V 
 
 > / 
 
UAISTRATED 
 
 LONDON 
 
 W.M., CLARKE 17 WARWICK LAME 
 

SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 THE 
 
 SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 BY HENRY COCKTON. 
 
 n 
 
 LONDON: 
 W. M. CLARK, 17, WARWICK-LANE, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 MDCCCXLIV. 
 
et Pwiof VV. >|, Ci.4R, Hsdtion-pourt, 
 

 PREFACE. 
 
 SOMNAMBULISM has beon in .ill ages known. Aiustotle says, " There 
 are individuals who rise iu their sleep and walk about, seeing as clearly 
 ,is those that are awake." Diogenes Laertius states that Theon, the 
 philosopher, was a somnambulist. Galen slept whilst mi a road, and 
 pursued his journey, until he was awakened by flipping on a stone. 
 Felix Pater fell asleep while playing on the lute, and was startled only 
 by the fall of the instrument ;* while the pro^^nr np;c t^om* with instances 
 of the most astounding character. 
 
 "There is no doubt," says Dr. Millingcn, " that in somnambulists 
 the intellectual function.; arc not only active, but frequently more 
 developed than when the individual is awake. Persons in this state 
 have been known to writ.- and correct verses, and solve ditlicult pro- 
 blems, which they could not have done at other tinn--. In tlu-ir actions 
 and locomotion they are more caution >. and frequently more dexterous, 
 than when awake. They have been known to saddle and bridle horses, 
 after having dressed themselves; put on boots and spurs, and after- 
 wards ride considerable di>tances from home and Kick again. A sleep- 
 walker wandering abroad in winter complained of being frozen, and 
 asked for a glass of brandy, but expressed violent anger on being offered 
 a glass of water. The celebrated sect of Trembler*, in the Cevennes 
 mountains, used to rove ab.-nt in tln-ir sleep, and, although badly ac- 
 quainted with the French language, expressed themselves clearly and 
 put up prayers in that tongue, instead of the Latin Pater and Credo 
 which they had been taught.'' 
 
 " If," observes Dr. Mason Good, " the external organ of sense thus 
 stimulated be that of sight, the dreamer may perceive objects around him, 
 and be able to distinguish them: and if the tenor of the dreaming ideas 
 should as powerfully operate upon the muscles of locomotion, these also 
 may be thrown into their accustomed state of action, and he may rise from 
 his bed, and make his way to whatever place the drift of his dream may 
 direct him, with perfect ease, and free from danger. He will see more 
 or less distinctly, in proportion as the organ of sight is more or less 
 awake: yet. from the increased exhaustion, nnd. of course, increased 
 
 of Medical Experience, 
 
Iv PREFACE. 
 
 torpor of the other organs, in consequence of an increased demand of 
 sensorial power from the common stock, to supply the action of the 
 sense and muscles immediately engaged, every other sense will probably 
 be thrown into a deeper sleep or torpor than if the whole had been 
 juit'scent. Hence, the ears may not be roused even by a sound that 
 might otherwise awake the sleeper. He may be insensible not only to 
 a slight touch, but a severe shaking of the limbs; and may even cough 
 violently, without being recalled from his dream. Having accomplished 
 the object of his visionary pursuit, he may safely return, even over the 
 most dangerous precipices for he sees them distinctly to his bed; 
 and the organ of sight being now quite exhausted, or there being no 
 longer any occasion for its use, it may once more associate in the 
 general inactivity, and the dream take a new turn, and consist of a new 
 combination of images." 
 
 Dr. Pritchard, in his " Treatise on Insanity," says " there is an ob- 
 vious relation between the state of the faculties in somnambulism and 
 that which exists during dreams. It is indeed probable that somnam- 
 bulism is dreaming in a manner so modified that the will recovers its 
 usual power over muscular motion, and likewise becomes endued with a 
 peculiar control over the organs of sense and perception. This power, 
 which gives rise to the most curious phenomena of somnambulism, is of 
 such a kind, that, while the senses are in general obscured, as in sleep, 
 and all other objects are unperceived, the somnambulator manifests a 
 faculty of seeing, feeling, or otherwise discovering those particular ob- 
 jects of which he is in pursuit, towards which his attention is by inward 
 movement directed, or with which the internal operations of his mind 
 bring him into relation. As in dreams, so likewise in somnambulism, 
 the individual is intent on the pursuit of objects towards which his 
 mind had been previously directed in a powerful manner, and his atten- 
 tion strongly roused; he is in both states impelled by habit, tinder the 
 influence of which he repeats the routine of his daily observances. A 
 somnambulator is a dreamer who is able to act his dreams." 
 
 " Somnambulism," observes Macnish, in his " Philosophy of Sleep," 
 " I have had occasion to remark, is very common among children; and 
 I believe that it more frequently affects childhood than any other age. 
 It is a curious, and not easily explained fact, that the aged, though they 
 divam more than the middle-aged, are less addicted to somnambulism 
 and sleep-talking. Indeed, these phenomena are seldom noticed in old 
 people. 
 
 " It has been matter of surprise to many, that somnambulists often 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 get into the most dangerous situations without experiencing terror. 
 But the explanation of this ought not to be attended with any real 
 difficulty; for we must reflect, that alarm cannot be felt unless we 
 apprehend danger, and that the latter, however great it may be, cannot 
 excite emotion of any kind, so long as we are ignorant of its existence. 
 This is the situation in which sleep-walkers, in a great majority of 
 cases, stand. The reasoning faculties, which point out the existence of 
 danger, are generally in a state of complete slumber, and unable to 
 produce corresponding emotions in the mind. And even if danger 
 should be perceived by a sleep-walker and avoided, as is sometimes the 
 , his want of terror is to be imputed to a quiescent state of the 
 organ of Cautiousness; the sense of fear originating in high excitement 
 of this particular part of the brain. That the reasoning faculties, how- 
 ever, are sometimes only very partially suspended we have abundant 
 evidence, in the fact of the individual not only, now and then, studiously 
 avoiding danger, but performing offices which require no small degree 
 of judgment. In the higher kinds of somnambulism, so many of the 
 organs of the brain are in activity, and there is such perfect wakeful- 
 ness of the external senses and locomotive powers, that the person may 
 almost be said to be awake." 
 
 " The remote causes of sleep-walking," he again remarks, " are so ob- 
 scure, that it is seldom we are able to ascertain them. General irrita- 
 bility of framo, a nervous temperament, and bad digestion, will dispose 
 to tlu 1 a flection. Being a modification of dreaming, those who are much 
 troubled with the latter will, consequently, be most prone to its attacks. 
 The causes, however, are, in a great majority of cases, so completely un- 
 known, that any attempt to investigate them would be fruitless; and 
 w- are compelled to refer the complaint to some idiosyncracy of consti- 
 tution beyond the reach of human knowledge." 
 
 " To prevent a recurrence of somnambulism," he adds, " we should 
 remove, if possible, the cause which gave rise to it. Thus, if it proceed 
 from a disordered state of the stomach, or biliary system, we must em- 
 ploy the various medicines used in such cases. Plenty of exercise 
 should be taken, and late hours and much study avoided. If it arises 
 from plethora, he must be blooded, and live low ; should hysteria pro- 
 duce it, anti-spasmodics, such as valerian, ammonia, assafoetida, and 
 opium may be necessary. 
 
 " But, unfortunately, we can often refer sleep-walking to no complaint 
 whatever. In this case, all that can be done is to carry the individual 
 as safely as possible through the paroxysm, and prevent him from injury 
 
Tl PREFACE. 
 
 by the means we have mentioned. In many instances, the affection will 
 wear spontaneously away : in others, it will continue in spite of every 
 remedy." 
 
 I have been, during the progress of this work in monthly parts, appre- 
 hensive that the scenes introduced, and the incidents described, might 
 be ik'i'iued impossible. I am, therefore, anxious to show not only that 
 they are not impossible, but that they are not improbable; and with 
 this view I will now proceed to extract a series of well authenticated 
 facts facts related by men who have acquired the highest reputation 
 for talent and honour. 
 
 Dr. Dyce, of Aberdeen, describes the case of " a girl, in which this 
 affection began with fits of somnolency, which came upon her suddenly 
 during the day, and from which she could at first be roused by shaking 
 or by being taken into the open air. During these attacks she was iii 
 the habit of talking of things that seemed to pass before her like a 
 dream, and was not at the time sensible of anything that was said to 
 her. On one occasion she repeated the entire of the baptismal service 
 of the Church of England, and concluded with an extemporary prayer. 
 In her subsequent paroxysms she began to understand what was said to 
 her, and to answer with a considerable degree of consistency, though 
 these replies were in a certain measure influenced by her hallucination. 
 She also became capable of following her usual employment during the 
 paroxysm. At one time she would lay out the table for breakfast, and 
 1-epeatedly dress herself and the children, her eyes remaining shut the 
 whole time. The remarkable circumstance was now discovered, that, 
 during the paroxysm, she had a distinct recollection of what had taken 
 place in former attacks, though she had not the slightest recollection of 
 it during the intervals. She was taken to church during the paroxysm, 
 and attended the service with apparent devotion, and at one time was 
 so affected by the sermon that she actually shed tears; yet in the 
 interval she had no recollection whatever of the circumstance, but 
 in the following paroxysm she gave a most distinct account of it, 
 and actually repeated the passage of the sermon that had so much 
 affected her. This sort of somnambulism, relating distinctly to two 
 periods, has been called, perhaps erroneously, a state of double conscious- 
 ness" 
 
 " A girl, aged seven years," says Dr. Abererombie, " an orphan, of 
 
 the lowest rank, residing in the house of a farmer, by whom she was 
 
 employed in tending cattle, was accustomed to sleep in an apartment 
 
 . atcd by a very thin partition from one which was frequently occu- 
 
, 
 
 PREFACE. VI 
 
 led by an itinerant tiddler. This person was a musician of very 
 considerable skill, and often spent a part of the night in performing- 
 pieces of a refined description; but his performance was not taken 
 notice of by the child, except as a disagreeable noise. After a residence 
 of six months in this family she fell into bad health, and was removed 
 to the house of a benevolent lady, where, on her recovery after a 
 protracted illness, she was employed as a servant. Some years after 
 she came to reside with this lad}-, the most beautiful music was often 
 heard in the house during the night, which excited no small interest 
 and wonder in the family; and many a waking hour was spent in 
 endeavours to discover the invisible minstrel. At length the sound was 
 traced lo the sleeping-room of the girl, who was found fast asleep, but 
 uttering from her lip* a sound exactly resembling the sweetest tones of a 
 small violin. On further observation it was found, that after being about 
 two hours in bed, she became restless and began to mutter to herself; she 
 then littered sounds precisely resembling the tuning of a violin, and at 
 length, after some prelude, dashed olf into an elaborate piece of music, 
 which she performed in a clear and accurate manner, and with a sound 
 exactly resembling the most delicate modulation of the instrument, and 
 then began exactly where she had stopped in the most correct manner. 
 These paroxysms occurred at irregular interval*, varying from one to 
 fourteen and even twenty nights; and they were generally followed by a 
 
 >!' fever and pain over various parts of the body. 
 After a year or l wo, her music was not confined to the imitation of 
 the violin, but was often exchan^-d for that of a piano, of a very old 
 description, which she was accustomed to hear in the house in which 
 she HOW lived, and then she would begin to sing, imitating exactly the 
 voices of several ladies of the family. 
 
 lu another year fri'iii this time she began to talk a great deal in her 
 sleep, in which she fancied herself instructing a young companion. 
 She often descanted with the utmost iluency and correctness on a variety 
 of subjects, both political and religious, the men of the day, the 
 historical parts of Scripture, public characters, and particularly the 
 character of the members of the family and their visiters. In these 
 discussions she showed the most wonderful discrimination, often com- 
 bined with sarcasm, and astonishing powers of mimickry. Her lan- 
 guage through the whole was fluent and correct, and her illustrations 
 often forcible and even eloquent. She was fond of illustrating her 
 subjects by what she called a fable, and in these her imagery was both 
 appropriate and correct. The justice and truth of her remarks on all 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 subjects, excited the utmost astonishment in those who were acquainted 
 with IKT limited means of acquiring information. 
 
 ' Sin- had l)coii known to conjugate correctly Latin verbs, which she 
 had probably heard in the school-room of the family, and she was once 
 1 1- ar.l i. sjM-.-ik several sentences very correctly in French, at the same 
 time stating that she had heard t them from a foreign gentleman whom 
 sin- had met accidentally in a shop. Being questioned on this subject 
 when awake, she remembered having seen the gentleman, but could not 
 ivjuat a word of what he had said. 
 
 " During her paroxysms it was almost impossible to awake her, and 
 when her eylids were raised and a candle brought near the eye, the 
 pupil seemed insensible to the light. For several years she was, during 
 the paroxysm, entirely unconscious of the presence of other persons, 
 but about the age of sixteen, she began to observe those who were in 
 I IK- apartment, and she could tell correctly their number though the 
 utmost care was taken to have the room darkened. She now also be- 
 came capable of answering questions that were put to her, and of notic- 
 ing remarks made in her presence, and, with regard to both, she showed 
 astonishing acuteness. Her observations indeed were often of such a nature 
 an* I corresponded so accurately with character and events, that, by the 
 country people, she was believed to be endowed with supernatural power. 
 " During the whole period of this remarkable affection, which seems 
 to have gone on for at least ten or eleven years, she was, when awake, 
 u dull awkward girl, very slow in receiving any kind of instruction, 
 though much care was bestoAved. upon her ; and in point of intellect, she 
 was much inferior to the other servants of the family. In particular, 
 she showed no kind of turn for music. She did not appear to have 
 any recollection of what passed in her sleep ; but during her nocturnal 
 ramblings, she was more than once heard to lament her infirmity of 
 speaking in her sleep, adding how fortunate it was she did not sleep 
 among the other servants, as they teased her enough about it as it was." 
 Dr. Dewar also relates the "case of an ignorant servant-girl, who, 
 during the paroxysm of somnambulism, showed an astonishing know- 
 ledge of geography 'and astronomy, and expressed herself, in her own 
 language, in a manner which, though often ludicrous, showed an under- 
 standing of the subject. The alteration of the seasons, for example, she 
 explained by saying the world was set a gee" 
 
 Dr. Macnish, in " The Philosophy of Sleep," has moreover given us 
 the following cases : "A female servant in the town of Chelmsford, 
 surprised the family, at four o'clock one morning, by walking down a 
 

 PREFACE. IX 
 
 flight of stairs in her sleep, and rapping at the bed-room door of her 
 master, who inquired what she wanted? when, in her usual tone of voice, 
 she requested some cotton, saying that she had torn her gown, but hoped 
 that her mistress would forgive, her : at the same time bursting into tears. 
 Her fellow-servant, with whom she had been conversing some time, 
 observed her get out of bed, and quickly followed her, but not before 
 she had related the pitiful story. She then returned to her room, and 
 a light having been procured, she was found groping to find her cotton- 
 l>x. Another person went to her, when, perceiving a difference in the 
 voice, she called out, * That is a different voice ; that is my mistress,' 
 which was not the case thus clearly showing, that she did not see the 
 object before her, although her eyes were wide open. Upon inquiry as 
 to what was the matter, she only said that she wanted some cotton, but 
 that her fellow-servant had been to her master and mistress, making a 
 fus.s about it. It was now thought prudent that she should be allowed 
 to remain quiet for some short time, and she was persuaded to lie down 
 with her fellow-servant until the usual hour of rising, thinking that she 
 might then awake in her accustomed manner. This failing in effect, 
 her mistress went up to her room, and rather angrily desired her to get 
 up, and go to her work, as it was now six o'clock; this she refused, 
 telling her mistress that if she did not please her, she might look out 
 for another servant, at the same time saying, that she would not rise up 
 at two o'clock, (pointing to the window,) to injure her health for any 
 one. For the sake of a joke, she was told to pack up her things, and 
 start off immediately, but to this she made no reply. She rebuked her 
 fellow-servant for not remaining longer in bed, and shortly after this 
 became quiet. She was afterwards shaken violently, and awoke. She 
 then rose, and seeing the cotton-box disturbed, demanded to know why 
 it had been meddled with, not knowing that she alone was the cause of 
 it. In the course of the day, several questions were put to her in order 
 to try her recollection, but the real fact, of her walking, was not made 
 known to her ; and she is still quite unconscious of what has transpired. 
 
 " The next case is of a different description, and exhibits a dormant 
 state of the sense of hearing, while sight appears throughout, to have 
 been in active operation. 
 
 " A young man named Johns, who works at Cardrew, near Redruth, 
 being asleep in the sump-house of that mine, was observed by two boys 
 to rise and walk to the door, against which he leaned; shortly after, 
 quitting that position, he walked to the engine-shaft, and safely 
 descended to the depth of twenty fathoms > where he was found by 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 his comrades soon alter, with his back resting on the ladder. They 
 called to him, to apprise him of the perilous situation in which he was, 
 but he did not hear them, and they were obliged to shake him, roughly 
 till he awoke, when he appeared totally at a loss to account for his 
 being so situated. 
 
 " In Lodge's i Historical Portraits,' there is a likeness, by Sir Peter 
 Lely, of Lord Culpepper's brother, so famous as a dreamer. In 1686, 
 he was indicted, at the Old Bailey, for shooting one of the Guards, and 
 his horse to boot. He pleaded somnambulism, and was acquitted on 
 producing nearly fifty witnesses to prove the extraordinary things he did 
 in hia sleep. 
 
 " A very curious circumstance is related of Dr. Franklin, in the 
 memoirs of that eminent philosopher, published by his grandson. * I 
 went out,' said the doctor, * to bathe in Martin's salt-water hot bath, in 
 Southampton, and, floating on my back, fell asleep, and slept nearly an 
 hour, by my watch, without sinking or turning a thing I never did 
 before, and should hardly have thought possible.' 
 
 " A case still more extraordinary occurred some time ago in one of 
 the towns on the coast of Ireland. About two o'clock in the morning, 
 the watchmen on the revenue quay were much surprised at descrying a 
 man disporting himself in the water, about a hundred yards from the 
 shore. Intimation having been given to the revenue boat's crew, they 
 pushed off and succeeded iu picking him up, but, strange to say, he had 
 no idea whatever of his perilous situation : and it was with the utmost 
 difficulty they could persuade him he was not still in bed. But the 
 most singular part of this novel adventure, and which was afterwards 
 ascertained, was that the man had left his house at twelve o'clock that 
 night, and walked through a difficult and, to him, dangerous road, a 
 distance of nearly two miles, and had actually swum one mile and a half 
 when he was fortunately discovered and picked up. 
 
 " Not very long ago a boy was seen fishing off Brest, up to the middle 
 in water. On coming up to him, he was found to be fast asleep. 
 
 " I know a gentleman who, in consequence of dreaming that the house 
 was broken into by thieves, got out of bed, dropped from the window 
 (fortunately a low one) into the street ; and was a considerable distance 
 on his way to warn the police, when he was discovered by one of them, 
 who awoke him, and conducted him home. 
 
 " A case is related of an English clergyman who used to get up in 
 the night, light his candle, write sermons, correct them with interlinea- 
 tions, and retire to bed again ; being all the time asleep. The Arch- 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 bishop of Bourdeaux mentions a similar case of a student, who got up 
 to compose a sermon while asleep, wrote it correctly, read it over from 
 one end to the other, or at least appeared to read it, made corrections on 
 it, scratched out lines, and substituted others, put in its place a word 
 which had been omitted, composed music, wrote it accurately down, and 
 performed other things equally surprising. Dr. Gall takes notice of a 
 miller, who was in the habit of getting up every night and attending to 
 his usual avocations at the mill, then returning to bed: on awaking in 
 the morning, he recollected nothing of what passed during the night. 
 Martinet speaks of a saddler who was accustomed to rise in his sleep and 
 work at his trade; and Dr. Pritchard of a farmer who got out of bed, 
 dressed himself, saddled his horse, and rode to the market, being all the 
 while asleep. Dr. Blacklock, on one occasion, rose from bed, to which 
 he had retired at an early hour, came into the room whero his family 
 were assembled, conversed with them, and afterwards entertained them 
 with a pleasant song, without any of them suspecting he was asleep, and 
 without his retaining, after he awoke, the least recollection of what he 
 had done. It is a singular, yet well authenticated fact, that in the dis- 
 astrous retreat of Sir John Moore, many of the soldiers fell asleep, yet 
 continued to march ulonir with their comrji 
 
 " The stories related of sleep-walkers are, indeed, of so extraordinary 
 a kind, that they would almost seem fictitious, were they not supported 
 by the most incontrovertible evidence. To walk on the house-top, to 
 scale precipices, and descend to the bottom of frightful ravines, are 
 common exploits with the somnambulist; and he performs them with a 
 facility far beyond the power of any man who is completely awake. 
 
 " Somnambulism, as well as lunacy, sometimes bestows supernatural 
 strength upon the individual. Mr. Dubrie, a musician in Bath, affords 
 an instance of this kind. One Sunday, while awake, he attempted in 
 vain to force open the window of his bedroom, which chanced to be nailed 
 down ; but having got up in his sleep, he repeated the attempt success- 
 fully, and threw himself out, by which he unfortunately broke his leg. 
 
 " Sleep-walking is sometimes periodical. Martinet describes the case 
 of a watchmaker's apprentice who had an attack of it every fortnight. 
 In this state, though insensible to all external impressionSj he would 
 perform his work with his usual accuracy, and was always astonished 
 on awaking, at the progress he had made. The paroxysm began with 
 :i -ciise of heat in the epigastrium extending to the head, followed by 
 confusion of ideas and complete insensibility, the eyes remaining open 
 with a fixed and vacant stare. This case, which undoubtedly originated 
 
jtii PREFACE. 
 
 in some diseased state of the brain, terminated in epilepsy. Dr. Gall 
 relates that he saw at Berlin a young man, sixteen years of age, who 
 had, from time to time, very extraordinary fits. He moved about un- 
 consciously in bed, and had no perception of anything that was done to 
 him ; at last he would jump out of bed, and walk with rapid steps about 
 the room, his eyes being fixed and open. Several obstacles which 
 were placed by Dr. Gall in his way, he either removed or cautiously 
 avoided. He then threw himself suddenly again upon the bed, moved 
 about for some time, and finished by jumping up awake, not a little 
 surprised at the number of curious people about him. 
 
 " The facility with which somnambulists are awakened from the 
 paroxysms, differs extremely in different cases. One man is aroused 
 by being gently touched or called upon, by a flash of light, by stumb- 
 ling in his peregrinations, or by setting his foot in water. Another 
 remains so heavily asleep, that it is necessary to shout loudly, to shake 
 him with violence, and make use of other excitations equally powerful. 
 In this condition, when the sense of vision chances to be dormant, it is 
 curious to look at his eyes. Sometimes they are shut; at other times 
 wide open ; and when the latter is the case, they are observed to be 
 fixed and inexpressive, "without speculation," or energy, while 
 pupil is contracted, as in the case of perfect sleep. 
 
 "It is not always safe to arouse a sleep-walker; and many cases of 
 the fatal effects thence arising, have been detailed by authors. Nor is 
 it at all unlikely that a person, even of strong nerves, might be violently 
 agitated by awaking in a situation so different from that in which he lay 
 down. Among other examples, that of a young lady, who was addicted 
 to this affection, may be mentioned. Knowing her failing, her friends 
 made a point of locking the door, and securing the window of her 
 chamber in such a manner that she could not possibly get out. One 
 night, these precautions were unfortunately overlooked, and, in a pa- 
 roxysm of somnambulism, she walked into the garden behind the house. 
 While there, she was recognised by some of the family, who were warned 
 by the noise she made on opening the door, and they followed and 
 awoke her ; but such was the effect produced upon her nervous system, 
 that she almost instantly expired." 
 
 Having adduced these cases, in order to justify the introduction of the 
 scenes described in the following not too profoundly-written pages I 
 have only to beg of those who read the work as a whole, to bear in 
 mind that it originally appeared in monthly parts. 
 
 H. C. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAP. I. The Introduction 1 
 
 CHAP. II. Introduces Aunt Eleanor, the Pastor, and his peaches . . 2 
 
 CHAP. III. In which the first alarm is created . . . .11 
 
 CHAP. IV. The Churchyard . 19 
 
 CHAP. V. The Mystery 29 
 
 CHAP. VI. The Ghost hunt ;},} 
 
 CHAP. VII. The pickled Smalls :; 
 
 CHAP. VIII. Rosalie 4 
 
 CHAP. IX. The Guardians of the night ;>(; 
 
 Cn A p. X. The Guardians discovered . . . . . . <;;> 
 
 CHAP. XI. The " Spirit" appears to the Pastor and Jones . . .71 
 
 CHAP. XII. The fearful Conjecture . . . . . . 8,> 
 
 CHAP. XIII. The Eggs and Exotics 89 
 
 CHAP. XIV. The Departure from the Village . . . . . 07 
 
 CHAP. XV. Sylvester's first night in London . . . . .112 
 
 CHAP. XVI. Tob and his Wobad 121 
 
 CHAP. XVII. Julia 129 
 
 CHAP. XVIII.-The Man-trap 141 
 
 CHAP. XIX. The delicate Disclosure 153 
 
 CHAP. XX. The Bella . . . . ; . . . 1G1 
 
 CHAP. XXI. The Proposal 169 
 
 CHAP. XXII. Tom appears to give evidence in a case . . . 175 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. The lovers' return 193 
 
 CHAP. XXIV.-Love 205 
 
 CHAP. XXV. The maiden Speech in Parliament . . . .215 
 
 CHAP. XXVI. The Accusation 220 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. The Meeting 225 
 
 t 1 n u. XXVIII. Pier-glass practice 237 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. Sylvester revisits Cotherstone Grange . . . 240' 
 
 CHAP. XXX. The Suspicion 257 
 
 CHAP. XXXI. The Village fair . 271 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 Pag. 
 
 CHAP. XXXII. Sylvester is recalled to town 289 
 
 CHAP. XXXIII. The proof 294 
 
 CHAP. XXXIV. The last request 303 
 
 CHAP. XXXV.-The Trial SOB 
 
 CHAP. XXXVI. Sylvester's new Protector 321 
 
 CHAP. XXXVII.-The Mystery solved 340 
 
 CHAP. XXXVIII. The Reconciliation 354 
 
 CHAP. XXXIX. The Conclusion . 363 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 >ortrait ........ to face engraved titlt. 
 
 Tie Pastor and his Peaches. ....... 4 
 
 'he Trial by Battle 10 
 
 'he Ghost Stories interrupted ....... 22 
 
 [r. Pokey's powerful perception . . . . . . . 28 
 
 The alarm at the Cottage ........ 37 
 
 The disturbed Furniture . . . . . . 40 
 
 The Sylphide 53 
 
 Keeping watch . . . . . . . . 63 
 
 The Guardians brought to light ....... 69 
 
 Death on the Pale Horse . . .... 79 
 
 The Spirit of the Pastor . . 80 
 
 llestoration of the Pony 94 
 
 Obadiah settles the question ....... 101 
 
 The Tail of the Tub 10/i 
 
 Students at the Bar . . . 115 
 
 The entree of the Police . . . . . . . . 123 
 
 Tom tries to vindicate his honour . . . . . .133 
 
 The Skeleton secured 143 
 
 The unexpected Visit ........ 153 
 
 The Explanation . . . . . . . . 158 
 
 Tom goes to answer the bells . . . . . . .162 
 
 The Letter 168 
 
 Ninety-nine comes in for it . . . . . . .179 
 
 Tom giving his evidence . . . . . . . . 185 
 
 Tpm in search of a Reporter . . . . . . .196' 
 
 Obadiah hears his own character . . . . . . . 203 
 
 Sylvester's visit to Julia . . . . . . . .208 
 
 Tom returns from the window of his Uncle . . . . ..211 
 
 The interruption ......... 238 
 
 lib *tniH; with amazement '. . . . * . . , 237 
 
Xvi LIST OP ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 The man that's seen tho Ghost . . . . , , , 2. ( >3 
 
 Obadiah expressing his sentiments . . . . .267 
 
 The Parson puzzled ......... 276 
 
 Obadiah introducing Dick to Sylvester . . . . .287 
 
 The alarm in the Village ........ 288 
 
 Tom's Trap for Catching a Somnambulist . . . . . 299 
 
 The perilous position ......... 300 
 
 Henriette's Interview with Mrs. Greville ..... 307 
 
 The Cabman inquiring after the Pardon's Mother . . . . . 310 
 
 Sylvester and his Protector ....... .'537 
 
 The Escaped Convict ......... 339 
 
 The Bouquet . ...... 350 
 

 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 TIIK 
 
 SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 CHAI'TKR I. 
 
 THE INTRODUCTION. 
 
 AMO\; the. ancient historians a practice prevailed which may be 
 described tlius: Whenever tliev wrote the live-; of men, they explained, 
 in /inline, who those men were. This is in all their works munife.-t. 
 They may have been right: they may have been wrong: it is not 
 proposed to dive to any very great depth \vitli the view of discovering 
 the absolute necessity for the pursuit of this course: it i- suHirii-nt for 
 tlie world to know that thev lield sucli e\j)lanation to be essential to the 
 perfect knowledge of the very men whose characters they portrayed, and 
 as the practice is extremely convenient, it may not, even in this age, bo 
 deemed incorrect however admirable originality may in itself In to 
 follow their example, bv explaining at once, who Sylvester Sound the 
 Somnambulist wa>. 
 
 A -simiiiur then the correctness of the course prescribed to be admitted, 
 it now becomes proper to state that Syl \e-ter Sound was the only son 
 of Horatio Sound, M.D. ; that the doctor's ladv departed this life verv 
 soon after Sylvester's birth; that the doctor himself survived her several 
 years; that a circumstance of which the particulars will be dwelt 
 upon anon not only caused the loss of his practice, but eventually 
 broke his heart; and that, up to the period of his death, Sylvester for 
 a reason which the doctor himself never explained was educated by 
 him and lived constantly with him. 
 
 B 
 
SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 INTRODUCES AUNT ELEANOR, THE PASTOR, AND HIS TEACHES, 
 
 HA vixo it is to be hoped satisfactorily explained who Sylvester 
 was. it will now ho quite right to proceed. 
 
 And it will, in the first place, be necessary to state that Sylvester, at the 
 pi-rim! of the death of Dr. Sound, was in the seventeenth year of his age. 
 
 II.- was tall and slightly made, and while his features were finely 
 formed, his jet black hair, which hung in ringlets over his shoulders, 
 (... if rasted strongly with his countenance which was pale in the extreme, 
 and .f which the expression was that of repose. There was, indeed, the 
 spirit of mischief lurking in his eye, but while he was awake that spirit 
 was asleep: it developed itself only in his dreams. It was then that it 
 prompted him to perpetrate all sorts of wild and extraordinary tricks: 
 it was then that it converted him from a calm, graceful, amiable youth, 
 into a perfect little devil. 
 
 This, to a certain extent, was known to the doctor: hence it was that 
 he was kept so constantly at home; but it was not known to anv other 
 creature in existence : it was not known even to Sylvester himself; he 
 was pci fee try unconscious of being a somnambulist: he had not even the 
 most remote suspicion of the fact; nor had he, when awake, the slightest 
 recollection of the dreams upon which he had acted. During sleep, 
 indeed, his recollection of their nature was most perfect he would, 
 for example, frequently commence a letter one night and finish the next 
 but when awake, his memory, as far as those dreams were concerned, 
 was in oblivion. 
 
 Anxiously had the doctor watched him night after night. He had 
 even allowed him to go from his chamber, but although he closely fol- 
 lowed, he never cheeked him. He felt perfectly sure that the means 
 which he had adopted in his own case he having been himself a som- 
 nambulist would eventually cure his son; and certainly, in the ease .f 
 Sylvester, a cure might by those means have been effected, but just as 
 a change became perceptible, the doctor unhappily died. 
 
 During the week which elapsed between the death of Dr. Sound 
 and his funeral, Sylvester remained in the house; but the day following 
 that on which the ceremony was performed, his Aunt Eleanor a maiden 
 lady of exemplary character took him to her cottage at Cothei>i,ne 
 C range about fifteen miles from the residence of her late brother con- 
 iving that an immediate change of scene might be highly beneficial to 
 hi- health, as he was then more than usually languid. 
 
 On their way to the (Jrange, Sylvester was silent, and as of course 
 Aunt Eleanor ascribed this silence to the grief which sprang from tin- 
 loss they had sustained, she felt it to be her duty as a Christian to offer 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 3 
 
 him all the consolation at her command. And she did so; but without 
 much apparent effect. She, moreover, with tin- view of diverting his 
 thoughts, pointed out, as tin-}- proceeded, every object which she held 
 to IK- in the slightest decree remarkable, but nothing could cheer him 
 nothing could rouse him i'rom the reverie in which he indulged, until 
 they approached the ParsoDftge-hoiise, which rtood within three hundred 
 yards of the Cottage. Of this phu-e Sylvoter took especial notice; and 
 it was an exceedingly beautiful little place, in the centre of; a tnost de- 
 lightful garden, and surrounded by a wall, which appeared to be studded 
 with nectarines and peaches, lie ,\ni albeit languidly expn ed 
 his admiration of the line appearance of this delicious fruit; but it vas 
 soon lost to view, and he was silent again. 
 
 Now, much has been written and said of old maids. They have 
 been spoken of in terms of the deepest contempt; painters have repre- 
 sented them with crabbed aspeets, -craggy neek>. yellow complexions, 
 bu-ts particularly bony, and lingers long, lleshless, and cold; while 
 writers have described them as being -kimiy, toothless, arrogant, ma- 
 licious, and wretched; but if the libellous painters and writer- in ques- 
 tion mean to contend that these are the prevailing characteristic.-* of old 
 maids in the aggregate, it will be at once perfectly clear that they never 
 have -hidied the real llesh and blood. Their's are merely conventional 
 old maids! Henceforth let the-e libelK-rs paint and write from Nature! 
 Let them do justice to those who compose that honourable albeit, pecu- 
 liar specie- of humanity, who have studied the respective characters of 
 their suitors too deeply to be ensnared who have met with none but 
 those who.M- view- were selfish, and who-e affections were impim who 
 have not allowed their judgment to be blinded by passion who have 
 imagined man's love to be ethereal but have not found it so who have 
 never had the wish to make, in a worldly sense, a yuod match, and who 
 have had sullicient sense to escape the miseries of a bad one! It i-. "f 
 cour-e, admitted that a/nr of the.-e honourable old maids for even their 
 contemptuous sobriquet is a-sociated with honour! may be bony, and 
 not very mild; but the idea of making unamiable skeletons of them nil 
 is mon.-troii-! -utlieiently monstrous to inspire indignation. Aunt 
 Eleanor was an old maid, and she was no skeleton: nor wa- >he malicious, 
 nor toothless, nor wretched. On the contrary, her figure approached 
 en bon point ; her teeth were white and sound, and her skin was soft 
 and clear: she had, perhaps, a finer a more animated bu.-t than any 
 other lady in the county! she was, moreover, just, benevolent, amiable, 
 and pure, while her heart was full of tranquil joy, for she was in spirit 
 wedded to her God. 
 
 Nor was there in this lovely cottage of hers the slightest thing indi- 
 cative of the residence of an old maid. Everything indeed was neat 
 and elegant; everything was arranged with the most exquisite taste; 
 but there was no minute primness perceptible: nor must it be ima- 
 gined for a moment that if the whole of her highly-prized china and 
 had been swept from the sideboard and broken to atoms, she 
 would have shed a single tear. No: nothing but love and sympathy 
 could wring a tear from her. 
 
 B 3 
 
4 SYLVESTER SOl'ND 
 
 Kiii- twentv years she had lived in that cottage, and although her 
 pecuniary nu-aiis were comparatively large, her establishment was 
 small, inasmuch as it consisted only of a cook, a housemaid, and a gar- 
 dener, who officiated also as groom. By her uniform kindness she had 
 completely w>n tin- hearts of these domestics: they were strongly, 
 deeply attached to her, and hence, when they new to the gate as the 
 chaise divw up, they welcomed her home indeed. 
 
 Knowing the time exactly at which her mistress would return, the 
 cook had prepared a delicious dinner, which, as soon as Aunt Eleanor 
 had changed her dress, was served up with characteristic elegance. 
 
 And Sylvester albeit calm and silent did justice to the viands pre- 
 pared; and Aunt Eleanor, in order to cheer him, insisted upon his 
 taking two glasses of wine! but finding after dinner that he still felt 
 languid, she conceiving that the excitement of the preceding day, and 
 the journey that morning, had exhausted his spirits prevailed upon him 
 to retire to his chamber, and enjoined the servants not to disturb him. 
 
 To his chamber Sylvester accordingly repaired, and having partially 
 undressed himself, reposed on the bed and went to sleep. He had not, 
 however, slept ten minutes, when he began to dream of the nectarines 
 and peaches he had seen on the wall of the parsonage garden, and being 
 inspired to action by the dinner he had eaten, and the wine the two 
 glasses of wine he had drank, he re-dressed himself, and left the 
 cottage unperceived. 
 
 As he quietly walked towards the garden of the parsonage, none 
 could have supposed that he was then fast asleep! his eyes were open, 
 and he looked not vacantly, nor with an intense stare, but precisely 
 as it' he had been awake at every object he passed. And thus he 
 reached the garden wall, which he mounted with alacrity and ease, and 
 having cleared from a very convenient spot the broken bottles, which 
 the reverend gentleman had most humanely caused to be stuck upon 
 the wall in reality with the view of phlebotomizing trespassers, but 
 nominally in order to keep off the cats he sat down and freely partook 
 of the peaches, which really were very fine indeed. And he enjoyed 
 them much, and ate no inconsiderable quantity of them, for they were 
 in his judgment delicious; but just as he had eaten to satiety, the 
 reverend gentleman, to whom the fruit legally belonged, espied him, 
 and, having recovered from the shock, which this proceeding which 
 he held to be one of the most barefaced audacity induced, rushed into 
 the garden with all the velocity his shortness of breath, and portliness 
 of person would permit, exclaiming, "Jones! Jones!" in tones of indig- 
 nation lor he really was very indignant at the time and in an instant 
 Jones, the gardener, appeared. 
 
 "Jones," he continued, pointing fiercely to Sylvester; "that's how the 
 peaches go! that's the way!'' 
 
 Jones looked at Sylvester utterly astounded. Was it could it be 
 possible? And that, too, before his very eyes! He was about to spring 
 upon him with all the ferocity of a tiger; but Sylvester, having eaten 
 all the peaches lie could eat, at that moment dropped from the wall, and 
 disappeared. 
 

 


 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 wh 
 
 th 
 
 = 
 
 "He's off!" cried the pastor. "Follow him, Jones! but don't say a 
 word: he is clearly respectable. See where he goes Jones, and then let 
 me know." 
 
 Jones rushed to the gate and followed Sylvester's footsteps ; and when 
 he saw him actually enter the cottage, he returned to the pastor and 
 made the fact known. 
 
 But then what was to be done? Aunt Eleanor was a lady for 
 whom the reverend gentleman entertained the highest respect! The 
 question with him therefore wa, whether he ought to wound her feel- 
 ings by complaining of that which had occurred, or to take no farther 
 notice of the matter. He was soon, however, prompted to answer this 
 question by the thought of hi* peaches. 1 le could not in silence endure the 
 loss of them. They were the finest in tin- county! nay, in his judgment, 
 Europe could not produce peaches at all comparable with them. He 
 therefore reaohred to pn-ered to the cottage, and to the cottage he did pro- 
 ceed, followed by the gentJeJooea,wBo absolutely swelled with indignation. 
 
 A.S they passed through tin- gate. Aunt Eleanor, who s;i\v them, and 
 who held the 1 reverend gentleman in very hi^h e>teem, rang the bell for 
 the servant to open the door, and then received him with all her charae- 
 ristie cordiality and irrace, while the highly indignant .lones remained 
 
 elling at tin- door. 
 
 Mv dear madam." said the pa^tr. a- soon as he had recovered the 
 power to speak, for the occurrence had induced a dreadful state of ex- 
 citement, which his sharp walk t> the n.ttagr had by no means subdued, 
 "Mv dear madam, 1 iv-ret I exceedingly regret that 1 should have 
 to call on business of a nature so unpleasant: luit YOU have, 1 believe, 
 a young Ljentleinan hereV" 
 
 My nephew!" replied Aunt Kleanor. " I brought him with me this 
 morning, and a sweet little fellow he isP 
 
 " I am sorry." returned tin- reverend gmtlrman, u I am indeed very 
 sorry to be compelled to >;i\ that he jx unhappily addicted to practices 
 which I will not exactly designate audacious " 
 
 Sir!" 
 
 "But which are, in my judgment, highly improper." 
 
 "You ainaxe me!" exclaimed Aunt Kleanor; and really the amaze- 
 ment she expressed wa> very striking. " My ne])hew addicted to prac- 
 tices which you deem highly improper! Why. he is one of tin- mildest 
 and most inoffensive little fellows that ever breathed! He woidd not 
 hurt a worm!'' 
 
 " It may be true that he would not hurt a worm ; but I know him to 
 be very fond of peaches." 
 
 "That is very possible! and T submit very natural. But may I be 
 
 nnitted to know what you mean?" 
 
 Why it is. my dear madam, with the greatest reluctance that I make 
 
 complaint of this nature to you; but I think that it may be highly 
 beneficial to him, for we know that if our vices in youth be unchecked 
 they jrrow with our growth and strengthen with our strength.'' 
 
 " Dear me!" cried Aunt Kleanor, "why what on earth can have oc- 
 curred?" 
 
6 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Sitting in my study, ten minutes ago, I perceived through the win- 
 dow a youth upon the Vail, lively helping himself to my peaches. Well! 
 as I, of course, disapproved of this proceeding for, had he asked me for 
 the prache.s he. should have had them with pleasure I went out, and 
 calling Jones, my gardener, desired him to expostulate with the youth; 
 but the moment he appeared the youth dropped from the wall, and 
 Jones, who followed him, informs me that he saw him enter here." 
 
 M Impossible!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. "My nephew is the only 
 youth 1 have about the premises!" 
 
 "What is the age of your nephew, may I ask?" 
 
 " About seventeen." 
 
 " Has be black hair, flowing freely over his shoulders?" 
 
 "He has." 
 
 " I am sorry then to say, my dear madam, that he is the youth who 
 purloined my peaches." 
 
 "But really! my denr sir/ Oh! it cannot be! The dear boy has 
 been in bed and asleep for the last hour." 
 
 " Is he asleep now?" inquired the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor rani: the bell, and when the servant appeared, she de- 
 sired her to go into Sylvester's room, and to ascertain whether he really 
 was asleep or not. 
 
 " This is strange," said Aunt Eleanor; " very strange, indeed!" And 
 the pastor echoed this observation, by saying that it ivas strange, very 
 strange, indeed. 
 
 " Well, Mary?" said Aunt Eleanor, when the servant re-appeared. 
 
 "Master Sylvester sleeps like a top, ma'am," promptly replied 
 Mary. 
 
 "I thought so!" observed Aunt Eleanor, "I knew that he would. 
 The poor dear boy was exhausted." 
 
 "Well; this is very extraordinary!" said the reverend gentleman, 
 who couldn't tell at all what to make of it, " Really, I should very 
 much, indeed, like to see him." 
 
 " For your satisfaction, he shall be at once awakened." 
 
 " Oh dear me, no! There is not the least necessity for that." 
 
 " Then will you do me the- favour to walk up and see him?'' 
 
 " Why, if you particularly wish me to do so," replied the reverend 
 gentleman, "I will!" And he rose from his seat, and Aunt Eleanor 
 rose too ; and Mary, who couldn't conceive what it meant, led the way 
 up to Sylvester's room. 
 
 "Poor boy!" said Aunt Eleanor. "There lie is, and there he has 
 been for the last hour." 
 
 That he was there, then, appeared to the reverend gentleman to be 
 abundantly clear; but that there he had been for the last hour, was in his 
 calm judgment, apocryphal very. He could not believe it. Why it 
 was the very face the very hair! It was moreover plain, that he was 
 then sleeping soundly: the pastor had no doubt at all about that; but, 
 as he wished very much indeed to sec him awake, he dropped his stick 
 very accidentally, of course, and thus produced a noise which had 
 the effect desired. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. . 
 
 "My dearest boy!" said Aunt Eleanor. " Oh, I am sorry that we 
 ve disturbed you." 
 
 Sylvester sat ii]i in bed and rubbed his eyes, and then looked at the 
 reverend gentleman, precisely as if lie wished to know who he was and 
 what he wanted. 
 
 "Lie down, dear, again," said Aunt Eleanor, soothingly. "You 
 must be fatigued, dear: you look very weary still.'' 
 
 The reverend gentleman shook his head, and that, too, with so much 
 significance, that any close observer might at once have perceived that 
 Sylvester was, in his view, very artful. Aunt Klcanor, however, did 
 net observe this; she felt that the "mistake" had been suilieient ly seen, 
 and, therefore, left the chamber, followed by her reverend friend. 
 
 " Well!" -aid that gentleman, OH his return to the parlour, "Ixcally! 
 I'poii my word, In- bear- a very striking resemblance to the youth 
 whom I saw upon my garden wall!" 
 
 "Indeed! Well, that is strange," returned Aunt Eleanor, "I know of 
 
 r youth at all like him." 
 "There must be one in the vicinity whom lie very mink n-embles!" 
 " How very e\tr;i<>rdinarv ! Whv, whom can \' 
 
 "Indeed, 1 know not," returned the reverend gentleman, "tin-re 
 appears to be some little mystery about it, which probably time will 
 solve. 1 have only to say that 1 am >i>rry the affair happened, and beg- 
 to apologise fo|- the trouble I have given." 
 
 At this moment Sylv< Mer entered the room in the same div- 
 that in which he ap]eared upon the wall, and no sooner had he entered, 
 than the pastor who now. of course, felt quite convinced of his bring the 
 delinquent said, " \\'ell, voting gentleman, did you enjoy those peaches'.'" 
 
 Sylve-ter looked at him earnestly for a moment, and then observed, 
 calmly, " What peaches do you allude to? 1 do not know that 1 have 
 tasted a peach this season!" 
 
 The re\ eivnd gentleman hereupon regarded him With an expression 
 of hon-or! II,. ti-lt it to be awful in the extreme! and shuddered at 
 the thought that a falsehood so flagrant should proceed from the lip., of 
 a sinner M young! Keeuvering himself, however, from the shock thus 
 produced, he, with an aspect of severity, said, "Tray, sir, have you 
 ever heard or read of Ananias?'' 
 
 " I have, sir. But why put that question to me ?" 
 
 "Because you have said distinctly that you have not, to your know- 
 ledge, tasted a peach this season; whereas, within the last half hour I 
 saw yo U upon my garden-wall, eating my peaches to absolute satiety!" 
 
 "Let me assure you, sir," returned Sylvester, firmly, "that you arc 
 mistaken. 1 feel that 1 am utterly incapable of such bad conduct." 
 
 The calmness, the firmness, the apparent truthfulness with which 
 this assurance was given, had a manifest tendency to shake the reverend 
 gentleman's conviction. And yet was it possible that he could be mis- 
 taken? There stood tlie very youth! or if lie were not the very youth, how 
 strong was the resemblance! lie had preached the fallibility of the nesh: 
 he felt that he himself was not, in a general sense, infallible: but then, 
 in ibis particular j and yet the very presence/ the very look the very 
 
8 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 tones of the youth who stood before him, were indicative of innocence. 
 He hurl .never before felt so perfectly puzzled ; still he did say eventually, 
 " Well, mv dear madam, I suppose that I must be mistaken but really! 
 perl Kips, however, you will allow me to call in my gardener?" 
 
 " Oh, my dear sir," said Aunt Eleanor, "do so at once, by all means !" 
 And Jones was accordingly summoned. 
 
 " Do you know this young gentleman, Jones?" said the pastor. 
 
 "Know him, sir!" replied Jones, utterly astonished at the question 
 being asked; " I should know him from a million!" 
 
 "But are you sure, Jones, that this is the identical youth whom we 
 saw on the wall just now?" 
 
 " Sure!" echoed Jones, who really felt the idea of his not being sure 
 to be perfectly ridiculous " Of course, sir, I'm sure." 
 
 "Man!" sa'id Aunt Eleanor, "adhere to the truth." 
 
 " Oh! that's true enough, ma'am. I'd swear it." 
 
 " Swear it!" 
 
 " I know him by the cut of his clothes." 
 
 " Although, .lones, that is strong collateral evidence," observed the 
 reverend gentleman, profoundly, " 1 do not hold it to be conclusive. 
 There may l>e other garments of the same description. / look at the 
 countenance. Man may copy the works of man, but Nature never 
 copies herself. Among the myriads of human beings in existence there 
 are not even two individuals to be found with features precisely alike, 
 albeit, there may be, as in this case, a striking resemblance. Nor is this 
 amazing peculiarity confined exclusively to the human species. The 
 nocks that range the verdant fields, the beasts which prowl in the fright- 
 ful jungle, the fish that inhabit the boundless sea, and the birds which 
 float in the balmy air nay, even the very vermin which tunnel the 
 earth have all the same wonderful individuality. Still, as one sheep 
 mav be mistaken for another, by those who know not the peculiar ex- 
 pression of that sheep, so may one youth be mistaken for another, as we 
 have, in this case, perhaps, sufficiently proved." 
 
 All that Jones understood of this he appreciated, but half of that 
 which reached his understanding was not much. He had no notion at 
 all, however, of giving the thing up in this way, and therefore he said, 
 with much point " But does the young genelman himself mean to say 
 it aint him?" 
 
 " 1 mean to say," retimied Sylvester, calmly, " that I have been fast 
 asleep for the last hour." 
 
 "Well, send 1 may live!" exclaimed Jones. 
 
 " Hush! hush!" cried the reverend gentleman. 
 
 "Well, but in all my creepings up!" resumed Jones "Here! take 
 me afore a justice. I'll oath it it's him, afore any judge or jury in na- 
 ture. But," he added, turning to Sylvester, " do you mean to look me 
 in the face, and tell me that it warnt you as was upon our wall a peg- 
 ging away at them peaches there? -only .say?" 
 
 " I hope, my dear aunt," observed Syl\ ester, with unaffected mildness, 
 ' that yon do not believe I could have been guilty of such an act?" 
 
 "No, my dear; certainly not," 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 9 
 
 (Sir," added Sylvester, addressing the reverend gentleman, " I should 
 utterly ashamed of myself if even I felt that I could.' 1 
 
 The pastor, notwithstanding the rc.semblanee was still in his judgment 
 amazing, was now inspired l>y Sylvester's tranquil hearing, with the 
 conviction that he must be mistaken, and tried to innoculate Jones with 
 the same conviction; but Jones would not have it. He knew what he 
 knew! he knew that the youth who stood before him, and the youth 
 who was on the wall, wen- one and the same youth! and said so! and 
 stuck to it firmly! indeed so firmly, that the reverend gentleman at length 
 desired him to leave the room. 
 
 Now it happened that Judkins, Aunt Eleanor's gardener who, con- 
 ceiving that Jones had come there with a A iew to supplant him, had 
 kept an exceedingly sharp look out was at hand; and it also happened 
 that Judkins had a great contempt for Jones, seeing that Jones, at the 
 lust horticultural meetiu- >f tin- county, had gained tin- first prize for 
 caiTots: while Jones had as givat a contempt tl>r Judkins, seeing that 
 Judkins had gained the first pri/e I 'or oni.ms. whereas. Jono knrir that his 
 onions were superior to those which. Jndkins had produced, while, in Jud- 
 kins's judgment, his carrots were finer than any which Jone- had the 
 nan* to raise. Tlieir hatred of each other was therefore rooted; and, as 
 Judkins had heard the substance of all that had been said about the 
 pearlies, lie taunted Jones severely oil Ills being de-ired to leave the 
 
 room; and as .lone- most vehemently retorted and maintained still that 
 Svlvester irttt! the voiith }>\ whom his master's peache.s had been stolen, 
 Jndkins said something vi-ry severe about Joint's carrots, and invited 
 him to the meadow, with tin- view of deciding whether Sylvester was the 
 youth in question or not. At this Jours was nothing daunted : he ac- 
 cepted the challenge; and when Jndkins had called a mutual friend from 
 the n>ad, ibr the purpo-e of seeing fair-play, they repaired to the meadow 
 Avith bosoms frauirht with disgust. 
 
 There have always been, even t'rom the most remote period of Avhich 
 history takes cognizance, advocates tor that grand social seheme which 
 comprehends trial by battle. Some have chosen clubs for these trials, 
 some axes, some d agirers somr spear-, while others have preferred rifles, 
 pistols, and swords; but a far more civilised mode of deciding thus the 
 merits of a ease in dispute is, unquestionably, that which was in this 
 particular instance adopted by Jndkins and Join-. 
 
 Certainly, the practice of doing battle Avith the fists was the first step 
 to civilisation. When men began to substitute the weapons with which 
 Nature had provided them for battle-axes, tomahawks, and knives, 
 society made a most important stride towards perfection. As civilisa- 
 tion progresses, men Avill substitute the use of the tongue for that of the 
 fist: when that has been sufficiently practised, the use of the brow Avill 
 supersede that of the tongue; and when we shall have reached the per- 
 fection of civilisation, men Avill merely treat Avith contempt those whom 
 they know to be unworthy of respect. At the period of Judkins's and 
 Jones's battle, civilisation had made but that one important stride; and 
 as they were not behind the age in Avhich they lived, they repudiating 
 pistols, knives, and swords repaired to the meadow and stripped. 
 
10 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 It was a lovc-ly day! [It is of course highly essential to the progress 
 of this history that these moM remarkable observations should be made.] 
 Tin- sun shone as tin- Mm will sometimes shine brilliantly, and while 
 it shone, all nature, with the exception of Jones and Judkins, looked gay. 
 The sheep iii the distance were nibbling the turnips; the stubble was 
 studded with crows; the leaves on the trees around looked green; ;ind 
 the larks were merrily singing in the air! This was precisely the extra- 
 ordinary state of things when Judkins and Jones assumed the attitude 
 of ill fiance, and looked at each other with a species of ferocity pcrhap- 
 altogether unexampled. As pugilists, however, they were not scientific. 
 They were, moreover, bulky and very short-winded, and therefore ex- 
 ec- dingly slow; nor was there any particular time kept. No: at the end 
 of each round, that is to say, when they retreated from each other with 
 the view of "taking breath," they sat upon the grass, sometimes for 
 three minutes, sometimes for five. Time to them was a matter of no 
 importance they had not been in the habit of hurrying themselves, 
 and they had not the least intention to hurry themselves then. Nor was 
 their friend in any sort of haste; he was remarkably patient and re- 
 markably impartial: indeed, so impartial, that when, at the expiration of 
 twenty minutes, Judkins, who had neither received nor given any blow 
 of importance, wanted some beer, he declared that he wouldn't fetch it 
 unless he had a like commission from Jones. For this commission, 
 however, he had not to wait long, and when he started for the beer, it 
 was with this understanding, that there was to be an absolute cessation 
 of hostilities until he returned. The truce thus established, neither of 
 the combatants had the least desire to violate; it was, therefore, on both 
 sides, honourably observed: but during the absence of their mutual 
 friend reflection came, and their indignation cooled, and hence, on the 
 ict urn of that friend, Judkins said to Jones, "Now you know I'm not 
 afraid of you! quite the contrary but as I shouldn't like to hart! 
 a black eye, and as the parson, I know, wouldn't like to see you with 
 your front teeth knocked out (Judkins thought that this was about the 
 A r< uigost Avay to put it) ; if you like, we'll establish no hitting in the face." 
 
 " Where are AVC to hit, then?" said Jones, who was tired of it quite! 
 it was very hard work! *' If we are not to hit in the lace, where are 
 we to hit?'' 
 
 " I'll tell you," interposed their mutual friend, " hit each other in 
 tin- hand, and then drink, and make it up. If you don't do this, I'll 
 spill the beer." 
 
 This settled the matter at once. Judkins thought of Jones's carrots, 
 and Jones thought of Judkins's onion prize; but as it was perfectly 
 clear to them both that they couldn't get on without beer, they, with a 
 laudable show of reluctance, allowed their friend to join their hands, 
 and thus preserved their honour intact, inasmuch as their bright reputa- 
 tion lor courage remained untarnished, albeit the real point at issue was 
 undecided still. 
 
 During the progress of this memorable battle, Aunt Eleanor prevailed 
 upon the reveivnd gentleman to remain and take tea, and, as Sylvester 
 soon became a favourite with the pastor, lie, in the course of the even- 
 
1 
 
 
 
 ' 
 

 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 11 
 
 ing, proposed a ride round the adjoining park. Sylvester of course 
 consented at once, and when the pastor's horse had been scut for, and 
 Aunt Eleanor's pony had been saddled, they started, and after riding 
 until the moon rose, the reverend gentleman saw him safely home, and 
 
 bade him adieu for the night. 
 
 ( 1 1 AFTER III. 
 
 IN WHICH Till; I I K>T AI.AIJM IS CREATED. 
 
 How soft mid scn-iii- is tin- harvest moon! how calm, how beauti- 
 ful, how bright! When all around is tranquil and clear, and the night- 
 ingale sings in her sweetest strain, how touching the tones of endear- 
 ment sound! who would not kiss? who could not love? Then Night 
 di>r;irds her sombre veil, and mounting her white one studded with bril- 
 liants celebrates that lovely morn when she became the bride of Day. 
 
 X >, :'< N li-w important remarks have been suggested by two 
 mt extraordinary facts, nanu-ly that on the first night that Sylvester 
 slept at tin- e.ittage, the harvest moon was at the full, and that about 
 twelve o'clock that very night. Aunt Kleanor's cook heard a noise. 
 She and .Mary they slept tgetlu-r had been in bed nearly tw 
 hours; but cook was twenty years Mary'v senior, and, being atllicted 
 with pains in the joins, was tar more wakeful than .Mary, who 
 invariably buried herself in the clothes, and slept away profoundly. 
 
 And the difference between the various *peeie^ i.f -lecp is ama/ing: 
 some will sleep quietly, others very noisily -- ome very lightly, other-, 
 very heavily some very sweetly, other- very wildly some very 
 languidly, others very soundly but without going into any deeply 
 philosophical treatise on >leep, it will be, perhaps, sulli'-ieiit here to 
 state that a bedfellow's -nore is a most unique nuisance, and that 
 anything equal to Mary's snore in the annals of snoring could never 
 be found. 
 
 "Mary!" whispered cook, when she first heard the noise, "Mary! 
 Did you hear that? Mary! Are you dead?" 
 
 That the question u Are you clead?" was supererogatory, is a fact 
 which must, it is submitted, be to every highly intellectual person 
 apparent: inasmuch as in the first place a question implies the expec- 
 tation of an answer, and in the next it is perfectly well known to the 
 intelligent that dead individuals never snore. This affords another sad 
 and unequivocal proof of the lamentable want of education. Had this 
 cook been conversant with the classics, she never could have a^ked 
 Rich a question; but as she knew nothing at all about them and 
 moreover didn't want to know she not only put this question to Mary, 
 but announced it as being her unbought opinion that the girl really 
 was dead! she slept so soundly and snored so well. 
 
12 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "Mary!" continued cook, as the noise increased, "Mary!" here ^ie 
 shook and pinched her angrily "the girl must be dead. Mary! 
 Mary!" 
 
 "It isn't six yet!" yawned Mary. 
 
 " Six! listen! hush! do you hear?" 
 
 " What's the matter?" said Mary. 
 
 "Hark!" 
 
 " Oh, it's the cat." 
 
 " It's no cat, Mary! Hark! There it is again!" 
 
 At this awful moment, they both heard footsteps they heard them 
 distinctly! and every step seemed to press upon their hearts. 
 
 " Oh!" exclaimed Mary, "What is to become of us!" 
 
 " Hush!" cried cook; " Hush! hush!" 
 
 The footsteps approached ! they came gradually nearer, and still more 
 near! and cook and Mary hugged each other closely, with a view to 
 mutual protection. At length the footsteps reached the door, and cook's 
 heart sank within her. 
 
 "D-d-d-on't be frightened, Mary!" she exclaimed; " D-d-d-on't be 
 frightened! Oh! if we should both be ruined!" 
 
 " Shall we scream?" said Mary. 
 
 " Hark!" cried cook, as the footsteps receded; " Hark, they are going 
 down stairs do you hear them?" 
 
 " I d-d-d-do," replied Mary. " Oh, how d-d-dreadful!" 
 
 The sound of the footsteps grew more and more faint, until they were 
 heard in the passage below, when the noise increased! the very chairs 
 seemed to move! then bolts were withdrawn, and at length a door 
 closed, when all was still as death again. 
 
 "They're gone!" said cook, who, while intensely listening to these 
 dreadful sounds, had perspired with so much freedom, that the sheets 
 were quite, wet. " Thank heaven! they are gone." 
 
 " Are you sure of it?'' cried Mary, trembling frightfully " quite sure!" 
 
 " Quite," replied cook, " I heard the door close." 
 
 No sooner had Mary been assured of this fact, than she uttered a 
 series of the most fearful screams that ever proceeded from a human 
 throat "Murder!'' she continued, in tones the most piercing "Mur- 
 der! thieves ! lire ! mur-cfer /" 
 
 Mary Mary!" exclaimed cook; "hark!" 
 
 The bell rang with violence. Their mistress had been alarmed. But 
 then what was to be done? 
 
 "Answer the bell, Mary," said cook; "go, and answer the bell." 
 
 "Me answer the bell!" cried Mary. "McJ I couldn't do it no, not 
 if you'd give me the world! Why they may be in missis's room who 
 knows! they may be a-murdering of her now! Oh, isn't it horrid?" 
 
 The lell still violently rang, but neither cook nor Mary could stir. 
 To protect their mistress they would at any other time have done much, 
 but then with their imagination teeming with murder they could not 
 answer that bell. 
 
 They now heard footsteps again in the passage; and as the very next 
 moment, to their utter horror, they heard a loud knocking at their door, 
 

 THK So.MNAMIil LIST. 13 
 
 icy would, if they could, have sunk into the earth. They were speech- 
 es with terror -they ceased to breathe, and ielt that all was lost. 
 
 From this frightful state, of suspen>e they were, however, soon re- 
 eved, lor their mistier, having opened her chamber door to ascertain 
 hat had caused those dreadful screams, was immediately answered by 
 udkins. They knew his voice, and could have blessed him. Harsh 
 s it was for J udkins had not a soft voice celestial music could not 
 icn, in their ears, have sounded more sweetly. 
 
 "Why, what on earth can be the matter?" ensured Aunt Eleanor. 
 What can it be?" 
 
 "I don't know, ma'am, I'm sure," replied Judkins, " there's sutiiii 
 Tong, somewhere: somebody shruck dreadful." 
 "The shrieking was dreadful indeed; it must have hem Mary." 
 "I've knocked at the door, but they -eem dead asleep." 
 " Oh, Judkins!" cried cook. >% ( )h, wait but a moment Oh, we're 
 not asleep '."and she put on her pettieoat hastily, while Mary threw 
 lier's round her shoulders, and then struck a light "Oh! ma'am," 
 continued cook, as she opened the door, "there's been thieves in tin- 
 house a whole gang of 'em ! Oh, we're so frightened ! 1 really thought 
 that murdered we all should have Keen." 
 
 " You've been dreaming," said Judkin<: M lhat's my notion. There's 
 been no thieves here. Was that you that shruckV" 
 
 "Oh, no, that was Mary. She kn<.\v* a< well as me, there was five 
 or six of 'em at least !" 
 
 "That there was," said Mary; "and murdered \\emvst have been, 
 if 1 hadn't screamed." 
 
 "It's my belief you dreamt it," -aid Judkins ; "/ didn't hear anv 
 
 "Nor did I," interpo>ed Aunt Eleanor. "But let us go down, and 
 see if the things are disturbed." 
 
 Down stairs they accordingly went: Judkins boldly leading the way 
 with a candle and a poker; bin it was at a glance plain that no th, 
 had been there. The rooms were preeiselv as thev had left them: there 
 was not a thing out of its place. The china was >afe; the plate was 
 secure: the front door was fast in short, everything appeared so ex- 
 actlv as it should be, that Aunt Eleanor freely subscribed to the opinion 
 that the whole affair had originated in a dream. 
 
 " There, go to bed again, you silly-.peoj.le," >he observed; "goto bed, 
 and don't sleep on your backs. 1 am glad that that dear boy has not 
 been disturbed. There, go to bed both of you, and, for heaven's, let us 
 have no more screaming." 
 
 "Well, but I'm sure, ma'am,'' said Mary, " oh! if I didn't - " 
 "There, don't say another word about it. Good night." 
 As they separated, cook looked at Judkins with great significance, 
 and Judkins who didn't at all approve of having his rest broken thus 
 looked with equal significance at her; but he passed her in silence: 
 nor did she even bid him good night. On returning to her room, how- 
 ever, she said, in strict confidence to Mary, " Now I'll tell you what it is : 
 you know, it's all perfect nonsense about our dreaming that's of course 
 
14 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 stuff : I know I hoard footsteps, and so did you, and so there can be nc 
 mistake about that. Now, I'll tell you what, Mary, between you ani 
 mi-, it's my belie!', that the footsteps we heard were those of no other 
 man in the world than Judkins! I'm sure of it, Mary: and I'm not often 
 wrung. Now, what right had he there, I ask? What was he doing? 
 Depend upon it, Mary, he was after no good!" 
 
 Certainly Judkins, who slept over the kitchen, and who had a private 
 staircase to his room, had no right, unless summoned, to be in any other 
 part of the premises at midnight; and, as he was the very person who 
 had suggested that they had been drfeaming, it unquestionably did in 
 Cook's judgment seem strange ; but just as she was about to take a some- 
 what more comprehensive view of the private character of Judkins, - 
 wrnt to the window, and through it beheld a white figure mounted upon 
 a Avhite horse, leaping the hedges, and dashing through the meadows as 
 it he had been folllowing the hounds in full cry. 
 
 "Mary! Heaven preserve us!" she exclaimed. " What is this?" 
 
 Mary rushed to the window, and in an instant cried "Oh! it's a 
 ghost!" 
 
 "Nonsense! ghosts don't ride on horseback!" 
 
 "Oil! but they do though, sometimes." 
 
 " It's no ghost, I tell you; that there is a thief, and that thief is your 
 sweetheart, the miller." 
 
 " I tell you it's not then !" cried Mary, indignantly. " He a thief, in- 
 deed! Well, I'm sure." 
 
 " I know him by the way in which he rides, and I never did think 
 he was better than he should be. Depend upon it, Mary, he's been in 
 the house, and when we frightened him away, he stole the horse out of 
 the stable, for I'll take my oath that's Snorter look !" 
 
 Away the white figure flew over the fields, and then made a circuit, 
 and then crossed the road, when, as the moon shone full upon him, and 
 he could with the utmost distinctness be seen, they made up their minds 
 at once to point him out to Judkins, and with that view went to his door 
 and knocked. 
 
 " Who's there?" cried Judkins, somewhat startled, for he had just got 
 into his second sleep. 
 
 " Me !" replied cook; " its only me, Judkins !" 
 
 " Well, what do you want?" 
 
 " I was right after all. Do come to the door." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! not if I know it. Go to bed, and don't bother," 
 
 " I tell you there's a thief about the premises." 
 
 " 1 know there's a fool about the premises." 
 
 v> I've seen him !" returned cook. " He's just stolen Snorter !" 
 
 I wish you were a Snorter with all my soul!" said Judkins, on get- 
 ting out of bed. "Well," he continued, while putting on his smalls, 
 ' tkii is a very pretty game, I think! There's certainly nothing like a 
 change! and such a change as this is, I must say, a treat ! Now then," 
 he added, on opening the door, "what fresh maggot's this you've got 
 into your head?" 
 
 " It's no maggot, Judkins," said cook ; " it's a fact, Look through 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 15 
 
 the window, and there you'll see Snorter a galloping off with a man on 
 lis back." 
 
 Judkins went to the window and looked, but as lie could see nothing 
 a: all of the kind, he said pointedly " What do you mean? Are you 
 taken so often V" 
 
 I don't care," said cook, when, on looking herself, she found that 
 the figure had vanished. " I know there was some man on Snorter. 
 Am 1 n >r In believe my own eyes? Mary saw it as well.'' 
 
 Oh, you saw it, too!" said Judkins, " did you?" Well, what was it 
 like?" 
 
 "It was for all the world like a ghost! 11 replied Mary. 
 
 "It was a ghost," said Judkins, ironically; "and nothing but a ghost. 
 
 BOrl of a .-well was lie, Mary?" 
 
 lie was dn-xM-il all in white!" replied Mary. "There was ut a l>it 
 cf 1'laek at all about him." 
 
 "Then of course lie was a ghost. Tie must have been a -li'-st. And 
 idn't he spit lire, Mary? and didn't his hor>e l.reathe blue tlaine? 
 (lid didn't his eye-balls roll about? and wasn't lie in a white eloul?" 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is," said cook, " 1 don't eare a bit about what 
 vou say; I know what I know; and 1 tell you again, 1 saw a man 
 riding awav upon Snorter. 1 >oyou go down to the >table, and look : if you 
 find Snorter there, then I've done. Just put on your coat, and g. down." 
 "Why, what do you take me for?" said .Judkins. "Who do you 
 ihink you're a playing upon? You call thi> a frolic, 1 -'poe? You've 
 ;>egun a nice game, 1 know; but you don't play ir out upon me. Go 
 10 bed; and let's have no more of your n.ui-vn-e. It' you come here 
 aua'm, I'll call miis; she'll verv six)ii put you to rights. You take me, 1 
 n'pose, for a fool, don't you? Be oil'!" 
 
 Cook, perceiving that Judkins was highly indignant, muttered some- 
 thing seven-, and retired; and when she had had a f<-w warm word* 
 witli Mary, who felt extremely wroth at its being supposed that tin; 
 miller was not all her fancy had painted, they both went to sleep, and 
 slept well. 
 
 But Judkins for a long time could not go to sleep: his indignation at 
 
 the thought of being considered a fool, was so excessive. And, of all ideas 
 of an unpleasing character, there is probably not one so galling to a man as 
 that of his being considered to be a fool. He may think like a fool, he may 
 speak like a fool, he may be conscious of having acted in a very foolish 
 manner, he may even, confidentially, call himself a fool ; but no man thinks 
 that lie is a fool in the abstract, nor can any man bear to be thought 
 a fool. And this is a wise provision of Nature. A wise provision of 
 JNature? Well, it is an absurd conventional term; inasmuch, as all 
 Nature's provisions are wise; and, therefore, perhaps, it had better be 
 put thus; It is one of the provisions of Nature, and its admirable cha- 
 racter is manifest in this; that if fools knew they were fools, their value 
 in their own estimation would be small, and all fools would be con- 
 sequently wretched; while the fact of its coming to their knowledge that 
 they are by others supposed to be fools, prompts them to endeavour, at 
 least, to act thenceforth wisely. 
 
16 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 This, prima facie, may appear to be very severe upon Judkins; but it 
 is in reality not so, seeing that he was no fool, and that no one ever sup- 
 posed him to be anything like a fool. He was kept awake so long by 
 the idea of its being imagined that lie was a fool. But when he had 
 sufficiently reflected upon the matter, that is, when he had proved him- 
 self to himself, beyond all dispute on the part of himself, to be no fool, 
 he went to sleep, and slept until six in the morning. 
 
 Being, however, anxious to prove to cook, that he would have been a 
 fool had lie allowed himself to act on her suggestion, he no sooner rose 
 than he went to the stable, which he found, to all appearance, externally, 
 just as he had left it. The door was locked; the key was still in the 
 secret place above the door, and the way in which it turned when applied 
 to the lock, convinced him fully that the lock had not been forced. Bur 
 the moment he entered, he saw at a single glance, that something was 
 wrong. There stood the pony, and there stood Snorter; but Snorter was 
 saddled, and not only saddled, but literally covered with steaming foam! 
 
 Judkins stood for a moment, looking at the animal with an expres- 
 sion of amazement the most intense, and having thus viewed him from 
 head to tail, he asked himself the following questions: First: Where 
 could the horse, have been? Secondly: Who could have 1 taken him out? 
 Thirdly: What, under the circumstances, was he to do? The two first 
 questions he couldn't at all answer; he knew only this: that the horse 
 had been out, and that he who had taken him out was no stranger: he 
 therefore passed them to be considered anon, conceiving that the ques- 
 tion which demanded his immediate consideration was the third: What, 
 under the circumstances, was lie to do? 
 
 Should he go in and explain IIOAV matters stood in the stable? Would 
 it be wise to do so? He thought not. When he had dwelt upon the 
 triumphant position in which cook would be thereby placed, lie could 
 not think that the pursuit of such a course would be at all indicative of 
 wisdom. Well then; should he set to work and clean the horse at once, 
 and say nothing whatever about it? This question was the germ of 
 deep thought. It was, however, perfectly clear, that Snorter in any 
 case must be rubbed down ; and, as Judkins felt that while rubbing him 
 down he should have sufficient time to arrive at some decision, he pulled 
 off his jacket, and went to work at once. 
 
 Now while he was thus intently engaged, and hissing away like an 
 angry serpent, cook glided past the stable door. She had come out 
 expressly with the view of breaking loose in the event of Snorter 
 having been stolen: it was her immovably-fixed determination to open 
 in that event her whole mind to Judkins, and, therefore, it is not 
 irrational to suppose that, had matters stood as she expected they 
 would stand, and as indeed she really wished them to stand, she would 
 have walked into him warmly; but as she saw the horse in reality 
 there, and then-fore I'elr that she must have been mistaken, in so far 
 as the identitv of the animal was concerned, she deemed it prudent to 
 hold her peace, and silently worked her way back. 
 
 During the performance of this extraordinary feat, Mary, while 
 a- i-riiiLi her mistress to dress, explained minutely to her all that had 
 

 THE M.)MN'AMIi['LLST. 17 
 
 occurred enlarging of course upon every point, and swelling each into 
 
 all possible- importance. 
 
 At first, Aunt Eleanor appeared to regard the whole affair as an 
 excellent jest, and she really did enjoy the relation of the circumstances 
 highly; but when Mary, with great force and natural fooling, stated 
 that the miller was suspected of having taken the horse from the stable, 
 her mistress knowing the attachment which existed between him and 
 Mary felt herself bound to enquire into the matter, with the view of 
 either clearing his character if innocent, or, in the event of his being 
 guiliv, of breaking off the match. 
 
 She, accordingly, on descending to the breakfast-room, at once 
 summoned .Judkins and cook, and as cook was the first to attend that 
 summons, she at once told her tale, and made one deep mystery of it. 
 Judkins, however, was not long after her, and as he had decided upon 
 sacrificing all private feeling upon the altar of duty, he came prepared 
 to state the whole c:i>e. 
 
 " Judkins," said Aunt Eleanor, as he entered, "how does the horse 
 look this morning'/" 
 
 " Why, he's pretty well, considering, ma'am," replied Judkins. 
 
 u Pretty well, cunnnfi'riiig Considering what?'' 
 
 " Whv, ma'am, considering that in all his born days he never had 
 such a sweating as, somehow or other, he has had since 1 locked him 
 ii]) last night. 
 
 "Oh, then," said cook, who felt greatly relieved, and who turned 
 upon Judkins and he fully expected it as if she had made up her 
 mind to have at him, ir wasn't Snorter it couldn't be Snorter 
 I was having a game with you, was I it was one of my maggots 
 you'll call missis, won't you it was only a frolic of mine you are 
 right and I'm wrong, of course! Now I'll tell you what it is " 
 
 "Presently, cook," interposed Aunt Eleanor, "have patience. We 
 will hear you presently. What do you mean by the sweating, 
 Judkins?" 
 
 u Why, ma'am, when I wont into the stable this morning, I found 
 the horse saddled, and in a muck of sweat. Whoever could have got 
 him out, 7 can't think/ It must have been some one who knows the 
 premises, for the door was locked, and the key was in its right place, 
 over the door." 
 
 " Of course," exclaimed cook, " and the miller knew well where to 
 it." 
 
 " Cook," said Aunt Eleanor, " how do you know that?' 1 
 
 " Why, ma'am, he's always after Mary, and of course she tells him 
 all she knows." 
 
 " I know, cook, that you are jealous," said Aunt Eleanor, " but in 
 order that the young man may have an opportunity of vindicating his 
 character, I will send for him at once. You know him, Judkins V go, 
 and without mentioning a syllable to him on the subject, tell him that I 
 shall be glad to speak to him for a moment." 
 
 Judkins, casting a look of contempt at cook, then left the room, and, 
 as Sylvester immediately afterwards came in to breakfast, the whole 
 
 c 
 
18 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 affair was fully explained to him by his aunt, who expressed herself 
 highly delighted at the fact of his not having been disturbed. 
 
 And Sylvester who looked very languid and felt very sore expressed 
 Itis amazement at the circumstances related, and the interest which 
 that relation excited was, in reality, deep in the extreme. 
 
 " What could have been the man's object?" said he; " he had clearly 
 no intention to steal the horse, seeing that he brought him back, and 
 locked the stable door. It appears to me to be so unaccountable! I 
 can't understand it at all !" 
 
 "It is strange very strange," said Aunt Eleanor. "But come, 
 my dear, let us have breakfast. Cook," she added, " send in that 
 tongue." 
 
 Cook left the room, and repaired to the pantry; but the state of 
 things there was so startling, that she almost immediately returned, 
 exclaiming, " Now, ma'am, I knoio there's been thieves in the house ! 
 No tongue, no pastry, no sausage-rolls : not a single bit of any blessed 
 thing can I find ! Everything's gone ! There must have been half-a- 
 dozen of them at least!" 
 
 " Well, this," said Aunt Eleanor, " is indeed extraordinary !" 
 
 "And what gormandizers, too, they must have been!" resumed 
 cook, " there was half a tongue, four sausage-rolls, six apple-puffs, 
 three or four tarts three jam-tarts, you know, ma'am I know there 
 were three in short, they've eaten every individual thing!" 
 
 "This is very mysterious!" observed Aunt Eleanor, calmly, "wo 
 shall probably understand it better by-and-bye. You must now do the 
 best you can, my dear, with ham and eggs." 
 
 " Do not have anything cooked for me," said Sylvester, " indeed, I've 
 no appetite at all!" 
 
 Nor had he! The ham and eggs were ordered by his aunt, notwith- 
 standing; but, when they were brought, he could not touch either. 
 Nor could he in any way account for this. He usually ate a good 
 breakfast ! but he really then felt himself full to repletion. Aunt 
 Eleanor herself became very much alarmed ! What on earth could be 
 the cause of it? She couldn't imagine. She felt quite sure that he 
 was sickening for something, and was just turning over in her mind the 
 expediency of sending at once for her physician, when Judkins returned 
 from the mill. 
 
 On entering the room, he was eagerly followed by Mary and cook, 
 who were both extremely anxious to hear the result; and, when it wa^ 
 announced that the miller had started the preceding day to attend a 
 distant market, and would not return until the morrow, Mary's 
 expression of joy contrasted strongly with that of disappointment, which 
 instantly marked the fat features of cook, who sufficiently proved that 
 there are feelings of jealousy which do nut spring from pure love. Fur 
 example: she didn't love the miller: still she thought that, instead of 
 proposing to Mary, he should have proposed to her. She, with cha- 
 racteristic candour, admitted it to be true that she was a trifle older 
 say twenty years or so but then she was, in her judgment, a much 
 finer woman ! a far more experienced a larger-boned person ! She 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST, 19 
 
 _. not imagine how any man, having his eyes about him, could 
 prefer such a skit of a thing as Mary to her. But so it was. Cook 
 felt it to be so acutely, and hence she did hope that it would have been 
 proved that the miller had taken Snorter out of the stable; but as it 
 was then to all abundantly clear, that he could not by any possibility 
 have been the man, the question which naturally suggested itself, was 
 " Whom could it have been?" That was the question ! And an 
 interesting question it was. 
 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 As the world has ever been governed by mysteries by mysteries 
 amazed by my-leri-s aiiiu- ! by my-teries excited, Mibdiied, and 
 k-pr in awe he, who could be, by his hopes of immortality, prompt, -d 
 apple with, to open, and to spread completely out, the philosophy 
 of mystery, would be, beyond all dispute, hailed by the mysti'rioii- 
 nvat benefactor to his species. It wouldn't, however, do here: there 
 isn't room for it: and even if there were, such a profound interference 
 with the progress of this history wouldn't be exactly correct; but 
 that a mystery is an affair which doth exercise over the human mind 
 an immense amount of influence is manifest in this, that upon the mys- 
 terious piece of business in question, Aunt Eleanor, during the whole 
 morning dwelt, 
 
 She couldn't make it out! and in the fact of its being apparently im- 
 po>sihle to be made out, consists the chief beauty of a mystery: she 
 sent for her reverend friend, but he could throw no light at all upon tin? 
 subject; feeling, however, bound to do somcthii!. y benevolently 
 
 proffered his advice. 
 
 ' k With respeet," said he, " to the horse affair, I have nothing whatever 
 to gay, being utterly unable to conjecture with justice either how it oc- 
 curred, or who could have been the man, but, as far as the pastry matter 
 is concerned, I have a few words of advice to offer. The same thing oc- 
 curred to me some years ago, when I kept an academy near Chat ]\1< . 
 I was constantly losing mv pastry. Xight after night it went with all 
 the regularity imaginable. I couldn't tell how, but it went. I u>ed 
 even to lock the pantry-door and keep the key in my chamber: still it 
 continued to go. Well, at length resolved to discover, if possible, the 
 cause of all this, I, one evening, introduced a little gentle jalap, and pa- 
 tiently waited the result, which was this, that in the morning there was 
 not a single youth in the establishment perfectly free from qualms! I 
 then at once saw how the matter stood, of course! and although I took 
 no apparent notice of the circumstance, my pastry was thenceforward 
 safe. They wouldn't eat it, even when placed before them! I couldn't 
 
 c 3 
 
20 SYLVESTEIl SOUND 
 
 persuade them to touch it! I therefore advise you, my dear madam, 
 strongly to adopt the same course. It is certain to cure them! I know 
 I have proved it to be a specific!" 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled: she moreover blushed: and, in order to hide 
 that l)lu>h. >he unit t<> the sideboard, and having got out a decanter of 
 sherry, placed it before him with a glass and some cake. The very 
 sight of the wine of which he was fond made the reverend gentleman 
 eloquent ; but the moment he had tasted it down went the glass, and he 
 made up one of the most extraordinary faces ever beheld! he screwed 
 up his nose, and compressed his lips, and while drawing the corners 
 right down to his chin, looked precisely as if he had been taking some- 
 thing filthy. 
 
 "Good gracious!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, laughing; for really the 
 pastor's face was irresistibly droll " what on earth is the matter?" 
 
 The iv ven -ml gentleman shuddered and grunted, and shook his head, 
 and pointed to the glass on the table, with the view of intimating his 
 strong disapprobation of the wine. 
 
 " Do you not like the flavour of it?" 
 
 " No-o-o-o !" replied the reverend gentleman, shuddering, with even 
 more violence than before. " It's phy-z-z-zic !" 
 
 " Dear me !" said Aunt Eleanor, " why, it came out of the very same 
 bin as the last !" 
 
 The reverend gentleman did not care much about what particular 
 bin it came out of all he cared about was its peculiar flavour which 
 flavour really was, in his judgment, bad. 
 
 " Some trick has been played with that wine," he observed, as soon 
 as he was able to unscrew his mouth, " depend upon it some trick has 
 been played." 
 
 " Impossible, my dear sir !" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, rising for a glass, 
 with the view of tasting it herself. " Why, what!" she added, on putting 
 her lips to it " what, in the name of goodness, can it be?" 
 
 " Filthy, isn't it?" observed the pastor. 
 
 "Filthy!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, and burst at once into a merry 
 peal of laughter. " Excuse me," she added, as soon as she could; " pray 
 excuse me: I know that I am very, very rude, but you really do make 
 such a funny face!" 
 
 Well, that, in the reverend gentleman's view, was rich. He would, at 
 that particular moment, have felt great pleasure in being informed what 
 man, possessing anything like a palate, could swallow as he had swal- 
 lowed half a glass, or more, of that stuff, without making up a face, 
 which might be denominated fairly funny. 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Eleanor, who had been highly amused, and who 
 then rang the bell, " we must rectify this." 
 
 " You Avill never hr able to rectify that!" said the reverend gentleman; 
 " that's past all rectification." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor albeit, not much in the habit of laughing laughed 
 heartily again: and when Mary appeared, she gave her the key of tL> 
 cellar, with the most tranquil face she could assume, and directed her to 
 bring up a bottle of sherry. 
 

 TITR SOMNAMBULIST. 21 
 
 ~r 
 
 pin 
 and 
 
 The pastor looked at Mary, with an expression which seemed to indi- 
 cate that lie strongly suspected that she had been at that decanter. Mary, 
 however, took no notice of this : she received her instructions, and then 
 left the room. 
 
 "It's really very unfortunate," said Aunt Eleanor, " that you should 
 have tasted the very first glass out of that particular bottle!" 
 
 " My dear madam," returned the pastor, " depend upon this that I 
 have not had the first glass." 
 
 " It was decantered yesterday : it has not since been touched/' 
 
 " To your knowledge, it may not have been ; but it strikes me forcibly 
 that some one has been at it, substituting vinegar, or something of that 
 sort, for three or four glasses of the wine." 
 
 "Oh! I should say." rejoined Aunt Eleanor, "that there was some- 
 thing in the bottle before the wine was put in." 
 
 The reverend gentleman, however, still adhered strictlv to his original 
 opinion, which the wine in the fresh buttle tended to confirm. That 
 as something like wine! and he said BO: he, moreover, drank hall' a 
 
 t of it, in order to take the taste of the other out of his mouth; 
 nd when this had been effectually accomplished, he briefly reverted to 
 his gentle specific, and then, with many expressions of high considera- 
 tion, took his leave. 
 
 Sylvester, during the whole of thi.- time, wa >l-epiiig st.undly <>n the 
 sofa. He had been prevailed upon by his aunt to lie down immediately 
 after he had made that apology for a bivakfa-t : and. a>, when he rose, 
 which was not until just bet!>re dinner, he ate heartily again, all his fond 
 aunt's apprehensions vanished. 
 
 He still, however, looked very languid and pale; and, in order to 
 raise his spirits, she related what had occurred to her reverend friend, 
 and then dwelt more at large upon the mysteries which characterised 
 the preceding night; and after having indulged in a variety of conjec- 
 tures, of which the majority were very ingenious she ordered the chai>-. 
 took him out for a drive, and then made every effort that affection 
 could suggest, to amuse and to cheer him in the evening. 
 
 About nine o'clock, however, feeling very much fatigued, he retired 
 to rest. Aunt Eleanor in general went to bed at ten, and so did the 
 servants, usually; but on this particular occasion, cook and Mary 
 peace between them and Judkius not having been proclaimed sat alone 
 till past eleven, over a bright kitchen fire, conversing on the subject of 
 recent events, and relating a variety of ghost stories to each other in 
 justification of their respective views. These -lories, which are alwav> 
 of a deeply interesting character, made them shudder; and, as some of 
 them were indeed awful, they were aspired with so much dread, that 
 they both felt extremely unwilling to move. They had, moreover, been 
 So intent upon these tales of the imagination, that the candle burned 
 down to the socket unperceived; for while cook, who retained the poker 
 in her hand, kept on stirring the fire continually, Mary's eyes were fixed 
 upon the brightest of the coals, in which she detected with much in- 
 genuity the outlines of divers extraordinary laces. 
 
 At length, the wick, deserted by that pure flame which had enveloped 
 
22 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 it so long, and by which it had been so uninterruptedly warmed, sighed 
 forth its dying breath. Cook smelt this: it reached her nostrils first; 
 and, as experience had taught her to know in an instant what it was, 
 she turned, <>n the impulse of the moment, with the view of consigning 
 it at once to the fire. She had scarcely, however, touched the candlestick 
 Avhich contained it, when her blood chilled with horror, for she heard 
 distinctly footsteps approaching. Mary heard those footsteps, too; 
 but they had not time to glance at each other, before the kitchen- 
 door absolutely opened, and they beheld a tall figiu'e enveloped in a 
 sheet. They tried to scream, but could not: terror had struck them 
 dumb. They had risen I'rom their seats, but stood utterly appalled. 
 
 The figure, apparently unconscious of their presence, now glided 
 gradually through the kitchen, and turning into the passage which led 
 to the pantry, disappeared. But, although they could not see it then, 
 neither could speak, for they plainly heard it still. 
 
 Anon the figure again appeared, and their blood grew apparently 
 colder than before; and while their strained eyeballs seemed ready to 
 burst, they stood as if to that particular spot they had been absolutely 
 riveted! Still the apparition seemed not to perceive them: it glided 
 without turning its head back to the door at which it had entered, and 
 when it had closed it with the utmost care, they saw the appalling 
 spectre no more. 
 
 Now, although they were still half-dead with fright, and continued to 
 tremble with unexampled violence, the very instant the figure had 
 vanished, and all had become cmite silent again, they simultaneously 
 uttered a series of screams, of the loudest and most piercing character. 
 
 Sleeping, as he did, immediately over the kitchen, Judkins heard 
 these frightful screams, and conceiving, from their nature, that they 
 did, in reality, mean something, he leaped out of bed, and rushed 
 into the passage: but as, by the light of the moon, he perceived, indis- 
 tinctly, the figure approaching, he rushed back again without any loss 
 of time; and, having locked his door in the twinkling of an eye, buried 
 himself beneath the bedclothes in a state of indescribable terror. 
 
 The short space of time which the Avhole of this occupied, was indeed 
 amazing. He had never displayed so much alacrity before he had 
 never in his life made so much haste. Under any other conceivable 
 circtunetanceSj he must have been utterly astonished at himself! he 
 stopped for nothing he was wonderfully active; no one who knew 
 him could, for a moment, have imagined that he had so much activity 
 in him. 
 
 ^ The screaming, however, continued still; and, at length, Aunt 
 Eleanor, throwing a cloak around her, descended with her night-lamp, 
 - -ei-iain the cause. She experienced no difficulty, of course, in 
 discovering from what particular part of the house those screams pro- 
 ceeded: she knew at once that they came I'rom the kitchen, and hence, 
 to the, kitchen she quickly repaired; but the moment she lifted the latch 
 <>f tln> door, cook and Mary sank upon their knees, and convulsively 
 buried their faces in their hands. 
 
 " Why, what iii the name of goodness," said Aunt Eleanor, " can be 
 
/>/ 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 23 
 
 the meaning of all this! cook Mary Mary! Answer me, instantly 
 what does it mean?" 
 
 Cook, who at first imagined that the figure had returned, now sum- 
 moned sufficient courage to raise her head; and the first words she 
 uttered, were " The gho-o-o-ost!" 
 
 " The what!" cried Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am!" said Mary; " oh, my good gracious me ! Oh, we've 
 been frightened to death, ma'am a ghost has been here, ma'am a real 
 ghost I oh!" 
 
 \ >;, use, Mary; how can you be so simple?" 
 
 " AVe saw it come in, ma'am," interposed cook; "ami we saw it go 
 out. Oh, it was horrid!" 
 
 Tul, tut what on earth can be the matter with you both?" 
 
 We -aw it, ma'am indeed we did! we both of us saw it, ma'am, 
 with our own e 
 
 "You saw it in imagination, merely. Hut, how is it that you are not 
 in bed before this? AVhy it's half-past eleven o'clock! Have you both 
 
 In-i'll asleep?" 
 
 iia'am," replied cook, "Mary and me have been talking." 
 
 "I perceive 1 perceive it all clearly; you have been talking about 
 gm-ts: now- tell me the truth, is it not so?" 
 
 M We had been talking about what we'd heard, ma'am; but as to this! 
 I never >aw anything plainer in my life." 
 
 "Ridiculous, cook: 1 ;mi sur[.ri.M'<l that a person of your years 
 should not know better! What's that!" *he exclaimed, on hearing a. 
 iioiv,. above, produced apparently by the falling of some heavy weight. 
 M King the gardener's belt Tin-re is something going on, which 1 don't 
 understand. King the bell." 
 
 " Ye-e-e>, ma'am." >aid Mary, who, having been filled with fresh 
 alarm by the iiui>e above, wa- afraid to move even to the rope " L am 
 so frightened!" 
 
 Aunt Eleanor herself rang tin: bell, but no answer wa> returned. 
 She rang it again with additional violence, and again! and again! 
 still no an-wer. She couldn't of course piviend to account for it. She 
 thought it very strange; and as the world at large may also think 
 it strange, it will be, perhaps, as well at once to explain the real 
 cause. 
 
 It has been already stated that it was not long before Judkins got 
 into bed again. Nor was it. He got in any how. Nor did he care 
 how! he wasn't particular. His object was to get into bed, and he 
 got in. l>ut, being extremely anxious to conceal himself effectually, 
 he darted beneath the clothes, which were all on one side, and there 
 lay for a time motionless upon the very brink of the bedstead. Of this 
 fact, however, he was perfectly unconscious, and therefore, when he did 
 attempt to turn, he fell heavily upon the noor. That the ghost had 
 induced this, he at that awful moment had not the slightest doubt; 
 lint he was into bed again in an instant, and there of coiu-se utterly 
 heedless of the bell lie remained in perfect silence, until his mistress j 
 tired of ringing, came up to his bedroom door and knocked. 
 
24 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Judkins started! The knock alone seemed to convulse his whole 
 frame. "Oh!" he exclaimed, " what have I done? what have I done? 
 what have I done?" 
 
 "Judkins!" said his mistress, but as she had caught cold, her voice 
 was not sufficiently clear to be recognised, "Judkins!" 
 
 "Leave me," he continued, " for heaven's sake leave me! I know 
 I'm a miserable sinner, but leave me! Go somewhere else: you've 
 mistaken the room: indeed you have: you have, I assure you!" 
 
 When Mary and cook who had followed their mistress closely, for 
 then they would not have lost sight of her for the world heard these 
 awful words uttered, they felt quite convinced that, whatever mistake 
 the ghost might have made, he was then in the room with Judkins. 
 They were sure of it! perfectly sure: and conceiving that their 
 mistress must have inspired the same conviction, they implored her, in 
 trembling whispers, to retire. But no! her mind was firm! She was 
 resolved to know, if possible, the cause of this delusion, and, therefore, 
 knocked loudly again at the door. 
 
 " Oh, pray go away," said Judkins, bitterly, " pray do!" 
 "Judkius!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, "Judkins! 'tis 1! your 
 mistress !" 
 
 "You, ma'am! Oh, thank heaven! is it you?" 
 " Yes, 'tis I. What is the matter? Dress yourself instantly, and 
 open the door." 
 
 Judkins, who felt of course greatly relieved, threw off the bed- 
 clothes, and slipped on his smalls, but when, pale and trembling, he 
 opened the door, his countenance bore still an expression of terror. 
 
 " What is this, Judkins?" demanded Aunt Eleanor, " what can be the 
 meaning of it all?" 
 
 "Oh," replied Judkins, who felt very ill, "the house is haunted: I 
 know it is. I've seen," he added, in a harsh unearthly whisper, " I've 
 seen a horrid ghost." 
 
 " Where?" said Aunt Eleanor, " I have really no patience with you: 
 where did you see it?" 
 
 " There !" replied Judkins, still in a whisper, pointing to the passage 
 with startling effect, " There !" 
 
 " Are you all mad /" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, perceiving that they looked 
 towards the passage, as if apprehensive of the " ghost's" re-appearance; 
 " or is it all done to alarm me? There is," she added, with an expres- 
 sion of intensity, "there is something, I fear, beneath the surface of this. 
 If you have any bad design if you arc actuated by any unhallowed 
 notions if you have conspired together with the view of accomplishing 
 any wicked object pray, before you retire to rest, that heaven may 
 turn your hearts !" 
 
 With all the eloquence of which they were capable, they implored 
 her to believe that they were attached to her sincerely that they had been, 
 and would continue to be, faithful to the last and that the proceedings 
 of that awful night, were ascribable, justly, to no wicked motive no 
 base conspiracy no bad design. 
 
 " I will speak to you all," she observedj " in the morning; but if I 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 25 
 
 sa y if you have conspired together with any wicked object in view, 
 may heaven forgive you. Good night." 
 
 She then returned to her chamber and locked the door, leaving them 
 greatly distressed at the idea of its being supposed that they had entered 
 into any such conspiracy. They very scon, however, reverted to the 
 ghost, when Judkins exclaimed, with all the fervour at his command 
 "If I didn't see it, why I didn't; but if I didn't I'm dumb!" 
 
 " We saw it, too," said cook. 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 " It came into the kitchen!" 
 
 "Didn't it look horrid V 
 
 " Oh, hideous ! Did you sec it's face?" 
 
 " The figure was quite enough for me. I think I see it now!" 
 
 " Where r cried Mary. " Oh don't frighten us. Where?" 
 
 "No, no; I mean that I shall ncvrr forgot it ! But let us go to bed: 
 missis is angry I know she's angry; I never saw her angry before but 
 I'm >nre >he\ no cause! One may be wrong two may be wrong but 
 we can't all be wrong. We all of us saw it; nothing can get over that! 
 But, good night good night." 
 
 Cook an<l Mary then retired, and when, witli hearts still full of fear, 
 they had got into bed, Mary went to sleep with this expression on her 
 lips " I'm sure I shall not get a wink to-night." 
 
 Now, while these scenes were being enacted at the cottage, dreadful 
 excitement prevailed near the church, and as it is essential to the due 
 appreciation of the cause of this excitement, that the whole of the par- 
 ticulars should In- known, it will lx> correct to state those particulars 
 here, with the names of the persons excited. 
 
 It happened then, that on that verv evening, a party of influential 
 men had assembled at a house, of which the .sign was " The Crumpet 
 and Crown." This party consisted of Me^r*. Blinkum, 1 'ok ey, Bobber, 
 Snorkins, and Quocks, who were joined by another highly influential 
 person, named Obadiah Drant, who was really an immense politician! 
 who could tell what the Emperor of China thought, and what were 
 the strictly private feelings of the Czar who had the faculty of going 
 over much more ground in the space of live minutes, than the Wandering 
 Jew ever did in live years and whose intimate associates appeared to 
 be persons whom he called Billy Pitt, Harry Brougham, Johnny Kussell, 
 Charley Fox, and Bobby Peel. 
 
 It may moreover be remarked for it is remarkable that in England 
 we very seldom meet with a church without perceiving a public-house 
 at hand. Sometimes it is opposite, sometimes next door, and sometimes 
 even in the very churchyard. But whatever the relative positions may be, 
 they are almost invariably found to be within a few yards of each other, 
 as if every inhabitant, like every representative of Cato, were expected 
 to exclaim, " My bane and antidote are both before me!" Some, in- 
 deed, may ascribe this remarkable association to the spirits, and some 
 may attribute it solely to the beer; to some it may suggest the idea of 
 those bosom friends brandy and bitters while others may imagine 
 that the common announcement of " Good entertainment for man and 
 
26 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 beast," refers to the two establishments ; but whatever may be the mean- 
 ing of this association, it is perfectly certain that the Crumpet and Crown 
 was within t \\eiitv y arils of the church that the party as.seinbK-.il at the 
 Crumpet and Crown had to go through that very churchyard and that 
 although the house was usually closed at ten, the argument in Avhich 
 they were engaged was not finished at eleven. They had still one little 
 point to settle; a point, which they felt it to be their duty to settle before 
 they parted, it being neither more nor less than "How the country 
 could be saved from a sanguinary revolution?" Mr. Blinkum contended 
 that unless a law were passed to protect the British butcher, an universal 
 slaughter woidd be inevitable. Mr. Bobber thought that a poll-tax miurht 
 avert it. Mr. Pokey begged to say, and to have it understood, that it 
 could he averted only by an equitable adjustment; and while Mr. Snor- 
 kins declared it to be his unbought opinion, that it was to be done by 
 an alteration in the iron trade alone, Mr. Quocks maintained that it 
 could be done only by an immediate and unconditional repeal of tfio 
 corn-laws. Eventually, however, Mr. Obadiah Drant recapituated the 
 various arguments adduced, and having summed up with all his charac- 
 teristic perspicuity, delivered his judgment to the effect that Nothing 
 could save this mighty nation from one chaotic mass of unextinguishable 
 ilames! 
 
 The point in question having thus been decided to the entire satisfac- 
 tion of all concerned, the party broke up ; and all, with the exception of 
 Obadiah, who would have a glass at the bar, left the house, and pro- 
 ceeded homewards through the churchyard. 
 
 The churchyard! To the contemplative, how awful is a churchyard 
 at midnight, when a solemn stillness pervades the scene over which, for 
 a time, Death reigns triumphant! Who, without inspiring feelings of 
 awe, can, at such a time reflect, that beneath the surface of that solemn 
 scene, hearts that have throbbed with love, sympathy, and joy, and those 
 from which sprang only baseness and crime, together perish? that the 
 mamnvless bones of the noble and the base, the virtuous and the vicious, 
 the intellectual and the animal, the lofty and the lowly, the generous and 
 the selfish, the philanthropist and the misanthrope, lie levelled: some 
 fleshless, some crumbled into dust, some crumbling fast, and some cased 
 in coiTiiprion still; but all levelled, or distinguished only by the vanity 
 "!' the living; while Death, upon the loftiest tomb, sits grinning at the 
 distinction, conscious that they are all levelled, and that thus they will 
 remain till the last trump shall sound, when his power will cease for 
 ever? 
 
 Perhaps no one. But to those who had just left the Crumpet and 
 Crown this scene was not awful at all. These reflections then did not 
 occur to them they didn't reflect upon anything of the sort. They 
 wore all elated, thoughtless, careless, fearless: that is, they feared no- 
 thing, seeing nothing to fear: they were joyous, merry, happy, generous, 
 friendly, and affectionate. But when they had got hah way across the 
 churchyard, Pokey, who was somewhat in advance of the rest, started 
 back, with a look of horror, and with frightful effect exclaimed, " What's 
 that?'' 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 27 
 
 " What's what? what do you mean;'" demanded Snorkins. 
 
 "Look there!" returned Pokey, with vehemence, pointing to a tall, 
 white figure, which appeared to be contemplating the tombs. 
 
 And they did look there: and on the instant terror seixed them. Two 
 ran back to the Crumpet and Crown, and the rate at which they ran 
 surpassed everything on record in the annals of running; but the re.-l 
 didn't run, because they couldn't. They stood, as if struck with pa- 
 ralysis; they were a- pair as any spectre could hope to be; and while 
 their hearts ceased to perform their natural functions, and their quiver- 
 ing lips were livid with fear, their knees smote each other with a species 
 of violence altogether unexampled. Well, what was to be done? There 
 it was: a real, regular ghost! There was no mistake about it: there 
 couldn't rxist tuo opinions on the subject; but what was to be done? 
 Should they run? th.-y couldn't. ghouldthey call out? they couldn't. 
 Well, were they to stop there and watch till it vani-hed? They didn't 
 at all like to do so, but what else could they do? Nothing. There they 
 remained, and vJiile they wen- there, in a Mate i.f speechless terror, 
 Obadiah Drant, being a \aliant man, on hearing the tact- of the ease stated 
 by Bobber and Quocks, who had run back so bravely to the Crumpet and 
 Crown, srixnl a carving-knife which lav near a huge round of heel', and 
 while nourishing it boldly declared, with that vehemence for which he was 
 distinguished, that a> he cared no more for a ghost than he did for Hobby 
 JVcl, hr'd go at once and "settle the swell!" which really was a very 
 irreverent expression, and therefore extremely incorrect. Hut, seeing 
 such valour displayed, Leg-v, the landlord, who had never -ecu a gho-t, 
 but who had a givat de-ire t -ee one, did oiler to accompany Obadiah 
 Drant, and, despite the remonstrance- of Mr-. Lrg-jr, actually quitted 
 the house with him, leaving Bobber and <. c >uoek- to fill Mr-, Legge's 
 mind with all BOTtfl of honor-. 
 
 Legge, however, on reaching the churchyard, perceived that Obadiah 
 -omrwhat relaxed, and, on mentioning this with all the delicacy of which 
 he was capable, Obadiah pronounced thi- opinion: That as -pectiv- 
 wcre "not sensible to feeling a- t-> -iJit." ii would not be at all a fair 
 match. Still with an assumption of valour, which was, in reality, a 
 stranger to his heart he went on: but he had no -<" IUT reached the 
 spot on which his friends .-tood, and beheld the white figure distinctly 
 before him, than the carving-knife dropped, and he fell upon his knees, 
 which would not then allow him to stand. 
 
 But Legge, who assumed nothing, was comparatively calm, lie saw 
 the figure and believed it to be a spirit, and therefore his heart did not 
 beat with its wonted regularity, still, compared with the rest, he was 
 tranquil and firm, lie even proposed to approach the " spirit,'' and to 
 ascertain, if possible, why it had appeared; but not one would accom- 
 pany him not one could accompany him and, having at home a wile 
 and five children, he didn't think it would be exactly prudent for him 
 to go alone, 
 
 "Hut come, come!'' said he, "we have nothing to fear. We have 
 murdered no one, robbed no one, injured no one why should we fear? 
 It will not harm us. It may have something to communicate sonic 
 
28 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 secret perhaps, which, until it has been revealed, will not allow it to rest. 
 Let us go." 
 
 At this moment the figure which, during the whole of the time, 
 had been moving slowly from tomb to tomb came towards them ; but, 
 as it advanced, they simultaneously receded, and continued to recede, 
 looking constantly behind them, until they reached the gate, which 
 they had no sooner passed, than, making themselves up for one grand 
 effort, they darted towards the Crumpet and Crown with all the energy 
 at their command. 
 
 The figure, notwithstanding this, continued to advance. It seemed 
 to be in no haste whatever! it took its own time; and, having passed 
 the gate, appeared to have made up its mind to look in at the Crumpet 
 and Crown. But the moment they perceived this apparent inclination 
 on the part of the " spectre," they closed the door, locked it, shot 
 both the bolts, and then rushed to the window in a state of breathless 
 anxiety. They were not, however, kept here in that state long: they 
 had in fact scarcely reached the window, when they saw it pass 
 slowly and solemnly by, without appearing even to notice the house 
 which was a comfort to them all: they breathed again, and were again 
 coiu*agcous indeed so courageous that when they felt perfectly sure 
 that it was gone, they went to the door again, in order to watch it. 
 But it was not gone, although it was going, which was, in their 
 judgment, the next best thing. They, therefore, did watch it nay, 
 they even followed it at a most respectful distance it is true still 
 they followed it, and continued to follow it, for nearly twenty yards! 
 when it vanished they couldn't tell how ; but it vanished and 
 that, too, into Aunt Eleanor's cottage ! One thought he saw it walk 
 through the brick wall ; another conceived that it flew through the win- 
 dow; a third felt convinced that it opened the door; a fourth imagined 
 that it darted through the pannels ; but on the one grand point, they 
 were all agreed they all saw it enter the cottage. 
 
 And didn't they pity Aunt Eleanor? Yes! even from their souls they 
 pitied her ; but they returned to the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 "Well!" said Mr. Pokey, "I never see such a job in my life! And 
 didn't it smell?" 
 
 " I smelt nothing," observed the landlord. 
 
 " What, not brimstone?" 
 
 "No: not a bit of it," 
 
 "I can't say as I smelt brimstone," interposed Mr. Bobber: "it seemed 
 like the burning of charcoal, to me !" 
 
 " Charcoal!" exclaimed Mr. Blinkum; "it was just, for all the world, 
 like burnt bones. You get the leg-bone of a bullock, and bum it, and 
 Bee it' it won't smell oh offal! and it stands to reason, that if the 
 bones of a bullock smell, the bones of a man also w r ill smell likewise." 
 
 "But has a spirit bones?" demanded Mr. Bobber. 
 
 " Why, if it hadn't, you fool, how could it hold together. A spirit 
 is a skeleton it must be a skeleton, because spirits have no flesh." 
 
 " What do you call it a spirit for?" inquired Mr. Quocks. 
 
 " Why, what do you call it ?" 
 

 / / / 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 29 
 
 A ghost, to be sure." 
 
 A ghost !" said Mr. Pokey. " I call it a wision !" 
 
 .Nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Snorkins; "it's a apparition that's what 
 -and I'll lift you gla>ses round of it come/' 
 
 ?rcupon Mr. Legge interposed an observation to the effect, that half 
 tin- difference lift ween ghosts, spirits, visions, and apparitions, -wasn't 
 much; but Obadiali, to whom nothing could be unknown, and who was 
 consequently conversant with every species of spectre, contended loudly 
 that the difference between them was as great as the difference between 
 those familiar friends of his, Billy Pitt, Harry Brougham, Johnny 
 l, and Bobby Perl. lie, moreover. Learnedly enlarged upon this; 
 and, having adduced innumerable analogous cases, concluded by ob- 
 serving, with the view of proving the distinction beyond all doubt, that 
 the appearance of "Billy Pitt" would be a spirit that of "Harry 
 Brougham'' a vision that of " Bobby Peel" an apparition and that of 
 "Johnny Kus>ell" a -host. 
 
 Meanwhile, the agitation of Mr>. Leu-.- vva> excessive. Nothing could 
 surpass it ! nothing ever equalled it! Certain >he was that she never 
 should lie able to get through the night. The state of her nerves was 
 altogether frightful ! Twenty times during the discus-ion had she begged 
 of them to leave, but in vain: they could not be prevailed upon to move 
 they were perfectly deaf to her entreaties, so long as she continued to 
 supply their demands; but when she at li-ngth announced her iirm de- 
 termination that they should'nt have another drop in her house that 
 night, if she knew it, they made up their minds to go round by the road, 
 shook Legge by the hand, and departed. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 THERE is, perhaps, nothing connected with our nature more easily 
 excited than suspicion. However much disposed we may be to confide 
 in the honour and sincerity of those around us, we cannot extinguish 
 that feeling of suspicion which appears to be inherent in our hearts. It 
 may be latent it may even for years be dormant ; but it is to be aroused 
 by a single word, and when it is aroused it frequently developes itself 
 with so much malignity, that prudence, pride, love, honour, justice, and 
 rea>on fall before it. Some imagine that as there is so much deception 
 beneath the surface of society, suspicion is absolutely essential to security 
 and it certainly is not safe to be too confiding but it really does 
 seem most ungenerous to suspect in a world in which there is such an 
 immense amount of superficial honesty. There is, however, something 
 
30 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 very pleasing In suspicion after all; for it involves the hope that that 
 whiVh we *npect will Lo realized. If even it be prejudicial to ourselves, 
 what a comfort there is in an opportunity of paying a compliment to our 
 own acntcness! what sell -satisfaction is derived from the exclamation, 
 "I knew, of course, how it would be! I suspected it all along! and I 
 have not been deceived!" We do not like to be deceived nay, we can- 
 not, in this re<pert, hear to be deceived ! 
 
 It is questionable aye, very questionable whether any one is, or 
 ever was, entirely free from the feeling of suspicion; but then it is not 
 to be said that all who possess that feeling are suspicious ! No : Aunt 
 Eleanor was not, in the common acceptation of the term, suspicious. 
 She wished to believe that all around her were honest, just, virtuous, 
 and pure : she had as much faith in their integrity as any one could have, 
 but as she could not in any way account for that which had occurred, 
 she felt convinced that there must be something wrong, and that 
 conviction haunted her throughout the night. 
 
 In the morning, however, being anxious, as usual, to act with the 
 utmost discretion, she resolved on not recurring to the subject, before 
 the servants, until she had consulted her reverend friend, and, in 
 pursuance of this resolution, she wrote a note to that gentleman, 
 requesting the favour of a call, but, before she had dispatched that 
 note, he came, ostensibly with the view of reminding her, that that was 
 the very day on which the village would have a certain periodical 
 visit. 
 
 Now in this visit, much mystery was involved, and as it forms a sub- 
 ject, which must of necessity, be reverted to anon, it Avill be perhaps as 
 well to explain now, that a gentleman, named Howard, his daughter 
 Henriette, and a lady, whose assumed name was Greville, had for some 
 years honoured the village with their presence, for one hour on the first 
 of April, and the first of October, for a purpose which no one connected 
 with that village had ever been able to learn. It may also be stated, 
 that Henriette was an elegant girl, gentle, amiable, and accomplished. 
 She had been educated with the utmost care, under the surveillance 
 of her father, whose every earthly hope seemed fixed upon her : she 
 was the pride of his heart his idol; most fondly most dearly did 
 he love her; but often, while gazing upon her in silence, would he 
 burst into tears. Henriette constantly marvelled at this. To her it was 
 indeed mysterious. She could not ascertain nay, she could not even 
 conceive, the cause. True, he was almost invariably sad: he was seldom, 
 indeed, seen to smile; and when he did smile, his features in an instant 
 a>< umed an expression of sadness again: but why he should be unable 
 to look at her intently without shedding tears, she was utterly at a loss 
 to imagine. That there was something heavy at his heart was abun- 
 dantly clear; but she sought to know the cause of his sorrow in vain. 
 They moreover lived in the most perfect seclusion. They saw no 
 society. She never went out in the morning without him ; Avhile he in- 
 variably passed his evenings with her at home. She was all the world 
 to him: he appeared to live only for her; and, as she had no companion, 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 31 
 
 e him and her governess, whose lips on the subject had been cffectu- 
 illy sealed, she continued to live enveloped in a mystery, without even 
 IK- prospect of its ever being solved. That, however, which appeared 
 o her to be most strange, was the fact of her going, twice a-ycar, with 
 icr father, to meet this lady, whom she never on any other occasion saw; 
 md with whom she was permitted to remain but one hour. This did 
 ippoar to her to be strange, indeed. She had been instructed by her 
 lithcr to address her as Mrs. Grcville; but ho himself never saw her. 
 llenriette invariably entered the room alone, and the moment she entered, 
 Mrs. Greville would eagerly receive her in her arms, and while indulg- 
 ing in a passionate ilood of tears, would kiss her, and bless her, and 
 pivvs her to her heart with the most intense affection. In person, Mrs. 
 (iiwille was above the middle height: her features were regular and 
 handsome, and, while her manner- weiv extremely elegant, her figure 
 was commanding; but j>ho always appeared to be overwhelmed with 
 grief, although the piv>enee of Henrietta sei-nn-d to inspire her with the 
 SlOil ecstatic joy. Often would Henrietta enquire anxiously why she 
 did not visit them why they met there why at those particular 
 times, and so on; but Mrs. (iivville, while the tears were gushing torth, 
 would only answer that >ln- was forbidden to explain that she Wftl 
 indeed happy, most happy, to see. her that she loved her dearly, 
 nately loved her and that it was for her own happiness that ^he 
 knew no more. 
 
 But even this was unknown in the village. It was not known even 
 to the landlady of the inn! which was wi>ely ordered wisely, because, 
 had it been known to her, of course her curiosity would have been 
 seriously diminished, and without curiosity how could such ladies live 
 and thrive? 
 
 Perhaps, however, Aunt Eleanor took more intere-t in the matter 
 than any other per--.ni in the village. She knew not exactly why she 
 should feel so much interest in an affair of this nature, but she, never- 
 theless did; and hence, on being reminded that that was the day on 
 which the parties in question met, she thought less of the my>tery of 
 the preceding night. She did, however, eventuallv allude to it, and 
 that too, in a most feeling strain, and the result was, that her reverend 
 friend shook his head, and advised her to wait patiently, and to watch 
 with diligence, albeit, he knew no more what she was to watch for, than 
 she knew what to suspect, or what design it was against which she ought 
 to guard. 
 
 In the mean time, the village was in a state of commotion. The 
 apparition, of course, had been variously described; and the gossips had 
 so ingeniously improved upon each description, that it soon became a 
 monster twelve feet high. In the height of a ghost, a few feet, more 
 or less, is a matter of very slight importance ; but when, to its height 
 they had added their conceptions of its breadth, depth, and general 
 deportment, the pictiuv was truly appalling. 
 
 The gentlemen who had absolutely seen it, of course, met early at 
 the Crumpet and Crown. There was but one absent, and that was Mr. 
 
32 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Pokey, before the door of whose residence, chaff had been laid. It was 
 tlit- custom at that period, and in that part of the country, to stivw chatt' 
 before the door of every gentleman who physically corrected his wile 
 chaff' being held to be indicative of a threshing but, in this particular 
 instance, it was strewn in consequence of the lady having corrected her 
 husband, Mrs. Pokey being extremely indignant at the fact of Mr. 
 Pokey having kept out so horribly late. The story of the ghost failed 
 to tranquillise her spirit. She wouldn't believe it! which was very 
 wrong, because Pokey declared that it was true, upon his honour she 
 knew better! she wouldn't have it! hence she thrashed him, and 
 hence she would not in the morning suffer him to stir from his board, 
 for Mr. Pokey was a tailor of great celebrity in the village, and, withal, 
 a perfect master of his needle. 
 
 But the absence of Mr. Pokey, although under the circumstances 
 deeply regretted, was not allowed to operate as a check upon the vivid 
 imagination of his friends. They entered into the matter with in- 
 finite spirit, and made the most that could be made of every important 
 point. 
 
 But the cause of this mysterious appearance ! not one could divine the 
 cause. That a murder had been committed by some one, was, by the 
 majority, held to be clear; but who was the murderer who was the 
 most likely man in the village to commit such a crime? Who looked 
 most like a murderer? They really couldn't say. They remembered 
 that about five-and-twenty years before, a gentleman, who resided oppo- 
 site, mysteriously disappeared with the amount of a whole quarter's poor's- 
 rate. He might have been murdered. Who could tell? It was possible ! 
 It was moreover held to be possible by all, save one, and that one was 
 Obadiah Drant, who expressed his conviction that that which they had 
 seen, was the spirit of a miser, who had then been dead about fifteen years, 
 and in whose house only sixty guineas had been found, when every one 
 supposed him to be worth as many thousands. He had not the slightest 
 doubt of its being the spirit of that miser, which couldn't rest, because 
 it didn't like the idea of leaving so much money undiscovered behind it. 
 But this opinion was not subscribed to by the rest. Indeed there was 
 only one point upon which all were agreed, and that point was, that the 
 spirit might, perchance, reappear that night. This every man present 
 believed to be highly probable, and the consequence was, that they 
 unanimously resolved to re-assemble at night with the view of watching 
 its manoeuvres. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 
 THE GHOST HUNT. 
 
 IN a village like Cotherstone, of which the inhabitants were trades- 
 men with plenty of time on their hands, labourers trained to thoughtless 
 toil, and persons who, having retired from trade, were anxiously wait-- 
 ing to die, such an occurrence as that of the appearance of a ghost, 
 could not fail to create a sen>ation. Nor did it. Nor was the sensation 
 thus created either slight or ephemeral : it was deep very deep and, 
 therefore, lasting. There was not one in the village upon whom the 
 ghost had not made a powerful impression. K\vn the exemplary wife 
 of Mr. Pokey who, during the whole of the morning, had been engaged 
 upon a series of nice calculations, of which the result was that, as Pokey, 
 since his marriage, had taken nearly five thousand ounces of snuff, and 
 upwards of twenty-five thousand <piarts of beer, (beer enough to deluge 
 the village, and snuff sufficient to till up his grave,) they would, had he 
 saved the money thus squandered, have had more than live hundred 
 pounds then to play with even she, repudiating incredulity, became so 
 excessively interested in the spirit, that -he actually allowed Mr. Pokey 
 in the evening to go up again to the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 And, oh! what a theatre of excitement it was! Not only the party of 
 the previous evening, but almost every man in the village was present; 
 but, although Mr. Pokey came late, and was, moreover, hailed on his 
 arrival with significance, they, being unwilling to wound his private 
 feelings, did not then allude to the chaff. 
 
 Obadiah, of course, was there, and he was, as u-ual, very dictatorial 
 and deep; but he had one grand object to achieve: he had to justify 
 his conduct on the preceding night. lie admitted that that conduct 
 was not indicative of bravery: he freely admitted that it was not exactly 
 characterised by that peculiar boldness for which he was ardently 
 anxious to become distinguished: -But," said he, with much point, 
 " you must view this affair in all its fructifying ramifications. Place 
 before me anything tangible anything with which I can grapple, my 
 boys and then see how I'll act!" 
 
 " But you didn't even speak to it!" said Le. 
 
 " Speak to it!' 1 returned Obadiah. " Why, what's the good of speak- 
 ing to a spirit? what's the good of arguing with a ghost? what prin- 
 ciple, either moral, religious, social, political, or municipal, can you 
 drive into the head of an apparition? Place brains before me give 
 me fructifying intelligence give me Harry Brougham, or even Bobby 
 Peel, my boys and then you'd see how I'd go in; but the idea of 
 speaking to a spectre! pooh! what's the good?" 
 
 D 
 
34 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 By this ingenious species of ratiocination this word is employed 
 here* iii compliment to him, for ratiocination and fructification were the 
 i \\ o stock weapons, which he, on all occasions, used to defeat his opponents, 
 and without which he couldn't well argue a point he endeavoured to 
 justity himself. But he didn't succeed. His friends attributed his 
 silence in the churchyard to fear they would not hear of its being 
 ascrihable to anything else! and when lie found that he could not then 
 shake this conviction, he, in order to subdue them for the time being, 
 1'iomised to show them that night what he would say, and how he 
 would act in the event of the spirit's re-appearance. 
 
 This grand point having been thus far settled, he reverted to politics, 
 in which he knew, of course, that he was perfectly at home, and in pos- 
 M->ion of the ability to beat them hollow. 
 
 Of all highly-influential men, there is not one more capable of com- 
 manding the attention of those who form the circle of which he is the 
 centre, than a village politician. Nor would it be correct if there were, 
 for what a patriot he is! what a pure philanthropist! nay, what a 
 deeply indignant man! How profound is his political wisdom! and 
 hoAv boldly he denounces the conduct of the party to whom he is, on 
 principle, opposed! What rogues what reckless, rampant rogues 
 docs he prove them to be! To his knowledge, what intrigues are they 
 connected with what flagrant follies are they guilty of what dead 
 robberies do they commit! In his view, with what tenacity do they 
 stick to the property of the people! how they batten on corruption! 
 how they live on pure plunder! how richly they deserve to be hanged! 
 With what fiery indignation does he declare them to be wretches: how 
 rotten, how venal, how utterly contemptible does he labour to make 
 them all appear, when, to get a coat to make, or a boot to mend, he 
 would take off his hat to the first he met. Precisely such a patriot was 
 ( )badiah Drant. But, although he would denounce the aristocracy at 
 night, and bow to them with all humility in the morning, it merely 
 proved the force of example he would boldly philippicise people of 
 property, and bend low to get the smallest share ; but as men envy only 
 the possessors of that which they have not, this was merely the effect of 
 education. He would, moreover, loudly declaim against rank, state, 
 and splendour, and yet 
 
 "lick absurd pomp, 
 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
 That thrift might follow fawning ;" 
 
 but that was a natural matter of business. He was a patriot, notwith- 
 standing; a tyrant, and a slave; and was highly respected by those 
 whom he met at the sign of the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 But, on this particular night, he was singularly eloquent. He, in- 
 deed, surpassed himself. He explained what the ministers ought to 
 have done, and what he would have done had he been at the helm: he 
 showed them how easily and how equitably he would have swept off the 
 National Debt how he would have settled the Currency question how 
 confidence and credit had proved the nation's curse how France should 
 

 TIIK SOMNAMBULIST. 35 
 
 have been made directly tributary to England how Russian ambition 
 should have been levelled with tin- dust how we should have counte- 
 nanced American repudiation and how a British colony should have 
 been made of the Celestial Empire at once. 
 
 And thus he amused and amazed them all, until the hour had arrived 
 at which the spirit was expected to re-appear; when, summoning all the 
 courage they had, they repaired to the quiet churchyard. 
 
 The night was clear. The moon was bright, and seemed to smile at 
 the scene below; and while the stars merrily winked at each other, as it' 
 they enjoyed it too, the small white clouds in a playful spirit assumed 
 shapes bearing the semblance of ghosts, and Hew before the moon in the 
 perfect conviction that she would at once cast their shadows to earth. 
 But in this they were mistaken. The moon would do nothing at all of 
 the sort. The light was not her own; it was but borrowed: and, there- 
 fore, >he didn't feel justified in lending it for any such purpose to these 
 little scamps. 
 
 Accordingly, no shadow appeared ; and the party became quite bold. 
 They even went right round the church! which was daring. They kept 
 all together, it is true not one of them would move without the rest 
 still they went completely round, and seemed to dare that or anv other 
 spectre to appear! nay, on finding that nothing of the kind became 
 visible, some began to treat the affair with contempt, and felt inclined 
 to laugh, when Pokey, who had kept a remarkably sharp look out, 
 exclaimed 
 
 " There! there you are! that's it! there it is!" 
 
 And there it was! a narrow tomb, surmounted by an urn about the 
 size of a very thick head. 
 
 Being, however, utterly unconscious of this, and having their minds 
 on the instant wrought up to a state fit to receive any frightful impres- 
 sion, they looked with terror at the object before them, and felt as if 
 their time was come. 
 
 But then it didn't move! this they held to be extraordinary: nor did 
 ii >< em as if it intended to move! which they thought more extraordi- 
 nary still. That it was a ghost, no doubt existed; but the fact of its 
 being a fixture, beat them. 
 
 At length Click, the farrier, who was not a coward, proposed that 
 they should approach it en^ masse, and this proposition was seconded 
 by Legge; but as it was almost unanimously negatived, Click and 
 Legge made up their minds to go together, and went, leaving their 
 valiant friends trembling behind them. Long, however, before they had 
 reached the object in view, they saw distinctly what it was ; and Legge, 
 on the impulse of the moment, was about to call out to them, but Click 
 checked him promptly. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Legge!" said he. " Now we'll have a game." 
 
 And he led him to the tomb and groaned deeply, and then led him 
 back to his friends, who felt ill ! 
 
 " Obadiah Drant," said Click, on his return, in the most solemn tone 
 he could assume, ' it wishes to speak with Obadiah Drant." 
 
 " With me?'' cried Obadiah. " You don't mean with meV 
 
 D 3 
 
36 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "With you!" returned Click, in an awful prowl. 
 
 " No, no, no, no, I shan't go! not a bit of it! What does it want? I 
 shan't go!" 
 
 " You MUST," growled Click, who instantly locked his arms in those 
 of Obndiah, and carried him, dos-a-dos, towards the tomb. 
 
 But on the way, oh! how sharp were the strictly private feelings of 
 this great man! He felt his la-art sink deeper and deeper .-till at every 
 step, and as the cold sweat bedewed his highly-intellectual brow, he was 
 halt' dead with "fructifying" fright. lie did not even try to evade the 
 iron grasp of Click, for Nature had taught him, in his early youth, the 
 inutility of attempting that which he knew to be impossible: he rode on, 
 a martyr to this eternal principle, and riding as he did with his back to- 
 wards the horrible object he was approaching he gave himself up for 1< .si . 
 
 " Behold!" exclaimed Click, on reaching the spot. " Behold!" and 
 having uttered this awful exclamation, he turned sharply round, and 
 presented the face of his terror-stricken load to the tomb. 
 
 Obadiah who felt very faint looked at the urn with an expression 
 of despair, but, his eyes being veiled with a film of horror, he couldn't 
 at first see what it was. Gradually, however, that film disappeared, 
 and as it vanished, the changes which his countenance underwent, were 
 of the most extraordinary character perhaps ever beheld; but, even 
 when he had become completely conscious of what it w r as when he 
 had touched the urn, and found that it was stone, and therefore knew 
 that it was no ghost although he felt a little better, his features ex- 
 pressed infelicity still. 
 
 " Mr. Click, sir," said he, between a sigh and a moan, " I'll never 
 forgive you; I'll never forgive you." 
 
 Click, as he released him, laughed loudly, and continued to laugh ; and 
 as Legge had, in the interim, explained all to his friends, they approached 
 the spot, and laughed loudly too. They were highly amused: they 
 enjoyed it much: they were all, indeed, in most excellent spirits: but 
 Obadiah was indignantly dumb. He viewed the contortions of Mr. 
 Click and his disciples with disgust. As they pealed forth their merri- 
 ment, and held their sides, and irreverently trampled upon the graves 
 around to subdue the pain which the laughter created, he scowled at 
 them all with refined disdain, and, contemning their practices, left them. 
 
 " This is your ghost, then, is it?" cried Click, when the laughter had 
 somewhat subsided. " This is your fiery-eyed phantom alter all, then?" 
 
 " No," replied Legge, "we have been deceived by this, it is true; but 
 this is not that which we saw last night. That was a spirit a real 
 spirit, if ever a spirit appeared upon earth." 
 
 " I don't believe it," retorted the incredulous Click ; " nothing can make 
 me believe it." 
 
 " But I saw it, I tell you! I saw it walk I'm not exactly blind! I 
 aw it pass my house, and go straight to the cottage." 
 
 " Let's go to the cottage now, then," interposed Pokey. " As it isn't 
 here, I dare say we shall see it there. Let's go to the cottage." 
 
 "Aye let's go!" exclaimed several of his friends, u let's all go to- 
 gether." 
 

 

 
 / /// //', 
 
 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 37 
 
 "You may go, if you like," said Click, "but you don't catch me 
 ghost-hunting again. I'll have no more of it. / shall go in and smoke 
 a pipe, and so I tell you." 
 
 "Well go what's the odds?" cried Pokey, who had become extremely 
 valiant I " I'll be bound to say we shall tind our way without you. 
 Come along, my Britons. Here we goes. Let them as is afeared stop 
 behind, that's all." 
 
 They then boldly left the churchyard, led on by the courageous 
 Pokey, and as they passed the Crumpet and Crown, Click and Legge 
 turned in, but the rest went on to the cottage. 
 
 Here all was still. Not a sound was heard. The lights were out 
 and the blinds were down, lint as they stood before the gate they 
 fancied they saw the curtains nn>vr. 
 
 "It's in there, now," said Pokey t> Quoeks; u depend upon it, it's 
 in there, now." 
 
 "1 cert'ney sec something," Said Qu<<-k<. And tin- friends around him 
 |W something; hut what that something was. they wouldn't undertake 
 to say. although, at any other time, they would h;ive sworn and safely 
 too that it was reallv a white curtain, and nothing else. l>ut thru, 
 fancy converted that curtain into all sorts f shaj.es, and as -hosts are 
 white by ])reseri]>tioi), it K> far iv>embled a gh>*t. while the difli- 
 cultv experienced in conceiving a head, was, under the circumstances, 
 small. 
 
 "Do N.M i see it?" "Yes: what?" "There ir is, you fool!" "Oh!" 
 
 -Then/s the head." "That the head?" "To be \ure." Where's 
 
 the tail?" "What tail?" "What/,////" "QhP -Ah!" " No doubt," 
 
 This is a very lair epitome of the sentiment- expressed, when Aunt 
 
 Eleanor, hearing a most extraordinary bu// about the ]-eini>es, slipped 
 out of bed with the view of ascertaining whence it proceeded; but the 
 
 moment she drew the white curtain aside, and appeared in her night- 
 dress before them, the effect was electric! Her appearance alone in- 
 spired them with terror! \\\\\ when she proceeded to open the window, 
 tor the purpose of asking them what it all meant, even as affrighted 
 sheep follow their leader, so did they follow the valiant 1'okey, who did 
 instantaneously take to his heels. 
 
 In vain she called upon them to stop. They didn't like to do it! 
 " What do you want my good people?" she cried. " What on earth do 
 yon all want?" 
 
 They heard her; but, conceiving the voice to be that of some fiend, 
 they went right on: nor did they stop until they arrived at the Crumpet 
 and Crown. 
 
 " Have you seen it?" cried Legge, as they rushed in wildly. 
 
 "Yes!" replied Pokey, panting for breath. "At the cottage! it's 
 there!" 
 
 " 1 don't believe a word of it," said Click; "it's all stuff." 
 
 "Well, go and look yourself," cried Pokey, "that's all. There it is 
 lit the window!" 
 
 " K it there now?" 
 
 " If it isn't, I'll forfeit a couple of gallons." 
 
38 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Good!" said Click. " Leggc and I will go at once. You had better 
 come with iis." 
 
 "I!" exclaimed Pokey. 
 
 " To be satisfied, of course !" 
 
 " Well, we don't want to go very near?*' 
 
 " Oh no ; just come with us." And Pokey did go with them ; but 
 long before they had reached the gate, he stopped, and cried, pointing to 
 the window " There there! There it is! Don't you see it?" 
 
 They looked, and certainly did see something: they saw something 
 move: they, moreover, heard a voice; and the voice did proceed from 
 that window. 
 
 " Let us go a little nearer," said Click, who at that moment didn't 
 feel exactly the thing; his heart didn't beat with its accustomed re- 
 gularity: it thumped and stopped, and blundered about, as if it didn't 
 care whether it worked or not; but as he wasn't inspired with absolute 
 fear, they went a little nearer, and as they approached, Aunt Eleanor, 
 who knew Legge well by his arms, which he at all times swung in a 
 most extraordinary fashion, cried out " Is that you, Mr. Legge?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," replied Legge, promptly, for he knew the voice in an 
 instant. " Is there anything amiss, ma'am?" 
 
 " What, in the name of goodness, did those persons want here just 
 now? 1 ' 
 
 " They thought they saw a ghost, ma'am." 
 
 " Kidiculous! I really have no patience with such folly." 
 
 " I know," observed Pokey, " that something appeared, and at that 
 very window, too." 
 
 " 'Twas I, you simple man," said Aunt Eleanor. " You saw me ap- 
 pear at the window. I'm ashamed of you. Tell them from me, Mr. 
 Leggc, that if they come here again, I'll have them all taken up: they 
 shall all be punished: I will not submit to be thus annoyed. Good 
 night" 
 
 She then retired from the window, and they, being quite satisfied, re- 
 turned to their friends ; the whole of whom felt exceedingly mortified on 
 learning, not only that they had been thus deceived, but that they had 
 been the cause of annoyance to a lady, who had been so kind to the poor 
 around, and to whom the whole village had reason to be grateful. 
 
 They, notwithstanding, had Pokey's two gallons in: and Click, in 
 order to heal the deep wounds he had inflicted upon the feelings of Oba- 
 diah, ordered two gallons more, but Obadiah again and again declared 
 he'd never forgive him : nor when the party, at midnight, broke up, had 
 a reconciliation between those two gentlemen been effected. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 39 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TIIK PICKLED SMALLS. 
 
 Urox those who live in the midst of excitement, who not only feel tin* 
 world's bullets themselves, hut sot- the world buffeting all anmnd them 
 whose lives are one perpetual struggle whose career is a series of ups 
 and downs who arc constantly compelled to be on the yui vice who, 
 from morning till night, and from year to year, are engaged in over- 
 coming those barriers bv which their progress in life is impeded who, 
 either to amass wealth, or to gain a mere subsistence, have their minds 
 continually on the stretch who are surrounded by difficulties springing, 
 not only from honourable competition) but from trickery, malignity, and 
 envy who an; thwarted at every step wh<> are opposed at cvcrv point, 
 and have to dodge through the world, which is to them one huge laby- 
 rinth, out of which they scarcely know how to get with honour 
 troubles of an unimportant caste make but little impression, for they really 
 have not time to think much about them; but they, whose lives are 
 passed in an almost perpetual calm who live but to live who have a 
 competence which secures to them comfort who have nothing but tran- 
 quillity around them nothing to prepare for in this world but the next 
 whose course is clear, whose career is smooth who experience neither 
 ups nor downs who live on, and on, in the spirit of peace, hoping for 
 peace hereafter who know but little of life, or its vicissitudes who 
 have nothing to oppose their progress no difficulties to surmount, no 
 barriers to break down, no competition to encounter, no struggling, no 
 straining, no manoeuvring they magnify every cause of vexation by 
 dwelling upon it, brooding over it, and making it the germ of a thou- 
 sand conceptions, as if anxious to ascertain what monstrous fruit it can 
 thus be imagined to bear. 
 
 The impression, however, is not intended to be conveyed that the 
 difficulties which beset Aunt Eleanor at this period were small : the object 
 proposed, is merely to show that, however great they might be, they 
 were perfectly sure to be magnified ; seeing that she had never had but one 
 important trouble, and that, with this exception the nature of which 
 will be hereafter explained her whole life had been characterised by an 
 almost uninterrupted flow of tranquillity. But, even if this had not been 
 shown, it would scarcely have been deemed, under the circumstances, ex- 
 traordinary, that these occurrences for which she could not in any way 
 account should have seriously interfered with her spirit's peace. 
 
 But these annoyances were not all she had been doomed to endure, 
 In the morning when Mary went to assist her to dress, she went, fraught 
 with another mysterious cause of vexation. 
 
40 SYLVESTER SOCtfD 
 
 "Oh, ma'am!" she exclaimed. " There's been sich goings on! Oh! 
 I never did see, ma'am! The tilings is all turned topsy-turvy. The 
 picturs, cheers, everything. Oh! it is horrid." 
 " What is it you mean, Mary V" 
 
 "Oh! ma'am! only jist come down stairs, ma'am; that's all." 
 " But what do you mean?'' 
 
 "There's been thieves in the house, ma'am! But do come and see, 
 Jist slip on your things, ma'am, and only jist look at the horrid upset." 
 Aunt Eleanor did slip on her things, and on reaching the door of her 
 favourite parlour, beheld a scene of unexampled confusion. Everything 
 had been displaced. The tables had been turned upside down, and the 
 chairs piled ingeniously upon them : the pictures had been taken from 
 the walls, and placed round the room upon the carpet: the vases, the 
 lambs, dogs, lions, and tigers, had been removed from the mantelpiece 
 to the couch: the china and glass had been taken from the sideboard, 
 nnd arranged fantastically upon the piano, while, in order to compro- 
 mise the matter with the sideboard, the hearth-nig, coal-scuttle, fire- 
 irons, and fender, had been in due form placed upon it ; but nothing had 
 been broken nothing even injured! 
 
 Aimt Eleanor gazed for a few moments upon this most extraordinary 
 state of things in silence; but, having at length observed calmly that it 
 demanded minute investigation, she locked the door, and taking the key 
 with her, returned to her chamber to dress. 
 
 Here she tranquilly turned the thing over in her mind; and, having 
 viewed it in connexion with the ghost-hunting party, she resolved on 
 .sending for her reverend friend, with the view of placing the matter 
 before him. 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution, she, on descending to the breakfast- 
 room, opened her desk and proceeded to write a note to the reverend 
 gentleman; but she had scarcely commenced it, when Mary appeared: 
 mid, having informed her that neither bread, butter, eggs, nor ham, 
 could be found, inquired not only what was to become of them, but what 
 was to be done? 
 
 " Can you not find enough for breakfast?" 
 
 " Lor bless you, ma'am, they haven't left a mite!" 
 
 Aunt Eleanor pressed her lips closely together, and finished the note ; 
 
 and, while folding it, said 
 
 "Light the taper, Mary; and then, desire Judkins to come here.'' 
 " Judkins, ma'am, can't get up yet," replied Mary. 
 " Why not? Is he ill?" 
 " No, ma'am, he isn't ill" 
 k> Why, then, can he not get up?" 
 " Because ma'am, they've taken away all his things." 
 " Good gracious ! What next shall I hear? Well, put on your bonnet, 
 nnd take this note, and bring in with you what we require For breakfast." 
 The note being sealed, Mary left the room, and Sylvester soon after 
 entered; and when his aunt, as usual, had kissed him, and expressed 
 her fond hope that he was well, she proceeded to explain to him 
 wliat had occurred; and thereby to fill him with utter amazement, 
 

 
 
 
TllE SOMNAMBULIST. 41 
 
 " My dear aunt," said lie, " what can it all mean?" 
 
 "Heaven only knows! I cannot even conjecture. But just come 
 with me, dear, and look at the things. There," she added, on opening 
 the parlour-door, " did you ever see a room in such a state of confu- 
 sion T 
 
 Sylvester looked, and really felt, quite astonished. 
 
 " You see," she continued; " there's not a single thing in its place." 
 
 "But what could have been their object?" said Sylvester. "The 
 things are disarranged, it is true; but they appear to have disturbed 
 them with great consideration. I cannot conceive what their motive 
 could have been, 
 
 " Nor can I ! unless, indeed, it were merely to annoy me." 
 
 "I should say that had that been their object, they would never have 
 removed them with so much care. The things have not been thrown 
 together, you perceive: it has been a work of time. Look at this china 
 and glass; there is some little taste, you perceive, di-played in the ar- 
 rangement." 
 
 " I do not admire the taste displayed, but they certainly have been 
 most carefully handled. But that, my deal-, which annoys me more 
 than all, is the fact of mv Ix-ini: unable to imagine, not only who did it, 
 but how it was done. 1 should >av myself, that thieves have not been in 
 the house. I miss nothing here. The only things which have disap- 
 peared, with the exception of the bread, butter, eggs, and ham, are the 
 clothes of poor ,Judkin>." 
 
 u Are they gone? Well that is >tr;r 
 
 "And, esj>ecially as there are many things much more portable and 
 infinitely more valuable here: that timepiece, for instance, is worth 
 thirty pounds. However, not a thin- .shall l>e touched until Mr. Rouse 
 comes. I'll have the whole matter investigated fully." 1 
 
 She then returned to the breakfast-room, and Sylvester went up to 
 Judkins, whom he found still in bed, for he hadn't a thing to put on. 
 
 kk Why, how is this, .Judkins?" said Sylvester, as he entered; "I heal- 
 that you have lost all your clothes." 
 
 " Every rag: every individual rag," replied Judkins; "I haven't a 
 mite of anything to put on. I shouldn't have cared if they'd only just 
 left me a pair of breeches; but blarm 'em, to take away the lot was 
 ondecent." 
 
 "Didn't you hear them at all?'' 
 
 "I only wish for their sakes 1 had; I'd ha 1 cooked the goose of one 
 or two of 'em, l"ll warrant. It's worse than highway robbery, ten times 
 over. I'd ha' forgiven 'em if they'd stopped me on the road, but to 
 crawl in and steal a man's clothes clandestinely when he's asleep, is the 
 warmintcst proceeding 1 ever heered tell on." 
 
 " Well, how do you mean to manage? Shall I run to the tailor for 
 you?" 
 
 " No, I thank you, sir; Mary's just gone to the Parson's gardener, to 
 ask linn to lend me a pair of breeches and a waistcoat: but I don't 
 know whether he will or not, I'm sun-." 
 
 "My trouser^, I suppose, will not lit you'/'' 
 
42 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Lor' bless you I should split 'cm all to ribbons ; I couldn't get 
 my arms in. Blister 'em: all I wonder at is, they didn't take off my 
 shirt. They hare got my stockings. Shouldn't I like to catch 'em. If 
 ever I do come across 'em, I -wish 'em success." 
 
 Mary now came to the door with a bundle, for Jones having heard 
 the whole matter explained had opened his heart, and sent the clothes ; 
 and when Sylvester had handed them over to Judkins, he left him to 
 rejoin his aunt. 
 
 While at breakfast they, of course, spoke of nothing, thought of 
 nothing, but the confusion so mysteriously created ; but the more they 
 endeavoured to guess the cause, the more deeply involved they became. 
 They had scarcely, however, finished their repast, when the reverend 
 gentleman arrived, and when, with a look which denoted concern, he 
 had greeted them with all his characteristic cordiality, Aunt Eleanor 
 eloquently laid the case before him connecting it ingeniously with the 
 ghost-hunting party who appeared before her cottage the preceding 
 night and then asked him what he thought of the matter as it stood, 
 and what course he imagined she ought to pursue. 
 
 Now the Keverend Mr. Rouse was a man of the world that is to say, 
 a man of the world in which he lived ; a man possessing a most profound 
 knowledge of the sphere in which he moved he was a man of obser- 
 vation, as well as a man of reflection; aiid while his perceptive faculties 
 were strong, he was conversant with, although unable to discover the 
 etymology of, certain idioms which were constantly used by those around 
 him. He knew, for example, what was meant by " a spree :" he more- 
 over knew perfectly the meaning of " a lark:" he knew not whence they 
 were derived, it is true albeit he strongly inclined to the belief that 
 they had one and the same Greek root: but being thus cognizant of 
 their modern definition, he, after a pause, during which he reflected 
 deeply, said, with all the solemnity which the nature and importance of 
 the words demanded, " Will you do me the favour to send for Legge V" 
 
 " Certainly, my dear sir," replied Aunt Eleanor, who turned and rang 
 the bell on the instant. " Mary," she added, when the sen-ant appeared, 
 " as Judkins is busy, run and ask Mr. Legge to step over." 
 
 " Tell him I desire that hn will come immediately," added the Pastor, 
 with all that humility by which the order to which he belonged was at 
 that particular period distinguished; and when Mary had left, he in 
 silence proceeded to rehearse thai highly important part which it was 
 his intention to perform. 
 
 Legge, who was a man of business, and who, by virtue of attending 
 to that business, was doing very well at the Crumpet and Crown, received 
 Mary with his customary custom-winning smile; but when she had 
 delivered not only her mistress's message, but that which the reverend 
 gentleman had sent, his features assumed an expression of thought, and 
 lie said, as he passed his hand over his chin, " I wonder now what's in 
 the wind." 
 
 " You'll hear all about it," returned Mary, promptly; " but do make 
 haste, for they're anxious, I know." 
 
 Mrs. Legge then spoke to Mary, and asked her how she found herself, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 43 
 
 and pressed her to have a glass of wine, and got her into the bar, and 
 then made her have one ; and during Leggei progress to the cottage, 
 got out of her all she knew and more. 
 
 The reverend gentleman having decided upon a course, of which the 
 pursuit he thought would have a somewhat stunning effect, assumed a 
 position of great importance as Legge entered the room, and addressd 
 him in tones indicative of that authority with which he felt doubly 
 invested. 
 
 " Mr. Legge," said he, with an expression of severity, " I am sorry, 
 Mr. Legge, that I have so much cause to complain of your keeping a 
 disorderly house." 
 
 "A disorderly hou'-e, ^ir?" cried Legge. 
 
 "Yes, sir," retorted the reverend gentleman; "a disorderly house 
 for disorderly every house must be, if it be not conducted with propriety 
 and decorum." 
 
 "I beg pardon, sir: but really, I never heard before that I kept a 
 disorderly house." 
 
 " I say, sir, that it is a disorderly house, and I warn you that, as a 
 disorderly house, it shall be indicted, if the scenes the disgraceful scenes 
 which are to be witnessed there be not discontinued." 
 
 "What scenes.? What dugracefo] set-Mrs?" demanded Legge, who 
 conscious of the propriety (if his own conduct, and the consequent fair 
 reputation of his house, began to feel indignant. " What scenes are to 
 be witnessed there?" 
 
 aes, rip, of riot and debauch < s " 
 
 " I deny it." 
 
 "Silence, sir; how daiv yon interrupt me?" 
 
 "Dare! I'm a plain, blunt man, sir, and will not be silent when I hear 
 m\ self falsely denounced. I am not a clergyman: I do not preach 
 humility and practise tyranny: 1 am the mere keeper of a public-house; 
 1 was not always in that position, but even as I am, I defy the world to 
 prove that my conduct has not been BtnUghtfbrWftrd and just. I am 
 also the father of a family, and my children, you knoic, I have endea- 
 voured to rear in the principles of virtue, morality, and religion. You 
 know this: you know that I would neither set them a bad example 
 myself, nor sutler a bad example to be set them by others: and, am I 
 then, by you, sir, to be told, not only that I keep a disreputable honiNf, 
 but" 
 
 " I did not say a disreputable house." 
 
 " You said a disorderly house." 
 
 "I did: but not in your sense, disorderly. All I meant to sny, 
 was, that occasionally scenes of disorder occurred." 
 
 " Why, of course they do. Where is there a house of that description 
 in which scenes of disorder do not occur occasionally? But is it, there* 
 fore, to be called a disorderly house? a house to be indicted?" 
 
 " You keep bad hours, sir; you cannot deny that!" 
 
 " Occasionally we are compelled to be rather late, but in general wy 
 close between ten and eleven." 
 
 " The house, sir, was not closed at twelve last night," 
 
44 SYLVESTER SOVNP 
 
 "I am aware of it; but that was under extraordinary circumstances." 
 
 " It is to that point we would come," interposed Aunt Eleanor, who, 
 although she had been silent, didn't at all like her reverend friend's mode 
 of proceeding. " We wish to speak of that solely, Mr. Legge. You had 
 a party last night, and that party, or a number of those persons who 
 composed that party, appeared, before the gate of my cottage at midnight, 
 We wish, Mr. Legge, to know the motives of those persons: that is the 
 point at which we are anxious to arrive." 
 
 " Exactly," added the reverend gentleman ; " that w the point, Now, 
 eir, what were their motives?'' 
 
 " I know but of one," replied Legge. 
 
 "Aye, that is the ghost story: that we have heard. But do you not 
 know that their principal object, sir, was to annoy this lady?" 
 
 "No, sir; on the contrary, I know that it was not. There is not a. 
 man amongst them, sir, by whom she is not respected. She is too kind 
 too good, sir, to be annoyed wantonly by them." 
 
 " Then, do you mean to say, Mr. Legge, that you don't know that 
 gome of those persons burglariously entered this cottage last night ?" 
 
 "Entered this cottage?" 
 
 "Aye, sir! That is the question. Do you, or do you not, know 
 that fact?" 
 
 " Most certainly I do not. Nor do I believe it to be a fact. Why, 
 sir, there isn't one of them, who leaving inclination oilt of the <|uesti<ni 
 entirely would, under the circumstances, have dared, sir, to enter the 
 
 ' Very well. You are entitled to the full benefit of this opinion; but 
 I'll now just trouble you to look at the state of this room." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then rose, and, accompanied by Sylvester and 
 his aunt, proceeded to the parlour, duly followed by Legge, who, as he 
 entered, looked round the room utterly astonished. 
 
 " You have, indeed, been annoyed, ma'am," at length he observed, 
 " and I'm very sorry for it ; but I'm sure quite sure, that this was not 
 done by either of those men." 
 
 "These things," said the reverend gentleman, "could not have been 
 removed without hands." 
 
 " Nor could they have been removed in haste," rejoined Legge. " Were 
 the doors broken open, ma'am?" 
 
 "No! all seemed secure in the morning! How ever they got in, I 
 can't imagine." 
 
 " Do you think, ma'am, it's likely that any one got in?" 
 
 " What else am I to think, Mr, Legge?" 
 
 " I ought not perhaps to offer any suggestion." 
 
 " Oh, I do hope that you will, lor the affair is now so involved in 
 mystery, that if you could throw any light upon the subject I should 
 feel indeed grateful." 
 
 " Well, ma'am, of course, I don't know that I can; but you have ;i 
 gardener, and that gardener sleeps in the house. Now, 1 should be very 
 sorry, even to throw out a hint that would tend to injure any man 
 breathing, but as I know what servants are, and what quarrels 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 45 
 
 uarrols they have occasionally among themselves, I would suggest 
 hat it is possible just possible that the gardener, during the night, 
 hus carefully displaced these things not with any wicked object in 
 iew but merelv for the purpose of annoying the maids." 
 
 " A verv proper suggestion," observed the reverend gentleman, who, 
 hiding that stilts wouldn't do, came down. "Very proper, indeed. It 
 > possible: nay, highly probable." 
 
 " But," observed Sylvester, "Judkins has lost all his clothes!" 
 
 " Have you lost anything of value, ma'am? anything out of this 
 room?" inquired Legge. 
 
 Not a single thing! Oh! by-the-hyo," she added, "whore's the 
 silver tankard'/'' 
 
 They looked round the room: it was not to be seen: nor could they 
 see the salver upon which it had stood. Presently, however, the reve- 
 rend gentleman perceiving -oniethiug under the couch, removed it, and 
 :here found, not only the tankard and salver, but the bread, butter, 
 ham, and a bundle of clothes, which were instantly known to belong to 
 Judkins! 
 
 This altered at once the complexion of things. It was then <|iiite 
 clear to them all, that this confusion had been created with no felonious 
 intention; and as it was plain that no entrance had been forced. Aunt 
 Eleanor, as well as her reverend friend, felt convinced, that with tin- 
 motive aligned by Legge, the things had been thus disturbed by 
 Judkins. 
 
 Legge, however, now had a doubt on the subject, and gave Judkins 
 the ben. -lit of that doubt without delay. "I do not," said ho, "think 
 it wa> the gardener now." 
 
 "Oh!" cried the Pastor, "the case i< clear against him! Look at his 
 clothe-! How came they here?" 
 
 "The verv fact," returned Legge, "of their being here, tends to con- 
 vince me, that he i> not, after all, the man. 1 think that if he had done 
 it, he would not have left his clothes for I do not believe that he has 
 sufficient art to leave them in order that all su>picion might be removed, 
 on tin- ground that no man, in his senses, would thus convict himself. 
 If he let't them at all, he could onlv have left them for the purpose of 
 having it said, < >h, it couldn't ha\e been him: he would never have 
 been such a fool!' and 1 do not think that he is artful enough for that." 
 
 "There's no telling," observed the reverend gentleman. " lieally the 
 world has got to such a pitch that there's no such thing as knowing the 
 human heart at all." 
 
 lint," said Aunt Eleanor, "if it were not Judkins, who on earth 
 could it have been;'" 
 
 " 1 can't imagine," returned Legge; " still I would not too hastily con- 
 demn him. All I can say is, that this was not done by any one of the 
 partv at my house laM night." 
 
 "I believe it," said Aunt Eleanor; "firmly believe it." 
 
 \nd so do I now," observed the reverend gentleman. "I did at 
 first think that they had done it by way of a frolic, which, in the house 
 of a lady, would have been of course disgraceful. However, as it is, I 
 
46 SYLVESTER SOIND 
 
 m-al those observations which I made with respect to your house, but 
 1 do hopi: that you will in future keep good hours." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor now got out the wine, and requested Legge to help 
 himself, which he, as a mailer of course, did; but just as he had filled 
 his glass, Mary came into the room, exclaiming " We've found the 
 eggs, ma'am; but, oh! in such a place!" 
 
 " Where did you find them?'' demanded her mistress. 
 
 " In the pickle-tub, ma'am/' 
 
 " In the pickle-tub?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; as cook was a fishing for a tongue, what should she 
 find but the eggs, tied up in an old pair of Judkins's " 
 
 Here she stopped and blushed, and Aunt Eleanor blushed too, and 
 the reverend gentleman turned to smile, but Legge, who had just got 
 his mouth full of sherry, didn't know at all how to get rid of it. He 
 blew out his cheeks, and grunted, and strained, while his face became 
 crimson, and every vein visible, seemed in a fit state to burst, until, at 
 length, he made a desperate effort to gulp it, but, as a portion of it went 
 u the wrong way," that portion found out its mistake, and returned, 
 and, by virtue of returning thus, caused him to spirt and to cough with 
 unparalleled violence. This was annoying, but he really couldn't help 
 it. Aimt Eleanor knew that he couldn't, and, therefore, in order to 
 relieve him from embarrassment, appeared to be unconscious of the cir- 
 cumstance entirely, and, turning to Mary, said to her, " Has cook been 
 quarrelling with JudkinsV" 
 
 "No, ma'am: they've had a few words, but not about anything 
 particular!" 
 
 " Very good," said her mistress, " you can now leave the room. 
 " It is," she added, when Mary had left, " it is, I apprehend, as you 
 suggested, Mr. Legge. These people, no doubt, have been quar- 
 relling, and their object has been to annoy each other. This, 
 however, must be ascertained, But have another glass of wine, Mr. 
 Legge." 
 
 Legge was almost afraid, but he took another glass, and managed to 
 drink it with proper effect, and, when Aunt Eleanor had thanked him 
 for his attention, and the reverend gentleman had playfully entreated 
 him to let him know immediately the " ghost" re-appeared, he bowed 
 and left them to contemplate the case as it stood, and to devise the 
 means of gaining the knowledge desired. 
 
 Now r , while he was thus engaged at the cottage, Mrs. Legge having 
 ascertained from Mary the substance of all that had occurred, with the 
 single exception of the eggs being found in that peculiar envelope had, 
 as a natural matter of course, been retailing the circumstances to all 
 who came, among whom were Mr. Pokey, Mr. Obadiah Drant, Mr. 
 Click, Mr. Quocks, and Mr. Bobber. When, therefore, Legge retimie.d, 
 their anxiety to learn the minutiae of that of which they had heard but 
 the outline, was intense. They crowded round him, and urged him to 
 begin at the beginning, and pressed him to drink, that he might open 
 more freely; but Legge, having whispered to his wife, assumed an 
 expression of mortification, and sat down in silence. 
 

 THE SOMXAMlirLI&T. 47 
 
 "Why, what is the matter? What's wrong?" inquired Pokey. But 
 vC M,- u -,. returned no an.M\vr. 
 
 It' there's anything fructifying in your mind, unpleasant," said 
 )hadiah, "out with it, my boy, like a Briton!" 
 
 " Who," demanded Legge, with feigned ferocity, " who broke into the 
 Ti*angc Cottage, last night?" 
 
 "I didn't," said Pokey, " so that's enough for me." 
 " They who did," .said Obadiah, " ought to be served, as they used to 
 them in Nova Scotia, in the time of Julius Cjesur, and Peter the 
 fa-eat!" 
 
 " But was it broken into?" said Click. 
 
 "She MMit for me, :is you have heard, and tin-re were the things! I 
 lever in my life witnessed such a seem- of confusion. The parson was 
 here, and he told me at once that he should indict me for keeping a 
 lisnrderly house!" 
 
 "The parson! pooh!" exclaimed Obadiah. "Don't they draw nine- 
 uid-twcnty millions of money, annually, every year, from the vitals of 
 he people'/ What d- they want more? Look at the .rclrMuMieal 
 uindle exposed by Joey Hume! Could Bobby Peel defend it? Look, 
 at Charley Bnller's motion, that was backed by Tommy Dmi- 
 ombe! Do you mean to tell me " 
 
 M But," interrupted Click, u ints the cottage broken into last night?" 
 "Why, that's involved in my>tery," replied Li-irire, "no lock.s appear 
 o have been broken, but, a> Mr. Kouse >aid " 
 
 <4 Wh care> for Teddy House?" cried Obadiah; '"Who cares for the 
 cloth to which Teddy Rouse belongs? They are what I call the locusts 
 f liberty!" 
 
 "As he said," continued Lojrgc, " tho thin couldn't have been thus 
 disturbed without hands. And in-v P will have to prove that he 
 didn't disturb them." 
 
 " I!" exclaimed Pokey. " Why do they pitch upon me?" 
 " Mr-. Sound saw you near the premie I. That's strong circumstan- 
 tial evidence. You were- there twice, which makes the case stronger. 
 The bottom of it is, you're in a m< 
 " But I'll take my oath " 
 
 " That you'll not be suffered to do. Mind you, I don't say that you 
 are the man that broke in, you will recollect that. / shall give no 
 evidence against you; but it strikes me you'd better prepare for your 
 defence." 
 
 " I remember," observed Obadiah, " I remember that, during the 
 French Devolution " 
 
 " Blister the French Revolution!" cried Pokey, who began to feel 
 very much alarmed. "What's the French Devolution to this? But 
 are you serious, Mr. Legge? Really, now, are you serious V" 
 
 -Serious! It isn't a thing to joke about, / can tell you. You'd 
 better leave the place till the matter blows over." 
 
 kt / can't leave the place. How can I leave? I've no less than four 
 pair of breeches in hand!" 
 
 In an instant Legge, unable to controul himself, sent forth a loud 
 
 
48 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 peal of laughter, and as Click, Bobber, Quocks, and Obadiah, perceived 
 tliat he had only been frightening Pokey, they , to some extent, joined 
 him; but when he had explained the real cause of his mirth when ho 
 had told them of the eggs being found in the pickle-tub, tied up in 
 Judkins's smalls they opened their shoulders, and set up a roar which 
 might have been heard at the cottage. Nor was this ebullition of 
 merriment transitory. Peal after peal did they send forth in raptures, 
 now holding their ribs in, and calling out with pain, and then bursting 
 forth again with fresh vigour, until two or three of them became so ex- 
 hausted that, had not the chairs been established in a row, they really 
 must have rolled on the ground. 
 
 " Was the eggs smashed?" cried Pokey, in the midst of this scene. 
 And again they broke loose, though in agony. "I've heered of pickled 
 inguns," he added, and this was the signal for another loud roar, " but 
 pickled breeches," he continued, u pick pickled " Being utterly' 
 unable to finish this sentence, he threw himself down on the mat, and 
 panted. 
 
 As the thunder succeeds the lightning's flash, so did a roar on this 
 occasion succeed every sentence that was uttered, whether witty or not ; 
 but as men cannot even laugh for ever, they at length became suffi- 
 ciently worn out to sit down in a state of comparative tranquillity. 
 
 Legge then explained to them what he had suggested, and they then 
 saw, with perfect distinctness, that a quarrel between Judkins and cook 
 had been the origin of it all. They, moreover, thought it a very fail- 
 match; but confessed that cook then had, decidedly, the best of it, 
 seeing that Judkins had done nothing equal to her assumed feat of 
 pickling the smalls. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ROSALIE. 
 
 THE pagans had a little swell whom they called the god of laughter. 
 His name was Coinus; and he was fat, as a perfectly natural matter of 
 course. He didn't do much they who laugh much, very seldom do 
 but, notwithstanding, in his day, he was popular among the pagans. 
 Very good. Now, there are, of course, various species of laughter. 
 There's the natural laugh, the hysterical laugh, the hypocritical laugh, 
 and the laugh of the idiot; but the natural laugh is the only laugh 
 which springs absolutely from pleasure. Comus had a natural laugh, 
 and he was, therefore, fat. Why, what an immense field does this open 
 for the philanthropist to contemplate! Caesar who wasn't a fool 
 didn't like Caseins, because he was lean. If this and that bt> put 
 together, to what will they amount! Momus not Comus, but Mom us 
 

 Till: >OMXAM1U'LIST. 49 
 
 censured Vulcan, for making a man without a window in his bivast, 
 'hat his ill designs and treacheries might In- seen, which was all verv 
 \vcll; Init what necessity, even in that poetic age, would there have been 
 br this window, had a social and political Fatometcr obtained? And 
 .low infinitely more valuable would it be now how society would bo 
 simplified by virtue ol' its introduction ! Fat is tin- natural fruit of 
 laughter: natural laughter springs from pleasure: pleasure is derived 
 from happiness: happiness from goodness, and goodness comprehends all 
 the virtues. That is one side' of the question: now look at the other. 
 AA'ho ever saw a really laughter-loving man thin? No one. And why? 
 cause laughter opens the shoulders expands the chest strengthens 
 and increases the sixe of the lungs, and thus generates fat. Leann< , 
 then, denotes the absence of laughter; the absence of laughter, the absence 
 of pleasure; the absence of plea-tire, the absence of happiness; the 
 
 absence of happiness, the absence of goodness; and the absence <>f L 
 
 . the ab.M-nce of all the virtues. Who had they been contein 
 |>oraries who would not have tru-ted Daniel Lambert a man of 
 
 me doesn't know-how-manv stout in preference to Monsieur what 
 
 was his name the Living Skeleton? Let a Fatometer IK- established, 
 that the amiable fat ones may be caressed, and the treacherous lean 
 <>iie.-, avoided! Let a standard of fat be li\ei|; and, as the crafty and 
 designing can never hope to reach il, .society will be all the purer. 
 
 Now, it is the }>eeuliar province of an author to be cognixant of the 
 ni. -I >eeret thoughts, not onlv of his heroes and heroines, but of every 
 
 person whom lie introduces to the world. Hence it is that he is held 
 
 responsible liu- 'ho.se introductions and very properly, too! but it 
 would not be fair to attach to him this responsibility, were his liberty 
 restrained. For example: he is allowed to follow a lady into her \ei \ 
 chamber, and to contemplate her moM private thoughts, even while 
 she is there; which would be. under any other circumstances, highly 
 incorrect. The lady herself wouldn't allow it; and, it' even she had 
 no great objection, by societv it would not, it <-nl,l uot, 1)6 sanctioned. 
 Tlie.se remarks are held to be n-ce.->ar\ as a >ort of an apologv, or rather 
 a> a -pecies of justification, seeing that it has now to be staled that Aunt 
 Eleanor, immediately alter Leggehad leit the cottage, excused herself to 
 her reverend friend, and went direct to her chamber to have a hearty 
 laugh. And she did laudi heartily, and, therefore, very naturally. She loved 
 to laugh, and hence was fat that is to say, she had reached that standard 
 which ought, for ladies thus circumstanced, to be universally set np. It 
 is no Millicient argument against the establishment of this standard, that 
 they who love to laugh are not at all times happy. The acme of pleasure, 
 for instance, consists in being entirely free from pain; but where are we 
 to find the acme of pleasure, seeing that pleasure and pain are twins? 
 Evn Aunt Eleanor, who loved to laugh as well as any lady in the 
 county, was not without troubles, albeit they were few; and even while 
 she was laughing in her chamber, she thought of that mystery which 
 had not yet been solved. Feeling, however, then, thut she had something 
 like a clue to its solution, her mind was more tranquil, and when she 
 had become, in her judgment, sufficiently composed, she returned to the 
 
,10 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 reverend gentleman, who suggested that they should at once ascertain 
 the cause beyond doubt; and the immediate consequence of this sugges- 
 tion \\-;is, that Judkins was duly summoned. 
 
 " Judkins," she observed, with the most perfect composure, " the ques- 
 tions which I am now about to put to you, I hope you will answer with 
 truth." 
 
 " Cert'ncy, ma'am! cert'ney." 
 
 " In the first place, then, I have to ask how you account for that ex- 
 traordinary confusion in the parlour V" 
 
 "It's my opinion, ma'am, that the place is bewitched! that's my 
 opinion." 
 
 " Judkins, what time did you go to bed last night?" 
 
 "About half-past ten, ma'am.' 1 
 
 "And what time did you rise?" 
 
 " About nine, ma'am. I couldn't get up before, because of my clothes." 
 
 " Were you in the room the whole of that time?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " You didn't once leave it, from half-past ten last night until nine 
 o'clock this morning?" 
 
 "Xo, ma'am." 
 
 " Are you quite sure of that?" 
 
 ".Quite. !" 
 
 " Judkins, if I discover that you are not telling me the truth, I will im- 
 mediately discharge you; but if, repudiating falsehood, you confess to 
 me now that those tilings in the parlour were disturbed by you " 
 
 "By me, ma'am!" cried Judkins, in a state of astonishment; "/dis- 
 turb the things, ma'am?" 
 
 " I have reason to suspect that they were disturbed you." 
 
 "Why, I wasn't out of bed, ma'am, the whole live-long night! Be- 
 sides, why should I disturb them?" 
 
 " To annoy cook and Mary. You are not on the most friendly terms, 
 I believe, with either." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, ma'am; I never interfere with 'em. Mary's well 
 enough; but cook's a cook, and you know what cooks is! they're all 
 alike. But if they was the very last words I had to speak, ma'am, I'd 
 say I didn't touch them things." 
 
 " Judkins, I am at present bound to believe you ; but if I find that you 
 have been telling me a falsehood, I will on the instant discharge you!" 
 
 "You'll never find that, ma'am, I. know; but I suppose, ma'am, that 
 cook's been saying something against me !" 
 
 " No, not a word; nor have I at present spoken a word to her on the 
 subject. But desire her to come to me HOAV. The matter must not be 
 allowed to rest hen*." 
 
 Judkins then left the room : and both his mistress and the reverend 
 gentleman felt that he was innocent ; while Sylvester, who had been watch- 
 ing the proceedings in silence, declared his conviction that Judkins was not 
 the man, and pointed out the utter improbability of his having disturbed 
 the things with the view of annoying cook, seeing that it was not cook's 
 province to replace them. Aunt Eleanor, however, having commenced 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 51 
 
 [he investigation, felt hound to proceed, and awaited with composure the 
 ippenrance of cook, who, on entering the room, felt somewhat flurried. 
 
 "Cook," said her mistress, " have you andJudkins been quarrelling?'' 
 
 "No, ma'am.'' 
 
 " There have been no words between you of an unpleasant natun ?" 
 
 "Nothing that can be called words, ma'am; only, so sure as I ask him 
 for taters, or turnups, or carrots, or ingims, or salary, or anything in 
 of that, so sure lie won't bring 'em till the very lastest minute, 
 though I ask him over and over and over and over again. There was 
 only the other day now, ma'am, only jist to show you " 
 
 " I do not wish," said Aunt Eleanor, " to hear any tales, cook, of that 
 description." 
 
 "No, ma'am, I know; but then it puts me in a orkard perdicament, 
 as I told him, no longer ago than yesterday ' Judkins,' says 1, 'you 
 know,' says I, ' it isn't my place, 1 says 1, 'to go,' says I, 'pottering about 
 in that garden, and I'm sure,' says I, 'that if missis,' says I, 'was to 
 know it ' " 
 
 " All I asked was, whether he and you had been quarrelling whether, 
 in short, you desired to annoy him." 
 
 Annoy him, ma'am! / want to annoy him? Then he's been n 
 telling you, ma'am, I want to annoy him, ma'am, has he?" 
 
 " No cook ; but answer my question plainly : have you had any <//*// 
 to annoy him?'' 
 
 "Not I, ma'am! no, ma'am!" 
 
 " Then how do you account for the fact of his clothes being found 
 where they w< 
 
 "/, ma'am, account? What, then, has he been a saying that I put 
 Ym there?" 
 
 "He has been saying nothing of the sort, cook. Tasked you how you 
 accounted for the circumstai. 
 
 M Account for it, ma'am? 1 can only say it's my belief the house is 
 wholly haunted! If it isn't, ma'am, it's very strange to me! As I said 
 to Mary this blessed morning, ' Mary,' says 1" 
 
 " But, cook," said Aunt Eleanor, promptly checking this natural flow 
 of eloquence, " lor what purpose did you happen to go to the pickle-tub 
 this morning?" 
 
 " I went, ma'am, 'cause, as the ham was gone, I thought I'd bile a 
 tongue. But does he have the imperance to think, ma'am, that I put 
 his clothes there? Where was his clothes, ma'am? In course, in his 
 bed-room! And does he mean to have the howdaciousness to insini- 
 vate" 
 
 " He has insinuated nothing of the kind. But by whom do you 
 imagine they were put there?" 
 
 " I haven't, ma'am, so much as a idea!" 
 
 " Then, cook, I'm to understand that you can throw no light what- 
 ever on the subject?" 
 
 " Not the leastest in the world, ma'am !'' 
 
 " Very well: then I have nothing more to say to you at present." 
 
 Cook then, although with manliest reluctance, retired ; and as she was 
 
 E3 
 
o2 6YLVKSTKR SOUND 
 
 distantly acquitted of all participation, the mystery resumed its on-vinnl 
 character. .Neither S\ Ivester, his aunt, nor their reverend friend, could 
 imagine another clue. Even the power to conj< cture seemed losl. 
 Neii her could suggest neither eonld conceive the slightest means 
 whereby that mystery might l>c solved. 
 
 "We must still," said the reverend gentleman at length, "we must 
 still have patience 1 . Time alone can l>ring this strange matter to light: 
 and that it will be brought to light, 1 have not the slightest doubt. We 
 must, therefore, my dear madam, still have patience." 
 
 Patience! What an admirable attribute is patience! How sweet are 
 its iniluenees how softening its effects! In the hour of aflliction, how 
 beautiful, how calm, how serene, how sublime, is patience ! Behold the 
 afflicted, raeked with pain, from which Death alone can relieve them. 
 By what are they sustained but by that sweet patience which springs 
 from faith and hope! Patience, ever lovely, shows loveliest then, lint 
 who ever met with passive patience co-existing with active suspense? 
 We mav endure affliction the most poignant with patience but we 
 cannot with patience endure suspense. The knowledge of the worst that 
 can befal us, may be borne with patience but patience will hold no 
 communion with our ignorance of that which we are ardently anxious 
 to know. Aunt Eleanor, for example, had she known that the smalls 
 had been put into the pickle-tub by cook, and that Judkins had upset 
 the things in the parlour nay, had she even known that Mr. Pokey and 
 his companions, or any other gentleman and his companions, had actually 
 entered the cottage she would have endured that knowledge with 
 patience; but as she was utterly ignorant of everything connected with 
 the origin of these mysterious proceedings as she neither knew what 
 had induced them, nor had the power even to guess the cause to which 
 alone they could have been fairly ascribed patience was altogether out 
 of the question. Hers was essentially a state of suspense with which 
 patience had nothing whatever to do. 
 
 Still it was, notwithstanding this, all very well for her reverend 
 friend to recommend it: it was, in fact, his province to do so; for 
 having studied deeply the Book of Job, he held patience to be one 
 of the sublimest virtues. It is true quite true that he hadn't much 
 himself. But then look at his position. He had to read two sermons 
 every Aveck of his life; and ///.> sermons cost him a guinea per do/en! 
 Such a man could not rationally be expected to have patience. Nor, 
 indeed, have men in general, much. The women arc the great cards 
 for patience. Hence it is that they arc so frequently termed ducks; 
 seeing that, as ducks, when they are hatching, sit upon their eggs a 
 whole month, they are the legitimate emblems of patience. But men 
 are not ducks. 
 
 It must not, however, be imagined, that because Aunt Eleanor was 
 in a state of suspense then, she was not in general a patient person. 
 She was; but being then in a state of suspense, she could not have been 
 expected to be patient. She pauted to know the cause of these strange 
 proceedings and people never pant with patience and altlu ugh the 
 reverend gentleman had advised her to be patient, she continued to pant 
 

 //s,/,- 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 53 
 
 anxiously throughout the clay; but at night she was as tar from the 
 achievement of her object, as she would have been had that object never 
 been propo>rd. 
 
 About half-past ten being weary of the day she retired to her 
 chamber, and sat alternately listening and reading until twelve; when, 
 everything both in and around the cottage being still as death, she 
 prayed, and went to bed, in the full assurance of protection. 
 
 It has been said that there is no virtue in prayer, seeing that He, to 
 whom we pray, knows our thoughts before we attempt to give them 
 utterance; but who, having fervently prayed, has not felt his spirit 
 etherealised, his mind more at ease, his heart lighter; inspired as he 
 then must be with the conviction that. ' putting his whole trust and con- 
 fidence in Him." In- lias been in communion with his God? " Ask, and 
 ye shall have!" involves a point of faith which teems with the most holy 
 influences; and piety ran no mere exist without prayer, than prayer can 
 be elective without piety. 
 
 Of course, it is imt ncces>ary to pursm- this .-ubject here: the only 
 object of it- introduction i-, to -how how natural it was li>r Aunt Kleanor, 
 having fervently prayed, to feel assured of protection; and, feeling thus 
 
 assured, to go to sleep. 
 
 Sylvester at that time had been a>leep nearly two hour.-: but having 
 in a movt enchanting dream fallen desjHTatelv in love with a Dryade, he 
 dre<-rd himself with care, and, on leaving the cottage, proceeded by ap- 
 pointment to the arbour. 
 
 lint the Dryide was not there! He looked an\iou-ly round; but no! 
 What could be the cau.-e of it'.' That she irmilil keep her appointment 
 he felt convinced, and therefore .-at down to await her coming : but he had 
 no sooner taken his seat than the ><-eiie in an instant changed, and he 
 beheld in imagination a beautiful dell, in the centre of which he sat, 
 Upon a couch composed of mow and the .-till living leaves of wild rotes. 
 For a time his e\ e- were da/zled by this lovelv scene, and he saw but 
 indistinctly the objects around him; but anon lie could clearly distin- 
 guish them all, and he turned with breathless wonder to contemplate 
 their incomparable brightness and beauty. The < lei 1 was thicklv studded 
 with the sweetest and richest (lowers with which the face jf Nature 
 teem.-; fruit of every conceivable .-pecies hung in clusters around, and 
 while the herbs lent their fragrance to perfume the air, the mingled 
 odours were delicious in the extreme. Above his head there were 
 myriads of golden-winged butterflies joyously basking in the glorious 
 sun: and. as the beautiful birds, whose plumage, reflecting every ray of 
 light, shone with surpassing lustre, were floating around him and skim- 
 ming the clear miniature lake, of which the surface was like polished 
 silver, and carolling with all the wild sweetness of their nature: it was, 
 altogether, the loveliest scene of which his fancy could boast the creation. 
 
 lie had not, however, contemplated this scene long, when the warbling 
 of the birds simultaneously cca-ed, and he heard in the distance, one 
 as he imagined burst forth in rich strains rf seraphic joy. The effect 
 was lavishing. He listened with feelings of the purest rapture, and 
 with fee-ings of rapture the birds 1i.-ter.ed too. How sweet huw en- 
 
54 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 chanting were those liquid notes! How soft how delightful how full 
 of wild beauty! What bird what celestial bird could it be? The 
 music ceased: and on the instant a sylph imperceptibly approached, and, 
 with balmy breath, softly whispered " Rosalie," and kissed him. That 
 kiss was electric. The blood ran thrilling through his veins, and he felt, 
 with delight, transported. Rosalie! That was the name of her in whom 
 his whole soul was centered. Rosalie ! He turned: and she had vanished. 
 But he heard again those ravishing strains, and was thus reinspired 
 with hope. But again they ceased: and again he turned; and Rosalie 
 stood before him. Oh, with what ecstacy did he behold her. "\Yhatjoy 
 what delight what rapture he felt as he gazed on her peerless 
 beauty! And she was a most beautiful blonde! Her eyes, which shone 
 like brilliant stars, were orbs of fascination; her cheeks bloomed like 
 the downy peaches; nature's nectar bedewed her lips; and while her 
 rich auburn hair flowed in wild ringlets luxuriantly over her shoulders, 
 her lovely form was enveloped in a veil wrought by zephyrs and silk- 
 worms combined. 
 
 " Rosalie, sweet Rosalie !" said Sylvester, at length, in the softest and 
 most endearing accents of love, and extended his arms to embrace her ; 
 but just as he fondly hoped to clasp her to his heart, a bird of Paradise 
 brought her a beautiful rose, which she placed in his bosom, smiled 
 sweetly, and fled. 
 
 " Rosalie, my love," he cried; "let me embrace thee." 
 
 Rosalie smiled again and glided round the dell, and then stood on the 
 margin of the lake her only mirror and adjusted her ringlets, and 
 sang again, even more sweetly than before; and, while singing, entered 
 a bower, and reclined upon a couch, when, in an instant the birds flew 
 to the sides of the dell, and having each plucked a leaf from the rose, 
 lily, eglantine, or briar, flew to the couch on which their goddess was 
 reclining, and, having strewn the leaves over her beautiful form, com- 
 menced warbling their song of repose. 
 
 "Rosalie!" again cried Sylvester, sweetly. "Dear Rosalie, come to 
 my arms." 
 
 Rosalie smiled ; but pointing to the couch on which he had been sitting, 
 apparently wished him to sit there again. 
 
 Sylvester, however, with that impetuosity which usually mars our 
 loftiest designs, felt resolved to approach the sacred bower, but no 
 sooner, in pursuance of this resolution, did he advance, than myriads of 
 birds flew in a mass to intercept him. He tried to force a passage, but 
 they opposed him still, and when, eventually, they retired, he found 
 himself standing upon the very margin of the lake. For a moment he 
 stood gazing intently at the bower, and the beautiful Rosalie covered 
 with leaves. The lake, then, alone was between them, and feeling still 
 resolved to approach, he was about to plunge in; but again the birds 
 flew in a dense mass towards him, and, on being absolutely forced back 
 to the couch, in an instant the whole scene vanished before him, and he 
 found himself sitting in darkness, and alone, in Aunt Eleanor's arbour 
 again, 
 
 Here for some time he remained sighing "Rosalie! sweet Rosalie! 
 
LIU: SOMNAMBULIST. 55 
 
 e! my love!" But as darkness still reigned, and the nymph did 
 pear, he at length returned in sadness and in silence to the cottage; 
 
 Rosalie! nr 
 
 not appear. 
 
 and having passed the outer door, which he omitted to close, proceeded 
 
 to his chamber, undressed, and went to bed. 
 
 Nowas Sylvester made not the slightest noise, he disturbed neither 
 his aunt nor any one of the servants: they slept soundly and well, and 
 thus continued to sleep fur several hours after his return; but, in the 
 morning, when cook came down, she, on finding the outer door open, 
 was struck at once with horror, and without giving even a glance, with 
 the view of ascertaining how matters really stood, rushed up stairs 
 again, shrieking "Thieves! thieves! thieves!" 
 
 Out rushed Judkius with a gash across his threat for at the moment 
 the first shriek Avas uttered, he was endeavouring to improve the eha- 
 raet<'ri*;tie respectability of his appeanuu-.' by shaving and out rushed 
 Mary, with her hair dishevelled; but their mistress on coming to the. 
 door, without leaving her room, demanded to know what was the matter. 
 
 "Oh! ma'am," replied cook, u it's a mercy, ma'am, we haven't all 
 been murdered! The door's as wide open as ever it can stick!" 
 
 " What, the outer door?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "Good gracious! what ran all this mean? Why I saw the. door fas- 
 tened myself. Have any of the things been taken away?" 
 
 " I don't know I'm sure, ma'am. <Jo, Judkins and look." 
 
 Judkins did go, and found all secure, and then returned to report pro- 
 gress; but while engaged in making that report, Aunt Eleanor, perceiving 
 the sanguinary state of his throat, exclaimed "Judkins! why, what on 
 earth have you been doing?'' 
 
 "I was only a shaving, ma'am, when cook shruck." 
 
 "For .good nr ss >.tke, go and stop the blond immediately. Do m.|," 
 she added, addressing the cook, "do not suffer a thing to be touched 
 till I come down." 
 
 She then closed her door and proceeded to dress; and Judkins re- 
 turned to his room, where he found, on consulting his glass, that although 
 he never even contemplated suicide, he looked as if he had not only 
 meant to commit, but had, in reality, committed the act. He had before 
 no idea of having made such an Ii.eision. The blood was actually 
 streaming down his neck it looked frightful it moreover created the. 
 absolute necessity for a clean shirt. Now, Judkins, who was a tidy man, 
 had a strong aversion to whiskers : he had also an aversion to the prac- 
 tice of allowing the hair to grow under the chin: he therefore shaved all 
 off, from his temples to his collar-bone, and being endowed with a broad 
 face and neck, he not only had an extensive field of stubble to go over, 
 but as he was not, as a shaver, expert, and as his razors were never in 
 very fine order, he scratched and grinned during the pleasing operation, 
 while the stubble contested the ground, inch by inch, and thus amused 
 himself for more than half an hour every morning of his existence. 
 
 On this occasion the entertainment was nearly at an end he was in 
 the last act, taking the final and triumphant upper scrape when he 
 heard the first shriek, which so paralysed his frame, that the razor 
 
56 SYLVESTER 
 
 walked in in-tcad ol' kn-ping <>n tin- >nrfaee. No material injury, how- 
 ever, had been inflicted: lie hied, it is true, very lively which, he being 
 a man of full habit, Avas not at ;ill marvellous but, A\ hen he had got hi- 
 best hat from the box, and had filled up the gash with a handful of nap, 
 he was all right again, and got down just in time to assist his mistress 
 in taking a general survey. 
 
 But there was nothing wrong nothing lost nothing out of its place: 
 everything was found precisely as they had left it, with the single 
 exception of the outer door, and how that had been opened none could 
 tell. It had a lock, two bolts, a bar, and a chain, and as there was not 
 a single mark on the outside to indicate violence, it was perfectly clear 
 that it had not been forced. The only question, therefore, was how 
 could any one have got inside to open it? But this was a question which 
 could not be answered, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 A PARSON AGE-HOUSE in an isolated village, is, of all earthly places, 
 the best adapted to the process of deadening a man's wits. If he haA'e 
 no occupation, save that which is strictly enjoined by the church no 
 hobby but his garden no society but that of the fat-headed squires 
 around him his case is indeed desperate. A clergyman thus situated 
 is morally buried. He must be lofty; he must be grave; he must pull 
 a long i'ace ; he must look severe ; he must walk with excessive circum- 
 spection; he must associate with none but those in whose hearts their 
 horses have a much wanner place than their wives, and of whom it may 
 be recorded that, if taken from their horses, not only while animated, 
 but when they become clogs'-mcat, the full half of that which they know 
 isn't much. No clashing of intellect does a pastor in that position expe- 
 rience no new lights look in upon him: his mind becomes dim for lack 
 of polish ; his imagination soars but to sink ; his faculties are weakened 
 by the absence of that exercise which alone can impart to them strength; 
 and he gradually and imperceptibly descends to the recognised level of 
 the sphere in which he moves, severely and securely cloaked up in the 
 arrogant vanity of ignorance. 
 
 But this is the rule! Aunt Eleanor's reverend friend was the except ion: 
 inasmuch as he actually conceived the means by which the cause of her 
 perplexities miljht be discovered. He conceived an idea, which is very 
 remarkable, that if he sat up at the cottage one night, he should know 
 all about it. His mind hadn't struck such a light for a long time. He 
 held it to be brilliant! And eo it was: so brilliant that it daxxled him 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 5? 
 
 tit first; Imt when he had become somewhat reconciled to its brilliancy, 
 he went to the cottage to show the light there. 
 
 lie, at that time, had not the slightest knowledge of the fact that the 
 door of the cottage had been found open that very morning; but, when 
 Aunt Eleanor had duly informed him of the circumstance although he 
 could not help expressing his amazement he felt highly pleased, seeing 
 that, as it was clear to him that the parties were determined to carry on 
 their game every night, he, without the necessity for sacrificing more 
 than a single night's rest, should be perfectly certain to catch them. 
 
 " The fact is," said he, " this must be put a stop to. It cannot be 
 tolerated. It must not be suffered to continue." 
 
 " But how, my dear sir?" cried Aunt Eleanor. " How can I prevent 
 its continuance? 1 ' 
 
 "You cannot," he replied, "Imt I can; and 1 will do so, it' the scheme 
 which 1 have cow-rived inert your approbation." 
 
 M My dear sir, whatever you - n '__: M shall be immediately acted upon; 
 gratefully will I adopt any suggestion which may be calculated to relieve 
 me from this painful state of snspmse." 
 
 "Then allow me, this night, to sit hen-," said her reverend friend; 
 "here, in this room: take no notice of the arrangement; retire as usual, 
 send the servants to bed, and then leave the rest to me." 
 
 " But, my dear sir; oh, but I cannot think for a moment of allowing 
 I/MI to sit up." 
 
 " AVhy not, my dear madam; why not ?" 
 
 " Oh, it would be so extremely inconsiderate of me to tax your 
 kindness to such an extent." 
 
 " My dear madam, jfW do not tax my kindness if kindness it may 
 be railed the Miggestion is mine, not yours." 
 
 "Of course 1 I'eel extremely .irratrfnl; but you do not think of sitting 
 Up alone." 
 
 "Let me sit 1I]> with you, Mr. KMI-I-," -aid Sylvester; " we shall 
 catch them: and when we do, they ought to be punished severely.'' 
 
 "But have yon," said Aunt Eleanor, "have you, my dear, sufficient 
 strength to sit up?" 
 
 " Oh, tpiite," replied Sylvester: " sitting up is nothing.'' 
 
 But it will not be well for you to do so," said the reverend gentleman. 
 u The primary object is to make every thing appear as if no preparation 
 for a discovery had been made." 
 
 "Well, it need not ap}wn-? returned Sylvester; "I can go into my 
 bedroom, and then come down softly again; and then you and I can 
 have a game of chess to keep us awake. I should enjoy it. It will be 
 *o very dull for you to sit here alone. Lh let me sit up with you?" 
 
 "1 fear," said the reverend gentleman, "that it will tend to defeat the 
 object in view." 
 
 'Then let Jndkins sit up," said Aunt Eleanor; "he can be in the 
 little room adjoining/' 
 
 " My dear madam, the character of Jndkins is still in if I may so 
 term it the } urgatory of suspicion: it has to be either vindicated dearly 
 or condemned. Against his sitting np with me, 1 therefore protest." 
 
58 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " But I cannot consent to your sitting up alone." 
 
 44 Well, then let me see. Oh! suppose thru I lring Jones, n\y 
 '.'.mlrner, with me. He's a very sleepy fellow, it's true, but I'll manage 
 to keep him awake." 
 
 "Very well, my dear sir; by all means let him conic. I do not care 
 who it is, so long as you have some one with you." 
 
 "Then that is decided: Jones comes with me. What time do you 
 usually retire to rest?'' 
 
 " About ten, or half-past." 
 
 " Then at ten o'clock precisely, we'll be here. When those shutters 
 are closed and the curtains are drawn no light can be seen, I believe?" 
 
 " Not a ray." 
 
 " Then at ten, my dear madam, expect us. It will of course be 
 necessary for you to let us in." 
 
 " Of course. I will be at the window at that hour precisely." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then took his leave, and Aunt Eleanor 
 congratulated herself on the prospect of the mystery being cleared up. 
 She, at the same time, resolved on having an excellent supper on the, 
 table, with wine, whiskey, brandy, and books, that there might be no 
 lack of food, of either an animal or an intellectual character; and hav- 
 ing, in pursuance of this wise resolution, arranged all her plans, she felt 
 as if a weight had been removed from her heart, and became quite 
 joyous and gay. 
 
 Oh, how easily are we elevated how easily depressed and when ana- 
 lysed, what puppets we appear, not always the puppets of others, but fre- 
 quently our own acting by virtue of the very strings which we plill 
 the creatures of the very circumstances of which we are the creators 
 hut at all times puppets. It is strange that the human mind which is 
 often so powerful in its resistance to oppression, so strict in its adherence 
 to principle, so firm in its pursuit of all that is noble, just, virtuous, and 
 true, should be swayed by mere trifles: yet, while possessing all the 
 elements of strength, so it is. A single word may cause our spirits 
 either to rise or to sink : a mere thought of our own may either plunge us 
 into despair, or place us upon the very apex of hope. A cork at sea is 
 more constant than we are; the under- currents may swell and roll, but 
 it still retains its position on the surface: whereas, we are the sport of 
 every wave the slightest ripple may upset TIS. No matter how strong 
 the mind may be, the loftiest, the mightiest, may be wrought upon by 
 trifles. Men scale a mountain and stumble over a brick. 
 
 We are not, it is true, al! equally sanguine ; but when AVC arc depressed, 
 how soon maij we b elated, and how frequently are we, by virtue of 
 viewing the veriest bubbles which Hope can blow. At such a time 
 that which is nothing per $e, may be made to amount to a great deal 
 per saftum. 
 
 In the sufrnrpstion of Aunt Eleanors reverend friend, there was, how- 
 ever, something in reality. The course proposed was, perhaps, the only 
 one at all calculated to lead to the achievement of the object in view. 
 But Aunt Eleanor, instead of waiting for that achievement, viewed the 
 object as being already achieved, in so far as that, after that night, she 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 59 
 
 should be no more- annoyed. It was therefore that she felt as if a weight 
 had been removed iron! her heart, and became joyous. Nor was the 
 pleasure derived therefrom transient. She was joyous throughout the 
 day, and at night, when the village clock struck ten, she went to the 
 window with a smile. 
 
 The reverend gentleman was punctual that is to say, as punctual as 
 reverend gentlemen are in general: he was ten minutes behind ten 
 minutes being always allowed to the cloth; and when he appeared at 
 the gate, with the gentle Jones, Sylvester quirt ly opened the door. 
 
 Jones had been instructed to make no noise. He, t hi 1 re fore, made 
 none. As he entered, he walked on the tips of his toes: not elegantly 
 no, by no means but carefully, and ground his teeth to indicate the 
 interest he felt in the due preservation of silence. 
 
 "My dear sir." whimpered Aunt Eleanor, as her reverend friend took 
 her hand, " I really feel so grateful " 
 
 " Not a word, my dear madam, not a won!," he replied. *' We entered, 
 I believe, unobserved?" 
 
 " I think so: 1 saw no one near." 
 
 "Are the servant* in bed?" 
 
 " They will not go until I retire." 
 
 " Very good. Then retire, my dear madam, and leave all to me. 
 I'll lock the door after you, in order that, if it be tried, it may appear 
 that you locked it. 1 shall catch them, never fear. I only want to 
 know who they are: 1 only want to see them: there isn't a man in the 
 village whom I shouldn't hi- able to recognise at a glance." 
 
 "lie sure, "said Aunt Eleanor, "that you do not expose yourself to 
 danger, lam almost ashamed t- leave you; but do make yourself quite 
 at home. You will find some hot water in the kettle, and let me se< 
 yes, this is cold. Do make a go<xl supper. The sugar and the lemons 
 art- on the sideboard, with the nutmegs, and " 
 
 " Really, my dear madam, all this was unnecessary; but as it shows 
 your kind consideration, I appreciate it." 
 
 " Well but do make yourself, now, as comfortable as possible.*' 
 
 " I will do so." 
 
 " You had better let me sit up with you now," said Sylvester. 
 
 "No, my dear fellow, no: that night spoil all. Good night: good 
 night. God bless you : good night !" 
 
 Aunt Eleanor and Sylvester then withdrew, and their reverend friend, 
 having locked the door, sat down to contemplate the supper before him, 
 while Jones, in the corner, stood scratching his head, with great consti- 
 tutional freedom. 
 
 It was a very nice supper: very nice indeed: cold, but delicious: 
 unique, but enough. The reverend gentleman eyed it with pleasure ; 
 he then eyed the brandy, wine, whiskey, and rum; he, moreover, looked 
 at the books very good: they were very good books; but very good. 
 
 " Jones," said he, " you and I are fixed here for the night. Now, sir, 
 repudiating all considerations having reference to station, I invite you to 
 sup with me this evening." 
 
60 SYLVESTER SOUKD 
 
 "When you've- done, sir, if you please," said 
 
 "Nothing of the. sort, sir! Sit down now; and I'll show you how 
 gentlemen enjoy themselves. Under the, British constitution, sir, there 
 is no station to which you may not be called. It is hi^lilv proper, there- 
 fore, that you, and every man, should be cognizant of gentlemanly 
 conduct. Cincinnatus, sir, followed the plough ; therefore, sit down at 
 once, like a gentleman !" 
 
 Jones didn't understand much of this, but as that which he did under- 
 stand appeared to him to ha very good and much to the point, he did 
 sit down, although with evident reluctance. 
 
 "Now, sir," continued the reverend gentleman, who had resolved on 
 enjoying the society of Jones, " consider yourself, for the time being, my 
 equal. You are my friend, and I am yours. We are now gentlemen. 
 What have you there, Mr. Jones ?'' 
 
 " What, that?" 
 
 11 Yes, that!" 
 
 " That's a fowl, sir!" 
 
 "A fowl, gir! Did I not say that we wen* on an equality? No 
 gentleman ever says s?V, but to his servant ! Do me the favour to send 
 me a wing." 
 
 Jones had never waited at table. He, therefore, didn't know how a 
 fowl was usually dissected. He, notwithstanding, took up a knife ami 
 fork, and, although his hands trembled with violence, he, by virtue of 
 diligent sawing and digging, got off the wing at last, and with it half 
 the back-bone and part of the ribs. 
 
 " Very good," said the reverend gentleman; " very good. What can 
 I have the pleasure of helping you to? Allow me to recommend this 
 pigeon-pie." 
 
 "If you please. Thank you: I'll take it," said Jones. 
 
 Take it! Well! The reverend gentleman sent him the pie, and as 
 Jones thought he couldn't go very far wrong, he walked into it bodily, 
 and ate from the dish. 
 
 " A glass of wine, Mr. Jones?" said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Jones ; and, having turned over the mustard- 
 pot, poured out a bumper, and handed it politely to his reverend 
 friend. 
 
 " Pass the bottle, Mr. Jones," said the reverend gentleman. " That is 
 your glass. I shall be happy to take wine with you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir good health!" said Jones. 
 
 " My love to you," said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Jones then proceeded to scrape up the mustard, which certainly didn't 
 look tidy on the cloth; and when he had succeeded in spreading it about, 
 he, not knowing what else on earth to do with the spoon, carefully wiped 
 it on his apron. 
 
 " Shall 1 send you a glass of ale?" said the reverend gentleman, whose 
 gravity was imperturbable, while the face of Jones was fired with con- 
 fusion. 
 
 " Thank you," replied Jones, who made another mess on the cloth, for 
 
THE SOMNAMKL 1J.-T. 61 
 
 in his haste to put down his knife and fork to reply, he, having his 
 elbows (juite square at the time, upset a deeaiiter of sherry. 
 
 The reverend gentleman took no ap})arent notice of this eireumstanee: 
 he handed him the glass ol' ale gracefully; but Jones felt eery uncom- 
 fortable. He, didn't enjoy himself at all. He couldn't keep his eyes off 
 his reverend Mend. His very anxiety to do nothing wrong, rendered 
 him so nervous, that he could do nothing right. 
 
 How do yon -ret on, Mr. Jones V" said the reverend gentleman, who 
 saw that he didn't and couldn't get on. 
 
 k% Capital," replied Jones; " the pigeons is nice." 
 
 This was said on speculation. The pigeons he had not even lasted. 
 He could do nothing with them. JIc turned them over and over, and 
 did once try to cut one of them fairly in half, but as his knife slipped, 
 and the gravy llew, he gave the thing up as a bitter bad job. True, he 
 broke in the crust, and iished up a piece of steak, but lie dared not again 
 attempt to get a bit of pigeon. He wanted that pie in his tool-house 
 alone! the pigeons would not ha\e got over him there. 
 
 Another glass of wine?" said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 I)..\vn went the knile and fork again on the instant, li.r /</// lime 
 the reverend gentleman spoke, June- appeared as if -truck with pa 
 
 ralysis. 
 
 d health," said he, having iilled his glass. 
 .My love to you," again said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 "Beg pardon: mv love to you," echoed Jones, who felt bound to follow 
 
 whatever suit might be led. lint, oh! how sincerely did he wish it 
 all over. -If this here's the way," thought he, "gentlemen enjoys 
 Vmselves, blest if 1 a'nt pleased 1 wasn't a gentleman." 
 
 "This i> very fair wine," said hi> iv\eivnd companion. 
 
 " Yes." returned Jones; " this is very fair wine." 
 
 1'here's -Mine IHH/I/ in it." 
 
 " Yes, thcre'fl some /Wy in it," but whether that body wen- dead or 
 alive, Jones didn't know; nor did he care. 
 
 " Have another glass of ale," said the reverend gentleman, when Jones 
 had recommenced operations on the pie, and Jones again left his work, 
 and passed the glass; but these startling interruptions were very di.-t: 
 ing: indeed, so % di>Mviug, that Jones, having drank the glass of ale, 
 which he felt bound to do, the 1 very moment he had received it, put his 
 knife ami fork together and ga\e the thing up. 
 
 " Bur you haven't tinished," said his reverend friend. 
 
 u Done capital well," replied Jones. " .Not a mite more, I thank you." 
 
 Well; you have made but a very poor supper!" 
 
 "I ain't the leastest hungry in life!" returned Jones. 
 
 " \\V11, then, let us have the cheese." 
 
 Jun-- rose, and having cleared a sufficient space on the tray, went to 
 the sideboard and brought the cheese; and when the reverend gentle- 
 man had sent him a slice, he put it into his mouth with a great d< 
 of comfort. 
 
 A small piece more?" said his reverend friend. 
 
G2 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Jones held his plate, and lad a small piece more. It might have 
 weighed a quarter of a pound; but as he felt that while eat MILT lnvad and 
 cheese, lie couldn't make any very great mistake, quantity was not at all 
 an object. He ate it; and then had another small piece, and ate that, 
 and enjoyed it pretty well; and could have eaten a small piece more, hut 
 wouldn't. 
 
 " Now, then, suppose we have a clearance, Mr. Jones," said the 
 reverend gentleman, blandly. "As you are, I believe, the younger 
 man, I'll leave the job to you." 
 
 Jones then put all the plates and dishes upon the tray, and cleverly 
 removed it to the sideboard; and when he had placed the various 
 bottles upon the table, the reverend gentleman invited him again to a 
 chair. 
 
 "Are you fond of punch, Mr. Jones?" he inquired. 
 
 " Yes, I'm very fond of punch. I never tasted none; but I know I'm 
 very fond of it, 'cos everybody as I ever knowed says it's nice!" 
 
 "Then we'll have some!" rejoined the reverend gentleman "We'll 
 have some, my friend; and I shall be able to say with safety, Mr. Jones, 
 that you never tasted anything like it in your life." 
 
 Of punch the reverend gentleman was a great connoisseur. lie 
 never drank any but that which he made himself; and, as a maker, 
 he was prepared to back himself against any man in Europe. Such being 
 the case, there were, as a matter of course, great preparations. The 
 lemons were cut in a singular style, the water was measured, the liquors 
 were measured, the sugar was measured, and the jugs were placed in a 
 very peculiar position on the hob ; where they remained closely covered 
 with napkins, until Jones thought his reverend friend had forgotten 
 they were there. But this was a mistake altogether. When the time 
 prescribed had duly expired, the reverend gentleman drew off the napkins, 
 and taking a jug in each hand, poured the beverage from jug to jug, 
 backwards and forwards, for a quarter of an hour, during the whole of 
 which time Jones's mouth was wide open. The jugs were then placed 
 on the hob again, and there they remained another quarter of an hour, 
 when they were again taken off, and again filled and emptied, until the 
 reverend gentleman filled a glass, and having three times sipped it, 
 smacked his lips. 
 
 " That's the way, my friend, to make punch !" he exclaimed. " Now, 
 Mr. Jones, try that." 
 
 Jones accepted a glass, and having drank it, boldly pronounced it to 
 be nice, lie liked it much; he admired its flavour, and thought that it 
 was almost worth while being a gentleman, since gentlemen drank such 
 rare stuff as that. 
 
 " What do you think of it?" inquired his reverend friend. " Will it do?" 
 
 "Capital!" replied Jones. "Out and out! But I didn't know what 
 it was till it was gone." 
 
 " Then take another glass, Mr. Jones." 
 
 And Jones took another glass; but his reverend friend helped himself 
 to the sixth, before he asked him to have a third, lie then said 
 

 r ,, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 63 
 
 " Now, my friend, have one more one more, Mr. Jones. Beware of 
 the besetting sin of drunkenness." 
 
 " Yon never see me tocksicated yet, sir, I believe'.'" 
 
 "Never, Mr. Jones! But a drunkard is not to be trusted. What do 
 you think of my sermons on the subject, Mr. Jones?* 1 
 
 " Capital good! But them hard words puzzles us more than a bit." 
 
 "Hard words, Mr. Jones, hit hard; and to hit a man hard is to make 
 a man feel. Certainly; -i-eritatis simplex oratio est; but " 
 
 "What say?" 
 
 " Vcritatis Dimples oratto est." 
 
 " Them's the dodges as does u>." 
 
 " Hark! What noise is that? Listen!" 
 
 " They're only coining out of the Crumpet!" said Jones. 
 
 " That's a late house, my friend. People go there to drink till they 
 are drunk, and a drunkard has no command over himself. He cannot 
 even keep his own counsel. (^/</ r.<t in /*// Knhni eat in ore ehrii. 
 Therefore, never -jvt int\icat<-cl, Jones, my friend; never yet intoxicated.'' 
 
 "No, MI-." 
 
 "Never. The practice is had. It's a bad practice. Jones, a very bad 
 practice. Intoxication "What's o'clock? Pa^t twelve. Mr. Jones, can 
 1 trust you?" 
 
 " Trust me, Mr?" 
 
 ' 1 think L can. Now, Mr. Jones, look here. By this timepiece it's 
 now ten minutes past twelve. Very well. Now I've .t a great, deal on 
 my mind, and 1 want to turn it over. I'll jusi stretch myself 
 
 here t-ii thU eonch, and it' 1 should di \^\\. it's one o'clock call 
 
 me. Yon are nur<' that 1 can trust you?'' 
 
 " There's no fear of that, sir." 
 
 "l ..u'll not go to sleep?" 
 
 ' Not if it isn'i one (.'clock for a month." 
 
 "Very good. But recollect, if you should go to sleep, I'll discharge 
 you." 
 
 " oh, there's in i fear of that," returned Jones. "I'll k<vp awake if I 
 live." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then reclined upon the couch, and in less 
 than five minutes he snored so loudly that Jones felt justified in looking 
 into the jugs; but he found nothing there; they were perfectly empty; 
 and as they were empty, he mixed himself a glass of stiff brandy -and- 
 water. 
 
 But brandy-and-water. Brandy -and-water after punch, and such 
 punch pooh! what was brandy-and-water? There had been a time, 
 and that time was not very remote, when he held brandy-and-water to 
 be drink fit for gods he didn't know anything about, but he thought 
 it fit for actual noblemen they being the next best things he could 
 think of. But then after punch, he didn't relish brandy-and-water. 
 He drank it, it is true that may be recorded but he couldn't persuade 
 his palate to relish it! and, as such was the case, " why," thought he; 
 "why shouldn't I try to make a little?" He couldn't see why he 
 
61 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 should not. He ha 1 seen his friend make it, and that friend was then fast 
 asleep. He, of coarse) felt justified in doing so, and commeneed at the, 
 wrong end, it is true hut he commeneed; he measured out the whisker, 
 and then measured out the brandy, and then measured out the rum, and 
 then peeled one of the lemons, and then cut it in half, and then squeezed 
 it verv properly into the jug, and then put in about the same 4111111- 
 tiiy >f sugar as that which his reverend friend had put in; and then 
 altogether forgetting the water he covered the jug with a napkin, 
 and placed it upon the hob. Very well! But while it was there, how 
 was he to amuse himself? He thought of the pigeon-pie: and a great 
 thought it was. That pie had been a source of much annoyance, and, 
 therefore, he resolved on having sat. sat. being in those days the short 
 tor satisfaction he would have sat., and he had it. He took the pigeons 
 up without reference to knife or fork, and pulled them limb from limb! 
 A lot of pigeons get over him! Well, it was rich as far as it went; but 
 the idea then appeared to be very ridiculous. And so in reality it was. 
 They didn't get over him, then. He cleared the dish completely cleared 
 it and having done BO, turned with an expression of triumph to see how 
 his punch got on. Well; it smelt very nice. He sipped a little it was 
 very good; but as it seemed rather strong, he thought a 'little more water 
 would do it no harm. He therefore put in a little water, and then, 
 following the example of his reverend friend, poured it from jug to jug, 
 till his arms ached. " Now," said he, privately, " master and me is I In- 
 only two gentlemen in this here village as knows how to make this 
 here punch;'' and having delivered himself to this effect, and with the 
 must entire self-satisfaction, he began to enjoy the fruit of his labours; 
 and, having drank several glasses, pronounced it to be better infinitely 
 better, and nicer and stronger than that which his reverend friend had 
 made. 
 
 But, then, how was he to keep himself awake? He couldn't read; he 
 had never been taught to read ; but he had been taught the game of push- 
 halfpenny. He therefore got three halfpence, and a small piece of chalk 
 out of his pocket, and having drawn five regular bars upon the table 
 his right hand played with his left. 
 
 This, however, didn't last very long. It was not at all an interesting 
 game. There was not much excitement about it. Whether the li'jhi 
 hand won or the left hand won was a matter of very slight importance. 
 lie therefore; turned with the view of conceiving some new delight ; 
 but during the process of conception he suddenly fell into the arms <>t' 
 Somnus, when Morpheus, who is generally on the qni vice, tickled his 
 fancy with the flavour of punch. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. Go 
 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE GUARDIANS DISCOVERED. 
 
 WHENEVER mortals have inspired a passion for spirits, that passion 
 has always boon the germ of infelicity. However .Ntmngly it may have 
 been developed, or however ardently reciprocated, discomfiture has in- 
 variably been tin' result. Mortals never yet made matches with spirits. 
 Of their having loved them fondly, we have heard, but in the annals of 
 spirits there is nothing like an absolute match of the kind on record. 
 Nor is this to In- lamented. Spirits may indeed do l'.r mortals to l,.\v, 
 but they certainly will not do ll.r mortal> to marry. They couldn't, 
 guide, they couldn't govern, they couldn't hold them. Of all flighty 
 wives they would be the most flighty. They might dance very well, 
 they might Mng very well, they might look very well, and be very 
 enchanting, but they would be found to be lit to love only in imagina- 
 tion. It is true that in all cases there is much imagination in love: 
 two thirds of it is generally composed of imagination; but when love 
 is all imagination, they by whom it is cherished are much to be 
 pitied. 
 
 Sylvester's love for Rosalie was all imagination. But then he loved 
 only when asleep. At no other time did it in the slightest degree dis- 
 turb him: albeit, so >tn.mg wa^ its influence- then, that, prompted by ;t 
 vivid recollection of his imaginary interview the preceding night, he 
 rose immediately after Jones had commenced a fine nasal duet with his 
 reverend friend, and proceeded without at all disturbing those guardians 
 to the arbour, invoking Rosalie in the most touching tones of endear- 
 ment. 
 
 Here, after having sighed deeply for a time, he beheld the scene 
 suddenly change as before, and found himself seated in the centre of the 
 dell upon the same couch of moss and wild roses. But Rosalie! Where 
 was Rosalie? She was not there! 
 
 He looked anxiously round. The flowers were drooping; the birds 
 were silent ; the lake had lost its former lustre, and even the butterflies 
 
 Were Still. 
 
 Something had occurred! Everything around him seemed stricken 
 with grief! What could be the meaning of it? What could be the 
 cause? Was Rosalie dead? 
 
 Presently he heard a slight fluttering among the birds ; the butterflies 
 came out, although cautiously; the lake reflected a gleam of light, and 
 the flowers raised slowly their beautiful heads. 
 
 Sylvester turned, and saw Rosalie approaching. But her steps were 
 fingering and languid. Her head was bowed down, and her counte- 
 nance was sad, but her ensemble still was lovely. 
 
 F 
 
66 SYLVESTEll SOUND 
 
 As she entered the dell, he rose to meet her, and the birds sung in 
 concert a melancholy strain, which she answered, and made them more 
 melancholy still. 
 
 " Rosalie!" said Sylvester. " Rosalie!" 
 
 Rosalie started at the sound of his voiee, and having looked at him, 
 blushed and became herself again. Again the butterflies in myriads 
 came forth: again the lake shone like crystal; again the birds saiur in 
 their sweetest strain, and again the flowers bloomed and waived, inspire I 
 with joy by her beautiful smile. 
 
 "Rosalie!" continued Sylvester, "sweet Rosalie!" 
 
 Rosalie silently glided to the couch, and having taken her seat at 
 one end, with a smile, pointed to the other, upon which in an instant 
 Sylvester sat, and as they looked at each other with expressions of love, 
 birds of Paradise playfully floated between them. 
 
 " Sweet youth!" she exclaimed, in a voice which on his car foil like 
 celestial music; but her countenance changed ; she again b<vam<! sad: 
 the birds ceased to sing, and the flowers ceased to bloom, and the but- 
 terflies fell as if dead. 
 
 Why what could be the cause of this? Was she not well? or had he 
 been too presumptuous? 
 
 "Rosalie!" he exclaimed, after a pause, during which they sighed in 
 imison; " Rosalie!" why arc you thus? I love you Rosalie! sweetest! 
 I love you!" 
 
 Rosalie again sighed, and bowed her head in sadness. 
 
 "Rosalie! Rosalie: why are you sad? Tell me, my sweet one! 
 Tell me." 
 
 " My beautiful boy !" she exclaimed, and as she spoke, her soft eyes 
 swam in liquid love. " Oh! that I were mortal!" 
 
 "Mortal!" echoed Sylvester "Are you not mortal?" 
 
 "\Alas!" she replied, " I am but a spirit !" 
 
 " Then lovely spirit let me dwell with you here?" 
 
 " It cannot be until you are also a spirit. Then will the purest joy 
 be ours." 
 
 " But now, sweet Rosalie! let me dwell here with you now?" 
 
 "It is, alas! impossible. But ^even while this mortal barrier exists 
 I shall ever be near you: I will watch over, guard, and protect you. 
 When you are sad, I shall be also sad: when you are happy, 1 .shall l>e 
 happy too." 
 
 " But, Rosalie! dear Rosalie! my love! I cannot leave thec!" 
 
 Rosalie smiled; and by that smile he felt so inspired, that he rose to 
 embrace her; but in an instant the butterflies flew in a mass before him, 
 and, by shaking the downy feathers from their wings into his eyes, com- 
 pelled him for a moment to close them! when they Avere re-opened, all 
 had vanished, and he found himself sitting again in the arbour. 
 
 Having dwelt for a time on the beautiful scene from which he had 
 thus been shut out, he with a heavy heart languidly returned to the 
 cottage, and omitting again to close the outer door, proceeded at onc< i> 
 his chamber. 
 
 Puring the whole of this time the reverend gentleman and Jones were 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST, 67 
 
 keeping up with spirit their nasal duct. By the effect of this, however, 
 no ear could have been charmed. They were both very powerful 
 snorcrs, but the harmony produced was not perfect. Few, indeed, 
 could have made more noise; few could have kept the thing up with 
 more zeal; but as Jones alternately touched C and F, while the note on 
 which the reverend gentleman dwelt was a very ilat D, the combination 
 cannot be said to have been harmonious. The only marvel is, that they 
 didn't wake each other. It is, however, perfectly certain that they 
 did'nt, and that they slept and snored without the slightest interruption 
 until cook came down at half-past six, and found the door open as 
 before. Nor would they have been disturbed even then, had not cook 
 been injured with indignation, and instead of rushing up stairs again, 
 closed the door with so much violence that it shook the whole lu>i; 
 
 This did disturb them both, and when the reverend gentleman had 
 succeeded in recollecting where he was, he called out angrily for Jones, 
 who trembled for the consequences of his conduct. 
 
 "You have been asleep, sir!" exclaimed his reverend friend. 
 
 " Ony jist dropped off, sir scarce three winks, sir," stammered out 
 Jones. 
 
 " Where's the light, sir ? The fire out, too! Do you think that you 
 are lit to be trusted, sir? Hark!" he added, as cook, who had li-ard 
 them, rushed from the door to tell Judkins that thieves were even then 
 in the house. " Do you hear that?'' 
 
 " Ye-e-e-es, sir." 
 
 "There they are! Now we shall catch them. He firm: be firm. 
 JOIK-S! -Jon. -! how came you to let the lamp out? I'll never forgive you, 
 sir! H7<m> is the door?" 
 
 "Can't find it, sir! Don't know the go of the room! Oh, hen " 
 he added, sweeping the bottle*; off the table, il-r as the .-Inrtters wen- 
 closed, and the curtains were drawn, not a ray of light was visible. 
 
 " What on earth are you about, sir?" 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir! Thought it was the door?" replied Jones, who at 
 that moment swept off one of the jugs. 
 
 'You'll break all the things in the room!" exclaimed the reverend 
 gentleman, who having given forcible expression to this sentiment, groped 
 his way to the sideboard, and knocked down half a dozen glasses jusl 
 as .l.n.-> had succeeded in tumbling over the fender, and bringing down 
 the kettle in his fall. 
 
 u What are you at now?'' cried the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Fender, sir," replied Jones, whose intellectual faculties wen; then so 
 I'-ivd, and who had become so excessively nervous, that he took hi-; 
 s<-at at once upon the rug, conceiving that to be the place in which he 
 was likely to do the smallest amount of mischief. 
 
 "Tut! bless my life! where is this door!" 
 
 " Can't think," replied Jones, still retaining his seat;" it's somewheres 
 ,1 know." 
 
 M Where are you now, Junes?" 
 
 " Here, sir." 
 
 " Near the firepla. 
 
 F 3 
 
68 >Yi,YE$TER sorxn 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then keep to the left till we meet." 
 
 Jones had made up his mind not to move irom the rug, but on being 
 thus commanded to go to the left, lie went to the left on his hands 
 and knees, and the consequence was that, when they met, the reverend 
 gentleman tell fairly over him. 
 
 " Bless my life and soul, Jones, what are you about? Are you eraxy?'' 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," replied Jones, assisting him to rise. "Didn't 
 dream yon was so nigh." 
 
 u lint what in the name of goodness were you doing down there?' 1 
 
 " Thought 1 shouldn't come in contract with nothing, sir. Though! 
 I shouldn't break no more things. Broke enough already as it is, I'm 
 afeard. Oh, here's the door, sir: here it is, this is it." 
 
 " That's right," said the reverend gentleman. " Now, Jones, be firm. 
 But, bless my heart, let me see. 1 locked the door ! Tut ! What 
 could 1 have done with the key V" 
 
 " Pocket, p'raps, sir." 
 
 "No: let me oh, I recollect: I left it on the table. Remain here: 
 now, don't stir an inch from the door." 
 
 " Not a ha'porth, sir: not if I know it," said Jones; and his reverend 
 friend approached the table and anxiously felt for the key; and while he 
 was thus engaged, Judkins, Cook, and Mary, came into the hall, and 
 having stationed themselves at the door listened with very great in- 
 tensity." 
 
 " They're here, sir," said Jones. " They're ony jist outside. I hear 
 'em now plain." 
 
 "Hush!" said the reverend gentleman. " If they hear us talking 
 they'll be off." 
 
 Jones, at the time, felt that that was the best thing they could 
 do. Shivering as he was with cold, and that too in total darkness, he 
 was not then in a state fit to lament such a circumstance. But it did 
 not occur. The people outside were not disposed to be off. On the 
 contrary, the very moment that Judkins became convinced of the fact of 
 there being persons then in the room, he proceeded to make arrange- 
 ments in order to secure them. 
 
 " Do you run to Legge," said he to Mary, in a whisper, " and tell him 
 to come over with a couple of men. We'll fix 'em now safe! And do 
 you run up to missis, cook, and tell her all about it, and ask her what's 
 best to be done. /'// keep guard here! They shall not pass me!'' 
 
 Away flew Mary to the Crumpet and Crown, and the moment Legge 
 had ascertained what had been discovered, he rushed, without looking 
 for assistance, to the cottage, in a state of mind bordering on enthusiasm, 
 before cook had had time to explain to her mistress what she really 
 meant. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you've got 'em?'' .said Legge, as he entered. 
 
 " They're now in that room," replied Judkins, " safe." 
 
 " \Vclt have 'em out! ice'll soon sec who they are. Why they've 
 locked themselves in!" he added, on trying the door. 
 
 u Who's there?" demanded the reverend gentleman. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 69 
 
 Ift's of no use, young fellows!" said Legge. " So you may as well 
 the door at once.*' 
 
 " Why," said the reverend gentleman to Jones, on hearing these words 
 indistinctly, "that's Legge's voice! Has lie turned housebreaker? I 
 know you, John Legge, sir!" he added aloud. "I know you, and you 
 shall be punished." 
 
 "Do you hear!" cried Legge, who heard some one speaking, although 
 he knew nothing about what was said. " Are you going to open the 
 door now, or are we to burst it open?'' 
 
 "Bless my life and soul!'' cried the reverend gentleman, "where on 
 earth is this key?" 
 
 At this moment Legge placed his foot near the lock, and as the door 
 flew open without much effort, he seized the reverend gentleman 
 roughly by the collar, while Judkin- grasped Jones by tin- throat. 
 
 " So we've cmi.irlit you at last," cried Legge, have we? Come to the 
 light, and let's have a look ar YOU!'' 
 
 What do you iiwm r cried the reverend gentleman. k% (iivc me an 
 account <>f this niflianly eondnet, >ir. What do you in/f 
 
 Legge, regardlex >f the-e expre>^ion< of iiiMilfed dignity, draped 
 him to the light: but the moment he recognised the reverend gentle- 
 man, he relaxed his hold, and said, "Then- U MMIH- mistake here." 
 
 " Some mistake, sir!" cried the revei-end gentleman indignantly. "I 
 demand to know the ineanini: of this outrage. What riirht have you 
 here?" 
 
 " I was sent for, and we thought, on hearing voices in the room, that 
 had caught those fellow- who had l>een up to their triek>." 
 " Well, Imt bles- my life and soil, it'.- broad daylight! Why what 
 it o'clock?* 1 
 
 " Nearly -'Veil." 
 
 " Nearly seven! Lmes, I'll never forgive you! Don't you think' that 
 yon ought to be aslianu'd of your conduct?" 
 
 Jones didn't say whether he did or not. He, in fart, made no reply. 
 Jndkins had grasped his throat so firmly that, on being released, he 
 was anxious, before he attempted to speak, to ascertain well if his 
 swallow were right. 
 
 " There ha* been some mistake. 1 perceive," resumed the reverend 
 gentleman, addressing Legge, with comparative calmness. " The fact 
 is, I have been waiting here all night, Avith the view of catching tliose 
 ]>ersruis. But," he added, as Aunt Eleanor made her appearance, "all 
 will now IH> explained." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor who, on hearing of the discovery, at once suspected the 
 cause, and had hurried on her things, in order to save the private feel- 
 ings of her reverend friend from outrage no sooner saAV him standing 
 in the hall, pale and shivering with cold, than she grasped his icy 
 hand and said, '' My dear sir! I fear that you omitted to keep the fire 
 lip. Mary, run and light one immediately in the breakfast-room : there's 
 a good girl, l>e quick. Mr. Legge, I feel obliged l>y your attention. 
 My servants were not awnre that Mr. IJoiise had been kind enough to 
 otter to sit up with the VICAV of discovering those persons by whom J 
 
70 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 have been annoyed ; but, believe me, I appreciate your prompt desire to 
 serve me, and feel much indebted to your kindness." 
 
 " I hope you'll not mention it, ma'am," replied Legge. " I only wish 
 they had been discovered. They were here again in the course of the 
 night, I understand, ma'am !" 
 
 " Here what this last night?" enquired the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir!" interposed Judkins. " The door was wide open again 
 this morning." 
 
 " Jones ! Jones !" exclaimed the reverend gentleman, shaking his 
 head at him very severely; "Jones! this day month, sir, you quit my 
 service." 
 
 Jones felt that he deserved this, and therefore said nothing : nor, in- 
 deed, did Aunt Eleanor then, although she made up her mind to restore 
 him to favour ; but turning to Legge, she observed in order to save the 
 reverend gentleman from ridicule " As I feel that you see the neces- 
 sity for putting an end to these annoyances, Mr. Legge, I am sure you 
 will think with me that the occurrences of this morning should go no 
 further." 
 
 " You may rest assured that / will not open my lips on the subject to 
 any living soul." 
 
 " You see, if it be known that preparations for a discovery are mndt 1 , 
 those tiresome people will be on their guard; and although my object is 
 prevention, not punishment, they may for a time cease their annoyances 
 and then recommence them." 
 
 " I understand, ma'am," replied Legge. " Not a word shall escape 
 me. I'd give five pounds out of my own pocket, ma'am, to know who 
 they are, because I cannot imagine what they can mean! And now, 
 sir," he added, addressing the reverend gentleman, " I have to apologise." 
 
 " No, not a word : not a word, Mr. Legge. You acted very properly 
 very." 
 
 " But I'm sorry that I handled you so roughly." 
 
 " Your conduct, Mr. Legge, was extremely correct: nothing could 
 have been more correct nothing. I'll therefore not hear a word in the 
 shape of an apology not a single word." 
 
 Legge then respectfully bowed to them both and left the cottage : and 
 Jones, who felt very uncomfortable, tried to leave too, but Aunt Eleanor 
 perceiving his object, said, " I wish to have a word with you, Jones, 
 before you go. Cook," she added, " bring me a jug of warm ale. You 
 can go now, Judkins, and attend to your horses. My dear sir, now do 
 go into the breakfast-room and warm yourself: your hands are like ice. 
 How could you think of letting the fire out?" 
 
 " Really I am ashamed," said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 "/ ought to be ashamed," interrupted Aunt Eleanor, "of having 
 taxed your kindness to such an extent! But go to the fire, there's a 
 good creature. We'll talk about this by-and-by: Jones and I have ;t 
 word or two to say to each other : we shall soon have settled our little 
 business. Excuse me five minutes, I shall very soon join you." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then repaired to the breakfast-room, and 
 cook soon appeared with a jug of warm ale, which she handed to her 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 71 
 
 mistress, who despatched her at once to prepare as soon as possible a 
 
 VITV nice breakfast/' 
 
 "Now," said Aunt Eleanor, turning to Jones, who had boon marvel 
 
 ig what was about to transpire, " drink up this ale; it will warm you; 
 and when you have finished it come and assist me." 
 
 Jones looked and bowed, and felt grateful. And he took the jug, and 
 emptied it, and wasn't long about it, for although cold without he was 
 parched within, and the ale was nice and smooth. 
 
 While he was thus enjoying himself and it really was to him then 
 a M'liree of Lrn-at enjoyment Aunt Eleanor opened the parlur shutters, 
 and having looked round, smiled as he entered the room. 
 
 " I'm mortal sorry, ma'am/' said he, " that these things is broke. It 
 were all done a sarching for the door/' 
 
 " Never mind," said Aunt Eleanor ; "pickup the pii-ces/ 1 
 
 rick up the piece-*! \\Y11! Certainly Jones did think this cool; 
 
 but he went to work at once and did pick up the pieces, and put them 
 
 a< he picked them up into his apron, and while he was thus employed 
 
 Aunt EIcan>r was engaged in re-ad jn^tiiu: the tilings on the sideboard. 
 
 Having very soon succeeded in making the room look tidy again, 
 the amiable creature who was anxious, for her reverend friend's 
 sake, that the servants should know as little about the matter as pos- 
 sible went fora basket, and having put into it all that remained of the 
 previous night's supper, requested Jones to leave it at the cottage of 
 Widow Wix. 
 
 " And now," she observed, <; you must manage to make your peace 
 with your master." 
 
 "1 will if I can, ma'am," -aid Jones. "I know 'twas my fault, and 
 I'm very ^>rry for it; but if y<( would put in a goixl word for m< ". 
 
 "Well, we'll see what can be done," she replied, and placing half-a- 
 crown in his hand, started him off. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE "SPIRIT" A1TEAIIS TO THE PASTOR AND JONES. 
 
 THERE are few things more galling to a sensitive man than the fact of 
 his having been found in a ridiculous position; but while no one could 
 have ielt more acutely than Aunt Eleanor's reverend friend that the 
 position in which he had that morning been found icas ridiculous, none 
 could have endeavoured more earnestly than Aunt Eleanor herself to 
 induce him to repudiate that feeling, as one which ought not to be enter- 
 tained. 
 
 " Now say no more about it," she at length observed, after having 
 heard impatiently a vast deal of eloquence, for the reverend gentleman j 
 
72 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 on this point, became extremely eloquent, as soon as lie had ceased to 
 shiver " the -whole affair resolves itself to this : Feeling fatigued you 
 went to sleep; and who can wonder at it? while Jones, poor fellow, 
 followed your example: no one can marvel at tlinf.'" 
 
 " But he solemnly promised that he would not go to sleep. ( Jones,' 
 said I, 'can I, till one o'clock, trust you ?' * Sir,' he replied, I remember 
 his words * I'll not go to sleep if it isn't one o'clock for a month, I'll 
 keep awake if I live!' " 
 
 " And he intended to do so, no doubt, poor man, You must therefore 
 forgive him, But, now, is it not strange is it not mysterious that that 
 door of mine should thus be opened, night after night, as it is, and for 
 no other purpose than that of annoying me?'' 
 
 " It is indeed mysterious," replied the reverend gentleman, " But 
 I'll solve the mystery I'll find it out. Having entered into the 
 matter so far, I'll go on with it. Practices of this character, my dear 
 madam, must and shall be put a stop to! They are perfectly monstrous. 
 They must not in a civilized country like ours they must not be suf- 
 fered to continue ; and so firmly resolved am I to get to the bottom of 
 this mystery, that if you will not allow me to occupy your parlour this 
 night, I'll conceal myself in the shrubbery, and watch there !'' 
 
 "My dear sir," cried Aunt Eleanor, "oh! for heaven's sake, do not 
 dream of it for a moment !" 
 
 " Nothing can alter my firm determination in this matter. I'm resolved 
 to find it out, and I will find it out; and unless you afford mean asylum 
 in your parlour, into the shrubbery this very night I go." 
 
 " Oh, but I cannot think of consenting to your sacrificing your rest 
 for me in this way." 
 
 "Well, my dear madam, you know my determination: I watch this 
 night in the shrubbery. If you close the gates against me, I'll get over 
 the wall." 
 
 " Close the gates against you! My dear sir, neither the gates nor the 
 doors shall be closed against you. But let me prevail upon you to 
 abandon this project or at least to defer it for a time!" 
 
 " And in the interim suffer you to be constantly annoyed. No ; my 
 dear madam, it must be done at once. I feel that I am now bound 
 to make this discovery. I'll find them out. I am not a man to be easily 
 thwarted : I am not a man to be turned from my purpose by any trifling 
 failure. I ought to be, and I am, ashamed of having failed to make the 
 discovery last night ; but this night shall settle it." 
 
 " Well, if you are determined, I cannot do less than express my gra- 
 titude; but I do still think that it had better be deferred. Consider 
 to-night you will require much rest." 
 
 " Not at all! I'll manage that: I'll go to bed to-day, and thus prepare 
 myself for night. But no supper! do not prepare any supper it is 
 to that I ascribe our failure last night. Had it not been for the supper, 
 Jones would not have gone to sleep ; these fellows, you know, while there's 
 anything to eat, ii'ill gormandize, and gormandize, until they have no 
 more animation about them than prize pigs. Therefore prepare no 
 supper, I'll bring something with me to keep us awake." 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 73 
 
 " Then you moan to allow Jones to sit up with you again?' 1 
 "Why, 1 think that it will be, under the circumstances, as well." 
 
 E Much better. But, poor fellow, you'll let him have some rest?" 
 I'll send him to bed the moment I get home. I'll manage it ; and 
 shall catch them. My dear madam, be assured of this we shall 
 h them.' 1 
 
 Sylvester now entered the room, and when he had heard the substance 
 of all that had occurred, he begged to be allowed to sit up that night 
 with the reverend gentleman and Jones. This, however, was strongly 
 objected to, both by his aunt and her reverend friend, on the ground of 
 his apparent physical indisposition, and when they had all made a hearty 
 breakfast, it was finally arranged that the reverend gentleman was to 
 come again that night at ten; that Jones was to accompany him, and 
 that nothing in the shape of supper was to be on this occasion prepared, 
 
 This having been decided t tin- entire satisfaction of all concerned, 
 the reverend gentleman left ; and Aunt Kleanor conceiving that the feelings 
 of Judkins might le wounded in eonsnpiniee of .Junes having been 
 elected to sit up the previu> night with her ivvi-rend friend instead of 
 him, rang the bell and desired liis attendance. 
 
 "Judkins," she observed, as he entered the room, "although perhaps 
 I ought not to suppose that you are simple enough to imagine that, as 
 Jones sat up with hi^ master last night, 1 had not siiilicient confidence 
 in you ; 1 wish you to understand that that arrangement was made in 
 consequence of Mr. Rouse having preferred, and very naturally, the 
 Attendance of his own servant to that of mine." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, 1 understand : oh! -aid Judkins, "but if he'd 
 
 had me with him, things 'ud ha' l>een different." 
 
 Very likely." 
 
 "Why, I've seen that Jones, ma'am it isn't my place p'raps to speak 
 not of no man but I've seen him go to sleep with the bread in his 
 mouth I've seen him drop oil' in the middle f the day! he's tin- 
 sleepiest fellow as is. He sit up with a gentleman all night! The idear 
 is rotten! He couldn't keep awake by any accident. I'd catch you, 
 ma'am, a dormouse in the winter that would beat him." 
 
 "My object," said Aunt Eleanor, "is neither to canvass the character 
 of Jones, nor to dwell upon his eccentricities, but merely to explain to 
 you that want of confidence, on my part, was not the cause of your not 
 being chosen to sit up, and to impress upon you the necessity for keeping 
 whatever arrangements we either have made or may make, with a view 
 to the discovery of these persons, a secret." 
 
 " I understand, ma'am. Depend upon me, I shall not say a word to 
 a soul." 
 
 " Very good. That is all I require." 
 
 Judkins then withdrew, and Aunt Eleanor conceived that she had 
 done all that was necessary to secure silence on the subject, but in this 
 she was mistaken. 
 
 Villages appear to contain no secrets. If any be suffered to exist 
 at all, they must find it a difficult matter to live. They must not 
 even breathe but in silence: if they do they must instantly die. Every- 
 
74 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 body knows everybody; everybody talks about everybody; everybody's 
 business is everybody's business, and every one is fair u;mic for the 
 whole. And herein lie the. humanities of a village. They must know 
 something hence they seek to know each other: they must talk about 
 something hence they talk about each other: they must laugh at 
 something hence they laugh at each other: they must denounce some- 
 thing, and they hence denounce each other. This may be called " petty ;" 
 but then a village is a petty world, containing petty people, whose 
 general intelligence is therein confined. 
 
 It might have been thought that Aunt Eleanor had, as she imagined, 
 done sufficient to ensure secrcsy in this matter; but although Legge was 
 silent, and Judkins was silent, and Jones and the reverend gentleman 
 were silent, Mrs. Legge, when she found that she was able to get nothing 
 having reference to it out of Legge himself, sent for Mary, who at once 
 told her all. 
 
 Having thus obtained the important information sought, Mrs. Legge 
 told Obadiah Drant, and the moment lie heard of it, of course the secret 
 died. It was then indeed no longer a secret: for glorying as he always 
 did in everything bearing even the semblance of an opportunity of having, 
 what he termed, " a regular fructifying cut" at those above him, he 
 went round the village, called on all his associates, and developed his 
 fine inventive faculties strongly. He had received that morning a la re- 
 order for a quarter of a hundred of bricks, but that of course he could 
 not attend to. 
 
 "I say," said he, on reaching Pokey's residence, "I say, my boy! 
 have you heard the news?" 
 
 " No !" replied Pokey. " What news?" 
 
 " What! haven't you heard about old Teddy Rouse?" 
 
 "No! what about him?" 
 
 11 Such a game, my boy! such a glorious game! Pinned like a 
 cockchafer! regularly pinned! Til be bound to say there hasn't been 
 a man so pinned since the time of the French revolution." 
 
 "But how," cried Pokey, "how was he pinned? What was it all 
 about?" 
 
 " Why, you know Mrs. Sound has been much annoyed lately by 
 ghosts, you know, and all sorts of things. Well, this blessed morning, 
 you know, when she came down, who should she find in her parlour 
 but old Teddy Rouse in his shirt !" 
 
 " What ! the parson?" 
 
 " The parson ! Well, in she tfent, and flew at him, and out she pulled 
 him, and pommelled and scratched him, and shook him, and worried 
 him, until Ted called out for mercy so loud you might have heard him 
 all over the village." 
 j " What! do you mean to say " 
 
 "Yes! Well! when she had him down flat on his back, with her 
 fingers on his throat, and her knees upon his chest, she sent her maid 
 over for Legge, and when Legge came, she offered to stand a pound if 
 he'd give Ted an out-and-out welting. Legge was a fool not to do it.'' 
 
 " But do you mean to say " 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 75 
 
 " Do you think / wouldn't have done it? If I had had half a chance, 
 d<> you think I wouldn't have welted him?" 
 
 " Well, but do you mean to say now this was the parson?" 
 "Teddy Rouse, I tell you! old Teddy House! Did you ever hear of 
 such a game?'' 
 
 u And do you mean to say, then, that he was the ghost after all?" 
 " Why, to be sure he was." 
 " The animal !'' 
 
 " ]\ r viddnt we have served him out that night if we had known it! 
 I'll just tell you what I'd have done: I'd have caught him by the scruti' of 
 his l>lessed neck, and when you and Snorkings had fixed his legs, I'd 
 have dragged him to the horse-pond and given him a cooler.'' 
 >' Well, but I say, what did they do with him?" 
 
 " Do with him ! Why, like a parcel of fools, they let him go! I only 
 wish 1 had been there! He wouldn't have been let oil' so easy, I'll 
 warrant. But isn't it sickening now, when you come to look at it? Isn't 
 it disgusting that we should be compelled to support these vamp'uvs? 
 These are the locusts that prey upon our vitals! these are the vultures 
 that linger elevenpence-halfpenny out of every shilling the poor man 
 earns! The fact is, Pokey, between you and me, we ?>iM.f have a rattling 
 revolution. It must be a rattler, come when it may. Bobby Peel ought. 
 to blush for upholding this downright system i-.f dead robbery. As 
 Johnny Russell told him to his teeth the other night, ' I'll tell you what it 
 Jd Johnny, 'if you don't knock this fructifying swindle in the head, 
 you may look out for pepper!' And he'll have it! It was just the case 
 in Constantinople, under Peter the Great; it was just the case in China, 
 when the Turkish ambassadors signed the Ma.irna Charta; it was just 
 the c-a.-e during tin- Peninsular war, when William the Conqueror upset 
 the lot, and sent Russia olf with a flea in her car; it has been the case, 
 mind you, all over the world, and, mark my words, it will be the case 
 here. Are we to be plundered of our substance, to support a mob of 
 locusts like old Teddy Rouse? Are we to be ground to the earth, and 
 taxed to the tune here of eighteen hundred millions a-year, that such 
 men as Ted Rouse may grow fat? Not a bit of it! No, my boy, we 
 shall have a rattler! But I must be off. It's quite clear that Ted 
 has put his foot in it this time. I thought it wouldn't be long before he 
 was caught on the hip. Well, God bless you I'll work him! I'll 
 stick to him, my boy! But I say, only think though of Ted in his 
 shirt! Ha! ha! ha! It's the capitalest go that ever occurred ! Ha! ha! 
 ha! Well! ta-ta! Ha! ha! I shall see you to-night. Poor Teddy 
 Rouse! I la! ha! ha! 
 
 Thus he left Pokey, and thus he went round, fructifying as lie pro- 
 ceeded so freely, that the thing assumed a shape of vast local import- 
 ance; and although Obadiah was pretty well known, he established his 
 falsehoods on the basis of truth with so much ingenuity, that all his 
 associates felt quite convinced that " Ted" had been actually playing the 
 ghost. 
 
 Of this the reverend gentleman w r as, however, unconscious. He went 
 to bed at twelve, and Joues went to bed too, and when they rose about 
 
76 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 nine in the evening, they hud a slight repast, and at ten o'clock precisely 
 repaired to the cottage. 
 
 Here Aunt Eleanor received them as before, and when she had indulged 
 in many expressions of gratitude, and Sylvester had reiterated his 
 wish to be allowed to sit up with them, in vain, the reverend gentle- 
 man gave them his blessing, and he and his companion were left for the 
 night. 
 
 But that friendship which existed the night before had vanished, 
 They were no longer friends. Jones stood near the door with a basket 
 in his hand, while the reverend gentleman sat by the fire. 
 
 To say that Jones much admired this arrangement, were to say that 
 which is not exactly correct, lie did not much admire it. Nor could 
 he conceive how long he should have to stand there. There was, more- 
 over, no show of anything to eat that in his view looked ominous: 
 still he did fondly imagine that the basket which he held in his hand 
 contained something substantial and nice, of which he might by-and-by 
 perhaps come in for a share. This, therefore, did not distress him much. 
 But when he looked at his position as a servant, standing as he was in 
 the presence of a master who, being indignant, might not, perhaps, even 
 permit him to sit, he did not presuming to take a seat without per- 
 mission think his case hard. It was, however, in his view, perfectly 
 clear that he couldn't continue to stand there all night. He knew that he 
 must drop some time or other, and that was, as far as it went, a comfort. 
 He had not been accustomed to stand long in one position : still being 
 resolved to keep up as long as possible, he had recoiu-se to a variety of 
 manoeuvres. Sometimes his whole weight was on his right leg, and 
 sometimes it rested on his left: sometimes he planted one shoulder 
 against the wall, and sometimes he planted the other; and thus, by virtue 
 of moving about, twisting his hips, and vexing his spine, he managed to 
 stand there for more than an hour. 
 
 At length, when he fancied that " drop he must," the reverend gentle- 
 man turned round, and said, " Now, sir, bring me that basket." 
 
 This was a great relief to Jones: as he took the basket forward, in 
 the full conviction of there being something therein delicious, he felt 
 reinspired with hope, but when the reverend gentleman on receiving it 
 said, coldly, " That will do!" he returned to his corner, to contemplate 
 the scene in a state of mind bordering on despair. 
 
 But even under these adverse circumstances, Jones could not curb 
 his imagination. It dived into the basket, and there conceived a couple 
 of ducks, a pigeon-pic, some bread and cheese, and the materials for 
 punch. This he thought was not bad. Nor as a vision was it. It 
 sustained him for a time, and when at length the reverend gentleman 
 drew forth a bottle, he felt that that vision was about to be realist <!. 
 One bottle only, however, was produced, and that was a peculiarly- 
 shaped bottle. Jones had never seen such a bottle before. It wouldn't 
 stand. But that it contained something nice, he felt fully convinced. 
 
 " Now, sir, hand me one of those tumblers," said the reverend gentle- 
 man. " The largest." 
 
 Jones with alacrity obeyed, and when the reverend gentleman had 
 
I 
 
 T1IK SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 twisted ofTthe wire, and cut the string which secured the cork, that cork 
 flew out with a report so loud, that it caused Jones to stagger, as if he 
 had been shot. 
 
 " Hark!'' cried the reverend gentleman, who at that moment fancied 
 lie heard a noise: hut, after having listened and found all still, he turned 
 and drank that which to Jones appeared to be boiling gin-and-water. 
 
 " Xow, sir," he continued, feeling sure that the noise which he had 
 heard was made by Jones on being startled, "what have you to say in 
 explanation of your conduct last night?" 
 
 -It Hies had nothing to say in explanation. He couldn't see what 
 explanation was- required. The case appeared to him to be clear as it 
 vt,,od he went to sleep. That was all he knew about it, and all he 
 could explain, and as he felt that that explanation was unnecessary, he 
 was silent. 
 
 "Do you not think, sir," resumed the reverend gentleman, "that 
 such conduct, after all my kindne.ss, was di --race fill?' 1 
 
 " I'm very sorry for it, sir," replied Jones, humbly. " It shaVt occur 
 again, it sha'n't indeed, sir: 1 hope you'll look over it." 
 
 "1 gave you notice, sir, this morning, to quit my service in a month. 
 Now, whether that notice be ratified or withdrawn, depends upon your 
 conduct this night." 
 
 Jones bowed, and was about to return to his corner, when the reve- 
 rend gentleman said, " liring another glass," and when the glass had 
 been brought, and he had drawn another bottle from the basket, he 
 added, taking the wire oil' and culling the string " Xow, sir, hold the 
 tumble]-, and then drink this oil'." Bang went the cork from the bottle 
 to the ceiling, and out rushed the beverage, which Jones thought hot; 
 so hot indeed, that he blew it with great caution before he put it to his 
 lips; while it hissed and boiled, and llew into his eY68, as it' every bubble 
 had some spite to . spit. liesooii, however, found that it \\as c..ld, and 
 drank it oil', and then gasped for breath and shuddered. He didn't at 
 all like it. It wasn't at all nice. There was nothing in the flavour to 
 Recommend it. It was hard and sour, and cold very cold. 
 
 v ' Did you never take soda-water before?" enquired the reverend gen- 
 tleman, who saw him shuddering convulsively. 
 
 Never, sir." 
 
 " Do you not like it?" 
 
 " Why, sir des say it's very good." 
 
 "It will keep you awake, Jones." 
 
 " Shouldn't be surprised, sir." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then emptied the basket, and Jones, to his 
 horror, perceived instead of a couple of ducks and the pigeon-pie 
 nothing but twelve of these bottles. 
 
 " Well," thought he, " here's a pretty basin o' soup. But he can't 
 mean to say we're agoing for to live upon this here swill all the blessed 
 night.' 1 
 
 You ran sit down, Jones,'' said the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Mi down! Yes! that of course was all very well; but Jones was not 
 thinking of that point then: he was turning over, opening, and fairly 
 
78 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 spreading out the idea of two men keeping up all night with nothing to 
 sustain them but this cold stuff. 
 
 "What gets over me," said he privately to himself, "is that master 
 perfers this to punch. Des say it's clear: bound it's dear, although I 
 wouldn't give so much as a penny for a pond-full on it, but that a gen- 
 tleman like him, as can have punch whenever he likes, should perfer 
 this here to it, is rum. But gentlemen certainly is queer swells. Wonder 
 if they ever gets tipsy upon it! Des say they do though, or else they 
 wouldn't drink it." 
 
 There was, however, one point upon which Jones reflected very 
 deeply, and that point was this: How could cold water boil? He had 
 seen the soda-water effervesce : he had tasted it during its effervescence, 
 and found it cold! the question with him therefore was, "How as that 
 water was cold could it boil?" 
 
 That was, indeed, a puzzler for Jones. But he stuck to it! oh! he 
 stuck to it: and brought to bear upon it, too, all the knowledge he had. 
 He could make nothing of it, but he wouldn't give it up! The question 
 still was, How could cold water boil? 
 
 Now, while he was thus most intently engaged, and the reverend gen- 
 tleman was reading a romance called "The Bravo of Blood, or the 
 Sanguinary Smile," there was a scene of excitement at the Crumpet and 
 Crown, which was never, perhaps, in that or any other village, equalled. 
 
 Mrs. Legge had fainted. She was not a weak woman, but she had 
 fainted. She had been standing at the door, and as the clock struck 
 twelve she rushed into the parlour and fainted. Vinegar was of course 
 at hand, and vinegar was applied ; and when she had been restored to 
 something bearing the semblance of consciousness, she called for the 
 Bible. 
 
 " The Bible !" she exclaimed. " My dear ! get the Bible." 
 
 Legge shifted her head from his arm to that of Pokey, and hastened 
 up stairs for the Bible, and on his return Mrs. Legge cried anxiously, 
 " Turn to Revelations, my dear Revelations." 
 
 Legge did turn to Revelations, and then said " Phoebe! What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 " Here," she replied, as he gave her the Bible, and turning at once to 
 the sixth chapter, read, "And I looked and behold a pale horse: and 
 his name that sat on him was Death." "Death!" she exclaimed. "I 
 have seen him. He passed on a pale horse just now." 
 
 " What! another of Teddy Rouse's tricks!" cried Obadiah. 
 
 "You are a fool," said Legge; and then turning to his wife, added, 
 " Which way, my girl? which way did it go?" 
 
 " Towards the church," she replied. " But oh! do not leave me!" 
 
 " But for a moment: I'll not be gone long, my girl." 
 
 "No!" she exclaimed, clinging to him. "You must not go you 
 shall not go. If we are to die to-night, let us die together." 
 
 " ril have a go in," exclaimed Obadiah. " Come along, Pokey, come 
 along, Quocks, come along, Bobber, my boy, ive'll see what lie's made 
 of!" And Obadiah, followed by Pokey, Quocks, and Bobber, rushed 
 valiantly out of the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
/>/ 
 
 /%// ^" . 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 79 
 
 ut the horse and his rider were gone. Obadiah looked anxiously 
 and down the road, but could see nothing of them. Feeling, how- 
 , that a display of valour then was essential to the maintenance of 
 reputation, he boldly cried out, " Now let's go up the road, my boys ! 
 th and his pale horse be bothered 1 M 
 
 " Bravo!" cried Pokey. " Aye, let's go up the road!" And they went 
 up the road seeing nothing to tear. 
 
 Having passed the church, however, Pokey suddenly cried "Hark!'' 
 and the blood of Obadiah Drant chilled on the instant. "Listen!'' he 
 added. "It's coming this way!'' They did listen, and heard distinctly 
 something approaching. There were three roads before them; but 
 down which ol' the three it was coming they couldn't tell. Presently, 
 however having strained their eyes in those three directions they saw 
 what at iir.-t appeared to them to be a tall white pillar gliding slowly 
 down the hill to their left. 
 
 " H-re it corned,* 1 cried ( )Uuliah, clinging closely to Quocks. "What 
 what can it beV" 
 
 " Don't be frightened," said (Blocks, '' do-o-on't be alarmed!'' 
 
 It now came -utlicientiy near for them to distinguish the outline of a 
 hor>e bearing a tigmv which looked like that of a ^iant ! 
 
 Terror si-i/ed them on the instant. They could not move! The 
 
 ire came nearer and still more near, and, with uplifted hands and 
 darting from their sockets, they >aw it slowly and solemnly p. 
 th the horse and his rider were white quite white and 
 seemed enveloped in a cloud. White smoke appeared t" i--ue from the 
 m>>tri!s of the- horse, while the rider wore a long flowing robe, which to 
 them looked li: beet. They thought of the passage in 
 
 Revelations and trembled. It must be it could but be Death! lie 
 had, in their view, come to swallow up all, seeing that all whom he 
 visits are doomed. 
 
 A> the figure disappeared each re.-umed hi> former attitude,,and when 
 it was completely lost to view they breathed again, but were still lilled 
 with horror. 
 
 " Let us go," >aid Obadiah. "Com* let us return. Such sights as 
 this are dreadful. We are but men, and as man is but man, these scenes 
 are too horrid lor man to bear. Let us go; come, now let us go." 
 
 They had not, however, proceeded far locked in each other's arms, 
 with a view to mutual security when they again beheld "Death," 
 rushing furiously towards them. 
 
 11 Preserve u> '." cried < Htadiah, darting into the hedge, closely followed 
 by his companions. k ' Preserve us, or we are lost!" 
 
 But before Death" had reached them he urged his fiery steed to the 
 right and sprang over the hedge, and then Hew across the fields, over 
 bank, ditch, and hurdle, until he was lost to view again. 
 
 They then returned quickly to the Crumpet and Crown; but belbrc 
 they could speak of the horrors they had seen they each had a large 
 idass i.f brandy. 
 
 But even then they were not so communicative as might have been 
 They were thoughtful very thoughtful. They look" 
 
V 
 
 80 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 each other and shook their head- with great significance; but when they 
 had explained ln-idly that they had seen that which Mrs. Loggc saw, 
 namely, " Death on a pale horse," they were silent ; and thus they re- 
 mained until hall-past one, when Pokey, who had his reasons for making 
 a move, suggested the propriety of partinga suggestion upon which 
 they almost immediately acted, and thoughtfully repaired to their respec- 
 tive homes. 
 
 During the progress of these extraordinary proceedings, Jones, who 
 felt that he was victimized, had swallowed on compulsion four bottles of 
 that beverage which he abhorred, and sat dwelling on the problem In- 
 had proposed having reference to cold boiling water, while the reverend 
 L-viitleman was reading the romance. 
 
 Up to half-past two they had not been disturbed. They had heard 
 no noise with the exception of that which reached the reverend gentle- 
 man's ears while opening the first bottle of soda-water and as all around 
 them then continued silent as the grave, they began to think that 
 nothing at all calculated to call forth the courage they had in them 
 would occur. 
 
 About three o'clock, however, while the reverend gentleman was 
 absorbed in a soul-stirring chapter of the romance, he imagined that he 
 heard the outer gate close, and started. 
 
 " What's that?" exclaimed Jones. 
 
 " Hush! hush!" cried the reverend gentleman. " Listen!" 
 
 They did listen, and distinctly heard footsteps on the path. 
 
 " Shall I go to the window?" said Jones. 
 
 "No! no!" cried the reverend gentleman. "Let us hear how they 
 attempt to get in. Keep your seat and be silent. Now, hark!" 
 
 At that moment they saw the handle of the door move. 
 
 " Who's there?" cried the reverend gentleman in a whisper, which 
 startled both Jones and himself. 
 
 No answer was returned, but again the handle moved, and then the 
 door opened gradually, and then a tall figure, enveloped in a sheet, 
 slowly entered the room. 
 
 "Angels of light protect us!" exclaimed the reverend gentleman, 
 while Jones, who appeared to be at once deprived of life, dropped in an 
 instant upon the rug and hid his face. 
 
 Of these proceedings, the figure took no notice. It walked slowly to 
 the sideboard, and having looked for a moment, shook its head, as if to 
 indicate that there was nothing at all there that it wanted, and then 
 turned and left the room as slowly as it had entered. 
 
 The feelings experienced by the reverend gentleman then were awful. 
 He sank back in his chair, and for the first time felt that no one knows 
 what he would do until placed in the position to do that which he con- 
 ceives he should do. His heart had never before quailed, but it then 
 sank within him. He seemed fixed to the. spot completely spell-bound. 
 Nor was it until some time after the figure, which he conceived to be a 
 spirit, had disappeared, that he summoned sufficient courage to speak to 
 Jones, who had given himself altogether up for lost. 
 
 " Jones," said he, at length, in a scarcely audible whisper, which made 
 

 
 ^ 
 
 
THE SOMXAMHULIST. 81 
 
 the poor fellow start convulsively, conceiving that the spirit itself hud 
 called him, "Jones: rise and put your trust in Him who can and will 
 protect us." 
 
 Jones, with an aspect of horror, looked up, and in trembling accents 
 d, " O-o-o-o-o! is it you?" 
 
 " It is." replied the reverend gentleman. " Arise." 
 
 Jones did arise, and having rolled his eyes fearfully round the room, 
 
 ith the view of being sure that it was gone, sank into his chair ex- 
 ited. 
 
 -or had chilled them both, and having nothing but soda- water 
 ritliin them, they were both still cold, and continued to tremble. 
 
 " Jones," said the reverend gentleman, after a pause, " reach the 
 
 indy ; it is there, on the sideboard." 
 
 " Oh, sir!" replied Jones, " I dare not." 
 
 The reverend gentleman nerved himself; and, turning his eyes in 
 every direction, walked with comparative firmness to tin- sideboard, and 
 returned to his chair with the decanter and a glass, which he filled with 
 all the steadiness at his command, and then at once drank it off. 
 
 "Now, Jones," said he, when the 'jlu.^ had been ivfillrd, ' ; take this!" 
 And Jones, whose teeth at tin- time violently chattered, did take it, and 
 swallowing the contents at one gulp, was very thankful. 
 
 They now began to feel somewhat better: and although the improve- 
 ment as yet was but slight, they were able to look round the room 
 timidly, it is true but without that wildness of vision by which their 
 looks had just before been characterised. 
 
 " Pray, sir, give me a little more brandy," said Jones. 
 
 "Yes, Jones, yes!" replied the reverend gentleman, replenishing the 
 glass. " Drink this." 
 
 " Bless you, sir! bless you!" said Jones, with much fervour. " Oh! 
 wasn't it horrid, sir wasn't it?" 
 
 "It was an awful sight," returned the reverend gentleman, as he 
 helped himself to a little more brandy. "But why," he added, " why 
 should ire fear?" 
 
 Jones shook his head and shuddered. 
 
 The door was still open, and as the cold air rushed in, the reverend 
 gentleman deemed it expedient to close it, and suggested the propriety 
 t'f doing so to Jones; but as Jones, even then, dared not cross the room 
 alone, it was eventually agreed that they should both go together and 
 together they accordingly went. But the moment they had reached the 
 door of the parlour, they saw the outer door open too, which they held 
 to be very mysterious, seeing that they had heard no bolt withdrawn. 
 Finding, however, that all was then still, they closed the outer door, but 
 they had no sooner done so, than they heard distinctly footsteps behind 
 them, and on turning round beheld the identical figure slowly ascending 
 the stairs. Jones in an instant rushed into the room, but the reverend 
 gentleman remained till it had vanished not prompted by courage 
 nor indeed by any feeling of curiosity but because he had not the 
 power to leave the spot. 
 
 " Come in, sir!" cried Jones. " Pray, come in, sir come in!" 
 
 G 
 
82 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 And when the figure had disappeared* the reverend gentlemen went 
 in, but with an expression of umningled terror. 
 
 " Oh, do leave this house, sir pray do!'' cried Jones, as the reverend 
 !jrentleman sank into his chair. " It's haunted! I know, sir, it's haunted! 
 If we stay we shall never go out of it alive!" 
 
 " Come what may," returned the reverend gentleman, apparently 
 gasping for breath, " come ivhat may, here will I remain. But," ho 
 added, " let me not control you. If you wish to leave, consider yourself 
 at liberty to do so. Go, Jones go, if you please." 
 
 Well, Jones thought this kind very kind: he appreciated the privi- 
 lege highly; but then- how was he to get out? lie must necessarily 
 go through the hall! and there the spirit might perchance meet him 
 alone! Could he have vanished through one of the windows, he would 
 have done so with all the alacrity of which he was capable, but as he 
 could not do this, he converted a necessity into a virtue, by saying, 
 " I shouldn't, sir, like to leave you." 
 
 " Uso your own discretion," said the reverend gentleman, calmly. 
 " Until the morning dawns, Jones, here will I remain. There is much 
 latent wickedness in this world, Jones. I mean ^by latent, hidden, pri- 
 vate, secret." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Wickedness is in all ages wickedness, but it isn't in all ages proved 
 to be wickedness." 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Wickedness will, sometimes, prosper for a while." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " But it never can prosper long." 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " It is certain to be found out, and when found out, punished, 
 Jones." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " None who deserve punishment escape." 
 
 " Very true, sir." 
 
 " This spirit which we have seen is, doubtless, the spirit of one who 
 left the world with some secret unrevealed." 
 
 " No doubt, sir. But what do you think, sir, of ghosts in general V" 
 
 " The subject is above human comprehension, Jones, and therefore, 
 we ought not to talk on that subject." 
 
 This closed Jones's mouth effectually, and he began to reflect upon 
 his sins. He remembered that he was indebted to the estate of a 
 deceased landlord to the amount of sevenpcnce-halfpenny, which sum, 
 as no one but the landlord himself knew of it, he had never intended 
 to pay. The questions which he therefore proposed were First: Was 
 this the spirit of that landlord? Secondly: Would it answer the pur- 
 pose of any spirit to revisit the earth to enforce the payment of the .sum 
 of sevenpence-halfpenny? and, Thirdly: Wouldn't the spirit rest until 
 that sum was paid? To these questions he could give no satisfactory 
 answer. lie thought that it would hardly be worth ;i spirit's while tu 
 disturb itself much about the sum of seveupence- halfpenny, but he at 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 83 
 
 Ic resolved to pay the sevenpcnce-lialfpenny to the widow, in order 
 nake all sure. 
 
 The reflections of the reverend gentleman were of a still more deeply 
 metaphysical caste. lie had, theretofore, imagined apparitions to be 
 spiritual, ethereal! beings having nothing at all physical about them! 
 but the spirit which he had seen was enveloped in a sheet, of which 
 the material was linen material linen! The question, therefore, was, 
 Where did it get that sheet? The attempt, however, to solve this ques- 
 tion was presumptuous. The reverend gentleman felt it to be presump- 
 tuous although he tried hard to get at the solution and as he even- 
 tually thought that he must have been mistaken as he brought himself 
 at length to believe that the sheet which he had seen was a spiritual sheet 
 he turned to the consideration of the course which he felt it his duty 
 to pursue, and upon this he was engaged until the day be^an to dawn, 
 when he and Jones left the cottage, and went thoughtfully home. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FEARFUL CONJECTURE. 
 
 WHEN Judkins went into the stable that morning, he found Snorter 
 steaming and bleeding at the mouth; and feeling indignant at the idea 
 of his being thus treated, he declared he'd give u crown if the horse 
 could but speak. 
 
 " What devil's tricks have they been up to now?" he enquired of the 
 animal. " What have they been doing with you? What have they 
 been after? What do they want to spit their spite upon you ior? 
 Come out, old boy come, and let's have a look at you. They've guv 
 you a benefit this time, that's certain!'' he added, on finding the !. 
 in a worse plight than before. " Poor fellow! poor old fellow! Jiavc 
 they been ill-using on you? Poor old boy! But I'll catch 'em! BJanu 
 their bodies on 'em, I'll find 'em out. But a'n't you a fool?'' he con- 
 tinued, indignantly, " What do you mean? Why didn't you kick 'em 
 clean off? What did you want to let 'em sarve you out in this here 
 way for? Do you think I'd ha' stood it? Why didn't you strike out 
 fierce, when you saw 'em come into the stable? You might ha' knowed 
 what they wanted it wasn't the first time. What did you want to let 
 'em take advantage of your ignorance for? You know them as treats 
 you well, don't you? Very well, then, why don't you know them as 
 treats you ill? Poor old boy! come and let's wash your mouth out. 
 Poor old fellow! There you'll soon be all right again. You a'n't lame, 
 are \ ou? No, you a'n't ktme. Come along in again, and make your 
 
 a 3 
 
84 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 life happy. I'll soon come and attend to you. There, old boy! but 
 you ought to have struck out at Viu." 
 
 Having thus by turns caressed and expostulated with the animal, he 
 repaired to the kitchen, and having explained all to cook, asked her 
 pointedly, what she really thought of it. 
 
 " What do I think of it!" she exclaimed. "What can any one, think 
 of it? But how did they get the key? Did you leave it in the door 
 last night V" 
 
 " No, I brought it in and hung it upon that blessed hook, where it 
 has always hung of a night since the last go, and where I found it 
 hanging this morning." 
 
 " Well, the fact of it is I can't live in the house, and so I shall tell 
 missis directly she comes down. The whole place is bewitched. It's 
 haunted. I'm "sure of it. It isn't fit for flesh and blood to live in." 
 
 Mary was then informed of the circumstance, and when she had 
 d\velt sufficiently long on the really mysterious character of the pro- 
 ceeding, she went up to inform her mistress, who received the intelli- 
 gence with a degree of composure, at which Mary was perfectly 
 amazed. 
 
 It must not, however, be supposed, that Aunt Eleanor failed to feel 
 it. She did feel it deeply, but the expression of her feelings was calm. 
 
 " We shall find it all out, by-and-by," she observed; il these practices 
 cannot be carried on long. Time discovers all things. We must have 
 patience." 
 
 " But isn't it horrid, ma'am isn't it frightful that these things 
 should go on, ma'am, night after night, without having a stopper put 
 upon 'em. 
 
 " It is very annoying, Mary very! But we shall discover it all be- 
 fore long. I have no doubt of that." 
 
 " I hope to goodness we shall," returned Mary, " I'm sure, ma'am, it's 
 shocking to live so. It's enough to frighten all of us out of our 
 wits." 
 
 " Very true," said Aunt Eleanor, calmly, " very true ;" and while 
 dressing and listening to Mary's expression of fear, she at intervals re- 
 peated " very true." 
 
 Having finished her toilet, she descended to the breakfast-room, 
 where Sylvester who had as usual been called by Mary soon joined 
 her; and when she had explained to him the fact of the horse having 
 been again taken out of the stable and treated with severity, he could 
 not refrain from shedding tears; for as Snorter had been his dear 
 father's favourite horse, and had been given to his aunt in the full con- 
 viction that it would be most kindly treated, a variety of fond associa- 
 tions were recalled, as he exclaimed, in touching accents of filial affec- 
 tion, " I would not have him injured for the world." 
 
 " He has not been injured, my love," said Aunt Eleanor, privately 
 reproaching herself for having said so much. "He has not been, even 
 in the slightest degree, injured. On the contrary, they appear to have 
 t iken great care of him ; still it was wrong of them to ride him so 
 hard ; indeed it was wrong of them to take him out at all ; but believe 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 85 
 
 my love, he's not injured. We'll go and see him after breakfast, 
 Kill we? Have yon kissed me this morning? 1 think you did,'' she 
 added, as he kissed her again. " God bless you!" 
 
 They then commenced breakfast, and freely conversed on the subject 
 which had set even conjecture at defiance; but before they had finished, 
 their reverend friend called, impatient to communicate all he had heard 
 and seen. 
 
 "I have, my dear madam, a tale of horror to tell," said he; but on 
 the instant Aunt Eleanor raised her hand to enjoin silence, fearing that 
 Sylvester, whom she fondly loved, would by any such tale be dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 " Have the people in the village then seen the ghost again?" bhe 
 enquired. 
 
 " They have," replied the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Then, for goodness sake, do not tell us any more about it Sylvester, 
 my dear, you will have another egir? ' 
 
 "Not any more; I have had <|iiite siillicient?" 
 
 "Then go, my love, and look at the horse. 1 know that you'll find 
 him uninjured. And, Sylvester, dear, will yon do me the favour to take 
 the pony, and leave an order for me at the grocer's?" 
 
 " Certainly, aunt." 
 
 " There's a dear." 
 
 She then wrote an order, and Sylvoter withdrew ; and the moment 
 he, had done so, she became extremely anxious to hear her reverend 
 friend's " tale of horror." 
 
 "My dear madam," said he, on bein^ urued to |rocc-tl, I scarcely 
 know liow to explain to you what has occurred; but let me, in the first 
 place inform you, that a spectre on horseback was .seen by the people of 
 the village last night." 
 
 "A spectre on horseback! The horse wa- mine. It was, therefore, 
 at least a real home, and I should infer, from the way in which the 
 animal has been goaded, that the rider was a real man." 
 
 " No, my dear madam, 1 am con-trained to believe that the spectre 
 which appeared on that horse was the same as that which I saw about 
 three o'clock in your parlour." 
 
 " That which //<// saw! Good heavens! you amaze me! If you have 
 seen a spectre, there is something in it, indeed! But explain, my dear 
 sir, pray explain." 
 
 " About three o'clock this morning," resumed the reverend gentleman, 
 with an expression of intensity, " as Jones and I were sitting near the 
 fire, I heard the gate close, and immediately aft envards footsteps coming 
 slowly up the path. Well, thinking it advisable to wait until some 
 attempt were made to force the outer door, we kept our seats, "but in an 
 instant we saw the handle of the parlour door turn, and a tall figure 
 clad in white entered the room." 
 
 " Good heavens !" energetically exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " I do not mean to say," pursued the reverend gentleman, " that I 
 was not awed by the presence of this spirit: I do not mean to say that 
 I did not experience an unusual tremor when it appeared ; but I kept 
 
86 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 my eyes firmly fixed upon it saw it walk with great solemnity of stop 
 across the room, shake its head, as if to indicate some disappointment, 
 and then retire with corresponding solemnity to the door, past which it 
 slowly vanished." 
 
 " Gracious goodness! you inspire me with terror." 
 
 "Well," continued the reverend gentleman, "having in some degree 
 recovered my self-possession, I rose, and went to the door, and there, 
 to my utter amazement, discovered the outer door openl How it be- 
 came open, heaven only knows. I heard no sound no lock unfastened 
 no chain removed no bar unlatched no bolt withdrawn. Indeed 
 there was not time for any mortal to have accomplished even one of 
 these things. Still all had been accomplished at once, and in silence 
 nil had been done by magic ! Well, I closed the door, and having done 
 so, I heard the faint sound of footsteps behind me! I turned on the 
 instant, and then beheld the same spirit slowly ascending the stairs!" 
 
 "Gracious powers!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, "what can be the 
 meaning of this dreadful visitation?" 
 
 "I gave no alarm," resumed the reverend gentleman; "I thought it 
 would be useless probably presumptuous. I therefore returned to the 
 parlour and listened, and there we remained till the morning dawned, 
 when, as all was still, we departed." 
 
 " What on earth can have induced this? What can it mean?" 
 
 "I have hitherto, my dear madam, been to a certain extent a dis- 
 believer in these supernatural appearances: I have hitherto held them 
 to be either the coinage of a diseased imagination, or phantoms set up 
 by designing men to draw the ignorant into superstition. But, although 
 I still believe that the majority of those cases of which we have heard 
 are ascribable to either knavery or enthusiasm, I now know beyond all 
 doubt that spirits appear upon earth." 
 
 " But, my dear sir, tell me," said Aunt Eleanor anxiously, " tell rne, 
 to what do you ascribe to what can you ascribe the awful appearance 
 of this spirit here?" 
 
 " I know not, my dear madam, what to ascribe it to. I know not 
 from what it may spring, nor to what it may tend. These things arc 
 far above human comprehension. But do you remember believe me 
 I do not ask for the gratification of any idle curiosity- but do you 
 recollect any circumstance connected with any deceased friend, or any 
 member of your family, at all calculated to warrant the belief that 
 that friend or relative did not depart this life in peace?" 
 
 Aunt Eleanor started, and turned deadly pale! " A thought strikes 
 me!" she exclaimed "u dreadful thought! But no no no it cannot 
 be! And yet, that horse was his! Great heaven! if it should be the 
 spirit of him!" 
 
 " My dear madam," said her reverend friend soothingly, as clasping 
 her temples she burst into tears. " Compose yourself: be calm. As 
 there is One above who protects the innocent, be assured that He will 
 still protect you. Whatever may have befallen, I feel that you are 
 guileless." 
 
 " And he was guileless too." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 87 
 
 " Then let the blessed consciousness of that fact console you." 
 
 "And yet if lie should not have been! if he should have died 
 Avith a, falsehood on his lips! But oh!'' she added, weeping with bit- 
 terness, " I cannot believe it." 
 
 "Pardon me," said her reverend friend, "you will, I know, appreciate 
 the only motive I have in putting this question: To whom do you 
 allude?'' 
 
 " To my brother. My dear my only brother." 
 
 " Did not he die in peace?'' 
 
 "Yes! I must still believe it although broken-hearted, he died in 
 peace." 
 
 " Then of what arc you apprehend 
 
 "Tin- p'^ibility the bare possibility of hi^ having, with his last, 
 his dying breath, solemnly declared himself innocent of that of which 
 he knew that he was guilty.'' 
 
 " Had you any reason to suppose that he was guil* 
 
 "The strongest proofs were adduced, but his word which 1 had 
 never known him to violate in my judgment, weighed them down. 
 It was almost impossible for any one but me to doubt the evidence of 
 his guilt; but, placing implicit confidence in hi* honour, /double. I it; 
 and when on his death-bed he calmly and solemnly repeated his decla- 
 ration of innocence, every doubt on my mind was removed." 
 
 " Was the offence with which he was charged of a- heinous cha- 
 racter?'' 
 
 " I Avill explain, in order that you may the better judge whether he 
 which heaven forbid! can l>e a^'-eiatcd with this tearful visitation." 
 
 "Do, my dear madam, and confide in my honour." 
 
 She then made an effort to be calm, and having dried her C}*cs, 
 slowly commenced: 
 
 "My brother was a physician. IIi< practice was extensive. He 
 wa* mild, gentle, sensitive, highly intellectual, and amiable in all the 
 relations of life, lie was a dear brother to me. But to all he was 
 kind most kind. Ilis heart was full of sympathy and benevolence: 
 he was a philanthropist indeed. I need not tell you how he was 
 beloved 1 To the poor he was a guardian to the orphan a father to 
 the widow a friend. Ilis unassumed virtues wore conspicuous to all, 
 and by all within the sphere of his influence he was honoured. For 
 years he retained this position, and not a syllable against his fair fame 
 was ever breathed; but one night one most unhappy night the ser- 
 vants of a lady whom he frequently attended, and whose reputation had 
 been, up to that period, spotless joined in this declaration: that long 
 after their mistress had retired, they saw him distinctly leave her 
 chamber; that he walked down stairs stealthily, and quitted the house; 
 and that as neither of them had opened the door to him, their mistress 
 must have let him in herself! Nor was this all. When their master, 
 who had attended an agricultural dinner that evening, had been informed 
 of this on his return, other circumstances, which afforded strong col- 
 lateral evidence, at once occurred to him. He had seen my brother at 
 that very dinner ; he had takeu wine with him, and recollected that he 
 
88 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 had left unusually early; lie, moreover, saw him as he walked home, 
 and spoke lo him, and fancied as my brother took no notice of him 
 that he wished to avoid him. These circiimstances tended at least to 
 justify the suspicious with which he had been inspired; and when, on 
 going to his wife, whom he found fast asleep, she declared that my 
 brother had not been there although his stick was then standing near 
 the pillow those suspicions were confirmed. I need not describe the 
 fearful scene which ensued. It will be quite sufficient to say that he 
 was frantic, and that having nearly broken the heart of his wife 
 whom he had theretofore tenderly loved by his fierce denunciations, 
 he rushed to the house of niy brother, with the view of taking sum- 
 mary vengeance upon him. Here, however, he found that the whole 
 establishment had retired, and when the servant, who answered the bell 
 from the window, perceiving the excitement under which he was 
 labouring, refused to let him in, he loaded my brother with the direst 
 imprecations, and threatened to take away his life. In the morning my 
 brother received a challenge ; and although he most solemnly declared, 
 and called his servants to prove it, that at the specified time he was in 
 bed and asleep, he was compelled, by those laws of honour which, 
 although prescribed by barbarism, civilization sanctions, to accept that 
 challenge, and they met. He who felt himself thus deeply wronged 
 fired first, and my brother fired into the air ; again he fired at him, and 
 my brother fired into the air again ; when the seconds perceiving that 
 my brother was resolved not to fire at his adversary withdrew them 
 from the ground. Well " 
 
 " But what became of the lady?" 
 
 " Her husband cast her off. He was advised to bring an action against 
 my brother, but he loved her too fondly even then to expose her thus. 
 He has since, I have heard, been most kind to her, although she has 
 never been restored. But from that time, my brother became an altered 
 man. He at once lost the whole of his practice ; but, having some little 
 private property, that did not distress him much ; it was the knowledge 
 that almost every one believed him to be guilty of the crime, of which 
 he constantly declared that he was innocent, which weighed his spirits 
 down, and eventually broke his heart. As you are aware, I was 
 present at his death, and during his last moments he and I were alone; 
 he was calm quite calm and collected and as the last words he uttered 
 were these : * Dear sister, I die happy in the consciousness of never 
 having broken the seventh commandment ;' every doubt vanished : I felt 
 quite sure that he was innocent, and I cannot but think so still : it is 
 this dreadful vision that has suggested the possibility of his having at 
 that solemn moment perverted the truth." 
 
 " He would not have done that, be assured," said the reverend gen- 
 tleman fervently; " such a man as that whom you have described, would 
 not, at such a time, have done that. 1 do not mean to say that there is 
 no probability of this being his spirit albeit, I am at a loss to under- 
 stand why it should be thus perturbed it may be the spirit of your 
 brother : it is possible it may even be said to be probable but I do 
 not believe that you have anything to fear," 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 89 
 
 "I will myself sit up to-night: I will watch in my chamber: I will 
 pray for his spirit to come; and if it should, I will speak to it, and fer- 
 vently entreat it to remove that weight which now presses so heavily 
 upon my heart. I feel assured that it will not harm me," she added, 
 bursting again into tears. "In life he loved me too fondly, too 
 tenderly " 
 
 " Dear aunt," cried Sylvester, who at this moment entered the room, 
 " Why why are you thus distressed? What has happened? Tell me." 
 
 " These mysterious proceedings," said the reverend gentleman, " are 
 so annoying." 
 
 " They are annoying very annoying," returned Sylvester. ",But," 
 he added, turning again to his aunt, " you were in excellent spirits 
 when I left you." 
 
 "I am better now, my love," she observed, making an effort to com- 
 p.e herself, "much better now." 
 
 "And yet you are still in tears! I cannot bear to see yon weep, dear 
 aunt. Come dry your eyes. You will not let me fret, and I don't sec 
 why I should let you. I came to ask you to go for a drive this morning. 
 Ir is beautiful out. It will raise your spirits. The air is so soft, so 
 mild, and so clear." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor kissed him, and the subject was dropped, and as the 
 reverend gentleman soon after left, Sylvester took his aunt out for a 
 drive. 
 
 CHAPTEB XIII. 
 
 THE EGGS AND EXOTICS. 
 
 DURING the whole of that day no work was done in the village. 
 The tradesmen then did not mind losing a day, for the times were not 
 hard. The prosperous never complain of the times: nor did they. As 
 their wants Avere small, a large supply was not needed, and as they then 
 possessed all they immediately required, they met at the Crumpet and 
 Crown with the view of discussing the varied ramifications of the 
 mystery. 
 
 But Jones was the great card in requisition. They wanted Jones. 
 But as Jones was a steady man, who very seldom came to the Crumpet 
 and Crown, they didn't know how to get him. 
 
 At length, however, Obadiah Drant who 'possessed far more impu- 
 dence than any of his friends offered to bet half a gallon of beer that 
 Jones would be there in a quarter of an hour. The bet Avas taken, and 
 Obadiah seeing an old rotten sugar-loaf turnip in the road went out, 
 picked it up, walked with it to Jones, and offered to bet half a gallon of 
 beer that that turnip was superior to any one of his production. Jones 
 
90 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 laughed at this of course; and when the bet had been made, be produced 
 :i turnip somewhere about seven times the size. But Obadiah Prant 
 would not admit that he had lost he declared that he would never give 
 in until Legge had decided the point ; and thus Jones who well knew 
 that he had won was seduced to the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 Being there, he of course was considered a fixture. Pokey who 
 was artful in his way hailed him as the first horticulturist in the 
 county, and as the majority freely subscribed to this opinion, Jones was 
 on very good terms with himself. 
 
 They then cautiously alluded to the philosophy of spectres, and when 
 Click, with all the energy at his command, declared his conviction 
 that spirits never appeared upon earth, Jones looked at him with an ex- 
 pression of pity, and then walked out of his silent shell. 
 
 "What I" he exclaimed, "do you mean to mean that spirits never 
 comes upon this blessed earth." 
 
 " Brayvo !" cried Obadiah Drant. 
 
 "Why, I see one last night 1" resumed Jones. 
 
 " And so did I," said Obadiah. 
 
 " But not the one as I seed," said Jones. 
 
 "Mine was a tall'im," returned Obadiah; "a white'un! a white'iin 
 on horseback." 
 
 " That a' n't the one then as I seed. I seed one a white'un and a 
 tall'un " 
 
 " Where?" demanded Click. 
 
 " Where ! Why at the cottage !" 
 
 " Were you at the cottage then last night?" said Legge. 
 
 " In course we was there ! me and master?" 
 
 " Indeed! I was not aware of that. But tell us what occurred, I am 
 anxious to hear." 
 
 " Well," said Jones, " but mind, it musn't go further." 
 
 "Of course not, of course not. No, no, no no!" they exclaimed, 
 simultaneously, " certainly not." 
 
 " Well, then a little after three o'clock this blessed morning, when 
 master and me was consulting about rakes, horticulture, and religion, we 
 heerd a scraping on the path that leads from the gate to the front door. 
 Very well, says I, this'll do nicely: well wait till you tries to get in, 
 my carrots. But before we'd time to turn ourselves round, in walks a 
 spirit! Very well, thinks I; it's all very good, you know, as far as it 
 goes, but what do you mean to be after? Well! the spirit takes not 
 the leasest notice of me, but up he goes to the sideboard, and looks? 
 and presently he shakes his head awful, and turns and then stalks out 
 of the parlour. * I say,' says I, ' what do you think of that?' says I to 
 master. 'Rum, very rum,' says he, 'uncommon rum.' * Well,' says I, 
 l . the breezes is blowing very cold,' says I, * let's shet the door' and I 
 went to shet it, and send I may live! if the front door wasn't as wide 
 open as ever it could stick! Well! this did queer us rayther more than 
 a little, but we shet the front door, and then blow me, if we didn't see 
 the self-same spirit a going up stairs, as slow and deliberate as if he 
 belonged to the house, and paid all the rates and taxes. 4 Well,' says I, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 91 
 
 1 nothing like impcrance. Let's go and see what he's up to,' says I. < Not 
 a bit of it,' says master. * Let's have a little brandy' " 
 
 " Teddy Rouse all over!" exclaimed Obadiah. " Brandy's the fructi- 
 fying spirit of the cloth." 
 
 " What do you mean?" said Jones, indignantly. " What do you mean 
 by that?" 
 
 " I mean that Teddy Rouse " 
 
 "Why do you call him Teddy Rouse? J/y master's name is the 
 Reverend Mr. Rouse." 
 
 " But his Christian name is Teddy!" 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! Them as calls him Teddy is ignoramuses." 
 " Do you mean to say that I'm an ignoramus?'' 
 
 "You're worser! or you'd never have brought that there turnip to 
 me, and have said that 1 couldn't produce nothing like it. He as calls 
 my master Teddy is an ignoramus! I don't can- who hi- i>! I'll t-ll 
 him to his face he's an ignoramus. My master's name is the Reverend 
 Mr. Rouse, and I don't care who knows it." 
 
 " Brayvo!" cried the company. " Brayvo, Jones!" 
 " Talk of Teddy," continued Jones, " as if he were your equal. I'll 
 back my master the Reverend Mr. Rouse to look a ghost in the 
 face against any man in England. Teddy, indeed! When he gave you 
 the last order for a hundred of bricks, you didn't call him Teddy then, 
 did you?" 
 
 " But Teddy," said Obadiah, " is the short for Edward. I meant no 
 offence." 
 
 " Call me Teddy, Jack, Jem, or any thing you like, but I'll fight till 
 I drop before he shall be called Teddy." 
 
 "Well, then, let it be the Reverend Mr. Rouse; I don't care, that's 
 the man I meant after all." 
 
 " I know it's the man you meant," returned Jones, who was still very 
 indignant, " but if any man I don't care who he is culls him Teddy, 
 I won't have it! 1 know what master is, and I know what he isn't: 
 there ain't a man in life as knows him better than me, and am I to 
 hear him hear a Gentleman, and what's more, a clergyman called 
 Teddy?' 1 
 
 "Don't mind him," whispered Leprgo; "you know what a tattling 
 fellow he is. You should take no notice of anything he says." 
 
 "Well,"' said Obadiah, "and what did the Reverend Mr. Rouse do 
 when he had swallowed the brandy?'' 
 
 " Go and inquire!" returned Jones, fiercely. " You'll not get another 
 blessed word out of me!" 
 
 w Well, but don't go yet!" they exclaimed, as he rose " oh, stop and 
 have a pipe with us don't go yet!" 
 
 Jones, however, could not be prevailed upon to stay: he left at onco, 
 and the company, of whom the majority were at first very indignant 
 with Obadiah, began to discuss, with characteristic ingenuity and 
 eloquence, the various bearings of the scene which Jones had thus briefly 
 described. This discussion interspersed as it was with an infinite 
 variety of anecdotes lasted the whole of the day, and when at night 
 
92 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 they departed from the Crumpet and Crown tlirir imaginations still 
 Uvnu'd with ghosts. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor had ordered a fire in her chamber, and, as her resolu- 
 tion to sit up remained unshaken, she, at the usual hour, retired with 
 her bible and prayer-book, and composed herself in a chair for the 
 night. 
 
 Before, however, Judkins retired, he conceived an idea. It struck 
 him just after he had eaten his supper. He imagined that if he, by 
 means of a string, were to establish a direct communication between 
 himself and the stable-door, he should, in the event of any one attempt- 
 ing to take Snorter out of the stable again, know it. 
 
 Acting at once upon this admirable conception, he got a ball of whip- 
 cord, and, having secured one end to the handle of the door, drew it 
 carefully and tightly towards the window of his room, when, mounting 
 a ladder, he put as much as he thought would be required through a 
 hole, and on going to bed tied the end thus inserted to one of his toes, 
 and went to sleep, in the full conviction that if a discovery w ere to be 
 made, he should make it. 
 
 But neither he nor Aunt Eleanor were disturbed. She sat reading 
 and praying throughout the night, but no spirit appeared. This had 
 the direct effect of subduing her apprehensions. She had prayed in 
 the full assurance that if the spirit which her reverend friend had seen 
 were the spirit of her brother, it would appear before her then, and 
 hence, as it. did not appear, she not only felt sure that it was not her 
 brother's spirit, but cherished again the sweet belief that his spirit was 
 then in heaven. 
 
 When Judkins awoke in the morning, and took the whipcord off his 
 toe, he was not exactly pleased with the fact of his not having been dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 "Still," said he, "at all events nothing's been wrong. This is a 
 capital go, this is. I'll try this here dodge every night. Safe to catch 
 'em by this here means : wonder I never thought on't before. How- 
 sever," he added, " everything's right this morning that's a blessing 
 anyhow." 
 
 And he really did believe then that everything was right, and with 
 this belief strongly impressed upon his mind, he left the room ; but the 
 moment he entered the garden he found that all was not right, for he per- 
 ceived, at a glance, that about fifty exotics had been maliciously taken 
 from the conservatory, and more than half buried in one of the onion 
 beds. 
 
 " Why, blarm their bodies!" he exclaimed, as he tightly clenched his 
 fists, and looked at the plants with great severity. " Couldn't they let 
 even them alone? It's no use," he added, thrusting his hands into his 
 pockets, " it ain't a mite o' use doing nothing. A man may work, and 
 tile, and slave, and sweat, till there's nothing left on him. These here 
 warmcnt spiles all he docs, and sets him to do it all over again. It ain't 
 a bit o' good : I see that clear. I say, cook," he cried, " cook." 
 
 " Well, what do you want now?" demanded cook, who very seldom 
 spoke sweetly. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 93 
 
 k here. On'y, just come and look. Here you are! Here's a 
 
 ure's the warment," he added, " been at it again." 
 
 "Look 
 go! Here's 
 
 " Serve you right," said cook; "I'm glad of it." 
 
 " Serve me right what do you mean?" 
 
 " I'm very much obliged to Mr. Judkins," returned cook, ironically ; 
 "very much obliged to you for lighting my fire." 
 
 v- What do you meain? Don't bother me about your fire: I never lit 
 y<>ur blessed fire." 
 
 " In course not," said cook, with a bitter sneer; "in course, Mister 
 Judkins, you didn't light the blessed fire; nor did you, Mister Judkins, 
 bill- all the blessed eggs. 1 wish the last had stuck in your throat, that 
 1 do." 
 
 " You're a lunatic, woman," said Judkins, severely ; " go and get a 
 straight-jacket, you want one particular." 
 
 "Do you mean then to have then the unheard-of imperance to tell 
 me to my very face that you didn't light, the fire, and didrit bile every 
 individual egg we had in the hm<ey" 
 
 " I tell you, you're a lunatic. Don't bother wie." 
 
 "Oh, it's all mighty well, Mister Judkins, but Missis shall know of it. 
 7 won't conceal it. I've kept a good many things from her, but this she 
 shall know. A great, greedy gormandising glutton. I wouldn't have 
 Mich a creature about the premises." 
 
 "I know you'll get into the asylum," said Judkins; "I know you 
 will." 
 
 " The asylum," retorted cook, sneeringly. " It would be a great 
 blessing to society if you were in the asylum. One was not enough for 
 Mister Judkins two was not enough for Mister Judkins, nor tliree, nor 
 four. Oli, di-ar, no! Mister Judkins must swallow the whole." 
 
 " I can't talk to maniacs. Don't, talk to me. 1 know you're not right 
 in your head; so go away, and don't bother." 
 
 " Oh,yo?* sha'n't get off quite so easy as you think for. Don't believe 
 it. The very moment missis comes down stairs, I'll tell her all about it. 
 / won't favour you a mite." 
 
 No, 1 know you won't. But go away do you hear? I've some- 
 thing else to think about; go away, go away,</o away with you." 
 
 "In course, Mr. Judkins," said cook, tossing her head with accom- 
 plished mock-aft'ectation. "Certainly, Mr. Judkins. I'll go, Mister 
 Judkins. Mister Judkins, in course, is a very great man. Oh, a very 
 great man is Mister Judkins ; a mighty great man. But /'// cook the 
 goose of Mister Judkins." 
 
 " I wish, with all my soul, you'd cook yourself," observed Judkins, 
 who, as she retreated muttering all sorts of menaces, turned to contem- 
 plate his exotics again. 
 
 "This is a blessing as far as it goes," said he; "if it isn't, send I 
 may live." But no sooner had he given expression to this remarkable 
 sentiment, than a man led his mistress's pony and gig up to the gate 
 and rang the bell. 
 
 Very i/ootfr thought Judkins, as he went to the gate. "This here's 
 the seed of something.'" 
 
94 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Is this here pony yourn?" enquired the man. 
 
 " Iiayther," returned Judkins. "It is ourn raytlier;" and seizing the 
 man by the collar, instantly added, " So, we've cotclicd you at last, have 
 we? Very good ; now, my little swell, t'ou-sider yourself booked. You're 
 my prisoner." 
 
 " What for?" cried the man, who had been absolutely taken by 
 surprise. 
 
 " Never mind what for," replied Judkins. " Don't be at all particular 
 in your enquiries. Pm not. You'll only just walk quietly this here 
 way, and then possibly, perhaps, the question may be by-and-by an- 
 swered. Well, I shouldn't have thought it on you," he added, as he 
 dragged the man, who felt quite confused, into the stable; " send I may 
 live, I shouldn't ha' thought that you'd had the stuif in you to do it." 
 
 " To do what?" demanded the man. 
 
 " Never mind," replied Judkins. "You're a beauty to look at; des say 
 you're a beauty -no doubt. You and me shall be better acquainted, it 
 strikes me." 
 
 " What do you mean?" cried the man. 
 
 " Don't disturb yourself, my friend. It's very clear you won't disturb 
 me no more." 
 
 " I found the pony" 
 
 " Don't trouble your intellects now at all about it. You'll have work 
 enough for them to do, when you're afore the jury. Now then," he 
 added, as with a halter he securely tied the man's hands behind him, 
 " if you'd like to lie down for an hour, you can. You know this horse, 
 don't you? I wonder he doesn't snap your precious little head off." 
 
 " What do you mean?" cried the man. " I'll make you pay for 
 this." 
 
 " Very good!" replied Judkins. " That's nothing but nateral. But 
 let's have a look at you Well," he added, having surveyed him, "you're 
 a good sort, des say of the sort. Very good. You're a very clever 
 sort too, no doubt. But couldn't you leave my plants alone? Tclm! 
 that was cowardly. Well, I hope you'll have all the luck I wish you, 
 and that ain't much ; but I'll leave you to your private reflections." 
 
 " But won't you hear me?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it! What's the good? but I'll see you again, by-and- 
 by. If you'd been a man of six foot and a half, and very stout in pro- 
 portion, I shouldn't ha' minded, but you, you little muck! however, 
 good bye; God bless you; take care of yourself, but if you don't, I'll 
 take care of you, so you're quite safe. You little warment," he added, 
 closing the door, and when he had most securely locked it, he returned 
 to the cottage. 
 
 " Missis wants to speak to you," said Mary, as he entered. 
 
 " Very good, Polly, I wants to speak to her. So that meets the 
 views of both parties consarned." 
 
 " Well, I must say you're imperant, Judkins," said Mary. " But 
 missis is in the breakfast-room." 
 
 " Very good," returned Judkins. " Then into the breakfast -room I i 
 goes," 
 
Hfe' ' 
 
 
 y / x // 
 
 

THE SOMNAMBULIST. 95 
 
 ' Judkins," said his mistress, when he had been desired to enter, " I 
 tin sorry to hear so bad an account of your conduct." 
 
 " I know what you mean, ma'am. It's cook. Don't mind what she 
 >ays, she's a lunatic, ma'am. She says I eat the eggs, / never eat the 
 ijggs. She says I lit her fire, / never lit her fire. But I've done some- 
 thing else, ma'am: I've got in my stable the very man which has been, 
 ma'am, annoying us so long." 
 
 " Is it possible? Have you really? Is he now in the stable?'' 
 
 ' Secure, ma'am. I've roped him regular. He can't get away." 
 
 k - Have you locked the door?" 
 
 ' Fast, ma'am. Here's the key. lie didn't want Snorter last night. 
 No, he only just wanted the pony and gig." 
 
 " Well, run to Mr. Rouse with my compliments. Tell him what has 
 happened, and beg of him to come as soon as possible." 
 
 Judkins started oil' at full speed, and in less than five minutes, the 
 ::evreml gentleman was there. 
 
 .My d.-ar sir," said Aunt Eleanor as he enU-red, " I have the hap- 
 Vmess to inform you, that we have at length discovered " 
 
 - 1 know, my dear madam I know all about it," said the reverend 
 ?entleman, "Judkins, bring him in." 
 
 Judkins disappeared on the instant, and soon re-appeared with his 
 ier. 
 
 " Now, sir, what's your name?" enquired the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " John Todd," replied the man. 
 
 "John Todd! John Todd! Well, sir, what have you to say tg 
 
 is?" 
 
 " All I have to say is, that master found the pony in one of his 
 lows, and hearing that it belonged to this lady, he told me to take 
 
 home." 
 
 " Your master, sir! who is your master?" 
 
 " Squire Lane, your reverence." 
 
 "Oh! S.ruire Lane. John Todd! John Todd! Don't you occupy 
 oittaiiv on the left of his gate, John Todd?" 
 
 fts, your reverence." 
 
 " There has been some mistake here, my dear madam," said the reve- 
 Lrrntleman, aside. "John Todd," he added, turning again to the 
 k> you are a very honest person, John Todd. I recollect you. 
 rive my compliments to your master, and tell him that I will do my- 
 
 "" the pleasure of calling upon him in the course of the morning. 
 has been some mistake, but never mind what has passed. I here 
 jnt you with half-a-crown for your trouble." 
 
 John did not much like the rough treatment he had received, but as 
 Ihf half-crown healed every wound that had been inflicted, he respect- 
 fully bowed, and in silence withdrew. 
 
 1 know John Todd," observed the reverend gentleman; "he's a very 
 >r man. 1 have known him for years, and I am perfectly sure 
 that ho is not at all involved in this mystery." 
 
 " 1 hope, sir/' said Judkins, "that 1 havVt in your opinion exceeded 
 my duty." 
 
96 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "You acted very correctly, Judkins, very correctly," replied the iv\v- 
 rend gentleman. " Had I been in your position, I should doubtless have 
 acted in precisely the same manner." 
 
 " You see," pursued Judkins, " things happened so rum. One morn- 
 ing one thing, another morning another as true as I'm alive, sir, if 
 you'll believe me, I sometimes don't even so much as know what's what. 
 Now, look here, ma'am," he added, turning to his mistress; "I bc.ur 
 pardon, ma'am, for being so bold, ma'am, but jist look here. Here w;is 
 this blessed morning as ever was, ma'am, 'when I came down stairs and 
 went into the garden, what should I see but my best plants walked 
 from the hot-house and sunk into one of the onion beds." 
 
 " What, this morning!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " This blessed morning, ma'am there they was." 
 
 " How very extraordinary," said his mistress. 
 
 " Amazing," exclaimed the reverend gentleman. " Were they 
 injured at all?" 
 
 " Not the leasest," replied Judkins ; " least ways they haven't taken 
 much harm, except, p'r'aps, they've caught a little cold." 
 
 " But they were placed in the bed carefully?" 
 
 "Very. There wasn't a branch broke. That's the thing as gets 
 over me so much! They seems not to want to hurt nothing: that 
 don't seem to be their object, and as that ain't their object, what their 
 object is, I can't guess. Sure-ly they might leave the plants alone; 
 they can't have offended 'em in any individual way, no how. But that i 
 ain't all, ma'am. When I was a meditating over them serious, cook 
 comes to me, and says, * You've lit my fire, and gormandised every 
 blessed egg." 
 
 " And you mean to say that you did not light the fire?" enquired his 
 mistress, seriously. 
 
 " Never, ma'am. Upon my word and honour, ma'am. I wish I may 
 never rear nothing, if I ever touched the fire. And, as to the eggs, 
 ma'am, why, it stands to reason that I wouldn't think of touching Vm : 
 I ain't eat a single egg this six months ! I don't care a bit about 'em ; 
 and if I did, it ain't so likely that I'd go and do such a thing as that. 
 Not a bit of it, ma'am, if you'll believe me. No: it's them fellows 
 whoever they are and I on'y jist wish I could catch 'em. However 
 they do it, wholly gets over me. F' instance, how did they get the pony 
 and gig out? How could they get 'em out? Why, ma'am, I not only 
 locked the stable door, and hung the key on the hook in the kitchen, 
 but I had a piece of string that reached from that very door to my bed- 
 room, and I slept with the other end round my toe, ma'am, all night: 
 so, how they got in, I can't tell. It seems to me to be witchcraft, and 
 nothing but." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor now very clearly perceived that these tricks were too 
 paltry to be for one moment ascribed to the spirit of her brother; and 
 having made, up her mind to leave the village for a time, she at once 
 resolved on spending a few weeks in London. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 97 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE FROM THE VILLAGE. 
 
 THEY who have been unaccustomed to travel, find the job of pre- 
 >aring to leave home a strong one. However inconsiderable the journey 
 may be, or however short the contemplated stay, the preparations which 
 hey deem essential are great. Much thought is brought to bear upon 
 lie preliminaries, much time is occupied in carrying out the scheme, 
 nd when that has been perfected and the day of departure arrives, the 
 xcitement is generally excessive. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor had been unaccustomed to travel: .?//<> found the job of 
 weparing to leave home a strong job: she brought much thought to bear 
 ireetly upon the preliminaries, and occupied much time in perfecting 
 he scheme: nor did she exnect that on the morning of her departure, 
 he should have the slightest appetite for breakfast, for the village 
 lay be said to have been her world, and if the idea of leaving that 
 illagc did not appear to her like that of leaving the world, her feelings 
 x>re a very strong affinity to those of persons who are about to visit 
 ome distant land. 
 
 On the day, however, immediately preceding that appointed for her 
 ourney to London, other feelings were inspired; for while walking 
 lone in her garden, contemplating the change she was about to expe- 
 lence, and endeavouring to recollect if anything had been forgotten, 
 le saw lying on the table in the arbour, a carefully -folded note, sealed 
 vith the family crest, and superscribed " Rosalie" 
 
 ''What on earth have we here?" she exclaimed, as she turned 
 le note over and over again. " The hand-writing resembles that of 
 ylvester! yet >urely it cannot be his! Rosalie! Dear me, what can 
 mean? Kosalie! How very mysterious." 
 
 While anxiously dwelling upon this little incident, and considering 
 vhat course- she could with propriety pursue, her reverend friend 
 ntered the garden, and when they had greeted each other with their 
 cciistomod cordiality, she explained to him how she had found the 
 note, and then proceeded to solicit his advice. 
 
 " It's very odd," said the reverend gentleman, "very odd; nay, it's 
 remarkably odd. But let us go in, and see what we can make of it." 
 
 Into the house they accordingly went, and when they were seated, the 
 reverend gentleman took the note, and having looked very severely at 
 the superscription and the seal, turned it over and over and over again, 
 with an expression of intense curiosity. 
 
 Well," said he, at length, "let us look at the contents." 
 " \Yill it be correct," said Aunt Eleanor, " to open it?" 
 " Perfectly so, my dear madam! of course!" 
 
 ' 
 
98 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " It is not addressed to either of us." 
 
 " But it is the hand-writing of Sylvester 1" 
 
 " I think it is. It looks very much like his hand-writing. But I am 
 not sure." 
 
 " Oh, it's certain to be his; and if even it be not, you have an indis- 
 putable right to examine it,' seeing that it was found on your premises, 
 addressed to a person of whom you have no knowledge ; but as it most 
 surely is his, you have a double right to examine it, inasmuch as he is 
 here under your especial care." 
 
 " But I should not like to wound his feelings." 
 
 "For that I would siibmit there is no necessity whatever. The 
 thing may be concealed. He need not know that we have opened the 
 note; he need not even know that you found it. The young rogue may 
 have fallen in love. Who can tell? He may be the intended victim of 
 some artful creature, whose object is to ensnare him. Who knows? 
 We have heard of such things, and it hence becomes our duty to pro- 
 tect him; we must put him on his guard, and not allow him to be 
 sacrificed." 
 
 " Very true, my dear sir," said Aunt Eleanor, smiling ; " I fully appre- 
 ciate all that you have said, but would it not be equally effective if I 
 were to have him in, and give him the note as it is?" 
 
 " As you please, my dear madam. I of course cannot presume to 
 have any direct voice in the matter." 
 
 " But do you not think that it would be equally effective?" 
 
 " Perhaps it might. Oh! yes. We shall be able to see the changes of 
 his countenance, and from those changes to draw inferences which may 
 enable us to arrive pretty nearly at the truth. Oh ! yes ; I can see no 
 objection whatever to his being called in." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor then rang the bell, and directed the servant to tell 
 Sylvester, who was in the library, that she wished to speak with him 
 for a moment. 
 
 " The name puzzles me," resumed the reverend gentleman. " I can- 
 not imagine who Rosalie is! I have baptized all the young persons in 
 the village, but I do not remember the name of Rosalie! Rosalie! 
 Rosalie! Bless my life and soul, the name of Rosalie doesn't occur to 
 me at all." 
 
 "My dear," said Aunt Eleanor, as Sylvester entered, "who is 
 Rosalie?" 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure, aunt, who Rosalie is. Rosalie, I presume 
 is the name of a young lady, and a very pretty name she has got, but 
 I do not remember to have met with any one named Rosalie. Who is 
 she?" 
 
 " Nay, my dear, I wish to know from you who she is. I have not 
 the pleasure of knowing the lady myself." 
 
 " Nor have I," returned Sylvester. But why do you ask me about her?" 
 
 " This note, my dear, I found in the arbour just now. It is your 
 hand-writing, my love, is it not?" 
 
 "It looks very much like it. Rosalie! What is it all about?" he 
 added, breaking the seal : 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 99 
 
 'BEAUTIFUL ROSALIE, 
 
 1 Meet me to night. 
 
 < Do not fail, Rosalie! Sweet! do not fail!' 
 
 " Well," he continued, " this is extraordinary. The writing is exactly 
 like mine. I never saw two hands so much alike. Look." 
 " It is, indeed, like yours, my dear," said Aunt Eleanor. 
 " Exactly," cried Sylvester, who felt much amazed. " I'll just copy 
 it, and then you will see the resemblance more clearly. Beautiful 
 Sylvester," he added, copying the note. " No, no, 'Beautiful Sylvt-i- >' 
 will not do at all." 
 
 " BEAUTIFUL ROSALIE, 
 " Meet me to night. 
 " Do not fail, Rosalie ! Sweet! do not fail !'' 
 
 " There," he continued, having finished the transcript; " look at this, 
 .and then look at that." 
 
 "I cannot distinguish the slightest difference between them," said 
 Aunt Klennor. 
 
 "Nor can I," returned Sylvester. " See," he added, placing both tin- 
 copy and the original before tin- reverend gentleman, who had been 
 watching him with unexampled subtlety. " See, what an extraordinary 
 reseiuManee there is." 
 
 "Resemblance!" echoed the reverend gentleman, who couldn't at nil 
 understand this coolness. "They are both alike! The B's are the 
 same, and th-- K'.s an- the same, and so are the M's, D's, and S's. I can 
 see no difference at all. If I fold this as that has been folded, I'll defy 
 any man alive to tell which is which." 
 
 " Try it," said Sylvester. " Fold it in precisely the same manner, 
 and then let us have a look at them." 
 
 Tin- reverend gentleman gazed at him for a moment with an expres- 
 sion of doubt mingled with amazement, but as Sylvester met his gaze 
 firmly, he did fold the copy in precisely the same manner, and having 
 done so, exclaimed, "Then'! Now which is which?" 
 
 " I can see that this is the one which I wrote," returned Sylvester, 
 " because the ink is not quite dry, and, therefore, somewhat paler ; but 
 were it not for that, I should be utterly unable to tell which of the two 
 had been written by me." 
 
 " Then you really did not write them both?' 1 
 
 " Write them both? Certainly not. Of that I know nothing." 
 
 " Then all I can say is, it's very remarkable." 
 
 " It is remarkable. But is it supposed that the note which I have 
 copied was written by me?" 
 
 "Why it looked so much like your hand-writing, my dear," said 
 Aunt Eleanor, mildly, " that we did think it must have been written by 
 you." 
 
 " Then let me, my deal* aunt, at once undeceive you. The resem- 
 blance which it bears to my hand is very striking; but I assure you 
 I frel that you will believe me I assure you, upon my honour, that I 
 know nothing whatever about it." 
 
 H2 
 
100 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " That is quite sufficient, my dear quite sufficient, I am perfectly 
 satisfied; but is it not strange?" 
 
 " It is, indeed, extraordinary." 
 
 " Some one must have practised your style of writing with zeal, to be 
 enabled to give so close an imitation," observed the reverend gentleman, 
 who was still extremely sceptical on the point. 
 
 " I certainly," said Sylvester, " never before saw two hands so much 
 alike. But who sent this note?" 
 
 " I found it in the arbour," replied his aunt. " It was lying on the 
 table." 
 
 " In the arbour! And do you not know who this Rosalie is?" 
 
 " I have not the least idea who she can be." 
 
 " Nor have I. I do not remember to have heard the name of Rosalie 
 before." 
 
 "But the crest, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman; 
 " you have not mentioned the crest." 
 
 " The crest," said Sylvester, looking at it. "Why, it is our crest! I 
 have one exactly like it," he added, producing a seal attached to his 
 watch-chain, and placing it in the wax. "Why it fits to a nicety! How 
 very, very odd. The impression would seem to have been made by this 
 very seal! You had one aunt: you haven't lost it?" 
 
 "No, my love: I have it here: but mine is much smaller." 
 
 "Well! this surpasses all I ever heard of! This seal was given to 
 me by my poor father the very day on which he died, and as I have 
 not corresponded with any one since, I have never had occasion to use 
 it. How, therefore, this impression of it could have been made, I am 
 utterly unable to conceive, being certain that it has never been out of 
 my possession." 
 
 When Sylvester alluded to his father, tears sprang into the eyes of 
 Aunt Eleanor on the instant, and the reverend gentleman who up to 
 that moment had regarded the denial as a falsehood felt that as no 
 human being could be guilty of an act of wickedness so awful as that 
 of deliberately associating a falsehood with the name of a parent so 
 recently deceased, Sylvester however strong the evidence against 
 him might appear must have spoken the truth. He therefore observed 
 that in heaven, and on earth, and in the waters under the earth, there 
 were mysteries which set all human understanding at defiance, and 
 having made this remarkable observation, he put an end to the discus- 
 sion, by saying distinctly, and that with great firmness and point, that 
 all he could say on the subject was this, that the thing was excessively 
 odd. 
 
 But although he permitted the subject to drop for the time being 
 thus, he would not suffer the investigation of that subject to rest there. 
 No; he felt himself bound, as a minister and as a man, to find out who 
 Rosalie was, with the view of ascertaining beyond all doubt, whether 
 Sylvester had spoken the truth or not. He, therefore, on leaving the 
 cottage, started on this affectionate expedition, and as he proceeded, lie 
 carefully prepared a touching lecture to be delivered with appropriate 
 solemnity to Sj r lvester in the event of its being proved satisfactorily 
 

 
 

THE SOMNAMBULIST. 101 
 
 proved that his culm declaration having reference to his entire ignorance 
 of Kosalie was la 1st 1 . But then, before this could be proved to the satis- 
 faction of any one, and consequently before this touching lecture could be 
 delivered, Rosalie had to be found. The reverend gentleman felt this 
 deeply. He had not the slightest doubt that, if he found her, he 
 should be able, by an appeal which he had also prepared, and it was 
 one of an exceedingly powerful nature to induce her at once to make 
 a full confession; but he could not find her! no one in the village knew 
 anything of her; not one had ever heard of the name of Rosalie 
 before. They all knew a multitude of Maries, and all admitted that 
 Rosalie was a much sweeter name more melodious in sound, and in 
 effect more distiftgut the matrons of the village were especially 
 delighted with it, and made up their minds with the most prompt 
 unanimity to have the next girls they had christened Rosalie, and thus 
 left no room for the reverend gentleman to doubt that the next genera- 
 tion would !>< studded with Rosalies; but this was not the point; his 
 object was to discover one then; but a^ lit- found after having tra- 
 velled fairly through the village, making all the inquiries which the 
 importance of the ease demanded that no Ko>alie had ever existed 
 there within tin; memory of the oldrM inhabitant she being a hundred 
 and six year- of age he gave the thing up, and the consequence was, 
 that both the appeal and the lecture were lost. 
 
 These inquiries, however, were not without effect, although they 
 failed to accomplish the object proposed. The reverend gentleman had 
 omitted of course to explain to them why he sought Rosalie with so 
 much diligence; and this omission, very naturally, and therefore very 
 generally, suggested the question, What he can want with her?" That 
 she had done somethimj wrong was a conclusion which, on being duly 
 drawn from the premises, appeared to be rational to all; but then, what 
 was that something? what could it be? was it an act of indiscretion 
 or something much worse? They of course couldn't tell: their conjec- 
 tures were innumerable, but as they were at the same time very con- 
 flicting, no dependence was placed upon any one of them, until the news 
 reached the ear* of Mr. Obadiah Drant, who proceeded to settle the 
 question at once. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is," said ho to Pokey; " I can see clear through 
 all the rampant ramifications of this fructifying manoeuvre. Look here, 
 Old Teddy Rouse wants this girl. Very well. What does he want her 
 for ? that's the point at issue ! He's got no wife : he never had a wile. 
 Very well then, can't you see? I'll bet you any money you like, that it's 
 one of Ted's ladies." 
 
 " But," said Pokey, raising his eyes from his board, and taking snufT, 
 " if it is, don't you think he'd know exact where to find her?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it ! French ! Rosalie ! French, my boy! It's been 
 a French name ever since Peter the Great's time. She's come over to 
 find him out don't you understand ? Housekeeper ! artful ! Now 
 don't you see ? These are your moral men ! these are your saints! 
 these are the locusts that suck fifty million a year from the sweat of 
 the poor man's brow ! there aint one of the cloth that don't ought to 
 
102 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 be smothered. I'd hang, draw, and quarter the lot. What do we want 
 a mob of vampires like that for ? I'd send 'em all on board a man-o'- 
 war, if I'd my will, and give 'em a good welting four or five times a day, 
 and let 'em see how they like that. And it'll come to this at last: 
 mark my words if it don't. People's eyes begin to be a little matter 
 open : they only want to open 'em just a leetle more, and bang comes 
 a rattling revolution." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Pokey, "who always felt indignant when Oba- 
 diah spoke of a revolution. " Revolutions is mighty fine things for to 
 talk about, but we aint going to have 'em. Look at me, for instance. 
 Me and my missis has got six-and-twenty pun ten in'the savings'-bank 
 wouldn't I fight till I dropped before I'd lose that six-and-twenty pun 
 ten, think you ? And how many thousands of men is there in the very 
 same perdicament ?" 
 
 "Fight till you dropped, for six-and-twenty pun ten!" retorted Oba- 
 diah, sneeringly. " What's six-and-twenty pun ten ? 
 
 " As much to me as six-and-twenty thousand pun ten is to any of 
 your dukes, lords, and bishops." 
 
 " Why you aint got a mite of patriotic spirit in you!" 
 
 " I gfftit agoing to let any patriotic spirit do me out of my money." 
 
 "Do you out of your money! I'm ashamed of you, Pokey. A man 
 of your intellects, too!" 
 
 " I don't care : intellects in this world aint of much use to a man 
 without money." 
 
 " Then you think that such locusts as Teddy Rouse ought to be 
 allowed to do just as they please." 
 
 "No, I don't," 
 
 " And you'd pay 'eni elevenpence-halfpenny out of every blessed shil- 
 ling you earn, that they might have their French Rosalies ?" 
 
 "No, I wouldn't." 
 
 " You wouldn't ! Why look at Teddy Rouse. He's a sample of the 
 sack. He must have his Rosalie, and where will you go to find one 
 that hasn't hisn? Look at the thing logically not through the short- 
 sighted spectacles which always bring in view your six-and-twenty pun 
 ten, but logically " 
 
 " It'll take a lot of logic to convince me that I should be a better man 
 without that six-and-twenty pun ten than I am with it." 
 
 "Well, but listen. You don't at all like these locusts. Very good! 
 You don't at all like the idea of a revolution. Good again! But if 
 it's impossible to get rid of 'em without a revolution, what do you say 
 then?" 
 
 " Why, rather than stand and see my money scrambled for, send I 
 may live, I'd fight till I dropped." 
 
 " Then you're a Tory. I know you're a Tory. You've no right to 
 vote for the yellows at all." 
 
 " Haven't I no right to vote for the yellows ! My father was a 
 yellow, and he brought me up a yellow; and if ever you catch me 
 changing my colour, expect to catch a fox asleep. If I had no money, 
 I shouldn't care a button about a revolution : a revolution then wouldn't 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 103 
 
 matter at all to me ; but as I have money, and can't draw it without 
 notice, blister me if ever I'll vote for revolution!" 
 
 " I'm disgusted with you, Pokey !" exclaimed Obadiah. " You ought 
 to be on Bobby Peel's side of the house. It's such sentiments as these 
 that have drawn a matter of eighteen hundred million a year from our 
 vitals." 
 
 " I wouldn't draw nothing from nobody's vitals." 
 
 " Then why do you sanction such men as Teddy Rouse? Why, 
 when you see him running after his girls, don't you set your face against 
 him? Suppose you were the father of this girl this Rosalie would 
 you like it?" 
 
 "I don't say I should!" 
 
 " Very well, then. I mean to say it's monstrous that we should pay 
 fifty million a year to enable these men to run after their Rosalies, as 
 old Teddy Rouse has been running after his. Don't tell me about the 
 cloth! The cloth's rotten, and always w;i*. Even before the Pope was 
 welted at the battle of Bunker's Hill, they were both corrupt and cle- 
 rical, and anything that's clerical must of course be rotten. Look at 
 Russia, look at Prussia, look at China, look at Spain, look at France, 
 look at Switzerland, look where you will, they're all alike, all corrupt, 
 all rotten, all bad. I mean to say we must have a rattling revolution 
 in order to keep society together: we must have a regular roaring 
 rebellion, in order to keep us from anarchy and ruin. Are we to have 
 a parcel of oligarchies, think you, squeezing the marrow out of our very 
 bones eternally ? Do you think that this can be eternally tolerated ? 
 No ! not a bit of it. No ! they must come down ! and, mark my 
 words, when they do come down, they'll come down with a run. All 
 your six-and-twenty-pun-ten men in the universe won't save 'em : come 
 down they must and will! Mark my words. You may try to keep 
 such men as Teddy Rouse on you may encourage 'em in running 
 about after their Rosalies " 
 
 "I don't encourage 'em in nothing of the sort!" 
 
 " Then why don't you stand up against 'em like a man ? Shall we 
 wink at such practices as these, when they^come directly under our very 
 noses ? 
 
 " But / don't know nothing about practices. Look here ! this Ro- 
 salie ! what do I know about her ? how do I know that there's any- 
 thing wrong? who is she? what's her business? where does she 
 come from ? 
 
 " Didn't I tell you, France? She's one of the French dancers, no 
 doubt. And as for not knowing whether there's anything wrong ! 
 Look here ! Suppose you were to run about the village inquiring for 
 Rosalie or Rosamond, or any other girl, what would Mrs. Pokey say ?" 
 
 " Why, I don't suppose she'd like it." 
 
 " Very well, then. Doesn't that make the case clear? But I'll find 
 this Rosalie out ! Til run her down! I'll pretty soon know who she 
 is ! Master Ted shan't be let off so easy as he has been. I'll stick to 
 him I'll show him]up ! But ta-ta ! can't stop. Mind you take care of 
 your six-and-frwenty pun ten!" 
 
104 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " I means it,'* said Pokey. 
 
 " But, mark my words, my boy, it aint your six-and-twenty pun ten 
 that'll save this mighty country from a rattling revolution!" 
 
 Having in a strictly confidential tone given emphatic utterance to this 
 singular sentiment, Obadiah gaily left his monied friend, and proceeded to 
 congratulate himself on the extraordinary eloquence he had displayed. 
 
 Meanwhile Aunt Eleanor's mind was distressed. To her the note 
 addressed to Rosalie had been the source of much pain : not because she 
 imagined for one moment that the declaration of Sylvester was false! 
 she felt on the contrary convinced that it was true but because she 
 was deeply apprehensive that the note had some mysterious connexion 
 with her brother. She knew not why such an apprehension should be 
 inspired : with the exception of the fact of the seal having been his, there 
 was not the slightest link of connexion between them; still the previously 
 conceived possibility of her dear brother's spirit having been perturbed, 
 had created this feeling of apprehension of which her mind could not be 
 divested. 
 
 This, however, was not allowed to alter her plans having reference to 
 her journey to London on the morrow. Upon this she had decided: 
 all her arrangements had been made, and when the reverend gentleman 
 who spent the evening with them, and endeavoured to cheer them by 
 a facetious description of that which he held to be the salubrious qua- 
 lities of London smoke had taken his leave, she and Sylvester calmly 
 retired to rest. 
 
 During that night no voices were heard. The cottage itself seemed 
 fast asleep, and the turnip-tops nodded and nodded until they developed 
 the strong diagnosis of dreaming : the shrubbery was hushed, and the 
 carrots were still, and while the caterpillars ceased to work their inte- 
 resting eyelet-holes, not only in the cabbage sprouts, but in the silent 
 leaves of the savoys ; the stony-hearted urns, which stood like sentinels 
 at the gate, issued no sort of sound, which was very remarkable very! 
 and as these things don't occur every night in the week they ought 
 to be nicely described. 
 
 This general tranquillity throughout the night was appreciated, and 
 when cook in the morning came down and saw everything around her 
 precisely as she had left it, she began to congratulate herself on the 
 prospect of a total cessation of that state of things by which she and the 
 rest had been so long annoyed. 
 
 On proceeding, however, to light the kitchen fire, she found that the 
 chimney wouldn't draw. This at first she ascribed to a change of the 
 wind. The wood burned well, and there was plenty of it; but the 
 smoke curled into the kitchen in volumes ! She opened the door that 
 the draught might be stronger, but the smoke became every moment 
 more dense. She looked at the vane : the wind was south-west : the 
 place had never smoked before when the wind was south-west! nor 
 did she believe that the chimney was foul. 
 
 " Hallo !'' shouted Judkins, as the waves of smoke rolled into his 
 chamber, " What are you at ? Do you want to choke a fellow ? What 
 are you up to? Cook !" 
 

 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 105 
 
 " Conic down!" cried cook, who kept outside the door. 
 
 "What's tlu- matter ?" demanded Judkins on opening the window, 
 the house on fire ?" 
 
 "No! but the chimney's smoking awful ! Comedown." 
 
 Judkins left the window, and descended the stairs ; but the moment 
 he opened the door which led immediately into the kitchen, he was met 
 by a dense mass of smoke which almost caused him to fall backwards. 
 His presence of mind only saved him. Suffocated as he felt op- 
 pressed as he was he rushed through the kitchen with all the energy 
 at his command, and on reaching the garden, began to cough with un- 
 precedented power and zeal. 
 
 " What Ho, o-ho, o-ho !" he cried, " What devils ho, o trick is this?" 
 
 " Come and put a stop to it!'' said cook, with great severity. "Don't 
 stand rolling about and barking there like a born fool 1" 
 
 Judkins would have said that she was a nice woman, but couldn't. 
 He kept on coughing like a frightfully-asthmatic individual, and conti- 
 nued to cough as it' he had been thus afflicted, despite the hot remon- 
 strances of cook, who did really indulge on this occasion in many un- 
 ladylike expressions of disguM. 
 
 In the meantime the density of the smoke so much increased that it 
 drove cook fiercely from the door; and when Judkins with coughing 
 felt utterly exhausted, he managed to turn a tub upside down, with the 
 view of taking a seat, but in his a irony he came down upon it such u 
 lump that he broke in the bottom, and then- lie stuck. 
 
 Cook was now ferocious. Her rage knew no bounds. She shook 
 her fi>ts fiercely, and threatened to claw the eyes out of the precious, 
 head of Judkins, who had not the slightest power to extricate himself, 
 and whose spirit of independence was too noble, too pure, to allow him 
 to solicit her assistance. 
 
 "What do you mmn /" she exclaimed, when the scum of her rage 
 had boiled over. "What is it you mean? This is not a trick of 
 yours ! Oh! no: it isn't your trick !" 
 
 " My trick I" said Judkins, as well as he could. "Woman! you're 
 a lunatic. I've told you so before." 
 
 " Don't provoke me!" she exclaimed, as her passion increased; "you'd 
 better not provoke me!" 
 
 And Judkins too thought that this would not be advisable, seeing 
 that she had all the power then in her own hands; and being thus fixed, 
 he felt that, if she were to attack him, however fiercely, he couldn't help 
 it ; he couldnt defend himself ; he couldn't get away. 
 
 " Call me a lunatic again, at your peril !" she continued, coming 
 conveniently near to the tub. " Dare to call me a lunatic again, and I'll 
 make you remember it the longest day you have to live. Now call me 
 a lunatic again, if you dare !'' 
 
 Judkins did not dare to do anything of the sort. He had to use his 
 own discretion, and that discretion prompted silence; but just as he had 
 recovered sufficient strength to make an effort to relieve himself, Mary 
 who, finding that she could not enter the kitchen, had opened the front 
 door and come round the cottage appeared, when Judkins, who was 
 
106 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 very glad to see her, said, "Polly, my girl, help me out of this 
 pickle." 
 
 " Don't touch him," cried cook. 
 
 " I'm sure, I shall !" returned Mary, " Why shouldn't I V" 
 
 " He has been the cause of all !" replied cook. 
 
 " Don't you mind her," said Judkins. " There, put your foot against 
 the tub and take hold of my hands !" 
 
 Mary did so, and pulled him fairly up, and the tub rose with him ; 
 but he soon discarded that, and when he found himself free, he went 
 boldly up to cook and asked her what she really meant. 
 
 " What do I mean," replied cook, who was, under present circum- 
 stances, somewhat more cautious; "why, this is what I mean I 
 mean to say that you or somebody else has been stuffing up my 
 chimney." 
 
 " Stuffing up your chimney !" retorted Judkins. " Why you aint fit 
 to live on a civilized scale. You took advantage of my position in so- 
 ciety just now ; but I tell you again and again you're a lunatic, and 
 don't ought to breathe che same air as a Christian. Stop up your chim- 
 ney ! Why don't you go then and onstop it ?" 
 
 " Cause, I don't want to be choked," replied cook. 
 
 " Choked !" echoed Judkins ; " if you was choked, it would in my 
 mind be a blessing." And he tried to rub his blade bones, but couldn't 
 get near them, which was lamentable, seeing that they were painful in 
 the extreme, for as they couldn't yield to the edge of the tub, and as 
 the edge of the tub wouldn't yield an inch to them, the pressure had 
 really been very severe. 
 
 " Well," said Mary, " what's to be done? Missis won't be long now 
 afore she's up, and if she comes down and finds no breakfast ready for 
 her, she won't be best pleased." 
 
 "Pleased! no more she don't ought," returned cook. "The very 
 morning too she's going up to London. Do you think that fd have 
 such people about me? You'd better go round and light a fire in the 
 parlour, and bile the kettle there. There's no chance of it's ever being 
 biled in the kitchen. Did you ever see," she added, pointing fiercely to 
 the smoke which still continued to rush in volumes into the garden. 
 "I shall have a pretty job after this. Every individual thing in the 
 place will be smothered. But go, Mary, go and light a fire in the 
 parlour." 
 
 And Mary for that purpose did go ; and while cook was earnestly 
 contemplating the smoke which, as the flames had expired, grew less 
 and less dense, the unhappy man Judkins was silently invoking that 
 spirit of ingenuity which he felt he had in him, with the view of re- 
 placing the bottom of the tub. 
 
 Scarcely, however, had he arrived at the conclusion that, if he could 
 get it into the groove again it would hold, when Mary came rushing 
 round the cottage, exclaiming, " It's just the same ! they're all alike ! the 
 parlour's chock full of one solid mask of smoke." 
 
 "What," cried cook, glancing at Judkins significantly, "has he 
 stuffed up the parlour chimney too?" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 107 
 
 " I wish your mouth was stuffed up," observed Judkins, with asperity, 
 " that would be a comfort to all mankind. The devil's in the chim- 
 nies, that's my belief," he added; and just as he had finished this 
 remarkable sentence, their mistress's bell rung violently. 
 
 " There!" cried cook, " now we shall just see who's right and who's 
 wrong. Come along, Mary ; we'll both go up to missis together." 
 
 " And if you say any thing about me," said Judkins, " I'll let you 
 know the difference." 
 
 " I shan't mince the matter a mite," retorted cook. 
 
 " No, I know you won't," said Judkins. " If ever there was a imp, 
 she's one," he added, as cook and Mary went round to answer the befl. 
 But before they reached the chamber, their mistress met them, for as 
 the parlour chimney communicated with the one in her room, the smoke 
 which issued from it had driven her out. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter?" she demanded. " Where does all this 
 smoke come from?" 
 
 " The chimney," said cook. 
 
 u Is the chimney on fire?" 
 
 " No ; it's stuffed up with something, ma'am." 
 
 " Send for the sweep instantly ! Don't lose a moment. Tell Judkins 
 to make the utmost haste. Good gracious me," she continued, knocking 
 at Sylvester's door, as Mary ran down stairs to send Judkins off for the 
 village sweep, "Sylvester, my love!" she added, knocking still louder. 
 " Great heavens ! Sylvester! Sylvester! come to the door." 
 
 " U that yon, aunt?" he cried; and on hearing his voice, she clasped 
 her hands, and fervently thanked heaven that he was sate. 
 
 " What is the matter?" he inquired on opening the door. 
 
 His aunt fell upon his neck, and could not for a moment an.^vu-. 
 
 " What is it? what has happened?" again he demanded. 
 
 " Nothing, my love," she replied, " nothing of importance, I feared 
 that you had been overpowered by the smoke." 
 
 " What, is there a fire?" 
 
 " No, no, no no, my love no! The chimney's out of order yes 
 the chimney's out of order nothing more." 
 
 " Then why do you tremble so?" 
 
 " Do I tremble now? I thought the smoke might have reached your 
 room." 
 
 " No, I've had no smoke here. I smell it now strongly* But come, 
 come! Dear aunt, you will cause me to think that something more 
 has occurred." 
 
 " No, no nothing more nothing more believe me." 
 
 " Then compose yourself: come! the smoke will very soon evaporate. 
 I'll just slip my things on: I'll not be a moment." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor then descended with Mary, and on going into the par- 
 lour, in which no attempt to light a fire had been made, she examined 
 the chimney, and being unable to see anything in it, at once directed 
 that to be tried. 
 
 And it was tried, and, lo! the result was the same: they were com- 
 pelled to leave the room to escape suffocation. 
 
108 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " How very extraordinary," exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. " It cannot be 
 the wind." 
 
 She opened the front door ; and as she did so, Judkins appeared with 
 the sweep a respectable and highly intelligent individual, who had 
 been in practice more than half a century. 
 
 "I am glad that you are come," said Aunt Eleanor; "our chimnio 
 are sadly out of order." 
 
 " It theemth ath though they voth," observed Chokes, who was blessed 
 with a lisp of incomparable sweetness. " And yet it ithn't vethy long 
 thinth they voth done. Vith one ith the vortht mum?" 
 
 " They appear to be all alike." 
 
 " Then there mutht be thomethin wrong. But vith do you vont firtht." 
 
 " The kitchen perhaps had better be done first." 
 
 " Vethy good." 
 
 "But be as quick as possible, there's a good man." 
 
 To the kitchen Choices accordingly proceeded with Judkins, and 
 found it comparatively clear, and while he was examining the chimney, 
 Aunt Eleanor went into Sylvester's room, the only room in the house 
 which was then free from smoke. 
 
 " Vy there ithn't muth thut in thith thimbly," cried Chokes. " There 
 theemth to be nothin amith vith thith." 
 
 " There must be something amiss with it," cried cook ; " that's all 
 nonsense." 
 
 Chokes would have begged of her to allow him to know his own busi- 
 ness, but as he had no desire to be discourteous, he merely looked as if 
 he meant it. 
 
 " I thay," said he, " there ithn't thut enough in thith thimbley to 
 make it thmoke. But I like to go about thingth thilent and phille- 
 thophical. How did the thmoke come down? all of a heap?" 
 
 " It come down in one mask," replied cook. 
 
 " I thee," said Chokes, with intelligence beaming in his eye. " Vethy 
 good, then there muth in that cathc be thomethin amith with the 
 pot." 
 
 He then walked with all his characteristic coolness into the garden, 
 and having stationed himself tranquilly, perceived that every pot had 
 been covered with a sack. 
 
 "There it ith," said he, waving his hand gracefully; "thatth the 
 thtate of thingth." 
 
 " Why blarm their carcasses!" cried Judkins. " What'll they be up to 
 next, I wonder ! Now, who could have done this?" 
 
 " Who !" echoed cook, with a significant glance at Judkins. " You 
 ask who! I could guess T she added, emphatically. "Oh! I could 
 guess !" 
 
 " Why you don't mean to guess that I did it, do you?" 
 
 " Them sacks there couldn't have been put upon them pots without 
 hands!" 
 
 " Thatth vethy clear," said Chokes. 
 
 " Clear ! it is clear ! and missis shall know of it this moment !" 
 
 " Go away, woman," said Judkins, severely, as cook rushed in to tell 
 
, 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 109 
 
 mistress all about it. " She's a imp, that woman is a out-and-out 
 
 " Vot I'm thinkin of," said Chokes, having surveyed the cottage 
 calmly, " ith thith: how did they get up to them there poth? Have 
 you a ladder about the preniitheth?" 
 
 " A small un : it'll reach up as high as my window there." 
 
 "Thatthofnouthe." 
 
 " Couldn't they get up that gutter ?" said Judkius, alluding to a 
 wooden pipe which reached from the roof to the water butt. 
 
 " Vy," replied Chokes, " if they didn't, I don't thee how they got up 
 at all ! But there ithn't more than room enough there for a cat ! A 
 man would break his blethed neck if he attempted to valk up there. 
 I'd back my boy againtht the univerth for climbing, but he couldn't get 
 up there ! a rcg'lar rope-danther couldn't do it." 
 
 " Well, it's quite clear they got up somehow.'' 
 
 " Yeth, thatth vethy clear." 
 
 " And as missis is going to London to-day, the sooner we get them 
 there sacks off the better." 
 
 " Vethy good. Ve mutht have a long ladder to do it. Whoth got 
 one?" 
 
 " I don't know exactly : let's go and inquire." 
 
 They accordingly started, and while they were absent, cook was en- 
 deavouring to impress upon her mistress the probability of Judkins 
 being in this case the delinquent. But her mistress would not for a 
 moment hear of even its possibility. "I do not," she said, at length, 
 " believe a word of it, cook : nor have you any reason to believe it. I 
 know that you and Judkins are not friends, and if I find on my n-turn 
 that you are not more friendly, you must be separated. Judkins I be- 
 lieve to be a most faithful servant, and I would not part with him on 
 any slight grounds." 
 
 Cook wept at the prospect which opened before her. She was deeply 
 attached to her mistress it may be said that she loved her and would 
 not on any account have left her voluntarily except indeed to be mar- 
 ried. This address therefore made a deep impression on her mind, 
 and caused her to reflect upon the expediency of reforming that infirmity 
 of temper of which every one complained. 
 
 Judkins and Chokes now returned with a ladder the only one in 
 the village that could reach the roof, and one which had been locked 
 up for months and when they had succeeded in raising it, Chokes 
 ascended with admirable presence of mind, and having philosophically 
 taken off the sacks, the fires when lighted burned freely again. 
 
 "Mr. Chokes," said cook, when all this had been accomplished, 
 " you'll have a glass of ale ?" 
 
 " If you pleathe," replied Chokes. 
 
 " You'll have a glass, Judkins ?" 
 
 Judkins was startled ! He felt quite amazed ! The idea of her ask- 
 ing him to have a glass of ale, after what had occurred, so upset his 
 faculties for the moment, that he seemed to have been deprived of the 
 power of speech ! She waited not, however, for his answer : she went 
 
110 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 at once and drew the ale, and absolutely placed two glasses before 
 them! 
 
 This was touching. Judkins couldn't stand it. He looked at her 
 for a moment, as if to be sure that he had made no mistake in the person, 
 and then said " Give us your hand, old girl. I don't think at all times 
 you mean what you say, but don't let's have these here kicks up. Let's 
 be comfortable together. Why shouldn't we be? We've got a good 
 missis, and if we aint happy it's all our own fault. There, give us your 
 hand, and let's have no more quarrelling." 
 
 Cook gave her hand freely, and then left the kitchen ; and when the 
 faculties of Judkins were sufficiently restored, he proceeded to explain 
 to Chokes precisely how the smoke had attacked him. 
 
 " Jutht tho," observed Chokes, when all had been described ; " vethy 
 true ! But lithen ! I've been in thith profethion now more than fifty 
 y earth, and I flatter mythelf I know thomethin about it. Now, ven you 
 found the thnioke tho thick in the kitchen, inthead of dathin through it 
 ath you did, and thuth takin away all your blethed breath, you thould 
 have dropped down inthantly upon your handth and kneeth, and then 
 you vouldn't have had any thmoke at all. I'll tell you vy : Thmoke hath 
 got ath muth natur about it ath we have, and knowth ath veil vot itth 
 about. Itth the natur of thmoke to go up the thimbley, and up the 
 thimbley ven it can it vill go, and not give no trouble to nobody ; but if 
 tho be it can't go up the thimbley, then it vill go vere it can, but alvayth 
 up if it can. Now, thmoke vanth freth air. It'll alvayth go into freth 
 air if it can. Vethy good. But if it can't it'll thill go up nevertheleth. 
 Now lithen. If a room ith vethy hot, itth muth hotter at top than at 
 bottom that ith to thay, itth hotter near the theelin than it ith near the 
 floor. If a room hath been heated by gath, you'll find, if you hang up 
 your glath near the theelin, and then let it thtand for a time on the 
 ground, it'll vathy from fifteen to twenty degreeth ! Vethy good. And 
 egthactly the same ith it vith the philothophy of thmoke, ven a room 
 ith full of it. Near the theelin you can't breathe ; it would thuffocate 
 the devil : but near the floor you'll find freth air, upon vitch the thmoke 
 theenith to thwim." 
 
 " There's a good deal in what you say, no doubt," said Judkins, 
 "but if the smoke will if it can have fresh air, why don't it go down 
 where the fresh air is?" 
 
 " Tho it would, if there votli enough of it ! But it beginth at the 
 top : it vill, as I thaid, keep up if it can, and itth vethy theldom found 
 that a room ith tho full that thereth no fresh air at all below. The 
 freth air trieth to forth the thmoke out! if it can, it vill: if it can't, it 
 can't. Nevertheleth, alvath ven a room ith full of thmoke you know 
 vot I mean by thaying full? I don't, you know, mean philosophically 
 full ! alwayth crawl handth and kneeth upon the floor." 
 
 " Well, I dare say you're right about that," said Judkins ; " and if 
 you are it's a thing worth knowing." 
 
 " I know that I'm right," returned Chokes; "I know by ecthperienth, 
 and ecthperienth teatheth vunderth. I've thaved in my time man) a 
 baby in that vay. In the cathe of a houthe on fire, ven I've found a 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. Ill 
 
 tho full of thmoke that nobody would go near it, while the mother 
 a thriekin about her babyth that voth in that room, I've crawled 
 )thophically in on my handth and kneeth, and having pulled 'em 
 of bed, brought 'em to her unhurt! Many a time I've done thith, 
 ven the mother hath blethed me and thrieked for joy, I've felt ath 
 a man ought to feel! tho I know what it ith!" 
 
 Judkins was interested. He felt that he had a very great respect for 
 this man : he moreover felt that Nature's God inspired even the bosom 
 of a sweep ! 
 
 Chokes, however, although a philosopher, was yet a man of business, 
 and as he had an engagement that morning to cure a couple of chimnies 
 in the vicinity, he rose, when he had finished his ale, to take leave, and 
 as he did so, Judkins grasped him cordially by the hand, in the perfect 
 conviction that IK- was a man ! 
 
 By this time every thing necessary had been prepared, and Sylvester 
 sat down to breakfast with his mint, who although feeling of courst- 
 that these things were extremely tiresome was comparatively happy, 
 for the very absurd nature of the last annoyance had had the effect . !' 
 again removing that fearful impression which the idea of these myste- 
 rious occurrences having some remote connexion AY ith her brother's 
 spirit had created. 
 
 But Sylvester if the term may be applied to any feeling either in- 
 spired or developed by one so tranquil was Jvy</y indignant. He ll-lt 
 that his aunt ought at once to offer a reward for the apprehension 
 of these people, and declared, upon his honour, that it In- unv a magis- 
 trate, he would, in the event of their bein- apprehended, punish them 
 severely. He was unconscious of the spirit having appeared to the 
 reverend gentleman and Jones that had been studiously concealed 
 from him by his aunt, lest the knowledge of the fact might alarm him 
 and as he viewed all the ghost stories of the village, not indeed as 
 idle tales, but as tales induced by the tricks of the same idle persons as 
 those by whom his aunt had been annoyed; he did think that the 
 career of these persons should be checked, and that they should at once 
 be punished with the utmost rigour of the law. 
 
 The time fixed for their departure now arrived, and their reverend 
 friend, who had kindly offered to drive them to the coach, appeared in 
 his phaeton at the gate. The trunks were then adjusted, and when 
 Sylvester and his aunt had taken leave of the servants, they left the 
 village with the blessings of all who saw them start. On the way, the 
 reverend prentleman learned from Sylvester the substance of all that had 
 happened that morning; but although he felt vexed, and would have 
 given, at any other time, full expression to that feeling, he thought 
 more much more than he deemed it, under the circumstances, wise to 
 declare. He was in fact almost silent on the subject, and endeavoured 
 to direct their thoughts to the scenes which they would witness in 
 London; and when they had met the coach at the point proposed, and 
 he had handed thejn safely in, he gaily, yet affectionately, bade them 
 adieu, and with many warm expressions of high consideration, they 
 started . 
 
112 SYLVESTER EOUNP 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 SYLVESTER'S FIRST NIGHT IN LONDON. 
 
 LONDON ! How many bosoms have swelled with rapture, how 
 many cheeks have blushed for shame, how many hearts have been 
 filled with joy, and how many have sunk in despair, at the sound 
 of the magic name of London ! LONDON ! Well ! there's no doubt 
 that London is the Heart of the World that its provinces are its arte- 
 ries that the issue of its ventricles gives the prevalent tone throughout 
 Europe, Asia, Africa, and America ; and that therefore -the pulse of the 
 world is influenced, if not indeed governed, by its action. But viewed 
 as it is, without reference to its external influences, what a mass of all 
 that is vicious and virtuous pleasing and repulsive horrible and ho- 
 nourable profligate and pious beautiful and brutal philanthropic 
 and ferocious artful and amiable tyrannous and slavish sceptical 
 and credulous solemn and absurd profound and superficial corrupt 
 and correct convivial and cold impudent and diffident subtle and 
 soft atrocious and true cruel and confiding sincere and satanic 
 benevolent and \ieartless courteous and crafty courageous and craven 
 obsequious and despotic voluptuous and virginal venerable and 
 contemptible in fine, what a mass what a chaotic mass of all that 
 is good and bad admirable and abominable with all the varied shades 
 which intervene does this " mighty heart" of London present! 
 
 Nor is it the Heart of the World only! it is a world of itself a 
 world in which all existing feelings, motives, passions, and propensities, 
 are to be found in perfection developed. To know London well is to 
 know the world; and, albeit there are thousands of Londoners who 
 never travelled ten miles from London in their lives, and who, notwith- 
 standing, know but little of it a London man strictly is a man of the 
 world. 
 
 The first appearance too, of London, strikes a stranger with amaze- 
 ment, let him enter at which point he may ; and more especially effective 
 is it if he should enter in the evening. It was evening when Sylvester 
 arrived, and as he entered at the east, and had to go by the coach as 
 far west as Charing-cross, the blaze of light by which he was dazzled, 
 the noise of the various vehicles by which he was deafened, the mag- 
 nificent shops which he beheld, with the myriads of human beings 
 streaming on either side as he advanced, had the effect of inspiring him 
 with wonder. Where could these people be driving to ? What object 
 had they in view ? Upon these questions, when they suggested tlimi- 
 selves, he had not time to dwell. The motives by which they were 
 actuated were as various as their forms: misery, hope, joy, pride, vanity, 
 crime, love, relaxation and revenge, respectively impelled them on: but 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 113 
 
 of this he knew nothing. The merchant who had just achieved a great 
 commercial swindle which would stamp him a good man for life the 
 penny-a-liner, who had been walking all day, sustained only by the hope of 
 an accident, praying that some important personage might fall and break 
 his neck, that some murder might be committed before his eyes, or that 
 some destructive fire might burst out as he passed, and thus enable him 
 to dine on the morrow the clerk who had just given notice to leave, in 
 the full conviction that his " firm" could not get on without him; a mis- 
 take of which he would have the proof practically soon the tradesman 
 who had a bill for forty pounds due on the morrow, and had not 
 forty shillings to meet it the little master manufacturer who had been 
 running after money all day and couldn't catch it, and who, for the 
 sake- of being a master, worked twenty hours anxiously out of the 
 twenty-four, fora far less sum than he might earn by working ten hours, 
 without this anxiety, as a journeyman the pompous actor the envious 
 author-*the heartless lawyer the accomplished thief the unprincipled 
 gambler*-the subtle, smirking, over-reaching publisher the gaudy 
 cyprian and the haggard milliner the poor but honest man and the 
 highly respectable, because wealth)', rogue passed on alike: for Syl- 
 vester viewed them only in the mass, without reference to their virtues, 
 their vices, or their cares. 
 
 On the arrival of the coach at Charing-cross, Sylvester and his aunt 
 were met by Dr. Delolme, who had been a most intimate friend of Dr. 
 Sound, and at whose house, during their stay in town, they were to 
 reside;; and when he had received them with tho warmest expressions of 
 unfeigned pleasure, he had their luggage pointed out to his servant, who 
 was directed to bring it after them in a hackney-coach, and then led 
 them to his carriage, and iravr the 1 word "home." 
 
 Dr. Delolme was <>ne of the most accomplished men of the age. He 
 was not, in a strictly professional sense, one of the most profound, 
 albeit he had far more stuft' in him than hundreds who had acquired a 
 reputation for profundity : he was a gentleman, a highly accomplished 
 gentleman, who repudiated with scorn those fraudulent exhibitions of 
 eccentricity by which so many in his profession have been made, and 
 who developed his accomplishments only with the view of inspiring 
 with hope, emulation, or joy, those who came within the sphere of his 
 influence. 
 
 And Mrs. Delolme was highly accomplished too ; but religious enthu- 
 siasm had veiled her accomplishments, and prompted her to assume the 
 air and language of a penitent. Her letters were studded with " D. V." 
 in parentheses. Deo volente was continually on her lips. She had been 
 one of the most lively creatures breathing, and while her elegance and 
 amiability had enchanted the circle of which she had long been the 
 recognised centre, her moral purity was acknowledged to be as perfect 
 as her grace; but since a preacher who had set his whole soul on 
 popularity the Rev. Gipps Terre had been the incumbent of the 
 parish in which she resided, he, by virtue of acting and preaching for 
 points, touching their feelings and blinding their judgment, had cleverly 
 succeeded in turning not only her head, but the heads of all the women 
 
114 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 in the vicinity to an extent which prompted them to present him, as 
 a matter of gratitude, with services of plate and purses of gold. 
 
 Mrs. Delolme, notwithstanding this, received Aunt Eleanor with much 
 kindness. There was not, it is true, that warmth in her reception, that 
 delightful cordiality, by which guests are at once inspired with the con- 
 viction that their presence is pleasing ; still, the reception was kind, and 
 as Aunt Eleanor knew of the change which had been wrought, she felt 
 herself perfectly at home. 
 
 This, however, was not the case with Sylvester. He did not feel 
 comfortable at all. He admired the doctor he always had admired 
 him he was also much pleased with the doctor's son, Tom a youth 
 about twenty, whom the doctor called Tob, in consequence of Tom hav- 
 ing acquired the habit of invariably pronouncing the b for the wi, and 
 the d for the n but he did not at all admire Mrs. Delolme: he felt 
 chilled by her presence; he never did attempt to say much, but her very 
 look seemed to forbid him to speak. 
 
 It was therefore with pleasure, when Tom drew him aside and asked 
 him if he would like to go out for an hour, that he replied, " I should 
 indeed:" and when Tom added, " Take doe dotice, I'll cobbudicate with 
 the goverdor," he felt delighted with the prospect of escaping for a time 
 from the apparently severe look of Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, embracing the earliest opportunity, " I bust be off 
 dow to by lecture, add as Sylvester beads to be a bedical swell too, he 
 bay as well cub with be." 
 
 " Are you not too much fatigued, my dear?" suggested Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Oh! not at all," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " You will be late," said the doctor, " will you not?" 
 
 " Oh, they dever cobbedce before a quarter or twedty bidites past." 
 
 " It is now more than half-past," said Mrs. Delolme. " It will there- 
 fore be useless for you to go now." 
 
 " Oh! we shall be id tibe to hear the barrow of it." 
 
 " But, my dear, I wish you to remain at home this evening." 
 
 " What for? Do you thidk it likely I shall ever pass? do you thidk 
 it possible, if I dod't attedd lectures?" 
 
 " I offered no opinion on that point, my dear. I merely said that I 
 wished you to remain at home this evening." 
 
 "Very well! I shall be plucked! I see how it will be! I'll bet 
 ted to wud that I'b plucked, add if I ab, dod't blabe be." 
 
 " Do you think it necessary for him to go?" inquired Mrs. Delolme of 
 the doctor. 
 
 " Why, my dear," he replied, " it certainly is necessary for him to at- 
 tend lectures!" 
 
 " Of course it is," interposed Tom. 
 
 " Then I have no desire to interfere." 
 
 Tom winked at Sylvester, in token of his triumph ; and, as Sylvester! 
 understood it, they rose and left the room. 
 
 " What's the use of our sittidg there?" said Tom, on quitting the; 
 house. " I see do fud id it, do you?" 
 
 " There is certainly no fun in it," said Sylvester, smiling. 
 
////-////// /// Ms '.,'///. 
 
 
 
THE, SOMNAMBULIST. 115 
 
 " Dot a bit ! Add yet there they would have kept us as stiff as a brace 
 of pokers the whole of the evedidg! It wod't do Syl I shall call you 
 Syl, the whole of the dabe is too lodg for hubad utteradce. It isd't as 
 if there was ady thidk goidg forward. If there were, it bight recodcile 
 a fellow to hobe! But doe busic, doe cards, doe chess, doe backgabbod, 
 doe gabe of ady sort do we ever have there ; so if you expect any fud id 
 our crib, you'll be buch disappoidted." 
 
 Sylvester never had expected much fun: but he certainly had ex- 
 pected more gaiety. He did not, however, allow the absence of it there 
 to distress him. He had quite sufficient to amuse him then. The 
 peculiarity of Tom's pronunciation was amusing, and as Tom was not 
 contemptible as a humorist, and as he was, moreover, very communi- 
 cative, Sylvester derived during his walk as much amusement as he 
 could have desired. 
 
 They now reached the hospital, at the entrance of which groups of 
 students were conversing on subjects which were not strictly of a scien- 
 tific character. 
 
 " Hollo, Tob," cried one. " Here's Tob Delobe," said another. " Tob's 
 always in tibe!" exclaimed a third. 
 
 " Is he at it ?" inquired Tom of one of them. 
 
 " Yes, but it's dreadfully dry." 
 
 " Dry, is it? Well, thed, let's go add wet it." 
 
 This suggestion was adopted on the instant by half a dozen of them, 
 who followed Tom into a public-house at hand, at the bar of which 
 each of them called for a pot of porter. This order was, however, 
 quite unnecessary. The bar-maid knew in a moment what they 
 wanted, and, therefore, had they omitted to open their lips, she would 
 have counted them and drawn a pot for each. She had had some 
 practice at the bar, albeit still young and beautiful. She had been en- 
 gaged solely as an attraction, and as an attraction she answered the 
 purpose of her employer. She had a splendid head of hair, a pair of 
 sparkling eyes, and a finely formed animated bust, and while her teeth 
 were like pearls, her skin was soft and warm and clear. She was 
 moreover, elegantly dressed, and displayed a profusion of jewellery. 
 On almost every finger there were two or three rings, the whole of 
 which had been presented to her by students who were all of course 
 desperately in love with her, and therefore, if she saw a decent ring 
 upon the finger of any one of them, she had but to say, " What a love 
 of a ring!" and it was hers. 
 
 Decoy-ducks are not at all rare birds in London, and this one has 
 been mentioned only in order to show what influence they have over 
 the minds of youth. Sylvester, on being appealed to, declared that he 
 had never seen so amiable, so elegant a creature: her eyes were so 
 fascinating, her smile was so lovely, she seemed so delighted with every- 
 body and everything, she was so extremely affable, so free, that really 
 Sylvester was charmed with her ; but when she placed the pot of beer 
 before him, he looked with an expression of amazement at Tom, and 
 said, " Is this for'me?" 
 
 " Of course it is, by boy!" replied Tom, " dridk it up." 
 
 i2 
 
116 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " I can't," said Sylvester, "you at all events must help me." 
 
 " It's the law id this part of the globe," returned Tom, " that doe 
 bad shall dip idto adother bad's^pot." 
 
 Well! if this were the law, it was the law! but Sylvester couldn't 
 drink it all, that was quite clear, nor did he conceive it to be improba- 
 ble that a shivering wretch, who stood behind him with a single box of 
 lucifer-matches in his hand, would object for one moment to violate that 
 law. He therefore drank a little of it boldly, and then handed it 
 quietly to the match-man behind, who finished it for him in very fine 
 style, without taking his lips from the pot. As this had been effected 
 unperceived by the rest for they were all the time chattering with and 
 ogling the bar-maid Sylvester thereby acquired the reputation of being 
 although green, palpably green as good a man as any amongst 
 them. 
 
 " Now," said he, when they had emptied their pots, " hadn't we better 
 go in?" 
 
 "Id!" returned Tom, "Id where?" 
 
 " Why into the lecture-room." 
 
 " Oh! It's all over by this tibe, or dearly so." 
 
 " Well, but what am I to say if they should ask me about it?" 
 
 " Ah, I udderstadd! I say," he added, turning to the rest, " you are 
 goidg to have wud bore fire, I suppose?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," they replied, " of course." 
 
 " Well, I'll dot be a bobedt: I'll cub back agaid. Dow thed, by boy," 
 he added, seizing Sylvester's arm, "cub alodg. We'll, just give a 
 look id, add thed you'll be able to say with truth that you have beed 
 there." 
 
 They accordingly entered the hospital, and proceeded to the theatre 
 in which the lecturer was zealously engaged on some profound demon- 
 stration, the nature of which Tom would not stop to hear, but dragged 
 Sylvester out as soon as he felt that he had seen quite sufficient of the 
 building to give a description of its form. 
 
 " Dow," said Tom, " we'll just go add have wud bore fire, add thed 
 it'll be tibe for us to trot hobe agaid." 
 
 " I can't drink any more of that porter," said Sylvester. " I have 
 already had quite enough of that." 
 
 " Well thed, have sobethidg else. I'll tell you what you^shall do 
 I'll stadd it : I'll pay the buddy ; call for a bottle of chabpagde. They 
 are good fellows, all of 'em regular trabps, add that'll stabp you at 
 wodce as wud of us. Here's the buddy," he added, offering him a 
 sovereign. 
 
 " No," said Sylvester, " I'll not take your money, I've some of my 
 own." 
 
 " Dodsedce!" cried Tom, " I tell you I'll stadd it! Take the buddy." 
 
 " No, I'll not do that," said Sylvester, " but if you wish it, I'll order 
 a bottle with pleasure." 
 
 "Very well, by boy; but bark! whed I say 'Well, what are you 
 goidg to stadd?' you say boldly, ' Why let's have a bottle of chabpagde.'" 
 
 This was agreed to before they reached the house, and when they re- 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 117 
 
 entered, Tom's friends had not only had fresh pots of porter, but had 
 mounted cheroots and German pipes. 
 
 " Here he is!" exclaimed one of them. " Now, what do you think of 
 it? I knew that Tob wouldn't cut us so." 
 
 " Cut you!" returned Tom, " Dever! Dow, I say," he added, turning 
 to Sylvester, " well ! what are you goidg to stadd?" 
 
 " Why, let's have a bottle of champagne," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " Bravo!" exclaimed Tom's friends, " that's the sort of stuff* after all." 
 
 And the bar-maid who was continually on the qui vive, waited for 
 no direct order, but sent into the cellar for half a dozen at once. 
 
 Sylvester had wisely resolved not to touch it, and turning to the 
 match-man, who still sat behind him, said, in a whisper, " Do you like 
 champagne?" 
 
 "Never tasted none your honour," replied the man, "but des say 
 I do." 
 
 " Very well, then you shall have some, but do not let either of these 
 gentlemen see you take it." 
 
 The man winked and nibbed his hands; and the champagne was 
 brought, and when the bar-maid had duly filled Sylvester's glass, he 
 promptly conveyed it behind him. 
 
 When the glasses had been twice filled, the bottle was empty, and 
 Sylvester imagined that Tom would then start ; but Tom would have 
 another, and when that had been drank, they would have a bottle all 
 round. 
 
 "Now," said Sylvester to the man behind him, at the same time 
 placing a shilling in his hand, " do not take a glass more than you 
 think will do you good. If you do not like to drink it, you can easily 
 throw it behind the cask." 
 
 Throw it behind the cask ! throw champagne behind the cask ! 
 In the judgment of that man, the idea was monstrous! He, however, 
 merely said, " All right your honour. In all my born days, I never 
 tasted nothing like it." 
 
 Bottle after bottle was now opened and drank, and Sylvester kept 
 continually urging Tom to go; but Tom as continually said, "Ted 
 bidites bore : there's pledty of tibe yet off in ted bidites." But while 
 the tall glasses continued to be filled, Tom's " ted bidites" frequently 
 expired, indeed so frequently that Sylvester became extremely anxious, 
 and at length said, " Now Tom, indeed, I must go: my aunt I know is 
 most impatient for my return." 
 
 "Well thed," said Tom, "we'll bizzlc. This is the last bottle: a 
 couple bore roudds, add thed we'll go." 
 
 The man behind Sylvester now began to sing, and although his voice 
 was harsh, while he had not the most remote idea of tune, it manifestly 
 fell upon his ears as sweetly as if it had been celestial music. 
 
 " Hold your doise !" cried Tom, who failed to appreciate its beauty. 
 " What do you kick up that bodstrous row here for?" 
 
 Heedless of this mild remonstrance, the fellow went on with his song, 
 until two of Toin's friends, receiving the hint from the bar-maid, seized 
 him by the collar with the view of showing him out. They had scarcely 
 
118 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 however, raised him from the cask on which he had been sitting, when 
 his hat fell off, and out flew a pocket-book and a handkerchief, both of 
 which Sylvester at once recognized as being his. He therefore picked 
 them up, in order to satisfy himself, and having done so, said to the 
 fellow with great severity of expression, " You are a bad man a very 
 bad man." 
 
 " What !" cried Tom, " do they belodg to you?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Sylvester; and Tom was about to inflict summary ven- 
 geance, but Sylvester held him back, exclaiming, " Pray don't hurt him! 
 He's tipsy, Tom! He knew not, perhaps, what he was about!" 
 
 " Dodsedse," cried Tom, who turned to rush at the fellow fiercely, 
 but by this time Tom's friends had kicked him into the street. 
 
 " Now Tom," said Sylvester, " pray let us go." 
 
 " Yes, we'll go dow," said Tom, "We'll go dow. Are you sure that 
 you have got all you lost?" 
 
 " Yes, quite sure quite." 
 
 " Very well, we'll just have a couple of bottles of soda-water to wash 
 the chabpagde dowd, and thed we'll be off." 
 
 For Tom's sake, Sylvester consented to this, and when they had 
 drank the soda-water and taken leave of the bar-maid, to whom 
 Sylvester bowed with great politeness they bade their friends good 
 night, and started. 
 
 " Wl," said Tom, " we have seed a little life." 
 
 "Life," thought Sylvester, "it is life, indeed! But," said he, "do 
 you not feel somewhat tipsy?" 
 
 " Dot at all!" replied Tom. " It would dever do to go hobe touched. 
 They'd sbell a rat id a bobedt ! I always, whed I get a little extra, 
 cure byself before I go hobe." 
 
 " Cure yourself." 
 
 " Of course : I cad always do that in five bidites." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Oh! yes. I expected that I should have to cure you, but I fidd you 
 can stadd it as well as the best of us." 
 
 "But you do not drink so much as you have drunk to night often?" 
 
 " Oh, just as it happeds. If you associate with fellows like those, you 
 bust dridk : dot that I care about it buch." 
 
 " Then why do you associate with them?" 
 
 " I'll tell you. There was a tibe whed I was wud of the boat steady 
 fellows goidg whed all was right at hobe whed hobe was ad attrac- 
 tiod : I thed studied hard attedded lectures with the utmost regularity, 
 add so od but always wedt hobe for relaxatiod, for thed I was fodd of 
 my hobe : sobetibes I sat add sugg with the old lady -sobetibes she 
 would play sub dew busic to abuse be sobtibes we got the chess- 
 board sobtibes the cards- sobetibes she got be to read a dew dovel, and 
 sobtibes we had a little party at hobe there was always sobethidg lively 
 goidg od I could always fide sub sort of abusebedt but sidce the 
 old swell has becub so edaboured of our dew parsod everythidg at hobe 
 has beed wretched, dull, forbal, and cold. It is to this I ascribe by associ- 
 atiod with those whob we have just left; for although they are all fide 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 119 
 
 high-spirited fellows, I shouldd't do as I do, if thidgs were cobfortable at 
 hobe." 
 
 " Then do you not study now at all?" inquired Sylvester. 
 
 " Study! I believe I do study," replied Tom. " Why, I wouldd't be 
 plucked for a billiod of buddy! You shall see how add where I study, 
 whed we get hobe. I have a couple of the bost perfect skelotods that 
 were ever put together, with spridgs complete frob head to foot, which 
 would albost idduce you to ibagide that you saw the very actiod of the 
 buscles! Study! Why, I'b at it all the bording; it's odely at dight 
 that I break loose eved for ad hour. Do, Syl; I bay sobetibes kick 
 over the traces ; but I look to the baid chadce : I have, add the gover- 
 dor kdows that I have, too buch pride to be plucked at either the College 
 or the Hall. But here we are," he added, on reaching home, " all id 
 good tibe. Ted to a bidite! Doctor at hobe, Jabes?" he inquired of 
 the servant. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Tell theb we're id, add gode up to by study. Cobe alodg, Syl," he 
 added, leading the way, and Sylvester followed to the top of the house, 
 where they entered a room strewn with books, plates, and bones, while 
 on the right, as they entered, stood two tall figures enveloped in bags. 
 
 " Dow thed, look here," said Tom, taking off the bags, and display- 
 ing two really majestic skeletons. "There! what do you thidk of 
 theb?" 
 
 " They appear to be very perfect : very perfect indeed." 
 
 " Perfect! I believe they are perfect. Look here!- look at the spridgs! 
 they'll stadd id ady attitude you please ! They'll fedce with you- 
 box with you dadce with you do adythidg you like. This is the 
 bale add that's the febale : they were twids rub-uds, wered't they?" 
 
 "They must have been finely formed persons," said Sylvester. " I'll 
 look at them again in the morning : I shall see them then to greater per- 
 fection. Where did you get them?" 
 
 " Goverdor gave theb to be f replied Tom, covering them up again. 
 " He gave a huddred guideas for theb ; but for adotobical study they're 
 worth a thousadd to ady bad alive. There's dothidg like 'eb id Europe ! 
 They are a pair of regular beauties. That's a budkey," he added, 
 pointing to a beautiful little skeleton. " There's dothidg codtebptible 
 eved id that! good forb, you see very good forb. Do you kdow buch 
 about cobparative adatoby ?" 
 
 "Not much," replied Sylvester." 
 
 "Thed, study that. If you kdow a budkey, you kdow a bad: to 
 parody the poet's lide Bad of course physically 
 
 * Bad's but a budkey of a larger growth." 
 
 But I'll show you theb all id the mordidg. That's a cat! capital cat, 
 isd't it? I've killed lots of 'eb, but dever foudd ode to equal that." 
 
 " What, do you kill 'em yourself?" inquired Sylvester. 
 
 "Kill 'eb ? Perhaps I dod't! Why there isd't a cat that'll cub withid 
 a bile of this house! They all kdow be. Look here," he added, open- 
 ing the window; " here's a beautiful parapet, gutter add all! a capital 
 
120 STLVK3TER SOUND 
 
 place for 'eb, this! But do you hear ady caterwaulidg ? Dot a bit of 
 it! They dever cub here! they dever will till 1'b gode: add tlied 
 they'll have a regular jubilee, doubtless. But I cad't- get a cat dow! 
 they all seeb to shud be! The old lady odce had a fadcy of kecpidg 
 cats; but as she lost about ted every ibrtdight, she cut it! so that I 
 cad't get a cat dow at all !" 
 
 " Coffee's ready, sir," said James, as he entered the room. 
 
 " Very good," said Tom, " we'll be dowd id a bidite. But Jib, I've 
 dothidg for supper here, have I?" 
 
 "No, sir; you finished it all up last night." 
 
 " Thed get me a pigeod pie : let it be a beauty. Have I ady stout 
 left?" 
 
 " There are four or five bottles, sir." 
 
 " That will do, Jib. But let the pigeod pie, Jib, be double the size." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said James, as he left the room, and as Sylvester looked 
 earnestly at Tom, as if he felt that some sort of an explanation would 
 be agreeable, Tom said, " Syl, I'll tell you what it is: I like a bit of 
 sobethidg for supper I cad't sleep without it add as the old swells 
 below have dothidg but coffee, which is all very well id its way, I 
 always sedd Jib for sobthidg dice to eat up here whed they are all gode 
 to bed." 
 
 Sylvester thought this rational enough; and when he had given 
 expression to his thoughts on the subject, they went down into the 
 drawing-room together, and took coffee with Aunt Eleanor and Mrs. 
 Delolme. 
 
 The doctor, who had been to see a patient, came in immediately after 
 they had finished, and had coffee too ; and when the tables had been 
 cleared, he, Sylvester, and Tom, discussed the prominent merits of the 
 medical profession while Mrs. Delolme was pointing out to Aunt Elea- 
 nor various passages in the Bible which favoured her views till the 
 timepiece struck twelve, when the bell was rung, and the servants came 
 up to prayers. 
 
 Mrs. Delolme read them, and the doctor sat opposite, but all the 
 rest turned and knelt ; but, although they were read with great fervour 
 of expression, they failed to have any other effect upon the servants 
 than that of inducing them to pinch each other, with the view of chang- 
 ing that aspect of solemnity which, on entering the room, they had 
 assumed. 
 
 The prayers being ended, the servants withdrew; and, when Mrs. 
 Delolme had pointed out the extreme) beauty of those prayers, they all 
 retired to rest, with the exception of Tom and Sylvester, Avho went into 
 the study to eat the pigeon pie. 
 
 And it really was a nice pie, a very nice pie. Tom pronounced it to 
 be " dothidg but ad out-ad-outer!" and they ate very heartily and en- 
 joyed it very much. The stout too was good: it was capital stout. 
 Tom declared "there was do bistake about it!" nor was there any: 
 no : it was well up and soft, and two bottles went down with surpassing 
 smoothness. 
 
 But with two bottles Tom was not content. " We'll just have wud 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 121 
 
 bore," said he, "add thed we'll go to bed, for you look, Syl, as if you 
 were dearly dead beat." 
 
 Sylvester, as Tom promptly opened the third bottle, acknowledged 
 that he felt rather tired, but he was aroused by the production of the 
 skeleton of a squirrel, which Tom caused to crack nuts by pinching its 
 tail. 
 
 " I'll read you the history of this little swell," said Tom. " Whed alive 
 he was a rub ud." 
 
 And he got his portfolio, and having placed several sheets of manu- 
 script before him, commenced reading the life and adventures of " Moses 
 the Squirrel." 
 
 He had, however, scarcely read the second sentence, when, on looking 
 up, he found his friend Sylvester asleep. 
 
 "Hollo!" he cried, "Syl!" 
 
 " Really," said Sylvester, " you must excuse me." 
 
 " Well, I kdow you bust be tired," said Tom, restoring his precious 
 manuscript to the portfolio. " Ebty the glass, add we'll be off. Tra- 
 vellidg idvariably bakes a fellow sleepy. I kdow what it is. I'll just 
 put these thidgs od wud side, add thed see you to your roob. Dow thed," 
 he added, as soon as this feat had been accomplished, and he and Syl- 
 vester left the study, and when he had pointed out Sylvester's room, he 
 shook hands with him, exclaiming, " God bless you! good dight." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TOB AND HIS WOBAD. 
 
 ABOUT two hours after the delivery of that remarkable sentence 
 with which the preceding chapter concludes, Policeman D 99, an ex- 
 tremely intelligent and raw-boned person, whose acuteness in looking 
 after cooks with money sufficient to take a public-house, surpassed that 
 of any other member of the force saw something he could not at first 
 see distinctly what it was, it being some distance from him, but he knew 
 that he saw something running along the parapet of the houses on his 
 right. 
 
 Of course the trump of duty called him instantly to the spot, and 
 having obeyed the call, he stationed himself opposite, from which point 
 he clearly beheld the figure of a man, with nothing apparently on him 
 but his shirt. 
 
122 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Conceiving that robbery was contemplated, and knowing that 
 promotion sprang not from prevention but cure, he was silent, and 
 moved cautiously into the shade of a doorway to watch the proceedings 
 above. 
 
 He had not, however, been long in this position when his Serjeant 
 approached. 
 
 "Hist!" said Ninety-nine, as the Serjeant was passing. 
 
 " Who are you ?" 
 
 " Ninety-nine." 
 
 " What are you up to ?" 
 
 "Here!" 
 
 The serjeant joined him in the shade. 
 
 " Do you see that fellow there?" continued Ninety-nine. 
 
 "Good God!" exclaimed the serjeant. "Is it possible! Why, the 
 slightest^" slip a single moment's dizziness would bring him to the 
 ground, and dash his brains out." 
 
 " A robbery, safe," said Ninety-nine. 
 
 " A robbery : nonsense," returned the serjeant, who panted with ap- 
 prehension. " He'll fall ! he'll fall presently certain to fall!" 
 
 " Not a bit of it," coolly observed Ninety-nine. " He's as safe as the 
 bank. He's been running about in that way for a long time." 
 
 " I never saw a man in so perilous a position. What can he be up 
 to?" 
 
 "He appears to me to be moving goods from one house to ano- 
 ther." 
 
 " But I can see nothing in his hands." 
 
 "Nor can I," said Ninety-nine; "but he keeps on running back- 
 wards and forwards, stooping here and stooping there, as if he had. 
 But there's more than him in it. He beckoned just now to his 
 
 "Did you see them?'' 1 
 
 " No, I couldn't see 'em. They keep in the background, but I know 
 they're somewhere there." 
 
 " There he goes again !" cried the serjeant, " My life! what a devil. 
 He's surely not after the cats?" 
 
 " Cat's!" said Ninety-nine. " What man on the top of a house can 
 catch cats?" 
 
 " He may snare them!" 
 
 " Snare 'em, he may. But I see no cats! he's after no cats. 
 
 " Did you see where he came from?" 
 
 " Not exactly ; but I think, from one of those houses down there." 
 
 "Here he comes," said the serjeant; "now watch him. He appears 
 to have done his work. See how cool he is! see how deliberately 
 how firmly he walks. Now! He has stopped! Do you see him looking 
 in at that window? It's opened for him. He enters. He's in. Now 
 my boy, if plunder be your object, you're booked." 
 
 " That's safe to be his object," said Ninety-nine. 
 
 " I don't know," said the serjeant. " I think he's after one of the 
 

 * 
 
 . 
 
^y / ^ / 
 
 9 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 123 
 
 At all events, you go off at once for another man. You'll find 
 at the corner. I'll remain here." 
 
 rinety-nine started off, and soon returned with Ninety-six. 
 Now, then," said the serjeant to Ninety-six, "you stand here; and 
 p your eyes upon that window." 
 
 " What, that?" 
 
 "No, that." 
 
 "What, that there one?" 
 
 " Yes. And if any one should come out of it, watch where he 
 goes." 
 
 " All right," said Ninety-six. 
 
 " Now, then," said the serjeant, addressing Ninety-nine, " we'll go 
 over." And marking the house to which the window belonged, they 
 went to the door of Dr. Delolme. 
 
 When the serjeant had rang the bell two or three times gently con- 
 ceiving it to be inexpedient to make too much noise the doctor ap- 
 peared at one of the windows, and called out " Who's there?" 
 
 " Policemen," replied Ninety-nine. " There are theives in the house, 
 sir." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 " We saw one of them just now steal in at the top window." 
 
 " Bless my life!" said the doctor. " I'll be down in one moment." And 
 having hastily slipped on his trowsers, he took a brace of loaded pistols 
 from a case which he constantly kept in his room, and descended with one 
 in each hand. 
 
 " What had better be done?" said he, on opening the door. 
 
 " We had better go up and secure them," replied the serjeant, as he 
 opened his bull's-eye lantern. " I've stationed a man outside to keep a 
 sharp look out above. Perhaps / may as well have one of those?" he 
 added, pointing to the pistols. 
 
 The doctor gave him one on the instant, and when the door had been 
 locked and the key taken out, they proceeded up stairs Ninety-nine 
 going first. 
 
 As they proceeded, they took the precaution to lock every door which 
 was not locked inside, until they arrived at the door of Tom's study ; 
 when the doctor said, "Now, this is the room at the window of which 
 you saw him enter ; therefore prepare." 
 
 The serjeant cocked his pistol, and Ninety-nine opened the door, but 
 he no sooner brought his brilliant bull's-eye to bear upon the skeletons, 
 than uttering an exclamation of horror, he shrunk back appalled. The 
 serjeant rushed forward in the twinkling of an eye, and perceiving 
 indistinctly two figures on his right, shot one of them, as he ima- 
 gined, through the heart, and produced on the instant a most tre- 
 mendous rattling of bones, for the skeleton of Tom's female fell all to 
 pieces. 
 
 "No, no!" cried the doctor, rushing in. "Don't touch them! they're 
 merely skeletons! Bless my life," he added, on perceiving the male in 
 a pugilistic attitude, " what's the meaning of all this?" 
 
124 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "Hollo!" shouted Tom, who had been aroused from his slumber by 
 the rattling of the bones; " What are you up to? Who's there?" 
 
 "Come up, Tom, come up!" cried the doctor; and Tom, without stop- 
 ping to piit on a thing, rushed up stairs. 
 
 "What's the batter what's the batter what the devil's the bat- 
 ter?" 
 
 Ninety-nine trembled, and the serjeant looked pale, as the doctor 
 replied, " There are thieves in the house." 
 
 "Thieves!" cried Tom. ' " Well, but I say, what's all this? where's 
 by wobad ?" 
 
 " I shot it by mistake," said the serjeant. 
 
 " Shot it by bistake, you fool ! What do you bead by shootidg it by 
 bistake? you've dud a huddred poudds worth of dabage." 
 
 " I can't help it," said the serjeant; " you should keep such things as 
 these covered over." 
 
 " Well, they were covered over. What did you pull the bags off for? 
 what the devil right had you to beddle with 'eb at all?" 
 
 " / didn't meddle with them! / pulled no bags off." 
 
 " Who did, thed ? Sobebody bust have pulled theb off." 
 
 " They were not covered up," said Ninety-nine, " when I entered. 
 That there one stood as it stands now, and that t'other one was pointing 
 at me so." 
 
 " No, no, Tom," said the doctor, " they were not covered up." 
 
 " I tell you, I covered theb up byself, just before I wedt to bed! I'll 
 take by oath of it." 
 
 "Then those fellows must have uncovered them," said the ser- 
 jeant. 
 
 "Ayhere are they?" cried Tom. " If I catch 'eb, I'll break their 
 blessed decks! where are they?" 
 
 They looked roiind the room, but no soul could be seen. The ser- 
 jeant went to the window and called to Ninety-six, but Ninety-six had 
 seen no one get out. 
 
 " Then," said the serjeant, " that one at least must be in the house 
 still." 
 
 They now commenced a diligent search, with the view of going from 
 the top of the house to the bottom, prying into every conceivable corner, 
 and holding themselves in readiness for an attack. 
 
 " Archibald ! Archibald ! What is the matter?" cried Mrs. Delolme, 
 as they passed her room. 
 
 "Nothing, dear nothing don't be alarmed," said the doctor, on 
 opening the door. 
 
 " But why are these men here ? pray tell me," she exclaimed, 
 coming forward in a wrapper " pray tell me what it is." 
 
 " They fancied they saw some one enter the house." 
 
 " Good gracious! what, this house? And were they mistaken?" 
 
 A thought struck Ninety-nine! 
 
 " Have you, ma'am," said he, " any maid which is any way unsteady?" 
 
 Mrs. Delolme was shocked at the thought. 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 125 
 
 " Because, ma'am," continued Ninety-nine, " the man which entered 
 the window above hasn't been seen to get out again, ma'am." 
 
 " Give me a candle," said Mrs. Delolme. " Archibald, you come 
 with me." And, going direct to her servants' rooms, demanded imme- 
 diate admittance, and obtained it; but found nothing to confirm the 
 suspicion of Ninety-nine. 
 
 " You are mistaken in your conjecture," she observed, on her return, 
 and Ninety-nine said it was merely a thought. " Thank heaven!" she 
 added, " my servants, I believe, are all strictly virtuous." 
 
 "Well, I know he's somewhere about," said Ninety-nine; and when 
 Ninety-nine had given expression to this conviction, they continued the 
 search. They went into the drawing-rooms, but found no one there r 
 they went into the parlours : the result was the same. 
 
 " Strange," observed the doctor, " very strange." 
 
 " If he be in the house," said the serjeant, " we'll find him." 
 
 "Are you perfectly certain," said Mrs. Delolme are you sure- 
 quite sure that you saw a man enter this house?" 
 
 " Oh, quite, ma'am quite," returned the serjeant. " We saw him 
 cutting his capers on the parapet, for more than twenty minutes before 
 we rang the bell." 
 
 " On the parapet! heaven preserve us!" 
 
 " How he did it / can't imagine. I know it made me tremble even 
 to look at him. I expected every moment to see him fall and dash his 
 brains out." 
 
 Another thought struck Ninety-nine! 
 
 " I don't think," said he, suddenly, making a dead stand as they were 
 about to proceed to the kitchen " I don't think we need go on with this 
 here search. It strikes me," he continued, placing his hands upon*his 
 hips, and assuming an air of infinite importance " I say, it strikes me, 
 and that very forcibly too, that the person, the man, the individual, 
 which was playing off his pranks upon that there parapet, and which we 
 saw afterwards bolt into that there top window, aint very far off." 
 
 " What do you mean?" demanded the serjeant. 
 
 " Why, I mean as this" promptly replied Ninety-nine, cocking his 
 head on one side, and looking at Tom with unexampled acuteness " I 
 mean to say that the man which we saw up there, now stands very near 
 me. He had nothing but his shirt on! very well, then! Is there no 
 one in this room with nothing but his shirt on?" 
 
 " Why, you igdoradt raw-bode wretch!" exclaimed Tom, with indig- 
 nation, "if you bead to say that I ab the bad " 
 
 "Tom! dear Tom !" exclaimed Mrs. Delolme, "pray, pray do not 
 go on so : for my sake, dear Tom ; for the sake of your own soul." 
 
 "I can pretty nigh swear to the shirt" said Ninety-nine to the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Swear to the shirt!" cried Tom. " You adibal! you doe-dothidg 
 idcobprehedsible dodkey !" 
 
 " Don't be impetuous, Tom," said the doctor. 
 
 " Ibpetuous! Isd't edough to bake ady bad ibpetuous,' to hear such 
 
126 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 ad ugly abortiod as that, with a head like a lubp of dothidg stuck upod 
 dowhere, talk of swearidg to a shirt which he saw od a bad about half 
 a bile off id the dark?" 
 
 " Half a mile," said Ninety-nine. " It was not a hundred yards." 
 
 " I dod't care if it were dot a huddred feet," returned Tom. " It wod't 
 bake you a whit the less a fool." 
 
 " Don't call me a fool, if you please," said Ninety-nine, who didn't 
 Kke it. " If I've done anything wrong, here's my number Ninety- 
 nine." 
 
 " Didety-dide !" cried Tom. "You ought to have didety-dide every 
 bordidg before breakfast, to give you ad appetite for swearidg to a 
 shirt." 
 
 " That is not the shirt which we saw," said the serjeant, addressing 
 Ninety-nine, confidentially. " The one which we saw was much shorter 
 than that. You see that comes down below the calves." 
 
 "He might have pulled it up, mightn't he, while he was run- 
 ning?" 
 
 " So he might," replied the serjeant. " He certainly might have done 
 that." 
 
 " Besides," said Tom, who, during this colloquy, saw that neither his 
 mother nor his father was satisfied, "is it codceivable that I could ever 
 be so sedseless ad ass as to risk by deck upod that parapet! Why the 
 copidg isd't bore thad a foot wide. He was ruddidg ruddidg back- 
 wards add forwards, didd't you say?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the serjeant. 
 
 " I dod't believe a word of it. Doe bad could do it! there's dot a bad 
 lividg that would eved attebpt it! Look at the width of the stode and 
 the height of the house! I'll bet a thousadd guideas, do bad cad be 
 foudd to rud as you say you saw that bad rud alodg there. Take all 
 St. Giles's take all Wappidg bridg all the sailors add bricklayers' 
 labourers you like take all the world add you'll dot fidd a bad so 
 lost so utterly lost to every sedse of dadger to do it." 
 
 " Certainly," said the serjeant, " I never could have believed it possi- 
 ble, if I had not myself seen it." 
 
 " You dever did see it," cried Tom. " Doe bad ever saw it. I see 
 it dow clearly edough. I see the object which idduced you to say that 
 you saw it." 
 
 " To what object do you allude," inquired the serjeant. 
 
 " Buddy," replied Tom ; " Buddy ! You thought as a batter of course 
 that the goverdor would stadd sobethidg haddsome." 
 
 " I despise the insinuation," retorted the serjeant. " I say again, and 
 am prepared to take my oath, that I saw a man running upon the coping 
 of that parapet and enter the window above." 
 
 " Add do you bead to say, like your friedd Didety-dide there the 
 adibal! that / was that bad." 
 
 " That," replied the serjeant, " I must leave." 
 
 " And don't call me an animal again," said Ninety-nine, " I'll not be 
 called an animal by you or any other man." 
 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 127 
 
 " What \vill you be called thed? a vegetable? I tell you agaid that 
 
 u are ad adibal, add ad out-ad-out ugly adibal to." 
 
 " Recrimination," said the doctor, " will never solve this mystery. I 
 aave not the slightest doubt," he continued, addressing the Serjeant, 
 that that which you have stated is substantially correct, and that if the 
 oaan entered the window above he is in the house now. The only question 
 therefore is, ' Where is that man?' We have searched the house down 
 to this parlour in vain; but I shall not I cannot feel satisfied, until we 
 lave completed the search." 
 
 " Then let us proceed," said the serjeant, " at once." 
 
 " It's no use," said Ninety-nine. " We shall find nothing." 
 
 " How is it possible for you to know that?" said the doctor. 
 
 " Kdow it," said Tom, " why he'd swear it. A fellow who'd swear to 
 the shape of a shirt, would swear ady thidg." 
 
 ' Let us have no more recrimination," said the doctor. " We have 
 lad enough of that." 
 
 It is certain that as they proceeded to the kitchen, Tom did not ex- 
 >ect that any man would be found, for he utterly disbelieved the tale 
 of the policemen, conceiving it to be impossible for any man to run on 
 that coping in the manner described but at the same time equally 
 certain is it that he hoped that some man might be found, inasmuch as 
 independently of the pleasure it would have given him to thrash the 
 prime cause of his skeleton's fall he perceived that both his father and 
 his mother had inspired the conviction expressed by Ninety-nine. 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, when the kitchens had been searched, " it is 
 perfectly clear that no stranger is in the house. I shall, therefore, 
 return to my chamber with the full assurance of security. I thank you 
 for your vigilance," he added, on reaching the hall, " but should it ever 
 occur again, you will oblige me by ringing the bell at once, that we may 
 go up and see what madman it is." 
 
 " We certainly will do so," said the serjeant. " I should have come 
 over before, in this instance, but of course I knew not which house to 
 come to, until I saw the maniac for a maniac he must be to place him- 
 self in a position of so much peril enter the window." 
 
 " We shall catch you yet," said Ninety-nine, addressing Tom, who 
 enraged at the fact of being accused of that of which of course he 
 knew that he was innocent, and galled more especially by the knowledge 
 of Ninety-nine having induced his father and mother to believe that in 
 reality he was that " maniac" rushed at him on the instant, and struck 
 him to the ground. 
 
 Ninety-nine drew his truncheon, but Tom, who could have crushed 
 him, wrenched it in an instant from his hand, when the doctor rushed 
 between them, and angrily cried " Tom! are you my son, or a madman 
 broke loose?" 
 
 "Your son/" replied Tom, pronouncing the n well, "and I should 
 be udworthy of being your son, if I allowed byself to be idsulted with 
 ibpudity by a wretch like that!" 
 
 "Here, give me this thing give me this thing," said the doctor, 
 
128 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 evidently not at all displeased with Tom's reply ; and having possessed 
 himself of the truncheon, gave it to the Serjeant, and begged of him to 
 take Ninety -nine out of the house. " Call upon me to-morrow, and I'll 
 speak to you," he added ; and on opening the door, Ninety-nine vanished 
 without venturing to say another word. 
 
 " Good morning," said the Serjeant, as he withdrew. " Good morning." 
 
 " Now," said the doctor, having locked the door, and felt it to be his 
 duty to assume an expression of anger " Now, sir, having created the 
 whole of this disturbance, perhaps you will deem it expedient to go to 
 bed." 
 
 " Dot udtil I'b satisfied," replied Tom, fiercely. " Father, I dever to 
 my kdowledge disobeyed you : to by kdowledge I dever told you a deli- 
 berate falsehood : willidg as you are to believe ady bad eved that cod- 
 tebptible adibal in preference to be, I would dot id ady baterial poidt 
 deceive you." 
 
 " I am not, sir, willing to believe any man in preference to you." 
 
 " Well, thed, let be tell you this it is for you to believe or disbelieve 
 be : over your faith, I have, of course, do codtroul ; but, father, I declare 
 to you, upod by hodour, I kdow dothidg of this." 
 
 " Do you," said the doctor, " declare this upon your honour? do you 
 declare, upon your honour, that it was not you whom they saw upon the 
 parapet?" 
 
 " I do," replied Tom. 
 
 " Tom," said the doctor, taking his hand, " I am satisfied, perfectly 
 satisfied, Tom good night." 
 
 The doctor now believed him, but Mrs. Delolme did not. Religious 
 enthusiasm breeds no charity, being in its essence intolerant. 
 
 "Well," said Tom privately, on getting into bed again "this is what 
 /call ago ! It's a cobfort to be fortudate; but it's ablessidg to be a vic- 
 tib ; add that I have beed victibized id this affair, doe bad id Edgladd, 
 save Didety-dide, cad doubt. That Didety-dide! Well! He's a poor fool. 
 But look at the bischief he has caused. Here ab I, after havidg by 
 wobad destroyed, or so shattered that it will take half a cedtury to put 
 her together agaid accused of goidg out at dight, add cuttidg by capers 
 upod that appallidg parapet, whed I kdow that I'b as iddocedt as a kid 
 id ebbryo." 
 
 Tom did think this hard very hard; and, while deeply reflecting 
 upon the hardship, dropped off again to sleep. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 129 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 OF all the accomplishments by which we are charmed, true politeness 
 is the brightest and the most admirable ; seeing that while it imparts 
 pleasure to all who come within the scope of its influence, it prompts the 
 development of that essential goodness of heart which repudiates the idea 
 of giving offence. It has nothing to do with formality: neither bowing 
 lor smiling, nor the practice of any prescribed ceremonial, can prove 
 tin- existence of true politeness: nor does it consist in a servile assent to 
 every opinion that may be advanced for that is the fruit either of folly 
 or of subtlety springing from a mean or an immoral design : its essence 
 is that generosity which leads us to study not to wound, but to respect 
 the feelings of those around us, with ;i view to promote their comfort 
 by all the means at our command; and this generosity this germ of 
 true politeness conspicuously characterised Dr. Delolme. In him there 
 was a total absence of everything bearing even the semblance of assump- 
 tion. He made no display of superiority, no attempt at dictation: he 
 would not willingly wound the feelings of any man alive : nor would he, 
 except indeed in cases of approaching death, fail to conceal, if possible, 
 any circumstance calculated in his judgment to create annoyance or 
 alarm: his motive will therefore be well understood, when it is stated 
 that, having learned that Aunt Eleanor had slept so soundly that she 
 heard nothing of the disturbance of the preceding night, he submitted 
 to Mrs. Delolme the propriety, under the circumstances, of keeping the 
 whole affair a secret. 
 
 That lady, however, held that nothing ought to be concealed: that 
 concealment was a species of deception; and that if anything occurred, 
 and we acted or spoke as if it had not occurred, we were guilty of hypo- 
 crisy: it therefore took some considerable time, and required many 
 powerful arguments to convince her that she was not strictly justified in 
 unnecessarily creating alarm in the minds of her guests. 
 
 While, however, the process of conviction was going on, Tom, who 
 could not sleep after six o'clock that morning, dressed himself, and on 
 going into Sylvester's room, explained to him all that had occurred. 
 
 "Dow," said he, having gone completely through the scene, to the 
 utter amazement of Sylvester, " what do you thidk of that?" 
 
 "It's very mysterious!" said Sylvester; "very mysterious!" 
 
 " Bysterious ! But do you believe it?" cried Tom. " Cad ady bad 
 codceive the possibility of a fellow beidg able to rud alodg a stode so 
 darrow at such a height as that? Slip od your thidgs add cobe add look 
 at it." 
 
130 SYLVESTER BOUND 
 
 Sylvester did so, while Tom was lamenting the irreparable injury sus- 
 tained by the skeleton, which he affectionately termed his " idcobparable I 
 wobad." 
 
 " There you are," said Tom, as they entered the study, " that's the. 
 state of thidgs,yousee! here lies by wobad! here she is, you see, sbashed 
 all to atobs! Dever get her right agaid: I kdow we dever shall. It 
 will take a bad a bodth to sort the bodes. Add here you are agaid!" h> 
 added, pointing to his monkey, " that's dode for! ball, you sec, wedt 
 cobpletely through hib! That was the lidest budkey id dature. Did 
 you ever see such havoc? Isd't it edough to drive a fellow ravidu- 
 bad?" 
 
 " It is very annoying," said Sylvester, " very. But let us look at 
 this parapet." 
 
 " Here you are thed! this is it! a dice place to dadce upod! just look 
 at the distadce frob the groudd! He bust be a bold bad who'd thidk of 
 cuttidg his capers here." 
 
 " I should say that no man would ever attempt it." 
 
 " Dever! Add yet the old goverdor swallowed it all. But that I didd't 
 care so buch about : it was the idea the bodstrous idea of its beidg 
 ibagided that /was the bad that galled be! I dod't care about boidjr 
 victibized buch if do real disgrace is idvolved; but this was ad attack 
 upod wud's judgbedt, ad attack upod wud's reasod, ad attack upod wud's 
 owd self-esteeb, which I couldd't be ratiodally expected to stadd. Why, 
 if I were to cut about here, I should say that by deck wasd't worth bore 
 thad five bidites purchase! As I said last diglit, I dod't believe they 
 saw ady bad at all. It's all dodsedse ! Here's the goverdor," he added, 
 as Dr. Dclohne called him 
 
 " Are you up stairs, Tom?" cried the doctor. 
 
 "Yes," replied Tom, " I'b here." 
 
 " You have," said the doctor, as he entered the study, " you have, I 
 presume, explained all to Sylvester ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Tom, " add he thidks with be that do bad id Edglad 
 could do it. Look here. The stode is just a foot add a half wide. Dow, 
 do you thidk it probable day, do you thidk it possible?" 
 
 "Doubtless," said the doctor, "the policemen somewhat exaggerate. 1. 
 I do think it impossible for any man to run upon this coping in tin; 
 manner described; but a man might with care walk safely behind it." 
 
 " But they said disticlctly, upod it ruddidg backwards add forwards 
 upod it." 
 
 " But I should say that all they saw in reality was some one walk- 
 ing here. That they saw a man outside, I have not the slightest 
 doubt: nor can I for a moment doubt that they saw that man enter this 
 window." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " that, certaidly, bridgs the thidg withid the scope 
 of reasod ; add if there be ady wud id the habit of cobidg here, I'll fix 
 hib." 
 
 "You are quite sure that you left those skeletons covered?" 
 
 "Quite! I covered theb byself ! Syl saw be do it." 
 
 " They were covered," said Sylvester, " when we went to bed." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 131 
 
 "Then," said the doctor, "it's perfectly clear that some one must 
 have entered." 
 
 " Let hib cobe ogaid," cried Tom, " odly let hib cobe. He shall re- 
 bebber it I'll fix hib!" 
 
 "We must have some iron bars put up," said the doctor. "We 
 shall be safe enough from all intrusion then. And now," he added, 
 addressing Sylvester, " as your aunt has heard nothing of this aftair, and 
 as the knowledge of it may unnecessarily alarm her, I think that in her 
 presence we had better be silent on the subject. You understand?'' 
 
 " Perfectly," said Sylvester. " I think so too." 
 
 "We must prevent its recurrence." 
 
 " Leave that to be," said Tom ; " I'll settle that." 
 
 "Very well: do so," returned the doctor. "Now let us go down to 
 breakfast." 
 
 "I say," whispered Tom, keeping Sylvester back, "do you kdow what 
 a bad-trap is?" 
 
 "A man-trap? Oh, yes." 
 
 " That will be the thidg ; I'll get mid of theb. I'll badage it. I thidk 
 I kdow where I oad buy wud." 
 
 "But where will you place it?" 
 
 "Just udder the widdow : so that whed he jubps dowd he bay put 
 his foot id it. That'll fix hib. He'll rebebber it, whoever he bay he. 
 But dod't say a word to the old swells below. They wouldd't have it. 
 They'd say, 'We'll dot pudish, but prevedt.' But I wadt to catch hib. 
 By object is to serve hib out: first, od accoudt of the destructiod of by 
 wobad; add seeoddly, id codsequedce of his havidir l'cd the prihr cause 
 of by beidg bade bost udjustly a victib. I therefore should like to catch 
 hib very buch iddeed, add whed I do catch hib, I'll Lrivr hib codfidedtially 
 a thrashidg, which shall redder it the happiest day of by life. There- 
 fore, bub's the word." 
 
 Sylvester promised to be silent on the subject, and they followed 
 the doctor into the breakfast-room, where they found Aunt Eleanor and 
 Mrs. Delolme already seated. As he entered, Sylvester was greeted 
 with great affection, both by Mrs. Delohnc and his aunt; but Tom, hav- 
 ing shaken hands warmly with Aunt Eleanor, sat down in silence, for, 
 as he privately explained to Sylvester, a single glance at the other lady 
 tended to convince him that he knew exactly what it was o'clock. 
 
 And really Mrs. Delolme did look very severe. She believed that he 
 had told an abominable falsehood, and having resolved on introducing 
 him in the course of the morning to the Reverend Mr. Terre, she felt 
 it to be her duty to preface the introduction with a well sustained look 
 of severity. But the doctor appeared to be in excellent spirits. Ho 
 chatted with all of them gaily spoke of the various exhibitions in town, 
 of the public improvements, and so on, with an accurate knowledge of 
 each, and in a strain which induced Aunt Eleanor to wish to see them 
 all. Immediately after breakfast, however, Mrs. Delolme, having previously 
 intimated to Aunt Eleanor her desire to introduce her to the Reverend 
 Air. Terre, secured her for the morning; and when the, carriage h:il 
 been ordered, she requested Tom to prepare to accompany them forthwith. 
 
 K2 
 
132 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Wlierc are you goidg?" inquired Tom. 
 
 " To various places," replied Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 "Oh ! very well. Syl goes with us of course?" 
 
 "It has been decided that, until our return, Sylvester remains with 
 the doctor." 
 
 "What for?' 1 
 
 " I say that it has been thus decided." 
 
 " Oh ! well, if there be adythidg cabalistic goidg od, I dod't wadt to 
 kdow adythidg about it. I'b ready whed you are." 
 
 Accordingly, when the carriage was announced, Tom entered with 
 Aunt Eleanor and Mrs. Delolme, and when the coachman had been 
 directed to drive them to the residence of Mr. Terre, Tom wanted to 
 know particularly what they were going there for. The only answer 
 he obtained, however, was that they were going for an excellent pur- 
 pose, and as he found that this ivas the only answer he could obtain, he 
 thought that he might as well be satisfied with it as not. 
 
 Having arrived at the house of the reverend lion, Aunt Eleanor and 
 Tom were introduced to a tall, pale, light-haired, awkward individual, 
 who, while he displayed a considerable portion of the "whites" of his 
 eyes, proved clearly that he had cultivated that which in the Scotch 
 Kirk is termed the " holy tone" to perfection. Tom didn't like the man : 
 he went prejudiced against him: he felt that he had been, by him, 
 deprived of those comforts those innocent pleasures of home, to 
 which he had been from infancy accustomed, and therefore, on being in- 
 troduced, he bowed as stiffly as possible. 
 
 Having received an intimation from Mrs. Delolme that she was 
 anxious to speak to him privately for a moment, Mr. Terre, with all the 
 grace he had in him which really wasn't much conducted her into 
 an adjoining room. Here they conversed for some time, and on the 
 return of Mrs. Delolme, she requested Tom to go in and speak to Mr. 
 Terre. 
 
 " What about?" inquired Tom. 
 
 " He is anxious to speak to you." 
 
 " Well: cad't he say what he has to say here?" 
 
 " He wishes to speak to you privately." 
 
 "Well, but what about? I dod't wish to have ady private cobbudi- 
 catiod with hib! What does he wadt?" 
 
 " Yoii will hear, sir, as soon as you enter that room." 
 
 "Well, I dare say I shall." 
 
 "You do not, I presume, refuse to go?" 
 
 " Oh, I'll go!" replied Tom: and he went; and when he had entered 
 the room, Mr. Terre, with an expression of dignity, and in a most 
 authoritative tone, said 
 
 " Young man " 
 
 " Youdg bad !" echoed Tom, who didn't like to be thus addressed. 
 
 u In the first place," continued Mr. Terre, " I most earnestly exhort 
 you to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest, the first ten verses of the 
 fifth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles." 
 
 " What for?" inquired Tom. 
 

THE SOMNAMBULIST. 133 
 
 " In order that you may understand the imminent peril to which it 
 appears you habitually expose yourself." 
 
 " The first ted verses of chapter the fifth! Allow be to look at theb 
 dow, that 1 bay see at odce what they are about." 
 
 The New Testament was handed to him promptly, and when Torn 
 had turned to the chapter in question, and found that it related to Ana- 
 nias and Sapphira, he looked at Mr. Terre, and inquired what he meant. 
 
 " You say," said he, " that I habitually expose byself to the peril 
 here described ; do you bead thed to say that I'b ad habitual liar." 
 
 " I merely mean to say that it appears " 
 
 "What appears?" 
 
 " That you are in the habit of telling falsehoods." 
 
 " Do you wadt be to kick y>u," said T'>m, indignantly. "What do 
 you bead? How does it appear? Tell be that." 
 
 " It appears, sir, from what your good mother has told me." 
 
 "Fn,l> what by bother has told you!" cried Tub. " Stop a bidite," 
 he added, approaching the door; "I'll sood settle this affair. Bother; 
 just step here a bobedt.'' 
 
 Mrs. Delolme walked solemnly in. 
 
 u I lave you beed tellidg this bad," inquired Tom, "that I'b ad 
 habitual liar?" 
 
 "I told him," replied Mrs. Delolme, "that you were in the habit of 
 telling falsehoods." 
 
 " Bother," said Tom, " I ab, by prescriptiod, boudd to respect every 
 word you utter; but as I ab udcodscious of ever havidg told a deliberate 
 falsehood, 1 caddot respect the words you have just prodoudced. 1 kdow, of 
 course, what you allude to: you allude to the proeeedidgs of last (light; 
 but 1 agaid declare, upod by sacred hodour, that every word of by 
 dedial was true." *' 
 
 I [ere .Mr. Terre turned up the whites of his eyes, until the pupils were 
 lost to view. 
 
 "As to that iddividual," continued Tom, pointing to Mr. Terre 
 with an expression of contempt, " 1 respect the sacred ollice which he 
 holds, but id this case, I caddot respect the holder. Arrogadce add 
 igdoradce forb his chief characteristics: arrogadce id presubidg to 
 address be as he did, add ignoradce id supposidg that if eved I had beed 
 guilty of falsehood, I could, by the beads he adopted, be boved. You 
 are a teacher, sir ; but you have buch to leard ; the hubad heart should 
 be your study." 
 
 Mrs. Delolme was shocked! and on turning to Mr. Terre, as Tom 
 quitted the room, she perceived, by the awful expression he assumed, 
 that he had given Tom up for lost. The reverend gentleman had 
 nevertheless words of consolation for Mrs. Delolme, and when he had 
 delivered those words in the most impressive style of which he was 
 capable, she rejoined Aunt Eleanor who was, alas! laughing with Tom 
 at the time with the view of inducing her to subscribe to a fund for 
 the diffusion of blankets and tracts among the poor to which fund the 
 reverend gentleman, in order to save all unnecessary expense, kindly 
 acted as secretary and treasurer, and which diffusion he, with infinity 
 
134 SYLVESTER SODND 
 
 goodness of heart, and with the same highly laudable object in view, 
 superintended. Of course, Aunt Eleanor's subscription was obtained, 
 and win -a her name had been added to the list of the faithful, she and 
 Mrs. Dclolmc took leave of Mr. Terre. That Tom was overlooked by 
 the reverend gentleman in this particular instance may be easily con- 
 ceived. Mr. Terre took no notice at all of him : nor did Tom take even 
 the slightest notice of Mr. Terre. He had no affection for him, and 
 therefore passed him in an essentially stiff-necked style. He could have 
 said something, but didn't: he handed the ladies into the carriage, and 
 when he had entered himself, they drove off. 
 
 11 Isn't he a nice man?" said Mrs. Delolme, addressing Aunt Eleanor, 
 as they proceeded. 
 
 " Yes, he is, for a sball party," said Tom. 
 
 " Thomas!" cried Mrs. Delolme, with an expression of ferocity. U I 
 did not address myself to you. If you were half so kind, half so vir- 
 tuous, half so amiable, half so pure, as the interesting person whom we 
 have just left, you would be indeed a comfort to a mother's heart ; but 
 I fear that you are a reprobate." 
 
 " Dot a bit of it," said Tom. "Pb a victib, but do reprobate. A 
 reprobate, bother, is a bad abaddoded to wickeddess. I ab do repro- 
 bate. As to the idterestidg creature we have just left, you'll fidd hib 
 out by add bye, I've do doubt, add the sooder you do so the better. Add 
 dow," he added, " I thidk that I bay as well get out, I'b odly idterruptidg 
 the codversatiod here, add I have a call to bake of sobe ibportadce." 
 
 As Mrs. Delolme had no other interesting creature to introduce him 
 to, she offered no opposition to his leaving: the carriage was therefore 
 stopped, and Tom alighted, more than ever intent on purchasing that 
 machine which was at once to prove his innocence and enable him to 
 be revenged on the author of all his present troubles. 
 
 For some time after Mrs. Delolme, Aunt Eleanor, and Tom had left 
 the house, Sylvester was amused by the anatomical curiosities and 
 lively conversation of the doctor, but having at length been summoned 
 in haste to attend a patient, the doctor, though with manifest reluctance, 
 left Sylvester to amuse himself in the library alone. 
 
 This, for a time, Sylvester managed to do; but while reading an 
 elaborate treatise on the Functions of the Brain, he fell asleep, and com- 
 menced dreaming on the subject of Aunt Eleanor's marriage a subject 
 which had never before entered his imagination. 
 
 A gentleman, he conceived had proposed to Aunt Eleanor a gentle- 
 man of wealth and station a fine portly gentleman, who wore at 
 the time Sylvester saw him distinctly ! a blue coat, with yellow metal 
 buttons, a large white waistcoat, a large bunch of seals, black silk 
 pantaloons, and Hessian boots. Well; Aunt Eleanor had not rejected 
 this proposal; nor had she by any means accepted it; no, she had 
 taken time to consider. She liked his manners very well ; they were 
 graceful and elegant; she had been moreover induced to admire his 
 character; he was wealthy, philanthropic, amiable, and kind, and had 
 gained the esteem of all who knew him. There was, however, one 
 circumstance only one circumstance- which induced her to pause. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 135 
 
 She thought him too stout much too stout! In Sylvester's view there 
 AVUS nothing about him particularly bulky: he didn't object to his 
 appearance at all: on the contrary, he conceived him to be a remarkably 
 fine man handsome, full of health, and extremely well-proportioned. 
 Still Aunt Eleanor thought him too stout, and therefore took time to 
 consider. 
 
 The scene changed; and Sylvester opened his eyes; but he was then 
 as soundly asleep as before, and having put the treatise aside, he mended 
 a, pen, and deliberately wrote the following letter: 
 
 "PEAR SIR, 
 
 " My dear aunc desires me to inform you that she has an idea of 
 < Hi ring into the marriage state. She has not exactly made up her 
 mind, nor will she until she has had the pleasure of seeing you. She is 
 anxious to consult you. She imagines that the gentleman who has pro- 
 posed to her is somewhat too stout; and as she lias always had the very 
 highest confidence in your judgment, she wishes to have your opinion 
 upon the point, before any final answer is given. 
 
 "Independently of which, she most earnestly hopes that, if the mar- 
 riage should take place, you will do her the favour to perform the 
 ceremony. 
 
 " I am, dear sir, 
 
 " Yours faithfully and affectionately, 
 
 "SYLVESTER SOUND." 
 
 This letter he directed to the Reverend Mr. Rouse, and having .sealed 
 it, rang the bell. 
 
 "James" said he, as the servant entered, "be kind enough to take, 
 this letter to the post. Go with it immediately." 
 
 "I will, sir," said .lames, who had no more idea of his being asleep, 
 than he had of opening the letter to see what it contained. 
 
 Sylvester closed his eyes a.srain, and, as the letter was off his mind, his 
 sleep may be said to have been more profound, and thus he continued to 
 sleep in his chair until Tom returned with a man-trap. 
 
 " Hollo, Syl!" cried Tom, as he entered the library. "Asleep!"' 
 
 "I was for a moment," said Sylvester, nibbing his eyes. 
 
 "I say; here's the bachide," said Tom, pointing to the man-trap. 
 "That's the sort of thidg, eh? It strikes be thatTJllold hib." 
 
 " He'll not run a very great distance with it, I think," returned 
 Sylvester. 
 
 "If he does, I'll forgive hib!'' cried Tom. "Look here; capital 
 teeth!" 
 
 " Rather rusty," said Sylvester. 
 
 " So buch the better," cried Tom. " But just help us up stairs with 
 it. They bustd't see it. We'll take it idto the study, add thed all will 
 be safe." 
 
 Sylvester accordingly assisted him up with it, and when they had 
 affixed the chain to a staple near the window, and locked it, they tried 
 it again and again, with the view of making sure that a man's foot 
 would have the desired effect. Having satisfied themselves upon this 
 
136 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 important point, they began to sort the bones of the female skeleton, and 
 thus busied themselves until dinner was announced, when they rushed 
 into their rooms with the view of preparing to meet the awfnl aspect of 
 Mrs. Delohne. 
 
 The dinner, but .for the doctor, would have been dull indeed. He 
 infused a little gaiety into the proceedings, and occasionally elicited a 
 spark of spirit from Aunt Eleanor, to whom Mrs. Delolme appeared a- 
 if all her natural feelings had been smothered. 
 
 Very soon after dinner the ladies withdrew, and then Tom, in a most 
 comic manner, explained all that occurred at the house of Mr. Terre. 
 
 " I shouldn't have cared," he added, having described the scene, " if 
 he hadd't beed a parsed. I should have beed bore at hobo, especially 
 Avhed he addressed be * Youdg bad!' This cobbedcebedt did certainly 
 double be up, add if he hadd't beed a bidister I should, do doubt, have 
 told hib exactly what I beaddt; but, as it was, by respect for his order 
 codtrolled be, add caused be to feel that we were dot od equal terbs." 
 
 The doctor felt exceedingly annoyed at the fact of Tom having been 
 placed in this humiliating position ; but he made no important remark : 
 he laughed, indeed, at Tom's quaint description of the scene; but while 
 he wished that it had not occurred, he thought it wise to conceal his real 
 feelings, lest his acknowledgment of the folly of the mother might tend 
 to diminish the respect of the son. He therefore changed the subject 
 as soon as possible, and when eight o'clock had arrived, Tom, accom- 
 panied by Sylvester, went to his lecture, having securely locked his 
 study door. 
 
 Now much has been said about love at first sight. Some have held 
 it to be impossible; while others have contended for its being anything 
 but. It seems strange that this point should not have been, until the 
 very period of which we write, settled! very strange. But it was not. 
 It was a perfectly open question until Julia Smart, the bar-maid, saw 
 Sylvester with Tom, when it was, beyond all dispute, settled for ever! 
 
 She saw him, and loved him. Had she been the mighty mistress of 
 a world, and that world had been studded with brilliants, she would 
 freely have givn it for him. He had said nothing done nothing 
 calculated to fascinate, or having the slightest tendency to inspire feelings 
 of affection; he had, in fact, scarcely opened his lips to her; still she 
 loved him fondly, fervently loved him. 
 
 She knew that his name w^as Sylvester. That she had ascertained 
 from Tom; and from that happy moment, Sylvester to her was the 
 dearest name of which she had ever heard. Sylvester was continually 
 on her lips. She even loved to hear the name of Sylvester sounded. 
 Sylvester! In her judgment, what name could be comparable with that? 
 She slept, and dreamt of Sylvester. She aAvoke, and thought of Syl- 
 vester. Sylvester stood in imagination before her. Her blessings were 
 lavished upon the head of Sylvester. Her prayers were for Sylvester 
 dear Sylvester and she pronounced the name of Sylvester through- 
 out the day. 
 
 When, therefore, in the evening, Tom, as usual, after the lecture, had 
 been induced to go to the house, at the bar of which she presided, she 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 137 
 
 experienced, as Sylvester entered, mingled feelings of embarrassment 
 and joy. At first she turned pale deadly pale and then, in an in- 
 stant, her face and neck were crimson. She tried to speak to him, but 
 could not : and while her bosom heaved with emotion, her lips quivered 
 convulsively as she returned his graceful bow. 
 
 Sylvester j>erceived this-had he failed to perceive it his perceptive 
 faculties would have been indeed dull he perceived it at once, and 
 marvelled. She had interested him the previous evening, but the 
 interest he then felt was really intense. Their eyes met constantly: 
 both tried to avoid this but neither could do it: one could not glance at 
 the other without being glanced at in return. The principle of reci- 
 procal attraction was never more clearly denned. 
 
 At length, embracing an opportunity, she approached him, and, in 
 trembling accents, expressed an earnest hope that she should frequently 
 have the pleasure of seeing him hinted at the happiness of which his 
 presence was the source, and then, taking off her most valuable ring, 
 begged of him, with an expression of fervour, to accept and to keep it 
 in remembrance of her. 
 
 Sylvester was manifestly reluctant to do this. He did not at all like 
 to take the ring, and explained to her that he couldn't think of doing so 
 for a moment. 
 
 "Pray do," she exclaimed, " for my sake; it will give me more plea- 
 sure than I can express." 
 
 "Well," said Sylvester, "if I take it, it must be on this condition, 
 that you accept from me a present of equal value in return." 
 
 " I will do so," she earnestly replied ; " I care not for the value the 
 intrinsic value anything that 1 may keep " 
 
 " Hollo!" cried Tom, gaily, who, turning at that moment, saw them in 
 close conversation. "We are dot goidg to stadd that, you kdow: I call 
 it a bodopoly!" 
 
 Julia smiled, and on the instant retreated. 
 
 " Well, I say," continued Tom, " tibe's up." 
 
 " Tin quite ready," said Sylvester. 
 
 "Well, thcd we'll trot." 
 
 Tom then proceeded to bid his friends adieu, and while he was doing 
 so, Sylvester who felt at the time, somewhat embarrassed bowed 
 gracefully to Julia, who bowed with equal grace in return. 
 
 "Well, good bye," said Tom, addressing Julia; "good bye." 
 
 Julia again smiled, for she felt very happy, and Tom followed Syl- 
 vester out. 
 
 " Fide, girl, isd't she?" said Tom. " Out add out, There's do bis- 
 take about her a regular brick!" 
 
 " She appears to be very amiable," said Sylvester. 
 
 " She has a good heart, Syl ad excelledt heart. I'll just tell you 
 what she did a short tibe ago. Wud of our fellows had spedt all his 
 buddy. He was a rattler to go alodg, add whedever he had buddy he 
 bade it fly. Well, the tibe was cobe for hib to prepare id eardest 
 to pass ; but he foudd that he couldd't raise buddy edough eved to pay 
 for his grididg-* " 
 
138 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "One moment," interrupted Sylvester: "what do yon mean by his 
 grinding?" 
 
 " Why, whed a bad is dot sure of passidg do bad cad be sure but 
 what I bead is, whed he thidks it at all probable that he shall be plucked, 
 he goes to a gridder, whose busidess it is to put to hib those questiods 
 which he ibagides arc bost likely to be asked, add to crab hib with the 
 adswers, that he bay dot, whed he goes up, be buch at a loss. Well : he 
 couldd't raise the buddy. He had borrowed of every fellow who had 
 buddy to ledd, while he was able to get dode frob hobe, for his bother, 
 who was a widow, he had by his extravagadce ibpoverished already. 
 What thed was to be dode? Udless he passed, he was raided for ever ! 
 He tried constadtly tried every bad whob he kdew: still he could get 
 do buddy, add absolute starvatiod stared hib id the face. Fortudately, 
 whed he foudd hibself reduced to the last extrebity, Julia heard of the 
 circubstadce, add sedt for hib, add delicately offered to ledd hib the buddy, 
 provided he applied it to do other purpose. He probised her solebdly 
 that he would dot, add she ledt hib the buddy: she ledt hib sufficieclt, 
 dot odly to pay for his grididg, but to go up both to the College add the 
 Hall to pay for his lodgidgs, add to carry hib hobe. 
 
 " He has repaid her, I hope?" said Sylvester. 
 
 "'Yes! he has repaid her! He would have beed a scouddrel if he 
 hadd't. He dot odly repaid her, but as he jubpt idto a capital prac- 
 tice lie offered to marry her! But do; she refused his offer cod- 
 ceividg that a bad, who would recklessly mid his bother, wouldd't have 
 buch regard for the feelidgs of his wife. Oh ! she's up to a thidg or two, 
 dowd as a habber ; codverse with her, add you'll fidd she's dot a cob- 
 bod style of girl." 
 
 " She appdftrs to have had a good education." 
 
 " A good educatiod; she's highly accomplished. I bet her at a party 
 wud dight, add really her badders are elegadt id the extrebe. I was 
 perfectly astodished. She plays well, dadces well, sidgs well, codverses 
 well ! If I had dot kdown her, I should have said, that's a lady, add do 
 bistakc. She was out add out the bost graceful creature id the roob." 
 
 " I am amazed, then," Sylvester, " that she is in that position." 
 
 " By boy," said Tom, gravely, " a girl who has deither a father dor a 
 friedd, has dot the choice of her owd positiod. She has deither a father 
 dor a friedd I bead a friedd havidg the power to probote her idterests 
 baterially. What thed is she to do? If she eddeavour to get a birth as 
 a goverdcss, the chadces are a huddred to wud agaidst her ; add if eved 
 she succeed, what is a goverdcss? A creature dobidally above, but id 
 reality, far below a bedial servadt. Do bedial would put up with wud 
 half the codtubely that she is cobpelled to put up with. Her life is, id 
 fact, a two-edged sword. She has bore to bear, with less power to bear 
 it. A word that would woudd her feelidgs, would, upod a bedial, have 
 do effect, while a bedial would dot eddure half the idsults which are 
 with ibpudity heaped upod her" 
 
 " I see," said Sylvester, " I see." 
 
 "Very well, thed; what's a girl like that to do? For years she has 
 had ad aged bother to support, add she does support her like a brick. But 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 139 
 
 coukl she liuvc supported her had she beed a goverdess ? Could she 
 have supported her by plyidg her deedle frob biddight to biddight V 
 Do! she therefore berged all scruples, add took this bertla. They 
 pjiy her well, doubtless, for she has saved a little buddy. It is dot ex- 
 actly the thidg, perhaps, for so delicate a bide, as I believe hers to be; 
 but she keeps her bother, she keeps herself ; she cad always keep a 
 twedty poudd dote id her pocket ; add I therefore should like to see the 
 bad who could, udder the circubstadces, blabe her for beidg what she is. 
 Tin-re's do dodsedce about her, you see; dor will she stadd ady dod- 
 sedce. She'll laugh add joke with the best of us; but if you wudce ib- 
 pn>perly step over the line, she will delicately idtibate to you that that 
 ibproper step has beed bade. It is hedce, that she's so udiversally 
 respected. I dever id ray life bet with a fellow who didd't like her." 
 
 They now reached home, and on being admitted, they went direct 
 into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Delolme, Aunt Eleanor, and the doc- 
 tor were taking coffee. The doctor, at once inquired, what sort of 
 lecture they had heard, and Tom, promptly explained to him, its nature 
 and effect. It happened to be on a subject with which the doctor him- 
 self was not perfectly conversant, and therefore, the books were referred 
 to, in order that the whole of its ramifications might appear. The ex- 
 amination of these books, and the arguments to which that examination 
 led, lasted nearly two hours; during the whole of which time, Mrs. De- 
 lolme and Aunt Eleanor were discussing the respective merits of the 
 various tract societies, to the whole of which Mrs. Delolme contended 
 every Christian lady ought to subscribe. 
 
 Immediately, however, the clock had struck twelve, the books weiv 
 closed, and the conversation ended. Mrs. Delolme rang the bell, and 
 the servants appeared; and when they had taken their places, she read 
 the prayers of the evening, in tones, by which, in the time of Oliver 
 Cromwell, the puritans would have been charmed. 
 
 This ceremony ended, the sen-ants withdrew, and when Tom and 
 Sylvester had taken their leave, they retired nominally to rest, but 
 actually to the study ; at the door of which as James couldn't get in 
 they found a cold chicken, for as it subsequently appeared a pigeon 
 pie was not to be had. This, however, answered the purpose very well; 
 and when Tom had produced two bottles of stoiit, they commenced in 
 *ryle, the work of demolition. 
 
 Being anxious to have the benefit of his opinion upon the subject, 
 Sylvester now thought that he would at once explain to Tom what had 
 occurred that evening between him and Julia. 
 
 "Tom," said he, "yoii know the world better than I do; you have 
 had more experience ; you are a more close observer '' 
 
 " Here take this leg," said Tom, " there isd't buch od it, add dod't let 
 us have ady bore fide speeches." 
 
 " But I wish to put a question a serious question a question which 
 you can, but I cannot, answer." 
 
 "Ady thidg about adatoby?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What is it, thed?" 
 
140 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "I'll explain. Suppose that one of these evenings, Julia, of whom 
 you have been speaking to night, were to take her most valuable 
 ring from her linger, and beg your acceptance of it; would you ac- 
 cept it?" 
 
 " Suppose," replied Tom, " that this chicked, which we have just beed 
 pullidg literally libb frob libb, were to start up whole, add, shakidg its 
 feathers, ask us what o'clock it was ; would you tell it ?" 
 
 "Nay, that's impossible!" 
 
 "I hold the wud case to be just as possible as the other. Were I to 
 ask her to accept a ridg, there wouldd't be a great deal of doubt about 
 the batter; but the idea of her askidg be to accept wud of her, is too rich 
 for ady bad's stobach." 
 
 "I don't know that," returned Sylvester calmly; "I merely said, sup- 
 pose I put it so suppose she were earnestly to beg your acceptance of 
 a ring, would you have it?" 
 
 "Well, I dod't exactly kdow but I thidk I should." 
 
 "You think you would! come to the point; would you or would you 
 not, under such circumstances refuse it ?" 
 
 "Do, I wouldd't," replied Tom; " I'd take it." 
 
 "Very well. Now, while you were conversing with your friends this 
 evening, she begged of me to accept this ring, and to keep it in remem- 
 brance of her." 
 
 " Is it possible ! What Julia !" 
 
 "Yes. I at first refused; but at length I consented to accept it, on 
 condition that she would allow me to present her with something of 
 equal value. She agreed to this, and here is the ring. Now what do 
 you think of it ?" 
 
 "Why, you abaze be! I thought there was sobethidg goidg od at 
 the tibe ! but I couldd't have ibagided this possible. I say, by boy," 
 he added, gravely, "be careful. This towd is studded with rub uds!" 
 
 "But she is most amiable: have you not said? kind hearted and 
 virtuous?" 
 
 "I do dot believe that there's a bore virtuous girl id the udiverse! 
 Still she bay be artful. She bay have sobe latedt desigd: what I be- 
 lieve her to be add what she is, bay be diabetrically opposite. All I say 
 is, by boy, be od your guard. This bay be but a draw. Dod't be 
 fixed. Were she id a bore respectable positiod, it wouldd't batter so 
 buch, but as it is " 
 
 "A more respectable position!" echoed Sylvester. "Is it not respect- 
 able in the correct sense of the term? and have you not shown that none 
 can blame her for being, under the circumstances, in that position?" ^ 
 
 "Yes, by boy: still, the sphere frob which a bad takes a wife is 
 looked at bore thud that id which he hibself bay have boved." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed Sylvester, " do not imagine I'm going to marry the 
 girl! Don't imagine that I'm in love with her! for I am not! She's 
 very amiable, very elegant, very fascinating, and very graceful, but as 
 for being in love with her ! the idea never entered my imagination." 
 
 "I'b glad to hear it," said Tom. " All I said was add all I wish to 
 repeat is be od your guard !" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 141 
 
 "Of course," said Sylvester, "you see the propriety of not mentioning 
 :his circumstance to any creature living." 
 
 " If you kdew be better, by boy," replied Tom, " you wouldd't thidk 
 chat observatiod at all decessary. But dow for the bachide," he added, 
 joing to the trap. " Let's set this gedtlebad, add thed we'll go to bed." 
 
 " You'll lock the door when we go out, of course?" suggested Sylvester. 
 
 "Do! dot a bit of it! It bay, you kdow, be wud of our fellows. If 
 we leave the door oped, we shall catch hib either way dod't you see?" 
 
 Sylvester acknowledged the wisdom of pursuing that course, and they 
 set the trap, so that the slightest touch would cause the spring to operate 
 at once ; and when Tom had earnestly expressed his conviction that 
 that machine would vindicate his honour, he set aside the things and 
 saw Sylvester to his room, at the door of which, he bade him adieu for 
 the night. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE MAN-TRAP. 
 
 THAT night, Ninety-nine kept a sharp look-out: his look-out, in 
 fact, was remarkably sharp: he never looked out more sharply. He 
 crept into door-ways, peeped round corners, and ran behind cabs, that 
 lit 1 might not be seen. lie was very wide awake nay rnthu>iastic! 
 Didn't he wish t>r about half a ehanee! didn't he pray for Tom's 
 appearance upon the parapet ! He had, it is tnie, been paid for the 
 blow he received from Tom on the preceding night; but lie panted for 
 ivvmge ! Revenge was his object: the attainment of which would have 
 made him happy. Oh! if he could but have caught him! but he 
 couldn't: he couldn't see him: he couldn't see any one there. Still, he 
 inspired a most lively hope the hope of catching him some blessed 
 night in a state of intoxication. Wouldn't he serve him out then 
 wouldn't he stick his knuckles into his throat wouldn't he knock him 
 about with his truncheon wouldn't he drag him to the station like a 
 dog ! Perhaps he wouldn't which, being interpreted, means that there 
 was nothing apocryphal about it. That night, however, he was doomed 
 to disappointment. The object of his hot and inextinguishable hate 
 would not even appear at the window he, therefore, concluded that he 
 was afraid, and said so, with an air of triumph. 
 
 The morning came. Tom had slept soundly. He had not been dis- 
 turbed: he had heard no noise. He, therefore, on waking, feared that 
 he should not have the power that day of taking his honour out of the 
 gaol of suspicion, knowing well that his mother would not accept bail. 
 He, however, thought it right to go up and have a look, and having 
 
142 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 slipped on his things, he did go up, and beheld with amazement his 
 man his own man his own skeleton in the trap, leaning deliberately 
 upon the sill of the open window with a book in its hand, a German 
 pipe in its mouth, and an empty stout bottle and glass by its side. 
 
 Tom looked of course he looked ! but he looked with an expression 
 of mingled marvel and mirth. He couldn't tell at all what to make of it. 
 
 " I say, old fellow," he at length exclaimed, " what are you up to 
 there?" ' 
 
 The skeleton answered him not. 
 
 "You seeb," said Tom, "to be doidg it rather browd!" 
 
 The skeleton made no reply. 
 
 "Have you hurt your leg at all, old fellow?" 
 
 The skeleton maintained a most contemptuous silence. 
 
 "Well," said Tom, "if ever there was a rub go this is wud!" and, 
 approaching the skeleton, he burst into a loud roar of laughter. 
 
 " Syl must see this," said he, as soon as the first burst had subsided ; 
 and rushing down, he dashed into Sylvester's room, and, on finding 
 him asleep, shook him violently. 
 
 "What's the matter? What's the matter?" cried Sylvester. 
 
 "Here's a go, by boy! cobe alodg." 
 
 "Have you caught him?" 
 
 "Yes, he's id the trap! cobe alodg." 
 
 Sylvester instantly drew on his trousers and followed Tom, who con- 
 tinued to roar. 
 
 "There you are !" said Tom, as Sylvester entered the study. "There 
 he is! That's the swell! fast as a four-year-old! That's a go, isd't 
 it? What do you thidk of that?" 
 
 Sylvester knew not exactly what to think of it ! He thought it very 
 odd. He examined the skeleton from head to foot. Its leg was fixed 
 in the trap fast enough but how did it get there? That was the only 
 problem to be solved. 
 
 "It's very strange," said he. "I can't understand it!" 
 
 "Udderstadd it!" cried Tom, "who cad? Surely this was dot the 
 swell that was ciittidg his capers od the parapet! Yet it seebs as if he'd 
 beed about to repeat the sabc gabe, got caught, add thed ibagided that 
 he bight as well edjoy hibself id this way as dot! As to his sbokidg: 
 that's hubbug. He hasd't the bellows to do it." 
 
 "Nor could he hold much stout," said Sylvester, "and yet the bottle's 
 empty." 
 
 " There's sobe trick here," said Tom, "safe to be a trick. But dod't 
 touch hib let hib be as he is. The goverdor shall see hib: perhaps 
 he'll be able to bake sobethidg out of it. Let's go add dress : by that 
 tibe he'll be dowd. Dow," he added, addressing the skeleton, "if you 
 have ady bore of your dodsedce if you bovc to your old quarters, be- 
 fore we cobe back agaid I'll burder you." 
 
 They then left the room, and having locked the door securely, pro- 
 ceeded to dress; and when that job had been simultaneously achieved, 
 they went down stairs together, and found in tin.- brepkfaet-parloiq 
 Mrs, Delolme, Aunt Eleanor, and the doctor. 
 
^ - 
 

 THE SOMNJLMBULIST. 143 
 
 "Odly just cobe up," said Tom, addressing the doctor, "odiy cobe. 
 Such a gabe." 
 
 "What is amiss?" inquired Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 " Odly cobe idto by study. I've caught hib." 
 
 "You have?" cried the doctor. 
 
 "Just cobe add look." 
 
 The doctor followed him and Sylvester on the instant, and Mrs. 
 Delolme took the arm of Aunt Eleanor and hastily followed the doctor. 
 
 Having reached the room door, Tom unlocked it at once, and having 
 brown the door open, exclaimed, " There dow, what do you thidk of that?" 
 
 The doctor looked at the skeleton and smiled. 
 
 "What is all this?" said he; "what is the meaning of it, Tom?" 
 
 " The beadidg," replied Tom, "is this. Beidg adxious to catch that 
 dsade swell who was cuttidg about the other dight od the parapet, 
 
 bought this bachide, add havidg set it last dight, this is all 1, at pre- 
 scdt, have got for by buddy." 
 
 "Oh! Thomas Thomas!" cried Mrs. Delolme, raising her hands in 
 
 state of mind bordering on despair. 
 
 "What's the batter?" said Tom. 
 
 "Oh!" replied Mrs. Delolme, with a sigh. "Oh! Thomas Thomas." 
 
 "Why, what do you bead? " 
 
 "That ever I should have such a son!" 
 
 "Very good," said Tom; "but what is it you bead?" 
 
 "Do you mean to say," replied Mrs. Delolme, "Thomas! Do you 
 uean to say that you did not yourself place that figure there, in onler 
 hat wo might believe that it caused that unhallowed disturbance t lu- 
 ng! it before last?" 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Tom, "that beats all. I'd better go to bed add 
 lee{>, add keep there. 1'b victibised r\vry way. What! Do you bead 
 o say that you believe that I could bake byselfsuch a corlsubbato dod- 
 ;ey as to cobe up here id the biddle of the dight to place by bad i<l 
 uch a positiod as that, to idspire the belief that it was he who was 
 cuttidg about od the parapet?" 
 
 Of all people on earth religious enthusiasts are at once the most 
 mlulous and the most sceptical: they readily believe everything 
 aseribablc to human nature that is vile, and as readily disbelieve every- 
 thing connected with human nature that is good. Mrs. Delolme, there- 
 lore, did believe that Tom had placed the skeleton there with a view to 
 deceive them, and when she had told him that she believed this, Tom 
 said that he was done. 
 
 "I'll clot say adother word," he added; "dot adother syllable. If 
 you'll believe that, there's dothidg bad you'll dot believe." 
 
 "Of course," said the doctor, "you found this skeleton in that 
 position?" 
 
 "Of course I did," replied Tom. "Do you thidk that I should be 
 such ad idiot as to throw away by buddy upod this bachide for the pur- 
 pose of stickidg by bad id it thus? I call it hard to be suspected id 
 this badder: very hard: it isd't the thidg it's dothidg like the thi-l- 
 I wod't have it !" 
 
144 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " If, as you say," observed the doctor " and I've not the slightest 
 doubt you speak the truth, Tom if, as you say, you found things asi 
 they are, there is something mysterious about it." 
 
 " I declare to you, upod by hodour," said Tom, " that thidgs were as 
 they are whed I edtered the roob, add that frob the tibe Syl add I left 
 it last dight, till I foudd the thidgs here as they are, I dever got out of 
 by bed." 
 
 " Oh, / am quite satisfied, Tom," said the doctor, " as far at least as 
 you are concerned; but it's strange very strange! Just ring the bell." 
 
 The bell was rung and James appeared. 
 
 " James," said the doctor, " have you been in this room during the 
 night?" 
 
 " Me, sir? No, sir. 
 
 " Now, speak the truth, Jib," said Tom, fiercely, " or I pitch you out 
 of the widdow od suspiciod." 
 
 " Upon my word, sir, I haven't: I haven't as true as I'm alive." 
 
 "Very well," said the doctor; " that will do." 
 
 James then retired, and they looked at each other with varied ex- 
 pressions of doubt and dismay. 
 
 " It is," observed Sylvester, " of course, inconceivable that the skele- 
 ton could have got there by itself." 
 
 " As idcodceivable," said Tom, " as that he was the swell who was 
 cuttidg about od the parapet." 
 
 "What is the meaning of this?" inquired Aunt Eleanor. "You 
 speak of a person having been on the parapet. What do you mean." 
 
 " Since you know so much, dear," replied Mrs. Delolme, " I'll explain 
 all to you by and bye." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " I can make nothing of it at present. 
 Perhaps after breakfast some light may appear. Come," he added, "let 
 us go down. Lock the door, Tom, and keep the key in your pocket." 
 
 Tom did so, and as they were going down stairs, he said privately to 
 Sylvester, " Victibised agaid! Sure to have the luck of it! If there's 
 ady luck stirridg, I'b just as safe to have it as St. Paul's Churchyard is 
 to have the widd." 
 
 Now it strangely enough happened, that while they were at breakfast, 
 the Rev. Mr. Rouse was at breakfast too, and it also happened that he 
 had no sooner finished his first cup of coffee than Sylvester's letter 
 arrived. 
 
 "London," said he, musingly looking at the post-mark; "from that 
 kind creature of course! And yet," he added, turning to the super- 
 scription, "it is not her writing. Tut! bless my life; now whose hand 
 can it be? I've seen it before! I know the hand well! well, now, 
 that's very strange. The seal too a boar's head that is not her crest ! 
 But the writing! that's the point! Now whose can it be?" 
 
 The reverend gentleman took up an egg not conceiving that that 
 would assist him; but he took up an egg and broke it, chiefly in order 
 that his memory might have some refreshment. But no: that memory 
 of his failed him: he could not remember whose writing it was, nor 
 could he conjecture ; but as it occurred to him, at length, that if he were 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 145 
 
 ;o break the seal he might in an instant ascertain, he opened the letter, 
 ind when he saw from whom it came, he at once recollected the hand. 
 
 But of all the extraordinary expressions into which a man's counte- 
 lance ever yet was tortured, his were the most extraordinary, and at the 
 same time perhaps the most rapidly varied, when he saw what that letter 
 contained. 
 
 Having read the first sentence which opened the whole case he 
 turned to the fire and violently poked it. He then read the next, and, 
 albeit the word " stout " provoked something like a smile, while the ex- 
 pression of the highest confidence in his judgment was, as far as it went, 
 agreeable, the strongest feelings he experienced the feelings which pre- 
 vailed the feelings which were in the ascendant throughout were those 
 of wonder and vexation, lie knew not why he should be vexed. It 
 was amazing, certainly at least, to him it appeared amazing that she 
 should have entertained the thought of enteriiur into the marriage state: 
 but then why should the circumstance vex him? lie really couldn't. 
 tell. He didn't know. And yet one of the strongest feelings with which 
 it had inspired him was that of vexation. 
 
 "Tut! bless my life!'' he exclaimed; "who would have thought it? 
 Tcha! well! married. Bless my heart alive. Tche! What a. 
 singular thing! Married! God bless me. Tcha! I must be off", sir! 
 be off! Tchu! the strangest thing I ever heard of. Tche! I never 
 more surprised. Well, that does astonish me. Tcha! Bless my 
 soul. Well, so it is! There's no time to be lost!" 
 
 Having delivered himself tit fully thus, the reverend irentleman rang 
 the hell, and when he had hastily directed the servant to fill his carpet- 
 bag with shirts, stockings, shoes, cravats, <huvinir machinery, and so on, 
 he wrote a note to a reverend friend in the vicinity, requesting him to 
 officiate during his absence. 
 
 Again he rang the bell. 
 
 " Tell Jones," said he, when the servant appeared, " to put the horse 
 in. I'm going to town. Tell him to be quick, or we shall miss the 
 coach !" 
 
 He then went up to dress ; and when all had been prepared, he dashed 
 through the village at a more rapid rate than he had ever dashed through 
 that village before. 
 
 "Hollo!" said Obtidiah, as he and Pokey saw him pass. "What's 
 Ted up to now? There's something in the wind. You saw his carpet- 
 bag, didn't you? What's the odds he isn't going after his Rosalie? I'll 
 bet you Avhat you like, she's been down here, incog! I'll bet you what 
 you like, he lias seen her, and finding that he couldn't carry his games 
 on in a place like this without exciting observation, sent her to London, 
 where he is off to now ! Come, I'll bet you what you like of it come !" 
 
 " He's off somewhere," said Pokey. 
 
 " Of course, he is! And isn't it disgusting? Isn't it enough to make 
 one's hair stand on end? I see it all clearly. It fructifies in my mind 
 readily enough. / see the manoeuvre. Yet these arc the men we bow 
 and scrape to these are the men we pamper and praise! But just 
 look you here, if we haven't before long a rattler, my boy, I'll eat grass 
 
 L 
 
146 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 like a cow! Sure to have it safe it must come: and do you mark 
 my words, let it come when it will, all of that kidney may look out for 
 |ii:ills. What, do you suppose that, because Johnny Bull is an ass 
 now, he'll be an ass always? The idea is rotten. No; just look you 
 here now, and do you mind this : no sooner are the people's eyes a little 
 matters open no sooner have they got out the dust that has blinded 
 them ever since Peter the Great's time than down comes a regular 
 amalgamating battery, that'll stalk through the land, and sweep every- 
 thing before it. There'll be no swindles no petty-larceny plundering 
 proud pick-pocketing pensioners no placemen no priestcraft no 
 poverty then : bribery and corruption will then be struck flat ; and if 
 ever they're suffered to rise again, it'll be the people's fault. We shall 
 then see how siich men as Teddy Ronse'll stand. They won't have 'em 
 at no price no more they don't ought. They'll be swept clean away- 
 as old Boney once said, when he went out to welt the invaders swept 
 clean from the face of the earth, and sent after their French girls their 
 Rosalies pretty dears! There, if I'd my will, I'd have a rope to reach 
 from one steeple to another, and string 'em all up in a lump. I'd do it 
 wholesale / wouldn't mince the matter with them: I'd rid the earth of 
 them at once, and then the mass of money which they swallow up 
 would go into the pockets of the poor. As for Teddy Rouse why, it's 
 awful to see a man in his situation at this game. Here's a man running 
 after French girls openly and in the face of day, and yet look you here 
 we paij that man expressly to teach us morality. I mean to say it's 
 monstrous. Isn't it, now, dreadful? When you come to look at it, isn't 
 it disgusting?" 
 
 " It's all very well what you say," replied Pokey; " btit you've been a 
 preaching without any text!" 
 
 " Text!" exclaimed Obadiah. " Ted is my text corruption's my text 
 immorality's my text national swindling's my text revolution's my 
 text ! Everything's my text, when I see men like Teddy Rouse going at 
 this rate." 
 
 " At what rate?" 
 
 " At what rate? Why, running after Rosalies !" 
 
 " You don't know, in this case, that it is so." 
 
 "Not know! You're a Tory: I always thought you were a Tory 
 not know?" 
 
 " You only guess." 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll bet you what you like of it!" 
 
 " Bet me? You know I never bet." 
 
 "I'll bet you five shillings of it: now, there!" 
 
 "But how can you prove it V 
 
 "Never you mind I'll prove it!" 
 
 " But when?" 
 
 " Within eight- and-forty hours." 
 
 " Then blame my buttons" cried Pokey, " if I don't take you. JVcif 
 then there's my crown." 
 
 "No, I sha'n't put down the money: let it be till the bet's decid! 
 Mind you, I'm to prove that Ted's now gone to London." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 147 
 
 " You are to prove that he's now gone after ^iim- girl, and that that 
 tniTs- name is Rosalie." 
 
 "Not a bit of it there you quibble. No; the bet's off I'll not bet 
 with any man who quibbles." 
 
 "I don't at all quibble: but I didn't think you n\>uld make such a 
 bet as that." 
 
 " Look you here," said Obadiah ; " you'll turn up a Tory now mark 
 you that. I've long hud my suspicions ; but if you don't vote for the 
 fructifying Tories, at the very next election, you'll wholly surprise me. 
 I'm ashamed of you, Pokey, as true as I'm alive; and so I'll leave you 
 to your reflections. Good day." 
 
 As Obadiah left, Pokey smiled; knowing well, that although he 
 couldn't compete with him in talking, he had but to pin him to a point 
 and he was done. 
 
 During the whole of that morning, Mrs. Uelohne and Aunt Kleanor 
 were conversing on the subject of supernatural appearances, which is at 
 all times, and especially with the ladies, a prolific and highly interest- 
 ing theme. The conversation sprang, of course, out of that morning's 
 marvel; and although Mrs. Dclolme had entertained the belief that Tom 
 had himself placed the skeleton there, . she felt IUTM -If eventually con- 
 strained t<> admit that it was p..ssilili ju^ possible that the spirit 
 which formerly inhabited that skeleton had caused it to walk to the win- 
 dow alone. She would, however, give no opinion on the point: that 
 she reserved until she had consulted Mr. Terrc. - s li" was sure that tie 
 would be able to settle the question; and, as >he felt that he was in- 
 spired as she religiously believed that he had divine authority for every 
 word he uttered it was, in her judgment, altogether impossible, that 
 any opinion which he might express upon '///// snbjivt could be wrong. 
 She, therefore, calmly waited to consult her oraele. lint the feelings of 
 Aunt Eleanor were of a more distressing oaflte: lh<- mystery all'eeted her 
 far more deeply. The idea of a >pirit if a >pirit it really were follow- 
 ing her thus, and being visible only when she was near inspired her 
 with the most intense feelings of alarm. Her thoughts again reverted 
 to her broken-hearted brother. The death-bed .scene \\a> again before 
 her: she again heard his last declaration of innocence; and as her former 
 apprehensions, that, to comfort her, he. had uttered a falsehood with his 
 dying breath, again came strong upon her, her affliction was poignant in 
 the extreme. This, however, she thought it prudent to conceal from 
 Mr>. Delolme. She had no confidence in her judgment. She could not 
 -peak to her as to an ailectionate friend; she could not unbosom herself 
 freely; she was not a friend to whom she coidd open her whole heart, 
 knowing well that if she did, instead of deriving consolation, she should 
 be rendered still more wretched. She was, therefore, on that point 
 silent. She conversed, indeed, freely on the subject of supernatural 
 appearances in general, but the immediate source of her own peculiar 
 sorrows she did not disclose. 
 
 At the same time the doctor, Tom, and Sylvester were conversing on 
 the same subject, but in a more philosophical strain, in the study. The 
 idea of there being anything supernatural in the removal of the skeleton 
 from the position in which it usually stood to the trap, they unanimously 
 
148 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 repudiated as being utterly absurd. They all felt that it had been re- 
 moved by some one: on that point they had not the slightest doubt; 
 the only question with them was, who had removed it? Various were 
 their conjectures, and, as is customary in such bases, very conflicting; 
 but those which appeared to them to be most probable, were at length 
 reduced to two : one being, that it was a trick of one of the servants, and 
 the other, that the thing had been done by the man whom the police- 
 man saw the previous night on the parapet. The latter was suggest* -d 
 by Sylvester himself. 
 
 "For," said he, "although it is clear that had he jumped straight 
 down from the window he would have been caught in the trap himself, 
 it is also clear that, by going on one side, or even over the trap, he must 
 necessarily have escaped it. I have no doubt that he did either one or 
 the other, and that, subsequently finding the trap set for him, he placed 
 the skeleton in it, and made it assume the position in which it was 
 found." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " that certainly appears to be reasonable, as 
 far as it goes; but what could be the man's object incoming here? That 
 is the point which puzzles me." 
 
 " It might be idleness merely," said Sylvester; " or what, perhaps, he 
 would call fun. He is clearly a fanciful fellow. The position in which 
 he placed the figures before, and especially that in which this is now, 
 tend to prove that if his object be not purely fun, he imagines he has 
 some fun in him." 
 
 " If I catch hib," said Tom, " I'll show hib a little bore fuel. He 
 shall hibselflook fuddy, before I've dodewith hib." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " we have come to this point, and it appears 
 to be the most reasonable at which we can arrive. We must endeavour 
 now to prevent a recurrence of these tricks, and I think that we shall 
 at once attain that object by having the window barred." 
 
 " Doe," said Tom, " dod't bar the widdow yet. I wadt to catch hib ; 
 add that I shall catch hib, I'll bet ted to wud." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, smiling, " if you should happen to catch him, 
 and you find that fun is his only object, you must, in the administration 
 of your justice, be merciful." 
 
 " Oh ! I'll be berciful," replied Tom. " Dothidg that he ever had id 
 the shape of bercy shall surpass it. I'll give hib such ad out-add-out 
 dose of bercy, that a bile off people shall hear hib proclaib how pecu- 
 liarly berciful I ab." 
 
 The doctor smiled, and left the study, when Tom and Sylvester -re- 
 placed the male skeleton in its former position, and busied themselves 
 about the bones of the female, until they were summoned to dinner. 
 
 As usual, the dinner went off flatly: for although the doctor chatted 
 and that sometimes gaily too no one else did ; Mrs. Delolme would 
 not; Aunt Eleanor could not; and while Tom dared not, Sylvester 
 thought he ought not. When, therefore, the ladies had retired, not only 
 Tom and Sylvester, but the doctor himself, felt much relieved, and, 
 after a pleasurable and profitable discussion profitable especially, in a 
 professional point of view Tom and Sylvester left to attend that even- 
 ing's lecture. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST?. 149 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, on leaving the house, " what am I to present to 
 this poor girl? The thing had better be done at once. What is it to be?" 
 
 " Oh!" replied Tom, " bake her a presedt of adother ridg." 
 
 " She appears to have an abundance of them already." 
 
 " What id the jewellery lide has she dot ad abuddadce of?" returned 
 Tom; "chaids, brooches, decklaces, earridgs I cad't thidk of adythidg 
 of the sort that she has dot got." 
 
 " Had she a bracelet on last night ?" 
 
 " The very thidg ! I rebebber dow she has doe bracelets." 
 
 " Then we had better go and buy a pair at once." 
 
 They went accordingly into the first jewellers shop they came to, and 
 having fixed upon a pair of a chaste and elegant pattern, they purchased 
 them, and then went direct to the hospital. 
 
 Now, before they arrived before they could have arrived there, a 
 cab drew up to the door of Dr. DelohiK 1 , and when the driver had given 
 his customary knock a knock which quite frightened the occupant of 
 the cab, who felt really very nervous on bcinir announced in a style 
 which he conceived to be so dreadfully distingue James came to the 
 door, and then went to the cab, and, having satisfactorily answered two 
 questions, was presented with the card of the Reverend Edward Rouse. 
 'lames opened the door for the reverend gentleman to alight, and he 
 alighted; and drew out his purse. The fare was a shilling, but as he 
 had been, by that knock, convinced that the driver conceived him to be 
 some highly important personage, he gave him half a crown : which was 
 very incorrect of the reverend gentleman, for, had that cabman known 
 why the extra fare was irivrii, he'd have subsequently split, if he hadn't 
 smashed in, every door it became his duty to knock at. The reverend 
 gentleman, however, unconscious of that fact, gave the half-crown, and, 
 having followed James in, was shown into one of the parlours. 
 
 "Good gracious!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, when James had delivered 
 the card; "is it possible?" 
 
 "Anything the matter, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Delolme. 
 
 "I fear there is something," replied Aunt Eleanor; "I very much 
 fear it, for Mr. Rouse, of whom you have heard me speak, dear, has come 
 unexpectedly from Cotherstone." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Delohne; "I'm quite delighted. Pray do 
 not let him go, dear, until you have introduced him." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor left the room ; and on entering the parlour, she at once 
 grasped the hands of the reverend gentleman, with an expression of cor- 
 diality mingled with apprehension. 
 
 "My dear, dear friend!" she exclaimed. "Why, when did you arrive?" 
 
 " I came by the coach," replied the reverend gentleman ; " the same 
 coach as that which you came by." 
 
 "Well: I'm much pleased to see you: is all right at home?" 
 
 " Oh ! quite right : quite right ! Why, really," he added, with a play- 
 fid expression, " you must, indeed you must, be very wicked, for since 
 you left us, the village has been as tranquil as possible : no noises, no 
 annoyances, no apparitions: no; nothing at all of the sort." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor was sad. She could have wept ; but would not do so then. 
 
 " Well now," he continued, " I only came this evening just to say, 
 
150 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 how d'ye do, and to let you know that I had arrived. I'll call in the 
 morning: what time shall I call?" 
 
 "Oh, as early as you please! but you are not going yet?" 
 
 "Yes; I'll call in tjie morning: we shall then be more tranquil. You 
 have much to say to me, and I have much to say to you. In the morn- 
 ing we'll talk over everything calmly." 
 
 " But I really cannot permit you to leave me in such haste. Come 
 into the drawing-room come." 
 
 "No, no, my dear madam; you perhaps have a party." 
 
 "No, indeed, we have not: there's only Mrs. Delolme, who is exceed- 
 ingly anxious to be introduced to you. The doctor is unfortunately out 
 now, but he will be in presently: Sylvester, too, will be in very soon: 
 therefore, come, my dear sir nay, you really must come. Mrs. 
 Delolme, I know, will scold me, if you go without allowing me the 
 pleasure of introducing you to her." 
 
 " Well, my dear madam, if you are sure that I'm not intruding, I 
 shall be happy to be introduced to that lady. I cannot," he added, 
 playfully, and at the same time pressing both her hands in a style which, 
 for him, was extremely unusual, " I cannot nor will I cause you to be 
 scolded. I may scold you myself that, perhaps, I may do but you 
 must not be scolded by any one else." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled she didn't at all understand what he meant, 
 still she smiled; and, having conducted him into the drawing-room, 
 presented him at once to Mrs. Delolme, who received him, gracefully it 
 is true, but with that excessive formality which freezes. The reverend 
 gentleman was awed! The severity of her expression had at lirst the 
 effect of blocking up all conversation. Aunt Eleanor, however, at 
 length broke the ice, and until the return of the doctor a stream of reli- 
 gious discourse flowed freely. 
 
 While they were thus engaged, Tom and Sylvester were listening 
 with laudable attention to a highly important pathological lecture, 
 during the delivery of which neither Julia nor the bracelets were, for 
 one moment, thought of. At the conclusion, however, both were in- 
 stantly remembered, and Sylvester, taking Tom's arm, proceeded at once 
 to the bar of the Bull, accompanied, as usual, by half-a-dozen friends. 
 
 As they entered, Julia was looking anxiously at the clock, for about 
 the fiftieth time in the course of ten minutes, but when she saw Syl- 
 vester, her heart leaped with joy, although she felt more than ever 
 embarrassed. 
 
 Sylvester bowed and slightly smiled, and as he smiled she blessed him. 
 
 Having managed, mechanically, to supply the demands of the noisy 
 students, she retreated to the other end of the bar, when Tom, perceiving 
 that Sylvester had not been supplied, cried, " Hollo, here! What do 
 you bead? What's by friedd dode? Isd't he to have adyV 
 
 "Beally," said Julia, coming forward in a tremor, and addressing 
 Sylvester, "upon my word, I beg pardon: pray forgive me." 
 
 " I see how it is," said Tom, as Sylvester was endeavouring to con- 
 vince her that it really wa* a matter of no moment: "you are in love 
 with Bob Topps." 
 
 " Why, of course," cried Bob Topps, a short, stout, stumpy student, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 151 
 
 who .^ported ;t comical conical hat! "That all the world knows. We are 
 going to tie up as .soon as I've passed.'' 
 
 Julia smiled and retreated again. 
 
 The .students now entered into an animated discussion upon a point 
 to which, in the course of the lecture, particular reference had been 
 made, and when Sylvester found that they were much too intent upon 
 the subject to notice 7m, he made a signal for Julia to approach. 
 
 "Nw," >aid he, "you must perform your promise by accepting these 
 from me." 
 
 Julia took the bracelets, placed them in her bosom, and pressed them 
 to her he-art, and having taken his hand with a fervent expression, 
 exclaimed, " God bless you!'' 
 
 Tom, although apparently engaged in the discussion, saw all that 
 passed, and shortly afterwards expressed himself precisely to this effect: 
 "Dow, by boy, tibe's up, we bust bizxle are you ready? 1 ' 
 
 "Quite," returned Sylvi >ter; "quite.' 1 
 
 "Tiled we'll be off. (Jood dight !'' he adi led, addressing the students; 
 "I shall see you to-borrow." 
 
 " To-borrow bordidg," said Hoi. T>pp>, -or to-borrow dight, TobV 
 
 Hereupon there was a laugh a loud laugh among the students, and 
 during its continuance, Sylvester shook hands with Julia, who was in 
 consequence overjoyed, and having said, " Good night!" left the house 
 with Tom. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is," said Tom, " that girl's id love with you. 
 Dothidg cad be clearer thad that. But it wod't do, Syl. Doc, that'll 
 dever do." 
 
 " What will never do?" 
 
 Why, it'll dever do for you to bo caught, Syl, id that trap." 
 
 "Caught in that fmji!" echo. ; There's an end of it. 
 
 I have accepted a present from her, and she has accepted a present from 
 me that settles it." 
 
 " Yes, by boy, that settles it e. rtaidly a> far as it goes; but if you 
 codtidue to go there, by boy, you'll cause her to believe that you are 
 desperately id love with her.'" 
 
 " Well, then, I had better go there no more." 
 
 " Why doe bad has a right to cause a girl to believe that he's id love 
 with her udless he intedds to barryher. 
 
 " Very true: and as of course I have no such intention, I had better 
 not go there again.'' 
 
 "Why I should say," observed Tom, "that you'd fly at a little 
 higher gabe thad a barbaid.'' 
 
 " I have no contempt for her because she is a barmaid. That which 
 you told me last night, Tom, convinced me that she ought now to be in 
 fl better position. I would not trifle with the feelings of such a girl; 
 I would not raise hopes which could never be realised. I am sorry now 
 that I went there at all ; but the matter is settled : I go there no more." 
 
 " She's ad artful card do doubt," said Tom, "add if you give her a 
 chadce she bay addoy you, which wouldd't be pleasadt : it Avouldd't for 
 idstadce be pleasadt at all were she to cobe sobe fide bordidg to have a 
 chat with the old ladies ! ' Where do you live, dear ?' by bother would 
 
152 SYLVESTEH SOUND 
 
 ask < At the Bull.' What's the Bull?' 1 A public-house,' ' Add 
 what are you, dear ?' * I'b the barbaid.' Wouldd't the old swell oped 
 her eyes ! Sedd I bay live, what a look she'd have for her ! Doe it 
 wouldd't do at all to give her a chadce of goidg there, which she bight, 
 add perhaps would do, to addoy you." 
 
 That Tom did not do justice to Julia is clear, but he gained his point, 
 and the subject dropped. 
 
 On reaching home, Sylvester, when he heard of the arrival of his reve- 
 rend friend, was delighted and amazed. 
 
 " Who is it, Syl?" inquired Tom. 
 
 " Mr. Rouse." 
 
 "Mr. Rouse: ah! who's he ?" 
 
 " The Reverend Mr. Rouse." 
 
 "Oh: a parson: ah: 7 shall go idto by study. Jib, bridg be sobe 
 coffee up there. 
 
 " But you'll come in and speak to him of course," cried Sylvester. 
 
 " Doe, Syl, I dod't like parsod's id private. They are all very well 
 id the pulpit, but id a roob I cad't bear theb." 
 
 " Oh, but he's such a very nice fellow. I'm sure you'll be pleased 
 with him. Do come in." 
 
 " Well, I'll go id with you; but if he be adythidg at all like the crew 
 whob we used to have here, I shall cut it id a bobedt." 
 
 They then entered the drawing-room, and Sylvester seized the reve- 
 rend gentleman by the hand, and having shaken it heartily, introduced 
 Tom. 
 
 " Well!" exclaimed Sylvester, "this is unexpected. Why, I'd no idea 
 of your coming to town." 
 
 " I had no idea of it myself, till this morning," returned the reverend 
 gentleman, inferring at once that they wished it to appear that his visit 
 was quite unexpected. 
 
 " And did you leave the village pretty quiet ?" resumed Sylvester. 
 " Have any ghosts been seen by the people since we left ?" 
 
 " No: all has been tranquil perfectly tranquil." 
 
 " By the by, Mr. Rouse," observed Mrs. Delolme, " what is your opi- 
 nion of supernatural appearances of visions of ghosts ? Do you think 
 that they are really ever seen ?" 
 
 " I have not the slightest doubt upon the subject," replied the reve- 
 rend gentleman. 
 
 " Doe bad," said Tom, to whom the reverend gentleman seemed to 
 appeal " that is, doe idtellectual bad, I should thidk, cad have dow the 
 ghost of a doubt about that." 
 
 " I have myself seen one," resumed the reverend gentleman and 
 Tom privately intimated to Sylvester that he had nearly put his foot in 
 it " I have seen one enter a room, walk deliberately across it, look . 
 about, turn, and then walk deliberately back as distinctly as I see you 
 before me." 
 
 " And it is, I suppose, impossible," said Mrs. Delolme, " for yo*u to 
 have been in a reverie at the time ?" 
 
 " Quite impossible quite. 
 
 " I mean, you could not have seen it iu imagination, merely?" 
 

 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 153 
 
 " Certainly not. Had I been alone I might have doubted I might 
 have doubted even the evidence of my own .senses I should have been 
 then inclined to believe that I had seen it merely in imagination ; but 
 I was not alone: I was with one who had no imagination in him! 
 pardon the expression I mean my gardener, whose mind I believe to 
 be as destitute of imagination as it is possible for the mind of a man to 
 be." 
 
 " And may I ask, did lie see it?" inquired the doctor. 
 
 " lie did, as distinctly as I saw it myself." 
 
 " And had you any proof that it was not flesh and blood?" 
 
 " Why I cannot say that I had any actual proof." 
 
 " Neither you nor your servant attempted to touch it?" 
 
 "No, neither attempted to touch it." 
 
 " Did it make any noise as it walked along?" 
 
 " Not more than you or I should make without our boots." 
 
 " But as much you think V" 
 
 " I should say quite as much.'' 
 
 " Then there must, T submit, have been something more than spirit 
 about it." 
 
 " I believe not. The noise indeed might have been imaginary; but 
 the appearance of the figure I am satisfied was not." 
 
 "Well," said the doctor, "these things are extraordinary: many 
 equally extraordinary things have been accounted for; but as many 
 have occurred for which we cannot account, we must view this ae being 
 one of them." 
 
 The time had now arrived when the reverend gentleman thought it 
 prudent to depart. I le had previously been engaged by the doctor to dine 
 with them on the morrow, but while taking leave of Aunt Eleanor, he 
 promised to call upon her early in the morning. 
 
 Almost immediately after he had left, Mrs. Delolme, who was very 
 highly pleased with him, rang the bell for prayers, and when they had 
 been read, Tom and Sylvester retired to the study. James had pro- 
 vided a pound of Gorman sausage for them this time, nnd a couple of 
 bottles of Burton ale, the whole of which they managed between them, 
 of course ! and when Tom had set the trap again, and placed a piece of 
 string across the window, so that even the slightest touch would bring 
 down a, shelf laden with empty bottles, they left the study and retired to 
 rest. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE DELICATE DISCLOSURE. 
 
 IN the morning, Tom, on awaking, found the skeleton by his side. 
 He started, of course, when he saw it first, and opened his eyes and his 
 mouth. There it stood within a foot of him pointing directly at him 
 with its right hand, and making a fist of its left. 
 
 
154 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Tom got out of bed on the other side, of course and he wasn't 
 long about it. He didn't at all like the look of the thing. Nor did the 
 expression of his features denote the existence of unmingled joy. lie 
 felt queer. He couldn't understand it. There it stood in a menacing 
 position, with a white pocket handkerchief tied round its shin. 
 
 "Dodsedce!" cried Tom, at length. "Pooh! I wod't have it! I say, 
 old fellow, what gabc do you call this?" 
 
 The skeleton was, as usual, silent, and Tom went round to inspect it 
 more closely. "I'd sbash you, old fellow," said he, indignantly, "if I 
 thought you had adythidg like life id you!" And, having given 
 utterance to this remarkable expression, he went as he was into 
 Sylvester's room. 
 
 " Adother gabe, Syl," said he. " Cobe add look here." 
 
 " What now?" exclaimed Sylvester. 
 
 "Just cobe add look.TT-There !" he added, as Sylvester entered his 
 room. "There you are! what do you thidk of that?" 
 
 "Good gracious!" cried Sylvester. "What, was it there when you 
 awoke?" 
 
 " Exactly id that positiod. I haved't touched it." 
 
 "Well, this Estrange!" 
 
 "Do you see its leg tied up, as if it were idjured whed caught id the 
 trap?" 
 
 "Really, this surpasses all!" 
 
 "Dow, we wod't tell the wobed about this," said Tom; "if we do, I'b 
 safe to be victibized agaid; but the goverdor shall see it, add thed we 
 shall hear what he thidks of the batter." 
 
 Again and again Sylvester expressed his surprise, and feeling in 
 reality all that he expressed for he hadn't the most remote idea of the 
 manner in which the skeleton had been removed he returned to his 
 own room to dress. 
 
 During breakfast, not a syllable on the subject was uttered; but after- 
 wards, Tom took jthe doctor np stairs and showed him the thing as it 
 stood. 
 
 "And do you mean to say, Tom, you know nothing of it?" said the 
 doctor, who began to suspect Tom himself, 
 
 "All I kdow of it," replied Tom, "is this: that there add thus it stood 
 whed I awoke." 
 
 "But were you not disturbed at all during the night?" 
 
 " Dot at all. Add I defy ady bad alive to cobe idto by roob while I'b 
 asleep without wakidg be up. 
 
 "Whose handkerchief is that round the leg? That, perhaps, may 
 give us some clue." 
 
 Tom took off the handkerchief; and, having examined it, found that 
 it was his own. 
 
 "Ah!" said the doctor, suspiciously. "Well, all I can say, Tom, is$ 
 that it's strange. We may, perhaps, find it all out by and bye." 
 
 He then left the room; and, as Tom perceived clearly that he was 
 again suspected, he struck the intruding skeleton in the mouth, and 
 knocked its head off. 
 
 As the doctor was thoughtfully going down staii'8, Aunt Eleanor's 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 155 
 
 vcrend friend arrived; aud, on being announced, was welcomed Avith 
 armth by all, save Tom, who was privately engaged in delivering a 
 eeply indignant soliloquy. Even the features of Mrs. Delolme were 
 .ilaxed when the reverend gentleman appeared; for all the virtues he 
 _ ossessed, with all those which he could be imagined to possess, had 
 been by Aunt Eleanor duly set forth. 
 
 There was, however, one fact which puzzled him exceedingly: and 
 hut was, the absence of all anxiety on the part of Aunt Eleanor to 
 have a private conference. He couldn't understand it. lie had fancied 
 ;lwt her anxiety to converse with him privately would have been most 
 intense! instead of which, In- found that even the most favourable 
 opportunities were lost, and that, in fact, she was not at all anxious 
 about the matter. 1I<' was not, it ig true, displeased with this: it 
 didn't in the slightest degree distress him: it, on the contrary, tended to 
 convince him, that tin- stout individual in question, was one whom she 
 really didn't care much about; but he did think it strange exceedingly 
 strange that after having summoned him to London, expressly in 
 order to eoiiMilt him on the subject, she should not in any manner, 
 cither directly or indirectly, allude to it. It was true she miyht be wait- 
 ing until he had seen this stout gentleman: certainly this struck him as. 
 l>eing extremely probable: it moreover struck him, that as bulk was 
 the point at issue, he couldn't form anything like a just judgment upon 
 that point, until he had seen him: still, although these might be the 
 real causes of her silence, and although he thought it likely that lie 
 fhould meet him at dinner he could not but feel notwithstanding the 
 delicacy of the subject that a few brief preliminary observations would 
 . ivenble. and, by no means whatever, inc.>n 
 
 In ih- course of the morning, Mr-. Delolme e\-]iv>sed an earnest 
 desire to introduce him to .Mr. Terre, and a^ the reverend gentleman 
 conceiving that In- wax in reality the man who had proposed 
 equally anxious for the introduction, the carriage wax immediately 
 ordered, and they went. 
 
 Hi' now thought he saw clearly how the case stood: that this gn at 
 gun was tin 1 stout individual that Mrs. Delolme knew all about it 
 and that she had been deputed by Aunt Eleanor to manage the intro- 
 duction, in order that he might at able to pass judgment upon 
 the point at issue. 
 
 Instead, however, of rinding Mr. Terre the stout person he had ima- 
 gined, he found him particularly thin, which at once upset all his ideas 
 on the sultject of his being the man, and tended to remove those pre- 
 juolices against him, which he had almost involuntarily inspired. 
 
 In bringing these two reverend persons together, Mrs. Delolme 
 perhaps naturally anticipated a high intellectual treat; but, as this 
 anticipation was not based upon any profound knowledge of the men, 
 she was doomed to experience disappointment. They were both super- 
 ficial, and therefore both cautious. They were afraid of each other, 
 and knowing that there exists much virtue in silence seeing that it- 
 leaves an immense amount of eloquence, genius, tact, and erudition, to be 
 imagined prudence prompted them both to avoid every subject upon 
 which they conceived a discussion might arise, 
 
156 SYLVESTER SOUNt) 
 
 But although disappointed in this respect, their silence had a great 
 effect on Mrs. Delolme; it caused her to believe that they were both 
 profound, and hence to raise them in her estimation, for she felt it to be 
 the true silence of wisdom ; and so, indeed, it was, as far as that wisdom 
 went. 
 
 Well ; that Mr. Terre was not the individual in question, the reverend 
 gentleman now felt convinced, he therefore resolved to wait till dinner 
 time with patience, in the full expectation of seeing him then, and 
 being anxious to call upon a friend or two in town, he, on their return, 
 took leave until five. 
 
 Meanwhile Tom and Sylvester were busily engaged in devising means 
 by which they might solve that mystery, the effect of which, upon the 
 minds of Dr. and Mrs. Delolme had wounded Tom's private feelings 
 deeply. He knew that he was unjustly suspected, of course; he also 
 knew that, unless the whole affair was satisfactorily cleared up, his 
 reputation must suffer. He admitted that, in the absence of all proof 
 to the contrary, the suspicion that he had invented these tricks with the 
 view of clearing himself of the accusation of Ninety-nine, was neither 
 irrational under the circumstances, nor strained; but he did think it 
 hard knowing his innocence very hard, that every thing he did for 
 the purpose of removing that suspicion, should have a direct tendency 
 to confirm it. 
 
 " But I'll dot give it up," said he, having invented and repudiated fifty 
 schemes which at first appeared likely to achieve the object in view. " 111 
 dever give it up till I fidd out the cause, although we had better perhaps 
 keep it to ourselves udtil the gradd result is discovered. Dow I'll tell 
 you what I'll do to begid with: I'll sedd Jib out for a couple of bells, 
 add as the skeletod seebs to be either directly or iddirectly the great 
 swell, I'll hadg them ibbediately over by head, add have stridgs at- 
 tached to its legs, so that if it be reboved however slightly the bells 
 bay ridg udkdowd to hib who reboves it." 
 
 " Very good," said Sylvester. " But why send James for the bells ? 
 Why let him know anything about them? you'd better get them your- 
 self: or I'll run and get them for you. We shall however have to go 
 out, by and bye, and then we can bring them in with us." 
 
 " That will be the best way, certaidly," said Tom, " but what do you 
 thidkoftheschebe?" 
 
 " I think it a very good one. But / should advise sitting up, here 
 in the study. I'll sit up with you with pleasure." 
 
 " It wod't do, Syl I'b sure it wod't do. Whed they see a light 
 they'll cut back." 
 
 " Then let's sit in the dark." 
 
 " Id the dark ! What bortal cad keep hibself awake throughout the 
 dight id the dark? Hubad dature hasd't the power to do it." 
 
 " Td do it. I'd keep myself awake especially on such an occasion* 
 I'd stake my existence upon it." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " suppose we try the bell dodge first. The thidg 
 cad't be boved without causidg the bells to ridg, dor cad the bells ridg 
 without wakidg be. I therefore thidk that we had better try that dodge 
 to-dight, the result of which bay perhaps guide us to-borrow." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 157 
 
 " Very well: then let it be so. We'll bring the bells in with us when 
 ve go out." 
 
 Having decided on pursuing this course, they left the study to prepare 
 for dinner; and on going into the drawing-room shortly afterwards, 
 found that the reverend gentleman had arrived. He did not, however, 
 appear to be at ease. He was evidently anxious about something. He 
 kept fidgeting about, and glancing at the door, and starting when any 
 one entered. 
 
 " Your aunt and I," said he at length to Sylvester aside, " have had 
 no conversation on that subject yet." 
 
 " Have you not," said Sylvester, who conceived that he alluded to the 
 mystery which still occupied his thoughts. 
 
 " I don't think she likes to allude to the subject." 
 
 " Very likely not. But did you ever hear of anything so extraordi- 
 nary so unaccountable?" 
 
 " I never was more astonished in my life than when I heard of it." 
 
 "All in the house were astonished." 
 
 "Do they all know of the circumstance -V" 
 
 "Oh! yes. But whatever may now occur will be concealed from 
 them all till the point has been gained." 
 
 "Do you think that his object then will be attained T 
 
 " I've no doubt of it." 
 
 " Well !" said the reverend gentleman, thoughtfully, " it is altogether 
 the strangest thing I ever heard of." 
 
 Dinner was announced : and although no stout individual had arrived, 
 ihe reverend gentleman felt very nervous. This feeling, however, while 
 'hey wt-re at dinner wore oft": indeed the doctor, who was at all times 
 anxious to make those around him happy, at length put him in high 
 spirits by his lively and interesting conversation. He was delighted 
 with the doctor. He had never met with a man whom he. admired so 
 much. And the doctor was equally delighted with him; for simplicity 
 of manners is appreciated most by those who are most conversant with 
 the world's hypocrisy. 
 
 At eight o'clock Tom and Sylvester left; and as the ladies had pre- 
 viously retired, the reverend gentleman fully expected that the doctor 
 would allude to the contemplated marriage, seeing that Sylvester as 
 he imagined had told him that the whole affair was known to them 
 all. But the doctor, of course, knowing nothing about it, did not say a 
 word upon the subject; which the reverend gentleman thought very 
 strange, fueling convinced that he was perfectly cognizant of the cause 
 of his coming to town. As, however, the subject was not alluded to by 
 him, he did not like to allude to it, and therefore no allusion was made 
 to it at all. 
 
 About nine, the doctor was summoned to see a patient, and having 
 taken the reverend gentleman up to the ladies, apologised and left; and 
 as, shortly afterwards, Mrs. Delolme quitted the room to give some in- 
 structions to the servants, Aunt Eleanor, addressing her reverend friend, 
 who was anxious for her to begin, said, " Well ; and when do you think 
 of leaving town?" 
 
Io8 
 
 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Why," replied the reverend gentleman, " that depends upon circum- 
 stances entirely." 
 
 " I see. But you do not think of having just yet?" 
 
 " Wliy no. Until something has been settled of course, I shall not 
 think of leaving. When do you think this affair will be arranged?" 
 
 " What affair do you allude to?" 
 
 " Why, of that affair of course which has brought me to town." 
 
 "Oh! I beg pardon. I didn't ask as a matter of cariosity. I thought 
 it might be something in which I was concerned." 
 
 " And so, my dear madam, it is." 
 
 11 Indeed! Why what do you mean?" 
 
 " I know your delicacy," replied the reverend gentleman, with great 
 deliberation, "and I appreciate it highly: but when am I to be intro- 
 duced to him?'' 
 
 "To him! To whom?" 
 
 " Why, this gentleman." 
 
 " What gentleman?" 
 
 "Why, the gentleman who has made you an offer." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, gaily, being quite disposed to keep 
 up that which she conceived to be a very pleasant jest, " I understand. 
 You shall be introduced: I'll promise you ///a/." 
 
 " Is he very remarkably stout?" 
 
 " Not very not remarkably so at least, not that I know of. But 
 you shall see him one of these days." 
 
 One of these days! This, under the circumstances, struck the reve- 
 rend gentleman as being a most extraordinary expression. One of these 
 days! Had he come between sixty and seventy miles, nominally for the 
 purpose of being introduced to this man, but virtually in order to be 
 told that he should see him one of these days? 
 
 " He is in town, I presume?" said he, after a pause. 
 
 " Really," returned Aunt Eleanor, still keeping up the assumed joke, 
 " I don't know exactly where he is at present/' 
 
 " Indeed! But, of course, he'll be here in a day or two?" 
 
 " He may be ; and when he does come, I'll at once introduce him 
 you funny man, be assured of that." 
 
 Funny man! Well, in the judgment of the reverend gentleman, it 
 was a funny affair altogether. He didn't know that he was particularly 
 funny : he might be he wouldn't undertake to deny that he was : nor 
 did he deny it but he thought the whole proceeding of course very o< Id. 
 
 "But," said he, "in the event of your accepting this offer, when do 
 you think the affair will take place?" 
 
 "Well, I really cannot say; but, when it docs take place, you will, I 
 hope, do me the favour to officiate?" 
 
 " I shall feel, on the occasion of your marriage, great pleasure in being 
 jwesent. But I suppose it will be settled now in a very few days?" 
 
 " No, I don't think it will be so soon." 
 
 " In a week, then, or so?" 
 
 " I think not so soon as that." 
 
 " Well, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, who really 
 

 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 159 
 
 It very much embarrassed, for, while he could not but think that he 
 id not been exactly treated well, he was anxious to conceal the fact of 
 is being annoyed, "you know best, certainly you ought to know best, 
 ut I presume, from what you have said, that you intend to accept his 
 fer?" 
 
 " Why, really, that is a question which I cannot answer now. I shall, 
 awever, be in a position to do so immediately after the offer has been 
 Me." 
 
 "After it has been made! Has it not already been made?" 
 "Not yet: no: it has not been made yet." 
 <4 Oh! I beg pardon ! I thought that it had been." 
 "Why, what do you mean? There is nothing in your countenance 
 icetious ; and yet you are jesting, of course?" 
 "Jesting! Bless my life, no; I'm not jesting at all." 
 "Do you really mean to say that you are serious?" 
 "Perfectly so." 
 " Then what do you mean?" 
 
 "You have had or rather you expect to hare, an offer of marriage: 
 o you not?" 
 "No!" 
 
 " But a gentleman has proposed, or is about to propose to you?" 
 " Not that I am aware of." 
 
 "Tut! bless my life: a stout gentleman ! one whom you think 
 >mewhat too stout?" 
 "I know nothing of it." 
 
 "Well, but really, my dear madam is that a fact?" 
 "I know nothing whatever, my dear sir, about it." 
 l.lt-s my heart alive! Well, but did you not direct a letter to be 
 ?nt to me, stating that such was the case?" 
 " Most certainly not." 
 
 "The young dog the young rascal. I'll give him a lecture. I 
 louldn't have supposed it. I shouldn't have thought he mmld have 
 one such a thing. The young scamp." 
 " To whom do you allude?" 
 "To Sylvester." 
 
 " Sylvester ! Well, but, my dear sir, you don't mean to say that our 
 Sylvester sent such a letter as that?" 
 
 "Here it is!" replied the reverend gentleman, searching all his 
 pockets with astonishing rapidity. " Here it is! No, it isn't: it's in my 
 other coat. But Sylvester sent me a letter which letter you shall see 
 to-morrow morning to this effect : that you had desired him to inform 
 nit , that you thought of entering into the marriage state: that you 
 hadn't exactly made up your mind: that you would not do so until you 
 had consulted me: that you fancied that the gentleman, who had made 
 you an offer, was somewhat too stout " 
 "Too stout!" cried Aunt Eleanor, laughing. 
 
 " Yes : somewhat too stout : that you would not decide until you had 
 had my opinion upon the point; and that, if that opinion were favour- 
 able, you wished me to perform the marriage ceremony." 
 
160 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "Why, you ama2e me!" 
 
 "That is the substance of the letter which I received yesterday 
 morning." 
 
 " And signed by Sylvester." 
 
 " Signed by him in his own hand-writing." 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 " It's a fact. I'll take my oath to the writing. I'd just commenced, 
 breakfast when the letter arrived, and when I read the contents you may 
 imagine my surprise." 
 
 " You might well be surprised," said Aunt Eleanor, smiling. 
 
 " I was surprised, because I never imagined for one moment that you 
 contemplated anything of the sort. However, it appeared to me quite 
 clear then, and therefore I came up to London at once." 
 
 " And was this the sole cause of your coming to town?" 
 
 " I had no other object than that of seeing you." 
 
 " Then, really, I am very sorry for it." 
 
 "I am not / am not! On the contrary now that I find that it's 
 nothing but what they, in London, call a hoax I'm quite pleased I'm 
 delighted ! It seems to have struck into my mind a new light : it has given 
 animation to feelings which have long lain dormant. I candidly confess 
 to you that I am much pleased : nay, I'll also confess to you, this ; that 
 I came up fully determined to oppose that man's claim, by declaring 
 if I found that he was anything of a size that he ivas, in reality, much 
 too stout." 
 
 " What!" said Aunt Eleanor, gaily; "and thus to prevent me from 
 gaining an affectionate husband?" 
 
 "No; to prevent you merely from having him. But we'll speak 
 more of this by and bye. The idea of my leaving that letter at the inn! 
 I wish that I had brought it. I changed my coat, you see, when I went 
 to dress." 
 
 " Well, but are you quite sure," said Aunt Eleanor, upon whom the 
 observation of the reverend gentleman, having reference to those feelings 
 which had long been dormant, had a very peculiar effect; "are you 
 certain that that letter was written by Sylvester?" 
 
 " Quite. But you shall see it in the morning, and form your own 
 judgment. I feel quite clear upon the point." 
 
 " Then, really, I must scold him well." 
 
 "Leave that to me, my dear madam: just leave that to me. Although 
 I cannot be angry with him for it, /'// give him a lecture. We had 
 better not, however, say a word to him to-night. I'll bring the letter 
 with me in the morning, and then we shall have all before us." 
 
 Mrs. Delolme now re-entered the room, and shortly after, the doctor 
 returned and recommenced chatting to the reverend gentleman, while, 
 at intervals, Aunt Eleanor merrily laughed at the idea of her having 
 objected to a lover on the ground of his being too stout. 
 
 Soon after the return of Tom and Sylvester, their reverend friend 
 took his leave, and when prayers had been read, they went as usual, 
 into the study to supper, and when they had eaten to their hearts' con- 
 tent, they adjusted the bells, and went to bed. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 161 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE BELLS. 
 
 So much has been written and said about LOVE, that, were not his 
 itiful features ever varying and ever new, the subject must have 
 in ere this exhausted. One of the peculiar attributes of Love is his 
 itual juvenility his immortal youth. He was created with the 
 'reation : he was the favourite boy of Eve : Eve was remarkably fond 
 f Love; and he has been ever since the first favourite of her daughters. 
 rom the Creation he lived till the Deluge: he was in the Ark with Noah, 
 ,ad welcomed back the dove. From the Deluge he lived till the com- 
 nencement of the Christian Era, and in the whole of the proceedings of 
 he eventful period which intervened took an active and a most con- 
 ipicuous part. From the commencement of the Christian Era he 
 mtiuued to live; and he is alive now, and full of health, joy, and 
 aauty, and, albeit six thousand years old, doesn't look more than six. 
 This, however, may be said to be a painter's view of Love. Let 
 3 view Love philosophically. Stop! Philosophically? No: that is 
 apracticable quite. Love repudiates Philosophy, and Philosophy 
 tpudiates Love. They are, and ever have been, at war: they are, 
 fact, the greatest enemies that ever had existence each breathes 
 'ruction to the other: they are very inveterate foes. Love frequently 
 Philosophy, even in the very streets ; which is very incorrect of 
 >ve certainly ; but then Philosophy is constantly endeavouring to upset 
 >ve! Sometimes, however, Love in his most amiable moments will 
 it Philosophy calmly, and try to effect something like a reconciliation ; 
 ut Philosophy will not be propitiated, conceiving that Love can never 
 jpve Philosophy. Nor can he; nor can Philosophy ever lov Love, 
 ve may be beloved by millions dearly; but never can Philosophy 
 a lover of Love. 
 
 It being, therefore, impossible to take a philosophical view of Love, 
 nippose we take a common sense view and yet, what on earth has Love 
 do with Common Sense? Absolutely nothing. Love doesn't even 
 >w Common Sense. We cannot, therefore, take a common sense view 
 >f Love. No; if we view him at all, we must view him as he is a 
 lonarch reigning in the hearts of his people : a mighty monarch the 
 ing of Hearts : a king without revenues sufficient to find him even in 
 irts an absolute and a naked king! a king, moreover, glorying in his 
 .akedness, of which, being pure, he is never ashamed: a king whose 
 ion is illimitable, and whose' prime minister is so impartial, that 
 strikes the light of Love into the souls of all, without reference to 
 ither cast, colour, or creed. 
 
162 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 He doesn't, however, always inflame the thrilling bosoms of youth : 
 he'll sometimes let people alone for forty or fifty years. This may be 
 held to be an extraordinary fact, but it is a fact, nevertheless a fact 
 which must not be denied, nor, for more than a moment, even doubted, 
 seeing that Aunt Eleanor and her reverend friend supplied at this period 
 a case in point. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor was upwards of forty years of age, and the reverend 
 gentleman was upwards of fifty, while neither had, up to this time, really 
 loved. The germs of love were in the hearts of both, but they had 
 never struck root. And in speaking of love, it must be understood as 
 love, not certainly contradistinguished, but distinguished from affection; 
 for while Aunt Eleanor was one of the most affectionate creatures that 
 ever breathed, the affections of the reverend gentleman were strong. It 
 will hence be seen that love does not necessarily co-exist with affection: 
 in other words, that affection may exist without love; for certain is it 
 that the reverend gentleman never inspired the passion of love until he 
 received Sylvester's letter, and that Aunt Eleanor never really felt that 
 she loved, until her reverend friend spoke of those feelings which had in 
 his bosom lain dormant so long. Then, indeed, the flame burst forth 
 to amaze them with the consciousness of their having been formed to 
 love each other; and that consciousness, coupled with the amazement 
 thereon consequent, kept them awake on the morning that followed 
 the eventful day of which the preceding chapter treats until half-past 
 two o'clock. 
 
 At half-past two it was a singular coincidence they both fell asleep, 
 and they hadn't been asleep more than fifteen minutes, when Tom heard 
 his bells. 
 
 "Hollo: very good!" said he, getting out of bed. "Stop a bidite, 
 add I'll give you pepper! 1 ' And, grasping a stick, a blow from which 
 would have made the head of any man ache for a month, he went up 
 stealthily into the study. 
 
 "Who's there?" he demanded, in tones of indignation. "Do you 
 hear?" 
 
 All was silent. 
 
 " I've got you, have I?" he continued. " Very good. Wait a bidite :< 
 let's strike a light, add have a look at you. Dow thed !" he added, 
 having lighted the candle; " dow thed! where are you? Do you hear? 
 It's of doe use, you kdow codcealbedt is vaid. Do you hear? I'll 
 sbash you, if you dod't cobe out! Where have you got to? Hollo!" 
 
 All was still silent. There was not a breath to indicate the presence 
 of a soul. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is, old fellow," resumed Tom, "you've poked 
 yourself sobewhere ; but dod't believe I'b goidg to give you up : dot a 
 bit of it! I'll have you, add doe bistake: you'd better cobe out <| 
 your hole : d'ye hear ?" 
 
 Tom examined minutely every cupboard and every corner; he looked, 
 round and round, but no creature could he see. He also examined tht 
 ske'eton. There it stood it didn't appear to have been removed il 
 didn't appear to have been touched, and yet he heard the bells 
 
K 
 
 I till HI 
 
 
 
> 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 163 
 
 surely could not have been mistaken it that? The very thought 
 nduced a doubt. He felt that he might have been mistaken : he thought 
 t possible just possible that he had been dreaming, and, while dream- 
 ng, fancied he heard the bells. 
 
 " Well, if it is so, it is!" he at length exclaimed. " I certaidly thought 
 hat I heard theb. However, it's clear that there's dobody here, so I 
 >ay just as well go to bed agaid as dot." 
 
 He, therefore, descended, and put out the light, and, having established 
 lis stick near the pillow, got into bed again calmly. He had scarcely, 
 lowever, covered himself comfortably up, when the bells began to ring- 
 again merrily. 
 
 " That's sobethidg dear the bark, at all evedts!" cried Tom, who was 
 )ut of bed again in the twinkling of an eye. " There cad be doe bistake 
 dow! Wud bobedt, by friedd," he added, grasping his stick " odly 
 top wild bobedt, add you'll oblige be." 
 
 Again he stealthily ascended to the study, and with feelings of hope 
 ooked round and round. There wasn't a corner there wasn't a hole 
 ufficiently large to admit a mouse that then escaped minute examina- 
 ion. He looked everywhere again and again, but the result was 
 .estruction to the hope he had inspired. 
 
 " If," he exclaimed, " I do dail you, Heaved have bercy upod your 
 odes, for they shall bake the sweetest busic bodes ever had the ability 
 o bake." 
 
 Having given emphatic expression to this sentiment, he again descended 
 nd got into bed; but his head had not been on the pillow three minutes, 
 vhen the bells again recommenced ringing. 
 
 "Go it!" he cried, "by all badder of beads. There's dothidg like 
 akidg edough doise. But if you thidk I'b goidg to cut up add dowd 
 tail .s nil the blessed bordidg, you'll fide yourself bistaked, by friedd, doe 
 oubt ! Dow thed," he added, in the depths of thought, " what's to be 
 ode? That fellow's sobewhere there cad't be two opidiods about 
 hat. But where? That's the questiod. He's havidg a gube, add a 
 ice gabe it is. But sedd I could catch hib! Pull 'eb dowd," 1 he added, 
 s the bells continued to ring; "dod't be dice about it dod't bidce the 
 attcr: pull 'eb dowd! Well, I'll go up agaid wodce bore; add if I 
 hould dail this idgedious gedtlebad, it strikes be as beidg extrebely 
 robable that he'll kdow it !'' 
 
 Once more, accordingly, Tom left his room, and, on going up stairs 
 e fell over a string, which not only brought the bells and the skeleton 
 own, but pulled Sylvester half out of bed and awoke him. 
 
 " Who's there?" cried Sylvester, in startling tones " Who's there?" 
 
 "I!" replied Tom. "Dod't be alarbed dod't be alarbed!" and he 
 ushed at once into the study. 
 
 " Tom !" cried the doctor, who had heard the noise, " what on earth 
 re you about?" 
 
 "Adother gabe!" replied Tom. "Here's adother dice gabe! Just 
 obe up odly cobe ; frob this spot I'll dot bove ad idch !" 
 
 The doctor, who really felt very much annoyed, slipped on his dress- 
 Qg-gown at once ; and as he was proceeding up stairs, with the view of 
 
164 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 speaking to Tom very severely, Sylvester, who was somewhat alarmed, 
 came cautiously out of his room. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this?" said the doctor. 
 
 " Upon my word, I don't know," replied Sylvester. " Some one 
 pulled me nearly out of bed just now." 
 
 " Pulled you nearly out of bed? Oh! we must investigate this. Now, 
 sir," he added, on reaching the study, " what is all this about?" 
 
 " It's a gabe," replied Tom. " But he's here I kdow he's here!" 
 
 " Who's here?" 
 
 " He whob I'd give ady buddy to see." 
 
 " Nonsense!" cried the doctor. " I demand an explanation." 
 
 " You shall have it," said Tom. " But just wait a bidite: just wait 
 till I've foudd hib. I'b adxious to give hib ad expladatiod first." 
 
 " What do you mean, Tom? Surely you are mad. There's no one 
 here." 
 
 " Sobe wud was here, add that dot two bidites ago." 
 
 " I don't believe it: I cannot believe it!" 
 
 " I'b sure of it. If dot, how cabe by bells to ridg?" 
 
 "What bells?" 
 
 " Why, by bells: the bells which I hudg up id by roob last dight." 
 
 " Tom, what do you mean?" 
 
 " I bead that the bells which I hudg up id by roob last dight, adci 
 which cobbudicated with the legs of by bad, have beed ridgidg away fo 
 the last half hour ; add I also bead that those bells would dot have rudg 
 if the stridgs had dot beed pulled ; that by bad would dot have failed 
 if he had dot beed touched, add that, therefore, sobe wud has beed here.' 
 
 " Tom," said the doctor, with an expression of severity, " I'll not 
 disturbed thus night after night. We must, I see, get lodgings for yoi. 
 somewhere else." 
 
 " The disturbadce is dot of by creatiod. You dod't thidk that I have* 
 disturbed you?" 
 
 " Who else could have done it?" 
 
 " That's the very poidt I'd give a billiod to ascertaid!" 
 
 "As far as I alone am concerned, it's a matter of slight importance; 
 but when the whole house is disturbed, it's most unpardonable. Ever 
 Sylvester must have his rest broken! What was your object in pulling, 
 him out of bed?" 
 
 " Out of bed! Syl ! pull hib out of bed? Why I haved't beed idtc 
 his roob !" 
 
 "If you didn't, who could have pulled him out of bed?" 
 
 "That's the poidt that's the very questiod! But were you thec' 
 pulled out of bed, Syl?" 
 
 " I was, very nearly." 
 
 " But you dod't bead to thidk that I did it?" 
 " It's a matter of little moment, Tom, whether you did or not." 
 " But I clidd't ! I haved't beed dear you!" 
 " Then it must have been some one else. I only wish that he hadn't 
 cut my hand quite so much." 
 
 "Has your hand been cut?" inquired the doctor, taking it immediatel| 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 165 
 
 ;n his. " It appears to have been cut with a string. Tom," he added 
 sternly, "go to bed, sir; and let us have no more of this folly." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " but do you bead to bead " 
 
 " I have nothing more to say," observed the doctor. 
 
 " Well, I suppose you'll let be explaid?" 
 
 " I don't require any explanation," said the doctor, who left the study, 
 and in silence returned to his room. 
 
 " Victibized agaid !" exclaimed Tom, as the doctor left him. " Shouldd't 
 I be happier id the grave? I do believe that if you were to go frob us 
 roudd to our Adtipodes, you wouldd't beet with a bore udfortudate swell. 
 If there be ady luck afloat, it's perfectly sure to cobe idto by harbour. 
 I'b wud of the elect to receive addoyadce. I'll back byself agaidst ady 
 bad id the udiverse to have byself bisudderstood, add by botives bisid- 
 terpreted. Dow look here, Syl : you kdow the purpose for which I put 
 up those bells. Wi-11, about half ad hour ago, I heard theb ridg, add I 
 cabe up daturally with this sball stick, expectidg to fide a bad of sobe 
 sort. But doe: he'd cut it; add I wedtdowd afraid; add the bells radg 
 .igaid, add agaid I cabe up add had by usual luck agaid ; add agaid I 
 wedt dowd, whed the bells radg agaid; add just as I was cobidg up 
 here for the last tibe, to see if I could dail this varbidt what would I 
 dot give to see hib dow! I fell over sobethidg, add grazed by shid 
 brought dowd by bells, add brought dowd by bad add * for all these 
 courtesies' I ab dedoudced! If this be dot edough to bake a bad love 
 his bother, I dod't kdow what is!" 
 
 " Then did you fall?" 
 
 "Fall! Slap! over sobethidg: I dod't kdow what, dor do I care 
 but I fell, add I suppose it was the doise I bade that woke you?" 
 
 " No," returned Sylvester, " some one had hold of my hand!" 
 
 " Is that a fact?" ' 
 
 " Oh ! there's no doubt at all about it. I was pulled more than hall 
 out of bed!" 
 
 " Add did you see do wud dear?" 
 
 "Not a soul! I was somewhat alarmed at the moment, and called 
 out to know who was there, and you answered me." 
 
 " Thed I suppose that I'b let id for that ?" 
 
 " Not at all. You stated just now that you didn't come near me: I 
 am, therefore, quite satisfied on that point; but that some one was near 
 me at the time, is quite clear." 
 
 " Well, but where could he have gode to? I saw doe wud cobe frob 
 your roob ! I wish I had it would have beed a happy idcidedt ! How 
 could he by ady possibility have got out? Add if he could have got 
 out, he couldd't have rushed past be without by seeidg hib ; add if eved 
 he could have rushed past be idvisibly, he couldd't have pulled you out 
 of bed dowd there, add kdocked by bad dowd here, at wud add the sabe 
 tibe." 
 
 " There may be two of them." 
 
 " Good ! so there bay. But if I odly caught wud, I'd give hib edough 
 for both. I dod't thidk, however great a gluttod he bight be, that he'd 
 hesitate for wud sidgle bobedt to codfess that he had had bore thad his 
 
166 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 bodicub bore thad he could, with ady great degree of cobfort, digest. 
 But isd't it stradge, dow, that we cad't get to the bottob of this? Isd't 
 it barvellous, Syl?" 
 
 " It is indeed. I know not what to think of it." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " I suppose they are pretty well satisfied dow? I 
 presube they dod't idtedd to do ady bore bischief this bout ! we'll, there- 
 fore, go to bed. But I'll try adother dodge or two. Of course, I'b safe 
 to be bade a bartyr: I've suffered three bartyrdobs already, but I'll dot 
 give it up. If they are to be caught, I'll catch 'eb ; add if I do catch 
 'eb, I'll strodgly recobbedd theb to look out! I'll reward theb hadd- 
 sobely they shall be paid! I feel dow as if I could half burder a 
 couple with all the pleasure that appertaids to life. However, let's pludge 
 idto bed agaid. I feel so biserable, Syl, that I've a good bide to say I'll . 
 go to sleep for a bodth !" 
 
 They then returned to their respective rooms, and were disturbed no 
 more. 
 
 In the morning, almost immediately after breakfast, the reverend 
 gentleman called ; and Aunt Eleanor, with all that tact by which ladies 
 aro commonly characterised, arranged matters so that they were alone. 
 The reverend gentleman was in excellent spirits he had not, indeed, 
 been for some years so gay; but Aunt Eleanor felt tremulous, and 
 anxious, and odd : her pulse did not beat with anything like regularity, 
 nor did she speak with any certainty of tone : she knew not, in fact, what 
 to make of her feelings : they appeared to her to be so extraordinary 
 so droll there was, in a word, a certain novelty about them which she 
 could not at all understand. 
 
 " Now, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, when all the 
 preliminaries to conversation had been arranged, "I'll show you my 
 credentials." And taking Sylvester's letter from his pocket, he presented 
 it with an air of confidence perfectly consistent with the feelings he en- 
 tertained. 
 
 " Dear me," said Aunt Eleanor, on glancing at the letter, " this is 
 indeed his handwriting! And yet how extraordinary it is, that he 
 should have sent such a letter. I cannot account for it at all!" 
 
 " The young rogue! like a young colt or a young kitten full of play, 
 my dear madam, full of play!" 
 
 " But it is so contrary to his general character and conduct." 
 
 " Youth, youth !" said the reverend gentleman. " Youth always was, 
 and always will be youth!" 
 
 This remarkable observation settled the point as far as it went, and 
 Aunt Eleanor proceeded to read the letter ; but while she was reading, 
 the reverend gentleman who watched her with an expression of anxiety 
 mingled with delight could not perceive the slightest change in her 
 countenance ; at which he marvelled and naturally ; seeing that he was 
 at the time perfectly unconscious of the fact that, although she was 
 reading with great apparent care, she was in reality thinking of some- 
 thing else. Had the reverend gentleman the previous day omitted the 
 observation having reference to the resuscitation of certain feelings, 
 which had long been lying dormant, she would, while reading this letter, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 167 
 
 have laughed heartily; but as that observation had been made, she 
 looked at the fruit, of which she conceived it to be the germ her 
 thoughts were not upon the cause, but the effect and therefore, while 
 reading it, she didn't laugh at all. 
 
 Well, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, "what is your 
 impression now?'' 
 
 "It certainly is Sylvester's hand-writing," she replied; "but what 
 his object could have been, I cannot possibly conceive." 
 
 "Fun, was the young rogue's object, no doubt! It is clear that he 
 thought it an excellent jest." 
 
 "But such jests, my dear sir, are highly incorrect! he must be 
 scolded!" 
 
 " Leave that to me, my dear madam : leave all that to me. I'll give 
 him a lecture. Shall we have him in now?" 
 
 " I think that we had better." 
 
 The bell was rung, and Sylvester was summoned; and when he 
 appeared, he greeted the reverend gentleman, precisely as if unconscious 
 of the existence of any such letter, as that which Aunt Eleanor held in 
 her hand which was thought very remarkable. 
 
 " Sylvester," said the reverend gentleman, assuming a somewhat stern 
 expression, " I am anxious to have a few words with you, calmly. 
 Sylvester: there are jests which are venial, and jests which are not: 
 there are jests which are harmless, and jests which are not: jests which 
 are harmless, are those which I hold to be venial; jests which are not 
 harmless, must be condemned. But there are, independently of those 
 which I have named, jests which, although in themselves unimportant 
 or, I should rather say, apparently unimportant are calculated to lead 
 to important results, and it is to this particular species of jest that I now 
 wish to call your attention. In all ages jesting has been known. His- 
 tory, both sacred and profane, speaks of jesting. The Pagans' chief 
 jester was deified : Momus was the heathen god of jesting. Kings and 
 princes have kept their jesters, sometimes with the view of being 
 rebuked for their follies, but more frequently, I fear, for the purpose of 
 being applauded for those follies sometimes, that their passions might 
 be regulated by wit, but more often that wit might pander to those pas- 
 sions. Jesting has, therefore, antiquity to recommend it; but this is 
 not the point at which I am anxious to arrive. Jests or jokes they 
 are strictly synonymous may be divided into two distinct classes: 
 those which are salutary and those which are pernicious : I use the term 
 1 salutary,' advisedly, seeing that a well-timed jest has frequently been 
 known to do much more good than a sermon. Again: there are white 
 lies and there are black lies: there are also white jokes and black jokes; 
 but albeit, a He, whether white or black, is still a lie; and a joke, 
 whether white or black, is still a joke; lies are at all times highly 
 reprehensible, while jokes at all times are not. There are practical 
 jokes and theoretical jokes: moral jokes and physical jokes: there are, 
 moreover, jokes which are based upon falsehood and jokes which are 
 based upon truth; but the jokes to which I am anxious to direct your 
 attention, are those in which falsehood is involved. Now, it seems to 
 
168 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 me, to be perfectly clear that you would scorn to tell a deliberate false- 
 hood ; but it is nay, it must be equally clear that you imagine that 
 when a falsehood is involved in a joke, it loses its reprehensible 
 character." 
 
 "Not at all!" said Sylvester, who had been throughout utterly at a 
 loss to understand what the reverend gentleman was driving at. " A 
 falsehood, no matter what colour it may assume, or however ingeniously 
 it may be disguised, is, as you have said, a falsehood still ; and I should 
 no more think of telling a falsehood in jest, than I should of telling an 
 absolute falsehood in earnest." 
 
 "My dear madam," said the reverend gentleman, "just oblige me 
 with that letter. Sylvester," he added, "my anxiety is to impress upon 
 your mind that a falsehood is a falsehood, and nothing but a falsehood, 
 if even it be playfully enveloped in a joke. Now, allow me to read this 
 letter: 'My dear aunt desires me to inform you that she has an idea of 
 entering into the marriage state.' Is there not a falsehood involved in 
 this? Were you ever desired by her to inform me of anything of the 
 sort? But to proceed " 
 
 " Nay I beg pardon what letter is that which you are reading?" 
 
 " What letter? This letter your letter." 
 
 " My letter?" 
 
 " The letter you sent to me!" 
 
 " You are mistaken. / have sent you no letter." 
 
 "But this letter is yours?" 
 
 " Not if it be addressed to you. I never wrote to you in my life." 
 
 " Well, but look at it. That is your writing, is it not?" 
 
 "It looks like my writing most certainly; but I never wrote it." 
 
 " My dear," said Aunt Eleanor, "if it be yours confess it. I will not 
 be angry; indeed, I will not: although it is certainly very incorrect, 
 yet I pledge you my word that I will not be angry." 
 
 " My dear aunt," said Sylvester, " if it were mine I should feel my- 
 self bound to confess it at once ; but I assure you, most solemnly, that 
 it is not. I never had occasion to write to Mr. Rouse ; nor have I ever 
 written to him. The resemblance which this writing bears to my own 
 is amazing but I pledge you my honour that it is not mine." 
 
 " Well, but really," observed the reverend gentleman, " it seems to 
 me to be almost impossible to have been written by any one else." 
 
 "If I cannot induce you to believe me," said Sylvester, "I am, of 
 course, sorry exceedingly sorry I can, however, say no more than I 
 have said, the substance of which is, that that letter never was written 
 by me." 
 
 " But you perceive it bears your signature! He who counterfeits 
 the signature of another, is guilty of an act of forgery, and forgery is 
 a crime which is punishable by law it is, in fact, a transportable offence 
 it used to be, indeed, a hanging matter but even now a man who 
 commits an act of forgery, may be taken up and treated as a felon he 
 may be tried in a criminal court, and if the jury find him guilty, the 
 judge may pass upon him a sentence of transportation. It is therefore 
 improbable most improbable that any man could, for the sake of a 
 
1 
 
 
 ,-- 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 169 
 
 joke, be so awfully reckless, as to place himself thus in a position to be 
 torn from the bosom of his family to be branded as a felon a common 
 felon and compelled to work in ignominious chains." 
 
 "However improbable it may appear," said Sylvester, "that any one 
 besides myself wrote that letter, I repeat most firmly and most 
 solemnly repeat that it never was written by me. You remember the 
 note that was found at the cottage the note addressed to Rosalie the 
 hand in which that was written resembled mine as strongly as this does, 
 and I have not the slightest doubt that the person who wrote the one 
 wrote the other." 
 
 "Well; it's very mysterious," said the reverend gentleman. "Of 
 course,' I am bound to believe you on your honour; still I must say 
 it's very mysterious." 
 
 " It is," returned Sylvester, " very mysterious. But I assure you, 
 my dear aunt I do assure you both that I would not be guilty of so 
 great an act of folly." 
 
 " I am sure that you would not my dear," said Aunt Eleanor. " I'm 
 perfectly satisfied now, but I thought I did think that you might 
 perhaps have done it by way of a jest. I am now, however, firmly 
 convinced you did not, and you must therefore forgive me for sup- 
 posing that I was justified by that letter in believing that you did." 
 
 The reverend gentleman scarcely even then knew what to make of it : 
 nor did he much care about saying another syllable on the subject; he 
 saw more clearly than he had ever seen before that Aunt Eleanor was 
 an amiable affectionate creature, who was anxious to take the most 
 charitable view of everything that could be said to involve a doubt, and 
 was therefore most anxious for Sylvester to leave; but before he was 
 able to give an intimation of this anxiety, they were joined by the 
 doctor and Mrs. Delolme, whose presence prevented an interesting scene 
 which the reverend gentleman had in contemplation. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 THE forms in which proposals of marriage are made, are as various 
 as the views, thoughts, and passions of those who make them. It may 
 at first sight appear strange that there should be so many ways of doing 
 one and the same thing; and yet, perhaps, of the myriads of millions 
 who have proposed, no two men ever either in ancient or modern 
 times managed this matter precisely alike. Nor is it at all probable 
 that any two men ever will ; for, independently of the infinitely varied 
 characters of lovers, the minds, forms, features, and feelings of those 
 whom they love are so diversified, that every proposal, whether romantic 
 
170 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 or rational, ardent or cold, pathetic or comic and the comic style is by 
 far the most popular among the ladies will have some little novelty 
 about it. 
 
 Without, however, dwelling upon this, it is certain that one of the 
 easiest things in the world for a man to do, is that of proposing to a 
 widow. She understands it so well. She knows so exactly what you 
 mean, and what you are anxious to say; and helps you over any little 
 difficulty with so much tact, that it's really quite delightful. Yes; 
 a widow most certainly affords every possible assistance to a man in 
 this position. But while it is certain that the easiest proposal a 
 man can make is that which is made to a widow, it is equally certain 
 that by far the most difficult is that which a man has to make to an 
 old maid. 
 
 Now, albeit Aunt Eleanor was an old maid, it is highly correct to 
 cause it to be distinctly understood that she was not so particularly 
 antiquated as some may imagine. No! she was upwards of forty; but 
 although the exact age of a single lady above forty is conventionally 
 apochryphal, it may be said that she was much nearer one than one 
 hundred with safety, seeing that no man in Europe can prove that she 
 was not. 
 
 The reverend gentleman, however, did not look at her age he looked 
 at her virtues : her amiability, her piety, her benevolence, the sweetness 
 of her disposition, and the purity of her heart. Still he conceived it to 
 be extremely difficult to propose ; and that apparent difficulty increased 
 as the time drew near at which he had determined that the proposal 
 should be made. How hard he studied, few can tell; how many times 
 he rehearsed that which he had fixed upon as his opening speech, few 
 have the power to form anything like a correct conjecture; there are, 
 however, many who can tell precisely why, when the time for the deli- 
 very of that speech had arrived, his recreant memory abandoned his 
 will; there are also many in a position to understand how it happened 
 that, having resolved on the immediate pursuit of his object, he at once, 
 notwithstanding that desertion, commenced. 
 
 At this time he and Aunt Eleanor were in one of the doctor's draw- 
 ing-rooms alone ; and as there appeared to be no prospect of any imme- 
 diate interruption, he coughed slightly coughed and thus began: 
 
 " Have you seen the papers this morning?" 
 
 " I saw one in the breakfast-room, but I merely glanced at it." 
 
 " You didn't read the debate in the House of Commons, I presume?" 
 
 "Parliamentary debates I very seldom read: I am not sufficiently 
 conversant with political affairs to read those awfully long speeches with 
 any degree of interest. Was there anything of importance brought for- 
 ward last night?" 
 
 " Why, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, I perceive, announced that 
 the expenditure exceeds the income." 
 
 " Indeed! Some bad management, I presume?" 
 
 " He says not and he ought, I think, to know as well as any man in 
 England. But it strikes me that I could suggest to him the means by 
 which the revenue might be increased!" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 171 
 
 " He would be glad, I should say, if you were to do so, But what is 
 the nature of the means you would suggest ?" 
 
 " Merely the imposition of an additional tax. 1 ' 
 
 " Are we not sufficiently taxed already?" 
 
 " It appears that we are not ! If we were, the income would be suffi- 
 cient to meet the expenditure." 
 
 " In private life it sometimes happens that the expenditure exceeds 
 the income, even when, for all just and legitimate purposes, that income 
 is ample ; but I suppose that, in public affairs, the case is different. I 
 do not, of course, pretend to understand that difference, but I should 
 like to know what description of tax you would suggest to the Chan- 
 cellor of the Exchequer." 
 
 " Well," said the reverend gentleman, with a peculiarly bland expres- 
 sion, " that which I contemplate is a tax upon all single men above 
 forty!" 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled and blushed. She knew what he meant: she 
 knew what would follow she understood him as well as he could have 
 been understood, even by a widow, but was silent. 
 
 " I would," he continued " I would tax those fellows to the extent 
 of five-and-twenty per cent, upon their incomes. What business have 
 men of that age to be single? Do you not think it disgraceful? Don't 
 you think that a tax of the kind ought to be imposed?" 
 
 " Why," said Aunt Eleanor, " it would be a novel tax." 
 
 "As far as men are concerned, it certainly would be; but in the 
 feudal times the ladies who held fees or estates which required military 
 services were thus taxed, with the view of inducing them to marry, in 
 order that their husbands might perform those services themselves." 
 
 " But no tax in this case can be imposed on those grounds." 
 
 " Very true: still I'd tax them! I'd make them either marry or pay." 
 
 " They had better pay than be unhappy." 
 
 " Granted! But I do not associate unhappiness with marriage: it is, 
 I admit, often the result; but there are men who will, when there is a 
 bright prospect of happiness before them, continue to live in the shade." 
 
 " In such a case they cannot, I submit, see that prospect?" 
 
 "No, that's the point. They are blind morally blind: sand-blind, 
 as I have been selfishly blind. But I'd open their eyes. I'd tax 
 them ; there's nothing in life like taxation, when the object is to bring 
 men to their senses. Nor would I permit them to occupy a whole 
 house: they should merely have lodgings. Look at my house; it's a 
 nice house, a good house, a capital house. You might make it a com- 
 fortable house, but I can't ; and as I can't, what right have I to live in 
 it alone?" 
 
 " You cannot be said to live in it alone." 
 
 " Conventionally, an unmarried man is single, and a single man lives 
 in the world morally alone. Now, I want to know why / should live in 
 the world alone: in other words, I want to know why I should remain 
 unmarried?" 
 
 " I see no reason why you should : except, indeed, that you are 
 happy." 
 
172 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " But, my dear madam, I am not happy. I used to be happy cer- 
 tainly ; but ever since I received that note I have felt a certain sort of 
 something like a wish to be married. Now, I do not belong to the 
 Church of Rome I belong to the Church of England ; and therefore I 
 do not see why I should not enter into the marriage state. Do you see 
 any just cause or impediment?" 
 
 " Oh, dear no: none whatever." 
 
 " Do you see why I should not marry, when marriage presents a 
 bright prospect of happiness?" 
 
 "No: I really do not." 
 
 11 Then I want your advice." 
 
 " But I have had no experience in these matters." 
 
 " So much the better: I'd rather, my dear madam, have your advice 
 upon this point especially than that of any other creature breathing. 
 Now, suppose that I were in love that is to say, suppose that I had so 
 firm so ardent an affection for a lady, that I imagined marriage to 
 be absolutely essential to my happiness: suppose this, I merely say 
 suppose it, and then tell me what you'd advise me to do?" 
 
 "Really," replied Aunt Eleanor, smiling, "I'm so perfectly unac- 
 quainted with affairs of this character, that I feel quite incompetent to 
 offer advice." 
 
 "But how, in this case, do you think I ought to act?" 
 
 "Well, really I scarcely know: but I should think that if you are 
 in the position you describe, you ought at once to propose to the lady." 
 
 "Very good. But how is it to be done?" 
 
 " I cannot give you any information upon that point." 
 
 "Well, but how do you imagine it ought to be done?" 
 
 " Upon my ivord, I cannot say. I have had so little experience in 
 these affairs, that it may almost be said that I am ignorant of them." 
 
 " But you have had offers?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I have had many offers, certainly." 
 
 "Will you do me the favour to explain to me how they were made?" 
 
 " My dear sir really I scarcely know how it is possible for me to 
 do so." 
 
 "If you would, you would oblige me. I should then know exactly 
 how to manage it myself." 
 
 "Well: but upon my word, the idea of your asking me for infor- 
 mation on the subject appears so excessively odd." 
 
 "My dear madam, whom should I ask for information but one is able 
 to give it? I pledge you my honour, I never proposed to a lady in my 
 life; I cannot, therefore, be expected to know anything about the 
 matter: whereas, you having had offers made you, know well how the 
 business is done." 
 
 " I really do not pretend to know anything about it." 
 
 " I am aware that you do not pretend to know ; and this absence of 
 all pretension, in my judgment, constitutes one of your most admirable 
 characteristics, but you nevertheless do know all about it; do you not?" 
 
 " Upon my word it seems so strange that / should be thus applied 
 to." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 173 
 
 " To whom else can I apply? Now do let me know all about it." 
 
 " Well, but what do you wish to know?" 
 
 "How to propose: that's the point. I merely wish to know how 
 it's done." 
 
 " But, my dear sir, unless I have some little knowledge of the cha- 
 racter of the lady, it will be quite impossible for me to tell what style 
 will be likely to suit her." 
 
 " You know her," said the reverend gentleman, with a smile : "I 
 fancy that / know her well ; but you know her infinitely better." 
 
 "Indeed. Dear me; why whom can it be?" 
 
 " Whom should it be? to whom is it likely I could wish to propose? 
 There is but one in this world, my dear madam, and you are that 
 one! Yes; that's the point that's it; I wish to propose to you!" 
 
 " To me!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, archly. "To me?" 
 
 " To you, my dear madam ; to you." 
 
 " Dear me! why how came you to think of such a thing?" 
 
 " I'll explain : when I received that letter, which I then of course 
 believed had been written by Sylvester, I privately asked myself two 
 or three questions. First: what had I been about? Secondly, what 
 could be done? and, thirdly, what ought I to do? I answered these ques- 
 tions, and those answers were to the first, that I had been very stupid: 
 to the second, that this stout fellow might be supplanted; and to the 
 third, that if he could be, I ought to supplant him. I inspired the 
 spirit of rivalry on the instant, and came up resolved on defeating this 
 porpoise : I felt that he was no friend of mine, and I do really think that 
 if he had appeared, I should not have ln.-i.-n particularly courteous. 
 Again. I examined my heart; I examined it minutely ; and the result of 
 that examination proved that it was in reality full of affection. I had 
 before no idea that that heart of mine possessed such a treasure of beauti- 
 ful feelings. I found pearls of happiness pearls, of the very existence 
 of which I had been previously unconscious. 1 dived into the depths, 
 and brought them from the caves in Avhieh they had been so long 
 concealed: they were rough but pure, and being pure, you are the per- 
 son to polish them up. I now, therefore, repeat, that I am anxious to 
 propose, my dear madam, to you; and if you'll explain how it is to be 
 done, I'll buckle on my armour, and do it at once." 
 
 "Upon my word, I cannot give you any such explanation; nor do I 
 think that you in reality need it." 
 
 " I never did such a thing in all my life. I never before thought of 
 doing such a thing. I cannot therefore be expected to know much 
 about it. But I suppose that there's a fashion in these matters a sort 
 of style a kind of form which society prescribes ; is there not?" 
 
 " I really cannot say." 
 
 "Well, but pray do assist me a little?'' 
 
 "Why, what assistance can you possibly require?" 
 
 " I require, in an affair of this description, every conceivable assis- 
 tance. I feel altogether at a loss. I know no more what to say than 
 an infant would know, were it possible to place one in a similar position. 
 What am I to say? What can I Say?" 
 
174 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " My dear sir ! say whatever your feelings may prompt, and be as- 
 sured of this, that nothing that you may say, will be at all displeasing 
 to me." 
 
 "Well, now that's very kind. It's exactly like you. I appreciate it, 
 believe me, as I appreciate every feeling and every principle by which 
 you are guided; but then, I'm no nearer the mark not a bit! How- 
 ever, do me the favour to listen for a moment, and I'll make something 
 like an attempt." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then drew his chair nearer to the couch 
 upon which Aunt Eleanor sat, and having taken her hand affectionately 
 in his, thus proceeded: 
 
 "The parsonage the house in which I live is, as you are well 
 aware, a nice house a substantial, well-built, roomy house, with a 
 garden attached a beautiful garden surrounded by a capital wall: 
 very well. Now, the cottage in which you reside, is a very nice cottage ; 
 there is also a garden attached to that, and, albeit it is not surrounded 
 by a Avail, it is still a very beautiful garden. But do you not think, 
 that if you were to leave this cottage and come to live with me in that 
 house, you would make me one of the happiest men alive? and, do you 
 not believe that I would endeavour to promote your happiness by all 
 the means at my command?" 
 
 " That I do most fervently believe." 
 
 "Very good! Again. The affair, I apprehend, might thus be 
 managed : I might, some fine morning, proceed to this cottage and take 
 you to church, and when the marriage ceremony had been performed, 
 we might leave the village for a month or so, and then return to that 
 house together, and live in peace, harmony, and love. Do you not 
 think it might be managed thus?" 
 
 " Certainly, it might be thus managed." 
 
 "And do you not also think that we had better thus manage it?" 
 
 " That is another question, altogether !" 
 
 "I am aware of it: but what are your feelings iipon the point that 
 is to say what is your impression?" 
 
 " Why, my impression is that to use parliamentary language this 
 debate had better be adjourned: in other words, that we had better 
 wait until we get back again to Cotherstone, and calmly talk the matter 
 over there." 
 
 "Very good ! I am not an impetuous man: I have no desire at all 
 to be precipitate; but you really must promise me this, that if in the 
 interim any stout individual should in reality solicit you hand, you will 
 not let him have it." 
 
 "I will promise this, and more: I will promise that if any individual 
 should do so, no matter whether he be stout or thin, I'll not marry 
 without your consent." 
 
 The reverend gentleman, hereupon, kissed the hand he held, and, 
 having done so, felt perfectly happy. 
 
 "And now," said he, after a pause, during which they most affec- 
 tionately reciprocated each others' glances, "when do you think of 
 returning?" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 175 
 
 " Why, I scarcely know," replied Aunt Eleanor ; " I am anxious to 
 ;ee Sylvester settled before I leave town." 
 
 "Exactly. He is to be a surgeon, of course?" 
 
 " Yes ; that has been decided upon, and Dr. Delolme, who is a kind, 
 jood creature, is now gone to have an interview with a gentleman, 
 whose talents are distinguished, whom he holds in high esteem, and to 
 whom he is anxious that Sylvester should be articled." 
 
 "This may be arranged then in three or four days?" 
 
 "Oh yes: it will, I expect, be very soon settled." 
 
 "And will you, when this has been settled, have anything at all to 
 detain you in town?" 
 
 " Nothing. I think of returning on the following day." 
 
 " Oh, then we had better return together that is, if you have no 
 objection?" 
 
 " I can have no objection. I shall be, indeed, most happy to accom- 
 pany you." 
 
 "Then let it be so I need not explain to you how happy 7 shall 
 feel ! let it be so." 
 
 "You will dine with us to-day, of course?" 
 
 "I scarcely know. I dined here yesterday!" 
 
 "Oh, but if you are not engaged, you must ! The doctor, I know, 
 expects that you will." 
 
 " Then I will. I have scarcely time," he observed, on looking at his 
 watch, " to run back to the inn, but I will. The doctor's a fine fellow, 
 and you are a fine fellow that is to say, I don't mean exactly that, but 
 you know what I mean. Adieu, until dinner-time! Eleanor!" he 
 added, taking both her hands in his, and gazing upon her, with an 
 unfeigned expression of fervour, "God bless you!" 
 
 He then left the room, and Aunt Eleanor, who felt very happy, went 
 up stairs to dress. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TOM APPEARS 'TO GIVE EVIDENCE IN A CASE. 
 
 AFTER dinner, at which they were joined by Mr. Scholefield the 
 surgeon to whom Sylvester was about to be articled, and who ate 
 nothing but fish, bread, and pastry, and drank nothing but pure cold 
 water Sylvester, as well as Aunt Eleanor and the reverend gentleman, 
 was so delighted with his conversation, that Tom experienced the 
 utmost difficulty in inducing his young friend to accompany him, as 
 usual, to the hospital. He did, however, eventually succeed, and 
 they started, and heard the lecture for the evening delivered; and, at 
 the conclusion, Tom received a short message from Julia, of which the 
 substance was, that she wished to see him for one moment. 
 
176 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "What's id the widd dow!" exclaimed Tom. "There's sobethidg 
 
 bovidg. What does she wadt with be?" 
 "You'll go in, of course?" said Sylvester. 
 "Yes, I'll go id. I bust go id!" 
 " Then shall I walk about here, or go towards home?" 
 "Oh, just walk about, I shall be but a very few bidutes: I odly wadt 
 
 to hear what's the batter." 
 
 "Very well, then I'll walk up and down here until you return." 
 Tom then went into the house, and as he entered, Julia was evidently 
 
 disappointed: she did not at all expect to see him alone, having heard, 
 
 from one of the students, that Sylvester had been in the theatre with 
 
 him. 
 
 "What's up?" inquired Tom. "Is there adythidg the batter?" 
 "Oh, dear me, no!" returned Julia, when, as several students were 
 
 impatient for porter, she added, " I'll speak to you in a moment." 
 
 Having supplied the immediate demands of the thirsty, she returned 
 
 to Tom, and said, "How is your friend?" 
 
 "Which?" inquired Tom. "Do you ibagide I've odly wud?" 
 
 " I mean your young friend : him whom you call Sylvester." 
 
 "Oh! he's well edough." 
 
 "He will not be here to-night, I presume?" 
 
 "Doe, he cad't stadd dridk: he's dot beed buch used to it." 
 
 "Is that the only cause of his not coining?" 
 
 " Why, what other cause do you ibagide he cad have?" 
 
 "I was fearful that I had been unfortunate enough to offend him." 
 
 "Offedd hib? Pooh! dodsedse: you cad't offedd hib!" 
 
 "Are you sure that I have not done so?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Then I am happy. I thought that I might perhaps have given him 
 
 some offence, and if I had, the consciousness of having done so, would 
 
 have been indeed very, very painful to me." 
 
 " Bake your bide easy," cried Tom, " about that. I dever kdew you 
 
 to give offedce to ady bad alive, add I'b perfectly sure that you have 
 
 dot offedded hib." 
 
 " Then bring him again with you, that I also may be sure. There 
 
 is no necessity for him to drink, not the slightest. Will you bring him 
 
 in with you to-morrow evening?" 
 
 " He'll dot be here, I kdow, to-borrow evedidg. But /'// see about 
 
 it." 
 
 " Do, there's a good creature, and then I shall be satisfied." 
 
 " Well, but I say, old girl, is this all you wadted be for?" 
 
 " I merely wished to be assured upon that one point." 
 
 " Oh, that's all right edough. Let's have wud pull at the pewter, add 
 
 thed I'll be off." 
 
 The porter was brought, and Tom had " one pull," and managed to 
 
 pull it all out of the pot, and when Julia had begged of him not to 
 
 forget, he bade her adieu for the night, and left. 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, when Tom had rejoined him, " was it any^- 
 
 thing of importance?" 
 

 SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 177 
 
 " Oh, she berely wadted to ask be about a youdg fellow whob she 
 fudcied she had offedded." 
 " How does she look?'' 
 " Btieh as usual; just about the sabe." 
 
 Tom thought it wise to keep Sylvester unconscious of Julia's anxiety, 
 id he did so; and, in order that the subject might not be dwelt upon 
 ;1 urn, he reverted to the conversation of Mr. Scholefield, and thus turned 
 the current of Sylvester's thoughts. 
 
 That night, Tom decided upon sitting up alone. He hud privately 
 lecided upon this, feeling certain that if his intention were known to 
 Jylvester, he should never be able to get him to bed ; while he thought 
 it it would be highly incorrect to keep him out of it, so languid as hr 
 [most invariably appeared to !>. 
 
 When, therefore, they had had their usual supper in the study, Tom 
 Sylvester to his room, shook hands with him, and bade him good 
 'lit; and then, making all the noise he conveniently could, bounced 
 tito his own room, and slammed the door, and locked it, of course with 
 lie view of inducing all whom it might concern to believe that he was 
 reality gone to bed. But it was not so: he remained in the room a 
 liort time say ten minutes and then, having carefully unlocked the 
 <x>r, crept noiselessly back to his study. 
 
 And there he sat ; and there he continued to sit with a little dark 
 .ntern shut up by his side sometimes smoking, and sometimes drink- 
 Jug; but constantly thinking, and earnestly wishing, that some one 
 tight do him the favour to appear. lie was fully prepared, both 
 lorally and physically, to receive any guest who might honour him 
 dth a visit ; he had resolved on doing all in his power to serve him 
 hat is, to serve him out and it is extremely rational to cherish the 
 ief that, if any one had appeared tlujii, his reception would have been 
 lost warm; but the prospect which Tom had with pleasure portrayed, 
 which he viewed and improved with peculiar delight, began about 
 lalf-past two to recede. He had, with the utmost fortitude, sat for two 
 mrs proposing and solving an infinite variety of surgical questions, 
 iving direct and immediate reference t> the dislocated joints and 
 >ken bones of his contemplated victim and, as no one had appeared, 
 certainly did begin to think that the pleasures of his imagination 
 
 not about to be realised. 
 He was not, however, at all disposed to give the thing up! No: he 
 led his German pipe again, and ignited his German tinder, in order 
 the room might not even for an instant be illumined, and again 
 lilosophically enveloped himself in clouds. He had, however, scarcely 
 ?nt forth twenty whiffs, when he fancied that he heard a noise below, 
 starting up on the instant grasped his stick, and felt that the time 
 r as come. 
 
 But the sounds which he believed were those of footsteps receded, 
 gradually died away: when, as he imagined that he might have 
 mistaken, he resumed both his seat and his pipe. 
 Now it strangely enough happened that, about an hour after this 
 [hat is to say, about half-past three policeman Ninety-nine did, on 
 
 o 
 
178 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 going his rounds, perceive that the street-door ,of Mr. Delolme was 
 slightly open. 
 
 "What's the odds," said Ninety-nine, confidentially to himself 
 "that there isn't a burglary here? I shall make something of this; 3 
 should like a burglary, and I ought to have one, for I haven't had anj 
 luck lately. Let's have a look," he added, going very quietly up to th 
 door; "that'll do that'll do. I shall nail at least one of 'em. Bur. 
 glaries always look well on the sheet." 
 
 He then glided to the opposite side on his toes the proximity of i 
 policeman being betrayed by his heels and having established himisel 
 in the shade of a doorway, drew forth his truncheon, and watched; 
 Nothing in nature could surpass the vigilance with which he kept hi 
 eye upon that door, nor could the ears of even a cat prick up and 
 expand more instantaneously than his ears pricked up and expanded o*! 
 hearing the slightest unusual sound. That a burglary had been com 
 mitted he fervently hoped, and felt that if it should prove to have beei 
 accompanied by murder, it would be all the better for him. He woul< 
 give no alarm ; not a bit of it. Had he even known that murder migh 
 thus have been prevented, he was too wide awake to spoil such a fin* 
 chance by any premature interference. 
 
 Having, for nearly half an hour, kept his eyes, ears, mouth, am 
 imagination, on the stretch, he heard some one approaching, and o] 
 looking up the street saw the figure of a man walking leisurely dowi 
 on the opposite side with his hands in his great-coat pockets. Unde 
 these circumstances Ninety-nine, of course, took but very little notia 
 of him; but when he saw him enter the house of Dr. Delolme, am 
 heard him, when he had entered, close the door and deliberately 
 bolt it, he felt in an instant prepared to swear that that man was hi 
 enemy Tom. 
 
 Having deliberated for a moment, and recollecting that the doctor hai 
 told him to ring a certain bell in the event of his seeing any one agaii 
 upon the parapet, he opened his bull's-eye and rang that bell, and th< 
 doctor in due time appeared at the window. 
 
 "Who's there?" he demanded. 
 
 "Come down, sir," replied Ninety- nine, in a confidential tone 
 " there's a dodge, sir," 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A dodge, sir; you'll find it all out, if you will but come down, siri 
 you'll soon see who's who, sir, and know what's what." 
 
 The doctor closed the window, and having slipped on his pantaloon 
 and dressing-gown, descended, expecting, of course, that the parapet wa 
 again the scene of action. 
 
 "I am sorry, sir," said Ninety-nine, on being admitted, "I'm melee* 
 very sorry to inform you that your son, sir, is endangering you: 
 property very strangely. This door, sir, has been open for more thai 
 two hours, sir wide open. Of course it was my duty to watch it, an 
 I did so: I watched it until your son returned, which was just about ; 
 minute before I rang the bell." 
 
 "Is it possible!" cried the doctor: "and left the door open! Jus 
 


 JL 
 
 
 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 179 
 
 tonic up with me; I'll investigate this but quietly: don't make the 
 t lightest noise." 
 
 "All right, sir: a mouse shaVt hear me." 
 
 The doctor then followed by Ninety-nine ascended, and on going 
 i ito Tom's room found, not only that Tom was not there but that he 
 l.ad not been in bed at all. 
 
 "Well," exclaimed the doctor, "this is, at all events, conclusive. 
 But where can he 1 
 
 " Up stairs perhaps, sir," suggested Ninety-nine. 
 " Very likely. But let us go up quietly." 
 
 Ninety-nine then took tin- lead* and as Tom who was still at his 
 and who had hoard sounds below whirh could not be mistaken 
 tad prepared himself to receive any friend who iniirhr happen to look 
 in upon him, Ninety-nine no sooner entered the .study than lie received 
 u blow which felled him in an instant to the ground. 
 Who's there?" cried the doctor. 
 
 ""1'i- 1," replied Tom, amazed >n hearing the doctor's voice. 
 ;: TMM! ii'/inf, in tin- name of heaven, do you mean?" 
 " O-o-o-o!" cried Ninety-nine. 
 Tom opened his little dark lantern, and having seen Ninety-nine 
 
 lied upon the floor, felt that he had made some mistake. 
 "I ask you again," said the doctor, "what you mean by this 
 abominable conduct?'' 
 
 " What abobidable codduct?" cried Tom. " I've bced sittidg up h 
 ,vith the view of catchidg that scouddrcl whose budkey tricks have ^o 
 !>uch addoyed us." 
 "It is false!" cried the doctor. 
 -What's false?'' 
 
 y word that you have uttered. You have not, sir, been sitting 
 up heiv. You have been out, -ir!" 
 
 "Out! what, out of the house do you bead?" 
 
 "Yes, sir!" 
 
 "What, do you bead sidce I cabe id frob the lecture?'* 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "Doe, 1'b blest if I have!" 
 
 "How ran you deny it, Tom? This policeman here, saw you enter 
 
 tow." 
 " Iddeed ! What, this fellow? Well, if lie did he did, add if ho did j 
 
 datura! curiosity! I bust have a look at hib." 
 
 Ninety -nine, on being rolled over by Tom, conceived it to be his 
 duty, a- a policeman and as a man, to pretend to have been dreadfully 
 injured; but having been in reality more frightened than hurt, Tom soon 
 made him assume a sitting posture on the floor; and, having done so, 
 exclaimed, " Didety-^/V* / Why, this is Didety-dide ! What does he 
 
 1 to kdow about the batter?" 
 
 "Policeman,'' said the doctor, "is this, or is this not the person whom 
 you saw just now enter the house?" 
 
 " It is, sir," replied Ninety-nine; " and I'll swear it." 
 " You will," exclaimed Tom. 
 
 o 3 
 
180 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "Yes!" cried Ninety-nine, who was seized with so strong a fit oi 
 energy, that he started to his feet on the instant; " I will." 
 
 " Why, you wretched, cadaverous, tidhappy lookidg adibal, what do 
 you bead? what's your botive id cobidg here, prepared to swear to a 
 falsehood so bodstrous? You're too codtebptible to be revedged upod, 
 or I'd take it out dow: I cad but spurd you, add treat your accusatiod 
 with scord." 
 
 " This will not do, Tom," said the doctor, severely. " This will no 
 longer do for me. I'll at once put a stop to it. I'll not be thus annoyed 
 night after night." 
 
 " Well, but / have dot addoyed you !" cried Tom ; " you've dot beed 
 addoyed by be.*" 
 
 " I have, sir, and you know it!" 
 
 " I kdow," replied Tom, " that I have dot." 
 
 "But here is proof of it." 
 
 "What proof? the proof idvolved id the evidedce of this codsubbate 
 wretch? The bagistrate who would believe hib od his oath ought to 
 be deprived of his cobbissiod." 
 
 " The idea," continued the doctor, " of prowling about in the middle 
 of the night, and leaving the street-door open ! I'm ashamed of you 
 perfectly ashamed of you! I couldn't have supposed that you would be 
 guilty of an act so monstrous." 
 
 "It's of doe use," said Tom, "I kdow it's of doe use! but I tell you, 
 father, agaid add agaid, that, sidce twelve o'clock, I've dot stirred frob 
 this roob." 
 
 "I'll not believe it," said the doctor; " I will not believe it." 
 
 " I should think not" interposed Ninety-nine. 
 
 " Siledce, you ugly abortiod !" cried Tom, whom the sneer of Ninety- 
 nine had enraged ; " if I have adother word od the subject frob you, I'll 
 walk id!" 
 
 "You shall walk out, sir!" said the doctor; "you shall not remain 
 here: I'll not have the house disturbed in this way." 
 
 " The disturbadce has dot beed created by be." 
 
 " Go to bed, sir, and let me have no more of it: I'll no longer tolerate 
 such practices. Go to bed." 
 
 The doctor and Ninety-nine then left the room Ninety-nine, with 
 great discretion, taking the lead but he had no sooner reached the top 
 of the stairs, than that discretion forsook him, and, turning to Tom, 
 said, "I'll nail you!" an observation which so excited Tom's ire, that he 
 rushed at him on the instant; but, before he could reach him, Ninety- 
 nine, in his anxiety to get away, slipped, and glided to the bottom not 
 smoothly, no ; but bumping in his progress the bottom of his spine, and 
 causing him not only to call out, "ohT but to pull a face, of which the 
 prevailing expression would have puzzled Lavater himself. 
 
 "Keep back!" cried the doctor, " I command you;" and Tom, who 
 felt that Ninety-nine had had quite enough of it, did not follow him up 
 or, rather, down ; but the doctor descended, an$ assisted him to rise, 
 and having done so, led him into the drawing-room, and gave him some 
 brandy, and placed in his hand a small piece of that metal which has, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 181 
 
 in this sublunary sphere, more influence than either mind, honour, reli^ 
 gion, or love. 
 
 In falling, however, Ninety-nine awoke Sylvester, and as he came to 
 the door, in order to ascertain what was the matter, Tom went into his 
 room with the lantern in his hand, and placing himself upon the edge of 
 the bedstead, looked as if all had been lost. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this?" inquired Sylvester. " What has 
 occurred?" 
 
 " Get idto bed, Syl," said Tom, " add I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 Sylvester accordingly got into bed, when Tom, having struck the 
 lantern in the face, commenced 
 
 " Syl," said he, " I'b a victib. But that you kdow. I was always a 
 victib. I was bord to be a victib. I shall becobe id a short tibe wud 
 of those predestidariad swells who believe that a bad's actiods are 
 chalked out by Fate, add that he bust walk Fate's chalks, whether he 
 likes theb or dot. Just look here! Last dight I decided od sittidg up 
 alode, id order to catch that scabp who has created so buch addoyadce. 
 I did'dt tell you a word about it, because I kdew that you'd wadt to sit 
 up with be, add thought that you'd buch better dot. Well, I sat up : I 
 sat frob the tibe you wedt to bed, till about half ad hour ago, whed, 
 plaidly hearidg footsteps od the stairs, I prepared to receive, as I fadcied, 
 the fellow by whob the whole of these disturbadces have beed created. 
 Well, presedtly the study door opeded, add id walked a bad, add I gave 
 hib wud which laid hib low, whed, of course to by utter abazebedt, 
 I heard the voice of the goverdor ! It's a blessidg the goverdor didd't 
 eclter first!" 
 
 " Then whom did you strike?" 
 
 ** Didety-dide the polieebad! the fellow who said he could swear to 
 by shirt!" 
 
 " Well, but what brought ////// there?" 
 
 "I'll toll you. I dod't thidk In- likes be: at all evedts I feel codvidced 
 lie doosd't like bo buch, add if he does, he likes the goverdor's buddy 
 buch boro; add hedce, id order to get a little of it, he tnibped up a tale 
 to the effect that our street-door had beed oped wido oped for two 
 hours ; that he had kept his eye upod it, id order to ascertaid what was 
 goidg od ; add that ovedtually he saw le edter the house, add thed heard 
 be close the door, add bolt it !" 
 
 " Is it possible!" 
 
 " Did you over hear of adythidg so abobidable? Well, with this tale 
 artfully prepared, he radg the dight bell which I couldd't hear add 
 whed the wretch had related all that his thick pig's head had allowed 
 hib to codceivo, up cabe the goverdor idto by roob, add, of course, whed 
 IK- foudd that I had dot beed id bed, the tale of the wretch was cod- 
 firbed!" 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " But beidg daturally adxious to kdow where I was, he cabe up to 
 tin- study; add, as I said before, it's a bercy he didd't cobe first, for if 
 I'd gived hib the Blow, which luckily fell to the lot of Didety-dide, I 
 should have beed wretched for life. However, Didety-dide got it, add 
 
182 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 it served hib right : I dod't care a straw about that : all I care for is 
 this, that, as I was dot id bed, as I'd dot beed id bed, add as he foudd 
 be id the study with by clothes od the goverdor firbly believes Didety- 
 dide, add thus ab I victibized agaid!" 
 
 " Well, it certainly did look suspicious." 
 
 " I kdow it I feel it I see that, udder the circubstadces, the gover- 
 dor is perfectly justified id believidg the tale of that biserable fat-headed 
 wretch: it is the very codsciousdess of that which bost galls be!" 
 
 " But, of course, you have not been out?" 
 
 " Certaidly dot! Frob the tibe you wedt to bed, till the tibe they 
 cabe up, I dever, for a sidglc bobcdt, bovcd frob the study. Besides, is 
 it likely is it like adythidg likely that I should be such a codsubbuU' 
 dodkey as to go out and leave the door oped for ady wud to walk id that 
 pleased? Is the idea of by doidg such a thidg at all ratiodal?" 
 
 11 Such conduct would certainly have been very indiscreet." 
 
 " Iddiscrect! Why, if I thought that it would ever be possible for 
 be to cobbit such ad act of iddiscretiod as that, I should deeb bysclf fit 
 for a ludatic asylub." 
 
 " I cannot imagine how he came to think of such a thing." 
 
 " Oh, these fellows will do adythidg for buddy: it's a batter to theb 
 of little ibportadce what." 
 
 " Well, it certainly is strange very strange that he should have 
 fixed upon this particular morning." 
 
 "Exactly! That's where it is! It is that very thidg which gets 
 over be! Had he fixed upod ady other, I should have beed, of course, 
 id bed add asleep. But it was to be, I suppose. I kdow I shall sood 
 becobe a predestidariad. But isd't it edough to bake a bad hit his 
 head off?" 
 
 " It is, certainly, very unfortunate." 
 
 "By usual luck! Dothidg bore cad be said of it. I always havo 
 luck. I cabe idto the Avorlcl to be lucky. I'll have by dativity cast 
 wud of these days, add sec udder what lucky pladet I was bord. 
 But I'll have doe bore of it. The thidg is settled clow, Syl : doe bore 
 watchidg for be : dor will I attebpt after this to discover the cause of our 
 recedt addoyadces. Dot a bit of it! Til give the thidg up. Ifalegiod 
 of ibps were to haudt the house dight after dight, Syl, I'd dot bove a 
 peg ! The very efforts which I bake to clear byself tedd but to idvolve 
 be bore deeply: like the fly id the web, the bore I try to get out, the 
 bore firbly I'b held. I'll give it up, cobe what bay. I'll pludjrc i<li< 
 bed at by usual tibe, add get up at by usual tibe, add dot before. Dm- 
 batter what capers bay be cut, or what pradks bay be played: that bis- 
 chievous devil, whoever he is, bay stick a hot brick upod wud of the 
 chibdey-pots, add dadce upod that, if he likes: the bood bay be abused, 
 add the stars bay be abused, but he sha'd't abuse be; I've had edough 
 of his abuscbedt: he dod't get be to rud after hib agaid; I'll borallv 
 by head to the pillow, although I should dearly like to catch hib! You 
 see it plays vedgeadcc with be; it destroys at wodcc all the governor's 
 codfidedce, add places be id the positiod of a thoughtless, reckless, 
 characterless scabp ! That's the poidt, Syl that's what I look at ! L'p 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 183 
 
 this tibe, the goverdor has reposed the host udlibited codfidedce id by 
 
 lour ; but clow, of course, he ibagides that I seek to deceive hib, add 
 too, by tellidg bead, deliberate falsehoods." 
 
 " Well, but when you have explained all to him," suggested Sylvester, 
 ily that confidence will be restored?'' 
 
 "I fear dot, Syl: day, I cad hardly expect it, the circubstadtial 
 cvidedcc is so strodg agaidst be. Bady a bad has beed hadged upocl 
 collateral, or circubstadtial, evidedce far less conclusive. However, 
 sobethidg bust be dode. I'll go to bed add thidk about it. Call be 
 whed you rise : I bay dot be awake ; add, udless I put id by appearadce 
 at breakfast, the great swell Avill kdow all about it, if she doesd't kdow 
 all about it dow. Therefore, dod't forget to call be?" 
 
 " I'll not." 
 
 "Thed I'll be off add get a widk or two, if I cad: I cad't expect to 
 have buck rest iddeed 
 
 " 'There's do rest, but the grave, for the pilgrib of love.' " 
 
 Poor Tom! He shook hands with Sylvester and left him, and turned 
 into bed with a heavy heart; but he soon went to sleep very soon 
 and slept soundly, until Sylvester summoned him to breakfast. 
 
 The doctor had not explained the affair tu Mrs. Dololme. This, Tom 
 peiveivcd the moment he entered the room, and, in consequence, felt com- 
 paratively comfortable; but he saw that the doctor was anirry with him 
 still, although the expression of that anger was concealed from the rest. 
 
 Now, as this was the day on which Sylvester was to leave the do. 
 house, and make that of Mr. Scholefield his home it having boon 
 arranged the previous evening, that he should live with him a month 
 before the articles were signed the talents of Mr. Scholefield, and the 
 prospects of Sylvester, formed the chief topics of conversation duriiur 
 breakfast. With Mr. Scholefield himself, Aunt Eleanor was delighted, 
 and so, indeed, was Sylvester, although that delight was in some d. 
 subdued by a variety of youthful apprehensions; and while even Mrs. 
 Delolme confessed that she thought him an amiable person, the doctor 
 bore testimony not only to his high professional abilities, but to hi- 
 cellent qualities as a man. All were, therefore, satisfied that S\ 1\ . >t. i\ 
 prospects were, as far as they could then be viewed, bright; and when 
 the doctor had endeavoured to impress upon Sylvester the propriety of 
 pursuing whatever course of study Mr. Scholefield might suggest, lie 
 rose from the table and withdrew. 
 
 He had scarcely, however, entered the library, when his servant came 
 to inform him that a policeman had called, and was anxious to see him 
 immediately. The doctor, of course, imagined that this was Ninety- 
 nine, and directed the servant to show him in at once; but when he 
 found that it was not, he was filled with apprehension: it struck him in 
 an instant that something had happened to Ninety-nine, and that pro- 
 bably his fall had proved fatal. 
 
 "1 beg pardon," said the policeman, with appropriate respect; "your 
 name, sir, is Dr. Delolme?'' 
 
 " It is," replied the doctor. 
 
184 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " You have a son, I believe, sir?" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 44 His presence is required at the police-office, Bow-street, immediately." 
 
 "For what purpose?" 
 
 " To give evidence in a case of robbery and assault." 
 
 "A case of robbery and assault." 
 
 44 Yes, sir. He is, I believe, the only witness." 
 
 44 Well, but when did it occur?" 
 
 44 About three o'clock this morning, I believe, sir : I don't know the 
 whole of the particulars, but I think that it happened about that time." 
 
 The doctor rang the bell, and desired the servant to send Tom in. As 
 far as his fears for Ninety-nine were concerned, he felt greatly relieved ; 
 but every doubt having reference to the truth of Ninety-nine's accusa- 
 tion against Tom vanished. 
 
 "Now, sir," said the doctor, when Tom appeared, "you are wanted 
 at Bow-street police-office, immediately." 
 
 44 What for?" inquired Tom. 
 
 44 You witnessed a robbery this morning, did you not?" 
 
 44 The odly robbery I witdessed, was a robbery of reputatiod, add that 
 reputatiod was by owd." 
 
 44 But you witnessed a robbery in the street, about three o'clock this 
 morning?" 
 
 "Who says so?" demanded Tom, fiercely. "Do you?" he added, 
 turning to the policeman. 
 
 44 1 know nothing of it myself," replied the man. 
 
 44 Do you kdow, Didety-dide? Has this, too, beed got up by hib?" 
 
 44 1 know nothing of the particulars," returned the policeman. " All 
 I know about the matter is this, that I was sent here to request your 
 immediate attendance at the office." 
 
 44 Oh, /'// go!" said Tom. " I see how it is. Add," he added, 
 addressing the doctor, " I hope you'll go with be." 
 
 44 / will go with you, sir." . 
 
 44 Do so : I wish you to do so ; add if I fide that that wretch has beed 
 trubpidg up adother charge agaidst be, I'll have the dubber oif his coat, 
 add the coat off his back. I'll write to the cobbissioders at wudce: I'll 
 dot be thus addoyed by a fellow like that." 
 
 The doctor again rang the bell, and having ascertained that the car- 
 riage was at the door, he directed the policeman to get on the box and 
 they started. 
 
 During their progress to Bow-street not a word was uttered by either 
 the doctor or Tom: the doctor was anxious for silence to be preserved, 
 and Tom felt no inclination to break it; nor, when they had arrived, 
 did a syllable pass between them. The carriage door was opened, and 
 they alighted in silence; and on passing through a passage heard a 
 fellow bawling "Mr. Delolme!" The policeman then led the way into 
 the office, and found that the case was then on that the prosecutor had 
 already given his evidence, and that he had then just gone out of the 
 office to look for his witness the magistrate having consented to wait 
 a few minutes, in order that he might be produced. An intimation was 
 

 
 

THE SOMNAMBULIST. 185 
 
 therefore given that the witness was in attendance, and Tom was ushered 
 into the box and sworn. 
 
 During the performance of this solemn ceremony, the magistrate was 
 relating, across the table, an anecdote, which caused the clerk, as a 
 natural matter of duty, to roar ; and when Tom had kissed the book, he 
 looked well at the prisoner, who was dressed in the most fashionable 
 style, but whom he didn't know from Adam. 
 
 " Well," said the clerk, addressing Tom, when he felt that he had 
 laughed sufficiently long to satisfy the magistrate, " what's your name?" 
 
 " Thobas Delolbe." 
 
 " What d'you say?" 
 
 " Thobas Delolbe." 
 
 " Speak up, sir!" 
 
 " Thobas Delolbe!" repeated Tom, in a voice of thunder. 
 
 " I'm not deaf," said the clerk. 
 
 " Oh!" replied Tom, " I thought you were." 
 
 " Thobas Delolbe," said the clerk, as he proceeded to write it down. 
 " Thobas: how do you spell Thobas with a 6?" 
 
 "With a l>r said Tom. " You cad spell it with a b if you like: I 
 always spell it with ;ui */>.'" 
 
 " Oh, an el!" said the clerk, as he winked at the magistrate. " Very 
 and do you spell Delolbe with an eb too?*' 
 
 " Why, of course." 
 
 " I only ask for information. Thobas Delolbe. Well, Mr. Thobas 
 
 lolbe, what are you?" 
 
 " A studedt of bed'cide !" 
 
 " A student of what, sir?" demanded the clerk, who could not resist 
 jhing; nor could tin- magistrate nor, indeed, could the doctor, 
 though he felt vexed at the time "A student of what?" 
 
 " Of bed* tide!" replied Tom indignantly, and thereby set the whole 
 in a roar. 
 
 " Of lt'ti\'iil .'" >aid the clerk, when the laughter had in some degree 
 sul-iided. "I see! A student of bed'cide very good. How do you 
 spell bed'cide?" 
 
 " How do I spell bed'cide?" cried Tom, who felt highly indignant; 
 while the court was convulsed with laughter, in which even the prisoner 
 joined: u what do you bead?" 
 
 " I mean," said the clerk, having recovered the power to speak, " I 
 mean to ask how you spell bed'cide?" 
 
 "Add do you bead to say that you dod't kdow how to spell it? If so 
 I should like to dose you with it till you do. I should feel great 
 pleasure id thus curidg you of the igdoradce with which you are 
 afflicted." 
 
 u Well," said the clerk, who didn't much like this, " but is bed'cide 
 spelt with a w or a If 
 
 "\w or a b, you tool!" said Tom, looking contemptuously at the 
 clerk, who really began to feel himself wounded. 
 
 "Like Thobas, it's spelt with an eb, no doubt!" observed the magis- 
 trate ; and this being the magistrate's joke was on the instant hailed with 
 
186 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 the loudest burst of laughter ever even heard within those walls. The clerk, 
 the policeman, the turnkeys, the crier, and the fellow who administered 
 the solemn oaths, rowed', while the prisoner who was a student of 
 human nature shook his sides on speculation, conceiving, of course, that 
 the magistrate's gratitude would prompt him to repudiate the evidence. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it is spelt with an eh" said the clerk, when he and 
 the other impartial judges of a joke had become exhausted. " You 
 arc a student of bed'cide, you say?" 
 
 "Is this the court of Bobus?" inquired Tom, looking round with an 
 expression of imperturbable gravity, which threw the whole court 
 again into convulsions. " Cobus presides here if Bobus does dot! Ab 
 I," he added, addressing the magistrate, as soon as his voice could be 
 heard, " ab I id a place sacred to justice? a place id which solebdity 
 is supposed to reigd, add of which digdity is supposed to be wud of the 
 chief characteristics? a place id which obediedce to the law is taught, 
 add respect for those who adbidister the law idspired? I ab I presube 
 that I ab add yet I who have taked a soleb oath to ibpart with truth 
 that which I kdow, ab bet with dothidg but buffoodery, ragged jokes, 
 add ailly laughter. That bad's life," he added, pointing to the prisoner, 
 " his very life bay, for ought I kdow, be id peril, add yet you teach hib, 
 add all who are here, to view the adbidistratiod of justice as a jest." 
 
 The officials again felt it to be their duty to laugh, but the magistrate 
 clearly didn't like it at all, and more especially as Tom's rebuke was 
 hailed in the body of the court with applause. He, therefore, assuming 
 an aspect of gravity, said, " Let us proceed with the business of the 
 court." 
 
 " I thidk it high tibe that we should," said Tom, and another laugh 
 burst from the officials. 
 
 "Silence!" shouted the magistrate, sternly; and " Silence !" was in- 
 dignantly reiterated by the crier, who had been making more noise than 
 any other man in court. 
 
 "Now, sir," said the magistrate, determined to be severe upon Tom, 
 who, however, was not at all afraid of him, "what do you know about 
 this?" 
 
 " About what?" 
 
 " About what! Why this robbery." 
 
 " Dothidg." 
 
 " Nothing ! You are a witness in this case, are you not?" 
 
 "I ab placed id the positiod of a witdess." 
 
 " Then what do you mean by saying that you know nothing of it?" 
 
 w I bead, by sayidgthat I kdow dothidg of it, that I kdow dothidg of it." 
 
 " Then what did you come here for?" 
 
 " That's the very poidt which I ab adxious to ascertaid !'' 
 
 " What's the meaning of all this? Do you know sir, that I have the 
 power to commit you?" 
 
 "Cobbitfo/" cried Tom. 
 
 " Ay, sir; commit you." 
 
 " You bay have the power, but you dare dot, I apprehedd, exercise 
 that power without sufficient cause." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 187 
 
 " I shall be justified, sir, by your refusal to give evidence." 
 
 "I have do evidedce to give! I have sword to speak the truth, the 
 whole truth, add dothidg but the truth: I respect that oath, add whed 
 I solebly declare that I kdow dothidg whatever of this robbery, the 
 truth, the whole truth, add dothidg but the truth, is idvolved id that 
 solebd declaratiod." 
 
 " Have a care, sir! have a care !" exclaimed the magistrate. " How 
 long have you known the prisoner?" 
 
 " How lodg have I kdowd hib?" 
 
 "Yes, sir: that's the question. How long have you known him?'' 
 
 "Well," said Tom, deliberately taking out his watch, " sobewhnv 
 about twedty bidutes." 
 
 " Come, come, sir; I'm not to be trifled with: these ingenious evasions 
 will not do here." 
 
 " What idgedious evasiods? You asked be how lodg the prisoder 
 had beed kdowd to be: I told you about twedty bidutes. Is there ady 
 evasiad id that?'' 
 
 " Are you not one of his associates?" 
 
 "Wud of his associates?" 
 
 "Aye! one of his associates. Come now, answer that question." 
 
 " It is albost too codtebptible to be adswered ; but I'll adswer it by 
 statidg, with all the iddigdatiod at by cobbadd, that I ab dot." 
 
 "Oh, none of your indignation, sir; it will not do here. Answer my 
 questions plainly. You have never b--n in any way connected with 
 four 
 
 "Dever." 
 
 " You don't know him?" 
 
 "I do dot," 
 
 " You never saw him before in your life, I dare say?" 
 
 "Idevcrdid." 
 
 " No : I don't suppose you ever did." 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings the doctor would have interfered, wit h 
 the view of expostulating with tin- magistrate, but that he felt that Tom 
 would be a match for him yet. 
 
 " Is he known to the police?" resumed the magistrate, with infinite 
 significance; and, doubtless, had Ninety-nine been there, he would have 
 iriven Tom a character ;. but he was not, and the rest knew nothing at 
 
 nt+ i * 
 ot him. 
 
 " How do you get your living?" inquired his worship. 
 
 " What do you bead by by lividg?" said Tom. 
 
 " How do you support yourself?" 
 
 " Doe how. I dod't support byself at all." 
 
 " Who supports you?" 
 
 "By father." 
 
 " Oh, then you have a father, have you?" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 " Ah : and what is he?" 
 
 " A doctor of bed'cide?" 
 
 " Oh: he's a doctor, too. A respectable man, I dare say?" 
 
188 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " He is a bad who occupies, add who deserves to occupy, a far higher 
 social positiod thad ady other bad id this court, He" added Tom, 
 with a sarcastic smile, "He is a gedtlebad." 
 
 " Oh ! no doubt. Is he here?" 
 
 '* I believe so : he cabe id the carriage with be." 
 
 "Oh! the carriage! Ah! what carriage?" 
 
 " What carriage? why, our carriage! Is it at all probable that we 
 should cobe to see so courteous add so distidguished a persod in a 
 jarvey?" 
 
 The clerk here privately expressed his conviction that, notwithstand- 
 ing all that Tom had said, he and the prisoner belonged to the same 
 gang; and when the magistrate had winked at the clerk with great 
 significance, he suddenly said 
 
 " Where's the prosecutor? You are a very clever fellow," turning to 
 Tom, " but I think that we shall know each other better, by-and-bye." 
 
 The prosecutor, who had imagined that this was altogether another 
 case, was then directed by one of the officers to step forward, and he 
 did so. 
 
 " I think I understood you," said the magistrate, " that this robbery 
 was committed about three o'clock?" 
 
 " About three." 
 
 " Very well. Now, how far was your witness from the prisoner at 
 the time?" 
 
 " A very short distance! He was, in fact, walking just behind him." 
 
 "I thought so!" 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Tom, addressing the prosecutor fiercely, " do you 
 bead to to say that 7 was walkidg behide hib?" 
 
 " You!" cried the prosecutor, in a state of amazement " No! You 
 are not my witness !" 
 
 "What's the meaning of it all?" said the magistrate. " I don't under- 
 stand it. If," he added, addressing Tom " If you are not the prose- 
 cutor's witness, why did you come here?" 
 
 " I cabe here because a policebad called to idforb be that by presedce 
 was required ibbediately. That's all I kddw about the batter." 
 
 " Well, but why did you get, into the witness-box?" 
 
 " Because I was ushered in the bobedt I edtered the court." 
 
 " I am sorry that this mistake should have occurred," said the pro- 
 secutor. " But certainly that gentleman is not the witness whom I 
 expected." 
 
 " It's well for that gentleman" said the magistrate, " that he is not. 
 As it is, I have a great mind to detain him until he brings forward some 
 respectable person " 
 
 "You will, sir, detain him at your peril!" said the doctor, coming 
 forward, with an air of calm dignity, and speaking in tones which com- 
 manded attention. " I am his father my name is Delolmo ; and if yon 
 wish to have evidence of my respectability, I can refer you not only to 
 some of the first families in the kingdom, but to many of your own im- 
 mediate friends." 
 
 " I regret," said the magistrate, whose countenance fell the moment 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 189 
 
 the doctor mentioned his "immediate friends 1 ' " I regret exceedingly 
 that so great a mistake should have occurred; but we really have so 
 many persons here who pretend to be that which they are not, that we 
 are compelled to look upon almost all with suspicion." 
 
 "It may be so," calmly retorted the doctor; " still the course which 
 you have pursued in this case has been, in my judgment, highly in- 
 correct." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " I suppose I bay go?" 
 
 " You may," replied the magistrate. 
 
 " Very good. But before I retire, allow be, as a batter of gratitude, 
 to ackdowledge the courtesy with which I have beed received id this 
 Suprebe Court of Jollity add Justice." 
 
 The magistrate was silent, and Tom withdrew ; and as he did so, he 
 was greeted with a buzz of applause, which fell harshly, of course, upon 
 the ear of his worship, who, determined on taking his revenge out of some 
 one, indignantly commanded the prosecutor to explain. 
 
 " I am really very sorry," said the prosecutor, who was evidently a 
 highly respectable man, " but I can give no other explanation than this, 
 that that gentleman was sent for by mistake, and placed in the witness- 
 box, during my absence from the court." 
 
 " But how came he to be sent for?" 
 
 " I sent for him, because the person who witnessed the robbery gave 
 me his address." 
 
 " Well, is that person here?" 
 
 " I am sorry to say that he is not." 
 
 " Very well; then the prisoner must be discharged." 
 
 " You will, I hope, remand him ; and thereby give me some time to 
 produce this witness?" 
 
 "I have no evidence before me to justify a remand." 
 
 " You have my evidence, and you have also the evidence of the police- 
 man." 
 
 "Don't dictate to me, sir! I say that I have no evidence before me 
 to justify me in remanding the prisoner, and that, therefore, he must be 
 discharged." 
 
 " Well, but am to be deprived of my property, and assaulted by a 
 man, whose character is known to be infamous, without having " 
 
 ' It's your own fault: you have no one to blame but yourself. You 
 should have had your witness here!" 
 
 "Well! if this is the way in which justice is administered, heaven 
 protect me from its administration!" 
 
 " Understand that I am invested with authority here, and that I will 
 not suffer you, or any other man, to bring that authority into contempt." 
 
 " I hold it to be quite unnecessary for me to do so. You bring it 
 sufficiently into contempt yourself." 
 
 "Leave the office, sir! If you do not know how to conduct your- 
 self properly, leave the office !" 
 
 " I will do so ; and I hope that while you preside over it, I shall never 
 have occasion to enter it again." 
 
 The prisoner, who was a well known member of a numerous and 
 
190 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 highly respectable-looking body, ycleped in those days " the swell mob," 
 was then discharged ; and as the prosecutor was leaving the office in dis- 
 gust, Toin, with a view to the vindication of his own honour, arrested 
 his progress. 
 
 " Will you do be the favour," said he, " to explaid to be how this 
 stradge bistake occurred? By object id requestidg this favour is to 
 satisfy by goverdor that I ab dot the bad." 
 
 "In any case you are entitled to an explanation," said the prosecutor, 
 " after having been put to so much trouble and annoyance." 
 
 " Oh, I dod't care a straw about that. I'b odly adxious to rebovc 
 whatever doubt bay exist id by goverdor's bide, about by beidg out at 
 that tibe id the bordidg." 
 
 " Well, then, about three o'clock, as I was returning from a party, I 
 was accosted by the fellow whom this Midas has discharged, and, as I 
 conceived him to be a respectable man, we walked on together for some 
 considerable distance, when suddenly he gave me a blow which nearly 
 stunned me, drew my watch from my pocket in an instant, and made 
 off. At this time a young gentleman was walking behind us, and wit- 
 nessed the whole transaction. I did not, however, stop to speak to him 
 then, but pursued the scoimdrel, who was eventually secured, and, while 
 the policeman held him, I returned to this gentleman, and begged of 
 him to accompany me to the station. This, he said, would put him to 
 great inconvenience, but he assured me that he should be most happy 
 to appear and give evidence at the police-office, when called upon to do 
 so. Being satisfied with this assurance, and knowing that my evidence 
 alone, without even that of the policeman, would be sufficient to cause 
 the prisoner to be detained, I did not press him to accompany me then, 
 but took his address, which he readily gave me, and it certainly is my 
 impression that he told me that he was the son, or the nephew, of Dr. 
 Dclolme. I was, of course, somewhat excited at the time, and being so, 
 I may have misunderstood him: indeed, I now feel that I must have 
 misunderstood him ; but certain am I that, in some way, either directly 
 or indirectly, he mentioned the name of Dr. Delolme. He might have 
 said that he was known to Dr. Delolme, or that he was in some way 
 connected with Dr. Delolme, but he certainly mentioned the name of 
 Dr. Delolme, for the moment I heard that name mentioned, I was 
 satisfied." 
 
 " Might he not," said the doctor, " have been, as the magistrate sug- 
 gested to us, one of the associates of this man?" 
 
 "I do not believe that he was. I cannot believe it. He was a young 
 man, upon whom I fancied, at the time, I might with safety place the 
 utmost reliance. I may have been deceived ; it is possible : but certainly 
 iny impression is that he knew no more of the fellow than I did. And 
 now," added the prosecutor, turning to Tom, " having explained how it 
 happened that I sent for you this morning, 'I hope that you will accept 
 my apology for " 
 
 " Dodsedce!" cried Tom; " dod't bedtiod it! I'b odly sorry that the 
 fellow was dot pudished. You have dot recovered your watch, I suppose?" 
 
 " Oh, yesl I found it this morning in the area of one of the houses: 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 191 
 
 but, as a watch, it's valueless. This is it! broken all to pieces you 
 see : I saw him throw it away just before he was secured." 
 
 "Well," said Tom, "although the gold is odly worth its weight, I'b 
 very glad that he hasd't got it. But did you ever see such a bagistrate?" 
 
 "He's a disgrace to the bench," replied the prosecutor, indignantly; 
 " I have heard of him frequently, but with his conduct this morning I 
 am perfectly disgusted. That fellow is as well known to him as any 
 pickpocket in London, and yet, because his dignity was wounded by 
 the calm and correct observations of the doctor, he must let him loose 
 to prey upon society again, although he had ample evidence upon which 
 to commit him. However, the affair is now at an end, and I have but 
 to repeat my expressions of regret, that I should have given you both 
 K much trouble." 
 
 He then left the office with the doctor and Tom, and having seen 
 Ilirm into the carriage, was about to take his leave, when a fellow came 
 up to the door, and inquired it' they would like to have the proceedings 
 reported at length. 
 
 " You are a reporter, I presume?" said the doctor. 
 
 " I am," replied the man. 
 
 " With which of the newspapers are you connected?" 
 
 "Oh, several! But I report specially for the Times, Stamlard, Ife- 
 ;-//</. and Globe." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, who was anxious, of course, that Tom should 
 not be publicly ridiculed; " I see no necessity for the publication of that 
 nonsense! it had nothing whatever to do with the ca- 
 
 " Then you would like to have all that suppressed?" 
 
 " Why, I cannot conceive any sufficient reason for its insertion." 
 
 "I have taken it in full, and the whole of it will be inserted! unless, 
 indeed, you wish to have that, or any other particular portion, suppres 
 
 " Well, I certainly should like that portion to be left out!" 
 
 " Very well, sir; then not a single word of it shall appear. You are, 
 of course, aware that we are paid by the line? and that, therefore, what- 
 ever we suppress is a dead loss to us, unless, indeed, the sum we should 
 ive for its insertion be paid to us for its suppression." 
 
 "I understand," said the doctor; "and it is but correct that you 
 should be paid the sum you would have for its insertion, by those who 
 wish to have it suppressed. What would be the sum in this case?" 
 
 " I think it would make about sixty lines, and I manifold seven that 
 i- to say, I send the report to seven papers, each of which pays me 
 three-halfpence a line ; but a couple of sovereigns will be sufficient : say 
 a couple of sovereigns." 
 
 "You must allow me to settle this," said the prosecutor; "I have 
 given you trouble enough : you shall not through me be put to any 
 expei 
 
 " I beg pardon," said the doctor, "your loss has been greater than 
 mine. But what security have I," he added, turning to the reporter, 
 " that that which you promise to suppress, will not appear?" 
 
 " I am well known here, sir, and I may say, with pride, that my re? 
 putation is without a single stain. I shall be happy to refer you to the 
 
192 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 magistrate. He has known me for years. You will, probably, before 
 you leave, do me the favour to apply to him, in order " 
 
 "No," said the doctor, smiling, "that I'm sure I'll not do; but here 
 is my card, and if nothing should appear, in either the evening or the 
 morning papers, I shall be happy to give you a couple of sovereigns." 
 
 "Oh! if my honour is doubted, there's an end of the matter ! It is 
 not of the slightest importance to me, whether I receive the money of 
 you, or the proprietors of the papers, to which I send the report. I am 
 always, of course, anxious to oblige ; but it is to me, as you must per- 
 ceive, a matter of no moment whatever." 
 
 " Now do let me settle this affair?" said the prosecutor. 
 
 "No," returned the doctor, "that, indeed, I will not. You promise, 1 ' 
 he added, addressing the reporter, " that if I give you two sovereigns, not 
 a syllable, having reference to my son, shall appear?" 
 
 "Let it all appear," cried Tom; "/ dod't care a buttod about it!" 
 
 " That," resumed the doctor, heedless of Tom's observation, " that is, 
 of course, understood." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 The doctor drew out his purse gave two sovereigns to the reporter 
 shook hands with the prosecutor, and gave the word, " home." 
 
 " Why, did you give hib that buddy?" cried Tom. "Why didd't you 
 give it to be?" 
 
 "I gave, it to him," replied the doctor, "because I had no desire to 
 see you ridiculed in the public papers." 
 
 "Ridiculed! Well, that's rich! How could I be ridiculed? The 
 bagistrate was the swell, I apprehedd, to be ridiculed. It stikes be, 
 that I bade a hit, whed I asked hib if I was id the court of Bobus !" 
 
 "Bobus!" cried the doctor. "Yes, you did make a hit! Do you 
 know what produced all that laughter?" 
 
 " Of course. The codsubbate igdoradce of the clerk." 
 
 "No, Tom: that laughter was produced by your Bobuses and 
 Cobuses." 
 
 "What do you bead by Bobuses add Cobuses? I didd't say Bobus ! 
 I said Bobus ! Id the produdciatiod Bobus add Bobus, the differedce is 
 ibbedse !" 
 
 " I cannot perceive any difference at all." 
 
 "What ! dot betweed Bobus add Bobus?" 
 
 "Bobus is Bobus, and nothing but Bobus." 
 
 "Well, but I didd't say Bobus ! Bobus is a beastly produdciatiod of 
 Bobus!" 
 
 " I wish that I could induce you to think so." 
 
 "Well, but do you bead to say that I prodoudce Bobus, Bobus?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Well, I bust look idto this. I begid to suspect that there bust be 
 sobethidg id it. I dod't, of course, wadt to be bade a laughidg-stock of!" 
 
 " But a laughing-stock you ever will be, Tom, until your absurd 
 pronunciation of the m's and the n's be corrected." 
 
 Tom became thoughtful; and, as they were then near home, the 
 subject was, for the time being, dropped. 
 
THE SoMNAMUL'Ll>T. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII, 
 
 THE LOVERS' RETURN. 
 
 IGNORANCE is universally contemned, and yt ignorance itself is uni- 
 versal. There is nothing more fiercely denounced than ignorance: vet, in 
 general, they are most ignorant who denounce it most fiercely. All men 
 arc ignorant: and yet mankind is not a mass of ignorance ; all men have 
 knowledge: but man is not omniscient. Ignorance is comparative". 
 there is not a man breathing who does not know something of which 
 every other man breathing is ignorant. The great art is to conceal our 
 ignorance; and this art is highly valuable, seeing that it const irutrs tin- 
 germ of knowledge: nay, the man who endeavours to conceal his igno- 
 rance, is already in possession of a most important branch of human 
 knowledge the knowledge of the ignorance he is anxious to conceal. 
 Some men have a talent for the display of their ignorance. Such men 
 arc ignorant of their ignorance, and ure consequently much to be pitied. 
 To be ignorant of one's own ignorance is to be in the most profound 
 state of ignorance in which a man can be involved. The common 
 answer, "I don't know," is candid, but it is at the >am<' time a very 
 palpable manifestation of ignorance and yet where, is the man who 
 knows everything? There is not such a man upon -arth. The lowest 
 species of ignorance is that which prompts a man to think that he knows 
 everything: and the highest caste of knowledge i.s that which makes 
 him feel that in reality he knows only this that he knows nothing. 
 There are, however, men who are expected to know everything; but of 
 this expectation disappointment must always be the fruit. Take our 
 greatest men men of the mightiest minds men most highly distin- 
 guished for wisdom how ignorant they are of those common things 
 with wliich common men are conversant. A journeyman barber would 
 curl his lip and look with feelings of contempt upon a head of hair cut 
 by an astronomer: his exclamation doubtless would be, "He must be a 
 hignoramus as cut this ear air!'' Nor is it umvorthy of belief that 
 there is not one statesman in a thousand, either native or foreign, who 
 knows how to cut out a pair of short gaiters. Place Wellington and 
 Napier in the kitchen, and Guntcr and Ude in the field, and what con- 
 summate ignorance would be displayed by them all ! But this term 
 ignorance is applied with more indiscrimination than any other. A is 
 said to be ignorant by B, because he happens not to know that which 
 B knows, albeit ho knows that of which B himself is ignorant. Tom 
 thought the clerk at the police-office ignorant, because he professed not 
 t-> know exactly how to spell " bcd'cioV; 1 ' he thought the magistrate 
 ignorant: he thought the officers ignorant; indeed, the only man in 
 
 r 
 
194 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 court whom lie imagined to be wise was the doctor ; and yet the doctor, 
 as will be seen, was, as far as the practices of penny-a-liners are con- 
 cerned, one of the most ignorant men there ! 
 
 It will be in all probability remembered that he gave one of these 
 genuine " gentlemen of the press" two sovereigns for the suppression of 
 Tom's evidence. "Well! the doctor of course thought that it would be 
 suppressed, and so did Tom ; although he felt at the time, and strongly 
 too, that those two sovereigns would have paid for a box of cigars, and 
 innumerable pots of porter. The Standard, however, was no sooner in, 
 than Tom saw the whole proceedings reported at length ; and, with feel- 
 ings of deep indignation, perceived that he, and he only, was ridiculed! 
 
 "A dice bad," said he, confidentially "a very dice bad. I bust 
 have adother idterview with you, by friedd I bust, id fact, have that 
 hodour id a very short tibe." 
 
 Having expressed that which he felt in these cabalistic terms, he rang 
 the bell, and when James appeared, he said, with an air of mystery, 
 " Jib, rud for the evedidg papers." 
 
 " The evening paper's in, sir," replied James promptly. 
 
 " What do you bead? Do you thidk I'b such a codsubbate ass as 
 dot to kdow that the paper's id, whed I hold it id by hadd? I wadt 
 the others the Globe, the Sud, add the Mood, if there be a Mood!" 
 
 " I shall have to go out with the carriage, sir, directly: the ladies are 
 dressing for dinner." 
 
 " Dab the didder, Jib! Rud for the papers bridg be the lot as sood 
 as possible!" 
 
 James accordingly went for " the lot," and Tom again read the report 
 in the Standard. He had previously conceived an idea that there must 
 in reality be something peculiar in his style of pronunciation ; but he 
 had never before imagined that that peculiarity would appear so ridicu- 
 lous in print. He read it aloud again and again, but as he pronounced 
 his m's and his ris, he was really unable to detect anything wrong. The 
 substituted Us and d*s looked absurd enough, but in his ear they sounded 
 all right. 
 
 " Bobus," said he " Bobus. Well, that's correct! Bobus dothidg 
 cad be bore distidct thad Bobus ! Add bed'cide. Well, bed'cide : what 
 cad possibly be plaider thad bed'cide? I wod't have it!" he exclaimed; 
 " it's a regular codspiracy a dead take id!" And just as he had arrived 
 at this conclusion, James returned with the Globe and the Sun. 
 
 " Well, Jib," he cried, " got *eb?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. There are only two, sir, besides the one you have." 
 
 " Very well. Two are two too many. That'll do, Jib that'll do." 
 
 James then left the room, and Tom very soon found that the reports 
 in these papers were literally the same. 
 
 " Very good, Bister Reporter," said he, sarcastically. " Very good. 
 It strikes be I shall serve you out to-borrow! I dod't kdow exactly, add 
 therefore I cad't say: but if I dod't get that buddy back, I'll do byself 
 the pleasure of takidg it out. Til see you to-borrow bordidg, you lite- 
 rary wretch ! Here you are," he added, as the doctor entered the 
 library " here's the full chadge for your two sovereigds. All id!" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 195 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Every word of it." 
 
 "Very dishonourable: very." 
 
 " Add yet the fellow didd't like to have his hodour doubted! Why 
 didd't you give be the buddy?" 
 
 The doctor very gravely commenced reading the report, but as he 
 proceeded, his features relaxed, for the thing had been -well done, and 
 every point told. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, when the doctor had finished, " what do you thidk 
 of it dow?" 
 
 "Why I think it most dishonest on the part of the reporter, but as I 
 feel that this report will induce you to correct your defective pronun- 
 ciation, I am not very sorry to see it in." 
 
 " Well, but do you bead to say, dow, seriously, that I prodoudce by 
 ebs add eds id that ridiculous fashiodV" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Add are the eba add the eds the odly letters which I prodoudce id- 
 correctly?" 
 
 "Your pronunciation, Tom, of every other letter in the alpha- 
 bet is perfect. The substitution of the b and the d for the m and the 
 n, alone renders your conversation comical, or, as you would say, 
 cobical" 
 
 " Well! I'll certaidly see idto it. If this be the case, I'll sood get over 
 those two fellows." 
 
 " I hope you now see the necessity for doing so. Your professional 
 success, Tom, as I have before frequently explained to you, depends in 
 a great measure upon that." 
 
 " Oh ! I'll get over it. I'll sood badage it. But what are you goidg 
 to do with that fellow?" 
 
 " The reporter?" 
 
 "Yes: of course you'll debadd the buddy back?" 
 
 "Not II If I were to see him, I should certainly expostulate with 
 him, for such practices are highly dishonourable ; but I shall take no 
 trouble about the matter." 
 
 "7 bay get it, I suppose, if I cad?" 
 
 "If you can, Tom, you may!" replied the doctor, with a smile. "But 
 I have an impression that you will find that there is, in that quarter, ' no 
 money returned.' " 
 
 The impression on Tom's mind was of a different character, but he 
 thought it inexpedient to explain how he intended to proceed : he, there- 
 fore, allowed that subject to drop ; but, being anxious to have a point of 
 far more importance settled, he said, with a, countenance which denoted 
 that anxiety, "Add dow let be ask you wild serious questiod. 'We all 
 dide together at Scholefield's to-day. Very well. Dow I shall feel of 
 course buch bore cobfortable if you tell be that you are satisfied, per- 
 fectly satisfied, that I was dot out of the house frob the tibe I left the 
 drawidg-roob last dight till we left id the carriage together this mord- 
 idg. Are you or are you dot satisfied of this?" 
 
 " I am satisfied now, Tom perfectly satisfied that you are not the 
 
1JJ6 SYI.VKSTKi: SolND 
 
 person who witnessed the robbery; but the door, Tom the. fact of. the 
 door being found open dint's the point!'' 
 
 " Y <. But that poidt is bcrely assubed. T dod't believe a word of 
 it! I dod't believe the door was foudd oped at all!" 
 
 "/feel justified in believing that it was; and if it were, the question 
 is, who could have left it open if you did not? Tt surely could not have 
 been Sylvester?" 
 
 "Syl! Doc: I'll adswer for hib with by life. 1 saw hib id to his 
 roob; add 1 kdowhewedt to bed: I also kdowthat if he had gode dowd 
 stairs after that, 1 bust have heard hib. Besides, he isd't at all the style 
 of fellow to do it!' 1 
 
 "Well, all I can say is, that it's a mystery, which time may perhaps 
 unravel." 
 
 "But look here, father! Dod't believe that I ever have' told, or that 
 I ever will tell you a falsehood. Dod't believe it!" 
 
 "Well, Tom, I am not at all anxious to believe it. I certainly can- 
 not prove that you ever told me a falsehood, but you are aware that 
 these circumstances are fraught with suspicion." 
 
 "Exactly! That's the poidt! That is the very thidg which galls 
 be! But ice shall fidd it out by-add-bye. M 
 
 "And, until we do find it out, Tom, I am perfectly willing to be 
 silent on the subject." 
 
 Mrs. Delolme and Aunt Eleanor then entered the library, and shortly 
 afterwards they, with the doctor and Tom, repaired to the house of Mr. 
 Scholefield. Here they met the reverend gentleman, by appointment; 
 and here Aunt Eleanor was delighted to find that Sylvester already felt 
 perfectly at home. Of Mrs. Scholefield, he had at once become a 
 favourite; she treated him, in fact, with as much kindness as if he had 
 been her own son; and as she was in reality a most amiable person, 
 Aunt Eleanor, feeling satisfied that everything would be done to pro- 
 mote his happiness, decided on returning to Cotherstone on the morrow. 
 
 Accordingly, in the morning, she and the reverend gentleman, accom- 
 panied by Mrs. Delolme, Mrs. Scholefield, Sylvester, and Tom, went to 
 the office at Charing-cross, and when she had had some farther private; 
 conversation with Mrs. Scholefield, having reference to Sylvester, she 
 left town perfectly happy in the conviction that the utmost possible care 
 would be taken of both his morals and his health. 
 
 Immediately after the coach had started, Tom proceeded to Bow- 
 street alone; and, on entering the office, looked round Avilh an anxious 
 hope of again seeing that literary gentleman who received the two 
 sovereigns of the doctor. That gentleman, however, was not then there; 
 but, conceiving that he might be there anon, Tom waited two hours for 
 him with exemplary patience, and then spoke to one of the officers of 
 the court. 
 
 "I ab adxious," he observed, "to see a reporter." 
 
 "There they are," returned the officer, "in that there box." 
 
 4 'Are they reporters?" 
 
 "All on 'em." 
 
 " But 1 >vadt to see the wud whob I saw here yesterday." 
 

 . 
 
 
 ///' ' '''' '/ 
 

 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 197 
 
 " All them was here yesterday." 
 
 ''But there was wud here yesterday, who is dot here dow?" 
 
 " With all my heart !" 
 
 " Very good. But perhaps you cad tell be where to fidd hib?'' 
 
 4 'Don't bother. How .should I know where to find him?" 
 
 ''Do you thidk it likely that they cad tell be?'' 
 
 "Ax." 
 
 "Why, you surly, low bred, ill codditioded " 
 
 " Silence ! or I puts you out of the office !" 
 
 Tom looked at him contemptuously from head to foot and up again, 
 and said something about his being a nice man he didn't think; but, as 
 one of the reporters at the moment left the box, Tom turned from the 
 fellow to address him. 
 
 " A reporter," >aid he, "was here yesterday whob I dod't see id the 
 office to-day. Cad you tell be where to fidd hib?" 
 
 " What paper is he connected with?'' 
 
 " He reports for seved papers, he told u>.'' 
 
 " Seven! YOU are the gentleman, I believe, who was yesterday in the 
 witness-box?" 
 
 " 1 ab." 
 
 "1 thought so. But there was no person connected with seven paper* 
 lien- r 
 
 "'He eertaidly told us seved.'' 
 
 "What was his object in speaking to you on the subject?" 
 
 "Why, lie eabe to the carriage-door to id<jiiirc it' we were adxioiis to 
 have ady poitiod of the report Suppressed, add as by gOYerdoi thought 
 that that dodscde-r bight a- well le left out. the fellow offered to suppress 
 it for two sovereigns." 
 
 " But of COUnK yu didn't give him the two sovereign?" 
 
 " The go\ enlor did ! He gave hib two >overcigds to leave out the 
 lot, add thed the wretch put it all id 1" 
 
 "1 see," said the reporter, Minting. "But he had nothing whatever 
 to do with it. He is not a regular reporter: he is one of those scamps 
 who attend in<[ue>ts and police-courts, expressly in order to obtain 
 money by pretending to have the power to insert or to suppress what 
 they plea>e." 
 
 "The adibal!" cried Tom. "I should like to see hib dow!" 
 
 " I wish you could point him out to me. I'd have him before the 
 magistrate at once. But he'll not be here to-day: you may depend 
 upon that. Perhaps in a week, when he imagines that you have given 
 him up, he may be here again.'* 
 
 " Tlied I'll look id about this day week, add if I should see hib '' 
 
 "Point, him out to me.'' . 
 
 Tom promised that he would do so, and left the office; and, on reach- 
 ing home, proceeded to explain to the doctor how completely he had 
 been victimised. 
 
 "I've heed toJBow-etreet thifl bordidg," said he, "to look after that 
 literary swell." 
 
 lk And have you seen him?'' inquired the doctor. 
 
198 SYLVESTER BOUND 
 
 " Dot a bit of it. He's idvisible. But I suppose that you are quite 
 prepared to hear of its beidg a dead do?" 
 
 "Quite, Tom. Oh, yes: I'm quite prepared for that." 
 
 "Well, thed it wod't take you buch by surprise. But of all the 
 swiddles that ever succeeded, that was wud of the bost perfect. Why, 
 he's dot edgaged to report for ady paper at all! He is a fellow who 
 frequedts the various courts, expressly id order to pick up the Greeds." 
 
 " Then, I suppose, Tom, there isn't much chance of your making two 
 sovereigns by this transaction?" 
 
 "Dot a bit of it!" 
 
 "Well: it's a lamentable circumstance, Tom, isn't it? You see it's 
 a dead loss to you of forty shillings." 
 
 " But, however you could have beed taked id by a dodge so disgust- 
 idgly stale, I cad't ibagide." 
 
 "Stale!" exclaimed the doctor. "It was quite fresh to me, Tom. 
 Did you ever hear of it before?" 
 
 "I ! I'b a youdg ud! I cad't be expected to kdow so buch as you. 
 Besides, I'b a victib, add always was ! I dever thought that you could 
 be victibised!" 
 
 "All men are liable to be taken in occasionally, and when they are, 
 Tom, the best plan is to say as little about it as possible." 
 
 "Doe doubt! But I shall say a little bore about this, if I should 
 happed to beet that youdg gedtlebad !" 
 
 "Persuade him to return the two sovereigns, Tom." 
 
 " I dod't expect to be able to do that, but it strikes be I shall cause 
 hib to wish that he had dever had theb!" 
 
 The doctor smiled and left the room ; when Tom who had done but 
 very little work that week resolved on bringing his mind to bear again 
 upon his books, and with that view went up at once into his study. 
 
 Meanwhile, Aunt Eleanor and her reverend friend were enjoying 
 their journey to Cotherstone Grange. It was, fortunately, a most beauti- 
 ful day : there were, moreover, no other inside passengers a circum- 
 stance which they privately deemed still more fortunate but if even it 
 had been wet, and the coach had been crowded, they would have been, 
 in each other's society, happy. The journey never before appeared to 
 be half so short to either. They were amazed at the rapidity with 
 which they went along. They reached village after village, and town 
 after town, as if the distance between had been scarcely a mile. The 
 stages too appeared to be remarkably short. The horses seemed to fly 
 from stage to stage while Time kept pace with the horses. The 
 reverend gentleman was never before known to have half so much to say. 
 He had an astonishing flow of language on that occasion : in fact, he kept 
 on continually talking from the time they left London till they reached 
 the point at which he had directed his phaeton to be in readiness, and 
 even then he appeared to have just as much to communicate as ever. 
 
 As they approached the Grange, new beauties seemed to have sprung 
 up during their absence, and they felt more endeared to the place than 
 before ; and as they passed through the village they chatted so gaily, 
 and seeined so much pleased with themselves and each other, and every- 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 199 
 
 thing around them, that Obadiah Drant, who was standing with Pokey 
 at the door of the Crumpet and Crown, so rolled his mysterious-looking 
 head, and so tortured and twisted his inelegant body, that his friend 
 began to think that he had had for dinner something which didn't agree 
 with him. 
 
 " What's the matter?" inquired Pokey. "Have you got the stomach- 
 ache?" 
 
 " The stomach-ache!" exclaimed Obadiah. " Isn't it enough to give 
 any man the stomach-ache?" That's the dodge, is it?" he added, sar- 
 castically. " Very good : that's it." 
 
 " What's it?" demanded Pokey. 
 
 " What's it! What! Don't your ideas fructify?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " What do I mean? There! That any man in the nineteenth century 
 should be able to see the world wag as it does, without having any ideal 
 fructification! Pokey! you're a flat. You'd never do to sit in the 
 House of Commons! Even Bobby Peel would beat you! Why, just 
 look you here: didn't you see Teddy pass just now with the old maid?" 
 
 "Yes. Well?" 
 
 "Well! Don't you see?" 
 
 " See what?" 
 
 "Why, the dodge I" 
 
 " What dodge?" 
 
 What dodge! Pokey, you were never born to be the Lord Chancellor. 
 Amalgamate your ideas, man. Let 'em flow and fructify! What! 
 Well, as true as I'm alive! Why, just look you here: Do you mean to 
 tell me a man of your scope, and sense, and fructifertlQty do you 
 mean to tell me, point blank, without any reservation of ideas, that you 
 don't see as clear as mud what Ted's been up to?'' 
 
 " Can you?" 
 
 "Can I! Who can't! It's as plain as the sun at twelve o'clock. 
 Look you here: when Harry the Eighth married Nell Gwynne, did they 
 marry in public? No! They married privately. Now don't you see?" 
 
 " I can't say as I do," replied Pokey. 
 
 " You can't ! Well, I never see such a job in my life. What ! Can't 
 you see there's been a private marriage here?" 
 
 "No, I'm blest if lean." 
 
 " Pokey, you ought to go to school again, and have them ideas of 
 yours put under a course of fructification. Not see it! Send I may live, 
 if I ever see such a job before! Where are your eyes? what's become 
 of your notions? are all your ideas asleep or what, that you can't make 
 nothing out of this?" 
 
 " Well, what do you make of it?' 1 
 
 " What do I make of it! Just look you here. Hasn't the old maid 
 been up to London, and didn't Ted follow her, and haven't they been 
 there all this time, and now haven't they come back together?" 
 
 " Well ! and what of that?" 
 
 " What of it! Have you lived all these years in the world and can't 
 see what they've been up to! They couldn't marry here. Oh I dear 
 
200 SYLVKSTKR SOUND 
 
 me, no: they must go up to London, .and be married by special license! 
 This is your aristocracy of humility ! this is your parsonic pride! Mark 
 my words, Pokey, that pride must come down. Were not going to let 
 it much longer ride rough-shod over the eternal principles of the people. 
 "We must tear fpfni their eyes what I call the film of folly. We must 
 make them understand these amalgamating dodges. We must do as 
 they did in France under Peter the Great, when Robespierre towelled 
 the Dutch, we must give the aristocracy a blessed good welting. That 
 '11 bring 'em to their senses; and mind you this, they'll never be happy 
 till they get it. We must have a revolution all over the world; things 
 are now on a rotten foundation: your kings, and your queens, and your 
 bishops, and parsons, and all the lot of aristocratic leeches, who suck the 
 best blood of the eternal people, must be swamped ; they must be swept 
 clean away from the face of the earth, as they were in the time of the 
 Romans. What do AVC want with an amalgamating mass of corruption 
 fructifying upon our very vitals? Why should we give eighty millions 
 a-year away for nothing? What good do the aristocracy do us? If 
 you can't pay your taxes, away go your sticks; and what for? Why, 
 to fatten up your flaming aristocracy. Do you mean to call that eternal 
 justice? Do you mean to call that the glorious principles of ever- 
 lasting liberty? What did we sign the Magna Charta for? Why, 
 for fructifying freedom. If we had no aristocracy, we should have 
 no taxes; and if we had no taxes, we should be free. I'll take 
 you then upon your Magna Charta, and show that you are nothing 
 but slaves. Would the Russians stand it, think you? Would the 
 Chinamen stand it? No! The Jews wouldn't stand it under Moses. 
 Look at the history of the [world, and you'll find that nobody stands 
 it but us. When Solomon built his temple among the gods, the 
 Solomonians wouldn't stand it: they said point blank, 'Here you've 
 got about a thousand wives, of one sort or other, and when we 
 come to look at the mobs of kids, we are not going to support so expen- 
 sive an establishment.' Even the very workmen struck ! and we must 
 strike, and when we do strike, the blow will be a stunner. It's of no 
 use half doing the thing: we'll go in like rattle-snakes, my boy, as they 
 did at Nova Scotia. We'll let them see what we're made of! we'll show 
 'em from which point of the compass the wind blows : we'll go in a 
 burster ; and when we do, the lesson shall last 'em their lives. We'll 
 not much longer be plundered in this way : we'll not be ground down to 
 the earth, and have our substance squeezed out of us thus, by the iron 
 hand of an iron-hearted aristocracy. Not a bit of it! What did Johnny 
 Russell say in the house the other night? ' I tell the noble lord/ said 
 he ; and Johnny can speak up sometimes if he likes ' I tell the noble 
 lord that he'd better look out. There's a spirit abroad that won't have 
 it. It's fructifying now, and will soon break loose ; and when it does, 
 there'll be pepper.' And so there will: mind you that. Down with 
 them! that's my sentiments down to the dust! A rattler, my Briton 
 a rattler for me. Now, just look you here " 
 
 " Well, but what are you talking about?" inquired Pokey. 
 
 " What am I talking about?" 
 

 Ill] SOMNAMBULIST. 201 
 
 Aye! What has all this about Peter the Great, Solomon, Moses, 
 and Magna Churta, to do with our parson? What have the Russians to 
 do with him, or the Frenchmen, or the Chinamen;'" 
 
 " What are you so thickheaded, so pugnaciously stupid, as not to see 
 that all this tends to show you the system?" 
 
 - \Vhat system?" 
 
 " What system ! Why the system of extortion the system of plunder 
 the fructifying system of downright dead robbery, which grinds the 
 people's vitals into dust." 
 
 " But we wasn't a-talking about nothing of the sort. We was talking 
 about a private marriage."' 
 
 "Well, 1 know it. But can't you make your ideas fructify beyond 
 one point of the compass? I know we were talking about Teddy Rouse 
 being privately married in London; and just look you here *' 
 
 " \\V11, but what makes you think >?" 
 
 " What makes me think so? Why, can then- exist two opinions 
 about it? Didn't she sneak oil' to London; and didn't he go sneaking 
 after her? Why didn't he take her up with him, like a man? They 
 have come back together because it's all over; but why not do things in 
 a BtrtUghtforWMxl wav? It's di>gu>ting to see a man like him a man, 
 paid a.> he i.s for teaching simplicity go dodging about in that manner." 
 
 " But this is all guess-work, you know." 
 
 " U ness-work! Pokey, Pokey, when fhall I get you to fructify your 
 ideas a little?" 
 
 " Yours, I think fructify a little too much. You said when he went 
 up, that he was going after his French girl, there what's her name 
 Rosalie!" 
 
 "1 know I did; and what does it prove? Whv, that he'll run after 
 every one he takes a fancy to. Depend upon it, Ted's not particular. 
 None of them are. NJ one expects it in a parson. They're ;i clerical 
 lot; and you know what 1 mean by the term clerical. I say, Quocks," 
 he added, as that gentleman joined them, "did you ^ee Teddy liou.se and 
 his woman come in?" 
 
 <l Teddy Rouse and his u-.-ni-.m /" said Quocks. ' What do you mean? 
 I saw him Get down Mrs. Sound at the cottage." 
 
 "He didn't take her then to the parsonage-house?' observed Pokey. 
 
 " The parsonage? .\o. W Ju said he did?" 
 
 "Drant says they're married!' 1 
 
 " Married f Rubbish. It isn't likely I" 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Obadiah. 
 
 "Why not! Do you think he'd have taken her to the cottage, and 
 shaken hands, and left her there, and then driven home by himself if 
 they'd been married?'' 
 
 " Well, 1 was only taking a charitable view of the thing; because if 
 they're not married they ought to be, that's all about it." 
 
 "What do you mean? 1 shouldn't mind well thrashing any man who 
 says there's anything a mite wrong about Mrs. Sound. She's as straight as 
 an arrow, I'll warrant! right up and down, and no nonsense not a mite." 
 
 " You know she's been to London?^ 
 
202 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "I do: what of that?" 
 
 " You know he's been to London, too?" 
 
 "Yes, and what of that?" 
 
 " Well! Look you here: I only know it doesn't look well." 
 
 " What doesn't look well?" 
 
 " Why, it doesn't look well for Ted to run after her, and then to bring 
 her back with him; now, does it?" 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " Why not! Why, it looks as if there must be something in it." 
 
 " In what?" 
 
 " Why, as Harry the Eighth said, just after the French Revolution, 
 1 I'll tell you what it is,' said he, ' if' " 
 
 " Never mind what Harry the Eighth said! I want to hear what you 
 say." 
 
 " Well, but this is a case in point. ' If,' said he, * honourable gentle- 
 men think that I'm to be done in this way, I must fructify their intellects 
 a little.'" 
 
 "Never mind fructifying! give me a plain answer to a plain ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " He never did such a thing in his life !" observed Pokey. 
 
 "Pokey," said Obadiah, gravely; "what would you have been if it 
 hadn't been for me?" 
 
 " What do you mean?" demanded Pokey, indignantly, for he felt that 
 he was quite as good a man as Obadiah, who never in his life had two- 
 pence that could be said to be his own; " what should I have been if it 
 hadn't been for you?" 
 
 "Aye! what would you have been if it hadn't been for me? Look 
 you here, now ; I'll tell you : you'd have been like one of the rattle- 
 snakes in the wilderness; you wouldn't have had a fructifying idea 
 about you." 
 
 " Well," said Quocks, " but what have you to say against the cha- 
 racter of Mrs. Sound?" 
 
 " What have I to say against her character?" 
 
 " Aye! You said just now that it didn't look well that there must 
 be something in it, and that if she were not married, she ought to be. 
 Now, I just want to know what you mean by all this?" 
 
 " You do, do you? Well, then, just look you here; when I said that 
 if she . and Teddy Rouse were not married, they ought to be, I meant 
 what I said, and do you mean to say they ought not?" 
 
 " But what did you mean to insinuate?" 
 
 " What did I mean to insinuate? Why, of course, that they ought 
 to be married." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Why! When Peter the Great fructified the Greeks " 
 
 "Never mind Peter the Great: the question is, why ought they to be 
 married?" 
 
 " I was going to tell you. Peter " 
 
 " I wont have it. Answer my question." 
 
 " * Answer my question.' Are you one of the ragged aristocracy? Do 
 

 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 203 
 
 you want to come Billy the Conqueror over us? ' Answer my question. 1 
 A fructifying tyrant could say no more to his slave. I'm the slave of no 
 man : not a furthing's-worth of it. Come to fair argument, and I am 
 your man. I'll go with you into the history of the world ; but if you 
 want to come any of your haughty aristocracy, it won't do for me, mind 
 you that." 
 
 " Obadiah," said Quocks, " you're a fool. I don't flatter you when I 
 say that you're only one remove from an idiot ; because I'd much rather 
 talk with an idiot than with you. Independently of which, an idiot a 
 perfect idiot is infinitely more harmless. You take delight in stabbing 
 the reputation of those around you : you glory in the practice of found- 
 ing falsehoods upon truth : you are too vain to see that you are despised, 
 and too ignorant even to know that you are ignorant: you are one of 
 society's butts a creature who has not a single friend in the world, for 
 what man in the world can feel justified in either opening his heart to 
 you, <>r trusting you with a secret? you are a dangerous man, Obadiah 
 dangerous not because you have any high intellectual power, but 
 because you are utterly destitute of it. I don't mean to say that you 
 are malignant. No: you are ten times worse than a man who is actu- 
 ated by malignity : you have not the tact to perceive what is calculated 
 to injure a man, and what is not. You lose friends, Obadiah, as fast as 
 you make tln-m, because they soon find that you are not to be trusted." 
 
 " Well," said Obadiah, " you have been fructifying, certainly, to an 
 amalfjamatimj exient. Have you dune,?' 1 
 
 " Quite. My object is merely to induce you to study your own cha- 
 racter.' 7 
 
 "Thank you: you're very kind, you always were; but I know my 
 own character as well as any man in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America." 
 
 " I am very sorry for it." 
 
 " No doubt. But just look you here: just allow me, if you've done 
 now, to ask you one question. You said just now that I take a delight 
 in stabbing the reputation of those around me. Mark you that! those 
 were the very words you put in juxtaposition*" 
 
 "Well." 
 
 " Well, just look you here, now; whose reputation have I ever endea- 
 voured to stub?'' 
 
 " Whose reputation have you not? That's the exception, if there be 
 one: the other's the rule." 
 
 *' Well, but whose reputation have I been endeavouring to stab now?" 
 
 u That of a lady, whose goodness is known and appreciated by all but 
 you, and that of a gentleman for he is a gentleman whose honour 
 and benevolence none but you ever doubted." 
 
 "I deny it!" 
 
 " Deny what?" 
 
 " Deny what? Deny that I've been endeavouring " 
 
 " Oh!" exclaimed Pokey, with uplifted hands; " Oh!" 
 
 "Oh! you fool: what do you mean by ohT 
 
 "Didnt you walk in before Quocks came!" 
 
 " But I'm speaking of npw! It has been said that when I made the 
 
204 .-VLVESTER SOUND 
 
 observation, that if they were not married they ought to be I endea- 
 voured to stab their reputation. Now, I'll prove that 1 endeavoured to 
 
 do nothing of the sort." 
 " Do so." 
 
 "1'Jl prove it by logic, and I defy all the mathematicians in the habit- 
 able globe to knock it down. I'll prove it by the regular mathematical 
 construction of the English language, and will any man tell me there's 
 any constructed language in the universe more mathematically regular 
 than that? I'll prove it in juxtaposition " 
 
 "Well, prove it." 
 
 " Prove it! Well, just look you here, and if your ideas can fructify, 
 let 'em. Just look at the grammatical character of the words: if thev 
 are not married, they ought to be. Isn't that a correct amalgamation? 
 and beitnj amalgamated, what do the words mean? Is there any man 
 in nature so lost to every sense of grammatical transubstantiation as not 
 to see that they mean this, and nothing but this, that they ought to be 
 married, if they are not?" 
 
 "But why ought they?" 
 
 " Why ought they? Isn't one a bachelor, and the other a spinster? 
 And is there any law in life to prohibit such a marriage? What would 
 be said if Johnny Russell, or Bobby Peel, were to bring in a bill to 
 render marriages of that sort illegal? Wouldn't it be kicked out of the 
 House neck and crop? I said they ought to be married; and I say so 
 still. I'll not flinch from what I said. I'm not ashamed of what I say. 
 I'd say it just as soon before their faces, as I would behind their backs. 
 They ought to be married, and what objection can we have to such a 
 marriage, if they like it? For my part, I think that they'd just suit 
 each other." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Pokey; " it won't do, you know. That's not what 
 you meant." 
 
 " What do you mean by saying that's not what I meant? Can you 
 tell the fructifications of my bosom? Can any man alive dive into ano- 
 ther's heart, or see what's going on in another's private brain? It will 
 take a wiser man than you, Pokey, to do it. I refer you to the words 
 if the words don't mean that, they mean nothing!" 
 
 " You shuffles," said Pokey. 
 
 " He always did shuffle," said Quocks. 
 
 "Shuffler exclaimed Obadiah, who was perfectly disgusted with 
 Pokey's ingratitude. " You'd have shuffled through the world an igno- 
 ramus, if your weak ideas hadn't been fructified by me. What do you 
 mean by shuffling?" 
 
 "Why you've shuffled in this!" returned Pokey, who wasn't aware 
 that Obadiah had done anything to his ideas, with the exception of con- 
 fusing them occasionally. " I don't care a button about the words, I 
 look at what you meant, and you meant this " 
 
 " IPe know what lie meant very well," observed Quocks; "and I'd 
 strongly recommend him, if his ideas must ' fructify' on matters of this 
 character, to keep the 'fructification' to himself. It may be true that 
 his slanders are not of much importance, because no one who knows him 
 

 TIIIO rjOM.NAMltl'UST. 
 
 believes a word he litters. Were he a man with any pretensions to re- 
 spectability, tli* 1 consequences might be serious as well to others as to 
 himself; but he is not: he is at best but a hall-bitted butt, Avithout a 
 particle of manly pride about him."' 
 
 " You're going it!" exclaimed Obadiah. "Xow I dare say you think 
 that. I care a great deal about what you say, don't you?" 
 
 "If I thought that, I would, both for your OAVH sake and that of 
 society, say more: T would then take some pains to show you exactly 
 what vou are: but I know that yon don t care that you haven't the 
 sense to care: if you had, you would scorn to go prowling about as you 
 do picking up loose scraps of slander to 'fructify:' chuckling over the 
 misfortunes of your neighbours; magnifying their follies, and making 
 those follies the liases of lies. I really don't know a more contemptible 
 character than that of a la/y - " 
 
 "Do you mean to say that I'm la/\ ?" 
 
 "Lazy! Why, what do you do he>ides lounging about barber's shops? 
 You don't dn I \\enty-four hours work in a week. I have nothing, of 
 course, to do with that; but when a man has a family, and squanders 
 away, newsmongcring, three-fourths of his time, when that time might 
 be occupied in benefiting his family, what is he but a la/y man? I should 
 be ashamed to lead such a life." 
 
 "Oh! don't you trouble your head about me." 
 
 "I don't vint to trouble my head about yon. I only \vant to show 
 how miieh better it would be if you Aveiv not to trouble your head 
 such a head as it is about others. Not that 1 imagine that I shall In- 
 able, by showing this, to do you any good you're past that : you must 
 talk, and I'm not at all surprised at your talking: all that I'm surprised 
 at is. that you should still find people to listen to your talk. You have 
 pretty nearly tired all the old ones out: Pokey, I believe. U the only one 
 of the lot that will listen to you now, and the sooner he sends you to 
 Coventry, the better." 
 
 "Let "him do it!" exclaimed Obadiah. " What do I care for Pokey? 
 Who's Pokey placed in juxtaposition with m--?" 
 
 Pokey, who didn't at all like this contemptuous observation, drank 
 up his beer and departed; and as Quoeks. who had already finished his, 
 AN'ent with him, Obadiah was left there to '"fructify" alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 DURING Sylvester's residence Avith Mr. Scholefield, his career as a 
 somnambulist was ehei-ked, and as his history as a somnambulist is all 
 that we have to contemplate, it will be necessary to leap over a space of 
 five years, with a brief explanation of the means which indun.-d the de- 
 
206 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 velopment of his somnambalisra to cease, and a description, somewhat 
 less brief, of an incident for which, perhaps, many will be quite unpre- 
 pared. 
 
 And first with respect to the means by which his career as a somnam- 
 bulist was checked. It has been seen that Mr. Scholefield was an ab- 
 stemious man: it has been stated that when he dined at the doctor's, he 
 neither ate nor drank anything calculated to heat the blood or to pro- 
 duce any unnatural excitement; it will, therefore, be sufficient to add 
 simply, that his arguments in favour of that practice were so strong and 
 so convincing, that Sylvester adopted it at once; and having done so, he 
 felt throughout the day so much lighter and more lively, that he adhered 
 to it during the whole of the time he resided in Mr. Scholefield's house. 
 It will, however, here be correct to observe that his adherence to this 
 system must not be ascribed to any consciousness on his part of the 
 cause of his having previously felt so languid he had not even the 
 most remote idea of the fact of his physical energies having been during 
 the night exhausted: he attributed his gaiety and lightness of heart 
 solely to the regimen he had adopted, and hence he continued to adhere 
 to it firmly. 
 
 Now it happened that when Sylvester had been articled about twelve 
 months, Mr. Scholefield was summoned to attend a female who was re- 
 ported to be in the very last stage of consumption. He accordingly 
 went, and was shown into a plain but clean and neatly-furnished room, 
 in which he found a poor wasted, yet beautiful girl on a bed, near which 
 her broken-hearted mother sat weeping. 
 
 The old lady rose as he entered, and tried to conceal her tears, but 
 as the effort deprived her of the power to speak, he pressed her hand in 
 silence, and went to the bedside. 
 
 "My poor girl," said he, with a benevolent smile, on taking her 
 hands, which were like gloved bones, "why, your eyes are bright! 
 and sparkling! you must not be in this state long." 
 
 "I feel," she observed faintly "I feel that I should be well, if I 
 were not so weak. I have no pain no absolute physical pain and yet 
 I am prostrated thus!" 
 
 " Well, well," said he, soothingly, as a deep sigh escaped her, " you 
 must not be sad. We must hope for the best, and see what can be done. 
 I will send you that which will raise your spirits ; but your mind must 
 be tranquil: you must be quite calm. In the morning I'll see you 
 again." 
 
 He then gently pressed her thin, weak, fleshless hand, and, as she 
 fervently breathed forth her thanks, he left her. 
 
 On leaving the room, he was followed by her heart- stricken mother, 
 who exclaimed, with an expression of anxiety which denoted the exist- 
 ence of those feelings which mothers only can experience 
 
 "Pray, sir, tell me: are there any grounds for hope? or will my 
 poor dear child be lost to me for ever?" 
 
 " My, dear lady," replied Mr. Scholefield, who, although he perceived 
 clearly that the case was hopeless, felt perfectly justified in concealing 
 the fact then, " when I call in the morning, I shall be able to express a 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 207 
 
 more decided opinion. For the present, be assured that there is no im- 
 mediate danger/' 
 
 The poor lady cherished the hope thus inspired, and, clasping her 
 hands with deep fervour, thanked God. 
 
 " But," he added, " how long has your daughter been ill?" 
 
 " She has been sinking, sir, gradually, for nearly twelvemonths." 
 
 " Has anything of very great importance ever occurred to her? Do 
 you know of any circumstance at all calculated to prey upon her mind?" 
 
 "Alas! yes. I ascribe it all to that. She became, sir, about twelve 
 months since, enamoured, deeply enamoured, of a gentleman a medical 
 student who " 
 
 " I perceive, my dear lady. I do not wish to pry into any private 
 matter: that medical student, I perceive, was a villain." 
 
 "No, thank heaven! She is virtuous, sir pure as an angel! And 
 he, I believe, was virtuous, too. But having I do not say intention- 
 ally I do not believe that the slightest l>hnn? can attach to him but 
 having fascinated my dear child, ihe saw him no more." 
 
 " Was he aware of the fact of his having made this impression?" 
 
 "I think not: and even assuming that he was, he, perhaps, acted 
 wisely in the view of the world, for he was young very young; while 
 my child was then in a position far, very far, below the sphere in which 
 she had been accustomed to move." 
 
 " Did she write to him at all?" 
 
 "She, unfortunately, knew not where to write. She made every 
 possible effort to ascertain not with tin- view of being importunate, 
 but merely in order to see him once more 1 but, alas! she could gain 
 no intelligence of him. Tlu-iv wa> one student at the hospital who 
 knew him; but, although sin; applied to him frequently, all that she 
 could learn from him was, that he had left. She then Ix-jan to fade and 
 pine, and has been pining ever since. She remained in the situation 
 she occupied then, until she became too weak to perform its duties, and 
 now, sir, although once a lovely girl, she is as you have, seen her." 
 
 "Did he leave her unkind: 
 
 " Unhappily, no, sir. Had he been unkind, her pride would have 
 sustained her. But he was, on the contrary, most kind and courteo^p. 
 You probably perceived that she wore bracelets. Those bracelets were 
 his gift. Sin- wears them constantly: she would not part with them 
 for worlds!" 
 
 " I wish that I knew where to find him. You, of course, know his 
 name?" 
 
 " His name we could never learn : my child never heard more than 
 his Christian name mentioned." 
 
 " That's very unfortunate: very." 
 
 " I do believe, sir, that if she could but see him once again, her re- 
 covery even now would be almost immediate." 
 
 " Well, then, K-t us hope that she will again see him." 
 
 " I fear that that is hopeless.'' 
 
 " Things apparently more impossible have occurred." 
 
 " Very true, sir: very true," 
 
208 .-YLYl>Ti:i 
 
 \YY11, thru, do noi despair. Hope . still, and conceal your distress asi 
 much as possible from her." 
 
 "1 will do so," the poor lady exclaimed, as fresh t ;u - s gushed from 
 her eyes; " as much as possible, I will." 
 
 Mr. Scholefield then promised to send to her immediately on his re- 
 turn, and to see her again in the morning, and having reassured her that 
 there was no immediate danger, he left her rcinspired with hope. 
 
 During dinner that day, Mr. Scholefield alluded to this distressing 
 case; merely stating, however, that the poor girl had formed a romantic 
 attachment to a young man, whom she had since never seen, and that 
 she was then in consequence pining away in a hopeless state of consump- 
 tion. This statement, brief as it was, interested Sylvester deeply, and 
 as he had never witnessed a case of the kind as he had never seen the 
 hectic flush, and the various other symptoms of approaching death, 
 which arc, in such cases, commonly developed it was suggested by Mr. 
 Scholefield who was. at all times, anxious to advance Sylvester's pro- 
 fessional knowledge that, in the morning, they should visit the poor 
 girl together. 
 
 In the morning they accordingly went, and, on entering the room, 
 Found the old lady much more tranquil; but the very instant Sylvester 
 approached the bed, the poor girl started as if from a dream. 
 
 "Mother! mother!" she exclaimed; "look! there! Have I my 
 senses still, or have I lost them? Is this a vision? Sylvester!" she added, 
 as he extended his hand, for, in an instant, he recognised Julia. "Oh, 
 this is joy beyond expression," and, seizing his hand with all the energy 
 at her command, she passionately kissed it, and wept. 
 
 " My poor girl," said Sylvester, tenderly; and, while his eyes were 
 filled with tears, her mother stood struck with amazement. " How is it 
 with you?" 
 
 " Oh! I am happy now quite quite happy Sylvester! Oh! ho\v 1 
 have prayed to behold you once again. Blessed be God!" she added, 
 devoutly; "my prayers have been heard." 
 
 " And now," said Mr. Scholefield, having somewhat recovered from 
 the state of surprise into which this unexpected scene had thrown him ; 
 " you and I must come at once to an understanding. I have," he added, 
 with a smile which caused her to bless him ; " I have brought him, whom 
 I perceive you were rather anxious to see, with me; but, understand, I 
 must bring him no more, unless you promise me faithfully that you will 
 be henceforward calm." 
 
 "I do promise faithfully: I will be calm." 
 
 "I must not allow him to come here and throw you into this state of 
 excitement, when my object is to keep you as tranquil as possible." 
 
 "I will be tranquil: indeed, I will. I am not excited now! I am 
 only happy." 
 
 "Very well: then he shall again come to see you." 
 
 "Heaven will bless you for this!" exclaimed Julia; and Mr. Schole- 
 li.-ld and her mother retired to the window. "Sylvester!" she added, 
 with a look of unspeakable fondness; "can you forgive me?'' 
 
 ' : Forgive you, my poor girl, what have 1 to forgive?" 
 
-/X"/:^'// /'//// /,' ////// 
 
 X 
 

THE SOMNAMBULIST. 209 
 
 " My boldness; my forwardness." 
 " How can I forgive that of which I am unconscious?" 
 "You are kind !" she replied. "But tell me: have you been well? 
 and happy?" 
 
 "I have: and sorry indeed am I, to find that you have not." 
 "I have not been; but I am happy now, and hope to be soon again 
 well. But you will not despise me? I cannot conceal from you that which 
 I know that I ought to conceal. But, oh! how I have longed to see 
 you ! Do you remember that happy evening? the evening on which 
 you gave me these?" 
 
 Sylvester, who then, for the first time, noticed the bracelets, replied 
 that he did. 
 
 "You were smiling then," she continued; "'why do you not now 
 smile?" 
 
 Sylvester burst into tears. 
 
 "Do you weep for me?" she faintly inquired. " God bless you ! Do 
 you not think then that I shall recover':'" 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Scholefield, coming forward, "we must now for 
 the present leave you: but, remember, you must be quite calm!" 
 
 "I will be calm quite calm," replied Julia, who still held Sylvester's 
 hand in hers ; and when Mr. Scholefield was leaving the room, Sylvester 
 said " I will see you this evening." 
 
 " You will !" she exclaimed, with an expression of ecstacy. 
 "I will." 
 
 She kissed his hand, and he left her happy. 
 
 On leaving the house, Sylvester explained to Mr. Scholefield the 
 circumstances under which he had previously known her, and having 
 related the history of the bracelets, and all that had been said of her 
 by Tom, he earnestly inquired if her recovery were hopeless. 
 
 Mr. Scholefield replied that it was quite hopeless. "She may,"' he 
 added, "live four or five days longer; but your interview with her has, 
 in all probability, exhausted nearly the whole of her remaining strength. 
 Poor girl! I am, indeed, very sorry for her. She has been, it appears, 
 the sole support of her mother: her death will break the old lady's 
 heart." 
 
 "Do you think," inquired Sylvester, cautiously, "do you think that 
 they are in poverty now?" 
 
 "I should say, not in absolute poverty : that is to say, not in a state 
 of actual destitution ; but that they are poor, very poor, I've no doubt." 
 Sylvester was silent and thoughtful. He had in his desk a ten-pound 
 note, and as he felt quite sure of being able to borrow another of Tom, 
 he resolved on sending them twenty pounds, anonymously, in the course 
 of the morning. 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution he, on leaving Mr. Scholefield, called 
 upon Tom, who was at that period preparing to pass the college. 
 
 " Tom," said he, "I want ten pounds. I wish you'd let me have it, 
 till I can hear from my aunt?" 
 "Ted what '."cried Tom. 
 "Ten pounds." 
 
 Q 
 
210 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 " Is there such a sub id the world?" 
 
 "Why it isn't a very enormous sum!" 
 
 " I dod't thidk there is such a sub ; / dever had such a sub id by 
 possessiod! I should like to see the bad who has got ted poudds. 
 There was a swell, add his nabe was Croesus, who bight have had ted 
 poudds by hib ; but I dever yet heard of a Croesus secuddus." 
 
 "Nay, but joking apart, Tom; will you let me have ten pounds for 
 a few days?" 
 
 " By dear fellow, ask be for ted drops of blood, add I'll give eb to you 
 freely ; but what state of bide do you ibagide the old people would be 
 id if they fadcied I had the sub of ted poudds by be? They have dever 
 yet let be have such ad aboudt of buddy. Ted poudds ! Woulddt I 
 have a flare-up with ted poudds 1" 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, " it's a matter of slight importance. I did 
 want twenty, but as I've only ten, I must make ten do for to-day." 
 
 " Stop!" cried Tom; " a thought strikes be. Did you ever go to by 
 udcles?" 
 
 " No; I never knew that you had one." 
 
 " Greed, Syl! still extrebely greed. / dever saw hib ; but all our fel- 
 lows have : he is, I believe, dearly related to the lot. Dow, I'll tell you 
 what it is, Syl, I haved't ted poudds, but I've a watch which did, I be- 
 lieve, origidally belodg to by graddbother's graddfather's secodd wife's 
 bother, add which I udderstadd is worth thirty. If, therefore, you thidk 
 that we cad buster up courage edough to take this to the pawnbroker's, 
 I've doe doubt he'll ledd us the sub of ted poudds upod it." 
 
 " Oh, I've a watch, too ! But I don't know how to manage it." 
 
 " Oh, we'll badage it sobehow. Let's take theb both, add if bide isd't 
 valuable edough, you kdow, he cad hold yours as well." 
 
 " Mine's worth more than twenty pounds." 
 
 " Well, but there's dothidg at* all like beidg sure. Cobe alodg, add 
 let's try our luck. I should like to see what sort of a swell this udi- 
 versal relatiod of madkide is." 
 
 They accordingly went to a pawnbroker's shop, and looked artfully in 
 at the window for a time, and then walked on a little, and turned and re- 
 turned, and examined the goods in the window again ; and then anxiously 
 looked up the street and then down, with the view of ascertaining if any 
 one were watching them. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, at length, " shall we go id?" 
 
 " Why," returned Sylvester, "I don't at all like the idea. Suppose 
 any one were to see us?" 
 
 " That would be awkward, certaidly. But bight they dot thidk that 
 we wedt id to buy sobething?" 
 
 " Well, it is true they might think so. But really I don't at all fancy 
 the thing." 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," said Tom. " Perhaps it doesd't 
 look well for two fellows like us to go id together ; I'll toss you for the 
 chadce such a chadce as it is: heads, I go id: tails, you go." 
 
 "Agreed," said Sylvester; and when they had removed from the 
 window Tom tossed, and the result was a head. 
 


 p 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 211 
 
 " By usual luck!" he exclaimed. "But dever bide: I'll go." 
 
 And he did go, boldly up to the window ; and stopped, and examined 
 the little articles exhibited therein, and then went back to Sylvester 
 fraught with an idea. 
 
 " Syl," said he, with a doubtful expression. " I say! will it look well, 
 do you thidk, for wud fellow to go id with two watches?" 
 
 " Perhaps not," returned Sylvester; who began to wish that he hadn't 
 embarked at all in this expedition. 
 
 " Who kdows," resumed Ton^ " they bay thidk that I stole theb. I'll 
 tell you what, Syl; let's go idto this public-house, add talk over the 
 batter calbly." 
 
 Into the public-house they accordingly went ; and when Sylvester had 
 ordered a bottle of soda-water for himself, and Tom had called, of course, 
 for a pot of porter, they sat down with the view of having a calm dis- 
 cussion on the intricate ramifications of the case. 
 
 " Dow," said Tom, " the questiod is, what's best to be dode? Add 
 id the first place, what do you suggest?" 
 
 "Why, I think that we had better give it up!" replied Sylvester. 
 
 " Give it up! Dever! We'll have the buddy. Stop a bidite," said 
 he, as the waiter entered; "there, that'll do: we'll oped that. Dow," 
 he added, having pulled out two-thirds of the porter, " I'b ready for 
 adythidg id life. I'll tell you what I'll do ; I'll go over with wud, add 
 thed they cad have doe suspiciod." 
 
 " Well then, take mine," said Sylvester. 
 
 "Doe: that wod't do. Suppose they ask if the watch is by owd? 
 Dod't you see? I cad't say yes. Add if I were, add it should cobe to 
 a search, add the officer were to fide adother watch id by pocket but 
 that I could leave here: yes, I bight do that: still I'd better take by 
 owd. I wudder what sort of questiods they usually ask. I'll bet ted to 
 wud I'b bowled out." 
 
 " Then don't go." 
 
 " Dot go ! What are you talkidg about? What have I to fear? ' I 
 wadt you to ledd be ted poudds upod this.' That's all I have to say; 
 add a child could say that. I have seed childred frequedtly go id alode. 
 If they should have ady doubt about the batter, I'll bridg theb over 
 here. But thed it bight cobe to a pair of haddcuffs ; we bight thed be 
 barched off together od suspiciod." 
 
 " We had better give it up," said Sylvester. " You had better not go." 
 
 " Go! m go !" cried Tom, valiantly; and having finished his porter, 
 he left the room with the air of a man who fully expected to meet an 
 enraged rhinoceros. 
 
 During his absence, Sylvester was filled with apprehension. He con- 
 ceived that Tom might be suspected of dishonesty that he might be 
 detained that he might be given into the custody of a policeman, and 
 that the result would be a humiliating exposure. He tried to subdue 
 the fears thus inspired, but as Tom was absent a very long time, they 
 every moment acquired fresh strength. 
 
 At length, however, Tom returned, and on entering the room he 
 dashed his hat upon the table, and exclaimed 
 
 Q2 
 
212 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " It's of doe use, Syl: I cad't do it! I did just dow work byself up 
 idto a fit of desperatiod, but just as I was bakidg a rush id, a fellow 
 cabe to the door with a ped behide his ear, add looked at be exactly as 
 if he suspected that I was goidg to cut a pade of glass out of his widdow. 
 Dow I'll tell you what we'll do. I kdow a fellow who's up to every 
 thidg of the sort. We'll go to his lodgidgs he'll do it id a bobedt. 
 Cobe alodg!" 
 
 " No," said Sylvester, " I shouldn't like that. Don't you think that 
 the doctor would lend me ten pounds?" 
 
 " Id ad idstadt! I dever thought of that! of course he would." 
 
 " I do not like to have it of Mr. Scholefield, because he would know 
 at once what I wanted it for." 
 
 " Thed have it of the goverdor! Shall I ask hib for you?" 
 
 " No: I think it would look better for me to ask him myself." 
 
 " Very well; thed cobe alodg; we shall just about catch hib at hobe. 
 I'd ask hib to ledd it to be, but that would be doe go at all." 
 
 They then left the house, and, as they returned to the doctor's resi- 
 dence, Sylvester said " Have you seen Julia lately?" 
 
 "Doe," replied Tom; "I've dot beed to the house for a lodg tibe. 
 But I believe she has left. Ill health, I believe, was the cause of her 
 leavidg. The last tibe I saw her that was sobe bodths ago she 
 wadted to kdow where you lived, but, of course, I didd't feel at all justi- 
 fied id gividg her your address." 
 
 Sylvester was silent; and as the subject was not pursued by Tom, 
 they returned in silence to the residence of the doctor, who was then in 
 the library alone. 
 
 " You had better go id at wudce," said Tom. " I shall be id by study. 
 Dod't leave, you kdow, without cobidg up." 
 
 Sylvester promised that he would not ; and on going into the library 
 was received by the doctor, as usual, with the utmost cordiality and 
 kindness. 
 
 " Doctor," said he, " I have to ask you a favour. It happens that I 
 want ten pounds until I receive a remittance from my aunt, which will 
 be the day after to-morrow." 
 
 11 Very good." 
 
 " Will you do me the favour to let me have it?" 
 
 " Of course! I am quite sure that the purpose for which you want 
 it is a good one." 
 
 "It is. I do not like to ask Mr. Scholefield " 
 
 " My good fellow, not another word. Here is a cheque for fifteen." 
 
 " Ten will be quite sufficient." 
 
 " I have written it now ; and whenever you happen to want money, 
 come at once to me." 
 
 He then inquired after Mr. Scholefield, and when he had made a few 
 remarks having reference to professional matters, Sylvester withdrew, 
 and went up stairs to Tom. 
 
 "Well," said Tom, u he let you have the buddy, of course?" 
 
 " In a moment," replied Sylvester. " I asked him for ten, and he 
 gave me a cheque for fifteen." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 213 
 
 " What ad out-add-out systeb, that cheque systeb is. It saves a bad 
 the trouble of puttidg his hadd idto his pocket, which is very addoyidg 
 whed there's doe buddy there. I dever wrote wild id by life. I should 
 like to write a few. I'b sure it must be a cobfort." 
 
 " When you know that they will be cashed." 
 
 " That's of course what I bead. If ady badker id dature would cash 
 by cheques, I'd give hib add all his clerks twelvebodths hard labour." 
 
 " But you are not short of money, are you?" 
 
 "Dot a bit of it! I dod't wad'Zbuch; but I'b dever without a sov. 
 Whed I cobe dowd to wud, that's the sigdal for actiod : I dever let eb rest 
 till they bake it up five. Five's the baxibud: wud's the bidibub; but the 
 goverdor owes be two, which I cad't get." 
 
 " He owes you two!" 
 
 " Of course. About twelvebodths ago, a swell swiddled hib out of two 
 which two he said I bight get if I could ; but I cad't fide the fellow 
 add as I therefore cad't get the buddy of hib, the goverdor owes it of 
 course !" 
 
 " Well, if you can convince him that he owes it by such a line of 
 logic as that, 1 have not the slightest doubt that he'll pay you." 
 
 " I expect he'll give it be wud of these days id a state of disgust, to 
 get rid of the addoyadce. But I say, you'll stop add have a bit of ludch 
 with be?" 
 
 " No; not this morning." 
 
 " I've got sobe pribe stout, add the bortal rebaids of a capital pie ! 
 Have a look at it." 
 
 " No, I must be off." 
 
 " Well, if you bust, why, you bust ! But whedever you wadt to go to 
 by udcles, you cad't do better thad take be with you. That's a dodge I 
 shadt forget." 
 
 Sylvester smiled, and left him; and when he had got the cheque 
 cashed, he enclosed the whole of the twenty-five pounds, with a delicate 
 note, signed simply " A Friend" and privately sent it to Julia's mother. 
 
 In the evening having previously intimated to Mr. Scholefield that 
 he had promised to call upon Julia he performed that promise, and the 
 moment he entered the room, the old lady who felt sure that the money 
 had been sent by him fell upon his neck, blessed him. and sobbed like a 
 child.' 
 
 On reaching the bed, he found Julia much weaker. Her eyes, indeed, 
 flashed as she beheld him, and the blood rushed at once to her cheeks; 
 but her glance soon changed to an inexpressive glare, and her cheeks 
 became deadly pale. 
 
 " My dear girl," said Sylvester, perceiving at once that Mr. Scholefield's 
 conjecture was correct; "I fear that you are not quite so well this 
 evening?" 
 
 Julia had not the power to speak above a whisper, and that was too 
 faint to be heard. 
 
 "But, come," resumed Sylvester, tenderly; "you must not be sad. 
 All may yet be well. Julia, I have come to sit with you to converse 
 with you, Julia," 
 
214 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Julia sighed, and slightly smiled, as she pressed his hand to her 
 pallid lips. 
 
 " Julia," said Sylvester, after a pause, during which her eyes conti- 
 nued to be fixed upon him; " will you for a moment excuse me?" 
 
 Her lips moved, and Sylvester, on bending his ear to them, heard, 
 faintly, the words, " You will not leave me long?" 
 
 " I will not be one moment," he replied, and, on leaving the room, he 
 sent a man off to Mr. Scholefield, to request his immediate attendance. 
 
 On his return, he resumed his seat, in silence, by her side, and again 
 took her weak hand, and met her fond gaze ; and thus he continued to 
 eit in silence until Mr. Scholefield arrived. 
 
 Mr. Scholefield, who, in a moment, saw how the case stood, gave Julia 
 a few drops of wine, which, in some degree, revived her; and, having 
 instructed Sylvester what to do in an event which he clearly perceived 
 to be inevitable, he sat for some time with the poor old lady who was 
 overwhelmed with grief, and whose heart was then ready to break and 
 when he had affectionately taken leave of Julia as he felt, for the last 
 time he left them, with Sylvester's hand still clasped in hers. 
 
 It was then eight o'clock, and for nearly an hour Sylvester sat watch- 
 ing her, almost in silence, without perceiving the slightest change. 
 About nine o'clock, however, she intimated a wish to have a little more 
 wine, and as Mr. Scholefield had privately told him that whatever she 
 wished for then she might have Sylvester tenderly raised her head and 
 gave her a few drops more. 
 
 Again she revived and was able to speak, although but in a whisper ; 
 and that so faint, that it could scarcely be said to have violated silence : 
 stiD, finding that she had this power restored, she moved her lips slightly, 
 and Sylvester listened. 
 
 " Sylvester," he heard her say, " I soon shall be no more. I feel that 
 every hope of my recovery has fled: the only hope I cherish still, is that 
 we may meet in heaven! God for ever bless you! I die happy, 
 Sylvester ! quite happy now that you are near me ! Pray for me, 
 Sylvester pray with me. Angels of light are waiting now to bear our 
 prayers to heaven !" 
 
 Sylvester, who was deeply affected, knelt and prayed with fervour: 
 her mother also knelt and prayed and Julia ceased to breathe 1 
 
 They were, however, for some time unconscious of this, for her eyes 
 continued bright, and her features were unchanged, while she still 
 pressed Sylvester's hand ; but, when they at length found that her spirit 
 had fled, her poor devoted, broken-hearted, mother gave one convulsive 
 shriek, and instantly fell upon the bed a corpse ! 
 
 For some time Sylvester stood by the bed motionless. His faculties 
 were paralysed. He seemed struck -with horror ! Eventually, how- 
 ever, he recovered himself, and summoned assistance from below. 
 
 The person who kept the house a kind, honest, motherly creature 
 no sooner ascertained what had occurred, than she begged of him, as 
 a favour, to remain for she had heard from Julia's mother how kind 
 he had been until he had seen what property had been left. 
 
 To this Sylvester consented ; and, at the earnest request of this poor 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 215 
 
 it honest woman, took charge of all the papers, money, and jewellery, 
 
 und. 
 
 "I feel that you will do all that is necessary," said Sylvester; "and 
 
 assured that you will not go unrewarded." 
 
 "I do not think of reward, sir," replied the good woman. "I will, 
 
 , do all that is necessary : for I loved the young lady as if she had 
 been my own child, and her mother I regarded as a sister." 
 
 " Those bracelets " said Sylvester. 
 
 "I have heard of them, sir: you wish them to remain on?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " They shall not be removed. Be assured that I will pay every possi- 
 ble attention. 
 
 " I feel assured that you will," said Sylvester, who left the house 
 with a heavy heart, to explain at home all that had occurred. 
 
 Mr. Scholefield was not much surprised: he knew when he left 
 the house that poor Julia could not live more than a few hours ; 
 and although he imagined that her mother might linger some days, 
 he felt sure that her daughter's death would break her heart; but 
 Mrs. Scholefield who of course did not view it as he did, profession- 
 ally took the deepest possible interest in the case, and went with Syl- 
 vester in the morning to superintend the arrangements ; and that day 
 week poor Julia and her mother were followed by Sylvester borne 
 to the grave. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE MAIDEN SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. 
 
 HAVING related in the preceding chapter the only incident of impor- 
 tance connected with this history, which occurred during Sylvester's 
 residence with Mr. Scholefield, it will be necessary now to proceed from 
 that period at which he passed with eclat, both the college and the 
 hall. 
 
 Finding a strict adherence to that regimen, to which he had been 
 accustomed while under Mr. Scholefield's roof, now most inconvenient, 
 he gradually reacquired the habit of living as those whom he visited 
 lived; and, as he did so, his somnambulism of which he was still un- 
 conscious returned. 
 
 It did not, however, develope itself strongly at first : but, by degrees, 
 he could eat, drink, walk, converse, read, write, compose, and translate, 
 with as much facility while asleep as he could when awake. It 
 frequently puzzled him, when, on rising in the morning, he found a mass 
 of matter on the table which had been composed by him in the course 
 of the night : indeed, he had not left the house of Mr. Scholefield more 
 than a month, when he discovered in one of his drawers an elaborate 
 Treatise on the Functions of the Heart, of the composition of which 
 
216 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 he had no recollection, although it had been manifestly written by 
 himself. 
 
 Nor was this all: essays and other articles, with which he occasion- 
 ally furnished the various medical journals, were written during sleep: 
 he had but to commence or think about one in the evening, no matter 
 how difficult the subject, to find it completed in the monrning when he 
 rose. 
 
 These circumstances, constantly occurring as they did, engendered a 
 peculiar species of superstition. He imagined that he was under the 
 influence of Genii, and this idea led him into abstruse speculations on 
 supernatural influences in general ; in which speculations, as a matter of 
 gratitude, those Genii rendered him some powerful assistance, but only 
 of course when their slave was asleep. 
 
 He had, however, too much knowledge to progress in the black art to 
 any great extent : his reasoning powers were too acute to allow him to 
 embrace that pseudo science: still he felt involved in a mystery, the 
 solution of which he held to be beyond all human power, and while 
 with reason he annihilated the temples of the Genii, he without reason 
 clung to the ruins still. 
 
 But even then his somnambulism was not confined to his chambers. 
 Sometimes he would walk when the moon was up with a lamp in his 
 hand, which, although extinguished, he fancied illumined all around: 
 sometimes he would rise about three o'clock, walk to the Serpentine, 
 fast asleep, bathe for an hour, dress himself, and then return to bed ; 
 and frequently, when he had been to a ball, would he return in an hour 
 or two, recommence dancing, and stop till the last, while all whom he 
 met, or with whom he conversed, were unconscious of the fact of his 
 being asleep. 
 
 On one occasion, four of his most esteemed friends called at his lodg- 
 ings about five o'clock the hour at which he invariably dined and 
 acted and talked precisely as if they had made up their minds to stop. 
 He would, at any other time, have been very glad to see them; but, as 
 he wanted his dinner, he felt their presence, then, to be extremely in- 
 convenient ; and soon began to feel most impatient for their departure. 
 But they had not the slightest notion of starting : not they. There they 
 were, and there they stuck, wondering what highly-important personage 
 had been invited to meet them, for they all felt that he must be a person 
 of great distinction, to induce Sylvester to keep them waiting so long. 
 
 " I say," inquired one of them, about six o'clock ; " whom are you 
 waiting for?" 
 
 " Whom am I waiting for! No one," said Sylvester. 
 
 11 Oh, I thought you were waiting for some one." 
 
 " No. What induced you to think that I was?" 
 
 " I thought so merely because it's six o'clock. That's all!" 
 
 " It is six," said Sylvester, looking at his watch, and, as he did so, he 
 privately wished they'd be off, but of this they had not even the most 
 remote idea; and their manifest tenacity to the place was, in his view, 
 amazing. He couldn't understand it. They never called before at such 
 un hour ; nor had he ever known them to linger so long. Had one, or 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 217 
 
 even two, of them dropped in upon him, he wouldn't have thought much 
 about it ; but the idea of four having called at the same time and that, 
 too, at such a time certainly did strike him as being most strange. 
 
 Half-past six arrived, and there they were still impatient but merry 
 hungry but gay indulging in pointed but lively allusions to maiden 
 dinners and wolfish guests, which, to Sylvester, were wholly incom- 
 prehensible. 
 
 " Is your cook ill, old fellow?" said one of them. 
 
 " Not that I'm aware of." 
 
 "I thought that she might have been seized with something sud- 
 denly." 
 
 " She may have been, for aught I know," said Sylvester, who joined in 
 the general laugh. " I have not had the pleasure of either seeing her 
 lately, or receiving anything from her." 
 
 They now thought that something must have occurred in the kitchen, 
 and attributed Sylvester's obvious impatience to some peculiar species 
 of domestic mortification. They, therefore, resolved on waiting till seven 
 without making any further allusion to the subject; but, before that 
 hour had arrived, Sylvester finding they wouldn't go said, boldly, 
 " I'll tell you what, gentlemen, / must have my dinner!" 
 
 "Do so, by all means," said one of them; "oh, yes; have it up at 
 once." 
 
 Well. Sylvester certainly thought this cool; but as it was then quite 
 clear that they meant to see him eat it, he turned and rang the bell. 
 
 " Bring up the dinner," said he, when the servant entered. 
 
 " Here, sir; in this room?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The servant looked, and frowned upon them all, which was, perhaps, 
 but natural, seeing that cook had, for nearly two hours, been frowning 
 upon her. She left the room, however, immediately ; and on her return 
 laid the cloth for one! The guests glanced at each other, as if they 
 didn't understand this nor did they : but, conceiving that the servant 
 might feel confused, and that, in her confusion, she had become quite 
 oblivious, they were silent. When, however, the girl whom they now 
 watched narrowly brought up the tray, and placed on the table nothing 
 but a small calf's tongue, and a couple of chickens done to rags, the case 
 became, in their judgment, serious. 
 
 " I say, old fellow, how's this?" said one of them; "are you going to 
 dine alone?" 
 
 " Unless you'll have a cut in with me," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " A cut in? What ! four or five fellows, as hungry as wolves, cut 
 into a couple of chickens! You know, I suppose, that we came to dine 
 with you?" 
 
 " Dine with me? No ! Why didn't you tell me you were coming? 
 I'd no idea of it!" 
 
 " Not after having invited us?" 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " Did you not send notes to all of us this morning, inviting us to dine 
 with you at five?" 
 
218 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "No: certainly not!" 
 
 " Well, but I received one." 
 
 " And so did I! and I! and I !" cried the rest. 
 
 " But not from me. Have you one of them with you?" 
 
 Their hands were in their pockets in an instant, but they found that 
 not one of the notes had been brought. 
 
 "And have you been waiting all this time for dinner?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 "And I have been waiting for you to go! It's a hoax! But come 
 along : we'll soon make it all right." 
 
 " Stop a minute," said one, " for I'm ready to dropl" And seizing a 
 chicken, he had a " cut in." The rest followed his example, for their 
 appetites were keen; and when they had managed to pick all the bones, 
 which they did in the space of three minutes, Sylvester took them to the 
 nearest hotel, and ordered the best dinner that could be served up at 
 eight. 
 
 The "hoax," as they all now conceived it to be, was a source of 
 much merriment during the evening. It gave a zest to the dinner, a 
 zest to the wine, and a zest to every joke that was uttered. They en- 
 joyed themselves exceedingly infinitely more than they could other- 
 wise have done ; and, on leaving, they all pronounced it to be the merriest 
 evening they had ever spent. 
 
 It was about twelve when Sylvester returned to his lodgings, and in 
 ten minutes after his return he was in bed and asleep. He had not, 
 however, been asleep long, when his imagination being somewhat 
 heated by wine -he commenced dreaming; and as this led to results 
 which will be anon explained, it will be as well for the dream itself to 
 be at once related. 
 
 In the first place, then, he imagined himself a candidate for the repre- 
 sentation of his native county. A requisition, signed by all the free- 
 holders in the county save one, had been forwarded to him, and as he 
 had therefore consented to stand, the whole of the scenes which are held 
 to be inseparable from a contested election, then passed in review before 
 him. The formation of the committee the preliminary meetings the 
 nomination the election the declaration the chairing and the ball, 
 followed each other in rapid succession. He was returned, of course: 
 for there was only one man who voted against him, and that was the 
 other candidate, whom he challenged in consequence : fought, with two 
 pieces of ordnance carrying twenty -four pounders, and wounded in the 
 ear ; and having accomplished all this, came to town, where he then was 
 engaged in the preparation of various highly important bills, which he 
 intended to submit to the house without delay. 
 
 Having arrived at this interesting point, he imagined that that was 
 the very day on which his presence in the house was expected, and as it 
 soon came down to the hour at which two honourable members would 
 be waiting to introduce him, he rose, and having dressed with care, 
 walked down to the House, with one of his " bills " which was, in 
 reality, a " Treatise on the Ear" under his arm. 
 
 This was about half-past twelve; for the whole of the dream had 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 219 
 
 lot occupied more than three minutes ; and, on reaching the House, into 
 yhich he well knew the way, having been frequently under the gallery, 
 ic looked about the lobby for the honourable members whom he ex- 
 acted would be waiting to receive him ; when, being unable to recog-/ 
 use them there, he walked boldly into the house, bowed to the Speaker, 
 md took his seat. 
 
 The confident air with which he entered, would alone have been suf- 
 ficient to disarm all suspicion of his being a stranger, if even any such 
 suspicion had been excited ; but as it occurred just after a general elec- 
 tion, when a host of new members are almost invariably returned, the 
 door-keepers thought of course that he was one of them. 
 
 Nor did the members themselves for a moment suspect that he was 
 not : in fact, the idea of his being an intruder, never occurred to any 
 one of them. They all thought that of course he was one of the new 
 members ; and, being interested in his appearance, inquired anxiously 
 of each other who he was. 
 
 Sylvester, however, took no notice of them ; that is to say, indivi- 
 ally: he viewed them only in the mass: his attention was fixed upon 
 those who addressed the house; the arguments adduced by some of 
 whom he rose to answer, but being unable to catch the Speaker's eye, 
 others followed, and he resumed his seat. 
 
 The question before the house on that occasion, had reference to the 
 practice of baking the dinners of the poor on the Sunday, and Sylvester 
 felt disgusted with the wild fanaticism by which the speeches of some of 
 the opponents of that practice were characterised. It was hence that he 
 rose to reply to them, and was sorry when he found himself compelled to 
 resume his seat. He was still, however, on the qui vive; and as the ho- 
 nourable member who was then speaking, was the most malignant, bigoted, 
 superficial, self-sufficient, persecuting, narrow-minded puritan of them 
 all, the very moment he had finished, Sylvester, fired with indignation, 
 started up, caught the eye of the Speaker, and commenced. 
 
 He was, however, for a moment compelled to pause ; for the house, as 
 a matter of courtesy, cheered him ; and when the cheering had subsided 
 into the most profound silence, he felt himself much more calm and said, 
 
 " Sir, In every society, and in every circle, in every house, institu- 
 tion, or assembly, in which religious enthusiasm has been tolerated, it 
 has engendered dissensions, bitterness, heart-burnings, and hatred 
 severed friendships, subdued affections, destroyed brotherly love and 
 sympathy converted harmony into discord, happiness into misery, and 
 filled the mind in which sweet peace reigned, with fearful apprehensions. 
 (Cheers.) Sir, religious enthusiasm, as it is called, but which I call 
 fanaticism, is as distinct from religion itself, as intolerance is from 
 charity, as humility is from pride, as meekness is from arrogance, or 
 as Christian forbearance is from cruel persecution. Its essence is tyranny : 
 its history has been written in blood. Ignorance is one of its chief cha- 
 racteristics, and even where the germs of genius have struck root in the 
 soil, it has sprung up, and waved and bloomed but to be blasted. Its 
 presumption shocks heaven. It would impiously wrest the sword of 
 Justice, and the sceptre of Mercy, from the hands of the Eternal God. 
 
220 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 (Great sensation.) To the advancement of human knowledge it has 
 been opposed : to the progress of science it has ever been a bitter foe. 
 The pretence of the puritans is, and always has been, that they fear 
 that science will compass the destruction of religion ! Science compass 
 the destruction of religion! It is false that they have any such fear; 
 and if it were true, the inspiration of that fear is of itself impious. Re- 
 ligion derives its light from truth, even as the moon derives her lustre 
 from the sun. It is based upon truth, and truth is eternal : 
 
 ' The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; 
 But Truth shall flourish in immortal youth, 
 Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
 The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.' 
 
 No! (continued Sylvester, when the cheering had subsided.) It is 
 not that they fear the destruction of religion: they are apprehensive 
 only of the destruction of that fanaticism which stands between dark- 
 ness and light. It therefore behoves us, as the chosen representatives of 
 the people, whose morality and whose happiness it is our duty to promote, 
 it behoves us, I say, when we see this religious enthusiasm, or rather 
 this fanaticism, thus endeavouring to creep in here, to repudiate it in 
 limine. (Cheers.) They who are anxious to introduce it may be pure 
 I say that they may be I do not know that they are not ; but this I 
 know, there's nothing looks so much like a good shilling as a bad one. 
 (Loud laughter.) Let us throw out at once this fanatical bill : let us 
 crush this and every other attempt to circumscribe the already too 
 limited comforts of the poor, and instead of sowing religious dissensions 
 among the people, creating discord, and inspiring them with hatred of 
 each other; let us legislate with a view to promote the cultivation of 
 those kindly, beautiful, generous, philanthropic feelings which impart a 
 zest to life, and which bind man to man." 
 
 At the conclusion of this speech, which was hailed with loud cheers, 
 and which really was delivered with much point and energy, Sylvester 
 at once resumed his seat; but while the members around him were 
 crying " Who is he?" in vain for none could tell them he rose and 
 left the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 TttE ACCUSATION. 
 
 IN the morning, while at breakfast, the eye of Sylvester rested upon 
 the speech which he himself had delivered, and which he found ascribed 
 to "AN HON. MEMBER." He was struck with the speech: not because 
 it developed any extraordinary talent, but because the words employed 
 were those which he had been in the habit of employing, while the sen- 
 tences were of his own construction. No man, perhaps, ever was, or 
 ever will be, able to pass a speech of his own unnoticed. Both in speak- 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 221 
 
 ing and writing, every man has a peculiar style a style, of which the 
 peculiarity of it cannot be at once perceived by others, is very soon dis- 
 3overed by himself. Hence, though unconscious of its being his own, 
 Sylvester dwelt upon this speech, notwithstanding it was but an outline 
 of the question at issue an outline which left the filling up to the ima- 
 gination. Still it is questionable whether even this piece of declamation 
 could have been delivered by him in the house when awake. Had he 
 been in reality a member albeit he might have felt equally indignant 
 at the mode in which the subject was discussed his palm, retiring, 
 diffident nature would, in all probability, have prompted him to be 
 silent ; but while asleep, every feeling, every idea of fear, was absent ; 
 le experienced no nervousness, no trepidation: whatever his imagina- 
 tion suggested, he did, regardless of all unfavourable consequences, 
 seeing that Danger never presented itself then to his view. 
 
 Having read this speech again and again suggesting improvements 
 as he proceeded, precisely as if he had been conscious of its being his 
 own he was amazed by the sudden arrival of Mr. Scholefield, whose 
 countenance denoted the most painful anxiety. 
 
 " Good God!" he exclaimed " Sylvester, what have you been doing?" 
 
 " Doing? 1 ' echoed Sylvester, with an expression of wonder. " Ex- 
 plain." 
 
 " Where were you last night or rather this morning?" 
 
 " Last night I was at the hotel just above, with some friends." 
 
 " At what time did you leave those friends V 
 
 " About twelve o'clock." 
 
 " Well, and where did you go then?" 
 
 " Where did I go? I came home and went to bed." 
 
 " Immediately?" 
 
 " Immediately." 
 
 " Sylvester," said Mr. Scholefield, with deep emotion, " confide in 
 me. Disguise nothing from me. I have," he added, as tears sprang 
 into his eyes " I have towards you the feelings of a father." 
 
 " Why, how is this?" interrupted Sylvester. " What is the meaning 
 of it all?" 
 
 " Sylvester, you have known me sufficiently long, I hope, to know 
 that I am your friend; therefore conceal nothing from me." 
 
 " What have I to conceal? I am perfectly unconscious of having 
 done anything which renders concealment necessary, or even expedient." 
 
 " Did you not visit Lady Julian last night?" 
 
 " Most certainly not. I have not seen Lady Julian since I left you." 
 
 " What! were you not there until three o'clock this morning?" 
 
 "There! where?" 
 
 " At Sir Charles's house." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Sylvester," resumed Mr. Scholefield, solemnly, " Sir Charles himself, 
 on his return at that hour, saw you pass out at the garden-gate." 
 
 "No such thing!" exclaimed Sylvester, indignantly. 
 
 u He declares it to be a fact." 
 
 " Then he declares that which is false." 
 
 " But Thompson, his butler, saw you too." 
 
222 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Neither of them saw me. Neither could have seen me, for I was 
 not there." 
 
 " Sylvester, their evidence is strong, and, I fear, too conclusive. 
 Thompson undertakes to swear that he saw you coming from the ante- 
 room which leads to Lady Julian's chamber." 
 "He does!" 
 
 " He does ; and is, moreover, prepared to swear that he let you 
 out. His statement is this: that being anxious to see the butler at 
 the next house, he went and conversed with him, until he heard Sir 
 Charles's carriage approaching ; that he instantly returned, and on his 
 return, found the door as he had left it, slightly open; that he then 
 closed the door, until the carriage should be announced, and having 
 occasion to go up-stairs, saw you coming from the ante-room alone; 
 and that on seeing you he descended and let you out, just as the carriage 
 drew up to the gate. 
 
 " It is false! every word of it ! utterly false !" 
 
 "He declares every word of it to be true! He also declares 
 every word of it to be true ! He also declares that he should have 
 spoken to you had he not felt that one of the other servants had let you 
 in. In fact, having seen you there so frequently, and at almost all hours, 
 both with me and alone, I don't suppose the idea of there being any 
 impropriety in the visit for a moment occurred to him." 
 
 " Well, but why did not Sir Charles himself speak?" 
 
 " He did do so : at least, he says that he called to you before he 
 could alight, and that you bowed and passed on; when, fearing that 
 Lady Julian who is in a delicate state still had had a relapse, he 
 went immediately up to her chamber, and had she not at once denied 
 that you had been there, no more would have been thought of the 
 matter." 
 
 " She was justified in denying it! She was bound to deny it ! I had 
 not been there. If I had, be assured that to you I would, under existing 
 circumstances, confess it." 
 
 " I thought that you would!" 
 
 " And think so still. Either Sir Charles and his butler have been 
 grossly mistaken, or they have conspired to blast her reputation and 
 mine." 
 
 " That they have both been mistaken is certainly possible ; but in 
 the possibility of Sir Charles having entered into any such conspiracy 
 I cannot believe. I know him to be devotedly attached to his wife. I 
 have known him privately, and under almost every variety of circum- 
 stances for years, and if any man can be said to know another's heart, I 
 know his. No, Sylvester; be assured that he is incapable of entering 
 into such conspiracy." 
 
 " What then is to be thought of it? He knows me well! I am per- 
 fectly well known to them both ! And is it not almost inconceivable that 
 either of them could, under the circumstances, have mistaken any one 
 else for me?" 
 
 " It does indeed appear to be almost inconceivable." 
 
 " Well !" exclaimed Sylvester. " The thing begins to assume a serious 
 aspect!" 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 223 
 
 " Serious ! I contemplate the consequences with feelings of horror. 
 Jnless you can break down the evidence against you, your death may 
 )e the immediate result ; and failing that, your ruin as a professional 
 nan will be inevitable. Sir Charles is in a state of mind bordering 
 ipon madness. He has ever since been raving for revenge. He cast 
 Lady Julian off instantly; and, but for the interposition of the servants, 
 would have killed her ; and now he has sent a friend to you to demand 
 immediate satisfaction." 
 
 " Is it possible?" 
 
 " That friend is now in the room adjoining, where, as he called upon 
 me first, not knowing your address, I begged of him to remain until I 
 bad seen you." 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, thoughtfully; " the thing appears to be coming 
 x) a crisis ! But, be assured of this, that I was not there. Will you," 
 be added, calmly, " do me the favour to introduce him?" 
 
 Mr. Scholefield, with an expression of sorrow, then rose and left the 
 room ; and having been absent for a moment, returned with Sir William 
 D'Almaine. 
 
 " This," said Sir William, on taking a seat, " is indeed a most unhappy 
 affair; but as I can have no desire to harrow your feelings, I will, if 
 you will favour me with the name of a friend, go immediately and con- 
 sult him." 
 
 " Sir William," returned Sylvester, " Sir Charles is mistaken. He 
 imagines that I was at his house last night, or rather this morning. I 
 was not." 
 
 " You were not? Do you intend, then, as a defence, to adopt a denial?" 
 
 "I do; and in doing so, defend myself with truth." 
 
 " Well; but Sir Charles himself saw you! and so did his butler 1" 
 
 " It is a mistake ! they did not see we." 
 
 " Oh! that will not do at all! Sir Charles assures me, upon his 
 honour, that he saw you; and I am, of course, bound to believe him." 
 
 " You may perhaps believe that which he himself believes ; but I deny 
 that you are bound to adopt the belief of any man." 
 
 " This is not belief, merely : he knows that you were there." 
 
 " How is it possible for you to know that?" 
 
 " He declares that you were, upon his honour!" 
 
 " And I, upon my honour, declare that I was not !" 
 
 " Equivocation, you must allow me to observe, in affairs of this kind, 
 will not do." 
 
 " I scorn equivocation, and despise the man who is mean enough to 
 have recourse to it. I state upon my honour that I was not there ; and 
 to that statement based as it is upon truth I will adhere, let the con- 
 sequences be what they may." 
 
 " Pardon me. You are a young man, and, therefore, you will, per- 
 haps, allow me to observe that, in cases of this description, you have 
 but one course to pursue." 
 
 " I am aware of it. I have but one course to pursue, and that is the 
 course of truth, which I will pursue." 
 
 " Then am I to understand distinctly that you refuse to refer me to a 
 friend?" 
 
224 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "No! certainly not: I refer you at once to Sir Charles." 
 
 " Aye, but that is a most extraordinary reference." 
 
 " This proceeding appears to me to be extraordinary altogether. I 
 refer you to him : consult him, and I will at that consultation be present." 
 
 " That I apprehend, sir, would not be quite safe." 
 
 "Not safe? Why not? What have I to fear? conscious as I am of 
 my own integrity. I will meet him with all the confidence truth can 
 inspire, and I feel that my presence will induce the conviction that he 
 has been mistaken." 
 
 " Sylvester," calmly interposed Mr. Scholefield ; " allow me to sug- 
 gest that you had better depute me to see Sir Charles, and explain to 
 him the feelings to which you have given such earnest expression." 
 
 " Mr. Scholefield," returned Sylvester,' "I have, as I believe you are 
 aware, been always anxious to adopt any suggestion of yours ; but I 
 submit this being a matter of professional life or death to me that I 
 ought to see Sir Charles, and explain to hint myself that he is labouring 
 under a most serious mistake." 
 
 "Well," replied Mr. Scholefield; "lean have no objection to your 
 seeing him." 
 
 " I fear," observed Sir William, " that he is not now in a fit state to 
 view the matter calmly." 
 
 "I am sure," said Sylvester, "that when Sir Charles sees me, he will 
 be at once satisfied that I am not the man." 
 
 " Well," said Sir William, who really began to think that Sir Charles 
 must have been mistaken, "if that be the case, why by all means 
 come with me. Mr. Scholefield, perhaps, will accompany us?" 
 
 "I will do so with pleasure," replied Mr. Scholefield; and without 
 loss of time they left Sylvester's chambers, and proceeded to the house 
 of Sir Charles. 
 
 " Now," said Sir William, on their arrival, " I think that Mr. Schole- 
 field and I had better go up first, and soothe Sir Charles if possible." 
 
 Sylvester did not object to this, and they accordingly left him in one 
 of the parlours; but the moment they had explained to Sir Charles 
 that Sylvester solemnly denied the accusation, and that he had come ex- 
 pressly to deny it in person, Sir Charles rushed below, entered the room 
 in which Sylvester had been left, and seizing him by the throat, would 
 have strangled him but for the prompt interference of Mr. Scholefield, 
 who suspecting his object, had followed him on the instant. 
 
 "Mean, base, cowardly, contemptible liar!" exclaimed Sir Charles, 
 absolutely foaming with rage. " If you have not the courage to fight 
 with me, I'll ruin you ruin you ruin you for ever!" 
 
 " I'll not be thus insulted with impunity," cried Sylvester. " The 
 accusation is false." 
 
 " What!" exclaimed Sir Charles, seizing the poker on the instant 
 "what!" 
 
 Sylvester was about to confront him, when Mr. Scholefield hurried 
 him from the room, and when he had given his card to Sir William, 
 with the name of Mr. Scholefield as his friend, he left the house, solemnly 
 and most indignantly declaring his innocence of the charge. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 SYLVESTER, on leaving the house of Sir Charles with mingled feelings 
 of indignation and alarm, proceeded at once to the residence of Mr. 
 Scholefield, with the view of awaiting his return. He knew not of 
 course what would )>r the result; but having deputed Mr. Scholefield to 
 act as his friend, and feeling prohibited from taking any step without his 
 direct sanction, he summoned all the patience at his command, and took 
 a seat in the surgery alone. 
 
 While he was here, tortured with anxiety and brooding over the pro- 
 bable consequences of that which he felt of course conscious of being a 
 mistake, Mr. Scholefield, whose apprehensions were even stronger than 
 those of Sylvester, being determined if possible to ascertain the whole 
 truth, and having learned that Lady Julian was at the house of her 
 father, went, in order to have an interview with her, unknown to Sir 
 Charles and D'Almaiue. 
 
 On his arrival, he found her father in a dreadful state of excitement 
 and somewhat uncourteous, conceiving, as he did, that a message had 
 come from Sir Charles. 
 
 "What is your object?" he demanded, when Mr. Scholefield had in- 
 quired if he could see Lady Julian. " Why do you wish to see her? 
 What have you to communicate? By whom were you commissioned to 
 come? My daughter is innocent ! Sir Charles shall know to his cost 
 that she is innocent! I'd stake my life upon her word! If, therefore, 
 you are charged with any insulting or humiliating message, she is not 
 to be seen. I'll not have her insulted: I'll not have her humiliated. 
 She is as virtuous now that she has returned to her father's house, as 
 she was when she left it. Sir Charles, by whom I presume you have 
 been sent " 
 
 " General Lloyd," calmly interrupted Mr. Scholefield, " I have not 
 been sent by Sir Charles." 
 
 " Do you come then in the character of a mediator?" 
 
 "No. My object is to have an assurance from Lady Julian that Mr. 
 Sound was not the gentleman whom Sir Charles saw." 
 
 " Then you assume that she must have been visited by some one?" 
 
 " I merely assume that Sir Charles must have seen some one." 
 
 "Assuming that, does it follow that she knows whom he saw?" 
 
 " Not necessarily ; but " 
 
 " Sir, she knows nothing whatever about it : nor do I believe that he 
 saw any one at all. It is a trick, sir! a conspiracy! an infamous con- 
 spiracy ! But /'// sift the matter: I'll get to the bottom of it. He shall 
 not with impunity blast the reputation of my daughter." 
 
 " General Lloyd, I came here with no other view than that of ascer- 
 
 R 
 
226 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 taining if this young man whom I regard as a son, and upon whose 
 honour I have always placed the most perfect reliance has been seen 
 by Lady Julian since he left me. I am aware of its being an extremely 
 delicate question, under the circumstances, to put to Lady Julian " 
 
 "Not at all not at all ! If she has not, she will say so: if she has, 
 she will declare it." 
 
 " That is my only object in seeking an interview with her." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " I feel that you will appreciate my anxiety, when I explain to you 
 that this young man's very existence is at stake." 
 
 "Has Sir Charles called him out, then?" 
 
 "He has." 
 
 "And does he intend to go?" 
 
 "I see no alternative." 
 
 " The meeting must not take place. If Sir Charles should happen to 
 fall, the reputation of my daughter will be for ever lost! It must by 
 some means be prevented." 
 
 "I am most anxious to prevent it; but how can it be done?" 
 
 "Who is his friend?" 
 
 " Sir William D'Almaine." 
 
 " But the friend of the accused?" 
 
 "He has referred them to me." 
 
 "Good. You are anxious to prevent it. You pledge me your 
 honour that you wish to prevent it?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Very good. Then it shall be done. Continue to act. I'll take 
 care that you are not compromised. Continue to act. Under no other 
 circumstances would I interfere, but in this case I feel bound to do so. 
 And now come and speak to my daughter." 
 
 The general then led the way into the drawing-room, and on finding 
 Lady Julian in tears, he exclaimed, "Are you my daughter, Louise, or 
 are you not? Are you innocent, or are you not? If you are, act like 
 the daughter of a soldier, and let us have no more tears." 
 
 Lady Julian seized the hand of Mr. Scholefield, and sobbed bitterly. 
 
 "Louise!" shouted the general, "is this the way to repel the attacks 
 of an enemy?" 
 
 " Mr. Scholefield is no enemy, father," she replied. 
 
 "I didn't say that he was. If he had been, I shouldn't have brought 
 him up here. But be firm. Be a woman. Don't act like a child. 
 Mr. Scholefield wants to know whether you have or have not seen that 
 young fellow since since when?" 
 
 " Since he left me," said Mr. Scholefield. " You remember when he 
 left me?" 
 
 "I do, perfectly," replied Lady Julian; "I have not seen him since." 
 
 " Neither last night nor at any other time?" 
 
 " Neither last night nor at any other time since he came with Mr. 
 Scholefield." 
 
 "Very well," replied the general; "that point's settled. Is there any 
 other question you wish to have answered?" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 227 
 
 " My object," replied Mr. Scholefield, " was merely to ascertain that 
 fact. Of course," he added, turning to Lady Julian, " you have no 
 idea whom Sir Charles could have seen?" 
 
 " I have not, indeed." 
 
 " How should you have?" interposed the general. " You were in 
 bed, were you not?" 
 
 " Yes; and had been asleep, but awoke just before Sir Charles re- 
 turned. But what does he say, Mr. Scholefield? You have seen him, 
 of course?" 
 
 " I have but just left him." 
 
 " Is he still labouring under this cruel delusion?" 
 
 " He appears to be very much excited." 
 
 " Of course!" cried the general. " He appears to be excited! That's 
 an indispensable part of the plan !" 
 
 " You wrong him, father: be assured that you wrong him. This is 
 no plan of his. I feel that he is incapable of any such meanness." 
 
 " Of course you do. I'm aware of that. And were he to crush you, 
 you'd feel so still. You were a fool to marry him; and I was a fool to 
 consent to the match. We're a couple of fools, and as fools he wishes 
 to treat us. However, we shall see : we shall see about that : we shall 
 see! We are not to be struck down so easily as he imagines. Mr. 
 Scholefield : a word or two with you, alone." 
 
 " You will call and see us?" exclaimed Lady Julian, seizing the hand 
 of Mr. Scholefield, as he rose. " You will not believe that I'm so guilty 
 a creature. I am innocent : indeed, indeed, I am innocent." 
 
 "There, there!" cried the general; "that will do: that will do. 
 Don't be a fool!" he added, kissing her affectionately, as the tears 
 sprang to his eyes. "There: now be calm quite calm: let us have 
 no more of this." 
 
 Lady Julian, as they left the room, sank upon the couch, and when 
 her maid had been summoned, they returned to the parlour. 
 
 "I was told how it would be," said the general; "I was warned long 
 ago." 
 
 "Warned of what?" 
 
 " Of jealousy being the fruit of the match. If I had fifty daughters, 
 and they were all as ugly as the devil, I'd never again consent to the 
 marriage of any one of them with any man twenty years older than 
 herself. Still I thought that Julian was really a man of honour." 
 
 " And I think that he is so still. That he has hitherto loved Lady 
 Julian fondly, I have had opportunities of knowing." 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed the general; "we shall see! I'll go to him 
 ;i.> ^oon as I feel fit to go. I'm only waiting until I get cool. 
 It's of no use going to a man in a rage. But now, as regards this 
 challenge. Will you promise to communicate to me the time and 
 place of meeting?" 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " That is all I require. This you promise, upon your honour as a 
 gentleman?" 
 
 " I dp," 
 
228 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Very good. That's settled. Lot the affair go on. I shall hear 
 from you in the course of the day?" 
 
 11 You shall." 
 
 " No one shall ever know from me how I obtained the information, 
 nor from whom." 
 
 " I depend, of course, upon your secresy." 
 
 " You may do so with confidence. Until this matter has been satis- 
 factorily cleared up, I would not have Julian fall for the world. Fix 
 any time you like, but let me know." 
 
 " That there may be no mistake, I will see you myself." 
 
 "That's better! Now, mind, I depend upon you." 
 
 " And I depend upon you: for I would not, on any account, have that 
 young man injured." 
 
 Mr. Scholefield then left, and as he felt that the contemplated meet- 
 ing would be harmless, his mind was more at ease, although he was 
 still apprehensive that the consequences to Sylvester would be, in a 
 professional point of view, ruinous. Hoping, however, that these con- 
 sequences might yet be averted, he hastened home, but before he 
 arrived, Sylvester- whose anxiety had so much increased, that he 
 found it impossible to remain there alone had left, with the view of 
 calling upon Tom, having previously written a note to Mr. Scholefield, 
 stating where he was to be found. 
 
 At this period, Tom was in practice for himself; and that practice, 
 moreover, was extensive : for, notwithstanding he had the same peculi- 
 arity of pronunciation as before, he had a high reputation for skill a 
 reputation which he had, by the legitimate exercise of his talents, 
 acquired, and which experience and constant study enabled him to 
 sustain. 
 
 " What's the batter?" he exclaimed, as Sylvester entered his library; 
 " why are you thus excited? Has adythidg very bobedtous occurred?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Sylvester; " I have been drawn into a mess." 
 
 " A bess! Well, well, sit dowd add be calb; add let's see if we cad't 
 draw you out of it. Dow thed, what is it's dature?" 
 
 " You know Sir Charles Julian?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He declares that he saw me leave his house about three o'clock 
 this morning." 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " And his butler declares and is, moreover, prepared to swear- 
 that he saw me at that hour absolutely coming from Lady Julian's 
 chamber!" 
 
 " I say, old fellow," said Tom, shaking his head, significantly ; " a 
 bedical bad, too! a bedical bad!" 
 
 " But it was not me whom they saw!" 
 
 " It was dot?" 
 
 "No: upon my honour!" 
 
 " That's a blessidg. Where were you at that tibe?" 
 
 " In bed." 
 
 " Cad you prove that you were?" 
 
SOMNAMBULIST. 229 
 
 " I can prove that I went home at twelve." 
 " That's sobethidg, eertaidly; but that's dot edough." 
 " It's impossible for me to prove that I was in bed at three !" 
 "Which is awkward: very awkward. Well," he added, after a 
 pause, " what has beed dode?" 
 
 " In the first place he has east Lady Julian off, and in the next he 
 has sent me a challenge/' 
 
 " Well! That's doidg busidess! Do you bead to go out?'' 
 " I have left the affair entirely in the hands of Mr. Scholefield." 
 " Very good; and what does he bead to do?" 
 " I've not seen him since I left him with Sir Chaik .>." 
 " Do you bead to say that you have beed to speak to Sir Charles?" 
 " I went in order to convince him that I was not the man ; but the 
 moment he saw me, he seized me by the throat and tried to strangle me." 
 "lie did! Well, id that case, Syl, out you bust go! I dod't buch 
 adbire this bode of settlidg batters ; but as it is the odly bode pre- 
 scribed by society, society bust establish adother before it cad expect 
 that which is dow id existedce to be repudiated. But whed are you 
 goidg to sec Scholefield ji.iraid?" 
 
 " I expected to see him an hour ago! I waited at his house till I 
 was tired of waiting, and then left a note stating that I should be here." 
 "Well, old boy, you bust keep up your spirits! Let's have a glass 
 of wide od the stredgth of it." 
 
 " There he is!" exclaimed Sylvester, on hearing a knock. 
 " That's the goverdor," said Tom. That's his kdock for a thousadd. 
 Dow the questiod is, will it }" wi- t> oxplaid all to hibV" 
 " Why will it not?" demanded Sylvester. 
 
 "Why, he has a thorough hatred of the practice of duellidg: he 
 holds it id utter abhunvdrr: add were it to cobe to his kdowledge that 
 you had beed called out, I do believe that he would idduce you to suffer 
 ady iddigdity rather tliad go. The qiiestiod therefore is, shall we tell 
 hib or dot ?'' 
 
 Before Sylvester had time to answer this question, the appearance of 
 the doctor, with Mr. Scholetield, sufficiently proved it to be unnecessary, 
 for h at once took Sylvester by the hand, and enjoined him to be tran- 
 quil and firm. " I am," he added, " strongly opposed to this practice; 
 but, under existing circumstances, the challenge must be accepted. 
 We are all friends here; but, of course, not a syllable must be said on 
 the subject to any other party. I shall see you again in a few minutes. 
 Do not leave till I return." 
 
 "Well," said Tom, as the doctor left the room with Mr. Scholefield; 
 " if ady bad had sword that the goverdor would, udder ady circub- 
 stadces, sadctiod the acceptadce of a challedge, I should have said that 
 that bad had cobbitted perjury. Why, he has heretofore dedoudced the 
 practice of duellidg vehebedtly, as a barbarous, brutal, cowardly, cold- 
 blooded practice. I have heard hib agaid add agaid codtedd that every 
 bad who happeded to kill adother id a duel, whether he idtedded to do 
 so or dot, was a burderer! I'll dever applaud hib for codsistedcy agaid. 
 But I say, old fellow, whed does the thidg cobe off?" 
 
230 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " I know nothing about the arrangements." 
 
 " Well, but dod't you kdow where you are to beet?" 
 
 " I've not the slightest idea. Mr. Scholefield has, on my part, the 
 entire arrangement of the affair : beyond that I know nothing." 
 
 The doctor and Mr. Scholefield then returned to the library, and 
 when Tom who entertained the kindliest feelings towards Sylvester, 
 and who had made up his mind to embrace the earliest opportunity of 
 giving information had been taken aside, the doctor communicated 
 something which induced him to abandon the course he had meant 
 to pursue. 
 
 " You will dine with me to-day?" observed the doctor, addressing 
 Sylvester. 
 
 " I had much rather not. I'd rather dine alone. I do not feel that 
 I am a coward ; but I am of course thoughtful. I have, moreover, a 
 letter or two to write." 
 
 " Write theb here, add dide with be thed," said Tom. 
 
 " Dine where you please," interposed Mr. Scholefield; "only let me 
 know where I can find you." 
 
 " I will remain here then. You will find me here. I'll not leave the 
 house till you return." 
 
 " Very well," said Mr. Scholefield. " Then that's understood:" and, 
 on leaving the house with the doctor, he proceeded to keep his engage- 
 ment with Sir William D'Almaine. 
 
 " I don't think," observed Sylvester, on being left with Tom, " that 
 society has any right to place a man in this position. It appears to me 
 to be dreadful, that the life of one man should be thus coolly staked 
 against that of another. Life against life! and with it all earthly hopes, 
 prospects, and affections ! Henceforth, be the result of this affair what 
 it may, I'll never either give or accept a challenge. Were I guilty of 
 the offence with which I am charged, I should not, of course, have the 
 slightest reason to complain although that would be, in effect, placing 
 the accuser on the same footing as the accused: subjecting the man 
 who has been injured to the same consequences as the man by whom 
 the injury has been inflicted but, as I am innocent, I do think it 
 monstrous that society should force me to peril my life for the satis- 
 faction of him by whom I have been falsely accused." 
 
 " Society does dot absolutely force you," said Tom. 
 
 "Its influence has precisely that effect. Were I not to go out, it 
 would denounce me as a coward." 
 
 " Still it leaves you free to choose the alterdative." 
 
 " And a pretty alternative it is!" 
 
 "The paid idflicted by society's cedsure add bore especially the 
 cedsure of that portiod of society who take ibbediate cogdisadce of bat- 
 tles of this descriptiod depedds, id a great degree, upod a mad's sus- 
 ceptibility. Sobe there are who despise it ; add I dod't kdow but such 
 bed display as buch courage as they do by whob it is feared." 
 
 " But a man in society unless, indeed, he be independent of society 
 must go with society's stream. If he attempt to stem the tide thus 
 established, he may struggle and struggle, and, with all his struggling, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 231 
 
 be scarcely able to keep up to the point from which he started ; while 
 lie who contentedly goes with the tide, glides smoothly along without an 
 effort," 
 
 " That's true, Syl, as far as it goes ; certaidly they who go with the 
 tide fide it the easiest way to get alodg, but it is extrebely questiodable 
 whether it be at all tibes the Avisest. Prejudices are to be reboved, for 
 exabple, odly by oppositiod ; frob oppositiod the whole of our great add 
 glorious schebes, both political add social, have sprudg: oppositiod is 
 the gerb of ibprovebedt : we bust have beed id a state of igdoradce the 
 bost profoudd had there beed doe such thidg as oppositiod. It is easier, 
 doubtless, to go with the tide thad to oppose it ; but our object should 
 be to divert the streab whed we fide that its course is perdicious." 
 
 " But I am not in a position to turn the stream now against me." 
 
 " Doe bad alive probably could do so alode. He bust, to be success- 
 ful, have the idfluedce add the exabple of a dubber to back hib." 
 
 " Do you wish me, in this case, to be one of that number?" 
 
 " Why, suppose that you were dow to leave towd " 
 
 " Had I fifty li ves, and had to peril them all, I wouldn't do it." 
 
 " It was dot by idtedtiod to advise you to do it: I berely said suppose 
 you were dow to leave towd, what " 
 
 " Nothing could justify such a step now. Independently of compro- 
 mising one of my best friends, I should be for ever branded as a coward. 
 No ! be the result what it may, I'll go through it." 
 
 " Well," said Tom, whose sole object in discussing this subject was to 
 prove that Sylvester in reality possessed that firmness for which he had 
 previously given him credit, " if that be your fixed deterbidatiod, we'll 
 say doe bore about it. I'll dow, for a short tibe, leave you. You have 
 letters to write, add I've a call or two to bake : I shall dot be gode bore 
 thad ad hour." 
 
 " Tom," said Sylvester, taking him by the hand, " I have one request 
 to make ; it is this : that before you go out, you will pledge me your 
 honour that you will give information of this affair to no one. I ought 
 not, I know, to have named the subject even to you ; but, remember, I 
 have done so in the most perfect confidence." 
 
 Tom pressed his hand warmly and smiled, and having given the re- 
 quired pledge, left him. 
 
 Sylvester then sat down calmly to write an affectionate letter to Aunt 
 Eleanor, to be delivered to her only in the event of his falling; and while 
 he was thus engaged, Mr. Scholefield and Sir William were settling the 
 preliminaries of the meeting. 
 
 The general was also at this time engaged. He had, with the view 
 of getting " cool," been running up and down stairs, pacing the rooms 
 with extraordinary rapidity, and hurling fierce denunciations at the head 
 of him whom he imagined had conspired to blast the reputation of his 
 daughter ; and when by these vehement means he had become, in his 
 judgment, sufficiently " cool," he started off to have an interview with 
 Sir Charles, in a state of intense perspiration. 
 
 On his arrival, Sir Charles was " not at home." He had given in- 
 structions to be denied to all save Sir William D'Almaiue. But when 
 
232 SYLVESfEfc SOUKfr 
 
 the porter told the general that Sir Charles was not at home, the general 
 looked at the fellow, and asked him if he knew who he was. " Atten- 
 tion!" he shouted, as the porter muttered something in reply to him 
 " Announce me!" And the porter, who in this his extremity scarcely 
 knew how to act, did announce him, and the general was eventually 
 shown up. 
 
 As he entered the room in which Sir Charles, who was still much 
 excited, had been anxiously awaiting Sir William's return, the general 
 walked stiffly up to the table, and, on taking a chair, sat immediately 
 opposite Sir Charles, and looked at him for a moment with an expression 
 of severity. 
 
 " Sir Charles Sir Charles Julian !" said he, at length, " I am here 
 calm and cool, as you perceive to demand an explanation." 
 
 " General," returned Sir Charles, more in sorrow than in anger, " I 
 have nothing to explain nothing more than that which, I presume, you 
 already know. That your daughter has dishonoured me, is lamentable, 
 but true." 
 
 "It is false, sir atrociously false!" 
 
 " Could I reasonably entertain a doubt upon the subject, I would 
 abandon every feeling of suspicion at once ; but as her paramour was 
 actually seen coming from her chamber; as my man let him out; and 
 as I myself saw him leave the house as I approached it, doubt is impos- 
 sible. 11 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it not a single word!" 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " Of what! Why, of the statement you have made with the view of 
 justifying your abandonment of my daughter." 
 
 Sir Charles rang the bell, and when the servant appeared, he ordered 
 Thompson up immediately. 
 
 " I'll prove it," gaid he. " Unhappily, I can prove it. Thompson is 
 my witness : interrogate him yourself." 
 
 " Oh !" retorted the general, sarcastically, " I have not the slightest 
 doubt of his having duly learned his lesson." 
 
 "What do you mean to insinuate by that?" 
 
 " We shall see we shall see," returned the general, as the butler en- 
 tered. " Now, sir," he continued, addressing Thompson fiercely, " I 
 have to ask you a few plain questions- questions which, doubtless, 
 you will have to answer upon your oath." 
 
 " I will answer them now," said the butler, "as truly as if 1 were on 
 my oath." 
 
 "We shall see: we shall see, sir. Now, then. The very first ques- 
 tion I have to ask you is this: did Sir Charles, or did he not, sir, in- 
 struct you to make the statement which you have made against Lady 
 Julian?" 
 
 " I have made no statement against Lady Julian.'' 
 
 " No equivocation no quibbling! I ask you a straightforward ques- 
 tion, sir, and I expect that you will give me a straightforward answer* 
 I ask you again, whether Sir Charles did or did not instruct you to make 
 the statement which you have made against Lady Julian?" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 233 
 
 " And I answer again, that I have made no statement against her 
 ladyship." 
 
 " Wliat! Have you not declared, and are you not prepared to swear, 
 that she is an adulteress?'' 
 
 " No," replied Thompson, " eertainly not. I don't believe that she is : 
 I never said that I believed it." 
 
 " Why, how is this?" demanded the general of Sir Charles. " What 
 am I to understand ?" 
 
 "Pursue your own course, General Lloyd," returned Sir Charles. 
 " Pray proceed in your own way. I've no wish to interfere with your 
 mode of interrogation." 
 
 "All I have stated," resumed Thompson, "is this: that about three 
 this morning, I saw Mr. Sound coming slowly from the ante-room 
 which leads to Lady Julian's chamber, and that I let him out of the 
 house." 
 
 " And are you prepared to swear to this statement?" 
 
 "I am, sir: I am." 
 
 "And will you also swear that you received no orders no instruc- 
 tions from Sir Charles " 
 
 "General Lloyd!" vehemently interposed Sir Charles, "I'll no longer 
 sit here to be thus insulted. Thompson, leave the room. If," he added, 
 when Thompson had left, "if you have any charge to bring against nu-, 
 let it be brought at once plainly, that I may meet it. You have in- 
 sinuated against me one of the basest and most abhorrent practices by 
 which it is possible for a man to be disgraced. Do you mean to accuse 
 me distinctly of such baseness?" 
 
 "I mean to accuse you of this, Sir Charles Julian I am not a man 
 to mince my words, or to shrink from the avowal of that which I feel 
 this it is of which I accuse you : I accuse you of having heartlessly 
 conspired with that despicable wretch whose oath 1 perceive is entirely 
 at your command to crush a woman, a fond, devoted fool of a woman, 
 whom you know to be as virtuous and as pure as a child." 
 
 "General Lloyd!" cried Sir Charles; "General Lloyd! you amaze me! 
 Were any other man upon earth to charge me with anything so infa- 
 mous, I should at once denounce him as a villain ! What right have 
 you to insult me with so monstrous an accusation? What grounds have 
 you what real grounds for believing me capable of acting so shame- 
 ful a part?" 
 
 "Sir Charles Julian, you amaze me! Were any other man upon 
 earth to charge her with anything so infamous, I should at once 
 denounce him as a villain ! What right have you to insult her with so 
 monstrous an accusation? What grounds have you what real grounds 
 for believing her capable of acting so shameful a part?" 
 
 " I have evidence !" 
 
 " You have : and I have evidence, too : evidence of a much purer 
 caste. I have her evidence upon which I'd stake my life I have the 
 evidence of him who is charged with her; I have my own evidence, 
 and I have yours for I defy you to show that, since you unhappily mar- 
 ried her, there has been anything in her conduct to justify suspicion !" 
 
234 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " There has not been: until this occurred, I fondly believed her to be. 
 pure. She had my entire confidence : no man could have reposed more 
 confidence in a woman, than I reposed in her ; and even now that she 
 has betrayed it " 
 
 " She has not betrayed it! I'll not have it so." 
 
 " I'd give up station, wealth, and all, to have it proved that she has 
 not." 
 
 " To have it proved that she has not! How can it be proved? What 
 woman can prove that she has not been false? You well know that to 
 be impossible. It is for you to prove that she has been and what 
 proof have you of that?" ' 
 
 At this moment Sir William D'Almaine was announced, and the 
 general who, inferring that the preliminaries had been settled, was 
 anxious to receive the communication from Mr. Scholeneld rose on the 
 instant, and having briefly said, " Sir Charles, I shall see you again on 
 this subject," left the room. 
 
 It was about four, when Sylvester received the intelligence that the 
 meeting was to take place that evening at seven, and the firmness with 
 which he received it, proved clearly that cowardice formed no part of 
 his composition. He was thoughtful, it is true, but tranquil. There 
 was no display of any reckless devil-may-care spirit: he viewed the 
 affair like a man who perceives the importance of the part he is about 
 to perform, and although he was willing to converse calmly on the sub- 
 ject, he was indisposed to treat it with levity. 
 
 " I say, old fellow," observed Tom, gaily, soon after they had sat 
 down to dinner, " where's your appetite?" 
 
 " I have it still," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " Well, cobe ! get od! Do bad should go idto the field with ad ap- 
 petite." 
 
 " I am doing very well !" 
 
 " I hope you'll do better whed supper-tibe cobes." 
 
 " I hope so, too." 
 
 " But, I say, old boy ; I wish you'd take be with you." 
 
 " That I apprehend would be rather incorrect." 
 
 " Dot at all! I bight go as your surgeod!" 
 
 " I hope that no surgeon will be required." 
 
 "Well, I hope so, too! But if I were to go, I dod't thidk that the 
 practice I should have would buch ibprove be! As to Sir Charles 
 hittidg you ! that's quite out of the questiod. If he cad, why thed he 
 cad hit a lath : day, I'd back ady mad who cad hit you at twelve paces, 
 to go through the eye of a deedle. It's dot to be dode ! The idea is 
 ridiculous. Add thed as regards your hittidg hib!" 
 
 " I shall not attempt it." 
 
 " You'll dot! What, do you bead to say thed, that you'll fire id the air?" 
 
 " It is my intention to do so." 
 
 " Thed of course you wish to kill hib!" 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " Thed dod't attebpt to fire id the air. You are buch bore likely to 
 hit bib if you do so, thad if you were to fire directly at his head." 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 235 
 
 " How so?" 
 4 You have had doe pistol practice?" 
 4 1 have not." 
 
 * You dever, perhaps, fired off a pistol id your life?" 
 ' I never did." 
 
 ' Well, thed, let be tell you this : if you fire at his head, you'll cut 
 the groudd from udder hib : you bay, perhaps, take off the sole of wud of 
 his boots, but the chadces are ted to wud id favour of your cuttidg up 
 the turf; whereas, if you bake ad attebpt to fire id the air, add you do 
 but fire straight, you'll be as safe to put the bullet through his head, as 
 if the buzzle of the pistol were placed betweed his eyes ; for, of course, 
 you'll have to deal with hair triggers, add if you have, and you raise the 
 pistol, off it goes sobe codsiderable tibe before you kdow where you are. 
 Look at that pier-glass: it seebs at twelve' paces to be remarkably easy 
 to hit; but fire at it you shall do so if you like after didder fire right 
 at it : you lay kdock the kdob off the todgs you bay sbash the fedder 
 you bay crack the hearth-stode, or bake a shall hole id the rug but 
 you'll fide, udless you take a bost burderous aib, that you'll dot go dear 
 the glass. The buzzle of a pistol, id the hadd of a dovice, is perfectly 
 certaid to drop: just try it after didder." 
 " I've no desire to do so." 
 " Well, but thed you will see the effect!" 
 
 " My dear fellow, I've no ambition to become a duellist. I shall be 
 able to fire as well as I wish to fire, for I'll take especial care that before 
 I touch the trigger, the pistol shall point directly upwards. I have been 
 ly insulted by Sir Charles, it is true; but it is also true that when 
 IK- insulted me, he imagined that I had seriously injured him. It was 
 an error on his part: he had been deceived. I would not deprive any 
 man of life because he happened to be labouring under a mistake." 
 " But Sir Charles would deprive you of life." 
 " If he should do so, the crime will be his, ndt mine." 
 " You will be, eved id that case, particeps cnbidis. You kdow you 
 have, at all evedts, a right to assube that his object is to kill you ; add 
 yet you voludtarily place yourself id a positiod to be killed ! The cribe 
 would dot be cobbitted were you dot to go out : you have id your owd 
 hadds the power to prevedt it, add if you do dot, you are to all idtedts 
 add purposes ad accessory." 
 
 " So are you so is your father and so is Mr. Scholefield ! We are 
 all accessories, in that sense : we all have the power to prevent it. But 
 at the same time we all know that society would hold the exercise of 
 that power to be dishonourable." 
 
 " If, thed, society thus forces a bad out, I codtedd that he is justified 
 id firidg at his oppodedt. If I were to go out to-borrow, add I kdew 
 that the object of by adtagodist was to kill be, I should fire as he fired, 
 add if I killed hib I should call it justifiable hobicide. He who does 
 dot idtedd to fire at his oppodedt has doe right to go out at all. I cad 
 ibagide a case id which a bad would be justified id goidg out add firidg 
 id the air : for exabple, that of a bad who had deeply idjured his friedd, 
 add who felt it deeply, add who wished to give a tacit ackdowledg- 
 
236 SYLVESTER souKb 
 
 bedt of the wrodg he hud idflicted; but id a case like yours, a bad has 
 doe right to go add stick hibself up like a target, add say to his oppo- 
 dedt, id effect, * Fire away! I have dot idjured you: dor shall I lire at 
 you. I cabe out edtirely for your satisfaetiod ; therefore kill be if you 
 cad.' It isd't a fair positiod for a bad to be placed id. It is, id fact, 
 adythidg but a fair positiod." 
 
 " The position," said Sylvester, " is certainly unfair; and one point 
 which you have suggested, will be sufficient to induce me not to fire as 
 I intended. I'll not fire in the air lest it should be considered a tacit 
 acknowledgment of guilt. No, I'll fire on one side." 
 
 " Id that case, the secodds had better look out. If you dod't bide, 
 you'll btirder wud of theb." 
 
 Sylvester smiled; and from this time till six Tom did all in his power 
 to amuse him, and when Mr. Scholefield arrived with the chaise, he 
 found him as calm and as firm as ever. 
 
 " You'll dot let be go thed?" said Tom. 
 
 " I should like you to go," returned Sylvester ; " but of course it 
 would not be exactly correct." 
 
 "Not exactly!" observed Mr. Scholefield. 
 
 " I could hadg od behide! But I'll dot do that. I suppose you bust 
 have all the fud to yourselves. Adieu, old fellow! I'll wait at hobe 
 for you. Drive back here ibbediately all is over. Adieu!" 
 
 Sylvester pressed his hand with warmth, and having said calmly, 
 " Tom God bless you!" he joined Mr. Scholefield, who was appre- 
 hensive still, and they entered the postchaise together. 
 
 The meeting had been arranged to take place at "Wormwood Scrubs, 
 and on their way Mr. Scholefield was constantly looking back. This 
 Sylvester ascribed to an anxiety to ascertain if Si)' Charles were behind 
 them ; and when he heard him order the postboy to drive more slowly, 
 he suggested that Sir Charles might be ahead. 
 
 "He may be," replied Mr. Scholefield; "I have no doubt he is." 
 
 He, nevertheless, continued to look anxiously behind, until suddenly 
 his countenance assumed a gay expression, and he ordered the postboy 
 to drive on fast. 
 
 On their arrival at the appointed spot, they found Sir Charles on the 
 ground, and Mr. Scholefield, on alighting, went up to Sir "William, with 
 whom he for some time conversed. Everything bearing the semblance 
 of an arrangement was of course out of the cmestion, and as such was 
 the case, the pistols were loaded and the ground was measured, but just 
 as the principals were about to be placed, the general, with two officers, 
 sprang upon the ground, exclaiming, " There are your prisoners!" 
 
 " What right, sir," demanded Sir Charles, fiercely, " What earthly 
 right have you to interfere?" 
 
 "What right!" returned the general. " Independently of my com- 
 mon right as a man, I have the right of a father, firmly resolved to vin- 
 dicate the honour of his child." 
 
 "Can the honour of your daughter be vindicated thus?" 
 
 "We shall see: we shall see. It never could be vindicated were you 
 now to fall. No, no, Sir Charles ; I can't spare you yet." 
 
* * 
 
 .m 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 '// . - 
 
' if 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
J 
 
 
 m -1 
 
 * 
 
' 
 
 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 237 
 
 "From whom did you obtain your information?" 
 
 "Did I not hear Sir William D'Almainc announced? and did you 
 conceive that I was totally blind?" 
 
 Sir Charles looked at Sir William, and evidently inferred that that 
 announcement had been the cause of the general's interference. 
 
 " This," resumed the general, addressing the officers, " this is Sir 
 Charles Julian, and this is Mr. Sylvester Sound. You have seen what 
 they contemplated: you know for what purpose they have met. Arrest 
 them." 
 
 The officers bowed; and as one of them followed Sir Charles to his 
 carriage, the other accompanied Sylvester and Mr. Scholefield; and 
 when the general had rejoined the friend with whom he came, and 
 whom, despite his anxiety to conceal himself, Sylvester discovered to be 
 the doctor, they returned to town, and went at once before a magistrate, 
 who bound the parties over to keep the peace. 
 
 THJ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 PIER-GLASS PRACTICE. 
 
 [AT evening Sylvester supped with Tom, and on being urged to 
 stop there all night, lie, having no anxiety about returning to his cham- 
 bers, consented ; and after sitting up till one, conversing gaily about 
 the occurrences of the day, went to bed pretty nearly exhausted. 
 
 Tom went to bed too ; but as the night-bell rang soon afterwards, and 
 he was summoned to assist in augmenting the surplus population, he 
 intimated the interesting fact to " Jib" whom he had seduced from the 
 doctor's and left the house. 
 
 Jib was a most especial favourite of Tom, and had, in consequence, 
 become a great man: quite a confidential card. Whatever Jib said in 
 that house was law. He was the superior swell of the establishment. 
 Nothing could be done without Jib. He was a species of domestic 
 oracle, and as he felt and very naturally that he knew what was 
 what, about as well as any man in the realm, he wouldn't allow the 
 " bedials" to advance a syllable in opposition to his views. Whatever 
 he wished to have done, was done, and he'd have it done, too, in a tidy 
 style ; and while he had an extremely deep sense of his own importance, 
 he felt it correct to look fierce! 
 
 When, therefore, he received Tom's important communication, he 
 knew as well as any man in England what it meant, and having 
 grunted and yawned, and eventually turned out, he went down to fasten 
 the door. 
 
 While returning, however, he was struck struck with amazement : 
 paralysed perfectly paralysed, on beholding a tall figure slowly de- 
 
238 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 scending the stairs, with a pistol in one hand which Jib didn't see, and a 
 very dim light in the other. 
 
 Jib was silent, breathless, and looked oh, how he looked at the 
 figure. His eyes were, nearly out of his head, and, while his hands 
 were uplifted, and his fingers were extremely wide apart, his lips de- 
 scribed a perfect circle, and his knees smote each other, as if each 
 patella wished to knock the other out. 
 
 As the figure which looked very ghastly approached, Jib re- 
 treated correctly, retreated ; and when he had got as far as he could 
 get, without going through the street-door, he saw the figure which 
 treated him with the utmost contempt, taking no more notice of him 
 than if he had been nothing stalk into the dining-room as coolly as if 
 he absolutely paid the rent and taxes. 
 
 The position Jib occupied then was awkward. The figure which 
 of course he believed to be a ghost, for Jib's faith in supernatural ap- 
 pearances was firm had left the dining-room door wide open, and situ- 
 ated as he was then, nature swindled him into the belief that he must 
 of necessity pass this door, which appeared to him, then, to have an 
 unexampled appetite. It never, for a moment, struck him that he 
 might open the front door, and let himself out. No ; he felt that he 
 must pass that door, and how to manage it he couldn't exactly tell. He 
 never before felt so much confused. His intellects were usually clear 
 enough he had, at all events, been accustomed to flatter himself that 
 they were commonly as clear as those of any man in Europe but at 
 that particular period they really did appear to be completely upset. He 
 couldn't tell what to make of it. He felt very ill. A faintness came 
 over him, and yet he was conscious perfectly conscious at least of 
 this, that the figure was then in the room. 
 
 " Courage !" he exclaimed, confidentially to himself, and the word 
 seemed to have a great effect upon his nerves ; for he stood upright 
 boldly and breathed again, and absolutely made up his mind to pass the 
 door ; but no sooner had he taken the first courageous step, than he 
 heard the report of a pistol and fell. 
 
 That he had been wounded, he firmly believed: where, he 
 couldn't tell; nor did he much care then to know, but that he had 
 a wound somewhere about his person, was in his view abundantly 
 clear. 
 
 " Mwrder /" cried the cook, at this moment, above. " James ! master ! 
 murder/" 
 
 The sound of a voice reinspired Jib, and he felt quite valiant again 
 and rose, and actually darted past the dining-room door, and rushed up 
 stairs in a fit of desperation to the cook, who, conceiving him to be some 
 other gentleman, backed in and fastened the door. 
 
 "Cook, cook!" he cried, "cook!" 
 
 "Who's there?" she demanded, for she did not immediately recognise 
 his voice. 
 
 "Me! me! James! me!" he replied; "let me in." 
 
 At any other time cook would not have done this ; but her character- 
 istic delicacy was overcome by fear. She wanted protection : she knew 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 239 
 
 fc he did; and, therefore, having thrown a flannel petticoat round her, she 
 rdjusted her night-cap, and opened the door. 
 
 "Good heavens!" she exclaimed; "what on earth is the matter?" 
 
 "Horror!" cried Jib, with an appalling expression; "I've seen I've 
 seen a ghost!" 
 
 Cook shuddered and echoed, " A ghost!" 
 
 "A ghost !'" 
 
 "My gracious!" exclaimed cook; "where?" 
 
 " Some water some water," said Jib, " I feel faint." 
 
 And so he did ; and looked faint ; and cook gave him some water, and 
 wiped the cold perspiration off his forehead with a towel. And Jib 
 drank the water, and felt a little better; and when cook had urged him 
 to tell all he knew, he proceeded in trembling accents thus : 
 
 "Cook ! heaven and earth, what a sight it was! " 
 
 "Good gracious!" 
 
 "I went down to fasten the door after master " 
 
 "I thought I heard the night-bell." 
 
 " Well, I'd no sooner effected this accomplishment, than what should 
 I see Oh! horror! " 
 
 "Good heavens preserve us!" 
 
 " I saw I beheld a long, lanky, pale, horrid, ghastly -looking ghost, 
 with eyes starting right out of its head, coming towards me." 
 
 "Oh! my goodness!" 
 
 " Well I never was a coward, and so I wasn't then I stood and 
 watched it, and where should it go, but deliberate into the dining-room, 
 where it is now!" 
 
 " Heaven forgive us all our sins !" 
 
 " Well, there I stood I didn't move when presently something went 
 bang! just like the tremendious roar of a cannon." 
 
 "Yes, that's what I heard." 
 
 "Well, just after then you called out, and as I knew you u;is 
 frightened, I came up to ease your mind." 
 
 " That was very good of you. What I should have done if you hadn't, 
 James, heaven only knows. I'm sure I should have gone right out of 
 my senses. Have a little more water ; you look very pale." 
 
 " The smell of the brimstone made me faint." 
 
 "Well, I thought I smelt brimstone I smell it now ! dreadful ! 
 don't you?" 
 
 "I do I do!" sighed Jib, and fainted. 
 
 Of all the horrid feelings by which the human breast is animated, 
 those which cook now inspired were perhaps the most horrid. 
 
 "James James!" she exclaimed, " oh! for goodness sake! James ! 
 there's a good man! James! Oh! heaven have mercy upon me!" 
 
 Susan, who slept in the next room, and who, although she had been 
 awakened by the cry of murder, dared not venture out before, no sooner 
 heard these fitful exclamations than, prompted by an extremely natural 
 species of curiosity, she came to the door and peeped. 
 
 Was it possible could it be possible ! There was James on the bed- 
 side, supported by cook. His head was resting on her bosom, and she 
 
240 SYLVKSTEU SOUND 
 
 was chafing his temples. He had nothing on but his trousers and shirt, 
 and she had nothing on but her night-dress the petticoat having 
 slipped off. The scene was awful. Susan was shocked. She couldn't 
 have thought it. She couldn't have believed it. She wouldn't have 
 believed it, if she hadn't herself seen it with her own eyes. 
 
 " Hem!" she cried, and bounced into the room. 
 
 " Oh! Susan," sighed cook; " I'm so glad you're come. 
 
 Susan, with a sarcastic smile, and, at the same time, tossing her head 
 contemptuously, replied, " Very pretty: very pretty, upon my word!" 
 
 "Oh! Susan" 
 
 " Don't talk to me. Master shall know of all this, if I live." 
 
 " But, Susan " 
 
 " I'll have no communication with such a creature!" 
 
 Well, but hear me?" 
 
 " I'll not hear a word, ma'am. No, ma'am; I'll not bemean myself, 
 ma'am, to talk to you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you 
 ought ! Fine doings, indeed. But master shall know, and either you 
 or I leave to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Susan, will you hear me?" 
 
 " No, I'll not," replied Susan, with a look of disdain, and, having 
 sufficiently extended her nostrils, bounced out of the room in a high 
 state of virtuous indignation. 
 
 Cook now felt the extreme delicacy of her position, but her very first 
 object was to bring Jib round. This she tried to effect by all the 
 means at her command, but for some time her efforts were quite un- 
 availing. Had he been absolutely dead, he couldn't have appeared 
 more inanimate : indeed, at one time she thought he had departed this 
 life, and began to turn the probable consequences over in her mind. 
 As a dernier ressort, however, she seized the ewer, which happened to 
 be very nearly full, and, having violently dashed the whole body of 
 water in his face, Jib struck out, and from that moment consciousness 
 gradually returned. 
 
 " Where am I?" he faintly inquired at length, looking round with 
 the aspect of a most unhappy wretch, for the water had obliterated 
 every trace of the characteristic respectability of his appearance, " Is 
 that you, cook?" 
 
 " Oh, James, James," replied cook, with a sigh; " you have, I fear, 
 ruined me ruined me for ever !" 
 
 " Ruined you!" exclaimed Jib, making an effort which rendered his 
 restoration almost complete; " how, how have I ruined you?" 
 
 " Oh, James," replied cook; " Susan has been here " 
 
 " She has!" cried Jib; " and saw me?" 
 
 " Yes ; and called me all the names she could lay her tongue to." 
 
 " Oh, I feel very ill. But I'll soon settle that. She is jealous, I 
 suppose she's jealous. But the ghost, cook how about the ghost? 
 Have you seen it?" 
 
 " No, it hasn't been here." 
 
 " Then it's there." 
 
 " Where?" demanded cook, looking round with a feeling of horror. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 241 
 
 "In the dining-room the dining-room: not here not here: but 
 there where I left it." 
 
 " Heaven be praised. If it were to come here, I should sink." 
 
 " Hark!" exclaimed Jib. 
 
 " How you frighten me. What is it what do you hear?" 
 
 " Listen! Don't you hear that?'' 
 
 "That, No. What?" 
 
 They both listened with anxiety the most intense, and, while listen- 
 ing, they heard the bell ring. 
 
 " That's master," said Jib; "he's come back." 
 
 " Then run down, and let him in at once," said cook. 
 
 linn down. Yes! Nothing could be much more easily said, but 
 Jib, at the time, felt that he couldn't do it. 
 
 " I'm afraid," said he, " of that nasty brimstone. I know it will 
 overcome me: I'm quite sure it will." 
 
 " But I don't smell it half so much now. In fact, I don't smell 
 it at all!" 
 
 " Not smell it. Oh, it's enough to knock you down." 
 
 " Well, but what's to be done? Master must be let in. There you 
 are!" she added, as the bell rang again. " He'll be in a passion pre- 
 sently." 
 
 " Cook," exclaimed Jib; " I can't help it!" 
 
 " Well, but somebody must go, you know. / can't go." 
 
 "Nor can 1," replied Jib; " it's quite out of the question." 
 
 The bell rang again, and with increased violence. 
 
 I knew how it would be," observed cook; " I knew he'd soon g-t in 
 a passion. He'll pull the bell right down presently. You'll see if he 
 don't." 
 
 " I wish he would,'' said Jib; " and then I couldn't hear it." 
 
 "Well, but what's to be done? You know something must be done." 
 
 "Something must be done; but what, I don't know. Did you name 
 the _uhost to Susan?" 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " That's lucky. Perhaps she'll go, for I don't feel well indeed, I'm 
 anything but well. 1 wish you'd go and ask her?" 
 
 Cook didn't at all like to leave the room; but as the bell rang again 
 with preater violence still, and the case became, therefore, most urgent, 
 ^ie offered to compromise the matter by going with Jib, to which com- 
 promise Jib most reluetantly consented. 
 
 They accordingly went, with trembling steps, to Susan's door, and 
 ha\ing looked round anxiously, knocked. 
 
 "Who's there?" demanded Susan. 
 
 " AT.-, Susan only me," replied cook. 
 
 MYhat do you want?" 
 
 open the door: there's a pood girl, op -n the doer." 
 
 1 sha'n't ! I'll do nothing of the sort. I'll have nothing at all to 
 to any such creature. But master shall know all about it, mind 
 
 f 
 
 - I n/7 yon go and let him in?" 
 
242 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 "Me go me? Where's your fellow? Let him go : I'll not go tlic 
 ideor, indeed! Let him go that is, if you can spare him." 
 
 " You wrong me, Susan indeed, you do." 
 
 " I -don't care a pin about what you say, ma'am I'll not go." 
 
 The bell rang again, and continued to ring, for the wire sawed to and 
 fro with unexampled violence; and as it was then clear that Susan was 
 inexorable, cook actually offered to go down with Jib ! 
 
 " Why it's madness you utter!" exclaimed Jib "madness! If you 
 were to see it, you'd be frightened to death." 
 
 " It wo'n't harm me, James: it wo'n't harm me. Come, come be a 
 man'/' 
 
 This appeal to Jib's manhood awakened his corn-age, and seizing tin- 
 ewer the only available weapon in the room he inspired a little of 
 the spirit of desperation, and descended, closely followed by cook. 
 
 As they passed the dining-room, Jib was amazed, but at the same 
 time relieved, on finding the door closed ; but they had no sooner passed, 
 than Tom, whose patience was exhausted, thundered at the street di>r 
 with such startling violence, that, as the sound reverberated, cook ile.w 
 up-stairs, leaving Jib in the hall alone. 
 
 Having recovered those faculties which had thus been astonished, Jib 
 nerved himself once more, and opened the door ; and as Tom very angrily 
 entered, he was about to tell him exactly what he meant, but he no 
 sooner saw Jib's deplorable aspect, than his anger was wholly supplanted 
 by mirth. 
 
 " Why you biserable udhappy lookidg wretch" cried Tom, " what 
 have you beed at? Puttidg your head udder the pubp, or dividg idto 
 the water-butt?" 
 
 "Oh!" said Jib, "I've seen a ghost!" 
 
 " You've s.eed a what?" 
 
 "A horrid ghost!" 
 
 " What had you for supper last dight?" 
 
 " Bread and cheese sir." 
 
 "Dothidg else?" 
 
 " Oh, yes: I did have a little bit of pork." 
 
 "Of course you did! Your stobach's out of order: you've br-i-d 
 dreabidg." 
 
 " No, it isn't that, sir: oh, no, it isn't that. I saw it as plain, sir as 
 plain as could be." 
 
 " Did you really! Well, add what did it say? It threw a bucket of 
 water over you, I suppose, to begid with." 
 
 " No, sir: nor did it say a word; but I saw it stalk horridly into that 
 room : and it's my belief that it's in there now." 
 
 " Well, let's go add have a look at it, Jib. Let us see what it's bade of." 
 
 Jib duly delivered the lamp to Tom, and allowed him to enter the ; 
 room alone; but the moment he entered, Tom, perceiving the pier-glass 
 shattered to atoms, exclaimed 
 
 " Hollo! why, what's all this!" with so much vehemence, that Jib, 
 who imagined the ghost was there still, started off, and rushed up stairs 
 with feelings of horror. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 243 
 
 " Where are you off too?" cried Tom. " Jib, what do you bead. Do 
 you hear? Jib!" 
 
 " Ye-c-e-yes, sir!" replied Jib, almost unable to utler the word. 
 
 " Cobo dowd, tlied. What do you bead by ruddidg away id that 
 state of bide? Cobc dowd, sir, ibbediately ! Do you hear be? Cube dowd." 
 
 "Oh, sir," replied Jib, trembling, "I dare not." 
 
 "Dare dot! DocVt tell be that you dare dot: cobe dowd this bobedt, 
 I desire you!" 
 
 Jib, who felt very ill indeed, and who also felt that he mnftf go down, 
 descended anxiously, and with great deliberation, while Tom more mi- 
 nutely examined the room. 
 
 " Dow, Jib, what's all this about?" demanded Tom, rather angrily; 
 "who broke this irl;. 
 
 "Glass, sir! What glass?" 
 
 " What glass! why, this glass!" 
 
 " Oh!" exclaimed Jib, as he fixed his eyes upon it, " it i* broke, in- 
 deed." 
 
 "Well, how did you do it?" 
 
 "Do it, sir? 1 didn't do it." 
 
 l>y whol> irtt.* it dodo?" 
 
 i; Oh, sir, it must have been the ght 1" 
 
 Tom, for a moment, looked at him liercely, and thru exclaimed 
 
 "Why, you idsoledt, lyidg, darrow-bided. idcol.prehed.Ml.le dodkey, 
 what do you bead? What do you take be fur? Ad idiot? Have you 
 bee.l fooledoilgb I" >widdle yourself idto the belief that I should take id 
 that, you eod.Mibbat' 
 
 "If it wasn't done by the ghost, sir; I don't know who did it. JJut 
 ir was the ghost: depend upon it, sir, it was the ghost." 
 
 "That you ln-->i>l i" .-av you wish be to believe/" 
 
 " It must have been the ghost, sir; /didn't do it!'' 
 
 "You bead to stick to that?'' 
 
 " It's the truth." 
 
 "That's edough! Pack up your traps add be off. I'll have doe 
 bad id by house id whob 1'b udable to codtide. 1 have hilherlo re 
 posed the utbost codfidedce id you, but dow that I tide you cad tell the 
 bost ibpudedt falsehoods, that codiidedce is gode: therefore, start." 
 
 "Indeed, sir, this isn't a falsity: it isn't, -ir; as true as I'm standing 
 here alive!" 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Tom, indignantly. 
 
 " Cook knows it isn't, sir! Cook heard the noise!" 
 
 " What doise?" 
 
 "The noise of the ghost, sir; which was, for all the world, as if 
 heaven ami earth was a coming together.'' 
 
 "Is cook id bed?'' 
 
 " I think not, sir. She came down with me to let you in; but when 
 you knocked loud, she ran away frightened." 
 
 "Tell her to cobe dowd agaid thed. I'll have this affair cleared up 
 at wudee; add rebebber, udless it be cleared up satisfactorily, off you 
 go. Dow, tell cook I wadt her, add dod't be lodg about it." 
 
 S 2 
 
244 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Jib whom the idea of leaving appalled was not long about it: lie- 
 went up to cook, who slipped on her dress, and changed her cap, and 
 came down in a singularly short space of time j but mark ! followed by 
 Susan, whose deep indignation had had the effect of keeping her on the 
 qni vii'C. 
 
 " Cook," said Tom; " I do dot care buch about the glass: by chief 
 object is truth, to which I expect you will adhere. Dow, what do you 
 kdow about this?" 
 
 " All I know, sir, about it, is this : that I heard a tremendious noise 
 like an earthquake, and got up, and called out, and found it was a 
 ghost." 
 
 " Did you see this ghost?" 
 
 " No, sir; I did'nt see it exactly; but James did." 
 
 " How do you kdow that?" 
 
 " He told me so." 
 
 " Is that all you kdow?" 
 
 " I don't know nothing more, sir." 
 
 " But I do," said Susan; " and a good deal more, too." 
 
 "Well! what do you kdow?" 
 
 " Why, sir, I know this ; I'll not live in any house where there's such 
 goings on." 
 
 " What do you bead?" 
 
 " I mean, sir, that /heard a noise, but a very different sort of a npise 
 from that of an earthquake; and when I came out to ascertain what it 
 was, who should I see but Mister James comfortably sitting on J/Y.s.s/s 
 Cook's bed, and she a cuddling of him with very great affection." 
 
 " Cook," said Tom ; " I fadcied that you were a strictly virtuous 
 persod." 
 
 " And so I am, sir. I'll defy the world to prove that I am not. This 
 envious creature's jealous, sir ; that's it." 
 
 " Jealous!" cried Susan. 
 
 " Yes, jealous! But if you will but listen, sir " 
 
 " I feel boudd to do so." 
 
 " Then, sir, I'll tell you exactly how it all occurred. I heard a noise, 
 as I before said, and called out to know what it was, when James ran up 
 and told me he'd just seen a ghost, I was frightened of course very 
 frightened so frightened, I didn't know what to do; and as James felt 
 ill and wanted some water, I gave him some, and he sat on my bed. 
 We then talked about the ghost, and while we were talking, James 
 fainted away, and it was as I was trying to bring him round that Susan 
 entered the room and saw us." 
 
 " You have spoken the truth, cook?" suggested Tom. 
 
 " I have, sir, indeed. I'd repeat the words if they were the last I had 
 to speak." 
 
 " He faidted, you say? absolutely faidted?" 
 
 "He did, sir; and I couldn't bring him to until I'd thrown the whole 
 jug of water over him." 
 
 " It's all very fine," observed Susan, who was not all satisfied; "very] 
 fine, indeed;" 
 
^ 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 245 
 
 " This affair; ' said Tom, " .shall be fully idvestigated ibbediately after 
 breakfast ; add if I fide that your statebedts are false, dot wild of you 
 shall rebaid id the house. Go to bed." 
 
 They then retired to their respective rooms with manifest feelings of 
 dissatisfaction: indeed, so dissatisfied were they, that neither Jib, cook, 
 nor Susan, could go to sleep again. 
 
 While at breakfast that morning, Tom related the whole affair to 
 Sylvester, and the relation was productive of a most hearty laugh. 
 
 "I might as well have had a shot at the glass yesterday!" said Syl- 
 vester; " I couldn't have shattered it more." 
 
 " I dod't believe you could have hit it at all," returned Tom. " Try 
 it dow. You cad't do ady bore dabagc. Where are the pistols?" 
 
 " I took them up with me last night." 
 
 " Thed we'll have theb dowd at wudce," said Tom, ringing the bell; 
 "you'll thed set 1 the effect of pier-glass practice. Jib," he added, when 
 Jib had appeared, "you'll see a case id the roob id which Mr. Soudd 
 :-Irpt: bridg it dowd.'' 
 
 Jib, who was particularly active that morning, very soon produced 
 the case; when Sylvester who had the key in his pocket unlocked 
 it, and took out one of the pistols. 
 
 ' l>w," said Tom, " aib at the bull's-eye: there's a capital wild esta- 
 blished. Stadd here." 
 
 " The cap's of!'," said Sylvester, on cocking the pistol. 
 
 " Is it!" cried Tom; " 1 wudder how that got off. Ilerf's adother." 
 
 Sylvester, having put on the cap, pointed steadily at the bull's-eye 
 indicated, but, mi pulling the tn--er, the pistol flashed in the pan. 
 
 14 Holl..!'' cried Tom. "Well, tin se are pretty pistols to go out with, 
 certaidly. Why, where did you get theb? 1 ' 
 
 " Scliolefield M-ot them. 1 don't know where." 
 
 " He wh<> srdt theb out ought to l>e athabcd of hibself However, 
 try adother cap." 
 
 Another cap was tried, and the result was the same. 
 
 " Why,'' cried Tom, " what's the beadidg of this? There bust be 
 sohrthidg wrodg. Look here!" he added; "the thidg isd't loaded 
 at all !" 
 
 "Not loaded!'' 
 
 " Doe. I'h afraid there was foul play codtebplated here." 
 
 " Is the other loaded?" 
 
 " Let's see. Yes ; that's all right edough. Were these the pistols 
 you were to have fought with?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Thed that's the wild which you were to have had. Scliolefield 
 ought to have seed to it. Certaidly, he ought to have seed that all was 
 right." 
 
 I don't suppose he knows much about affairs of this kind." 
 
 ^ Probably dot; but doe bad should uddertake to do that of which 
 he is igdoradt ; especially id a batter id which life is idvolved." 
 
 " I believe that he scarcely knew what he was doing: he appeared to 
 be very much excited throughout." 
 
246 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " It is excitebedt, thud, to which this deglect bust be ascribed ; but 
 it certaidly was a bost udpardodable trick od the part of Sir Williab 
 D'Albaide." 
 
 " Do you think it was done intentionally, then? 1 ' 
 
 " It looks very buch like it." 
 
 " But is he at all the sort of man to act so dishonourably?" 
 
 " Why, iddepeddedtly of beidg a duellist, he is a gabbler, ad id the 
 hodour of a gabbler I've dot buch faith." 
 
 " I suppose that I can do nothing in it?" 
 
 " I'd bedtiod it to Scholefield. But I dod't thidk that, as the batter 
 has terbidated, I should take ady farther dotice of it." 
 
 " Well, I must say that it was a most unfair proceeding." 
 
 " UdfahT' cried Tom " the desigd was burderous!" 
 
 The pistols were then restored to the case, and shortly afterwards 
 Sylvester proceeded to his chambers, where he found a messenger from 
 Sir Charles's attorney, by whom he was served with a notice of action. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 SYLVESTER REVISITS COTlIERSTONE GRANGE. 
 
 FIVE years ! What a variety of changes take place in five year* ! 
 What aeriel castles are built but to fall: what hopes spring up and 
 bloom but to wither: what fears are inspired but to prove that they 
 are baseless : what beautiful bubbles are blown but to burst. 
 
 The great majority of mankind find the space of five years rich in 
 incident; but there are individuals to whom, during five years, scarcely 
 an incident worth recording occurs. For example, nothing of impor- 
 tance had occurred to cither Aunt Eleanor or the reverend gentleman. 
 They were, moreover, in precisely the same relative positions as they 
 were five years before. It may have been imagined that they might 
 have managed matters between them by this time ; and so, indeed, they 
 might, but they didn't. He had obtained her consent, it is true, and 
 continued to visit her daily ; nay, he had even on three occasions spoken 
 of the contemplated "happy day;" but he never could get her to name 
 that clay, until just before those events occurred which have been de- 
 tailed in the preceding chapter. 
 
 Nor had anything of importance transpired in the village. It is true 
 that the barn which stood opposite the cottage had been, about twelve- 
 months before, newly thatched : it is also true that Obadiah had twice 
 made an assignment, marvelling how it could possibly be that, while all 
 around him were prosperous, he should be constantly involved some- 
 times ascribing it to the measures of " Bobby Peel," and sometimes to 
 those of " Johnny Russell" but beyond this, nothing worth recording 
 took place. 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 247 
 
 When, therefore, Sylvester after having placed his defence to the 
 action in the hands of the doctor's attorney went down to Cotherstone, 
 with the view of explaining all that had occurred before the case should 
 appear more pointedly in the papers, he found nothing there to strike 
 him with any great degree of astonishment. But conceive the amaze- 
 ment of his aunt and her reverend friend, when he stated to them the 
 iact of his being the defendant in an action for criminal conversation! 
 Concede the horror with which they heard that statement made, and 
 the relief which they experienced, when he wound up all by a solemn 
 declaration of his innocence ! Nothing could be more touching, or 
 m<>iv Miirere, than the expressions of their belief in this solemn declara- 
 tion. And yet, to them, how extraordinary it appeared that precisely 
 the -ame thing which occurred to the lather, should thus have occurred 
 to tin: son. 
 
 " There must be," observed Aunt Eleanor, when she and her reve- 
 rend friend were alone, " some deep mystery in this." 
 
 " It is, certainly," said the reverend gentleman, " the most mysterious 
 thing 1 ever heard or read of." 
 
 " Heaven grant that the eon.se- pieiires may not l>e the same." 
 
 k% I siy Amen to that. But, if he l>e innocent, I do not see how they 
 can prove him to be guilty. The case must be tried before a judge, 
 and no judge conl<l allow a young man like him to lie ea-t unjustly." 
 
 ''That 1 apprehend depends entirely upon the evidence does it not ?" 
 
 " Kxaetly. But what evidence what elear, substantial evidence 
 "an be brought against an innocent man? For example: suppose 1 
 were accused of burning a house down; would I not, if 1 were inno- 
 Cent, defy all the world I" [.rove me guilty? What evidence could be 
 brought forward to prove me guiliy of that of which I was innocent?'' 
 
 " riivum.Mantial evidence, 1 ' said Sylvester, who at the moment re- 
 entered the room. 
 
 "Circumstantial evidence, I grant, ha- frequently led to conviction; 
 but then it must be very strong and conclusive. What circumstantial 
 evidence conkl be sufficient in, fr instance, a oaae like \om>?" 
 
 " In eases like mine, the proof, almost invariably, (l<'j>endf> upon cir- 
 cumstantial evidence/' 
 
 "But what evidence what sulli-ient evidence of any kind, can they 
 bring against you?" 
 
 k ' There is the evidence of the butler, who is ready to swear that he 
 saw me in the house at the time." 
 
 " I must go to town and talk to that butler. I must see that man. 
 His soul is in peril. It is necessary that he should know that. I have 
 a great mind to go to-morrow morning." 
 
 Sylvester smiled at his reverend friend's simplicity, and observed that 
 he feared that that would be of little use. 
 
 " I don't know that," resumed the reverend gentleman. " Men have 
 been induced, under similar circumstances, to turn from the pursuit of 
 evil. It may be that this man has been bribed by his master I do not 
 say that he has been but such things are possible: indeed, if my me- 
 mory serves ine right, I have read in some book that euch things have 
 
248 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 been done. It', therefore, it IK- so in this case if tin* m;m'> master h.i - 
 wickedly bribed him to swear that that is true which lie knows to be 
 false h .should be seen ;uid talked to, and expostulated with: the p..-! 
 tion in which he is about to place himself ought to be clearly laid before 
 him ! the awful nature of the sin he is about to commit should be ex- 
 plained to him seriously and solemnly! and who knows that, Avhen he 
 lias been made duly sensible of the consequences which must of neces- 
 sity follow the commission of so dreadful a sin, he may not become wise- 
 in time and repent? I hold it to be the duly of every Christian minister 
 to endeavour, by all the means of which he is capable, to rescue unfor- 
 tunate souls from perdition; and if I could save this unhappy man if 
 I could in time convince him of the error of his ways if 1 could show 
 him that his immortal soul is now in jeopardy strike into his mind till- 
 light of truth inspire him with confidence in Him to whom all heart-. 
 are open bring him to the throne of grace and mercy, and teach him 
 to sin no more: if I could but in time effect this, I should think no 
 journey too long, no trouble too great: no pains nor expense should, 
 on my part, be spared." 
 
 " I appreciate the feelings by which you are actuated," said Sylvester; 
 " and 1 am by no means insensible to the power of your appeals; still 1 
 think that, under the circumstances, such a journey as that which you 
 contemplate, would be unprofitable." 
 
 "Oh! there is no knowing what might be. done. The heart of the 
 man might be altogether turned : his ideas of good and evil might be 
 completely changed ; and, therefore, I might be successful. However, 
 we'll think the matter over! 1 don't like in any case to act with pre- 
 cipitation. Our views may change; but I must say that my present 
 impression is, that an hour's conversation with that unhappy man would 
 do good." 
 
 During the whole of that evening nothing was discussed or even 
 thought of but the forthcoming trial ; and soon after the reverend gen- 
 tleman had left Sylvester and his aunt retired. 
 
 He had not, however, been asleep more than half an hour, when the 
 company, assembled at the Crumpet and Crown, were, thrown into a 
 most intense state of consternation by the sudden re-appearance of 
 Pokey, who declared that the ghost had re-visited Cotherstone Grange. 
 "I sec it," said he, with an aspect of terror; "I see it, as plain as 1 
 see you here now!" 
 
 "Where?" demanded Obadiah. 
 
 "Just down the road! I was going home quiet, when, all of a 
 Midden, what should I see but a monstrous tall li^urc taller than the- 
 t'other by more than a yard breathing white smoke from his. nostrils, 
 and looking with an eye of real fire." 
 
 "It won't do," said Lcir.ufe; "at least, it won't do for me! 1 snj| 
 you saw a man with a ciirar in his mouth." 
 Xot a bit of it!" 
 " How many eyes of lire had he?" 
 
 "I saw but one, and that was a blazer i never beliuv see such an 
 eye in my life but, of course, he has two, although I didn't sec 'cm." 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 249 
 
 "No; you saw but one, and that was a cigar; and the man was 
 pulling away at the time: that was it." 
 
 "I know better! Do you think I'm such a fool as not to know a 
 real man from a ghost?" 
 
 " That was no ghost !" 
 
 " It was, I tell you. Can't I believe my own eyes?" 
 
 " It won't do, Pokey ! I won't take it in! If you saw anything but 
 a man, you saw it in imagination merely." 
 
 "As Peter the Great did," observed Obadiah, "at the time he 
 iniapiiicd ln-'d welted the Dutch." 
 
 " Peter the Great!" retorted Pokey, contemptuously. " What has this 
 got to do with Peter the Great?'' 
 
 What has it got to do with it? It's got all to do with it! mind you 
 that! When the Dutch, in the reign of old Harry the Eighth " 
 
 "Blister the Dutch, 'and Harry the Eighth, too! What do you 
 think we want to know about the Dutch? I tell you again that I see a 
 ghost! It was all in white, from head to heel; and what's more, it had 
 an umbrella." 
 
 An umbrella!" cried Leggc. 
 
 " I say an umbrella! And what's more, he had it up, as if it rained 
 pouring." 
 
 " Well!' .said Lcgge. "I have heard of many things, but I never 
 before heard of a ghost with an umbrella!'' 
 
 Whereupon a loud roar of laughter burst from all but Pokey, whom 
 their uttrr incredulity rendered indignant. 
 
 " I don't care a button about your laughing," said he; " I know what 
 I know; and I'll bet you half a gallon it was a ghost, and nothing but!" 
 
 "Who's to prove it?" 
 
 "If you can't believe me, come and see it yourself! Now, then!" 
 
 " We should be great fools to do that!" said Obadiah; "as big fools 
 a- tin- French was at the battle of Bunker's Hill, when Charley the 
 
 "I don't care about what they was at Bunker's Hill; I only know 
 this: you daren't come and see." 
 
 "Daren't!" echoed Obadiah, valiantly; "daren't!" 
 
 " Aye, daren't ! I'll bet you half a gallon you daren't !" 
 
 " Do you know what Co?sar said when Pompey told him he daren't? 
 Pompey) 1 said he " 
 
 " Pompey be smothered. What's Pompey to do with it? I tell you 
 I'll make you this bet, if you like, and I'll put the money down." 
 
 " Do you think that, for the sake of half a gallon of beer, I'll allow 
 you, or any other man in the universe, to place me in the juxtaposition 
 of being laughed at? Not exactly. My ideas don't fructify in that 
 way, and so you needn't think of having the laugh against me." 
 
 " I don't want to have the laugh against you." 
 
 ' JSut it would be against me, if I were to go out on such a fool's 
 errand as that. It won't do, Pokey: it won't do, my boy. You're a 
 very clever man at your needle, no doubt, but you mustn't at all expect 
 to get over me." 
 
250 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 W There ih certainly something white moving about," said Legge, who 
 had been to the door. 
 
 " Is it a fact?" cried Obadiali. 
 
 " Come and see!" replied Legge, who returned to (lie door, and Oba- 
 diali rose and followed him, and Quocks, Bobber, and Pokey, rose and 
 followed Obadiah ; and, ai'ter straining their eyes for some time towards 
 the cottage, they all indistinctly perceived something white. 
 
 " Now, will you believe me?" cried Pokey. 
 
 "It's strange," observed Legge; "it is certainly strange! but we 
 have yet to learn that that which we sec is a ghost." 
 
 " What else can it be?" demanded Pokey. 
 
 " It isn't the old maid's white horse?" suggested Obadiah, pointedly. 
 
 "No: that's no horse," returned Legge. "Will any one come with 
 me and see what it is?" 
 
 " Oh," said Quocks, " if we go at all, we had better go altogether. 
 What do you say?' 7 
 
 Obadiah seemed very unwilling to go, but as all the rest consented, 
 lie felt, of course, ashamed to hold back. They, therefore, moved slowly 
 towards the cottage ; and as they moved, the figure became more and 
 more distinct; but they had scarcely got more than half way, when 
 Obadiah exclaimed, with a start, "Here it comes! Don't you see? 
 It's coming towards us. There there !" and having uttered these 
 startling exclamations, was about to rush back ; but Legge seized his 
 arm on the instant, and stood to watch its movements with comparative 
 calmness. When, however, he found that it was absolutely approach- 
 ing, even he receded gradually, it is true but his retreat kept pace 
 with the advance of the figure, upon which he still kept his eyes con- 
 stantly fixed. 
 
 On reaching the door to which Bobber, Quocks, and Pokey, had 
 previously rushed he stood for a moment to ascertain whether the 
 figure really meant to come on, and on being sufficiently convinced that 
 that was its intention, he darted in, closed the door, and locked it. 
 
 "Heaven save us!" exclaimed Mrs. Legge, who was then with the 
 rest in the passage. 
 
 "Hark!" cried Legge, as footsteps approached; "hark harkF 
 
 The next moment, to their horror, they saw the latch rise. Their 
 hearts sank within them. They were stricken Avith terror. There was 
 not a man there who appeared to have sufficient strength to move. 
 They could, in fact, scarcely breathe while poor Mrs. Legge, who had 
 fallen on her knees and covered her face with her apron, fainted. 
 
 Again the latch moved, and a knocking was heard; and Legge, 
 unnecessarily, whispered, "Hu-s-s-sh!" seeing that they would not 
 if they could, at that moment, have made the slightest noise for the 
 world. 
 
 The footsteps receded slowly, and apparently with some degree of 
 irresolution and then a slight cough was heard a sort of clearance of 
 the throat which on their ears fell like a groan. But after that they 
 heard no more: they listened still, and breathed again; yet, although 
 they felt better, they continued very faint, They called for brandy, but 
 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAM1JUL1ST. ' 251 
 
 Legge, who was endeavouring to bring his wife rouiul, could not then 
 att< -nd to that cull: nor was it until that lady had recovered that the 
 brandy- bottle ma&e its appearance. 
 
 During the whole of this time not a single observation, having 
 reference to the jrhost, was made. They were thoughtful, but silent. 
 and looked at each other with expressions of amazement and alarm; but 
 when each had had a glass of Legge's brandy, they began to discuss the 
 subject openly, yet cautiously, until indeed each had had a accoml glass, 
 when Obadiah boldly declared thai he didn't believe it was any ghost 
 at all. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Pokey, on hearing this monstrous declaration. 
 ' ; Do yon mean to tell me, after what we've heard and seen, that it could 
 by possibility be anything but a glnM?" 
 
 " Yes, I do! Look at the nature of ghosts in general. What are 
 they? Spirits that's what they're' made ( .|'. Now truetiiy your ideas 
 a little: just look yon here: Do you think that if tlurt had been a 
 ghost, and it had wanted to come in here, it wouldn't have come in?'' 
 
 " How could it?" 
 
 " I low could it!'' 
 
 "Aye, when the door wa* locked?' 1 
 
 "What's the odds about the door being locked. Couldn't it have 
 come through the keyhole?" 
 
 "What, a ghost of that six 
 
 "What's the si/c to do with it? Gh"-ts n-al ghostfi can go any 
 where they like, and through anything they like! It inau- - M" "'Ids to 
 them what, it is! Talk about a keyhole; why, they'll go through tin- 
 smallest cone.-ivable BTCTice! What doefi it matter t> them? If that 
 had been a ghost, rather than sillier himseh' to be done, lu-'d have >unk 
 into the earth on one sid- of th<- door, and come up <>n the other, at 
 once!" 
 
 " What do you mean? What, clean through the llag-st' 
 
 Fl:ni--sines! Of course! What r care about flag-stones?" 
 
 "Well, if they'll do that " 
 
 " That! They'll do anything, those fellows will. It's no odds to them 
 what they do." 
 
 " lint do you mean to say " 
 
 ' "i -s, I do! I mean to say that that was no ghsl.' ! 
 
 "I don't believe it was myself, now," interposed Legge. 
 
 " Nor do I," said Qnocks. 
 
 .\<>r don't 1," observed Mr. Bobber. 
 
 " Well, bur look here," cried Pokey, "if it wasn't, what made you all 
 BO frightened!" 
 
 " There's times," said Obadiah, assuming a profoundly philosophical 
 expression; "when the ideas of men don't fructify as they ought: there's 
 also times when the amalgamating juxtaposition of those ideas is not 
 boney lidi non compas. When, therefore, the intellects is either nem 
 con, or sine die, and the fructification of ideas in the brain is at its 
 maxinms, why, we're just like the Komans when the Greeks stormed 
 Turkey, we don't know what to think ; but when the supernatural ex~ 
 
252 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 citement is over when the mind comes fructifying round to its own 
 proper juxtaposition then, my boy, we can look at the whole of the 
 ramifications of the case calmly, and see what out-and-out fools we have 
 been." 
 
 "I know what you mean," said Pokey, " exact : although I don't 
 understand them hard words: you mean to say that when we're fright- 
 ened, we're different to what we arc when we are not." 
 "That's just what I do mean." 
 
 " Very good. And I agrees with you. But what puzzles me is, 
 that you should have both heard and seen it, and thought it a ghost, 
 and then, when it's gone, say it's no ghost at all! For my part, 1 still 
 think it was one, and a real one, too. If it was not, what was it?" 
 " That's the point. That's just what I should like to find out." 
 " Do you think it was a man dressed up like a ghost?" 
 " I do." 
 
 " Then why don't you go out and tackle him? You're big enough." 
 " If it be a man," said Legge; " I should only just like to catch him. 
 I\l serve him out! I'd break every bone in his skin!" 
 
 " Well, why don't you go and do it? If / thought it was little as 
 lam I'll be blistered if I wouldn't go out and tackle him. But I don't 
 -I can't think it. The very fact of its coming right up to the house, 
 convinces me that it isn't a man." 
 " I think it is now," observed Legge. 
 " And so do I," cried Obadiah. 
 "/ don't think it was a ghost," said Quocksj 
 " No more don't I," said Mr. Bobber. 
 
 " Well, then, look here," cried Pokey, " if that's it, look here. Here's 
 four men here as believes it to be nothing but a man dressed up as a 
 ghost four strong, powerful, bony men why, do you think that if 1 
 was one of you four, and believed, as you believe, that I wouldn't be after 
 him in double quick time?" 
 
 " If he is a man," cried Mrs. Legge, who had privately had a little 
 brandy-and- water ; "I should like to catch the villain I'd scratch his 
 very eyes out!" 
 
 "But, just look you here!" resumed Pokey, who wanted to go home, 
 but didn't at all like the idea of starting; "here's four of you here as 
 does believe it, and yet there isn't one that'll move a peg !" 
 
 " Oh, I'll go," said Legge, " if you'll all come with me : or if any one 
 of you will come, I'll go." 
 
 " You don't stir out of the house again to-night," said Mrs. Legge, 
 "if I know it. You know, I suppose, what you've got to do in the 
 morning? Let them as likes to go, go: you can't. Here's the brewer, 
 here, coming here at four!" 
 
 " I know it, my dear I know it," said Legge. 
 " Very well, then ; what do you want to go out for?" 
 " I don't want to go, my dear. Still, if I were quite sure of catching 
 this fellow, I should feel myself bound to go out with the rest." 
 
 "I only just wish I had him here," cried Mrs. Legge, energetically; 
 " I'd teach the villain, I'll warrant !" 
 

 Tin: SOMNAMBULIST. 2o3 
 
 You had better, I think, go to bed, my dear," said Loggo, who per- 
 ceived that his spouse was excited "you had better go to bed: I shall 
 be with you shortly.'' 
 
 "I shall not go till you go," replied Mrs. Legge; "and I think it's 
 time for all married men to be at home." 
 
 "Let us have some more brandy-and-water," said Qtiocks, who 
 invariably, when he received a hint of that description, stopped 
 an hour longer, at least. "Suppose," he added, "we have glasx- 
 round?" 
 
 "What do you want any more for?" inquired Mrs. Legge, 
 
 " Oh, we must have another glass apiece." 
 
 " / sha'n't draw any more. Legge may do as he likes ; but, if I was 
 him, not another drop should be drank in this house to-night, if I 
 knew it." 
 
 "Now then, Legge! Come, wherc's this glass? Now, gentlemen, 
 give your orders." 
 
 " I must go," said Pokey. 
 
 "Nonsense, man. What, go alone? The ghost is sale to chaw you 
 up. Wait till I go, and then you'll be sate. Come, order another glass 
 like a man." 
 
 I '"key, who tlnln't like to go alone, ordered another glass; and so did 
 Obadiah, and so did I Jobber, and so did (Blocks; and Le;jye attended 
 heir orders, while Mrs. Li-gge intimated plainly that she thought 
 him a tool. 
 
 _:<', however, took no notice ofthi-. lie \\-as u-M'd to it. There 
 
 was, therefore, no novelfy whatever about it. He replenished their 
 
 .nd took their money, and then philosophically filled another 
 
 pipe. 
 
 He had, however, no sooner done so, than tiu-v again heard a knock- 
 ing at the door: not the same description of knocking no, but a knock- 
 ing which dearly intimated that In- who knocked really meant it. 
 
 " Shall I go?" said Legge, doubtfully. 
 
 itaiulv not," cried Mr-. L. -j^e. "No. 11 
 
 i to, ' .id Obadiah. " Only don't let him in." 
 
 "Whv not?" demanded 1'okey. "You say if In-'s a !_-ho<t he can 
 t'vt in without you; and if he i>n't, you should very much like to catch 
 him: why, then, should he not be let in?" 
 
 " Who's there r cried Leirtff, on approaching the door. 
 
 "Oh, for heaven's sake, let me in oh, pray let me in!" replied the 
 man who had knocked. 
 
 " Who are you?" 
 
 " I'm a traveller a poor traveller. But pray let me in." 
 
 " Oh, let him in," said Quocks. " If he means any nonsense, we are 
 more than a match for him. Let him in, Legge." 
 
 " I'll not have him here," cried Mrs. Legge. " Keep the door closed : 
 I'll not have him here." 
 
 But bet;. re tin- last words had been uttered, tin- door was opened, and 
 in rushed a poor man, with cheeks blanched with terror, exclaiming 
 A L:l"i"-t " 
 
254 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Wliat do you mean?" demanded Lea-ire. " Come into this room. 
 Now, th'-n, what do you mean l>y a gh 
 
 "Pray give me some water," said the poor man, faintly. "Pi- 
 give me some water." 
 
 "Here, take some of this," said Pokey, offering his glass; "it'll do 
 you a little more good." 
 
 The poor man drank from Pokey's glass, and appeared to approve of 
 the ilavour of its contents. 
 
 " Now, then," said Lcggc, " what was it that alarmed you?" 
 
 "A ghost," replied the traveller. " I never saw one before in all my 
 life." 
 
 *' Are you sure it was a ghost?" inquired Pokey. 
 
 " Quite," replied the traveller " oh, quite sure." 
 
 " You don't think it was a man dressed up like a ghost?" 
 
 " If it was, he ought to be shot. But I can't think it was: no, I don't 
 think that that was any man." 
 
 " Nor do I," observed Pokey. 
 
 " What, have you seen him then?" 
 
 " Yes; I saw him about half-an-hour ago: we all saw him. lie had 
 an umbrella then. Had he one when you saw him?'' 
 
 " No, he'd no umbrella. But it struck me though, of course, it 
 couldn't be but it struck me that he had a cigar in his mouth 
 smoking." 
 
 "Then it is a man!" cried Lcggc. " Whereabouts did you see him?'' 
 
 " Just down the road, there. lie's not a hundred yards from us now." 
 
 " Then as true as I'm alive," said Legge, " if any one will go with me, 
 I'll see what he's made of!" 
 
 " Indeed," said Mrs. Legge, " you'll do nothing of the sort." 
 
 "Will you go, DrantJr" 
 
 "I don't think it worth while" replied Obadiah. "Not that I'm a 
 mite afraid only I don't exactly think it worth while." 
 
 " Well, will you go, Pokey?" 
 
 " I tell you I don't think it is a man at all. If I did, I'd go at once, 
 but I don't," 
 
 " That's no man," observed the traveller. 
 
 " Not a bit of it!" cried Pokey. " If I thought it was I'd go in a mo- 
 ment," 
 
 " ril go !" cried Quocks. 
 
 " Then come along," said Legge; " come along!" and, despite the re- 
 monstrances of Mrs. Legge, they started. 
 
 On reaching the road, they looked cautiously round. Legge was 
 armed with a thick stick, and Quocks with a poker; and, doubtless, had 
 they seen any ghost at that moment, they would ha ve alfaekrd him; 
 but they didn't: they walked down the road, and all was still; but just 
 as they came within sight of the cottage, they saw the same ligmv ^lide 
 slowly towards the door, and apparently vanish through one of tin- 
 panels. 
 
 "No man could do that," observed Quocks, "that's quite elrar." 
 
 " Strange," said Legge, mysteriously; "very strange, in<|r>.|." 
 

 THE S03IXAMBULIST. 255 
 
 " Shall we go up to the gate?" 
 
 " I'll go to the door, and knock them up, if you like!" 
 
 u Well, but let's first go up to the gate, and have a look." 
 
 Legge consented at ouce; and they went to the gate, and looked 
 inxiously round, but saw no "ghost." The door was closed, and all 
 \v:is still: there was, indeed, a light in Aunt Eleanor's room; but that 
 they both knew to be usually there. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor, howerer, was reatlese ihai nighi : the duel and the 
 action both preyed upon .her mind; and, therefore, when she heard 
 Legge and Quocks talkinifat the gate, >he eame to the window and looked. 
 
 "What's that!" exclaimed Quocks, ns he saw the blind move. 
 
 " That's Mrs. Sound," returned Legge. " Stop a bit. Perhaps she'll 
 open the window." 
 
 She did do so; and having cried" Who's then''."" Li-jve answered : and 
 
 c knew his voice at once. 
 
 "Is there anything the matter, Mr. ! lie inquired. 
 
 Why, ma'am," replied Le.L-ye: th 
 
 " Good hejivi-iis! What again! Di ' 
 
 "\Vliy, ma'am. I saw something very much !:' and if it be, it 
 
 has just now entered your cottage." 
 
 M Heaven preserve u-!" exclaimed \nnt Eleanor. 
 
 "You shouldn't have told her that L'-girt " said Qu-.<:ks. 
 
 [ don't wish to alarm you, ma'am," cried Legge. M My only tibjei-t. 
 is to ivnder every possible assistance, i: required.'' 
 
 "You are very kind very kind. IJ'/V/ you wait a moment?" 
 
 'Certainly, ma'am, with all the pleasure in life." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor tlien rang the bell, and continued ' ill M.iry 
 
 appeared. 
 
 Marv," "he eried. u i-. 11 Judkiiu to g.-t. up this moment.'' 
 
 " Anything the matter, ma'am?'' 
 
 " Tell him to go down and speak \<> M 
 
 Mary conveyed the 03 Judkins, who was up in a nn-mi-nt. 
 
 and lost no time in running down to the door. 
 
 What's the row?" he inquired; " what is it?'' 
 
 ' Have you heard any iui<e?" eried I-' 
 
 M Xoise! no. What noise do you mean?" 
 
 "We thought that you might perhaps have heard some noise." 
 
 "Open the gate, Judkins: 1 wish to speak to Mr. Leg.ire," said Aunt 
 Kleanor, as >he de>cended. 
 
 , Judkins opened the gate, and T.eu'ge and his friend Quocks went to 
 the door, and explained to Aunt Eleanor all they had seen, and thereby- 
 inspired her with feelings of apprehension. 
 
 She then searched the cottage, but found nothing at all calculated to 
 create the slightest alarm, and eventually- knocked at Sylvester's door, 
 
 and awoke him. 
 
 Have you been at all disturbed, my dear?'' she inquired. 
 >, aunt! no!" he repli* d. 
 
 "I am happy to hear it. I thought that you mi-ht have been. 
 Good night, my dear: God bless you: good night." 
 
2o6 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "Well, Mr. Legge," she added, on her return, "I find every thin- in 
 the house as it should be; but I, nevertheless, highly appreciate your 
 kindness. We must trust in Providence. Heaven I hope will protect 
 us all." 
 
 Legge and his friend then left the cottage with many expressions of 
 deep respect, and with feelings over which they had no controul, 
 returned to the Crumpet and Crown. 
 
 "Sold again!" cried Obadiah, as they entered; "a dead sell, of 
 course?" 
 
 " Not exactly," replied Legge; " no, not exactly." 
 
 "Did you see it, then?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " And was it a ghost?" 
 
 <( That I must leave. My impression is, that it was." 
 
 " I never," said Quocks, " in all my days, saw anything go through 
 a panel so clean." 
 
 " Through a panel ! What panel?" 
 
 " The panel of Mrs. Sound's door." 
 
 " It went clean through?" 
 
 " As clean as a whistle!" 
 
 " It's a ghost, then! Safe to be a ghost! Just exactly what I said. 
 Didn't I say so? What's a door to a ghost? Why, no more than 
 Bobby Peel is to Johnny Russell. You may bolt and bar your doors 
 till you can't sec out of your eyes ! What do you think a real ghost 
 cares about that? If it wants to come in, it will come in, and no 
 mistake about it ! A ghost cares no more for a door, my boys, than 
 the Egyptians cared for the Turks, when they welted the Chinamen 
 hollow with a single jaw-bone of an ass. I tell you now, as I told you 
 before, a door is no more to a ghost, than Boney was to Nosey ; not a 
 mite." 
 
 " But did you see it really, though?" said Pokey. "Upon your soul, 
 now, did you see it go into the cottage?" 
 
 "As true as I'm alive," replied Quocks ; "I saw it go in, as plain as I 
 see you now." 
 
 " It's a ghost," said the traveller; " as sure as you're born." 
 
 " I haven't half a doubt about it," cried Pokey ; "I knew in a moment 
 that it was, by the manner of it." 
 
 "Well," said Legge, who now wished them to go; "it certainly is a 
 most mysterious piece of business, but I suppose we shall see no more 
 of it to-night. Therefore, when you're ready, gentlemen don't let me 
 hurry you but when you're ready, I'll close the house." 
 
 u tm ready," said Pokey, who thought of his wife; "quite ready. 
 But let us go together, you know: let us go together!" 
 
 "With all my heart," cried Obadiah. "As far as ghosts arc con- 
 errne.l, I'm no more afraid of ghosts than Peter thedreat was <!' Dickey 
 the Third, still I think it will be as well for us all to <jo together." 
 
 And the rest thought so too; and they rose simultaneously and Irl'i 
 the house, with the understanding that they were to meet with the view 
 of discussing the matter in the morning. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 25? 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE SUSPICION. 
 
 AUNT ELEANOR notwithstanding her apparent tranquillity while 
 speaking to Legge and his friend no sooner returned to her chamber 
 alone than she burst into tears, for the recollection of her brother's 
 death came again full upon her, and all her former painful apprehen- 
 sions were renewed. She felt that his spirit still hovered around her 
 that it had something dreadful to communicate, and that it could not 
 rest until that communication had been made. She wished it would 
 appear to her then: she absolutely prayed that it might then ap- 
 pear; and, while contemplating with livings of divad the possibility of 
 its appearance, her imaiii nation, being excited strongly at the time, at 
 once created a figure the very figure of her brother which stood 
 with an expression of sorrow before her. 
 
 She started and for a time ceased to breathe and while she glared 
 at the spectre, she became cold as death. There it stood, perfectly mo- 
 tionless and silent, and there it continued to stand, until, inspiring suffi- 
 cient courage, she exclaimed, in a thrilling whisper, "Dear brother, why 
 are you here?" 
 
 This broke the charm. The spectre instantly vanished. But it 
 came again when all was still, aud she then saw it even more distinctly 
 than before. 
 
 She rose to approach it with feelings of awe, but, as she advanced, it 
 receded, until it completely disappeared beneath the bed-clothes. This 
 was strange, certainly very strange indeed. She couldn't at all 
 understand it. Could it be possible that she had been deceived? Could 
 she have beheld it in imagination merely? She passed her hands over 
 her eyes, and then, in order to be sure that she was perfectly conscious, 
 proceeded to Lathe them. 
 
 Again she looked round. The spirit had fled. She turned down 
 the bed-clothes. No spectre was there. But the idea of getting into a 
 bed iii which she conceived that a spirit had taken refuge, appeared to 
 her to be monstrous. She, therefore, resumed her seat in her easy 
 chair, and, having looked in vain for the spirit's reappearance for nearly 
 an hour, she involuntarily dropped oft' to sleep, ancl slept soundly, until 
 Mary at the usual time came to the door. 
 
 The reverend gentleman, soon after this, heard that the ghost had 
 revisited the Grange, and, having made minute inquiries, of which the 
 result was the startling information that it had again entered the cot- 
 tage, he proceeded to call on his dearest friend in a state of intense 
 anxiety. 
 
 As he passed through the gate, she descended the stairs, and when 
 they met, he pressed her hand with affectionate warmth, but her pale 
 face inspired him with fearful apprehensions. 
 
 T 
 
258 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Dear Eleanor," said lie; "you are not well. Have you been much 
 alarmed ?" 
 
 " I have been somewhat alarmed," she replied, as she slightly smiled, 
 and led him into the parlour. " Then you have heard," she continued, 
 " you have heard of this mysterious occurrence." 
 
 " I heard that the people in the village were alarmed by the appear- 
 ance of a spirit which they saw enter here. At least they imagined that 
 they saw it. Whether they did or not, of course I must leave. I pre- 
 sume that you saw nothing of it?" 
 
 " I saw it as distinctly as I now see you here." 
 
 " Is it possible." 
 
 " Not at the time it was seen by them, but subsequently, while I 
 was sitting in my chamber." 
 
 " Heaven preserve us !" 
 
 " I saw it twice ; and, as I feared, it was the spirit of my poor, dear 
 brother." 
 
 " What, and did it speak to you?" 
 
 "No. I spoke to it; but it instantly vanished, and when it reap- 
 peared, I rose to approach it; but again it vanished, and I saw it no 
 more." 
 
 " You amaze me ! Then you absolutely saw its countenance?" 
 
 11 Yes: and it was that of my poor unhappy brother." 
 
 "Bless my heart alive; why, what on earth can it mean. There 
 must be some dreadful mystery at the. bottom of all this. It was silent, 
 you say ; quite silent?" 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 " Did it not intimate anything by gestures?" 
 
 " Nothing. It was perfectly motionless." 
 
 " Strange, very strange. It could not have appeared without an ob- 
 ject, and one would have thought that that object, whatever it might be, 
 would have been, of course, communicated in some way. You could 
 not have been mistaken? You were not, I presume, at the time, 
 dreaming?" 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no; I was sitting in my chair." 
 
 " Well. There, are strange things, both in heaven and on earth. Did 
 Sylvester sec it, too?" 
 
 " No: in this house it appeared to me only. He does not even know 
 that / have seen it: nor do I wish him to know, feeling perfectly sure 
 that the knowledge of my having seen the spirit of his father would 
 break his heart." 
 
 " Don't you think it would be prudent to put him on his guard? It 
 may appear to him, and that with the view of revealing some highly- 
 important secret, and, if taken by surprise, he may be too much excited 
 and confused to understand it. What do you think?" 
 
 " 1 am at all times anxious to be guided by you; but it strikes me 
 that when you reflect upon the probable consequences, you will wish to 
 conceal it from him, at least for the present." 
 
 "You may be right: I am quite inclined to believe that you are right. 
 Let it be so. We may know more anon." 
 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 2,59 
 
 At this moment Sylvester entered the room, and, having greeted both 
 his aunt and her reveivnd friend warmly, proceeded to ascertain what 
 had occurred. 
 
 k" Was there anything the matter last night?" he inquired. 
 Do you mean, my dear, when 1 knocked at your door?" 
 Yes: why did you knock?" 
 
 " I merely thought that you might haw been disturbed." 
 
 " What induced you to think so?" 
 
 " Why, the people in the village imagined they saw a ghost " 
 
 "What, again!" 
 
 " Yes ; and some of them declared that they saw it come here." 
 
 "How very extraordinary! Mystery follows me, go where I may. 
 Do you know the persons who fancied they saw it come here?" 
 
 " Legge was one: the person who keeps the public-house." 
 
 " I'll go over and speak to Le^ve immediately after breakfast. He 
 s rather a superior man, too; is he not? 1 speak, of course, with re- 
 ference to his position." 
 
 "Exactly," returned the iweiviul uvntleinan. "He is a superior 
 man: a man of strong mind, and good, plain, common sense." 
 
 " And a kind creature, too, "said Aunt Eleanor, " I'm sure. lie came 
 over last night, in order to ascertain if he could render me any assist- 
 ance." 
 
 " Well. I'll go and speak to him," said Sylvester; " and then I shall 
 hear all about it. It certainly is most mysterious. 1 can't understand 
 it at all." 
 
 It will not he incorrect to observe, that these observations were in- 
 duced by the thought that he might, unconsciously, have been the cause 
 of all. He had previously no conception of being a somnambulist, but, 
 as a remarkable cast' of somnambulism had just before been published, 
 he thought it possible just possiblt that lie was in reality, a som- 
 nambulist himself. He did not he could not believe that he was; 
 but fooling, of coiu-M', anxious as the thought had boon conceived to 
 ascertain whether he really was or not, he at once resolved on viewing 
 every circumstance that had occurred in immediate connexion with 
 that, 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution, he immediately after breakfast left 
 the cottage, and went to the Crumpet and Crown. Obadiah, and Pokey, 
 and Quocks, were there, with Bobber, and several others, and, as he 
 was perfectly unknown to them all, he was, of course, minutely ex- 
 amined from head to foot as ho entered. 
 
 " I say," whispered Pokey, in the ear of ' >badiah ; " who's he?" 
 
 "A government spy, you fool. Don't your ideas fructify?" 
 
 "Is that a spy?" 
 
 " Of course ! Hold your tongue." 
 
 " But how do you know?" 
 
 " I know by the cut of him. Mind what you're after. Bobby Peel 
 has sent him down to feel the pulse of the eternal people. You'll see 
 how I'll cook his uoose for him, presently. Fine morning, sir," he 
 added, addressing Sylvester, who had taken a seat immediately opposite. 
 
 T 2 
 
260 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " It is, indeed," said Sylvester, " a beautiful morning." 
 
 " Barleys want rain, sir." 
 
 " You have not yet been able to get much barley in, have you?" 
 
 " Not get it in, sir ! What not here the latter end of May !" 
 
 " They haven't got much barley in, about here," observed Quocks. 
 
 "What, not barley?" 
 
 " No, not barley. Look at the drought we've had. How could they 
 get it in? The land's as dry and hard as the road." 
 
 Sylvester called for a glass of ale, which Mrs. Legge brought with a 
 most winning smile. 
 
 " Is that the way you means to cook his goose?" whispered 
 Pokey. 
 
 " Stop a bit, my Briton," replied Obadiah ; " you'll know more about 
 it, my boy, by-and-bye. He who deals with a deep 'un, must be deep 
 himself: you can't get all out of a spy in a hurry. The drought, sir, I 
 believe, has been pretty general," he added, turning to Sylvester; "how 
 are the wheats in your part of the country?" 
 
 " That which I saw along the road looked well." 
 
 " The heavy -land wheats about here don't look so much amiss, but 
 those on the light lands are perished. Which road, sir, do you allude 
 to?" 
 
 " The road between here and London." 
 
 " Oh, London! Ah, exactly. Didn't I tell you so?" he added, turn- 
 ing to Pokey; " I'd have bet ten to one of it! I knew what he was, the 
 very moment I saw him. / don't want to look at a man twice to know 
 who and what he is! Not a bit of it! Have you just arrived from 
 London, sir?" 
 
 " I came yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, indeed. And what, may I ask, do you think of the spy system 
 generally?" 
 
 " The spy system?" 
 
 "Aye: you know, in Harry the Eighth's time, they did the trick 
 very deliberately." 
 
 " Upon my word, you give me credit for more knowledge than I 
 possess." 
 
 " What, don't you remember when Peter the Great came over here 
 just before the French Revolution, when Buonaparte threatened to welt 
 the whole world, and sent Robespierre after the Dutch?" 
 
 "Really," said Sylvester, smiling; "you arc much too learned for 
 me. I never before heard that Peter the Great, Buonaparte, and Robe- 
 spierre were so intimately connected." 
 
 " Why, they all lived in juxtaposition." 
 
 " Obadiah," said Quocks, calmly ; " don't be an ass." 
 
 " What do you mean?" cried Obadiah, indignantly. 
 
 " Hold your tongue. Don't expose yourself before strangers." 
 
 Obadiah thought this very severe, and was about to inflict upon 
 Quocks an extremely cutting observation ; but as Legge, who had been 
 hopping down some beer, entered the room at the moment, Quocks es- 
 caped that infliction. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 261 
 
 I Good morning, sir," said Legge; addressing Sylvester, whom he 
 quite forgotten. 
 
 " Good morning," returned Sylvester. " You were somewhat alarmed 
 last night, were you not?'' 
 
 " Well ; it's true we were, rather. You have heard of it, of course?" 
 
 " I heard of it this morning." 
 
 "A mysterious piece of business, sir, that. I can't understand it!" 
 
 " Nor can I. It is indeed mysterious." 
 
 " He's the ghost for a thousand," whispered Obadiah. 
 
 " And a spy, too?" said Pokey. 
 
 " Both, my boy. I'll bet ten to one of it. Now, you'll just see how 
 I'll pump him. You didn't sec the ghost then, yourself, sir?" he added, 
 addressing Sylvester; and then, turning to Pokey, with a wink of great 
 significance. 
 
 " No," replied Sylvester. " I wish that I had. By the way, I have 
 to thank you, Mr. Legge, for your attention to my aunt." 
 
 " Your aunt, sir?" said Legge. " Upon my word, sir, I haven't the 
 pleasure of knowing you?" 
 
 " My name is Sound." 
 
 " Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. I hope you're quite well, *ir. Upon 
 my word, I'd quite forgotten you. I knew I'd seen you somewhere, too ! 
 How is Mrs. Sound, this morning?" 
 
 "Not quite so well." 
 
 "I don't wonder at it. A thing of this sort must be very alarming 
 to her. I know it gets over me! I can't make it nut at all!" 
 
 " He's a government spy, is'nt he?" whispered Pokey to Obadiah. 
 
 " How do you know that he isn't?" 
 
 " And the ghost, too!" 
 
 "He may be! You can't tell lie's not?" 
 
 "You saw this ghost, i believe?" said Sylvester. 
 
 "Oh! we all saw it!'' returned Legge. 
 
 "Distinctly?" 
 
 "As distinctly as a thing of the kind i'nM be seenl" 
 
 " And what shape did it assume? What did it look like?'' 
 
 "Why the figure was that of a man: tall very tall: it stood, I 
 should say, seven feet high." 
 
 " Seven fcetf cried Pokey; "more nearer yards!" 
 
 "Imagination probably added to its height," observed Sylvester. 
 " But how did it act?" 
 
 " Why, sir," replied Legge, " when it was first seen, it was walking 
 up and down just before the cottage-gate; and, from the description, I 
 imagined it might be smoking a cigar; for only one eye, it was said, 
 could be seen, and that was an eye of fire." 
 
 " It was no cigar," said Pokey ; " not a bit of it. It was an eye safe!" 
 
 "Well," resumed Sylvester; "and did it continue to walk up and 
 down?" 
 
 " For a time," replied Legge ; " but it afterwards came here to this 
 very door and knocked, and lifted up the latch ; but somehow or other, 
 I felt afraid at the time to let it in !" 
 
262 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " 1 wish that you had done so !" said Sylvester. 
 
 " Then do you not think that it was really a ghost?" 
 
 " Why, the thing is so extraordinary, that I scarcely know what to 
 think! But had you opened the door at the time, you would have seen 
 at once whether it was a ghost or not." 
 
 " I'll do so if it should come again. I've made up my mind to that." 
 
 " That's the only way to satisfy yourself on the point. Take hold of 
 it, if you can! You need not have recourse to any violence! Touch it; 
 and if it be tangible, you may then, of course, be quite sure of its being 
 no ghost." 
 
 " But if I were to find that it was not a ghost if I were to catch any 
 fellow playing such a trick as that I'd make him remember it the 
 longest day he had to live." 
 
 "And so would I!" cried Mrs. Legge. " I'd scratch his very eyes 
 out !" 
 
 " I'd murder him right off!" exclaimed Pokey. 
 
 " And serve him right, too," said Quocks. " Hanging's too good for 
 him." 
 
 " If," observed Sylvester, calmly, " a man in a state of consciousness, 
 and with the view of creating alarm, were to be guilty of so disgraceful 
 and dangerous an act, lie would deserve to be punished with the utmost 
 severity; but, if even the figure which you saw last night be a man, it 
 does not of necessity follow that he deserves the rough treatment you 
 contemplate. There are men who are in the habit of walking in their 
 sleep, and who perform acts of the most extraordinary character while 
 in a state of somnambulism ; and it certainly would not be just to treat a 
 man of that description with as much severity as you would treat a 
 heartless, impious scoundrel, whose sole object is to inspire the most ap- 
 palling species of apprehension !" 
 
 "Very true: very good!" said Legge. " That's right: quite right." 
 
 " If I were to see this figure," resumed Sylvester " I'm not in the 
 habit of boasting, nor do I pretend to any extraordinary valour but if I 
 were to see it, I should go right up to it at once. I should soon, of course, 
 be able to discover what it was ; and if I found it to be a man, and not 
 the shade of a man, merely; my very first object would be to ascertain 
 if he were asleep. If I found that he was, I should take the utmost care 
 of him ; but if on the contrary I found that he was not, I'd secure the 
 villain instantly, and bring him to justice." 
 
 " That's a very proper view to take of the matter," observed Legge. 
 
 "Aye; but that's no man," cried Pokey. "There an't a mite of 
 flesh and blood about it." 
 
 " I can scarcely believe that it is a man myself," said Legge. " No 
 man could have gone through the panel of a door as that did eh, 
 Quocks?" 
 
 " No," replied Quocks, " not a bit of it. I don't mean to say that 
 no man could go through; but I do mean to say that if he did, he'd 
 make a hole in it, which wouldn't be closed up by magic, as that was." 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester, rising, " it is altogether a most extraordinary 
 occurrence; still, were I to see the figurej I certainly should ascertain, 
 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 263 
 
 if possible, what it really was. Good morning, gentlemen," he added; 
 "good morning." 
 
 " That's no fool," observed Legge, when Sylvester had left. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said Quocks. " He knows a thing or two, and 
 takes more than one view of a question." 
 
 " Drant offered to bet ten to one about his being a government spy," 
 observed Pokey; and this observation produced a hearty laugh. 
 
 " Laugh away!" cried Obadiah. "Laugh away, my boys! But just 
 look here! Can you prove that he isn't? Come now! It's easy to 
 laugh : any fool may laugh ; but can any of you prove that he isn't a 
 spy?" 
 
 " Can any one here prove that you are not one?" said Quocks. 
 
 "Me!" cried Obadiah, indignantly. "Me a spy? Me? Where's 
 the gold that could buy nu-? 1 scorn the vile fructifying insinuation. 
 What! place me in the juxtaposition of :i wretch who would do anv 
 cold-blooded business for money a fellow who'd swear a man's lite 
 away just as soon as look at him a villain, a boney fide villain, whose 
 trade is that of tempting men merely to betray 'em! I call it a most 
 amalgamating insult ! No man alive lias a right to insult another by 
 such a monstrous insinuation as that!" 
 
 " Then why did you thus insult the nephew of Mrs. Sound?" 
 
 " I didn't tell him that he was a spy!'' 
 
 " Nor did I tell you that you were a spy. You asked if any one could 
 prove that he was not: I asked if any one could prove that you weir 
 not. I believe one to be as much of a spy as the other; but you fjprget 
 that when y<.u denounce men for insinuating that which you have in- 
 sinuated, you, in effect, denounce yourself." 
 
 " Well; but look you here: he was quite a stranger." 
 
 "What of that? Did that justifv you in setting him down for a spy?" 
 
 " But he looked like a spy: he came in like a spy, and acted as much 
 like a spy, as I ever saw a man in my life." 
 
 " Did you ever see a spy?" 
 
 " Why, I can't say that ever I did see one." 
 
 " Then how is it possible for you to know when a man either looks or 
 acts like one? Besides, the idea of a spy being sent down here, is too 
 absurd to be thought of/' 
 
 " Bobby Peel might, you know, send one down just to see, you know, 
 which way the wind blow- !" 
 
 " Bobby Peel! psha! What do you think Bobby Peel cares about 
 the wind in a place like this?" 
 
 " What! Do you mean to say, then, that you think he don't care?" 
 
 " Not a straw! Why should he?" 
 
 " Why should he? What, then, are we to be tyrannised over and 
 trampled upon by a plundering lot of oligarchical pensioners, and not 
 have a voice in the matter at all." 
 
 "Obadiah," said Quocks. "You'll excuse me; but, as true as I'm 
 alive, Obadiah, you're a fool." 
 
 "It's all very well to get over it in that way: there's nothing more 
 easy than to call a man a fool: there's no argument in it! But prove me 
 
264 SYLVEStER SOUND 
 
 to be one: that's the point of the compass! Place me in juxtaposition 
 with any man in Europe I don't care who he is ! and if he knows 
 anything of history, he'll find I can tell him what's what. You may call 
 me a fool just as long as you please: I don't care a button about what 
 you call me. Prove me to be one that's the teaser my boy ! prove 
 me, if you can, to be a boney tide fool, and I'll stand glasses round." 
 
 " What do you mean by boney fide?" inquired Pokey. 
 
 " Boney fide! Send I may live! What, don't you know what boney 
 fide means? Where did you go to school? Who had the fructification 
 of your ignorant ideas? Boney fide means out-and-out of course. A 
 boney fide fool, is an out-and-out fool ; and I should like to see the man 
 who can prove me to be one." 
 
 " I should like to see the man who can prove that you are not one," 
 said Quocks, who indignantly finished his beer, and then, without con- 
 descending to utter another syllabic, left them. 
 
 " Poor Quocks!" cried Obadiah. " He can't bear to be beaten ! I 
 don't like to be hard upon any man alive, but I can't help being a little 
 hard upon him : he's so ignorant of history." 
 
 " But you don't mean to say " observed Pokey, " you can't mean to 
 say, that you've beaten him this morning!" 
 
 " Beaten him! What did he run away for? I'd beat half a million 
 of men like him before breakfast! Why, I'll bet you what you like that, 
 if you were to offer him five hundred pounds, he couldn't tell you who 
 Peter the Great's mother was! What's the use of a man like that. I 
 don't want to boast, but he's no more fit to be put in juxtaposition with 
 me, than Bobby Peel is fit to be put in juxtaposition with Julius 
 Csesar. There's nothing in him ! In all that relates to boney fide argu- 
 ment, he's what I should call a mere non compos; and he knows just as 
 much about fructifying logic as Harry the Eighth knew about this 
 pint pot. The mind of a man must be properly amalgamated to be in 
 a juxtaposition to stand against one who has studied things as I have. 
 Study's the point, my boys ! no getting on without study. Study will 
 beat the world hollow; and Quocks has got no study in him." 
 
 " Well," said Pokey, " / must go to work. I've got a pair of buck- 
 skins to finish to day." 
 
 " Business must be attended to," observed Obadiah ; who, notwith- 
 standing the loss of Pokey, continued to work his amalgamated fructi- 
 fying boney fide juxtaposition until he was left quite alone. 
 
 Sylvester, meanwhile, deeply reflected, not only upon the events of 
 the preceding night, but upon the whole of the equally mysterious cir- 
 cumstances which had occurred to him since he left the house of Mr. 
 Scholefield. The event, however, upon which he dwelt chiefly, was 
 that which formed the ground of Sir Charles Julian's action ; and when 
 he viewed the nature of the evidence against him, in connexion with 
 the idea of his being a somnambulist, it appeared to him to be perfectly 
 clear that to nothing but somnambulism could it be ascribed. 
 
 But how was the fact of his being a somnambulist to be proved? 
 That was the primary question. The readiest and most effectual way 
 of proving it appeared to be that of communicating the idea to some one 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 265 
 
 by whom he might be watched ; but his anxiety to conceal it from his 
 aunt, whose mind he well knew would be for ever after filled with ap- 
 prehension, induced him eventually to decide on endeavouring to prove 
 it himself. 
 
 He therefore set to work and conceived various schemes, the opera- 
 tion of which were in his view calculated to prove the thing beyond all 
 doubt, and having decided at length upon one which appeared to be the 
 easiest and also the best, he, on retiring that night about ten, attached 
 to one of his ancles a string, which communicated with a bell which 
 he ingeniously hung, so that it would of necessity ring in the event of 
 his getting out of bed, and at the same time prevent him from leaving 
 the room. 
 
 Having artfully adjusted this machinery to his entire satisfaction he 
 went to sleep, and as his thoughts soon afterwards reverted to the 
 " ghost," which he then iV-lt an extremely strong desire to see, he with 
 great deliberation removed the string from his ancle, rose, dressed him- 
 self, and left the house. 
 
 For some time he walked leisurely up and down the road in the full 
 expectation of seeing this spectre, but as in this lu- was, as a matter of 
 course, disappointed, he, perceiving a light at the Crumpet and Crown, 
 and hearing voices within, at length went to the door. 
 
 That night Mrs. Legge, who had been having some more private 
 brandy-and- water, would have the door bolted, and Sylvester in conse- 
 quence could not get in. He therefore knocked, and immediately heard 
 such a hissing as that which might proceed from a dozen young ser- 
 pents anxious to cry simultaneously " 11 nth /'' 
 
 " There it is!" said Pokey. 
 
 " That's it!" exclaimed Obadiah. 
 
 " It's the same knock," observed Quocks. 
 
 " Exactly !" cried Legge. " Now then, what's to be done? Shall I 
 open the door?" 
 
 " I'll have no ghost in this house to-night, if I know it," said Mrs. 
 Legge, pointedly; " not if I know it." 
 
 " Go to bed, my dear," observed Legge; "go to bud.'' 
 
 " I shan't go to bed ! you're a rogue to me, Legge, you know you 
 are." 
 
 "Hark!" cried Legge, who had been so used to these affectionate 
 observations that they really passed by him as the " idle wind." " Did 
 you hear?" 
 
 " What!" exclaimed Pokey. 
 
 " A groan. Shall I open the door? Will you back me?" 
 
 " /will," replied Quocks, " at all events;" 
 
 " Then the door shall be opened." 
 
 " Don't !" cried Pokey. " Don't! pray don't!" 
 
 Legge rose; but Mrs. Legge on the instant threw her arms round his 
 neckj and cleverly burst into tears! 
 
 Legge couldn't stand this. He could, as well as any man in England; 
 stand any given quantity of abuse, but all was over the very moment he 
 saw a tear. Mrs. Legge knew this of course she knew it she hadn't 
 
266 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 lived all those years with him without finding that out! it wasn't at all 
 likely. 
 
 " If you won't go," said Quocks, who also knew Legge's weakness in 
 this respect, " / will." 
 
 "Don't! Quocks! Mr. Quocks! don't!" cried Pokey. "For God's 
 sake, don't do nothing of the sort. 
 
 " Why not?" demanded Quocks. " Hark! hark !" he added, as Syl- 
 vester again knocked. " I will go, arid that's all about it." 
 " You shan't!" exclaimed Mrs. Legge, seizing his arm. 
 " What do you mean, woman?" 
 
 " Look at me Mr. Quocks pray consider my children." 
 Quocks had children of his own. He, therefore, resumed his seat in 
 silence. 
 
 " Well, I'm blow'd if / won't go," cried Bobber. 
 " Mr. Bobber," said Mrs. Legge, " haven't you a sister depending upon 
 you? If anything should hapjnm to you what will become of her ?" 
 Bobber poured out another glass of ale. 
 
 "Well, but this ought to be seen to," cried Pokey. " You remember 
 what that young gentleman said? I'll open the door myself. ' 
 
 " I believe," said Mrs. Legge, " that you have an aged father. Do you 
 wish him to come to the workhouse? Beware!" 
 
 Pokey knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and re-filled it. 
 " Don't you think that we'd better just ask who it is?" said Obadiah. 
 " You may open the door, if you like," said Mrs. Legge, who well 
 knew that he dared do nothing of the sort. 
 
 " No," returned Obadiah, " not a bit of it! /shall not open the door. 
 Why don't you open it? I've heard that ghosts won't touch virtuous 
 women." 
 
 " What do you mean by that?" demanded Legge, angrily. 
 "Oh! I meant no offence. I merely said that I had heard that vir- 
 tuous women were safe." 
 
 " Since it's come to that," cried Mrs. Legge, indignantly, " I'll open 
 the door myself, if I die for it." 
 
 Obadiah now seized the poker, and Quocks spat in his hand, in order 
 to grasp his stick firmly, while Pokey and Bobber turned up their cuffs 
 and doubled their fists. 
 
 " Who's there?" demanded Mrs. Legge. 
 ' Tis I," replied Sylvester; " don't be alarmed." 
 The bolt was withdrawn ; the latch was raised, and in walked Syl- 
 vester calmly. 
 
 The moment he entered, Pokey and Bobber resumed their seats, and 
 and as Obadiah relinquished the poker, Quocks dropped his stick 
 between his legs and felt better. 
 
 "I've been looking for this ghost," observed Sylvester, "but I can see 
 nothing of it. Have you seen it to-night?" 
 
 " Not to-night, sir," replied Legge. " No, I haven't heard of it to^ 
 night." 
 
 " I should like to see it very much indeed. Am I too late to have a 
 little biandy-and- water?" 
 
,. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 267 
 
 " Oh, dear me no: not at all, sir." 
 
 " These gentlemen probably will join me? Suppose, Mr. Legge, we 
 
 ve glasses round?" 
 
 " If you please, sir," replied Legge, who really felt very much obliged 
 to him: "warm, sir or cold?" 
 
 " Suit the tastes of these gentlemen ; Fll have it cold." 
 
 " But really, sir," observed Quocks, " we don't wish that." 
 
 "You're a good fellow, I believe," returned Sylvester. " It appears 
 to me that you are all good fellows; and as such you'll not refuse to 
 drink with me?" 
 
 " Certainly not, sir. We're very much obliged to you, only we don't 
 like to impose on goodnature, sir; that's all." 
 
 " If that be all, then, don't say another word about it." 
 
 Legge who had a brilliant eye to business produced live glasses of 
 brandy-and-water, and Sylvester, on counting them, observed, " You, of 
 course, never drink l>ran<ly-and-water, yourself ? n 
 
 "Much obliged to you," said Leirge, who at once took the hint, 
 but had no more idea of his guest being asleep than he had of his being 
 the " spectre." Nay, it is questionable whether he would have believed 
 it, if he had even been told. 
 
 "Well,"' said Sylvester,"! wonder whether this mysterious swell 
 intends to visit us to-night." 
 
 "The swell, sir," observed Legge; " beg pardon; whom do you 
 n?" 
 
 "The ghost!" 
 
 " Oh." cried Lej.ue, who raised a hearty laugh, in which the rest, as a 
 matter of gratitude, joined. " The idea of calling a ghost a swell. 
 Well, I never heard anything better in my life." 
 
 "It's a boney tide 'un, that is," observed ( )badiah. " Julius Caesar 
 couldn't have made a better joke than that." 
 
 " Was .Julius Ca-sar veri/ fond of joking?" inquired Sylvester. 
 
 "Fond of joking! What! don't you remember when he and 
 Pompey there welted the Dutch, what a irame they had with 'em? Why, 
 there wasn't a more fructifying joker in the world: he was the very first 
 original inventor of joking: Joe Miller stole the whole of his jokes from 
 Julius Ca?sar." 
 
 " Indeed! Well now, I wasn't aware of that." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Why, didn't the Greeks deify him isn't he the Heathen 
 god of joking?" 
 
 " Very likely. / thought it had been Momus." 
 
 "Momus! Momus was a fool to him. He couldn't hold the candle 
 to Julius Caesar. 
 
 " That's true," observed Sylvester, who was highly amused. 
 
 " He wasn't tit to tie Julius Ca?sar's shoe-strings," continued Obadiah. 
 "There isn't a man alive like him, with the exception of Harry 
 Brougham, and he's a rattler. Put all the Bobby Peels you can find in 
 a lump, and they won't come half up to Harry Brougham." 
 
 " Brougham's a great man," said Sylvester. 
 
 " A great man, sir! He's a cut above a great man: he's what /call 
 
 mea 
 
 :: 
 
268 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 a boney fide fructifier of freedom. Talk of the Tories. Your Tories 
 can't be put in juxtaposition with him. Look at 'em. What are they? 
 A plundering set of blood-sucking pensioners, screwing a matter of 
 ninety millions a year out of the vitals of the people, and putting men 
 in prison for speaking their mind, while their bishops are living on the 
 fat of the land. Do you call this liberty?" he continued, rising with 
 the view of giving more emphatic expression to his sentiments. " Do 
 you call this fructifying freedom? If the people were not most amalga- 
 mated fools they'd hang, draw, and quarter the lot. Look at France 
 would they have it? Look at Spain would they stand it? Look any- 
 where you like I don't care where you look: take Europe, Asia, 
 Africa, and America, and point out a people groaning under such a 
 heap of national debt, if you can. Look at the currency there's a 
 currency. Look at the corn-laws only look at 'em. Was there ever 
 such a mighty mass of monstrous corruption isn't it enough to make 
 one's hair stand on end? If a man becomes poor he must go to the 
 workhouse and live upon gruel and such like muck, while the very men 
 who have made him poor are swimming in sherry, and port, and cham- 
 pagne! Do you call this justice? Is this carrying out the eternal 
 principal of equal rights? I'm for all men in the world being equal 
 why should'nt they be? A'n't the poor as good as the rich? Haven't 
 they got souls and bodies as well as the rich have? Why should they 
 be crushed? Wliy should they be ground down and trampled upon? 
 I'm for an equitable adjustment. I'd have whatever money there is in 
 the country equally divided among us all. It belongs to us all as a 
 matter of right, and therefore we all ought to have it. One man should 
 be just as rich as another. The whole system ought to be changed, 
 and it can't be changed without a rattling revolution. A revolution we 
 must have. That would bring the beggarly aristocracy to their senses. 
 That would let your bishops and your parsons and all the rest of your 
 muck know what's what. We must have a revolution: and, mark my 
 words, when we have one they'll know it. What ! isn't it monstrous 
 that we should Avork and slave to let a limited lot of locusts live in 
 luxury? Isn't it disgraceful to our intellects as men that we should 
 suffer a parcel of puppet-show paupers to plunder and propagate the 
 people in this way? Down with them. That's my sentiments! Down 
 with the lot. We'll have no king no constitution no aristocracy! 
 strangle them all: no bishops no parsons no church no nothing. 
 Down with tyranny and up with freedom: fair, fructifying freedom: 
 unlimited liberty is all we require. Britons never shall be slaves !" 
 
 " Bravo," cried Sylvester; " bravo, bravo! Why are you not in the 
 House?" 
 
 " The House the corrupt House of Commons! If I ever put a foot 
 into such a house as that I should feel it a national disgrace. No ; if it 
 was honest if it was pure if it wasn't what it is a notorious den of 
 thieves I'd say something to you, but as it's rank, rascally, rampant, 
 and rotten, neither you nor any other man in Europe will ever catch me 
 there." 
 
 " I hope you've been amused, sir," observed Legge> aloud* 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 269 
 
 " I have indeed," replied Sylvester, smiling. 
 
 "Amused, sir!" exclaimed Obadiah, who started again to his feet. 
 " Why, when William the Conqueror welted the French, he said to 
 Boney, said lie, ' Now I'll tell you what it is' " 
 
 " Don't let's have any more speechifying," interrupted Quocks. 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Obadiah, contemptuously. 
 
 "I'd rather, myself, hear a song," observed Sylvester; "perhaps you 
 will give us a song instead?" 
 
 " A song. With all my heart!" cried Obadiah; " I'm ready for any- 
 thing in nature. If you want a song, I'm the boy to sing one." 
 
 " You can't sing," observed Pokey. 
 
 " Not sing, you fool. Why, I'm open to sing against any man in 
 Europe, for anything aside you like to name. Not sing ! Why, if you 
 come to that, I'll sing you a song of my own composing. Now then!" 
 
 "Stop!" said Sylvester; "you've nothing to drink. Mr. Legge, 
 you'd better replenish these glasses." 
 
 Legge, who was always on the qui vice, did so, when Obadiah put 
 down his pipe, and commenced. " Anybody else," said he, " may call 
 it what he likes, but I, my boys, call it 
 
 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 OLD England, my Britons, would, but for the Tories, 
 Be merry, and happy, and perfectly free: 
 
 The flat flag of freedom that emblem of glories- 
 Would wave, but for them, o'er the land and the sea. 
 
 Her men are so brave, generous, joyous, and witty, 
 It's seldom, indeed, you'll discover a rogue, 
 
 "While the girls are so precious, plump, prattling, and pritty, 
 It's wonderful bigamy's not more in vogue. 
 
 Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de rol, diddle lol, 
 Tol de rol, diddle lol, looral-li-day. 
 
 When Peter the Great once came over to welt us, 
 
 With Harry the Eighth, and old Boney to boot, 
 His most valiant soldiers, the moment they smelt us, 
 
 Were struck with such terror pooh! they couldu't shoot. 
 Then hurrah for Old England! She has boney fide, 
 
 A standard of liberty which, when unfurled, 
 Will govern the ocean! And she's in a tidy 
 
 Good juxtaposition to welt the whole world. 
 
 Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de rol, diddle lol, 
 Tol de rol, diddle lol, looral-li-day. 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Sylvester; "bravo!" 
 
 " What do you think of that, my boys?" exclaimed Obadiah ; " that's 
 more than Bobby Peel could do, I'll bet a million." 
 
 " And is it really your own composition?" said Sylvester. 
 
 " My own, and nobody else's !" 
 
 " I should like to have a copy of it." 
 
 " That you shall have, with all the pleasure in life, because I know 
 you're a boney fide trump!" 
 
 " And won't you let me have a copy?" said Pokey. 
 
 " Yes, my brave boy, you shall have a copy, too." 
 
270 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " And you'll give me a copy, of course," said Quocks. 
 
 "Well, I don't mind, because it'll fructify your views.'' 
 
 " You'll give me one, too," cried Bobber, " won't you?" 
 
 " Well, you shall have a copy." 
 
 " I must have one," said Legge. 
 
 " How many more of you?" 
 
 " It's such a very pretty song," said Mrs. Legge, archly; " you'll not, 
 of course, refuse to give me a copy of it." 
 
 " Well. I'd better have three or four secretaries of state down here, 
 just to assist me. But you shall have copies: I'll take care of that, and 
 you know, if I say that I'll do a thing, I'll do it. There's no mistake at 
 all about me. I'm John Bull, right up and down straight, and I don't 
 care who knows it, that's another thing, my boys." 
 
 " Well, but how about the ghost?" suggested Sylvester; " I'm afraid 
 we shall not see it to-night." 
 
 " The ghost, sir, may come if it likes," said Obadiah; " or keep away 
 if it likes, and do what it likes. I'd extend the eternal principle of 
 liberty, even to a ghost. But, gentlemen," he added, rising, " I've a 
 toast to propose a toast which I'm sure you'll all fructify in juxtapo- 
 sition with as much boney fideness as I do. It is a toast, gentlemen, 
 which reflects upon the country the highest national honour a man can 
 feel: a toast which, setting aside all party questions, is, perhaps, the 
 most exuberant manifestation of manhood it's possible for any nation in 
 Europe to show. The mind may amalgamate, the senses may soar, the 
 human heart which beats in the breast of a man may fructify, and 
 fructify, and keep on continually fructifying, till fructification is lost in 
 the utter annihilation of worlds ; but the toast I'm about to propose to 
 you, gentlemen, is one which beats all your philosophy hollow. Gen- 
 tlemen, we have been honoured to-night with the presence of one who 
 shines a lustre in the atmosphere of intellect, and beats metaphysics 
 into fits. He has come amongst us, gentlemen, to illumine our rays, 
 like the rainbow in the heavens, great, glorious, and grammatical. 
 He is, gentlemen, one of that boney fide nobleness of nature in his bosom, 
 which scorns an act of meanness in his nature, and makes his mind 
 throb with hospitality. He has, gentlemen, been with us to-night like 
 a star in the horizon which sheds its refreshment around; and I, as I 
 think that you'll have no difficulty in guessing the party to which I 
 allude, I'll at once, without preface, propose the good health of that boney 
 fide trump, there, by which we've been honoured." 
 
 Cheers, of course, followed this eloquent speech, which so convulsed 
 Sylvester with laughter, that it nearly awoke him. At length, how- 
 ever, assuming a look of gravity, he rose and said 
 
 " Gentlemen, I duly appreciate the extremely high compliment which 
 has just been paid me by our eloquent friend, who is, moreover, a friend 
 to the human race, including Bonaparte, Peter the Great, and Harry 
 Brougham. I call it a l>ona Jide compliment, associated as it has been 
 with fructifying freedom : and I ought to led proud of being thus in 
 amalgamating juxtaposition with a statesman whose chief characteristics' 
 have been so conspicuously developed." 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 271 
 
 " That's the time o' day, my boys!" exclaimed Obadiah, as Sylvester, 
 with appropriate gravity, resumed his seat. " They're the words to 
 fructify the bosom of a Briton, and touch the ideas of the human heart! 
 What do you think of that, my boy, eh?" he added, shipping Pokey on 
 the back in a state of ecstacy. " What do you think of that for a boney 
 fide speech?'' 
 
 " It is a boney fide 'an, that," replied Pokey. u It's what I call splen- 
 dacious !" 
 
 The glasses Avere again replenished, and Obadiah sang another song, 
 at the conclusion of which Sylvester suddenly rose, exclaiming 
 
 " The ghost I must see the ghost!" 
 
 " Oh, stop a little longer, sir do!" said Obadiah. 
 
 " Yes, do, sir," cried Pokey ; " and then we'll go together." 
 
 " It may IDC there now," resumed Sylvester, whose eyes became fixed. 
 " I must go and see." 
 
 " Well, come back again for five minutes," cried Obadiah " do come 
 back again, if it's only merely just to say good night." 
 
 Sylvester, who had by this time reached the door, left the house, and 
 walked deliberately home; and having undressed himself, got into 1 eJ, 
 and adjusted the string round his ancle again. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THK YILLAOK FAIR. 
 
 Ix the morning, Sylvester's very first object was to ascertain whether 
 the string was all right, and on finding that it was, IK- felt, of course, 
 perfectly sure that he had not been out of 1 
 
 This evidenee, however, was not alone sullicient to convince him that 
 he was not a somnambulist. He had first to learn whether the ' ^ho$t" 
 had iv-appeaml. It' it had, then the evidence of the string might be 
 held to be conclusive; but if it had nt if nothing of a mysterious cha- 
 racter had oceurred he felt that he should be still in a state of uncer- 
 tainty, seeing that he might be in reality a somnambulist, and yet not 
 walk every night. 
 
 lie, therefore, rose and dressed hastily, and being extremely anxious 
 to make the necessary inquiries, went to Judkins, who was then in the 
 garden. 
 
 "Well, Judkins," said he, "have you heard any more about the 
 ghost?" 
 
 "No, sir, I don't think he came at all last night: leastways, I haven't 
 heard nothing about it, and I know if he had, I should have heard afore 
 this. 1 wonder what it wants a-coniing poking about here, a-frigli ten- 
 ing people in this here, manner. I expect there's some money hid sonu.-- 
 
272 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 where, or else there's been a murder committed, one of the two. It 
 wouldn't come here, you know for nothing, sir, would it?" 
 
 " It must have some object, I should think.' 1 '' 
 
 " Them's the very words I said to Legge, yesterday. Says I, ' You 
 may take your oath it don't come here for nothing ;' and he agreed with 
 me. Depend upon it, sir, there's something dreadful on the mind of 
 that ghost. I remember, sir, a ghost came here somewhere about five 
 year ago you may have heard tell of it, perhaps? well, that played 
 the devil's own tricks : took the horses out of the stable flew all over 
 the country frightened people into fits, and kicked up Bob's delight! 
 I expect the parson laid it at last, for we haven't seen nothing on it 
 since." 
 
 " Was that about five years ago?" inquired Sylvester, who felt his 
 suspicion confirmed. 
 
 " Let me see," replied Judkins, leaning thoughtfully on his spade. 
 "Five years! To be sure! it's more than five years. I've had these 
 here breeches above five years, and they was made because the others 
 was found in the pickle-tub shrunk up to nothing, so as I couldn't pull 
 'em on. It was five year last fall, sir that was the time. I remember 
 now! they cost me fourteen-and-sixpence, and Pokey, down here, was 
 the man which made 'em. That was a rum start, that was ! Up to 
 this blessed day, I could never make out how they got into that precious 
 tub, I thought, at first, that cook put 'em there to spit her spite, but I 
 don't think now that she could have been so vicious. No ; it must have 
 been the ghost leastways I think so: if that didn't put 'em there, I 
 don't know who did. Why, let me see," he added. " Fire years! Why, 
 you was down here at the time to be sure you was ! Don't you remem- 
 ber, sir? Don't you remember coming up to me, and asking me whe- 
 ther I wouldn't put your trousers on? Why, that was the very time, 
 sir don't you recollect?" 
 
 " I do remember something of the sort," replied Sylvester. " But," 
 he added, being anxious to check these reminiscences, lest ,they should 
 tend to inspire Judkins with suspicion " how do the peaches get on?" 
 
 " Capital, sir! They'll be beauties this year, sir! Just look at 'em! 
 Loaded, sir: look here. There can't be finer than them. I expect to 
 beat the parson this year. I never see bigger beauties yet. Don't you 
 remember when you was here, five years ago, sir, the parson would have 
 it that he catched you on the wall, sir, a tucking in his'n?" 
 
 " Oh yes," said Sylvester, smiling. " I remember that well." 
 
 " That was a rum start, too," resumed Judkins. " How he did be- 
 lieve it was you, to be sure ! He was satisfied afterwards, certainly he 
 was ; but Jones will have it it was you, to this day ; and he'll die in the 
 belief, I expect, for you can't drive it out of him, no how." 
 
 Mary, at this moment entered the garden with a note, addressed " To 
 S. Sound, Esquire, Junior" Sylvester smiled as he opened this note, 
 and proceeded to read as follows : 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 273 
 
 "SIR, 
 
 " It gives mo groat pleasure to have the honour of presenting 
 the song of my own composing as promised. My ideas were not perhaps 
 fructifying much when I wrote it; but if placed in juxtaposition with 
 some, it mat/ not amalgamate amiss. It is boney fide my own, and as 
 such 
 
 " I have the honour to be, 
 
 " Sir, 
 " With great respect, 
 
 " And high esteem, 
 
 " Your most obedient, 
 
 " And most humble 
 
 " Servant, 
 "OBADIAH DRANT." 
 
 "P.8. I shall be at the Crumpet to-night, about nine; and if you 
 should be there, I should feel highly honoured to see you." 
 
 Here followed the song of " Old England, 1 ' which Sylvester read 
 as a matter of course, and then a>krd himself what it all meant. He 
 couldn't understand it at all! " It gives me great pleasure to have the 
 honour of presenting the song of my own composing, as promised T 
 What could the man mean by -ending it, "as promised?" "I shall be 
 at the Crumpet to-night about nine!" l>id he expect him to go to the 
 Crumpet t> meet him? 
 
 "Judkins," said SyKvster, having endeavoured to solve this small 
 mystery in vain. "Judkins, do you know a man named Obadiah 
 Drant?" 
 
 " Know him, sir! I think I do, rather. He's a lunatic, sir that's 
 my belief a political lunatic. He'd talk a horse's hind leg off, sir; and 
 then wouldn't be <aiirt. He's always continually at it! Chatter, chatter, 
 chatter, chatter goftftfc, gabble, gabble! lie's a wonder, sir a political 
 wonder." 
 
 " Why a political wonder?" 
 
 " 'Cause, sir, he's always talking politics." 
 
 " But he's a poet as well, is he not?" 
 
 " I never see none of his poetry. If he does write poetry, he takes 
 care to stuff lots of politics in it, I'll warrant!" 
 
 " Then you think he's insane?" 
 
 "Why, sir, I couldn't, we'll say, prove him to be exactly that; but 
 it's my belief a man in his proper senses would never go on at the rate he 
 does. You should just hear him talk, sir: you'd never forget it! He has 
 got a lot of jaw-cracking words at his fingers' ends, and he stuffs 'em in 
 any how, and no how." 
 
 Sylvester was now summoned to breakfast, and on entering the par- 
 lour Avith the note in his hand, he said 
 
 ki Aunt! I have received a highly important communication this 
 morning, from one of your neighbours." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear! Of what nature?" 
 
 " Here it is! perhaps you would like to look at it." 
 
 u 
 
274 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Aunt Eleanor, with an expression of anxiety, opened the note ; and 
 having read, exclaimed 
 
 " What on earth could have induced him to send this to you?" 
 " I can't imagine," replied Sylvester, " But read the song!" 
 She did so, and laughed most heartily. 
 
 Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de rol, liddle lol, 
 Tol de rol, diddle lol, looral-li-day !" 
 
 " What is the meaning of all that, my dear?" 
 
 " That's the chorus," said Sylvester. 
 
 "Oh! the chorus: I understand!" she exclaimed, and merrily laughed 
 again. 
 
 " I'll show this to Rouse, when he comes," said Sylvester. 
 
 " No, my dear: you must not do that." 
 
 " Why not? He'll be amused." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 " He's sure to be. Besides, he ought to know Avhat a genius lie has 
 in his fold." 
 
 " I fear that this person is not in his fold. I do not believe he be- 
 longs to the flock. / never saw him at church in my life." 
 
 " Judkins believes him to be insane." 
 
 "It is possible; but I never before heard it even hinted. But he says 
 here, my dear, that he presents the song 'as promised!' Did he ever 
 promise to send a thing of the kind?" 
 
 " Certainly not," 
 
 " Then the inference is that he must be insane. But we shall hear 
 what Mr. Rouse says about him." 
 
 They then sat down to breakfast, and while they were at it, Sylvester 
 highly amused his aunt by occasionally chanting this celebrated chorus. 
 
 " We must have this song set to music," said he. " You can do it 
 admirably. It's a capital song. There's plenty of scope for the de- 
 velopment of musical genius : for example, those two happy lines 
 
 * While the girls are so precious, plump, prattling, and pretty, 
 It's wonderful bigamy's ne/t more in vogue ' " 
 
 " Sylvester!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, " my dear!" 
 
 " Oh! but they are excellent: and might be rendered very effective! 
 I don't know exactly whether he means * precious plump,' or ' plump and 
 precious,' but that you'll see. And then what effect may be given to 
 these lines 
 
 'Will govern the ocean, and she's in a tidy 
 Good juxtaposition to welt the whole world !' " 
 
 "Sylvester! How can you go on so! You will not, let me have 
 half a breakfast." 
 
 " Well, but look at the 'tidy good juxtaposition.' There's a chance 
 for a musical composer!" 
 
 " But what dot-s he mean by the word ' welt?' " 
 
 " To welt, is to beat to conquer! It ought to have been, perhaps, 
 4 to towel the world;' but ' welt' will do. And then ' the/ft// Hag of free- 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 dom!' there's another opportunity. You have but lo uuirk the. in 
 over the word, and there von are. But the tiling might be studded with 
 musical effects: and I submit that, as he has presented us with the song, 
 we ought, as a matter ofooMrteay, to present him with the music/' 
 
 M We shall have Mr. Rouse here before we have linished breakfast. I 
 know that we shall." 
 
 "You are right: here he is," said Sylve>ter, as the reverend gentle- 
 man passed through the gate, and Aunt Eleanor lelt as she always did 
 feel when lie first appeared somewhat contused. 
 
 As soon as the first cordial greeting was over, Sylvester said, " I have 
 received a letter this morning." 
 
 " Containing some good news, I hope," observed the reverend gentle- 
 man, anxiously. 
 
 " Why it contains no bad new-." 
 
 " I'm happy to hear it." 
 
 " Do you like poetry?" 
 
 ("Lam very fond of poetry: the poetry of the Scriptures, especially: 
 there's a great deal of poetry in the Scriptures, and that, too, of the most 
 sublime character. David's lament, for example, in tin- lii^t chapter of 
 jhe Second Book of Samuel, is beautiful, and touching in the extreme: 
 'The beauty of Israel is slain!' and again, ' Ye mountains of (lilboa l-i 
 there be no more dew: neither let there be rain upon you, nor fields of 
 ofll-rings: for there the shield of the mighty is vilely cast away, the 
 shic'ld of Saul, as though he had not been anointed Avith oil. From the 
 blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of Jonathan 
 turned not back, and the sword of Saul returned not empty. Saul and 
 Jonathan wen- lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they 
 were not divided: they wen- swifter thai: they were stronger 
 
 than lions.' And then the conclusion, 'How are the mighty fallen in 
 the midst of the battle! (), .Jonathan, tliou wast slain in thine high 
 places. I am distressed for thee, my brother -Jonathan: very pleasant 
 hast thou been unto me: thy love tome was wonderful, passing the love 
 of women. How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war pe- 
 rished!' " 
 
 The fervour and solemnity with which these beautiful passages wen- 
 delivered, prompted Svlvester to put Obadiah's communication into hi.-, 
 pocket, 
 
 " This," continued the reverend gentleman, " is but one example: the 
 Scriptures are studded with gems equally sublime. But why did you 
 ask if I were a lover of poetrv?" 
 
 " Because I have a piece to show you: b:it it is of so different a cha- 
 racter that 1 must defer it for a time." 
 
 " Why not show it to me now without variety what were life? It 
 is perhaps a laughable piece? Well, I can weep with David or laugh 
 with Swift. What is the nature of it let me see it now? But iirst 
 and this is perl iaps of more importance you said you had had a letter: 
 what was that T 
 
 "That and the poetry are intimately connected they come from th 
 same source. The letter, in fact, has reference to the poetry." 
 
 u 2 
 
276 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Then why not let me see it at once?" 
 
 " Well, as you appear to be somewhat anxious about it, there it is; 
 but read the poetry first." 
 
 The reverend gentleman adjusted his spectacles, and assuming' the 
 expression of a stern critic commenced. 
 
 " * Tol de rol,' what's this?" said he, on arriving at the chorus. 
 " Tol,' eh? < Tol de rol,' what'? ' Tol de rol, lol de rol, lol de rol, 
 diddle lol,' why what's the meaning of all this?" 
 
 Sylvester couldn't answer him. He was so convulsed with laughter 
 that he went round and round the room, holding his sides, while Aunt 
 Eleanor perspired with the utmost freedom as she twisted and tortured 
 herself on the couch. 
 
 " Well," resumed the reverend gentleman, whose gravity wns still 
 imperturbable, " let's try again : AVC may perhaps make something of it 
 by-and-bye. It's some foreign language, I presume ! l Tol de rol' no 
 ' looral-li-day !' I can make nothing of it. Well, we'll pass that for 
 the present. Let's go on. Here we are again," he added, having got to 
 the end of the second verse; "here's some more 'tol de rol.' I can't 
 understand it; what on earth are you laughing at!" he exclaimed, as 
 Sylvester burst into a roar. 
 
 " ' Tol de rol's' the chorus," cried Sylvester. 
 
 " The chorus! Oh, I see: < Tol de rol, lol de rol' exactly:' 
 
 Aunt Eleanor, being utterly unable to endure it, left the room. 
 
 "Well, and whose composition is this?" inquired the reverend gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 "Read the note," said Sylvester: " read that now." 
 
 The reverend gentleman calmly proceeded to do so, but when he came 
 to the name, he was filled at once with indignation and amazement. 
 
 "What!" he exclaimed; "is it possible that you are in communi- 
 cation with this man. Why, he's a heretic; he never comes to church, 
 nor does he go to any other place of worship. It surely cannot be pos- 
 sible that you associate with such a man as this." 
 
 " 7 know nothing of the man," said Sylvester, whose convulsions were 
 by this time subdued. 
 
 " But he here says that he sends this according to promise." 
 
 " And what he means by that I can't imagine. / never received a 
 promise from him." 
 
 " Why, the impudent fellow ! Stop a minute ; here's a postcript ' I 
 shall be at the Crumpet to-night about nine :' why he writes as if he 
 expected you to meet him. Well, of all the effrontery I ever heard or 
 read of: but Pll see about it I'll see about this ; I've long wished for an 
 opportunity of speaking to this man, and this is one which I'll certainly 
 embrace." 
 
 " But he's insane, I understand." 
 
 "Insane! Not he. No, no, no, he's not insane. I know him well 
 alas: too well I know him. But however he could have had the un- 
 blushing impudence to write to you I can't conceive. But /'// see him 
 on the subject. Do not name this my intention to your aunt, or she'll 
 probably persuade me to have nothing to do with him ; but I really do 
 
"/ s ^ / / 
 
 
t 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 277 
 
 II myself bound to check this unexampled insolence, and at the 
 ne time it* possible to reclaim him. You received it this morning?" 
 "Yes; just before breakfast." 
 
 "Very well very well. I'll give him such a lecture. The Crumpet 
 tchoo! However, I'll see about it." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor now re-entered the room. She felt much better, al- 
 though still in pain: her checks were rosy, and tears were in her eyes. 
 She was, moreover, still very warm. 
 
 " Have you made out the chorus yet?" she inquired. 
 
 " We have certainly made it out," replied the reverend gentleman. 
 " But did you ever in your life hear of such consummate impudence 
 as that which prompted this man to send a thing of that kind here?" 
 
 " Oh, I dare say that he thinks it excessively clever. He is evi- 
 dently proud of its being his own and I've no doubt at all that it is." 
 
 "But the idea the impudent idea of his sending it to Sylvester: 
 that's what 1 look at." 
 
 " lie, perhaps, conceived that Sylve.-tcr wa> the only one here who 
 could appreciate iN b'-aufy, and he's not a man who imagines that he 
 was ' born to blush unseen. 1 We must forgive these little exhibitions of 
 vanity. They are ivally too ridiculous to exeite aiurer. The song has 
 amused me amazingly: I have not had so hearty a laugh for a long 
 time." 
 
 "There is," said tin- iv\vivnd ijeutleinan, " in your eharaeter but one 
 trait of which 1 have reason to complain, and which is this: that you 
 invariably take a too charitable view of the moral di-limim-wirs of those 
 around you. If you cannot conceive any actual exeu^e, you are sure 
 to find something in extenuation. You are too good to live in this 
 world: that's the only fault I have to find with you If you had the 
 absolute rule, you would wrest flu- s\vord from the hand of justice, and 
 administer nothing but nu-iw." 
 
 " CotherMour (J range is the place for compliments, after all," observed 
 Sylvester. 
 
 "Nay, but it's the truth," resumed the reverend gentleman. "It is 
 invariably the case. If she were to fill the office of chief magistrate- 
 an office for which she is not by nature qualified we should have all 
 mercy and no justice. You perceive she endeavours to palliate the in- 
 solence of this man, even after he has had the effrontery to state that 
 he'll be at ' the Crumpet' at nine, and to intimate clearly that he expects 
 you to meet him!" 
 
 " Are you sure," said Aunt Eleanor, as Sylvester left the room smil- 
 ing " quite sure that this poor unhappy man is not insane?" 
 
 " There you are again, my dear Eleanor! He is not insane. Besides, 
 he's a bad man. lie never conies to church: there's no religion in him." 
 
 " Is not that a proof of his insanity?" 
 
 This puzzled the reverend gentleman. He felt unable to get over it. 
 He, therefore, smiled, and kissed Aunt Eleanor, and exclaimed 
 
 " God bless you, my dear: you are a kind, good creature! We'll say 
 no more about it," 
 
 This defeat, however, did not at ah 1 interfere with that which the re- 
 
278 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 verend gentleman conceived to be his duty. lie was still resolved to 
 speak to Obadiah on the subject; and in pursuance of this resolution, 
 he, on seeing him with Pokey in the course of the morning, rode up to 
 him, with an appropriate expression of severity. 
 
 " Here comes Ted," said Obadiah, as the reverend gentleman ap- 
 proached. " I wonder what he's up to? There's something in the wind, 
 safe. He's coming to talk to you/' 
 
 " Or to you," observed Pokey. 
 
 "To me! He knows better: I should just like to catch him at it. 
 Wouldn't I walk in!" 
 
 "Mr. Drant," said the reverend gentleman, solemnly, as Pokey 
 touched his hat, and passed on, " I am desirous of having a word with 
 you." 
 
 "Very well, sir," returned Obadiah, who didn't at the moment feel 
 exactly self-possessed. " What is it, sir?" 
 
 "Is this your handwriting?" demanded the reverend gentleman, pro- 
 ducing the letter containing the song. 
 
 " Yes, sir: that's my hand," replied Obadiah. 
 
 " Then, sir, let me ask, how you dared to send a letter of this descrip- 
 tion to Mr. Sound, accompanied, too, by this low trashy song." 
 
 " / can see nothing, low and trashy about it." 
 
 " It is low and trashy ; and if it were not, how dared you presume, 
 sir, to send it to him?" 
 
 " I presumed, sir, to send it to him, because he wished me to do so." 
 
 "What, sir! what!" 
 
 " Because he liked it so much, when he heard me sing it, that he 
 asked me to let him have a copy." 
 
 " Is it possible that you can stand here, sir, and look me in the face, 
 and unblushingly tell me such a falsehood as that?" 
 
 " It is not a falsehood. I sent it at his own request." 
 
 "Have you forgotten the fate of Ananias? Have you no care for 
 your immortal soul? Why do you not come to church, sir?" 
 
 " That has got nothing to do with the song. Let's settle that point 
 of the compass first. I say that he, boney fide, asked me to let him 
 have a copy of ' Old England !' " 
 
 " When, sir?" 
 
 " Why, last night?" 
 
 " And where?" 
 
 "At the Crumpet!" 
 
 " Are you mad?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it! I suppose I know whether he was there or not? 
 My mind don't amalgamate to such an extent, neither, as not to know 
 that!" 
 
 " Do you mean then, solemnly to assert that he, Mr. Sound, was with 
 you there last night?" 
 
 " To be sure I do! He was there last night, and stood brandy-and- 
 water all round, like a fructifying trump as he is !" 
 
 " Like a what?" 
 
 " Like a fructifying trump! a good boney fide fellow! He's worth a 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 279 
 
 million of your proud upstart muck, which turn up their noses at honest 
 men, because they don't belong to the pauper aristocracy, which sucks 
 so many millions out of their vitals.'' 
 
 " I don't understand this language," said the reverend gentleman ; 
 " nor was I speaking of the aristocracy. I wished to know whether 
 you meant to assert that Mr. Sound was in company with you last 
 night." 
 
 " Well, sir; he was. I do mean to assert it." 
 
 "And to that assertion you intend to adhere?'' 
 
 " Of course, I do; because it's the truth." 
 
 " Have a care ! Have a care!" cried the reverend gentleman. " You 
 may not live to repent. You know, sir, that he was not there/' 
 
 " I know that he was." 
 
 " I do not believe it." 
 
 " I can't help that, sir. No man in Europe can help it. He was 
 there, sir, whether you believe it or not. Why he was there till past 
 twelve !" 
 
 "Monstrous!" exclaimed the reverend gentleman, who really felt ap- 
 palled. " I tremble for you! You are incorrigible 1" 
 
 " Well!" said Obadiah. " Have it your own way, if \ on will. I know 
 what I know, sir; and that's all about it. I wish you a very good 
 morning." 
 
 The reverend gentleman was so much amazed, that before he knew 
 either what to say or how to act, Obadiah had got a considerable dis- 
 tance ; and even when he had somewhat recovered his faculties, he con- 
 tinued to sit as motionless as Irresolution's statue. Eventually, how- 
 ever, he turned his horse's head, and rode on to the Common, with the 
 view of reflecting upon all that had passed, and deciding on what was 
 then best to be done ; while Obadiah proceeded to the Crumpet and 
 Crown, to tell the news to his friends, who at once crowded round him. 
 
 " Well !" cried Pokey. " Well ! Well ! What did he want ?" 
 
 " Want!" exclaimed Obadiah. " He wanted to do as good as swear 
 me out of my Christian name." 
 
 " Well, but what was his object?'' demanded Legge. 
 
 " Why his object, my boy, was to make me believe that young Mr. 
 Sound was not with us last night drinking brandy-and-water." 
 
 " What!" cried Legge, angrily! " did you tell him that he was?" 
 
 " Of course I did; and stuck to it too, like a Briton." 
 
 " What right" cried Legge, " had you to tell him that? Do you 
 think that he wanted them to know where he was? Can no man come 
 to enjoy himself for an hour without its being known all over the place, 
 you chattering fool? Had he even come in here and drank his glass to 
 himself, you would have had no right to name it, but as he behaved so 
 handsomely, and as you with the rest partook and freely too of that 
 which he ordered and paid for, you ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 " Shame, shame," cried the rest. " Shame, shame: it is shameful!" 
 
 " Stop a bit, my boys," said Obadiah; " stop a bit. Pll soon fruc- 
 tify your ideas on that point." 
 
 "Fructify!" cried Legge, who was deeply indignant. "It would 
 
280 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 serve you right if we fructified your ideas, and that through the horse- 
 pond." 
 
 %< So it would so it would," cried all the rest. " It's shameful ; that 
 it is shameful!" 
 
 " Now you're all about five-and-towty minutes too fast," said Oba- 
 diah. " If you will but just listen, I'll clear it all up " 
 
 " You'll never clear that up," exclaimed Legge, " / know." 
 
 " Now just look you here. Me and Pokey was walking and talking 
 together well, who should come up but Teddy Rouse. ' Mr. Drant,' 
 says he, * I want to speak to you.' ' Very Avell,' says I, ' what's the 
 row?' ' Is this your handwriting?' says he. ' Yes,' says I, ' it is.' 
 * Then, how dare you,' says he, to send this letter with such muck as 
 that to Mr. Sound?' " 
 
 " What letter what muck ?" demanded Legge. 
 
 " Why he asked me last night didn't he to give him a copy of my 
 song? Very well then ; I wrote it out and sent it this morning, and 
 that with a very polite note. Well. ' How dare you to send it to him?' 
 says he. ' Because,' says I, ' he wished me to do so.' ' When?' says he. 
 'Last night,' says I. 'Where?' says he. 'At the Crumpet,' says I. 
 ' It's false,' says he, ' he wasn't there.' ' I know better,' says I, ' I know 
 he was, and stood brandy-and- water all round,' and so we went on; he 
 saying it was false, and I saying it was true, until I became so disgusted 
 that I left him." 
 
 "Disgusted!" cried Legge. " You're a fool. What did you want to 
 stick to it for, when you found that he wouldn't believe it. You'd 
 no right to say that Mr. Sound was here at all. 
 
 " Well, but how did the parson get hold of the letter?" said Quocks, 
 " that's what / want to know." 
 
 " Oh, I see how it was," returned Legge. " This fool sent the letter 
 to the cottage, and it fell into the hands of Mrs. Sound, who showed it 
 to Rouse, as a matter of course: and a pretty mess the young man's 
 got into, no doubt." 
 
 " Well now," said Quocks, ' I don't know, but I don't think there's 
 anything disgraceful in the fact of a man coming here to enjoy himself 
 for an hour do you?" 
 
 " No, Quocks," said Legge, " there may be nothing disgraceful in the 
 fact, but we must look at it with reference to his position. You would 
 not like to frequent the beer-shop behind." 
 
 " No, I certainly should not." 
 
 "And if you did although there might be nothing disgraceful in 
 the fact your friends would in all probability think that you should 
 aim at something higher. That young man enjoyed himself here last 
 night; if he hadn't, he wouldn't have stopped so long; but his friends 
 and more especially Mr. Rouse doubtless think that it is not a 
 proper place for him to come to. We must look at the position a man 
 occupies." 
 
 "I see," said Quocks; "I see. Oh! I see." 
 
 " But I don't see," cried Obadiah. 
 
 " You don't see," said Legge, contemptuously. " You can see to make 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 
 
 mischief. I wouldn't have had it known that that young man was here 
 standing brandy -and -water as you told Rouse for five times the 
 money he spent." 
 
 " Well, but Teddy didn't believe me." 
 
 " You say that you stuck to it." 
 
 " And so I did. But he thought it was false : and he thinks so still. 
 Mr. Sound, no doubt, denied it. And as it proved he believed him 
 and not me." 
 
 " If I were sure of that, I'd deny it, too," said Quocks. 
 
 " And so would I," cried Pokey. 
 
 "Well, but how can we manage it?" said Lesrge. " How is it to te 
 done?" 
 
 This was the question : and while they were engaged in discussing it, 
 the reverend gentle-man who, after due deliberation, had decided on 
 calling upon Legge, with the view of ascertaining whether Obadiah's 
 statement was, or was not, false rode up to the door. 
 
 " I've been told," said he, when Legge went out to speak to him, " that 
 young Mr. Sound was liore drinking last night." 
 
 " Who told you that, sir?" demanded Legge. 
 
 "Drant: Obadiah Drant." 
 
 " Obadiah Drant!" said Legge, with a contemptuous expression; 
 " why you surely don't believe a word he says." 
 
 "Well, I certainly did not believe that," returned the reverend gen- 
 tleman: "and I told him at the time that I didn't believe it; and yet I 
 thought it strange very strange that he should adhere to his assertion 
 so firmly." 
 
 " Oh, he'll assert anything, sir: that man will. His word's not worth 
 a rush. Had he spread a report that you were here drinking last night, 
 sir, I shouldn't have been in the slightest degree astonished." 
 
 "Why, he must be a very bad m:m!" 
 
 " He's not a bit too good, sir : depend upon that. But no one takes 
 notice of anything that he says, and I'm quite sure that nothing that he 
 can say is worth your attention." 
 
 " Well: he's a bad man a very bad man, I am sorry to find that 
 there's a man in my parish so bad. Good day, Mr. Legge." 
 
 " I wish you good day, sir." 
 
 "If you see that wretched man, tell him, from me, that I hold his 
 conduct in abhorrence." 
 
 " I will, sir," replied Legge; " depend upon that*" 
 
 The reverend gentleman then rode towards the cottage, and Legge 
 returned to the room, in which he found Obadiah secured by Quocks, 
 Bobber, and Pokey. The cause of this may be briefly explained. Oba- 
 diah had heard all that passed outside; and, conceiving himself to be 
 an ill-used man, became so highly indignant, that he was about to rush 
 out and spoil all, with a view to his own complete justification, when 
 Quocks and Bobber seized him, and held him in a chair, while brave 
 Pokey stopped up his mouth with a towel. 
 
 " Well!" he exclaimed, on being released, "you've done it. Haven't 
 you? You amalgamated nicely! Didn't you? What! do you think 
 
282 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 that I'm going to stand this? Do you imagine that I'm going to be made 
 the scapegoat of that young wretch in this here sort of manner?" 
 
 " Do you call this gratitude," cried Pokey, " after drinking his brandy- 
 and-water?" 
 
 " As for you," said Obadiah, with a most ferocious aspect, " I've as 
 great a mind to give you a regular boney fide good welting as I ever had 
 in my life, mind you that. If you ever touch me again if you ever 
 dare to lay so much as a finger upon me, I'll welt you till you can't see 
 out of your eyes." 
 
 " Well, but how is this?" said Legge. " Haven't I heard you say, five 
 hundred times, that you cared no more for Teddy Rouse than you did 
 for Bobby Peel?" 
 
 "Nor do I. Care for him! Why should I care? What's Teddy 
 Rouse to me? Care for him, indeed!" 
 
 " Well it appears that you do care for him, or you wouldn't be so 
 angry at what I said." 
 
 " Do you think that I'm going to have my character taken away 
 then " 
 
 " Your what !" exclaimed Quocks " your character? If you can 
 find a man who can take away your character, pay him well : he'll de- 
 serve all you give him." 
 
 "Indeed! I owe you nothing: so you needn't call out so loud. But 
 if any man in Europe lays the function to his soul that I'll stand being 
 made the greatest liar that ever walked, he's mistaken." 
 
 " Well, the thing's done now," said Legge. 
 
 " Yes, it is done. But Til call on Ted." 
 
 " And being done, I think we'd better drop it." 
 
 " Drop it! Yes it's all mighty fine to say drop it; but I won't let it 
 drop. And you you little wretch" he added, turning to Bobber, 
 " for two pins, I'd tan you!" 
 
 " Tan me /" cried Bobber, who was not at all afraid of him ; " you 
 talk like an old woman generally, but now you are talking like a 
 child." 
 
 "Well come," said Quocks, "it's all over now: let's drink and for- 
 get it." 
 
 Legge brought in some beer, and endeavoured to pacify the incensed 
 one, but Obadiah threatened still to call upon " Ted." As, however, he 
 seldom carried his threats into execution, Legge had not the slightest 
 fear of his doing so in this case, well knowing that as " Ted" never gave 
 him an order, he was a man whom above all other men alive Oba- 
 diah abhorred. 
 
 Meanwhile, the reverend gentleman was anxiously waiting an oppor- 
 tunity of explaining to Sylvester the result of his interview with Oba- 
 diah, whom he conceived to be utterly irreclaimable. It was evening, 
 however, before an opportunity occurred; but when it did occur, the 
 reverend gentleman embraced it, and said 
 
 "Well, I've seen that wretched man!" 
 
 " What the author of < Old England?' " 
 
 " Yes: I've had a long talk with him." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 283 
 
 " Have you? Well, what did he say V" 
 
 " Why he absolutely had the audacity to tell me that you were at the 
 public-house with him last night, drinking brandy-and-water till past 
 twelve o'clock." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " It's a positive fact, that he declared that you were there, treating 
 them all, ns he said, ' like a trump!' " 
 
 "The animal! Why I went to bed soon after ten." 
 
 " He moreover told me that his reason for sending that song to you 
 this morning was, that you heard him sing it last night, and admired it 
 so much, that you begged of him to send you a copy of it." 
 
 "Oh, the man must be mad. / never heard him sing! But, of 
 course, you don't imagine for a moment that I ivas there?" 
 
 "I have ascertained beyond all doubt that you were not: for, in 
 order to satisfy my mind upon that point, I called upon Legge " 
 
 "And, of course, he told you " 
 
 "Oh! yes, at once: and, like a sensible man, treated the whole 
 matter with contempt. Why, he absolutely told me that he should not 
 have felt astonished if this man had spivad a report that / was there 
 drinking brandy-and-water! Why, you know this is a very awful state 
 for a man's mind to be in!" 
 
 " The man must lie insane." 
 
 "He is wicked, sir desperately wicked! Such conduct can be as- 
 cribed to wickedness alone. But I'll not give him up : I must not give 
 him up. I must not suffer his soul to be lost." 
 
 " Why, let me see," said Sylvester, thoughtfully: "you were here last 
 night till nearly ten o'clock." 
 
 "It wanted twelve minutes to ten when I left." 
 
 "I was in bed and asleep in less than half an hour after that," 
 
 " Oh! the idea of your beinir tln-iv is perfectly ridiculous 1 But that 
 man must be reclaimed. You see it's dreadful, when you come to reflect 
 upon it positively dreadful! I understand his word is not at any time 
 to be taken; that it's not worth a rush; that he never speaks the truth, 
 and that no one believes him. Why, you know this continual com- 
 mission of sin must, of necessity, have its effect. However, if he is to 
 be reclaimed, I'll reclaim him." 
 
 Sylvester notwithstanding the reverend gentleman had thus ex- 
 pressed his conviction that he was not the previous night at the Crumpet 
 and Crown reflected deeply upon all that he had heard in connexion 
 with the idea of his being a somnambulist, and the immediate result of 
 that reflection was the confirmation of his suspicion. 
 
 " And yet, thought he, subsequently, " Legge must know whether I 
 was there or not ; and as he says that 1 was not there, I have a right to 
 infer that the statement of this Drant is false. Besides, how is it possi- 
 ble that I could have been there? The string was round my ancle when 
 1 awoke this morning, precisely as I tied it round last night, and, of 
 course, the idea of my having been able to leave the room with that on, 
 or even to get out of bed, is absurd. It is certainly strange that this 
 report should have been circulated just at this time. But then the fact 
 
284 SYLVEStER SOUND. 
 
 of its being strange affords no proof. When suspicions of any descrip- 
 tion have been engendered, the slightest occurrences tend to confirm 
 them. I shall now be apt, doubtless, to attribute every circumstance 
 that occurs to this imagined somnambulism, as readily as a non-profes- 
 sional man who, on reading a medical work, conceives that he has the dis- 
 ease described. I must, notwithstanding, be satisfied ; and until I am 
 satisfied, I'll not only tie the string to my ancle every night, but I'll lock 
 my room door, and hide the key." 
 
 Had Sylvester referred to his purse out of which he had paid for 
 the brandy-and-water it might have thrown a little more light upon 
 the subject ; but this didn't occur to him : he tried to believe that Oba- 
 biah's assertions were utterly false, and on retiring that night, he locked 
 the door, placed the key in his writing desk, locked that, and then put 
 it under the bed. 
 
 But this was of no use at all. In less than an hour after he had fallen 
 asleep, he released his ancle, dressed himself, got the key out of the desk, 
 opened the door, and left the house with the utmost deliberation ; and 
 yet, in the morning, when he awoke, he found his ancle secured, the key 
 in his desk, and the desk itself in precisely the same place as that in 
 which he had the previous night left it. 
 
 And thus he acted, night after night adjusting the string and hiding 
 the key, which he found and hid again, without having, when awake, 
 even the most remote idea of the fact but beyond this nothing at all 
 worth recording occurred till the following Tuesday. 
 
 On that day, Cotherstone Fair was held, and gaiety was in the ascen- 
 dant. Legge had, as usual, erected a booth in a paddock adjoining 
 his house for dancing; and while the girls of the village, with their 
 pink and blue streamers, were laughing and clapping their hands for 
 joy, and cracking nuts, and promenading, and glancing at their sweet- 
 hearts, in all the pride of youth and rustic beauty; the men were 
 drinking and joking, and smoking their pipes, and apparently somewhat 
 more happy than princes. 
 
 Legge, morever, had procured prolific germs of amusement ; and these 
 prolific germs were chemises, shawls, scarfs, and a couple of fine legs of 
 mutton. 
 
 The chemises were to be run for and so were the shawls and scarfs 
 but the mutton was to be climbed for, by those whose ambition might 
 prompt them to go to the pole. 
 
 These delights were, however, reserved till the evening, for Legge 
 knew something of human nature. He had kept that house nearly 
 twenty years! he, therefore, cannot be supposed to have been uncon- 
 s'.-ious of the way in which the house had kept him. No: the prizes 
 were exhibited throughout the day. None could think of leaving until 
 they had been won; and while all beheld them with fond anticipations, 
 they panted for pleasure, and drank more beer. 
 
 Anxious to witness the amusements of the people, Sylvester himself 
 walked through the village immediately after he had dined, and as 
 Obadiah, from one of the windows of" The Crumpet" saw him for the 
 first time since the night of the brandy-and-water he rushed out of 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 28i 
 
 - 
 
 the house, and, having followed him for a time, touched his hat respect- 
 fully, and asked him how he was. 
 
 " Quite well," replied Sylvester, who had forgotten him; " quite." 
 
 " Come, sir, to see the pleasures of the poverty-stricken?" observed 
 Obndiuli, who was not a man to be easily shaken off. 
 
 " The people do not appear to be poverty-stricken," returned Syl- 
 vester. " All whom I have seen look contented and happy." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Obadiah; "thoughtlessness! It's nothing but that, 
 sir; and ignorance. If they knew their power, they wouldn't be as 
 they are." 
 
 " Would the knowledge of their power, then, render them more happy?" 
 
 "I allude to their position, sir: that's what I allude to: I mean that 
 they wouldn't be in such a position. They would take higher ground, 
 sir." 
 
 " What ground do you imagine they would take?" 
 
 " What ground, sir! Why, they'd stand up for their rights!" 
 
 " Have they not their rights?" 
 
 " How can the poor him- their rights, sir? How is it possible?" 
 
 " I conceive it to be quite possible for the poor to have their rights as 
 
 11 as the rich." 
 
 " But if men had their rights, sir, they could not be poor." 
 
 " Indeed! Why why could they not?" 
 
 "Because the rich would have to divide their riches with them." 
 
 "Oh! Aye! That's it! I see!" cried Sylvester, who began to be 
 rather amused. " Then all who have their rights must be equally rich?" 
 
 "Of course, sir! .It's one of tin- laws of nature." 
 
 "Well, now, do you know, I wasn't aware of that?' 1 
 
 "Indeed! Well, that's strange, too. But don't you see now that it 
 must be?" 
 
 " Well, but suppose that a division were to take place to-day, and that 
 you were to spend your share to-night, how would you stand to-morrow?" 
 
 " Why, of course, if I'd spent it, I couldn't have it." 
 
 " Then, you couldn't have your rights." 
 
 "Aye! but that's altogether a different tinny. We weren't speaking 
 of spending our shares." 
 
 "We were speaking of wealth being equally divided a state of 
 things which couldn't last an hour and, as you advanced as a propo- 
 sition, that men could not be poor who had their rights, I put a case 
 which, I apprehend, proved that men might have their rights, and yet 
 be poor." 
 
 " Yes, sir, but " 
 
 " Do you admit that?" 
 
 " But were there two Adams?" 
 
 " Nay, keep to the point." 
 
 " I'm coming to it fructifying right direct to the point." 
 
 "Fructifying!" thought Sylvester, who thought that he had heard 
 that word ill-used before. 
 
 " The question is," continued Obadiah, " were there or were there 
 not two Adams?" 
 
286 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " We read but of one." 
 
 " Was there an Adam connected with the aristocracy, and an Adam 
 pledged to support the eternal principles of the people?" 
 
 "I have always understood that when Adam was created, there was 
 neither an aristocracy nor a people." 
 
 "No; but I was only just going to say, if there was no aristocracy in 
 those days, why should there be an aristocracy now? an aristocracy 
 which lives upon the vitals of the people, and sucks a matter of two 
 hundred millions a-year from the sweat of the poor man's brow. Did 
 Nature ever make an aristocracy?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Never in this world." 
 
 " The aristocracy of intellect is Nature's own." 
 
 "Aye! but that's altogether a different thing: we weren't speaking of 
 the aristocracy of intellect that's a spark from heaven's anvil, struck 
 to enlighten the world ; like a boney fide star which shoots to another 
 and tells it all it knows. We were speaking of the aristocracy of 
 wealth the aristocracy of corruption the aristocracy of plunder 
 the profligate, pandering, puppet-show, pudding-headed, pompous, aris- 
 tocracy did Nature ever make that?" 
 
 " Do you speak of the aristocracy of England?" 
 
 "Of courser 
 
 " Then what, I ask, do you know of that aristocracy?" 
 
 "What do I know of them! what! Are they not a parcel of plun- 
 dering, pandering, arrogant " 
 
 " Stop," said Sylvester. " Language of that description tells only 
 with a mob men of sense despise it. The vulgar have been taught to 
 believe that arrogance forms one of the chief characteristics of the 
 aristocracy. They have yet to learn that the nearer we approach the 
 apex of civilised society, the nearer we approach the perfection of civi- 
 lised simplicity. But you appear to have lost sight of the point from 
 which we started, and to which I imagined you were about to return." 
 
 " What point was that?" 
 
 " Equality." 
 
 " Just so. Well ; don't you think it monstrous that some should 
 have so much, sir, while others have so little?" 
 
 " Why that depends entirely upon circumstances." 
 
 "Well, but just look you here, sir; you see that man there, sir, in 
 the smock-frock him that's got a pipe in his mouth, sir." 
 
 "Yes well?" 
 
 " Well, sir, what do you think he has a-week?" 
 
 " Ten shillings, perhaps." 
 
 " Five, sir. No more than five." 
 
 "Is that a fact?" 
 
 "I know it well, sir. Perhaps you wouldn't mind if I called him?" 
 
 " Certainly not! I should like to speak to him." 
 
 " You won't find much intellect about him; he hasn't been fructified 
 to any amalgamating extent. Dick !" 
 
 Dick stopped as it' he had some remote idea of his having been called. 
 
nr 
 
 y/"r.) 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 287 
 
 and turning round with about as much velocity as a man who is heavily 
 ironed would turn, he had some slight notion that some one stood there 
 whose face he had somewhere seen before. 
 
 "Dick," cried Obadiah again, "here!" 
 
 A new idea seemed to have entered Dick's brains, and that idea was 
 that he knew Obadiah. lie therefore took the pipe out of his mouth 
 and approached ; but when he saw Sylvester, he didn't know exactly 
 whether he ought to take off his hat or not. 
 
 " Well, Dick, how goes it?" inquired Obadiah. 
 
 " Oh ; doou knoo, sir, mooch aboot the seame." 
 
 "How arc wages in this part of the country?" inquired Sylvester. 
 
 " Bad, sir," replied Dick. " Very bad, indeed." 
 
 "This is a friend of mine, Dick," said Obadiah: "and he seemed t> 
 he fructified when I told him that you hadn't ten shillings a week!" 
 
 "Ten, sir! I've only foive ! Hard loins that, sir! foive shillin' aweek." 
 
 " Well, but what do you do with five shillings a week?" 
 
 Why it aru't too mooch to spend, w it. >ir?" 
 
 '. but how do you manage to get rid of it?" 
 
 >h, I never have not the basest trouble about that. I'll tell '^e, 
 sir, ho<> 1 manage. First, then jist 'ee keep count 1 pay> a .^hil 
 lin' a week for me lodgin's. Well, that's "lie shilliif isn't it? Well, 
 then, I has a stone <>' il<>ur a week: that's two-an'- threepence. How 
 mooch is that together? Two-un'-thivepence an' a shillin': that's 
 three-an'-thn epence. Well, twopence the hakhf. an' penny the 
 1 that's threepence that's thive-an'-sixpence. Thrce-an'- 
 sixpenee, well: then I have two ptnmd of Jlet cheese, to eat wi' 
 me bread, at threepence a pound, that's sixpence. Thivi-an'-Hx- 
 penee an' sixpence moor is tln.r shilliu'. Well! then 1 can't do without 
 fa//-a-pint o' beer a day that anft too mooch is it? well, a pcnnv a 
 hull-pint, seven days in the week, that's se\ enpence. Sevenpence an' 
 foor shi llin's, that's I'oor-an'-sevenpencr. 1 arn't mooch of a scholard, 
 boot that's soon counted. Foor-an'-sevenpeiice. Well, i moost ha\- a 
 shirt washed onee a week, an' a han'kercher, an' a pair o' stockin's, that 
 moost be mended 1 never see sieh devils to goo into holes well, the 
 washin' an' meiulin' takes away the other iippence, an' that's hoo I 
 meake ends meet." 
 
 "Well, but how do you manage when your clothes are worn out?" 
 
 " I gets a trille more in the harvest time, sir: that's how I manages 
 that." 
 
 "I see. But have men in this part of the country, 'in general, no 
 more than tive shillings a week?" 
 
 "Oh! 'ees, sir: soom have ten, and soom twelve! Boot I'm a bit 
 of a cripple, you see, sir: that's where it is: I can't work noo as I 
 used to could." 
 
 Sylvester gave him half-a-crown, which so astonished Dick that he 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Can you wonder at the fires after that?" cried Obadiah, as Dick, with 
 a heart full of gratitude, left them. 
 
 " But this is a peculiar case," observed Sylvester. " You hear that the 
 
288 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 wages average from ten to twelve shillings. This man is a cripple, and 
 can't do much work." 
 
 "Well, but have we got no lord* cripples? Place him in juxtaposi- 
 tion with a lord, and " 
 
 "Juxtaposition!" echoed Sylvester. " Your name is " 
 
 "Drant, sir: Obadiah Drant. You recollect me, sir, don't you?" 
 
 " It is to you, I believe, that I am indebted for a song?" 
 
 " Exactly, sir: I did myself the honour of sending a copy of it as you 
 requested." 
 
 " As I requested! I am not conscious of having made any such re- 
 quest." 
 
 "What! don't you remember, the other night, at the Crumpet, when 
 you heard me sing that song " 
 
 " / never heard you sing the song." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you did sir! when you were there the other night you 
 recollect!" 
 
 " But I was not there the other night. I understand that you told 
 Mr. Rouse that I was " 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry for that, sir. I wish I hadn't mentioned it now." 
 
 " But how came you to think of such a falsehood?" 
 
 " I'm sorry, it was named; but, of course, you know it wasn't a false- 
 hood." 
 
 " I know that it was a falsehood, and a most atrocious falsehood, too." 
 
 " Well, but you know you were there." 
 
 " What! Are you a lunatic?" 
 
 "A lunatic? No!" 
 
 " I thought you were," returned Sylvester, calmly. " As you are 
 ?2of, I wish to have no farther communication with you." 
 
 " Well, sir; but what! do you mean " 
 
 " I have nothing more to say," observed Sylvester, who waved his 
 hand, and, with a look of contempt, left Obadiah astounded! 
 
 The sports proceeded; the mutton was gained; the chemises, the 
 shawls, and the scarfs, were won ; and, wiien night came on, the booth 
 was illumined, and dancing commenced, and was kept up with spii it 
 till twelve, when a cry of" the ghost!" was raised. 
 
 The men rushed instantly out of the booth, and the girls shrieked 
 and fainted by dozens, while the " ghost" walked leisurely through the 
 village, fearfully shunned by all. 
 
 No one approached it. All kept aloof. The stoutest hearts shrank 
 back appalled, and the ghost had the road to itself. 
 
 The night was dark : not a star could be seen ; and when the ghost 
 reached the chesnut-trees, beneath which all was gloom, the multitude 
 breathed : but lo ! it turned and walked through the village again. 
 
 Horror filled each manly breast, and all was consternation. But the 
 ghost seemed to treat the whole throng with contempt. It walked up 
 and down just as long as it liked, and then vanished, they knew neither 
 how nor where. 
 
/ & 
 
 /// '' 
 
I 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 JT 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 SYLVESTER IS RECALLED TO TOWN. 
 
 WHEN Sylvester had ascertained in the morning that the ghost had 
 been seen in the village again, lie felt greatly relieved, having found the 
 string, on awaking, round his ancle as usual, the key in the desk, and the 
 desk beneath the bed. lie held it, then, to be abundantly clear that he 
 couldn't be the "glmst," and was about to repudiate the idea of his 
 being ;i somnambulist, when he received from his solicitor a letter re- 
 quiring his presence in town. This had the effect of reinspiring 
 suspicion, lie might In- ;>. somnambulist, and yet not the "ghost." It 
 was possible nay, when he n fleeted upon the serious accusation of Sir 
 Charles he eoiild not but think it highly probable. But how was the 
 tiling to be proved? That was tin- question .still, lie had in vain tried 
 to prove it himself; and, then-fore, felt bound to communicate his sus- 
 picion to another. This he eventually resolved to do; but as he had to 
 go to London immediately, he thought it best to conceal it, at least fur 
 the present, in mi his aunt and her reverend friend, and on his arrival in 
 town to consult Tom Delolme. 
 
 lie accordingly communicated only the contents of the letter then^ 
 and no sooner had his aunt and the reverend gentleman become perfectly 
 conscious of his intention to leave them that morning, than the cottage 
 became a theatre of excitement. Cook, Judkins and .Mary were in- 
 stantly summoned. Judkins was directed to get the phaeton ready; 
 cook received instructions to make up a large fire for the purpose of 
 airing the shirts; and while Mary went with her mistress to ransack the 
 drawers, the reverend gentleman, with an infinite profundity of ex- 
 pression, was eutting sandwiehe.-, in a peculiarly scientific style. 
 
 By virtue of this admirable division of labour, the shirts, within the 
 hour, were aired and packed up the sandwiches were enveloped in 
 sheets of Bath paper and the phaeton appeared at the gate. There 
 had been, however, no time to impress upon Sylvester the necessity for 
 his sending them every information having reference to the trial, at 
 which they both of course intended to be present. Aunt Eleanor, 
 therefore, hastily slipped on her things, and entered the phaeton with 
 her reverend friend, with the view not only of seeing Sylvester to the 
 coach, but of enforcing this necessity by the way. 
 
 As they passed through the village, Obadiah and Pokey were, as usual, 
 with Legge, at the Crumpet and Crown, and the very moment Obadiah 
 saw them, he exclaimed 
 
 " There, there you are, my Britons ! That's the dodge that's it. 
 I'll bet you what you like of it : up to something, safe. Don't you see 
 the portmanter? Going to the coach, perhaps, to get rid of that boney 
 tide young fibber." 
 
 11 What do you mean by a young fibber?" demanded Legge.' 
 
 x 
 
290 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " What do I mean? What ! Didn't he have the howdacious impu- 
 dence, while we were fructifying yesterday in the fair, to tell me plump 
 to my very teeth, that he wasn't here at all the other night!" 
 
 "Did he though!" said Pokey. 
 
 " Did he? Did he not? I'll back him against life to lie. There's 
 nothing like him in all flesh. He beats Peter the Great hollow, and he 
 could lie a little." 
 
 " Some one was with him perhaps," observed Legge. 
 
 " Not a bit of it! Not so much as half a one. There we were alone, 
 quietly fructifying about equal rights, when, says he, all at once, says he, 
 * Isn't your name Drant?' Says I, * Drant is my name,' says I ; ' Obadiah 
 Drant.' * You sent me a song,' says he, 'didn't you, this morning?' ' I 
 did,' says I, * according to promise.' 'According to promise,' says he ; 
 'what promise?' 'What promise!' says I; 'what, don't you recollect 
 that I promised to send it?' ' You promised me nothing of the sort,' 
 says he. 'What!' says I; 'what, not the copy of the song you heard me 
 sing?' ' I never heard you sing a song,' says he. ' What,' says I, 'not 
 the other night at the Crumpet?' ' The Crumpet,' says he ; ' I was never 
 at the Crumpet but once in my life, and that was in the morning.' ' The 
 morning,' says I; 'I don't speak about morning, I speak about night.' 
 ' I never was there of a night in my life,' says he, I'm blessed if he 
 didn't, plump. Well ; this kind of doubled me up : so, looking at him 
 fierce, says I, ' What ! do you mean that?' ' Mean it,' says he ; ' of course 
 I do. You told Mr. Rouse,' says he, ' that I was there, drinking brandy - 
 and -water.' ' Well, I'm sorry for that,' says I ; ' but you know that you 
 was there.' ' I know that I was not,' says he ; ' and however you came 
 to think of such a falsehood, I can't imagine.' ' A falsehood,' says I. 
 'Yes, a falsehood,' says he. 'But you don't,' says I, 'mean to tell me 
 that you wasn't that night at the Crumpet at all?' ' I mean to tell you 
 that you know I was not there,' says he; no better and no worse. Well, 
 this staggered me a little above a bit. ' But,' says I, 'do you really- 
 mean to mean what you say?' 'Of course.' says lie, indignantly; 'I 
 was not there, and you know it.' Upon which I was so boney fidely dis- 
 gusted that I left him to his own fructifying reflections. Now, what do 
 you think of that eh? What do you think of it?" 
 
 " Why it certainly is strange," returned Legge, " that he should deny 
 it to you, there being no one else present." 
 
 "Strange! It's stunning!" 
 
 " Well, but didn't he laugh at the time?" inquired Pokey. 
 
 "Laugh! He looked, for all the world, as if there Avasn't a laugh in 
 him. I never, in all niy bom days, witnessed any tiling like it. I'll 
 back him against nature. I never saw a fellow tell a lie with so much 
 liberty. He's the swell to swear a man out of his Christian name. 
 There's no hesitation about him : there's no such thing as faltering 
 no such thing as a blush about him while he's at it. He'll lie 
 like a lunatic, that fellow will. And there we see the force of ex- 
 ample. He got it all from Teddy Rouse. Ted taught him safe. I 
 never saw two fellows lie so much alike. But when you come to look 
 at it, isn't it disgusting to see a man like Ted a man of his cloth a 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 291 
 
 man professing so much religion, teaching lads like that to lie? But 
 then what can we expect from such a clerical lot of locusts? What can 
 Ave expect when we allow them to suck here a matter of five hundred 
 millions a year from the vitals of the poverty-stricken people? I 
 say it serves us right: and, moreover than that, we ought to be served 
 out ten thousand times worse. It's amazing to me that the people don't 
 see this. As true as I'm alive, it makes my head turn quite round, 
 when I think of their boney fide blindness. Is it a mite likely, do you 
 think, that I'd stand it if I was the people alone? Do you think that 
 I'd let them get fat upon me? Suppose I was the people that's the 
 way to put it suppose that I was the whole of the people, do you think 
 that I'd be swindled by a lot of pensioned paupers in this way? No! 
 not a bit of it. I'll tell you what I'd do. In the first place, I'd send for 
 1 he king, and I'd say to him, 'Now then, I'll tell you what it is, old fellow : 
 I'm nut o-.iiiiM- to stand this sort of thing any longer, so I tell you. You 
 must abdicate and cut it. I'm not going to allow you to rob me of fifty 
 or sixty millions a-yeai 1 in thi.-s sort <>f \vav. You've been amalgamating 
 at a ran- rate lately, and you ought to have saved money. If you have, 
 why so much the better for you ; if you haven't, go and work for your living 
 like an honest man. I want no king: what's the good of a king to me? 
 What use are you what do you do? I'm not going to support you in 
 idleness any longer; so that's all about it.' I'd then send for the minis- 
 and I'd say to them, ' Gentlemen, it's all very tine, 1 dare say, but 
 you have no more money from me. You've been feathering your nests 
 to n fructifying extent, I've no doubt; but your r<ilu<ible services are 
 no longer required. I am the people; 1 can govern myself: at all events 
 I've had enough of you! therefore park up your traps and be off.' 
 Then I'd send lor the bishops, but I'd make mighty short work of them; 
 and the same with the parsons; I'd turn them all adrift. And as for 
 the pensioners, 'What!' I'd say, * /support a lot of paupers in the lazy 
 "lap of luxury? I wish you may get it. No! go to work, and earn an 
 honest livelihood. If you can't do that, apply to the parish. I dare 
 say, indeed, I'm going to let a lot of lazy locusts live on my vitals in 
 this sort of way. Be off! and never let me set eyes on you again.' That 
 would be the only way to work it. What should 1 want with a king and 
 a lot of lords, what should I want vith bishops, parsons, and pensioners? 
 I wouldn't have them. I'd form a republic within myself, and I myself 
 w< uld govern myself. That's what I should do, if I were the whole people ; 
 and that's just the way the people ought to do IIOAV. They should set to work - 
 and act as one man, and send all the amalgamating oligarchies howling! 
 
 " There's something in that," observed Pokey. 
 
 "Yes, there is something in it," said Legge, who immediately left the 
 room, smiling. 
 
 "I believe you," pursued Obadiah, addressing Pokey alone: " and 
 I'm glad that you agree with me. I find that I shall fructify your ideas 
 a little yet. Look you here. The thing lies in a nutshell. Just place 
 yourself now in the juxtaposition of the people. You are the people. 
 Very well . Now, do you want a king? Do you want a lot of lords, a my- 
 riad of bishops, and about fifty millions of parsons? Do you want them?" 
 
 x 2 
 
292 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " No, I can't say I do." 
 
 " Do you want about a .hundred thousand pensioned paupers picking 
 your pocket of five-and-twenty million a year to live in luxury, and 
 keep their carriages, and drive slap over you, and think nothing of it, if 
 you don't get out of the way? Do you want them ?'' 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 "Very well, then. If you were the people, and you wouldn't want 
 them, why should the people want them now?'' 
 " That's feasible: certainly, that's feasible/' 
 "Feasible! Doesn't it stand to reason?" 
 "I must say it does." 
 
 " The thing, you see, only wants a little fructification in a simplified 
 manner for every soul on earth to understand it. I'd undertake to make 
 it clear to the meanest capacity; but then you see /can't travel about 
 the country to open the eyes of the universal people, and the consequence 
 is, they're on that important subject sand blind. They listen to parsons: 
 what's the good of that? Is there a parson in all flesh who'll tell them 
 what I've told you now? Not a bit of it. They know better. They 
 know that if they were to fructify the ideas of the people in that way, it 
 would open their eyes, and their object is to keep their eyes closed to 
 all the abuses, and all the swindles, and all the corrupt dead robberies 
 of those who live upon the sweat of the poor man's brow. Oh ! it's 
 shocking when you come to look at the ignorance of the people boney 
 fidely shocking! If Billy the Conqueror could rise from his grave ;md 
 talk over the matter with Peter the Great, they'd be right down asto- 
 nished to find what the people the ignorant people will bear." 
 
 " There's a good deal of ignorance about, I dare say," observed Pokey. 
 " No doubt there's a good deal of ignorance." 
 
 "A good deal of ignorance. It's stunning! Why, look at the lot of 
 locusts now preying upon our vitals! Only look at them, and see what 
 they cost! Will any man tell me that, if all those disgusting sums of 
 money which they swallow up were in the pockets of the people, they 
 wouldn't be better off? Don't it stand to reason, that if one man has 
 five hundred thousand a year, and five thousand men, as good as he is, 
 have nothing, the five thousand men would have a hundred a year each, 
 if that money were equally divided?" 
 "Yes: that's clear enough." 
 
 " Clear enough! I believe you. It is clear enough: and yet tlie people 
 can't see this. They can't see how they are plundered and oppressed, 
 and rode rough-shod over, and trodden under foot. Not a bit of it. 
 Their ignorant ideas don't fructify in that way. Besides, do you think 
 that if I were the people, I'd suffer myself to be ground to the earth by 
 any such thing as a National Debt?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Pokey, " that ought to be paid off." 
 "Paid off! Do you know what you're talking about? Paid off! 
 Send I may live! Why, do you know that if you take five hundred 
 millions of miles of ground and cover it over with fifty-pound notes, you 
 would not have enough, even then, to pay it off? I've seen it calculated : 
 so there can be no mistake about that. Pave Europe with sovereigns 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 293 
 
 and you wouldn't have enough. Pay it off! Sponge it! That's the 
 only way to pay it off." 
 
 " What, and let them as has scraped a little, money together suffer?" 
 
 "Don't your ideas fructify? Wouldn't it be better for them after- 
 wards?" 
 
 " I don't see that," 
 
 "Not see it! As true as I'm alive, you're as blind as the rest. Don't 
 you see that we should then have an equal division?" 
 
 " Would the money I've got in the Savings' Bank be divided amongst 
 them Jis hasn't got none?'' 
 
 " All, I tell you, would be equally divided." 
 
 " Then I won't vote for that." 
 
 " What, not to have a share of the millions upon millions which the 
 pauper aristocracy have got?" 
 
 " It Avon't do," said Pokey; " I shouldn't be sure of that." 
 
 " Not sure of it ! What's to prevent it?" 
 
 M Many things might. I say many things miy/tt. And ' a bird in the 
 luind i< worth tw " i' 1 ^"' bush." " 
 
 '' Pokey, Pokey, I'm sorry to find you're a bouey fide ignoramus still." 
 
 "1 don't care a button about what you say: I mean to look after my 
 money." 
 
 " You mean to look after your money! Why you've no more pa- 
 triotism in you than tin- ghost. By the bye, I mean to look after that 
 swell to-night. I've made up my mind to that. / know who he is." 
 
 "What! do you?' 1 
 
 "/ know the gentleman." 
 
 " What! isn't it a ghos*, then, after all?" 
 
 " A ghost! Not a bit of it. No, it's a man." 
 
 " Indrrd! Is it any one / know?" 
 
 "Oh yes! you know him very well." 
 
 " \Vh.'> is be?" 
 
 " Why, I didn't intend to say until I'd caught him; but I don't mind 
 telling Y<m. It's Bob Potts." 
 
 "Bob Potts! Lor, is it though? Bob Potts. Blow him, he's always 
 up to something. But how do you know?" 
 
 " Oh! I know all about it; but don't say a word. If it should come 
 to his ears that I know him, he'll of course keep at home: therefore, 
 don't say a syllable to any living soul." 
 
 " Xot a word. Trust to me. I'll not open my lips." 
 
 " /'// cook the green goose of Mr. Bob Potts. I only want to catch 
 him; and when I do, he won't play the game of 'ghost' again 
 in a hurry. He's been carrying it on long enough ; and if I don't 
 place him in a juxtaposition to make him ashamed of himself all his 
 life, I'll eat grass, like a cow; therefore, mum!'' 
 
 Pokey again promised to be silent on the subject; and when Obadiah 
 had explained to him the delicate minutia) of the scheme he had con- 
 ceived, they parted on the most affectionate terms to meet again, with 
 the view of ensnaring Bob Potts. 
 
294 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE PROOF. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY on his arrival in town, Sylvester called on his friend 
 Tom Delolme, who received him as usual with great cordiality, and 
 was indeed happy to see him. The greeting, however, was brief: for 
 Sylvester's anxiety to communicate the idea he had conceived, prompted 
 him to open the subject at once. 
 
 " Tom," said he, " you know, I believe, something about somnambu- 
 lism?" 
 
 " Sobdabbulisb?" replied Tom. " Yes: I kdow pretty well all that 
 is kdowd about the batter !" 
 
 "Well, then, I wish to consult you on the subject; for I have a 
 strong suspicion that Pm a somnambulist." 
 
 "Dodsedse!" returned Tom. " You a sobdabbulist," 
 
 " I really suspect that I am!" 
 
 "Well! what idduced that suspiciod?" 
 
 " Why, Tom, let me go where I may, mystery follows me. Some- 
 thing of an extraordinary and unaccountable character is sure to occur, 
 and that at night. If I go down to Cotherstone Grange a ' ghost' is 
 certain to appear in the village : which ' ghost' never appears there 
 when I am away. I slept here, you will remember, just before I left 
 town. Your servant declared that he saw ' a ghost' then." 
 
 "I recollect. That 'ghost' broke by pier-glass. I see. But have 
 you doe other groudds for suspiciod?" 
 
 " There have been innumerable occurrences for which I have been 
 utterly unable to account; but that which makes me more immediately 
 anxious to ascertain whether I am in reality a somnambulist or not, is the 
 approaching trial. Sir Charles, you know, declares that he saw me there, 
 while his butler is fully prepared to swear it. Now, I am unconscious 
 of having been there perfectly unconscious ; and if I was there, to 
 what but somnambulism can it be ascribed?" 
 
 "I see: I see it all clearly. You have dever beed discovered id a 
 state of sobdabbulisb?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Did you ever od awakidg fide yourself id ady stradge place, or id 
 ady place id which you'd doe idea of beidg?" 
 
 " Never: I have always, on awaking, found myself in bed." 
 
 " Have you directed ady persod to watch you at all?" 
 
 " No one has had ever the slightest idea of my having entertained 
 this suspicion. You are the only man to whom I have breathed a 
 syllable on the subject. I have been for some time endeavouring to 
 prove the fact myself. I've tied strings to my ancle, locked my room- 
 door, and hid the key." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 295 
 
 " Ah ! that's of doe use. You'd be certaid while asleep to fide add 
 hide the key agaid: that is, assubidg that you are a sobdabbulist. We 
 bust see about this. If it be as you suspect, the proof will be highly 
 ibportadt. We'll talk the batter over agaid by-add-bye. Add dow go 
 up stairs, add have a wash. While you're gode, I'll ascertaid what we 
 have id the house to eat." 
 
 Sylvester went up accordingly; and, on his return, found the table 
 spread with cold chickens, beef, ham, and tongue, to the whole of which 
 he did ample justice, and then had some coffee with Tom. 
 
 The library was then resorted to, and all the books they could rind 
 having reference to somnambulism were consulted. This occupied the 
 whole of the evening ; and it was at length decided that Sylvester should 
 sleep that night in Tom's room, while Tom sat up in the room adjoining. 
 
 The preliminaries having been thus arranged, Sylvester about twelve 
 retired; and Tom took his seat at a table spread with books, cigars, and 
 brandy-and- wa t i . 
 
 In order that he might at once hear tli' slightest noise, Tom left the 
 door of his room open; and, impressed Avith the importance of the proof 
 desired, continued to listen with so much attention, that Sylvester could 
 not have moved unheard. 
 
 From twelve till two o'clock all was still; but the clock had no sooner 
 struck two, than Sylvester walked from one room to the other, and 
 anxiously inquired if Tom had seen him. 
 
 "Doe," replied Tom. "Doe, I've deither seed dor heard you: all 
 has beed still up to this til>e!'' 
 
 " Then hadn't you better go to bed?" 
 
 " I toe, 1 shall dot go to bed to dight! That I have bade up by bide 
 "> i" sleep ;iL'ui<l: sobethidg bay occur yet." 
 
 " I should like to have one glass of brandy-and-water," said Sylvester, 
 taking n .-<-at at the table. 
 
 "Well, have it, by boy." 
 
 "And one cigar! 
 
 " Oh! you'd better dot sboke." 
 
 " I think I should enjoy it." 
 
 " Well. " n -turned Tom, who had not the slightest notion of Sylvester 
 belli"- a>le< j> ,-it the time; u if that's the case, you'd better go add put od 
 your clothes. You'll sood get cold if you sit without theb. 
 
 Sylvester a>sented to this, and left the room; and having dressed him- 
 self partially, returned, filled his glass, lit a cigar, and began to smoke it. 
 
 " It's a singular thing that this cannot be proved," observed Sylvester, 
 calmly, " isn't it?" 
 
 " Why," replied Tom, " this is but the first attebpt. We cad't have 
 proof always the bobedt we wish it. It bay be proved yet, add that 
 sood. We bust dot be ibpatiedt. I've just beed readidg here ad ex- 
 traordidary case, that of a bricklayer's labourer, whose fellow-workbed 
 kdew hib to sleep regularly four or five hours a day while at work, 
 although the work was of so perilous a character, ft appears that whed 
 they first discovered this they were extrebely apprehedsive ; but as the 
 dovelty of the thidg wore away, their apprehedsiods were subdued. His 
 
296 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 ebploybedt, of course, codsisted id supplyidg the bricklayers with hods 
 of bricks add bortar, which he codveyed up ladders to the tops of houses 
 while asleep, just as well add as safely as he did wlicd awake. He 
 would attedd to all orders, edtcr idto codversatiod, add receive add 
 deliver messages while id this state. lie could, moreover, whed 
 awake, recogdise voices which he happeded to have heard while 
 asleep, if eved the persods who spoke were the bost perfect stradgers. 
 His fellow-workbed frequedtly tried hib, id order to set aside all 
 idcredulity, add dever kdcw hib id ady sidgle idstadce to fail. He 
 could tell the hour as well as they could ; add therefore kdew as well 
 whed to leave off' work: he would dridk with theb, pay his share 
 whed he had buddy, and play at cards while id a state of sobdab- 
 bulisb: iddeed, doe ordidary observer could tell by his acts that he was 
 dot thed perfectly awake. The way id which this rebarkable case was 
 bade public, was this: He was id the habit of washidg hibself add 
 chadgidg his dress whed he left off work this he'd do, whether he hap- 
 peded to be awake or asleep add wud evedidg, havidg chadged his 
 clothes as usual, add tied his workiclg dress id a haddkerchicf, he was 
 accosted od his way hobe by a wobad, whob, after sobe little codversa- 
 tiod, he perbitted to cany his buddle, of which she doe sooder got pos- 
 sessiod,thad she rad up Hattod Garded, wcdt dowd Saffrod Hill, got idto 
 a house, add escaped. Well, the codsequedt cxcitebedt awoke hib ; add, 
 as he clearly recollected all that had occurred, he related the whole of 
 the circubstadces to ad officer, who fadcied, frob the descriptiod, that he 
 kdew the wobad well. She was therefore apprehedded, add although 
 placed with a dubber of other wobed, the bad id ad idstadt recogdised 
 her persod add voice; add, od searchidg her lodgidgs, the clothes were 
 foudd! Dow this is a bost extraordidary case. You see this bad could 
 recollect perfectly whed awake all that occurred while he slept. Gede- 
 rally sobdabbulists do dot whed awake recollect what occurs duridg 
 sleep ; but, od the codtrary, that which they either hear or see while 
 awake, bakes ad ibpressiod upod which duridg sleep they will act." 
 
 "That, if I ain a somnambulist, is precisely the case with me," ob- 
 served Sylvester, who, while smoking his cigar calmly, had listened 
 with great attention. " I can recollect nothing when awake, which 
 occurs during sleep. If I could, the mystery would soon be solved. I 
 should like to have one game of chess," he added, " I have not had a 
 game for a very long time. Will you have a game with me?" 
 
 " Do, dot dow," replied Tom; " I wadt you to go to bed agaid. It's 
 ol'doe use by sittidg up, if you sit up with be: that's quite clear.'' 
 
 " Well, then, do you go to bed. I don't like the idea of your sitting 
 up alone." 
 
 "I shall dot go to bed dow: that's settled. Cobe, old boy, cobe; 
 Jidish your glass add be off." 
 
 " Well," said Sylvester; I will do so. What's o'clock?" 
 
 " Dearly half-past two." 
 
 " Half-past two. Then five hours more will settle it." 
 
 " I wish it bay, with all by heart." 
 
 "I'll drink that as a toast," said Sylvester; "1 wish it may, with all 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 297 
 
 my heart!" And, having finished his glass, he left the room, and calmly 
 went to bed again. 
 
 From this time, Tom heard nothing of him till eight o'clock, when he 
 awoke, and cried, "Are you there still, Tom?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Tom, going into his room. " What sort of a dight 
 have you had?" 
 
 " I slept excellently well. You heard nothing of me?" 
 
 " Dothidg. You appeared to sleep souddly edough." 
 
 " I'm sorry for it. It's very strange. In one sense I'm sorry for it." 
 
 " Well," said Tom; " do you bead to get up, or lie a little lodger?'' 
 
 " Oh, I'll get up now. Eight hours' sound sleep is enough for any man." 
 
 "Well, do so, thed; but you havod't had quite eight hours." 
 
 " It's eight o'clock now, and I went to bed at twelve." 
 
 " Yes, but you were with be dearly half ad hour." 
 
 "With you! when?" 
 
 Why, frob two till half-past. You, of course, recollect?" 
 What, this morning, do you mean?" 
 This bordidi:.' 1 
 
 'Impossible." 
 
 ' Dod't you rebebber it?" 
 
 "No! I'm unconscious of having even turned since I came to bed at 
 twelve o'clock last night." 
 
 " Iddeed. You dod't recollect cobidg idto the other roob, add havidg 
 a cigar, a glass of braddy-add-water, add wishidg to have a gabe of chess?" 
 
 M Are you serious?" 
 
 - Perfectly." 
 
 " Then 1 recollect nothing whatever about it.'' 
 
 " Stop a bidite. Sobethidg bay be bade of this, dow. I related ad 
 extraordidary case of sobdabbulisb a case which I'd just beed readidg; 
 that of a bricklayer's labourer do you recollect that?" 
 
 " No. I recollect nothing that may have occurred since I came to 
 bed la^t nijjht at twelve." 
 
 " Thed, by boy, it is perfectly clear that your suspiciod is well 
 fouddcd : that you are a sobdabbulist iddeed. You wedt idto that roob 
 about two o'clock, add idquired if I'd seed or heard adythidg of you, add 
 whed I told you that I had dot, you sat dowd add wished to have sobe 
 braddy-add-water, add a cigar. I advised you to put od your clothes, 
 add you did so, add sboked a cigar, add dradk braddy-add-water, add 
 listeded to the case of sobdabbulisb to which I've just alluded, add thed 
 wished to have a gabe of chess, but, as I refused to play, add urged 
 you to go to bed agaid, you did so, after havidg fidished your glass, add 
 1 heard doc bore of you." 
 
 " But is it possible for me to have done all this, while you were un- 
 conscious of my being asleep?" 
 
 " You appeared to be awake perfectly awake. The idea of your 
 asleep at the tibe dever occurred to be. Stop a bidite." 
 
 k Might you not have dreamt all this?" 
 
 " I dod't thidk that I closed by eyes, eved for a bobedt." 
 
 " But is it not possible?" 
 
298 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Why, it is possible. Add it certaidly does appear to be albost ib- 
 possible that, while you were doidg all this, I should dot have discovered 
 that you were asleep." 
 
 " Might not the purpose for which you sat up, have induced you to 
 dream on the subject?" 
 
 " If I slept, it bight; but I dod't believe I wedt to sleep at all. Add 
 yet I caff t, od the other liadd, thidk that you could thus have deceived 
 be. However, we'll talk the batter over agaid by-add-bye. Get up, 
 add let's have a good breakfast. I'll go add have a wash ; you'll dot be 
 lodg?" 
 
 " I'll be down in ten minutes." 
 
 Tom then left the room, and Sylvester rose and dressed himself, 
 thoughtfully, and went down to breakfast, but although they went over 
 the matter again, conviction was not the result. 
 
 Sylvester, notwithstanding, felt justified in naming the subject to his 
 solicitor, who was pleased with the idea of being able to plead somnam- 
 bulism, but then he wanted absolute proof. Tom's evidence, under 
 the circumstances, he feared, would be insufficient: still he resolved 
 to see him on the subject, and accordingly called in the course of the 
 day. 
 
 " Mr. Delolme," said he, " Mr. Sound has just informed me of that 
 affair which occurred last night, or, rather, this morning, while you 
 were sitting up. He imagines, as you are aware, that he is a somnambu- 
 list, and if we can absolutely prove him to be one, we can put in an ex- 
 cellent plea to this action, which can now be defended only by a plain 
 blunt negative. Now, can you conscientiously declare that he is a som- 
 nambulist?" 
 
 " Doe," replied Tom; " I have by doubts still. If he be dot a sob- 
 dabbulist, it is, iddeed, stradge : if he be, add cabe idto the roob id 
 which I was sittidg, dradk, sboked, add codversed as I ibagided he 
 did without idspiridg be with a sidgle thought of his beidg asleep, it 
 is equally stradge ; but whether, id reality, he is a sobdabbulist or dot, 
 1 cacFtj at presedt, uddertake to say. I will, however, discover the fact, 
 if, iddeed, the discovery be possible; add I have, with that view, laid 
 by plads for to dight, of which plads I bead to keep hib id igdoradce. 
 If, as I suspect, he be wud who, id his sleep, recollects all that passes 
 while he is awake, he is certaid to frustrate every schebe that Lay 
 happed to be codceived with his kdowledge. He shall, therefore, kdow 
 dothidg whatever about it. I'll retire to by owd roob, as usual, to dight, 
 add I hope that, id the bordidg, I shall have the proof required." 
 
 " I hope so too, for, at present, all we can do is to put in a flat 
 denial, and I fear that, as Sir Charles is no ordinary man, and as we 
 can find nothing whatever against the character of his butler whose 
 career we have traced from his infancy, upwards a mere denial of the 
 facts sworn to will have no effect. If we could but get this proof of 
 Sound's somnambulism, we should be ablo, with confidence, to go into 
 court ; but the proof must be absolute to do any good : suspicion alone 
 will be of no use at all." 
 
 " I perceive," observed Tom, " the ibportadce of the proof, add if it 
 
j 
 
 / -S 
 
 ' " -73 ?/&# " . /'// ///; /, 
 
 . ' ' ' I 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 299 
 
 be possible, I'll have it. You'll dot see Sylvester agaid to-day, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 " I don't expect to see him again. He is gone, I believe, to call upon 
 Scholefield." 
 
 " Well, if you should see hib, dod't explaid to hib adythidg which 
 has passed betweed us." 
 
 " Certainly not. I see your object too clearly. Will you call upon 
 me in the morning, or shall I call upon you?'' 
 
 " Oh, I'll call upod you about ted." 
 
 The solicitor promised to be at home at that hour, and, being satis- 
 fied that everything possible would be done, took his leave. 
 
 In the evening, Tom attached strings to the window and door of the 
 room in which Sylvester was to sleep, and, having left lengths conveni- 
 ently available, sat down with Sylvester to have a game of chess. The 
 janic lasted till eleven, and they then had a glass of grog each, and a 
 cL-ar, and, as Sylvester did not imagine for one moment that Tom 
 meant to sit up again that night, they retired to their respective rooms 
 about twelve. 
 
 Tom then got hold of the strings one through the window, and tin- 
 other through the dour, and, a> he held them in his hand, it was per- 
 fectly impossible for Sylvester to open either the door or the window of 
 A/'s room without Tom's knowledge. And there he sat, with the strings 
 in his hand, a ei-ar in his mouth, and a jjlass of grog before him: and 
 thi-iv he eontiinied to sit until two, when the string attached to the door 
 was drawn out <>t'his hand slowly. 
 
 Tom wa< up in an instant, luit paused; and then proceeded with the 
 utmost caution. He distinctly heard fo*>t-t.-|- a-eeiidinir the -tails; 
 and he followed the sound noiselessly. That they were the footstep of 
 Sylvester he had not the sli'j-hte-t doubt: he felt sure of it, and panted 
 with impatience; but as the value of discretion in such cases was not 
 unknown to him, he folk-wed them cautiously still. A door opened 
 slowly; the door of the attic and closed auain as Tom ascended: and 
 when he had reached it, he stood and listened; but heard no sound 
 within. For what imagined pur; Sylvester there? That room 
 
 was perfectly empty. It, surely </ Sylvester. Tom began to doubt it. 
 He opened the door, and found the room empty still. He looked round 
 and marvelled. " Who's there?'' h-' demanded. No answer was re- 
 turned. He could hear no sound. He ceased to breathe, and might 
 have heard the breathing of another; but there was no one breathing 
 there. The window was open; but that was usual: still, being open, 
 to the window he went, and, on looking out, to his horror beheld Syl- 
 vcMer pacing the parapet! 
 
 His blood in an instant chilled. He was breathless with terror. 
 AVith uplifted hands he looked at him, appalled! He expected that 
 every moment would be his last. And yet ivhat could he do? What 
 could l>e don*-'/ 
 
 Sylvester slowly approached, and passed him : and Tom would have 
 clutched him as he passed, but he then felt utterly powerless. 
 
 Again he came, and, as he approached, Tom nerved himself to grasp 
 
300 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 him, and, just as he was about to pass, he seized his arm, when Syl- 
 vester, with a convulsive start, slipped instantly over the parapet. 
 
 Tom, however, still held him firmly; and cried aloud, " Sylvester! 
 Sylvester! God! give me strength! 'tis 1! Sylvester! 1! Now! 
 make one effort! for God's sake be firm! Sei/e the coping the 
 coping!" 
 
 Sylvester did so, but the stone gave way, and fell with a crash be- 
 neath him. 
 
 "Again! again!" cried Tom; "again! now then! fear not! 
 don't be alarmed! raise yourself up! there! now then! now thru! 
 there! there! Well done well done well done well done!" 
 
 The moment he had succeeded in dragging Sylvester into the room, 
 he exclaimed, "My boy! Thauk God!'' and fainted. 
 
 For some time Sylvester stood over him aghast. The shock ap- 
 peared to have deprived him of all his faculties. He had some slight 
 notion some glimmering of an idea of his having been in peril, but 
 that idea was so fitful and confused, that nothing ever existed between it 
 and vacancy. 
 
 All that he understood was that Tom was at his feet : every thought 
 of assistance being necessary was absent. There he stood, and there 
 he continued to stand, until James, who had heard his master fall, fame 
 trembling up with a light. Nor did he move even then. Neither the 
 presence of James, nor the light, made the slightest impression upon 
 him. 
 
 " Sir!" exclaimed James, who was half dead with fear; "Sir! Mr. 
 Sound! sir! what is the matter?'' 
 
 Sylvester still stood motionless; and James approached his master 
 and knelt by his side, and, as he conceived that he had ceased to exist, 
 he seized Sylvester's hand and cried, " Tell me tell me is my master 
 dead?" 
 
 Sylvester started, and looked wildly round, and consciousness slightly 
 returned; when he knelt by the side of his faithful friend, and took his 
 hand and pressed it. 
 
 " Is he dead, sir?" reiterated James. " Is he, sir? Tell me tell 
 me?" 
 
 " God forbid!" replied Sylvester, faintly. " No, he is not dead." 
 
 James in an instant rushed from the room, and soon re-appeared Avith 
 some water, and anxiously bathed his master's temples, while Sylvester 
 knelt by his side. 
 
 " Some vinegar," said Sylvester; "or salts, if you have them." 
 
 James again flew from the room, and having found some vinegar 
 hastily returned, and very soon had the satisfaction of seeing his master 
 begin to revive. 
 
 " Sylvester," exclaimed Tom, on opening his eyes, " you are safe. I 
 was wrong very wrong; but you are safe." 
 
 Sylvester did not exactly understand this. Ik 1 could not conceive 
 IIOAV Tom could have been wrong, lie did not, however, seek an expla^ 
 nation then; but did all in his power to restore him. 
 
 Consciousness having returned, Tom soon felt able to walk down 
 

* 
 
 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 301 
 
 stairs, which he did with the assistance of James, who conducted him 
 into his chamber. 
 
 "Oli!" he exclaimed, as he sank into a chair, " Sylvester, what an 
 escape you have had!" 
 
 " I am anxious," said Sylvester, " of course, to know how, but wait 
 till you are more composed." 
 
 " Jib," said Tom, " give me sobe braddy." 
 
 James looked at the bottle which stood by his side, and inquired if 
 that contained brandy. 
 
 "Yes," replied Tom, "that's braddy, Jib." 
 
 James thought this strange remarkably strange. He had never 
 seen brandy in that room before. There were, moreover, sundry pieces 
 of cigars lying about. lie couldn't understand it at all! In rine, the 
 whole of the circumstances of which he had become cognisant, since the 
 noise above interfered with his repose, appeared to him to be a parcel 
 of complicated mysteries, lie did, notwithstanding, pour out a glass of 
 brandy, and having handed it to his master, poured out another, and 
 having handed that to Sylvester, put the bottle down. 
 
 " Pour out a glass for yourself," said Tom. And James did so, and 
 drank it, and relished it much. "Add clow," added Tom, "go idto Mr. 
 Soudd's roob, add bridg do\vd his clothes." 
 
 Certainly, James thought it extremely correct that Sylvester should 
 have his clothes, seeing that he had then nothing on but his shirt, while the 
 night was not a hot one, nor anything like it. He therefore went up for 
 the clothes in question, and having succeeded in bringing them down, 
 Sylvester slipped them on. 
 
 " Dow," said Tom, " take adother glass, Jib, add thed be off to bed." 
 
 James liked the former part of this order much ; but he didn't at all 
 like the latter. Hi' lelt himself entitled to something bearing the sem- 
 blanee of an explanation! conscious of being as far as all these most 
 extraordinary circumstances were concerned in the dark. He there- 
 fore stood and sipped, and sipped in a manner, for him, unusual 
 until he found that no sort of an explanation would be vouchsafed, when 
 feeling that that kind of treatment was not exactly handsome he 
 indignantly finished his glass and withdrew. 
 
 "Syl, by dear boy," said Tom, "give be your hadd! You're alive, 
 by boy; but your life was dot worth a bobedt's purchase. I was a 
 fool, I kdow a codsubbate fool but I acted od the ibpulse of the 
 bobedt." 
 
 " But how," inquired Sylvester; "how were you a fool? You said 
 just now that you were wrong very wrong ! How were you wrong? 
 In what respect?" 
 
 " I'll explaid. But first let us have just a little bore braddy. If ady 
 bad had told be that I should ever have acted id a case like this with 
 such bodstrous iddiscretiod, I should have felt disposed to kick hib. I 
 ought to have kdowd better. The bost igdoradt bad alive would scarcely 
 have beed guilty of so badifest ad act of folly." 
 
 " Well, but in what did this folly consist?" 
 
 " I'll tell you. You see these stridgs." 
 
302 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Wud of theb cobbudicates with the sash of your bed-roob widdow, 
 add the other with the liaddle of the door. Resolved od ascertaididg, if 
 possible, whether you were a sobdabbulist or dot, I, idstead of goidg to 
 bed, kept these stridgs id by hadd, out of which wild of theb, about two* 
 o'clock, was slowly drawd. I kdew id ad idstadt thrd that you had opcdcd 
 your door, add as I heard you goidg up stairs, I followed. You wedt 
 idto the attic. I followed you there, add od lookidg roudd I could see 
 dothidg of you. But I wedt to the widdow, add there I saw you 
 walkidg upod the very verge of the parapet!" 
 
 " Good God!" exclaimed Sylvester; " is it possible?" 
 
 " There you were, add if I'd dot beed a fool, all would have beed well 
 doubtless: you would have cobe id agaid, I've do doubt, id perfect 
 safety. But to be, your positiod appeared to be so perilous, that actidg, 
 as I said before, od the ibpulse of the bobedt, 1 seized your arb, add I'd 
 doe soocler dode so thad you fell over the parapet, add there I held you. 
 Mow I got you up agaid / cad't explaid. It is sufficiedt for be that 1 
 did get you up, add that here you are dow alive before be." 
 
 " My escape, then, must have been miraculous?'' 
 
 " It was. I wouldd't see you id the sabe positiod agaid if ady bad 
 were to lay be dowd a billiod of buddy. I shudder whed I thidk of it. 
 Let us for a little while talk about sobethidg else. Wud thidg, however, 
 is cert-aid: you are a sobdabbulist, Syl,add a very idveterate sobdabbu- 
 list too. I see dow, who it was that got be idto all those scrapes five or 
 six years ago. You're ad old hadd at it. There was parapet business 
 goidg od thed! Dod't you rebebber?" 
 
 " I do," replied Sylvester, "and innumerable other things which hnv> 
 appeared to me to be mysteries, are now solved." 
 
 " Dod't you recollect by study? Dod't you rebebber what a gabe 
 you used to have id it dight after dight? I see it all dow, add I shall 
 tell the goverdor of it id triubph, for I feel codvidcod that, to this day, 
 he believes that the whole of by eardcst declarations of iddocedce were 
 false. You it was that caused the destructiod of that wobad I used to 
 prize so highly: it was also you that sbashed by glass just before you 
 left towd. This explaids all! Jib's character is viddicated, add you are 
 codvicted. I shall bridg ad actiod agaidst you, old fellow, for dabages." 
 
 " Do so," said Sylvester, smiling, " and I'll plead ' somnambulism ' to 
 it. However," he added, s'eriously, " the proof is now clear. That Sir 
 Charles and his servant saw me I can now have no doubt. What effect 
 the proof will have in the forthcoming trial of course remains to be 
 seen." 
 
 " The effect will be to give you a verdict," said Tom. " There cad 
 be doe doubt about that." 
 
 " I don't know. I fear that they will require it to be proved that I 
 was in a state of somnambulism then. But, independently of this affair, 
 isn't the fact of my being a somnambulist awful to contemplate? I can 
 never be safe!" 
 
 " Dod't let's have ady bore horrible reflectiods. We have had suffi- 
 ciedt horror for wud dight, at least. I'll take care of yon, by boy, for 
 

 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 303 
 
 It ie tibe beidg. You shall be safe. You shall sleep with be. I'll fix 
 I y on. You shall dot, however, kdow exactly how." 
 
 " I had better be chained to the bed every night." 
 
 "I'll get a pair of haddcuffs id the bordidg, add while you are here, 
 I jut wild od your wrist add the other od by owd. /'// dot allow you to 
 go prowlidg about at dight id this stupid state of bide. But we'll say 
 I c oe bore about it clow. Let's go to bed. You lie od that side, add 
 I'll lie od this. If you get away frob be, let be kdow, add I'll believe it." 
 
 They then went to bed: and when Tom was quite sure that Sylvester 
 was asleep, he tied the tails of their shirts together, and quietly went to 
 sleep himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE LAST REQUEST. 
 
 THEKK are men whom nothing can apparently astonish who take 
 everything so coolly hear everything so calmly sec everything won- 
 derful with such seeming apathy that the m-^t perfect insensibility 
 appears to limn <>ne of their chief characteristic*. On the heads of [he-,- 
 men no phrenologist can tind either the organ of marvellou.su, >ss or that 
 of veneration activity being essential to the development of both. No- 
 thiiur appears to In: new to them; nothing >.'em- to -strike them as being 
 extraordinary; nothing on earth cap induce them to manifest wonder. 
 It is true that this stoicism may be very admirable doubtless, were it 
 not merely apparent it would be an invaluable blessing! but the qne.-, 
 tionis, do not these "stoics" feel and relleet moiv deeply thanthos.j men 
 whose feelings and thoughts are on the surface ready for immediate 
 expression? 
 
 This, however, is a question which need not be learnedly answered 
 here. We can get on with this history very well without it. The object 
 is simply to show that Mr. Wilks Sylvester's solicitor was one of 
 these men, and that when Tom who kept his appointment punctually 
 at ten had explained to him the substance of all that had occurred, he 
 didn't appear to be in the slightest degree astonished. He viewed it all 
 matter of business. He thought it would strengthen the defence. 
 The perilous position, the miraculous escape, and the feelings of horror 
 which Tom had inspired were all set aside. He wanted Tom's evidence : 
 that was the point. He looked at the facts: they were the things. And 
 would Tom swear to them? that was the question. 
 
 " Of course," said he, " you have no objection to appear as a wit- 
 
 " Dode whatever," replied Tom. " I codhave doe objectiod." 
 ' Well, then, we'll take the facts down." 
 
304 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Dod't you thidk that the ovidedce of by bad Jib will be of sobe 
 service?" 
 
 "Can he prove anything?" 
 
 " Why Soudd, just before he left Loddod, broke by pier-glass, id a 
 state of sobdabbulisb?" 
 
 " Did your servant see him do it?" 
 
 " He saw hib go id to the roob at dight, add I foudd it sbashed id the 
 bordidg." 
 
 " He saw him go into the room, you say?" 
 
 "Yes: with dothidg od but his shirt. He moreover saw id his hadd 
 a pistol, of which he subsequedtly heard the report, add I foudd the ball 
 id the wall this bordidg, just where the pier-glass stood." 
 
 " That'll do," said Wilks. " That'll do. There's nothing like a little 
 collateral evidence. When can I see your servant?" 
 
 " Oh, I'll sedd hib to you id the course of the bordidg." 
 
 " Thank you. Very good. Now, then, I'll take down your evi- 
 dence." 
 
 The facts wore then reduced to writing, and appeared to be alone a 
 sufficient defence ; and when Tom had again promised to send James on 
 his return, he left the office, fully convinced that Sylvester must have a 
 verdict. 
 
 While Tom was thus engaged with the solicitor, Sylvester wrote to 
 his aunt, requesting her to come to town immediatedly ; and informing 
 her of the fact of his being a somnambulist. 
 
 This may appear to have been indiscreet, and indeed to a certain ex- 
 tent it was so, for when the information reached Cotherstone Grange, 
 Aunt Eleanor nearly fainted. 
 
 Sylvester's object was simply to prepare her for the reception of that 
 intelligence which he had to communicate, and at which he conceived 
 she might otherwise be shocked; but no sooner did the bare fact of his 
 being a somnambulist reach her, than her anxious thoughts reverted 
 to her brother, and she felt wretched. 
 
 Her reverend friend was with her when the letter arrived, and on 
 perceiving her emotion, his anxiety was intense. 
 
 " Dear Eleanor!" he exclaimed, " what is it? What what can have 
 occurred?"* 
 
 Aunt Eleanor gave him the letter to read, and he read it hastily, 
 being apprehensive of meeting with something dreadful; but finding 
 nothing to realise his lively apprehensions, he read it again with more 
 care. 
 
 "A somnambulist:" said he, at length, thoughtfully; "a somnam- 
 bulist. A somnambulist is a person who walks in his sleep: a sleep 
 walker: one who walks while asleep, and imagines he's awake. I have 
 read many strange accounts of these somnambulists. But what, my 
 dear Eleanor, induced your distress?" 
 
 " The fact of his being a somnambulist," she replied. " My poor 
 brother was one. It was that which brought him to a premature grave." 
 
 " Well, that was very lamentable very. But Sylvester is young! 
 He is in fact quite a youth! and I hold it to be extremely fortunate that the 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 305 
 
 thing lias been found out so soon! lie must be cured of this proponsit}-. 
 I have not the smallest doubt that a cure may be effected. I am not, 
 it is true, conversant with that which is termed the physiology of som- 
 nambulism; but, doubtless, when we look at the wonderful progress 
 which the science of medicine has made within the last century, means 
 of effecting a cure have been found." 
 
 " But what perils- 8 what dreadful dangers are encountered by those 
 who are thus afflicted!" 
 
 " True; and these it will now be our care to prevent. I submit that, 
 instead of uselessly lamenting the fact, we ought to congratulate our- 
 selves on the discovery, I'nderstand, my dear Eleanor, I do not mean 
 to say that the fact itself is one which ought not to be lamented: my 
 object is merely to convey to you my impression that we ought to be 
 thankful that the discovery has been made before anything of a very 
 serious character occurred. 
 
 "I understand: and I am thankful oh! most thankful." 
 
 " And now, if I do not misUikt I know it is presumptuous to form 
 an opinion without having the necessary data still, if I do not mistake, 
 I can sec distinctly the cause of his being accused of that oH'ciice of 
 which we both firmly believe him to be innocent. Sir Charles was 
 quite right 1 cannot conceive the possibility of a person in his station 
 declaring that to be true which he knew to be false he was doubtless 
 quite right: he .//'/ see Sylvoter leaving the house as described, and 
 Sylvester, I will venture to sav, was in a state of somnambulism then." 
 
 " Very likely!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, suddenly. "That's it! JTes! 
 It must be id. 
 
 " I think it abundantly clear that it In so. I moreover think that there 
 can be no doubt that the judge; and jury will see it. Keally, my impres- 
 sion is, that just at this time nothing could have been more fortunate 
 than this discovery. A man in a state of somnambulism cannot be said 
 to be a responsible agent, and if he be not a responsible agent, he cannot 
 with justice, be punished. I here, assume, my dear Eleanor, the case of 
 a man who, while in a state of somnambulism, commits an offence 
 which is ordinarily punishable by law such an offence, for example, 
 as a sacrilege. We could not, with justice, punish any individual for 
 committing such an offence while in a state of somnambulism. Hence 
 it is that I feel quite certain that, when the fact of Sylvester being seen 
 to leave the residence of this gentleman is viewed in connexion with 
 the circumstance of his being a somnambulist, the jury will, without 
 hesitation, return a verdict in his favour. But have you never seen, my 
 dear Eleanor, anything indicative of the existence of this extraordinary 
 what shall I call it during his residence here?" 
 
 " Why really although 1 never noticed the slightest indication of 
 anything of the kind I am now disposed to view him as the author of 
 all those little mysteries by which we have been so perplexed. About 
 five years ago, you recollect we were terribly pestered." 
 
 " I see!" exclaimed the reverend gentleman. " He was down here at 
 that time. I see it all now. It was he whom I then caught at my 
 peaches! Jones is right quite right he's perfectly right. I must 
 
 Y 
 
306 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 apologise to Jones at a fitting opportunity, for, albeit he declares to this 
 day that it was Sylvester, I have persisted in repudiating the idea as 
 being monstrous. And then the ghost why, let me see the ghost ! 
 Why the ghost never appears here when Sylvester is absent. He is the 
 ghost : he must be the ghost. The thing is all explained. When he is 
 in town no ghost appears: it is always seen when he is here! Nothing 
 can be clearer. Bless my life and soul, now I wonder this never occurred 
 to me before. He is the ghost. There cannot be a doubt about it. And 
 this reminds me that I have been unwittingly guilty of an act of injus- 
 tice. You remember that that man, Obadiah Drant, declared the other 
 day that Sylvester was drinking one night at the Crumpet and Crown? 
 Sylvester denied it positively solemnly, and I, in consequence, told 
 Drant plainly, and in no measured terms, that it was false. I now, how- 
 ever, firmly believe it to be true: I believe that Sylvester, while in a 
 state of somnambulism, was there. I must apologise to that unhappy 
 man: it is but just that I should do so. Why, my dear Eleanor, this is 
 the key to all. This affords a ready and a rational explanation of 
 everything that has occurred!" 
 
 " But is it not strange that we should never have discovered it?" 
 "It is very strange. That, however, which strikes me as being 
 most strange, is the fact of his having deceived me, that night when he 
 entered the parlour. I really believed him to be a spirit: I did indeed. 
 That, my dear Eleanor, is the strangest thing of all. But we must see 
 him: we must see him without delay. When shall we go, my dear 
 when shall we go? Shall we start off at once?" 
 
 " Why, I don't see how we can go to-day. I have nothing prepared!" 
 " There is a coach, my dear, at twelve. Can you not, by the exer- 
 cise of your ingenuity, manage to get ready by that time? I would not 
 press the point, but I really feel so anxious to see him." 
 
 "So do I! But well, I will get ready: we will go to-day. The 
 coach starts from the inn at twelve?" 
 
 " Yes, and if we start from here at the same time, we shall meet it." 
 " Then let it be so. YOU will have to go home : by the time you re- 
 turn, I'll be ready." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then left the cottage prepared for the 
 journey returned at eleven sat clown to lunch ate heartily and at 
 twelve o'clock they started. 
 
 As they left the village the carriages of Mr. Howard and the lady 
 whose assumed name was Greville met at the door of the inn. It will 
 doubtless be remembered that they, with Ilenriette, were introduced in 
 the fifth chapter of this history. It will be also recollected that they 
 had been in the habit of meeting at that place periodically ; that Mr. 
 Howard would never see Mrs. Greville ; and that Henriette who was 
 allowed to remain in the room one hour had been kept in perfect ig- 
 norance as to who she really was. 
 
 Henriette had a thousand times entreated her father to explain this 
 mystery : a thousand times had she begged of him to tell her why they 
 met there, and why Mrs. Greville whom he felt she loved dearly 
 should be always so deeply affected when they met. His answer inva- 
 

 I 
 

 "^^^^ 
 
 t '- *,, 
 
 + 
 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 30' 
 
 riably was " She knew you in infancy yon remind her of her own dear 
 child. I would not wound her feelings by neglecting to take you there 
 on these occasions for the world. I promised long ago that she should 
 see you twice a-year." 
 
 Nor could Hcnriette obtain an explanation from Mrs. Greville. 
 
 "Why,'' she inquired, on one occasion, "why does not my dear father 
 see you?" 
 
 " He will not see me," replied Mrs. Greville. " I remind him of your 
 mamma." 
 
 "You knew her, then?" 
 
 "Oh, yes: well." 
 
 "You have been married'.'" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "You have had children?" 
 
 " One one dear dear girl." 
 
 "Your husband is In- dead?" 
 
 Alas to me." 
 
 " Your daughter. - 
 
 "To me to me: yes, both are dead to me! But do not urge me: 
 pray do not. You'll break my heart. 1 cannot bear it. Promise me 
 do promise me that you'll never revert, to this subject a-j'ain." 
 
 Hcnriette, seeing her distress, did promise, and from that hour the 
 
 -llbjeel, ill her plVMMiee, wa- Q6VCT named. 
 
 On this occasion, however, as the carriages nut, Howard and Mrs. 
 Greville Caught each other's glance, and while his altered appeara;:- 
 shocked her, that she was almost unable to alight, he suddenly sank 
 back in his carriage ami wept. 
 
 Having been wiili some difficulty assisted into the room which >he 
 usually occupied, >he sank into a chair and sobbed aloud, ami when 
 Ilenriette who had marvelled at her father'- Midden emotion had 
 joined her, she fell upon her neck, and kissed and blessed her more 
 sionately than ever. 
 
 "My ilt-tir .Mr-, llivville," said Henriette, what can be the meaning 
 of this? I left my father weeping, and now " 
 
 " You left him wwpiny? ( )h, ///// he weep when he saw me?" 
 
 " I know not that he saw you, but he wept." 
 
 "Thank heaven! I am not then despised." 
 
 l> Despised! Surely yon never imagined that you were?" 
 
 " I Jiinv. thought so, my dearest love I have thought so! But he is 
 not well! lie cannot be well!" 
 
 " He is as well as usual! or was when we left home this morning." 
 
 "Then what a change has been effected! Oh, my love, there was a, 
 time but that time's past. Dear Henriette! you know not how I love 
 you!" 
 
 " You love me. You lore me, and yet you keep me in ignorance of 
 that which I have been for years panting to know. Why are you now 
 thus afflicted? Why did my dear father weep? If you love me, let me 
 know all. I said if! Forgive me. I feel, I know you love me fondly; 
 but pray, pray keep me in ignorance no longer." 
 
 Y2 
 
308 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " My clear, dear girl," said Mrs. Grcvillc, who continued to weep bit- 
 tterly, " indeed you must not urge me. My lips on this subject are 
 sealed. That seal must not by me be broken." 
 
 A pause ensued: during which Mrs. Greville sat ga/ing at Ilenriette 
 hrongh her tears, which she would have concealed but <*<ml<f not. 
 
 "Henriette," she said at length, having struggled with her feelings 
 until she appeared to have almost subdued them. "Ilenriette, will you 
 do me a favour'/'' 
 
 "M\ dear Mrs. Greville," replied Ilenriette, "why ask me? You 
 know not what pleasure it will give me to do anything for you, of which 
 I am capable." 
 
 " I believe your dear father is still in the carriage." 
 
 " He is." 
 
 " Will you go to him, my dear girl, and tell him that lam anxious 
 most anxious to see him for a few short moments?" 
 
 " It will give me great happiness to do so." 
 
 "Dear Ilenriette, tell him pray tell him that if he will but grant, 
 me this one request, I pledge my honour aye, my honour that it 
 shall be my last." 
 
 Henriette kissed her, and flew from the room, and when the door of 
 the carriage had been opened, she said, " Dear father, mamma I feel, I 
 know that it is mamma " 
 
 " Henriette!" said Howard sternly, as he alighted. 
 
 He said no more, but handed her into the carriage, followed her. gave 
 the word " Home!" and they were off. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 FROM the evening Aunt Eleanor and her friend arrived in town till 
 the day of the trial, nothing occurred to Sylvester worth recording. He 
 invariably slept with Tom, who had procured a pair of manacles with 
 a thin chain attached with which he every night secured him to him- 
 self, and although he very frequently rose in his sleep, the chain instantly 
 checked and awoke them both. 
 
 " Dot a bit of it, old fellow," Tom used to exclaim. " You dod't do 
 adythidg at all of the sort. You wadt to go prowlidg about as usual, do 
 you? Cobe alodg id agaid : cobe cobc alodg." 
 
 When Aunt Eleanor heard of this arrangement, she felt perfectly 
 satisfied of Sylvester's safety; and so did the reverend gentleman, whose 
 whole time was occupied in the conception of ideas, calculated in his 
 view to strengthen the defence. He was to be a witness a most im- 
 portant witness and when Mr. Wilks, the solicitor, had taken down his 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 309 
 
 evidence, he called, with the view of improving it, two or three times 
 every day upon Mr. Wilks, until he found and it really appeared to 
 him to be the strangest thing in nature that Mr. Wilks was never at 
 home when he called! He was continually out. Nothing could be like 
 it. Go when he might, Mr. Wilks was from home. He would occa- 
 sionally wait an hour or two in the outer office either reading the paper 
 or conversing with one of the clerks for there was one very nice young 
 man in that ofKee; all the rest, in the reverend gentleman's judgment, 
 behaved with too much levity, for they were always laughing; they 
 laughed whenever he entered, and continued to laugh all the time he 
 remained but it mattered not how many hours he waited, Mr. Wilks 
 never returned while he was there. 
 
 This extraordinary fact engendered in his mind a strong suspicion that 
 Mr. Wilk> neglected his business! and he began to lament that some 
 other solicitor had not been engaged in the ease; but as the doctor and 
 Mr. Scholelield who at once perceived the cause of Mr. Wilks's extra- 
 ordinary absence on those occasions set his mind at rest on that point, 
 he regularly conveyed his ideas twice a day to .Mr. Wilks on a sheet of 
 foolscap paper, which he invariably filled, and which Mr. Wilks inva- 
 riably put under the table. 
 
 The morning of the day at length arrived: the day on which the trial 
 was appointed to take place: and the reverend gentleman rose at four, 
 and took a constitutional walk round Hyde Park. As lie frit MTV fid- 
 getty he walked very fast, but Time seemed to lly much more slowly 
 than usual. He had to be at Tom's at eight o'clock, but before six he 
 ielt quite knocked up. Two hours remained. How wa>he topassthose 
 two lioiii^y A thought struck him! He would go down to Westminster 
 Hall. He would look at the building, and ascertain whether he thought 
 it likely that justice would be administered that day. He accordingly 
 wended his way towards the Hall, and as he met sundry females, whom 
 he imagined impure, he walked in the middle of the road, conceiving that 
 expostulation would be u>el<--. 
 
 On reaching Palace Yard, he stood, and looked, and contemplated 
 deeply, and wildly conjectured, and then went over the whole of his evi- 
 dence, which, of course, he thought perfectly conclusive. 
 
 " Cab, your honour!" said a man, who approached him. 
 
 " No, my good man/' replied the reverend gentleman: " 1 was merely 
 looking at Westminster Hall. There is a trial coming on to-day in 
 which I am interested." 
 
 " Indeed!'' cried the cabman; " what trial is itV 
 
 "It is a criw. con. trial, 'Julian versus Sound,' but my friend who 
 is the defendant in the action is a somnambulist." 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir; a how much;''' 
 
 "A somnambulist! A person who walks in his sleep 1" 
 
 " Oh! one of them there svells I see!' 1 
 
 "He is innocent of the crime of which he is accused: quite inno- 
 cent." 
 
 Xo doubt.'' 
 
 " But then the plaintiff in this case will not believe it," 
 
310 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "That's alvays the case, sir; they never vill." 
 
 " It is lamentable that it should be so!" 
 
 " Werry ! but they alvays knows better than anybody else." 
 
 " They always appear to believe they know better." 
 
 " That's jist precisely my meaning." 
 
 " But then you know it's obstinacy : nothing but obstinacy !" 
 
 "Nothing; I've alvays found them svells the most obstropulusest 
 going." 
 
 " If men would in all cases listen to reason " 
 
 " That's the pint. Reason's the ticket!" 
 
 " But you see they will not. However, l suns cuique mos/' " 
 
 " Werry good." 
 
 " Hollo! Bob! what's the row?" inquired one of the cabman's friends. 
 
 " Why, Dick," said Bob, winking very significantly : " this here gen- 
 tleman here is hinterested in a haction." 
 
 "Does his mother know he's out?" inquired Dick, with very great 
 indiscretion. 
 
 " My mother," replied the reverend gentleman, " of whom you could 
 have had no knowledge, has been dead twenty years!" 
 
 Bob again winked at Dick, who withdrew. 
 
 " He's a wulgar man, that, sir," observed Bob, " worry." 
 
 " I must say that 1 don't think him very refined." 
 
 " But then vot can you expect? He's had no eddication." 
 
 " Then he's much to be pitied." 
 
 " Werry true. There you've jist hit my sentiments. Werry true, 
 indeed! A cold morning, sir," added Bob. " Heverythink's werry 
 dull. I hope you'll allow me to drink your honour's health?'' 
 
 " Here's a shilling," said the reverend gentleman, " which, as you're 
 a civil man, you may apply to that purpose." 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir: I hope you von't think me too intruding, but as I 
 knows you re a gentleman as feels for distress, I'd be werry much 
 obleedged to you if you'd be so kind as to lend me jist another eigh teen- 
 pence. I ain't had a fare to-night, sir, reely. I shall be sure to see 
 you agin, sir; and then I'll pay your honour!" 
 
 "Well, my good man, I don't know you at all; but if, as you say, 
 you are distressed, here is one-and-sixpence more: take it home to your 
 wife and family." 
 
 " Thank you, sir: I'm werry much obleeged to you," said Bob, who 
 winked at Dick in the distance, " werry." 
 
 And having delivered himself to this effect, he at once rejoined his 
 " wulgar" friend, who burst into a loud roar of laughter. 
 
 The reverend gentleman didn't understand this : he conceived it to be 
 imputable to the man's vulgarity, and left Palace-yard, and wandered 
 about until half-past seven, when, feeling exceedingly fatigued, he 
 knocked at Tom's door and was admitted. 
 
 At eight o'clock precisely, Aunt Eleanor, the doctor, Mr. Scholefield, 
 the reverend gentleman, Sylvester, and Tom, sat down to breakfast, but 
 there was not one of them who had the slightest appetite. Their anxiety 
 caused them all to feel nervous. They couldn't eat. They drank tea 
 

 ''" 
 


 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 311 
 
 and coffee, it is true ; but nothing substantial could any one of them 
 touch. 
 
 As nine o'clock was the time at which they were instructed to be 
 at the court, they, at a quarter to nine, entered the carriages of the 
 doctor and Mr. Scholefield, which were waiting at the door, and pro- 
 ceeded at once to the Hall. 
 
 This was the reverend gentleman's first appearance in a court of 
 justice, and when he saw five or six rows of barristers as he entered, he 
 really felt awed! He however said nothing; even their appearance 
 seemed to have rendered him speechless; but when the Lord Chief 
 Justice took his seat, he felt that it would be perfectly impossible for 
 him to give any evidence at all. 
 
 U ell! that being then the first case on the list, "Julian versus 
 Sound" was called. Mr. Charles Phillpotts appeared with Mr. Clark 
 for the plaintiff, and Mr. Slashinuer with Mr. O'Phail for the defendant. 
 
 The legal preliminaries having been arranged, Mr. Clark opened the 
 pleadings, from which lie wished his lordship and the jury to understand, 
 that in this case Sir Charles Julian, Bart., was the plaintiff; that Syl- 
 vester Sound was the defendant ; that the declaration charged the de- 
 fendant with having assaulted Matilda Maria, the wife of the plaintiff", 
 UK! that the damages were laid at five thousand pounds. 
 
 Mi-, rhillpnt* thru rote, and spoke as follows: "My lord and gentle- 
 men uf tin- jury. This is one of those cases which, to the honour of 
 tin- mi-lit y and mural empire in which we live considering its import- 
 MOD, its population, and its wealth are comparatively rare. I need 
 nut explain to you, gentlemen of the jury, that it is with the most pro- 
 luund anxiety that 1 approach this subject, for that anxiety will be 
 appreciated when 1 state that 1 have confided in my hands the dearest 
 interests of a fellow-creature, who has l>eeii wantonly cruelly vilely 
 reduced from a state of Mipreme of ecstatic happiness, to the deepest 
 and mo.st inconceivable misery. Oh, how I wish that I could place my 
 unhappy my heart-broken client before you, that his haggard brow, his 
 sorrowing features, his wasted form, and his hollow eye, might manifest 
 the horrible pangs he has endured! Oh, that I could bring him before 
 you now, that you miuht see what havoc what agonising havoc his 
 sunerinLis have caused! You would then behold a picture of appalling 
 mi-eiy, which no words at my command can even feebly portray. I 
 hope most fervently that you may never know how poor how weak 
 are the utmost exertions of an advocate, when placed under such afflict- 
 ing circumstances as these! I hope that you may never experience the 
 heart-rending pangs, the agonising sufferings of a man placed basely 
 placed in the position of my unhappy client. Gentlemen, the plaintiff 
 is the scion of an honourable family a family whose antiquity stands 
 unsurpassed, and upon whose escutcheon calumny never dared to 
 breathe. In the affectionate bosom of that family he passed the early 
 portion of his life : but becoming enamoured of her whose honour the 
 defendant has thus vilely tarnished, he married, and for years enjoyed 
 the most supreme felicity on earth. She was amiable, beautiful, and 
 highly accomplished. She possessed every virtue that could adorn her 
 
312 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 sex. She was all his heart could wish. His soul adored her. In her his 
 every earthly hope was centered. And thus years of bliss rolled on, till the 
 defendant basely drew her into his accursed meshes, compassing the de- 
 struction of an amiable woman crushing the spirit of an honourable 
 man and blasting his happiness for ever. Gentlemen, up to this 
 period the plaintiff had not the most distant idea of his wife's infidelity. 
 He believed her to be faithful he believed her to be virtuous he be- 
 lieved her to be pure and I cherish a strong conviction that he was 
 justified in believing her to be faithful, and virtuous, and pure; nor was 
 it until he absolutely saw, to his astonishment and horror, the defendant 
 leave the house at night, after having been seen in her chamber, that 
 he entertained the slightest suspicion of his having been for ever disho- 
 noured and disgraced. Gentlemen, I shall bring before you evidence of 
 the most incontrovertible character to prove that the defendant was 
 actually seen to come from Lady Julian's chamber, while the lady her- 
 self was in bed. I shall moreover prove to you, beyond all doubt, that 
 the butler in the service of the plaintiff absolutely let the defendant out 
 of the house! And what is the defendant? He is a medical man. He 
 is a member of the Koyal College of Surgeons. Now, if there be one 
 man more than another in whose honour and integrity we feel ourselves 
 justified in confiding, that man is a medical adviser. At all times, in 
 all seasons, and under all conceivable circumstances, a medical adviser 
 has free and unfettered access to our homes. Kelying upon his honour, 
 we place our wives and daughters freely under his care, and, al- 
 though the defendant was not the medical adviser of Lady Julian 
 although it cannot be said that he violated any confidence directly 
 reposed in him by the plaintiff if once the case of a medical 
 man, guilty of so infamous a practice as that of which the de- 
 fendant has been guilty, be suffered to pass without being strongly 
 marked, farewell confidence, farewell security, farewell virtue, fare- 
 well peace. Gentlemen, the fact of the defendant being a medical 
 man greatly aggravates his infamy, for, up to this time, it has 
 been scarcely conceivable that so base, so heartless a reptile could be 
 found connected with that ancient and honourable profession. We have 
 hitherto looked for friends there, not for vipers: we have looked for in- 
 tegrity, not for abomination. I admit this unhappy lady's fall. I admit 
 her utter worthlessness, but, not being skilled in that atrocious, that ex- 
 ecrable species of necromancy, of which the defendant is so perfect a 
 master, I cannot pretend to tell you by what Avitchcraft by what hellcraft 
 he succeeded in destroying the soul of such a woman, by prompting 
 her thus to disgrace and dishonour so fond, so affectionate, so doting a 
 husband. And now, having thus briefly drawn the faint outline of this 
 most abominable case, I have to direct your attention, gentlemen, to 
 the only question open for your consideration for the pleas of the de- 
 fendant are not worth a rush namely, what damages you ought to give 
 the plaintiff. 
 
 " Had it pleased heaven 
 To try him with affliction; had it rained 
 AH kinds of sores and shames on his bare head, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 313 
 
 Steeped him in poverty to the very lips, 
 
 Given to captivity him and his hopes, 
 
 lie would have found in some part of his soul 
 
 A drop of patience: 
 
 But there, where he had garner'd up hfs heart, 
 
 Where either he must live or bear no life, 
 
 The fountain, from the which his current runs 
 
 Or else dries up: to be discarded thence!" 
 
 Turn your complexion there, gentlemen, and say what damages you 
 ought to give him. Deeply do I lament that an injured husband has 
 no other remedy : deeply do I regret that the legislature of this great 
 nation has not made the outrage a criminal offence. He who steals your 
 purse, steals trash: yet he forfeits his liberty it may be, hi.s life: but 
 he who basely plunders you of the dearest treasure of your heart of 
 hearts, escapes, if rich, with comparative impunity. But the law is so, 
 and your award can be merely that of money. And how are you to 
 calculate the damages? There is but one. rule 'Do as you would be 
 done by.' Many of you are basking in the light of wedded love 
 blessed with a home to which you turn as to a haven from the storms of 
 life, surrounded by joys, and sipping bliss from the lips of her whom 
 you dearly love. What would you take to have this vision dissipated? 
 What would you take to lose her? What you woidd take in such a case, 
 MJY,.; sward that which you would feel yourselves justified in receiving. 
 The damages are laid at five thousand pounds. Would you think 
 that sum too much for you to receive? Do I insult you by the ques- 
 tion? No; not I. It is the law that interrogates you. ' Do as you 
 would be done by.' If you think that that sum would be too much for 
 you, give my client what yon would think enough. Place yourselves 
 individually in his position, and say what you feeling the earthquake 
 of your happiness beneath you, and looking round for one last prop to 
 cling to, and seeing the visions you had cherished, the bliss you had 
 enjoyed, the hopes you had idolised, with every household deity dearest 
 and most divine, shivered to atoms round the hearth where they were 
 worshipped say what you would consider a sufficient compensation. 
 Gentlemen, I now leave the case of my unhappy client deprived as he 
 has been by the vile, insidious arts of the defendant, of the society of her 
 who formed the lovely centre of his happy circle with the most entire 
 confidence, in your hands. Your verdict must be for the plaintiff, of 
 course. The only point for you to consider is, that which has reference 
 to compensation. What you think would compensate you in such a 
 ease, award hiir. ' Do as you would be done by!' " 
 
 This address, of course, produced an extraordinary sensation. The 
 great majority of those who were in court thought that the verdict must 
 be for the whole five thousand: that Sir Charles deserved it, and that 
 he, therefore, ought to have it. 
 
 James Thompson, the butler, was then called and sworn. 
 
 " Your name is James Thompson, I believe," said Mr. Phillpots. 
 
 " It is," replied the butler. 
 
 " You hold the situation of butler in Sir Charles's establishment?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
314 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " And have held it for the last seven years?" 
 " I have." 
 
 " Do you remember the morning of the 5th of last month?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " State to the court what then occurred." 
 
 " About three o'clock that morning, on going up stairs, I saw Mr. 
 Sound coming slowly from the ante-room which leads to Lady Julian's 
 chamber, and conceiving that he had called professionally, I returned, 
 opened the door, and let him out." 
 
 " You know the defendant well?" 
 
 " Quite well." 
 
 " You know the defendant quite well. Now, just pay attention to 
 the question I'm about to ask. Is it possible for you to have been mis- 
 taken?" 
 
 " No: that is quite impossible." 
 
 " Quite impossible. Did you let him in?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Who let him in?" 
 
 " I can't say." 
 
 " Did either of the other servants let him in?" 
 
 " They all declare that they did not." 
 
 " Is there any window through which he might have entered?" 
 
 " There is no window he could have got in at." 
 
 " Then the presumption is, that Lady Julian let him in herself?" 
 
 " I don't know ; but I think that if she had let him in, she would 
 also have let him out." 
 
 " I don't ask you what you think! You didn't let him in, nor did 
 either of the other servants let him in. The presumption, therefore, is 
 that she let him in herself. But you are quite sure that it was Mr. 
 Sound, the defendant, whom you saw coming slowly from the ante- 
 room, and whom you let out of the house?" 
 
 " I am quite sure." 
 
 " That you swear to?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Solemnly?" 
 
 " Most solemly." 
 
 Mr. Slashinger then rose to cross-examine this witness. 
 
 " You know Mr. Sound, the defendant in this action, quite well?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " You have known him for some years?" 
 
 " I have." 
 
 "As the assistant of Mr. Scholefield, the medical adviser of Lady 
 Julian, he used to come frequently to the house?" 
 
 " Very frequently." 
 
 " Both with Mr. Scholefield, and alone?" 
 
 " Very frequently alone." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Thompson, I am going to put to you a most important 
 question, and your well-known honesty and integrity prompts me to 
 believe that you will answer it in a candid and straightforward manner. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 315 
 
 Did you ever, at any time, see anything in the conduct of Lady Julian 
 to induce you to believe that she was not strictly virtuous?" 
 
 "Never, sir! never!" replied Thompson, with emotion. "Nor do I 
 believe that she is not virtuous now." 
 
 " You do not! What not after the eloquent speech of my learned friend !" 
 
 " That has not shaken my belief: nor do I think that if Sir Charles 
 had been here, he would have allowed him to go on so. So much 
 about the money!" 
 
 " I repeat," said Mr. Phillpots, rising indignantly, " I tell you again 
 that we don't ask you what you think. Answer the questions that are 
 put to you, sir." 
 
 " I do to the best of my ability." 
 
 " Then," resumed Mr. Slashinger, " you still believe Lady Julian to 
 In- virtuous?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Sir Charles was not at home, I believe, when you saw Mr. Sound 
 on that occasion? 1 ' 
 
 " He was not." 
 
 " You have no idea how he got in?' 
 
 " I have not the slight r>i . 
 
 \Vere you in the house the whole of the morning in question?" 
 
 " Except for a few moments, when I went to speak to the butler at 
 tin- house adjoining." 
 
 " Did you leave the door open or partially open when you went 
 to speak to the butler?'' 
 
 "] did." 
 
 M A Light not Mr. Sound have walked in while you were absent?" 
 
 " ll; r.Ttiiiiily nth/lit have dune SO." 
 
 " II.- iiii^ht have done so. And you believe 1 , notwithstanding you 
 .>aw Mr. Sound coining slowly from the ante-room, that Lady Julian is 
 virtuous still." 
 
 "1 do. 1 don't believe she knew that he was there." 
 
 " How did he look when you let him out? At all confused?" 
 
 " No: calm and seriou>." 
 
 " Did he make any observation?' 7 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Then he walked straight out, and took no notice?" 
 
 " He did." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " And now,'' said Mr. Phillpots, who looked very fierce, " /am about 
 to put a question, which, from 'your well-known honesty and integrity,' 
 to use the flowing language of my learned friend, I expect you, in a 
 candid and straightforward manner, to answer. When did you see the 
 lU'fendant's attorney last?" 
 
 " I never did see him to my knowledge." 
 
 " But you have seen his clerk, haven't you?'' 
 
 " Not to my knowledge." 
 
 " Is it not indiscreet," said Mr. Clark, in a whisper, " to throw a doubt 
 upon any portion of the evidence of our own witness?" 
 
316 SYLVESTER SOU&D 
 
 Mr. Phillpots winked at Mr. Clark, and then resumed. 
 
 " It was about three o'clock when you saw the defendant coming from 
 the ante-room leading to Lady Julian's chamber?" 
 
 " About three." 
 
 " And you couldn't by any possibility have mistaken any one else for 
 the defendant?" 
 
 " I could not. The thing is impossible." 
 
 " Impossible. Very well. That will do." 
 
 This was the case for the plaintiff; and, after a pause, Mr. Slashinger 
 rose, and said 
 
 "My lord and gentlemen of the jury. My learned friend, with his 
 usual tact, having but one single fact to adduce, has brought fonvard a 
 multitude of figures. Knowing the actual weakness of his case, he has 
 endeavoured to strengthen it with flights of fancy: feeling that the soli- 
 tary point for you to consider was of itself insufficient, his object has 
 been to carry away your judgment by a flaming flood of forensic elo- 
 quence. That object however has not been accomplished. If it had 
 been, it would have been my duty to bring you back to the point from 
 which you started. But as I feel that I have now to address intelligent 
 men men who will not suffer their judgment to be carried away so 
 easily my task is comparatively light. Gentlemen, what are the facts 
 of the case? nay, rather let me say what is the fact? there being but 
 one at present for your consideration. The fact, gentlemen, is, that the 
 witness Thompson, swears that he saw the defendant at the time in 
 question walking slowly walking from the ante-room Avhich leads to 
 Lady Julian's chamber. Now, gentlemen, I am not about to impugn 
 Thompson's evidence. He gave it in a very proper manner, and I take 
 it for granted that he believes that which he stated to be true. He may 
 be correct. The defendant may have been there : he may have walked 
 from the ante-room slowly: he may have been let out by Thompson : he 
 may have been seen to pass the gate by Sir Charles. I don't know that 
 he was not nor does the defendant! but if he were there, he was there 
 while in a state of somnambulism! [This announcement created an 
 extraordinary sensation. Even the reverend gentleman, whom the speech 
 of Mr. Phillpots had perfectly bewildered, rubbed his hands, and smiled.] 
 Gentlemen," continued the learned counsel, " unhappily my client is a 
 confirmed somnambulist. I shall prove that to your entire satisfaction 
 anon. At present I feel it to be my duty to account for his presence 
 for I assume that he was present at the house of Sir Charles Julian on 
 the occasion in question. Gentlemen, somnambulists generally, when 
 asleep remember everything which occurs to them while awake, but they 
 remember nothing when awake which happens while they are asleep. I 
 beg of you to bear this in mind. The defendant, Mr. Sound, lived for 
 the period of five years with Mr. Scholefield, Lady Julian's medical 
 attendant. During that period, as the witness has told us, he was fre- 
 quently very frequently at the house of Sir Charles. Now, gentle- 
 men, may I not venture to say, that on the. morning in question, he 
 dreamt that Lady Julian required his professional attendance, and that 
 acting on that dream, he rose and went to the house? You have heard 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 317 
 
 Thompson state that he left the door open when ho went to speak to the 
 butler, at the house adjoining: yon have also heard him state that the 
 defendant might have entered the house during his absence. Now, is it 
 too much to assume, knowing him to be a confirmed somnambulist, that 
 the defendant did enter the house at that time, and with no other view 
 than that of attending to Lady Julian professionally? I do submit, 
 gentlemen, that when 1 have proved, as 1 shall prove beyond all question, 
 that my client /> a somnambulist, the case will be, in your judgment, 
 perfectly clear. As to Lady Julian, I believe her to be still strictly 
 virtuous, still pure: and in that belief I am joined, as you have heard 
 by the witness Thompson, who has had the most ample opportunities of 
 observing her character and conduct, (lentlemen, my firm impression 
 is, that this proceeding on the part of Sir Charles Julian ought to cause 
 him to blush. He married Lady Julian in all the pride of youth and 
 beauty; he himself being rather advanced in years; and, although I will 
 n<>t say that it is natural fur an old man to be jealous of a young and 
 lovely wife, 1 iinu/ say, that it is too often the case, and that the slightest 
 circumstance is snilieient to create suspicion. I have, however, no desire 
 to dwell upon this point. He saw the defendant coming from the house : 
 his suspicion was aruused, and ho brought this action: for damages! 
 fur compensation, for the loss of her whom, on these slight grounds, he 
 turned out of his house, and who never was unfaithful to him. I do 
 not envy the feelings of that man: I do not envy the feelings of any 
 man who, on such slender grounds, casts ' his soul's idol ' off his soul's 
 idol psha! it is sickening. But, gentlemen, he wants compensation 
 he wants money! yes: lie wants you to award him an immense amount 
 of money. Well, if you think him entitled to it, of course you'll award 
 it. 1 would merely submit that such grovelling ideas do not in general 
 co-exist with affection. Mom-y is his suit! Well, let him have money, 
 if you think that he has been injured if you can believe Lady Julian to 
 be impure. 1 shall nut say one word in mitigation of damages no 
 damage has been sustained by Sir Charles. 1 will prove to you that 
 the defendant is a somnambulist, and I have so much confidence in 
 your judgment, that you will see that the object of Sir Charles Julian is 
 money, that Lady Julian is still virtuous, still pure, that the defendant 
 went to the house while under the influence of a dream, and that there- 
 fore he is entitled to your verdict." 
 
 The learned counsel then called Thomas Delolme, who promptly ap- 
 peared in the box, and was sworn. 
 
 " Mr. Delolme," said Mr. Slushinger, " you are a medical man?" 
 
 " I ab," replied Tom. 
 
 " You have, I believe, an extensive practice?" 
 
 " Dot very e.rted$ice ! About a thousadd a year." 
 
 "About a thousand a year. You are intimately acquainted with 
 Mr. Sound, the defendant in this action?" 
 
 " I ab." 
 
 " Is it your impression that he is a somnambulist?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 " Tell the court how that impression was created." 
 
318 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Id codsequedce of his havidg idforbed be the other day, that he sus- 
 pected that he was a sobdabbulist, I idduced hib to sleep at by house, 
 add sat up id a roob adjoiding that id which he slept. About 
 two o'clock he cabe idto the roob id which I was sittidg, add had ;i 
 a glass of braddy-add-water, add sboked a cigar, add codversed for s<>U> 
 tibe, add thcd wedt to bed agaid; but id the borbidg he recollected 
 dothidg at all about it. Dot satisfied with this, I sat up the dext dight 
 without his kdowledge, havidg previously attached a stridg to the sash 
 of his bedroob widdow, add adother to the haddle of his door; add, at 
 about the sabe tibe, that is to say, two o'clock, the stridg attached to 
 the door was pulled out of by hadd; I wedt out, add heard footsteps 
 asceddidg the stairs. I therefore followed, and codtidued to folloAv udtil 
 I had reached the attic, frob the widdow of which I saw Sylvester, that 
 is to say the defeddadt id this actiod walkidg od the very verge of 
 the parapet, with dothidg whatever od but his shirt. I was of course 
 at the tibe appalled, add as he passed be, I iddiscreetly seized hib by 
 the wrist, add the sudded shock caused hib to foil over the parapet. I 
 held hib, however, still, add biraculously got hib up; add whed I had 
 succeeded id doidg so, it appears that I faidted: but the feet of his beidg 
 a sobdabbulist is sufficiedt to accoudt for bady extraordidary thidgs 
 which occurred whed he lived id by father's house about five years 
 ago." 
 
 " Then you have not the slightest doubt of his being a somnam- 
 oulist?" 
 
 " Dode whatever! His is the bost codfirbed case I ever bet with." 
 
 " Has he slept in your house ever since you made the discovery?" 
 
 " Yes, every dight; add with be." 
 
 " In the same bed?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And does he still walk in his sleep?" 
 
 "Doe: he would do so, but I prevedt hib. Whed we go to bed I 
 attach a sball haddcuff to his wrist, add adother to by owd. He there- 
 fore caddot rise without wakidg be." 
 
 " Which he does, I suppose, frequently?" 
 
 " Every dight." 
 
 " And that he is a somnambulist you solemnly swear?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " You have a practice," said Mr. Phillpots, who rose to cross-examine 
 Tom, " which yields you a thousand a-year?" 
 
 " 1 have." 
 
 " Will you swear that?" 
 
 " Beidg dow od by oath, I codsider that every thidg I say I swear to." 
 
 "And you swear that your practice yields you a thousand a-ycarV 
 
 I do." 
 
 "You do. Well, you have known the defendant for some years, 
 haven't you?" 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " And did it never occur to you that he was a somnambulist until 
 the other night?" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 319 
 
 " Dever." 
 
 " Isn't that somewhat strange?" 
 
 " Well, it certaidly bay appear to be so." 
 
 " I don't ask you what it may appear to be! I ask you whether it 
 is, or not?" 
 
 " Well, perhaps it is stradge that I dever before discovered it." 
 
 "Perhaps!" 
 
 " Yes, perhaps. He looks add talks whed he is asleep, precisely the 
 sabe as he does whed awake." 
 
 " Then up to the time which you have named, you never iimif/inei/ 
 him to be a somnambulist?" 
 
 " Doe, I certaidly dever did." 
 
 " Very well. That'll do." 
 
 Mr. Slashinger then called the Reverend Kd ward Rouse, and when 
 the reverend gentleman had been sworn, he proceeded to examine him 
 as follows: 
 
 " You are, I believe, a clercryman?" 
 
 "1 thank God lam." 
 
 " You know the defendant V" 
 
 "I do. When first I knew him I fancied that 1 saw him on my gar- 
 den wall, helping himself to " 
 
 "Exactly. We shall come to all that by-and-bye. You reside at 
 Cotherstone?" 
 
 " I do: and whenever ho comes down there to visit his mint, some 
 thint: extraordinary is sure to occur: sometimes a 'ghost' appeal's in tin- 
 village sometimes the horse is taken mit of the stalile at night 
 sometimes " 
 
 "Exactly. And many other extraordinary things occur for which 
 you have been utterly unable to account. Now do these things ever 
 occur when the defendant is absent?" 
 
 " Never! that's the point, as I said the other day " 
 
 "Nothing of the kind ever happens at Cotherstone when he is in 
 town?" 
 
 "Nothing! We are as quiet as possible when he is away; but the 
 fact of his being a somnambulist affords a key if I may use the ex- 
 pression to all which we have heretofore regarded as inexplicable 
 mysteries." 
 
 Mr. Phillpots then rose to cross-examine the reverend gentleman. 
 
 "You know the defendant," said he; "you know him well. Now 
 will you take upon yourself, as a clergyman of the Church of England, 
 to swear that he is a somnambulist?" 
 
 "Why, what else can he be?" 
 
 "No matter what else he can be; will you swear that he is a som- 
 nambulist?" 
 
 " Why, when we look at " 
 
 M We don't want to look, sir, at anything but you. My question is 
 plain. Will you swear that he is a somnambulist?" 
 
 " Well, perhaps I am not justified strictly in swearing it, but " 
 
 " Of course not; there, that'll do; go down.'' 
 
320 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " But, my lord," said the reverend gentleman, addressing the bench. 
 
 u Mr. Rouse," interposed Mr. Slashinger, " you have given your evidence 
 very clearly. You have not the slightest doubt of his being a somnam- 
 bulist, but you do not feel justified in swearing that he is one, seeing 
 that you have never exactly discovered him in a state of somnambu- 
 lism." 
 
 " Exactly. That's what I mean. Exactly." 
 
 " Very good." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then left the box, but he was not by any 
 means satisfied. 
 
 This being the case for the defendant, Mr. Charles Phillpots rose to 
 reply. 
 
 " In all my experience, gentlemen," said he; " I never met with any- 
 thing more absurd than this defence. It is the most ridiculous on 
 record. Somnambulism! Let us but once admit this plea, and we 
 may shut up every court of justice in the empire. A man may seduce 
 your wife, and plead somnambulism: he may ruin your daughters, and 
 plead somnambulism: he may pick your pocket, and plead somnambu- 
 lism : he may knock you down, and plead somnambulism : he may even 
 murder you, and plead somnambulism : nay, there's nothing which he 
 could do, that he might not do, and put in the plea of somnambulism. 
 Can my learned friend produce any witness to prove that his client was 
 in a state of somnambulism when he left Lady Julian's chamber? No! 
 Somnambulism, indeed! The idea is preposterous! Suppose that 
 either of you gentlemen, on going home to-night, were to find a man in 
 your chamber: what would you think of his plea of somnambu- 
 lism? Suppose that, on your way home, a fellow were to stop you, and 
 rob you of your watch, what would you think of his pica, of somnambu- 
 lism? Suppose that I were to say that I thought you sufficiently foolish 
 to entertain such an absurdity, what would you say to my plea of som- 
 nambulism? Somnambulism, forsooth! Why, there isn't a crime 
 under heaven that might not be committed with absolute impunity, if 
 once we admitted, in justification, the monstrous plea of somnambulism. 
 Repudiate it, gentlemen, with scorn. Treat it with the contempt it so 
 richly deserves. I am amazed that, in this enlightened age in the 
 middle of the nineteenth century and in a country boasting, and justly 
 too, its high and refined state of civilisation such an absurd, such a 
 perfectly ridiculous plea, as that of somnambulism, should have been 
 entered. Why, gentlemen, it must be imagined that you are idiots if, 
 indeed, it be imagined that you are capable of entertaining such a vile 
 plea as this! Repudiate it, gentlemen, indignantly. Look to the plain- 
 tiff, whose heart's dearest treasure has been stolen from him by the in- 
 sidious arts of this somnambulist, and give exemplary damages, con- 
 vinced, as you must be, that he has been abused, and that his relief must 
 be to loathe her!" 
 
 His lordship then briefly summed up, and the jury, without retiring, 
 returned a verdict for the PLAINTIFF Damages '2,000. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 321 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 SYLVESTER'S NEW PROTECTOR. 
 
 IT is extremely questionable whether a trial ever yet gave unmixed 
 satisfaction to either of the parties concerned. In civil cases, especially, 
 there is sure to be, in the judgment of either the plaintiff or the de- 
 fendant and almost invariably in the view of both something left 
 undone which ought to have been done, or something done which ought 
 not to have been done. Sometimes the attornies are censured, some- 
 times the counsel, sometimes the witnesses, sometimes the jury, and 
 sometimes the judge; but, most certainly, a ease in which they a7/ 
 escaped censure, is not be found on record. 
 
 It will not, therefore, be held to be extraordinary, that neither the 
 plaintiff nor the defendant in this action was satisfied with the result. 
 Sylvester could not have been expected to be; but, as it may have 
 been expected that Sir Charles would be satisfied, it will be quite 
 correct here to state that he was not. In his view, his own counsel 
 made him appear to be most sordid. Money was not his object. His 
 object was to establish legally tin- assumed guilt of Lady Julian with 
 a view to a divorce. He was, therefore, not satisfied at all with his own 
 counsel: nor was he satisfied witli the counsel for the defendant: the 
 remarks of both, in his judgment, tended to place him in a ridiculous 
 and contemptible light; and he, consequently, after the trial, felt 
 wretched. 
 
 Sylvester, however, had not the wivtrhrd feelings of Sir Charles. He 
 saw, of course, the importance of the verdiet: he t 'eared that it might, 
 in a professional sense, effect his ruin: still, bring perfectly conscious of 
 his innocence, and having the sympathy of all around him, it cannot 
 although he was dreadfully annoyed it cannot be said that lie felt 
 wretched. Aunt Eleanor was far more deeply affected; and, as to the 
 reverend gentleman, he absolutely swelled with indignation! He was 
 indignant with the attorney, indignant with the counsel, indignant with 
 the jury, indignant with the judge. They were all, in his view, lost to 
 every sense of justice. And yet he felt strongly that, if he had been 
 allowed to give his evidence in his own way, the jury would not have 
 dared to return a verdict for the plaintiff. 
 
 "What!" he exclaimed. "Is it can it be. possible that in a 
 country like this a Christian country a country in which the prin- 
 ciples of Christianity are professed and entertained more extensively, 
 perhaps, than in any other country upon earth is it possible that 
 t \velve men twelve Christian men can deliberately take a solemn 
 onth to give a verdict according to the evidence, and then, having heard 
 that evidence adduced, return such a verdict as this! Why, it really is 
 
 z 
 
322 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 fearful to contemplate! Those men must be guilty of perjury; and 
 perjury is one of the most dreadful crimes that a man can possibly lay 
 upon his soul! I should much like to talk to those men to explain to 
 them the peril in which they have placed themselves, not only in this 
 world, but in the world to come! If I do not mistake, a perjurer, even 
 here, is liable to be punished with very great severity. Surely, they cannot 
 be cognisant of this! leaving entirely out of the question the awful 
 fact of their rendering themselves amenable to a much greater punish- 
 ment hereafter! They really ought to be seen and talked to, and lec- 
 tured, and expostulated with ! the crime of which they have been 
 guilty, is in its nature dreadful!" 
 
 " I do not think," observed Mr. Delolme, "that we are justified in 
 accusing them of having committed perjury." 
 
 " But, my dear sir; just look at the nature of the evideaee! Did not 
 Mr. Thomas swear positively that poor Sylvester was a somnambulist? 
 And did not I swear as positively and as solemnly, that I had not the 
 slightest doubt of the fact? Ought not that to have been sufficient? 
 And were they not bound to return a verdict accordingly?" 
 
 " Certainly, they were bound to return a verdict according to the 
 evidence, but not according to your evidence alone: they were bound 
 to look at the evidence opposed to yours, and to weigh it with yours, 
 and thus to decide." 
 
 " Then it follows that they treated my evidence and that of Mr. 
 Thomas with contempt!" 
 
 " Not necessarily. They might have felt that you both swore to the 
 best of jour belief, and yet conceived that your evidence was insufficient 
 to establish the fact of Sylvester being a somnambulist." 
 
 " I only wish that I had been one of the jury." 
 
 " If you had been, a very different verdict would doubtless have been 
 returned; but we must remember that those gentlemen were perfect 
 strangers to Sylvester. They knew nothing either of him, or of the 
 circumstances, previously to their coming into court; and, while they 
 manifestly conceived your evidence and that of Tom to be insufficient, 
 they were strongly impressed by the counsel with the danger of allowing 
 such a plea as that of somnambulism to obtain." 
 
 " I am aware of its being a plea which might easily be in all cases 
 urged; and I hold the necessity for proving it to be absolute: all I 
 contend for is, that in this particular case, it ivaa sufficiently proved! 
 And then, that man, the counsel that barrister that Mr. Charles 
 Phillpots what right had he to apply such abominable epithets to a 
 person of whom he knew nothing. He ought to be talked to severely! 
 He ought to be told that the character of Sylvester is the reverse of 
 that which he represented it to be. I have really no patience with a 
 man who will thus traduce the character of another without grounds. I 
 only wish that I had been Sylvester's counsel : I should have told that 
 person, without the slightest hesitation, that the course he was pursuing 
 was most unwarrantable ! I should have told him so publicly before 
 the whole court. And then the judge: we really might as well have; 
 had no judge at all! he did not conduct himself at all like a judge! he 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 323 
 
 gave no judgment whatever upon the matter! I only wish that I had 
 been the judge! But is there no appeal from this verdict? Would not 
 a \vell-drawn-up protest have a very great effect?" 
 
 " We might move for a new trial, certainly." 
 
 " Then let us have a new trial: by all means let us have a new trial. 
 That will be the very thing !" 
 
 " I fear that unless we have much stronger evidence to produce, a 
 new trial if we obtained it would be worse than useless." 
 
 " But we have stronger evidence ! My evidence might be stronger 
 much stronger I am sure of it!" 
 
 The doctor shook his head, and having observed that that point had 
 better be left to the lawyers, retired. 
 
 How oilen men know what they ought to have said when the occasion 
 for saying it is passed ! How forcible how eloquent in public, reflec- 
 tion proves that they mlijht have been! The reverend gentleman had 
 much afterwit. He saw, on reflection, invariably for reflection invari- 
 ably came when he had spoken that he had omitted to say much that 
 In- ouuht to have said, and that that which he did say, lie might have 
 said better. He was very seldom called upon to make a speech in 
 public his sermons required no subsequent reflection but whenever 
 he did make a public speech, the whole of the next day was devoted to 
 its improvement. lie would repeat it privately a::ain and aiiain, and 
 polish every point he found in it, and if as Y/JIS sometimes the case 
 no point could be found, he would make one, and then polish that. 
 He did on one occasion try a speech which he had written and learned 
 by rote, but as he broke the thread in the middle and couldn't find the 
 piece that came off, he abandoned that system which is at best but a 
 deceit and stuck to the extemporaneous. Still, as ho never made a 
 speech which he did not subsequently very much improve, he never saw 
 a speech of his in type which gave him the slightest satisfaction. 
 There was always something said which ought to have been omitted, or 
 something omitted which ought to have been said; and as his speeches, 
 when in type, were never, in his judgment, what they ought to have 
 been, the fact, that his evidence, when in type, gave him no sort of 
 pleasure, cannot create much surprise. He was, indeed, exceedingly 
 dissatisfied with it. He really felt ashamed of its appearance in print, 
 and hence, being conscious perfectly conscious of his ability to give 
 better evidence than that, he strongly urged the expediency of having 
 a new trial. 
 
 By the advice of Mr. Scholefield, however, the idea of moving for a 
 new trial was abandoned, and the reverend gentleman no sooner became 
 cognisant of this than he went to work and conceived a scheme, of 
 which the object was to settle the matter at once. He had a little 
 money in the funds : he had, in fact, four thousand pounds in the three- 
 and-a-half per cents; he therefore resolved on selling out to the extent 
 required, and taking the two thousand pounds himself to Sir Charles 
 Julian, unknown to any other living soul. 
 
 In this scheme " costs" were not contemplated : the idea of costs never 
 occurred to him : he fondly imagined that Sir Charles would take the 
 
324 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 *\vo thousand pounds and give him a receipt in full, and that there, as 
 far as Sylvester was concerned, the whole matter would end. 
 
 He accordingly went to a broker whom he knew near the Exchange, 
 and the sale of two thousand pounds stock was effected; but as he 
 wished to expostulate with Sir Charles when he had paid him, and felt 
 that such an expostulation as that which he contemplated required 
 some previous thought, he returned to the residence of Dr. Delolme, 
 with the view of rehearsing the most important points. 
 
 On his return, however, he found Mr. Scholefield there, engaged in 
 advising both Sylvester and his aunt to return at once to Cotherstone 
 to leave the whole management of the matter to him, and to feel assured 
 that all would yet be well which advice was no sooner communicated 
 to the reverend gentleman, than he intimated to Mr. Scholefield that he 
 wished to speak with him in private, and they accordingly withdrew to 
 another room. 
 
 " My dear sir," said he, " I know and appreciate your worth ; I know 
 that you are a dear friend of Sylvester : I have the highest opinion of 
 your judgment, and therefore deem it prudent to follow your advice : 
 but will you pardon me will you, for my own satisfaction, explain to 
 me your reasons for believing that all will yet be well?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Mr. Scholefield, " with pleasure. I have just 
 left Sir Charles, who is not at all satisfied now. The verdict of the jury 
 has failed to convince him of his wife's infidelity. I find that, on the 
 contrary, he is open to the conviction of her innocence ; and I know 
 him so well, that I feel that I shall eventually be able to satisfy him 
 that Sylvester is a somnambulist, and thereby to prove to him, beyond 
 all doubt, that Lady Julian herself is still virtuous still pure." 
 
 "Why," exclaimed the reverend gentleman, "that is exactly my idea ! 
 my view of the matter precisely! I will now impart to you a most pro- 
 found secret a secret which I did not intend to reveal, but which I 
 know will be faithfully kept by you. I have been this morning into the 
 City to sell out two thousand pounds stock. I have the money here," 
 he added, producing his pocket-book, " and what I intended to do with 
 it was this: I intended to take it at once to Sir Charles, and, having paid 
 him, to adduce such a body of evidence as could not, I apprehend, fail 
 to convince him that he had been perfectly uninjured. I intended to 
 say to him solemnly, ' Sir Charles ' " 
 
 " I see," interposed Mr. Scholefield: "I see; and, believe me, I highly 
 appreciate your motive : but I hope that there will be now no necessity 
 for this." 
 
 " But don't you think that if I were to call and offer him the money " 
 
 " Why, my dear sir, if even he felt inclined to demand it, he would 
 not receive it himself!" 
 
 " He would not?" 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no; he'd refer you at once to his attorney, whom the 
 two thousand pounds wouldn't satisfy, believe me!" 
 
 " What, would he want more?" 
 
 " He would present you with a document called a bill of costs, which 
 might in some slight degree astonish you." 
 
illK SOMNAMlitLi&r. 25 
 
 " Well, but do you not think that if I were to call upon Sir Charles 
 and offer him the money, and tell him that his attorney's bill, whatever 
 it might be, would be paid when presented, it would afford me an 
 excellent opportunity for explaining to him the whole of my views on 
 the subject, and laying before him that body of evidence which,! should 
 say, must of necessity convince him that Sylvester is innocent?" 
 
 ''It is possible that it might afford you this opportunity: I very much 
 doubt that it would ; but if it did, in my opinion, the pursuit of such 
 a course would be imprudent. The very fact of your offering him the 
 money would incense him, and the chances are that the interview would 
 be instantly at an end. He is not a common man: he is not a man to be 
 taken by storm. 'Let us,' said he to me, this morning, 'let us, if pos- 
 sible, get at the truth let us conduct this investigation calmly let us 
 proceed quietly and privately it is not, of course, proper that the ex- 
 istence of any doubt on my mind should be known.' I tell you this in 
 confidence, and I am sure that you will perceive that the adoption of 
 the course which you proposed, although laudable highly laudable 
 in itself, would l>e, under existing circumstances, imprudent." 
 
 " Well, then, Avhat would you advise me to do?" 
 
 " I should advise you in the first place to re-fund the money; in the 
 M-cond, to ivturu to Cotherstone with Sylvester and his aunt; and, in the 
 third, to write out a statement of facts, which, as collateral evidence, I 
 may place* Ix-lbru Sir Charles." 
 
 "Very good: very good. This shall be done. But mind! you must 
 promise that unknown to any living creature you will send to me, 
 and to me alone, in the event of this money being required." 
 
 " I pledge you my honour that I will do so." 
 
 "Very good. We can keep it to ourselves, you know; if it should 
 lie required, we can keep it to ourselves. If she were to know it, she 
 would insist upon repaying me; and I would not have her income limited 
 for the world. Mr. Scholefield," he added, pressing his hand warmly, 
 " God will bless you for the interest you have taken in this matter. 
 You are a good man: a /w/ man: you'll have your reward. Now I'll 
 go and urge them to start to-morrow morning. I'll in every particular 
 follow your advice: I'll return to the City and refund this money, and 
 send the statement up as soon as possible." 
 
 Mr. Scholefield then left him with many warm expressions of esteem, 
 and he at once retained to Sylvester and his aunt, with the view of 
 urging them to leave on the following morning. 
 
 " You have heard," said he, " what Mr. Scholefield has said, and Mr. 
 Scholefield is a most sincere friend. We haven't a friend more sincere 
 \\v haven't a friend more valuable than Mr. Scholefield: you will 
 know how valuable a friend he is anon. Now his advice is, that we 
 return to the Grange immediately. What say you? When shall we 
 start? I have to send up to him in the course of a few days a most 
 important communication, and in order that I may do so, it .will be 
 ny for me to start to-morrow. What do you think? Shall we 
 all go together in the morning?" 
 
 " 1 have no objection," said Sylvester. " Have you, aunt?" 
 
326 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " No, my love ; I have none whatever." 
 
 " Well, then," resume J the reverend gentleman, "suppose we make 
 up our minds to go?" 
 
 "I am quite willing," replied Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Then we'll go," said the reverend gentleman "we'll go. I have 
 much to tell you on the road ; and much more to tell you both when we 
 get home. I feel assured that all will be right. At present I must suy 
 no more. I have to go into the City on a little matter of business, but 
 I shall very soon be back. Good bye. God bless you both. Keep up 
 your spirits. We shall very soon get over this : very soon : I'm sure of 
 it. I'll be back let me see in an hour and a half." 
 
 Their departure in the morning having thus been decided upon, Syl- 
 vester and his aunt, whom the important communication of Mr. Schole- 
 iield had greatly relieved, went to make a few farewell calls, and returned 
 to the doctor's to dinner. Mr. Scholefield joined them, and so did Tom 
 who was in the highest possible spirits and everything passed oft* 
 cheerfully. Even Mrs. Delolme was seen to smile, for she now for the 
 first time thought it possible that Sylvester was innocent! which was 
 charitable very ! and hence couldn't fail to be appreciated. 
 
 Having spent an agreeable evening, Tom, as usual, claimed his " pri- 
 soder ;" and when he had promised to deliver him and his chains into 
 the hands of the reverend gentleman in the morning, he retired, and took 
 Sylvester home with him, and gave him a most recherche supper. 
 
 "Add dow, by boy," said he, having explained to Sylvester that he 
 was going with Scholefield to have an interview with Sir Charles, "how 
 do you bead to badage batters whed you get hobe?" 
 
 " Manage matters?" 
 
 " Aye. How do you bead to secure yourself at dight?" 
 
 " Oh ! I understand. Why, I scarcely know how I'm to manage 
 down there." 
 
 " You dodt thidk of slcepidg with the reveredd swell, I suppose?" 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 "Doe: I should say that's he's ad out add out sdorer!" 
 
 " I don't know about that, but I thought of being secured every night 
 to the bed-post." 
 
 " You had better have sobe mid id the roob. What do you thidk of 
 wild of the baids?" 
 
 " I'd better have them both!" returned Sylvester, smiling. "But I 
 don't see the necessity for having any one at all." 
 
 " If you have dot you are perfectly sure to get away. Sobdabbulists 
 are the bost idgedious fellows alive. If left by thebselves they cad dever 
 be safe. You, for exabple, bight ibagide that you were id prisod, add 
 if you at the sabe tibe felt boudd to break out of it, I dodt thidk 
 that you have ady roob id your cottage sufficiedtly strodg to prevedt 
 you." 
 
 "Well, then, I'd better have Judkins in the room." 
 
 "Who's Judkids?" 
 
 " The gardener." 
 
 " Have Judkids thed. But as doe cobbod scrubbidg ever got a gar- 
 
Tin: KOMNAMUULIST. 327 
 
 deder dead, I would suggest that you had better have hib boiled every 
 clight." 
 
 "Oh! I don't intend to let him sleep with me. We can make up a 
 bed by the side of mine." 
 
 "Add secure yourself to hib ?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " You haved't chaid edough ! That, however, cad sood be badaged, 
 We cad get ad additiodal ledgth id the bordidg." 
 
 This point having been settled, they reverted to the fact of Sir Charles 
 being " open to conviction;" and having discussed it till half-past twelve, 
 they made up their minds to retire. But Tom had a very poor night 
 of it. Between one and four his rest was constantly broken, for the 
 supper and the wine of which Sylvester had partaken, caused him to 
 have a variety of dreams, which prompted him unconsciously several 
 times to pull Tom nearly out of bed. He was, however, after four, 
 .suilered to sleep, which, as far as it went, was a blessing; but when he 
 rose about half-past six, he didn't look fresh at all. He was, notwith- 
 standing, in very fair spirits, and rallied his prisoner gaily, and then 
 went with him to get a longer chain, which they had no sooner bought, 
 than they entered a cab, and proceeded at once to the doctor's. 
 
 On their arrival, they found the doctor and Mrs. Delolme, Aunt 
 Eleanor, and the reverend gentleman at breakfast, and when Tom had 
 formally delivered up his prisoner, they joined them, and made a very 
 fair meal considering ! 
 
 At the suggestion of the reverend gentleman who always appeared 
 
 anxious to be at the office at least twenty minutes before the coach 
 
 .started the ladies soon after this retired, and when they returned 
 
 1 for Mrs. Delolme had most graciously insisted upon seeing 
 
 Aunt Eleanor safely to the coach the reverend gentleman and Tom 
 
 I the doctor's carriage with the ladies, while Sj'lvester mounted 
 
 the box. 
 
 On their arrival at Charing-cross, it was found that they were just 
 half an hour too soon, which the reverend gentleman pointedly sub- 
 mitted was better than being half an horn* too late. The propriety and 
 truth of this original observation were indisputable of course, and Tom 
 had him out of the .carriage in consequence, and walked with him and 
 Sylvester up and down the Strand until the horses were in, when he 
 and Aunt Eleanor entered the coach, and Sylvester, who did not like 
 riding inside, took his favourite seat on the box. 
 
 "Well, adieu!" said Tom, taking the hand of Aunt Eleanor, and 
 pressing it with somewhat unusual warmth. "Good bye! good bye! 
 I shall rud dowd to Cotherstode wud of these days, add whed I do cobe, 
 if you should be sidgle, the codsequedce bust be a batch." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled as she bade him adieu, and so did her reverend 
 friend, who, moreover, declared that he should be happy to see him, and 
 wished him to name the time ; but before he could answer, the coach- 
 man cried " All right! chit, chit!" and they were off. 
 
 Now it is in reality a singular thing Aunt Eleanor couldn't pretend 
 to account for it but the journey always did appear to her to be 
 
328 S4XVESTEK SOUND 
 
 short when her reverend friend travelled with her. It is, moreover, 
 strange remarkably strange that she never felt fatigued when he was 
 with her. She really did think that she could travel a thousand miles 
 with him, without feeling anything like so tired as she always had felt 
 alter travelling fifty miles without him. Now this is, of course, an ex- 
 traordinary fact a fact which is worthy of being placed upon record. 
 Whenever she had travelled by herself, or with strangers, or even in 
 company with any other friend, she had always felt tired after the first 
 twenty miles; but with him! there, she positively thought that she 
 could travel with him every day for a week, without feeling, in the 
 slightest degree, fatigued. As to the journey from London to Cother- 
 stone, why, it appeared to be nothing. They started from Charing- 
 cross, chatted all the way, arrived within a mile and a half of the 
 Grange, and there they were. It was so in this instance. They had a 
 most agreeable journey; and Sylvester rendered it still more agreeable 
 by coming down to speak to them whenever they changed horses. It 
 was, indeed, essentially a journey of pleasure. Aunt Eleanor never 
 enjoyed herself more: they appeared to have been but a very short 
 time on the road, when the reverend gentleman exclaimed, " Here we are!" 
 
 The coach stopped; and instantly Jones with the phaeton, and Jud- 
 kins with the pony, stood before them ; and, as they had decided upon 
 sending the luggage on, in less than ten minutes they were home. 
 
 Sylvester's first object now was to communicate to Judkins all that 
 had reference to his bedroom plans, and, therefore, having partaken 
 freely of the elegant little dinner prepared for them, he went out, and 
 found him in the tool-house. 
 
 " Judkins," said he; " do you know what a somnambulist is?" 
 
 "A somnambulist, sir? I think it's a species of convolvolus; but 
 there is such a mob of names now, that I don't exactly know." 
 
 " Then I'll tell you. A somnambulist, Judkins, is a sleep-walker a 
 person " 
 
 "Oh, ay, yes, just so, exactly! /thought you meant something in 
 tut/ way! I see! A somnambulist! Oh, yes, I've heered on 'em; / 
 know Avhat they are." 
 
 "Well, then," said Sylvester, "/am a somnambulist." 
 
 " Lor, you don't say so! You one!" 
 
 " Unhappily, I am." 
 
 " Lor, I shouldn't have thought it. As true as I'm alive, sir, I couldn't 
 have believed it. Well, but Lor bless me, you don't mean to say that 
 you get up o' nights and walk about, and all that?" 
 
 " Yes, Judkins, I have long been in the habit of doing all that." 
 
 " Why, then why, look here you can't be safe to be trusted. You 
 ought to have somebody always to sit up with you." 
 
 " I have rendered that unnecessary. I'll explain to you how. Since 
 I made the discovery I have slept with a gentleman, to whom I have been 
 secured that is to say, fastened by means of a small chain, reaching 
 from his wrist to mine, so that " 
 
 "Exactly!" interposed Judkius; "I see, sir! Capital; you couldn't 
 get away from him no how, then?" 
 
tfHE SOMNAMBULIST. 29 
 
 " No, that was impossible ; and as this entirely supersedes the neces- 
 sity for any one sitting up with me. I want you to sleep in my room 
 for the present, in order that I may be still secure." 
 
 " Just so : I see, sir : a capital plan." 
 
 " You have, I presume, no objection?" 
 
 "Objection, sir! No, not the leasest in life. I can have no objec- 
 tion/' 
 
 " Well, then, you can bring your bed and bedstead, and place it by 
 the side of mine, and " 
 
 11 I'll manage, that, sir." 
 
 " There's plenty of room, I believe?'' 
 
 " Oceans ! But how long, sir, have you been going on so?" 
 
 " I have reason to believe that I have been a somnambulist for years." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " You remember that, five years ago, a variety of pranks were 
 played here?" 
 
 ' k To be sure I do." 
 
 '' Those pranks, I have not the slightest doubt, were played by nie. 
 The horse was taken out of the stable, you know, frequently, and gal- 
 loped round the country during the night, and brought home again in a 
 Mate of exhaustion." 
 
 " Well, but you don't mean to say you did that?" 
 
 " 1 have no more doubt of it, than I have of my own existence." 
 
 "Well, sir; but send I may live could you go to the stable, and 
 mount the horse, and gallop like that, all the while you were asleep?" 
 
 " I have done very many more extraordinary things than that." 
 
 " I wonder you didn't pitch off and break your neck. I couldn't 
 have believed it, if you hadn't told me; and I can't understand it, I 
 can't brain it now." 
 
 "And then the ghost: why, 1 was the ghost!" 
 
 " You was! Oh, what a kick up there's been about that ghost." 
 
 What, since I left?" 
 
 " The other day, sir. You know Drant, sir Obadiah Drant the 
 man you was speaking to me about, you know, sir? Well, as he always 
 knows everything nobody else knows, he set it about that he knew who 
 the ghost was. He knew: he knew the man: and, on being pressed to 
 tell who it was, he said that he knew that Bob Potts was the ghost. Well, 
 this very soon got to Bob Potts's ears, and as soon as it did, Bob Potts 
 hunted him up, and said to him quietly, ' A gentleman wants just to 
 see you on the common.' ' Who is it,' said Drant. ' Oh, you'll see,' 
 said Bob ; * he wants to give you something : you'd better bring Mr. 
 Pokey with you.' Well, innocent enough, he went, and took Pokey 
 with him ; and when he got there, in course he asked where the gentle- 
 man was. * / am the gentleman,' said Bob, ' as wants to see you: I am 
 the gentleman as wants to give you something. I'm the ghost, aint I? 
 You know I'm the ghost? Now, you must give me a sound out-and- 
 out threshing, or I shall give you one : so pull off your coat.' * Just 
 look you here,' said Drant, ' if you lay a ringer upon me, I'll take the 
 law on you.' * Never mind the law,' said Bob ; ' one on us must have 
 
330 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 u threshing: so strip.' * I shu'n't bemoan myself',' said Drant. 'Then 
 take that/ said Bob, ' to begin with.' And he hit him u wonder just 
 over the eyes. Well, this made Drant naturally wild, and as he then saw 
 that he must fight, he pulled off his coat, and went at it. But, Lor! he 
 couldn't stand against Bob a minute and a half. In less time than that, 
 Bob kept his promise, and gave him such a threshing as he never had 
 before. Drant then went off to a lawyer, and the lawyer recommended 
 him as a friend not by no means to take out a warrant ; no, but to 
 bring what he calls a action : so Bob has been served with a little slip 
 of paper, and it's going to be settled at the 'sizes. But nobody pities 
 Obadiah: he's always a gabbling: he's always making mischief: he's 
 always setting people together by the ears. But it is about the rummest 
 start in life, though, that you should be the ghost after all! But didn't 
 you never remember nothing about it in the morning?" 
 
 " Nothing : all was to me a perfect blank." 
 
 " Well that is stunning, sir. / call it stunning. However, you'll be 
 safe enough here. Pll not let you go out, sir, I'll warrant. Another thing 
 is, sir, you may depend upon me : for in course you wish me to keep it 
 a secret?" 
 
 " I wish you to answer no impertinent questions; but as for secrecy, 
 that is now impossible, seeing that the fact has been published in all the 
 papers." 
 
 " Indeed, sir! Has it though, really?" 
 
 " I have lately been concerned in a trial, and as the report of it will 
 be, of course, interesting to you, I'll lend you the paper to read." 
 
 " I'm obleedged to you, sir. I should like to read it above all things 
 in the world." 
 
 " You need not go and talk about it all over the village, although the 
 affair is quite sure to be known. There is, however, one thing which 
 need not be known, and that is the plan which we are about to adopt 
 here. Cook and Mary will know, of course, that you sleep in my room, 
 but even they need know nothing beyond that fact." 
 
 " They shall not know from me, sir: depend upon that. I'll not open 
 my lips to a single soul." 
 
 " Very well. Then you had better go now and remove your bed. 
 Do you want any assistance?" 
 
 "Not the leasest in life, sir. / shall be able to manage it alone. 
 But Lor! the ideor! Who could have thought it! But the paper, sir, 
 please: I. hope you'll not forget the paper?'' 
 
 " You shall have it the moment you have finished your job." 
 
 "Thank you, sir; I'll bring it here to read. Not a soul shall set 
 eyes on it, I'll take care of that, But of all the stunning things as I 
 ever heered tell on, that of a man riding full gallop over the country lit 
 to break his blessed neck, fast sleep, hangs Mosos! It's a mercy 
 you wasn't killed dead upon the spot. However, there'll be no 
 more of that while you're here; so I'll go at onco, and get the bed 
 ready." 
 
 He did so ; and being most anxious to look at the paper, he resolved 
 on being the very shortest possible time about it. He hadn't worked 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 331 
 
 ,< hard for a considerable period: nor bad lie for many months per- 
 spired so freely as he did while taking down his bedstead. 
 
 "Judkius!" exclaimed cook, who heard him at work: "what on 
 jjirth are you after? Are you going to knock the house down?" 
 
 " Good luck to you," returned Judkins, " bring us a drop of beer." 
 
 " But what are you about?" 
 
 " Bring the beer up, old girl, and I'll tell you." 
 
 Prompted by a natural feeling of curiosity, cook drew him some beer, 
 ind went up with it at once. 
 
 " Why, what, in the name of goodness," she cried, " are you doing?" 
 
 " Taking down my bedstead, that's all." 
 
 " I'm sure there was no call for that: there's no bugs!" 
 
 " Bugs! No, there's no bugs, I believe." 
 
 " Then, what on earth do you want to take it down for?" 
 
 "Because Mr. Sylvester wished me to do so." 
 
 " What for ?" 
 
 " Because he wants me to sleep in his room." 
 
 "In his room! Well, that is a fancy." 
 
 " Yes," replied Judkius, " it certainly is a fancy." 
 
 " A fancy! I never heard of such a thing in the whole course of my 
 fe. In his room ! Why, what in the name of goodness does he want 
 rou to sleep in his room for?" 
 
 " You'll know by-and-bye.'' 
 
 "Is he afraid to sleep in a room by himself?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then he's been up to no good. Depend upon it, he's been up to no 
 
 e quite so i 
 
 " Fast! Why if it isn't that, what does he want you to sleep in his 
 oom for?" 
 
 " Don't heat yourself, and I'll tell you. He is what they call a soni- 
 lambulist." 
 
 "I thought so!" exclaimed cook. "As true as I stand here, I 
 hough t so." 
 
 "You did! Do you know what a somnambulist is?" 
 
 "Do I know what it is! Why, you don't suppose I'm so ignorant as 
 ill that comes to, do you?" 
 
 "Well, come now, what is a somnambulist?'' 
 
 " Why, a man that marries other men's wives, to be sure." 
 
 " Pooh! you mean a bigamist: that's what you mean." 
 
 " Well, it's all the same, isn't it?" 
 
 "No, quite different. A somnambulist is a man who walks in his 
 leep." 
 
 " Why, to be sure it is. How stupid! I know now. But what 
 \-hy you don't mean to say that Mr. Sylvester does it." 
 
 " He has done it for years, and does it now ; and that's the reason 
 vliy I'm to sleep in his room." 
 
 " But my goodness me though! why " 
 
 " I haven't time to say nothing more about it now. Just lend us 
 
S32 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 a hand here. I want this job done; I have to go to him directly 
 it is." 
 
 Cook did lend a. hand, albeit she was at the time filled with wondrr. 
 she rendered him every possible assistance, and indulged in the most 
 startling exclamations of surprise; while Judkins, who took no apparent 
 notice of these exclamations, was silently working away like a slave, in 
 order to get at the paper. 
 
 In less than an hour the job was complete: and when Judkins had 
 made himself tidy, he went out and flitted before the parlour window, 
 that Sylvester might know that it was done. And this certainly was 
 an admirable scheme as far as it went, but he had to flit about there for 
 some time, in consequence of Sylvester having his back towards tlu: 
 window. This, however, Judkins no sooner perceived, than he got n 
 hammer and a couple of nails, and by virtue of pretending to nail up 
 a branch, effected the object proposed. 
 
 " Well, Judkins," said Sylvester, on going to the door, " have 3-011 
 finished your job?" 
 
 "Yes, sir."' 
 
 " You found plenty of room, I suppose?" 
 
 " Oh, lots, sir. And the room looks better with two beds than one. 
 It looks fuller." 
 
 " No doubt. I'll go up and have a look at it presently." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," observed Judkins ; " but I think, sir, you said 
 you'd be kind enough to lend me a paper." 
 
 "Oh yes: I'll get it for you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir: thank you." 
 
 " Now," said Sylvester, on bringing the paper out, " although you will 
 find that the verdict is against me, you must not suppose that I am 
 guilty of the offence." 
 
 " Not for the world, sir: I shouldn't even think of such a thing." 
 
 "Well, this is the case," said Sylvester, pointing it out to him. 
 
 " Thank you, sir: thank you. I shall be in the tool-house if I should 
 be wanted." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Judkins then left him with his eyes eagerly fixed upon the paper; but 
 he hadn't got half a dozen yards when he stopped, and turning round, 
 said "Beg pardon, sir; I'm not much of a scholar; will you be so 
 kind as to tell me what crim. con. means?" 
 
 " Criminal conversation." 
 
 " And this here other word here, sir, versus ?" 
 
 " Against," 
 
 "Thank you, sir; I like to understand all I read, sir; and now I 
 shall be able to get along." 
 
 He then went to the tool-house and shut himself in, and then gave u 
 look at the length of the report. It was a long one: certainly, for him, 
 a very long one: for Judkins was anything but a quick reader. He, 
 notwithstanding this fact, settled himself down, and very soon became 
 so deeply interested in the case, that he never gave the length anothei 
 thought. 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 333 
 
 Having got through the speech of Mr. Phillpots, it became so dark 
 ;l:at he could see to read no more. He therefore rushed round to the 
 citchen for a lantern with all the velocity at his command. 
 " Where on earth have you been?" exclaimed cook, as he entered. 
 " Busy, busy," said Judkins, as he lighted his candle. 
 " Are you going out again?" 
 " Yes, yes ; don't bother me now." 
 " Well, but I want to speak to you." 
 
 " Can't stop ; can't stop a second," he replied, and rushed from the 
 itchen as hastily as he had entered. 
 
 On his return to the tool-house, he adjusted his lantern, and then, 
 vith an expression of the most earnest anxiety, resumed. 
 
 He liked Thompson's evidence. He thought it very good very good 
 very good indeed : but when he came to the speech of Mr. Slashinger, 
 threw him into an absolute state of ecstacy. 
 
 " By Job!" he exclaimed, striking his hand upon the nail-box, "that's 
 tunning stunning! Now then, let 'em get over that if they can." 
 
 He then proceeded ; and as he read Tom's evidence having reference 
 ) the parapet his countenance assumed an expression of horror, and 
 is breathing became thick and difficult. At length he exclaimed, with 
 start, "He's saved!" and wiped the perspiration off his brow with his 
 leeve, and then stared at the candle, and sat and thought of the dreadful 
 osition described. 
 
 " He's a fine fellow, though," he eventually added ; " a very fine 
 
 dlow, that Mr. Delolme. He's a good 'un, every inch of him. Well! 
 
 r ow let's see what comes next. Very good," he continued, at intervals. 
 
 He couldn't get away no how so. A thousand a year what an enor- 
 
 dty of money ! But he deserves every penny of it, he does ; I wish he 
 
 ad ten times as much. Very good. Now, who's next? The reverend 
 
 Idward Rouse. What, our parson! Was he in it? Oh, don't I wish 
 
 'd been there? His garden wall that was five year ago when 
 
 he lost the peaches. Jones then was right after all. The ghost : yes, 
 
 that's quite right. No more it never is seen except when he's here. 
 
 What do you mean by that, stupid? Ain't it as clear as the nose on 
 
 your face?" 
 
 This last observation referred to the cross-examination of the reve- 
 rend gentleman by Mr. Phillpots, for whom Judkins had a most thorough 
 contempt, and whom he held to be the most incredulous fool alive. 
 
 " You won't believe it now, I suppose !" he continued. " Did mortal 
 flesh ever set eyes on such a donkey? I thought not. I knew you 
 wouldn't believe it. I should like to have the kicking of you, you old 
 ass" 
 
 Judkins then read the reply of Mr. Phillpots; and as he did so, his 
 contempt for the man turned to indignation. He struck and kicked ut 
 appropriate intervals, with just as much energy as he felt that he couM 
 have done if Phillpots had been there before him; and thus ho proceeded 
 with a groaning accompaniment until he had reached the last line of 
 the report, when he loudly exclaimed, " Two thousand pounds!" and let 
 the paper fall. 
 
334 8YLVESTEU SOUND 
 
 The verdict seemed to have deprived him, for a time, of all his moral 
 and physical faculties. There he sat perfectly bewildered, and there he 
 continued to sit till the candle had burned to the socket. This roused 
 him from his reverie: he rose from his seat and folded the paper, and 
 returned to the kitchen ; but with his intellects still confused. 
 
 "Why, what in the world have you been after?" cried cook, as he en- 
 tered the kitchen with thought on his brow. 
 
 " Dont talk," replied Judkins. " Don't talk. My head's full." 
 
 "But here's a time you've been. I thought you never ivas coming.; 
 What have you been about?" 
 
 " My head's full, I tell you. Don't bother I'm stunned." 
 
 " Well, but what on earth is the matter. I suppose there's no occa- 
 sion to keep it all to yourself." 
 
 " If I could, I'd give a pound out of my own blessed pocket." 
 
 " Well, come take some beer," said cook, passing the mug, in the fond 
 expectation of melting him thus. " You don't look at all the thing. 
 What will you have for supper?" 
 
 " Two thousand pounds," muttered Judkins, indignantly. 
 
 " What say?" 
 
 "Nothing: I was talking to myself." 
 
 " But I want you to talk to me! Wouldn't you like now something 
 nice for supper?" 
 
 "No; nothing nothing: I don't want nothing." 
 
 " Oh, but you shall have something," said cook, who went to the ' 
 pantry, and soon returned with the remains of a couple of chickens and i 
 some ham. "Judkins," she added, having duly placed these delicacies 
 before him, "I know you have something on your mind; what is it? 
 You don't ought now to keep anything from me; for, although we're 
 not married, we very soon shall be, and your cares now is my cares, 
 Judkius, just as much as they will be then." 
 
 " Old girl," replied Judkins, whom this appeal softened, and who had 
 engaged to marry cook as soon as a very old man, who kept a public- 
 house in a neighbouring village, died, " don't make yourself by no means 
 oneasy about me. My cares is not on my own account ; but on account 
 of one who's been very ill used." 
 
 "What, Mr. Sylvester?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Has he been ill used?" 
 
 "Dreadful." 
 
 " The wretches. Who are they?" 
 
 " I know who they are, and so does he." 
 
 " Highway robbers, I suppose." 
 
 " A million times worse than highway robbers." 
 
 " Well, but did they hurt him much?" 
 
 " Not in person, but in pocket. They robbed him of two thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 " Two thousand ! You astonish me. Two thousand pounds! I low 
 r;nue he to be so foolish ns to c.'irry ,o much money as that about with 
 him?" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 335 
 
 " Carry it about with him!" 
 
 " I always have said, and I always will say, that it's foolish of any 
 nan to do it. I do hope to goodness that you'll never do so." 
 
 " You don't understand. He wasn't robbed on the road, but in a 
 :ourt of law." 
 
 "Oh, in a court of law. That's a different thing altogether. But 
 how was it? Tell me; do tell me." 
 
 " I can't do so to-night, old girl ; but if you'll now let me have my 
 thoughts to myself, I'll promise to tell you all about in the morning." 
 
 " Well, I'm not all curious but I should dearly like to know. I only 
 hope that while walking in his sleep, the poor young gentleman won't 
 do none of us no mischief." 
 
 Mischief! Leave that to me. I'll take care of that. What am I 
 to sleep in his room for?" 
 
 "Well, I only hope he won't. But come, come eat some supper. 
 I saved it for you." 
 
 Judkins turned round, and although deep in thought, tried, and did 
 oat a little, and just as he had finished, Mary came into the kitchen, and 
 said 
 
 " Missus is in bed and the parson's gone, and Mr. Sylvester wants 
 you, Judkins, in the parlour." 
 
 Judkins rose on the instant, and attended the summons; and, on 
 entering the parlour, was greeted with a smile. 
 
 " Well, Judkins," said Sylvester; "ready for bed?" 
 
 " When you please, sir: I'm quite at your service." 
 
 " Well, then, mix yourself some brandy -and -water, and then we'll be 
 off." 
 
 "Thank you, sir; perhaps you'll be so kind as to mix a little for 
 me." 
 
 " Very well. Take a seat, Judkins." 
 
 Judkins bowed, and closed the dfcor, and then seated himself upon 
 
 c r<lge of the elmir near it. 
 
 " Draw up to tin- table, man; don't sit out there!" 
 
 Judkins did so; but didn't feel himself at all at home. 
 
 "Now, then," said Sylvester; "just try that." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Your health, sir." 
 
 "Is it as you like it?" 
 
 "Quite, sir: capital: particular good, sir: very." 
 
 "Health to you, Judkins. I hope we shall both have a good night's 
 rest." 
 
 " I hope so, too," returned Judkins, who then began to feel a little 
 better. " Here's the paper, sir," he added ; drawing it carefully from 
 his breast. " I'm much obleeged to you, sir, very." 
 
 " Have you read it?" 
 
 "Right through, sir. It's stunning! I know it has stunned me 
 wholly! Why, that man, sir that Mr. What's his name Phillpots 
 must be a regelar nateral born fool! He ouerht to have s^en how it 
 with half an eye!" 
 He doubtless did see how it was," 
 
336 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Then he ought to be ashamed of himself for sticking out so." 
 
 " These men are paid, you know, to take a certain side ; and they 
 feel themselves bound be it right or wrong, just or unjust to do the 
 best they can for those who employ them." 
 
 " Well, it mayn't become me, sir, to speak in this way before you, but 
 I'd rather get my twenty pound a-year in an honest way, than I'd get 
 twenty thousand in a way like that there." 
 
 " So would I; so would I; and should feel myself a happier, because 
 a more honourable man. It matters not to thorn whom they injure: it- 
 matters not to them what misery they may cause. If I were a wealthy 
 villain, and required their assistance in oppressing the fatherless and tho 
 widow, or involving any honest man in ruin, hundreds ui 1 them would 
 jump at the job." 
 
 "Then they ain't fit to live on a civilised scale, sir; and that's my 
 sentiments. Poor as I am, sir, I'll never sell myself in that there way. 
 I knowed before that some on 'em wasn't over nice. There was that 
 Jerry Smith which was .sent out of the country last 'sizes: they em- 
 ployed one of these here counsel for him, and he knew that he was 
 guilty Jerry told him so himself before the trial and yet how he 
 tried to knock it into the heads of the jury that he was innocent! how 
 he tried to get him off, to be sure!" 
 
 " Aye! To prey upon society again." 
 
 "But lor, sir! What an escape yoii had on the top of the house 
 there: I shuddered when I read it." 
 
 " Yes, it was a dangerous position for a man to be in." 
 
 "Dangerous, sir! It made my very blood run cold. But it shan't 
 occur again, sir leastways, not while you're here. I'll take care of 
 that, sir, I'll warrant!" 
 
 " Well, then, finish your glass, and I'll show you how it is to be 
 prevented." 
 
 Judkins did as he was desired^and wasn't long about it; and then 
 followed Sylvester up to his chamber and closed the door, and waited 
 for further instructions, while Sylvester opened and searched a trunk. 
 
 "Now then," said Sylvester, having produced the chain with tho 
 handcuffs attached, " we'll turn in." And, as Judkins began to strip 
 immediately, it was not long before he was safely in bed. Sylvester's 
 movements were not quite so rapid; but he didn't linger long: he got, 
 into bed very soon after Judkins, and then at once drew his attention 
 to the chain. 
 
 " Now," said he, " this chain, you perceive, is quite long enough to 
 reach from me to you ; and that round affair at the end is for your 
 wrist, while this is for mine." 
 
 " Very good, sir," said Judkins; " but I can't get it on." 
 
 " No; it must be opened first. And that is what I wish to explain. 
 These things will close by mere pressure ; but they cannot be opened 
 without a key. Yours is somewhat larger than mine ; but the same 
 key will open them both thus. Now try it. There ; it fits you, does 
 it not?" 
 
 " Exact, sir." 
 

THE SOMNAMBULIST. 337 
 
 " It is not too tight for you?" 
 
 'Oh! ' Not a bit." 
 
 " Very well. Now take this key and hide it somewhere. Don't let 
 me know where it is." 
 
 " I'll take care of that, sir." 
 
 " And if I should attempt to get out of bed, all you will have to do is 
 to wake me gently. And now, good night." 
 
 " 1 wish you good night, sir." 
 
 "Good night," repeated Sylvester; who put out the light, laid his 
 head upon the pillow, and was very soon asleep. 
 
 Not so, however, Judkins. lie began to reflect deeply. He had 
 previously thought but little of the fact of sleeping in the same chamber ; 
 but then, in silence and in gloom, his apprehensions became prolific. 
 Cook's expression of the hope that he might do them no mischief re- 
 curred to him, and he hoped so too; but, at the same time conceived it 
 to )>e possible, quite possible, that he might. "Who knows?" thought 
 he. " lie may get up and cut my throat! And if he should, where's 
 the remedy? I wonder whether he's opstropolus. I dare say he 
 is. He can't, in course, know what he's about. If he does, I don't 
 think he'd hurt a hair of my head; but if he don't, why there's no 
 knowing what he may do. And yet Mr. Delolme slept with him that 
 appeared on the trial and he never hurt him. But then he might have 
 done! And yet, is it likely a gentleman like him would do me any 
 mischief; and, as to cutting my throat, how is he to get the razor? 
 He can't do it without pulliiur me out of bed, and I'm just about as 
 strong as him, I fancy! But, then, how do I know he hasn't a knife in 
 his pocket? He can reach that without waking me! and may do so! 
 win) knows? And yet I don't think he'd attempt to hurt me! But, 
 tl uMi, if he doesn't know what he's about, he doesn't! That's the 
 point! At all events, I'll keep awake this blessed night if I live, to see 
 what sort of panics he is likely to be up to." 
 
 And he did keep awake. He kept awake an hour; and then most 
 unconsciously dropped oft* to sleep. He had, however, been asleep 
 scarcely ten minutes, when Sylvester awoke him; and, having done so, 
 said calmly, 
 
 " Judkins! Give me the key." 
 
 " The key, sir? Yes, sir," said Judkins, who had not even the most 
 remote idea of his being asleep at the time. " Here it is, sir." 
 
 " That will do," observed Sylvester ; who, on the iustant freed him- 
 self, and then very quietly proceeded to dress. He was not, however, 
 long about this: he very soon slipped on his things; and when he had 
 done so, he left the room, and conceiving that he was then going out 
 for a morning walk took his hat, and deliberately quitted the house. 
 
 Judkins heard him open the front door, and it certainly did strike him 
 at the moment as being possible that Sylvester was in a state of som- 
 nambulism then. And yet he asked for the key in a calm, collected 
 manner, and dressed himself, and went out as if he had been awake. 
 In Judkins's judgment, he must have been. He tried to repudiate the 
 notion of his being asleep. But then what could he want to open the 
 
 2 A 
 
338 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 front door for? That was the question; and this question no sooner 
 suggested itself to Judkins than he slipped out of bed, and commenced 
 dressing. The chain, however, somewhat retarded his progress, for the 
 key of the handcuff was not to be found; but he soon got over that: In- 
 slipped on his small clothes, his jacket, and shoes, and went down, of 
 course with the chain. 
 
 The front door was open. That was what he expected, but which 
 way had Sylvester gone? He thought he'd just look round the premises 
 first, and he did so, but Sylvester could not be found. He then became 
 in reality alarmed, and, having just latched the door, that he might let 
 himself in again, went at once into the road. But which way should 
 he go? It was clearly of no use his running to the right, if Sylvester 
 had gone to the left. He heard footsteps in the distance, and on the 
 instant started off in that direction, but found that they were those of a 
 labouring man. 
 
 "Have you met a gentleman?" cried Judkins, in haste. 
 
 "Whoy ees," replied the man, with provoking deliberation; "ah 
 seed un aboot hafe a moile off." 
 
 " Which way was he going?" 
 
 " Whoy, ah didn't ax, boot a seemed to be goiu to Holler Bell." 
 
 Away started Judkins on the Holworth road, as the man shouted out 
 " He's goin moortal faist ;" but, albeit he ran with all possible speed, 
 Sylvester could not be seen. Still Judkins kept on, panting painfully, 
 and, although he had, occasionally, a " stitch " in his side, he would 
 not give up until he reached the Bell at Holworth, a mile and a half 
 from the Grange. Here he stopped; and, as the house was still open, 
 he went in at once, and inquired of the landlord if a gentleman had been 
 there. 
 
 " I don't know," replied the landlord; "you'll find two or three in 
 the parlour : you'd better look in." 
 
 Judkins looked in, but Sylvester was not there : still, feeling com- 
 pletely exhausted, he called for a small glass of brandy and water, and 
 sank upon a chair. 
 
 Every eye was upon him, of course, and more especially the eye of 
 one man, who, as soon as the brandy and water had been brought, ro&e 
 and said, " Ah, old fellow, how are you?" 
 
 " Pretty well," replied Judkins ; " only I've been running. But, really, 
 you have the advantage of me" 
 
 "Not at all," cried the stranger; "come, give us your hand; you'll 
 shake hands with me, wont you?" 
 
 " Oh, I've no objection," said Judkins, who gave him his hand the 
 only hand he had disengaged, the other having been thrust into his 
 pocket with the chain. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the stranger; " the left hand ! Is that the \\-.\y 
 you treat an old friend?" 
 
 " You're no old friend of mine," said Judkins, who began to feel very 
 much embarrassed. 
 
 " Oh, yes I am," returned the stranger; "come, give us your rii-hi 
 hand, man." 
 
. 
 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 339 
 
 " I shan't do nothing of the sort. I don't know you." 
 
 " You don't ! I'll tell you who I am, if you'll give ine your hand." 
 
 " I don't want to know who you are." 
 
 *' Come, give us your hand, man." 
 
 " What do you mean? Can't I come into the house without being 
 interrupted?" 
 
 " Not into this house while I am here. I'm the constable of Holler, 
 and always on the look out for fellows like you." 
 
 "I don't care if you're the constable of fifty Hollers, I've nothing to be 
 either ashamed or afeared on." 
 
 "I dare say not; but it's no use you know ! I saw it: I know I saw 
 ii ! Will you let me see vour rirht hand?'' 
 
 " No." 
 
 "But I will, see it!" 
 
 " Will you?" said Judkins, whose blood began to boil. 
 
 "Will I? Yes! now then?" lie added, seizing the ri-ht arm of 
 Judkins, who on the instant knocked him down, and would have es- 
 caped, but that the landlord, who was coming into the room at the 
 time, stopped him. 
 
 What's the meaning of all this?" inquired the landlord. 
 
 "He's my prisoner!" cried the constable, rising; "I'll run all risks; 
 he's my prisoner!" 
 
 "What for?" demanded the landlord. 
 
 " Why look at his right hand! Just look at itl" 
 
 " What do you mean? You are always kicking up some row what 
 do you mean?" 
 
 " Only look at that man's right hand: that's all?" 
 
 " Let me look at it?" said the landlord, addressing Judkins calmly. 
 "You shall not be ill treated here." 
 
 Judkins drew his hand from his pocket, and with it a portion of the 
 chain, of course. 
 
 " There it is!" cried the constable in triumph. " There you are! I 
 knew I saw it! and here's the other ruffle. Why, you're an escaped 
 convict! that's what you arc." 
 
 " I'm nothing of the sort /" exclaimed Judkins, indignantly. 
 
 " It's no use, you know. Not a bit of it. Don't put yourself in a 
 passion. Come along." 
 
 "But where where!" exclaimed Judkins, in a dreadful state of ex- 
 ritemcur. 
 
 "Oh, I'll find a lodging for you. Now then. Here, Johnson! here, 
 Smith! come and assist me, will you?'' 
 
 Both Johnson and Smith fit once went to his assistance, and, in spite 
 of the expostulations of Judkins in spite of his strong declarations of 
 innocence in spite of his struggles, entreaties, and threats, they hurried 
 him off to the <\ 
 
 2*2 
 
340 SYLVESTER SOUND. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIT. 
 
 THE MYSTERY SOLVKD. 
 
 WHEN the ghost of Banquo appeared at the banquet, it terribly 
 startled Macbeth, but neither Macbeth nor any other individual \vas 
 ever more startled than Mary was, when on entering the parlour alone 
 the next morning, she saw a man lying asleep on the couch. 
 
 Of course she didn't stop in the room long. On the contrary, she 
 very soon rushed out of it; and, although she neither screamed, nor 
 fell, nor fainted, on reaching the kitchen, she felt " fit to drop." 
 
 "Oh! cook," she sighed, as she sank on a chair: "there's a man! 
 there's a man!" 
 
 " There's a man ! Where's a man?" demanded cook. 
 
 " In the parlour." 
 
 " A man in the parlour. Why, what's he after there?" 
 
 " He's asleep fast asleep. I know he's asleep ; but the moment I saw 
 him my heart was in my mouth." 
 
 " But what sort of a man does he look like?" 
 
 " I don't know. I couldn't stop to look; I only know he's a man. 1 ' 
 
 " And asleep you say? You're quite sure he's asleep?" 
 
 "Oh! quite." 
 
 " Then I'll go and have a look at him. Come, come along." 
 
 "Oh! Idurs'n't." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks. You're not afraid of a man when he's fast asleep, are 
 you? Come along, do! and don't be silly." 
 
 Mary reluctantly rose from her chair and followed cook, softly and 
 slowly; and when cook had reached the parlour door, she peeped, and 
 beheld the man! 
 
 " Why, it's only Mr. Sylvester, girl !" she exclaimed. " How stupid 
 you are to be sure!" 
 
 " Mr. Sylvester!" said Mary, whose courage returned, and she looked 
 in, and then found that he was the man. 
 
 " I wonder where Judkins is !" said cook, who had an idea that some- 
 thing was wrong. "He certainly ought to have been down by this 
 time. Shall we go up and knock at the door?" 
 
 " If you like," replied Mary, who didn't at all understand cook's feel- 
 ings, and therefore couldn't appreciate them: still she went up with her, 
 and found the door open, and further, that Judkins was not in the 
 room. 
 
 "Why, where on earth is he!" cried cook, who began to feel very 
 much alarmed. " He's not in the garden?" she added, looking out. 
 " No. Why, where in the world can he be?" 
 
 " In the tool-house, perhaps," suggested Mary, and cook at once ran 
 down and went to the tool-house: but no! he was not there. She 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 341 
 
 called to him : no! Why, what could be the meaning of all this! Had 
 Sylvester murdered and buried him? She really thought this extremely 
 possible, and shuddered, and ran back to Mary, and told her to go to 
 her mistress immediately, and let her know that Sylvester was in the 
 parlour, while Judkins could no where be found. 
 
 Mary accordingly went, and told her mistress, who feeling quite 
 certain that all was not right, slipped on her morning gown hastily, and 
 with great trepidation descended. 
 
 Sylvester was still on the couch, and she approached him, and sat by 
 his side, and found that he was in a deep sleep. 
 
 "Sylvester, my love!'' she cried. "Sylvester! Sylvester! My 
 dearr 
 
 Sylvester opened his eyes, and started. " Why," he exclaimed, look- 
 ing round, " how is this? In the parlour!" 
 
 " How long," said Aunt Eleanor, affectionately: " how long have you 
 been sleeping here?" 
 
 " Oh ! aunt, I'm sorry very sorry for this. It's galling in the ex- 
 treme." lie added, angrily, "Judkins ought to have known better. 
 It's monstrous, that a man like that is not to be trusted." 
 
 " Do not vex yourself, my love," said Aunt Eleanor, " pray do not 
 vex yourself. Let us thank God that you are sale. Where is Judkins?" 
 
 "I know not, aunt: nor do I know how I came here. I know only 
 this, that we went up to bed about ten; that 1 was well secured to him, 
 and that here 1 am now." 
 
 " But is it not strange? He is no where to be found." 
 
 " It '11 be no great loss if he never be found. I might have gone and 
 broken my neck; what did he care? I thought him a different man." 
 
 " Nay, my dear, do not thus censure him yet. First ascertain the. 
 rnii,--i' nf his Irttinir you five. I have always found him faithful and 
 obedient." 
 
 " Why, I thought that I might have trusted my life in his hands; and 
 yet, although I enjoined him not to suffer me to leave the room, here I 
 am, while he is gone no one knows where, and no one cares." 
 
 "I hope, sir," observed cook, with tears in her eyes, " that you haven't 
 been doing nothing with him: I hope, sir, you haven't been doing him 
 no mischief !" 
 
 " Mischief!" cried Sylvester. " What do you mean?" 
 
 " No, cook: certainly not," said Aunt Eleanor. " He will, I have no 
 doubt, return by-and-bye, and when he does return, I shall expect him 
 to give a good account of his conduct. Now go and get the breakfast 
 ready. Mary, come with me. Do not be angry, my dear," she added, 
 addressing Sylvester, and kissing him with the deepest affection. " Let 
 us thank heaven that nothing dreadful has occurred." 
 
 She then went up to dress, and so did Sylvester, who found the key 
 on the bed, but, of course, not the chain: and while he was indignantly 
 shaving himself, cook was utterly lost in conjecture. What a number 
 of dreadful deaths she conceived that Judkins mi^Afhave died while she 
 was getting the breakfast ready ! What stabbing, drowning, poisoning, 
 strangulation, and burying alive, rose before her vivid imagination 
 
342 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 then! She was wild! quite wild! She put the eggs upon the gridiron 
 instead of the ham, and the ham in the saucepan instead of the eggs, 
 and felt strongly that the landlady of the " Cock and Constitution" 
 the house which Judkins had been after she never should be. This 
 thought alone was maddening; but when in addition to this she reflected 
 upon the assumed dreadful fact, of a man like Judkins being thus cut 
 off in his very prime, without having left anything like a will: it WMS 
 too much : she couldn't endure it ; and as she found she couldn't, she 
 let the ham and eggs go on just as they pleased, sank into a chair, and 
 wept. 
 
 And thus she remained until Mary came down, when she most un- 
 reservedly opened her heart. And Mary sympathised with her, and 
 boiled her eggs for her, and cooked two slices of ham, and begged of 
 her earnestly not to " take on" so, and then took the breakfast in. 
 
 " Has Judkins returned yet?" inquired Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 "No, ma'am: he's not come back yet." 
 
 "Dear me, it's very strange; I cannot at all account for it. Have 
 you no idea where he is?" 
 
 " Not the leasest in life, ma'am, I'm sure." 
 
 "Well! we must of course have patience; but at present his con- 
 duct appears to be extraordinary. That will do, Mary; I'll ring when 
 I want you." 
 
 Mary withdrew, and returned to cook, whose affliction was most 
 intense : she sighed and sobbed vehemently, and would not be consoled. 
 Her Judkins oh! her Judkins lived, she feared, in her memory only. 
 His absence his deeply mysterious absence tugged at her heart- 
 strings, and withered her hopes. Oh! that she knew where he was to 
 be found! she would have him dead or alive she would have him! 
 In vain did Mary appeal to her philosophy: in vain she preached pa- 
 tience, and talked about hope: cook suspected strongly that Judkins 
 had been murdered, and felt at length that she knew it. 
 
 "Oh! w r hat is this life?" she in agony exclaimed "what is this life 
 but a tub full of eels ! The moment you think you have got the one 
 you want, it slips through your fingers, and there you are!" 
 
 She got the cards, and Mary shuffled them, and gave them to cook 
 to cut. The first she cut was the nine of spades: "Trouble, trouble, 
 trouble !" she cried, and proceeded to cut again. The next she cut 
 was the ace of spades. "Death!" she exclaimed, and sank back in her 
 chair. 
 
 The bell rang. Mary was summoned to the gate. The reverend 
 gentleman was there. He seemed excited dreadfully excited and 
 Mary had no sooner let him in, than she ran to tell cook that he 
 was so. 
 
 Sylvester met him at the door, and the moment the reverend gentle- 
 man saw him, he grasped his hand, and with fervour, exclaimed 
 
 " I am happy to see you most happy. I feared," he added, as he 
 entered the room, " that some new calamity had befallen us, for Jud- 
 kins " 
 
 " Have you seen him?" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 348 
 
 k< He is now at my house, in the custody of a constable, with irons, 
 not only on his hands but on his legs." 
 
 "Is it possible!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor: "why what in the world 
 has he been doing?" 
 
 "The constable will have it that he's an escaped convict." 
 
 "A what!" cried Sylvester, bursting into a loud roar of laughter, in 
 which Aunt Eleanor could not help joining. 
 
 " He will have it," repeated the reverend gentleman, gravely, " that 
 IK'S an escaped convict; but I don't at present know the particulars, 
 because the moment I ascertained that he had missed you in the night, 
 I ran over to see if you were safe." 
 
 " Missed me, indeed !" exclaimed Sylvester, " I've no patience with 
 the man!" 
 
 " But he may not be in fault after all, my dear," suggested Aunt 
 K leaner : " you had better go and see." 
 
 "Aye, come with me; come," said the reverend gentleman, "let's go 
 and hear the particulars at once." 
 
 " I may not accompany you may I?" inquired Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Yes," replied the reverend gentleman : " do, by all means." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor ran for her bonnet and shawl, and they left the cottage 
 together. 
 
 On reaching the parsonage-house at the door of which stood the 
 chaise-cart in which the " escaped convict" had been brought they 
 proceeded to the library, and there found Judkins feeling much degraded 
 and look in- \rry ill. 
 
 " Well, Judkins," said Sylvester, sternly, " what have you been doing?" 
 
 "I an't been doing o' nothing, sir, but running after you." 
 
 " You ought not to have allowed me to leave you at all, sir." 
 
 "I can explain all that, sir I know I can; if you will but satisfy 
 this lu-iv piTMUi that Tin not what he takes me for." 
 
 " Why have you this man in custody?" demanded Sylvester of the 
 constable. 
 
 "Why, MI\ it's as this," replied the constable; "last night, when I 
 was. at 1 loller Bell, the prisoner came running into the house to ask if 
 some irentleman had been there, and when he came into the room where 
 I was, to look round, I saw that he had a handcuff on, and therefore, as 
 he was a stranger to the place, 1 felt it my duty, as a constable, to take 
 him into custody." 
 
 " What time was that?" 
 
 " About half-past eleven." 
 
 " Could you not have returned with him at once, or sent to inquire 
 about him?" 
 
 u That's what I wanted him to do," exclaimed Judkins. 
 
 "And that's what I dare say I should have done although not bound 
 to do so if you hadn't been so violent. In the first place, he tried to 
 conceal the handcuff that looked suspicious : in the second place, when 
 ked him to shake hands with me he wouldn't : in the third place, 
 when I tried to raise his arm, he knocked me down: and in the fourth 
 place, it required three powerful men to carry him off to the cage." 
 
344 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "Why were you so violent, Judkins?" said Sylvester. " Why did 
 you not at once explain who you were?" 
 
 " I didn't suppose it to be necessary at first, and when I would have 
 done so they wouldn't let me." 
 
 " There was, I dare say, unnecessary violence on both sides ; but 
 when you found that appearances were againsfyou, you ought to have 
 been calm." 
 
 " I couldn't, sir, after he'd called me a convict." 
 
 " He certainly was justified in supposing that you had escaped from 
 custody." 
 
 "To be sure I was, sir," exclaimed the constable; "and, as such, it 
 was my bounden duty to take him." 
 
 " I don't dispute that ; but I think that you might have come with him 
 to the Grange, instead of thrusting him into a place of confinement. He 
 is our servant: and I have an affliction which renders it necessary for 
 him to sleep in my room. I am, unfortunately, in the habit of walking 
 in my sleep, and in order to prevent this, I am secured to him by these 
 manacles. Last night, it appears, I, by some means, managed to get 
 away from him, and when he missed me " 
 
 " I heard that you'd gone on to Holler," said Judkins. 
 
 " He heard that I had gone on towards Hoi worth ran after me 
 rushed into the Bell to ascertain if I was there and there you saw 
 him. I presume that you are now quite satisfied." 
 
 " Can you unlock them there handcuffs, sir?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Sylvester: "here is the key. You will find that that 
 will unlock them both." 
 
 "Well," said the constable, having found this to be correct, "as I've 
 had him in custody, I ought, sir, by good rights, to take him before a 
 magistrate." 
 
 " There cannot, surely, be the slightest necessity for that." 
 
 " I don't know, sir, whether I am justified in letting him go 
 without." 
 
 " Nonsense," said the reverend gentleman, " nonsense: Til be respon- 
 sible for him, and that's sufficient." 
 
 " Well, sir, so long as I'm held harmless, sir, that's all I want. Fm 
 satisfied myself." 
 
 " Very well then," said Sylvester, "take those things off." 
 
 The constable did so at once, and when Sylvester had privately 
 placed in his hand a sovereign, he bowed and left the house. 
 
 " Now Judkins," said Sylvester, " how came you to let me leave the 
 room last night?" 
 
 " I'll tell, sir: I'll tell you exact how it was. I hid the key up as you 
 told me. Well, a little after eleven you woke me up, and said to me, 
 * Judkins, just give me the key.' You spoke just as you speak now, and I 
 thought, in course, that you was awake. I didn't dream of yoiir being 
 asleep. Well, sir, you got up and dressed yourself, and went out of the 
 room, and it wasn't until I heard you open the front door, that the idea 
 struck me. I then became alarmed, and got up and whipped on my 
 "hings, and went out, and as I heard, when I got in the road, that you, 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 345 
 
 or some gentleman, had gone on to Holler, I ran fit to split myself right 
 to Holler Bell, and there, in course, the constable saw me." 
 
 " I see how it is now exactly. You fancied, of course, that I was 
 awake." 
 
 " I did indeed, sir. Oh, if I hadn't, I wouldn't have suffered you to 
 have left the room for the world." 
 
 "Another time, Judkins, let me on no account have the key: give it 
 to me under no pretence, whatever." 
 
 Fll take care of that, sir. Pve had a lesson. You won't catch me 
 doing it again, sir, I'll warrant" 
 
 " I hope not, Now run home and get some refreshment. What sort 
 of a place were you in?" 
 
 " Oh, horrid, sir. Worse than a pigsty, and so cold oh /" 
 
 " Then you didn't sleep much?" 
 
 " Never got a wink, sir, all the blessed night." 
 
 " Then if you feel disposed to go to bed, do so. There, run away, 
 and make yourself as comfortable as you can." 
 
 " Stop," said the reverend gentleman. " Drink that. It's brandy." 
 
 Judkins knew it. He didn't require to be told. He took the glass 
 and emptied it, and then ran home to comfort cook. 
 
 The reverend gentleman now began to descant at full length on the 
 conduct of the constable, and while he was thus occupied, a servant 
 entered, and presented him with a card. He looked at it; and after a 
 pause, slightly started. " Mr. George Augustus Howard !" thought he ; 
 " why that is the name of the gentleman whom Sylvester's father was 
 supposed to have injured; surely this is the same man!" 
 
 " Have you shown this gentleman into the parlour?" he inquired. 
 
 " No, sir," replied the servant; "he is in his carriage at the door." 
 
 "Ask him to walk in; I'll be with him immediately. You will ex- 
 cuse me for a short time," he added, addressing Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " Oh, Sylvester and I will return now. We will only take a walk 
 round the garden." 
 
 " Well," said the reverend gentleman, who felt somewhat tremulous, 
 " I expect that I shall have, in the course of an hour, something of im- 
 portance to communicate." 
 
 " Indeed! Well, we shall be happy to see you. Do not let us detain 
 you now." 
 
 Sylvester and his aunt then went into the garden, and when the reve- 
 rend gentleman had nerved himself sufficiently, he joined Mr. Howard 
 in the parlour. 
 
 " Mr. Rouse, I believe I have the honour to address," observed Mr. 
 Howard, calmly. 
 
 " My name is Rouse," returned the reverend gentleman. " I beg that 
 you will be seated." 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Hownrd, " I ought to apologise for introducing my- 
 self thus ; but I think that, when I have explained to you my object, 
 you will pardon me. I saw in a paper, last evening, the report of a trial, 
 in which you were in some degree interested," 
 
 " Julian versus Sound?" 
 
346 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " I was indeed, and am still interested deeply." 
 
 " And so am I so deeply, that every hope I have of happiness in 
 this life depends upon my conviction of the truth of that plea upon which 
 the defence rested. You know Mr. Sound, of course?" 
 
 " Intimately. He was here just this moment. There he is witli his 
 aunt, now leaving the garden gate." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Howard, looking round eagerly: "I should 
 much like to know and converse with him." 
 
 " Shall I call him back?" 
 
 "I thank you I thank you: not now not now. Did you know 
 his father?" 
 
 " No ; I never did. I saw him once, I believe ; but only once." 
 
 " Do you know what his Christian name was?" 
 
 " Let me see; Dr. Sound ZV. dear me Horatio! yes, that was it; 
 I recollect now, it was Horatio." 
 
 "I was right in my conjecture then: that was the man. And now 
 I'll explain to you why I came here. You stated, I believe, in your 
 evidence on the trial, that you had not the slightest doubt of the fact of 
 Mr. Sound being a somnambulist." 
 
 " I did so. Nor had I the slightest doubt on the subject: nor have I 
 now. Nay, I had an additional proof of the fact this very morning !" 
 
 " Can it, think you, be proved, sir, to my satisfaction?" 
 
 " Most certainly ! I'll undertake to prove it to the satisfaction of any 
 man alive." 
 
 | jj" I will tell you why I am anxious to be satisfied. Some years since, 
 this young man's father and I were bosom friends. We had known 
 each other for many years, and fancied that we knew each other's 
 hearts. We visited each other constantly, and continued thus to visit, 
 until one fatal night, when he was absolutely found in my wile's 
 chamber, sitting by the side of her bed !" 
 
 " Exactly yes well?" cried the reverend gentleman. 
 
 " Well, he being not only a friend, but the medical adviser of my 
 wife, I, on hearing of the circumstance, thought but little of it ; con- 
 ceiving that, of course, he had been to attend her professionally; but 
 when my wife denied strongly all knowledge of the circumstance, my 
 suspicions were aroused ; and these suspicions were confirmed by Sound 
 himself in the morning, for he declared, most solemnly declared, that on 
 that particular night he never entered the house at all! This I thought 
 conclusive. Had not the fact been denied, the thing would have passed 
 off, of course ; but, being thus induced to believe that they had con- 
 spired to deceive me, I felt most abundantly convinced of her guilt. I 
 did not, however, proceed, as Sir Charles Julian has proceeded. I had 
 too much regard for my own feelings, and the feelings of those around 
 me. I as I then conceived, justly cast her off with a sufficient allow- 
 ance to secure to her all personal comforts ; and there, sir there was 
 an end." 
 
 " Poor lady! And did she live long after that?" 
 
 " She is living still." 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 347 
 
 " And does she still declare her innocence?" 
 
 " She does, most solemnly." 
 
 " Then, be sure that she is innocent. Oh! be sure of it." 
 
 " I would to God that I could be sure." 
 
 " You have seen her since?" 
 
 " But once : but once : and that was recently. My daughter sees her 
 twice a-year. That request I could not deny her. They meet here, in 
 this very village." 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed the reverend gentleman, "I have seen two 
 carriages at the door of the inn frequently, and always on particular 
 days ; and now I come to look at it, yours is one of them ! Bless my 
 life and soul, how extraordinary that is! How often have I wondered 
 why they met there!" 
 
 " They have met for that purpose; but my daughter, until a short 
 time since, never knew that she had a mother living." 
 
 " I now," said the reverend gentleman, " understand and appre- 
 ciate your anxiety to be satisfied on this important point; and that 
 satisfaction, be assured, as far as Sylvester is concerned, I will give 
 you." 
 
 4< If I can be satisfied with reference to him, I shall be satisfied com- 
 pletely: for his father just before his death wrote to me, and stated that 
 if he were there the night in question, he was there in a state of som- 
 nambulism; the idea of which I then utterly rejected, but feel disposed 
 to entertain it now. If, therefore, I can be satisfied with reference to 
 the son, I shall be satisfied with reference to the father. It is true I 
 never heard of somnambulism being hereditary; but that will suffi- 
 eiently satisfy me." 
 
 " Then that satisfaction you shall have. I pledge myself to satisfy 
 you. I undertake to bring before you proofs which yO*i yourself shall 
 hold to be irrefragable. 1 am now preparing a statement of facts to be 
 laid before Sir Charles who, although he has a verdict, is not at all 
 convinced of its justice and a copy of that statement you shall have. 
 I will bring before you witnesses here, to prove all that has occurred in 
 this place; and I'll take you up to town and introduce you to Dr. 
 Delolnie and his son, whose evidence I am certain you will hold to be 
 conclusive." 
 
 "Is the Mr. Delolme who appeared on the trial, the son of Dr. 
 Delome?" 
 
 " Ys." 
 
 " I knew him well. He was one of the most intimate friends of Dr. 
 Sound." 
 
 " He was so." 
 
 " Oh ! I knew him perfectly well ; but I have not seen him for many, 
 many years. Since that unhappy affair, I have kept myself entirely 
 aloof from the world." 
 
 u Then let us go to London together and see him, and Thomas, his 
 son." 
 
 " I would go, sir, to the end of the world, to be satisfied." 
 
 " That ig sufficient. You shall first have this statement the truth 
 
348 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 of every word of which I undertake to prove and then we'll go up to 
 town together." 
 
 " I need not explain to you how highly I appreciate your kindness ; 
 but believe me " 
 
 "Not a word on that subject! I am more deeply interested in the 
 vindication of Dr. Sound's character, than you imagine. Where can I 
 communicate with you? Do you live a very great distance from this 
 place." 
 
 " Scarcely four miles off! Borton Hall is my residence." 
 " Borton Hall! How very strange that I should never have heard of 
 your living there!" 
 
 " I have, as I before observed, kept myself completely secluded." 
 " Well; that accounts for it, of course. But yours must have been a 
 weary life." 
 
 " It has been, indeed. But, then, what pleasure could society impart 
 to me? It could but inflict additional pain. I have not, my dear sir, 
 for years and years, spoken so freely to any man as I have now spoken 
 to you ; but I feel as if you had lifted a weight from my heart, and as I 
 now begin to doubt, I now begin to hope. I feel already a different 
 man ; and hence you may be sure that my mind is prepared for con- 
 viction. Nay," he added, as tears chased each other down his checks.-, 
 " so much lighter do I feel, that I am about to solicit you company to- 
 day. Come and dine with me? It is a long, long time since I enter- 
 tained a friend; but say that you will come?" 
 " My dear sir, I will." 
 " Could you bring Mr. Sound with you?" 
 
 " Certainly! I will do so. Nay, I shall be most happy to do so. 
 He need not know your object exactly. It would not be wise, perhaps, 
 to tell that to him yet. You are a friend of mine: that will be sufK- 
 cient. The subject of Somnambulism can be easily introduced, and you 
 will then hear his views on that subject explained." 
 
 " My dear friend, I feel extremely grateful to you: you know not how 
 grateful I feel! However, I may, of course, expect you at four?" 
 " I will most assuredly be there." 
 
 Mr. Howard took his hand and pressed it warmly, and, having received 
 such additional assurances as could not fail to strengthen his hopes, re- 
 turned to his carriage, and gave the word " home," 
 
 The reverend gentleman was now in a state of rapture. All, in his 
 judgment, was perfectly clear. He had but to prove this to Howard's 
 satisfaction which he felt, of course, sure that he could do and poor 
 Mrs. Howard would be restored to her husband, who would, of course, in 
 consequence, be once more happy his own dear Eleanor would be de- 
 lighted with the fact of her brother's character being vindicated Syl- 
 vester's innocence would be proved to the world, and Lady Julian would 
 return to Sir Charles, who would be in a state of felicity again. If there 
 be a pure pleasure on earth, it is assuredly that of imparting pleasure to 
 others, and the reverend gentleman who imagined that he saw all this 
 with the most perfect distinctness experienced this pleasure in an emi- 
 nent degree. Of what an immense amount of happiness did he then 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 349 
 
 possess the germs. In his view, no man was ever placed in a more for- 
 tunate position. But he would not keep the knowledge of his position 
 to himself. No ; he'd go and begin to spread this happiness without 
 delay. His Eleanor should be informed of all that had transpired; and, 
 as she was the first to be made happy, he went to the cottage at once. 
 
 " Sylvester," said he, as he entered, " I am going to dine with a friend 
 to day at four: will you go with me?" 
 
 " I shall be most happy to do so." 
 
 " We shall be by ourselves: everything qmte quiet! I offer no apo- 
 loprv nt present to you," he added, turning to Aunt Eleanor, " for thus 
 dc'piiving you of his society. But, come, let us take a little turn in the 
 garden." 
 
 Aunt Kk'unor, who inferred from this that he wished to say something 
 to her in private, smiled, and left her work, and went into the garden 
 with him. 
 
 " Now," said he; "I told you that I thought and it did at the time 
 strike me that I should have, in the course of the morning, something 
 important to communicate." 
 
 " And have you?" 
 
 " I have, my dear Eleanor: I have." 
 
 lie then led her into the arbour, and there, to her utter amazement, 
 told her all that had occurred. At first, on hearing him mention the 
 name of Howard, she nearly fainted ; but, recovering her self-possession, 
 slu- subsequently listened with almost breathless anxiety. He remem- 
 bured nearly every word that had passed, and every word that he re- 
 mi-mbeivd he communicated to her, embellished only with a description 
 of the feelings inspired. 
 
 " And now," said he, at the conclusion of this intelligence; " ought we 
 not to be most thankful? Out of evil cometh good. The very thing 
 which we held to be a great calamity, may prove to be a blessing indeed. 
 Thus we, in our blindness, complain: events occur, of the tendency of 
 which we have no knowledge, no conception ; and, because we are too 
 short-sighted to see their tendency, we presumptuously pronounce them 
 to be evils, and, instead of being grateful, complain. How wonderfully 
 is everything ordered! And what poor, weak, dependent, helpless crea- 
 tures we are! We are but instruments in the hands of Him who em- 
 ploys us to work out His great design. But, come, dear Eleanor, why 
 so sad?" 
 
 "I am not sad," she replied; "believe me. You have said that we 
 ought to be thankful: I am, indeed, thankful: most thankful. But 
 should Mr. Howard, after all, not be satisfied " 
 
 " That, my dear Eleanor, I hold to be impossible. Why, Sylvester, I 
 have not the slightest doubt, will this very day satisfy him." 
 
 " But did I not understand you that Sylvester was to have no know- 
 ledge of his object?" 
 
 "Exactly! But, when I have introduced the subject, Sylvester will 
 join in the conversation, of course." 
 
 "I perceive. Well, I hope to heaven that you may be successful!" 
 
 " Be sure that we shall be. I feel certain of it. I never felt more 
 
350 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 certain of anything yet. And now let us go in again. Sylvester may 
 suspect that there is something which we are anxious to conceal from 
 him, and I wish him to go there free from all suspicion." 
 
 They then returned to the parlour, in which Sylvester was reading, 
 and, as they entered, the reverend gentleman said, " Well, my dear boy, 
 now what time will you be ready?'' 
 
 " Oh, at what time you please!" replied Sylvester. " How far have 
 we to go?" 
 
 "About four miles; it can't be more than that." 
 
 " Then I suppose we ought to start about half-past three? Shall 
 I drive you over in our machine, or will you go in yours?" 
 
 "Oh, we may as well go in mine." 
 
 " Very well. Then, in the meantime, aunt, you and I will go for a 
 drive somewhere: shall we?" 
 
 " I should like it, my dear, much." 
 
 The reverend gentleman then left the cottage, and Sylvester went to 
 look after the chaise, while Aunt Eleanor to whom Borton Hall had 
 become an object of the most intense interest decided on getting Syl- 
 vester to drive round Borton, in order that she might just look at the 
 Hall. 
 
 Accordingly, on getting into the chaise, she intimated to him the road 
 she wished to go of course without explaining her object and they 
 went that road and passed the Hall, of which she could get but the 
 slightest glimpse, so perfectly was it surrounded by trees. 
 
 "How should you like to live there?" inquired Sylvester, perceiving 
 the eyes of his aunt fixed upon it. 
 
 "I think not at all, my love; should you?" 
 
 " I might if I wished to be buried alive. What place is that?" he 
 inquired of a man who was passing at the time." 
 
 " Borton Hall, sir," replied the man. 
 
 "Who lives there!" 
 
 " Don't knoAv, sir. Nobody knows. Nobody never did know." 
 
 " Nobody, I suppose then particularly wants to know. Of course it's 
 inhabited?" 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 " Some one lives there, of course." 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir, two or three lives there, if they call that livin'. 
 They're rollin' in riches, too, if that's any good to 'em." 
 
 " Is the master of the house then a miser?" 
 
 "A miser, sir! no, sir: he's one of the most liberalest men as is 
 only he won't let nobody know him. He don't care what he gives away 
 nor what he pays for what he has." 
 
 " Is he never to be seen?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir sometimes. Fve seen him often, and he looks, for all 
 the world, sir, as if he'd been committing a million o' murders." 
 
 " Well, he's an extraordinary fellow, certainly," said Sylvester, who 
 threw the man sixpence and then drove on. 
 
 That this colloquy, short as it was, deeply interested Aunt Eleanor, 
 is a fact which may well be conceived. She knew the cause of Howard's 
 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 351 
 
 seclusion and dejection ; but as Sylvester did not, he thought no more 
 about the matter. 
 
 " There's a lovely girl!" he exclaimed, as a carriage passed them 
 about half a mile from the Hall. " Did you see her?'' 
 
 " I took no particular notice, my dear, I was looking at the carriage." 
 
 "Oh, you should have seen her one of the most beautiful creatures 
 I ever beheld!" 
 
 " Young, my dear very young?" 
 
 " She seemed to be very young. An older person-^her mother, I 
 imagine was in the carriage with her." 
 
 This at once banished the thought she had conceived of its being- 
 Howard's daughter. She had no mother to ride by her side : of every 
 comfort of every joy which a mother could impart she had been 
 most unhappily deprived. 
 
 "I wonder," said Sylvester, "whom she can be. Do you know the 
 carriage?" 
 
 " I thought as it passed that I'd seen it before. But it cannot be 
 the one I imagined. 
 
 "I should much like to know who she is." 
 
 " Why, my love why?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because she ?'s the most charming girl 
 I ever saw." 
 
 The subject then dropped, and as Sylvester's thonghts were fixed 
 on her, while those of his aunt were engaged with Howard, they re- 
 turned, almost in silence, to the Grange. 
 
 At ten minutes past three precisely the usual twenty minutes 
 before the appointed time the reverend gentleman drove up to the 
 gate; and, having alighted, felt anxious to be off; but Sylvester, 
 knowing this propensity of his, had him in and expostulated with him, 
 and pointed out to him the monstrous absurdity of supposing that his 
 horse couldn't do more than four miles an hour. 
 
 "Did you ever see a carriage," he inquired at length; "an olive 
 carriage, picked out with white?" 
 
 " I have seen such a carriage," replied the reverend gentleman, 
 colouring up on the instant; "I certainly have seen such a carriage!" 
 
 " And so have I ! and of all the lovely creatures I ever beheld, she, who 
 was in that carriage this morning, was incomparably the most lovely!" 
 
 " What!" exclaimed the reverend gentleman, who didn't on this point 
 wish to be urged. "What!" he reiterated, pointing to a portrait for 
 which Aunt Eleanor had sat twenty years before. "Have you ever 
 MTU ihat portrait?'' 
 
 " Of course I have; and see it now." 
 
 " Did you ever see the original " 
 
 Aunt Eleanor smiled, and playfully patted the cheek of the reverend 
 gentleman and blushed, and said that she thought it was much too 
 bad. 
 
 " Well, but do you know to whom that carriage belongs?" inquire^ 
 Sylvester, 
 
 11 Was this young lady alone?" 
 
352 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "No; her mother was with her." 
 
 " Then I don't know at all. But come; let's be oft'. We shall keep 
 them waiting; I know we shall!" 
 
 " Oh! we have plenty of time. Shall I drive?'' 
 
 "If you please! Yes, do." 
 
 " Very well. Is there any exhibition about ten miles off?'' 
 
 " Not that I'm aware of! Why?" 
 
 " If there had been, we might as well have seen that first!" 
 
 "But really we have no time to spare! we haven't indeed." 
 
 "Well! then we'll be off." 
 
 They then took leave of Aunt Eleanor who made them promise to 
 be home by ten and while she prayed for their success, they started. 
 
 On reaching the avenue which led to the Hall, Sylvester suddenly 
 stopped, and exclaimed 
 
 "Why! we passed this wilderness this morning! Are you going in 
 here ?" * 
 
 "Oh yes! Goon!" 
 
 "Are you sure that you can find your way out again?" 
 
 " I have not the smallest fear of that." 
 
 "Oh! Well t then we'll explore! Are we going to dine with the 
 proprietor of this den?" 
 
 " We shall dine with the gentleman who lives at the Hall !" 
 
 " He's a natural curiosity, is he not?" 
 
 " A natural curiosity!" 
 
 "Yes; the man of whom I inquired this morning in the road said 
 that he didn't know him, that nobody knew him, and that he never was 
 known !" 
 
 " He certainly leads a life of seclusion, but you will find him a most 
 perfect gentleman, notwithstanding." 
 
 They now reached the circular lawn before the house, and as they 
 drove round two servants appeared at the door, and immediately after- 
 wards Howard came forth, and proceeded to welcome them warmly. 
 
 This ceremony ended, he led them into a spacious and most elegantly 
 furnished room, and at once introduced them to Henriette. 
 
 Sylvester recognised her in an instant. It was the sweet girl whom 
 he had that morning seen. And there was the lady whom he had 
 conceived to be her mother, but who was introduced to him as Miss 
 Duprez. 
 
 Having been presented, Henriette retired to one of the windows 
 gracefully, but with a timidity which proved that she had not been 
 much accustomed to society and, while Howard was conversing with 
 the reverend gentleman, and glancing at Sylvester who was an object 
 of peculiar interest to him Sylvester and Henriefcte were glancing at 
 each other, for he was equally, although with far different feelings, an 
 object of interest to her. And thus they were engaged until dinner was 
 uimounced, when Howard gave Henriette to the reverend gentleman, 
 and as Miss Duprez had left the room took Sylvester's arm himself. 
 
 Miss Duprez, however, joined them in the dining-room, and they sat 
 to a most delicious dinner a dinner which the reverend gentle- 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 353 
 
 man highly enjoyed but of which neither Sylvester nor Henrietta 
 who was exceedingly tremulous the whole of the time partook freely. 
 
 It will not appear amazing that Henriette who had never before 
 dined with strangers should feel, on this occasion, nervous ; but it is 
 very questionable whether she would have felt half so nervous, had 
 there been but one guest, and that guest had been the reverend gentle- 
 man. It will be extremely rational to believe that she would not: for 
 her eyes and those of Sylvester constantly met so constantly, indeed, 
 that it really appeared as if they had not the power to keep them off. 
 
 Very soon after dinner the ladies withdrew, and then Sylvester felt 
 more at ease, and, as Howard who was highly pleased with him pai(? 
 him every attention, he joined in the conversation freely and gaily, until 
 the subject of somnambulism was introduced, when he became at once 
 thoughtful and silent. 
 
 Conceiving, however, that, being a friend of the reverend gentleman, 
 Howard knew, of course, all about the recent trial, he eventually shook 
 off all unpleasant thoughts, and, on being appealed to, entered into the 
 subject fully. He related all those circumstances connected with the 
 case which did not transpire on the trial how Sir Charles had attacked 
 him; how the duel was prevented; how the pier-glass was broken, and 
 so on and then described the scenes which he unconsciously produced 
 while residing with Dr. Delolme. 
 
 This description not only amazed Howard, but amused him; and, as 
 the reverend gentleman after this related, with his characteristic gravity, 
 all that had occurred at the Grange commencing with the peaches, 
 and ending with the fact of poor Judkins being caged as an escaped 
 convict he appeared for a time to have forgotten all his cares. 
 
 "But," said he at length, addressing Sylvester; " you seem to have 
 passed over five years ! What occurred while you were living with Mr. 
 Scholefield?" 
 
 " Nothing that ever came to my knowledge ; and that I have often 
 thought of as being most strange." 
 
 " It is strange, certainly. Now, had you any supper last night?" 
 
 " Oh, yes; I always take supper: it is, in fact, the meal I most en- 
 joy-" 
 
 " What an; the habits of Mr. Scholefield? Is he a free liver?" 
 
 " Quite the reverse. He is a particularly abstemious man." 
 
 "And were you abstemious while you were living with him?" 
 
 " I was : I lived very nearly as he lived." 
 
 " And never ate suppers?" 
 
 " Why !" exclaimed Sylvester, as the thought on the instant struck 
 him; " how strange that that never occurred to me! That must have 
 been the cause!" 
 
 " A friend once wrote to me," said Howard, with emotion, and the 
 reverend gentleman knew whom he meant ; " stating that he had been a 
 somnambulist, and that abstemious living had, in his case, effected a 
 cuiv!" 
 
 " And will do so in my case, I have not the slightest doubt of it!" 
 
 " I should strongly recommend you to try it," 
 
 2 c 
 
3o4 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " Try it, sir! What would I not do to cure myself of this awfully 
 perilous practice? Nothing of the kind ever occurred, to my knowli'<l;:v, 
 while I lived with Mr. Scholeh'eld: I am, therefore, bound to believe 
 that nothing ever did occur, and that, as I lived, while there, abste- 
 miously, the fact is asoribable solely to that. I thank you for the sug- 
 gestion. I feel grateful to you beyond all expression. I shall adopt it, 
 most assuredly, at once." 
 
 " And I hope, most sincerely," added Howard, " that it will prove to 
 be in your case effectual." 
 
 They then rejoined the ladies, and had coffee; and Sylvester dial led 
 with Henriette whom he found to be a highly intellectual, as well a, 
 most lovely, girl while the reverend gentleman and Howard were con- 
 versing most earnestly in private. The result of this conversation was, 
 that they resolved on posting to town on the morrow, and, soon al'i r 
 this resolution had been fixed, the guests took leave of Howard ami 
 Henriette, and left the Hall 'the reverend gentleman with such news 
 for Eleanor, and Sylvester with feelings of gratitude and love ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII, 
 
 THE RECONCILIATION. 
 
 IN the morning, about half-past five o'clock, Sylvester who not only 
 went to bed the previous night supperless, but, in order to counteract 
 the effects of the wine, had taken a cooling draught awoke; and, fed- 
 ing anxious to get up, for his stomach, being empty, was very rebellious, 
 he at length pulled the chain, and awoke his protector. 
 
 Judkins, in an instant, sat upright in bed, and looked at him very 
 mysteriously, and then shook his head with peculiar significance, and 
 then said, "No: it ivon't do; not a bit of it: nothing at all of the sort: 
 I won't have it. You want to cut away again, don't you?" 
 
 " I want to get up," replied Sylvester. 
 
 " Then I'd rayther you'd remain where you are, for I don't want to 
 get into any more cages." 
 
 " I am not now asleep !" 
 
 "No, I dessay you're not: no doubt you're wide awake in a state of 
 somnambulisation !" 
 
 " No, indeed I am not: look at me?" 
 
 " That's of no use! I can't tell by looking. What do you want to 
 get np for, here, a little arter five?" 
 
 "In the first place, I feel very hungry; and in the next, as I can't 
 sleep, Ijjpay as well get up as not," 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST, 355 
 
 " But don't you recollect you told me not to let you get up before the 
 usual time, on no account whatsomdever? Now, this here's a very on- 
 rational time, you know, for you to get up, so you'd better lay down agin, 
 and make your life happy." 
 
 "Nonsense!" cried .Sylvester, who couldn't avoid laughing; " I tell 
 you distinctly that I'm now quite awake! Where's the key?" 
 
 " Well, but arc, you awake now? Upon your soul, arc you awake?" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; you know, sir, whether you are or not: I'll defy 
 all flesh to tell that : you look as if you was, and if you will have the 
 key, why you must have the key, and I'll go with you wheresomdever 
 you please, but may I be burnt if you gets away from me, or even so 
 much as quits my sight." 
 
 " It's all right, Judkins. Come, the key." 
 
 Judkins gave him the key, and, not being satisfied, got up at once, 
 find dressed himself, and stood by the door, and watched him closely, 
 until he was ready to leave the room, when he took his arm and shook 
 him well, and bawled in his ear, "I say, sir! Mr. Sylvester! are you 
 aical-e it" 
 
 " Yes!" replied Sylvester, who, although convulsed with laughter, 
 bawled in the ear of Judkins as loudly as Judkiiis had bawled in his ; 
 "Yes! lam!" 
 
 Judkins was now pretty nearly convinced : still he followed him, and 
 kept his eye upon him, and would not allow him to go out of his sight, 
 until Aunt Kleanor came down to breakfast, when he saw him safely 
 into the parlour, and felt that he had thin done his duty. 
 
 " Well, my dear," exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, who was in high spirits 
 that morning; " what sort of a night have you had?" 
 
 "I slept well," replied Sylvester, " till half-past five, when I felt so 
 desperately hungry, that I was really compelled to get up." 
 
 "Then you did not, before that time, disturb Judkins?'' 
 
 " I don't believe that, until I awoke, I even moved." 
 
 " Thank heaven! That is the remedy, my love!'' 
 
 "I feel sure of it!" 
 
 " You need not, during the <%, be particularly abstemious. All I 
 apprehend you have to do, is to abtain from eating suppers. But yon, 
 of course, know how to act now, much better than I can tell you." 
 
 They then reverted to the Howards, and, while Sylvester was giving 
 a glowing description of the beautiful llenriette, the reverend gentleman 
 passed through the gate, and Sylvester rose to meet him. 
 
 "Well," he exclaimed, as he entered the parlour; "how are you both 
 this morning? I presume, of course, that nothing has occurred." 
 
 "Nothing!" returned Sylvester. 
 
 " Then my friend is right?" 
 
 " I believe him to be quite right." 
 
 " That's a blessing. Well, you know I have to be with him at eleven." 
 
 " And I go with you, of course?" 
 
 "Oh, dear me, no; I'll not trouble you. I'll take Jones, you know, 
 He gan bring the phaeton back." 
 
 2 C 2 
 
356 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 " But, of course, having dined there, I must make a call, as a matter 
 of mere etiquette !" 
 
 " Oh, well, if that's it: ah, I didn't think of that. Then we'll both go 
 together: we'll both go together. Now, just let me see. I have to send 
 to my friend, Mr. Dixon, to beg of him to officiate for me to-morrow." 
 
 " Are you sure that he is not engaged?" 
 
 " A good thought : a very good thought, that. He may be." 
 
 " Shall I ride over now, and ascertain? I shall not be gone more 
 than an hour." 
 
 "Well, now; really now that's very kind of you. Ifjouwould,! 
 should, indeed, esteem it a favour." 
 
 " Oh, I'll go at once!" returned Sylvester, who immediately had the 
 horse saddled, and was ofi', much to the gratification of the reverend 
 gentleman, not only because he should know whether his friend, Mr. 
 Dixon, was or was not engaged, but because it enabled him to have an 
 hour's private conversation with his Eleanor before he started. 
 
 Of this hour, he, of course, made the most, and, when Sylvester re- 
 turned with the information that Mr. Dixon would officiate for him with 
 pleasure, he sent for his phaeton, and, having reiterated " Good bye! 
 God bless you!" at least twenty times, they left the cottage and drove to 
 the Hall. 
 
 On their arrival, Howard received them with the utmost cordiality, 
 and they sat down to lunch. Henriette who, in Sylvester's view, 
 looked even more lovely than she did the previous evening presided ; 
 and at half-past eleven, Howard having taken leave of Henriette most 
 affectionately entered the carriage with his friend, and they were off. 
 
 Sylvester now scarcely knew what to do. Love prompted him to 
 linger, but propriety urged him to leave. While, however, the influences 
 of love and propriety were struggling for the mastery, Miss Duprez 
 gracefully expressed her belief that he had not seen the garden ! 
 
 He could have blessed her and so could Henriette who endeavoured 
 to conceal the tears which the departure of her father had occasioned 
 and, when Sylvester had acknowledged the politeness of Miss Duprez, 
 he elegantly drew the arm of Henriette in his, while her governess 
 opened the garden gate. 
 
 This was indeed delightful. But Sylvester was not eloquent at all! 
 nor was Henriette eloquent! Miss Duprez ran about gaily, and gathered 
 an infinite variety of flowers, and went into the arbour, and made a 
 bouquet; but Sylvester and Henriette were almost silent although in a 
 state of rapture. 
 
 " Now," said Miss Duprez, archly, having completed her task, "this 
 is for you to take home: and, after all the pains that I have taken, I 
 really must beg of you not to spoil it." . 
 
 Sylvester smiled, and received the bouquet: and turning to Henriette, 
 said, " This is kind; but will you not add one flower?" 
 
 The face and neck of Henriette Avere, in an instant, crimson ! but as 
 Miss Duprez ran to the arbour again she added one flower one little 
 flower it was the Forget-me-not. 
 
 That Sylvester prized this above all the rest, is a fact which need not 
 
THE SOMNAMBtliST. 357 
 
 be explained. She again took his arm, and he pressed her hand, and 
 when Miss Duprcz had led them to the gate at which they had entered, 
 lie warmly and gracefully bade them adieu, and, with feelings of ecstacy, 
 left them. 
 
 Nothing now worth recording occurred until nine the following 
 morning. It is true that Sylvester had, in the night, attempted to get 
 out of bed ; but as he did not expect to be, by any means, immediately 
 cured, this neither distressed nor amazed him. But there was, at the 
 hour named, one man near him struck absolutely struck with amaze- 
 ment; and that man was Obadiah Drant. 
 
 He had gone as usual to the Crumpet and Crown to have the first 
 look at the Sunday paper, and when his eye rested on the case of Crim. 
 Con., and he found that Sylvester was the defendant, he called out to 
 Lcgge "Hallo! Here you are! Here's a go! Send I may live! 
 Look here!" 
 
 " What is it?" inquired Leggc. " Anything fresh?" 
 
 " Fresh ! I fancy it is fresh. You recollect that young scamp that 
 wanted to fructify me into the belief that he wasn't here at all that night, 
 don't you?" 
 
 " What young Mr. Sound? What of him?" 
 
 " I wish I may die if he ain't been crim-conning it." 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " Crim-conning it with one of the aristocracy. Didn't I always say 
 they were a foul, lascivious lot! There isn't one virtuous woman 
 amongst them." 
 
 " Psha!" exclaimed Legge, 
 
 " Well, but doesn't this prove it?" 
 
 11 Let me have a look at it." 
 
 " Shall I read to you?" 
 
 " Yes, if you'll read right on, and let us have none of your com- 
 ments." 
 
 Obadiah undertook to do this: and, having readjusted his spectacles, 
 commenced, and read the opening speech with peculiar gusto. 
 
 " What do you think of that, my boy ! what do you think of that !" 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 " Go on," said Legge ; " go on." 
 
 " Well, but what do you think of it? That 1 8 a tidy juxtaposition to 
 be placed in." 
 
 " Go on go on ; or give me the paper." 
 
 Obadiah proceeded ; and when he had got through Slashinger's speech, 
 Legge, rubbing his hands, inquired what he thought of it. 
 
 " We shall see, my boy we shall see!" replied Obadiah. "I don't 
 care for that." 
 
 " Have you seen what the verdict is?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then I'll bet you what you like he gets off," 
 
 " Done ! I'll bet you he don't." 
 
 "A glass of grog!" 
 
 "Donel" 
 
3o8 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 Obadiah resumed. 
 
 " Hullo !" he exclaimed. " What Tod!" 
 
 " What our parson V" 
 
 " The reverend Edw.ird Rouse! Parsons are sure to put their noses 
 in. Nothing can go along now without a parson. Now then, what's 
 he got to say about the matter? The ghost!" he added, on reading the 
 evidence: "what is that a fact?" 
 
 "What do you think of your glass of grog now?" cried Legge. 
 
 " Why, I think I've lost it," replied Obadiah: " but stop a bit mind 
 you; it ain't over yet!" 
 
 lit- then read the reply, and exclaimed, triumphantly 
 
 " What do you think now of your glass of grog?" 
 
 "What's the verdict," cried Legge; "what's the verdict?" 
 
 " The verdict is for the plaintiff', my Briton. Damages two thousand 
 pounds! What do you think of that! Two thousand pounds, my boy! 
 Eh! what do you think of that?" 
 
 " Why I think," replied Legge, " that every man on that jury ought 
 to have two thousand lashes." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. What! don't you see!" 
 
 "Yes, / see all about it. But give me the paper: I'll read it 
 myself." 
 
 Panting to spread this " glorious 1 ' news, Obadiah at once went to call 
 upon Pokey, for this was an extensive foundation indeed for him to 
 build upon. Nothing but a "rattling revolution" could have given him 
 greater scope. 
 
 "Here's your works!" he exclaimed, as he entered. "You know 
 young Sound, don't you?" 
 
 " Young Sound," said Pokey; "oh, yes! What of him?" 
 
 " Do you know what he's been up to?'* 
 
 "No: what?" 
 
 " What! Why he's been up to crim-conicalisation !" 
 
 " Grim how much?" 
 
 "Crim-conicalisation! He's been seducing one of the wives of the 
 aristocracy." 
 
 " You don't say so!" 
 
 " Oh, it's in the papers. There it is in black and white! You'll see 
 it at the Crumpet. Damages two thousand pounds, my boy ; what do 
 you think of that ! But she's as bad as him nay, she's twenty times 
 worse! Haven't I always told you what they were? Haven't I always 
 said that the pauper aristocracy were steeped to the very eyes in amal- 
 gamating vice? Look at 'em. What are they why there isn't a 
 woman amongst 'em fit to be trusted, nor has there been since the time 
 of Peter the Great; and yet these are the wretches I call 'em wretches 
 who wring a hundred millions a-year out of the vitals of the poverty- 
 stricken people. Isn't it monstrous isn't it disgusting for any civilized 
 mind to amalgamate upon? Why, before I'd stand it, if I was John 
 Bull, I'd kick 'em all over to Botany Bay. I wouldn't have it !" 
 
 " Well, but who is this woman? Who is she?" 
 
 "Why, a lady of title, to be sure! a Lady Julian Lady Matilda 
 
I 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST. 359 
 
 Maria Julian. Why, her very name shows you what she is! And 
 do you think that I'd support my Lady this, and my Lady that, and 
 my Lady the t'other, to kick up such boney fide pranks as these ! I'd 
 amalgamate 'em all! I wouldn't have 'em! I'd place 'em in the juxta- 
 position of the French, when Boney went to Bunker's-hill : I'd place 
 'em horse dc combat, and make 'em fight their way through the world 
 for a living. That's how I'd serve 'em. /wouldn't have the locusts! 
 If paupers are paupers, they ought to be treated as paupers." 
 
 " But is she a pauper?" 
 
 " A pauper! Don't I tell you she's a lady of title? and ain't they all 
 paupers? I say it's a most disgusting shame that these titled drones 
 tli"-e imps of the universe, should be allowed to plunder the people in 
 this way." 
 
 " Well, but two thousand pounds I say that '11 be a bit of & pull, 
 won't it?'' 
 
 "Oh, they must sell off, you know: safe to be a sale: they can't pay 
 two thousand down without! There'll be an execution in the house j 
 I expect, to-morrow. But when you come to look at it, isn't it dis- 
 ,L;ii>tino that such a lot of wretches are suffered to breathe!" 
 
 "Who gets this money this two thousand pounds?" 
 
 <; Why, the husband, of course! Don't your ideas fructify? Can't 
 ou perceive that it's all a planned thing? ' I want money,' says he to 
 ier, ' and you know this young fellow. Get him to come some night 
 to the house, and I shall gain two thousand pounds.' Don't you see? 
 Ain't it as plain as the nose on your face? This is your aristocracy 
 ynur jxatper aristocracy! If I'd ivy will, I'd hang the lot! bishops and 
 parsons and all. They're all alike! and, mark my words, nothing hut 
 a llaming revolution will ever do justice to the eternal principles of the 
 people." 
 
 Jle then left Pokey and called upon Bobber, and told the news to all 
 whom he met; and then called upon Snorkins, and then upon Quocks, 
 and thus he went round with this "glorious" news building as he 
 went, and coining new words to express his contempt for the " pauper 
 aristocracy" and, as this gave him unspeakable pleasure, he spent a 
 ki ulorious" day, indeed! 
 
 That day Howard dined with Dr. Delolmc, and met Scholefield and 
 Ton i wiih whom he had an interview in the morning and when 
 the doe tor had explained to him a variety of circumstances which 
 tended to prove that not only Sylvester, but Dr. Sound himself, was a 
 somnambulist; he became so perfectly satisfied of the fact, that in the 
 full conviction of the innocence of his wife, he resolved on returning to 
 Borton on the morrow. 
 
 The reverend gentleman was of course delighted! He had hoped 
 that Howard, before he left town, would have an interview, through 
 Scholefield, with Sir Charles; but, under existing circumstances, he 
 would not have hinted a wish to detain him for the world. 
 
 They remained at the doctor's till eleven, and then returned to the! 
 hotel ; and, as they left town as early as six the next morning, they 
 arrived at the Hall before twelve; 
 
360 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 On the road, the chief question discussed was, How Mrs. Howard 
 should be informed of the fact of her being believed to be guiltless; 
 and it was at length decided that the reverend gentleman should go and 
 have an interview with her, with power to act precisely as circum- 
 tances might prompt. 
 
 He, accordingly having partaken of some refreshment entered the 
 carriage ; and proceeded to the residence of Mrs. Howard, which was 
 nearly nine miles from the Hall, while Howard himself, to the amaze- 
 ment as well as the delight of Henriette, explained to her all that had 
 occurred. 
 
 On his arrival, the reverend gentleman inquired for " Mrs. Greville ;" 
 and, having sent in his card, was shown into the parlour, in which a 
 portrait of Howard hung conspicuously. This struck him as he 
 entered; but his thoughts soon reverted to the task he had undertaken, 
 and just as he had seated himself near the window, a tall, command- 
 ing figure firmly entered the room. 
 
 " Mrs. Howard," said the reverend gentleman, " I believe I have the 
 pleasure of addressing?" 
 
 " Mrs. Howard !" she echoed, with a look of surprise. " My name " 
 she added, in deep tones of sadness. " My name is Greville, sir- 
 Greville, now." 
 
 "My dear lady: pardon me," said the reverend gentleman; "I 
 addressed you as Mrs. Howard. I did so, because I now come as a 
 mediator." 
 
 " A mediator!" she exclaimed. "A mediator! From whom?" 
 
 " From one whose affection for you is unbounded, and from whose 
 heart of hearts you have never been estranged." 
 
 " Why, what am I to understand by this?" 
 
 " My dear, dear madam, I am cognisant of the whole of the circum- 
 stances connected with your unhappy case. Your husband did believe 
 you to be faithless." 
 
 "He did!" she exclaimed; "he did. But," she added, clasping her 
 hands fervently, " I am before God, I here declare that I am 
 innocent!" 
 
 " I believe it : I believe it : I firmly believe it." 
 
 " You said that he my husband did believe that I was faithless. 
 Of course he believes it still !" 
 
 "He does not!" 
 
 " He does not." 
 
 "Thank heaven!" she cried. "Thank heaven! Oh! most fer- 
 vently do I thank heaven for that! A mediator!" she added, thought- 
 fully, "a mediator! Tell me pray tell me at once what you 
 mean." 
 
 " My dear madam, your husband now believes you to be guiltless. 
 Your innocence has been severely tested and proved." 
 
 "Proved! How proved?" 
 
 " It has been, through my humble instrumentality, proved that Di\ 
 Sound was a somnambulist ! And now I am come to communicate to 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 361 
 
 you the fact of there being open arms and warm hearts to receive you 
 at Borton Hall." 
 
 " Sir," said Mrs. Howard, who appeared to be bewildered, while her 
 woman's pride was struggling to gain the ascendancy " I thank you. 
 I appreciate your kindness believe me, I appreciate it highly; but 
 Borton Hall is no place for me." 
 
 " My dear madam. Now, you will distress me. If you assume this 
 tone, you will very much distress me." 
 
 " Look !" she exclaimed, as she bitterly wept. " Look at the indig- 
 nities that have been heaped upon me! Oh! it was cruel cruel!" 
 
 " I said that I came as a mediator. I also came to offer my advice. 
 You saw the carriage in which I came?" 
 
 " I have not yet seen it." 
 
 " Look: it is there. It was yours, I believe?" 
 
 " It was." 
 
 " And is still. Now my advice is, that you enter that carriage, and 
 go at once with me to the Hall." 
 
 " Sir, I cannot do it." 
 
 "Not to be restored to him, whom I well know you Icrve fondly, 
 and who will receive you with open arms? You made a request, 
 I believe, some time since a request which you said should be your 
 last." 
 
 " Yes, and he cruelly, contemptuously spurned me." 
 
 " He feels that it was, on his part, cruel; but he then imagined that 
 that pledge had been violated " 
 
 " It never was violated by me." 
 
 " He believes, he knows, that it never was. But you then, I believe, 
 wished to see him?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " And do you not wish to see him now?" 
 
 She made no reply: her heart was too full. She covered her lace, 
 and wept aloud. 
 
 " My dear madam," he resumed, "be comforted. I know that you 
 have had to endure much: I know that your sufferings have been 
 great " 
 
 " They have indeed." 
 
 " I know it : but now that you have a bright prospect of happi- 
 ness " 
 
 "No: I shall never be happy again." 
 
 " Now, my dear madam; really you must not say so." 
 
 " If even I were to return, I should always be the victim of some foul 
 suspicion." 
 
 " You wrong him : indeed you wrong him. It is true that he for a 
 long time entertained suspicion; but look with me look, my dear 
 madam at the extraordinary circumstances under which that suspicion 
 was created." 
 
 " Nothing could justify it nothing." 
 
 " Suppose that you had been Howard, and that he had been you, 
 would not you have felt justified under such circumstances" 
 
362 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "If I had even if I had I should never have treated him so 
 cruelly." 
 
 "Tli is an.swer I ascribe to that amiable characteristic of your sex, 
 which prompts you always with, or without justice to sympathise 
 and to forgive. But come now let me pray let me prevail upon you 
 to accompany me to the Hall." 
 
 " I cannot, sir I cannot go." 
 
 " You cannot go to make htm happy, who has long been a stranger 
 to happiness: you cannot go to fill the heart of Henrietta with joy?" 
 
 " My poor child !" she exclaimed, convulsively, as a fresh flood of 
 tears gushed forth. "My poor child! stay, sir!" she added, as the 
 reverend gentleman rose and turned to the window, with the view of 
 concealing the tears which sprang into his eyes; "stay, sir: one 
 moment." 
 
 " I was not about to leave, my dear madam: I was not about to leave," 
 replied the reverend gentleman. " I am in no haste no haste, what- 
 ever 1 Reflect nay, I would suggest the expediency of your retiring 
 to reflect: still I must say that, if you consult your own happiness and 
 the happiness of those who are dear to you still, the result of that reflec- 
 tion will be your consent to accompany me to the Hall. I have much 
 to say to you much to explain much that will interest you deeply 
 but this I'll reserve until we enter the carriage. Consider yourself: 
 consider him to whom you are still most dear: consider your sweet 
 child your own Henrietta who is anxiously waiting to clasp you to 
 her heart. Go with me abandon all ideas of humiliation conscious 
 of your innocence, go with me firmly and if, after your reception, you 
 wish to return . But that I hold to be impossible. You make no 
 sacrifice! yours is essentially a triumph ! Now go, and prepare. In 
 the pride of innocence meet the man whom you have never injured." 
 
 " I will," she replied, with an expression of intensity. " My mind's 
 made up. I will." 
 
 Elated with success, the reverend gentleman immediately after Mrs. 
 Howard had retired left the room, which appeared to be much too 
 small for the comprehensive character of his thoughts, and went into 
 the garden, contemplating deeply the happiness which would of necessity 
 spring from this reconciliation. He pictured to himself the meeting at 
 the Hall the delight of Howard the joy of Henriette! nor did he 
 forget to portray the rapture with which his own Eleanor would be 
 inspired when he carried the news to the Grange. 
 
 While he was thus contemplating, Mrs. Howard's pride was struggling 
 with her purer feelings. Still her resolution remained unshaken. She 
 would go. And when she had prepared to accompany the reve- 
 rend gentleman, the fact was immediately announced, and with 
 many kind and delicate expressions of sympathy he handed her into 
 the carriage. 
 
 On the way, he explained to her how the conviction of her innocence 
 had been induced : he related to her the whole of the circumstances 
 connected with the trial: Howard's journey to town, and his anxious 
 return; but she was still extremely tremulous still thoughtful still 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 363 
 
 sad; and when they reached the Hull, he had the utmost difficulty in 
 prevailing upon her to leave the carriage. 
 
 Howard did intend to receive her at the door, but when he saw the car- 
 riage approaching, his feelings overcame him, and he sank upon a couch. 
 The reverend gentleman therefore alone supported her for Henrietta 
 and Miss Duprez were then unconscious of their arrival and when he 
 had conducted her into the room, Howard on the instant rose and ap- 
 proached with extended arms, into which she at once fell and fainted. 
 
 The reverend gentleman immediately withdrew, and met Ilenriette, 
 who hud that moment heard of the fact of their having arrived, and 
 when he had communicated his intention to Miss Duprez, he re-entered 
 the carriage and returned to the Grange. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 I'm. reconciliation having thus been effected, the reverend gentle- 
 man's first object was to induce Howard to go up to town again, with 
 the view of being introduced to Sir Charles. He had spoken on this 
 .subject to Sclioletield, who had stated it as his opinion, that it' Howard 
 in the event of a reconciliation taking place were to call upon Sir 
 Charles, his conviction of Lady Julian's innocence would be complete. 
 
 lie therefore having allowed two days to elapse mentioned the 
 subject incidentally to Howard, who, on the instant, declared that he 
 would go up at once, and take Mrs. Howard, Ilenriette, and Sylvester 
 with him. 
 
 With this arrangement the reverend gentleman, of course, was de- 
 lighted, but not more delighted than Sylvester was with the idea of 
 travelling with Ilenriette. Howard had decided on starting the next 
 morning, and at the appointed time called for Sylvester at the cottage, 
 when he, Mrs. Howard, and Ilenriette, had the happiness of being 
 introduced by Sylvester to his aunt. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor was also much pleased with the introduction; for 
 although they had been the cause of her brother's premature death, she 
 felt that they had been most innocently the cause, and that, therefore) 
 they were blameless. 
 
 Knowing, of course, that they would call, she had prepared for them 
 a luncheon, and soon won the hearts of Mrs. Howard and Henriette by 
 her elegant and amiable manners. 
 
 " My dear madam," said Howard, as he led her to the window, " I 
 shall deprive you of Sylvester's society tor a time, but be assured that 
 
364 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 as circumstances have rendered him fatherless, I will, \vhile I live, be 
 like a father to him. We need not revert to those circumstances now, 
 but I hope that when we return, our friendship will be cemented, and 
 that we shall live thenceforward in unity and peace." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor responded to the expression of this hope, and as the 
 ladies were by this time ready, they affectionately bade her adieu, and 
 were conducted by the reverend gentleman to the carriage. 
 
 " We may not return for a week," said Howard; " but Sylvester will 
 write to you to-morrow." And having taken leave of the reverend gen- 
 tleman, he entered the carriage and they were off. 
 
 On the road Howard perfectly well understood the affectionate feelings 
 which existed between Sylvester and Henriette ; but as he believed him 
 to be worthy of her, and knew her to be worthy of him, he did not 
 attempt to check the development of those feelings, but on the contrary, 
 felt justified in promoting their cultivation. 
 
 Having arrived at the fourth stage they stopped and dined, and 
 nothing could exceed in intensity the happiness of both Henriette and 
 Mrs. Howard ; for, while the former had commenced a new state of 
 existence, the latter had returned to that state in which, formerly, her 
 guileless heart had known nothing but joy. 
 
 They were happy, indeed! most happy: they wept, they were so 
 happy. And Howard wept too : nay, tears sprang into Sylvester's eyes 
 their happiness was so contagious. 
 
 Having dined, they went on, and reached town about six, and had 
 coffee, and went to the Opera with Tom, and, in the morning, Scholefield 
 introduced Howard to Sir Charles, and had a long and most interesting 
 interview with him. 
 
 Sir Charles had previously felt convinced of the fact of Lady Julian 
 being innocent : for Scholefield had related to him the whole of the cir- 
 cumstances connected with the case of Mrs. Howard, and, therefore, 
 when Howard himself had stated that a reconciliation had been effected, 
 Sir Charles felt so perfectly satisfied, that he exclaimed, " this young 
 man is innocent, I see! Both he and Lady Julian are innocent! The 
 damages shall not, of course, be enforced. I'm entitled to no ' damages.' 
 I've received no damage. I have not I feel that I have not been in- 
 jured. They made it out that I wanted the two thousand pounds. I'll 
 not have the two thousand pounds. But if that young man should ever 
 want two thousand, let him come to me, and he shall have it!" 
 
 This was the result of the interview ; and, before Howard reached his 
 hotel, Sir Charles was with General Lloyd. 
 
 The general, on receiving his card, felt quite inclined to treat him 
 with contempt; but, on reflection, he thought it would be better to see 
 him, and, therefore, sent word down that he'd be with him anon. 
 
 " Well," said he, haughtily, as he entered the room ; " what do you 
 want here, Sir Charles Julian?" 
 
 " What do I want here!" exclaimed Sir Charles, not anticipating such 
 a reception. "If we can speak to each other calmly, let us do so: if 
 not, our interview is at an end." 
 
 " Calmly ! What do you want here?" 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 365 
 
 " I scorn" replied Sir Charles, with indignation, " I scorn to answer 
 any question put in that tone." 
 
 " What tone, Sir Charles Julian what tone should I assume to him 
 who has blasted the reputation of my child, and who has affixed a stain 
 of infamy upon her, like a fool like a fool like a villain and a fool? 
 She is innocent! /care nothing for your verdicts ! Five thousand ver- 
 dicts will not be sufficient to make me believe that she is anything but 
 pure !" 
 
 " General Lloyd," said Sir Charles, " while you pursue this irrational 
 course, I cannot talk with you." 
 
 " While I pursue this irrational course ! What course would you have 
 me pursue, Sir Charles, since you deem that of warmly defending my 
 child believing her to be innocent irrational !" 
 
 " I do not deem that to be irrational, /will defend her as warmly as 
 you can/" 
 
 " You defend her! You, who have basely cast her out of the pale of 
 society, and branded her a wanton! you defend her! If she had no 
 stronger defence than yours, the weakness of her position would be 
 pitiable indeed. But she has a more potent defender than her husband. 
 She has a father, who will defend her while he has life and breath : she 
 has, moreover, the strength which conscious innocence imparts, and that 
 surpasses all. Have your trials sue for your divorce she is innocent 
 innocent still!" 
 
 "I believe that she is! I now firmly believe itl" 
 "You do!" 
 "I do, most firmly." 
 
 " And how has that belief been inspired?" 
 
 " By the knowledge of the fact that that young man is, in reality, a 
 somnambulist. I have proved it. I have proved it beyond all doubt. 
 I am therefore satisfied." 
 
 The general rang the bell, and desired the servant to request " Lady 
 Julian" to come down, and not another word was spoken until she 
 appeared. 
 
 As she entered, Sir Charles was the first to address her. " Matilda," 
 said he, " I am here to inform you that I have happily become quite 
 convinced of your innocence." 
 
 "Sir Charles Julian!" she exclaimed, with an expression of scorn, 
 " whether you have or have not become convinced, is a matter to me of 
 the most perfect indifference. You have injured me irreparably : you 
 have brought yourself into profound contempt; and now all you 
 have to do is to sue for a divorce, and the sooner you obtain it the 
 better." 
 
 " Matilda," resumed Sir Charles calmly, " I did not expect this from 
 you." 
 
 " What did you expect, Sir Charles Julian? Did you expect that, like 
 a guilty thing, I should tremble, or be silent, or sink before him who 
 has thus vilely cast upon my character a stain of infamy!" 
 
 " I expected that you would at least have been calm: for although I 
 ii-'ve now no desire to urge it still the event justified suspicion." 
 
366 SYLVESTER SOUND 
 
 "It did not justify it could not justify your conduct in publicly 
 branding me with so much precipitation." 
 
 "Look you, Sir Charles," interposed the general, who had been 
 thoughtfully pacing the room. " You believe her to be innocent?' 1 
 
 " I do most firmly." 
 
 " Very well, You are convinced of itV" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " Very well. Then how do you propose to remove the stigma ?" 
 
 "Why, in the first place, I am anxious for Matilda to return."' 
 
 "Return!" she exclaimed. "What to live again with you ! Never! 
 Never!" 
 
 " Very well," said the general; " that's settled. Now you can leave 
 the room." 
 
 " I should feel myself degraded " 
 
 " Very well ; that'll do. Leave the rest to me." 
 
 She then cast a withering glance at Sir Charles, and withdrew with 
 an air of disdain. 
 
 "Now, then," resumed the general ; "how is this stain to be re- 
 moved ?'* 
 
 " Why the fact of our living together again would have the effect of 
 removing it." 
 
 "No: no such thing. It would be said that, like an infatuated old 
 fool, although conscious of her guilt, you took her back, and forgave her, 
 No, that'll not do. The stain cannot thus be removed." 
 
 " What, then, would you suggest?" 
 
 " I would suggest to you, Sir Charles, the necessity for acting, as you 
 are bound to act, as a man of honour." 
 
 " I am quite prepared to do so. But how do you conceive that I am 
 bound to act?" 
 
 " You are bound to declare, both in public and in private, your 
 settled conviction of her innocence." 
 
 "In private I have already done so; but how am I to do it in 
 public?" 
 
 " Through the medium of the papers. Consult your attorney. lie, 
 will be able to get your conviction, and the facts which induced it, 
 made known to the world. Let [this be done, Sir Charles : let this be 
 done." 
 
 " If it be possible, it shall be done." 
 
 " Very well. When it is done, we'll see what can be done next; but 
 until it be done, and that effectually, she shall never, with my consent, 
 return." 
 
 Resolved on doing all in his power to counteract the effects of the 
 report of the trial, by making her innocence known to the world, Sir 
 
 Charles then left the house. 
 
 * * # * 
 
 Little now remains to be told ; for here the history of Sylvester, as a 
 somnambulist, ends. The means adopted with the view of preventing 
 a recurrence of somnambulism those of taking much exercise, and 
 living abstemiously proved to be in his ease effectual ; and when this 
 
THE SOMNAMBULIST. 367 
 
 had been proved there being no obstacle whatever in the way, and as 
 they loved each other passionately he and Henrietta were united. 
 
 And so were the reverend gentleman and his Eleanor! aye, and so 
 were Judkins and cook. Lady Julian, moreover, was eventually pre- 
 vailed upon to leave the general's house and return to Sir Charles ; and 
 while Howard himself recovered his former health and spirits, Mrs. 
 Howard was happy in the possession of the affection of all around her. 
 She indeed formed the centre of a most delightful circle; and, if even 
 Sylvester had not been cured effectually, he would after marriage have 
 bct'ii quite safe; for while, during the day, Henriette would not let him 
 sleep, at night she invariably locked him in-* her arms ! 
 
 , Bed Lion-eoHrt,