25 RARYO^ iJSAi V=OS K*^ ^OFCALIFOfy^ 3C § 3 ^UK-AMCEl&x ^lOSANCnfj^. "%3AIM-3VtV N ^UIBRARY0/>. <$UIBRARYQ^ ^OFCAllFO/?^ ^OJnVDJO^ y 0AWH8n# ^•UBRARY^ £8 o AtiEUNIVER%. 9 ^Aavaan-i^ "foflWrcW^ ^OFCALIF0% <^EUNIVER% *C3 "SfcfflAHMI^ a^10SANCEI% , Paternoster Row, London. MAY, 1841. NEW WOKKS AND NEW EDITIONS. PUBLISHED BY Hcmgmau, ®xms, l&xb'wn, <&xtm, antr A NEW EDITION OF THE POETICAL WORKS OF JAMES MONTGO- MERY. Willi some additional Poems, and Biographical Prefaces. Uniform with the New Editions of Moore's and Southey's VVoiks. Vol.1, with engraved Frontispiece and vignette Title, by Geo. Jones, Esq. R.A. etc. To he completed in Four Monthly Volumes, 5s. each. CONTENTS. Vol. III. — GREENLAND — MISCELLA- NEOUS POEMS, ETC. ETC. Vol.1, — THE WANDERER OF SWIT- ZERLAND — THE WEST INDIES — MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. II. — THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD — SONGS OF ZION, ETC. ETC. IV.— THE PELICAN ISLAND — SONGS (IN THE ABOLITION OF NEGRO SLAVERY APPENDIX, ETC ETC. A PBESENT FUR YOUNG PEOPLE. CAPTAIN MARRYAT'S MASTERMAN READY; being the History of an English Family wrecked on a Desert Island. Willi numerous Illustrations on Wood, foolscap 8vo. 7s. Gd. boards. A DICTIONARY OF SCIENCE, LITERATURE, AND ART. The History, Description, and Scientific Principles of every Branch of Human Knowledge ; with the derivation and definition of all the Terms in general use. Illustrated b> Engravings on Wood. Being ihe Twelith of the Seiies of " Enc>clopt Svo. U. lis. 6(1. The Life of Edward the Black Prince. New Edition, 2 vols. leap. Map, 15s. cloth. The Huouenot: A Talc of the French Protestants. 3 vols. The Gentleman of the Old School. 3 vols. The Robber. Second Edition. 3 vols. Adventuues or John Mahston Hall. 3 vols. Mary or Burgundy ; Or, Revolt of Ghent. 3 vols. One in .\ Thousand; Or, The Days of Henri Quatre. 3 vols. Attila : A Romance. 3 vols. NEW WORKS AND NEW EDITIONS. n- =f3 ONE VOLUME CYCLOP/EDIAS AND DICTIONARIES. A DICTIONARY, PRACTICAL, THEORETT- CAL, AND HISTORICAL, OF COMMERCE AND COMMERCIAL NAVIGATION. Illustrated with Maps and Plans. By J.R. M'Culloch, New Edition, with a new and enlarged Supplement, bringing the work down to 1840. One closely and beautifully printed vol. 8vo., containing upwards of 1350 pages, 50s. half bound vellum. A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, MANUFACTURES, AND MINES. Containing a clear Exposition of their Principles and Practice. By Andrew Ure, M.D. F.R.S. &c. In one closely and beautiful ly- prinied volume, Svo., containing 1242 pages, and illustrated by 1241 Engrav- ings on Wood, 2/. 10s. strongly bound in cloth lettered. ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF GEOGRAPHY; com- prising a complete Description of the Earth: exhibiting its Relation to the Heavenly Bodies, its Physical Structure, the Natural History of each Country, and the Industry, Commerce, Political Institutions, and Civil and Social State of all Nations. By Hugh Murray, F.R.S.E. Assisted by Professor Wal- lace, Professor Jameson, Sir W. J. Hooker, and W. Swainson, Esq. Willi 82 Maps, drawn by Sidney Hall, and upwardsof 1000 other Wood Engravings. Second Edit, corrected to 1840. In one thick vol. 8vo. of upwards of 1500 pages, 60s. half-bound vellum. * # * Title pages are given to bind the woik in two volumes, if desired. AN ENCYCLOPEDIA OF RURAL SPORTS; comprising Hunting, Racing, Shooting, Fishing, Hawking, Coursing, the Athletic Sports, &c. By Delabere P. Blaine, Esq., aulhor of " Outlines Of I he Veterinary Art,"" Canine Pathology," &c. One thick vol. 8vo. illustrated with six hundred beautifully executed Engravings on Wood. Price 50s. bound in fancy clolh, lettered. AN ENCYCLOPEDIA OF AGRICULTURE; comprising ihe Theory and Practice of the Valuation, Transfer, Laying-out, Improvement, and Management of Landed Property; the Cultivation and Economy of the Animal ami Vegetable Productions of Agriculture, a General History of Agriculture in all Countries, &c. By J. C. Loudon, F.L.S. &c. With nearly 1300 Engravings on Wood. One large vol. Svo. 3d Edit. 2l. 10s. By the same Author, AN ENCYCLOPEDIA OF GARDENING; com- prising the Theory and Practice of Hot ticulture, Floriculture, Aiboriculture, and Landscape Gardening; including all the latest Improvements; a General History ol Gardening in all Countries, &c. New Edition, improved, with nearly 1000 Engravings on W : ood. One large vol. Svo. 11. 10s. AN ENCYCLOPEDIA OF PLANTS ; comprising the Description, Specific Character, Culture, History, Application in the Arts, an 1 every other desirable Particular respecting all the Plants Indigenous to, or Introduced into, Britain. By J. C. Loudon, F.L.S. &c. The SpeciBc Characters by an eminent Botanist; the Drawings by J. D. C. Sowerby, F.L.S. Nearly 10,000 Wood Engravings. Second edition, corrected, large vol. 8vo. Si. 13s. 6d. HORTUS BRITANNICUS : a Catalogue of all the Plants Indigenous to, or Introduced into, Britain. 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BOOK OF NATURE; a Popular Illustration of the General Laws and Phenomena of Creation. By John Mason Good, M.D. F.R.S. 3d Edit. 3 vols. fcp. 8vo. 24s. '• The best philosophical digest of the kind which ire have seen." — Monthly Review. TAXIDERMY ; or the Art of Collecting and Pre- paring Objects of Natural History. 4th Edition, 12mo. Plates, 7s. Cd. ESSAYS ON NATURAL HISTORY. By Charles Waierton, Esq. of Walton Hall, Author of "Wanderings in South Ame- rica." Third Edition, with a View of Walton Hall, and an Autobiography of the Author. One vol. fcp. 8vo. 8s. cloth lettered. CONVERSATIONS ON BOTANY. 8th Edition enlarged, 12mo. with 22 Engravings, 7s. 6d. plain ; 12s. coloured. AN INTRODUCTION TO GEOLOGY; intended to convey a Practical Knowledge of the Science; and comprising the most important recent Discoveries; with Explanations Of the Facts and Phenomena which serve to confirm or invalidate various Geological Theories. By Robkrt Bakewei.i.. 51 h Edition, considerably enlarged from the 4th Edition, and with new Sections and Cuts, price One Guinea, cloth lettered. □ ~~r~~ = & NEW WORKS AND NEW EDITIONS. P— ==0 Natural History — continued. BY JOHN LINDLEY, PH. D. F.R.S. L.S. ETC. Professor of Botany in the London University College, and in the Royal Institution. THE THEORY OF HORTICULTURE; or, an Exposition of the Principles on which the Operations of Gardening are conducted. One vol. Svo. with numerous Illustrations on Wood, 12s. " IVill henceforth be considered essential to the library of every gardener, young and old—Dr.Lindley's masterpiece, as Jar as the garden is concerned. Jt is not philosophy, uor scientific research only which could produce such a work us this, but a combination of these, with an intimate knowledge of the tniuutice and manipulations of the gardener's art." Gardener's Magazine. SCHOOL BOTANY ; or, an Explanation of the Characters and Differences of the principal Natural Classes and Orders of Plants, belonging to the Flora of Europe, in the Botanical Classification of Decandolle; for the use of Students preparing for their Matriculation Examination in the University of London. In one volume, foolscap Svo. with upwards of ICO Wood-cuts, 6s. cloth lettered. "A capital introductory work for all who intend to study botany with seal; and is not only adorned, but illustrated, by a hundred and sidty-three wood-cuts. ''— Medical Gazette. INTRODUCTION TO BOTANY. 2d Edition, with Corrections and considerable Additions, One large volume 8vo. numerous Plates and Woodcuts, 18s. 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LIST Or E= Natural History, Botany, Qc. — continued. BOTANICAL WORKS, BY SIR WILLIAM JACKSON HOOKER, K.H. LL.D. REGIUS PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW, ETC. THE BRITISH FLORA ; comprising the Flowering PLANTS and the FERNS. 8vo. 4th Edition, with Plates, containing 82 Figures illustrative of the Grasses and umbelliferous Plants, 12s.; or coloured, 16s. •»• In this edition all the newly discovered Species are introduced. The Linnsean arrangement is followed in the body of the work; but in the Appendix are given the Characters of all the Natural Orders, with a List of the Genera, referring to the pages where they are described. Vol. II. Part 1. of the above (CRYPTOGAMIA), 8vo. 12s.— Vol. II. Part 2, (FUNGI), completing the work, by Sir VV. J. Hooker, and the Rev. M. J. Berkeley. 8vo. 12s. MUSCOLOGIA BRITANNICA: containing the Mosses of Great Britain and Ireland, systematically arranged and described; with Plates. By Sir W. J. Hooker, and T. 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Part 1. 12?.— CRYPTOGAMIA: comprising the Mosses, Hepatica, Lichens, Characese, and Algae. By Sir W. J. Hooker. Vol. V. Part 2. I2s.— The FUNGI— completing the Work- by Sir W. J. Hooker, and the Rev. M. J. Bekkeley, F.L.S. , &c. COMPENDIUM OF THE ENGLISH FLORA. 2d Edition, with Additions and Corrections. By Sir VV. J. Hooker, 12010- 7s. 6d. THE SAME IN LATIN. 5th Edition, 12mo. 7s. Cd. INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF PHY- SIOLOGICAL AND SYSTEMATICAL BOTANY. New Edition, with Illustrations of the Natural Orders (combining the object of Sir J. Smith's "Grammar" with that of his " Introduction.") By Sir \V. J. Hooker. 8vo. 36 Plates, 16s. cloth. 8 NEW WORKS AND NEW EDITIONS. s - t WORKS ON AGRICULTURE AND GARDENING. ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE BREEDS OF THE DOMESTIC ANIMALS OF THE BRITISH ISLANDS; consisting of a Series of Coloured Engravings of the HORSE— the OX— the SHEEP— the GOAT— the HOG, From a Series of Oil Paintings, executed for the Agricultural Museum of the University of Edinburgh, by Mr. Shiels, of the Royal Scotch Academy. With Descriptive Memoirs. By David Low, Esq. F.R.S.E., Professor of Agriculture in the University of Edinburgh. To be completed in 14 Parts. Part I. contains the Ox, No. 1., atlas 4to., with Four beautifully-coloured Plates, One Guinea.— The Wild, or White Forest, the Pembroke, and the West Highland Breeds. Part II. The Sheep, No. 1.— The Zetland and Orkney, the Higher Welsh Moun- tain, the Welsh Soft Woolled, and the Wicklow Mountain Breeds, price 21s. Part III. The Hog— The Berkshire, Siamese, Old English, and Wild Breeds, price 21s. Part IV. The Ox, No. 2.— The Polled Angus, Galloway, Kerry, and Zetland Breeds, price 21s. Part V. The Sheep, No. 2.— The Kerry, Cheviot, Exmoor, and Black-faced Heath Breeds. Part VI. The Horse, No. 1. — A very full general History. Part VII. The Sheep, No. 3.— The Old Norfolk, the Old Wiltshire, the Dorset, and the Merino Breeds. Part VIII. The Ox, No. 3.— The Polled Suffolk, Devon, Sussex, and Glamorgan Breeds. Part IX. (on May 31). The Sheep, No. 4.— The South Down, Ryeland, and Old Lincoln Breeds. *»* To be continued every two months. ''77m noble work is devoted to a collection of portraits of the best specimens of the various Breeds of the British Domestic Animals. The writer of this review has had many an oppor- tunity of standing by Mr. Shiels while he was engaged in his undertaking, and admiring the fidelity with which the general and the distinguishing features of each animal were seized and portrayed. We cordially recommend tltis work to our veterinary brethren ; it will improve their acquaintance with the distinctive characters of the different breeds, and will constitute very appropriate and splendid ornaments of their parluurs or portfolios." Veterinarian. Just published, by the same Author, ELEMENTS OF PRACTICAL AGRICULTURE ; comprehending the Cultivation of Plants, the Husbandry of Domestic Animals, and ihe Economy of the Farm. Third Edition, with Additions, and above 200 Woodcuts, one vol. 8vo. 18s. cloth lettered. •' No work on agriculture has appeared in our time which will bear a comparison with this excellent, and we would say classical work, of Professor Low. It will become the manual of practical agriculture for the British empire ; and the judicious practical rules and sound views of our author will unquestionably prove beneficial to the agriculturists of other countries."— Edinburgh New Philosophical Journal. BAYLDON'S ART OF VALUING RENTS AND TILLAGES, and the Tenant's Right of Entering and Quitting Farms, ex- plained by several Specimens of Valuations; and Remarks on the Cultivation pursued on Soils in different Situations. Adapted to the Use of Landlords, Land Agents, Appraisers, Farmers, and Tenants. 5ih Edition, re-written and enlarged, by John Donaldson. With a Chapter on the Tithe Commutation Rent-Charge, by a Gentleman of much experience on the Tithe Commission. 8vo. 10s. 6d. cloth lettered. " May now be said to be re-written by one of the best practical agriculturists in the country. The excellent forms for account boohs which are given at the end of the volume are so superior to those generally published, that we consider them alone worth the price of the book.' 1 — Gardener's Magazine. ED- MESSRS. LONGMAN AND CO.'s LIST OF □ Agriculture and Gardening — continued. THE ROSE AMATEUR'S GUIDE. Containing ample Descriptions of all the line leading varieties of Roses, regularly classed in their respective Families; their History and Mode of Culture. By T. Rivers, Jim. 2d Edition, greatly enlarged. One vol. foolscap, price 6s. cloth lettered. Among the additions to the present edition will be found, full directions for raising New Roses from Seed, by modes never before published, appended to each family; Descriptions of the most remarkable New Roses lately introduced; an Alphabetical List of all the New Roses, and of the Show Roses. SIR HUMPHRY DAVY'S AGRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY. With Notes by Dr. John Davy. 6th Edition, 8vo. with 10 Plates, 15s. cloth lettered. Contents. — Introduction — The General Powers of Matter which Influence Vegetation — The Organization of Plants — Soils — Nature and Constitution of the Atmosphere, and its Influence on Vegetables — Manures of Vegetable and Animal Origin— Manures of Mineral Origin, or Fossil Manures — Improvement of Lands by Burning — Experiments on the Nutritive Qualities of different Grasses, &c. THE VEGETABLE CULTIVATOR. Containing a Plain and Accurate Description of all the different Species and Varieties of Culinary Vegetables, with the most approved Methods of Cultivating and Cooking them. By J. Rogers, Author of " The Fruit Cultivator." Foolscap 8vo. cloth lettered. A PRACTICAL TREATISE ON THE CULTI- VATION OF THE GRAPE VINE ON OPEN WALLS. By Clement Hoare. New Edition, with Additions, 8vo. 7s. 6d. cloth. NEW EDITIONS OF MRS. MARCET'S CONVERSATIONS. POLITICAL ECONOMY; in which the Elements of that Science are familiarly Explained. 7th Edition, revised and enlarged. 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THE POETICAL WORKS of THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. The first uniform Edition, collected and arranged by Mr. Moore, with new Notes, Prefaces, etc. Vols. I. to VII. To be comprised in Ten Monthly Volumes, with Frontispieces and Vignettes byGeorge Jones, Esq. It. A. and Daniel M'Clise, Esq. R.A. price 5s. each, handsomely bound in fancy cloth, lettered. MOORE'S LALLA ROOKH ; an Oriental Romance. New Edition, one volume royal 8vo. with 13 highly-finished Engravings, executed under the superintendence of Mr. Charles Heath, from designs by Stephanoff, Meadows, E. Corbould, and Miss Corbaus. In fancy cloth, lettered, with ornamental gilding, One Guinea; or with India Proof Plates, 21. 2s. Also in fcp. Svo. with four engravings after Westall, 10s. fid. cloth. MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES: with an Appendix, containing the Original Advertisements and the Prefatory Letter on Music. 13th Edition, fcp. 8vo. with engraved Title and Vignette, 10s. cloth lettered. POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT SOUTHEY, Esq. 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" Those who wish to acquire the German language with a small expenditure of time and thought, and in a pleatant t attractive way, should furnish themselves with a copy of the Linguist."— St. James's Chronicle. *t* Messrs. Longman & Co's " School Catalogue," also their " Catalogue of One Volume Cyclopaedias and Dictionaries," may be had gratis of all Booksellers in Town and Country. London: Printed by Manning and Mason, Ivy-Lane, Paternoster Row JOSEPH RUSHBROOK; OR, THE POACHER. VOL. I. JOSEPH RUSHBROOK OR, THE POACHER. BY 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 OF 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 ------ 77 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 b2 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. a 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 b3 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. 15 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. c2 28 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 c3 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. 38 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. i) <> 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. A 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, d3 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. 61 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 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. 77 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 ? " e3 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.'" 85 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. 92 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. f2 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 f3 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 - 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 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. m2 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 n2 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. o r " r 'l INIVEJM ftWAlNIVWN ( U— s M»> UBRARY0/ A FCALIFOfy^ 3rti IRARYQc ^LUBRARYQc ^IE-UNIVER% ^clOSANCEl^v 5i| i®M P- ^HiBRARY0^ ^l-UBRARY^ uiTi ilk; £ «IMV