~« <^t#|1 V «#WI y. ^OFCAIIFO/?^ P "^SaiH^ ,^WE•UNIVERy/A ^^lOSANCElfj^ ^/sa3AiNn-3i\v '%a3AINrt-3y^^ 5j^ A^cVOSANGElfj-^ ^/5a3AiNn-3\\v -^^^UIBRARYQ^ >^tLlBRARYQ^ so '^«!/0JllV3JO>' ^.OFCAllFOff^ ^OFCAlIFOff^ ^ e_3 AWEUNIVERy/A ^lOSANCElfx^ 1^ ^.!/03llVJJO>^ %a3AINft3WV /A ^lOSANCElfX;x 11 iCfei <^VIIBRARY^^, v^l-lIBRARYQc FO;?^ ^OF-CAIIFO/?^ A\^tUNIVtK.V • I =^. ■4 cn >=-< t STANDARD ■I. '^' NOVELS. N° XLII. " No kind of literature is so generally attractive as Fiction. Pictures of life and manners, and Stories of adventure, are more eagerly received by the many than graver productions, however important these latter maybe. AptHEius is better remembered by his fable of Cupid and Psyche than by his abstruser Platonic writings; and the Decameron of Boccaccio has out- lived the Latin Treatises, and other learned works of that author." THE COUNTRY CURATE. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, 8. NEW BURLINGTON STREET (SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN): BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH ; GUMMING, DUBLIN; AND GALIGNANI, PARIS. 1834. London : Printed by A. Spottiswoodb, New-StreeUSquare. •mis COOMiriRT CFMAITE. 11^1/ c/i i/e>/( o//y/i^ nW /f?/ifrtie,rM-/-n,/u// /i m>u-//iui. ^Ct^t^/le/Zi/ra/ you t c&/c/tef o &> (v:yaa >y ■ U)^ u.^' 3hJui "Vpzkj^' /li., .}/ir,// /r/r t, rr ny/ ca^/ra Ai.tn. iy Aid ft a >?t!e L ojrnoN: Mil C HAJ^ro BEWTJLJEY, (SCCCKSSOR TO H.CQI.BOnX) r\ M M I vjn r.li BL.1N.-BEI.I, ScBlKAnFVTE. KDINBUKGU. GAT.IGNAm. TAKIS. 18 31- THE COUNTRY CURATE. BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE SUBALTERN," &c. &c. A man he was to all the country dear. And passing rich with forty pounds a year. Goldsmith. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, 8. NEW BURLINGTON STREET (SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN); BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH; CUMMING, DUBLIN; AND GALIGNANI, PARIS. 1834. PR L PREFACE TO THE PRESENT EDITION. My Publisher has requested me to prepare a Preface for a new edition of " The Country Curate," which he is about to introduce into The Standard Novels. Little is, however, left for me to say respecting the origin of these Tales, in addition to the short account which I considered it necessary to give in the Adver- tisement to former editions. They are all founded on real occurrences ; though the reader will easily under- stand that, in most cases, the amount of truth is, as compared to the amount of fiction, like Falstaff's " hap'orth of bread to his gallons of sack." The original of the Poacher was (and, for aught I know to the contrary, still is,) an old man in the parish of West- well, in Kent, by name Joe Skinner. His cottage, which I have visited a hundred times, corresponded both in its internal and external appearance to that described in the text ; and to the accurate resemblance of his per- sonal habits to those of the imaginary Simon Lee there is not a gamekeeper in all the country round who is unable to bear witness. I am not, indeed, aware that he ever moved in a circle more elevated than that of tlie day labourer : but I remember well his pride, his lionourable pride, which made him shrink from the VI PREFACE. idea of receiving parochial relief; as well as the casu- istry with which he argued, in all companies, in de- fence of the moral fitness of poaching. " God made the birds of the air, and the wild beasts of the field, for the poor as well as for the rich," were his own words, repeated to me over and over again ; " and as long as I can wield a gun or set a snare I will have my share of them." I never knew a more honest or industrious man than this poacher upon principle. Put any species of pro- perty under his charge, and you might go to sleep with the firm assurance that you would find it in the morn- ing where you left it at night. Set him about a piece of work, and whether you paid him by the day or by the job, he would always do you justice. I frequently employed him in my garden, and I never had cause to find fault with his lack of industry. There was another peculiarity about him, of which I became on one occasion the unwilling spectator. He endured bodily pain like a stoic. I saw him once, while strik- ing with a bill-hook at the limb of a tree, miss the branch, and drive the weapon upon his own wrist, which he laid bare to the bone. He coolly wrapped a handkerchief round the wound, and would have gone on with his work, had I not insisted upon his getting the hurt dressed by a surgeon. Joe had a large family of sons and daughters, whom he brought up to follow his own habits ; for even the girls, at least when I knew them, were perfectly ac- quainted with all the mysteries of snaring. It is scarcely necessary to add, that he and his boys were almost as familiar with the interior of the county gaol as with that of their own cabin. He was, however, incor- PREFACE. VU rigible; and if the catastrophe with which my tale winds up did not iijptually occur, the circumstance is attri- butable rather to the forbearance of the keepers than to the exercise of any caution on the part of the Skinners. The idea of the Smugglers was suggested to me by the condition of a famil}^ in the parish of Ash ; of which, however, I do not conceive that I should be justified in saying more, than that the father is now a convict in New South Wales, the mother a degraded drunkard, and the children paupers. They were once people of some property. Of the Miser I have already taken notice. His nam.e was Williams. He served a cure for manyj^ears in Romney Marsh, and saved, by a life of penury, enough to purchase back a small estate in Wales, which had been in his family time out of mind. He went back, took possession, and was found dead in his bed on the morning after his arrival. For the original of the Schoolmistress I must again go back to Westwell. She was an amiable and a gentle girl, whom I myself trained up to teach, under her mother, a national school ; and she died at the earh^ age of eighteen. Her mother did not long survive her. I should but weary the reader's patience were I to describe the minute facts round which the details of the other stories have been woven. Let me, therefore, be content to remind him, that he who has the care of a large parish, and goes about, as he ought to do, among his people, cannot fail, if he keep his eyes open, to see a thousand things which have the power of call- ing the imagination into play, almost involuntarily. VIU PREFACE. To myself the associations connected with these tales are distinct enough ; but I could not hope to lay them open to others, and I therefore abstain from further allusion to them. In conclusion, I have only to thank the public for the kind reception which these volumes have received. London, April 10. 1834. ^ADVERTISEMENT. Of the following sketches there is not one which cannot lay claim to be founded upon fact, whilst there are several which deserve to be received as little more than plain nar- ratives of real occurrences. The Miser, for example, will, I doubt not, be recognised by many persons now hving in the Weald of Kent ; the Poacher flourished not long ago in a village not far from Ashford, in the same county ; the Smuggler ran his risks within the memory of the last ge- neration ; and even the Parish Apprentice is no creation of the fancy. His history is given, almost as it is given here, in an old volume of the Scots Magazine ; only that he is stated to have perpetrated his crimes not in Kent, but in Yorkshire. I mention these facts in order to shield myself from the charge of devising fables too monstrous for credibility ; and to convince my readers, that actual every-day life teems with adventures not less extraordinary than are recorded in the pages of the poet or romance writer. I have only to add, that the plan of this work was de- vised several years ago ; that the Introduction, with three of the tales, appeared in Blackwood's Magazine ; and that the substance of a fourth was given in Friendship's Offer- ing, for 1827. November, 1829. THE COUNTRY CURATE. INTRODUCTION. JLhe ordinary traveller Avho journeys from London to Paris, and who is not greatly in the habit of diverging from the beaten track, — who neither sees, nor desires to see, more of the country through which he passes, than the fields on each side of the highway may chance to present, — can form no idea of the rude and romantic scenery which is occasionally to be met with, even in the southern county of Kent. I am not quite sure that the border districts of Scotland itself can boast of glens more striking, or hills more wild and pastoral, than are to be found in this the cultivated garden of England. The general aspect of the country is, indeed, rather beautiful than grand ; swelling downs, luxuriant corn-fields, rich hop-gardens, and exquisite hedgerows, furnishing the more customary features in a Kentish landscape. But Kent is not altogether deficient in what deserves to be ranked as the sublime ; and it may be worth while to inform this wandering generation where- abouts it behoves them to look for it. Soon after he has passed the racecourse on Barham Downs, the wayfaring man Avill arrive at a sort of by-road, which, striking off from the highway in a direction to the right, winds between a couple of fir plantations that skirt the extremities of Dennc Iliil and Broom. Let him pur- sue this path without hesitation. It leads across a wild country to Folkestone and Hythe ; and it conducts to the very glens and hills of which notice has just been given. B 2 4 THE COUNTRY CURATE. As he goes on he will perceive a change in the aspect of external things, not less remarkable, perhaps, than any which he may have previously noted. Cultivation will soon end with him, or, if it continue at all, it will be in that melancholy state which seems to indicate that the plough ought never to have reached those regions, over which Nature, and Nature alone, had asserted her su- premacy. He will see, it is true, a few spots here and there broken up on the side of a bleak hill, but even in these, the ploughshare has cast up gravel, rather than soil ; whilst round them, and above them, all is pasturage, if not rankly luxuriant, at least abundant — short thick grass, such as grows along the sides of the Ochils, or over the summits of the Lomonds. This is the general covering of the hills. Few trees flourish here, and the few that are, consist of dwarf fir and stinted oak ; whilst, from time to time, abrupt precipices of white chalk intervene, as if to diversify the extent of green which might otherwise pall upon the eye. In a pastoral country like this, it is probably needless to say, that glens and valleys of a very striking appearance run in all directions among the waving hills. The road, indeed, winds, in more places than one, along the summit of as beautiful a vale as the crowding in of grass-covered emi- nences is capable of producing. In general, these valleys are narrow, resembling ravines rather than glens; and the only herbage which grows to any height down them, is the fern and the gorse. But they are often deep ; it may be a couple of hundred feet or more from the level of the path- way, whilst the hills which surround them arise to perhaps the same altitude above the head of the gazer. He who wishes to visit this country at an advantageous season, is recommended to choose, not the height of summer, but the spring, or the fall of the year. A bright sunshine suits not such scenery. In its blaze, you see things too plainly; even a mountain, however lofty, being but half a mountain when you can distinguish a sheep upon its summit. The traveller who is really in earnest in looking out for the sublime, is accordingly advised to traverse the Folkestone hills, whilst a storm of rain and wind is abroad. If the blast drive directly in his face, so much the better. But INTRODUCTION. failing the happy occurrence of such a storm^ let him at least select a day of thick fog. Then, when the tops of the hills are shrcMtled, and the bottoms of the glens invisible, he may very well be pardoned, whether a cockney or not, if he fancy himself, not among the downs of Kent, but among the wildest productions of uncultivated nature. In one of the most striking of these glens, the last indeed, which occurs before you obtain a view of Folkestone and of the British Channel, stands the church and parsonage of St. Alphage. They are the only buildings distinctly visible to the traveller ; and to see even these, he must abandon the beaten track, and swerve considerably to the right. They lie at the very gorge of a deep dark vale, just where it seems to end in a narrow pass, which, winding away around the elbow of a green hill, conducts you know not whither. The church is an old-fashioned, unassuming structure, built of round shingle-stones, called boulders, and covered over with the flat gray stone, which our fore- fathers were in the habit of using instead of slate. It be- longs to no class of architecture whatever ; it is neither Saxon nor Gothic; though, if pointed arches in the doors and windows be undeniable proofs of Gothic architecture, they are certainly to be found here. There is no steeple attached to it ; a little wooden belfry, in which hangs a single bell, being meant to represent one ; and the entire temple, in- cluding its gallery, is capable of containing, provided they sit close, perhaps three hundred people. This little edifice is surrounded by a churchyard, which, for the extremely good taste in which it is preserved, might serve as a model to the cemeteries of many more assuming houses of God. It is begirt by a wooden paling, painted purely white, in which the traveller, let him view it when he may, will perceive neither break nor dilapidation. Four gravel-walks run from the four corners of the fence, where neat gates are suspended ; and meet, or rather end, in a broader walk which surrounds the church itself. A few aged yews are scattered, apparently at random, among the graves ; and a row of elms adorns that side of the square which looks towards the vicarage. But there are no gor- geous monuments here; no spots railed round, as if the B 3 6 THE COUNTRY CURATE. ashes of one man were too pure to be mingled with the ashes of another ; an air of primitive equality is spread^ on the contrary^ over the place^ where, if ever it is to be sought for at all, it ought surely to be found. Even head and foot- stones are not very abundant in the churchyard of St. Alphage, and such as appear mark the .resting-places of men who filled no higher rank in society than that of gra- ziers or pilots ; whilst of wooden crosses a more than usual proportion exists, all of which seem to be objects of care and veneration to the parishioners. I confess myself to be one of those who are prone to form a judgment of the habits and dispositions of men in a country place, from the degree of respect which they pay to the graves of their fathers. When I behold a church- yard kept as is that just described, I am apt to think kindly of the inhabitants of the parish, as an innocent and unvi- tiated race of people. "When, on the contrary, the village churchyard forms .the playground for their children ; when its fences are broken down, and the green sod torn from its little mounds ; when the yews, which its former owners planted, are stripped of their branches, not by time, but by the hands of rude urchins ; and when, in addition to these marks of carelessness, proofs of petty pride present them- selves in the shape of tombs clumsily constructed and vilely inscribed, I cannot divest my mind of the persuasion, that the people are dissolute and cold-hearted; that the odious distinctions of modern society have made too much pro- gress among them ; and that the farmers are grinding and vain, the peasantry drunken and dishonest. No doubt I have been sometimes deceived in these conclusions ; but I have much more frequently found them to be correct. Divided only by its neat garden from the western side of the churchyard, stands the vicarage-house, the very repre- sentative of what English vicarages were wont to be in the days of our great-grandfathers. It is a cottage of one story high, containing two little parlours, a kitchen, and a few closets on the ground-floor ; whilst three excellent garrets, rendered more commodious by their storm windows, furnish all the dormitory considered necessary for the family of an humble vicar. Of its parlours, indeed, the little green-room INTRODUCTION. 7 which looks into the garden behind, is, comparatively speak- ing, a modern addition ; whilst a long wash-house, or scullery, hasrttkewise been tacked-on, of late, to one of the gables, more as a matter of convenience than of ornament. Nevertheless, the general appearance of the mansion — with its tiled roof, its walls white as the drifted snow, except in those parts where they are covered with jessamine and china-roses — its green entrance door, ornamented by nar- row window-lights on each side, and its little leaded case- ments — cannot fail to attract the notice of him who loves to think of religion as the parent of peace and humility; and of its teachers, not as mingling with the great and the titled of the land, but as setting an example of meekness and lowUness of heart to their several congregations. In perfect keeping with the size and construction of the house, are the grounds by which it is surrounded. Here are no extensive lawns, so laid out as to require the con- stant attention of a couple of gardeners to hinder them from running wild and bringing discredit on the taste of the proprietor ; no beds of foreign and expensive flowers show their gaudy colours to the sun ; nor have the trees which gird the little paddock and inclose the garden been brought from afar. A meadow, containing, perhaps, three acres of land, forms at once the glebe and the domain of the vicar. It Ues chiefly in front, and on the right of the parsonage ; only a narrow strip winding round the left, to join the garden with the churchyard ; and it is begirt by a weU-trimmed hawthorn hedge, which is never suffered to exceed the height of four feet from the ground. In the centre of tliis hedge, and directly opposite to the door of the house, is a green swing gate, on opening which, and passing through the meadow, you come to another Uttle hedge, drawn, at the distance of perhaps twenty feet, en- tirely round the vicarage. Within this a belt of genuine Enghsh shrubs — of lilacs, laburnums, guelder-roses, moun- tain ash, and filberts, is planted, which overshadow, on each side, a gravel-walk, and embosom the cottage in their green leaves. On the left, however, the belt swells out into a httle thicket, concealing the stable and other offices attached ; beside which grow several taller trees such as B 4 8 THE COUNTRY CURATE. the fir, the beech, and the poplar; while behind the thicket is a little fish-pond, having a well-trimmed grass-walk earned round it, and several elegant weeping willows drop- ping their tresses into the water. Such are, properly speak- ing, its pleasure grounds ; and if to this he added a kitchen- garden, well filled with apple and plum trees, and bisected by a broad turf-walk, on each side of which grow roses and hyacinths, and lilies of the valley, with violets and blue- bells, and here and there a lofty hollyhock — a tolerably correct notion will be formed, even by such as never have, and never may behold the place itself, of the unassuming vicarage of St. Alphage. In this secluded spot dwelt for fifteen years one of the rtost kind-hearted and pious individuals of whom the church of England has cause to boast. Of him the world knew nothing. Like other men, he was ambitious of fame when he first started into life ; but misfortunes, neither romantic nor uncommon, taught him to curb his ambition, and to seek for happiness, not in this world, but in a hetter. It is to him, indeed, more than to any other person, that the vicarage of St. Alphage owes all of simple beauty which is around it. There is not a shrub upon the pre- mises which was not planted by his hand ; and the elms which adorn the churchyard form the only monument which his modesty would suffer to be raised to his memory. As I have undertaken the care of his papers, and propose to make the public acquainted with their contents, it may not be amiss if I premise that task with some account of the author. Not that the life of a country curate can have in it much of general interest, — and the life of my friend was not greatly different from that of other curates, — but his sketches being for the most part sombre, it appears but reasonable to assign some cause why melancholy subjects should have taken a faster hold upon his mind than sub- jects of a lighter nature : and that, I think, the detail of his own brief career will effect. THE PASTOR, CHAPTER I. THE PASTOR. Abraham Williams, the subject of this memoir, was the son of a clergyman in North 'Whales, whose preferment, though not extensive, enabled him to support in gentihty and apparent comfort a family which consisted only of his wife and two children. Of the latter Abraham was the elder by four years, the girl having been born, as Benjamin was born to Jacob, in the old age of her father ; for Mr. WilHams, hke many other English clergymen, had found it impossible to marry till he was considerably advanced in life. Neither he nor his wife were scions of any noble stock. She was the daughter of a retired major in the army, and he the representative of a long line of ancestors, who had all followed the profession to which he was him- self devoted ; and who had succeeded, generally after thirty or forty years' apprenticeship, in obtaining some small rectory, or poor vicarage, from the bishop of the diocese^ or from the colleges of which they were members. Mr. Williams, the father of my much respected friend^ was among the number of those whose benefices were be- stowed upon them by their colleges. For five and twenty years he had held a fellowship in Jesus College, Oxford, in which house of conviviality and good-humour no one was more good-humoured and convivial than he ; and as he obtained the situation almost as soon as he took his degree, no opjiortunity was afforded him of learning the important lesson, that he whose subsistence depends wholly upon a life annuity, ought never, at least, to exceed it. The consequence was, that when, at the age of fifty-three^ the worthy man found a college-living at his option, and himself thereby enabled to fulfil a loving engagement of some twenty years' standing, he prepared to occupy the one and to make good the other, not, indeed, encumbered with heavy debts, but without possessing money enough to 10 THE COUNTRY CURATE. defray the expenses attendant upon induction, the payment of the first-fruits, and the purchase of a Hcence. His preferment was not, however, rated highly in the King's Books, and the price of a hcence was then more reasonable than it is at present ; so he borrowed twenty guineas from a friend, and went with that sum in his pocket to marry a wife and to take possession of his benefice. IVIrs. WilUams's fortune, which amounted to two hundred and fifty pounds, barely sufficed to furnish the parsonage, and to purchase such conveniences, both in-doors and out, as were considered inchspensable to the rectorial establish- ment. The good rector accordingly began his wedded career without one sixpence in his purse to defray the daily cost of housekeeping ; and hence, long before tithe-day came round, the sum total of the proceeds of his rectory was absolutely forestalled to meet current expenses. But Mr, WiUiams was too good-hearted and too thoughtless to regard this. As soon as the compositions came in, they were paid away to last year's creditors, and the necessaries for the year in-coming were procured, as those of the year preceding had been procured, upon trust. By this means there was one day in every three hundred and sixty-five, at the return of which he could boast of being clear with the world ; and there was not one hour in the course of twelve long months, when he could truly affirm that he was worth a penny. Both Mr. and Mrs. AV^illiams were, however, blessed with that calmness of temper, which hindered them from anticipating evils, and from embittering a present enjoy- ment by any over-cautious prying into futurity. Occasion- ally, indeed, the latter, who was several years younger than her husband, would remind him of the uncertainty of human hfe, and advise him to curtail his expenses, in order that he might save something for his family in case he should be prematurely called away. But to exhortations of this kind the good man would reply by recommending an implicit trust in Providence, which never, he said, deserts the righteous man, or suffers his children to beg their bread. It was likewise a maxim with him, that the clergy have no right to accumulate fortunes for their THE PASTOR. 11 families out of the proceeds of their livings. " We are stewards of the poor/' added he, " and society, in all its branches,- hafpeculiar claims upon us. We ought not to live unsociably, because, by avoiding a friendly intercourse with our neighbours, we withdraw from them that example which it is our duty to set even in our hours of hilarity ; whilst, in matters of charity, he who comes not freely for- ward himself, cannot reasonably expect that his preaching or admonitions will have much weight with others." Per- haps the worthy rector carried his ideas on these heads somewhat too far ; but his broad view of the duties of a parish priest were correct ; and they are, I will venture to say, entertained to this hour by no trifling majority of his much -slandered brethren. When such were his abstract notions of things, it wOl readily be beheved, that Mr. Williams's practice in no re- spect contradicted them. Even against the wandering beggar his door was never shut. To the poor and the sick among his own flock he was a father and a friend ; whilst his bread, his cheese, his cold meat, and his beer, were at the command of all who chose to visit his kitchen. Being of a cheerful and happy temperament, too, he freely met the advances of what is called a respectable and wealthy neighbourhood, among whom his gentlemanly manners and cxxltivated mind rendered him at all times an agreeable visitant. Thus, upon a rectory of five hundred pounds per annum, was the father of my friend accustomed to keep up an establishment, and to support appearances, which it would have been scarcely prudent to support, had his es- tate been a real one ; whilst his children, educated in the midst of seeming abundance, ran no slight risk of acquiring notions very Httle in agreement with their future fortunes. The first eighteen years of Abraham's life were not marked by the occurrence of any incident worthy to be recorded. During tbeir progress, he had resided constantly at home, and was well instructed in classical and mathe- matical lore by his father, whose most anxious wish was, that he might be admitted into holy orders, and elected to a fellowship at Jesus, before he himself should go hence and be no more seen. As a necessary consequence upon 12 THE COUNTRY CURATE. this system of domestic culture, the lad grew up with feel- ings of the warmest attachment to his relations ; and an- other tie was also formed, which, though pure and sacred in itself, effectually defeated, by its melancholy issue, the only chance which the son of an unknown country clergy- man possessed, of making his way in the profession which had been chalked out for him. Not far from the residence of Mr, Williams dwelt a widow lady of the name of Evans, who, with an only daughter, inhabited a neat cottage, and subsisted upon a scanty pittance, which her husband, the former incumbent of the parish, had left. JuHa Evans was two years younger than Abraham, a gentle, delicate, and retiring creature; in whose soft blue eye, and exquisitely pure complexion, the most common observer might behold the prognostications of a premature dissolution. She was the sole surviving child of seven, who had all, one after another, dropped into their graves, just as their parents began to count upon their attaining to the fuU vigour of manhood. Of her, therefore, the most anxious care had been taken ; and now her widowed mother breathed hardly another prayer to Heaven, except that it would be pleased to pre- serve for her a hfe, which even she could not but observe to be suspended by a single hair. Between Mr. Williams's family and that of Mrs. Evans an intimate acquaintance subsisted ; and it brought about, as might have been anti- cipated, the most ardent and romantic attachment on the parts of Abraham and Julia towards each other. Abraham Williams had passed his eighteenth year, when his father deemed it necessary that he should remove to college. It was a bitter parting between the youth and his relatives, but the parting with Julia was more bitter by far. Yet there was a keenness of enjoyment in the latter, which perhaps more than counterbalanced its bitterness. The young people had hitherto been to each other as bro- ther and sister ; they loved tenderly and ardently, but they knew not the real nature of the love which subsisted between them. How should they, indeed ? — how should a boy of eighteen, and a girl of sixteen, who met every day with all the unreserved confidence of childhood^ know that their THE PASTOR. IS love was different in kind from that which the one felt for her only paje^nt, the other for his parents and his sister ? It is the moment of parting, which, in such cases, divulges the truth ; nor is there a moment, in all the years of our after-existence, more wildly yet purely delightful, than that in which the discovery is first made. Young as they were, Abraham and Julia exchanged vows of eternal fide- lity before the last embrace was given. These vows were never broken, yet they were never fulfilled. Plow often has my poor friend spoken to me of that hour ! " I had bidden farewell to her mother," he said, " and was preparing to do the same by Julia, when she suddenly turned away from me, and quitted the room. I followed her instantly, and found her leaning against the paling which overhangs the brook, and weeping bitterly. It was a soft serene evening in October ; the withered leaves were lying in quantities on the path, and the few which still clung to the branches overhead, were sere and yellow, and rustled sadly as the quiet air moved them. The sun had set, but dayUght had not yet passed away. I cannot paint to you her look of agony, when I put my arm round her waist, and, gently pressing her soft hand in mine, murmured, what I could not speak, something about comfort and farewell. The tears were flowing fast from her beautiful eyes, and mine too gushed out in torrents. " FareweD, Julia," said I at length, "you will sometimes think of me when I am gone, and, as you follow our fa- vourite walk, or sit beside that little stream, you will wish that I were beside you, and look forward with satisfaction to the day of my return." I shall never forget her reply. Every word of it sank deep into my memory, and can never be erased while memory lasts. " Think of you, Abraham !" cried she, "shall I ever think of aught besides? What will these walks or that stream be to me when you are gone ? Nothing, nothing ! I will never follow them, I will never sit down where we have so often sat together, till you return." "It was then, continued he, " that I felt how passionately I loved her ; and then, for the first time, I spoke to her of love. From that moment we were betrothed ! O God, O God, how vainly !" 14 THE COUNTRY CURATE. Abraham and myself entered College together. We were matriculated on the same day, we attended the same lectures, we belonged to the same set, and, going forward together in our academical course, we passed our examin- ation on the same morning, and on the same morning took our degree. From that period we never wholly lost sight of each other, though our different walks in life kept us generally apart ; but the intercourse which could not he continued in person was constantly maintained by letter. Hence it is, that, though we separated before his misfortunes began, I was not kept ignorant of them, and am now en- abled to detail them in the order in which they occurred. It has sometimes been doubted whether an early attach- ment be or be not of advantage to a youth, who must make his way in the world. For my own part, I am decidedly of opinion that, if his affections be properly bestowed, such an occurrence is always advantageous to him ; and the case of my poor friend fully justifies me in adhering to that opinion. Though of a disposition naturally gay, Abraham Williams never, during the entire course of his college life, ran into the follies and excesses of which most of his com- panions were guilty. Not that he was either niggardly or parsimonious ; no man lived more like a gentleman than he ; but there was a degree of seriousness about him such as very rarely shows itself in the deportment of a reasonable and sensible youth under twenty years of age. Where morose fanaticism prevails, then, indeed, we cannot wonder that the fanatic should be sober and cautious ; but Williams was no fanatic, though a very pattern of sobriety and good conduct. The consequence was, that he made amazing proficiency in his studies ; and the proudest desire of his excellent father was gratified by beholding him, at the early age of two-and-twenty, numbered among the respectable fellows of Jesus College. In the mean while the attachment between the young people continued daily to increase ; and joyful was the heart of the poor widow when she beheld the last prop of her old age an object of regard to a young man so highly and so justly respected. But Julia loved too warmly. Sweet and gentle as her outward manner wasj her heart THE PASTOR. 15 was the abode of feelings not more pure than enthusiastic, and these preyed upon a constitution greatly too delicate to support a stftrggle with hope deferred ; for all Abraham's success brought not the day of their union nearer. As fel- low of a college, he could not marry; and both he and she were aware, that his only chance of preferment was from the society of which he was a member, and which had be- stowed his preferment upon his father. At each visit which he paid to his paternal fireside, the lover was accordingly more and more shocked at the change in Julia's appearance; though, when he was by, she was all life and spirits, and her cheek glowed and her eye danced as they had been wont to do in other days. But as soon as he departed, she drooped again, and it was but too manifest that, unless some fortunate accident should occur, such as might authorise their speedy union, poor Julia would not survive to fulfil her engagement. Just at this time, when Abraham, having attained the canonical age, was preparing to enter the sacred profession, his father was struck with a paralytic affection, from which he never recovered. The old man, after lingering a few weeks, died ; and he died as he had lived, calm, contented, full of trust in the God who had guided him hitherto, and full of affection for his family and his people. The blow was deeply felt both by his wife and children ; and it came upon them the more heavily, because now, for the first time, the sad effects of his liberal and unrestrained course of Ufe appeared. He died absolutely penniless. There was not in the house money sufficient to defray the ex- penses of the funeral ; and the demand for dilapidations — that demand so little creditable to the constitution of the Church of England — swept away the whole produce of the sale of furniture and effects, which necessarily ensued. With his usual consideration for others, and disregard for himself, Mr. Williams had made no charge upon the widow of his predecessor in the Rectory ; but he was succeeded by a man widely different from himself in all respects — by a fellow of a school not yet, I fear, wholly abolished, and which is not likely to be abolished till human nature un- dergo a change. The new incumbent, though a bachelor. l6 THE COUNTRY CURATE. and though determined to continue a bachelor to the day of his death, entertained no thought of being merciful to the widow and the orphan. He caused the house, the barns, the stables, the chancel, and even the fences and stumps of fences, to be accurately surveyed ; and he exacted the full amount of the valuation from a family whose sole de- pendence was now upon the exertions of my friend. When the bitterness of grief for the loss of a kind parent began to subside, it was not possible for Abraham to hinder the reflection from arising, that now a greater bar than ever was thrown in the way of that marriage, in the com- pletion of which all his hopes of earthly comfort were centred. His mother and sister must be maintained. This was a duty, of the paramount importance of which his mind was far too properly regulated not to be fully con- vinced; but let him not be deemed selfish, if something like sorrow would occasionally mingle with his feeling of gratitude towards that Providence, which had happily sup- pUed him with the means of discharging it. Alas ! we are not always made happy — at least, perfectly happy — by the conviction that we are doing, or striving to do, our duty. Ours is not the nature of angels, but of men ; of creatures partaking as much of the dross of the earth as of the essence of the Divinity ; and till that dross be wholly purged away, something of imperfection must cling even to our best re- solutions and endeavours. Nevertheless, Abraham was too good a son, and too sincere a Christian, not to relinquish his own wishes freely, now that they came into collision with his duty ; only he had not the courage to make Julia a partaker in his sorrows and in his apprehensions. But it is not possible, at least during the season of youth, absolutely to divest ourselves of hope. " I will work harder than I have yet done," said he to himself. " I will strive for the place of tutor at my col- lege ; or I will obtain a curacy in the country, and take private pupils into my house ; and, whatever my savings may be, I will settle all upon my mother and sister, so that, when a Uving falls, I may share it with Juha." It is very probable that he might have succeeded in the first of these schemes, had he attempted it ; for his talents THB PASTOR. 17 were well known and duly appreciated in the university ; but then where could his mother and sister reside ? That ^l/in, therefore;, was abandoned ; and he accordingly set himself with all diligence to carry into execution the other alternative, to which nothing but an overwhelming sense of duty could have driven him. CHAPTER II. THE PASTOR. The curacy which my friend Williams obtained was that of St.Alphage, of the localities of which a slight sketch has already been given. It was retired, and therefore it suited the state of his finances ; for the stipend allowed was only 40/. a year, and the emoluments of his fellowship amounted to an additional 80/. His was one of the poorer fellow- ships of Jesus. Had he resided, it might, perhaps, have brought in 100/. annually; but the value of such things is always diminished by non-residence. With a yearly income, therefore, amounting to 120/., Abraham prepared himself to nurse his aged mother, to protect his sister, and to discharge the unostentatious, but useful and often irk- some, functions of a country curate. St. Alphage was far removed from the sweet Vale of Abberquate, in North '\Fales, where Juha continued to reside, and where his own youth had been spent. He had selected Kent as a part of the empire in which, from its proximity to London, his chances of obtaining pupils were the best ; and being a stranger to the country, he naturallv accepted the first offer that was made of a cure and of "a residence. Perhaps, too, he was fearful that a constant lingering near the object of his devoted aflPections might induce him to deviate from the rugged path which he had prudently determined to follow. He knew that Julia was c 18 THE COUNTRY CURATE. all excellence and purity ; that she would not tempt him to a premature union, or willingly consent to any step which would compromise the happiness or comfort of his mother. AU this he knew well : but he knew also that she doted upon him with woman's fondness ; and he dared not leave it in his own power to propose at any moment a measure so rash as that which inclination was constantly suggesting. He distrusted not Julia, but himself; and to place it be- yond his own reach to act otherwise than as he had wisely resolved to act, he abandoned scenes rendered dear to him by the recollections of his childhood, and by the presence of the only human being in whose society life was truly valuable. I have said, that between Abraham and myself a con- stant epistolary communication was kept up from the day of our departure from the university till the commence- ment of his last illness. Many of his letters are in my possession ; and as I cannot but think that a more correct idea of a man's character and feelings is to be obtained by perusing his unrestrained correspondence with a friend than by any other means, I will here transcribe a few passages from one or two of the epistles which I received from him after his settlement in Kent. The letters are for the most part entirely devoted to the discussion of topics in which the writer himself was, as may be supposed, deeply in- terested. But these are subjects which might not equally interest the public, were they detailed at length ; and hence I will offer only a few short specimens of the general style in which they are written. " I like my situation," says he, in one of them, " as much as any man can like a place which is new to him, and which has no natural claim upon his regard, by being the residence of persons whom he loves. The people ap- pear to be, in general, very ignorant, but very civil : they are all of the lower orders, or of a class in society just removed from the lowest, and they seem well-disposed to treat with kindness and respect the person who is to pro- pagate God's word amongst them. The only thing, indeed, which I do not entirely relish, is the order of my duties. I feel the responsibihty imposed upon me as something far THE PASTOR. 19 more awful than I ought to have undertaken ; and when I remember that I must shortly add to it the care of private pupils, I conffess that I am sometimes inclined to regret having embarked in a profession so arduous and so poorly remunerated. " But this is wrong. I thank God that there is a home under my roof provided for my mother and sister. I thank God, too, that my gentle Julia continues faithful to me, in spite of the Uttle prospect which is before us of coming speedily together. Ah ! my friend, if you knew that girl as I know her, you would not wonder that she thus en- grosses so many of my thoughts ; ay, that she sometimes comes between me and my Maker : — so good, so pure, so sensible ! who would account any labour too severe, which promised to secure her as its final reward .'' " Some time after the receipt of this letter, I heard of his having succeeded in obtaining a couple of pupils, and I naturally wrote to enquire how he relished his new em- ployment. I give his answer to that question at length, as a just reproof to such as consider a private tutor amply remunerated, provided he receive his 200/. or 250/. per annum with each pupil. " The only consideration at all capable of reconciling me to the task which I have undertaken is the prospect which it holds out of providing for my mother and my sister, and ultimately for Julia. Trust me, my friend, that he who has never acted the part of a private tutor knows not, and cannot know, one twentieth part of the annoyances and inconveniences to which that occupation gives birth. In the first place, you are necessarily ignorant of the kind of characters which you are about to receive into your family. If there be nothing notoriously bad against a young man, you must accept him, otherwise you are called fastidious, and no more offers are made to you. And grant- ing that you are fortunate, — granting that your pupils are all youths of correct conduct and proper feeUng, — from the moment they cross your threshold, your home is no longer your own. You live, as it were, continually in a pubhc thoroughfare; even during meal-times you cannot converse with your nearest relatives, except on common-place topics; c 2 20 THE COUNTRY CURATE. you never walk abroad when your pupils are within, nor remain within when they walk abroad, with an easy mind. " "With respect to the mere labour of tuition, that, no doubt, is wearisome enough. It is but an uninteresting occupation to go continually through the pages of Aristotle and Livy, or even to point out the beauties of Pindar and Horace ; but that might be endured. It is the breaking up of all family comfort, — the utter annihilation of home, — the constant restraint imposed upon your conduct, your words, and your very thoughts : these are the circumstances which to me, at least, are most grievous, in the duties of tutorising. Then, again, there are the thousand chances that young men of seventeen and eighteen years of age will involve themselves in scrapes ; not, perhaps, discreditable in the eyes of the fashionable world, but exceedingly hurt- ful to the morals of a country parish, and to the influence of him who is placed at its head. And, above all, there is the necessity of humouring, as far as they can be humoured, the cUspositions and propensities of your inmates. You cannot treat youths of these years as you would treat chil- dren ; neither are they qtiite fit to be treated as men. You can neither reason with them altogether, for to mere reason they will pay no heed ; nor can you employ coercive mea- sures, for to such they will hardly submit. Rest assured that the daily labourer in the fields, who returns when his work is done to his own fireside, and to the bosom of his own family, leads a far happier life than your private tu- tor who is largely paid for receiving strangers into his house." In spite of his disHke to the employment, Williams con- tinued, however, to labour in his vocation as a private tutor for upwards of three years. To his parish he was, as may be supposed, most attentive all the while ; and he never murmured at his lot, let happen what might, because the approbation of his own mind, and the affectionate letters which he regularly received from JuUa, more than com- pensated for all his daily and hourly grievances. Nor did the contemplation of a mother and sister, made happy through his exertions, fail to increase that holy calm which was upon him. Perhaps he was never more happy than THE PASTOR. 21 during these years ; he certainly never enjoyed so much happiness after they departed. From tlre^'period of his father's death, up to the expir- ation of the time specified, Abraham had visited his native vale only wjce. That visit occurred about twelve months after his removal into Kent. It was a short but a de- lightful one, because it was spent under the roof of Mrs. Evans, and in a constant and unrestrained intercourse with JuHa. If any thing, indeed, could be said to imbitter it, it was the extreme delicacy of the maiden's health, who exhibited even then symptoms of that fatal disease, which in two years after brought her to an untimely grave. Abra- liam could not but observe the change in her appearance. Her form was wasted to a shadow ; her cheek was sunken and hollow, and alternately pale and ruddy, as the fever went and came. But she laughed at his expressions of alarm ; and he returned home, if not quite at ease, at least determined to believe her own assertion, that love was her only malady, and that love never yet caused death so long as it was not slighted. In perfect accordance with her words were all Julia's letters during the entire space of eighteen months which followed their last parting. At the end of that time, how- ever, her style became somewhat more gloomy. She spoke of the worthlessness of earthly enjoyments, and of the wisdom and necessity of her lover's fixing more of his affections upon Heaven, and less upon her. She talked of her utter inability to fulfil the expectations which he had formed, or to render him happy, who was far too good for her or for any woman living. To this topic, indeed, she recurred so repeatedly, that Abraham became seriously alarmed, and at last urged her to satisfy his fears by stating the true cause of those expressions, which, instead of comforting, tormented him with a thousand apprehensions too horrible to be named. He had not seen her for nearly two years, when the above letter was written. In due course of post an answer arrived, of which I subjoin a copy. " I will not blame you, dearest Abraham, for the im- patience in which your last appears to have been written ; far less wUl I insult you, by supposing that you could c 3 22 THE COUNTRY CURATE. seriously suspect your Julia of inconstancy or fickleness. Oh, no — no! God is my witness, that you are the sub- ject, and the only subject, of my thoughts by day, and of my dreams by night. I fear, indeed, that 1 think of you too much ; I am sure that I think of you far more than I think of my religion, or of my God. But He knows how frail and weak we are ; and I pray that He will forgive me, if, indeed, there be any sin in suffering the mind to dwell continually upon the most perfect of His creatures. Enough, however, of this. You beg of me to be explicit, and I will be so, though I had determined to defer my communication a little longer, and to spare you the pain ■which I fear it will occasion, till things had assumed a more decided aspect. " Be not alarmed, my beloved Abraham, when I inform you, that my health has not of late been so robust as usual; and that my medical attendants have assured me, that there is some risk that I shall not recover. I say, be not alarmed — perhaps I ought rather to have said — be not wholly cast down. If it be the will of God to remove me, your image will be the last that shall fade from my memory ; and I will only go before, to prepare a place for you in a world where, when we meet again, nothing can part us. But I cannot myself believe that it will end in this. True, I am ill, very ill : I have not indeed quitted my bed for these ten days past ; but I am not yet willing to die, because I am not yet willing to be separated from you. Neverthelesss, come to me if you can. Your presence will, I think, be worth all the medicines which they force upon me ; and which, to please my mother, I am reluctantly compelled to take. God bless you, dearest friend ! prays your own affectionate Julia." Immediately on the receipt of this distressing intelligence, Abraham set off, by the most ready conveyance, to the Vale of Abberquate. Of the circumstances which attended and ensued upon that journey, he has himself drawn so vivid a picture, that I readily avail myself of it, in laying the detail before the reader. The following is the substance of a long letter which he forwarded to me, several months after his return into Kent ; — THE PASTOR. 23 " The bitterness of death is past. She for whom alone I desired to live, for whose sake labour was easy, and anxiety lightj-whose angel form, when it crossed my mind's eye, came ever as a minister of peace, and the teacher of holy things ; that gentle being, who was indeed too good for earth, has departed to her Father which is in heaven, and left me not a ray of hope to guide me along the way which it behoves me to travel. Julia is dead, and I am alive to tell it. There was a time when the bare idea of such an occurrence froze the very blood in my veins, and I deemed it utterly impracticable to survive her; but I have survived, though for what purpose, or to what good end, can be known only to Him who sees into futurity. Vet, that it is for some good end, I have faith enough, in the midst of my sufferings, to believe ; nay, I am already striving to submit without repining to the dispensations of that Power whose will it is thus to try me. " You will be better able to imagine, than I am to de- scribe, the state of mind in which my last journey from this place to Wales was performed. It appeared to me that I should never reach my native valley ; and when at length the old church tower became visible in the distance, the horses which dragged our vehicle seemed to relax even their former tardy speed. Yet, strange to say, when the coach stopped, my strength absolutely failed me ; I could hardly alight ; and when I did, I was obliged to lean, for a moment or two, against the signpost of the inn, before I recovered vigour enough to walk on towards Mrs. Evans's cottage. " Once in motion, however, and I could not move too quickly — I was soon beside the little wicket which opens into the garden, and within view of the paling on the right hand, where Julia first pledged to me her love. I could hear, likewise, the waters of the stream bubbling and brawling as they did on that sweet evening; and the sound brought back a thousand tender recollections, which flitted across my mind during the instant that elapsed whilst I was hurrying up the pathway towards the door. I ob- served, then, that the window-curtains in Julia's room were drawn ; and my heart beat almost to suffocation, as I C 4- 24 THE COUNTRy CURATE. Strove, at first in vain, to raise the latch. But I did raise it, and was met by Mrs. Evans, vrho fell sobbing and weeping into my arms. 'How is Julia?' cried I; 'for the love of Heaven speak, and tell me that she is better ! ' The poor woman was about to reply, probably to entreat me to be cautious, when a shriek from the apartment of the invalid told us that my exclamation had been overheard. I flew towards the stairs, and ascended them in a state of insanity. I heard my name murmured in Juha's voice; I burst open her door; she was sitting up in bed with her arms extended ; I rushed towards her ; she fell upon my bosom, and, again repeating my name, lay perfectly still. Oh, how can I proceed? — After holding her in my embrace for several seconds, I laid her gently back upon her pillow — she was a corpse. Her spirit fled at the instant of our meeting ; and my name was on her lips when they ceased to move for ever. " Of what followed this scene I have no recollection, till I found myself in bed in my own house, and my sister watching affectionately beside me. They say that many weeks have elapsed since Juha died, and was buried ; that a violent fever confined me during a fortnight at Abber- quate, and that when it departed, it left me a poor maniac. I believe these accounts to be correct, for my limbs are wasted to nothing, and my cheek is as pale and hollow as was that of Julia when last I beheld her. If it be so, I can only thank God that He has restored to me my reason. Of my health, too, I must strive to be careful, for the sake of those whose dependence is upon me. But of ambition not a shadow remains. My pupils are dismissed — I no longer desire preferment — why should I, for who is there to share it? For the support of my mother and sister, this curacy, with the profits of my fellowship, will amply suffice ; and as Mrs. Evans has taken up her abode amongst us, the addition of her pittance will place us all in af~ fluence. Such are my plans for the future, until it shall please God to remove me whither Julia has gone before." Mr. WiUiams survived the date of the preceding letter upwards of twelve years. During the whole of that time he steadily adhered to the plans which he had laid down for THE POACHER. 25 himself, and was never known to utter one sentence of complaint against fortune, or rather against Providence. Of Julia, .tooy. he neither spoke nor wrote, except oc- casionally to myself, when I have from time to time visited his cottage ; but he wore a lock of her fair hair in his bo- som, and carried it with him to the grave. To his parochial duties he became more and more attentive every day. His chief amusement was gardening ; and to diversify that, he was in the habit of noting down all such events as ap- peared worthy of record within the circle of his little dis- trict. Thus were his sorrows sanctified to him, and he died at last, composed and happy ; having previously com- mitted to the dust both his mother and mother-in-law. Of his sister it is needless to take farther notice, than that she is the mother of my children, and that nothing gave my poor friend so much comfort on his death-bed, as the know- ledge that she was provided for. Peace to his ashes ! CHAPTER III. THE POACHER. In a distant part of the parish, in one of its wildest and uncultivated regions, stands a solitary cottage, which, not more from the absolute dreariness of its location, than from the melancholy aspect of its architecture, can hardly fail to attract the notice of any wanderer who may chance to pass that way. It stands all alone upon a desolate moor. There are not even the varieties occasioned by hill and dale to give to the thing the least of a romantic appear- ance; but, as far as the eye can reach, aU is one flat, dreary common, so perfectly bare of pasture, that the very sheep seem to shun it, whilst one or two old withered firs give evidence that man has, at some period or other, endeavoured to turn it to use, but has abandoned the at- tempt, because he found it fruitless 26 THE COUNTRY CURATE, Almost in the centre of this moor stands the cottage above alluded to. Its walls^ constructed partly of brick, partly of deals, give free passage to every blast^ let it blow from what quarter it may ; and its roof, originally tiled, is now covered over, where it is covered at all, in some parts by patches of miserable thatch, in others by boards nailed on by an unskilful hand to the rafters. The cottage is two stories high, and presents five windows, besides a door on each side of it. The windows, as may be guessed, re- tain but few fragments of glass within the frames, the deficiency being supplied by old hats, rags, jackets, and rabbit-skins ; whilst of the doors, the front or main one hangs by a single hinge, and that behind is fastened to the sinister lintel by no fewer than five latches made of leather. Of the grounds by which it is begirt, a few words will suflSce to convey an adequate idea. In setting out from the Vicarage, he who wishes to reach that cottage had better make, in the first place, for the high road. Having traversed that for a while he will observe a narrow foot- path on the left hand, which, after descending to the bottom of a glen, and rising again to the summit of a green hill, will bring him within view of the desolate tract already noticed, and will conduct him safely, for in truth there is no pass besides itself across the wild, to the hovel in question. There it ends. It stretches nowhere beyond : indeed, it has evidently been formed by the tread of the tenants of that lonely habitation, as they have gone to or returned from church and market ; and the scantiness of the soil has doubtless given a facility to its formation ; for, in truth, were any human being to walk twenty times backwards and forwards over any given spot in the moor, he would leave a trace of his journey behind him, which whole summers and winters would hardly sufl^ce to obliterate. Whilst the front door of the cottage opens at once upon the heath, a couple of roods of garden-ground, surrounded by a broken gorse hedge in the rear, give proof of the in- dustry or idleness of its tenants. Through the middle of this plot runs a straight walk, ending at a stile, or im- movable gate, erected in the lower fence. The articles THE POACHER. 27 produced are such only, on each side of that walk, as re- quire little or no soil to bring them to perfection. A bed of potatoes, €6fhe rows of cabbages and savoys, two apple- trees, a damson and a bullace, half a dozen gooseberry- bushes, with twice as many of red currant, constitute the sum total of the crop ever reared upon it. To make such a soil produce even these, must, I apprehend, have re- quired some labour ; and I will do its inhabitants the justice to observe, that overgrown as it is now with nettles and rank weeds, there was a time when labour was not spared upon it. In this miserable hovel dwelt, for many years pre\dous to my arrival in the parish. Old Simon Lee, the most skilful and the most determined poacher in all the country. He was the father of five children, the eldest of whom, when I first became acquainted with him, had attained his twenty-third year, whilst the youngest was just be- ginning to run alone, being as yet afraid to trust itself beyond arm's length from the chairs or tables, or any other substance of which it could lay hold. Simon himself was turned of sixty. He was a short man, mea- suring not more than five feet five inches from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. His make was spare, but bony and muscular ; his face, seamed as it was by exposure to weather, had, on the whole, a good expression, and there was a great deal more of intel- ligence in his keen black eye than you will often observe in the eye of an English peasant. Simon's ordinary dress, when he went abroad, was a short brown gaberdine, W'hich reached barely to his knees, a pair of fustian trowsers, hobnailed shoes, and thick worsted stockings. His hat was made of straw, and manufactured by his own hands, and you never failed to observe a piece of black tape or riband bound round it, just above the brim. Simon was, or rather would have been, but for his deter- mined predilection in favour of the primitive employment of the chase, one of the best and most trustworthy labourers in the parish. Set him to what you would, he never failed to do you justice. I have had him, again and again, to dig in my garden, and have compared his diligence with 28 THE COUNTRY CURATE. that of other men who bore a fairer character ; and I must do Simon the justice to say, that he has invariably worked harder for his day's pay than any individual among them. In the matter of honesty, again, you might trust him with untold gold. Much as he was disliked, and I know no character in a country place more universally dis- liked than a poacher, not a human being laid a theft or robbery to his charge : indeed, he was so well thought of in that respect, that it was no uncommon circumstance for the persons who blamed him most severely to hire him, when occasion required, to watch their orchards or hop- poles ; for Simon was well known to fear neither man nor devil. He really and truly was one of the few persons, among the lower orders, whom chance has thrown in my way, whose propensity for poaching I should be disposed to pronounce innate, or a thing of principle. As a proof of this, I need only mention, that Simon and I have discussed the subject repeatedly, and that he has argued in favour of his occupation as stoutly and openly as if there had been no law in existence against it. " Why, you know it is illegal," I would say, " and you must likewise know that it is little better than stealing. What right have you to take the hares or partridges which belong to another man ? " " Lord bless you, sir," was Simon's invariable reply, " if you will only tell me to whom they belong, I promise you never to kill another while I live." " They belong," said I, " to those upon whose lands they feed. Would you consider it right to take one of Sir Harry Oxenden's sheep or turkeys ? Why, then, will you take his hares or his pheasants ?" " As to the matter of that," replied Simon, " there is a mighty difference between sheep and hares. Sheep are bought for money, they remain always upon one spot, they bear the owner's mark, they are articles of barter and sale," (I profess not to give my friend's exact words, only the substance of his argument,) " and they have always been such. But the hare which is found on Sir Harry's grounds to-day may be found on Squire Deeds's to-morrow, and mayhap Sir Edward Knatchbull's the day after ; now, to THE POACHER. 29 which of these three gentlemen can the hare be said to belong? No, sir ! God made the Avild beasts of the field and the fowls^ef the air for the poor man as well as for the rich. I will never so far forget myself as to plunder any man's hen-roost, or take away his cattle ; but as long as these old arms can wield a gun, and these old hands can set a snare, I will never be without a hare or a pheasant, if I happen to want it." There was no arguing against a man who would talk thus ; so after combating the point with him for a time, I finally gave it up. The worst of it was, however, that Simon not only poached himself, but he brought up his son to the same occupation. The Lees were notorious throughout the country. Not a gamekeeper round but knew them ; nor was there one who did not in some degree stand in awe of them. It was suspected, too, that they had good friends somewhere behind the curtain ; for though the patriarch had been convicted several times, he always managed to pay the fine, and, except once, had never suf- fered imprisonment. I deem it no part of a country clergyman's duty to quarrel with one of his parishioners because he happens to set the game-laws at defiance. Perhaps of all the laws that exist, they are in themselves the least defensible ; and they lead to consequences often more serious than their warmest advocate would willingly anticipate. But with the justice or injustice, the policy or impolicy, of these laws, I have no concern : there they are upon the statute-book, and, like all other laws, they ought to be observed. StiU I repeat, that a clergyman has no business to quarrel with a poor man who transgresses in this point, and in none besides. For my own share, though I never told Simon as much, I could not but feel a kind of respect for him, such as I never felt for any other of the fraternity, because he. not only deemed it unnecessary to deny his poaching, but defended it. I love to see men act upon principle, even when the rectitude of the proceedings may be ques- tionable. I have said that Simon Lee was no favourite among his so THE COUNTRY CURATE. neighbours, and the only cause which I have as yet as- signed for the fact is, that he was a poacher. Doubtless this had its weight. But the love of poaching was^ un- fortunately for himself, not the only disagreeable humour with which he was afflicted. There exists not within the compass of the four seas a prouder spirit than that which animated the form of Simon Lee. He never would accept a favour from any man ; he would not crouch or bend to the highest lord in the land. Yet Simon was no jacobin ; quite the reverse. His was the genuine stubbornness, the hardy independence, which once rendered an English pea- sant more truly noble than the titled slave of France or Germany, but which, unfortunately, has of late years yielded to the fashionable agricultural system, and to the ruinous and demoralising operations of the poor laws. Simon was the son of a man who had inherited a farm of some thirty or forty acres from a long line of ancestors ; who loved his landlord, as the clansmen of the Highlands were accustomed to love their chief; and who prided him- self in bringing up his children so as that they should earn their bread in an honest way, and be beholden to no human being. Simon, being the eldest of the family, succeeded, on the death of his father, to the farm. But he had hardly taken possession, when the rage for large farms began to show itself; and in a few years after he was sent adrift, in order that his fields might be added to those of a wealthy tenant, who undertook to cultivate them better, and pay some two shillings per acre more to the landlord. Whether the new tenant kept his promise in the first of these stipu- lations may be doubted. In the last he was very punctual, and in a short time he rode as good a horse, and kept as good a table, as his landlord himself. It was a severe wound to Simon's proud heart, his ex- pulsion from his paternal roof. " In that house, sir," said he to me one day when we talked of the circumstance, — " in that house I drew my first breath, and I hoped to draw my last. For two hundred and fifty years have the Lees inhabited it ; and I will venture to say, that his honour has not upon all his lands a family who pay their rent more punctually than we did, or one more ready to THE POACHER. SI serve him, either by day or night. Well, well, the land- lord cares nothing for the tenant now, nor the tenant for the landlord Tit was not so when I was a boy." I have been told by those who remember his dismissal, that Simon seemed for a time, after leaving his little farm, like one who had lost every thing that was dear to him. To hire another was impossible, for small farms were not to be had ; and had the contrary been the case, it was more than questioned whether he could have brought him- self to bestow the labour of a good tenant upon any be- sides the fields which he persisted in calling his own. Under these circumstances he took the cottage on the moor, as much, it was said, because it stood far from neighbours, as on any other account ; and there he remained in a state of perfect idleness, till his little stock of money was ex-, pended, and he felt that he must either work or starve. Simon had married before the inheritance came to him : his eldest boy was able to run about when he left it. His fifth was weaned, when at length, the proceeds of the sale being exhausted, and all the little capital swallowed up, he found himself under the necessity of looking out for a master. I have always been at a loss to conceive why he should have applied to the very man who displaced him, in preference to any of the other parishioners ; but so it was. He requested and obtained permission to cultivate as a hind, at daily wages, those very fallows which he and his ancestors had so long tilled for their own profit ; and from every account, no man could be more faithfully served than his employer, nor any lands more skilfully managed than those %vhich he ploughed. Was this the affection of a rude mind to inanimate objects ? or what was it } Time passed, and Simon's family increased upon him year after year. Still he laboured on ; and though his wages were not, perhaps, competent to support a wife and eight children in comfort (for there were originally eight of them), still they made their wants square with their means, and so kept above the world. But there is no struggling against sickness. It pleased God to visit him with a malignant fever, of which every individual, from the father and mother, down to the infant at the breast. 32 THE COUNTRY CURATE. partook, and from which three out of the number never re- covered. Alas ! the rich man knows not what the poor man suffers, when disease takes up its abode in his dwelling. It is bad enough if his children be attacked ; bad, very bad, because even then there is the doctor's bill to pay, and the little comforts to procure which the doctor may yecommend as necessary to their recovery ; but when he himself falls a victim to the infection, when the arm upon which all depend is unnerved by sickness, and the limbs which ought to provide food for half-a-dozen hungry mouths are chained down to a wretched pallet — God for- give the rich man who knows of this, and leaves a family so situated to its fate ! Such, however, was the case with Simon Lee and his household. For a full fortnight he was himself confined to bed. His wife caught the infec- tion from him, and communicated it to the children. The little money which they had in the house was soon ex- hausted : they lived for a while on the produce of their garden ; but at length nature rebelled, and Simon, after many a struggle, had recourse to the parish. I shall give the particulars of this application as they were communi- cated to me by one of the committee. " We were sitting," said my informant, " as usual, on a Thursday evening, in the room allotted to us in the workhouse. We had had a good many applications, for the typhus was prevalent at the time, and we had relieved several, when, on ringing the bell to see whether any more were waiting, to the astonishment of all present in walked Simon Lee. At first we hardly knew him, he was so wasted and so altered. But he looked at us with the same keen glance with which he used to regard us when he was one of our number, and stood leaning upon his stick in silence. Our overseer at that time was Farmer Scratch, — a man, as you know, sir, not remarkable for his kindness of heart or liberality of disposition. " ' \^Tiat want you, Simon ? ' said he ; '^ surely you cannot be in need of reUef ? ' " ' I am in need, though,' said Simon ; ' I would not have come here, were not my family starving.' " ' We have no relief to give you,' answered the over- THE POACHER. ' 33 seer ; ' you ought to have taken better care of your money •when you had it. I wonder you are not ashamed to come here like a^Qommon pauper, you that used to grant relief, and not to ask it.' " Simon's blood rushed to his cheeks as the overseer spoke. He raised himself erect upon liis staff, and looking proudly at us, he turned upon his heel and walked away. ■■ This is the first time I have asked alms,' cried he, as he opened the door, ' and it shall be the last.' Simon has had sick- ness in his family repeatedly since that time. I have known him to be a full fortnight without work, yet he has never come to the parish since." I was a good deal struck and affected by this story, so I took the first opportunity that offered of discussing the subject of it with Simon himself. " It is all quite true, sir," said he. " The overseer was harsh, and I was proud, so we parted." '•' And how have you done since?" asked I. " Why, bad enough sometimes," was the reply ; " but poor folks, you know, sir, cannot be nice. And I will tell you. It never entered into my head, till I was on my way home from the committee, that to be in want of food, whilst the hares were eating my cabbages every night, and the partridges feeding not a rood from my door, was no very wise act. I poached, as you call it, to feed my children. I have never killed game for any other pur- pose ; and whilst there is a head of it left, and I am able to catch it, they shall not be beholden to the parish for a meal." I cannot help thinking that the history of Simon Lee, as fex as it has yet been detailed, contains a lesson well worth the attention both of country gentlemen and farmers. Whilst tlie old system of land-letting continued, and every thirty or forty acres of ground supported an honest family, it is very probable that the landlord received a less sum in the shape of gross yearly rent, and that the yeomanry rode poorer horses, and kept poorer tables, than they do at pre- sent. But it is equally certain that the paupers to be re- lieved by their parishes then, came not up to one fiftieth part of those which are continually seeking and obtaining 34 THE COUNTRY CURATE. parochial relief now ; and if the increased burden thereby imposed upon the land be taken into account, it will pro- bably be found that agriculturists are not such decided gainers by the change as most of them imagine. Besides all which, it must be manifest to all who have eyes to look round them, and minds to comprehend what they see, that with the race of petty farmers has expired one of the finest and most virtuous classes of society. Their houses were the nurseries of good and faithful servants : they were themselves hospitable to the utmost extent of their means, and almost always honest. They were really, I say not upon principle, but certainly upon honourable prejudice, attached to the constitution in church and state. If, then, the country have suffered in its moral character by their anni- hilation, he must be a very short-sighted politician indeed who imagines that the injury thereby inflicted upon society can be at all compensated by any improvement in the art of agriculture, or increase of the amount of produce raised from the soil. CHAPTER IV. THE POACHER. Having thus made my reader in some degree acquainted with Simon Lee and his family, I proceed at once to detail the circumstances which alone, when I took up the pen, I had intended to detail. Simon had been an inhabitant of his cottage on the moor upwards of twenty years before I came to the parish. The fits of sickness already hinted at had come and gone by long ago, and the habits consequent upon them were all entwined in his very nature, so as that nothing could remove them. In fact, Simon had ceased to be regarded by any of his neighbours with an eye of pity, for his misfortunes were all forgotten ; whilst his poaching THE POACHER. 35 propensity continuing in full vigour, all men spoke of him with abhorrence. One of jhe-^rst acts of a country clergyman, after he has settled himself in the spot where his duties lie, is, at least ought to bej.to call upon the whole of his parishioners, rich and poor, and to make himself acquainted, as well as he can, with their respective characters and circumstances. In prosecuting these enquiries, he is of course liable to be im- posed upon, according as neighbours chance to live on good or bad terms with one another ; for it very seldom happens, I am sorry to say, that the poorer classes speak of their ac- quaintances, except from the dictates of prejudice, either for or against them. Of course, every prudent man will hear all that is said, and remember it ; but he will use it only as the mariner uses his log-book : he will take it as a guide in the mean while, but make large allowances for the possibility of being deceived. In the case of Simon, I found this caution peculiarly necessary. To whomsoever I put a question respecting the inhabitant of the cottage on the moor, the answer was invariably the same: — "We know but little of him, sir, for he neighbours with no one; but they say he is a desperate fellow." By the farmers, again, I was told of his extreme insolence ; whilst Sir Harry's gamekeeper, who attended my church, assured me, '' that he was the most troublesome rascal in all the county." So, thought I, here is a pretty sort of a person with whom I am to come into contact. But I remembered the lesson given to me by my good father ; and under the idea that he really was a very wretched character, I resolved to spare no labour to effect his reformation. The first time I visited Simon was in the month of Oc^' tober. As I was anxious to see and converse with the mau himself, I delayed my stroll till the sun had set, and the hours of labour were passed ; then, fully anticipating a dis- agreeable interview, I sallied forth. Half an hour's walk brought me to his hovel. I confess that the external ap^ pearance of it by no means induced me to doubt the evil rumours communicated from so many quarters ; but ap- pearances, I recollected, were often deceitful, so I deter- mined to suspend ray judgment till better grounds should j> 2 36 THE COtTNTRY CURATE. be given for forming it. I accordingly knocked at the door ; a rough voice called to come in ; I pushed it open, and entered. Let me describe the coup-d'oeil, as it then fell upon me. ' Stepping over a sort of oaken ledge, perhaps three or four inches in height, I found myself in a large apartment, the floor of which was earthen, and full of inequalities. The apartment in question occupied the better part of the base- ment of the house ; that is to say, it took in the whole of the lower story, except a scullery and coal-hole, partitioned off at one of the extremities by a few rotten boards. There was no want of light here ; for though the better part of each window was stuffed, as I have already described, there being two casements, besides a door on one side, and a like number on the other, besides various fissures in the wall, the crevices capable of admitting the sun's rays were greatly more abundant than may usually be seen in the English poor man's dwelling. The room was low in the roof, in proportion to its size. The walls, originally whitewashed, were of a dingy brown ; on the right hand, as you entered, was the fireplace — a huge orifice — in the centre of which stood a small rusty grate, having a few sticks burning in it, and a pot boiling above them. On one side of this grate, and within the cavity of the chimney, sat Simon. At his feet lay a lurcher, a spaniel, and two ragged black terriers ; and he himself was busy twisting a wire, no doubt for some useful purpose. His wife (originally, I have been told, a pretty woman, but now a hard-favoured slatternly dame,) leaned over the pot, and was in the act of brushing off such par- ticles of a handful of salt as adhered to her palm. Two children, one apparently about five, the other about seven years old, were rolling in the middle of the fioor, in a state but few degrees removed from nudity ; whilst a taller girl, whose age I should guess to be about thirteen, dandled an infant in her arms beside an opposite window. Such was the general aspect of the room, and the dis« position of the family, when I entered. With respect to furniture, I observed a small deal-table, four chairs, rush- bottomed once upon a time, but now greatly in need of re- pair, a stool or two, a little arm-chair, with a hole in its THE POACHER. SJ seat;, and a long bench or form. But there were other im- plements to be seen more attractive than these. On the beam whidfTran through the middle of the ceiling was suspended a long fowling-piece ; there were cranks near it for two others, but at present they were empty. A game- bag, dyed all sorts of colours with blood and grease, hung upon a nail in the wall opposite to me : beside it were two flew nets, such as fishermen use when they drag drains or narrow streams ; and a third, of longer dimensions, fit for use in a pond or lake, was thrown across the boarding which separated the apartment from the coal-hole. Three or four shot-belts dangled over the fire-place ; whilst several pairs of strong mud-boots, leathern gaiters, hobnailed shoes, &c. &c. -were scattered at random in the different corners of the room. The dogs, whose growling had been sufficiently audible even previous to my knock upon the door, no sooner eyed me, than with one accord they sprang to their legs, barking angrily, and showed every tooth in their heads, as if pre- pared to pounce upon me. They were, however, in admirable training. Simon had only to raise his finger, giving at the same time a low whistle, when they dropped down as if they had been shot, and remained belly to the ground, without moving limb or tail, during the whole of my visit. I could not but pity the unfortunate country gentlemen, into whose preserves these dogs, with their master, should make their way. It was easy to discover, from the demeanour of all pre- sent, that Simon had been little accustomed to receive visits from the minister of his parish. Both he and his wife appeared utterly confounded at the vision which now stood before them. The wire which he had been twisting was hastily dropped : he rose from his seat, and uncovering his head, stood staring as if he had seen a spirit. In like manner, the housewife seemed rooted to the spot which she occupied when I raised the latch ; and the noise of the very children ceased, as if by magic. I had actually advanced as for as the chimney corner before my parishioner re- covered himself, or found tongue enough to request that I would be seated. D 3 S8 THE COUNTRY CURATE. It was not long, however, before Simon and I found our- selves mutually at ease, and the prejudices under which I laboured respecting him began to give way. He was civil, without meanness ; respectful, without exhibiting the most remote approximation to cringing ; and honestly, yet man- fully, professed to be flattered by the marks of attention which I paid him. " You are the first minister that ever darkened these doors," said he; "and the only gentleman that has con- descended to notice old Simon Lee since he became poor and friendless. I am glad to see you, sir. I liked your discourse last Sunday much ; but, thank God, want nothing from you except your good-will." " And that you shall have, my friend," replied I ; " but they tell me, Simon, that you do not lead exactly the sort of life that you ought to lead. How comes it that men's tongues seem so free, when you are the subject of their talk.?" " Indeed, sir," replied Simon, " that is more than I can tell. I know very well that I am no favourite here ; and why ? because I hate gossiping ; because I fancy myself as good as any of them ; because I sometimes speak my mind, and will not always run into the mud when a farmer or his horse chances to be in the middle of the way. But judge for yourself, sir. Try me, and if you find me a thief or a rogue, then turn your back upon me." " But you are a poacher, Simon ; and poaching, you know, is against the laws of your country." " So it is, sir," was the reply, " and I am very sorry for it ; but is it against the law of the Bible ? I have read that book through more than once, and I cannot see that a poor man is there forbidden to kill the creatures which God has made wild, and given up as a sort of common possession to all. I know man's laws are against me, and I have felt their severity before now ; but I go by the law of my Maker, and as long as I do that, I care for no man." " But God's laws are against you also. We must sub- mit to every ordinance of man, for the Lord's sake ; and to the game laws among the rest." " So I have been told," answered Simon ; " yet the THE POACHER. 39 very persons who persecute me most severely for occasion- ally killing a hare or a pheasant are continually violating the laws iff*"f?iatters quite as serious. Why, there is not a magistrate upon the bench against whom I could not peach, for purchasing India handkerchiefs for himself, and French gloves and stockings for his ladies. I do not blame them for that, not I ; I see no reason why all these things should not be within the reach of every man who can afford to pay for them ; only, I say, let them wash their own hands clean of breaking the laws of the land, before they are so severe upon a poor man like myself, if he catch a head of game now and then to fill his children's bellies. Besides, if they had left me to rear these young ones on my father's farm, they never would have found me cross them, let them do what they would." The conversation being continued in this strain for some time, and no effect produced upon the poacher's sentiments, I gradually changed the subject, and led him to talk of other things, such as I deemed most likely to betray him into a disclosure of his real character in the common oc- currences of life. The result of the whole was, that I rose to quit his house, full rather of compassion than of any other feeling. I was conscious that he had in him at least the elements of a good member of society ; and if these were somewhat deranged by the preponderancy of an illegal habit, I could not, in my own mind, avoid blaming for it, not only the proprietor of his little farm, who had so rudely ejected him from his home, but the parishioners at large, who originally drove him to it by the needless severity of their manner, when want and sickness first urged him tO' apply for relief. I learned from him, that neither he nor his son had any regular employment. " People are afraid of us," he said, " God knows why ; and yet, sir, there is not one among them who will deny, that both Joe and I do a good day's work when we can get it, and that we are ahvays ready to undertake any job that may be offered." I wag at the time in want of some one to assist me in laying out the grounds about the vicarage, and planting the churchyard ; I engaged Simon on the moment, and I s 4 40 THE COUNTRY CURATE. never had cause to repent of the measure during the whole time that he was in my service. I have said, that Simon's eldest son had attained his twenty-third year at the period when our acquaintance commenced. He was a well-grown, powerful youth ; not handsome, certainly, but straight, broad-shouldered, full- chested, and five feet ten inches high without his shoes. It was not often that Joe Lee mixed in the sports of the village youths ; for, brought up as he had been, he was shy, or, as the neighbours called it, proud, like his father : but, when he did join their meetings, there was not a lad among them all that could heave the bar, bowl, bat, or run against him. In wrestling, too, he was unrivalled; and as to shooting, when Shrove Tuesday came round, Joe saved many a devoted dunghill cock, by challenging his companions to shoot at penny-pieces, or small shingle stones throv^n into the air. Generally speaking, indeed, he never strove at any game without gaining the prize, for he was prudent enough never to attempt any thing of which he had not some previous knowledge. It chanced that, about a year and a half after the inter- view above recorded, the young men of the parish met, as ■their custom was, on a certain holyday, to play their match at cricket, and to try their skill in foot-ball, racing, and other athletic sports. To these meetings, by the way, I never failed to give my countenance. For the most part I stood by till one or two contests came to a close ; and by thus proving to them that religion is no enemy to mirth, as long as it exceeds not the bounds of moderation, I have good reason to believe that I put a stop to many a drunken brawl. Such meetings, at least, I was assured, had inva- riably ended, during ray predecessor's time, in riot and intemperance ; in mine, I can safely say that the instances were rare indeed in which the slightest deviation from strict sobriety and good fellowship occurred. As ill luck would have it, however, a violent quarrel arose this day between Joe Lee and another person ; and as the quarrel ended not where it began, but led to very serious conse- quences, it may be proper to state how it originated, and to what height it was immediately carried. THE POACHER. 41 Our squire had lately added to his establishment a new- gamekeeper, a blustering, hot-headed native of Yorkshire^ This person' hiving been worsted in a variety of games, in which he appeared to consider himself an adept, finally challenged any man upon the common to shoot with him, for a wager, at a number of sparrows which he had brought in a cage for the purpose. The challenge was accepted by Joe. The number of birds to be let loose was a dozen a-side, and the parties were to take the alternate shots, whether they chanced to be fair or cross. Both men were noted as excellent marksmen ; a great degree of interest was accordingly excited on the occasion ; and though the majority of those present wished well to Joe Lee, simply became he was a man of Kent, and not a Yorkshireman, there were not wanting numbers who backed the keeper to the customary extent of a pint or a quart of ale. The pre- parations for the match were soon made — the umpires took their stations ; and a trap being formed at the distance of thirty paces from the sportsmen, the sparrows were re- moved to it from the cage, one by one. The first fire fell by lot to Joe, and it was successful — he killed his bird. The keeper was equally fortunate when his turn arrived. Thus they went on, displaying an extra- ordinary precision of aim, till the fifth fire came round ; Joe's took effect ; the bird at which the north countryman shot flew off untouched. A shout was of course raised by Joe's backers; whilst those of his opponent were pro- portionably downcast. It soon happened, however, that the rivals were again on an equal footing ; Joe missing, and the other killing. And now each had but a single charge reserved ; each, too, had missed but once, conse- quently, each could count ten dead sparrows for eleven shots. This fire must therefore decide the match. You might have heard a pin drop upon the very grass, when, the trap being raised, the little bird rose in air, and Joe, with one leg advanced somewhat before the other, followed it with his gun. He fired. The sparrow soared up for a moment, and dropped perfectly dead, just within distance. I looked at the gamekeeper at this moment, and observed that his knees trembled : he was flurried beyond measure ; 42 THE COUNTRY CURATK. and the consequence was, that the shot flew harmless, and the bird escaped. Instantly the shouts of the Kentish men rent the air, and I quitted them, having seen Joe, whose shiness and pride were both for the moment for- gotten, elevated upon the shoulders of a couple of lusty youths, and commencing his triumphal march round the common. Perhaps it is to be regretted that I had not re- mained amongst them a little longer ; had I done so, in all probability matters would not have taken the turn they did. Chagrined and irritated at his defeat, the keeper mixed no more in the amusements of the day ; but sitting down in a booth, swallowed large potations of ale and spirits, too often the resource of the uneducated classes against the pangs of disappointment or sorrow. As the liquor began to take effect, the man became quarrelsome. He accused Joe, who, having successfully finished a foot-race, rested upon a bench near, of foul play. He insisted that the eleventh bird fell out of bounds, and being corrected in that particular by a reference to his own umpire, he changed his mode of attack for another annoyance. The poaching propensity of Joe's father, his pride, and his poverty, were thrown in the son's teeth. Joe bore it, not without a struggle, but he did bear it. Encouraged, probably, by the calmness of his rival, the keeper next began to vent his spleen upon Joe's dog. One of the ragged terriers of which I have already spoken, belonged, it appeared, to Joe, and it seldom left his heel, let him go where he v/ould. On the present occasion it lay beneath the form on which its master sat, perfectly quiet and in- offensive. " It is a d — d shame that such fellows as you should be allowed to keep dogs," said the surly keeper, giving at the same time a violent kick to the unoffending animal. " If I was master, I would have them all shot ; and by G — d, the first time I see that brute self-hunting on our land, he shall have the contents of this piece in his stomach." Still Joe kept his temper, and parried the attack the ■best way he could ; but his blood was boiling, and it only THE POACHER. 43 wanted a little more provocation to bring matters to an issue. .^ " Will you wrestle a fall^ you ?" cried the keeper, rising and throwing off his jacket. " With all my heart/' exclaimed Joe ; " and don't spare me, for, by the Lord, I don't mean to spare you." To it they went, and after a few severe tugs the keeper was thrown heavily. He rose with considerable difficulty, and complained grievously of his head, staggered, and fell again to the ground. Immediately some of the lads ran to his assistance : he was black in the face. They undid his neckcloth, threw water upon him, but all to no purpose; his limbs quivered convulsively, his eyes opened and shut once or twice, a gasp, a rattle in his throat, and he was a corpse ! A quantity of blood gushing from his nose and mouth gave evidence of some severe internal injury; whilst the only word uttered by himself, namely, " My head, my head !" seemed to imply, that a concussion of the brain had occasioned it. Let the injury, however, be where it might, it was a fatal one ; for when the medical assistance arrived, which was promptly sent for, hfe was wholly extinct. CHAPTER V. THE POACHER. As may readily be imagined, a termination so awful to sports begun, and heretofore carried on in the best possible humour, produced no trifling sensation among those who witnessed it. The question most keenly agitated was, how were they to dispose of the unfortunate perpetrator of the deed ? That he willingly killed his antagonist, not one among them supposed ; but there is a propensity in human nature to regard the shedder of man's blood, whether by 44 THE COUNTRY CURATE. accident or design, with abhorrence, and who but a minute ago was a favourite with all the by-standers became now an object of loathing to the majority. "W^hilst a few voices, therefore, called aloud to let the poor fellow go, hundreds were decidedly of opinion that he ought to be detained. As to Joe himself, he never attempted to escape. Whilst the fate of the fallen wrestler was in doubt, or rather as long as his hurts were considered in no degree to endanger his life, Joe kept aloof from him, and, probably, congratulated himself on the extent of the chastisement which he had inflicted ; but when a cry was raised, " The keeper is dead," there was not an individual in the throng who ap- peared more anxious to falsify the rumour, by bestowing upon its object every attention in his power. Dead, how- ever, the keeper was ; and Joe readily gave himself up to the parish constable, until the issue of the coroner's inquest should be ascertained. Several hours of daylight still remaining, no time was lost in despatching a messenger for the coroner ; and as the office for this part of the county happened at the time to be fiUed by a Folkstone attorney, that gentleman speedily arrived. A jury was summoned, witnesses examined, and the body viewed on the spot where it had ceased to breathe. There cannot be a doubt that a verdict of accidental death would have been returned, but for the unfortunate speech delivered by Joe previous to the commencement of the match, — " Do not spare me, for, by the Lord, I do not mean to spare you." This sounded very like malice pre- pense ; and the fact, that the parties were at the moment in a state of hostility towards one another, furnished strong ground of suspicion that, if there existed no design on either side positively to take away life, still each was re- solved to inflict upon the other as severe a bodily pu- nishment as it was possible to inflict. " Under these circumstances, gentlemen," said the coroner, " I see not how we can suffer this matter to end here. You must return a verdict either of murder or manslaughter, which you think proper. My own opinion is, that the latter wiU suit best with the state of the present affair." It is said that the coroner was the identical attorney who 1 THE POACHER. 45 had conducted all the prosecutions hitherto carried on against the Lees. Whether his judgment was warped by prejudice^ or 'wiiether he hoped to conciliate the good-will of the landed aristocracy by involving one member of a detested family in trouble, or whether he acted, as charity would dictate, in accordance with his own sense of duty, I cannot tell. Certain it is, however, that a verdict was re- turned according to his recommendation, and, under the coroner's warrant, Joe Lee was removed to gaol. It is needless to describe with minuteness the circum- stances which attended the young man's imprisonment and trial. Neither is it necessary to observe that the misfor- tune in which their son was involved gave to Simon and his wife the deepest concern ; more especially as they dreaded a degree of interference from certain high quarters^ which they considered capable of carrying all before it, even to the conviction of an accused person, in defiance of the clearest evidence of his innocence. Simon and his wife, however, only fell, in this respect, into the double error which frequently possesses the minds of the lower orders in this country. They groundlessly imagined, first, that their betters would desire to pervert the course of justice, for the sake of furthering a selfish purpose — a crime of which some, no doubt, may be guilty, but from which the aristocracy of England are, as a body, entirely free ; and, secondly, they erroneously conceived that wealth and rank are able to overwhelm innocence and poverty — a calamity from which our glorious constitution effectually guards us all. Had Joe Lee been arraigned before a bench of county magistrates, it is just possible that his general character might have told against him ; but he was given over to be dealt with according to the judgment of twelve plain En- glishmen, in whose eyes there really are some crimes more heinous than that of killing game without qualification, licence, or permission. Nor did the jury which tried his case disappoint my expectation. In spite of the formidable sentence which, in the view of the subject taken by the coroner, rendered a verdict of manslaughter inevitable, Joe Lee was fully acquitted ; and he returned home, after a 46 THE COUNTRY CURATE. sojourn of a week or two at Maidstone, to follow his former occupations. If the Lees had formerly been objects of general dis- like, they now became so in a tenfold greater degree. The gamekeepers on all the neighbouring estates entered into close alliance with the tenantry, for the protection, as it was said, of their masters' property, but more justly, I believe, to revenge the death of their comrade. The farmers, again, resolved to give neither work nor relief to characters so desperate ; and the very labouring classes shunned them, as if they had been polluted creatures, and a deadly infection rode upon their breaths. Simon and his family were not unaware of this. It had the effect, not of softening or reclaiming, but of rendering them more ruth- less than ever ; and it was now pretty generally understood^ that both father and son were resolved to follow their vo- cation at all hazards ; whilst strong, and even armed parties, were nightly abroad, for the purpose of intercept- ing them. It was in vain that I sought to reason with either party. The world would not give way to an indivi- dual ; that individual would not give way to the world : indeed, I soon found that, by attempting to make things better, I only made them worse, and weakened my influ- ence over each of the contending factions. Matters at length attained to such a crisis, that I anxiously desired to hear of Simon's capture and conviction ; for I had little doubt that the latter event would be followed by his banish- ment from the country ; and I was quite sure, that nothing short of his removal would prevent some act of desperate violence from being sooner or later committed. A single month had barely elapsed from the return of Joe out of prison, when, on wandering to Simon's cottage one morn- ing, with the view of making a last effort to reclaim him, I found that my worst fears had been reaUsed. Having knocked at the door several times without re- ceiving any answer, I raised the latch, for the purpose of entering. Instead of the loud barking which usually gave notice of the watchfidness of Simon's four-footed compa- nions, a sort of broken growl, something between the sound •of a bark and a howl, alone caught my ear. It was &c- THE POACHER. 47 companied with a wailing noise — the noise of a woman weeping ; but^ except from these noises, there was no inti- mation that the>-house was inhabited. I stepped in. There sat Simon in his okl corner, with his head bent down, and arms crossed. upon his bosom; of his dogs, only one was near him, the identical black terrier which usually accom- panied his son ; and it lay upon the ground, with its tongue hanging out, and its limbs at full stretch, apparently in the agonies of death. Simon either did not, or would not, notice me. The wounded dog, however — for on a nearer inspection I saw a desperate wound in its flank — made an effort to raise its head, and repeated the melancholy growl which it had given when I first stepped across the thresh- old ; but the head dropped again to the earth, and the sound ceased. Still Simon took no notice. I went up to him, placed my hand on his shoulder, and called him by his name ; he looked up, and in my life I never beheld such expression in the human countenance. Agony, grief, rage, and despair, were all depicted there. His e\es were bloodshot, his cheeks pale as ashes ; there was blood upon his garments, and his whole form was defiled with mud. Without apparently knowing what he was about, he sprang to his feet. In a moment the butt-end of a gun was brandished over me ; and, had I not quickly stepped back, it would have dashed my skull to pieces. As it was, the blow falling upon the unfortunate dog put an end at once to its agonies. " Simon," «aid I, " what means this ? Why lift your hand against me?" The unhappy man stared at me for a moment ; the savage expression gradually departed from his face, and, falling down again upon his seat, he burst into tears. I know no spectacle more harrowing than that of an old man when he is weeping. The grief must be deep-seated indeed which wrings «alt tears from the eyes of such a man as Simon Lee ; and I accordingly trembled when I again requested to be made acquainted with the cause of behaviour so extraordinary, and so unlike that which I usually met at his hands. " I thought you had been one of the blood-hounds, sir," cried he; "I thought you had tracked us to our very 48 THE COUNTRY CURATE. home ; but go up-stairs, go and you will see, for I cannot speak of it." I went up accordingly, and beheld, upon a miserable pallet, all that remained of the stoutest wrestler, the fleetest runner, and the best shot in the parish. His mother was standing near him, wringing ber hands in piti- able agony ; his little brothers and sisters were clustered round him, and joining, some of them scarce knew why, in the lamentations of the parent. I was much affected. " How has this happened .'' " asked I, hardly able to arti- culate. "Oh, my boy! my boy!" exclaimed the unhappy mother, " my first-born, and the dearest of my children, has it come to this ? Was it for this end that I reared you with so much care, that you should die by the hands of common murderers ? Look here," cried she, at the same time rolling down the bed-clothes, " look what they have done." I did look, and beheld a wide wound upon the left breast of the corpse, as if a whole charge of slugs, or swan-shot, had entered. The left arm, too, I saw, was broken : it was a horrible spectacle. I covered it up again. It was plain enough that a rencounter had taken place, during the preceding night, between some of the keepers and Simon and his son ; and that it had ended fatally, the proof was now before me. I could not, however, enquire into par- ticulars just at that moment, for the parents were too much overcome by the fate of their child to repeat them ; but I learned them soon after. They were as follows : — About ten o'clock on the preceding night, the moon being in her first quarter, Simon and his son, each armed with a fowling-piece, and attended by their dogs, set out, according to custom, in quest of game. As they had placed several snares in the woods of in the course' of the preceding morning, they directed their steps thither ; not only because they were tolerably sure of filling their bag in a moderate space of time, but with the view of ascertaining whether or not the wires had availed them. The distance was considerable. They walked seven good miles before they reached their ground ; consequently midnight was hard at hand when they began to penetrate THE POACHER. 49 the preserves. Their object being to obtain as many head of game^ and with as little noise as possible, they had taken care to provide themselves with brimstone matches, for the purpose of smoking such pheasants as they might happen to see at roost upon the boughs. They had succeeded in bagging a brace without the necessity of firing, when the dogs starting a couple of hares, both father and son dis.. charged their pieces almost at the same moment. All this occurred close to a particular corner of the wood where they had placed no fewer than three wires, at short distances from one another. No doubt the wires had been observed ; and the keepers, rightly judging that those who set thera would return at night to take away their spoil, laid them- selves up in ambush in their immediate vicinity. The report of fire-arms drew them instantly to the spot ; neither Simon nor f Joe considered it at aU derogatory to their dignity to escape, if they could ; so, seeing three men ad- vancing towards them, they took to their heels. The keepers followed. Joe might have escaped with ease ; but his father, grown stiff' by years, was unable to keep up with him. The pursuers gained upon him rapidly. " Run, Joe ; run, my boy," cried the old man ; " never mind me. Remember your mother and sisters ; run, and take care of them." " That I will not, father," answered Joe; " where you are, I am ; let them come on." Old Simon was by this time pretty well spent with running. He stopped to breathe : Joe stopped also. He endeavoured to load his gun, but had only time to ram home the powder, Avhen the assailants came up. One of them made a blow at the old man's head with a bludgeon, which, had it taken effect, would have put him beyond the reach of surgical art ; but Joe caught it ere it fell. His left arm received it, and was broken. Still the right remained to him, and with a single stroke from the butt of his gun, he laid the fellow flat upon the earth. A desperate struggle now ensued between the two remaining keepers and the poachers. Though power- less of one hand, Joe was still a match for most men ; and Simon, having recovered his breath, fought as if only half E 50 THE COUNTRY CURATE. the load of years had been upon his back. The keepers gave ground. The sole object of the Lees being escape, they abstained from pursuing them, and made the best of their way for the high road, and along it towards their home. But they were not permitted to go unmolested. The keepers followed. By way of checking their farther advance, Joe unfortunately turned round and levelled his piece. He had hardly done so, when one of the pursuers fired, and his gun being loaded for the purpose with buck- shot, its contents made their way through the young man's clothing, and entered his chest. The wound was not, however, immediately fatal. " I am hurt, father,'' cried he ; " fly, and leave me to my fate." Another shot was fired while he was yet speaking, which took effect upon the only dog that stuck to them. Wild with rage, old Simon would have loaded his gun, and revenged his son or perished, had not the latter as- sured him that he was still able to proceed. By darting down a deep ravine they managed to evade the keepers ; and then taking the most unfrequented ways, they made for the moor. But just as the light in their cottage window became discernible, Joe's strength forsook him ; he reeled and fell ; nor was it without much waste of time, and almost super-human exertions, that the old man contrived to drag rather than carry him home. Poor Joe never spoke after. He was laid upon his bed in a state of stupor, and about half an hour before daybreak breathed his last. Such is a brief relation of the events that brought about the melancholy scene to which I was now a witness. From it I learned, that the blood upon Simon's gaberdine was his son's. The state of frantic sorrow, too, in which I found him, was sufficiently explained, as well as the impulse ■which drove him to raise a murderous arm against any in- truder ; and though it was impossible to acquit the old man of blame, though, indeed, I felt that the death of Joe was entirely owing to his lawless proceedings, I could not but pity him to a far greater degree than I condemned him. I did my best to comfort both him and the lad's mother ; but THE POACHER. 51 my words fell upon inattentive ears, and I departed, much troubled in my own mind, and without having the conso^ lation to ,seflfect that I had in any degree hghtened the troubles of others. The affair, fatal as it was, never came before a court of justice. It was not, of course, to the interest of Simon, had he been capable of attending to his interests, to stir in the matter ; for he could not bring his charge home to any definite person, and the very attempt so to do must have involved him in additional trouble. The fact, however, is, that Simon was never, from the hour of his son's death, in a fit state to conduct any business, or even to take care of himself. His stubborn temper, if it could not bend, was at length broken. All his misfortunes, real and imaginary, seemed to press upon his mind with double violence, now that the child of his pride was taken away from him. I have myself seen him weep, at times, Uke a woman. Long after his wife had regained her composure, Simon was in- consolable ; and the ravages made by sorrow upon his health and frame were many degrees more visible, and more serious, than those which threescore and three winters had effected. Simon was an altered man. The gun and the net Avere laid aside, but the spade and the hoe took not their place. At first he was deemed lazy ; the parish refused to assist him ; he was cited before the magistrates, and com- mitted to gaol. Having remained there till the period of his sentence expired, he was again set at Uberty. But of his liberty he made no good use. His very wife now com- plained of him. He would sit, she said, for hours at a time, with folded arms, staring into the fire. He seldom spoke either to her or her young ones ; and %vhen he did, it was incoherently and wildly. At length he was missin"-. He wandered forth one morning, unshod and bareheaded. In this plight he was seen to pass through the church- yard, resting for a minute or two on Joe's grave. But what became of him after no one can tell. He Avas never heard of again. By some it was surmised, that, under the influence of a crazed brain, he had wandered into a distant part of the country ; and hence that, sooner or later, tidings of him would certainly arrive. By others it was insinuated,, E 2 ,52 THE COUNTRY CURATE. that he must have either thrown himself from the diffs into the sea^ or fallen over and been destroyed. That the first report was groundless, an absence of five years, during which no intelligence of his destiny has reached his family, furnishes ample ground for belief; whether either of the latter surmises be correct, I am ignorant. All that I know is, that he has never been seen or heard of in these quarters since the morning above alluded to ; and that his wife, and four surviving children, are now wholly supported from the poor's rates. CHAPTER VI. THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. About a gun-shot, or something less, from the south angle of the churchyard stands a cottage, differing but little in its structure and general arrangement from other rustic habitations, and hence advancing no particular claims upon the notice of a stranger. It is a plain, unadorned, low building, constructed like most others in this district, partly of brick, partly of beams of timber, and roofed over with thatch. There is a small patch of garden, behind, cropped for the most part with potatoes ; and one of the lanes or cross-roads which abound here sweeps by its front. In that dwelling resided for many years Dame Tapsal, one of those striking characters which occur but rarely in England ; but which, when they do occur, make, perhaps, the more forcible appeal to our interest, in consequence of their paucity. Left a widow before she had attained to middle life, without any other ostensible means of support besides her own exertions, she not only abstained from be- coming a burden upon the parish, but supported a singu- larly respectable appearance ; bringing up her children to habits of honest industry, and of something like delicate and THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 53 even gentlemanly feeling. How she contrived to do all this, seeing that her family consisted of two sons and three daughters^ if IVere a hard matter to say. Her husband, a sea-faring man, it was well known, died poor; and though she kept the village school ever since his decease, the pro- ceeds of that humble seminary were clearly not adequate to cover the expenses to which she appeared to be subject. It is true that one of the lads contributed something towards the support of the rest. He was twelve years old when his mother removed to the school-house, and being a steady and attentive boy was seldom without a day's work. Yet it seemed inconceivable that the paltry pittance arising from both of these sources could suffice to defray the costs of an establishment, over which, visit it when you might, an air of extreme neatness and comfort reigned. It was but natural that an event, unhappily so singular in the south of England, should excite no trifling degree of curiosity among those who witnessed it ; and many sur- mises were in consequence hazarded touching its cause. As Darne Tapsal was not a native of these parts, and nobody knew from whence she came, one rumour in circulation affirmed, that she had lived previous to her marriage with some man of rank, and that she now enjoyed a pension — the reward of her early depravity. Somehow or other, there is in all country places a strong disposition to beHeve the worst ; and the rumour in question, though no one could trace it to its source, gradually obtained almost universal credence ; yet were there strong reasons for rejecting it. The woman was, and had ever been since first she came to the parish, a great deal too circumspect in her general conduct to warrant a suspicion so degrading ; at least if she had been guilty, her maturer years exhibited no such traces as a youth of guilt seldom fails to leave behind. The more charitable accordingly discovered a solution to the mystery in a principle of pride, which prompted her to endure many privations in secret without complaining, at the same time that it caused her to keep, perhaps, too much aloof from society and the conversation of her neighbours. But though industrious to a great degree, and in the strictest sense of the term upright, the widow's career was £ 3 54 THE COUNTRY CURATE. far from being a placid one. She had not long been settled in her new abode when sickness visited it, and her children, one after another, became infected. She bore this with her accustomed fortitude ; and %vhen four out of the five ex- changed the mortal for the immortal state, even then she was never known to murmur. AV^eep she doubtless did, — heavily, bitterly, keenly, — especially when her eldest boy, the pride of her heart, was carried to the grave ; but she recovered her composure in a shorter space of time than could have been anticipated, and returned, as if nothing had happened, to her former occupations. One daughter was yet left to her, in whom her affections, hitherto divided, seemed to centre ; and her sole object appeared to be, to rear that girl, that she might make, what is termed, a good settlement in the world. It is not very easy, sometimes, to account for the per- tinacity with which misfortunes follow those, who, as far as outward circumstances can testify to the point, appear by no means to deserve them. Doubtless there is a wise cause for this, though Ave may be unable to see or comprehend it ; and if so, tben was Dame Tapsal but one out of many, whom Providence tries for the sake of their ultimate good. The daughter whom she had snatched back, as it were, from the brink of the grave, and who during many years was a source of pious consolation to her, proved in the end a cause of her most poignant sorrow. She had scarcely reached the period of early womanhood, when her virtue was undermined by the wiles of an artful seducer, and the widow became a mourner on account of a calamity far more heavy than any under which she had previously suffered. But even here the matter ended not. The poor girl, un- contaminated in principle, though blasted in reputation, never held up her head from the time on which her shame became publicly known, and she died soon after she had brought into the world the innocent fruit of her sin. Now, then, at last Dame Tapsal's fortitude seemed to forsake her. For the first time she was heard to exclaim, that a weight was laid upon her more heavy than she could bear, and in bitterness of spirit to pray that it would please Him who thus severely tried, to remove her at once from THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 55 the scene of so much suffering. Every body knows, that however prone they may be to speak evil of their neighbours in prospepityr'there is no class of persons more prompt to succour such as stand in need of it, than the Enghsh pea- santry. There was no lack of comforters in the widow's apartment. One took the little orphan and nursed it with her own ; another sat all day long with the afflicted grand- mother ; whilst a third kindly desired permission to occupy, for a few nights, the bed left vacant by the decease of her daughter. Thus were friends raised up to the desolate in her hour of greatest need ; and a mind ready to sink into utter despair was gradually roused into action. The same judicious kindness which led to the removal of the infant, whilst yet its presence threatened to heighten the mourner's sorrow, induced the person who had taken charge of it to bring it back as soon as the bitterness of grief passed away. It was welcomed with an intensity of feeling of which it would be hard to say whether the cha- racter were pleasurable or the reverse ; and it was pressed to a bosom that beat with a thousand varied emotions, all of them too powerful for utterance. Yet, upon the whole, the httle orphan was welcomed as a gift sent from Heaven. True, it was helpless, and from its helplessness could not fail, at least for a time, to be a serious burden upon one whose increasing infirmities stood in need of support. True, it was the child of sin and shame, a living memorial of a daughter's frailty ; but then it was all that was left to her out of a numerous offspring, — it was the only human being in whose veins her blood circulated. She blessed it, with an aching heart, as she received it from the arms of its nurse ; and from that hour took upon herself again the anxious duties of a parent. All these events occurred long before I knew any thing of the parish. The orphan, when I arrived, had grown up almost to womanhood, and was, without any exception, the prettiest and most interesting girl in the parish. Who her father was, nobody but her grandmother could say ; for though various surmises were abroad, there was no sure ground on which to rest them, the old woman preserving an impenetrable silence. Report had it, indeed, that E 4 56 THE COUNTRY CURATE, Eleanor was the daughter of a gentleman ; but whether the report was well-founded or otherwise, as the child never became chargeable to the parish, there were no means of ascertaining. One thing, however, is certain, that of such a daughter no man had cause to be ashamed, though many a titled house would have willingly claimed her. Scarcely reaching to the middle stature, her form was cast in a mould of the most perfect symmetry; and her air and gait, at once dignified and easy, stamped her as one whom nature never designed to move in the humbler circles. Her face, again, was a very model of Grecian beauty, — pale, placid, perhaps melancholy in its general expression, yet capable of being lighted up, as occasion offered, by smiles of the purest happiness ; and her quiet blue eye told a tale of feelings, deep, fervent, yet subdued. On the whole, it is not often that a more attractive creature is seen than Eleanor Tapsal, when she had attained to her seventeenth year, and I first beheld her. Nor was it from her personal charms alone that Eleanor deserved to be admired. There never lived a more amiable or guileless creature. " Nobody knows that girl but myself," was Dame Tap- sal's usual observation, as often as we chanced to meet her. " I thought when it pleased God to send her into the world, that He was, indeed, resolved to bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave; but experience has taught me that in this, as in all other arrangements, he acted for my good. She is the best and kindest-hearted child that ever breathed the breath of life ; and, as such, dearer to me by a thousand times than any child that I had. Could I but live to see her respectably settled, my fondest wish would be accomplished." Thus spoke one whose strong natural sense was not likely to be blinded by the partial feelings even of a grand- mother ; and, from all that I could learn of the proceedings of her protegee, I am persuaded that she spoke the truth. Time passed, bringing in its course those changes and revolutions which it usually brings. The old woman, struck with a paralytic affection, became powerless in her limbs ; and her mind partaking of the frailty of the body. THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 57 she relapsed almost into a second childhood. As a neces- sary consequence, the duties of a nurse devolved upon Eleanor, in aclc^i^tion to the care of providing for her grand- mother's subsistence ; but the girl's energies seemed to rise with the urgency of the occasion, and she accomplished all with apparent ease and satisfaction. It was a beautiful sight to behold her tending the aged invalid ; supporting her tottering steps to the seat beside the door, or striving to amuse by reading from that book, which the invalid continued to love more from habit than because she un- derstood it ; and not less interesting was she, when, sur- rounded by her little flock, she divided her care between them and her grandmother. It was not to be expected that a girl so pretty, and, withal, so good, — whose acquirements, not less than her person, far surpassed what might have been looked for in her station, — would be regarded with indifference by the young men of the place. It was not often that Eleanor found time or inclination to mix in the gaieties of St. Al- phage. She had been educated, whether wisely or other- wise I pretend not to say, in a fashion which somewhat unfitted her for the society of her ostensible equals ; but at Christmas, or other privileged seasons, when she did join in the festivities of the place, no partner was so eagerly sought as herself. Moreover, she was the standing toast at all parish meetings, and the pole-star of many an en- amoured swain, whose courage failed him at the moment when he desired to make her aware of her influence over him. Yet were offers of marriage not wanting, some of which deserved, in a worldly point of view, to be pro- nounced advantageous ; for the wheelwright, the black- smith, nay, the squire's bailiff himself, were of the number^ But Eleanor declined them all. She had no desire to change her way of hfe : she was sure that Granny could not do without her ; and, as she loved Granny better than all the world besides, no consideration on earth could in- duce her to abandon her. These were her constant argu- ments, even when Granny herself, scarcely conscious of what she said, stood forth as the advocate of a suitor ; and as they were advanced with firmness, though with perfect 58 THE COUNTRY CtJRATE. good-humour^, they failed not to carry conviction along with them. Doubtless they had their full weight with one whose principles were as sound as her heart was warm, but there was another reason equally powerful : Eleanor had never beheld the man on whom her young heart could lean ; and till she should see him, marriage was a thing not to be thought of. Things continued thus till Eleanor's twentieth birthday was passed, and it seemed as if they were not likely ever to change their order, when an event befell which at once, and effectually, broke in upon the even tenor of their existence. It was on the evening of a summer's day, soon after their little school had been dismissed, that Eleanor and her grandmother seated themselves, as usual, the one with her stockings, the other with her needlework, on a bench beside the door. The sun had just sunk behind the hill, and the whole of the romantic scenery around them glowed in the softened splendour of twilight. The blackbird and the thrush sang sweetly from a neighbouring hedgerow, and the clear full note of the nightingale was beginning to be heard, when they were suddenly startled from the state of mental and bodily quiet into which they had fallen, by a spectacle which is never witnessed without horror. There appeared, descending the hill at a tremendous rate, a gig, containing two persons, neither of whom seemed to possess the smallest command over the furious animal that dragged it. On they came, with the speed of lightning, till they had gained an angle in the road, where one path leads down towards the beach, and another by the churchyard up the glen. To have followed the former, at the rate at which they pro- ceeded, must have inevitably led to destruction ; no car- riage could descend that declivity, except at a foot's pace, without gaining what is technically termed the mastery over the horses, and, as a necessary consequence, oversetting. But on either side of the narrow road there is a precipice many feet in depth, over which, if upset, they must have fallen ; and from which there was slender probability that they could have been taken up alive. It is probable that the person who held the reins saw this ; for, just as the enraged animal gained the perilous point, he made a THE SCH00L3IISTRESS. , SQ desperate effort^ and succeeded^ almost by a miracle, in turning it. The conseqiftnce of this exertion on the part of the cha- rioteer was, that the horse came on towards the chmxh, like the blaajfeof the simoom. Now the spectators could observe that he was covered with foam ; soon that his head was lowered to his knees, and that the persons who sat behind, ceasing to make farther efforts to stop him, were looking round for a convenient opportunity to leap out. But before they could effect their object, the carriage dashed round the corner of a wall. Sufficient space was not granted for clearing it ; and one of the wheels, striking against a protruding angle, was instantly broken. For a moment, as if checked by the resistance offered, the horse paused; the next he again started forward, and the gig falling with a hideous crash, the unfortunate men were thrown out. All these occurrences took place in a shorter space of time than has been expended in relating them ; and the horse, ■with its shattered encumbrance, rushed past the school- house before either Eleanor or her grandmother could obey the natural impulse that directed them to retreat within doors. They had risen, however, for the purpose, and would have carried it, in all probability, into effect, had not the situation of the travellers arrested the movement. One of these was on his feet, exhibiting manifest symptoms that from his perilous fall he had received no material injury ; tlie other lay perfectly motionless, like one in whom life was extinct. A fearful apprehension that the case really was so, instantly darted into their minds, and they trembled violently as they shrieked, rather than exclaimed, " Good God ! one of the gentlemen is killed." The next instant saw Eleanor dart from the cottage across the road, and hurry towards the object of her anxiety, whose plight, though not so desperate as her fears had represented, was certainly bad enough. One of his legs was broken, his left shoulder was dislocated, and he bled profusely from a severe cut in the head, which had come in contact with a sharp flint; and, though not actually dead, he lay in a state of total insensibility. 60 THE COUNTRY CURATE. The most callous could not look upon such a spectacle without being affected by it^ nor the most prudent abstain from offering every assistance in his power. Eleanor, whose feelings were more than ordinarily acute, gave signs of deep commiseration ; and, without waiting till the re- quest had been made, entreated the wounded man's com- panion to remove him to the school-house. This was accordingly done, with the help of one or two labourers whom the accident had likewise drawn to the spot ; and he was carefully put to bed in the best room which Dame Tapsal's cottage afforded. Finally, the parish doctor was called in, the stranger's Avounds and bruises were dressed, and the broken limb being set, as well as the dislocation reduced, he was pronounced to be, though extremely ill, in no immediate danger. It is not necessary to waste time by describing much at length how the events above recorded were brought about ; let it suffice to state that the wounded man was a Captain Morton, a young officer attached to a regiment at that time quartered in Canterbury, and that the individual who ac- companied him, and fared so much better than he, was his servant. They were on their way, it appeared, to visit a friend of the Captain, whose corps occupied the barracks at Shorncliffe, when the horse, taking fright at the report of a gun, in a field near the road, became furious, and as he was a young and fiery animal, no efforts of theirs had been sufficient to curb him. So much Eleanor and her grand- mother heard soon after Morton had been put to bed ; and the servant being sent back to head-quarters, with an ac- count of his master's accident, they knew nothing more for many days after. As little am I required to enter into a minute detail of the young man's sufferings whilst disease lay heavily upon him, or of the care and tenderness shown towards him by his kind-hearted hosts. Enough is done when I inform the reader that for many days the pain arising from his hurts was such as to render him quite insensible to any other consideration ; and that the kind-hearted Eleanor inter- mitted nothing which promised at all to alleviate his dis- tress. Dividing her time, as well as she could, between THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 6l her grandmother and the stranger, Eleanor seemed scarcely to leave the bedside of the latter either by day or night. All his mediojujes she administered to him with her own hands : his Tittle gruels and comforts came to him regularly- through the same channel ; and his very wishes, as far as circumstances would allow, she appeared to anticipate. At- tendance like this, aided by a constitution naturally sound, could not fail of producing the best effect ; and the young man steadily, though very gradually, recovered. CHAPTER VII. THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. The accident referred to in the preceding page took place early in June, and before the midtUe of July Captain Mor- ton was so far restored as to be able, when the state of the weather permitted, to Avander forth for a brief walk from the school-house. I had seen a good deal of him during his confinement, and of course saw more of him now ; and what I did see I felt in most respects disposed to admire. He was frank, open, manly, and generous ; not very deeply read, it is true, but as well informed as young officers generally are ; and his gratitude towards the kind creatures who had contributed so largely towards his recovery knew, or appeared to know, no bounds. Money he would have lavished upon them, had their honest pride permitted : but they refused to accept of a shilling beyond what I and the medical gentleman should pronounce a fair remuneration ; whilst to his protestations of respect and esteem, and ever- lasting gratitude, Eleanor at least listened with impatience. There was a circumstance, however, which could not escape the observation of any one at all acquainted with human nature, and which gave me, I confess, no little un- easiness. Morton's attentions to his young nurse became, as his strength returned, more marked, and more peculiar 62 THE COUNTRY CURATE. than could have been -wished in an intercourse between persons filling situations in life so different ; and it was not difficult to discover that these were far from being unac- ceptable to the individual who Avas their object. The truth is, that sickness on the one hand, and unre- mitting kindness on the other, produced in this instance the effect which they usually produce, when a handsome young man is the sufferer, and a very pretty girl the at- tendant. Morton naturally regarded with partial eyes the delicate creature who seemed ready at all moments to soothe his sorrows, and administer to his comforts ; whilst Eleanor could hardly fail of acquiring a hvely interest in one Avhose sufferings rendered him in a great measure dependent upon her exertions. As health returned, these sentiments, far from losing, only gained ground on both sides. Eleanor saw in Morton all that her imagination had ever depicted — probably a great deal more than it ever depicted — of what is attractive in man ; whilst jMorton, finding Eleanor endowed with finer feelings and a more enlarged under- standing than frequently attach to persons in her station, believed her to be a very heroine of romance. His gra- titude accordingly assumed by degi-ees a more tender character. He began to look upon her, not as a pretty country girl who had tended him in sickness, and therefore deserved to be rewarded, but as a creature whom fate had by some caprice thrown into a condition quite unworthy of her. In a word, Morton loved Eleanor before he could well understand that there was any danger of his com- mitting so serious an offence ; whilst Eleanor, in utter ignorance of the passion with which she had inspired him, worshipped, rather than loved, him in return. Days and weeks passed over in that state of intense hap- piness, which, when encouraged under such circumstances as those that attended it here, never fails to end in sorrow. Dame Tapsal either did not observe, or abstained from noticing, the growing intimacy between her grandchild and her lodger ; for Morton, now a convalescent, had regularly hired a couple of rooms in the school-house, and the lovers were, in consequence, permitted to enjoy as much of each other's society as they desired. They were constantly to- THE SCHOOLMISTKESS. 63 gether. The invalid's walks were seldom taken till after the school was dismissed, when Eleanor, freed from re- straint, was-aWe to accompany him; and they generally chose such retired lanes and passes as most effectually screened them from the gaze of the curious. It was im- possible that such things could long go on in a country place without public attention being attracted. Those who had formerly been loudest in Eleanor's praise began now to change their note; and many and bitter were the hints throv.'n out as to the jirobable end of such doings. Nay, numbers affected to discover, that both Eleanor and her grandmother had always possessed spirits too proud for their situation ; and it was sagely enough concluded, in the language of Scripture, that " pride goes before a fall." In plain language, Eleanor, instead of being admired and respected as she had been by persons of all ages and both sexes, became to most an object of suspicion, whilst not a few spoke of her in terms of pretended pity, as one totally and irretrievably ruined. Though far from inclining to the latter of these opinions, I saw so much of impropriety in the line of conduct which she at present pursued, that I determined, if possible, to put a stop to it. "With this view I Avas proceeding on a certain day towards the school-house, when, in the church- yard through which it behoved me to pass, I was met by Captain Morton. The thought struck me that it were perhaps better to state the case as it stood to him, and I obeyed it. After exchanging the customary salutations, and receiving an assurance of his rapid convalescence, I entered upon my subject, by demanding how much longer he designed to remain amongst us ; and how it came about that he was able to absent himself all this while from the routine of his professional duties. He answered these questions with perfect frankness and good-humour; but his answers were far from satisfactory. I therefore adopted a different course. " Perhaps," said I, " you are not aware that your con- , tinued sojourn in a village hke this excites some speculation among the rustics, and even among those who rank higher than the rustics." 64 THE COUNTRY CURATE. " That," replied he, " is extremely probable. Of all the peasantry in Europe, our own have their curiosity and surprise most easily excited ; but, I presume, it is not on every occasion necessary to gratify the one, or allay the other." " No," replied I, " unless the characters of ourselves or others be endangered ; and then, I take it, we are bound to pay attention even to the surmises of the vulgar." Captain Morton looked startled. It seemed as if he saw in part into my design, yet were unwilling to confess as much. " You say truly," answered he ; " but in this case there can be no hazard to any body's reputation. I am my own master, at least till my leave expire ; and if I choose to spend my time here, who has a right to enquire into the reason ? " " Captain Morton," said I, gravely, " I will be candid with you. The persons with whom you lodge have, as you yourself acknowledge, laid you under serious obligations ; I am sure you would not wish, in return for their kindness, to work them evil. But you have already wrought them evil, and if you continue your residence here much longer, that evil will be beyond your power to remedy. Your in- timacy with Eleanor has not passed unnoticed, and it can be no satisfaction to you to learn that the very worst con- struction is put upon it." " Good God!" exclaimed he, " who has dared to act thus ? Eleanor is as pure and good as she was when I first beheld her, and he that insinuates otherwise is guilty of the grossest injustice." '' That," replied I, '' I do not doubt ; but surely you must yourself perceive that a continued intimacy between a man of your rank and a girl in her humble station must blast the fame of the latter, however spotless. The world cannot understand that such things may be, and yet be in- nocently." " What would you have me do ? " asked he. " To in- jure her from whom I have received so much kindness is the last thing in the world that I desire. How would you THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 65 have me act, so as to repair the fault which, you say, I have committed ? " " I would have you make immediate arrangements for quitting St. Alphage ; and till these are complete, seek the society of Eleanor as Httle as you can. This is the only means of proving how groundless the rumours are to which your past imprudence has given rise." " Quit St. Alphage immediately ! " rephed he ; " why, my dear sir, that is impossible. My home is with my re- giment, for my family reside in a remote county ; and in my present state of health the tumult of a barrack were insufferable. Besides, would not proceedings so abrupt tend to strengthen, rather than weaken, the suspicions at which you hint ? " " Well, then," said I, " at all events change your lodg- ings. Those which you inhabit at present cannot be very commodious, and the sea air would assuredly be of be- nefit to you. Remove at least to Sandgate, or even to Folkstone." Morton was silent for a minute, and then said, " Even this I am apprehensive that I shall not be able to effect. I have hired my present lodgings for the summer, and it would be but a shabby return to the good dame were I ab- ruptly to violate my bargain." " But you may quit your lodgings, without refusing to pay for them," observed I. There was a second lengthened pause, which he seemed by no means desirous to interrupt, so I broke in upon it. " The truth is. Captain Morton, that something of this kind must be done, otherwise Eleanor is ruined. I cannot for a moment believe that the tales already in circulation have the smallest truth in them ; but it is not what I be- lieve, but what the world believes. Unless you intend to marry the girl, which, I presume, is out of the question, you must cease to live as you do, or you must forfeit the good opinion of all honourable persons." " WeU," rephed he, smiling, "■ you speak plainly at all events, and, I am sure, conscientiously. I will consider of this matter, and if my mature judgment tell me that you are right, I will obey you." 66 THE COUNTRY CURATE. We parted here, and as he had given me this pledge, I considered myself bound to leave the matter, at least for a time, in his hands. I accordingly returned home, and for several days abstained from taking any farther interest in the question. The lapse of a week served to convince me, that the hope ■which I had nourished, in consequence of the above con- versation, was perfectly groundless. Morton not only made no preparations for shifting his residence, but he continued, day after day, to indulge in those lonely walks with Eleanor, which had already told so much against her; and he studiously avoided — at least, so it appeared to me — aU opportunity of holding farther conversation with me on the subject. Hurt at this, as well because it occasioned me to relinquish, in some degree, the good opinion which I had hitherto nourished of the young man, as because it excited, almost against my will, suspicions of Eleanor her- self, I resolved to address myself at once to the girl ; and for this purpose I sought her. She was easily found, for Eleanor never shunned any one, least of all myself; and she readily listened to my remarks, though not without ex- treme emotion. My words seemed to pierce into her very heart. A veil was suddenly torn from before her eyes, and she became aware of the reality of her situation, which she had not hitherto contemplated, except through its me- dium. She wept bitterly ; and having thanked me for my advice, and promised to attend to it, we parted. I had not quitted her many minutes, when Morton, who happened during my visit to be from home, returned. It was the hour which they usually devoted to their even- ing walk, and, as usual, he tapped at the door of the Uttle parlour, as a signal that he was ready and waiting. It was ajar, and he entered, — not to be met, as had hitherto been the case, with smiles and blushes, but to see Eleanor seated in the great chair near the fireplace, and drowned in tears. She rose as he approached, and strove to wipe away the trace of weeping ; but her effort availed her nothing : once more she threw herself into the chair, and sobbed violently. '^' Eleanor," exclaimed Morton, seriously alarmed as ITHE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 67 well as shocked^ " for Heaven's sake, what is the matter ? " " Oh, . nothing, Captain Morton," repHed she, strug- gling hard to compose herself; " nothing but what I ought to have known long ago. We must not walk together any- more : it is not fit that a poor girl like myself should keep company with you ; and you must leave us." " Who has put this nonsense into your head .'' " cried he, whilst his cheek burned with blushes. " It is not nonsense, sir," answered the poor girl. " Mr. Williams has just been here, and has told me how impro- per my conduct is ; and I know that he never says what he does not think, and what he thinks must be right." " Mr. Williams is no judge of such matters as this, Eleanor. I allow him to be as good a man as hves; but he knows nothing of the world, and has no right whatever to give an opinion in a case quite beyond the reach of his comprehension. Dry up your tears, and come with me as heretofore ; I will give you a thousand reasons why, in this instance, Mr. Williams should be mistaken." " Ah, but it is not Mr. Williams alone that says so," rephed Eleanor ; " all the neighbours cry out against me, and there is something within. Captain Morton, which as- sures me that they are right. No, no, we must walk no more together. Go, go, and leave us." " Never, Eleanor !" exclaimed Morton, advancing to- wards her, and putting his arm round her waist. " If I have hitherto abstained from speaking to you as I do now it is not because I have been hitherto insensible to my own feeUngs. Eleanor, I love you, passionately, ardently love you ; we must never part — you must be mine ! " Poor Eleanor could not reply. Her head fell insensibly upon his shoulder ; and, with a silence far more eloquent than words, she confessed that of her own fate she was no longer the arbitress. That which followed was exactly- such as might have been expected. Eleanor was easily persuaded to keep the true nature of the connection secret, till Morton should be able to reconcile his family to the match ; and that evening, and for many evenings after, they walked abroad together as they had done before. 68 THE COUNTRY CURATE. In this manner July glided away, the young people de- voting themselves more and more to each other, and the villagers exhibiting by their manner unequivocal proofs that they looked upon Eleanor as utterly fallen. For my- self, I spoke even more plainly to Dame Tapsal than I had done to her grand-daughter ; but the old woman's na- tural acuteness of understanding was gone. She either Gould not see the force of my reasoning, or motives of which I was not permitted to weigh the force induced her to disregard them. She reposed the fullest trust in Elea- nor's correct principles. She was sure that Captain Morton would never be villain enough to aim at abusing the confi- dence with which he was treated ; and if he did, she knew her child sufficiently to be aware, that his attempts would meet with no encouragement. I was at no loss in conjec- turing, from the general strain of her replies, that the ^ood dame had become a dupe in one of two ways : either she had listened too fondly to the sophistry of her guest ; or her ambition, surviving, as it were, every other passion, blinded her into the persuasion that the personal beauty of Eleanor was sufficient to counterbalance the defects of birth and education, and that the affair, if it ended in any thing serious, would end in marriage. July passed away, and August commenced, bringing with it the termination of Captain Morton's leave of ab- sence. On the 10th it behoved him to be present at head- quarters ; and he had already obtained so many indulgences, that to expect more would have been useless. Of course the lovers determined to make the most of the few days that remained to them, and the school being neglected, the mornings as well as evenings were spent in each other's society. But the progress of time no exertions could arrest, and at last the fatal day arrived which was doomed to witness their parting. Many and ardent were the pro- testations uttered by Morton, that he would soon return to claim her for his bride ; and Eleanor's tears, though they flowed fast, can hardly be said to have been tears of un- mitigated sorrow. Hope was still hers, — the hope that never leaves us, till we know from sad experience how little its syren tones are to be trusted. She had never yet THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 69 doubted Morton's professions, — how could she doubt them, pronounced as they were with all the energy of deep passion and^ifer vent grief ? No, no ! for a time, doubtless, she was doomed to be desolate enough ; but in the end all her sorrows would be dispelled. Thus they parted, he with TOWS of eternal fidelity upon his lips, and she with a strong persuasion in her heart that those lips could utter nothing but the truth. For some weeks after ]\Iorton's departure nothing oc- curred calculated to excite the apprehensions of Eleanor that her confidence had been misplaced. It is true that he came not, as he had promised ; but then he wrote regu- larly once a-week, and his absence %vas easily accounted for by a press of military duty, which, as she well knew, it was impossible for him to evade. She accordingly perse- vered in her own quiet way, existing upon memory when hope began to wax faint, and applying again to hope when memory by chance failed her. Thus the remainder of August and the whole of September were passed, and Oc- tober, with its cold Avinds and short days, found matters unchanged. Now then, at length, Eleanor began to appre- hend that all was not as it ought to be. He had solemnly assiu-ed her that within three weeks at the farthest he should be able to arrange his affairs ; but six weeks were gone without his pledge being redeemed, and, what was worst of all, his very correspondence began, by degrees, to be both less regidar, and more distracting. Poor Eleanor ! now, at length, doubts and fears began to pass like dark shadows over her, and visions the most hideous rose as fre- quently into her mind as their opposites. It was the month of November, and for five weeks pre- viously Eleanor had received no communication from Mor- ton. Day after day she repaired to the post-office, with a quick step and a beating heart ; and day after day she re- turned, dejected, disappointed, sorrowful, and visibly changed. Hers was not a constitution to hold out against the inroads of violent agitation, and her health began ra- pidly to decline. Still she clang to the persuasion that even yet Morton meant not to deceive. She looked back upon the hours that she had watched beside his sick bed ; F 3 7U THE COUNTRY CURATE. she remembered his expressions of gratitude uttered there ; she traced once again the whole progress of his passion ; and seeing in it nothing from which the most sensitive de- licacy could shrink, she would not permit the idea to root itself in her mind, that time could change him. Never- theless, anxiety, doubt, fear, and hope itself, made visible inroads upon her health ; and long before the year expired, she was pronounced to be in a decline. From what has already been stated of Eleanor's tempe- rament of mind and body, the reader will easily understand that consumption, once begun, would, in her case, do its work with even more than common rapidity. The case was so. Week by week, day by day, hour by hour, she wasted, till at last she kept her bed entirely. All hope of her recovery was now laid aside, and she herself perceived, not less surely than those about her, that her days were numbered. She was thus circumstanced, having received no commu- nication from Morton during three months previously, when, on a cold gusty day in February, in the midst of a heavy fall of snow, a carriage drove to the door of the school-house. I happened at the moment to be in her room, and saw from the window a young man alight, whom I instantly recognised as Morton. I hurried out of the chamber with the view of arresting him in his progress, fearful of the consequences that might follow, should his arrival be made too suddenly known ; and I met him, just as he had raised the latch, and was about to enter. " Ah, Mr. Williams ! " cried he, grasping me by the hand, " this is, indeed, a happy omen. Now confess, be- fore I see Eleanor, that you did me injustice; for here I am, after many serious trials, come in my own proper person to prove that I am not the villain you accounted me. I was much affected, and my countenance betrayed my feelings. " How is this ? " exclaimed he, " sorrowful, downcast ! surely nothing is wrong with Eleanor ? She is still the gentle and affectionate creature that she was when she and THE SCH00L5IISTRESS. 71 I parted ? What mean these melancholy looks ? I had anticipated a different welcome from this." " Come with me," said I, " to the Vicarage, and you shall know all ; but speak softly while you are here. Eleanor has been ill ; your voice might agitate her even fataUy." I never beheld a more sudden change of expression than passed at this announcement over Morton's face. His smile withered, as it were, upon his lip ; and in a state of agitation that left him no power over himself, he permitted me to draw his arm through mine, and to lead him away. It is probable that from my manner he expected to hear even more tremendous tidings than those which awaited him ; for at first, though I asserted the contrary over and over again, he seemed to doubt whether Eleanor were not already dead. But when satisfied that the case was not so, hardly any persuasions of mine could prevail upon him to remain apart from her. A single word from his lips would go farther, he asserted, towards her recovery, than all the prescriptions of the faculty ; and it were the height of cruelty to detain him where he was a moment longer. I persisted, however, in my entreaties, that he would at least allow me to prepare her for the interview ; and to that he at last gave a reluctant consent. Leaving him in the Vicarage, I hurried off to the school- house, for the purpose of executing my assumed trust ; and I was already within a rood of the door, when a shrill and ear-piercing cry rang through my brain, and forcibly arrested my progress. That it came from Eleanor's chamber could not be doubted ; but by whom uttered, or on what occasion, it was no easy matter to divine. I sprang forward in a state of apprehension the more distressing because it was vague ; and hurrying to the sick room, was soon made aware of the catastrophe which had occurred. There was no effect of over-wrought feeling, no sudden shock of the nervous system, for Eleanor knew nothing of Morton's arrival ; but an equally sudden, though perhaps a less tu- multuous agitation, ended at once her sorrows and her life. A violent fit of coughing had burst a blood vessel, the F 4 72 THE COUNTRY CURATE. crimson stream from which flooded the floor^ and Eleanor^ after uttering the shriek that so appalled me, fell asleep. Over the scene which followed, I must draw a veil of forgetfulness ; it too nearly resembles one in which I was myself an actor, to be thought of, even now, with calmness, and to record it minutely is a task to which I find myself incompetent ; let it suffice to state, that the horror of IMorton, when that terrible issue was communicated to him, left an impression upon all who witnessed it not to be effaced ; and that whatever might have been the conduct of the villagers towards Eleanor in her lifetime, at her death she was sincerely lamented. She was buried without parade in a grave selected for her by her betrothed, and a stone raised to her memory. With respect to Morton himself, it is but justice to say, that as he never made the most distant attempt to under- mine the virtue of his artless sweetheart, so to the last he had continued faithful to her. But Morton was an only son, whose parents revelled in wealth ; and the idea of his mar- rying a village girl was one which they could not be brought to admit. The consequence was, that every obstacle was thrown in the way of the indulgence of his wishes ; nor was it till their opposition began seriously to affect his health, that they gave at last a reluctant consent. His long silence, again, though injudicious, was by no means un- kindly meant. Deeming it utterly hopeless to look for his father's sanction to the match, he did what he considered to be his duty, by dropping a correspondence which pro- mised to lead to nothing ; and he acted thus, not more with a view to his own welfare than to that of Eleanor. He calculated on the pliability of an untutored peasant girl, and took it for granted, that were she satisfied of his inten- tion to violate his promises, she would cease to take an interest in his fate. Such, at least, was his own account of the matter ; though for its truth I pretend not to vouch. One thing, however, is certain, that of Dame Tapsal he ever after took the greatest care. He settled upon her a pension, sufficient to maintain her in comfort without the aid of a school, which she was no longer capable of teach- THE SHIPWRECK. 73 ing ; and though she Kved to reap the fruits of his bounty but a very short time^ it deserves not the less to be re- corded. .^""^ Such was the fate of Eleanor Tapsal the schoolmistress. CHAPTER VIII. THE SHIPWRECK. During the months of February and March, in the year 18 — , the coast of Kent was visited by a succession of vio- lent storms, which caused a greater quantity of damage to the shipping and villages on the sea-shore than had been known to have occurred in the memory of man. On a certain day in the earlier part of the latter month, my duties led me to visit that quarter of my parish which lies on the other side of the last range of hills, and adjacent to the parish, or rather to the outskirts of the town of Folk- stone. The wind was out with a degree of fury, such as even I, who reside so near this tempestuous coast, have seldom witnessed. The clouds were not sailing, but rush- ing through the sky, in grey fleeces : a huge black mass came up from time to time upon the blast, driving away from east to west, and sending forth a shower of hailstones, "which beat in my face as I ascended the height, and com- pelled me more than once to cling to a piece of gorse, or fern, for support. The sheep were all cowering under the hill-top for shelter, with their backs turned towards the storm, and huddled closely together ; and the shepherds either took their places beside them, or ran home to their different houses amongst the glens and hollows near. It was, indeed, a day in which no one who could find a roof to cover him would have chosen to be abroad ; so boisterous was the gale, and so keen and cutting were the gusts of hail and sleet which rode from time to time upon it. 74 THE COUNTRY CURATE. It is impossible for one whose habitation, though it be shut out from a view of the ocean, stands within the sound of its waves, when they are in wrath, not to think with peculiar anxiety, during every gale or storm, of the poor mariners who are exposed to its violence. To-day, in par- ticular, I felt myself full of apprehension ; for there was a considerable fleet of vessels at anchor in the Downs, and. several large Indiamen had been seen at a late hour last night not far from the Point of Dungeness. They had not passed during the night ; indeed, the night had been too dark, and too blustering, to encourage them to lift their anchors ; but the gale had increased so much towards sun- rise, and was still so heavy, that I could hardly hope that the anchors had not dragged, or, which might prove even more fatal, that the cables had not parted. As I neared the top of the hiU, the noise of the mighty element increased upon me, till its roar would have almost drowned the thunder itself, so loud and so increasing had it become. But if the sense of hearing had impressed me with feelings of awe, these feehngs were increased to an indescribable degree by the spectacle which presented itself to the sense of sight. Immediately below me was the ocean, boiling and foaming far and near — one huge cal- dron of troubled waters, which tossed and tumbled, as if a thousand fires were burning beneath it. The coast of France, which, on other days, may be distinctly seen, even to the glancing of a sunbeam on the windows of the houses in Calais, was now entirely hidden. I could not, indeed, send my gaze beyond mid-space between the two shores; and from that point onwards, wave followed wave, in fearful succes- sion, till, one after another, they burst in tremendous force upon the chalky cliffs and pebbly strand of Kent. The town of Folkstone appeared devoted to utter destruction. The tide was pouring through its lower street, sweeping aU live and dead substances before it : the few fishinsr ves- o sels which had been moored in the harbour were lying high and dry, far up the side of the hill, or floating in broken fragments upon the water; whilst the inhabitants, who had with difficulty escaped, were congregated in the upper parts of the town, to watch with grief and dismay THE SHIPWRECK. 75 the progress of a power to which human ingenuity could oppose no obstacle. All this was awful enough ; but my fears were tow'much alive for the brave men who were em- barked in ships, to think much of the state of those who suffered only from a loss of property. I looked anxiously, first towards the Downs, and after- wards in the direction of Dungeness. From the former point the fleet had entirely disappeared. Many I saw stranded upon the shore ; others had probably escaped to a more safe anchorage ; and those which had endeavoured to beat out to sea were just visible on the lower part of the Goodwins. The waves were dashing over their broken hulls, and their very masts were hidden, as every breaker, of a size somewhat larger than the rest, burst upon them. For them and for their crews there was no hope — all must perish — and all did perish before I quitted my station. In the direction of Dungeness, again, only one ship covdd be descried. She had succeeded, apparently, in working out before the storm had reached its height; and now having secured sea-room was endeavouring to scud, either for the Downs or the river. Her top-gallant masts were all struck ; the only sail hoisted was the fore- top-sail, and that close-reefed ; under which she made way, rapidly indeed, but not without falling every moment faster and faster to leeward. It was, in truth, manifest, that if she persisted in going on, she must run ashore several miles on this side of Deal ; and of that her crew appeared to be as fully convinced as those who watched her from the land. She was now abreast of Folkstone, with a hurricane right on shore, and herself not above a mile and a half from the breakers. Having carried a telescope in my hand, I saw by the help of it that her decks were crowded with people, some of whom held by the rigging and shrouds, others by the binnacles and bulk-heads ; whilst some were lashed to the wheel, by which they vainly endeavoured to guide her. An attempt was now made to wear, but it failed. The ship reeled round, and drove towards the shore with a velocity which caused me to shut my eyes, that I might escape at least the horror of beholding her strike. But she did not strike. Two anchors were let go 76 THE COUNTRY CURATE. at once from the bow. By little short of a miracle, they held ; and as if Heaven itself had desired to save her, the tempest suddenly lulled. The waves, however, ran as they had run before, " mountain high;" consequently no boat could be launched to her assistance ; and there she rode, straining and pitching her bows and bulwarks under, at the mercy of a couple of cables, and a couple of crooked bits of iron. Having stood for about half an hour to observe her, and fancying that, as she had hitherto done well, she would continue so to do, especially as I thought that I could ob- serve a clearing up to leeward, indicative of a change of wind, I paid the visit which I set out to pay, and returned home. Here the rest of the morning was spent in alternate hope and fear, as the face of the heavens seemed to indi- cate a total cessation or a renewal of the storm ; but hope gradually gave way to alarm, and alarm grew into despair, soon after darkness began. The sun went down fiery red, like a ball of burning coal. The wind, as if hushing him to sleep, began again to renew its violence. It came, for a while, in alternate lulls and gusts ; which, succeeding each other more rapidly every moment, ended at length in the same tremendous hurricane which had prevailed during the day. I could not sit quietly in my chair. " I must go," said I, " to see how the Indiaman fares ; and I will pray upon the beach for the poor people whom I cannot otherwise serve." So saying, I put on my great coat, and seizing my hat and stick, sallied forth. The clock struck nine as I laid my hand on the latch ; and I rejoiced to find, on crossing the threshold, that if was moonlight. I looked up into the sky, and beheld the fleeces receding in the direction which they had followed in the morning ; but not so thick as greatly to obscure the moon's rays ; which, on the contrary, shone out clear and bright occasionally, and at all times exerted some influence, I rejoiced at this ; not only because I regarded it as a good omen, but because I hoped that it might prove of essential service to the people on board ; whose fears, at least, would be more tolerable than if the night had been pitchy dark ; and under this impression I pushed on with a quick pace. THE SHIPWRECK. 77 But my satisfaction was not of long continuance^ — if, indeed, the feeliiig which the mere glancing of the moon's rays had excited be worthy of that title. I had not yet reached the top of the hill, when the report of a gun, heard amidst the roar of the tempest, assured me that the vessel had struck. It came upon me like the last despairing shriek of a drowning man, who cries out because nature so urges him, though aware that no human aid is at hand. Nor were my prognostications erroneous. When I attained the summit, I beheld a multitude of hghts glancing along the shore; I heard voices and shouts, and every other indication which sound could give, that all was over. I ran towards the spot, and beheld the ship, her masts gone, and her hull broken, in the midst of the breakers, at the distance of a full mile and a half from the land. Another gun was fired — it was the last. Planks, bulk-heads, and spars, began now to drive upon the shingle. A sort of rending noise came from the wreck, which in- stantly disappeared. She had split up into fragments, and of the Uving creatures which had hitherto clung to her, the majority found a grave amid the surf. There are few spectacles more appaUing, and at the same time more full of deep excitation, than that of a shipwreck. Not only is your attention drawn to the vessel and its crew, but the hurry and bustle on shore — the real sympathy displayed by men from whose outward appearance little sympathy could be augured — the cries, and exclamations, and movements of the crowd, all tend to give to the thing a degree of additional interest, which in sober earnest it hardly requires. It is enough to see a number of our fellow-creatures hovering on the brink of eternity, without having our feelings additionally worked upon by the pro- ceedings of those around us. A cry was now raised for boats. " Where is the Daunt- less ? " shouted one. " High and dry," exclaimed another. " Is the Nancy safe ?" " No, she is in pieces." And so it was, that not a boat or barge of all that usually lay at anchor in the harbour could be brought on 78 THE COUNTRY CURATE. the instant into play. But the Kentish fishermen are not restrained from action by trifles. " Launch the Dauntless/' — " Down with the Sisters/' — " There lies the Pilot/' were echoed from mouth to mouth ; and in half a second a hundred hands were at work^ hauling the boats named from the beach, where the ebb-tide had left them, and rolling them along the shingle. " Hurrah, hurrah ! " was now the only word uttered. Down they came over the loose stones, till they neared the reach of the waves, and then, having watched a receding billow, the gallant party ■which dragged them hurled them into the breakers, whilst half a dozen stout fellows sprang into each as it rose upon the foam. " God speed ye, God speed ye ! away, away !" and away they went. But the next wave was fatal to two of them. Over they rolled, bottom upwards, and the crews were dashed upon the beach. The third, however, rode it out. She bore one lantern in her bow, and another in her stern ; and it was truly a nervous thing to watch these lights appearing and disappearing, as the brave boat rose and fell with the rise and fall of the waters. In the mean while, many eyes were eagerly turned to- wards the water-mark, with the expectation of discovering some human creature who might be washed ashore, on a plank or raft. All such, however, came tenantless. Either the beings who had clung to them lost their hold, or, not expecting the ship to part so suddenly as she did, they neglected the precaution of making themselves fast to the spars. Our best hope, accordingly, centred in our own boat, which we saw bravely making her way ; the tide being in her favour, though the wind was against her. At length she appeared to have gained her utmost limit. There she lingered, rising and falling, her lights glancing and disappearing to our unspeakable terror, for a full quarter of an hour ; when having, as it would seem, done her utmost, she put about, and made towards land. Twenty torches were held up to guide her. Her progress was like that of the lightning, and her crew having watched the opportu- nity, she mounted upon the top of a wave, and rushed with its white foam, far up the beach. Then our party running THE SHIPWRECK. 79 in, seized her by the bow^ and so securing her against the ebbing, in three seconds she was safe. The search wWch her dauntless rowers had undertaken proved all but fruitless. So complete was the wreck, that they could not discern any single portion of the Indiaman more attractive than the rest. Nothing cculd be observed, indeed, in the darkness of the night, except floating boards, all of them without occupants ; and hence their sole suc- cess was in saving the life of one man, whom they found clinging to a hen-coop, and a good deal exhausted. I must do the men of Kent the justice to observe, that the ship- wrecked individual had no right to complain of want of hospitality. Each of the spectators appeared more anxious than the rest to afford him accommodation ; and it was only because I pressed his removal to the Vicarage, that they yielded the point to me. A postchaise was accord- ingly prepared, into which we lifted him ; and as the dis- tance by the road exceeds not one mile, he was undressed, and laid in our best bed, within half an hour of his landing. Some mulled wine and other cordials being administered to him, he was left to his repose, and it was not till a late hour on the following day that the ringing of his bell gave testimony that he had awoke from the sleep into which our narcotics had lulled him. When he joined our family circle next morning, we were all much struck with the appearance and demeanour of the stranger. He was very tall, considerably upwards of six feet — his figure was commanding and noble — his features were fine ; but there was an expression of wildness in his dark eye, which could not pass unobserved. His age I should guess to have been about fifty; perhaps it was under that, for black hair soon grows grey ; and the lines, which were strongly marked in his forehead, seemed to be the traces rather of violent passions than of time. With respect to his manner, it is not very easy to describe it. No one ^could mistake that he was a gentleman ; but there was a restlessness and incoherence in his conversation, which produced the reverse of an agreeable sensation upon those around him. It was curious enough that he never once alluded, of his own accord, to the events of yesterday. 80 THE COUNTRY CURATE. We, of course, referred to them, and were beginning to congratulate him upon his escape, but he abruptly changed the subject, by asking some trifling questions respecting the surrounding country. Had any person entered the parlour, ignorant of the mode of his arrival amongst us, he would have imagined that the stranger had landed the day before, in perfect safety, and in an ordinary way, from a voyage. The effect of all this upon the ladies was to create in them feelings of absolute horror, and they soon began to view him with dismay ; for myself, I was astonished, and more than half-suspected that the poor gentleman was not alto- gether in his sound senses. The stranger continued an inmate of my house for three whole days, and nothing passed between us all this while beyond the common intercourse of social life. I did not deem it consistent Avith propriety to demand his name, or to make any enquiry into his condition ; and he, as it ap- peared, felt no inclination voluntarily to offer the inform- ation. Only once he observed, casually, that he was afraid he must intrude upon my hospitality till he should receive remittances which might enable him to travel ; for that there was no money in his pockets when the ship foun- dered, and that aU his effects had perished. Beyond this, however, he communicated to me nothing, and of his com- pany I enjoyed no more than was absolutely indispensable during meals. Whilst his sojourn lasted, our mode of living was ac- cordingly this : the stranger rose early, and walked out ; he returned to breakfast, which he hastily swallowed, and then went forth again ; and immediately on the conclusion of dinner, he retired to his apartment, where the remainder of the evening was spent in writing. This I learned from my servant, who carried up lights when he rang for them ; and because he had requested me to supply him with pens, ink, and paper ; but whether they were letters, or what the subject of his writings might be, I, of course, had no means of ascertaining. On the evening of the third day, however, a slight change occurred in his manner. He sat with me after the dinner had been removed, and made an effort to be sociable, but he drank no wine ; and continually, after THE SHIPWRECK. 81 supporting a common-place conversation for several mi- nutes, relapsed into silence. The ladies soon left us, and then it was 'thai I determined to sound him, as delicately as I could, on the state of his mind. The fire Was blazing brightly, for the evening was frosty and calm : we had drawn our chairs round it, and I again urged him to take wine. " I have not tasted wine," said he, " these twenty years, and I may not taste it while I live." " Perhaps it disagrees with you ; you may be of a con- sumptive or inflammatory habit .'' " " I know not what you mean by inflammatory," said he ; " there are inflammations of the body, and inflamma- tions of the mind ; mine is, I believe, of the latter descrip- tion. — Is it not strange," continued he, abruptly, "^ that the only individual saved out of a whole ship's company should be one who desired it not ? Heavens ! if you had heard the lamentations of the poor wretches in that vessel ■when she struck, if you had seen their wild and despairing looks — strange, strange, that they should perish, and I survive ! Are you a fatalist .'' " I must confess that this commencement of familiarity between us by no means delighted me. I looked at my guest again, and saw with horror a sort of smile or grin upon his countenance, indicative of a feeling such as I could not commend. " I am not a fatalist," answered I ; " nor am I able to conceive how any rational being can adopt a creed so absurd. He %vho regards himself as the mere tool of invincible destiny must hold his opinion in direct opposition to the surest of all testimony — that of consciousness." " Yet some of the wisest men the world has ever pro- duced were fatalists," rejoined he. " Among the celebrated writers of antiquity, almost all were fatahsts. Homer and Hesiod were both fatalists. Socrates and Plato were of the same way of thinking ; so were Zeno, Chrysippus, Epicurus, and all the Stoics. So was Herodotus, so was Lucretius. Seneca has declared, that the same chain of necessity constrains both gods and men ; and even Cicero shows, in more passages than one. a leaning favourable to G 82 THE COUNTRY CURATE. a similar view of the subject. In India^ fatalism has ever prevailed. Those wise men, for an acquaintance with ■whose philosophy the sages of Greece scrupled not to undertake long and dangerous journeys, were all believers in irresistible destiny ; and the principles which they held their descendants hold at the present day. Mohammed ivas a fatalist ; and though he played upon the credulity of mankind, who will deny him the praise of transplendent talents ? And to come nearer home, has not our own country produced a host of fatalists among her distinguished sons ? AV^hat was Hobbes, Lord Karnes, Hume, Priestley, ay, and greater than all these, what was Locke .^ A man may well be pardoned who adopts opinions which can be supported by such names as these." Though not very anxious to enter into a metaphysical discussion, and though, indeed, I had hoped to draw my guest into a conversation on his own situation and cir- cumstances, rather than to follow him through the labyrinth into which I saw we were about to plunge, I considered it due to my character and station to notice this remark : — " With respect to the classical writers you have named," replied I, " it is very true that the greater number are generally considered to have held the sentiments you at- tribute to them : my own persuasion, however, is, that the opinion is ill-founded. AVliether Socrates was a fatalist or not, we are scarcely competent to judge, inasmuch as none of his own writings have come down to us ; but I see the reverse of proof of the matter in the account given of his philosophy by his pupils. It was surely not consistent with fatalism to look forward, as he undeniably did, to a state of rewards and punishments beyond the present life. Fatalism, properly so called, is directly contrary to a theory, which necessarily depends upon moral responsibiUty ; for moral re- sponsibility cannot exist without perfect freedom of will. Of all the philosophers, therefore, whom you have enumerated, perhaps Lucretius is, in point of fact, the only real fatalist. Seneca speaks, indeed, in the sentence referred to, too strongly: but he more than once contradicts himself; whilst his reflections on the approach of death clearly im- ply, that, in the proper sense of the term, he was no THE SHIPWRECK. 83 fatalist. The fatalism of Aristotle and Plato, again, ex- tended only to such matters as we should call accidental occurrences ; "Ih deed, it may be held as a general truth, that not one among them all, Lucretius only excepted, no, not even thie' Stoics themselves, carried their notions on this head into the region of morals. As a proof of this, you have only to attend to the leading principle of their doctrines. The Stoics held, that the mind should not de- pend upon the body at all ; that perfection was to be at- tained only by the absolute subjection of the passions to the understanding. Now, such an opinion cannot surely subsist, Avith a persuasion, that man is a mere machine, continually guided by tlie most pressing motives. For this, I apprehend, is all that can be meant by moral fa- talism. That you should have enumerated Cicero amon": •I ^ the defenders of fatalism particularly surprises me. True, he sometimes employs the common language of the day, exactly as I might remark, that the falling of my horse, or the dislocation of my arm, occurred by chance, though quite aware that chance is a non-entity. But Avhen he seriously treats of fate, and its influence, he attributes to it no more power than we should attribute to Providence. Lucretius was, indeed, a fatalist, and to teach fatalism in its true sense is one object of his Avritings ; but even he contradicts himself more than once, as all men must who support opinions in the face of their own consciousness. " With respect to the sentiments of the Brahmins and of Mohammed, I scarcely think that they were worth quoting; whilst the contradictions and absurdities into which our own writers fall have been pointed out too fre- quently to render it necessary that I should point them out again. Of Locke's fatalism, however, I would ob- serve, that it amounts to nothing more, than a firm per- suasion of the necessity which exists, that there sliould be some invisible power, not corporeal, to guide by fixed laws the corporeal world. Beyond this, I can discover no evi- dence of his having gone ; and I esteem it an unfair thing towards him, that his name should be held out as giving authority to sentiments so outrageous. But, perhaps, I am doing you injustice all this while. Your fatalism, G 2 84 THE COUNTRY CURATE. l^robably, goes no farther than my chance ; and if so^ I freely allow, that, in our progress through life, many events happen for which we find it no easy matter to ac- count." The stranger was silent for some moments, and so was I ; for I was not desirous of continuing the controversy, and yet wished not to appear afraid of it. " It may be so," he at length said, and his countenance assumed at the same time a cast of deep melancholy ; " I may be mistaken. There may be no power superior to us — we may be our own puppets, and not the puppets of fate; but I would give worlds to think otherwise. Do you see this mark?" continued he, at the same time un- tying his cravat, and exhibiting a broad scar round his throat, as if an iron collar had cut into the skin for many years : " how came that there ? " " How can I tell ? " replied I. " Perhaps you were born with it, or " " Perhaps it was forced upon me," interrupted he, and then laughed hysterically. I was now quite convinced, that the unfortunate man's reason was unsettled, and began to wish him fairly on his way to some other abode. But he recovered his composure again instantly, and, starting a new subject of conversation, became as rational and collected as possible. I now learned from him, for the first time, that he had taken his passage at Calcutta, having spent several years in India, and was returning to enjoy the fruits of his services at home. When he used the word " enjoy," indeed, I saw the same Satanic curl of the lip which had shocked me before ; but it soon passed away, and during the rest of the evening he was more collected and rational than we had seen him. He remained with us till our usual hour of parting ; and then, having coldly wished good night to the ladies, and waited till they retired, he addressed himself to me in the following terms : — " I have to thank you, sir, for much kindness and hos- pitality, — kindness bestowed upon one whom you did not know, and who is far from being worthy of it. I likewise owe to your people my life. It is a poor boon ; but it THE SHIPWRECK. 85 must not got go unrequited. Do me the favour to dis- tribute the contents of this purse amongst them. To your- self I can ofier no remuneration ; but as I see that you feel an interest in me^ and that my manner has excited your curiosity, I have determined to gratify it. To enter into the detail of my own history in ordinary conversation is a task too hard for me : I have not even noted it down upon paper without much suffering. But it is re- corded, and the sad record I now commit to you. This night I take my departure. My real name you will, of course, excuse me for concealing, as well as the names of other actors in the eventful drama ; but the facts stand as they occurred. Why I have thus made you my confidant, I cannot tell. I have never acted so with any one besides ; and the fact that I am now intrusting a mere stranger Avith a secret such as miine, confirms me in my behef, that •we are none of us our own masters. — Farewell ! I hear the carriage at the door." The stranger here put into my hands the produce of his nocturnal labours, in the shape of a packet of papers closely written ; and before I had time to remonstrate with him on the abruptness of his departure, or to press his stay, he had quitted the house : the noise of wheels was soon heard, and the stranger was gone. I never saw or heard of him afterwards. As soon as I had so far recovered my astonishment as to be fuUy convinced that the stranger was gone, I sat down to peruse the manuscript which he had committed, under circumstances so peculiar, to my care. It was written in a clear, strong, legible hand. Here and there traces of haste might be discovered in it, as if the writer had hurried over a passage or two under the influence of excited feelings ; but, in general, the person who inspected it would have said, that it had been compiled with perfect composure — even deliberation. Yet the opening was cer- tainly not such as a man in his calm and rational senses would have given. The idea of fatalism seemed to have taken a strong hold upon the individual's mind, and his story, accordingly, began with the following expressions. Q 3 86 THE COUNTRY CURATE. CHAPTER IX. THE FATALIST- " I AM a fatalist. I am perfectly satisfied, and from the first dawn of reason I have been satisfied, that the things which men call chance and free-will exist only in their own bewildered imaginations. It is very flattering to human pride to suppose, that each man guides himself in all the changes and occurrences of life ; that his own will, or his own reason, or something worthy to be called his own, directs his action and regulates his thoughts. A slight degree of attention to passing events must, however, con- vince all who reflect, that the human will, even if it be the spring of human actions, is itself no more than part of a complicated machine, which is acted upon, and set in mo- tion, by a power which it cannot control. AYere it not so, "why should instances occur, I say not frequently, but con- stantly, of persons ruining their own peace wantonly, with their eyes open, and with no other discernible purpose in view ? "\Y"hy should the miser hoard his gold, and starve .'' Why should the spendthrift waste his substance, knowing all the while that he must bring himself to poverty ? Why should the thousand extravagances occur, which society daily places before us, were not all men, without exception, mere machines ? Nay, nay, read the following narrative, and then determine whether it be possible to conceive that the freedom of will, which all are so anxious to claim, could have ever had existence, at least in me. " I am the representative of a family, which, from the period of the Norman conquest, has held considerable estates in the county of Rutland, and which, by a steady adherence to the custom of entail, has managed to pre- serve its estates almost in their pristine extent. My mother dying whilst I was an infant, and my father before I reached my tenth year, I was left to the care, or rather to the neglect, of certain titled personages, who called THE FATALIST. 87 themselves my guardians^ because they were so called in my father's will ; but who conceived that they did enough when they -entered me at one of our public schools, and permitted me to spend my vacations wherever and how- ever my owfl' fancy might suggest. Thus were my habits, temper, disposition, and pursuits, allowed to form them- selves as chance directed, without any human being giving himself the trouble to advise me to what was good, or to warn me against what might be evil. " Nature had, however, settled these points so effectually, that I do not beheve any care on the part of others would have made me very different from what I am. My earliest recollections represent me as a selfish, violent, capricious, revengeful being; as one who desired a thousand things which he had not, and who no sooner obtained them, than he ceased to value them. It strikes me, indeed, that in my younger days I was never wantonly or gratuitously tyrannical. I cannot remember, that whilst at school I oppressed the little boys. I never crouched to the big ones, for I was not mean. But an injury I never forgave. However apparently slight it might be, — were it but a cross word or look, — I never felt at ease till I had taken vengeance for it ; nor was any labour too severe, or any plan too complicated, provided I saw the chance of ob- taining my end by enduring the one, and acting upon the other. " I will give but one specimen of myself in my cha- racter of a revenger of wrongs whilst I was at school. One of my companions, my favourite companion for the time, played off upon me, on a particular occasion, some trifling practical joke. It raised a laugh against me, and I burned to chastise him for it. To beat him was not in my power, for he was older and stronger, and a better master of the pugihstic art, than I. To repay him in kind would not satisfy me. I knew that he would not feel as I felt, were he put in ever so ridiculous a light, but would probably laugh at the circumstance as readily as those about him. What I desired was to give him positive pain ; and I succeeded. He had a favourite dog, a white terrier, to which he was strongly attached. The animal used to go G 4 88 THE COUNTRY CUKATE. ■with us when we were out rabbit-shooting ; and the boy was naturally proud of its good nose, and great activity. I ■watched my opportunity one day, and pretending to mis- take it for a rabbitj I shot it dead; my revenge was ample. " In like manner, with respect to caprice, I may ob- serve, that I never loved any of my companions beyond the space of a few weeks, or, at most, a few months. The consequence is, that I never have had, and never expect to have, one friend. Of reptiles, who called themselves such, I have known many ; but whenever an acquaintance has done me a favour, or exhibited a superiority over me in any respect, I have invariably quarrelled with him. Of all feelings, that of being under an obligation to another man is to me most insupportable. " With these dispositions, and in the course of acting which they were calculated to produce, my boyhood and youth were spent. I left school for college, detested by all who knew me, and cordially detesting them in return ; and I passed through the usual academical career without forming a single connection which has survived it. It was then the fashion to travel : I followed that fashion, and travelled too ; but my tutor and I quarrelled before half our tour was completed, and I left him. I returned home, determined to live for myself alone at the family mansion in Rutlandshire. " Having formed this prudent resolution, I endeavoured to acquire a decided taste for field-sports. I kept hounds, and hunted, or affected to hunt them myself. I invited all my neighbours to come and see me ; pretended to be pleased when the field was full, and the sportsmen ad- journed to my house ; but, somehow or another, they and I fell out. Our quarrels too were generally about circum- stances which no human being would have quarrelled about except myself. One man, for example, was better mounted than I ; I was desirous of purchasing his horse, and he would not sell it. We never spoke again. Another rode better, and took the lead of me. I cursed him cordially, and so our acquaintance ended. — Thus it was, that, at the age of four-and-twenty, and after spending little more than THE FATALIST. 89 two years at home, I found my table absolutely deserted^ except when the village apothecary found it convenient to eat my venisSfi and drink my claret. Even the parson was too proud, or too right-minded, call it which you will, to put up with my freaks and humours ; and he ceased to be my guest, though there was no man in the county with whom I was more desirous of continuing on a friendly footing. " "W^hen I say this, do not suppose for a moment that I courted the rector's society from any feeling of respect either for his character or talents. Both were undoubtedly excellent ; indeed, if merit were rewarded as it ought to be, he never would have remained so long as he did upon that living. But what were the man's character and talents to me ? Nothing, or worse than nothing ; inas- much as I never heard him praised without suspecting that the design of his laudator was to pass censure upon my- self. By no means. The chances are, that I should have liked him better had he been a profligate ; for, in truth, it was on account of his daughter, a lovely and gentle crea- ture. Well, well, let that pass. " I say, that the rector of my parish, whom, for the sake of perspicuity, I shall call Travers, had a daughter. Oh, such a daughter ! When I came to reside at Clare- mont, she had barely completed her seventeenth year. Sir, you never beheld the picture of an angel so beautiful ; you never will behold a real angel (if there be such things) ■worthy to stand a comparison with her. And her mind, and heart, and disposition — there exists not her fellow throughout the universe. I loved her madly ; but my love for her, like ray love for every thing 'else, was purely selfish. Judging of her from the specimens of her sex which had heretofore crossed me, I dreamed that it would be no difficult matter to obtain her on my own terms ; so I laboured assiduously, but with extreme caution, to ac- complish her ruin. The young creature was far too pure to understand me. I gained her affections, — how, I am sure that I cannot tell, — but upon her morals and innate chastity I made no inroad ; of course, I was too well versed in these matters to make my advances very openly, and she 90 THE COUNTRY CURATE. was far too delicate in her ideas to detect any thing amiss in my proceedings. " Not so her father. The rector, though a scholar, was a man of the world, and readily saw into the motives which led me to pay attention to his daughter. He chal- lenged me with my wickedness ; and I own it with shame, I quailed beneath his indignant frown. From that hour I hated, though I respected him ; but our acquaintance ceased for a time, and I had no means afforded of grati- fying my malice. " To marriage I always had an insuperable objection ; and to marry the daughter of a country parson would, I conceived, disgrace me for ever. Yet to continue near Lucy — to see her, as I contrived to see her, every day — to hear the silver tones of her voice, her warm protest- ations of continued love, notwithstanding the prohibition of her parent — to do all this, baffled as I constantly was, in my base purposes, without so far committing myself as to propose a union, I felt to be impossible. The struggle was a desperate one, but I resolved to leave the country. I dared not trust myself with a parting interview ; for I was conscious of my own weakness, though I despised myself for it ; so I desired my valet one morning to put up my wearing apparel, and throwing myself in my travelling- chariot, set out for London. " Having now embarked, or rather having resolved to embark, in the business of a fashionable life, I was not so far guided by the caprice of the moment as to be unaware, that if I desired to act a creditable part in it, (that is to say, if I desired to amuse myself,) it was indispensably re- quisite for me to lay some restraint upon my natural irri- tability and caprice. I made the resolution, and adhered to it. Many a pang it cost me, to smile when I felt dis- posed to frown, and to hold out my forefinger to men on whom I desired to turn my back, if I did them no more serious injury ; yet I so far obtained a mastery over my- self, as to be admitted into all the coteries, as well as into the best of the clubs, usually frequented by people of rank. My fortune, indeed, was known to be ample. My rent-roll stood in reaUty at four thousand a year — the world set it THE FATALIST. 91 down at ten ; and what are the freaks and fancies which will not be tolq-ated and excused in a young man supposed to be worth ten thousand a year ? All the unmarried wo- men were a-flutter when I came among them, whilst their mammas toolc good care that I should be fully informed of their many commendable qualities^ and of their amiable dispositions, ' My daughter Fanny,' said the Countess of , ' is all excellence. She is really too good- hearted, and too much the slave of delicate feelings. It was only yesterday that she was prevailed upon to subscribe one guinea a year to the Church Missionary Society ; and look here,' drawing my attention to a number of shell pin- cushions, and other gewgaws, ' all these she made with her own hands : they are to be sold for the benefit of the children of Sunday school. Perhaps you will be- come a purchaser.' — ' Only think, mamma,' said Lady Louisa Gallop, ' the horse that Charles bought for me took me cleaV over the bar at the highest notch this morn- ing, in the riding-school.' — ' You will never have done, child,' replied mamma, ' till you meet with some serious ac- cident. — What strength of nerve she has ! ' continued the dowager, turning to me. ' She is none of your delicate hot-house plants. Dear creature ! what a misery it is for her to be cooped up in town when all her wishes point to a country life. You are fond of field-sports, I think, Mr. St. Clair ? ' Thus was I waylaid at every turn. Did I express my approbation of this or that habit, it was exactly the thing of which Lady Fanny, or Lady Louisa, approved. Did I abhor this or the other mode of proceeding, the young ladies abhorred it also. But all would not do. I looked at these minions of fashion as an ordinary specta- tor looks at the birds or butterflies in a museum — I never felt that they could have had one spark of life in them. " Of this siUy mode of living I soon began to grow tired. My thoughts were eternally wandering into Rut- landshire — to the little drawing-room in the rectory — and to Lucy, as she has often sat at her instrument, and sung to me like a scrajih. A thousand times did I resolve not to suffer pride to stand in the way of my happiness, but to hurry back, confess my errors to her father, and make 92 THE COUNTRY CURATE. a tender of my hand and fortune. But then the idea of being triumphed over by a poor country clergyman — of sitting and whining before one so far beneath me in rank and station — this was gall and wormwood to me — I could not brook it. ' No/ said I, ' I will never marry ; at least I will never marry, except to advance me in circumstances^ or to add to my dignity.' " Excitement became now the sole object of my search. Drinking was then in fashion, but I had no taste for it. Intrigues, operas, masquerades, all palled upon me. I ran the round of them till they ceased to affect me, and I was disgusted. Play was my next resource. The dice-box was seldom out of my hand ; and, to the honour of hazard be it spoken, for almost an entire season it continued to engross my attention. Like other amateur gamblers, I was, it is true, more frequently the loser than the winner ; but that circumstance made no impression upon me. I played on till my ready money became exhausted — I raised several large sums on life-annuities ; and I found myself, towards the close of three months — called, in fashionable parlance, ' the winter' — a poorer man by full two thousand pounds per annum than I had been on my first arrival in London. " About this time, when even the garning-table %vas beginning to lose its influence over me, it chanced that, to kill an hour one morning, I strolled into the British Gal- lery. I was gazing, or pretending to gaze, at one of the Cartoons which hung at the extremity of apartment No. 2., when my ears actually tingled, and my pulse ceased to beat, at the sound of a sweet voice, to which for some time back I had listened only in my dreams. ' How beautiful !' said the speaker. These were the only words uttered ; but the tone of utterance was not to be mistaken. I turned round, and beheld Lucy, leaning upon the ami of her father. Our eyes met. A deadly paleness came over her countenance ; and, fearing that she was about to fall, I sprang towards her, and caught her in my arms. A scene, of course, followed. The Dowager Lady Twaddle, hap- pening to stand in the way, received a push Avhich drove her back upon Lord Fiddlestick, who trod upon the gouty toe of THE FATALIST. Q3 Sir John Callipash, who roared aloud with agony. The company were all in motion in an instant^ crowding about us like moths about a candle ; and Lucy, who might, per- haps, have recovered the agitation produced by this unex- pected meeting, overcome with shame and terror, fainted. This was not a time to regard trifles, and Dr. Travers him- self made no opposition whilst I bore her through the throng towards the stairs. My carriage was at the door ; in it 1 placed her, and her father taking a seat on one side, whilst I sat on the other, I requested to know whither the coachman should drive. ' To Brunswick Square,' replied he. Our destination was soon reached, and Lucy had re- gained her senses before the carriage stopped. " It was now for the first time that tlie remembrance of my last interview with the doctor, and the peculiar circum- stances under which we parted, occurred to me. As long as Lucy lay motionless upon his bosom, I could think of nothing but her ; and the thoughts of her father were ma- nifestly occupied by the same object. We never exchanged a syllable during the drive, except when he replied to my question as to the part of the town where they lodged. Now, however, I felt embarrassed and confused, as I had done when he formerly upbraided me with my intended villany, and forbade me his house ; whilst he too appeared to have recovered his self-command sufficiently to recall images unpleasant to himself, and unfavourable to me. I offered to accompany them up-stairs into their lodgings. This the doctor prohibited. ' No, Mr. St. Clair,' said he; ' though I thank you for the attention just received, I can- not forget former occurrences. Learn to respect the feel- ings of others, as well as your own. Become a good member of society, as I fear you have hitherto been a bad one, and then welcome. But till then, farewell !' I slunk back into the carriage, and drove home in a state of mind utterly incapable of description. " The sight of Lucy, particularly under existing cir- cumstances, at once renewed the passion which I had striven during many months to smother. Like other fires which have for a time been covered over, it burst forth again with increasing violence, and all farther attempts to 94 THE COUNTRY CURATE. oppose it I felt to be useless. The contest between inclin- ation and pride was at an end. To live without Lucy Avas impossible — to obtain her, it would at least be necessary to seek her upon honourable terms. I resolved to do so. Nay, I went farther than this — I doubted whether I had not been hitherto acting upon a wrong principle, and whe- ther it would not conduce more to my own comfort, were I in some degree to study the comfort and wishes of my neighbours. I had tried every other road to happiness without success — I determined now to make the experi- ment, whether I might not be made happy myself by dis- pensing happiness to others. With this view, a good feel- ing at work within me, I sat down to address the doctor. I acknowledged my past misconduct — I entreated him to forgive and forget it — I assured him of my unalterable attachment to his daughter, and my determination to make myself, if possible, worthy of her — I even went so fat, in the paroxysm of virtuous enthusiasm, as to beg that he would become my guide and director in all my concerns, promising to act in every matter in obedience to his wishes. Having sealed this letter, I despatched it by my servant, and waited the result in all the misery which an impatient man endures whilst any thing materially affecting his fu- ture welfare hangs in doubt. " My man returned in a couple of hours with a note from Dr. Travers. It was short, dignified, but not un- kind. It expressed the satisfaction of the writer at the promises made by me, but it gave no immediate sanction to my suit. ' To conceal from you that Lucy's affections are gained, would,' continued the billet, ' be impossible ; but this I am proud to say of my daughter, that she will never give her hand to any man of whom her father does not approve. In your case I am willing to believe as much as in the case of other men ; but tiU I see some evidence that you can act as well as protest, I must still require you to abstain from visiting or holding any intercourse with my child.' I cursed the old man's suspicious temper, and tore his letter into fragments ; how I refrained from rushing forth again into my former vicious habits is more than I can teU. THE FATALIST. Q5 CHAPTER X. THE FATALIST. " It has been my invariable practice through life to act upon the spur of the moment, according as whim, or ra- ther destiny^ directed. I had engaged myself to dine with a party of gambling friends that day, and had resolved^ when I rose in the morning, to return frqtn the meeting either a ruined or a recovered man. Now I had neither spirit nor incHnation to fulfil that engagement. On the contrary, I ordered my carriage to be got ready, and in an hour after the receipt of the doctor's communication was on my way into the country. My reasoning ran thus : — " The doctor and Lucy will, without doubt, return home as soon as she is able to travel. I am still forbidden to call upon them ; yet I know that if I remain in town I shall not be able to attend to the prohibition. But a breach of it may lead to the worst consequences ; and therefore it is better, even viewing the matter thus, to fly from tempt- ation. Again, should the doctor be informed of my sudden departure, it will doubtless act favourably for me. He will believe that my protestations were sincere, and that I really have abandoned for ever the haunts of vice,_ with the view of carrying my good resolutions into practice. Besides, a thousand circumstances Avere likely to operate in my favour in the country, which could hardly be expected to occur in town ; and, let me do justice to myself, I was then se- rious in my design of acquiring other and better habits. Smile if you will, sir, but it is true. I actually felt at that time remorse, deep remorse, for my past misdeeds. I was actually eager to begin my new course of living : indeed, a gentleman of your cloth, to whom in epistolary correspond- ence I opened my mind, assured me, that I had expe- rienced the new birth. " Well, I returned to the country. I found all things as lonely and comfortless as they had been when I left it: 96 THK COUNTRY CURATE. I determined that they should be otherwise. My first di- rections to the house-steward were, that a huge caldron of good broth should be made ready every Tuesday and Sa- turday, and given to the poor. 1 caused a large portion of the village church to be new-pewed at my own expense ; and presented the altar with a new covering, the desk and pulpit with new cushions. I visited the school ; put my name down as a subscriber to double the amount formerly given ; gave directions that each of the boys should be supplied with a cap and gaberdine, and each of the girls with a frock and bonnet, at my cost. I attended one or two parish meetings ; looked narrowly into the accounts of the overseer ; ordered reUef (for no one presumed to con- tradict my wishes) to several paupers who had been pre- viously refused, and spoke largely of the necessity under ■which we all lay of alleviating each other's distresses. Se- veral poachers were brought before me as a justice of the peace : I reprimanded them severely ; but, as the crime had been committed on my own lands, I did no more. I dismissed them, and desired that they would never poach again. In a word, the change wrought in my behaviour and notions astonished all men. I was now talked of as the good squire, as the very pattern and model of a country gentleman ; all this occurred previous to the return of the rector. " From the little which I have already said of Dr. Travers's temper and ideas, you will readily believe that he suffered me not to continue long in doubt as to the satis- faction which my present conduct gave him. He waited upon me a few (lays after he had resumed his parochial labours, and spoke to me more as a parent is accustomed to speak to his son, than a village pastor to his next neigh- bour. I was deeply affected. The perfect independence of manner, the more than independence, the decided su- periority which a consciousness of rectitude always sheds over a man's external actions, shone prominently forth in the good doctor's deportment, and I felt and acknowledged it ; ay, and with little, very little, of the bitterness with which I had been accustomed to feel it in other days. We became intimate friends. My past errors were blotted out; THE FATALIST. 97 I was admitted at all seasons to the rectory; and, in three months after the commencement of my reformation, was rewarded with the hand of Lucy. " If you or any other individual can explain whence it arose, that I was hardly put in possession of the prize for which I had so long sighed, ere it began to lose its value in my eyes, I will freely admit that men are not over-ruled in their deeds and wills by an irresistible fate. That I ever ceased to love Lucy — I say not. Far from it. I doted upon her ever, ever ; I dote upon her memory now — I mean that I abhor and execrate myself for my behaviour towards her. But what then ? We had been married little more than six weeks when I began to see a thousand things in her general demeanour of which I could not approve. Sometimes she was a great deal too affectionate towards myself; it was silly, — nay, it produced a suspicion that it could not be real. I checked it, and checked it rudely. At other times she was too cold and distant ; I more than once caught her weeping. I hated tears, and I told her so. Then her unwearied at- tention to the poor and to the schools disgusted me. I became gloomy, morose, irritable. At last 1 determined to return again into public life. Ambition was now the idol of my worship. I resolved to shine in Parliament ; and for this purpose I bargained for a seat, as the representative of a neighbouring borough, at the trifling cost of seven thousand pounds. " My gentle Lucy endeavoured once, and only once, to divert me from the scheme. As a matter of course, I im- puted her opposition to the worst motives ; and, in truths had my mind not been previously made up to the matter, the very fact of her having ventured to speak against it would have determined me. I brought my bargain to a close. To make good my stipidations, I was obliged once more to have recourse to the plan of an annuity ; and as my creditor chanced to be aware that the estate was en- tailed, he farther insisted upon my ensuring my life. For the loan of seven thousand pounds, I accordingly lessened my annual revenues by seven hundred ; leaving little more than twelve hundred a year to support my new dignity. u 98 THE COUNTRY CURATE. " For some time after the commencement of my career as a senator, I was myself conscious of a change for the better, both in my habits and notions. There was some excitation continually on my mind. I desired to take a lead as a speaker ; once or twice I was fortunate, and my success delighted me. But, like most men in a similar situation, I permitted my vanity to carry me beyond my depth. I ventured to oppose the minister on a question which I had never studied ; I gave utterance to certain common-places, badly put together, and ending in notliing. The honourable gentleman who rephed turned me into utter ridicule ; I reached my home in a state of insanity. " And now I come to a detail of the blackest part in my black course. I hated the man who had thus silenced me with the hatred of a brother who has quarrelled with his brother. Mine was not a rancour to be appeased by any thing short of the death of him who had offended me. There was not a morning of my Life part of which was not now devoted to pistol-shooting. I practised till I could split a ball upon the edge of a knife, or snuff a candle at twelve paces distant ; and as soon as I had attained this degree of perfection, I laid myself out for a quarrel. In pubhc and in private I sought every opportunity to insult and irritate my opponent. I strove to satirise him as he had satirised me before the House; but I was no wit, and my satire consequently degenerated into personal invective : I was called to order. Out of doors I was more successful ; though a brave man, he was exceedingly good-tempered, and either did not, or would not, see my intentions for some time. At length, however, I insulted him so grossly in the lobby of the Opera House, that it was out of his power to pass it by: he sent me a message. I accepted his challenge ; and as there was some risk of the affair getting wind, I proposed that we should settle our dispute without delay. We met at an early hour the following morningj and at the first fire I shot him through the heart. " Was I happy after this ? — by no means. Matters had been so well arranged, that though all the world knew by what hand my victim had met his death, the coroner's jury found themselves at a loss to say on whom the sus- THE FATALIST. 99 picion of guilt should rest. As far as my immediate for- tunes werp- €«ncerned, therefore, I experienced from the result of the duel no inconvenience whatever ; but my mind was never for an instant at rest. If ever man deli_ berately committed murder, I did. I prepared myself be- forehand for a meeting — I studiously sought for it — and I went to attend it in the firm determination of destroying my enemy if I could. Were it possible to believe that men are free agents, — were I not perfectly satisfied that we never act but as fate decrees, — I should regard myself as the most guilty and cold-blooded of assassins. Nay, let me acknow- ledge my own inconsistency ; such was the light in which I then viewed — such is the light in which I sometimes view myself still. " From that fatal day I became more than ever a tor- ment to myself, and to all around me. To Lucy I was absolutely cruel. We had been married upwards of a year and a half, and she brought me no child. Shall I con- fess it ? I upbraided her for this, as if it were something blamable on her part, and yet I loved her all the while with an intensity such as few married men experience for their wives. Amiable and gentle being ! She bore my reproaches with the meekness of an angel ; she wept under them, but she never complained. Her father believed to the last that she was the happiest of women, and I the best of husbands. Every thing, too, went wrong with me. I lost all interest in pubHc business ; the very gaming-table produced not suflScient excitement. I had recourse to the bottle. Among bon-vivants and jolly souls, none were now my superiors ; and I reeled home, morning after morn- ing, only to overwhelm with reproaches and abuse one who never gave me cause to reproach her, even through inad- vertence. " As a natural consequence upon the kind of life which I had led, my affairs became deeply involved. Creditors were importunate ; and the very Jews refused to furnish me with money, except on terms such as even I perceived to be ruinous. At last an execution was threatened ; my furniture, plate, horses, carriages, were all about to be seized. What was now to be done I neither knew nor cared. u 2 100 THE COUNTRY CURATE. " My wife, though the daughter of a country clergyman, ■was connected, both by the father and mother's side, with several families of distinction. One of her maternal uncles had held some high situation in India, and her cousin now enjoyed the fruits of his toil, which he himself never lived to enjoy. He mixed with the best circles — supported a splendid establishment — and withal was regarded, by those ■who knew him, as a person of singularly kind heart and cor- rect morals. Of course he visited his cousin when she ap- peared in the hemisphere of London as the wife of an M. P. ; and as she relished his society we saw a good deal of him. Only conceive. Sir, I became jealous, madly jealous, of that man. I contrasted his frank, open, and affectionate man- ner, with my own pettish and inconsistent deportment. I could not deny that the first was far more attractive than the last, and I came to the conclusion that it must be so regarded by my wife. There wanted hut some decided act of friendship on his part towards Lucy to convince me that a criminal passion subsisted between them. " "W^hen the execution above referred to actually oc- curred, Lucy, worn out with irregular hours, and broken in spirit by my unkind treatment, was exceedingly ill: the effect of the seizure of our furniture was to increase her illness to an alarming degree. I was not within when the bailiffs arrived, otherwise I should have probably done some deed which might have been the means of cutting short my career, as it deserved to be cut short. The news was brought to me at a moment when my last guinea was staked upon the turn of a die. The throw was against me, so I rushed forth with the firm determination of committing suicide. First, however, I resolved to see with my own eyes how matters stood at home ; for which purpose I flew towards Harley Street. I was met at my own door by Mr. Blake, Lucy's relative. " ' For God's sake go in and comfort your wife, St. Clair,' said he ; ' she is very ill. I am now on my way for a physician.' " I passed him without speaking a word. The bailiffs were gone : the furniture and effects all stood as I had left them in the morning. I believed that I was in a dream. THE FATALIST. 101 I ran up-stairs to my wife's apartmentj and found her lying upon a sofa in violent hysterics. Her maid was attending to her as well" as she could, but I desired her to leave the room, and she did so. " ' How is this, Lucy ? ' said I, affecting to be calm. * Have done with these airs, and tell me how it comes about that there are no bailiffs in the house. I thought that an execution had been going on.' " ' And so it was,' cried she, struggling to subdue her emotions : ' we were indeed ruined ; but Blake, — good, kind Blake, — discharged the debt, and we are still left in possession of our house. — Oh, Charles, I will never, never upbraid you with the past ; but let us change our mode of living. How happy were we at Claremont, till ' " ' Till what .^ ' exclaimed I, madly ; ' till I took into my family, and to my bosom, a wretch that has dishonoured me ! Blake, Blake, eternally Blake ! He paid the debt, and how was he paid .'' ' " ' Charles,' replied Lucy, rising, and with dignity, ' this is the worst of all. Neglect, harshness, cruelty, I could bear ; but to hear you insinuate aught against my honour, or that of my cousin, to whom you are so deeply in- debted ' " My brain was on fire. 1 replied not ; but struck her violently in the face with my clenched fist. She fell — a corner of the fender entered her temple — and she never moved again ! ******* " A notion very generally prevails, that insane persons, at least during the paroxysms of insanity, are ignorant of all things which pass around them. The notion is not more common than erroneous. 1 have been the inhabitant of a cell for six long years, — mad, raving, outrageously mad, — and there occurred not an event, either to myself or others, of which I was not perfectly aware at the time, and of which I retain not now the clearest recollection. I saw numbers of wretches, the slaves indeed of a wayward fancy, but I never saw one who felt not that he was not where he ought to be, or where nature designed him to be. For my- self I had no fancy. My sole desire, it is affirmed, was to H 3 102 THE COUNTRY CURATE, destroy all who came within my reach, or to destroy myself. — How was this prevented ? You shall know. " Having tried every other method in vain — having torn my back with the whip — subjected me to the restraint of a strait waistcoat — chained me down for days together to my crib — and finding, as it was affirmed, that I possessed craft enough to be calm till I was released, and only till then, the tyrants vented their spleen upon me thus. I re- collect the occasion well. I had been for some time fast- ened by a long chain, which, passing through a hole in the partition, enabled the keeper, by going into the next cell, to draw me close against the wall at pleasure. This he was in the habit of doing several times a-day, and then he lashed me till the exercise wearied his arm. If I had been violent before, such treatment of course increased my vio- lence. I no sooner felt the chain tightened than I roared like a wild beast ; and when the brute appeared, armed, as he invariably was, with a heavy cart-whip, I gnashed my teeth upon him in impotent fury. But I had my revenge. With the straw allowed me in lieu of a bed, I so stuffed the chain, that it could not be forced through the aperture. One morning the wretch strove in vain to draw me up as usual ; he failed, and trusting, I suppose, to the effect of habitual terror upon my mind, ventured to come within my reach. Ha, it was a glorious moment ! I shrank up, as I had been wont to do, into the corner, for the purpose of deceiving him ; he followed, brandishing his whip, and prepared to strike. One bound brought him within my clutch. Sir, I had no weapons but my hands and feet, but they were sufficient. I caught him by the hair, dashed him on his face to the ground, and then planting my knees strongly upon his shoulders, I tore his head back till the joints of the neck began to give way. Fortunately for him, the struggle had been overheard, and assistance arrived just in time to save his worthless life. " It was in consequence of that act that a new mode of restraint was exercised upon me. An iron collar was rivetted round my neck, to which was attached a massive chain, only twelve inches in length. This was again made fast to a ring in a strong iron pillar, so formed as that it coidd THE FATALIST. 103 slide upwards or downwards ; the pillar itself being built into the waU, and of the height of six feet. Round my body another iron girdle of vast strength was soldered, about two inches in width, attached to which were two circular projections, one on each side, for the purpose of pinioning and restraining my arms. To keep the girdle in its place again, other bars crossed my shoulders, and were rivetted to it both before and behind ; whilst a couple of links con- necting the collar with the shoulder-straps, and a couple of chains fastening the back-bars to the pillar, all power of moving head, hands, and arms, was taken away from me. Thus was I kept for four whole years. I could lie down, it is true, because my trough was placed close to the wall, and the ring in the pillar being made to slide, permitted m.e to stoop or stand upright. But when I did lie, it was only on my back, the sharp points in the girdle effectually hin- dering me from resting on my sides. Nor were the mis- creants contented with this. They chained my right leg to the trough, in order, as they said, to guard against vio- lence from kicking. Standing and lying were accordingly the only changes of posture : I could not walk, for the chain which held me to the wall measured no more than twelve inches. My garments rotted from my back, and were replaced by a blanket ; my food was half-dressed lumps of beef without salt, and potatoes ; and then for my amusement — music, I had music — but it was the music of damned spirits — the howls and execrations of the furious — the laugh and shriek of the idiot: — these were the only sounds to which I listened by day and by night, till my beard had grown to my chest, and the nails of my fingers were like the talons of an eagle. " Thus was it till a change took place in the arrange- ment of the asylum. How it came about, I know not; but after enduring this treatment for a series of years, I was one day set at liberty, and furnished with proper clothing. Whether my mind was ever in a state of chaos, I cannot tell. There are moments when I believe it. There are others when I believe it not ; perhaps it may be the case still. " I was set free as one cured. They told me that my B 4 104l THE COUNTRY CURATE. wife died from accidentally falling upon the fender, and that my grief for her decease turned my brain. Poor fools ! they knew not that it was I who killed her. " My affairs had, during the period of my confinement, in some degree recovered themselves ; but 1 was still an embarrassed man. To help me out of my embarrassments, an appointment in India was procured for me. There I have spent the last ten years, and with the mode of my return you are acquainted." Thus ended a tale as wild and extravagant as any which I ever perused. The impression left upon my own mind was, that the poor gentleman laboured under a derange- ment of intellect when he compiled it. I believe it is no uncommon matter for insane persons to fancy themselves stained with a thousand crimes which they never perpe- trated, and the victims of a thousand evils which they never endured ; and I am strongly disposed to hold that opinion in the case of my shipwrecked guest. CHAPTER XI. THE SMUGGLERS. Among all the youths that attended Divine service at the church of St. Alphage, there was none, at least in my day, to be compared, either in point of manly beauty or rustic accomplishments, with Will Brockman. Will was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. His father, who, to use the colloquial phraseology of this coast, had followed the sea from his childhood, perished one stormy night, in a vain though gallant attempt to bring assist- ance to a vessel in distress ; and Will, who was then an infant, formed from that hour the only solace of a kind- hearted and amiable mother. The elder Brockman had, it appeared, been successful in his speculations. Whether THE SMUGGLERS. 105 these were always such as to defy scrutiny, or whether, in common with., the rest of his townsmen, he deemed it no act of dishonesty to defraud the revenue as often as cir- cumstances Tvould allow, I cannot tell. All that I know is, that at his death he left his widow in possession of a comfortable dwelHng, situated on the extreme edge of my parish — of a sum in ready money, the amount of which no one accurately knew — of the whole and sole property in a barge and a pinnace — together with a couple of shares in a neat lugger, famous for its fast sailing, and called the Dreadnought. Possessed of this fortune, Mrs, Brockman naturally became an object of desire to such of her late husband's companions as were bachelors. The father of her boy had not been in his grave a year, before she was importuned on all hands to change her condition ; but to such proposals she turned a deaf ear, and transfer- ring to her son all the love she ever felt for her husband, she continued in her widowed state up to the hour of her decease. At the period of which I now write. Will had attained his three-and-twentieth year ; in height he measured rather more than six feet. His form, though apparently slender, was well knit and put together : his step was light and free, and gave notice of a surpassing degree of agility and vigour ; no man along the coast could pull a better oar, oi more skilfully manage a rudder or a sail, when the wind was high and the sea rough. Will's hair was of a raven blackness, and hung about his temples and forehead in thick short curls ; his eye was of the hue of the sloe when it is fully ripe ; his complexion %vas a clear olive, shghtly tinged with vermilion ; and his skin, notwithstanding a frequent exposure to the elements, as well in summer as in winter, still retained the purity and delicacy of its tex- ture. Yet he was not critically beautiful. His was a countenance which pleased more because of its general expression of good-humour and high courage, than that the features were strictly regular ; for his nose was per- haps too long, and his mouth rather too wide. But then his teeth were pieces of the brightest and most polished ivory, and there was a beam in his eye, and a lightening 106 THE COUNTRY CURATE. up of every feature when he smiled, which few maidens could watch with indifference. Such was Will Brockraan when first I saw him, about four years after my arrival in the parish ; and I must say, that when he stood in the churchyard, in his jacket and trowsers of fine blue cloth, his white stockings and well-cleaned shoes, I could not wonder at the degree of honest pride with which his widowed mother regarded him. The events of his short life, previous to the commence- ment of our acquaintance, may be related in few words. Like other youths brought up by the seaside. Will early exhibited a predilection for a maritime life ; and as Mrs. Brockman appeared to consider the coasting-trade, and the business of a dredger, as of all others the most perilous, she determined to send her son into the service of a com- pany of merchants, whose ships navigated between London and the Baltic. At the age of thirteen he accordingly entered upon his apprenticeship. This expiring in four years, he was taken, when seventeen years old, as an able seaman on board the Neptune, where his attention to his duties, and his general activity and intelligence, soon recom- mended him for favour and promotion. He had hardly reached his twentieth year, when he received the appoint- ment of second mate : his preferment to the rank of first mate occurred the year after ; and when he and I met for the first time, he was on leave of absence of an in- definite extent, waiting till the brig Britannia should be fitted out for service, of which he was to be put in com- mand. Right joyous had the Avidow's heart been many days before he made his appearance, at the prospect of once more having her boy under her roof, safe and sound from the perils of the deep. No fewer than five years had elapsed since her arms last embraced him ; and now he was to return to them loaded with honours, and what was of far more weight in her eyes, worthy to be honoured by all good men. Happy woman was she, when, at a late hour on Saturday night, her brave and handsome son burst into her parlour ; and proud was her bearing when she entered the house of God, leaning upon his stalwart arm, on the morning after. THE SMUGGLERS. 107 There dwelt in the parish at this time a family of the name of Petl&y, of whom, from the father down to the youngest child, no one thought well. The old man was by trade a market-gardener ; but he paid so little attention to the cidtivation of his land, that it would have been matter of surprise how he contrived to live, had not his neighbours been pretty weU assured that he looked to it but little for a subsistence. He was a widower. His domestic circle consisted of three sons and a daughter, the eldest about thirty, the youngest, Harriet, hardly nineteen. The boys professed to be fishermen. They owned a boat among them, with which they made frequent voyages, no one cared to enquire whither ; but if these voyages were made in search of fish, they were generally far from being successful. The fact, indeed, was, that fishing constituted a mere excuse for the prosecution of another, and a more perilous vocation. They were smugglers, daring, intrepid, unprincipled smugglers — men who were known to carry arms about their persons whenever they set out upon an ad- venture, and who professed, and professed truly, not to set their own lives, or the lives of others, at a pin's value. They were men of violence from their youth up, dissolute in their habits, proud and bold in their deportment, and what, in the eyes of their neighbours at least, was worst of all, they were men without one particle of honour. No one herded with them, no one dared to trust them. They stood perfectly alone, for they had on various occasions betrayed a companion in illicit transactions, and were uni- versally shunned in consequence. Of the daughter, Harriet, it grieves me to speak in the terms which truth requires. Never have my eyes rested upon a female face or form more perfectly beautiful. Her brown hair hung in glossy ringlets over her neck, and parted upon a forehead purer and whiter than the purest alabaster, in which every blue vein could be distinctly traced, like streaks in the polished marble. Her eye of dark hazel could languish or laugh, as suited the humour of the moment, with equal effect ; her little mouth spoke volumes, as the smile or the sneer curled it ; her figure, neither taU nor short, was a piece of the most exquisite 108 THE COUNTRY CURATE. symmetry. Yet, with all these outward charms, Harriet was a bad girl ; and she was not the less bad, that she was absolutely chaste. Cold, calculating, and hypocritical, she had been taught from her childhood to square every action, and to fashion every look according to the dictates of interest. All the lads in the parish admired her, and almost all had, for a time, dangled after her. But they gradually ceased to court one, who favoured their addresses only so far as she found them pliable ; and who made no other use of her power over them, than to entangle thera into a ruinous connection with her brothers. Young Brockraan had been so long absent, that of the character of this family he knew nothing. The sons had all been his schoolfellows : one was about his own age ; and when they last parted no such stigma was known to attach to them. It was therefore but natural that he should meet their advances with the cordiality of other Jays, and freely accept their invitation to come and par- take of the produce of the farm. This was given after Divine service, on the very first Sunday which he spent amongst us ; and coming, as it did, from the ruby lips of Harriet, no one could feel surprise that it was not declined ; for with the precipitancy of his years. Will's admiration grew at once into passion, and before he had exchanged two sentences with his old acquaintance, he became her devoted slave. From that unlucky hour. Will became a constant visiter at the house of John Petley. His mother, from whom the state of his feeUngs coidd not long remain a secret, did her best to break off the connection. She took, I believe, the injudicious course which most mothers take, when their sons or daughters chance to form an improper attachment ; that is to say, she never neglected any legitimate oppor- tunity of speaking sUghtingly of Harriet, nor greatly scrupled to invent one, when it occurred not of its own accord. But her plans proved as fruitless as such plans generally prove ; and the more she railed at the object of his attentions, the more devotedly and warmly attached to that object he became. Matters went, indeed, so far at last, that she absolutely longed for the arrival of the com- THE SMUGGLERS. ] 09 munication which was again to separate her from the only being upon^ e&fth whom she truly loved ; so firmly was she convinced, that her son's intercourse with the Petleys could end in no good, and would probably lead to his ruin. Nor had much time elapsed before the consequences of his misplaced attachment began to appear in the habits and behaviour of the young Brockman. Whole days were now spent at Petley's house, and some of the lowest and worst characters along the coast were his companions. Many a time his mother sat up, in expectation of his re- turn, till long past midnight ; and when he did return was shocked to find him in a state of outrageous inebriety. His money, too, began to run short : cards, of which the good woman entertained a grievous horror, became his favourite diversion ; and a rumour gradually gained ground that much of it was lost at play. When Sunday morning came round, he had always some excuse ready, why he should not accompany her to church ; his head ached, or he had received a communication from his employers, which must be answered by that day's post ; in a word. Will Brockman was an altered man. The very expression of his countenance was changed, and even his style of dress was no longer what it used to be. The effect of aU this was, to cause the widow's heart, of late so light, to sink within her ; her days were accordingly devoted to useless complaining, and her nights to watchfulness and terror. In the mean while, a thousand stories were abroad re- specting her son. His letter of appointment, it was re- ported, had arrived ; but he had rejected the situation, at the suggestion of Harriet and her brothers. He had been frequently seen, of late, at the dead of night on the beach ; and more than once he was known to have been absent from home for twenty-four hours successively. The Dread- nought, which had hitherto been navigated by a stranger, was called in ; and who was to command her, or in what service she was hereafter to be employed, no one knew. Men whispered and smiled, women looked grave, and lamented ; and all felt persuaded, that WiU Brockman 110 THE COUNTRY CURATE. was entangled in a net from which he would never free himself. Not that the good folks on the coast of Kent look with an evu eye upon an ordinary smuggler, — very far from it : I believe that not a few of the leading families in that part of the kingdom owe their rise entirely to what is called free trade ; but the party with which Will had connected himself, or was supposed to have connected him- self, were so notoriously bad, that their very brother smug- glers dared not trust them. Even of the little honour which belongs to thieves, they were known to be devoid ; and hence Brockman's ruin was predicted, not so much on account of the danger necessarily attendant upon his pur- suits, as because it was surmised, that his new associates would deliver him over to the officers of Government, on the very first opportunity which should promise to make it worth their while. Of all this his poor mother was duly informed. Her fears were accordingly excited beyond endurance, and the more, that she knew not how to proceed in order to save him. The effect of her personal remonstrances had been to drive him almost entirely from his home. The spell of the syren was over him, and to her he fled for comfort and support when the reproaches and tears of a kind parent stung too deeply. This the latter saw; and, determined to risk every thing for his preservation, she fell upon a remedy so desperate as only to be justified by the desperate state of his circumstances. She resolved to become herself an in- former — she made up her mind to instruct the Excise officers when and where they might arrest the Petleys in their illicit proceedings, and she delayed it from day to day, only in the hope, the remote and uncertain hope, of finding an opportunity to do so when Will might be absent from their meetings ; but that opportunity came not — day and night they were together, and the poor woman, worked up to a pitch of frenzy, at last gave information of an in- tended landing of smuggled goods, in which she had some- how discovered that Will was to take part. The goods were, indeed, to be brought over in the Dreadnought, which her son was to steer ; yet, such was her horror of the proceedings in which he had embarked, and such the THE SMUGGLERS. Ill conviction, that if she did not extricate him by a desperate chance like,^he present, he would undoubtedly fall a vic- tim to the interests of his more crafty comrades, that with- out hesitation, she despatched an anonymous letter to the Custom-house, in which the plans of the smugglers were, as far as she knew them, communicated. The letter was not cast aside because it bore no signature ; and what the consequences of it were, it shall be the business of the fol- lowing chapter to detail. CHAPTER XII. THE SMUGGLERS. It was now the month of August ; I had retired to bed one night at my usual hour, but, partly from the effect of delicate health, and partly because my thoughts were still too apt to wander back into past scenes, I felt no inclin- ation to sleep. After vainly tossing about for some time, I rose, and, opening the window, looked out. The air was soft and mild, and the moon, in her tliird quarter, shed a faint and silvery light over external objects. My little church, with its neat churchyard and white fences, ap- peared to pecuhar advantage beneath her rays : the sides of the green hills, and the bosom of the green valley before me, glittered in the dewdrops, and the sheep either lay in groups here and there, or, rousing at intervals by ones and twos, sent forth a short bleating, as if in search of some strayed companions. The roar of the waves, as they broke upon the distant shingle, came upon me like notes of the sweetest music. Of the sea itself I saw nothing, for the hill on the right of the vicarage completely shuts it out ; but its sound floated up upon the breeze, even more audibly and more harmoniously than was usual. In all still nights we hear that sound, the most delightful, perhaps, of any 112 THE COUNTRY CURATE. •which inanimate nature produces ; but to-night it was more constant, and more exquisitely soothing, than I had ever heard it. The consequence was, that I felt more than ordinarily affected by it. The images which had occupied my mind before I rose were melancholy, and painfully so : they lost much of their agonising character after I seated myself beside the open window. " Why should I com- plain ? " said I : "it is doubtless far better thus, than it would have been had my wishes been accomplished. She is at rest — perhaps she is a blessed spirit, inhabiting that bright planet which is sailing over head, and looking down with pity upon me because I am still tied to the earth. At all events, it was the will of Him who knows what is best for us, to remove her ; and to that wUl I submit." Such was the train of my thoughts, and such the calm and holy state into which I was fast falling, when a con- siderable commotion at the base of the hill on the right hand attracted my attention. A deep shadow was over the spot, which hindered me from seeing any thing : but I heard the tread of men's feet, and the noise of sheep start- ing from their lairs ; and the latter soon ran out, as if scared, into the moonlight. I kept my eye steadily fixed upon the obscure corner, which I knew to be the gorge of a ravine or guUey in the hill side, and listened with an anxiety quite disproportionate to the apparent cause, for any other sounds which might proceed from it. Nor did I long Hsten in vain. The ravine was but a very short distance from the paddock fence; and as the slight air that stirred blew inwards, I had no difficulty in catching the substance of the following dialogue, though it was con- ducted with apparent caution, and in no higher tone than a whisper. " Is it the time yet ? " said one voice. " Not quite, I think," replied another. " It was one o'clock they said, was it not .'' " " Yes, and it cannot be far from that now — it struck twelve before we left the town." " Hush ! " whispered the first speaker, " did you not hear something ? " There was a silence of several seconds after this, but the THE SMUGGLERS. 113 alarm appeared to be groundless, and the conversation was renewed " A greaL^ity ! a fine lad, but grown devilish wild. Well, well, it will be a good haul for us — but will they fight, think ye ? " " Can't say. I have got my bull-dogs though, and curse me if I don't use them. There they come, by Jove ! — let us mount !" At this moment, another sound caught my ear, as of persons approaching the summit of the hill from the op- posite side, and walking with difficulty. I looked up, and the figures of three men, each bearing a burden upon his back, stood between me and the moon. They paused for a moment, and as far as I could judge from their motions looked anxiously round, then throwing down their loads upon the ground, they seated themselves beside them. Having continued thus for about five minutes, they again resumed their burdens, and began to descend. They had proceeded about half-way, when two men sprang from the shadowy ravine, by the edge of which they were walking, and made towards them. Instantly their sacks were cast from them, and the three figures fled in different directions, unpursued, however, by the assailants, who occupied them., selves in gathering together the plunder. I now saw how the case stood. Without doubt the three were smugglers, and the two, officers of the revenue ; and the matter being one in which I was not anxious to be involved, I gently closed my window and retired to bed. I had dropped into a doze, but how long I had lain thus I know not, when sleep was suddenly dispelled by the re- port of fire-arms. A shout followed, and then a loud shriek, as if from one in pain or deadly peril. I leaped out of bed again, and looking towards the place where the seizure was effected, I saw a group of three persons, one lying at length upon the ground, and two standing over him — a fourth man was farther up the hill, and was descending. Thougli they were too far removed for me to distinguish their words, it was evident that the last-mentioned person no sooner joined the rest, than a violent altercation began. What the subject of it might be, I could not tell ; but it I 114 THE COUNTRY CURATE. ended at length in their lifting the form which lay upon the ground^ and casting it over the ravine. A horrible conviction now flashed across my mind. Murder had been committed — the murder, no doubt, of an exciseman, and these were the persons who had shed his blood. I felt a chill creep through my veins, and drew in my head to re- cover ; when I looked out again, the figures had all dis- appeared. It will easily be imagined, that the night passed by without any refreshing sleep visiting my pillow. I lay wide awake, indeed, till daybreak, a prey to the most agonising and fearful surmises. There was no positive ground for the suspicion ; at least nothing had occurred capable of creating more than suspicion ; yet I could not divest my- self of the persuasion, that young Brockman was somehow or other implicated in the business. Connected with this idea, also, was the recollection of the measure so frequently threatened by his mother ; and these combined, served to conjure up phantoms more hideous and alarming than any which had ever hefore taken possession of my brain. As the best and only means of dispelling them, I resolved at last to disbelieve the evidence of my own senses ; and by a positive effort succeeded in doubting whether the whole scene might not have been, after all, a mere creation of my own fancy. Such a doubt could not, however, be permitted to con- tinue unsolved. Daylight having at length arrived, I hastily dressed myself, and proceeded towards the spot where I had seen, or fancied that I had seen, the deed of violence done. There were abundant confirmations there of my worst fears. The grass was torn, as if by the hands and heels of men struggling, and in various places it was dyed with blood. There was a sprinkling of the same foul stream as far as the edge of the precipice, and there it ended. The gulley in question measures about one hun- dred and fifty feet in depth ; it is as nearly perpendicular as can be, and a narrow foot-path, or rather a sheep-track, winds just under its ridge. At the bottom stands a ruined cottage, with a heap of loose stones, all overgrown with nettles and other rank weeds. I could perceive that they had THE SMUGGLERS. IJj been lately disturbed, for the weeds were trodden down, and of the stones a more than usual quantity were laid bare ; and'the thought immediately occurred, that there they had deposited the body : I could not suffer the fact to continue undecided, so I descended the hill again, and made for the ruin. I had no difficulty in reaching the parallel of the high ground from which I had looked down, for a horrible mark guided me. There were clots and dashes of blood along the entire face of the ravine, and at its base a pool had coagulated where the body had doubtless rested from its fall. I pursued a sort of track among the nettles, which conducted from this point as far as the corner of the dila- pidated gable, where it ended. Here it was manifest that a number of stones had lately been removed ; and on roll- ing back several of them again, a horrible spectacle met my eyes. A dead man lay beneath them. His throat was cut from ear to ear, and a knife, such as sailors generally carry, lay beside him. It was covered with gore, both handle and blade, and it was marked upon the former with the initials W. B. " O God ! " cried I, aloud, " then WiU Brockman is the murderer ! " The exclamation was hardly uttered, when I found myself suddenly surrounded by a concourse of people, among whom were several peace-officers, and a magistrate. The agitation necessarily produced by being caught under circumstances so extraordinary, having passed away, I repeated to the latter aU that I had heard and seen on the preceding night ; and having likewise communicated my suspicions respecting the perpetrators of the deed, constables were immediately despatched to secure the parties named. In the mean while, the body was removed to the vestry, to await the issue of' an inquest; and the magistrate returned with me to the Vicarage, v/here we spent the time in no very enviable state of feeling, till the officers with their prisoners should arrive. Nearly two hours elapsed before the latter event occurred. They came, however, at last, bringing with them the three brothers and their companion ; nor could the most careless spectator fail to observe the striking contrast which the I 2 116 THE COUNTRY CURATE. appearance and manner of these unhappy persons pre- sented. In the demeanour of the first were exhibited hardly any symptoms of alarm^ certainly none of confusion or dismay. An occasional flush would, indeed, pass over their coun- tenances as the examination proceeded ; but, with this ex- ception, theirs was the expression of men either absolutely innocent, or to a terrible degree callous and hardened. Not such was the expression of Brockman's face. Misery, the deepest and the darkest, was pictured there. He was deadly pale ; his eye was wild and bloodshot, and either rested steadily upon the floor, or wandered in seeming un- consciousness round the room. Nor was the difference in their dress less remarkable. The brothers had been ar- rested in bed. They rose, coolly and calmly put on clean apparel, and acted in every way as if they were utterly ignorant of all cause for their arrest. Brockman had been taken upon the beach. He wore the same garments which he must have worn on the preceding night, and they, as well as his hands, were red with blood. "SVhen the officers overtook him, he was pacing backwards and forwards, more like one who meditates self-destruction than escape ; and he now stood before us as manifestly stamped with the crime of which he was accused as external appearances could stamp him. Even I could not but acknowledge to myself that he must be the murderer. The magistrate, having seated himself in due form beside the table, proceeded to take the depositions of such as appeared in any respect acquainted with the circum- stances of the case. For my own part, I could only repeat what I had previously communicated, avowing, at the same time, my ignorance of the persons of those concerned ; and the next individual examined brought not the matter greatly more home to the prisoners. This witness proved to be the companion of the murdered man. He deposed to the receipt of an anonymous communication, in con- sequence of which he and his companion had acted ; and described minutely the fact of their ambush, and con- sequent seizure. The goods seized were, however, too bulky to be removed without farther assistance, when it THE SMUGGLERS. 117 became necessary for one to go in search of such assistance, whilst the-cftMr kept guard over the prize; and the former duty falling.to his share, he left the deceased to discharge the latter. '-The only thing which at all bore upon the charge was his assertion, that, being on his way to Folk- stone, he met, on the opposite side of the hill, a man whom he recognised as the elder Petley, but Avho merely wished him a good night, and passed on. Witness farther deposed, that He might have been absent from his companion about an hour ; for that the inhabitants of Folkstone being asleep, he found it difficult to procure the necessary aid. Having procured it, however, he hastened back, and dis- covered, to his dismay, that neither his brother officer nor the smuggled goods were in the place where he had left them. He then went on to state, that, alarmed at so un- expected an occurrence, he and his party began to inspect the ground for marks of violence, which it prognosticated. In this search a pistol was fovmd, which appeared to have been lately discharged, and which, on examination, he could not recognise as having belonged to his companion. Next, a quantity of blood was discovered, as well as the trace as if a body had been dragged along the grass to the edge of the clifF, Being now fully satisfied that a deed of violence had been committed, they agreed to give information to the nearest magistrate, and accordingly proceeded to the house of his worship, who promptly rendered them all the assistance in his power, and to whom the rest of the pro- ceedings were known. The testimony of the last witness being taken down, and signed, it was fully corroborated by the evidence of certain persons who accompanied him from Folkstone for the purpose of securing the captured goods. No more, there- fore, was necessary to make out a case against the pri- soners, than to identify the Aveapons found upon the spot as their property. With respect to the knife, no proof could be more distinct. Many persons swore to their having observed it in the possession of Brockman, and the letters engraved upon the haft rendered their assertions ad- ditionally credible ; but of the connection of the pistol with I 3 118 THE COUNTRY CURATE. the three brothers^ the proof was not, perhaps^ so decisive The four prisoners were, however, known to be on an in- timate footing : they had been seen together on the night previous to the murder, when they set sail for the coast of France, with the avowed intention of bringing over a cargo of contraband articles, and no one could testify to the time of their return. Such was the chain of evidence against them, and upon it the magistrate conceived that he was bound to detain them. There remained yet. one source of information, of which no use had been made, namely, the anonymous letter. His worship, having ascertained that the officer was in pos- session of that letter, desired that it might be given up to him, as a probable means of throwing additional light on the mysterious affair. This was done, and on his handing it to me, under the idea that I, perhaps, might know some- thing of the characters, I discovered at the first glance a perfect confirmation of all my fears. The handwriting was that of Mrs. Brockman, and the billet itself ran thus : — " One who is anxious to save an infatuated youth from ruin begs to inform the commissioners, that about mid- night on the fifteenth of this month a boat will land below Folkstone, loaded with silks and lace. It is surmised that the boat's crew consists of four persons, and that the goods will be conveyed across the hill to the house of John Petley." My very breath forsook me when I had finished the perusal of this note, and 1 looked at Brockman with even more of deep commiseration than I had previously ex- perienced. His guilt I dared not excuse : but he seemed at the moment like Hercules in the Trachiniae of Sophocles, about to perish by the well-intended stratagem of her who loved him above all created beings. Whether he enter- tained any suspicion of the fact, I know not, for he paid no regard whatever to passing events. Not even when, like the rest, he was called upon to deny or confess his crime, did he utter one word ; for whilst they were protesting their innocence, he stood speechless. A clear case was ac- cordingly adjudged to be made out against him, and a case little less clear against his companions, for whose committal THE SMUGGLERS. 119 a warrant was made out ; and they were delivered over to the constables^to be removed to prison. The magistrate had just signed the deed, when the door burst open, a.nd the unfortunate mother of Brockman rushed into the parlour. Her scream was so shrill and so ap- palUng, that one who stood at the far-end of the glen might have heard it. " Oh, what have I done ? " cried she ; " and what have you done, my unfortunate boy ? Why stand you here, my son, and what blood is that upon your face? — He is innocent, sir," continued she wildly, turning to the magistrate, " quite innocent. He commit murder ! he whom I reared so gently, and who was ever so gentle to me, ever, ever till — Oh, but we will not refer to that! It is done now — it is all over — the connection is broken ofF, and he will go back to be again the comfort of his widowed mother. WiU you not, William, will you not return with me, my boy .f* Come, come," cried she, running up to him, and seizing him by the hand. Brockman groaned audibly. It was the first sound which he had uttered since he was brought into the house, and it came from the very bottom of his heart. " I cannot go with you now, my mother," said he ; " I must go else- where — to prison, and then to death." " To prison, and to death ! " shrieked she : " to prison, say you.'' — to prison, and to death too ! — you } No, no, it cannot be. It was not for that I did it ; it was not against you that I informed ; it was against them ; these bloody, heartless, godless monsters — these, who have be- trayed you ! O may a mother's curse blight and wither them ! " " Hush, hush, my mother," replied the criminal ; " curse no one, — or if you curse at all, curse me. Now I am ready," added he, turning to the constable. Both the magistrate and myself were too much affected by this scene to be able to interrupt it, nor was it without evident emotion that the very constable proceeded to put on the handcuffs. In eflFecting this, it was seen, for the first time, that Brockman's right hand was severely wound- ed. A deep gash, or stab, was upon its palm, from which blood still continued to flow. " How came that wound I 4 120 THE COUNTRY CURATE. there ? " asked I, full of hope that the young man's answer might give a favourable turn to his case. But he answered not. He held up his wrists for the manacles, as if no such question had been put, and seemed to surrender himself wholly to despair. It was not so with his companions. They protested vehemently that no case had been made out against them, and that they were sacrified to the pre- judices of their neighbours ; but the magistrate continuing of a different persuasion, they too were compelled to submit. " You shall not remove him !" cried the unhappy mother, wildly rushing between the party and the door. " Friends, neighbours, oh, help, help ! they will murder my boy, and his blood will be upon my head ! Mr. Williams, will you not save him.'' He is innocent — innocent as the child unborn. — O God, I am forsaken, thou hast forsaken the widow in her afflictions ! — Oh, save him, save him ! " Though exceedingly reluctant to use violence to%vards one whom all sincerely pitied, the ofBcers were at length obliged to remove her forcibly from her position. In vain she struggled and shrieked to be set free. The procession moved on, and the unhappy parent, overcome by the vio- lence of her emotions, ceased for a time to be conscious of her misery. CHAPTER XIII. THE SMUGGLERS. As may readily be imagined, the events recorded in the last chapter created a powerful sensation among all classes of people in the neighbourhood. Little else, indeed, was talked of for several days after the arrest of the prisoners ; and all united in sentiments of commiseration, as well for Brockman, who was universally esteemed to have fallen a victim to the wiles of his associates, as for his ill-fated THE SMUGGLERS. 121 mother. Nor was the latter less deserving of pity than the former. Jleip^grief knew no bounds ; and the reflection that all had been brought about, in a great measure, through her own rashness, infused a degree of bitterness into her sorrow, not necessarily an ingredient there. The crime having been committed beyond the juris- diction of the Cinque Ports, no choice was left to the magistrate except to forward the guilty associates to Maid- stone. Thither they were accordingly sent, to await the arrival of the circuit court ; and thither, at the earnest entreaty of Mrs. Brockman^ I repaired shortly after, with the design of offering such consolation to her son as he might be capable of receiving, and enquiring, at a moment of calmness, into the real state of the case. For though appearances were so strongly against him, a belief was every where prevalent, that of the more heinous crime he must be innocent ; at all events, as it was pretty clear that one of the parties would be admitted to give evidence, in order fully to convict the rest, something, at least, would be gained, could he be prevailed upon to stand forward in that capacity. With these plans in my head, I proceeded at the hour of four one morning to take rny place in the stage. It was still quite dark, consequently I could make nothing farther of my fellow-passengers, except to discover, by means of the sense of touch, that they were three in number. A female sat next me, and two men opposite. For the first five or ten minutes, no one spoke a word ; but at the end of that time, a dialogue began between the two men, in which I could not but take a very lively interest. It strvick me, at the time, as having reference to the business on which I was engaged, and I found afterwards that my sur- mises had not been ill-founded. " We must not lose heart," said he whose knees rubbed againt mine ; " all will yet be well. It is a bad business, no doubt, but where is the use of being down-hearted } " " It all comes of your infernal stupidity," was the reply. " You knew what was going to happen, and you might have hindered it. What had you to do sending such fel- lows about it, and sending them, too, so d d exact to 122 THE COUNTRY CURATE. their time ? Were the boys but out of the scrape, I should be right glad the fool got paid off for his meddling." " Nay," rejoined the speaker, " it was no fault of mine. I had not the choice of the men, nor the direction of their movements. It was rather the fault of that hot-headed fellow Ned — he is so confounded ready with his hands." "Well, well — we need not quarrel about it; the thing is to get them off if we can. — We may depend upon you, I suppose ? " " Certainly, provided we succeed in muzzling the young one." " Never fear for that ; leave that to us." The conversation ended here, and was not resumed ; for one of the speakers happening to put a question to me, which I answered, the tone of my voice appeared to pro- duce a strong effect upon the whole party. A private sig- nal passed between them ; and the female, as well as the more remote of the two men, wrapped themselves closely up, and were silent. When day dawned, therefore, I could not discover a feature of their faces ; and these of the third person, though not so well concealed, were not sufficiently familiar to be recognised. We reached Maidstone in such time as to allow my pay- ing a short visit to my parishioner that day. I found him, as I had expected to find him, utterly and fearfully de- jected. For his life, he protested that he had no regard ; but his character was gone for ever, and the distress of his poor mother affected him not less than any part of his mis- fortunes. At first, indeed, his manner was that of a man thoroughly reckless. He would hardly enter upon the sub- ject of the murder at all ; and he positively refused to come forward, should such a measure be proposed, as a witness against his associates. " No, sir," said he, " ray name is black enough already, but never shall it be said that those who were my com- panions suffered through my treachery." Of course, I did my best to overcome this absurd reso- lution, but my efforts were fruitless, and the hour of locking up being at hand, I was compelled to desist. In returning along the passage, I was startled by the ap- THE SMUGGLERS. 123 pearance of old Petley and his daughter, as they issued from one of -the^ cells. The whole truth now flashed upon me. The voice which had sounded so familiar in my ears, during the progress of my journey hither, was that of the smuggler, and the caution with which my fellow-travellers had concealed their features was explained. Not that there either was or could be the slightest impropriety in their using every fair and legitimate means for the deliver- ance of their own relatives from trouble : but I knew them too well not to be aware, that they would not confine them- selves to fair means ; and I had seen too many proofs of the girl's absolute control over Brockman, not to apprehend, that it might be so managed as to cause his destruction. I accordingly returned to my inn, more than ever alarmed for the fate of the young man. Nor were my fears groundless. I visited him again on the day following, only to find him more than ever fixed in his unwise determination. The syren had cast her spell over him ; and a resolution, grounded upon false notions of honour, received tenfold strength from her persuasive blandishments. " All will be well," said he. " They cannot, and I wiU not, disclose any thing ; and without some declaration on our parts, what evidence is against us .'' And should the contrary happen, my mind is firmly made up ; J. will never become an informer." It was vain to reason farther with one so completely infatuated, so I quitted the place with a heavy heart. Of the manner in which he conducted himself during the fortnight which intervened between my last visit and the arrival of the judges, I know nothing. His mother, I learned, who spent the interval in a lodging at Maidstone, failed, as I had failed, in inducing him to save his life by gpeaking what he knew ; and the official offer made by the sheriff was rejected. Not even when assured that one of the brothers stood ready to accept the mercy which he de- spised could he be persuaded to alter his mind ; and hence, when I returned, as I was obliged to return, to give testi- mony on his trial, his prospects were not in the most remote degree amehorated. On the contrary, though much 124 THE COUNTRY CURATE. of the fierce and desperate character which marked his for- mer demeanour had departed, yet on the single point of becoming king's evidence he was still as resolute as hefore_, praying '^'^ that Heaven would abandon him in his hour of greatest need, whenever he abandoned that determination." This was readily accounted for. Not a day passed by with- out his receiving a visit from Harriet, and not an interview occurred, during which he was not reminded of his pro- mise, and urged to keep it. At length the period of the assizes came round ; and the judges having gone in procession to hear Divine service opened the court in proper form for the conduct of public business. — The first day, as usually happens, was spent chiefly in the arrangement of preliminary matters : the juries were called together, the charge delivered, and bills of indictment brought forward. On the second day, the cause of the smugglers came on. It is probably needless to observe, that a trial for murder, under any circumstances, never fails to excite a great degree of attention ; but in the case to be tried to-day there were features of more than ordinary atrocity, and the interest taken in it by the public was fully evinced by the multitudes which surrounded the court-house from an early hour in the morning. No sooner were the doors opened, than every bench and corner was crowded to suffocation, whilst all who filled them bore upon their countenances an expression of the deepest and most painful anxiety. For a rumour of Will's behaviour had, by some means or other, got abroad, and hence all descriptions of people appeared to interest their feelings in his behalf ; indeed, there were not wanting several respect- able persons, who volunteered such advice and assistance as they had it in their power to offer. At the suggestion of one of these, Mrs. Brockman had taken care, in addition to the lawyers employed for the prisoners generally, to en- gage a counsel expressly for her son, whose reputation stood high, and who certainly merited, in the present instance, all the praise which could be heaped upon him. Such was the state of affairs, when, in obedience to a message from the court, I entered the hall, and took my place among the gentlemen of the bar. For the first mi- THE S3IUGGLERS. 1^^ nute or two after I was seated, my brain swam round, and my eyes dancStt in their sockets, so that I could distinguish nothing with accuracy. A dense mass of objects floated before me, —and a hum, hke that of bees on a summer's evening, rang in my ears ; but I saw no separate man, nor heard any separate or articulate sound. By and by, how- ever, my self-command returned, and I looked towards the dock : — it was a terrible vision. There stood the widow's son, handcuffed, and bound with chains, between two of his ferocious comrades. Apart from the rest stood the third, not chained, however, like them ; but, as it seemed, ready to step from the dock to the witness-box. I closed my eyes involimtarily, and, I fear, cursed him in my heart. And now, silence being proclaimed, the murmur of con- versation ceased, and you might have heard a pin drop to the ground, whilst the proper officer proceeded to read the indictment. It accused Zachariah Petley, Thomas Petley, Edward Petley, and William Brockman, of having, during the night of the 15th of August last past, at a certain place within the parish of St. Alphage, in the county of Kent, feloniously, and with malice prepense, killed and slain Ro- bert Sharp, an officer of his majesty's Customs, when in the performance of his duty. A second count charged the prisoners with an attempt to defraud the revenue by run- ning and importing contraband goods. All against the peace of his majesty the king. " Zachariah Petley," continued the officer, '' are you guilty, or not guilty ? " " Not guilty, my lord." " Thomas Petley, are you guilty, or not guilty ? " " Not guilty." " Edward Petley, are you guilty ? " " Not guilty, my lord." " William Brockman, are you guilty, or not guilty .'' " " Guilty of the second count, but not guilty of the first." " Not guilty of the first ! " shrieked a female voice from one of the galleries. " Not guilty of murder ; hear ye that, my lord ! My boy is not guilty, — oh, let him go, let him go !" 126 THE COUNTRY CURATE. Not a sound was in the court^ save the voice of the speaker ; and so perfectly electrified were all present by the tone in which these words were uttered, that no one sought to interrupt her. I looked up towards the place from whence the shriek came, and there stood the miserable widow in the very front of the gallery, with hands clasped, and arms uplifted, staring upon the spot occupied by her son. Her dress was all disordered : her cap, pushed partly off her head, permitted her hair, now slightly tinged with grey, to hang wild about her shoulders ; and her large dark eyes were motionless, as if they had no power to move, and all earthly objects, except one, were shut out from them. The judge had, however, by this time recovered from his surprise. " My good woman," said he, " you must keep silence ; and I advise you to withdraw." " I will, I will," cried she ; " but hear ye not his declaration ? and I will swear to its truth, and so will Mr. WiUiams." " This must not be," rejoined the judge. " Constables, do your duty, and keep order in the court." But even the constables were tender to her : they only besought her to be quiet. She sat down, and the business proceeded. " By the lenity of the court, and at the request of the Board of Excise," said the counsel for the prosecution, " Thomas Petley is permitted to give evidence in this case. We therefore withdraw our plea against him." The judge hereupon charged the jury ; and a verdict of not guilty on both counts being returned, the approver quitted the dock. It were needless to go minutely through the several parts of the trial, and to repeat my own evidence, or that of the rest, who knew no more to-day than they had known when the prisoners were first committed. The counsel for the defence did what men could do to puzzle and confound us. He whom we had retained for Brockman, in particular exercised a degree of ingenuity, which perfectly astonisheo^ me ; and he put several questions to myself with the de sign of eliciting from my replies that Brockman, at aR events, could not be implicated in the more serious offence. " I think you mentioned, sir," said he, " that, after the shots were fired, and the shriek uttered, you saw only two THE SMUGGLERS. 127 men beside the body, whilst one was descending the hill towards the group — was he who was descending a tall man, or a Htfle man ? " " As far as I could judge, a tall man." " Now, look at the three prisoners at the bar, and at the witness who has lately quitted it, and tell me which of them comes nearest in height to the recollection you have of that man." I looked round. Brockman was full two inches taller than any of them ; yet I dared not swear that it was he. I hesitated for a moment. " We do not wish you to say which of these persons was really the man ; for as yet, we take it for granted that he is not present : but, supposing these to be the people imphcated, which should you imagine to have been that man r To the question thus put, an objection was raised by the counsel on the opposite side ; but the objection was over-ruled. " As you now address me," answered I, " I should say that William Brockman's height corresponds most nearly with that of the person alluded to." " God bless you, sir!" again exclaimed the unhappy mother ; but she was immediately silenced. The rest of the evidence being now disposed of, Thomas Petley mounted the witness-box, and was solemnly sworn. He promised to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and prayed God to help him as he kept that pro- mise ; he gave a minute and circumstantial detail, of which the following may be taken as an accurate abbreviation : — He admitted that they were all four engaged in a smug- gling expedition. He related the circumstance of the seizure as it had been described by the exciseman and my- self; and of the flight of those who carried the goods. These were, his brother Edward, William Brockman, and himself. " As to Zachariah," said he, " we left him in charge of the boat, and he never joined us till all was over." When the witness uttered this, Brockman turned round in the dock, and stared him full in the face. A sort of flush passed over his cheeks, but he was no ways farther em- barrassed, and went on. " Though we fled at first in 128 THE COUNTRY CURATE. different directions, we all three met in a hollow about a stone's throw to the right, and here entered into a con- sultation as to what was to be done. ' Done/ cried Brock- man, who had drunk rather too freely, ' what should be done .'' You have pistols, I have a knife ; there are three to two ; — let us recover the goods.' To this we objected ; but he snatched a pistol from my belt, and swore if we feared to join him he would go alone. He set off accord- ingly : we followed, with the sole view of preventing fatal consequences ; but before we could overtake him he and the deceased had exchanged shots. The deceased was wounded and fled; but Brockman pursued him, seized him like a tiger, threw him, and just as we reached him, had succeeded in cutting his throat. I wrested the knife from his grasp, and in the struggle wounded him. We were all about the body, uncertain how to dispose of it, when my brother arrived. He mentioned having met the other ex- ciseman, and assured us all FoLkstone would be afoot directly ; so we cast the body from the cliff, and then we thought of escaping. But it seemed better to hide it first. We accordingly descended the glen, and buried it under the stones where it was found." Whilst this person's evidence was delivered, men seemed to hold their very breath with anxiety ; now that it came to a close, a long sob or sigh ran through the court. A fearful stiUness followed it, and every eye was turned upon Brockman. The unfortunate youth, up to this moment, had hung down his head, as if in shame ; he now raised it ptoudly, and looked calmly and resolutely round. " My lord," said he slowly, and with great firmness, " the last witness has uttered a tissue of lies. I have sworn not to betray the guilty, but I am not he." " Prisoner, you must be silent," replied the judge ; " you are in the hands of counsel." The cross-examination which the approver endured was indeed enough to cause an ordinary person, even when speaking the truth, to fall into a thousand contradictions. He was asked how the knife came into the grave, but he could not tell ; he was questioned as to the reason why Brockman, if so desperate a character, wore no pistols of THE SMUGGLEKS. 129 his own ? For that he could not account. But in the main points of his^story no contrariety appeared; and though required to tell it again and again, he invariably told it in the same words. It was well got up ; no doubt it had been well prepared beforehand. Our counsel at length sat down in despair, leaving the case to the jury. And now the judge summed up. He went over the chief heads of evidence with the strictest impartiality, charging the jury as that evidence required. He entreated them, if they had any doubts upon their minds, to give the prisoners the full benefit of these doubts ; " but the tes- timony of the last witness," continued his lordship, " is so clear, and so decided, that, in my opinion, you have but one duty to perform. It is a painful one ; but the laws of God and of your country require it. And now you may withdraw to consider the verdict." The jury did not withdraw, but consulted together for perhaps ten minutes in their box. During that interval, the court was as still, except when its stillness was inter- rupted by their whispers, as if Mfe had departed from all within it. Once, and once only, the chain upon Brock- man's legs rattled, as he resumed his former position ; and the sound went to my heart like that of his death-knell. I looked at him. He was pale, pale as a corpse, but it was not the paleness of guilt ; for not a nerve shook, nor did a muscle invohmtarily quiver. At last the foreman addressed the judge, and told him that they had made up their minds. " And what is your verdict, gentlemen of the jury > " " That, Zachariah Petley and Edward Petley are not guilty on the first count, but guilty on the second ; that William Brockman is guilty on both," " He is not guilty !" again shrieked out his mother, as she wildly rose from her seat. " Oh, mercy, mercy, my lord judge ! spare the life of the widow's son — her guilt- less, excellent son ! Oh, mercy, mercy ! " She could utter no more. Her senses forsook her, and she was carried in that state from the court. Brockman heard the verdict unmoved. He made a spring forward when his mother fainted, as if to support her, and K iso THE COUNTRY CURATE. seemed to curse the chains which kept him back ; but he recovered his self-command again, as soon as she had been borne out, and calmly awaited his sentence. For myself, I started up, and, heedless of forms, implored the judge to spare him, pledging my credit that he could not be guilty, and that his bare assertion was infinitely more to be relied upon than the oath of the person on whose testimony he had been convicted. The judge, who was a mild man, heard me out, but he could not receive my testimony. '• You may employ these arguments," said he, " in a pe- tition to the throne, which I shall certainly forward, if you present it. But I must tell you plainly, that I see no grounds on which any petition can be got up ; far less can it be expected to avail in saving the life of a man convicted, as the prisoner has been convicted, of murder." I could do no more, so I sat down in a state of utter despondency, to watch the conclusion of the scene. " Za- chariah and Edward Petley," said his lordship, addressing Jiimself to the dock, " you have both been convicted of violating the laws of your country, by defrauding his majesty's revenue. What makes the crime in your case more heinous is, that you appear to have carried fire-arms about your persons when engaged in your nefarious occu- pation ; and in what way those arms were meant to be used is hardly to be considered a question. The immediate consequence of your being armed, indeed, has been, that the life of a fellow-creature has been sacrificed; and though he died not immediately by your hands, you can hardly be acquitted by your own consciences of some share in the blame attaching to his murder. Taking all these matters into consideration, the sentence of the court is, that you, Zachariah, be transported beyond seas for the term of seven years, whilst you, Edward, be transported for the term of your natural life. — And now, William Brockman," con- tinued the judge, whilst at the same time he put on the black cap, "a more distressing task awaits me with respect to you. Of your character previous to this business the court knows nothing, and can know nothing officially; but it has been said of you, that the time is not very remote when you were accounted a credit to yourself and to your THK SMUGGLERS. 131 connections. I would to God you had always continued such ; for xhen the painful duty would not have been im- posed upon me, of passing upon you the last dreadful sen- tence which'the law awards. In your case, the sentence of the court is, that you be taken from the place where you stand to the gaol, and from thence to the place of execution, and that you be hanged by the neck till you be dead, and your body given for dissection ; and may God have mercy on your soul ! I can hold out to you no hope of mercy from man, and therefore advise you to make your peace with Heaven. But as your friends seem anxious to petition the throne in your favour, I will appoint as dis- tant a day for your execution as is consistent with pro- priety. You shall suffer on Wednesday next." Whilst others sat as if frozen with horror, Brockman alone seemed calm and unruffled. " My lord," said he, " I thank you for your good-will, but I have no hope that it will avail me. Indeed, I hardly desire it. My character is blasted, and I have no wish to survive it ; but I am innocent — innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I have been led astray by a misplaced passion, and betrayed by false friends. The man who did the deed stands here," laying his hand upon the shoulder of Edward Petley, who absolutely shrank beneath his touch. " And there," point- ing to Thomas, " is he who aided him. This wound," holding up his right hand, " I received in striving to protect the man, whom one brother had smitten down, from the fury of the other ; and as to the knife found in the grave, it is thus accounted for. We exchanged knives whilst at sea ; and here is that for which I bartered mine. But it matters not, I shall suffer ; and as I hope to be forgiven when I stand before the throne of my Maker, so do I freely forgive my murderers." It is impossible to describe the effect produced by this speech, and by the holding up of a seaman's knife in the hand of the prisoner, bearing the initials E. P. " He is innocent!" exclaimed the bar, one and all; " the man is sacrificed." " Silence, gentlemen," cried the judge ; " let the pri- K 2 132 THE COUNTRY CURATE. soners be removed." Tliey were removed accordingly, and I stayed not long behind them. CHAPTER XIV. THE SMUGGLERS. I HURRIED back to my apartment at the inn in a state of mind little removed from insanity, and paced backwards and forwards for a while, totally unable to compose or collect my thoughts. There was a singing in my ears, as if twenty tea-kettles had been boiling round me, and an overwhelming consciousness of some dreadful event im- pending weighed like a dead load upon my spirits. I had seen and heard fearful things. The widow's scream still rang through the air, and her maniac form, as she called aloud for mercy, was before me. Then came the stern yet humane deportment of the judge, his deep and sonorous voice, as he prayed God to have mercy on the young man's soul ; and last of all, the image of Brockman himself crossed my mind's eye, bringing back with it a perfect conscious- ness of all that had occurred, and of the necessity which existed for immediate and momentous exertion. Having regained my self-command, I despatched a mes- senger for Mr. Pleader, in whose judgment I could not but feel the deepest confidence, and of v/hose disposition to serve his client no doubi could be entertained. He obeyed the summons instantly; and taking precisely the same view of the case which had been taken by myself, he began to consider it, in all its bearings, with a degree of dispassion- ate acumen for which I had justly given him credit. Like myself, he saw clearly that Brockman was the victim of a conspiracy ; and as soon as he had been made acquainted with the particulars of my first journey to Maidstone, he decided at once that there were other and more weighty parties to that conspiracy than the family of the Petleys. THE SMUGGLERS. 133 " Who is the third passenger of whom you speak ? " asked he. " Do you know him ? Can you tell us where to find him?" ^-'-' I was on the point of answering in the negative, when, accidentally looking through the window, I beheld the very person in conversation with the constable of my own parish, on the opposite side of the way. " There he is ! " cried I. " And there he must not remain," exclaimed the lawyer, putting on his hat, and hurrying down stairs. I followed immediately ; and, as good fortune would have it, we reached the object of our search before he had parted from his companion. " One word with you, sir," said I, addressing myself to him. " With me, sir ! " replied the fellow, reddening ; " I know not what business you can have with me. I am in a hurry, and cannot wait." '' But you must wait,'* exclaimed the barrister. ''There is a serious charge against you ; and from this spot you stir not, except in the custody of an officer. Constable, do your duty, and secure that man." " Secure me ! " repHed the other ; " let me see the man that will secure me, without a magistrate's warrant or au- thority. That I will not resist, but till that be produced, lay hands on me at your peril." The fellow, as he uttered these words, thrust his hand into his bosom, and pulled out a pistol. The officer hung back, a crowd began to assemble, and m spite of the efforts of Mr. Pleader and myself to hinder it, he mixed himself with the mob and disappeared. There was nothing now for it except to obtam a regular warrant ; and as the constable professed to be acquainted with his place of abode, and knew his name, we had every reason to hope that he might yet be secured. He was, it appeared, a person of considerable consequence in the custom-house at Dover : " his name was Joseph Sly, and unless the world belie him," added the officer, " a greater rogue is nowhere to be met with." A warrant was soon procured, on my making oath, that I had reason to suspect the individual named in it of nefarious practices againsf, the revenue laws. Armed with i£ 3 134 THE COUNTRY CURATE. this, the constable set off, determined, as he assured us, to overcome all resistance ; and 1, by way of whiling away the time which might be expected to elapse before he should return, determined to pay a visit both to Mrs. Brockman and her son. The former I found in a state of the most pitiable distress. Fit after fit had come upon her so fast, after her rem.oval out of court, that her medical attendant altogether despaired of her recovery ; and though these had happily ceased, they gave place only to a stupor, such as hardly permitted her to recognise, far less open her mind to any one. Under these circumstances, I considered it altogether needless to protract my stay beside her. From her lodgings I accordingly hastened to the gaol ; and though it wanted but half an hour of the ordinary time of locking up, the turnkey, aware how deeply I was interested in the fate of the prisoner, hesitated not to admit me. I repaired to the condemned cell. It was on the ground floor; a narrow recess, resembling a vault in a churchyard, more than a place of confinement for a living man. The only light admitted was through the door, — an iron grating, over which a strong wooden shutter, perforated to admit the air, could be fastened as soon as night set in. There sat the unfortunate youth upon a stone bench — the only bed allowed him. Yet he was less cast down, far less apparently desperate than when I found him the inhabitant of a less comfortless dungeon, in expectation of the day of trial. He held out his manacled hand to me, and eagerly enquired after his mother. " She is better," said I, " and I trust will do well. But how are you, Brockman ? How have the awful events of the day affected you .'' " " As they ought to affect me, I humbly hope," replied he ; " I know that I have but few days to live, and I am fully conscious that, though no murderer, I shall deserve my fate on account of my conduct to my mother. For her, Mr. Williams, I feel most deeply." Here his voice fal- tered, and the tear struggled to escape from his eye. " Oh, who will comfort her, who will console her, who will wipe away from her memory the shame and agony of such a death as mine .'' You will befriend her, sir, you will be kind to her, and give her your countenance, 1 am aware i THE SMUGGLERS. 135 but she will not survive it. Mother and son will perish together^ for her heart is too tender not to break." " I woul(f not have you encourage false hopes/' replied 1, forgetting,, in the impulse of the moment, the resolution which I had formed, not to communicate aught to the prisoner till something more decisive had transpired. " I would not have you encourage false hopes, very far from it. I would, on the contrary, advise you to prepare for the worst. But your friends are actively exerting themselves in your favour ; your speech in court has made a strong impression, and the agitation of the Petleys was remarked by all. You may yet be liberated, and I pray that you shall." Brockman shook his head, though the bright glance of his eye showed that even this address had renewed the desire of life. " To say that I would not rejoice, were your exer- tions crowned with success," said he, " would be to say an untruth. I am but young to die, and to die by the hands of a common executioner — ugh ! — it is a horrible idea. But I fear you only flatter yourselves : you excite no hope in me ; for what ground have you to go upon } Was not the evidence direct and conclusive ?" " Yes, but there are other matters, of which we will not now speak. This conspiracy, whose existence you would not credit, is seen through by the world at large, and it will, I trust, be brought to light." " Oh, talk not of the past," cried he ; "I have, indeed, been played upon, bitterly, cruelly deceived. You were right, sir ; Harriet is a devil. But I forgive her, as I for- give her brothers ; and may they be forgiven elsewhere ! " The arrival of the turnkey here put a stop to farther conversation. I accordingly shook hands with Brockman, and having promised to call again on the morrow, I fol- lowed my conductor. On our way to the outer gate of the prison, we passed another cell, something similar to that in which my young friend was immured, but a degree less gloomy. It was inhabited, and a deep groan which came through the holes in the shutter indicated that its tenant was ill at ease in mind or body, or both. K 4 136 THE COUNTRY CURATE. " Who is confined there?" said I. " One of your friend's associates," repHed the gaoler ; " he that is to be transported for life. He is in a strange taking, sir. He has not ceased to shake as if he had the ague ever since they were brought back from court ; and the doctor who has seen him knows not what to make of him. He says, if the fellow be not better to-morrow, he must be removed to a warmer place ; but for my part, I think this too good for him." We had by this time reached the gate, and the locks, bolts, and chains being one by one removed, the massy portal grated harshly on its hinges, and I again found myself in the street. It is unnecessary to give a minute detail of the proceedings of the next five days, either within or without the walls of the prison. The constable, who had promised so fair as to the arrest of Sly, found, as many others find, that it is easier to make a promise than to perform it — Joseph effectually eluded the search. For myself, I paid frequent visits both to Mrs. Brockman and her son, the former of whom slowly recovered, chiefly, I believe, because we deemed it right to put the best face upon affairs, and to flatter her with hopes which we our- selves scarcely encouraged. With respect to the latter, though for the first day or two he talked much of the pos- sible result of the petition, and said something of his own intentions in case its prayer should be attended to ; yet when the third and the fourth passed on, and no intel- ligence reached him, his hopes gradually declined, till they may be said to have become utterly extinct. He now anxiously desired to see his mother. She was still too weak to be moved, and of this I informed him, warning him, at the same time, that we had kept the nature of his sentence a secret from her ; but when now the evening of Monday had arrived, and no pardon or reprieve came with it, I deemed it incumbent on me to fulfil his wishes at all hazards. Still we resolved to conceal the truth. It was accordingly agreed between us, that she should be told of a probable commutation of the sentence of death to that of transportation for life ; and having become somewhat of an adept in the art of deceiving, I agreed to convey the THE SMUGGLERS. 137 communication. For this purpose, I repaired to her lodg- ing early on. the Tuesday morning, and finding her so far convalescent as to be able to sit up in her chair, I entered at once upon the business of my message. The good woman expected something, from the un- usually early hour of my arrival. " What news bring you, Mr. Williams ? " said she ; * you are the bearer of some intelligence, I am certain. Oh_, God grant that it may be favourable ! " " Not unfavourable, my friend," replied I ; "at least not so bad as we had a right to expect. You must make up your mind, I fear, to be separated from your son for a time, but the separation will not be eternal." " Then he does not suffer !" cried she wildly yet joy- fully, and clasping her hands together : " oh, thank Heaven ! thank Heaven ! What matters transportation ? what boots it where we live ? For I will accompany him, Mr. Williams. Yes, I will go in the same ship, or if that be not allowed, in the next that sails, and we will build a cottage among the woods and wilds of New South Wales, and smile when we think of England, and all the cares and troubles we endured there. They tell me it is a glorious country, and a glorious climate ; and were it not 60, what shall I care for chmate or country as long as I am with my boy ? " It was with much difficulty that I could refrain from weeping aloud, when I beheld the unfortunate woman thus rejoicing in a lie; but I did restrain myself, and went on to propose that she should visit her son this day in prison. " Goes he so soon ? " exclaimed she ; " surely they •will not send him off to-morrow ; but no matter ; I am ready, and perhaps I ought not to desire his longer stay here, since he must abide in a dungeon. Go on, I will follow you." Mrs. Brockman rose as she spoke ; but her weakness ■was such that she almost immediately fell back upon the sofa. " I cannot walk yet," said she faintly ; " you must have me carried, and glad, glad shall I be to bear the fatigue, even if it be such." 1 accordingly procured four 8tout porters, and having caused her to be well covered up. 138 THE COUNTRV CURATK. she was removed, without suffering any serious incon venience, to the prison. I shall not attempt to describe the meeting, far less the parting, although I was present at both. They were such as will not bear a delineation in words. The latter, in- deed, was on Will's part so solemn, that I trembled lest his mother should surmise the truth ; but it occurred not to her : so just is the observation, that we believe what we desire, even if the grounds of belief be on the con- trary side of the question. She remained with him about two hours, and having promised not to come again till the day after the morrow, she was borne back to her apart- ment. Whilst I and my two friends were thus employed, Mr. Pleader, and the other gentlemen, who took so lively an interest in our affairs, were straining every nerve to pro- cure information, and to substantiate their claim to an exercise of the royal mercy. As yet, however, all their efforts had failed. The Petleys, probably conscious that public suspicion was roused, had fled the country ; of Sly no tidings were procured, except that it appeared, on examining his papers, that he had defrauded the revenue to a large amount, and for a long series of years. No doubt, his fears suggested to him that this was the ground of his arrest, for the real nature of the charge against him had never been communicated. Be that, however, as it may, no trace of him could be discovered, and hence all idea of saving Brockman was abandoned, not by me only, but by the rest. Of this I thought it my duty to inform him. He received the intelligence with fortitude, — with great fortitude, but not without a pang ; for there is a vast dif- ference between the expression of an indifference to life when death appears remote, and the feeling of that indif- ference when it is actually near at hand. He strove, how- ever, by every means which religion and reason could suggest, to reconcile himself to a fate apparently irreme- diable. I prayed with him, I administered to him the sacrament, and, at his own earnest request, I spent the entire night of Tuesday in his cell. From the moment of Mrs. Brockman's departure, indeed, I shut myself up with TKE SMUGGLERS. 1S9 hhn altogether; and painful as this duty was, there were not wanting numerous circumstances which gave to it a degree of even pleasuVkble interest, such as I could not have anti- cipated. The fact I believe to be, that all violent excite- ment is pleasing while it lasts ; in the excitement to which I was now subjected there was no want of violence; and hence, as well as from contemplating the eflPect of conscious innocence upon a religious mind, I cannot pronounce the night spent in a condemned cell at Maidstone the most determinately miserable which it has been my lot to spend. Tired nature, however, gave way at last. Having solemnly commended ourselves to the protection of the Deity, we lay down upon a mattress with which the gaoler had humanely supphed us, and I was not less surprised than delighted to perceive, that long before my thoughts had attained any degree of composure, my companion was fast asleep. I followed his example as quickly as I could, and slept also. How long we had lain in a state of unconsciousness I cannot tell, but the early rays of the sun were just begin- ning to shine through the gratings of the dungeon, when the rattling of chains, and the drawing back of bolts, dis- turbed us. I thought Brockman's hand shook a little when he extended it towards me, and I could perceive a sort of involuntary contraction of the eyebrow, such as indicated a severe internal struggle between courage and natural weakness. His breath was suspended too, till the door creaked upon its hinges, from the expectation, no doubt, that it would open to admit the executioner. But instead of the executioner, the sheriff entered, and there was an expression in his countenance not usually exhibited by the bearer of deadly tidings. We both stared at him in silence. " Young man," said he, stepping up to Brockman, " it gives me sincere satisfaction to inform you, that his majesty has been pleased to order a delay in the execution of your sentence, till certain matters connected with the offence of which you stand convicted shall have been more accurately investigated." The blood rushed all at once to Brockman's cheeks. 140 THE COUNTRY CURATE. and then receded again. He gasped for breatli, and but that I held his arm would have fallen to the ground. " How is this ? " cried I, beyond measure overjoyed ; " what fortunate occurrence has brought this about ? Have you succeeded in apprehending the fugitive, or what has been done ? " " Not so," answered the sheriff, with a smile: " we have failed on all hands ; but there is a Providence which preserves the innocent, and it has wonderfully interfered in favour of this youth. As I see that he is calm, the whole story may be told at once. His innocence has been clearly proved, by the confession of one of his asso- ciates, and here is the royal pardon, with which an ex- press has just arrived." I will not attempt to describe the scene which followed, or repeat the many congratulatory and admonitory adages to which Will was compelled to Usten, not only from the sheriff, but from the chaplain, and even from the gaoler. Let me rather detail at once the means by which an event so unlooked for and joyful was brought about ; and for this a few words will suffice. I have already mentioned, that on a former occasion I was startled by the sound of a heavy groaning, which pro- ceeded from a cell near that of the condemned man to whom I had been paying a visit, and where, as the gaoler informed me, Edward Petley was confined. The illness with which that unhappy person was afflicted seized him in the dock, and never left him after. It seemed as if the hand of his victim when laid upon his shoulder had been filled with some deadly poison ; for the shivering which came over him at the time, and to which all within the court were eye-witnesses, ceased not to agitate his frame to the last. He was supported back to prison in a violent fit of the ague, and it soon became manifest that his life was in danger For some days he bore his illness in stubborn silence j but as the danger increased, remorse began to rack his mmd, and strange expressions to escape his lips. It was on the morning of the Tuesday, on the very day preceding tho execution, that, after a severe contest, he desirsd to THE SMUGQIiERS. 141 see the chaplain, and to him made a full confession of his own guilt, ajMi., a full declaration of Will's innocence. The story which Will had told was, it appeared, accurately correct. He, the dying man, shot the exciseman, whilst his brother cut his throat, having wounded Brockman in the hand when attempting to wrest the knife from him. Nor was this the only piece of intelligence which he con- veyed. He exposed a series of frauds and crimes, in which Joseph Sly had taken an active part ; and the whole being carefully noted down and read over to him, he signed it as his dying declaration. With grounds so clear to act upon, there was no difficulty whatever in obtaining the royal pardon, the arrival of which had been thus long delayed only by the absence from town of the Secretary of State for the Home Department. Little now remains for me to add. Brockman, as a matter of course, was set at liberty ; and his mental suf- ferings during the period of his imprisonment, especially since sentence of death was passed upon him, being con- sidered as a sufficient punishment of his offijnce against the revenue, all charges from that quarter were dropped. From his mother the real peril of his case was, however, carefully concealed till many weeks after her return in the country ; nor was she even then made acquainted with it, till to keep it longer a secret would have been of no avail ; for the good woman's constitution never recovered the in_ jury which many weeks of acute agitation inflicted upon it. She lived, indeed, to see her son not only restored to his former respectable condition in life, nut put in command of the very vessel which he had all along been meant to command ; and she died at last blessing God for his mercies here, and humbly trusting to be admitted as a par- ticipator in his still greater mercies hereafter. As to the Petleys, the younger of the two breathed his last a few hours after his confession had been signed, and was buried in the churchyard of Maidstone. His bones were not removed to pollute the cemetery of his native parish, and no stone was erected to his memory. Of the others the fate is uncertain. Zachariah, it is true, under- went his sentence, and is doubtless herding, at this day. 142 THE COUNTRY CUKATE. with beings as wicked as himself; but of the father, the sister^ and Tonij no account has reached us. Neither is any thing accurately known of the destiny of Joseph Sly. About six months after these events^ I read, indeed, in one of the London papers, that one Josiah Turpin, alias Joseph Sly, had suffered the punishment due to burglary under aggravated circumstances ; but whether the person alluded to was my former travelling companion I had no opportunity to learn. Of Will Brockman I never heard any thing but what was favourable, from the moment of his liberation. His good sense soon taught him to shake off the remains of an attachment so misplaced as that with which he had bound himself to Harriet Petley ; nor has he, as far as I know, permitted any other to arise in its room. The direction of his trading voyages, which are effected between London and Hamburgh, do not permit him to pay frequent visits to St. Alphage ; but whenever he comes, he fails not to bring presents of rare and valuable articles to me and to my household. Of course, a cover is always laid for him at our table, and it not unfrequently happens, that we refer back, in our conversations over our wine, to past events. On such he always touches with becoming seriousness and solemnity, and never fails to thank God that he is no longer a slave to the habits, or exposed to the risks, which invariably accompany the career of The Smuggler. CHAPTER XV. THE SUICIDE. About a quarter of an hour's walk from the Vicarage, or perhaps something less, there is a lonely cottage, remark- able for the beauty of its situation, and for the air of faded elegance and gentility which surrounds it, but which, i» THE SUICIDE. 143 spite of these advantages, has stood untenanted during the last five ye^«7-«nd bids fair so to continue for many years to come. It is built at the extremity of one of the nu- merous glens with which this part of the country abounds, lose beside a rivulet of clear water, and immediately under a high green hill. The front wall of that cottage was in former times entirely hidden by a hght wooden trellis, up which a vine was trained with singular care ; but the fastenings have long ago given way, the very wood has in many places rotted, and the vine itself now trails, in me- lancholy neglect, upon the ground. Jn like manner, the western gable gives support to a beautiful pear-tree, whose branches have aU run wild, and of which it is reported, that though it regularly produces, season after season, an abundant crop of blossom, that blossom has never come to perfection since the house ceased to be inhabited. There are two lattices, one on each side of the entrance, a small sash-window in either gable, and the frame of another in the rear of the cottage, facing the hill, and admitting light into the kitchen. The roof is composed of thatch, and projects considerably over the walls on every side, and both door and windows are painted green. Three sides of this cottage are surrounded by a garden, now gone sadly to waste, but still retaining marks of its former neatness and regularity. It is fenced in by a haw- thorn hedge, in which are two small swing-gates, both terminating a gravel walk, which runs parallel with the front of the house. Of these, one directly overlooks the stream, just where it reaches the bottom of the glen, and, from a rapid torrent, settles into a quiet pool, and where a rustic bridge is thrown across, from the opposite extremity of which a footpath leads round the base of the hill to- wards the church ; the other conducts to no particular ob- ject, but opens merely upon the green valley. There is a lawn in this garden, in which beds and baskets for flowers have been carefully cut ; but the grass has grown rank and long, and the flowers are choked up with kootch, nettles, and other noxious weeds. So is it with the trim walks, which are now hardly to be distinguished from the soil ; tmd, above all, the fragments of broken glass scattered here 144 THE COUNTRY CUBATE. and there, as the wind has swept them from the now empty leads, give to the place an appearance of utter neglect, such as cannot be looked upon without pain. The only things, indeed, about this cottage, which do not seem as if they required the hand of man to prune them, are a few common shrubs in the front, and a single tall walnut-tree behind. The former grow luxuriantly ; the latter continues to overshadow the thatched roof, as it has done for ages, although a honeysuckle bower^ placed beneath its shelter, has fallen absolutely to ruin. As no view can be obtained, either from the cottage or its environs, of any other human habitation, as the very church is concealed by a curve in the hills, over which its tower is too humble to appear, it requires no very great exertion of fancy to imagine, when you are standing there, that from the world, as it is called, you are wholly shut out, and that you have nothing farther to do with the turmoil and bustle, and evil passions, which torment your less fortunate fellow-creatures. Of the interior of this cottage, a few words will suffice to convey a correct picture. It contains two rooms, one on each side of a narrow passage, with a kitchen on the ground floor ; above stairs there are likewise two bed- rooms, and a dark closet. All these apartments are covered with the remains of a neat paper, into which the damp has sorely eaten, and which, in consequence, hangs down in many fragments from the wall. The wood, once purely white, has become yellow, and the dry-rot has made con- siderable progress in it ; the stoves, covered with rust, are falling gradually from their places as the plaster peels off, and the bricks separate which support them : in a word, the entire cottage, both within and without, with all that belongs to it or surrounds it, cannot fail to impress a strange visitant with sensations more than ordinarily gloomy ; for it looks as if here, more than elsewhere, an evil genius presided, causing few years to do the work of many, and bringing over it the influence of decay and desolation, even more quickly than that influence usually prevails over the deserted abodes of men. I never heard that the cottage in question had any par- ticular name, but during a space of four-and-twenty years THE SUICIDE. 145 it was occupied by two persons, who may be said to have lived entireijt-for each other, and who now sleep soundly side by side in our village churchyard. Should any way- faring man happen to visit that modest cemetery, and desire, as it is possible he may, to stand upon their graves, I will tell him where to look for them. There are no monuments placed over them ; not so much as a wooden railing, or a bunch of wild flowers, distinguishes theirs from other graves : but they have a mark of their own not to be mistaken. As the beings who tenant them were recluses in their life, even so in death they have not thrown off the character. Their graves are dug at the very out- skirt of the churchyard, close behind the northern fence, in that quarter which superstition still hinders the pea- santry from filling, as they fill other quarters, with the bodies of their relations ; and they are, consequently, far apart from other graves. The rankness of the grass, too, which waves above them, might of itself be sufficient to point them out, for no one willingly treads upon them, far less rests there for a moment. In this spot, beneath two common green mounds, repose the former inhabitants of the cottage ; a son, who, though to others an object of pitiable loathing, was, to his mother's eyes, dearer than the light of heaven ; and a mother, whom sin, and its attendant sorrow, brought to an untimely end, by means which no right-minded person can contemplate without horror. She perished by her own desperate hand, as if existence were a burden too heavy to be borne, after she had been deprived of one who, during life, was an object of continual care and anxiety, and who was totally incapable of estimating her fondness, far less of returning it, as a mother's fondness is usually returned by an only child. Their story is not a long, nor, I fear, at least in certain of its particulars, a very uncommon one, so I will relate it, premising, that to the truth of some of its details my own observation can testify ; whilst, for a knowledge of the rest, I am indebted to a combination of circum- stances, of which it is not necessary to enter into any ex- planation. On a certain day in the beginning of autumn, in the L 146 THE COUNTRY CURATE. year 17 — , there drew up at the principal inn in Folk- stone a postchaise, from which a lady and a gentleman, the former carrying an infant in her arms, alighted. The lady was extremely beautiful, and dressed in the first style of fashion : the gentleman had the air of a man of rank, and appeared several years older than his fair companion. They gave no account of themselves, nor could the postilion who drove them convey any farther intelligence, than that they came that day from Ashford, and, as far as he could learn, on the day previous from London. It was, of course, surmised that they preferred this to the ordinary coach road ; that they were on their way to Dover, and from thence to the Continent ; nor was the conjecture the less feasible, that they travelled whoUy unattended by servants, either male or female. They were accordingly received as strangers, and treated as such. The behaviour of the gentleman, however, speedily showed that he at least was not an absolute stranger to these parts, though what the nature of his connection with them might be, or how formed, no one ever discovered. Having seen the lady settled in the best apartment which the hotel could furnish, he desired the waiter to conduct him to the house of Mr. , at that time the only at- torney in the place, and steward to most of the aristocracy who dwelt near. His visit to the attorney lasted about half an hour, after which he returned to the inn, and re- mained there during the rest of the day. No orders being issued, as night drew on, respecting horses or a carriage for the following morning, and the gentleman requiring a bedroom for himself, though as neat to that of the lady as circumstances would allow, the whole family, from the landlord down to the waiter, and from the waiter to the boots, began to wonder in what relation the parties stood towards each other, and of what nature the business could be which brought them to this secluded part of the world. There was, moreover, in their respective manners, the one towards the other, a great deal well cal- culated to excite the curiosity, if not the suspicion, of vulgar minds. It was remarked by the men who carried in din- ger, and waited upon them during the progress of the meal THE SUICIDE. 147 that no familiar conversation, indeed that very httle con- versation of any kind, passed between them. The gen- tleman preserved a cold and even austere deportment towards the lady ; the lady, on the other hand, shrank back, apparently in alarm, from his slightest notice; she sighed frequently, eat little or nothing, and devoted the whole of her attention to her babe, a child apparently about three months old. But the spectacle which passed under the eye of the chambermaid was even more remarkable than this. Having entered their apartment somewhat abruptly, she beheld the lady on her knees hefore the gentleman, with clasped hands, and cheeks suffused with tears, whilst he was hurrying away from her, if not in anger, at all events in a frame of mind not to be worked upon by entreaty. Indeed, the wary Abigail had been for some time previous an ear- witness to a conversation of no very tender kind, and it was solely to satisfy herself that she had not mistaken its pur- port, that she carried in bed-room candles long before they had been rung for. All these circumstances tended, as may be imagined, not only to keep aUve curiosity, but to stir up a deeper feeling throughout the various members of mine host's family, who were then too little accustomed to entertain well-dressed travellers not to desire an ac- quaintance with the names and family circumstances of the few who chanced to put up at the sign of the Black Horse. As the reader is not, perhaps, aware of the mode adopted for the attainment of such information, it may be worth while to state how it was customarily managed at the head inn in Folkstone. In case you travel in your own carriage, and with ser- vants of your own, things are easily brought to bear ; a pot of beer, or a glass of brandy, secures the communicativeness of the footman. Should the vehicle be a post-chaise, and your only attendant the post-boy, he is pumped to the uttermost ; and when found to know nothing, your cham- ber is carefully examined for a card, the back of a letter or a direction-plate upon your portmanteau. In the present instance, all these means were adopted without success; and, finally, the linen left out for use was closely inspected, under the idea that it might possibly bear a name, and certainly 148 THE COUNTRY CURATE. a cipher : but neither was there. The gentleman's night- cap, the lady's rohe de chambre, and the child's bib, were alike unmarked. The conclusion drawn from these various premises was a very natural, and, as it chanced, a very just one, that things could not be altogether as they ought to be, and that a degree of mystery hung over the strangers such as none of his majesty's honest lieges ought, under any circumstances, to maintain. The suspicious curiosity entertained by the innkeeper and his household began before long to extend itself, not with- out cause, over a wider circle. No sooner had the strange gentleman quitted Mr. 's office, than the tenant of the cottage above described was sent for, and desired to remove his family to some other habitation without delay. The arguments employed to induce compliance with this re- quest, of whatever nature they might be, proved successful; and the very next morning a worthy shepherd, with his wife and five children, migrated from the parish of St. Alphage, into that immediately adjoining. Workmen were instantly hired, and employed upon both house and pre- mises. The former, instead of a common labourer's hut, was converted, as speedily as the combined exertions of masons, carpenters, and thatchers could convert it, into an abode fit for the residence of a small but genteel family ; whilst the latter underwent just so much of change, as to render them not out of character with the novel pretensions of the habitation to which they were attached. In com- pleting these arrangements, however, notwithstanding the diligence of the workmen, and the strict superintendency of their ostensible employer, a full fortnight was expended, during the whole of which time the lady and gentleman continued to live at the inn. But they lived in absohite se- clusion. The lady, indeed, never once crossed the threshold: the gentleman held converse with no one except the attorney; and even with him he was known to have conversed only twice. The repairs of the cottage being at length completed, the artificers received their wages, and were dismissed ; a suf- ficient time was then allowed for the walls to become tolerably dry, after Avhich the principal upholsterer in THE SUICIDE. 149 Folkstone was directed to supply the domicile with every article of nectary furniture, not of the first or most ex- pensive quality, but such as might suit the wisht s of per- sons accustorned to move in a respectable sphere of life, though not desirous of seeing company, or entertaining strangers. These orders were likewise obeyed; and, finally, a female servant, an elderly woman of good character, was hired, and sent on to get the house in readiness against the arrival of those by whom it was destined to be occupied. Another week passed on ere the latter arrangements were complete, and the strange lady and gentleman continued their sojourn during that period also at the inn. At length the landlord's bill was ordered, and though not trifling in amount, it was discharged without a single observation, and a post-chaise was desired to be in readi- ness. In retiring to give the necessary directions, mine host, whether by accident or design, left the door ajar; when the following brief dialogue was overheard by an individual, who happened — of course without premedita- tion — to be standing in the passage. " And whither must I go next ? " asked the lady in a tone of deep anguish. " To a place far better than your conduct deserves," was the reply ; " to a secluded spot, where you will find both leisure and opportunity to look back upon your past mis- deeds, and to make your peace with Heaven." The pre- ceding sentence was uttered with firmness, perhaps with harshness ; but a pause of several seconds ensued, and the speaker went on in a strain very different. " Eliza, I little thought it would ever have come to this ; — I little thought that I should live to say that you had dishonoured me, and that I had abandoned you. Did my confidence in you de- serve it ? Fool that I was, to fancy any woman trustworthy, or any man not a villain ! But it is done ; and the bitter- ness of death is passed. Farewell, Eliza ! even now, with all your guilt upon your head, I love you. Yours was the only image that made a home for itself in my heart, nor shall any other displace it. I shall return to mix with crowds, whilst you are alone ; but mine will be the harder fate of the two. God! has it come to this?" L 3 150 THE COUNTRY CURATE. The speaker might, perhaps, have proceeded, but he was interrupted here by a long, loud, hysteric shriek from his miserable auditor. That was a sound to which no human being could listen, Avithout instantly rushing to ascertain from whence it came, and how the being was situated who gave it utterance. In a moment the apartment was filled, and the lady was seen prostrate upon the floor, not, indeed, in a state of insensibility, but in one infinitely less enviable. On raising her up, she beheld no one, except the gentleman who had brought her hither, and from whom, it appeared, she was so soon to be separated. " Stay, stay, Edmund!" she exclaimed, whilst her tearless eyes were extended to their fullest stretch, and her hair, shaken loose from its fastenings, streamed in beautiful, but disordered masses, over her neck and shoulders. " Stay, stay but for a mo- ment. One word, only one word — hear it, hear it — it is the last I shall ever utter to you ! — Oh, not yet, leave me not yet — not alone — quite alone. You do not know — you — cold and forbidding as you are — even you will pity " At this moment the infant, which had hitherto lain asleep upon the sofa, awoke, and uttered a cry. Its voice acted like an electric shock both upon the gentleman and the lady. The former, whose emotions had become so violent as to render abortive aU attempts at concealment or suppression, recovered in a moment his self-command ; and, in a voice of stern authority, desired the intruders to quit the apart- ment. The latter flew to the spot where the child lay, and snatching it up in her arms, pressed her lips to its face, more like one acting under the influence of derangement than a sane person. " It is enough, madam," cried he ; " the fit of foolish softness is over. To your carriage." These words were heard as the door was closing. What followed, no one can tell. The strangers remained together for several minutes, conversing in a low tone, and during the continuance of the conversation the gentleman was heard to pace the room backwards and forwards ; but when the waiter entered to announce that the carriage was ready, no traces of the late scene could be discerned on either of their countenances. The settled severity, which, except for a minute or two, had shaded his features since THE SUICIDE. 151 his arrival, was again there; and she was pale^ and melan- choly, and Jtinoid, as she had ever been. They walked down stairs, she bearing the infant, and entered the chaise in silence ; the door was closed, and the post-boy directed to drive to the cottage. Theie the lady, with her charge, was set down, and her trunks given up to the care of the female servant. She turned round just as the last step was slam- med to, but the baby was in her arms, and the hand which she held out, apparently without being conscious of the mo- tion, was not accepted. The gentleman threw himself back in the carriage, and called to the postilion to go on. "Where, sir?" was the reply. — " To London — to Lon- don, by the nearest way ; and drive as if you drove for your life." The boy obeyed. The horses' heads were in- stantly turned, he cracked his whip, and a scream, as if from one utterly deserted and forlorn, — such a scream as the mariner gives when he stands upon a parting wreck, and sees the last boat push off, — was scarcely heard amid the loise of the wheels. The carriage flew rather than rolled through the village, and the individual who occupied it was never afterwards seen in this part of the country. CHAPTER XVL THE SUICIDE. I WILL not continue my tale, as it has begun, under the cloak of mystery, or in enigmas, but inform the reader at once who the wretched female was that became thus unex- pectedly one of my parishioners, as well as what were the circumstances which led her, in the bloom of youth and beauty, to shut herself up in so retired a spot as the parish of St. Alphage. Eliza Thornton was the only child of a London mer- chant, whose wealth was reputed to be great, whose credit was great in proportion, and who, whilst he devoted a h 4 152 THE COUNTRY CURATE. certain number of hours every morning to the duties of trade at his counting-house in the city, returned to dinner, and to spend the rest of the evening, at the west end of the town. Mr. Thornton mixed, and was entitled to mix, as well from his birth as from his personal accomplishments, not, perhaps, in the very haut ton, but in that respectable circle, which, in point of inteUigence and real good-breed- ing, comes not behind any class of English society. His friends belonged chiefly to his own profession : there were intermixed among them a sprinkling of almost all other professions ; and not a few of the members of the Lower House, as well as here and there a member of the Upper, might frequently be seen at his hospitable board. Where- ever he was known, he was respected for sound judgment, great intelligence, and indisputable honour. Having lost his wife a few years after the birth of Eliza, Mr. Thornton unfortunately did, what too many men in- volved in business are apt to do — he left the education of his daughter entirely to the management of strangers ; he brought into his family a fashionable Swiss governess, whose recommendations from one or two ladies with whom she had Kved were unimpeachable ; he hired the best masters which London could afford to instruct his child in the accom- ments of music, drawing, and painting ; he spared no ex- pense in order tc perfect her in a knowledge of the French, Italian, and other indispensable tongues ; and, having done all this, he fancied he had done enough. Not that he was regardless, utterly regardless, of his daughter's moral wel- fare, for a better-hearted and better-principled man lived not ; but his own time was so fully occupied, his business was so extensive, and its details of so complicated a nature, that he could not avoid committing the management in this, as well as other respects, to mercenaries. The con- sequence was, that the girl grew up to be an accomplished and elegant female — gay, sprightly, and even amiable, in her natural dispositions ; but as completely wanting in solid principle, in that principle which alone can guide a young woman safely through life, as if she had been brought up at the court of a German potentate, and early initiated into all its mvsteries. THE SUICIDE. 153 Eliza Thornton made her debut, or, as it is otherwise termed, cai^ie-out, the very day after she had completed her eighteenth year. Favoured by nature in no ordinary degree, and possessed of talents far beyond the common standard, it is no wonder that she instantly became an object of attention to the other sex. Into whatever saloon or drawing-room she entered, a murmur of delighted ap- plause failed not to greet her arrival ; and her chair, as soon as she occupied one, was instantly surrounded by a host of fashionable youths, Eliza played divinely, and her voice was rich, clear, and powerful, like that of the thrush in the beginning of autumn, or the nightingale's in a serene moonlight night in the month of i\Iay. She was listened to in breathless silence ; and the admiration experienced or pretended was too deep to vent itself, as soon as the notes had ceased, in a burst of applause. For a second or two all were usually mute, as if they continued to drink in the silver tones of her voice, or were listening to catch the echo of these tones from distant waters. Attention and appro- bation so marked, and so continual, was too much for a mind formed like that of Eliza Thornton : her natural timidity quickly passed away ; and she became, ere the ex- piration of a single season, one of the most determined flirts and dauntless coquettes about town. In spite, however, of this change in her manners, her extreme beauty and undeniable accomphshments continued to command for her the attentions, not of the thoughtless part of the other sex alone, but of several men of undoubted respectability and unquestionable integrity. The reputed wealth of her father, indeed, failed not to bring round her multitudes of those contemptible beings, whose fortune, for the most part, is carried about upon their persons, and whose talents wholly unfit them for any other means of bettering their fortunes, than by cheating some rich or silly female into a marriage ; but all her admirers were not of that class. Among others, she was addressed by a Mr. Montague, an old and intimate friend of her father, a merchant ; and, which in her eyes was of more conse- quence, a member of the House of Commons. Mr. Mon- tague was too rich, and too generally respected, to be 154 THE COUNTRY CURATE. dismissed, as she had dismissed her other lovers, by a single absolute refusal. She neither encouraged nor re- jected his suit ; but, under the guidance of Mademoiselle Fleuret, — now advanced from the rank of governess to that of bosom friend, — she kept him as a sort of set-off against other suitors, and a last resort in case her hopes of a title should fail. For in Eliza's ideas of matrimony, it was by no means necessary to consult the feelings of the heart, or to enquire whether or not the temper and habits of the man with whom she was to spend her life at all accorded with her own. She had been too long the pupil of Made moiselle Fleuret to take any such old-fashioned matters into consideration. " Marry for an establishment, my dear/' was her friend's continual advice. " Nobody now-a-days not born and bred five hundred miles from town, so much as expects to love her husband. You must look to him for a house, carriages, and servants ; and having these, I will answer for it, that lovers will not be wanting." So the guardian of her youth advised, and so Eliza resolved to act ; but she was as yet too young, and too happy in a single state, to rush into matrimony with a man for whom she cared not two farthings. Nor is it, perhaps, to be wondered at, that Eliza Thorn- ton could not love Mr. Montague, at least at first sight. True, he was wealthy ; he moved in the first circles ; his manners were those of a gentleman, and his person was not disagreeable: but then he was full twenty years older than herself, and there was a degree of gravity about him such as she could not altogether relish. EUza, volatile and thoughtless as she was, respected Mr. Montague, as all persons did with whom he came into contact ; but she could not conceal from herself, that with this respect a degree of fear was mixed up, not certainly desirable in the feelings of a wife towards her husband. Things had continued in this state for several months, and the season was drawing to a close, when Eliza was astonished by receiving, one morning before she had quit- ted her dressing-room, a message from her father, who desired to see her without delay. She obeyed the summons, and descending, found Mr. Thornton pacing backwards THE SUICIDE. 156 and forwards through the breakfast parlour, in a state of evident agitation. As soon as she entered he made an effort to appear cheerful, and placing a chair, requested her to be seated ; he then drew his own close to hers, and taking her hand, addressed her as follows : — " Eliza, I have seen with extreme satisfaction the atten- tions which you have long received from my valued friend Mr. Montague, and I am happy to say, that he has com- missioned me to make you a positive offer of his hand and fortune. All that he desires in return is a direct answer, either in the affirmative or negative ; because, as he justly observes, though his love for you be not less ardent than the love of younger men, still it is not consistent with his notions of decorum and propriety to continue longer in the state of unmeaning incertitude, in which your behaviour places him. Now, my love, though you must be quite aware that I desire nothing so much as your happiness — and though I do assure you that, let your decision be what it may, you shall never be subjected to remonstrance or reproach from me — there are certain circumstances which I think it my duty to lay fairly before you, and which will, perhaps, induce you not to cast away so favourable an opportunity of settling yourself in life. I am all but a ruined man. Speculations in which I embarked under every prospect of success have failed me ; and though for a little while longer I may be able to keep up appearances, there is not the shadow of a hope that my house, furniture, indeed every thing belonging to me, will not, in a very short time, be brought to the hammer." Eliza, at this intelligence, started from her seat : she looked perfectly aghast ; and her father mistaking the im- port of that look, instantly added, " Nay, my child, do not imagine that your father could act so dishonourably as to keep this matter a secret from the intended husband of his child. Mr. Montague knows all — it was, indeed, at the close of that very conversation in which I made him acquainted with the real state of my affairs, that he gene- rously laid himself and his princely revenues at your fget. So go, Eliza ; I do not press you to determine in a mo- ment how you are to act ; go and consult Mademoiselle 156' THE COUNTRY CURATE. Fleuret ; and as soon as you have come to a determination let me know its tendency." Eliza departed without offering one syllable in reply, and flew, as fast as the excitation of her nerves would allow, to the apartment of her friend. Into the arms of that trusty confident she immediately threw herself, and, without assigning any cause for the circumstance, burst into a fit of excessive weeping. As might be expected, a behaviour so extraordinary, and so unusual, startled even the cold-blooded Swiss into something like feeling; and, in a tone of real alarm, she besought her pupil to be composed, and to open to her the cause of her griefs. It was not, however, for some time, and till after repeated efforts, that EUza could so far command herself, as to lay before her dear Fleuret the circumstances of her case ; hut at length the information was communicated, and the question natu- rally put how she was to act. " Act !" exclaimed the ex-governess ; " how should you act, my dear ? Your father, you say, is ruined, and here is a rich, worthy man anxious to have you without one sixpence of fortune ; would you not be the silliest creature on earth to refuse him ? " " But then I do not, and I never can, love him ; nay more, I dread his great correctness, and I am chilled by his rigidity." " Pugh, nonsense ! how often have I told you that love may do very well for the daughter of a country parson, but is wholly unlooked for in a married woman of fashion Accept the excellent man's offer immediately ; and when we remove to Mr. Montague's mansion, trust me that Mrs. Montague shaU be behind no countess in the land in any thing necessary to constitute the lady of high breeding." " But, dear Fleuret, I have seen another man, whom I think I could marry and love too, and who swears that he adores me. Can I accept Mr. Montague under these cir- cumstances ? " " Is your friend rich ? " " No ; he is an officer in the guards, without any for. tune except his commission." THE SUICIDE. IS*; " Then think no more of him for the present : marry Mr. Montague as fast as ever you can^ and when that is over, we shall see what can be done with the handsome soldier." /,. Such were the lessons inculcated into the mind of Ehza Thornton, by a woman whom her father had selected out of a hundred to direct her education, and who came under his roof, bearing the highest and most unquahfied testimo- nials from more than one family of rank. Whether there are many Mademoiselles Fleurets within the bounds of Great Britain, I take it not upon me to determine ; but this I cannot avoid observing, that a correct knowledge of the foreign idioms and pronunciation must be very highly valued in certain circles, since it prompts parents so fre- quently to pass by multitudes of their own modest country- women, and to assign to foreign adventurers the most sacred trust which nature has committed to them, and ■which they can possibly commit to others. In the instance before us, an act of indiscretion so glaring was unfortu- nately too surely followed by its natural consequences ; and the only child of a doting father grew up to be an elegant and unprincipled woman. Against arguments so cogent as those above detailed, what could Eliza Thornton oppose ? She yielded to them ; and made her father happy by employing him on so agree- able an errand, as to be the bearer to his friend Montague of her permission to advance his suit in his own proper person. That suit was granted ; and the ordinary pre- liminaries having been gone through, — a stipulation having been made and acceded to, that Mrs. Montague should not be compelled to part with her inestimable friend Made- moiselle Fleuret, — a handsome jointure being settled upon the bride, in case her husband should die before her, and a large allowance, under the denomination of pin-money, granted, — the day which was to make him the happiest of men, and her one of the wealthiest of women about town, ■was fixed. In three weeks from the date of her father's communication she consented to be removed from the shelter of his roof to that of her Imsband's. 158 THE COUNTRY CURATE. But though EHza entered thus readily into the schemes and wishes of her advisers, it would be doing injustice to her feelings were the reader to suppose, that she was either happy, or even comfortable. The reverse was the case : Eliza did love, and, as her wedding-day drew nearer, loved passionately, a man whom she was in the constant habit of meeting, and who, in external appearance at least, and in point of age, was better adapted to catch the affections of such a girl, than the more estimable, but less elegant, object of her choice. The Honourable Captain Cecil occupied all her thoughts, even at those moments when her lips moved in conversation with her intended husband. Nor was he an object of greater interest to her, than she, in outward appearance at least, was an object of interest to him ; vows of unalterable attachment were interchanged between them so late as the very week previous to her wedding, and even at the altar these vows were neither cancelled nor forgotten. Nothing could be more splendid than the dress of the bride, or more angelic than her whole appearance, when, at the hour of nine in the morning of the 10th of June, 1 7 — , she was led into St. George's church by the Right Hon. Lord Maryport, and by him committed to the care of Edmund Montague, Esq. At the door of the building stood Mr. Montague's chariot, with four splendid bays, capa- risoned in the newest fashion, the postilions and footmen decorated with favours, and all things indicative of joy and festivity. Into it, as soon as the ceremony was ended, was Eliza handed by her now happy husband ; and dear Fleuret being already seated, in a moment the vehicle was in motion. The bride, it is reported, looked pale : but of that fact little opportunity was given to judge ; for the horses dashed over the stones: Hyde Park turnpike was quickly left behind ; and long before evening the happy couple were immured in the shades of Elton Grove, a beautiful seat of Mr. Montague's, in the county of Oxford. There the honey-moon was spent in that state of felicity which is said usually to attend honey-moons ; and the young lady almost learned to believe, that she had con- THE SUICIDE. 159 suited not only prudence, but her own permanent comfortj in giving her hand to a man so amiable and so rational as Mr. Montague. It is by no means improbable, that had Mademoiselle Fleuret been directed to seek another home, and Mr. Mon- tague found more leisure to devote himself to the society of his young and volatile wife, that the distressing event which ruined the peace of both, and sent one, at least, into perpetual exile from the world, would never have hap- pened. Of this, however, it is not easy to speak. Ehza's principles were not of such a nature : no care, indeed, had been taken so to mould them, as to render her proof against strong temptation, under whatever form it might come in her way. As long as she remained in seclusion, and whilst seclusion was a novelty to her, no one could be more satisfied with her lot, or more correct and esti- mable in her general behaviour. But the season devoted to seclusion rapidly passed away; and business again re- quiring Mr. Montague's presence in town, Eliza, as in duty bound, resolved to accompany him, even though town would be emptied of all its brightest attractions. Having resided six weeks at Elton, the party once more quitted it, and took up their residence in a house on Blackheath, which Mr. Montague was in the habit of occupying at this season of the year. Two events occurred, just at this period, either of which was of itself sufficient to endanger the virtue of Mrs. Montague, and against both of which but slender hope could be encouraged that her virtue would hold out. Her father, Mr. Thornton, failed, as he had expected to fail, and the members of the mercantile world being all linked together by ties more close than are seen by ordi- nary observers, in his failure not a few of the most re- spectable houses in town were involved. Among others. Mr. i\Iontague's was so far affected, that though, to use a phrase in trade, it weathered the storm, that was not done without extreme anxiety, and an unusual degree of atten- tion on the part of the different shareholders. Mr. Mon- tague, in particular, was compelled to devote the entire l60 THE COUNTRY CURATE. day, and in many instances a good part of the night, to business. Rising at a very early hour, he departed every morning for London long before his wife made her ap- pearance; and he seldom returned till both body and mind were so thoroughly jaded, as to require immediate refreshment in sleep. For three months it may, therefore, be said, that of her husband Eliza saw nothing ; and as she never loved him from the first, it is not, perhaps, very surprising that habits, such as those now assumed by him, tended in no degree to excite that passion. On the con- trary, she soon began to feel, that ]\Iontague was not formed by nature for her, nor she for Montague. At this unfortunate juncture, it so happened, that, in crossing the heath one evening, she was accosted by her old lover, Captain Cecil. The captain, it appeared, was then on a visit to his aunt, whose house stood at no great distance from Montague's villa; and nothing could be more natural than for him to desire a renewal of that ac- quaintance, which in former times had constituted his chief and purest source of happiness. Alas, poor Ehza ! She was not so totally lost as to be unconscious that an acquaintance formed as theirs had been, and continued to the latest moment it innocently could be continued, ought not, under existing circumstances, to be renewed. On the contrary, she earnestly besought the captain in pity to both, and to herself in particular, to see her no more. But he was urgent in his entreaties ; he spoke of past events as of a dream too bright and too glorious to endure ; he assured her, that to passion he was no longer a slave, that she was to him no more than a sister. He talked as if the tie which once subsisted between them had wholly changed its nature ; and that it was an insult to her own purity, and to his honour, to regard their intercourse as perilous. These were specious and alluring arguments, and they were ear- nestly backed up by other and similar reasonings on the part of Mademoiselle Fleuret. " What did she fear ? surely she was not alarmed lest her husband should be- come jealous ? and surely it was too much in that husband to expect, that, whilst he denied her his own society alto- THE SUICIDE. 161 gether, she.w«s voluntarily to shut herself out from the society of all other men besides ? As far as she was con- cerned, wefc she in Eliza's place, she knew what she would do ; and, what was more, unless Mrs. Montague consented to enliven their tetes-d-tetes by an occasional visit from some third person, she positively would not con- sent to live longer under her roof. She was already half dead of ennui." In an evil hour Eliza gave ear to the entreaties of the one, and to the expostulations of the other. Captain Cecil was admitted into the family on a footing of familiarity. He soon made himself agreeable to Mr. Montague, who assured his wife, that he now could leave home with an easier mind, seeing that she had consented not to live any longer in absolute retirement ; and to Eliza, it is needless to add, that he speedily became as dear as ever. The con- sequences were exactly such as might be expected: he was a villain, and she ceased to be virtuous. CHAPTER XVII. THK SUICIDE. Time passed, and in its passage produced those changes in human society which it usually produces. Mr. Thornton, broken in spirit, soon sank under his reverses, and was committed to the grave ; whilst Mr. Montague, after the expiration of two years, during which he had treated his wife with the most unbounded liberality and kindness, received with extreme delight the communication that she expected, in the course of a few months, to present him with a pledge of their love. Nothing could be more un- wearied than his attention to her during this most en- livening period of a young wife's existence. She never expressed a wish which he did not hasten to gratify ; and as she happened to take a prodigious fancy to AVindsor M 162 THE COUNTRY CURATE Forest (Captain Cecil's battalion chanced at this time to be quartered at Windsor,) he hired an elegant cottage for her not far from the Castle, whither he hurried down, every day, at as early an hour as his business would allow him to leave town. Thus matters proceeded ; till at length EUza's days were accomplished, and she was delivered of a eon. At first, that is, for four-and-twenty hours after, she was pronounced by the medical attendants to be in as fair a way towards a recovery as could be wished ; but at the expir- ation of that period a change greatly for the worse occurred. She was taken with a violent fever. This continuing un- abated for two days, her life was wholly despaired of; and it was judged proper, by the physician who saw her, that the fact should not be concealed either from Mr. Montague or herself. The former received the intelligence as a man of strong mind generally receives information of a calamity more terrible than any which could befall him : the latter listened to the declaration of the medical man like a person entranced. She gazed wildly in the face of the speaker ; and after a moment or two of silence, during which the colour rushed to her cheeks, she raised herself, in spite of the fever, upon her elbow, and exclaimed, " Die ! say you that I must die.'' — Oh, no, no, I cannot die — I am not fit to die — I will not die — I am too guilty, too wicked to die. Where is Edmund ? — where are you Montague .'' Come hither," and stretching out her attenuated hand to- wards him, — '' come hither, that I may tell you how un- worthy I have been of you. That child which you hold in your arms is not yours. No; it is Cecil's — Cecil's child. Put it away ! It is none of yours. You are dis- honoured, and I -" Here her feelings overcame her, and she fainted. So devotedly attached was Mr. Montague to his wife, that he would have willingly persuaded himself, nay, he did for the moment persuade himself, that the horrible confession to which he had just listened was the offspring, not of remorse, but of a diseased and darkened imagination. It had, however, been made in the presence of many wit- nesses, and could not, perhaps, be wholly disregarded. He THE SUICIDE. 163 did put asjd»^ the child, which, at the moment, happened to be asleep in his arms, and having waited till he saw Eliza restored to her senses, he quitted the apartment in no very enviable frame of mind. On entering the drawing- room, the first person that met him was Captain Cecil. " How is Mrs. Montague ? " cried the latter, advancing to meet him. " She is ill, Cecil, very ill ; she is beside herself, in a state of high delirium. She has this moment stated to me a circumstance, which, could I believe it to be other than the creation of a disordered fancy, would lead me to blow your brains out before you left this room. She has accused herself and you of a crime which I need not name, and for "which you at least, were you guilty of it, should answer ■with your life." It were absurd to deny, that, in spite of his determination to think no more seriously of the incoherent rhapsodies of his wife, Montague accompanied this speech with a look which seemed to pierce into the innermost recesses of his guest's mind. Captain Cecil could not bear that glance. He changed colour, stammered out some unmeaning ob- servation about the effect of disease upon the delicate nerves of a female, and attempted, in rather an abrupt manner, to quit the apartment ; but Mr. Montague placed his back against the door. " Not so. Captain Cecil," said he sternly, and yet calmly. " I am the last man in the world to harbour a groundless suspicion ; but I feel it to be due, both to you and myself, that you pass not hence till I be furnished with some surer proof, either of the truth or falsehood of that unfortunate woman's confession. If you be innocent, as I trust and believe you are, you will not, of course, object to my using the privilege of a husband, and examining my wife's scru- toire in your presence : if you be guilty, here you shall remain, till your guilt be made manifest to the world, and receive its chastisement." For a moment Captain Cecil shrank back; but, recovering himself immediately, he demanded to know whether it were ]\Ir. ]\Iontague's intention to detain him a prisoner against his inclination j " because, if that be the case," continued he, 31 2 164 THE COUNTRY CURATE. " painful as it may be to break an old tie of friendship, I must endeavour to force my way from this, as I would from any other place of illegal restraint." The probabiUty is, that a quarrel thus begun, would, at the moment, have been carried to extremities, had not the physician at the instant entered the room. Being still un- willing to commit himself, Mr. Montague so far subdued his anger as to aUow the captain to pass ; but he whispered to him at the same time, that he expected to find him at his quarters, should circumstances render it desirable or necessary to look for him. The medical man remained not long, and said but little as to the state of his patient's senses ; nor was Mr. Monta- gue by any means relieved by that little. He rather waved than answered directly to the questions which were put to him on that subject. As soon, therefore, as he had departed, the husband resolved to satisfy himself at once — at all events, to seek for satisfaction in the contents of his wife's -svriting-desk ; nor was it necessary that the search should be very minute, in order to convince him of a fact, of which, above all others, he least desired to be convinced. Her desk, work-tables, and drawers, were full of letters from Cecil ; many of them couched in a language not to be mistaken ; and Montague became, in one moment, the most wretched of human beings. As Avas but natural, his first impulse drove him to seek immediate revenge for his wrongs. For this purpose, he seized his pistols, and hurried off towards Cecil's lodgings, fully determined to dip his hands in the blood of the man who had dishonoured him. But the villain, who had been sufficiently bold to inflict an injury, possessed not, as it ap- peared, courage enough to meet the man whom he had injured : he was nowhere to be found. It was said that he had taken the road to London : thither Montague followed, but here all trace of him was lost; and the unfortunate hus- band of a still more unfortunate wife was, in consequence, spared the misery which would have certainly ensued, had an opportunity been afforded him of giving way to a feel- ing too powerful, under such circumstances, to be repressed, whilst the cause of its excitation is recent. He accordingly THE SUICIDE. 165 gave up the pursuit, and for a time things went on, or seemed tOrgO"on, as if no such discovery had been made. Contrary to all expectation, and now almost in opposition to her own -wishes, ^Irs. Montague's illness took a favourable turn, and she recovered. But she recovered only to feel that her guilt was known to her husband, — that all honour- able persons had deserted her, — and that even her kind Mademoiselle Fleuret had turned her back upon her, and •was now loud in the condemnation of one so faithless to a doting husband. Nor did her punishment end here. As long as her health continued precarious, or even delicate, she was permitted to continue an inhabitant of the cottage at Windsor ; but, at the expiration of three months from her confinement, she received, from her husband's soUcitor, an intimation, that that favour was no longer to be granted to her. She wrote to Mr. Montague ; and, in the bitter- ness of humiliation and remorse, implored him to dispose of her as he would, and offered to remove to any spot where her presence might no longer suUy the air which he breathed. The letter produced a powerful effect upon the mind of the unhappy man. It tempted him not, it is true, to forgive her offence, and to receive her back again to his house and his bosom, — for Mr. Montague, with all his good quaUties, was too much a man of the world to dream for one instant of that, — but it determined him not to prosecute the suit for a divorce, which he was preparing to commence, or cast her helpless and unaided upon the world. An intimate friend of his happening to be by when the letter was delivered, he put it into his hands, and requested his advice as to the best method of disposing of her ; and, at the suggestion of that friend, he resolved to settle her in some remote part of the empire, and to allow her, whilst she continued there, enough to support her — not, indeed, in splendour, but in comfort. That friend was the pro- prietor of the cottage described in the first of these pages. He offered it to Mr. Montague, as one well adapted to such a purpose : the offer was accepted, and thither the lady was brought. Why Mr. Montague himself became her conductor, it is hard to say. Perhaps he was only desirous to see that the home allotted to her was such as she might ji 3 166 THE COUNTRY CURATE. not abhor ; or^ perhaps some feeling of latent fondness — something of that deep-rooted affection^ which not even the sins or errors of its object are able wholly to efface — directed him. Be this^ however, as it may, he himself conducted her from Windsor ; and, with the degree of privacy and under the circumstances detailed above, conveyed her into Kent. My tale is almost told, for what remains of it may be related in very few words. The lady inhabited the cot- tage for four-and-twenty years ; seeing no one, visited by no one, and apparently caring for no human being besides her son. Yet was the boy an object of care and anxiety to her to the last. As if Heaven itself had resolved to shower its severest judgments upon the adulteress, the oflF- spring of her guilty intercourse became not as other chil- dren are, — he was an idiot. Deaf and dumb from his birth, the only sounds which he was ever known to utter were, when in pain, a sharp and ear-cutting cry, — when pleased, and in health, a sort of burr or hum, like that which the cockchafer emits as it passes your ear in the summer twilight. Nor was this all. Of his limbs he never obtained any perfect use ; indeed, he was totally unable to walk, even after he had attained to manhood, without assistance. Yet was the mother wrapped up in her child. She led him forth in the warm sunny days, end, placing him beside the rivulet, appeared to forget her own sorrows in the light of his unmeaning smile. No music was so sweet to her ear as his burr, burr, when the balmy breezes passed over him. Indeed, if ever mother lived for a child, and for it alone, Eliza Montague may be said to have hved for her idiot-boy. Thus was it with them, whilst he grew from the infant to tlie lad, and from the lad to the man. But the frame in which his feeble mind was deposited proved not less feeble than the mind itself. He was not formed for length of days ; and, ere his youth had passed, decay laid her finger over him. He drooped and faded year by year, month by month, and at last day by day. Nor did his mo- ther intermit those attentions by his sick-bed, which she so faithfully bestowed upon him whilst in health. No one THE SUICIDE. 167 approached his couch except herself and the medical attend- ant. The most painful and loathsome offices she dis- charged towards him with her own hands; and as the catastrophe drew near, she shut herself up in the apartment beside him, never quitting it cither by night or by day. But all her care, and all the skill of the faculty, availed not, — the idiot died. From that hour a change not more striking than alarm- ing occurred in her whole deportment. Hitherto she had never seemed to forget that she once filled a station in so- ciety above that which she filled then ; and her dress was always such as it might have been had she continued to fill that station. Her manner, too, though strongly tinc- tured with melancholy, partook in no degree of fierceness or desperation ; on the contrary, it was, towards her female domestic, and the medical gentleman who visited her son, gentle in the extreme. But now she was an altered wo- man. She desired that a grave might be dug for her boy in a spot as far removed from other graves as possible ; and gave particular directions, that when she followed, her corpse should be laid beside his. She even attended his funeral, and listened to the service from beginning to end without shedding a tear. Nor was she ever seen to weep after. A fuU year she inhabited the cottage alone, having dismissed her servant, and Uving, no one knew how. At times she might be seen in the honeysuckle bower, or leaning over the railing of the rustic fence, but she wan- dered not beyond the bounds of her garden ; nay, had not some of the villagers occasionally visited her, fetching milk, and butter, and other necessaries for her use, she might, and in all probability she would, have perished of hunger or neglect. One morning, the person who was most frequently in the habit of supplying her with these articles, and to whom she was generally indebted for the lighting of her fire, arrived as usual at the door, and knocked for admittance. No no- tice being taken of the signal, she Ufted the latch, but the door was fastened. On looking up, she saw, likewise, that the shutters remained closed, and, as she readily confessed, her heart misgave her. She knocked again, however, more 168 THE COUNTRY CURATE. loudly, and called the lady by her assumed name, but all fo no purpose. Her fears having now obtained complete mastery over her, she hurried back to the village, and com- municated the state of the case to her neighbours. Upon this it was determined to force the door, in case a renewed effort to make themselves heard should fail ; and the con- stable was accordingly summoned to form one of the party, by whom that service should be performed. Nor was the last resource unneeded. Having knocked and hallooed to no purpose for a considerable length of time, the door was at length burst open, and the villagers, with the constable at their head, rushed into the house. On the lower flat, all things remained in the order in which she had evidently left them on the night before. The next thing to be done was to search the upper story, ivhich was immediately set about ; and the very first step taken in the prosecution of that search brought the truth to Mght. The iU-fated lady hung suspended by the neck from a beam in the roof of her apartment. Thus died Eliza Montague, once the brightest ornament of a fashionable circle ; the adored child of a doting father, and the no less beloved wife of an affectionate husband ; but the victim of an injudicious education, false friends, and a wayward and corrupted heart. The verdict pro- nounced upon her was, as the state of the case required, in- sanity ; and she was laid, unlamented and unnoticed, in the humble grave marked out by herself, beside her idiot boy. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME THE MISER. 169 VOLUME THE SECOND. CHAPTER L THE MISER. I HAD been an inhabitant of St. Alphage rather more than two years -when it was announced to me one Saturday afternoon, as I sat at dinner, that the clerk of Holy Cross, the parish immediately adjoining my own, desired to see me. The man was immediately admitted ; and in a blunt and somewhat abrupt tone informed me, that Mr. Davies the curate, being unable to discharge his own duty on the morrow, would be much obhged if I would assist him. Now of this Mr. Davies, though a countryman of my own, and a person of long standing in the diocese and neigh- bourhood, I had never, to my surprise, seen any thing. He had neither visited nor taken other notice of me since I came ; and I confess that I found it difficult, on the in- stant, to repress a feehng of something like indignation^ that he should thus unceremoniously call upon me for pro- fessional help. Nevertheless, as the case was urgent, being explained to be one of sudden indisposition, I did not hesitate as to the course to be adopted, but met the clerk's demand with an assurance, that, provided he could so dis- tribute the hours as not to clash with the order of my own services, I would take care that his church should not be shut up. The man readily undertook to manage this matter^ and we parted. Having entered into this arrangement, I not unnaturally began to make enquiries concerning the condition and cir- cumstances of the man whom I had undertaken to serve. I found that he was a noted character in the county, having been for eight-and-twenty years curate of Holy Cross^ during a large portion of which he had held, along with 170 THE COUNTRY CURATE, his curacy, a valuable living in the Marsh ; and that throughout the whole of that extended period he had never been known to be absent a single hour from home. Every one whom I questioned on the subject admitted him to be remarkably attentive to his public duties: he was allowed to be in the habit of visiting the sick, catechising the chil- dren, and instructing his people generally, with the utmost care ; and there had never, as far as I could learn, been so much as a whisper raised against the strict morality and integrity of his private dealings. Yet his habits were not such as to obtain for him the love, they scarcely commanded the respect, of those among whom he resided. Shy and reserved to the last degree, he not only avoided all social intercourse with his neighbours, but treated every advance made to form his acquaintance with rudeness. Penurious, too, and niggardly, he denied himself all the comforts, and could scarcely be said to indulge in the necessaries, of life ; for his apparel was not merely shabby, but mean, and his style of hving, it was whispered, was such as the poorest pauper in the workhouse needed not to envy. His sole domestic was an old Welsh woman, whom he brought with him when he came, and who performed every office about his person, which he was either unable or unwiUing to per- form himself. She was his housekeeper, laundress, cook, and scullion ; yet the manner of the one towards the other resembled more that of a parent towards a child, than of a menial servant towards her master. As to their more pri- vate proceedings, — the tenor of their social existence, — no one could tell what it was, because no one, even by chance, ever surprised them at a meal. It was given out, indeed, that they ate and drank at the same table, which was seldom spread with more expensive viands than potatoes and water ; but of this no one could speak accurately, be- cause no one enjoyed an opportunity of judging. All that could be asserted with confidence on the subject was, that Mr. Davies ran no scores with butcher, baker, grocer, or brewer ; and hence, the produce of his httle gai-den, which he kept in order with his own hands, was believed to con- tribute mainly to their support. A description such as the preceding, whilst it very sa- THE MISER. 171 tisfactorily accounted for the total absence of all previous friendly cOtnmunication between us, excited, as may be imagined, no little curiosity on my part to learn something farther of an individual so eccentric. In spite of the re- ported incivility of his behaviour to those who had already exhibited a disposition to pay him attention, I determined, as soon as the service of the day should end, to wait upon him ; and I flattered myself that the pecidiarity of the cir- cumstances, under which my visit was made, would at least secure for me admission. I kept to my resolution ; and, as the event proved, I had not miscalculated my grounds of action. It was on a gusty day in February, when the lengthened daylight renders the sense of cold more acute, that I walked over to Holy Cross, according to my engagement, and per- formed the evening service. There was a tolerably large and a very attentive congregation, every member of which showed some mark of respect as I passed through the churchyard ; but there was one person in particular, whom I observed lingering beside the stile, as if waiting till I should approach, with the design of addressing me. The loiterer was an old woman, apparently about seventy years of age ; short in stature, and very thin ; with a sharp and care-worn countenance, dark eyes, grey or rather grizzled hair, and a saUow complexion. She was dressed in a full- flowing, long-waisted stuff gown, red stockings, and high- heeled shoes, with long wash-leather gloves that reached to her elbows, and a ruffled chemise ; whilst a silk cloak, that had once been black, was thrown over her shoulders, and a bonnet of the same materials, and apparently of the same antiquity, covered her head. Her appearance altogether was very striking, and her manner and address (for I was not deceived in my suspicion that she waited to address me) were not less so. " Mr. Davies desires me to thank you," said she, with a strong Welsh accent, " for the favour you have done him, and is sorry he cannot ask you to stay and dine ; but he is too ill himself to eat, and will not trouble you to call upon him. He lias commissioned me, however, to satisfy you for your trouble,if you will tell me how much there is to pay." 172 THE COUNTRY CURATE. She thrust her hand into her pocket as she spokej and had already extracted a leathern bag ere I could arrest the movement. " Nay, my good woman," said I, motioning to her at the same time to put up her purse, " you don't suppose that I expect payment ? I am very happy in being able to serve Mr. Davies, but I am no jobber in clerical duties." The old woman looked the picture of astonishment at this speech. " AFell, I am sure/' said she, " it is very kind in you ; but Mr. Davies will never, I am positive, submit to accept a favour at the hands of any man. Be- sides you do yourself wrong, sir : ' the labourer is worthy of his hire.' " " Very true," replied I, " the labourer is, indeed, worthy of his hire : but the only hire which brother ought to think of offering to brother is good- will ; and I shall consider myself amply remunerated, if I secure that recompense from Mr. Davies. It was my intention to wait upon him, and I would gladly do so, provided it be not disagreeable." " No, sure, it is never disagreeable to Mr. Davies to see his friends; but — but — are you determined not to take the money ? " " Quite determined on that head," answered I, smiling, " and equally so to see Mr. Davies, if I can." " WeW, now, this is strange," said the old woman, ap- parently speaking to herself, " not to take a guinea when it is offered, and honestly earned ! Of course, he expects something to eat and drink, and he ought to have it too But. " " My good woman," said I, interrupting her, for I guessed to what her soliloquy tended, " I do not desire any refrcsii- ment ; I never eat or drink at this hour, and will not there- fore take advantage of your hospitality. My wish is simply to become acquainted with a neighbour, who has a double claim upon my services, as a brother-clergyman, and as a countryman." " Are you from Denbighshire } " asked my new acquaint- ance, with a tone of deep feeling, and an instantaneous glistening of the eye. " No," replied I ; " but I am from Caernarvon. THE MISER. 173 ■ " Ah, vi^^it is the neighbouring county," said she, still labouring under manifest excitement, " and a glorious county it is.; but not so beautiful as Denbigh. There is no place in Caernarvon to be named with fair Llanrwst — nor in all the world besides ; but what matters it ? Lack- a-day ! the stranger holds it now ; and the ancient race are driven out, hke the swallow in the autumn — not like the swallow, to return again in spring-time. — Well, well, I think he will not refuse to see you ; I am sure he ought not." There was something very affecting in the energy of manner with which the old woman gave utterance to these few but mournful words : they were spoken in a tone which impUed plainly enough that they came from the heart; and I felt that a being who could thus express herself was no fit subject either of ill-natured ridicule or idle curiosity. A similar revolution took place, I knew not why, in my ideas respecting her master. The desire of seeing and holding a few moments' conversation with an eccentric, which had alone actuated me in seeking the promised inter- view, now gave place to other and more worthy sentiments; and I followed my conductress in a far more Christian frame of mind than actuated me when our conversation began. " You will find him but iU lodged, and ill tended," said she, as we proceeded onwards, " for sickness is hard to bear; and I am not so able as I once was to see to matters ; but you will find that, like his forefathers, he has the spirit of a gentleman, that will not bend to fortune, let her beat upon it as she will. It was not thus that he ought to have received you. But times are changed ; and money, not blood, now makes the man." We had by this time reached the Parsonage-house, an inelegant and rude pile, made up of shreds and patches ap- parently stuck together, without order, regularity, or taste, as the convenience of each new incumbent dictated. It was a large two-storied building, and bore about it mani- fest proofs that of late, at least, it had been only partially inhabited. The window-shutters were closed in almost every chamber, the glass in numerous panes was supplanted 174! THE COUNTRY CURATE. by wood, and the frame-works exhibited symptoms of hav- ing held little intercourse with paint or putty during the last dozen years. The garden, however, was neat and orderly, — as neat, at least, as an enclosed plot of ground can be, which is devoted exclusively to the cultivation of esculents ; for it could boast neither of flowers nor orna- mental shrubs, and the very walks were pared down to the narrowest limits : a portion of this we traversed ; and turn- ing away from the front entrance, over which the spiders had long drawn a mantle, we walked round to the back of the house. The old woman now took a key from her pocket, and opening a door, ushered me into a sort of wash-house. It was bare in the roof to the tiles, wholly unprovided with implements of convenience, and struck a chill to the heart by its dreary and comfortless appearance. We made no pause here, however; but passing on through what was doubtlessly intended for a kitchen, but which, like the wash-house, seemed to have remained unoccupied for half a century, we proceeded, by a long dark lobby, to- wards a room which my guide denominated the parlour, but which, to my eye, appeared to partake at least as much of the character of a vestibule as of a living apartment. It was a low-roofed, gloomy chamber, some eighteen or twenty feet long, by fourteen in width, and totally destitute of every article of furniture, beyond three old oak chairs, and a deal table. Not a shred of carpet covered the floor : there was no fender in front of the empty grate, but in its room a part of the broken ring of a cart-wheel, of which another part supplied the place of a poker. A horn ink- stand, with the stump cf a pen sticking in it, three deal shelves suspended from a nail in the wall, and covered with a few ragged books and dirty papers, — these, with a solitary iron pot standing upon the brick hearth, completed the garnishing of the chamber, in which my aged guide re- quested me to sit down and wait till she shovdd inform her master of my arrival. I sat down as she requested, not without a painful sense of the degradation to which parsimonious habits reduce their slave ; for every thing about me was dreary and dis- piriting. The paper hung here and there in strips from THE MISER. 175 the wall, here-and there it was fastened up with pins, or rudely connected by bands of canvass pasted across ; and the ceiling, black and dingy, seemed ready to fall every moment at one or other of the cracks which, in great num- bers, ran through it. The absence of fire, too, was keenly felt ; for the performance of the church-service had heated me ; and the extreme chiU of such a room struck the more forcibly in consequence of previous exertion. Happily, however, I was not left long to ruminate over the probable effects of such a change. In less than five minutes after she quitted me, the old woman returned ; and, begging me to follow, led the way to her master's chamber. We mounted a wooden stair, and traversed a wooden landing-place, botTi of them, like the parlour below, uncon- taminated by the presence of any covering. At the extre- mity of the latter a door stood ajar, and the female, pushing it open, pronounced my name in a loud voice, and formally introduced me to her master. I advanced, and beheld seated, or rather reclining, in an old-fashioned, high-backed chair, with pillows placed behind and on each side of him, the individual concerning whom so strange an account had reached me. He was a tall thin man, apparently about fifty years of age, exceedingly pale, with a sunken cheek, and a hollow eye, but bearing about him traces of very considerable beauty, upon Avhich care or sickness, or both, had made deep inroads. His dress was a clean, thread- bare, white flannel night-gown, which wrapped him en- tirely round : upon his head he wore a woollen nightcap, likewise perfectly clean ; and the coverings of his pillows, together with the counterpane on the bed, were aU white as the skill of the bleacher could make them. Yet, in spite of so much attention to cleanliness, the bed-room, not less than the parlour, bore witness to the penurious disposition of its occupant ; for it was as dreary and ill-assorted a dor- mitory as I had ever entered, even in the cottages of the poorest of my own parishioners. A truckle bedstead, with- out posts or curtains, occupied one extremity, in front of which a bit of sacking was substituted for a rug. A large trunk supplied the place of a chest of drawers : there was but one chair in addition to that occupied by the curate, 176 THE COUNTRY CURATE. the rush bottom of which had given way ; and a solitary small table seemed to do the triple duty of toilet, writing- desk, and dinner-board. A few sticks were burning in the fire-place, for the purpose, as it seemed, of cooking, rather than to give warmth; for a moderate-sized saucepan sim- mered over them ; and the supply of spare fuel was so scanty, as to denote that it would not be needed after the contents of the vessel should have been suflSciently subjected to the process of boiling. I was very much shocked, as well as greatly astonished, at the desolate aspect of the chamber ; yet was there something in the air of its occu- pant calculated to excite other feehngs besides those of dis- gust and contempt. Mr. Davies made an effort to rise as I entered ; but his strength was not adequate to carry him through, and he immediately fell back again. " I am too feeble to do the honours as I ought," said he with a bitter smile : " I must therefore request you to take a seat, — that is, if you can find one." I sat down accordingly on the edge of the broken chair, and Mr. Davies continued. " My housekeeper informs me that you have declined the remuneration which is legally your due, and that you re- quired a personal introduction to me as the price of your services. I am sorry for it : first, because I do not love to lay myself under an obligation to a stranger ; and, next, because I never wish to see a stranger within my doors. If you have any business to discuss, say on ; if not, take my thanks, and let our interview be as brief as possible." I was not a little perplexed, as may well be imagined, by such an opening to our dialogue, not knowing very weU how to meet it, or what to say in reply. How I did ex- press myself, indeed, I have forgotten; but before Mr. Davies could offer any rejoinder, the old housekeeper, greatly to my relief, took part in the conversation. " Nay, now, honey dear ! didn't you promise to meet this gentleman as a friend } Didn't I tell you that he came from Caernarvonshire.'' — that he was in some degree a countryman, and that he deserved civiller treatment at your hands than a mere Saxon? It arn't like you to THE MISER. 177 say a rude thing to any one, and least of all to a Welsh- man." ^ " I beg pafdon," said \, " if I have inadvertently done that which is disagreeable to you. I was told of your ill- ness, and considered it no more than an act of common ci- vility as well as of duty, to enquire after you." " Well, and could not that be done abroad .'' Could not Margery tell you all that you needed to know, or had any right to pry into .'' Besides, it is not your coming here that offends me. You see that I am poor — very poor, — that I Uve meanly and fare hardly : but there is nothing disgraceful in that; and I care not if all the world knew it. But your refusal to be paid for your services wounds my pride. Tell me how I may clear scores with you, and then, perhaps, we shall better understand one another." " By doing the same friendly act for me, should I here- after stand in need of it, which I have just done for you." " Be it so," replied he : "I take you at your word ; and though I do not wish your illness, I shall be glad to hear that business or amusement may have taken you hence, as soon as my health is sufficiently re-established to permit my fulfilling my part of the contract. And now, good evening to you, — the day wears apace, — and you probably desire to reach home ere it be dark." " But the gentleman will take a httle refreshment," interposed Margery. " I wiU fetch up a — hem, — hem." " Fetch up, old woman ! " interrupted her master, " what can you fetch up ? Here are a few potatoes and a morsel of pork on the fire, Mr. "Williams ; and the water of our well is excellent : if you feel disposed to partake of my humble fare, you are welcome." " La, now, honey dear," said Margery, " how can you joke so ? My master loves to make things out worse than they are. We have better fare than that to offer, as you may believe sir." " My good Margery," replied Mr. Da vies, in a tone of mingled kindness and irony, " if I love to make things appear worse, you love a hundred times more to make them appear better, Mr. Williams has, I doubt not, learned N 178 THE COUNTRY CURATE. from a variety of sources how I live ; and has honoured me with a visits that he might have the satisfaction of con- versing a moment or two with the Miser." " You do me wrong, sir," repHed I, " and scarcely do yourself justice. Whatever idle tales I may have heard made little impression upon me ; and of the epithet which you have just bestowed upon yourself, I do not believe you deserving. Causes there may be for your present mode of existence ; but I cannot think that the unworthy thirst of accumulation is numbered among them." " I thank you for your kind opinion/' said the sick man, a slight flush passing over his cheek as he spoke, and an expression of melancholy pleasure darting from his eye. " I know not upon what grounds you have formed it ; but perhaps — no matter, no matter." I perceived that I had struck a chord, which vibrated to the heart of my new acquaintance ; and that, by so doing, I had produced an impression in my own favour, of which I hastened to take advantage. " You are not, I fear," said I, " likely to regain your strength immediately ; and I am sure that any premature effort to resume the course of your duties would inevitably throw you back. I trust, there- fore, that you will permit me, in virtue of our compact just concluded, to supply your place for a few Sundays longer." " It is not pleasant," replied he, '' to take advantage of the good-nature of one, whom I see no chance of being able to recompense as he deserves ; but if I feel really unfit for the exertion next Sunday, your offer shall be accepted with thanks." " And you wiU permit me to come and see you again," continued I, rising as I spoke. He looked earnestly at me, as if he would have pierced into my very thoughts, and read there the motive which dictated this proposal. The examination was not, as it seemed, in my disfavour; for, holding out his long, thin hand, and grasping mine, he said in a softened tone, — " Certainly, I will always be glad to see a man who can look on such a sight as this, and yet beHeve, that one sur- rounded by all the external marks of penuriousness and THE MISER. 17.9 squalor can yet be free from the debasing propensities of a miser. '^ " Now, God bless thee for a good soul and a true Chris- tian ! " said- -the old woman, as she conducted me down stairs, and led me through lobby, kitchen, and wash-house. " This will do my poor master more good than all the stuff in the doctor's shop, of which I cannot persuade him to swallow a mouthful. You will be sure to come again, — and come before Sunday, if possible, that the impression made may not have time to grow faint, and his old humours return." I promised faithfully to be at the back-door on the day after the morrow ; and wishing my conductress good even- ing, I bent my steps homewards, full of " strange thoughts and fitful fancies." CHAPTER II. THE MISEB. I NEED scarcely say that the effects produced upon me by the occurrences of this eventful day were of a nature too complex and too strange to be soon or easily effaced. The voice, manner, air, and general address of my neighbour curate haunted me Uke a passion ; and I could not divest myself of the persuasion, that, singular as his habits were, they were not the offspring of mere avarice. I would not permit myself to believe that deep feeling — and of deep feeling Davies was clearly possessed — could possibly exist in the heart of him whose soul was bartered away to ]\Iam- mon; yet I was as Uttle able to reconcile to my own notions of what a man owes to himself, and to his position in society, the unaccountably sordid mode of existence of which I had so lately been an eye-witness. In few woi'ds, both Davies and his propensities were to me a riddle, N 2 ISO THE COUNTRY CURATE. which not all my efforts — and I made many — were com- petent to read, and the reading of which I at last, though somewhat reluctantly, left to be made out by time and cir- cumstances. But though r so'on ceased to speculate on the causes of jMr. Davies's conduct, I was by no means unmindful of my engagement with his housekeeper^ nor careless in keep- ing it. On the contrary, I set out at an early hour after breakfast on the Tuesday, reached Holy Cross Parsonage long before noon, and received from the kind-hearted old woman a cordial and flattering welcome. " Now, I am as glad to see you," said she, familiarly seizing my hand, " as if you came with a thousand pounds in your pocket, all for the use of my beloved master. I don't know what there was about you, but let me teU you, a? a thing of which you have great cause to be proud, that he talked of you, over and over again, after you went away ; and that he longs to shake you by the hand just as much as I did. Heaven's blessing be upon you ! Walk up, walk up. You will find him much as you left him on Sunday evening, only a small thought better, — praise be to Heaven for the same ! " So saying, she once more guided me through the cheerless kitchen and passage ; and walking before to show the way led me up-stairs, and ushered me again into Mr. Davies's chamber. I found the curate, as to health, pretty nearly in the same state in which he was when our acquaintance began , and in dress, position, and appearance, in no respect altered. In his manner, however, a marked change was visible. He made no effort on this occasion to rise, and affected nothing of that haughty and austere deportment with which he saw fit to open our conference on a previous occasion ; but, holding out his hand, bade me hearty welcome, and expressed himself delighted to see me. I was greatly pleased, as may be imagined, at finding that this time, at least, my presence was not regarded as an intrusion ; and our conversation went on easily, almost gaily, for a season, and on general topics. All this tended^ in no slight degree, at once to whet my THE MISER. 181 curiosity, and to give an additional intensity to the interest which I had-'already taken in the poor man's fate. I saw, however, at a glance, that any abrupt or sudden advance on my part towards familiar and intimate communication, so far from leading to the result which I desired, would pro- duce an effect directly the reverse. Davies was evidently a person of acute sensibility, perhaps of morbid feeling, which the shghtest approach to prying would alarm ; and in whom an antipathy once excited, were it even for a moment, would not be easily allayed. Such a man's con- fidence was not to be gained by appearing to court it ; far less by adventuring upon leading questions touching him- self; and hence I felt, that however pure the motives might be which impelled me to enquire into his history, no such enquiry could be hazarded if I desired our acquaint- ance to last. A variety of minute circumstances, likewise, led me to conjecture, that offers of friendship, or of kind and neighbourly attentions, if made at all, must be itiade to him with peculiar caution. I judged that he was either too poor, or too mercenary, to afford himself the kind of diet which his delicate health required ; yet I could not venture to propose sending from my own house any one of the many little comforts which we could easily furnish, and which to the sick in general are extremely acceptable. I was vexed at all this, not so much because it kept me still in the dark with respect to points on which I ardently de- sired to be enlightened, as because I was satisfied that Davies already suffered, and would continue to suffer, from his own perverseness. Nevertheless, as there was really no help for the matter, I determined to give way to cir- cumstances, should I find that the old housekeeper was as insensible to ray friendly advances as her master. I sat with Davies on this occasion upwards of an hour, during which he showed himself in the light of a well- informed, gentlemanly, and accomplished person. It was very evident, moreover, that our gratification was mutual ; for when I wished him good day, he begged to know, of his own accord, when he might expect a repetition of my call. Of course, I assured him that no great while would elapse ere we met again ; and we parted, as men usually N 3 182 THE COUNTRY CURATE. do when they have each unexpectedly found, where they least expected to find him, a companion suited to their tastes. " It grieves me," said I to the old woman, as I passed the wash-house threshold, " to see Mr, Davies so poorly supplied with comforts in his illness. Not that I doubt his ability to procure them," continued I, for I observed a storm gathering over the Welshwoman's brows, who treated every allusion to poverty as the grossest insult ; " but I know from experience how careless bachelors be- come in these respects, and how naturally their house- keepers slide into their humours, and adopt their prejudices. Now, though a bachelor myself, there are ladies in my family who have never permitted me to fall into these vagaries ; and they would gladly supply my good neigh- bour with jellies and such like, would he but accept these acts of friendship at their hands." The cloud which had begun to collect on Margery's brow, though it assumed a lighter cast, did not absolutely disperse. " I am glad for his sake," said she sharply, " that your proposal was not made in his presence. I know that he loves your society, and I hope that he will love it yet more; but I am as sure as mortal can be of any thing, that if he once heard you talk of sending him food, drink, or clothing, he would never speak to you again. Your company and conversation may prove of vital ser- vice to him ; but as you desire to number him among your friends, say nothing more of his poor style of living, nor dream of bettering it." I was satisfied that the old woman spoke the truth ; so I walked away, determined to let things take their course, for better or for worse. IVIr. Davies's illness continued with little abatement for three weeks, during which period I performed all his duties, and spent a portion of every other day in his com- pany. No man could show more unequivocally, by his general manner, that he felt himself obliged ; yet was there at all times a restraint upon his language, which hin- dered him from saying so in terms one whit more exag- gerated than might have been used on the commonest occasion. It seemed as if two principles struggled the one THE MISER. 183 against the other, — generosity and pride; the first of which prortipTed him to make no secret of his true senti- ments, whilst the last hindered him from ever embodying them in words. But I was not covetous of praise. It was enough for me to experience the consciousness of doing as I would be done by ; whilst the fact of being welcomed by one who had admitted no one throughout twenty years to his confidence supplied more legitimate ground for self- congratulation than would have been furnished by pro- fessions the most voluminous and the most fulsome. At the end of the above-mentioned period, Davies so far recovered, as to resume once more the tenor of his pro- fessional life. I of course saw less of him, for a season after this, than I had done in his illness, for he never came to me ; and after calling several times, without in- ducing him to return tlie visits, I ceased to go to him. But an accidental circumstance brought us again, as it were, to each other's knowledge; and from that day the renewed intimacy continued without farther interruption. It chanced one day, somewhere about six months after my last call at Holy Cross, that business or amusement induced me to stroU down towards Folkstone. I saw, as I descended the hill, a figure moving towards me, of which, even at a distance, I could not fail to receive an impression that it was familiar, and which, to say the truth, if once seen, it would have been a hard matter to forget. It was that of a very tall, thin man, arrayed in a suit of thread- bare, browny-black, the cut of which, in all its parts, gave indication that it must have been fabricated at least a quarter of a century ago. The coat was long-waisted and single-breasted, with broad skirts, huge horn buttons, and a small turn-back collar, that reached on each side to the tip of the ear. The waistcoat was hkewise very long, with huge pockets, and what are called flaps at the bottom ; whilst the breeches, which barely turned the knee, and were fastened with bright silver buckles, were composed of a sort of stocking net, that Hterally ghttered in the sun. A pair of grey worsted stockings, and stout shoes, orna- mented with broad brass clasps, completed the costume of the pedestrian, who marched stoutly along with an oaken N 4 184 THE COUNTRY CURATE. cudgel in one hand;, and a paper parcel carefully wrapped up in the other. As the stranger walked quickly, and I was not tardy in my movements, we soon confronted one another ; and I found, — not to my surprise, for I had already recognised him, — that it was no other than Mr. Davies. He had not, however, as it appeared, anticipated the meeting ; for he scarcely paused to exchange the usual salutations ere he proceeded to account for what, in the case of any per- son besides, would have been a very natural occurrence. "^ I do not often visit Folkstone," said he ; " but the truth is, poor Margery is ill, and I have been down to procure for her a few luxuries, which our meagre larder cannot furnish. You will not, I am sure, blame me if I hurry on, for there is no one at home to nurse her ; and, God bless her ! she is of more value in my eyes than all the race of men besides." So saying, he wished me good morning, and posted on. A new trait in this singular man's character was now developed. Penurious towards himself even in sickness, and too proud to receive as a gift what he was too parsi- monious to purchase, it seemed as if he grudged no expense so long as it promised to ameliorate the sufferings of his domestic ; whilst his personal attendance was as freely bestowed upon her, as it would have been upon a father or a mother. What a tissue of inconsistencies was here ! The true miser may not indeed endure to spend his money, however essential to his own welfare a little expenditure may be ; but if he be unwilling to do so in his own case, he is a thousand times more unwilling to do it in the case of another. The true miser, moreover, however reluctant to purchase, is usually abundantly ready to accept, no mat- ter from what quarter the present may come, or of Avhat natui-e it may be ; whereas this man would have spurned a gift, let it be offered by whom it might, even at the moment when his own wants must have pressed most heavily upon him. " Yet, who knows," thought I to my- self, " it may be that the same whim may actuate him here, which actuates him in his other proceedings. It is very possible that, for Margery's use, he may receive the con- , THE SnSER. 1S5 fections, which even to propose for himself would have been trea§on ; and if so, a door may at last be opened to confidence find intimacy between us." The more I pon- dered upon this idea, the more plausible it appeared ; and I no sooner reached home, than I prepared to act up to it. I was soon supplied, according to my own wish, Avith a shape of blanc-mange, and a cup of jelly ; both of which I placed next morning in a little basket, and set out with it to Holy Cross. On reaching the well-known back-door, I knocked once or twice without receiving an answer ; after which, trusting to the purity of my own motives, I lifted the latch and entered. There was a melancholy silence every where. I traversed wash-house, kitchen, and lobby, without meeting a human being or catching a sound: I looked into the parlour, but it was empty ; and I ad- vanced half-way up the stairs ere the slightest indication met me, that the house was not utterly deserted by its in- mates. Then, indeed, a low and indistinct murmur, such as the wind emits when sweeping through the hollow of a rock, came upon me ; and I pressed forward with a pain- ful conviction on my mind, that it was the voice of one in sorrow. I soon gained the landing-place ; but instead of advanc- ing towards the chamber occupied by Davies himself, I turned to the right, whither a half-open door invited me. I looked in, and beheld a small bed-room, fitted up, not expensively indeed, but with great attention to comfort ; well carpeted, weU papered, and stocked with an adequate supply of every necessary piece of furniture. At the side of the bed, the curtains of which were in part drawn back, Davies was kneeling. His face, which was buried between his hands, rested on the coverhd, and he poured forth that low and plaintive moaning which had struck so coldly .to my heart whilst mounting the stairs. Heaven knows, it was no impertinent or idle curiosity which compelled me to stand for several moments, a mute spectator of the scene before me ; but my feelings were so powerfully wrought upon that I could not stir, had I even possessed sufficient clearness of judgment to determine whetlier it behoved me to retire or go forward. 186 THE COUNTRY CURATE. I do not know whether an involuntary movement of mine, or a passing current of air, shook the chamber-door; but at the end of perhaps a couple of minutes it creeked upon its hinges, and Davies, catching the sound, raised bis head, and looked around. There were no tears upon bis cheek, but the expression of his countenance was that of a man utterly forlorn, to whom fortune had done her last injury, and who felt that there was nothing more for him to suffer. It was not, however, the sort of forlornness which despair produces ; very far from it, — for there was neither wildness nor stern defiance in his glance, but a calm and holy sorrow, such as the Christian need not seek to disguise, because it brings forcibly the idea of perfect resig- nation along with it. Our eyes instantly met. What the language might be which mine spoke, I do not know; pro- bably there was a good deal of confusion in it, inasmuch as I was conscious of being surprised in a situation Uable to misconstruction, and, but that it occurred accidentally, scarcely to be defended. But however this might be, Davies neither by look nor gesture exhibited the faintest symptoms of indignation, or even displeasure. On the con- trary, he rose without permitting a muscle to quiver, or a shade upon his pale cheek to change ; and holding out his hand, begged of me to enter. " You have come at a melancholy moment," said he with a full, unbroken, yet sorowful voice ; " but you are welcome. Poor old Margery has just paid the debt which all are doomed, sooner or later, to pay, and has not left her fellow for truth, fideUty, and strong affection, behind." I was greatly shocked by this intelligence ; so much so, indeed, that for an instant I could not command words to reply to it. It was a consummation, the possible occurrence of which I had not anticipated ; and its announcement came upon me, in consequence, with the full violence of evil tidings abruptly and unexpectedly communicated. At last, I recovered so far as to express, what I really felt, my deep sorrow at the event, and to enquire into the nature of the disease which had ended thus fatally. " The faithful creature," replied Davies, '' never, I believe, recovered the fatigue of waiting upon me. I could THE MISER. 187 not persuada^her to go to bed for a single night during my protracted illness ; and the want of natural rest is a pri- vation not easily to be borne by a young, far less by an old person. She held up, indeed, for a short space after I was able to go about again, though even then it was easy to perceive that her feeble frame had overworked itself ; but on the evening of the very day when you last did me the favour to call, Margery yielded to her malady, which has gradually, but surely, gained upon her ever since. Well, it was the will of Heaven that the kind creature should not live to see her fondest vision reaUsed, and to that will she submitted as she ought." I now cast a glance towards the bed, upon which lay the still warm corpse of the housekeeper. There was a mild and placid expression in the countenance, seeming to imply, that the last thought which animated the senseless clay had been a happy one ; and whilst the eyes were closed, the lips were slightly parted, as if the spirit had passed from them in prayer. I observed, likewise, that no comfort, which it was within the reach of money to purchase, or affection to bestow, had been denied to her. She rechned upon a soft down bed^ the entire furniture of which was composed of the finest materials. Beside her stood a table, on which were arranged every imaginable species of inno- cent luxury, calculated to stimulate the appetite, or please the fancy of an invaUd ; whilst a number of phials and boxes furnished abundant evidence, that nothing which medical skill could suggest for her recovery had been with- held. Yet all availed not; and he who had recently struggled through a serious indisposition, destitute of those accommodations which he freely afforded to a menial, saw that menial perish in spite of all his efforts to save her. Little conversation, besides what has been detailed above, passed between Davies and myself on the present occasion. It was no fit time for enquiring farther into the state of his affairs than he himself chose voluntarily to explain ; and I returned home as ignorant as I was when I set out, touching the nature of the tie which bound him and his aged domestic so closely together. But the frank and open manner in which he had met me, even at a moment of 188 THE COUXTRV CURATE. acute suffering, induced me to nourish a hope, that matters might ultimately assume a different character ; and the events of every successive day gave to that anticipation an increased degTee of plausibility. I visited Davies, as Avell from a sense of duty as from inclination, repeatedly, during the interval which elapsed between the death and burial of Margery; and I fovmd him on all occasions pleased and gratified at my coming. He did not hesitate to tell me, that, in losing his house- keeper, he had lost the only human being in whose hap- piness he was really interested ; yet he never gave way to any unmanly lamentations, far less uttered a syllable of repining or complaint. On the contrary, he made the ne- cessary preparations for her funeral with the same calm- ness that he would have exhibited had she been to him no more than an ordinary servant ; and whilst he desired that every thing should be done with decency, he took care that there was no unnecessary waste. Finally, on the Sunday succeeding her decease, the body of the Welshwoman was committed to the earth, Davies following as chief mourner^ and I reading the funeral service. JVIargery died in the month of April ; and from that date, up to the Michaelmas following, Davies continued to spend his time after the same fashion which he followed whilst she was alive. He hired no other permanent do- mestic, it is true ; that is to say, he took none into his family, nor, except to wash his linen, did he make use of the regular services of any one ; but an old woman came occasionally, perhaps twice or thrice a week, to make his bed, and to sweep out the dust which might have accumu- lated both in his parlour and chamber. As to his food, of whatever materials composed, he cooked it entirely him- self; and his shoes, when cleaned, as well as his clothes, when brushed at all, were brushed and cleaned with his own hands. In one respect, however, his habits did un- dergo a change. To my great satisfaction, not less than to my surprise, he strolled over frequently to St. Alphage ; and whatever anxious thoughts might oppress him when he arrived, they never failed to disperse under the influ- ence of friendly conversation. Yet^ strange to say, though THE MISER. 189 taking undi^sguised delight in the society of my family, I could never prevail upon him to eat or drink amongst us. Not only did he steadily refuse my invitation to join us at our meals V but even the casual refreshment of a crust of bread, or a glass of wine, he rejected : indeed, the pro- duction of the one or the other, nay, the very intimation that it was about to be produced, always caused him to quit the house. For a time, we did our best to overcome these eccentricities ; but, finding that we were not likely to suc- ceed, and that a too steady perseverance in the attempt Avould probably drive him from us altogether, we latterly permitted him to indulge his own inchnations. In this manner things went on till the day before Mi- chaelmas-day ; the oddities of man, by being brought con- tinually before us, ceasing in a great degree to excite wonder ; when a revolution in his affairs took place, cer- tainly as little looked for on our parts, as a change in the great and fundamental laws by which visible nature is governed. He had intermitted his calls for about a week^ and a casual indisposition keeping me at home, I had not been able to seek him in his own dwelling ; when, as we sat round the fire in the dusk of the evening, the parlour door was thrown open, and the servant announced, in an audible voice, Mr. Davies. I rose to bid him welcome ; but on casting my eyes round, they fell upon an object which completely rivetted me to the spot. Davies unde- niably stood before me, with a pleased yet a sickly smile on his hps; but so thoroughly changed, in respect to dress, air, and appearances, that I could with difficulty bring myself to believe that it was he. The suit of old- fashioned rusty black was thrown aside, and its place sup- phed by one made after the most approved modern cut, perfectly new, and of the finest materials. The dingy shovel-hat had given way to a handsome beaver ; and the thick brass-buckled brogues, and grey worsted stockings, were supplanted by silken hose, and shoes such as might be worn in any drawing-room. It will not be wondered at, if I hesitated whether to beheve the evidence of my own senses, and that I hung back with the awkward stare of a man who knows not how to act. But Davies made haste 190 THE COUNTRY CURATE. to relieve me from the unpleasant predicament in which I stood. Advancing into the middle of the room, with an easy gait, he grasped my passive hand, and, after cor- dially shaking it, said, — " I am by no means surprised that you should doubt the reahty of the vision brought thus abruptly before you. You have hitherto seen in me only the miserable miser, who set the opinions of the world at defiance, and pursued his own sordid course through evil report and through good. I cannot blame you for hesitating to be- lieve that I could ever appear in a different character. The time, however, has come, when I am enabled to ex- plain to you the mystery of my conduct. I thank God, that the object of an entire hfe is attained; and I will now, with your permission, give you the history of myself, were it only to justify you in your own eyes for having, at our first acquaintance, ventured to express an opinion, to the truth of which outward appearances, at least, afforded no support." There was no lack of willingness on our parts, as may easily be imagined, to become listeners to a tale which we had long and ardently desired to hear. After expressing, therefore, with perfect sincerity, our lively satisfaction that any piece of good fortune should have befallen him, we gathered round him in a circle, whilst he proceeded in the following terms. CHAPTER III. THE SIISER. '' I NEED not inform you that I am a native of Wales, for to that my accent, doubtless, bears testimony; and poor IMargery has, I believe, already led you to gather, that I first saw the light in Denbighshire. The case is so. THE MISER. 191 I am the son of a gentleman who once owned a property of no great moii'ey value, perhaps, but of considerable extent, in that county ; %vhich descended to him in lineal suc- cession from times long anterior to the Conquest, and was held by the surest and best of all tenures, — that of pre- scription and the sword. I was born in the house of Llanrwst: I spent the first fifteen years of my life in wandering over its bare hills, fishing in its rapid rivers, following the roe among its woods, and shooting the black- cock over its moors ; and it will not, therefore, surprise you to be told, that the compass of the round world con- tains not a spot so dear to my imagination. " The family of which I am now the representative has, from the remotest periods, been remarkable for the rash- ness and headstrong improvidence of its chiefs. In an- cient times, no feud or warlike movement occurred, in which a Davies failed, sooner or later, to take part ; and in times more recent, they contrived, Avith singular inge- nuity, to be involved in every sedition or rebellion which has agitated our country. " As evil fortune would have it, too, my ancestors in- variably happened to espouse the losing side in all their enterprises. They were staunch Cavaliers in the days of the commonwealth, and suffered, like others of the same party, from the rapacious exactions of the Roundheads. At the Revolution, they refused to transfer their allegiance to the new dynasty, and fought, and bled, and endured other pains of unsuccessful rebellion. My great-grand- father held a command in James's army in Ireland : the army was defeated, and he himself narrowly escaped being hanged ; whilst, by order of government, his house was burned down, his cattle driven off, and his lands laid waste. Unawed by the fate of his predecessor, my grand- father no sooner heard of Charles Edward's advance into England, than he went off, with a few followers, to join him. He, too, was in hiding for many months; and though his life was eventually spared, the estate was con- fiscated. But better times came. The government felt itself sufficiently strong to act with clemency to its oppo- nents; and Llanrwst, restored to its legitimate owner. 192 THE COUNTRY CURATK. came down, in due course, though grievously encumbered, to my fatVier. " The consequence of these numerous accidents was, in a pecuniary point of view, exceedingly distressing. Never possessed of much ready cash, our family now found them- selves under the cruel necessity of mortgaging a portion of the estate to enable them to retake posssesion of the re- mainder ; and the building of a new house, on a scale far more costly than needed to have been adopted, plunged us deeper and deeper into difficulties. To rescue himself from them, my father, who possessed no talent for business, put himself into the hands of an agent, and became, hke many other Welsh landholders, a dealer, on a large scale, in cattle. But this expedient proved as little beneficial in the end as the warhke operations of his ancestors. The man who conducted the details of business for him grew rich, and purchased an estate ; whilst my poor father was re- duced, if not to real, at all events, to nominal bankruptcy. " In the mean while, with the improvidence which he inherited from the founder of his race, the good man thought fit to marry. His choice was perfectly unobjec- tionable in most respects, for he united himself to a very amiable and a very beautiful woman, whose blood was as pure as that of any stock in the principaUty, and whose principles were not less pure than her blood ; but, unfor- tunately, she was the seventh daughter of a poor country gentleman, and possessed not a shilUng. Still they were exceedingly happy in each other's society for some years after their marriage, during which she brought him three sons, of whom I was the youngest ; indeed, as long as he could drive off", by temporary expedients, a threatened ca- lamity, no matter how grievous, my father was not a man to permit care to feed upon his vitals. But the canker, though carefully concealed from others, and, as far as might be, from the eyes of the patient himself, was by this time too deep-seated ever to undergo a cure. The cre- ditors, finding that neither principal nor interest was forth- coming, talked of instituting legal proceedings; and it became but too apparent, that the estate of Llanrwst must before long be advertised for sale. THE MISER. 193 * It was on a beautiful evening in June, when the leaves wer^ln full leaf, and nature wore on flood and field her gayest .livery, that two men, mounted on indifferent ponies, and shabbily dressed in drab riding-coats, were seen slowly winding up the avenue, and approaching the place. You must know that the house stands at the base of a taU green hiU, exquisitely studded with hazel and birch-trees to the summit, which, falling back, as it were, in the centre, constitutes of itself three sides of a magnifi- cent amphitheatre. The fourth side is more level, stretch- ing down in a rich meadow towards the Clwyd, which winds and chafes through one of the most glorious and fertile valleys of which the kingdom of England can boast. Through this meadow ran the avenue, formed by a double row of beeches, and extending perhaps a quarter of a mile from Llanrwst to the high road. Now it was no unusual sight to witness the approach of absolute strangers in this direction, because the Vale of Clwyd is much visited by tourists, and my father's door was never closed against the traveller who chose to claim his hospitality. No one, therefore, would have viewed the advance even of these men with distrust, notwithstanding that their demeanour bespoke them to belong to a class httle given to travel for mere amusement ; but certain events had happened a week or two previously which agitated the family not a little, and the strangers were regarded as not unconnected with them. In plain language, one creditor, more importunate than the rest, had announced to my father by letter, that unless his demand were settled against a certain day, a ■warrant would be issued ; and the day having long gone by, it was shrewdly enough suspected, that the strangers could be no other than sheriff's ofl^cers. " I was at this time within a few months of completing my sixteenth year, and my brothers were, the eldest by three years, the younger by a year and a half, my seniors. We were not ignorant that my father's affairs were embar- rassed ; indeed it would have been a hard task to conceal that fact from any member of the family ; but till he spoke out now in the bitterness of alarm, we had not entertained a suspicion that the evil had gone so far- Our feelings on 194 THE COUNTRY CURATE. the occasion may be imagined, but they cannot possibly be described. " ' Arrest you, my father ! ' we exclaimed in a breath. ' Who will dare to arrest you in your own house, sur- rounded by your own servants, and with your sons here to protect you ? By heavens, if the scoundrels lay but a finger upon you, or speak one insolent word to you or our mother, they shall sleep more soundly to-night than they bargained for ; but it wiU be in the bed of the Clwyd.' " We ran out ere my father had time to answer, and the alarm spreading to the servants' hall, and from thence to the outhouses, in five minutes' time there were a dozen men armed with guns, pitchforks, and scythes, ready to defend the approaches against any numbers. It was to no purpose that my father entreated us to hear reason, and pointed out the absolute madness of attempting to resist the execution of a legal process. We could see no mad- ness in the matter ; and hence, whilst he betook himself to the woods, in imitation of his more warUke ancestors, we deliberately drew up our band at the head of the avenue in battle-array. Leaving the people there under the command of the gardener, my brothers and I went forward, for the purpose of ascertaining the cause of an intrusion which we were prepared at all events to resent. " The strangers had not been inattentive observers of our movements ; and they now halted about half-way be- tween the house and the high road, as if irresolute how to act. They did not, however, retire, but waited our ap- proach ; and in answer to our question, put in no very courteous terms, they replied, by stating the simple truth as it was. ' They were extremely sorry ; it was a very unpleasant business, quite as disagreeable to them as it could be to us : but they were not to blame, and hoped that we would not interrupt or misuse them in the exe- cution of their duty.' — ' Wq have a warrant,' continued one of them. " ' A warrant ! * exclaimed my brother, ' and against whom .'' ' " ' Against Morgan Davies, Esq., for debt, at the suit of Messrs. Clutchem and Holdit, attomeys-at-law, Chester, THE MISER. 195 to the execution of which we trust that no opposition will be made,' as"a peaceable course wiU be best for aU parties.' " ' I give you five minutes to consider,' replied my brotherj dietiberately pulling out his watch, ' whether you will withdraw in sound skins, and carry back to your cheating employers a message of defiance, or be content to dangj^e by the neck upon that tree, or be rolled over the rock into the pool below. Your cursed warrants are of no value here, and you may say so to those who signed them.' " ' I beg you to consider, young gentleman,' replied the individual who spoke before, ' that the style in which you are talking is a very dangerous one. The law is not now to be resisted with impunity ; and if you compel us to go back without our prisoner, you may shortly receive a visit from those who will be likely to carry you all in a heap, where your quarters wo'n't be to your liking.' "' Do you bandy words with me, caitiff?' exclaimed my brother, furious with rage, at the same time making a grasp at the officer's bridle. This was the signal for our support to advance : they rushed forward, yelling like so many mountain-cats ; but the officers, with great judgment, decUned to abide the result. Snatching his reins hastily upwards, the spokesman contrived to elude his assailant's gripe, at the same moment that he wheeled his pony round, upon its haunches ; and his companion following the ex- ample, they set off at full speed down the avenue. Though we had thus repulsed them, we retained sufficiently the use of our reason to know, that any farther act of violence could not fail to bring about the worst consequences : so we contented ourselves, after discharging a volley of stones, to foUow them with hooting and laughter as far as the gate ; and leaving one to watch there against their return, we retraced our steps triumphantly to the hall. " So far we were doubtless victorious ; but my father, who was keenly alive to the results likely to ensue, by no means participated in our triumph. ' You have done more towards effecting the ruin of your house,' said he, in an agony of grief and despair, ' than any one since the forty- five could have done. I will go instantly to Chester, give myself up into the hands of Clutchera and Holdit, and en- 2 19b THE COUNTRY CURATE. deavour, if I can, to avert some of the consequences of your rashness ; but the very least that can happen will be a heavy fine, the payment of which wUl leave us no alter- native but to sell the lands.' It was in vain that we strove to reason him out of this determination. He set out next morning, accompanied by my two brothers, to throw him- self on the mercy of men who knew not the meaning of the word ; and he never revisited the house of his fathers again. " Ten days might have elapsed, after the occurrence of these adventures, when a body of dragoons, headed by three men in ordinary dresses, arrived at Llanrwst. To have attempted opposition to such a force would, under any circumstances, have been madness ; and those were absent whose fiery spirits and strong arms rendered them best qualified to take the lead in scenes of peril. My mother, therefore, issued positive orders that no hostile movement should be made ; and the troopers, who marched with great caution, sending out their scouts before them, and otherwise feehng their way, gained the lawn without an effort being made to arrest or impede them. Even now, however, either for ostentation-sake, or because resistance was still apprehended, they carried on their approaches in warlike fashion. The three civilians, with five dragoons dismounted, two others riding round, at the same time, to the back of the house, and, while the remaining three took charge of the horses, the first mentioned body marched with carabines loaded and primed towards the door. It was not even closed against them ; upon which a sentinel halting to keep up the communication, the other seven moved briskly into the hall. " All these evolutions took place under the eyes both of my mother and myself, Avho watched them with feelings equally strong, perhaps, but somewhat different in kind. As to my poor mother, fear was with her the predominant passion, — fear lest insult or injury should be offered to herself and her son, mixed with a vague apprehension of evil already wrought to her absent kindred. For myself, indignation and rage were the only sentiments of which I have now any recollection ; and the display of these was THE m:seb. 197 not checji^'without a violent struggle. But when I looked to my mother, and saw her pale and breathless, when I felt her l^n ujion me for support, and heard her beseech me, as I valued her peace, not to notice, even by an angry word, any insolence on the part of these intruders, — I de- termined to master my passion ; and, desperate as the effort was, I succeeded. We sat down side by side in the draw- ing-room, and awaited in silence the course which events should take. " We had not waited in this position many moments, when, the door being cautiously opened, first a trooper, and then the identical officer who had acted a principal part on a former occasion, entered. They were followed, on a given signal, by the rest; and the man of law, advancing into the middle of the room, addressed himself, in a tone half-supercilious, half-soothing, to my mother, — if ' Very sorry, ma'am, extremely sorry indeed, to be obliged to adopt these measures ; but the fault is entirely your own. I said when I was here last that no good would come of resistance ; and what has been the consequence ? There are Mr. Davies and his sons in hmbo, on a charge of deforcement and violence ; and the least that can happen to them will be transportation for fourteen years. But they would not take a plain man's advice, and now they are reaping the fruits of their ovra rashness. Do you think these are times when a Welsh landowner can put arms into his people's hands, and defy the law } No, no — we don't live in the days of blades and bucklers ; and that they will learn to their cost.' <' ' My good friend,' replied I, for my mother was too violently affected to speak, ' I trust that what you have just said is not true ; but, whether true or otherwise, it would have been more consistent with humanity had you concealed it in our present circumstances. There is no manhood in wounding the feelings of a lady, already, as you may perceive, ill able to bear up against the evils that surround her. Tell me, however, as the representative of my father in his absence, by what authority all this is done, and why our house is taken possession of by soldiers, as if it were an enemy's castle ? ' o 3 198 THE COUNTRY CURATE. " ' Unless my memory fall me/ replied the officer, ' you too, young gentleman, were engaged in opposing the exe- cution of justice. However, I don't want to be hard upon you ; and as we have three safe who are older, and ought therefore to have been wiser, we will not send you after them, — at least immediately. As to ray authority, it is easily given. I am here by virtue of a decree of court, which has condemned Morgan Davies, Esq., to the pay- ment of a fine of five hundred pounds, in default of which his goods and chattels are seized in the king's name ; and these soldiers are assisting in the execution of the writ, because I know, from experience, that any other authority is scarce likely to be regarded. Does this satisfy you ? ' showing his warrant at the same time. — ' And now, madam,' continued he, turning to my mother, ' it only remains for me to declare the plate, furniture, books, apparel, and other chattels in this house, arrested; and to inform you, that though we wiU not turn you out of doors, we must quarter ourselves upon you till an inventory of the effects to be sold at the suit of the crown be taken. Wq have ridden some distance this morning ; and men and horses stand in need of refreshment.' " ' That wiU be seen to/ replied my mother, command- ing in some degree her feelings ; ' but surely you cannot mean that Mr. Morgan and my sons are under sentence of transportation. He took no part in the violence of which you complain ; and they, young and inexperienced, acted under the impulse of a momentary delusion, from which they are long ago recovered. They would not visit so slight an offence with so grievous a penalty.' " ' Why, no, ma'am, no,' said the officer, ' I don't mean that they would be banished, only that they deserved ba- nishment, — that's all. The thing, you see, is settled; and it is to pay the fine imposed in consequence of that violence that we are here. But I have other warrants besides ; a distress from Grasper and Swindel, to the amount of 600/. ; a foreclosed mortgage held by Hugh Wrench, value 3400/. ; a but I need not go over the whole. The truth is, ma'am, I'm very sorry, but I must say it, — the truth is, this house is no longer yours. We won't THE MISER. 199 drive you oiiit^to-night^ for it gets late ; and God forbid I should diffress any one, notwithstanding your people used me but scurvily a few days ago ; but to-morrow morning you must be moving. There is no alternative, and we must do our duty.' " ' Nay, mother,' said I, ' let us not stay a moment. I will help you to put up a few articles of dress, and we will go at once, were it to sleep in the fields.' " ' There is no occasion for going, you see, in such a hurry,' interrupted the officer. ' I tell you, you may stay here till to-morrow ; but as to putting up any thing, that is quite out of the question. Not a stick nor a rag can be removed from this house till the king's demands and Grasper's distress be satisfied.' " ' You would not surely deny us the privilege of secur- ing a change of habiliments ? ' " ' I can't aUow it on no account ; I must do my duty.' " ' Come then, Llewellin,' said my mother to me, rising as she spoke, ' this is no longer our home ; let us quit it, and find shelter for our heads where we can.' " ' Sure now !' said one of the troopers, ' you wo'n't suffer that. Master Sleek, no how ! You can't allow the poor creatures to go away without any thing to cover them but the clothes they wear ? ' " ' B — t them ! ' replied the officer, who could no longer keep up the farce of acting with civility. ' If I were to tie them neck and crop, and lodge them in the cellar, it would be no more than they deserve. They talk of hang- ing up honest men in the execution of their duty ! Things have come to a pretty pass, when a set of beggarly Welsh runts use threats to their betters, and deforce the persons of king's officers. Let them go and be d d, or stay and be d d, all's one to me; only they take nothing with them, as sure as my name is Dick Sleek,' " The tone of the fellow's voice, not less than the vio- lence of his manner, increased my mother's anxiety to escape from a place where she no longer considered herself or me secure from personal violence. She accordingly hurried towards the door, and dragging me after her, ran, rather than walked, forth into the air. No opposition was o 4) 200 THE COUNTRY CURATE. made to this movement, for the voice of Sleek callii^g angrily to let the pass, -was warranty enough to the soldiers not to interrupt our progress. But we had pro- ceeded only a little way on our road ere a spectacle pre- sented itself, more gi-atifying, perhaps, than satisfactory, under existing circumstances. About fifty able-bodied men, armed with such weapons as chance brought first to hand, appeared advancing with quick steps towards the house. They were headed by Margery, — the same af- fectionate creature whom we so lately followed to the grave ; and they seemed animated with the same resolution of de- livering their lady and young master from thraldom, or perishing in the attempt. Alas ! it was a useless, and not altogether a safe, display of the attachment which did exist, and which I am willing to believe still exists, among the mountains, — between tenants and their landlord. It could have availed us nothing, under any circumstances; and now was not without the hazard of involving us in still greater difficulties. Happily, however, the men, though violently excited, were not deaf to the voice of reason. They saw that we were safe — so far the first object was attained ; and as we assured them that any act of hostility committed by them towards the king's troops would be visited upon the head of my father, they consented, though not without reluctance, to disperse. They did so before the troopers, who had mounted and formed, were in a condition to act ; and, satisfied that all risk of a tumult was over, we readily accepted Margery's invitationj and accompanied her home." CHAPTER IV. THE MISER. '' Though I have related my own history up to the six- teenth year of my hfe, I have as yet given you no farther intimation of the existence of poor Margery, than by men- THE MISER. 201 tionino; her in the terms made use of a few moments asjo. I am mucK to blame in having so done ; for if ever there existed a hupian heing devoted to the interests of others^ and careles^'of her own, Margery Jones was that person. The truth, indeed, is, that Margery's ancestors had held a small farm under mine from time immemorial. Each succeeding generation Avas accordingly in the habit of looking up to the proprietors of Llanrwst as their natural protectors ; and long after the influence of feudal tenures ceased to be acknowledged, custom — perhaps a nobler principle — maintained an ascendency over them. Mar- gery herself, however, acknowledged claims even more sacred than these. It chanced that she was delivered of a child much about the same time with my mother, and being an exceedingly healthy, and then a good-looking woman, she was honoured by being chosen as my nurse. She did her duty by me rigidly ; and losing her own baby soon after I was removed to her cabin, she became as warmly attached to me as if I had been bone of her bone; and flesh of her flesh. " Margery's husband was one of those rough and law- less characters that are to be found in all parts of the world, — a determined poacher, not over-scrupulous in drawing distinctions between mine and thine, and withal totally disinchned to earn for himself a livelihood by honest industry. If he was brought once before the bench of magistrates, under accusation of various crimes, the thing occurred at least a hundred times ; and though my father, out of regard for his wife, took his part repeatedly, a case was, in the end, brought so home to him, that there "was no resisting it. He was sent to the county gaol, tried for sheep-stealing, and escaped death by the hands of the executioner, only to suffer transportation for life. But though her husband was thus dealt with, and richly merited his fate, honest Margery was by no means neglected by our people ; on the contrary, she was promoted to the of- fice of principal superintendent of the poultry-yard, was lodged in a snug cottage scarce a stone's throw from the domain, and became to all intents and purposes a member of the household. The kind creature's gratitude knew no 202 THE COUNTRY CURATE. bounds ; and as she had never borne but one child, which died as I have stated, she transferred the whole of her af- fections, which were neither transient nor hght, to the kindred of her benefactor. " It is scarcely necessary to say, that having spent the first two years of my Ufe chiefly under Margery's super- intendence, my affection for her was hardly less lively than hers for me. She was to me, during the whole of my boyhood, a sort of second mother; only that she never dreamed of thwarting me in any inclination, no matter how extravagant or improper. Did I covet any thing which was denied me at home, I had only to tell Margery of the circumstance, and if the treasure were to be pro- cured by any exertion of hers, I seldom sighed in vain. In a word, the highest of all duties, in that kind soul's estimation, was to advance the happiness of her child, and to attain that she would have esteemed the sacrifice of life itself as a thing not to be spoken about. "As long as affairs went smoothly with us, it would have been strange indeed had Margery failed to share our prosperity. WTien the horizon began to blacken, none was longer in seeing the storm as it collected, nor more sincere in lamenting its occurrence. A rumour no sooner got abroad that her master was likely to be arrested, than she gave up every thought to the devising of plans for the prevention of so great a calamity; and reasoning about present times from the tales which were familiar to her of times of old, she considered no method more hkely to bring about the attainment of her wishes, than to call in the aid of the tenants at large. For this purpose, she went over the lands, unknown to us, inciting the yeomanry to stand by their chief against the enemies which threat- ened him. She appealed to them as men, whose ancestors had, for ages, experienced the paternal care of the lords of Llanrwst ; and such was the wild energy of her manner, that she stirred them up to something hke her own en- thusiasm. Hence the facility with which the band was brought together, who, but for our opportune meeting, would have infallibly come to blows with the dragoons and whom we found it no easy matter to draw off from THE MISEH. 203 risking a skinnish, for the purpose of driving the Saxons, as they termed them, from the hall of their own master. " The evening was somewhat advanced ere our unwel- come guests came upon us ; consequently the shades of night were closing round us when we reached t?ie abode of Margery* It was a poor hovel, containing but two apart- ments, both of them upon the ground-floor ; but, poor as it was, it offered a shelter to heads otherwise houseless, and we availed ourselves of it thankfully. Besides, it was at all times remarkably clean. True, the floors were mud, and the bedsteads a couple of boxes fixed in the wall ; but then the earth was always well strewed with fresh rushes, and the bedding, if coarse, was pure as the spirit of clean- liness could make it. Moreover, Margery was the kindest and most attentive of hostesses. Lamenting sometimes the evil fortune which had reduced us to seek a night's lodging from her, — at other times pouring forth curses upon our persecutors, and for the most part summing up with the utterance of rude expressions of the great honour done to her cottage by such a presence, — she bustled about with the greatest avidity, and set before us, in a shorter space of time than could have been calculated upon, a wholesome supper of eggs, goats' milk, cheese, barley- bread, and butter fresh from the churn. The whole was arranged upon a cloth which would have done no discredit, either in fineness of texture or purity of colour, to the mansion of a noble, though it was the produce of her own tanghng, spinning, bleaching, and all, except weaving. " ' Now, you wiU eat a little bit, my lady,' said she, ' were it only to please poor Margery, and to keep up your heart after all that has happened this black day ; and proud shall I be when the squire returns, and all is right again, to think, that ray lady and my own darUng young master spent one evening not uncomfortably under the roof that they gave me.' " But Margery's expostulations, though repeated over and over again, failed in producing the desired effect with my mother. She was sick at heart ; and such a sickness as that admits of no other disposition holding with it a divided sovereignty. For myself, however, I was as yet 204 THE COUNTRY CURATE. too young to perceive the full extent of the calamity under which my house had fallen^ and I freely and even cheerfully partook of the meal which my kind nurse had provided. I slept soundly, too^ in one of the snug boxes of which notice has already been taken; whilst my poor mother scarcely lay down, and never closed an eye upon the other. " When the morrow came, it unavoidably brought with it the necessity of determining upon a question which had as yet been considered very vaguely — whither were we to go ? To remain where we were could serve no good pur- pose ; for our house was taken possession of, and its con- tents would shortly be sold off: whilst to abide with Mar- gery till inteihgence could be received from my father was an arrangement not to be thought of Besides, what had become of my father, and whence was it, that though ab- sent almost an entire fortnight, he had sent us no account either of his proceedings or prospects ? Then again, to go in quest of him in a large town, with none of whose inmates we had even a sHght acquaintance, appeared an undertaking too hazardous to be risked by a delicate woman and inexperienced boy. Nor was this all : our funds were at the lowest ebb; my father having taken along with him almost the whole of the little money which chanced to be in the house ; and though we found it prac- ticable enough to exist in the Vale of Clwyd upon credit, we were well aware that the same resource would not avail us in Chester. My mother wept bitterly as these melan- choly reflections crowded upon her ; and I and Margery wept too, — perhaps from a conviction that there was too much reason for her distress ; but more decidecUy, because we saw that she was unhappy. " ' Don't weep, my dear lady,' said Margery, sobbing audibly all the while: ' it's no use taking on; and sor- row only unfits us for exertion. What matters the evil of to-day ? Isn't to-morrow coming, and don't we read, that heaviness may last for a night, but joy cometh in the morning } ' " ' Ah, Margery,' replied my mother, ' upon us no such morning will ever dawn : there is an end for ever to the house of Llanrwst ; but ' THE MISER. 205 <' ' Now, Heaven forbid it, my lady/ exclaimed Mar- gery, drying'Uf' her tears, ' and let no one utter before me so dark a pro,phecy. An end to the house of Llanrwst ! No ! while these hands can labour, no child of that house shall lack a servant ; and as long as the servant is true, the lord cannot entirely fall. Darkness may be over you now, my lady, but it must depart ; and here,' placing her hand upon my shoulder, ' is he, that will yet bring back the house of Llanrwst to its ancient splendour. I may not live to see it, but sure I am, that my own darling will sleep again in peaceable possession of the home of his fathers.' " ' These are glowing visions of yours, Margery,' re- plied my mother, smiUng through her tears, ' and not un- worthy of the days when old nurses spoke in parables, and grey-haired bards possessed the faculty of foretelling events to come ; but this is not a moment to be wasted in looking so far before us. The matter at present to be decided is, " — what steps shall I and Llewellin take ? I would pro- ceed instantly in quest of Mr. Davies, but that, to say truth, I have not the means ; and where to raise funds for the journey I know not.' " ' And shall it be said, that the lady of Llanrwst wanted for money, whilst a tenant upon the squire's lands possessed a shilling .'' No ! ' She hurried out of the house as she spoke, and, for a full hour and a half, my mother and I were left to enjoy each other's conversation. " I retain no distinct recollection of what passed between us during the temporary absence of our hostess. I re- member, indeed, that my mother was absorbed with grief, and that I used my best efforts to cheer and support her ; but I remember still more vividly, that the appearance of Margery hurrying up the glen on her return was, espe- cially to me, no slight relief. In a few moments she entered the room where we sat, and, laying a leathern bag upon the table, exclaimed, with a smile upon her coun- tenance, — " ' Now, my lady, look there ! See what your own people have sent; and if there be not enough there to pay off all scores at once, and put you in quiet possession again 206 THE COUNTRY CURATE. of the place, there is more than suflScient to carry you to Chester, and support you there like a princess, till better times come.' " So saying, she tore open the mouth of the purse, shed out its contents with a trembling hand, and the surface of the table was covered in a trice with a display of all the coins of the realm. Margery was not satisfied with this ; she piled them up according to their order, the few guineas that were, apart from the silver, and the silver apart from the copper, and in the end pronounced, with a voice of marked triumph, ' that there were full three-and-twenty pourtds, nine shillings, and seven-pence, at her lady's con- trol.' In spite of her grief, my mother could not suppress a smile at the enthusiastic simplicity of Margery; whilst I, whose sorrows sat more lightly, laughed aloud. Honest Margery, mistaking the cause of our mirth, joined heartily in it ; and thus, for a few moments, the house of mourn- ing was literally changed into that of merriment. " ' I didn't go round half of them,' exclaimed the sim- ple creature : ' I hadn't time to see any except those nearest at hand ; and yet you see what I have collected already. "NVTiat wiU it be when the others know that the lady stands in need of help to recover her own .'' ' " ' But you know the exact amount that you have re- ceived from each, I hope,' said my mother ; ' as well as the names of all that have come thus generously forward ? " ' That I do : it is but justice to repeat them, that when the squire comes to his own again he may repay one good office by another.' " Margery here recapitulated the names of the few tenants on whom she had called, every one of whom cheer, fully handed over to her the sum-total of his ready cash ; and you need scarcely be told, that the memorandum then made was neither lost nor destroyed. " I do not know Avhether to say, that this mode of ob- taining a supply adequate to the expenses before us was gratifying to the feelings of my mother and myself, or the reverse. In one point of view, it was abundantly hu- miliating to accept of pecuniary accommodation of our inferiors and dependents; in another, the readiness with THE MISER. 207 which they came forward in an hour of need went farther to satisfy usjorP^)ur popularity than a thousand protestations of respect and affection, poured forth during the sunshine of good fortdne. To whichever side the balance leaned, however, one thing is very certain, — that we were at once too poor, and our case too pressing, to permit of a moment's hesitation as to the acceptance of the contribution. It was received thankfully as a loan ; and Margery being again sent out in quest of a vehicle to transport us, we made ready to set out, immediately on her return, for Chester. She was not many minutes absent on this occasion. A sort of covered car, drawn by a single horse, being procured, we shook the kind creature warmly by the hand ; but no reasoning of ours would induce her to stay behind. ' No, she had vowed to go with her young master over the world, and nothing but force should hinder her from keep- ing her word.' There was no resisting an argument thus urged ; so Margery, after giving up the key of her house to the friendly owner of the car, who insisted upon doing the duty of driver in person, mounted after us, and we began our journey, thus strangely attended, towards the low country. " No circumstance worthy of repetition occurred during the progress of this journey. On the part of my mother, it was a melancholy one ; for besides that her apprehen- sions for the safety of those most dear to her were exces- sive, she guessed, with too much reason, that she had turned her back upon the Vale of Clwyd for ever : on my part, hope, the love of change, and the anticipation of seeing again in a short time my father and brothers, in a great degree counterbalanced feelings of a more gloomy nature. Margery, likewise, appeared but little disposed to give way without a struggle to evil forebodings. With a freedom that exists not among English servants, but which in no instance passed the line of rigid respect, she exerted herself to chase away the dark thoughts which oppressed the mind of her mistress ; and, rude as her system of con- dolence was, it failed not to produce an effect. " The second day was considerably advanced, when, after crossing the Dee at the bridge of Alford, Chester 208 THE COTJNTBY CURATE with its commanding fortalice and antique ramparts, lay before us. It was now that my mother, apparently for the first time, began to consider, with the attention which they deserved, the real difficulties of her situation. Though not unacquainted with the localities of the city, which she had frequently visited, as well previous to her marriage as since, she was, nevertheless, somewhat at a loss where to estabUsh herself; for it was not her intention to appear, in her re- duced circumstances, among the friends of her earlier hfe, and of the meaner places of accommodation she knew no- thing. Then, again, there were considerable doubts as to the means of discovering my father. It was true that the villanous tipstaff had pretty plainly insinuated, that both he and his sons were inmates of a prison ; but there was something too horrible in that idea to be admitted, and, almost against conviction_, she held out stoutly against it. Happily for her, the worthy man who drove our car had been in the habit of deahng largely in the palatine capital, and thence was familiarly acquainted with more than one hostelry adapted to the state of our finances ; and to his guidance our treatment, at all events for the night, was in consequence committed. " Our postilion conducted us to a poor-looking inn, in a narrow lane in the suburbs, before the door of which we alighted. The mean appearance of the place caused my mother involuntarily to shudder, for it forced upon her, in broader outline than ever, the true picture of her con- dition ; and though the people were abundantly civil, and the Httle parlour into which we were ushered was not de- void of a certain air of snugness and comfort, the door was scarcely closed, when she threw herself down in an arm- chair, and wept bitterly. But the paroxysm soon passing away, she wound up her courage to the sticking-place; and having given directions that beds should be got ready, and Margery and our friendly postilion duly attended to, she drew her veil closely about her face, and putting her arm within mine, we walked abroad together. " In spite of the afflicting circumstances under which my first visit to the ancient city was paid, it would have been unnatural had the strange aspect of every thing withia THE MISER. 209 its circuit failed to strike me with wonder and amazement. The curioHS "Construction of the houses, with their pro- jecting balconies and covering walls ; the principal streets sunk so far beneath the level of the surrounding country, that to reach them it was necessary to descend a flight of steps ; the pave raised high above the lane, along which carriages were rolling; and the shops in a great degree hidden by their position from the foot passengers, — all these peculiarities operated Avith more than common force upon the imagination of one who had never till now beheld a place of greater importance than Denbigh. Then again, when I looked up, I saw that no rain could reach us ; for the galleries from either side stretched so far across, that a person standing in one might, with perfect ease, shake hands with his friend stantling in the other ; whilst the crowds of people that met us were viewed with the greater wonder, because, ere we descended to the level of the pro- menade, not a human being could be seen. " We traversed the principal street unnoticed, at least unrecognised by any one, and, ascending the eminence on which the castle stands, approached its fortified entrance. The sentinel stopped us on the drawbridge, to demand our business, and would have had us insert our names in a book kept for the purpose ; but, on my explaining to the officer that we were not desirous of going over the works, and that our object was to visit a prisoner, he at once dispensed with a custom which, in our case, could not have been fol- lowed without pain. He kindly invited us, moreover, to sit down in his httle guard-room, whilst a man went for- ward to ascertain whether my father were indeed in con- finement ; and the messenger returning soon afterwards with an announcement that the case was so, he received instructions to conduct us to the prison. " I pass by the particulars of the first interview between relatives separated under circumstances so painful, and thus painfully re-united. We found the prisoners inhabiting a suite of two small apartments, which they hired from the gaoler at an exorbitant rent, and worn down in health and spirits, not more from confinement than from mental dis- quiet. The pride of my brothers in particular had been 210 THE COUNTRY CURATE. grievously wounded, and, like young eagles shut up in a cage, they pined for the free range of earth and air to which they had from childhood been accustomed ; whilst my father, irritable at all times, fretted both himself and them by continual upbraidings. I need not say, that the embraces which passed from one to the other were given with an intensity of bitterness which spoke a language far more intelligible than words ; and that when the turnkey broke in to remind us that the hour of locking up was at hand, we found that not half that each had designed to say was said. My mother would have remained with the prisoners all night, but that my father positively prohibited the measure. We, accordingly, bade them good night; and, returning to our little inn, passed the remainder of the evening in a frame of mind upon which it is humiliating even now to look back. " Our first business on the following day was to look out for a private lodging, at once conveniently situated for visiting the gaol, and moderate in its rent. We were for- tunate enough to find one, not indeed remarkable for its elegance, but sufficiently comfortable ; and having little to remove in the shape of baggage or effects, we passed into it immediately. Here it was that Margery began that career of faithful and gratuitous service which ended only with her life. She cooked for us, waited upon us, washed our linen, and otherwise attended to our wants, not merely with cheerfulness, but with alacrity ; and the heavier the burden imposed upon her, the more zealously the trusty creature bent her back to it. But why continue these details .f* Let it suffice to say that, after an interval of another fortnight, an announcement arrived, that the fur- niture and effects of Llanrwst had been sold; that the money raised was suflUcient Lo discharge the amount of the fine ; and, consequently, that my father and brothers, who were imprisoned only till that should be paid, were set at large." th2 miser. Sll ^. CHAPTER V. THE 3IISER. * The first use which my father made of his hberty was to wait upon Messrs. Clutchem and Holdit, and to en- deavour to enter with them into some compromise for the liquidation of his debt. He found them not indispose ' " ' By all means, sir,' replied Clutchem. ' But what shall we do with the balance in your favour of one thou- sand two hundred and fifty pounds ? ' " ' Give it to me now, if you have it,' answered I. There was no delay in complying with this request. The sum of one thousand two hundred and fifty pounds, in Bank of England notes, was handed to me ; and putting these, with the accounts regtilarly receipted, in my pocket, I hurried home." Q 4 ~o2 THE COUNTRY CURATE. CHAPTER VII. THE MISER. " 1 STATED some time ago that the only individual with whom we maintained an acquaintance during our residence in Chester was the clergyman of the parish; and that^ taking a lively interest in our fortunes, he volunteered to direct my studies whilst reading for the church. Of late, circumstances had prevented me from seeing so much of him as I was formerly in the habit of doing ; and our inter- course, when it took place, had become less confidential : but my affairs were no sooner adjusted than I determined to open my whole soul to him, and consult him as to the most feasible plan to be pursued in my progress through life. To one thing, indeed, I had fully made up my mind, which was, not to break in, however pressing my neces- sities, upon the little capital of which I was master, but so to dispose of it, as that, without the hazard of loss, it might surely, if gradually, accumulate. Yet even on that head I stood no less in need of an adviser than on the subject of my own future proceedings. I accordingly waited upon the vicar at his house, was received with the warmth of a good heart, and the candour of an ingenuous temper, and told my story from beginning to end with as much calmness as I could command. I summed up the whole by requesting that he would favour me with his counsel, or point out any honest calling into which I could enter with a prospect of success. " He did not conceal, that the announcem.ent of my de- termination to devote the entire energies of my mind to one end greatly surprised him. He had never heard of a scheme more romantic, nor, he must be permitted to add, more extravagant; and he could not but blame me for having sacrificed so large a sum for the attainment of an object not worth the trouble of seeking. ' What possible chance is there,' continued he, ' that you, a young man. THE MISER. 233 totally unaQtijiainted with business, without connection, without interest, without what deserves to be called a capital, canrever succeed in advancing your fortunes to the amount requisite for this repurchase? And were the contrary the case, what is there in the idea of possessing a few barren hills and heaths, that should tempt you to sacri- fice every substantial enjoyment in life ? Really, ]\Ir. Davies, you must excuse me, if I pronounce the entire project to be that of an insane person.' " ' In your eyes,' answered I, ' and in the eyes of people in general, the project may appear the offspring of insanity; but in mine, and those who feel Uke me, it is not so. What to others would be ruin is to us annihilation ; for the whole world contains nothing worth living for beyond the range of the mountains that encircle Clwyd. Were it not for the hope of being able at some day — no matter how remote — to return thither, I would lie down and die where I am.' " The good man was visibly affected by the energy of my manner, and from that moment entered with greater zeal into my views. A variety of plans were discussed between us, all of %vhicb, however, fell to the ground in consequence of some impediment or other, till at last a thought struck him, and he gave it utterance, though not without some hesitation. " ' It is very clear,' said he, ' that trade will not answer, because you know nothing of it, and would, consequently, be a dupe to every knave who thought it worth while to cheat you. For none of the professions can you be fit for some years to come ; and time, in your case, is no less precious than money. I can think of only one opening for you. What say you to undertaking the office of usher at a school? There is a friend of mine at Bow, in the vicinity of London, who keeps a large and long established academy : I believe he stands in need of a classical assistant at this moment ; and I think there would be no difficulty in persuading him to receive you, on my recommendation.' " I grasped at the j)roposal without a moment's hesita- tion. ' There are two points, however,' said I, ' on which I should desire to be informed, previous to undertaking so 234 THE COUNTRY CUKATE. long a journey. The first is, how shall I be able to dispose- of my housekeeper ? from whom no consideration on earth will ever tempt me to separate ; and the second, can I cal- culate upon such a salary as will, at all events, leave me at liberty to dispose of my little fortune at interest ? ' " The vicar smiled. ' I will answer your last question first,' said he, ' because there is no difficulty in answering it. In such academies as that to which I design to intro- duce you, the ushers usually board with the head-master; and, therefore, unless it be for clothes, your expenses there will be very trifling. The salary will probably amount to forty or fifty pounds a year.' " ' Oh, then I am satisfied,' answered I ; ' one half of that sum will procure for Margery all, and more than all, that she can desire ; and my own stock of apparel, though not extravagant, is sufficiently ample to be kept up by a less expenditure than the other.' " ' But, my good friend,' replied he, ' you are not seri- ous in your design of carrying this honest Welshwoman wherever you go .f" ' " ' I never was more serious in my life,' replied I ; ' she acted the part of a mother to me in infancy — she has been more than a mother to me since, and death alone shall divide us the one from the other.' " ' Well, well,' said he, ' this too, I suppose, is one of those sentiments which the mountain air engenders ; but, whatever it may be, it is very amiable, and very creditable. Margery is a good servant : to that I can bear decided testimony ; and possibly we may find an opening for her, too, in the same family of which you are about to become a member. And now for the disposal of the twelve hun- dred pounds.' " I was too happy in the prospects which he had just opened out to me to be very willing, or, indeed, very able, to discuss any point besides. I, accordingly, entreated him to take charge of the money, and to apply it in any way which he should judge fitting; and I never found cause to lament that he acceded to the proposition. " I wiU not prolong my narrative by giving any detail either of the effect produced upon Margery, when our pro- THE MISER. 235 bable removal to London was announced to her, or of the preparation's''' wliich I deemed it prudent to make, in anti- cipation of a-sudden call. Let it suffice to state, that whilst the simple creature rejoiced at the occurrence of what was represented to be a fortunate event, she sought not to dis- guise her alarm at the prospect of undertaking so long a journey, by which, as she expressed it, ' we should be cut off from even a sight of the blessed hiUs where all our hopes centred.' Nevertheless, the assurance that no con- tingency should ever bring about a separation between her and myself seemed, at last, to reconcile her to the step, and she became, before long, quite as fidgety about the issue of the negotiation as I. But our anxiety was not doomed to be of long continuance. The course of post brought an answer to my friend's application^ in every respect such as he had anticipated ; and I was engaged as an usher in the Classical and Commercial Academy of the Rev, Stephen Stripe, upon terms even more advantageous than I had been led to expect. As Margery, likewise, was hired in the capacity of under laundry-maid, nothing now remained but to put our little affairs in order, and set out for the metropohs at as early a day as possible. " It required neither much time nor much attention to adjust the former of these matters. A small sum of money reconciled my landlord to the premature evacuation of his house ; and the worthy vicar cheerfully undertook the task of disposing, by auction, of such effects as I found it im- practicable at once to turn into cash ; so that by the even- ing of the second day we saw ourselves at liberty to move whithersoever we would ; and at an early hour in the morning of the third we mounted the stage, and bade adieu to Chester. " The journey was literally unproductive of a single incident of sufficient moment to leave a trace in the memory : it was tedious and irksome, as, in those days, journeys by a public conveyance always were ; but its tedium was neither diversified by the appearance of danger, enlivened by the presence of original companions, nor ren- dered memorable by any occurrence out of the ordinary range of stage-coach adventures. The case was somewhat 236 THE COUNTRY CURATE. different as we approached the capital. That labyrinth of brick and mortar, pouring out continually, and receiving continually back in succession, its thousands of men, horses, and carriages, was beheld with feelings of the most inde- scribable and complicated nature, both by my companion and myself : indeed, from the moment that we arrived fairly within its vortex, I, at least, may be said to have journeyed in a state of absolute stupor. " It was late in the evening ere our vehicle, after stop- ping at twenty different points to set down passengers and deliver parcels, made a final halt in the yard of the Sara- cen's Head, Whitechapel. We alighted, as soon as it was announced to us that the stage went no farther ; and being at once ignorant of the town, and indifferent as to the ele- gance or inelegance of a temporary quarter, I ordered that beds should be prepared. I will not say one word either about them or the general arrangements of the hotel. Doubtless, you cannot be ignorant of the chilling effect which is produced upon the mind of an ordinary stranger, who happens to establish himself, on his first arrival in London, at a coach-inn ; and you may perhaps imagine how grievously it was magnified in the case of one who felt himself to be a friendless adventurer. An absolute loathing came over me, as I contemplated the filthy cham- ber into which I was ushered : I sickened as I rolled down the bed clothes and beheld the sort of dormitory into which I might have inadvertently cast myself; and, wea- ried as I was with a week of incessant travel, I neither undressed nor slept soundly that night. " Long before the first glimmering of dawn broke through my chamber window, every disposition to doze was dispelled by the bustle and noise attendant upon the successive departure and arrival of at least a dozen public coaches. I rose just as a clock in the office below struck six ; and having made but an indifferent toilette in the dark, a measure to which the impossibility of obtaining any attention from waiters or chambermaids reduced me, I de- scended to the coffee room. If I had been disgusted by the objects which presented themselves to my different senses on the preceding night, those which met them now THE MISER. 237 were still more loathsome. A lamp, which was suspended from the 'roof, and had almost exhausted its oil, cast a feeble light- through the room, exhibiting half-a-dozen tables, overspread with glasses, fragments of tobacco-pipes, punch-bowls, some of them scarce empty, and other rem- nants of last night's debauch ; whilst a combination of every conceivable stench, rendered doubly powerful from confinement, produced an effect upon the sense of smell not to be described. I retreated from the disgusting scene more abruptly than I had approached it ; and, during the next three hours, found what amusement I could in saun- tering about the yard, and striving earnestly, but in vain, to inhale even one mouthful of pure air. " If I have appeared to dwell upon the circumstances attending my first arrival in London with a degree of minuteness to which the importance does not entitle them, my excuse must be, that they have left a trace in my me- mory not less enduring than that which the branding-iron leaves on the back of the criminal ; and that, even now, I cannot look back on the few miserable hours which 1 spent in the Saracen's Head without a shudder. "W^ithout en- tertaining any serious belief in the doctrine of omens, I could not, situated as I was, dismiss the idea, that the whole of my future career would take its character from the commencement ; and the agony occasioned by the con- viction, not the lapse of more than thirty years has taught me to forget. Heaven knows that the dark presage was not admitted without reason. But it matters not. The grand object of my life is attained ; and though the efforts necessary to its attainment have been unintermitting, and the privations and sufferings which went along with them such as can be known only to God and myself, the result has taught me neither to lament the one, nor repine at the other. " Having partaken of a decoction of sloe leaves, ren- dered less harsh by the admixture of a drop or two of milk and water, which, with a few thin sUces of bread and butter, was served up as breakfast, I prevailed upon Mar- gery, not without some difficulty, to remain where she was, whilst I, putting my credentials in my pocket, sallied 238 THE COUNTRY CURATE. forth in quest of our future home. By dint of repeated enquiries, I at last found myself in front of a large clumsy red-brick house, which stood a little to the left of the high road, from which it was separated by a court-yard and a high wall. There was no possibility of mistaking the uses to which it was devoted. The long, low wings which flanked the main body of the edifice, with the httle belfrey raising itself above the central roof, told a tale of ceaseless labour, miserable fare, and merciless regularity ; whilst a huge brass-plate, affixed to one of the folding gates, as- sured the passer-by that ' the Rev. Dr. Stripe' resided there ; and that he conducted the affairs of ' Gander Hill Classical and Commercial Seminary.' " I rang the bell, and after a pause of at least five minutes' duration, a wicket, or small door, was opened by a lad in a sort of undress livery, which, slovenly as it was, because manifestly made for a person twice his size, he appeared to have just huddled on for the purpose. On explaining my business, I was immediately invited to enter ; and ascending two or three steps to a flagged path- way, which divided into two equal parts an oblong grass- plot, I passed towards the house. The next minute I was ushered into what seemed to be a dining-parlour, where I was permitted, for perhaps ten minutes more, to enjoy the company of my own thoughts. " I need scarcely say, that the interval thus spent was very far from being an agreeable one. Up to the present moment, I had, less from ignorance than design, abstained from considering the office which I was about to assume in any other light except as something which held out to me the prospect of a competency. It is true, that when I did permit my thoughts to revert to my own schoolboy days, the insults and degradations to which the unhappy ushers were liable rose painfully into view ; but that was a picture which, as I could not look upon it without horror, I never voluntarily permitted to push itself into notice. Now that I was brought so immediately into contact with the reality, the case was widely different. I felt already humbled and debased. I saw before me only a prospect of grievances less easy to bear with patience, than others. '■S THE MISER. 239 in reality, perhaps, more serious; and I shrank with an unaccount^Te nervousness from the very interview which I had travelled some hundred miles to obtain. Such was the state of my thoughts when the door opened, and Dr. Stripe made his appearance. " Every person, situated as I then was, is a physiog- nomist. Aware that much, at least, of my future hap- piness would depend upon the disposition of my superior, I examined every line in his countenance with a scruti- nising stare ; and my satisfaction was not light, when I read palpable indications of a kind heart and an amiable temper. There was much of intelligence, likewise, in the keen blue eye, with a strong vein of humour about the mouth ; and if there was little elegance in the manner with which he saluted me, there was at all events a great deal of candour and cordiality. Our first interview ac- cordingly passed off to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. It was suggested that I should remove imme- diately to my future home, bringing Margery along with me ; and as a mark of respect to the friend at whose re- commendation the connection had been formed, I was in vited to dine that day as a guest with the family. " I am not going to weary you Avith a history of the many paltry annoyances to which for a period of a full year I submitted. In the doctor himself, it is true, I found throughout an indulgent and considerate superior ; and from the boys I met, for a time, with no molestation beyond what immemorial custom has authorised in like cases. My feUow-assistants, too, though the reverse of gentlemanly, were, in this respect, as civil as their nature would permit them to be; whilst among the parlour- boarders there were one or two whose amiable tempers and refined feelings went far to reconcile me to the somewhat humiliating task of tending them. But the satisfaction arising from these various sources was solely dashed by the intervention of annoyances in other quarters ; and these rose at length to such a height that they could not be borne. " Dr. Stripe was a -widower ; and though the father of six daughters, the youngest of whom could count full 240 THE COUNTRY CURATE. fifteen summers, he intrusted the management of his do- mestic matters to a woman, of the precise nature of whose claims upon him it might have heen difficult to determine. Mrs. Mathews sat at the head of the table, taking care to place beside herself, on all occasions, a daughter of her own, whom the Misses Stripe were taught to treat with the utmost deference. Both mother and daughter were dis- gustingly vulgar; but there was this difference between them, that the former made no effort to conceal her vul- garity, whilst the latter would have appeared, had the thing been practicable, exceedingly refined. I pitied the poor girls from my heart, subjected as they continually were to the overbearing violence of the one, and the supercilious impertinence of the other ; and I was too little master of the art of dissimulation to conceal my sentiments. The consequence was, that both Mrs. and Miss Mathews be- came my bitter enemies ; and possessing the inclination as well as the power to render my situation irksome, they neither checked the one nor abstained from using the other. " When I first arrived at Gander Hall, a chaml^er on the second fioor was allotted to me, not very commodious certainly, but sufficiently so to meet my wishes. I had been an inhabitant of the seminary about three months, when Mrs. Mathews discovered that the room would be wanted for a friend of hers, who was in the habit, from time to time, of passing a few days with her, and my trunks were very unceremoniously removed to a garret. I made no remonstrance against this, because I saw that the doctor possessed httle will of his own ; and I suppressed, as far as might be, eveiy indication that the arrangement was not to my taste. By acting thus, I doubtless avoided an altercation, which must have ended in my immediate dismissal from the school, but I only increased the hos- tility of Mrs. ]\Iathews, and drove her to devise new methods of exercising it. Every opportunity was in con- sequence taken to wound my feelings and trench upon my self-respect. Allusions were continually made before me to genteel beggars, who, without a penny to bless themselves withal, assumed the airs of people of con- THE MISER. 241 sequence. ^J table, I was uniformly placed at the most remote corner from what was understood to be the seat of dignity; and as often as strangers dined with us, the in- genuity of Mrs. Mathews and her daughter was tasked to insult me. Nor did the matter end here. My fellow- assistants, taking their tone from the lady of the house, affected to look upon me as a troublesome interloper, and the very boys were encouraged to play tricks at my ex- pense. Nevertheless, I bore all for a full twelvemonth, if not with patience, at least without a murmur ; and had the raahce of these harpies been satisfied to vent itself upon me, I should have probably endured it still longer. It appeared in the end, however, that the animosity enter- tained for me was extended to poor Margery also, A thousand contumelies and hardships were laid upon her, which she, actuated by the same motive with myself, ab- stained from noticing ; nor should I have discovered the truth at all, but for an accident. ''It happened that I was taken ill one night, and quit- ting my garret in the dark, I stumbled over something which lay outside the door. The cry as of one suddenly roused from sleep informed me, that my foot had kicked against a human being ; and my astonishment may be con- ceived, when, on examination, I found that that human being was Margery. I demanded an explanation of the circumstances which brought her here. At first, the con- siderate creature would have concealed them ; but on pressing the matter, I learned, that during the last month she had rested her over-wrought limbs on no softer bed. The servants, instigated by Mrs. Mathews, not only re- fused to hold any communication with her, but drove her, by repeated acts of personal violence, from their apart- ment ; and the simple soul, as if there were some virtue in being near me, had ever since slept where I found her. jNIy indignation knew no bounds. I determined at all hazards to inform Dr. Stripe how affairs stood, and either to obtain redress, especially for ^Margery, or resign my situation. " I saw the doctor early on the following morning, and without any circumlocution told my tale. He was undis . R 242 THE COUNTRY CURATE. guisedly shocked at what he heard ; but when I ventured to accuse Mrs. Mathews of being in fault, the worthy man's anger took a somewhat different direction. ' The thing was utterly impossible. Mrs. Mathews had super- intended the management of his family for more than thirteen years, and he had received the most convincing proof that she was both a trustworthy and a humane person. He could listen to no complaints brought against one in whom he reposed unbounded confidence, and he requested that I would on no account repeat them. But the ill-treatment of one of his servants, no matter by whom offered, should certainly be enquired into ; and in the mean while I had better resume the order of my duties.' " I was not to be thus diverted from my purpose, but again renewed my assertion, that Mrs. Mathews, and no other person, was to blame. ' Nay more, sir,' continued I, ' he must be morally blind that does not see, and worse than morally blind that does not resent, the treatment which your own daughters receive at the hands of that woman.' " I had proceeded thus far, when the door of the room burst open, and Mrs. Mathews herself, her eyes flashing fire, burst in. " ' So, sir,' said she, placing her hands on her sides, shaking her head violently, and advancing towards me, — ' so, sir, you presume to lodge complaints against me, — you dare to accuse me of behaving ill to Dr. Stripe's daughters, — you, a poor, proud, penniless, beggarly Welsh- man ! Well, it is all very well, sir,' continued she, turning 10 the doctor, ' very well indeed; but either this puppy, with his hag of a nurse, or whatever else she may be, quits this house, or I don't stay another hour in it.' " The doctor v/as sadly at a loss how to act. I believe that he loved his children tenderly : I know, indeed, that he was too good hearted not to love them ; and it was evident that he experienced a strong reluctance to exhibit before me, how perfectly destitute of authority he was in his own house : but his habitual deference for Mrs. Mathews was too powerful to be overcome by any other consideration. He would have addressed her in the tone THE MISER. 243 of a superior^if he could^ but the effort, though made, led to nothing, and his words, instead of controUing her passion , only augmented by attempting to soothe it. " ' Don't tell me of his meaning nothing,' continued the virago. ' Haven't I the use of my ears } and didn't I hear him lay to my charge, that I stirred up people to maltreat the Welshwoman, and that I behaved ill to the Miss Stripes .'* And am I to continue under the same roof with a make-mischief .f" If you think, sir, that I treat your daughters, sir, otherwise than is becoming in one whom you have placed at the head of your family, sir, then say so ; and I will relieve you, sir, of ray presence at once, sir ; but if not ' " ' Nay, nay, Mrs. Mathews,' interposed the doctor, submissively, ' you know very well that I never accused you of any such thing, and that I am not given to receive complaints of those whose worth I know. Let there be an end of this at once : I am sure Mr. Davies regrets that inadvertency, or excited feelings, hurried him into any such language as that which you justly deprecate ; and he is too manly, as well as too gentlemanly, not to say so.' " ' Am I expected to apologise to a person,' said I ' who has recourse to the contemptible practice of eaves dropping } ' " ' Eavesdropping, sirrah ! ' cried Mrs. Mathews, furious with rage ; ' I scorn your words. I am no eavesdropper not I ; but if you will speak falsehoods in so loud a tone, they must be overheard. I tell you what. Doctor Stripe, my mind is made up, — he or I must find another home within the hour.' "■ The doctor looked beseechingly towards me, and I could not mistake his meaning. " ' Make yourself perfectly easy on that head, madam, said I. 'I never intended^ unless matters had been dif- ferently arranged from what they are, to continue an inmate of this family, after making my present statement. — But let me remind you, sir, of one plain fact. You do your family infinite wrong, by condemning them to such an example as is now before them. Of what nature the tie may be which binds you and this woman together, I K 2 244 THE COUNTRY CURATE. know not; but with a daughter old enough, and suffi- ciently experienced, to sit at the head of your table, it must be singularly adhesive, since it compels you to fill her place with a stranger. Far be it from me, however, to dic- tate on such a subject : I have spoken my mind, and now I can only wish you farewell.' " 1 passed from the doctor's study, where the preced- ing conversation took place, to my own garret ; and began immediately to pack up my clothes. I was thus employed when Margery rushed in. " ' And is it on my account, honey dear,' said she, ' that you are going to leave a situation where, your own lips told me, you might be able in time to do much to- wards the attainment of our wishes.^ Siire, now, you wouldn't mind what I told at a moment when I was taken by surprise, and quarrel with the good doctor because of me ? ' " ' Even on your account, Margery,' said I. ' Nc consideration whatever should tempt me to remain another day under this roof. But do not distress yourself. 1 have received wrongs and insults enough in my own person, to justify our removal, independently of the treatment which they aflPorded you.' " ' If that be the case,' replied Margery, ' let us go instantly. Whilst I thought that I only suffered. Heaven forbid that I should complain ! because, what was I born for but to suffer in the cause of my master's house, and to bear a thousand things more than I have borne for my own darhng child ? But if they have put wrong or insult upon you, then indeed there is cause enough why we should leave them.' " Margery ran instantly to put her own wardrobe in order ; and she had scarcely disappeared, when, to my ex- treme surprise. Dr. Stripe himself entered. " ^ I am very sorry, Mr. Davies,' said he, ' at wha; has happened. I have entertained for you, from the first, a sincere regard, and I cannot bear the idea of thus dis- missing a young gentleman, who came recommended to me by one of the oldest and best friends that I have in the world; but you see how I am circumstanced. That THE MISER. 245 continued he, looking cautiously round and lower- ing his voiee,*' is essential to me, — I cannot do without her. I admit the coarseness of her manner; I am not insensible to the indelicacy of her behaviour towards my children ; and I see many more faults in her. But she knows my ways; she is thoroughly honest; and I have been so long accustomed to depend upon her, that I could not carry on the establishment without her. You and I, therefore, must part. But let us not part in anger. Here is the amount of what is due to you ; and rest assured, that if ever you stand in need of my advice or assistance you shall have it.' " I thanked him, not without emotion ; for I pitied the good man, and I beheved his professions of friendship to be sincere. " ' And whither do you mean to go ? ' asked he ; ' and to what occupation do you intend to turn ? ' " ' These are questions,' replied I, ' to neither of which I can reply. My first design is to hire a cheap lodging somewhere, and my next, to trust to Providence.' " ' Are you disposed to take a situation in some other school ? ' continued he. " I answered decidedly in the negative : in truth, my blood boiled at the bare possibiUty of again subjecting my- self to such a degradation. " ' But you must do something,' continued the worthy man. ' Your design of taking orders is not unknown to me, and should nothing better offer, I hold a living in Kent, to the curacy of which I will gladly appoint you. But you are not yet of age to be ordained, and you cannot exist for a year upon that pittance. " ' I will do my best,' answered I ; ' besides, I have met at your table more than one individual who has given me an insight into life, such as I never had before. I will see whether my own talents may not avad something, through the medium of the press.' " ' Well,' said the doctor, ' if that be your bent, I may be able to ' " Mrs. Mathews's voice was now heard at the bottom of the stairs, and the doctor, starting as if a thunderbolt had R 3 Qi6 THE COUNTRY CURATE. burst near him, squeezed my hand, and abruptly quitted me. My preparations, however, were by this time com- plete. I took my trunk in my hand, descended the stairs, and meeting Margery equally loaded in the court-yard, we passed on unnoticed, at all events unheeded, into the Hackney Road." CHAPTER VIII. THE MISER. " As chance would have it, a stage happened to be passing jiist as the gate of Gander Hall closed after us, and the coachman pulling up, we took our places in it imme- diately. We proceeded onwards towards the capital at a rapid rate ; but rapidity of motion failed in this instance to produce its customary effect, for seldom has traveller had less cause to rejoice at it. I was going I knew not whither ; I was ignorant even of a fitting place of shelter for the night ; and as to any scheme for to-morrow and the day after, none such had been devised or considered. It was therefore with regret, rather than satisfaction, that I beheld street after street left behind ; and when at last the arrival of the vehicle at its place of destination com- pelled me to abandon it, I felt somewhat hke a man who, destitute of a guide, is overtaken by darkness on a moor, across which there lies no beaten track. " I hired a lodging for Margery and myself in one of the most obscure of the obscure streets which communicate between the Strand and the river. It was not, as you may believe, either very elegant or very expensive, yet were the apartments far from being incommodious ; and after the ceaseless bustle of a school, the very quiet that sur- rounded me was welcomed as no trivial blessing. Here, during several months, I Uved without holding coramuni- THE MISER. 247 cation with a single individual except my nurse. I did not so much* Is pass the threshold during the whole of that time ; but devoting every energy of mind and body to the completion of a poem, I received by degrees an im- pression, that the visions which had hitherto passed obscurely and indistinctly through my mind might be reahsed. " In the mean while the slender stock of money with which I had embarked upon my new calling began, in spite of the most rigid economy, to diminish. I possessed, when I quitted Dr. Stripe's, something less than fifty pounds ; more than half that sum was expended ; yet the work, upon the success of which I calculated for a fresh supply, was by no means in a state of forwardness. My constitution, likewise, accustomed to the free air of the country, began to suffer from long confinement in a city ; and my spirits, sinking with the decay of the bodily ma- chine, refused to support me longer in my mental toil. Under these circumstances, I was at last persuaded by Margery, who watched over me with the tenderness of a mother, to lay aside the pen, which my own conviction assured me was now wielded to little purpose ; and to seek in exercise a recovery of the tone, of which so great a change of habits had deprived me. " I walked out, and taking the direction of the Park, found myself before long by the margin of the Serpentine, and gazing with delighted eye upon the hvely scene around. It was a cold, clear, bracing day in January ; and the river being frozen over, its surface was covered with skaters, who passed to and fro with the velocity of the wind, or moved about and about within a narrow compass. On either bank were crowds of pedestrians, of all ages, and both sexes, with here and there a carriage filled with as much of beauty and fashion as still lingered within the magic circle of London. It was the first time that I had ever witnessed a spectacle, which not less, perhaps, than any other about town, is calculated to attract the notice of a stranger ; and the effect produced upon me was, as it usually is, in the highest degree exhilarating and agreeable. R 4 248 THE COUNTRY CURATE. " I had enjoyed it to satiety, and was retracing my steps towards Cecil Street, when, en passing the upper end of the basin, my attention was powerfully arrested by a small group of persons who appeared to keep entirely aloof from the crowd. There was a plain carriage stand- ing on the drive, within which sat two ladies and an elderly gentleman; a boy, well dressed and beautifully formed, skated near, and the party appeared to watch his evolutions with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. He was a fine, bold, manly fellow ; and though manifestly a beginner in the art, exhibited no symptom of distrust either in his own powers or in the frozen element. On the contrary, he seemed absolutely to court danger; for, though a board, set up by the Humane Society, warned him that at a certain point the ice could not be relied upon, he all at once dashed off in the direction. The movement was beheld by those on land with undisguised horror. The ladies screamed; the gentleman rose, and called loudly to him ; but the lad merely waved his hand in reply, and rushed onwards. It was a rash act, and the consequences were not different from what might have been anticipated. I had sprung forward instinctively, and was already upon the ice, when, with a plunge, the boy disappeared ; the frail substance on which he moved had given way, and he was immersed in the water. " I neither saw nor heard another object or sound, ex- cept the crash of the breaking ice, and the abrupt immer- sion of the youth ; I looked not once about to observe whether other aid might be nigh, but, springing forward, gained the edge of the pool, just as the boy, rising from his first plunge, showed his head above the surface. I grasped at him instantly ; but my weight was too much for the fractured ice, and instead of saving the boy, I my- self fell into the water. Still I kept my hold ; and, strug- gling hard, I contrived to plant him with one elbow upon the ice, whilst I supported him from behind, as well as I could, till, the alarm spreading, ropes were thrown, and we were both dragged to shore. But though the whole of the adventure, from its very commencement to its close, passed within the space of five minutes, so intense had been the THE MISER. 249 cold, or SO severe the shock to the youth's nerves, that he was dragg^ en it, and once in the ould shmight's chamber, it is all over wid him." Bushell, after a moment's pause, consented to this pro- position ; upon which the Jew, placing his mouth close to the young man's ear, whispered for some moments a secret apparently too horrible to be spoken aloud. His com- panion stood breathless and with hps apart, till the tempter THE PAKISE APPRENTICE. 329 ceased, andjthen staggered back a pace or two, like a man smitten ty a sudden wound. " WhaX !" exclaimed Noah in a tone of irony, " afraid, — afraid of a fe%v words, and disposed to forego ■wealth, a wife, and, more than all, revenge ! Is this my trusty help, mate in so many adventures?" " Man or devil ! for which you are I cannot tell," an- swered Bushell, " I am not afraid ; I shudder only because I believe that I am now in conversation with the blackest spirit that exists beyond the pit. "\Fho are you ? and how comes it that you possess so extraordinary an influence over me ? " " Poor Noah, de Jew pedler," repHed his companion in a voice of renewed submision, — " poor Noah Levi, who tries to turn an honest penny, by shelling tlie best bargains that are to be bought, and is alwaysh ready to sarve a friend. But it is time that we part. Goot night, Mashter Bushell ; I vill expect you about ten minutes after mid- night." The Jew fell off from Bushell's side as he spoke, and was almost immediately concealed from observation by a bend in the valley. It were no easy matter to describe the state of mind in which the young man continued his walk homeward. Of many crimes he had already been guilty; and his love of money increased upon him so fast, there was scarcely any which he was not prepared to commit, provided its com- mission promised only to put a few pounds in his pocket. But to the idea of taking away life he had not yet suf- ficiently habituated himself to permit his looking forward to such a scene as the Jew had described without horror. True, a loose and undefined consideration, that such a thing might be done — perhaps that it ought to be done — had of late repeatedly flashed across his mind. He had wished old Smeltum out of the way so frequently, that it was scarcely possible to avoid conjuring up an image of the mode by which so desirable an end might be effected : but till to-night no connected or digested scheme had been presented to him ; and hence the occurrence was regarded rather as a thing within the limits of possible attainment, 330 THE COUNTRY CURATE. than as absolutely determined upon. Now he found him- self on the very brink, as it were, of a tremendous per- cipice. He had pledged himself at least to assist in the performance of a deed which, his feelings even now told him, could never be forgotten ; and he saw that his whole future destiny hung, evenly balanced, for good or for evil. Nevertheless, there was a juggling fiend within, which strongly urged him by no means to retract from the pledge which he had given. " The Jew assures me," said he to himself, '' that of detection there is not the shadow of risk ; why then should I hesitate ? Will not this single act put me in possession of independence ? Don't I know that the old fellow is rich? — am I not certain that his riches will come to me ? — and has he not wronged me ? Away with coward misgiving ! I will be true to thee, Noah, as the steel is true to the flint ; and if I do not con- trive in the end to baffle thee of thy portion, then am 1 less knowing in such matters than I have hitherto sup- posed." He reached the door of the cottage where he lodged, just as he had arrived at this most Christian de- termination ; and passing hastily to his own room, made a show of eating his frugal supper, and threw himself upon the bed. In the mean while the pedler, who had not yet visited his old friend Smeltum, proceeded with a quick step towards the forge ; and being immediately recognised, received, as he was accustomed to do, a hearty welcome. An additional log was cast upon the kitchen fire ; and Martha, antici- pating the usual reward of her father's hospitality and her own attentions, made haste to arrange the supper-table in its customary order. A Dutch cheese, flanked on the one side by a huge brown loaf, and on the other by a mug of foaming ale, presented to the eyes of the hungry traveller a pleasant picture ; and glad was he when the smith, cut- ting off a capacious slice, laid it on a plate, and pushed it towards him. Noah ate voraciously, as he always did when the means of so doing were furnished gratis ; and his attention to the liquor was not less profound than to the more substantial portions of the repast " Why, thou beest sharp set, friend Noah ! " said THE PARISH APPRENTICE. 331 Smeltum -kughing, as for the last twenty years he had laughed at the Jew's peculiar manner of eating. " 1 wouldn't be a rasher of bacon in thy way now^ were there nobody by to watch proceedings. But never mind, pedler, eat on, and drink thy fill, — thou beest heartily welcome." " Tank thee, Mashter Smeltum," replied the Jew, in accents soft and oily, " If all Jews and all Christians were like thee, de poor would never go widout bread, nor de weary widout a place to rest upon. But what matters Jew or Christian? we are all de same flesh and blood. — Ah ! Miss Martha," continued he, turning to the one- eyed hostess, "^ v/hat can I shell thee to-night.'' Plenty of brooches all goold, pure virgin goold, as fair as thyself! There is a necklace too for thee, every single pearl worth the whole sura thou shalt have it for. Bless thy little heart ! let me hang it round thy neck, that we may see how well it becomes thee." This speech was followed by the production of the necklace, which Martha admired more ardently than her father admired its price ; and a scene of chaffering and bargain-driving ensued, of which it is not necessary to give any account. Strange to say, however, it ended in the Jew presenting the paste beads to the young woman, in testimony, as he himself asserted, of his sense of her and the smith's kindness ; and a feeling in his favour was in- stantly excited even warmer than before. Not only was the beer-can replenished, but a gin-bottle was produced, out of which Smeltum brewed for himself a tumbler of potent grog ; and the Israelite being invited to follow the example, a night of conviviality and hard-drinking began. Such was precisely the end which the wily pedler desired to effect. He told his best stories with more than his ac- customed humour : his stock of anecdotes and scandal seemed to be exhaustless ; and the smith's liberality be- came greater and greater, as the liquor which he swallowed took effect. Finally, after some half-dozen glasses had been emptied, four of them falling to the share of the host, the latter dropped from his stool, and was conveyed, in a state of utter intoxication, by Martha and the Jew^ to hi^ chamber. 332 THE COUNTRY CURATE. So far every thing had succeeded according to the ped- ler's most sanguine anticipations. His intended victim was in a condition which at once rendered him powerless of resistance^, and presented a fair opening to such as should attribute his sudden death to natural causes ; whilst the friendly terms on Avhich they parted would, under any circumstances, shield him from the suspicion of having offered violence to so kind a host. He, accordingly, saw Martha retire for the night, after spreading his pallet, as usual, upon the floor, with the savage exultation of a tiger watching its prey, and addressed himself, not as may be supposed to sleep, but to watch impatiently for the signal which should inform him that his bloody associate was at hand. It wanted a full hour of midnight when Martha, carrying the candle along with her, wished the Jew a good night, and withdrew. Noah was not, however, left in absolute darkness, for a few embers stiU burned ; and he took care, by raking together as many cinders as could be gathered from beneath, from time to time to feed them. It is strange that even the most hardened villain should feel less at ease in the dark, than when some rays of light are streaming round him ; yet that the case is so, all experience proves ; and never was more decided testimony brought forward to the justice of the conclusion, than Noah's conduct on the present occasion furnished. He nursed the little spark with the most scrupulous care and economy, placing over the live coal only as many pieces of fuel as would serve to hinder the flame from utterly expiring ; and having drawn his chair close to it, planted himself in such a position as to interrupt as much as possible the current of air. This done, he laid his watch upon the table, as if the circum- stance of being able to notice how time passed would cause it to pass more quickly ; and pulHng a dark lantern from his pocket, trimmed and arranged it, that nothing might require consideration when the moment of action came. In the mean while the night, which had from the first looked loweringly, began to overcast. Sudden gusts of wind, accompanied by smart showers, came up from the south j and striking fuU upon the casement of the room in THE PARISH APPRENTICE. 33S ■which tbcTsraelite sat^ produced a sound by no means ac- ceptable to one in his circumstances. Noah started as the leaden window-frame rattled to the blast, and gazed, with an anxious eye, sometimes towards the spot, sometimes at liis watch, whilst a sort of imprecation upon his associate's tardiness rose involuntarily to his lips. *' Will the rogue fail me ? " said he to himself, as he observed the hands of the timekeeper point to the stipulated moment, yet received no intimation that Bushell was near. " Is he more of a coward than of a ruffian after all ? Let me have him once in this scrape, and then, I think, I shall be able to make my own terms with him." He had scarcely pronounced these words when two gentle taps on the back-door an- nounced that Bushell was true to his pledge ; and the ped- ler, rising with greater alacrity than might have been expected from a person of his years, undid the fastenings, and his comrade entered. " This is an ugly night," said Bushell, shivering either from cold or violent nervous excitement, or both; " and it is bad for our purpose, too. The roads are wet and plashy, and it is impossible for me, at least, to go about the house without leaving prints of my feet behind. Hadn't we. better defer this busines-^ till to-morrow .'' " " After every other preparation ha^h been made, Mashier Jan ; after de old fool is ash drunk ash von beesht, and Martha sound ashleep ? No, no, it must be done now, or not done at all." " But my foot-marks will betray me," replied Bushell. " See here," lifting up his leg, " the very bricks retain the impression ; and what do you think boards and matting will do ? " " Vy, den, pull off your shoes, you vill valk lighter, and make less noise widout them ; and we don't want to dis- turb any body, you know." Tlie Jew busied himself as he spoke in blowing up a piece of smouldering wood into a flame, to which he ap- plied the candle from liis lantern. It ignited more suddenly than Bushel], at least, expected ; and he started as if the glare, thus suddenly ])roduce(l, Avere the effect of some- thing more than a natural cause. 334) THE COUNTRY CURATE. " Thou art timid, Jan," said the Jew with a sneer. " Timid, Jew ! " replied Bushell : " no ; but commonly prudent. There are chinks in that shutter through which any passer-by must see the flame which you have very needlessly excited. I know my way to the old fellow's room; and we don't want light to help us in the work we have to do there." " Pull off your shoes, then, and lead on," said the Jew, as he placed the candle in the lantern, and eftectually ob- scured it. Bushell did as he was desired ; and receiving the lantern into his hand^ groped forward through the passage. The ruffians reached the chamber door, Bushell in front, the Jew close behind, without exciting the smallest alarm ; and they found it, as indeed Noah had taken care they should, ajar. It was pushed open, and the heavy breath- ing of the sleeper guided them towards the spot where he lay. Here Bushell's courage failed him. He stopped, re- turned the lantern to his companion, and, in a whisper, declared that he had not the heart to proceed. " What ! and relinquish all?" said the Israelite, — " house, monish, business, a settlement for life, and revenge ! Thou art but a chicken-hearted villain, after all, Jan ; — I will do de deed." As he spoke he drew up the tin case of the lantern; and a stream of light, falling strongly over the bed, discovered the smith lying upon his back, and buried in profound slumber. Noah approached him, but the sleeping man moved at the moment, and, closing the case hastily, he shrunk back again. " My arm is too weak," whispered he. " If he resist, I shall hardly succeed in mastering him. Thou must do it. It is but a firm clutch, and all will be over in a minute." " Nay, then, here goes," replied the younger ruffian, wound up, as it seemed, to desperation. " Hold the light down, — so, so, and now " He did not pause to finish the sentence, but throwing himself with all his might upon the stomach of the sleeping THE PARISH APPRENTICE. 335 man, gra«^M him tightly by the throat. A few convulsive struggles followed, but they availed nothing to free the suffocating smith from his murderer, who pressed him down with the strength of a giant, and held his gripe till life was wholly extinct. '■' Now, then," whispered the Jew, who had taken no other part in the transaction besides being an unmoved spectator, " thou hast done thy business well. Cover up the carrion, and let us begone. " " Cover it up thyself, coward," replied Bushell, rushing furiously from the chamber. " I have had too much hand in the matter already, whilst thou, old tempter, stood by and did nothing." He had regained the kitchen, and was eagerly buckling on a shoe ere this speech came to a close ; but the pedler found leisure enough to arrange the dead man's bed, and rejoin him, before he could make good his retreat. One of his shoes was missing ; the friends searched for it every where, but to no purpose — it was not to be found. " In the name of fortune," cried Bushell, " what has become of it .'' I left it here by the fireside, but now it is gone ; and I of course am ruined." " We shall both be ruined if you linger here much longer," said the pedler, after vainly aiding in the search. " You must escape to your own house without it, and leave me to finditif it beabove ground." Bushell felt that there was truth in this observation ; an indescribable sense of horror, moreover, urged him to abandon the scene of guilt without delay ; and though he could not shut his eyes to the hazard of leaving such a proof of his presence be- hind, even the dread of discovery failed to operate with a counterbalancing weight against it. He rushed from the door unshod as he was ; and the Jew, closing it after him, extinguished the light. " Thou art in the toils as surely as ever foolish mouse was lured into the trap," said he ; " and if I make not a good thing of thee, den am I no true child of my fader. This housh is mine ; and thou shalt work for my profit as long as it shall suit my convenience." 336 THE COUNTRY CURATE. The callous ruffian threw himself upon his rug ; and when Martha came in in the morning, she found him fast asleep. CHAPTER XVIII. THE PARISH APPRENTICE. It is scarcely necessary to say, that the sudden death of old Smeltum soon became known throughout the parish, and that it produced every where a strong sensation. No suspicion of foul play was, however, excited ; for, in the first place, the corpse presented only such appearances as usually attach to. one who has died of apoplexy ; and, in the next place, there were no reasonable grounds upon which to charge any one with harbouring an evil design towards him. Every thing in the house was seen to be in the very same state in which it had been when the family retired to rest. No attempt at robbery had been made ; nothing of value was missing ; nor was a single article of furnitme displaced or injured ; and as the Jew averred that he had heard no noise during the night, sus- picion was entirely put to sleep. The consequence was, that no investigation took place as to the causes of Smeltum's decease. It was, by general consent, pronounced to be natural, — or, to speak more correctly, to have been occasioned by drinking to excess, and the smith was laid, with due solemnity, beside other "■ forefathers of the hamlet." In the mean while, John Bushell, with a self-possession hardly to be expected from him, repaired as usual to the forge, and among all who expressed surprise and regret at tbe sudden demise of its owner, none conducted himself with greater decorum than he. It seemed as if so un- THE PARISH APPRENTICE. 337 looked for a_^termination of the old manV career had ob- literated "eVery angry feeling from his memory, and he now spoke as if the kindnesses which he had received in early life alone retained a place there. But whilst he affected to grieve over the catastrophe, Bushell possessed too much cunning to risk any conjecture as to the probable causes of it ; on the contrary, he made it appear, that, ac- cording to his conception of things, the matter was altogether of a common order, — nay, he taxed his memory for facts, or, which served the same purpose, invented fictions, for the purpose of satisfying others, that of a tendency to apoplexy old Smeltum had often exhibit-ed symptoms. Be- tween the Jew and him, moreover, little or no intercourse took place. The former departed on the evening of the very day when the fatal discovery was made ; and he did not return till many months had elapsed, and the scheme, thus desperately begun, had received its accomplishment. Time passed, and Bushell failed not, as may easily be imagined, to turn it to the best advantage. He acted the part of a sincere friend towards Martha, conducting the business for her, helping to adjust her affairs, and other- wise aiding her with his skill and counsel. It would have been strange had the partiality which she long enter- tained for him failed to receive a fresh impetus under such circumstances. But a few weeks had expired from the day of the funeral ere all minor arrangements were com- pleted between them ; and before the third moon had changed the banns were published. Finally, John Bushell took to wife the daughter of his late master, and attained, in virtue of that union, the height of his ambition. But, though thus put in possession of what had long been the great object of his desires, the murderer soon dis- covered, that even success, however complete, will not com- pensate for the use of such means as he had been tempted to employ. His avarice was gratified, it is true, for the smith left behind him a larger property than he had been supposed to possess, and Bushell was not a man to squander it away : but the voice of conscience he found it imprac* ticable to stifle ; and the fear of discovery ceased not for a moment to torment him. Besides, the Jew's demands re z 33S THE COUNTRY CURATE. mained yet to be satisfied ; and the thought of giving up half of what had been so hardly earned to a miscreant, whom he both hated and despised, was scarcely less afflicting than remorse itself. But John knew that he was in the pedler's power : he more than half suspected him of being disposed to exercise it ; and, next to receiving intelligence that Noah was dead, he longed ardently once more to see and converse with him. In this state things continued — John, restless and uneasy amid his property, Martha hardly less so in con- sequence of the increasing brutality of her husband's tem- per — for about two years and a half; during the whole of which period Noah Levi came not near the place. As he had never absented himself from the neighbourhood for so long a space before, people began to apprehend that some evil had befallen him ; and John, readily giving credence to what he desired to be true, was preparing to adopt a similar opinion, when, to the joy of the parishioners in general, and the undisguised mortification of the smith, honest Levi once more presented himself at the forge. Time had wrought more than its usual effects upon the Israelite. His form was now bent almost double : his hair and beard were no longer grizzled, but white ; whilst his eye retained httle of its brilliancy : his voice was become cracked and broken ; and his manner had lost the whole of that levity and humour which formerly characterised it. In one re- spect, however, Noah seemed to have undergone no change: he was still as sharp as he had ever been in driving a bar- gain; and the nearer he approached to the land where wealth ceases to be valuable, the more intently were his faculties applied in seeking to amass it. Though anxious, for the most obvious of all reasons, to transact business with his friend Bushell, he had been unable to resist the temptation of loitering bv the way, wherever an opportunity of turning a penny presented itself, — and hence his presence in the country was not known to John, till after almost all his neighbours were aware of it. But it became known to him sufficiently early to renev; in full violence those personal fears, which had of late begun to torment him less con- 1 THE PARISH APPRENTICE. SSQ tinually ,;,'and no great while elapsed ere proofs were fur- nished that for such there was at least some ground. It was on a pleasant evening in Aprils about half an hour after sunset, that Bushell was interrupted in his labours by a visitant, whom of all others he at that mo- ment least desired to see. The smith was standing with his back to the doorway, surrounded by half-a-dozen plough- servants, busied in smelting some old iron into shape, and occasionally shovelling up a spoonful of coals as the furnace required it, when he was suddenly accosted in a voice and after a manner which, once heard, there was no possibility of mistaking. Bushell dropped his pincers and shovel, as he would have dropped a heated bar ; and turning hur- riedly round, beheld the Jew, loaded as usual beyond his strength, at his elbow. " Vat, Jan, still as industrious as ever !" exclaimed Noah, in a tone half-ironical, half-serious. " If ould Shmeltum coidd look up from his grave, he would hardly regret that his savings had passed into so close a gripe. Thou knowest how to keep a hold when thou gettest it, dat I can vouch for." " Devil !" exclaimed Bushell, forgetting himself on the impulse of the moment, " 1 had hoped that thou wert dead and damned months ago: — what brings thee hither.''" " A leetle business, Mashter Shmight," replied Noah, " between thee and me ; a small account to be settled, in which the balance, I take it, ish rather against thee, and in my favour." " Indeed ! " said Bushell, recovering his self-command in a moment. " I had forgotten that any such account was outstanding. But you have it doubtless in black and white, and can produce it." " By aU means," replied the Jew, putting his hand into a wallet that hung at his side, and dragging out a shoe. " I always keep it in dis — in dis — look ye, do ye know it.>" Bushell staggered back, — for it was the identical shoe which he had been compelled to leave behind on the night of the murder. lie saw at a glance for what purpose it had been preserved ; and feeling that his only chance of 340 THE COUNTRY CURATE. immunity lay in soothing^ not irritating, the pedler, he motioned to him to put it up. " I don't doubt your word Noah/' said he in a subdued tone. " I have known you too long to doubt it ; and you know me well enough to beheve, that I never meant to wrong you. We will look over the account another time : this evening, after supper if you will ; for you take up your old quarters, of course? " " Thank thee, Jan," rephed Levi ; " we will talk about that anon. In the mean time, I would gladly eat and drink, for I am both hungry and thirsty." " You shall have the best the house affords," said Bushell, motioning him to follow, and leading at once to- words the kitchen. Happily, Martha chanced to be abroad, and the associates lost not the favourable moment to pro- ceed at once to business. " How comes that shoe in thy possession, Noah } " de- manded Bushell, in a tone between anger and jeering. " I gathered it up, friend, when thou went away," re- plied the Israelite ; " and I have carefully preserved it, as the best of all proofs, that thou, and not I, did the deed." " Hell-hound ! " exclaimed the smith, " thou canst not say that. Was it not at thy suggestion.'' wert not thou the propounder of the whole scheme .'' " " Who, I }" rejoined Noah. " Not I, so help me the God of my fathers ! Besides, you know that I never laid hand upon him ; you, and you only, have his blood upon your head." " But you would not split, would you ? " asked Bushell in undisguised alarm. " Surely your own conscience teUs you, that our cause is common ? " " I am no traitor, Jan," replied the Jew, " provided I be fairly dealt with ; but more than two years have elapsed without bringing one communication from you, and twenty more might have slid away, had I not come hither to en- quire after it. I tell you frankly, that your life is in ray hands, and it shall be spared on one condition only. You must make over to me the title-deeds of this estate. The business you shall have at a moderate yearly rent ; but, so help me Heaven ! if you once fail in paying it, the secret shall come out, and then — take the consequence." THE PARISH APPRENTICE. 341 Bushell*Tose from his chair, paced the room from one corner to another several times, whilst the crafty Israelite watched «very movement with a glance of the most per- fect self-possession. " Scoundrel ! " he at last exclaimed, " in this our bargain, was it not agreed between us to share the booty ? and am I not ready to give up thy full portion, whenever it shall be demanded ? " " Ver true," replied Noah ; " but during some thirty moons or thereabouts I have been left in entire ignorance even as to the value of the booty of which you speak ; and had I not arrived in my own proper person to enquire into it, not one syllable of information would have been com- municated to me. Look ye, Jan ; I am as well disposed as yourself to act with openness. You have broken the contract ; and, therefore, if you reject my proposal, look to what shall follow." " But, my dear Noah," continued Bushell, changing his tone, " you would not surely reduce me to a condition worse than I was in before ? I tell you, there is not a moment of my sleeping or waking existence in which the old man fails to haunt me. I see him by day, and I see him by night ; he is uppermost in my mind when at work, at my meals, and in my bed ; surely you would not rob me of the poor recompense of so much misery .'' " " What is thy misery to me.''" rejoined the pedler with perfect composure ; " dat is thy own business : but this snug house, de freehold attached, de property in the funds, wid de custom of de shop, — these matters I do regard, and I must have them." " What if I say no to that proposal ? " Then thou shalt hang, as sure as my name is Noah Levi." The conference was here interrupted by the arrival of Martha, whom the pedler immediately greeted in the sub- dued manner which distinguished him in other days. Well pleased was she to receive again under her roof a man whom early associations had taught her to esteem ; and her preparations to entertain him were commensurate to the degree of satisfaction which his presence manifestly oc- casioned. But the pedler, strange to say, appeared indis- z 3 342 THE COUNTRY CURATE. posed to take advantage of them. V/hilst Martha was busy arranging the supper-table, he drev: from his bosom a deed, duly endorsed upon parchment, in a fair legal hand; and pushing it over to Bushell, requested him to affix his name at a particular corner which was left blank. " For what purpose is this ? " demanded the smith. "■ That you know already," replied Noah : " it remains for you to accomplish it or not, at your pleasure. But " " Ruffian ! " muttered the smith, " it will avail thee little ; but if I must, I must." So saying, he put his hand to the deed ; and the entire property of his murdered father-in-law passed in an instant into the possession of the Jew. " You stay here to-night } " added BusheU, with an ex- pression of ill-concealed fury in his eye. " I am sorry that I cannot," replied the Jew, " but I wiU do what is far better ; I will leave thee till Michael- mas to arrange thy affairs, and then I wiU visit thee again." He rose as he spoke, and, in spite of the entreaties both of Martha and her husband, quitted the house. During the six months which followed this strange scene, John Bushell's proceedings resembled rather those of an insane person than of a man in his sober senses. His business was neglected, and he wandered about from place to place, speaking to no one, and taking apparently no interest in any thing that passed around him. His sleep too, which ever since he came to the forge had been broken and uneasy, went from him entirely ; and his temper, always rugged, became absolutely savage. His wife received no gentle treatment at his hands ; and his very children (for Martha had brought him two) seemed to be objects of absolute loathing to him. Wild and incoherent sentences dropped from him, sometimes in his feverish slumbers, sometimes when wide awake ; and even the desire to amass money, which, up to the present moment, had shown itself in every proceeding, deserted him. At last, however, Michaelmas approached; and as if he had made up his mind to some novel course, which it would require all his energy to follow, he suddenly returned to his old habits. The forge was again frequented, and business resumed with the same THE PARISH APPRENTICE. 343 assiduity-ayformerly : his temper became gentle, pliable, and easy ; and his very wife appeared at least to receive her share of the kiminess which was lavished upon all. It is needless to say, that such conduct led to numerous guesses and sur- mises among the parishioners ; but John Bushell had always been to them a riddle, and could scarcely be said to have become more unintelligible of late than he was formerly. Michaelmas came at length, and with it came the Jew : punctual to the day appointed. This time he paused no- where to drive bargains ; but making straight for the forge, was welcomed with much seeming cordiality both by Bushell and his wife. Either the old man's shrewdness had deserted him, or Bushell played his part to admiration, for Noah scrupled not on this occasion to put himself com- pletely in the power of one whom he knew to be both dar- ing and desperate. He became the guest of his tenant ; and, as my guide to Team Hill had informed me, was never heard of from that night forward. The truth is, that Bushell, feeling or fancying that his life or that of the Jew must be sacrificed, made up his mind to avert his own fate, by hastening on that of his treacherous associate. It was not, however, as he himself affirmed, without a violent struggle, that he arrived at this desperate determination. The blood of one victim weighed already so heavily upon his soul, that the thought of adding another to the load could not, for many weeks, be admitted; but avarice, and a powerful feeling of self- preservation, overcame, in the end, every other consideration, and the Jew was devoted to destruction from the hour in which Bushell resumed his habits of industry. The old man blindly ran into the snare. He was artfully inveigled into a loose declaration, that he designed to prosecute his journey ere the family should be stirring in the morning ; and care having been taken that this should be said in the hearing of witnesses, the smith looked upon his main dif- ficulty as overcome : he was not deceived, for the Jew was already in his dotage. Martha, by her husband's orders, provided for them that night a substantial supper ; and liaving seen that the means of continuing the carouse were abundant, in case the 344 THE COUNTRY CURATE. two friends should feel disposed to indulge, she withdrew at a given signal. The movement was not lost upon the pedler, who, though far from being the man that he once was, retained still some portion of his original sagacity, and he instantly demanded of Bushell the cause of an ar- rangement so unusual. " You spoke of leaving us early," replied the smith ; " and as we have some important business to settle, I thought we had best take time by the forelock, and settle it to-night. How stand our accounts.''" " You owe me," replied the Jew, producing the deed of settlement, " exactly three years' rent of these tenements, and interest for two years and a half on four hundred pounds five per cents., which with compound interest will amount in all to one hundred and thirty pounds. But I was never harsh to a good tenant ; so I will remit thee, for old friendship's sake, the odd thirty, and give thee a discharge in full for the hundred." " Thou shalt have it, good Noah, with thanks," an- swered Bushell. " But tell me, worthy Master Levi, what that pack of thine contains. Art cheating wherever thou goest, as usual, vending baubles fcr things of value ? or is thy cargo really something worth this time, seeing thou hast disposed of so little of it ? " " I am no cheat, friend Jan, as thou canst testify ; indeed, I never sell aught except at a loss, God help me ! But I'll tell thee what, — de little box is richly laden this trip. I am from Paris, and carry to London articles fit only for de London market." " Well, well, I wish thee luck, Noah. But drink, man ; fill thy glass again ; 'tis rare Hollands, — never paid the King's duty, I trow ; there is no headache in a gallon." " One glass more, with all my heart," rephed the Jew ; '^ but as we have not such business in hand to-night as when last I sat drinking here, we need not drain the bottle too deeply. Ah ! that was a snug job. Hast forgotten, Jan, how the old fellow kicked and struggled } Truly, thou art a lusty dog to keep thy hold ; I thought at one time he would have cast thee off"." " Nay, nay, let that pass," replied the smith, pushing THE PARISH APPRENTICE. 345 the liquw* towards him. " 'T was an ugly business^ and ought to be forgotten by both." " So it is, so it is, now that there is fair play between us ; only things fall out strangely. 'T was on this very night, three years ago, that he and I sat at this very table, and drank from this very bottle ; and where is he now?" " Where thou shalt be in a moment," cried Bushell, who had approached the old man unheeded, and now seizing him furiously by the throat, threw him to the ground. " The trick is thine own, hoary ruffian!" he continued, seating himself at the same time on the pedler's stomach, and forcibly suppressing his breath. " I thank thee for teaching it, chiefly because I am permitted to play it ofF upon thyself." But the pedler was not to be van- quished as old Smeltum had been, seeing that his senses were not stupified with drink ; and though incapable of a successful resistance against a man in the full vigour of youth, he nevertheless struggled with the energy of despair. He (.lisplaced the hand which covered his mouth and nose, uttered a shrill and piteous cry, and would have repeated it, had not the smith changed his mode of attack, ere time was allowed to draw breath. With a giant's strength he tore the old man's head forward towards his breast, and casting himself with all his might upon it, dislocated the neck in an instant. But the cry, though short and some- what stifled, had not been emitted in vain. The murderer still sat upon his victim, when the door of the room burst open, and his wife, breathless with horror and alarmj stood before him. " Woman ! " shrieked Bushell, rising and grasping her violently by the arm, " you have seen that which you ought not to have seen ; but know this, that the brute who now lies there stark and stiff took away the life of your father, and would have reduced your children to beggary. Swear, therefore, over his corpse, that the secret of this night shall never be divulged, or, by Heaven ! you share his fate." Poor Martha's brain swam round. She repeated the words of the oath which her savage husband dictated, and reeled, rather than walked, back to her own chamber ; but 346 THE COUNTRY CURATE. from that moment her intellects were never settled, and she became within the twelvemonth utterly insane. Bushell, however, looked not to her. Having carefully stripped the pack of every thing valuable, made himself master of the deed of assignment, and emptied the pedler's pockets, he removed the body to a place of concealment which he had long prepared for it ; and so prudently had his plans been arranged that it rested there, unsought for, during a space of more than thirty years. No one, indeed, dreamed of enquiring what had become of the Jew. He was be- lieved to have taken his departure, as he threatened to do, early in the morning after his arrival at the forge ; and if he never returned, the fact seemed sufficiently accounted for, by his age and increasing infirmities. The remainder of this bloody tale is told in few words. Put once more in possession of his ill-gotten gains, and enriched by the plunder of his associate, Bushell began, before long, to look higher in the world ; and the farm of Team Hill faUing vacant, he applied for a lease, and ob- tained it. The forge, however, no bribe would tempt him either to sell or to let. Many advantageous offers were made, but he rejected them all ; and at last, to the sur prise and regret of the parishioners at large, the building was pulled down. In its place a barn was erected, which though at an apparently inconvenient distance from his dwelling, Bushell persisted in using, after he had, with uncommon care, and at a very considerable expense, boarded it over. For a short time after his removal to Team Hill, Bushell affected a hospitality and openness of manner which sat not well upon him. He took a leading part in parish matters, too ; attended all vestries, undertook the most laborious offices, and discharged them with ability and credit ; yet his neighbours could not bring themselves to regard him with any other eye besides that of distrust and suspicion. Very few would visit him, and fewer still spoke of him in other terms besides those of unmitigated dis- like ; till, professing to be disgusted with their envy of his prosperity, he withdrew himself from society altogether. Much about the same time the eldest of his children died ; THE PARISH APPRENTICE. 347 and his v^&t^ who had not recovered the shock occasioned by the scene of which she was a witness, went raving mad. He removed her, without delay, to an asylum no one knew where, and hired a housekeeper, whom, with an unac- countable inconsistency, he paid extravagantly, to keep her about hira ; but little advantage accrued from this change. His own conscience could not be lulled asleep ; and as his parsimony prevented him from drowning it in liquor, it preyed upon him day and night. His temper became more and more harsh, more and more sullen, more and more austere. His second child, driven from her home by the severity of her father, became a common prostitute, and perished miserably in London. Every thing, in short, went wrong with him, save his pecuniary affairs, and from the flourishing condition of these he derived no soUd gratification. In this manner the wretched man dragged on for many years an existence as worthless to himself as to others ; suflTering, as he frankly confessed, all the torments of the damned. One good or generous action he was never known to have performed ; and he died at last, not only unregretted, but universally abhorred. Yet his wealth perished not with him : the whole of it was bequeathed to public charities, with the vain and superstitious hope, expressed in his will, that the use to which it was applied might, perhaps, atone for the means adopted in its accu- mulation. It is only necessary to add, that after Bushell himself had been committed to the dust, a search was, at my sug- gestion, instituted for the bones of the Jew. It was not unsuccessful. The boarded floor of the new barn being removed, a skeleton was found, bent completely double, about three feet under ground, just beneath the spot where the great anvil used to stand ; and no doubt can exist, that that very hole, from which Le^i had so often drawn his dishonest gains, became at last his grave. THE END. London : Printed by A. Spottiswoode, New-Street-Square. New Burlington Street, Aug. 28. 1834. cheapMst library or entertain- ment. THE STANDARD NOVELS AND ROMANCES, FORMING A CHOICE LIBRARY OF THE BEST MODERN WORKS OF FICTION. In Volumes, one of which generally includes an entire Novel, neatly bound for the Library, illustrated by Engravings from designs by eminent Artists, and printed so as to correspond WITH THE New Edition of Sir Walter Scott's Novels, and containing nearly double the quantity. Each Volume, price 6s., may be had separately. This popular work now includes many of the most celebrated fictions written subsequently to the time of Fielding and Smollett, and will, therefore, with the " Waverley Novels," complete, in a uniform series, the circle of English Classics in this branch of literature. It is fortunate for the present age, that the produc- tions of its gifted Novelists should, unlike those of their prede- cessors, be of so decorous and moral a nature, as to raise in the mind of a Publisher, who should seek, by a cheap and popular form of publication, to give them wider currency, no fear of spreading contamination among youthful readers. " The Standard No- yELs" deserve the eulogy of being, in every respect, fit for the perusal, not only of those of mature age, but of tlie fair and the young. *^* This Cheap and Elegant Library of Entertainment now includes the most esteemed productions of — Bulwer Miss Austen Cooper The Misses Lee Theodore Hook The Misses Porter Godwin Madame de Stael Gait Mrs. Inchbald Banim Mrs. Brunton THE STANDARD NOVELS AND ROMANCES. Victor Hugo Mrs. Shelley Schiller The Author of " Mothers and Daughters" Brockden Brown The Author of " Stories of Waterloo" Grattan, &c. &c. &c. Each Story, in nearly every instance, is complete in itself, for 6s. Vol. 43. will contain The Betrothed, by Manzoni, translated from the Italian expressly for this Edition. Cooper has built most of his striking stories on the lasting foundation of those great and various events which arose during the American Revolution, and which are not only of the highest interest in themselves, but, being nearly as much connected with the English as with the American annals, possess a strong hold on the attention of readers in this country, and are likely, in progress of time, to give back to history the celebrity which at present, in addition to their own attractions, they derive from it. " Prior to the appearance of Cooper's Romances," says the Edinburgh Re- view, " how little had been done for the poetry of the sea! The comic side of a naval life had been displayed with ample detail ; but for its loftier and more tragic aspect — its alternations of tem- pest and calm, of labour and listless idleness, of battle and giddy revelry, of bright moonlights and weary days when mists obscure the sun — what had been attempted ? " To this may be added the opinion expressed by. the Atlas. " The power with which the scenes on the waste of waters are depicted, and the living interest with which Cooper invests every particle of a ship, as if it were all an intelligent being, cannot be excelled, and has never been reached by any author with whom we are acquainted. For these qualities, his novels will live with the language ; for we may look in vain elsewhere for pictures so vivid, so faithful, and so intelligible. The genius of Cooper is indeed so graphic and dramatic, and so great is his art of constructing a story, which shall irresistibly lead on the reader to the last page, as to have obtained for him, by uni- versal consent, here and among our brethren on the other side of the Atlantic, the title of the American Walter Scott. Godwin, in his " Caleb Williams," " St. Leon," and " Fleet- wood," has founded a school of novel-writing which ranks among its adherents many persons of distinguished talent ; but, though the disciples of this school are numerous, and the spirit of emu- lation strong, none has attained that vast power which, in the hands of the founder, shook the public mind with emotions, and engaged it by sympathies that, till his novels appeared, had scarcely ever been called into action, though their existence was deep in the human heart. Miss Porter's popularity continues undin.inished: the names THE STANDARD NOVELS AND ROMANCES. of " Thaddeus of Warsaw," " Scottish Chiefs," and " Pastor's Fire-side^are still heard as familiar and cherished household words in domestic circles. Of the daring romance, " Frankenstein," it has been said by Mr. Thomas Moore, in his « Life of Lord Byron," that it is " one of those original conceptions that take hold of the public mind at once and for ever." And the late statesman, Mr. Can- ning, alluded, in his place in the Senate, to " Frankenstein," which he designated as " the work of a child of genius." Brockden Brown, the American, is the most distinguished of the followers of Godwin. " He was a close and successful copyist of the English sage's style ; and they appear to have had com- munity of thought in their views, moral, religious, and political. Here, however, the resemblance ceases, and Brown becomes a gigantic original." The Misses Lee, in their well-known series of " Canterbury Tales," have not only won the applause of readers since the com- mencement of the present century, but have furnished themes for the dramatic works of several existing writers. Even Lord Byron was content to seek for inspiration in their pages ; witness his line tragedy of " Werner," which is avowedly taken from the story calfed '" Kruitzner," in the " Canterbury Tales." The following are the words of the noble poet : — " There are fine things in • The Canterbury Tales.' Nothing of Scott's is finer than | The German's Tale.'' I admired it when a boy, and have continued to like what I did then. This, I remember, particulariy affected me." Speaking of " Werner," the editor of the last edition of the noble poet's works says, " there is not one incident in his play, not even the most trivial, that is not in ]Miss Lee's novel. And then, as to the characters — not only is every one of them to be found in ' Kruitzner,' but every one is there more fully and powerfully developed. Miss Lee's story is one of the most power- fully conceived, one of the most picturesque, and at the same time instructive stories, that we are acquainted with. It would not, perhaps, be going too far to say, that the ' Canterbury Tales' exhibit more of that species of invention which, as we have already remarked, was never common in English literature, than any of the works even of those first-rate novelists we have named, with the single exception of Fielding." Few lovers of modern fiction are unaware of the remarkable success which attended the productions of the late Mrs. Brunton. Her " Self-Control" and " Discipline" are appealed to now, as they were on tlieir first appearance, as models for tlie conduct of persons of her own sex ; to which merit she adds, those of shrewd perception, skilful portraiture of character, and original invention of plot. One of the remarkable characteristics of Galt is to be found m the rare power he possesses of giving such an appearance of actual THB STANDARD NOVELS AND ROMANCES. truth to his narratives, as induces the reader to doubt whether that which he is perusing under the name of a novel is not rather a statement of amusing facts than an invented history. This veri- similitude extends itself to his humour, and to his delightful sketches of national character. It has been said of Miss Austen that, " notvpithstanding the temptation which nearly all writers are under (especially at the commencement of their vocation) to imitatethat which has com- manded distinguished success, she at once freed herself from such influence, and, with combined boldness and modesty, struck into a path of her own, of which she remains to this day the undisputed mistress. She is emphatically the novelist of home." The entire works of this popular writer are now comprised in " The Stand- ard Novels." * As a testimony to the genius of Mrs. Inchbald, we have the following extract from a letter of the celebrated novelist. Miss Edgeworth : — "I have just been reading for the third — I believe for the fourth — time the 'Simple Story.' Its effect upon my feelings was as powerful as at the first reading. I never read any novel — I except none — that affected me so strongly, or that so completely possessed me with the belief in the real existence of all the people it represents." The fictions of Mr. Banim are hh own in the strictest sense of those words. As was said, we believe, of Shakspeare, " he holds his pen in his heart," and what he writes goes immediately to the hearts of his readers. In his works, terror and mystery are joined, without the slightest violation of consistency, to the most natural occurrences; and his strong passion and striking incidents are tri- butary to truth. The celebrated story of "Eugene Aram," by the author of " Pelham ;" " Maxwell," by the author of " Sayings and Do- ings ;" " Mothers and Daughters ;" " Stories of Waterloo," by the author of "Wild Sports of the West;" "The Hunch- back OF Notre- Dame," by Victor Hugo; and "The Heiress OF Bruges," by Grattan ; are all likewise included in this Collec- tion ; and it may be not uninteresting to state that sui.li of the authors as are living have been prevailed upon to give their pro- ductions a final revision, and to add illustrative Notes and Intro- ductions expressly for their publication in this Series. The copyright of the Works in this Collection is the exclusive property of the Tublisher, and they can therefore only be procured in this edition. * Miss Austen's novels were most effectually introduced to general notice and admiration by a masterly essay on her works in the Quarterly Review, written by Sir Walter Scott. We are assured by one who must Know, that down to the last, Miss Austen's novels were more frequently m Sir Wal- ter's hands than any other novels of modern date; and it was not a bad pujf for anv novel to be read habitually to such circles as crowded the halls ot AD. botsfofd during months of every year, by the Author of Waverley. — Literary Gazette, August 10th, 1833. ;C^po/r n^- ^ ^OFCAIIFO;?^ ^^\^EUNIVER% ^v^SAKGElf/^ % '•^omim^ ^nvmm^ %a3AINa-3WV^ ^lOSANCElfj^ %a3AiNn-3\^ v^lOSANCEl% o DO ■^a3AINn-3WV^ -.^^UIBRARY^^ ^>^tLIBRARY<9/ ^OF-CAllFOff^ ^ ^OFCAIIFO/?/^ ^(^Aavaani^ ^^Aavaan-^^ ^ ^^^UIBRARY6>/^ ^ ^OFCALIFO/?^ ^(?Aavaan# ,\WEIJNIVER5/A. <: 'I.I .III i»j^ 3^ xSclOSANCEl% "'JUJIl¥\>Ul moR4/y .i^OFCALIFO/?^^ aani^ '^^Aavaaiii^ i? ^UEUNIVERy/A, ^v^-OSANCElfj „l'.l;,^.^!iIt^.E™,WGrarjAL LIBRARY FACILITY " AA 000 378 131 7 ^IVERS-M vlOSANr ^ «-3 ipu - =2 =: <£ -n CJ O liL fn ■>