THE-HflPPy-EXlLE
 
 
 

 
 THE * HAPPY 
 EXILE
 
 By the Same Author 
 WOMEN'S TRAGEDIES. 35. 6d. net. 
 
 MAKE BELIEVE. Illustrated by 
 CHARLES ROBINSON. 55. net.

 
 THE 
 
 HAPPY EXILE 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 H. D. LOWRY 
 
 WITH SIX ETCHINGS BY E. PHILIP PIMLOTT 
 
 JOHN LANE, The Bodky Head 
 
 LONDON <5r- NEW YORK 
 
 1898
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON - Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. A. S BOYD
 
 EDITOR'S NOTE 
 
 Cf'ffE papers here collected are the work of one who 
 has long forgotten the period of youthfulness they 
 chronicle. Once upon a time (let me explain to you) 
 there was a group of young men who worked hard for 
 little money ^ living gaily the while. They made a play 
 of their work^ and the responsibilities that come with 
 settled incomes and positions of greater or less dignity , 
 had not yet fallen on them. 
 
 Now among all these there was none so utterly un- 
 bound as the man whose experiences you are to read. 
 He had a limitless affection for the society of the band^ 
 and enjoyed the inexpensive dissipations that came in the 
 way of its members with a gusto never exceeded. Yet 
 he was one whose presence could never be counted upon^ 
 unless a promise had been given ; and it was the habit 
 of his friends^ at any meeting after a week during which
 
 Editor's Note 
 
 they had not come across him, to inquire how he had 
 been faring in Cornwall. 
 
 For, indeed^ he was no less truly a dweller beyond 
 the Tamar than in his London chambers near the sky. 
 There, as here, he had his friends. The interminable 
 journey he must take who would reach the real West 
 Country, 
 
 " Where roses grow that have no thorns" 
 
 daunted kirn not at all. He was a veritable lover, 
 and would travel twenty dreary hours for the sake of 
 scarce as many in the land of his desire. 
 
 I found these papers awhile ago in a drawer where 
 he had bidden me search for an old article of his I 
 needed to consult. By his permission I carried them 
 away, and here you have them in print. 
 
 I had often wondered how he managed to content 
 himself down there in the country, nor had I found 
 much illumination in his frequent assurances that 
 there was " always plenty to do" These notes of 
 his experience gave me the explanation both of his 
 contentment and of his inability to account for it 
 for he was the last man in the world to be altogether 
 reconciled to life as he found it. 
 
 He did nothing in the West, yet, as he had told me
 
 Editor's Note 
 
 so often, there was " always plenty to do" He stepped 
 straightway into another world in leaving London, 
 and found his own place in it awaiting him. He 
 had his friends with whom to talk, and, if ever they 
 were away from him, the come-and-go of the seasons and 
 the slow progress of the Spring were enough to keep 
 him occupied. 
 
 Concerning two of his papers I am a little in doubt. 
 They can scarce have been written during the period 
 when the open country began (so to speak) outside 
 the door of his chambers. I can fancy they were 
 produced after he had allowed himself to become a 
 prisoner in London. The married man must have 
 his occasional reflections, and he has surrendered many 
 things in return for the privilege of owning his pretty 
 house at Dulwich. 
 
 For the rest, these papers chosen out of many 
 must speak for themselves. To me they have given 
 pleasure as demonstrating that one man was at one 
 time to be envied his happiness. 
 
 H. D. L. 
 
 IX
 
 Most of these Sketches and Studies 
 have appeared in The National Observer, 
 Pall Mall Gazette, Slack and White, The 
 Speaker, and Chambers 's, by permission of 
 whose Editors they are here reprinted
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Editor's Note <y age v ii 
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils I 
 
 The New Contentment 15 
 
 A Scandal in Arcady 21 
 
 The Wedding Morning 33 
 
 A Romantic Confession 4.3 
 
 On Sunday Morning 55 
 
 In the Marshes 65 
 Interludes 
 
 I. The Offering 77 
 
 II. The Hammock 80 
 
 III. Western Winter 83 
 
 IV. The Blessing of the Rain 87 
 V. The Unseen Singer 92 
 
 Midsummer Moonlight 99 
 xiii
 
 Contents 
 
 A Wayside Evangelist Tage 109 
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 119 
 
 Payment by Results 135 
 
 The Spell of the Sea 145 
 
 The Bible Reader 157 
 
 Marguerite in London I. and II. 167 
 
 The Smell of the Good Earth 185 
 
 New Year's Eve 193 
 
 xiv
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " The Interminable Journey " Frontispiece 
 
 The Idyl of the daffodils To face page 6 
 
 // Scandal in <Arcadj 3 
 
 In the ^Marshes 7 2 
 
 <A Wayside Evangelist 114 
 
 " *A horse tearing down the street, and a little bit of 
 
 a boy upon the back of it" 139
 
 THE IDYL OF THE 
 DAFFODILS
 
 THE IDYL OF THE 
 DAFFODILS 
 
 " THROUGH happy, sunlit fields and quiet lanes, 
 Where Spring had touched the branches into green, 
 I wandered in the childhood of the year. 
 For stormy March had come and raged his time, 
 And now an April sunlight lit the land, 
 And glistened in the drops of April rain, 
 Or in the shallows of the brook. 
 
 Whenas 
 
 The far off West grew splendid suddenly 
 With sombre splendour of a dying sun, 
 I laid me down in fields where lazy kine 
 Browsed idly on the grass all green with Spring 
 And bright with wide-strewn wealth of daffodils. 
 Near me there went a little rain-fed stream 
 That, from the distant hills to the far sea, 
 Ran musically, ever murmuring. 
 All things were peaceful as where, far away, 
 Beneath a cloudless sky, in happy isles, 
 The lotus-eater, wrapt in soft-hued dreams, 
 Forgets the busy tumult of the world." 
 
 THAT is how the poem opens, and to the 
 end it is all in praise of Spring : a boyish 
 version of the tale of Echo and Narcissus, 
 owing its existence to the fact that a 
 3
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 schoolboy had been wont to wander in fields 
 radiant "with all the golden pride of daffo- 
 dils," and, wandering, had met with Love, 
 companion of the Spring, who comes out 
 of the West. 
 
 He was very young when he wrote it in 
 his tiny study under the eaves, and if he 
 could read it now mine is the only sur- 
 viving copy he would undoubtedly per- 
 ceive that what seemed to him a sure and 
 certain warrant of future greatness was but 
 his solitary piece of experience, naively set 
 forth in blank verse differing from heroic 
 couplets merely in the absence of rhymed 
 endings. 
 
 Early in the poem, Echo meets the 
 dreaming poet in a vale, which I fancy you 
 would see if ever you should visit Torr's 
 Steps, upon the Barle. At first she fancies 
 him Narcissus, whom she is now to rejoin 
 for a brief space as the reward of a long 
 loneliness ; but soon she sees her error, 
 and straightway the light of joy upon her 
 countenance 
 
 " Dies, as the sunlight dies upon the hills, 
 When clouds are wafted from the windy sea." 
 
 Yet in a little while she takes courage, 
 recognising him as a poet, since the land 
 of their meeting is one whither poets and 
 4
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 their creatures alone may come ; and then 
 as eagerly, it must be admitted, as though 
 she were a minor actress, and he the inter- 
 viewer of an illustrated weekly she tells 
 him all her melancholy story, and of the 
 doom which angry Juno inflicted upon 
 her : 
 
 " To live 
 
 Eternally, a voice without a form : 
 To wander through the ages o'er the world 
 And still for evermore to be forbid 
 To tell to kindly souls my deathless grief. 
 Even as she spoke I faded from the form 
 Of visible loveliness, and awhile I strayed 
 Unresting o'er the earth. I haunted woods 
 And hollow glens on many a mountain-side ; 
 For I might only mock the sounds I heard, 
 Nor ever tell the grief that lived in me 
 Save only when some lonely singer told 
 The sorrows of his heart beneath the stars. 
 Then softly did I sing them o'er again, 
 And made them mine, and sang them o'er again, 
 More softly and more sadly, till they died." 
 
 For that was the sort of memory he kept 
 of Jessie, though he had seen her face but 
 once without a smile upon it. 
 
 He had come to the school from a dis- 
 tance, and, perhaps because the accidents 
 of his upbringing had kept him unskilful in 
 the games they loved, his fellows, though 
 the best companions in the world, discon- 
 certed him a little. He was always glad 
 5
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 to be alone, and when the Spring had come 
 or, indeed, as soon as the thrushes and 
 blackbirds had begun to make music for 
 an hour at dusk it was his habit to cross 
 the road to a lane that led into the wide 
 fields, and yield himself to the enjoyment 
 of his dreams. There was no lack of occu- 
 pation. A little stream came down from 
 the hills, and at every yard there was or 
 there might be a nest. Nor was the 
 delightfulness of this possibility one whit 
 diminished by the fact that he had never 
 known himself discover a nest unless he 
 trod on it : a thing which, being very 
 merciful, he never could have done inten- 
 tionally. 
 
 There was one place where the wanderer 
 could make sure of seeing a kingfisher if 
 he made the approach with sufficient quiet- 
 ness ; and sometimes there were fish leap- 
 ing up a diminutive cataract, where the 
 stream passed under an old grey bridge. 
 He had struck acquaintance with the 
 mistress of a certain farm-house ; her hos- 
 pitality most often took the form of cider 
 of a marvellous acerbity, and this the boy 
 detested so heartily he never failed to visit 
 her as he passed and taste it again. For 
 it seemed to him (so difficult did he find it 
 to swallow the draught without a grimace) 
 6

 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 that if he refrained from visiting her, the 
 honest matron must infallibly detect his 
 reason for staying away. 
 
 But the thing that beyond all others 
 drew him into the field was the fact that 
 daffodils grew there as plentifully as daisies 
 in other places, or kingcups by the river 
 betwixt Bablockhithe and Godstow. The 
 little stream runs between banks deep yet 
 gently sloping, and here the pale gold of 
 the flowers was rarer, though in this place 
 it was wont to appear first. In the fields 
 themselves you could pick a thousand 
 yellow blooms without moving beyond a 
 radius of some three or four yards. And 
 this was ever the end of his wanderings, 
 a bunch of daffodils the prize he took 
 home. 
 
 Has it been said that he was afflicted 
 with ridiculous shyness ? There was a day 
 when he came, happy in his mind, to the 
 kissing-gate at the bottom of the lane. He 
 had passed through the gateway, and retreat 
 was no longer possible, when he looked 
 ahead and for the first time set eyes upon 
 Jessie. A huge elm tree had fallen from 
 the earthen hedge across the lane, uprooted 
 by a storm which had ushered in the moon 
 of daffodils. The butt of it, cut off, lay in 
 the ditch, the upper part stretched from the 
 7
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 hedge-top into the next field, and a girl 
 was sitting on it, idle and self-possessed, her 
 pretty feet dangling. 
 
 There was no escaping the ordeal. The 
 boy advanced with timid fears, and vainly 
 strove to pass the girl. But she would not 
 let him alone. 
 
 " Give me a daffodil, pretty boy," she 
 said. 
 
 Now the boy was not pretty, but he was 
 very much a boy. Without regarding her 
 he chose a flower from the bunch and held 
 it towards her. 
 
 " I can't reach," she said, plaintively. 
 
 He looked up. She was laughing in the 
 depths of her grey eyes ; her lips were 
 parted ; the hair was all in ringlets round 
 her pretty head. And the boy forgot his 
 fears. 
 
 "Take them all," he said, holding up the 
 bunch. 
 
 " But don't you want them ? " she said. 
 She had taken the bunch and was arrang- 
 ing it with dainty touches, never looking at 
 him. 
 
 The boy flushed hotly. 
 
 " May I have one of them back ? I 
 want that." 
 
 Then she looked at him again, and^her 
 smile flashed out.
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 " Good boy," she said, encouragingly. 
 
 She was a long time in choosing the 
 flower he had asked, but presently she bent 
 down, holding it between her fingers. The 
 boy took it, hardly knowing what to do 
 with it, and greatly disconcerted by the 
 laughing eyes bent upon him. But still he 
 could not go. 
 
 " What is your name? " he asked, trem- 
 bling at his own audacity. 
 
 "They call me Jessie," said the girl. 
 
 " I have never seen you before," he 
 said, as if he strove to excuse an ignorance 
 beyond pardon. 
 
 "And yet I come this way very often 
 when I have a holiday," she answered, 
 with a touch of his own shyness. 
 
 The boy left her presently, with a vague 
 impression that her time was spent mostly 
 in some wonderful region lying outside the 
 limits of this dull earth. It was not till 
 later he learned that, dainty as she was in 
 all things, she was only a little milliner. 
 There were words she could not speak 
 quite correctly, and the knowledge of them 
 was a treasure to the boy : he had a poetry 
 all to himself. 
 
 All that day, and for a long time after, 
 he kept a watch upon the masters, and 
 upon elder boys whom he had hitherto 
 9
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 respected hugely, wondering if they were 
 his brothers or his inferiors : if they pos- 
 sessed, or had been denied, the dear expe- 
 rience that was making life so good to 
 him. And the wonder grew as the Spring 
 waxed greener, and he had more and more 
 knowledge of the mysteries which had 
 dawned on him when Jessie besought him 
 for a daffodil. 
 
 I would give much to have had him 
 under observation at this time ; for they 
 met frequently, and he must have grown 
 wonderfully in the few weeks this idyl was 
 in progress. 
 
 There is no such moment in a man's 
 life ('tis said), as that wherein some wor- 
 shipped one of the other sex first recognises 
 his devotion by using him as a possession 
 of her own. And the boy has told me of 
 an occasion when he was suffering from a 
 cold of some severity, and the path which 
 led them across a ploughed field was so 
 narrow that only one could walk on it. 
 Jessie insisted that he should occupy it, 
 and he (of course) upon his right of self- 
 sacrifice for her sake. But she would not 
 hear of his disobeying the dictates of her- 
 self and Prudence (reconciled for once !) 
 and in the end the boy submitted and took 
 the path, while Jessie walked on the red 
 
 10
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 earth at his side. Now and again he 
 coughed laboriously. A king might have 
 envied him. 
 
 The idyl reached its end at last, when 
 the boy had to leave for his holidays in a 
 far and desolate country where Jessie was 
 not. They parted under a flowering chest- 
 nut by the little bridge, on whose grey 
 stones were carved the names of a hundred 
 lovers who had been happy where these 
 twain were miserable. 
 
 " You will not forget me ? " she said. 
 
 " How could I ? " asked the boy, indig- 
 nantly : for he was at the blessed age when 
 in parting one has at least the relief of 
 believing one's regret will be eternal. 
 
 " There will be others," hinted Jessie. 
 
 "There is none like you," he declared 
 indignantly. " But there will be others for 
 you. It is I who may be forgotten." 
 
 Jessie looked at him, her big eyes grave 
 for once, and thrice lovelier so than in the 
 mirth which had first dazzled him. But 
 laughter came into them very quickly ; for 
 she also believed that these things last. 
 
 " Foolish ! " she cried. " How should 
 I forget ? Good-bye." 
 
 The boy left her under the chestnut, and 
 on the morrow went into that far and deso- 
 late country where she was not. Spring 
 ii
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 was there also, and country children, com- 
 ing in to the Board School, brought bunches 
 of primroses every morning as a gift for 
 their favourite teachers. But to the boy it 
 was a barren Spring ; and girls, whom he 
 had hitherto been able to disregard, worried 
 and troubled him for the one reason that 
 they were not Jessie. 
 
 A little poem, that some one has since 
 translated out of a foreign tongue, may be 
 taken as the expression of his emotions at 
 this period. 
 
 " Once I said, There is none like her ; no woman 
 is beautiful but she. I was glad they could not see 
 how you were lovely. 
 
 " But now Why do they mock me so, the 
 
 women who are not beautiful ? There is not one but 
 has something that was once yours only ; often I hear 
 your laughter in the street. Every moment I see you, 
 and every moment say, It is not she. 
 
 " For you are yonder where the sea is, and I may 
 
 not come to you Why does the wind blow 
 
 always out of the west?" 
 
 The days drew on until the time of his 
 banishment from Elysian fields was ended. 
 But the Spring was dead, and with it Jessie 
 had passed out of his life. Whether she 
 indeed died (as he then believed), or 
 merely went into another region to dwell, 
 he never surely discovered. But she never 
 came again to the fields where he had 
 
 12
 
 The Idyl of the Daffodils 
 
 found her, and so in time she dwelt in his 
 memory as a lonely, sad-eyed creature, 
 wandering forlorn " along the mead of as- 
 phodel" and seeking whom but himself? 
 Whence, a little while later, arose the poem 
 to which I have ventured this reference, 
 and whereof if he remembered its existence 
 amid the more serious affairs that now 
 engross him, the boy would doubtless be 
 most heartily ashamed.
 
 THE NEW CONTENTMENT
 
 THE NEW CONTENTMENT 
 
 SOMEHOW it has not been granted me to 
 know the loveliness of this dear country 
 until to-day, when I take my farewell. 
 Day after day went by and left the long- 
 ings February wakened unappeased by any 
 realisation of the Spring. I was like one 
 who has been so long an exile that he for- 
 gets his mother tongue, and in his own home 
 finds himself a stranger. But now that I 
 must go it seems an impious thing to quit 
 the fields and seek the city. Spring is come, 
 and though my vague desires are all unsatis- 
 fied, I rejoice to-day in a new contentment. 
 The night was one of frequent showers, 
 coming opportunely to break up a long 
 drought ; the morning sky was softly grey. 
 Even at noon there was no brightening ; 
 but now the pale blue sky is radiant with 
 sunshine and the long low clouds shine 
 
 o 
 
 dazzlingly. Everywhere the giant gorse 
 is golden with close-packed bloom. Look- 
 iug south, you can scarcely tolerate the 
 17 B
 
 The New Contentment 
 
 blaze of it ; towards the colder north it 
 seems to be little more than a constituent 
 in the colouring of its dull and wind-worn 
 spikes. But, in the one way or the other, 
 you perceive it everywhere : it fills barren 
 crofts, and beautifies the ugly waste-heaps 
 of abandoned mines. Look where you 
 will, no hedge can be descried that is not 
 thus gloriously crowned. 
 
 And it is well to let the eyes go far 
 afield, for every dint of the horizon shows 
 a glimpse of the blue sea. It must be hot 
 now on the small white beaches, and 
 because I must needs go from their neigh- 
 bourhood to-morrow I am assured that 
 many days like this will come : days when 
 it would suffice for occupation to lie in the 
 sun and watch great waves of palest chry- 
 soprase rise, then curl to break, while the 
 white of the foamy summits flickers on the 
 clear inner curve, and the blithe wind blows 
 a smoke of brine along the advancing line. 
 
 The fields are green at last, save where 
 the late-sown wheat is hardly risen, Here 
 the rooks are abroad in shining raiment, 
 and the magpies are beyond the eager 
 counting of the superstitious. You may 
 see them in companies of six and eight, 
 flying wide and high like pigeons, and 
 fighting in the air. The larks are singing, 
 18
 
 The New Contentment 
 
 and of all the birds that haunt the gorse 
 patches the gayest is the yellow-hammer. 
 Everywhere the silver of the blackthorn 
 (though fallen from its first plentitude) 
 accompanies the gold of the gorse. 
 
 Most beautiful of all, though leafless yet, 
 are graceful palm shrubs which stand in 
 the waste places. They are gloriously 
 arrayed in catkins, that appear as centres 
 of misty radiance as you catch them against 
 the. sun. The same radiance is taken by 
 the bunchy green leaves of the hawthorns. 
 
 The daffodils are already almost over ; 
 but, indeed, the daffodil is at all times 
 rather the herald of the Spring than a 
 proper member of her gay companionship. 
 And at least there is no place left bare by 
 the dog-violets, no hedge or coppice where 
 you cannot gather primroses by handfuls. 
 Damned in London, one will dream de- 
 liciously of the coolness of their petals held 
 against the face on moist Spring mornings. 
 
 The woods that line the valleys are 
 good to look on. In one the small oaks 
 are still untouched of the new life ; only 
 dead leaves and withered bracken are 
 visible, and the dull silver of trunks and 
 branches. In one a haze of purple hovers, 
 as it were, above the contour of the wood, 
 and the buds are manifestly bursting. 
 19
 
 The New Contentment 
 
 Wood-pigeons croon in the heart of it, 
 having their nest in a sycamore, whose 
 golden-brown foliage, as it was first to 
 come, shall be the first to wither and 
 fall in autumn. They have built there 
 every year since one who has felt himself 
 very aged upon occasions was a young 
 child. They must be very old now ! 
 
 But the loveliest wood of all lies upon 
 the slope of a hillside, beyond a marsh 
 whose sword-grass tussocks almost dam 
 the stream they hide. Tall pine-trees 
 mount to the hill's summit ; below, above 
 the stream, are tasselled larches enveloped 
 in a tender emerald mist. Primroses shine 
 like stars from among the tiny beeches 
 (still laden with dead leaves) that grow 
 beneath. One place has wood-sorrel in the 
 shadow of its granite boulders ; another 
 is beautiful with frail anemones ; now and 
 again you catch the sound of falling water, 
 and the birds make (as one might say) an 
 atmosphere of song. 
 
 Of a truth, it is foolish to seek the city. 
 All deeds are contemptible and unworthy 
 the doing while there is the chance of 
 idleness here. But holidays must end ; 
 and I might have lost the beauty of to- 
 day had I not come forth conscious of the 
 change appointed. 
 
 20
 
 A SCANDAL IN ARCADY
 
 A SCANDAL IN ARCADY 
 
 THE smallest incident is so much talked 
 of here in Arcady that one comes to com- 
 prehend it far more thoroughly than town- 
 folk understand the details of a sensational 
 case, a suburban "horror," a Cabinet crisis. 
 A really important event quickly becomes 
 as it were, a part of the personal experience 
 of every man who dwells in the region 
 where it happened ; and so there is no one 
 in all the country round about Trelorne 
 who could not write the history that follows, 
 though the events are of no later date than 
 last Sunday's. 
 
 Spring had come, after a long season of 
 frost ; but Emanuel Kemp and his wife 
 had had little chance of noticing the blessed 
 change, inasmuch as they were both en- 
 gaged in teaching at a Board School some 
 two miles distant from the village. They 
 had but scant opportunities to live their 
 lives ; to enjoy life for its own sake, and 
 realise the goodness of the world. Thyrza 
 23
 
 A Scandal in Arcady 
 
 had her household duties to attend to when 
 she got release from school duties. 'Manuel 
 was a local preacher, and his sermons were 
 in such request that a great part of his 
 leisure was given to their preparation and 
 delivery. He was something of a musician, 
 too and on those Sundays when he hap- 
 pened to have no "appointment" he sang 
 in the choir at the little chapel, adding a 
 lusty baritone to Thyrza's pretty treble. 
 
 They had been married but two years, 
 and they loved one another almost foolishly. 
 Yet there were some who felt though they 
 would never have dared to express it 
 a certain pity for Thyrza, in that she was 
 wedded to a man so very serious as her 
 husband. I had my doubts of their wisdom, 
 but shared in their error, having once wit- 
 nessed, myself unseen, a lovely outbreak 
 of mad youthfulness in this pretty Board- 
 schoolmistress. 
 
 Last Sunday was the most exquisite day 
 of the year : the one of all others that will 
 dwell in memory as having been the occa- 
 sion of Spring's final triumph. It was not 
 long after six when 'Manuel arose and, 
 having lit the fire and prepared himself a 
 cup of tea, made his way down the coombe 
 towards the chapel, there to attend a 
 " class-meeting." The larks were singing 
 24.
 
 A Scandal in Arcady 
 
 one against the other in magnificent rivalry; 
 the gorse flamed golden ; and every way- 
 side bush gave protection to a blackbird 
 that fled shrieking as the schoolmaster 
 drew near. In one place the road began to 
 climb the hillside obliquely, and he looked 
 down to the sea. Then the ascent became 
 more direct. He mounted, descended again 
 into another valley, and in a few minutes 
 had reached the chapel. 
 
 The class in which he "met" consisted 
 of no more than half a dozen aged men. 
 All had been miners in youth and manhood, 
 and therefore their decrepitude was greater 
 than their years appeared to warrant. They 
 sang the chosen hymns so quaveringly that 
 'Manuel was half-ashamed of the strength 
 and clearness of his own voice, and only 
 felt at his ease when the meeting was far 
 advanced. But when it came to praying 
 everything was changed : the old men 
 began, each in his turn, with voices almost 
 inaudible, hesitating greatly ; but a rapture 
 took each presently, and he prayed with a 
 vigorous passion that left him utterly ex- 
 hausted, even as those who prophesy are 
 exhausted and worn out when they have 
 spoken. They came out into the sunlight 
 with something of the rapture still upon 
 their faces. 
 
 25
 
 A Scandal in Arcady 
 
 'Manuel walked a little way with one of 
 the elder men ; but he was glad when they 
 had come to the parting of the ways, for 
 he was conscious that his enjoyment of the 
 morning almost went beyond the bounds of 
 decorum. This same enjoyment of the 
 world was the cause of some slight conflict 
 within him as he went homeward ; he 
 wanted to get back to Thyrza, and at the 
 same time was conscious that on such a day 
 to hurry over anything would be to commit 
 the sin of ingratitude to Providence. Yet 
 he went more and more quickly at every 
 step, and in the end he was glad he had 
 made haste. Thyrza stood waiting for him 
 at the gate of their little garden, and blew 
 a kiss to him while he was still afar off. 
 He returned the greeting at the gate, re- 
 gardless of appearances ; and she held up a 
 little bunch of dewy violets for him to 
 smell. 
 
 "Aren't they sweet?" she asked, de- 
 lightedly. " But come in quickly. Break- 
 fast is ready, and I haven't long to spare. 
 
 The schoolmaster took off his good black 
 coat and hung it carefully behind the door, 
 while Thyrza filled the teapot with boiling 
 water. By the time the tea was ready 
 everything else was on the table ; and 
 they took their seats on opposite sides, the 
 26
 
 A Scandal in Arcady 
 
 sunlight streaming in upon them through 
 the flowers and leaves of Thyrza's window- 
 plants. 
 
 " Have you been out at all ? " asked 
 Manuel. " Have you seen and felt what 
 fashion morning it is ? " 
 
 " I felt it while I slept, I think," she said, 
 adding the milk to his tea. Then, looking 
 at him across the table with an expression 
 that seemed above all things to testify of her 
 youthfulness, she added, " 'Tis a day to 
 make holiday. Teaching I can't bear 
 the thought of it to-day, for to-day I'm all 
 too young. But there's the Sunday-school 
 as soon as we've done breakfast." 
 
 'Manuel hesitated a little while. When 
 he spoke it was in a diction singularly 
 correct, and without the slight trace of 
 the dear local cadence he usually allowed 
 himself in private life. " I don't see that 
 you need to go this morning," he said. 
 " After all, the first duty of man and wife 
 is to be man and wife. 'Tis little enough I 
 see of you. Let the school take care of 
 itself for to-day. We'll sit in the garden. 
 
 Thyrza laughed at him across the table, 
 a very child again. " Is it you that's 
 speaking?" she cried. "I can hardly 
 believe it." 
 
 " Perhaps not," her husband answered. 
 27
 
 A Scandal in Arcady 
 
 " But 'twould be foolishness to go to school 
 to-day. I can't fancy the Lord meant days 
 like this to go unenjoyed." 
 
 "Well," said Thyrza, "we'll enjoy it. 
 But there's chapel in an hour." She ended 
 with a sigh, and, strangely enough, it was 
 echoed in her husband's answer. 
 
 "Yes!" he said. "I suppose we can't 
 neglect that. But, at any rate, we have an 
 hour." 
 
 They went into the garden, 'Manuel still 
 in his shirt-sleeves. There was little enough 
 to see. The frost was not long over, and 
 it had lasted until the villagers, accustomed 
 to a climate temperate alike in summer and 
 in winter, had begun to fancy all germs of 
 life must be killed, and the earth destined 
 to barrenness until it should have been 
 revivified by sunlight and the warm breath 
 of the West. Yet there were signs of the 
 new life ; and on this morning the slightest 
 tokens were things to notice. 'Manuel was 
 commonly supposed to be a person of 
 great sobriety ; but men often love their 
 opposites, and Thyrza laughed and babbled 
 to-day as she had done when they were 
 lovers. 
 
 The hour passed very swiftly ; but the 
 schoolmaster took no note of its going. 
 Thyrza was more observant. " Do you 
 28
 
 A Scandal in Arcady 
 
 know 'tis nearly chapel-time ? " she asked. 
 " I suppose we must be getting ready." 
 She looked at him, laughing, and her eyes 
 asked shamelessly what she would never 
 have dared to put into words. 
 
 'Manuel examined his big silver watch, 
 regarding it with an air of suspicion which 
 no previous irregularities in its working had 
 justified. " I suppose we must," he said, 
 unwillingly. " But " 
 
 " 'Tis a lovely morning," said Thyrza, 
 stooping to brush a fragment of dry grass 
 from the skirt of her dress. She would 
 have gone to school, had not her husband 
 intervened ; but one taste of liberty had 
 made her lono- for more. 
 
 o 
 
 The schoolmaster hesitated for a little. 
 Then he spoke with an air of desperate 
 resolve. "We won't go to chapel," he 
 said. "We'll go out and look at the world 
 to-day. Run in and find a hat." 
 
 He ended with immense solemnity ; and 
 even Thyrza, when she returned, had 
 the look of a pretty child who ventures 
 upon some unparalleled rebellion against 
 authority. Nor can you wonder. 
 
 For night had not fallen when all the 
 
 world knew of what these two had done 
 
 that morning : of their deserting chapel and 
 
 Sunday-school alike. And it was not a 
 
 29
 
 A Scandal in Arcady 
 
 mere desertion. After the service was over 
 certain serious people were going home- 
 ward through a lane not far from the school- 
 master's house. Their grave conversation 
 
 o 
 
 was suddenly disturbed by the sound of 
 laughing voices, and, while they still won- 
 dered, they turned a corner and beheld a 
 spectacle whereof every man of us seems in 
 his own thought to have been a witness. 
 
 Thyrza, with a biggish bunch of prim- 
 roses and dusty catkins in her hand, was 
 standing in the lane, looking up to where 
 the schoolmaster stood upon the top of the 
 hedge. His respectable black clothes were 
 muddy and in the wildest disarray. He 
 was struggling in a tangle of brambles and 
 thorns, while he endeavoured to secure the 
 scattered daffodils to which Thyrza was 
 directing him. He did not observe the 
 approach of the new-comers ; but Thyrza's 
 voice was suddenly hushed, and at last, 
 missing its music, he turned and saw them. 
 His jaw dropped, and as the procession 
 advanced, it was once or twice evident 
 that he desired and was striving to say 
 something. But the power of speech had 
 utterly deserted him, and the horrified 
 spectators of his madness passed without a 
 word. 
 
 Since then he has manifestly lived under 
 30

 
 A Scandal in Arcady 
 
 the shadow of a trouble that never lets itself 
 be forgotten ; and, indeed, he is like to 
 suffer for his imprudence in more ways than 
 one. It can hardly be argued by his 
 strongest friend that such a man is fitted 
 to discharge the duties either of school- 
 master or of local preacher. But I met 
 Thyrza in the village yesterday, and for the 
 first time knew for certain that we, who had 
 thought her choice a mistake, had shown 
 ourselves no less foolish than the mass of 
 busybodies. 
 
 " A lovely morning ! " I said. 
 
 " Yes ! " she answered, with the gayest 
 smile. " The Spring is come at last."
 
 THE WEDDING MORNING
 
 THE WEDDING MORNING 
 
 FROST in these temperate regions by the 
 sea is a thing for the sight of which 
 men polish their spectacles and go forth 
 wondering. But lately it came and abode 
 with us, staying so long that the oldest 
 inhabitant was at last compelled to admit 
 that he remembered no such rigorous 
 season. Usually we have daffodils and 
 narcissi, to say nothing of pale primroses, 
 in February. Last year the camellias that 
 grow in the open against the northern wall 
 of a certain old-time garden, were all but 
 over before that month was ended, and the 
 rhododendrons were in the full glory of 
 their bloom. This year it had been other- 
 wise. The camellias were melancholy 
 spectacles of blighted buds ; acres of 
 wallflowers were indubitably ruined ; and 
 the broccoli, by whose culture we get 
 the chief part of our living, were in 
 such a condition that even Londoners 
 35
 
 The Wedding Morning 
 
 could hardly be expected to find them 
 palatable. 
 
 It does not take many days of frost to do 
 damage to the extent of several thousands 
 of pounds in the region lying round 
 about our village, and long before the 
 frost was over the market-gardeners were 
 dolorously declaring themselves on the 
 verge of bankruptcy. Upon reflection one 
 must admit that they said the same thing- 
 last year. We believed them then ; but 
 this year we had the fields themselves for 
 evidence that they spoke truthfully. 
 
 It seemed the frost would never end ; 
 yet those who knew the country and loved 
 it well could not believe this hardness of 
 the crust went deeper. Underneath that 
 iron-grey face, they fancied the good earth 
 was still warm and soft and fertile, and the 
 seeds in it swelling and ready to send up 
 green leaves and flowers at the first oppor- 
 tunity. "If there was a bit of a soft to 
 come by night," we said to one another 
 every morning as we looked upon the 
 frozen fields, and shivered in the unac- 
 customed cold, " 'twould be all right again 
 in a few hours." 
 
 Our faith was justified by the event. 
 One night those who had been sleepless 
 because of the cold realised suddenly that 
 36
 
 The Wedding Morning 
 
 they had no desire to sleep, being so happy 
 all at once, and so reconciled to life. And 
 while they lay awake and wondered what 
 had befallen, there came a sound of the 
 wind rising and after it the noise of rain 
 at the window. The wind had gone into 
 the west, and the reign of the frost was 
 ended. The fall of the Chaldean who 
 reigned in Babylon came not more sud- 
 denly ; and the knowledge of the change 
 had somehow reached the sleeping while 
 they dreamt, so that they had it when they 
 woke. 
 
 Of late one's bed had grown warm only 
 in the morning, long after the miserable 
 dawn had come. We had all been sluga- 
 beds and unashamed, since none of us was 
 worse than his neighbour. But on this 
 morning one might have fancied he had 
 played the Rip Van Winkle for a month 
 at least, and that in a single night the 
 proper hour of rising had grown earlier 
 in the same degree. For the sun was 
 shining, and huge dazzling clouds swept 
 inland over the pale blue sky. The bay 
 (which had been leaden-hued and melan 
 choly and land-locked for a month or 
 more) was filled with white-caps, and 
 the noise of the sea was in the air. The 
 birds were singing, perched in the top 
 37
 
 The Wedding Morning 
 
 branches of leafless trees now visibly bud- 
 ding, and every sparrow had a feather in 
 its beak. 
 
 So we rose early and went out into 
 gardens or into the street (where the 
 pleasure of the change was trebled by 
 the fact that we could talk of it with 
 others) ; and w T hen a certain father of ten 
 announced that he "felt like a boy again," 
 there was a chorus of " So do I." It was 
 the maddest of mornings. People who had 
 been dying the day before stood at their 
 doorways, or, at least, sat in the sunlight 
 in their gardens ; and if you made inquiries 
 as to their health they answered in tones 
 that made you wonder again if you had 
 not been sleeping for a month or more : 
 for you seemed to remind them by your 
 juestioning of a thing so long past as to 
 be hardly worth remembering. 
 
 Strangely enough for things do not 
 usually happen at the right moment in 
 our imperfectly ordered life there was a 
 wedding at the little chapel that stands 
 at the head of the street. The village, 
 it should be said, is one long street, lying 
 betwixt low hills and the sea, and the 
 bride had to drive along the whole length 
 of it on her way to the chapel. Every- 
 thing went right that morning : she was 
 38
 
 The Wedding Morning 
 
 pretty, as all girls should be on the first 
 day of Spring, and those who knew her 
 swore that in her case beauty had worked 
 outwards from the centre of her being. 
 "Good as gold, she is," I heard said by 
 half a hundred ; but it is more than 
 possible that the most notorious shrew 
 would have had a quite triumphal progress 
 through the village had she chosen to 
 get married on this day, when marrying 
 seemed the one thing in the world worth 
 doing. I saw her pass towards the 
 chapel, the people flocking after her to get 
 a sight of the ceremony. There was not 
 one of them but had a store of rice, and 
 many a dress bulged with hidden slippers. 
 
 " 'Tis the fate of us all, sooner or later," 
 I said. " Upon my soul, I envy the happy 
 bridegroom." 
 
 Samuel, my companion, sighed. "I've 
 been through it," he said, "but somehow 
 I do wish to-day one could start again 
 at the beginning. 'Tis a day to make a 
 married man wonder what place there is for 
 him to fill in the world. But your duty is 
 plain." 
 
 I laughed. " Come over to the Mount," 
 I said. " By your own showing we have 
 no business here." 
 
 So we turned from the neighbourhood of 
 
 39
 
 The Wedding Morning 
 
 the chapel, and went down the granite 
 steps to the beach. The waves were 
 breaking splendidly, the white of their 
 wild crests shining and disappearing in 
 the inner curve like summer lightning. 
 The stone causeway to the Mount had 
 only just emerged. We crossed, and 
 made the circuit of that "hoar rock in 
 the sea," speaking but little because the 
 wind beat in freshly from the wide sea and 
 made conversation troublesome. Moreover, 
 there were things to note so numerous that 
 we forgot the natural desire of friends to 
 talk with one another. 
 
 It may have been the magic influence of 
 that one night of rain and the west wind ; 
 or perhaps the spectacle was new only 
 because we had not ventured thus far from 
 home while the frost was upon us. At 
 any rate, the wonderful narcissi were all in 
 flower, star-like among their green spears ; 
 and there were tiny daffodils, more lovely 
 in their untouched simplicity than the double 
 things that grew near them. A score of 
 small birds rose as we advanced and flew 
 onward to another rock, where they perched 
 and posed until we were close at hand again, 
 when they went onward just a little farther. 
 An otter was fishing a hundred yards out, 
 lying on his side upon the water, as each 
 40
 
 The Wedding Morning 
 
 successive wave came in, and letting it pass 
 under him. Once or twice he dived, and 
 when at last he came to the surface with a 
 small male pollack in his mouth, we could 
 have cheered at his success, though the 
 most callous man might have pitied even a 
 fish whose doom it was to die on such a 
 day. The otter came in, swimming hand- 
 over-hand, as it were, and we saw him 
 vanish under a pile of boulders. We 
 passed onward, pausing a long while to 
 watch the antics of a peacock in the sun- 
 shine. Lastly, we set forth again along 
 the causeway to the mainland. We had 
 a full view of the village and the hills 
 beyond, and they had somehow put on a 
 new loveliness. 
 
 " I never knew," said Samuel, " I never 
 knew before that Jacka's plantation looked 
 so good as that." We mounted the granite 
 steps just in time to see the pretty bride 
 go off a happy wife. We watched the trap 
 recede, and when at last it disappeared 
 Samuel turned to me with a face inimitably 
 solemn. 
 
 "It is not good for man to live alone. 
 My son, 'tis time that you were married." 
 A lark sprang into the clear air from 
 the hillside beyond the houses, and sang 
 rapturously. 
 
 41
 
 The Wedding Mornin 
 
 I looked laughingly at my friend. "Well," 
 1 said, "you have but to find a bride. 
 Only .... I ask nothing selfishly ; but, 
 for the day's sake, do you see to it that she 
 is beautiful."
 
 A ROMANTIC CONFESSION
 
 A ROMANTIC CONFESSION 
 
 I HAD come down through the night, and 
 now, issuing into the streets of Tallywarn, 
 could hardly realise that I had ever been 
 away. As of old, the rain dripped steadily 
 out of a forlorn grey sky ; the roadway 
 was but an archipelago of standing pools, 
 the streets well-nigh deserted. An aged 
 gentlemen stood beneath the granite portico 
 of the Literary Institution, his umbrella 
 held half open as he gazed irresolutely at 
 the hurrying passers-by. Finally, I came 
 to the barber's shop, and beheld William 
 Trethewy, its proprietor, gazing discon- 
 solately over the whitened lower panes of 
 his window. I had no definite purpose 
 set before me ; the sight convinced me I 
 could not do better than enter and talk 
 with him. He started forward with a 
 sudden briskness as I entered and hung 
 my hat upon a peg, welcoming me to the 
 town with not a little empressement. I 
 took a seat and bade him cut my hair. 
 45
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 Then I sat silent, while he discoursed of 
 the recent history of Tallywarn. 
 
 William Trethewy is now proprietor of 
 the shop, but there was a time when he 
 was only a servant. Indeed, his earliest 
 connection with the establishment was in 
 the capacity of lather-boy on Saturdays, 
 and he had served thus for a year or two 
 before he rose to the dignity of regular 
 assistant. And at the age of twenty-two, 
 when he had become a person of some 
 importance in virtue of his acquaintance 
 with the unwritten history of the district, 
 he had astonished the people of Tallywarn 
 by quitting the post and going up to 
 London to improve himself. Seeing that 
 he was already the most admired of all who 
 practised his craft for miles around, the 
 step he had taken was deemed a ridiculous 
 superfluity. But when he returned for a 
 holiday, two years later, he spent some 
 part of the time in the shop of his late 
 employer, and for pure kindness showed 
 certain of the best customers how up-the- 
 country barbers did their work. The 
 master reaped a splendid harvest of pennies 
 (for the charge only rose to three-halfpence 
 if you refused to sponge your own face, and 
 had a touch of the powder-puff), but ever 
 afterwards he suffered in reputation. For 
 46
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 weeks after William Trethewy's shaving 
 was a common topic of conversation ; and 
 when he returned, a year later, to become 
 the partner of his late employer, he imme- 
 diately took rank as the important man of 
 the two. Old Mr. Tregaskis retired more 
 and more into the background ; finally he 
 became in effect a sleeping partner, only 
 emerging into publicity on Saturday, when 
 there was work for two. On the day of 
 my return to Tallywarn he had been dead 
 so long that the younger patrons of the 
 shop used to ask why it was invariably 
 referred to as " Tregaskis's," albeit owned 
 by Trethewy. 
 
 We had talked of many things. Then, 
 as I sat with eyes closed while he cut the 
 hair upon my forehead, " Well," he said, 
 
 " I suppose you're glad to be back again, 
 ~ " 
 sir r 
 
 "Why, yes," I answered. "Even this 
 wretched weather seems no more than 
 natural a sort of welcome now that one 
 is back in Tallywarn." 
 
 " 'Tis lonely in London? " he continued. 
 
 " Sometimes," I answered. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I was fine an' lonely 
 
 sometimes, when I was up there. There 
 
 was a mad fancy come into my head one 
 
 day when I was like that : I was young, 
 
 47
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 and you can never tell what a young 
 man '11 think upon next. Moreover, with 
 a young man to think upon a thing is to 
 do it." 
 
 He paused and snipped with absurd 
 delicacy at imaginary hairs. "Is it a 
 story ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well," he said, speaking with an evi- 
 dent relief, "there's only one person do 
 know it beside myself, and she didn't know 
 it until after she was my wife. But I can 
 fancy you might understand. 
 
 " I was up there two years to begin 
 with, and lived hard, being resqlved to 
 come back to this shop with money to do 
 things never dreamt of before in Tally- 
 warn. Some are done this lono- time ; 
 
 <z> 
 
 some must wait their turn. Well, after 
 two years I took a holiday, and I .wadn' 
 home a day before all my plans were 
 changed. George Restarick lived next 
 door to father, and he had a niece stopping 
 with him Janie Restarick, from Trewavas. 
 She was a little bit of a thing, and I shouldn' 
 go beyond pity with a man that couldn' see 
 her good looks. But she had more than 
 looks : it was like all the maids that ever 
 you met, schemin' and charmin' in one 
 little body. No man could stand against 
 her. Now he would think he could have 
 48
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 her for the asking, and only keep silence 
 because the thing- was all too orood for 
 
 <^ ^y 
 
 belief; and the next moment he would 
 know (certainly, as a man sick and sleepless 
 do know that he must die) that he was 
 nothing in the world to her, and never 
 would be. And somehow when he was 
 most hopeless, and swearing never to go 
 near her again, he would be most carried 
 away to do foolish things for her pleasure. 
 'Twas that way with me for the fortnight 
 of my holiday, and I left her still in Tally- 
 warn, when I had to go back. After that 
 I didn' lack for company. There was such 
 a crowd of hopes, fears, plottings, and plan- 
 nings : 'twas continual bewilderment. 
 
 " Now, one Friday night in the month 
 of June, I came forth from the shop very 
 late. I was tired out, and more than a bit 
 downhearted ; but all at once the wind 
 came against my face, soft and cool as 
 sleep itself, and I didn' need to look at the 
 sky to note that the wind was from the 
 west. The wind went by, and then I 
 could almost fancy I heard the noise of the 
 sea behind it, and the tears came into my 
 eyes. And there, up against the wall, was 
 a great bill in red and white, telling of 
 cheap trains to Cornwall the next day, 
 being the Saturday before Whit-Monday. 
 49 D
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 My mind was made up as I read, and I 
 couldn' think I had ever been tired. I got 
 home quickly, and the next morning took 
 a little handbag to the shop. Master was 
 a great one for getting all the fresh air he 
 could, and would spend all his time, from 
 Saturday closing time to nine o'clock on 
 Monday packed in a train with other fools, 
 so that none should ever say of him that 
 he didn' make the best use of his leisure. 
 So when I asked if I could leave early that 
 night, because I was thinking to go a long 
 journey, he didn' need pressing. 
 
 " At eleven o'clock I left the place. I 
 was on the Underground for something 
 under a lifetime, and a little after midnight 
 the train slipped out of Paddington, making 
 towards Tallywarn and Trewavas. I was 
 awake all the night, though often enough I 
 kept my eyes closed, being wishful to 
 think my own thoughts. 
 
 " I told 'ee what fashion maid she was. 
 Whenever the train stopped, I was daggin' 
 for it to get forward ; and as soon as 
 ever we had started again, the wheels as 
 they went round would be saying, plain as 
 speaking, ' You fool, you fool, you fool, 
 you fool' and Janie's face would look at 
 me out of the darkness, laughing at me. 
 
 " Seeming to me, we stopped every - 
 5
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 where. It was chapel time when we came 
 to Tallywarn. I sat back and kept out of 
 sight, for it seemed a sinful thing to pass 
 by like a stranger and not stay to see my 
 own people. But in a moment we were 
 moving again, and then there was no more 
 thinking possible until I had left the train 
 and started to walk out to Trewavas. I 
 suppose 'tis a trifle over five miles if you go 
 by the cliffs. The sun was shining, and 
 overhead more larks than a man could 
 keep count of; and the noise of the sea 
 was like a voice whispering all the time 
 that I was home again. I knew Janie 
 would be in chapel now, and so I sat down 
 against a little sandy hill. 
 
 " Then all the trouble began again. I 
 could see it plain as daylight : I was a fool 
 to have come down, wasting time and 
 money, and running the risk of vexing my 
 own people, for the sake of being a few 
 miles nearer to a little maid that cared no 
 more for me than for half a hundred others 
 that happened to be in love with her. I 
 wished myself back in London ; I wished 
 I had never set eyes upon her ; once I said 
 aloud, ' I wish she was dead,' and after- 
 wards sat in fear for full ten minutes, 
 knowing that the maddest prayers are 
 oftenest answered. And then sleep came
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 upon me slowly and yet suddenly at the 
 last, and I forgot the bother of my thoughts. 
 I can mind that just before I went off, I 
 spoke her name once or twice, very softly, 
 and tacking on to it all the foolish words I 
 might have called her by if she had cared 
 at all and been there beside me. 
 
 " I was tired out and lay all day in the sun, 
 almost waking once or twice, then sleeping 
 again when I heard the sound of the sea, 
 as a child '11 sleep when the mother sings 
 softly. But at last I woke shivering, and 
 found I had slept until chapel-time was 
 come round again. So I walked quickly 
 towards Trewavas, and when I had come 
 to the higher part of the town I turned in 
 at a little inn and had some food. When 
 I came out they were just coming from 
 church and chapel, and the road above the 
 bay was full of young men and maidens 
 laughing and love-making as they strolled 
 up and down. I went through the winding 
 little streets to the place where Janie 
 Restarick lived : I stood and waited. 
 
 " There was a light inside and the har- 
 monium was playing. I could hear her 
 voice, that I should know though all the 
 angels in Heaven stood singing with her. 
 And again I was certain she was not for 
 me. I stood there, maybe, for more than 
 52
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 an hour. Then the singing ceased ; the 
 door opened, a young man stepped forth, 
 and I saw Janie standing in the doorway. 
 Then, as she went in again, I knew that it 
 was hopeless. I turned away and went 
 back to the inn. In the morning, just as 
 all the world was waking, ready for Whit- 
 sun games, I turned my back upon Tre- 
 wavas and took train for London. 
 
 " I was on the road all day, and all day 
 long I could see Janie, in her pretty new 
 frock, dancing in the rings with a crowd of 
 chaps, or walking in the procession, the 
 brass band leading, and hundreds looking 
 on. I was near maddened with thoughts 
 that wouldn' let me rest. Now I was 
 certain I had done well to come back, but 
 mad to think I had gone down ; and 
 then again I could feel the kiss she would 
 have given me if I had gone forth and 
 spoken when I saw her at the door. And 
 when I came to Paddington, and went on 
 a 'bus through the noisy streets, I could 
 swear she was just going off alone with the 
 young man I saw leave the house, the 
 moonlight on them, and both glad to be 
 quiet together after so many noisy games. 
 And that thought gave me wisdom ; being 
 so certain I had nothing to lose, I should 
 have been a fool not to try whether there 
 53
 
 A Romantic Confession 
 
 might be anything to gain. I reached my 
 lodgings, and sat down at once to write a 
 letter. 
 
 " ' Dear Maid,' I said, ' will 'ee promise 
 to marry me when I do come back to 
 Tally warn ? I've been longin' for 'ee ever 
 since I was home last, and get no rest for 
 thinkin'of ee." 
 
 Trethewy had still made pretence to be 
 trimming my hair while he told his story. 
 Now he was silent and bent himself 
 assiduously to his task. 
 
 "Well?" I said. 
 
 " Why, all my fears was foolishness ! " 
 he said. "She wrote a word or two by 
 the next post, and it seems the maid had 
 lost her heart when first I give her mine. 
 Now was I a fool or not ? Have 'ee ever 
 felt like such a thing yourself ? " 
 
 He took the towel from around my 
 neck and stood back, regarding me. I 
 laughed as I arose, but made no directer 
 answer. For I conceive that no man is 
 compelled to bear witness against himself 
 least of all, by a confession of his un- 
 committed follies. 
 
 54
 
 ON SUNDAY MORNING
 
 ON SUNDAY MORNING 
 
 IT was a sultry night at best. I was vaguely 
 certain that none slept soundly throughout 
 the house. For myself, I quickly abandoned 
 hope and patience. Two o'clock struck 
 and found me wide awake ; it wanted a 
 few minutes to three when I rose and thrust 
 aside the blind, gazing out into the empty 
 square. 
 
 I think it is Hawthorne has noted that 
 the summer day in England is a thing with- 
 out beginning and without end : always, 
 when you arise the sunny world seems to 
 have been a long time waiting for you ; 
 always, when night has fallen, you may 
 discern some foreshadowings of the day to 
 come. This is doubtless true enough ; yet 
 I dare fancy I arose at the very initial 
 moment of the day. 
 
 Even as I looked from my window the 
 
 sparrows began to twitter ; clouds of dull 
 
 purple, huge and very low-built, passed and 
 
 disappeared before a breeze from the north- 
 
 57
 
 On Sunday Morning 
 
 west, like giant creatures remote in all their 
 attributes alike from brute and human deni- 
 zens of the day homing after the night's 
 harmless revelries. A cock crowed heavily, 
 and as I stepped into the street a thrush 
 awoke and sang in some neighbouring 
 garden. A moment later it was plain there 
 were full a dozen inhabiting by-places of 
 the town ; and I was no sooner come to 
 the fields (where the town ends abruptly, 
 with no inter-space of gardened suburbs), 
 than I paused with a feeling of amazement 
 at the multiplicity of noises that fulfilled the 
 new day. 
 
 There were thrushes and blackbirds with- 
 out number ; cocks were crowing far and 
 near, and from a rookery hard by came the 
 noise of a large colony of rooks, awake and 
 preparing for activity. A cuckoo sounded 
 his baffling note ; and somewhere a gull 
 was crying in the dusk : so that one might 
 almost have expected to come upon a 
 strange man, supernaturally old, seeking 
 cover with some nefarious burden borne 
 upon a rusty wheelbarrow. The sounds 
 increased in variety as I kept on towards 
 the sea : never a bush but some small 
 bird was vastly angered that one should 
 come near his seat. The rooks appeared, 
 solemnly faring forth into the fields. A 
 58
 
 On Sunday Morning 
 
 couple of hares, playing in a huge ploughed 
 field, had the appearance of animals greatly 
 bigger : they might have been greyhounds. 
 
 Some two miles beyond the town the 
 ground in front of one slopes up steeply 
 to the cliffs ; the valley one has been 
 following hitherto is merged in that 
 which lies at the foot of the slope, 
 running at right angles to the path from 
 the town. The foot of the descent is 
 wooded, and upon the outskirts of the 
 copse were rabbits without number. 
 Chancing to look over a gate I beheld 
 a youngster of a few weeks standing 
 but half a dozen yards from me. I kept 
 still ; the rabbit, sitting on his haunches, 
 with ears erect and motionless, looked very 
 steadily at the hedge before him, with not 
 even a side glance at the gate where I was 
 leaning. I waited, mildly interested, think- 
 ing he would go ; but still he held himself 
 motionless sphinx-like, almost and mani- 
 fested a stern resolve to outstay me. I had 
 a certain curiosity to see how he would 
 comport himself, but presently the situation 
 became embarrassing ; I moved, ever so 
 slightly, and in an instant the rabbit was 
 gone. 
 
 Your rabbit, I take it, is at all ages a 
 very ridiculous creature, calling loudly for 
 59
 
 On Sunday Morning 
 
 good-tempered caricature. Consider the 
 alarm of the full-grown animal on your 
 approach : is it not vastly suggestive of a 
 buxom, well-attired spinster who gathers 
 her skirts about her and braves the confu- 
 sion of cabs and omnibuses in some meeting- 
 place of busy thoroughfares ? And the 
 bumpy, jumpy youngster : what is he but 
 the great " switch-back " idea absurdly 
 translated into flesh and blood ? I have 
 assuredly as little as most men of the national 
 ardour for slaughter, but a certain comicality 
 inherent in the sport makes rabbit-shooting 
 simply irresistible. 
 
 The Wild Birds Protection Act is an 
 invention of these latter days ; yet I can 
 scarce believe we are more humane than 
 those that were before us. In the old days, 
 no man set fire to the heather after the end 
 of March, when birds are nesting ; the 
 modern savage takes a particular delight 
 in firing the waste when its rusty brown is 
 just upon the point of glorification with a 
 glow of purple bloom. On this Sunday 
 morning I found a great tract desolate and 
 black, and, seeing it, moved forward with 
 anger at my heart. And then (do you 
 remember the Autocrat's quotation from 
 the Hoiiyhnhiims Gazette ?} I was crossing 
 the blackened space by a narrow track, 
 60
 
 On Sunday Morning 
 
 whose turf had been too worn to suffer by 
 the fire ; the scent of the burnt peat was in 
 my nostrils, and under that magical influence 
 my emotions suffered an immediate change. 
 
 It is curious, by-the-bye, that though 
 ferns, brambles, and thistles are scarcely to 
 be noticed amid the growing heather, they 
 are always the first to show signs of life 
 after the fire has passed over them. In 
 certain places which were burnt last year 
 the heather had not apparently begun to 
 grow again ; but every charred stem of 
 the gorse was ringed about at the earth's 
 surface with young shoots ; and the warm 
 brown of the earth, set with young brambles 
 glistening ferns, and the milky thistles dear 
 to rabbits in captivity, had an exquisite 
 beauty of colouring as one looked over it 
 towards the sun. 
 
 Somehow the seaward aspect failed to 
 please. The faces of the cliffs were still 
 unvisited of the sun ; a sort of gloomy 
 twilight hung about them, and to look down 
 upon the tiny desolate beaches was to learn 
 that it was still early in the morning to 
 be well-nigh convinced of folly, in that one 
 was afield thus early. Towards the east the 
 waters shone like steel ; upon the other 
 hand they were incarnadined with ruddy 
 water from the tin-mines, which enters the 
 61
 
 On Sunday Morning 
 
 sea beyond the furthest visible headland, 
 and had been brought around it by the 
 westerly wind. But all this was a matter 
 of the very smallest import : the narrow 
 tract of waste land afforded a sufficient occu- 
 pation and interest. 
 
 And thus in idleness the time passed 
 quickly : very soon I was aware of growing 
 hunger, and turned to go back the way I 
 had come. Down in the valley, where it 
 looks upon the woods, a cuckoo was singing 
 with an energy that compelled particular 
 attention. I wondered for a moment at 
 his remarkable persistency ; then I per- 
 ceived that the wood was echoing back his 
 music, and that he believed himself con- 
 fronted with a mocking rival. For three 
 or four minutes the singing was kept up 
 without a break. Then the bird ceased, 
 giving his rival an opportunity to set the 
 tune. There was unbroken silence in the 
 wood, and in a little while the bird began 
 again, sounding his cry some ten or a dozen 
 times. He paused again ; then, finding his 
 enemy still refused to sing a song of his 
 own setting, he uttered a solitary bell-voiced 
 " Cuckoo ! " and was silent perhaps trium- 
 phantly, but rather, I believe, with a clear 
 sense of having played the fool in trying 
 conclusions with a simple echo. 
 62
 
 On Sunday Morning 
 
 I bethought me of an episode observed 
 the day before upon the towans : wide 
 spaces of reed-grown sand that line the 
 coast a few miles west of the place where 
 I was now walking. At first there was 
 silence, only made more evident by the 
 clamour of innumerable skylarks lost in 
 the blue. Then I heard the note of a 
 cuckoo just ahead ; in a moment the two 
 big birds rose from among the reed-like 
 " spire-grass." I had come near a railway- 
 line that traverses the waste. 
 
 The hen-bird manifested a preference 
 for the telegraph-posts and insulators, the 
 cock posed on the wires a few yards behind 
 her, and cuckooed with a sort of uncomfort- 
 able cheerfulness, his wings drooped, his tail 
 absurdly cocked into the air. Presently 
 he rose and flew onwards, inducing the hen 
 to leave her resting-place and take the next 
 post to that she had been occupying. Again 
 he wooed her with song and amorous 
 posturing ; again he lured her onward yet 
 another stage. It w r as as though he would 
 play the fairy prince, and convoy her into 
 some Paradise of Birds. And though she 
 made pretence of maintaining the proper 
 feminine attitude, it was evident she had 
 felt the magic of his call. 
 
 Such trifles filled the time until I had 
 63
 
 On Sunday Morning 
 
 reached the environs of the town ; then, I 
 will confess, I walked more briskly, and 
 with a guilty consciousness of my late occu- 
 pation. For it was Sunday morning, and 
 the good people had already attended the 
 first of the Sunday's services the seven 
 o'clock " class meetings " so that they 
 looked askance upon me who had obviously 
 had no such admirable purpose in rising 
 early. And, if I was not greatly troubled 
 by their manifest disapproval, I had a 
 devouring appetite for the breakfast I knew 
 to be awaiting me. 
 
 6 4
 
 IN THE MARSHES
 
 IN THE MARSHES 
 
 IT was little enough to be thankful for: 
 only a single shower while two friends sat 
 together after midnight at a window over- 
 looking the sea. One lounged at ease, 
 playing a host of foolish ditties in a sort 
 of whisper on his banjo ; he did not conceal 
 his amusement when presently his com- 
 panion leant backwards out of the window 
 that he might feel the fall of the rain on 
 his face. But the shower was all too 
 quickly over : they rose and filled their 
 pipes. "Shall we go out?" said one, and 
 in a moment they were traversing the one 
 long street of the little town. 
 
 All things had now the breathing quiet- 
 ness of a pleasant sleep ; the air was ex- 
 quisite in its unaccustomed moistness, and 
 the sea hushed and soothed the world of 
 mortals to forgetfulness of all care. Very 
 soon the spirit of the night imposed itself 
 even upon these, the last waking souls of 
 the village. They returned, and, once 
 67
 
 In the Marshes 
 
 they were abed, sleep came most naturally, 
 unwooed ; waking full early they enjoyed 
 a sense of having dreamed and forgotten a 
 multitude of pleasant dreams. As thus : 
 
 "The wind came whispering in the night ; 
 Then, soft against my window-pane, 
 Followed the murmur of the rain, 
 And O, my love, my heart was light ; 
 
 " For, sure, this promise stood confest : 
 That soon yourself would come again, 
 Who sent cool winds and welcome rain 
 From out your kingdom of the West. 
 
 " So I kept vigil all the night 
 While still the rain fell whisperingly ; 
 I dared to dream you dreamt of me, 
 And O, my love, my heart was light." 
 
 Their occupation that day in a neighbour- 
 ing tin-mine pleased and could not tire 
 them ; and, though it was raining when 
 they came again to the surface, the clouds 
 did but lend necessary contrasts of shadow 
 to a sunny landscape when they had changed 
 to everyday clothing and dined at the 
 'count-house with the "cap'n." 
 
 In the fields, as they went homeward, 
 it was hot enough to make an easy saunter 
 the only method of progression. To one 
 of the two there' is a potent charm in the 
 very name of " elder-blowth ; " and here 
 was elder-blowth in plenty. For the dis- 
 68
 
 In the Marshes 
 
 trict is chiefly productive of broccoli, and 
 prudent farmers divide and subdivide the 
 fields with elder hedges for the protection 
 of their crops. Even now there was a good 
 wind : the bay was filled with long white 
 breakers, and all the coast, from the Cud- 
 dan to Lamorna, was outlined with tossing 
 foam. 
 
 So the two came very slowly, prying into 
 all the secrets of the hedgerows, enlighten- 
 ing one another on the simpler mysteries 
 of human nature, down upon the back of 
 the village. For each there were letters 
 waiting in the room that looks on the sea ; 
 and presently they were abroad again and 
 making for the Marshes. 
 
 After all, the reed that remains a reed 
 in the river has but small excuse for re- 
 gretting that the choice of Pan fell not 
 upon it. For (to begin) supposing the 
 god to be duly careful in the choice of 
 his material, it must be granted he is 
 strangely careless in its subsequent mani- 
 pulation : so that often of a good reed he 
 makes an indifferent flute. Now a man is 
 always a man, and, like the reeds in the 
 river, retains at least his birthright ; but 
 what a misfortune for one who should 
 have been a poet to be but a poetaster ! 
 The reeds, again, have the same gift of 
 69
 
 In the Marshes 
 
 whispered music, whether the wind come 
 softly or lustily from east or west ; but when 
 Pan has ennobled the reed of his choice it is 
 voiceless in itself and can but pray to be 
 delivered from the hands of the unskilled 
 musician. 
 
 It is, best, in fine, to have the gift of 
 taking things as they are, of enjoying the 
 common gifts of nature. 
 
 There was one, not long ago, who walked 
 the Marshes in a perpetual passion of dis- 
 gust. He would grant that the place had 
 still a certain quality of loveliness, but (being 
 a painter of landscapes) he found that 
 beauty lamentably diffused, and could say 
 little in praise of a country that did not 
 divide up spontaneously, as it were, into 
 little subjects for his art. Also, they had 
 been draining the marshes, insidiously 
 robbing them of their peculiar charm. 
 The painter railed at the idiocy of the 
 world in general, and made a business of 
 damming the obnoxious dykes ; he would 
 tip a turf into a new-made channel with 
 the air of a Guido Fawkes. To walk 
 here was thus for him a tremendous 
 exercise of the temper, very indifferently 
 performed. 
 
 But the two who had come here this 
 evening were merely human. They had 
 70
 
 In the Marshes 
 
 set forth with a resolve of enjoyment, in 
 itself a sufficient guarantee of felicity. 
 They were in the mood to laugh at the 
 painter's impassioned cry, "It doesn't 
 compose ! " Indeed, it was the very charm 
 of the place that its beauty 'was rather felt 
 than visible. 
 
 Before the Marshes are reached a stream 
 flows under an old grey bridge to the sea. 
 Doubtless it is innocent of fish ; it is shal- 
 low, narrow, and flows between banks low 
 and unadorned. But here, in the moment 
 of extinction, it is also for a moment glori- 
 fied. For the banks and the ground thereby 
 are literally carpeted with sea-pinks, grow- 
 ing in crowded companies, and not as on 
 the cliffs in separate clumps. The two 
 loitered here awhile, and then tracked the 
 stream into the marsh. 
 
 It betokens a mind hopelessly prejudiced 
 when a man is found to cry out against the 
 railway as destructive of all natural beauty. 
 To be away from the noisy world is happi- 
 ness ; yet does a man need occasional re- 
 minders of his blessedness. The marsh is 
 traversed throughout all its length by the 
 main line of the Great Western, and now 
 and again these idlers paused to watch a 
 passing train. It was a pure delight to 
 consider, when the train had passed and
 
 In the Marshes 
 
 disappeared, how little this intrusion of the 
 outside world had been able to affect their 
 kingdom of quiet. 
 
 Over on the eastern slope of the valley 
 a dog barked vehemently, collecting a great 
 company of sheep and urging them to where 
 the shepherd waited in the twilight, leaning 
 on an open gate. Here again the two 
 paused : it was indeed the sole object of 
 their expedition to find excuses for loiter- 
 ing. Before them was a veritable "plain 
 of reeds ; " a space of marshy ground all 
 overgrown with horsetails that to this day 
 (as one remembers them) will not resolve 
 themselves into a simple mass of colour, 
 but remain a vast assemblage of green 
 lines separately quivering. Beyond these 
 were tracts of taller flags, whose exquisite 
 soft green made beautiful by contrast the 
 crude yellow of innumerable blooms. 
 
 Now and again a blackbird shrieked in 
 flight, and one sang steadily out of an 
 elder-bush that glimmered dusky-white be- 
 yond the flags. Over in the west the last 
 faint gold of sunset showed on soft grey 
 clouds, deliciously ominous of rain. 
 
 There were attempts at conversation, 
 
 but the one was moved to talk of past 
 
 adventures while snipe-shooting in the 
 
 Marshes, his companion found the subject 
 
 72
 
 In the Marshes 
 
 unworthy. He, upon the other hand (since 
 the stream is over-wide for jumping and 
 bridged infrequently), dragged the unhappy 
 sportsman full a mile, lest there should re- 
 main a shadow of doubt as to whether a 
 patch of creamy white, seen from a distance 
 of thirty yards, was in truth mountain bed- 
 straw. 
 
 Yet, a little later, when it was beyond 
 doubting that a certain bush held a nest of 
 
 & 
 
 some sort, they did but linger a moment 
 and pass on without making any search. 
 For they had forgot their skill in birds'-nest- 
 ing, and realised that their happiness would 
 be lost did they permit themselves to 
 look for that they were not well assured of 
 finding. 
 
 And yet .... I believe they talked 
 light-heartedly enough as they turned and 
 made for the village, and that each had 
 occasion to wonder yet again at the other's 
 easy knowledge of the world and its in- 
 habitants. But once there came a heavy 
 sigh, immediately upon the heels of an 
 apostrophe to the scene's loveliness ; and, if 
 I mistake not, one of the twain was con- 
 scious all the while of certain lines that 
 would repeat themselves audibly within 
 him : " Never the time and the place, and 
 the loved one altogether ! " Any loved one 
 73
 
 In the Marshes 
 
 would have done ; but it was an outrageous 
 thing that here and at such a season a man 
 should be limited to a man's companion- 
 ship. 
 
 Usually, I conjecture, these twain would 
 have been proud to boast their freedom ; 
 but a man is the child of many genera- 
 tions, so that his instincts (voices of dead 
 ancestors) condemn him loudly if he refuse, 
 or is unable, to occupy himself at a given 
 season as they direct. Surely it was for 
 some such reason that the wanderers drifted 
 into silence, as if each began to discover 
 folly in the egregious wisdom of his com- 
 rade ? 
 
 And who shall wonder that presently the 
 banjo found for the first time an unkindly 
 critic, and could keep neither player nor 
 listener from his bed ? 
 
 74
 
 INTERLUDES
 
 INTERLUDES 
 I THE OFFERING 
 
 IT was a hateful Spring. A dry wind came 
 continually out of the east ; the sun blazed 
 on the parched fields ; the very primroses 
 were slack and curled at the edge. There 
 was no moisture in the air, and no refresh- 
 ment. Even sleep brought little comfort, 
 and sleep was well-nigh impossible to man. 
 
 All through the morning, and far down 
 the afternoon, I had been wandering after 
 certain folk who were vaguely held to live 
 somewhere within an area of five square 
 miles. I had questioned stupid rustics, and 
 proved unable to convince them that I was 
 neither a bum-bailiff nor the agent of some 
 swindled tradesman. I had found no trace 
 of those I sought, and a fierce irritation 
 arose in me against the friends who had 
 sent me forth on this fool's errand. 
 
 There was a high wall on my right : 
 built, they say, by one resolved to prove 
 77
 
 to a lying country-side that he had money 
 as well as barren acres ; who therefore 
 spent thousands of pounds in works where- 
 of there was manifestly no need. On the 
 other side were stone-faced hedges, topped 
 with gorse, brambles, and broom ; the 
 primroses lolling limply to the dust along 
 their base. 
 
 The irritation grew as I traversed the 
 endless way. 
 
 Presently there was a break in the wall : 
 I had come to the first lodge, and half a 
 dozen children were playing about the gate. 
 I passed on, scarce seeing them. Then a 
 little voice was raised. I looked back. A 
 small child, yellow-haired and with the 
 sunniest smile, had run after me a little 
 way, and now paused, half adventurous and 
 half afraid, in the middle of the roadway. 
 " Hullo ! " she cried. 
 
 " Hullo ! " I answered, carelessly. 
 
 Then the others hailed me in a shrill 
 chorus. " Hullo ! " they cried ; and again 
 I answered them. 
 
 " Maister ! " called the first. 
 
 I looked back again. "Will 'ee have a 
 daffodil ? " she asked ; and then I saw that 
 each of the six children carried a daffodil, 
 doubtless a part in the ceremonial of some 
 game. I thanked the child ; she advanced, 
 78
 
 Interludes 
 
 and held the flower at arm's length, and 
 
 o ' 
 
 when I had taken it I was about to retreat. 
 But again I was arrested. " Maister ! " 
 cried five shrill voices in chorus. And, 
 when I had stopped and turned : " Will 'ee 
 have a lily ? " 
 
 Again I thanked them, and they came 
 forth and surrendered the flowers, some 
 boldly enough, and some very timidly, as if 
 in awe. Then they ran back to the plat of 
 gravel before the lodge-gate, and stood 
 watching until I turned the corner. 
 
 I know not what change had come over 
 me. I walked with twice the energy. 
 Presently, when a shaggy cart-horse, of 
 ineffable age, looked at me across a gate, 
 I turned aside and lingered. It was a 
 real disappointment that he would not 
 allow himself to accept the kindness I in- 
 tended. 
 
 In a moment, seeing that the daffodills 
 were wholly faded and had broken stems, I 
 flung them over the hedge, and went for- 
 ward swiftly along the dusty road. 
 
 79
 
 II THE HAMMOCK 
 
 THE creeping shadows grew longer on 
 the rough grass of the orchard, and it was 
 cool at last. I do not think I slept : the 
 blessed quiet of the place was a thing to 
 be tasted and enjoyed, and not forgotten. 
 Yet, though I might survey the full ap- 
 proach from the house, it was not until the 
 hammock began to sway gently that I knew 
 myself no longer alone. The consciousness 
 of this movement dawned upon me slowly, 
 and with it came a little voice, crooning 
 certain foolish songs with an exquisite 
 tenderness. 
 
 I peeped warily. 
 
 The fair-haired baby (she can scarce be 
 four) stood on a stool to swing me. She 
 was still singing softly to herself, and as I 
 watched I knew that, sleeping, I was a child 
 to the mother in her ; and, seeing her face 
 so gravely tender, I no longer wondered 
 that the freakish creature should be thus 
 supremely content, but almost held my 
 80
 
 Interludes 
 
 breath, lest I should awaken the child in 
 her again. 
 
 Once, indeed, I thought that it was over. 
 Looking about her, she had espied the 
 hoard of fruit that lay betwixt two cabbage- 
 leaves upon the grass hard by. She 
 stepped from her stool, and she forgot her 
 song ; she raised the upper leaf and sur- 
 veyed my raspberries with a face of the 
 most wicked delight. But the smile faded ; 
 it passed even while her fingers dallied with 
 the fruit. 
 
 She rose, replaced the leaf, and came 
 again to the side of the hammock; and now 
 the low stool satisfied her no more. Still 
 infinitely careful not to break my sleep, she 
 replaced it with so high a chair that, when 
 she stood upon it, her face was a little 
 above the level of my own. She was 
 singing again, but in the softest whisper, 
 and her look had a sweet seriousness. 
 With a strange definiteness of purpose she 
 smoothed my rumpled hair, and altered 
 the fall of my coat. 
 
 Then she was quiet, and stood regarding 
 me with such a look that I could have 
 believed her skilled to heal all pains by the 
 mere power of sympathy. Last of all, she 
 bent over and kissed me, her soft lips 
 falling light and cool as the touch of the 
 
 8l F
 
 Interludes 
 
 morning wind on one that has watched 
 down the night. I saw her face, and it 
 wore that aspect of grave happiness you 
 have found in the looks of people coming 
 from some sanctuary. And in a moment 
 she stepped lightly from the chair and went 
 across the grass. 
 
 I was loth to admit the play was ended. 
 
 I waited, with the hope that she would 
 still come back. But soon it was clear she 
 had forgotten. " Hullo, Trix ! " I cried. 
 
 She turned. Her small face gleamed 
 with wickedness and laughter, as a brook 
 gleams that spreads itself over its pebbles 
 in sunlight. 
 
 " Hullo, Stupid ! " she cried. " Get out 
 and swing me." 
 
 82
 
 Ill WESTERN WINTER 
 
 THEY had kindled huge wood fires on all 
 the wide hearths of the transmogrified 
 
 o 
 
 farmhouse, and for awhile it seemed well 
 that they should have done so. The New 
 Year had but just opened, and the warm 
 blaze seemed to suit the season. But 
 the old house lies in the West Country, and 
 presently the warmth grew excessive. The 
 moonlight was shining on the sea, and 
 making black shadows round the dazzling 
 quartz-gravelled paths of the garden. The 
 man had flung open the window of a little 
 deserted room to which he had wandered 
 with Jessica, and the air was like Spring's 
 own. 
 
 They stood silently for a moment. Then, 
 " Your flowers are dead of the heat," he said, 
 "come out and I will gather you a rose." 
 
 "But they are dancing still," said Jessica. 
 " I believe I promised . . . ." 
 
 " Forget your promises," he answered. 
 "Come out." 
 
 83
 
 Interludes 
 
 "The garden looks beautifully cool," she 
 murmured, with a little pretence of hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 " We can go without being noticed," said 
 the man. " Come along." And as Jessica 
 made no reply, he led the way into the 
 garden. 
 
 The moon was full, and the yellow lights 
 that dotted the sea were fainter and more 
 mysterious than they would have been on 
 a darker night, They went bareheaded 
 down the gravelled pathway, and looked 
 out over the quiet village without speak- 
 ing. 
 
 "You promised me a rose," said Jessica, 
 presently. 
 
 "There was a lovely Gloire de Dijon 
 under the library window this morning. 
 Let us go and find it." 
 
 Now the library was the room in which 
 the others were dancing, and though a 
 pistol shot without had hardly reached their 
 ears amid the merriment of the dance, the 
 two moved warily in the moonlight, and 
 Jessica stood like a guilty person as he 
 stepped across the narrow bed to pick the 
 rose that bloomed there in the shadow. 
 
 " Poor flowers ! " she murmured when he 
 came back to her side, and she looked 
 down at the faded roses at her breast. 
 84
 
 Interludes 
 
 "They were beautiful this morning. This 
 air should revive them." 
 
 There was a little pause, the man stand- 
 ing with his newly plucked flower in his 
 hand. Then Jessica took the withered 
 flowers from her breast, and bent down as 
 if to lay them on the soft brown earth. 
 "They will be glad to die out here in the 
 air," she said. 
 
 But the man interrupted, touching her on 
 the shoulder. " You might give me one of 
 them now that they are dead," he said. 
 
 H But " 
 
 "O! you will only be giving me back 
 my own. Did you not know ? " 
 
 Jessica hesitated, and played with the 
 withered roses that lay in her hand. "How 
 should I know ? " she asked at last. " They 
 came without a name." 
 
 " But you guessed? " he persisted. "And 
 now you will give me one of them ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jessica, " I guessed and of 
 course I will give you back one of your 
 own, if you wish it." 
 
 So the exchange of flowers was made, 
 and the man stored his in his pocket, while 
 the one that he had newly gathered replaced 
 the gift he had sent her in the morning, 
 knowing they were to meet at night. 
 Then he seemed about to say something, 
 85
 
 Interludes 
 
 and a little at a loss for words. Indeed, he 
 had not spoken when Jessica started and 
 turned from him. 
 
 " Listen ! " she said. " All the others are 
 coming out. They must have missed us." 
 
 There are times when the lowliest counts 
 himself the centre of the whole wide world, 
 and Jessica's supposition was not, perhaps, 
 without a certain justification. But it was 
 quite unfounded : the absence of these two 
 truants had passed unnoticed, and it was 
 only the beauty of that temperate winter 
 night and the warmth of the room that had 
 brought them into the open air. 
 
 They came out in a body, and then the 
 two watchers saw little groups detach 
 themselves and go in divers directions. 
 Presently a number of the intruders came 
 laughing and talking towards them. 
 
 "What shall I tell them?" asked the man, 
 suddenly, with a new meaning in his voice. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Jessica, a 
 little puzzled. 
 
 But the man had stepped forward, and 
 she saw his face clearly in the moonlight. 
 She had no need to question farther. 
 
 "Tell them tell them whatever you 
 like," she said shyly. Then she stood 
 waiting in the shadow, while he stepped 
 forward gladly to meet his friends. 
 86
 
 IV THE BLESSING OF THE 
 RAIN 
 
 I SAT, most miserable, in a room that 
 opened on the garden. The nightingales 
 were singing and, if ever I listened, a little 
 wind was moving among the leaves ; but 
 the heat lay heavy upon the land, and the 
 parched earth had no nutriment to give to 
 flowers or fruits, nor any comfort to men. 
 
 It was already after midnight. I had spent 
 more than an hour in wretched meditation 
 upon the events of the evening. Phyllis 
 was here in the house Phyllis, who had 
 been wont to bring with her the very breath 
 of the Spring when she came in Winter 
 out of the West and because of some 
 word spoken or left unspoken she had cried 
 impatiently that she would be better away, 
 and I had half admitted to myself that she 
 spake truly in her anger. 
 
 Doubtless she was sleeping now, and 
 had forgotten that which kept me miserably- 
 awake. In the morning, perhaps, it would 
 seem to her that the thing had never come 
 87
 
 Interludes 
 
 to pass : I, also, it might be, should be un- 
 able to convince myself of its reality. But, 
 in the meantime, the thought of sleep was 
 altogether beyond me because of the intoler- 
 able heat ; and our little quarrel seemed 
 a thing irremediable and not to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The nightingale stopped singing as if 
 entranced by some ''unheard melody" 
 more sweet than the songs of his rivals 
 who had kept him active hitherto. The 
 very wind was silent for a space, and then 
 it returned with a sudden increase of im- 
 pulse. There was a sound as of the patter- 
 ing of the feet of all Titania's host among 
 the leaves, the whispering of their voices as 
 they advanced to some high festival. 
 Everything was changed in all the world, 
 for this was the sound of the rain that was 
 come again. 
 
 The magic of it wrought upon me with 
 no more delay than came between the 
 hearing of the sound and its interpretation. 
 I rose from the place where I had been 
 sitting, and crossed the room to the open 
 French window. The rain was falling in 
 
 o 
 
 good quantity, and the wind drove it 
 pleasantly against my face. The stars 
 were veiled, and the air had all it had 
 lacked for so long a time. 
 88
 
 Interludes 
 
 I stood at the window looking out into 
 the gloom of the garden. Stray drops of 
 the rain fell on face and hands at intervals, 
 and it was these that changed so utterly 
 the complexion of my thoughts. I knew 
 that in the morning the foolish quarrel of 
 the night would be clean washed away, 
 even as the dust would be washed from 
 the leaves of the garden, and the lovely 
 greenness shown that the drought had not 
 yet ruined. We could afford some mortal 
 weaknesses, Phyllis and I, since there was 
 that between us no mortal chances could 
 avail to break. 
 
 I was glad now to think she was sleep- 
 ing, though I knew that in the morning 
 she would envy me these first moments of 
 the fall of the rain. At last I crew tired 
 of my station. The exquisite dusk of the 
 garden tempted me, and I stepped out to 
 wander under the giant beeches along its 
 gravelled pathways. 
 
 I came at last as perhaps I had known 
 I should come when I entered the garden 
 to the path beneath her window, and the 
 words of a half-forgotten poem came back 
 to me : 
 
 " Beating heart, we come again 
 Where my love reposes " 
 
 I could not but remember the rest of the 
 89
 
 Interludes 
 
 verses, albeit well aware that she must be 
 sleeping. And while I envied the man in 
 the poem a lovely miracle happened, for 
 Phyllis spoke to me out of her window 
 framed with roses. 
 
 "Is it you?" she cried softly, bending 
 forward, so that I saw the pale face dimly. 
 
 " I could not sleep," I answered. " I did 
 not think you would be still awake." 
 
 " I was unhappy," she said, " until " 
 
 "The rain has come," I interrupted. 
 " You will be more contented now ?" 
 
 There was something of a pause. " Yes, 
 I am happy enough now. And you ? " 
 
 " O," I said, "I am the happiest man in 
 the world. The rain works wonders." 
 
 "It has been known to work most cruelly 
 upon those who walk in it bareheaded," 
 she said. "It was foolish of you to sit up 
 so late. You should have been sleeping 
 long ago. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night," I said ; but still it did not 
 occur to me to turn into the house and seek 
 my bed. The rain was not less delicious 
 than it had been at first. 
 
 "Are you not going? " she asked. 
 
 "It is so pleasant here," I said, "that 
 even the best of dreams would be a poor 
 exchange for these realities." 
 
 " But think of the morning ! " she cried. 
 90
 
 Interludes 
 
 " I shall be in the garden very early. You 
 should have been sleeping long ago." 
 There was a sudden stir among the net 
 of branches round the window, and then a 
 rose fell at my feet. "Good-night," she 
 cried softly. 
 
 " Good-night," I answered, and as I 
 stooped to take her gift I was aware of the 
 nightingale, singing again with a new rap- 
 ture, as if in gratitude for the blessing of 
 the rain.
 
 V THE UNSEEN SINGER 
 
 I WAS alone in the little seaside town, the 
 solace of work denied because of the illness 
 that had brought me there. For a year 
 past I had longed for a period of licence 
 such as was now mine, but the granting 
 of my desire had come in such a fashion 
 that it gave no pleasure. I was desperately 
 tired, and my nerves in a state that ren- 
 dered all enjoyment impossible. I used 
 to lie late in the mornings, for there was 
 nothing to do but wander idly on the 
 promenade, and the trivial pleasures of 
 the crowd vexed me unutterably because 
 I could not share them. It was only at 
 night I realised that possibly this irksome 
 time of rest was bringing me nearer 
 recovery. Then I used to wander until 
 all but the latest of the visitors had left the 
 promenade. It was impossible not to be at 
 rest. The coolness of the night, the sooth- 
 ing murmur of the sea, and the shining 
 yellow lights of a fishing village across the 
 92
 
 Interludes 
 
 bay, combined to make a perfect world, 
 and as I watched I knew that even the 
 garish day might some day give me 
 pleasure again. 
 
 I had been perhaps a fortnight in the 
 place when first I saw the lady of whom I 
 would tell you. It was only for a moment, 
 as she drove past in the company of 
 an older woman, but that moment's sight 
 was enough to fill my thoughts until I saw 
 her again upon the morrow. She was 
 beautiful beyond all words : I fancied she 
 could hardly have passed the age of twenty, 
 and speech and hearing had been denied 
 her. She had the innocent gladness that 
 remains while they are yet young with some 
 who are thus afflicted. She looked upon 
 the world with beautiful bright eyes, and, 
 in despite of fate, was well pleased to be 
 alive. But she was talking with her 
 fingers to the elder lady, her companion, in 
 whose eyes as they looked on the girl I 
 beheld an infinite pity. 
 
 That pity invaded my own heart instantly, 
 though its object was gone out of my sight 
 within a few seconds of her appearance, 
 despite the fact that I knew not so much 
 as her name, there was mixed with it a 
 sense of angry rebellion against the fates 
 who had thus afflicted her, wantonly 
 93
 
 Interludes 
 
 robbing of its value a generosity that, 
 through her, might otherwise have glad- 
 dened the wide world. I could not refrain 
 from laughter at the emotions so suddenly 
 aroused in me. I might have been her 
 lover, and this inability to hear or to speak 
 a calamity quite newly fallen upon her. 
 
 Now, more than ever, I regretted my 
 loneliness, for I had no one from whom I 
 might expect to gather any information, 
 nor was there a hope of my gaining the 
 privilege of her acquaintance. I made 
 some futile inquiries at the hotel, and only 
 got so far as to be almost certain she was, 
 like myself, a visitor. 
 
 On the next day, at about the same hour, 
 the carriage passed along the length of the 
 promenade. She was still innocently glad 
 to be alive, content to accept her burden as 
 if it were no burden at all : it was with 
 smiles she looked into the pitying eyes of 
 her companion, and I could fancy that the 
 messages she was conveying with swiftly 
 moving fingers were humorous apprecia- 
 tions of what she saw around her. 
 
 My earlier questions had been addressed 
 to a quaint, elderly waiter at the hotel : a 
 man who had in some sort made it his 
 special task to see to my well-being, and 
 who was the nearest approach to a friend 
 94
 
 Interludes 
 
 I possessed within a hundred miles of the 
 place. It happened that I was lunching at 
 the open window one day when the carriage 
 passed a little earlier than usual. 
 
 " That is the lady of whom I was speak- 
 ing," I said to him. 
 
 He looked out of the window with quick 
 interest " A dear little maid, if I may 
 say so. Iss, and the poor dear is deaf and 
 dumb : she's talkin' upon her fingers. 
 Well, I thought from what you told me 
 they must be strangers in these parts, and 
 so they are. I don't even know the horses 
 nor the carriage." 
 
 Thus passed a period of several days. I 
 began to find myself vastly better, and, 
 with the growth of energy, to look forward 
 pleasurably to the time when I should 
 return to my work in London. My good 
 friend the waiter had succeeded, much to 
 his delight, in getting me to go for numerous 
 drives through the lovely country that 
 surrounds the watering-place. I had even, 
 on divers occasions, set forth on foot and 
 explored the coast and the inland lanes for 
 myself. I went alone, but I never felt the 
 absence of companions, for my expeditions 
 always took place before or after the hour 
 at which she might be expected to pass 
 along the promenade, and so my thoughts 
 95
 
 Interludes 
 
 were always busy, whether with anticipa- 
 tion or remembrance. 
 
 Never once did she fail me ; never once 
 did her affliction seem to mar the beautiful 
 gaiety of her mood. It appeared that she 
 saw and enjoyed every little thing that 
 could be seen ; nor was it altogether a 
 young man's vanity that made me wonder 
 whether she had begun to notice the fact 
 that a certain sallow invalid was always 
 idling on the promenade at the hour when 
 she drove by. 
 
 I had come to understand the routine of 
 their daily outing. They were manifestly 
 living somewhere to the west of the town. 
 Every day they went through the inland 
 lanes at the back of it until they were a 
 mile or two to the east, and then, descend- 
 ing seawards, drove home by the promenade 
 and the road that skirts the sea. 
 
 Now one day, with no set purpose that 
 I would have confessed, even to myself, I 
 took the western road and went into the 
 country. The road lies for some distance 
 between low hills and the southern sea : 
 at first the sun's heat was intolerable, but 
 gradually one mounted higher, and then 
 the sunlight was but the fit accompaniment 
 of the lively wind that blew in from the 
 sea. So I went forward in the best of 
 96
 
 Interludes 
 
 spirits until I had come to the edge of a 
 great valley that runs inland from the sea. 
 
 Some dozen or so cottages and a little 
 pier stood at the margin of the sea. Inland 
 a few houses were seen among their 
 fruitful orchards. But at the edge of the 
 slope there was a little space of wild wood, 
 and this, as I looked across the flower- 
 grown hedge, tempted me to rest. I 
 climbed the intervening barrier and lay 
 down in the shelter of a little oak-tree. 
 The sunlight flooded a wealth of bracken, 
 foxgloves, and golden harvest-weed. I 
 lounged at ease, content to watch stray 
 butterflies that went lazily from flower to 
 flower. 
 
 It may be I slept. Certainly I was a 
 long time under the oak before I became 
 aware that I was not the only occupant of 
 the wood. Some one was singing softly, 
 and I could hear footsteps moving slowly 
 through the fern. I could tell by the sound 
 that the newcomer was stopping here and 
 there to pick flowers. 
 
 Now, I had enjoyed the solitude, but 
 even at the first the person who was 
 coming towards me did not strike me as an 
 intruder. Her singing was in absolute 
 concord with my mood : it was as if one 
 had thought of a poem and a moment later 
 97 G
 
 Interludes 
 
 found oneself humming the melody that 
 would make of it a perfect song. I lay and 
 waited, and the singer came nearer. 
 
 The song ceased when she presently 
 appeared. She was a little startled, but 
 not near so much as I. 
 
 " Then you are not dumb ! " I cried 
 involuntarily, as I started to my feet. 
 
 She hesitated, and a little smile played 
 about the corners of her pretty mouth. 
 "It is my aunt who is dumb," she said. 
 Then, with a sudden recovery of her 
 dignity, " I don't know why you should 
 ask." 
 
 But that was a matter I had no great 
 difficulty in explaining. 
 
 98
 
 MIDSUMMER MOONLIGHT
 
 MIDSUMMER MOONLIGHT 
 
 I HAD worked long and late. Now at night 
 there was no resisting the call of the sea, 
 which came so softly to my cottage in the 
 coombe that I could have fancied the ancient 
 hills whispered like a hollow shell. I lin- 
 gered a little while in the garden that 
 overhangs the dusty road ; for the great 
 bush of scented verbena planted against 
 my window now spread an exquisite 
 fragrance. In the very moment of my 
 coming forth a last light vanished from 
 the window of the farm-house over against 
 my door ; even in the village there were 
 but few houses in which the folk had not 
 retired. 
 
 The moon was up and near its full, but 
 a thin mist had come up from the sea along 
 with the rising tide, and, advancing, had 
 enveloped the land. It had assimilated 
 and absorbed the yellow radiance in such 
 a fashion that the light seemed rather to 
 be a quality of the atmosphere itself than
 
 Midsummer Moonlight 
 
 to emanate from a material source. I drew 
 in a great breath of the cool air ; then I 
 took the road to the sea. 
 
 It was very quiet. There was no sound 
 beyond the gurgle of a stream that runs 
 beside the road, and the sea's quiet breath- 
 ing. Over on the western slope a corn- 
 crake sounded his grating note ; but in 
 the village all was quiet. Crossing the 
 little bridge presently, and making west- 
 ward to the cliffs, I found a single visitor 
 smoking on the low parapet of granite. 
 Then I went forward and took the rough 
 path that leads into the wastelands. 
 
 On my right the tide had covered a 
 huge level beach ; and the white waves 
 creamed and glimmered under the moon- 
 light, until they were but ghostly mysteries 
 moving vaguely in the gloom. Below, 
 under the sheer cliffs, they broke strongly 
 against black rocks, sending up luminous 
 evanescent clouds of spray, and booming 
 hoarsely around the walls of some deep- 
 sunken cavern. It was a night when the 
 commonest mortal might look to see white 
 ghosts of beautiful unhappy ladies, such as 
 he would pity greatly and fear not at all. 
 
 I went slowly along the pathway, a steep 
 slope, clad in whispering heather, rising for 
 a hundred feet above me, while on the 
 
 IO2
 
 Midsummer Moonlight 
 
 seaward side the cliffs fell sheer for twice 
 that distance. Point after point, as I looked 
 forward, loomed huge and black against the 
 glimmer of the moonlight ; there was no 
 sign of life, no sound but the noise of the 
 sea. It was as if the great earth slept and 
 one heard the strong beating of its pulse. 
 Gradually I shared in this delicious peace, 
 breathing it in with the pleasant air, en- 
 veloped in it as by the thin luminous mist. 
 I was abandoned to enjoyment of the night, 
 and took no heed of how the time was 
 
 flying- 
 Imagine, then, my emotions when this 
 
 universal stillness was broken by a confused 
 noise of distant shouting. 
 
 I stood and listened attentively. Sud- 
 denly the shouting ceased, and, looking 
 up, I beheld the figure of a man outlined 
 against the sky on the highest point of a 
 headland before me. I confess the appari- 
 tion somewhat disconcerted me ; a moment 
 later I was yet more amazed when I heard 
 the thin sweet notes of a flute, and realised 
 that this wanderer was playing antique 
 dances, here on the cliffs, with only mer- 
 maids waking to hear. 
 
 I moved forward rapidly, intent on dis- 
 covering the meaning of these eccentricities 
 All at once the music ceased ; and then, 
 103
 
 Midsummer Moonlight 
 
 before one could count ten, the mermaids 
 applauded their minstrel. That is to say, 
 there came a sound of cheering, even of 
 hand-clapping, out of the glamour of mist 
 and moonlight that veiled the sea. 
 
 The musician waited until the sound 
 had died away. Then he resumed his 
 playing, with such an accession of spirit 
 as showed he had found the applause in- 
 vigorating. In a moment the pathway 
 dipped, and he was hidden from my sight. 
 The music was fainter now because of the 
 rocky screen that parted us. It was with 
 something like a renewal of my first surprise 
 that I stepped out upon the headland, within 
 a yard or two of his position. 
 
 He saw me and ceased to play. Re- 
 cognising him, I wondered I had not 
 known him by his music. But there was 
 excuse for me : Josephus Pascoe is a man 
 of the most rigid respectability upon all 
 ordinary occasions, and had I not seen I 
 could not have believed him capable of such 
 a performance as this. 
 
 I stepped forward. " What, in the name 
 of wonder, are you up to ? " 
 
 He stared at me through the moonlight. 
 
 " You, sir ? " he said, with an evident relief. 
 
 " Did 'ee fancy I was playin' for the piskies? 
 
 Well, they say 'tis here they've got their 
 
 104
 
 Midsummer Moonlight 
 
 gardens to this day, if only a man had the 
 proper eyes to see them with. Now, is 
 that what you thought ? " 
 
 Before I had had time to answer, a voice 
 came hoarsely out of the sea. " Play up! 
 Play up ! 'Tis lonesome here, for all we're 
 six of us, and the music do keep the heart 
 in us." 
 
 Pascoe looked at me. " Do 'ee know 
 now who they be I'm playin' for?" 
 
 "Hardly," I said. "Though I swear 
 they are no piskies." And immediately 
 he turned and looked seawards. 
 
 " Ahoy, there ! " he shouted. " Who be 
 ee ? " 
 
 There was a momentary pause. "We 
 be three young chaps from over to Forth, 
 and a maid with every one of us." 
 
 "Where be 'ee to?" shouted Pascoe. 
 
 "Why out 'pon the Gull Rock, to be 
 sure," answered his invisible interlocutor, 
 seeming to grow a little angry at this cate- 
 chism. 
 
 "And what be 'ee doin' out there?" 
 continued Pascoe, relentlessly. 
 
 " Why, freezin' with the cold ! " came the 
 answer, very brusquely ; and then Pascoe 
 turned to me. 
 
 " I was comin' from over to Porth just 
 before you met me, an' I had my flute with
 
 Midsummer Moonlight 
 
 me for company ; the cliffs is lonely, even 
 when 'tis moonlight. However, I was 
 
 ^> 
 
 happy enough, blowin' away 'pon it as I 
 walked along, when all at once I heard 
 some one shoutin' at me out of the sea. 
 The heart of me stood still : I was stiff 
 with fright. But I took courage in the 
 end. ' Ahoy, there ! ' I shouted, ' Who be 
 'ee ? ' and the answer came, same as you 
 heard : ' We be three young men from 
 over to Forth, and a maid with every 
 one of us.' After that I could see there 
 was nothing to frighten a man. So I asked 
 more questions, and, come to think upon it, 
 you don't know all the story yet." 
 
 Once again he turned towards the sea, 
 where the black mass of the Gull Rock 
 loomed ghostly in the mist. "Ahoy, there!" 
 he shouted. " However do 'ee come to 
 be 'pon the Gull Rock at this time o' 
 night ? " 
 
 The man on the Gull Rock had fairly 
 lost patience. " How do 'ee think we come 
 to be here ? Didn' I tell 'ee we came out 
 in George Penhalurick's boat, and the 
 darned thing drifted away after we landed, 
 three hours ago ? Play up, man ; we're 
 freezin' with the cold." 
 
 Pascoe looked at me as he fingered the 
 flute. " 'Tis a lovely night, and I'm in no 
 106
 
 Midsummer Moonlight 
 
 great hurry for my bed, so I said I'd give 
 them a tune for company." 
 
 He turned away and straightway began 
 to play, choosing a certain antique tune 
 that would set frail octogenarians danc- 
 ing if they chanced to be of Cornish 
 blood. 
 
 It was, indeed, a marvellous night, and 
 to think of sleep was impossible. A pretty 
 madness inspired the whole adventure. I 
 was well content at first to be an idle by- 
 stander, paying no heed to the dictates of 
 common sense. But a breath of cold air 
 came from the sea, and, shivering, I threw 
 off the influence of the moonlight. 
 
 "Joe," I said, for so his name is vulgarly 
 abbreviated, " your music is delightful ; but 
 do you think they'll care to listen until 
 
 morning ? 
 
 The flute dropped from his hands ; he 
 faced me with amazement written on every 
 feature. "Where was my senses?" he 
 asked. " I never thought of that. Why, 
 they'll be starved with the cold." 
 
 H e turned towards the prisoners : ' ' Boys ! ' ' 
 he shouted, "you must keep up heart with- 
 out the music. I'll go in to Trelorne as 
 quick's I can, and in half an hour we'll 
 have 'ee off in a boat. So long to 'ee till 
 then ! " 
 
 107
 
 Midsummer Moonlight 
 
 He stooped, picked up his flute, and 
 stowed it in his pocket after a careful 
 wiping. Then he set forth along the 
 path in such a haste that, following, I 
 wished well I had held my peace. 
 
 1 08
 
 A WAYSIDE EVANGELIST
 
 A WAYSIDE EVANGELIST 
 
 I WAS sick of breathing the used-up air of 
 London, the air whose contact fouls and 
 not cleanses ; for a little while the train 
 that sped towards the country seemed 
 instinct with the home atmosphere where- 
 into it should carry me. But the day was 
 parching hot, and the stink of the engine- 
 smoke was everywhere. 
 
 One might let down the windows to the 
 full ; the fields were green without, and 
 presently we had sight of a shining blue 
 sea, with gulls floating white above it as 
 far as the horizon. But still the compart- 
 ment retained its own particular atmos- 
 phere : the atmosphere of London. The 
 fields, the hills, the valleys where the trout 
 stream glittered through the leafage, were 
 the incarnation of beauty and of quiet, but 
 the sight of them conferred no mitigation 
 of discomfort. Surely to souls in purgatory 
 there could be nothing more intolerable 
 than the slow passage before their eyes of
 
 A Wayside Evangelist 
 
 a panorama revealing all the unattainable 
 beautiful places of the earth ? 
 
 Only one thing was possible : to long, as 
 the sick long for sleep, for the end of the 
 journey, the scent of elder in the fields, and 
 the air that comes clean-washed from the 
 sea. And at last, even as the sick sleep 
 before the dawn, we had reached the 
 home-place, and were free of the little 
 ugly town. And in this first hour there 
 was no man in all the streets whose voice 
 and familiar accent did not give him the 
 aspect of an old friend suddenly come 
 upon. 
 
 And later, to go forth from the houses 
 and gain the fields that lie along the cliffs, 
 shut in by hedges of flowering elder : to 
 breathe the soft, grey air from the sea : it 
 was a death to the heat and worry .of 
 London, a new birth unto cleanliness of 
 body, it seemed, no less than of spirit. The 
 dew stood as of old, a dust of grey drops, 
 upon the grasses. 
 
 And for sheer gladness of heart, and 
 because it was good to loiter, I was fain 
 to address an aged farmer who laboured 
 near the pathway, putting in broccoli 
 among the withered stalks of newly drawn 
 potatoes. 
 
 I was smoking a cigarette. 
 
 112
 
 A Wayside Evangelist 
 
 "Well, farmer," I said. "How does 
 the weather suit you ? " 
 
 The old man looked up over his shoulder 
 without a word. Then something in my 
 aspect seemed to take his attention. " Well, 
 stranger.'' he said. " I should like for 
 you to tell me what you do smoke bacca 
 for ? " 
 
 I laughed, flicking the ash from my 
 cigarette. " Oh ! " I said, " because I like 
 it, I suppose." 
 
 The old man stuck his long-handled 
 shovel into the ground, resting one foot 
 upon the shoulder of the blade, and using 
 the handle as a staff. He looked at me 
 with the smile of one too old in this world's 
 ways to be fooled like a child with reasons 
 that were no reasons. 
 
 " Do 'ee mean to tell me that's a reason 
 for usin' bacca : that you'd like it ? An' 
 you d' look a rais'nable 'nough man, too." 
 
 " I hope so," I answered. " Pretty much 
 as God made me." 
 
 " Iss," he said. " Iss. An' some day 
 you'll come to consider what use you've 
 made o' what He made ? ee. But let that 
 pass. Do 'ee mane t' tell me 'tis good for 
 a man body or soul to waste time an' 
 money smokin' bacca ? Can 'ee give me 
 wan raison, more 'n that you do like it ? " 
 113 H
 
 A Wayside Evangelist 
 
 " Upon my soul," I said, " I can think of 
 none. I have never sought for one. 'Tis 
 enough that I like it." 
 
 He shook his head, sorrowful and yet 
 amused. "Ah!" he said. "You'd like 
 it!" He found my attitude merely piti- 
 able. 
 
 Now a man can stand a good deal, and 
 a joke is a joke, be it never so clumsy. 
 But one grows tired at last of hearing one's 
 sweetheart abused, though it be done most 
 delicately, and in the merest jest. It is the 
 same with tobacco. 
 
 " Come," I said, " you are surely wasting 
 breath. 'Tis a vice, perhaps, as vice goes 
 with some people ; but surely only a little 
 one ? And are you so certain it is a vice 
 at all ? The Lord made me " the old man 
 nodded slowly, his lips compressed, his eyes 
 triumphantly eloquent of a coming rejoinder 
 that should crush me " and upon my 
 honour he gave me a most exorbitant 
 affection for tobacco. Also, he made the 
 world, and with it tobacco " 
 
 The old man's mouth opened as with 
 the sudden release of a spring. His foot 
 came down upon the shovel, driving it still 
 deeper into the soil. He relinquished his 
 hold upon the handle, and stood before me 
 the very incarnation of triumph. 
 114

 
 A Wayside Evangelist 
 
 11 No, He dedn' ! " he cried. " No, He 
 dedn' ! " 
 
 His mouth closed smartly on the words. 
 He dared me with his eyes to question his 
 speech. 
 
 " But surely," I said, " surely He made 
 the world ? " 
 
 " To be sure," said my friend, with a nod 
 of acquiescence. 
 
 " And all that therein is tobacco ?" 
 
 Once again the old man broke out upon 
 me. " No, He dedn' ! No, He dedn ! " 
 
 " Then where on earth, or out of it, did 
 tobacco come from ? " I asked with a cer- 
 tain desperation. 
 
 The old man looked upon me kindly. 
 " You may depend, young man, the Lord 
 wouldn' never be the author of anything 
 that is evil under the sun. The fact, is : 
 bacca, like many other things, is a plant o' 
 Satan's sowin'. Now, if you could give 
 me satisfaction that bacca was growed in 
 the Garden o' Paradise, you should smoak 
 s' much's you mind to. I wouldn' say no 
 more." 
 
 "Well," I said daringly, " I can give you 
 no proof, but I take it no proof is wanted. 
 How else does it get here ? " 
 
 The old man came closer. 
 
 " My son," he said, " you may be saved, 
 "5
 
 A Wayside Evangelist 
 
 you may be unsaved ; but, saved or un- 
 saved, you can't believe the Lord would 
 make evil things. Where do bacca come 
 from ? Why, where do sin come from, an' 
 drink, that do send men quick into Hell ? 
 Why, Satan made them, o' course. Satan 
 made them." 
 
 He paused a moment, surveying me with 
 the very look of wise old age that would 
 fain open the eyes of youth to the real 
 meaning of things, yet remembers that in 
 youth a certain ignorance is by no means 
 to be accounted sin. Then he lifted up 
 his voice : 
 
 "The Lord made man and woman to 
 live together an' love one another, an' bring 
 forth children, as is proper. But first he 
 made a garden for them to live in. Now, 
 do 'ee think there was weeds in it, an' slugs, 
 an' snails, an' a passel of ol' brembles for 
 to tear the clo'es off their backs ? No such 
 thing ! There was apple-trees there, an' 
 pears an' mazzards, an' all sorts of vege- 
 tables that's good for the soul o' man. An' 
 doubtless there was roses, an' sweet Wil- 
 liams an' such-like, for Eve to tend 'pon 
 times. 
 
 " But there was no weeds, an' no brem- 
 bles, for the Lord couldn' make evil not ef 
 He was to try, no more 'na grey-bird could 
 116
 
 A Wayside Evangelist 
 
 caw like a crow. You may depend they 
 would turn to flower or fruit, an' we should 
 still know where they come from, an' bless 
 the Giver. 
 
 " But Satan came, an' there was Eve 
 ready to hand, an' Satan tempted her, an' 
 from that moment 'twas all up with Adam. 
 An' they went forth out o' the Garden, an' 
 the Lord cursed them because of their 
 sinfulness. In the sweat o thy brow, He 
 said, an' sure enough in the sweat of his 
 brow (or some one else's) has man ate 
 his bread ever since. He mio-ht ha' had 
 
 o 
 
 the world o' God's making : he chose t' 
 see what fashion world Satan would give 
 en. An' Satan's world is full o' many 
 weeds ; wherever you d' teal wheat, instead 
 o' the corn do come up the charlock. An' 
 so 'tis all the time. 
 
 " A man must be hoein' weeds now, 'stid 
 o' sittin' under a tree with his wife, praisin' 
 God, an' waitin' for the crops to grow. 
 Tha's how 'twas meant to be. But 'tis the 
 part of the fool to say the Lord made 
 weeds, an' such like. He couldn' do it. 
 They'm all o' Satan's sowin' : bacca with 
 the rest." 
 
 Now here the old man ceased from his 
 discourse, and because my cigarette was 
 burnt out, I flung it from me over the 
 "7
 
 A Wayside Evangelist 
 
 hedge of elder. The action gave him a 
 flush of joy. 
 
 "Thrawen away!" he said. " Thraw 
 en away. 'Tis a trap of Old Satan." 
 
 And, smiling, I turned away, leaving him 
 to go back to his labours. 
 
 118
 
 PILCHARDS IN THE BAY
 
 PILCHARDS IN THE BAY 
 
 THE day was perfect ; autumn once again 
 asserted her pre-eminence among the 
 seasons, and appeared despite a chill 
 north-easter the one period wherein it is 
 supremely possible to live. I had crossed 
 the ferry near by Hayle Bar to the Towans, 
 a tract of sandhills overgrown with turf that 
 keeps perennially short and velvet-like, and 
 with reedy, gray-green spire-grasses. Pre- 
 sently the sandhills gave place to ruder 
 cliffs, and I struggled through a hazel 
 thicket that covers the slope. For a space 
 I turned aside to look at the wishing-well, 
 where pins without number bore witness to 
 the frequency with which the waters had 
 been interrogated in the summer. 
 
 Finally, I was upon the open waste 
 again, and found the "huers" watching 
 for pilchards at the white house on Car- 
 rickgladden. The boats had been a week 
 in pay, and throughout that period had 
 taken up their allotted positions daily along
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 the cliff. The season for the coming of 
 the fish was now fully arrived ; and on the 
 previous day there had been nought but 
 pilchards taken by the drift-boats that went 
 out after mackerel and herring. The shoals 
 abide only a short time within the limits of 
 the bay, and if they be not swiftly encircled 
 within the seine, they pass out westwards 
 sweeping from the north-east around the 
 bay and are lost to the fishermen of St. 
 Ives. 
 
 The huers, therefore, scanned the wide 
 bay with unflagging attention ; though one 
 found time to discuss with a roaming 
 stranger the mysterious ways of God with 
 man, even while he watched for the ap- 
 pearance of the "shade upon the waters" 
 that would be the sign of a bank of fish. 
 The wind was unfavourable : it made a 
 turmoil of sand and rotted shale in the 
 shallow water along the beach, and brought 
 to these western shores a part of the red 
 hematite that coming from the tin mines 
 perpetually incarnadines a great tract of 
 water along the farther cliffs. These things 
 would render it all the more difficult for the 
 huers to detect the pilchards should they 
 come by their colour on the water ; and, 
 having in memory the evil chances of recent 
 years, I only pitied them, and the seiners 
 
 122
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 who awaited their signals, as people un- 
 fortunate in expecting overmuch. 
 
 But in the afternoon, when there was 
 scarce half an hour to dark, there came a 
 sudden cry of "Heva!" from the white 
 house. 
 
 Instantly the seiners were on the move, 
 rowing their hardest in obedience to the 
 signals of the huers. Each of these held 
 in either hand a couple of iron rings of 
 about a foot in diameter, set crosswise 
 upon a short handle and covered with 
 cloth, so that they formed white balls, 
 easily visible from sea against the back- 
 ground of heather and sad-coloured grass. 
 In the old days, furze-bushes were used for 
 this purpose ; and still, though the white 
 balls are common, you hear them speak of 
 the " bushes " of the huers. 
 
 The code of signals is sufficiently simple : 
 to send the boats east, for example, both 
 bushes are held downwards at arm's length 
 on the left (or western) side ; then raised 
 at arm's length above the head on the 
 right. A single bush held in the right 
 hand and swung round in the fashion of 
 a wheel means " Let out the line ; " and, 
 finally, to hold both at arm's length in 
 front, swing them downwards and around 
 over the head to the initial position, then 
 123
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 raise a foot or so and bring them emphati- 
 cally down through the same distance, is to 
 give the exciting order, " Shoot the seine." 
 The seineboat and the accompanying 
 towboat have parted company ; the line 
 of corks begins to appear on the surface 
 as the net is hurriedly shot. The huers 
 are still wavinq- their bushes for the fish 
 
 fj 
 
 are invisible except from this height, and 
 it is they who steer the boat and shouting 
 through huge speaking-trumpets instruc- 
 tions one must be a fisherman to interpret. 
 At last the order is given to close the 
 seine, and the towboat comes up with the 
 stop-net. 
 
 While this is being let out and fastened, 
 the men in the two boats are shouting and 
 vigorously splashing their oars, intent upon 
 driving the fish into the curve of the seine 
 and away from its unsecured mouth. Mean- 
 while, the huers take breath, surveying the 
 operations below. " Now bloucers ! " says 
 one to the other ; and immediately there 
 goes forth landward from the two speaking- 
 trumpets a great cry of ' ' Bloucers ! Bloucers ! " 
 that promptly summons the cobbler from 
 his lapstone, the labourer from the fields, the 
 very baker from his shop, to take part on 
 shore in the securing of what the seiners 
 have captured. 
 
 124
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 The seine was shot unusually late on 
 this occasion had but the fish come earlier 
 there would have been two or three more 
 seines shot, for there were other shoals 
 about and though the boat came in as 
 soon as the net had been closed, it was 
 dark when the warp reached the shore. 
 This is a great rope, which is taken in 
 hand by the bloucers and hauled up the 
 steep beach, over the loose, dry sand, 
 until it can be attached to one or other 
 of the many capstans about the coast. 
 
 The one used was situated on a small 
 plateau upon the face of the cliff, some 
 forty yards above the beach. Hither 
 came all the men of the neighbourhood, 
 footing it delicately in the darkness over 
 a narrow ledge sodden with the drainage 
 of the hills, and here and there broken by 
 a recent fall of the land. 
 
 The oldsters sat together under the cliff 
 at the back of the ledge, talking philosophy. 
 So long has ill-luck dogged them that their 
 first effort was to put aside all natural hopes. 
 " I don't take no account of it," said one. 
 " Nor me," said another. 
 
 A third was lighting a pipe. "I'm got 
 to that pitch," he said, when he had secured 
 a light, " I don't put nothin' on it." 
 
 But somehow, though they never ignored 
 125
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 their duty of hoping nothing, one learned 
 a good deal as to the benefits that might 
 accrue to them if the seine should tuck 
 well upon the morrow. In a little time 
 the second warp was landed, to be con- 
 nected with a second capstan : and by this 
 means the great seine was slowly drawn 
 inwards to such a position that even at 
 high-tide it would still touch the bottom 
 and afford no way of escape to the im- 
 prisoned fish. 
 
 The men worked bravely and with 
 abundant cheerfulness ; but at the end of 
 the evening one remembered chiefly this 
 fact that they were altogether prepared 
 to find the seine near empty when the 
 time came for "tucking," and had a dozen 
 reasons for the catastrophe if upon the 
 morrow it should be found to have hap- 
 pened. 
 
 All night the seiners watched by the net, 
 a fire burning with cheerful radiance be- 
 neath the awning. The morning showed 
 a sea so enveloped in fog that Godrevy 
 lighthouse a white tower on an island at 
 the bay's eastern extremity was scarce 
 visible across the water from St. Ives ; 
 and it was close upon eight o'clock before 
 the cry of " Heva ! " was heard again. 
 
 Meanwhile, the tuckers had long been 
 
 120
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 at work upon the first capture. Great 
 black boats, long past other service, were 
 dragged down by teams of four horses 
 from their accustomed resting-place and 
 towed out to the seine. A smaller net 
 the "tuck-net"- was let down inside the 
 seine and closed ; then it was drawn to the 
 surface. The fish showed presently as a 
 boiling mass of silver ; or perhaps they 
 were more like molten tin when they 
 have plunged into it the sodden log 
 whose moisture, escaping, is to drive all 
 impurities to the surface-scum. The up- 
 flung scales and water stood for the spitting 
 of the metal. 
 
 The tuckers stood in their black barges, 
 dipping the fish out by the basketful, and 
 tipping them into the bottom of the boat. 
 Each boat contains when full somewhere 
 over thirty hogsheads say one hundred 
 thousand fish and yet in a very few 
 minutes the mass of madly moving silver 
 had risen to the knees of the men, who 
 stood away from the side and levelled it 
 with the edge of an empty basket, while 
 their companions in labour flung more and 
 more into the boat. Over the tuck-net 
 there was a continual flashing of silver 
 scales cast up, for the fish were well-nigh 
 solid in the net. 
 
 127
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 Now and again a stray fish, not yet 
 within the tuck-net, came slowly towards 
 the surface, too bewildered to be any 
 longer susceptible of fear. The water, 
 when the sun shone upon it, showed a 
 clear green, spangled with innumerable 
 scales ; and at the line of corks which 
 showed the limits of the seine you could 
 see, looking down into the waters, thou- 
 sands of pilchards lying dead in the folds 
 of the net, like ingots of silver. There 
 was endless shouting both of comradeship 
 and criticism, and above all, the noise of 
 these innumerable fish, struggling in heaps, 
 and in the tuck-net at the surface. 
 
 Never a boat went by but had a hundred 
 or two dying in its bows ; and all around 
 the central group of boats were men of 
 enterprise who fished with long-handled 
 nets for such fish as had died in the close 
 quarters of the seine. 
 
 Meanwhile the huers had twice aeain 
 
 o 
 
 raised their cry of " Heva," and so there 
 were now three great seines in the water 
 before St. Ives, in addition to that which 
 was being tucked to the east, by Carrick- 
 gladden. 
 
 Mounting to the hills above the water, 
 one saw how it is that the presence of 
 pilchards in the bay is detected by the 
 128
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 huers ; for the fish had packed together 
 in the deeper part of the seine, and showed 
 a reddish black, like a sunken reef. At 
 intervals they appeared to be seized with 
 a sudden consciousness of their predica- 
 ment, and the water boiled at the surface 
 visibly. 
 
 On the previous day, and even this very 
 morning", when there was light, it had been 
 difficult for the unpractised eye to detect a 
 sign before the net was closed ; and, indeed, 
 the desultory talk of the bystanders was 
 largely of historic occasions whereon a 
 seine which had been shot in water 
 deemed by the majority quite innocent 
 of fish, turned out to the glory of the 
 huer who had seen the shoal to be 
 magnificently plenished. 
 
 It was good, too, to look back through 
 a glass at the tucking of the first seine. 
 The fog had changed to azure mist ; the 
 sun shone brightly on a pale smooth sea, 
 whose waves were little more than slowly 
 moving lines of shadow. Seen against the 
 level light, the boats and figures of the men 
 were of a velvety blackness ; but the fish, 
 as they struggled in the tuck-net or poured 
 from the baskets into the boats, shone with 
 an exquisite soft silveriness. And there 
 the men laboured until the turn of the tide, 
 129 i
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 when ten great boats, laden to the gunwale, 
 were towed into the harbour, the further 
 tucking of the seine being left until low 
 water on some future day. 
 
 It remains to describe the scene in the 
 harbour, whither the barges were towed, 
 that the fish might be conveyed to the 
 cellars and salted. 
 
 The boats were moored, and the carts 
 backed into the water, where the horses 
 stood most patiently though with a certain 
 look of dejection while the fish were 
 shovelled out. 
 
 The "jowsters" -men who retail the 
 fresh fish throughout the neighbouring 
 country were buying their stock : his own 
 particular business the one thing in the 
 world to each. In the water and upon the 
 grey sands a host of children wandered 
 among their elders, the most having each 
 separate finger thrust through the gills of a 
 oilchard. 
 
 All the tidemark, also, was strewn with 
 the fish, often near already, by reason of 
 many trampling feet, to a condition of 
 naked skeleton ; and a great dogfish, caught 
 and killed yestreen by one of the drift- 
 boats, showed his white belly, rolling with 
 the come and go of small waves : the only 
 impassive thing in all the scene. 
 130
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 All the old men of the town were on the 
 sands, uttering conjectures as to the pro- 
 bable number of hogsheads to be taken out 
 of the seines, and enlarging upon the utter 
 worthlessness of the most magnificent cap- 
 tures as prices are in these days. The 
 reason of this falling-off is simple : there is 
 no market, practically, for fresh pilchards ; 
 they all go to the cellars, and thence to 
 the Italian markets. Now, in the old time 
 the Italians had to content themselves with 
 Cornish pilchards, or be without fish of any 
 sort ; to-day, there is unlimited competition, 
 and even the St. Ives' man realises that he 
 will not choose " fairmaids " who can eat 
 his fill of Newfoundland cod. Also, it is 
 said, the Catholic religion loses its hold 
 upon the people in those parts, and they 
 scruple not to taste flesh on Fridays. It is 
 a pity : eaten fresh, the fish is delicious ; 
 and there are those who can stomach it 
 when it has been salted. But in neither 
 condition does it find a sale at remunerative 
 prices. 
 
 The children, however, are bound to 
 profit, and it is by no means the sons and 
 daughters of the poor alone who descend 
 to "cabing" as they name the practice 
 of stealing fish from the boats or from the 
 carts that convey it to the cellars. One man,
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 manifestly of a temper not too well con- 
 trolled, was followed at each journey by a 
 score of urchins. Whenever his back was 
 turned for a moment, one of the youngsters 
 would dart forward and with one sweep of 
 his hand send a score of pilchards flying 
 out of the cart. His companions shouted 
 exultantly as they scrambled for a share of 
 the spoil ; and the man, divided betwixt 
 the care of his horse and of his load, swore 
 impotently at them, or struck savagely 
 at some daring boy. But his strength was 
 spent upon the air, and the fish still came 
 by hundreds out of his cart. 
 
 Finally, he must mount a steep and 
 narrow lane betwixt two inns of imme- 
 morial fame, which are now annually com- 
 pelled to find excuses for existence, such 
 as will satisfy a hostile bench. The way 
 was roughly paven ; the fish came by 
 dozens and half-dozens over the tail of the 
 cart, and the children followed tumultuous, 
 cabing now without fear of the driver's 
 lash. When the ascent was made and the 
 driver was at liberty to descend, they were 
 already on their way to the beach again, 
 looking for some new chance of plunder. 
 There the labour of unloading ceases not, 
 and already they are preparing for fresh 
 ventures, if the fish come again. 
 132
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 One thing has in it, surely, the stuff 
 of a picture worth painting. Down the 
 grey granite quay, against the bluest of 
 skies, march five-and-thirty tall and reso- 
 lute fishermen in yellow oilers and great 
 sea-boots. Each walks some three or four 
 yards behind his leader ; they bear upon 
 their shoulders a great brown seine, which 
 hangs in regular festoons between them. 
 They are taking it from the cellar to their 
 boat. 
 
 Night comes ; the bay is filled with 
 lights ; and presently the drift-boats come 
 back their nets all empty and the crews 
 mingle with the rest. And thus by night 
 and by day life takes its course with infinite 
 picturesqueness in the little town, until, at 
 the end of a week, nineteen hundred hogs- 
 heads of fish have been landed, and the 
 seines are taken up. And indeed it is 
 good to have shared this life, though 
 merely as a spectator. For though the 
 capitalist has possessed himself of the chief 
 profits of this harvest, as of all others, the 
 event is still for the good of all. For every 
 hogshead of fish that has been taken, the 
 bloucers will divide the sum of two shillings 
 and tenpence between them ; and the 
 seiners and tuckers are paid good wages. 
 There is no dweller in the neighbourhood 
 133
 
 Pilchards in the Bay 
 
 who does not somehow share in the harvest 
 of the sea ; and for twenty miles you will 
 hardly find a cottage that has not its store 
 of pilchards, purchased at any price from a 
 shilling a hundred, and now put by in salt 
 for winter use. And, to conclude, these 
 fishermen are of Nature's gentlefolk, and 
 to have moved among them for a space is 
 to have learned a lesson : of courtesy cer- 
 tainly, and perhaps also of patience. 
 
 134
 
 PAYMENT BY RESULTS
 
 PAYMENT BY RESULTS 
 
 I CAN just mind my grandfather, and only 
 just, for the old man died somewhere in 
 the twenties, and I was no more than a 
 small boy then. But I shall never forget 
 the tale of how the tubs were found in his 
 barn, and of how he escaped the fine. I 
 seem to fancy that I heard him tell it when 
 I was a little boy ; I heard my father tell it 
 once a week for thirty years ; and I've told 
 it more than once myself. 
 
 Well, in the year '4 my grandfather was 
 living at Tregundy Farm, which lies a mile 
 this side of Pentreath, to the right of the 
 high-road. 'Twas a small place, but there 
 was plenty of business doing then that 
 you'd hardly find in Farmer s Almanacks, 
 and so grandfather was reckoned pretty 
 well off. To tell the truth, he had pretty 
 much to do with the smuggling ; and, in- 
 deed, 'twould have been hard for any man 
 to keep out of it, considering the number of 
 Pentreath boats that made the voyage over
 
 Payment by Results 
 
 to Rusco' every month, and the profits of the 
 traffic. Grandfather was churchwarden, I 
 believe, and a big man in the place ; but, 
 nevertheless, on a certain Saturday, late in 
 the year '4, he left more than a score of 
 tubs of good liquor hidden under the straw 
 in his barn, when he set forth upon the ten- 
 mile ride into market. 
 
 Well, he rode in as usual and put up 
 his horse at the " Godolphin." Then he 
 took up his stand upon the causeway in 
 front of the " Godolphin " door, along with 
 half a hundred other farmers. He had 
 dinner at the ordinary, along with the rest, 
 and afterwards took his drop of toddy ; 
 then he came forth from the inn again and 
 stood upon the step, looking up and down 
 the street to see what was doing, before 
 going across to old Lawyer Symons's upon 
 some small matter of business. The clever- 
 ness of that old man is not forgotten yet, 
 though he's dead this sixty year. 'Twas 
 well known that no case was too desperate 
 for him to pull a man through. In the end 
 he fell away through drink ; he would sit 
 in the " Godolphin " on market days watch- 
 ing till some farmer came in for whom he 
 had done business in bygone years. " Well, 
 Mr. Thomas," he would say, " let me see : 
 whose turn it is to stand treat to-day ? " Of 
 138

 
 Payment by Results 
 
 course the farmer could take a hint like 
 that. " Glass of the same," the lawyer 
 would say ; and sometimes he'd have half 
 a dozen drops of gin standing in a line 
 upon the mantelpiece. He was never 
 known to refuse a drink or to refrain from 
 asking for one because he hadn't finished 
 the last. Ay, he fell away sadly, but 
 he was a wonderful good lawyer in his 
 time. 
 
 My grandfather stood upon the doorstep 
 looking up the steep street, and meditating 
 as to what he should say to the lawyer. 
 Suddenly there was a noise in the distance. 
 From the " Godolphin " step it was not 
 possible to see much, for the road was 
 lined on both sides with the standings of 
 butchers, sweetsellers and so on. But in 
 another minute my grandfather saw a horse 
 come tearing down the street, and a little 
 bit of a boy, bareheaded, and (as you might 
 say) all blown to pieces, upon the back 
 of it. 
 
 As soon as he saw the horse and the boy 
 my grandfather's heart stood still ; for 'twas 
 his old grey mare, which had been on the 
 farm for fifteen year, and the boy was the 
 son of a neighbour who had had no small 
 share in his smuggling ventures. 
 
 When the boy saw him he drew" rein, and 
 '39
 
 Payment by Results 
 
 tried to speak ; but he couldn't fetch his 
 breath. 
 
 "What is it?" cried my grandfather, 
 stepping forth through the crowd that began 
 to gather. " What's the matter ? Thee's 
 been and killed the old mare ! " 
 
 At last the boy found breath to speak. 
 " You was hardly gone out of sight when 
 the riding-officers came, and made straight 
 for the barn. They must have been told, 
 for they found the kegs just as if a guide 
 was with them. Missus sent me off at once 
 upon the old mare to give 'ee warning, but 
 you may depend the officers is after me, 
 and not far off. You must do what you 
 can, Missus said." 
 
 Grandfather heaved a great groan. "I'm 
 a ruined man ! " he said. " Clean ruined !" 
 
 There was a buzz of talk among the 
 crowd which had orathered round him. 
 
 o 
 
 :< Iss ! " said some one, " 'T would puzzle 
 Lawyer Symons to save 'ee now." 
 
 Grandfather heard that, and he minded 
 where he had been meaning to go before 
 this news reached him ; at least, he thought, 
 he might as well go still. If there was 
 a loophole Lawyer Symons was the man 
 to find it. 
 
 Lawyer was a little small man, with a 
 pink face, keen little blue eyes, and a 
 140
 
 Payment by Results 
 
 regular whirlwind of silver hair. Grand- 
 father broke forth at once. 
 
 "Mr. Symons," he said, " I'm a ruined 
 man ! All the savings of fifty years are 
 gone. I shall end my days upon the 
 parish." 
 
 The lawyer looked at him without a 
 sign of surprise. "It must be bad trouble 
 that can't be mitigated," he said. "What 
 is gone wrong ? " 
 
 " What ? " cried my grandfather. " Why, 
 everything! I'm a ruined man. There 
 was a few tubs of cognac in my barn this 
 morning when I came away. I was no 
 sooner out of sight than the riding-officers 
 came and found the lot of it. I shall be 
 exchequered in three times more than I'm 
 worth, and the end of it will be stark 
 ruin." 
 
 Still old Symons showed no signs of 
 being disturbed. 
 
 " Mr. Jeffrey," he said, " I did your 
 father more than one good service in his 
 time ; I fancy I've already been of use, in 
 one or two matters, to you. But do you 
 know what you have been doing this after- 
 noon ? Do you know the office I have the 
 honour to fill ? " 
 
 My grandfather stared at him in a help- 
 less sort of way. 
 
 141
 
 Payment by Results 
 
 The lawyer rose and bowed across his 
 table. " I have the honour to be one of 
 the Commissioners of His Majesty's Ex- 
 chequer," he said, and waited to see the 
 effect of his words. 
 
 "Good Lord!" said my grandfather. "I'm 
 a ruined man. I've been and given in- 
 formation against myself." 
 
 Then he laughed bitterly. 
 
 " At any rate," he said, " I ought to have 
 the reward." 
 
 Mr. Symbns slapped his thigh. "Exactly!" 
 he said. " You take my meaning exactly. 
 And why should you talk of ruin ? I take 
 it, Mr. Jeffrey, that you are clearly entitled 
 to the reward offered to those who give in- 
 formation as to the whereabouts of smuggled 
 goods. You find that people have been 
 making unlawful use of your premises ; 
 you hold your peace until business brings 
 you here at the week's end; then you come 
 and acquaint me with the affair. Why 
 should you talk of ruin ? " 
 
 All this he said quite seriously, and 
 talking rather more plainly than usual, as 
 if he were teaching a lesson to a child. But 
 my grandfather fell back in a chair and 
 stared at him humbly ; then he burst into a 
 laugh, and the lawyer's face changed. 
 
 " That is all right, then," he said. " Come 
 142
 
 Payment by Results 
 
 into my parlour and we'll talk the matter out 
 over a glass of something hot. 
 
 An hour later the riding-officers came. 
 The chief of them was shown into the 
 room, and stood stiff and dumb with 
 amazement when he saw the company he 
 was in. 
 
 " And what vexes me, Mr. Symons," 
 my grandfather was saying, as he stirred 
 up the sugar in his glass, "is that the 
 villains may have been using my barn for 
 years." 
 
 Then the riding-officer did not even try 
 to tell his tale. My grandfather lost the 
 spirits, and of course the reward never came 
 his way. But to the end of his life he 
 always had the greatest respect for Lawyer 
 Symons.

 
 THE SPELL OF THE SEA
 
 THE SPELL OF THE SEA 
 
 WITH Cornishmen the love of country or 
 of county often goes so far as to lose the 
 name of virtue. There is no place better 
 to live in, or to love in ; doubtless, also, 
 there is snug lying for the dead. But 
 since the fat of the land is his who will go 
 fetch it he is no other than a fool that is 
 content to cling to a white-walled cottage 
 and bare bread in that "rocky land" of 
 people glad and proud to be "strangers" 
 to all but their kith and kin. 
 
 There is none in all that country but is 
 greatly tempted to this form of folly ; but, 
 upon the other hand, the sea lies round 
 about it north and south, and in the 
 region of the sunset continually calling, 
 calling. And the call is one that no man 
 has been able to ignore. So it is that to 
 whatever place you may go throughout the 
 world you will surely chance upon a little 
 band of Cornishmen, the most of whom 
 live very frugally, that presently they may
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 go home to take their ease where alone 
 contentment is possible. Meanwhile, the 
 half of their goods is at the command of 
 any stranger who can talk with the proper 
 affection of Tallywarn Street, in Tallywarn, 
 and truthfully aver that he has heard such 
 and such a local celebrity preach. 
 
 Even when they have made money and 
 gone home there is no end to their restless- 
 ness. A man is never so old but he may be 
 tempted by good wages and the opportunity 
 for change to go for a year or two to Ecua- 
 dor, or Mexico, or India; indeed, if there 
 be one found who has not yet travelled, you 
 may surely prophesy, seeing him stricken 
 in years, that he will shortly be doing so. 
 For these men have something of the sea 
 in their very blood, and sooner or later its 
 call is beyond resisting. 
 
 The miner's toil is of the sort that leaves 
 but little desire for active exercise ; and 
 you would hardly look to him for rapt 
 appreciation of natural beauty. Yet, go 
 when you will to the cliffs beyond the 
 towns, you will find one or two of these 
 men wandering with no definite purpose, 
 alone, and manifestly happy. 
 
 One calls to mind a boy who went 
 long since from those parts to a school 
 in Somerset. Doubtless the country was 
 148
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 exceeding beautiful ; but as the weeks 
 went by a desperate longing took posses- 
 sion of him ; a holiday drew near, and he 
 inquired of all his comrades as to where 
 he would most wisely go in order to look 
 upon the sea. In the end he took train to 
 Minehead and beheld, beyond a stretch 
 of dreadful slime, the muddy waters of 
 the Bristol channel, lazily breaking in 
 spiritless brown waves. It was on that 
 day he first came upon the green hair- 
 streak butterfly, and no doubt the capture 
 greatly rejoiced him. But the holiday re- 
 mained a disastrous disappointment, and 
 he was not ashamed to admit (to himself) 
 that he was become strangely homesick all 
 at once. 
 
 He is grown older now : he has so 
 much of the sea in memory that he can 
 never again be completely beggared of 
 felicity. 
 
 But a while ago he found great comfort, 
 during a long spell of night watching, in 
 the exercise of an unflagging fancy. When 
 the burden of watching grew most tiresome 
 he would close his eyes a moment, and lean 
 back in his chair ; and in that very instant 
 he was carried away from the sick-room. 
 He was lying upon cool sands, and through 
 partly closed lids beheld the clear waves 
 149
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 breaking twenty yards away ; he knew 
 there were rounded pebbles within reach 
 of his hand, yet was too happy to grope 
 for one, and fling it lazily towards the sea. 
 And in a moment he would open his eyes, 
 refreshed, and take up again the task of 
 watching. 
 
 He has also the common love of summer: 
 of splendid sunshine, of blue skies, hazy 
 with the heat that lies like a weightier 
 lucent atmosphere along the southern cliffs. 
 Already the bloom is all faded from the 
 gorse, whereon the fleshy dodder shines 
 against the sun like a tangle of clean 
 copper wire. The chances are that he 
 who goes afield finds himself absolute 
 lord of league after league of honey- 
 scented flowering heather ; the seagulls 
 float and fade silently overhead, the very 
 butterflies are drowsy with the heat ; only 
 the larks have heart to sing, while bees 
 are busy among the heather. In the same 
 laziness one lets the sunlight do its work 
 of restoration, while great waves rise in 
 crystal, break, and die in murmuring foam 
 on hot white beaches. One gathers no 
 strength, it may be, to encounter the 
 troubles that shall come ; but (what is 
 better) one can forget that such things 
 have existed, or imagine them only the
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 sombre background of his own blessed 
 immunity. 
 
 Herein is great cause for gratitude ; yet 
 he is probably most true to his Cornish 
 birth who finds the hot sunlight a thing 
 unfamiliar and disconcerting even as 
 another might be vaguely displeased if 
 the lady he loved should take to dressing 
 her pretty tresses in a manner absolutely 
 different from that she used when first he 
 met with and, beholding, worshipped her. 
 
 There is much misguided talk of " Celtic 
 melancholy," but it is the indisputable fact 
 that the Cornishman loves best the seas 
 that run high when the heather is faded, or 
 has yet to open. There are clear skies and 
 vast windy clouds ; the colour of the sea is 
 infinitely varied, from the deep blue of the 
 distance to the softened green of the near 
 waters, and every moment it changes ; the 
 thunder of the waves fills all the country 
 side, and though a mile inland one still 
 smells the brine upon the wind, and sees 
 great clots of yellowish foam go by. 
 
 The Cornishman can answer to this 
 mood of passionate activity ; none can 
 more heartily "pity the dead," that are 
 beyond all restless stirrings of the spirit. 
 But there is something prevents his enjoy- 
 ing, or putting himself in the posture to
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 enjoy, the gross and drowsy pleasure men 
 take when the heather blooms, and the hot 
 air quivers along the cliffs. 
 
 But, after all, the spell of the sea comes 
 with supreme force only upon such as have 
 loitered long and frequently in some small 
 harbour among the fisher- folk. One may 
 be still a solitary, yet with a splendid sense 
 of being comrade to all the world. One 
 may be idle, but conscience troubles him 
 no whit as he watches the endless activity 
 of men and lads, and hearkens to the 
 mingling of their voices with cries and 
 laughter of half-naked children. 
 
 Under the green piles of an old and 
 broken jetty the water laps most plea- 
 santly : with a sound that inland folk 
 may enjoy at a certain point in the 
 churning of cream to butter; the very 
 gulls, that, as you watched them from the 
 cliffs, seemed the true children of those 
 inhospitable regions, circle and swoop and 
 cry above the harbour with a subtle differ- 
 ence that gives the same absolute appro- 
 priateness to their presence here. 
 
 He is most fortunate who has some such 
 place to which he may resort as the last 
 remedy against distresses of mind or body. 
 Of a Monday forenoon he will watch the 
 great boats poled out until they lie in a 
 152
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 bunch before the harbour. The fishermen 
 presently come down, each carrying the 
 food of many days in a white linen bag ; 
 they gather on the " Ka-ay," and wait 
 until the hired punts convey them to their 
 boats. Each group has its own chief and 
 hero, whose voice is loudest in discourse ; 
 the women have also come down, and there 
 is no end to talk and laughter as the men 
 go forth to their work. Until the last of 
 the boats has tacked and tacked again 
 before the harbour, and finally got clear 
 of the land, there is no lack of occupation 
 for the idler. 
 
 Afterwards, throughout the week, there 
 are always boats returning, and hand-bells 
 ringing upon the beach to announce the 
 public sale of whatever fish they have 
 taken. Even though there be no very 
 obvious activity, it is good to linger in 
 places where character of some sort has 
 been caught, and fixed upon the faces of 
 the people by the wind and salt spray ; 
 one develops a strange weariness of the 
 folk who have lived the sheltered life, and 
 wear dull masks instead of living faces. 
 
 At the week's end, when all the boats 
 come in, one has no small share in the 
 inevitable excitement : in the greeting of 
 wives and sweethearts, the pride of donning
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 holiday clothes and shiny boots, and faring 
 forth to chat and chaff in the busy narrow 
 streets, or to take part in a prayer-meeting 
 at the Primitive Chapel. There are nights 
 when the drift-boats fill the bay with tossing 
 lights ; there are whole weeks in autumn 
 when all the world goes mad over the work 
 of securing, landing, and curing the pilchards 
 which the seiners, after many days of 
 watching, have enclosed in their huge nets. 
 And there is this gain beyond the mere 
 delight of the eye : one loses quickly all 
 sense of artificial distinctions, and comes 
 to judge men with no prejudice save that 
 which favours honesty, and good humour, 
 and that cleanliness of the spirit that comes 
 to men whose work is by the sea. It is 
 realised that common humanity is a bond 
 of union no accidental differences of class, 
 of education, of experience, can destroy ; 
 and for this benignant sense of comrade- 
 ship with all men one is most grateful to 
 the sea that taught it. 
 
 And yet How to forget its horrible 
 secrets ? Storm and wreck are the work 
 of God's appointment, and, though they 
 terrify, they can scarce affect with horror. 
 It is the little things, the unsuspected 
 hideousnesses, that abide and work within 
 the mind.
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 Listen, a moment, to another adventure 
 of the boy already mentioned. Dawn set 
 the thrushes singing one morning in a tiny 
 orchard overlooked by the room wherein 
 he slept ; the boy awoke and listened ; 
 then, as the sense of a world already 
 waking grew on him, he was resolved to 
 waste no more of his time in sleep. He 
 arose and dressed ; very quietly he des- 
 cended the scoured white stairs of the 
 cottage, and in a moment he was faring 
 gaily through the sleeping village. His 
 spirits rose as he went : he felt himself 
 proprietor of the great world, and for 
 simple gladness of heart dashed hither and 
 thither, when he had reached the sandy 
 waste-lands, chasing the ridiculous rabbits. 
 
 At last the hush of the sea was more 
 than a breathing whisper ; he had come 
 to where the sandhills slope down steeply 
 to the beach. 
 
 " Once, in a land beside the Western sea, 
 When morning brake and o'er the level sands 
 Grey mists went seaward with the ebbing tide. . . ." 
 
 Somehow his gaiety went from him as he 
 looked on the cold sands, the grey, abject 
 sea. But he quickly recovered his spirits 
 when he had descended to the beach, 
 and set forth upon an exploration of the
 
 The Spell of the Sea 
 
 tide-mark. He discovered a score of use- 
 less treasures, and began to have ideas upon 
 the wisdom of early rising ; when he looked 
 ahead, and espied a huge and shapeless 
 mass of seaweed. A certain sense of 
 solitariness came over him as he drew 
 near, but he had scarce become conscious 
 of it when he stood above the shapeless 
 pile, investigating it curiously with out- 
 stretched foot. Then, suddenly, the weeds 
 slid and parted, and he beheld a white 
 hand, hideously swollen, and still clutching 
 as it had clutched vainly in the moment of 
 death. 
 
 He knew that this tame sea he had been 
 despising had left a dead man upon the 
 shore as it retreated, and immediately he 
 turned and fled. The rustle of the grey 
 sand-grasses thrilled him with a nameless 
 horror ; he almost shrieked aloud when a 
 rabbit started suddenly from beneath his 
 feet ; the quiet village mocked him with 
 its atmosphere of death : and until the 
 people arose and went cheerfully about 
 the day's toil he was still doomed to behold 
 that swollen, clutching hand. 
 
 And yet .... It was years afterwards 
 he found himself homesick for the sea. 
 
 156
 
 THE BIBLE READER
 
 THE BIBLE READER 
 
 " BUT there ! " said Sam'l, as he reached 
 the end of his story. " There's a bra' many 
 Christians, as they do call themselves, that 
 do read the Bible in no better fashion than 
 old John Sampson G'wan Jess ! " 
 
 He shook up the reins and awaited 
 the question he knew would not be long 
 delayed. 
 
 "Who was old John Sampson?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Another of the many people that I 
 knew before you came into these parts," 
 was the answer. " Wheal Dream had not 
 been stopped in those days, and John 
 Sampson came from over to Tallywarn to 
 work there, and took lodgings with mother, 
 for she was a widow and hard pushed to 
 find food and home for a family of young 
 children." 
 
 "And he did not read his Bible very 
 wisely ? " I persisted. 
 
 Sam'l chuckled. "He didn' read it all
 
 The Bible Reader 
 
 first going away," he answered. " Mother 
 was a woman of some conscience : she used 
 to wonder whether it wadn' laid upon her 
 to turn him to doors and starve, rather 
 than have such a man under a Christian 
 roof. I believe he was sober enough and 
 no great swearer. Indeed, so far as I can 
 remember him, he was one that hardly 
 ever talked about anything. But he never 
 went to chapel, nor even to church, all the 
 time he was lodging wi' mother. He used 
 to spend Sundays out upon the moors in 
 good weather, and when it rained he would 
 sit smoking in a little shed where the 
 donkey-cart was kept. If he was by when 
 mother prayed before sending us off to bed 
 he would go outside and sit on the garden 
 wall with his pipe in his mouth. I've 
 known her pull down the window and pray 
 almost in a shout, on the chance that some 
 word in season might strike him like a 
 javelin and bring him to a proper state of 
 mind. 
 
 "He stopped in Pentreath for some 
 years, and 'twas always the same with him. 
 Then one day he came into the kitchen 
 with a very strange look upon his face. 
 ' Beggin' your pardon, Mis' Gurney,' he 
 said, ' but could 'ee give me the loan of a 
 Bible ? ' 
 
 160
 
 The Bible Reader 
 
 " I can see mother's face now, for I 
 was growing a big boy by this time. 
 ' A Bible ? ' she said. ' Thee's want a 
 Bible ? ' 
 
 " ' Iss,' he said, ' if there's one handy.' 
 
 " ' Praise be for that ! ' she said. ' I'll 
 give 'ee a Bible.' 
 
 " Well, she gave him a Bible, and after 
 that she watched him pretty closely. And, 
 'Ah,' she said one day, ' the influence of a 
 Christian family is a thing that must tell.' 
 For old John Sampson stuck to that Bible 
 like a limpet to a rock, and was all the 
 time reading it. Mother noticed that he 
 began at the beginning and read straight 
 through, genealogies and all ; and that 
 pleased her, for she was always thorough 
 herself. 
 
 " This went on for some little time. 
 There was a bra' deal of talk about it in 
 Pentreath, and to begin with very few 
 would believe the story mother told. How- 
 ever old Mis' Skewes dropped in one even- 
 ing all by chance, as she made out and 
 sure enough John Sampson was sitting in 
 the doorway, reading away for dear life. 
 So she went forth and told the news all 
 over Pentreath, and there was no end to 
 talk and wonder. 
 
 " Mother was pleased enough to have 
 161 L
 
 The Bible Reader 
 
 matters as they were for a time. However, 
 after a bit, she thought 'twas a pity the old 
 man shouldn' go further, having begun so 
 well. So one Sunday morning, when he 
 took up the Bible and was going out to sit 
 on the little seat that stood against the 
 front of the house, she spoke. 
 
 "'Wouldn' 'ee like to come to chapel, 
 John ?' she said. 
 
 "He looked back with a curious bit of a 
 smile on his face. 'No,' he said, 'I'd 
 rather stop here and read the Bible.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said mother, ' I suppose you do 
 know what's best for 'ee.' 
 
 "Very soon John Sampson went into 
 town one Saturday by Jimmy Hayle's van, 
 and brought back a fat red book, that 
 turned out to be a dictionary. After that 
 he always had the two books by him at the 
 same time. He would stop in the midst of 
 his Bible-reading and turn over the leaves 
 of his dictionary like a man hunting for 
 something. But he never seemed to find 
 it whatever it might be. And presently 
 he finished the last chapter of Revelation, 
 and shut up the book with the air of a man 
 come to the end of a long job and not too 
 well pleased with what he'd done. He laid 
 it down upon the table. 
 
 " ' I suppose you haven' got another
 
 The Bible Reader 
 
 Bible in the house ? ' he said. ' I should 
 like to get the loan of it if you have.' 
 
 "'Why man,' said mother, 'isn't your 
 own Bible, that I gave 'ee, good enough for 
 'ee ? What difference is there between one 
 Bible and another? ' 
 
 " ' If you've got another,' he said, ' I 
 should like to get the loan of it.' 
 
 " Well, mother was only too glad to 
 have the old man read the Bible at all. 
 She humoured him and fetched out the 
 great, big Family Bible. And he began 
 again at Genesis and went right on to 
 Revelation. He still kept the dictionary 
 by him as he read, and would still turn 
 away from his reading about once in ten 
 minutes to hunt in that dictionary for some- 
 thing he never seemed to find. More than 
 once mother hinted about his going to 
 chapel, but his answer was always the same. 
 ' No,' he would say, ' I'd rather stop at 
 home and read the Bible.' 
 
 " When he came to the end of the Family 
 Bible a strange story began to be told 
 about him. For he went forth and bor- 
 rowed another Bible and commenced again 
 at Genesis. At the end of a year he had 
 come to Revelation again, and then he 
 went and borrowed another Bible. 'Twould 
 be a bold thing to say a man was touched 
 163
 
 The Bible Reader 
 
 in the head and gone totelish because he 
 was all the time reading the Scriptures. 
 But what puzzled every one was that John 
 Sampson should never be willing to read 
 the same copy of the Book more than 
 once. 
 
 "At last, after much talk upon the sub- 
 ject, every one was convinced that he really 
 was a little bit dotty ; for a man came into 
 Pentreath selling cheap Bibles, and John 
 bought three copies, varying in size like 
 three children o' one family. He put 
 two in his drawer, and went through the 
 other in the usual way, turning aside 
 continually to hunt in the dictionary 
 for something that he never seemed to 
 find. 
 
 '' I was a young man by this time, and 
 working in the same pare with him at 
 Wheal Dream. 'Twas common practice 
 for some of the younger men to laugh at 
 him about his Bible-reading, but they 
 couldn' do so very openly, for the elder 
 men wouldn' hear of it. 
 
 " ' Perhaps he is mazed,' said one of 
 them. ' But 'twould be a good thing for 
 Pentreath if the whole of you was touched 
 with the same madness.' 
 
 " Now, can 'ee guess what he read the 
 Bible for ? No need to answer, for you 
 164
 
 The Bible Reader 
 
 wouldn' be right if you guessed till Dooms- 
 day. Nor did any one in Pentreath ever 
 dream of what had worked the change 
 until John Sampson died suddenly, when 
 he was about half-way through the third of 
 his Bibles. Of course they searched his 
 drawers and so on. And at last they found 
 an old pocket-book. In it was a piece cut 
 out of the ' All Sorts ' column of the 
 Argils : 
 
 " ' Any one who discovers a printer's mistake in a 
 copy of the Bible is entitled to receive a reward of one 
 guinea.' 
 
 " Mother was very much surprised to 
 find how much the old man's savings 
 amounted to : 'twas plain he must have 
 been a miser. And, knowing that, she 
 couldn' misunderstand the meaning of that 
 bit of newspaper. John had read the 
 Scriptures daily for years past in the hope 
 of finding a mistake in the spelling of it, 
 and earning a guinea. Whether he would 
 have got it, I can't say ; for he certainly 
 never found a mistake. And yet I could 
 never get mother to own up that all 
 that reading of the Scriptures wouldn' 
 stand to his credit for so much as a 
 halfpenny, being undertaken in a wrong 
 spirit." 
 
 Sam'l ceased, and flourished an in- 
 165
 
 The Bible Reader 
 
 effectual-looking whip. " Now, make haste 
 Jess," he said ; " 'tis late, and I got to go 
 to prayer-meeting to-night." 
 
 But Jess jogged onward at the old sober 
 pace, that nothing could alter, and Pen- 
 treath was still miles away. 
 
 166
 
 MARGUERITE IN LONDON
 
 MARGUERITE IN LONDON 
 
 FOR a long time after he entered into pos- 
 session the man looked upon his chambers 
 merely as a place to sleep and to do work 
 in : his life and leisure were spent outside. 
 He had been living in suburban lodgings, 
 with a wall-paper to which no sensitive 
 person could have dreamed of introducing 
 an object of beauty. Moreover, he was 
 as poor as one needs to be. 
 
 Yet he had in him the desire of possess- 
 ing, and the love of beautiful things, and 
 so there came a time when he was owner 
 of many treasures. He had learned that 
 "bread is the food of the body, but nar- 
 cissus is the food of the soul " : that a good 
 dinner is no more than a bad one when it 
 has been eaten a few hours, while even a 
 moderately good Delft pot, or a colour- 
 print after so small a master as Yeizan, 
 is in its degree a joy for ever. 
 169
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 Then Marguerite came into his life. The 
 man soon thought of eternity as a thing in- 
 finitely less than time, for he had known 
 Marguerite for ever (as it now seemed), 
 yet he could remember the date of his 
 entering the chambers. For a little space 
 (if I am rightly informed) they spent their 
 precious hours in restaurants and theatres. 
 They always parted with a sense of having 
 wasted time : for what author ever wrote 
 anything of such importance as the trifles 
 they had not found time to discuss? They 
 met only once in a month, or in three, 
 and so they had much to say, for each had 
 the faculty of observation, and each the gift 
 of enjoying little things keenly. 
 
 Once they had been apart for longer than 
 usual, and it seemed they must have great 
 matters to communicate. Yet the thing he 
 chiefly desired to tell her was that he had 
 been to a studio in Fitzroy Square one 
 dismal October day, and come depressed 
 out of that squalid region into Tottenham 
 Court Road where cheapness is the only 
 quality boasted of, and no one ever dreams 
 of saying that his wares are good. Then 
 he had seen a girl with beautiful fair hair, 
 and a blouse of poppy-red silk ; and, behold, 
 his depression had vanished, and he had 
 gone happy to his work, and enshrined the 
 170
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 blouse in verse before the day was out. In 
 the interval that had elapsed since their last 
 meeting he had had his small successes, but 
 this was the episode he most desired to 
 resurrect, and her pride meant less to him 
 than her enjoyment of that vanished glint 
 of scarlet. 
 
 So things moved naturally. Then he 
 looked at her one day while they waited for 
 their coffee. Her dress was like a daffodil, 
 all gold and white, and he paused in the 
 act of speech to admire it once again. " I 
 couldn't make up my mind about a theatre. 
 Have you any choice ? " 
 
 " None at all," she said. 
 
 He looked at his watch, and then glanced 
 around the little crowded restaurant. " We 
 must decide quickly if we are to go. Why 
 do the theatres begin so early ? The best 
 of our dinner would be to come if we had 
 not to hurry." 
 
 An interval ensued, while the friendliest 
 waiter in London filled their cups. "Is 
 there anything you want to see ? " asked 
 the man. 
 
 " Nothing," she answ r ered. 
 
 " Then we'll play at being in Paris. 
 There is one place where you may do 
 that." 
 
 All night a band played, and they supped 
 171
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 coffees and menthe et feau, and such-like 
 things, talking vigorously. But at the end 
 the man was again conscious of a night 
 whose opportunities had somehow been 
 neglected. And so when another blessed 
 evening brought them together, there was 
 a repetition of the scene. 
 
 " Do you know that you have never 
 seen the chambers ? " said he. 
 
 "I thought you had forgotten," said she. 
 
 " You will come ? " 
 
 " Do you suppose I have not wanted to 
 come ? Do you realise how you have 
 boasted ? " 
 
 It need only be told of that particular 
 night that they discovered another point of 
 agreement, in that both loved the soft light 
 of candles beyond all other modes of illu- 
 mination. The point is a small one, but 
 it was a part of their experience that a 
 coincidence of taste in trifles weighs more 
 heavily in the balance than the biggest of 
 differences. Afterwards the man lost count 
 of the number of her visits, and could only 
 remember of such and such an event that 
 it happened " once, when you came." But 
 Marguerite had each separate visit by 
 heart, and sometimes dismayed him by her 
 minute remembrance of the individual days 
 in an eternity. 
 
 172
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 Their conversation was always of this 
 kind. They forgot personalities when they 
 had reached their harbour of refuge, and 
 talked only of trifles that, having pleased 
 one or the other, interested both. 
 
 The man was poor, or his London 
 chambers might soon have been changed 
 for a suburban villa. But he had the 
 collector's passion, and he could not pre- 
 tend that he did not love the things he had 
 gathered around him. He had a way of 
 slipping his mistaken purchase out of sight, 
 and you will understand how it was that he 
 had an accident with a blue and white bowl, 
 incautiously bought by gas-light, soon after 
 he had seen it by the disenchanting rays of 
 the sun, and observed the inkiness of colour. 
 But the bulk of his possessions were to him 
 like a well-beloved family ; and there was 
 always a Benjamin the latest acquisition. 
 
 Marguerite professed to be mighty 
 scornful of them all, and she was also severe 
 upon his extravagance. There were times 
 when she professed to believe him an un- 
 canny creature, capable of affection only 
 for the things that are bought at a price 
 in out-of-the-way second-hand shops. In- 
 deed, she was never told how he grew to 
 regard his chambers as a place where 
 things that would please her had to be
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 collected ; or how he came to feel that 
 something unseen before must await her 
 at each visit. He knew that she loved all 
 that was beautiful, and her protestations of 
 indifference left him unmoved. 
 
 Once, indeed and perhaps on many 
 occasions he laid a little trap for her. She 
 had declared full often that the art of Japan 
 was hateful to her, knowing that it fascin- 
 ated him. He was serenely confident in 
 her good taste, and so on this occasion the 
 only new acquisition was a colour-print 
 after Harunobu, a lovely harmony in delicate 
 greens. It was framed, but he did not 
 hang it, and his walls were so fully occupied 
 that the question of finding it a place was 
 one of obvious difficulty. It leant against 
 his bookcase, the face of it hidden, when 
 they got to the rooms. 
 
 She took her wonted seat. Never did 
 she appear to scrutinise the contents of his 
 room, yet presently, with a distinct note of 
 disappointment, she said, " Why, there is 
 nothing new ! " 
 
 " Hard up ! " he answered. " But there's 
 a print." 
 
 "Where is it" she asked. 
 
 " I didn't know you cared for that sort of 
 thing ; here it is." 
 
 She held the frame at arm's length for 
 174
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 awhile, regarding the picture. " You can't 
 see it by this light," he said presently. 
 "Those lovely greens want daylight." 
 
 Marguerite was positively enthusiastic. 
 " It is the best you've got," she said. 
 
 " Yes," he said ; "it cost about as much 
 as all the others put together. The bother 
 is that I cannot think of a place for it. 
 It will kill all the others." 
 
 " Where did you propose to put it ? " 
 
 He showed her, revealing at the same 
 time his consciousness of the unsuitability 
 of the place. "No," she said, "That 
 
 > A 1 " 
 
 won t do. 
 
 Is it necessary to continue ? The man's 
 housekeeper had one saving merit : she 
 did not attempt to combat the dust that 
 continually invaded his rooms. In a minute 
 or two Marguerite had begun to be openly 
 interested. With a few deft touches she 
 made some magic change in her apparel, 
 so that dust need not be feared. Then 
 the two were deep in the grave busi- 
 ness of finding a place for the Harun- 
 obu. All sorts of changes were made, 
 until the atmosphere was thick with dust. 
 But at last they believed that they were 
 satisfied, and then it was time to descend 
 and take a cab. 
 
 But Marguerite was henceforth unable
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 to pretend that the man's possessions 
 were not dear to her. For on the next 
 occasion of her coming to town she 
 betrayed herself when they had been scarce 
 ten minutes together." "Have you moved 
 the Harunobu ? " she asked. "I've come to 
 the conclusion that we didn't choose the 
 right place, after all." 
 
 "I am sure of it," he said. "We will 
 have another sitting to-night." 
 
 176
 
 II 
 
 THE day should have been Pleasure's own, 
 for Marguerite was in London, and the im- 
 patient Spring had come early that it might 
 meet her there. Along the Strand there 
 were flowers everywhere : huge baskets of 
 sweet violets at street corners, and daffodils 
 going to the suburbs on the top of every 
 'bus. The sky had a brilliance that was 
 almost disconcerting ; the air was a caress. 
 It seemed that all women had donned 
 their brightest in the day's honour, and all 
 seemed fair. 
 
 Moreover, as it happened, the man had 
 no need to work that day, when to do any- 
 thing but enjoy the act of living would 
 have appeared a profanation. But he came 
 out into the air with feelings not wholly in 
 tune with Nature. It was good to think 
 that he would drive with Marguerite 
 through many a mile of the loveliest streets 
 there are. But it would be a pleasure end- 
 ing in pain : he was to drive with her to 
 177 M
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 the station, whence she would take train to 
 the country. He might not follow her ; he 
 had but newly made a discovery to wit, 
 that human eyes can be beautiful and he 
 was afraid lest, left alone, he might relapse 
 into his old state, and forget this wonderful 
 new knowledge. 
 
 Marguerite met him with a face that 
 reflected his mood which the sight of her 
 intensified. They talked awhile, for the 
 drive they had in prospect was well enough, 
 but neither of them was eager to start. 
 They spoke of the dinner of the night 
 before, of the beauty of the day, of a buckle 
 of old silver he had picked up in the course 
 of his wanderings, and now brought as his 
 parting gift. Then they were told that 
 they would need to be going. There were 
 farewells to be said before they were to- 
 gether in the hansom. 
 
 The streets were wonderful, and it 
 seemed to them that the shops held no 
 other merchandise than flowers, unless it 
 were blue china and wonderful oak chests, 
 and candlesticks of exquisite design in 
 brass and Sheffield plate. All the beautiful 
 children in London were abroad that 
 morning, and. Marguerite had a smile for all, 
 had they but noted it as she passed. The 
 two should have been depressed, for every 
 178
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 moment brought them nearer to the part- 
 ing" that was so hateful. But the blessed 
 morning triumphed, and they could only 
 remember that they were together, and 
 that to be alive was good. 
 
 Presently Marguerite looked at him 
 under the wide brim of her amazing hat. 
 " I don't believe that you are half so sorry 
 as you ought to be." 
 
 He laughed. "I'll have time enough 
 for sorrow presently. What a day it is ! " 
 
 A moment later he spoke in a changed 
 voice. " A minute more and we are at the 
 station. Why do you choose a train so 
 early ? " 
 
 ''You forget our country slowness," she 
 said. " This is the only good one. If I 
 chose another I should be four hours in 
 the train." 
 
 "But there are others?" he continued. 
 "Then we will cheat the Fates, and have 
 the happiness they would have denied us. 
 Give me two more hours, and you shall 
 laugh at an eternity of travel. Make me 
 happy, and I will promise you shall be the 
 same. Think of it : in all the years before 
 us there may never be a morning like this. 
 You will wait ? " 
 
 Again that look of hers ! His late dis- 
 covery came home to him again like a 
 179
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 new thing. " I shall be expected ! " she 
 said. 
 
 " Dear lady, generations of electricians 
 have slaved that you and I may have these 
 two hours that were not meant for us. You 
 will wait ? " 
 
 "It is as you like," she answered, glad 
 to be compelled. So they reached the 
 station, and descended quickly, eager to get 
 the goodness out of every moment in their 
 two hours. 
 
 " How is it," asked Marguerite, inno- 
 cently, " that cabmen and railway porters 
 always thank you so effusively ? They are 
 gruff enough with some people of my 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " And with me when I haven't you! But 
 I could scatter gold to-day. Have I told 
 you of my rule ? After these partings I 
 travel back on a 'bus. It would seem wrong, 
 somehow, if I were to go comfortably." 
 
 " What shall we do ? " asked Marguerite, 
 with a little movement of pleasure. 
 
 "Why," he said, "there is the shop 
 where I bought the blue plates to be seen, 
 and another where they have the most 
 splendid things from time to time. You 
 will not mind that the street is ugly, and 
 the shop a lumber-room." 
 
 The change in the weather had influenced 
 180
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 even this dull, small street. The shops 
 where the man was wont to come in quest 
 of treasure had half their stock displayed 
 upon the pavement. At the door of one a 
 haggard woman was standing, and she 
 watched the wanderers with interest when 
 they fell into a dispute as to whether a 
 certain lantern of brass was a treasure de- 
 manding to be acquired. Marguerite was 
 good to look at. The woman, recognising 
 the man, indulged in reflections, and smiled 
 as she caught his companion's eye. Mar- 
 guerite blushed like a rose. 
 
 "Is there no other place to see ? " she 
 asked ; but she had smiled back at the 
 woman before she turned away, blushing 
 again as she realised how she had been 
 betrayed. 
 
 It was soon after that they returned to 
 wider thoroughfares, and sought a place to 
 lunch at. A great hotel hard by the station 
 was the only place that was possible, but it 
 seemed a palace of delight. They sat at a 
 little table, and a flood of light came through 
 tall windows. What they ate I do not 
 remember, but the waiter was a miracle 
 of sympathy, and the wine they drank was 
 but an inexpensive excuse for remember- 
 ing certain verses : 
 
 181
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 " Fill a glass with golden wine, 
 And the while your lips are wet, 
 Set their perfume unto mine, 
 And forget 
 
 Every kiss we take and give 
 Leaves us less of life to live." 
 
 The man did more than remember : he 
 dared to quote. And Marguerite laughed 
 at him across the flowers, with a little 
 look around the room where others were 
 lunching and the smallest possible shrug 
 of regret. When it came to the coffee she 
 burned his cognac, disregarding his pro- 
 tests at the waste of good spirit in a light 
 that made the pretty flame invisible, leav- 
 ing only the fizzling sugar to be watched. 
 
 At last, "Is it time to go ? " she asked. 
 
 He paid his bill, and soon they were at 
 the station. The guard marked them as 
 his legitimate prey at once, and soon he 
 had her locked up in an empty carriage, 
 the prettiest of captives. 
 
 " Do you begin to be sorry ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " I'll be sorry to-morrow," he said. " I 
 
 have had my happiness to-day If 
 
 only I could always have you locked up 
 my captive as you are now ! " 
 
 " Do you think I am so free, then ? " 
 asked she. 
 
 182
 
 Marguerite in London 
 
 The train began to move. He touched 
 her hand, and they said good-bye. Then 
 she was gone, and he turned away to go 
 back into an empty London. But the rule 
 of which he had spoken had, like others, its 
 exceptions. He hailed the nearest hansom 
 and drove to his chambers swiftly and in 
 comfort, blessing the day which had given 
 him these two hours, and forgetting that 
 Marguerite had before her four of irksome 
 travel. 
 
 Later he wrote some verses : 
 
 " I will not move my hand to where 
 I dream you sit with silken hair 
 
 That waits for my caress : mine eyes 
 Are hungry for the sight of you ; 
 Yet are they closed, for still 'tis true 
 
 Only the man who dreams is wise. 
 
 " Of wisdom I have scanty store, 
 Nor dare take oath to err no more, 
 
 But, O, my heart, I still shall hold 
 To this my dream that comforts me : 
 Where'er you wander, you will be 
 
 Here where you came to me of old." 
 
 When they were done he began to realise 
 that she had gone. 
 
 183
 
 THE SMELL OF THE GOOD 
 EARTH
 
 THE SMELL OF THE GOOD 
 EARTH 
 
 FROM the earth we came, and thither shall 
 we return ; but this certainty of death is 
 the assurance of immortality. For the good 
 earth renovates, and a man must needs 
 "rise glorious " who has lain quiet a long 
 time while the smell of it worked its will 
 upon him. The story of Antaeus is the 
 truest ever man made : for from the earth 
 alone, and from the great sea that is a part 
 of it, does a man get strength. 
 
 There come to all of us seasons when 
 existence (which should be compounded of 
 innumerable small pleasures, resulting from 
 the discharge of life's necessary duties) 
 becomes altogether intolerable. Something 
 is wrong with eye and brain : music is but 
 a jarring noise, and there is no delight in 
 any array of colour. The pen lies idle, or 
 to use it is a wretched subjugation of 
 instinct ; you cannot think ; that you should 
 be conscious is a dreadful imposition ; for 
 187
 
 The Smell of the Good Earth 
 
 the miserable days are endless, and the 
 nights bring neither sleep nor rest. 
 
 " When the sea calls, that lieth leagues away, 
 
 Athwart the flaring city and the din, 
 This little room is Hell till dawn of day, 
 And I a sinner damned for sordid sin. 
 
 " Better the long day and the dripping rain, 
 
 The hateful cries of hawkers in the street, 
 Small, hateful tasks to do and do again : 
 
 These let me dream my dream that rest is sweet." 
 
 Now, when it is come to this pitch, a man 
 must seek his own cure, and I fancy there 
 is but one medicine possible to each : one 
 way in which he can get back to the good 
 earth which restores him. There are some 
 whose choice it is to go forth into the fields, 
 stopping much to talk with simple folk 
 whose daily work lies there ; at last a breath 
 of Spring comes (though it be dry summer) 
 into the air, and the goodness steals back 
 into their life. Such men are for ever 
 looking before and after : they will not let 
 themselves believe that the past Spring is 
 altogether gone by until they have received 
 a sure token of the Spring that is to 
 come. 
 
 Another would find his health given back 
 most speedily if he should be permitted 
 to listen awhile to "streaming London's 
 188
 
 The Smell of the Good Earth 
 
 central roar " to watch the great crowds 
 that are not so much collections of indivi- 
 duals as masses of life in the concrete. 
 
 Another would go, if it were permitted 
 him, to a small fishing-town at the foot of 
 the Western hills. He would talk with the 
 fisher-folk, and watch the numerous activi- 
 ties it is his chief desire to understand. At 
 sunset he would still be idling on the 
 deserted quay, watching the thicket of the 
 masts standing out above the glory that 
 crowned the hills, with yellow lights from 
 the hillside caught among the spars. Later, 
 it may be, you would find him in some 
 small tavern where the fishermen congre- 
 gate. But soon the little town would be 
 quiet, and the man walking by the road 
 which runs betwixt dark pinewoods, the 
 sea so far below (though visible with its 
 tossing lights) that its murmur seemed no 
 more than the breathing of a world asleep. 
 For to each man there is but one method 
 of returning to the earth whence he draws 
 strength. 
 
 Sometimes it would be best of all to lie 
 (dead, indeed, but dimly conscious of the 
 quiet) upon a bed of white sand, deep in 
 some clear sea. For the voice of the sea, 
 that knows no rest, speaks eloquently to 
 the hearts of men, making it hardly possible 
 189
 
 The Smell of the Good Earth 
 
 they should remember their own small 
 troubles that will end so quickly. 
 
 " All the refuse of the city 
 Ever drifting to the sea ; 
 Foulness of the river merging 
 In the sea's cold purity. 
 
 " Is life's current fouled, encumbered 
 With God's failures ? There doth lie 
 A vast sea beyond the river, 
 And the saddest soul must die." 
 
 But chiefly you desire, if ever the world is 
 too much with you, to get back to a little 
 wood, where you wandered in search of 
 some indefinite and unattainable good while 
 you were yet a child. The noise of the 
 wind among the leaves is with you, and 
 there were always doves crooning some- 
 where in the inner recesses of the place. 
 
 But best of all is the earth below. You 
 might dig deep and still find nothing but 
 the fallen leaves of many springtimes, and 
 the good black earth into which they pass 
 at last. If one could lie here, buried a few 
 feet underground, and still dimly conscious, 
 as perhaps the trees and stones are con- 
 scious ! The black earth would lie lightly, 
 and its scent in your nostrils would be like 
 knowing the hand of the good God upon 
 you. 
 
 190
 
 The Smell of the Good Earth 
 
 Body and spirit would be young again, 
 and the son of Mother Earth draw nourish- 
 ment, like a human child, from her gener- 
 ous breast. If it it were written he should 
 presently awake, he would in truth rise 
 glorious ; and if the sleep were lasting, who 
 but must envy him still ? 
 
 For who is more happy than the child 
 that sleeps ? 
 
 191
 
 NEW YEAR'S EVE
 
 NEW YEAR'S EVE 
 
 I HARDLY know for how long I had sat 
 gazing into the fire when I first became 
 aware of the stranger : a very pleasant 
 gentleman who stood patiently waiting 
 until I should discover him. " I break 
 upon your meditations ? " he said. " I trust 
 I have not erred in my choice of time and 
 place ? " 
 
 " Upon my soul, sir," I answered, " I did 
 meditate upon nothing. You have in no- 
 wise erred. Sit you down, and welcome : 
 for I discern in you a gentleman made 
 for companionship, and perceive that I 
 have been over long a solitary. Come, be 
 seated, I entreat you." 
 
 He laughed pleasantly, and settled, like 
 an old friend who demands but the smallest 
 show of welcome, in the great chair beside 
 my own. "And so you keep your watch- 
 night alone ? " he said. 
 
 "Why, sir," I answered, " I would hesi- 
 tate to judge the race upon the evidence
 
 New Year's Eve 
 
 of my personal choice ; yet surely there is 
 no man would desire to keep his watch- 
 night otherwise ? But, to be candid, I had 
 no thought of the occasion ; I merely 
 drowsed by the fireside, reflecting- that the 
 world was somewhat unamusing." 
 
 " You slept, in fine, as a plenty of good 
 people are sleeping still in the pews of your 
 chapels. Yet every moment while you 
 slept the end of the year drew nigh, and 
 the year's record approached its end. Had 
 you no desire to snatch a victory at the last 
 moment: to discover some small nobility, 
 were it only of thought, wherewith to gild 
 the meanness of that chronicle ? For you 
 have failed, I take it, with the common ruck 
 of men : in effort as in achievement ?" 
 
 " I have told you," I said, " I have told 
 you I had no thought of the season ; and I 
 perceived no unwonted alacrity in the flight 
 of time. Least of all had I the desire to 
 tamper with the record of my failures. 
 Why, sir, it is my constant effort to forget 
 that such a chronicle exists within this 
 brain of mine. I have seen each page 
 while it was in the writing ; I know that 
 the prophecy of my future lies therein ; 
 but I can still refrain from turning back 
 to disquiet myself with old unalterable 
 writings." 
 
 196
 
 New Year's Eve 
 
 "Ay," said my friend and visitor; 
 "what is written remains, indelible. A 
 man may brood upon his record, but his 
 past is for ever what it was. You are wise 
 in your refusal to look back. But what of 
 resolves for the future : surely you are 
 permitted a certain control over destiny ? 
 You may resolve to have, and will have 
 if you resolve, a record for the future 
 that shall not be altogether ignoble : to 
 make the new leaf in your book of life 
 one that some day may tempt you to 
 turn back and read. It is the eve of 
 the New Year : have you no New Year's 
 resolve ? " 
 
 " Resolve ? " I cried. " I protest I am 
 weary of resolves ; I am most weary of 
 this talk of New Year's pledges. You 
 may dissever the hand's act from the 
 brain's, but never year from year in a 
 man's life, nor day from day. If I were 
 made sole master of this present I might 
 achieve some small thing that would please 
 you : at the very least, I promise you, my 
 thoughts should have the nobility you 
 advise. But past and future invade my 
 territory of the present, and I am tenant 
 only by their good-will." 
 
 The stranger moved uneasily in his seat, 
 then was still again and smoothed the beard 
 197
 
 New Year's Eve 
 
 upon his chin. " You hold yourself the 
 bound slave of destiny ? " he said. 
 
 "Why, sir," I said, "I have the power 
 to withdraw from your pleasing company, 
 quitting this tabernacle of the flesh that I 
 ennoble. But it is denied me to know 
 whether I shall then be mere clay, or shall 
 look curiously out of another sphere (as I 
 have looked on ant-hills by the roadway) 
 upon the life I have abandoned. And 
 though my personal identity be the veriest 
 figment, I cling to it and will not explore 
 the dark until I must. Beyond this privi- 
 lege of risking everything of rushing on 
 a disastrous enlightenment I am surely 
 master of nothing at all ? For all our talk 
 of past and present, there is no past in the 
 history of our race. God knows myself am 
 by no means undesirous of well-doing : it 
 were the natural choice of a man to cut a 
 handsome figure before the world. But 
 my present is but the child of the dead 
 ages, the scapegoat of the generations gone 
 by. I am come to years of wisdom : for 
 comfort's sake I would fain walk discreetly. 
 But I have no sooner willed it than I am 
 mastered by some dead ancestor : a man 
 or woman long since forgotten in the 
 grave ; oftener by the fool, my old self of 
 years past. A century since a man fell 
 198
 
 New Year's Eve 
 
 into evil ways and went drunken to his 
 death ; his children suffered, and many 
 that never heard his name ; and now 
 myself must needs tremble like a Methody 
 at the smell of wine, and shun all natural 
 pleasure. There was a foolish nurse that 
 told her idiot stories to a child scarce out 
 of the cradle ; I am the weaker for his 
 dreadful nights. Most of all it is that old 
 self baulks my efforts to do well. I am a 
 person of no extraordinary ambitions : at 
 most I hunger after no greater righteous- 
 ness than the general voice would impose 
 upon me. I would speak the truth, but 
 must needs lie lest the dead fool go dis- 
 honoured in his grave for his untruthful- 
 ness ; I would fain bear with my adversary, 
 but his unchastened passions are beyond 
 my control. I am the latest flower of all 
 the ages ; but remember, I pray you, who 
 had the planting of this tree by poisonous 
 waters, and what infinite evil chances have 
 marred the growth of that from which I 
 am sprung. I protest I am guiltless of 
 immodesty ; yet do I tell you I am as good 
 as I could be." 
 
 I had talked vehemently, growing angry 
 
 with the gods that made me, plaguing me 
 
 with this delusion that I, a simple part in 
 
 the life of the world, was a man permitted 
 
 199
 
 New Year's Eve 
 
 to regard himself apart from his environ- 
 ment, a living soul responsible to God. I 
 had not observed the bearing of my visitor ; 
 but now I beheld him eagerly bending 
 towards me, as if he were fain to speak. 
 
 "Tell me," I said. "You would remark 
 that the fool I have been scorning is scarce 
 yet wholly dead in me ? " 
 
 "The past, indeed, invades your present," 
 he said. " I have heard little of the in- 
 truding future. Yet for the future's sake 
 I dare still exhort you to fresh resolves of 
 well-doing. Flower is seed, remember ; 
 you who are mastered by the past create 
 the past of others, and shall have that 
 mastery dead which has been denied you 
 living. It would comfort you to be assured 
 of a real individuality ? Let it suffice for 
 your assurance that you will fix the destiny 
 of unnumbered men and women. Why, 
 sir, it may well be that for this night that 
 you have spent in idle clamour against the 
 gods a man unborn will pay the penalty in 
 a will incapable of resolve, a spirit unable 
 to stand firm in good or evil. But though 
 the nearest past be beyond redemption you 
 have still the shaping of the present. Even 
 now the clock is upon the hour of midnight, 
 and a year is gone ; for the future's sake I 
 pray you condescend to vulgar repentance 
 200
 
 New Year's Eve 
 
 and be to no man hereafter a part of his 
 creator's malice." 
 
 He ceased, and immediately I was aware 
 of footsteps in the streets. The good people 
 were returning from their chapel, and I 
 stood and watched them as they passed 
 in the moonlight : eager for their beds, yet 
 finding time for kindly New Year greet- 
 ings. 
 
 Last of all came two that were younger. 
 They passed close beneath my window, so 
 that this speech came to me clearly on the 
 frosty air: "Of course it is the longest 
 way. Why, I shall always take the longest 
 way to a parting from you ! " I watched 
 them vanish into the deep blue shadow. 
 
 " For the sake of the future ! " I said, as 
 I turned to resume the conversation. 
 
 I was vastly surprised. He had come 
 so quietly, he was now as swiftly gone ! 
 I guessed at once that what I have told 
 you could have been no more than a 
 dream. 
 
 Printed by BAI.I.ANTVNE, HANSON &-" Co. 
 London <& Edinburgh
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 Women's Tragedies 
 
 35. 6d. net. 
 
 " Written in a clear unaffected style, and with the restraint 
 in handling delicate subjects that marks the true artist." 
 
 Athenaum. 
 
 " Of that best and finest kind of imaginative realism, which 
 presents not only the object, but its surrounding atmosphere, 
 there have of late been few more interesting and impressive 
 examples than these tales of lowly Cornish life." Academy. 
 
 " He is the master of a style singularly strenuous and 
 sensitive. What he sees he can express with marvellous 
 vividness. There is nothing more terrible and perfect of its 
 kind than his story, ' The Man in the Room.' It is magnifi- 
 cently done, powerfully imagined, and convincingly pre- 
 sented." Black and White. 
 
 " This is the fiction, simple and human, real and beautiful, 
 which rebukes at one and the same time the sentimentality 
 of English art and the unhealthiness of French." 
 
 Western Daily Mercury. 
 
 " ' The Man in the Room ' is certainly the strongest. 
 There is a subtle and complete knowledge of the woman of 
 the tragedy, an insight and mastery which is never paraded, 
 but is governed, restrained, and used. The author is an 
 artist well understanding the use of a touch of the grotesque 
 for the heightening of the tragedy." Realm.
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 Make Believe 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES ROBINSON 
 53. net. 
 
 " Written with swift, delicate insight." Leeds Mercury. 
 
 " ' Not for many a long day,' as they say in the North, 
 have we seen so delightful a child's book as ' Make Believe.' 
 Doris, her 'real treasures,' her gardens, and her friends, old 
 and young, animal, vegetable, and unreal, interest us from 
 the first page to the last." Athenaum. 
 
 " Even as in ' Women's Tragedies ' he played upon the 
 whole gamut of sensations that belong to adult woman, he 
 has shown in the little book called ' Make Believe ' that he 
 has as completely interpreted the sensibilities of the woman- 
 child." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " Altogether this book is as beautiful within as it is 
 beautiful to outward view." British Review. 
 
 " Mr. Lowry as a writer of children's stories is a reve- 
 lation." Publishers' Circular. 
 
 " Here you have some of the most delightful child-humour 
 imaginable, and through the dream-world in which Doris 
 lives, old and young may follow her with satisfaction, may 
 win each their own delight." Black and White. 
 
 Wreckers and Methodists 
 A Man of Moods
 
 John Lane's A ready Library 
 
 A SERIES OF OPEN-AIR BOOKS 
 
 Edited by J. S. FLETCHER 
 With Cover Designs by PATTEN WILSON 
 
 Crown 8vo, 55. net. 
 
 What matter though my novel theme appear 
 Rustic and homely to the town-bred ear ? 
 Meet but for gossip of the village green, 
 Passion, where'er she works, is never mean. 
 
 1. ROUND ABOUT A BRIGHTON COACH 
 OFFICE. By MAUDE EGERTON KING. Illus- 
 trated by LUCY KEMP- WELCH. 
 
 II. LIFE IN ARCADIA. By J. S. FLETCHER. Illus- 
 
 trated by PATTEN WILSON. 
 
 III. SCHOLAR GIPSIES. By JOHN BUCHAN. Illus- 
 
 trated by D. Y. CAMERON. 
 
 IV. IN THE GARDEN OF PEACE. By HELEN 
 
 MILMAN. Illustrated by EDMUND H. NEW. 
 
 V. THE HAPPY EXILE. By H. D. LOWRY. Illus- 
 trated by E. PHILIP PIMLOTT. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 Round about a Brighton Coach Office. 
 
 By MAUDE EGERTON KING. With over 30 
 Illustrations by LUCY KEMP-WELCH. 
 
 " No happier opening of a new series of books has been made in 
 these days of serial undertakings than is made by Mr. John Lane's 
 ' Arcady Library.' The genial old coachmaster, with his family 
 and household, and the Brighton that knew him and valued him, 
 are set before us with wonderful vividness in Mrs. King's charming, 
 reminiscent volume. We feel that we have known him ; and, as it 
 was with ' Bonnie Leslie,' to know him is to love him. He is of the 
 company of Parson Adams and Sir Roger de Coverley." 
 
 National Observer.
 
 " There is a naivett about the homely scenes in the office or the 
 parlour in Ship Street, in the pathetic love affairs of the coach- 
 master's daughters, the description of odd-men, and the faithful 
 maid-of-all-work, that disarms criticism." Spectator. 
 
 ' ' The ' Arcady Library ' opens well with this book of quiet power 
 and charm." Bookman. 
 
 " An altogether fascinating volume. The coachmaster himself is 
 surely of kin to Mr. Peggotty in ' David Copperfield ' and not un- 
 worthy the affinity. The volume is admirably illustrated." 
 
 Academy. 
 
 "Though the author of 'Little Nell' had penned these pages 
 they could not well have exhibited a greater or more real charm." 
 
 Dundee A dvertiser. 
 
 " A book that will be found delightful reading by all who love 
 the echoes of the old coach horn, and can appreciate pictures, 
 drawn from life, of manners, characters, and travel, in the days 
 when the century was in its teens." Scotsman. 
 
 "Is not merely good but excellent. Mrs. Egerton King has 
 clearly a great capacity for imaginative receptiveness and realisa- 
 tion ; for her book has so much gusto, so much life and vividness of 
 characteristic detail, that internal evidence would lead us to think 
 it nothing less than a vivacious rendering of personal impressions, 
 rather than the most able presentation of second-hand knowledge." 
 
 Daily Chronicle. 
 
 "The book seems to be instinct with the spirit of 'Cranford' 
 and 'Village Tales,' and its reproduction of a bygone atmosphere 
 is perfectly successful. Miss Lucy Kemp-Welch's drawings, 
 especially those of horses, are excellent ; and Mr. Patten Wilson's 
 design for the cover is charming." Woman. 
 
 ' ' The book is truly delicious from the opening sentences to the 
 very last page ; so delicious, indeed, that that same last page comes 
 all too soon." Sunday Times. 
 
 " The character of the coachmaster is drawn with a loving hand, 
 and his picture may stand not unworthily beside some others done 
 in a similar vein by Miss Mitford in ' Our Village ' and by Mrs. 
 Gaskell in ' Cranford.' " Manchester Guardian. 
 
 ' ' As genuinely enjoyable a book as one could wish for. Full of 
 humour, pathos, and healthy human interest." Glasgow Herald. 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 Life in Arcadia. By J. S. FLETCHER. 
 
 With 20 Illustrations by PATTEN WILSON. 
 
 " Mr. J. S. Fletcher's new volume, ' Life in Arcadia,' is a delight- 
 ful one on all counts." Literary World. 
 
 " Those who look will find wondrous beauty lurking in the dim 
 treasures of Arcadia, and Mr. Fletcher's reverent touch and restrained 
 and fitting language make him an ideal guide among them." 
 
 Guardian.
 
 "The ' Arcady Library' promises to be one of the prettiest 
 series even Mr. John Lane has produced, great as is the reputa- 
 tion of the Bodley Head establishment for artistic books. ' Life in 
 Arcadia,' by J. S. Fletcher, in this set, is a charming volume, 
 marked by knowledge and fancy and humour." Black and \Vhite. 
 
 " A pleasanter book than ' Life in Arcadia ' it would be hard to 
 find. " Speaker. 
 
 "All who care to read of human nature, the same yesterday, 
 to-day, and, for aught we know, for ever, should get this book. 
 When I add that the illustrations are by Patten Wilson, and that 
 it is encased in dark green and terra-cotta by him of the Bodley 
 Head, I have, I hope, said enough." Vanity Fair. 
 
 " ' Life in Arcadia' will be found good reading for any time, be 
 it by the seaside in June, or the fireside in December." 
 
 Leeds Mercury. 
 
 ' ' The power of sympathetic insight has rarely been in short 
 stories so emphatically as in these." Birmingham Daily Post. 
 
 "The book is most beautifully produced." Woman. 
 
 " His sketches of village life and of village character are always 
 readable, and display, in addition, an affectionate knowledge of his 
 people. . . . The sympathy might easily lead to larger feats, and 
 after all it was with ' Under the Greenwood Tree ' that Mr. Hardy 
 started his famous career." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 VOLUME III. 
 
 Scholar Gipsies. By JOHN BUCIIAN. With 
 
 Seven Etchings by D. Y. CAMERON. 
 
 [Second Edition. 
 
 " His descriptions of Nature in her various moods are full of a 
 subtle grace and charm. He is more of a scholar than Richard 
 Jefferies, and quite as much of a gipsy." Times. 
 
 " Word pictures to be read again and again." Weekly Sun. 
 
 " Mr. Buchan's delightful book." Glasgow Herald. 
 
 " One of the best collections of essays we have lighted upon for 
 many a month. The author is at home with many themes ; he is 
 always elegant, interesting, full of matter, and what he says is 
 worthy of more than one reading." Weekly Scotsman. 
 
 " The author wields a practised pen, and in a few touches of it 
 selects the salient points of these striking Lowland landscapes. 
 Occasionally his words almost flash into poetry, and he never over- 
 whelms the reader with a catalogue of the beauties of each scene 
 after the fashion of the guide books." Academy. 
 
 " His descriptions of landscape and human traits in the upper 
 valley of the Tweed, and of his own feelings as a free and happy 
 wanderer, are very pleasant and sympathetic." Sketch. 
 
 " He succeeds in investing the most commonplace objects with 
 interest, and even so seemingly senseless a thing as a milestone is 
 encircled with the glamour of romance." Sun.
 
 "A charming companion for a country stroll. It is daintily 
 attired, and Mr. D. Y. Cameron's etchings are as strong and 
 dignified as anything he has yet done." Manchester Guardian. 
 
 " Makes one long for the sun and the hills." Woman. 
 
 "Those who are not above building castles in the air will find in 
 its pages the dreams which make dull days endurable." 
 
 Leeds Mercury. 
 
 VOLUME IV. 
 
 In the Garden of Peace. By HELEN 
 
 MILMAN (Mrs. Caldwell Crofton). With 24 
 Illustrations by EDMUND H. NEW. Second 
 Edition. 
 
 " Of flowers and their countless charm there is much that is both 
 truly and delicately observed : and of birds and their song, their 
 ways and characteristics, there is yet more recorded, not less fine 
 and true, yet with an additional freshness and piquancy that cannot 
 fail to delight all who are interested in the theme." 
 
 British Rei'iew. 
 
 ' ' Mr. New's beautiful illustrations would alone make the book 
 valuable .' ' Statisf. 
 
 " Mrs. Crofton writes with a full knowledge and with charming 
 sympathy and humour. . . . Fascinating is the manner in which 
 the doings of the birds are described and their language interpreted 
 for us." Times. 
 
 "As devoted to birds and their ways as dear old Izaac Walton 
 was, and writes about them in a graceful style and with pleasant 
 humour." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " Mrs. Crofton combines very happily the habit of close observa- 
 tion of Nature and the instinct of sympathy with its moods. Her 
 papers are very vivid and delicate pictures, and also very tender 
 prose poems. Mr. New seems to have a special gift for drawing 
 birds. ' ' Spectator. 
 
 " The book is one that, having once been read, will sink into the 
 hearts of all who love Arcadia and its restful homelike ways." 
 
 Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 "It is clear that the writer has inspired the illustrator, Mr. 
 Edmund H. New, and the result is one of the beautiful books of 
 the year." Artist. 
 
 "A delightful book of bird life and song, treating the subject 
 with rare inwardness and sympathy." Christian World. 
 
 "Certain to give pleasure to every one who delights in old 
 sequestered gardens. Mrs. Crofton writes with much delicate insight 
 into the ways of birds." National Observer. 
 
 " There is some reflection in her essays of the quiet beauty that 
 every one remembers in Marvell's imperishable Garden a reflection 
 for which the artist as well as the authoress has to be thanked." 
 
 Glasgow Herald.
 
 m-JOHN 
 
 ram* 
 BODLEIAN 
 LONDON 
 
 CATALOCUEafPUBUCATIONS 
 sBELLESLETTRES
 
 1897 
 
 List of Books 
 
 BELLES LETTRES 
 
 Published by John Lane 
 
 VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. 
 
 Adams (Francis). 
 
 ESSAYS IN MODERNITY. Crown 8vo. 
 
 55. net. [Shortly. 
 
 A CHILD OF THE AGE. Crown 8vo. 
 
 35. 6d. net. 
 
 A. E. 
 
 HOMEWARD : SONGS BY THE WAY. 
 
 Sq. i6mo, wrappers, is. 6d. net. 
 
 [Second Edition. 
 THE EARTH BREATH, AND OTHER 
 
 POEMS. Sq. i6mo. 35. 6d. net. 
 
 Aldrich (T. B.). 
 
 LATER LYRICS. Sm. fcap. 8vo. 
 2S. 6d. net. 
 
 Allen (Grant). 
 
 THE LOWER SLOPES : A Volume of 
 
 Verse. Crown 8vo. 55. net. 
 THE WOMAN WHO DID. Crown 
 8vo. 35. 6d. net. 
 
 [ Twenty-third Edition. 
 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS. Crown 
 8vo. 35. 6d. net. 
 
 [Second Edition. 
 
 Atherton (Gertrude). 
 PATIENCE SPARHAWK AND HER 
 TIMES. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 [Third Edition. 
 
 Bailey (John C.). 
 ENGLISH ELEGIES. Crown Svo. 
 5s. net. [/ preparation. 
 
 Balfour (Marie Clothilde). 
 MARIS STELLA. Crown Svo. 35. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 Beeching (Rev. H. C.). 
 IN A GARDEN : Poems. Crown Svo. 
 
 53. net. 
 
 ST. AUGUSTINE AT OSTIA. Crown 
 Svo, wrappers, is. net. 
 
 Beerbohm (Max). 
 THE WORKS OF MAX BEERBOHM. 
 With a Bibliography by JOHN 
 LANE. Sq. ifimo. 45. 6d. net. 
 THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE. Sq. i6mo. 
 is. net. 
 
 Bennett (E. A.). 
 A MAN FROM THE NORTH. 
 Crown Svo. 3$. 6d. ^ 
 
 [fn prejmration. 
 
 Benson (Arthur Christo- 
 pher). 
 LYRICS. Fcap. Svo, buckram. 55. 
 
 net 
 
 LORD VYET AND OTHER POEMS. 
 Fcap. Svo. 35. 6d. net. 
 
 Bridges (Robert). 
 
 SUPPRESSED CHAPTERS AND OTHER 
 BOOKISHNESS. Crown Svo. 35. 6A. 
 net. [Second Edition. 
 
 Brotherton (Mary). 
 ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE. 
 Fcap. Svo. 35. 6d. net. 
 
 Brown (Vincent) 
 MY BROTHER. Sq. i6mo. as. net 
 ORDEAL BY COMPASSION. Crown 
 
 Svo. 6s. [In preparation. 
 
 Two IN CAPTIVITY. Crown Svo. 
 
 35. 6d. [In preparation.
 
 THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 Buchan (John). 
 
 SCHOLAR GIPSIES. With 7 full-page 
 Etchings by D. Y. CAMERON. 
 Crown 8vo. 53. net. 
 
 MUSA PISCATRIX. With 6 Etch- 
 ings by E. PHILIP PIMLOTT. 
 Crown 8vo. 55. net. 
 
 GREY WEATHER. Crown 8vo. 
 55. [/ preparation, 
 
 JOHN BURNET OF BARNS. A 
 Romance. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 [/ prepara tion. 
 
 Campbell (Gerald). 
 THE JONESES AND THE ASTERISKS. 
 A Story in Monologue. 6 Illus- 
 trations by F. H. TOWNSEND. 
 Fcap. 8vo, 3S. 6d. net. 
 
 [Second Edition. 
 
 Case (Robert H.). 
 ENGLISH EPITHALAMIES. Crown 
 8vo, 55. net. 
 
 Castle (Mrs. Egerton). 
 Mv LITTLE LADY ANNE. Sq. i6mo, 
 as. net. 
 
 Chapman(ElizabethRachel) 
 
 MARRIAGE QUESTIONS IN MODERN 
 
 FICTION. Crown 8vo, 35. 6d. net. 
 
 Charles (Joseph F.). 
 THE DUKE OF LINDEN. Crown 8vo, 
 55. [In preparation. 
 
 Cobb (Thomas). 
 CARPET COURTSHIP. Crown 8vo, 
 
 35. 6d. [/ preparation. 
 
 MR. PASSINGHAM. Crown 8vo, 
 
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