlie thought of such a fate 
 to one who had been brought up in a veneration of 
 the church, whose father was a clerk, and thought 
 himself as fully consecrated as a bishop ! — it was no
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 147 
 
 joke to such a one to hear there was a chance of his 
 being excommunicated. Yet he would not " give it 
 up ! " No, that he wouldn't : his father had said, 
 " Nobody could turn the parish clerk out of his office 
 so long as he had morality on his side : his office was 
 liis freehold:" so his father, Clerk Gervase, of pious 
 memory, had said ; and he. Clerk William, would 
 abide by it. So he took the desk on the following 
 Sunday, and kept up the war as usual. Yet he often 
 pondered on "definitive sentences" and "interlocu- 
 tory decrees," — when he had learnt the words by 
 heart, — wondering what kind of awful things they 
 were. 
 
 The effect of issuing this writ, hov/ever, so com- 
 pletely astounded the parishioners that they thence- 
 forth only whispered where they had shouted, and 
 were silent where they had whispered, in all matters 
 relating to the parson : true, whenever a paper for 
 convening any particular parochial meeting was at- 
 tached to the church door, bearing the usual signa- 
 ture of , Incumbent Minister, some wag 
 
 would be sure to scratch out one of the words, so as 
 to make it read " Incumbrance " Minister, instead : 
 but beyond that there was, now, no further daring. 
 
 And, at last, the summons came, and no less than 
 a score of witnesses were taken to the Consistory in 
 Lincoln Cathedral, to be sworn that they would give 
 evidence on the case. And week by week — week 
 by week — the prosing "examinations" were pro- 
 
 G 2
 
 148 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 ceeded with, on a certain day of the week, vintil a 
 thousand folios of " examination " Avere counted ; 
 and when a parishioner asked how much he must pay 
 for a copy of the depositions for Clerk William, the 
 reckoning was made by the "registrar" of the 
 court, at the usual sum per folio — and he was told 
 it would merely be such a trifle as Jive-and-twenty 
 pounds ! And then the calculations, and the wonders, 
 and wishes that were expressed, night by night, and 
 day by day, in every cottage at Stow, — nay, in all 
 the villages round, and the wagers that were laid in 
 every village ale-house on a Saturday night, what 
 would be the cost of the whole trial, and how long- 
 Clerk William would be imprisoned, and where they 
 would imprison him, — for nobody was so slow of 
 heart or understanding, as not to know beforehand 
 that the " Vicar- General in Spirituals" would give 
 judgment against the poor " parish clerk," as a 
 matter of course, whenever the trial should come to 
 an end. 
 
 And did the trial ever come to an end ? and was 
 Clerk William Middletou, the son of Clerk Gervase, 
 really excommunicated ? " By no manner of means, 
 sir," as the pompous fellow says in the play : the 
 grand suit, after causing so tremendous a quassation, 
 and all that, of a considerable quarter of Lindsey, was 
 — given up ! Yes, it was : and more than that, the 
 true " parish clerk," Clerk William, was reinstated, 
 fully and entirely, in his rightful office. Ay, to this
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 149 
 
 day, — unless our information misleads us, — he exer- 
 cises the same without losing an inch of his height, 
 or a fragment of his independent spirit ; for it is but a 
 few months bygone since he showed it. The grand 
 Perpetual Curate, according to his wont, took upon 
 him to reprehend, at the very grave-side, a Wesleyan, 
 whose child, then being interred, had been baptized 
 by a Wesleyan preacher : Clerk William, right 
 bluntly, told the priest that the Wesleyan had a right 
 to please himself ! " Why, as for you, you will say 
 or do any thing," retorted the priest, " if they'll pay 
 you for it ! " — " And would you be standing there in 
 that gown, with that book in your hand, unless yoxi 
 were paid for it ?" asked and answered Clerk William. 
 The grand Perpetual Curate bit his lip, and walked 
 away ! 
 
 Reader, we have been relating facts : perhaps, in 
 adopting the style of half-rhodomontade, we have not 
 displayed very good taste; but the narrative itself 
 contains uncontradictable facts. And these did not 
 occur in a district disturbed by chartism, nor revolu- 
 tionised by radicalism, or anti-corn-law agitation ; 
 but in the old-foshioned, rural centre of Lindsey : it 
 is even there where the " spiritual court" shrinks 
 from employing the foolery of its own worn-out 
 terrors ; and where the peasant adventures to beard 
 the priest ! Are not these '' Signs of the Times ? " 
 
 G 3
 
 150 
 
 DAME DEBORAH THEUMPKINSON, 
 
 HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE, 
 
 Joe's story opens in that unclassical region, the Isle 
 of Axhohne, — - a section of Lincolnshire divided fi-om 
 the main body of the county by the broad and far 
 extending stream of the Trent. Insular situations 
 are invariably held to give some peculiarity of man- 
 ners to their inliabitants ; and the Axholmians, or 
 " Men of the Isle," have always been reckoned to be 
 an odd sort of, plain kind of people, by the other in- 
 habitants of Lindsey, the great northern division of 
 the shire, of which the Isle is accounted a part. This 
 was more emphatically true of them seventy years 
 ago ; and the face of the country was, at that time, 
 much in keeping with the unpolished character of the 
 Axholmian people. A journey through the Isle, in 
 the autumnal and winter months especially, would 
 then have been studiously avoided by a traveller 
 acquainted with its excessively bad roads, rendered
 
 DAME DEBORAH TIIRUMPKINSON. 151 
 
 insuftcrably disagreeable by the stench of the sodden 
 ** line " or flax, with which the broad ditches on each 
 side of the rural ways were filled. Low, thatched 
 abodes, built of " stud and mud," — or wood and 
 clay, were the prevailing description of human dwell- 
 ings scattered over the land; and swine were the 
 animals most commonly kept and fattened by the 
 farmers and peasantry. 
 
 The two considerable villages of O wston and Crowle 
 (pronounced Crool by the euphonious Axholmians), 
 together with the town of Epworth, tlie modern 
 capital of the Isle, were the only localities in Ax- 
 holme to which improvements, common in the rest of 
 the shire, had then penetrated. Haxey, the ancient 
 capital of the district, meanwhile, remained unvisited 
 by the spirit of modern change, and drew its only 
 distinction from the historic associations connected 
 with its decay. In remote times, and under its 
 Saxon appellation of " Axel," the town had been 
 fortified with a castle of the Mowbrays, to a chief of 
 which chivalrous race the greater part of " the Isle 
 of Axelholm " was given as a manor, by the Norman 
 conqueror. And, amid the straggling and irregular 
 assemblage of buildings which now form the village, 
 an intelligent visiter would discover indubitable evi- 
 dence of the former importance of the place. Its 
 large church, displaying the rich architecture preva- 
 lent during the wars of the Roses, and supporting a 
 lofty tower resonant at stated hours with chimes of 
 
 G 4
 
 152 DAME DEBORAH THEUMPKINSON, 
 
 loud and pleasing music, looks from an eminence, 
 almost in cathedral state, over the greater extent of 
 the Isle ; and a few ample and curiously built houses 
 of some centuries old, — affording a striking contrast 
 to the paltry erections of the day, — denote the an- 
 cient denizens of Haxey to have been the principal 
 possessors of comparative wealth, and, it may be added, 
 of the soil in the neighbourhood. 
 
 On a fine summer's evening, at the door of one of 
 these large antiquated houses, sat Dame Deborah 
 Thrumpkinson, the aged widow of Barachiah Thrump- 
 kinson, cordwainer, deceased. Her husband, who had 
 been long dead, was a thrifty man at his trade, and 
 had, by habits of strict industry and parsimony, — 
 holpen therein by the like disposition of his beloved 
 Deborah, — contrived to store a good corner of his 
 double-locked oaken chest with spade-ace guineas. 
 Deborah had acquired sufficient skill in the " art and 
 mystery " of her husband's employment to be able 
 to carry on his trade after his death ; and, with the 
 assistance of two stout apprentices, and as many 
 journeymen, was, at the season in which our nar- 
 rative begins, conducting the best business in that 
 line within a circuit of several miles. 
 
 "We have hinted that Dame Deborah began to be 
 stricken in years : nevertheless, the labours of " the 
 gentle craft " s-ave little fati2;ue to her elastic mind 
 and strong sinewy frame ; and as she sat in the old- 
 fashioned oaken chair, enjoying rest, and inhaling the 
 soft breeze, after a day of healthful toil, she neither
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 153 
 
 stooped through infirmity, nor expci'icnced dimness 
 of vision, though sixty winters had gone over her 
 head. The sliort pipe in her mouth proved that 
 she had discovered an effectual, though unfeminine, 
 solace for a weary frame ; and although, through the 
 flitting volumes of smoke, you saw that their frequent 
 visitings had left on the dame's cheek a deeper shade 
 than years only would have imprinted there, — yet, 
 a nearer gaze would have convinced you that, in 
 youth, no contemptible degree of comeliness had been 
 commingled with her strength. With the calmness 
 derived from experienced age, and from a conscious- 
 ness of honest independence, — thus, then, sat the 
 grave Deborah, receiving, now and then, a mark of 
 respect from the slow, worn labourers of either sex, 
 as they passed homeward, with fork or rake on 
 shoulder, from the hay-field. 
 
 The dame had just knocked the ashes out of the 
 head of her pipe, and was about to retire within her 
 dwelling for the night, when her attention was strongly 
 attracted by the conversation of a group which was 
 suddenly formed but a few yards from her threshold. 
 A pale, melancholy-looking woman, with a very little 
 boy clinging to her blue linen apron, was met by 
 a master chimney-sweep, followed by a couple of 
 wretched-looking urchins bowed beneath enormous 
 bags of soot. 
 
 " Well, mistress," said the man, in a voice so harsh 
 that it grated sorely on the ears of Dame Deborah, 
 
 G 5
 
 154 DAME DEBOKAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 who would have been offended with the words of the 
 speaker, even if they had been uttered in the softest 
 accents, " you may as well take the fasten-penny I 
 offered you the other day, and let me have this lad 
 o' yours." 
 
 The child clung more closely to his mother, and 
 looked imploringly and pitifully in her face. 
 
 " Nay, I think I mustn't," rephed the pale-looking 
 Avoman, in a faint and somewhat irresolute tone, 
 catchine: the wistful o;lance of her child, and then 
 bending her eyes sorrowfully on the ground. 
 
 " Why, a golden guinea '11 do thee some service," 
 resumed the sweep ; " and I'll warrant me, I'll take 
 cai'e o' thy little lad. He shall get plenty to eat and 
 drink, — and I reckon he doesn't get overmuch of 
 ayther with thee." 
 
 " I get as much as my mammy gets," said the child, 
 adventuring to speak, but looking greatly affrighted. 
 
 " Why, thou art a tight little rogue," said the 
 chimney sweep, smiling grimly through his soot, 
 " and could run briskly up a chimney, I lay a wager. 
 — Come, give us thy hand, and say thou wilt go 
 with us." 
 
 The man's attempt at coaxing had a repulsive 
 effect on the child, for he drew back, and trembled 
 lest he should be laid hold of. 
 
 " Come, I'll make it two guineas," resumed the 
 sweep, again addressing the mother ; " and what 
 canst thou do with him, now his father is dead, —
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 155 
 
 as thou saldst ■when I met thee at Wi'oot, the other 
 day ? Thou wilt be obliged to throw thyself on some 
 parish, soon, — for they'll never sufl'er thee to go 
 sorning about in this way ; and if thou art once in 
 the workhouse, depend on't th' overseers will soon 
 'prentice the poor little fellow to somebody that may 
 prove a hard master to him, mayhap. Better take 
 my offer, and let him be sure of kind usage." 
 
 The mother was silent and motionless, and tears 
 began to fall fast, while the sense of her present desti- 
 tution and fears for the impending future struggled like 
 strong wrestlers, with natural aftection : ■ — a fearful 
 antagonism within, of which none but Adversity's 
 children can conceive the reality of the portraiture. 
 
 " Nay, prythee, do not fret," said the man, with 
 affected pity; and then taking out his begrimed 
 hempen purse under the confident expectation that he 
 was about to gain his point at once from the heart- 
 broken weakness of a woman, added, " Come, come, 
 here's that that will get thee a new gown, and, may- 
 be, put thee in the way of getting on in the world 
 besides." 
 
 The woman did not put forth her hand to take the 
 proffered price for her child, for her mind was now 
 too deeply distracted to understand the sweep's 
 meaning ; or, if she understood him, her frame was 
 now too weak with grief to permit her making any 
 answer. 
 
 " Oh, mammy, mammy ! — do not let the grimy 
 
 G 6
 
 156 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 man take me away ! " exclaimed the child, bursting 
 into violent weeping, and pulling forcibly at his 
 mother's apron. 
 
 " What's the matter with your bairn, good wo- 
 man ? " cried the benevolent old Dame Deborah at 
 this moment, — for she had heard too much to be 
 longer a listener, merely ; — and the Axholmians were 
 not versed in those refinements of modern society 
 which define a neighbourly and humane interposition 
 to be an act of unmannei'ly oflSciousness. 
 
 " Mammy, mammy ! — good old woman speaks 
 you," said the eager child, striving to arouse his 
 mother's attention, and to call off her mind from the 
 intense conflict which seemed to have paralysed her 
 consciousness. 
 
 " Ay, ay," observed the sweep, " Dame Thrump- 
 kinson is a thrifty, sensible body : let us put it, now, 
 to her, as a reasonable matter, and see if she does 
 not say I speak fair." 
 
 The group drew near the dame's door, and the 
 man recounted the terms of his proposal with a self- 
 complacent emphasis which indicated that he be- 
 lieved the dame, being a well-reputed tradeswoman, 
 would assent at once to the advisableness of his 
 scheme, and assist him in its immediate accomplish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Now, what d'ye think, dame ? " he said in con- 
 clusion ; " d'ye not think that I speak fair ? " 
 
 " Think ! " answered the aged woman, fixing her
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 157 
 
 keen grey eyes upon the trafficker with an expression 
 which withered his hopes in a moment ; — " think ! — 
 why I think it would be a sinful shame to soil that 
 bairn's pratty face wi' soot ; and I think, beside, that 
 thou hast so little of a man in thee, to wring a 
 widowed-woman's heart by tempting her to barter 
 the body and soul of her own bairn for gold, that if 
 I were twenty years younger, I would shake thy 
 liver in thee for what thou hast said to her." 
 
 The man's countenance fell, and he looked, for a 
 moment, as if about to return an answer of abuse ; 
 but the dame kept her keen eye bent unblenchingly 
 upon him ; — and it seemed as if his courage failed, 
 for he put up the guineas hastily into his purse, and 
 turned from the spot, without daring to attempt an 
 answer, followed by the two diminutive slaves whose 
 hard lot it was to call him " Master." ^ 
 
 " Ah, poor woman I " exclaimed Dame Deborah 
 to the weeping and speechless mother ; — " what a 
 sorry sight it would have been to see you take yon 
 hard-hearted rascal's money, while this poor fayther- 
 less innocent trudged away with a bag o' soot on his 
 feeble back ! No, no, it isn't come to that, nayther," 
 she continued, vacating her arm-chair, and gently 
 forcing the distressed woman into it ; " sit thee 
 down, poor heart ! the bairn shall not want a friend, 
 if aught should ail thee. I'll take care of him my- 
 self, if God Almighty should take thee away as well 
 as his poor fayther."
 
 158 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 "God bless you, dame!" sobbed the cbeered 
 mother, clasping her hands, and bursting anew into 
 tears, which were now tears of joy. 
 
 " God bless good old woman ! " shouted the little 
 fellow, with the real heaven of guileless childhood in 
 his face. 
 
 " My poor child may soon need your goodness, 
 kind dame," rejoined the melancholy mother, turn- 
 ing very deadly pale, — " for I feel I am not long 
 for this world : my strength is nearly gone." 
 
 " Well, well, poor heart, cheer up ! " said the 
 dame, in a tone of sincere condolence: — " remember, 
 that there is One above, who hath said, He will be " a 
 
 husband to the widow, and a" but I'll fetch thee 
 
 and thy pratty bairn a bite o' bread and cheese, and a 
 horn o' mead. — Lord bless me ! how white the poor 
 creature is turning ! God Almighty save her soul ! 
 she's going ! " 
 
 The kind old woman hastened to support the sink- 
 ing head of the dying stranger, and the child clung, 
 convulsively, to the cold and helpless hand of his 
 mother, — and uttered his wailing agony. All was 
 soon over, — for the poor wanderer died almost instan- 
 taneously in Dame Deborah's arm-chair. 
 
 Reader, if thou hast a heart to love thy mother, 
 I need not attempt to describe to thee how deep was 
 the grief and horror felt by the orphan as he gazed 
 upon his dead mother s face. And if thou hast not 
 such a heart, I will not give thee an occasion to
 
 AND HEE ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 159 
 
 slight a feeling so holy as a child's absorbed love for 
 its loving mother. 
 
 Suffice it to say, that after thi'ee days of almost 
 unmitigated grief, the child, led by Dame Deborah, 
 followed his mother's corpse, sobbing, to the grave ; 
 but the aged hand that conducted him to witness the 
 laying of his heart-broken parent in her last resting- 
 place led him back to a comfortable home. The 
 sudden and striking circumstances of his mother's 
 death saddened the orphan's spirits for some time ; but 
 he soon recovered the natural gaiety of childhood, 
 notwithstanding his transference from the care of an 
 affectionate and over-indulgent mother, to that of a 
 guardian of advanced age and grave manners. 
 
 Deborah Thrumpkinson in vain inquired after the 
 orphan's full name. He only knew that he had been 
 called " Joe." She guessed that he must be about 
 four years old; and, fearful that a ceremony which 
 she conceived to be an indispensable preparative for 
 his eternal salvation might have been neglected, she 
 took him to the font of the parish church, and had 
 him baptized " Joseph — in a Christian way," as she 
 termed it : the good dame, herself, becoming surety 
 for the child's fulfilment of the vows thus taken upon 
 himself by proxy. 
 
 Joe's godmother and protectress taught him to 
 read. And no benefit she conferred upon him in 
 after-life was more thankfully remembered by him 
 than this, her humane and patient initiation of his
 
 160 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 infantile understanding into the mystery of the 
 alphabet, and the formation of syllables. Here her 
 labour ended, for her science extended little further ; 
 but a Bible with the Apocrypha, ornamented with 
 plates, — a valued family possession of the Thrump- 
 kinsons, — was within his reach, and, at any hour of 
 Sunday, — and sometimes on other days of the week 
 when he had washed his hands very clean, — he was 
 privileged with the growing j^leasure of turning over 
 the pages of the folio of wonders ever new. 
 
 The good old Dame was not disposed to mar her 
 act of genuine charity, — the adoption of an orphan, 
 — by imprisoning his young limbs too early in the 
 bonds of labour. She did not place him on the 
 humble stall to bend over the last, till she supposed 
 he had reached the age of fourteen. The ten pre- 
 ceding years of his orphanage passed away in a course 
 of happy quietude. The staid age of his venerated 
 protectress forbade any outbreaks of juvenile buoy- 
 ancy in her sedate presence ; but in Joe's lonely 
 wanderings through the fields and lanes, as well as 
 in his silent readings of the pictured Scriptures, he 
 found pleasures which abundantly repaid the irksome- 
 ness of occasional restraint. His simple heart danced 
 with joy at each return of the gladsome Spring, when 
 his beloved acquaintances, the wild flowers, shewed 
 their beautiful faces by brook and hedgerow ; and he 
 became familiar with all their localities, and felt a 
 glowing and mysterious rapture in the renewed sur-
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 161 
 
 vey of their glorious tints and delicate pencillings, 
 long before he learnt their names. 
 
 The commencement of his apprenticeship was 
 marked by an event of no less importance than his 
 introduction to Toby Lackpenny, — the most learned 
 tailor in the Isle of Axholme, — and a personage of 
 such exalted merit, that we purpose to pluck a sprig 
 of " immortal amaranth," by making the world ac- 
 quainted with his separate history : — " but let that 
 pass." Toby, — from the rich immensity — for such 
 it seemed to Joe — of his " library," — furnished the 
 young disciple of St. Crispin with two books which 
 completely fascinated him : they were — the immor- 
 tal fables of " The Pilgrim's Progress " and " Robin- 
 son Ci'usoe," — by the immortal toilers, John Bunyan 
 and Daniel Defoe. Joe was assured by his new 
 friend that Crusoe's adventures were no less veritable 
 true than wonderful, — while the " Pilizrim " had a 
 hidden and all-important meaning, which he must 
 endeavour to discover, and apply to his own spiritual 
 state as he went along. 
 
 During the season of his intense and enamoured 
 pursuit of these absorbing studies, an incident oc- 
 curred which produced some uneasiness both to 
 teacher and disciple. Joe was seated, one evening, 
 on a stool at the tailor's door, fervently engaged in 
 his usual recreation, — the tailor meanwhile plying 
 his needle, — when the clergyman of the village pass- 
 ing by, and observing the boy's studious deportment
 
 162 DAME DEBORAH THEUMPKINSON, 
 
 as something unusual, stepped towards him, and de- 
 sired to know what he was so intent upon. Joe 
 naturally felt some diffidence in returning an answer, 
 and turned towards his friend on the shop-board with 
 a glance that Avas meant to entreat his kind offices in 
 the formation of a reply. But the tailor, to Joe's 
 utter confusion, hung down his head doggedly, and 
 struck his needle into a nether garment that lay upon 
 his knees, with singular vehemence. In default of 
 this expected help, Joe gave his two precious volumes, 
 silently and resignedly, into the hands of the vicar, — 
 a reverend gentleman held in deserved respect by his 
 humble flock for the rigid purity of his morals, but 
 of small skill in the waywardness of the human mind. 
 After a very few minutes' examination of the 
 books, the spiritual overseer crimsoned with apparent 
 displeasure, shook his head very expressively at the 
 boy, and returning the volumes into his hands, assured 
 him he was very sorry to see him so ill employed, — 
 " for one of the books," he said, " contained only a 
 foolish tale,- — -and the other was as whimsical a dream 
 as ever ran through the brains of a fanatic." So say- 
 ing, the well-intentioned, but ill-informed, teacher 
 turned away, — leaving the boy to his own reflec- 
 tions, and the hot criticism of the tailor on what they 
 had just heard from the village parson. These by 
 no means led Joe into a coincidence with the vicar's 
 way of thinking ; and, whenever opportunity served, 
 he was sure, as before, to be wandering, ideally, with
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 163 
 
 the romantic and intrepid adventurer on the desert 
 island, or to be found absorbed in the effort to pene- 
 trate the spiritual mysteries he had been directed to 
 discover in the remaining volume whose enchanting 
 imagery had captivated his young understanding. 
 " A foolish tale," — he could not conceive the narra- 
 tive of the shipwrecked and eremite mariner to be : 
 it was too full of sober earnestness, he thought, to be 
 fantastic : it created before him a verisimilitude in 
 which he himself lived all the wild yet truthful ad- 
 ventures of the cast-a-way seaman over again. And 
 if he had not been told that the story of the Pilgrim 
 was a parable, his simple and eager phantasy would 
 have, primarily, set it down for a literal truth, — 
 however after-reflection might have qualified his first 
 conclusion. 
 
 But the accident of his evening's occupation having 
 been scrutinised by the clergyman had not yet ex- 
 pended its influence on Joe's thoughts and feelings. 
 On the first ensuing visit made by Dame Deborah to 
 pay her tithes, she was solemnly admonished to forbid 
 her godson's unprofitable studies, and to interdict his 
 future association with the tailor. The good dame's 
 reverence for her spiritual guide inclined her, at 
 once, to yield obedience to his recommendation ; 
 more especially as she had for some time noted that 
 the boy did not, as formerly, eagerly resort, at every 
 leisure opportunity, to the old family Bible. 
 
 Accordingly, on her return home, she sharply re-
 
 164 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 proved him for his neglect of the sacred book, and in- 
 sisted that he should discontinue his communings at 
 the tailor's cottage, and read no more of his books. 
 Joe returned not a word in answer to the reproof of 
 his aged mistress, for mingled gratitude, under a sense 
 of her tender kindness, and reverence for her authority, 
 rendered him incapable of disobeying her orders. He 
 returned, dutifully, to the perusal of his first book ; 
 but though the rich variety of its histories, and the 
 sublime interest of its matchless poetry, did not fail 
 to keep alive his attention while he bent over its 
 pages, yet, in the long hours of daily labour, his 
 desire strongly thirsted for the more exciting intel- 
 lectual draught of which he had lately partaken, and 
 a dreary and monotonous feeling of weariness con- 
 sumed his spirit. Dame Deborah little knew the 
 evil she was doing when she bereaved her foster- 
 child of his innocent pleasures. In the lapse of a few 
 Aveeks she became sensible that it was not always 
 wise to pursue the counsel even of the village parson 
 too strictly. 
 
 Amono; the visiters to the dame's domicile, there 
 had long been some who professed the tenets of 
 Wesley, — the great heresiarch who drew his first 
 breath in the Isle of Axholme. Of the peculiar 
 doctrines set forth by this celebrated religious 
 teacher, Joe, like Deborah herself, knew nought, save 
 that the parson said they were " heresies." The 
 sturdy intelligence of Dame Deborah led her to turn
 
 AND HEE ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 165 
 
 a deaf ear to all innovations in religion. She had 
 been bread a strict church-woman, and never con- 
 ceived the slightest idea of the fallibility of the 
 orthodox and established Protestant faith. Her ap- 
 prentices were not permitted to attend meeting or 
 conventicle ; and she steadfastly repelled and dis- 
 couraged all attempts, on the part of her visiters, to 
 introduce religious novelties in their daily gossip. But 
 the restlessness and disquietude of his mind, now its 
 faculties were once more without a fixed object of 
 attachment, impelled Joe to discard, imperceptibly 
 at first, the rules on religious matters, which had 
 been tacitly observed by every member of the 
 dame's household ever since he had entered it. With 
 those who manifested a disposition to enlarge on the 
 merits of the new religious system, he entered 
 eagerly into discussion ; and the result was, a deter- 
 mination to pay a secret attendance on one of the 
 meetings of the sect, and thus form a judgment for 
 himself. 
 
 A preacher of considerable rhetorical powers oc- 
 cupied the meeting-house pulpit, during his first 
 stolen visits ; and the skill with which passages from 
 the book which had been his first source of instruction 
 were quoted and applied, rivetted his attention and 
 inflamed his fancy. The speaker gave illustrations 
 of some of the patriarchal histories, and founded on 
 them, and upon the sacrifices under the Mosaic law, 
 such hypotheses as were exactly calculated to awe, and
 
 166 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 yet to lead captive, Joe's active imagination. To 
 tell. In one sentence, the history of numberless hours 
 of mental revolution, Joe brooded over these theories 
 and their consequences while engaged at his dally 
 labour, and repeated his secret visits to the meeting- 
 house, until his young and earnest mind was filled 
 with the one pervading idea that the only true hap- 
 piness for the human soul was to be found in some 
 sudden and ecstatic change to be received by what 
 his new teachers called " an act of faith in the atone- 
 ment." 
 
 From the period in which this conviction took 
 entire hold of his judgment, the alteration in Joe's 
 conduct was so decided as to become serious cause of 
 alarm, even to the firm common- sense of Dame 
 Deborah. He spurned the thought of any longer 
 concealing; his attendance at the sectarian meetlng- 
 house ; and at every brief cessation from labour, as 
 well as at prolonged hours in the night, and early in 
 the morning, he was overheard in a weeping agony 
 of prayer. His humble bed-room, an out-house, or 
 the corner of a field, served the young devotee alike, 
 for a place of " spiritual wrestling ; " and whoever 
 gave him an opportunity was sure to receive from 
 Joe an earnest warning to " flee from the wrath to 
 come ! " Days, — weeks rolled on, — and the ardour 
 of the lad's enthusiasm was approaching its meridian, 
 — for he had given up himself so completely to its 
 power, that not only did he consume the night more
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 167 
 
 fully in prolonged acts of ascetic and almost convul- 
 sive devotion, — but his mind was so entirely wrapt 
 up in the effort to " pray without ceasing," — that he 
 was scarcely conscious of what passed in the dame's 
 cottao;e durino; the hovirs of work. 
 
 The visit of a " Revivalist " to the new religious 
 community at Haxey thus found Joe fully prepared 
 to hail the event as one fraught Avith unspeakable 
 benefits. The narrow meeting-house was crammed 
 with villagers attracted by the loud and unusual 
 noises, and affected by the agonised looks and ges- 
 tures, of their neighbours. Many of these stray visi- 
 ters, in the language of the initiated, " came to scoff, 
 but remained to pray." The " Revivalist " crept from 
 form to form, — for the humble meeting-house was 
 unhonoured with a pew, — urging the weeping and 
 kneeling penitents to " press into mercy ; " and pour- 
 ing forth successive petitions for their salvation until 
 the perspiration dropped from his brows like rain. 
 
 Joe was too intensely absorbed in the burning de- 
 sire to obtain the immediate purification of his nature 
 to be able to reflect, for a moment, on the question, 
 — whether, in all this boisterous procedure, there 
 was not an appalling violation of every principle of 
 worship. And when the preacher approached the 
 form at which he was kneeling, the Avorkings of 
 his spirit shook his whole frame with expectation. 
 The preacher, at length, addressed him : — 
 
 " Believe, my young brother," said he, in a voice
 
 168 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON^ 
 
 naturally musical, and rendered wonderfully influen- 
 tial by enthusiasm, — " believe, for the pardon of your 
 sins ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I would believe in a moment, if I felt they 
 were pardoned ! " cried Joe, in all the earnestness of 
 excitement. 
 
 " Nay, but you must believe first ! " rejoined the 
 preacher ; " only believe that your sins are pardoned, 
 and you will feel your burden gone ! " 
 
 The boy's reason, for a moment, asserted its own 
 majesty, at the broaching of this wild doctrine ; and 
 he returned an instant answer to the preacher which 
 would have confounded a less practised casuist. 
 
 " That would be pardoning myself," he said : " I 
 want the Lord to pardon me : if believing that my 
 sins were forgiven, while I feel they are not, would 
 produce a real pardon, I need never have asked the 
 Almighty to perform the M^ork." 
 
 " Ah, my dear young brother ! " quickly replied 
 the preacher, — " I waited, as you have, no doubt, for 
 weeks and weeks, expecting some miracle to be per- 
 formed for me ; but I found, at last, that there was 
 no other refuge but believing. You must believe : 
 that is your only way ! All the direction that the 
 word gives you is, ' Believe, and thou shalt be saved ! ' 
 You have nothing else to do but to believe ; and the 
 moment you do believe — that moment you will be 
 happy ! Try it ! " — and, so saying, the " Revivalist ' 
 hastened on to make proof of the efficacy of his wild
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 1G9 
 
 notional catholicon upon the comfortless spirit of 
 some less hesitating patient or penitent. 
 
 Joe's distress, when the preacher left him, became 
 greater than ever. He felt fearful, on the one hand, 
 of becoming a victim to self-deceit ; and was horrified, 
 on the other, with the terrible dread of losing his soul 
 through the sin of unbelief. But the combat be- 
 tween his imagination and his understanding was 
 one in which the former faculty had all the vantage- 
 ground of his youthful age and his tendency to the 
 marvellous, — and was immeasurably assisted by the 
 overwhelming energy of his desire. The attainment 
 of the new spiritual state had become his sole idea ; 
 and his reason succumbed beneath the combined 
 strength of his wishes and the prurience of his 
 ideality. 
 
 " The preacher says he has tried believing, and it 
 has made him happy ; therefore, I will try to be- 
 lieve," said Joe to himself, — becoming mentally des- 
 perate with distracting fears. 
 
 He did try ; and the experiment produced, — as it 
 could not fail to produce in such a mind, surrounded 
 with such excitements, — a thrilling and ecstatic feel- 
 ing ; but yet, he doubted again, a few moments 
 after ! Thus, his intellect, all undisciplined and un- 
 tutored as it liad been, still revolted at the indignity 
 of becoming the dupe of its OAvn trickery. But the 
 misery of doubt, and the pangs of spiritual con- 
 demnation, were more insupportable than the effort 
 
 VOL. II. H
 
 170 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 to impose upon himself the delusive assurance that he 
 really possessed what he so ardently sought ; and he, 
 therefore, rushed to another act of desperate cre- 
 dence : — "I will believe ! I do believe I " he wildly 
 cried, at the full pitch of his voice, while the din and 
 confusion of fifty persons praying aloud, at the same 
 time, rendered his enthusiasm unnoticeable. At 
 every new resurrection of his reason he thus drew 
 afresh on the exorcism of his ideality, and allayed 
 the troublous misgivings of the sterner faculty ; so 
 that, by the time the meeting was concluded, his 
 reason had ceased to rebel, — and he went home, per- 
 suaded that he had attained the " new birth." 
 
 For some days, Joe dwelt in a frame of greater 
 tranquillity than he had experienced since the com- 
 mencement of his religious " awakenings." But the 
 calm was a deceitful one ; and was but the prelude 
 to a more terrific tempest than had ever yet raged in 
 the breast of the young victim to the ideal. Joe 
 heard descriptions from the pulpit of the sectaries, of 
 the unspeakable ecstasy of true believers; and re- 
 flected that his own feelings bore scarcely any resem- 
 blance to such highly-wrought pictures. Gradually, 
 he felt it utterly impossible to conceal from himself 
 the tormenting conviction that he had never received 
 that amazing change of nature which he had been 
 taught, so energetically and sanguinely, to expect as 
 the fruit of his " act of faith." Instead of the 
 " heavenly joy of assurance," which the preachers
 
 AND IIEU ORPHAN ArPRENTICE, JOE. 171 
 
 described, — Joe could not conceal from himself the 
 fact that his nearest approaches to inward joy and 
 calm, — fitful as they were, — resulted from the eftort 
 to assure himself ; and this seemed too strained a 
 mental state, he thought, to be termed " heavenly 
 joy of assurance." Then, again, he was conscious 
 that he had not the mental purity that he had heard 
 described as one of the certain marks of regeneration. 
 And this, soon, hurried him into a whirlpool of in- 
 ward distraction ; — for, instead of attributing the irri- 
 tability and peevishness which now frequently agitated 
 him to their real source, — the exhaustion of his 
 nervous system by extreme asceticism, — the poor boy 
 set them down, in his helj)less and pitiable ignorance, 
 to the inheritance of a nature that involved him, 
 still, in the awful sentence of divine wrath. The tor- 
 tures of disappointment thus augmented the distrac- 
 tion of doubt ; and, at length, Joe was unable to 
 quell his uneasiness for another moment by resorting 
 to the act of self-delusion recommended by the " Re- 
 vivalist," — and called by him " the act of faith." 
 Worn out, and jaded, with his daily, hourly, and 
 almost momentary attempts to palm the fiction, anew, 
 upon his understanding, Joe gave up the practice 
 of " the act of faith " altogether, with a feeling of 
 weariness and disgust and self-degradation too bitter 
 for description ! 
 
 The prostration of the youth's corporeal strength 
 
 H 2
 
 172 DAME DEBORAH TIIRUMPKINSON, 
 
 accompanied this distressing mental conflict. Dame 
 Deborah began to watch the hectic flush on the cheek 
 of her beloved foster-child with an aching heart ; 
 and, for the first time, entertained fears, that Time, 
 so far from curing him of his errors, would only serve 
 to mark his early grave. She would have interdicted 
 his future attendance on the meetings of his religious 
 associates ; but the drooping state of his health de- 
 terred her from crossing his Avill, lest she should 
 hasten the catastrophe which she began, in sadness 
 and sorrow, to anticipate. 
 
 The good old dame finally resolved to tiy the effi- 
 cacy of a change of scene and circumstances, as 
 means of aiding the youth's recovery. Joe had never 
 yet crossed the bounds of Haxey parish since he en- 
 tered it ; but the Dame being in the habit of attend- 
 ing the weekly market at Gainsborough, the nearest 
 trading town, she determined that he should become 
 a partner in her future journies. Her project was as 
 sensible as it was benevolent. The new excitements 
 created for the lad by these little expeditions could 
 not fail to produce an issue in some degree salutary 
 to his mind. And yet the relief lie experienced 
 might have been but temporary, had not a medicine, 
 — ■ seemingly hazardous, — but yet, signally Avell 
 adapted for his disordered mental condition, — been 
 opportunely disclosed from the womb of Circumstance, 
 — the great productive source of new thinkings, new 
 resolves, and new courses of action, which, in mockery
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 173 
 
 of ourselves, we so often attribute to our own " will " 
 and " intelligence." 
 
 Mounted on a stout grey mare, with his aged mis- 
 tress behind, on an old-fashioned pillion-seat, Joe set 
 forth on his first journey with emotions of natural 
 curiosity ; and, in the course of his progress, began 
 to reo;ain some degree of his constitutional cheerful- 
 ness. Eight ""miles of country, beheld for the first 
 time, though its landscape was only of an ordinary 
 and monotonous character, presented a world of ob- 
 jects for reflection to Joe's impressible spirit. The 
 season was an early spring ; and albeit the young 
 equestrian felt some slight alarm when the animal 
 sunk, beneath the superincumbent weight of himself 
 and his companion, well-nigh up to the saddle-skirts, 
 in the miry sloughs that intervened between Haxey 
 and the Trent, — yet the view of the face of nature, 
 smilingly outspread around him, fully compensated, 
 he felt, for these occasional drawbacks on the plea- 
 sure of the journey. The few verdant meads which 
 were scattered among the dull fallows looked as 
 lovely, Joe thought, as they could look in any other 
 part of England ; while the cottages, in their array 
 of honeysuckles, were attii'cd as blushingly and beau- 
 tifully, he thought, as if reared in the sunny climes 
 of the South. 
 
 Midway in the journey, Joe and his aged mistress 
 dismounted to cross the Trent, — and four more 
 miles brought them to Gainsborou2;h. On arriving; 
 
 H 3
 
 174 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 at the market-town, the good old dame, somewhat 
 to the lad's surprise, presented him with half-a- 
 crown, — a sum he had never, till then, possessed. 
 After a brief preface of prudence, she informed him 
 that he was at liberty to spend the next three hours in 
 looking at the rarities in the market, in walking about 
 the town, or in any mode that he thought would 
 most highly gratify his curiosity. Joe set forth, an- 
 ticipating sights which might aitord a passing grati- 
 fication ; but in the course of the first hour became 
 immovably attracted by a display of merchandise, 
 from which the rustic traffickers of the market, too 
 generally, turned away with indifference, — a spa- 
 cious stall of old books. 
 
 The image of a homely country lad, clad in a rustic 
 garb, and shod with, heavy-laced boots, standing by 
 that old book-stall, presented a very uninteresting 
 spectacle to the market people at Gainsborough. 
 The butter- women brushed rudely past him, grum- 
 bling at the awkwardness with which he obstructed 
 their crowded path ; and the hucksters roughly 
 cursed him, half-overturning the absorbed youth in 
 their haste to forestall each other in cheapening the 
 produce of the village dairies. Yet Joe was wont 
 to refer to the hour during which he looked over the 
 tattered treasures of the travelling bookseller as the 
 most imyjortant in his whole life. Pie laid out the 
 first half-crown he had ever possessed in purchasing 
 the translated work of a French philosopher, without
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APrRENTICE, JOE. 175 
 
 knowing, for many months after, that the author of the 
 book bore an O2oproblous designation among theolo- 
 gians. At successive periods of his after-history, Joe 
 attributed this occurrence to the operation of the ine- 
 vitable laws of necessity, to accident, to permissive 
 Providence : but, without entering into the labyrinth 
 of his progressive trains of thought, or solving the 
 question of the validity of any of his conclusions, — 
 suffice it to say, that the purchase of that book pro- 
 duced a sequel of the most intense interest to the 
 young and undirected inquirer. 
 
 Joe had but just paid his half-crown into the 
 hand of the bookseller, and buttoned the volume in 
 the breast of his coat, when his ears were stricken by 
 the boisterous tones of a bawling pedlar. With re- 
 markable elongation of face, the man was proclaiming 
 the wondrous contents of a pamphlet that he held in 
 his hand, copies of which he was offering for sale, 
 '' amazingly cheap," as he avowed, to the staring 
 by-standers. The stroUer rapidly gleaned coppers 
 
 among the wonder-stricken butter-women, who for- 
 
 *• . . . . 
 
 got their baskets in the serious interest aw^akened by 
 
 the pedlar's tale ; and Joe could not refrain from 
 
 noting the comments which the simple people made 
 
 upon the story. 
 
 " Here is a true and faithful account," reiterated 
 
 the pedlar, with all his power of lungs, " of the awful 
 
 apparition of a young woman to her sweetheart, 
 
 H 4
 
 1 76 DAME DEBOEAH THEUlMrivINSON 
 
 three weeks after her death, — warning him, in the 
 most solemn manner, to forsake his evil ways, and 
 not to deceive others, as he had deceived her, — and 
 foretelling to him that he would die that day fort- 
 night, — and then vanishing in a flash of fire, leaving 
 a smell of brimstone behind her ! And how the 
 young man took to his bed immediately after, and 
 died at the time his sweetheart had foretold, — 
 making a godly confession of his sins on his death- 
 bed. All which happened," concluded the pedlar, 
 with a look of solemn assurance that went at once to 
 the hearts of his unsuspecting audience, — " but one 
 month ago, in the county of Cornwall ; — and here 
 are the names of ten creditable parishioners of the 
 place, Avho heard the young man's confession, and 
 have set their names as witnesses of the truth of the 
 circumstance, that it might be a warning to young 
 men to repent, and not to deceive their sweet- 
 hearts, — and all this you have for the small charge 
 of one penny ! " 
 
 " The Lord ha' marcy on us. Moggy," cried a 
 young and blooming butter-woman to her elderly 
 neighbour, as they leant over the handles of their 
 baskets, aghast with wonder : — " what an awful 
 thing it must ha' been to see that young woman 
 come from the deead ! " 
 
 " It must, indeed, Dolly," replied the older gossip, 
 shaking her head : " it's enough to mak one tremmle 
 to think on't ! Some folks say that there's no sich
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 177 
 
 thing; as a o;hooast, — but I'm sewer I wouldn't be 
 so wicked as to say so." 
 
 " And she vanished in a flash o' fire and brimstone, 
 did she, maister?" said Dolly to the pedlar, as she 
 tendered her penny. 
 
 " That she did, pretty maid ! " quickly answered 
 the vender, with a look of roguish seriousness: " take 
 the book home, and let your sweetheart read it to 
 you, if you can't read it yourself; and you'll find that 
 what I have said is all true." 
 
 " I hope it is, maister, for they're solemn things 
 to joke about ! " remarked a staid-looking matron, 
 who was taking out her spectacles to read the vera- 
 cious story. 
 
 " True as the Gospel ! " exclaimed the ready 
 pedlar : " I was born and brought v;p in the parish, 
 and know every one of the creditable yeomen who 
 have signed the young man's confession." 
 
 " Yo may ha' been born there," interjected a Shef- 
 field huckster, with a satirical grin ; " but it's many 
 a moile off ! " 
 
 The pedlar strode rapidly away to a distant part 
 of the market. 
 
 " Why, you dooant doot what tli' man says, do 
 you, Roger ? " asked a fair Axholmian butter-maiden 
 of the huckster. 
 
 " Daht ! " replied the Sheffielder, in his own dia- 
 lect ; " I al'ays daht loies, mun ! But come, lass ! 
 
 H 5
 
 178 DAME DEBORAH TIIKUMPKINSON, 
 
 tak t'other hawp'ny a pahnd, and bring t' basket 
 along wi' thee ! " 
 
 " Marcy on us ! " exclaimed the biitter-woman in 
 spectacles, as the rude huckster left the market ; 
 " you Sheffield fellow '11 hev to see a ghooast before 
 he believes there is one ! What an alarming accoont 
 this is, to be sewer ! " 
 
 " Would you be so kind," said Joe to the elderly 
 dame who uttered this latter exclamation, " as to let 
 me look at the account for a few minutes ? I will 
 return it to you again, very soon." 
 
 " Why, yes, — I'll let you look at It," answered the 
 woman, scanning him from head to foot ; " and I 
 hope you'll take a lesson from the book, and never 
 act so wickedly as this young man did." 
 
 It was not mere curiosity which prompted the lad 
 to ask the loan of the pedlar's tract. He felt certain 
 that he had glanced at a similar tale in a volume of 
 old i)amphlets on the bookseller's stall, but a few 
 minutes before. After a short search, he found the 
 volume again, and comparing the stories, saw that 
 they Avere the same, to a letter, save that the copy 
 on the stall affirmed the apparition to have taken 
 place in Westmoreland, more than half-a-century 
 before. AVhlle his thoughts were all in a tumult at 
 this strange discovery, the bookseller, who was at- 
 tentive to the behaviour of his customers, stept up, 
 and addressed him In a whisper. 
 
 " You look surprised, young man," he said, while
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 179 
 
 Joe gazed at the sinister expression in his counte- 
 nance ; " but I knew it was all an old story, though 
 the fellow was making such a noise about it. Say 
 nothing about it, however, — for all trades must live, 
 — and most people would think one tale as good and 
 as true as the other ! " 
 
 The bookseller was only just in time with his pre- 
 cept of caution ; for Joe's gathering indignation at 
 the pedlar's imposture would have impelled him, the 
 next moment, to break through his boyish bashful- 
 ness, and proclaim his discovery aloud, in the ears of 
 the surrounding butter-women : — a proceeding which, 
 in lieu of thanks, would have, no doubt, drawn down 
 upon his head a storm of wrath from their disturbed 
 superstition. Feeling unspeakably confused with his 
 reflections, Joe now hastily returned the volume to its 
 place on the stall ; and thanking the kind butter- 
 woman for her loan of the ghost-story, gave it care- 
 fully into her hands. He then hasted away towards 
 the little inn where he was to meet Dame Deborah, 
 partly under an impression that his hours of liberty 
 were near their expiry, — but much more with the 
 persuasion that he would be able, as he went along, 
 being no longer surrounded with the market-din, to 
 disentangle the web of conflicting thought into which 
 the slight incidents just narrated had cast him. 
 
 The pedlar's falsehood and audacity, — and the 
 whispered caution of the bookseller, whom Joe felt 
 strongly inclined to characterise as an abettor of 
 
 n G
 
 ISO DAME DEBORAH TIIRUMPKIXSON, 
 
 imposture and knaveiy, — the credulity of the butter- 
 womeu, — and the gaping wonder manifested by the 
 listenino[ crowd, — formed a mass of strikino^ corrobo- 
 rations, — a sort of powerful running commentary on 
 what he had hastily read in the volume he had just 
 purchased. The incidents in the little market, in fact, 
 opened to the lad's inexperienced mind a glimpse of 
 the melancholy truth that man and the multitude have 
 been prone to superstition in all ages, and have eagerly 
 received frauds which have been imposed upon them, 
 throughout all time, by the craft of interested and 
 organised parties ; or, where these were wanting, 
 that man has forged deceptions for himself, through 
 the strength of his own wondering faculty. The end 
 to which these incipient reasonings would lead him 
 was not, and could not, then, be manifest to him ; or 
 Joe, scarcely rid of his fanatical incubus, would have 
 revolted from them with horror. It was merely 
 the dawn of thouo-hts which were waitina; to break 
 in upon his mind with all the power and effulgence 
 of new truth. But, whatever might be the tendency 
 of these commencing reasonings, the progress of them 
 was speedily arrested by the beginning of the journey 
 homewards. 
 
 Joe, with the good old dame behind him, rode as 
 far as the Trent ferry, at Stockwith, in company 
 with sundry rustic frequenters of the weekly market. 
 The gossip chiefly consisted of a recapitidation of the 
 prices of corn and flax, and poultry, and pigs, and
 
 AND HER ORrHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 181 
 
 butter, — until the re-iiitroductlon of the ghost-story, 
 at what time Joe and his foster-mother, with the 
 rest, were seated in the ferry-boat, and were recross- 
 ing the Trent. 
 
 " Well, — it's an awful accoont, Maister Gawky ! " 
 exclaimed Diggory Dowlson, the rough old ferryman, 
 after an Axholmian farmer had briefly recounted the 
 pedlar's tale ; " but I've heeard many sich i' my time, 
 — thof I nivver seed nowt my sen." 
 
 " And the Lord send I nivver may ! " ejaculated 
 Betty Bogglepeep, a tottering old wife of Owston, 
 who had, the day before, as she said, in the course of 
 her gossip, chopped off the head of her best black 
 hen, because she crowed like a cock : — " the Lord 
 send I nivver may, for it maks me queer to think a 
 thowt o' sich things ; and I'm sewer if I woz to see 
 'em, it would freeten me oot o' my wits ! " 
 
 " Hold thy foolish tongue, prithee ! " chimed in 
 her loving husband, whose bravery seemed chiefly 
 owing to his late fellowship with Sir John Barleycorn, 
 at the market : — " why does ta talk aboot being 
 freeten'd at shadows ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, Davy, it's to no use puttin' it off i' 
 that way," interjected the old ferryman, taking up 
 the cause of the old woman and the ghost, Avith the 
 fervour of gallantry and faith united ; — " depend on't, 
 though deead folks may come like shadows, yet it's 
 a fearful seeght to see 'em ! "
 
 182 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 " No doot, no doot, Diggory ! " replied the farmer, 
 " but seeing 'em's all — tlioo knaws ! " 
 
 The farmer meant this for an arch sally, but his 
 companions in the boat were not in the vein to relish 
 his humour. 
 
 " What do you think aboot sich solemn things, 
 Dame Thrumpkinson ? " asked the old ferryman, 
 turning to the corner of the boat where Deborah 
 seemed buried in reflection ; — " you sit and say not a 
 word, all this time. Give us your thowts, dame, 
 for ye've more sense than all of us, put together ! " 
 
 *' I don't give heed to every fool's tale about such 
 things," replied Dame Deborah, in her usual grave 
 tone ; " but I've serious reason for believing that the 
 dead often know what the living are doing." 
 
 " Why, did ye ivver see owt spirit'al. Dame 
 Thrumpkinson ? " instantly asked half-a-dozen voices, 
 while twice as many eyes glared upon the aged De- 
 borah with a gaze as wonder-stricken as that of a 
 nest of owls suddenly awakened by daylight. 
 
 " Nay, neighbours, nay ! " replied the dame, droop- 
 ing her head, and speaking in a tone of melancholy 
 tenderness ; — "do not ask me further. I think we 
 ouglit to keep sacred the secrets of the dead that 
 have been near and precious to us ! " 
 
 The manner of Dame Deborah's reply was so 
 affecting, and its intimate meaning, though only 
 guessed by her rude auditors, seemed to command 
 so deep a respect from their simple feelings, that the
 
 AND HER OErHAN APrilENTICE, JOE. 183 
 
 subject was immediately dropped ; and the whole 
 party remained silent until the boat had touched the 
 western bank of the river. 
 
 Some of the company now took a direction for 
 Owston and Butterwick, and such parts of the 
 country as lay on the banks of the Trent ; while the 
 remnant, who were bound for the more central parts 
 of the isle, being more strongly mounted than Joe 
 and his aged mistress, and many of them having 
 a greater distance to reach ere night-fall, sped on 
 before, after bidding their deeply-respected acquaint- 
 ance. Dame Deborah, a hearty and kindly farewell. 
 The journey home was nearly ended before the dame 
 broke silence, her mind seeming deeply intent on 
 thoughts which the conversation in the boat had 
 awakened within her; and when she addressed her 
 foster-son, it was but briefly, though kindly. 
 
 " I hope the ride will do thee no harm, bairn," 
 she said, in a tone of the gentlest affection ; " and 
 how did ta spend the half-crown ? " 
 
 " I bought a book with it, dame," Joe answered. 
 
 " A book ! " said she, pleasantly : — " well, well, it's 
 like thee : but, may be, thou could not ha' spent it 
 better. And what sort of a book is it, bairn ? " 
 
 " Quite on a new subject," Joe replied, scarcely 
 knowing how to describe the book to the dame's 
 plain understanding. 
 
 "A new subject!" she repeated, with a gentle 
 laugh ; — " well, well, I hope it will do thee more good
 
 184 DAME DEBORAH TIIRUMPKINSON, 
 
 than some of thy old subjects." And then, as if 
 fearful of bringing back distressful thoughts to the 
 heart of one over wliom she yearned so tenderly, 
 the good old dame permitted the journey to end 
 without further remark. Joe would fain have en- 
 treated an explication of the mysterious conclusion 
 o-iven by his aged protecti^ess to the conversation in 
 the boat ; but there was something too sombre in her 
 mood of mind, at that time, he thought, to permit 
 his hazarding any reference to such a subject. 
 
 Almost insensibly, to himself, Joe's opinions on 
 religious matters began to undergo an entire change 
 within a short period succeeding his acquaintance 
 with the work of the French philosopher. The ar- 
 o-uments of the book were conducted in too covert a 
 mode for one, so little skilled in the arts of disguise, 
 to be able to detect its real tendency in the outset. 
 The blandishments of the writer's style captivated 
 his taste ; and the boldness with which he saw the 
 doctrines of natural liberty asserted, took strong 
 possession of his judgment. Degraded as his reason 
 had felt itself to be while enslaved to the teachings 
 of fanaticism, there was no wonder that he felt the 
 awakening of a desire for mental independence, and 
 listened willingly to the voice of an advocate for the 
 native dignity of man's understanding. Appended 
 to the volume, which now began to engross his leisure 
 hours, was a treatise, entitled " The Law of Nature." 
 Joe perused its precepts and digested its reasonings.
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APrRENTICE, JOE. 185 
 
 until lie believed he had committed a lamentable 
 error by wearying his flesh and spirit with acts of 
 ascetic devotion, — and resolved he would address 
 himself to the practice of the elevated moral virtue 
 which the French writer asserted to be easy and 
 natural to man when brouoht within the influence 
 of instruction. 
 
 The native activity of his intellect prevented a pro- 
 longed abidance on the mere threshold of opinion : 
 a few months rolled over, and Joe's convictions took 
 a current which they kept for some years. In truth, 
 the formation of his conclusions was hastened by the 
 very circumstance of his being compelled to pursue 
 his doubts and inquiries in silence. No one around 
 him understood the questions with which his mind 
 was grappling ; and the answers which his own judg- 
 ment gradually gave them, would, he was sensible, 
 create a general horror if broadly proclaimed in the 
 hearing of the simple people by whom he was sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 His faith once shaken in the rules of practice pre- 
 scribed by the sectarian teachers, since he knew no 
 other way of interpreting the experimental doctrines 
 of the Scriptures than that they pursued, — his rea- 
 son became gradually distasted with the Scriptures 
 themselves, — and he easily adopted the arguments 
 against the Bible contained in his favourite volume 
 of French philosophy. He began to suspect, and, at 
 length, boldly concluded, that the Jehovah of the
 
 186 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 Hebrews was, indeed, the mere mythological fiction 
 of a rude and barbarous age, — a Deity scarcely more 
 godlike in his character and attributes than the sa- 
 vage Moloch of the Ammonites. To class the garden 
 of primeval innocence, and the forbidden fruit, and 
 the tempting serpent, and the lapse of the first 
 human pair, among the allegories which, he now 
 learned, the ancient nations were wont to adopt in 
 order to embody their conceptions of things other- 
 wise difiici-ilt of narration, was a still easier step. 
 The Prophecies, he thought, were evidently attri- 
 butable to that prolific Oriental faculty wdiich gave 
 birth and authority to the pagan oracles ; and the 
 Miracles, as events opposed to general experience, 
 were to be at once discarded from the catalo2:ue of 
 historic facts, by every true philosopher. 
 
 Amid these rapid and decided changes of senti- 
 ment, Joe sometimes wondered that he felt none of 
 the inward terror and the " stings of conscience," 
 Avhich he had so perpetually been taught to regard 
 as the sure avenging vicegerents of a Deity, in the 
 breasts of those who dared to doubt revealed truth. 
 That he was tormented by none of these appalling 
 visitings, was another proof to his mind of the fal- 
 lacy of his rejected teachers. He was conscious that, 
 in his conclusions, whether right or wrong, he was 
 sincere: he was satisfied that his new mental con- 
 dition was far preferable to the spirit-degrading and 
 wearisome slavery he had so recently shaken otF;
 
 AND HER ORrHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 187 
 
 and he had not, yet, sufficiently probed the depths of 
 his own heart to know that his self-gratulation was 
 also aided by the pride of thinking diversely from 
 the mass of his fellows. The ghost story at the 
 market, and its accompanying circnmstances, often 
 ran through his memory, and served, not a little, to 
 enforce his persuasion that the mass of mankind were 
 the dupes of superstition ; and, at the close of every 
 similar train of reflection, he could not refrain from 
 indulging a self-complacent feeling on his having, 
 himself, thrown off what he gradually deemed to be 
 a blind and implicit trust in fables under the delusive 
 guise of Divine inspiration. 
 
 Glowing with the conception that he had hitherto 
 been living in a dream of multiform illusions, but 
 had now broken it, Joe resolved to " gird up the 
 loins of his mind " for the laborious and persevering- 
 pursuit of solid knowledge ; and said within himself, 
 — "I will henceforth converse with experience, and 
 not with imagination : I will cleave to fact and not to 
 phantasy." The weekly journies to Gainsborough 
 with his aged mistress, which were uninterruptedly 
 kept up from their commencement, afforded him what 
 he conceived to be ample means for carrying this 
 resolve into successful practice. And so, in some 
 measure, it proved ; for, by an exchange of volumes 
 with the travelling bookseller, and the casual assist- 
 ance of a few shillings from his indulgent godmother, 
 he reaped an unremitting supply for his intellectual
 
 188 DAME DEEORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 appetite, — a faculty wliicli rapidly " grew with what 
 it fed on." He eagerly devoured whatever came 
 within his reach in the shape of history or chronicle ; 
 — he sought industriously to acquire the rudiments 
 of real science ; — and strove to sharpen and fortify 
 his reason by the perusal of ancient tomes of logic 
 and philosophy. For records of travel he craved 
 with an incontrollable passion : a feeling which was, 
 in reality, but a revivification of the ardour awakened 
 in his boyish mind by the adventures of the ship- 
 wrecked Crusoe. But the fervid desire he once 
 cherished, to penetrate vast deserts and visit unknown 
 realms, was now transmuted, by the influence of his 
 more sober associations and habits of reflection, into 
 a prevalent wish to see the world of men ; and the 
 prospect of a new and wider field of observation to 
 be entered upon at the close of his humble servitude 
 began thenceforth to pervade his daily musings, and, 
 eventually, to take a shape in his purposes. 
 
 The secrecy which Joe was compelled to observe 
 on religious subjects was a restraint through which 
 he would gladly have broken ; but there was not one 
 to whom he could communicate his sceptical views 
 without fear of an explosion of alarm. Observance 
 of caution being repulsive to his feelings, it was, 
 therefore, natural that his real sentiments should 
 occasionally escape. Only, however, when the gross 
 superstitions of his daily associates excited very 
 strong disgust Avithin him, did Joe utterly forget his
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APRRENTICE, JOE. 189 
 
 rules of Ccautlon. His fellow-apprentices were in 
 little clanger of imbibing heretical opinions, from the 
 fact of their understandings being too uninformed to 
 apprehend the real drift of his thinkino-s when ex- 
 pressed. But Dame Deborah pondered on some of 
 these hasty expressions of opinion, until her aged 
 heart often ached with the suspicion that all was not 
 right in the new religious state of her foster-son. 
 Yet, when she marked the tenour of his daily con- 
 duct, — his inviolable regard for truth, — his steady 
 rebuke of every thing coarse and unfeeling, — when 
 she listened to the language in which his conceptions, 
 even on ordinary subjects, were uttered, — ^and when 
 she contrasted his manly cheerfulness with his former 
 gloom and despondency, a confidence arose that dis- 
 pelled her temporary doubts of the correctness of his 
 heart, and her bosom glowed with pride at the re- 
 membrance that she had adopted him for her own. 
 
 During the concluding five years of his apprentice- 
 ship, Joe had piled together in his mind, though after 
 no prescribed rule, much knowledge of a multifiirious 
 character. The acquirement of one of the noble 
 languages of antiquity was his severest unassisted 
 struggle during this probationary course ; but it was 
 a strife from wdiich he reaped the richest after-plea- 
 sures. The facts he gleaned from history Avere stored 
 up faithfully in his memory, not merely as chronolo- 
 gical items, but as texts for fertile and profitable 
 reflection ; while he assiduously strove to catch the
 
 190 DAME DEBORAH THRUMKINSON, 
 
 rays of such new truths as were perceptible in his 
 more limited reading of ethics, and to evince their 
 spirit in his thoughts and actions. Thus, without 
 written pattern or oral instructor, the orphan ap- 
 prentice endeavoured, by the selection of such mate- 
 rials as lay within his grasp, to build up, within 
 himself, a mental fabric of seemly architecture. But, 
 to cut short observations that are already too pro- 
 tracted, — Joe, with all his efforts after mental dis- 
 cipline, was, at twenty-one, what all the lonely 
 self-educated must be at that age, often the slave of 
 his own hypothesis when he believed himself to be 
 followino; the most legitimate deductions from an 
 authenticated fact, — ofteuer a visionary than a true 
 philosopher. 
 
 On the evening preceding the day of Joe's free- 
 dom, the good old Deborah, sitting at her own door, 
 presented a picture almost identical with the sketch 
 attempted at the opening of this brief recital. Ex- 
 cept the deeper furrows on her face, there was no 
 token that age had strengthened its empire over her. 
 The fine old woman sat as erect in her arm-chair as 
 she had sat there sixteen years before. Her eyes 
 also beamed with the same wakefulness and kindli- 
 ness on her neighbours, as they passed by, from their 
 labour, and tendered her a resjjectful recognition, — 
 for she was at peace with all, and beloved by all ; 
 and while the light vapour curled and wreathed, as 
 it floated slowly upward from her pipe, and then
 
 AND HER ORPHAN AITRENTICE, JOE. 191 
 
 melted, above her head, into the invisibility of space, 
 it seemed a type of the serene and healthful course 
 she had trod in her uprightness, that was, in due 
 time, to receive its quiet change into the unseen but 
 felicitous future. The solicitude she had, for seventeen 
 years, increasingly felt respecting the M'elfare of her 
 foster-son, — now the youth was within a few hours 
 of being at age, — filled her heart so completely, that 
 she could do notlilng as she sat in her customary 
 seat, that evening, but con over the probable conse- 
 quences of Joe's emancipation from tlic thraldom of 
 apprenticeship, which was to take place the following 
 noon. 
 
 " Well, I'm truly thankful," soliloquised the peace- 
 ful septuagenarian, puffing away the clouds from her 
 pipe with growing energy, and now and then ending 
 her sentences in an audible tone, through the strength 
 of earnestness, — " that the Lord moved mv heart to 
 take care of this poor motherless and faytherless bairn. 
 It's Him, I'm sensible, that inclines us to do any 
 good, — for there's little that's good in us by natur'. 
 I've no reason to repent what I did ; for though tlie 
 dear lad has a few whirligig notions, yet I'm sure 
 there's a vast deal o' good in him. He doesn't like 
 church over well, — but then the parson grows old 
 and stupid, like me ; and it's not likely that a young 
 fellow that's grown so very book-larnt as our Joe, 
 should be fond o' spending his time in listening to an 
 old toothless parson's dull drawling. Neighbour Toby
 
 192 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 Lackpenny says that the lad's ower nat'ral, and not 
 abstrac' enough, in his way o' thinking ; but, for my 
 part, I think he's far ower abstrac' ah-eady ! At 
 least, I hope he'll grow wiser, in a few years, than to 
 say that the dead never appear to the living. He 
 may talk in that way to green geese like himself, 
 but not to me. Didn't I see my own dear Barachiah, 
 for three nights together, stand in the moonlight, at 
 the foot of my bed, while I was weeping sore for the 
 loss of him ? — The Lord forgive me, that I should 
 have grieved so sinfully as to have disturbed his rest ! 
 But that's past and gone, and many a deep trouble 
 besides, thank Heaven above ! And now, here's this 
 lad. I wished, often, that I had one o' my own ; — 
 but it was not God's will so to bless my poor Bara- 
 chiah and me, — and how could I have loved a child 
 of my own better than I do love this poor bairn ? 
 But I was thinking about what I must do for him 
 before he leaves me, — for he's lono; talked o' seeino; 
 the world when he Avas out of his time ; — and, I make 
 no doubt, he'll want to be off to-morrow, as soon as 
 noontide makes him free. I must say a few Avords 
 to him about it, to-night, — and yet, I feel so chicken- 
 hearted about his going, that I hardly know how to 
 speak to him." 
 
 The good dame's irregular soliloquy was put an 
 end to by the voices of her younger apprentices, who 
 were drawing homewards for the night. Her foster- 
 son soon afterwards made his appearance, — book in
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 193 
 
 hand, as usual, at the end of his evening's walk at 
 the conclusion of labour. The supper-table was 
 spread, • — the meal ended, — and Joe and the aged 
 dame were speedily left the sole occupants of the 
 little kitchen. Joe had retaken up his book, and had 
 been buried for more than half-an-hour in deep at- 
 tention to its contents, — the hour was growing late ; 
 
 — and Dame Deborah, after many inward struggles, 
 began, in a very tremulous tone, to address her foster- 
 child on the most important theme in her recent 
 soliloquy. 
 
 " Joe," said she, " I was thinking, since you will 
 
 be of age, and a freeman, to-morrow " and there 
 
 her emotion compelled her to hesitate ; but although 
 Joe had laid down his book to attend to his aged 
 protectress, he felt too much agitated to take up the 
 observation where the dame had left it. 
 
 " I reckon you are in the same mind about leaving 
 me, Joe," resumed the aged woman, trembling with 
 extreme feeling, and uttering the sentence with a 
 cadence that sounded like the key-note of desolation ; 
 
 — "but I wish you to say what you are intending to 
 do when I give you your indentures, to-morrow at 
 noon." 
 
 " My kind mother, — for a true mother you have 
 been to me," replied the youth, forcibly subduing his 
 feelings, and addressing Dame Deborah with a degree 
 of animation and a fervency of look she had seldom 
 witnessed in him, — " it is high time I became ac- 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 194 DAME DEBORAH THRUMPKINSON, 
 
 qualnted with the world. Believe me, — I do not 
 desire to leave you through ingratitude for your un- 
 remitted kindness to a poor orphan, — but I feel I am 
 fitted for other scenes than these. More than all, 
 man is the great book I wish to read ; and the few 
 humble pages of his history which lie around me here 
 I have turned over, till I am weary of the writing. 
 I shall be useless to you if I remain, for I shall never 
 be content, or at rest. I go from you, for a season ; 
 but never, never, dear mother, shall I cease to think 
 of you!" 
 
 Joe bowed his head, and covered his face with his 
 hands, in deep emotion ; and the dame, moved utterly 
 beyond self-possession, arose with trembling haste, 
 and clasping her foster-child in her aged arms, kissed 
 his fair forehead, while the unwonted tears trickled 
 down her furrowed cheeks. 
 
 " My dear bairn ! my pratty bairn ! my noble 
 bairn ! " exclaimed she with a bounding heart, as she 
 stood over him in affectionate admiration. 
 
 Joe wept, in spite of his efforts to master tears, — 
 but, at length, recovered sufficient self-possession to 
 lead his aged protectress back to her chair, and to 
 recommence the conversation. 
 
 " You will consent, then, I hope, to let me go, 
 kind mother," he said, still holding her hand. 
 
 " The Lord's will be done, bairn ! " replied De- 
 borah, in a tone of calm and natural piety. " Yes," 
 added she, with resumed cheerfulness, and in her
 
 AND IIER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 195 
 
 customaxy firm under-tone, — " thou sliaP go, Joey, 
 lad ! and thy pocket shall not be empty, nayther !" 
 
 "Nay, dear mother," answered the high-minded 
 lad, — "I have already burdened you too heavily, 
 and I will never consent to rob you of the refuoe of 
 your old age : — remember, I have hands and health, 
 and can work for my own support." 
 
 "God forbid thou should'st be idle!" answered the 
 dame ; — " for idleness leads to sin and crime, Avhile 
 honest labour needs never be ashamed. But a few 
 guineas in thy pocket will do thee no harm, an' thou 
 husbands 'em well. More than that, ' There's no 
 knowing what a man may have to meet when he 
 leaves home,' thou know'st is an old saying, and 
 thou'lt find it so apt, that thou'lt think on't when 
 thou has left me, mayhap." 
 
 A calm and provident conversation ensued, during 
 which Joe agreed to accept a purse of twenty spade- 
 aces from the good old dame, after she had assured 
 him it would by no means straiten her means either 
 of subsistence or j^lenty. 
 
 " And now, dear Joey," said the kind old woman, 
 "let me persuade thee to throw aside some o' thy 
 whirligig notions. Do not contradict every body 
 thou meets who are so old-fashioned as to believe 
 what their forefathers taught 'em. More than all, 
 Joey," continued Deborah, w^ith some warmth, " I'm 
 shocked at your stubbornness in trying to deny what 
 the Scripter says about foul spirits : — the Lord keep 
 
 I 2
 
 196 DAME DEBORAH TIIRUMPKINSON, 
 
 US from them ! — and, especially at your daring to 
 threap so stoutly that the dead never come again !" 
 
 "Indeed, dame," replied Joe, in a tone of con- 
 ciliation and respect, " I never denied these things 
 out of stubbornness, but because they are opposed to 
 all experience : — who, and where, is the person, now 
 living, that has really seen a ghost ? " 
 
 " Who — and where — Joe ?" echoed Deborah, 
 with a strange and solemn look. 
 
 Joe felt amazed that he had not, before he had 
 asked the last question, called to mind the dame's 
 serious observations in the ferry-boat, five years be- 
 fore, and sat gazing upon the changed countenance 
 of his asced mistress with intense earnestness. 
 
 " Joe," continued Deborah, after a deep pause suc- 
 ceeding her emphatic echo of tlie youth's sceptical 
 question, — "I thought to have kept what 1 am about 
 to reveal of the dead as a solemn secret, and to have 
 buried it with me, in my grave ; but to save thee 
 from foul unbelief about such solemn things, I will 
 reveal it to thee. 
 
 " Wedded husband and wife could not live in 
 greater happiness than my dear Barachiah and I," 
 continued the aged woman, in a voice faltering with 
 affection : — " the stroke which took him from me 
 raised a murmuring spirit within me, and day after 
 day, as I moved about this dwelling, my rebellious 
 heart dared to say that He who lives on high, and 
 does all things well, had stricken me in wrath that I
 
 AND HEll OEPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 197 
 
 deserved not. My neighbours would often attempt 
 to sootlie me ; and some of them treated my sorrow 
 with lightness, and said, I would soon forget my 
 dead husband, and seek another. But they who 
 uttered this mockery little knew me. Added days 
 and nights only served to increase my grief ; and, at 
 length, I began to watch through the night, until my 
 strength failed, and, as I watched, I prayed, in sinful 
 stubbornness and presumption, that my Maker would 
 either take me away to join the dear being that I 
 loved, or bring him once more to me. It was done 
 unto me according to my wicked prayer ; — for, one 
 midnight, about ten months after my dear Bara- 
 chiah's death, as I sat up in bed, with the burning 
 desire in my heart to see my husband once more, and 
 giving full vent to my rebelliousness by the utterance 
 of words which I remember with horror, — behold ! 
 he whom I had lost stood at the foot of my bed, 
 but with such a piercing look of reproof as I never 
 saw him wear when alive. He wore a garment of 
 lovely light, and I could have delighted for ever to 
 gaze on him, had it not been for that severe look 
 which ran through my heart, and told me I had done 
 wrong. I sank away, senseless. When I came to 
 myself, and the vision was gone, I vowed that I 
 would never pray more as I had done that night. 
 But, my will was perverse ; and, on the next night, 
 I was tempted again to desire, and then to pray, that 
 I might, yet once more, see my departed husband. 
 
 I 3
 
 198 DAME DEBORAH THKUMPKINSON, 
 
 I was punished as before ; — but such was my wicked- 
 ness, or my weakness, I cannot tell which, that I 
 prayed yet a third time, as presumpiuously as ever, 
 and was visited by another and still more reproving 
 apparition of him God gave to me, and whom He 
 had taken away. The next morning I was unable 
 to attend to my daily cares, and was compelled to 
 send for a physician. I took medicines, but I think 
 they helped less to heal me, than did the kind counsel 
 of the aged man who administered them, and who is 
 now in his grave. I prayed no more the prayer of 
 the presumptuous, but asked for resignation, till He 
 who has promised to be a hvisband to the widow, 
 filled my bosom therewith." 
 
 Deborah ceased, as it seemed, disabled by the 
 fullness of her heart, from prolonging her narrative. 
 Joe had not only listened to her revelation with the 
 profoundest attention, but felt an irresistible awe 
 under the recital. Deborah had never risen so much 
 above her ordinary self, in his eyes, as while she was 
 thus unbosoming a secret she had kept for years. 
 Her attitude, and the expression of her features, her 
 tone of voice, and the very words in which she con- 
 veyed her solemn story, indicated an unusual frame 
 of mind, and formed a combined and undeniable 
 proof that the utterer of such unearthly news was as 
 fully jiersuaded, as of her own existence, that she was 
 delivering truths. 
 
 Joe's strong affection for his aged protectress, and
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 199 
 
 his reverence for her sterling uprightness, contributed 
 to fix his mind more absorbingly on what he heard. 
 The relation of the apparition of Barachiah Thrump- 
 kinson, although authenticated solely by this solemn 
 averment of his aged reUct, thus made a stronger im- 
 pression on the faith of the youthful listener than any 
 former narrative of the supernatural, written or oraL 
 The united reasonings of five years seemed to be 
 shaken to atoms ; and Joe remained answerless, with 
 his eyes fixed on the floor. Nor had his reasoning 
 faculty re-asserted its dominion, ere the aged dame 
 rose, and looking parentally upon him, while she ut- 
 ktered her usual evening farewell, " Good night, 
 bairn ! " took the way to her rustic couch. 
 
 Joe returned the salutation with a faltering voice, 
 and hasted, likewise, to seek his place of repose ; but 
 sleep was long ere it visited his eyes, even when he 
 had overcome, in some degree, the strange over-awed 
 feeling which had crept over him while listening to 
 Deborah's story. Amid the solemn stillness of the 
 night. Memory ran through her beaten paths, and 
 Imagination arose, and mingled therewith the scenes 
 of the future. The great event of to-morrow, — the 
 greatest, hitherto, in the life of the humble shoe- 
 maker's apprentice, — soon dissipated all other ex- 
 citements. Would he be happier when he was free, 
 and had entered the world, as a personal observer, 
 instead of learnins: its varied character from books ? 
 Something whispered a doubt. But would he not 
 
 I 4
 
 200 DAME DEBORAH TIIRUMPKINSON, 
 
 be wiser ? Yes ; that, lie thought, was certain. He 
 would be able, by the practice of close observation, 
 to compare men with each other : he would have the 
 opportunity of trying, as upon a touch-stone, the 
 truth or fallacy of the peculiar hypotheses he had 
 framed : he would learn to read the human heart. 
 And then he thought of the probability, nay, cer- 
 tainty, of his finding some kindred mind, but farther 
 advanced in great truths, that would be able to set 
 him inght where he was wrong ; who would teach 
 him the true secret of perfecting his moral nature, 
 and would lead him on to the acquirement of intel- 
 lectual stores, of the very existence of which, it p 
 might be that he had scarcely a faint conception, — 
 thoughts that enfevered him with pleasurable an- 
 ticipation. 
 
 Then, reverting to the past, he reminded himself 
 of his orphan condition, of the gratitude he owed 
 his affectionate foster-mother, and of the kind and 
 parental assistance she had offered him, although he 
 was about to desert her. Often he felt the melting 
 mood come over him so conqueringly, that he was 
 all but resolved to tell the aged dame, in the 
 morning, that he would remain with her, and try to 
 comfort her old age. And then he thought of the 
 many sensible lessons she had given for his future 
 conduct in the world, — till, wearied out with the 
 variety of his thoughts, and physically, as well as 
 mentally exhausted, he sunk to slumber.
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 201 
 
 Joe awoke early, after a dreamless and refreslilng 
 sleep, and again his mind laboured with its difficulties 
 about Deborah's relation of the apparition; but its 
 labour was vain. The more he reasoned the greater 
 were his difficulties. The healthful effect of these 
 baffled and perplexed thinkings upon Joe's intellect 
 was, the deterring of its powers from precipitant and 
 immature conclusions, — the throwing of its energies 
 back upon fresh and deeper inquiry, — and the in- 
 fixing of a humiliating consciousness that, after all his 
 struggles in pursuit of knowledge, he scarcely knew 
 any thing yet as he ought to know it. Thus, his con- 
 scious ignorance for the present was really beneficial 
 to him ; and when the voice of his affectionate mis- 
 tress was heard summoning him to breakfast, he 
 stept down the ladder, shaking his head at himself 
 for a conceited puppy, and applying homeward to his 
 own case the significant rebuke — 
 
 " There are more things in heaven and earth, Joe, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." 
 
 Labour, the honest dame declared, should not be 
 thought of, in her house, the day that Joe was of 
 age, — according to her reckoning by guess, — and 
 free. And she bustled about, as old as she was, to 
 place her best earthen jugs, filled with mead and ale, 
 in goodly array, on the white and well-scoured table, 
 that every visiter might drink the young freeman's 
 health; and she hasted to prepare a large plumb- 
 
 I 5
 
 202 DAME DEBOEAH THRUJirKINSON, 
 
 pudding, and other homely eates, for dinner, — all the 
 while holding up her head, and striving to look as 
 blythe and merry as if she had been in her teens. 
 
 At length, the hour of parting came ; and when 
 Joe rose and took up his hat, — and his fellow-ap- 
 prentices that were, — but a few hours before, — took 
 each a bundle to accompany him a few miles on the 
 way, — Dame Deborah's aged frame shook violently, 
 and the tears streamed, unchecked, down her time- 
 worn face. 
 
 " God speed thee, my dear bairn ! " she cried, — 
 " and help thee to take heed of thy ways, that no 
 harm may befall thee !" 
 
 Joe felt completely unmanned, and mingled his 
 tears with those of his beloved and revered bene- 
 factress, while he bent to receive her parting bene- 
 diction. 
 
 The orphan saw his foster-mother no more alive. 
 When, thi-ee years afterwards, he again entered that 
 little village of Haxey, it was to attend the inter- 
 ment of Dame Deborah in the same churchyard to 
 which she liad conducted him to witness the burial of 
 his mother. And what an altered man was Joe ! A 
 residence in the manufacturing districts had unveiled 
 to him a world of misery — contention — competition 
 
 — avarice — oppression — and suffering — and famine 
 
 — that he had never supposed to exist ! As for his
 
 AND HER ORPHAN APPRENTICE, JOE. 203 
 
 religious opinions they changed, and changed again, — 
 amidst varnished, high-sounding professors of sanctity, 
 on the one hand, — and starving thousands, who in the 
 pangs of despair charged God with the authorship of 
 their wretchedness, on the other. Had Joe been 
 asked, ten years afterwards, what were now his re- 
 ligious sentiments, he would have answered : — "I 
 am Avearied with talking about creeds, and I am try- 
 ing, — by relieving misery as much as I can, and 
 diffusing all the happiness I can, — to show that I 
 believe all men to be my brethren : I think that is 
 the best religion." 
 
 z6
 
 204 
 
 TOM LACKPENNY THE PHILOSOPHICAL: 
 
 DEVOTEE OF THE MARVELLOUS. 
 
 Among the most remarkable events which took place 
 in Haxey, towards the close of the last century, was 
 the settlement, in tliat ancient village, of curious 
 Toby Lackpenny, the philosophical tailor, Toby's 
 coat was usually out at the elbows, but he had long 
 held, throughout the whole Isle of Axholme, a high 
 reputation as a man of deep and singular learning. 
 His " library " was the theme of marvel unceasing 
 to his plain and unsophisticated customers ; and 
 though it consisted but of forty or fifty ragged vo- 
 lumes, it constituted a wealth that the philosophical 
 Toby, himself, priced above rubies. To this treasury 
 of wisdom he, nightly, resorted, with ever-fresh de- 
 light, as regularly as his manual labour closed ; and 
 many an ecstatic hour did he live over his books in 
 the sweet stillness and solitude of early morning. 
 There were tractates on the Avhole circle of science, 
 in his bibliographical collection, Toby asserted ; for.
 
 TOBY LACKPENNY THE rniLOSOPHICAL. 205 
 
 like ail otlier great philosophers, he aspired to be 
 an encyclopedist in knowledge : but, up to the time 
 at which we are commencing this brief record of 
 Toby's history, it was simply, by his mastery of the 
 erudite pages of Nicholas Culpepper, — and of a very 
 ancient volume comprising treatises on Astrology, 
 Geomancy, Palmistry, and other kindred occult stu- 
 dies, ^ — -that Toby had won for himself, throughout 
 the length and breadth of Axholraian land, so high a 
 character for wisdom. None could doubt the pro- 
 fundity of Toby's acquirements ; for whoever took a 
 wild flower to his door was sure to be told its name,- — 
 its healing virtues, — and the names of its presiding 
 influences, the planets and zodiacal constellations, — 
 those celestial potencies from which, he assured the 
 visiter, every hei^b and flower derived their medicinal 
 virtues. And, oh ! the decoctions, and the salves, 
 and the ointments, and the plasters, and the poul- 
 tices, and the liniments, and the electuaries, and the 
 simples, and the compounds, that were made by the 
 old women of Haxey, and all Axholme, by Toby 
 Lackpenny's oracular direction ! And then the ex- 
 ultant looks and honied words with which some 
 would return thanks to Toby, and assure him all 
 their tooth-ache, or head-ache, or elbow-ache, had 
 vanished, like magic, by their diligent attention to 
 his prescription ; and then the reach and shrewdness 
 he displayed in answering such as complained that 
 his advice had not been of the service they had ap-
 
 206 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 preliended, namely, that they had not plucked the 
 flower in the hour when its own planet presided, — or 
 they had not boiled it before the Moon rose, — and 
 she was in opposition to Jupiter, the lord of the plant 
 wormwood, — or some other convincing reason why 
 the device had not succeeded. 
 
 Toby's advancement in the " astral science," also 
 brought him an increasino; number of customers, — 
 thouo-h the naked condition of his elbows told the 
 fact that this growing knowledge was somewhat pro- 
 fitless in a substantial sense. Nevertheless, every 
 successive day strengthened his confidence that he 
 would soon be " even with Booker, or Lilly, or 
 Gadbury, or any of 'em that his grandfather used to 
 talk about ; "— for he had also been eager, in his day, 
 to be able to prognosticate future events by tracing 
 " the stars in their courses." And, now, as surely 
 as the evening returned, Toby might be seen at his 
 own door, seated on a low stool, drawing astrological 
 diagrams on a fragment of slate, and placing the 
 symbols of the planets and signs of the zodiac in due 
 position in the " table of houses." 
 
 The vagueness which Toby found to be so cha- 
 racteristic of what astrologers call the " rules of 
 judgment" often brought the zealous student to a 
 pause, as to the real utility of his pursuit ; but the 
 extreme credulousness of his constitution usually 
 urged him to put an end to the dubious reasonings 
 that often rose within him. Now and then, a sharp
 
 THE EHILOSOPHICAL. 207 
 
 stroke from the village parson, — levelled, in full ca- 
 nonicals, from the pulpit of a Sunday forenoon, — 
 with the marksman's stern eye fixed, meanwhile, on 
 poor Toby, — made him stagger a little. It was a 
 guilty act, — the clergyman asserted, — to rend away 
 the natural veil which the Creator had drawn over 
 man's discernment of futurity : it was a controversion 
 of the order of His Providence : it was an attempt 
 to seize upon the Almighty's own attributes, and 
 wield a power that belonged solely to Himself. Such 
 eloquent sentences bothered Toby still more, when 
 the well-intentioned shepherd rounded them by ex- 
 claiming, as he beat the 
 
 " drum ecclesiastic 
 
 With fist instead of a stick," 
 
 that " star-gazers, and wizards, and enchanters, were, 
 each and all, an abomination to the Lord !" 
 
 But, alas ! for poor Toby, — when his favourite 
 disciple Joe, after being torn from him by Dame 
 Deborah's commandment in obedience to Toby's 
 great foe, — the vicar, — alas ! for Toby, when Joe, 
 filled with zeal to discharge his conscience, re-entered 
 the tailoi-'s cottage one evening at dusk, and attacked 
 his old teacher in the very heart and centre of his 
 predilections, declaring there would be no salvation 
 for him in this world, till he had followed the ex- 
 ample of the Ephesian Christians, and burnt his ca- 
 balistical books ; nor any happiness for him in the
 
 208 TOBY LACKPB=NNY 
 
 prospect of a future life, until he had eschewed all 
 his delusive vanities, and cried at the footstool of his 
 Maker for the pardon of his sins ! Never was the 
 might with which a mind sinewed by some strong 
 enthusiasm controls even an elder and more expe- 
 rienced intellect more signally evinced than in the 
 contest between the orphan Joe, under his religious 
 frenzy, and his old teacher, the soothsaying tailor. 
 In the outset of this strange opposition and aggres- 
 sion on the part of his late scholar, Toby Lackpenny 
 stoutly parried the blows of his unexpected adver- 
 sary by returning text for text, and argument for 
 argument. 
 
 " Is it not plainly declared in the Book of Judges, 
 that ' the stars in their courses fought against Si- 
 sera?'" asked Toby, with all the emphasis which his 
 zeal for the hereditary honour and power of the stars 
 prompted ; — " can any thing prove more clearly that 
 they sway human affairs ? And the inspired Psalmist 
 saith of the heavenly bodies, that ' Their line is gone 
 out through all the earth, and their words to the end 
 of the world.' Which word line, according to Aben 
 Ezra, and the most skilful cabalists," continued 
 Toby, diving into the profoundest depths of his 
 learnino- for the defence of his beloved theories, 
 " ouo-ht to be rendered rule or direction, and evi- 
 dently sets forth the fact that the planets exercise 
 lordship in their respective houses, — while the latter 
 part of the passage makes known the precious truth
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL. 209 
 
 that the wise and skilful student will learn to under- 
 stand their lano;uao:e." 
 
 " But you have studied their language a long time 
 without understanding it a whit the surer, — you 
 know you have, — for you have told me so more than 
 once, neighbour Toby," replied Joe, with honest and 
 unshrinking fervour ; " and as your head is fast be- 
 coming grey, and as flowers are often nipped though 
 but in the bud, — I think it would be wiser in you 
 as an aged man, and in me as a frail youth, to get 
 prepared for death ; — therefore, I conjure you, 
 Toby, as you value your own soul, to forsake these 
 vanities ! " 
 
 This simple and sincere language, from one who 
 was then little more than a child in years, shook the 
 old man's heart more than all the clergyman's hor- 
 tatory thunderbolts had shaken his reason. Toby 
 attempted to renew his sophistries, at Joe's succeeding 
 visits ; but felt, at length, thoroughly subdued under 
 the heartfelt and persevering enthusiasm of a mere 
 boy. 
 
 " Verily ! " Toby Lackpenny often exclaimed in 
 after-times, when relating the pi'ogress of his con- 
 version, — " although my will was stubborn, I often 
 trembled before the spirit of that child, like Felix 
 before Paul, or like the gaoler in the prison at 
 Philippi ! " 
 
 The astrologer burnt his books of the astral science, 
 and all the other occult, and therefore satanical
 
 210 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 sciences ; and lie and Joe were thenceforth united in 
 a novel and more elevated pursuit, — the acquire- 
 ment of a purified and spiritual nature. But the 
 distinctness of minds, and the force of habit in dif- 
 ferent natures, were strikingly discoverable in the re- 
 lative degrees of zeal with which the youth and Toby 
 followed their new object. Joe's ascetic fervour has 
 been described. But Toby's bent was of a diverse 
 character : he found it impossible to enter with Joe's 
 vehemence into the quest of an entire renewal of 
 heart, — and could not resist the tendencv to seek for 
 enlio-htenraent among the curious treasures of his 
 little library. With indescribable rapture Toby 
 found, as he thought, exactly what he wanted, in the 
 abstruse pages of Jacob Boehmen. He had long 
 kept the volumes of the mystical German on his 
 shelves ; but he assured himself that he never saw the 
 true meaning of the high mysteries developed in the 
 " Forty Questions," with so clear a vision as he did 
 now the films of the " old Adam " were beginning 
 to fall from his eyes. 
 
 It need scarcely be observed that Joe heard Toby's 
 announcement of these abstract discoveries with rigid 
 indifference. Neither when the lad's fervour had 
 abated, and disgust and melancholy succeeded, did he 
 feel able to receive the tailor's assurances of the su- 
 perior consolation to be derived from these puzzling 
 studies. Toby's exhilaration of spirits, happily for 
 himself, suffered little Interruption after the full
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL. 211 
 
 growth of his devoted attachment to the cloudy ex- 
 ercitations of the old quietest. — " Of a truth," he 
 would often say to his customers, " I can never be 
 sufficiently thankful that a merciful Providence showed 
 me the spiritual lantern of Jacob Bochmen, where- 
 with I might find, and possess, the pearl of great 
 price ! " 
 
 Within two years of the expiry of Joe's appren- 
 ticeship, however, the devotional and marvel-loving 
 tailor had transferred his worship from the shrine of 
 the mystical German shoemaker to the more lofty, as 
 well as more celestial image of Baron Emanuel Swe- 
 denborg. The Scripture histories had, thenceforth, 
 an allegorical sense for Toby, as well as for Joe ; and 
 the lad could scarcely hint that he thought the trans- 
 actions in the garden of Eden were to be read as a 
 figure, before the learned Lackpenny was ready to 
 pour out a profound descant on the proprium, or 
 " sensual principle," which he affirmed to be typified 
 by the serpent in the garden ; — and declared his con- 
 viction, that the Mosaic account of the first human 
 pair was, in reality, a mere symbolical history of 
 " the First Church," and of the causes of its for- 
 feiture of purity. 
 
 At another argumentative season, when the ap- 
 prentice had ventured to ask if Toby did not think 
 there was something incongruous in the account of 
 Noah's flood, and in the size the ark was said to be, 
 — and how the beasts went in, — and how they
 
 212 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 were supported, — the penetrating Sweclenborgian 
 assured the inquh-er, with the utmost gravity, that 
 he thousrht there was nothing in the whole world of 
 books or facts more easy of explication. 
 
 " Know thou, my beloved Joey," said the sincere 
 old man, raising his spectacles, and placing them, 
 like two additional eyes, in the centre of his large 
 forehead, " that whoever giveth his hearty faith to 
 the teaching of the celestial-m'nded Swedenborg 
 will receive a second eye-sight, — spiritual, and far 
 more precious than the eyes of this earthly body. 
 The Deluge, Joey, represents ' the Second Church,' 
 as the garden of Paradise represents the first. The 
 ark is the man of the church ; and the forty days' 
 rain is a figure for the temptations of the senses, by 
 which the Second Church, as well as the First, was 
 tried : you may see that figure plainly cleared up by 
 our Saviour's temptation in the wilderness. The 
 ark is also described as having a window above, — that 
 signifies the intellectual principle ; and a door, more- 
 over, at the side, — that denotes the faculty of hearing." 
 
 " I wish all these things had been described in a 
 plainer way, if they mean all this," interjected the 
 youth, impatient of his mystic friend's harangue. 
 
 " If! " exclaimed Toby, astonished out of measure 
 that any sane person could, for one moment, doubt 
 what seemed to himself to be so pellucidly clear ; — 
 "if! — why, only read it for yourself, Joe, in the 
 ' Celestial Arcana ' of the inspired Emanuel of the
 
 THE PHILOSOrHICAL. 213 
 
 North ! " — and, thei-ewitli, the agile old philosopher 
 sprang from his chair, and reached the volume from 
 his shelves. 
 
 " Never mind, friend Toby : not at present," said 
 Joe, very quietly. 
 
 *' Well, well," said Toby, " another time then ; — 
 but you won't hear me out, or otherwise I could 
 clearly prove what I had begun to say." 
 
 " But what confidence can one place in these 
 dreams of your favourite Emanuel ? " said Joe. 
 
 " Dreams ! " retorted the mystic tailor, lowering 
 his voice, and changing the expression of his coun- 
 tenance, until Joe wondered what was the matter 
 with him. — " Dreams ! no, no, he didn't dream, 
 Joey. He was favoured with heavenly visions ! 
 The angels actually took him several times to heaver, 
 
 — for he says so himself " 
 
 " And Mahomet said the same," interjected Joe. 
 " Interrupt me not ! " continued Toby, looking still 
 more awfully mysterious : — "I tell thee, the angels 
 took him to heaven, and unfolded to him hidden mys- 
 teries ! And I tell thee, Joey, that I believe it is 
 possible to attain unto such a pure state here, in this 
 world, that we may converse with angels. I have 
 fasted every day this week till sunset," concluded the 
 poor honest old enthusiast, creeping close to Joe, and 
 speaking almost in his ear, — " and I have faith to 
 believe, that, in a little time, after much prayer, I,
 
 214 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 even I, shall be permitted to see the angelic world, 
 yea, and to converse with it ! " 
 
 One of Joe's fellow-apprentices here lifted up the 
 latch, and informed him that Dame Deborah wished 
 he would come home, for the hour was getting late. 
 Pressing his old friend's hand, without looking him 
 in the face, the youth wished him " Good-night ! " not 
 a little relieved by the summons of his mistress. 
 
 On the morrow, the neighbourhood was thrown 
 into a state of alarm by a cottager having found 
 poor Toby Lackpenny in a swoon upon his shop- 
 board. Finding the experiment attended with such 
 imminent hazard, the fervent enthusiast was per- 
 suaded the next night, by Joe, after two hours' in- 
 defatigable argumentation, to lay aside his attempt, 
 by devout abstinence, at " purging the frame terreS' 
 trial till it could witness the vision celestial." 
 
 The occurrence of a very singular incident, how- 
 ever, and some effects that followed it, produced many 
 a misgiving in poor Toby's mind that he had done 
 wickedly in giving up the pursuit of this spiritual and 
 exalted object. It was about the third night after 
 Toby had yielded to Joe's prudent counsel, — and 
 while they were sitting in quiet converse on one of 
 their old themes, — that Toby's cottage door was 
 suddenly burst open by a blow which resembled the 
 stroke of a thunderbolt in the imagination of Joe and 
 his ancient gossip, — and, on the centre of the floor, 
 as suddenly stood Frank Friskit, Joe's younger fel-
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL. 215 
 
 low-apprentice, and the most mischievous scape- 
 grace in the village. The face of the unexpected 
 visitant was like the whitened wall; and his curly- 
 locks, as if in consternation at the unwonted pallor 
 of his countenance, stood " nine ways of a Wed- 
 nesday," as Toby phrased it. His trembling knees 
 and torn dress made confession, — the trembler him- 
 self being tongucless with dread, — that Frank had 
 been engaged in some fearful adventure. Joe has- 
 tened to support him, — for the lad swooned almost 
 instantly. Toby hastened for cold water to aid his 
 recovery ; — and, in a few seconds, Noah Wallhead, 
 Joe's other fellow-apprentice, also entered Toby's 
 cottage, and manifested considerable solicitude about 
 Frank's alarming condition. After a plentiful liba- 
 tion upon his temples, Frank began to come to his 
 senses. 
 
 " What's the matter, Franky ? " said Toby, gently, 
 as soon as he thought the convalescent was able to 
 bear the inquiry. 
 
 " I've — I've seen some'at ! " replied Frank, hys- 
 terically. 
 
 " Seen I — well, but what have you seen, Frank ? " 
 asked Joe. 
 
 " A bar-ghost, Joe, or else th' old lad ! " an- 
 swered Friskit, with a chattering of the teeth. 
 
 Noah Wallhead laughed ; but Toby and Joe, 
 seeing the young ghost-seer was now able to sit up 
 without help, requested him, when they had closed
 
 216 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 the door, to tell his story at length, and conceal 
 nothing. 
 
 The repentant Frank avowed himself to be the 
 guilty perpetrator of" a series of malicious attempts 
 upon the natural liberty of Toby Lackpenny's cat ! 
 Every urchin in the village of Haxey had been 
 blamed, at one time or other, for the base machination 
 of setting " snickles," or nooses of wire, in the tailor's 
 little garden. The sage Toby profoundly conjectured, 
 and openly maintained, all along, that these wicked 
 devices were intended to ensnare his favourite tabby ; 
 but neither he, nor any one else, had ever suspected 
 Frank Friskit to be the foul conspirator, inasmuch 
 as he was so frequently in Toby's cot, and on friendly 
 terms with him. Under the agitation of affright, 
 the conscience-stricken and self-discovered culprit 
 solemnly vowed that he would forsake the way of 
 transo-ression thenceforth ; for he had seen such a 
 sight, Avhile setting a snickle, as he could never forget 
 as long as he lived ! How he had got over the hedge 
 he could not tell: — he believed his wits left him as 
 soon as he saw the bar-ghost,- — for he could re- 
 member nothing besides that queer sight ! 
 
 " But what was it like, Frank ? " asked Joe. 
 
 *'Like! — why it had a dark-looking face, and a 
 pair of eyes as big as owls' heads ! " replied the lad, 
 with a shudder. 
 
 " And how big was it ? " asked Joe, again. 
 
 " I only saw the great foul face grinning and
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL. 217 
 
 Staring at me, and all on a blaze, — and then it was 
 gone ! " said Frank. 
 
 Joe received the last answer with a smile, — but, 
 on turning round, when Noah Wallhead touched his 
 elbow, he could not forbear laughter. Noah showed 
 Joe the hollow turnip, with its eyes and mouth, that 
 had so marvellously aftrighted the younger apprentice 
 when lit up with a bit of candle, — a common trick 
 among rustic youngsters. Toby, however, was not 
 let into the secret, and took it very ill that Joe, 
 especially, should laugh at what he considered a very 
 alarming narrative. Feeling it incumbent on him- 
 self to use this advantageous opportunity for en- 
 forcing a homily on reform, he thus addressed himself 
 to the penitent Frank Friskit : — 
 
 " Be thankful, foolish boy," he said, " that this 
 evil spirit has done thee no real harm ; and, for the 
 future, lay aside thy wicked follies. And, above 
 all, Frank, bethink thee that thovi has' been guilty 
 of a great sin to be so long pretending good neigh- 
 bourship with me, and yet to be all the Avhile plotting 
 how to snickle my poor dumb creatur'. No wonder 
 the bar-ghost should visit thee ! Say thy Belief, as 
 well as thy prayers, to-night, Frank, — and be a good 
 lad in futur', and then thou may' hope that the Lord 
 will forgive this deceit, for that's a greater sin than 
 mischief!" — and then, fearing to renew the lad's 
 terrors, — since he already began to tremble afresh, 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 218 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 — Toby besought Joe and Noah Wallhead to take 
 him home. 
 
 Toby Lackpenny felt " indescribably queer," as 
 he afterwards said, — when left alone that night. He 
 tried to banish the remembrance of Frank's strange 
 description of the trunkless head, — but he found that 
 to be impossible, as long as he sat by the fire, — for 
 every flicker of the flames startled him with a new 
 fear or fancy. So he betook himself to bed. But 
 alas ! poor Toby's frame had been so completely 
 weakened by fasting, and his indulgence of the 
 marvelling propensity of his constitution had ren- 
 dered his understanding and will so powerless, that 
 he felt like a being that has no longer any self- 
 government. The head, — the queer head that Frank 
 had seen, — with its fiery eyes and mouth, — was 
 all Toby could think about, as he lay tossing to and 
 fro in bed : — " What a marvellous sight it must 
 have been ! " said Toby to himself, — "a grinning 
 dark face, with eyes as big as owls' heads," — the 
 boy said ; — " all on a blaze in a moment, and then 
 crone ! " And the revolting picture, at length, burst 
 in reality, — he believed, — before his eyes ! Nor had 
 he the power to banish the uncouth and distorted 
 phantasm, — although he gathered up all his courage 
 and tried to laugh, once : — it was in vain, — the 
 sound of his own forced laughter caused his skin to 
 creep ! Then Toby shut his eyes, and turned him- 
 self on his pillow, and bravely resolved he would
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL. 219 
 
 sleep, — but it still was in vain : — when his eyelids 
 ached with the compressure he had exerted upon 
 them, he opened his eyes once more, — and lo ! there 
 was a real, grinning, goggle-eyed head, — all on fire, 
 — coming towards him, from an immense distance ! 
 The trunkless head was a mile off, apparently, — but 
 it was coming, — and what was he to do ? It came on 
 rapidly, — and the heart of poor Toby beat loudly 
 against his ribs, and the perspiration started from his 
 brow ; and, at length, when the glaring phantom of 
 a head was approaching very near, he made a con- 
 vulsive effort, and dashed his head beneath the bed- 
 clothes ! Half suffocated with heat and fear, he 
 threw the clothes sufficiently off to obtain a breath 
 or two, when, to his unspeakable relief, his incom- 
 prehensible ta,ntaliser evanished. 
 
 In a few minutes, however, the horrible spectre 
 of a head appeared again, in the immense, immeasur- 
 able distance. It approached at the same rapid and 
 threatening rate as before, and with features he 
 thought still more frightful ; and, again, he had 
 recourse to the bed-clothes for protection from this 
 terrific visitant. When the head commenced its 
 menacing approach for the third time, Toby's horror 
 exceeded endurance, and he jumped from his low 
 bed, and threw open his little w^indow to catch tlie 
 cool air. The night breeze speedily dispelled his 
 giddiness, and effectually banished the disturbing 
 figure from his disordered sensory. 
 
 B 2
 
 220 TOBY LACKPENNT 
 
 Toby stood a few moments attempting to rally 
 his mind, by his old employment of counting the 
 stars in each of the more striking constellations, 
 which were at the time distinctly and brightly visible ; 
 — but the hour of midnight, told bj the solemn tones 
 of the church clock, warned him to close the window, 
 and endeavour to find the rest he felt he now so 
 much needed. Exhaustion, happily, came to his 
 relief, and Toby forgot the fiery head without a 
 trunk, in more gentle dreams. 
 
 Joe heard Toby's relation of this singular visit, 
 the next night, with a degree of phlegm and coolness 
 that amazed the marvel-stricken tailor. Nor could 
 Toby receive for gospel any of the natural ex- 
 planations of his young friend : it was in vain that 
 Joe recounted what he liad lately read of Nicolai, 
 the printer of Berlin, and his wondrous diseased 
 visions, — it was equally in vain that the youth strove 
 to shew Toby that the very manner of the strange 
 head's visit, — so like Vv'hat was called " phantas- 
 magoria " and other optical delusions, — proved, to a 
 dead certainty, that it all arose from over-excitement 
 of the brain. Toby poohed and pshawed at every 
 thinsf Joe said, — and was nearer than Joe had ever 
 thovight him towards calling his former disciple by 
 some offensive name. The lad was compelled to 
 desist from his attempt to reason Toby out of his 
 uneasy conviction, that he had actually been visited 
 by some evil agent as a punishment for his infraction
 
 THE nilLOSOPHICAL. 221 
 
 of the vow he took never to eat food till sunset, — 
 that so he might attain to communion with heavenly 
 angels ! 
 
 Left to himself, the stricken idealist fell into still 
 more pernicious errors. Witchcraft, was the next 
 delusion he was fated to experience. Not that Toby 
 ever imagined himself to be either a witch or a 
 wizard; but he fell, most obstinately, into the be- 
 lief, — ay, as obstinately as the knight of La Mancha 
 himself, — that he was under the mischievous power 
 of some who dealt with wicked spirits and practised 
 enchantments. His imagination in this, as in earlier 
 instances of its treacherousness to his judgment, made 
 a rapid, though gradual, abandonment of all self- 
 evident and common-sense conclusions, even in the 
 every- day affairs of life. That nest of temptation — 
 his library — as, also, in the case of the world-known 
 Quixote, was, again, the source from which Toby 
 Lackpenny drew the written proofs for the reality 
 of his credulous vagaries. " Gloomy Glanvil," as 
 critical Toby had called him in the days of his 
 higher spiritual-mindedness, was the superstitious ex- 
 pounder of doctrine to whom the philosophical tailor 
 now attached himself. How could he deny that a 
 compact with evil spirits was possible to fallen human 
 creatures, when he had believed, so heartily, with 
 Swedenborg, that it was possible for sinful man to 
 hold communion with celestial ministers ? Besides, 
 was there not the indubitable history of the Witch 
 
 K 3
 
 222 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 of Endor, and innumerable other references to 
 dealers with familiar spirits, in the volume of Holy 
 Writ ? And were they likely — these wicked and 
 envious agencies of the " evil eye " — to look on any 
 human being so maliciously as on him who had 
 aspired to converse with good angels ? Would they 
 not feel an instinctive antipathy towards him ? He 
 was convinced they would, as soon as he inwardly 
 asked the question. 
 
 He had just lost his thimble while he was thinking 
 thus ; and though he hunted for it a full hour, he 
 was not able to find it ! What though this had often 
 fallen to his share of ill luck before ? It was not, 
 now, to be accounted for as an accident. No: it 
 had been spirited away : he was bewitched ; he was 
 sure he was. It Avas by petty acts of mischief that 
 the withered hags of hell usually commenced their 
 annoyance of those whose aspirations after purity 
 had raised their devilish hate. His case, he feared, 
 was too sure to prove a sorrowful one, for he knew 
 not how to counterwork their malevolence. Wliat a 
 dunce he had been to neglect that branch of occult 
 study ! But it might not be too late to acquire even 
 a profound knowledge of it; and so he would set 
 about it in right earnest. 
 
 And, poor Toby ! he did set about it in earnest, 
 insomuch that he sewed side-seams to tops and bot- 
 toms of new garments, and stitched circular patches 
 on square rents, and squares on circular apertures in
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL. 223 
 
 the damaged attire he undertook to repair, and mis- 
 laid his thread where he could not find it for hours, — ■ 
 and pricked his thumbs and fingers, half-callous 
 though they were, with the needles, — and heated 
 his goose till he burnt the cloth, — and fell into 
 blunders and mishaps of most awful consequence to 
 his professional reputation, day by day, more thickly 
 and disastrously, until the very disasters themselves 
 convinced him that he was approaching a climax of 
 knowledge in the gloomy science of which he had 
 now become so devoted a student. The witches 
 knew — foul, cunning, devil-dealers that they were — 
 they knew, although he did not, as yet, ken tcho 
 they were, that he was about to become a match for 
 them ; and, therefore, they were thus bedevilling 
 him and his cloth, and goose, and shears, and thimble, 
 and needles, in this " hey-day, hide-and-seek, burn-it- 
 and-bother-it," sort of way. 
 
 Toby would not " give it up," however, torment 
 him as they might — the spiteful fiendlings ! He still 
 read and thought, and thought and read, and com- 
 pared the descriptions of feature which his books 
 contained, with the physiognomies of all who visited 
 his abode, until he entertained a shrewd suspicion of 
 who were the real and identical, though secret, prac- 
 tisers of all this infernal mischief. Yet, as some of 
 these had been, for years, his best and kindest em- 
 ployers, the witch- seer found it go sorely against the 
 grain of his affectionate nature to provoke a quarrel 
 
 K 4
 
 224 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 with them. Often did he chide his spirit when he 
 had permitted any of these suspicious visiters to de- 
 part with heartfelt thanks for the kindly present of 
 a cake, or a new cheese, or a dish of butter, or half- 
 score of eggs, with which they had coupled their 
 order for the repair of a coat, or nether habit ; and 
 as often did he resolve to prepare himself against 
 their next visit for a red-hot quai-rel. 
 
 Months elapsed before the amiable-hearted visionary 
 could " screw his courage to the sticking-place," so as 
 to enable him to " fall out " with his friends and 
 benefactors : not that he feared their witchery, or the 
 heavier harm it might bring upon him, when he had 
 defied it. He soon lost all dread of that kind. It was 
 his tiaie-heartedness — his genuine gratitude — that 
 precious quality which a rogue never feels, though 
 he talks the most loudly about it, but which honest 
 and noble natures cannot stifle, even when warm 
 friends have become persecuting foes, — it was that 
 superlative virtue which struggled to keep its citadel 
 in gentle Toby's heart's core, and the contest with 
 Avhich was so troublous to him. Happily for the 
 poor mistaken philosopher, his loving-heartedness had 
 rendered him so dear to all who knew him, that none 
 would believe he was in his right mind, when he sud- 
 denly became so discourteous and angry-tempered. 
 
 '•' Pr'ythee, Goody, what think'st ta ? " said Dolly 
 Dustit, the little hard-working flax-woman, to Peggy 
 the staid housekeeper at Farmer Robinson's, — " is
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL. 226 
 
 neighbour Toby growing queerish in his heed, wi' so 
 much book-larning, — or, what the plague can be the 
 matter wi' him ? I asked him to tell me what yerbs 
 I should get to mak' a green plaister for our Jack's 
 sore scaup, and he grinned like a fummard, and tell'd 
 raa to gooa to the divvil, and as th' oud lad was a 
 friend o' mine he would mak' ma my plaisters, with 
 a witness ! Doesn't ta think he's gone stranny ? " 
 
 " For sartain there's summat the matter wa' his 
 wits, from what our maister was saying about him 
 this morning," answered Peggy ; " but who can 
 wonder at it, Dolly ? I wonder his knowledge -box 
 hasn't gone wrong-side up'ards many a year since ! " 
 
 " And Maister Robinson has had some foul speech 
 from him, has he, then, Peggy?" asked the little 
 flax- woman, curious to learn more of Toby's vagaries. 
 
 " Sich foul speech as maks one queer to mention 
 it," replied Peggy, though she evidently wanted to 
 unburthen herself of it to her gossip, and told the 
 shudderino; news in the next breath : — "he tell'd 
 th' farmer that his breeches smelled o' brimstone, and 
 he wouldn't put a stitch in 'em to please ayther him, 
 or the divvil his maister ! " 
 
 " The Lord ha' marcy on us, Peggy ! " ejaculated 
 the honest little flax-woman, " it's a sore thing to 
 think on ; but poor Toby's brain 's addled at last, 
 I'm varry sewer. He's as harmless as a lamb, when 
 he's rijxht : one nivver heeard a foul word come out 
 of his mouth. I'm varry sorry for him, Peggy " 
 
 K 5
 
 226 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 and so saying, Dolly Dustit sped on to her daily 
 work in the flax field, more deeply grieved at what 
 she believed to be poor Toby's affliction, than at his 
 repulsive treatment of her application for his medical 
 advice. 
 
 Such conferences of inquiry, wonder, and regret, 
 began to arise daily, in the ancient little town of 
 Haxey, as Toby advanced further into the spirit and 
 essence of witch-knowing ; but the erring philoso- 
 pher, at length, set the whole village into uproar by 
 telling no less-beloved a personage than Dame Debo- 
 rah Thrumpkinson, herself, that he believed she was 
 a witch, — nay the queen and ring-leader of all the 
 witches in the Isle of Axholme, — - and, to complete 
 his madness, Toby actually strove to eject tlie vener- 
 able old woman from his cottage ! Fortunately, his 
 corporal weakness prevented him from effecting the 
 rudeness which he thus attempted ; and the hearty 
 old dame, though pitying, rather than censuring his 
 folly, felt disposed to try the effect of a somewhat 
 vigorous reproof of it. Seizing the lean, attenuated 
 student by the collar, she laid him, with one sinewy 
 lift, fairly on his back, breathless and fear- stricken, 
 upon the shopboard. 
 
 " 'Od rabbet thee, and thy fizzlegig foolery ! " she 
 exclaimed, setting her teeth together, as she was 
 wont when moved more strongly than usual, " what 
 maggots hast thou got into thy star-gazing noddle, 
 now ? A witch, indeed ! Who will take thee to be
 
 THE THILOSOPHICAL. 227 
 
 a wizard for saying so, thou dreaming old owl ? 
 Marry, come up ! I say a witch, too ! " — and then 
 she shook poor Toby till his teeth chattered, and he 
 would fain have uttered a loud alarm, but durst not 
 speak, for the life of him. 
 
 The dame left him to recover his courage, and 
 laughed heartily, in spite of some slight feeling of vex- 
 ation, as she told the story to her customers during 
 the day. A few hours served to bring a crowd round 
 the tailor's dwelling, though none would enter it ; 
 and, till night-fall, Toby's ears were assailed with 
 epithets which shook his nerves till he wished him- 
 self a thousand miles off, as he afterwards said to Joe. 
 During the evening, the elder and more influential 
 members of the little population of Haxey w^ent from 
 house to house expressing their deep regret for Toby 
 Lackpenny's lunacy, — for they decided that he was 
 lunatic, — and conjuringly besought the younger and 
 more frivolous people to desist from persecution of 
 one who had always been so good and kind-hearted 
 a neighbour, and was now under a visitation of Pro- 
 vidence that rendered him an object of commiseration 
 rather than ridicule. And so the victim of imagina- 
 tion was delivered from the storm of persecution 
 which he had foreboded would be renewed on the 
 succeeding day. 
 
 Desirous, on her part, of making Toby feel the 
 value of her neighbourship. Dame Deborah never 
 crossed his threshold on that day. Toby was thus 
 
 K 6
 
 228 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 left a solitary ; and yet his mental disease had not 
 yet reached a stage that would render solitude cura- 
 tive. On the contrary, it permitted his prurient 
 imagination to become more mischievous in its in- 
 fluence. 
 
 A neat little dove-cote was a conspicuous rural 
 adornment to the ancient gable of Dame Deborah's 
 dwelling ; and its cooing habitants were familiarly 
 acquainted with the tailor's threshold, and even with 
 his cottage-floor, — whither they were often attracted 
 by the crumbs Toby spread upon it, when his favour- 
 ite tabby had strayed forth from the cot, and so 
 could give no alarm to these feathered visitants. 
 Toby had been reading a full description, during that 
 solitary morning, in one of his witchery-books, of 
 the way in which the most powerful of all charms 
 might be prepared for subjugating a witch or a 
 wizard ; and the entrance of one of Dame Deborah's 
 pigeons, into his cottage, seemed to give him the 
 opportunity he coveted of testing the efficacy of the 
 prescribed charm. He wilily closed his door, and 
 after a brief struggle, captured the bird, — which he, 
 forthwith, secured, by shutting it up in the oaken 
 corner cupboard, which served him for wardrobe, 
 larder, and coal-cellar. 
 
 The day wore on, and the philosopher, with a 
 struggle against his misgivings that whispered 
 " cruelty and barbarity," reckoned mightily on the 
 triumph his newly acquired knowledge was to give
 
 THE rHILOSOPIIICAL. 229 
 
 him over the powers of darkness as soon as night 
 arrived, and the murky hour of twelve approached. 
 He sharpened a knife till the edge was most deadly 
 keen ; he made up a good fire : he collected, at least, 
 one hundred pins from the patches on his shop-board 
 and in his drawers : he prepared the string by which 
 the dove's heart was to be hung to roast ; and he 
 drove in the nail to which the string was to be tied. 
 
 And now the black midnight hour was near, and 
 trembling with agitation that might almost be called 
 horror, Toby Lackpenny took the poor fluttering 
 pigeon out of its hiding-place, and took the fierce 
 knife into his hand to be ready to dash into its breast 
 as soon as the church clock struck the first stroke of 
 twelve. Need he had for self-possession and pre- 
 paredness of mind and act, in order to complete his 
 necromantic feat like a true adept, — for although he 
 was not to wound the bird till he heard the first 
 stroke of twelve, yet he must have its heart out, 
 alive, and have it stuck full of pins, and placed down 
 at the fire to roast, — and all before the church clock 
 had told the last stroke of twelve ! 
 
 " Pshaw ! — nonsense — what a chicken-hearted 
 fool I am ! " said poor Toby to himself, as he stood 
 trying to confine the bird's wings with one hand, and 
 holding his sharp knife in the other : " let me think 
 of the victory I shall obtain over these agents of the 
 Evil One, — and not give way In this childish 
 manner ! "
 
 230 TOBY LACKPENNY 
 
 But Toby did give way, and could not help it ; 
 as be said to Joe when he afterwards described this 
 strange temptation to his beloved young friend. The 
 faster the moments flew, and the more nearly the 
 magical moment approached, the more Toby trem- 
 bled, and the more loudly his heart beat against his 
 ribs, and the more terrifically his conscience menaced 
 his peace, till — as the last half minute was elapsing, 
 he threw doAvn the knife, and releasing the pigeon 
 from his grasp, declared aloud, though out of the 
 hearing of every human being, that he neither could 
 nor would hurt the poor harmless dove, even if all 
 the witches on earth, and all the fiends they dealt 
 with in the other place, should, thenceforth, have 
 power to torment him every minute of his remaining 
 life. 
 
 There was an end of Toby's grand achievement of 
 power over all the witches and wizards with whom 
 he believed the Isle of Axholme to be infested ! 
 The hour had passed over, and it was too late — per- 
 haps, for ever — for him to perform the all-potent 
 immolation, — since the sacrifice of the same pigeon 
 would be of no efficacy, after it had been prepared, 
 and yet remained unslaughtered. His better nature 
 felt satisfaction at the thought of the pigeon being- 
 still alive, though his superstitious ambition led him 
 to experience a deep shade of regret that he had 
 not had hardihood of spirit sufficient to enable him 
 to grasp the grand ideal prize which was so nearly
 
 THE PHILOSOrHICAL. 231 
 
 within liis reach. Regrets were useless, however, 
 he reflected; and so he quenched his blazing fire, 
 and lay down to rest. 
 
 In the morning, a new temptation awaited the 
 fanatical witch-finder. Forgetting that Tabby could 
 easily pounce upon the pigeon while left on the 
 cottage-floor, though she could not get at it in the 
 cupboard, — Toby had gone to bed without concern- 
 ing himself about the safety of the bird, being so 
 much absorbed with the feeling of satisfaction that he 
 had spared its life. No sooner had her master fallen 
 asleep, however, and the bird placed its bill under 
 its wing for taking rest, than Tabby slily seized her 
 prize and butchered it for a secret banquet. Her 
 bloody mouth and glistening eyes, together with the 
 scattered feathers, proclaimed her deed, most unmis- 
 takeably, as soon almost as Toby had opened his 
 eyes and looked round his humble dwelling. 
 
 A new conviction sprang into his capricious brain : 
 Tabby was a witch, self-transfigured into a cat! 
 There could be no doubt of it — not the shadow of a 
 doubt. How strange that he had not marked her 
 particular habits before! — and yet, it was a fact, 
 now he came to think of it, — that she purred and 
 squinted, just like the transfigured cat-witches he had 
 lately read of in his profound, mystical books. As 
 for the pigeon, she hated it, of course, knowing the 
 purpose for which it had been brought thither. It 
 was as clear as the sun at noon, — though all cats
 
 232 TOBY LACKrENNY 
 
 liked pigeon flesh if they could get it, — that Tabby 
 devoured this pigeon because she was a witch, and 
 it had been secreted as a forthcomino- sacrificial charm 
 for overthrowing witch-power! 
 
 What, then, was the discerning Lackpenny to do, 
 under this astounding discovery? He resolved to 
 put an end to Tabby's life, by the peculiar and 
 effectual mode in which alone a cat-witch could be 
 destroyed : she must be hung up by the heels over 
 his cottage-door to die a prolonged but irredeemable 
 death ! Toby shuddered ; but he was convinced it 
 was the only righteous and wise way to be taken, — 
 and so he set about carrying it into effect. Tabby 
 inflicted some veno-eful wounds on her old master 
 while he was in course of tying the cord round her 
 hind feet, and then hoisting her up over the door, — 
 but Toby fulfilled his office of executioner — thrust on 
 him by fate and duty, he believed — very stoutly this 
 time — in spite of the aversion he felt at taking away 
 the life of a dumb creature which had sung " three - 
 thrum " on his hearth so often, and borne him com- 
 pany through so many days of poverty, although days 
 of content. He hung up his cat ; but how was he 
 to stop her cries ? 
 
 A crowd again gathered round his house, and de- 
 manded that he should release his cat. But Toby 
 was more resolute that he would not, the more they 
 insisted on it. Dame Deborah, at length, stepped 
 from her dwelling, and, cutting the poor animal
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL. 233 
 
 loose, broke Toby's counter-enchantment at a stroke. 
 Then throwing open the tailor's door, and fixing her 
 eyes upon him very threateningly, she told him she 
 would certainly help to hang him by the heels, — if 
 ever he attempted again to treat his poor harmless 
 cat in so barbarous a manner. 
 
 Toby spake not one word. His recollection of the 
 fearful shake the aged dame had lately given him, 
 rendered him apprehensive that she might renew it, 
 and so he kept prudent silence. 
 
 The crowd gradually departed, and left the baffled 
 philosopher-visionary, once more, to solitary reflec- 
 tion — but it was now hungry reflection, — and proved 
 to be most effectual in dispelling his wild fancies. 
 Shame under the keen reproofs of his neighbours, 
 and failure of his cupboai'd, contributed to weary 
 him of his witch notions, — ^so that on the following 
 morning he was fain to receive a little present from 
 Dame Deborah, with thanks for her kindness. 
 
 Gradually, he became so entirely ashamed of his 
 recent eccenti"icities that he made earnest apologies 
 to all whom he had treated with rudeness, — and all 
 were so ready to forgive, and so happy to see him 
 restored to a neighbourly temper, — ^that Toby found 
 it easy to recover his former ease of mind and habitual 
 good humour. 
 
 The longer Toby lived the less likely was it for 
 one so ardently imaginative by constitution, to sink 
 into the mere matter-of-fact quietude of thought that
 
 234 TOBY LACKPENNY. 
 
 characterised the majority of his neighbours. On 
 the contrary, as he grew older, his brain became 
 more and more proKfic of imaginations ; but, happily, 
 they were increasingly of a more pleasing nature 
 as he increased in years. In spite of all his life- 
 long dreams and fancies, and in spite of strait- 
 ness in his means of living, Toby was a happy 
 old man ; for, with all the startling activity of his 
 imagination, Toby had never corrupted his bodily 
 vigour by a single act of intemperance. When Joe 
 returned to bury his aged foster-mother, Toby walked, 
 by the help of two sticks, to the grave-side, de- 
 claring that he saw two lovely angels walking before 
 the coffin, all the way from the dame's door, and 
 lie knew they would come for him next. Whether 
 the yearning of his desire and imagination, or the 
 great effort he made to attend the funeral, most 
 assisted to hasten his end, cannot be said, — but he 
 died the very next day, — with a heaven of smiles on 
 his aged face, — and with the words " heaven " and 
 " angels " on his tongue. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 New- Street Square.
 
 Jusl Published, by the same Author, 
 
 THK 
 
 PURGATORY OF SUICIDES 
 
 ^ prison 9Clf)gmt. 
 
 IN TEN BOOKS. 
 One Volume, foolscap Qvo. price 7s. Gd. 
 
 Opinions of the Press. 
 
 " Thomas Cooper is one of those great poets stamped by Nature's 
 own hand — not fashioned by schools, not taught by labour to string 
 rhymes together, but pouring forth from the fulness of his own 
 mind and heart a torrent of burning and impetuous eloquence. We 
 may greatly disapprove of his conceptions, but we are compelled by 
 the law of our being that constrains admiration to do homage to the 
 richness and fertility of his imagination, and to that amazing com- 
 mand of language and supreme faculty of expression that makes his 
 verse, while full, various, and eminently poetic, the perfect expositor 
 of his thought. The impression forced on the mind by his verse is, 
 that it is the work of inspiration rather than of labour. It never 
 stops or falters in its magnificent flight. It has no feeble passages, 
 no weak rhymes, no compromise of strength to rhythm. It is a 
 genuine and ardent outpouring of a great spirit, irritated by envy 
 or fancied wrong, depressed and pained by calamity, dark with im- 
 perfect knowledge, distorted by feelings of hate, fired by illusory 
 ideas of man's equality, but still retaining, even in its greatest faults.
 
 unquestionable power of intellect of the very rarest and highest 
 kind. Our judgment may be disputed — the world may disregard 
 this mighty and daring effort of an irregular genius, though we do 
 not think it will, — yet still -we shall hold to our opinion that this 
 Prison Rhyme is the most wonderful effort of intellectual power 
 produced within the last century 
 
 " There is nothing mean, low, vicious, or lascivious in the verse 
 of this Chartist. He has the finest feeling for the beauty of the 
 New Testament, for the sublimity of the Old ; but the doubts of 
 neglected youth cling to him, and shake his soul with the agony of 
 unbelief. 
 
 " The poem is written in the Spenserian stanza. Grander and 
 more nervous than ' Childe Harold,' which in its reflective passages 
 it somewhat resembles — evidencing much deeper' reading, much 
 profounder thought, much greater power of the forcible and the ter- 
 rible in expression, though with less beauty of poetic imagery — this 
 Prison Rhyme comes nearer than any other poem in our language 
 to the grand work of Milton. The spirit of that mighty master, 
 which hitherto has looked so coldly and contemptuously on all its 
 worshippers, has found out this imprisoned Chartist, and breathed 
 upon him in his cell. Wonder of wonders, this self-taught shoe- 
 maker is hardly less versed in curious and mystic lore than the 
 sightless bard, to whose mental vision all antiquity, and its fables, its 
 heroes, and its creeds, seemed revealed 
 
 " With wonderful pomp and luxuriance of language does the 
 author recall the great names of antiquity, and invest the form of 
 each with peculiar and distinctive characteristics. The stanza, so 
 difficult of management in an inferior hand, is by him wrought, 
 even in the most elaborate and difficult descriptions, with as much 
 ease as a skilled hand weaves osier rods into basket-work. He is 
 master of his verse, and uses it as a master, not a servant. He 
 makes it subservient to his thought ; with a boldness more to be 
 admired than condemned, he employs rhymes and words unauthorised 
 by authority rather than suffer his muse to be fettered by common- 
 place rules 
 
 " The second book opens with an address to the Lyre, and the 
 poet recalls those great names of his fatherland whose verses form 
 the brightest blazonry of her glory. His address to Milton, his 
 poetic master, is rich in the passionate language of admiration. 
 Such a strain has not been sung in England for two hundred years.
 
 Knowing that this verse has been -written in a prison cell, that the 
 author has been self-taught, that he was a poor Chartist shoemaker, 
 we read in all the wonderment of an inexplicable dream 
 
 " Through the whole ten books are the spirits of renowned 
 suicides brought together — their forms, their attributes, their in- 
 stincts, feelings, passions, described in glowing verse — and made 
 to argue and dispute with each other on those great themes of life 
 which from the beginning until this day have engaged the attention 
 of the world — the life, the government, the destiny, and the here- 
 after of man. No extract of detached passages, no general descrip- 
 tion of the scope and aim of the poem, can give an adequate idea of 
 its general character, or of the amazing poetic energy it exhibits. 
 It concludes with a glorious vision. All heaven seems as a portal 
 to a world stretched beyond it, where mankind regenerated dwell 
 in blissful freedom." — Britannia, Aug. 30. 1845. 
 
 " This Prison Rhyme is no mean gift It reveals the pre- 
 sence of an active, well-instructed head — a resolute will — an 
 imagination lofty and daring — and hopes that brave all things in a 
 good cause ; it discovers also the promise of future and much higher 
 excellence, greater mastery in art, a more subtle and profound ap- 
 preciation of the beautiful, truer knowledge of truth, a higher, wider, 
 more healthful sympathy with man, including the multifarious and 
 progressive life of the past, with this our little, evanishing world of 
 to-day, and that great and sublime future which all the truer and 
 more fervent spirits of the time delight to herald and to hasten. 
 But, if we compare Mr. Cooper's poem with the ordinary offspring 
 of the modern muse, — the verses, not of millennium-singers and 
 world-betterers, but of gentlemen rhymesters, writers of love-lorn 
 ditties and May-fair fancies, — if, even, we compare it with nine- 
 tenths of the fancy verses dedicated to Nature, wherein her ever- 
 lasting hills and skies, fairy-haunted dells, and love-murmuring 
 brooks make an eternal jingle, we shall find that we are on higher 
 ground, and breathe a purer air. We shall find ourselves trans- 
 ported, by the wand of no mean magician, from the realms of 
 hacknied sentiment to the wonder-land of mighty spirits, sages, and 
 heroes, giant shadows, voices of the past, whose awful tcines swell 
 up through the roar of congregated ages, melancholy oracles, sub- 
 lime warnings, preaching the undying majesty of Truth and 
 Reason, and the ever- glorious virtues of Justice, Knowledge, and 
 Freedom. Such a singer as this is at least worth listening to, if it 
 were only to m.ake us forget for a while that we live in the golden
 
 age of mediocrity and money-worship. Listened to not the less, 
 nor the more, because the singer is a Chartist, and a working, self* 
 educated man. Listened to, not simply because, having been tried 
 for conspiracy, and having suffered imprisonment for it, the writer 
 comes out from his dungeon with this book in his hand, saying, ' Thus 
 much, and something more, I have done even in a prison.' These 
 are not the grounds upon which we recommend a perusal of this 
 poem (though, undoubtedly, such considerations do add much 
 interest, of a personal kind, to its publication). We recommend it, 
 because it embraces a lofty subject, because its execution evidences 
 considerable knowledge and great daring and sustained power of 
 thought ; because it seems to us a natural prelude to something else 
 from the same source, still more elevated in purpose and conception, 
 and much more complete in artistic execution. In fact, judging 
 from this as a first effort of his muse, we are inclined to hail the 
 writer as a new power in the world of poetry, the ruler of a new- 
 domain, as yet but little known ; but, which the public cannot fail 
 to recognise when its kings of thought shall put on their singing 
 robes, and, with fresh voice and soul, speak its praises to the world." 
 — Sentinel, Oct. 12. 1845. 
 
 " The book possesses mind — mind which makes itself felt and 
 understood, and which therefore demands respect. . . . The author's 
 case claims for his poem the recognition of an historical monument, 
 which, if its merits were but a tithe part of what they are, we should 
 feel ourselves precluded from dismissing with a brief notice." — 
 Athenceum, Sept. 6. 1845. 
 
 ♦' Noteworthy, — independently of all outward circumstances ; for 
 the poem is well-conceived, wrought out with no ordinary amount 
 of power, clearly and concisely expressed, and not altogether wantino 
 in imagination." — Illuminated Magazine, Oct. 1. 1845.
 
 ' Elegantly printed, with One Hundred and Thirty Engravings, 
 
 Price 12s. bound, 
 
 A WEEK AT KILLARNEY, 
 
 BY MR. AND MKS. S. C. HALL. 
 
 This volume is richly illustrated with subjects, picturing the 
 scenery, manners, and customs of the district surrounding the Lakes, 
 comprised in 200 pages, of a size not inconvenient for tlie traveller. 
 
 Much beautiful scenery is for the first time described, the authors 
 having recently made an especial visit for the purpose ; and by the 
 aid of steam Killarney is brought within two days' journey of 
 London. The volume contains concise directions as to the various 
 routes and modes of transit from London, the expenses of travelling, 
 residence at hotels, coach and post fares, &c.; and all necessary 
 information for the tourist. 
 
 With Fifty-eight beautiful Engravings, square royal, Price 12s. 
 handsomely bound, 
 
 AN HISTORICAL AND PICTURESQUE GUIDE 
 
 TO THE 
 
 BLACKWATER RIVER, IN MUNSTER. 
 
 BY J. R. o'fLANAGAN, ESQ. 
 
 " From Mullen, famed for its mineral springs, to the Bay of 
 Youghal, flows the Blackwater — a river which in point of varied 
 and beautiful scenery, may stand comparison with almost any on the 
 Continent. It is the course of this noble stream — the picturesque 
 and luxuriant soil through which it glides — a soil teeming with the 
 richest treasures, but less fostered by art than any other within the 
 British Islands — that Mr. O'Flanagan has made the subject of this 
 very elegant work." — Dublin Evening Post. 
 
 Super-royal 8 to., Price 16s, half-bound morocco, 
 
 THE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED ITINERARY OE CORNWALL: 
 
 BY CYRUS REDDING, ESQ. 
 
 Combining Views and Descriptions of all that is picturesque in 
 Nature, with all that is wondrous in Art ; and exhibiting the County 
 as it is, under its several aspects of Natural Scenery, Historical 
 Memorials, and Productive Industry.
 
 Tn preparation, to be issued in Monthly Parts, uniform with "Ireland," 
 
 A MONTH 
 IN TliE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS. 
 
 BY MR. AND MRS. S. C. HALL. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY BETWEEN 300 AND 400 ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD, 
 FROM THE DRAWINGS AND SKETCHES OF 
 
 R. R. M'lAN. 
 
 " Now the whole Highlands, western and northern, may be com- 
 manded in a month." — Professor Wilson. 
 
 This publication is designed to supply " a companion " to the 
 Tourist in the Scottish Highlands, — to show how he can pleasantly 
 and profitably spend " a month " in visiting a country unsurpassed 
 in pictureque attractions, where Nature assumes the most graceful 
 or most majestic foi-ms, where primitive character even yet lingers, 
 and where eveiy hill and glen receives augmented interest ft-om 
 " old tradition" and history akin to romance. 
 
 The authors were accompanied during their tour in the High- 
 lands, western and northern, by an artist, who, born among the 
 people, and understanding their language, is familiar also with the 
 peculiar scenery of the several districts described, and the various 
 events inseparably associated with them. The work will be exten- 
 sively embellished by his pencil ; the pictorial illustrations will 
 embrace all matters of interest exhibited in the route of the tourist ; — 
 the ruins of the castles and abbeys, the fertile glens, the wild moun- 
 tain passes, the rugged or wooded lakes, the cataracts, the rivers, — 
 in short, all the picturesque objects which excite admiration and 
 demand attention, together with characteristic portraits of the pea- 
 santry, and matters explanatory of their habitations and occu- 
 pations. 
 
 Maps of the various routes — recommended to the tourist as 
 results of extensive inquiry, as well as of personal experience and 
 examination — will be introduced into the pages of the work ; and 
 careful efforts will be exerted to obtain and communicate informa- 
 tion upon all subjects in which the traveller is interested, — upon 
 a knowledge of which, indeed, much of his enjoyment must, at all 
 times, and in all places, greatly depend.
 
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