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JOSEPH RUSHBROOK;

OR,

THE POACHER.

VOL. I.

JOSEPH RUSHBROOK

OR,

THE POACHER.

THE AUTHOR OF PETER SIMPLE.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON:
LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & CO.

PATERNOSTER ROW.

1841.

Printed by J. L. Cox and Sons, 15, Great Queen Street,
Lincoln's-Inn Fields.

' ' ' ;

T77
v./

CONTENTS

VOL. I.

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH THERE IS MORE ALE THAN

argument .... Page 1
CHAPTER II.

IX WHICH THE HERO OF THE TALE IS

FORMALLY INTRODUCED - - - 15

CHAPTER III.

TRAIN A CHILD IN THE WAY HE SHOULD
GO, AND HE WILL NOT DEPART FROM
IT - - - - - - - Og

vol. i. a

628016

V) CONTENTS.

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR HAS ENDEA-
VOURED, WITH ALL HIS POWER, TO
SUIT THE PRESENT TASTE OF THE

public ----- Page 38
CHAPTER V.

THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE VISITED

UPON THE CHILD - - - -52

CHAPTER VI.

THE WORLD BEFORE HIM, WHERE TO

CHOOSE ------ 61

CHAPTER VII.

IF YOU WANT EMPLOYMENT, GO TO LON-
DON ------

CHAPTER VIII.

A DISSERTATION UPON PEDIGREE - 85

CHAPTER IX.

IN WHICH THE ADVICE OF A FATHER

DESERVES PECULIAR ATTENTION - 92

CONTENTS. vii

CHAPTER X.

IN WHICH MAJOR M'SHANE NARRATES
SOME CURIOUS MATRIMONIAL SPECU-
LATIONS - Page 108

CHAPTER XI.

IN WHICH AN INTERCHANGE AND CON-
FIDENCE TAKES PLACE - 128

CHAPTER XII.

AN EXPEDITION, AS OF YORE, ACROSS

THE WATERS FOR A WIFE - - 141

CHAPTER XIII.

IN WHICH THERE IS SOME INFORMA-
TION RELATIVE TO THE CITY OF ST.
PETERSBURGH - - - -150

CHAPTER XIV.

GOING TO COURT, AND COURTING - - 170

CHAPTER XV.

A RUN- AWAY AND A HARD PURSUIT -184

viii CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XVI.

UETURN TO ENGLAND - - - Page 210

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DAY AETEH THE MURDER

210

CHAPTER XVIII.

A CORONER'S INQUEST - 231

CHAPTER XIX.

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND IN-
DEED 241

CHAPTER XX.

IX WHICH WE AGAIN FOLLOW UP OUR

HERO'S DESTINY - 252

CHAPTER XXI.

THE SCENE IS AGAIN SHIFTED, AND

THE PLOT ADVANCES - 264

THE POACHEB.

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH THERE IS MORE ALE THAN
ARGUMENT.

It was on a blusterous windy night in the
early part of November, 1812, that three
men were on the high road near to the little
village of Grassford, in the south of Devon-
shire. The moon was nearly at the full, but
the wild scud, and occasionally the more
opaque clouds, passed over it in such rapid
succession, that it was rarely, and but for a
moment or two, that the landscape was

VOL. I. b

2 THE POACHER.

thrown into light and shadow ; and the wind,
which was keen and piercing, bent and waved
the leafless branches of the trees which were
ranged along the hedge rows, between which
the road had been formed.

The three individuals to whom we have re-
ferred, appeared all of them to have been in-
dulging too freely in the ale which was sold
at the public-house about half-a-mile from the
village, and from which they had just de-
parted. Two of them, however, compara-
tively speaking, sober, were assisting home,
by their joint efforts, the third, who, sup-
ported between them, could with difficulty
use his legs. Thus did they continue on;
the two swayed first on the one side of the
road and then on the other by the weight of
the third, whom they almost carried between
them. At last they arrived at a bridge built
over one of those impetuous streams so com-
mon in the county, when, as if by mutual un-

THE POACHER. 3

derstanding, for it was without speaking, the
two more sober deposited the body of the
third against the parapet of the bridge, and
then for some time were silently occupied in
recovering their breath. One of the two who
remained leaning on the parapet by the side
of their almost lifeless companion was a man
of about forty years of age, tall and slender,
dressed in a worn-out black coat, and a pair of
trousers much too short for him, the original
colour of which it would have been difficult to
have surmised; a sort of clerical hat, equally
the worse for wear, was on his head. Although
his habiliments were mean, still there was
something about his appearance which told of
better days, and of having moved in a different
sphere in society, and such had been the case.
Some years before he had been the head of a
grammar school with a comfortable income,
but a habit of drinking had been his ruin ;
and he was now the preceptor of the village of

4 THE POACHER.

Grassford, and gained his livelihood by in-
structing the children of the cottagers for the
small modicum of twopence a -head per week.
This unfortunate propensity to liquor re-
mained with him ; and he no sooner received
his weekly stipend than he hastened to drown
his cares, and the recollection of his former
position, at the ale-house which they had just
quitted. The second personage whom we shall
introduce, was not of a corresponding height
with the other ; he was broad, square-chested,
and short — dressed in knee-breeches, leggings,
and laced boots — his coat being of a thick
fustian, and cut short like a shooting jacket ;
his profession was that of a pedlar.

" It's odd to me, 11 said the pedlar, at last
breaking silence as he looked down upon the
drunken man who laid at his feet, " why
ale should take a man off' his legs ; they
say that liquor gets into the head, not the
feet."

THE POACHER. 5

" Well !" replied the schoolmaster, who
was much more inebriated than the pedlar,
" there's argument even in that ; and, you
see, the perpendicular deviation must arise
from the head being too heavy — that's clear ;
and then, you see, the feet, from the centre
of gravity being destroyed, become too light ;
and if you put that and that together, why,
a man can't stand — you understand my de-
monstration.

" It was heavy wet, that ale, and so I
suppose it's all right," replied the pedlar ;
" but still ale an't poured into the head or
into the feet of a man, but into the internals,
which are right in the middle of a man — so,
how do you make out your case, Mr. Fur-
ness r

" Why ! Byres, you talk of the residuum. 11

" Never said a word about it ; and, as I
stand here, never even heard the word be-
fore. 11

6 THE POACHER.

" Perhaps not ; the residuum is, you see,
Byres, what is left."

" If that's residguim, I didn't mean to say
a word about it — there was none left, for you
drained the pot."

" Good Byres, you have never been to
college, that's clear. Now, observe, when a
man pours down into his stomach a certain
quantity of liquor, the spirituous or lighter
part ascends to his head, and that makes his
head heavy. Do you understand ?*

" No ; what's light can't make things
heavy."

" Can't it ? — you know nothing about the
matter. Have you not a proof before you ?"
replied the schoolmaster, reeling and catching
hold of the parapet for support, " Look at
that unfortunat2 man, who has yielded to
excess/'

" Very true ! I see that he's drunk, but I
want to know how it is that he got drunk ?"

THE POACHER.

By drinking."

" That I knew before."

" Then why ask any more questions ? Had
we not better proceed, and take him home to
his expectant and unhappy wife ? 'Tis a sad,
sad thing, that a man should c put an enemy
into his mouth to steal away his brains.' "

" Half a pint will do that with Rushbrook,"
replied the pedlar ; " they say that he was
wounded on his head, and that half his brains
are gone already, and that's why he has a
pension. 11

" Yes, seventeen pounds a-year ; paid
quarterly, without deduction, and only to
walk four miles to get it," replied Furness ;
" yet how misplaced is the liberality on the
part of the government. Does he work ?
No; he does nothing but drink and lie in
bed all day, while I must be up early and
remain late, teaching the young idea at two-
pence per week. Friend Byres, ' mercy is

8 THE POACHER.

not itself which oft looks so.' Now, it is my
opinion that it would be a kindness to this
poor wretch if we were to toss him, as he now
is, over the bridge into the rushing stream —
it would end all his troubles."

" And save us the trouble of getting him
home," replied Byres, who determined to hu-
mour his more inebriated companion. " Well,
Mr. Furness, I've no objection. Why should
he live ? Is he not a sinecurist — one of the
locusts who fatten on the sweat and blood
of the people, as the Sunday paper says ?
don't you remember my reading it this
morning ?"

" Very true, Master Furness ; what d'ye
say then ? shall we over with him ?"

" We must think a little," replied the
schoolmaster, avIio put his hand up to his
chin, and remained silent for a minute or
two. " No," resumed he at last, " on second
thoughts I cannot do it. He halves his beer

THE POACHER. 9

with me. No pension — no beer, that's a self-
evident proposition and conclusion. It were
ingratitude on my part, and I cannot consent
to your proposal," continued the school-
master ; " nay, more, I will defend him
against your murderous intentions to the
very last."

"Why, Master Furness, you must be
somewhat the worse for liquor yourself; it
was your proposal to throw him over the
bridge, not mine."

" Take care what you say," replied the
schoolmaster ; " would you accuse me of
murder or intent to murder ?"

" No, not by no means — only you pro-
posed heaving him over the bridge ; I will
say that."

" Friend Byres, it's my opinion you'll say
any thing but your prayers ; but in your
present state I overlook it. Let us go on, or
I shall have two men to carry home instead

10 THE POACIIEK.

of one. Come, now, take one of his arms,
while I take the other, and raise him up. It
is but a quarter of a mile to the cottage."

Byres, who, as we observed, was by far the
most sober of the two, did not think it worth
while to reply to the pedagogue. After a
few staggers on the part of the latter, their
comrade was raised up and led away between
them .

The drunken man appeared to be so far
aware of what was going on that he moved his
legs mechanically, and in a short time they
arrived at the cottage door, which the peda-
gogue struck with his fist so as to make it
rattle on its hinges. The door was opened by
a tall handsome woman, holding a candle in

her hand.

" I thought so," said she, shaking her
head, " the old story ; now, he will be ill all
night, and not get up till noon. What a
weary life it is with a drunken husband.

THE POACHER. 11

Bring him in, and thank you kindly for your
trouble."

"It has been hard work and hot work, 11
observed the schoolmaster, sitting down in a
chair, after they had placed their comrade
on the bed.

" Indeed, and it must be," replied the wife.
" Will you have a drop of small beer, Mr.
Furness ?"

" Yes, if you please, and so will Mr. Byres
too. What a pity it is your good man will
not keep to small beer."

" Yes, indeed, 11 replied the wife, who went
into the back premises, and soon returned
with a quart mug of beer.

The schoolmaster emptied half the mug,
and then handed it to the pedlar.

" And my little friend Joey, fast asleep,
Til warrant."

" Yes, poor child, and so should I have
been by this time; the clock has gone twelve.'"

12 THE POACHER.

" Well, Mrs Rushbrook, I wish you a
good night. Come, Mr. Byres, Mrs. Rush-
brook must want to be in bed."

" Good night, Mr. Furness, and good
night, sir, and many thanks."

The schoolmaster and pedlar quitted the
cottage. Mrs. Rushbrook, after having
watched them for a minute, carefully closed
the door.

" They're gone now," said she, as she re-
turned to her husband.

What would have created much astonish-
ment could anybody else have witnessed it,
as soon as his wife had spoken, Rushbrook
immediately sprung upon his feet, a fine-
looking man, six feet in height, very erect
in his bearing, — and proved to be perfectly
sober.

" Jane, my dear," said he, " there never
was such a night ; but I must be quick, and
lose no time. Is my gun ready ?"

THE POACHER. 13

" Every thing's ready ; Joey is lying down
on his bed, but all ready dressed, and he
awakes in a minute.'"

" Call him, then, for there is no time to
lose. That drunken fool, Furness, proposed
throwing me over the bridge. It was lucky
for them that they did not try it, or I should
have been obliged to settle them both, that
they might tell no tales. Where's Mum ?"

" In the washhouse. I'll bring him and
Joey directly."

The wife left the room, while Rushbrook
took down his gun and ammunition, and pre-
pared himself for his expedition. In a minute
or two a shepherds dog, which had been re-
leased from the washhouse, made his appear-
ance, and quietly laid down close to his mas-
ter's feet ; it was soon followed by Mrs. R.,
accompanied by Joey, a thin meagre-looking
boy of about twelve years old, very small for
his age, but apparently as active as a cat, and

14 THE POACHER.

with energy corresponding. No one would
have thought he had been roused from his
sleep ; there was no yawning or weariness of
motion — on the contrary, his large eye was as
bright as an eagle's, as he quietly although
quickly provided himself with a sack, which
he threw over his shoulders, and a coil of line,
which he held in his hand, waiting until his
father was ready to start. The wife put out
the lights, softly opened the cottage-door,
looked well round, and then returned to her
husband, who, giving a low whistle as a sum-
mons to Joey and the dog, walked out of the
door. Not a word was spoken — the door was
softly shut to — and the trio crept stealthily
away.

CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH THE HERO OF THE TALE IS FOR-
MALLY INTRODUCED.

Before we proceed with our narrative,
perhaps it will be better to explain what may
appear very strange to the reader. Joseph
Rushbrook, who has just left the cottage with
his son and his dog, was born in the village
in which he was then residing. During his
younger days, some forty years previous to
his present introduction to the reader, the
law was not so severe or the measures taken
against poachers so strong as they were at
the period of which we write. In his youth
he had been very fond of carrying a gun — as
his father had been before him — but he never

16 THE POACHER.

was discovered ; and after having poached
for many years and gained a perfect know-
ledge of the country for miles round, he was
persuaded, in a fit of semi-intoxication, at a
neighbouring fair, to enlist in a marching
regiment. He had not been more than three
months at the depot when he was ordered out
to India, where he remained eleven years be-
fore he was recalled. He had scarcely been
six months in England when the exigency of
the war demanded the services of the regiment
in the Mediterranean, where he remained for
twelve years, and having received a severe
wound in the head, he was then pensioned off
and discharged. He resolved to return to
his native village, and settle down quietly,
hoping by moderate labour and his pension
to gain a comfortable living. On his return
he was hardly known ; many had emigrated
to a foreign clime ; many had been trans-
ported for offences against the laws, particu-

THE POACHER. 17

larly for the offence of poaching, and as most

of his former allies had been so employed, he

found himself almost a stranger where he ex-
es

pected to meet with friends. The property
also about the village had changed hands.
People recollected Squire So and So, and the
Baronet, but now their lands were held by
wealthy manufacturers or retired merchants.
All was new to Joe Rushbrook, and he felt
himself anywhere but at home. Jane Ashley,
a very beautiful young woman, who was in
service at the Hall, the mansion appertaining
to the adjacent property, and the daughter
of one of his earliest friends who had been
transported for poaching, was almost the only
one who could talk to him after his absence of
twenty-four !j years ; not that she knew the
people at the time, for she was then an infant,
but she had grown up with them after Joe
had left, and could narrate anecdotes of them
and what had been their eventual destinies.

18 THE POACHER.

Jane having been the daughter of a man
who had been transported for poaching, was
to Joe a sort of recommendation, and it ended
in his taking her for his wife. They had not
been lono- settled in their cottage before Joe's
former propensities returned ; in fact, he could
not be idle, he had carried a musket too long,
and had lived such a life of excitement in the
service of his country, that he found it impos-
sible to exist without shooting at something.
All his former love of poaching came strong
upon him, and his wife, so far from checking
him, encouraged him in his feelings. The con-
sequence was, that two years after his marriage
JoeKushbrookwas the most determined poach-
er in the county. Although often suspected,
he had never been detected ; one great cause
of this was his appearing to be such a drunk-
ard, a plan hit upon by his wife, who had ob-
served that drunken men were not suspected
of being poachers. This scheme had there-

THE POACHER. 19

fore been hit upon, and very successfully ; for
proving before a magistrate that a man was
carried home dead drunk and speechless at
midnight, was quite as good an alibi as could
be brought forward. Joe Rushbrook had,
therefore, the credit of being a worthless,
drunken fellow, who lived upon his pension
and what his wife could earn ; but no one had
an idea that he was not only earning his live-
lihood, but laying by money from his success-
ful night-labours. Not that Joe did not like
a drop occasionally ; on the contrary, he
would sometimes drink freely — but, generally
speaking, the wounds in his head were com-
plained of, and he would, if the wind was
fresh and set in the right quarter, contrive to
be carried home on the night in which he had
most work to do. Such was the case, as we
have represented in the first chapter.

Little Joey, who, as the reader may antici-
pate, will be our future hero, was born the

20 THE POACHER.

first year after marriage, and was their only
child. He was a quiet, thoughtful, reflective
boy for his years — and had imbibed his
father's love of walking out on a dark night
to an extraordinary degree ; it was strange to
see how much prudence there was, mingled
with the love of adventure, in this lad. True
it is, his father had trained him early, first to
examine the snares and conceal the game,
which a little shrimp like Joey could do,
without being suspected to be otherwise em-
ployed than in picking blackberries. Before
he was seven years old, Joey could set a
springe as well as his father, and was well
versed in all the mystery and art of unlaw-
ful taking of game. Indeed, he was very
valuable to his father, and could do what his
father could not have ventured upon without
exciting suspicion. It was, perhaps, from
his constant vigils, that the little boy was so
small in size ; at all events, his diminutive

THE POACHER. 21

size was the cause of there being no suspicion
attached to him. Joey went very regularly
to the day-school of Mr. Furness ; and, al-
though often up the best part of the night, he
was one of the best and most diligent of the
scholars. No one could have supposed that
the little fair-haired, quiet-looking boy, who
was so busy with his books or his writing,
could have been out half the night on a
perilous excursion, for such it was at the time
Ave are speaking of. It need hardly be ob-
served that Joey had learned one important
lesson, which was to be silent — not even
Mum, the dog, who could not speak, was
more secret or more faithful.

It is astonishing how much the nature and
disposition of a child may be altered by early
tuition. Let a child be always with its
nurse, even under the guidance of a mother,
regularly brought up as children usually
are, and it will continue to be a child, and

22 THE POACHER.

even childish after childhood is gone. But
take the same child, put it by degrees in
situations of peril, requiring thought and
observation beyond its years, accustom it to
nightly vigils, and to watching, and to hold
its tongue, and it is astonishing how the mind
of that child, however much its body may
suffer, will develop itself so as to meet the
demand upon it. Thus it is with lads who
are sent early to sea, and thus it was with little
Joey. He was a man in some points, although
a child in others. He would play with his
companions, laugh as loudly as the others,
but still he would never breathe a hint of
what was his father's employment. He went
to church every Sunday, as did his father
and mother — for they considered that poach-
ing was no crime, although punished as such
by the laws, and he, of course, considered it
no crime, as he only did what his father and
mother wished. Let it not be thought, there-

THE POACHER. 23

fore, that the morals of our little hero were
affected by his father's profession, for such
was not the case.

Having entered into this necessary expla-
nation, we will now proceed. No band of
North American Indians could have observed
a better trail than that kept by our little party.
Rushbrook walked first, followed by our hero
and the dog Mum. Not a word was spoken ;
they continued their route over grass-lands
and ploughed-fields, keeping in the shade of
the hedge-rows ; if Rusbbrook stopped for
awhile to reconnoitre, so did Joey, and so did
Mum, at their relative distances, until the
march was resumed. For three miles and a
half did they thus continue, until they ar-
rived at a thick cover. The wind whistled
through the branches of the bare trees, chiefly
oak and ash; the cold damp fog was now sta-
tionary, and shrouded them as they proceeded
cautiously by the beaten track in the cover,

24 THE POACHER.

until they had passed through it, and arrived
on the other side, where the cottage of a game-
keeper was situated. A feeble light was burn-
ing, and shone through the diamond-paned
windows. Rushbrook walked out clear of
the cover, and held up his hand to ascertain
precisely the direction of the wind. Having
satisfied himself, he retreated into the cover in
a direction so as to be exactly to leeward of
the keeper's house, that the noise of the re-
port of his gun might not be heard. Having
cleared the hedge, he lowered his gun, so as
to brino- the barrel within two or three inches
of the ground, and walked slowly and cau-
tiously through the brushwood, followed as
before by Joey and Mum. After about a
quarter of a mile's walk, a rattling of metal
was heard, and they stopped short: it was
the barrel of the fowling-piece which had
brushed one of the wires attached to a
spring-gun, set for the benefit of poachers.

THE POACHER. 25

Rushbrook lifted up his left hand, as a sign
to Joey not to move, and following the wire,
by continually rattling his barrel against it,
he eventually arrived at the gun itself, opened
the pan, threw out all the priming, leaving
•it with the pan open, so that it could not go
off, in case they fell in with another of the
wires. Rushbrook then proceeded to busi-
ness ; for he well knew that the gun would
be set where the pheasants were most accus-
tomed to roost ; he put a small charge of
powder in his fowling-piece, that, being so
near, he might not shatter the birds, and be-
cause the noise of the report would be much
less ; walking under an oak tree he soon dis-
covered the round black masses which the
•bodies of the roosting pheasants presented be-
tween him and the sky, and raising his piece,
he fired ; a heavy bound on the earth near his
feet followed the discharge, Joey then slipped
forward and put the pheasant into his bag ;
vol. i. c

26 THE POACHER.

another and another shot, and every shot
brought an increase to Joey's load. Seventeen
■were already in it when Mum gave a low
growl. This was the signal for people being
near, llushbrook snapped his finger; the
dog came forward to his side 'and stood mo-
tionless, with ears and tail erect. In a mi-
nute's time was heard the rustling of branches
as the party forced their way through the
underwood. Rushbrook stood still, waiting
the signal from Mum, for the dog had been
taught, if the parties advancing had another
dog with them, always to raise his fore-feet
up to llushbrook's knees, but not otherwise;
Mum made no such sign, and then llush-
brook laid down in the brushwood, his mo-
tions being closely followed by his son and
his dog.

Voices in whispers were now heard, and the
forms of two men with guns were to be seen
not four yards from where they were lying.

THE POACHER. 27

" Somewhere about here, I'll swear," said one.
" Yes, I think so; but it may be further on —
the wind has brought down the sound." —
« Very true, let's follow them, and they may
fall back upon the spring-gun." The parties
then advanced into the cover, and were soon
out of sight; after a time, llushbrook held
his ear to the wind, and, satisfied that all was
safe, moved homewards, and arrived without
further adventure, having relieved Joey of
the heavy sack as soon as they were in the
open fields.

At three o'clock in the morning he tapped
at the back door of the cottage. Jane opened
it, and the spoils of the night having been put
away in a secret place, they were all soon in
bed and fast asleep.

CHAPTER III.

TRAIN 1 A CHILD IN THE WAY HE SHOULD GO,
AND HE WILL XOT DEPART FROM IT.

It is an old saying, that " if there were no
receivers there would be no thieves," and it
would have been of very little use for Rush-
brook to take the game if he had not had the
means of disposing of it. In this point, Byres,
the pedlar, was a valuable accessary. Byres
was a radical knave, who did not admire hard
work. At first he took up the profession of
bricklayer's labourer, one that is of a nature
only affording occasional work and moderate
wages. He did this that he might apply to
the parish for relief and do nothing for the

THE POACHER. 29

major portion of the year. But even a few
months 1 work would not suit him, and subse-
quently he gained his sustenance by carrying on
his head a large basket of crockery, and dispos-
ing of his wares among the cottagers. At last
he took out a pedlar's licence — perhaps one of
the most dangerous permits ever allowed by a
government, and which has been the cause < f
much of the ill-will and discontent fomented
among the lower classes. Latterly, the cheap-
ness of printing and easiness of circulation have
rendered the profession of less consequence —
twenty years ago the village ale-houses were
not provided with newspapers ; it was an ex-
pense never thought of; the men went to drink
their beer and talk over the news of the vicinity,
and if there was a disturbance in any other
portion of the United Kingdom, the fact was
only gained by rumour, and that vaguely and
long after it had taken place. But when the
pedlar Byres made his appearance, which he

30 THE POACHER.

at last did, weekly or oftener, as it might
happen, there was a great change; he was
the party who supplied information, and, in
consequence, lie was always welcome, and
looked upon as an oracle ; the best seat near
the fire was reserved for him, and having
deposited his pack upon the table or in a
corner, he would then produce the Propeller,
or some other publication full of treason and
blasphemy, and read it aloud for the benefit
of the labourers assembled, A few months
were more than sufficient to produce the most
serious effects : — men who had worked cheer-
fully through the day, and retired to bed
satisfied with their lot and thankful that
work was to be obtained, now remained at
the public-house, canvassing the conduct of
government, and leaving their resort satis-
fied in their own minds that they were ill-
used, harshly treated, and in bitter bondage.
If they met their superiors, those very parties

THE POACHER. 31

to whom they were indebted for employment,
there was no respect shown to them as for-
merly — or if so, it was sullen and forced ac-
knowledgment. The church was gradually
deserted — the appearance of the pastor was
no longer a signal for every hat to be lifted
from the head ; on the contrary, boys of six-
teen or seventeen years of age would lean
against the church, or the Avails of the church-
yard, with their hands in both pockets, and
a sort of leer upon their faces, as though they
defied the pastor on his appearance — and
there would they remain outside during the
service, meeting, unquailed and without
blushing, his eyes, cast upon them as he came
out again. Such was the state of things in
the village of Grassford in one year after the
pedlar had added it to his continual rounds —
and Byres was a great favourite, for he pro-
cured for the women what they commissioned
him to obtain — supplied the girls with rib-

32 THE POACHER.

bons and gewgaws — and trusted to a consider-
able extent.. His re-appearance was always
anxiously looked for ; he lived scot-free at
the public-house, for he brought so much
custom, and was the occasion of the drinking
of so much ale — that the landlord considered
his coming as a god-send. His box of ware
was well supplied in the summer months, for
the fine weather was the time for the wearing
of gay ribbons ; but in the winter he travelled
more to receive orders, or to carry away the
game supplied to him by the poachers, with
whom he was in league. Had his box been
examined during the shooting season, it
would have been found loaded with pheasants,
not with trinkets and ribbons. It need
hardly be observed after this, that Byres
Mas the party who took off the hands of
Rush brook all the game which he procured,
and which he had notice to call for before
daylight, generally the second morning after

THE POACHER. 33

it had been obtained ; for Rushbrook
was too cautious to trust Byres with his
secret, that of never going out of a niffht
without having previously pretended intoxi-
cation, and having suffered himself to be ltd
or carried home.

Our readers will acknowledge that little
Joey was placed in a very dangerous posi-
tion ; it is true that he was not aware that he
was doing wrong in assisting his father ;
nevertheless, being a reflective boy, it did
sometimes occur to him that it was odd that
what was right should be done so secretly ;
and he attempted to make out how it was
that the birds that flew about everywhere,
and appeared to belong to every one, might
not be shot in the open day. He knew that
the laws forbade it; but he inquired of him-
self why such laws should be. Joey had
heard but one side of the question, and was
therefore puzzled. It was fortunate for him

34 THE POACHER.

that the pastor of the parish, although he did
not reside in it, did at least once a week call
in at Mr. F.'s school, and examine the boy.
Mr.Furness, who was always sober during the
school hours, was very proud of these visits,
and used to point out little Joey as his most
promising scholar. This induced the pastor
to take more immediate notice of our hero,
and the commendation which he received, and
the advice that was bestowed upon him, was
probably the great cause why Joey did at-
tend assiduously to his lessons, which his
otherwise vagrant life would have disinclined
him to do ; and also kept a character for
honesty and good principle, which he really
deserved, Indeed, his father and mother,
setting aside poaching, and the secrecy resorted
to in consequence, were by no means bad ex-
amples in the ordinary course of life ; they
did to their neighbours as they would be done
by, were fair and honest in their dealings, and

THE POACHER. 35

invariably inculcated probity and a regard to
truth on their son. This may appear anoma-
lous to many of our readers, but there are
many strange anomalies in this world. It
may therefore be stated, in a very few words,
that although our little hero had every chance
of eventually following the road to ruin, yet,
up to the present time, he had not entered it.
Such was the life led by little Joey for
three years subsequent to our introduction of
him to the reader ; every day he became more
useful to his father ; latterly he had not at-
tended school but in the forenoon, for, as we
have before observed, Joey could, from his
diminutive size and unsuspicious appearance,
do much that his father would not have ven-
tured to attempt. He was as well versed in
the art of snaring as his father, and saunter-
ing like a child about the fields and hedge-
rows, would examine his nooses, take out the
game, and hide it till he could bring it home.

36 THE POACHER.

Sometimes he would go out at night attended
only by Mum, and the dog would invariably
give him mute notice, by simply standing
with his ears and tail erect, when the keepers
had discovered the snares, and were lying in
wait for the poacher, to lay hold of him when
he came to ascertain his success. Even in
such a case, Joey very often would not
retreat, but crawling on his stomach, would
arrive at the snare, and take out the animal
without the keepers perceiving him, for their
eyes were invariably directed to the horizon,
watching the appearance of some stout figure
of a man, while Joey crawled along bearing
away the prize unseen. At other times, Joey
would reap a rich harvest in the broad day,
by means of his favourite game-cock. Hav-
ing put on the animal his steel spurs, he
would plunge into the thickest of the cover,
and selecting some small spot of cleared ground
for the combat, would throw down his gallant

THE POACHER. 37

bird, and conceal himself in the brushwood ;
the o-ame-cock would immediately crow, and
his challenge was immediately answered by
the pugnacious male pheasant, who flew down
to meet him : the combat was short, for the
pheasant was soon pierced with the sharp steel
of his adversary, and as one antagonist fell
dead, again would the game-cock crow, and
his challenge be accepted by another. In an
hour or two the small arena was a field of
blood ; Joey would creep forward, put his
victorious cock into his bag together with his
many dead adversaries, and watch an oppor-
tunity for a safe retreat.

Such was the employment of our hero; and
although suspicion had often been attached
to his father, none had an idea that there had
been a violation of the laws on the part of
the son, when an event took place which
changed our hero's destiny.

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR HAS ENDEAVOURED,
WITH ALL HIS POWER, TO SUIT THE
PRESENT TASTE OF THE PUBLIC.

We have said that Byres was the receiver
of the game obtained by Rushbrook. It so
happened, that in these accounts Byres had
not adhered to his duty towards his neigh-
bour ; in fact, he attempted to over-reach, but
without success, and from that time Byres
became Rushbrook's determined, but secret,
enemy. Some months had passed since their
disagreement, and there was a mutual mis-
trust, (as both men were equally revengeful
in their temper.-,) when they happened to

THE POACHER. 39

meet late on a Saturday night at the ale-house,
which was their usual resort. Furness the
schoolmaster was there ; he and many others
had already drunk too much ; all were bois-
terous and noisy. A few of the wives of
those drinking were waiting patiently and
sorrowfully outside, their arms folded in their
aprons as a defence against the cold, watching
for their husbands to come out, that they
might coax them home before the major part
of the week's earnings had been spent in
liquor. Byres had the paper in his hand —
he had taken it from the schoolmaster, Avho
Avas too far gone to read it, and was declaim-
ing loudly against all governments, monarchy,

and laws — when a stranger entered the tap-

i
room where they were all assembled. Rush-
brook was at the time sitting down, intending
quietly to take a pint and walk home, as he
had too much respect for the Sabbath to fol-
low his profession of poacher on the morning

40 THE POACHER.

of that day : he did not intend, therefore, to
resort to his usual custom of pretending to
be intoxicated ; but when the stranger came
in, to his great surprise he observed a glance
of recognition between him and Byres, after
which they appeared as if they were perfect
strangers. Rushbrook watched them care-
fully, but so as not to let them perceive he
was so doing, when a beckon from the stranger
to Byres was again made. Byres continued
to read the paper and to harangue, but at
the same time took an opportunity of making
a signal in replv. There was something in
the stranger's appearance which told Rush-
brook that he was employed as a keeper, or

something in that way, for we often single out

•

our enemies by instinct. That there was mis-
chief in the wind Kushbrook felt sure, and
his heart misgave him — the more so, as
occasionally the eyes of both were turned
towards him. After a little reflection,.

THE POACHER. 41

Rushbrook determined to feign intoxication,
as he had so often done before: he called
for another pint, for some time talked
very loud, and at last laid his head on the
table; after a time he lifted it up again, drank
more, and then fell back on the bench. By
degrees the company thinned, until there was
no one left but the schoolmaster, the pedlar,
and the stranger. The schoolmaster, as usual,
offered to assist the pedlar in helping Rush-
brook to his cottage; but Byres replied that
he was busy, and that he need not wait for
Rushbrook; the friend he had with him would
assist him in taking home the drunken man.
The schoolmaster reeled home, leaving the
two together. They sat down on the bench,
not far from Rushbrook, who appeared to
them to be in the last stau;e of inebrietv.
Their conversation was easily overheard. The
pedlar stated that he had watched several
nights, but never could find when Rushbrook

42 THE POACHER.

left his cottage, but he had traced the boy
more than once; that R. had promised to
have game ready for him on Tuesday, and
would go out on Monday night for it. In
short, Rushbrook discovered that Byres was
about to betray him to the man, whom, in the
course of their conversation, he found out to
be a game-keeper newly hired by the lord of
the manor. After a while they broke up,
Byres having promised to join the keeper in
his expedition and to assist in securing his
former ally. Having made these arrange-
ments, they then took hold of Rushbrook by
the arms, and shaking him to rouse him as
much as they could, they led him home to the
cottage, and left him in charge of his wife.
As soon as the door was closed, Rushbrook's
long repressed anger could no longer be re-
strained: he started on his feet, and striking
his fist on the table so as to terrify his wife,
swore that the pedlar should pay dear for his

THE POACHER. 43

peaching. Upon his wife's demanding an ex-
planation, liushbrook, in a few hurried sen-
tences, explained the whole. Jane, however
she might agree with him in his indignation,
like all women, shuddered at the thought of
shedding blood ; she persuaded her husband
to go to bed; he consented, but he slept not
— he had but one feeling, which was, ven-
geance towards the traitor. When revenge
enters into the breast of a man who has lived
peaceably at home, fiercely as he may be im-
pelled by the passion, he stops short at the
idea of shedding blood. But when a man
who had, like Rushbrook, served so long in
the army, witnessed such scenes of carnage,
and so often passed his bayonet through his
adversary's body, is roused up bv this fatal
passion, the death of a fellow-creature be-
comes a matter of indifference provided he
can gratify his feelings. Thus it was with
Rushbrook, who, before he rose on the morn-

44 THE POACHER.

ing of that Sabbath, in which, had he gone
to church, he could have so often requested
his trespasses might be forgiven, as he " for-
gave them who trespassed against him, 1 ' — had
made up his mind that nothing short of the
pedlar's death -would satisfy him. At break-
fast, he appeared to listen to his wife's en-
treaties, and promised to do the pedlar no
harm; and told her, that instead of going-
out on the Monday night, as he had pro-
mised, he should go out on that very night,
and by that means evade the snare laid for
him. Jane persuaded him not to go out at
all, but this, Rushbrook would not consent to.
He told her that he was determined to show
them that he was not to be driven off his
beat, and would make Byres believe on
Tuesday night that he had been out on
the Monday night. Rushbrook's object was
to have a meeting with Byres, if possible,
alone, to tax him with his treachery, and

THE POACHER. 45

then to take summary vengeance. Aware
that Byres slept at the ale-house, he went
clown there a little before dark, and told him
that he intended going out on that night;
that it would be better if, instead of coming
on Tuesday, he were to meet him at a corner
of one of the covers, which he described, at
an hour agreed upon, when he would make
over to him the game which he might have
procured. Byres, who saw in this an excellent
and easy method of trapping Rush brook,
consented to it, intending to inform the
keeper, so that he should meet Rushbrook.
The time of meeting was arranged for two
o'clock in the morning. Rushbrook was
certain that Byres would leave the ale-house
an hour or two before the time proposed,
which would be more than sufficient for his
giving information to the keeper. He, there-
fore, remained quietly at home till twelve
o'clock, when he loaded his gun and went

4G . THE POACHER.

out without Joey or the dog. His wife
perceiving this, was convinced that he had
not gone out with the intention to poach, but
was pursuing his scheme of revenge. She
watched him after he left the cottage, and
observed that he had gone down in the
direction of the ale-house, and she was afraid
that there would be mischief between him and
Byers, and she wakened Joey, desiring him
to follow and watch his father, and do all he
could to prevent it. Her communication was
made in such a hurried manner, that it was
difficult for Joey to know what he was to do,
except to watch his father's motions and see
what took place. This Joey perfectly under-
stood, and he was off in an instant, followed,
as usual, by Mum, and taking with him his
sack. Our hero crept softly down the path-
way, in the direction of the ale-house. The
niffht was dark, for the moon did not rise
until two or three hours before the morning

THE POACHER. 47

broke, and it was bitter cold ; but to dark-
ness and cold Joey had been accustomed, and
although not seen himself, there was no object
could move without being scanned by his clear
vision. He gained a hedge close to the ale-
house; Mum wanted to go on, by which Joey
knew that his fathermust be lurking somewhere
near to him — he pressed the dog down with his
hand, crouched himself, and watched. In a
few minutes a dark figure was perceived by
Joey to emerge from the ale-house, and walk
hastily over a turnip-field behind the pre-
mises; it had gained about half over, when
another form, which Joey recognised as his
father's, stealthily followed after the first.
Joey waited a little time, and was then, with
Mum, on the steps of both ; for a mile and a
half each party kept at their relative distances
until they came near a furze bottom, which
was about six hundred yards from the cover ;
then the sters of Rushbrook were quickened,

48 THE POACHER.

and those of Joey in proportion ; the conse-
quence was, "that the three parties rapidly
neared each other. Byres, for it was he who
had quitted the ale-house, walked along
leisurely, having no suspicion that he was
followed. Rushbrook was now within fifteen
yards of the pedlar, and Joey at even less
distance from his father, when he heard the
lock of his father's gun click, as he cocked
it.

" Father," said Joey, not over loud, " don't

" Who's there?" cried the pedlar, turning
round. The only reply was the flash and re-
port of the gun, and the pedlar dropped
among the furze.

" Oh, father ! father ! what have you
done?" exclaimed Joey, coming up to him.

" You here, Joey !" said Rushbrook ;
" why are you here ?"

" Mother sent me," replied Joey.

THE POACHER. 49

** To be evidence against me," replied his
father, in wrath.

" Oh no! to stop you. What have you
done, father?'''

" What I almost wish I had not done now,"
replied he mournfully ; " but it is done,
and—"

" And what, father ?"

" I am a murderer, I suppose, 11 replied
Rushbrook. " He would have 'peached, Joey
— have had me transported, to work in chains
for the rest of my days, merely for taking a
few pheasants. Let us go home ; 11 but Rush-
brook did not move, although he proposed
so doing. He leant upon his gun, with his
eyes fixed in the direction where Byres had
fallenc

Joey stood by him — for nearly ten minutes
not a word was spoken. At last Rushbrook
said —

" Joey, my boy, Tve killed many a man

VOL. I. d

50 THE POACHER.

in my time, and I have thought nothing of
it; I slept as sound as ever the next night.
But then, you see, I was a soldier, and it
was my trade, and I could look on the man I
had killed without feeling sorrow or shame ;
but I can't look upon this man, Joey. He
was my enemy; but — I've murdered him —
I feel it now. Go up to him, boy — you arc
not afraid to meet him — and see if he be
dead."

Joey, although generally speaking fear was
a stranger to him, did, however, feel afraid;
his hands had often been dyed with the blood
of a hare or of a bird, but he had not yet seen
death in his fellow-creatures. He advanced
slowly and tremulously through the dark to-
wards the furze- bush in which the body laid;
Mum followed, raising first one paw and
pausing, then the other, and as they came to
the body, the dog raised his head and gave
such a mournful howl, that it induced our

THE POACHER. 51

hero to start back a^ain. After a time Joey
recovered himself, and again advanced to the
body. He leant over it, he could distinguish
but the form ; he listened, and not the slight-
est breathing was to be heard ; he whispered
the pedlar's name, but there was no reply ;
he put his hand upon his breast, and removed
it reeking with warm blood.

" Father, he must be dead, quite dead,"
whispered Joey, who returned trembling.
" What shall we do?"

" We must go home," replied Rushbrook ;
"this is a bad night's work ;" and without
exchanging another word until their arrival,
Rushbrook and Joey proceeded back to the
cottage, followed by Mum.

CHAPTER V.

THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE VISITED UPON
THE CHILD.

Jane had remained in a state of great
anxiety during her husband's absence, watch-
ing and listening to every sound ; every five
minutes raising the latch of the door, and
looking out, hoping to see him return. As
the time went on, her alarm increased ; she
laid her head down on the table and wept ;
she could find no consolation, no alleviation
of her anxiety ; she dropped down on her
knees and prayed.

She was still appealing to the Most High,
when a blow on the door announced her hus-

THE POACHEP.. 53

band's return. There was a sulken gloom
over his countenance as he entered : he threw
his gun carelessly on one side, so that it fell,
and rattled against the paved floor ; and this
one act was to her ominous of evil. He sat
down without speaking ; falling back in the
chair, and lifting his eyes up to the rafters
above, he appeared to be in deep thought, and
unconscious of her presence.

" What has happened ?" inquired his wife,
trembling, as she laid her hand on his shoul-
der.

" Don't speak to me now," was the reply.

" Joey, 11 said the frightened woman in a
whisper, " what has he done ? "

Joey answered not, but raised his hand, red
with the blood which was now dried upon it.

Jane uttered a faint cry, dropped on her
knees, and covered her face, while Joey walked
into the back kitchen, and busied himself in
removing the traces of the dark deed.

54 THE POACHER.

-V quarter of an hour had elapsed — Joey
had returned, and taken his seat upon his low
stool, and not a word had been exchanged.

There certainly is a foretaste of the future
punishment which awaits crime; for how
dreadful were the feelings of those who were
now sitting down in the cottage. Ilushbrook
was evidently stupified from excess of feeling ;
first, the strong excitement which had urged
him to the deed ; and now from the re-action,
the prostration of mental power which had
succeeded it. Jane dreaded the present and
the future — whichever way she turned her
eyes the gibbet was before her — the clanking
of chains in her ears ; in her vision of the
future, scorn, misery, and remorse — she felt
only for her husband. Joey, poor boy, he
felt for both. Even the dog showed, as he
looked up into Joey's face, that he was aware
that afoul deed had been done. The silence
which it appeared none would venture to

THE POACHER. 55

break, was at last dissolved by the clock of
the village church solemnly striking two.
They all started up — it was a warning — it
reminded them of the bell tolling for the
dead — of time and of eternity ; but time
present quickly effaced for the moment other
ideas ; yes, it was time to act ; in four hours
more it would be daylight, and the blood of
the murdered man would appeal to his fellow-
men for vengeance. The sun would, light
them to the deed of darkness — the body
would be brought home — the magistrates
would assemble — and who would, be the party
suspected ?

" Merciful Heaven V exclaimed Jane,
" what can be done? 1 '

" There is no proof, v ' muttered Rushbrook.

" Yes, there is/ 1 observed Joey, " I left my
bag there, when I stooped down to — "

"Silence!" cried Rushbrook. "Yes,"
continued he bitterly to his wife, " this is

56 THE POACHER.

your doing, you must send the boy after me,
and now there will be evidence against me ; I
shall owe my death to you."

" Oh, say not so ! say not so! " replied Jane,
falling down on her knees, and weeping bit-
terly as she buried her face in his lap; " but
there is yet time,"' 1 cried she, starting up,
" Joey can go and fetch the bag. You will,
Joey : won't you, dear ? you are not afraid—
you are innocent."

" Better leave it where it is, mother," re-
plied Joey, calmly.

Kushbrook looked up at his son with sur-
prise, Jane caught him by the arm ; she felt
convinced the boy had some reason for what
he said — probably some plan that would ward
off' suspicion — yet how could that be, it was
evidence against them, and after looking
earnestly at the boy's face, she dropped his
arm. " Why so, Joey V said she, with ap-
parent calmness.

THE POACHER. 57

" Because," replied Joey, " I have been
thinking about it all this time ; I am innocent,
and therefore I do not mind if they suppose
me guilty. The bag is known to be mine —
the gun I must throw in a ditch two fields off.
You must give me some money, if you have
any ; if not, I must go without it ; but there
is no time to be lost ; I must be off and away
from here in ten minutes; to-morrow ask
every one if they have seen or heard of me,
because I have left the house sometime during
the night. T shall have a good start before
that ; besides, they may not find the pedlar
for a day or two, perhaps ; at all events, not
till some time after I am gone ; and then you
see, mother, the bag which is found by him,
and the gun in the ditch, will make them
think it is me who killed him ; but they will
not be able to make out whether I killed
him by accident, and ran away from fear,

58 THE POACHER.

or whether I did it on purpose. So now,
mother, that's my plan, for it will save
father."

" And I shall never see you again, my
child ! " replied his mother.

" That's as may be. You may go away
from here after a time, mother, when the thing
has blown over. Come, mother, there is no
time to lose."

" Rushbrook, what say you — what think
you ? " said Jane to her husband.

" Why, Jane, at all events, the boy must
have left us, for, you see, I told Byres, and
I've no doubt but he told the keeper, if he
met him, that I should bring Joey with me.
I did it to deceive him ; and, as sure as I sit
here, they will have that boy up as evidence
against his father."

" To be sure they will," cried Joey ; " and
what could I do ? I dare not — I don't think

THE POACHER. 59

I could — tell a lie ; and yet I would not
'peach upon father, neither. What can I
do — but be out of the way ?"

" That's the truth — away with you, then,
my boy, and take a father's blessing with you
— a guilty father's, it is true; God forgive
me. Jane, give him all the money you have ;
lose not a moment ; quick, woman, quick."
And Rushbrook appeared to be in an agony.

Jane hastened to the cupboard, opened a
small box, and poured the contents into the
hands of Joey.

" Farewell, my boy," said Itushbrook ;
" your father thanks you.''

" Heaven preserve you, my child," cried
Jane, embracing him, as the tears rained down
her cheeks. " You will write — no! you must
not — mercy ! — mercy ! — I shall never see him
again ! " — and the mother fainted on the
floor.

The tears rose in our hero's eyes as he be-

60 THE POACHER.

held the condition of his poor mother. Once
more he grasped his father's hand ; and then,
catching up the gun, he went out at the back
door, and driving back the dog, who would
have followed him, made over the fields as
fast as his legs could carry him.

CHAPTER VI.

" THE WORLD BEFORE HIM, WHERE TO
CHOOSE. 1 ''

We have no doubt but many of our
readers have occasionally, when on a journey,
come to where the road divides into two,

forking out in different directions, and, the
road being- new to them, have not known
which of the two branches they ought to take.
This happens, as it often does in a novel, to
be our case just now. Shall we follow little
Joey, or his father and mother — that is the
question. We believe that when a road does
thus divide, the widest of the two branches
is generally selected, as being supposed to be

62 THE POACHER.

the continuation of the high road. We shall
ourselves act upon that principle ; and, as the
hero of the tale is of more consequence than
characters accessory, we shall follow up the
fortunes of little Joey. As soon as our hero
had deposited the gun so that it might be
easily discovered by any one passing by, he
darted into the high road, and went off with
all the speed that he Avas capable of, and it
was not yet light when he found himself at
least ten miles from his native village. As
the day dawned, he quitted the high road,
and took to the fields, keeping a parallel
course, so as to still increase his distance ; it
was not until he had made fifteen miles, that,
finding himself exhausted, he sat down to re-
cover himself.

From the time that he had left the cottage
until the present, Joey had had but one over-
whelming idea in his head, which was, to
escape from pursuit, and by his absence to

THE POACHER. 63

save his father from suspicion ; but now that
he had effected that purpose, and was in a
state of quiescence, other thoughts rushed
upon his mind. First, the scenes of the last
few hours presented themselves in rapid array
before him — he thought of the dead man, and
he looked at his hand to ascertain if the
bloody marks had been effaced ; and then he
thought of his poor mother's state when he
quitted the cottage, and the remembrance
made him weep bitterly ; his own position
came next upon him, — a boy, twelve years
of age, adrift upon the world — how was he
to live — what was he to do ? This reminded
him that his mother had given him money ;
he put his hand into his pocket, and pulled it
out to ascertain what he possessed. He had
£1. 16s. ; to him a large sum, and it was all
in silver. As he became more composed, he
began to reflect upon what he had better do ;
where should he go to ? — London. It was a

64 THE POACHER.

long way, he knew, but the farther he was
away from home, the better. Besides, he had
heard much of London, and that every one
got employment there. Joey resolved that
he would go to London ; he knew that he
had taken the right road so far, and having
made up his mind, he rose up, and proceeded.
He knew that, if possible, he must not allow
himself to be seen on the road for a day or
two, and he was puzzled how he was to get
food, which he already felt would be very
acceptable ; anil then, what account was he
to give of himself, if questioned ? Such
were the cogitations of our little hero as he
wended his way till he came to a river, which
was too deep and rapid for him to attempt to
ford — he was obliged to return to the high
road to cross the bridge. He looked around
him before he climbed over the low stone
wall, and perceiving nobody, he jumped on
the footpath, and proceeded to the bridge,

THE POACHER (J5

where he suddenly faced an old woman with
a basket of brown cakes, something like sin-
gerbread. Taken by surprise, and hardly
knowing what to say, he inquired if a cart
had passed that way ?

" Yes, child, but it must be a good mile
a-head of you," said the old woman, " and
you must walk fast to overtake it. 11

" I have had no breakfast yet, and I am
hungry ; do you sell your cakes ?"

" Yes, child, what else do I make them
for ? three a penny, and cheap too."

Joey felt in his pocket until he had selected
a sixpence, and pulling it out, desired the
old woman to give him cakes for it, and,
taking the pile in his hand, he set off as fast
as he could. As soon as he was out of sight,
he again made his way into the fields, and
breakfasted upon half his store. He then
continued his journey until nearly one o'clock,
when, tired out with his exertions, as soon as

66 THE POACHER.

he had finished the remainder of his cakes,
he laid down under a rick of corn and fell
fast asleep, having made twenty miles since
he started. In his hurry to escape pursuit,
and the many thoughts which occupied his
brain, Joey had made no observation on
the weather; if he had, he probablv would
have looked after some more secure shelter
than the lee-side of a haystack. He slept
soundly, and he had not been asleep more
than an hour, when the wind changed, and
the snow fell fast ; nevertheless, Joey slept
on, and probably never would have awakened
more, had it not been that a shepherd and
his dog were returning home in the evening,
and happened to pass close to the haystack.
By this time Joey had been covered with a
layer of snow, half an inch deep, and had it
not been for the dog, who went up to where
he laid, and commenced [jawing the snow off
him, he would have been passed by undis-

THE POACHER. 67

covered by the shepherd, who, after some
trouble succeeded in rousing our hero from his
torpor, and half dragging, half lifting him,
contrived to lead him across one or two fields,
until they arrived at a blacksmith's shop, in
a small village, before Joey could have been
said to have recovered his scattered senses.
Two hours more sleep, and there would
have been no further history to give of our
little hero.

He was dragged to the forge, the fire of
which glowed under the force of the bellows,
and by degrees, as the warmth reached him,
he was restored to self-possession. To the
inquiries made as to who he was, and from
where he came, he now answered as he had
before arranged in his mind. His father and
mother were a long way before him ; he was
going to London, but having been tired, he
had fallen asleep under the haystack, and
he was afraid that if he went not on to

68 THE POACHER.

London directly, he never might find his
father and mother ajrain.

" Oh, then,'" replied the shepherd, " they
have gone on hefore, have they ? Well,
you'll catch them, no doubt."

The blacksmith's wife, who had been a
party to what was going on, now brought up
a little warm ale, which quite re-established
Joey ; and at the same time a waggon drove
up to the door, and stopped at the black-
smith"^ shop.

" I must have a shoe tacked on the old
mare, my friend, 11 said the driver. " You
won't be long P 11

" Not five minutes, 11 replied the smith.
" You're goinc: to London? 11

" Yes, sure. 11

" Herc^s a poor boy that has been left be-
hind by his father and mother somehow — you
wouldn't mind o-ivimj him a lift ?"

" Well, I don't know ; I suppose I must
be paid for it in the world to come."

THE POACHER. 69

" And good pay too, if you earn it," ob-
served the blacksmith.

" Well, it won't make much difference to
my eight horses, I expect," said the driver,
looking at Joey ; " so come along, youngster;
you may perch yourself on top of the straw,
above the goods. 1 '

" First come in with me, child, 11 said the
wife of the blacksmith ; " you must have
some good victuals to take with you — so,
while you shoe the horse, John, I'll see to
the boy. 11

The woman put before Joey a dish in which
were the remains of more than one small joint,
and our hero commenced his attack without
delay.

" Have you any money, child?" inquired
the woman.

Joey, who thought she might expect pay-
ment, replied ; " Yes, ma'am, I've got a
shilling, 11 and he pulled one out of his pocket
and laid it on the table.

70 THE POACHER.

" Bless the child ! what do you take me for,
to think that I would touch your monev? you
are a long way from London yet, although
you have got such a chance to get there. Do
you know where to go when you get there?"

" Yes, ma'am," replied Joey, " I shall get
work in the stables, I believe."

" Well, I dare say that you will ; but in
the mean time you had better save your shil-
ling — so well find something to put this meat
and bread up for your journey. Are you
quite warm now ?"

" Yes, thank'ee, ma'am."

Joey, who had ceased eating, had another
warm at the fire, and in a few minutes, hav-
ing bade adieu, and giving his thanks to the
humane people, he was buried in the straw
below the tilt of the waggon, with his pro-
visions deposited beside him, and the waggon
went on its slow and steady pace to the tune
of its own jingling bells. Joey, who had

THE POACHER. 71

quite recovered from his chill, nestled among
the straw, congratulating himself that he
should now arrive safely in London without
more questioning. And such was the case ;
in three days and three nights, without any
further adventure, he found himself, although
he was not aware of it, in Oxford-street,
somewhat about eight or nine o'clock in the

evening.

Do you know your way now, boy ?" said
the carman.

" I can ask it," replied Joey, " as soon as

I can go to the light and read the address.
Good bye, and thank you," continued he,
glad at last to be clear of any more evasive
replies.

The carman shook him by the hand as they
passed the Boar and Castle, and bade him
farewell, and our hero found himself alone in
the vast metropolis.

What was he to do? He hardly knew —

72 THE POACHER.

but one thought struck him, which was, that
he must find a bed for the night. He wan-
dered up and down Oxford-street for some
time, but every one walked so quick that he
was afraid to speak to them — at last a little
girl, of seven or eight years of age, passed by
him, and looked him earnestly in the face.

" Can you tell me where I can get a bed
for the night?" said Joey.

" Have you any brads?" was the reply.

" What are those ? v> said Joey.

" Any money, to be sure ; why, you're
green — quite."

" Yes, I have a shilling."

** That will do — come along, and you shall
sleep with me."

Joey followed her very innocently, and very
glad that he had been so fortunate. She led
him to a street out of Tottenham-court-road,
in which there were no lamps — the houses,
however, were large, and many stories high.

THE POACHER. 73

" Take my hand," said the girl, u and
mind how you tread."

Guided by his new companion, Joey ar-
rived at a door that was wide open ; the}"
entered, and, assisted by the girl, he went up
a dark staircase to the second story. She
opened a roqm-door, when Joey found himself
in company with about twenty other children,
of about the same age, of both sexes. Here
were several beds on the floor of the room,
which was spacious. In the centre were hud-
dled together on the floor, round a tallow
candle, eight or ten of the inmates, two of
•them playing with a filthy pack of cards,
while the others looked over them ; others
were lying down or asleep on the several
-beds. " This is my bed,"" said the girl ; '.* if
you are tired you can turn in at once. I
shan't go to bed yet."

Joey was tired and he went to bed ; it
was not very clean, but he had been used

VOL. I. E

74 THE POACHER.

to worse lodgings lately. It need hardly
he observed that Joey had got into very
bad company, the whole of the inmates of
the room consisting of juvenile thieves and
pickpockets, who in the course of time obtain
promotion in their profession, until they are
ultimately sent off to Botany Bay. Attempts
have been made to check these nurseries
of vice; but pseudo-philanthropists have
resisted such barbarous innovation ; and,
upon the Mosaic principle, that you must
not seethe the kid in the mother's milk, they
are protected and allowed to arrive at full
maturity, and beyond the chance of being
reclaimed, until they are ripe for the penal-
ties of the law.

Joey slept soundly, and when he awoke
next morning: found that his little friend was
not with him. He dressed himself, and then
made another discovery, which was, that every
farthing of his money had been abstracted

THE POACHER. 75

from his pockets. Of this unpleasant fact he
ventured to complain to one or two boys,
who were lying on other beds with their
clothes on ; they laughed at him, called him
a green-horn, and made use of other language,
which at once let Joey know the nature of
the company with whom he had been passing
the night. After some altercation three or
four of them bundled him out of the room,
and Joey found himself in the street without
a farthing, and very much inclined to eat a
good breakfast.

There is no portion of the world, small as
it is in comparison with the whole, in which
there is more to be found to eat and to drink,
more comfortable lodgings, or accommoda-
tion and convenience of every kind than in the
metropolis of England, provided you have
the means to obtain it ; but, notwithstanding
this abundance, there is no place, probably,
where you will find it more difficult to obtain

e 2

76 THE POACHER.

a portion of it, if you happen to have an
empty pocket.

Joey went into a shop here and there to
ask for employment — he was turned away
everywhere. He spent the first day in this
manner, and at night, tired and hungry, he
laid down on the stone steps of a portico, and
fell asleep. The next morning he awoke
shivering with the cold, faint with hunger.
He asked at the areas for something to eat,
but no one would give him any thing. At a
pump he obtained a drink of water — that was
all he could obtain, for it cost nothing.
Another day passed without food, and the
poor boy again sheltered himself for the night
at a rich man's door in Berkeley-square.

CHAPTER VII.

IF YOU WANT EMPLOYMENT GO TO LONDON.

The exhausted lad awoke again, and pur-
sued his useless task of appeals for food and
employment. It was a bright day, and there
was some little warmth to be collected by
basking in the rays of the sun, when our hero
wended his way through St. James's Park,
faint, hungry, and disconsolate. There were
several people seated on the benches, and
Joey, weak as he was, did not venture to go
near them, but crawled along. At last, after
wandering up and down, looking for pity in
everybody's face as they passed, and receiv-
ing none, he felt that he could not stand

78 THE POACHER.

much longer, and, emboldened by desperation,
he approached a bench that was occupied by
one person. At first he only rested on the
arm of the bench, but, as the person sitting
down appeared not to observe him, he timidly
took a seat at the further end. The personage
who occupied the other part of the bench,
was a man dressed in a morning suit a-la-
militaire and black stock. He had clean
gloves and a small cane in his hand, with
which he was describing circles on the gravel
before him, evidently in deep thought. In
height he was full six feet, and his propor-
tions combined strength with symmetry. His
features were remarkably handsome, his dark
hair had a natural curl, and his whiskers
and mustachios (for he wore those military
appendages) were evidently the objects of
much attention and solicitude. We may as
well here observe, that although so favoured
by nature, still there would have been con-

THE POACHER. 79

sidered something wanting in him by those
who had been accustomed to move in the
first circles, to make him the refined gentle-
man His movements and carriage were not
inelegant, but there was a certain retinue
wanting. He bowed well, but still it was
not exactly the bow of a gentleman. The
nursery maids as they passed by said, " dear
me, what a handsome gentleman; 1 ' but had
the remark been made by a higher class, it
would have been qualified into " what a
handsome man." His age was apparently
about five-and-thirtv — it might have been
something more. After a short time he left
off his mechanical amusements, and turning
round, perceived little Joey at the farther
end. Whether from the mere inclination to
talk, or that he thought it presuming in our
hero to seat himself upon the same bench,
he said to him —

" I hope you are comfortable, my little

80 THE POACHER.

man ; but perhaps you've forgot your mes-
sage."

" I have no message, Sir, for I know no
one; and I am not comfortable, for I am
starving, - " replied Joey, in a tremulous voice.

" Are you in earnest now, when you say
that, boy ; or is it that you're humbugging'

me?"

Joey shook his head. " I have eaten no-
thing since the day before yesterday morning,
and I feel faint and sick," replied he at last.

His new companion looked earnestly in our
hero's face, and was satisfied that what he said
was true.

" As I hope to be saved,' 1 exclaimed he,.
" it's my opinion that a little bread and butter
would not be a bad thing for you. Here, 1 '
continued he, putting his hand into his coat
pocket, " take these coppers, and go and geb
something into your little vitals."

" Thank you, Sir, thank you kindly. But

THE POACHER. 81

I don't know where to go ; I only came up to
London two days ago.*"

" Then follow me as fast as your little pins
can carry you," said the other. They had
not far to go, for a man was standing close to
Spring-garden-gate, with hot tea and bread
and butter, and in a few moments Joey's
hunger was considerably appeased.

" Do you feel better now, my little cock ?"

" Yes, Sir, thank you."

" That's right, and now we will go back to
the bench, and then you shall tell me all about
yourself, just to pass away the time. Now,"
said he, as he took his seat, " in the first
place, who is your father, if you have any ;
and if you haven't any, what was he?"

" Father and mother are both alive, but
they are a long way off. Father was a sol-
dier, and he has a pension now."

" A soldier ! Do you know in what regi-
ment ? "

82 THE POACHER.

" Yes, it was the 53rd, I think. 11

" By the powers, my own regiment ! And
what is your name, then, and his ? "

" llushbrook, 11 replied Joey.

" My pivot man, by all that's holy. Now
haven't you nicely dropped on your feet ?"

" I don't know, Sir, 11 replied our hero.

" But I do ; your father was the best fel-
low I had in my company — the best forager,
and always took care of his officer, as a good
man should do. If there was a turkey, or a
goose, or a duck, or a fowl, or a pig within
ten miles of us, he would have it : he was the
boy for poaching. And now tell me (and
mind you tell the truth Avhen you meet with
a friend) what made you leave your father
and mother? 11

" I was afraid of being taken up — " and
here Joey stopped, for he hardly knew what
to say ; trust his new acquaintance with his
father's secret he daie not ; neither did he like

THE POACHER. 83

to tell what was directly false ; as the reader
will perceive by his reply, he partly told the
truth.

" Afraid of being taken up ! why, what
could they take up a spalpeen like you for ? "

" Poaching," replied Joey; " father poached
too ; they had proof against me, so I came
away — with father's consent.""

" Poaching! well, I'm not surprised at that,
for if ever it was in the blood, it is in your's
— that's truth. And what do you mean to do
now ? "

" Any thing I can to earn my bread."

" What can you do — besides poaching, of
course ? Can you read and write ? "

" Oh, yes."

" Would you like to be a servant — clean
boots, brush clothes, stand behind a cab,
run messages, carry notes, and hold your
tongue?"

" I could do all that, I think— I am twelve
years old. '

84 THE POACHER.

" The devil you are ; well then, for your
father's sake, I'll see what I can do for you,
till you can do better. I'll fit you out as a
tiger, and what's more, unless I am devilish
hard up, I won't sell you. So come along.
What's your name ?"

" Joey."

" Sure that was your father's name before
you, I now recollect ; and should any one
take the trouble to ask you what may be the
name of your master, you may reply with a
safe conscience, that it's Captain O 'Donahue.
Now, come along. Not close after me — you
may as well keep open file just now, till I've
made you look a little more decent.'"

CHAPTER VIII.

A DISSERTATION UPON PEDIGREE.

Our readers will not perhaps be displeased
if we introduce Captain O'Donahue more par-
ticularly to their notice; we shall therefore de-
vote this chapter to giving some account of his
birth, parentage, and subsequent career. If
the father of Captain O'Donahue was to be be-
lieved, the race of the O'Donahues were kings
in Ireland long: before the O'Connors were
ever heard of. How far this may be correct
we cannot pretend to offer an opinion, further
than that no man can be supposed to know so
much of a family's history as the descendant
himself. The documents were never laid be-

86 THE POACHER.

fore us, and we have only the positive asser-
tion of the Squireen O'Donahue, who asserted
not only that they were kings in Ireland be-
fore the O'Connors, whose pretensions to an-
cestry he treated with contempt, but further,
that they were renowned for their strength,
and were famous for using the longest bows
in battle that were ever known or heard
of. Here we have circumstantial evidence,
although not proof. If strong, they might
have been kings in Ireland, for there "might
has been right " for many centuries, and cer-
tainly their acquirements were handed down
to posterity, as no one was more famous for
drawing the long bow than the Squireen
O'Donahue. Upon these points, however, we
must leave our readers to form their own
opinions. Perhaps some one more acquainted
with the archives of the country may be able
to set us right if we are wrong, or to corrobo-
rate our testimony if we are right. In his pre-

THE POACHER. 87

face to "Anne of Geierstein, 1 ' Sir Walter Scott
observes, that " errors, however trivial, ought,
in his opinion, never to be pointed out to the
author, without meeting with a candid and
respectful acknowledgment." Following the
example of so great a man, we can only say,
that if any gentleman can prove or disprove
the assertion of the Squireen CDonahue, to
wit, that the O'Donahues were kings of
Ireland lon«; before the O'Connors were heard
of, we shall be most happy to acknowledge
the favour, and insert his remarks in the next
edition. We should be further obliged to the
same party, or indeed any other, if they would
favour us with an idea of what was implied
by a king of Ireland in those days ; that is to
say, whether he held a court, taxed his sub-
jects, collected revenue, kept up a standing
army, sent ambassadors to foreign countries,
and did all which kings do now-a-days? or
whether his shillelagh was his sceptre, and his

88 THE POACHER.

domain some furze-crowned hills and a bog,
the intricacies of which were known only to
himself? whether he was arrayed in jewelled
robes, with a crown of gold weighing on his
temples ? or whether he went bare-legged and
bare-armed, with his bare locks flowing in lux-
urious wildness to the breeze ? We request
an answer to this in full simplicity. We ob-
serve that even in Ireland, now, a fellow six
feet high, and stout in proportion, is called a
"prince of a fellow,'" although he has not
wherewithal to buy a paper of tobacco to sup-
ply his dudeen: and, arguing from this fact,
we are inclined to think that a few more inches
in stature, and commensurate muscular in-
crease of power, would in former times have
raised the "heir apparent" to the dignity of
the Irish throne. But these abstruse specu-
lations have led us from our history, which
we must now resume.

Whatever may once have been the import-

THE POACHER. 89

ance of the house of O'Donahue, one thing is
certain, that there are many ups and downs in
this world; every family in it has its wheel of
fortune, which revolves faster or slower as
the fates decree, and the descendant of kings
before the O'Connors' time was now descended
into a species of Viceroy, Squireen O'Donahue
beino- the steward of certain wild estates in
the county of Galway, belonging to a family,
who for many years had shown a decided
aversion to the natural beauties of the coun-
try, and had thought proper to migrate to
where, if people were not so much attached to
them, they were at all events more civilized.
These estates were extensive, but not lucra-
tive. They abounded in rocks, brushwood,
and woodcocks during the season; and al-
though the Squireen O'Donahue did his best
if not for his employer, at least for himself,
it was with some difficulty that he contrived
to support, with any thing like respectability

90 THE POACHER.

(which ill that part of the country means
"dacent clothes to wear"), a very numerous
family, lineally descended from the most
ancient of all the kings of Ireland.

Before the Squireen had obtained his em-
ployment, he had sunk his rank and travelled
much — as a courier — thereby gaining much
knowledge of the world. If, therefore, he
had no wealth to leave his children, at all
events he could impart to them that know-
ledge which is said to be better than worldly
possessions. Having three sons and eight
daughters, all of them growing up healthy
and strong, with commensurate appetites, he
soon found that it was necessarv to get rid of
them as fast as he could. His eldest, who,
strange to say, for an O'Donahue, was a quiet
lad, he had as a favour lent to his brother, N
who kept a small tobacconist and grocer's
shop in Dublin, and his brother was so fond
of him, that eventually O'Carroll O'Donahue

THE POACHER. 91

was bound to him as an apprentice. It cer-
tainly was a degradation for the descendant
of such ancient kings to be weighing out
pennyworths of sugar, and supplying half-
penny papers of tobacco to the old apple and
fish-women ; but still there we must leave the
heir apparent while we turn to the second son,
Mr. Patrick CTDonahue, whose history we
are now relating, having already made the
reader acquainted with him by an introduc-
tion in St. James's Park.

CHAPTER IX.

IN WHICH THE ADVICE OF A FATHER DE-
SERVES PECULIAR ATTENTION'.

It may be supposed that, as steward of the
estates, Squireen OT)onahue had some influ-
ence over the numerous tenants on the pro
perty, and this influence he took care to make
the most of. His assistance in a political
contest was rewarded by the offer of an en-
signcy for one of his sons, in a regiment then
raising in Ireland, and this offer was too good
to be refused. So, one fine day, Squireen
O'Donahue came home from Dublin, well
bespattered with mud, and found his son
Patiick also well bespattered with mud,

THE POACHER. 93

having just returned home from a very suc-
cessful expedition against the woodcocks.

" Patrick, my jewel," said the Squireen,
taking a seat and wiping his face, for he was
rather warm with his ride, " you're a made

man. 1 '

" And well made too, father, if the girls are
any thing of judges,'' replied Patrick.

" You put me out," replied the Squireen ;
" you've more to be vain of than your
figure.'"

" And what may that be, that you're dis-
coursing about, father? 11

" Nothing more nor less, nor better nor
worse, but you're an ensign in his Majesty's
new regiment — the number has escaped my
memory."

" Fd rather be a colonel, father," replied
Patrick, musing.

" The colonel's to come, you spalpeen
said the Squireen.

94 THE POACHER.

" And the fortune to make, I expect," re-
plied Patrick.

" You've just hit it ; but haven't you the
whole world before you to pick and choose ? M

" Well," replied Patrick, after a pause;
" I've no objection."

" No objection ! Why don't you jump
out of your skin with delight ? At all events
you might jump high enough to break in the
caling."

" There's no ceiling to break," replied
Patrick, looking up at the rafters.

" That's true enough : but still you might
go out of your seven senses in a rational sort

of a way."

" I really can't see for why, father dear.
You tell me I'm to leave my poor old mother,
who doats upon me ; my sisters, who are fond
of me ; my friends here (patting the dogs),
who follow me ; the hills, that I love ; and
the woodcocks, which I shoot ; to go to be

THE POACHER. 95

shot at myself, and buried like a dead dog,
without being skinned, on the field of battle."

" I tell you to go forth into the world as
an officer, and make your fortune ; to come
back a general, and be the greatest man of
your family- And don't be too unhappy
about not being skinned. Before you are
older or wiser, dead or alive, you'll be skinned,
I'll answer for it."

" Well, father, I'll go ; but I expect
there'll be a good deal of ground to march
over before I'm a general."

" And you've a good pair of legs."

" So I'm told every day of my life. I'll
make the best use of them when I start ; but
it's the starting I don't like, and that's the
real truth."

The reader may be surprised at the indif-
ference shown by Patrick at the intelligence
communicated by his father; but the fact was,
Mr. Patrick O'Donahue was very deep in

96 THE POACHER.

love. This cooled his national ardour ; and
it must be confessed that there was every
excuse, for a more lovely creature than Judith
M'Crae never existed. To part with her
was the only difficulty, and all his family
feelings were but a cloak to the real cause of
his unwillingness.

" Nevertheless, you must start to-morrow,
my boy,'" said his father.

" What must be, must," replied Patrick,
«' so there's an end of the matter. I'll just

go out for a bit of a walk, just to stretch my

111
egs.

" They require a deal of stretching, Pat,
considering you've been twenty miles, at least,
this morning, over the mountains," replied
the Squireen. Hut Patrick was out of hear-
ing ; he had leapt over a stone wall which
separated his father's potatoe-ground from
Cornelius M'Crae's, and had hastened to
Judith, whom he found very busy getting
the dinner ready.

THE POACHER. 97

" Judith, my dear," said Patrick, " my
heart's quite broke with the bad news I have
to tell you. Sure I'm going to leave you to-
morrow morning."

" Now, Patrick, you're joking, surely."

" Devil a joke in it. I'm an ensign in a
regiment."

« Then I'll die, Patrick."

" More like that I will, Judith ; what
with grief and a bullet to help it, perhaps."

" Now, what d'ye mean to do, Patrick ?*"

" Mean to go, sure ; because I can't help
myself; and to come back again, if ever I've
the luck of it. My heart's leaping out of my
mouth entirely."

" And mine's dead," replied Judith, in
tears.

" It's no use crying, mavourneen. I'll be
back to dance at my own wedding, if so be
I can."

" There'll be neither wedding for you,

VOL. i. F

98 THE POACHER.

Patrick, nor wake either, for you'll lie on the
cold ground, and be ploughed in like muck."

" That's but cold comfort from you,
Judith, but we'll hope for a better ending ;
but I must go back now, and you'll meet me
this evening beyond the shealing."

" Won't it be for the last time, Patrick ? w
replied Judith, with her apron up to her
eyes.

" If I've any voice in the matter, I say
no. Please the pigs, I'll come back a
colonel.' 1

" Then you'll be no match for Judith
M'Crae," replied the sobbing girl.

" Shoot easy, my Judith, that's touching
my honour ; if I'm a general it will be all
the same."

" Oh, Patrick ! Patrick P

Patrick folded Judith in his arms, took
one kiss, and then hastened out of the house,
saying — « Remember the shealing, Judith

THE POACHER. 99

dear, there we'll talk the matter over easy
and comfortable."

Patrick returned to his house, where he
found his mother and sisters in tears. They
had received orders to prepare his wardrobe,
which, by-the-bye, did not give them much
trouble from its extent; they only had to
mend every individual article. His father
was sitting down by the hearth, and when he
saw Patrick he said to him — " Now just
come here, my boy, and take a stool, while
you listen to me and learn a little worldly
wisdom, for I may not have much time to
talk to you when we are at Dublin."

Patrick took a seat and was all attention.

" You'll just observe, Pat, that it's a very
fine thing to be an officer in the king's army ;
nobody dares to treat you ill, although you
may ill-treat others, which is no small advan-
tage in this world."

" There's truth in that, 11 replied Patrick.

100 THE POACHER.

" You see, when you get into an enemy's
country, you may help yourself ; and, if you
look sharp, there's very pretty pickings — all
in a quiet way, you understand."

" That, indeed."

" You observe, Pat, that, as one of his
officers, the king expects you to appear and
live like a gentleman, only lie forgets to give
you the means of so doing ; you must, there-
fore, take all you can get from his Majesty,
and other people must make up the differ-
ence."

" That's a matter o'course," said Patrick.

" You'll soon see your way clear, and find
out what you may be permitted to do and
what you may not ; for the king expects you
to keep up the character of a gentleman as
well as the appearance."

"O 1 course^ 1

" Mayhap you may be obliged to run in
debt a little — a gentleman may do that;

THE POACHER. 101

mayhap you may not be able to pay — that's
a gentleman's case very often — if so, never go
so far as twenty pounds ; first, because the
law don't reach ; and secondly, because
twenty pound is quite enough to make a
man suffer for the good of his country."' 1

" There's sense in that, father."

"•And, Patrick, recollect that people
judge by appearances in this world, espe-
cially when they've nothing else to go by.
If you talk small, your credit will be small ;
but if you talk large, it will be just in
proportion."

" I perceive, father."

" It's not much property we possess in this
said county of Galway, that's certain ; but you
must talk of this property as if I was the
squire, and not the steward ; and when you
talk of the quantity of woodcocks you have
bagged, you must say on our property."

" I understand, father."

102 THE POACHER.

" And you must curse you stars at being a
younger brother ; it will be an excuse for
your having no money, but will make them
believe it's in the family, at all events. 1 '

" I perceive, " replied Patrick.

" There's one thing more, Pat ; it's an
Irish regiment, so you must get out of it as
soon as possible, by exchange."

"For why?"

" This for why. You will be among those
born too near home, and who may doubt all
you say, because your story may interfere
with their own. Get into an English rejn-
ment by all means, and there you'll be
beyond the reach of contradiction, which
a'nt pleasant."

"True enough, father."

" Treasure up all I have told you — it's
worldly wisdom, and you have your fortune
to make ; so now recollect, never hold back at
a forlorn hope ; volunteer for every thing ;

THE POACHER. 103

volunteer to be blown from a cannon's
mouth, so that they will give you promotion
for that same ; volunteer to go all over the
world, into the other world, and right through
that again into the one that comes after that,
if there is any, and then one thing will be
certain, either that youll be a colonel or
general, or else "

" Else what, father ?"

" That you won't require to be made
either, seeing that you'll be past all making ;
but luck's all, and lucky it is, by-the-bye,
that I've a little of the squire's rent in hand,
to fit you out with, or how we should have
managed, the saints only know. As it is, I
must sink it on the next year's account, but
that's more easy to do than to fit you out
with no money. I must beg the tenants off;
make the potatoe crop fail entirely, and report
twenty by name, at least, dead of starvation.
Serve him right, for spending his money out

104 THE POACHER.

of Old Ireland. It's only out of* real pathrio-
tism that I cheat him — just to spend the
money in the country. And now, Patrick,
I've done; now you may go and square your
accounts with Judith, for I know now where
the cat jumps; but I'll leave old Time alone
for doing his work."

Such was the advice of the Squireen to his
son ; and, as worldly wisdom, it was not so
bad ; and certainly, when a lad is cast a-drift
in the world, the two best things you can
bestow on him are a little worldly wisdom and
a little money, for, without the former, the
latter and he will soon part company.

The next day they set off for Dublin,
Patrick's head being in a confused jumble of
primitive good feeling, Judith M'Crae, his
father's advice, and visions of future great-
ness. He was fitted out, introduced to the
officers, and then his father left him his
blessing and his own way to make in the

THE POACHER. 105

world. In a fortnight the regiment was
complete, and they were shipped to Liverpool
and from Liverpool to Maidstone, where,
being all newly-raised men, they were to
remain for a time, to be disciplined. Before
the year had expired, Patrick had followed
his father's advice and exchanged, receiving a
difference with an ensign of a regiment going
on foreign service. He was sent to the West
Indies, but the seasons were healthy, and he
returned home an ensign. He volunteered
abroad again, after five years, and gained his
lieutenant's commission, from a death vacan-
cy, without purchase.

After a fifteen years' hard service, the de-
sired captain's commission came at last, and
CDonahue, having been so unsuccessful in
his military career, retired upon half-pay,
determined, if possible, to offer his handsome
person in exchange for competence. But
during the fifteen years which had passed

106 THE POACHER.

away, a great change had come over the in-
genuous and unsophisticated Patrick O'Dona-
hue; he had mixed so long with a selfish and
heartless world, that his primitive feelings
had gradually worn away. Judith had,
indeed, never been forgotten, but she was
now at rest, for, by mistake, Patrick had
been returned dead of the yellow fever, and
at the intelligence she had drooped like a
severed snowdrop and died. The only tie
strong enough to induce him to return to
Ireland was, therefore, broken, his father's
worldly advice had not been forgotten, and
CDonahue considered the world as his oyster-
Expensive in his habits and ideas, longing
for competence, while he vegetated on half-
pay, he was now looking out for a matrimo-
nial speculation. His generosity and his
courage remained with him — two virtues not
to be driven out of an Irishman, — but his
other good qualities lay in abeyance ; and yet

THE POACHER. 107

his better feelings were by no means extin-
guished; they were dormant, but by favour-
able circumstances were again to be brought
into action. The world and his necessities
made him what he was, for many were the
times, for years afterwards, that he would in
his reveries surmise how happy he might have
been in his own wild country, where half-pay
would have been competence, had his Judith
been spared to him, and he could have laid
his head upon her bosom.

108

CHAPTER X.

IN WHICH MAJOR Jl'SHANE NARRATES SOME
CURIOUS MATRIMONIAL SPECULATIONS.

Our hero was soon fitted out with the
livery of a groom, and installed as the confi-
dential servant of Captain ODonahue, who
had lodgings on the third floor in a
fashionable street. He soon became expert
and useful, and as the Captain breakfasted at
home, and always ordered sufficient for Joey
to make another cold meal of during the day,
he was at little or no expense to his master.

One morning, when Captain 0"Donahue
was sitting in his dressing-gown at breakfast,
Joey opened the door, and announced Major
M'Shane.

THE POACHER. 109

" Is it yourself, CDonahue?" said the
Major, extending his hand ; " and, now,
what d'ye think has brought me here this fine
morning ? It's to do a thing that's rather un-
usual with me, neither more nor less than to
pay you the £%0 which you lent me a matter
of three years ago, and which, I dare say, you
never expected to see any thing but the ghost
of."

" Why, M'Shane, if the truth must be
told, it will be something of a resurrection
when it appears before me," replied O'Dona-
hue ; " I considered it dead and buried ; and,
like those who are dead and buried, it has
been long forgotten."

" Nevertheless, here it is, in four notes —
one, two, three, four: four times five is
twenty ; there's arithmetic for you, and your
money to boot, and many thanks in the bar-
gain, by way of interest. And now, O'Do-
nahue, where have you been, what have you

110 THE POACHER.

been doing, what are you doing, and what do
yon intend to do ? That's what I call a com-
prehensive inquiry, and a very close one
too. 1 '

" I have been in London a month, I have
done nothing, I am doing nothing, and I don't
know what I intend to do. You may take
that for a comprehensive answer."

" I'll tell you all about myself without your
asking. I have been in London for nearly
two years, one of which I spent in courting
and the other in matrimony."

" Why, you don't mean to say that you
are married, M'Shane ; if so, as you've been
married a year, you can tell me, am I to
give you joy?"

" Why, yes, I believe you may ; there's
nothing so stupid, O'Donahue, as domestic
happiness, that's a fact; but, altogether, I
have been so large a portion of my life doubt-
ful where I was to get a dinner, that I think

THE POACHER. Ill

that on the whole I have made a very good
choice."

" And may I inquire who is the' party to
whom Major M'Shane has condescended to
sacrifice his handsome person P"

" Is it handsome you mane ? As the ugly
lady said to the looking-glass, I beg no re-
flections — you wish to know who she is ; well,
then, you must be content to listen to all my
adventures from the time we parted, for she
is at the end of them, and I can't read back-
wards."

" I am at your service, so begin as you
please."

" Let me see, O'Donahue, where was it
that we parted P 11

" If I recollect, it was at the landing made
at , where you were reported killed."

" Very true, but that, I give my honour,
was all a lie; it was fat Sergeant Murphy
that was killed, instead of me. He was a

112 THE POACHER.

terrible fellow, that Sergeant Murphy ; he
got himself killed on purpose, because he
never could have passed his accounts: well,
he fought like a devil, so peace be with him.
I was knocked down, as you know, with a
bullet in my thigh, and as I could not stand
I sat upon the carcase of Sergeant Murphy,
bound up my leg, and meditated on sublu-
nary affairs. I thought what a great rogue
he was, that Sergeant Murphy, and how he'd
<i - one out of the world without absolution ;
and then I thought it very likely that he
might have some money about him, and how
much better it would be that I should have
it to comfort me in prison than any rascally
Frenchman ; so I put my hand in his pocket
and borrowed his purse, which was, taking
the difference of size, as well lined as himself.
Well, as you had all retreated and left me to
be taken prisoner, I waited very patiently
till they should come and carry me to the

THE POACHER. 113

hospital, or wherever else they pleased. They
were not long; coming for me : one fellow
would have passed his bayonet through me,
but I had my pistol cocked, so he thought it
advisable to take me prisoner. I was taken
into the town, not to the hospital or the prison,
but quartered at the house of an old lady of
high rank and plenty of money. Well, the
surgeon came and very politely told me that
he must cut oft' my leg, and I very politely
told him to go to the devil ; and the old lady
came in and took my part, when she saw what
a handsome leg it was, and sent for another
doctor at her own expense, who promised to
set me on my pins in less than a month.
Well, the old lady fell in love with me ; and
although she was not quite the vision of youth-
ful fancy, as the saying is, for she had only
one tooth in her head, and that stuck out
half an inch beyond her upper lip, still she
had other charms for a poor devil like me ; so

114 THE POACHER.

I made up my mind to marry her, for she
made cruel love to me as I laid in bed, and
before I was fairly out of bed the thing was
settled, and a week afterwards the day was
fixed ; but her relatives got wind of it, for,
like an old fool, she could not help blabbing,
and so one day there came a file of soldiers
with a corporal at their head, informing me
that I was now quite well, and therefore if it
was all the same to me I must go to prison.
This was any thing but agreeable, and con-
trary to rule. As an officer I was entitled to
my parole ; and so I wrote to the commanding
officer, who sent for me, and then he told me
I had my choice, to give up the old lady,
whose friends were powerful, and would not
permit her to make a fool of herself (a per-
sonal remark, by-the-bye, which it was un-
handsome to make to a gentleman in my
circumstances), or to be refused parole, and
remain in prison, and that he would give me

THE POACHER. 115

an hour to decide ; then he made me a very
low bow and left me. I was twisting the
affair over in my mind, one moment thinking
of her purse and carriage and doubloons, and
another of that awful long tooth of hers,
when one of her relatives came in and said he
had a proposal to make, which was, that I
should be released and sent to Gibraltar, with-
out any conditions, with a handsome sum of
money to pay my expenses, if I would pro-
mise to give up the old lady now and for
ever. That suited my book ; I took the
money, took my leave, and a small vessel took
me to Gibraltar ; so after all, you see, O'Do-
nahue, the thing did not turn out so bad. I
lost only an old woman with a long tooth, and
I gained my liberty. 11

" No ; you got out of that affair with
credit. 11

" And with money, which is quite as good ;
so when I returned and proved myself alive,

116 THE POACHER.

1 was reinstated, and had all my arrears paid
up. What with Sergeant Murphy's purse,
and the foreign subsidy, and my arrears, I
was quite flush ; so I resolved to be circum-
spect, and make hay while the sun shone ;
notwithstanding which, I was as nearly
trapped by a cunning devil of a widow. Two
days more, and I should have made a pretty
kettle of fish of it."

" What, at your age, M'Shane ?"
" Ah, bother ! but she was a knowing one
— a widow on a first-floor, good-looking,
buxom, a fine armful, and about thirty — met
her at a party — pointed out to me as without
encumbrance, and well off' — made up to her,
escorted her home — begged permission to call,
was graciously received — talked of her de-
parted husband, thought me like him— every
thing so up comfortable — plenty of plate —
good furniture — followed her — received notes
by a little boy in sky-blue and silver sugar-

THE POACHER. 117

loaf buttons — sent me all her messages — one
day in the week to her banker's to cash a
cheque. Would you believe the cunning of
the creature ? She used to draw out £25
every week, sending me for the money, and,
as I found out afterwards, paid it in again in
fifties every fortnight, and she only had £50
in all. Wasn't I regularly humbugged?
Made proposals — was accepted — all settled,
and left off talking about her departed. One
day, and only two days before the wedding,
found the street-door open, and heard a noise
between her and her landlady at the top of
the stairs, so I waited at the bottom. The
landlady was insisting upon her rent, and
having all her plate back again — my charming
widow entreating for a little delay, as she was
to be married — landlady came down stairs,
red as a turkey-cock, so I very politely
begged her to walk into the parlour, and I
put a few questions, when I discovered that

118 THE POACHER.

my intended was a widow, with a pension of
i?80 a-year, and had six children, sent out of
the way until she could find another protector,
which I resolved, at all events, should not be
Major M'Shane ; so I walked out of the
door, and have never seen her since."

" By the head of St. Patrick, but that
was an escape ! "

" Yes, indeed, the she devil with six
children, and ^80 a-vear ; it's a wicked
world this, CTDonahue. Well, I kept clear
of such cunning articles, and only looked
after youth and innocence in the city. At
last I discovered the only daughter of a
German sugar-baker in the Minories, a young
thing about seventeen, but very little for her
age. She went to a dancing-school, and I
contrived, by bribing the maid, to carry on
the affair most successfully, and she agreed
to run away with me ; every thing was ready,
the post-chaise was at the corner of the street,

THE POACHER. 119

she came -with her bundle in her hand. I
thrust it into the chaise, and was just tossing
her in after it, when she cried out that she
had forgot something, and must go back for
it ; and away she went slipping through my
fingers. Well, I waited most impatiently for
her appearance, and at last saw her coming,
and what d'ye think she'd gone back for ?
By the powers for her doll, which she held
in her hand ! And just as she came to the
chaise, who should come round the corner
but her father, who had walked from Min-
cing-lane. He caught my mincing Miss by
the arm, with her doll and her bundle, and
bundled her home, leaving me and the post-
chaise, looking like two fools. I never
could see her again or her confounded doll
either."

" You have been out of luck, M'Shane."
" I'm not sure of that, as the affair has
ended. Now comes another adventure, in

120 THE POACHER.

which I turned the tables, anyhow; I fell
in with a very pretty girl, the daughter of a
lawyer in Chancery-lane, who was said to
have, and (I paid a shilling- at Doctors'-
Commons and read the will) it was true
enough, an independent fortune from her
grandmother. She was always laughing —
full of mischief and practical jokes. She
pretended to be pleased, the hussey, with my
addresses, and at last she consented, as I
thought, to run away with me. I imagined
that I had clinched the business at last,
when one dark night I handed her into a
chaise, wrapped up in a cloak, and crying.
However, I got her in, and away we went
as if the devil was behind us. I coaxed her
and soothed her, and promised to make her
happy, but she still kept her handkerchief
up to her eyes, and would not permit me a
chaste salute, even pushed me away when I
would put my arm round her waist, — all

THE POACHER. ]21

which I ascribed to the extra shame and
modesty which a woman feels when she is
doing wrong. At last, when about fifteen
miles from town, there was a burst of
laughter, and ' I think Ave have gone far
enough, Major M'Shane.' By all the saints
in the calendar, it was her scamp of a brother
that had taken her place. ' My youno- o-en-
tleman, 1 said I, ' I think you have not only
gone far enough, but, as I shall prove to
you, perhaps a little too far,' for I was in no
fool of a passion. So I set to, beat him to a
mummy, broke his nose, blackened both his
eyes, and knocked half his teeth down his
throat, and when he was half dead, I opened
the chaise door as it whirled alono- and
kicked him out to take his chance of the
wheels, or any other wheels, which the
wheel of fortune might turn up for him. So
he went home and told his sister what a
capital joke it was, I've no doubt. I'll be
vol. i. g

122 THE POACHER.

bound the young gentleman has never run
away with an Irishman since that ; hoAvever,
I never heard any more about him or his
lovely sister.'"

" Now then for the wind up, M'Shane."
" Corn-ting's very expensive, especially
when you order post-chaises for nothing at
all, and I was very nearly at the end of my
rhino ; so I said to myself, — ' M'Shane, you
must retrench/ And I did so; instead of
dining at the coffee-house, I determined to go
to an eating-house, and walked into one in
Ilolborn, where I sat down to a plate of
good beef and potatoes, and a large lump of
plum-pudding, paid Is. 6d., and never was
better pleased in my life; so I went there
again, and became a regular customer; and
the girls who waited laughed with me, and
the lady who kept the house was very
gracious. Now, the lady was good-looking,
but she was rather too fat ; there was an

THE POACHER. 123

amiable look about her even when she was
carving beef, and by degrees Ave became
intimate, and I found her a very worthy
creature and as simple-minded as a child,
although she could look sharp after her
customers. It was, and is now, a most thriv-
ing establishment — nearly 2C0 people dine
there every day. I don't know how it was,
but I suppose I first fell in love with her
beef and then with her fair self, and finding
myself well received at all times, I one day,
as she was carving a beef-steak-pie which
might have tempted a king for its fragrance,
put the question to her, as to how she would
like to marry again. She blushed, and fixed
her eyes down upon the hole she had made
in the pie, and then I observed, that if there
was a hole in my side as big as there was in
the pie before her — she would see her image
in my heart. This pretty simile did the busi-
ness for me, and in a month we were married;

124 THE POACHER.

and I never shall want a dinner as long as I
live, either for myself or friend. I will put
vou on the free list, O'Donahue, if vou can
condescend to a cook's shop; and I can
assure you, that I think I have done a very
wise thing, for I don't want to present any
wife at Court, and I have a very comfortable
home."

" You have done a wise thing, in my opi-
nion, M'Shane — you have a wife who makes
money, instead of one who spends it"

" And, moreover, I have found my bar-
gain better than I anticipated, which is sel-
dom the case in this world of treachery and
deceit. She has plenty of money, and is put-
ting by more every year. 11

" Which you have the control of at your
disposition, do you mean to say ?"

" Why, yes, I may say that now — but,
O'Donahue, that is owing to my circumspec-
tion and delicacy. At first starting I deter-

THE POACHER. 125

mined that she should not think that it was
only her money that I wanted ; so, after we
were married, I continued to find myself,
which, paying nothing for board and lodging,
and washing, I could easily do upon my
half-pay ; and 1 have done so ever since, until
just now.

" I had. not been married a week before I
saw that she expected I would make inqui-
ries into the state of her finances, but I would
not ; at last, finding that I would not enter
into the business, she did, and told me that
she had £1 7,000 Consols laid by, and that
the business was worth £1,000 per annum
(you may fish at Cheltenham a long while,
O'Donahue, before you get such a haul as
that). So I told her I was very glad she
was well off, and then I pretended to go fast
asleep, as I never interfered with her, and
never asked for money ; at last she didn't
like it, and offered it to me, but I told her

126 THE POACHER.

I had enough and did not want it ; since
which she has been quite annoyed at my not
spending money ; and when I told her this
morning that there was a brother officer of
mine arrived in town to whom I had owed
some money for a long while, she insisted
upon my taking money to pay it, put a pile
of bank notes in my hand, and was quite
mortified when she found I only wanted £%0.
Now you see, O 1 Donahue, I have done this
from principle ; she earns the money, and
therefore she shall have the control of it as
long as we are good friends : and upon my
honour I really think I love her better than
I ever thought I could love any woman in
the world, for she has the temper, the kind-
ness, and the charity of an angel, although
not precisely the figure; but one can't have
every thing in this world : and so now you
have the whole of my story — and what do
you think of it ?"

THE POACHER. 127

" You must present me to your wife,
M'Shane."

" That I will with pleasure: she's like her
rounds of beef — it's cut and come again — but
her heart is a beauty, and so is her beef-steak-
pie — when you taste it."

128

CHAPTER XL

IN WHICH AN INTERCHANGE AND CONFI-
DENCE TAKES PLACE.

" And how, (^Donahue," said M'Shane,.
" if you are not yet tired of my company, I
should like to hear what you have been doing
since we parted : be quite as explicit, but not
quite so long-winded as myself, for I fear
that I tired you."

" I will be quite as explicit, my good fel-
low, but I have no such marvellous adven-
tures to relate, and not such a fortunate
wind up. I have been to Bath, to Chelten-
ham, to Harrowgate, to Brighton, and every-
where else where people meet, and people

THE POACHER. 129

are met with, who would not meet or be met
with elsewhere. I have seen many nice girls,
but the nice girls were like myself, almost
penny less : and I have seen many ill-favoured,
who had money ; the first I could only
afford to look at, the latter I have had some
dealings with. I have been refused by one
or two, and I might have married seven or
eijrht, but somehow or other when it came
near the point, the vision of a certain angel
now in Heaven has risen before me, and I
have not had the heart or the heartlessness to
proceed. Indeed, I may safely say, that I
have seen but one person since we parted,
who ever made the least impression on me,
or whom I could fancy in any degree to re-
place her whom I have lost, and she, I fear,
is lost also ; so we may as well say no mere
about it. I have determined to marry for
money, as you well know, but it appears to
me as if there was something which invaria-

130 THE POACHER.

bly prevents the step being taken ; and, upon
my honour, fortune seems so inclined to balk
me in my wishes, that I begin to snap my
fingers at her, and am becoming quite indif-
ferent. I suffer now under the evil of
poverty, but it is impossible to say what
other evils may be in store, if I were to
change my condition, as the ladies say.
Come what will, in one thing I am deter-
mined, that if I marry a girl for money, I
will treat her well, and not let her find it
out ; and as that may add to the difficulty of
a man's position when he is not in love with
his wife, why, all I can say is, Captain
O'Donahue don't go cheap — that's decided. 11
" You're right, my jewel, there's not such
a broth of a boy to be picked up every day
in the week. Widows might bid for you,
for, without flattery, I think you a moral of
a man, and an honour to old Ireland. But,
O'Donahue, begging your pardon, if it's not a

THE POACHER. 131

secret, who may have been this lady who ap-
pears to have bothered your brains not a
little, since she could make you forget some-
body else ?"

" I met her at the Lakes of Cumberland,
and being acquainted with some of the party,
was invited to join them ; I was ten days in
her company at Windermere, Ambleside,
Der went water, and other places. She was a
foreigner, and titled."

" Murder and Irish ! you don't say so ?"

" Yes, and moreover, as I was informed
by those who were with her, has large pro-
perty in Poland. She was, in fact, every
thing that I could desire — handsome, witty,
speaking English and several other languages,
and about two or three and twenty years
old."

" And her name, if it's no offence to
ask it ?"

" Princess Czartorinski."

132 THE POACHER.

" And a princess in the bargain ? And"
did you really pretend to make love to a
princess ?"

" Am not I an Irishman, M'Shane ? and is
a princess any thing but a woman, after all?
By the powers ! I'd make love to, and run-
away with the pope himself, if he were made
of the same materials as Pope Joan is said to
have been."

" Then, upon my faith, O'Donahue, 1 be-
lieve you — so now go on."

" I not only made love to her, but in mak-
ing love to her, I got most terribly singed
myself, and I felt before I quitted her, that
if I had ten thousand a-year, and she was as
poor as my dear Judith was, that she should
have taken her place — that's the truth. I
thought that I never could love again, and
that my heart was as flinty as a pawnbroker's ;
but I found out my mistake when it was too
late."'

THE POACHER. 133

" And did she return you the compli-
ment ?"

" That I was not indifferent to her, I may
without vanity believe. I had a five minutes
alone with her just before we parted, and I
took that opportunity of saying, how much
pain it was to part with her, and for once I
told the truth, for I was almost ehoakino-
when I said it. I'm convinced that there was
sincerity in my face, and that she saw that it
was there ; so she replied, 'If what you say is
true, we shall meet at St. Petersburgh next
winter; good bye, I shall expect you.' '

" Well, that was as much as to say, come
at all events."

"It was; I stammered out my determina-
tion so to do, if possible; but I felt at the
time, that my finances rendered it impossible
— so there was an end of that affair. By my
hopes of salvation, I'd not only go to Peters-
burgh, but round the whole world, and to the

134 THE POACHER.

north pole afterwards, if I had the means only
to see her once more."

" You're in a had way, O'Donahue; your
heart's gone and your money too. Upon my
soul I pity you ; hut it's always the case in
this world. When I was a hoy, the hest and
ripest fruit was always on the top of the wall
and out of my reach. Shall I call to-morrow,
and then, if you please, I'll introduce you to
Mrs. M'Shane ? "

" I will be happy to see you and your good
wife, M'Shane; health and happiness to you.
Stop, while I ring for my little factotum to
let you out.'"'

" By-the-bye, a sharp boy that, CDonahue,
with an eye as bright as a hawk. Where did
you pick him up? "

" In St. James's Park"

" Well that's an odd place to hire a servant

in."

" Do you recollect Rushbrook in my Com-
pany ? "

THE POACHER. 135

" To be sure I do — your best soldier, and
a famous caterer he was at all times."

" It is his son. 1 '

" And now I think of it, he's very like him,
only somewhat better looking."

CDonahue then acquainted M'Shane with
the circumstances attending his meeting with
Joey, and they separated.

The next day,about the same time, M'Shane
came to see his friend, and found CTDonahue
dressed, and ready to go out with him.

" Now, CTDonahue, you musVt be in such
a hurrv to see Mrs. M'Shane, for I have some-
thing to tell you which will make her look
more pretty in your eyes than she otherwise
might have done upon first introduction.
Take your chair again, and don't be putting
on your gloves yet, while you listen to a lit-
tle conversation which took place between us
last night, just before we dropt into the arms
of Murfy. I'll pass over all the questions she

136 THE POACHER.

asked about you, and all the compliments I
paid you behind your back; because, if I
didn't, it would make you blush, Irishman as
you are, but this she did say, — that it was great
kindness on your part to lend me that money,
and that she loved you for it; upon which
I replied, I was sorry you was not asy in your
mind, and so very unhappy: upon which she,
in course, like every woman, asked me why;
and then I told her merely that it was a love
affair, and a long story, as if I wished to go
to sleep. This made her more curious, so, to
oblige her, I stayed awake, and told her just
what you told me, and how the winter was
coming on and you not able to keep your ap-
pointment. And what d'ye think the good
soul said? 'Now,' says she, ' M' Shane, if you
love me, and have any gratitude to your friend
for his former kindness, you will to-morrow
take him money enough, and more than
enough, to do as he wishes, and if he gains

THE POACHER. 137

his wife he can repay you ; if not, the money
is not an object. 1 'That's very kind of you,
dearest, 1 said I ; ' but then will you consent
to another thing- ? for this may prove a diffi-
cult affair, and he may want me with him, and
would you have any objection to that, dear-
est ? ' for you see, O'Donahue, I took it into
my head that I might be of the greatest use
to you; and, moreover, I should like the trip,
just by way of a little change. ' Couldn't he
do without you?' replied she, gravely. ' I'm
afraid not; and although I thought I was in
barracks for life, and never to leave you again,
yet still for his sake, poor fellow, who has
been such a generous fellow to me — ' ' An*
how long would you be away?' said she.
'Why it might be two months at the most, 1
replied I; 'but who can tell it to a day? 1
'Well, 1 said she, 'I don't like that part of the
concern at all; but still if it is necessary, as
you say, things shouldn't be done by halves,'

138 THE POACHER.

and then she sighed, poor soul. 'Then I wont
go,' says I. ' Yes, 1 says she, after a pause;
' I think it's your duty, and therefore you
must.' ' I'll do just what you wish, my soul,'
replied I, ' but let's talk more about it to-mor-
row. 1 This morning she brought up the sub-
ject, and said that she had made up her mind,
and that it should be as we had said last
night; and she went to the drawer and took
out three hundred pounds in gold and notes,
and said that if it was not enough, we had only
to write for more. Now ain't she a jewel,
CTDonahue? and here's the money. 1 '

" M'Shane, she is a jewel, not because she
has given me money, but because her heart's
in the right place, and always will be. But
I really do not like taking you away with
me."

" Perhaps you don't think I\l be of any
use ?"

" Yes, I do not doubt but that you will be,
although at present I do not know how. 11

THE POACHER. 139

" But I do, for I've thought upon it, and
I shall take it very unkind if you don't let
me go with you. I want a little divarsion ;
for you see, O'Donahue, one must settle down
to domestic happiness by degrees."

" Be it so, then ; all I fear is, I shall oc-
casion pain to your excellent wife."

" She has plenty to do, and that drives
care away ; besides, only consider the pleasure
you'll occasion to her when I come back."

" I forgot that. Now, if you please, I'll
call and pay my respects, and also return my
grateful thanks."

" Then, come along."

Captain CDonahue found Mrs. M' Shane
very busily employed supplying her cus-
tomers. She was, as M'Shane had said, a
very good-looking woman, although some-
what corpulent ; and there was an amiability,
frankness, and kindness of disposition so ex-
pressed in her countenance, that it was im-

140 THE POACHER.

possible not to feel interested with her. They
dined together. O'Donahue completely es-
tablished himself in her good graces, and it
was agreed that on that day week the gentle-
men should embark for Hamburgh, and
proceed on to Petersburgh, Joey to go with
them as their little valet.

141

CHAPTER XII.

AN EXPEDITION, AS OF YOKE, ACROSS THE
WATERS FOlt A WIFE.

The first step taken by ()' Donahue was to
obtain a passport for himself and suite ; and
here there was a controversy, M'Shane having
made up his mind that he would sink the
officer, and travel as O'Donahue^ servant, in
which capacity he declared that he would
not only be more useful, but also swell his
friend's dignity. After a long combat on the
part of O'Donahue, this was consented to,
and the passport was filled up accordingly.

" But, by St. Patrick ! I ought to get
some letters of introduction," said CTDona-

142 THE POACHER.

hue ; " and bow is that to be managed — at
all events to the English ambassador ? Let
me see — I'll c;o to the Horse Guards."" 1

O'Donahue went accordingly, and, as was
always the case there, was admitted immedi-
ately to an audience to the Commander of
the Forces. O'Donahue put his case for-
ward, stating that he was about to proceed on
a secret mission to Russia, and requested
his Royal Highness to give him a few letters
of introduction. His lioyal Highness very
properly observed, that if sent on a secret
mission, he would, of course, obtain all the
necessary introductions from the proper
quarters, and then inquired of O'Donahue
what his rank was, where he had served, &c.
To the latter questions O'Donahue gave a
very satisfactory reply, and convinced the
Duke that he was an officer of merit. Then
came the question as to his secret mission,
which his Royal Highness had never heard

THE POACHER. 143

of. " May it please your Royal Highness,
there's a little mistake about this same secret
mission ; it's not on account of government
that I'm going, but on my own secret ser-
vice ; " and O'Donahue, finding himself fairly
in for it, confessed that he was after a lady
of high rank, and that if he did not obtain
letters of introduction, he should not proba-
bly find the means of entering the society in
which she was to be found, and that as an
officer who had served faithfully, he trusted
that he should not be refused.

His Royal Highness laughed at his disclo-
sure, and, as there was no objection to giving
O'Donahue a letter or two, with his usual
cood-nature he ordered them to be written,
and having given them to him, wished him
every success. O'Donahue bowed to the
ground, and quitted the Horse Guards, de-
lighted with the success of his impudent at-
tempt.

144 THE POACHER.

Being thus provided, the party set off' in a
vessel bound to Hamburgh, where they ar-
rived without any accident, although very
sea-sick ; from Hamburgh they proceeded to
Lubeck, and re-embarked at Travemiinde in
a briff, which was bound for Riga ; the wind
was fair, and their passage was short. On
their arrival they put up at an hotel, and
finding themselves in a country where English
was not understood, O'Donahue proceeded to
the house of the English Consul, informing
him that he was goinc; on a secret mission to
Petersburg!), and showing, as evidences of
his respectability and the truth of his asser-
tions, the letters given him by his Royal
Highness. These were quite sufficient for
the Consul, who immediately offered his ser-
vices. Not being able to procure at Riga a
courier who could speak French or English,
the Consul took a great deal of trouble to
assist them in their long journey to Peters-

THE POACHER. 145

burgh. He made out a list of the posts,
the number of versts, and the money that
was to be paid ; he changed some of O'Dona-
h ue's gold into Russian paper money, and
gave all the necessary instructions. The
great difficulty was to find any carriage to
carry them to the capital, but at last they
found an old cabriolet on four wheels which
might answer, and, bidding adieu to the Con-
-sul, thev obtained horses and set off.

" Now, M'Shane, you must take care of
the money, and pay the driver," said O'Do-
nahue, pulling out several pieces of thick
paper, some coloured red, some blue, and
others of a dirty white.

"Is this money ?" said M'Shan?, with
astonishment.

" Yes, that's roubles. 11

" Roubles, are they ? I wonder what they'd
call them in Ireland ; they look like soup
tickets."

VOL. I. H

146 THE POACHER.

" Never mind. And now, M' Shane, there
are two words which the Consul has told me
to make use of; one is Scoro, and when you
say that, it means ' Go fast,'' and you hold
up a small bit of money at the same time.' 1

" Scoro ! well that's a word I shaVt for-

get."

" But then there's another, which is

Scorae."

" And what may be the English of that ?"

" Why, that means ' Go faster ; ' and with
that you hold up a larger piece of money."

" Why, then, it's no use remembering
Scoro at all, for Scorae will do much better;
so we need not burthen ourselves with the
first at all. Suppose we try the effect of that
last word upon our bear-skin friend who is
driving ? "

M'Shane held up a rouble, and called out
to the driver — " Scorae ! " The fellow turned
his head, smiled, and lashed his horses until

THE POACHER. 147

they were at the full speed, and then looked
back at them for approval.

" By the powers, that's no fool of a word !
it will take us all the way to St. Petersburg!]
as fast as we wish."

" We do not sleep on the road, but travel
night and day," said O' Donahue, "for there
is no place worth sleeping at."

« And the 'ating, O'Donahue ? "

" We must get that by signs, for we have
no other means."

On that point they soon found they had no
difficulty, and thus they proceeded, without
speaking a word of the language, day and
night, until they arrived at the capital.

At the entrance their passports were de-
manded, and the officer at the guard-house
came out and told them that a Cossack would
accompany them. A Cossack, with a spear
as long as a fir-tree, and a beard not quite so
long, then took them in charge, and trotted

148 THE POACHER.

before the carriage, the driver following him
at a slow pace.

" A'nt we prisoners?" inquired M 'Shane.
" I don't know, but it looks very like it,*"
replied O'Donahue.

This, however, was not the case. The
carriage drove to a splendid street called the
Neff'sky Perspective, and as soon as it stopped
at the entrance of an hotel, the Cossack, after
speaking to the landlord who came out, took
his departure.

A journey of four hundred miles, day and
night, is no joke : our travellers fell fast
asleep in their spacious apartment, and it was
not till the next day that they found them-
selves clean and comfortable, Joey, being
dressed in a rich livery, as a sort of page, and
M'Shane doing duty as valet when others
were present, and when sitting alone with
O'Donahue, taking his fair share of the
bottle.

THE POACHER. 149

Two days after their arrival the landlord
procured for O'Donahue a courier who could
speak botli English and French as well as
Russian, and almost every other language.
It was resolved by O'Donahue and M'Shane
in council to dress him up in a splendid uni-
form, and a carriage having been hired for
the month, O'Donahue felt that he was in a
position to present his credentials to the Eng-
lish Ambassador and the other parties for
whom he had received letters of introduction.

150

CHAPTER XIII.

IX WHICH THERE IS SOME INFORMATION
RELATIVE TO THE CITY OF ST. PETERS-
BURGH.

For 300 roubles a month, CDonahue had
procured a drosky, very handsomely fitted
up ; the shaft-horse was a splendid trotter,
and the other, a beautiful-shaped animal,
capered about, curving his neck until his
nose almost touched his knee, and prancing,
so as to be the admiration of the passers-by.
His coachman, whose name was Athenasis,
had the largest beard in St. Petersburgh ;
Joey was the smallest tiger ; Dimitri one of
the tallest and handsomest yagers. Altoge-

THE POACHER. 151

ther, Captain O'Donahue had laid out his
money well ; and on a fine, sunny day, he
set off to present his letters to the English
Ambassador and other parties. Although
the letters were very short, it was quite suf-
ficient that they were written by so distin-
guished and so universally beloved a person
as his Royal Highness. The Ambassador,
Lord St. H., immediately desired O'Donahue
to consider his house open to him, requesting
the pleasure of his company to dinner on the
following day, and offered to present him to
the Emperor at the first levee. O'Donahue
took his leave, delighted with his success,
and then drove to the hotel of the Princess
Woronzoff, Count Nesselrode, and Prince
Gallitzin, where he found himself equally
well received. After his visits were all paid,
O'Donahue sported his handsome equipage
on the English and Russian quays, and up
and down the Neffsky Perspective, for an

152 THE POACHER.

hour or two, and then returned to the
hotel.

" I am very sorry, 11 said O'Donahue, after
he had narrated to M'Shane all that had
taken place, " that I permitted you to put
yourself down on the passport as valet in
the foolish way you have. You would have
enjoyed yourself as much as I probably shall,
and have been in your proper position in
society.' 1

" Then I'm not sorry at all, O'Donahue,
and I'll tell you why. I should have enjoyed
myself, I do not doubt — but I should have
enjoyed myself too much ; ami, after dining
with Ambassadors, and Princes, and Counts,
and all that thing — should I ever have gone
back comfortable and contented to Mrs.
M'Shane and the cook's-shop ? No, no —
Tin not exactly reconciled, as it is; and if 1
were to be drinking champagne and 'ating
French kickshaws with the llussian nobility

THE POACHER. 153

for three or four months, dancing perhaps
with Princesses, and whispering in the ears
of Duchesses, wouldn't my nose turn up
with contempt at the beef-steak-pie, and pcor
Mrs. M'Shane, with all her kind smiles,
look twice as corpulent as ever? No, no,
I'm better here, and I'm a wise man, although
I say it myself. 1 '

" Well, perhaps you are, M'Shane; but
still I do not like that I should be spending
your money in this way without your having
your share of it at least/ 1

" My share of it — now, O'Donahue, sup-
pose I had come over here on my own
account, where should I have been ? I could
not have mustered up the amiable impudence
you did, to persuade the Commander-in-
chief to o-ive me letters to the Ambassador ;
nor could I have got up such a turn-out,
nor have fitted the turn-out so well as you
do. I should have been as stupid as an owl,

154 THE POACHER.

just doing what I have clone the whole of
the blessed morning for want of your com-
pany — looking after one of the floating
bridges across the river, and spitting into
the stream just to add my mite to the
Baltic Sea."

" I'm sorry you were not better amused."

" I was amused ; for I was thinking of
the good-humoured face of Mrs. M' Shane,
which was much better than being in high
company and forgetting her entirely. Let
me alone for amusing myself after my own
fashion, CTDonahue, and that's all I wish.
I suppose you have heard nothing in your
travels about your Powlish Princess?"

" Of course not ; it will require some tact
to bring in her name — I must do it as if by
mere accident."

" Shall I ask the courier if she is an
acquaintance of his?"

" An acquaintance, M'Shaner"

THE POACHER. 155

" I don't mean on visiting terms; but if
he knows any thing about the family, or
where they live ?"

" No, M' Shane, I think you had better
not ; we do not know much of him at pre-
sent. I shall dine at the Ambassador's
to-morrow, and there will be a large party.' 1

" During the day, invitations for evening-
parties were brought in from the Prince Gal-
litzin and Princess Woronzofr.

" The plot thickens fast, as the saying-
is," observed M'Shane ; " you'll be certain to
meet your fair lady at some of these places."

" That is what I trust to do," replied
O'Donahue ; " if not, as soon as I'm intimate,
I shall make inquiries about her ; but we
must first see how the land lies.' 11

O'Donahue dined at the Ambassador's, and
went to the other parties, but did not meet
with the object of his search. Being a good
musician, he was much in request in so musi-

156 THE POACHER.

cal a society as that of St. Petersburgh. The
Emperor was still at his country palace, and
O'Donahue had been more than a fortnight at
the capital without there being an opportu-
nity for the Ambassador to present him at
court.

Dimitri, the person whom O'Donahue ei>-
gaged as courier, was a very clever, intelligent
fellow ; and as he found that O'Donahue had
all the liberality of an Irishman, and was
in every respect a most indulgent master, he
soon had his interest at heart. Perhaps the
more peculiar intimacy between O'Donahue
and M'Shane, as a valet, assisted Dimitri in
forming a good opinion of the former, as the
hauteur and distance generally preserved by
the English towards their domestics are very
displeasing to the continental servants, who,
if permitted to be familiar, will not only serve
you more faithfully, but be satisfied with
more moderate wages. Dimitri spoke English

THE POACHER. 157

and French pretty well, German and Russian
of course perfectly. He was a Russian by
birth, had been brought up at the Foundling
Hospital, at Moscow, and therefore was
not a serf. He soon became intimate with
M'Shane ; and as soon as the latter disco-
vered that there was no intention on the part
of Dimitri to be dishonest, he was satisfied,
and treated him with cordiality.

" Tell your master this," said Dimitri,
never to give his opinion on political matters
before any one while in Petersburgh, or he will
be reported to the government, and will be
looked upon with suspicion. All the ser-
vants and couriers here, indeed every third
person you meet is an agent of police."

" Then it's not at all unlikely that you're
one yourself," replied M'Shane.

" I am so, 11 replied Dimitri, coolly, " and
all the better for your master. I shall be
ordered to make mv report in a few davs, and
I shall not fail to do so."

158 THE POACHER.

" And what will they ask you ? " said
M'Shane.

" They will ask me first who and what
your master is ? Whether I have discovered
from you, if he is of family and importance
in his own country ? Whether he has ex-
pressed any political opinions ? and whether
I have discovered the real business which
brought him here ?"

"And what will you reply to all this?'"
answered M'Shane.

" Why, I hardly know. I wish I knew
what he wished me to say, for he is a gentle-
man whom I am very fond of, and that's the
truth ; perhaps you can tell me?"

" Why, yes, I know a good deal about
him, that's certain. As for his family, there's
not a better in Ireland or England, for he^s
royal if he had his right."

" What !" exekimed Dimitri.

" As sure as Fm sitting in this old arm-

THE POACHER. 159

chair, didn't he bring letters from the brother
of the present King ? does that go for nothing
in this country of yours, or do you value men
by the length of their beards?"

" Men are valued here not by their titles,
but by their rank as officers. A general
is a greater man than a prince,*''' replied
Dimitri.

" With all my heart, for then I'm some-
body," replied M' Shane.

" You?" replied the courier.

" I mean my master," returned M' Shane,
correcting himself, " for he's an officer, and a
o-ood one too."

" Yes, that may be ; but you said your-
self," replied the courier, laughing. " My
good friend, a valet to any one in Peters-
burgh is no better than one of the mujiks
who work in the streets. Well, I know that
our master is an officer, and of high rank ; as
for his political opinions, I have never heard

160 THE POACHER.

him express any, except his admiration of the
city, and of course of the Emperor."

" Most decidedly ; and of the Empress
also," replied M'Shane.

" That is not at all necessarv, 11 continued
Dimitri, laughing. " In fact, he has no
business to admire the Empress. 11

" lint he admires the government and the
laws, 11 said M'Shane ; " and you may add,
my good fellow — the army and the navy — by
the powers, he^ all admiration, all over ! —
you may take my word for it. 11

" Well, I will do so; but then there is
one other question to reply to, which is, why
did he come here ? what is his business?"

" To look about him, to be sure ; to spend
his money, like a gentleman ; to give his
letters of introduction and to amuse himself, 11
replied M'Shane. " But this is dry talking,
so, Dimitri, order a bottle of Champagne,
and then we'll wet our whistle before we

tro on. 11

THE POACHER. 161

" Champagne ! will your master stand
that ?" inquired Dimitri.

" Stand it, to be sure, and he'd be very
angry if he thought I did not make myself
comfortable. Tell them to put it down in
the bill for me ; if they doubt the propriety,
let them ask my master."

Dimitri went and ordered the Champagne.
As soon as they had a glass, Dimitri observed,
" Your master is a fine liberal fellow, and I
would serve him to the last day of my life ;
but you see that the reasons you give for
your master being here are the same as are
given by everybody else, whether they come
as spies or secret emissaries, or to foment in-
surrection ; that answer, therefore, is con-
sidered as no answer at all by the police
(although very often a true one), and they
will try to find out whether it is so or not."

" What other cause can a gentleman like
him have for coming here ? He is not going

162 the poacher.

to dirty his hands with speculation, informa-
tion, or any other botheration," replied
M'Shane, tossing off his glass.

" I don't say so ; but his having letters
from the king's brother will be considered
suspicious."

" The devil it will ! now in our country
that would only create a suspicion that he
was a real gentleman — that's all."

" You don't understand this country," re-
plied Dimitri.

" No, it beats my comprehension entirely,
and that's a fact ; so fill up your glass. I
hope it's not treason ; but if it is, I can't
help saying it. My good friend, Dimitri "

" Stop," said Dimitri, rising and shutting
the door, " now, what is it ?"

"Why, just this; I haven't seen one
good-looking woman since I've been in this
good-looking town of yours; now, that's the
truth."

THE POACHER. 163

" There's more truth than treason in that, 11
replied the courier; " but still there are some
beautiful women among the higher classes."

" It's to be hoped so, for they've left no
beauty for the lower, at all events."

" We have very beautiful women in
Poland, 11 said the courier.

" Why don't you bring a few here then ?"

" There are a great many Polish ladies in
Petersburgh at this moment. 11

" Then go down and order another
bottle, 11 said M'Shane, " and we'll drink their
healths."

The second bottle was finished, and
M'Shane, who had been drinking before,
became less cautious.

" You said, 11 observed he, " that you have
many Polish ladies in Petersburgh ; did you
ever hear of a Princess Czartowinky ; I think
that's the name? 1 '

"Czartorinski, you mean, 11 replied Dimitri ;

164 THE POACHER.

" to be sure I did ; I served in the family
some years ago, when the old prince was alive.
But where did you see her? 1 ''

" In England, to be sure."

"Well, that's probable, for she has just
returned from travelling with her uncle.' 1

"Is she now in Petersburgh, my good
fellow ?"

" I believe she is — but why do you wish
to know ?""

" Merely asked— that's all."

" Now, Maeshanovich ;"" for such was the
familiar way in which Dimitri addressed his
supposed brother-servant; "I suspect this
Princess Czartorinski is some way connected
with your master's coming here. Tell me
the truth — is such the case ? I'm sure
it is."

1,4 Then, you know more than I do," replied
M'Shane, correcting himself, " for Pm not
exactly in my master's secrets; all that I do

THE POACHER. 1(35

know is, that my master met her in England,
and I thought her very handsome."

"And so did he?"

" That's as may be, between ourselves ;
I've an idea he was a little smitten in that
quarter ; but that's only my own opinion,
nothing more."

" Has lie ever spoken about her since you
were here ?" said Dimitri.

" Just once, as I handed his waistcoat to
him ; he said — ' I wonder if all the ladies
are as handsome as that Polish princess that
we met in Cumberland ?"

" If I thought he wished it, or cared for
her, I would make inquiry, and soon find out
all about her ; but otherwise, it's no use tak-
ing the trouble, 1 ' replied the courier.

" Well, then, will you give me your hand,
and promise to serve faithfully, if I tell you
all I know about the matter?"

« By the blessed St. Nicholas, I do ! " re-
plied Dimitri ; " you may trust me."

166 THE POACHER.

" Well, then, it's my opinion that my
master's over head and ears in love with her,
and has come here for no other purpose."

" Well, I'm glad you told me that ; it will
satisfy the police."

"The police; why, murder and Irish!
you're not going to inform the police, you
villain ?"

" Not with whom he is in love, most cer-
tainly, but that he has come here on that
account ; it will satisfy them, for they have
no fear of a man that's in love, and he will
not be watched. Depend upon it, I cannot
do a better thing to serve our master."

" Well, then, perhaps you are right. I
don't like this Champagne — get a bottle of
Burgundy, Dimitri. Don't look so hard —
it's all right. The Captain dines out every-
day, and has ordered me to drink for the
honour of the house. 1 '

" He's a capital master," replied Dimitri,

THE POACHER. 167

who had be<nin to feel the effects of the for-
mer bottles.

As soon as the third bottle was tapped,
M 'Shane continued —

" Now, Dimitrij I've given my opinion,
and I can tell you, if my master has, as I
suspect, come here about this young lady,
and succeeds in obtaining her, it will be a
blessed thing for you and I ; for he's as
generous as the day, and has plenty of money.
Do you know who she is ?"

" To be sure I do ; she is an only daughter
of the late Prince Czartorinski, and now a
sort of ward under the protection of the Em-
peror. She inherits all the estates, except
one which was left to found an Hospital at
Warsaw, and is a rich heiress. It is sup-
posed the Emperor will bestow her upon one
of his generals. She is at the Palace, and a
maid of honour to the Empress."

" Whew ! " whistled M'Shane, " Won't
there be a difficulty ?"

16S THE POACHER.

'* I should think so," replied the courier

gravely

" He must run away with her," said
M'Shane, after a pause. " How will he get
to see her ?"

" He will not see her, so as to speak with
her, in the palace, that is not the custom here,
but he might meet her elsewhere. 1 '

" To be sure, at a party or a ball," said
M'Shane.

" No, that would not do, ladies and gentle-
men keep very apart here in general com-
pany. He might say a word or two when
dancing, but that is all."

" But how is he to meet her then in this
cursed place of yours, if men and women
keep at arm's length ? "

" That must depend upon her. Tell me,
does she love him ?"

" Well, now, that's a home question ; she
never told him she did, and she never told me,

THE POACHER. 169

that's certain ; but still I've an idea that she
does."

" Then all I can say, Macshanovieh, is,
that your master had better be very careful
what he is about. Of course he knows not
that you have told me any thing ; but as
soon as he thinks proper to trust me, I then
will do my utmost in his service."

" You speak like a very rational, sensible,
intelligent courier," replied M'Shane, " and
so now let us finish the bottle. Here's good
luck to Captain O'Donahue, alive or dead :
and now — please the fleas — I'll be asleep in
less than ten minutes."

VOL. T.

170

CHAPTER XIV.

GOING TO COURT, AND COURTING.

When M'Shane awoke the next morning
he tried to recal what had passed between
him and Dimitri, and did not feel quite con-
vinced that he had not trusted him too much.
" I think,*" said he, " it was all upon an if
Yes, sure ; if O'Donahue was in love, and if
she was. Yes, Fm sure that it was all upon
ifs. However, I must go and tell O'Donahue
what has taken place.''''

M'Shane did so; and O'Donahue, after a
little thought, replied, " Well, I don't know ;
perhaps it's all for the best ; for you see I
must have trusted somebody, and the dim"-

THE POACHER. 171

culty would have been to know whom to
trust, for everybody belongs to the police
here, I believe ; I think, myself, the fellow
is honest ; at all events, I can make it worth
his while to be so. ,,

" He would not have told me he belonged
to the police if he wished to trap us,'" replied
M'Shane.

" That's very true, and on the whole I
think we could not do better. But we are
soinc on too fast ; who knows whether she
meant any thing by what she said to me when
we parted ; or, if she did then, whether she
may not have altered her mind since ?""

" Such things have been — that's a fact,
O'Donahue: 1

" And will be, as long as the world lasts.
However, to-morrow I am to be presented —
perhaps I may see her. Vm glad that I
know that I may chance to meet her, as I
shall now be on my guard."

172 THE POACHER.

" And what shall I say to Dimitri ?"

" Say that you mentioned her name, and
where she was, and that I had only replied,
that I should like to see her again."

" Exactly ; that will leave it an open
question, as the saying is," replied M'Shanc.

The next day CTDonahue, in his uniform,
drove to the Ambassador's hotel, to accompany
him to the Annishkoff palace, where he was
to be presented to the Emperor. CTDonahue
was most graciously received, — the Emperor
walking up to him, as he stood in the circle,
and inquiring after the health of his Itoyal
Highness the Commander-in-Chief, what ser-
vice he had been employed upon, See. He
then told CTDonahue that the Empress would
be most glad to make his acquaintance, and
hoped that he would make a long stay at St.
Petersburgh.

It was with a quickened pulse that O'Dona-
hue followed the Ambassador into the Em-

THE POACHER. 173

press's apartments. He had not waited there
more than five minutes in conversation with
the Ambassador, when the doors opened, and
the Empress, attended by her chamberlain, and
followed by her ladies in waiting and maids
of honour, entered the room. O'Donahue
had made up his mind not to take his eyes oft'
the Empress until the presentation was over.
As soon as he had kissed hands, and answered
the few questions which were graciously put
to him, he retired to make room for others,
and then, for the first time, did he venture to
cast his eyes on the group of ladies attending
the Empress. The first that met his view were
unknown, but, behind all the rest, he at length
perceived the Princess Czartorinski, talking
and laughing with another lady. After a
short time she turned round, and their eyes
met. The Princess recognized him with a
start, and then turned away and put her
hand up to her breast, as if the shock had

174 THE POACHER.

taken away her breath. Once more she
turned her face to CTDonahue, and this time
he was fully satisfied by her looks that he
was Avelcome. Ten minutes after, the Am-
bassador summoned O'Donahue, and they
quitted the palace.

" I have seen her, M'Shane," said O'Dona-
hue ; " she is more beautiful, and I am
more in love than ever. And now, what am
I to do ?"

" That's just the difficulty," replied
M'Shane. " Shall I talk with Dimitri, or
shall I hold my tongue, or shall I think
about it while you go to dinner at the Am-
bassador's ?"

" I cannot dine out to-day, M'Shane. I
will write an excuse."

" Well, now, I do believe you're in for it in
good earnest. My love never spoiled my ap-
petite; on the contrary, it was my appetite
that made me fall in love."

THE POACHER. 175

" I wish she had not been a Princess,"" said
CDonahue, throwing himself on the sofa.

" That's nothing at all here,' 1 replied
M'Shane. " A Princess is to be had. Now,
if she had been a General, it would have been
all up with you. Military rank is every thing
here, as Dimitri says."

" She's an angel, 11 replied CTDonahue, with
a sigh.

" That's rank in heaven, but goes for no-
thing in Petersburgh," replied M'Shane. "Di-
mitri tells me theyVe civil generals here, which
I conceive are improvements on our staff, for
devil a civil general I've had the pleasure of
servino- under."

" What shall I do? " said CTDonahue, get-
ting up, and preparing to write his note to the
Ambassador.

" Eat your dinner, drink a bottle of Cham-
pagne, and then I'll come and talk it over
with you; that's all you can do at present.

176 THE POACHER.

Give me the note, and I'll send Dimitri off
with it at once, and order up your dinner."

M'Shane's advice not being very bad, it
was followed. CTDonahue had finished his
dinner, and was sitting by the fire with
M'Shane, when there was a knock at the door.
M'Shane was summoned, and soon returned,
saying, " There's a little fellow that wants to
speak Avith you, and won't give his message.
He's a queer little body, and not so bad-look-
ing either, with a bolster on the top of his
head, and himself not higher than a pillow;
a pigeon could sit upon his shoulder and peck
up peas out of his shoes; he struts like a
grenadier, and, by the powers! a grenadier's
cap would serve as an extinguisher for him.
Shall I show him in ?"

" Certainly," replied O' Donahue.

The reader may not be aware that there is
no part of the globe where there are so many
dwarfs as at St. Petersburgh ; there is scarcely

THE POACHER. 177

a hotel belonging to a noble family without
one or two, if not more; they are very kindly
treated, and are, both in appearance and tem-
per, very superior to the dwarfs occasionally
met with elsewhere. One of these diminutive
race now entered the room, dressed in a Tur-
kish costume; he was remarkably well made
and handsome in person; he spoke sufficient
French to inquire if he addressed himself to
Captain O'Donahue ; and on being replied to
in the affirmative, he gave him a small billet,
and then seated himself on the sofa with all
the freedom of a petted menial. O'Donahue
tore open the note; it was very short : —

" As I know you cannot communicate with
me, I write to say that I was delighted at
your having kept your promise. You shall
hear from me again as soon as I know where
I can meet you; in the meantime be cautious.
The bearer is to be trusted ; he belongs to me,

« C."
i3

178 THE POACHER.

O'Donahue pressed the paper to his lips,
and then sat down to reply. We shall not
trouble the reader with what he said, it is quite
sufficient that the lady was content with the
communication, and also at the report from
her little messenger of the Captain's beha-
viour when he had read her billet.

Two or three days afterwards, O'Donahue
received a note from a German widow lady,
a Countess Erhausen, particularly requesting
he would call upon her in the afternoon, at
three o'clock. As he had not as yet had the
pleasure of being introduced to the Countess,
although he had often heard her spoken of in
the first society, O'Donahue did not fail in his
appointment, as he considered that it was pos-
sible that the Princess Czartorinski might be
connected with it; nor was he deceived, for on
his entering the saloon, he found the Princess
sitting on the sofa with Madame Erhausen,
a young and pretty woman, not more than

THE POACHER. 179

twenty-five years of age. The Princess rose,
and greeted Captain O'Donahue, and then
introduced the Countess as her first cousin.
A few minutes after his introduction, the
Countess retired, leaving them alone. O'Do-
nahue did not lose this opportunity of pour-
ins out the real feelings of his heart.

" You have come a long way to see me,
Captain O'Donahue, and I ought to be grate-
ful," replied the Princess; " indeed, I have
much pleasure in renewing our acquaint-
ance."

O'Donahue, however, did not appear satis-
fied with this mere admission: he became
eloquent in his own cause, pointed out the
cruelty of having brought him over to see her
again if he was not to be rewarded, and, after
about an hour's pleading, he was sitting on
the sofa by her side, with her fair hand in his,
and his arm round her slender waist. They
parted, but through the instrumentality of the

180 THE POACHER.

little dwarf they often met again at the same
rendezvous. Occasionally they met in society,
but before others they were obliged to appear
constrained and formal: there was little plea-
sure in such meetings, and when O'Donahue
could not see the Princess, his chief pleasure
was to call upon Madame Erhausen and talk
about her.

" You are aware, Captain O'Donahue,"
said the Countess, one day, " that there will
be a great difficulty to overcome in this affair.
The Princess is a sort of ward of the Empe-
ror's, and it is said that he has already, in his
own mind, disposed of her hand. - "

" I am aware of that," replied O'Donahue,
"and I know no other means than running
away with her.""

" That would never do," replied the Coun-
tess; you could not leave Petersburgh with-
out passports; nor could she leave the palace
for more than an hour or two without being

THE POACHER. 181

missed. You would soon be discovered, and
then you would lose her for ever."

" Then what can I do, my dear Madame ?
Shall I throw myself upon the indulgence of
the Emperor ?"

" No, that would not answer either ; she is
too rich a prize to be permitted to go into
foreign hands. I'll tell you what you must
first do."

« I'm all attention."

" You must make love to me," replied the
Countess. " Nay, understand me : I mean
that you must appear to make love to me,
and the report of our marriage must be
spread. The Emperor will not interfere in
such a case ; you must do so to avoid sus-
picion. You have been here very often, and
your equipage has been constantly seen at the
door. If it is supposed you do not come on
my account, it will be inquired why you do
come: and there is no keeping a secret at

182 THE POACHER.

Petcrsburgh. After it is supposed that it is
a settled affair between us, we then may con-
sider what next ought to be done. My regard
for my cousin alone induces me to consent to
this; indeed, it is the only way she could
avoid future misery. 11

" But is the Emperor so despotic on these
points ? "

" An emperor is not to be trifled with ; a
ward of the Emperor is considered sacred —
at least, so far, that if a Russian were to wed
one without permission, he probably would
be sent to Siberia. With an Englishman it
is different, perhaps ; and, once married, you
would be safe, as you would claim the pro-
tection of your Ambassador. The great
point is, to let it be supposed that you are
about to marry some one else : and then, sus-
picion not being awakened, you may gain
your wish."

" But tell me, Madame — that I may be safe

THE POACHER. 183

from the Emperor's displeasure is true — but
would the Princess, after he discovered it?
Could he not take her away from me, and
send her to Siberia for disobedience ? "

" I hope, by the means I propose, to get
you both clear of the Emperor — at least, till
his displeasure is softened down. Me he can-
not hurt ; he can only order me out of his
dominions. As for the Princess, I should
think, that if once married to you, she would
be safe, for you could claim the protection
of the Ambassador for her, as your wife, as
well as for yourself. Do you comprehend
me now ? "

" I do, Madame ; and may blessings follow
you for your kindness. I shall in future act
but by your directions."

" That is exactly what I wished you to
say; and so now, Captain CDonahue, fare-
well."

184

CHAPTER XV.

A 11UN-AWAY AND A HARD TUHSUIT.

" Well, now," said M'Shane, after he
had been informed by CVDonahue of what
had passed between him and the Countess,
" this is all very pretty, and looks very well ;
but tell me, are we to trust that fellow Di-
mitri ? Can we do without him ? I should
say not, when it comes to the finale ; and is
it not dangerous to keep him out of our con-
fidence, being such a sharp, keen-witted fel-
low ? Nay, more, as he has stated his wish
to serve you in any way, it is only treating
him fairly. He knows the little dwarf who
has been here so often ; indeed, they were

THE POACHER. 185

fellow-servants in the Czartorinski family, for
he told me so. I would trust him.'"

" I think so too, but we must not tell him
all."

" No, that we certainly need not, for he
will find it out without telling."

"Well, M' Shane, do as you please; but,
on second thoughts, I will speak to the
Countess to-morrow."

O'Donahue did so, the Countess called
upon the Princess at the palace, and the next
morning O'Donahue received a note, stating
that Dimitri was to be trusted. O'Donahue
then sent for the courier, and told him that
he was about to put confidence in him on a
promise of his fidelity.

" I understand you, Sir, and all you
intend to do ; there is no occasion to say
any thing more to me, until you want my
assistance. I will not, in the meantime, neg-
lect your interest, for I hope to remain with

186 THE POACHER.

you, and that is the only reward I ask for
any services I may perform. I have only
one remark to make now, which is, that it
will be necessary, a few days before you leave
Petersburgh, to let me know, that I may
advertise it."

" Advertise it ! "

" Yes, Sir, you must advertise you depar-
ture, that you may not run away in debt.
Such is the custom ; and without three
notices being put in the Gazette, the police
will not give you your passport."

" I am glad that you mentioned it. Of
course you are aware that I am paying atten-
tion to the Countess Erhausen, and shall
leave Petersburgh with her, I trust, as my
wife?"

" I understand, Sir, and shall take care
that your intimacy there shall be known to
everybody. 11

So saying, Dimitri left the room

THE POACHER. 187

The winter now set in with unusual seve-
rity. The river was one mass of ice, the
floating-bridges had been removed, the Mon-
tasmes-Russes became the amusement of the
day, and the sledges were galloping about
in every direction. For more than a month,
O'Donahue continued his pretended addresses
to the fair cousin of the Princess, and during
that time he did not once see the real object
of his attachment ; indeed, the dwarf never
made his appearance, and all communication,
except an occasional note from her to the
Countess, was, from prudence, given up.
The widow was rich, and had often been
pressed to renew her bonds, but had pre-
ferred her liberty. O'Donahue, therefore,
was looked upon as a fortunate man, and
congratulated upon his success. Nor did
the widow deny the projected union, except
in a manner so as to induce people to be-
lieve in the certainty of its being arranged.

188 THE POACHER.

O'Donahue's equipage was always at her
door, and it was expected that the mar-
riage would immediately take place, when
O'Donahue attended a levee given by the
Emperor on the Feast of St. Nicholas. The
Emperor, who had been very civil to
O'Donahue, as he walked past him, said,
" Well, Captain O'Donahue, so I under-
stand that you intend to run away with one
of our fairest and prettiest ladies — one of the
greatest ornaments of my Court ?"

" I trust that I have your Majesty's
permission so to do," replied O'Donahue,
bowing low.

" O, certainly, you have ; and, moreover,
our best wishes for your happiness. 11

" I humbly thank your Majesty," replied
O'Donahue ; " still I trust your Majesty
does not think that I wish to transplant her to
my own country altogether ; and that I shall
be permitted to reside, for the major part of
the year, in your Majesty's dominions. 11

THE POACHER. 189

" Nothing will give me greater pleasure,
and it will be a satisfaction to feel that I
shall gain, instead of losing, by the intended
marriage.""

M By the powers ! but I will remind him
of this, some day or another,'" thought
O'Donahue. " Haven't I his permission to
the marriage, and to remain in the country?"
Every thing was now ripe for the execu-
tion of the plot. The Countess gave out
that she was going to her country-seat, about
ten miles from St. Petersburgh ; and it was
naturally supposed that she was desirous
that the marriage should be private, and
that she intended to retire there to have the
ceremony performed — and O'Donahue adver-
tised his departure in the Gazette.

The Princess Czartorinski produced a
letter from the Countess, requesting her, as
a favour, to obtain leave from the Empress
to pass two or three days with her in the

190 THE POACHER.

country, and the Empress, as the Countess
was first cousin to the Princess, did not
withhold her consent ; on the contrary, when
the Princess left the palace, she put a case
of jewels in her hand, saying, " These are
for the bride, with the good wishes and pro-
tection of the Empress, as long as she remains
in this country." One hour afterwards,
O' Donahue was rewarded for all his Ions:
forbearance by clasping his fair one in his
arms. A priest had been provided, and was
sent forward to the country chateau, and at
ten in the morning all the parties were ready.
The Princess and her cousin set off in the
carriage, followed by O'Donahue, with
M'Shane and his suite. Every thing was en
regie ; the passports had been made out for
Germany, to which country it was reported
the Countess would proceed a few days after
the marriage, and the Princess was to return
to the palace. As soon as they arrived at

THE POACHER. 191

the chateau the ceremony was performed, and
O'Donahue obtained his prize; and to guard
against any mishap, it was decided that they
should leave the next morning, on their way
to the frontier. Dimitri had been of the
greatest use, had prepared against every dif-
ficulty, and had fully proved his fidelity.
The parting between the Countess and her
cousin was tender. " How much do I owe,
dear friend !" said the Princess. " What
risk do you incur for me ? How will you
brave the anger of the Emperor ?"

" I care little for his anger ; I am a
woman, and not a subject of his ; but, before
you go, you must bpth write a letter — your
husband to the Emperor, reminding him of
his having given his consent to the marriage,
and his wish that he should remain in his do-
minions, and let him add his sincere wish, if
permitted, to be employed in his Majesty's
service. You, my dear cousin, must write to

192 THE POACHER.

the Empress, reminding her of her promise of
protection, and soliciting her good offices with
the Emperor. I shall play my own game ; but,
depend upon it, it will all end in a laugh."

O'Donahue and his wife both wrote their
letters, and O'Donahue also wrote one to the
English Ambassador, informing him of what
had taken place, and requesting his kind
offices. As soon as they were finished, the
Countess bade them farewell, saying, " I
shall not send these letters until you are well
out of reach, depend upon it ;"" and with
many thanks for her kindness, O'Donahue
and his bride bade her adieu, and set off on
their long journey.

The carriage procured for their journey
was what is called a German batarde, which
is very similar to an English chariot with
coach-box, fixed upon a sleigh. Inside were
O'Donahue and his young bride, M'Shane
preferring to ride outside on the box with

THE POACHER. 193

Joey, that he might not be in the way, as a
third person invariably is with a newly-mar-
ried couple. The snow was many feet deep
on the ground ; but the air was dry, and the
sun shone bright. The bride was handed in
enveloped in a rich mantle of sable ; O'Dona-
hue followed, equally protected against the
cold ; while M'Shane and Joey fixed them-
selves on the box, so covered up in robes of
wolf" skins, and wrappers of bear skins for their
feet, that you could see but the tips of their
noses. On the front of the sleigh, below the
box of the carriage, were seated the driver
and the courier; four fiery young horses
were pawing with impatience ; the signal
was given, and off they went at the rate of
sixteen miles an hour.

" Where's the guns, Joey, and the pistols,
and the ammunition? 11 inquired M'Shane;
" we're going through a wild sort of country,
I expect. 11

VOL. I. K

194 THE POACHER.

I have put them in myself, and I can
lay my hands on them immediately, Sir,""
replied Joey ; the guns are behind us, and
your pistols and the ammunition are at mv
feet ; the captain's are in the carriage."

" That's all right, then ; I like to know
•where to lay my hands upon my tools. Just
have the goodness to look at my nose now and
then, Joey, and if you see a white spot on
the tip of it, you'll be pleased to tell me, and
I'll do the same for you. Mrs. M'Shane
would be any thing but pleased if I came
home with only half a handle to my face.""

The journey was continued at the same
rapid pace until the close of the day, when
they arrived at the post-house; there they
stopped, M'Shane and Joey, with the assist-
ance of the courier, preparing their supper
from the stores which they brought with
them. After supper they retired, O'Dona-
hue and his wife sleeping in the carriage,

THE POACHER. 195

which was arranged so as to form a bed if re-
quired ; while M'Shane and Joey made it
out how they could upon the cloaks, and
what little straw they could procure, on the
floor of the post-house, where, as M'Shane
said the next morning, they " had more bed-
fellows than were agreeable, although he con-
trived to get a few hours 1 sleep in spite of the
jumping vagabonds." When they rose the
next morning, they found that the snow had
just begun to fall fast. As soon as they had
breakfasted they set out, nevertheless, and
proceeded at the same pace. M'Shane telling
Joey, who was, as well as himself, almost
embedded in it before the day was half over,
that it was " better than rain, at all events ;"
to be sure that was cold comfort, but any
comfort is better than none. O'Donahue's
request for M'Shane to come inside was dis-
regarded ; he was as tough as little Joey, at
all events, and it would be a pity to interrupt

k 2

196 THE POACHER.

the conversation. About four o'clock they
had changed their horses at a small village,
and were about three miles on their last
stage, for that day's journey, when they
passed through a pine forest.

M There's a nice place for an ambuscade,
Joey, if there were any robbers about here, 11
observed M'Shane. "Murder and Irish!
what's those chaps running among the trees
so fast, and keeping pace with us ? I say,
Dimitri," continued M'Shane, pointing to
them, " what are those ? "

The courier looked in the direction pointed
out, and as soon as he had done so, spoke to
the driver, who, casting his eyes hastily in
the direction, applied the lash to his horses,
and set off with double speed.

" Wolves. Sir, 11 replied the courier, who
then pulled out his pistols and commenced
loading them.

" Wolves ! " said M'Shane, " and hungry

THE POACHER. ]97

enough, 111 warrant ; but they don't hope to
make a meal of us, do they ? At all events
we will give them a little fight for it. Come,
Joey, I see that Dimitri don't like it, so we
must shake off* the snow, and get our ammu-
nition ready. 1 '

This was soon done ; the guns were un-
strapped from the back of the coach-box, the
pistols got from beneath their feet, and all
were soon ready, loaded and primed.

" It's lucky there's such a mist on the win-
dows of the carriage, that the lady can't see
what we're after, or she'd be frightened, per-
haps," said Joey.

The rapid pace at which the driver had put
his horses had for a time left the wolves in
the rear ; but now they were seen following
the carriage at about a quarter of a mile dis-
tant, having quitted the forest and taken to
the road.

" Here they come, the devils ! one, two,

198 THE POACHER.

three — there are seven of them. I suppose
this is what they call a covey in these parts.
Were you ever wolf-hunting before, Joey ? "

" I don't call this wolf-hunting," replied
Joey; " I think the wolves are hunting us."

" It's all the same, my little poacher — it's
a hunt, at all events. They are gaining on
us fast ; we shall soon come to an expla-
nation."

The courier now climbed up to the coach-
box to reconnoitre, and he shook his head,
telling them in very plain English that he did
not like it ; that he had heard that the wolves
were out, in consequence of the extreme se-
verity of the weather, and that he feared
that these seven were only the advance of a
whole pack ; that they had many versts to go,
for the stage was a long one, and it would be
dark before they were at the end of it.

" Have you ever been chased by them be-
fore ? " said Joey.

THE POACHER. 199

" Yes," replied the courier, " more than
once ; it's the horses that they are so anxious
to get hold of. Three of our horses are very
good, but the forth is not very well, the driver
says, and he is fearful that he will not hold
out ; however, we must keep them oft' as long
as we can ; we must not shoot at them till
the last moment. 1 '

" Why not ? " inquired M'Shane.
" Because the whole pack would scent the
blood at miles, and redouble their efforts to
come up with us. There is an empty bottle
by you, Sir ; throw it on the road behind the
carriage ; that will stop them for a time."

" An empty bottle stop them ! well, that's
queer : it may stop a man drinking, because
he can get no more out of it. However, as
you please, gentlemen; here's to drink my
health, bad manners to you," said M'Shane,
throwing the bottle over the carriage.

The courier was right ; at the sight of the

200 THE POACHER.

bottle iii the road the wolves, who are of a
most suspicious nature, and think that there
is a trap laid for them in every thing, stopped
short, and gathered round it cautiously ; the
carriage proceeded, and in a few minutes the
animals were nearly out of sight.

" Well, that bothers me entirely," said
M'Shane; "an empty bottle is as good to-
them as a charged gun."

" But look, Sir, they are coming on again,"
said Joey, " and faster than ever. I suppose
they were satisfied that there was nothing in
it."

The courier mounted again to the box.
where Joey and M'Shane were standing. " I
think you had a ball of twine," said he to
Joey, " when you were tying down the bas-
kets ; where is it ? "

" It is here under the cushion," replied
Joey, searching for and producing it.

" What shall we find to tie to it?" said

THE POACHER. 201

the courier ; " something not too heavy — a
bottle won't do."

" What's it for?" inquired M'Shane.

" To trail, Sir," replied the courier.

" To trail ! I think they're fast enough
upon our trail already ; but if you want to
help them, a red herring's the thing. 1 ''

" No, Sir; a piece of red cloth would do
better," replied the courier.

" Red cloth ! One would think you were
fishing for mackrel," replied M'Shane.

" Will this piece of black cloth do, which
was round the lock of the gun ? " said
Joey.

" Yes, I think it will," replied the courier.

The courier made fast the cloth to the end
cf the twine, and throwing it clear of the car-
riage, let the ball run out, until he had little
more than the bare end in his hand, and the
cloth was about forty yards behind the car-
riage, drajTjjino; over the snow.

202 THE POACHER.

" They will not pass the cloth, Sir,"
said the courier ; " they think that it's a
trap."

Sure enough, the wolves, which had been
gaining fast on the carriage, now retreated
again; and although they continued the pur-
suit, it was at a great distance.

" We have an hour and a half more to go
before we arrive, and it will be dark, I'm
afraid," said the courier; "all depends upon
the horse holding out; I'm sure the pack is
not far behind."

" And how many are there in a pack ? "
inquired M'Shane.

The courier shrugged up his shoulders.
" Perhaps two or three hundred."

" Oh ! the Devil ! Don't I wish I was at
home with Mrs. M'Shane? "

For half an hour they continued their ra-
pid pace, when the horse referred to showed
symptoms of weakness. Still the wolves had

THE POACHER. 203

not advanced beyond the piece of black cloth
which trailed behind the carriage.

" I think that, considering that they are so
hungry, they are amazing shy of the bait,"
said M'Shane. " By all the powers they've
stopped again 1"

" The string has broke, Sir, and they are
examining the cloth," cried Joey.

" Is there much line left ? " inquired the
courier, with some alarm.

" No, it has broken off by rubbing against
the edge of the carriage behind."

The courier spoke to the driver, who now
rose from his seat and lashed his horses fu-
riously; but although three of the horses were
still fresh, the fourth could not keep up with
them, and there was every prospect of his
beino- drap-p-ed down on his knees, as more
than once he stumbled and nearly fell. In the
meantime the wolves had left the piece of cloth
behind them, and were coming up fast with
the carriage.

204 THE POACHER.

" We must fire on them now, Sir," said
the courier, going- back to his seat, "or they
will tear the flanks of the horses."

M 'Shane and Joey seized their guns, the
headmost wolf was now nearly a-head of the
carriage; Joey fired, and the animal rolled
over in the snow.

" That's a good shot, Joey; load again ;
here's at another."

M'Shane fired, and missed the animal,
which rushed forward; the courier's pistol,
however, brought it down, just as he was
springing on the hindmost horses.

O'Donahue, astonished at the firing, now
lowered down the glass, and inquired the rea-
son. M'Shane replied, that the wolves were
on them, and that he'd better load his pistols
in case they were required.

The wolves hung back a little upon the
second one failing, but still continued the
chase, although at a more respectable dis-

THE POACHER. 205

tance. The road was now on a descent, but
the sick horse could hardly hold on his legs.

" A little half-hour more and we shall be
in the town," said the courier, climbing up
to the coach seat, and looking up the road
they had passed; but St. Nicholas preserve
us!" he exclaimed; and he turned round and
spoke in hurried accents to the driver in the
Russian language.

Again the driver lashed furiously, but in
vain; the poor horse was dead beat.

"What is the matter now?" inquired
M'Shane.

" Do you see that black mass coming down
the hill ? it's the main pack of wolves ; I fear
we are lost; the horse cannot go on."

" Then why not cut his traces, and go on
with the three others?'" cried Joey.

" The boy is right," replied the man, and
there is no time to lose. The courier went
down on the sleigh, spoke to the driver in

205 THE POACHER.

Iiussian, and the horses were pulled up. The
courier jumped out with his knife, and com-
menced cutting the traces of the tired horse,
while the other three, who knew that the
wolves were upon them, plunged furiously in
their harness, that they might proceed. It
was a trying moment. The five wolves now
came up; the first two were brought down
by the guns of M'Shane and Joey, and OT)o-
nahue killed a third from the carriage win-
dows.

One of the others advanced furiously, and
sprung upon the horse which the courier was
cutting free. Joey leapt down, and put his
pistol to the animal's head, and blew out his
brains, while M'Shane, who had followed our
hero, with the other pistol disabled the only
wolf that remained.

But this danger which they had escaped
from was nothing compared to that which
threatened them ; the whole pack now came

THE POACHER. 207

sweeping like a torrent down the hill, with a
simultaneous yell which might well strike
terror into the bravest. The horse which had
fallen down when the wolf seized him was
still not clear of the sleigh, and the other
three were quite unmanageable. M' Shane,
Joey, and the courier, at last drew him clear
from the track; they jumped into their
places, and away they started again like the
wind, for the horses were maddened with fear.
The whole pack of wolves was not one hun-
dred yards from them when they recom-
menced their speed, and even then M' Shane
considered that there was no hope. But the
horse that was left on the road proved their
salvation ; the starved animals darted upon
it, piling themselves one on the other, snarl-
ins; and tearing each other in their conflict for
the feast. It was soon over ; in the course of
three minutes the carcass had disappeared,
and the major portion of the pack renewed

208 THE POACH KR.

their pursuit; but the carriage had proceeded
too far a-head of them, and their speed being
now uninterrupted, they gained the next vil-
lage, and O'Donahue had the satisfaction of
leading his terrified bride into the chamber at
the post-house, where she fainted as soon as
she was placed in a chair.

" I'll tell you what, Joey, I've had enough
of wolves for all my life," said M 'Shane;
" and Joey, my boy, you're a good shot in
the first place, and a brave little fellow in the
next ; here's a handful of roubles, as they call
them, for you to buy lollipops with, but I
don't think you'll find a shop that sells them
hereabouts. Never mind, keep your sweet
tooth till you get to Old England again ; and
after I tell Mrs. M'Shane what you have
done for us this day, she will allow you to
walk into a leg of beef, or round a leg of
mutton, or dive into a beef-steak-pie, as long
as you live, whether it be one hundred years,

THE POACHER. 209

more or less. I've said it, and don't you for-
get it ; and now, as the wolves have not made
their supper upon us, let us go and see what
we can sup upon ourselves/'

210

CHAPTER XVI.

RETURN TO ENGLAND.

The remainder of the journey was com-
pleted without any further adventure, and they
at last found themselves out of the Russian
dominions, when they were met by the uncle
of the princess, who, as a Pole, was not sorry
that his niece had escaped from being wedded
to a Russian. He warmly greeted CTDona-
hue, as his connection, and immediately ex-
erted all the interest which he had at the
court to pacify the Emperor. When the
affair first became known, which it soon did,
by the Princess not returning to court, his
Majesty was any thing but pleased at being

THE POACHER. 211

outwitted ; but the persuasions of the Em-
press, the pleading of the English Ambassa-
dor, who exerted himself strenuously for
O'Donahue, with the efforts made in other
quarters, and, more than all, the letter of
O'Donahue, proving that the Emperor had
given his consent (unwittingly, it is true),
coupled with his wish to enter into his ser-
vice, at last produced the desired effect, and
after two months a notice of their pardon
and permission to return was at last de-
spatched by the Empress. O'Donahue consi-
dered that it was best to take immediate ad-
vantage of this turn in his favour, and retrace
his way to the capital. M'-Shane, who had
been quite long enough in the situation of a
domestic, now announced his intention to
return home ; and O'Donahue, aware that he
was separating him from his wife, did not, of
course, throw any obstacle in the way of his
departure. Our little hero, who has lately

212 THE POACHER.

become such a cypher in our narrative, was
now the subject of consideration. O' Donahue
wished him to remain with him, but M'Shane
opposed it.

" I tell you, O'Donahue, that it's no kind-
ness to keep him here; the boy is too good to be
a page at a lady's shoestring, or even a servant
to so great a man as you are yourself now :
besides, how will he like being buried here
in a foreign country, and never go back to
old England ?"

" But what will he do better in England,
M'Shane ?"

"Depend upon it, Major," said the Princess,
for she was now aware of M 'Shane's rank,
" 1 will treat him like a son. 11

" Still he will be a servant, my lady, and
that's not the position — although, begging
your pardon, an Emperor might be proud to
be your servant ; yet that's not the position
for little Joey."

THE POACHER. 213

" Prove that you will do better for him,
M'Shane, and he is yours; but, without you
do, I am too partial to him to like to part with
him. His conduct on the journey "

" Yes, exactly ; his conduct on the jour-
ney, when the wolves would have shared us
out between them, is one great reason for my
objection. He is too good for a menial, and
that's the fact. You ask me what I intend
to do with him ; it is not so easy to answer
that question, because, you see, my lady,
there's a certain Mrs. M'Shane in the way,
who must be consulted ; but I think that
when I tell her, what I consider to be as near
the truth as most things which are said in this
world, that if it had not been for the courage
and activity of little Joey, a certain Major
M'Shane would have been by this time eaten
and digested by a pack of wolves, why, I
then think, as Mrs. M'Shane and I have no
child, nor prospect of any, as I know of, that

214 THE POACHER.

she may be well inclined to come into my way
of thinking, and of adopting him as her own
son ; but, of course, this cannot be said with-
out my consulting with Mrs. M'Shane, see-
ing as how the money is her own, and she
has a right to do as she pleases with it."

" That, indeed, alters the case," replied
O'Donahue, " and I must not stand in the
way of the boy's interest ; still I should like
to do something for him."

" You have done something for him,
O'Donahue ; you have prevented his starv-
ing ; and if he has been of any use to you, it
is but your reward — so you and he are quits.
Well, then, it is agreed that I take him with
me ?

" Yes,"" replied O'Donahue, " I cannot
refuse my consent after what you have said.'' 1

Two days after this conversation the par-
ties separated, O'Donahue, with his wife,
accompanied by Dimitri, set off on their

THE POACHER. 215

return to St. Petersburgh ; while M'Shane,
who had provided himself with a proper
passport, got into the diligence, accompanied
by little Joey, on his way back to England.

216

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DAY AFTER THE MURDEtt.

We must now return to the village of
-Grassford and the cottage in which we left
Itushbrook and his wife, who had been raised
up from the floor- by her husband, and, having
now recovered from her swoon, was crying
bitterly for the loss of her son, and the dread
of her husband's crime being discovered.
For sometime Itushbrook remained in silence,
looking at the embers in the grate ; Mum
sometimes would look piteously in his master's
face, at other times he would slowly approach
the weeping woman. The intelligence of the
animal told him that something was wrong.

THE POACHER. 217

Finding himself unnoticed, he would then go
to the door by which Joey had quitted, snuff
at the crevice, and return to his master's side.

" I'm glad that he's off," at last muttered
Rushbrook ; " he's a fine boy that."

" Yes, he is," replied Jane; "but when
shall I behold him again ? "

" By and by, never fear, wife. We must
not stay in this place, provided this affair
blows over."

" If it does, indeed ! "

" Come, come, Jane, we have every reason
to hope it will ; now, let's go to bed ; it
would not do, if any one should happen to
have been near the spot, and to have found
out what has taken place, for us to be dis-
covered not to have been in bed all night, or
even for a light to be seen at the cottage bv

O CD »-

any early riser. Come., Jane, let's to bed."
Rushbrook and his wife retired, the light

' CD

was extinguished, and all was quiet, except
VOL. I. l

218 THE POACHER.

conscience, which still tormented and kept
Rush brook turning to the right and left con-
tinually. Jane slept not ; she listened to the
wind ; the slightest noise — the crowing of the
cock — startled her, and soon footsteps were
heard of those passing the windows. They
could remain in bed no longer. Jane arose,
dressed, and lighted the fire ; Rushbrook re-
mained sitting on the side of the bed, in deep
thought.

" I've been thinking, Jane," said he at
last, " it would be better to make away with
Mum."

" With the dog .' Why, it can't speak,
poor thing. No — no — don't kill the poor
dog. 1 '

" He can't speak, but the dog has sense;
he may lead them to the spot. 1 '

" And if he were to do so, what then ? it
would prove nothing.'"

" No ! only it would go harder against
Joey."

THE POACHER. 219

" Against the boy ! yes, it might convince
them that Joey did the deed ; but still, the
very killing of the animal would look sus-
picious ; tie him up, Rushbrook ; that will
do as well."

" Perhaps better," replied he ; " tie him up
in the back kitchen ; there's a good woman."

Jane did so, and then commenced prepar-
ing- the breakfast ; thev had taken their seats,
when the latch of the door was lifted up, and
Furness, the schoolmaster, looked in. This
he was often in the habit of doing, to call
Joey out to accompany him to school.

" Good 1110™^," said he ; " now, where's
my friend Joey ?"

" Come in, come in, neighbour, and shut
the door," said Rushbrook ; " I wish to speak
to you. Mayhap you'll take a cup of tea ;
if so, my missus will give you a good one." 1

" Well, as Mrs. Rushbrook does make
every thing so good, I don't cave if I do, al-

220 THE POACHER.

though I have had breakfast ; but where's
my friend Joey ? the lazy little dog ; is he
not up yet ? Why, Mrs. Rushbrook, what's
the matter? you look distressed."

" I am, indeed," replied Jane, putting her
apron to her eyes.

" Why, Mrs. Rushbrook, what is it ?" in-
quired the pedagogue.

" Just this; we are in great trouble about
Joey. When we got up this morning we
found that he was not in bed, and he has
never been home since."

" Well, that is queer; why, where can the
young scamp be gone to ? "

" We don't know ; but we find that he

took my gun with him, and I'm afraid "

and here Rushbrook paused, shaking his
head.

"Afraid of what?"

" That he has gone poaching, and has been
taken by the keepers. 11

THE POACHER. 221

" But did he ever do so before ?"

" Not by night, if he did by day. I can't
tell ; lie always has had a hankering that way."

" Well, they do whisper the same of you,
neighbour. Why do you keep a gun ?"

" I've carried a gun all my life," replied
Rush brook, " and I don't choose to be with-
out one; but that's not to the purpose; the
question is, what would you advise us to
do?"

" Why, you see, friend Rushbrook," re-
plied the schoolmaster, " advice in this ques-
tion becomes rather difficult. If Joey has
been poaching as you imagine, and has been
taken up as you suspect, why, then, you will
soon hear of it ; you, of course, have had
no hand in it."

"Hand in it! — hand in what?" replied
Rushbrook. " Do you think we trust a
child like him with a gun?"

" I should think not ; and therefore it is

222 THE POACHER.

evident that he has acted without the con-
currence of his parents. That will acquit
you ; but still it will not help Joey ; neither
do I think you will be able to recover the
gun, which I anticipate will become a deo-
dand to the lord of the manor.""

" But the child — what will become of
him ?" exclaimed Jane.

" What will become of him ? — why, as he
is of tender years, they will not transport
him — at least, I should think not ; they may
imprison him for a few months, and order
him to be privately whipped. I do not see
what you can do, but remain quiet. I should
recommend you not to say one syllable about
it until you hear more."

" But suppose we do not hear ?"

" That is to suppose that he did not go
out with the gun to poach, but upon some
other expedition.' 1

" What else could the boy have gone out
for?" said Rushbrook, hastily.

THE POACHER. 223

" Very true ; it is not very likely that he
went out to commit murder," replied the
pedagogue.

At the word " murder 11 Rushbrook started
from his chair ; but, recollecting himself, he
sat down again.

" No, no, Joey commit murder I 11 cried he.
" Ha, ha, ha — no, no, Joey is no mur-
derer. 1 '

" I should suspect not. Well, Master
Rushbrook, I will dismiss my scholars this
morning, and make every inquiry for you.
Byers will be able to ascertain very soon, for
he knows the new keeper at the manor
house. 11

" Byres help you, did you say ? No, no,
Byres never will," replied Rushbrook, so-
lemnly.

" And why not, my friend ?"

" Why, 11 replied Rushbrook, recollecting
himself, " he has not been over cordial with
me lately. 11

224 THE POACHER.

" Nevertheless, depend upon it, lie will if
he can," replied Furness ; " if not for you, he
will for me. Good morning, Mrs. Rush-
brook, I will hasten away now ; but will you
not go with me ?" continued Furness, appeal-
ing to Rushbrook.

" I will go another way ; it's no use both
going the same road."

" Very true," replied the pedagogue, who
had his reasons for not wishing the company
of Rushbrook, and Furness then left the
house.

Mr. Furness found all his boys assembled
in the school-room, very busily employed
thumbing their books ; he ordered silence,
and informed them, that in consequence of
Joev being missing, he was going to assist
his father to look after him ; and therefore
they would have a holiday for that day. He
then ranged them all in a row, made them
turn to the right face, clap their hands simul-
taneously, and disperse.

THE POACHER. 225

Although Mr. Furnesshad advised secrecy
to the Rushbrooks, he did not follow the
advice he had given; indeed, his reason for
not having wished Rushbrook to be with
him was, that he might have an opportunity
of communicating his secret through the
village, which he did by calling at every
cottage, and informing the women who were
left at home, that Joey Rushbrook had dis-
appeared last night, with his father's gun,
and that he was about to go in quest of him.
Some nodded and smiled, others shook their
heads, some were not at all surprised at it,
others thought that things could not go on so
for ever.

Mr. Furness having collected all their
various opinions, then set off to the ale-house,
to find Byres the pedlar. When he arrived,
he found that Byres had not come home that
night, and where he was nobody knew,
which was more strange, as his box was up in

226 THE POACHER.

his bed-chamber. Mr. Furness returned to
the village intending to communicate this
information to Rush brook, but, on calling,
he found that Rushbrook had gone out in
search of the boy. Furness then resolved to
go up at once to the keeper's lodge, and solve
the mystery. He took the high road, and
met Rushbrook returning.

"Well, have you gained any tidings?"
inquired the pedagogue.

" None," replied Rushbrook.

" Then it's my opinion, my worthy friend,
that we had better at once proceed to the
keeper's cottage and make inquiry ; for,
strange to say, I have been to the ale-house,
and my friend Byres is also missing. 1 '

"Indeed!" exclaimed Rushbrook, who
had now completely recovered his self-pos-
session. " Be it so, then; let us go to the
keeper's. 1 '

They soon arrived there, and found the

THE POACHER. 227

keeper at home, for he had returned to his
dinner. Ilushbrook, who had been cogitating
how to proceed, was the first to speak.

" You haven't taken my poor Joey, have
you, Sir?" said he to the keeper.

" Not yet," replied the keeper surlily.

" You don't mean to say that you know
nothing about him ?" replied Ilushbrook.

" Yes, I know something about him and
about you too, my chap," replied the keeper.

" But, Mr. Lucas," interrupted the peda-
gogue, " allow me to put you in possession
of the facts. It appears that this boy — a
boy of great natural parts, and who has been
for some time under my tuition, did last
night, but at what hour is unknown to his
disconsolate parents, leave the cottage, taking
with him his father's gun, and has not been
heard of since."

" Well, I only hope he's shot himself,
that's all," replied the keeper. " So you have

228 THE POACHER.

a gun, then, have you, my honest chap?"
continued he, turning to Rushbrook —

" Which," replied Furness, " as I have
informed him already, will certainly be for-
feited as a deodand to the lord of the
Manor; but, Mr. Lucas, this is not all;
our mutual friend, Byres, the pedlar, is also
missing-, having- left the Cat and Fiddle last
night, and not having been heard of since."

" Indeed ! that makes out a different case,
and must be inquired into immediately. I
think you were not the best of friends, were
you ?" said the keeper, looking at Rush*-
brook ; and then he continued, " Come,
Mary, give me my dinner, quick, and run
up as fast as you can for Dick and Martin,
tell them to come down with their retrievers
only. Never fear, Mr. Furness, we will soon
find it out. Never fear, my chap, we'll find
your son also, and your gun to boot. You
may hear more than you think for."

THE POACHER. 229

" All I want to know, 1 ' replied Rushbrook
fiercely, for his choler was raised by the
sneers of the keeper, " is, where my boy
may be." So saying, he quitted the cottage,
leaving the schoolmaster with the keeper.

As Rushbrook returned home, he revolved
in his mind what had passed, and decided
that nothing could be more favourable for
himself, however it might turn out for Joey.
This conviction quieted his fears, and when
the neighbours came in to talk with him, he
was very cool and collected in his replies.
In the meantime the keeper made a hasty
meal, and, Avith his subordinates and the
dogs, set off to the covers, which they beat
till dark without success. The gun, how-
ever, which Joey had thrown down in the
ditch, had been picked up by one of the
labourers returning from his work, and taken
by him to the ale-house. None could identify
the gun, as Rushbrook had never permitted

230 THE POACHER.

it to be seen. Lucas, the keeper, came in
about an hour after dusk, and immediately
took possession of it.

Such were the events of the first day after
Joey's departure. Notwithstanding that the
snow fell fast, the Cat and Fiddle was, as
it may be supposed, unusually crowded on
that night. Various were the surmises as to
the disappearance of the pedlar and of little
Joey. The keeper openly expressed his
opinion that there was foul play somewhere,
and it was not until near midnight that the
ale-house was deserted and the doors closed.

ltushbrook and his wife went to bed ; tired
with watching and excitement, they found
oblivion for a few hours in a restless and
unrefreshing sleep.

231

CHAPTER XVIII.

a coroner's ixquest.

Day had scarcely dawned when the keeper
and his satellites were again on the search.
The snow had covered the ground for three
or four inches, and, as the covers had been
well examined on the preceding day, they
now left them and went on in the direction
towards where the gun had been picked
up. This brought them direct to the furze
bottom, where the dogs appeared to quicken
their movements, and when the keepers came
up with them again, they found them lying
down by the frozen and stiffened corpse of
the pedlar.

232 THE POACHER.

" Murder, as I expected," said Lucas, as
they lifted up the body, and scraped off the
snow which covered it ; " right through his
heart, poor fellow ; who would have expected
this from such a little varmint? Look about,
my lads, and see if we can find any thing
else. What is Nap scratching at ? — a bag —
take it up, Martin. Dick, do you go for
some people to take the body to the Cat and
Fiddle, while we see if we can find any thing
more."

In a quarter of an hour the people arrived,
the body was carried away, while the keeper
went off in all haste to the authorities.

Furness, the schoolmaster, as soon as he
had obtained the information, hastened to
Rushbrook's cottage, that he might be the
first to convey the intelligence, ltnshbrook,
however, from the back of the cottage, had
perceived the people carrying in the body,
and was prepared.

THE POACHER. 233

" My good people, I am much distressed,
but it must be told, believe me, I feel for
y OU _your son, my pupil, has murdered the

pedlar."

"Impossible !" cried Rushbrook.

" It is but too true ; I cannot imagine how
a boy brought up under my tuition— nay,
Mrs. Rushbrook, don't cry— brought up, I
may say, with such strict notions of morality,
promising so fairly, blossoming so sweetly

" He never murdered the pedlar I 1 ' cried
Jane, whose face was buried in her apron.

" Who then could have?" replied Furness.

" He never shot him intentionally, I'll
swear/' said Rushbrook ; " if the pedlar lias
come to his death, it must have been by some
accident. I suppose the gun went off some-
how or other ; yes, that must be it ; and my
poor boy, frightened at what had taken place,
has run away. r>

234 THE POACHER.

" Well," replied the schoolmaster, " such
may have been the case ; and I do certainly
feel as if it were impossible that a boy like
Joey, brought up by me, grounded in every
moral duty — I may add, religiously and
piously instructed — could ever commit such
a horrible crime."

" Indeed he never did," replied Jane ; " I
am sure he never would do such a thine.'' 1

" Well, I must wish you good bye now,
my poor people ; I will go down to the Cat
and Fiddle, and hear what they say," cried
the pedagogue, quitting the cottage.

" Jane, be careful,'"' said Rush brook; " our
great point now is to say nothing. I wish
that man would not come here."

" Oh, Itushbrook !" cried Jane, " what
would I give if we could live this last three
days over again !"

" Then imagine, Jane, what I would
give !" replied Itushbrook, striking his fore-
head ; " and now say no more about it."

THE POACHER. 235

At twelve o'clock the next day the magis-
trates met, and the coroner's inquest was held
upon the body of the pedlar. On examination
of the body, it was ascertained that a charge
of small shot had passed directly through the
heart, so as to occasion immediate death ; that
the murder had not been committed with
the view of robbing it was evident, as the
pedlar's purse, watch, and various other
articles were found upon his person.

The first person examined was a man of
the name of Green, who had found the gun
in the- ditch. The gun was produced, and
he deposed to its being the one which he had
picked up, and given into the possession of
the keeper ; but no one could say to whom
the gun might belong.

The next party who gave his evidence was
Lucas, the game-keeper. He deposed that
he knew the pedlar, Byres ; and that, being
anxious to prevent poaching, he had offered

236 THE POACHER.

lii 111 a o-ood sum if he would assist him in
convicting any poacher ; that Byres had then
confessed to him that he had often received
crame from Rushbrook, the father of the boy,
and still continued to do so, but Rushbrook
had treated him ill, and he was determined to
be revenged upon him, and get him sent out
of the country ; that Byres had informed him
on the Saturday night before the murder
was committed, that Rushbrook was to be
out on Monday night to procure game for
him, and that if he looked out sharp he
was certain to be taken. Byres had also in-
formed him that he had never yet found out
when Rushbrook left his cottage or returned,
although he had often tracked the boy, Joey.
As the boy was missing on Monday morning,
and Byres did not return to the ale-house,
after he went out on Saturday night, he
presumed that it was on the Sunday night
that the pedlar was murdered.

THE POACHER. 237

The keeper then farther deposed as to the
finding of the body, and also of a bag by the
side of it ; that the bag had evidently been
used for putting game in, not only from the
smell, but from the feathers of the birds
which were still remaining inside of it.

The evidence as to the finding of the body
and the bag was corroborated by that of
Martin and Dick, the under-keepers.

Mr. Furness then made his appearance to
give voluntary evidence, notwithstanding his
great regard expressed for the Rushbrooks.
He deposed that, calling at the cottage on
Monday morning for his pupil, he found the
father and mother in great distress at the dis-
appearance of their son, whom they stated to
have left the cottage some time during the
night, and to have taken away his father's
gun with him, and that their son had not
since returned ; that he pointed out to Rush-
brook the impropriety of his having a gun,

238 THE POACHER.

and that Rushbrook had replied that he had
carried one all his life, and did not choose to
be without one ; that they told'him, they sup-
posed that he had gone out to poach, and was
taken by the keepers, and had requested him
to so and ascertain if such was the fact. Mr.
Furness added, that he really imagined that
to be the case, now that he saw the bag,
which he recognized as having been once
brought to him by little Joey, with some po-
tatoes, which his parents had made him a
present of; that he could swear to the bag,
and so could several others as well as himself.
Mr. Furness then commenced a long flourish
about his system of instruction, in which he
was stopped by the Coroner, Avho said that it
had nothing to do with the business.

It was then suggested that Rushbrook and
his wife should be examined. There was a
demur at the idea of the father and mother
giving evidence against their child, but it was

THE POACHER. 239

over-ruled, and in ten minutes they both
made their appearance.

Mrs. Rushbrook, who had been counselled,
by her husband, was the first examined, but
she would not answer any question put to her.
She did nothing but weep, and to every
question her only reply was, " If he did kill
him it was by accident ; my boy would never
commit murder." Nothing more was to be
obtained from her, and the magistrates were
so moved by her distress that she was dis-
missed.

Rushbrook trembled as he was brought in

l ^

and saw the body laid out on the table, but
he soon recovered himself, and became nerved
and resolute, as people often will do in extre-
mity. He had made up his mind to answer
some questions, but not all.

" Do you know at what time your son left
the cottage ?"

" I do not."

240 THE POACHER.

" Does that gun belong to you? 1 '

" Yes, it is mine.""

" Do you know that bag?"

" Yes, it belongs to me. 11

" It has been vised for putting game into;
has it not?"

" I shall not answer that question. I'm
not on trial. - "

Many other questions were put to him, but
he refused to answer them; and as they would
all more or less have criminated himself as a
poacher, his refusals were admitted. Kush-
brook had played his game well, in admitting
the gun and bag to be his property, as it was
of service to him, and no harm to Joey.
After summing up the whole evidence, the
Coroner addressed the Jury, and they re-
turned a unanimous verdict of Wilful Mur-
der against Joseph Rush brook, the younger,
and the magistrates directed the sum of <£°200
to be offered for our hero's apprehension.

241

CHAPTER XIX.

A FItlEXD IN NEED IS A FRIEND IN DEED.

Rushbiiook and Jane returned to their
cottage ; Jane closed the door, and threw
herself into her husband's arms. " You are
saved, at least," she cried ; " thank Heaven
for that ! You are spared. Alas ! we do
not know how much we love till danger comes
upon us.'"'

Rushbrook was much affected ; he loved
his wife, and had good reason to love her.
Jane was a beautiful woman, not yet thirty ;
tall in her person, her head was finely formed,
yet apparently small for her height ; her
features were full of expression and sweetness.

VOL. I. M

242 THE POACHER.

Had she been born to a high station, she
would have been considered one of the greatest
belles. As it was, she Avas loved by those
around her; and there was a dignity and
commanding air about her which won admi-
ration and respect. No one could feel more
deeply than she did the enormity of the
offence committed by her husband ; and yet
never in any moment since her marriage did
she cling so earnestly and so closely by him
as she did now. She was of that bold and
daring temperament, that she could admire
the courage that propelled to the crime, while
the crime itself she abhorred. It was not,
therefore, any thing surprising that, at such a
moment, with regard for a husband to whom
she was devoted, she thought more of the
danger to which he was exposed than she did
of the crime which had been committed.

To do Rushbrook himself justice, his per-
son and mind were of no plebeian mould. He

THE POACHER. 243

was a daring, venturous fellow, ready at any-
emergency, cool and collected in danger, had
a pleasure in the excitement created by the
difficulty and risk attending his nocturnal
pursuits, caring little or nothing for the pro-
fits. He, as well as his Avife, had not been
neglected in point of education ; he had been
born in humble life, and had, by enlisting,
chosen a path by which advancement became
impossible; but, had Rushbrook been an
officer instead of a common soldier, his talents
would probably have been directed to more
noble channels, and the poacher and pilferer
for his captain might have exerted his dex-
terity so as to have gained honourable men-
tion. His courage had always been remark-
able, and he was looked upon by his officers,
and so he was by his companions, as the most
steady and collected man under fire to be
found in the whole company.

We are the creatures of circumstances.

244 THE POACHER.

Frederick of Prussia had no opinion of phre-
nology, and one day he sent for the professor,
and dressing up a highwayman and a pick-
pocket in uniforms and orders, he desired the
phrenologist to examine their heads, and give
his opinion as to their qualifications. The
savant did so, and, turning to the King, said,
" Sire, this person, 1 ' pointing to the highway-
man, " whatever he may be, would have been
a great general, had he been employed. As
for the other, he is quite in a different line.
He may be, or if he is not, he would make,
an admirable financier.'' 1 The King was satis-
fied that there was some truth in the science,
" For," as he very rightly observed, " what
is a general but a highwayman, and what is a
financier but a pickpocket?"

" Calm yourself, dear Jane, 11 said Kush-
brook ; " all is well now."

" All well ! yes ; but my poor child —
of?200 offered for his apprehension ! if they
were to take him ! M

THE POACHER. 245

" I have no fear of that ; and if they did,
they could not hurt him ; it is true that they
have given their^verdict, but still they have
no positive proof. 11

" But they have hanged people upon less
proof before now, Rushbrook."

"Jane," replied Rushbrook, "our boy
shall never be hanged ; I promise you that ;
so make your mind easy.' 1

" Then you must confess, to save him, and
I shall lose you."

A step at the door interrupted their collo-
quy. Rushbrook opened it, and Mr. Fur-
ness, the schoolmaster, made his appearance.

" Well, my good friends, I'm very sorry
the verdict has been such as it is, but it can-
not be helped ; the evidence was too strong,
and it was a sad thing for me to be obliged to
give mine."

" You ! " exclaimed Rushbrook, " why,
did they call you up ? "

246 THE POACHER.

" Yes, and put me on my oath. An oath,
to a moral man, is a very serious responsibi-
lity; the nature of an oath is awful; and when
you consider my position in this place, as the
inculcator of morals and piety to the younger
branches of the community, you must not be
surprised at my telling the truth."

" And what had you to tell ? " inquired
Rushbrook, with surprise.

"Had to tell! — why, I had to tell what
you told me this morning ; and I had to prove
the bag as belonging to you; for you know
you sent me some potatoes in it by little
Joey, poor fellow. Wiful murder, and two
hundred pounds upon apprehension and con-
viction I' 1

Rushbrook looked at the pedagogue with
surprise and contempt.

" Pray, may I ask how they came to know
that any thing had passed between us yester-
day morning, for, if I recollect right, you de-
sired me to be secret ? "

THE POACHER. 247

"Very true, and so I did; but then they
knew what good friends we always were, I
suppose, and so they sent for me and obliged
me to speak upon my oath."

" I don't understand it," replied Rush-
brook; "they might have asked you questions,
but how could they have guessed that I had
told you any thing ? "

" My dear friend, you don't understand it;
but, in my situation, looking up to me, as
every one does, as an example of moral recti-
tude and correctness of conduct — as a pattern
to the juvenile branches of the community—
you see — "

" Yes, I do see that, under such circum-
stances, you should not go to the ale-house and
get tipsey two days at least out of the week,"
replied Rushbrook, turning away.

" And why do I go to the ale-house, my
dear friend, but to look after those who in-
dulge too freely — yourself, for instance ? How
often have I seen you home ?"

248 THE POACHER.

" Yes, when you were drunk and I was — "

Jane put her hand upon her husband's
mouth.

" And you were what, friend ? " inquired
Furness, anxiously.

"Worse than you, perhaps. And now,
friend Furness, as you must be tired with
your long evidence, I wish you a good night."

" Shall I see you down at the Cat and
Fiddle ? "

" Not for some time, if ever, friend Fur-
ness, that you may depend upon."

" Never go to the Cat and Fiddle ! A little
wholesome drink drowns care, my friend - T
and, therefore, although I should be sorry
that you indulged too much, yet, with me to
look after you — "

" — And drink half my ale, eh ? — No, no,
friend Furness, those days are gone.'"

" Well, you are not in a humour for it now
— but another time. Mrs. ltushbrook, have
you a drop of small beer ? "

THE POACHEK. 249

" I have none to spare, 1 ' replied Jane, turn-
ing away; "you should have applied to the
magistrates for beer.'' 1

"0, just as you please," replied the peda-
gogue; " it certainly does ruffle people's tem-
per when there is a verdict of wilful murder,
and two hundred pounds for apprehension
and conviction of the offender. Good night. 1 '

Furness banged the cottage door as he went
out.

Rushbrook watched till he was out of hear-
ing and then said, " He's a scoundrel. 11

"I think so too," replied Jane; "but ne-
ver mind, we will go to bed now, thank God
for his mercies, and pray for his forgiveness.
Come, dearest. 11

The next morning Mrs. Rushbrook was in-
formed by the neighbours that the school-
master had volunteered his evidence. Rush-
brook's indignation was excited, and he vowed

revenge.

m 3

250 THE POACHER.

Whatever may have been the feelings of
the community at the time of the discovery of
the murder, certain it is that, after all was
over, there was a strong sympathy expressed
for Rushbrook and his wife, and the condo-
lence was very general. The gamekeeper was
avoided, and his friend Furness fell into great
disrepute, after his voluntarily coming forward
and giving evidence against old and sworn
friends. The consequence was, his school fell
off, and the pedagogue, whenever he could
raise the means, became more intemperate than
ever.

One Saturday night, Rushbrook, who had
resolved to pick a quarrel with Furness, went
down to the ale-house. Furness was half
drunk, and pot valiant. Rushbrook taunted
him so as to produce replies. One word
brought on another, till Furness challenged
Rushbrook to come outside and have it out.
This was just what Rushbrook wished, and

THE POACHER. 251

after half an hour Furness was carried home
beaten to a mummy, and unable to leave his
bed for many days. As soon as this revenge had
been taken, Rushbrook, who had long made
up his mind so to do, packed up and quitted
the village, no one knowing whither he and
Jane went; and Furness, who had lost all
means of subsistence, did the same in a very
few days afterwards, his place of retreat being
equally unknown.

252

CHAPTER XX.

IN WHICH WE AGAIN FOLLOW UP OUR HERO'S
DESTINY.

After the resolution that Major M' Shane
came to, it is not to be surprised that he
made, during their journey home, every
inquiry of Joey relative to his former life.
To these Joey gave him a very honest reply
in every thing except that portion of his
history in which his father was so seriously
implicated ; he had the feeling that he was
bound in honour not to reveal the circum-
stances connected with the murder of the
pedlar. M'Shane was satisfied, and they
arrived in London without further adventure.

THE POACHER. 243

As soon as M'Shane had been embraced by
his wife, he gave a narrative of his adven-
tures, and did not forget to praise little
Joey as he deserved. Mrs. M'Shane was
all gratitude, and then it was that M'Shane
expressed his intentions towards our hero,
and, as he expected, he found his amiable
wife wholly coincide with him in opinion.
It was therefore decided that Joey should
be put to a school, and be properly educated,
as soon as an establishment that was eligible
could be found.

Their full intentions towards him, how-
ever, were not communicated to our hero;
he was told that he was to go to school, and
he willingly submitted ; it was not, however,
for three months that M'Shane would part
with him ; a difficulty was raised against
every establishment that was named. During
this time little Joey was very idle, for there
was nothing for him to do. Books there

254 THE POACHER.

were none, for Mrs. M'Shane had no time
to read, and Major M'Shane no inclination.
His only resort was to rummage over the
newspapers which were taken in for the
benefit of the customers, and this was his
usual employment. One day, in turning
over the file, he came to the account of the
murder of the pedlar, with the report of the
coroner's inquest. He read all the evidence,
particularly that of Furness, the school-
master, and found that the verdict was wilful
murder, with a reward of i?200 for his
apprehension. The term, wilful murder, he
did not exactly comprehend ; so, after laying
down the paper, with a beating heart he
went to Mrs. M'Shane, and asked her what
was the meaning of it.

" Meaning, child?" replied Mrs. M'Shane,
who was then very busy in her occupation,
" it means, child, that a person is believed
to be guilty of murder, and, if taken up,

THE POACHER. 255

he will be hanged by the neck till he is

dead:'

" But," replied Joey, " suppose he has
not committed the murder ?"

" Well then, child, he must prove that

he has not."

" And suppose, although he has not com-
mitted it, he cannot prove it ?"

" Mercy on me, what a number of sup-
poses ! why, then he will be hanged all the
same, to be sure."

A fortnight after these queries, Joey was
sent to school ; the master was a very decent
man, the mistress a very decent woman, the
tuition was decent, the fare was decent, the
scholars were children of decent families;
altogether, it was a decent establishment,
and in this establishment little Joey made
very decent progress, going home every half-
year. How long Joey might have remained
there it is impossible to say; but having

256 THE POACHER.

been there for a year and a half, and arrived at
the age of fourteen, he had just returned from
the holidays with three guineas in his pocket,
for M'Shane and his wife were very generous
and very fond of their protege, when a cir-
cumstance occurred which again ruffled the
smooth current of our hero's existence.

He was walking out as all boys do walk
out in decent schools, that is, in a long line,
two by two, as the animals entered Noah's
Ark, when a sort of shabby-genteel man
passed their files. He happened to cast his
eyes upon Joey, and stopped. " Master
Joseph Rushbrook, I am most happy to see
you once more," said he, extending his hand.
Joey looked up into his face ; there was no
mistake, it was Furness, the schoolmaster.
" Don't you recollect me, my dear boy ?
Don't you recollect him who taught the infant
idea how to shoot ? Don't you recollect your
old preceptor ? "

THE POACHER. 257

" Yes," replied Joey, colouring up, " I
recollect you very well."

" I am delighted to see you ; you know
you were my fairest pupil, but we are all
scattered now ; your father and mother have
gone no one knows where; you went away, and
I also could no longer stay. What pleasure
it is to meet you once more l"

Joey did not respond exactly to the plea-
sure. The stoppage of the line had caused
some confusion, and the usher, who had fol-
lowed it, now came up to ascertain the cause.
" This is my old pupil, or rather, I should
say, my young pupil; but the best pupil I
ever had. I am most delighted to see him,
Sir," said Furness, taking off his hat. " May
I presume to ask who has the charge of this
dear child at this present moment ?"

The usher made no difficulty in stating the
name and residence of the preceptor, and,
having gained this information, Furness

253 THE POACHER.

shook Joey by the hand, bade him farewell,
and, wishing him every happiness, walked
away.

Joey's mind was confused during the re-
mainder of his walk, and it was not until
their return home that he could reflect on
what had passed. That Furness had given
evidence upon the inquest he knew, and he had
penetration, when he read it, to feel that there
was no necessity for Furness having given
such evidence. He also knew that there was
a reward of two hundred pounds for his ap-
prehension ; and when he thought of Fur-
ness's apparent kindness, and his not reverting
to a subject so important as wilful murder
having been found against him, he made up
his mind that Furness had behaved so with the
purpose of lulling him into security, and that
the next day he would certainly take him up,
for the sake of the reward.

Now, although we have not stopped our

THE POACHER. 259

narrative to introduce the subject, we must
here observe that Joey's love for his parents,
particularly his father, was unbounded; he
longed to see them again ; they were con-
stantly in his thoughts, and yet he dared not
mention them, in consequence of the mystery
connected with his quitting his home. He
fully perceived his danger : he would be
apprehended, and, being so, he must either
sacrifice his father or himself. Having
weighed all this in his mind, he then reflected
upon what should be his course to steer.
Should he go home to acquaint Major
M'Shane ? He felt that he could trust him,
and would have done so, but he had no right
to entrust any one with a secret which in-
volved his father's life. No, that would not
do; yet, to leave him and Mrs. M'Shane after
all their kindness, and without a word, this
would be too ungrateful. After much cogi-
tation, he resolved that he would run away,

260 THE POACHER.

so that all clue to him should be lost ; that
he would write a letter for M 'Shane, and
leave it. He wrote as follows : —

" Dear Sir, — Do not think me ungrateful,
for I love you and Mrs. M'Shane dearly,
but I have been met by a person who knows
me, and will certainly betray me. I left my
father's home, not for poaching, but a mur-
der that was committed ; / was not guilty.
This is the only secret I have held from you,
and the secret is not mine. I could not dis-
prove it, and never will. I now leave because
I have been discovered by a bad man, who
will certainly take advantage of having fallen
in with me. We may never meet again. I
can say no more, except that I shall always
pray for you and Mrs. M'Shane, and remem-
ber your kindness with gratitude.

" Yours truly,

" Joey M'Shane."

Since his return from St. Petersburg}!, Joey

THE POACHER. 261

had always, by their request, called himself
Joey M' Shane, and he was not sorry when
they gave him the permission, although he
did not comprehend the advantages which
were to accrue from taking the name.

Joey, having finished his letter, sat down
and cried bitterly — but in a school there is no
retiring place for venting your feelings, and
he was compelled to smother his tears. He
performed his exercises, and repeated his
lessons, as if nothing had happened and no-
thing was about to happen, for Joey was in
essence a little stoic. At night he went to his
room with the other boys; he could only obtain
a small portion of his clothes, these he put up
in a handkerchief, went softly down stairs
about one o'clock in the morning, put his
letter, addressed to M' Shane, on the hall
table, opened the back door, climbed over
the play-ground wall, and was again on the
road to seek his fortune.

262 THE POACHER.

But Joey was much improved during the
two years since he had quitted his father's
house. Before that, he was a reflective boy ;
now, he was more capable of action and
decision. His ideas had been much ex-
panded from the knowledge of the world
gained during his entry, as it were, into life ;
he had talked much, seen much, listened
much, and thought more; and naturally quiet
in his manner, he was now a gentlemanlike
boy. At the eating-house he had met with
every variety of character ; and as there were
some who frequented the house daily, with
those Joey had become on intimate terms.
He was no longer a child, but a lad of un-
daunted courage and presence of mind ; he
had only one fear, which was that his father's
crime should be discovered.

And now he was again adrift, with a small
bundle, three guineas in his pocket, and the
world before him. At first he had but one

THE POACHER. 263

idea, that of removing to a distance which
should elude the vigilance of Furness, and
he therefore walked on, and walked fast.
Joey was capahle of great fatigue ; he had
grown considerably, it is true, during the last
two years ; still he was small for his age ;
but every muscle in his body was a wire, and
his strength, as had been proved by his
schoolmates, was proportionate. He was
elastic as India rubber, and bold and deter-
mined as one who had been all his life in
danger.

264

CHAPTER XXI.

THE SCENE IS AGAIN SHIFTED, AND THE
FLOT ADVANCES.

It will be necessary that for a short time
we again follow up the fortunes of our hero's
parents. When Rushbrook and Jane had
quitted the village of Grassford, they had
not come to any decision as to their future
place of abode ; all that Rushbrook felt was
a desire to remove as far as possible from the
spot where the crime had been committed.
Such is the feeling that will ever possess the
guilty, who, although they may increase their
distance, attempt in vain to fly from their
consciences, or that all-seeing eye which fol-

THE POACHER. 265

lows them everywhere. Jane had a similar
feeling, but it arose from her anxiety for her
husband. They wandered away, for they
had sold every thing before their departure,
until they found themselves in the West
Riding of Yorkshire, and there they at length
settled in a small village. Rushbrook easily
obtained employment, for the population was
scanty, and some months passed away without
any thing occurring of interest.

Rushbrook had never taken up his employ-
ment as a poacher since the night of the
murder of the pedlar ; he had abj ured it
from that hour. His knowledge of wood-
craft was, however, discovered, and he was
appointed first as under, and eventually as
head keeper to a gentleman of landed pro-
perty in the neighbourhood. In this situa-
tion they had remained about a year, Rush-
brook giving full satisfaction to his employer,
and comparatively content (for no man could

vol. i. N

266 THE POACHER.

have such a crime upon his conscience and
not pass occasional hours of misery and re-
morse), and Jane was still mourning in secret
for her only and darling child, when one day
a paper was put into Rushbrook's hands by
his master, desiring him to read an advertise-
ment which it contained, and which was as
follows : — " If Joseph Rushbrook, who for-
merly lived in the village of Grassford, in the
county of Devon, should be still alive, and
will make his residence known to Messrs.
Pearce, James, and Simpson, of 14, Chan-
cery-lane, he will hear of something greatly
to his advantage. Should he be dead, and
this advertisement meet the eye of his heirs,
they are equally requested to make the com-
munication to the above address."

" What does it mean, Sir ?" inquired Rush-
brook.

" It means that, if you are that person, in
all probability there is some legacy bequeathed

THE POACHER. 267

to you by a relative, 11 replied Mr. S ;

« is it you ? "

" Yes, Sir," replied Rushbrook, changing
colour ; " I did once live at Grassford. 11

" Then you had better write to the parties
and make yourself known. I will leave you
the newspaper."

" What think you, Jane ?" said Rush-
brook, as soon as Mr. < had quitted.

" I think he is quite right," replied Jane.

" But, Jane, you forgot — this may be a
trap ; they may have discovered something
about — you know what I mean."

" Yes, I do, and I wish we could forget it ;
but in this instance I do not think you have
any thing to fear. There is no reward offered
for your apprehension, but for my poor boy's,
who is now wandering over the wide world ;
and no one would go to the expense to appre-
hend you, if there was nothing to be gained
by it. 11

268 THE POACHER.

" True," replied Rushbrook, after a mi-
nute's reflection ; " but, alas ! I am a coward
now — I will write."

Ilushbrook wrote accordingly, and, in reply,
received a letter enclosing a bank-bill for £20,
and requesting that he would come to town
immediately. He did so, and found, to his
astonishment, that he was the heir-at-law to a
property of i?7,000 per annum — with the only
contingency, that he was, as nearest of kin, to
take the name of Austin. Having entered
into all the arrangements required by the legal
gentlemen, he returned to Yorkshire, with
oC500 in his pocket, to communicate the intel-
ligence to his wife ; and when he did so, and
embraced her, she burst into tears.

" Rushbrook, do not think I mean to re-
proach you by these tears ; but I cannot help
thinking that you would have been happier
had this never happened. Your life will be
doubly sweet to you now, and Joey's absence

THE POACHER. 269

will be a source of more vexation than ever.
Do you think that you will be happier ? "

" Jane, dearest ! I have been thinking of
it as well as you, and, on reflection, I think I
shall be safer. Who would know the poacher
Rushbrook in the gentleman of d£?7,000 a-
year, of the name of Austin ? Who will
dare accuse him, even if there were suspicion ?
I feel that once in another county, under
another name, and in another situation, I shall
be safe."

" But our poor boy, should he ever come
back "

" — Will also be forgotten. He will have
grown up a man, and, having another name,
will never be recognized ; they will not even
know what our former name was."

" I trust that it will be as you say. What
do you now mean to do ? "

" I shall say that I have a property of
four or five hundred pounds left me, and that

270 THE POACHER.

I intend to go up to London," replied Rush-
brook.

" Yes, that will be wise ; it will be an ex-
cuse for our leaving this place, and will be no
clue to where we are going," replied Jane.

Rushbrook gave up his situation, sold his
furniture, and quitted Yorkshire. In a few
weeks afterwards he was installed into his
new property, a splendid mansion, and situ-
ated in the West of Dorsetshire. Report had
gone before them ; some said that a common
labourer had come into the property, others
said it was a person in very moderate circum-
stances ; as usual, both these reports were
contradicted by a third, which represented
him as a half-pay lieutenant in the army
Rushbrook had contrived to mystify even the
solicitor as to his situation in life ; he stated
to him that he had retired from the army? and
lived upon the government allowance; and it
was in consequence of a reference to the soli-

THE POACHER. 271

citor, made by some of the best families in
the neighbourhood, who wished to ascertain
if the new comers were people who could be
visited, that this third report was spread, and
universally believed. We have already ob-
served that Rushbrook was a fine, tall man ;
and if there is any class of people who can
be transplanted with success from low to high
life, it will be those who have served in the
army. The stoop is the evidence of a low-
bred, vulgar man, the erect bearing equally
so that of a gentleman. Now, the latter is
gained in the army, by drilling and discipline,
and being well dressed will provide for all
else that is required, as far as mere personal
appearance is concerned. When, therefore,
the neighbours called upon Mr. and Mrs.
Austin they were not surprised to find an
erect, military-looking man, but they were
very much surprised to find him matched with
such a fine, and even elegant-looking woman,

272 THE POACHER.

as his wife. Timid at first, Jane had suffi-
cient tact to watch others and copy, and before
many months were passed in their new po-
sition, it would have been difficult to suppose
that Mrs. Austin had not been born in the
sphere in which she then moved. Austin was
brusque and abrupt in his manners as before ;
but still there was always a reserve about him,
which he naturally felt, and which assisted to
remove the impression of vulgarity. People
who are distant are seldom considered un-
gentlemanlike, although they may be con-
sidered unpleasant in their manners. It is
those who are too familiar who obtain the
character of vulgarity.

Austin, therefore, was respected, but not
liked ; Jane, on the contrary, whose beauty
had now all the assistance of dress, and whose
continued inward mourning for her lost son
had improved that beauty by the pensive air
which she wore, was a deserved and universal

THE POACHER. 273

favourite. People of course said that Austin
was a harsh husband, and pitied poor Mrs.
Austin ; but that people always do say if a
woman is not inclined to mirth.

Austin found ample amusement in sporting
over his extensive manor, and looking after
his game. In one point the neighbouring
gentlemen were surprised, that, although so
keen a sportsman himself, he never could be
prevailed upon to convict a poacher. He
was appointed a magistrate, and being most
liberal in all his subscriptions, was soon con-
sidered as a great acquisition to the county.
His wife was much sought after, but it was
invariably observed that, when children were
mentioned, the tears stood in her eyes. Before
they had been a year in their new position,
they had acquired all the knowledge and tact
necessary ; their establishment was on a hand-
some scale ; they were visited and paid visits
to all the aristocracy and gentry, and were as

274 THE POACHER.

popular as they could have desired to be.
But were they happy ? Alas ! no. Little
did those who envied Austin his property and
establishment imagine what a load was on his
mind — what a corroding care was wearing out
his existence. Little did they imagine that
he would gladly have resigned all, and been
once more the poacher in the village of Grass-
ford, to have removed from his conscience the
deed of darkness which he had committed,
and once more have his son by his side. And
poor Jane, her thoughts were day and night
upon one object — where was her child ? It
deprived her of rest at night ; she remained
meditating on her fate for hours during the
day ; it would rush into her mind in the
gayest scenes and the happiest moments ; it
was one incessant incubus — one continual
source of misery. Of her husband she thought
less ; for she knew how sincerely contrite he
was for the deed he had done — how bitterly

THE POACHER. 275

he had repented it ever since, and how it
would, as long as he lived, be a source of
misery — a worm that would never die, but
gnaw till the last hour of his existence. But
her boy — her noble, self-sacrificed little Joey !
— he and his destiny were ever in her
thoughts ; and gladly would she have been a
pauper applying for relief, if she had but
that child to have led up in her hand. And
yet all the county thought how happy and
contented the Austins ought to be, to have
suddenly come into possession of so much
wealth. 'Tis God alone that knows the se-
crets of the heart of man.

END OF vol. I.

Printed by J. L. Cox and Sons, ~i>, Great Queen Street,
Iiincoln's-Inn Fields.

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